The Huntingdon journal., September 14, 1877, Image 1

VOL. 41.
The Huntingdon Journal.
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Iluntingdon. Pa
Ely RiltStsf *intr.
Passing Away.
lII' MRS. BISHOP SIMPSON.
Passing away; passing away;
The sweet summer roses are passing away;
Their beauty is wasted, their fragrance has fled,
And wittfring, :lilt) , lie in their damp, lowly bed.
And fair, dewy morns in their splendor will rise,
The pale stars glow soft in evening's clear skies;
The cooling dew fall, and the musical rain.
But these roses will brighten, ah, never again !
Passing away; passing away;
Bright hopes of my youth—how they're passing
away,
With the beautiful visions that, gladden my eyes
By daytime and nighttime, as sunlight the skies!
lib, hope may come back to my sorrowful heart ;
Bright dreams from their long-silent chambers
may start,
But those of my youth I may woo all in vain,
For they ne'er will return in their beauty again
Passing away; passing away;
_ .
Friends I have Toved.:-:hOw they're passing away !
1 have watched them go down to that oold, solemn
tide,
While the pale, silent boatman kept close to their
. . .
side;
I've caught the dull dip of their deep, muffled oar,
As he bore thew away to that echoless shore !
And my heart cryeth out in its desolate pain,
But they ne'or will return to bless roe again !
Passing away; passing away;
Yet I know of a land where there is no decay,
Whore the balmy air's filled with the richest per.
fume
From sweet, fragrant nowurs, and fadelea3 their
bloom ;
Whore the soul never grieves as it doth hero below,
O'er fair, vanished dreams, o'er hope's fitful glow,
Where linked and forever is love's golden chain,
And parting words chill us. 0, never again !
E4e tarp-Etiltr.
THE CADET'S BABY.
I am a military man—not a private in
the ranks, but an officer these many years.
I have been serving in Florida, in Mexico,
on the borders, and I bear of "honorable
scars" a few.
When I was just seventeen, a cadet at
West Point, I was on my way home for
the first time within three years. Early
in the morning I took my seat in the cars
from New York to Boston. I wore my
uniform, and (I may own up now) was not
so unconscious and indifferent as I seemed
to the many admiring glances young ladies
bestowed upon it and the embryonic colonel
or general within.
Toward the middle of the forenoon, an
Irish woman got into the cars. They were
crowded and she, not having the respect
for the military which the others had,
took what was almost the only unoccupied
seat, and by my side. I am, or was, a
Democrat. The woman was well clad and
clean, so I kept my place. In her arms
she held a child—a young babe of six or
eight months. It was a plump, beautiful,
happy little thing. I had a very unmanly
and uncadetish weakness for both babies
and children, and it was so long since I
had been so near to either, that I petted
and noticed this little creature not a little.
At noon, the train stopped for five min
utes. Most of the passengers got out. I
meant to have the novelty of a six o'clock
dinner in Boston, so I did not stir from
my seat. Seeing that I didlinot, the wo
man begged to know if I would not hold
her baby for a few moments while she got
out. I assented. She put the child in
my arms and vanished. The minutes
passed away; and one by one the passen
gers returned; presently, when the bell
rang the crowd came with a rush to re
sume there places ; the locomotive started,
we were off; and where, oh, horror of hor
rors! where was that woman ? My hair
began to rise, and the sweat to start from
every pore; still I waited, hoping that the
woman was trying to get through the
other ears, and would come finally to re
sume her responsibility.
A quarter of an hour elapsed ; every
body was quietly seated, and still I held
that child. People began to stare, young
ladies to titter. I felt myself as red as a
lobster. The conductor passed through ;
I stopped him. With a shaking finger I
pointed to the burden in my arms, and
stammered out something about the mother
having been left behind.
"What, the devil," he exclaimed as his
eyes fell on the child. •'Well, you're in
for it no mistake. I saw that woman after
she got out streaking it like mad away
from the depot, but I thought she had her
young one with her. You're nicely took
in and done for, that's a fact."
"But what's to be done with this child ?"
I asked.
"Don't know, I'm sure. How far are
you going ?"
"To Boston to-night."
"Then I guess you'll have to carry it as
far as there. Then you can take it to one
of the hospitals or asylums, where they
attend to this sort of business, and leave
it. Perhaps some of these ladies will help
you take care of it till we get to Boston,"
and the conductor passed on.
As he went forward, he evidently told
the story, for heads began to tura, and
then men and boys came sauntering in
from the other cars to see the fellow that
had the baby left with him. Plenty of
jokes were cracked at my expense, for
every now and then I heard a regular guf
faw, and some such phrases as "precious
green, eh ?" "such a go !" "looks fatherly,"
etc., etc.
I was in a rage. My blood boiled furi
ously. One minute I wanted to swear,
the next to kick every person and thing
in the car. I suppose in my passion I ,
gave the poor little thing in my arms a
gripe, for she uttered a quick, little cry.
She stopped in a moment, and I looked at
her. She lay in my arms so innocent, and
helpless, and fair, and white, and looked
up at me with such complacent placidity,
that somehow I felt my anger dying out
in spite of me—my embarrassment too.
"I may as well be a man as such a con
temptible sneak," I thought. "I was an
ineffable greeny to get saddled in this way
to be sure, but that's my fault, and not
this poor little pussy's, and I may as well
brave it through. As for these confounded
fools, just let 'em laugh, that's all."
So I settled myself coolly to the care of
my baby. People, after a while got ae
eustoined—to-see Lief ii my arms, and most
of the afternoon she slept soundly.
But oh ! how heavy she grew ! I seemed
to have a leaden weight tugging heavier
and heavier upon me. How on earth do
women tug about children, day after day,
in the way they do? For me, I'm certain
I'd rather mow, though I never tried it.
However, to my story. Toward night
my baby waked ; and waked fretful and
hungry, I suppose. She began to cry ; a
long, despairing, entirely uncompromising
cry. People began to look again, curious
to see what the master nurse would do
now.
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I tried every possible means to pacify
the child ; my watch, my eagle•buttons,
held it up to the window, I dandled it, I
HUNTINGDON, PA , FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1877.
nearly turned it upside-down, no use.—
Baby probably despised my miserable ef
forts to make it forget its needed and right
ful consolation, and cried louder and louder,
till at last I seemed to hold nothing in my
arms but an immense squall. A man
could stand it no longer, let alone a cadet,
and I arose desperately from my scat, de
termined to appeal To some lady or woman
for assistance. As I passed through the
car, some of the young ladies broke into a
senseless titter again, the elder ones looked
ont of the windows, and the men eyed me
with a knowing sort of leer, that had not
my arms been occupied, they would have
had a hit straight out from the shoulder
for. One motherly looking person whom
I approached hopingly, transfixed me with
a stony, virtuous sort of a glare, that made
me shake in my shoes as if I had com
mitted the unpardonable offence. I gave
up in despair, and was about to return to
my seat, when a gentleman at the extreme
end of the car beckoned me forward. It
was a little family party, the gentleman,
his wife, and a colored girl with them, who
held their babe in her arms. The gentle
man and wife were both young, and they
were evidently Southerners.
"We heard about this baby from the
conductor," said the gentleman, as I came
near. "3ly wife has been fidgeting ever
since it began to cry. Can we do any
thing for you ?"
The lady leaned past him.
"Will you let me look at your baby, sir,
a moment ?" she asked in, it seemed to me
then, the sweetest tones I had ever heard.
"Such a young child—and so pretty,
too 1 How it cries ! What is the matter ,
with it?"
"I don't know, uladaul, unless it's hun-
gry," I answered. "It has had nothing
to eat, since that woman got is this morn•
ing. I don't know what to do with it."
"Poor little love 1" exclaimed the lady,
"what a shame 1 no wonder it cries 1" She
hesitated, glanced at her own baby in her
servant's arms, at her husband, then, blush
ing like any rose, the sweet mother laid my
baby on her bosom, beneath her shawl,
and hushed its cries, as if it bad been her
own—of her very flesh and blood.
Her husband smiled, and leaning for.
ward as if to protect her from the gaze of
others, made room for me on the seat with
their servant.
I explained the affair to him, and told
hitn my name, and found that my family
was not unknown to him. As we talked,
I saw that his wife, listening, examined
the dress on the child ou ber lap, felt of
its texture, and finally unclasp-:d some
chains that held up its sleeves. A little
minature was set in the clasp of each. She
looked at them, and then said :
"I am convinced, sir, that the woman
who abandoned this child in your care is
not its mother. In the first place, no
mother could do such a thing ; then this
babe's clothing is of the most exquisite
make and quality, and in these sleeve
chains are two minatures. See, one a
gentleman with epaulets, the other a beau
tiful woman, evidently a lady. Depend
upon it, the child is a stolen one, or came.
into her hands by some unfair means.—
What can be done
"Do not be troubled, madam, about the
fate of the child. After the possibility or
probability you have suggested, I shall not
leave it in Boston. I will take it to my
mother, and advertise the case. It' its
parents are found, I shall be glad ; and, if
not, I think my mother will care for the
rest. Only," I added, "I wish the meet
ing was safely over."
The lady's eyes sparkled through tears.
"I can't tell you," she said, "how what you
have done, and are doing, seems to me, but
I think you are too noble to dread any
thing. I will answer for the mother who
has such a son I.'
"Softly, softly, if you please," expostu
lated her laughing husband; "don't be
quite oblivious to the fact that /exibt."—
She turned to him with a look that must
have silenced the veriest grumbler in the
world.
We reached Boston, took a carriage to
gether, and only at the hotel entranoe did
my friends bid me adieu. "God bless
you !" said the beautiful, noble woman, as
she gave me back my baby. I should have
knelt and kissed the hands of such a
princess, but my arms and I were so awk
ward at baby tending, that nothing else
seemed a possible acoomplishiment at one
and the same time.
The clerk glanced suspiciously at me
and my burden.
"We are full, sir. Not a room to be
had."
I sent for the proprietor, and agian my
name vouched for me. What it is to have
a family in the land ! "But where in the
world, Mr. Edward," he demanded, "did
you get that child?" I told the story; he
shook his head, but said nothing.
I sent for a chambermaid to come to my
room. I begged her to take the child 4nd
care for it (luring the night. At first she
would hear to nothing. I put my hand
in my pocket. I gave her a ridiculously
large bribe, but I was young and green.
She took the child.
"But sure an' ve're not the young gin
tleman that 'ud be afther laying ye'er
baby ? Holy Virgin !my characther 'ud
be ruined entirely !" I assured her of the
rectitude of my intentions, and sent her
off; but she was at my door in the morn
ing before I had left my bed, and nothing
would induce her to keep her charge
another instant.
I took the stage for my country home.
The driver recognized the lad he had
driven so often over the road.
"flow you have grown to be sure, Mr.
Edward? Your folks won't know you,
I'm thinking, especially with that baby in
your arms. Seems to me you're getting
to be a family man a leetle too early."
I laughed and took my seat. But as
we began to near home, I grew terribly
nervous and cowardly.
The house stood back sonic distance
from the road, and as I walked up from
the gate, I saw the whole family gathered
on the piazza to welcome me. I think I
should rather have walked up to the can
non's mouth. My sister started down the
steps to meet me, and then stopped.
I stepped up on the piazza. My mother,
pale as death, sunk into a chair. My
cousin, Ella, on whom I had always, from
my round jacket days, been sweet in a
sneaking sort of way, darted an annihi
lating glance at mc, and ran to support my
mother. My father advanced.
"What do you dare to bring here, you
shameless young rascal ? Is this a place—"
He broke down so angry that utterance
was absolutely impossible. At another
time, I should have shouted with laughter
at the ludicrous spectacle he presented;
now I only hastened to tell my story. In
a few moments my mother's arms were
around me, my sister and cousin were con
testing l'euri for possession of my baby,
and my father recovered from his rage
sufficiently to welcome his only son, though
I did hear him growl through his white
beard, "Confounded spooney !"
I advertised far and wide to no purpose.
But my baby grew so into the affections
of all the household, that I had no other
steps to take.
We named her Perdido., and I left her
with my mother. When I returned year
after year, I found her each time growing
healthier and prettier, and she each time
manifested an affection for me charmingly
legitimate--for was she not "My baby 7"
As such I cherished her.
She was six years old when I left Wcst
Point for active service. After that I led
a wandering and adventurous life, "by
flood and field."
My baby wrote to the at first often.—
Iler first lessons were curious specimens—
half written, half printed, and sometimes
her meaning eked out in rude drawings.
In those days she was charmingly personal.
"do BO and se-1 - thiuk so--h love so and,
so." But years changed her caligraphy,
and alas 1 the feeling of her letters. New
in her charming girlish character, stood,
"Your mother does so and so ;" or "Your
sistor thinks and loves," etc.
My mother wrote: "We can't call
Perdidaseer baby any longer. She does
not permit the title; and you, were you to
see per, could scarce imagine that oar fair
young queen wag ever a baby. I am old
to be enthusiastic, but our darling is surely
the loveliest vision these eyes ever rested
on. She makes hearts ache, but as yet
their pain is in vain. Rre tried to be so
cautious, but she has somehaw learned
abop.t her finding, and it is bitter knowl
edge to the proud little heart. It may be
what makes her melt only to us. Will
you never come home to see ns and her ?"
---
It was in the spring of the year 1856.
I was on my way home to America. An
elderly gentleman, who had evidently been
a soldier, occupied the state room next to
mine. A similarity of taste and feeling
bronght us much together during the
voyage.
II; had been absent from this country
inaay years. "When I left it," said he
to me, "I meant never to revisit the shores
that had been accursed to me. I lost there
my ;fife and child ander the cruelest cite
eumstanees ; and I could not remain. I
thought then I could never see again spots
that'liad been so fatal to me. And yet I
nuke now, impelled by some feeling which
I con neither account for nor resist. I
dretmed that I am goin g to see my ch il d
—sometimes, even in wa king moments, r
mightily convinced that I shall find her."
"How," I interrupted, in spite of my
self, "Is not your child dead ?"
"Alas I I do not know."
"You do not know. Did she not die
before you left America ?"
"No. Three months ago I would have
said I wish she had, rather thee- remain
leetAo me, exposed to fates I shudder to
think of. Now I am hopeful. More
trustful. It seems to me she has been kept
purf, and that shall know her. And
yo4—and he sighed heavily—"l haven't
a shadow - of a reascn for such a hope and
trust."
I was excited. I compared ray remem
brance of the miniature on "ify Baby's"
sleeve chain with the figure before me. I
made him explain all. He told . me of the
child's birth—the delieste state of his wife
afterward, his taking her to Cuba, leaving
the child in, as he supposed, trusty care,,
the death of his wife in Havana, and while
he was still in the first anguish of her loss,
news from his child's nurse of its death,
and of her own speedy return to Ireland.
He came to New York too late tofind her,
and left America at once—forever, as he
supposed. In Europe, years afterwards,
he had met a scrvent who had been with
him during his brief married life, and who
had declared to him positively that Isis
child was not dead at the date on which
the woman had written him ; but fexther
than that he could not say, as he had fol.
lowed the fortunes of another master.—
The unhappy father sought vainly for the
woman, and now returned as a last MIMI
to America. He described the child's
nurse. It, was the woman who had aban
doned her charge in my arms, and the
l'aee was the changed, aged one of Perdida's
miniature. Not many days thereafter I
restored to my friend his so early lost
child, and gave up "My Baby" to her
rightful father.
What a pang ? Yes. Did I console
myself with the pretty cousin afore mete
tioned ? She hadn't had patience to wait
that I might—a husband and several olive
branches precluded that. What thee!'
I saw "iffy Baby," a stately, radiantly
beautiful woman. She called me Major
; she treated me in the most precise
and formal way—the utmost favor she
bestowed upon me was the slightest touch
of the fingers as she bade me good eight
or good morning, and I saw her WWII&
her idolizing father's arms, lavishing
tenderest caresses upon him. Would I
have it otherwise ? No. There was a
dearer delight in the reserve with which I
was treated—the faintest flush that colored.
her cheek when I was near her, or ad-
I dressed her had for me an inexpressible
sweetness that I wouldn't have bartered
for aught on earth short of what I event
ually obtained. What ! you don't wean
that you, a scarred old veteraa of between
thirty and forty, dared—didnit 1? Hum
And this was the way of it. In my military
capacity I was invited to West Voint. I
went, and my friend and his daughter ac•
companied me. I sat beside her ie the
cars. The happy old gentleman, at a little
distance, read diligently. I said
"Perdida ! you have traveled this route
before with me; do you recall this scenery
at all ?"
She blushed scarlet, and looked at me
beseechingly.
I went on,
"To think what a heavy, hungry, un
pacifiably baby I carried that. day, and the
way the poor Cadet's humanity was ridi
culed !" _ _
The tears started, and the young lady at
my side bowed her haughty head.
"And the worst feature in the ease is
that he has never had any suitable recom
pense. A goad deed is its own reward, to
a certain degree, of course ; but in this
case, every feeling of my soul, every fibre
of my heart, demands something more.—
Perdida ! my darling, these seventeen years,
I lost you to your father; but I cannot
bear it. Be generous. here, where I
found 'My Baby,' give, 0 give her back
to me."
She raised her head.
"If she were as much trouble now as
then."
"My darling, don't trifle ! Am I to
have you ?"
My young lady answered wt.
she occupied herself with del iberatalidrair:
ing off her glove. Then she turned •to isle.
"Since you will be troubled," and she
laid her bared hand in mine. Mine again.
Shortly after we were married. I carried
Perdida, daring our wedding tour to the
friends h had found for her and laze is the
oars seventeen years before; and this time
right reverently I kissed the gracious hand
that had then so sweetly +Prided wb....t was
anw my all.
(s.tiett Pisalllu.
Commerce of the World.
France exports wine, brandies, silks,
&nay articles, furniture, jewelry, clocks,
watches, paper, perfumery, and fancy goods
generally.
Italy exports corn, oil, flax, flour, wines,
essences, dyestuffs, drugs, flue marble, soap,
paiutings h engravings molasses and salt.
Prussia exports linen, woolens, zinc, ar
ticles of iron, copper, and brass, indigo,
wax, musical instruments, tobaces,
wines and porcelain.
Germany expnrts wool, woolen goods,
linen, raga-, corn, timber, iron, lead, tin,
flax, hemp, wines, wax, tallo - v, and cattle.
Austria exports minerals, raw and man
ufactured silk thread, glass, wax, tar, nut
gall, wine, honey and mathematical instru
ments.
ETigland exports cottons, woolens, glass,
hardware, earthenware, cutlery, iron, me•
tallic wares, salt, coal, watches, tin, silks
acid linens.
Rtissia exports tallow, flax, hemp, flour
iron, linseed, lard, hides, wax, duck, cord
age, bristles, fur and potash.
Spain exports wines, brandies, iron
fresh and dried fruits, quicksilver, sulphur
salt, cork, saffron, anchovies, silks, and
woolens.
China exports tea, rhubarb, musk, ging
er, borax, zinc, silks, cassia, filligree work,
ivory ware, lacquered ware and porcelain.
Turkey exports opium, silks, drugs,
gams, dried fruits, tobacco, wines, cam
els' hair carpets, shawls, mallets, and mo
rocco.
Hindostan exports gold and silver, coch
inenl, indigo, sarsaparilla, vanilla, jalap,
funtio ' Campeaohy wood, pimento, drugs
and dye-stuffs.
Brazil exports coffee, indigo, sugar, rice,
hides, dried meats, tallow, gold, diamonds
and other atones, gums, mahogany and io
diam•rubber.
The West Indies exports sugar, molas
ses, rum, tobacco, cigars, mahogany, dye
wood, coffee, pimento, fresh fruits and pre•
serves, wax, ginger and other spices.
Bast, India experts Gloves, nutmegs, mace,
pepper, rice, indigo, gold dust, camphor,
benzine, sulphur, ivory, rattans, sandal
wood, zinc and nuts.
The United States exports principally
agricultural produce, tobacco, cotton, flour,.
provisions of all kinds, lumber, turpentine,
agricultural implements, sewing machines,
cotton goods, cutlery, builders' hardware,
furniture, locomotives, munitions of war,
gold, silver, quicksilver, etc.
What Teaohers are Paid.
AVERAGE MONTHLY SALARIES OF TEACH
ERS IN PUBLIC SCHOOLS THROUGHOUT
TUB COUNTRY.
The question of the amount of the sala
ries paid teachers in the various States and
Territories has been often asked. The fol
lowing table shows the average monthly
wages in all the States and Territories.
States. Male. Female
Cherokee Nation 5225 00 $2OO 00
District of Columbia ll3 00 75 00
Nevada..
Arizosa
Massachusetts.. 94 33 34 34
Wyoming B5 00 85 00
Rhode Island B3 65 43 73
Montana 72 83 57 82
New York 7O 00 45 00
New Ycork (city) l7B 00 90 00
Connecticut 69 03 36 05
Asir Jersey
Texas .. . . ......
Colorado 6O 00 50 00
Ohio GO 00 45 00
Arir.enaas 6O 00 40 00
Mississippi 53 00 55 00
Michigan
Indians 5O 00 40 00
Illinois . 4B 19 33 46
Wisconsin
Oregon ....»45 92 32 46
Vermont., 45 62 25 65
N 4 K 'NA aapabj.re 44 87 24 8.9
Ptirodyhattla. . 42 96 35 8!
Minnesota
Maryland 4O 89 40 89
Louisiana..
Vali 4O 00 160 t
Missouri .. 39 80 30 60
Nebraska 37 89 32 30
Ssagow
lowa 36 28 28 01
Maine 36 17 16 20
West Virginia 35 70 . 29 55
Florlds' 35 00 35 00
epee 33 30 33 03
Smith CarplhAft 22 81 30 38
Virgieig,....,
)forth Carolina-.
'draw Mexico. 26 25 26 26
li lippears from the above table that the
Cherokee Nation, the District of Columbia,
and Nevada pay the highest salaries. The
first illiid liit Domed are for obvious reas
ons obliged to pay largely for the ser
vices of competent teachers. The District
of Columbia supports bat few schools, and
employs none but the most accomplished
instructors. The free schools of New Mex
ico, which pays teachers the smallest sala
ry of any State, are in a very poor condi
tion, there being none outside of Santa Fe,
Alberquerque, and one or two other large
towns.
No Escape.
"No man will ever prosper who has the
curse of a ruined woman upon him. The
murderer of the body can be tried and ex
' ecuted by the world's laws, but the mur
derer of the soul is tried by heaven's laws,
and the execution is sure as divine justice."
Aunt Betsey said this as she folded the
white bands of a beautiful girl, and put
•
white flowers and green leaves about the
marble-cold forehead. There was a tiny
baby beside the girl-mother. The house
was hushed and there was mourning such
as few know. Half glad that the mother
and child were dead, the rest of the family
must perform the last sad office of burial
and bear the family shame. A haunted
house! A ruined home God the archi
tect and man the spoiler. The curse is
there, and the destroyer cannot escape.—
Woman's Journal.
AN old lady possessed of a large fortune
and noted for the penchant for the use of
figurative expressions, one day assembled
her grandchildren, when the following con •
versation took place :
"My ehildrah," said the old lady, "I'm
the root and you're the branehm"
"Grandma," said one.
"What, my child ?"
a • - "I was thinking how much better the
' I
*lnches would flourish if the root was un
der the ground."
SPELL BOUND—stuck on a word at the
spelling match
Concerning Sleep.
I 1:IL RESULTS of THE MODERN LACK OF
REPOSE-I'HE PERILS OF OVERWORK
AND STUDYING AT NIOITT,
From th, "rov! Tenco Journal]
A meuical man of eminence believes
taat has discovered that weariness ie
caused by what be calls "fatigue material,"
a substance formed in the blood by the
action of the muscles and nerves, and
which he alleges is only destroyed by the
oxygen of the blood during sleep. This
statement is sot yet demonstrated ; but
whether continued experiment proves or ,
disproves it, the importance of sleep as
giving opportunity for the repair of wasted
tissues, and winding ❑p the system for
fresh work, cannot be overestimated. One
great cause of the superior health of our
ittern ancestors over the men and women
or' to day was that they slept more. There
were other differences in, their nvor, but
this was one of the most important. That
was a rare occasion of pleasure, business
or necessity that kept & young person, at I
least, out of bed until midnight, and their
robust forms and healthy color proved the
value of early hours and abundant rest.
Certainly they did not have so lively a time
as we do; did not crowd so much excite
ment into a given period, but as they lived
longer asd had similar tastes, it seems
probable that they got quite as much out
of life. One meets on every hand tired
looking young men whose faces evoke pity.
A hasty inference might be drawn from
the oft repeated injunctions of health
critics not to over-study or over-work ; that
their wan faces
"Are sicklied o'er with pale cast of thought;"
But such is not often the case, e'er are
many of them suffering from too great ex
ertion of muscles. They are exhausted
from lack of sleep, that is all; but it is a
serious matter, for giving themselves too
little time at night for "tirect`natures'
sweet restorer" to repair datiism they are
not only spending each day the strength
gained at night; but drawing on their
capital. By and by, when an emergency,
comes, there is no reserved strength to
meet it, and they become physically bank
rupt, involving those dependent upon them
in distress of one sort or another.
In most cases it is theunsestealned love
of amusement that causes this wr9eg doing.
Exciting forms_of,,pleasure which are pro
tracted to and beyotti4 thi'dn?klit indulged'
in, not once or twice a month-4in nigistly,.!
and irreptrrableeiarealis are madasapon the
constitution: aka..pericl Yf 1104 :the body is
not yet liardeued,for -life's ,work, by too
great and constant excitement, a. 9 well as
by insufficient sleep. dot only so, but
while the capacity for simple plenoures is
smothered, so much indulgence mere
amusement robs it of all zot. Young. ,
misanthropes vFls9 hays drained their cups
of lift; to the dregs are not intretpient.
They go to bed tired, rise unrested, and
go to their daily tasks without interesti
They conclude that life deueen't pay, and
they are right.. lt.does not pay them be
cause they misuse it :ItAas qo sparkle,.
and they come to their sere and yellow
leases before they are fairly men. The•
worst feature of all is, indulging constant
ly their desire for pleasure, they lose the
power of restraint. "I wish" spates them
instead "I ought," and instead Of being
manly, self denying, energetic, studious,
they are, as one of George Elliot's sharp
women says, "poor, squashy things. The
looke well anoof, but the' weent wear, the,
woont wear."
Young men are not the only sinners in
respect to steep. School gins study at
night—some of tham—but their pale
oheeks are oftener , eaused by late novel.
reading and en tertaisiWg 99amsriy, to
bed at, nine o'clock Missy tip tilts her
sinall . nose in' disdain; She is not a child"
shewould have . Yoitto kdrivr, but a youngt .
lady of, say fifteen yews, and -knows how
to take care of hermit, The one thing
that an American niother,is psually've;
fouodly ignorant of is how either to extant
or win obedience hem chits of girls:
So the waste goes': oti. Olergytheir•
spend Saturday night over the • sermon
enter their pulpits- worn -aed.dull o. Spy ;
day, and preach people to sleep be sue
they are themselves halt asleep way
and wholly so in spirit. 'Ploy
blue devils on Monday because the devil
of procrastination possessed them all the
week. They go on sea voyages apt,Fosre
peals ,hours in scarch 4,41, health which
they would find at both if they would
sleep enough awl at propeir`liotris:' The
poor mothers and hoasekeepera who are
kept awake by restless children ,ausi use
finished tasks here more of our pity, .but
even they might manage better than they
do. Babies are sure to he ill and restless
if their mother's get over-tired. It is sire-.
prising to see how many of the indispete-.1
sable pieces of work may be postponed if'
one will is4sts •-tisiiiit—res.---.±tl,-..might have
done klit4et tn9ra," milsaFaitlaito*ater
once, "but I remembered that I was the
baby's mother, and so I went to bed.".
Sensible woman and good mother It is
pitiful to think how many nursing babiesi
die of embroidered and ruffled skirts; of
eake and pies, and superfluous machine
and housework of all sorts. It is not put*
down so iu the registry of deaths. They
call the trouble by various names—choler:i
infantum, marastuus, hydrbeephalus,
—but the recording angel knows better;
and, without mincing matters, writes :
"Died of fatigue because its mother was
ignorant, or obstinate, or vain and silly,"
as the case may he.
Thank Heaven it is no longer thought
an enviable distinction in a woman to have
delicate health. The time has , turned
since the days that some of us can remem.,
ber, when the girl who fainted easily was
thought to be of a little higher order of
beings than her more robust companions.
Health is becoming fashinnable,' bat pato, .
lie sentiment will not be entirely sound
upon the question so long as the &et is
not generally recognized that to risk the
health for present personal gratification is
worse than a stupid blunder, it is sinful,
and while there is no little cultivation of
the moral sense that people very generally
do not care whether their actions are right
or wrong.
A return to the habits of life in vogue a
century ago is neither to be expected nor
desired. It is right that we should share
the pleasures of entr own time, and be in:
sympathy with its faller light; but surely
he who realizes that he is not simply one
of a procession passing from birth to deft*
—is not here merely to serve and please
himself, but to bear his pare in the worl 't
Oil
d
work—will feel morally bound net to 1.
himself for future usefulness by needless t
ji
exhausting his body. A-great many obi
nary notices that are headed "Mysterious
Providence," would be more truthful if
the words, "Died for lack of sleep," were
substituted.
A GOOD lawyer is not a necessity, for
necessity knows no law.
Money, end How to Get It.
There is no wont in the English lan
guage more often used and univeteally ad
mired tLan money. In fact, it is considered
the thing altogether desired, and men to
obtain it will go &rough all kinds of toil
and hardship imaginable. They will even
commit the most heinous crimes. Every
bodric; after money, and the great desire
to gain it hastily often ends in a total
failure to accen,plish the desired end.
About the first question a yotith actrtit
when he gets old enough to thiar
providing for the future is, "How can I
get mosey, sad how tan I get rich.?"—‘,
There are two ways of getting rich. One '
is 1. y industry, economy, and judicious in
vestretetts-that never detract rslyn.4
dirittrirtrtf - setf4earct but-tarry --eritir.
them liaiiiiicesaywbdteeddwni, :sea a .alear
oonaeienne NW ; leave no regrets. The true
secret is "make haste slowly."
re getting money it does not make so
much difference as to what kind of huffi
ness a matt engages is, for any business
will pay if attended to properly, but no
man should, embark, in any business to
rrhieb Yin iti not adapted ; but when he
doettialre his selections he should go in
with a steady and determined purpose to
wit, and succeed by constant and persis
tent labor—remembering that "little by
little" is the sate way tea succeed, and out
of that little a little should be saved. Re
membering also that it is by what we save
that we get rich, and not by what we make.
A man may make a million a year, and if
he spends -it all, he will be no better off
than in the beginning ; whilst the man
who makes five hundred a year and saves
but ten dollars is getting rich. The man
at thirty who sari save five dollars a month,
and invest the same in real estate, is in a
fair way to be in easy circumstances when
be reachea his fiftieth' year. No wan has
yet lived who saved his money and in
vested it in real estate that did not make
money. Therefore the,. true and only cer
tain way of gft.ting money" is by industry,
economy, saving, and investing in real es
tate ; and the man who follows this rule iw
sure to win.
Character.
Among the happiest and proudest pos
sessions of a man is his character. It
usiks4,4-aagazailiat,the h.otiprs artilant,
j ego/44es of fame. Like most tres-
OM that. are attained less by circumstances
' than oursekes, character is a more relicious
reputation than glory. The wise man,
therefore, despise not the opinion of the
woild—he estimates it at its full value—
he 4oes notrasb from vanity, alone, against,
the received seutimente of others ; he dogs
not hazard-laic sestly jewel with unworthy
combatants, and for a petty stake. , llp
respects the legislation of decorum. What ,
is the essence and the life of character!'
Prfnciple, integrity, independence! or, asi
one of the great old writers hath it "that.
inbred loyalty trete virtue, which can serve
without a livery." These are qualities
I that hang not upon any mean's breath.—
They must be formed within ourselves;,
they must make ourselves—indissoluble
and indestructible as the soul ! If, con
scious of these possessions, we trust trans
quilly to time and occasion to render them
ktiers 4 n we may rest assured that our
l ehitrie;er, sooner or later will establieit
liteelf., We cannot more defeat our own
ioNeQt than by a restless and fevered anxiety
alt to what the world will say of us. There
is a moral honesty in a due regard - for
character which will not shape itself to
the humors of the crowd. And this, if
honest, is no less wise. For the crowd
neve; long esteems those who listar it, a.!.,
i t4ir own expense. Lie, wh battle sup-,
'pleness of the demagogue wi l l live to com
plain of the fickleness of the Inch.
TWO , S Octet of those Fried Potatoes.
•
•
•,tirlieSsirotego correspoodeo t of tie Spriog.
j fiplik Republica* says : Saratoga potatoes,
Ippetv of a common life and costly charm
orDelinonico's and Parker's, can be made
in perfection in an 4 kitchen by the sae at
a very siiiPle apparatus consisting of a
sharp blade set slanting into a wooden
trough with a.marrow slit in the bottom',
two, wire screens or sieves, and a congun4
*4g. Select eight large potatoes, pare
tliem and slice very thin with the cutting
soak them in cold water for tiro
iinditift Winston table salt into the
water, oniTeqi6oliftil to a quart, and al
it).* them Wreatain in the brine half an
hoer ionges,o;Psear them upon the screen
is glta,ie, and put on a spider with a pounsl
9f olean lard over a brisk fire. Wipe the
sliced potatoes dry on a towel, wait noel
the lari' is smiting hot, and pour a isrgh
'Oates' Into the spider. The result is lite
a small sea in a white squall ; and now the
cook shows-titeartietie eset-which every
votasy.of that noblest of the arts saust,
pow-soils) be worthy of the name. Patient
and calm with a steady and incessant
motion of the skimmer she prevents ad
besion.of too affectionate slices and watches
osrefnlly for the tender blush of brownnews
.to appear. Slowly it creeps and deepens
until it rivals the hue of the fragrant
Havana. Haste then takes the place of
Caution, lest any martyrs barn for the peg.
' fecticrn of others; and they must be quickly
spread upon another seirs to drain ut4l
dry and-greaseless enough for the fairest
fisgers, than served hat, to melt likes kiss
,no,,swset lips, with a dying crackle like
the fallen leaves of autumn.
Sulphur in Scarlet Fever.
The marvelous sweets
led my treatment of scarlet fever by sul
phur induces me to let my medical broth
ren know of my plan, so that they may be
able to apply the same remedy without
delay. All the eases ire which I need .it
were very well marked, and the epidermis
on the arms in each case came away 1,4 e
the skin of a _anak.e. The following was
the exact treatment in each case : Thor
oughly anoint the patient twice daily with
selphnr ointment ; give five or ten grains
of sulphur in a little jam three times a day.
Sufficient sulphur was burned twice daily
(on coals on a shovel) to fill the mops
with the fumes, and of course was thor
.6ughly inhaled by the patient. Under
this mode of treatment each easeitnpreied
immediately, and none were over .elitht
&jai* makiag a oottiplebe recovery, udi I
helieve in each case it was prevenod
f r om spreading, by the treatment adopted.
Having had a large experience in scarlet
feier last year and this, I feel confident in
ay judgment, and I run et she °piston
Obtki the very mildest cases I ever saw do
not do half so well as bad CMOs do by,the
treatment, and as far as I .pan
julgeoulphor 18 as near a spec for
scarbet
.fever as possible.—Dr. Henry
Pigeon, it London Lancet.
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