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About Weekly constitutionalist. (Augusta, Ga.) 185?-1877 | View Entire Issue (June 26, 1867)
®I)C iUccKli) Constitutionalist BY STOCKTON 4 CO. OUR TERMS. The following are the rate* of Subscription: Daily, one year fio 00 Wxxklt, one year $3 00 [ 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.
