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VOLUME 10. the GEORGIA CITIZEN ; RUSHED FVEST SITTrT’ AT MOBS I NT. BV L l\ W. AN 1)li EWS. r] . t _/ Hi,rue's Building. Cherry Street, Tim D-rs below Third Street. I “ - *>o irr an it mu. in Uunrr. .j.rttltrmemte a lie* f-*u at chaw will I* Oat Dollar ‘•T; V. /.- -Irrd vonir ur wee. t r the Dirt Uiwr ln ¥ ‘Mforcarh *ut*x(uent in— rtkiu. Ail sul „ t - w< stieeflten ato time, wi.l he puMMied nn il 19 ,i ,-ru*r*--J amrdi*<lr. A tlhtml diwumit allowed . v {,e, U) til*- year. rnt,d-’ ■ nt* m-idt* !tfc • %unty OtWr*. I>rtij&fi*t#. ■ \ why may wldi tonukt ,, , , u al an* Bu4ana I jHi ‘.rill be irun-rlo !nn 1 r -j.77>1. .1 th- MNmtßhc rat***. via: , in.- varaaMa too [ .1 n*’- ib i *Tr“ *• *0 *lO u, n -tunß af t:.i r-Lw, 111 lie admitted, rnka {old ’ v , t.-.r fur a l" I mi than tw. tre A<l -n! wr tea lute* will be rhareed fro rata. Ai>- - i* ■*- if! [aid .or in advance wtl, be charged at the ,l.i un hotlcea f over t.:a Umet, will he chaw-! at the v ..ni.ai.ei-OH-Ban t$ iruitiilate- for -Sea to be paid for at „M<.r land and teinire i ts Bxeeat.n*. Ai'-’i'ni-tn e i.nanhane. are 1.411 red by lew to be advertued in a - il "l U r te i.nj pr*-vkm*’to the ilajr id aah-. ’I bee .‘< :e belli • the Bid T...—lav in tile m nh. between bwinof ten in ‘be forete-rs and three in the af emm*. ,1 irt bouw in the county in which the property U s.tu- Mtr , 4 Prreonai Property nol he advertised in like \,eice in IVbtoiw and 4'reditora of aa Katatc mart be ’lut inhlica’ ion will he made to the Ordinary for - .-11 Lu o and Secruea. nit lie [Oii.liidied weekly for 1 u>ii iaa for Letters of AdminUtra ion. thirty data; for n r. Adnii i-tration. monthly, ala Hum.ha; for ~ n ftiim lioar-iitfcsh p, weekly, flirty days. Kates lor b'orerliadaa us Mnrtnatrs, luonthiv, four •or estab .sh iix I paters, for tfet fn 11 spore of three •H. 1, 4 o mpeilinc till. - fraoi executors or adoduiure “a Is n't has been riven hy the deceased, the full of three moatha. J-Hisccllmuj. Front Chamber's JuunuU. Gh! Love wh le Love is Left to Thee. > ROM THE l-KKUA.V. ih! love while love is left to thee, 1 bit love while love is yet thine own : The hour will come when bitterly Tiiou'lt mourn by silent grave* —alone! Alil let thy breast with kindness glow, \nd gentle thoughts within thee move. While vet i heart, through weal and woe, Heats to thine own, in faithful love. And guard thine lips, and keep them still ; To won escapes an angry word ; ■ Ah. Heaven, I did not mean it ill!” But yet he sorrowed as he heard. >h’ love while love is left to thee ; ■ love while love is yet thine own : • hour will come when bitterly Thou'lt uinurn by sileut graves—alone! T heard, unheeded then, alas ! tinseling, thou'lt hide thy streaming eyes lmid the lung, damp churchyard grass, Where, cold and low. thy loved one Ilf's. Viml murmur ; “ Oh! look dow non me ‘! timing niv causeless anger still ; F rgive my iiusty won! to thee— Ah. Heaven! I did not mean it ill.” H h>'ars not now thy voice to bless. In Tain thine arms are thrown to Heaven ! And mill'd the loved lip’s fond earess, I: nr*wer* not ; “ I have forgiven !” tic 4nl forgive—long, long ago ! B : many a burning tear he shed ” r thine unkindness—softly now ! H -lumbers now with the silent dead. 1 love while love is left to thee; ‘"1! love while love is yet thine own : ■ ’> hour will come w hen bitterly Thou’lt mourn by silent graves—alone! The Flower*. I cannot for the life of nu tear ro3e or a i ‘traw ery blossom to piece?, in order to re- • ■ -re it into its first principles, or to enlight myself as to its primeval atoms. All this panful and beneficent surgery I thankfully tre to the bo tan cal demonstrator, taking t - erudite dexterity for granted, but keep my kaleidoscope out of the way, to show ie Chaucer laying among the daisies, or Coo ler and Bean hunting for water lilies, or Shk-peare standing in the March wind look- ! r g for the daffodils, and dreaming of the Halims. ‘Tt is my faith that every flower ’ rs the air it breathesand in the annua R “ele of flowers. I see set forth in most i T; riJ allegory a dream of love to man. It ■ <’*s*■ me to walk in ** Goal Almighty’s -■wlen,” and to yield myself to tlic sweet ‘'*“wible monrnfulness with which they bcd themselves to the living, dying heart. ‘ r at can claim at least the brotherhood of (fin with these lovely ctiihineu of the dust. • like to puzzle out their legends, to read h*ir voiceless svmbol?, to talk with the flow- 1 that are sow a by the winds or the an- i -ds, watered by the shonv'f, fed by the 4 ’iuoeams and cradled by the lulling night, to the most attentive and beeechi>g “i r ‘- do they present or reproduce a reitera ’ cos themselves, or of one onother. bovv t’er perfect the old model, however taultiess ta * grouping. Flora's light-pictures are ‘ *• repeated ; her kaleidoscope is always ir n ng. To lay aside that technical “ian ?age of dowers’ - which Las only been 1 • joght to a dimax in the fragrant East, is *** the whole earth, “of one language and ae speech ?” To the child they are the rives of “life’s fairy time lie looks for lays “*>ler the lady fern, sees their rubies in the - “len eowriip-*,holds sacred the strawberry -lower, listens for the peal of the swinging ifebells. he gathers them, wearies of them, ••’‘rows them away, flowers are the universal moralist —not one but has its 1* sson. its sermon, its song. * flesand lilies, in wise heads and sacred feet. 4Te formed the text for holiest rhemes, lor deepest parables, and tenderest morality. J ith and duty, and love and hope.} and *'*’ e a od gladness, smile on their dewy face “-fading in quiet hands, they speak of death reeping oyer low graves, they whisper ‘n.mortality. They are the emblems a ‘ °f feasting and mourning, of speech and ‘°ce, of sorrow and hope, of grief and love. Tr *r have mingled largely in the p : ous sn- PerwtitioDs of all nations, and indeed, wiihont t ' ,re > they might l> called the divinities natural religion. Sacrifices are dressed i-owers. temples adorned with them, the “*d fondly strewed with tbeir sympathetic 1 fbe god* of firing and running waters wero propitiated with their fragrant incense; and of these Fontir alia a curious relic may still be found in Derbyshire and some of the midland English counties'. where the pretty custom of “well dressing” is re tained by the tower-loving peasantry. Nor is divination by means of ft iwers altogether extinet in the southern villages, where they are even yet invited to emp ! oy their harm less witchery in disclosing intricate and im portant love secrets. With death a univer sal instinct appears to associate them. The ancient Jews were buried in gardens. Poor Shelly [lass’on&tely desired to lie among the flowers—a3 passionately as the milkmaid, who wished to die in spring, that she might have a store of them stuck on |her winding sheet Sr Wm. Temple, a florist of a vety ditferent order, though his bones were laid elsewhere, had his heart buried among hig Dutch flowers. Toe symbolism which made the beautiful roee an emblem of silence, con secrated it in a peculiar manner to the sad hush of death : and thus, while in ODe cham ber it was twined with myrtle at a festive entertainment, in the next it might be shed ding its dying sweetness on the withered lips of a corpse. Chombera’ Journal. A True Manhoou. A true manhood is self-sustaining and self sustained. It depends upon nothing extrin sic. Advantaged by outward possessions or circumstances, it disdains to rest upon them or claim merit on their account. Lack ing these helps, it does not sit down, fold the hands of murmur at the partialities of fortune. Benefits and opportunities it accepts grate fully. and strives to improve them—not alone for itsel*'. but for society alo. Indeed, a trne manhood implies every noble sympathy, ev ery generous action, every lofty virtue, in the common range of life. A true manhood asks no special fields to display itself. It can every day develop its nobility and her oism. Not a gracious word, smile, or act, springs to the impulse of its large, warm heart, to lighten human want or lessen human sorrow, but flashes brighter than a Toledo blade. True manhood is Arm and brave, as it is mild and gentle, and the best gentleman is also the truest man. Gentlest of the gentle was Bayard, the cheveher sang jieur et sans reprorhe. but never sturdier arin bote lance or sword in defence of virtue, honor, right Gentle of heart and courageous of soul—gen tle in feelings ami heroic in action—such are the Bayards; such are all gentlemen, all true men. They may be found in courts and camps, in universities and senatis, but they also tread the furrow .and dwell iu the hum blest cabins. The estate of true manhood cannot be bought with gold, nor bequeathed by letters testamentary. In its essentials it is God given. All other possessions being “of the earth,earthy,” may be devised and inherited, but a true manhood s a divine, a heavenly gift. And if men at large only knew the greatness and preciousness cfsccb manhood —how nobler it is in stature and in power than all titular estate —they would honor and imitate it more. Manhood, sturdier manhood, is what society and nations want to make their foundations firm and their bulwaiks beautiful and strong. It might lessen the world s pageants, but it would increase its grandeurs. When “ life’s fitful fever” is past, what can remain of man worth even a pitiful epitaph, save the memory of a true manhood ? RELIGION VERSUS THEOLOGY. Timothy Titcomb thus sermonir.es. in a late number of the Spnngfiebl Republican: Religion is a simple thing, so simple that “a wayfaring man though a Col need not err there in.” * * * Yet theology—human inven tion and human learning—has made religiou a very complicated thing. It insists more on faith in tenets than in God, and denies to a Christian spirit the fellowship whichjit acsor is to a ration al belief. The disgraceful wrangles of the reli gious newspapers, the great disputes of the Softools, and high controversies of the pulpit and the pamphlet are the quarrels and strifes for mastery of theologians, not Christians—of learning not love. Theology clings to old words and phrases after their life has departed. The ology excludes from the table of the Lord those whom He has accepted. Theology denies fel lowship and communion to those whom Love expects to meet in Heaven. Theology casts out of the synagogues those who rise to think, while Christ forgives those who stoop to sin, and without condemnation, bids them sin no more. Theology builds rival churches, pits a.- gainst each other rival sects, and waste’s God’s money. I believe that it would be every way better for the world if every book of dogmatic and controversial theology could be blotted out : of existence, and Christendom were obhged to begiu anew, drawing everything from tbe great Book of Books, leaving Paul and Apollo?, and Princeton and New’ Haven and Cambridge be hind, aud learning of Him “who spake as never man s-p.ike.” The long short of the matter is that the learned world has become so deeply involved ia the thoughts of those who have gone before so accustomed to following ole channels, and of payiDg revert nee to the opinions and systems of schools, that it cannot step out freely into the field of truth aud handle U ings as it finds them. Tbe common sense that deals with things instead of systems which treat of them, and tbe wisdom which grows out of this inti mate contact and loving association with tbe actualities of human file and experience, are worth more to tho world than a.l the learning in it. This handling of the vital realities of to-day will* the gloves of dead men ; thia slow dragging of the trains of tbe present over the old graes-irrown turnpikes; this old monopoly of power and pi vilege among interests that touch every individual—the highest and the humblest; this slopping of the wheels of pro gress at avery toll-gate and frontier for the ben efit of learned publicans, is certainly against the common sense of the world, a* it undoubtedly is against “the spirit of the age,” if anybody knows exactly what that is. Anything and everything which pi ices fetters upon the spirit of inquiry, which blinds the eyes of discovery, land abridgi-8 the freedom of thought, whether it be contained iu the lore of past ages or of the present time, is a thing to be contemned and abjured. A living man with a carcass lash ed to his hack may creep, but he cannot ruo. English Bihle Translations. —The fol lowing list of the different Bible versions of the English Scriptures, is extracted from ! the Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge : Wicklwfe’s Bible. —This was the first translation made into the language. It was translated by John Wicklifle, about the year ! 1530, but never printed, though there are ’ manuscript copies of it in several of the pub | lie libraries. Ttnd \i.es Bible. —The translation by Wm. Tyndale, assisted by Miles Coverdalo was the first printed Bible in the English I language. The New Testament was pub- j | lished in 1526. It was revised and repub- 1 : lished in 1530. In 1532, Tyndale and his associates finished the whole Bible, except i the Apocrypha, and printed it abroad. Matthew’s Bible. —While Tyndale was preparing a second edition of his Bible, he ■ was tak u up and burned for heresy at Flanders. On hi3 death, Coverdale and John Rogers revised it, and added a translation to ihe Apocrypha. It was dedicated to Henry VIII. in 1537, and was printed at Hamburg under the borrowed name of Thomas Mat thew. whence it was called Matthew’s Bi- * ble. Crasher s Bible. —This was the first Bi ble printed by authority in England, and public'y set up in the churches. It was Tyndale's version, revised by Coverdale, and examined by Cranmer, who added a preface , to it, whence it is was called Crantner’s Bi- ( ble. It was printed by Crafton, one of the largest volumes published in 1540. After being adopted, suppressed and restored un der successive reigns, a neiv edition was brought out in 1562. The Geneva Bible. —Pome English exiles at Geneva, in Queen Mary’s reign, viz: Cove-dale, Goodman, Gilbe, Sampson, Cole, Whitting and Knox, made anew transla tion, which was printed there in 1500.-- Flence it was called the Geneva Bible. It was much valued by the Puritan party. In this version the fust distinction ofverseswas made. It went through some twenty edi- ; tions. The Bishop's Bible. —Archbishop Parker engaged Bishops and other learned men to to bringouta new translation. They did so in 1568 in large folio. It made what was af terwards called the Bishop’s Bible. In 1569 it was published in octavo, in small but fine black letter. In it the chapters were divid ed into verses, but without any breaks for them. Matthew Parker’s Bible. —The Bishop's Bible underwent some corrections, and was printed in largo folio, 1572, and called Mat thew Parker’s B.ble. This version was us ed in the churches for forty years. The Doc ay Bible. —The New Testament was brought out by the Roman Catholics iu 1684, and called the Romanish New Testa ment. It wa3 condemned by the Queen of England, and copies were seized by her au thority and destroyed. In 1609 and 1610 the Old Testament wa3 added, ar.dthe whole published at Douay, hence called the Douay Bible. King James’ Bible, —The version now in use was brought out by King James’ au thority in 1611. Forty-four learned men were employed to accomplish the work of revising. From death or other causes, seven of them failed to enter upon it. The remain ing forty-seven were ranged under six divis ions, and had different portions of the Bible ass'gned to these divisions. They entered upon their task in 1607. After some three or four years of diligent labor, the whole was completed. Thi3 version was generally adopted, and other versions fell into disuse. It has continued in use for nearly two hun dred and fifty years. Money vs. Husbands. —A correspond ent of a Worcester papsr relates the fol lowing incident: Just as the train was about starting for Greenfield. Friday morning, on the Vermont aul Massachusetts Railroad, a sprightly little woman with a child took a seat in a car mar where 1 was sitting. The cars were beginning to move, and the little woman looked anxiously through the end window of the rear car for her missing husband, who was in the depot attending to the purchase of tick ets, etc. The speed of the < ars Increas ed. and the woman looked more anxious. The husband now appears and com mences to run. lie gains on the cars at first, but they are too far ahead of him, and soon are leaving him behind, al though he did “run well for a season. ’ It is now the wife’s turn to see what she can do. In agony she implores the con doctor, telling him that her husband is left behind, but he can’t help that. “ I am started on a journey, and can’t g-t along without my husband.” “Then let him attend to his business next time,” was the cool answer. “ But,’ said the keen Yankee woman, “ I have no money with me.” The brakes were applied and the cars brought to a stand-still, and the panting husband entered the cars to the delight of all the passengers, especially of his wife. Moral—Money will stop a train of cars much quicker than hus bands. Health. Health is the highest revelation of God in na ture. It i* the fountain of strength, beauty intellect and happiness. How many understand God’s laws of health? In other w..rds, how many understand hum-n physiology ? Not one *in ten thousand 1 We have too much gospel and MACON, GA., SATURDAY, MAY 28, 1859. ; too liitlo common sense. We should much like | to sse a -'revival” the above subject—a i common sense revivsL For the Ga. Citizen. MEDICAL. i Dk. Andrews : Dear Sir —Much to my amusement, I no j ticc in your issue of the 17th inst., a “rejoin , d.-r,” by M. S. Thomson, M. TANARUS)., to an ex tract, made by the “Christian Index,” from an article of mine published in the April number of the “Oglethorpe Medical and Surgical Journal,” of Savannah. 1 n reply, and as an all-sufficient defeneeof ny article from the uncalled forsparrings of Dr. Thomson, I submit the article entire, as it | originally appeared in the Journal, and ask you to spread it lx-fore your readers. Let them read anti “ventilate” it for them selves. The prominent errors that I pointed out— as proceeding from unguardedness and a want of projicr vigilance on the part of rny Allopathic brethren—are defended by Dr. Thomson as the true principles —the funda mental doctrines of Botanic Medicine.— Rontinism has no legitimate existence in Al lopathic medicine, and it is candor—noble— in Dr. Thomson to acknowledge the fact that it is an essential integral in the struc ture of the system of Botanic practice. I meant no fight upon the Botanies, I in tended, not to combat error as a radical de tect in another system, but to rebuke it ns a tad fish in trader intoon ro w n borders. I had no knowledge of, or agency in, the republication of “ that portion ” of my article by the Christian Index; and that all may know what it is that Dr. T. is cutting at so fierce ly in his ex-partc ‘‘ rejoinder,” I hand you the original paper, which, in itself, contains all the defence that I shall offer—through this medium —to sustain its truth and itsjiro portions. Respectfully, J. DICKSON SMITH. Rational vs. Routine and Book Prac tice of Medicine- BV J. DICKSON SMITH, M. D. Medicine claims to be both a science and an art, and the two are so intimately b ended, that it becomes difficult to define ihe extent and li it of each. It is denominated the “ Healing Art,” but the simple term, art, does notexoress the true character and claims of nirtli. ine It possesses all thedetining elements necessary toconstituteitasciencc.andtbe term is as appn priately applied to medicine as to any other system. It is a regularly organized eystem of general principles and legitimate de ductions fiom empirical tacts and cluneal obser vations. The term, art, applied to medicine, expresses only the mechanical administration of a drug, or the ingenious application oi a remedial agent. Science declares the reason and the philosophy lor such appliances. In the practice ot medicine there is much that is empirical, but it is not all mere expe riment and specu'ation. We claim to have certain fundamental principles, as land-marks and beacon-lyhts, to guide and govern us; and, directed by these, we shall be enabled to steer our bark safely into port, and to give our patients the entire benefit of medicine, no matter under what circumstances, or un der what Sun, wo may find them. Guided by these beacon-lights, we shall not be very liable to err, lor they will point us to a care ful consideration of all the modifying cir cumstances connected with the treatment of diseases. Are we combatting disease in Georgia, or on the banks of the Mississippi? Iu the swamp, or on the mountain top?— Amongst the equatorial heaisor ihe S berisn snows? these land-maiks will guide us aright in every instance. With the ingenuity and the tact of art, and the engineering power of science and philosophy, we shall be prepared to encoun ter disease anywhere, and to effect all the good that medicine, in its wisdom, pro poses. Away, then, with the doctrine of section al medicine, which requires the medical stu dent to study where he intends to practice his profession. If the human system and its physiology be the same every where ; if the prominent features of disease are similar, and the settled principles of treatment found ed upon the same basis, how can it matter as to where —in what country or school — the physician has been educated, so that he has been taught aright. It his mind has been properly and thoroughly imbued with the great principles ot Therapeutics, and if his knowledge of the theory of medicine has been familiarized and confirmed by practice , the medical man will be coinpeieut, with due care and pi coalition, succe.-stully to prac tice medicine anywhere; and to dispense the benefit of his art, as well to the Arab as to the American; and as well to the rico farm slave as to the mountain herdsman. But is it true, it may tie asked, that a'l practitioners follow and practice physic ac cording to tl-.ese established principles? or there not much of habit and routine in our prole*sion? I am well satisfied that the lat ter is true, and equally well convinced that this is one of the great sources of failuie in ! medical practice iu accomplishing its desired j object, in obedience to the fact thnt there ‘ are generally present certain leading indica- J lions of treatment in certain classes ot dis- j ease, the doctor unconsciously gets into the ; habit of advising a particular round of rem- J edies in every case bearing the same name. ! He contracts tbe habit ot prescribing for . name instead of tor symptom*. He directs his r* medies to certain diseases by name, dis- | regaidmg tbe peculiar ciicumstauces under which these attacks originated, and over looking some unaccustomed, yet very impor taut leaiure they may present. Is the case and agnosed Pleurisy? ihe lancet must be used. Does he cull it Rheumat sm? colehicum is forthwith written m the prescription. Is it infiamution ? itieicury 18 the great antiphlo gistic, aud must be employed. No allow ance is made for idiosyncrasy, lor malignant tendency of disease, or for any other circum stance. The names are recognized and the remedy known, l’ne employment of certain drugi and certain recipes soon becomes a confirmed habit, and every patieut affected with the prevailing disease of the neighbor hood, irrespective of complication aud the i various modifying ctrcumstauces ol each, i meets the same treatment. Tnis is empirical, i vs. scientific practice, and cannot claim that success which 19 expected of medicine. The practitioner ought to study each individual case, applying the resources of his art with caie and discretion—according to all the mod ifying circumstances surrounding his pa tient. In this consists the science aud philos . phy of medicine. Another prevalent error of practitioners, and particularly those just entering t e arena of practice, is the habit of looking to their text-books, and relying upon them in the treatment of disease. Instead of prescribing for, and combatting existing symptoms — excited by peculiarities and various compli cations—they seek to give definite names to every case, and to institute that course ot treatment marked out in the books for that particular disease. This course is impracti cable lrorn the very fact of the divers lied complication of disease. In many cases we cannot pronounce any definite name. The symptoms are heterogeneous. Perhaps we cannot decide which of several diseases pre dominate. Here again we see the necessity of lo ‘king to symptoms and not to names, for it is often to prescribe (or a case than to name if. Ever}’ practitioner must be his own doctor, lie mu- f t cast aside his books and act upon his own judgment in the case. Have we general principles? w must apply them according to our own judg ment from the circumstances around us,— The method of treatment instituted in one case may not be applicable to an other case of the same name and character. So many modifying circumstances are per petually occurring, that we cannot decide that any two cases are precisely identical. This inclination and attempt to practice medicine from books is an unfortunate one. It leads the practitioner into many perplex ities, and to coustant disappointment. The success of his practice will not be commensu rate with his laudable desires. The practi tioner can better appreciate the exact coudi lion of hispa'ient, ihe precise character ol his disease, than can the author of his book, who tias not seen the case. Upon careful clinical investigation must depend our success in treating disease, for it is only in this way that we can ‘'find out what the matter is,” and this we must do “ before we can s fehj go to work to cure it.” Book practice ot medicine, then, is to be condemned because of its impracti cability; and because it is less expedient than clinical tact and clinical study. There is si ill another habit in the practice o ‘ medicine that is objeetiouable and exceed ingly devasiaiing in its consequences and tembney. I allude to routinism. It U said that more persons have lallen victims by the hand ot routine practitioners of medicine, than have ever fallen by the sword. Whether this be true or not, it is undeniable that such persons are unsafe practitioners, and not to be trusted with the management of multi form disease. This habit consists in indulg ing a regular round of prescription for al most every case they meet —not seeking by close investigation, to discriminate mely between diseases, and between symptoms. — They incline too much to the maxims of the Botanies, riiat a I diseases originate from the same exciting cause, and consequently are amenable to the Same course of treat ment. The Botanies were, at one time, ■ criminally guilty of this kind of routinism. j They had one “ course of medicine” through which they carried their patients, and the same “ course ” was repeated again and again, til! the patient was cured or and ad. But “ medical r>f>rm ” lias of late seized upon them, and tnev have measurably abandoned this heroic routine. In this same manner the lancet has been mo3t mischievously abused, and this error is still operative in some sections. The routine j practice was to bleed, and accordingly in al most every case the lanc-t was popped in, regardless of the character ol the pulse, the strength of the patient, or the Typhoi 1 ten dency of the dise tse ; and many a case has thus been bled down, irrecoverably. But happily, this practice, also, has measura bly yielded to the persuasions of healthful re- | form, and this instrument is now tiSw-U com paratively seldom. Through the same kind of habit, many of our important remedies ! have been employed as hobbies , and made the instrument of mischief. Iu the investigation and management of disease, it is not only necessary to attend to symptoms and to combat the most piomin eutasthey < cour,butto inquire imotheorgan that is suffering and to ascertain the precise nature of the existing lesion. The practitiouer must discrimate narrowly , Tor the same symp toms may be present in diseases of very dif ferent character. But the importance of looking to these points is not recognized by the routinist. He disregards the peculiar and special teatures of the case, adhering to Ins accustomed habit. He knows what par ticular drug or recipe he has used in previous cases, and at random he employs the same. Cotemporary with his efforts to modify the symptoms, and to give comfort to the patient, the practitioner should inquire into the causes of the malady he is treating. This may be all important, for, like the “thorn in the flesh,” the disease may not yie'd until the offending cause has been removed. It is im portant, in every morbid eondiuon, to seek out the cause, in older to remove iq if prac ticable. Tne maxim “To lie causam cessat effectus is often, though not invariably, true. This consideration is generally ovei looked or neglected by the routinist. He contents himself with simply combating the phenom ena present, caring nothing for the source of the disease, or iis ultimate tendency. W e have thus reviewed several practical errors preva'ent in the Med cal profession, and which, we consider, fruitlul sources of unsound practice. They all need to he re buked and sedulously guarded against, in indulging them we violate the plain princi ples of Tnerapeutics, and turn aside from those scientific land-maiks that are to guide and govern us in the cure of disease, and in the alleviation of human suffering. If med icine be a science then iet us use it as a science, giving our patients the entire benefit proposed. The error we pointed out in reference to book practice, is mainly indulged by the younger practitioners who are just launching out into tbe field ot practice. While students they read and comprehended the books, flat tering themselves with the idea that every thing would he equally plain and intelligible 1 at the bed side. But in this they are doom- I ed to disappointment. They do not find ; things exactly as described, f.*r no two cases are met with, which are precisely identical. Books are mainly useful by way of imbuing tbeir minds with a knowledge of the great ; general principles of medicine; but when 1 they reach the clinical room, they are left to ‘ draw upon their own heads as text books. They will there find demand tor the exercise of all their reasoning powers. Theie is an easy, and almost natural incli nation, on the part ot practitioners of medi cine, to become toutinisis, and consequently w’c find tbe older ph>sicians most addicted 1 to this error, and most amenable to this charge. Insidiously habit entwines itself around their actions, and unconsciously they yield to iis dominion. Tbe unlimited confi dence they acquire in their own tact for per- j ceiving aud recognizing at a glance, the pre cse nature and character of the case, de- 1 stroys in their own minds the necessity of thorough investigation, as wrll as the great practical importance of scrutiny, and nice discrimination. Medical men should always be on the alert, looking out for some m-w feature of disea e, and ever taxmg their ingenuity, and • raw ing upon the resources of science and its phil osophy lor ex;>edients adequate to tin t mur gencies. Is the midst of all our experience and imagined skdl, we must not lose the guidance of reason and philosophy. We cannot safely depart Iromihose land-marks, the general principles of Therapeutics, and the established laws of medical science. The profession of medicine is honorable, beneficent, noble ! Freed trom the shackles of empiricism, and the paralysing restraint of habit and routine, and guided by the engi neering power and skill of science and reason , it is to be haiied as a welcome reprieve, the greatest boon lrom the miud of man to man’s estate. Let us then as the votaries of so no ble a calling, guard well its sacred portal- I . L-t us seek to block up thsee avenues of ma'.-practice by thoroughly imbuing our ininds with a knowledge of the fundamental principles of medical science, and bestirring ouiselvep to that energy and ambition that will not be content with doing less for our confiding patients than the vast domain of rnediciue proposes. Its design is benevolent, and its application, in order that its contem plated benefits shall be realized, must be vigi lant and faithful. “Thus fortified and gold ed by all the lights that illumine the Preses- j sion in ils present advanced and advancing condition, the practitioner will be enabled to shine as the well informed and rational phy sician, happy in his own resources, and a blessing to the community whose confidence is reposed in him.” A Modem Ananias. BY A. JAY, ESQ. ‘Old Steve, or, lying Stephens,’ as he was familiarly termed, by virtue ol a strong orig inal genius, and indefatigable perseverance and application, had acquired the reputation of being the greatest liar that ever existed in the State ol . Whenever he made his appearance, therefore, at muster or train ing. he was sure to be surrounded by a host of eager listeners. He greatly excelk and the renowned Munchausen, who simply told ex travagant stories, and sometimes blundered on the truth. Steve, on the other hand never told a word of truth, even by mistake, in ill his life, and lied circumstantially, and in every particu'ar. In short it came to him as natural as eating and ihinking, or rather, as breathing, ror lie not only lied to listeners, but when he had no other persons to talk to, he would tell lies to himself, just to keep his hand in. This fact was ascertained beyond a doubt by his denying it in the most solemn manner when somebody accused him of the praciice. It was Mr. Stevens’ good misfortune one time to lose a great deal of money on a horse race. This made him uncommonly serious, so he went to a campmeeting, w hich was held about five miles from his residence to see if he could make up a little by‘shaking props’ with the boys. They happened, how ever, to be too much for him that time, and he was completely cleaned out. This made our friend feel, if possible, more serious than ever, arid as there happened to be a power ful preacher there, who could make himself heard at the distance of a mile, he thought he would turn over anew leaf at once.— When he got home, therefore,ihe first thing he did was to send for the minister. The worthy man came, and to his amazement found that btevens wanted to join the church! ‘I have no hesitation in laying yonr prop osition before the brethren,’ said the good man, trying to smother a laugh. ‘Of course you haint,’ responded Steve, with great confidence. ‘And you could give satisfactory evidence of amendment, Mr. Stevens,’ continued the minister, emphasising the word, ‘they might take you on probation ; at any rate, we have a meeting to-night, and can let you know to-morrow.’ ‘Probation be d—dogged!, ejaculated Steve as the minister beat a hasty retreat j why can't they let me jine at once, whde I feel like it?’ The proposition, as might have been ex pected, created a g'eat sensation. There was hardly a m< mber of the church, male or female, who had not at some time or other, been victimized by Stephens’ slanderous tongue, and they could hardly hear his name with patience. Some ot them went so far as to say tht if he joined they would leave, and that settled the matter, for they were among the fore-handed f’ who could afford to lose them? However, to avoid any trouble with an unscrupulous fellow like Steve, it wa3 resolved to breathe the matter to him as gently as possible. Two of the most respectable men in the church were appointed to calll on hint, and it was gener ally understood, such was their known mild ness of disposition, that every possible excuse con-istent with truth would be made for not receiving him. The rest of the story must be told in Ste vens’ own words. ‘When old Deacon Peabody came along, I sat in the back door with a hoc handle, and I hope to suffer if I wasn’t mad enough to rear right up. A cousin of my wife’s, whose sister was a member, had come over and told us all about it.’ ‘Good morning, Mr. Stevens,’ says the oM hypocrPe.with a face as long as a yard of pump water. I said nothing, but kept on whitling. ‘I came down to to see you this morning,’ says he. ‘WU,’ says I, ‘how do you like my looks?’ ‘O,’ says he, ‘what I mean is. that I came down to labor with you.’ ‘Wotk away then, why don’t you?’ was all he got out of me. ‘But, Mr. Stevens,’ said he, very solemn ly, ‘the church sent me down to talk with youaminute.’ ‘Wal, you’ve bin talking for more than five minutes, Deacon Peabody,’ says I, are you goin’ to begin ?’ The old Israelite looked mad enough to bite my head off at a snap, but he thought it best to keep cool, so he drew a long breath and went on : ‘Nobody wants to hurt your feelings, or make any troub'e, Mr. Stevens, but the church have come to the conc'osion that j erhaps on the whole, under the tircum- i stances, and in view of everything, it might j be possible best all round, and taking all things into consideration, for you not to be hasty in applying jist at present They think on mature reflection that it might be as well if you’d conclude to postpone it a little while, say a year or eighteen months.’ ‘They dew? W'al now. Deacon, what l makes’ em think so ? The church ain’t full, i is it ?’ This was a hard question, the old sarpint knew very well that it wouldn’t answer to say he didn’t know—for he knew fast enough—and knew that I knew he did. So I says he: ‘Mr. Stevens, I’m sorry you’re so riled about it; you’ve no occasion. I didn't come to offend; you know as well as Ido why the church don’t accept you.’ ‘lf I knew, I wouldn’t ask you to tell me, I Deacon Peabody.’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘don’t you know what large stories you’re in the habit of telling ?’ ‘Who says I tell large stories ?’ says I, ’tis an ontruth and you can’t prove it ain’t- Now, ain’t it a shame for a man like you to go around scandalizing a neighbor that way? What story of mine did you ever hear that wasn’t true? Come lay your finger on the first story, and I won’t say another word.’ ‘Why, there’s so many oa’ em,’ answei ed the Deacon, ‘that it’s almost onpossible to specify any one in particular. But now I j think on’t don’t you remember that story . you told about your father being killed by a bear ?’ ‘My father being killed by a baar!’ says I; ‘> there it is now ! That’s jist th. 6 way folks j lie about me ! It's an omrutb, like the rest on ’em, and you ought to be ashamed. Dea con Peabody, to be running around telliu j things that ain’t so.’ ‘Well,’ said he, pretty short, ‘you’ve made l that ’ere observation about often enough, if you didn’t say your father was killed by a bear, what was it you did say ?’ ‘l'll tell you; I said that father was one of the first men to bring sheep into this town, and that’s no story, is it ?’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘it ain’t.’ ‘And I said that one day he lost one of them ’ere sheep in the woods—and that’s likely, if it ain't true- and when he was looking for it, 1 said he came across a bear. The bear growled at dad, and he holered at the bear, and finally the beast came at him, and tore all his insides out, and then your father, Deacon Peabody who was a respect able man, sir, and would never a’gone about town scandal zing a neighbor, you father heard my father holler, and came up, and seeing how matters stood, ran for the doc tor. When the doctor came the first thing he did wa3 to catch a shtep and cut his in sides out and put them them in the place of dad’s, and I never said dad was killed by that bear!” ‘No sir! I told the naked truth, I said he grew as well ever he was except that he hankered after hay all the winter, and had wool enough grown to make him an overcoat in the spring? You don’t call that a large story I hope. It you won’t let a fellow jine tne church because he tells the truth, you won't find many decent members, I guess?’ Tne old man riz right straight up and walked away without saying a word. Whai he thought I could never find out, for the old chri?tian hasn’t opened his mouth to me since. Pulpit Profanity. For the benefit of those who indulge in pal pit profanity, we publish the following from the Nashville Christian Advocate, hoping it will have a good effect upon them.— Bran don Republican. Mr. Editor: I had hoped that the several pungint articles that have appeared in out Advocates upon the practice of using with too great freedom the name of the Almighty, would prove tflVctual; but in this I hav< been sadly mistaken. Whether it is the result of thoughtlessnes* on the part of minister-*, or a desire to im press feeble thoughts by connecting with them awful appeals to the justice of the Crea tor. the practice is highly reprehensible, and shocking to refined sensibilities. That no good can be * ff.-cted by it is obvious; wbil* it i3 certain that much harm has been done by indulging in such things. Some months ago I went to hear a very popular young minister, who was holding forth in F. His subject was “Christian char, ity.” For fifteen or twenty minutes be held his congregation spellbound, a3 he portrayed the loveliness of Christian charity. Every one seemed interested; and many’ a tearful eye evinced the success ofhis effort. But he must necessarily- give us the converse—and paint the hideous deformity of “religiou btgotry.” After dissecting the sickly pre tensions of various terns to the appellation o “The Church,” and presenting the loud huz zas of individual leaders, he said, “Such men. if justice were meted out to them, would stuk so low in hell that they would have to rise, in the day of judgment, to meet com mon damnation.” - The effect upon the con gregation was immediately visible. Chris tians dropped their heads, a.id sinners look ed round in astonishment. Many pretty things were afterwards said, but no impres sion was made upon the congregation. That one expression had effectually destroyed every thing that had been said, and blocked up his way in what followed. He struggled hard to make an impression in the latter part of h : s discourse, but it was as water spilled upon the ground. Now, the impression made upon my mind was— -Ist That the preacher said this with a vindictive spirit that showed him as far from the true spirit of Christian charity a* those he was sinking to such depths of ruta. 2d. That it was so discordant with what had gone before, that it shocked the mind NUMBER 9. and unfitted it for further worship. 3. That the expression was uncalled for, and unbecoming the pulpit 4. If uttered by a street drunkard, that very minister would have called it “horrid profanity.” Mary. Sleeping Together. From HaU s Journal of Health. If a man were to see a quarter of an inch | of worm put in his cup of coffee, he could not drink it, because he knows that the whole cup would be impregnated. If a very small amount of some virulent poison be in troduced into a glass of water, the drinking of it might not produce instant death, but that would not prove that it was not hurtful, only that there was not enough of it to cause a destructive result immediately. We sicken at the thought of taking the breath of another the moment it leaves the mouth, but that breath mingles with the air about the bed in which two persons lay : and it is rebreathed, but not the less offen -1 sive is it in reality, on account of the dilu tion, except that it is not taken in its concen trated state. One sleeper corrupts the atmos ; phere of the room by his own breathing, but when two persons are breathing at the same time, twelve or fourteen times in each min ute, each minute extracting all the nutriment i liom a gallon of air, the deterioration u ust be rapid indeed, especially in a small and j close room. A bird cannot live without a large supply of pure air. A canary bird hung up in a curtain bedstead where two | persons slept died before the morning. MaDV infants are found dead in bed, and it is attributed to having been overlaid by the parents; but the idea that any person : could lay still for a moment on a baby, or ! anything else of the same size, is absurd, — Death was caused by the want of pure air. Besides, emanations, serial and more or less solid, are thrown out from every person. Thrown out by the process of nature, be cause no longer fit for life purposes, because they are dead and corrupt; but if breathed into another living body, ;t is just as abhor ent as if we took into our mouths the matter of a sore, or any other excretion. The most destructive typhoid and putrid fevers are known to arise directly from a number of persons living in the same small room. Those who can afford it should therefore arrange to have each member of the family sleep m a separate bed. If persons must sleep iu the same bed, they should be about ihe same age, and in good health. If the tiealth be much unequal both will suffer, but the healthier one the most—the invalid suf fering for want of entirely pure air- So many cases are mentioned in standard medical works where healthy, robust infants and large children have dwindled away and died in a few months from sleeping with grandparents, or other old persons, that it is useless to cite special instances in proof. It would be a constitutional and moral good for married persons to sleep in adjoin ing rooms, as a general habit. It would be a certain means ofphysu-a invigoration, and of advantages in other directions, which will readily occur to the reflective reader. King 9 and queens and highest personages of courts have separate apartments. It is the bodily emanations, collecting and concentrating un der the same cover, which are the most de structive cf health—more destructive than the simple contamination of an atmosphere breathed in common. Wonder. When a young man is a clerk in a store, and dresses like a prince, smoking “fine ci gars, drinks “nice brandy, ’ attends theatres, b ills, and the like, I wonder if he does it all upon the avails of his clerkship. When a young lady sits in the parlor all lay, with her fingers covered with rings I wonder if her mother don’t wash, and do the work in the kitchen ? When a deacon of a church selU strong butter, recommenuiug it as sweet, I wonder .f he don’t rely on the merits of Christ for salvation ? When a young lady laces her waist a thitd smaller than nature made it, I wonder if her pretty fingers will not shorten life some dozen years or more, besides making her miserable while she does live? When a man goes three times a day to get a dram, I wonder if he will not by and by go four times ? When a young man is depending upon his daily toil for his income, and marries a lady who does not know how to make a loaf of bread or mend a garment, I wonder if he is not lacking, somewhere, say towards the top for instance ? When a man receives a periodical or news piper, weekly, and takes great delight in reading them, but neglects to pay for them, I wonder if he has a soul or a gizzard ? How to Keep Poor.— Buy two glasses of tie every day, at five cents each, amounting none year to $36 40; smoke three cigars >ne after each mt-ale, counting up in the coun=e of a year to 532 70: keep a big doe, which will consume, in a year, at least sls worth of provisions, and a cat $6 more—al together this amounts to the snug lutle sum ■t sllO 22—sufficient to buy several barrels f flour, one hundred busnels of coal, one barrel of sugar, one sack of coffee, a good coat, respectatle dress, besids a frock lor tbe baby, and half a dozen pairs of shoes, more or less. Noticing “the Photography of Sound,” a Philadelphian would like “to see the ‘shape’ of a good long snore; of a pig squealing un der a gate ; of a thousand brick falling; of au alarm of fire ; of the bursting of a barrel ! of sour crout; or the first cannonade along the line of the Ticino. “The only liberty cap,’’ says a clever and i witty author, “is a nijghtcep. In it men Visit, one-tnird of tbeir live?, the land of . gl, op— tbe only land where they aie always 1 free equal.’’