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GLUME 7.
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From Ike N. Y. Evening Altrrer.
Poi'tii) DEAD,
Thare is a certain iudesoribabia pathos in
thefolloivihg lines, which will remind the ,
reader of flood's "Bride of Sighs,"' though
there is nothing in common between the two •
poems, save a touching sadness add a breath- i
ingofthe "human." "Found Dead 1 ' isfiSm .
the pen of Mr. Albert Laighton, whose po- ]
ems we noticed at some length last summer.
Found dead—dead and alone :
There was nobody nerv, nobody near
When the outcast died on his pillow of stone-
No mother, no brother, no sister dear,
Not a friendly voico to soothe or cheer,
Not a watching eye, or a pitying tear. <
Found dead—dead arid alona I
In the roofless street, on a pillow of atone.
Many a weary day^went by,
While wretched and worn be begged for ,
bread,
Tired of life, and longing to lie
Peacefully down with the silent dead. I
Hunger and cold and scorn and pain. I
wasted his form and seared his brain, ,
on a bed of frozen ground,
With "ene was the outcast found.
Found dead—deaif and alone
On a pillow of sionb in the roofless streol—
Nobody heard his last lam*, moan, 1
Or knew when bis sad hsart oeaseTTo beat."
No mourner lingered with tears or sighs,
But the stars looked down with pitying ef.es,
And the chill winds passed with a wading
sound a ' i
O'er the lonely spot where his iorm was
found.' , "
Found dead—yet not alone;
There was somebody near, somebody near
To claim the wanderer as hie own,
And find a Lome for the homeless here.
One, when every human door
Is closed to his Children, seamed and poor,
Who opens the Heavenly portal wide ;
Ah ! God was near when the outcast (lied.
PORTSMOUTH, N. H., Nov., 1865. ,
■ 1 ;
The New fluveu Tragedy—What the !
Prsphctess saw While l)ead.
The NSw Haven papers give at length the
testimony produced in the Coroner's inquest
on the body of Matthews the man who had
hisihroat cot by the Wakemanites, because
be bpd a "bad spirit in him," Samuel Sly,
onefjf this uew sect confesses that be killed
Mali tews because Amos Hunt gave the
"tai spirit to Matthews, wbioh was hurtihg
Sly'i sister." He nays:
I ruck Matthews on the temple first, and
brot ;hl him to the floor; Iben used the knife, j
and Iso the fork; struek him with the stick r
one before using tbe knife; as near as 1
can ecollect, bis bands were not lied ; I did
aff his coal; when I struck him with
the lick he fell down and did notssy e word;
the tflueuce I was under led me to da this;
be I I down upon bis side and evidently
stru ;led, but did no: attempt to get up ; be
did ot use bis bands to prevent my cutting
bis roat; Ibe light in the room was upon
the telf at the lime ; as near ts I can reeol-
I leel I cut bis throat several tiroes, and stabb
ed t) fork into his bresst fever at times; he
did ot grbah much, and did not aay any
thin ; I struck him with the stick several
timi after he was down; I held his bead
i up l cut his throat; 1 believe the fork was
■a tl room, and it was used for taking the
lid c' tbe kettle upon the stove; 1 hid the
fork ml afterwards earned it back and put
it in be room, so it would have tbe appear
and of bis killing himself; look off bis uost
afte I had cut bis throat.
V tile giving tiro account of tbe whole af
fair te seemed desirous of telling the truth
wit Hit hesitation. He kept the Bible in his
hat all the time, and frequently said, during
the onfesstpn, that he narrated the facts "in
tbe fear of the Lord." He appeared ex
tra lely nervous, and any noise in the room
. Mined to disturb him very much. This
ne. ousness appeared to be a constitutional
dif sully. He said be was bom in 1803,
tint is now nearly 52 years of age. He said
_-*• thir wben four years of age, he received a
eat apon the head, wbicb injured his brain
considerably. In consequence of this, he
seemed unable to collect hia Ideas as read
ily as was oftentimes desired by the jury.
Sly had mads a clean breast of the whole
affair to Shenff Parmelee, in the morning,
and manifested a desire to tell tbe whole to
tbe jury. This declaration was made to the
Sheriff voluntarily, and without being desired
to do SO. i r"! t *S >••.
The
leader of this peculiar sect, shows the char
acter of the delptipn : , t qf
Mrs- Rhode WakeutPn, the prophetess,
called and sworn.
This witness i* tbe founder of* the eeet
called the "Waletaianittf," and is a Wonder
ful specimen of the human specie*. She
came in closely veiled, end is the vsvy per
sonification of the wonderful women that
Iked in Salem in the sixteenth century.
i shall he 70 years old en neat November;.
have lived in New Haven seventeen years ;
' have bid seventeen children, nine of whom
are now liiiog; have been a widow twenty
i yet A; I formerly lived ic Greenfield, then
L moved to New Haven; my brother ho* also
resided here; he is about 00 year* of age;
BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 17, 1856.
J have been/a "messenger" torn God about
thirty years; experienced • religion at that
time and walked With Jesus Christ ever since;
first experienced religion because my hus,
bind abuheil me and I expected to Idie, and
be finally killed me ; after my husband kill
ed me I was dead seven hours and then rais
ed ; two angels stood beside me when I want
to Heaver, and tonched me with their bright
[ swords and I rose again; saw (here all that
was dead, and there (hey weri under a cloud
of death; when I was (here this cloud parted
and my spirit went one way and theirs the
other; 'hey all tbea held up their little while
hands and iejoiced; the two angels turned to
the and then I went up to Heaven; there;
was a red light and many white clouds lhe*e;
Christ c.yne to roe when t was in Heaven,
with Vis nails In his hands, a ; tid sivoku peace
to my soul ; because he spolcj peace to my
soul 1 wired up, and another spirit came to
me aw! spoke saying.- Make your peace
with bod I then kept on praying ;he soon
took me to P'tadiae and told me alt abou'
Adam and Eve and ell tbe other spirits ; this
light, iben came on me so that 1 bad to look
up, and the spirits said I was numbered one
of then ; was taken up to Heaven from this
place of light, and thou saw Christ and all
the Holy Angels; Christ bad on the thorns
and looked as when he was cruoified ; then
saw God sitting upon his throne in all bis
glory ; about the throne were all the angels
in their while robes, aud they were ail hap
py spirits there; this spirit then came and
took me back to earth and when I got back
to earth again I saw my dead body lying on
the floor; I felt bad because I had come
back to this wicked world to live again ; J
eoin saw my wicked husband, who said,
"By God, she's raised 1" Soon after I saw
two angels, who came to me and spoke to
m kindly, and then Christ appealed to me,
anil i fell down before him. And oh ! how
ttypy-I fell! end how happy 1 then was ! I
vrent to God with my case last night, and
had a revelation from Him; that man was
in league with.tbe devil; he (meaning Mat
thews) got his evil sptril from Amos Hunt;
Hunt attempted to poison me. (She went
on and gave a long, 'rambltdg account of
Amos Hunt's poisoning her.) The first ffiing
1 knew of the murder was when they came
up stairs searching for a hatchet; I kuew that
my brother had a stick of witch-hazel in the
house ; be sells the bark, and livee by o
doing; I was sick that night, and expected
to die, and asked them to to take Matthews
out of the house ; he had such a bad spirit
1 that he was taking away my divine spirit and
killing me by it; Amos Hunt wa#lhe man
of sin, and be put his spirit on Mailliews; if
I should die, the judgment would come; this
man of sin cursed God when be died ; there
was a black spot on the throne of God ; in
my revelations from God last night, He said
if I was condemned iu this case the world
would be immediately destroyed; in this
revelation I was told by God that my brother
did kill Matthews, and that he did it to
jSave the world!
f This singular revelation here closed and
\he "messenger from God' ; (as she calls her
*|lf) was tskeu balk to jail.
A Candidate tor n Schoolmaster.
BY HORACE B. STANFORD.
A \sw years ago I chanced to be a mem
ber OBthe superintending school committee,
and a rating the various comical scenes that
came utxler my notice, I must relate tbe fol
lowing :\
One afkrnoon, as I aal at my desk, a wag
on rattlsd\i) into my doorjrJ, and in a few
momenta i\ore there came a thump upon my
door. I vup to see what was wanted, and
I found upottmy piazza ona ol the most ori
ginal specimens of the geniua Yankee that
it was ever my lot to fall in with. I mean of
sucb Yankees a* we read 01, but wbicb are
seldom seen. Hp stood about 'six feel two,'
was rather lean, |nd yet giving evidence of
plenty to eat. Hit dress was evidently his
best, though the coat and hat had surely
come down io him from a gentleman that
had passed away. His vest was of a blue,
homespun cloth, short, and buttonod with
brai-s buttons; bis neckerchief was of check
ered gingham, while the wee bit of a dickey
which had been pulled op to sight above it,
wfes but a more extended binding of hia cot
ton shirt. His face was open enough, in all
conscience; and his hair, which was of sev
eral hues, from that of flux to that of a wilted
bar, bad been greased thoroughly, but it
j|ould not stick down. His boots were evi
dently made fdl wear, and were visible ball
way up to tbe top, the trousers either having
shrank up or msyttep having been roaJe to
clear the mud.
'Mornin' -'squire,' said he in a tone not un
like the grating in a saw-mill.
'Good day,' 1 returned, not wiphiog to re
peat bis exaot salutation, seeing it was nearer
evening than morning.
'1 kiad'a thought as bow I'd come an' git
yeou to gin me a sartiferkste, bein' as they j
wanted me ( tb hev one alore I commence
keepin'schewl ußbietaown.'
ft waa in the fell, and as the day was cool,
I asked tbe applicant to walk in, hinting to
him first, that he could wipe his (set oh the
mat. He gave his boots a wipe and then
followed me to my study. He look a seat on
my lounge deposited his bat upon the
floor, and then took out an old pocket-book
from eoniewhere witbfi) bis vest,
"Kf you'te in s hurry, 'squire, don't know
as ihoro!|i he any need of you're 'gamtoin'
me, for. I've got a tatlifarkate from the seiek
men of aoiir taown. I kep sebewl that last
winter; an'you'd better b'leve 1 made the
wool fly. Jos' |t me tell yer tut that," he
Truth and Right God tod our CouHtry.
rattled on with as mnch aesursncp as man
could have, and in a.lone of self .esteem,a
head of anything 1 ever suspected from hia
fooks. "You see thpy have got the a(J-fired
est ugly sot of boys over ihero in Perdishun
Holler, ye ever hearu tell on. Why—they
licked the schewlmueler an' lugged '<<P aout
of the schewl'ouse every winter for six win
ters, By gimerky, J was mud. Sezl,jelet
me Itepp that schewl."
The kommifty heurn tell on me, ao' they
sent for me at wonst. They* 'zsmined me,
an' guv me a sartifetka.:e rile orf. An' loom
menced tbe schawl. Sum of the big boys
commenced wonst or tvfist to kick up a row,
bui apple sarse an' greens! didn't I wollup
'em. You never seed such a schawl as
'(Was. The folks said as haow there hadn't
beer, such a schewl thar for forty years!
The "schewlmaster" waited a few mo
ment* to see if 1 would express any astonish,
mom, but as I did not he went on.
"I.'seemed 'it some of the folkß down here
in Pordunk hev hearn tell haow I sukseeded,
and they've sent fur me to kum an'try my
hand thar."
I remembered now to hsvpheard the agent
of the .school in tbe dialriot which was gen
erally known as I'aukunk, say that he had
sent to try and hire a teacher who kept a
school in B , the previous winter, and
I suppose this must be the one. His fame
bad puly reached our town connected with a
thrashing exploit, jn which be bad floored
some half dozen big boys.
"As I was say in,' 'squire, thar's no need
of your'zamm'tV me. Here's the aartifer'
kale."
And as be thus spoke he banded me a soil
ed and crumbled paper, which I found to be
indeed u bonafide certificate, and signed by
two of the school committee, of B .
"Or course you'll give us a rekomendasbun,
squire!". ,
"I believe f must examine you a little,
first," I saki; for f had a curiosity to'see bow
much the fellow really knew.
"Wal, ov course you ken. But raally,
squire, I dono but I may be a little mite riisty.
Hain't brnsbed up any lately. But rayther
reckon yeou'll find me some. Haow'lt you
take tne ? What comes first t
"Suppose we-try a bit ol Geography-first,"
Said I.
"Wal," lie uttered, not quite so confident
ly as before. "Go ahead. But mind, 'squire
—as I said afore, 1 may need a little brush
ing up.
"What is the capital of (bis State?" I asked
first.
"Port—!— Let's see—ya-as—Portland."
"No, no," said I. "Portland used to be,
but Augusta is now tho capital."
"Wal, naow I didn't know that. It's been
changed sense I studied jography. Howsom
ever, go ahead."
"What is the capital of Massachusetts!"
"Wal," he replied, slowly and solemnly,
at the same time counting bis Augers, as tho'
the solution weie to be arrived at mathemat
ically, "naow, let me sec, that's clean way
daown sumwhar by the OBhun. I never was
thar, bat Joe Popwhack, as we used to call
'im—lie was thar. By thunder, 'squire, Joe'd
be rather astonished ef he knew I Was a
keepin schewl, wouldn't he. Ye see Joe-
Martin, bia name is, but we call him Pop
whack 'cause he used to use that word. But
Joe don' know mnch, but, howsoraever go
abend 'squire."
"Well," I returned, feeling that he would
net enlighten me on Geography, "suppose
we try English grammar."
"Thai's yer sort. Ye see I never took much
pains with jography, 'cause the master al
tars has a book, an' lie can tell jest whar all
them places is. But yeou'll find me to hum
in 'rithmetick, naow I tell ye. I've devoted
the most of my lime (o figgers, for up in aour
pails they want their beys to cypher."
"But first," said I, holding in tbe laugh
that was trying to burst out, "tell me wha 1
grammar is."
"Sanin," ha responded, with in energy
that led me to look for more understanding
of the matter than I had expected, "grammar
is the study wot's got naouns—an'—verbs,
an'—au' tich sorts ov thing* in it. Yer see I
' han't quite forgot it vol,"
"No, I see not. Can you tell me what a
noun is?" > 1 ■
"Wal, I'm afeard yeoure got me thar.—
But than you see, it's all in the book, an' I
ken tell when the schooler* recit* right. But
yeou'll find me to bum iu rithmetick.'?
"Very well," (aid I, "suppose we try it.—
In a piece of land ten rods long, and (our
rods wide, how many square rods are there."
Mr. Sprigge, for so I call him, commenced
to count- his fingers energetically.
"Wal," he at length uttered slowly and
thoughtfully, "ten rod long an' four dee*. —
'Juess wu'd better try that by square resrt,
hadn't we. .'sqqire!"
"Any way you please," I replied, tiiroiiik
' my fane towards the window, 'to hide the
smile I could no longer repress.
The "candidate" studied bard for soma
moments, counting hia fingers over and over
' again, and at length be broke oat in a sort of
' relieved tone.
"Look heiw,'squire, rather think that ere'll
come under the head ov surveyin', ac' ya
' see I never studied that. I never had no,
wat-dye-call it—the thing tbay stick up on
three leg* to look itrroegh; never conld ford
it. Bet naow gin a* tumthin' of • common
schewl kind."
"Well," s*id I determined to let tbe fel
low answer one question if possible, "sop
pose a bushel of corn is worth one dollar,
now much are tea bushels worth!"
Again be went over hie fingers.
"Yeou mean shelled com, I 'spdse,"he
said after a while.
"Yea." I answered.
"Cause it makes a good deal of difference,
yer see,'baont that. Corn on the eat'll over
run the bushel ef it's good for anything.—
Naow the corn we raise 'll overrun four
quarti to the bushel. Ten bushel of earsM
> make mor'n a bushel of shelled corn. Yer
see T should be particker 10 'splain this to
my scholars, 'cause ye see, 'squire, I mean
to fit 'em for the bizziness of life. Naow a
good malty schewlmaMers don't dew that,
hut I deW. Ginger ahd Jerewealera, 'squire,
yew ori to see me handle the big boys when
they git ionruly. I tell ye they don't try it
mot'n wonst."
I despared of getting eren one fair ho
swer from my applidanf, and f concluded to
drop him.
"Mr. Spriggs," said I, as politely as I
could, "I'm afraid "you Wouldn't suit here.—
I could not give you A certificate without
overstepping the boundstbf my duly."
"Yeou don't mean uttered the
poor fellow, iu a dulsful, sinking tone. "Why
I kep' last winter, W*s* ♦ft along fust rate.—
Guess yew'd belter let me try my hand.
Naow I tell ye, it'll be a great disappoint
ment to me. I've got rigged fork."
"I can't do it."
"But I ken brush up, 'squire. I told yer I
was kind o' rusty naow, but I ken overhaul
tliese things and look 'em up."
"Very well," I said. "When you have
brushed up and overlooked your studies
some, I should be happy to examine you
again." •
He went away with a sad and sorrowful
countenance; but whether he ever 'brushed
ap' or not 1 do not know, for he hat never
since shown himself to me.
Thie may seem overdrawn, but I will just
say that the fellow did not know one bit
more then I have represented, and yet he
hid a certificate, in which be was folly re
commended as • suitable and competent
person to be a teacher of youth, and it was
signed by two oi the soliool committee of
his native town. But I will simply add, that
the writing of the certificate betrayed as
much ignorance of the English grammar on
the part of the committee as Mr. Spriggs had
displayed in his examination.
The Widow Bcdott and Dean Craae.
Mr. Crane is a likely youog widower, whom
the Widow Bedott has set her cap for, an J
thus she endeavors to pave the way for bis
popping the question to her, and gets taken
in "dretfully *
"0, no, Mr. Crane, by no manner o' means,
'(ain't a miunit tew soon for you to begin to
task about gettiu' married again. I'm 'ma
zed you should be aleerd I'd think so. See
—how long's Mis Crane been dead? Six
months I —land o'Goshen !—why I'vnknow'd
a number of individdiwalsaet married in lens
time than that. Titer's Pni! Bennett's widder
that I wasatalkin'about jest now—she'twas
Louisy Perce—her husband had'nt been dead
but three months, you know. I don't think
it looks well for a woman to be in such a
hurry—but ior a man it's adifierent tbing—
circumstances alter cases, you know. And
then siuiwated as you be, Mr. Crane, it's a
turrible thing for your family to be without a
bead tpsuperintend the domestic consarns an'
tend to the children—to say nothin' of your
self, Mr. Craue, You dew need a compan
ion and no mistake. Six months! Good
gracious ! Why, Squire Titus dident wail
but six weeks arter he buried his fust wife
afore be married his second. I thought thar
wa'nt no partickler need o' hurry in'so, se'en
his family was ail grow'd up. Such a crit
ter as he picki out, lew I 'twas very unsuita
ble—but every man to his taste—l hain't no
dispersition to meddle with nobody's con.
sarin. Ther's old farmer Dawson, tew—his
partner hatn't been dead but ten months. To j
ba sure he ain't married yet—but be would !
a been long enough ago if somebody I know
on'd gin him any encurridgement. But tair.'t 1
for ma to speak 0' that matter. He's a clev
er old critter, and as rich as a Jew, but, law
ful takes! he's old enough to be my fktlier.
And ther's Mr. .Smith, Jubiter Smith, you
know him, Mr. Crane, hia wife (she t' was
Aorora P'ike) she died last summer and he'e
been squiulin' round the wimmen ever since,
end he may equint for eli the good it'll 00
him as far as I am consented—tho' Mr.
Smith's areepectsble man—quite young and
hain't no family—vary well off tew, and
qaite intelleelible—but I (ell ye what—l'm
puny partickler. O, Mr. Crane, it's ten year
come linnewary since I witnessed the expi
ration o' my beloved companion!—an on
common long time to wait, to be sure, but
tain't easy to find anybody to fill the place o'
Hezekier Bedott. I think you're (he most
like husband of ary ibdividdiwal I ever see,
Mr. Crane. Six months! moderation I cum*
yon should be steered I'd think 'twas tew
soon, why I'vs know'd—
Mr. Crane—"Well, Widder, I've been
thinking about taking another companion,and
I thought I'd ask you—
Widow.—"O, Mr. Crane, egeoose my eo n
motion—it' so onexpected. Jest hand me
that are bottle of cSmfire off lha mantlery
ehtlf, I'm tuther taint: do put a little mite on
my handketcher and hold U to my no*.—
Ther*—that'll dew, I'm rather more com
posed, jou may'proeeed, Mr. Crane."
Mr. Crane.— 1 " Well widder, I was going to
Ssk yon whether—whether—
Widow —"Continner Mr. Crane, dew, I
know it's turrible embsrrlsin.' I remember
whip my dezeased husband made the sup
position to me, he stammered and stuttered,
and wpa awfully flustered, it did seem as if
he'd never ge\it.but in the world, and t'sqs
pose it'a ginertlly the ease, at least it has
been the oase with all them that's made (op
positions to me—yon see they're ginerally
oncerting about what kind of an anser they're
agwina to git, and it kind 0' makes 'ym ner
vous. But when an individdivval has reason
to s'pose his attachment's reciparaled, I dont
see what need there is 0' hia bain'ffuetrated.
though I must say it'a quite embarrasaio' to
me— pray continner."
Mr. Crane.—"Well, then I want to know
if yon are willing I should have Melisty t"
■* '0 ' • ' • • • •
Mr. Crane.—"Why, widder, you surprise
me—l'd no idee of being treated in this way
after you'd been so polite to me, and made
such • fuas over me and the girls."
Widow.—"Shot yet head, Tim Crane, nnn
0' yer aasa to me. There's yer hat on that
are table, and here's the doer, and the soon
er you put on one and march ont 'o.'t other,
the better it lil be for yon. And I advise you
afore try to get married agin, to go out west
and See 'f yer wife's cold, and arter your sat
isfied oa that pint, jest pet a little lampblack
on yer bair—'twould add to yer appearance
undoubtedly and be of service tew you when
you want to Sourish around amongst the
gala, and whesi you've got yer hair fixt, jest
splinter the spine 'o yer hack, '1 wouldnt hurt
yer looks a mite ; you'd be entirely unrefut
able if you wae a little grain straight#;.
0 THK BELLE *KB THC STUDEKT.— At a cer
tain evening party, a haughty young beauty
turned to a student who stood uear bar, and
said—
"Consin John, I understand yonr eccentric
friend L— is here. I hare a great curi
osity to eoe him. Do you bring him here
and introduce him to me."
The student went in search of hit friend,
and at length found him lounging 00 the
sofa.
"Come, L said he, "my beautiful
Cousin Catharine wishes to be introduced to
you."
"Well, trot her out, John," drawled L—,
with ah affected yawn.
John returned to his cousin and advised hrr
to defer the introduction till n more faaoi
able time, repeating the answer be bad re-1
ceived.
The beauty bit her iipa ; but the next mo
ment she said—
"Well, never fear; I shall insist on being '
introduced."
After some delay, L— was led up and
the ceremony of introduction performed.—
Agreeably surprised by the beauty and com
manding appearance of Catharine, L
made a profoundly low bow; but instead of
ramming it, she raised her eyeglass, survey,
ed him from head to fool, and then waving
the back of her hand toward biio, drawled
oo t—
"Trot him off, John, that's enough !"
Titc GOVERNOR or MAINS ON THC LIQUOR
LAW.— Governor Wells iu his Message to tbe |
Maine Legislature, says of the liquor law,;
which was tbe great question upon which ;
the September election turned, that, with the '
light of experience, a new law may be form- {
ed, which will meet the wants of the com- I
munity. The sale of liquors, he admits, j
should be restrained, but only as far as ia
consistent with the rights of the citizens : j
"Whether a person will or will not use in
toxicating liquors as a beverage, ia a ques- |
lion ior his own determination. One may
persuade another as to what he shall do in 1
relation to himself in morals or religion, but 1
coercion in respect to such action is perse- j
cution. It is founded in tho sentiment that I
one knows what is better for his neighbor
than the neighbor know* for himself, and a
unity ot will must be made by compnlsion.-
An attempt of this kind is at war with the
very elements or civil liberty. Tbe wants
of tbe community will be satisfied- with a
very restricted sale, by granting licenses in
each city, town and plantation, to no mote
sellers than will conveniently accommodate
the purchasers. It is a desirable object to
place the traffic in the hands of respectable
citizens. Innholders furnishing liquors to
t to their gnests and travellers alone, would
stand iu tbe same situation as the heads of
families. Importers under the laws of the
United States should be allowed to eell In the
, original packages. And there are some clas
ses of persona to whom sales should be prot
hibileu, those whose habits show tbem unfi
to be trusted with what they are sure to use
improperly.
The public good requires that no intoxica
ting liquors should be allowed to be drank
in the shops where they are sold. Such prac
tices lead to breaches of the peace and other
conduct injurious to society. It does not ic
cotd with wise and consistent laws to forbid
the manufacture of au article which is per
mitted to be sold. No doubt the legislature
will enact a lew, with suitable penalties, that
will recieva the approbation of tha people and
will accomplish all that legislation can be ex
pected to do in promoting tbe oause of tem
perance.
Although many well-meaning persons have
approved of the existing law on this subject,
believing H to be the best instrumentality to
advance a good cause, it aecms to me that
they have done so without a thorough ex
amination and understanding of it, and that
no rational and unprejudiced man, who has
studied it attentively, can sanction its tyran
nical details, oud recommend it aa a rule o
government 10 a free people."
HINT* ONTUE DWBABBOF WINTER.
The lace of Nulur.o has again become
clothed ia white end wrapped in the con
gealed slumbers of Winter. The animal
creation readily adapt themselves to the
provisions of Nature and meet the changes
in the seasons designed for them with pleas
ure or apparent indifference. There is,
however, one exception, and this is "Man,
tho noblest work of God," —the animal most
perfect is all its ports, and which excels all
others in power of endurance,—the animal
that has received from the hands of his Cre
ate* the most perfect power of adaptation
to the seasons, and has this perfection
crowned with intellect to guide and control
him, thpt he may pass unharmed through
the changes of the seasons, so governing
his power of endurance as to be able to
pass not only without injury, but with ab
solute pleasure, from the melting rays of
sumjQer's sun to the withering frosts of
of winter's night.
Although tho Creator has endowed man
with such powers of endurance and adap
tation to vicissitudes; although he has placed
him for above the rest of the animal crea
; tioft, in the perfection of his organization,
, and given him reasoning powers to com-
i prebend the dignity of his superiority and
bis duty to God as the Croat or, and himself
1 as the croature, to maintain this superiority
by preserving the physical man as the "cask
et" that the "jewel"—the soul—may pass
untarnished back to the giver; although so
muck haa been done for man as an animal,
in giving him such superiority in power of
endurance and adaptation to changes in cli
mate and seasons, yet "how are the
mighty fallen!"
Compare the civilized man with the man
of nature and behold the contrast. The man
of nature comes forth with firm tread and
heavy muscular development; with life and
vigor coursing every nerve, and the vermil
lion current dancing merrily in every vein.
He bids defiance to the heat of summer, or
the frosts of winter, because he has main
tained the animal superiority, that the God
of nature has given him. Civilized man
exhibits a pale, feeble and trembling exist
ence, a closed and bloodless cutaneous sur
face, and consequently a dyspetic stomach
and care-worn brain have robbed him of
the beauty of his animal existence. He is
no longer able to bear the vioiaeitudes of
the seasons. The heat of summer depresses
him until he finds himself a fit receptacle
for every prevailing epidemic; the approach
of winter pierces him through with its chil
ling Waste, and colds, coughs, catarrh, asthma
and consumption become hie constant com
panions. He complain* of the severity of
the season. He may for a while brave the
withering froste of mid-winter, but its winds
whistle the requiem of his premature death t
—he falls a prey, at last, to the changes of |
the seasons.
Now why all this? Why should civilized 1
man snffer a sickly existence and a pre ma- i
tare decay, while the man of nature lives I
in the full enjoyment of health and longev- ]
ity 1 The latter is more exposed to sudden i
' changes than the former, and seldom suffers :
from winter diseases. Colds, coughs, astli
ipas, and consumption may be ihe immedi
ate cause of great mortality in civilized so
ciety ; but the reul cause—the predisposition
to disease—the foundation upon which dis
eases of the chest build, and without which
the system would scarcely over succumb to
the influence of cold, lies far back in the
sickening habits and indulgences of man
kind.
The man who obeys the laws of his phys
j ical being, defies the cold and braves the
I storm with impunity, because all the organs
| have a healthy action. The system itself
: is a citadel, the keeper is the available vi
! tal force, and when there is perfect integri
j ty, this force is thrown upon any part, suf
! ficicnt to protect the system against the im
| pressions of cold; or by virtue of its power
lof equilibrium, it guards the system against
the inroads of disease. This force depends
upon healthy digestion and healthy assimi
lation—two processes which cannot go on
harmoniously without strict observance of the
laws of life and health. Hore then we get a
view of the cause of so much sickness and
premature death in civilized society. All
poisons of whatever kind or name, when
taken into the stomach, are at antipodes
with (he laws of life. All over-excitement
of the brain, irregular habits or wrong in
dulgence of tho appetite and passions, arc
at war with life and health, and tend direct
ly to destroy or weitken good digestion or
assimilation, and in the same proportion de
stroy the vital force.
What wonder then that colds, coughs, ca
tarrhs, asthmas and consumption aro so 1
prevalent in the winter, plunged as society
is in physical and moral dissipation ! For
how can the system react against the with
ering effect of a Winter storm, when the re
activo energy is feeble, and the cutaneous
surface bloodless and collapsed? How can
the reactive energies be kept in full force,
and the tone of the surface kept up, and it
bo filled with rich blood except by good di
gestion ? And how can you secure gool di
gestion and assimilation except by properly
controlling the appetite and passions and
mental exercise ? But when these are all
trampled upon with impunity, digestion be
comes irregular and bad; the blood is there
by impoverished, the system depressed, aud
all the processes of life become abnormal;
the available vital force feeble and yielding,
and tho man bogins to fancy himself sick.—
The cause of the trouble is entirely over
looked. Medicine is resorted to with the
hope of remedying the evil, and in cases
where this is of pathogenetic kind, or of
the secret nostrum kidney, it draws tho avail
able vital force to the internal surface to the
detriment of the skin, building chronic
fire on tho mucons linings, ptoducing cos- ,
tifieness of tho bowels and constipation of
the skin. The attention of the physician is j
directed to the stomach and to the bowels;
they are irritated with drastic drugs to make
•hem expel, but very little attention is paid
to the closed up skin, although tho most im- (
portant exefsting organ of the whole body. (
These "twenty-eight miles of pores," hav- t
ing their mouths nearly closed with morbid
matter, cuts off cutaneous exhalations, forces
the vast amount of cutaneous excretions
upon the internal organs, which must, of 1
necessity, from overworking, produce con
gestion and chronic inflammation. The cu
taneous circulation being cut off, the skin
becomes dry, bloodless, and open to impres
f siona from every change in the atmosphere,
f Thus many a good constitution is sacrificed
on Ihe altar of self-indulgence and prodigal
i ity. Tho predisposition to diseaso is laid;
• the available vital force is (oo feeble to faadf '
I against the damp chilling winds of fall and
- winter; colds, coughs, consumption and
, premature death is the legitimate result—
■ Mortal Reformer,
[Two Dollars per Adudl;
NUMBER" 5&
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. '
We are not quite sure that we are guilty
of any wide doparturu from the rules of pro
priety, in setting down to pen a few thoughts
and reflections called forth by the time and
occasion.
Another your in tho running calendar qf
time has passed away. On the 31st of De
cember at midnight, with the stars for watch
ers, the Old Year died. lived its tints,
then full of things dwindled and finished and
forgotten, it went the way of—all tho years
before it. it is buried in the gieat sepul
chre of the post.
" Fleeting as are the dreams of old.
Remembered like a tale that's told
We pass away."
How rarely keeps anything PVenly on—-
Hero and there ah asjiirSn't for famo still
stretches after his eluding.hatlow it is tree—
here and there an enthusiast still clings tt>
his golden dream—here and there u friend
| keeps his truth, aud a ltlver his faith—bttt
how many more that were as ambitious, fth
enthusiastic, as loving as these when the
old year began, ore now sluggish and cold
and falso? Keep a record of life if you will,
and, as surely as it is human, you Will find it
a fragmented and disjointed history, Crowd
ed with inconstancy and change. Tlie links
of existence are continually breaking around
[ us, but how seldom do we properly heed
'kem.l Disease and .suffering havebeen ot
""■'"T'l' | """ - Hill IMI 111
eler of all—has been unusually busy intra
insatiato work. The bills of mortality in
, many of onr cities, towns and villages—es
pecially in tho sunny south from whence
have issued waitings of phreuziod anguish
because of the pestilence—hare been large;
nor has "the country" been eitempt from
the dread visitations of the pitiless Death
king. Youth aud age,'innocence, worth
and beauty are -stricken down on every
hand. Still the world moves on, and as the
past recedes, its brokeu ties are forgotten,
and the minds of till ate wholly absorbed in
the present and future alone. Such is life—
tho habit of mukind. f
But it were not well to allow the past to
be forgotten. To those couiem plating,inl-
I portant changes in the customs and usages
Of society— to those directing their talents
and energies toward the remodelingof some
of its venerable institutions—to those who
are battling against prejudice and persecu
tion in order to uproot great and primal Bt
rors that have been cursing tho world—to all
these its lessons and its experience are valua
ble, inspiriug encouragement and hope—
They teach that though worth has many op
posing obstacles -to encounter, and that the
approval of mankind is never won without
hard fought battles, yet that like the Hock
that lifts its head above the waste of waters,
lashed by a thousand storms, when the tem
pest is past it still stands, lifting its proud
front to heaven, defying its fury and smiling
at its ruge, so with Truth and Right, they
gain the triumph in tho end. And such les
sons of cheering hope cannot tail to reach
the heart, and give nerve and vigor to the
arm that essays to strike a blow in their do
fence.
Then as another—a NEW YEAR has been,
noiselessly ushered in, it were wisdom to
tako its begmning as a stand-point—look
back a little and around us, in order to know
where we stand—whether, as medical re
formers, we have gained anything—whether
we have made any advancement, or wheth
er all our labors have been in vain. Ap4
what are the results ? Why we find a mighty
revolution in the. medical world—in the
opinions of mankind—in the practice of tho
healing art, and all through the machinery
we have set in motion. Instead of the weak,
despised and trampled upon few of other
days we have become a numerous, respect
able and influential body, commanding tho
recognition and respect of those once lending
their iuiluencc to awo us with dungeons aud
inquisitorial prosecutions. The philosophy
we advocate and the doctrines wo teach at*
no longer treated with tho indifference and
contempt of bye gone years, but aro being
Investigated and adopted by those preferring
new truths to old errors. Our literature—
our Journals and Text-books have assumed
form and character, and ace sought after by
all classes; aud our Colleges are rapidly
filling with students of stamina calculated
to give character and reputation to any pro
fession.
Then we have no causo for discourage
ment. And as much contributing to these
gratifying results was wrought during the
year just past, we would conclude with tho
question, How much shall we accomplish
during the year just entered in? If wo al
low selfishness to govern us, and pursue a
course of discordant bickering we shall gain
but little, but by non compromising with er
ror, aud an amicable co-operation of effort
for the promulgation of medical truth, we
shall accomplish more for ourselves—for
our cause, and for humanity during the
twelve months to come than we have done
, for many—many months past.— Medical Re
former, Jan. let.
Lord Lindsay states that in the course of
his wanderings amid tho Pyramids of Egypt!,
he stumbled on a raumy, proved by its hier
oglyphics to be at least 3000 years of age.
On examining the mummy, after it was un
wrapped, he found in one of its closed
hands a tuberous or bulbous root. He was
interested in the question how long vegeta
ble life could last, and he therefore took
that tuberous root from the mummy's hand,
"planted ft in a sunny soil, allowed the rains
add defva from heaven to descend upon it,
and in tmxoburse of a few weeks, to hie as
touishmcrfl Ind joy, the roo't burst forth, and
bloomed &o a beautiftil dahlia. '■