not rich, are to be chosen; for example, trout or pike. Milk ought only to Milk ought only to be allowed those with whom it perfectly agrees, without in the least oppressing the stomach. It must not, however, be considered merely in the light of a drink, but as an article of food.

It has been long since fully demonstrated by experience, that diet of an acid nature, or which tends to fermenta tion, by no means suits patients under the above treatment: hence crude fruits, salads, and, in general, all acidulous articles, are to be carefully shunned.

less of a spirituous nature, must be allowed with extreme caution in chronic disorders; and heating spirits ought to be absolutely forbidden. A very common prejudice in favour of wine is, that it assists digestion. Granting that it excites nervous action, and that in general it is to be looked upon as a restorative of the vital powers, it does not thence follow that it is always calculated to aid digestion; on the contrary, it not unfre quently proves injurious, by promoting acidity where there is a deficiency or vi‐ tiation of the digestive fluids. We have seen hypochondriac and stomach.com

We would wish to observe still further, that it is much better not to eat suppers,plaints almost entirely removed merely or at least very light ones, and taken at an early time, so that the stomach may be perfectly empty in the morning. It is proper also to retire early to rest, in order to be able to rise betimes, and commence the use of the remedy early in the morning*. Any liquor, which may be more orderanges digestion, it ought to be omit,

The author does not mention here the

time of dining, as this generally takes place in Germany between the hours of twelve and two, and is a universally prevailing custum; hence there is no room for animadversion. But it is a very different thing to sit down to dinner at five or six o'clock, or even

later, in the evening, which our fashionables are in the habit of doing; and in general all, whether in town or country, who lay any claim to gentility, dine late. This must not be lost sight of by the English physician, since nothing can be more inconsistent with the author's views, than the system of loading the stomach late in the evening: for it is

well known, that late dinners, after fasting from breakfast, generally distend the stomach with a more than usual quantity of food. bre

by abstinence from wine, so that even the patients themselves would never drink it again. At all events, wine is not a necessary addition to the meals of all patients, and least of all for such as are not accustomed to take it; and whenever an individual finds it heating, or that it

ted. It may be allowed those who have been in the habit of drinking it, provided there are no particular circumstances of contra-indication, but only in a small quantity, so as to prevent its heating effects, since mineral waters themselves produce increased activity of the sanguineous system. Heating wines are the least admissible; a small glass of some sweet or sack wine may be permitted, as Malaga or Madeira: in other respects, a mild table wine is the most proper, provided it be not acidulous. Small beer, that is well impregnated with hops, and not new, may also be taken as a beverage; but by no means strong, or what are termed double beers.

a

This simple but affecting narrative is extracted from the Chimney-Sweeper's Friend and Climbing-Boy's Album, a volume just ushered before the public by MONTGOMERY the poet, with the benevolent intention of interesting the feelings of all classes in behalf of infant Chimney-Sweepers. That the book will have this cannot be doubted; and with a view to contribute our mite, by making known its object and recommending it to the notice of the philanthropist, we have extracted

the following piece, not as possessing higher interest than the rest of its contents, but because it is one of the shortest articles in the collection.

We shall only farther premise, that the truth of this narrative is attested by Mr. C. E. Welbourn of Folkingham, who was himself a witness in part of the circumstances which it details.-EDITOR.

boy about seven years of age, in the city of Westminster. Her husband, who is a private in the 2d regiment of Foot-Guards, was compelled to leave her, pregnant, in the beginning of the above-mentioned year, to aecompany the regiment to fight the battles of his country under the gall

ON the evening of August 25, 1812, a poor yet interesting young woman, with an infant about six weeks old in her arms, came with a pass-billet to remain all night at the Greyhound Inn, at Folkingham, in Lincolnshire. Apparently sinking with hunger and fatigue, she unobtrusively seated herself by the kitch-lant and victorious Wellington. Im en-fire, to give that sustenance to her baby of which she appeared to be inequal want herself. Silently shrinking from observation, she neither solicited nor obtained the notice of any one. The sons of intemperate mirth neither ceased their riotous tumult, nor relaxed their hilarity to sooth her sorrows. The bustling servants brushed past without regarding her, and the rustic politician continued to spell over again the thrice conned paper, without casting his eyes upon her.

pelled by poverty and maternal af fection, poor Mary (though in a situation, in which the daughters of affluence often find every accommodation and consolation which riches and friends can afford unequal to banish despondency,) was under the necessity of leaving her darling boy, now her only remaining comfort, to the care of strangers, whilst she went out to wash for his maintenance and her own.

She, however, repined not; her toil was lessened, and her cares were enlivened by the reflection, that she could, after the labours of the day, return to her beloved boy, gaze on the reflected features of his father, give him smile for smile, press him to her maternal bosom, join him in his sports, enlighten his understand

There is, however, an eye that never slumbers, there is an ear that is ever open to the supplication of the afflicted, and there is a hand which is ever ready to be stretched out to succour and to support them in their necessities. That eye now beheld her unob-ing, and teach him to know, to truded sorrows, that ear was listening to her silent prayers, and that hand was supporting her apparently sinking frame, and preparing for her the cup of consolation. Hers was indeed a tale of many sorrows! This, the following slight sketch of her story previous to her arrival at Folkingham, will serve to evince. Her name was Mary Davis; she resided with her husband and one child, a"

fear, and to love his God. With these delightful enjoyments, even the poor, labouring, widowed Mary could not be termed unhappy; but these were the only sweet ingredients in her cup of bitter sorrows. Let those, then, who have feeling hearts, and know the force of parental affection, when confined to one object, judge, if they can, what must be the agonies of poor Mary, when, on re

turning from her daily task, only to a place with which she was totaleight days after the departure of her ly unacquainted. O Nature! how husband, she learned that the wo-powerful are the feelings which thou man (if she deserves that name) in hast implanted in the maternal bowhose care she had left her darling som! how do they set at defiance boy, had absconded with him-no- all opposing difficulties and dangers! body knew whither. Now then she how do they grasp at, or create, ob.. might indeed be termed unhappy, jects to which hope may cling, or on for hope itself could scarcely find which it may rest to spurn away deadmittance to her bosom, so entirely spair! Never, perhaps, were those was it occupied by affliction and de- feelings more strongly evinced than spondency. View her seated after in this instance; never, perhaps, were the toils of the day in her cheerless their exhilarating and beneficial inapartment, exhausted with exertions fluence more powerfully experienced. beyond her present strength, solitary and friendless, a childless mother and a widowed wife; awaiting in silence and solitude, in grief and despondency, her painful trial; her gloomy imagination figuring and dwelling upon a dying husband and a famished child.

Soon after that event she was informed, that it was discovered that the wretch who had stolen her child was a native of Leeds. This truly, to those who bask in sunshine, would appear a feeble ray; yet this on Mary's midnight gloom shed a glimmering, cheering light. This, faint as it was, aroused and animated her desponding soul; it seemed to her as sent in mercy to direct her to her son, and she lost no time in taking the path to which it pointed. Five weeks after the birth of her child did she set out in her weak state, without money, on foot, to carry her infant nearly four hundred miles (thither and back again,) on a road and

An object, apparently, more truly wretched than poor Mary, as she pursued her journey, could, one would think, scarcely be imagined: weak, languid, poor, and friendless; plodding, with an infant in her arms, through the alternate vicissitudes of heat and wet, of dust and dirt; now sinking beneath the sun's oppressive rays, now dripping with the driving storm; without a husband to support her; a beggar and an unwelcome obtruder wherever she came.

And yet, with all these aggravating circumstances, poor Mary was, in reality, perhaps less miserable than many, even of the sons and daughters of affluence. So little does happiness depend upon external circumstances; so comparatively impartially has God distributed good and evil amongst his creatures, even in this life, that the most miserable are not without their consolations, nor the most prosperous without their sorrows. Mary, it is true, seemed to have only one hope, one animating expectation, but it was one which appealed to and warmed the heart; it was one in which the whole faculties of her soul and body were embarked; it was one which nature, conscience, and God approved, It

- HISTORICAL, LITERARY, AND PERSONAL. SINGULAR ANACHRONISM. FOUCHE, Duke of Otranto, when at the zenith of his power, was one day walking with an old friend along the Quai de Tuileries, and pointed as they passed to a building: "Here," said he, "I once had a very narrow escape with my life. The Convention was sitting, and Robespierre presided. I ventured to differ from him. With that look which you must recollect, and with a voice that still rings in my ears, he cried, or rather thundered forth," Duke of Otranto

Fouché paused in evident confusion; and his friend acknowledged, that he could not forbear laughing inwardly at this curious anachronism.

TO TRAGICAL MISTAKE. The following truly tragical event is said to have recently happened in auvillage near Berlin. A farmer's wife came to that city to receive one hundred dollars, and set out immediately on her return to her place of abode. As some delay had occurred in the payment of the money, it was late in the evening when she reached the village of S, which was four or five miles from her home. Thinking it not quite safe to pursue

I

her journey in the dark, she called upon a shoemaker, an acquaintance of hers, informed him of her situation, and begged him to give her a night's lodging. He cheerfully complied with her request, and a bed was allotted to her in a closet by the chamber, in which the wife of the shoemaker slept. He himself lay in another room. They went to bed; but the traveller could not sleep the place was strange and close, and she felt a sort of uneasiness, which she could not suppress. She rose therefore in the night, went into the chamber of the mistress of the house, awoke her, and told her that she found it impossible to sleep in the adjoining closet. Then lie down by me," said the good-natured hostess; and the stranger did not need a second invitation. Here her unpleasant feelings were dispelled, and she soon fell fast asleep." The bed was small, and the owner found herself crowded and overheated. Thinking to make it more comfortable for both, and to get some rest herself, she softly left her own bed, and went to that which her guest had quitted. The shoemaker had meanwhile formed the atrocious plan