t
VOL. 48.
AMERICAN _V OL U N TE ER.
PUBLISHED EVEBV THUnsDAV MOllS'Dtfl SV
JOHN B. BRATTON.
TERMS. .
Sudschtptioh.’—One Dollar and Fifty Cents, paid
In advance; Two D"llara if paid within the jroat;
and Two Dollars and Fifty Conte, if not paid Within
the year. These tonne will ho rigidly adhplfod to in
every instance. No eubeoriplion discontinued[until
nil arrearages ate paid unless at the option o
Editor. . •
; AnvHUTisttsiENTS—Accompanied by
not exceeding one square, will be mser
times for Ono Dollar, and twonty-dvo cents for each
additional insertion. Those of a greater length in
proportion.
JoB-PnkjmkG—Such ns Hand-bills, Posting-bills,
Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, Ac. Ac., executed with
accuracy and at tho shortest notice.
poetical.
BIDING
Gliding down tho hillsides, ,
O’or the frosty snow—
Sliding through tho valleys,
Jingling as wo go—
Happy voices joining,
In a noisy lay
.Bless mo, how delightful
■ Riding in a.flloigh !
Girl whom you invited
Is certain she! shall freeze ;
Nestles closer to yoii,
Gives your arm a squqozo
Hints at old school-friondahips,
As any maiden may—
Says it’s very pleasant
Riding in a sleigh. .
Driver gets oxoitod, .
~Think's he's very smart—
Snaps the whip a little,
Gives the nags a start,
Oirls and gallants mixing
In."an awkward way;
Bless mo, how delightful .
Riding in a sleigh !
Round the corner ruabing
At a speed.too rash,
Suddenly upsetting
, With a horrid crash;
In a snow-bed tumbled
All tho lovers lay—
Ha! ha! how beautiful'
Riding in a.sleigh i.
BeavOrs sadly Imttorod,
Bonnots all awry— fc
"Some of the girls a-laughing,
. ; ,-;Ofchora want to cry;
Careless driver swearing.
Says thb deuce's to pay;
;//*: .'.■‘iTover 11 dump’d ” a load 'before
r/f;:’ ' " Riding in a sleigh I
Matters onco more orightod,
Jingling om wo go, .
•.Through tho woods and meadows.
O’er tho frosty snow,
•JiogHwfo.latighiniJf, kissing, -
mo*'ry wayj•. “
• ’Uless me; pleasant
' 1 Riding in, a sleigh ' ■ >
WHAT I LIVE FOB,
BY G. IsINNsEUS BANKS.
I Hvo for those who love mo,
' Whoso-hearts nro kind and true ;
For tho Heaven that smiles above me,
And awaits ray spirit, too ;
For all human ties that hind mo,
Fdi tho task by God assigned me,.
For tho bright hopes loft behind mo,
-And tho good that I can do.
I live to loam their story,
Who suffered for my sake)
To'emulate their glory,
A nli fo'iow in thoir wake;
Bards, patriots, ranrtyfs, sagos,
Thenoblo of all ages,
Whoso deeds crown History’s pages,
And Time’s groat volume make. .
I live to hold communion
■With all that is divine;
To fool there is a union
’Twist Nature’s heart and mine !
To profit by afllietion,:.
Reap truths from fields of fiction.
Grow wiser from conviction,
And fulfil each grand design.
I love "to hail that-season,
' By gifitod minds foretold)
-When mim stall live by. reason,
And nut alono by gold ;
When miin to man united,
And every wrong thing righted#
The whole world shall bo lighted,
. As Eden was of old. .
I live for those who lovo mo,
For those who know me true,;
For the Heaven that smiles above mo,
And awaits my spirit too;
For tho cause that lacks assistance,
For tho wrong that needs resistance,'
For the truth in tho distance,
And tho good that'l can do.
Jtottllamnua.
ME AND MY WIFE.
by ninny harewood leech.
“God bless mo and my wife,
. Brother Tom, and his wife,
Just us four, and no moro,
Amon.”
lam a married man. I trust I make the
announcement with proper meekness. I ought
to bo a very happy man, but I ain’t. I am
naturally a modest man ; but I don’t expect
you to believe it. I met Permit Sizer Dow
at a quilting scrape, and she married mo in
three months. lam told that I married her,
but I shall insist to my dyingday, that I was
in happy ignorance of my fate, until the peo
ple commenced to call me Mr. Dow. No, I
mean to call tier Mrs. ,my name. Why
ain’t I happy ? I will try and tell you. I
don’t expect you to credit a word I say—my
wife never does, and no more should you ;
but I have no conscientious scruples against
swearing, if that will be needed to give force
to, my narrative or tale. In the first place,
my wife loves-me. Startling ns this fact may
appear to the world, I nevertheless put it
forth,as truth ;ifitis an original idea, Ido
not hesitate to claim the originality.
Now, to bo severely logical. Why does the
fact of her love make me unhappy? I will
toll yoil. She takes the newspapers. And
lest you may not even see my inferences, X
will add, she clips out all the receipts ' for
health, and, by thunder t makes me take ’em.
Do you see ? But I will not overwhelm you
with evidences of my dear wife’s infatuation
(it is at this time resuming the form of posi
tive madness), but shall select a few to have
you consider my unfortunate condition. But
don’t pity me I Don’t 1 Pity would drive me
mad, and
'’Each frail fibre of my brain
Would send forth my thoughts all wild and wide.”
„ The first occasion I had to notice ray dear
wife’s peculiarity was in mid-winter, about
throe weeks after our nuptials (I am remind
ed to say “nuptials,” as I consider it rather
“later” than “marriage, ) I awoke in «mbt
With shivering sensations, and a cold blnnkety
feeling, generally, I was supposed to find
six inches of snoW on a level in my room, and
acoamt,lathi* so rapidly that it badeTuirsoon
to be nine. The cause pf t ‘; ls , sl # b intfU
sion being, tho window oben to its full length,
and the drifb-snoW making for our chamber*
stove. On inquiring about thus new arrange
ment of my other half, she mildly informed
f “Dear, I had read in the newspaper, the
other day, that we should never sleep with
out having the windows open—-that we breath
ed out so much'air, and then breathed it back
again, and out and back, and that, love, we
must always keep the windows up.” '
Now, lam no saint. It don’t run in oiir
family. And if any of the brothers of the
church of which I am an unworthy member,
had heard the expressions I used, as I waded
through the snow to that window, I am sure
I.should have been reported at the next con-'
ferenoe.
My troubles had just begun. Mrs. -,
~, . r,. In n r? f 1..... ... ..-..mr. .1 ...I.;, 11l-
V 1 .. . . . .
rm
though wo have compromised on whole win
dow-hoistings, she watches mo narrowly, and
no sooner do I go from one room- to the other
than—pop! into .'the room I have left, and
up goes the window. I have mildly sugges
ted to her often, that tho neighbors,' seeing
this state of affairs, may put a false construc
tion on her notions in this respect, a construc
tion highly injurious to her husband. But I
assure you, when I mention this, sho flouts
me, and I am dumb.
When my wife takes up a newspaper, I
tremble. I have but slightly agueish symp
toms, whori she is going over the Locals, Mar
riages, and Deaths, but when she gets through
these, and fastens a glance upon the “House
keepings,” “Usefuls,’’ “Recipes,” and “Ex
tracts from Journals of Health,” I know I
am a goner. I watcli her narrowly at these
times, and If she looks up and fastens her eye
upon me, I know she is getting ready for
some new experiment," and my .chills are un
piistakable and decided.
One day she surprised me, by insisting that
I should put on a pair of woolen stockings.—
I.answered, meekly, that she knew I nevhr
wore woolen, they made my feet sore.
“Never mind,” was tho reply. “I just
read in a newspaper that they will prevent
you from taking cold.”.
I rebelled for awhile, but she socked mo !
and now I am lame, and have corns, and chil
blains and bunions; but I do not take cold,
certainly, as oiftpn as formerly, which I at
tribute. to chid water. . ,
My wife having road that water was a sov
ereign remedy for “all the ills,” etc , I for
some time went under such hydropathic treat
ment, that lam sure, if showerbatlis could
have accomplished it, that.l. should have had
“water on the brain” ibn&ttgo.
■ In.thc morning, atfour,'acold-bath (this,
X balled my crack bath, because the window
was alwaysi.opou.), cold water, and, very-.sel
dom, cold meat for breakfast. Bathe my head
and feet at dinner-time, in cold water, and
eat a little barley soup, cold. Four o’clock,
P. M. (after my return from the office), shower:
bath light-headed. Tea, cold. Nine o’clock,
P. M., wot, sheets, immense friction. Bed,
after a few cold applications locally.
My wife happened to get hold of an article
on “Physical Education” one day. Woe is
"mo! I was put through a course of tho se
verest gymnastic sprouts. First day.: prac
ticed three hours wth ■ twenty*two-pound
dumh-holls, ended by straining a leader in my
fore-arm, and crushing my foot with a “hell,”
which I inadvertently dropped. After the
sickness attendant upon this was over, I was
thought seasoned enough to trust with “In
dian clubs.” I rather liked.the “clubs,” I
thought they were jolly, and would make a
good average strike at a rowdy(s head, hold
them out crooked, hold them out straight, bal
anced them on my chin, whirled them around
over ray head, and fancied I would out every
respectable figure as chief. of the tribe of No
kare-how-you-do-its. Gave the war cry, and
tho double whirl,.and right-hand club fell full
force, and broke my nose. Day No. 2— ;
Physical Education—Wouldn’t give it up yet,
but whilst my nose was healing, my wife got
a springing-board, iron rings, and boxing
gloves surreptitiously convoyed to the attic,
and surprised me with the same when I was
convalescent. Tried the springing-board till
I got sprung in the knees, and then chopped
it up for a cloths-horse. Got fast in the iron
rings, and hung with my tights on, before
the attic window, head downward, crying
“murder!” I sprained my ankle,. and broke,
a blood-vessel- on this occasion. As for the
boxing-gloves, I used to fancy I had some
proficiency in tho “manly art of self-defence,”
and really prided myself upon my muscle;
but my dear wife was. anxious that I should
eclipse all competitors in our social ring—
and, therefore, called in,hert\vo brothers to
practice with mo. Jabez and Increase Dow
weighed two hundred and thirty-four, and.
two hundred and twenty-four pounds, respec
tively—and as strong as any live ignoramuses
of their stature can be. The result of . that
little “practice” with tho gloves to me was:
Item. —Ttv.o black eyes.
Item. —A smSshcd watch ; one fine linen
shirt much torn ; little finger of tho left hand
bitten off by Increase in tho real fight which
afterwards occurred.
Hem. —Nore broken over again.
Spoils. —Four poundsofhuman hair (which
I have since had a sofa pillow made of) and
part of Jabez’s false teeth.
It is needless to say that my wife’s two
brothers are forbidden my house ; also, I sup
pose it unnecessary to state that I do not box
any more, and that my “physical education”
has been entirely neglected since that event
ful evening.
I have tried every moans in my power to
stop newspapers from coming to tho house
(you are aware that I live a short distance
in the country)—for as sure as my wife finds
a now recipe she is bound to try: its efficacy
on myself. A short time ago, I complained
of a chapped face, and I awoke in tho night
with a sufficating sensation, and discovered
t(iat good woman bonding over mo, pouring
on A concoction of lard, white wax, sperma
cotti, and olive oil, which she had read about
in tho papers.
About two months ago, I bribed tho carrier
to discontinue our paper—ho did so for four
days; but, venal like his tribe, ho commenced
serving it after that time, on receivoing a lar
ger bribe from my wife.
The first two days after its continuance
there was nothing now; in fact, the Charles
ton news had crowded out all tho clippings,
household articles and all; and I prayed most
fervently they would stay crowded out. But,
alas! On the third day ray wife looked up
over her paper, and a smile of exultation
beamed on her countenance. .
“My lovo 1” said she.
“My dear!” replied I.
Wo always address each other with the ex
tras, even when alono.
“just listen. You know you are thin?”
I answered, rather sulkily, “that I was
« OUR COUNTRY—MAT XT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BUT, RIGHT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.”
aware plumpness was not one of my virtues,
but that I thought taunts became her.”
“Oh 1 just listen. Yen’ll be fattened up in
a fortnight, 'Delicious Revelenta Arabica
food ;’ ‘invaluable effects‘without other
victuals’ (there’ll bo a saving) ; ‘not a medi
cine i* ‘nutriVe.’ Oh 1 darling, We mast have
the ‘Revelenta Arabtoa’“-and so cheap, too.”
“How ranch?”
“Only a dollar a pound 1”
1 fought off for. a week, but 1 had “Reve
lenta” for breakfast, varied with “Arabica”
for supper, until I caved in, and a five-pound
canister was bought.
Behold me a well man!—being fed on “pap”
three times a day. I got tired of “Revelenta
Arabica” in a week, in its plain state, and
then I had the “Revelenta” in custards, pies,
rolls. “Arabica” in puddings and tarts—
and heard of notliing but "nutrition,” “diges
tive organs,” and “poverty of blood and mus
cle,” at breakfast,. dinner, and tea. And
now for tho results;
Tho first week I was swelling visibly; bad
to undo sundry buckles and straps about my
■vn * —■Rn/^AnA-Ag.noku.
had to cut the boot-legs to. allow my, calves
room—a very comfortable “sight to my wife;
Third week, had’ to pay-fines and_ costa for
assault on my neighbor Jobbs, who intimated
to mo “that dropsical people were not sup
posed to have good sense.” Fourth w.ee.k,
had fo lie in bed and.eat “Revclonta” while
my tailor was altering .all my clothes, and
getting me up'some now ones with (he patent
india-rubber expansion seams. Fifth week,
weighed two hundred and seven pounds—
apothecary’s' weight—and found that remon
strances with ray wife didn’t reduce mo any.
I have taken to drinking surreptitious vine
gar, but tho fact increases ; I cannot sit by
the fire without the greaso melts out of mo in
a liquid stream. I have already ruined all
my clothes, and my credit with my tailor is
very low. I have been approached, within
the last two days, by some of my most inti
mate friends,' who darkly hint at “tapping”
me, . ; . ....... -. Remoustranoe is use
less with my wife. I.am miserable. I shall
do something desperate yet 4 o’clock,
P. M. I have done it. I’ve shot the news
carrier, and thrown the “Arahica” out of tho
window. As I write —wife in violent-hyster
ics.
TUB Smi!ACII-GOl]T-DYSPEPSII
MAINTAIN AMICABLE RELATIONS WITH VOCR
STOMACH.
To "disoblige tho stomach is perhaps the
mpst foolish thing that a man can do, and he
is certain ere long to repent it bitteily. For
tile offended organ has avengers, who surely,
if not suddenly, make him -pay dear for tho
broach of-internal order.--. Rheumatism be
gins, to assail the limbs, and refuses to be_
mitigated by'mustard. A dull pain,-accom
panied by something like tho palpable ticking
of a watch, or a -dance of magnetic noodles,
is felt in Hid rogioTi tho liver. ( And, last
and most "terrific visitant of alll-tbe denvutr
gout sticks hia fangs into your toe, and thence
forward cia-ma you as his property. Woe to
the individual upon whom gout once sets his
mark,.for there is no kind of fumigat-on or
exorcism powerful enough to drive himawiiy.
Oolchieiim is to tlio gout what incense was to
Jupiter. He may snuff it up, and rather like
it than otherwise, but it is no sure propitia
tion. There is a grim sportiveness about
gout, which reminds us forcibly of the man
ner in which a tomcat plays with a mouse.—
After a severe clawing, a respite of some du
ration is allowed to tlio victim, who bogins to
entertain a hope that it may be possible to
escape from the enemy. Vain delusion 1—
With a sadden bound the monster recaptures
its pre3 r , and a despairing squeak of anguish
supersedes the faint cheer of exultation. Do
not deceive youiself. There is no emancipa
tion for you on this side of, the grave ; and
the odds are ten to' quo that you are in for
ehalkstonos.f Gout is lioroditary in vour fam
ily, you say? Nothing more likely, if you
al’o willing to give credit to the doctors ; and
we wish yOu all joy of the comfort you are
able to extract from that aristocratic oonsid
erai'on. -Your grandfather and your father
worked very hard for it, and got it as their
recompense; and the terms upon which you
have stood for many years in regard to your
own stomach justify yonr succession to the
b rthright.
AN INTERVIEW WITH MONSIEUR OOUT.
But gout is a greattleal moro wakeful than
conscience. Once evoke that sprightly demon,
and you can neither hocus or banish him. —
He has the catalogue of your transgressions
by heart; and never treats you toa tweak of
the pincers without favoring you with on ex
planation of tho torment. In the silent watch
es of the night he comes to your bedside, and
bids you bo of good cheer, because he isjust
going to favor you with an interesting ana
tomical demonstration..,
“ That pain which you feel in tho joint of
your great too,” quoth Monsieur Gout, “ has,
you flatter yourself, bocoino rather less since
eight o’clock, when you took your hist dose
of colchioum. Quito a mistake, my-good sir 1
Tho member is if-anything moro swollen and
inflamed than before. -Observe now —I shall
take tho liberty of inserting this little awl.
just by tho way a probe. Aha! itraakesyou
wince. ■ A very good sigh that, however, since
it proves that there is no ground for appre
hending immediate mortification. Now, do
you know why it is that your too is so singu
larly sensitive ? I’ll tell you. You remem
ber, three years ago, ordering a batch of Bur
gundy? Previous to that time you had boon
in very good health, for you' had plenty of oc
cupation, and little leisure for gluttony or
wine-hibbing; your means were limited, and
during tho holydays you took a sufficiency of
pedestrian exercise; Kcnlly, in those days I
never expected to have tho pleasure of making
your acquaintance. I considered you justtho
kind of fellow likely to become an ornament
of tho Alpine Club. But your estimable un
do, old Jones, the stockbroker —bless you, 1
knew him very well, indeed I many a time I
have chatted to him when ho was roaring like
an aggravated bullock —your old uncle, Jones,
I say, died, and loft you his money. You a ™
not'going to sleep, are you? Well, I call
that rather unhandsome treatment, consider
ing that I have taken the pains to come here
and bear you company 1 A slight touch of
tho pincers may, however aha. all s right
again—you are as lively as a snapping turtle I
Whereabouts was I ? Oh, I remember, old
Jones left you his money, and you detormm
od to take your oaso. No ono could blamo
you for that.’ What's tho use of fagging to
make more, when you are already in posses
sion of a cool four thousand a year, and may
indulge in a shooting-box and hunters? But
you never could make up ft rqspootalo bag on
tho moors, and on horseback you were any
thing but a Duorow. You preferred living in
town! took chambers in tho' Albany, gave
nice little recherche dinners, and laid in that
stock of burgundy to which I have already
alluded. It was of a fine vintage, strong and
heady, and made tho blood circulate in tho
veins like lightning. To it I attribute tho
honor of our first introduction; though port
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 6* 1862.
and claret, not to mention; sundry kinds of
delicious entremenis, did undoubtedly con
tribute to lessen the distance between us.—
I'hon you took to late hours, hot rooms and
ccsrfe, nil most justly included in the cata
logue of fashionable pleasures: and our ac
quaintance, at first only slight, has now ripen
ed Into permanent friendship. But I really
must not allow my feelings to divert me from
the scientific purpose for which I have visited
you to-night. Don't bo afraid 1 I shall- lay
aside awl and pincers, and vary the experi
ment by injecting n few drops of molten lend
between the flesh and the bone. Ha! what
an enviable yell I Your lungs, I can assure
you. my good friend, are in, perfectly healthy
state, and may last you for the next twenty
years, if you don’t force mo to get into your
stomach. By the way, what a silly proverb
that is against pushing things to an extremi
ty 1 It is with the oxtremihes that I always
make a point of dealing, in the first instance;
and I take it that very few people would wish
me to depart from the practice. What is
that you say ? You wjsli that I would go to
that you arc both rude and unreasonable! I
am hero, as you well know, in consequence of
your own indiscretions. Perhaps you coub'
willingly dispense with my company ; but,
my dear sir, you-have no kind of choice in
the matter. If a man will run into debt, he.
must expect to have an execution in his house,
and a bailiff in his hall; dnd certain I am
that you have received frbfn me more atten
tion than any fashionable debtor could expect
from a wilderness of bailiffs. As for going
to the devil, why—hem—-I must decline, for
private reasons, giving any explanation of
the terms on which I stand with that myste
rious individual ; but are you quite sure that
there .is not some' slight confusion as to the
identity in-your ideas? Whatever may bo
my ultimate destination, you, for some ycava
past, have undoubtedly been walking with
your face turned in the, direction of pande
monium. You don't believe me? Well, then,
ask your conscience. It lias slept long enough
tp be in a tolerably active condition if you
have the courage to awaken it; and if you
wish to get rid of. me, or rather to be indif
ferent to my. presence, tba£ is the vey best
stop you can adept; mine are
equal to the concentrated .agony Vlncli con
science is ready to You gropn, and
intimate your readiness to, postpone the inev-.
liable reckoning? Well, then, havingfinish
ed my investigation of the. toe, which I shall
simply touch up with a-kind of caustic of
which l am the inventor, let us pass to the
knee joint, whore Lsee a hopeful swelling,
and to thef* knuckles*, .which* unless I-am
grossly mistaken, will exhibit certain curious
petrifactions in the pleasant form of chalk
stones.” -
. With due attention to temperance, exorcise
and early hours you may set dyspepsia at de
fiance. Neglect one of these.precautions and
nv yn n reelf npnn'. fhVfrye- pirns■ q\
the. enemy—neglect' two'olf them, a’-itylit-isf
hardly possible,that you can'escape.-/'And,
above all things, keep this in mind that no
other disease or affection’ of the body, is so,
stealthily or insidious" as dyspepsia. If. the
first few instances of carelessness or trans
gression were to be visited with.the pains and
penalties that afflict the patient when 1 10
malady has become chronic, few men would
be so insane or so obstinately reckless as to
postpone the work of reformation. But the
earlier symptoms are .rarely of an alarming
kind. The appetite is not sensibly affected,
though the indigestion is impaired; and the
complaint seems for a time to be limited to
flatulency and heartburn. .Such unpleasant
sensations, however, can be easily removed.
Essence of ginger and fluid magnesia seldom
fail to give relief, and the patient flusters
himself that there is no ground for apprehen
sion. But the symptoms do not disappear. —
They recur with greater frequency-, and the
antidotal doses, though increased, are found
to have lost their efficacy. ! The stomach has
now become more seriously deranged. 4gl
kinds of food generate acid’; and in this stage
the patient usually has recourse to the carbo
nates of soda or potash, which in their turn
give a temporary relief, though without in
any way arresting the disorder. By this time
dyspepsia, like an insidious serpent, has fair
ly folded the victim within its embrace, and
is squeezing him at its leisure. Everything
ho eats disagrees with him, add seems to un
dergo some wondrous transformation. That
which was served up at table as haggis, scorns
converted, two hours-afterwrtrds, into a ball
of knotted tow—a mutton chop becomes a
fiery orab, : rending the interior with its claws
—and every rice pudding has the intolerable
effrontery to become revivified ns a hedge
hog. After that come nausea and vomiting.
You derive no benefit from the food you swal
low. From twelve stone weight you dwindle
down to ten. Your countenance becomes
ghastly, your eyes hollow, and you totter
prematurely on your pins. The mere notion
of exorcise becomes di .'tasteful. You feel as
if you bad no strength for anything. You
are pensive, moody and irritable. Your mind
loses its elasticity and power ; and when you
sit down to compose, instead of manly matter,
you produce nothing but the dreariest of
drivel.— Blackwtfud's Magazine.
A Difficult Question Answered. —Can
any one toll why, when Evo was made out of
one of Adames ribs, a hired girl was not made
at the same time, to wait upon her? Wo can,
easy ! Because Adam never came whining to
Eve with a hole in his stocking to be darned, a
button to be sowed on, or a glove to be mend
ed rightaway, quick now ! Because he never
rend the newspaper until the' sun got down
behind the palm-tree, and then stretched
himself,- yawning out, “ Ain’t supper most
ready, ray dear j’t Not ho. lie made the fire
and hung over the -tea-kettle himself, we’ll
venture, and pulled the radishes, and.did eve
rything he ought to. lie milked the cows,
and fed the chickens,, and looked after the
pigs himself. lie never brought a half dozen
friends to dinner when Evo had not anything
in the larder, and ’sparagus season was over,
lie never stayed out until eleven o’clock at a
ward meeting, hurrahing for the out-and-out
candidate, and then scolding because poor,
dear Eve, was sitting up and crying inside
the gates. To bo sure, ho acted rather oow
wardly about apple gathering time ; but then
that dosen’t depreciate his general helpfulness
about the garden. lie never played billiards,
nor drove fast horses, nor choked Eve with
cigar smoke. Ho never dined at his club
while solitary Evo was rocking littlo_ Cain’s
oradlo at home. In short ho didn’t think she
was created specially for the purpose of wait
ing on him, and wasn’t under the impression
that it disgraced a man to lighten his wifeis
cares a little. That’s the reason that Eve
did not need a hired girl: , ffe
the reason that none of her fair dosoondents
did. _
Uy- “ Tommy my son, whnt is longitude ?
“ A clothes-line, pa."
“ Provo it, my son.”
“ Because it stretches from pole to polo.
WHAT IS DYSPEPSIA?
a STORY FOB TUB LITTLE POLES,
Bight Motives.
Susy was going abroad. She had then
promise, if her work was well done, that
she should go and see her friend Molly Ward.
I was .fastening her apron and brushing her
hair, and giving her all needful exhortations
to good behavior.
“Now I hope, Susy,” said I, “that you
will behave prettily. Be h modest, quiet lit
tle girl. Children should bo seen and not
heard, you know. .And above all, do be
amiable and obliging in your play with Mol
ly."
“Oh, you needn't give me so many charg
es, mother,” exclaimed Susy, “I’m olways
good when I go abroad."
. “Always, Susy? Are you sure?”
“ Yes, mother, I always am ; when I go to
see Molly, any way. She and I play togeth
er real nice, and her mother says she likes
me to dome over there, I’m such a good child.
So you see, mother.”
can be good."
“ Why, of course, mother, when I want to
be.”
“And you nre not good always at home.”
“Oh, well, it isn’t so easy to be good at
home. Besides, it isn’t so much matter.”
“ That’s a very honest confession, Susy,
certainly, hut not a very satisfactory one.
Why isn't it so easy?” .
“ Why, folks look at me and watch me and
praise mo when I go abroad.”
“ And why isn’t it as much better to he
good at homo?''
“Cus’,”said Susy, and there she stopped
to think. h, .
That’s a very common stopping place, I
find, for little children when they are naked
why about any matter. Why they can’t ex
plain their reasons, or don’t want to take the
trouble to do it, it’s a great convenience to
“ ’cus’.”■ But I. wanted more than that, so
I waited, and Susy after a while got her
thought put into shape.
“ ’Cus’,” said she, “at homo nobody sees
mo excepting those that I’m used to every
day and I don’t care so much about them,
you know.” ’
I had got so far in ray story when the door
of the library opened, and a pair of bright
eyes were in a moment, glancing over my
shoulder. .
“Oh, writing a story?” exclaimed my lit
tle Mary. - ..
“ Yes.”
“Letmo read it?”
■ “Yes-” . * „
Now the story wasn’t about Mary at all;
that is, I didn’t mean itfor her. You under
stand, I suppose, that when people write sto
ries, if, they say I, they don’t always mean
themselves ; 'and if they say my little g'yb it
doesn’t mean really their invn child.” Some
writers don’t have any little girls at all, but
they tell the story/m that yfrtjk because it ■is
n' more ’ simple and easy way of; telling it.
But you would certainly have thought, from
the looks of Mary's face, thaf it was really a
tfiyelation; of her own history. Her checks
i grew, red, arid a little - displeased pucker
gathered anond her lips, as she tossed her
curls out of the' way and read-on, “Now,
mother," at last She cried: than she road a
little further, and “ that’s too bad" was add
ed to hoc sentence; and fipally, as she. laid
down the last sheet, she finished up her ex
clamation by saying, “I don’t think it’s fair
for you to be telling tales about mem the
newspaper."
“ IVhat makes you think it’s about you
Mary? Did you a d I over have such a talk
together?” .
“No’m, but the I’ve had just? such
thoughts andsomohow you always know what
I think, and then you fix it out a way
when-you want to make a story.” ,
I couldn’t help smiling. “A guilty Con
science," said I, ‘.’ needs no accuser, X won
der if Cousin Hattie would take the story to her
self as you hiive. X guess for the fun of it 111
go and see.".
So I putthe paper in my pocket, and my sun
bonnet on my head,' and walked across the
common, down the hill, through the cool,
covered bridge, to tliO’ little brown cottage
where Mary’s cousin lived. Hattie . was, to
my thinking, an • uncommon child. Her
mother was a very pious woman, and her fath
er was a very pious man-—a deacon in the
church. Before Hattie was six years old she
could say the commandments .and the cate
chism, and scores of lymns, arid psalms, and
chapters iri the Bible. And then she was
■ always so precise and particular in her con
duct—so good—that I nad often held her up
as a model to Mary and her.littlo wayward
brothers. “If my children wore only as
good as Hattie, I should be happy,” I often
' I found the little girl sittingon alow bench
in the front door, where it was cool and shady,
for it was a hot summer’s day, sowing and
singing away ns busy as a bee and as nicrry.
“ Mother has gone out to prayer-meeting,
said she, “and I’m all alone. Won’t you sit
down, Aunt Ilopzie ?’’ , .
“ And you’re sewingjust as industriously
as if she were at home," I said, taking a
chair. “ ’.Vliat a good little you are !”
“Why, that’s nothing special good, aun
tie?”
“ You're always good, arri’t you?
“Why no," said'sho ; “ I often do wrong
things. I suppose I’m just like rill other lit
tle girls—part good and part naughty.”
“ Well, I’ve been writing a story for the
little folks; and I should like to know your
opinion about it.”
“ Oh, that’s nice ; do read it.”
So, I read it. I didn’t take but ft minute or
two, and she got so interested that she dropp
ed ■ her work. I waited to hear what she
would say. She seemed to hesitate a little,
and then, looking up in my face, she asked,
“ Aunt Hepzie, did mother toll you that
about mo?”
Why, Hattie,” I exclaimed, “ what could
make you think so?”
“ It’s almost exactly like a talk I had with
mother only h little while ago; only y ou
haven’t got half of it down. Mother felt real
bad about it, but I didn’t think it was so
wicked as sho said it was. But now 1 do
think it was wrong. It seems worse when
it’s all written out.” , e
“ Well, no, Hattie, I didn’t moan it for
vou at all. But I’ve como to the conclusion
that children aro very much a ike. Ivo seen
one other little girl to-day, who thought the
story was about her. Now I moan to go m
next door and see what the children there
think about it." , , .... ,
Next door was a very large, beautitul
white house, standing in the midst of a splen
did garden, and shaded by two great, spread
ing elm-trees. In the house lived two pret
ty little sisters, Ann Kliza and Kliza Ann.
T’hoy were twins, and that was the reason
their names wore so much alike. They
didn’t look alike, at all, as twins oftefi do,
but they seemed to bo exactly the same in
disposition and character. Whatonethought,
the other thought and what one said, the oth-
er was sure to say amon to. I founa thorn at
home, and their mother, and after chatting
awhile, I said, . .
“ See here, little girls, do you want to lis
ten to a wee bit of a story ?”
‘‘You going to send it to the paper? ea
gerly asked Ann Eliza.
11 1 don't know. I don't know,” I answered;
“1 haven't made up my mind yet.”
Then I read it, and you ought to have seen
those little creatures look at • each other
and shake their head so knowingly, as I went
on, I could see it all, although my eyes
were on the paper, for they were right down
on the floor at my feet; and I couldn't help
thinking that conscience was twinging there
too,
“There,” said I, as I finished, “thats. a
bonajtdc fact—true, every word of it. But I
don't know what to do. I don't want to
lose credit with my little friends, and per
haps they will think I have made it all up,
|or stretched it very much. Bid you ever see
i a little girl that could act such a deceitlul
I part?”
_ w _ “ Why- von that
you, Miss' 3? -?”-nsEeolEfizaTnn. .
“ Why, yes, indeed, to seem to bo what
you are now” .
“ Everybody acts better abroad than tboy
do at homo. I’m sure that's just the way icc
do,” said Ann Eliza,
“ And I know Sarah Ellis docs too,”-add
ed Eliza Ann* “ for she is the crusaeat old
patch at home you ever saw, and, when she
comes hero she’s just as pleasant as you can
think.” .
I put my paper in my pocket and walked
home. “ There's very much of a muchness
about children,” as Uncle- Azariah says,
thought I.* And older people are but children
grown, when wo come to consider the matter.
There’s many a man that scolds at home be
cause his dinner isn’t so good as it might be,
when he would eat worse food at a neighbor's
table with a cheerful, happy face. And
many a woman makes the whole house un
comfortable by ..her fretting, who, if you were
to - meet her in company, you. would think
one.of the most gentle,sweet-tempered, love
ly beings in the world, But I forgot I was
writing to children. Well, little folks, I
should scratch all that about grown up-peo
plo out, only I know, it will .not bo many
years before you will be grown up, too, and
then take care you don't do just so. You
will be by-and-by just such men and women
as you learn to bo now, having just such
characters as you form-in childhood, doing
every day very much those things that you
become, accustomed to do when you arc
young. So take care.
But now for another word about Susy and
her. conduct. Susy did right of course, in be
having with, so much propriety at Molly
Ward’s. But she did not net from a right
I motive. She was good that she might be
1 seen and praised of her follow-creatures. She
ought to have been good because it was right,
and to please God, She.was often .naughty
?/c home because she didn*t-:take pains to do
right. It would have cost her no more effort
■ than to behave well abroad, but she thought
no one would see her, and she didn't‘care.
Little ones, never forget that God sees you ;
and he expects you to do right always .
If our behavior only affected those about
us, then wo need not be so particular. But
it affects ns more than it does any one. Eve
ry naughty thought or word or action stains
and soils the soul. It hurts us. It is a
weight that drags the spirit down, away from
God. Oh, love right for its own pure, beau
tiful sake, and because it makes you like
God, and helps you to rise toward him. And
no matter if you are all alone, never fail to do
right; because ho sees you, and will bo
pleased. His smile and approbation is worth
more than the praise of all the world beside.
The Now Testament speaks with censure of
certain persons, because “ they loved the
praise of men.moro than the praise of God.”
And Christ said to the Jews, “How can ye
believe”—that is, how can you bo my disci
ples_“ which receive honor one of another,
and seek not the honor that comoth from God
only ?” The only right motive, dear children,
for our actions, is to 'please Ood.
. The. Village Tailor. —I think thnt the art
of draping the male human body has been
brought to much less excellence by the mass
of those who practice it than any other of the
useful and ornamental arts. Tailors, even in
great cities, are generally extremely bad. Or
it may bp that the providing of the human
frame with decent and well-fitting garments,
is so’very difficult a thing, that (save by a
great genius hero and there) it can bo-no
more than approximated to. As for tailors
in little country villages, their power of dis
torting and disfiguring is wonderful. /When
loused to bo a country clergyman; I romem-,
bor how, wdion I went to the funeral of some
simple rustic,. I was filled with surprise to
see the tali, strapping, fine young country
lads arrayed in their bla,ck suits. What aw
kward figures they looked in those unwonted
garments 1 How ■ different from, their easy,
natural position in their every-day fustian!
Hero you, would 6co a young follow with a
coat whoso huge collar covered half his head,
when, you looked at him from behind ; a very
common thing was to have alcoves which en
tirely concealed the hands ; and the wrinkled
/and baggy aspect of the whole suits,could bo
imagined only by such as. have seen them.
Prince Albert's Courtship. —Tlio London
papers have begun their reminiscences of
Prince Albert, and some pretty stories are
told of the royal courtship, one of which states
that be played the part of a royal lover with
all the grace peculiar to his bouse. lie never
willingly absented himself from the Queen s
society and presence, and her every wish was
anticipated with the alacrity of an unfeigned
attachment. At length her Majesty, having
wholly made up : her mind, found herself in
some measure embarrassed as to (it and prop
er moans of indicating her preference to the
Prince but acquitted herself with delicacy
and toot. At one of the palace balls she
presented her boquott to the Prince at the
conclusion of a dance, and the hint was not
lost Upon the polite and gallant German. —
Ills close uniform, buttoned up to thp throat,
did not admit of his placing the Pepsian-like
gift where it would bo most honored, so bo
immediate drew his penknife, and cut a slit
in his dress in the neighborhood of his heart,
where ho deposited the happy omen.
Hy Laeies who have a disposition to pun
ish their husbands should recollect that n lit
tle warm sunshine will molt an icicle much
sooner than a regular north-easter.
“ Mother,” said JomimaSpray, to her
venerable maternal relative, “ Sara Flint
wants to come courting mo to-night.”
“ Well, you jade, what did you tell him
“ Oh, I told him ho might come ; I wanted
to see how the fool would not.”
017* What proof have wo that cotton is
king? Because South Carolina is governed
by the meanest Pickens ever raised.
Interesting Letter from Washington—View of
the Private life of Some of onr Great Sen.
The correspondent of the New Hampshire
Statesman, writing from Washington, says:
In my last letter some allusion was made
to auction sales of the furniture and effects!of
distinguished men. Since then a sale has
transpired at the residence of Mr. Senator
Douglas. ■ Your readers will perhaps remem
ber that in one of my letters I stated the fact
that Senators Breckinridge, Rice, and Doug
las, a year or two since, built whnt is colled
“Minnesota Bow;’’ that is to say, throe mag
nificent brick residences under.one roof. The
goods of Breckinridge were sold in one week,
to aid in satisfying some of tho owner's
debts, and those of Senator Douglas in anoth
er week, to sol tie his estate. The Senator
who owns the middle tenement has vacated
the house, and the whole row has been rented
to the Government as a hospital. I visited
the residence of Senator Douglas the day
vious to the auction, in order to see what was
to be seen, and can assure yon that to me it
wandered through the lofty and gorgeous halls
and rooms, and saw the rich and elegant fur
niture tumbled about promiscuously, a feel
ing of desolation took possession of me, and I
was informed, by persons present at the auc
tion, that the articles sold at high prices,—•
Many of the choicest articles were not put at
sale. Mrs. Douglas I am informed, contem
plates taking the place which Judge Douglas
owned, and in which, ho resided at the time
“Minnesota Bow” was erected; It is a very
beautiful situation near the .“Bow."' Judge
Douglas purchased ;it as a fancy place, paiao
fabulous sum for it, and'expended more money
in adorning it than the whole, establishment
Would, even in favorable, times, bring in the
market. None of his books—of which, espe
cial ly Congressional books, there are immense
quantities—have been yet offered fur sale. ■
But the auction sale pertaining to the ef-■
foots of great men, which was on the whole
invested with as muoh curiosity as any of the
’ season, was that of the ..rebel Jew, Senator
Benjamin. It is well known that Benjamin
married a music teacher in Charleston, where
ho resided in early life', before taking up his
residence in New Orleans, and that after liv
ing with her a short time, she eloped with an
Italian by .the name of Celini; and for_some
twenty years lived.with him in
min in the meanwhile making periodical vis- •
its to his eirly love in her new abode, until
she was induced, sonic three years since, to.
re-emigrato, “bag and baggage,’’ and resume
domestic relations in this eity with her "first
love.”
To carry this arrangement into effect, the
distinguished Senator took the elegant resi
dence which was erected by Commodore De
catur a short time before his death. It is one
of the first private residences in the city, erec
ted under tnc direction of Latrohe, the archi--
teot of the Capitol, at a cost of some §30,000
or §40,000. Ho paid?3,ooo_ annuaVrajit for
the premises, and the establishment was fur
nished at an expense fully equal to the origi
nal cost of the building. :The whole furniture
of every kind, was brought from Paris. It
was under such auspices that Senator. Benja
min and his truant spouse set lip house keep
ing on their “ re-union," in this city. The
course of true love, however, never did run
smooth, and the Senator had only got well
settled in domestic felicity again when _ his
musical mate, fickle ns the wind, took it into
her head or heart, as you may please, to trans
fer her domestic relations bnoK again to her
long-tried companion in Paris. This last
movement occurred some two years ago, and
shortly afterward much of the most valuable
household furniture was sold at auction.— -
The remainder of the effects have now been
sold to pay the house rent.
Among the articles sold was n marble bust
of Benjamin himself, a full length portrait of
his musical spouse, and also one of like de
scription of his wife’s father. . There was al
so sold an excellent full length portrait of his
wife’s daughter; a benutifnl girl, some 18
years of ago, who was born soon after the
mother took up her residence with Celini,-
This last portrait, and on s of the Empress,
ore in the highest style of the art; —oil paint,
ings, all of them. They sold for some §lO to,
§2O a piece and we're bid in it is said, by the
auctioneer, who has made a fortune in his,'
business within a few years, and who has one
of the best galleries ot paintings' in the city.'
'A french‘divan purchased in Paris at a cost
of $5OO, was struck off to Secretary Wells for
§7O. Old'family silver plate, of French pat
terns and of ■ the richest quality; was sola in
immense quantities, and for a song.
Senator Benjaniin is a noted gambler, and
wasted in this way the vast income which at
one period he derived from his professional
practice. On one occasion, after obtaining
§7ojooo in a groat case against the celebrated
John Randolph Grimes, he sat down for three
days to a gambling table, and Slidell in that
time won every dollar of that sum from him.
Slidell is celebrated for his skill in this busi
ness, and .has accumulated much of his fortune
in this way.
When I commenced this communication, I
intended to devote a paragraph to the manners
and customs of foreign ministers resident near
this Government. I suppose the British min
ister is properly regarded as at the head of
this peculiar element of Washington hie. bora
Lyons is not married, and is about forty-fivo
years of a-o. His residence is on J street, m
the vicinity of the President's mansion, m the
section of the city whoro most of the foreign
embassies reside. His suite occupies the re
sidence lately occupied and still owned by ex
§enator Hamilton Fish. It is a brick mansion,
plain and unattractive in its exterior, and not
f very extravagant in its dimensions. His man
ner of conducting his establishment, however,
'is after tho stylo .of the lordly Englishmen.
His retinue of servants is complete, and after
the most approved ancientcustoms of the realm.
His steward is a sortof pretty lord, having his
office servants to do his bidding, and his horse
and carriage like any other lord. There are
some fifteen servants in allconnocted with the
establishment. His horses, five in number,
are all choice blooded animals. There is one
pair of matched bay animals for his coaoh.
The others arc saddle horses, which inthojatylo
of tho true Englishman, the distinguished
Lord and attaches are in tho habit of using.
His cellars are stored with tho choicest wines
and brandies, and nothing is wanting to tho
mansion duo tho time honored customs pfan
English lord. Tho really dazzling splendors
lof the establishment, however, are the most
strikingly seen on tho occasion of some speoinl
dinner. The plate of the entire establishment
is exclusively of gold and silver. On occasion
of a dinner tho table is always laid with plate
ot the richest enamelled gold, most of which
has been handed down from generation to
generation in the family, and is probably tho
richest and most complete sot of plate to no
found in this country. That at the Presidential
mansion is not to be named in the connection.
His carriages are of English manufacture,
and when ho rides ho is always attended by,,
both footman and coachman in livery- , •;
tfuldo
NO. 35.