surface, though in a milder manner. It is impossible to avoid the frequent inhalation of the fumes of the common cigar into the lungs; those of the pipe are still more liable to enter the air passages; and the hookah* is expressly intended for inhalation. The latter instrument displays, in the strongest light, the extreme susceptibility of the lungs to the action of vapors thus introduced, and the rapidity with which the whole system may be acted on through this route. The Hindoos commingle spices with their tobacco, and dilute it with conserves, and then inhale until the lungs are completely filled with smoke. Novices in the use of the hookah are often intoxicated in a few minutes by the practice. From this it follows that the influence of smoking is diffused more generally over the whole system, and that the stomach suffers indirectly. Smoking, by its action on the lungs, occasions obstinate thirst, and general debility. The former result leads to the employment of immoderate draughts of fluid, and the latter incites us to the use of stimulating food and drink: thus, dyspepsia and intemperance are the ordinary consequences of habitual smoking. Chewing, on the con trary, produces a more intense effect upon a smaller surface. Its action on the kindred senses of taste and smell is very powerful, and the stomach immediately sympathizes with the mouth. The flow of saliva is also rendered unhealthy, and increased in quantity. If ejected from the mouth, the digestion suffers from the absence of the fluid in dissolving the food-an evil which cannot be prevented by substituting water, or stimulating liquors: if it be swallowed, it enters the stomach combined with a virulent poison, which, however its effects may be diminished by habit, can never be rendered innoxious. To prove how terribly deleterious is this article so commonly employed by our fellow citizens, it is only necessary to mention the fact that death by vomiting has been known to follow the application of two leaves of moistened tobacco to the wrists of a delicate patient! We sometimes employ injections of tobacco to produce general relaxation in certain surgical accidents, but the remedy is so dangerous that it is recommended with extreme caution, and its prescription by any other than experienced men should be discountenanced by every one who has a proper respect for human life; yet it is not unusually administered by quacks and ignorant nurses, even to children!

Alcohol in its pure state is a rapid poison, which acts powerfully on the tissues with which it comes in contact. Taken into the stomach, it probably alters the texture of the mucous coat, and whether it can then be absorbed into the circulation has not been ascertained. All that is known is that it will occasion death. Alcohol diluted is a slow poison, and like most other articles of the same class, may occasionally prove useful in maintaining health or curing disease; but an habitual resort to any of the liquors containing this article, whether the quantity taken be large or small, invariably injures the health, though from the slowness of the approach of its ill consequences, they frequently escape notice, and when perceived, are often attributed to other causes. Diluted alcohol does not change the character of the surfaces on which it is applied, as the pure spirit does; and it is therefore freely absorbed, and enters the circulation, extending its influence to every blood vessel in the body. Of course, as this fluid contains no nourishment, and is altogether foreign to the blood, it is speedily thrown off from the system with some of the secretions; but it is a curious circumstance that very slight differences in the purity of alcoholic liquors occasion an unaccountable diversity in their effects. Thus, alcohol diluted with pure water, brandy, gin, whisky, &c., though alike in all respects except in the presence or absence of a little vegetable matter-which is sometimes so small in amount as to be scarcely appreciable by weight-produce impressions on the system of widely dissimilar character. For instance :the alcohol, simply diluted, generally acts as a purgative, and is probably absorbed with difficulty, as its effects on the brain are confined pretty much to a pleasurable sensation, evidently resulting from a simply nervous or sympathetic impression, like the first enlivening effect of Champagne. This peculiarity has induced us to employ half an ounce of the pure alcohol diluted with a gill of water, as a mild laxative in certain cases of extreme debility, and although we would be far from warranting its use, by persons not of the profession, yet it might be proper to call the attention of medical men to the subject, as the spirit in this simple state has never been employed in general practice. Gin, on the contrary, which can scarcely be distinguished from simple diluted alcohol, except by the presence of a mere trace of a volatile vegetable oil, is taken into the circulation with more rapidity than any other liquor, and is cast out with equal speed: but it does not act as a purgative, except in a few rare instances, its chief operation being on the kidneys, which it stimulates to an increased flow of urine. The intoxication resulting from gin, is therefore prompt, but evanescent.

The diuretic properties of gin give this liquor a preference over all other spirituous liquors in certain cases of dropsical effusion.

Whiskey, which can scarcely be distinguished from gin by its chemical properties, differs from it in producing a more permanent effect, and in provoking more free perspiration. It also acts strongly on the kidneys. When taken hot and mixed with molasses and some other articles, as is often done by direction of elderly ladies who are fond of domestic medical practice, its diaphoretic powers may sometimes prove highly serviceable at particular moments in the progress of catarrh, and even in some cases of intermittent fever, before the coming on of the chill; but it is a dangerous remedy, and under popular guidance, probably destroys more than it relieves!

Brandy, as it is commonly employed, is colored with a considerable amount of vegetable matter, and it is probably owing to this circumstance that it acts so differently, in some respects, from the liquors already enumerated. It has a tendency in most persons, and under most circumstances, rather to check than to promote perspiration, and sometimes even restrains the secretion of urine! As it readily enters the circulation, and is thrown off from it with difficulty, its effects are much more permanent than those of other liquors, particularly on the nervous system; and for this reason it is one of the most unwholesome products of the still for the inhabitants of cold or temperate climates, and in dry situations: but, like most other noxious agents, it has its useful applications:—it is the best of the diffusible stimulants, where such stimulants are positively demanded among the old residents in swampy districts within the tropics. Fortunately, the regular alternation of the seasons in other regions prevents that constant exhaustion from perspiration and the undue rapidity of all the vital actions which characterize life in equatorial countries; and our remarks upon the use of brandy cannot, therefore, be quoted in defence of its abuse. If brandy, or any other alcoholic liquor be freely employed by the unacclimated, in climates like that of Bengal, Batavia, &c., the danger of almost immediate

*The East Indian pipe.

death is rendered extremely great, so much so that it has been said that more than one-half of all the foreigners settling in Calcutta and its vicinity die before the expiration of the first year, and chiefly in consequence of indiscretion in employing stimulant drinks, which the custom of the country continually places before them!

UNCLE HORACE. BY MRS. S. C. HALL. In two volumes. Carey and Hart.

Among the numerous and talented bevy of female writers that graces the present age, we rank Mrs. Hall as one of our especial favorites. There is a life-like reality in her plots, which attracts the attention and insures the interest of her readers; her characters are human beings, and demand our sympathies in their behalf; we are not asked to drop a tear upon the bier of some supernatural heroine, whose feats prove her qualifications for a cell in a lunatic asylum; nor are we required to pity the sufferings of some half-brigand half-minstrel vagabond, who ought to be consigned to the care of the police. Mrs. Hall deals in natural specimens, and we have never risen from a perusal of any portion of her writings, and we have read them all, and frequently, without feeling" a wiser and a better man." Every emanation from her prolific pen has some broad principle to elucidate, and well and clearly are the moral truths expounded in the pages of the work before us. Uncle Horace is a strange and apparently inexplicable item in the rank and file of human numeration; he is a man of anomalies-harsh, churlish, and repulsively cold in the common habitudes of life; but the valuable metal may be found in the darkest and most secret mine, and Uncle Horace stands forth the noblest work of God." We have carefully read every iine of the two volumes before us with considerable satisfaction, and guarantee that our friends will find them worthy of their immediate attention. The following extract is a capital bit of " Life."

"Poor La Volante-you remember him, poor fellow! What a delicate, sensitive creature he was; the pink, the perfection of good society. He played the guitar better than you, Count, and patronized every new perfume, and new coat in Paris-that deserved patronage-for three seasons. The tailors knew his valueone in particular, when he heard of La Volante's difficulties, offered him five hundred francs a week, if he would only invent, appear, and cut out collars and lappels in his establishment. La Volante felt the insult bitterly, and ordered his valet to get the porter to kick the fellow out. Of course he could not do it himself, nor suffer his valet to kick a tailor; but it preyed upon him The idea of his distresses getting about that way he had no hope either, his memory was gone, and he lost at play repeatedly, without remembering what he lost."

"Or what he won?" inquired the Count.

"His luck had completely turned," replied the other; "and his friends he fancied looked cool on him: but that was a mistake, for he gave the most brilliant suppers to the last. He resolved at once, then, to cut short his misfortunes, by cutting his throat; his taste was so exquisite-he put on his black velvet dressing-gown, and covered his dressing-table with black, that no spots might appear, to offend the eyes of those who entered. When all was arranged, he placed a black marble basin beneath his chin, and the razor even which he used had an ebony handle. You see how careful he was of the delicacy of his friends-it was beautifully ma naged: now it would have been impossible for him to have made so proper an arrangement, had he used pistols: pistols are butchering affairs, believe me."

The following lines depict our feelings most accurately, upon a simple, but important point. We share in Mrs. Hall's objection to the fashionable terms of mama, its diminutive ma, or the French maman; and earnestly entreat every young mother to rear her offspring in the practice of the hallowed word, the remembrance of which

"Brings all the mother in our eyes."

Mary, blessing Harry for his consideration, threw herself on her knees, by her mother's side. She folded her arms round her neck, and as she drew her head towards her, kissed off the tears which were pouring from her eyes; as she looked up to her face, she shuddered at the deep calm expression of settled sorrow which covered her features as with a pall.

"Mother, dearest mother!" she exclaimed.

“Oh, tell me―tell me what it is that has so changed you! tell me-oh, do tell me!-it is Mary-your own Mary that asks you. Mother! am I not worthy to be your friend?"

Is there in the whole world one who comprehends not the magic of that word "mother!" Its sound-its associations its melody-its powerful, natural music! How it steals into the heart!-in it are centred all the affections of our youth; and when are they so well worth having as before the world has taught them its selfishness-its coldness-the practised evil of its false wisdom? It is a beautiful word-mother! It seems as though the sound was born of Nature. No child under the influence of excitement exclaims "Mamma!" -it has an artificial echo; but "mother"—oh, blessed word! how does it recall the age of helplessness, when a mother watched the days of childhood-when a mother taught the days of youth-when a mother counselled the days of matured existence- when a mother blends the character of a friend and a companion with the devoted tenderness of—of what-a mother! the word has no companion.

The annexed tribute to Mrs. Hemans is affecting, and honorably just—

Some lines of Southey's were prefixed to one of the "Songs of a Guardian Spirit,” that breathe of the holy perfume in which all things sHE wrote were steeped; Mary pondered o'er the page, and blessed the poet

Let us, too, pause to bless her memory, though she is gone from among us, to be no more seen, no more heard!-Gone, in the prime of womanhood, to the grave-the cold, damp, narrow grave!-gone for ever from a world that hardly valued her as she deserved! Her harp hangs upon the willows!-her voice is silent!-her pen is dry! No longer will she touch the occurrences of life with a "golden finger," and transmute them into poetry. Her mind was one wast imagination; her heart, the temple of tenderness. She was of all others the poet of the affections; not of the gross and sensual feelings which are so called, but of the affections that are breathed by the Creator into our souls! I cannot think of her life, her death, without heavy and settled grief. Many a page of her Lyrics was marked by Mary's tears; and well it was that her naturally pure taste directed her to such a holy fountain of enjoyment.

ETIQUETTE FOR LADIES; WITH HINTS ON THE PRESERVATION, IMPROVEMENT, AND DISPLAY OF FEMALE BEAUTY. One volume, pp. 224. Carey, Lea. and Blanchard.

We opened this little volume with fear and trembling, for we imagined that we were about to peruse the secrets of the grand arcana of feminine magic; that we were on the point of being made intimate with the guiding rules of the sweet enslavers-of ascertaining the moral strength of the rivets with which the lovely sex enchain mankind. But we were disappointed, and we rejoice thereat; a revelation of the enemy's strength would dismay our bachelor friends, and establish the too-potent domain of the petticoat upon a firmer basis.

We could write a long chapter upon this little book; and it is well for the author and his clients that we have not a sufficiency of room for the desired amplification of our remarks. We will not speak of his presumption in treating a subject of such importance as the display of female beauty in the limits of a paltry addendum or appendix to a tiny volume upon etiquette, which, by the way, has no connexion with female beauty, and is to be looked upon as a social curse-a withering miasm, congenial to the foul-air, swamp-bred jack o' lanterns of genteel society, but baneful to the healthy well-being of our state; nor will we touch upon the positive and not-to-be controverted impropriety of a male author's dissertation on corsets and recipes for washes, pomades, unctions, salves, and powders. By the assumption of the regal plural, we surmise the author to be of the masculine gender, and fancy, moreover, that he has borrowed largely from some English work bearing upon the same points; in his description of the various dances, he has enumerated a variety of saltatory exercises in which our American darlings never indulge. The English Contre Danse, the Scotch Reel, the Fandango, and the Bolere, or, as our author spells it, the Bullero, which he describes as a Spanish importation, and ventures to proscribe its use. Will any of our readers say that they ever beheld an American lady indulging in an exhibition described in the following extract ?—

The fandango, though graceful in its own country-because danced, from custom, with as reserved a mind as our maidens would make a curtsey-is, nevertheless, when attempted here, too great a display of the person for any modest American woman to venture. It is a solo! Imagine what must be the assurance of the young woman, who, unaccustomed by the habits of her country to such singular exhibitions of herself, could get up in a room full of company, and, with an unblushing face, go through all the evolutions, postures, and vaultings of the Spanish fandango? Certainly, there are few discreet men in our country who would say, “such a woman I should like for my wife!"

At the end of this unnecessary piece of advice, the author wisely observes "that when proposing to dance, long trains are inconvenient, and very short petticoats are inelegant." He observes also, in the introduction, that " a lady cannot shake off an improper acquaintance with the same facility as a gentleman can do." If he will announce himself as the author of this work on Ladies' Etiquette, he will receive many a cutting proof to the contrary. The annexed passage is sublimely enlightening

In descending a staircase, we should give the side next the wall to the lady whom we accompany; we commonly present to her the right arm, provided, however, that necessity does not oblige us, in order to avoid placing her next the balustrade, to offer the left.

We are told that it is not correct for a lady to inquire about a gentleman's health, unless he is very ill or very aged. Then, when a fair creature puts the common-place interrogation, by way of commencing a chat as usual, we are to imagine that we are looking very sick or particularly venerable. "The custom of ladies curtseying in the street is now perfectly obselete, except among a few antiquities, who use hoops." Ah, ha! hoops in the nineteenth century, and in the United States, too, where the formalities of court dresses, gala suits, and drawing-room days are unknown, to say nothing about wearing hoops in the streets-verily, we read and learn. "When a lady sports a hoop, she is entitled to a curtsey." When we meet a lady in a hoop in Chestnut street, we promise to make her a curtsey down to the ground.

"In public balls, a gentleman offers his partner refreshments, which she very seldom accepts—but in private parties, every one helps themselves." Gentle reader! at the next private party whereto you are invited, if

your pretty partner, after a set of five quadrilles, a long waltz, or a fatiguing gallope, should impertinently request a glass of lemonade, tell her to fetch it herself. If she stares, withdraw from your pocket the work on Etiquette for Ladies, turn to page 73, and convict her of ignorance of the bienseance of good society.

If you give a ball, dance in it rarely." This word has two meanings, and from its location, the simple parvenue, for whom this work is expressly written, cannot tell whether she is to dance unfrequently, or with rare and graceful motion, charm the admiring crowd." Bonnets, with a snout as long as an elephant's proboscis, or a margin as broad as a bushel measure," are articles of fashion elegantly described--and the recommendation of white or French brandy, mixed with rose water, as liquor to be used by young ladies in their daily ablutions, is an insult to the sex, fraught with direful import to the clearness of their complexions.

The great etiquette dispenser affirms that a supper is not the genteel thing at a soirée. Does he know the meaning of the word? was he ever in France? did he ever read the Pickwick Papers, wherein a soirée is described by a footman “to consist of a boiled leg of mutton." An invitation to a soirée, means that you are expected to give up the evening to your host, and our Gallic friends do not send you home without the petit souper, or, at least, some means of affording you a chance of doing the collationer with effect.

Having freely given our opinions, currente calamo, upon the objectionable points of the little work before us, it is but honest that we should say that it has many points of intrinsic value, which, in fact, make us grieve at the several ridiculous statements we have adduced. The chapter on "Dignity and Familiarity of Deportment" is an excellent one, and deserves the attention of the fair. We also most cordially recommend the article on "Marriage ;" and, although we are fated to control the destinies of a Gentleman's Magazine, yet we know that thousands of bright and beauteous eyes glance over our pages, and we earnestly but respectfully entreat the charmers to con the few rules we have herewith extracted-and we seriously advise all husbands, brothers, lovers, and cousins, to watch a golden opportunity with their respective wives, sisters, sweethearts, and uncles' daughters, and, catching the darlings in an amiable and attentive mood, quietly to read them the quoted passages. Do not insult them by indulging in any dictatorial remarks-let the glorious truths sink deep into their minds, unmixed with baser matter, and end your lesson with a honied kiss.

In the presence of your husband, you ought never to do those things which carry with them a disagreeable idea, nor perform those duties of the toilet, which, before any one but yourself, offend decency and cleanliness. One ought never to permit disorder in her husband's wardrobe, under the excuse that he is just up, or at his own house.

To dress with neatness and elegant simplicity, is important, even at home.

The conversation at home cannot always be elegant, and sustained in the same manner that it is in society; it would indeed be superlatively ridiculous, that it should not have interruption, or relaxation; but it should be free from all impoliteness and indelicacy.

If at any time the society of your husband causes you ennui, you ought neither to say so, nor give any suspicion of the cause, by abruptly changing the conversation.

In all discussions you should watch yourself attentively, lest domestic familiarity raise itself by degrees to the pitch of a quarrel.

To entertain with a politeness particularly affectionate, the friends of the person with whom you are connected by marriage; to respect inviolably the letters which he writes or receives; to avoid prying into the secrets which he conceals from you; never to act contrary to his inclinations, unless they are injurious to himself, and even in this case not to oppose him, but to endeavor to check them with address and kindness; to beware of confiding to strangers, or to domestics, the little vexations which he causes you; to dread like poison marks of contempt, coldness, suspicion, or reproaches; to apologize promptly, and in an affectionate manner, if you have allowed yourself to run into any ill-humor; to receive his counsels with attention, and to execute them as quickly as possible; these are the obligations of propriety and love, by which married persons of gentleness bind themselves.

There is a still more rigorous duty for new-married persons; they must abstain in public from every mark of affection too conspicuous, and every exclusive attention.

Married persons who, in society, place themselves continually near each other, and who converse and dance together, do not escape the ridicule to which their feelings blind them.

In society we ought, above every thing, to avoid being personal; for a husband or a wife is another self; and we must forget that self.

THE STATE PRISONER; A Tale of the FRENCH REGENCY.
Carey, Lea, and Blanchard.

Two Volumes. BY MARIA LOUISA BOYLE.

A good story, well written, with a sufficient quantity of mystery to excite the attention of the reader; a a dash of history gives a zest to the plot, and the characteristics of the dramatis persone are vividly defined. The death of De Brissac is exceedingly well written, and the Baronne Mirabel may rank with the felicitous creations of Shakspeare or Scott. We trust that Miss or Mrs. Boyle, for we are unacquainted with the lady's state, will experience a reception from the reading public that will induce her again to plume her pen in the pleasant path she has now so gracefully entered.

ON one of our leisure afternoons, near the close of the first term of the Junior year, I had ensconced my. self in my easy chair, before a good, substantial fire in my room, No.-, University Hall, with Elia in hand, firmly expecting to enjoy a few hours of pleasant relaxation from the severe studies of the collegiate course. I had, accordingly, raised my pedals upon the chimney piece-the otium without the dig nitate-a habit peculiar to students, and barely opened the delightful volume, when I heard a loud rap at my door. That it was not the signal of a fellow student I well knew, for it was a universal custom with them, after knocking, to bolt sans ceremonie into your presence. One rap, for mere decency's sake, and the door would fly open quicker, if possible, than if the edict of an Ali Baba had gone forth. Students are unceremonious dogs, and what" can't be cured must be endured." I bade the applicant " còme in," when an elderly, well-dressed farmer, apparently near sixty years of age, addressed me thus:

"Mr. Morton, I 'spose."

"That is my name, sir," I replied. "Take a seat, sir. Cold weather, this."

"Oh, I've agreed to keep you, though 'tis something of a walk to school, but I reckon it won't hurt you. Such sedenterary men need exercise. There was Jacob Bunker, that lives right off agin the schoolhouse, that wanted to board the master." He agreed to keep him for four-and-six-pence a week, all found; but some of us rather considered he didn't live none of the best, and they struck up a bargain with me. I'll try to do considerable well by you."

"No doubt of it, sir. I presume you live well at your house. When shall I go over to S―― ?" "Oh, I'll come after you next Saturday, if you say so, and take you over in my sleigh."

"Thank you, sir. I'll endeavor to be ready at that time."

Upon this he arose to depart. After buttoning up his coat, and tying his red "comforter" about his neck,

"Raly cold," said he, "but your room's 'mazing he bade me a “good day," and retired. comfortable."

"I am getting to be of some consequence,” thought "Yes, sir, we like to make ourselves as comforta- I. "A country pedagogue! Why the name is exble as may be. Easy fellows here." citing. How confounded comfortable I shall feel

"They tell'd me you want to keep school awhile with the title of the master,' clothed with a little this winter."

"I do, sir. My home is so far distant that I concluded not to return during the next vacation."

“Well, then, I rather guess you and I can strike up a bargain. I'm the school agent in district No. sixteen, over in S, 'long side of the bay-say three miles from here."

' brief authority,' and teaching the 'young idea how to shoot! Then, too, the deference that must necessarily be paid to me, the bows,' etc. Capital! Glory enough to have served' in such a capacity."

These, and similar exhilirating ideas, passed in rapid succession through my mind, after the good man's departure. Nothing was said in relation to my ability "Three miles. I should like that, as I could occa- to discharge the important functions of the station. sionally come to town without infringing upon school-On reflection, I recollected that it was necessary to hours. What compensation are you authorized to pass through the ordeal of an examination by the Sumake?"

"Fourteen dollars a month and found.”

perintending School Committee. That process, however, had no terrors for me, as, in former days, when

Very fair compensation, but can't you give a little I looked forward with a shudder almost, to the “premore?" paratory examination.","Thump," and in comes Bob

R