ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA : Sfltnrban flloritinn, (October 20, 1855. glutei BONNIE KITTIE. BY W. W. FOSDICK. Winn the sunlight kissed the mountain, Bonnie Kittie came to bring Silver water from the fountain. Where the water-cresses spring. Shrinking from my love's caresses. 1/K>se her raven ringlets drooped. And the streamlet caught her tresses. As she Mushed but smiling stooped— •• Kittie!" cried !. " hear thy lover!" But the laughing maiden tied To the cottage, through the clover With its nodding blossoms red— •• Wanton Willie, cease to tarry," Said she. as her black eyes smiled, •• Bonnie Kiltie may not marry. Mother needs her darling child." Kittie's eyes are drowned in sorrow, From her cheek the rose has tied ; For that mother on the morrow, In the valley found a bed'. R.mud her green couch friends are weeping, Oh. 't W.L- sad to see them part: Through the hand that 1 am keeping I can feel her beating heart! Like the night that leaves the mountain. When the gloom is turned to gold, Once airain beside the fountain, Ronnie Kittie I enfold ; There 1 spoke my love's beguiling. But -he answered not my strain ; But upon my breast wept, smiling Like the roses after rain! .sfltc 11b (Talc. 1)11 lb IN AND DESTINY Among those who aspired to the hand of Linra Woodville, was a young man named Percival. whose father, a poor day-laborer, had, by sHf-denial through many years, succeeded in giving him an education beyond what was asnally acquired at that time by those in the lower walk- of life. When sixteen years of £_-!•. an attorney of some eminence, who per ceived in the lad more than ordinary ability, look him into his office, and raised him to the profession of the law. At the time of which ve write. Percival, who was twenty-five years old, had already gained some reputation at the bar. having conducted to a successful issue se veral very important cases. Mr Woodville. to the hand of whose daugh ter. a- ha- l>een said, l'ercival aspired,was a merchant in rather reduced circumstances, but connected with certain families more dis tinguished for aristocratic pride than virtue.— Th:- connection was the more valued in con sequence of the loss of wealth through disas ters in trade, and the inability to keep up those external appearances which dazzle the multi tude and extort a homage that is grateful to weak minds. Laura, a beautiful and highly accomplished girl, was a favorite in ali circles, and there were many among the wealthy and fashionable, who. for her p< r-o:.al attractions alone, were ready to approach aud ffer tiie homage of affection. Among these was a voung ■an named Allison, whose family had, in the ryes of Mr N\ oodvilie, everything to render a I marriage connexion desirable. But Laura ne- Ixer eneourag't] hi< advances in the least ; for s-V Lit for him a strong internal repulsion.— He was wealthy, accomplished, attractive in prsoti, and connected, both on his father's and atber- side, with some of the oldest, and so- Yled " best families in the State." These. ! wrier, were not. in her eyes, attractionssuf ' :ectly strong to induce her to overlook quali ty of the lie art. Already in her contact with tic wnrld had she been made to feel it* hollow ly* aud selfish cruelty. For something more "an mere fashionaltic blandishments had her Vart '••vgui to yearn. She felt that a true 1 t-. virtuous frieud was a treasure beyond all I jrire. I HT. Ie this state of mind was in progress, S L&ura met H-nry I'errival A mutual regard I s-m developed, which increased until it I a ,hvp aud sincere affection. In the ;:| - wtime Allison, confident from his position, "iu.e Udder in his advances, and as a pre- I i 3 S *T- -ave Woodville an intimation of A cThe old merchant heard him ghul- M yi*'!d>sl a full prosectition of his suit.— n pweu.ug what was in the mind of the II man - I-aura shrunk from him, and met ■ : * advances with a chilling reserve that I '*>"•>r an instant to be misunderstood.— j| t -Se ujt-.Lutiuie. Formal daily gained new ? 1 " - her eyes, and was at length embolden c~" •keiare what was iu his heart. With f "vabni pleasure Laura referred the young 8 W. 4 " duller X s to the i.-sne of the rt f| ' g* v had weil-grouuded fears. | f 'Ly that followed this declaration was : ■ T-"* a:,x ' ous suspense to Laura. She was ,itose. Laura left the house of her parents and became the wife of Pereival. A step like this is never taken without suffering. Some times it is wisely, but oftener unwisely taken, but never vvitliout jmiiu In this ea.-e the pain on both sides was severe. Mr Woodville lov ed his daughter tenderly, aud she felt for her father a more than conunou attachment. Bat he was a proud and selfish man. The mar riage of Laura not only disappointed and mor tified, but made him angry beyond all reason and self-control. In the bitterness of bis feel ings he vowed never to look upon her nor for give her. It was all in vain, therefore that his daughter somrht a reconciliation, she met only a stern repulse. Years went by, and it remained the same. Many times during that long period did latura approach her old home, but only to be repuls ed. At last she was startled and afflicted with the sad news of her mother's death. In the sudden anguish of her feeling she hurried to her father's house. As siie stood with others who had gathered around, gazing uj>on the life less form >l her dead parent, she became aware that the living one had entered the room, and to all &p|tearance. unconscious of her presence, was standing by her side. A tremor went through her frame. She felt faint and ready to drop to the floor. In this season of deep affliction might he not forgive the past .' Hope sprunc up within her. In the presence of the dead he nuild not throw her off. She laid her hand gently on his. lie turned. Her tear ful eyes were lifted in his face. A moment of thrilling suspense ! Pride ami anger con quered agaiu. Without a sign of recognition, he turned away and left the chamber of death. Bracing herself up with an intense struggle, Laura pressed her lips to the cold brow of her mother, and then silently retired. During the time that intervened from his marriage tip to thi period. Mr. Pereival had been gradually rising in the confidence, respect and esteem of this community, and was acquir ing wealth tiiromrh means of a large practice at the bar. As a husband be had }rovcd most kiud aud affet tiouatc. As a man he was the very soul of honor. All who kucw him held him in the highest regard. After the death of his wife. Mr. Weodville fell iuto a gloomy state of mind. His business, which had been declining for years, was be coming less aud less protitable, and to increase his trouble, he found himself progressing rapid ly toward embarrassment if not bankruptcy.— The man whom of all others he had wished to see the husband of his daughter, married a beautiful heiress, and was living in a style of great elegance. He met the briiiiant bride occasionally and always with an unpleasant fcelimr. One day while walking with a gentleman, they passed Allison, when his conqauiuu re marked : " If that man does not break his wife's heart within five years. I shall thiuk she has tew of woman's best and honest feelings." •• Why do you say that ?" asked \\ oodvdle, eviuciug much surprise. " lu the first place," replied the friend, " a man with had principles is not the one to make a right-minded woman happy. And, iuthese coud place, a man who regards neither virtue or decency in his conduct, is the one to make life wretched." " But is Allison such a man ?" PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH. " lie is, to my certain knowledge I knew him when a boy. We were school-mates. He then gave me evidence of more than ordinary natural depravity ; and from the training he has received, that depravity has been encour aged to grow. Since he became a man I have had many op{M>rtuuities for observing him closely, and I speak deliberately when 1 say that I hold hirn in exceedingly low estimation. I am personally cognizant of acts that stamp him as possessing neither honor nor, as I said before, decency, and a very long time will not. probably, elapse, before he will betray all this to the world. Men like him indulge in evil passions and selfish desires, until they lose even common prudence." " You astonish me," said Woodville, " I can not credit-your words. He belongs to one of the best families." " So called, but judged by a true standard, 11 should say one of our worst families." " Why do you say that ?" asked Mr. Wood ville, eviueing still more surprise. " The virtues of an individual makes his standard <>f worth. The same is true of fami l lies. Decayed wood, covered with shininggold, is not so valuable as sound and polished oak. • Nor is a family, raised by wealth, or anv ex ternal gilding, into n high social position, if not | possessed of virtue, half so worthy of confidence i and esteem as one of less pretensions, but en dowed with honorable principles. The father i of Mr. .Allison, it is well known, was a gentle man only in the Chesterfieldian sense. A more hollow-hearted man never existed. And the son is like the father only more depraved." Mr. Woodville was profoundly astonished. All this he might have known from personal observation, had not his eyes been so dazzled I with the external brilliancy of the JHTSOII con demned, as to disqualify them for looking deep er. and perceiving the real character of what was beneath the brilliant gilding. He was as tonished. though not entirely convinced. It did not seem possible that any one in the elevated position of Mr. Ailisou, could be so base as was affirmed. A few months later and Mr. Woodville was surprised at the announcement that the wife ( of Air. Allison had separated herself from him, aud returned to her father's home. Various i causes were assigned for this act, the most prominent of which was, infidelity. Soon af ter an application for divorce was" laid before the Legislature, with such proofs of ill-treat ment and shocking depravity of conduct, as procured an instant release from the marriage contract. By this time, the proud, angry father, was beginuing to see that he had probablv commit ted an error. An emotion of thankfulness that his child was not the wife of Allison arose sj>on taneously in his breast, but he did not permit it to coiue into his deliberate thoughts, nor take the form of an uttered sentiment. Steadi ly the change in his outward circumstances pro-! grossed. lie was growing old, and losing the ability* to do business on an equalitv with the voung er and more eager merchants around him. who were gradually drawing off his oldest and best j customers. Disappointed, lonely, anxious, and j depressed in spirits, the conviction that he had committed a great mistake was daily forcing itself more and more UJKMI the mind of Mr \\ oodvilie. When evening came, and he re turned to his silent, his almost deserted dwell ing. his loneliness would deepen into sadness, and then like an unbidden, but not entirely un welcome guest, the image of Laura would come before his imagination, and her low and tender voice would sound in his ears. But pride and resentmeut was still in his heart, and after gaz ing ou the jK'Usive. loving child for a time he would seek to expel the vision. She had de graded herself In marriage. Who or what was her husband ? A low vulgar follow, raised a little above the common herd ! Such and on!v such did he esteem him : and whenever he tho't of him. Ills resentment toward Laura came back in full force. Thus it went on, until twelve years from the time of Laura's marriage had pa--eriod the father had seen her face but once, and then it was in the presence of the dead. Frequently, iu the lir-t year of that time bad she sought a reconciliation ; but re pulsed on each oecason, she had ceased to make approaches. As to her husband, so entirely did Mr. Woodville reject him that he cast out of his raiud his very likeness, and not meeting him. ceased actually to remender his features, so that if he had encountered him in the street he would not have known him. lie could.and had said, therefore, when asked al>out Perci val. that he " didn't know him." Of hi- rising reputation and social stauding he knew but little : for bis very name being an offence, he rejected it on the first utterance, and pushed aside rather than looked at any information re garding him. At iast the external affairs of Mr. Woodville became desperate. Hi- business actually died ! out. so that the exjense of conducting it being more than the proceeds, he closed up his mer cantile history, and retired ou a meagre pro perty. scarcely sufficient to meet his wants.— Rut scarcely bad this change taken place,when a claim on the only piece of rial estate, which he held, was made on the allegation of a de fective title. On consulting a lawyer he was alarmed to find that the claim had a plausible basis, and that the chances were against him. When the case was brought up. Mr. Wood ville appeared in court, aud with trembling auxiety watched the progress of the triai. The claim was apparently a fair one, and yet not really just. On the side of the prosecution was a subtle, ingenious and eloquent lawyer in whose hands his counsel was little more thau a child. And he saw with despair that all chances were against him. Tae loss of thi rcmuant of property would leave him utterly destitute. After a vigorous argument on the : one side, and a feeble rejoinder on the other, the case was about being submitted, when a new advocate appeared ou the side of the de fence, He was unknown to Mr. NY oodvilie. On rising iu court there was a profound si lence. He hcjran by >arimr that he had something to sav ia the case vre it c!u-?cvl, and as he had " RESARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." studied it carefully and weighed with dne de liberation all the evidence which had appeared, he was satisfied that he could show why the prosecution should not obtain a favorable de cision. In surprise Mr. Woodville bent forward to listeu. The lawyer was tall in jierson ; digni fied in manner, and spoke with a peculiar mu sical intonation and eloquent flow of language that marked him as possessing, both talents and education of a high order. In a few mi nutes he was perfectly absorbed in his argu ment. It was clear and strong in every part, and tore into very tatters the subtle chain of reasoning presented by the opposing counsel. For an hour he occupied the attention of the court. On closing his speech he immediately retired. The decision was iu Mr. Woodville's favor. " Who is that ?" he asked, turning to a gen- ( tleman who sat l>eside him, as the strange ad vocate left the floor. The inau looked at him in surprise. 44 Not know him ?" said he. Mr. Woodville shook his head. 44 His name is Pereival." Mr. Woodville turned his face partly away to conceal the sadden flush that went over it. After the decision in his favor had been given, and he had returned home wondering at what had just occurred, lie sat musing alone, when there came a light tapping as if from the hand of a child at the door. Opening it, he found a boy there not over five or six years of age, with golden hair falling over his shoulders,and bright blue eyes raised to his own. 44 Grandpa," >aid the child, looking earnest- 1 ly into his face. For a momout the old man stood and trem bled. Then stooping down, he took the child in his arms, and hugged it with a sudden emo tion to his heart, while the long sealed fouiids. This, of course, is the sinker. From this pro ceeds the '• pennant," which is a cord al>out twice the size, and i- about three feet in length. To the lower end of the pennaut, and attached to it by a small eopper swivel, is the ' craft,'' 1 which is a small stout cord about two-and-a half feet in length, having three stripes of whalebone laid ar<>uiul it at the middle, where it i- attached to the -wivel of the pennant.— The whole is serried or wound with tarred twine. On each end of the craft is a smaller swivel, into which the gauging of the hooks is attached. The whalebone serves to keep the hooks about a foot apart, so there is little dan ger of their becoming entangled with each other. The men arrange themselves on the leeward side of the deck, throw over their leads, and unreel their lilies till the lead rests on the bot tom. Tim Hue is then drawn up so that the hook will be on the l;mt. and report to the -kipper at night, who keeps a separate account for each mau on '.he log-book. The dre-sing gang, consisting of a " throater." a " header." a " splitter." and a 44 salter," now commence dressing down. Aft r jmssing through the hands of the first three they assume somewhat the shape seen in the market. They are then passed down bet wee u decks to the salter. who puis them up iu kenche.- or layers, laying the first tier on the bottom of the hold and build ing up with alternate layers of salt and fish till the kenches reaches the desired height.— The decks are then washed down, sails taken iu. aui the vessel anchored for the night. A witty gentleman of this city, speak ing of a friend who was pro-Irated by illness, remarked that "he could hardly recover, since ids constitution was ail gone." "If his constitution i- all gone." said a by - lander, "I do not see how he live.- a: aii." "Oh," responded the wag, "he lives oa the by-laws."— Erp. Freemasons in Turkey. Although freemasonry has for more than thirty years been generally supposed to exist among the Mahommedans, and traces of it were found in Turkey by the Russian officers after the campaign of 182b, yet they were too slight to prove the fact; and it is only within the last few years that it was sufficiently demon strated by a German freemason chancing to pass through Belgrade where he discovered a masonic lodge, to which he was invited, and where he received a hospitable reception.— It appears now to prove beyond all doubt that the Turkish brothers who exercise their masonic duties under the name of dervishes, are to all intents and purposes the same as our free masons, with but very little difference in their customs and ceremonies, and make use of ex actly the same signs, words, and grips to recog nize each other. The Turkish freemasons aje pear to be in a more elevated state of civiliza tion than is usual amongst the Orientals gener ally ; and their views of religion are far high er than those imposed bv Islawi.-m. They re ject j>olygamy, contenting themselves with one single wife, and at the masonic banquets the women appear unveiled—a striking proof of the mutual confidence the masonic brothers place in each other. The Belgrade Lodge, called Alikotseh is composed of about TO members. The Master of the Lodge, whose name is Djani Ismael Zsholak Mohammed Saede, is at this time. Grand Master of all the lodges in European Turkey, and is directly connected with all those of the whole of the Ottoman Empire, Arabia and Persia, in which latter the freemasons amount to more than 50,000 members. In Constantinople there are no less than nine lodg es, the most numerous and important of which is that of dancing dervishes, called Sirkedshi Teckar. The Turkish freemasons wear, as a symbol of brotherhood, besides a small brown shawl, embroidered with mystical figures, a flat, polished, twelve-cornered piece of white mar ble with reddish browu spots, about two inches in diameter, suspended by a white silken cord round the neck. These spots represent spots of blood, and are symbolic of the death of Ali, the founder of the order in Turkey, who was barbarously put to death by the then Sul tau. for refusing to reveal the secrets. The above mentioned Djani Ismael, Grand Master of the Lodge of Belgrade, a venerable Turk of the old school, is honorary member of the lodge of "Baldwin under the Lime-tree." at Lcipsie, several members of which lodge have received diplomas from the Alikotseh at Bel grade. Greatest Depths of Mines. Wheal Abraham attained, (rather more than 20 years ago, ) a depth of about 242 fathoms, or 1,452 feet, (a fathom being six feet) ; Doleoath Mine had reached 235 fath oms : Tresavean copper mine is gradually be coming extraordinarily deep, and it is last re ported as being 2.112 feet uuder the surface, and about 1.700 feet above the level of the sea. The Consolidated Mines are 300 fathoms 1.000 feet deep, and the United Mines 280 fathoms below the adit level. Let the reader realize these depths by immaginary pilings of the highest buildings, as St. Paul's and the Monument, on themselves a sufficient number of times to attaiu the respective amounts 1— Speaking of Mines generally, the Eselschact Mines at Kutteidierg. in Bohemia, now inac cessible. was deeper than any other mine, be ing no less than 3,078 feet below the surface. Its depth is only 150 feet less than the heights of Vesuvius, and it is eight times greater than | the height of the pyramid of Cheops, or of the cathedral at Strasburg. The bore of t!e salt works of Minden, in Prussia, is 2.234 feet deep, and 1.993 feet below the level of tue sea. Mines on high ground may be very deep without extending to the sea level.— That of Valenciana. near Guanaxuato, in Mexico, is 1,686 feet deep ; yet it is is 5.900 feet above the level of the sea, and the mines of the Andes must be much more. For the same reason, the rich mine of Joachiiasthall. in Bohemia, though 2,120 feet deep, had not yet reached the sea level. The fire-sfrings at Tsen-heu-tsing, in China, are 3.197 feet deep, but their relative depth to the sea level is un known. llow insignificant are the work- of man com pared with nature ! A line 27.000 feet long did not reach the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.— London Mining Journal. Retaixixg a Dead Body fur Df.rt.—Quite a eurrious case came before the Police Court yesterday morning. The story, as told to us. is as follows : Some weeks since a gentleman of this city died. A metallic coffin was order ed for the corpse, and in the absence of his friends, the coffin containing the body was placed in one of the vaults at the cemetery belonging to a gentleman residing in the city. The body had remained some thirty days, we are told, when the undertaker who furnished the coffin and placed the body there, was or dered to remove it. He took it away and bur ied it. The friends of the deceased came on shortly afterward and demanded the body, which the undertaker refused to give np unless the expenses amounting to $140.) which he had incurred, were paid. He refused to toil them where the coffin and Udy were buried un less bis just dues were paid, or he was secured fr< m loss—which we think was a just and law ful demand. The friends of the deceased how ever. did not pay the debt, anil arrested the undertaker for unlawfully detaining the dead body, and he was confined during Friday night. Yesterday morning the parties appeared before •lastice Drill lard, ami the complaint was made. The naikrtaker was held to answer be-fore the | next Court of Oyer and Terminer in this city and give bail to appear. The parties are all ' most respectable, and considerable feeling was manifested. M'e have the above from officers connected with the affair. The arrest was made by Officer.lames Cowen. Since then the undertaker has obtained a warrant against the friends of the deceased for false imprisonment. —lyffh Republic. VOL. XVJ. NO. 19. The Gulf Stream. It is Wlicvcd by many tlmt the waters of the Gulf Stream arc nothing 1 more or Jess than the waters of the river Amazon. The great father of waters is lidded more than l,00(t miles immediately under the equator, aud all its tributary streams, for many thousand miles, are constantly pouring their hot water into this great reservoir of water. As tlio.se waters are gathered under the burning sun of the equator, they are extremely warm ; far more ! than the waters of the Atlantic under the equa tor. The great body of heated water shoots out into the Atlantic more than a hundred miles, in the face of the eternal trade winds. The Amazon is sixty miles wide ; after Ic ing bedded in its irresistible course, it curves off to the left, and scuds off before the strong trade winds till out of their reach. Driven along with great force, it takes its coarse round the great bay formed by the two continents of North and South America. Dashing along the northern coast of South America, and pass ing to the leeward of the West India Islands it leaves the shore of Cuba and proceeds along the shores of Florida, the capes of Virginia, and the South coast of North America, and passing along the shores of Newfoundland, ends its mission among the icebergs which float out of the northern ocean. Cut off the Gulf Stream, and it would not be many years before the North Atlantic would be filled with ice bergs, and the port of New York would cease to he the ceutre of American commerce. Before the course of the Gulf Stream was known, ships from Europe to New York, in wiuter, used to sail first to Charleston, Sb C , then coast it down to the Hudson. The voy age used to occupy them from six to eight mouths. The Nantucket fishermen were the first to discover the course of the Gulf Stream, and while English captains were taking six months to reach New York, they used to make the run sometimes in one month. Vessels run ning north of this stream in winter get their sails and rigging frozen so that it is scarcely possible to make any headway. By runaiag into the stream tlicy thaw out, for the water is always warm, and is known by this, anu its intense deep blue color. It is provided as a reservoir of heat by the Great Governor of Worlds, to accomplish his grand purposes. It is the influence of this stream which renders the climate of Britain so genial. Were it di verted to break upon the coasts of Spain only, the island of Britain would soon become a bleak, cold and inhospitable region, with a cli mate as cold and a wiuter as long as Labrador ; and Eriu would cease to be named the Emer ald 1.-le, for her fields would lie covered with snow during eight months in the year, instead of green herbage. It appears from the geo logical evideuces, that the Gulf Stream, atone l>eriod. did not break uj>on the diores of Brit aiu, and it was then as cold as Iceland. Up on such harmonies of nature's operations, di rected by an All-Wise Creator, do men and nations depend.— Scientific Amrican. Long John and the* Landlady—An Epigram. BT QCIES SABS. John—tall, ami a wag—was sipping I.! - irt, When his landlady. ritLi-r uncivilly free, Ac wtcd hiin thus—• Sir, a man of your metre Must be. 1 should think, a very larce eater!'* '• Xay. nay." quoth the wag, " 'tis nut as you say, Fur a iittle. with me. zo** a very lent; vray BF.AITY or SARAH. —The sacred historian clearly intimates that the sex were still en dowed. as before the Flood, with a wonderful power of retaining their beauty, and Sarah's personal charms were unimpaired at what we should now consider a very advanced age.— Even on the plain of Canaan, where under the shadow of the oak Ogy_-es. Abraham hod pitched his tent, "the fame of his wife's beau ty," says Joseph us, "was greatly talked of," and she was in her ninetieth year when, on the occasion of Abraham's second visit to Egypt, she made so dangerous an impression ion Kinu- Abimelech. This incident serves to ' illu-trate how little security was then enjoyed |by the highest rank. An Arabian emir, or prince, traveling with a powerful retinue, is afraid to acknowledge himself the ha-band of a beautiful wo:uan, lest on some speeions pre text, he should lie put to death, and his wife siezed by the reigning despot. His apprehen sions were in part realized, and Sarah, u- soon as she'had set foot in Egypt, was carried off from the midst of her family, in defian >? alike of the r.asres of hospitality and the common laws of society. Such was the boasted virtue of patriarchal times !— History of Worn.;*, lv S. W. Full m. trisr* An Irishman on arriving in America took a fancy to the Yankee girls, and wrote to his wife as follow- : "Dear Norab, these melancholic lines are to inform yon that I died died yesterday, and I hope you are enjoying the -ame bh-ssiug. I recommend you to mar ry Jemmy O'Boukc. and take gv *1 care of the children. .From your affectionate husband till death." fc-tr" A friend may be often found and l->st, but an old friend cau never be found, and na ture has provided that he cannot easily be lost. Anybody who supp< ses that locking a girl in a back room, will prevent her fr m know ing w hat love means, might as well undertake to keep strawberries from blushing in June, by whispering in their ears about that suow we had last winter. Sow Goor> —" Whatever a man sowethtfcat shall he also rca; ~ says the Scripture. If you wish cockle. chess, wees, and poor wheat, then sow >ueb. and yon have the promise of God, that you shall also reap such. GALLS ON HORSES.—A strong solution of alum with some whiskey mixed i i It. : s said to , le a most excellent remedy for the galled shoul \ ders of horses. Apply it three tises a day an- I til the wound is healed.