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TURNING BACK THE LEAVES.
BY J. R. CHRISTIAN.
How sweet, yet sa<l, in withered age,
To backward turn life's varied jjage.
Its pictures gray or green;
Fairest among them all I trace
My native vale, o’er whose fair face
The light and shade each other chase
An emblem of life's scene.
What is it—the sweet, secret spell
That draws me to that little dell,
Rock bound and wild,
Along whose shaded, dancing streams
1 played by day and roved in dreams
When I was but a child ?
Why does it rise on summer eves,
When winds are low among the leaves,
And daylight’s toil is o’er ?
Against the sky’s rich sunset hue
Rises that vale—those mountains blue,
That bound my natal shore.
The hill, crowned with the rnstic church.
Which pendant vines and spreading birch
Did their green beBt to bide;
From its old mossy door behold
The mingling throng of young and old
Issuing on Sabbath tide.
Ah! yonder sun in pomp declining.
On that cool vale tine hour is shining,
And birds the evening hail;
While from the sweeping hills replying
Sound mellow echoes—fading, dying
Upon the evening gale.
It pains my jealous heart to know
A single flower there should blow
Unseen, unloved by me;
Or that the birds each balmy spring
Have flitted by on wanton wing
And sung in melody.
Or that upon the crystal river
The mirrored shade of leaves that quiver
In joyous play.
Trembled in turn by me unseen,
Blending of sky and branches greeu,
And fleecy clouds of May.
There was one spot, hard by a spring,
In which the swallow dipped her wing,
And whence a brook—a tiny thing—
Danced down with laugh of glee;
There stood the achool house, brown and lone;
Ah! through the mists of years now flown,
How plain its walls I see!
But where are now the nut-brown girls
Whose locks were like the mist that curls
Up from my valley river?
And where the boys? Alas! some sleep
Where darkling willow branches weep— ^
Life’s story closed forever.
My path of fate has led me wide,
Far from that river's lovely side—
Those uplands bold and wild;
But never scene has worn the spell
That holds me to that little dell
I loved so when a child.
THE CHOST
“And the Major will to-night eat his supper
with Pluto, in company with his three soldiers,”
said Tamerlan.
“Pshaw!" put in Georges’ lieutenant, “a
fellow of that sort must know how to swim.”
“I don't care if he does,” said Tamerlan, “he
cannot run a race with me.”
“ He will not mind you, but he will save his
prisoner.”
“ If he only tries, I will dive and pull him by
the feet until he is suffocated.”
“lean help you, ’ remarked Tamerlan. “I
swim as a dolphin.”
“Xo.no,” said Malabry; “you must stay
where I said. It is important that we should fly
from here as soon as we get the prisoner, so that
if the olue-coats are not drowned, they cannot
overtake us. Xow that you know my plan, what
do you think of it?"
“It seems to be ingeniously conceived, but
the most insignificant incident could make it
fail.”
“ What incident ?”
“Suppose, for instance, that somebody know
ing the ford should pass and show the way to
the carriage?”
“It is not market day, and the peasants stay
at home.’
“ But who knows if the driver has not passed
here already ?”
“ The drunkard of last night? No danger. I
made him talk while drinking. He never went
to Dieppe along this road. Anyhow, the
heavy rains of last winter have changed the
place of the ford.”
“Will the officer consent to pass before us
with his carriage?’’
“Certainly. He does not wish to travel in
our company, and as we leave our vehicle a lit
tle off the road, the Major will not wait for us
just for the sake of politeness.”
“I see you have an answer for every question.
I Let us try that Bouchevillier’s ford. Anyhow,
it is the last attempt we shall make.”
“And besides, we have not the choice,” said
i Malalabry.
“Alea jacla esi!" quoted Tamerlan.
“You may say what you please,” put in Saint-
Victor, “but it is a curious idea to throw into
I the river a woman whom you want to save.”
“Hush !” said Malabry; “I think I hear the
carriage.’
“ They did not stop at Gourney, then.”
“Or the driver pushed his horses very fast.”
“Never mind; it is the carriage. I am sure
of it now.”
“Take the command, then, and give your or-
i ders. ”
“ Tamerlan will stay with the horses and you
! come with me to the ford. When the blue-coats
arrive, you give me orders to try the passage.
! After that, we all know what we have to do.”
MALM AISON.
AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY
Translated from the French for the Sunny South
BY CHARLES GAILMABD.
[Most of the characters in this story are not fictitious,
hnt real personages who took conspicuous parts _ in
some of the most important events which occurred during
the rebellion of the West of France—called Chouannerie.]
CHAPTER XXXVI.
After a few minutes rest lor the horses, the
chouans resumed their travel, and soon found
themselves going down a hill towards a small
river, or, rather, a large creek.
“ This is the Epte,” said ^ Malabry, who had
not said a word for a long time.
“Well,” said Saint-Victor, “how far from
here is the ford ?”
“Not far; just beyond those large poplars.
We will soon be there.”
“All right. Now, old fellow, as soon as we
get there, you shall assume the command, and
we will act according to your instructions. But
your river is by no means a large one.”
“No; but the water is very dee.p”
“Not as deep as the Seine, I suppose? ”
“ Deep enough to swallow a full company of
gendarmerie d'elite.’
“It is more than sufficient; but I repeat, I
leave to you the control of the whole affair.”
Malabry did not answer. He was looking to
wards the valley, where the road could be seen
here and there through the thicket.
In a short time they arrived at a place where
the river runs at right angle with the road,
which makes a crook to the left.
The railroad crosses that place to-day on a
beautiful bridge; but at the beginning of this
century there was neither a bridge nor even a
ferry boat, and every one had to do the best he
could.
“Well,” said Saint-Victor to Malabry, who
was stopping his horses, “ we are now at that
famous ford, and it is time, I suppose, to ex
plain your idea.”
“Yes; and it will not take many words to
do it.” , , . ,
At the same time, Malabry turned his horses
to the left and drove along by the poplars bor
dering the water.
“ Here is a shady place,” he said, “ and we
shall wait here.”
“Wait for what?” asked Saint-Victor.
“AVait for the carriage.”
“ What do you want to wait for it for ?’’
“ For freeing the woman and drowning the 1
bine-coats.”
“Malabry, my friend, your answers are very
obscure. Explain yourself more intelligibly.”
“Here is the thing. You see the river? ’
“ Yes, and I believe it is about waist deep at
the most.”
“ It is so about twenty yards above on the
left; but if yon cross it straight, as the road
enters the river, you fall in a large hole over
fift -en feet deep, which extends very far below.
People around here know it, but the gendarmes
^ “ Do you believe the Major will be fool
enough to blindly plunge his carriage into the
river ? ”
“ No; but he will ask us why we do not cross
ourselves.”
•* Very likely he will. A\ hat will you answer
'■“That we have been told at Gourney the ford
was dangerous, and I did not want to risk my
horses before ascertaining it.’
•• Well, then ?’’
“ Then I enter the river and go straight with
the road. You know that I am a splendid
swimmer, and can stand erect while swimming;
so I will cross the rivet as if walking, and when
on the other side, I'll teH the driver that the
bottom is sound and hard. ^
“ I think I begin to understand you.”
“It is easy enough. He drives his horses
and falls in the hole with them, the woman
and the other gendarmes. Then I jump into
the river, and, as I swim like a fish, I pick up
the woman and bring her here, while the blue-
coats are drinking out of the river, which will
inconvenience the corporal, for the lellow does
not like water.” t . „„
“ What will we do during that time ?
“You shall be on the first seat with the reins
in vour hand, ready to start. Tamerlan must
stand by the vehicle to help me put the woman
in it if she has fainted. Then we will turn to
the right, and twenty minutes’ fast driving will
bring ns to the forest of Lyons, where we have
triends, who will furnish us with dry clothes.
To-night we will stop at Andelys, and to-morrow
)we will be in Paris.”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Meanwhile, Malabry pulled off his stockings
i and his long coat, that would be an impediment
to his swimming. He put them, with his boots,
! in the vehicle, and, followed by Saint-Victor,
\ went to the river and stood looking at it and
! gesticulating as a man who is talking with ani
mation.
I The carriage soon came, and Barbot, finding
{ two men right in his way, stopped the horses.
| Saint-Victor turned around, as if the carriage’s
; noise was heard for the first time, and seeing
Robert and his prisoner, he raised his hat and
said:
“I did not expect, sir, tha' you would over
take us so soon. ”
Jacobin came to rub against his mistress’
friend, but the Major frowned, showing that he
did not like to meet his acquaintances of the
day before.
“I am in a hurry to reach Gisors,” said her
briefly.
“More than we are, I suppose,” said Saint- j
Victor; “and I am glad I will be able to render j
you a service. They told me at Gourney that
this ford is dangerous, and my driver, who is an
excellent swimmer, is fixing up, as you see, for
trying it. As soon as he gets through we can
cross safely, for we don’t pretend to pass before j
you, having no motive to hurry up.”
“ I thank you for your obliging intention, sir, j
but you trouble yourself uselessly. I inquired i
about the ford, too, and am informed that the j
river is not difficult to cross, except, perhaps, j
on the right, where there is a hole that can be !
easily avoided. So I will pass immediately, if I
you permit it.
Saint-Victor, unable to find any good reason ■
to delay the carriage, stepped aside.
Louise Manaheu had had the courage not to j
look at him.
Barbot, during that time, was talking with ;
Malabry.
“ Listen to me, old fellow,” said the chouan;
just follow me if you don’t want to go to the |
bottom. That small river looks like nothing, !
but should you not follow the right path, it
would swallow you, your horses, and your pas- |
sengers.”
“ Hush up ! A man who used to bathe in the
Nile among the crocodiles can’t be afraid of a
branch with only eels in it.”
Barbot had not started his horses yet, and
Malabry was already knee-deep in the water, so
that the former could not help following him.
All went well at the start. The water did not
reach the horses’ breast. Jacobin was swim
ming by the carriage on Louise’s side.
Saint-Victor, looking at them from the shore, j
was ready to act.
All at once Malabry, with water up to his j
shoulders, but always erect as if walking, said j
to the corporal:
“Here, ! this way, quick ; don’t go to the left; j
there is a deep hole there.”
The driver, notwithstanding his boasting, was
very uneasy, and he turned his horses to the
right, following the chouan. He had not ad
vanced three yards before his horses fell into the
hole and the carriage turned over. The Major,
Louise Manaheu and the two gendarmes disap
peared under the water. The corporal alone
did not lose hold of his seat, and tried to whip
his horses, swearing and cursing all the while. :
Malably had disappeared, too, lor he had dived
and was swimming below tiie surface.
The first who emerged from the water was the
officer. With one hand he got hold of the
horses, and with the other he tried to catch one
of the gendarmes, who rose a moment by him, ;
but the current carried away the unfortunate
man. As to his companion, he never came
again above the water.
••It seems to me,” said Tamerlan, “that the
swimming art is neglected in the gendarmerie j
d' elite.”
Saint-Victor was watching for Louise Mane-
heu, and not seeing her, he was pulling off his
coat to go to her assistance, when, at a good dis
tance below, he perceived her struggling in the ;
water, and Malabry fast swimming towards her.
“Malabry has decidedly more sense than we ;
both,” said he.
“Indeed he has,” said Tamerlan, “for he will
save her, and in a few minutes we will be with
her on the road to Lyons forest.”
Barbot had succeeded in keeping up his
horses, and they were swimming towards the
opposite side, dragging the carriage with the i
officer.
The two other soldiers were in the bottom of
the river, and their military career was forever
ended.
CHAPTER XXXYIIL
Meanwhile Louise Manaheu had her head
above the water, and Malabry had to swim only
four or five yards to reach her.
“Bring the vehicle this way and turn the
horses ready to start,” cried Saint-Victor to his
friend; “it will be that much done when Mala
bry brings the lady here - ”
Tamerlan obeyed immediately.
At the same moment the carriage reached the
land across the river, and the Major was help
ing Barbot to pull the horses. As soon as he
was safe on the ground, Robert turned to the
chouans and threatened them with his fist.
‘ * Ah ! the blue-coat understands at last that we
are fooling him,” said Tamerlan.
“Yes; and now we must be ready for any
emergency.”
“I don’t fear him; I only fear that Malabry
will be too late to save Louise. See, she has
just disappeared !”
“I see; but our brave Sampson dives to hunt
her up, without caring for the two Philistines
whom he might meet under the water.”
Ah! he did not find her, for he rises alone.”
| “See, a little below, the woman’s clothes—Mal
abry swims towards her as fast as he can—she
will be saved now—the dog is coming.”
: “Yes, the good animal had reached the land,
but he just plunged into the water and is speed
ing towards his mistress.”
“I would like to know which will be there
first, the man or the dog,” said Tamerlan,
i “ I hope it will be the 'man, for he knows what
J we are after.”
“ I think that dog has as much intelligence as
i our friend—he has already passed Malabry—he
j reaches her.”
“I see the good dog has the clothes between
j his teeth—Malabry extends his hand to catch
hold of the other side, hut the current is too
strong, he cannot reach his aim. Never mind;
Louise is saved ! ”
“ Saved from death, but lost to us, dear friend.”
“How’s that?”
“ It is but too plain. Don’t you see the dog
pulling her to the other side—he is almost to
the shore—ah ! Malabry gets hold of her clothes
too late ! ”
“It is so. The dog has laid his mistress on
the sand—he looks at Malabry—he bites him.
Malabry is obliged to give up, and he is right,
j for the Major and Corporal are running towards
him.”
“ Our friend is in the river again, and comes
to us; but it shall not be said that the blue-coats
will take away that woman without my gratify
ing them with at least a bullet.”
Saying this, Saint-Victor pulled off a pistol
and aimed at the officer, but Tamerlan caught
him by the arm and said;
“Don’t make a fool of yourself. At such a
distance you would miss them, and this is not
the time to provoke a fight, for I see a country
! wagon coming, and the peasants might turn
against us.
“ But what shall we do ? ”
“ We must scamper away, Ask Malabry if it
is not his advice, too.”
Malabry had just landed, covered all over
with mud.
“You have been acting awkwardly,” said
Saint-Victor to him.
“Awkwardly! I wish you had been in my
place. Look how that dog has fixed me.”
And he showed his arm, in which Jacobin’s
teeth had left deep marks.
“ He was mad at you on account of your at
tempt last night,” said Tamerlan, laughing.
••You knew that ugly brute did not like me;
why did you not jump into the water, since you
are both friendly with him? ”
“It is your fault if we did not do it,” said
Saint-Victor; “ with your idea of acting by your
self you have put us in a nice fix.”
. “That’s all right; we’ll speak of that after a
While. The most important for us now is to
leave as soon as we can, if we don’t want to be
i caught by th-** blrt "o°t r "■ A —
“Nonsense! theyidont f^eabi to care for ns.”
In fact, Robert and his Corporal were fixing
Louise Maneheu on the cushions of the carriage,
where they had carried her.
From where they stood, the chouans could see
that the farmer’s wife was recovering her senses,
and that the officer was particular about her
comfort.
Jacobin, proud of having saved his mistress,
and unaware that for the second time he had
prevented her friends from rescuing her from
the gendarmes, the too zealous Jacobin, with his
paws resting on the wheels of the carriage, was
licking Louise’s hand.
Meanwhile the corporal-driver, after a careful
examination of the springs and harness, which
were yet in good order, took his front seat and
gathered the reins.
It was evident the Major had given up his
two unfortunate soldiers, and wished to hurry
up to Gisors in order to put his prisoners in a
safe place, out of reach of the chouans.
“No,” said Malabry, answering Saint-Victor’s
remark, “for the present, they don’t want to
pursue us, for we are three against two, but as
soon as they reach Gisors they will send a brig
ade of gendarmerie after us. I tell you again we
have no time to lose, and we ought to be gone
already. We shall have our vehicle in the Ly
on’s forest, at our friend’s the forester of Bezu,
and we will walk as far as the road of Rouen to
Paris.”
“ And Louise will remain in the hands of the
soldiers?” said Saint-Victor, stamping the
ground with his foot. “I shall never consent
to abandon her. Let us see: you said yourself,
just now, that we were the strongest. It would
be cowardice should we let them escape. Let us
cross the river and attack them.”
“You forget that before ten minutes we shall
have on us the five or six peasants eoming with
that wagon,” said Tamerlan, pointing towards
the road. “And, after all,” he added in a low
tone, “don’t you think we have done enough
for that unfortunate beauty? She remains a
prisoner, but we cannot help it. When she is
in Paris it will be Liardot’s business to save
her.”
“I think you are right,” said Saint-ATctor-
sadly; “we have done all we could.”
“That's enough talking, boys,” grumbled
Malabry, who, like the corporal, had taken his
seat and got hold of the reins.
“We must leave,” Saint-Victor said; but as
we are now known, let us fire our pistols at those
robbers of a woman.”
“My powder is wet,” said Malabry.
“I would fear to hurt the woman,” said Tam
erlan. “If only I was sure to kill that cursed
dog I might fire, but ”—
“I would be very sorry should you do him
any harm,” interrupted George’s lieutenant. |
“The poor animal could not imagine that Mal
abry wanted to free his mistress; and, anyhow,
I have an idea that he will, some day, help us
to find her.”
“Unless he helps Fouche to find us. Re
member Lafontaine lias said:
“«Mieux vaut sage ennemi qne maladroit ami,’ ”
“Are you ready? ” asked Malabry.
“Yes; go on,” said Tamerlan, who had taken
his seat by Saint-Victor.
The chouans started just at the same time. <
Barbot was making his horses leave, and the
three friends could hear the strong voice of
Robert telling them:
“Goodbye, gentlemen; yon shall soon hear
of me.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.I
England's expeditions to observe the transit of
Venus in 1875 cost £40,000. It is said that the
whole expenditure for this amounted to £1100,000.
It is thought, however, that this is not too much
to pay for a true conclusion as to the earth's dis
tance from the sun.
RELIGIOUS DEPARTMENT.
HEALTH DEPARTMENT.
Donation Parties to the CIergy--Etfect
on the World.
We have discussed the effect of the gift idea
on the preacher and the church, and wenowcome
to note the result on the world. We beg to pre-
j face our remarks with the adage “Straws show
! which way the wind blows.”
Nothing could have been more galling to the
ministry, more injurious to the people or more
significant in history during the last decade
than the vast number of comic sermons, and
serio comic dramas containing clerical charac-
■ ters, that have been prevalent. From the most
abominable trash to the highest perfection of
our literary art this has been true. From Sut
Lovingood to Bulwer, men have amused their
readers, and congratulated themselves with “tak
ing off’the preachers. It shows just exactly
J what might have been foreseen.
The world seeing how the preachers have
toadied to the wealthy and “ well-to-do” for dona
tions, and have refused to rebuke them for fear of
alienating their pockets, has unconsciously con
ceived a contempt for preachers and the respect
which it has accorded, has in many instances
been more a kind of sufferance than reverence.
Dr. Holland will again please close the exer
cises. He will proceed to say:
“The pastor needs a salary and the people
oice it but they take to themselves the credit of
benefactors and place him in an awkward and
false position. The influeuce of this state of things
upon the world that lies astride of Christian be
lief and activity is bad, beyond calculation.
AVe have had enough of the patronage of Chris
tianity by a half-scoffing, half-tolerating world.
If Christians’ do not sufficiently recognize the
legitimacy of the pastor’s calling to render him
fully his wages and to assist him to maintain
his manly independence before the world, they
must not blame the world for looking upon
him with a contempt that forbids approach and
precludes influence. The world will be quite
ready to take the pastor at the valuation of his
friends and the religion he teaches at the price
its professors are willing to pay, in a business
way, for its ministry.”
Christianity from the first flash of its sunlight
upon the world, has ever been in essence the
very same, for with God the grand sun and cen-
re of all spiritual blessedness there has never been
nor can there ever be any variableness or shad
ow of turning. Empires have fallen, kingdoms
have tottered, monarchs have been dethroned,
and the axle of time hath worn in its socket—
but God and bis cause alike unalterable—have
remained unimpaired. At first, the day-star of
Christianity glimmered but dimly, though lus-
trious in itself over the Jewish hills of the east,
but on the wing of centuries it has increased in
compass and in power, until by its magic light
it has checked the rolling wheels of the Jugger
naut, thrown terror into the midst of the assem
bled Sanhedrim, exposed the imperfections of
the brazon idol, has glorified the philosopher,
and is now the pure atmosphere which intellect
breathes. The secret of its astounding success
may be expressed in words taken from Holy
writ: “ The law of the Lord is perfect convert
ing the soul.” To secure it requires not the
studied lore of ages, nor yet the glittering wealth
of the world, for “ AVith the heart man believeth
unto righteousness - ” Then all—all from the
iron-bound criminal in his cell, to the potentate
in his sceptered majesty, may equally know
that the Lord reigneth, and may equally realize
the joys of his great salvation. M. H.
Rev. Geo. T. Perks,- one of the missionary sec
retaries of the British Methodists died May 30th.
On the ‘27th of May he left his arduous work at
the Mission House to go to the anniversary of the
Missionary Society of Rotherham. On Sunday
morning, May 28th he preached and again in
the evening, but before his discourse was closed
an apopleciic illness had seized him, and he
was carried to the house of Mr. AVigfield where
he expired on Tuesday following.
Monsignor Felix Fournier, bishop of Nantes,
France, is dead.
Canon Duckworth who occupies Kingsley’s
stall in AA r estminster Abbey is a teetotaler and
is ardent, zealous, and eloquent in his attach
ment to and advocacy of the principles he has
espoused.
The New York Sun, of June 11th, says:
“AVe presume that the Rev. Dr. Blauvelt, who
on Saturday last was cast out of the Reformed
Dutch Church as a heretic by the general Synod
ofthis city, will now set up as a preacher on his
own account.”
AVe confess such is the fashion in New York.
AA’hen a preacher goes so crazy or gets so mean
that nobody else will have him, he can go to
New York and find fools and apostates enough
to hover around him and make him a star.
A telegram dated, Quebec, June 18th says:
“A pastoral letter from the Archbishop was read
in the Catholic Churches yesterday communica
ting the rescript of the pope, dedicating the
province to the special patronage of St. Anne.
St. Anne is the reputed mother of the \ T irgin
Mary.
The first public meeting of the Church League
for the separation of Church and State was held
May, 29th at the St. Alban’s School, Holborn, j
under the presidency of the Rev. A. H. Mackon- J
ochie.
Boston, June 11.—The first meeting of the |
New England Society of Friends, held outside
of Newport, Rhode Island, for 200 years, is now |
being held in Portland, Me. Leading members j
of the society throughout the United States are i
present. The society of Friends numbers 60,000 i
members in the United States, with 662 church
edifices, $4,000,000 in church property, and 6,-
500 Sunday School scholars. There are 20,000
members in Great Britain and there are churches
and foreign missions in many of the European
countries.
The Methodist Recorder of June 1st, says:
“AVe are glad to learn that the Rev. AY. H. Mil-
burn has recovered from his very serious illness,
and that he is ablejto resume his duties of preach
ing and teaching. Ministers and others desir
ing his services are requested to communicate
with him at his residence No. 3 New Cavendish
Street, Portland place, AAV’
The Catholics of the United States contribu
ted $160,000 of the Jubilee Offerings to the
Pope.
The General Conference of the United Breth
ren was held recently at AVestfield, 111. In doc
trine and policy this church closely resembles
the Methodist. It has General, Annual, and
Quarterly Conferences, class meetings, an itin
erant ministry, Presiding Eiders, and Bishops I
or Superintendents. It has forty-three Annual
Conferences, mainly in Pennsylvania and the i
AVest. with 4,078 churches, 143,881 members, 1
1.952 ministers, and it raises annually for va
rious purposes upward of $600,000.
“ Have you seen the telephone yet?” inquired
a gentleman of a bright young lady the other eve- i
ning. “ No ” she replied, “ but I’ve heard the
telephone.”
BT JNO ST.AINBACK WILSON. M. D.,
Pliysician in charge Hygienic Institute an l Turkish Bath-
Atlauta. Ha. Formerly Editor “Health Depart
ment” Godey's Lady’s Book; Author of
Woman's Home Book of Health.
Trials of Children in Taking Medicine--
Physic or no Physic, that”* the Ques
tion—The Better At ay of Treating
Fevers, etc.--Disguised Poisons
a Trojan Horse--Mow a great
Doctor was Made.
“ Ma. I would rather die and go to heaven at
once than to take this c^. ” This was the sage
conclusion of a littla^^y of this city, whose
father, in telling it could but smile at tbe
: incongruity of putting heaven in contrast with
taking a dose of castor oil. But this smile soon
passed away as his mind recurred to the horrid
j trials to which children are subjected by the
nauseous doses they are compelled to swallow
i for real and often imaginary diseases, and he
asked me very earnestly, “Is there no way to
avoid this? no better way than to give children
such abominable doses.”
I then explained to him the “ better way ”—
the use of cooling, laxative fruits and vegeta
bles, instead of salts and oil, for constipation ;
' warm bathing and wet towels to the chest and
abdomen for fevers, instead of tartar emetic and
ipecac ; rest and rice for bowel complaints, in-
j stead of calomel, opium, tannin, and the end
less list of abominable astringent teas and bit-
| ters ; lemon juice and sugar for coughs, instead
of antimonial wine and vinegar of squills; beef
or chicken essence or the tonic extract of wheat
for debility, instead of iron, quinine, and strych
nine ; cold water and frictions to the skin for
congestion, instead of leeches, blisters, mustard
and croton oil; bathing, cleanliness and starch
for eruptions on the skin, instead of mercurial
ointment, sugar of lead, sulphate of zinc and
other poisons. And so I could have gone through
the whole list of diseases, showing that, in the
great majority of cases, there is no earthly ne
cessity for giving the sickening, disgusting doses
which are every day forced down the threats of
children, and grown people, too—doses which
are horridly unpleasant, seldom necessary, often
positively injurious. For, admitting that the
medicines are not injurious in themselves, ad
mitting that they might do some good—which
is very doubtful in many cases—their good ef
fects are often counteracted by the worry and
excitement arising from their admistration.
Here is a chill with fever. A dose of qui
nine or ipecac is prescribed every hour, but the
little fellow very naturally rebels against taking
the nauseous dose after taking the first, and frets
the next hour in anticipation of the coming dose,
consumes a halt hour or more in getting it down,
works himseif into a higher fever, gets his
whole system, and especially his stomach, into
a state of great excitement ; and no sooner is
the dose swallowed than it is rejected ; another
must now be given, with a repetition of delays,
revoltings, promises and threatenings; this,
like the other, is thrown up by the stomach,
and thus, hour after hour, is the little patient
tortured and tormented to such a degree as to
counteract the effect of the medicine, even if
good in itself; and, very likely, to mend mat
ters and quiet the stomach, a mustard plaster is
clapped on, which, if it acts all, does so by
causing so much pain and general excitement
that the patient forgets that he has a stomach,
or anything else except a skin, which is all on
fire.
But the question is asked, “AVhat shall we
do?” “Shall we refuse to give medicine and
let our children die?” I reply, better to give
no medicine than such as may be injurious if
itself, or which is likely to be attended with so
much difficulty in its administration as to in
crease the disease, or to counteract the good ef
fects that might result from its use.
In medicine there is often more wisdom in
withholding than in giving; and it is better to let
a patient die than to kill him.
The truth is, fever and many otlyjfg^vjeases
can be more successfully treated wit- K j r f,drug
medicines than with them. A T ery few o*«Ses re
quire the repetition of poisonous, repulsive
closes; and it drugs are used at all, they should
be given in the most palatable form, at long in
tervals, either in decided doses, or, what would
perhaps be as well, in Homoeopathic dilution,
so that no harm would be likely to arise from
their administration. It cannot be denied that
patients, and especially children, do as well, or
better, under this Homoeopathic treatment than
under the Allopathic practice of much drugging.
Pretty conclusive evidence, this, of the truth of
my position that drugs are by no means indis
pensable to success. For it requires stronger
faith to trust in the virtues of a millionth, or
the billionth dilution of a drug, however strong,
than it does to believe in the potency of pure
air, rest, proper food, warm and cold bathing,
and all those natural agents by which we are
every day surrounded, and in which we know
we live, move, and have our being.
So, after all, the writer of the following lines
was not far wrong when he wrote :
“This Homoeopathic system just suits me to a tittle:
It proves of medicine you cannot take too little;
For, sure, if it be well to take a dose so small,
It must be better still to take no dose at all.”
Pharmacy has succeeded in making many of
the most nauseous drugs so that they can be
taken without doing violence to all our sensi
bilities, as well as our senses. But it may well
be doubted whether this will not prove to be a
curse rather than a blessing, for, as disgusting
as most medicines are to the smell and taste,
enormous quantities of them are swallowed,
much to the iDjnry of the whole human family,
and especially by the rising generation. If,
then, all poisons can be so disguised as to be
taken as readily as sugar plums; if they can,
without aversion or protest, find entrance iDto
the vital domain, there to do their work of de
struction, the condition of our race will be very
much like that of a certain ancient city, which
admitted within its walls a very dangerous ani
mal, known as the Trojan horse.
HOW “A GREAT doctor” WAS MADE.
Dr. AA> T . AV. Hall, of the Journal of Health, who
has written more on Hygiene than any man in
America, thus gives his experience in beginning
the practice of medicine :
“I never saw a dose of tartar emetic till two
weeks after I received my diploma. I was on a
steamboat where a big fellow was taken sick. 1
was the only doctor aboard. Tartar emetic was
indicated,according to the theories I had learned.
I went to the medical chest. There were no
scales, and I hadn’t the slightest idea what would
make a dose; but I put a quantity into half a
tumbler of water, stirred it up, and then began
to think about the next step. I concluded I
would be on the safe side, and give him a table
spoonful every ten minutes until it operated.
But after he had taken the second dose he be
came uneasy ; so did I. He began to sweat; I
more. He groaned. I cleared out; thought he
was going to die, and that I had killed him. I
went to my stateroom to ponder, but was too
uneasy to stay there, especially as he began to
holla and call on his God. He rolled over and
over; then he would squirm and twist like forty
snakes in a fire. But at last it came—such a
mass of sour stench, undigested food, bunks of
meat two inches long. Next day he was well
and I • a great doctor.’ ”
Connubial Bliss.—A hen-pecked husband de
clared that the longer he live! with his wife the
more he was smitten by her.
Hon. Ben. H. Hill was lately a guest of the
Savannah Rifle Association at their regular prac
tice, and made a score of 13 out of a possible 15.
INSTINCT PRINT