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unreasonable, and hence it had been diffused through all ancient religious institutions, even where the same motives to frequent ablutions did not exist.

However whimsical their ablutions may appear to the unreflecting, it strongly marks the wisdom of the institutors. And even in cold and temperate climates, few things would tend more to prevent disease than a frequent practice of them. Were every person, for example, after visiting the sick, handling a dead body, or touching any thing that might convey infection, to wash before he went into company or sat down to meat, he would run less hazard of catching the infection himself, or of communicating it to others. Whence does it arise that the Asiatics and Africans have such fine teeth, and that in our cities, the fair sex especially, rarely possess fine teeth, or for any length of time? It is owing to the ablution of the mouth after meals by the former, and to the neglect of it by the latter.

Frequent washing not only removes the filth and sordes which adhere to the skin, but likewise promotes the perspiration, braces the body, and enlivens the spirits. The custom of washing the feet, though less necessary in cold climates, is nevertheless a very agrecable piece of cleanliness, and contributes greatly to the preservation of health. This piece of cleanliness would often prevent colds and fevers. Were people careful to bathe their feet and legs, in lukewarm water, at night, after being exposed to cold or wet through the day, they would seldom experience the bad effects which proceed from these causes. The Armenians, who are the quakers of the east, are the most healthy people in Asia, and attribute this happiness to the constant use of the hot baths.

SOLOMON'S TEMPLE.

The inward part of the temple, the ceiling, floor, and walls, were covered round about with thick and massy gold; the outward part was built of the finest and whitest marble. When the travellers to Jerusalem beheld the temple at a distance, it seemed to be a great, clear, and white mountain of snow: but the sun shining with its beams upon the top of the temple, which was overlaid with fine polished golden plates, it appeared as if a vast number of burning lamps, and flames of fire, broke out of this mountain of

snow.

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One evening, when summer had vermell'd the sky,
And lull'd every billow to rest,

I stray'd with AMANDA the sea-margin nigh,
While Zephyr just ruffled it's breast.

I stoop'd, and I wrote her dear name on the sand,
When smiling, "Ah, STREPHON!" said she,
"An emblem, perhaps, though unconscious thy hand,
This bears of thy passion for me.

"As the sea shall efface, by the next rolling tide,
The letters impress'd on the shore,

So may the same fate your AMANDA betide,
And she be remember'd no more.

"The cold winds of poverty bleakly may blow,
Or jealousy damp all thy joy,

A thousand harsh tempests that happen below,
May rise every bliss to destroy.

And as to the charms AMANDA may boast,

Like the name thou hast wrote on the shore,
In the rough tides of TIME will they shortly be lost,
And their traces remember'd no more!"

"Not so, my AMANDA! thy beauty shall live
In the heart which thy virtue hath won;
And VIRTUE the ruins of TIME shall survive,
And live when extinguish'd the sun!"

STREPHON.

THE HARVEST ROSE.

[WRITTEN BY T. M'CREARY.]

When autumn wing'd the blast with power
To sweep the bending forest bare,
Deep in the vale I found a flower,
A little rose that linger'd there.
Though half its blushing sweets had fled,
Its leaves were edg'd with winter snows,
Yet still the fragrant odors shed,

Declar'd love's emblem was a rose!

With curious, though with eager haste,
I seiz'd the little fading prize,
Then in my bosom fondly press'd,
The faintly blushing floweret lies;
I flew impatient to my fair,

My heart with fond affection glows;
"A flower, my love, to deck your hair,
A little modest harvest rose.

"When first its vivid blooming hue

The amorous zephyrs kiss'd with pride,
O then, my life, it look'd like you,

When first I clasp'd my blushing bride.
Its fragrance still, though flown the dye,
Is thy pure soul, where friendship glows;

It proves, though love's warm ardor die,

That friendship lives-sweet harvest rose!"

FOR THE HALCYON LUMINARY.

Translation of the Latin epigram, AD SOмNUM, in the first number of the Luminary-by Dr. Wolcott, or Peter Pindar.

TO SLEEP.

Come, gentle SLEEP! attend thy votary's prayer,
And, though death's image to my couch repair-
How sweet, thus lifeless, yet with life to lie!
Thus, without dying, O how sweet to die!

FOR THE HALCYON LUMINARY.

THE RUSTIC.

While birth and rank attractions boast,

While splendor lures the wandering eye: Victims, alas! to comfort lost,

In vain for happiness we try.

The rustic only true contentment knows,
As each succeeding night he sinks to calm repose.

In gaudy robes, in tinsel show,
In dissipation's numerous train ;
That pleasure they one moment know,
A moment after turns to pain.
True happiness the rustic only knows,

As each succeeding night he sinks to calm repose:

He lives content, he envies not
The many luxuries of the great:
And praises echo through his cot,

To the kind author of his fate.
With gratitude his honest bosom glows,

As each succeeding night he sinks to calm repose.

FOR THE HALCYON LUMINARY.

MUSIC-AN ODE.

Long had the race of mortals here below,
Trod the rough path of wretchedness and wo,
While every blessing of celestial birth,
Provoked by crimes, indignant left the earth;
One solace then to human life was given,
Indulgent MUSIC left her native heaven;
Borne on swift pinions from the world above,
To earth she comes, the messenger of love.

Here as she touch'd, and clapp'd her downy wings,
Joy tuned her voice, and struck her golden srings;
Her magic power first banish'd wo and strife,
And sung a requiem to the ills of life.

Hail! heavenly maid, what wondrous deeds of old,
By thee achieved, by ancient poets told ; ·

86

When Thracian Orpheus caught celestial fire,
Drew rocks and trees obsequious to his lyre,
And from pale Pluto's ghastly realms set free,
His beauteous, long-lost, loved Eurydice.
The dryades' harp, the watery Triton's shell,
O'er earth and ocean wide thy triumphs swell.
Sooth'd by thy power ferocious men grew mild,
Despair was pleased, and moping Madness smiled.
Thy breath inspires alike in every age,

The high, the low, the savage, and the sage.
Dealt with no partial hand, but free as air
All ranks, all classes, in thy favors share.
Monarchs for thee, from their high thrones retire,
The warrior quits the field to snatch the lyre,
Jocund the shepherd, all the live-long day,
Beguiles the hours with thy enchanting lay.
From yonder hill, across the spacious plains,
Hark! the shrill voices of the laboring swains ;
While the blithe ploughman of the neigboring vale,
Whistles in concert with the threshing flail.
Swift o'er the mead, the milkmaid trips along,
And cheers the hamlet with her matin song;
Then all the day with undiminish'd zcal,
Sings and beats time beside the spinning-wheel.
The sailor-boy, far on the watery deeps,
Lash'd to the helm his midnight vigil keeps,
When nought appears above, below, abroad,
But heaven's wide concave and the sable flood;
Oft as he thinks of home and heaves a sigh,
Music befriends him with her lullaby.
Pierced with the thought of her he left behind,
He sings and soothes the anguish of his mind.
Like one of old, as ancient story runs,
I, when a boy, sung down whole summer suns;
Rapt with the theme, I sung the hours away,
"From morn till dewy eve, a summer's day."
Lured by the notes of earliest birds, I'd rove,
And oft at sultry noon frequent the grove;
Still oftener, when each zephyr's hush'd to rest,
And Sol's last radiance gilds the enamell'd west,
Pour'd the full accents cross the embowered plain,
While hills responsive echo'd back the strain.

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