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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