full truly she would go her stations to three altars daily; daily her dirges and commendations she would say, and her even-songs before supper, both of the day and of Our Lady, beside many other prayers and psalters of David throughout the year; and at night before she went to bed, she failed not to resort unto her chapel, and there a large quarter of an hour to occupy her devotions. No marvel, through all this long time. her kneeling was to her painful, and so painful that many times it caused in her back pain and disease. And yet, nevertheless, daily when she was in health, she failed not to say the crown of Our Lady, which after the manner of Rome containeth sixty and three aves, and at every ave to make a kneeling. As for meditation, she had divers books in French, wherewith she would occupy herself when she was weary of prayer. Wherefore divers she did translate out of the French into English. Her marvellous weeping they can bear witness of, which here before have heard her confession, which be divers and many, and at many seasons in the year, lightly every third day. Can also record the same those that were present at any time when she was houshilde, [received the sacrament of the Lord's Supper] which was full nigh a dozen times every year, what floods of tears there issued forth of her eyes!

FISK, WILBUR, an American clergyman and educator, born at Brattleboro, Vt., August 31, 1792; died at Middletown, Conn., February 22, 1839. He graduated at Brown University in 1815, and entered upon the study of law; but in 1818 he entered the itinerant ministry of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and five years later was made Presiding Elder of the Vermont District. In 1826 he became Principal of an academy at Wilbraham, Mass. When the Wesleyan University at Middletown, Conn., was founded, in 1832, Mr. Fisk, was chosen as first President of the new institution. He was instrumental, in 1832, in establishing an Indian mission in Oregon. In 1835-36, on account of impaired health, he made a tour in Europe. During his absence he was elected a Bishop of the Methodist Church, but declined the position. His principal works are Sermons and Lectures on Universalism, Reply to Pierpont on the Atonement, The Calvinistic Controversy, and Travels in Europe. His Life has been written by Rev. Joseph Holdich (1842).

SEA-SICKNESS.

If I supposed that any sketch of this disease would produce even the premonitory symptoms upon my readers, I could not find it in my heart to inflict the misery upon one of the sons of Adam-except on the physicians; nor even upon them, except in hope that

it would put them upon extra exertions to find a cure. On board the steamboat which conveyed us down to Sandy Hook an eminent physician suggested and sanctioned the theory, which I believe has gained extensive authority with the faculty, and certainly seems very plausible, and accords well with many of the symptoms, that the disease is the inversion of the peristaltic motion of the digestive muscles through the stomach and viscera.

Alas! what a picture of this distressing disorder. Only conceive the unpleasant sensation which this unnatural action must produce-the loathing, the shrinking back, and the spasmodic action of all the digestive organs. And when this system of "internal agitation' is begun, it is increased by its own action. The spasm increases the irritation, and the irritation increases the susceptibility to spasmodic action, until the coats of the stomach and all the abdominal viscera are convulsed. The sensations produced, however, are not those of pain as we commonly use the term, but of loathing— of sickness-of death-like sickness-until nature is wearied, and the poor sufferer feels that life itself is a burden. He is told that he must not give up to it; he must keep about, take the air, and drive it off. At first he thinks that he will-he believes that he can ; and, perhaps, after the first complete action of his nausea, feels relieved, and imagines that he has conquered; but another surge comes on, and rolls him and his vessel a few feet upward; and again she sinks, and he with her: but not all of him. His body goes down with the vessel, as it is meet that it should, according to the laws of gravitation; but that which his body. contains cannot make ready for so speedy a descent. The contained has received an impetus upward, and it keeps on in this direction; while the container goes down with the ship. The result may be readily inferred.

But even then the worst is still to come. When the upward action, the distressing nausea, the convulsive retching continue, the deeper secretions are disturbed, and the mouth is literally filled with "gall and bitterness." All objects around you now lose their interest; the sea has neither beauty nor sublimity; the roaring

of the wave is like the wail of death; the careering of the ship before the wind, "like a thing of life," is but the hastening and aggravation of agony. Your sympathy, if not lost, is paralyzed. Your dear friend-perhaps the wife of your bosom-is suffering at the same time; but you have not the moral courage, if you have the heart, to go to her assistance. And even that very self, which is so absorbing and exclusive, seems, by a strange paradox, hardly so interesting as to be worth an existence.

If the theory of the inversion of the peristaltic motion be true, it may yet be a curious, and perhaps not unprofitable physiological inquiry, What are the intermediate links between the motion of the vessel-which is evidently the primum mobile of all the agitation-and this inverted action of the digestive organs? Is this latter the effect of a previous action upon the nervous system? Is it the effect of sympathy between the brain and the stomach? if a nervous derangement is a prior link, are the nerves wrought upon by the imagination? and if so, through what sense is the imagination affected? Is it through the general feelings of the frame-the entire system or is it chiefly through the organ of sight? I have not skill or knowledge sufficient to answer these questions. I cannot but think, however, that the eye has much to do in this matter. If you look at the vessel in motion, it seems to increase the difficulty; and hence, while under the influence of the disease, you cannot bear to look on anything around you, but are disposed to close the windows of the soul, and give yourself up to dark and gloomy endurance.

One of the social-or rather anti-social-concomitants of this disease is that it excites but little pity in those around you who are not suffering. One tells you, "It will do you good!" This is the highest comfort you get. Another assures you that "it is not a mortal disease," and that "you will feel a great deal better when it is over." Another laughs you in the face, with some atrocious pleasantry about "casting up accounts," or "paying duties to Old Neptune." A " searching operation," this paying custom to the watery king. If his Majesty demanded but a large percentage of your

wares, it might be tolerated; but he takes all you have; he searches you through and through.

Wearied out at length, you throw yourself into your berth, where, by keeping in a horizontal position, and sinking into the stupor of a mere oyster existence, you find the only mitigation of your suffering. But here, too, you have painful annoyances. Is it cold: your extremities become numb and icy; the system, as in the cholera, has all the heat and action within, while the entire surface is torpid, and the extremities are cold as death. Is it hot: you have a sense of suffocation for the want of air; you open your eyes, and see the white drapery of your bed waving, and in a moment you anticipate the fanning of the breeze. No, no! that waving motion is not from the zephyr; it is from the same baleful agitation that is the source of all your distress.

To this hour I can scarcely think of the waving of that white drapery in the stagnant air of my state-room without associating with it the idea of a ghostly visitant in the hour of midnight, flapping his sepulchral wing about the bed of agony, and boding ill to the sufferer. Again you close your eyes. You think of home-of land anywhere-of the terra firma beds of the lower animals, even of the worst accommodated among them -the horse or the swine-and you feel that their lodgement would be a Paradise compared with your billowtossed couch. But all is in vain, and you find no other alternative but to give yourself up to passive endurance. And such endurance! You listen to the bell dividing off the hours-and you feel that Time, like the slow fires of savage torments, has slackened his pace to prolong your sufferings. Suffice it to say that I have been describing what I have actually felt, in a greater or less degree, with occasional interruptions, for fifteen days during my voyage to Europe —Travels in Europe.