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twg_000000048700 | Suss, made by the same sisters in the same convent that made hers.... Towels! I tell her it's a shame to expose them to the light, much less wipe on them. Ain't it?... The goodness looks out from his face. And such a love-pair! Lunatics, I call them. He can't keep his hands off. It ain't nice, I tell him.... | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048701 | Me? Come close. I dyed the net myself. Ten cents' worth of maroon color. Don't it warm your heart, Mrs. Suss? This morning, after we got her in Lester's Uncle Mark's big automobile, I says to her, I says, 'Mama, you sure it ain't too much?' Like her old self for a minute, Mrs. Suss, she hit me on the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048702 | arm. 'Go 'way,' she said; 'on my grandchild's engagement day anything should be too much?' Here, waiter, get these two ladies some salad. Good measure, too. Over there by the window, Mrs. Suss. Help yourselves." "Mama, 'sh-h-h! the waiters know what to do." Mrs. Coblenz turned back, the flush warm to her face. "Say, for an old friend I can | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048703 | be my own self." "Can we break the receiving-line now, Lester honey, and go down with everybody? The Sinsheimers and their crowd over there by themselves, we ought to show we appreciate their coming." Mr. Goldmark twisted high in his collar, cupping her small bare elbow in his hand. "That's what I say, lovey; let's break. Come, Mother Coblenz, let's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048704 | step down on high society's corns." "Lester!" "You and Selene go down with the crowd, Lester. I want to take gramaw to rest for a while before we go home. The manager says we can have room fifty-six by the elevator for her to rest in." "Get her some newspapers, ma, and I brought her a wreath down to keep | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048705 | her quiet. It's wrapped in her shawl." Her skirts delicately lifted, Miss Coblenz stepped down off the dais. With her cloud of gauze-scarf enveloping her, she was like a tulle-clouded "Springtime," done in the key of Botticelli. "Oop-si-lah, lovey-dovey!" said Mr. Goldmark, tilting her elbow for the downward step. "Oop-si-lay, dovey-lovey!" said Miss Coblenz, relaxing to the support. Gathering up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048706 | her plentiful skirts, Mrs. Coblenz stepped off, too, but back toward the secluded chair beside the potted hydrangea. A fine line of pain, like a cord tightening, was binding her head, and she put up two fingers to each temple, pressing down the throb. "Mrs. Coblenz, see what I got for you!" She turned, smiling. "You don't look like you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048707 | need salad and green ice-cream. You look like you needed what I wanted--a cup of coffee." "Aw, Mr. Haas--now where in the world--Aw, Mr. Haas!" With a steaming cup outheld and carefully out of collision with the crowd, Mr. Haas unflapped a napkin with his free hand, inserting his foot in the rung of a chair and dragging it toward | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048708 | her. "Now," he cried, "sit and watch me take care of you!" There comes a tide in the affairs of men when the years lap softly, leaving no particular inundations on the celebrated sands of time. Between forty and fifty, that span of years which begin the first slight gradations from the apex of life, the gray hair, upstanding like | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048709 | a thick-bristled brush off Mr. Haas's brow, had not so much as whitened, or the slight paunchiness enhanced even the moving-over of a button. When Mr. Haas smiled, his mustache, which ended in a slight but not waxed flourish, lifted to reveal a white-and-gold smile of the artistry of careful dentistry, and when, upon occasion, he threw back his head | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048710 | to laugh, the roof of his mouth was his own. He smiled now, peering through gold-rimmed spectacles attached by a chain to a wire-encircled left ear. "Sit," he cried, "and let me serve you!" Standing there with a diffidence which she could not crowd down, Mrs. Coblenz smiled through closed lips that would pull at the corners. "The idea, Mr. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048711 | Haas--going to all that trouble!" "'Trouble'! she says. After two hours' handshaking in a swallow-tail, a man knows what real trouble is!" She stirred around and around the cup, supping up spoonfuls gratefully. "I'm sure much obliged. It touches the right spot." He pressed her down to the chair, seating himself on the low edge of the dais. "Now you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048712 | sit right there and rest your bones." "But my mother, Mr. Haas. Before it's time for the ride home she must rest in a quiet place." "My car'll be here and waiting five minutes after I telephone." "You--sure have been grand, Mr. Haas!" "I shouldn't be grand yet to my--Let's see--what relation is it I am to you?" "Honest, you're | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048713 | a case, Mr. Haas--always making fun!" "My poor dead sister's son marries your daughter. That makes you my--nothing-in-law." "Honest, Mr. Haas, if I was around you, I'd get fat laughing." "I wish you was." "Selene would have fits. 'Never get fat, mama,' she says, 'if you don't want--'" "I don't mean that." "What?" "I mean I wish you was around | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048714 | me." She struck him then with her fan, but the color rose up into the mound of her carefully piled hair. "I always say I can see where Lester gets his comical ways. Like his uncle, that boy keeps us all laughing." "Gad! look at her blush! I know women your age would give fifty dollars a blush to do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048715 | it that way." She was looking away again, shoulders heaving to silent laughter, the blush still stinging. "It's been so--so long, Mr. Haas, since I had compliments made to me. You make me feel so--silly." "I know it, you nice, fine woman, you; and it's a darn shame!" "Mr.--Haas!" "I mean it. I hate to see a fine woman not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048716 | get her dues. Anyways, when she's the finest woman of them all!" "I--the woman that lives to see a day like this--her daughter the happiest girl in the world, with the finest boy in the world--is getting her dues, all right, Mr. Haas." "She's a fine girl, but she ain't worth her mother's little finger-nail." "Mr.--Haas!" "No, sir-ree!" "I must | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048717 | be going now, Mr. Haas. My mother--" "That's right. The minute a man tries to break the ice with this little lady, it's a freeze-out. Now what did I say so bad? In business, too. Never seen the like. It's like trying to swat a fly to come down on you at the right minute. But now, with you for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048718 | a nothing-in-law, I got rights." "If--you ain't the limit, Mr. Haas!" "Don't mind saying it, Mrs. C., and, for a bachelor, they tell me I'm not the worst judge in the world, but there's not a woman on the floor stacks up like you do." "Well--of all things!" "Mean it." "My mother, Mr. Haas, she--" "And if anybody should ask | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048719 | you if I've got you on my mind or not, well, I've already got the letters out on that little matter of the passports you spoke to me about. If there's a way to fix that up for you, and leave it to me to find it, I--" She sprang now, trembling, to her feet, all the red of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048720 | moment receding. "Mr. Haas, I--I must go now. My--mother--" He took her arm, winding her in and out among crowded-out chairs behind the dais. "I wish it to every mother to have a daughter like you, Mrs. C." "No! No!" she said, stumbling rather wildly through the chairs. "No! No! No!" He forged ahead, clearing her path of them. Beside | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048721 | the potted hydrangea, well back and yet within an easy view, Mrs. Horowitz, her gilt armchair well cushioned for the occasion, and her black grenadine spread decently about her, looked out upon the scene, her slightly palsied head well forward. "Mama, you got enough? You wouldn't have missed it, eh? A crowd of people we can be proud to entertain. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048722 | Not? Come; sit quiet in another room for a while, and then Mr. Haas, with his nice big car, will drive us all home again. You know Mr. Haas, dearie--Lester's uncle that had us drove so careful in his fine car. You remember, dearie--Lester's uncle?" Mrs. Horowitz looked up, her old face crackling to smile. "My grandchild! My grandchild! She'm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048723 | a fine one. Not? My grandchild! My grandchild!" "You--mustn't mind, Mr. Haas. That's--the way she's done since--since she's--sick. Keeps repeating--" "My grandchild! From a good mother and a bad father comes a good grandchild. My grandchild! She'm a good one. My--" "Mama dearie, Mr. Haas is in a hurry. He's come to help me walk you into a little room | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048724 | to rest before we go home in Mr. Haas's big, fine auto. Where you can go and rest, mama, and read the newspapers. Come." "My back--_ach_--my back!" "Yes, yes, mama; we'll fix it. Up! So--la!" They raised her by the crook of each arm, gently. "So! Please, Mr. Haas, the pillows. Shawl. There!" Around a rear hallway, they were almost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048725 | immediately into a blank, staring hotel bedroom, fresh towels on the furniture-tops only enhancing its staleness. "Here we are. Sit her here, Mr. Haas, in this rocker." They lowered her, almost inch by inch, sliding down pillows, against the chair-back. "Now, Shila's little mama want to sleep?" "I got--no rest--no rest." "You're too excited, honey; that's all." "No rest." "Here--here's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048726 | a brand-new hotel Bible on the table, dearie. Shall Shila read it to you?" "Aylorff--" "Now, now, mama. Now, now; you mustn't! Didn't you promise Shila? Look! See, here's a wreath wrapped in your shawl for Shila's little mama to work on. Plenty of wreaths for us to take back. Work awhile, dearie, and then we'll get Selene and Lester, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048727 | and, after all the nice company goes away, we'll go home in the auto." "I begged he should keep in his hate--his feet in the--" "I know! The papers! That's what little mama wants. Mr. Haas, that's what she likes better than anything--the evening papers." "I'll go down and send 'em right up with a boy, and telephone for the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048728 | car. The crowd's beginning to pour out now. Just hold your horses there, Mrs. C., and I'll have those papers up here in a jiffy." He was already closing the door after him, letting in and shutting out a flare of music. "See, mama, nice Mr. Haas is getting us the papers. Nice evening papers for Shila's mama." She leaned | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048729 | down into the recesses of the black grenadine, withdrawing from one of the pockets a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles, adjusting them with some difficulty to the nodding head. "Shila's--little mama! Shila's mama!" "Aylorff, the littlest wreath for--Aylorff--_Meine Krntze_--" "Yes, yes." "_Mem Mann. Mein Shn_." "'Shh-h-h, dearie!" "Aylorff--_der klenste Kranz far ihm_!" "'Shh-h-h, dearie! Talk English, like Selene wants. Wait till | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048730 | we get on the ship--the beautiful ship to take us back. Mama, see out the window! Look! That's the beautiful Forest Park, and this is the fine Hotel Walsingham just across. See out! Selene is going to have a flat on--" "_Sey hoben gestorben far Freiheit. Sey hoben_--" "There! That's the papers!" To a succession of quick knocks, she flew | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048731 | to the door, returning with the folded evening editions under her arm. "Now," she cried, unfolding and inserting the first of them into the quivering hands--"now, a shawl over my little mama's knees and we're fixed!" With a series of rapid movements she flung open one of the black-cashmere shawls across the bed, folding it back into a triangle. Beside | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048732 | the table, bare except for the formal, unthumbed Bible, Mrs. Horowitz rattled out a paper, her near-sighted eyes traveling back and forth across the page. Music from the ferned-in orchestra came in drifts, faint, not so faint. From somewhere, then immediately from everywhere--beyond, below, without, the fast shouts of newsboys mingling. Suddenly and of her own volition, and with a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048733 | cry that shot up through the room, rending it like a gash, Mrs. Horowitz, who moved by inches, sprang to her supreme height, her arms, the crooks forced out, flung up. "My darlings--what died--for it! My darlings what died for it! My darlings--Aylorff, my husband!" There was a wail rose up off her words, like the smoke of incense curling, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048734 | circling around her. "My darlings what died to make free!" "Mama! Darling! Mama! Mr. Haas! Help! Mama! My God!" "Aylorff--my husband--I paid with my blood to make free--my blood--. My son--my--own--" Immovable there, her arms flung up and tears so heavy that they rolled whole from her face down to the black grenadine, she was as sonorous as the tragic | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048735 | meter of an Alexandrine line; she was like Ruth, ancestress of heroes and progenitor of kings. "My boy--my own! They died for it! _Mein Mann! Mein Shn_!" On her knees, frantic to press her down once more into the chair, terrified at the rigid immobility of the upright figure, Mrs. Coblenz paused then, too, her clasp falling away, and leaned | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048736 | forward to the open sheet of the newspaper, its black head-lines facing her: RUSSIA FREE BANS DOWN , SIBERIAN PRISONERS LIBERATED In her ears a ringing silence, as if a great steel disk had clattered down into the depths of her consciousness. There on her knees, trembling seized her, and she hugged herself against it, leaning forward to corroborate her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048737 | gaze. MOST RIGID AUTOCRACY IN THE WORLD OVERTHROWN RUSSIA REJOICES "Mama! Mama! My God! Mama!" "Home, Shila; home! My husband who died for it--Aylorff! Home now, quick! My wreaths! My wreaths!" "O my God! Mama!" "Home!" "Yes, darling--yes--" "My wreaths!" "Yes, yes, darling; your wreaths. Let--let me think. Freedom! O my God! help me to find a way! O my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048738 | God!" "My wreaths!" "Here, darling, here!" From the floor beside her, the raffia wreath half in the making, Mrs. Coblenz reached up, pressing it flat to the heaving old bosom. "There, darling, there!" "I paid with my blood--" "Yes, yes, mama; you--paid with your blood. Mama--sit, please. Sit and--let's try to think. Take it slow, darling; it's like we can't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048739 | take it in all at once. I--We--Sit down, darling. You'll make yourself terrible sick. Sit down, darling; you--you're slipping." "My wreaths--" Heavily, the arm at the waist gently sustaining, Mrs. Horowitz sank rather softly down, her eyelids fluttering for the moment. A smile had come out on her face, and, as her head sank back against the rest, the eyes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048740 | resting at the downward flutter, she gave out a long breath, not taking it in again. "Mama! You're fainting!" She leaned to her, shaking the relaxed figure by the elbows, her face almost touching the tallow-like one with the smile lying so deeply into it. "Mama! My God! darling, wake up! I'll take you back. I'll find a way to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048741 | take you. I'm a bad girl, darling, but I'll find a way to take you. I'll take you if--if I kill for it! I promise before God I'll take you. To-morrow--now--nobody can keep me from taking you. The wreaths, mama! Get ready the wreaths! Mama darling, wake up! Get ready the wreaths! The wreaths!" Shaking at that quiet form, sobs | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048742 | that were full of voice tearing raw from her throat, she fell to kissing the sunken face, enclosing it, stroking it, holding her streaming gaze closely and burningly against the closed lids. "Mama, I swear to God I'll take you! Answer me, mama! The bank-book--you've got it! Why don't you wake up, mama? Help!" Upon that scene, the quiet of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048743 | the room so raucously lacerated, burst Mr. Haas, too breathless for voice. "Mr. Haas--my mother! Help--my mother! It's a faint, ain't it? A faint?" He was beside her at two bounds, feeling of the limp wrists, laying his ear to the grenadine bosom, lifting the reluctant lids, touching the flesh that yielded so to touch. "It's a faint, ain't it, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048744 | Mr. Haas? Tell her I'll take her back. Wake her up, Mr. Haas! Tell her I'm a bad girl, but I--I'm going to take her back. Now! Tell her! Tell her, Mr. Haas, I've got the bank-book. Please! Please! O my God!" He turned to her, his face working to keep down compassion. "We must get a doctor, little lady." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048745 | She threw out an arm. "No! No! I see! My old mother--my old mother--all her life a nobody--She helped--she gave it to them--my mother--a poor little widow nobody--She bought with her blood that freedom--she--" "God! I just heard it down-stairs--it's the tenth wonder of the world. It's too big to take in. I was afraid--" "Mama darling, I tell you, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048746 | wake up! I'm a bad girl, but I'll take you back. Tell her, Mr. Haas, I'll take her back. Wake up, darling! I swear to God I'll take you!" "Mrs. Coblenz, my--poor little lady, your mother don't need you to take her back. She's gone back where--where she wants to be. Look at her face, little lady. Can't you see | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048747 | she's gone back?" "No! No! Let me go. Let me touch her. No! No! Mama darling!" "Why, there wasn't a way, little lady, you could have fixed it for that poor--old body. She's beyond any of the poor fixings we could do for her. You never saw her face like that before. Look!" "The wreaths--the wreaths!" He picked up the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048748 | raffia circle, placing it back again against the quiet bosom. "Poor little lady!" he said. "Shila--that's left for us to do. You and me, Shila--we'll take the wreaths back for her." "My darling--my darling mother! I'll take them back for you! I'll take them back for you!" "_We'll_ take them back for her--Shila." "I'll--" "_We'll_ take them back for her--Shila." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048749 | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg//////-h/-h.htm) or (http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg//////-h/-h.zip) THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION. VOL. , No. .] SATURDAY, AUGUST , . [PRICE 2d. * * * * * HOSPITAL OF ST. THOMAS, CANTERBURY. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048750 | [Illustration] The subject of the above engraving claims the attention of the antiquarian researcher, not as the lofty sculptured mansion of our monastic progenitors, or the towering castle of the feudatory baton, for never has the voice of boisterous revelry, or the tones of the solemn organ, echoed along its vaulted roof; a humbler but not less interesting trait marks | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048751 | its history. It was here that the zealous pilgrim, strong in bigot faith, rested his weary limbs, when the inspiring name of Becket led him from the rustic simplicity of his native home, to view the spot where Becket fell, and to murmur his pious supplication at the shrine of the murdered Saint; how often has his toil-worn frame been | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048752 | sheltered beneath that hospitable roof; imagination can even portray him entering the area of yon pointed arch, leaning on his slender staff--perhaps some wanderer from a foreign land. The hospital of St. Thomas the Martyr of Eastbridge, is situated on the King's-bridge, in the hundred of Westgate, Canterbury, and was built by Becket, but for what purpose is unknown. However, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048753 | after the assassination of its founder, the resort of individuals being constant to his shrine, the building was used for the lodgment of the pilgrims. For many years no especial statutes were enacted, nor any definite rules laid down for the treatment of pilgrims, till the see devolved to the jurisdiction of Stratford, who, in 15th Edward III. drew up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048754 | certain ordinances, as also a code of regulations expressly to be acted on; he appointed a master in priest's orders, under whose guidance a secular chaplain officiated; it was also observed that every pilgrim in health should have but one night's lodging to the cost of fourpence; that applicants weak and infirm were to be preferred to those of sounder | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048755 | constitutions, and that women "upwards of forty" should attend to the bedding, and administer medicines to the sick. This institution survived the general suppression of monasteries and buildings of its cast, during the reigns of Henry VIII. and the sixth Edward; and after alternately grading from the possession of private families to that of brothers belonging to the establishment, it | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048756 | was at last finally appropriated to the instruction of the rising generation, whose parents are exempt from giving any gratuity to the preceptor of their children. Its present appearance is ancient, but not possessing any of those magic features which render the mansions of our majores so grand and magnificently solemn; a hall and chapel of imposing neatness and simplicity | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048757 | are still in good condition, but several of the apartments are dilapidated in part, and during a wet season admit the aqueous fluid through the chinks and fissures of their venerable walls. SAGITTARIUS. * * * * * THE LECTURER. * * * * * MINOR AFFECTIONS OF THE BRAIN. Pain _in the head_ may arise from very different causes, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048758 | and is variously seated. It has had a number of different appellations bestowed upon it, according to its particular character. I need not observe that headach is a general attendant of all inflammatory states of the brain, whether in the form of _phrenitis, hydrocephalus acutus_, or _idiopathic fever;_ though with some exceptions in regard to all of them, as I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048759 | before showed you. It is often also said to be a symptom of other diseases, of parts remotely situated; as of the _stomach_, more especially; whence the term _sick headach_, the stomach being supposed to be the part first or principally affected, and the headach symptomatic of this. I am confident, however, that in a majority of instances the reverse | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048760 | is the case, the affection of the head being the cause of the disorder of the stomach. It is no proof to the contrary, that _vomiting_ often relieves the headach, for vomiting is capable of relieving a great number of other diseases, as well as those of the brain, upon the principle of _counter-irritation_. The stomach may be disordered by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048761 | nauseating medicines, up to the degree of full vomiting, without any headach taking place; but the brain hardly ever suffers, either from injury or disease, without the stomach having its functions impaired, or in a greater or less degree disturbed: thus a blow on the head immediately produces vomiting; and, at the outset of various inflammatory affections of the brain, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048762 | as _fever_ and _hydrocephalus_, nausea and vomiting are almost never-failing symptoms. It is not denied, that _headach_ may be produced through the medium of the stomach; but seldom, unless there is previously disease in the head, or at least a strong predisposition to it. In persons habitually subject to headach, the arteries of the brain become so irritable, that the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048763 | slightest cause of disturbance, either _mental_ or _bodily_, will suffice to bring on a paroxysm. The _occasional_ or _exciting causes of headach_, then, are principally these:-- . _Emotions of mind_, as fear, terror, and agitation of spirits; yet these will sometimes take off headach when present at the time. . Whatever either increases or disorders the general circulation, and especially | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048764 | all causes that increase the action of the cerebral arteries, or, as it is usually though improperly expressed, which occasion a determination of blood to the head. Of the former kind are violent exercise, and external heat applied to the surface generally, as by a heated atmosphere or the _hot bath_; of the latter, the direct application of heat to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048765 | the head; falls or blows, occasioning a shock to the brain; stooping; intense thinking; intoxicating drinks, and other narcotic substances. These last, however, as well as _mental emotions_, often relieve a paroxysm of headach, though they favour its return afterwards. . A disordered state of the stomach, of which a vomiting of _bile_ may be one symptom, is also to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048766 | be ranked among the _occasional causes_ of _headach_. These _occasional causes_ do not in general produce their effect, unless where a _predisposition_ to the disease exists. This predisposition is often hereditary, or it may be acquired by long-protracted study and habits of intoxication.--_Dr. Clutterbuck's Lectures on the Diseases of the Nervous System_. HYDROPHOBIA. There is no cure for this disease | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048767 | when once the symptoms show themselves. A variety of remedies have from time to time been advertised by quacks. The "Ormskirk Medicine," at one time, was much in vogue; it had its day, but it did not cure the disease, nor, as far as I know, did it mitigate any of its symptoms. With regard to the affection of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048768 | mind itself in this disease, it does not appear that the patients are deprived of reason; some have merely, by the dint of resolution, conquered the dread of water, though they never could conquer the convulsive motions which the contact of liquids occasioned; while this resolution has been of no avail, for the convulsions and other symptoms increasing, have almost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048769 | always destroyed the unhappy sufferers. --_Abernethy's Lectures_. EFFECTS OF KINDNESS ON THE SICK. Under all circumstances, man is a poor and pitiable being, when stricken down by disease. Sickened and subdued, his very lineaments have a voice which calls for commiseration and assistance. Celsus says, that knowing two physicians equally intelligent, he should prefer the one who was his friend, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048770 | for the obvious reason that he would feel a deeper interest in his welfare. Kindness composes, and harshness disturbs the mind, and each produces correspondent effects upon the body. A tone, a look, may save or destroy life in extremely delicate cases. Whatever may be the prognosis given to friends, in all febrile cases, the most confident and consoling language | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048771 | about the ultimate recovery should be used to the sick, as prophecies not unfrequently contribute to bring about the event foretold, by making people feel, or think, or act, differently from what they otherwise would have done. Again, in chronic cases, as time is required for their cure, by explaining to the patient this fact, we maintain his confidence, we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048772 | keep his mind easy, and thus gain a fair opportunity for the operation of regimen or remedies; in short, the judicious physician, like the Roman general, Fabius, conquers through delay, by cutting off the supplies, and wearing out the strength of the enemy. In large cities, where the mind is so much overwrought in the various schemes of private ambition, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048773 | or of public business, anxiety is very frequently the grand opposing circumstance to recovery; so that while the causes which produced it are allowed to operate, mere medical prescription is of no avail. The effects of this anxiety are visible in the pallid face and wasted body. But if the patient be possessed of philosophy enough to forego his harassing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048774 | pursuits; if he have not, from the contact and cares of the world, lost his relish for the simple and sublime scenes of nature, a removal into the country is of the utmost efficacy. The deformity and conflict of the moral world are exchanged for the beauty and calm of the physical world; and surrounded by all the poetry of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048775 | earth and heaven, the mind regains its peace, and the health, as if by magic, is perfectly restored.--_Dr. Armstrong's Lectures_. DIET. Experience has taught us that the nature of our food is not a matter of indifference to the respiratory organs. Diseased lungs are exasperated by a certain diet, and pacified by one of an opposite kind. The celebrated diver, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048776 | Mr. Spalding, observed, that whenever he used a diet of animal food, or drank spirituous liquors, he consumed in a much shorter period the oxygen of the atmospheric air in his diving-bell; and he therefore, on such occasions, confined himself to vegetable diet. He also found the same effect to arise from the use of fermented liquors, and he accordingly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048777 | restricted himself to the potation of simple water. The truth of these results is confirmed by the habits of the Indian pearl-divers, who always abstain from every alimentary stimulus previous to their descent into the ocean.--_Dr. Paris on Diet._ * * * * * THE MONTHS The season has now advanced to full maturity. The corn is yielding to the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048778 | sickle, the husbandmen, "By whose tough labours, and rough hands," our barns are stored with grain, are at their toils, and when nature is despoiled of her riches and beauty, will, with glad and joyous heart, celebrate the annual festival of THE HARVEST HOME. BY CORNELIUS WEBBE. Hark! the ripe and hoary rye Waving white and billowy, Gives a husky | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048779 | rustle, as Fitful breezes fluttering pass. See the brown and bending wheat, By its posture seems to meet The harvest's sickle, as it gleams Like the crescent moon in streams, Brown with shade and night that run Under shores and forests dun. Lusty Labour, with tired stoop, Levels low, at every swoop, Armfuls of ripe-coloured corn, Yellow as the hair | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048780 | of morn; And his helpers track him close, Laying it in even rows, On the furrow's stubbly ridge; Nearer to the poppied hedge. Some who tend on him that reaps Fastest, pile it into heaps; And the little gleaners follow Them again, with whoop and halloo When they find a hand of ears More than falls to their compeers. Ripening | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048781 | in the dog-star's ray, Some, too early mown, doth lay; Some in graceful shocks doth stand Nodding farewell to the land That did give it life and birth; Some is borne, with shout and mirth, Drooping o'er the groaning wain. Through the deep embowered lane; And the happy cottaged poor, Hail it, as it glooms their door, With a glad, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048782 | unselfish cry, Though they'll buy it bitterly. And the old are in the sun, Seeing that the work is done As it was when age was young; And the harvest song is sung; And the quaint and jocund tale Takes the stint-key from the ale, And as free and fast it runs As a June rill from the sun's Dry | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048783 | and ever-drinking mouth:-- Mirth doth alway feel a drowth. Butt and barrel ceaseless flow Fast as cans can come and go; One with emptied measures comes Drumming them with tuneful thumbs; One reels field-ward, not quite sober, With two cans of ripe October, Some of last year's brewing, kept Till the corn of this is reaped. Now 'tis eve, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048784 | done all labour, And to merry pipe and tabor, Or to some cracked viol strummed With vile skill, or table drummed To the tune of some brisk measure, Wont to stir the pulse to pleasure, Men and maidens timely beat The ringing ground with frolic feet; And the laugh and jest go round Till all mirth in noise is drowned. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048785 | _Literary Souvenir_. * * * * * ARMORIAL BEARINGS AT CROYDON PALACE. (_To the Editor of the Mirror_.) Sir,--In No. of the Mirror, _Sagittarius_ wishes to know the name of the person whose armorial bearings are emblazoned at Croydon palace. From the blazon he has given, it is rather difficult to find out; but I should think they are meant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048786 | for those of king Richard II. Impaled on the dexter side with those of his patron saint, Edward the Confessor. Bearings that may be seen in divers places at Westminster Hall, rebuilt by that monarch.[] [] Vide MIRROR, p. , Vol. iii. I have subjoined the _proper_ blazon of the arms, which is _azure_, a cross patonce between _five_ martlets | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048787 | _or_, impaling France and England quarterly, 1st. and 4th. azure three fleurs de lis. 2nd. _or_, 2nd and 3rd Gules, lions passant guardant in pale, or. The supporting of the arms with angels, &c. was a favourite device of Richard, as may be seen in divers antiquarian and topographical works. It is probable the hall of Croydon palace was built | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048788 | during the reign of Richard, which will account for his arms being placed there. I am, &c. C. F. * * * * * DEATH OF MR. CANNING. The lamentable and sudden death of the Right Hon. George Canning has produced a general sensation throughout this country. At the opening of the present year our nation deplored the loss of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048789 | a prince endeared to the people by his honest worth--but a short interval has elapsed and again the country is plunged in sorrow for the loss of one of its most zealous supporters--one of its chiefest ornaments--one of its staunchest friends--and one of its most eloquent and talented statesmen! The life of the late George Canning furnishes much matter for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048790 | meditation and thought. From it much may be learnt. He was a genius, in the most unlimited sense of the word; and his intellectual endowments were commanding and imperative. Of humble origin he had to contend with innumerable difficulties, consequent to his station in life,--and although his talents, which were of the first order, befitted him for the first rank | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048791 | in society, that rank he did not attain until the scene of this world was about to be closed for ever from him. It may be said of this eminent man, that he owed nothing to patronage--his _talents_ directed him to his elevated station, and to his intellectual superiority homage was made,--not to the man. But, in other respects, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048792 | loss of Mr. Canning is a national bereavement. He was one of the master-spirits of the age. His very name was distinguished--for he has added to the literature of his country--by his writings and his eloquence he has stimulated the march of mind; he has seconded the exertions of liberal friends to the improvements of the uneducated, and he has | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048793 | patronized the useful as well as the fine arts, philosophy and science, of his country. To expatiate at greater length would be superfluous, as we have in another place recorded our humble tribute to his general character.[] We have now, therefore, merely to put together the melancholy facts connected with his death, and which will convey to another generation a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048794 | just sense of the value, in our time, attached to a noble and exalted genius. The just and elegant laconism of Byron, by substituting the _past_ for the _present_ tense, may now be adopted as a faithful and brief summary of what _was_ George Canning. [] Biographical Memoir of Mr. Canning, with a Portrait, MIRROR, Vol. iv. "Canning _was_ a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048795 | genius, almost an universal one:--an orator, a wit, a poet, and a statesman." * * * * * The king, with his usual quickness, was the first to perceive the dangerous state of Mr. Canning. We understand, that almost immediately after he had quitted him, on Monday, his majesty observed to sir William Knighton, that Mr. Canning appeared very unwell, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048796 | and that he was in great alarm for him. On Tuesday, sir William repaired to town, at the express command of his majesty, to see Mr. Canning. At the interview with him, at the Treasury, Sir William made particular inquiries into the state of his health. Mr. Canning was then troubled with a cough, and he observed to Sir William | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048797 | that he almost felt as if he were an old man; that he was much weakened; but had no idea of there being anything dangerous in his condition, and that he trusted that rest and retirement would set him to rights. Sir William sent Dr. Maton to Mr. Canning, and on parting with him, he observed that, as he should | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048798 | not leave town until Wednesday morning, he would call on him, at Chiswick, on his way home to Windsor. Sir William found Mr. Canning in bed, at Chiswick. He asked him if he felt any pain in his side? Mr. Canning answered he had felt a pain in his side for some days, and on endeavouring to lie on his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000048799 | side, the pain was so acute that he was unable to do so. Sir William then inquired if he felt any pain in his shoulder? He said he had been for some time affected by rheumatic pains in the shoulder. Sir William told him that the pain did not arise from rheumatism, but from a diseased liver, and he immediately | 60 | gutenberg |
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