The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 392, October 3, 1829

We now come to the consideration of air. Pure air is as necessary to existence as good and wholesome food; perhaps more so; for our food has to undergo a very elaborate change before it is introduced into the mass of circulating blood, while the air is received at once into the lungs, and comes into immediate contact with the blood in that important organ. The effect of the air upon the blood is this: by thrusting out as it were, all the noxious properties which it has collected in its passage through the body, it endues it with the peculiar property of vitality, that is, it enables it to build up, repair, and excite the different functions and organs of the body. If therefore this air, which we inhale every instant, be not pure, the whole mass of blood is very soon contaminated, and the frame, in some part or other speedily experiences the bad effects. This will explain to us the almost miraculous benefits which are obtained by change of air, as well as the decided advantages of a free and copious ventilation. The prejudices against a free circulation of air, especially in the sick chamber, are productive of great evil. The rule as regards this is plain and simple: admit as much fresh air as you can; provided it does not blow in upon you in a stream, and provided you are not in a state of profuse perspiration at the time; for in accordance with the Spanish proverb—

 
"If the wind blows on you through a hole
Make your will, and take care of your soul."
 

but if the whole of the body be exposed at once to a cold atmosphere, no bad consequences need be anticipated.

A great deal has been said about the necessary quantity of sleep; that is, how long one ought to indulge in sleeping. This question, like many others, cannot be reduced to mathematical precision; for much must depend upon habit, constitution, and the nature and duration of our occupations. A person in good health, whose mental and physical occupations are not particularly laborious, will find seven or eight hours' sleep quite sufficient to refresh his frame. Those whose constitutions are debilitated, or whose occupations are studious or laborious, require rather more; but the best rule in all eases is to sleep till you are refreshed, and then get up. If you feel inclined for a snug nap after dinner, indulge in it; but do not let it exceed half an hour; if you do, you will be dull and uncomfortable afterwards, instead of brisk and lively.

In sleeping, as in eating and drinking, we must consult our habits and feelings, which are excellent monitors. What says the poet?—

 
"Preach not to me your musty rules,
Ye drones, that mused in idle cell,
The heart is wiser than the schools,
The senses always reason well."
 

One particular recommendation I would propose in concluding this subject, from the observance of which much benefit has been derived—it is to sleep in a room as large and as airy as possible, and in a bed but little encumbered with curtains. The lungs must respire during sleep, as well as at any other time; and it is of great consequence that the air should be as pure as possible. In summer curtains should not be used at all, and in winter we should do well without them. In summer every wise man, who can afford it, will sleep out of town—at any of the villages which are removed sufficiently from the smoke and impurities of this overgrown metropolis.

THE NOVELIST

AN INCIDENT AT FONDI

 
"Away—three cheers—on we go."
 

The morning was delightful; neither Corregio, nor Claude, with all their magic of conception could have made it lovelier. The heaven expanded like an azure sea—and the dimpling clouds of gold were its Elysian isles—not unlike the splendid images we are apt to admire in the poems of Petrarch and Alamanni. The music of the birds kept time to the sound of the postilions' whips—the streams sung a fairy legend, and the merry woods, touched with the brilliant glow of an Italian sun, breathed into the air a delicious sonata. Such a morning as this was formed for something memorable! The Grand Diavolo and his bravest ruffians awaited the travellers' approach.

The carriage had pursued the direction of the path at a speed unequalled in the annals of the postilions; but the termination of the dell did not appear. Huge impending cliffs with their crown of trees imparted a shadowy depth to the solitude, which the travellers did not seem to relish.

"How cursed inconvenient is this dell with its frightful woods," said the baronet to his smiling daughter, "one might as well be sequestered in Dante's Inferno. Look at those awful rocks—my mind misgives me as I view them. Sure there are no brigands concealed hereabout!"

"Hope not, Pa'," replied the graceful Rosalia; but the last word had scarcely died on her lips, ere a discharge of shot was heard. The baronet opened his carriage door, and leaped on the ground.

"Hollo! John, Tom, pistols here, my lads, a pretty rencontre this! Stand by Rosalia, my own self and purse I don't value a grout, but stand the brunt, lads; here they come—oh, that I had met them at Waterloo!"

This attack perplexed the thoughts of the poor baronet. He regarded it as a romance in which he was to become the hero. But his present situation did not allow him the fascination of a dream. The brigands advanced from their concealment, and their chief, who seemed a most pleasant and polite scoundrel, commanded his men to inspect the luggage of the travellers.

"Humph! and is that all?" growled the baronet.

"I want a thousand crowns," said the chief, in a gentle tone, "you may then proceed."

"Humph! and won't five hundred do?"

"I insist!" returned the brigand, placing his hand on his sword!

This menace was enough. It produced an awful consternation in the countenance of the Englishman. He, dear man, felt his heart quake within him, as he paid the brigand his enormous demand. But a second trial was reserved for him—he turned to his carriage—his daughter was not there! where could she be? He heard a laugh, and on raising his head, saw the identical object of his care! She waved her delicate white handkerchief from the steeps above, while an Italian officer stood beside her laughing with all his might. The suspicions of the father were realized. He was the tall intriguing scamp who had charmed the eyes of Rosalia at the inn!

Away ran the sire, but the guilty pair seemed to fly with the wings of love attached to their heels; up the steep he clambered, scaring all the birds from their solitudes; still the lovers kept on before; they passed the bridge of Laino; the infuriated sire pursued; spire, tree, castle, church, stream; and in short the most beautiful features of the landscape appeared in the chase, but the fugitives did not stop to survey them. Away they pressed down the sunny slope, through the glen, along the margin of the Casparanna, swifter to the eye of the agonized parent than Jehu's chariot-wheels. Now they flag—they sit down amid the ruins of yonder old chapel—he will reach them now; alas! how vain are the calculations of man! In leaping across the Cathanna Mare, he received a shot in his arm; the cursed Italian had fired at him, and he fell, like a wounded bird into the stream!

"Dear pa', how you kick one!" exclaimed the beauteous little daughter of the Englishman; "surely you have had a troublesome dream." "Dream! let me see," said the baronet, rubbing his eyes; "then I'm not drowned, and we are again at Albano, are we, and this is our merry host, and thank God, Rosalia, you are safe, and I must kiss you, my sweet girl." This was a pleasant scene!

R. AUGUSTINE.

TIME

IN IMITATION OF THE OLDEN POETS

(For the Mirror.)

 
Time is a taper waning fast!
Use it, man, well whilst it doth last:
Lest burning downwards it consume away,
Before thou hast commenced the labour of the day.
 
 
Time is a pardon of a goodly soil!
Plenty shall crown thine honest toil:
But if uncultivated, rankest weeds
Shall choke the efforts of the rising seeds.
 
 
Time is a leasehold of uncertain date!
Granted to thee by everlasting fate.
Neglect not thou, ere thy short term expire,
To save thy soul from ever-burning fire.
 

LEAR.

SEPULCHRAL ENIGMA

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

The following Sepulchral Enigma against Pride, is engraved on a stone, in the Cathedral Church of Hamburgh:

 
"O, Mors, cur, Deus, negat, vitam,
be, se, bis, nos, his, nam."
 

CANON

 
Ordine daprimam mediae? mediamqz sequenti,
Debita sic nosces fala, superbe, tibi.
Quid mortalis homo jactas tot quidve superbis?
Cras forsan fies, pulvis et umbra levis,
Quid tibi opes prosunt? Quid nuuc tibi magna potesias?
Quidve honor? Ant praestans quid tibi forma? Nihil.
Vide Variorum in Europa itinerum deliciae, &c.
Nathane Chitreo, Editio Secunda, 1599.
 

The above inscription and Canon are from a very scarce book, me penes; if they are deemed worthy of a place in your entertaining miscellany, and no solution or English version should be offered to your notice for insertion, I will avail myself of your permission to send one for your approval.

Your's, &c. Σ [Greek: S.]