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me to brood over my temporary affliction? Oh, rather let me call to mind how long the free use of my limbs has been allowed me! The nephew of sir Astley Cooper has thoroughly examined my ailment; and he tells me that in three or four weeks more, by proper treatment, my wrist will recover its wonted strength and elasticity. Father of mercies, let me yet praise thee! Not with my tongue only, but with my hands and my feet, my head and my heart!

Strange thoughts, at times, come into my mind, and now and then I derive comfort from strange sources. Last night, at more than the midnight hour, I lay heavily afflicted. My head, my face, my cheek, and my arm were in great pain, and my pulse was tearing away at a most unhealthy speed. When affairs appeared to be at their worst, when my arm was aching, my teeth shooting, and my head throbbing and agonizing, the words came to my mind, "Hard pounding this, gentlemen! we shall see which will pound the longest." It may possibly be remembered, that these words were spoken by a military commander on the battle field, when the fight raged the hottest, and when the thundering cannons were sweeping hundreds, ay thousands, from the world. Odd enough it was, that these warlike expressions should occur to one of my peaceable disposition; but occur to me they did, and gave me comfort, for somehow or other the confidence of the military commander seemed to excite my own. If put into plain language, my thoughts were these: "I am sorely tired; but, through mercy, I believe that my mind will be kept tranquil and steady; indeed, I feel certain that my patience will not be overcome, for my dependence is on Him who has all power, and is plenteous in mercy."

It sometimes vexes me-more is the pity that an old man should allow his mind to be vexed by such trifles; it sometimes vexes me to see so many buildings carried on around me; streets, squares, churches, and houses are springing up in all directions. Scaffold poles here, piles of hewn stone there, and square heaps of bricks yonder. Time was, I could take my quiet walks, and enjoy my lonely musings in privacy; but now my ways are bricked up, as

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it were, and my paths are peopled with workmen; heavy laden carts and wagons cut up the roads with their wheels, in conveying materials for buildings to and fro. Carpenters, in their paper caps; masons and plasterers, bespotted from head to heel; and bricklayers, ringing their trowels against the hard bricks: these await me, turn which road I may, and these things affect me in different ways. I look on to the future, and fancy that, by and by, I shall not be able to find a private walk, without making a public promenade to obtain it. And then, again, I shall be compelled to bestow more time in tying my neck cloth, to have my morning coat brushed more carefully; perhaps, indeed, it may be necessary to put on a better, as well as to glance at my lambswool stockings. To old men, these little things are annoyances. Not that I would have you regard me as a sloven. No, no, cleanliness and some attention to appearance are necessary to our own comfort, as well as due to the respect we owe to others; but privacy, and quiet walks, and a peep at the country, even if I can get no more of it, are beyond price. As the world increases, however, there must be increased accommodations for its inhabitants, therefore I will endeavour to be less selfish and more forbearing. For many a long year have I had my way. All my wants have been supplied, and shame upon me if I now begrudge to my fellow pilgrims a little space on which to erect their tents in the wilderness. Build away, then, ye masons; saw and plane with all diligence, ye carpenters; and use your trowels, ye bricklayers and plasterers, for there is yet room in the world for us all! No more will I regard you with fretful impatience, but rather, as I pass, leave with you an old man's blessing.

It is a favourite occupation with me to take myself to task, to catechise myself, and to put searching questions to my own heart. Often do I get reprovings from my friends that I richly merit; and if I am not so grateful as I ought to be for such marks of real good will and interest in my welfare, it is to my reproach; but these reprovings are as nothing in point of sharpness to those with which I reprove myself. Never yet did friend or foe say half the severe things to Old Hum

phrey, that he has said to himself. It may be, that a thought may arise in your bosom, that I am taking credit for this remark, rather than acknowledging how much I require correction, that I am speaking rather in the pride than in the humility of my spirit; but oh, could you try me and search me as with candles, you would say, "Here is one who is, at this moment at least, sensible of his infirmities !"

But why, then, do I tell you, that I so frequently play the catechist? For this simple reason, Because I imagine that you will not be so likely when I catechise you, to take my searching questions unkindly, when you know that I am only treating you as I treat myself.

Some time ago, my heart yearned to do a kindness to the bedridden, the lame, and the blind; and I will tell you why. I had been walking abroad in the fields, and gazing on the beauties of the earth, and the glory of the heavens with such a grateful consciousness of health, such a pleasurable sensitiveness to the fresh air, and such highwrought emotions of gratitude to the high and mighty Giver of all good for blessings of which I am unworthy, that I longed to put a smile on the faces, and a joy in the hearts, of those whose infirmities excluded them from my gratifications.

I felt this desire then, and I feel it now, and do purpose, on some future occasion, to point out, in a few words, and in as striking and forcible a manner as I can with my poor pen, the duty that all who can walk abroad owe to those who, by infirmity, are confined at home. In the mean time, I must content myself in just drawing your attention to the subject. Oh that I could move you more frequently to visit the house of mourning and the bed of sickness and pain! An hour of cheering and profitable converse with those whose moments hang heavy upon them, is an act of true and tender compassion.

Has God spread a feast for you, and will you grudge the crumbs that fall from your table? Has he given you hours of delight, and can you not spare, now and then, a few minutes to enliven the cast-down countenance of an afflicted brother or sister? I might cry aloud with a menacing voice, "Have

a care that you yourselves are not afflicted; and have a care, too, should this be the case, lest the measure you meet be measured out to you in return!" but I will not. No; rather will I urge you in the spirit of kindness, imploring you with all the fervour and affectionate earnestness that an old man has in his heart, to do a deed of mercy.

While making these observations, it occurs to me, taking it for granted, as I seem to have done, that you have been somewhat backward in your attentions to the afflicted, that you are entitled, in the very spirit of fairness, to inquire how far I myself have been free from error in this matter? Before I reply, let me tell you of one of the bygone occurrences, which took place in the days of my youth.

In the neighbourhood where I lived, when a boy, a wake was held, at which were practised many inhumanities. Men jumping about tied up in sacks, women running races, and boys climbing up a greasy pole, on the top of which was stuck a hat bound round with blue and red ribands, did not afford sufficient diversion, cruelty seemed to be necessary to render the throng happy. It was bad enough to see a poor tormented dog, with a canister tied to his tail, running himself half dead amidst the kicks and buffetings of the crowd; or to witness a bullock urged on with halloos, threats, and brutal blows, till, mad with fear, rage, and fatigue, it fell down with its tongue lolling from its mouth: but there were other cruelties that I abhorred still more than these.

It was a practice, to hang a goose by the legs from a rope, suspended across the street, that its neck might be pulled by such drunken equestrians as could find pleasure in so brutal a pastime. He who succeeded in pulling off the head of the goose had its body for his prize. It was truly shocking to witness the poor bird, after being suspended for hours, drooping its wings, and hanging down its head; and then to see its ineffectual attempts to escape the rude grasp of the riding ruffians. It harrowed up my spirit, and made me wretched.

In a fit of more than ordinary benevolence and virtuous indignation, I took up my pen, and wrote anonymously an arresting letter to the most active and influential magistrate of the

district, calling upon him to do his duty as a man and a magistrate, and put an end to such atrocious inhumanities but my letter had no effect, and the custom was observed as before.

In after years, when these cruelties were no more resorted to, I became acquainted with the magistrate to whom I had written, and took an opportunity, when conversing on past occurrences, to allude to my letter. He told me, that at that time, though as anxious and as ardent as myself, he had no more power to abolish the cruel customs practised at wakes, than to set aside the law of the land. "If," said he, "in passing through life, we expected less from others' exertions, and depended more on our own, the evils we deplore would be more frequently redressed."

Believing, as I do, that the above remark is a just one, I now reply, that in calling on you to enliven and console the hearts of the bedridden, the lame, and the blind, Old Humphrey is urging you to the performance of a duty that he has greatly neglected, and which he ought more frequently and more conscientiously to have discharged.

MUCH BLOSSOM, AND LITTLE FRUIT.

had accomplished his object. Dr. Johnson, on the other hand, confessed and lamented, that he was deficient in this necessary qualification, that he could never do any thing till he was forced to it, either by his appetite, or his creditors. Try, therefore, to acquire the habit of resolution.-Rev. J. Griffin.

STYLE OF BUILDING IN CHINA. CHINESE architecture is not fitted to impress us with any ideas of the sublime, like the Egyptian; nor to engage our attention by the beauty of the workmanship, and the rhythm of corresponding parts, like the Grecian; neither does it combine the grandeur and the curiously minute elaboration of the Gothic. It is, however, singularly well fitted for the villa and the country residence, and might, without prejudice, be considered as affording the best specimens of the rustic style that are to be met with in any part of the world. The natives of China have a deeply-rooted and long-cultivated taste for rural scenery, and seem to have adapted the mode of building so as to harmonize in the liveliest manner with this predilection. In theory it is very simple, as the mathematics have interfered but little in drawing plans, or suggest

playful variety, that destroys any disagreeable effect, which might result from a monotonous adherence to a few principles, and makes the beholder feel, that he is contemplating art in some of her earliest, and, at the same time, most pleasing developments. The laws of nature are very simple, on one hand; but the results are of the most diversified character, on the other. This fact may, perhaps, enable us to account for that conviction, which we feel, when we survey a Chinese country residence, that there is a certain agreement between the style of architecture and the natural scenery which is spread around it. The elements of both are simple, but indefinably variegated.

SOME are prolific in schemes of use-ing rules. And yet there is a wild and fulness, but are miserably poor in execution. Like some trees, they spend themselves in blossom, and never yield fruit. A gentleman, last summer, showed me a fine tree in his grounds, which he said he had resolved to cut down; for, although, for years, it had produced a finer blossom than any other tree in his orchard or garden, yet it never bore fruit. He mentioned this to a friend, who said, "The fact is, the tree spends itself in blossoms. I advise you to cut the rind off it, nearly half way round, and it will probably have less blossom, but it will bear fruit." He did so, and the result was, that it afterwards produced more and better fruit than any other tree in the garden. Let me, therefore, advise you to cut some of the rind from your schemes, that they may not spend themselves in blossoms, but may work out the fruits of usefulness. Sir Isaac Newton is said to have declared, that he did not consider himself to possess any advantage over other men, except, that whatsoever he considered of sufficient importance to begin, he had sufficient resolution to continue, till he

Necessity appears to have aided taste and the love of a varied assortment, for a Chinese architect is a stranger to the rules by which our roofs are constructed; and, therefore, cannot attempt one that has more than a few feet in its span. If he wishes to have a roof of considerable dimensions, he is obliged to use a series of smaller roofs. A house is, therefore, a combination of roofs, or, in other

words, an aggregate of buildings. This description applies to temples, warehouses, and a few private edifices, where size is considered a matter of importance. But as this device requires the employment of pillars, which are expensive and inconvenient, the builder turns a gentleman's seat into a kind of village, and plants a dwelling here, and another there, at pleasure. In the form and garniture of each several erection, he consults his own taste, and seems to aim at celebrity by the fanciful evolutions of a few simple ideas, or to borrow a phrase from music, by the number of variations he can play upon a single theme or subject. It has been imagined, that certain recondite maxims of art are followed in the dispositions of his various dwellings; but this cannot be the case, since the Chinese are, by no means, versed in geometric lore, and very inadequately informed upon the subject of perspective beauty and proportion. With a few practical rules in his memory, a small choice of models in his idea, and a lively fancy, he sets to work, and plants a portico in the front, a domestic temple, or a hall for the general reception of strangers; behind it, a gaily decorated piazza by the side of the garden; a pretty summer house over a small lake of water, or a bridge over a corner of the same. And when he has finished, he finds that, by the help of a few trees, a mass of artificial rockwork here and there, and many a row of green china-ware palisades, with their entablature of flower pots, the ensemble forms an engaging picture.

To consider the subject of Chinese architecture somewhat in detail, we will pay an imaginary visit to the private residence of a gentleman, a temple, and the cottage of the poor respectively. The first thing that meets us in our visit to the gentleman's house is the portico, consisting of a front and side walls, surmounted by a gable roof. The front is perforated by a large door, which has posts, without mouldings, or any showy ornament; and a lintel, that owes nothing to a cornice, or pediment above it. At a short distance within this door, a large screen is placed, so that the eye of any one who happens to pass by, cannot descry what is going forward within the court yard behind it. If we turn our attention to the inside of the roof, that is expanded over our heads, we perceive that the artist has been at no pains to cover the beams and

rafters by mortar or plaster of any kind. He has left them all in their native simplicity. Still they are so neatly turned, that he seems not to have done amiss in neglecting to hide them from the gazer's view. The beams run from one end of the building to the other, and rest upon the lateral walls. These are crossed at right angles by the lath, which descends from the pitch of the roof to the eaves. The Chinese method of roofing is precisely the inverse of our own, so that our laths correspond, in position, to their rafters, and their laths to our rafters. These rafters, or beams, as they were just now called, are generally round, made of fir, and stained with a dull red colour. The laths are flat, nicely finished, and of the same hue. The large shells of the pearl oyster are squared and polished, and laid over these laths, forming thus an inside layer of great beauty and neatness. A ceiling, composed entirely of mother of pearl, might seem to indicate, that the natives of China are very costly in their habitations, did we not call to mind, that the seas which wash her coast yield this product in great abundance. The outside of the roof is uniformly covered with tiles, and the walls are built of a dark-coloured brick, of a small size, and which are put together with a skill that does great credit to the masons of the "middle nation." The bricks are sometimes inlaid with brass, which keeps its colour so well, that a native once thought he had a fair chance of persuading the writer that it was gold. The eye is next directed to the court-yard, which has a piazza on each side, resembling, in its style of architecture, the portico. On either side of the path, an orange or citron tree, perchance, displays its golden fruit and its leafy greenness. At the upper end stands the hall, which is open in front, and, consequently, is not in need of door, or window, for the purposes of light and entrance. There is, however, a doorway in the back wall; but it is concealed by a screen, which serves as a kind of frontispiece to the apartment. As we emerge from this back aperture, we find ourselves, perchance, in a garden, at the further end of which there is another hall, that is a facsimile of the former. The sleeping rooms occupy the remote parts of the ground plot, and often appear in the light of an appendage, rather than as members of the system.

The temples are built upon the same

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the warmer regions, would do well to copy the Chinese style, for it is essentially contrived to secure coolness, that delightful thing, for which the stranger pants so earnestly amid the noontide heat of a torrid sun. In taking leave of these temples, we may remark, that when the gospel shall supersede the besotted abstractions of Budhism in China, these temples will afford admirable lodging places for the missionary. Under their multiform roofs, or at dayfall in their ample courts, he may assemble his auditory, and discourse upon the wonders of redeeming love, while the numerous outbuildings, which stand within their precincts, will furnish convenient abodes for himself, his native teachers, and catechumens.

The cottage, in China, is built of darkcoloured and neatly-moulded bricks, and covered with round tiles of the same hue and material. It has neither window nor chimney, as the doorway serves both for the admission of light, and the exit of the smoke that issues from the culinary process. The doorway is partly closed by a half door, which is orna

model as the house of the honourable man. The portico here is more frequently adorned by four pillars, than it is in private residences. In some of the best of the latter kind, it may be remarked, this ornament is not wanting. The pillars are usually square, of small diameter, and have a base, which is more indebted to fancy than to principle in the nature of its design. Instead of a capital, we see a beam, which connects these four pillars together, near their top, and runs to the end walls. These support the eaves in the room of the wall, which is withdrawn a few feet to make way for them. In front, and within some of the larger temples, round pillars are reared, which sustain the first and second roofs; for in these two or more roofs ascend above each other, nearly in the fashion delineated upon the blue earthenware which adorn our tables. These pillars are joined to the beams at the top, by a system of posts and cross beams, which are usually carved in a very fanciful style, and give scope for the display of native ingenuity and taste. It is termed the chung kea, or central support, and may be regarded as one of the distin-mented at the top by a row of balusters guishing features of Chinese architecture. The practice of using a compound roof is not unknown among us, for we use it in our country churches, where the nave has one peculiar to itself, and the side aisles a distinct and appropriate covering. The composite pillars, which range along each of the side aisles, intercept our view of the preacher, and too often render a serious address from the desk little more than a tide of unmeaning sounds. In the large temple, upon the island of Honan, near the city of Can-vation to the house. The gable ends are ton, rows of columns obstruct the spectator's view of the ceremonies; and, while anxious to inform himself as to every particular connected with rites of such high antiquity, he finds himself constantly baffled.

The singular manner in which the eaves of the several roofs are turned up into a horn, is characteristic of a Chinese temple. Fancy dictated this curvature, and the grotesque sculpture with which it is often embellished; but in the projection of the eaves beyond the wall, an eye was had to utility; for the masonry is protected from the scorching rays of the sun, and the interior of the building kept cool by this arrangement. Foreigners, who build houses for their accommodation at Singapore, Malacca, or any of

in miniature. Between these the in-
mates can peep, and ascertain what is
doing abroad, without exposing them-
selves. The wall recedes about a foot,
where the door is perforated, in order,
perhaps, to vary the sameness of a front,
which has no substitute for a window,
either in reality or appearance. The
ridge of the roof is sometimes adorned
with specimens of native carving, which
turn up in scrolls and semi-volutes on
different parts, and help to give ele-

spread out at the top into a fan-shaped
expansion, and afford the workman an
opportunity for the display of his tact
and ingenuity; for the bricks are so ad-
justed, and the black and white lines so
well distributed, that the effect is of the
most pleasing, as well as the most unique
kind.
G. T. L.

EVIL HABITS.

Ir is a cause for wonder and sorrow, to see millions of rational creatures growing into their permanent habits, under the conforming efficacy of every thing which they ought to resist, and receiving no part of those habits from impressions of the supreme Object.-Foster.

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