M
I%ON.
Home is where there is One to Love Us.
BY CHARLES SWAIN
Homo's not merely four square walls
Though with pictures hung and gilded;
Home is where affection calls—
Filled with shrines the heart bath buildedl
Home- T go watch the faithful dove
Sailing.'aeath the heaven above us—
Home is where there's one to love I
limns is where there's one to love us!
Home's not merely root - and room,
It needs something to endure It; •
Home is where the heart can bloom:
Where there's some kind lip to cheer It I
What is home with none to meet!
None to welcome, none to greet us?
Heine is sweet—and only sweet
-Where there's one we love to meet us!
From Putnam's slonthly.
Summer and Autumn.
The hot nti !summer, the bright midsummer,
Reigns in its glory no‘V ;
The enrth is scorched with a golden fire,
There are berries, dead-ripe on every briar.
And fruits on every bough I
But the Autumn (lays, so sober Mid calm,
Steeped in a dreamy haze ;
When the uplmlils all with harvests shine
And we drink the wind like a fine cool wine—
Ah, those aro the Lest of (lays!
c irltrt (6n Ir.
LFrom Dickins's linuseh,ld Words fnr August.]
DOCTOR DUBOIS
Doctor Dubois had just finished a dinner
which, if not served up according to the phi
losophical princil les of 13rillat-Savarin; was
at any rate both succulent and substantial.—
Ile had turned his feet towards the fire—it
was in the month of December—and was
slowly cracking his nuts and almonds, and oc—
casionally moistening them with a glass of
genuine Beaune. Evidently he considered
that his day had been well employed, and
fervently hoped that the goddess Ilygela would
watch for that evening nt least over his nu
merous patients. A pair of comfortable slip
pers, presented by a nervous lady for his as
pidu-ous attendance upon a scratch on the little
finger of her left hand, adorned his small fat
feet. A black velvet skullcap was pulled half
' over his ears, and a brilliant morning gown
fell in graceful - folds about his legs. Bobonne
had retired to prepare the customary coffee.—
The evening paper had arrived. Fraught with
interesting, because as yet unknown intelli
gence, it was waiting on the edge of the table
to be opened. There might be news of a new
war or of an unexpected peace; some miracu
lous rise or fall of the funds might have taken
place. The worthy doctor had already thrice
glanced at the damp parallelogram of folded
paper; but it was his custom to tantalise him:
self agreeably before satisfying his curiosity.
Ile dallied with the little stone colored strips
that held the journal in a cross and bore
his name and address before he liberated it,
and was glancing at the first column when he
was started by a melancholy shriek of wind
that came up the Rue do Sevres, mingled with
the crash of falling tiles and ehimneypots, the
dashing of shutters, and the loud splashing of
rain.
, Whewi pester ejaculated Doctor Dubois, in
a tone of pleasant wonder; 'what a night!--
row fortunate it is that I am not called out!
This weather will protect me. All my friends
are going on nicely, bless them! No ono is in
danger of a crisis. Madame Favro has pro
mised to wait till to-morrow. Nothing but a
desperate case could make people disturb me
at such a time. Decidedly, I shall have one
quiet evening this week.'
The words were scarcely out of the doctor's
mouth when the boll of the apartment rang
violently. A physiognomist would have been
delighted with the sudden chanlie from com
placent security to peevish despair that took
place on the doctor's countenance. He placed
both his bands firmly on his knees; and, turn
ing round towards the door, waited for the
announcement that was to chase Lim from his
comfortable fireside:
••.'My poor gentleman,' said Bobonne, bustling
in with a platter, on which was the expected
coffee; 'you must be off at once. Here in a
lad Who will not believe that you aro not, al
though I told him you aro from home twice.
He says that his mother is dying.'
'Diablo!' exclaimed Dr. Dubois, half in ("im
passion, half in anger. 'Give too my coffee;
tell hini to come in. Where are my boots?
Indeed" if she be dying, really dying, I am
scarcely wanted. A priest would have been
more suitable. However, duty, duty, duty.'
'We shall be eternally grateful,' said a
'young man who. without waiting to be sum
moned, had entered the room, but who had
only caught the last words. 'When duty is
willingly performed it is doubly worthy.'
'Certainly, sir,' replied the doctor, question
ing Bobonno with his eyebrow& to know
whether his previous grumbling could_ have
been overheard. shall be with you directly,
Warm yourself by the fire, my dear young
man, whilst I arm myself for combat.'
The youth, who was tall and slight, not
more than eighteen years of ago, walked im
patiently up •and down the room whilst Dr.
Dubois pulled on .his boots, swallowed his
scalding coffee, wriggled into his groat coat,
half strangled himself with his muffler, and
received his umbrella from the attentive Bo
bonne.
'I have a fincre,' said the youth.
'So much the better,' quoth Dr. Dubois;
'but precautions never do any harm. Now I
am ready. You see a man. ma ' still be
sprightly at fifty. Go to bed, Bobonne; and
take a little tisane—that cough of yours must
be careil for—hot, mind.'
The. buxom housekeeper followed her master
to the door; and an old bachelor who witnes
sed the little attentions with which she perse•
cuted him—buttoning his coat tighter, pulling
his muffler higher over his chin, giving a tug
to the brim of his hat, and, most significant of
all, stopping him iu the passage to turn up his
trousers nearly to the knees lest they might
be sp;ired by the mud—no one of the doctor's
bachelor friends who witnessed all this (and
the occurrence was frequent) failed to envy
the doctor his excellent housekeeper. The
youth saw nothing. lie had gone down stains
three steps at a time, and was in the vehicle
and angry with impatience long before 'the
man of science bustled out, thinking that he
had been extraordinary . ' energetic, and wonder
ing how much more 'decision of character was
required to make a general of division or an
emperor. _
'Now that we are in full march,' quoth he,
as the driver was endeavoring to make his
drenched hacks step put briskly, should like
to know something of the case; not the par
ticular symptoms, but the general facts.—
What is your Mother's age?'
The youth replied that she was about forty,
and had been ill some time lier family had
supposed, I 'however, until then, that her dis
ease was rather mental than physical. lie
said other things; but the doctor felt certain
that there was something behind which shame
had concealed. ,
The yehicle continued to roll; but it had left
the Rue de Sevres, and was treading some of
the sombre streets between that and the Rue
do Varennes
'You came a long way to look for me,' said
the physician, half inquiringly.
The youth muttered some answer that was
unintelligible, and was saved from further
questioning by the stopping of the cabriolet.
On getting out the doctor recoguised the house
as one of the largest private hotels inLthat
quarter. ;lie had often passed by, and thought
it was uninhabited. The porte cochere was
opened by an elderly serving man, who looked
sad and sorrowful.
'She is not yet,' exclaimed the youth, not
Oring to utter the word of the omen.
'No, no! but she has begun to talk reason-
ably.'
'Bo frank,' whispered Doctor Dubois, as
they crossed the court under the hastily open
ed umberelln. 'line your mother's mind been
affected? It is necessary that I should know
this.'
'Yes, in one particular; in one particular
only. I will explain all; but it is very humili
ating.'
'Medical men are confessors,' said the doe
•
tor, sententiously.
'Well, you shall know everything; but first
let me entreat you to come in and Bee my poor
mother, and tell us whether there there is any
immediate danger. I think, yes, lam sure,
that if we can prolong her life but just a little,
health will return, and we shall have her with
us for many happy years.'
•Lot us hope so,' Dr. Dubois ejaculated, as,
after stamping his feet and shaking his hat,
muffler, and coat and depositing his umbrella,
ho crossed a scarcely finished hall and entered
at men, upon a liirge apartment on the ground
floor, preceded by his guide.
The inmates of the room were two, besides
the sick person, who lay in a bed at the 'further
extremity. There „was first an old man—a
very old man—sitting in a Chair, with his
knees advanced towards the remnant of a fire,
which he was watching intently with lack-
luster eye. His garments were scanty and
threadbare, but it was not difficult for a prac
tised eyo to see that he had formerly lived
amidst wealth .and ease. Ile rose when the
dootor entered, made a graceful bow; and then
sank back into his chair almost exhausted with
fatigue.
A girl of about seventeen sat by the bed
side of the sick person, in whose hand her
hand was clasped. She was' evidently the
sister of the youth who had disturbed Doctor
Dubois from his comfortable desert. The in
valid was deadly pale and fearfully thin; but
but traces both of beauty and intolligende re
mained on her countenance; at least so thought
the. doctor, whilst at the. same time ho was
detaching, as it were, from those sickly tea•
tures the expression which. formed their chief
characteristic, and which indicated to him the
state of her" mind. Combining what ho bad
already [heard with what he saw, -he easily
came to the oonolusion that one at least of the
Waitizart asiersh tii.) ,
mental faculties of his new patient was in
abeyance. He sat down in a chair which the
youth had placed for him, felt the lady's pulse,
put on his usual wise look, and, after haying
received answers to n: variety of questions,
seemed to fill the apartment with life and joy
by-announcing that there was no immediate
danger. The old man near the fire place, - who
had been looking eagerly over his shoulder,
clasped Lis hati'ds and cast up a rapid glance
to heaven; the servant, who still remained in
the room, muttered a prayer of thanksgiving;
and the two young people absolutely sprang
into each other's arms, embracing, laughing
and crying. The persrn Who seeriibli least
interested iu this good news was the sick lady
herself.
'What is the matter?' she inquired at length,
in a tone of mingled tenderness and pride.—
' Why are you so pleased with what this good man
says? You will make me believe I have really
been in danger. But this cannot be, or else
the Duchess of Noailles would have come to
see me, and the Countess of , Malmont and the
dowager of Montsorrel. They would not let
me be in danger of dying without paying me
one visit. By the way, what cards have been
left to-day, Valet ie?' '-
These words, most of which were rather
murmured than spoken, were greedily caught
by the observant doctor, who began dimly to
Perceive the true state of the case. He re
ceived further enlightenment from the answer
of Valerie, who, glancing furtively at him and
becoming very red, recited at random a list of
names; some of them belonging to persons
whom he knew to be in the country or dead.
'I wish to write a prescription,' said Doctor
Dubois
'Will you step this way?' replied the young
man who had brought him to that place, and
who now conducted him to a little room fur
nished with only one chair and a table covered
with books. Other hooks and a variety of
papers were scattered about the floor.
'A student, I see.' Dr. Dubois smiled. He
wished to intimate that he attributed the dis
order and nudity he could not but perceive to
eccentricity rather than to poverty.
'W'o must do what we can,' eagerly replied
the youth, as if delighted at the opportunity
of a sudden confession. 'We are too poor to
be otherwise than you see.'
Doctor Dubois tried to look pompous and
conceited. 'Madame de—de—'
'Jarante.'
't".ldadame de Jarante,' ho continued, 'has
been undermined by a slow fever, the result of
—what shall I say?—an insufficient supply of
those necessaries of life which humble people
- 601 luxuries. l'Ou need not hang your head,
my young friend. These things happen every
day, and the proudest of us have passed
through the same ordeal. How long has this
state of things lasted?' •
.Two years.'
long time. It seems to me that your
mother has been kept in a state of delusion
as to her position. She believes herself to be
still wealthy, still to form part of the world of
fashion, in spite of the accident which remov
ed her from it.'
'You know our history then
'Ono incident I know, in common with all
Paris. Every one rend in the papers the re •
port of the trial by which your family lost
its immense fortune. It thought you had
quitted Paris, and never dreamed that after
that disaster'—
'You mean disgrace,' put in the youth, bit
erly.
'That after that disaster you continued to
inhabit your old hotel in the Faubourg St.
Germain. Whenever I pass I see the shutters
closed. I see no one come in or go out. I
am not inquisitive. Indeed, I have noticed
these symptoms without even reflecting upon
them. I had forgotten your name. I now
understand that you have remained hero ever
since, living on the ruins of your fortune, and
keeping your poor mother in the illusion that
nothing has been changed; that she is still
rich, honored, and happy.'
'All this is true,' exclaimed the youth, seiz
ing the hand of the Doctor; 'but you do not
know all,'
" know enough,' was the reply, 'to make
me honor and respect you.'
The story which the young man, in the
fullness of his heart, now told was curious
and painful. M. do Chesnol, his grandfather,
the old man whom Dr. Dubois had seen in the
other room was ono of the nobles who had
emigrated during the first French Revolution.
lie had gone to America where he married
the daughtoy of a Virginia planter quite hope
less of ever returning to his native country.—
After a time his wife died, and left him with
an only daughter, lie came to Pails, whore
although his fortune was small, he was able
to give his child a complete education. After
eighteen hundred and thirty, now cams to
him from America that his father•in-law had
died, leaving all his property to him. Re
again crossed tho Atlatitio with his daughter,
then nineteen years of ago. On the voyage
out he made the acquaintance of M. de !Tar
anto, a young French nobleman of groat
wealth, who was going to the West in or:
der to spend his superabundant activity in
travel. .
An affection sprang up between this young
man and M. de ChesnePs daughter. The con
sequence was, that some time after their arri
val in America they wore married. But M.
de Jaranto had not entirely lost his wandering
propensities. Whilst M. de Chesnel was en
gaged in an unexpected lawsuit with the re
lations of his father-in-law—which ended in
the will being utterly set aside—the young
couple travelled together in various directions.
This lasted some years. Victor, the youth
who related the story to the Doctor, and Val
erie were born, and the mother found it ne
cessary to remain more stationary than before
to look after her children.. Then M. do Jar
auto undertook to explore Cordill3gps of the
Andes alone, and sent his wife and family
back to France.
Victor evidently slurred over certain domes-
tic quarrels here ; but it came out that M. de
Chesnel had reproached his son-in-law with
neglecting his daughter, and seemed to think
that it was partly because the , fortune which
she had expected had been taken from her.
M. Jarante afterwards returned in safety, and
led a very quiet life in Paris. His wife
thought that his restlessness was now quite
worn out; but at length ho again started for
South America, wrote home—frequently send
ing valuable collections which he made by the
way—and was last heard of when about to
undertake a voyage across the Pacific. .This
happened six pears before the period at which
Doctor Dubois became licquainted with the
story. For some time madame Jarante suf
fered no misfortune but separation from her
husband ; but at length his relations had rea•
son to consider him to be dead. They asked
his wife to give an account of his immense
fortune. She refused, saying that it devolved
upon her children.• Then, to her surprise,
they asked for proofs of her marriage. She
had none to give.
A trial took place, and, although seine cor
roborative testimony was brought forward, it
did not satisfy Hie law, and ;Madame Jarnnte
was not only deprived of her husband's for
tune, but was called upon to give an account
of many large sums she had,spent. M. de
Chesnel sacrificed all that iernained to Lim
to protect her. The hotel in which they lived
had luckily been taken in his name., They
sold the furniture piecemeal to enable them to
live. Then it was that Madame de Jarante
first showed symptoms of her mental disorder
She could not believe in the disaster that had
overtaken her: and, to save ger 'from com•
plete insanity, her father and cbildreli found
it necessary to commence.the'deception which
they had over afterwards been compelled to
carry on. Victor gave many details of the
extraordinary means they took for this pur
pose—always successfully. His mother
variablykept her room. Only within th 4 last
few weeks, however, bad she shown signs of
bodily decay. Assistance had not been called
in on account of their poverty.
'And what, may I now enquire,' said the
Doctor, deeply interrested, 'aro the grounds
of hopes of better times which you seem to
entertain ?'
am certain,' replied Victor, 'that my fa
ther is not dead. He will return there is no
doubt, and restore us to our former position.
All that I ask is that my mother's life shall
be preserved until then.'
Doctor Dubois did not entertain the same
confidence. 'Little stress,' ho said, 'must be
laid on presentiments of that kind. Mean-
while your mother must not be allowed to
want for any thing. You must borrow money
of some friend.'
•Wo have no friends,' said the young man
'Then I 'shall write a preseriptioo,' mut
ered the Doctor, as he- seized pen and pa
per
What he wrote was as follows
'Monsieur: I an in want of money immedi
ately ; please send me three hundred francs
by the bearer. „ALPEIONSE DUBOIS.
'There,' said ho getting up, 'take that to
its address to-morrow morning, and do not let
me hear from you again until you have used
what you receive. I will come again tomor
row evening.'
So saying, the Doctor bustled away to es
cape the thanks of Victor, .and crossed the
court in so great a hurry that he forgot to put
up his umbrella.
In the evening Doctor Dubois returned to
the hotel, and,felt his heart 'c armed by the
evidences of greater comfort ho beheld. Ile
now ventured to proscribe medicine, and suc
ceeded eventually in restoring his patient's
health. There was no change.howeier in her
mental condition„ She still believed herself
to be surrounded by wealth ; only she thought
her children were more attentive than be•
fore. The little comforts they now gave her
excited nal surprise, hut gratitude. The Doc
tor continued his- visits and his loans. 'You
shall pay me back, with interest,' ho said
when Victor heslsAted to accept.
'Good works are never lost,' remarked be
bonne, falling in with her master's humor.
Ono evening in the following Bummer, when
ho pkysiolan happened again to be making
ready for a comfortable evening with his feet
in the same slippers; with the usual plate of
nuts and almonds before him and an uncgrk
ed bottle of Beanue, with which he took alter
nate draughts of Seltzer water ; with the same
black velvet skullcap thrust to the back of
his head, and the same morning -gown thrown
babk in graceful folds—Bobonne had just
come in with the coffee and the evening paper
—the bell rang again.—Doctor Dubois again
exclaimed, 'Diable !' and 'pests V It was Vic
tor as before.
'Come,' he exclaimed, , to save us from the
consequences of excess of joy !'
'They are never very serious,' ryuoth the
Doctor without moving. 'What is the mat
ter?'
.My father has returned.'
Bobonne instantly undersaitid the signifi
cance of these words, was the first to urge her
master to be up and a doing, and lost no time
in handing liim his hat. 'As for your coffee
my dear Doctor, I will keep that warm for
you,' sho said in a tone of affectionate famil
iarity which was new to Victor.
Doctor Dubois learned, as ho walked to
wards the hotel, that Monsieur de Jarante
had suddenly appeared without giving any
warning whatever. His wife became insensi
ble on beholding him, and Victor bad instant
ly rushed away for medical assistance. When
they reached the hotel all danger seemed to
have passed, and the returned traveller was
listening with astonishment, anger, and con
trition to the story of the sufferings of his
family. For his own part, he had met with
many perils and fatigues, which had disgusted
him at last with a wandering life. lie had
been shipwrecked on a remote latent], scalped
and escaped with his life only by a miracle.
Ile admitted that he had been neglectful:—
His future life, however should atone-for-the
past.
Ile naturally resumed possession of his‘for
tune and established the legality of -his. mar
riage and the legitimacy of his children. Ma
dame de Jarante at length understood all that
had happened to her, and might have return
ed into the society which had so readily cast
her off; but instead of seeking pleasure, she
occupies herself in relieving the poor, in which
benevolent occupation she was much assisted
by Doctor Dubois. Her eon and daughter
both married well; and, although M. de Ches
nel recently died in the fullness of years, the
whole family now enjoys a happiness which it
had never before known.
It may as well be mentioned that Doctor
Dubois went the other day, with Wither n; con
fused look, to ask Victor to stnnd godfather
to a son and heir which Bobonne—we beg
pardon—which Madame Dubois bad present
ed him with.
Vaccination
The learned world is all alive. A physician,
a man of the world, published about a foe
night ago a book upon a subject which in
former times agitated all Europe. The book .
is entitled, "Moral and physical degeneration
of the human race in consequence of vaccina
tion," and in it Jenner is Accused of having
helped to thin off the European family. You
may well suppose that such a work will scarce
ly go unnoticed. Official science has preserv
ed a great dose of admiration of the English
doctor who found upon a cow's dug the specific
which now-a-days is administered to every
child that is born. On the other hand a certain
school of medicine has lately grown up, whose
object is to rid the world of vaccination. Ac
cording to these men all modern diseases re
sult from inoculation with the cow virus—
cholera, gastritis, scrofula, more frequent cases
of consumption, and above all typhoid fevero.
Thus you see thevquestion may bring on every
species of discussion, a war of words, and
pamphlets in abundance. Our Imperial Aca
demy of Medicine, consisting of the elite of
the doctors; has made the subject an order of
the day. Experimental Germany and England,
so interested in the quarrel, will both doubt
less take' parts in these polemics. Heaven
grant the victory may be some great aoheive
meat of science and some new good to ha
=Div.—Paris Car. Independence 1144
A NINAN Matt.—Wo have heard of mean
men in our day but a correspondent of the St.
Louis Reveille mentions ono to whom most be
yielded the palm :—Talk about mean men I
why there's that Bill Johnston he's the mean
est man I over heard toll on. 'Bill was con
stable there. Why don't you think ho had an
execution against mo for a little matter of
groceries, and be came out and levied at my
old womans ducks, and wanted tee to drive
'em up and ketch 'em for him, and f told ,
to ketch 'em himself; and Co be chased 'em
round and round the house, and every time
he'd ketch a duck, he'd sot down and, wirll
its head off and charge mileage.'
'Oyu Naw BUILT/No Gnonan.'—First
woman—'What does the Cminister say to out
now burying ground!' Second old woman—
.lle don't like it all, he says he never will be
buried there, as long as ho lives.' First old
woman--;'Well, if the Lord spares me, I will.'