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MEDICAL NOMENCLATURE.

We suggested, not long since, that a simplification of the nomenclature of the law would not be amiss; and we ventured to offer a few arguments in support of that position. We are quite of the opinion that a similar simplification of Medical Nomenclature would prove of service to the masses. We have sometimes seen the necessity of this very ludicrously illustrated. Very much confounded was our friend Doctor DOANE, a few years since, by a remark of one of his patients. The day previous, the Doctor had prescribed that safe and palatable remedy, the 'syrup of birch-thorn,' and had left his prescription duly written in the usual cabalistic characters : Syr. Rham. Cath. On enquiring if the patient had taken the medicine, a thunder-cloud darkened her face ; lightning flashed from her eyes ; and she roared out : “No! I can read your doctor-writing -- and I aint a-goin to take the Syrup of Ram-Cats for any body under God's heaven !' 'Hence we view the great necessity there is' of a material change in our medical nomenclature.

NUMBER TWO.

AN INDEPENDENT STAGE-COACH DRIVER : THE RETORT CONCLUSIVE: THE SEA

AND ITS INFLUENCES : THE DELUDED DOG AND REFRACTORY LOBSTER :

DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN

AN AFFECTING INCIDENT: A DRY PUMP:

EXPERIMENT UPON THE MUSICAL ORGANS OF A JACK-ASS: THE

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CLOUDLESS SKIES' OF PARADISE: A RAIL-ROAD 'RECUSSANT: A LITTLE EVENING-SCENE IN THE SANOTUM: HUMORS OF AN ELECTION - THE CHALLENGED FRIEND: THE TRUE HERO AN AUTHENTIC ANECDOTE: NATURAL HISTORY TIIE FLAMINGO: PUZZLING QUESTIONS IN 'LOGIO:' REMINISCENCES IN THE LIT

TLE CHURCH AT LAKE-GEORGE.

MANY

ANY readers will remember Mrs. KIRKLAND's story

in her “New Home, of the Michigan stage-driver, who “drew rein' in a violent autumn-storm at the gate of one of the far-scattered cabins of a western forest, into which he ran, leaving his passengers, a burly Englishman and two querulous, stuck-up' daughters, to follow him, as best they might. The doughty John Bull came in after bim, leading his daughters, with rueful faces and sadly bedraggled skirts, all three looking grouty and glum enough. 'I say,' said the Englishman to the driver, who had ensconced himself in a warm and cozy seat by the fire, “I say, that luggage ought to be brought in, ye kno'' Wal, I should think so, tew. If ’t was mine, I should bring it in, any how. 'T may get sp'ilet.? Well, fellow, why

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AN INDEPENDENT DRIVER.

don't you bring it in ?? Why don't I bring it in?" said the other, slowly and with an unmistakable sneer; why, I aint your servant, be I? Guess not : that's a berry that don't grow on the bushes about these diggin's. I drive you, Square, and I don't do nothin' else!' This incident came to mind a few moments ago, on hearing a friend relate the following anecdote. He said, that soon after the revolutionary war, a brave Yankee officer, a former captain in the service, happened to be at St. Petersburg, in Russia, and while there was invited to dine at the table of a dis

tinguished merchant. There was a large number of guests at the table, and among the rest an English lady, who was anxious to appear as one of the “knowing ones.' On understanding that an American was sitting near her, she expressed to one of her friends a determination to quiz him. She fastened upon him like a tigress, making numerous inquiries touching our habits, customs, dress, manners, modes of life, education, amusements, etc. To all these queries the officer gave courteous answers, which seemed to satisfy all the company with the exception of the lady herself. She was determined not to be satisfied, and went on: "Have the rich people in your country any carriages ?

for I suppose there are some who call themselves rich.' My residence,' replied the captain, is in a small town upon an island, where there are but few carriages kept; but in the larger towns and cities on the main land there

THE SEA AND ITS INFLUENCES.

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are quite a number maintained, suited to our republican manners. • Indeed ? !' replied his fair questioner, in a tone that was both interrogative and exclamatory : 'I can't fancy where you find coachmen: I should n't think the Americans knew how to drive a coach.' We find no difficulty on that account, Madam,' calmly rejoined the captain ;'we can have plenty of drivers by sending to England for them.' "To England !' exclaimed the lady, speaking very quickly ; 'I think the Americans ought to drive the English, instead of the English driving the Americans.” • We did, Madam, in the late war,' rejoined the officer ; " but since the peace, we have permitted the English to drive us ! There was no more quizzing' of our American during the dinner. He waited in vain, like SAM WELLER in · BARDELL VS. PICKWICK," for the next question.

"THE sea is His, and He made it !! Now there is conveyed in this sentence, to our poor conception at least, a kind of mysterious sublimity; and we never stand by the solemn shore of the great ocean, without hearing in every wave that, as it rolls pouring onward and expanding side-wise, breaks at the ends of its emerald cylinder into a musical foam, without taking up the burthen of that pervading Voice, and exclaiming, The sea is His, and He made it!' And it is pleasurable to think that this impres

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THE SEA AND ITS INFLUENCES.

sion, if not general, is at least not uncommon. We have remarked, with unwonted sympathy, in Dickens's last story, how the waves, 'hoarse with the repetition of their mystery,' affect his heroine, as they roll the dank sea-weed at her feet, while she stands by the resounding shore. Even thus, too, had they awakened a vague yet sublime sense of the Infinite and the Eternal” in the minds of FLORENCE and her little brother, gone home to God. What thoughts of the departed, what spirits of the Past, what dim foreshadowings of the Future, are evoked by the sight of the illimitable ocean, and the voice of all his waves !' TENNYSON, in a few brief lines, which we have repeated alone on the sea-shore, we know not how often, touches this chord, whose vibrations are so melodious to

the soul :

BREAK, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, o Sea !
And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

O well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay !

And the stately ships go on

To their hayen under the hill:

But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still !

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