VOL. 44.
Fite Huntingdon Journal.
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The Things in the Bottom Drawer.
There are whips and tops and pieces of strings,
There are slioes which no little feet wear,
There are bits of ribbon and broken rings,
And tresses of golden hair.
There are little dresses folded sway
Out of the light of the sunny day.
There are dainty jackets that never are worn.
There are toys and models of ships,
There are books and pictures all faded and torn,
And marked by the fingered tips
Of dimpled hands that h we fallen to duet,
Yet I strive to think that the Lord is just.
But a feeling of bitterness fills my soul
Sometimes, when I try to pray,
That the reaper has spared so many flowers
And taken mine away.
And I almost doul - t if the Lord can know
That a mother's heart can love them so.
Then I think of the many weary ones
Who are waiting and watching to-night
For the slow return of faltering feet
That have mtrayed from the paths of right ;
Who hare darkens ti their liven by shame Ind sin,
Whom the snares of the tempter have gathered in.
They wander far in distant climes,
They perish h 3 fire and fl“od,
And thcir ham's are black with the direst crimes
That kindle the wrath of God.
Yk a mother's song has soothed them to rest,
She hell lulled them to slumber upon her breast.
And then I think of my children three,
My babes that never grow oil,
And know they are waiting and watching for me,
In the city with the streets of gold,
Safe, safe from the cares of the weary years,
From sorrow, and sin, and war.
And I thank my God with falling tears
For the things in the bottom drawer.
Ely *bill-F.4ler.
BY THE ROADSIDE.
Riding quietly along a pleasant high
way, on a lovely day in the Spring of the
year, I came upon a man lying apparently
dead by the roadside, while his horse, a
noble looking animal, was feeding close by.
Hastily dismounting, I turned the body
over, and, feeling his pulse, found that life
was not yet extinct, and that he had prob
ably been stunned by being thrown from
his horse.
Pouring down his throat t:otue spirits I
bad with me, I brought some water in the
little cup that fitted on to my flask, and
with it bathed his head and face.
In a short time he recovered, and, sit
ing up, he looked at me,- and asked, al)
raptly.
"Where am I ?"
I told him how I had found him, and
inquired if he was much hurt.
"No—yes, I believe I am badly hurt,
for I cannot rise, and suffer here," placing
his hand upon his heart.
"Do you think you co&d ride to the
neighboring village, if I aided you upon
your horse?" I asked.
"No. I feel that I must, die, and yet I
have much to do, much to say before I
yield to death."
"Permit me to leave you while I ride to
the village for aid," I said to him. _
"No roll, no; do not leave me. I feel
faint, and must make you my father con
fessor. You would not refuse a dying
man ?"
"I think you exaFp.:erate your condition,
and that rest and a doctor's care will soon
bring you right again."
"i - ou are mistakensir. L , ok at me."
I gazed into hiH pale, intellectual face,
and was struck with the refined beauty
resting there, tinged, however, with lines
of deep dissipation.
His eyes seemed altni.st ou fire, and were
never quiet. .
Apparently - , he was about thirty years
of age, though a few silver threads
in his dark hair, and a cynical smile that
rested upon his mouth, gave me an im
pression that he was older.
lie looked me intently in the face, and
said, quietly :
. . .
"Circumstances, not choice, have caused
you to listen to what I have to say. I will
nut detain you very long, however. Let
me lean back against this tree, and please
give me some more water."
I arranged him as comfortably as possi
ble, gave him the water, and sat beside
him to hear his confession
"•I am," he began, "the only son of an
opulent family, whose name I will not
mention now, for I have already disgraced
it.
"I imagined myself a man when I was
fifteen, and, being unaware of the extent
of my own ignorance, believed I was a great
genius, and in wickedness I certainly was.
"To complete my education, my parents
sent me to college when I was sixteen
years of age, and the institution being sit
uated in a large city, and I having plenty
of money, I soon ran into all kinds of dis
sipat ion .
"I lost my station in society, and those
aspiring hopes and ambitions that should
animate a young man to reach at things
above instead of below
"Notwithstanding the life I led, I was
not altogether debased, for it is not all at
once that the soul is stripped of its regalia.
"I still preserved the manners of a gen
tleman, and still cherished a liking for
books
B
co
C
r's
O
.—:
,
P a
P .'
co
"When I became of age, and in posses
sion of a handsome estate, I could then
have left all my evil ways, and resumed
my former position in society; but I 'be
came connected with a club of gamblers,
and in less than a year lost all of my
property, except a miserable pittance that
came to me monthly.
"My father, when dying, had left me
the guardian of my sister, and the executor
of her handsome estate, so I determined,
as I had full power over her property, to
mortgage it, and with the money thus ob
tained, attempt to redeem my fallen for
tunes.
"For a time all went well, and I won
large sums of money, and bought back
again my own estate, which adjoined that
of gentleman of great wealth, who re
sided there with bis only daughter, a love
ly, interesting girl of seventeen.
"I formed her acquaintance, and found
that she was attractive to me. though the
wild, dissolute life I had led rendered me
incapable of loving a pure and virtuous
woman as she ought to be loved.
"I looked upon her as an advantageous
speculation, and after a few months' ac
quaintance, addressed her and was ac
cepted.
"She trusted me with her destiny, her
love, and her happiness, and we were war
ried.
P" .
CD
°
o
"For a short time after my marriage I
led a most unexceptionable, life, giving up
drinking and gaming, and thereby aston
it , :hing the numerous scandal mongers of
the neighborhood, who had deemed it their
duty to warn my wife that she was marry
ing a drunkard and a gambkr ; but to all
their assertions she paid no attention, and
wholly trusted me.
HUNTINGDON, PA., FRIDAY, MARCH 19, 1880.
"My sister married about this time, and
having neglected to raise the mortgage
upon her estate, when I should have done
so instead of buying back my own, I saw
I must rob my wile to pay her, and the
control of her property being in my hands,
I soon returned to my sister the estate I
had held in keeping for her.
"Thus my downward tendency began,
and again going to the gamin table. I drew
large drafts from my wile's property to
meet my heavy losses.
"My wife had borne to us two child,-en,
a girl and a boy, but even their inn,,ccnt
young faces were not sufficient to turn me
from my path of crime, and ere b.ng my
evil ways became known to her who had
trusted me through all
She never complained, and silently bore
her sufferings
"At last the crash came, and I was a
begger, and my wile and children cast upon
the charity of their friends
"Stung to madness, I drank deeply, and
passing an old friend who refused to rec
ognize we, I insulted him so grwisly that
he sent me a challenge, ignoring the fact
that I was no longer a gentleman, as he
expressed it in his letter
We wet, fought with swords, and my
antagonist fell.
"I had widowed a wife, rendered three
children fatherless, and broken the heart
of an aged mother.
"My wife still refused to give me up
entirely, and though urged to do so by her
friends, said that she would not as long as
there was one hope to redeem me.
"I laughed at her for her love, and told
her I had never loved her,
that I wished
her to leave me, but she bore all, and her
uncomplaining, quiet manner proved tome
bow irretrievably lost I was in this world.
"My sister's husband came to me to re
monstrate upon my evil course, and, infu,
dated by drink, I shot him through the
heart.
was tried, and the jury acquitted me
on the plea of insanity, so I was sent to the
lunatic asylum
"Twelve years have passed since then,
and I have never, until recently, heard one
word from those I su sadly injured.
"A few weeks since, while looking over
my truck, I came across a deed of some
laud that I then considered of little value.
"Now the city of C- stand there, and
my property is worth millions
"I tried all in my power t..) prove my
sanity, and be released from the asylum,
that I might claim my property and leave
my children wealthy.
"I had some few hundred pounds in
money, and I bribed one of the keepers of
the asylum to buy me a suit of clothes, and
a hat and a small wardrobe, and purchase
for me a good horse.
"These being procured, I last night with
his assistance, made my escape from the
asylum, and have been riding ever since.
"My horse was tired, stumbled and fell,
and I was thrown raid stunned by the fall.
"Thanks to you, I am yet able to aid my
children, and my poor wife, if ••he is still
alive "
HO ceased speaking, and lay back against
the tree as if dead.
I gave him some wore water, that so re
vived hill' as to enable him to remount his
barse and ride to the village, that was dis
taut about two miles.
I procured for him a comfortable room
at the inn sent for a physician, and ob
taining from the poor wan his former ad
dress, sent a dispatch to a gentletnan whom
I knew living near the town and asked
him to hunt up the wife and tell her of
the condition of her husband.
The night passed without any change
coming over the dying unn, and while
sleeping gently next morning, he was
aroused by' a carriage driving up to the
door.
I left the room mid met my friend to
whom I had telegraphed, accompanied by
frwoman with a lovely, though saddened
face.
Hastily extending her hand to me, she
Yid.
iiv
"Oh, thank you so much. Is he ytt
?"
"Yes, madame, and anxious to see you;
but let me tell him of your arrival," I an
swered, and, entering the room, I inform
ed him that his wife hid come.
"I knew it; I knew she was faithful,
though greatly sinned against," was all he
said.
It would be almost a sacrilege to dwell
upon the meeting of husband and wife, of
the arrival of his two children, and of that
death bed scene, so I leave it the imaging.
don of the reader, and will only add that
the poor, unhappy man died, consoled in
his last moments by his loving wife and
children, and that after his death a law
suit was commenced and gained for the
property, that raised the family from pov
erty to immense wealth
~cZcct JiscdUann.
The Philosopher's Stone.
The eccentric but brilliant John Itan
dolph once ruse sud lenly up in his seat in
the House ofßepresentatives, and screamed
out at the top of his shrill voice :
"Mr. Speaker ! I have discovered the
philosopher's stone. It is—Pay as you
go !"
John Randolph dropped many rich gems
from his mouth, but never a richer one
than that.
"Pay as yiu go," and you need not dodge
sheriffs and constables.
"Pay as you go," and you can walk the
streets with an erect back and a manly
front, and you have DO fear of those you
meet. You can look any man iu the eye
without flinching. You won't have to
cross the highway to avoid a dun, or look
intently into the shop windows to avoid
seeing a creditor.
"Pay as you go," and you can snap your
fingers at the world, and when you laugh,
it will be a hearty honest one. It seems
to us, sometimes. that we can almost tell
the laugh of a poor debtor. Ile looks
around as though he was in doubt whether
the laugh was not the property of his
creditors, and not included in articles •ex
etupted from attachment" When he ches
succeed in getting out an abortion—he ap
pears frightened, and looks as though he
expected he would be bounced up in by a
constable.
"Pay us yuu go," and you will inert
stuffing faces at houltt-=happy, cherry
cheeked children—a contented wit's,—
cheerful hearth stone.
John Randolph was right. It is the
philosopher's stone.
WHEN a widow in any neighborhood
sets her cap for a young man, there isn't
one chance in a milion fur any young
woman to win, even if she holds the four
aces.
JAMES G. BLAINE.
PEN PORTRAIT OF A LEADING CANDIDATE
FOR THE PREiIDENCY-BLA IN E'S EARLY
LIFE-HIS EXPERIENCE AS A SCHOOL
TEACHER AND EDITOR, AND HIS CA
REER IN CONGRESS.
In writirg even a two.column sketch of
a great man I suppose it is es , ential that
one should begin at the birth of the in
dividual celebrated, although in a life so
active as Mr. Blaine's has been to do this
is to record commonplace information.
while impertant occurrences may be dis
placed. I did not happen to be in Wash
ington county, Pa., on January 31, 1830,
when Mr. Blaine was born, and it was not
my fortune to be a playmate schoolmate
or collegemate of his, but from "reliable
sources," as the newspaper men say, I am
enabled to state that Mr. Blaine's boyhood
was much like other men's. lie had the
same troubles, the same quarrels, the same
successes, the same youthful sorrows, the
same .lisappointuients. It is only pherioni
ena! who have no childhood with the st ,ne
bruises. the chapped hands and the bloody
noses of the country boy. I believe Mr.
Blaine (although it makes net the slightest
difference with the man) comes from the
floe old Revolutionary stock ; that his great
grandnither was a colonel in the Peunsyl.
vania Line in the Revolutionary war ; that
he lived in that grand Cumberland Valley,
whose golden fields of grain and bright
green meadows charm all beholders to the
present day ; that the Blaine family is still
well remembered in the lovely village of
Carlisle; that Colonel Blaine was the in
timate friend of General Washington Or
at least as intimate as that old aristocrat
ever allowed a friend to be;; that he was
Comwissa# General of the Northern De
partment of Washington's army; that he
advanced from his own means and from
contributions obtained by him from his
friends, large sums of money toward pur
chasing supplies for the army during that
terrible winter at Valley Forge ; that
Washington attributed the preservation of
his troops from absolute starvation to the
heroic and self sacrificing efforts of Colonel
Blaine—these are facts, ii believe, sus
eeptible of proof. But Colonel Blaine is
not a candidate for the Presidency and his
great•grandsao is. Mr. Blaine gets his
middle name (Gillespie) from his maternal
grandfather, a pioneer of distinction in
Western Pennsylvania. Fortunately or
unfortunately there is no record of young
Blaine, except that contained in the family
Bible, before he arrived at the age of thir
teen, but I have no doubt that he was as
bright as his schoolfellows and fully as
mischievous I forgot to say that his fa
ther lived in the borough of Washington
and was Prothonotary of the county. At
the age of thirteen, in the year 1843, the
young boy entered Washington College,
from which he was graduated at the head
of a large and distinguished class in 1847,
when he was only seventeen years old
BLAINE'S YOUTHFUL DAYS,
From an old collegethate of .31r.
an officer of rank and character in the
rebel army, I have obtained some interest
ing points regarding the youthful days of
this distinguished man. At the college,
with two or three hundred students from
all sections of the country, Blaine was
from his fist entrance a leader. Endowed
with a splendid physique, he was foremost
in all athletic sports He is not remetn
bered as a hard student, who burned the
midnight oil. It was not necessary for
him to do this, as he learned everything
quickly and easily, and his standing in his
classes was always among the very first.
In the annual commencements and the
frequent contests of the rival literary so
cieties of the college he was never con
spicuons as a debater or wrangler, but he
was known and acknowledged as the power
that managed and controlled all these
things Goethe has said : "One builds
his talents in the stillnesses and builds his
character in the storms of the world."
To the new boys and young freshmen
Blaine was always a hero. To them he
was uniformly kind, every ready to assist
and advise them and to make smooth and
pleasant their initiation into college life.
His handsome person and neat attire; his
ready sympathy and prompt assistance;
his frank, generous nature, and his brave,
manly bearing, made him the best known,
the best loved, and the most popular boy
at college. He was the arbiter among
younger boys in all their disputes, and the
authority with those of his own age on all
questions. He was always for the "under
dog in the fight." Like most college boys,
he had his sobriquet. Owing to the fact
that he was possessed of a somewhat promi
nent, though shapely, proboscis, he re
ceived the appellation of "Nosey Blaine,"
which clung to him all through his college
life. His was one of those noses that
would have been the pride and admiration
of Napoleon 1., and would doubtless have
r-in'sed high and gained great glory among
the other prominent noses, whose owners
were selected by Napoleon to form the
shining ranks of his favorite generals, as a
prominent nose was considered by him as
a true indication of genius and courage.—
After the usual term at college be graduated
with distinguished honor and carried with
him into the world the enduring affection
of all those who knew him and with whom
he was associated in his alma water.
CARVING HIS OWN FUTURE
From this point in life Mr Blaine be
Kan to carve out his own future. In those
days the young college graduate did not
loaf about home, a village beau, smoking
cigarettes and devoting most of his time
to his hair—at least Blaine didn't. He
struck out at once to seek his fortune. It
was a very lucky strike for him, for if he
had not struck out as be did and had 11 , 4
gone to Kentucky and had not located
near Mill-rsburg he nii;;ltt never have met
Miss Harriet Stanwood, a woman who will
"do him good and not evil all the days of
his life." But of this again.
Mr Blaine, after he left college, went
to Blue Lick Springs, Kentucky, and be
came one of the professors in the Western
Military Institute In this school there
were about 450 boys. A gentleman now
iiving in WaMhington (who was also, by
the way, an officer in the rebel service)
was a student in this school. He well re
members Blaine, and describes him as a
thin, handsome, earnest young man, with
the same fascinating manners he has now.
He was very popular with the boys, who
trusted him and made friends with him
from the first, lie knew the given names
of every one, and he knew their short
comings and their strong points, and to
this day he asks about this boy and that
who went to school at the Blue Lick
Springs, then a very popular watering
place. My friend says that Blaine was a
man of great personal courage, and that
during a bloody fight between the faculty
of the school and the owners of the springs,
involving some questions about the removal
of the school, he behaved in the bravest
manner, fig.hting hard, but keeping cool.
Revolvers and knives were freely used, but
Blaine used only his well disciplined mus
cle. Colonel Thornti.n F. JAnson was
the principal of the sehnel: and his wife
(both most excellent, well bred and highly
cultured persons) had a young
school at Millersburg, 20 miles distant
It was at this place that. Blaine niet ; Miss
Stanwood, who heioneed to an excellent
family in alas-ache-etts, and she after
wards became his wife. Blaine. after an
experience of a year or two, discovered
that he was not born to be a school teacher,
and he returned to Pennsylvania and
studied law, but never practiced it. In
1853 he removed to Maine and there be
gan a career that has made him to day the
most talked of .and the most popular man
in the country.
BLAINE AS AN EDITOR
It was in Portland that Mr. Blaine first
became an editor. I have often thought
that a great editor, as grew perhaps as
Mr. Greeley, was lost when Mr Blaine
went into pelities. Ha p , ssesses all 'he
qualities of a great jouenalist, and I have
beard him s.iy a dozen times that he never
will be entirely happy until he is at the
head of a great newspaper. He has a
phenomenal memory, and there is no
qualify more valuable in journalism than
this, as you very well know, Mr. Editor.
He remembers circumstances, dates, names
and places more reality than auy man I
ever met, and it is this wonderfully avail
able memory that makes him such a ready
speaker and such a charming companion.
He has also great quickness and accuracy
of judgment, another excellent and indis
pen-able quality in journalism. He writes
as readily and as strongly as he speaks,
and very rapidly. In many respects he
resembles Mr. Greeley as a writer—he
goes straight to the point and wastes no
time in painting with pretty words a back
ground for his thoughts. His other quali
ties for journalism are, lie is courageous,
he is fair-tifioded; he grasps and weighs
the events of the day, and finally, like all
good journalists, he is a good husband and
father and a good fellow.
Mr. Blaine held his first public office in
1858 when he was elected to the Maine
Legislature. He had already achieved
distinction as a public speaker in the Fre
mont campaign of ISSG. He was five times
elected to the Leeislature, and in 1861
and again in 1862 he was chosen Speaker
of the House, in which position he ex
hihited the same peculiar fitness for a pre
siding officer that he showed as Speaker of
the National House of Representatives,
though it must be confes-cd that in the
latter office he was a little too oppressive
and autocratic.
lIIS FIRST TERM IN CONGRESS,
In 1863 Mr. Blaine was first elected to
Congress. During his first term he gave
himself up mostly to study and observa
tion, but in the Thirty ninth Congress he
began to be felt, and from that time to the
present he has been foremost in all legisla
tioo. He has an aptitude fur legislative
business that few possess. He sees the
weak and the strong points in a bill and
his judgment is so quick and accurate that
he is as ready to take his position in a
minute as most -Congressmen are after a
day's reflection. No doubt Mr. Blaine has
made, like every other man ever in Con
gress, a good many speechs for home con
sumption, but in the last ten years he has
done none of this. He has rather avoided
this sort of public service and has taken
instead an active practical participation in
the business of Congress. It is hardly
worth while to follow Mr Blaine through
his fourteen years' service in the House
He always commanded the attention of the
Hons., and before he had been three years
a member he ranked with the highest as a
debater. With him in the House were
Thad. Stevens, Ben. Butler, Schenck, Al
lison, Colfax, Banks, John A. Bingham,
Boutwell, James Brooks, Conkling, Dawes,
Delano, R B. Hayes, George W. Julian,
Sc-field, and other well known names. Be
tore the close of his second term he had
that angry controvcey with Conk ling, since
become so famous, in which, fur the first
time in his life, Couhling got a dressing
which did him good. All your readers will
remember that of the Forty-first, Forty
second and Forty third Congresses, Mr
Blaine was Speaker His quickness, his
thorough knowledge of parliamentary law
and or the rules, his firmness, his clear
voice. his impressive manner, his ready
comprehension of subjects and situations
and his dash and brilliancy made him a
great presiding officer. He.managed that
most turbulent of all bodies with an iron
hand. His management of his own case
when the Mulligan letters came out was
worthy of any general who ever set a
squadron in the field. For nearly fifteen
years I have looked down from the galler
ti's of the House and Senate, and I never
saw and never expect to see and never have
read of such a scene, where the grandeur ,
of human effort was better illustrated than
when this great orator rushed down the
aisle and, in the very face of Proctor
Knott., charged him with suppressing a
telegram favorable to Blaine. The whole
flour and all the galleries were wild with
excitement. Men yelled and cheered, wo
men waved their handkerchiefs and went
off in.o hysterics and the floor was little
less than a mob. The later life of Mr.
Blaine is familiar to all. His transfer to
the Senate,his prominence as a Presidential
candidate in 1876, the sunstroke on that
unlucky July day, his defeat at Cincinnati,
his prominence in the public eye in the
Senate, his admirable political manage
meat in Maine recen'ly and his present
distinction in the beasts of the American
people—your readers know all these things
as well as I.
Mr. Blaine, with thuse who know him,
is the most popular of men The charm
of his wanner is beyond expression, and
nobody comes within the circle of his pres
ence that is not overcome with his fasci
nations. With his brilliancy he has that
exquisite show of deference to his eowpan
ions. a sort of appeal to them to verity or
deny his words that is very taking. He is
also a good listener. and he has a familiar
way of speaking one's name and of placing
his hand on one's knee that is an agreeable
salve to one's vanity. There is no acting
in the heartiness of his manner. He is an
impulsive man, with a very warm heart,
kindly instincts and genermisnature. Be
is open, frank and manly.
BLAINE'S COOLNESS.
One element in his nature impresses its
elf upon mind in a very emphatic manner,
and that is his coolness and self-possession
at the most exciting periods. I happened
to be in his library at Washington when
the balloting was going on in Cincinnati
on that hot July day in 1876. A tele
graph instrument was on his library table,
and Mr. Sherman, his private secretary,
a left operator, was manipulating its key.
Dispatches came from dozens of friend,
giving the last votes, which only lacked a
few of a nomination, and everybody
pre
dicted the success of Blaine on the next
ballot. Only four persons besides Mr.
Sherman were in the room It was amo
meat of great excitement The next vote
was quietly ticked over the wire, and then
the next announced the nomination of Mr.
Hayes. Mr Blaine was the only cool per
son in the department. It was such a re
versal of all anticipations and assurances
that self posession was out of the question
except with Mr Blaine. He had just left
his bed after two days of unconsciousness
from sunstroke. but he was as self possess
ed as the portraits upon the walls. He
merely gave a mnrmer of surprise, and be
fore anybody had recovered from the shock
be had written, in his firm, plain, fluent
hand, three dispatches, now in my posses
sion—one to Mr. Hayes, of congratulation;
one to the Maine delegates, thanking them
fir their devotion, and another to Eugene
Hale and Mr Frye, asking them to go
persona.lly to Columbus and present his
good will to Mr. Hayes, with promises of
hearty aid in the campaign. The occasion
affected him no more than the news of a
servant quitting his employ would have
dune, Half an hour afterward he was out
with Secretary Fish in an open carriage,
receiving the cheers of the thousands of
people who gathered about the telegraphic
bulletins.
Charming as Mr Blaine is in ordinary
social intercourse, it is in the family cir
cle that he is at his best. No man in pub
lie life is more fortunate in his domestic
relations He is the companion and con
fidant of every one of his six children. H •
is of the same age and they fear him no
more than they fear one of their number.
Mrs Blaine is the model wife and mother,
and more is due to her strong judgment,
quick perception and heroic courage than
the world will ever know Mr. Blaine, as
already stated, has six children. The old
eat, Walker, is a graduate of Yale College
and of Columbia Law School, in New York.
He is a member of the bar in New York,
Maine and Minnesota. He is now in
Paul, in the office of Governor Davis. The
second son, Emmons, is at the Cambridge
Law School, having graduated at Harvard
two years ago. Both sons show a wonder
fat aptitude for politics and their political
knowledge is rather remarkable. The
youngest son is James G., Jr . a noble,
generous, manly boy of eleven, who is the
picture of his father. The three daughters
are named Alice, Margaret and Harriet
BLAINE'S HOUSE IN WASHINGTON
Mr. Blaine's house in this city is large
and handsome. It is one of a block of
four—the three others being occupied by
Fernando Wood, Governor Swann, of
Maryland, and General Van Vleit, of the
army. General Sherman lives two doors
off. Mr. Blaine's house .is of brick and
brown stone and is four stories high. It
is furnished with great good taste, elegance
and comfort. The walls are covered with
pictures, mostly rare engravings. Mr.
Blaine's taste runs to engravings, and he
is constantly picking up portraits. of dis
tinguished characters. In his house on
Fifteenth street you can see the portraits
of the great actors on the world's stage in
all ages. The walls of his dining room are
ornamented with crossed muskets and
sabres and old pistols grouped upon a
shield. These are souvenirs presented by
friends and no doubt each weapon has a
history.. Mr. Blaine's work room is at the
top of' the house, where letters and papers
come in by the bushel every day. The
billiard table is packed full of letters an
swered and unanswered, and busy clerks
are hard at work trying to keep up with
the vast accumulation. Probably Mr.
Blaine receives more letters than any six
Senators in Congress. It is his custom to
spend as much time as possible in this
work room. He is a tremendous worker
and can write more letters in a given time
than anybody I saw. lie has a shorthand
writer always at his elbow and he dictates
every day a large amount of work.
I have scarcely room enough left to say
that physically Mr. Blaine is the perfect
man. You may see him almost any day
striding allow , . the avenue, going to or
coming from the Capitol, with the strength
of a giant He is a strong man and a good
walker who can keep up with him. He
bounds up the steps two at at a time, talk
ing with his companion He is wonder.
fully preserved and is just in the height of
full physical strength. He does not know
what fatigue is, and a session of fifty hours
without a break turns him out as fresh as
a lark, while nearly all his colleages are
badly used up. He is in appearance a very
striking man. Large, full, straight and
erect, an immense head, gray beard cut
close and hair fast whitening, and indeed
nearly white and somewhat thin on the
top of his head, and a fresh, eager, zealous
:ace. This is as near sal can come in des.
cribing a man who is the first to attract
attention wherever he goes .
J. RAMSDELL.
A Drunkard's Wife.
We can hardly iina;iue woman placed
in a more trying or humiliating condition
than the wife of a habitual drunkard. See
her as she weeps in solitude over the err
ing one who vowed at the altar te be true
to her, to cherish and protect her, and to
whom she, in innocent faith, looked upon
as being all that was noble, generous and
good. Little did she think, porhals, as
she sat at the side of her lover in the bright
days of her girlhood, listening to the sweet
words of love that tell from his lips, that
in the future she would be a drunkard's
wife Little did sloe dream of the dark,
dismal future that lay before her, as with
a light heart she heard the voice of her
dear old pastor pronounce the marriage
beuedictiun which made her the happy
bride of the man she loved, or that the
bonds of hymen were to be to her the gall
ing chains of abject slavery. None but
those who have experienced it can have
any adequate conception of the misery,
wretchedness and woe of the drunkard's
wife. tier life. robbed by the demon of
strong drink of all that is calculated to
render it sweet and pleasant, what has she
to look forward to but an untimely death
and an early grave• Ye happy wives and
mothers whose'husbands love and care for
with loving tenderness, and shield from
the adverse storms of life, nor permit them
to blow roughly upon you, lest like delicate
flowers you droop and die, imagine if you
can, how you would feel were your hus
bands drunkards. You shudder at the
thought; and well you may; but let it
cause you to endeavor to do something to
render the life of one more endurable and
pleasant whose misfortune it is to be a
drunkard's wife.
TALK about the poetry of motion and
sylph like grace, but did yon ever stand
by and see a woman use a one tined fork
to flop a stove cover off ?"
"Hope for the Drunkard,"
A Chicago letter in the New York Sun
says the temperance men and physicians
of that city are much t ached over a new
remedy discovered by a certaig, Dr. Robert
D'Unger, which cares intemperance and
leaves the victim with an absolute aversion
to spirituos liquors. The writer asserts
that Joseph Medill. the well known editor
of the Chicago Tribune, strongly indorses
the new remedy, and in the course of a
conversation with the writer of the letter,
asserted that Dr. D'Unger has actually
cured 2,800 cases of the worst forms of in
temperance. He takes men debauched by
liquor for years—takes a used up, demen
ted, loathsome sot, and in ten days makes
a well man of him, with a positive aversion
to liquor. Mr. Medill, in continuation,
gave instances of persons within his own
knowledge, who has been thus cured.
Dr. D'Unger, he says, is a regular med
ical practionier of many years' standing,
and now residing in Chicago Provided
with a letter of introduction from Mr.
Medill, the correspondent then called on
the doctor himself, who related to him a
number of surprising instances, among
them some of the very worst cases of drunk
enness that could be imagined, that he had
completely cured, not only of the present
effects of their debauchery but of all de
sire for liquor thereafter, no matter how
loot , the time. The doctor averred that
none of his patients ever returned to drink
again, as "they hate the eight of liquor."
The doctor being about to start out to
see a patient when the correspondent call
ed, invited the latter to accompany him.
The patient is described as "a rich man
who had been a debauched drunkard for
fifteen years.,' For six weeks before this
visit he had been in bed as helpless as a
child, and only had been under the doc
tor's treatment for days. To their sur
prise they found him in the parlor reading
the paper—still weak, but mentally cured . °
When asked by the doctor if he had any
longing for liquor, he answer : "No, none
whatever. I have eaten the best meal this
morning that I have eaten in fifteen years.
I am not mentally depressed. I am strong,
and I wouldn't take a drink of liquor for
the world " His wife here interrupted
him by taking both the doctor's hands and
exclaiming, "Oh, doctor, you have saved
George and we are happy I"
In answer to further questions by the
correspondent, Dr. D' Unger freely explain
ed what the remedy is and the manner of
preparing and adminutterini s Wiz :
"My medicine," said the r, "can be
bought at any first-class drug store. It is
red peruvian bark (Cinchona rubra). Qui
nine is from the yellow bark (Calisaya).
Now there are eight varieties of this berk.
I used the bark from the small limbs of the
red variety. Druggists call it the quill
bark, because it comes from twigs about
about the size of a quill."
"How do you mix it ?"
"I take a pound of the best fresh quill
red Peruvian bark (Cinchona rubra), pow
der it and soak it in a pint of diluted al
eohal. Then I strain it and evaporate it
down to a half pint. Any one can prepare
it."
"How do you give this medicine ?"
"•I give the drunken man a teaspoonful
every three hours, and occasionally mois
ten his tongue between the closes the first
and second days. It acts like quinine The
patient can tell by a headache if he is get
ting too much. The third day I gener
ally reduce the dose to a half teaspoonful,
then to a quarter spoonful, then down to
fifteen, ten and five drops."
"How long do you continue the medi
cine ?"
"From five to fifteen days, and in ex
treme cises to thirty days. Seven is about
the average."
The doctor then proceeded to give the
philosophy of the remarkable effect of the
medicine, the manner of its action, how
he made the discovery, etc., all of which
are nut without plausibility, and will be
matter of much interest if the statement
of facts he gives shall be substantiated and
undeniably established. All may be true
as related, though we confess that were it
not, for the authority of a man so well
known for his great intelligence, philan
thropy and honest as Mr. Medal (albeit
he is somewhat visionary perhaps) we
would incline to look upon the whole story
as the concoction of a. reporter who was
badly in want of something to create a
sensation.
To Make Up the Body.
Suppose your age to be 15 or therea
bouts, 1 can figureyou to the dot. You have
160 bones and 500 muscles; your blood
weighs 52 pounds, your heart is 5 inches
inches in length and three inches in di
ameter; it beats 70 times a minute, 4,200
times per hour, 100,800 per day, and
36,792,000 per year. At each beat a lit
tle over two ounces of blood is thrown out
of it,and each day it receives and discharges
about seven tons of that wonderful fluid.
Your lunge will contain a gallon of air,
and you inhale 24 ; 000 gallons per day.—
The aggregate surface of the air cells of
your lungs, supposing them to spread out,
exceeds 20,000 inches. The weight of
your brain is 3 pounds; when you are a
man it will weigh 3 ounces more. Your
nerves exceed 10,000,000 in number.—
Your skin is composed of three layers, and
varies in thickness. The area of your
bkin is about 1 700 square inches, and you
are subject to that atmospheric pressure of
15 pounds to the square inch. Each
square inch of your skin contains 3,500
sweating tubes or perspiratory pores, each
of which may be likened to a drain tile,
one fourth of an inch long, making an ag
gregate length of the entire surface of
your body of a drain or tile ditch for drain
ing the body 234 miles long —Dio Lewis.
A CORRESPONDENT deserves the respect
ful sympathy of all gentlemen who give
out their washing. He says : "It is awful
annoying to have some other fellow's cloth
ing left in one's room by the washerwo
man. Saturday we put on another fellow's
shirt, but couldn't wear it. Although it
was ruffled around the bottom, the sleeves
were too short to button cuffs on, and there
was DO place for a collar."
A MAN was about to be hanged in Ala
bama, sang, as he stood with the noose
about his neck . "Oh : the bright angels
are waiting for me." Whereupon the
local editor fiendishly wrote, And the
angels stirred up the fire and looked
brighter than ever."
ONE of a party of friends, referring to
an exquisite musical composition, said :
"That song always carries me away when
I hear it." "Can anybody whistle it :"
asked Douglas Jerrold, laughing.
SUBSCRIBZ for the JOURNAL.
NO. 12.