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“ A HEAD OP HIS OWN.”
BT I. P. LUNSFORD.
There are all sorts of folks In this widely-spread world-
yellow, red, white and black, as we see;
There are giants and dwarfs, there are wise men and
fools—
Some are slaves, and some claim themselves free;
Bnt examine them all, and wherever you find
In the cold, hot or temperate zone.
Any man who is worthy the name of a man.
He is one with a head of his own.
From my heart I do pity the poor, silly thing
That is guided by what others say:
And at every new turn in the path of his life,
Host be stopping to ask them the way;
A mere blank in the world, in the church, or at home.
Most observing ones leave him alone;
They could not be improved in their purses or minds
By a man with no head of his own.
To increase man's respect for what honors his race,
Is a trait in the nature of song;
And the poets delight, by each suitable means,
To restrain those inclined to do wrong;
Beyond this, it is neither my business nor yours.
Though his blunders be publicly known.
To displease one who still has no small merit left
In asserting a head of hie own.
Many dreams of ambition may be unfulfilled
When our bodies rest under the clay,
But vfre can, if we will, act an honorable part
In events that transpire in our day;
Very few may have monuments graced by their names,
Or their images sculptured in stone;
Let us make it our care, then, to keep the heart right,
And a well-balanced head of our own.
THE LOST‘CHILD;
—OR,—
The Wolf-’Woman.
A THRILLING STORY OF THE ROCKY
MOUNTAINS.
BY W. H. B.
CHAPTER VII.
THE STRANGER’S STORY—MOKE MYSTERY—ALARM.
Perfectly satisfied that they were secure from
any attack of the Indians, the tired men built a
fire,though,with their habitual precaution,using
only dry wood, so as to make as little smoke
as possible, and keeping the flame hid from ob
servation behind the rocks. Still they had one
fear. It was of her the good mother had called
a young squaw, hut which they knew to be the
wolf-woman. After what they had seen and
heard that day, there was no telling when she
might appear, or in what shape. One thing,
however, troubled the trapper, as soon as they
were out of the hearing of the others, he began
questioning the Indian concerning it.
‘It kinder seems,’he said, ‘as if this ar witch
had taken quite er shine to ther young man we
carried here to-day. Did you ever hear of the
like before Buffaler ?’
•Often, the legends of my people tell of such
things.’
‘What! a she-devil in the shape of a wolf, fall
in love with a human ?’
‘Yes, and entice them away.’
‘But yer never heard of any good that ever
come of it, did yer?’
‘They never returned to tell of their life.’
‘Yer may jest bet on that and win. But did
yer never hear what become of them—never hear
anythin’ erbout ’em ?’
•They have been found dead in the woods,
and hush ! here comes the poor father, whose
heart is mourning for his lost daughter.’
The presence of Curtiss put an ep<l *q the dis-
discnssion of foolish improbabilities. »He had
come to learn if there could, by any possibility,
be hope yet remaining for the little o^c. Bnt
he found that the Indian, and stranger still, the
usually garrulous trapper, had suddenly grown
reticent. They would continue their search on
the morrow, they said; they hoped she might
still be living—there was no telling what might
turn up. She had proved that she was not an
enemy to them by driving away the Indians,
and bringing food to the sick stranger. But
these ambiguous sayings were all—there was
nothing decisive.
‘At any rate,’ said the trapper,’ ‘I wouldn’t tell
my woman anything erbout what we saw, jest
yet, ef I was in your place. It can’t do any
good and would only make her miserable. But
has yer wife learned anything more erbout ther
stranger?’
‘No; she has not questioned him. As he ap
pears strong enough to talk now, thanks to her
kind nursing—’
‘And ther she-devil’s game! I wouldn’t eat a
mouthful of it for the hull world, even if I war
starving.’
‘Kind nursing, and a long and healthy slum
ber,’continued Curtiss, without noticing the
characteristic interruption of the trapper. ‘I
propose we go and talk to him. Perhaps he may
throw some light upon—’
‘I know who yer mean, and the less said er
bout it ther better. I don’t like to think of such
things when the sun has gone down.’
Like all of his class—indeed, like the great
majority of the ignorant, night and darkness had
many terrors for him. But it was not the fear
of anything mortal. He would have bafled a le
gion of savages without a quiver of nerve, but
yet have trembled like a schoolboy if compelled
to be in the vicinity of a graveyard. Anything
at all out of the common run of life became at
once to him supernatural, and he shrank from
it with more than mortal terror. In the bright
sunlight he had boldly marched np the moun
tain side; hut now when darkness reigned, noth
ing would have tempted him to have done so.
Around the little couch that Mr. Curtiss had
caused to be made by the teamsters for the com
fort of their guest, tiiey all gathered, and sat si
lently smoking, while he added briefly to their
store of knowledge concerning himself.
‘It is little,’he said, ‘that I have to tell you
more than yon already know. I was traveling
for my health, having joined a band of rongh
men, who I ascertained were going the over
land rqipte to the Pacific shores.’
‘Anil they robbed and deserted yer ?’ broke in
the trapper, finding it impossible to restrain his
tom
In the heart of Fisher, it was the greatest praise
he conld possibly bestow, and from that mo
ment he became a friend of the young man—
young, he had bnt scarcely passed the golden
dreamland of twenty one—thatwonld last until
death. Many more, however, were the questions
asked and answered, for Fislier was wonderful
ly curious, and at length the conversation drift
ed again to the woman who had tended him
when suffering the most.
‘I think I told you, sir, this morning,’ said
Lowell addressing Mr. Curtiss, ‘that I had but
dim recollection of having seen her face. It is
very different now. 1 have a vivid one, and
either saw her, or dreamed that I did so, this
afternoon.’
‘My wife tells me that a young squaw brought
game here this very afternoon.
‘A young squaw ! Was she very beautiful and
completely robed in furs?’
‘She was certainly dressed as you say. and
thought her uncommonly good looking, though
I must say that my taste does not run to snch
dark complexions,’ answered the woman with
smile at his enthusiasm.
‘Then it was not a dream ! Did she come near
me? Did she bend over me?’
‘She knelt by your side, sir, and, if I mistake
not, felt of your pulse and smoothed back your
hair. ’
‘Ef I had seen her,’ blurtered out the trapper,
‘I’d have seen whether thar war any vurtue in
silver bullets, or no.’
‘Why did you not detain her?’still questioned
Lowell without heeding the interruption; and
as for the others, they were so accustomed to
them that they even passed them by without re
mark.
‘And this was more especially the case now
when a part bad such good reasons for silence.
‘I tried to converse with her, but could not,
and after she had lingered around for some time,
she disappeared as suddenly as she came.’
‘It’s jest the way she alters does!’ again inter
rupted the trapper, and at the same time look
ing anxiously around as if he expected to see the
individual spoken of, standing by his elbow.
‘You appear to know her, my friend,’ said
Lowell, turning from Mr. Curtiss to Fisher.
‘I know more of her than I want ter, and I
haint er goin’ to be talkin’ of her in ther night
time. Yer kin jest ask the Squire, ef yer want
ter know anything more.’
‘Will you explain the matter to me, sir ?’
‘Willingly, as far as I can,’ replied Curtiss;
and he told as much of the story as was possi
ble, without committing himself with regard to
the fearful tragedy of the mountain height, and
finished by saying:
‘Both of our friends, the trapper and the In
dian, are of the opinion that she is a monster-
part wolf and part woman.’
•Is it possible that the days of heathen my
thology have returned to us ?’ asked Lowell with
a smile.
‘I don’t know what yer mean by them big
words,’answered the trapper, ‘but I do know
that—’
‘Hist!’ whispered the Indian; and as they all
listened intently, they heard the long howl of a
wolf upon the opposite shore.
‘What do you think now?’asked the trapper,
in the same cautious tone that the red man had
used, when the mournful sound had died away,
‘What do yer think now? I knew she war er
listenin’. May the Lord keep between us and
harm!’
‘I will tell you what I think,’ answered Low
ell, coolly, and he was the only one calm in the
group, for Curtiss could not keep his mind free
from sad forebodings; his wife, terrified for the
‘It was a mean* dirty, cowardly trick, and
they deserve t^r be hung fer it. But go on with
ther story.’
‘After I was left alone, I wandered around un
til I became too faint to travel farther, and then
as I told you, I laid down to die.’
‘And yon was saved by—’
‘You know as well as I do.’
‘And far better, too, I reck’n. But yer havn’t
told us what yer name is. It’s always best to
have a handle to call one by. Now, mine is Joe
Fisher, and this BufTaler-Huff, and this is Squire
Curtiss and his wife, and them other two chaps
yer can call anything ye’re er mind ter, as long
as yer don’t call ’em when they are steepin', or
too late when thar’s anything to eat, and he con
cluded the unceremonious introduction with a
a laugh.
‘Names matter but little, but mine is Charles
Lowell.’
‘Er right good name. I had a horse once call
ed Charley, and er better piece of stuff was nev
er wrapt up in skin.’
A smile ran round the circle—even the Indian
could not keep his lip from quivering, at the
praise the trapper had bestowed upon the name,
though he was far better aware than any of the
rest, of the immense value a frontier hunter
places upon a pet steed, one that may perchance
i have saved his master’s life on more than one
f occasion by his untiring fleetness and sagacity.
loss of her daughter. hugged her reru&irwi
CllllU closer to ..er, and fftr&ie To quiet LiS wiiu
alarm; the Indian and the trapper needed noth
ing fresh to startle them; and the teamsters were
far gone with'*fright. ‘1 will '.ell you what I
think. The story is all moonshine, and a 3tray
wolf happened to howl just at that moment.’
‘But how could she disappear on the moun
tains, as we have seeD her do?’
‘That can be explained by equally natural
causes, I have no doubt, and as soon as I «m
strong enough I will go with you and investi
gate.’
‘Suppose she should come here now, wouldn’t
you run ?’
‘Run from a young and pretty squaw, and es
pecially after she had saved my life ! I trust I
should not be so ungallant.’
‘And you would toiler her, I s’pose, ef she
should want yer too ?’
‘Most assuredly, I should.’
‘And be torn inter pieces fer er fool.’
‘ If I never meet a violent death in any other
manner, my lease of life will be a long one. But
I feel that I am overtaxing my strenght. To
morrow, I trust, I shall be better able to con
tinue conversation. Let me bid you good-night.
Frst, however, let me thank you again for your
kindness.’
All felt the force of his words. The night be
fore had been one of danger and watching—
the day, one of the most severe trials; and soon
they had prepared for slumber—all except Fish
er and the Indian. They seemed as if labor and
watching had no power over them, and long
after the others were soundly sleeping, they sat
and conversed in a low tone. Of course there
could be but one topic, and, as their appetite for
the marvellous appeared ‘to grow by what it fed
on,’ even so their superstitious awe increased.
It was late, therefore, when they rolled them
selves in their blankets—thetrapper,head and all
so as to shut out every sight and sound; but that
once done, they thought no more of either wolf
or woman, save it might have been in their
dreams.
The long and dangerous life of Fisher, how
ever, had made him a light sleeper, and before
the dawn he was awake and stirring. Carefully
he looked round—there was nothing in sight to
alarm him. Intently he listened—there was no
sound except the rnstling of the branches and
the snllen swell of the river. He was hot, fever
ish, and he stole noiselessly away so as not to
awaken the others, and bathed his head in the
cool tide. Then the habit of years forced itself
upon him. Never, when he had the opportunity,
would he neglect to procure food and he drew
line and hook from his pocket, retnrned to the
camp, procured one of the rabbits for bait, and
cutting a small portion from the carcass, arrang
ed his tackle and began fishing.
He fancied that he would surprise his compan
ions at breakfast with a dainty meal, but was iu
fact the only one surprised. A soft step reached
his lynx-like ears. He heard a rustle amid the
leaves, and turning round with the thought that
the Indian was coming to join him, saw a huge
wolf bounding away with the rabbit lie had laid
near him, in its strong jaws.
That was enough ! he waited not to see more,
hut dashed back towards the camp with maniac-
speed—towards it, but paused midway, for he
saw another of the dreaded animals seated upon
its haunches close to where the sick man was
slumbering. Then he shouted with the full force
of his lungs, and as the form disappeared, he
dashed in and fully awakened those whose ears
had been lead before.
Very angry, however was he when Lowell (af
ter he had told his story) made light of it—
laughed such fears to scorn, and told him that it
was ‘an every day occurrence for such half
starved beasts to steal into camp and carry off
anything eatable they conld find.’
‘ We’ll see who they’ll carry off next,’ was the
sullen answer of the trapper. ‘There may be
somebody that’ll laugh at the wrong side of their
mouth;’ and he crept to the side of the Indian,
and gave free vent to both his fears and his
curses.
Perhaps all watched for a time—it was but nat
ural theyd after being so startled—but fa
tigue is powerful even than fear; and the
sun as itfl the ‘ grey-hooded dawn’to hues
of vermibd gol^’shone down upon a sleep
ing camr
But sop had been there while they were
all thus ;amland. That was abundantly
proved bew supply of fresh taken
that hnn* a branch over the head of the
sick manit was resolved that henceforward
there shoe at liAst one watcher.
Not Ionian was necessary did Curtiss and
the trappose hardihood had returned with
the light] the Indian remain in the camp.
There wa>wer drawing them away that was
not to beted, and no one gave a thought to
trying toinue their journey until Lowell
should bog enough to accompany them on
foot, for tmeans they had none.
Leavinjlittle camp as it had been on the
previous the trio forded the river, and
skirting sthe base of the mountain began
their seaiiouking for something they did
not wish d. ,
‘ Are ycre you can find the—the spot.
asked Cu5n a trembling voice.
‘ Wal, jeplied the trapper, taking upon
himself, iual, the office of spokesman, ‘I
kinder tRhar won’t be no trouble, for both
Buffaler *ie marked the spot as well as we
could.’ i
And thin.k.-'fcte will find—’ began the
ler, bs feelingi; caused him to stop.
To tel ther truth, Squire, I don’t think
that we \find anything. Buffaler and me
have kintcome ter the conclusion that, by
some hocbcus I can’t understand, they did
not fall otrter all.’
May hn bless yon for those words, and
with moieart than he had before, Curtiss
proceededug the difficult path until the In
dian stop; and pointing upward, said:
There le spot—’
And aiing that fell would come down m
a bee-linejitinued Fisher, taking the words
out of hiiouth. ‘ Ef we find anything it
will be wit the space of er few yards. Look
sharp.’
But lookefully as they might into every
nick and oer, between and upon sharp rocks,
they couldd nothing of the child—not even
the tattereemnant of its little dress. But
they did sue woman. They saw her again
standing Above them, and apparently watch
ing their mmentSi., That sight at once rais
ed the angtf the trapper. His rifle was yet
loaded witle fragments of silver coin; and
without gi^ a thought as to the great dis
tance, ande well-known difficulty of firing
per|diculj“* , v. he took deliberate aim,
i rep awolo^ie eohoes of the grand
almost
and the rep
old mounta;
But the wan stirred not, and the shining
slugs fell halike hail around him.
‘ That beaill natur!’ exclaimed the trapper.
Two timesive I fired at the thing—once
killin’ it, ai supposed—and now, she jest
catches the bets and flings them down ergin
at me.’
The Indiankeen eye had watched the effect
of the shot w great care, and he knew that
the slugs fell* short of reaching the mark.
Still he said .thing. He would not wound
the feelings ofie trapper by insinuating that
he did not uncstand what he was about. But
Curtiss was noso thoughtful. He was vexed
both at the foohness of the shot, and having
his thoughts—ppy ones of the safety of his
hyd-^so suddly broken in upon.
‘(p/y’t be a fl!' he exclaimed, testily. ‘You
ij ® *- v V;i8t as w-have fired at the moon.’
. Hh'^eered 1
w *•> ■# &>, s r
fer she has iun er-
Ai. 1A l_A u. AJ cA t
even that much.’
hanees of our finding
am going again^to the
That seems to he her
If S
blj-y’accom
‘iiifjiaken awiif
her But come
topof the mountain
chon haunt.’
’al, we’ll go with yer, but I’ve about made
p mind that yer mought jest as well try
ter cell er weasel ersleep.’
‘ I you think that I am going to give up my
ehilii'asked Curtiss, sternly.
‘Lius go by another trail,’ suggested the In-
dian„nd without waiting to hear either assent
or ob.etion he rapidly led the way.
An our of toil convinced them that it was a
task tit would require days to accomplish,even
if it ctld be done at all; and they were turning
sadly lound when they heard screams arising
from te littlo encampment.
My od! what can be the matter?’ asked
Curtissas he clung to the trapper for support.
It mst he the Irnuns !’
Indias? They tfeil all be murdered. Oh,
Heaven? Father, guard my wife, and sole re-
mainingliUle one!‘ and pushing the others
aside, hi rushed wildly forward.
Ef I dn't miss my guess,’ said the trapper to
Bufl’alo-loif, ‘it’s some more of the doin’s of
the cusstl volf-woman. But thar it am ergin !
ome, le i3 hurry ip.’
Yes, agii the screams were heard, and more
distinctly ban before—screams that caused
those stron men to tremble for what they wou'd
find wheu ley again reached the encampment.
(TO BE OONTINUED.)
Jewis] Princes of Finance.
I.-SAMPSON GIDEON.
During te first htlf of the last century, a
family wasn existance among the Sephardim,
named Abiiiente, the members of which were
engaged inrade like the rest of their communi-
One othe family, Sampson de Rehuel
ty.
Abudientenad prospered beyond all expecta
tion, hut Is religions zeal progressed in an in
verse ratios his wealth. He was some years
broker to te synagegue, carrying out purchas
es or sales f stock, t s might be required, on be
half of thetongregVcion. Gradually his visits
to his pladof worship, like those of angels, be
come tew (id far between, and in course of
time, Samson Abudiente was conspicuous in
the synagejue for his absence. No longer did
he wend h3 way to the Synagogue on Friday
eveniDgs; lolonger did he wander in the Jew
ish quarte’s.basket in hand, to make his pur
chases. Consequently no surprise was caused
to the eldirs.when, during a meeting held in
1754, a noarjentered and delivered a commu
nication to tie President, from Sampson de
Itehual Abudmte, resigning his membership of
the congregaton. This withdrawal was receiv
ed without eminent. He had grown into a
power on ’Cauger; he was the confidential
friend and adiser of the Prime Minister of En
gland; he hadliscarded his strange foreign ap
pellation, andiad adopted a name better suited
to English ear Sampson de Rehuel Abudiente
was now Sampn Gideon.
This great cuitalist was probably the largest
operator at Jonthap’s, yet he was so shrewd
and prudent tit lie seldom met with losses,
and never did e experience a reverse of impor
tance. It is wtthy of note that the Jews held
aloof from the outh Sea scheme i and its sequ
els. When til® Was a universal mania for
speculations, wicli promised to convert Cuange
Alley into a mu Eldorado, when the whole
nation was infdea to an astonishing degree
with the spirit! stock jobbing, the Jews re
mained calm sjetators of the surrounding fol
ly. The Princeif Wales was constituted gov
ernor of the Wbli Copper Company; several
dukes and nobhien of the highest rank were
at the head of vjons companies; but Sampson
Gideon laughed} his sleeves and declined to
stake a single silling in the babble undertak
ings springing it in all quarters. The Jews
were not carried away by the general passio
for gold, nor led into the vortex that devoured
thousands. When the crash came, they reaped
the fruits of their caution. Failures were in
numerable, hut not one Jewish name is seen
among the bankrupts. . ,
Gideon greatly increased his fortune in tne
panic that accompanied the march of the In
tend er towards London, in 1745-6. The king
was frightened; the ministers were in terror,
and stock was offered at any price. Sanpson
Gideon went to Jonathan’s and bought all the
Government securities he could find. He in
vested every guinea he could command, and
held as much stock as all the other speculators
together. The Pretender retired and Gideon
doubled his wealth. Some months before this
event, our financier had borrowed from Mr.
Snow, the banker, the sum of £20.000 for some
particular enterprise. When the Pretender
was advancing towards the capital, Mr. Snow
wrote to Gideon, in tones alternately piteous
and offensive, requesting an immediate return
of his advances. Mr. Snow ostensibly required
the money for his bank, but in reaiity lie was
afraid of losing it altogether. Sampson Gideon,
who had a strong sense of humor, went to the
Bank of England, and, withdrawing thence
twenty £1,000 notes, rolled them round a bottle
of smelling-salts and sent them to the histerical
banker; Mr. snow, gathering fresh spirit, rather
by the sight of those crisp pieces of paper than
by the pungent sent of the stimulating agent,
addressed immediately a gushing letter to Gid
eon, vowing everlasting gratitude.
When Mr. Pelham brought out, in 1750, hi3
£3 per cent loan, Gideon insured its success by
taking on his own account the sum of £100,000;
and six years later, when the necessities ot the
State required the issue ot a further loan, he
subscribed for a still larger sum. The great
object of his life was to found a landed family,
which he conld scarcely do as a Jew; at all
events, it was a disputed point whether a Jew
could own land. Through his influence with
Sir Robbert Walpole, he was able to obtain a
special Act of Parliament, sanctioning his pur
chase of an estate he coveted; this process, how
ever, was uncertain and unsatisfactory. Gideon
married a proteBtant, and brought up his chil
dren to Christianity, which was the easiest way
of insuring the success of his plans. His son,
Sampson Gideon the younger, first attained a
baronetcy, and then was raised to the Peerage,
under the title of Lord Ealdly. The new Lord,
in his turn, left no male issue; hut one of his
daughters married a gentleman named Smith,
who assumed the style of Sir Culling Earldly
Bart., and become the progenitor of the late Sir
Culling Earldly.
The only daughter of Sampson Gideon the
elder, married Lord Gage, and the fortunate
financier settled upon her the handsome dower
of £40,000. At that period, 1757, Gideon esti
mated his fortune, after disbursing the above
mentioned amount, at £300,000, which was a
vast sum lor the time. No wonder that Horace
Walpole said that Gideon dead was worth more
than the whole land of Canaan alive. Sampson
Gideon was an intimate friend of the Walpole
family, and when the prodigality of the Earl of
Orford necessitated the sale of the pictures at
Houghton, thev were transfered to Belvidere
House near Er'ith. By a curious provision in
his will, Gideon directed that in the event of
his son and daughter leaving no issue, his
wealth should go to swell the already great pos
sessions of the Duke of Devonshire.
When in 1762 Sampson Gideon was called to
join the greater number, he left £1,000 to the
Synagogue iu Bevis Marks, on condition ot he-
iug interred in his proper place in their burial
■ ^nnr.,1 A apritlpmau. of an influential family
in the community then averra that a certain
sum annually offered by him, as coming from
an annonymous donor, had in reality been eon-
tribituted by Sampson Gideon, who had thus
retained his rights as a member. Consequently
there was no difficulty in complying with the
wishes of the deceased. His funeral was ot the
simplest description. His remains were brought
from Belviderin a hearse drawn by six horses;
and at Pewterer’s Hall in Lime Street, they
were transferred to another hearse in charge of
the Jewish attendants. One single black coach
drawn by an equal number of horses, contained
the mourners that followed to his grave all that
was left of the greatest financier of the day. Ac
cording to his last wishes every year, during the
evening of the Fast of Atonement, a short prayer
is recited at the Portuguese Synagogue naming
Sampson de Rehuel Abudiente.
Sampson Gideon bequeithed £1,000 to the
London Hospital, and £2,000 to the Corporation
of the Sons of the Clergy, to which he was in
the habit of giving yearly £100. He was a
shrewd, sarcastic man, possessing a rich fund
of humor, charitable and g-nerous in his way.
His religious convictions do not appear to have
been very strong, but he was sincerely attached
to his race. Special motives induced him to
bring up his children in the religion of the
State, yet in his dying moments he craved to be
laid for his long sleep by the side of his kith
and kin. He was plain and unostentatious in
his dress, and occasionally practiced certain
meannesses, singularly at variance with the
splendor of his nome at Erith, as may be seen
from the following anecdote: In 1761, on the
occasion of the Queen’s marriage, the horses of
Sampson Gideon, Esq., were frightened and in
running away, they killed a man. The Duke of
Bedford, as Lord of the Manor, laid claim to
the coach and horses, when it was proved that
they did not belong at all to Sampson Gideon,
but that they were merely jobbed. The Duke,
nevertheless, insisted on his rights, and the
jury found the carnage and horses deodand.—
London World.
HEALTH DEPARTMENT.
Bj John Stainback Wilson, M. D.,
Atlanta, Georgia.
A Harmless Styptic--Rathing Children--
How the Russians Manage their Cuildren.
Nor is this necessary or desirable. Let them
run romp, kick, roll and tumble during the
a’ allowing them all the freedom compatible
with life and liuib. But, every night, let them
be washed all over, let the clothing worn during
the day be laid aside and let them be put to bed
in clean dry night clothes. Infants-say for the
first month or two of their existence-should be
washed in water milk-warm. After this, if the
child is stout and hearty, the temperature of the
water should be gradually reduced until the
water is about the temperature of freshly drawn
well or spring water. Cold water with a little
soap, is sufficent for cleansing while there is no
thing to equal it in its tonic, reactive, and in
vigorating effects on the whole system. The
skin is not only freed from all impurities and
the pores opened, bat
THE REACTIVE GLOW
following the cold water causes a strong rush of
blood to the cutaneous vessels, thus driving out
through the open pores, all hurtful matters that
may have accumulated in any part of the body.
This reactive action of cold water is in the
highest degree competent to prevent any undue
flowing of bldod to the mucous membranes, and
hence cold bathing is the best of all protections
against coughs, colds, croups, bowel complaints,
inflammation of the ears, nose and eyes; and, in
short, against all that long list of common and
much dreaded diseases that empty so many
little cradles and make our cemeteries a city
filled with short graves.
In the use of cold water as directed, no harm
can result, with due attention to the strength
and the reactive powers of the child; but care
should be taken
NOT TO OVERDO THE THING.
The temperature of the water should be re
duced by degrees; aud should chillness, cold
ness of the surface, paleness of the face, languor
or depression continue for any length of time
after the bath, warm water should be immedi
ately substituted, and continued till the reactive
powers becouie sufficiently strong to hear the
action of cold water. On the contrary, should
the cold water cause an agreeable glow, a pleas
ant diffusive warmth, and a rosy flush over the
whole surface, it may he continued, not only
without injury, but with the most pleasant ef
fects on the health and happiness of the child,
who will
FLOURISH LIKE A GREEN BAY TREE,
escaping most of the ills to which baby flesh is
supposed to be heir to. It will be as sweet tem
pered as clean, happy children should be; and
instead of dreading cold water, will be as fond
of it as a duck. The all-over or inversion bath
is best. The baby should he put in a tub deep
enough to cover it, and gently rubbed with the
hands from three to five minutes, and then
quickly dried with a moderately coarse towel,
rubbing briskly, but lightly, until a glow of
redness is perceived. This kind of bath is far
superior to the
DABBING PROCESS
with a cold wet rag, followed by scrubbing with
a rough towel, or the no less rough hands of an
old negro woman, of which many of us still re
tain not very pleasing remembrances. The
bath should be used either night or morning,
as is most convenient, but generally at night for
older children; and it should not be given soon
after a meal or when there is much fatigue.
Yet, it should be remembered that moderate ex
ercise, even to perspiration, but not to fatigue
or exhaustion, is one of the best preparations
for the cold bath, and, except friction after the
hath, the best of all means to secure speedy and
vigorous reaction. I cannot better conclude
this article than by the following quotation from
an old writer: *■ *-
‘‘I consider bathing,” says he, “as the grand
arcanum of supporting health; oh which ac
count, daring infancy, it ought to be regarded
as one of those sacred maternal duties, the per
formance of which should on no account be
neglected for a single day.”
And let me add that, though this may be re
garded as somewhat troublesome, mothers who
thus act will find themselves amply repaid; and
in the long run, will fiud that they have saved
themselves from a vast deal of trouble in weary
days and nights of watching by the bedside of
their sick children.
In contrast with my views above, read the fol
lowing, and then decide which is the better
course:
RUSSIAN PEASANT CHILDREN.
In the life of a Russian peasant, there is a pe
riod anterior to all tunics, mantles, and even
sheepskins, during which they lead a kind of
mummy life, only, uDlike the' Egyptian, it is
the first instead of the last stage of their exis
tence. For the youngest children are always
swaddled, and rolled up tight in bandages, so
they may be conveniently put away without
risk of getting themselves into mischief or dan
ger. On entering one of these houses, an en
thusiastic traveler thinks he has come upon
some Pagan tribe, having their idols and pen-
ates, with the heads well carved out and the
rest of the body left iu block. He looks curi
ously at one laid upon a shelf, another hung
to the wall on a peg, a third swung over one of
the main beams of the roof and rocked by its
mother, who has the cord looped over her foot.
“Why, that is a child!” cries the astonished
traveler, with a feeling similar to that experienc
ed on treading on a toad which was supposed
to be a stone. “Why, what eise should it be?”
answers the mother. Having learned so much
in so short a time, the.inquisitive traveler wish
es to inform himself about the habits of the
creature; but his curiosity being somewhat
damped by the extreme dirt of the little figure,
he enquires of the parent when it was washed.
“Washed!/shrieks the terrified mother, “wash
ed!—what, wash a child? You would kill it.
A Journey Due North.
A HARMLESS STYPTIC.
A styptic is something that stops bleeding by
its constringing action on the small blood
vessels. A very convenient and useful styptic
for family use is sheets of paper thoroughly
saturated with a strong solution of tannen or
red-oak bark, the paper being dried after wetting
it in the solution. This may be used in bleeding
piles, in excoriations and tissues, in bleeding
from cuts, etc.
Another good application to small bleeding
wounds is spider’s web, or smut from the chim
ney. These act by coagulating the blood, thus
stopping up the mouths of the-bleeding-vessels.
But, in most cases of bleeding, the best reme
dies are compression by means of a bandage the
nse of cold water, and elevation of the limb if
the wound be on either of the extremities.
BATHING CHILDREN.
Children should be accustomed to the use of
water from their birth, using it at first milk
warm, and gradually reducing the temperature
as they become accustomed to the bath, unless
the child seems too feeble to react well after cold
water. The bath should be repeated every day.
I am aware that the notion is quite prevalent
that children, lik6 pigs, thrive best in dirt; but
wnen thrifty in the midst of dirt, they thrive in
spite of the dirt, and not in consequence of it. I
do not think it possible to keep the little fellows
clean all day, without subjecting them to re
straints and annoyances that would more than
counteract the advantages of cleanliness.
TRIFLES.
BY PLEASANT RIDERHOOD.
No man should marry until he can carve a tur
key, not only scientifically, but gracefully.
“Where liberty dwells there is my home,” be
gan the orator of the evening at the Married Men’s
Club-
“ Mar says you come right home this minit an’
split up that ligatud knot fur ’er!” interrupted a
high-pitched juvenile voice, and the orator of the
evening orated no more on that occasion.
The world will turn back on its hinges a thou
sand years ere the average Bostonian will spell
“traveler” with a single 1. v
“Circassian women are selling their glorious
tresses in order to provide funds for the wounded
soldiers.” That’s dis-tress-iug.
Brigham Young’s widow is beginning to bang
her hair and study the fashion pl ates. No doubt
she will marry again soon, but the question is, will
she all marry the same man ?
A nation s progress aud culture may always be
known by the position its women occupy. In rude,
uncivilized countries woman is a slave ; in enlight
ened lands, she is man’s equal, the object of his
tender respect and devotion.
*— Does your sister Annie ever say anything
about me, sissy? asked an anxious lover of a
little girl. “Yes,” was the reply, “she said if
you had rockers on your shoes they'd
such a nice cradle for my doll. ”