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®I)C iUccKli) Constitutionalist
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[ From the Belgravia. •
The Wrong Side of the Stream.
Once more do I feel the soft summer wind blowing,
Whilst it tenderly rustles the trees:
Again the clear water!* trilling and flowing,
As the rushes ar>* bent ’neatb the breeze.
The grand purp’e shadows are dreamily spreading
Their gloom o’er the sunshiny gleam;
Through tall nodding grasses 1 fancy I’m treading,
By the side of the murmuring stream.
Ah I don't you remember, sweet Amy, the talking
You caused down at Silverdale Hail ?
How men were all wild to attend you in walking,
Or to cam- your sunshade or shawl ?
You laughed and you flir ed, and were so provoking,
For you reigned like a despot extreme 1
And issued your edicts-part earnest, part joking—
From your throne by the side oi the stream.
Then you had your fav’rites, I can’t help confessing,
Though yon treated us all as your slaves—
One moment were angry, the next were caressing,
More capricious than wind-driven wafces.
’Twas then Charlie Lincoln and I were both vying
To be first in your love and esteem,
Whilst swif’ly the rosy young hours were flying
At your court by the side of the stream.
Thus it often occurred in that bright sunny weather
That we both were ensnared by your wiles;
You gave one a flower, the other a feather,
Whilst you gladdened us both with your smiles.
At last came a time of most exquisite rapture—
How short did that afternoon seem!
As rosy lips pouted, I made my first c rpture,
Wheu 1 met you alone by the stream.
Alone, did I sav? Charlie Lincoln had seen us;
That he had I could tell by his look :
What matter? With osiers'and hurdles between us,
With a thick tangled hedge and -a brook.
’Twas all one to me, for he could not come over;
Babe bowed in a manner supreme,
And envied the lot that had cast me in clover,
With himself the wrong aide of the stream.
now tender and true were those words softly spoken 1
How lovely the.ligbt in your eyes ?
How earnest those pledges, ne’er meant to he broken,
Those whispers that melted to sighs I
No longer a fancy—my fate was decided;
No mere phantom or fairy-like dream;
I blessed the good luck that my rival had guided
Thus to walk the wrong side oi the stream !
By the Riser, in June.
We stood by the river, my friend and I,
One beautiful night in .Tune;
Oh, fair was the river and calm the sky,
Our hearts wee beating in tune—
In tune to the last good night of the birds;
In tune to the breeze o’erhead;
In tune to the loving, musical words
That each to the other said.
Though our smiles were rare and our words were few,
Goa Knows how happy we were;
We trusted each other’s affection true,
«We felt that the world was fair,
Our kindred spirits were nicely strung,
Duetting in perfect tune;
Ob, friend, we were careless, blithe and yonng,
By the river that night in June.
We stood by the river, my friend and I,
The summer was scarcely past;
But a change had come over eartu and sky
Since we saw the river last.
A stew of the roses had died away,
A song-bird or two was hushed ;
But the earth looked mournful that August day,
For our hearts were dry and crushed.
We left the still river, my friend and I,
We saw it never again,
And year s, bearing changes to brow and eye,
Have elided away since then. •
Oh, steadfast my friend 1 with the earnest eyes,
My friend witu the brow serene.
O’er the vanished pa*t we may mingle sighs,
Spite of weary miles between.
It will not be long, for my eyes are dim,
Thv raven lm'r must be white;
We snail meet once more by a river’s brim,
Death’s river, dear, will not fright.
A stranger will marK with a careless eye
Two graves iu the churchyard sod,
While we stand by the river, my friend and I,
That gilds the city of God.
Two Sundays.
i.
A baby, alone, in a lowly door,
Which climbing woodbines made still lower,
Bat playing with lilies in the sun ;
The loud church bells had just begun :
The kitten pounced in the sparkling grass,
At stealthy spiders that tried to pass ;
The big dog Kept a threatening eye
On me, as 1 lingered, walking by.
u.
The lille« grew high, and she reached up,
On tiny tiptoes to each golden cup;
And laughed aloud, and talked and clapped
Her small brown hands, as the tough stems snapped
And flowers fell, till the broad heath-stone
Was covered, and only the topmost one
Os the lilies was left. In sobered glee
She said to herself, “ That’s older than me I”
m.
Two strong men, through the lowly door,
With uneven steps the oaby bore ;
They had set the bier on the lily bed;
The lily she left was crushed ad dead,
The slow, sad bells had just begun;
The kitten crouched, afraid, in the sun;
And the poor watch-dog,iu bewildered pain,
Took no notice ol me as l joined the train.
The Courting.
"Trifles” remembers to have seen the following
lyric somewhere, many y#ars ago; but so many years
ago, that to most readers it will read anew:
We stood upon the threshold, and her azure trim
mings threw
A halo round her features like the angels’—only blue;
And the gloss upon her ringlets, as we stood to talk a
Was lfke moonlight upon water—or like gaslight upon
grease.
And with love’s whispered music I strove to make
her mine,
And my arms around her figure still gently strove to
twine,
And I quoted from the poet, that each rose has its
thorn,
When she gave a cry of anguish—l had trod upon her
corn.
I strove to hush her murmurs, and, to cut resistance
short,
I seized her hand in rapture—but ahe said I hurt her
wart I
“ Then let me clasp thee to this breast,” I said, and
strove the while,
And then she said* in angel tones, “Don’t, Jim, I’ve
got a bile.”
Good Night.
BT T. B. ALDRICH.
Good Right 1 I have to say good night
To such a host of peerless things I
Good mgbt unto that fragile hand .
All queenly with its weight of rings;
Good night to fond uplifted eyes.
Good night to chestnut braids of hair,
Good night unto the perfect mouth,
And all the sweetness nestled there—
The snowy hand detains me, then
X’U have to say good night again t
But there will tome a time, my love,
When, If I read onr stars aright.
I shall not linger hy the porch
With my adieus. 1111 then, good night!
Yon wish the time were now t And I.
You do not blush to wish it so t
You would have blushed yourself to death
To own as much a year ago-
Wbatl both these snowy hands» ab, then
I’ll have to say good night again.
A MYSTEBY STILL.
Nearly a century ago a young fellow with a
smartish air, though of a small, Ul-proportioned
figure, landed at the Cape of Good Hope, bring
ing letters of introdnetion to the governor of
that colony from a well known eccentric Scot
tish nobleman. This fair-faced slender youth
held the humble rank of an assistant surgeon
in the army.
He soon showed that he possessed the power
of self-appreciation to such a degregas required
a little tukihg down. But this was found to be
no easy task. He bad the faculty called, in
French, I'audace , often a good substitute for
ability, but when the two go hand.in hand they
carry all before them, in one shaped or other ;
and as the young surgeon was as clever as be
was impudent, be made a position for himself,
and what is more, be kept it.
Doctor James—we give part of his name as it
stood iu the Army List in 1865—was a physi
cian by Edinburgh diploma. As we shall show
by and by, he never held any regimental rank,
passing, contrary to all precedent, to his full
surgeoncy on the staff.
By dates from unquestionable records, he
seems to have received his diploma at the early
age of fifteen. Whether these dates correspond
ed with his certificate of baptism it is impossi
ble to say, as under all circumstances, it maybe
doubtful whether such a document ever existed.
Whatever might have been the status of mili
tary medical men fifty years since, James liked
his calling, and, socially speaking, was a g3D
tleman every inch ofhim; though this is not
literally saying very much for him, seeing he
was but a little man. He had a fair allowance
from some source or other; but he never spoke
of anyrelatives or friends out of the military
profession. His habits were too expensive to
be met by his mere pay and allowance. He
kept a horse and a private servant, and, as a
strict vegetarian, would touch none but the
most delicate fruits of the earth. Potatoes and
apples were, to him, “ filthy root 9;” the odor
of cabbages turned him sick ; but he liked peas,
and craved for asparagus, sea kale, peaches,
grapes, melons, figs custard apples, and, above
all, mangoes. Coffee was the only stimnlant he
could bear, except when ill, and then he would
sip diluted champagne or brandy, medicinally.
Some called him a toady; but his letters of in
troduction placed him at once in the best society
of the colony. Neither had he health for gen
eral visiting. With those among whom he lived
he made friends, and kept them. His testiness
was harmless, his abilities were unquestionable;
and it having been intimated to the governor
that the young medico’s duties were to be made
as light as the rales of the service would permit
he was installed as honorary physician to his
Excellency’s family, and soon obtained such a
reputation, both as physician and surgeon, that
private practice came to him without his seeking
it. His queer ways and irritable temper rather
increased than diminished his prestige, and he
held his own through good report and evil re
port.
When first called in to a patient he would
have the room cleared of everything previously
prescribed, and would almost invariably order,
as preface to his course of treatment, a bath 6f
Cape wine! Happen what might, he claimed
the whole credit of a cure, or blamed others for
failure. He was, to be sure, sent for at times as
a last resource. If the patient recovered, Dr.
James had all the merit; if death ensued “Dr.
James had unfortunately been summoned when
the case was hopeless.”
His Excellency spoiled him. He became a
kind of tame imp, encouraged as amusing and
harmless enough ; but, like such imps, he took
advantage one day of his position, and was im
pertinent. He had the entre of the governor’s
private cabinet. One morning, sauntering in,
he had the assurance to make some querulous
remarks on an official document lying on the
table. Finally, he worked himself up into snCh
an offensive pet, that his Excellency resoved to
give him a lesson; so, snatching the little fellow
up by the collor of bis uniform, he slung him
over the window sill—a few feet above the
grassy garden—and shook him. James screech
ed and cried peccavai. He was forgiven, and
never offended there in the same way again.
Still, every one. was persuaded that such un
warrantable humors ns he exhibited were only
tolerated by reason of certain influences that re
main a mystery at this day. His next adventure
might have ended his career. The story from
Government House got bruited abroad, and
much fun was raised at Doctor James’ expense.
Some laughed about it in such a way that
James could not but be aware of the fact. He
had been looking ont for a chance of checking
the sauciness of some of the yonng fellows in
the garrison,- and here was the chance at last.
One morning a tall cornet, whose contemptuous
manner had muchjrritated him, was sauntering.
under the trees on* charmipg walk, in one of the
most public parts of Cape Town—where, to
this day, the people are want to sit upon the
stoops, men smoking, women knitting, and
grave little Dutch children toddling up and
down—when James strutted up to the young
dragoon, a member of the governor’s staff.
James stopped the way with a defiant air. Some
ill-conditioned person had made the most of the
cornet’s disparaging jests. James was glad of
this opportunity of asserting himself. High
words ensued, the doctor’s shrill voice piercing
Lpe air, and thus drawing attention (as he in
tended it should) to the encounter, which ended
in a challenge. Next morning a quiet little duel
took place. It ended well. Hands were shaken
and cornet and doctor became good friends for
life. If the affair ever came to the ears of the
governor, bethought it best to ignore it, accord
ing to the fashion of the day.
Doctor James afforded a good illustration of
the triumph of mind over matter. Tetchy as
he was, he never excited any professional jeal
ousy, albeit in defiance of all precedent he was
promoted on the staff as full surgeon without
doing a day’s regimental duty. Frail in body,
unique in appearance, and eccentric in manner,
he insured respect by capacity, and as he could
be courteous when he pleased, his oddities were
excused by his colleagues. He must have re
alized at the period considerable snms by his
private practice, hut he never changed his mode
of living. He kept a black servant, a service
able pony, and a small dog called Psyche.
Most of Psyche’* successors bore her name.
The queer quartette usually took their walks
abroad in company, and were a well-known
group at Cape Town.
On Dr. James’ return to England he was of
fered an appointment at another colonial station.
Here, owing to the climate, or possibly to non
appreciation, he grew discontented, and, with
out making any official application for leave of
absence, on plea of siqkness or “ urgent private
affairs,” took his departure for England.
He would chuckle as he related the story of
his unlooked-for reappearance before the direc
tor general of the medical department in Lon
don. Sir,” said the doqtqr, “ Ido not under
stand your reporting yourself in this fashion:
Yon admit yon have returned without leave of
absence. May I ask bow this is r*
“ Well,” said James, coolly running bis long
white fingers through his crisp sandy curls, “ I
have come home to have my hair cut.”
He more than once defied the rules of the
service with impunity, and invariably boasted
that he could have his choice of quarters. And
he had. He was counted a lucky fellow; but
who he was, or what he was, never ceased to be
r question or debate among his brethren less
fortunate than he. ,
It would scarcely be supposed that he would
submit to the banishment of St. Helena, but be
thought “ it might suit him very well,” and he
accepted it. It did suit him very well, until he
made it too hot to hold him. The climate
pleased him. The fruits and delicate vegetables
were strong considerations with him. His
health was more settled than ip former days,
his’reputatiou was high, and he had brought
AUGUSTA, GA., WEDNESDAY MOBNING, JUNE 28, 1867.
with him his usual letters of introduction.
Despite his shuffling gait, he might have been
no more than thirty, although he had been an
M. D. nearly twentv-lonr years! His smooth
face, bis sandy hair, his boyish voice, and a tol
erable set of teeth, contributed essentially to
hfajuvenile appearance.
He was now principal medical officer. He
installed himself in a pretty cottage at the head
or James Town, and revelled in the tropical
fruits, as many who read this account will re
member. A certain mango tree was his favorite
bower. He paid well for nil he had, and those
who had the best opportunities of knowing him
asserted that, selfish, odd, and cranky asrhe was,
he had kindness for the poor, and was chari
table without ostentation. He would go about,
bestriding his pony in strange fashion, with an
umbrella over his head. His saddle was a cu
riosity. It was so comfortably padded and so
safely shaped that, one wedged into it, it was a
marvel how he got out of it. In uniform be
was a caricature. His boot heels were two
inches above the ground, and within the boots
were soles three, inches thick. Add to these
boots very long spurs, crown the sandy curls
with a cocked hat, and complete all with sword
big enough for a dragoon, and you have the
doctor complete. The pony was enveloped in
a net from ears to heels, and swung the tassels
about impatient of the gear. The black man
attended at the beast’s head, and Psyche tripped
after them, the doctor’s treble waking up the
hot silence of the one narrow street 6hut in by
barren rocks, and Psyche’s bark making discord
at intervals. . *
He established himself in the old fashion at
Government House, where he was suffered to
talk of hie aristocratic acquaintance, sometimes
alluding to those of other days in a manner suf
ficiently puzzling. As at Cape Town, he became
the family physieian, or considered himself such,
and gave himself his usual airs when called in
to a private family. He effected some great
cures, and gained the coofidencejof his patients.
His presence at the hospital was a signal for the
juniors to be all on the-alert The soldiers liked
and misted in his skill; but woe betide the
laggard medico who was not there to receive
the P. M. 0., or who had swerved one hairs
breadth from his instructions.
All went on harmoniously enough for up
wards of a year, when the doctor, in an evil mo
ment, picked a quarrel with an officer of the
garrison. The affair led to a challenge, which
the doctor declined in no dignified way, and it
was followed by his open expulsion from the
garrison mess as an honorary member. Final
ly, the governor called for a court of inquiry,
which resulted in James being sent home under
arrest.
The writer of this article witnessed his exit
from James Town. On one ol those still, sultry
.mornings peculiar to the topics, the measured
step of the doctor’s pony woke np the echoes
of the valley. There came the P. M. 0., look
ing faded and crestfallen. He was in plain
clothes. He had shrunk away wonderfully.
. His blue jacket bung loosely about him, his
white trousers were a world too wide, the veil
garnishing his broad straw hat covered his face,
and he carried the Inevitable umbrella over hi 6
head so that it screened him from the general
gaze. The street was deserted, but other eyes
besides the writer’s looked on the group through
the Venetiau blinds. No sentry presented arms
at the gates, and the familiar quartette proceeded
unnoticed along the lines to the ship’s boat in
waiting.
His influence had been at work for him before
he landed. He was released from arrest, ont
rageons as his conduct had been, and again had
his choice of quarters. He went to other sta
tions, in the tropics, to Greece, and the Med
iterranean. He retained his taste for Govern
ment House society, and as he grew older got
less testy. He began to think of death and se
pulture, and would have had a friend in the
West Indies take an oath that if he (James)
died there he should be buried in the garments
he wore at the time. The friend declined to
swear, but James did not quarrel with him.
His last voyage was made as an amateur. Our
winter drove him to the West Indies again,
where he gave ont “ confidentially” that his
reasons for leaving England were very sad ; “ a
broken-off engagement with a yonng and beau
tiful creature, and some trouble in money mat
ters. He had lost documents, jewels and fami
ly records on board a vessel which had found
ered at sea. He was unhappy, and he wanted
solace.” His former opponent in the duel was
commander-in-chief, and he and James were
capital friends.
The summer ol ’64 brought him back to Eng
land, with Black John and a little dog whose
name was not Psyche. As the creature is pro
bably living she shall be nameless. Doctor
James must now have been quite seventy years
old. His friends of former days held by him
to the last; he was often ailing, and the kind
ladies of his Cape patron’s family would take
him out driving in the park, and would have
him to dinner, with provisions of suitable fruits
and cakes and eoffee.
It was asserted that he aspired to the honor
of being a K. C. 8., and his new uniform was
ordered for the last levee of the season. No
donbt his services entitled him to some distinc
tion ; and his influence still existed somewhere.
One day he returned to his lodgings from a
carriage ride, shivering and feverish. He went
to bed, and dispatched Black John with his
excuses from a dinner engagement for next
day, Sunday.
On that Sunday morning Black John went
into bis master’s room, as usual, to lay ont his
body linen. Six towels were among the invari
able items of his toilet, and though Black John
never assisted at it personally, he was aware
that his master wrapped these cloths about
him; whether he did so for warmth, or to con
ceal any personal defects in his emaciated form,
was a mystery. No wonder the form was ema
ciated, for James had accustomed to himself
for many years to periodical blood-letting either
by leeches or lancet.
On Black John’s return to his room he found
bis master worse, but nothing would elicit bis
permission to send for the medical friend who
had been in attendance on him previously for
bronchitis. The faithful valet was alarmed, but
he and the dog were the only watchers of the
sufferer throughout the sultry July day. James
lay dozing and powerless. It was after mid
night when he rallied.
He sat np and spoke to John, wandering at
times, and expressed concern at his long attend
ance, through so many hoars-—he would have
John take some slight stimulant, which the
faithful soul declined. Suddenly James faint
ed on bis pillow. The valet used restoratives,
which revived him,
, u J°hn,” gasped the invalid, “ this must be
death, but John did not think so.
“You are Only weak, sir,” he said, “let me
pve you seme champagne and water, or the
toast drop of brandy iuthe wineglass of water.”
For James would take 6uch stimulants in great
extremity, and he was now in great extremity.
He Sipped a little from the glass, and said,
more gently than usual, “ Have some yourself,
John; you need it, and you will not mind
drinking after me.” They were his last dis
tinct words. John again declined refreshment,
feanng he might fall asleep, but, at his master’s
vk o , l ii°*u e s own 80 adjoining room,
v be General,” as James chose to
by his valet, would get some
rnZIJ* h “ dependents, “ the
Genera l ” had been almost tender to John. He
had spoken to bun of his lonely life. “It was
not always so John,” he had said. “ Once I
tod many friends. I have some still, and
hose areve^ good tome; but they are not
the friends of early times; they will think of
me, though, and if yon want help, they will
remember yon for my sake. Now go and lie
down. I think I shall sleep.
He never awoke again. At dayUght John en
tered the sick-room. The curtains were closed,
so he took the night light and approached the
bed. “The General” had died without a strug
gle. His eyes were closed. The worn features
were calm. There had been apparently no
pain
John drew the sheet over the face, and de
scended to the kitchen for a charwoman, whom
he knew would be there at that hoar. He sum
moned her to assist at the last toilet of the
dead “General.” As she closed the door of the
room, he retreated to his own, and laid himself
down, tired out. He was closiug his eyes, when
the charwoman hurried in. “What do you
mean,” she said, “by calling me to lay ont a
general, and the corpse is a woman 1 ?”
John was utterly unprepared for this, although
like many others he had fancied the “General”
to be “different from other people some way or
another.” There had been floating suspicions
respecting the sex ol the doctor, but John de
clared he had never thoroughly shared iu them.
He had lived with the “General” three years,
and, whatever doubt he might have had at first,
he had Utterly dismissed from his mind.
According to John’s account, the poor crea
ture—the “ old girl,” as the ghastly adept in
her calling termed her—was not treated in her
last toilet with the courtesy she had never
wanted during her military career. Before the
poor corpse was. laid in its grave news reached
the registrar general of the discovery, and he at
once called for a report from the proper autho
rity. The report was, *“ that after a post mortem
examination, 4 was found Chat Doctor James,
of«ner Majesty’s service, was not only a woman,
but had at a very early period of life been a
mother.”
The deceased’s effects were taken possession
of by accredited agents. Notwithstanding the
large sums of money she must have received as
fees during her long course of private practice,
she died penniless. The question arises: How
had she spent the fortune she had made ? As
hush-money, or in support of the child who, if
still living, must be an elderly person ?
James left no will. There was nothing to
leave but the poor dog. A* nobleman’s valet
came for the animal, and settled accounts with
Black John, even to giving him the return pass
age-money to the island whence he came; and
no one has since appeared to claim any relation
ship with the eccentric being, who was even
more mysterious in death than in life.
Doctor James was buried at Kensal Green
late in July, 1865, and is registered under the
name borne from the time of his entering the
army aB hospital assistant.
[Paris Correspondence Cincinnati Gazette.
. How a Duel was Averted.
We had, until recently, Mr. Jim Bennett, of
the boat Henrietta, here. His boat still lies on
the coast, waiting for a buyer, like the other
yachts that he bea’;; and they will be used to
or * oße Cherbourg regat
ta. Mr. Bennett acceptgd a great deal of hos
pitality on this side of the deep ; and at Count
Susa’s one night he Btroked the goatee of a
young Spanish nobleman, both of them being
“ how-come-you eo,” whereat the Spaniard,
who would not fight himself, persuaded two of
his lriends to challenge the only son of his
very popular father. The Herald might have
had a chance to get a first-class sensation out
of the running through the body of this rash
ocean sailor, sub-heading it thus :
Pass the iilrst—The Lunge-Mr. Bennett has
him on the rib—Our Son Wounded—
Desperate Valor of our Son—The
Castilian Popped—“lnfidel!
I have Thee on the hip”—
The fatal Cut—Obitua
ry—Appearance of
our new office in
Mourning.-
But the opportunity to beat all its cotemDo
raries was lost by Dr. Carey and Lawrence
Jerome persuading the Spaniards that Bennett
could peel an Apple with a ballet. Thus do
shore 8 e P u^c excel upon sea and
yisited the London Times office and
y £ ourteßy ' . He asked to
dinner by the Duchess of Salisbury, and was so
kindness and wine that he
thus ? tSS?? 1 “ D M ou kuow wh y this is
ui 1 * T&ey fear ÜB . ! Yes, bigad thev trem
gSis-aus ffiTwi ss
a was oD ee accosted by a doctor
“ If he ever saw a 6onl ?”
“ No.”
• U « ke ever heard a soul ?”
“No.”
“ No*” G^er taste<i a 80ul
“ If fib ever smelt a soul ?”
“ No.”
“ If he ever felt a sonl ?”
“Yes.”
the a^ain°r Ct ° r ’ “ there are f°ur of
whe?her the “> e f S oul°“ C ” P ° a ««“>»
ofSjaffl™" th “ aa - ked if he a doctor
“ Yes.”
If he ever saw a pain
“ No.” v '
“If he ever heard a pain?”
“No h » eVertaStedapain ? ”
“ smelt a pain ?”
“ If he ever felt a pain ?”
“ Yes.” F
“ Well, then,” said ftie clergyman, “ there are
also four senses against one upon the question
whether there is a pain; and yet sir, you know
there is a pain, and I know there is'a soul.”
The Two Swaynes.— Gen. Bwayne arrived
in this city yesterday and put up at the Battle
House.
It is said that since arriving here, he has made
np his mind not to carry out the suggestion of
Radical Swayne to appoint negroes on the city
boards. That he so decided is a subject of re
gret to every loyal man in Mobile as well ag to
every Radical. The loyal men wish to see Rad
icalism carried to its legitimate conclusion, and
to let the military member* of the common,
council particularly go to bed with the monster
stripped of his mask. When that is done, we
bespeak an interview, when they get out of bed
next morniDg, with two of the gentlemen, re
markable for elegant manners and tidy apparel.
We shall have our special artist along to take
wood or other cuts of them, that we may place
them upon our bulletin board by the side of
the “ Grant Gun.”— Mobile Tribune , 14/A.
Robert Foster and his son Moses, of Chat
tooga county, Ga., was arrested by a cavalry
squad and carried to Rome* on Sunday last.
The Courier says that they formed part of a
squad of men who some months ago pursued a
supposed horse thief named Melville, and on
his refusal to surrender, killed him ; that Moses
Foster, who killed Melville, was tried therefor
by the civil authorities and acquitted; and that
the cause assigned for the military arrest is that
only his friends were summoned as witnesses
on the trial.
If Stanbery’s opinion is worth the paper on
which it is written these men will be released
at once.
[From All the Year Round.
Stomach and Heart.
Great discoveries in science in. modern times
are made almost daily. Many theories, how
ever, have descended to us from ancient times—
chiefly because they are ancient— and no one
takes the trouble to inquire into them closely
to ascertain their soundness. Such is the ease
with the generally acknowledged and accepted
doctrine, that the heart is an organized seat of
the affections.
We confidently affirm that we have made a
grand discovery on this important question,
this supposed physiological fact, though we
have no pretense to be professed anatomists,
nor can we say that we have gained our knowl
edge exactly in a dissecting-room.
It has been assumed that the brain is the or
gan of the mind —that it is the seat of the in
tellect—and that, if it be diseased or destroyed,
the mind suffers with it. To that doctrine we
offer no objection.
It has also been assumed, and has long been
the prevailing opinion, that the heart is the seat
of the affections, and we might quote, not only
from poets and novelists, but from much graver
and more sober liturature, to prove easily that
such is the general belief. All the virtues and
soft emotions, their opposites, aresaid
to proceed from the heart, varying in degree
and character according to the goodness or bad
ness of that belied organ.
Now to this doctrine we object; and not only
do we consider the theory a mistake, and that
it cannot stand the test of examination, but we
meet the theory by the proposition that another
organ is really the seat of the affections, and
that the heart is not at all concerned in the
matter. The organ we contend for is the
stomach.
It is very true, and we at once acknowledge
that we can bring no anotomical proof of our
doctrine from the 6tructprq of the stomach, nor
can those who might argue on the other side
show any such proof from the anatomy of the
heart. It is only by watching the actions of
each, that light can te thrown on the subject.
True, when powerful emotions of love or hate
have been excited, the heart’s action is sudden
ly and offcn violently increased, the pulses beat
last and furious, there is a flashing of the face
and a blush. But this-is only because the emo
tion distubrs the heart, as it does the respira
tion, and the same effect is produced from other
than moral causes; as by running, jumping, or
any violent and rapid bodily exercise: also, by
a very hot room, or a glass ©f brandy. We
might as well asssert that the. lungs were the
6eat of the affections : for they are disturbed by
the same causes.
If the heart, is an organ, were the seat of the
affections, and of all the tender fellings or their
opposites, these feelings would alter and be
come morbid, if theheart were diseased, as we
find the mind becomes disordered when the
brain is wrong. It is well known that this* is
not the case.
There is a disease where the heart becomes
enormously enlarged, but it is not found that
the moral large heart, as it is called, is the con
sequence. A.man is said to have a large heart
when he shows a noble benevolence and a wide
philanthropy; but his real heart, the organ it
self, remains of its natural size, while possibly
a miser who hoards up every penny, and never
did an act of charity in his life, dies of an enlarged
heart. The heart is sometimes lound convert
ed into a bony, half stony structure, causing
much suffering during life; but the afflicted
owner of this bard heart is often the kindest,
the most tender, the most amiable of human
beings. It has been said of a very loving
woman that she was all heart , whereas, In reali
ty, her heart remains unchanged in size or in
structure, and sheretains the usual Complement
of legs and arms, and so forth. Many people
have diseased hearts; these eases are easily
recognized by doctors, by the help ot that won
derful searcher of hearts, the stethoscope; but
though they have the malady for years, getting
gradually worse and worse, and though the pro
gress becomes more and more distinctly marked
until they die of it, and a post mortem examina
tion verifies the opinion given of the case, yet
the affections have never been found to have
been impaired; the patient remains as good, as
gentle, as loving, as benevolent as before the
change began.
It r.emains, to prove that the real organ of
these emotions is the stomach.
Here we can confidently appeal to facts daily
seen and acknowledged. We can also easily
show that in very old times this truth was well
known and accepted, so that we are not broach,
ingan entirely new doctrine, but one frequently
set forth in the oldest literature. The Old Testa
ment abounds in proofs that the digestive
organs, of which the stomach is the most im
portant, were recognized as those which influ
ence the affections, and not the heart. Witness
such expressions as “ bowels of mercy,” “ bow
els of compassion,” “Joseph’s bowels yearning
toward his brother Benjamin.” Many more
might be quoted, as such phrases frequently
occur, showing that the truth was well recog
nized in the days of the patriarchs. We do not
pretend to be able to prove when the change of
doctrine took place, or how it was that the heart
came to supercede the original organ.
When we see a lovely and bewitching woman,
is it not common to say that we could eat her
up ? One love stricken swain was known to
have said this of his intended bride; but, some
months after his marriage, on being reminded
of it, he rather regretted he had not done it.
Do not mothers olten say, in a fit of ecstatic
fondness, that they could eat a lovely cherub of
a chHd ? Benevolent feelings towards all man
kind are notoriously promoted by a good din
ner. Numbers of our charitable institutions
depend on this recognized fact, and the sub
scription plate is sent round, never before, but
always after diuner. See the contrast between
the amouute of the collections in a church-plate
even after the most eloquent and touching of
sermons (but before dipper), and those obtained
at public dinners for the benefit of a hospital or
a school ?
Then, again, to come to finer details, notice
how happy, serene, and full of charitable feelings
a man shows himself to be when his stomach is
comforted’, refreshed and soothed by a well
dressed dinner of all the delttcacies of the sea
son ;on tne other hand, how snarling, how
sulky, how ready to quarrel with thewife,pf his
bosom and the children of his loins, Is the man
whose stomaeh has been offended by an IB
dressed, bod and indigestible men!.
Then, again, while love and tenderness exist
unchanged in the man whose heart is seriously
diseased or even actually ossified, a deranged or,
a damaged stomach occasions melancholy, dis
gust, envy, hatred, and all Uncharitableness.
Observe the effect of a sea voyage on the
stomach, as the organ of the affections. A de
voted young husband, on his Wedding tOnr,
crosses the Channel with his beloved bride.
Watcn him; all attention, all tender care to
covet her with his cloak, to bring her a soft
pHlow, before the vessels quit3 the harbor; but
when the tossing and pitching begins, and hje
stomach feels the horrid qualms of seasickness,
he leaves the'feir creature to her fate or tb the
stewardness, and is savage if she implores him
to bring her a basin or to hold her head. This
change lasts only while his poor stomach is
overset. As soon as that organ regains Its nor
mal condition, as soon as the boat steams into
the harbor, his love, his tenderness returns
apace, and be is again devoted.
There will be a considerable difficulty in oyer-
I eomirg the long-estAblished prejudice on this
I point, and we must await the farther enlighten-
I ment of the world, satisfied that in the end the
truth will prevail. Poets especially will rebel
against the organic change which ought to tol-
I low when the doctrine is fully recognized; as It
I will be anything but easy for them to get rhyme
l for stomach as for heart; and, though both are
equally parts of the frame, there will be for a
VOL. 25. NO. 26
time, a sort of repugnance on their part to bring
89 poetical stock, what they will. be
t leased to call a more animal and a less senti
fhaflw v i ew tlie blatter. One comfort Is,
fact will remain and that it does not
if uc ™ ™ fttttr what designation may be given to
n ? a,T who fancies he is clapping to his
wh™ l °°*-lo*t love or tbe returned* child,
ohWftA w of ft ' cl he real, y holds the beloved
stomach, will not have made very
Sh2i , S*?jL e * ” lhe ma P of two organs will
each other **** Bituated within an inch of
[From the New York Bun.
Growth of Female Vioe.
HOW SHA.Lt IT BIS RESTRAINED ? • '
, T i ie .. c S. comeß U P ' rom every portion of the
land, What shall we do to arrest the growth
and increase of prostitution ?” Every city
echoes it, and every hamlet waits for a reply,
f here comes none. It is a question that Seems
to stagger stout hearts and experienced heads.
Some seek to crush it by legislative force, and
some to regulate it by proper and wholesome
(?) laws, and allow it to grow and live. But
these measures have been tried—the former
here, and both in Europe—and the cure seems
to be about as bad as the disease. But it is an
evil, and is consequently, like all other evils,
susceptible of cure. It need not be abandoned
in despair. Its subjects are human, and as 6uch
are capable of moral or other Impressions ; and
as prostitution comes within the category of ■
crimes, moral and natural, it should be met by
weapons drawn from both of these armories.
Under the old Jewish dispensation the law
took cognizance of the outward acts and ap
plied its remedy to them. The several vices
and crimes of which the mce had been guilty
were condensed into such words as idolatry,
blasphemy, Sabbath-breaking, theft, murder,
adultery, perjury, covetousness, &c., and their
opposite virtues were by the command of
Jehovah to be taught the people from earliest
infancy, that they might know how to “ hate
the evil and choose the gdod.” This teaching
was not to be confined alone to the synagogue
and temple, but was to form the chief feature of
home and fireside education.
The law, it will be seen, was strict, and yet it
seems to have been as little feared, although ac
companied by the thunders of Sinai or the'fear
ful judgments of the Almighty, as are our
modern laws. Death followed Sabbath break
ing and adultery, and still the people committed
both. Several penalties can never repress
crimes for the reason that the crime dates far
ther back than the mere lilting of the hand to
strike a brother down, or to illegally appropri
ating his property, or the whisper of a word to
injure his character and name. Every human
law founded on justice and truth recognizes
that “He who hateth his brother is a mur
derer ” just as truly as if he had plunged a dag
ger into his heart. Hence, in murder trials
courts of law seek for a motive back of the
mere outward act of murder. And this motive,
when found, heightens the degree es the crime,
or, in its absence, lessens it. “He that looketh
on a woman to lust after her hath committed
adultery with her already in his heart,” and he
only lacks the opportunity to carry oot bis
crime in the sensual gratification of his lusts.
What then is the cause of the increase of pros
titution in this generation. It is undoubtedly
owing not so much to the laxity in- admlnster
ing the law, as to the lack of moral force
brought to bfear against it. llow often
are religious teachers .heard to instruct
their auditors on the sin of adultery ?
The writer has only heard one such discourse
in New York within thirteen years, and that
was by a colored preacher to a black audience.
But they can discuss Sabbath bre&klng, idola
try, theft, murder, intemperance and kindred
evils, and open their batteries of truth upon
them, but adultery and prostitution is left un
touched. They turn aside from it as an unclean
thing. There is little or no sympathy shown
to the prostitutes, though the son of the Chris
tian merchant or minister have led her away
fr.om the path of virtue. There are very few
to take the erring but oftent repentant Magda
lene by the hand and bid her .“ go in peace, and
sin no more,” or say to her accusers, “ Let him
that is without sin among you cast the first
Stone at her.” It is, in fact, the treatment of
the evil as if it was one beyond the pale of
Christian truth and Christian influence that
causes it to grow and spread. The poor out
casts, feeling themselves abandoned as it were
by society, give themselves up to lives of shame
and degradation, when a kina deed, a sympa
tbetic glance, a slight Christian greeting and
word, might have stopped many of them in
their career oi crime, and led them back again
to virtfie. But it will be said, perhaps, that
there arenever any of that class of listeners in
a religious audience. This is not true, and
even if it were true, Christian teachers, and
Christian men and women should seek out
such audiences and snch persons fbr public
and private instruction. “The whole have no
need of the physician, but they that are
sick,” and it is not all improbable that
in this and in every city of the Union
and throughout the length and breadth of
the land there may be found one or more mem
bers of a Christian church living in the same
block or within easy distance of some degraded
creature of the class under consideration. They
may not only live near her but be acquainted
with her, and if so, would it be asking too much
of those who bear the Master’s name to do the
Master’s work, which they voluntarily agreed
to perform ? Or is it for the Christian to choose
out the chief.places, the clean and easy wprk,
and leave the rest undone ? Where is the fire
of the ancient days—the spirit of love and self
sacrifice that led earnest men not to consider
their lives dear, so that they might do their
Master’s will —that compelled them to become
all things to all men, that they might thus save
6ome ? Until legal acts are backed up by Chris
tian truth—until vice is eombated by virtue,
crime will not be curtailed or repressed. Were
human t beings not endowed with a spiritual
nature, * physical laws might answer air pur
poses, bat while they are of a dual nature they
must be guided and controlled both by spirit
ual and natural forces. And here is the great
mistake. The laws apply one force and ignore
the other. It Is the rod and reproof that give
wisdom, and those that hare had any experience
with the yonng know that either foyce applied
singly foils In accomplishing its purpose. And
men "are but children of larger growth, influ
enced by the same passions, appetities and de
sires, and capable yielding to the same forces
if properly applied. To arrest the growth of
prostitution, therefore, (or of any other crime,)
we must apply to it Christian truth in connec
tion with restrictive legal measures, and success
will surely follow hi the end.
The following is from an article in the Brook
lyn Eagle on the recent tragedy at Alabany
Woman who encourage familiarity, or permit
ft, must be content to accept the consequences
that may follow. Tile value of the honor of
woman, whether maid or matron, ought never,
in onr opinion,'to be submitted to the estimate
of a jury, nor should an assault upon it even be
accepted as a justification for cold-blooded mur
der, in which those who maybe more sinned
against than sinning may be silenced forever.
The unfortunate man who fell at Albany na y
not have been of the temperament of JMepn.
but even against the Mrs. Votipnersofsdciety
the virtue If the Hebrew boy would
protection. If every man who yle
tions older than onr ( civilization md beuuw
with the same Impunity as if be
bSt of ns will have little security until we are
born over again.