requisite degree of hair-like minuteness, it of the gland there is only an artery concernsuddenly turns upon itself and rolls itself up into a little corpuscle of the size, probably, of a mustard-seed. This little body is the labial salivary gland we have been in search of. While the artery is in the act of coiling itself up, it is still becoming more and more minute; till, having reached this second requisite degree of minuteness, the blood contained in it suddenly ceases to be blood and becomes saliva. This change is produced by the influence of the minute nerve which accompanies it. ed; but this artery could not produce the required secretion without the aid of a nerve; it is therefore accompanied by a nerve: but this artery and nerve are, like the rest of the body, constantly undergoing decay and reparation; and these cannot be effected without the presence of lymphatics and arteries. There are accordingly lymphatics arising from the gland, which are constantly engaged in absorbing it; and there are arteries as constantly engaged in reproducing what the lymphatics have removed; and there are At the moment when the saliva is thus veins also, whose office it is to carry back to produced the artery begins to lose the char- the heart whatever portion of blood has not acteristic structure of arteries, and gradually been consumed in the work of reproduction. acquires that of an excretory duct. The I have now to speak of the fourth principal saliva now travels along the duct to its termi-structure which enters into the composition nation on the inner surface of the under lip, of the ultimate tissue of the body-I mean where it is discharged from the open extrem- the nerves. The brain accurately fills the ity of the duct into the mouth. The excretory duct is extremely short; for those glands are mostly situated immediately beneath the skin. The skin, you are probably aware, covers the inside of the lips and mouth as well as the outside, although on the inside it is much finer and more delicate. This is the way in which all secretory glands, except one, are formed-that one is the liver. The size of the secretory glands is extremely different, varying from the wonderful minuteness of the ceruminous glands of the ear, whose office is to secrete the wax, and which are, I believe, the smallest glands in the body, to the great magnitude of the liver, which is the largest. But a very large gland is, in fact, only a vast number of these very small ones conglomerated into one mass, and united and, as it were, glued together by cellular substance. Knowing, therefore, how one is formed, you know how they are all formed. Thus the three large salivary glands of which I have spoken, are only a conglomeration of such small ones as I have just described, having all their minute excretory ducts united, so as to form one, two, aud sometimes three larger ducts. Into these larger ducts the smaller ones empty themselves; and the large ones, in their turn, empty themselves into the mouth; and so of all other secretory glands. The liver only differs from other secretory glands in this that each of the little glandular bodies of which it is composed is formed by the coiling up of a vein instead of an artery; and the secretion of the liver, that is, the bile, is produced from black venous blood instead of vermilion arterial blood. The little veins which form the glandular structure of the liver, having converted their blood into bile, terminate in excretory ducts, like the arteries which form the salivary glands, and these minute excretory ducts unite to form larger, which eventually empty their bile into the gall-bladder and bowels. Thus, you see, the glands, like every other structure of the body, (except the nails, hair, enamel of the teeth, and scarf-skin,) are composed of arteries, veins, nerves, and absorbents. It is true, that in the actual formation cavity of the skull. With its general appearance you are probably acquainted, from having seen the brains of animals. The spinal marrow is a tail-like elongation of the brain; which elongation passes out of the head through a round hole in the back part of the skull. So great is its resemblance to a tail that it has been called cauda cerebri, that is, the tail of the brain. From the brain and spinal marrow there arise forty-three pairs of nerves-twelve from the brain, and thirty-one from the spinal marrow. The nerves are whitish cords, and every large nerve consists of a bundle of small ones, and these small ones consist of bundles of still smaller, as a skein of thread consists of a number of single threads, and as every single thread consists of a number of still smaller threads, viz. the fibres of the flax. As a large nerve proceeds from its origin to its termination, every now and then one or more of the threads of which it is composed parts company and takes a course of its own. As these proceed, one or more of the strands of which they also are composed disjoins itself from the fellowship of the others, and takes a course of its own; and so on, until the whole have been separated into microscopic filaments of undistinguishable minuteness. You will observe here a remarkable difference in the manner in which nerves are distributed from that in which arteries are given off. The branch of an artery arises directly from that artery. There is a communication between them; so that the contents of the parent artery flow into the branch which proceeds from it. The larger veins also are formed by the absolute union of smaller ones; so that the contents of the smaller flow into and mingle with the contents of the larger but between the large nerves and the branches which proceed from them there is no union nor communication whatever-they are merely in juxtaposition— a bundle of separate threads bound up together, and inclosed in one common sheath. When, therefore, a nerve gives off a branch, that branch merely parts company to travel along another road. Every nerve, therefore, however minute, is a distinct thread, having one of its extremities fixed in the brain or spinal marrow, and the other in that point of treme lower point of the backbone. During the body on which it terminates. If it were its whole course there are little knobs situatnot for this peculiar arrangement, all our dif- ed upon it at short intervals, so that it has ferent sensations would be jumbled into one. something the appearance of a cord, with If we touched a round body with one hand marbles of different sizes strung upon it—or and a square one with the other, before the of a chain-or of a small knotted rope with two impressions reached the brain they would its two extremities joined so as to form a sort become mingled together, so that the idea we of necklace as it (the necklace) hangs round should derive from these two impressions a person's neck, falling gradually to a point would be a sort of hybrid idea of a something in front. The upper part of the chain enneither round nor square. circles the base of the brain, as the upper There is one pair of nerves which I have part of the necklace encircles the neck, and included among those arising from the brain, then descends on either side of the spine as which possess striking marks of difference the necklace descends on either side of the from all other nerves. It is called the great front of the chest ; and then the two descendsympathetic pair. I should have observed, ing portions are united at the extreme point that all the nerves are sent off from the brain of the spine below. From the little knobs or and spinal marrow in pairs. This pair of ganglia, numerous nerves are given off which nerves has given origin to endless discussions unite with almost all the nerves coming off --some asserting that it arises from the brain; from the brain and spinal marrow; and sendothers that it does not-some that it has one ing numerous filaments also to the organs office, some another. Fyfe says, "It is either concerned in nutrition, as the heart, lungs, formed originally by the reflected branch stomach, bowels, liver, &c. &c. Thus, wheth from the second of the fifth pair, and by one or two, and sometimes three small filaments, sent down from the sixth pair, whilst in the cavernous sinus; or, according to the opinion of some authors, the sympathetic sends off these small nerves to join the fifth and sixth pairs." Mr. Green says, "This nerve is so essentially distinguished from the other nerves of the body, that it may be described separately, or as a separate system of nerves." er the sympathetic arises from the brain or not, it is manifest that it is intimately connected with those which certainly do; and, as the question is not yet settled, I have chosen to consider it as arising from the brain, in order that your notions of the functions of the nervous system may be as simple and little perplexed as possible. The little knobs with which the sympathetic is studded, have been considered by some as so many little independent brains, whose office it is to supply the organs of nutrition with motive power. And they say that this arrangement was made in order to remove these organs beyond the influence of the will, which has its seat in the brain. The absolute necessity that these organs should not be under the control of the will, and the fact that they are not, together with the additional fact that this pair of nerves does supply them with motive power, seems, I think, to favor this notion. But however this may be, it will be sufficiently accurate for our present purpose to consider all nervous influence as derived from the brain; and from the spinal marrow, which is merely an elongation of the brain. "It consists," he says, "of a considerable number of ganglia, (hardish knobs,) of which the number and size differ not only in different individuals, but in the same individual, on the two sides of the body; and of branches which in part connect these ganglia, or form junctions with the other nerves, and are in part distributed to the internal organs. It extends from the base of the skull, on each side of the vertebral column (backbone) through the neck, chest, and abdomen, as far as the coccyx, (that is, the lower extremity of the backbone,) forming from above to below, numerous ganglia: those in the neck are few in number, but in the rest of its course it generally forms one ganglion between every two vertebræ (bones of the back;) these are severally connected, by one or more filaments, with each other, and with all the nerves of the spinal marrow; and the uppermost cervical ganglion (ganglion of the neck) is connected with most of the cerebral nerves (nerves of the brain). Lastly, it -detaches filaments to the viscera, (organs of the belly and chest,) and those which are distributed to the abdomen, (belly,) form connections with a numerous set of ganglia in this cavity, which are placed about the trunks of the large vessels." Thus Green traces it no I have now given you an account of the higher than the base of the skull; but an general structure of the body-sufficiently anatomist has recently, if I mistake not, brief and rough, but nevertheless sufficiently traced it completely round the brain-and accurate and minute, to enable you to underthence downward on either side of the spine, stand the nature of the several functions peruntil that portion of the nerve which de- formed by the several organs of nutrition, scends on one side of the spine unites with whenever I have occasion to speak of these that descending on the other side at the ex-functions and these organs. This general The brain itself I believe to be a secretory gland, of which the nerves are the excretory ducts, and the nervous fluid the secretion; and it is formed, like all other secretory glands, by a most wonderful convolution of inconceivably minute arterial branches. The artery which principally supplies these branches is the basilary. Thus the brain, like every other structure, consists of arteries, nerves, and veins; and there is little doubt but that I might add absorbents also, although these last have not yet, I believe, been discovered. structure is so simple, that you can never forget it. You have only to remember, that whenever you are considering and presenting to your mind's eye any part of the body whether it be the stomach, the liver, the heart, the bowels, or the arteries and veins-whether it be the solid bones, a mass of flesh an inch thick, or a delicate filmy membrane no thicker than the gilding of your picture frames-it is still the same. It is still nothing more than a matted congeries of arteries, veins, nerves, and absorbents, held together by, and wrapped up, in the meshes of the cellular web. Cellular web is a better term than cellular substance: for when spread out it has a good deal the appearance of a spider's web, and has, moreover, of real substance extremely little indeed. Take four threads of different colors-a scarlet one to represent the arteries, a black one to represent the veins, a white one for the nerves, and a silver one for the absorbents. Dip them in melted wax, and then roll them up into a firm ball. This will give you a rude idea of the manner in which minute thread-like vessels can be so arranged as to form a solid mass; for it is easy to fancy three of these threads to be hollow tubes, filled with fluid like arteries, veins, and absorbents. The wax, which every where surrounds them, and glues them together, will afford you some notion of the principal office of the cellular web, which is to hold the different parts of the intimate structure of the body together by entangling them in its meshes, as the wax unites the threads by virtue of its stickiness. If instead of dipping the threads in melted wax, you had dipped them in a solution of phosphate of lime, (which constitues the hard part of bones,) the ball, when dry, would have given no bad representation of the structure of the bones. Now suppose the former ball-that formed of the threads dipped in wax-to be submitted to a pressure capable of flattening it until it becomes no thicker than a film of tissue paper. This will show you how the same structure which forms the thick, solid, and gross parts of the body, may be so arranged as to form also its most delicate membranes. A knowledge of the nature and structure of membranes is of the highest possible importance in all that regards the regulation of our diet; for the stomach and bowels are lined with one of those most delicate, and therefore extremely irritable and highly sensible, and easily offended membranes, called the mucous membrane of the stomach and bowels. It is with this membrane that all which we eat, and all that we drink, comes directly in contact. Here then is another powerful reason for caution in what we eat and drink. This membrane is no thicker than gold-leaf, and you know very well that you can scarcely touch a leaf of gold without injuring it-without deranging, and even tearing it. Remember, when you are eating your dinner, that the membrane on which every mouthful falls, is no thicker than a leaf of gold. In contemplating any part of the body, knowing as you now do, that it consists of arteries, veins, nerves, and absorbents, you will please always to bear in mind what are the offices or functions which these structures severally fulfil. You will recollect, that it is the function of the lymphatic absorbents to eat away the body; that of the arteries, (or rather the vital blood contained in them,) to restore what the lymphatics have eaten away; and that of the veins to carry back to the heart the refuse of the blood-that is, what remains of it after the arteries have done with it. When the blood has parted with its living elements while in the arteries, the veins carry it away in order that it may receive a fresh supply of these living elements. But the arteries could not carry the blood from the heart, nor the veins return it to the heart, if they were not supplied with the power of moving. This motive power is afforded them by the nerves or rather a fluid conveyed by the nerves. This fluid, however, does not, I conceive, travel along the nerves like a tangible fluid in a tube, but like the electric fluid along a wire. The nervous fluid, therefore, is to the organs of the body what steam is to a steam-engine. And as this fluid is conveyed by single filaments of nerves, it is clear that wherever there is an artery, vein, or absorbent, there must also be a nerve to enable those vessels to convey their fluids, which they do by a motion of their own, or of neighboring parts. You may conceive the universality of the nerves and blood-vessels, by the fact, that you can scarcely insert the point of the finest needle into any part of your body, without producing pain and bleeding; which proves that the point of the needle has wounded both a nerve and a blood-vessel. We have seen that the nerves all arise from, or are, at least, intimately connected with the brain and spinal marrow; and we have seen that the spinal marrow is but an elongation of the brain. Now we all know what a powerful effect the emotions, such as fear, anger, &c., have in depressing and exciting the brain's action. Considering, therefore, that all the organs of the body derive their power of action from a fluid brought to them by the nerves from the brain, by whose action that fluid is produced, it is easy to comprehend how it happens that moral causes can exert so momentous an influence on the health. Sis memor mei. E. JOHNSON. SONG OF THE WATER-DRINKER. OH! water for me! Bright water for me Oh! water, bright water for me, for me! Fill to the brim! Fill, fill to the brim ! Fill again to the brim! again to the brim! When o'er the hills, like a gladsome bride, As he freshens his wing in the cold gray cloud. But when Evening has quitted her sheltering yew, star! Hurrah, hurrah! E. JOHNSON. MOSSGATE FARM. A COUNTRY STORY. I was blessed with a prudent wife and three children. Lucy, the elder girl, was then about eighteen, and Mary, perhaps, about thirteen; the other child was a boy of five years old. If they did not partake of the extravagant luxuries of life, yet Dutton and his household enjoyed all the substantial comforts which are necessary for a rational mind. If there was not a superfluity, still there was plenty, not only for themselves, but many a time for the kind-hearted Lucy to alleviate the cravings of the hungry mother and her starving babe. Now I am no political economist; but I cannot help thinking, that if our farmers of the present day would but be content (as decidedly their fathers were) with the good things which a bountiful Providence makes to spring up within their very reach, with the produce of their native soil, and the dress and manners handed down to them by those whose gray hairs, as they laid them down to rest never to wake again in this world, were brightened by the sunshine of happiness and peace; if they would but be content without aping those who are in stations of life above them; or the enervating customs of foreign lands; I really think that they themselves would be doing away with at least one half of the evils of which they now so loudly complain. But as I am not going to give a lecture upon the state of the farming interest; or remedies for removing the great distress borne by the daughters of the poor agriculturists, who strut about in ties to the harp; or their delectable brothers, their silk dresses, and sing French love-dit 66 who drive their tandems, and boast of their wines;-I shall introduce my readers to "Mossgate," which, doubtless, will be more generally interesting than the opinions of a young gentleman who is more accustomed to twist a goose quill than a goose's neck, and to talk soft nonsense to a pretty girl, whilst looking into her eyes for love, than betting upon the greatest quantity of eyes ever found in a "kidney potatoe." The antique building, bearing the name of Mossgate, had originally been the manor BY UMBRA, AUTHOR OF THE "MILL CHURCH," house; but, as the increasing refinements of &c. &c. the age spread their influence over its occu"The honor of a maid is her name, and no legacy it had been deserted by the family for the pants, equally with the surrounding gentry, is so rich as honesty." ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. "Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 'An honest man's the noblest work of God," COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. more handsome and élite edifice, which now might be seen from the high road, equipped in all the "airiness" of modern architecture. But notwithstanding the Manor Hall, as it was ycleped, could boast of its splendid suits of apartments, its fashionable appearance, and FARMER DUTTON was an agriculturist of the its extensive park-the old red brick farmold school; he looked after the land and cat-house of Mossgate was always my favorite, tle himself, instead of trusting to other peo- with its large gable ends, towering chimneys, ple, and, consequently, from a very poor and ceilings intersected with stupendous man, he rose to be tenant of Mossgate, one of beams, whose giant strength called to mind the richest and largest farms in the county. the "olden time." I loved, too, the lattice It was a favorite maxim of his, "never ask windows, shrouded with jasmine and roses,that another person to do anything for you that sighed their sweetest breaths into the chamyou can do for yourself;" and of course to bers; and the capacious hearths, with their keep this adage up, he, together with those snug scats on either side:-in fact, to me, about him, were obliged to labor hard. At there was a charm hung over the place, which the time I became acquainted with him, he could never be compensated by the most cost ly magnificence, or elaborate displays of among the foliage, now enshrouded in a art. greyish mist, and the voice of the bells comes startling with its soothing melodies upon the scene. Who does not love to hear the bells? and at evening too, how doubly sweet? they seem to harmonize the spirit, and, as we gaze upon the spotless firmament, to send it soaring away through the blue vistas into heaven, to mingle with the hosts of spirits in another and a better world. Again, how intensely delicious is it when the silence of nature is alone broken by those holy chimes, to wander forth with one we love-by whom we are beloved! To be alone with her when the cares of the world are hushed, and we are living but to impart and receive happiness. What were the thoughts of the young couple-what their words I will not dare to say; let them be pencilled by those who have been, or sigh to be, thus situated. But long they sat beneath that old oak tree, and watched the fading light. The sun had disappeared, leaving nought but 66 It was evening-hour of fondness and of rest-when the weary cotter quits his labor to seek happiness in the bosom of his wife and children-when a drowsy spell folds the lids of the infant, and the silken leaves of the flower-when the sun slowly sinks upon his crimson couch, and the curtains of shade fall upon the world. It was evening when Lucy Dutton sat beneath the spreading boughs of an oak tree, that had been covered by the snows of many winters-that had braved the blasts of tempests and the blights of ages, and yet reared its head-proud type of England's glory. It is her trysting place and there she sits, in the spring-time of her days, wrapped in the beauty of the bursting bud. Her little hand is hid within that of one she loved; -happy-happy girl! Her head is turned away, her eyes downcast, and there is a blush -the blush of innocence and love-gently stealing over her cheek. Beautiful creature! a deep stain upon the horizon as they saunthe perfumed wind is playing with the curls of tered to the farm; seeming, by their lingering her dark hair, which fall down upon her neck steps, willing to prolong the happy meeting. and shoulders, making them a covering, finer "I am sure your father will consent," said than the choicest mantle ever weaved. Lucy | the young man, as they reached the stile into Dutton certainly is a pretty-a very pretty the field leading to the house. girl-she is the belle of the village-all the Lucy Dutton, is that you?" exclaimed a maidens look up to her as their model in dress voice from the other side of the hedge. The -she never puts on a new gown, but the next lover bit his lip until the blood almost started, Sunday there are to be seen half a dozen like for he guessed the speaker to be the young it: she is not only the pattern for outward 'squire, Herbert Fitzhurst; and he was not appearance, but she is so good, so kind, that mistaken, for they were immediately joined no one can help admiring, and many envying by a gentleman in a shooting dress, whose her-for who has more beaux than Lucy? easy manners, and the familiar way in which "Isn't there John Keats the blacksmith's he accosted them, bespoke him to be of rank son, William Watts the miller, and a score of others, always following her about, and making so much of her ? and don't some even say that the young 'squire himself is passionately fond of her?" Thus would those doomed to mope in single blessedness at "No 50" vent themselves upon the village beauty. But as for Mossgate lay right before them, the smoke Lucy, it has never once entered her simple from the lofty ivy-clad chimneys curling thoughts that she is handsome enough to at- among the green boughs of the overhanging tract any other person, or to engage the affec- trees, made it look like the home of Peacetions of any one but Charles Wheatly, and to and so it was! The apple trees bent o'er the him she has given her first and only love; and garden walk with their load of fruit, and the although the young farmer cannot repay it by little tidy beds were covered with the choicest riches or lands, he does devotedly, by that of autumn's dark-lipped flowers. They which is better than all these, the affection of reached the threshold: the door opened into a an honest and a faithful heart. This is he who large room in which the family were assemnow presses the hand of our heroine to his lips bled, ready to partake of their frugal meal. -that has caused by the fervor of his words In the nook by the side of the hearth, on which that gentle dye which tinges her cheeks. blazed some immense logs of timber, shedThey are indeed a picture as they sit, heedless ding sufficient light around to preclude the neof the passing time, sipping the sweets of pu- cessity of candles, sat old Dutton, with one rity and joy. His broad manly form reclin- leg passed over the other, and embraced tight ed upon the grass "where daisies grow," con- to it with his clasped hands, and his eyes fix. trasts well with her slender figure, which per-ed upon the glowing fire as if lost in thought. haps is more delicate than from her station The mother busied herself in her household in life might be expected. Far o'er the distant hills the god of day is withdrawing his light from the earth; here tinging the woods with a softened hue, there bathing them in blood. And above, the sky stretches in one cold blue expanse, which can be seen between the green leaves of their trembling tent. The tall spire of the village church peeps out from and education far above those into whose company he had intruded himself. He would hear of no denial, but insisted upon accompanying them to the farm, if it were only to see old Dutton, and inquire at:er some dogs that he had entrusted to him to train. duties; and in the corner the younger children whispered their guileless fables, or played with the spaniels. "Ah! how are ye to-night?" cried the young 'squire, stepping into the apartment towards the hearth. The old man started as though he had been touched by a serpent; but immediately re |