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We can well understand the "social calamity" apprehended from a promiscuous use of the ulterior powers of mesmerism. But what class, we must ask, is to arrogate to itself and monopolize the exercise of miraculous powers, allied to, if not identical with, those bestowed aforetime on certain itinerant apostles ? An inspired fisherman will prescribe as safely, prophesy as correctly, and see visions as clearly, as an inspired doctor of medicine or divinity. There seems to be, in the dispensation of the marvellous gift, no distinction of persons. Miss Martineau's maid mesmerizes her as effectually as Mr. Hall; and J. owes her first magnetic sleep, and all its beneficial results on her health and inflamed eyes, to the passes of the maid of the clergyman's widow. A domestic concatenation that suggests to us a curious kitchen picture—and an illustrative letter,

To MARY SMASH, at No. 1 Chaney Walk, Chelsea. DEAR MARY,

This cums hoping yure well, and to advize you to larn Mis. merising. Its done with yure Hands, and is as easy as taking sites at Pepel, or talking on yure fingers. If I was nigh you, I'd larn you in no time to make Passes, witch is only pawing, like, without touchin, at sumboddys face or back, which gives them a tittevating feeling on the galvanic nerves, And then off they go into a Trance in a giffy, and talk in their sleep like Orators, I should say Oracles, and anser whatever you ax. Whereby you may get your Fortin told, and find out other folkes sweatharts & luve secrets, And diskiver Theaves better than by Bible and Key, And have yure inward Disorders told, & wats good for them. Sukey's was the indigestibles, and to take as much rubbub as would hide a shillin. All which is done by means of the sombulist, thats the sleeper, seeing through every think quite transparent, in their Trance, as is called Clare Voy. ing, so that they can pint out munny bid under the Erth & burried bones, & springs of water, and vanes of mettle, & menny things besides.

Yesterday I was mismerized meself into a Trance, & clare voyed the chork Gout in John's stomack as plane as Margit Clifts. So I prescribed him to take Collyflower, witch by rites should

have been Collycinth, but I forgot the proper word. Howsum. ever, he did eat two large ones, and promises to cum round.

It would make you split your sides with laffing to see me mis. merize our Thomas, & make him go into all sorts of odd postures & anticks & capers Like a Dotterel, for whatever I do he must coppy to the snapping of a finger, and cant object to nuthing, for, as the song says, I've got his Will and his Power. Likewise you can make the Sombulist taste watever you think

propper, so I give him mesmerized Warter, witch at my Command is transmoggrified on his pallet to Shampain, & makes him as drunk as Old Gooseberry, and then he will jump Jim Crow, or go down on his bended knees and confess all his peckaddillos, Witch is as diverten as reading the Misteries of Parris.

The wust to mesmerize is Reuben the Cotchman, not that he's too wakeful, for he's generally beery, And goes off like a shot, but he wont talk in his sleep, only snores.

The Page is more passable and very clarevoying. He have twice seed a pot of goold in the middle flower-bed. But the gardner wont have it dug up. And he says there is a skelliton bricked into the staircase wall, so that we never dares at nite to go up alone. Also he sees Visions, and can profesy and have foretold two Earthquacks and a great Pleg.

Cook wants to mismerize too, but wat with her being so much at the fire, and her full habbit, she always goes off to sleep afore the Sombulist. But Sukey can do it very well. Tho in great distress about Mrs. Hardin's babby witch Sukey offered to mismer. ize in lieu of syrrup of Poppies or Godfrey's Cordial, but the pore Innocent wont wake up agin, nor havent for two hole days. As would be a real blessin to Muthers and Nusses in a moderate way, but mite be carried too far, and require a Crowners Quest. As yet that's the only Trial we have made out of the House, But we mean to mismerize the Baker, and get out of him who he really does mean to offer to, for he is quite a General Lover.

Sum pepel is very dubious about Mismerizing, and some wont have it at any price; but Missis is for it, very strong, and

says she means to belive every attom about it till sumboddy proves quite the reverse. She practises making passes every day, and is studyin Frenology besides, for she says, between the two you

may play on pepel's pennycraniums like a Piany, and put them into any Key you like. And of course her fust performance will be a Master-piece on the Head of the Fammily.

To be shure it seems a wonderful power to be give to one over ones Fellow Creturs, and as mite be turned to Divilish purposes, But witch I cant stop to pint out, for makin the beds. To tell the truth, with so much Mismerizing going on, our Wurks has got terrible behind hand. And the carpits has not been swep for a week. So no more at present in haste from

Your luving Friend,

ELIZA PASSMORE. P.S. A most remarkable Profesy! The Page have foretold that the Monkey some day would bite Missis, & lo! and behold he have flone at her, and made his teeth meet in her left ear. If that ant profesying I don't know what is.

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From bough to bough to spring ;

The solid bole

Had ne'er a hole
To hide a living thing!

No scooping hollow cell to lodge
A furtive beast or fowl,

The martin, bat,

Or forest cat
That nightly loves to prowl,
Nor ivy nook so apt to shroud

The moping, snoring owl.

But still the sound was in my ear,

A sad and solemn sound,
That sometimes murmur'd overhead,

And sometimes underground'Twas in a shady Avenue

Where lofty Elms abound.

O hath the Dryad still a tongue

In this ungenial clime ?
Have Sylvan Spirits still a voice

As in the classic prime-
To make the forest voluble,

As in the olden time ?

The olden time is dead and gone ;

Its years have fill'd their sumAnd e'en in Greece-her native Greece

The Sylvan Nymph is dumbFrom ash, and beech, and aged oak,

No classic whispers come.

From Poplar, Pine, and drooping Birch, And fragrant Linden Trees;

No living sound

E’er hovers round,
Unless the vagrant breeze,

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