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on, for my sole intention in submitting these opinions to the public eye, is the hope that they will tend to ameliorate their sufferings; and as I am persuaded that but few men can feel pleasure in deceiving, so am I convinced that the diseases of one genus of animals are not to be possibly conveyed to another.

The disease, therefore, in man supposed to arise from the bite of a mad dog, or any other rabid animal of the canine species, is a mental affection alone, on which no bodily remedies ever had, or can have avail. As a further proof of this, the numerous recorded cases

the dog, in a state of madness, is supposed to secrete a virus capable of affecting mankind and all other animals with a disease which will destroy life, does it not follow, that that disease must find its own likeness in them? And, must not the dog be again susceptible of it from being bitten by a carnivorous animal? Again, are not all infectious and contagious diseases equally capable of producing their likeness as well after death as before? And, again, is it not from the principle of chemical affinities alone, that all infectious and contagious diseases are cured or prevented? And is it not from the unvariable and unchange-furnish this evidence, that fewer deaths have able appearances in nature's laws that we are enabled to ascertain and class diseases gene rally? And is it not from close attentions to such laws that the medical art has been of such utility to mankind? So long, therefore, as this disease continues to be speculatively treated without due attention to those general laws, so long will it remain a disgraceful reHection upon medical professsors! All medicines called specifics or preventives must be looked on as quackeries, upon which no faith can possibly be placed.

I do not wish to lessen the weak support the miserably afflicted must at present lean

occured where medicines have not been administered; and it appears, from all analogical researches, not to have any existence in nature? Were medical professors therefore to endeavour to dispossess the mind of fear, and encourage a confidence in the means pursued, it would establish a mode of cure by which those too generally received (prejudiced) opinions would be put to flight; but should fear again resume the place of confidence, debility and death is generally inevitable,

George-row, Bermondsey.

I W. M.

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quisite plumage animated them by the wild
and melodious notes of joy and freedom.
'A silver lake, shaded by cedars and aromatic
plants, formed a delicious retreat for innumer-
able aquatic birds, whose nests paid occasional
tribute for the protection afforded them.

Around the habitation of the happy natives reared clusters of citrons, almonds, and orange trees, beneath whose sheltering branches

Its verdant plains were covered with flocks; the golden gifts of Ceres waved over its well cultivated fields. In the intricacies of its woods the sportive fawn with its fearless dam found shelter; whilst birds of the most ex-bloomed, in purple beauty, the modest vio

129

let; while the earth poured from her bounte- || abruptly turned the conversation on the "beous bosom the choicest fruits and flowers

to regale the senses of these her favoured children.

In this terrestrial paradise, the inhabitants of a viue embowered hamlet lived in perfect || harmony, mutually sharing in each other's cares and pleasures, labours and repose. Ever

neficial effects of his government."

The hermit was silent.

He boasted that he had raised the country to the highest state of political perfection; and paused for an assenting answer.

The hermit was silent.

"Riches, honours, and happiness are

realm," continued the despot, in an inquiring and impatient tone.

at the rising and setting sun, they raised their || through me diffused throughout the whole united hearts to Heaven in grateful thanksgiving for the peace, the plenty, the virtue which reigned among them-When, alas! they suddenly fell beneath the iron yoke of an anprincipled usurper, who, on establishing his lawless power, promoted to the rank of favourite the pander and companion of his dissipated pleasures.

This worthless servant of an unfeeling despot, charmed with the delightful situation of the mountain, and envying its flowery pastures, its numerous herds, its embowering shades, pure air, and above all the health and beauty of its virtuous natives, solicited it as a gift from his partial lord.

The favourite's prayer was granted, and the mountain became worse than a desert.

The question was favourable to the wishes of the benevolent recluse, and with a noble freedom he exclaimed:

"Behold that mountain, the sun still shines upon its beautiful scenes, still warms it with its fructifying beams; the earth, nourished by the dews of heaven, still, at times, puts forth the most vigorous fruits; still teems with hidden treasures which court the hand of industry, but court it in vain! The spirit of exertion is fled with justice and freedom; the voice of gladness is no longer heard upon the bill!

"Some years since the healthful sports and prosperous labours of which alternately employed the peasant's hours, shone in bright tints on his polished cheek; decked his board with plenty, and made happiness the constant inmate of his cheerful cot; but now—sad reverse! the few who remain of that happy multude of youths who bloomed upon those in hunting, lost bim-heighths, are bowed to the earth by the

Banishment or beggary was the lot of all its native swains; while the mistresses, the parasites, even the dogs of the voluptuous favourite, rioted on the pillaged property of those who remained as well as those who fled his tyranny.

One day the usurper, self amidst the wood which concealed from withering band of want. Yet debilitated in public notice the solitary dwelling of an aged body and wounded in mind, still do they hermit. Though in the obscurity and poverty courageously struggle with adversity ; but each of his distant abode, this holy man had him- day that witnesses the noble conflict, witnesses self found shelter from the licentiousness of also their uncomplaining approach to an unarbitrary power, he continued to mourn intimely grave, the last refuge of hopeless silence over the desolation which had sad. dened this once happy mountain; and in the secret hope of benefiting the objects of his commiseration, obeyed with alacrity the im perious mandate of the despot, when on reaching his humble cell he commanded his guidance to the path from whence he had strayed. As they journeyed together the usurper

No. XXIII. Vol. IV.-N. S.

wretchedness!"

"Wretchedness !"-echoed the despot, in a tone of apathy-" What is that?"

The disappointed hermit answered only by a deep sigh; silently conducted the usurper to the path which led to the high road, and returned in sorrow to his own dwelling.

R

OAKWOOD HOUSE.-AN ORIGINAL NOVEL.

(Continued from Page 75.)

LETTER XV.

resumed Satterthwaite;

but he's fond of

8

TO MRS. BRUDENELL.

Oakwood, May 26, 1807.

MILLICHAMP is the declared lover of Margaret Freeman. Satterthwaite growls at it; but in an under voice; for he is a little afraid of his nephew. It seems he repaid himself for his forbearance, by speaking out to John Fre man, who has taken dudgeon, and will not soon forget it. The evening after 1 wrote to you last, they were all at our house; and Satterthwaite, 'binking to avail himself of my brother's opinion and mine, which had several times been given in his favour, opened his cause in full convention. Addressing him. self to my brother, he said, "I suppose, Sir, you partly know how matters stand between my nephew and me; and, as you're a very sensible gentleman, and one that hears reason, I'll tell you the whole story; and here he is,

let him contradict it if he can."

Poor Margaret turned pale. Both uncle and nephew observed it. Millichamp, who was standing, took a chair next her; and Satterthwa te said, "You need not be afraid, young woman; I've nothing to say against you. Well, then; as I've no children of my own, for th seven years back, I've always looked upon my nephew as my chod, and treated him as my child Have not I, Richard?"

"I acknowledge it, Sir."

"Well, Sir, I think that deserves some return. I told you yesterday, Sir, that I wanted

own.

hunting, racing, and carding; and he knows I've money, plenty of money; and he comes to me for one thousand pound after another, one thousand pound after another, and interest not very well paid; till, if all came to all, as the saying is, the estate's as much mine as his And he has but an only daughter, you know, Sir; and so I says to him one day, Mr. Caradine, says I, when you and I shut our eyes, your daughter and my nephew must divide the Oatley estate. I think,' says he, 'they'd better share it together.' Why, says I, the advantage is all on your side; for one half's all your daughter', have; but my nephew'll have a pretty penny more than the other half. However, I thought, the whole was a desirable thing; and Miss Caradine was a handsome young lady, and very accomplished, and of a good family, and I consented. And we agreed that I should send my nephew over, and when they were married, they should live at Oatley Manor, and run in at the ruck, and no more interest to pay, and all should be settled upon them, and nobody be ever the wiser; and that was all in Mr. Caradine's Sir, my nephew was at London; and I wrote, favour, for I need not mind who knew. Well, and told him the whole business, and desired him to go down to Mr. Caradine's directly; and he wrote me a very dutiful letter, and said he was going to set out; and, from that time, Sir, I never heard of him. So, at last, there comes a letter from Mr. Caradine, complain

to bring him into my business; when he mighting that I'd broke my bargain. And, Sir, I take the trouble off my hands, and get rich himself; and he never would agree to it. Well, Sir, here's Mrs. Oakwood; and she's a very sensible lady; and she says I'd better let him have his way; and so I give up the point, and he may have his way; and there's an end of that. Now, Sir, comes the cream of the story; but I should not like it to go any farther. Here's Mr. Caradine of Oatley Manor.-You know him, Sir?"

"I do," said my brother.

never broke a bargain in my life; for I know Honesty is best policy, and I should not have been worth what I am, if I had not been punctual. So I told him the case; that I was as much in the dark as himself, and that I feared my nephew had come to an ill end, because he was subject not to know what he was doing. Well, to make short of my story, after waiting till I gave all up, I put that advertisement in the newspaper that you have seen; and them comes a letter from my gentleman himself,

He's a clear two thousand a year estate," down on his marrowbones, begging my par

don. So I set off in a duced hurry, for fear a letter should not bring him; and here I find him over head and ears in love with that young woman; and he's turued Miss Caradine off, before he has seen her, and he's ready to turu me off too. I won't say the young woman 'ticed him; for she's a pretty young woman, and a pretty sort of a young woman, and he might fall in love of his own accord; but this I will say, I never saw him taken with one before. But, however, we'll let that pass. Now, Sir, what I want to know is this. One good turn deserves another. If I give up my plan of bringing him into my business, to oblige him; don't you think he ought to marry Miss Caradine to oblige ine?"

"I think he ought to consent to your mar. rying her if you like it," said my brother.

"Ah, Sir! you're joking, now," said Satterthwaite. "However, stranger things than that have come to pass. But will you answer my plain question?"

"Why, then, I think he ought not,” replied my brother.

"Your reason, if you please?"

"Because he would be to live with her; not you. I think the matrimonial yoke must be heavy enough where both parties love each other, and join to support it; but it must be intolerable where they do not."

a responsibility; if you insist upon his being happy, according to your opinion, let him judge for himself, and you are quit. If he suc ceed, you ought to rejoice. If he fail, you will have the gratification and pride of bearing him say, 'I wish I had taken the advice of my uncle."

"I shall get no good from you, I find. My nephew himself said something yesterday about his being a better judge than me. And I suppose, ma'am, if I was to ask your opinion, you'd side with the young woman; for you women always bang together?”

"Margaret aud I differ a little," replied I, "when she is the subject; for I think much more highly of her than she does of herself. think your nephew might have searched ten counties, and not have found such a treasure?” "I thought so," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "You're all against me. However, one thing I'll be positive in: I'll not consent to the mar riage now."

"And I'll not consent to it till you do," said John Freeman, "if I do then.”

"Well, Old Buck," said Satterthwaite; "give me thy band. I'll not say I won't consent. Perhaps you and I may agree after all; and, instead of telling the young folks they're wrong, leave them to find it out."

John Freeman gave his hand with readiness.

"But might not he have loved Miss Cara-Millichamp, who had withstood all the buffet, dine?" ings of his uncle, unshaken as a rock, now melted into tears. He would have thanked

"But," continued Satterthwaite, "I can't stay and live at Oakwood; and here's this confounded Mr. Caradine, what's to be done with him?"

"Not when he already loved another. Before that, he was willing to oblige you, and pre-him, but could not. pared to try. Your nephew and you have both the same object in view; his happiness: you only differ about the road to it. Both may be mistaken; but he is least likely; because he knows his own feelings and dispositions best. Perhaps, in marriage, something more than cool reason is required; some warm impulse that should urge a man beyond the fitness of things. Without this, some objection might for ever remain unanswered. It may also be necessary to make him overlook, or pardon, the failings of a woman whom he is to see in all humours, and at all hours. This impulse is on Millichamp's side; not yours: and, allowing that both may be mistaken, the mistake ought to lie on his side, not yours. You take upon yourself too heavy

"Abide by your own maxim, Honesty is the best policy," said my brother. "Go and tell him the truth. If you will make me a visit on your return, I shall be happy to see you. In the mean time, Millichamp shall be my guest. It will not cost me much to maintain him; for I will turn him loose into my library, and he will forget half the dinners he ought to eat."

Millichamp and Margaret, who had been foreboding a separation, looked their thanks. "And I meditate a visit to a friend near Lancaster," said I, "in the course of the sum

mer; and I can no more hope to move my brother than one of his own old oaks; for time has rooted him to the spot as firmly as they; so I will take his gig, and Millichamp shall drive me."

Satterthwaite now looked thankful; as he thought there was less danger in his nephew being run away with by me than Margaret. Yesterday he left us for Oatley Manor, and to-day we expect him to return,

LETTER XVI.

TO MRS. BRUDENELL.

Oakwood, June 5, 1807. MR. Satterthwaite returned, as we expected, and stayed a week with us. We all parted excellent friends, and the lovers are allowed to hope. The affair at Mr. Caradine's was soon settled. The father blustered a little, and was obliged to submit. The daughter triumphed openly, and told Mr. Satterthwaite she loved another, and all Millichamp's offers would have been vain. It seems Margaret, who is her intimate friend, knew this; but never mentioned it to either Satterthwaite or Millichamp, lest it should expose Miss Caradine to the displeasure of her father. An instance of self-denial which has raised her in the esteem of the uncle; and added, if possible, to the love and admiration of the nephew.

When Mr. Satterthwaite had been with us a week, he gave notice of his departure. "I have been so comfortable here," said he, "that I don't know how to leave; but dearest friends, you know, must part. To be sure, I've clerks at home, that can go on without me; but every man should mind bis business, or business won't mind him. I did not think of staying so long; and if any body had told me of it, I should have expected to be a fish out of water. But you're all so kind and so agreeable, that somehow or other, the time has slipped away; but I mean to go to-morrow."

"The time you have been here has slipped away as pleasantly with us as with you," said my brother; "and we wish you to prolong it, if you can." "I join in my brother's request," said I. "Thank you, ma'am, thank you both," returned he;" but the time must come; so it

||

may as well be to-morrow as another day. But if you come into Lancashire, ma'am, I shall be proud to see you at my house. I'll entertain you in the best manner I'm able, and I've the best of every thing in season, and I'll shew you my manufactory."

"I thank you," replied I. "I should be very happy to see you; but it is my wish to keep to windward of all manufactories, I cannot digest their thick black smoak.”

"I am so used to it I never perceive it," said Mr. Satterthwaite.

"And I am so little used to it," returned I, "that I find it a great aunoyance when I am obliged to endure it, even in passing. I think the man who invented your steam engines has much to answer for. He has blackened the beautiful green fields and trees, and poisoned the pure atmosphere created by God Almighty. He has changed the ruddy bloom of health in the countenances of his fellow creatures to a sickly pale. And for what? That a horrid smoak may do as much business as a hundred rosy cheerful women; and that a family may earn enough in a week, for the father of it to be druk the three first days. Besides, habit and necessity send the children to work early. Confinement ruins their constitutions, and bad example their mora's. Where human beings are in greatest number they are worst ; and it must be so, for some bad must be among hem, and you know, Mr. Satterthwaite, one sheep will infect a whole flock. The boys grow up to drunkeness and profligacy in their turn; the girls to immodesty. Both coninue in dirt and ignorance."

"Now look at the husbandman. He has few neighbours, and among these few there is small chance of a bad one; and if cue bave ill propensities, he may pass a life without having them called into action. His house exhibits decency and order. His wife labours in the fields or at the washing tub abroad, and at the spinning-wheel at home. The children are brought up in habits of industry and economy. The boys drive the plough, the girls assist the mother in domestic occupations, and both pick stones and weeds for hire. In this school they learn first to become good servants, and then good fathers and mothers."

Mr. Satterthwaite shook his head, and look

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