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consumption. As regards the climate of Cuba, we can speak, from personal knowledge, of its highly beneficial effects.

The personal observations of Dr. Forry in reference to climate, as a winter residence for the northern invalid of our own country, are mostly confined to East Florida. So remarkable is the equality in the distribution of temperature among the seasons here, that a comparison with the most favored localities already noticed is no way disparaging.

2°.41.

"A comparison of the mean temperature of winter and summer, that of the warmest and coldest months, and that of successive months and seasons, results generally in favor of peninsular Florida. The mean difference of successive months stands thus: Pisa 5°.75, Naples 5°.08, Nice 40.74, Rome 4°.39, Fort King [in the interior of Florida] 4°.28, Fort Marion at St. Augustine 3°.68, Fort Brooke [on the western coast of Florida] 3°.09, Penzance, England, 3°.05, Key West [at the southern point of Florida] 20.44, and Madeira The lime, the orange and the fig, find here a genial temperature; the course of vegetable life is unceasing; culinary vegetables are cultivated, and wild flowers spring up and flourish in the month of January; and so little is the temperature of the lakes and rivers diminished during the winter months, that one may almost at any time bathe in their waters. The climate is so exceedingly mild and uniform, that besides the vegetable productions of the southern states generally, many of a tropical character are produced. Along the southeastern coast, at Key Biscayno, for example, frost is never known, nor is it ever so cold as to require the use of fire. In this system of climate, the rigors of winter are unknown, and smiling verdure never ceases to reign."

Now compare this mild and equable climate with that of Italy, as described by Dr. Johnson.

"Italy indeed," he says, "is very singularly situated in respect to climate. With its feet resting against the snow-clad Alps, and its head stretching towards the burning shore of Africa, it is alternately exposed to the suffocation of the sirocco, from the arid sands of Lybia, and the icy chill of the tramontane, from the Alps or the Apennines."

In view of the American character of Dr. Forry's work, we will now con

clude this article with another extract from it, in reference to the climate of East Florida, as a winter residence for the northern invalid:

"The influence of temperature on the living body, more especially as regards winds, is often indicated more accurately by our sensations than the thermometer. Arctic Regions, we are told that when the For instance, in Parry's Voyages to the mercury stood at fifty-one degrees below zero of Fahrenheit, in a calm, no greater inconvenience was experienced than when it was at zero during a breeze. Consequently, the advantages of climate as regards its fitness for the pulmonic, not unfrequently depend on the mere circumstance of exposure to, or shelter from, cold winds. The frequency and severity of the winds at St. Augustine constitute a considerable drawback on the benefits of the climate. The chilly north-east blast, surcharged with fogs and saline vapors, sweeping around every angle of its ancient and dilapidated walls, often forbids the valetudinarian venturing from his domicil. To obviate these disadvantages, a large house was erected at Picolata on the St. John's; but during the pending Indian disturbances, it has been converted into a barrack and an hospital.

"At the present time, St. Augustine and Key West are the only places which afford the conveniences required by the wants of an invalid; but assuming that proper accommodations can be equally obtained at all points, Key Biscayno on the south-eastern coast, or Tampa Bay on the Gulf of Mexico, claims a decided preference, especially over St. Augustine. As a general rule, it would be judicious for the northern physician to direct his pulmonary patient to embark about the middle of October for Tampa Bay. Braving the perils of the wide ocean, he will realize the healthful excitement incident to the fears and hopes of a sea-voyage. The salubrious air of the sea has, indeed, al ways been esteemed as peculiarly congenial to the lungs. Even the Romans, among whom consumption seems to have been of frequent occurrence, were wont to seek relief in a voyage to Alexandria. Having spent the winter months at Tampa, let the invalid proceed early in March to St. Augustine, by way of Dade's battleground and the old Seminole agency. In addition to the corporeal exercise, he will find food for mental digestion at every step of his journey. Having thus reaped the benefit of a sea-voyage and all the advantages to be derived from a change of climate, the valetudinarian may return to his anxious friends so much renovated in

health and spirits as to be capable of enjoying again the blessings of social life. "As long, however, as predatory Seminole bands retain possession of this Peninsula, few itinerant invalids will imitate

the example of the celebrated Spanish adventurer, Ponce de Leon, who, in the wild spirit of the sixteenth century, braved the perils of unknown seas and the dangers of Florida's wilds, in search of the farfamed fountain of rejuvenescence. When the period, however, of the red man's departure shall have passed, [an event which has been officially announced], the climate of this land of flowers' will, it may be safely predicted, acquire a celebrity, as a winter residence, not inferior to that of Italy, Madeira, or Southern France."

In conclusion, we will present some of the facts contained in a highly interesting pamphlet by Dr. Daniel Drake, entitled The Northern Lakes, a Summer Residence for Invalids of the South," which has been the result of a two months' voyage, for medical observation, during the last summer. Our notice of it, however, seeing the space already devoted to this article, must necessarily be brief.

In view of what has been written on the comparative fitness of different places towards the equator, as winter residences for the invalids of the north, Dr. Drake thinks, with good reason, that the valetudinarians of the former regions have equal claims upon the medical observer as regards a summer residence. He merely purposes to add another, and as he supposes a superior place of resort, to those already frequented; such as the Springs of Virginia, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, and New York,-the marine watering places of Long Branch, Newport, Nahant, &c. -as well as a trip to the Falls of Niagara, or a voyage on the St. Lawrence to Montreal and Quebec.

How truly delightful it is to traverse these ocean-lakes or inland seas during the season of summer, we can add our testimony from personal experience. Instead of the reflected heat of inland regions on the same parallels, which rivals that of the West Indies, we have here cool and refreshing lake and land breezes, the former prevailing through most of the day, and the latter setting in at night as soon as the radiation from the ground has reduced its temperature below that of the water. As the dis

tance from Buffalo to Chicago is more than twelve hundred miles, the invalid of the south is enabled to derive much advantage from a voyage over this long the author to speak in his own graphic expanse of waters. But we will allow language:

"But the summer climate of the lakes

is not the only source of benefit to invalids; for the agitation imparted by the boat, on voyages of several days' duration, through waters which are never stagnant, and sometimes rolling, will be found among the most efficient means of restoring health, in many chronic diseases, especially those of a nervous character, such as hysteria and hypochondriasm.

"Another source of benefit is the excitement imparted by the voyage to the place all the features of the surrounding faculty of observation. At a watering scenery are soon familiarized to the eye, which then merely wanders over the commingled throngs of valetudinarians, doctors, dancers, idlers, gamblers, coquettes, and dandies, whence it soon returns to inspect the infirmities or tedium vitæ of its possessor; but on protracted voyages, through new and fresh regions, curiosity is stirred up to the highest pitch, and pleasantly gratified by the hourly unfolding of fresh aspects of nature; some new blending of land and lake-a group of fields of wild rice and lilies-a rainbow islands different from the last-aquatic walking on the face of the deep'-a water-spout, or a shifting series of painted clouds seen in the kaleidoscope of heaven.

"But the North has attractions of a different kind, which should draw into its summer bosom those who seek health and recreation in travel. From Ontario to Michigan, the voyager passes in the midst of spots consecrated to the heart of every American; and deeply interesting to all who delight to study the history of their native land. The shores and waters of the lakes, so often reddened with the blood of those who fought and died in the cause ler of warm and patriotic feelings, scenes of their country, will present to the travelwhich he cannot behold without an emotion, under which real diseases may abate and the imaginary be forgotten."

Along this route of twelve hundred miles from Chicago to the Falls of Niagara, patriotic emotions, as is justly observed by Dr. Drake, are being continually excited in the mind of the traveller; but as we cannot here follow our author in the narrative of his voyage, descriptive of the scenery and historical associations

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The versatile, discursive violin,

Light, tender, brilliant, passionate, or calm,
Sliding with careless nonchalance within
His range of ready utterance, wins the palm
Of victory o'er his fellows for his grace;
Fine, fluent speaker, polished gentleman.
Well may he be the leader in the race

Of blending instruments-fighting in the van
With conscious ease and fine chivalric speed;
A very Bayard in the field of sound,
Rallying his struggling followers in their need,

And spurring them to keep their hard-earned ground.
So the fifth Henry fought at Azincour,

And led his followers to the breach once more.

II.

THE VIOLONCELLO.

Larger and more matured, deeper in thought,
Slower in speech and of a graver tone,
His ardor softened, as if years had wrought
Wise moods upon him, living all alone,

A calm and philosophic eremite,—

Yet at some feeling of remembered things,
Or passion smothered, but not purged quite,
Hark! what a depth of sorrow in those strings!
See, what a storm growls in his angry breast!
Yet list again; his voice no longer moans;

The storm hath spent its rage and is at rest.
Strong, self-possessed, the violoncello's tones:
But yet too oft, like Hamlet, seem to me
A high soul struggling with its destiny.

III.

THE OBOE.

Now come with me, beside this sedgy brook,
Far in the fields, away from crowded street:
Into the flowing water let us look,

While o'er our heads the whispering elm-trees meet.
There will we listen to a simple tale

Of fireside pleasures and of shepherds' loves:
A reedy voice sweet as the nightingale

Shall sing of Corydon and Amaryllis;

The grasshopper shall chirp, the bee shall hum,
The stream shall murmur to the water-lilies,
And all the sounds of summer noon shall come,
And mingling in the oboë's pastoral tone,

Make them forget that man did ever sigh and moan.

IV.

THE TRUMPETS AND TROMBONES.

A band of martial riders next I hear,

Whose sharp brass voices cut and rend the air.
The shepherd's tale is mute, and now the ear

Is filled with a wilder clang than it can bear;
Whose arrowy trumpet notes so short and bright,
The long-drawn wailing of that loud trombone,
Tell of the bloody and tumultuous fight,

The march of victory and the dying groan.
O'er the green fields the serried squadrons pour,
Killing and burning like the bolts of heaven;
The sweetest flowers with cannon-smoke and gore
Are all profaned, and Innocence is driven
Forth from her cottages and wooded streams,
While over all red Battle fiercely gleams.

V.

THE HORNS.

But who are these far in the leafy wood,
Murmuring such mellow, hesitating notes,

It seems the very breath of solitude,

Loading with dewy balm each breeze that floats?
They are a peasant-group, I know them well,

The diffident, conscious horns, whose muffled speech

But half expresses what their souls would tell,

Aiming at strains their strength can never reach;
An untaught rustic band; and yet how sweet
And soothing comes their music o'er the soul!
Dear poets of the forest, who would meet

Your melodies save where wild waters roll,
Reminding us of Him who by his plough
Walked with a laurel-wreath upon his brow!
Boston, May, 1843.

LAURETTE, OR THE RED SEAL.*

I. THE MEETING ON THE HIGHWAY.

THE road from Artois to Flanders is a long and dreary one. It extends in a straight line, with neither trees nor ditches along its sides, over flat plains, covered at all seasons with a yellow clay. It was in the month of March, 1815, that, as I was passing along this road, I met with an adventure I have never forgotten.

I was alone; I rode on horseback; I had a good cloak, a black casque, pistols, and a heavy sabre. It had been raining in torrents during four days and four nights of my journey, and I remember that I was singing the "Joconde" at the top of my voice-I was so young! The body-guard of the king, in 1814, was filled up with old men and boys; the empire seemed to have seized and killed off all the men. My comrades were on the road, somewhat in advance of me, escorting Louis XVIII.; I saw their white cloaks and red coats on the very edge of the northern horizon. The Lancers of Bonaparte, who, step by step, watched and followed our retreat, showed from time to time the tricolored pennons of their long lances at the opposite horizon. A lost shoe had somewhat retarded my horse; but he was young and strong, and I pushed him on, to rejoin my squadron. He set off on a quick trot; I put my hand to my beltit was well furnished with gold; I heard the iron scabbard of my sword clank upon my stirrup, and I felt very proud and perfectly happy.

were ruined by the rain. That was no slight affliction!

As

My horse hung his head, and I did the same. I began to reflect, and for the first time asked myself, where I was going. I knew absolutely nothing about it; but that did not trouble me long; I knew that my squadron was there, and there too was my duty. I felt in my heart a profound and imperturbable tranquillity, I thanked that ineffable feeling of duty, and tried to explain it to myself. Seeing every day how gaily the most unaccustomed fatigues were borne by heads so fair or so white, how cavalierly a well assured future was risked by men of a worldly and happy life, and taking my own share in that wonderful satisfaction which every man derives from the conviction that he cannot evade any of the obligations of honor, I saw clearly that self-abnegation was a far easier and more common thing than is generally imagined. I asked myself whether this abnegation of self was not an innate sentiment? what was this need of obeying, and of placing one's freedom of will in the hands of others, as a heavy and troublesome burden? whence came the secret pleasure of being rid of this burden? and why the pride of man never revolted at this? I perceived this mysterious instinct binding together, on every side, families and nations into masses powerful in their combination; but I nowhere saw the renunciation of one's own actions, words, wishes, and almost thoughts, so complete and formidable as in the army. In every direction I saw resistance possible and habitual. I beheld the citizen rendering an obedience that was discriminating and intelligent, examining for itself, and liable to stop at a certain point. I beheld even the tender submission of woman reach its limits, the law taking up her defence, when the authority she obeys commands a wrong. But military obedience blind and dumb, because at the same time passive and active-receiving its

It rained on, and I sang on. However, I soon ceased, tired of hearing nobody but myself, and I then heard only the rain and the feet of my horse as they plashed in the ruts. The pavement of the road gave way; I sank down, and was obliged to have resource to my feet. My high cavalry boots were covered on the outside with a crust of mud, yellow as ochre, and inside they were fast filling with water. I looked at my new epaulettes, my happiness and my consolation-they

*This exquisite story is from the French of De Vigny.

is

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