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EASTMAN TIMES.
jV Jiel Country Jkiper.
kv;uy Thursday morning,
. -UY--
H. S. BURT 02\r.
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TO THE IVY.
I,mo tenant of the waHteri ppot
Where noftened desolation smiles ;
Where weeds rank o’er graves forgot,
And ruin sighs through gras -grown aisles!
Still clinging round some withered trunk.
Or mouldering tenement of age;
Or where the riven wall has sunk
Beneath destruction’s leagueriug rage.
Child of decay! no blushing flower,
No cup of treasured sweets is thine,
To breathe in beauty’s fragrant bower,
< >r charm where statelier rivals shine ;
The column of the desert place,
The warrior’s cross, tbo nameless stone,
K vi ive thy clasping boughs’embrace,
Aud show thy clustering wreaths alone!
The violet and the queen-’ike rose,
Frail minions of a passing day,
Brief as the faith which falsehood shows !
But bloom while lasts their worshipped iay ;
To me thy mourful leaf excels
The fairest buds whose petals fling
Their odors where the summer dwells
Or gem the verdant robes of spring.
Yet type of truth ! when fortune wanes;
And grief, tiiat haunts the mouldering tomb;
And love, that, strong as death, sustains
The whirlwind’s shock aud tempest's gloom ;
Tlmii still, amidst the howling blast,
When all is drear, art smiling on ;
I'uehanged, unshrinking to the last,
And green when even hope is gone !
THE MAN OF FORTY-FIVE.
The discovery of a gray hair when
you are brushing out your whiskers of
a morning -first fallen flake of the
coining snows of age—is a disagreeable
thing. Ho is the intimation from your
old friend and comrade that his eidest,
daughter is about to bo married. Ho
are flying twinges of gout, shortness of
breath on the hillside, the fact that
even tho moderate use of your friend’s
wines at dinner upsets you. These
things aro disagreeable because they
tell you that you are no longer young—
that you have passed through youth,
are now in middle age, and faring on
ward to tho shadows in which, some
where, a grave is bid.
Thirty is the ago of the gods—aud
the first gray hair informs you that you
iU’e at least ten on twelve years older
than that. Apollo is never middle
aged, but you are. Olympus lies seve
ral years behind you. You have lived
for more than half your natural term;
and you know road which lies be
fore you is very different from that
which lies be! ind. You liavo yourself
changed. Iti tho present man of forty
live you can barely recognize the boy
of nineteen that once was. Hope sang
on the sunny slope of life’s hill as you
ascended ; she is busily singing tho old
song in the ears of anew generation—
but you have passed out of tho reach of
her voice. You have tried your strength;
you have learned precisely what you
can do ; you have thrown the -hammer
so oftgn that you know to au inch how
far you ran throw it—at least you are a
great fool if you do not. The world,
too, has been looking on and has made
up her mind about you. She has ap
prised and valued you as au auctioneer
apprises and values au estate or the fur
niture of a house. “Once you served
Prince Florizol aud wore three pile,
but tho brave days of campaigning are
over. What to you aro canzonets and
love-songs? The mighty nnsu'on is
vapid and second-hand. Cupid will
never more flutter rosilyover your head;
at most lie will only flutter in an unin
spired fashion above the head of yonr
daughter-in-law. Yon have sailed round
the world, seen all its wonders, and
come home again, and must adorn your
dwelling as best yon can with the rare
things you have picked up 'on the way.
At life’s table you have taste 1 of every
dish except the covered one, and of that
you will have your share by-iyid-by.
The road over which you are fated to
march is more than half accomplished,
and at every onward stage the scenery
is certain to become more somber, and
in due time the twilight will fall. To
you, on your onward journey, there will
be little to astonish, little to delight.
Tho interpreter’s house is behind where
you first read the poets ; so is also the
house beautiful with the three damsels
whore you first learned to love. As you
pass onward you are attended by your
henchman, Memory, who may be either
the cheerfulest, or gloomiest of com
panions. You have come up out of the
sweet smelling valley-flowers ; you are
now on the broken granite, seamed and
wrinkled, with dried up water-courses ;
and before you, striking you full in the
face, is the broad disk of the solitary
setting sun.
The man of forty-five or thereby is
compelled to own, if he sits down to
think about it, that existence is very
different from what it was twenty years
previously. His life is more than half
spent to begin with. He is like one
who has spent seven hundred and fifty
pounds of his original patrimony of a
thousand. Then from his life there has
departed that “ wild freshness of morn
ing” which Tom Moore sang about. Iu
his onward journey he is not likely tp
encounter anything absolutely new.
lie has already conjugated every tense
of the verb To He. He has been in
love twice or thrice. He has been mar
ried—only ouce, let us trust. In all
probability lie is the father of a fine
family of children ; ho has been ill, and
he has recovered ; he has experienced
triumph and failure; ho has known
what it is to have money, in his purse,
and what it is to want money in his
purse. Sometimes he has been a debtor,
sometimes he has been a creditor, ne
has stood by the brink of half a dozen
graves, and heard the clod falling on
the coffin-lid. All this ho has experi
enced ; the only new thing before him
is death, aud even to that he has at va
rious times approximated. Life has
lost most of its unexpectedness, its
zest, its novelty, and become like a
worn shoe or a thread-bare doublet,
lo him there is no new thing under the
sun. Hut then this growing old is a
gradual process ; and zest, sparkle and
novelty are not essential to happiness,
l'lie man who has reached five-and
lorty has learned what a pleasue there
h in customariuess and use and wont—
m having everything around him famil
iar > tried, confidential. Life may have
become humdrum, but his tastes have
become humdrum too. Novelty an-
n "}* mm, the intrusion of an unfamil
iav object puts him out. A pair of new
.y embroidered slippers would be much
.' orria mental than the well-worn
<iuic!es which lie warming for him be
n'.f* ie hhrary fire; but then ho cau
g i his feet into them so easily,
riov'i' with his old friends—a
tlm i'w w ?. nla break the charm of
hVWr' airu ] ar aces He loves the
° 1 the fields and the brook
Two Dollars Per Annum,
VOLUME 11.
and the bridge, which he sees every
day, and he would not exchange them
for Alps aud glaciers. By the time a
man lias reached forty five he lies as
comfortably in his habits as tlie silk
worm in its cocoon. On the whole I
take it that middle age is a happier pe
riod than youth. Iu the entire circle of
the year there are no days so delight
ful as those of a fine October, when the
trees are bare to the mild heavens, aud
the red leaves bestrew the road, and
you can feel the breath of winter, morn
ing and evening—no days so calm, so
tenderly solemn, and with such a rever
ent meekness in the air. The lyrical
up-hurst of the lark at such a time
would be incongruous. The only
sounds suitable to the season are the
rusty caw of the homeward-sliding
rook—the creaking of the wain return
ing empty from the farm yard. There
is an “ unrest which men miscall de
light,” and of that “ unrest” youth is
for the most part composed. From that
middle age is free. The setting suns of
youth are crimson and gold; the set
ting suns of middle age
Do take a sober coloring from an eye
Tiiat hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality.
Youth is the slave of beautiful faces,
aud fine eyes, aud silver-sweet voices—
they distract, madden, alarm. To mid
dle age they are but the gracefullest
statues, tho loveliest poems. They de
light but burn not. They awake no
passion, they heighten no pulse. And
the imaginative man of middle age pos
sesses after a fashion all tho passionate
turbulence, all the keen delights of his
earlier days. They are not dead—they
are dwelling in the ante-chamber of his
memory, awaiting his call; and when
they are called they wear au ethereal
something which is not their own. The
muses are the daughters of memory;
youth is tho time to love, but middle
age the period at which the best love
poetry is written. And middle age too
—the early period of it, when a man is
master of his instruments and knows
what lie can do—is tho best season of
intellectual activity. The playful ca
pering flames of a newly kindled fire is
a pretty sight; but not nearly so effec
tive—any housewife will tell you—as
when the flames are gone and the whole
mass of fuel has become caked into a
sober redness that emits a steady glosv.
There is nothing in this world which
time does not improve. A silver wed
ding is better than the voice of the
Epithalamium. Aud the most beauti
ful face that ever was is made yet more
beautiful when there is laid upon it tho
reverence of silver hairs.
There is a certain, even-handed jus
tice in time; and for what ho takes
away he gives us something in return,
lie robs us of elasticity of limb aud
spirit, and iu its place he brings tran
quility and repose—the mild autumnal
weather of the soul. Tie takes away
hone. !>•- oMxraa 113 niAninrr _ Anil
the settled, unfluctuating atmosphere of
middle-age is no bad exchange for the
stormful emotions, the passionate cries
aud suspenses of the earlier day. The
constitutional melancholy of the mid
dle-aged man is a dim background on
which the pale flowers of life are brought
out in tho teuderest relief. Youth is
tho time for action, middle-age for
thought. In youth we hurriedly crop
the lierbage ; in middle-age, in a shel
tered place, we chew the ruminative
cud. Iu youth, red-handed, red-ankled,
with songs and shoutings, we gather in
the grapes ; in middle-age, under our
own fig-tree, or iu quiet gossip with a
friend, wo drink the wine free of all
turbid lees. Youth is a lyrical poet,
middle-age a quiet essayist, fond of re
counting experiences and of appending
a moral to every incident. Iu youth
the world is strange and unfamiliar,
novel and exciting, everything wears
the face and garb of a stranger; in mid
dle-age the world is covered over with
reminiscence as with a garment—-it is
made homely ovith usage, it is made
sacred ovith graves. The middle-aged
man can go nowhere without treading
the mark of his own footstep 3 . And in
huddle-age, too—provided the man has
been a good and an ordinarily happy
one—along with this mental tranquili
ty, there comes a corresponding sweet
ness of the moral atmosphere. He has
seen the good and evil that are in the
world, the ups and downs, the almost
general desire of tho men and women
therein to do the right thing if they
could but see how—and he has learned
to be uucensorious, humane ; to attrib
ute the best motives to every action,
and to be chary of imputing a sweeping
and cruel blame. He has a quiet smile
for the vain-glorious boast; a feeling of
respect for shabby-genteel virtues; a
pity for tho threard-bare garments
proudly worn, and for the napless hat
glazed into more than pristine brillian
cy from frequent brushing after rain.
He would not be satirical for the world.
He has no finger of scorn to point at
anything under tlie sun. He has a
hearty “ Ameu ” for every goo 1 wish,
and in the worst cases lie leans to aver
diet of not proven. Aud along with
this pleasant blaudness and charity, a
certain grave, serious humor, “ a smile
| and a tear on the lip in the (ye,” is no-
ticeable frequently in middle-aged per
sons —a phase of humor peculiar to that
period of life, as the chrysanthemum to
December. Pity lies at the bottom of
it, just as pity lies, unsuspected, at the
bottom of love. Perhaps this special
quality of humor —with its sadness oi
tenderness, its mirth with the heart
ache, its gayety growing out of deepest
seriousness, like a crocus on a child s
grave—never approaches more closely
the perfection than in some passages of
Mr. Hawthorne’s writings—who was a
middle-aged man from earliest boyhood.
Aud although middle-aged persons have
lost the actual possession of youth, yet
in virtue of this humor they compre
hend it, see all around it, enter imagi
natively into every sweet and bitter of
it. Thoy wear the key memory at their
girdles, and they can open every door
in the chamber of youth. And it is also
in virtue of this peculiar humor that—
Mr. Dickens’ Little Nell to the con*ra
ry it is only middle-aged persons who
can, either as poets as artists, create for
us a child. There is no more beautiful
thing on earth than an old mans love
for his granddaughter ; more beautiful
( ,ven—from the absence of all suspicion
of direct personal bias or interest-—than
his love for his own daughter ; and it is
only the meditative, sad-hearted, mid
dle-aged man who can creep into Lie
EASTMAN, DODGE CO., GEORGIA, THURSDAY, APRIL 30, 1874.
heart of a child and interpret it, and
show forth the new nature to us in the
subtle cross lights of contrast and sug
gestion. Imaginatively, thus, wrinkles
of age become the dimples of infancy.
Wordsworth was not a very young man
when he held the colloquy with the
little maid who insisted in her childish
logic that lie was one of seven. Mr.
Hawthorne was not a young man when
he painted “ Pearl ” by the side of the
brook in tho forest; and he wa* middle
aged and more when he drew “ Punsie ”
the most exquisite child that lives in
English words. And when speaking of
middle-age, of its peculiar tranquilitv
aud humor, why not tell of its peculiar
beauty as well ? Men and women make
their own beauty or their own ugliness.
Hir Edward Bnl WOr LyHnn opociko ixi
one of his novels of a man “ who was
uglier than he had any business to be ;”
and, if he could but read it, every hu
man being carries his life in his face,
and is good looking or the reverse as
that life has been goo lor evil. On our
feature the flue chisels of thought and
emotion are eternally at work, Beauty
is not the monopoly of blooming young
men and of white and pink maids.
There is a slow-growing .beauty which
only comes to perfection in old age.
Grace belongs to no period of life, and
goodness improves the longer it exists.
I have seen sweeter smiles on a lip of
seventy than I ever saw on a lip of
seventeen. There is beauty of youth,
aud there is also the beauty of holiness
—a beauty much more seldom met; and
more frequently found in tlie arm-chair
by the fire, with grandchildren around
its knee, than in the ball-room or the
promenade. Husband and wife who
have fought the world side by side, who
have made common stock of joy aud
sorrow, and aged together, are not unfre
queutly found curiously alike iu person
al appearance aud in pitch and tone of
voice—just as twin pebbles on the
beach, exposed to the same tidal influ
ences, are each other’s alter ego. He
has gained a feminine something whicl*
brings his manhood into full relief.
A/ic has gained a masculine something
which acts as a foil to her womanhood.
Beautiful are they in life, these pale
winter roses, and in death they will not
be divided. When death comes, lie
will pluck not one but both.
And in any case, to the old man, when
tho world becomes trite, the triteness
.arises not so much from a cessation as
from a transference of interest. What
is taken from this world is given to the
next. The glory is in the east in the
morning, it is in tlie west in the after
noon, and when it is dark the splendor
is irradiating the realm of the under
world. He would only follow.—Alex
ander Smith.
Habits of the Fur Seal.
The fur seal never sprawls out and
flamidors ralxen i .->/! „„
might be supposed from observing the
progression of the common hair seal;
on the coutrary, this animal carries its
body clear and free from the ground,
with head and neck erect, stepping for
ward with its fore-feet, and bringing the
hinder ones up to fresh position after
every second step forward. When ex
erting itself it can spring into a lum
bering, shambling gallop, and for a few
rods run as fast as a man, but will sink
quickly to the earth, graspmg, panting,
and palpitating. In the water all move
ments when swimming aro quick and
swift, the fore-flippers propelling, and
the long, attenuated hinder ones serv
ing to guide the course. The animal
always in traveling swims under water,
ever and anon rising, with head and
neck clear from the sea, to snort and
survey the field. The seals will fre
quently, when iu play or suddenly
startled, leap from the water like so
many dolphins.
The young seals are exceedingly frol
icsome at sea (as also a great pari of the
time on land) ; running acrobatic races
in the surf, chasing one another, and
whirling in swift circles, they seem to
be brimful of warm, joyous life. They
also delight, especially the old ones, in
lazily turning over and over in the
swell, scratching and rubbing therm
selves with their flippers, exposing as
tliey float in the water but a small por
tion of their bodies ; they also sleep
upon the surface iu the same short, un
easy slumber so characteristic of them
when on land. There is nothing dull
or lethargic about the fur seal when
asleep or awake. A healthy seal is
never seen sleeping without an involun
tary nervous muscular . twitching and
flinching of various portions of its
boly, usually an uneasy folding out
and* back of its flippers, with quick
crawling movements of its skin, the
eyes being, however, always tightly
closed.
Arising from these great bands of
herding seals is a peculiar dull, vibrat
ing roar, the joint effort of hundreds of
thousands of vigilant and angry males,
together-with the calls of their harems,
a din which never ceases for an instant,
day or night, during tho six or eight
weeks of the breeding season : it can
be heard at sea miles away, and fre
quently has warned vessels of danger
ous pr iximity of land when searching
for the islands in thick, foggy weather.
There also comes with this sound a
most disagreeable smell. Tne seals
themselves do not emit this odor, al
though they have sweetish, oily breath,
but they are constantly stirring up the
decaying bodies of the dead, on and
over which they sleep or incessantly
flounder. —Harper's Magazine.
Temperance in Russia.
In some parts of Russia a strong tem
perance movement is now on foot. In
the month of January last forty-eight
village communities in the district of
Molniew adopted stringent regulations
in regard to taverns or drinking saloons.
Bv these enactments, it was made an
offense to buy or sell liquor on credit
or in exchange for other articles, or to
loiter in a drinking saloon. In the
district of Pensa, some two hundred
villages have resolved that no inns or
drinking saloons shall be erected on
nnv soil belonging to the peasants. In
consequence of these regulations many
saloon keepers have been prosecuted
and sentenced to undergo punishment.
X/ife is like a theater, for the worst
often occupy the best place in it, M.
Aurelius.
Iji God 7/ c 27'usl.
PARIS IN 1793.
A Vivid Sketch oi the City from Victor
Hugo’s Last Novel,
Very few of the largest shops were
open. Peripatetic haberdasherv and
toy-shops were dragged about by wo
men, lighted by candles, which dropped
their tallow on the merchandise. Open
air shops were kept by ex-nuns in
blonde wigs. The mender, darning
stockings in a stall, <vas a countess ;
that dress-maker a marchioness. Ma
dame de Boufllers inhabited a garret,
from which she could look out at her
own hotel. Hawkers ran about offer
ing the “papers of news.” Persons
who wore cravats that hid their chins
were called “the scrofulous.” Street
sinoroT-a XUe CPorrA Boot-pd
Pitou, the royalist song writer, and a
valiant man in the bargain. They
danced the carmagnole ip great circles.
They no longer said jgentleman and
lady, but citizen and cicizeness. They
danced in tne ruined cloisters with the
church lamps lighted on the altars,
with cross-shaped chandeliers hanging
from the vaulted roofs aud tombs be
neath their feet. Blu6“blue tyrant’s
waist-coats” were worn. There were
liberty-cap shirt pins, made of white,
blue aud red stones. The Rue de Rich
elieu was called the street of law ; the
Faubourg of Glory ; a statue of Nature
stood iu the Place de lh Bastile. At the
Invalides the statues of the saints and
kiugs were crowned With Phrygian
caps. They played cards on the curb
stones at the crossings. The packs of
cards were also in the full tide of revo
lution ; tho kings were replaced by
genii, tlie queens by the goddess of
liberty, the knaves by figures represent
ing equity, and the aces by impersona
tions of law. They tilled the public
gardens ; the plow worked at tho Tuil-
eries. With all these excesses was
mingled, especially amo g the con
quered parties, an indescribable haugh
ty weariness of life. A man wrote
to Fouquier Finvi'le, “Have the
goodness to free me from exist
ence. This is my address.” Newspa
pers appeared in legions. The hair
dresser’s men curled the wigs of women
in public, while the master read the
Mouiteur aloud. People went to have
their fortunes told by Martin, at No. 173
in the Rue d’Anjou. There was a lack
of bread, of coals, of soap. Flocks of
milch cows might be seen coming in
from the country. At the Yallee lamb
sold at fifteen francs per pound. An
order of the Commune assigned a pound
of meat per head every ten days. Peo
ple stood in rank at the doors of the
butchers’ shops. One of these files had
remained famous; it reached from a
grocer’s shop in the Rue des Petit Ca
ncan to the middle of the Rue Montor
gueli. To form a line was called “hold
ing the cord,” from a v long rope which
Was held in the bands of tkooa
;He women were brave and mild. They
passed entire nights awaiting their turn
to get into the bakers’ shops. Wood
cost four hundred francs in coin per
cord; people could be seen in the
streets sawing up their bedsteads. In
the winter the fountains were frozen;
two pails of water cost twenty sous ;
every man made himself a water carrier.
A golden louis was worth 3,990 (paper)
francs. A course in a hackney coach
cost 600 francs. After a day’s use of a
carriage, this sort of dialogue might be
heard: “Coachman, how much do I
owe you?” “ Six thousand francs.” A
green grocer woman sold 20,000 francs’
worth of vegetables a day. A beggar
said : “ Help me in the name of charity!
It took 230 francs to finish paying for
my shoes.” There was no flattering
among this people. There was the som
bre j 'y of having made an end of
thrones. Volunteers abounded; each
street furnished a battalion.
Statistics of Intemperance.
The testimony of competent judges is
decided in the opinion that the use of
ardent spirits is hurtful to health and
long life, and the old-fashioned calcula
tions of Neison, in his vital statistics,
are confirmed by the researches of the
general life-office. According to these
estimates, the probability of death
among drinkers between twenty one and
Rrty-five years is ten times as much as
among the whole population ; between
forty-one and sixty years, four times
as much; and among habitual tiplers
over sixty years of age, twice as much
as among the people at large. In Eng
land, 1850-59, more than 8,000 cases
were reported of men who had literally
drank themselves to death. Neison has
given us his investigation of 7111 tip
plers,* that out of 1000 58.4 die an
nually, while out of 1000 inhabitants of
the same age only nineteen die. Thus
the mortality among drinkers is three
times as great as in the community at
large. He has- carried out his calcula
tions into all ages, and shown how this
chronic self murder marvelously dimin
ishes the expectation of life. The
highest point as to numbers is found in
the years 1851 60, which report 192 men
and 44 women intemperate out of 10,-
000, in England and Wales, and which
reckon the diminution in the rate of ex
pectation of life accordingly. This last
statement is most startling, and shows
a falling off* in the probable term of
life for each ten years, from twenty to
sixty and upward, of respectively
twenty-eight, twenty-two, seventeen,
ten and five y*ars, with fractions, and
amounting to the fearful percentage,
respectively, of’thirty-five, thirty-eight,
forty, fiftv-oue, and sixty-three per
cent, of probable life, as compared with
the population. Surely strong drink is
slow fire, and intemperance if volun
tary maclness and chronic suicide.—
Harper's Magazine.
Figures for Crusaders.
The distillers of the country, for the
last fiscal year, produced over 68,000,000
gallons of spirits. There were 445 of
them, in which about 870,000,000 cap
ital is invested, 70,000 men employed,
and nearly 20,000,000 bushels of grain
consumed, four-fifths being corn. The
spirits produced yielded nearly 850,000,-
00 of taxes to the treasury. Illinois
is tho chief producer and the western
states distilled more than five-sevenths
of all the spirits made. A letter from
California says, this year, there will be
produced there 12,000,000 gallons of
wine, 2,000,000 pounds of grapes for
table use, and 250,000 pounds of raisins,
besides the brandy, of which wo have
no statistics ; 40,000 acres are in vine
yards, and the area is constantlv increas
ing.
“ Don’t, Charley.”
“ Don’t, Charley,” came to my oars in
a sweet, musical tone, while I was
seated in a railway car, last sum
mer. I should not have heard the soft,
touching voioe, had it not been very
near me. I looked to see who it was
that had spoken, and saw a sweet,
beautiful woman upon the seat in front
of me. A half-sad look rested upon the
young face that was all aglow with love
and tenderness. A young man was
seated by her side whose face wore a
restless, dissipated look, and in a mo
ment T oomiireherrded it all. His face
was flushed slightly, and I kuew why
it was thus. He was talking very fast
to someone in advance of him* and
once I heard a low oath. “Don’t,
Charley,” sh 9 said again, in the same
sweet voice. But Charley did not seem
to heed the words, but -went on iu a
half wild way to the man. Several
more oaths came from his lips ; but the
woman remained silent, yet looking so
pleadingly at the erring one that I
thought, if he had been half human, he
would have heeded the mild, loving re
proof that was so visible in her tear
dimmed eyes.
A friend by my side whispered in my
ear. “ They have been married just
one year.”
“ He is a brute,” I only said in reply.
At that moment I saw the young hus
biud wink slyly to the man, and then
they both arose and went into the bag
gage-car. I under, tood the movement
when I saw a bottle protruding from the
husband’s coat pocket.
“Don’t Charley; don’t go,” the
young wife had pleaded before he got
beyond her reach; but he tore himself
from her light grasp, and rushed along.
Her eyes filled with tears, and a low
moan came from her pale lips, and then
she bowed her head and wept silently.
He came back in a few moments, his
face flashed still more, and his voice
a key or two louder than before. He
brushed rudely past the wife, evidently
to get near the car window.
“ Let me alone, Mag,” lie said as she
laid her white hand upon his arm.
“Women are always in the way,” he
said, again turning to the man iii front
of him.
The wife turned away, and I did not
hear her sweet, reproving voice again.
How I pitied that young, loving wife,
and how often I wonder if her sensitive
heart must suffer and bleed for many
long years ! I think not; for her ten
der, loving soul, and frail, slender body
will not bear such unkindness. Strange
lioav soon liquor will transform human
beings into unfeeling monsters, and chill
tha ardent, loving nature of
l nolren/1 nrul fvm.fln/v
The Drunkard’s Cure.
Some months ago a gentleman adver
tised that he had discovered a sure
specific for the cure of drunkenness. He
would not divulge the secret of what
compounds he used, but furnished the
medicidfc at so much per bottle. He
did not have so many applicants for his
cure as he expected, considering the ex
tent of the disease. In fact, the more
malignant cases did not seem anxious
for relief ; they rather appeal uo. re cu
joy the malady. A few, however, plac
ed themselves under treatment, and
some were cured—whether by taking
tlie medicine, or taking strong
drinks, is not stated. One of the cured
ones had faith in the medicine, rigidly
carried out the directions of the doctor,
and now has not the least taste for in
toxicating drinks; whereas one year
ago he was an inebriate, and could not
get along with less than a pint to a
quart of whisky per day. He said that,
at some trouble and expense, he had
procured the recipe for the preparation
of the medicine, which he had publish
ed for the benefit of suffering humani
ty. It is as follows : Sulphate of iron,
five grains ; peppermint water, eleven
drachms ; spirit of nutmeg, one drachm.
Twice a day. This preparation acts as
a tonic and stimulant, and so partially
supplies 'the place of the accustomed
liquor,Jand prevents that absolute phys
ical and moral prostration that [follows
a sudden breaking off from the use of
stimulating drinks. It is to be taken
in quantities equal to an ordinary dram,
and as often as the desire for a dram
returns.
“ Translated ” Wine.
An ingenious fraud, by which wine
costing about twelve shillings a dozen
in France was “translated” so as to sell
for two guineas a dozen in England, was
exposed recently in one of the London
police courts. The prosecution was in
stituted by several well-known cham
pagne manufacturers, including Roeder
er and Moet & Chandon, and the evi
dence they brought forward went to
show that the prisoner or his accompli
ces were accustomed to buy champagne
of the poorest quality in France and
ship it to London; there the corks were
drawn, aud replaced by others branded
so as to resemble genuine ©nes, the
originallabels were removed, and forged
labels were pasted on the bottles, and a
transformation was thus effected which
would deceive even experienced buyers.
The bottles could not be told externally
from those containing high-priced cham
pagne, the imitation of one of Moet <fc
Ohandon’s brands being especially clev
er. The justice, indeed, considered the
fraud so dangerously ingenious that the
prisoner was sentenced to hard labor for
the term of twelve months. This ex
pose should teach people the folly of
buying well-known brands of wine for
much less than the ruling price.
Thackeray used to say that a man might
as well talk of getting sovereigns for
ten shillings as to say he could pet gen
uine wines at half the market rates.
—The time is approching when the
feminine dweller in the suburbs will say
to her little girl : “ Susan, go in and ask
Mis. Smith if she won’t keep a few of
those hens at home. I’ve just planted
my seeds and I can’t have all those fowls
here at once.”
—Cobbett’s wife caught him by the
grace with which she used her wash
tub. She never was known to use it
after the wedding.
Payable in Advance.
NUMBER 14
INSANITY.
Statistics Show an Increase In the Kuui
her of Insane .Pei sons.
The great master of statistics, Quote
let, considers insanity under the univer
sal point of view of the “ Development
of the Moral and Spiritual Faculties of
Man ; yet there seems to be an impor
tant distinction te be made between the
vicious perversion of the mind and
heart and merely physical disease of
the brain. Moral statistics have mostly
to deal with the moral and mental
aspects of insanity, and with the influ
ence of perverse habits in bringing on
the bodily disease. It is aard to draw
the line between the moral and physi
cal factors of insanity, although there
is a line of division between them ; and
in soma eases tho dieoaoe ia wholly
physical, the result of inheritance, cli
mate, or acute sickness, and in other
cases it springs from pride, sensuality,
debauchery, and habitual vices, and has
a previous history, a preparatory im
morality, which ends in what is called
“moral insanity.”
The general opinion is that insanity
is on the increase in modern civilization,
and is multiplying that saddest form of
death, the ruin of the intellect ; but it
is not easy to give positive facts to sus
tain that view. It is not just to base
our estimate upon the increase of resi
dents in insane hospitals, since the in
crease may only prove that better care
is now taken of the insane, and the pre
judice against those institutions has
been dying away. Yet wherever obser
vations have been made, tho increase in
the number of the insane has been re
ported as so constant, and under all cir
cumstances as in such regular propor
tion, that we cannot help believing that
this evil grows among us as decidedly
as suicide. The proportion of the in
crease in the different kinds of insanity,
and the closer investigation of its dis
tribution in city and country, as well as
in the different civil and professional
classes, leave no doubt that the peculiar
ways and moral mischiefs of our mod
ern civilization favor the progress of
this calamity. Without being able to
declare the absolute correctness of the
figures, we may ascribe out of the 300,-
000 insane of Europe (including idiots)
the greatest relative number, two per
thousand, to the most highly civilized
nation, the German ; while tho Rou
manians hold the middle grouud, near
ly one per thousand, and Sclavic Tar
tars tho lowest place, 0.6, or six-tenths
of one, per thousand. It is much the
same with insanity as with suicide, and
it prevails, like suicide, more in the
north and northwest of Europe than in
the less civilized southern and south
eastern parts. In all the more civilized
countries, too, there is more increase of
insanity than of idiocy; and it is the
same in cities as compared with the
rwnnrry, ior tu stir ana passion OI
overwrought civllizatiun tend LUUIC to
distract the brain into madness than to
dull it into idiocy.
Among different callings the profes
sions that are called liberal are most in
clined to delusion and melancholy.
While these -constitute only about a
twentieth of the whole population, or
5.04 per cent., they number among the
melancholy 12.90, aud among the de
lirious 9.41 per cent. In general, mel
ancholy and mania prevail more among
women, idiocy and delusion more among
In respect to ex VIA ■ f n . I
married, widows, and, above all, divor
ced persons, give a larger proportion of
insane than the married. Although
children, who are little, if any, exposed
to insanity, are reckoned in percen
tage of the unmarried—sixty-two to
sixty-four per cent.—yet throughout
Germany the proportion of celibates
among the insane is much more unfavor
able—about seventy per cent.—and in
Bavaria as much as eighty-one per cent.
Divorced women are especially liable to
delusion and mania. Thus, while in
Saxony the divorced constitute only
O.IG per cent., or sixteen-hundreths of
oae per cent., or three-tenths of one
per cent., among women, they give to
the insane asylums in the relation of
1.21 and 3.04 per cent. ; thus in mania
the proportion of divorced women rises
as high as G. 02 percent., and in the cat
egory of individual delusion as high as
five per cent. — Harper's Magazine.
A Committee of the Whole Against
Death.
We need to set' our faces against all
the mischiefs that sicken and destroy
our race, and to rally all friends of
civilization into a grand committee of
the whole against disease, corruption,
and death. Especially we should guard
the germs of life, and discern what
Plato said in his “laws” so many centu
ries ago, that life begins before birth,
and the mother is the cradle of the un
born child. The mother should be, as
such a sacred person, and her offspring
protected by all skill and while all
the diabolical arts of abortion and fet
icide should be made infamous and
criminal. The fearful habit of looking
upon maternity as a of girlish
beauty, and as a bitter pledge to care,
should be put down, and we should
kave no toleration for the new race of
monks and nuns who would be childless
without chastity, and be virtually, but
not virtuously, celibates in the service
of vanity and self-inulgence, not of de
votion and self-sacrifice.
Our whole method of amusements,
especially for the vonng, should be* re
formed. Gas-light should yield to day
light, night vapors in heated and close
rooms should give way to fresh air un
der the open heavens, and our young
people should be brought up to work
and play under the ministry of that
great solar force which is the most be
nign and godlike agent known to men.
Ardent spirits and tobacco should be
given up, and in their stead genial ex
ercise of riding, gymnastics, and the
dance, with music and beautiful arts,
should be employed to sti the languid
powers and soothe the troubled affec
tions. The old Greeks taught music
and gymnastics as parts of education,
and Plato, in urging the importance of
these, still maintains that the soul is
superior ti> the body, and religion is the
crown of all true cult re. Why may
not Christian people take as broad a po
sition on highe? ground, and with a gen
erous and genial culture associate a
faith that is no dreamy sentiment or
ideal abstraction, but the best power of
man and the supreme grace of God ?
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FACTS AND FANCIES.
—A dish for a lawyer—Suet.
—A good floor-manager—A broom.
—The gait of a fast ago—lnvestigate.
—Moonlight is merely the beautiful
old age of day.
—Art may be learned, but can’t be
taught.— R. A. Leslie.
—To love is to bo useful to yourself;
to cause love is to be useful to others. —
Berangcr.
—Old minds are like old horses; you
must exercise them if you wish to keep
them in working order.— John Adams.
—What is the difference between a
farmer and a bottle of whisky? One
husbands the corn and tho other corns
the linebout).
—ln life it is difficult t > say who do
you the most mischief, —enemies with
the worst intentions, or friends with the
best.— Buhoer.
—Graoe is a modest girl and refuses
to wear low dresses. “Mamma,” she
remarks to her maternal, “that is more
than I can bare.”
- A - A question of precedence is troubling
Cincinnati. The trouble is, whether an
alderman’s wife ranks higher than the
wife of the county recorder.
—Such as are thy habitual thoughts,
such also will be the character of tliy
mind; for tho soul is dyed by tho
thoughts. —Marcus Aurelius.
—What’s the difference between the
side of a right-angle triangle and an
old maid’s teapot ? One is a hypotlie
nuse, the other a tea-pot-in-use,
—Are blacksmiths, who make a living
by forging, or carpenters, who do a lit
tle counter-fitting, any worse thau men
who sell iron and steel for a living ?
—Almost every one will bo surprised
to learn that SI,OOO, were collected at
the Washington monument last year.
It pays the salary of the association’s
treasurer.
—The Golden Globe of Colorado has
suspended on account of the disappear
ance of the editor. He was last seen
standing under a tree, and some men
pulling on a rope.
—Fools that they are, they know not
how nmch the half is better than tho
whole, nor how great pleasure there is
in wholesome herbs—tho mallow and
the asphodel.— llesiodus.
—Tongatabo, in the Sandwich Is
lands, has been cultivating a yam
twelve years, and now it is ripe and
weighs a ton. A clear case of vegeta
ble inflation. Yam ! Yam !
—“ Did you execute this instrument
without fear or compulsion from your
husband?’ blandly asked the judge.
“Fear! Compulsion ! He compel me!
You don’t know me, judge.”
An ov/V.cvfc
man dreamed recently that his aunt was
dead. Tho dream juoved true. Jlo
tried the same dream on his mother-in
law, but it didn’t work.
—I have often wondered how every
man loves himself mere than all the
rest of men, yet sets less value on his
own opinion of himself than on the
opinion of others.— Apollodorus.
—How sweet is the prayer of the vir
gin heart to its love ! Thy virtues vr r \
me. With virtue preserve me !
thou love me? Keep me, then still
worthy to be loved I— Sir 1\ Sidney.
afafip■. tears and laugh
born. Liko two children sleeping in
one cradle, when one stirs and wakes,
the other wakes also.— Bccchcr.
—“Well, Bridget, if I engage you, I
shall want you to stay at home whenev
er I shall wish to go out.” “Well,ma’am,
I have no objections, providing you
do the same when I wish to go out.”
—Life is made up, not of great sacri
fices or duties, but of little things, in
which smiles and kindness and small
obligations given habitually are what
win and preserve the heart and secure
comfort. — Sir M. Davy.
—lt makes ns proud when our love of
a mistress is returned ; it ought to make
us prouder still when we can love her
for herself alone, without the aid of
any such selfish reflection. This is the
religion of love. — llazlitt.
—A model husband from the land of
fiction. “He admired his wife so much
that he used to light the candle three
times every night to look at her; and
he became a very celebrated bankrupt
two or three times.”
—A warngling couple were discussing
the subject of epitaphs and tomb-stones,
and the husband said : “My dear, what
kind of a stone do you suppose they will
give me, when I die?” “ Brimstone, my
love,” was the affectionate reply.
—A Delaware man has been taking
cod-liver oil for four years to cure the
consumption, and has just found out
that he never had any consumption. lie
is the maddest man in America, and his
children haven’t said “boo” in a week.
—A cockney tourist met with a Scotch
lassie going barefoot toward Glasgow.
“Lassie,” said he, “I should like to
know if all the people in this part go
barefooted.” “ Part of ’em do, and the
rest of ’em mind their ow r n business,”
was the reply.
—“That dog of yourn flew at me
this morning and bit me on the leg,
and I notify you that I intend to shoot it
the first time I see it.” “The dog is
not mad.” “ Mad ! I know he’s not
mad. What has he got to be mad
about ? It’s me that’s mad.”
—So then the year is repeating its old
story again. We are come once more,
thank God, to its most charming chapter.
The violets and the May-flowers are as
its inscriptions or vignettes. It always
makes a pleasant impression on us, when
we open again at these pages of the book
of life.— Goethe.
—Little girl—“ Mamma, I don’t think
the people who make dolls are very pi
ous people.” Mamma —“Why not,
my child ?” Little girl—“ Because you
can never make them kneel. I always
have to lay my doll down on her stom
ach to say her prayers. ”
—Good talkers are becoming rare
nowadays, but are occasionally to be met
with. Of one whose conversation is very
entertaining but rather disconnected, a
witty lady once remarked, “Oh,yes, lie’s
very clever, but he talkls like a book in
which there are leaves occasionally
missing.”