far as to give rest to the soul, and a foretaste of the joy, the measure of which will be full when the work is done. And these states of peace give strength for further endeavors, further conflicts. They come again before the mind when hope is fainting, and breathe into her the breath of life; they come to rebuke the fear that might else be despair; to invigorate the efforts which begin to fail, to strengthen the resolution when it wavers. They come to remind us that in the treasury of Divine Love there is enough to compensate for all that we can do, and all that we can suffer.'

We should be glad, did our limits permit, to follow our author in his observations upon 'providence' and the 'human form;' but we shall content ourselves with the following passage, which we take from the remarks upon 'religion.' Would that this Religion of Love' might more and more abound:

'IT is the essence of love to wish to give something of its own to another. God is love-is perfect, infinite love. Therefore it is His constant and universal desire to give to man something of His own, something of Himself to give him Himself; that is, to give him Love. This was the Divine desire, from which man was created; and from this Divine desire, man was so created that he might receive of the Divine Love, and appropriate it to himself, and live by it as his own love and life. But this love is the love of goodness, of every thing good, and of that only; and therefore in proportion as a man loves what is good, he answers the purpose for which he was created, because in that proportion he permits God to give him of Himself. Therefore it is the first purpose of religion, which is the divine means whereby the divine ends may be accomplished, to make man good. But selfishness is the opposite of love and of good. A disposition to love self, and to give to self what belongs to another, is the exact opposite of the disposition which it is the purpose of religion to produce and conjoin. And the greatest possible injustice and selfishness consists in attributing to oneself that goodness which comes as the free gift of Him who alone is Good. It is therefore the purpose of religion, not more to make man good, than to make him know and acknowledge that this is the work of God. Indeed, these two things are one; because genuine goodness in any man must necessarily exclude the thought that he is good of himself and of his own proper power, since it must necessarily exclude selfishness and injustice.'

The following comparison between physical and spiritual action is ingenious and forcible:

'If we look at the human body, and ask what constitutes its highest health and greatest vigor, we shall see that it is the absolute prevalence of neighborly love among its parts and members. For every part of the human body works for all the rest, and not directly for itself. The brain secretes its nervous fluid, and sends it in a stream of life to give sensibility and motion to the whole body. The heart impels its current of living blood even to the extremities, and the lungs are busy in purifying and vitalizing this b ood for the service of the whole. The stomach and viscera are always employed in elaborating and preparing the means of life. The limbs move the body where it would go, and procure for it the means of nutriment. The eye sees every thing but itself, and the senses generally take notice of all things but themselves. Yet every part and organ lives and flourishes, because for it all the rest are unceasingly employed. As long as order and health prevail, no part appropiates any thing to itself or works in any way for itself, excepting so far as to secure for itself the full power of doing its proper work for others. In this condition and in this law of the human body, we have a vivid picture of the true order of human life. We may learn here what self-love is. When we see that the moment any part diminishes its labor for others, or begins to appropriate to itself more than its capacity of usefulness requires, that moment disease begins; and if this selfish indulgence continues, disease leads on to death; when we see this, self-love stands unveiled; for we may see in this, its evil, its destructiveness, its true nature.'

We commend the comprehensive and ably-written chapter from which the foregoing extract is taken, and indeed the entire work of which it forms a part, to the heedful perusal of our readers.

AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON ARITHMETIC: designed as an Introduction to PIERCE's Course of Pure Mathematics, and as a Sequel to common Arithmetics. By THOMAS HILL. Boston: JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY.

THE object of this work, evidently from the pen of a practical mathematician, is to supply a want which has long been a subject of remark among teachers of mathematics. It forms a desirable link between the common arithmetic and the admirable but difficult and severe course of the Cambridge mathematics. The rules which it contains are concise and simple, and many of the 'Practical Hints' in the appendix are valuable to the student. We like the constant reference to preceding formula; and are certain that if studied carefully, as it will be by all those into whose hands it comes, who design either to teach or study rightly, it will subserve the design of its author; who in a modest, and what is better, a short preface, explains the reasons which led to its publication.

SOME THOUGHTS ON BORES. One of the pleasant papers of the late lamented 'OLLAPOD' was not included in his Literary Remains,' recently published. It was entitled "The Genus Bore,' and contained many of the writer's characteristic touches. In the course of his essay, he remarks: 'There are two leading classes of bores — the garrulous and the taciturn. Heaven help you, when you are victimized by one of the first class! He deluges you with words. He inflicts all the scandal and news upon you, while you look like Resignation hugging a whipping-post. You feel irritated awhile, and then ill. He has tongue enough for both, and only requires that you resolve yourself into a horrible deformity, by becoming all ear. You gape, and show symptoms of sleep. He does n't care; you may sleep, or dislocate your jaws, as you please. He is one of the emissaries of fate, sent on earth to punish, and he means to fulfil the purpose of his destiny. There is no getting clear of his noise; and you may as well be as complacent as you can, and regard his tongue as the scourge which inflicts chastisement for past sin. Again, a taciturn bore drops into your presence. You talk first on one subject and then on some other; but instead of showing interest, he looks as if his leaden eyelid would fall in spite of your efforts. You think the fellow a fool; and can scarcely resist the propensity to enlighten him in regard to himself, by telling him so. You look unutterable things' at him; but you cannot stir him up. Your heart sinks within you, and for a moment you look the model of a statue of despair. You ask him to read the morning paper, but he is tired to death of politics.' You offer him a book, and he fumbles it listlessly for a moment, and puts it down. Your agony becomes excruciating; your friend looks like the impersonation of the nightmare, and he clings to you as the Old man of the Sea clung to Sinbad.'

POOLE, the well-known author of the Little Pedlington' Sketches, once wrote an admirable 'Discourse of Bores,' in which he drew several pictures of the various individuals of the species; having previously 'defined his position,' in the JOHNSONIAN form. He 'began at the beginning' by this extract from an imaginary dictionary:

To BORE, v. a. (figuratively from to pierce ?) With unfeeling pertinacity to perforate, or drive through, heart, brain, and soul, with irresistible tediousness, as with an auger one bores through a nine-inch plank.

'BORE, 7. 8. One who with unfeeling pertinacity, perforates. or drives through, heart, brain, and soul, with irresistible tediousness, as with an auger one bores through a nine-inch plank. One who lacks the faculty of perceiving the point at which attention succumbs to lassitude. An excruciator. A tyrant who, without the sanction of a trial by jury, or any other form of law, but solely of his own authority, inflicts upon a company the capital punishment of his tediousness.'

This is a more comprehensive but not more faithful definition of a bore than was given by a lad, who said, 'A bore is somebody who does n't know when it is time for him to leave off doing something.' PoOLE remarks, that among their other agreeable qualities, bores seem to be endowed with the faculty of detecting, with extraordinary accuracy, the time and occasions when their company is least of all desirable; and these they invariably VOL. XXV. 50

pounce upon, when they intend to perform an operation upon you. The 'Indicating Bore' is a felicitous illustration in point; and in the hope to check the progress of some one of the class, who may perhaps be encountered at the present exhibition of the National Academy of Design, we annex the portrait of Mr. INDEX:

INDEX will not permit you to see with your own eyes, or hear with your own ears; but to see or hearnay, to touch, taste, or smell he will insist on your following the guidance of his senses in preference to your own. In a picture-gallery he will not allow you the gratification of discovering the excellence of a work; he must point them out to you: he will not permit the beauties of a picture to develope themselves gradually to your perception, but abruptly directs your notice to what is finest in it. You are entranced by the profound pathos of a CORREGGIO; he slaps you on the back, and you are dragged away to admire the finish of a brown jug in a TENIERS. You would remain to enjoy the higher qualities of the picture, but the brown jug being all that INDEX intended to show you, you are whisked off to look at a fly and a drop of water in a flower-piece. He is as tiresome as an old housekeeper at a show-place; nay, worse, for he is not so amusing.

He sits next to you at dinner. You are about to take anchovy sauce to your salmon, for the foolish reason that you like it. INDEX recommends ketchup instead, which you reject because it is your aversion. He assures you it is the only sauce to be taken with salmon; you shudder at the smell of it. He insists, he persists. Now, try ketchup; do; you must — you shall; you have no notion how good it is: but let me give you the proper quantity; there - I'm sure you'll like it.' You have no other alternative than to be bored to death, or poisoned with ketchup, and naturally prefer the latter.

We were together at the Opera one evening. Madame PASTA was acting Medea. The great point in the performance,' said INDEX, is her exclamation Io! I'll give you notice when that is coming, but never mind the rest.' And, truly, not one other particle of the opera would he allow me to enjoy. At length the moment for the celebrated exclamation approached. Now it is coming,' cried INDEX; stop-not yet; wait-now for it! These last words he accompanied with a sharp dig of his elbow in my side, which shook me from head to foot; and by the time I had recovered from the shock, the long expected Io was numbered among the things that had been.

Who has not encountered the Singing Bore? Sometimes such an one overcomes you at a dinner party, by attempting to execute a nonsensical song of some dozen short verses, with a fol-de-rol tid-rei' chorus, three times as long as the verses themselves; and if he can remember only the first two of the twelve stanzas, he repeats those a dozen times, in his efforts to recollect the remainder. CARL FRIEDRICH VON SCHSTRUMMUNDWARBLEHEIM' is a more elaborate specimen of the singing bore. He is always alive to the slightest provocation, upon which he pounces with cat-like activity. For instance: at a pleasant conversational dinner-party one evening, the dessert was scarcely placed upon the table, when somebody desired the servant to give him another knife, the one he had being loose in the handle :'

HANDEL exclaimed Carl. 'What a composer! what oratorios! How massive! how grand! how magnificent! how sublime! I know them by heart; could sing them in my sleep. Of course you are all acquainted with the Messiah.' It opens with this you know.'

CARL cleared his voice and proceeded to sing Comfort ye, my people.' This was endured with patience, and by some received with pleasure, for he sung it well. But on he went with Every Valley. This threatened a death-blow to conversation, and signs of uneasiness in the whole party were manifest; but common civility prevented a direct interruption of the annoyance. The singer would have felt this could he have felt. But bores have no feeling: take that for a rule. 'Comfort us, indeed!' mumbled one.

"What an intolerable bore! muttered another.

Is there no patriot present who will thrust a decanter-stopper down his throat!' said a third to his neighbor. But all to no purpose.

'CARL was preparing to whistle the Pastoral Symphony, when one of the party, in a tone of mock gravity, thus addressed him:

'My dear Mr. SCHTRUMMUNDWARBLEHEIM, you have very often favored us with that. Now, we shall be delighted if you will go through Judas Maccabæus,' 'Israel in Egypt,' and any other oratorio, or two; but if you give us any more of the 'Messiah,' we are resolved to tie you neck and heels, and deposit you under the table for the rest of the evening.

'It is told of him that, upon a certain occasion, having sung all the men out of the drawing-room of the Traveller's Club (of which he was a member,) he was afterward found in one of the dressingrooms, singing 'Vivi tu,' to a deaf man through his ear trumpet.'

เ

There is also the Twattling Bore,' fond of inflicting upon every body what he calls 'conversation;' by which must be understood, that he sets his tongue, a high-pressure engine of eighty-ass power, in motion the moment he is awake, and allows it to gabble on until he is fast asleep again;' the Story-telling Bore,' who is always on the qui vive for a hint, and yet always finds an unlucky occasion for introducing his stories, and who lacks the tact to know when it is time to leave off doing something;' the Prosing Bore,' a

6

long-winded animal, who is continually interrupting himself with the trivial and irrelevant thoughts and remembrances that flit through his mind; and the Wet Blanket,' or ' Damper,' a negative sort of bore, who extinguishes the blaze of hilarity at its very outbreak, by a look, a shrug, or suppressed yawn, just as a narrative is working up to its most interesting point. But we must close, before we add another to the list, in the shape of an Editorial Bore.'

MANUSCRIPT POEM OF THE LATE JOHN G. C. BRAINARD. We are indebted to an esteemed friend in Connecticut for the following truly beautiful poem, from the pen of the lamented JOHN G. C. BRAINARD, for which we desire to tender our cordial thanks. It has been carefully preserved by a friend of the author's, and is placed in type from his manuscript, with all its original interlineations and erasures. BRAINARD was always an especial favorite of ours. It is well observed, by one who knew him well, that his language is always appropriate and pure, his diction free and harmonious, and his sentiments natural and sincere. His serious poems are all characterized by deep feeling and delicate fancy; and if we had no other record of him, they would show us that he was a man of great gentleness, simplicity and purity :'

*METASTASIO.

THE 'Requiem' was composed during his last illness: he died almost immediately after it was finished.

LEGAL MAXIMS. - 'PUNCH' is a wag, certainly, but he is a philosopher as well; and moreover, thoroughly versed in all knowledge, and especially familiar with legal lore and technicalities. We have been so much entertained with some of his late illustrations of legal maxims, which have been handed down in Latin and English, from time immemorial, that we have brought a few specimens together for the amusement of our readers. Legal grammar, concerning which we had something to say not long since, is thus glanced at: For ages the law has regarded grammar as a guest at a dinner-party regards champagne, taking it when it happens to be there, but never insisting on having it. Now an indictment against JOHN, the husband of ELIZABETH YEOMAN, is good; for though LINDLEY MURRAY Would say the yeoman meant ELIZABETH, the law would say that a woman can't be a man, and that JOHN, the husband, must be considered as the YEOMAN referred to. So, in the case of the actor who burst in upon RICHARD the Third, exclaiming, 'My lord, 't is I, the early village cock,' and forgot the remainder of the passage, it is clear he could not have been sued as the early village cock; for such a description, though grammatically correct, would have been at variance with all probability.' The subjoined contain more truth than poetry:

'Deceit and fraud shall be remedied on all occasions.' It may be very true that deceit and fraud ought to be remedied, but whether they are, is quite another question. It is much to be feared that in law, as well as in other matters, ought sometimes stands for nothing.

The law favors a thing which is of necessity.' — This is the doctrine of needs must when a certain old gentleman drives;' and the law favors any thing which he happens to be concerned in. That the law favors necessity, is not, however, wholly true; for if a man has stolen a penny-loaf from necessity, the law has no favor to show to it. The idea of law favoring necessity, is at variance with the maxim that' necessity has no law,' which is very likely to be the truth, for necessity not being able to pay for law, is not very likely to get any.'

An action cannot arise from a naked agreement.' - A naked agreement is an agreement not clothed with a consideration; and certainly it seems very inconsiderate to allow an agreement to go forward to the world in the state alluded to. Among some of the jurists it is thought that the reason why no action arises from a naked agreement is, that such an agreement being naked, must have been already stripped of every thing; and as there is nothing to be got from it, the lawyers will have nothing to do with it.'

A personal action dies with the person.' — This maxim is clear enough, and means that an action brought against a man who dies in the middle of it cannot be continued. Thus, though the law will sometimes pursue a man to the grave, his rest is not there liable to be disturbed by the lawyers. If a soldier dies in action, the action does not necessarily cease, but is often continued with considerable vigor afterward.'

The law compels no one to impossibilities.' — This is extremely considerate on the part of the law; but if it does not compel a man to impossibilities, it sometimes drives him to attempt them. The law, however, occasionally acts upon the principle of two negatives making an affirmative, thus treating two impossibilities as if they amounted to a possibility. As, when a man cannot pay a debt, law expenses are added which he cannot pay either; but the latter being added to the former, it is presumed perhaps that the two negatives or impossibilities may constitute one affirmative or possibility, and the debtor is accordingly thrown into prison if he fails to accomplish it.'

The law favors things which are in the custody of the law. The sort of favor shown by the law to such as are in its custody, is of a very peculiar character. Cutting the hair in the very last style of fashion (the last that any one would voluntarily adopt) and attending to the health by subscribing constant exercise on the tread wheel, together with a diet of the most moderate nature, are among the favors which the law shows to those who are its custody.'

Under the head of Honor of the Bar,' PUNCH' has a Newgate advertisement from Mr. OILY GAMMON, addressed To the Unfortunate :'

MR. OILY GAMMON, Q. C., still continues to give his valuable assistance to gentlemen and ladies in difficulties, on his usual moderate terms. MR. GAMMON undertakes to prove or disprove any thing, to bully any witness, to melt the heart of any judge on the bench, or to cut jokes that shall make even the unfortunate gentleman in the dock burst out laughing.

MR. OILY engages to cry at the domestic passages of his speech, and provide his own pocket-handkerchief. According to the case, (and dependant upon previous arrangements, to be settled with Mr. GAMMON's clerk,) MR. G. will blow his nose and whimper, or faint and turn pale, or burst out into a regular howl, accompanied by a shower of real tears, that may be measured by the tea-spoonful. The degrees of sentiment will vary with the case-say larceny, forgery, or murder.

In cases where both jokes and tears are to be supplied, the terms will, of course, be in proportion. MR. GAMMON need not say that both articles are prime.'

The keen satire of the above maxims will not be lost upon the reader. The most important facts are not always developed in learned treatises. There's many a true word spoken in jest.'