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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.