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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. ”