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and season, to individual character and social position. If she were tired of life, and wanted to throw it off, as a burden, it would be just like her to hit upon some off-hand process, without dragging through a tedious course of self-caused consumption. It never entered her unsophisticated fancy that one part of her earthly mission was to remind the human race of its mortality by moving about in the similitude of an hour-glass, with lungs so pinched and breath so short, that no great stretch of imagination would be needed to supply the scythe-bearing skeleton.

* The lady in mourning, whom your door-maid, not being read in the classics, naturally mistook for a wet-nurse, is Andromache, wife of Hector. She will never cease thinking how her slain husband was dragged about the walls of Troy, with his feet lashed to the chariot of Achilles. Had you seen her when she parted from Hector, beneath the beech-tree near the Scæan gate, the sight would have haunted you for life. You could never forget her sobbing accents, heard during the pauses of the roaring battle, as she hung upon her husband's hand, telling him he was to her both father and mother and brother, and begging him not to go again to that dreadful field of slaughter. Could you have seen how her head drooped lower and lower when Hector drew the dark picture of her possible future, in a distant house of bondage, plying the loom and drawing water at the bidding of another; or how her eyes ran over with a painful pleasure, when Hector laid aside his nodding helmet that had frightened their child, and taking him in his arms, prayed the gods would make him a braver man than his sire; or how her frame shuddered when their last adieux were said, and she moved homeward lingeringly, looking often back, with floods of weeping : you, Mrs. Potiphar, in spite of case-hardened sensibilities, would have been melted to sympathy; you would have half expected to see her petrify into another Niobe --- into a marble, immortal execration of the horrors of war!

“The lady in the corner, bending over a piece of Gobelin tapestry, (the genuine article, by the way, Mrs. Potiphar, and more epic in its vein than your unhappy rabbits with blue eyes and pink feet, chasing lubberly butter-flies over narrow necks of corduroy mea dow, shaded by rheumatio willows;) the lady you are now looking at — notice her drooping eye-lids, Mrs. Potiphar- is either Mrs. Helen Menelaus or Mrs. Helen Alexander, I am not quite clear which. In fact, public opinion has been divided. There was talk of settling the question by a duel between the distinguished claimants of her heart and hand. To tell you the blunt truth, Mrs. Potiphar, without putting too fine a point upon it, Helen's reputation is slightly cracked. She thinks so herself. She has been heard to call herself a 'dog-faced individual. Mrs. Potiphar will be rashly foolish if she thinks the atmosphere of her parlor will be polluted by such a presence. Before thinking that thought, Mrs. Potiphar should have the charity to remember with Robert Burns, not alone what has been yielded to, but also what has been

resisted. She should read the eighth chapter of the gospel according to John, and inwardly digest the proverb that cautions people who occupy vitreous domiciles against the danger of converting themselves into temporary catapults for assailing passersby with projectiles that are liable to be forcibly returned.

Mrs. Potiphar began to grow red in the face, wondering to what end all this unbridled talk would carry itself. She felt greatly relieved at sight of the Celtic maid bringing in a delton or triangular note on a silver waiter. The note happened to be written in Greek, and Kurz Pacha was called upon to show the interpretation thereof. Mrs. Penelope, the Web-Raveller, had sent a regret. She was much occupied with domestic duties and cares. One of her tasks was the weaving of a shroud (in accordance with a custom of her people) for her father-in-law, the aged hero, Laertes. She hoped it would be long unneeded; already she had spent three years in weaving this shroud, and would be glad to spend as many more, if she could thus keep at a distance that coarse mob of roystering suitors who pretended to be anxious to take the place of Ulysses, now twenty years absent and reported to be dead. She hoped Mrs. Potiphar would not be in haste to think meanly of her weaving. She had private reasons for wishing to pull a little wool over the eyes of the suitors, who were so hearty and assiduous in their attentions to the chess-board, the dinner-table, and the wine cellar. She was fully persuaded that any one of them was ready to marry the princely estate of Ulysses, even with the melancholy incumbrance of a grief-stricken widow, half-demented by sorrow, and so fascinated with the work of ornamental shroud-weaving, that she spent a part of each night in unravelling what it cost her a day's labor to make. She would not dwell longer upon private griefs. She was unfeignedly happy to be invited to share in the happiness of Mrs. Potiphar. Before her was what seemed to be a memorial tablet, announcing that Mrs. Potiphar was to be at home' that evening. She had not been able to learn the full particulars of what it meant, but her womanly instinct, that seldom went astray, led her to infer that either Mr. Potiphar, like her own Ulysses, had been absent on a long and perilous journey; or her first household had been desolated by fire, tempest, or war. Now she had reached the end of her troubles, and could appreciate the force of a remark once made by her long-lost companion: There is nothing sweeter or lovelier than for husband and wife to be keeping house, like-minded in their plans. It was delightful to be safely at home' after unwilling absence or denial of its comforts. Home was the dearest spot on earth, and he was a profane wretch of a punster who declared that homely women were so named because their mission was to stay at home. She was glad to believe that no gifts of beauty or wit, no womanly accomplishment, no social or intellectual endowment could be too good for adorning the domestic fire-side. Though often spoken of by partial friends as one of the fairest of Homer's heroines, she the Web-Raveller, would prefer

to be kindly thought of as one of the homeliest of home-loving mothers.

It was plain that Kurz Pacha was improvising a kangaroo codicil to Penelope's brief regret. He saw he was detected, and hastened to resume his own character. 'I see that Mrs. Potiphar is disappointed.' (In point of fact, the tun of Heidelburg looked as if every inch of its vast circumference was full of amazement and vexation.) 'I supposed it would be so. Nearness is apt to disenchant. Familiarity breeds contempt. We are told by an old writer, whose name adorns one of the empty gilt covers in your husband's never-opened library that what is unknown passes for grand. Ignotum pro magnifico. Seldom is a lady angelic to her chamber-maid.'

What was said and done thereafter shall it be told, or not?

A Β Ι Τ Ι ο Ν .

SPEAK for me but one word that is unspoken!
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken!'

“Let my spirit drink in something,

Something from the well of lore,
That no other soul has tasted,

In the long years gone before.
This the craving of Ambition

As the lamp of life burned low;
This the earnest, wild petition :

“Grant me something e'er I go.'
Ah! in vain the high up-lifting

Of a soul on life's wave tossed:
Toward eternity 't was drifting,

To the world forever lost.

Thus it is: with wild aspiring

To the hill-tops we would climb,
With unsatisfied desiring,

To transmit their names to time.

Vain the strife ; for life's hours dwindling,

Keep each from the long-sought goal,
Though the fire seems newly kindling

That so long has lit the soul.

Is there not a life eternal,

Waning not with fleet years' flight,
Full of knowledge deep, supernal,

For such souls as seek the light?

DR. FRANCIS'

A D D R ES S. *

MR. PRESIDENT SLOAN AND REGENTS OF THE COLLEGE HOSPITAL:

Ir demands a hardy constitution to address so formidable an assemblage of the learned, the liberal, and the philanthropic as I now see before me. Your courtesy has invited me, on this occasion, as one of your guests. I recognize the honor with the fullest appreciation. The circumstances which have led to this meeting of the friends of medical science and humanity, are of no ordinary character: it is the first time, I apprehend, that the patriotic and benevolent inhabitants of this distinguished city have gathered together in their strength and power to do especial honor to an event which, in its consequences, must prove of mighty benefit to the interests of precious knowledge and the efficient principles which philanthropy sustains. Your general circular address has most fittingly announced your beneficent intentions, to found a Hospital for the relief of physical suffering and for the promotion of the great art of healing. I have studied with care the plan of your work as set forth in your comprehensive exposition, and the rules and ordinances by which the government of your noble institution is to be regulated. I think they will receive a hearty recognition from all quarters. They are characterized by much knowledge in the premises, and are marked by a maturity of judgment to which the most experienced will give their assent. They reflect honor upon the heads and hearts of the disinterested projectors of the great measure. Solomon has said there is a time for all things; I believe that time has arrived when you may put into active operation the plans which doubtless have repeatedly absorbed your deliberations, and which you have but recently determined to make known to an enlightened community, for their patronage and support. You might have begun even earlier, but you are not too late. Prudential reasons are to be well scanned, and projects, however wise, when dependent for success on fiscal means, are never to be hastily entered upon. Yet your great and commanding city has long felt the want of an establishment, such as you this day have inaugurated, notwithstanding the benefits which

you have long secured to the afflicted poor; and the most skeptical must yield their doubts to the policy which at this time prompts you to the performance of so great and praiseworthy an undertaking as the organization of the

Long Island College Hospital.

I am informed that Brooklyn exceeds considerably two hundred thousand inhabitants; and where, tell me, will you find a city of that numerical population, in civilized society, without the organization of a hospital ? Inspect the numerous county towns or cities

DELIVERED at the Inauguration of the Long Island College Hospital, Brooklyn, on the third of June, 1808.

of Great Britain, many of them even of far less inhabitants, and you will learn that provisions of a like Christian character proclaim the wisdom and humanity of their people. So, too, you will find like demonstrations on the Continent. What was the population of Philadelphia when the great American sage, Franklin, projected the foundation of the Pennsylvania Hospital in 1752 ? Not twenty thousand. What was the population of your neighbor, the city of New

York, when Bard and Middleton, with LieutenantGovernor Moore, and the countenance of John Fothergill and

other philanthropists, projected the world-renowned hospital on Broadway, the first institution of that character in that metropolis ? Certainly in numbers at that period not twenty thousand people. On the score of numbers, therefore, you have not been premature in your operations.

Your mighty increase in inhabitants, your fiscal capabilities, your intelligence, your Christian character, the denizens of a city of churches, your kindly nature, and your moral culture, all cried aloud for the organization of the Institution we, at this time, are convened to celebrate. Moreover, there are other reasons which must work a happy influence in all time in behalf of your proceedings. You justly boast a city whose location seems blessed with almost every physical advantage. Your topographical situation is signally advantageous; your soil, your temperature, the very site and structure of

your ample Hospital, give a very favorable verdict touching the sagacity and forethought that have controlled your achievements, and demonstrate that yours is no tentative measure. These are indeed striking facts, but too apparent to be longer dwelt upon, and what is self-evident supersedes prolonged discussion. Your enlightened head, with your Board of Regents, must have been well apprised of all these circumstances while selecting the grounds and modifying the edifice you have now at command for your public-spirited undertaking.

Yet there is another light in which I would look at your important work. The name you have assumed for your great charity is significant. Long Island is not unknown in our patriotic history, nor in the annals of American science, in medicine, in surgery, and in the kindred departments of knowledge. It is in a remarkable degree prominent as the birth-place of many of the most distinguished individuals who have, during the past two or three generations, flourished in our profession as able and enlightened cultivators of the divine art of healing. On this occasion I am neces sarily restricted, and must be satisfied with the briefest notice of your native worthies who have signalized themselves in other walks of life. There is assuredly an intellectual atmosphere among you, judging from your products. You have given the nation men of high eminence in jurisprudence, and in legislation : Jones, Kissam, Colden, Furman, and your present representative at a foreign court, who has manifested in the most indisputable manner his claims to the title of a lover of American history, by his liberality in diffusing the early history of De Vries and other rare works il

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