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1815.]

Hermbstädt on Premature Interments.

ing. The larvae of the dragon-flies, which also live in water, as well as those of some other aquatic insects, have an opening at the extremity of the abdomen, which, for the purpose of respiration, they raise above the surface of the

water.

Vermes. With respect to this class of animals it is to be remarked, that the cuttle-fish have two separate gills, each connected with a separate heart to supply it with blood. This, when oxydated, is returned by pulmonary veins to a third heart, which supplies the rest of the body. In the snails there is a cavity on the side of the neck which receives air by a small aperture, which can be opened and shut at the pleasure of the animal. The pulmonary vessels ramify on the sides of this cavity. This is likewise the case in the univalve testaceous animals. In many of the mollusca there is a fringy substance situated in the back, which is their organ of respiration. In the doris there are several of these ranged round the head. The oyster and some others have gills which bear a distant resemblance to those of fish. The inhabitants of a few of the bivalve shells have airvessels which lie between the membrane of a simple or double tubular canal, which is found at the anterior part of the animal, and is capable of extension and retraction. In several of the species of round worms there is no distinct organ of respiration, although they have distinct pulmonic vessels, which terminate in tufts under the integuments.

Zoophytes. Of the zoophytes, the starfish have a fringed substance extended along each limb. These communicate above the stomach, and have their exit under an operculum near the centre of the upper part of the body. In general, however, the zoophytes have no observable organ of respiration, their blood being oxydated through their superficial vessels.

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upon its existence, in a sound state, consist, according to physiologists and physicians, in an uninterruptedly continued process of the organic activity. Derangement in the equilibrium of the united functions resulting from animal life is the cause of diseas, but the total annihilation of them produces death.

Between health, disease, and death, there may, however, be an intermediate state of animal life, in which the natural functions of the machine are for a longer or shorter period suspended or enchained; in which the functions of animation are not manifested by any external sign, but in which the dissolution and reciprocal action of the elements composing the body that take place after real death are also not perceptible; and this state is apparent death. . The experience of physicians, ancient and modern, as well as of other observers, prove that cases of apparent death are by no means uncommon, as may be seen in the works of Bruhier, Dimenbrock, Hufeland, Creve, and many more. Some of the persons mentioned by those writers are represented to have lain three, five, seven, and one even thirty-six days, in a state of death-like insensibility. But we are no where furnished with any certain test for distinguishing this state from real death: it is this point that shall be the subject of my inquiries, and I flatter myself that I shall be able to solve the problem.

If so many cases of apparent death are known to have happened, is it not probable that many more have escaped detection? Who can forbear shuddering at the idea of such a re-animation in the grave, and on reflecting that the objects of their dearest affection and regard may possibly be exposed to such unutterable horrors after their supposed decease?

Of the situation of an unfortunate

person buried while in a state of apparent death, I know not any picture so vivid and so impressive as that delineated by Dr. Mark Herz, one of the most philosophic physicians of his day, in an interesting paper On the Practice of Early Interment among the Jews.

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"Were it," says he, 66 a mere privation of life-were it nothing more than a gentle and speedy death that we inflict our fellow-creatures - many coldblooded persons might perhaps stifle remorse, and silence the reproaches of conscience, by urging that the unfortu. nate creature whose re-animation is prevented, or rather the extinction of whose life is promoted, remains unconscious of

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Horrors of Resuscitation after Interment.

this extinction; and that there are situations in human life in which such an extinction is actually desirable.

“But the death suffered by criminals on the scaffold is a trifle, nay it is a favour, compared with revival and suffocation in the tomb. In the one case I have had abundant time to prepare for the final catastrophe; the love of life is overcome; the furious tempest raised in the mind on account of the crime committed subsides more and more the nearer death approaches; the sorrow of friends, and the never-failing sympathy of the spectators, are some consolation for the loss I am about to sustain; I perceive how anxious they are all to save me, but the voice of the laws, and the welfare of the state, demand me for their sacrifice. After mature consideration, I take the cup from the hands of Necessity, and swallow the fatal potion.

"But, in the other case, death clasps me in his hideous arms, guiltless of any crime, with the strongest desire of life, unattended by sympathy, and without the pleasing consciousness of being serviceable by my death to a single human being.

"Now let us consider the corporeal sufferings of this death: the mortal anxiety, the suffocating oppression of the chest, the determination of the blood to the head, the convulsive tremor of the whole body, the fruitless exertions of the muscles to remove the intolerable weight, the smell of the neighbouring corpses! Is it possible to conceive any thing more horrible!

"I was once attacked with a violent fever, in the delicium of which my imagination tormented me for weeks together with images of horror. It pleased Providence to restore me, and Time has obliterated them all from my memory, except one, and that the most hideous, which my soul has preserved against my will, and which when recalled by circumstances, appears in all its original force, and fills my mind with dejection even in its most cheerful moods.

"I fancied that I was confined by my friends in a strong narrow chest between two walls, and there left to expire amidst a multitude of mouldering corpses. When I figure to myself this illusion as actually realized; when among the silent tombs, where my fellow-creatures, my friends, my teachers, repose, I am absorbed by moonlight in pleasing contemplation on my present and my future condition, and the idea arises within me

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that they perhaps have really had to endure those horrors which I suffered in imagination; that at this very moment, when the solemn stillness which pervades these peaceful mansions of the dead, plunges me into such delicious reveries, perhaps here one, and there another, may be wallowing in his blood, beating his breast, and imploring of the ALmighty the speedy termination of his excruciating torments! then indeed horror chills my blood; my whole being seems on the brink of dissolution; and I melt into tears over the sufferings of humanity, and the unpardonable carelessness of my fellow-men.

"It is impossible, my brethren," continues this eloquent writer, addressing the Jews, "that your imagination can ever have pictured to you in its true light the hideous situation of a person who revives after being committed to the grave. It is utterly impossible!— otherwise how could ye persist in an unmeaning practice, in the observance of groundless precepts, and unconcernedly expose your fellow-creatures to this horrible situation-ye who are not reputed hard-hearted-ye whose sensibility towards every kind of suffering h your brethren overflows in such active beneficence-ye who justly style your selves the Children of Mercy!

"Come, then-I will show you this picture in its most vivid colours. Follow me to yon dreary tomb, which but yesterday received its torpid, not inanimate tenant. At this moment he is waking from his stupor; the suspended powers of life revive; his heart regains its pulsation, his checks their colour, his soul its consciousness. A thousand joyful ideas dart across it-resolutions of future good actions to render him worthy of this divine favour--the transports of his wife, whose grief for his loss had nearly overpowered her-the exultation of his almost orphan children, and determinations to bring them up to be good meinbers of society--the pleasing sensations of the distressed, who had lost in him their chief support--foibles and faults to be amended in the time to comeplans of new and important enterprises, and prospects of a more delicious enjoyment of life.

The work of resuscitation is complete. He opens his eyes-all is dark and dreary around him whose every movement but a few days since was watched with unceasing vigilance by a multitude of friends and attendants. He calls his wife, his children, his servants, who used

1815.]

Method of ascertaining the reality of Death.

to hasten to him at the slightest sound; but he calls in vain, the deadened tones expire upon his lips. He tries to reach the refreshments which used in such abundance to surround his bed; but he, for whose activity perhaps the most capacious mansion, and the most extensive garden, lately afforded not sufficient scope, now perceives that he is confined between boards which prevent him from stretching out his arms. He sighs, he weeps, he implores; he would fain resign all the wealth which he has amassed with such labour, and which gave him so much consequence, for a little food: but nothing can he obtain-he languishes unheard. He touches his couch, and, instead of the softest down, he grasps a handful of cold damp mould, all alive with worms. He strives to change his place, and a current of pestilential vapour from the neighbouring corpses overpowers him. He now begins to suspect his miserable situation; his surmises soon grow into certainty that, under the idea of his previous decease, he is doomed to suffer the most horrible of deaths in the grave itself. The pleasing images that a moment before filled his soul with joy-his wife, his children, his dependents, his house, his garden, his faults which he hoped to repair-now pass before it in the most dismal forms, and are succeeded by the idea of his cruel and near-approaching end. His strength redoubles with his exertions; his breath grows shorter; his bosom heaves violently; his face glows; the blood rushes from every aperture; anguish overpowers him; he tears his hair, he lacerates his body, he welters in his blood. He now musters all his remaining strength, raising his head, clasping his hands, and praying to his merciful Creator for a speedy release. At length the death-rattle ceases, and his sufferings are over.

"Such is the situation, my humane brethren, in which we may place our friends, the objects of our fondest affections, and even ourselves. Yet whose heart is so obdurate that he would not prefer the state of such an unfortunate creature to that of him whose conscience proclaims, Thou art the cause of all this misery!"

It may, perhaps, be objected, that cases of apparent death rarely occur, and that many of the statements collected on this subject are fictitious; but I believe neither to be the case. It may, indeed, very rarely happen that persons apparently dead recover animation: but how great, on the other hand, may be the NEW MONTHLY MAG.-No. 14.

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number of those who, being considered as dead, have revived in the grave, and expired in unutterable misery, without their melancholy fate being known to the survivors! It is, therefore, a duty incumbent on us to endeavour to discover infallible means by which apparent may be distinguished from real death. These alone can prevent us from consigning persons apparently dead to the tomb, till the signs of real death leave no room for doubt. The next question then is: Are there such means? and how are they to be applied?

The change which a dead body undergoes is produced by a series of fermentations, which follow one another in the following order: 1. an acid; 2. an ammoniacal; and 3. a putrefactive. The acid fermentation manifests itself by the exhalation of an acid smell, which is given out by the corpse; and may be ascertained by holding a splinter of wood dipped in a solution of ammonia near to different parts of the body, when visible vapours are formed from the mixture of the acid gas exhaled and the aminoniacal gas. The second, or ammoniacal fermentation, is discovered by means of a splinter dipped in concentrated acetic acid, which, when held over the body, developes a visible vapour, formed by the mixture of the animoniacal gas, produced by the commencing putrefaction, with the acetic gas.

None of these phænomena can be exhibited by a living body; since, in the latter, the functions of animal life, suspended only, but not extinguished, forbid those changes in the component parts of the body by which an acid or ammonia are formed.

That a person may continue for seve→ ral successive days in a state of apparent death, without breathing or exhibiting any other symptom of animation, is attested by too many examples to need farther demonstration; and it is equally certain that the unfortunate being often sees and hears all that is passing without being able to give the least sign of con sciousness. Such a circumstance occurred very recently in France with a Prussian volunteer. He was carried sick to Vesoul, and conveyed to a convent of the Sisters of Mercy, to whose care he was especially recommended. Extraor dinary attention was paid to him, but, to all appearance, he expired. His kind nurse could not persuade herself that he was dead, and left him for two days in bed; till the sudden arrival of the French levy en masse obliged the little garrison VOL. III.

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The Rev. Mr. Scraggs on English Poetry.

of the place to retire, and thus the supposed corpse was left to itself. When the savage hordes were chased away in their turn, the tender nurse returned to her charge, who had suffered no illtreatment from the enemy. Still convinced that he was not really dead, she applied, with the assistance of a surgeon, all the means that could be thought of to recal him to life, but in vain. At length, a few hours afterwards animation returned of itself, and rewarded the good nun for her benevolent attentions. The poor fellow had seen and heard all that passed around him; he had witnessed the grief of his nurse when every expedient seemed to have failed, without being able to manifest the least sign of consciousness. He is still alive and henity.

I trust that due attention will be paid to my suggestions; that in future no corpse will be committed to the earth till the signs of real death (that is to say, those of putrefaction) have manifested themselves, even though several weeks should elapse before their appearance; and if I should be the means of saving the life of one single fellow-creature, I ask no better reward.

For the New Monthly Magazine.
ON THE STUDY OF ENGLISH POETRY.

THE short general definition of poetry is, "The art of making poems or verses;" yet it is an art in which none can excel without a native genius; nor Will any have a fine relish for the beauties of poetry but such as find in themselves an aptitude for it. Since, then, nothing which is merely artificial can make a real poet, I shall not attempt to teach the art of making verses, but only offer such hints as tend to promote or regulate the study of classical English poetry.

To do this judiciously, it will be ne cessary to specify some of the best British poets, then shew how poetry should be studied, and, lastly, point out the peculiar advantages of having a taste for elegant metrical compositions.

As I do not intend to include in this essay the consideration of the English drama, no dramatic poet will be mentioned; I shall, therefore, only observe, that the two general divisions of British poets are either those whose best pieces are in blank verse, or such as are in rhyme. The chief blank-verse British poets are-1. Milton, whose best piece is his "Paradise Lost," first published about 150 years ago, for which reason it

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has many technical words in it, and the sentences are often too long; yet it is full of sublime thoughts in grand language. 2. Dr. Young's "Night Thoughts," in nine books; a work not without faults, yet replete with brilliant sentiments on religious doctrines, as well as on devotional and moral subjects, especially in his first and fourth Nights. He is also celebrated for his "Love of Fame," and "The Last Day," poems in rhyme. 3. Thomson, the author of "The Seasons," the best of which is on Winter, but throughout the whole he delineates nature in a striking manner, and intersperses various reflexions on human life. 4. Dr. Armstrong, a contemporary with Thomson, and who in his best piece, "The Art of preserving Health," comes the nearest of any modern English poet to his style and diction. 5. Dr. Akenside, author of "The Pleasures of Imagination," a poem containing fine ideas, in correct language. 6. Robert Blair's "Grave," a small, but well-written poem, containing many awful and strong religious sentiments, in very appropriate language. Besides the above-mentioned, there are a few more small poems in blank verse which deserve to be noticed, as "The Splendid Shilling," by Phillips; "A Sea Voyage," by Dr. Hurdis; "The Day of Judgment," by Dr. Glynn; "The English Orator," by Polwhele; and some pieces by Ogilvie, Mallet, and Barbauld.

With respect to the British poets in rhyme, they are by far too numerous to be specified with their best pieces in such an essay as this; I shall, therefore, select six of the principal; as, 1. Dryden, celebrated for his translation of Virgil, though it is above 100 years ago since first published; he also wrote a number of excellent poems. 2. Pope, not only famous as the best translator of Homer in rhyme, but for a great variety of very correct and elegant poems of various kinds. 3. Dr. Watts, held in high estimation by persons of taste for his "Lyric Poems," and by the religious for his incomparable Psalms and Hymns. 4. Gray, who published only one volume of his poems; but he was raised to eminence as a first-rate British poet by his "Elegy in a Country Church-yard,” which has been translated into several modern languages. 5. Dr. Goldsmith, celebrated as a poet for his "Traveller," and various other elegant poems. 6. Cowper, held in very high estimation, not only for his "Task," a poem in blank verse, but for a great variety of elegant poems in rhyme, some of which are on

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The Rev. Mr. Scraggs on English Poetry.

religious topics. In addition to the above principal poets in rhyme, many would reckon Shenstone, Prior, Gay, Beattie, Burns, Langhorne, Mason, Pomfret, Swift, Dyer, and Darwin. There are also the inor poets; as Anstey, Cotton, Collins, Cunningham, Hughes, Jago, Mallet, Ogilvie, Parnell, Pye, Mrs. Robinson, Savage, Somerville, Smart, Waller, Warton, and Whitehead. Nor must we omit the celebrated living poets; as Walter Scott, Southey, Hayley, Crabbe, and Bloomfield; but it is to be lamented that some of these have employed their fine talents on abstruse or trivial subjects.

The classification of these, and all British poets, is in most selections arranged under six general heads: viz. 1. Pastoral, mentioned first because nature is the standard of poetry, and some of its choicest pieces are on rural subjects. The best in English are Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd, and many pieces in Shenstone, Phillips, Pope, and especially Bloomfield. 2. Lyric, under which are included odes, hymns, and whatever may be set to music. The most celebrated in our language are those by Dryden, Pope, Watts, Gray, Collins, Scott, Langhorne, and Mrs. Robinson. 3. Didactic, the express design of which is to convey knowledge and instruction. The pieces of this kind, as they are likely to be the most useful, so they are the most valuable in poetry; and some of the best are Pope's Essay on Man, and on Criticism, Young's Night Thoughts, and his Love of Fame, most of Cowper's Poems, Armstrong on Health, Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination, and all moral fables. 4. Descriptive, which, excepting the epic kind, prove the highest degree of original poetical genius. The most celebrated in English are Thomson's Seasons, Pope's Windsor Forest, Denham's Cooper's Hill, and Dyer's Grongar Hill. Some also mention Milton's Allegro and Penseroso. 5. Elegiac and Pathetic, These include every thing which is mournful, plaintive, and tender-hearted, and the best in our tongue are Gray's Elegies, Goldsmith's Edwin and Augelina, some of Shenstone's pieces, and several parts of Young's Night Thoughts. Lastly, the Humourous, under which is included every thing which is satirical as well as witty, so that it embraces a large proportion of English poetry. Some of the best in the way of satire are Churchill's Poems, Garth's Dispensatory, Defoe's True-born Englishnan, and most epigrams. Others, very witty or humourous, are Cowper's John Gilpin, But

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ler's Hudibras, Peter Pindar's works, and Anstey's Bath Guide.

With respect to the best way of studying any of the British poets, they ought to be read with close attention, with energy, and with discrimination. They must be read with particular attention, for although most pieces have a specific title, and some their argument or contents progressively printed, yet the sense is not so easy as in prose. As the figures in rhetoric are so often used, and various allusions to history and the arts and sciences, it requires much previous learning fully to comprehend the poet's meaning. There must also be a strict attention paid to the grammatical stops and marks, much more than is necessary in reading prose; and, indeed, it is either because so many readers of poetry are not thorough scholars, or they will not pay more attention to find the meaning of the author, that so few admire beautiful pieces of poetry. All kinds of poetry must likewise be read with a degree of animation, or vigor, and some with peculiar energy and pathos; but a canting tone should be most carefully avoided. The nature of the piece, whether didactic, descriptive, pathetic, or humourous, should be carefully observed, and read accordingly, with a judicious stress laid on emphatical words. And in the third place, much discrimination is necessary in understanding and reading fine metrical pieces, for often they are of a mixed kind. Above all, it requires uncommon judgment to understand blank verse, wherein there are, generally, the most sublime thoughts. Herein, all the powers of the mind must be engaged to distinguish the sense, as the verse is so different from the unmeasured periods of prose.

I come now, very briefly, to point out some principal advantages of delighting in poetry, which are the following, viz. 1. It affords much entertainment. Elegans prosaic compositions may be very pleas ing and instructive, yet they never can be so entertaining as a fine poem. As poetry pleases the ear, it is highly useful to allure youth into the path of learning; the bower of the muses, also, in the vigor of manhood, is a retreat from the bustle of business or the abstraction of study. And to some it is entertaining even in the decline of life. 2. It qualifies for instructive conversation. Quotations from authors in prose are seldom so acceptable in company as those from celebrated poets. It is true, indeed, that it requires a nice judgment in selecting suitable

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