question Providence and the gospel, and to covet death, owing to that exacerbation of spirit, produced by the endless tortures of repletion, awake or asleep, in bed or out of it. I have sometimes in the night watches, when high and solemn imagery peculiarly impresses us, (mine however is always of a pleasant character,) reflected on the state of suffering in which thousands of my fellow-men were at that hour probably plunged. Some suspended over precipices, others sinking by earthquakes, many swept away by floods, scorched by fires, married to shrews. -Awful visions! I have murmured to myself, see the results of gravy and of black bile.

"Good eating deserves good drinking." This is the adopted saying of those who mean to make beasts of themselves by excess in both. It is my experience, that no quantity of drink, per se, ever produced the night-mare. Yet I have, notwithstanding, found the most horrid notions engendered, by all spirituous compounds, from champagne to small beer. A strict guard must be kept on this by dreamers. Be cautious of French wines. I remember spending a whole night, with a hook in my middle, as a bait for fish, owing to no other earthly cause than a bottle of sour claret. Brandy begets strife and bloodshed in sleep; and beer, heaviness and palsy. I have three times, neither more nor less, had my whole set of teeth entirely out, numbered in the palm of my hand, by drinking new port. I trust these hints will be more than enough.

These are the great causes of unpleasant dreaming, the things to be considered in primis; but other operating causes, though of minor importance, are not to be overlooked. All noises and distracting sounds are the parents of horrors. They not only awake and disturb, but are grafted upon, and united with, the dream, with singular combinations of discord and misery. I long tried every inn of court and set of chambers in London for quiet. Thank heaven! I have at last found it. I sleep in the back attic. No children in the house. My landlady, who knows my humour, and consults it, suffers no knocking at the doors or ringing of bells, no milk to be cried but in a whisper. In short, it is the very place of all others for a dreamer. There is, how ever, an awful visitation which I know not how either to remedy or endure.. The serenading, sonneteering, soul-annoying cats! No longer ago than last night the music of an exquisite choir, was changed at a divine cadence to the howlings of lost spirits. I have sometimes breathed

slaughter, but of what avail is it? The arsenic of ten mines would want efficacy, among the throngs of our feline popula tion. Great conquerors have been known to look upon the ocean, and reflect with melancholy humility upon their own littleness, when compared with the power of that mighty and ungovernable element. I sometimes look upon my landlady's sleek and well-behaved cat, as she meekly steals along, looking askance at me, and a sense of my utter weakness, ny mortality, seems to be forced upon me with peculiar power and emphasis.

Of all the negative qualities in the science of dreaming, these are the most important and consequential. But they are but negatives. Man wants something more than merely to be free from misery. To lie in bed, with no more sensibility than your pillow, no more mental energy than your bed post, is the lowest aim of science, the meanest object of an immortal mind. A ruffian, whom some amusingly call a philosopher, one Dr. Franklin, an American, I am told, published an essay, addressed to a lady, on the art of procuring pleasant dreams. And what do you think his art is? Why, that being wakeful and disturbed, you should first of all kick on high the bed clothes to cool yourself; and in the event of this failing to quiet you, you should step out of bed, no matter if the thermometer be at Zero, and imitating Don Quixote in the mountain, pace your room in your night shirt! Night dress, I should have said, remembering that the abominable design is communicated to a lady.

Any man, having a wife and children looking to him for succour, and who would try this experiment on himself, must be a scoundrel, an unregenerate villain, who deserves to be made to sleep in his bed at night, by twelve hours exercise at the tread wheel during the day. What social right can any man possess, to run such a risk of making his wife a widow, and bringing his children to the parish? But very lately, during the last dog days, indeed, a man of sanguine temperament, bitten by fleas to an intolerable degree, got out of bed in the extremity of passion and despair, and regardless of the protestations of his wife, hanged himself in his garters! This conduct was mild and contemplative, compared with that of him, who should try Franklin's method of suicide, with the thermometer under 70. I once tried it with a philosophical view, and who shall describe the cramp, the rheumatism, the torturous toothache? Suffice it, that if I were to be hanged to-morrow at eight precisely, I would not accept a reprieve, on condition

of renewing the experiment. A rope is the preferable mode of death of the two. And as to a lady cutting these demoniacal capers! Any female who—but I have done with it.

I propose to communicate a few important hints to the real amateurs of dreaming, all of which I can recommend as tried things, and unlike the quackery just alluded to, unattended with danger, or risk of life. Let your room be a medium size. I hate your Westminster Hall kind of bed rooms. How are you to live through a winter, sleeping in one? A closet is worse. In one of the first kind which I had, I dreamed of nothing but being out hunting bears with captain Parry, in nankeens without drawers; and in one of the latter, I was regularly twice a week, a rat in an air pump. Twelve feet by sixteen is the

size.

The thing of first consequence, after the room, is the bed. And here arises a pretty clamour. "Sleep on no feather bed," says a physician without patients to kill; "they absorb and imbibe the perspirable vapours, which are again reabsorbed and re-conducted through the pores, to the annihilation of health." "Horrid contrivance!" loudly echoes a brother quack, "heating and distorting the limbs, legitimate ancestor of weakness; disordering all the bodily functions, and obstructing the secretions. In a word, your feather beds are the great patrons of the sexton and undertaker." Cease your clatter a moment, and let me be heard. It is a lie altogether. Tell me, Gallipots, where you find any better forms, any better health, or more uniform vivacity, than among those who use them? Do not let them be too large, excess is no doubt pernicious. Sleep on about forty pounds of good white goose, and you will not repent it. Get to fifty of down, and your bed, instead of a comfort, is a trial, a torture, a vapour-bath, a hell upon earth.

But having got your bed, the misery is, not one chambermaid in ten thousand knows how to make it. There is an innate, inbred principle of sin among them all; they all covet to lay the heels so infernally high. This is an ancient error. See an old state bed in a palace, which is made by tradition, and the heels are two feet higher than the bolster by any spiritlevel in the kingdom. I know if I were the coroner of a county, and called to consider one of your sudden deaths, I would, first ask about suppers, cross-examine the cook; but I would especially sift to the bottom what was the level of the bed. Thousands have died in supposed apo

plexies, from no other cause than this noxious vanity, this chambermaid's display of art and elegance. Let the bed gradually incline from the pillow to the feet, about one inch fall in a foot, and if you cannot get it well done, alter it yourself-nothing on earth repays your time and anxiety with better interest.

There is one thing you may get done, the sheet well tucked in at bottom. My landlady had once a chambermaid, whose whole glory was a display of sheet on the outside; it amounted to a complete passion, and a rascally vice it was. No sooner had I got to sleep, and perhaps in the first act of a good dream, than the second turn brought up the linen from the bottom, which gradually twisted to the figure and consistence of a man-of-war's cable. What hope for peace that night? As to dreaming, when sleep overcame my rage and exasperation, what was it but to be awakened to sorrow, by the terrors of being let down Freshwater cliff, bird'snesting, by a rope tied round my middle -or to be broiled on St. Lawrence's gridiron ? I soon taught her better. Women, after all, have some reason.

But where is the use of having a philosophically constructed bed, if you do not study a scientific and accurate method of lying in it ?-you may as well put a Troughton's equatorial sector into the hands of an Esquimaux. The truth is, not one person in ten knows the philosophy of lying in bed, any more than the quadrature of the circle. One fellow puts his hands and arms in fantastical shapes over his head, imitating the picture of a shepherd reclining, in a frontispiece to an old edition of Phillips's Pastorals. Another sprawls on his back like a frying flounder, ille stertit supinus. A third, the reverse of the last, realizes the description Sallust gives us of the beasts that perish, que natura prona, atque ventri obedientia finxit! By all these methods, embarrassing the circulation, and holding in bondage the lungs and viscera. How then is it? Begin on your right side, a little inclining backward, so that you do not press on your arm, and impede the circulation of the subclavian arteries-your legs ad libitum, but tolerably straightened. If you turn, da capo, the position on the other side. How beautiful is the simplicity of an accurate and well-digested philosophy!

Talking of legs, I cannot forbear a case in point. A friend of mine, a clergyman, and a great polemical reader, one night got into bed at ten, and, laying his legs uneasily, had a soul harrowing, dreamy visitation. His limbs were presently converted into theological disputants! One

THE CAPTIVE.

WAKE not the waters with thine oar,
My gentle gondolier!

The whispers of the wave and shere
Still linger on my ear.

Lonely the night, and dark its sleep,
And few the stars that glow
Within the mirror of the deep,
That lies outspread below.

But fix the mast, the sail unfurl,

My gentle gondolier!

The wind is soft-the calm waves curl

The sentry cannot hear.

And in this light, our little sail

May well escape his ken;

And we shall meet, ere dawning pale,
Our long-lost countrymen.

Long years the iron manacle,

My gentle gondolier!

Hath worn these limbs in death-damp cell, 'Till they are stiff and sere. Yet little heed I strengthless limb,

Or think of anguish past,

So we escape while night is dim,
And heaven is overcast.

'Hark! 'tis the wakeful sentry's call!"

Nay, nay, my gondolier!
We're far from castle-moat and wall-
The sentry cannot hear.

'Tis but the plunging sea-dog's feat,
Or wild birds on the cliff;-
And lo! the wind is in our sheet,
More swiftly sails our skiff.

More swiftly, and more swiftly yet,
My gentle gondolier!

The gale is fresh-our sail is set-
And morn will soon be here.
Oh! ne'er did hope so ardently
In human heart expand,

As mine, to see thee ere I die,
My own-my own loved land!

Literary Magnet.

ON THE MISTRESS CICELY.

A PATTERN AND EXAMPLE OF HOUSEKEEPERS. SHE was a woman peerless in her station,

With household virtues wedded to her name,

Spotless in linen, grass-bleached in her fame, And pure and clear-starched in her reputation. llence in my castle of imagination

She bites for ever more the dainty dame, To keep all airy draperies from shame, And all dream furniture in preservation.—

CAPTAIN HALL'S INTERVIEW WITH BONAPARTE.

THE following highly interesting narrative is extracted from Captain Basil Hall's Interview with Napoleon Bonaparte, in August, 1817, now first published in Constable's Miscellany:

Of course, nothing could engage our attention on arriving at St. Helena so strongly as its wonderful inhabitant, Napoleon Bonaparte. For many weeks before, the probability of seeing him had engrossed the thoughts of every one on board in a degree which it is difficult to describe, and would hardly be credited by those who, from distance or other circumstances, never by any possibility could have been admitted to his presence. Whatever prejudices or opinions we might previously have entertained respecting his character, every former sentiment was now overwhelmed by the intense anxiety to see a man who had exercised such an astonishing influence over the destinies of mankind. The vivid interest recently excited in our minds by travelling into remote countries, and being the first to contemplate unknown nations, and a totally new state of manners, high though it had been, and universally felt, was feeble in comparison to what we now experienced, when conscious of being within so short a distance of such a man as Napoleon. I say this without the least affectation, but simply as a curious fact in the history of curiosity, if I may use so quaint an expression, by which every individual on board, high as well as low, was infinitely more occupied about this one man, than he had been with all the incidents of our singular voyage put together. Even those of our number who, from their situation, could have no chance of seeing him, caught the fever of the person on board was roused on the occamoment, and the most cold and indifferent sion into unexpected excitement. If this were true of others, it was ten times inore striking in the case of those who had any expectation of being admitted to an inter

view; and I landed with two gentlemen who were passengers in my ship, in a state of greater anxiety than I ever experienced before or since.

As I had the pleasure of being personally acquainted with the governor and his family, and had received an invitation to live at Plantation-House, I calculated with some confidence on the assistance which this acquaintance would afford in forwarding the object in view. Before taking any steps, however, I waited upon the admiral to receive his orders for my further proceedings. He had no objections to my attempting to see Bonaparte, but gave me very slender hopes of success; and on reaching the governor's country house, I was much disappointed by finding that Bonaparte and he were on terms which rendered it impossible for him to request an interview for any stranger. He most kindly however, undertook to do all that was in his power, and immediately wrote a note to captain Blakeney, the officer who was at that period in charge of Longwood, to say that I had just arrived from the eastern seas, and was desirous of waiting upon general Bonaparte, to whom my wishes were to be made known in the manner most likely to succeed.

No answer came that evening; and I did not sleep a wink all night. A positive refusal would probably have had a different effect; the disappointment must have been submitted to; but this uncertainty was harassing and agitating in a degree which, though it surprised me a good deal at the time, I have since learned to consider perfectly natural; for I see abundant explanation of my anxiety and want of rest, on comparing what I feel now on the subject, with the lasting regret I should inevitably have experienced, had I failed, when so very near, to see the most remarkable man of the age.

This night was succeeded by a still more anxious morning. After breakfast an answer came from Longwood to say, that my name had been mentioned to Bonaparte, as well as my desire of paying my respects to him; but it seemed he had not taken the slightest notice of the communication. Captain Blakeney added, that he thought it might be as well for me to come to Longwood, as Bonaparte might possibly choose to receive me if actually on the spot. I accordingly rode over, accompanied by my two companions. Dr. O'Meara and captain Blakeney received us as we entered the grounds of Longwood, but gave us no hopes. Bonaparte, they were sorry to say, was not in a humour to see any one; he had not even mentioned my name; and in all pro

bability did not choose to have the subject spoken of again. It was a pity, they said, that we had not been a few minutes sooner, as he had been walking in the garden, and we might at least have had the satisfaction of seeing him. Here was a fresh mortification, and we felt that we could have gone away contented and happy had we got but one glimpse of him, and have had it to say, or rather to feel and recollect, that so prodigious a meteor had not shot across the political sky of our times without arresting, if only for an instant, our actual observation. I have often heard this description and degree of curiosity called unreasonable, and have even known some people who said they would have cared mighty little to see Bonaparte; that in short they would hardly have crossed the street merely to see him. With such persons I can acknowledge no sympathy in this matter; and without fearing to lay myself open to the charge of trifling, I can assert with confidence, that no exertions I have ever made, have been nearly so well repaid by subsequent reflection, as those which have had for their object to get even a momentary view of distinguished men. This is most especially true in the case of Bonaparte; and it would be easy, were it not tedious and out of place, to explain, and, as I think, to justify all

this.

Meanwhile we proceeded onwards to count Bertrand's house, at the bottom of the gently sloping bank, on the western brow of which stood the dwelling of Bonaparte. Between the two houses lay a neat flower-garden, intersected by gravelwalks, and enclosed by a low hedge: the immediate vicinity was distinguished from the surrounding bleak and desolate country by a few trees, dropped as if by accident in the desert. The countess Bertrand received us in the midst of her family, in a small, low, uncomfortable apartment, which was rendered still more incommodious in consequence of some repairs in another part of the house, from whence the furniture had been removed; so that sofas, beds, and tables, were huddled together where they had no proper places. The good lady herself seemed to be suffering from toothache; the day was cold, and the scanty fire scarcely warmed the room; a little child was moaning in its mother's arms, and, in short, everything wore an air of discomfort. The person most concerned, however, appeared to be the least sensible of any thing being wrong, and received us with smiles and kindness, and spared us all apology for the disorganized state of her establishment. Several very pretty children hear

ing the voices of strangers, came running in, and played merrily round us during all our stay, unconscious, poor little things, of the strange reverses of fortune ander which their parents were suffering, The countess appeared a remarkably ladylike person; and what was more to our purpose, spoke English perfectly well, and soon gained our good-will by the active interest she took in the object we had so much at heart, and on which alone we could think or speak. In a short time she had wrought herself into so much anxiety about our seeing the emperor, that a stranger coming in might have thought she was one of the party who were endeavouring to see him for the first time. Her husband also was very obliging, and seemed willing to forward our views as much as lay in his power; but he partook little of the vivacity of his wife, and seemed upon the whole rather out of spirits, and not altogether pleased with his situation. He described himself, indeed, as having suffered considerably in health from the confinement and the insalubrious air of the climate.

After sitting for about half an hour chatting on various topics, but always coming round to the original subject which filled our thoughts, count Bertrand caught some portion of the interest we felt, and in which his wife so strongly participated. He said it was just possible the emperor might admit us; at all events he would wait upon him, to communicate our wishes, and return presently to let us know how he had fared in his mission. The interval was passed in a state of the utmost anxiety, and at every casual sound which we thought might be count Bertrand's footstep, we started up, in expectation of a summons. Madame Bertrand meanwhile alternately consoled us, and rallied us upon our taking the matter so much to heart. Half an hour at least elapsed before we heard any thing of his success; at length the door opened, and instead of the grand marshal himself, a servant entered, and said he was desired to tell us, that the emperor, on returning from his walk, had thrown off his coat, and lain down on the sofa; in short, that he did not choose to receive any visitors.

Here, then, was a termination to all our expectations; and we rose to take leave with a mixed feeling of regret at having lost the pleasure we had promised ourselves; some degree of provocation at Napoleon's cavalier treatment of us; and perhaps a little dash of self-reproach, for having given the whole affair such immense importance.

After mounting our horses, and riding away for about a quarter of a mile, it was

recollected we had not seen Dr. O'Meara on leaving the grounds of Longwood; and, having heard that this gentleman was intimately acquainted with Bonaparte's disposition and habits, we turned our horses' heads back again, and found the doctor at the gate. He gave us little or no hopes of accomplishing a sight of Bonaparte by any means he could think of; and we were just coming away, when I chanced to mention my regret at not seeing the emperor, as I wished to ask about Brienne, where my father, sir James Hall, had passed some time at the very period he was a student at the Military College there. Dr. O'Meara said this materially altered the case, since Bonaparte took great interest in every circumstance relative to Brienne, however minute, and might very possibly have admitted me, had he known more particularly who I was. He added, that Bonaparte had already made some inquiries respecting the Lyra's voyage to the east, but was not sufficiently interested by what he had heard, to see me on that account alone, and that some farther motive was wanting to induce him to afford me an audience. It was now, however, long past his usual hour of seeing company, and Dr. O'Meara recommended us to go away for the night, promising, if an opportunity occurred, to speak to him on the subject; and, if any thing encouraging took place, to inform the governor of it by telegraph. With this slender hope we again left Longwood; my friends took the direct road to James's Town, while I recrossed the hills to Plantation-House.

We were greatly surprised next morning not to receive any telegraphic_message, favourable or otherwise; but I kept my horse at the door, saddled, and all ready to start at a moment's warning. At one o'clock it was discovered that a signal had been made and duly received, more than an hour before, at the gate of Plantation-House, to the following effect:"General Bonaparte wishes to see captain Hall at two o'clock." The signal-man, knowing nothing of me, naturally_conceived that I must be in James's Town, and repeated the signal to the Fort, near the anchorage; so that it was not until the message had been transmitted back again from the town to Plantation-House that I knew any thing of the matter.

It was as much as I could now do to save my time, by gallopping at the risk of my neck over the hills to Longwood, at the gate of which I found the other gentlemen, who had hurried from the ship on hearing of the signal. The countess Bertrand, to whose house we were conducted, was unaffectedly delighted to hear