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From the True Flag.
THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER;
Olt,
A, CUBE FOR EXTRAVAGANCE.
BY OLIVER OPTIC
CHAPTER I.
" So, Charley, you are matrimonially incli
ned, I perceive," remarked Henry Sprayes,
as he seated himself in the comfortahle bach
elor apartment of his friend.
"No l what makes you think so ?" replied
Charley Walker, smiling over the more seri
ous feelings that the question excited.
" Why, you call upon the Youngs' quite
often enough to mean something."
Charles whistled an air from the opera.—
It was the favorite of one of the young la
dies to whom his friend had alluded—which,
to those who have had no experience in mat
ters of the heart, may seem to be a remarka
ble coincidence.
" Which one is it, Charley ?
" Humph I You cannot have noted any
very pointed attentions, if you have not found.
out which of them is the unfortunate choide
of this poor bachelor."
" All the world knows that you call there
once or twice a, week ; and I know no more
than others. Is it Jane?"
•
" No."
" Lavinia, then, of course. Well, she is a
splendid girl, and I envy you your happi
ness."
" Happiness? What the deuce do, you
mean by that? I haven't married her yet,"
replied Charles finding his friend was get
ting ahead in his conclusions rather too fast.
" All the same thing."
"Noi exactly."
" You mean to marry her of course ?"
"I don't know; perhaps it is only a flirta
tion." ,
"Don't do that, Charley."
" I love her, Henry. I will confess that,
if you will not laugh at me."
"On my soul I won't do any such thing.—
A matter of this kind certainly deserves se
rious consideration, and I am not the man to
make fun of a fellow."
"Thank you Henry. I wanted to talk
over the matter with you, but I was a little
afraid you would laugh at me, if I attempted
to be' serious over it."
"I assure you I will not. Marry if You
can see your way clearly to do so—Lavinia
is a fine girl, beautiful, good-tempered, and
has a hundred good qualities to one bad
one."
The lover smiled the gratification he felt
at these pretty' words concerning the one he
loved.
- "I have no fault to find with her. She
certainly has a good heart."
" She has; you might go farther and fare
worse. For my part, I should be weak
enough to fall in love myself, if I could sup
port a wife."
- "But your salary is larger than mine."
' " Still it is too small to support a wife in
these titnes."
"My salary is only twelve, while yours
is fifteen hundred dollars a year. Why
don't you tell me I can't afford to marry ?"
" That is for you to decide, fur everything
.depends upon the habits of her whom you
snake- your wife.
" This is my difficulty. When I consider
the way the .Young girls have been brought
up, I look with a good deal of timidity upon
the future. I was thinking, as you came,
that I would not call there again for a
month. lam afraid I have gone a little too
far already."
" Think well before you decide. Young,
you know, has not much of a fortune with
which to portion his daughters."
"One-half of my salary would hardly pay
for the new silk dresses I have known I.Ja
vinia to have within the year."
" I dare say it would not. I wonder her
father lets her dress so much as she does."
" Mr. Young is one of the best men I ever
knew. He is a true Christian. They say
he gives away immense sums of money every
year in charity."
" He is in good business."
"True; but I doubt if he has accumulated
anything_ Mrs. Young, I think, is of another
stamp. She wants to. be a fashionable-wom
an, and, I fancy, her husband is rather op
posed to following the mode. He is a peace
able man, however, and I suppose he would
not have a stormy house as long as no . great
moral point is at r.usue."
"I have been told that she is the master
of the house."
"No '
not quite so strong as that; though
I think everything in the family would have
been different, if he had married another
woman. - -You think, then, that I cannot af
ford- to marry ?"
"You certainly cannot support her in her
present style of living."
" I believe I shall not call there again at
present. You speak -my own mind. I will
go to-morrow and hint at my intention, so
that there shall be no misunderstanding."
"Think well, Charley; and don't let me
influence you too much.'
Charles had given the matter a very care
ful cOnsideration, and made up his mind
that he could not marry Lavinia, without
stipulating beforehand that she must aban
don her extravagance in dress. It would
have been an-awkward. stipulation, but it
would have been madness to make a girl his
wife who would ruin him in a single year.
But while Charles and his friend are con
sidering the matter, we will make a call at
the comfortable abode of the Youngs. Per
haps some of the lover's fine description of
the lady dear may be falsified, but we can't
help that.
CHAPTER 11.
It was not the most aristocratic residence
in the city. Mr. Young bad built and now
cwued the house in which he dwelt. It was
all that a reasonable man could posibly de-
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. UM
site; and thousands would have considered
a structure far less spacious and elegant, far
less luxuriously appointed, all that they could
require.
It was a cold day in January—a very cold
day. Even the fierce blasts of hot air, which
the great furnace poured into the apartment,
produced no effect upon the thick coating of
frost that clung to the plate-glass of the win
dows. The grate, too, was piled high with
coals, and before it were seated the two
daughters of the merchant.
The warm and pleasant apartment was a
paradise of comfort. It would have seemed
a very heaven to the denizens of the cellars
and attics in the obscure quarters of the
Puritan city—even without including the
thourts who sat before the fire.
"I haven't a dress that is fit to wear,"
said one of the Misses Young.
It was Charles Walker's divinity who was
thus poorly off for suitable garments; yet
any person observing the elegant silk dress
she wore, would have deemed it a piece of
exaggeration.
"Nor I either," replied the other houri ;
"I do wish Pa would be a little more like
other folks in these matters."
"He says he cannot afford such a system
of extravagance," added Lavinia.
"Extravagance 1 If he thinks we are ex
travagant, I wonder what he would say to
the Livingston's and Herbert's 1."
" Sure enough."
" But we must have some dresses."
" Your blue silk will do very well to wear
to the ball, Jane."
So will your green, just as well."
" Here is - pa ;" and as she spoke, Mr.
Young entered the room.
Lavinia placed the great rocking-chair be
fore the fire for him, and then brought his
slippers.
' It is dreadful cold, isn't it pa ?"
" Pretty cold."
"We were just speaking of something
when you came, pa," said Jane.
" Indeed," laughed Mr. Young. " are
you sure it wasn't nonsense ?"
"Each of us wants a new silk dress, pa,"
interposed Lavinia.
" It was nonsense, then."
" We need them very much."
"Do you?" and the father laughed at the
preposterous assumption.
"I have not a single dress that is fit to
wear," added Jane.
" Nor I," chimed Lavinia. " I have been
positively miserable all day, thinking about
it;"
"Have you ?"
"I have, indeed."
"Miserable? Do you mean so?"
"I do, pa; you don't know what it is to
want a dress ; you don't know what it is to
be cut out and triumphed over by those who
are no better off in the world than we are."
" I hope I never shall," answered Mr.
Young, seriously, if not sternly.
" Besides, I expect to be invited to the ball
next -week," continued Lavinia.
" You can go, if you are."
"I have no dress."
" I bought you one fur the last ball."
"But I cannot wear it twice. What would
Mr. —"
" Mr. Walker," added Jane mischievously.
" What would any one say ?" blushed La
vinia.
"No matter what they say. I cannot af
ford to pay for any unnecessary dresses again
this winter. You ought to be thankful for
the thousand blessings that are showered
upon you. There, don't let me hear about
you being miserable about, dresses again."
"But we must have them, pal" exclaimed
Lavinia, very seriously; and her eyes seemed
to moisten as though a tear of disappointment
was struggling for existence.
Mr. Younc , looked at her solemnly, for a
moment. His heart was deeply pained to ob
serve the evidence of discontent she had ex
hibited, and which were now more visible in
her expressi.n.
" I want you to go with me after dinner,
girls," continued Mr. Young after a long
pause.
" Where. pa ?"
"We will make one or two calls, and then
if you wish to buy your dresses we will at
tend to the matter."
Neither Jane nor Lavinia asked any more
questions, and after dinner they were ready
to attend their father. A carriage had been
engaged for the occasion, and thy departed
on what to the young ladies was a mysterious
mission.
CHAPTER 111.
- " Where are we going, pa ?" asked Jane,
as she glanced at the suspicious looking hou
ses on either side of the street.
The carriage stopped before a miserable
dilapidated old building, before Mr. Young
had time to answer the question ; and he
handed them out of the vehicle.
"What have we come here for pa?" asked
Lavinia, shrinking back as her father propo
sed to conduct her into the old building.
"Come along, girls."
Timid and doubtful they . followed him into
the houselloand upon the rickety stairs, more
than once requiring the philanthropic mer
chant to resort to persuasion to induce them
to'proceed.
In the attic, to which the fur-clad ladies
succeeded with much difficulty in ascending,
they entered the room.
There was a woman and three small child
ren in the room, closely nestling over a bro
ken stove, which did not perceptibly elevate
the temperature of the apartment over that
of the external air. They were all huddled
together in a heap, that they might have the
benefit of the mutual warmth thus engender
ed. They . bad piled the scanty stock of rags,
which their meagre housekeeping facilities
afforded them, upon their persons.
The room was scarcely a protection from
the extreme cold of the day. Great cracks
in the windows, and around them, opened
wide for the passage of the freezing blast,
and the little group were shivering with the
cold.
The young ladies shuddered as they gazed
at the pale, blue, livid faces of the abject
group, and the tears immediately flooded the
. .
.••'• • •
•
• • •
eyes of the gentle, tender-hearted Lavinia.
It was such a sight as she had never seen be
fore.
It was an Irish mother, and those were
Irish children; but they were none the less
susceptible to cold and hunger because they
were Irish.
"Oh, father !" gasped Lavinia, "let us do
something for them."
" Witlf all my heart, my child, I can spend
my money in relieving such sufferings as
these, when I do not feel like buying silks
and satins," replied Mr. Young.
He then questioned the woman, whose
quivering form would scarcely let her speak.
"Have you anything to eat ?Y
" Not a thing," replied she; "sorra, taste
of anything we had but wather since yester'
morning. I don't care for myself, but the
childer is perishing wid the cold and hunger."
" Mercy I" exclaimed Lavinia. "Nothing
to eat and shivering all night with the cold
in this dreadful place I"
"My attention was called to this case of
suffering as I was going home to dinner," ad
ded Mr. Young • "and I promised to attend
to it at once. I thought I. would bring you
here and show you how insignificant was
your misery compared with that of these peo
ple. And there are hundreds no better off
in this city."
" I will not ask for another dress, pa," said
Lavinia. "Only let us give these poor suf
ferers all they -want." •
" Nor I, pa," added Jane.
Giving joy to the woman and children by
promising to send them fuel, food and cloth
ing, they left the house ; but not to go home,
for Lavinia would not be satisfied till she had
seen the poor sufferers fed, warmed and cloth
ed. She and her father brought everything
required, and returned to the house. A great
fire was kindled by the merchant, while his
daughters busied themselves in stuffing the
cracks with cotton they had procured for the
purpose.
Lavinia's eyes moistened with gratitude
that she had been able to do something for
the sufferers, as she saw the ravenous appe
tite with which they devoured the hot dinner
that was brought from the restorator. Then
the "God bless you's" which the poor woman
showered -upon them were far better than
silks and feathers. When they had done all
they could for the poor people, they left them,
with hearts swelling with grateful emotions
to Him who bad given them the means of
blessing the widow and the fatherless.
When Lavinia entered that warm parlor
in her father's house again, it seemed more
like a paradise than ever before. She won
dered that she had ever complained of any
thing. Why had size not been born to pover
ty and misery, like the poor woman they had
just made happy? Why was her lot appoin
ted in the midst of luxurious plenty, while
hundreds were perishing with hunger and
shaking with cold ? God had been good to
her, and it was but a small return for her to
be contented when she had nothing to repine
for. Perhaps that pleasant parlor was none
the less a paradise because Charles Walker
was there, awaiting her - return. Blushing
with pleasure, she told him of the afternoon
adventure ; and the lover was so .enraptured
that he failed to give the hint which he had
come to give. He called • the next day, and
the next, instead of "breaking off altogether,"
as he had proposed. Then he invited her to
the ball. She promised to go, if he would
not object to her dress. Of course, he would
not ; and she showed him her written resolu
tion, not to have another silk dress for a year.
It was a reform in the right direction, and
Charles was rejoiced that he bad not given
the before-mentioned hint.
As they became better acquainted, Charles'
only objection to matrimony was discussed,
rather indirectly, it is true; but Lavinia had
learned her lesson. For the year succeeding
her first visit to the poor people—she had of
ten made such visits alone since—her expen
ses for personal apparel were inside of a hun
dred dollars.
At the end of another year, Charles Wal
ker led her to the altar, and she became a
true and. loving wife,. She was cured of ex
travagance. It was a remarkable cure. The
remedy was totally at fault with Jane. It
impressed her . for a time, but its effect soon
wore away.
Charles' salary is larger now than when
he was first introduced to the reader; but so
prudent is his wife that he lives within his
means. It is true, she spends 'a great deal
in charity, but her husband can afford that,
charity warms the heart, makes a man a bet
ter friend, and a woman a better wife.
A writer in the last number of the North
British Review observes:—"lnstead of edu
cating every girl as though she were born to
be an independent, self-supporting member
of society, we educate her to become a mere
dependant, a banger-on, or, as the law deli
cately phrases it, a chattel. In some respects
indeed, we err more barbarously than those
nations among whom a plurality of wives is
permitted, and who regard women purely as
so much live stock; for among such people
women are, at all events, provided with shel
ter, with food and clothing—they are "cared"
for as cattle are. There is a completeness in
such a system.
But among ourselves we treat women as
cattle, without providing for them. as cattle.
We take the worst part of barbarism and the
worst part of civilization and work them into
a heterogeneous whole. We bring up our
women o be dependant, and then leave them
without any one to depend on. There is no
one, there is nothing for them to lean upon,
and they fall to the ground. Now, what ev
ery woman, no less than every man, should
have to depend. upon, is an ability, after some
fashion or other, to turn labor into money.—
She may or may not be compelled to exercise
it, but every one ought to possess it. If she
belong to the richer classes, she may have
to exercise it; if to the poorer, she assur
edly will."
Ite-To some persons it is indispensible to
be worth money—without it, they would be
worth nothing themselves.
HUNTINGDON, PA., JUNE 24, 1857.
Female Education.
--PERSEVERE,-
Towards the latter part of the year 1751,
the French, aided by vast bodies of the Huron
and Iroquois Indians, had begun to make
themselves very disagreeable neighbors to
the British and American colonists in north
ern Virginia, Ohio, and the northwest por
tions of New York State—the French by their
encroachment on the frontier, and the Indi
ans by their numerous forays, and savage
barbarity to all who were unfortunate enough
to fall into their hands.
To put a stop to these aggressive proceed
ings, numerous bodies, both of the "regulars"
and the colonial militia, were dispatched to
the several points assailed ; and among the
rest, a Col. Henry Innes, with a company of
thirty men, among whom were a party of
some dozen Virginia riflemen, was ordered
to occupy a small outpost, or log fort, which
at this period stood within a few miles from
the north fork of the Allegheny river.
Having arrived safely at their quarters,
the little company set about righting up the
old post to make it as comfortable as circum
stances would permit; and this being done,
and order once more restored, sentries were
placed at all the advanced points of the sta
tion, while the strictest vigilance was both
enjoined and exercised by day and night.
Among the Virginia riflemen who had vol
unteered into the company, was a tall, manly,
fine-looking young fellow, who, from his fatal
and unerring skill as a marksman, bad re
ceived the somewhat awe inspiring nom de
plume of—Death. But with whatever jus
tice‘ this name had been applied to him for
his skill, his disposition certainly entitled
him to no such terror spreading epithet. On
the contrary, he was the very bfe of the com
pany.
His rich fund of mother-wit, large social
propensities, and constant good nature, ren
dering him a general favorite with the men ;
while the never-failing stock of game his
skill enabled him to supply the mess-table of
the officers with, not only recommended him
to their good graces, but caused many a lit
tle ,"short coming" of his to be winked at
and passed over in silence, which, otherwise,
perhaps, be might not have got over so easily.
The company had not been stationed at the
fort much more than a week, ere Death, in
one of his excursions for game, discovered
that at a small farm house, some three miles
or, so distant from the fort, there lived a cer
tain Miss Hester Standhope, whose equal in
beauty and amiable qualities lie had never
seen before. And to render himself still
more certain of the fact, he called the day
following, under cover of the pretence of hav
ing left his powder-flask.
Death was invited to come again, by Far
mer Standhope, who happened to be from the
same parish as the father of our hero ; and
we need scarcely say that the invitation was
both eagerly and joyfully accepted, and, as
often as circumstances would permit, corn
plied with.
The second week after this occurrence took
place, was marked by two events, which,
though both affecting the welfare of the lit
tle community at the fort, were of widely
different degrees in importance.
The first was, that Death had either sud
denly lost all his skill as a marksman, or,
that the game had removed to a safer and
more distant neighborhood, for the officers'
larder had been found sadly wanting in the
items of woodcocks, blackcocks, ptarmigan,
&c., for the week past—and the second and
most important of the two events, was, that
in regular succession, four sentinels had dis
appeared from the extreme left line, without
leaving the slightest trace to elucidate the
mystery of their disappearance.
This last circumstance struck such dread
into the breasts of the rest of the company,
that no one could be found willing to" volun
teer to take that post—well knowing that it
would be only like signing their own death
warrant to do so; and Col. Innes, not wishing
to wilfully,sacrifice the lives of his men by
compelling them to go, enjoined double cau
tion to the remainder of the sentinels, and
left the fatal post unoccupied for a night or
two.
Two or three reconnoitering parties had
been dispatched off round the neighborhood,
m the hope of finding some clue to the mys
tery, or of obtaining some intelligence of the
enemy, but they had each of them returned
as wise as they started, with no reward for
their trouble save weary bones.
It was on the third night of the desertion
of the post, that our hero, Death, was return
ing to the fort, after paying a visit to Stand
hope Farm. The moon was up, but her light
was nearly all obscured by the dense masses
of clouds which at every few minutes were
driven by a pretty stiff breeze over her face,
while the huge trees, now all in full leaf,
creaked and groaned, and bent their tall
forms to and fro, as the heavy gusts rushed
whistling in among their branches.
Our hero had approached within a hundred
yards of the termination of the forest that
skirted the small open space in which the fort
stood, when suddenly he paused, and crouch
ing down on his hands and knees, crept cau
tiously forward a few paces. Raving remain
ed in this position for several minutes, he
again stealthily retreated in the manner he
had advanced; and plunging into the forest
again, emerged at a point considerably lower
than where ho had intended to leave it be
fore.
Col. Innes sat reading, alone, in his private
apartment, when an orderly entered and in
formed him that one of the men wished to
speak to him.
"Send him in," said the colonel; and at
the next minute our friend, Death, had en
tered, and made his best bow to his com
manding officer."
"Well, what scrape have you been getting
into now ?" said. the colonel, when he saw
who his visitor was.
"None, colonel," replied Death; "but I
have come to ask a favor."
" Let us hear it,?" said the colonel ; " and
we will then see what wo can do."
TEEE OUTPOST
A Tale of Frontier Life.
" Well, colonel, it is simply this—if you.
will put the "rifles" under my orders, to-night,
and let me occupy the deserted post, I will
not only clear up the mystery of the disap
pearance of the four sentries, but make the
post tenable for the future.
" But how?" said the colonel, in intense
surprise.
" I guess, colonel," answered Death, "you
had better let me have the men, and order
us off, and I'll tell you. the whole affair after.
I promise you that not one shall receive even
a scratch, that is if they will follow my di
rections implicitly."
" You are a strange man," said the colonel,
"but I think I will let you have your own
way this time. When do you intend to start?"
" In about an hour's time," answered Death.
" Very well, I will give the necessary or
ders, so that you can start when you. think
proper. And what is more, if you perform
all that you. have promised, and don't cause
me to repent having humored you, you shall
have poor Campbell's place."
Hector Campbell was a bravo but a very
head-strong young Scotchman, who had occu
pied the post of lieutenant at the fort. In
sudden freak of daring he had volunteered
to stand sentry at the fatal spot from which
three sentinels had already so mysteriously
disappeared, and he paid for his rashness
with his life.
" Now, my lads," said Death, as in about
an hour after his conversation with Colonel
Innes, he approached the deserted post, at
the head of the dozen riflemen, who had been
temporarily placed under his orders, "I will
tell you what we are going to do. The long
and the short of the affair is simply this, it's
a gang of them cussed, thievin' Iroquois, that
have circumvented and carried of our four
men—shooting them with their arrows, and
then decamping with their bodies.
" To-night, as•l was returning to the fort,
I suddenly thought I heard the sound of sev
eral voices, and creeping on my hands and
knees towards the spot, got nigh enough to
see and hear that about a dozen Iroquois were
there and then arranging their plans to sur
prise the fort to-night—intending to steal in
upon it by the point which their cussed div
ilry had rendered so easy of access. I only
stopped long enough to learn this, when
hurried off tuDthe colonel, and asked him to
place you at my disposal, and here we are.—
I did not say a word to him about what I had
learnt, being determined that if possible the
"rifles" should have all the honor of exter
minating the varlets. ~And now I ask you,
are you willing and ready to follow my or
ders ?"
Every man cheerfully answered in the af
firmative, and with quickened pulses, and.
sanguine hopes, the little company again
moved forward.
The post consisted of a long, narrow space,
bounded on each side by a rocky, shelving
bank; while its extreme end was closed in
by the dark and impenetrable looking forest.
The bank on each side of the pass was thickly
covered with brush and underwood, and among
these Death now carefully concealed his men;
taking care to arrange them so that their fire
would cross each other, and bidding them not
to fire until he had given the signal; and af
ter they had fired, not to stop to reload, but,
clubbing their rifles, to jump down and fin
ish the struggle in that manner."
With steady alacrity each man took up the
post assigned him; and in another minute,
the spot presented the same lone still and
solemn appearance it had worn previous to
their arrival.
The little company had begun to ;row very
impatient, and Death, himself, to fear that
the Indians bad either rued of making the
attempt, or else had changed their plan of
attack, when suddenly his quick eye detec
ted the form of one of his crafty foes issue
in a crouching position from the deep shad
ow which the lofty trees threw far up the
pass.
•' Three—six—nine—twelve—thirteen,"—
counted Death, as one after another they
emerged in single file from the wood, and
with quick catlike stealthiness of movement,
advanced up the pass ; their rifles in trail, and
their faces and bodies rendered still more
hideous and ferocious looking by the grotesque
marking of their war-paint. On they . came,
swiftly and silently, and all unconscious of
the fate that was in store for them.
The foremost of the band, whose comman
ding stature; wolf-teeth collar, and eagle tuft,
at once proclaimed him as chief, had advan
ced until he was directly opposite the bush
in which Death was hid, when the latter
with startling distinctness suddenly imitated
the cry of a night owl and discharged his
rifle.
Eight of the Indians fell by the volley
which the remaining riflemen now poured in
upon them: but, strange to say, one of the five
who did not fall, was the chief whom Death
had aimed at. This unusual event was ow
ing to the following cause : the branch of the
bush on which he, had steadied his arm in
firing, had suddenly yielded at the moment he
discharged his piece, thus rendering harmless
his otherwise unerring aim.
Uttering an imprecation at his ill lack,
Death sprang down the bank with the rest
of his companions, and with one bound they
reached the side of the Iroquois chief. They
grappled and both fell heavily to the ground,
clasped in a fearful embrace, and darting
glances of savage hatred at each other beneath
their knitted and scowling brows.
"Keep off'." shouted Death, as he saw ono
or two of his companions in the act of stoop
ing down to assist him, " keep off! and if ho
masters me, lot him go."
Over and over they rolled, writhing, and
straining, but seemingly neither obtaining
any advantage over the other. At last the
head of the Iroquois suddenly came in con
tact with the point of a rock that protruded
from the bank stunning him so that he relax
ed his vice-like grip of Death's throat; and
the latter, thus released, springing to his feet,
finished his career by bringing the heavy
breech of his rifle with sledge b - nmmer force
down upon his head.
The remaining four Indians had been like
wise dispatched; and the victorious riflemen
(none of whom had received any wound worth
Editor and Proprietor.
NO, 1,
mentioning,) now sent up such a shout of
umph for their victory, that the echoes of the
old wood rung with it for minutes after.
As Col. Innes had promised, Death was
promoted to the vacant post of lieutenant;
and now, dear reader, we beg to inform you
that our hero and uncornproniiiing veteran,
General Morgan, of revolutionary notoriety,
were one and. the same individual. ,
About a fortnight after this eventful night,'
Standhope Farm became the scene of as much
mirth, good eating, and dancing, as could be
possibly disposed of during the twenty-four
hours ; and though we think it will be almost
superfluous to do so, we will add, that the
cause of this "merry-making." was the mar
riage of the beauteous Hester Setandhopo with
Lieutenant Henry Morgan.
A Chapter on Matrimony.
A young lady, out west, in a communica
tion to the Sandusky Register upon the sub—
ject of matrimony, says :
It is a mournful fact that this world is full
of young men who want to marry but dare
not. Deny this, as some will, it is neverthe
less true, as we can easily show. In this
town, for instance, there are some thirty or
fourty young men, well-to-do in the way of
salaries and business, yet they refuse to take
the step which they all want to take, but dc;
not—why? The large majority of them
have salaries ranging from five hundred to
seven hundred dollars per year. Now the
first question to be asked by any sane man
is, can I properly support a wife, if I take
one? Then he counts the cost of living, as
the woman of his preference would wish, and,
lot he finds to his amazement that his income
is vastly too small to support even a
modest modern establishment; and somewhat
maddened by the reflection, he plunges into
labor and courts business with an assiduitg
that takes away his health eventually, in
hope of attaining an income that shall enable
him to marry and have a home of his own.—
And this is the secret of all the hard, unen
i din°. toil of the young men of to-day who are.
fast approaching thirty years of age—this is
the reason of so many disappointed men and
waiting woman, deny or hide it as you may.
But, says some good woman, you do us in
justice ; for any woman who truly loves a man
will adapt herself to his circumstances with
the greatest pleasure. But what man of any
sensitiveness, or high sense of honor, would
take a woman from easy circumstances and
a pleasant and well furnished home, to adorn
his four little rooms and to do his housework,
as the first principles of economy would de
mand of him? Few will do it ; for; though
the woman signifies her willingness to take
up with such experience, we are all such crea
tures of circumstances that there would be
complainings on her part, eventually, and
sickness from over-exertion, and unhappi
ness from many cares—all of which would
render marriage any thing else than pleasant.
And so the young men very wisely think—
prefering i 1 few more years of single loneli
ness, in order to obtain money enough to sup
port a modest house of between twelve and
fifteen hundred dollars a year expense, rather
than to place a modernly educated woman
into the house of six hundred dollars a year,
where she must do her own housework.
Now, what is the remedy? Plainly, that
women must fit themselves to be such wives
as the young men muse have. Else the young
men must fit themselves to be such husbands
as the women want, and spend the very choi
cest years of their life in the dismal drudgery
of a ceaseless toil, breaking down health, hap
piness, energy, only to give themselves up to
marriage when the best of their manhood is
gone. The women must choose for them
selves which it shall be, fur the matter is
solely in their hands. Let mothers say to
their daughters, put on that calico gown, go
into the kitchen and prepare dinner, take
charge of this household, and fit yourself to'
become a wife and a mother—let the young.
women cheerfully consent to such service;
and instead of lavishing all thought, and time,
and money, upon the adornment of the body,
seek to accustom the hands to proper indus
try, and to school the mind to proper tastes—
then. there will be no longer complaint that
the young men. "cannot afford to marry,"
and we shall have beautiful modest houses
all around us, and women will have loving
husbands, and all life shall once more have
something of the truthfulness and.virtue which
it had 'in the days of. fathers and mothers,
when it was the woman's ambition to become
the head of the house and the mother of noble
children.
Bathing.
Once a week is often enough for a decent
- white man to -wash himself all over; and.
whether in summer or winter that ought to
be done with soap, warm water, and a hog's
hair brush in a room showing at least sev
enty degrees Faronheit.
Baths should be taken early in the morn
ing, for it is then that the system possesses
the power of reaction in the highest degree.
Any kind of bath is dangerous soon after a
meal or fatiguing exercise. No man or wo
man should take a bath at the close of the
day, except by the advice of a family physi
cian. Many a man, in attempting to cheat
his doctor out of a fee, has cheated himself
out of his life—aye, it is done every day.
The best, safest, cheapest and most univer-:
sally accessible mode of keeping the surface
of the body clean, besides the once a week
washing . with soap, and warm water, and
hog's hair. brush is as follows !
As soon as you get out of bed in the morn
ing wash your face, hands, neck and breast,
then, in the same basin of water, put your
feet at once for about a minute, rubbing
them briskly all the time; then with tho
towel, which has been dampened by wiping
the face and feet, wipe the whole body well;
fast and hard, mouth shut, breast projecting.
Let the whole thing be done within five min
utes.
At night when you go to bed, and when- .
ever you got out of bed during the night, or
when you findyourself wakeful -or restless;
spend from two to five minutes in rubbing
your whole body with your 'hands so far as
you can-reach in every direction. This has
a tendency to preserve that softness and mo-; . .
bility of the skin which too frequent wash
ings of it always destroy. .
That precautions are necessary in connec
tion with the bath room, is impressively sig
nified in the death of an American lady of
refinement and position, lately, after taking
a bath soon after dinner; of Sergeant Hume,
while alone in a warm bath; and of an • emi—
nent New Yorker; under similar_ eircum : -
stances, all within a year.—.EfalPs Touljtal
of Health.
0-The Baltimore American has received
repel t$ which represent the grain and fruit,
crops, in nearly every portion of the State of
Maryland, to be in a promising condition,
COMET POSTPONED. - It is announced, that,
by an error in figuring, the expected Comet
in June need not be expected until June or
so of next year.
El