The sequel is, a morbid irritability, which reacts through the nervous system upon the general health, resulting often in premature death. Close observation, and more particular inquiries into the symptoms, have convinced me that, in very many cases, the pressure above described keeps up, if it does not actually induce, strangulation of circulation, to which much suffering at times may be reasonably attributed. Acting upon my conviction of this state of things, I advise that this mode of dressing be at once dispensed with, in every family. Let the under garment of every female, of whatever material it consists, be made with a waist, and closed with buttons. Let this waist fit the form smoothly, and it will be found much more easy than the old shoulder-straps. I advise also, for the sake of health, that mothers use their influence to keep the style of dress so as to cover well the chest and neck, and to be short and light-skirted, and quite easy about the waist. Walking shoes should always be substantial. THE ZEPHYR. BY S. S. L. WHEN the sun shines soft in the balmy air, At the lone hour of eve, when the humming-bird, And at morn, and at noon, through the echoing wood, When the trees are robed in their vernal hood; When the bud breaks forth from its mossy cell, It merrily, merrily dances along With a smile, and a laugh, and a wild gay song, The soft gliding Zephyr. THE FRENCH NATION. BY SUSAN J. SWIFT. EVERY age has its events, and every nation its peculiarities, which render it conspicuous in the eyes of the world. If we go back to the remote ages of antiquity, and thence come down to the present, we shall find none wholly destitute of interest, although much may be seen, the tendency of which is to pain and afflict. There have been periods when men have forgotten the end of their being, when all the faculties of their nature have been directed to the accomplishment of no greater object than the immediate gratification of self, and when darkness, moral and intellectual, has involved the earth in the thick folds of its drapery, yet, amid all, a light, though dim at times, has been seen to glimmer. There have been nations who seemed established on the firmest foundations, and to stand like oaks of the forest, proudly defying any power to bring them low, which have at length fallen by some apparently trifling cause, while others have been shaken from their bases by every wind which has swept over them. Perhaps in no case is there a more striking exemplification of this last remark than in the French nation. In whatever position we regard it, this peculiarity shines forth with great conspicuity in all its movements. Religiously considered, where can be found the people who have given such practical lessons to the world of the depravity of the human race? Who has not shuddered as he has glanced at the "Reign of Terror," in which God was denied, and Reason proclaimed the principal deity? The Sabbath, as well as every institution of a moral nature, was rejected, and the whole nation plunged into a frightful excess of wickedness. The blood of innocence and guilt mingled in one mighty stream, moistening the thirsty ground, and causing it to bring forth fruits corresponding to the greatness of their atrocious deeds, while the God whom they despised seemed to leave them to their own destruction. And yet a slight cause was the moving spring to all this ruin and carnage. By a word, even, Louis XVI. might have arrested the little rivulet, but it rushed on till it became a river, mighty in its course, and his own head became the price of his remissness. In a political point of view, however, more especially, France has exhibited her fickleness. With one breath she has shouted "Vive la Republique," and has literally strewn the path of her magistrates with roses; with the next, "Vive le Roi" has resounded through all her borders, and the former idols of the nation have found themselves prisoners upon some desolate island, or compelled to bend their necks to the stroke of the executioner. By a slight turn of the political kaleidoscope, and even at so late a period as 1830, what scenes of horror meet the gaze! By an act, small in itself, Charles X. opened the veins of his country and became a martyr to his own rashness. It is not our purpose, at this time, to enter largely upon the events which have transpired in the French nation. We wish to bring forward only a few incidents which cannot fail to interest republican minds. Blessed as are we with a free republic, and believing this form of government preferable to any other, we have ever regarded any nation with sympathy, which has attempted to secure their liberty by just means. The causes of the hatred of the French nation toward the house of the Bourbons are too well known to need explanation. Charles X. had the misfortune to belong to this hated race. This, together with the fact that he was disposed to keep in ignorance the minds of his subjects, lest they should imbibe republican views, drew upon him the rage of a part of the nation, and forced him to fly into exile, where he died among strangers. At this crisis it seemed deeply important that some person should be chosen as king, who could act as mediator between the two conflicting parties of "Royalists and Republicans.' The eyes of the wisest were directed to Louis Philippe, as one well calculated to settle the disturbed state of the French government, for, though descended from the royal family, he was a firm supporter of republican views. But would the people receive him, was a question which it seemed hard to answer, and the consequences of which decision, Louis Philippe himself, with great reluctance, consented to abide. A modern writer, alluding to this point, says, "At twelve o'clock the next day" (referring to the day which preceded the flight of Charles X.) "Louis Philippe, clambering over the barricades of the streets of Paris on foot, entered the Hotel de Ville. The excited millions of Paris and its environs received him in silence, for Louis was remotely a Bourbon. The blood of that family, so hateful to the people, was in his veins. They feared lest they should be betrayed. The scale of popular enthusiasm was in that state of perfect equilibrium in which it was uncertain whether the next moment the air would resound with execrations or applauses. "In this critical moment, when a breath was to decide the destinies of France, the venerable form of Lafayette appeared upon the balcony of the Hotel de Ville, waving in one hand the tri-colored flag of the old republic, and with the other presenting Louis Philippe as a candidate for the new monarchy. The endorsement of Lafayette, who lived in the hearts of his countrymen, was at once accepted. Instantaneously every mind responded to the appeal. One long, hearty, heaven-rending shout arose from the multitude, and Louis Philippe was the elected monarch of France." But Louis Philippe was not permitted to bear this title to the close of life. He, too, was forced to abdicate his throne, and, with his family, to seek an asylum among strangers, and a grave far from his native soil. France has again become a republic, and the eyes of all nations are upon her to observe her destiny. With firm, prudent and energetic men to manage her affairs, she might be guided safely over the troubled sea of political commotion, yet, with the fickleness which has been manifested, who can refrain from fears for her final safety? But we will not prophesy what is in the future for this nation. The hearts of kings and rulers alike are in the hands of the Lord, who can bring light out of darkness, and can counteract the most untoward counsels. Let us implore him that he may so rule and overrule, that those sins which have rendered France an enigma to the world, may find no more a lodgement in her midst, but that, scattering her infidelity to the winds, she may truly become that nation "whose God is the Lord." CHARITY. O, THEN, if e'er to man is given PEREGRINE WHITE, the first English child born in New England, lived in the eastern extremity of Marshfield, where also he died, in 1704, at the age of 83. His farm is still in possession of a descendant of the fifth generation, by the same name. On these premises stands the celebrated tree represented in our engraving. Tradition says it was planted about the year 1648. The writer recently visited it, and found only the right-hand branch standing; this appears to be a vigorous shoot from the old stock; the residue of the tree, being partially decayed, has been removed. The owner states that, as far as his memory extends, the tree has produced fruit almost every year without interruption. The apples have a |