Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.