VOL. 2.-UO. 27.
BY S. B. ROW.
CLEARFIELD, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 18-50.
TRIP LIGHTLY OVER TROUBLE.
Trip lightly over trouble
Trip lightly over wrong;
We only make grief douhlo
By dwelling on it long,
Why clasp woe's hand so tightly ?
Why sigh o'er blossoms dead (
Why cling to forms unsightly ?
Why not eeck joy instead '.
Trip liphUy over sorrow;
Though this day m; y bo dark,
Tho gun may shino to-morrow,
And gaily sing the lark;
Fair hopes havo not departed.
Though roses may have fled;
Then never bo down hearted,
But look for joy instead.
Triplightly over sadness.
tand not to rail at doom;
We've pearls to string of gladness,
On this side of tho tomb;
Whilst stars are nightly t-hining.
And Heaven is overhead,
Encourage not repining.
But look for joy instead.
From tho Scalpel.
SKETCHES OF VILLAGE PRACTICE.
'It is not all of life t live,
2sor all of death to die."
Sabbath in the conntry! The serene, peace
ful Sabbath ; the time of rest, God-given to
man, for purification and prayer! In the city
the day never seems so truly good, so infinite
ly holy as in the country. The sweet sound of
distant village bells; the sight of cattle releas
ed from labor, browsing'in contented herds in
the quiet of green fields; the very chirp of the
countless insects, and tho innocent song of
the myriads of birds, all breathe of a Sabbath
morality, which in the great cities is lost en
tirely. The noise of active life ceases; naught
meets the car but the lingering echoes of those
calm church-bells, as they float on the unadul
terated, healthful air, to tho distant farm
houses. Goi made tho country, man tho town."
It is not unnatural to suppose that a greater
blessing rests with tho Divine work, than with
that of mere, however glorious, art.
I had been a resident of M some three
or lour wecKS, out nad boon detained from at
tending church each Sabbath by violent storms;
nnd, to confess the truth, I did not regret this
as much as I should, from the fact that I dread
ed my first meeting, as their sole and newly-
established physician, with the wealthy and
aristocratic inhabitants of that pretentious
village. I shrank nervously from the unavoid
able introductions, and the criticism which I
knew must as inevitably follow. However,
one morning I was bereft of my excuse ot bad
weather, and awakened betimes to find the
uay most oosunaiciy ciear. mere was not a
cloud ia the heavens that I could reasonably
persuade myself was tho signal of coming
rain; therefore to church we went, my wile
and I she all a-glow, with expectation, and
1 looking, as I thought, unusually charming in
her pink ribbons, and I (I acknowledge it can-
didly) somewhat oppressed with an indefiua-
i Lie sense of doubt and dismay.
I It was a small, fantastically designed build
xing, of an antique style of architecture, that
3 would have puzzled the wisest to determine;
. t 'et it was striking, artistic, and displayed de
cided and refreshing originality. Ivy and oth
4 cr vines crept in thick masses over the rough
i ""Jy-hewc stone walls, and darkened, with their
close embrace, the low, arched windows. In
. r ternally everything was plain and simple, as
all houses of true worship are, yet there was
riot wanting a certain air of quiet elegance.
The pulpit was strongly indicative of classical
- simplicity in its own form, and had few adorn
, ments; opposite iat the other extremity of the
church, was a sm ill, veiled gallery, containing
an organ and accommodations for a choir of
Bingers.
J Wo were early. I seated myself quietly,
and having nothing to occupy my thoughts,
f half unconsciously I watched the entrance,
i no by one, of the villagers. Among them I
but a face, which, as I beheld it then, has
haunted me for years. It was that of a man
:; in the prime of his life, handsome, well bred,
I and intelligent, but so inexpressibly sad, so
5 indicative of evident stagnation and despair-
ing dissatisfaction, that I turned away in hor-
ror that anything made by God should dare to
carry a countenance like that.
I The services began with slow, sonorous
. notes ot prelude from the mellow-toned organ.
Throughout the aisles of the little, antique
? church, up to the very rafters, floated that
? rare aobbing music, penetrating all hearts,
- sensitive cither to good or evil, with that del-
icate sorrow which Longfellow says
T is not akip to pain."
It faded as the burden changed from sadncs3
-to jubilant hope, and ended in sudden slaccalo
.chords of triumphant joy. All eyes were then
turned towards the pulpit, and all heads rever
ently bowed, as "the minister, an aged man,
arose and uttered a brief and impressive pray
er. It was ono of the most solemn things to
which I ever listened. Its beauty lay in its
V naturalness, undefilcd, as it was, by the arts
T showy rhetoric. It seemed to pass from the
venerable clergyman's lip3 up to heaven, as
Hhe sincerest language in which man could ad
dress and adore his Creator. By contrast, the
.cold brilliancy of the sermon that followed,
lost tt'.l fcrr.. cf ; it could not touch ilie like that
simple, honest supplication for Divine mercy.
jAll the after services of the day were nothing
no ni(J i I had poured out my whole soul with
I that prayer, and had no further powei or de-
lira (n u-Ael.ii t - r: . . . I
I discerned no lack of cl)Ucnce or minis
terial learning in that agei; vine's exhorta
tion, and although, as we 1 the church, I
heard many speak of it with-xpressions of
lively pleasure, I felt assured ; at Ire himself
was discontented with the disease. It was
like thin, fitful sunlight, veill a lowering
December sky; or, like snowlinding the
eyes with glitter, yet iu its actal self, very
cold and unsubstantial. I pcrccifd that there
was that beneath all this spark of words,
w hich few present understood. t s it private
: .r i ti-. : . . , .
b'"-" ! stoic Hidden ago:sy warring
ngainst unnatural restraint? I recognized
tho evidences of insincerity, but whether tem
porary or habitual, I could not discover.
When he ceased, I felt merely the t.ilence ;
there was none of tliat strange sensation at the
cessation of impassioned, nobly earnest deliv
ery which I had experienced often before.
''Certainly," thought I, "that man is either
very heartless or very miserable."
T!i3 congregation was pouring itself quietly
out, when in the usual organ voluntary, came
an abrupt bat slight pause, followed by deep
stillness. Immediately a human voice, a full
and raro man's voice, commenced chanting
thatr celebrated solo from Felix Mendelssohn
Bartholdy's "Messiah," "I know that my re
deemer livcth." Perfectly in time and tune,
although with no further accompaniment tiian
the few opening chords, the voice issued from
tho choir, bearing to world-weary listeners
consolation anil peace. It was not the noble
words, nor yet the nobler music, it was the ex
pression gathered by that fine voice from the
two, uniting in one glorious whole, till tho
very atmosphere seemed to thrill with its
wealth of melody. On the last notes of the
solo, as it faded magnificently into silence,the
organ's accompaniment recommenced, prov-
; by the purest unity of tho two sounds f.'ic
ucccssful intonation of the unknown rociUist.
Many curious eyes were directed towards the
gallery, but tho curtains wcic tightly drawn,
and the mystery still remained mysterious.
Some casual movement, however, momentari
ly displaced a portion of the floating screen,
and revealed to me a glimpse of the dark,
handsome face I had before noticed; and it was
no less dark, handsome, or discontented, than
when I beheld it then. I asked myself,, in
wonder, if that soulful singing ami that mo
rose, unhappy countenance belonged to ono
and the same individual.
The close of this Sabbath day was destined
to reveal to mo a strange fragment of the life
history of this very man.
The night fell, dewy and starry, but with an
oppressiveness of atmosphere that was not,
in that part ot the country, an uncommon con
sequence on long continued rains. The
ground was almost destitute of moisture, and
the grass of that harsh, vivid green, so de
structive to vision. The air was heavy and
breathless, the very stars seemed to blink with
the universal drowsiness. We were just seat
ed at our plainly furnished tea-table, when
there came a startling peal from the little pri
mitive knocker on the hall door.
"A visitor," said my wif?, settling her cap.
"A patient," said I, rushing from the room,
just in time to upset a black boy who ran vio
lently against me. Alternately rubbing his
bruised sides, and grinning from car to ear at
the adventure, he informed me that "massa
was took sick iu a great hurry," and then
scampered off, having first pointed out a large
and conspicuous house, quite near to my o-n,
as the residence of tho sick man. I had often
before noticed it for tho elaborate arrange
ment of its extensive gardens.
In a few moments I was in tho chamber of
the first pa'.icnt to whom I had been called du
ring my residence in M . The room was
large and brilliantly lighted; bouquets of deli
cate flowers were scattered over it evidently,
illness had been totally unlocked for by tho
master of the dwelling. As I entered, the
face of my patient was hidden from me by tho
pillows in which it was buried. The wile, a
young, slight thing, half sat, half reclined be
side him, her head bowed on her bosom, her
pale hands tightly locked one in tho other.
She raised her eyes as I entered, and on see
ing me, a sudden gleam of something which,
if it were no! hope, had all its beauty, passed
over her features.
'Doctor!" she cried wildly, advancing to
meet me, "Doctor, save him save him!"
Before I had time to answer, a voice from
the other side of the bed uttered in a low, so
norous, but self-possessed ton6 :
"It is too late !"
Glancing quickly that way, I saw the gray-
haired minister. On his hands were great red
spots of blood ; the pillows, the sheets were
marked with it; aud on the white dress of tho
young wife glittered also fresh crimson stains.
"He is dying," said the old man, reverently
kneeling at the bedside; "lmnian aid is of lit
tle consequence now. Again I say, it is too
late. Abner, my boy, do you hear me you
are dying !"
I approached the bed, and as I did so, tho
sick man raised his head, and I saw before me
the beautiful, despairing face of tho morning.
The dark eyes were fiercer and brighter, and
deeply sunken in their sockets, while the hea
vy masses of hair and beard gave tho ghastly
complexion a still more unearthly hue. He
had ruptured a bloodvessel. At a' glance I
saw that tho case was hopeless, and that the
little I could do, wero almost as well undone
Life was fast ebbing away mortality verging
into immortality. I caused his face to be
bathed, and the clotted blood washed from his
nostrils and beard that was all.
Meanwhile the old man sat there on the
bed's edge, clasping ono of those colorless
hands in bis own. He kissed tho almost life
less forehead, ho bent over that dying man
with the nnxiefv which none but a father
could feci at such a moment.
"Abner, Abner," ho whispered, "do you
ran vou hear me t 11 you can, lor wun
sake give me some signal ?"
The eyes, gradually assuming a dull,dreamy
look, closed wearily, aad opened again very
slowly. A low wail burst from tho wife. The
old clergyman turned upm her quickly, and
said, with bitter imperie:sncss :
"B still. I must sneak with him!" Then
bending again over thelid :
"Abner, have you thj&aght " Death ! Shall
wo pray have you m e peace with God?"
There appeared tobe a sort of convulsive
effort on the sick mar s part to attain a sitting
posture. For a mor-ent he seemed possessed
of perfect conscioi-;n:s3 antl perfect strength.
"God!" he r.hocd hoarsly; "father, how
dare you name im ' God! You, who made
me what I am; you, who goaded mo to sim,
and all 'for r'nt')" money ! Was it so precious
to vou tha' J must sell myself, body and soul,
marry for 't f Don't speak to me of God !
There is 'onc no God no God !"
He 5111k back on his pillows exhausted.
Blood burst anew from his mouth. He tried
to off more, but the words were drowned In
the warm tido that bubbled over his chest.
XrA she, tho wife, stood there in marble calm
jiess and heard that which was to blast the rest
of her voting life. Her hands were clasped
again, her eyes fixed unflinchingly on the
Moor. She neither moved nor spoke. Look
ing at her, you would iiao your very
heart melt with compassion, so wild, so for
lornly miserablo was tho,. expression of that
sweOt, girlish face.
"Abner, Abner, my son," was all the father
spoke with his blanched quivering lips.
Tho momentary flush faded from the sick
man's features. I stood by him and wiped
the blood from his mouth, and I knew that in
a few moments all would be over. There was
no struggle, but there was that gathering shad
dow on his forehead which is so terribly un
derstandable. Seeing this, the iutenso de
spair on his wife's face grew a trifle morcstat
uesque, and her hands locked themselves in
voluntarily tighter, till blood gushed from tho
smooth palm that came ia contact with the
finger-nails. Not a word was spoken, not a
sound broke the deep stillness of the chamber,
but the indistinct and oppressive breathing of
tho dying man. I thought it grew fainter and
slower, and I bent down to place my finger on
tho wrist, and to listen more intently ; but the
old man waved me fiercely, jealously away.
"Touch him not," he said, "for ho is deadl"
Vnd I thought, indeed, that it was so ; for
even as he spoke, the faiut respiration sudden
ly ceased, and the pallor of an everlasting un
consciousness crept slowly over the still fea
tures- But in another moment, I saw that -life
was not yet extinct. The eyes again partly
unclosed in the same powerless, dreamy way
as before, arid an indescribable radiance for an
instant lit up the pale, handsome face hand
some even then, but with an unearthly beauty
"God!" the colorless lips muttered, "God
there is a God!" and a smile, whoso utter
serenity I have never seen equalled, flickered
around the mouth. Then the shadow deepen
ed, fell, and ho expired. It seemed as though
the soul had been half freed, and, returning,
gave evidence of that eternity which it but
partially had entered!
A woman's voice, sobbing, at last broke the
dreary silence. The old man rose, and ap
proaching his dead son's wife, said feebly:
'Esther, be comforted; God is over all ?"
She drew her hand from his clasp wiih a ges
ture of unequivocal abhorrence.
"Comfort ! " she'echoed, with a great defiant
flash of her black eyes ; '-comfort ! you preach
to mo of comfort! Hypocrite!" she hissed
the word from between her closed breath, with
startling, indignant energy. "It is all clear
to mo now. Who was it plotted and schemed
to bring us together ? Who tempted him into
marriage where there was no love on his side
none, none, O my God but for money?
Answer me thai!"
Her dark hair had become disentangled of
fastening, and now fell, in wild, confused
grace, over her bare shoulders. Her white,
upraised arms glittered in the bright light of
the lamps, tho scarlet ornaments floating from
the sleeves, falling over them in vivid con
trast. Never shall I forget the impression
created by that indignant appeal, and tho tra
gic, excited beauty of this injured woman.
All this was many years ago, yet I never recall
that Sabbath night without a shudder. Fre
quent as arc terrible or touching scenes in the
lite of a physician, I remember none that own
power so to unman me as the memory of this.
And the sequel was no less sad. Within a
year another grave was made for the poor, de
ceived wife. On the death of her husband,
she sank into a stupor from which nothing
could arouse her, and which terminated at last
iu rapid consumption.. It is strango that I ;
should recollect the day she died. It is as
new in my mind as yesterday. White, freshly
fallen snow lay on the ground. It had cme
early that year, and many leaves were still
hanging crimsomed on their boughs. Tho
trees were loaded with light fleecy fragments
of snow, among which these brilliantly-dyed
leaves gleamed out in the sunshine like blood
on a woman's fair face.
LIFE IX A NUNNERY.
FROM MISS BC.NKLET'S SEW BOOK.
It will be readily imagined that the unnatu
ral state of things prevailing under the conven
tual system is calculated rather to promoto
than prevent the rising of those petty jealous
ies and dislikes which must be incidental to
such an association. Without the strong tics
of kindred or friendship to bind them one to
another, it is not likely that the poor prisoners
of a convent will spend in perfect harmony the
tedious hours and years of their compulsory
seclusion. Asingle incident may let tht read
der into the realities of that relationship which
Borne pretends to constitute among tho un
happy inmates of a nunnery, and which she
designates by tho deceptive name of "sister
hood." Having been sent one evening to work in
the boarder's refectory instead of that of the
sisterhood, while standing near ono of the ta
bles at which the boarders were seated, I took
up a basket and carried it to the scullery for
some bread- Scarcely had I entered the room
and handed the basket to the sister who had
charge of tho department, when I felt myself
seized by tho arm, and, looking round, saw the
angry countenance of the sister who presided
at the boarders' table. She asked me, in a
passionafo tone, by whose authority I had ta
ken the basket for bread, and whether I had
been appointed waiter by tho Superior. I an
swered no, and that I would not have taken the
basket had she not ordered me, the night bo
fore, to do so when alio had said that bread
was wanted upon the table.
The sister told mo that I had no authority of
the kind, and that she would report me to the
Superior, and have mo brought before "the
council." I replied that I was not conscious
of having done wrong; but she followed mo
into tho porch, talking in a loud and angry
tone. I dreaded the '-'sacred council," and
went at once to the novitiate, and told tho
mistress of novices what had just occurred.
She answered mc that I had "many a cross to
bear."
That evening, while on the way to my cell,
I noticed in one of the cloisters a sister lean
ing against the wall. She beckoned me to
her, and then made a motion for mo to follow
her. I soon found it was the sister who had
ill-treated me in the refectory. I becamo a
larmed, as she was leading me to a balcony be
yond the cells. I whispered that I must go to
my call that I would bo missed. By this
fimo we had reached the balcony. She insist
ed that I should wait, closing, at the same
time, tho door after us. Just then, hearing a
noise near by, as if some one was crossing the
poreh to tho infirmary, we walked on a few
steps to escape observation. The sister then
fell on her knees, asking my forgiveness for
having abused mc, and begging me not to
speak of what had occurred should I have an
interview with Superior priest. I would here
state that, in those interviews, asister is" ques
tioned as to any difficulties she may have had
with others in the community. I promised
sccrcsy, and went to my cell.
Wearied and exhausted with my duties in
the academy, besides my evening work, an ir
resistible oppression of soul aveighing down
my powers of mind and body, I tried in vain
to sleep. I thought of my ill health, caused
by tho laborious exercises I had to perform,
and the sufferings and sorrows I had under
gone since my reception in the community.
I looked out upon the future: it appeared to
stretch before me, even into eternity, a drear
path on which no beam of sunshine would fall
to cheer, and in which no voice of kindred
love would breathe its music of consolation to
my heart. I sighed for my home. In deso
lation of spirit, I mourned for its remembered
love. But the fearful consciousness camo to
me that I was severed eternally from all that
made life dear. At length I rose, dressed,
and groped my way along the cloister lead
ing to the choir, and from thence down tho
narrow flight of stairs into the chapel. It was
dark, save for the few rays that streamed from
tho solitary light which burned dimly in the
sanctuary. Kneeling before the alter, I fas
tened my eyes upon tho crucifix above it.
Long and earnestly I gazed, but the feelings
that filled my soul wero too deep to find re
pose in tho contemplation of any material ob
ject. I bowed my bead upon the railing, and
wept. Ere long, the image of Him who had
suffered arose to my view4; the pure and holy
Savior of tho world, whose mild, benignant
eyes, in their pitying tenderness,' penetrated
to the depths of my wretched heart, and shed
a blessed hope npon its gloom. I prayed
prayed earnestly, and from the heart ; my de
sires flowed from its inmost depths. With
streaming eyes and unutterable groans, 1 ask
ed Him, tho Savior of tho world, to deliver
mo from this prison, this den of cruelty and
hypocrisy. I believo it to be tho only time I
prayed from my heart while in the institution.
With this outburst of emotion, this pouring
forth of my grief to God in spirit and in truth j
I found relief.and became composed and calm.
I know not how long I had been kneeling,
when I was startled by deep drawn sighs and
sobs, proceeding from tho direction of the
'seven sorrows' altar, which is at one sido of
the chapel door, under the choir. Fearing ob
servation, I arose, and hastening down one
sido of tho chapel, reached the stairs leading
to tho choir. As I entered the choir, I saw a
dark figure glide past me, and go into a small
passage behind the organ. Frobably this per
son was in search of tho poor heart-broken
crcaturp whom I had left weeping so bitterly
at the foot of tho 'seven sorrows' altar. For
tunately 1 escaped notice, and, softly closing,
tho door behind me, reached my cell just be
fore the bell rang for morning prayers in the
chapel.
A Discovery in Peru. The Hon. Thomas
Ewbank, in a letter to the National Intelligen
cer, communicates soiae interesting informa
tion in relation to recent discoveries in the ex
cavation of Peruvian tumniuli. It was re
ceived by Mr. Ewbank from W. Evans, Esq.,
engineer of tho Africa and Tackna railroad, in
Peru. Mr. Evans states that in making exca
vations for the railroad at Africa, hundreds of
graves are demolished, in which are numerous
Indian relics. The excavations are seventy
feet deep, and as tho soil is looso sand, and as
the work proceeds, everything from the top
comes sliding down dead Indians, pots, ket
tles, arrow heads, fee. Among other interest
ing mortuary relics, an Indian was stirred out
of his resting place, rolled up in a shroud of
gold. Before Mr. Evans had knowledge of the
incident, the workmen had cut np this magni
ficent winding sheet, and divided it among
themselves. With some difficulty, Mr. Evans
obtained a fragment, and dispatched it to Mr.
Ewbank. Mr. Evans notices as a very remark
able fact, that in hundreds of Indian skulls
which he had examined, not ono has contained
a decayed tooth. Mr. Ewbanks thinks the
weight of tho entire shroud must havo been
eight or nine pounds, and had it been pre
served would havo been the finest specimen of
sheet gold that wa have heard of since the
time of the Spanish conquest. In some elo
quent remarks upon the preservation of souv
enirs of the departed, aud tho futility of at
tempting to securo the great dead from con
tact with their native earth, Mr. Ewbanks says
it is the foim or features and not tho body or
substance of the dead that should bo preserv
ed, and adds :
"Tho mummies of Egypt are quarried for
fuel, and whether thos of tho Pharaohs, their
wives, their priests or their slaves, aro split
open and chopped up with the same indiffer
ence as so aiany pine logs. The gums and
balsams used in embalming them have mado
them a good substitute for bituminous coal;
and thus the very means cmplo3-ed to preserve
thura have become the activo agents for their
dissipation. So it is when materials of coffins
have a high marked value, they are then seiz
ed as concealed treasure, and their contents
cast out as rubbish. Like heroes in the East
ern hemisphere, the descendants of Nauco
Capoe were sometimes, if not always, entomb
ed in such, and with considerable treasures
besides in vessels of gold and silver: henco we
learn how the Spanish conquerors sought,
often found, and as often plundered rich In
can sepulchres."
ATorcniSG Scese. A correspondent of the
Elmira Republican says that in a recent trip
over the New York and Erie liailroad, an in
cident occurred that touched every beholder's
heart with pity. A comparatively young lady,
dressed in deep mourning her husband hav
ing recently died was travelling southward,
having in her care and keeping a young daugh
ter of some six years. Tho little girl was
mild-eyed as an autumnal sky, and as delicato
as the hyacinth her emaciated fingers trans
parent as tho pearls of Ceylon. Touchingly
beautiful was the affection of hef heart for tho
mother, whoso solicitudo for the daughter's
comfort was unceasingly manifested. - Look
ing ever and anon from the car window, she
turned to her mother, saying : "Mother, I am
weary when shall we get home V After a
time sho fell into a lumber, then awakening
suddenly a radiant smile overspreading her
features she exclaimed, pointing upward:
"Mother there is papa homo at last V and
expired. It was yet many weary miles to tho
mother's home, but the angels pitying the lit
tle sufferer, gathered her to the paradise of In
nocence. narry Erskinc, of facetious memory, was
retained for a female named Tickle, against
whom an action had been brought. On the
trial he commenced his address to the court
"Tickle, my clicnt,the defendent,my lord.
The audience amused with the oddity of the
spocch, were driven into .hysterics by the
Judge reply ing :
"Ticklo her yourself, Harry, you are as well
able to do it as I." -
On tiie Oetside. A man with an cnormons-
ly large sucker, called on a dentist to have a
tooth diawn. After tho dentist had prepar
ed his instrument and was about to commence
operations, tho man began to strain and strech
his mouth till it got to a frightful width. -Say
sir," said the dentist,"dont trouble yourself
to strech your month any wider, I intend to
sland.on tho outside of it to draw your tooth."
WINTER IN ST. PETERSBURG. .
To defend one's self from tho weather the
most constant and niinuto precautions aro re
quired. In October tho Russians, and all who
have been in the country, assumo fur clothes,
and keep them in continual wear until tho
month of April, after tho ice has broken np on
tho Neva. Stoves aro lit everywhere, and
each family lays in a stock of birchwood, tho
braise cf which is more abundant than any
other wood. There is a servant especially
appointed to attend to the stoves, and his duty
is to keep up, as much as possible, an equal
heat throughout the house. Tho best etove
kecpers, whoso fame procures them a high
salary, are generally from Moscow. Twenty
degrees of cold do not appear astonishing to
an inhabitant of St. Petersburg, though ho
then casts a curious look at the thermometer.
At 23 or 21 degrees, constant rounds aro
made during tire night to prevent tho polica
and sentinels from falling- asleep on their
posts. Should tho cold bring on drowsiness,
and the sufferer not be able to prevent him
self from yielding to its influence, he must
perish, as he can only wake from his sleep in
tho other world. At 25 degrees, the theatres
are closed, and all thoso who aro obliged to
go out on foot, hurry along with their utmost
speed, most anxiously looking at the noses of
all those whom they meet ia the street. If a
sudden paleness of which no intimation is
given by any physical feeling should appear
on that part of the face the passer-by rushes
forward, and commences rubbing the afflicted
feature of the alarmed passenger with snow,
to produce animation. The same thing may
occur to tho operator himself before the hour
is over. At CO degrees of cold, tho poor pop
ulace alono go out doors; entire families shut
themselves up; and not a single sledge of any
appearance or fashion is seen in the streets.
Yet even then the military reviews are not in
terrupted, and the highest dignitaries, up to
the Emperor himself, repair to them without
a cloak. It must bo evident that, with cold
of such intensity, tho sufferings of the poor
must be dreadful; yet it may be affirmed with
out exaggeration, that the lower classes, in
winter, suffer les in Russia than in England.
Tliera are places in Tarioua quarters of every
large town of the CMpire public establish
ments, heated by large stores, where eTery
person that pleases may take refuge. Travel
in Rzsiia.
Si5crx.An P11TMOLOGICAL Fact. The trans
ference of vitality which appears to take place
when young persons are habitually placed ia
contact with the aged, is not a nursery fiction.
It is well attested by very competent authori
ties. "A not uncommon cause,"observcs Dr.
Copeland, "of depressed vital power, is tho
young sleeping with the aged. This fact,
however explained, has been long remarked,
and it is well known toevery unprejudiced ob
server. I have, on several occasions, met with
tho counterpart of the f ollowing case : I was, a
few years ago, consulted about a sickly and
thin boy, of about four or 2ve years of nge.
He appeared to have no ppecific ailment, but
there was a slow and remarkable decline of
flesh and strength, and of the energy of tho
functions; what bis mother very j.tly termed
a gradual blight. After inquiry into tho his
tory of the case, it came out that hchad JgC3
a very robust and plethoric child, up to his
third year, when his grand mother, a very aged
person, took him to fcleep with her; that be
soon afterwards lost his good looks, and that
hecontinucd lodecline progressively ever since
notwithstanding medical treatment. I direc
ted him to sleep apart from tho aged parent,
and prescribed gentle tonics, chango of air,
&c. The recovery was rapid. But it is not in
children only that debility is induced by thhs
mode of abstracting vital power. Young fe
males married to very old men, suffer in a sim
ilar manner, although seldom to so great an
extent; and instances have como to my know
ledge where they have .suspected the cause Of
this debilitated state. These facts arc often
well known to the aged themselves, who con
sider the indulgence favorable to longevity,
and thereby illustrate the selfishness which,
in some persons, increases with their years.
Every medical practitioner is well aware of tho
fact, and parents arc generally advised not to
allow their infants to sleep with aged persons.
John Randolph was one of the most sarcas
tic men that CTer lived. Onetime a young
man attempted to make his acquaintance. Ho
obtained an introduction and among the first
remarks raid: "I passed by your house lately
Mr. Randolph." "I hope you always will!"
was the reply.
Another once twitted him as to his want of
education. "The gentleman reminds me,"
said Randolph ia reply, "of tho lands about
the head waters of tho Montgomery, which
are poor by nature and cultivation h entire
ly ruined them !"
The Size of Losrox. London is now the
greatest city in the world, and far surpasses
all the great cities of antiquity." "According
to Gibbon the population of ancient Rome, m
the height of its. magnificence, was 1,200,000;
Nineveh is estimated to havo had 000,000; and
Dr. Med hurst supposes Pckin. to have 2,000.
000. The population of London, according to
recent statistics, amounts to 2,500,000414,
722 having been added to it during the last ten
vears. Tho census shows that it contains 807, -722
inhabited, and 19,89 uninhabited houses. -
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