Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, March 22, 1866, Image 1
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Advertising in all eases exclusive of sub . nto the paper. ~ PBISTIXO of every kind in Plain and Fan t done with neatness and dispatch. Hand p'-inks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ac., of every va -1 „tvle, 1 111.ted at the shortest notice. The -TSR OFFICE has just been re-fitted with Power an ,l cverv thing in the Printing line can •e l in the most artistic manner and at the IF.RMS INVARIABLY CASH. 1 ft ' Mt * §£o*tnf. TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. If Don't tell me of to-morrow ; Drive me the man who'll say, That, when a good deed's to be done, I Let's do the deed to-day." \\'t may all command the present. If wc act and never wait ; ' gut repentance is the phantom Of a past that comes too late. !iii Don't tell me of to-morrow ; There is much to do to-day, That can never be accomplished, I If we throw the hours away. Everr moment has its duty, i Who the future can foretell? fl Then, why put off till to-morrow H What to-day can do as well ? I Don't tell me of to-morrow : If we look upon the past, How much that we have left to do, We cannot do at last ; To-day it is the only time i For all 011 this frail earth ; It takes an age to form a life, A moment gives it birth. , | JtttenUnnrtms. I A NEW ENGLAND TBAGE-Y. I V"tt wutilil haw thought it tin- very last j I ace for a tragedy, that little Vermont vi l- j I shut iu among the quiet hills, where 1 J I is-lil the summer of 1859. It was abso ' I v. as it seemed, set apart from the out- j, I . ; w.uld by those green summits which J vied round it so proteetingly ; summits | I eh caught the first sunbeams, and said • I ' .ah new day, " It is good," while yet j I valley where the little village clustered I was dusky in the shadowy morning twi- j I .(t. I had gone there just because it was j ■ ..of those restless spots where a year! ■• vd twice as long as usual. I was! I: vd with the fever and turmoil of life, and : ■ wa :. tl a little space in which to pause and | ■ .vim- strength lor the coming time. I took j :l ; niy ab .de with Mrs. Payne, a widow, I a good, kind, motherly soul. I siic had lived alone in her little, vine ( B ltd cottage for the two years since her 1 til and died ; and she was heartily glad I : v itlier inmate to share her solitary ! I uls, and enliven her life with a little cou ?[ ■ isatioii now and then. She was the very . ■ dest and gentlest of gossips—that is. j I ■ knew all her neighbors' affairs as well ; I ■ tin y themselves did ; and liked to talk ' i "Vt r and speculate about the.u ? but! I • never misjudged any one, and was the -t merciful ot critics So you're guild to walk to the post-of- j are you ?" she said, one night, as I put j ;my shawl and bonnet after tea. "Well, | wish you'd take notice who waits on you, j 1- there's two of'em there. It was half a mile. I had never taken : tie walk before, a neighbor's boy having 1 ''ways brought my letters. But I wasget ttiig strong in the mountain air, and felt i quite able to go, besides 1 had an errand to i As I walked on, under the apple trees j . in bloom, my thoughts grew so busy j Y.'.11 lar away things that I had forgotten - Payne's remark until it was re-called 1 my mind hy an excessively polite eager- | with liich a young mail came for *ml, as 1 entered the nondescript estab ! Anient which combined in tseif post-of- j -r, dry ids shop and grocery store, af - the manner of little New England villa - This young man displayed in every I * ol liis words and movements such tough self-satisfaction that you were at ' Me ti mpted to search for the secret of so ' undless a content. He was just the fel- | *to he the gallant of a country village, '-'tturn the heads of all tlie silly girls w ideas of a gentleman had been rmed hy fifth rate novels. His hands were and soft and well kept; his dark, rjr tyktfir was shiny with pomatum ; his - r '' tail and slender ; his eyes black, j certain Lead-like brightness about ' 11 ; Ids complexion delicate as a girl's j u fiesh bloom in the cheeks. He looked ! •■' wax-figure 111 a shop window, or a j ' 'm-plate in the front plate of a inaga- j * 'try places as Greendule to imagine ; ' tliere he was considered the greatest J .I"'? gentlemen, and carried 011 matters j : - a high-hand ; though there was prob- j . v "ot a hard-fisted young farmer 111 the i w ho had not five times as inucli in- j 'Ution, good sense, and genuine nianli- j ; j'tst glanced at the person who stood) " ,,J 'l the outer counter —a lumpish, mid- | 'gcd man, who looked as if he were ct to liypuchoudria and afflicted with •"'ice. Clearly, it was my red-cheeked, '•handed hero whom Mrs. Payne wan . ' to notice. I bought of hun some ! jd and some cambric which I required 1 'fss taeing, received my letters at bis '""V and went my way. ell!" Mrs. Payne suggested, as I ■tit in young man waited on me," I said—- ' "'hp. I think, they call him." . Phil. Gleason. I supposed he : lie generally does attend to the '; ' N unless they're old. Do you think " s fmscii ating ?" '"died at the seriousness with which she ' the question. ' don't think 1 should find him so," I red j " but I can imagine some peo '; "tight." l ' 8 i some people do !" she said, signifi ,C i'" 1 * ' : ,,lcl Dion sat there shaking her lio! Wuiti ng fur me to ask further ques as her manner was when she had a - tor y to tell E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher. VOLUME XXVI. " Not you, I trust, Mrs. Payne?" I in quired, gravely, with the malicious inten tion of teasing her, which failed, as it de served to. " No, not me. Thank Heaven, I've gone by the days when a white hand and a red cheek would carry me away, if I was ever so foolish ; but Phil. Gleason has it pretty mucli his own fashion among the girls here. He's engaged, to be sure ; but my doubt is whether he means to keep his word. It's my belief that promises don't mean much with such chaps as he, when any thing hap pens to make them want to change their minds." " And you think something has happened in his case." " Yes, has or will. Do you remember that girl you noticed in the singers' seat last Sunday?" I did remember her well, for she had the sweetest face I had seen in many a day.— Not a strong face—you could imagine her doing weak and foolish things —but a face as innocent of evil a child's, and exquisite ly lovely with a delicate, flower-like grace and bloom. " She's the one—Dely Schofield. She's a pretty little thing—the prettiest girl here —and as loving, trusting creature as you ever saw in your life. She's silly in some things, to be sure—if she wasn't she wouldn't be engaged to Phil. Gleason, as she has been for more than a year. Her mother is a widow, and poor, only she's got this girl; and I declare to you, I've thought many a time that I give ail the money Deacon Payne left me, and work a good deal har der than ever Miss Schofield has had to, if only I could have such a girl as that to look up to me and call me mother. But I haven't felt quite so much since she got en gaged to Phil. If she been my daughter that would trouble me more than a little. And it did troub'e Miss Schofield, that's a fact, as first. She stood out against it pretty well ; but after a while Dely had her own way, as I've noticed, these only children most always do, 'specially where their mothers are widows. That girl ain't strong in anything but her love ; but she's strong in that. It's my belief that she'd make 110 more dying to save Phil, from any trouble than she would of eutiu' her break fast. It's strong, too, lor there ain't but a dreadful little to that young man besides his black eyes and his red cheeks; but then Dely's a silly little thing, and sumehow he just suits her." " What could possibly make him want to change his mind?" I asked, filling up a pause in Mrs. Payne's monologue. "Sure ly, he will never find any prettier or sweet er ?" " No, that lie won't. You see it went on for about a year all right. Phil, was real proud of her, for every one calls her the prettiest girl in Greendale. He was there every Sunday night ; and every week day night too, for that matter, when he could get away from the store. He carried her to all the dances and singing schools and pic-nics, and there was some talk about their getting married next fall. But this spring a new lamily moved into the place. Squire Ilolbrook died, and his farm was sold, and a man by the name of Day bought it. I suppose he's well off, and he, too, has an only child. Maybe you noticed Hetty Day, in the sinking seat, next to Dely.— She's a regular high-flyer—not half so re- i ally handsome as Dely, but a great deal j more showy, und, you know, show is just j what takes such a fellow as Phil. Gleason. Besides, Dely is poor, and Job Day's daugh ter will be well off. If Phil, married her he could go right home now and live with the old folks. I suppose he's engaged to Dely yet ; but he only goes there Suuday nights now and it looks mightily to me as if he'd like to find an excuse to stay away altogether. As for Hetty Day, she's doing her best to get him. 1 s'pose she'd a wan ted him, like enough, if he hadn't been en gaged to Dely ; but that just made her a good deal more in earnest, and set her on to see what she could do." " I should almost hope she would sue- j ceed," I said, "if I thought Dely would i have strength enough to get over it.— j She'd be just throwing herself away on , him." Mrs. Payne shook her head. "That's the trouble. She hasn't got any j of that kind of strength, Dely hasn't. But \ we shall see what we shall see." With which oracular utterance she left me, and made her way to the dairy. The next day was Sunday, and every time the singers stood up in the gallery, and the congregation turned and faced them alter the manner of Greendale, I had a good opportunity to compare the two girls between whom Phil. Gleason's weak heart was wavering. If it had been a quarter of a man's heart no wavering would have been possible. Dely looked i 'ike a fresh wild rose, half opened and with : ihe dew yet sparkling on its pink petrals. Hetty Day made me think of a dahlia— handsome, indeed, in a certain way, but without fragrance or significance. She had ; eyes as black and as devoid of expression as Mr. Gleason's own, heavy black hair, a brilliant color, and a full buxom figure.— There were men, 1 knew, who admired just i such highly-colored flowers and women. ; But to my iyes the contrast of these pro nounced charms only made the dainty grace !of Dely Schofield more noticeable. Her ! soft, rippling hair, with the golden lights where the sunbeams struck it, framed the | I pink and white prettiness of her face as its | ; calyx does its flower. Her blue eyes droop i ed shyly under long eyelashes, curled like j a child's. The delicate bloom on her cheeks ! came and went with her thoughts, anil the ! expression of all was innocent and trusting j as an infant's. After church Mrs. Payne introduced me, j as I had before requested her, to the Scho fields, m d we walked toward home in com pany. I found Dely just what I had expec ted—simple, confiding, with not much of ; her, perhaps, but all there was of her, 1 thoroughly in earnest, and true as steel. " If Phil. Gleason forsakes that girl he ! ought to be hung." Mrs. Payne said with I energy, as we went into the house, and I i agreed with her as heartily. The next forenoon 1 sat up stairs, read ing a little, dreaming a little, enjoying too the full the sweet, restful idleness for which I had come to Greendale. I heard talking I in the room underneath, and understood that Mrs. Payne had a visitor, but though ; nothing further about it until the talk j ceased, some one went away, and my laud | lady came up stairs. She knocked on my TO WANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., MARCH 22, 1860. door, then opened it, and stood there in the doorway with a look on her face that fairly startled ine. " He's done it !" she said. " Done what, Mrs. Payne 1" " Given her up. the sneaking villain ! I tell you God don't let such things go un punished. He'll have to suffer." " Do you mean Phil. Gleason ?" "Yes. He went over to Miss Schofield's last night and asked Dely to release hun.— He told her that he hadn't meant to do wrong. He thought he loved her at lirst, and he never should have found out that he dieu't it he hadn't seen another §who had taught him what love was. The impudent, sentimental, novel-reading scamp." "And what did Dely do?" I asked, inte rupting the outpouring of her indignation. " Behaved like a woman, thank Heaven ! Whatever she felt she didn't show it out lor him and Hetty Day to laugh over. She told him very quietly that he was as I fee as if he had never seen her ; and that since lie didn't love her, she was very thankful he found it out before they were married.— I guess he went away dissappointed. No doubt he thought she'd make a good deal more fuss. When he was gone she called her mother and told her the whole,and then, Miss Schofield said—for it was she that told me—her face and lips turned white as a pitce of marble, and says she, "Mother, I've got my death ! " Then she kind of tottered, and Miss Schotield took hold of her and got her on to the bed, and there she lay all night, her eyes wide staring open without sheddin' a tear, or speakin' a word, or seemin' to hear anything that was said to her. This momin' her mother's been tryin' to make her eat and drink, but she could'nt. She's nigh about distracted, Miss Schofield is, and she run over here to see if I could think of anything to be done." In a moment it flashed into my mind thai this was my work which God sent me --to comfort this poor soul "Might I go over, do you think," I asked Mrs. Payne, "without its being considered intrusive,or hurting their feelings ?" "Yes, indeed, I vr sh 3011 would, I'm sure. 1 told Miss Schofield I'd tell you, and may be you'd think of something to be done.—- You're younger than I am, and you'll know better how to deal with a young girl. I'll never blame God any more because I am a childless widow. If Dely Schofield was my child 1 believe this would break my heart." 1 Went over to Mrs. Scbefield's praying silently, but Heaven knows how fervently, all tlie way that I might have grace und strength to do some good, to impart some Comfort. I wished to ease 1113' own heart ache a little b3' easing another's. I found Mrs. Schofield in the outer room ; and I told her 1 had come to see if I could say anything to rouse and comfort her daughter. She read, I know, the genuine sympathy in my face, for she searched it a moment, and then said, pointing to the bed room beyond : " She's in there. Oh, if you could com fort her. But 1 think if ever folks' hearts do break, her's has. She loved that crea ture as you can't guess." I went in. Oh, to what a white stricken lilly my blushing rose had turned 1 All the pink prettiness was gone ; all the life and brightness dashed out of the young face. Some instinct warned her of 103- approach, and she tnrnedjher head a little and made a motion as if to get up. Then she sank back on the pillow again and said feebly : " Excuse me, won't 3-011! lam not well this morning." Then knowing scarcely how to approach her, I went up to her and kissed her. " I know all about it," I said," "and I should uot have ventured to come to 3'oti if I had not myself known sorrow. I think Dety, that I have felt just as you feel now, only it was so much the worse for me that 1 had no mother to live for. Yet, through God's help, I triumphed over my pain, and found something still left in life." She looked at me, roused to a sort of dreary curiosit3'. " You ! Did you ever know sorrow and heart-break ? But it could not have been such as mine. You didn't know how I loved him ! There was not a moment in the da 3* that I did not think of him ; and when I lay down to sleep, I said his name in 1113- last prayer, and dreamed of him all night. And now he's just dropped out of my life, dontyou see how empty it is ?" There was an utterly indescribable pathos in her voice and maimer. It was not a complaint to which she had given utterance —the assertion rather than a fixed fact, which she wished me to understand. Ila 3' down beside lier on the bed. 1 drew her poor pretty bead to 1113' bosom,and then, praying for help to a tender Father who knows the weakness of His creatures, I strove to comfort her—to persuade her to remember her mother, and to remember the long hereafter, which will be the unfailing recompense fur all sorrows nobly borne, all tasks braved* done. At length I prevailed sc far that she suffered uie to undress her, and then drank a few swallows of tea, and ate a fragment of toast. When I went away she said,with a humiliated submission which touched rue to the heart : " You Lave dune me good, but I doubt if lam w ...'li it. lam such a poor, weak girl, l'ii try to do right. I'll live for moth er's sake, if I ean, But I'm fraid I can't." I, too,was afraid she could not as I walk ed sorrowfully back to Mrs. Payne's. She was not strong to live and sutler. Strong natures bear sucli burdens as weak ones break under. It seemed to me that her wound would prove mortal. After that I went to see her every day, She strove hard to live as she had promis ed. She dressed herself, she tried to eat, she even went for awhile about some ofher daily tasks in a helpless, feeble sort of way, which it was pitiiul to see. She had no pride, not the slightest. If she had any we might have saved her through that. But she cared nothing if all the world knew that the loss of Philip Gleason had broken her heart, , She did not feel strong enough to go to church, so, careless of comments, she stayed away. It was die saddest thing to see how she would watch for the sight of her old lover. lie drove by there,some times with his new Jlame, as indeed, he could not well help, for Mrs Schofield's lit tle cottage was on the road between Far mer Day's and the village. On such occa sions her eyes would brighten with almost their old light, until he had passed quite beyond her vision, and then the blank, dreary look would come back to her face. REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER. "Is Philip happy ? Do you think lie is •tappy ?" She would ask sometimes. "He used to seem to love uie so ; I don't see how it could have all gone out of his heart." Philip was happy, or his exulting face and satisfied bearing belied him stiaugely. Hetty Day seemed to fill his eyes and heart full. If lie had thought that Dely would die for his sake, perhaps he would have relented—for the honor of human 11a ture 1 hope so—but lie had no comprehen sion of such love as hers. He fancied, per haps, that she was secluding herself and putting on melancholy airs to bring him back, and that she would be all right when once she found that he was married, and it was done with. At any rate he hurried on the preparations for his wedding ; and though we would have kept it from Dely if we could, somehow she heard of every thing, and every day it seemed harder for her to live. With the midsummer heats, she drooped perceptibly, and even I, who had still kept some faint hope alive that she would iu time conquer her heart-break, gave it up altogether then, and watched her during the summer days going down into the val ley and the shadow, at the other end of which shines a light not of this world. The lirst day of September Philip Gleas on was married Dely had not sat up much for some time, but that she insisted on being placed in an casy-cliair at the open window. Her mother and I both knew why, and obeyed her silently. About 11 o'clock the wedding was over. A smart carriage dashed down the hill Irom Mr. Day's, containing Ihe newly mar ried pair, for miktress Iletty hud expan ded notions, and they were going away on a fortnight's bridal tour. The bride had on an overdressed air, of course, but she look ed undeniably handsome in a buxom, rus tic style ot handsomeness. Phi I was, as usual, bright of eye, rosy of cheek, glossy of hair, and most thoroughly self-compla cent. But I think lie must have seen the little white, sad face gleaming like a snow drop against the window-pane—the face of the iir.ocent little girl who had loved him, as no body would ever love him again. When lie-had gone by she sighed a long, gasping sigh, and then she put out her hands. "1 want to go to bed now, please," she said ; and we laid her gently back upon the pillows. She never sat up again. She had no disease. If it were not dy ing of broken heart, I know not what it was. Every day she grew weaker and at last three days before it was time lor the bridal pair to return, there came a night in which I watched her life go out. Just at the last she turned, to rue, and with a look that made me see again the bright young face I had watched iu the gallery on my first Suridaj in Greendalc she said : "I tried to live, but I couldn't ; and now I am going to live forever. Then after a little while she whispered, with her head lying on that faithiul mother heart which had never tailed her—"Tell Philip I forgave him and asked God to bless him and then she went to sleep, as she had done so man} times on that moth er's breast in her sweet infancy. She died so quietly and so oainlessly that we knew not the moment when her soul passed. Three days after Philip Gleason, coming gaily home with his young wife met a fu neral procession going solemnly out of wid ow Scofield's yard. He needed to ask no questions. He saw the coffin, with its wreaths of snowy chrysanthemums—the widow in her deep mourniug and he knew all. His face grew ghastly. If ever 1 saw a man look as if iiis sin had found fcim out he looked so,in the few minutes through which he waited for the funeral to pass by. I left Greendale soon after, and I have never seen again the little village shut 111 among the Vermont hills, or heard of the good or ill fortune which pursues thai man. But I doubt if the old self-content is in his manner now—if sometimes lie does n<>t contrast Mrs. Hetty's loud, aggressive ways with that dead girl's geutleless—if his life has punished him as she, poor, lov ing child, would have been the last to de sire. If men are ever haunted—as by memory I surely believe they are—he must see,sometimes, that white frail face against the pane, which looked its last on him the day he carried by bis bride. A CELEBRATED physician, who was as re markable for the deep nterest which he took in his patients as for his skill, had been in attendance upon a very irritable old lady for some time, and had bestowed great attention on her case, and felt great anxiety to alleviate her sufferings ; all the means he could think of were tried, but the effect which he sought to produce was not in his power, and he saw that she was gradually sinking. As he paid his accus tomed visit one morning, he found her ly ing in a state of stupefaction, and with every alarming symptou ; he thought it right to apprise her friends that her last hours were approaching. "My dear young lady," said he to her re lation. who accompanied hint to the room door, " 1 am sorry to tell yon —very sorry but your poor old aunt cannot hold out for foilr-and-twenty hours." " And pray who told you that, and how dare you say it ?" cried tin? old lady, bounc ing up with an effort of strength that ap peared quite supernatural, and sitting bolt upright ; "how dare you say it?" She was in a violent passion, and as she vehemently held forth in abuse of her doc tor, the excitement produced all that was necessary,—the abscess, which had been the sole cause of her illness, broke from her | exertion ; she got immediate relief, soon j recovered, and lived for many years. A GENTLE HINT.— At a concert which took ; place lately, a gentleman in the audiance I rose up just as the third piece in the pro gramme had been performed, and said : ''Mr. Conductor, will you oblige me, sir, by requesting your vocalists either to sing louder, or,to sing in whispers,as'there is a conversation going 011 close by where I sit, that is conducted in such a loud tone as to hinder my enjoyment of the music. I pre fer certainly to hear the concert ; but if 3 cannot be so privileged, I des're to hear tin: conversation." There was an exfcrncly quiet and attentive audience irt the hall du ring the rest of the evening. WHY is John Bigger's boy larger than his father ?—Because he is a little Bigger. THE OHOLERA—WHAT IS IT? YELLOW ! FEVER AND OTHER INFECTIOUS DIS EASES—WHAT ARE THEY ? [From the Scalpel.] It is impossible to realize how au intelli-! gent being can pass by the subject of chol- ! era without a thorough investigation; every ! man ought to know all that is known by j physicians of its origin, and how to prevent its attacking him ; to pass it by as a mat, 1 ter he cannot comprehend, is to acknowl- ! edge one's self a tool or a suicide. When the cholera first appeared, and ty- j phus fever was only an occasional visitant : to some filthy district of the city, there was | some apology ; but now that 500,000 of our population are, by their abodes and habits of iving, offered as food for the pestilence- j and are only awaiting the warmth of an, other season, we hope most earnestly that our people will shake oil their apathy, and try and realize their ignorance and their j danger. If God ever designed that selfish ness should bring its own punishment, sure ly there is fear of a terrible reckoning for New York. The owners of tenant-houses I may secure twenty per cent, this season, i but the organic law is destined to prove a ; hard master ; perhaps the landlord and ten- j ant will go the same way. Diseases are produced by laws unerring j in their action as those by which the body j is formed or health restored. Just as cer- i tainly as the merest mite that dances in ; the sunbeam, the moss that covers the roof; or tn e, the tiny humming-bird, lordly man, : the ponderous elephant, the mighty whale, ' and the infusoria of the ocean, all originate j from eggs and seeds, just as certainly arc i infectious diseases produced in the same { way. Yellow fever is the product of closely confined warmth and moisture ; it origi- j nates directly from those two conditions : I united, they produce a vegetable fungus, ol | microscopic size, which is inhaled by hu- I man beings, and thus produces ihe disease. ■ It is always brought to this city in the j holds of VCSM.-IS from warm climates only, j It is never propagated from a single person i to another ; but it may be brought to any ; place, where the necessary conditions of j atmosphere exist, by clothing or cargoes in bulk ; and thus other centres of propoga- I tion for these fungi maybe formed, precise- 1 ly as we form mushroom beds from mush- j room spawn in a damp and dark cellar ; or ; toadstools spring up in the same place, or j at the root of a tree in the forest. Frost at ! once destroys Yellow Fever, therefore it is ; of vegetable origin. Cholera is not produced bv a vegetable i fungus or moss ; it originates in human : filth. Wherever human beings congregate | in close quarters and iu vast liumbeis, in a ! confined atmosphere in this country, there j either typhus fever, malignant dysentery or cholera infantum of our Summers are j produced. Asiatic cholera is produced by j an animal germ. It came first to this coun ' try in a ship, in June, 1832. It first ap-' peared in Quebec, passed to Montreal by ; the 14th, and was in New York on the 25th; ; no doubt whatever it was conveyed in the bodies of travelers, for it can only be pro pagated in animal organisms. That it is an animal germ we will now endeavor to j show. Ist. It is not like the yellow fever, destroyed by frost ; it has proved very fa tal in Winter. The only animal, we have reason to think, that dies from cholera, is j the hog ; the hog cholera of the West is very fatal ; the symptoms are similar to | those of man. 2d. We never had Asiatic j cholera here till 1832, although the same . conditions essential to its propagation— dense population, confined air and filth— always existed and always produced their i appropriate results, typhus fever, dy sen- j tcry and cholera infantum—but never Asi atic cholera. Cholera is defective vitalization of the ■ blood, or want of pure air, producing de-1 l'ective nutrition. This causes relaxation 1 of the contractile powers of all the blood vessels of the body. The entire tract of in testines opens its myriad blood-vessels, and all the albuminous or flesh-making material passes off from the bowels. It is rapid i cholera infantum, only it preys upon adults chiefly. Not a single case of cholera oc-. curred on board the Atalanta in its spacious cabins, during all the terrible death-scourg ing among the poor steerage passengers. What can be more convincing? There was filth and confined air, animal poison in its highest degree, depressing the aeration or , life renovation of the blood ; not producing typhus fever, but cholera. The solids of the human body are relaxed, when the blood 1 loses its life-giving power, and animalcules i can act readily, perhaps enter the blood-1 vess< Is. These animalcules unquestionably > could pass by the wind to the inhabitants ■ of tlie spacious cabins in the posterior part | of the vessel, but (heir blood-vessels and \ nerves were in good order and kept the tis- i sues tight enough to prevent the entrance ; of the exciting germs. What the cattle disease may be, it is at present impossible to say That it is infec- j tious to horned cattle only seems to be ! proved. We have every reason to believe j that it originates from a specific animal | germ like cholera ; that germ is produced j by the animal, and communicated to nearly j every one that approaches the sufferer, no j matter what the diet or general surround- j ing influences of weather, warmth, or the. herdmaii's care may be. It seems to be a | typhoid pneumonia, producing geneial re- j suits similar to typhoid fever in mail ; it is not communicable, however, to our race, I though we believe deaths have occurred ! with symptoms not dissimilar to those who have eaten the flesh of animals killed when j they had the disease. Our laws wisely prohibit the importation of all animals at ! present from abroad who have the cleft hoof; the horse and his kindred are not , ' subject to the disease. Small pox, like cholera and syphillis, is of European origin, because neither were known in America before the arrival of Eu ropeans. It is probably animal also iu its origin, because frost does not destroy it. It spreads undoubtedly by the blood, be cause it breaks out in pustules all over the ; body at once. Like the filurin or worm in the eye, and intermuscular worm, which burrows in the deep sated muscles of sheep and hogs, and from them is trausler red to man when he eats the flesh of those •■boast d animals raw or partially cooked, its egg or.germ must get. into the system by the blood-vessels—because the blood ! only could diffuse it all over the body. The Ss3 per* Annum, in Advance. vaccine disease which prevents small pox is also animal in its nature. It forms a circle of little vesicles precisely like ring worm, which is known to be a living ani mal. Measles and scarlet fever are undoubt edly of atmospheric origin, because in three or four days they appear simultaneously over a vast district of country. These dis eases are unquestionably also communica ble by seed of some kind—animal proba bly, because the instances are constant where those not previously affected are at tacked by the disease ; not five children in a hundred but would have measles i! brought into the chamber of one afflicted with the disease ; and the instances of the spread of scarlet fever through families and neighboring houses seem equally conclu sive. Diptheria, and the farcy or glanders of horses, are both communicable ; and syph ilis, vaccine disease, and malignant pus tule, equally so. A fly will inocculate either of those with his legs, if he alight on au abraded surface of a healthy person after alighting -on a sore of either kind. The saliva of a gl a tide red horse, if it touch the slightest abraded surface will cornmuiii cate it, and always kill the human victim. Itcb and ringworm are animal, and posi tively 7 propagated by eggs under the skin. Dr. Lizars and others allege that secon dary syphilis, or the eruption aiising after that disease has been taken in the usual way, is communicable by a cigar or drink ing cup. However this may be, it is known that the child who can only have taken the disease from the remote source of its mo ther's blood, or still more remotely from the father, does communicate it the nipple of its often healthy foster-nurse. All these diseases are undoubtedly animal in their origin, and produced from the conveyance of an animal germ from the affected per son. We cite these examples to prove the vi tal necessity of cleanliness. Typhus fevei (sometimes called spotted fever) and ma lignant dysentery, are the indigenous pro duct of filth and confined air. We are pel fectly familiar with them in the filthy parts of this City. Typhus fever is very rarely communicated in the dwellings of the clean ly, and malignant dysentery, we fully be lieve, requires great exhaustion, and pro bably direct contact of the germ from the close stool or privy. It is quite possibh that cholera is produced in this way, and that thus the animal germ is conveyed di rectly to the body ; hence the greatest care should be used |iu destroying the ejections of the sick. Is it not evident, then, to every rational being that man will find his greatest safety in cleanliness ; and cau man he engaged in a nobler or more humane work than in pro pagating the knowledge of this great or ganic law of his fellows? THE PLEASURES OF ILLNESS Dickens' All the Year Round, in an arti cle on "the pleasures of illness," says : Nothing astonishes a weakly person who has been accustomed to illness, so much as an unusually long period of good health. It is something he did not expect; it is like a gift to him. Robust persons who have never been accustomed to physical suffering will find it difficult to understand this feeling. Their wonder is that they should ever be ill at all. I have noticed that the moral effect of illness upon the strong man is the moral effect of health up on the weak man. When a strong man is stricken down he takes to his prayers. But the time when the weak man's thoughts art more elevated towards spiritual things is when he is well. The latter is too tliank lul to Heaven for its abundant mercies to begin whining the moment he is laid upon a bed of sickness. To my mind, that which produces a spirit of thankfulness is tin best chastener of the heart. It is not a scourge, but a purifier. I have no belief in the rod, either moral or physical. When 1 am in health, and have the full enjoyment of all my faculties, and when the sun shines, and all nature is beautiful aroun I me, then lam good. I cannot say that my heart is touched in the same way by afflic tion and gloom. It is not then in a spirit ual way that I profit by illness, but simply because it enables me to throw off' nv cures as I throw oft' tny clothes, and put my mind to rest with my body. To de scend to some common-place particulars in illustration of the pleasures of illness, 1 will mention first of all the delight of being able to think without a purpose. When I am well, my thinking must take a practi cal direction. 1 have no time to indulge in loose fancy. Whatever thoughts may en ter my head, 1 must mould and shape them for use ; I must parcel out and pigeon hole them. And there is the involute pro cess of thinking about thoughts, overhaul ing the aforesaid mental pigeon-holes to see that everything is ready to hand —a process which is very weary and painful. But silting here by the fireside, utterly in capacitated, 1 give free rein to 1113- fancy and set myself to thinking about nothing. And when you don't try to think, then pleasant thoughts enter your head unbid den ! You call upon the divine Nine, or any other source of inspiration, until you are hoarse, without bringing the pleasant fancy which pops upon you like a fairy girt. You sit by the fire with your feet among the fenders, staring vacantly at the coals, and a vision of beauty reveals itself in the flame. These are the pleasant dav ! dreams which the mind enjoys when it has | an opportunity of playing the idler. THE AKT OF PRlXTlXG. —Disrseli believes, i and brings up a mass of evidence to sus- , tain him, that the art of printing was known j to th t Romans, but that they rejected it as 1 unsuited to their civilization, and that the Emperors were bitterly opposed to it, as in it they recognized a powerful enemy their tyranny. They did, however, make use of it on a small scale. The Emperor Justin-; lan had a stamp on which were engraved or > carved the letters of his name, and he made constant use of this for signing documents Theodorie did the same. The movable let ters with which the Roman potters stamped their wares were similar to those used by ' the book-binders of the present day for let- I tering &e. The Romans were also perlect | ly familiar with printing ink, and their ro i fusal to make use of the printing press | must be attributed either to the opposition of the Emperors, or the popular belief that | it was uot suited to such high civilization. ODDITIES OF GREAT MEN'.- -The greatest men are often affected by the most trivial ! circumstances, which have no apparant connection with the effects they produce.— An old gentleman of whom we know some thing, felt secure against the cramp when he placed his shoes, 011 going to bed,so that the right shoe wis on the left of the left shoe, and the toe of the right next to the heel of the left. If lie did not bring the i right shoe round the other side in that way, the was liable to the cramp. I)r. Johnson used always in going up Bolt Court to put j one foot upon each stone of the pavement ; if he failed, he felt certain the day would jhe unlucky. Buffoii, the celebrated natur alist, never wrote but in full dress. Dr. liouth, of Oxford, studied in full canoni cals. A celebrated preacher of the last cen tury could never make a sermon with his garters on. A great German scholar writes with his braces off. Rciseg, the German critic, wrote his commentaries on Sophocles with a pot of porter by his side. Schybel lectures, at the age of seventy-two extem pore in Latin, with his snuff-box constantly in his hand ; without it he could not get on. FUN, FACTS AND FACETI2E, THE best way to be happy is not to want anything until you have got it, and then be saving of it. Pudding and milk is a good thing to have, so one has not too much of it. WHISPERING is more dangerous than loud speaking ; the latter may instantly call up the re joinder of truth, if needed ; but the former may travel on leaving poison in its track until the truth can overtake it with difficulty. A POOR Irishman who applied for a license to sell ardent spirits, being questioned as to his moral fituess for the trust, replied, "Ah ! sure it is uot much of a character that a man needs to sell rum !" A FOOI. in high station i like a man in a balloon—everybody appears little to him and he appears little to everybody. IN Russia, a coffin fai is field once a year. Every peasant who has an aged parent buys a cof fin. The present is always acceptable, for the re ceiver feels assured that he will have* a Christian burial, and is proud of the son who thus cares for his last resting-place. "MA," said an intelligent, thoughtful boy of nine, "I don't think Solomon was so rich as they sny he was." "Why, my dear, what could put that into your head?" asked the astonished mother. "Because the Bible says he slept with his fathers, and 1 think if he had been so rich lie would had a bed of his awn." "MOTHER," said little Ned, one morning, after having fallen out of bed, "I think I knou why I fell out of bed last night. It was because I slept too near where I got in.'' Musing a little while, as in doubt whether he had given the right explanation, he added, "No, that wasn't the rea son ; it was because I slept too near where 1 fell out." DURING the present high price of coal, a gentleman meeting his coal merchant, inquired whether it was a proper time to lay in a stock? i'he knight ol' the black diamond shook his head, observing, "Coals are coals now, sir ; to which the customer replied, -Tain very glad to lif-ar ii. for the last you sent me were slates." THE INQUEST. Poor Peter Pike is drowned, and the neighbors sny The jury mean to sit on him to-day. "Know'st thou what for?" said Tom. Quoth Ned, "No doubt lis merely done to squeeze the water out.'' "DOCTOR," said a hard-looking customer the other day to a physician, "I am troubled with a depression, a i uneasiness about the breast. What do you suppose the matter is ?" "All very easily accounted lor," said the physician ; "you | have water on the chest." ' AVuter! Come, that will do well enough for a joke ; but how could I get water on my chest, when I haven't touched a drop for more than fifteen years !" IMPROMPTU. I met a friend the other day. Whose coat was C D. When told, no wonder, you will say— His pockets were quite M T. A STORY is told of an inveterate drinker, who, after a great deal of solicitation, signed the temperance pledge, but soon after wus noticed to imbibe as frequently as ever. To his friends, who remonstrated with bun, he replied that the docu ment which he had signed was illegal, and ol 110 binding force, because it had upon it 110 internal revenue stamp. WHAT notes compose the most favorite tunes?—and how many tunes do they compose? Bank-notes—they make for-tunos. WE observe a magazine article with the inviting title, "Under the Lash, by One who has been Flogged." Pleasant reading, if the announce ment is to be read literally. We suppose it will be followed by "Under the Gallows, by One who lias been Hanged." SELFISH. —One individual's selfishness doubles that of others, and his again redoubles that ; and so layer upon layer of ice is frozen. TRUTH cannot die ; it passes from mind to mind, imparting light in its progress, aud con stantly renewingits own brightness during the dif fusion. OPPORTUNITY. —GrappIe with every oppor tunity. And as you do not know when opportu nity will happen, keep your grappling irons always ready. Do RIGHT. —If you would convince a man that he does wrong, do right. But do not care to convince him. Men will believe what they see. Let them see. He that good thinkcth good may do, And God may help him thereunto ; For never was good work wrought Without beginning of good thought. Tennyson. SEEKING FUR TRUTH. —The labors to try man's soul and exalt it, are the search for truth beneath the mysteries which surround creation, to gather amaranths, shining with the Lut s of hi uven. from plains upon which hang, dark and heavy, tl.< mists of earth. Silt Walter Scott, in lending a book one day to a friend, cautioned him to be punctual in returning it. "This is really necessary," said the poet in apology : "for though many of my friends are bad arithmeticians, I observe almost all ot then are good book-keepers. A SURGEON, who was bald, was on a visit to a friend's house, whose servant wore a wig. After bantering him a considerable time, the doctor said : "You see how bald I am, and yet I don't wear a wig." "True, sir," replied the servant "but an empty barn requires no tliateh." PROVERBIAL EPIGRAMS. Why pine with unavailing grief, ! • At tresses few and grey ? The wildest hope could ne'er expect Two mornings in one day. THE following; advertisement exhibits a j good specimen of the misarmnrjement of words : ••LOST !— A small lady's watch with a white face ; 1 also two ivory young lady's oik-boxes. A ma | hogany gentleman's dressing-case, and a small \ pony, belonging to a young lady, with one eye." A DOWN East editor wants to know why ! editors are not blessed with donation visits as ! clergymen are ; for editors, it is well known, are | proverbial for tlieir kindness of heart, works of bc -1 nevolence, and excessively tender disposition to ! anybody and everybody who has an awfully dull i axe to grind. THE following anecdote is told of Daniel O'Conuell. Meeting a prolific pamphleteer, whose productions generally found their way to the bnt terman, he said, "I saw something very good ill i your new pamphlet this morning.' "Ah ! replied ; the gratified writer, "what was it.'' "A pound of ! butter," was the reply. A WARNING needed at all fashionable as ; Beml)luytiß—Look out for paint! WHAT is the worst seat a man can sit 011? —Self-con-ceif. IT has been discovered that Othello held a legal as well as a military office in Venice. He was a-tawny-general. A COQUETTE is said to la; a perfect incar nation of Cupid, and she keeps her beau in a quiv er. "GOOD blood will sliow itself," as tlie old lady said when she WHS struck with the redneßS ol | her nose. NUMBER 43.