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A I*IXK GIVGII.in ISOWKT.
3X MARY E. BRYAN.
White was the path through the crab-apple wood,
Sweet was the mocking bird’s sonnet,
Sweeter the face that passed where I stood,
The face in a pink gingham bonnet;
Apple-bloom face and nut-brown eyes.
Calico frock with no flounces,
A bow and a blush of frank surprise;
And on she stepped in a modest wise.
With no airs and no hopiritybounces.
Blessings upon her, I said as she passod—
The child with the pink gingham bonnet,
That plain little frock-how it brings up the past;
And that neck-apron— blessings upon it!
Like the pinks and the dewberry blooms, it recalls
The girls of my youth—merry misses !
Unknowing of fashions or gas-lighted bails,
And frank with their prattle and kieses.
The girls that would wade in the pebble-paved brooks—
A-chase of the silver minnows ;
That hunted the hens’ nests,and threw down their books
To pick the green peas for the dinners ;
The girls that played hop-scotch, and hunting the switch,
And sang without note book or master,
Thai could spring like the fawn over log, ovet ditch.
With never a fear that their flounces would hitch
As their comrades’gay laugh urged them faster.
Little care I which way fashion blows.
Or whose arc the bruins that she addles,
What feminines make themselves martyrs to clothes,
And carry through life their pack-saddles.
While alone with rouged misses and mnsk-sceuted fops,
And such adult game Fashion meddles,
Bnt when childhood is stripped of its sweet simpleness,
And forced into follies precocious,
Uiprisnned in staysand burdened with dress,
^ Then I’m fain to cry out ’tis atrocious.
Time enough to rig them in gew-gaws false,
And oiler them up to Fashion ;
For the flirting and flattery, the wine and the waltz
To engender precocious passion;
For frizzes to torture their free, elfin locks
And pearl-powder to plaster their faces,
A tilter the artist’s fine feeding to shock,
A Freuch dancer to teach them the graces.
Far sweeter my maid in her calico frock,
With never a ‘‘knife-pleat” upon it,
Her cheeks that make all bottled "rose-bloom” a mock,
Her free step and her pink gingham bonnet.
THE
OLD TABBY HOUSE.
BY GARNET McIVOE.
CHAPTER XVII.—Nearing the Harbor.
Early in the morning after a sleepless night
spent in his office Dr. Physick dispatched a
messenger for the policeman, to whom he had
given some particulars of his visit to Henry
Gaston. When the policeman arrived he and
the physician were closeted in conference for an
hour. A special purpose the Doctor had in
view in employing the policeman. He remem
bered having seen about the streets a man of no
toriously dissolute character, one ready to do
any service for which he was paid. A gambler
by profession, this man was thoroughly ac
quainted with every den of infamy in the city.
He had won and lost many fortunes, and had
long since parted with every scrapie of con
science. To entice the young into every snare
in which money w’as to be gained or lost by
games of hazard—to act as a stool pigeon in
pinching the inexperienced and unwary—in a
word to undertake any enterprise which em
ployed wicked arts, he was at all times ready
and well qualified. The policeman was instruct
ed to engage the services of this man and his
plan of operations marked out for him. There
was little doubt in the mind of the physician
that the money extorted by Gaston from his
terrified friends at Howard Hall, would be used
at the gambling table at the earlist possible mo
ment. To find( out where Gaston intended to
spend the evening, was the first thing to be done.
That ascertained the plan of proceednre was
left in some measure to the evil genius of the
gambler. If by any means Gaston could be de
tected in the commission of a misdemeanor the
road to the city jail and indefinite confinement
was clear. Precisely what the Doctor expected,
beyond obtaining a breathing space, it would
not be easy to conjecture. But having secured
his man in prison he had some faint hope that
Gaston might be willing to escape from prison
on condition that he was td leave the country.
In one of the darkest and most secluded lanes
in the city, there stood a building iDto which
the policeman had made frequent raids. Up the
dimly-lighted stairway, Henry Gaston accom
panied by his friend the gambler, walked with
the unsteady step which betokened deep and
frequent potations. They entered a room where
in a dozen persons were already assembled
around three or four card tables. The entrance
of the new-comers occasioned a slight pause in
the occnpation of the gamblers. Gaston and
his friend at once entered into play and with j
various success until after midnight when the j
successive glasses of brandy, which circulated
freely through the company and the excitement
of the game, raised Gaston’s humor to the high
est pitch. He excelled them all in profanity in
loud and boisterous speech and finally by a
lucky turn of the cards succeeded in winning
all the money of his companions. This was the
signal for a general uproar, knives and pistols
were drawn freely, and in the conflict which en
sued three of the most desperate gamblers com
bined against Gaston and felled him to the floor.
At that instant a pistol was discharged by some
unknown hand, and the ball entered the side
of the prostrate man. As he lay senseless on
the floor, his money was snatched from his hand
and the company dispersed as if by magic just
as a squad of policemen entered upon the scene.
They tonnd the almost lifeless body bleeding
profusely and summoned a physician by whose
advice the man was removed as soon as possible
to the city hospital. Dr. Physick was notified
of the event and although the occurrence was
by no means in accordance with the plan which
he had formed yet he could scarcely feel regret
her father; bnt, in a short time the prison door
was opened, and the girl and her father stood
in the presence of their countryman. It is un
necessary to detail the interview tuat followed.
The Major was in ecstacies, the child in raptures
at meeting with her old friend who had given
her the doll, and the father seemed highly in
terested in the fortunes of his imprisoned
countryman. How the little cobbler had be
come a citizen of Havanna may be briefly
told. His deceased wife was of Cuban birth and
hoping to better his fortunes, the cobbler had
emigrated from America to Cuba, a short time
after the Major embarked upon his ill-fated ex
pedition. He had been however heartily sick
of his latest move, and without detracting from
his disinterestedness it is, at all events, possible
that his readiness to assist the Major in his ex
tremity, was a little spurred by the hope that
he in turn might thereby be enabled to retrace
his steps to Oglethorpe. The juncture was a
fortunate one for both parties. Shortly beiore
a wholesale execution of American filibusters
had taken place at the Castillo de la Pnnta;
I the American Government becoming aroused
i after the slaughter of her citizens began to
I speak in terms which commanded respect even
| from haughty Spain. The little cobbler soon
! found access to the Consul, and that worthy in-
■ terested himself so successfully that Major Bar-
: ton was soon at liberty. The greater part of his
! papers was returned to him, but his money like
! riches had taken wings. He found no difficulty
! however in obtaining means to leave the coun
try and was soon walking the deck of the little
steamer Isabel and looking wistfully over the
waters to catch a glimpse of his native land
| again. Within a week from the time of his re
lease he stood once more within the halls of the
Old Tabby House, where he learned those par
ticulars with which the reader has been already
made acquainted.
The present aspoct of affiirs soon brought the
■ Major, the physician, and the young lawyer into
! confidential council, the condition of the wound
ed man was such that little or no hope was en
tertained of his recovery. The papers in the
possession of the Major, gave promise of satis
factory information upon the principal point of ]
his researches. In order to make further inquiry,
however, it was necessary for him to undertake
a mission to a New England village. After a
day’s delay he set out upon his journey, and ar
rived at his desternation in due time. Search
ing the records of the court, making many in-
quries of the citizens in the quiet village, he
gathered here and there sufficent information to
satisfy his own mind, if it did not perfectly
make out his case. One afternoon he was walk
ing slowly through the little cemetery, when his
eye caught a name engraved upon a tombstone.
It was the name of one whose existence involved
so much of mystery and terror to the inmates of
the Old Tabby House. As he copied in his
note-book the inscription recorded on the tomb
stone he noticed a young girl planting some
flowers over a new made grave. Her dress was
very plain, but in perfect taste, and there was
something iu her manner which touched the
tender heart of Major Barton. He approached
her, and in his kindest tone asked:
‘If I am not intruding Miss, may I ask whose
grave is this ?’
‘My father’s sir,’ she replied,! looking up
through her tear-bedimned eyes towards the
stranger.
patched a messenger to the cottage and a few
minntes afterward took the first train south
ward bound. Three days afterward the joyful
face of the Major entered the Old Tabby House
where the results of his mission soon produced
a general rejoicing.
Meanwhile the patient at the hospital was
hovering between life and death. The pistol
ball could not be extracted and the physicians
entertained no hope of his recovery. The offi
cers of the law failed to discover any cine to the
perpetrator of the deed, and as in many another
brawl the slayer escaped nnwhipped of jus
tice.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Sleep and its Curiosities.
The Uses and Abuses of Sleep—The Long and
the Short of It- How we Sleep
and How we Dream.
BY HARRY EVELYN.
CHAPTER I.
“Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence; Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality.”
A modern writer describes sleep as a perpet
ual phenomenon in the twilight between life
and death,’ and a writer in a Loudon magazine
(The SI. James) says : 'It LW state of being not
surprising to us only because it is familiar, and
to explain its nature has puzzled the ablest
physiologists. Theories have been broached,
conjectures hazarded, and ideas entertained re
garding it, to leave us no more satisfactory re
sult than probable opinions, curious sugges
tions, and interesting theories, that may pre
tend to solve a problem that is as far from solu
tion as ever. Darkness, expended irritability
of the nervous tissue, the horizontal sosture, a
law of periodicity, and congestion of the brain
by carbonized blood, have all been adduced as
explanations, though in fact they are merely
so many physiological phrases, that when pro-
nomiced leave the inquirer as far from the foun
tain-head as ever.’
ter and nnderstand them, even with the assis
tance they get at home, for it is there the larger
portion of the lessons, have to be stndied and
worked out. “Better a few things taught well
than many things taught superficially. The
cramming process, essentially superficial and
pretentious, cannot be too highly condemned.”
But to return to the subject in hand. A wri
ter for a New York journal says: ‘There is no
greater delusion than that which imagines early
rising important to health; no greater error
than that which places it among che virtues.
While early rising has been snng in poetry and
advocated in proverbs from time immemorial,
it has been secretly and rightly cursed by the
unhappy victims ever since civilization conceiv
ed the idea of comfort. But we are all so bound
by the law of custom, so endeared to a proverb
of musty sentiments, that our lips continually
give faint assent to the value of early rising,
and keep up a fluxion of blood to the head. They
thus prevent repair of the waste force, or at
least oppose a complete restoration of power.
Often indeed, the thinker, wearied and overcome,
leaves his work to court sleep; but sleep shuns
him, the excited circulation of the brain con
tinues, and tli6 wished-for calm comes not. It
is related of the Abbe de la Caille, a famous
astronomer, that he invented a kind of fork in
which he adjusted his head, and thns passed
nights in observation of the sky, without know
ing any other enemies than sleep and the clonds.
He contracted in this way an inflammation of
the chest, which carried him off in a few days,
so exhausted was the system from loss of re
quired sleep. It is said of the painter Girodet,
that he did not like to work in the flay time.
Seized in the middle of the night, or at an ear
lier or later hour, with a fever of inspiration,
he would rise, light lustres suspended in his
even while we long at heart to resist the tyran- i studio, set upon his head an enormous hat cov-
‘‘Wliat mortal knows
■Whence came the tint ami o1or of the'rose ?
What probing deep
Has ever solved the mystery of sleep ?”
If the nature of sleep, if the laws that govern
it, cannot be understood and intelligibly ex
plained, we still know enough of those laws to
guard against the evil consequences of their vi
olation. It is a well known fact that all that
possess life must steep or perish; a circumstance
of which observation convinces us, marvel at it
as we may. All nature sleeps. Plants sleep
in the winter, and reptiles' and some animals
hybernate during that period.
‘Blessed be the man who first invented sleep,’
exclaims Sancho Panza, and there is certainly
nothing which has been bestowed us for which
we have more reason to be grateful. Regular
and natural sleep is essential to a wholesome
condition of body and mind. Health is impos
sible without it, and no sickness possible with
it. Sleep has been aptly described as “a
state of repose by which all our faculties, when
wearied, are refreshed and reinvigorated fer
work;” and Young describes itas “tired nature’s
j sweet restorer." The amount of sleep required
Major Barton started and uttered an exclama- 1 differs greatly. Infants require fifteen hours or
tion of surprise.
‘Can it be possible’ said he, ‘te not this Miss
Helen Ingram V
‘And you are Major Barton whom I met at
Holland Hons - in Oglethorp ?’
‘The very same’ he said ‘but you—are greatly
changed since then’
‘I am indeed sir. Providence has dealt severely
with me since I mer. you there. Loss of fortune j little, but should try
and friends, and uow my lather is gone and
and my mother are left” alone to struggle with
the cold and heartless world.’
‘Indeed’ replied the Major, ‘this is a world of
change ftDd sorrow; I have known myself, since
Psaw you lasf, something of the caprices of fickle
fortune.’
‘I saw you copying an inscription on a tomb
stone’ said Helen; ‘was that lady a relative of
yours ?’
‘ No’ replied the Major, but just now the date
of her death is a subject of great importance to
some friends of mine.’
‘ Do you know her son’ asked Helen, ‘Mr.
Montmollin of Oglethorpe ?’
‘ Her son !’ exclaimed the Major.
‘Yes’ replied Helen, ‘you will remember that
you met him at the time and place where I last
saw you. Is he well?’
‘ I think so,’ replied the Major vacantly.
There was a silence during which Helen pur
sued her occupation vigorously, whilst the Major
seemed wholly occupied with his own thoughts.
After a little he turned to Helen and said,
‘Your mother is alive Miss Ingram?’
‘Yes sir,’ she answered.
‘ Do you know whether this lady was an ac
quaintance of your mother’s ?’
‘Yes sir’ she answered, ‘my mother and Mrs.
Montmollin were early friends and schoolmates,
and when the unfortunate lady died, her only
child was left for a season in my mother’s care.
Mrs. Montmollin was of a wealthy family, hut
married a spendthrift who wasted her property
and brought her to the grave with a broken
heart. ’
‘Are you certain Miss Helen that your mother
will remember the date of Mrs. Montmoiiin’s
death ?’
‘ Undoubtedly she will,’ replied Helen.
‘ Can I have an opportunity to see your
mother?’ asked the Major.
‘ Certainly sir’ she answered, ‘if you will be
good enough to accompany me home you will
find her in our humble cottage.’
The Major immediately set out with Helen
and a few minutes walk brought them to the
door of a vine-clad cottage on a retired street.
Without delay the Major entered upon the pur-
more out of the twenty-four: children from the
age of five to twelve years, twelve hours; and a
young adult wants ordinarily about nine hours.
Infants and children should be allowed to sleep
as often and as long as nature demands, other
wise serions harm will almost surely fellow.
Persons of middle age mjed seven or eight
hours. As a general thingglthe old sleep but
mid try ‘’nil six hours at
least i i suuud sleep. Vmoj or foui
o’clock in the morning tlAt tue propensity to
sleep is the most overpowering, even in a state
of perfect health, and the sleep enjoyed about
that period is the most refreshing. Some peo
ple have an idea that it is equally as well to
sleep in the day as the night. This is a mis
take. as all medical men will testify. The sleep
during the day is never as refreshing to an adult
as that of the night; and a single hour of the
former is sufficient often to destroy the whole
repose of the latter. The practice of taking a
short nap in the daytime is not only apt to ren
der a person restless all night, but, according
to medical authorities, predisposes him to cer
tain congestive diseases of a serious character.
The amount of sleep allowed to children; es
pecially school children, is a subject for serious
thought. A clergyman writes to the New York Ob
server urging a change in the hours of attendance
at schools aud churches on Sunday. He insists
that people should sleep an hour or two later
on Sunday than any other day of the week, in
order that they may rise refreshed and strength
ened, with the past week’s work and cares well
slept out of their bodies and minds, and thus
be the better prepared to eDter upon the duties
of the day with spiritual zest. He suggests ten
o’clock as the hour for Sunday-school, and
twelve for that of the morning worship. “If
the Sunday-school be at tjia o’clock,” he says
“llfirpRtB t\C vtrnll aa r»lai 1 <1 .-iATi non aH,
when he remembered the family at the Old Tab- j pose of his visit and with such success that the
by House.
Leaving Henry Gaston in a totally unconsci
ous state in a ward of the charity hospital; let
us return to Major Barton whom we left under
the care of a jailor the faithful subject of Queen
Isabella the Second. Many weary months bad
passed away and they seemed as many years to
the kind old Major in his solitary cell. In vain
had he tried every means to obtain access to
the American Consul whether that dignified
personage was too much engaged with his busi
ness, or his pleasures, or whether the Major’s
communications failed to reach the Consulate is
altogether immaterial. The Major remained in
jail pining away until he became the mere shadow
of his former self. One morning he was looking
out of the grated window which gave him a par
tial view of a narrow street beneath. A group
of children were playing underneath the prison
wall, and one of them was trying to raise a
B™all kite after many straggles mounted in the
air within an arms length of the window be
hind which the prisoner stood. The paper kite
contained the name of a well-known journal
published in the city of Oglethorpe. The Major
involuntarily seized the kite and drew it towards
him the child who held the striag below discov
ering the canse of its detention released the cord
and disappeared. In a few moments he return
ed accompanied by a man and a little girl; the
Major’s heart was thrilled in a moment when
he beheld in the unkempt hair of the little girl
the self-same spectacle which aroused his pity
on the morning in which he bought the doll in
Oglethorpe. Nor was he so greatly changed as
to forbid the child's recognition, Major Barton
oonld not hear distinctly her conversation with
j kind old gentleman was soon in a transport of
j joy. He could scarcely conceal the object of
| his inquiries and yet he felt that it was impor
tant that ho should do so. He held in his hand
the clue which would unravel the mystery at
Howard Hall and his siugular conduct caused
bis lady friends to seriously question his sani
ty. One further difficulty was in the Major’s
way. He had been informed by Miss Ingram of
the sad reverses of fortune which had befallen
them and he felt very anxious to testify his
gratitude by leaving in the mother’s hand some
substantial token. Bnt he remembered the
lofty station from which she had descended and
too well did he know from personal experience
the struggle between pride and poverty Wheth
er she would- accept a present at his hands and
how to make his wishes known presented ques
tions of no little embarrassment. He resolved
upon his course however and was abont taking
his leave when Helen approached him and
said,
‘Yon are abont to return to Oglethorpe Major
Barton—will you do me a personal favor ?’
‘With all my heart’ replied the Major.
‘Yon will see Mr. Montmollin’ she continued
‘and will tell him that in your travels yon met
a former friend of his and that she gave yon
this present which for many months she has
been seeking safely to return to its donor.’
Saying this she placed in the Major’s hand
a small casket, within which lay a diamond
ring.
T shall be happy to fulfill your commission
Miss Helen’ replied the Major as he bid the
mother and daughter adien. Returning to his
hotel he enclosed the paokage of bank-bills dis-
parents as well as children can attend it, and
the parents will find, as row they seldom can,
the opportunity of obeying the Scripture in
junction, ’ye ought to be teachers.’ As, at pres
ent we fear there is much flurry in the domes
tic administration, if not in the domestic tem
per, in getting children through the water, the
linen, the brush, the breakfast, and the prayer’s
in time for a nine o'clock Sunday school, and
if accomplished, the results at home, at least,
are not always of the most tranquilizing char
acter, there is strong, good sense in the plea
of the reverend gentleman for “a little more
sleep and a little more slnmber;” that may be
applied to other days than Sunday, and especi
ally to younger members of the family. The
hurrying oi children off to school at an early
hour of week days is liable to more serious ob
jections than those urged against the nine o’clock
hour for Sunday-school. By the time children,
and especially the younger ones, should be en
joying their breakfast, have to be in the
school-room, busy in r*L l .ing the lessons learn
ed the previous evening^, One session a day, as
at present is enough, but that should not begin
before ten o’clock. This would give children
ample opportunity to enjoy the morning nap,
the most refreshing portion of sleep, and espe
cially needful to the young and tender, and to
take their breakfast in such a leisure, orderly
manner as to prove much more beneficial to the
system than to gulp it down as they are now
compelled to do. They would also have time to
run over their lessons in order to refresh the
memory and perfect themselves for the early
recitations, while at the same time they would
be better prepared to discharge the duties of the
day. The early hour for the opening of school
may be more convenient for the teacher, but a
paid servant of the public should concede what
is reasonably dne to those whom he serves. It
is not saying too mnch, that the tendency in
most schools, especially public schools, is to
impose upon the pnpils too mnch work, and
this tendency is not confined to any section of
the country, it is universal. “We have seen
girls of fourteen,” says a writer for a school
jonrnal, in a protest against the cramming pro
cess, “with thirteen lOksons to get through in
one evening. A man in fall vigor of mind and
body could not do this. Yon cannot put a quart
of wine into a pint bottle.” It is perhaps not so
bad in all schools as the one referred to by this
writer, bnt a little investigation will satisfy rea
sonable men that children now-a-days are re
quired to go through too many studies to mas-
ny which imposes it. upon us. What a fright
ful aggregate of discomforts accumulate upon a
man who practices it through life, who every
day is ushered from sleep into the raw, blank
chilly, dull atmosphere of early morning, and
begins his day’s existence before the sun has
dispelled the fogs, dried up the vapors, warmed
the air, and made ready, like Nature’s great
servant-of-all-work, as it is, the earth for use!’
There is a great deal of hard, sound sense in
this philippic against early rising. The old
distich,
•Early 10 bad and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.’
may have been literally true in the days of our
grandfathers and grand mothers, whose social
enjoyments were limited, and when the avoca
tions of the people did not require so conside
rable a portion of them as now, to trench so
largely upon the early hours devoted to slum
ber. The main point is to secure a sufficient
amount of sleep to refresh the body and invid-
orate the energies which are so severely taxeg
in the race after the wealth to which the poet
refers. A sufficient amount of sleep will en
sure health to the possessor of a sound consti
tution and mind, whether we go to bed early
or late. It is simply cruel to waken children
early in the morning, however early they may
retire, to get ready to go to school, or to dis
charge any other duty for that matter. They
should be allowed to sleep as long as nature re
quires; and then, with a breakfast taken at lei
sure, they will go to school better prepared to
go through tbeir lessons all the more credita
ble to themselves and their teachers. It should
be impressed upon both parents and teachersa
that school children should be allowed suffi
cient time to sleep, in order to preserve the
health of body and mind.
Sir John Sinclair, who made some curious re
searches in regard to longevity, says the very
aged people whose habits he investigated differ
ed in most respects, but resembled each other
in being long and sound sleepers. He, himself,
who lived to be an octogenarian, was never sat
isfied.with less than eight full hours of sleep.
Hufeland, in his work or the “ Art of Prolong
ing Life,” says no one should sleep less than six
nor more than eight hours ; and he declares
that to secure a sound and wholesome repose,
one should eat little, and only cold food, for
supper, aDd always some hours before going to
bed. When abed, the body should be in almost
a horizontal position, with the exception of the
head, which ought to be raised a little. All the
cares and burden of the day must be laid aside
with one’s clothes ; none of them must be car
ried to bed with us. ‘ I am acquainted, he
adds, ‘ with no practice more destructive than
than that of studying in bed, and of reading
till one falls asleep. By this means the soul is
put into too great activity at a period when ev
erything conspires to allow it perfect rest; and
it is natural that the ideas thus excited should
Tfr>nd«r < “fl through the brain the whole
night. It is not enough to sleep physically ;
man must sleep also spiritually. Such a dis
turbed sleep is as insufficient as it is opposite —
that is, when our spiritual part sleeps, bnt not
our corporeal; such, for example, as sleep in a
jolting carriage cn a journey.’
People may sleep too much or too little, too
early or too late. As a rule, the well nourished
require more sleep than the lean, and the
phlegmatic more than the irritable. Overmuch
sleep conduces to obesity, torpor of the general
functions, congestion of the principal viscera,
more especially of the head, endangering at
tacks of apoplexy and death. But in the pres
ent day we have to complain less of too much
sleep than of too little. We work at high pres
sure. We are ever on the tiptoe of expectation.
We cannot rest, for to-morrow is big with the
doom of some hereafter—of something appa
rently as important as life and death. It is im
possible to sleep—it is as much as we can do to
survive. The cruel wakefulness that torments
thinkers who give free rein to the mind when it
should be in repose, wears out life indeed with
fearful rapidity, whether by shortening its du
ration or by diminishing its effective power.
It is related that a Chinese merchant, having
been convicted of the murder of his wife under
peculiarly cruel circumstances, the Judges be
fore whom he was tried determined to punish
him in such a manner as to inflict the utmost
amount of suffering, and at the same time strike
terror into the hearts of all who might entertain
the idea of following his example. He was ac
cordingly condemned to die by being deprived
of sleep. The prisoner was placed in confine
ment under the care of three of the police
guard, who were ordered to releive each other
at regular intervals, and were intruded to sup-
ply^the condemned man with a full allowance of
food and drink, but were to prevent him falling
asleep night or day. At first he congratulated
himself on the mildness of his punishment,
and was rather disposed to regard the whole
matter as a joke. The excitement of his situa
tion tended to keep him awake, and fora day or
two his guards had little to do. By the third
clay he began to feel very uncomfortable. His
eyes were red, bis mouth parched, bis skin dry
and hot, and his bead ached. These symptoms
continued to increase in intensity, until, at the
commencement of the eighth day, his sufferings
were so acute that he was at times delirious.
In his moments of reason he begged the authori
ties to put an end to his terrible torture. He
implored them to grant him the blessed oppor
tunity of being strangled, gnillitined, burned
at the stake, drowned, garroted, shot, quartered,
blown up with gunpowder, cut into small
pieces, or killed in any conceivable way their
humanity or ferocity might suggest. All was
in vain, however. His tormentors coolly did
their work till there was no oceassion for their
interference, for, it is said, a periodwas reached
at which he could not have slept even if let
alone. The brain was feeding on the products
of its own disintegration, and sleep was impos
sible. He was now entirely insane.
It a fact well known to the medical profession
that wakefulness is the most common canse of
insanity. Illusions of his sight and hearing
were almost constant, and erroneous fancies
filled his thoughts. At one moment he fonght
his guards with all the fury of a maniac; at the
next, he cowered with terror at some imaginarv
monster, and then relapsing into calmness,
wonld smile with delight at some enchanting
vision which flitted through his mind. Finally,
nature gave away altogether. He lay upon the
floor of his prison, breathing slowly and heav
ily; stupor ensued, and, on the nineteenth day,
death released him from his terrible sufferings.
Repeated and prolonged vigils, while depriv
ing the body of rest, overexcite the cerebral
activity, augment that enormous expense of
nervous energy made in the work of thought,
ered with wax lights, and then paint for whole
hours. As might be expected, few men had
more wretched constitutions or more dissipated
health than Girodet, and it is said toward the
end of his short life, his genius seemed wedded
to a corpse. The wakefulness that torments
thinkers is not a new phase of human nature,
as witness the speech Shakspeare puts in the
mouth of King Henry IV:
“Howmany thoii9aud of my poorest subjects
Are at this moment asleep ! O sleep, 6 gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,
Aud steep my senses in forgetfulness ?
Why rather, sleep, liest tnon in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
Aud hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state.
And lull’d with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou here with the vile,
Iu loathsome beds, aud leav'st the Kingly couch,
A wat< h-case, or a common ’lat um bell ?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Rial up the ship-hoy's eyes, and rock his brains
Iu cradles of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads and hauging them
With deafning clamors in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly. death itself awakes ?
Can'st thou, O partial sleep, give tin- repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances aud means to boot,
Deny it to a King? .Then happy low,lie down !
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”
As a narcotic, opinm is popularly regarded as
of general utility in wooing the kindly offices of
the ‘dull god;’ but this is by no means the case.
In such repeated and prolonged vigils as these
just referred to, opium in its most concentrated
form, and all the ‘drowsy syrups of the East,’
will in many cases prove not only utterly inef
fective, but worse than useless. Sometimes
the vigilance is increased by such resorts, and
instead of soothing excites the nerves to ecstacy,
in which the sufferer sees, hears and converses
with phantoms that have no existence, save in
his disordered imagination. It is highly im
proper to resort to opium to bring on sleep, ex
cept under the advice of an experienced physi
cian. Sleep produced by narcotics or so called
sedatives, says the London Lancet, is poisoned.
Their use gives the persons employing them an
attack of cerebral congestion, only differing in
amount, not in kind, from the condition which
naturally issues in death. There is grave reas
ons to fear that the real natnre of the opera
tion by which these deleteiious drugs one and
all bring abont the unconsciousness that bur
lesques natural sleep, is lost sight of, or whol
ly misunderstood, by those who have free re
course to poisons on the most frivolous pre
texts. Great responsibility rests upon medical
practitioners touching this very important mat
ter, and nothing can atone for the neglect of
obvious duty in this regard.
But nothing can remedy the wakfulness of
old age. The power of the will may procure
or banish sleep in the young and middle aged,
j Some persons can wi;l themselves to sleep as
soon as they lie down. Binns, in his ‘Ana
tomy of Sleep,’ has given directions to this
effect, and many experienced physicians be
lieve that the habit may be easily acquired.
But a narcotic sedative is to be found in diet
according to Dr. J. G. Holland, who does not
agree with Hufeland. Dr. Holland contends
that a little food just before retiring, if one is
hungry, is decidedly beneficial. It prevents
the gnawing of an empty stomach, he says,
with its attendant restlessness and unpleasant
dreams to say nothing of probable headache;
of nervous and other derangements, the next
morning. One should no more lie down at
night hungry than he should lie down after a
very full dinner; the consequences of either
being disturbing and harmful. A cracker or
two, a bit of bread and butter, a cake, a little
fruit—something to relieve the sense of vacuity,
and so restore the tone of the system—is, accor
ding to Dr. Holland, all that is necessary. He
mentions having known persons, habitual suf
ferers from restlessness at night, to experience
material benefit, even though they were not hun
gry, by a very light luncheon before bedtime.
In place of tossing about for two or three hours
as formerly, they would grow drowsy, fall asleep
and not awake more than once or twice before
sunrise. This mode of treating insomnia has
recently been recommended by several distin
guished physicians, and the prescription has
generally beenjattended by happy results. Coffee
or tea will produce sleep when the brain is ple
thoric, though when it is exhausted it will give
rise to nervous irritability and vexatious vigi
lance.
It is a fact worth remembering that a sleepless
night cannot be compensated for by any sub
sequent siesta stolen in the daytime. We must
wait for the following night, go to bed early,
and sleep soundly, if we hope to awake re
freshed the next morning. Nor can the want of
sleep be relieved by stimulants, however mnch
the late hours of the fashionable world may be
urged as an excuse for indulging in wine and
hot condiments. The evil consequences of in
sufficient sleep are indicated in the features,
which, physicians tell ns, become pale, lank,
and sharp; in the eye, which is cold, blanched,
and watery; in long, straight, and shabby hair,
a wan deportment and languid feelings. The
lips are dry and peeling; the utterance is feeble
and tremnlous; the palms of the hands are hot,
and a low fever feeds on the vitals. Those who
go to bed late shonld rise late, and early risers
for the most part are obliged to retire early.
Students want more sleep than others, but they
rise too early and sit up too late; and brain
workers require more sleep than other laborers.
It is wonderful how much may be done to
protract existence by the habitnal restorative of
sonnd sleep, combined with regular and whole
some diet and proper exercise. Late hoars
under strain are, of coarse, incompatible with
this solacement. On this topic, Dr. Richard
son says it has been painful to him to trace the
beginnings of pulmonary consumption to late
hoars at “unearthly balls and evening parties,”
by which rest is broken and encroachments
made upon the constitution. “If in middle age
the habit of taking deficient and irregnlar sleep
be maintained,” he says, “every source of de
pression, every form of disease, is quickened
and intensified. The sleepless exhanation
allies itself with all other processes of exhaus
tion, or it kills imperceptibly, by a rapid intro
duction of premature old age, which leads di
rectly to prematnre dissolution. ” Here we have
an explanation why many people die earlier
than they should.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Mark Hopkins, theCalifemia millionaire; who
died recently, made $15,000,000 in ten yean.
He had a million to begin with.