The star of the north. (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1849-1866, August 16, 1855, Image 1

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U, W. Weaver Proprietor.]
OFFICE — Up stairs, in the new brick build
in e< on the louth side of Main Steert, j
third square below Market.
TERMS Two Dollars per annum, if
paid within six months from the time of sub
scribing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not
paid within the year. No subscription re
ceived for a less period than aix months; no
discontinuance permitted until all arrearages
are paid, unless at the option of the editor.
ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square
>4ll be inserted three times for One Dollar
and twenty-five cents for eacb additional in
enrtion. A liberal discount will be mado to
those who advertise by the year.
For the " Stat of the North."
- Friendship's Wreath.
A wreath, my Iriend, 1 twine for thee,
But not of lading (lowers:
A wreath thnt will be fresh and green
Though fled our youthful hours.
Yes, in the wreath shall be entwined
True friendship's blossoms fair;
And the sweet buds of love and truth
Shall blend in beauty there.
And round our hearts the wreath I'll bind,
There shall it glow forever.
The golden links in friendship's chain
No power on earth can sever.
And thou wilt ne'er forget, dear friend,
Though past thy early youth,
The one who twined for thee the wreath
Of Friendship, Love and Troth.
Buckhom, Pa. • EFFIE.
The North British Review illustrates thp im
portance of sufficient sleep on a parallel with
tha natural history of the Sabbath :
" Th Creator has given us a natural re
•torative—sleep ; and a moral restorative—
Sabbath-koeping; and it is ruin '.o dispense
witb either. Ur.der the pressure of high ex
citement, individuals have passed weeks to-
little sleep, or none; but \Aien
JHPfocees is long continued, the over (fitv-
rebel, and fever, delirium, end
Heath come on. Nor can the natural amount
systematically curtailed without corres-
W ponding mischief. The Sabbath does not ar
rive like sleep. The day of rest does not
eteal over us like the hour of slumber. It
does not entiance us almost whether we
will or not; but, addressing us as intelligent
beings, our Creator assures us that we need
it,*and bids us notice in return, and court its
renovation. "Xtfd if, going in the face of the
Creator's kindness, we force ourselves to
woik all days alike, iris not long till we pay
Ihfe forfeit. TtBS mental worker—the man or
business, or the man of letters —finds his
ideas coming turbid and slow ;,the equipoise
of his faculties upset, he grows moody, fit
ful, Slid cspricioua; sun with his mental elas
ticity broken, should any disaster occur, he
subsides into Jtabituel melancholy, or self
dextruction speeds his guilty exit from a
gtooinv world. And the manual worker—
tbe artisan, the engineer, by toiling on from .
day to day, mud week to week, the bright
intuition of his eyes get blunted ; and, for- j
getful of their cunning, his fingers DO long- 1
er perfom their feats of twinkling agility, nor
by a plas'io loach mould dead matter, or
wield mechanic power but mingling his life's
blood in his daily drudgery, hie locks are
prematutely gray, his genial humor sours,
and slaving it till he has become a morose
or reckless man, for an extra qffort, or any
blink of balmy feelings, he must stand in
debted to opium or alcohol."
In a discnurse on tbe words, "Blessed are
the pure in heart," Mr. Caughey once re
marked that it was impossible to sully a sun
beam. 'And while that sunbeam,' aid he,
'may dirt down into the darkest hole of filth \
and illuminate it, it will' soil nothing, and
yet not ba soiled itself. So the ray of heav*
enly life and love existing in the perfect be
liever's heart, goes into and comes out into
contact with the dark dvAlling-places of ini
quity and filth, and cheers end enlivens, en
courages by its presence, but it always kept
anspotied from the stains of the world. It is
God that gives to the pure heart this great gift
and distinction. It is he who can keep the
heart in perfect peace. Suppose a white
robed female were walking along sorpe turn
pike road where tbe mud was flying, and
where the horses and wagons as tbey hur
ried and splashed along, at every turn and
igtep increased the confusion, hemmed up
She foot-path, and threw the water and dirt.
that white-robed female should find
tat her jonrney'a end her white dress as spot
less as when she was first robed. Would
'not Ibis be a miracle! Most sorely it would.
But a miracle it ia that the Christian, in wag
ing bia course through this world, iu fighting
through trials and temptations, and in strug
gling with the fiery adversary, does not have
some stain or mark of conflict on his gar*
dfent. He ones out, "Glory to God! tree
and unspotted too." It is a miracle of grace
of oar lord end Saviour Jesus Christ. Prais
es be unto his precious name! — Western
born uf Chester oounty, Pa., lost fifteen bead
pi bulloc)*> worth R thousand dollais, as it
was thought, from et|ng aoorns, the tannic
acid of which produaed poustipaiion and a
disease resembling dry murrain. Wild sherry
leaves which contain prosaic acid, wilt pro
duoe the same effect. Cure—Mi* a pint of
BBOlasaei with a pint or Belted lard, and pour
down the animal's throat. If the body is
mocb bloated, odd go iojeatioo of soap*
■ode.' '
• .'7- -• —-
From the National Era.
A Short Story With a Moral.
" HONOB thy father and thy mother," ia the
first commandment with promise—promise
as beautiful in its exemplification aa glorious
in its oonceplion. A mother's lips first breath
ed into our ears thoce words of Holy Writ,
and explained their general import; and from
the time when the atory of gray-haired Elijah
and his youthful mockers first excited my
young imagination, up to mature womanhood,
the respect then inspired for the white hairs
of age has grown with my growth, and
strengthened with my strength. We sigh as
we think of the days when the young were
wont to bow before the bony head, and, by
gentle, uncalled for assiduities, sirejp roses in
the old man's tottering path. * r .
But those kindly customs ol our puritan an
cestors have passed away. The world grows
selfish, as it grows old ; and age-dimmed
eyes must turn homeward for stay# to their
trembling hands and tottering limbs. Here
should thoy find the fulfilment of the first
comrpandment with promise.
No true, womanly soul aver withdrew her
gentle hand from her poor old father or moth
er ; no manly heart ever forgot the home loves
of his wayward childhood, or ceased to hear
the echoes of a fond mother's prayers. Of.
ten the cares of this world, and the deceitful
ness of rytU&s, may choke op the inborn af
fections of narrow souls; but few and far be
tween is the fondly loved child, who can be
so untrue to himself or hit Maker, as wholly
to forget the mother who bora
Yet even with the hotieal dictates of our
reasons and souls, as with the wider applica
tion of the commandment, has Fashion in
sinuated her poisonous influence; and the
son, perchance, who left his fond parent's
humble home reluctantly and tearfully, to
make his way iirtlie world, forgets, when
fortune favors, lo welcome his rustic mother
to his own luxury, with the same cordial em
brace with which ho left her in his child
hood home. Her dim old eyes, perchance,
did nbt catch readily the meaningless courte
sies of life; nevertheless, they look none the
less lovingly upon her child than when they
watched over his helpless infancy. Her with
ered hands may be large and bony, and nev
er have known a jewel; but none the less
gently did they smooth the weary pillow, or
bathe the heated brow, in Ihe dependent
days of boyhood. Ah I she's the same fond
mother still; her age and wo:k-benl form,
clad in' rustic garb, conceals a heart lull of
never-dying'love, and rqpdy for new
A-id, thanks to the Great BeSig who gave
us the commandment with promise, now and
then there stands up a noble man, true to his
inborn nature, who, throwing off the tram
els of Fashion,, however wide the golf Which
separates him, in tbe world's eye, from the
humble poverty of his boyhood-—who is not
ashamed to love before hie fellows, the hum
ble mother who gave him birth.
"My Mother— permit me to present her to
you," said an elegantly-dressed, noble-look-1
ing young man, to a friend for whom he had
crossed a crowded drawing-room, witb his
aged parent leaning on bis arm. There was
a dead silence for full five minutes. The
moral beauty of the picture pervaded every
soul, and melted away the frostwork from
world-worn hearts, 'Tis tbe old foreground
of a fashionable summer resort, whither hosts
had come, with all their selfish passions, to
seek iu vain for health and pleasure. But
here was a variation—a bit of truth to nature
—in tbe molly mingling of colors.
From R little brown tarm-house, pent in by
forests, 'way up in the granite State, that
young man had gone forth with brave heart
aud stalwart urm; strong, like his native hil Is,
he had already made a name for himself.-s-
I'olished circles opened for him, and gentle
lips bade bim welcome. Yet none the less
carefully did his manly arm support his home
ly, tottering old mother; none the less softly
and tenderly did he call her-Aqueer though
she looked, "my mother," amongst the proud
beauties wLo had striven for his favor. Her
dress was antiquated, lor the good gifts of her
son had been sadly mutillated by rnatic hands;
yet only one heartless girl tittered, despite the
broad-hilled cap and well kept shawl. Her
voice was rough, and olten ber expressions
coarse and inelegant. Used to the social mug
at home, she asked for her neighbor's goblet
at table, and was guilty ol many Mte vulgar
ities. Sbe was not an interesting woman,
save in her vigorous age, and her beautiful
love of her son.
Yet, tor a week, the son watched over that
mother, aud gained for Iter kindness and def
erence, in the very face of fashion, walked
with her, with her, helped her, like an
infant, up a difficult mountain aide of twenty
miles, humored her every caprice, and aach
day found some new friend, whose heart he
might thrill by those gentle words, "my moth
To him she was the gentle mother, who
rocked him to sleep in ohildhood; and true to
the great commandment elte had (aught him,
be was making the path smooth for her de
pendent year*.
One there was, in the gay throng, whose
eyes flashed haughtily, as they rested on tbe
homely, toil-worn woman ;*bpl she was a
noble soul, and truth and .right gained an in
stant viotory oyer prejudictp. Qui
etly and elegantly she crossed tbe room, laid
her snowy Idtl* handv with such a gentle,
thrilling toooh, on the arm of her lor#r, acd
whispered • word in his ear.
Will the ever forget tbe look of love-tri
umph jn hie eyes, or tbe melting gentleness
of hts toned,- aa he pretested hi* beautiful,
high-bred betrothed (0 bis gray-heired,doling
mother! 'Twas a holy sight—that of polish
ed, glowinu beauty, grasping the hand of
wrinkled, homely ass 1
When summer and summer guests had
gone, many a or.e remembered and watched
that young man whose filial devotion had in
it a moral sublimity. And surely to him the
commandment proved with promise.
IJlgh-lliindid Outrage.
We are obliged to record another of those
high-handed outrages upon the right* and
liberties of our citizens, which have at late
become so disgracefully numerous.
On Monday last, a young man boarding in
Bleecker street, was seized by a number of
young ladies, led into the parlor of his board
ing-house, being threatened with a most se
rious kissing if lie *dared to resist. Thither
led like a sheep to the slaughter—he was un
resistingly taken. On arriving there one of
the young ladies assumed the position of
judge—a jury was empaunelled, and the
young gentleman indicte'd in the following
Whereas Thomas Titefits Trowser did on
the 30th day of June, 1855, utter, say, and
make public certain derogaloiy remarks
against the institution of marriage—in terms
as follows—to wit: in that he did say with
malice prepense end aforethought, that 'wed
ded bliss was a humbug,—that 'domestic
happiness was a rosy fiction,' and that wed
lock doubled sorrows, arid divided joys—in
which the said Thomas Titefits Trowser was
guilty of a misdemeanor against the peace
and perpetuity of the Commonwealth, the '
said Thotnas litefits Trowser is therefore J
hereby charged wiih such misdemeanor
against the peace and perpotuity of the
Commonwealth. What says the prisoner to
all and several of the charges hereio made—
' Guilty or no: Guilty!' '
The prisonef plead justification, atledging
that as his salary was RO small, that he could
not afford to marry and dress well too, he
was obliged to say severe things in order to
avoid being wedded against his own will
and consent by some of those present!
Two or three ol tbe young ladies present,
to whom the prisoner had some slight atten
tion in his more prosperous days, offered to
volunteer as bis counsel. Their request was,
however, refused by ihecourt—wno charged
tbe jury entirely against the prisoner. Baiog
let off after they had been charged, the jury
returned in a few moments with a verdict of
Guilty, but with a recommendation to the
merry of tha court, on account of tbe prison
er's youth.
The prisoner was immediately brought up
,fUr vcniemsi ■ Us was.■ wlf-paw*'gqC, boi
pale, while the Judge read the few words
that were to mark the whole future of hia
life, and perhaps oblige him to live plainly
forever. The Judge spoke aB follows:
"Prisoner at the bar—you have been tried
by a jury of your countrywomen, and after a
fair trial of ten minutes, have been found
guilty of having grossly maligned the mar
ried stale—a crime the meanest and Itateful
lest, and have endeavored to escape its con
sequences by a paltry excuse, which, if any
thing, makes your crime the greater. The
sentence of the court ia, that you be taken
back to the room whence you came, sell
your stud* and sleeve-buttons, and charms—
that ynu take no mote Sunday carriage rides
—and go to the theatre but once a week ;
and that you proceed to place yourself in a
position to hang upon the neck of some fair
girl, and that you bang by that neck until
you are married—married—married!"
Tbe prisoner was tben removed N. York
The Religion for Childhood-
If both world and church will only leam
what the child's simple presence may leach,
instead of teaching what he cannot innocent
ly learn, the truth may datVn upon them, that
he seldom requires to be led—only not to bo
If the name of God is to bo sweet to young
hearts, it inust stand for their highest, not
for ours; and many a phrase, rich and deep
in lone to us, must be shunned as sure to
jar on spirits differently attuned. Oh I how
many obstructions have not veracious men
to remove ere they can find their true relig
ion I How long do they say their prayers
before they pray, and bear and speak of
holy things without a touch of worship.
The religion of the child is a cheerful rev
erence; and with its aweet light no tinge
should mix from the latter solemnity and in
ner conflicts of futth. Let him take his vow
with a glad voice; if you drive him prema
turely tu the confessional, you make him
false. The matin hymn of life to God
is hope and praise; and
without violence to nature, you caunot
displace it for Ihe deep, loud breathing ves
per song; the rosy air of so fresh a lime was
never made to vibrate to 'hat strain. Even
from tba stony heart of old Memon on the
waste, beams vivid aa tbe morning wrung a
murmur of happy melody; and only at tbe
dip of day did a passing plaint float through
the desert V stately silence.
If only we will not hinder, God has provi
dence most rich in help. Judge not the
child's mind by your own; not fancy that
yofi have a religion to create against some
I powerful resistance,. which skill ia needed to
evade or proof to overcome. Hia spirit, if
unspoiled, ia with you, not against you.
NEVER SATISFIED. —The Chattauooga,
(Teno.) Advertiser of Satarday last, says
Every day for several weeks we hve haJ
run. The fears now enterlained*by ihe fa 3
met are that the earn will be so large that ha
cannot father it.
Tralb and Eight God asd onr Coin try.
Who shall judge a man from manners *
Who shall know him'by hi* dress 1
Paupers may be fit tor princes,
Princes fit for something less.
Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket
May heclothe the golden ore
Of the deepest thoughts and feelings-
Satin vests could do no more
There are springs of crystal nectar
Ever welling out ol stone ;
There are purple buds and golden
Hidden, crushed, and overgrown.
God, who counts by souls, not dresses,
Coves and prospers you amljne,
While lie values throne the highest
ilut us pebbles in the sga.
Man upraised abnve hts fello<>B, t
Oft forgets his fellows*then ; ' '
That your meanest Muds are men I
Men by labor, men by feeling*
Men by (lioughJ and men by fame,
Claiming equal jights to sunshfffo
In a man's ennobling flame.
There are loam-embroidered oceans,
There are little weed-clad rtlts,
There are leeble inch high saplings,
There are cedars on the hills;
God, who counts by souls, no; by stations,
Lives and prospers you and rnc;
For to Him all vain distinctions
Are as pebbles in the sea.
Toiling haruls alor.e are builders
Of a nation's wealth and fame ;
Titled laziness is pensioned,
Fed and fattened on the same,
By the sweat other's of foreheads,
Living only to rejoice,
While the poor man's outraged freedom
Vainly lifteth up his voice. ,
Truth and justice are eternal,
Born with loveliness and right ;
Secret wronga shall never prosper
While rhere is a sunny richt ;
God, whoss world-heard voice is singing
Boundless love to yotT and me,
Sinks oppression with its titles,
' As the pebbles in the sea.
How to be lleultby.
It is an every day remark wl.h travellers
in this country, that Americans owe their"
sallow complexion to the climate. There is
doubtless some truth in the assertion. But
the truth is less than is generally suppored.-
That a comparatively equable temperature,
a moist atmosphere, and the absence of sul
try heats exercise an influence on the com
plexion, the example of England conclusive
ly allows. And that similar effects of climate
often become hereditary characteristics, the
light skina of the Northern races and the taw.
r.y ones Of those living Under the tropics, es
tablish as fully. Neverihelesfe we must be
careful not to exazgerate thia.iii.Au ance, as
those do wbg attribute. IhyniUtwness of
Americans entirely to climate* '
For ir we compare the rural wph the urb
an population, we shall find that the former'
is much more florid than the latter, though
both live exactly under the same climate.—
Wo shall also discover, it we prosecute our
inquiries in still another direction, that per
sons inhabiting the moist atmosphere of a
sea-coast exhibit considerable diversity of
complexion, wheress, if climate was the sole,
or even principal cause of this difference,
there would be no such result. The truth is
that habits of life have more lo do with com
plexion than the height ofthe thermometer,
the absence of moiviure in the atmosphere,
or the power of the sun. A man with a dis
eased liver cannot help being yellow. A
worn in who ri>es at daybreak to milk the
cows finds it impossible to keep the sickly
cheek, which fashion and folly in great cities
absurdly unite to call delicate and lady-like.
It is want of exercise, of fresh aTr, and of at
tention lo eating which makes oar men sal
low and our women pale.
The English women live lar more out of
doors than ours do. Among ourselves l far
mers aud farmers' families are constantly in
the open air. Both have, as-we know, fresh
er complexions than the mass of Americans;
arid both, as a general rule, enjoy better
health. Invariably, if a woman has a brill- j
iant color in this country, she either comei*
from the rural districts, or takes an unusual
amount of exercise in the fresh air. Even
where American ladies have been celebra
ted for their bloom in youth, they have often
Income sallow before thirty, simply because
they lall into the ordinary indolent bablte of
their sex. To sit all day jp close rooms, to
cower over a hot flue, or to lounge on a so
fa, reading novels, is but a poor cosmetic,
and a worse medicine. Even plants wither
. when excluded from light aud ah-. A walk
at early morning, or a breezy ride, would
make our daughters more beautiful, and our
wives more healthy.
Sallow, dyspeptic women cannot but have
sons with a proclivity as increasing in every
generation, lo be sallow and dyspeplie men.
Suoh boys, if bred in cities, gel comparative
ly little fresh air; and unusually, in after
life, still less exercise. Such as are put to
active mechanical pursuits are ap exception
to the rule ; and such, we
are freshest .ia
those who
fesaional men, or ]
suite, generally- y-1
tern, to tlie injury
wonder that such yei- j
low valetudinarians,
even age
descendants with
dyspepsia and sallownes#?
Neither men
the law* oi life with impunity.
do not eat temperately, eeek fresh simH|
take daily exercise, meat inevitably pay tSP
■of a disordered liver, an impaired
or a colorless cheek, il not of all
P- To preserve the health of onr
if the beauty of our women, there is
note need to prescribe out of door exercise
than aalomelor aconite.—Ledger
Wonder of Ihe Atmosphere.
The atmosphere forms a spherical shell sur
rounding the earth to a depth which is un
known to us by reason of its growing tenuity
as it is released from the pressure ol its own
superincumbent mass. Its upper surface
cannot be nearer to'us than fitly and can
scarcely he more than five hundred miles. It
surrounds us on all sides, yet we see it not:
it presses on us with a load of fifteen pounds
on every square inch or surface ol our bodies,
or from seventy to one hundred lons on us all,
yet we do not so muoh as "feel its weight.—
Softer than the finest down, more impalpable
than the finest gossames, it leaves the cob
web undisturbed, and scarcely stirs the slight
est flower that feeds on the dew it supplies ;
yet it bears the fleets ol nnlions on its wings
around the world, arql crushes the most re
fractory substances with its weight. When
id motion its force is sufficient to level the
most stately forests and stable buildings with
the esrth; to raise the waters of the ocean in
to ridges like mountains, and dash the strong
est ships to pieces like toys. It "warms and
cools by turns the earth and the living crea
tures that inhabit it. It draws up vapors from
the sea and land retain them dissolved in it
self or suspended in cisterns of cleuds, and
throws them down again as rain or dew when
required. It bends the rays of the sun froir.
their path to give us the twilight ol evening
and of dawn ; it disperses and refracts their
various lints to beautify the approach and re
treat of the orb of the day. But lor the at
mosphere, sunshine would burst upon us and
fail us at once, and remove us from midnight
darkness to the blaze of noon. We should
have no twilight to soften and beauiify the
landscape, no clouds to shade us from the
scorching heat; but the bald earth as it revol
ved on its axis, would turn its tanned and
weathered front to the full snd unmitigated
rays of the lord of day. It affords the gas
which vivifies and warms our frames, and
receives intb itself thal'whicb has been pol
luted by nee and is drawn off as noxious. It
feed* the flame ol life exactly as it does that
of the fire; it is in both cases consumed and
affords Ihe food of consumption ; in both ca
ses it becomes combined with charcoal,which
requires it for combustion, au'd is removed
be it when this is over.
" It is only the girdling encircling air," says
a writer in the North British Review, "that
flows above and around us that makes the
whole world carbonic acid with
which to cay our onfehirig fills the air, to
morrow sucks its way round the world. The
rlate trees that grow around the falls of the
LNIIC a ,ii or nk it in by their leaves; the ce
dar* ►! -. .- anon writ take it to adu to their
slat ' ; trie cocoa nuts of Tabita will grow
rapid - upon it; and the palms and bananas
of Ja ( n will change it into flowers. The
oxygen we are breathing was distilled for us
some short lime ago by the magnolias of
Susquehanna and the great trees that skirt
the Orinoco and the Amazon; the giant rhod
odendrons of the Himalaya contributed to it,
and the roses and monies of Cashmere, the
cinnamon trees of Ceylon, and, the forests
older than the flood, buried deep in the heart
of Africa, far behind the mountains of the
Moon. The ruin we see decending was
thawed for us out of the icebergs winch have
watched the Polar star for t-ges ; and ihe lo
tus lilies have soaked up from the Nile and
exhaled as vapor snows that rested on the
summits of the Alps."
"The atmosphere," says Mann, "which
forms the outer surface ot the habitable world
is a vast reservoir into which the supply ot
food designed fur living creatures ia throwu ;
or, in one word, it is itself the food in its
simple fgrm of all living creatures. The an
imal grinds down the fibre and tissue of the
plant, or the nutritious store that has been
laid np within its cells, and convents these
into the substance of which its own organs
are composed. The plant acquires the or
gans and nutritions store thus yielded up as
food to the animal from the iuvuluerable air
surrounding it; but animals are furnished
with the means of locomotion and seizure—
I tbey can approacn their food and lay hold of
and swallow it; plants must await till their
food comes to them. No solid particles find
access to their (tames; the restless ambient
air, wbtch rushes past them loated with the
carbon, the hydrogen, tha oxygen, tbe water,
everylhiug tbey need in the shape of supplies,
is constantly at hand to minister to their
wants, not only to Bflord thorn food in due
season, but in the shape or fashion in which
it alone can avail them."
The Female Blind.
The influence of the female mind over
the etronger mind of man, is greater, perhaps,
than many are willing to acknowledge. It*
operations are various, and some men atrug-
I .sengage themselves from
that mordMHhM
jf many, when*be ranges
e ol that which is wrong;
ible to calculate the influ
"woroen, when that influ
wtlh tenderness and mod'
produced by a bad amgpan
nd compared to twflpst
tho overflowioga or the
ooean ; but the influence of a virtuous wo
man ia like the gentle dew aud morning
showers, which descend silently and softly,
and are koown oaly by tbelr effect* in the
•miliog aspect of the valley* and the weight
of the autamnal branches.
(Some of tbe Consequences ot a Humor.
The following curious story, in illustration
of the Hussian military rules, is translated
from a German paper:
i At the time the report of the taking of Se
vastopol was current, a rich nobleman from
the town of S—, on the Irontier of Gallicia,
received a letter announcing tha fall of Se
vastopol and the burning of Odessa. He had
some friends with him at the same lime to
whom he communicated the contents, re
questing them, however, not to mention it.—-
Unfortunately his wishes were disregarded,
and in a few hours nothing in all Warsaw
was spoken of but the burning or OJessa
and taking of Sevastopol.
The report was carried to Prince Paskia
witch, who immediately sent fur the noble
man and asked him— r
"Count, Irdm whence have you flue news!"
The nobleman handed the Prince the letter.
"There is not a word of truth in all this,"
said the Prince.
"I thought so," answered the Count, "and
I only mentioned it to a few confidential
friends, with a request not to repent it." "The
government hat full confidence in you. as
you have repeatedly given proofs of yoor
loyalty;" said the Prince; "we are far from a
wish to punish you for this. But (desire
that you shou'd convince yourself by
ure trip to Odessa and Sevastopol, that the re
port is totally lalse." "As your Highness
orders." "Go to my Secretary, slid he will
tell you of my Itirthor wishes."
The Count lelt and repaired to the Secre
tary, who handed him a passport. Scarcely
had be arrived at the house, when an aid-de
camp entered and announced to him that the
carriages and posthorses were awaiting htm.
During the time the burning of Odessa and
the taking of Sevastopol occupied all Europe,
our unfortuna'e Count wa9 on his unwilling
' journey, behind four fiery steeds, loconvince
himself of the truth Of the teporl. At Odessa
he was taken to the palace of the Governor,
who received him very kindly, but immedi
ately ordered him to Sevastopol. Here also
he was politely received by MenchikotF, ta
ken everywhere, and then immediately sent
' back :o Warsaw, where, as soon as h& was
! out of the carriage, he was conducted to the
\ Prince, who accosted him with the remark,
"Well Count, what do you now believe!
Are Odessa and Sevastopol taken ?"
"Oh your Highness," answered the Count,
I who was hall dead with the fatigue of his
| hurried journey, "both towns a>e still secure,
! so seenre that they never can be taken." Go
I then, Count, invite your confidential friends
to your house, tell thom, under the seal of
I secresy, all -that you have seen, so that on
' this day all VV arskw riiay know it.'/
Scarcely had ihe Count reached hia house
! when the same aid-de-camp entered and
! handed him the bill of the expenses of the
journey. The unfortunate Count had to pay
- seven thousand and several hundred silver
roubles for his indiscretion.
I Since this affair, no one in Warsaw tells, even
, to his bosom friend, dews from the seal of
war although it should have appeared offici
ally in tbe public journals.
Cumin's Ingenuity.
A farmer attending a fair with a hundred
pounds in Iris pocket, look Ihe precaution of
j depositing it in the hands of the landlord of
' the public house at which he stopped. Hav
, ing occasion for it shortly afterwards, he re
sorted to mine host for payment. But the
I landlord, too deep for the countryman, won
: dered what he meant, and was quite sure no
I such sum had ever been lodged in his binds
1 by the astonished rustic. Alter ineffectual
' appeals to Ihe recollection, and finally to the
' | honor of Bardolpb, the farmer applied to Cur
' 1 ran for advice.
i | 'Have patience, my friend,' said the cnur>
>el: 'speak to the landlord civilly—tell him
: you. have left your money with aome other
i person. Take a friend with you, and lodge
j with him another hundred id the presence of
| your friend, and come to me.
, He did so, and returned to his legal friend.
'And now I can't see that I arr. going to be
; any better off for this, if I get my second
hundred back again, but how is that to be
done V
'Go and ask him for it when he is alone,'
said the counsel.
'Ag air, asking won't do, I'm afraid, with
out my vjittneMßMwny rate.'
' Never my advice,' aaid the
couri!T— you and return to me.'
The farmer murned with a hundred, glad
to find that safely in his possession.
'Now, air, I must be content, but I don't
see I'm much better off.'
'Well, then,' said the counsel, 'now take
your friend along with you, and ask the land
lord for tba hundred pounds your friend saw
you leave with him.'
We need not add that the wily landlord
found he had been taken off his guard, while
our honest friend returned to thank his coun
sel, exultingly, with both hundreds ia his
oh ioar. of 750,000,000 'ranees will
is saidj a depositor2s percent, as
istalment. This argues pressing ne-
Tbe first deposit so to be required
ount 10187,500,000 francs; btit the
nt is swrtlready to have borrowed
60,000,000 of ihe Bank of France, and would
consequently have only 127,500,000 francs
of Ihe new loan in hand to supply the enor
mous demands upon the Treasury for the
maintenance of tha law. The alleged rea
son for raising the first instalment to that
amount is not the poverty of tbe treiyury but
to favor tbe large capitalists, to whom amount
is no object, and so rendered diffioult to the
smaller pt leaa wealthy speculators. When
the preriona loan Wat made everybody hav
ing meant wat invited to take it, and it VM
ao arranged that all oeuld do *•-—Ledger. '
per ASM*
EER 30.
The Origin of Medical Hefbrm.
A little more than half a century ago them
occurred in the family of SIMUCL THOMSOS,
of Surry County, New Hampshire, several
"—which the most learned doctors left, and
The congregated Colleges concluded,
That laboring Art could never ransom Nature
From h'er inaidablc estate;"
but which, by moans and remedies afterward
brought to bear by the anxious and devoted
husband and father, were restored to health,
thus proving the truth of the proverb,
"He tliaf of greatest works is finisher
Oft does them by the weakest minister."
Thomson was an obscuro New England
farmer. He never enjoyed the opportunities
of a literary or scientific education. He was,
nevertheless, emphatically One of Nature's
favorite sons, possessing perceptive and re*
floctive faculties la.go and well developed.
He loved and indulged in investigation. At
an early period his mind was directed to the
testing of the properties of many of the plants
found in Flora's kingdom. Here was open
ed a delightful and interestihg field of study.
All that he learned and witnessed he re
membered and profiled by. These peculi
arities combined, in time and with some ex
perience, made hint able to determine the
particular class of remedies indicated in cer
tain formsof disease, and to administer them
with astonishing results. The time came for
the practical use of this knowledge. Hav
ing watched with anxious interest the ope
ration and efl'ects of allopathic medication
in his own family, and having time and again
been summoned to hear tho unwelcome in
telligence, 'Yonr wife—your child must die,'
his wonderful powers wero more particular
ly brought to boar in a ncm direction. He
could not givo them up without yet Another
effort to save them. The indications to his
mind were plain. He felt satisfied that the
allopathic appliances were in direct antag
onism with what struggling Nature demand
ed. Inexperienced as he was he applied
what his judgment dictated, and the result*
wero wonderful—his wife, his children werd
restored. His practice and success was not
long limited to his own family. Others a
round him, that were given up as hopeless
victims to the insatiate monster*applied to
him for relief, and not in vain. He cured
them. Finally he concluded to devote his
time to attending upon the sick. His fomo
begin to spread as being able to relieve what
the learniugof "three thousand years" could
not. From all sections tlioy thronged to him.
From all directions came messengers solicit-
his aid.
B'hus forced as it were to build up .a nets
I system .of medical practice, Dr. Thomson
i set himself assidiously to tho accomplish
ment of the work before him. He resorted
to tho mo3t reliable sources of knowledge,
and subjected everything to the test of ex
periment. Step by step he marched on in
the career of discovery, and with increasing
wisdom came fortitude to surmount the
greatest obstacles. Nor did he remain con
tent till he had measured strength with those
forms of disease which were regarded aa
giant foes by the profession, and had dis
covered a remedy of sufficient potoncy to
resist their formidable developments. For
this purpose he visited places where violent
epidemics were raging, and practiced with
success whom the most eminent physicians
met with constant failures. The cold plague,
spotted fever, yellow fever, epidemic dysen
tery, and subsequently the cholera, wero
subjected to the new treatment in a largo
number of leases, and the results exhibited
a degree of success never witnessed in the
annals of medicint*
True, while many flocked to him, there
were those who, like Shakespeare's King
I of France, long endured their ills, reason
ing as many of this age do still,
Wo must not
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope
To prostitute our past—cure malady
To empirics;
yet as his success and sir ill became mcro
proverbial, even these were induced to seek
his counsel and solicit his aid, and like tho
King were cured.
Thus commenced the groAHMdical refor
mation of the nineteenth ceiflßP, which has
since sprAfcd far and wide over the Western
Continent, and .has oven made its voice
heard amid tho temples consecrated to tho
false gods of medical delusion in the Old
World, nnd promises, ere long, to destroy
those false systems JjfiU whose poisonous
fountains streams of qMBe and misery have
so long issuc^^Mbu
Now wo PI Thomson's
system was or that he taught
no errors. f say that essentially
he was ana we do contend that it
\va3 he that gave tho first groat moving im
pulse to truo Medical Reform by develop
ing, illustrating, and demonstrating the great
fundamental truth, that medicinet, to be suc
cessful, niust not tear against the vital power,
but on the contrary rouse up, strengthen aq4
assist it. This simple truth has been elab
orated into a beautiful science, and it is tho
basis upon which the superstructure 0 f Med
ical Reform is erected — Medical Titformer,
ty Madame Santa Ao n a, l' ie Meiioen
President's wife, ie cotnmg -, 0 Washington,
it, is said, and the event i | ook9<l op()n u £
premonitory symptom 0 f her husband's
speedy departure fr<v. o that oonntry. There
is talk of his volur.tary retirement 9* tho head
of the government, for the purpose el recon
ciling fractions.
Ie a grateful friend; use it Mail,
• M>4 it never falls to make suitable requital,