| * * * * * * * * * * * º * * * * * * * . *::::, . §"&";"Gº!"; "6 University of Michigan – BUHR ſ } - # ! * i - §§ºWIN.INITTTTTTTIſ: i El gº ſº)\\ ºmit # r - Eº -º ºr s º *º: º É ! º Sºº N 2 º yº. . . ; ‘º U - i - • - º: - A. º *** ... # * ! - * * * • , . º : T.& - *W * * * * * º .. # - #H# # i E. | | E. - 3 | | | E - E. i # t : - 7:55 . - E; My N. % E : EQ - a ſ E | E. i: ; /\º: I Eº N *Nº ºf: | E. *.3% W: EE | E; §§ º º:= E3 # / º żºł5. |É ºº:: É. * * ășºsºft | E: Rºy Jºy =#EE E. • ***.*.*.*.* E 55 | - É ; , , " ' ". . ; • . . ***.* E BE . i. -----' = É ! E; |MEDICAL LIBRARY: ## |É - # | ÉÉ i É ## | E3. = : Nº TIE i i ! ! s 4 . º - i i . | . i. , - : " . w f t ; ! - 2 * K h // ??. 2 77 H. Y. G. T. E N T C --ºº A N D ARY MAGAZINE. Vol. I. JANUARY, 1860. No. 1 #ugiruit ſlepartment. W. H. TALIAFERRO, M. D., Editor, Physical Treatment of Negroes. By J. DICKSON sumn, M. D., MAC0N. G.A. Number one. - Persox A. cI.EANLINEss—pirysiolog- ICALLY CONSIDERED. As, owners of slaves, we are res. ponsible to various tribunals for the manner and policy pursued in regard to their physical management. As we mainly control their actions and physical liberties, we become respon- sible to humanity for that kind care and sympathy which nature claims for every human being. We are responsible to the slave himself for his physical comfort and welfare, and for all that personal enjoyment that his fated condition may reasonably claim. We are responsible to the laws of the land for his maintenance and protection; and to our own pe- cuniary interests, as owners of such property. In view, then, of these several relations and delicate respon- sibilities, it behooves us to look well to the physical treatment of our negroes. In this study, several items claim attention; but none are, perhaps, more important than that of Vol. I.--No. 1,–A personal cleanliness, not only as re- lates to the comfort and happiness of the negro, but as affecting our in- terests through the medium of his good health and long life. The African, as a race, is the low- est grade of human beings, and, in physical conformation, approaches nearer, in descent, the higher order of animals. His physical conforma- tion is at once indicative of his great want of intellectual capability, and, consequently, of that susceptibility to civilization and mental culture - provident of his own physical well-be- ing. In his constitution the animal and sensual predominate over the mental and moral eléments of his nature. Possessing a low degree of intellectuality, he is naturally slug- gish and indolent to everything rela- ting even to his present comfort and personal welfare. The negro is de- cidedly inclined to slothfulness and inactivity, and so stupid to a proper sense of his own good and self-pre- servation, as really to need an adviser and a master. The most casual ob- server of the habits of these people, even in free States, cannot but re- mark the spirit of indolence and utter indifference manifested by them, in regard to taking care of and provi- Q HYG IFNIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE, * ------------------------- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- . . . . . .- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -*-------- ~ ----------------- ~~~~ *-*-**** ding for themselves. This same spirit is exhibited in their personal habits. They are naturally and habitually inclined to be filthy. Having little or no personal pride, or taste for decency, their immate slothfulness allows them to neglect even the available and convenient means of personal cleanliness. These are facts relating to the me- gro race generally, but with how much more force do they apply to our negro slaves? Possessed of all those native, characteristic traits of the race, and having fewer incentives to impel or restrain them, they be- come exceedingly slothful in every- thing depending upon voluntary ef. fort. in filth rather than wash themselves, even when time and opportunity is allowed them for these purposes. They will not wash and be clean unless compelled, and the amount of grease and dirt that would thus be permitted to accumulate, by many of them, would be enormous, was there no compulsion on the part of () V (ATSéél’S. But the suggestion I wish to make is, that, masters and overseers give too little attention to this subject— are too lenient in their requirements in regard to this important hygienic measure. Many negroes will work for days and weeks in sweat, and dust, and grease, without washing their skins beyond the hands and face. Imagine the depth of accumu- lated filth, when, for weeks, and per- haps months, their bodies have not had the benefit of a general ablu- tion ' Imagine, too, the odor—rancid and nauseous—necessarily emanating from a negro thus covered with a * Many of them prefer to lounge scurf of oily perspiration and dirt! Perhaps the reader has enjoyed the benefit of such sights and smells. As a practitioner of medicine, I have realized such benefits many a time, and have found my olfactories revolt- ing amid such fragrant scenes. - But, as already intimated, me- groes will not wash and keep them- selves clean unless made to do it; and it becomes our duty as masters and guardians to compel them, by rigid discipline, if necessary, to perform this duty. Overseers, and all persons having the oversight and control of negroes, ought to look vigilantly to this matter, enforcing the same faith- fulness and regularity in bathing for cleanliness, that is required in the performance of other duties. But why, it may be asked, do you attach such importance to personal cleanliness among negroes? Why enforce such rigid discipline in regard to so small and seemingly trifling a matter?' . The answer is two-fold: first, for the benefit of the negro; and second- ly, for the interest of his master. That cleanliness, is conducive to com- fort no one will deny. It contributes to sound, vigorous health; imparts life and elasticity to the body, and consequent cheerfulness of mind, and buoyancy of spirit. It enhances his actual enjoyment. Therefore, it be- comes an absolute duty—an obliga- tion imposed upon us by the relation we sustain to the negro–to compel attention to this simple hygienic measure. As guardians and advisers, we are to suggest and enforce, for their good, whatever their own stu- pid intellects fail to dictate, and their slothfulness disinclines them to Jo oottonguſ $5unu,105, Aug ou" on put “Apoq out) tuo, J spun Jo uontºpustibul oul on unoq ‘lollusq ol Quoulodu. Utu studo] puu ‘solod oul du Sdols ‘ups ou, Jo oogans oup slo Aoo lup put quo.As ATIO pontinuumool; Jo Jºoo sºul, ‘Youtſtro hy Ulm.I] out,L 2 Squouſ -Ipoduſ [to]uuuſootu Ions topum AI -ſunſuou not ups out uto AoPI 3 upis oul ulduolu, Sosuš put spump louſho Jo tion blºuxa panuo AA put uonuºudsled oul jou,11sqo on osuop put Moſul AI -]uðIOH]us Ullſ, Jo Junos u ü)(AA bole A00 upis SIU pug Jou no.' [IIAA i lout -utins Jo Snp pub nuouſ oth up Alſºp 5uſ -loqui 'sunuoul solutilod put: “seloo A doj. Hostuſu pouſsbA you suu ou A olić -ou Juill uodu ‘nuoulou u log ‘Moorſ - "Alluutſtuſ unIA panoel -āott od outtuo put: “unſtou loojiod on oIqbsuads! put sº “uaul ‘ups ouſ, Jo uon -Ipuoo Auguouſ V Apoq ou, u, utúlo louno Attu A'q polluſ squs od gouttºo put ‘UAO STI ALtuſ|nood sº “uonoun) to ‘oogo s]] ‘subjio doulo on A.luſ!!Nnu Imjøsm tº Juq ‘on.In sſ aſ ‘Juunioduſ AIBMA hoſt sºups our sm.L "so st tionesueduo) syſ, “[][ſ] Jo suoyuſhul -moot: Aq possoiddo uou A ind “sount aún on Autºsisst hub).ſoduſ ul: shun s! I saskā snojouoqiao oundtuſ on qxo juſAOII* put ‘in our Jo uojAxo où) on 3out,L] (to juſAid—7/09/0). Adso'ſ J0 pupſ tº suito), lod ‘olt;!s Nūlūou tº uſ ‘IIIMs ou.L "possoid to souloooq ulo)s.'s oIOIAA ouſ) putt: “IJIAA polajlo) iſ o.It tionſ unu put topudglioſuo Jo Suon -oing oup ostrosp on polooſqms snu) putt “poxist).IoMo outoooºt sutā.io .N. -Olo,toos toū)o put SAOuppſ out, ‘uuä,10 Aiolumdopt st Amp su soop losuo OU (IISIS ou, Uiouſ AA ‘tutons.'s olou A où sq.inqsp AIO)oute, 10 AT]oo.up tioſ]oung to trušto otto Jo Juotuojuglop ºutſ)—tuogs&s ol{\tto oth sopus iod Juun ‘SI * • * *--- - - - - ~~~~ - - - --- e. uonounſ Jo uomusuoduloo put Kun -bdulAs ſºnºnut quun uto, J–Kutoliooa [butput out) Jo Att tº sº JI utºbotſ Jo quotuošutilop Juoubosttoo put ‘tuton -SA's out) up tropssoid do ssol to oilout odupoid pſno A “tropoun] spun on uor) ſº t & g * ~~~---a-----. ... • -----> --------- - - - - - - - you si , [ -onalsqo Kurt: Aq ‘unsula, on pollutiod Jſ ‘toº ‘ups out Aq KuA sitſ uſ to uModul AIAutunsuoo 3utoq si tolytut Jo Annuuub V utons.As aun on snouosiod Alomíosqu oAold And ‘ssolunToA od Kuo You ‘àuguſtute. Aq ‘ptuo A yūq) sooutºsqus odolfo (Iſu).leo on ‘sorod suſ uénoun 'odeosa oAº on—ups oun Jo Ironoun) on in oun si peopuſ “sºul, 'uoilu.IIdsted Jo tulo) out uſ ‘loºtºut Ssolosh (Ionu soluuxo put sºutsuº.1% upis ol.I. Jo nworth od on somb -0.1 upou A put: “utols.As out! III Injosa Joãuo ou ‘lolluut ologo Jo (togetbuxo ou) to] \to\ountuo hutſ,loduſ ut quq ‘Āpoq oup on 5upið.AOo Igu.Toyo otout tº - 'unſuou on equsuadsput st Upolu.A. Jo ooutºut.(ojdad amp tº ‘uoſłoun) TuoisotorSAud hub),Ioduſ ut q^ odul -uu Āq posiunue s ups ou.L 'uºteau pºols Mud to “ouaºu Jo uonsonb oul ulo.11 spoooo,Id ‘soo.13out 3uouſe ssouſſutolo Ibuosdad Jo Jonggui spun on uonuome oatá on Sn 5ugduoid “lovo wou ‘nuoundat juſtuaoid ou.L 'Kuladoid lions Jo Jou.wo su ‘nselo)uſ <ſumood unwo suſ 3uploud.Itſ ‘oun outus out, ye ‘put: ‘A Huutumu ol ooº..tos pooš juſlopual s: ‘uouſsol (lons juſtiſoſuo uſ ‘loysutu sºu put ‘ssouTubolo ſtuosiod soambo, 1.Iojuto.) Tuois Aud sºil 'uoyot; 0, uſû oAotu on uoismduloojo smºnums on so.unbo.1 ou put: ‘o,It'ſ O.A SH on 0410hp -ttoo soul o'ſ IIIA hull A on st: uopoo.WP but oo!Apt, spoou ol I piſtlo tº JO ºbuſ) on upſu tropisod u (Hutſu oould ‘Aloud -to [unuou Ioalaſuſ sitſ put: ‘o.15ou ouſ). Jo uomisods p ſuinquil ou.I. 'utioFiod “s:Folloa N Io LNGLIV.Lvºſtill (vols. H d -| 11 Yū11.N. (; ,\ N I) 1,1'TERA Tº Y MIAGE AZIN1. ---- . . . -- ~ * : *- - - - - - - - - - . . ------ - -- ~... -- - - - - - - - - , y - - - - - - the atmospheric air from without! Thus the true physiological functions of the skin are trammeled, and all that train of consequences above alluded to may indirectly ensue. There is yet another way in which filthiness of person may cause bad health among negroes. The rancid, nausequs odor emanating from such uncleanliness is anything but promo- tive of health. They need pure air; but the 'effluvia constantly emanating from such filthy bodies is vitiating to the surrounding air; and when crowded together in small and illy - - te & 1. w * ventilated rooms, this effluvia from their persons, and from dirty clothes and bedding, is sufficient to contami- nate and poison the atmosphere of Such contaminated the whole room. odors feed, and even engender infec- tious influences in sleeping rooms, and thousands of cases of typhoid fe- ver, and other malignant diseases, are thus produced amongst negroes, which might have been avoided by proper cleanliness. I say, them, that aside from all oth- er considerations, it becomes a matter of policy with owners of negroes to see to it, that they keep themselves clean. There is no adjuvant to health so important. Vigor of constitution and uniformity of health greatly de- pend upon this simple precaution, and life often pays the penalty of its neg- lect. It behooves us, them, as a duty we owe to the negro, thus stupid and slothful, as well as to our own pecu- niary interests, to levise and enforce such hygienic measures as are best 'alculated to maintain sound physical health; and, as bathing for personal cleanliness is certainly one of the 100s' eſt/ſ/1//e, we ought to insist tion of vermin, &c. upon it with great earnestness. But there is too little thought bestowed upon this subject, and consequently too much indifference exhibited. Let us bestir ourselves to a proper sense Let us look well to the subject, and enjoin, as disciplina- ry, whatever may be best for their good and ours. of our interest. I would suggest to planters, and to all having the management of ºne- groes, the necessity of having a con- venient bathing house on every farm and premises. Provide your negroes with such a convenience, and enjoin it upon them, as a duty, to wash and keep their skins clean. Make them, if necessary, bathe regularly, once or twice a week, at least, scrubbing themselves with soap and towel. Let it be a duty with every one—big and little. Give them time for this purpose, and compel obedience. They will soon learn to indulge in the bath as a luxury, and not as a task. It will impart life and sprightliness. By removing the particles of des. quamated skin, and the oily perspira- tion that tends to concrete upon the surface, the skin is kept soft and pliant, the pores open for free matural perspiration, and for the transmission of atmospheric air. A healthful, comfortable feeling will thus be im- parted. Under the influence of this habit they will feel better, be more cheerful, and enjoy far better health. There is, perhaps, no better index of health than the skin. When kept in a healthy condition, by such regimen, it is effectually protected from many loathsome skin diseases, the propaga- Negroes thus living will escape many attacks of sickness, and the mortality of their JPII YSICAT, TIREATMENT OF ; ---, ...— . . ;------. --→ ~ * . ... º.º.º.º. - 4 - -. * * *. -- - - - - - - - - - “... < * diseases will be greatly lessened. It is unquestionably true, that the pre- dominance of mortality of negroes over the whites is owing mainly to their uncleanly and filthy habits. Such habits predispose them to dis- ease, and render their attacks more malignant and fatal. Mortality is in- variably commensurate with the filth and destitution of their persons and their abodes. However insignificant and whimsi- :al this subject may appear to some, it is nevertheless replete with interest to all. It materially affects the com- fort and physical enjoyment of the negro, and as sensibly concerns the interest of his master. Many a valu- able day's work has been lost to the owner by feeble, puny health of his negro, consequent upon inattention to cleanliness; and many—tery many valuable servants have died in conse- quence of this same neglect. There is nothing more provable in physiology than that a sound condition of the skin is important to health; and, in turn, it is equally demonstrable that cleanli- ness is indispensable to the health of the skin. Therefore, cleanliness is material to the maintenance of sound physical health. sider this matter practically, and see whether it will not be found true, that money spent for bathing houses, and time consumed by negroes in wash- ing themselves, will not be refunded Tenfold. The writer has no doubt as to the truth of this proposition, and would even extend it, by claiming that the average life of the negro race would be considerably prolonged by a faith- ful observance of this simple Hygien- ic measure. of the subject is true to nature. and of health. among negroes Let us, then, con- for reform on this subject. N EGIR () ISS, *) Number Two. 5 IN ſtELATION TO THEII: Houſ SES. In my first article I took occasion to review, cursorily, some of the hab- its of negroes in reference to personat/ cleanliness, and I would still claim for that subject practical affection. The facts are not exaggerated, but drawn from practical realities around us; and the physiological view taken The average of human life is growing less, and the standard of general health is constantly declining every successive generation ; the explanation of which is to be found in the habitual viola- tion and neglect of the laws of nature This neglect is more generally prevalent than the whites, and consequently the importance of point- ing attention directly to the negro race upon this subject. Closely allied to this, is another palpable, and subject of greater importance still: I allude to the sleeping apartments of negroes. Farmers and slave owners generally are too oblivious of their obligations and interest in regard to this matter. As guardians, we are to provide comfortable and healthful Quarters for our negroes. They are provided with houses, it is true, that shelter them from the storm, and protect them from the blasts of win- ter; houses that furnish all the or- dinary requisites for present comfort ; | yet many of these houses are not con- structed upon that plan most favora- ble for the health of the occupants. This fact, together with a knowledge of the slothful and indifferent habits of negroes, call imperatively upon us As {{ general remark, negro houses are not (; properly constructed, and the habits of negroes in regard to their sleeping arrangements are not such as are most conducive to physical health. I propose to point out some of these errors, and make such practical sug- gestions as may occur to me on these subjects. - An important consideration in the coustruction of our houses is "entila- tion. Air is one of the vital elements of our physical existence. Without a due supply of pure air we cannot have health. A bird shut up in an air-tight receiver can live only a defi- hite length of time. As the air be- comes exhausted, the bird begins to languish; and when all its vitalizing elements have been consumed, the bird dies. us the importance of so constructing our sleeping rooms, as to secure free- current ventilation, in order to a con- tinuous supply of fresh air, and the dissipation of impure vapors and gases engendered within and floating about the room. - But what is the general style and plan of construction of negro houses 2 Is not this important law of Hygiene almost entirely lost sight of? Many farmers build their negro houses right, consulting both comfort and /ealth, but very many others seem to loose sight of the very first primei- ples of healthful architecture. A small, four-square sabin, set flat upon, or very near the ground, is the usual style. One small door for en- trance, and sometimes, though rare- ly, a small window in the rear. The cracks, if made of logs, are (laubed with mud, so as to make them almost air-tight, in order that the occupants In may be comfortable in winter. Such facts should teach ! IY (; 1 JCN I ( : A.N.I.) 1,1'I’lālūAft'Y MAGAZINI. these houses negroes cook, eat and sleep, several families often congrega- ted together in the same small room, Contributing still to the insalubrity of these houses, are the habits of tie- groes in keeping the doors closed night and day, and of depositing slops underneath the floor, allowing a general accumulation of filth about the houses, What, then, must necessarily be the result—the effect upon the health of negroes thus living in such houses? Can it reasonably be expected that they will enjoy sound, vigorous health & Cannot the imagination easily depict contrary results P Do we not see in this style of living posi- |tive violation of the laws of health, in so far as relates to the securement of pure, unadulterated air for respira- tion ? The conclusion is unavoida- ble. We are obliged to admit the impossibility of negroes enjoying good health, living in this manner. There is greater necessity for pure air to breath at night, while sleeping, than during the day; and from the very fact that while asleep, the respi- ration is passive, and comparatively imperfect—the lungs inhaling less air than during the active exercise of day. - Now let us examine, for a moment, the character of the atmosphere with- in these sleeping rooms, and deter- mine whether it can possibly be pure. The door and Windows have been shut all day, and no ventilation per- mitted. The foul vapors and nox- ious gases, originating within the room from accumulated filth, are shut in, no current sweeping through to freshen the stagnant atmosphere. At a later hour of the night we find 1'HYSICAL TREATMENT OF NEGROES. 7 …” # \\CºlltS. additional contaminating The half dozen or dozen • ,” a small sleeping room Wave been s * / ‘ º re º breathing, for h9%rs, this confined air, exhausting . and emitting carbonic acid and other effete exhala- 2, Z r " º g sº £rom the lungs. This air is thus - only exhausted of its proper Vitalizing properties, but copiously jmpregnated with noxious gases and ſ . t • g t º effluvia, the inhalation of Whates of 'which not only fails to invigorate, but is absolutely capable of depress- ing the powers of life, and poisoning the system. In such crowded, dirty, and ill-ventilated houses, thousands of our negroes are living. The same is true, in a modified degree, with a urge proportion of the white popula- ion. They live and sleep in such lens the year round, without chan ge. In summer they are insupportably hot and uncomfortable, and in winter re still more unhealthy from the additional consumption of the oxygen »f the room by the fire, and the suffo- cating effects of gas and smoke. But he sleepers are compelled to breathe his pent-up air, with all its impuri- ies and adulterations ! Let me ask the intelligent reader whether he does not readily discern a this picture, sources of bad health ld positive exciting causes of dis- e? In fact, to reverse the question, very astonishing that negroes, thus live, have as good health, l live as long as they do? Under a \roper physiological view of animal lié and human health, can we consider ita matter of surprise, to see negroes, who have thus lodged for the night, come out in the morning looking sleepy and dull and lifeless? and that, during the greater part of the morning, they should be disqualified for business * The truth is, such mode of living is incompatible with the true philosophy of health. It is injurious, and often ruinous, to the health and physical constitution of negroes. Nature may resist for a time, the devastating effects of such errors, and the powers of life may withstand insalubrious habits and influences for a season, but the such morbid impress is surely, though in- sidiously made. The scanty supply of fresh air stints the vital processes, and the habitual inhalation, during the hours of sleep, of foul and con- taminated atmosphere, will slowly, but surely poison the system. The feeling of malaise, and want of appe- tite for the morning meal; the stupid look, and the tremulous step in the negroes betoken this result. Observation and experience point out the fact that negroes, together with the destitute portion of the white population, are peculiarly sub- ject to epidemics and infectious dis- eases, the causes of which are set down to the account of defective ven- tilation, filthy accumulations, crowd. ed rooms, &c. We seldom meet with a prevailing endemic of Typhoid Fever, malignant Pneumonia, Black Tongue, putrid sore throat, &c., among negroes who are living under a proper observance of the laws of health. We find such diseases annong those who live crowd- ed together in dirty and ill-ventilated houses, such as we have already des- cribed. I have repeatedly encoun- tered Typhoid Fever among negroes thus subject to its ravages, and have invariably found it to prevail until the negroes were moved out of these § Il Y (RIEN ( : A N.]) Liter ARY M.A (R A ZIN E. filthy dens; and have as universally found such removal to arrest the (lis- ease. Negroes suffer more malig- mant attacks of disease than white people, and the mortality among them is much greater, in proportion to population. Particularly is this true with respect to negro children, for they are proverbially difficult to raise on many farms and premises. The explanation of all these facts is found in the practical existence and habitual indulgence of these very er- rors we seek to combat. The cause exists mainly in the construction of sleeping apartments, the imattention to cleanliness, wentilation, &c. What then is the remedy ? How may we turm back this mighty current that is sweeping with such are desiderata, should not our first thought, and best everſ/fes be directed to the securement and maintainance of these blessings 2 If we admit the need of sanitary reform, should we mot strike, at once, at the very foun- tain head Amid the multiform ex- citements and famaticisms of the age, no question can be of greater impor- tance than that which looks to phys- ięcil health, and, as this question, when applied to megro slaves, involves also the question of property inter- ests, it certainly deserves thoughtful consideration. Tet us, then, reform in the manuer of construction and physical manage- ment of negro houses' Instead of building little shanties and air-tight "abins, that admit no ventilation, let us have roomy houses that may be swept daily by draughts of pure at- mosphere! Instead of crowding ne- groes by the dozen into the same (levastation | through the land As life and health \ small un, and allowing them to live in A and dirt and smoke, let us build Wºdditional houses, divide them off, one family to each house, and make them observe neatness in all their habits of living. The houses ought to be located apart. Let them have ample dimen- sion, and raise them from the ground so as to permit current ventilation undermeath. Give them large doors and windows, so as freely to ventilate the house, and let the windows ex- tend well down to the floor, that the current breeze may sweep out all stagnant air from the room. Instead of having wood and mortar chimneys, that fill the houses with smoke and gas, and constantly endanger them to burning, let us build good stone ºr brick chimneys, with furnaces for comfortable fires. Houses thus comi- structed, will be found º and pleasant to live in, and, with proper observance of sanitary habits on the part of the occupants, will prove healthful. The ordinary insur. ance occurring from the health and lives of negroes will more than pay the extra expenses incurred in buill- gº g * { ing this better style of houses; and | time and money lost, by sickness and death of negroes, in consequence of the want of such houses, will defray all such expenses, and save a thousand per cent. in the end, to slave ..". But what are we to expect frºm negroes, in the way of care and Iru- (lence, and management in living 2 A. Have we not seen that they are mat- urally and habitually slothful, and ex- hibit no concern about such matters? All such regulations must, therefore, devolve upon masters and over- seers. Let us then exercise general PHYSICAL TREATMENT OF NEGROES. supervision, and establish, by discip- line proper hygienic regulations about (neir sleeping apartments. Enjoin it upon them to keep their houses well wentilated; and particularly during the summer to keep the windows well open at night, that they may have fresh air during the hours of sleep. See to it that they observe the neces- sary degree of cleanliness about their houses—allowing no accumulation of slops or filth. Let their bedding be kept washed up, and everything about the house clean and mice. Permit no accumulation of soiled clothes or dirty rags under the beds or about the house. Make them observe neatness in their habits, and order and system in all their arrangements. Particu- larly rebuke that careless and filthy habit of depositing slops through the floor, or about the door; and let all such messes be kept carefully re- moved. In this way, noxious efflu- via, in and about the house, will be prevented, and the occupants will have pure, fresh air to breathe; they will sleep comfortably, and awake in the morning duly refreshed and qual- ified for labor. Such a system of meatness and comfort will attach them to their homes, beguile their hours of fatigue, enhance their real enjoyment, giving them health and long life. The reader may consider me squeamish upon this subject, but the picture has not been over-drawn. My own personal observations have led me to these convictions. As we live by the operation of certain estab- lished laws of nature, and as physical health is dependent upon conformity to these laws, then must we expect bad health and physical disability whenever we disobey or willfully vi- VOL. I.-No. 1.-B vitalizing elements. olate these hygienic laws. As sure as animal life is sustained by oxygen, as a vital element, and vigorous health depends upon a requisite supply of pure air, so sure will the animal die, or become diseased, without these There are many causes of disease, but those affecting the human system through the res- piratory function are by far the most numerous. We die for the want of pure air, and we also die from the morbid effects of poisomous air . The provisions and regulations suggested in behalf of negroes—as to their sleeping apartments—secure for them the one and protect them from the other, in so far as we may control by hygienic means. Let us then, as peo- ple, look studiously to these laws of our physical well-being, yielding obe- dience to their dictates; and let us impart the benefits, acquired from such study, to our negroes, for they are mentally stupid and incompetent to such knowledge. By providing for them as above suggested, and training their habits to a due compli- ance with the laws of hygiene, their enjoyments will be promoted by the securement of comfortable health, and cheerfulness of spirits. Their neat and cleanly abodes will no long- er invite the malignant ragings of cholera, or the insidious approaches of typhoid fever. In fact, negroes will live comparatively exempt from a host of sporadic, epidemic, and in- fectious diseases, to which, under the present system of packed sleeping rooms, non-ventilation, filthy habits, &c., they fall victims by the thou- sand. Negro children will, perhaps be the special beneficiaries of this kind of reform. They will be more I () IIYGIENIC ANI) LITERARY MAGAZINE. thrifty, and thousands of them will be reared to mature life that are now famishing for want of pure air In studying, then, the laws of hu- man health in their application to me- groes, with their peculiar habits, no subject will be found of greater practical importance than that which relates to their houses, and sleeping arrangements. Here they eight of the twenty-four hours. Here they seek repose from the fatiguing labors of the day. Then, let them have roomy, neatly-kept, and well- ventilated houses. Such will contri- bute greatly to their health, make them thrifty and prolific ; and the ul- timate result will report itself in in- creased population of the race, and general prosperity of slave holders' —º-e Geº- Food. º “If all the World Should, in a pet of temperance, feed on pulse, At Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Th’ All-Giver would be unthank'd, would be unprais'd, Not half His riches known, and yet despisºd; And we should serve Him as a grudging master, And a penurious miggard of IIis wealth.” FooD, as a subject of thought, or essay, when viewed as the pabulum upon which, for the sustenance of life, all the human family must feed, be- comes highly interesting, not only to the man of science, but to the natural historian; especially when it is seen that on its quantity and quality de- pend human longevity, health, moral- ity, power, and happiness. This is true, not only in reference to man as an individual, but to man in his ag- gregate capacity. Food, when deficient, may be the cause of war, of famine, of pestilence, of a degeneration in the physical, the mental, and moral power of a nation. Some have asserted that to its defic- spend .* iency is to be attributed the small size of the men of France. There many, forty per cent., have to be re- jected as conscripts, when the stan- dard is only five feet two inches. The cause of their small size becomes obvious when it is known that one- eighth of the French nation eat mei- ther meat nor bread. The deficiency of food is the sure fore-runner of physical decay; which is often the antecedent of social and moral degeneracy. It requires that the poor man should put on his spec- tacles to make his berries appear largo or stop his ears that he may not hear the cries of his starving children. Food and physical causes in con- mection with man have been too often over-looked by the Naturalist and Philosopher. For many years this neglect has been a crying sin. Man always has been, and always will be, the creature and the subject of physi- cal laws; but still, scarcely anything is known of these laws in their minu- tiae. In Anatomy, in Chemistry, As- tronomy, yea, in all the exact sciences the “Experimentum cracis” is often resorted to ; here there is no guess- ing; events take place regularly; their causes are well known and defined— their order, time, and manner of oc- currence are pointed out; but with man the case has been far different. Some have thought he could live on vegetable food alone; and the experi- ment has been tried until hundreds have been “Grahamited” out of the world. He, too long, by many, has been considered independent of laws —physical laws, which are fixed, and have invariable results; though years may elapse before great physiological changes take place. Man cannot live FOOD. | 1 without food any more than he can without air, heat and light. The quality and quantity of these, when consumed by him, must produce their own peculiar physical changes, leaving their foot-prints indelibly stamped upon tribes and races. Scarcity of food if prolonged dwarfs and renders. imbecile a race, while the quantity of heat will influence complexion. “His- tory teaches us that a nation may pass through an ascending or descending areer.” It may, by long continued culture advance and under such, cir- cumstances produce, here and there, ân intellect of the first order; or it may go through a course of degrada- tion until it reaches conditions incon- sistent with its continued existence, and then dies out. . In civilized communities all the physical forces are under partial con- trol, and their effects partially under- stood; and food is prepared by rules founded upon experience which is too frequently false; but nevertheless here the intellect of man towers majesti- cally and he appears as a Newton– “as a celestial genius entirely disen- But see the gaged from matter!” savage—him who feeds upon filth, and like the brute prolongs a preca- e - * 1 - rious existence, and whose mental sphere is bounded by the range of his natural senses, and whose greatest ambition is a desire to gratify his sen- sual appetites. The cause of the great disparity of the civilized race when compared with the savage is due to the fact that the one controls the physical forces and endeavors to train his entire body to harmonious action. He cultivates his physical, moral and mental nature, while the other scarce- ly observes—learns not by the expe- rience of others—has no history—no houses—and not even the sagacity of the brute. But the most enlightened, the most brilliant poet, the most profound phil- osopher is taught, that great excite- ment is the fore-runner of exhaustion; that the end of excessive sensual indulgence is satiety; that all pursuits may end in folly; all life in death; all, love in infidelity; all faith in disbelief; and that man's failures in his attempts to obtain the beautiful, the good, and the true, are owing to his deficiencies in knowl- edge—for his God has made him a progressive creature, and not for mis- ery. Many of the different kinds of food have been considered injurious to the human family; merely from the fact, that they have been abused in their use. This fact is exemplified in the repugnance manifested by many to the use of the hydrocarbons; but their wisdom and experience point to certain hydrocarbons and command some, not all, to eat and drink; be- cause “good wine is a good familiar creature, if well used.” “One sip of it” “Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight, Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise and taste.” But to know when and by whom the different kinds of food should be used, so as to preserve health is deserving the attention of even the most care- less, and may save many from nau- seating doses of drugs, and from a premature grave. Besides all should know that food may to a greater or less extent influ- ence the moral and physical condition of an individual—that all carniverous animals are more courageous than others; and that continued indiges- tion often leads to suicide. 12 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. The second division of our subject under the caption of food includes the hydrocarbons. Hydrocarbons are compounds con- taining unoxidized hydrogen. The oils and fats, which will be used as synon- ymous terms, and alcohol, such as brandy and wines, are examples. They furnish to some extent the heat-ma- king materials, hence with the carbo- hydrates they have been denominated calorifacients. The fats are the most important of these and furnish some of the nutritive and nearly all of the respiratory or heat-making material. They not only aid in heat-making, but in the metamorphosis of the albumi- noids into organized tissues, and in the reduction of protine compounds into new fabrics, whether they be neuclei of cells or simple embryonic struc- tures. They also furnish material for the formation of the nervous and adi- pose vesicles and of the oils of the dermic tissue, and they also enter into the coagulable fibren and corpus- cles of the blood. In their absence none of the cells can be perfectly formed. If they exist in sufficient quantities in the blood it is highly probable there will not be an increase of fibren, which always exist when there is a tendency to aplastic and cacoplastic formations. This opinion is sustained by observations which have been made among the Esqui- maux. They subsist nearly entirely on fats. Dr. Hayes, who accompa- nied Dr. Kane in his Arctic Expedi- tion, says: He never met a case of phthisis among the Esquimaux. When taken in large quantities as food or are subcutaneously deposited they lessen the depressing influence of cold. But if the blood is impov. erished, if in it the fats are wanting from a deficiency in diet and assimu- lation from a depression in nerve ac- tion or a lessening of the respiratory process, there will be an increase of fibren, that aplastic or excrementi- 9 tious matter in the blood, which is so 3 deeply cencerned in the formation of tubercles. Again, if the actions of certain Sº 2 parts be perverted as is seen in defi- cient respiratory action from nervous depression, fats may be deposited as 2 in fatty degenerations, adipous, car- cinomitous and fungous growths Unless unhealthily formed, they make up about one-twentieth of the whole weight of the body, they subserve the purposes of nutrition in case of need and being non-conductors and soft they protect the organs. Since the hydrocarbons in the hu- man system are so subservient, since they are essential to proper assimila- tion, and are invigorators of diges- tion, they should occupy a pre-emi- nent position in the various estimates of diet, especially in that of those afflicted with tuberculous cachexia. Besides the hydrocarbons when con- sumed in the animal system, generate heat, or in other words heat is due to their oxidation. Whatever increases the chemical combinations of the hydrocarbons and oxygen, so as to form oxides, whether they be in animals or vegeta- ble, is a promoter of temperature. The continuance and intensity of ani- mal heat is dependant upon a suffi- cient supply of oxidizable material. If these be deficiently, or not at all supplied, disease or death must be the result. man are the hydrocarbons. This is The best calorifacients for ROOL). 13 proven by hybernation. During this period a great reduction takes place in the amount of air introduced, hence the oxidation of the hydro- carbons is not rapid, consequently the temperature descends, and as the hybernating animals take no food, the fats deposited previously in the adipose tissue is now consumed—is during the winter, the fuel consumed in heat-making. When they com- mence their winter's sleep, they are usually fat, but when spring comes they are very lean. “The Marmot” one of the hybernating animals when asleep respires only three or four times in a minute, its temperature then descends, but when aroused to ac- tivity in the spring, its respirations are increased to one hundred and forty, while its temperature ascends. Although, hybernating animals may have been fat in the beginning of winter, towards the close of their sleepy state, they become very lean or perhaps die, from the exhaustion of the previously deposited hydro- carbons. When this exhaustion takes place, and the animal is dying, and it is artificially stimulated, and jood be given it, life may be pro- longed. This effect may also be ob- served in the various exhausting dis- eases of the human family, hence the beneficial results in many of the fe- vers which accrue from the use of ar- tificial heat; brandies, wines and the other hydrocarbons. The brandies and wines being hydrocarbons are readily oxidized in lieu of those hy- drocarbons, the fats, which have been displaced by disease, and now must be replaced, to supply the demand for heat-making material. Hence, the necessity in such instan- extent of sensibility. ces of the food and drinks being hydrocarbons. The recapitulation of the uses of the hydrocarbons will now be given. The oxidation of hydrocarbons are the sources of heat especially when they are consumed in the respiratory process; they are the agents chiefly concerned in the metamorphosis of protine compounds into the vari- ous animal tissues; their presence is necessary in the primitive formative processes of all organized tissues, in the formation of bile; the production of hematics, they are non-conduct- ors, both of electricity and heat. They exist in the animal system, in the form of fats and oils. They are lighter than water, various in con- sistence, colorless or white. Their elementary constituents are hydrogen and carbon, equally combined, so that when burned in the atmosphere they are separated into carbonic acid and water, both of which are oxides. Fat is generally found in the adi- pose tissue. This tissue is subcuta- neously more abundant than else- where. It is made up of an aggre- gation of spheroidal cells, and from pressure may assume various shapes. Being subcutaneous, the fats give roundness to the form ; even the very lean have more or less de- posited fat. The fat cells in the mar- row of the bones are surrounded by a net-work formed by the capillaries, which serve as a bond of union be- tween them. The adipose tissue is free from lymphatics and nerves, but through it many of the nerves are trans- mitted; hence, it is free to a great It forms sur- 14 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. roundings for the circulatory and nervous systems. All the animal fats are originally derived from vegetable substances. The oleaginous and fatty matters are generated by the action of the sun's rays in the decomposition of carbo- nic acid and water in vegetable growths. The combination in vege- tables of carbonic acid and water forms the hydrocarbons. When these are used by an animal, they are decomposed and assume their elemen- tary forms having subserved their purposes in the animal, economy by being in the calorifying process. Meta- morphosed into carbonic acid and water, in which forms they are set free from the body. The fats which exist in vegetables with the carbohydrates render them valuable as food. Those which con- tain the largest quantity of fat are the most nutritious. In dry hay and clover fat is found, hence, they are nutritious for the herbivord. One hundered of the former will yield two pounds, while the latter when in a flowering state, contains four per cent. of fats. The oils of the vege- table on which an animal may feed is often found in the butter of its milk. The milk of the cow is flavored by the buds of plants, the wild onion, &c., which may have been its food. This milk, which is in part a hydro- 'arbon, and very nutritious, is derived from the blood as a secretion; the product of which is on the ascending grade of metamorphosis. All the hydrocarbons existing in the blood are generally direct deriva- tives of the food; their quantity being dependent principally upon that | hydrocarbons contained in the vegetables and flesh consumed. : The food of the herbivord contain the hydrocarbons, which exist in their systems. The animal organs do not form these, or when so formed, as the transmutation by the bee of pure sugar into wax, is an exception to a general rule. Fat, when taken as food by the carnivord, while being masticated undergoes mouth digestion; but in the stomach it is scarcely altered, while in the daeodenum the same kind of digestion, the calorifacient, or the hydrocarbonic, which began in the mouth is here resumed; being more- over emulsified by the action of the pancreatic juice, and soponified by that of the bile. These juices acting upon the chymified hydrocarbons transform them into chyme, which | is then absorbed by the lacteals, those radicals of the pulmonary tree. Hence, the fluid found in the lacteal tubes abound with oil globules. The before entering the tubes collect around the lacteal villi, and distend their whole structure, which may, by the aid of the micrº- scope, be seen in vivi-actions. The hydrocarbons being thus absorbed, enter the cardical circulation through the terminus of the thoracic duct. | Being forced through the heart they are brought in contact with the at- mosphere, through the agency of the lungs. The blood in the lungs ab- sorbs thirteen per cent. of oxygen, which is borne along throughout the system by the red corpuscles. These discs are, properly speaking, oxygen carriers. The oxygen thus absorbed and carried unites with the hydro- carbons in the formation of oxides, FOOD. 15 and in the generation of heat, and partly for the formation fibren. Be- sides the plusmee of the blood, which is held in solution by the phosphate of soda being impregnated with the hydrocarbons, are the bearers of those materials necessary for the for- mation of the fat cells in the adipose tissues. Fat cells, non-conductors, are de- posited in contact with the venous and arterial capillaries, consequently they may at any time, but not sud- denly, be taken into the general cir- culation, so as to subserve the pur- poses of repairs, and the generation of heat, and to be metamorphosed by oxidation into water and carbonic acid. The absorption of the fat cells by the capillaries is probably due to the increased alkalinity of the blood, as fatty matters suspended in water will endesmotically pass through a mem- brane separating them from an alka- line solution; consequently, when there is a demand in any portion of the body fats, cells may be absorbed from the blood as a supply. The demand in the system for fatty ma- terial may be originated in various ways. By increased respiration brought about by active exercise by excssvie mental exertion, in which brain and nerve tissue is ex- pended; (brain and nerve tissue being made up principally of fat,) and ex- posure to extremes of cold. The hydrocarbons in the blood is liable to sudden increase or diminu- tion. Their augmentation is depend- ent upon deposits or alimentary sour- ces, and their elimination upon the combustive, excretory, secretory and nutritive processes. The saponifiable fats are not eli- minated by excretion, the others pass off in the form of cholesterine. Fat, when taken as food may pass through the alimentary tube without being absorbed, which is in conse- quence of hepatic or pancreatic dis- ease or disturbance. If in the food the supply of hydro- carbons be greater than the demand, they will be deposited in the adipose tissue. The formation and deposition of fatin an animal may be promoted by the use of the hydrocarbons as food, by lessening the necessity of rapid respiration, or the necessity of great muscular motion. But the adipose tissue may have a morbid tendency towards development, and may ap- propriate the oil globules which should be otherwise consumed. This morbid condition usually originates in the nerve centers, producing crethism, or atrophy. It may be congenital; it may be from altered mechanism, or from disused nutrition, from cacop- lastic or aplastic deposits which may interfere with the fulfilment of or- gamized functions. Any of these may influence respiration and lessen the consumption of the hydrocarbons. If the hydrocarbons are not consumed in the heat or tissue formations, they are stored away in the adipose struc- ture, and in the bones, or they may undergo secretory action or be cast off as effete. - When fat is being rapidly deposted but little bile is secreted, and vice versa. The fats furnish some of the materials for bilious formations; so that the condition of the liver and pancreas influences to a greater or less extent fatty degeneration. Some I have come under the observation of | 16 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. the writer, who were daily dis- charging, as fecal matter, large quan- tities of fat, while they were con- stantly gaining in weight. Though the alimentary tube may be well charged with fatty material, neverthe- less, the absorbents will not take up more than a definite quantity, and besides certain kinds of fat or oils are more readily absorbed than others. Many of these may be absorbed for a definite time, and then be rejected by the lacteals. - The fats, says Carpenter: are uni- versal constituents of the neuclei of cells; hence, they enter into the form- ation of tuburcles, fatty tumors, and cancerous growths. - If all cells are composed partly of fat, and can not be formed save in the presence of oil, the hydro- carbons must subserve an important office in the human system. With- out cells there could be no secretion, nutrition or absorption. There could be no life. If then the fats are so im- portant, will not their deficiency or partial absence become the cause of morbid tendencies especially of dis- eased nutrition, such as degeneration and perverted nutrition, as seen in the peculiar deposits of cacoplastic and aplastic formations. Fats may be under a peculiar cir- cumstance metamorphosed by the liver into sugar and cholic acid. They enter largely into all animal forma- tions, especially into embryonic struc- tures, and brain tissue. plied to the brain, there will be a diminution of psychological force, and nerve phenomena; but if the circulation of rich arterial blood be || | hydrocarbons for heat-making pur- increased, and the rapidity of oxida- If the fats be absent from the arteries blood sup- tion be augmented, the brain be- comes more emergetic in its functional activity. But the formation of effete materials collecting in the blood re- tards brain action, lessens nervous power, and depresses the respiratory process. If the brain be composed of such large quantities of fat, fifteen per cent., and the food do not con- tain it in sufficient quantities what will or must be the result 2 Why, necessarily there must be a lessening of nerve and brain force, and the powers of assimilation as the nerves control the calibre of the blood ves- sels, and influences to a great degree the respiratory process. Then if the nerves and the brain be not well nourished there must arise diseases of nutrition, and such as would origi- mate from impaired respiration or reflex morbid action upon the exceto- secretory system, and hence an in- creased fibremation of the blood. A popular notion has long existed that the fats are not easily digested. This opinion arose from experiments carried on only in the stomach. The fats are not so digestable in the stom- ach as in the mouth, and upper por- tion of the intestine. But in the duo- denum, they are not taken in undue quantities, they are easily digested and readily assimulated, and being acted upon by the pancreatic juice and bile are wholly converted into chyle and absorbed by the lacteals. The flesh of fat animals is more nutritious and more easily di- gested than that of the lean. The muscular fibers of the former are not compact or coriaceous. This kind offleshisthemostnutritious food especially for those who need the FOOD. 17 poses and nerve repairs, and such as those who may be suffering from tu- bercular cachexia. The opposite of this opinion has been maintained by some, especially those who thought that phthisis pulmonalis, tuberculosis, &c., were all inflammatory diseases, and required depletion, and entire ab- stenance from all kinds of flesh, fats, and wines, and strictly anti-phlogis- tic treatment. Such pathologist, do not believe that the fibrin found in the venous blood is in a retrograde metamorphosis: forgetful of the facts that there is more fibrin in the blood of the veins than that of arteries, that an abstenance from the hydro- carbons increases the quantity of fibrin as much as a “heavy bleeding,” and that coagulable lymph and fibrin should not be used as synonymous terms, and that the maa'imum of fibrin is found in the venous blood of those suffering from cancerous and tuberculous affections, from leucothe- mia, rheumatism, pneumonia, cholera, bronchitis, chlorosis and glandular degeneration of the kidneys. In all these diseases the fibrin is lessened by the free use of fats and alcohol to the great improvement of the patient. Cod liver oil is a hydro- carbon, and acts well in all of these diseases of debility. Why should the hydrocarbons produce such re- Sults? Because no cells, no nuclei, no tissues embryo, no reduction of protime compounds can be formed or take place in the absence of fat. Then if there be a deficiency of oil glob- ules in the blood, and an increase of aplastic fibrins, will not tubercles can- cerous and all sorts of morbidgrowths be generated. . Whenever there is fibrin in the blood, there is, or has Vol. 1.-No. 1.-C • * ~ * *-**** -º-º-º-º-º-º-º--... ºs. 2 - been a waste of tissues, or calorifa- cient material. There is an increase of fibrin in starvation, in rheumatism, Žn pneumonia, in tribercular cacheria, dée. Now in such diseases, or even where there is a tendency towards them should that plan in diet and medication be pursued, which will greatly augment the fibrin as exist in starvation, in “heavy bleedings” and debilitating regimen 2 Even a defect in nutrition, in cell formation, may result in local death, or degene- ration. None of these diseases are sthenie, consequently those persons predisposed by debility to, or are afflicted with them should, while exer- cising in the open air, use freely as food the hydrocarbons. The hydrocarbons, exercise, and the fresh pure air to the cachectic, rheu- matic, &c., is the “much in little”— the magnum bonum dei to thousands of the afflicted—of the human family. Wine and brandy, exercise and fat meat, fun and frolic, are to them worth all the panaceas ever yet fabri- cated. Alcohol, another of the hydrocar- bons, is a highly rectified spirit dis- tilled from fermented liquids lighter than water—of a pungent taste, very inflammable; and when burnt is metamorphosed into carbonic acid and water. It is one of the best sol- vents, and is a powerful diffusable stimulant. * The term alcohol includes the va- rious kinds of wines, brandies, and fermented liquors. Such have been long and successfully used as medi- cines and prophylactics in the cure and prevention of disease. But no other food, or remedy has been so IS {- abused not only in its use but, by 18 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. the famaticism of the present age which too often verges every moral question into that foolish ultraism of the modern, deistical higher law principle. Graham, with his vegeta- ble diet and cold water drink, was of this ultra foolish class, but still he had dupes for his followers. That alcohol is, or may be, a rem- edy, a prophylactic, none can doubt, who have without prejudice, without having a “bee in the bonnet,” Ob- served the results of its judicious and moderate use. There is no reason why it should be universally consumed as a bever- age, drink, or food, any more than there is a necessity for the universal or exclusive use of a farinaceous, albu- minious, or fat diet. This, like all other food, or remedies, should be judiciously, mot indiscriminately aſsed. - Alcohol is an arouser of the organs of thought. It may for a time en- large the scope of man's mental vis- ion. It strengthens, it quickens the throbbings of the heart, and sends through the brain in copious streams the rich blood, that caterer, that essentiality of great thought and vivid mental conceptions. Under its influence, the mind can some- times catch a partial glimpse of the soul’s true daguerreotype, and then can look far back into the past, and gaze with unblanching cheek, upon the dark vista of the fu- ture. the mind to vividly portray in a beau- tiful and grand panorama, the actions of child and manhood’s days. er’s plaintive song now hushed; the l It often, in old age, enables | It opens the recent deaf ear to the music of the goneby, and the moth- eye that is blind, it opens to see strange fantastic shapes floating in the air, enabling it, to people space with apparently living moving things, causing the hair from horror to stand upon end, the lips to part, the knees to tremble, and the heart to stand still. It often rejuvinates the old ; but too often shakes the system of youth with premature decay—decay physical, decay mental, decay spir- itual, decay eternal. •r It often whispers peace about the present, tells tales of the past, and with prophetic finger points to the fu- ture; and sometimes enables even the old to live again and “like the clock that went down at might” to point steadily with memory's decaying “fin- ger to an hour long gone by.” If it is taken in excess, although it may primarily stimulate, it from de- composition will generate large quam- tities of carbonic acid, which becomes a depressor, producing morbific re- sults. Hence, it should never be used by any one in large, or exces- sively large, quantities. During digestion it undergoes nearly the same changes that the fats do. This is not surprising when it is remembered that alcohol is a hy- drocarbon. It is more readily ab- sorbed than the fats, and enters sooner into the circulation, and like the fats, it is a calorifacient; but is not de- posited as a hydrocarbon in the adi- pose or areola tissues. Dr. Wm. A. Hammond, Assistant Surgeon U. S. Army, gives the re- sults of several experiments on him. self in connection with the action of alcohol in the metamorphosis of tis- sues. He says: “upon consideration of the foregoing experiments collec- FOOD. 19 tively, I arrive at the conclusion that alcohol increases the weight of the body by retarding the metamorphosis of the old tissues, promoting the for- mation of the new, and limiting the consumption of fat. Viewed in de- tail, it is seen that, under the use of alcohol, the following effects con- stantly ensue: 1st. The carbonic acid and aqueous vapor given off in respiration were lessened in quantity. 2d. The amount of feces was dimin- ished. 3d. The quantity of wine was reduced. 4th. The urine, chlorine, and phosphoric and sulphuric acids were diminished in amount. These effects occurring when the amount of food was below the quantity required to maintain the weight of the body un- der the mental and physical exercise taken, were productive of no delete- rious results to the system. He is also of the opinion that alcohol, in a great ineasure, prevents the primary destruction of the tissue-making man terial, as well as the tissues them- selves. These are deductions drawn from a series of experiments carefully per- formed. If they be true, of which there can be no doubt, alcohol must be a great remedy, and may be, if ju- diciously used, a prophylactic of dis- ease. He who opposes its use, under any circumstances, opposes one of the instinctive calls of nature. The di- vine, the statesman, even the ultra- temperance lecturer feels sometimes a want of its eahilirating influence, and then some of them can taste without disguise openly and nobly; while many under the assumed name of bitters, swig and suck it in secret and curse in public every one who touches what they call the “unclean thing,” “the deadly poison.” He who is innocent should cast the first stone; but then only a few stones can be hurled at the guilty. The Bible does hot condemn its moderate use—why should man Alchohol prevents the destruction of fats, a hydrocarbon, in the respira- tory process, so that the presence of the oils may not be wanting in cell for- mations, and in the various processes of assimilation. By this process of rea- soning may be seen the cause why the habitual drunkard so seldom dies from tuberculous cachexia, and why it is that alcoholic stimulants may ward off rheumatic and tubercular diseases, and why in pneumonia, typhus, and typhoid fevers, cholera, chlorosis, &c., hydrocarbons are such valuable food, and why alcohol is one of the best 7'emedies. Some may sneeringly ask: “Is this opinion substantiated by any of the masters in the noble science of curing, preventing and arresting disease?” Why, certainly. In all diseases of debility, of which there are many, the great Bennett of England recom- mends the use of alcohol; and besides there are other wise and good men of our own country who speak loudly in its praise. Dr. Flint, after enumer- ating several cases in which phthisis, by the use of alcohol, was arrested and in some instances cured, says: “The general views which, with our present knowledge, are to govern the man- agement of pulmonary tuberculosis, may be summed up in a few words. The ends to be attained are, the re- moval of the cachexy on which the progress of the disease depends, the consequent arrest and the promotion of the processes of restoration. There 20 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. - is no special medication to be pur- sued for the attainment of these ends; they are to be attained by meas- ures, which, in general' terms, devel- ope and strengthen the powers of the system.” + + + + The measures are hygienic rather than medicinal; but much oftener belong to the latter. The hygienic measures which are the most important are laborious exercise in the open air, conjoined with agree- able mental occupation, and, as con- ducive thereto, frequent change of business, the selection of more eligi- ble climate and traveling, are desira- ble, if not necessary; generous diet, and in many, if not in most instances, the free use of alcoholic stimulants.” Alcoholic stimulants in cachectic diseases may be taken in large quanti- ties without producing drunkenness. They are well tolerated by persons of feeble constitutions and languid cir- culation. They excite the heart, as does food, into vigorous action, and in this way, as witnessed after a meal, is a partial relief to pain, especially that of rheumatism. From the foregoing, the following conclusions are drawn : 1st. That the sometimes essential to the maintain- ance of human health and the prolon- gation of life by being nutritious, by being a prophylactic in arresting, pre- venting and curing disease. That they prolong life none can doubt when they see that the majority of the very old are “dram drinkers”. 2d. The hydrocarbons should b used extensively as food, prophylac- tics and as remedies, as they play an important part in the heat-making process, in the metamorphosis of the albumanoids into organized tissues, and in the reduction of protine com- pounds into new fabrics, and in all cell formations, and besides they fur- nish nearly all, save the water, the material for brain and nerve tissue. 3d. They enter, as important in- gredients, into the formation of coagu- lable lymph and the corpuscles of the blood. Therefore, the inference that, in the absence or deficiency of the hy- drocarbons in the food or in the blood, fibrin will be generated, which may become the neuclei of disease and morbid growths. The yellow opaque tubercle is always formed in the sys- tem when there is an excess of non- elaborated fibrin and colorless cor- puscles in the blood. These deposits may take place without inflammation —without sthenic symptoms. When the respiration is interfered with, once a pure atmosphere not breathed, when nerve nutrition and proper assimila- tion are in any way arrested, then if there be a strumous diathesis, aplastic ingredients are sanguinously multi- plied and furnish cells whose for- mation, though transitory, is suf. ficient to generate semi-organized growths. use of the hydrocarbons as food is | 4th. To prevent semi-organized growths—to ward off cachexy, to im- prove the digestion, to increase as- similation, to enrich the fibrina- tion, to arouse the nerves, to render joyous the spirits, the fats and alco- hol should be used as food. 5th. If fats when used as food, pass through the system undi- gested or is cast out through the intes- tinal tube as effete, it is indicative of pancreatic or hepatic disease, when the hydrocarbons may be contra indi- cated. N. F. Powers, M. D Greensboro’ Ga, e EDITORIAL, ETC. 21 EDITORIAL. Jº Owing to recent severe and protracted illness, we have been una- ble to devote time and attention we would have wished to our depart- ment of the Magazine. We will therefore say to our readers that the Hygienic matter in this No. is no cri- terion of what will hereafter appear. We regret that our publication has been so delayed, but it has been una- voidable on account of the Caloric Press of Messrs. Seals’ not having ar- rived until within a few days, and we are assured by them that this No. has been so hurried, that it is no sample of future issues. —— -—sº e-º-e ‘º------- Jºº We invite the attention of the Medical Profession throughout the United States to the object and purposes of our Hygienic department as set forth in our prospectus. Our object is to teach the people the great laws of health, and to teach empirics and medical impostors that they have an enemy in the field ready and de- termined to use them justly and roughly. . Will physicians, who feel and know the cursing influences of Medical int- piricism, give us their help? In jus- tice to the honorable profession we represent, as a public journalist, and in justice to the community we would protect and enlighten, we ask it. The Atlanta Med, and Surg. Jonºr., in an editorial notice of our prospec- tus, says: - “We believe that the great want of the present time is the institution of means for the arrest of the rapid physical degeneracy which has be: Come so palpably characteristic of our day, as to be perfectly manifest to the most superficial observer. The causes upon which depend this melan- choly wasting away of bodily vigor in the human family, are “legions,” prominent among which is the insane use of alcoholic and drugged liquors, opium and tobacco, rapidly making the American people, without exag- geration, “a nation of drunkards,” and before many generations, if continued, will reduce them to a nation of pig- mies and idiots. In addition to this may be mentioned the almost univer- sal use of Quack and Patent Medi- cines, (many of which are largely made of alcohol and opium,) and last but not least, the present school system. of the United States, which seems to be a special instrument for cursing the rising generation with early death, for, failing in this, with premature old age and wretched decrepitude, at a period when the individual should be in the highest degree capable of physi- cal and mental effort, and the enjoy- ment of life.” ------ – -º- e <> 0. Cº--— —— EARLY RISING.-It is well to in- sist, both by precept and example, upon persons to rise early, but noth- ing is better calculated to arouse the sleeper than press of business. He who fills the sluggard’s hands with work does more to break up the habit than all the Franklins that ever wrote upon the subject. “Early to bed, and early to rise, will make a man healthy, wealthy and wise.” But business out doors, and business at home, will always prevent a man’s being a drone. ---- - -sºº e -º- © º- - - - - - Good HINTs.-Never eat before you are hungry, rest before you are tired, nor go to bed before you are sleepy, and you will invariably have perfect freedom from uneasiness about these subjects. 22 HYGIENIC AND THITERARY MAGAZINE. MAD, LE £iittarſ ºupartment. ERv, Editress. wº *---------------------------- - - Salutatory. How EveR gifted, accomplished, or energetic the priestess may be, who is called to preside over a Literary Pan- theon, there will arise many obstacles to challenge her tact, patience and for- bearance. Even though her talents should present the rare union of grace and vigor, at once strong, pungent and poetical, and whether ironical or earnest, always clear, concise and point- ed, with the rich texture and ele- gant finish oftn Addison, still, at times, her effusions may be too caustic for some, at others, too fertile in im- agination, as she gives to her chain- less fancy expanded wings, with which she lifts her towering thoughts high above the clods broken at her feet, forgetting the plagues, the fever and famine desolating her own home. Though her mind overflow with im- ages of beauty, belting its horizon like floating clouds of gold and crim- son, reminding one of the giant spray of great waters in which rainbows seem to hang, or calm, phylosophic and stern, yet will she inevitably please, and displease; for, while one admires the torrent sweeping fearful- ly down, another prefers the silent majesty of the deep ; while minds tamer than either, love the sheen of still waters in the wood, from which they would turn appalled, at the splen- did coruscations from a burning era- ter. - But a well disciplined mind, a brave spirit and willing hand, will neither cower, crouch, or fall powerless at its kindred side; and the position I have now assumed as Editress of this Maga- zine, is one from which nothing can drive me but the interference of a Di- vine Providence. There is but little in the past his- tory of Southern literary experi- ments to encourage even men of high attainments to attempt a similar pro- ject; but if industry, perseverance, and well directed energies can accom- plish our design, then the Journal to which the name of Le Ferve is at- tached, shall succeed. We are fully apprised of the vast and brilliant ar- ray of competitors with which we enter the arcana of mental oracles, beside anticipating our share of criti. cism and opposition; but be that as it may, while the helmsman neither fails nor falters, the winds and waves may ride our deck in vain. The petty vexations which sting us and fly away, impertinances, which, like insects, buzz around just long enough to disgust and harrass, are only calculated to fret and annoy, leaving us irresolute, peevish and dis- pirited ; while though we swoon from a heavy blow, the reaction correspon- ,ding, is fully commensurate with the 'stroke; and thus the brave rise up, with that spirit of resistance, forti- tude and energy, excited only by | strong shocks imparted from positive | batteries. Inured to all this, Le Ferve | steps calmly and firmly forth; resolved as a native daughter of the South, to dedicate herself to the elevation of a land, in which her parents, self and children have all been nurtured. ZELLAM. 23 ---...-------- - - ------------- - - - --- - - --------- - --- THE $200 PIRIZE STORY: --- ~ : --- ~ * **** - - ... •-º-s: ~~~ * * * r *** * * * ******* * * * • . . . * * * * ~ * ZELLA. B Y J E S S I. F. R A N DO L. P. H. -*- CIHIAPTIER. I. READER, did you ever live in Flori- da 2 that glorious tropical clime, where the flowers ever bloom, where the orange bowers are ever green, where the citron and the lime trees flourish, and where the fig grows wild; that land within whose magic circle the frost king dare not venture, lest he should be shorn of all his crystal splendors—who cannot even make the breath from his strong northern lungs to reach the starry jessamine or snowy orange flowers, that bloom sweetly from out their dark, leafy homes, regardless of all his howls and rage 2 If you have not, then you cannot understand the pas- sionate love that thrills the hearts of its exiled children, no matter where they are; you cannot sympathize with them in their devotion to that “garden spot of earth,” nor understand their wild, yearning desire to sleep the “last long sleep” in its fragrant bosom, and have its green and flower-gems fall and cover them. Oh, mild and beauteous land; beauteous at all times and under all circumstances, whether in the full glow of the fer- vid sunlight, or the gloomy grandeur of thy tropic storms, whether in thy twilight, thy evening breezes or thy morning beams. Ever changing yet always lovely. Where, on this wide earth, shall we find thy counterpart? In the extreme southern portion of the peninsular, far down upon the coast, and within hearing of the ever ------ - - - - - - - - - ----. -- - - - - - - -- - murmuring sea, there lived in the year 18– four families; and as we shall meet them, or some of their members frequently in our story, we pause just here, and as briefly as pos- sible present them to our readers. The first in order was a French family named D’Alvigny, and con- sisted of the gentleman, his wife, and a pair of twin boys twelve years of age. The General was a fine, pom- pous, hospitable gentleman, of the old school; a Frenchman by birth and education, but for many years a resi- dent of Florida. He had come to con- sider himself at home, somewhat against his will; for his affection still turned strongly to the flowery dells and vine-clad hills of France. He was descended from the nobility, and once upon a time there had been a title in the family, which, to him, im- parted facts he was sure to communi- cate during the first half hours' con- versation, and if you encouraged him the least he would go on with the family history. He would tell you how himself and an only brother six years his junior, and an old family servant escaped from France through many perils during the “reign of Terror,” and finally arrived safely upon the shores of America; how for a time they suffered extreme pov- erty and underwent many hardships and privations; how at last an uncle but little older than himself, who had for years resided in Cuba, but who owned large tracts of land in Florida, happend to hear of their destitute condition, and came immediately to their relief. It had long been a cher- ished wish of their uncle's to see the rich lands cultivated, and he offered his nephews a home for life if they 24 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. as the days were long. would settle there. The offer was accepted gladly, and they came to Florida to take up their permanent’ abodes. A Catholic priest, also a refugee, the servant beforementioned, and the brothers themselves composed the household. For many years they lived thus in the closest seclusion, the monotony of their lives being only va- ried by an oocasional visit from their uncle, who, now and them, left his Cuban home to see how they were getting on. They boated, fished, hunted, studied, and attended to the affairs of their plantation, exchanged frequent visits with their twenty- mile neighbors, and were as happy Sometimes they returned the visits of their uncle, and it so happened, on one of these occasions, that Eugene, the elder brother, met with an adventure calcu- lated to disturb somewhat, the hith- erto even current of his life. A Northern gentleman and his daughter, who was thought by her physicians to be a consumptive, were traveling in the warm climate of Cubain search of health, and at the time of Eugene's visit, were guests of his un- cle. The lady was a mere child, scarce sixteen, while he was eight-and-twen- ty. She was a Northerner, an abolition- ist and a Protestant; he, a Southerner, a Catholic and aslaveholder; opposing elements certainly. But an attachment sprang up between them, and as love always works wonders, the fair North- ern snow-bird came and took up her residence upon a plantation in the tropics. His brother Leon, them in his twenty- second year, remained with them until the breaking out of the Indian war, in which he took an active part, so also did his brother after having carried his wife to a place of safety. and there he won his military title. When the war was over, they all re- turned home and resumed their old life and habits, and finding their amusements in the improvement of their home. The fair and delicate madam, as her husband called her, assisted by her brother Leon, atten- ded to the ornamental department, such as planting shrubbery and flowers cutting out avenues, arranging walks, and all those thousand little things that require attention in a new place, while the General attended to the af. fairs of his farm. A contented, and ever happy, life they led notwithstanding its loneliness and the early prejudices of madam, who, with her improving health, found in the bland air and tropical climate of her southern home, pleasures, to which she had heretofore been a stranger. 'Tis true, she some- times found it rather dull there in the country, and quite a contrast to the gay life of Havana, but then there were amusements within her reach of which she often availed herself, such as a flying visit to Cuba now and then in the General’s little schooner, and occasionally her creole friends re- turned them, and once a Spanish gen- tleman and his daughter were her guests for six months; that however was an accident and came about in this way: The Don was going to Cuba to arrange some law business, and take possession of a coffee property belong- ing to his daughter from his mother’s estate and which required her presence to arrange, when they encountered' a terrific gale which blew them ashore not far from General D’Alvigny’s house. They put into the bay where 2 5 ZELLA. his own little craft was anchored for repairs, and in attempting to land, the Don received a fall which broke both his legs. General D’Alvigny, with the genial hospitality that ever char- acterized him, went immediately to their relief, and placing his house, servants and all, at their disposal, in- stalled them regularly into his house- hold, until they should be able to con- tinue their journey. It was nothing to him that Don Carlos de Montebello, was a noble- man and a grandee of Spain, he would have done the same thing to any unfortunate mariner who had happened to the like accident, but he rejoiced nevertheless that for the time being, his wife would have so charm- ing a companion as the Lady Guada- lonna. Six months did they pass in that lovely retreat, Leon D’Al- vigny, and the lady, spending most of the time together, when she was not in attendance upon her father. Madame D’Alvigny favored the ar- rangement, for she liked her brother Leon, and wished very much to see him happily married, and she thought the graceful, haughty, and almost re- gal Donna Guadalonna, just the one to secure his happiness for life. But there was another very important personage whom they all forgot to consult ; no less an individual than the Dom himself, who discovered by some means or other, what was going on, and after exhausting the vocabu- lary of invectives, he determined to separate the lovers immediately. Chance found him a schooner bound for New Orleans anchored in the bay to obtain a supply of fruit and water, which information was communicated to him by his lady servant just as his WOL. 1.-No. 1.-D - - - - - - - - - ---------- -- -º storm of wrath had spent itself. The circumstance was eagerly siezed upon by the Don, who sent immediately to engage a passage to New Orleans, and had himself carried on board that same afternoon, compelling his daughter, to remain in his sight all the time and even to ride in the carriage with him when they left the house, nor would he allow her to address a single word to any one save in his hearing. Madame I)"Alvigny accompanied them on horseback to the beach, endeavoring the while to obtain a word of farewell for Leon, who was absent with his brother on a hunt, and of course knew nothing of the Don's sudden departure; but the Don was too vigilant however and she was forced to content herself with a for- mal and general adieu, and when she proposed a correspondence to the Donna, her father most peremptori- ly refused for her, saying, by way of excuse, that she would soon return to the sacred shades of the Cloister, and the less of worldly affairs she had on her mind the better. Donna Guadalonna's proud eyes flashed de- fiance as she listened to her father’s words, but she made no reply and thus the friends separated. When the brothers returned home and found their guests were gone, the General contented himself with a rather strong exclamation or two, re- garding their want of manners. But to Leon the shock came like a thunder- bolt and in spite of all their remon- strances he resolved to set out im- mediately in pursuit of them. Vain however was the search ; he could obtain no news whatever, although he left no means untried for the ac- complishment of his purpose, and 11 YG 112N IC MAGAZIN E. AN 1) LITERARY 26 when at last he was forced to admit to himself that he could not find them he returned home worn out by his long search, both in body and mind, for the seeds of yellow fever, sown during his stay in New Orleans, be- gan to germinate in a system already taxed far beyond its strength; the re- sult was fatal; he died four days after reaching home and was interred in the very spot which he himself had selected for a family burying ground. The gloom occasioned in the small household by the melancholly event was not dispelled until three months afterwards, when Madame presented her husband with a fine pair of twin boys, the eldest of whom she called Eugene, for his father, and the other, Ileon, for his uncle and herself, her own name being Leonora. “Poor brother,” said the young mother, a sigh and a smile struggling for the mastery, “if he were here he would say we have given the right names to the right ones, for my little Leon resem- bles his uncle without a doubt.” The years passed on, and at the time our story opens the boys were twelve years old, and still the only heirs to the house of D’Alvigny: four others had been born, but the little mounds beside the unforgotten “Un- cle Leon,” showed where they were. The General always alluded to his lost little ones with a sigh, but consoled himself as much as possible, with his sons. “I have two as fine boys as ever gladdened a father’s heart,” he would say, “and I suppose I must be content with them, but what a fine family I should have had, if my little ones had all lived; ” sorrows of Some kind however must come to every human being, and the General accepted that as his share. The next family in regular succes- sion, was a Rev. Mr. Warren, his wife, and daughter five years old, and his wife's brother, a young gentleman named Walter Gaines, who had also received holy orders, and to whom, upon the death of father Ignatius, (the Catholic Priest) General D’Alvi- gny had given the tutorship of his S()]] S. A strong friendship existed be- tween the families, for Madame D’Al- vigny still held to her early faith now that father Ignatius was dead. She had prevailed upon her husband to have the little chapel in the woods fitted up for an Episcopal Church, of which the Rev. Mr. Warren Was rect Ol'. Six miles from Mr. Warren’s lived the third one of our group, a govern- ment land agent by the name of Sum- mers, whose only child, Florence, was six months younger than General D’Alvigny’s sons, and also a pupil of Walter Gaines’. Mr. Summers was very wealthy, and found life in the woods rather dull, and sometimes spoke of a change of residence. His wife however would not hear to it, for she had become quite attached to her wild home, and preferred it to a life in the city, and when her husband spoke of the limit- ed means of education for their only daughter she silenced him by saying, “when Florence gets older you can send her to Pensicola for a year or two ; meanwhile I am satisfied with her progress under Mr. Gaines, for although she is not quite twelve, yet she is a very promising Latin scholar now not to mention any other branch of her education, and I am quite con- 1. Ó *VTſIGIZ on uoarſ poſiopold (‘unu posthu ou A o.13au u put) toºn', ou, Ubu', tou]o ou O ‘sphers, launo.IQ sºul IIb Ioſ IIo9'Ipoureſq put “attašngſ unIAA soulſ). It qu popis ‘ionn) out, oAes ‘osto ouo A.lo Ao ox!II ‘ou A ‘uoyeußpuſ scoutuns ooua.IOIJI SSIIW put 10,130.1 sciouſ,old sili O1 Uonuţ ‘oneumsqo su.A. otiošnº loºseuſ | UIQUAA IIOISSIUIqns oologuo on [It] ouſ pºp - º - - : - Q - - ION “apts toujo ou. . tuo.II Guſtuoo såutpuoq out, tio ÁIIIondttiolod "soul pol -Sisu Ātānuoo oun uo inq IIIA XIpioI. SIU on tPoſssſuTQns uſ puſoq Qou pluo.A qtun ‘saulº) IIN OT outbo ou uou.A ouo pe.Iajunootto ouesn'ſ paloºney put: paſſods ouſ L ‘oºſio.At'ſ ou? Alpop ſoap sºw (Ioar I tuftſ UIn A : on. It loud; ou? on IIoſºdaoxo uſe pouloſ John] ou.L . . . ..'StºA olouſ) SIU o:II SI où alloſt; tırſu or I, KIdol pluo. A pubq -smuſ lou & KūA S. Koq ou? Altios I, - ..") IIIT, UI)00 tuouſ] ] tºo.11 I 0.1ms Ult: I IOJ ‘ĀIA IIa) hauto I putº, ‘Aus pluoA oils ..“IOUſ, O.Iq SIU ox|II out ovo[ ]ot soop où, ; 94buoſ)00Iſt; Jou st: A ou lºu) po -UIg(duod SKBAIt ous qud ‘uos puodos Iou Jo pnoid st; A Kuči AIV.(I outlipt.N. ‘tionIsodsp "saq ou? It'; Ka put 1soluosputºu oth stºw too'ſ 15uoquiu ‘Ioulouſ put tou]t'ſ unſ.W unoq on I.I.O.A.:1 où, SbA ‘IIotſ out, ‘ouaſſing: "I posmo.It oùA olio ouſ, Olum od oo.W pul: “out.) -IOA goaſ.iod t \dots loſio]xo uſeo quq, II]ºotioqqok Høstuſuſ on Jo Jº ‘s.I.II; Kut: st aſſuo:5 st; A uopisodsp sh gº.IV tit; pottibús oAbū pſnow ssouxiouſq ostiopuſ osot A so.ſo put split ſubds 1: St. Litºp st: top.oſduio) tº unpw Aol -it; ut: su qiāyú.I]s put: II*, su.A. uoorſ 9IIIA : sciouſ) tº slu on Ibnbo Kottupnd -100 tº Jo osſulo.id ºupAI3 put ‘oše SIU loſ almºs uſ Aoi iou)": “Iſºu şul -Ino IIAOIq XI.It'p put so Ko omiq doop Hºw It'ſ st:A ouejnºſ : oxuſe Mool iou ‘oxIIIb Kpnºs ‘ox|Tº you ‘oxIII? Muſu. Tott pp Kouº 5ugueA Kionguê bougasuſ quosoid out uſ sea ‘supal u00/A19q aspxo on ppus sſ quun ‘KungdulAs ‘Huds smoſions&u put 95utus ºutſ, 'ouïeul -tuſ on aſqissod sº ni su ‘Amūoſs&nd put Authuouſ ‘suinuoo & 5uous st: allow ‘Kuštaſy,(I uoo'I put INTangi 'II &ICILIVHo 'sil pºol IIIA spºo.III) poſtmodj ou? olou A oos put: “upod slu) UIOI) oxſºn On Osodoid oA soplolspu-opil of utºlºs asou.A. odood out, osoun put ‘poolſ -loqujou ouj st: A SIUL 'orouſ) su IIIA uoptoua on Tuods skuAIt put *Iooſsued uſ sophis stu 3ums,ind sea ouA ‘ū015uſuuod Mutº. I poulºu Aoilo) outosoſoly oup tº ‘p.It'A put Aoudou st uloſſ asſa u Aq KIRuostood po -uoAHuo stºw ourou spil ºnq'u Ao stijo uo.ipHuo out petſ off “loquënup SIU st plušo, on pouloos ou tuous ‘ootle.IOI, I SSIIN to KIIRIoodso put ‘SIouſtºms ‘IIN Jo AImug on to oualajold 5uoins t; poliquxo Ssoloulio Aou qug ‘siloq -užiſou spu II* Unſ.A suito, Jo isoq out) uodn pox II OUA ‘ūtūlol)uoš politat pupi Itºſuoj u su.A. op 'nsom:5 ouo) -low t tooq sku.Aſt put ou odoúa, uo! -Hsu Jo piloa, Juuſſuaq oup uſ pug on poſſº pullou ºutſ, Auoulomoi utssould -detſ ºutſ, Moos utſu ox{tºtu put an oil -qud in A utſu isnäsp on ATuo posios ‘tuſ|[5ulosuoo Jo pºolsuſ ‘yºun säulu, lotſ\o ſºlo AoS-XCI put: -tuº-xH ‘uutusso.15uo()-xHut ‘Kotion (I JO outtsti ouſ) Jo JoA opp.A Kunſtow b St.A ‘soſ.ſtut: inojolſ, Jo 1st Iput ºxou ou J, - - w - ‘oulouſ SHI Jo SSouTInp ouſ, Joj spilout: ox{tºttſ on ‘Blootsuo.I. Jo Anjo Ató ou? on susta quombol] put 5uo unIA Hosutſu polos -uoo and sous A Sofia stu on popioſ siatuutus IW lošuo oup ouros Aux outsoul uſ uo of on lou lo quo, “lopusst:q HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. 28 his more frotunate brother, and that was little Zella Warren ; she always laughed when her uncle came to spend an evening with them, and brought Leon with him, and always cried when he went away, and refused to be pacified until he promised to come back soon and bring her some more pretty shells and flowers. Leon mended all her dolls’ broken heads for her, to console her in all her childish troubles, and strange as it may seem, he found a compensa- tion in the love of the child for his desolate lot at home. About this time Gen. D’Alvigny, took his family on a visit to his uncle’s who still lived in Cuba, and who never yet had seen his sons. The visit had been promised a long time, and was expected by all, save Leon, with anxiety; to him it offered no pleasure, for “Zella” would be left behind. In vain his mother tried to console him, in vain his father scolded, and his tutor encouraged him with the prom- ise of a speedy return A presenti- ment seemed to hang over him that he could not shake off, and all their efforts were unavailing; and when at his urgent entreaties, his tutor carried him to bid Zella good bye, he acted as one who never expected to behold the loved object again. Monsieur Jerome D’Alvigny, wel- comed his relations warmly, and was especially delighted with his grand nephews with whom he associated almost constantly, and as the time fixed for their return drew near, he became more and more opposed to || giving them up. “They are a fine brace of boys,” he said, “a glorious pair of fellows.” “I say, Leonora,” to his niece, “what do you say to leaving me one of them?” “Which one uncle?” asked madame in alarm, “not Eugene !” + The expression gave monsieur the key. Eugene was the favorite, and that accounted for much that appear- ed strange in the conduct of the boys. The old gentleman pondered long ‘l over the matter. “ Human nature is a mystery,” thought he. “Now here is my nephew with two as fine boys as ever gladdened a father’s eyesight, and one would suppose he would be equal- ly fond of both, but the truth does not back the supposition, for he is en- tirely taken up with the one, and as entirely indifferent to the other, and, more surprising still, his wife is just like him.” “I tell you what Leonora,” said he aloud, “you shall give me Leon, to have and to keep as long as I live— that is, if the boy is willing to stay with me. Eugene is your favorite, and his father's, too, so I will not ask you for him, and besides, Leon re- minds me of the boy who, long years ago, used to come and cheer, with his mirth and gladness, my lonely hours. The boy has his uncle's face as well as name, therefore his father and your- self may just make up your minds to leave him with me, if he consents, for I am determined to have him.” The parents did not raise many ob- jections, Eugene none at all, and Leon himself seemed indifferent. Only Walter Gaines, the tutor, seemed troubled about the arrangement. “How shall I give you up, Leon ?” said he. “Florence will get ahead of you in Latin now, and read the Illiad first.” - “I do not care for Florence,” ex- 63 •y'TT'TZ 19u pºp ous onlomboo ou suA ous ‘oup lot ootlodol'ſ oxià on le.A pub “oxglºdou poppop put ulig u o Aſoo -3.1 on ATuo Joey lou Yu (‘Junoosp tº qu ăuţaq siluoti) “aunto] put shapmuda ‘bubu SIU pſe pull ..U.), but oldişulo, ut: AutºR poſiutºutun IIIAs oouotold ssRN bug pluous Köp-u1,114 unopuo A1 lau ºutſ, lºſušuis only tº su.A. p ‘ssolau uu juſoq Jo ouo pſos odour ou) unj A doulošo, 'suomou.uyu osotu Iſe unſ.A "It O. Josiou Sunſus Jo WJInouy olul ou, possossod ooutololºſ Ioſ ‘Ābā ouſ) put, oau,135 out, ‘pſo oup put 5umo." ou, Aq ox|IIb Maj ‘stotluutu put uoſ, -lºsio.Auo) lot uſ ultetſo ssoluoyuu tº slºw olou.J., 'dou oluloo.1(Idu ol Khopos où sn'ſ StºA bootstro, Ijo Alojoos out, but ‘olou.A.Kug ouſtis on polunoſuo su.A ous ‘ssolood u put ‘lolulud tº ‘tibioIsutu pousſ|dutoodu ut: “polu.Anſmo ATFH (souſtº) loſt A on SMtut[]) ‘puſu eul A-Suonou.I]nt: Tullosiod K.Ibu -Il),IOb.I]Na Jo passassoci ‘loll:A\ }sag out, JO 9IIoq tº poopuiſ st: A ous ‘puol ou? >[00) Siouïuins sspi\ ‘oil, ou, JO ‘...to) uſ.A IIvo suuſpſ.IOII ouſ) bull s]uju put S.Wup 1000 ou, juſtmp ‘sio),Tuubpeau Iſou) toolstie, I Jo Anſo ontºlools.It pub Ab3 ou? oxſetti ou A sloop.() It'At N oil] JIBTI Jo spliou oup poulu, Kiolo[d -III.O.) put[ ]ull, slo) IIIAA oo.Iu, Io OAA) 10] so IIoq Jo oil) tº poulio] putſ ‘eſſmſ put hoſtituTV ‘sionuánup own osotA ‘olloſo.At T. S.I.IV pountil ‘tool:stioq uſ popsoi otſ,\ ‘Jumu up unIA ooliosqt suoorſ Jo Ito.{ puto.)os ouſ, ootſis outſ, dou Jo soul tods pt. I stouttums ssp. ‘osmouſ soloun stu Jo onlituuſ un, udoq put uoo"I outs out not pull stopold ouſ I, ‘uojunior) Jo Whisto Aſuſ) snout -1:1 oun * ºutpuods posodo.id ou Uoſt|A Jo O.A.) ‘odo.img uſ XU)s soluoA imoſ 1: o, snoſ Aoid outoſ ºſsIA hious tº §uſnuduoluoo su.A ‘osſe ‘uoarſ 'suauout Aaj u ulouſou at oq pluo.A. puu ‘ošoſſo() uſ Ito K Ioſues SIU Jo osoſo ou? Icott StºA oueñngſ ‘ĀIIug out, up ponuſ) -ū09 III]s ou A ‘oloun tou tapúm uoſºgo -upo Jou şulus|ug st:A put: “utºpſ&m:5 Jeu st: paluſodde pºu Iounty Tau UIOUAA ‘Aušra IV.(I uor) Jo ATUrby out uſ ootropºsal tou du ua-Ib, pºu glaz ‘Sextous stu Oluſ polat[]ºff u09q pºll ‘Ulo,Ill: A SITW put 'ITV U3OQ put ‘possed out st: 3updgöl ouros attop pull ou ‘III) JOU pluoo U”.Ibo oſot A ou? ºut!) slou.ttº oſquiºsuſ osot|] Jo Inſputul ioAgI ‘ssolidoid spu uſ jol put quáil oul ol ‘optºtu peuſ ...“au, Ks ou? soil -ito OUAA ‘ubtu po ouſ), “sojutſu) ou? on 05 oA su Kuopia 5utpulſe ‘sito." uo., as Jo poſiod tº JoAO oA SSU, I *III XIGI.L.IVH.) 'UITUI .IOI paus Iou Ulaas to Ao pºll ou Asllſ où oio.A.Kolū ānounſe ‘sition stopout stu Jo quáis oun tº uo Ao you ‘ûon -outo Oti Sup&lloq “KItuTuo morpt: Uſou) opeq ūoorſ paśub.I.18 st:A lonyBui aul snu" put: ..'s.It:0A Aaj tº uſ no & 30s o, outloo IIIA I put ºilo'Z put (‘ssou ->[bow scioln, ou, St.A III]t'ſ ou?) ‘III]t'T imo.' Tºp A (to doo-Iput ‘ttoo"I Smpulsoq : no. On ouo) IIIAA o-A ‘hou op no.' JI ; holl ho." IIIA KIIbuoſsbooo sm oos on outoo IIIA noA sepisoq put, ‘Yºu? ſo olt;0 ° ext) IIIA I, ‘Alpup John] ou? polio As -In: ...“no. 105.10) \ott IIBUS tº Io/ , , ..'otu JoãIoſ IIIA tºſſo'Z 3, pottiyuloxo joi.15 Jo 1s.Ind pp.A tº on Kºw 5uſAI5 put ‘top|nous sciounn oun to ool; su piu Koq au I, ‘ĀIpupſ ‘loym) ou, polist: ... ºut. A Qu%I ..—Anq ‘unro ous JI (Iluolu tº III SXood unt'ſ Inok IIb uánolul pºo. Kultſ ous, ‘KinuouauoA Koq otl) pouTulo quul oos on suoſhu.Ibdoid ou, poRoA -ms so Ko puoſ ou ‘Uloo, spu ontºrooop 9] StoAop poliou) tº puttu O N Jos -uIII Joj sojutu Kuſuld os ootto.10) jput on loao Aout poſt out pluoA Qitiouſ oxy)isuos slui su ‘ouolu ‘lollyo.Iq siuſ Šupulootio) sāuſoſoſol put suoſh -udioſlut out, ‘sous A put sodou au, Itºu ou plmoo out qu'un Oslº ontºun).IOJ but ‘lious os og on su.A ouou ju Kuhs SIUI ºbt[] ‘ū00T loj hr su.A IIoAA ‘olouſ) III]s St.A. ooliologo.id pio ou) : ulu 10) opºut alo A suopºſedoid oup III: 19A ‘ūnâuo stºok own Jo Kuo stºw ouesqu souošngſ out A ‘olnaudopºsag sq oouis ouou stu pousſa not pull uoo'I 'spio A Jouſ unſ.A ooutºtu A Ju Yuu A -outos ojo.w stion ou lou ºnq ‘oxods Apt, où) suu, a II* on NIQU.loat; Jo of Kutu jujun,K.lo Ao yºu] us[A Klauſ -noſ).It'd I put ‘ooutosqu duo tº longu oulouſ quoq (Inoq IIIA stios NIN 'A'), tºd oI]]|II Quitºstold t ohmb oxſºul IIIA , ÅIpnoid ºut Aotuos outupu IV plus ...“KI -ſuit; tıAO Kut unſ.A ‘ūolu A, ‘uo15uſu -Uiod XIIIb.II ‘Aoudou SIU put: KuoloGI 'IOO son)olo Aur où) ‘supsmoo louſ Uni.W. oloul od On su.M. o.oualoſ, lount:5 bluoo ous st: 0.1out Autul st; but ‘pool] -loqūčiou out, Jo solutº, ou, II* (In A lounaåo', ‘luo.40 ou] ontº.1QoIoo on AII -ung lot Josioquoul podomuos on Jo uolum-ol tº uodn po Mosol pull Kuči A -IV.OI outpuſ put: ‘Suluoto.id/lt: St.A Kupuniſt Inuool}} suoldt AA tilloz, 'uoistibul Kluttº out, juſlúžo uſ possiod sku.All: Xuàſ MV.(I toº) «nt:0]]ullo , où.) Jo Sºul:).Iqtuuq où, Tu III Mooſ tº ox!") put lou o Atol IIIAA oA odou.A : plog out Jo uossossod Sl? uſ poultuo. s.toulums SSHV put: ‘Juaj -op Iſou) powolio] quuſ, ‘lolušut I Šuſ -5ull Itoismu j6 stuod oul uſ uomop -tºlluoo qug upo Aſoool loao Aoû ‘klbouſ tioxiouq out, Jo Kions ou.I. Jujuy Ol 09 ouo 1st I Ado A out, ºud quuſ) uouſ, uodn ops-peoid u pouodo ous utúl topilot -Ins tº qu )uſu ol pollujua.A Jouoos ou Kou, lo& ‘poisºw os Kouji ºuiju ou! J[ut put 5uoi Nup III, tuou, unIA Koſ -tud on 5uillºw stºw ºutput ultuoo put outupuu oigtaouail, out out A put “Unod Kloko at poplună ‘osſidins Iſou) on KI)tºod; “I puno) ou A luq ...“lopulſo s.Autou, , où) tudols on quântu put: A.in) liou) II* u, IA oAolls ou A put: ‘Kuldstp loſſo) Iſou, Jo oouombos -UO) uſ OIC[tº]ssol.II so Alosuouſ) popout; ou.A ‘suilojtun uſ trotuonuo's pollid Ándulo out) Jo Itº.to Aos Jo oout: Kou -ut outo.11xo oup) on ‘souposseſq ol āuis Jo os.inoo lou up uo ponuſ]uoo put: ‘luśnoun oud Kut Yuu A quoqu ºu A tº Josiou juſquod, doxou ‘Kūomb lu boAloool oouolo, I &Littu you pulp slotutuns ssp.IN quil) juisiadins StºA ), quu) poolju Iſu ‘osnuo ouſ, on st: pola) -][9 Koul Ulomuſ do Ao Aou ºnq ‘tio os put aſ in A lot poismäsp put up quouquodditsip Allto ut: qu ponuſu upºu Sloul () ºuttutoA Aut; tıo litiouſ put suſtaq (Inoq AonSod on utúl Iod -tuottooo olotu juſoq 0.Injuu ‘hutou tº oAbu ol u \oux St. A to Aoti ..juptoons onq, tº Juul) “Klons.Attl ou! Jo uoſ) , -tºpſomſo (it: St. ‘pouluja: Slou)0 ol{UAA : outoo qou pºp 5uſatou oſquio Ali) tº powlooo.1 ovuu plmOAA ou A Slou)0 II* Jo ouo ouſ, ºutſ) put ‘poxist; tıooq put iſ odojoq autou lou uoAñ pull ous prus outlos : looſqms out, uo dissoiſ; oſquilopstoo sea, oloun "sosuo Hous uſ Tunsm si st: put ‘spuoil] so.Itou toll on uo.Ao Klons Kut tº StºA ‘II* Osujol pſmous ous nutſ, ºnq ‘oldupo Abum StºA SIt’sod -Old [guouſ Iluut oA:ooo..I on ‘pſp ous oyſ out 5ulptor.I 'uomºduru do turt: tou nou stºw uous : oſqissod lodumu 1sonto.15 ot, on on 5uſ Xu's Ka Khruti,A Iou Kjøtt.15 01 Kuo uo ulouſ, oml "GINIZV8) WIN A SIWYTGTJ.IT CINV. OINGII*) AH 3 | ZELLA. all was right. Save one brief order from Madame to “prepare a room for Master Leon,” no one seemed to remember him at all, at least no one of those whose blood flowed in his own veins, yet there was one in that household of an outcast race who looked on with a burning heart, at the preparations for the one, and the neglect of the other, that was none other than Judy, the African nurse of Teon, who used to boast that her hands were the first ones that over touched him, and she seemed to con- sider it a personal effront that her favorite should be thus neglected. Nor was she slow in speaking her mind upon the subject either, for as Madam, was closing the door of Eu- gene's room, on the evening previous to his expected return; after having surveyed it for the hundredth time, to see that all was right and com- fortable “for my son,” and finding it entirely so, she ran against Mom Judy, who confronted her with low- ering brows. “You no gwine for see bout Mass. Leon's room, too? she demanded. “I told Katy to attend to that,” answered Madame kindly, for the aged megress was respected by all the household. “Katy,” she exclaimed indignantly, “what for you no tell Katy fix dis one too 27° “Because I preferred to fix this one myself,” answered her mistress mildly. “You did hey 2 and what for you no fix for one same as tudder P’’ “Eugene is coming home to stay, Mom Judy, “said Madame,” Leon only stopsalittle while, and I thought Katy could prepare for him as well as I; but I will go and see what she has done,” she continued kindly, for the reproof of the megress had awakened a pang of remorse in her heart for the neglect. “No you wont go nudder” said the angry African, “I’ll go myself, gimme de keys ob de flower garden, if you no took all for your Eugene, I’ll find someting for my chile shore.” “Take anything you want mamma,” said Madame, handing her the keys, “make as pretty a boquet as you can, you are welcome to as many flowers as you want.” “Welcome,” repeated the negress, “I should tink I was for did’nt his OWI)” , she paused sud- denly, and a look of alarm came over her face. “I tell you what 'tis Miss Lenorah, she continued, you aggrawates me talkin' this way, bout I bein’ welcome to some flowers for my chile, when him own dear uncle plant dem bery bushes, you know him did. Madame was rather alarmed at Judy's vehemence, so she allowed her to pass on without replying to her last remark. Then as she flung her- self out she continued to mutter something about her “chile being worth more than ebery one ob you put togedder,” and with her anger still in a blaze, she took her way to the flower garden, and commenced gathering for her “chile's room” still muttering all the while at her mistress's, words and literally tearing up the flowers by the roots. “Say welcome,” she continued, wonder if I dunno when Mass. Leon plant dez trees? now tell me I wel- come to dez for his merry! welcome ! deed me; if Miss Lenorah jis only know it, she de Welcome one, deed me. HIYGIEN1U AND LI'l'1'l'AlèY MAGAZINE. 32 • *...~~w-º-º- - « » -- *-* . . . -- *-ºs---sº- - - - --------------------------------. -------. ------------- Her wrath at last died away, how- ever, and having gathered as many flowers as she wished she took her way home by the family burying ground, and there to her astonish- ment she found Zella Warren seated upon the tomb-stone of Leon D’Al- vigny, and busily engaged in scraping away the moss and dirt that had al- most entirely covered the inscription upon the stone. “What in de World you doin’ here chile,” she asked as Zella paused in her work to see who was near. “Nothing Mom Judy,” she answered, only cleaning out these letters. I was tired of the moise and confusion in the house ; so I came out here for a little quiet, and while I was here I thought I would do this. Wont you give me some of your flowers Mom Judy to make a boquet, she contin- ed, you have so many, you can very well spare me some to put here.” The old megress paused in her walk and looked wonderingly at her. “What for you want em 2" she asked, you neberknow him. “No” answered Zella, “I never knew him, but it seems hard that no one ever comes here with a single flower, nor a single word either, for one whom all loved so well while he lived.” “Hard” exclaimed the old negress in astonishment. “ De dead no hear you talk, do dey “I do not know that,” answered Zella, “but will you give me some of your flowers?” “Yes take dey all,” she answered as she threw them down. “I meant for fix dem for Mass Leon, but you may hab em for he,” pointing to the grave, and giving her massive turban, a shake she walked away, leaving Zella to pursue her self-imposed task alone. * * With that delicate taste that almost always characterizes those born and reared in the tropics and accustomed from infancy to a profusion of bright hued flowers, she selected from the tangled mass before her, and arranged a floral offering for the dead. There was a little excavation in the upper part of the slab, like a cup, still filled with water from the last rain. There —when she had completed her task she placed them. “Now,” she solilo- quized, “that looks a little more human; one can read the inscription now; and the flowers look like the dead was not entirely forgotton. And now to please mom Judy I will arrange the rest for the living. Those prim- roses will look well in a chamber, but the colors are too glaring for a tomb.” So to work she went again, and when deep in the night Leon ar- rived, worn and weary, and was shown by a servant to his room, a strange thrill of pleasure filled his heart as he received the bright token of remem- berance, inhaled the sweet perfume; as the dew is to the thirsty flowers themselves, so was their fragrance to his drooping spirits, recalling memo- ries that years had dimmed, reviving hopes that had almost perished, and making him to feel once more at home in his fathers house. Long years af. terwards, and in a foreign land, those sacredly preserved, though withered and faded blossoms, recalled to the wanderer's mind themingled emotions of hope and fear, of joy and sorrow that haunted his dreams on this, his first night at home. . [To be Continued.] ——s • -e-, --— jºThe way to fame, like the way to heaven, lies through much tribulation. - ARRIA. 33 wº AIRRIA. A TAT.E OF THE ROMAN EMT’IRE. HY LE FIERVE. Cestrius, a Roman Tribune of sin- gular fidelity, was banished by Clau- dius in A. D. 40; when with his entire family he fled to the Ionian Isles, both for security against that merciless tyrant, and refuge from those disposed to insult and perse- cute him. It was during one of those political eruptions, which like an earthquake seemed destined to engulf that distracted empire—then swayed by the terrible rule of those from whose hands the scales of justice had dropped, having never at any time inclined to the right side. In that safe and beautiful retreat, instead of rallying his fleeing courage, the noble exile yielded to the depress- ing influences of a humiliated spirit; until reason like some smitten struc- ture, toppled and fell, as if o'er-mas- tered by strong winds or hidden fires. Thus after some months of fierce repining, a deep calmness ensued; to which succeeded that vague listless- mess and tearless apathy—those schooled in the pathology of mental ethics knew to be the stillness of the volcano before bursting into desola- tion. That expression of moveless rigidity and voiceless despair, which makes one long for utterance, though it be the raving of stark lunacy, fore- shadowed the inevitable doom of the unhappy Tribune. His was not a madness fluctuating between grief and joy; but of that uniform cast, which of all others, is most profound, hopeless and incurable. The shadow of evil passions had never at any time rested upon his VoI. 1,–No. 1.—E. manly brow ; and even after his mind was one chaotic mass—formless and void, the countenance though vague, withered mothing upon which it fell. In prosperity, his manner, tho’ high toned, was urbane even to suavity.; but in the dust of adversity, toward foes, his bearing was insolent, proud and austere; haughty, intolerant and uncompromising. Strange, that while some are petrified by the hardening experiences of this life, and thereby strengthened and fortified, others are by the same process, enfeebled, often depraved, and not unfrequently Auined. Intellectually emasculated Cestrius certainly was, but degenerate or cor- rupt, never; and thus he sank to his grave, unseduced by power, uncor- rupted by vice, and bearing down spotless and undimmed, the proud escutcheon of his honor. Beatrice, a distinguished woman of Rome, and sister to the Consul, Cecina Poetus, then lived in great pomp at the capitol; and having never married, she desired the adop- tion of the deceased Tribune's daugh- ter, a slight fair child often years old bearing the charmed name of Arria. Not as a slave, did she thus covet the orphan girl; but as an object to cher- ish and love ; before whom she might unmask her true nature, and at all times turn with that truth, which sus- pects no wrong, and fears no guile. Toward the menials and minions about her, Beatrice acted at all times with the most rigid caution and in- flexible reserve; knowing as she did, the artful duplicity with which they were equally and deeply affected. Among the whole retinue of her extensive household, she felt assured 34 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. there was not one to be relied on ; or before whom she might with impunity relax that strict discipline of manner, the cruelty and corruption of a wily court had for her own safty forced her to assume. She longed therefore, to commune with something fresh, artless, and unsophisticated; yea, she yearned for the native flower in all of its pristine simplicity, as she was satiated with the subtle extracts, and cunning refinements already pulling upon her weary senses. Beneath a cold exterior, that noble woman bore a heart, and hid a soul, spotless—white as the plumage of swans floating on the bosom of waters—clear and taintless at their lucid founts. Often would she turn in sickness and satiety from honors daily tendered her; and striking her queenly brow, cry, “alone doomed ever thus to be alone !” Claudius had succeeded to the throne of the Roman Empire, after the assassination of his nephew—son of his brother Germanicus; the lat- ter of whom deserved the fate with which he met; since under a false pretext he visited the sick bed of Ti- berius, when with the assistance of Marcus Prefect, he smothered that debauched Emperor while asleep.– To this bloody and treacherous line our present subject belonged; and he, being with his entire kingdom, sway- ed by one of the most cruel and cor- rupt women of the age, his reign was one of unparalleled terror and dis- grace. Messalina, the Empress to whom we allude, was not only libidinous to downwright profligacy, but with all, so jealous and revengeful, that even her court parasites trembled at her slightest displeasure. Together with her bad counselors she swayed the Emperor at will; and tho’ Augustan blood filled his veins, yet was he as vascilating, capricious and irresolute, as was his wife, implacable, unrelent- ing and wilful. In her dark heart a poisoned fountain sprung, deadly as the slime from tongues of Egyptian asps, and beneath her livid face and lips, withered as a winter’s crab, raged a tempest of hate, envy, jeal- ousy, avarice—all save love. The very imbecility of Claudius, sunk him into contempt; and every day feeling her mental superiority over the man, whom in her very childhood she was forced to ally, the bitterness of her bondage became hourly more acute; and she resolved at all hazards to cut the links holding her in abhorrent servitude. Disgusted by his want of manliness, irritated by his attempt to restrain, and hardened even to moral induration by his early harshness to- ward her, she earnestly hated him with the full strength of her mental calibre, all admitted to be of great power and malignant texture. At times, visions of a dark nook, a skill- ful hand, and keen grooved dagger, drugged to its glittering point, would for weeks haunt her guilty couch; at others, Satan would whisper of a cunning draught, when the inner monitor like an accusing spirit cried, spare 1 spare From all the demoralising influ- ences brought to bear upon Messali- mafrom the cradle up, and with which she was then encompassed; how could she have been otherwise than what she was 2 No Divine examples hav- ing ever guided her childhood, and growing up under the most dangerous O AftſtlA. 35 auspices, she became an easy victim to all the temptations, sin is ever weaving for the uninstructed, the ig- norant and irreligious. Through the vista of her past life, no star of Beth- lehem shone amid the gloom ; as in the chambers of her memory hung no beautiful picture of that touching reality—the child bowing in prayer at its mother's knee. The floating banners of Zion waved not as now from every tower; nor did Revela- tion as a white-winged dove lift its pin- ions from Artic snows, to bathe them in the flashing waves of Tropic seas. In those days, woman was regard- ed as little less than a proligate medi- um, through which circulated the most depraved appetites, to which fallen nature is heir; and the almost universal obscurity of moral laws, and intellect- ual culture, rendered men fiends in human shape; and she, the altitude of whose excellence can only be measur- ed by refinement, a thing of degrada- tion, fully commensurate with that abhorrent age. Historical facts like these are enough to silence profane writers; since whatsoever tends to elevate the wife, the mother and daughter, must be good, against which no pen should dare contend. Messalina was not only cruel and depraved; but in the madness of her ambitious arrogance, imagined her- self a godess; and commanded to be deified and worshiped beyond all oth- er idols, either in the temple of Mi- nerva, Diana, or Jupiter’s Olympian palace. Though vastly ignorant, so far as mental culture was concerned, her cunning baffled the penetration of the most wily, while none were so ob- sequious as to elude her suspicions, and none so artful as to escape her vig- ilance. The eyes glittering and grey, fastened upon one with the fatal spell of a serpent, and who ever fell into her toils, would better have trusted to the venom of a folded adder; for like the snake-encircled head of Medusa, she was an object of terror to all upon whom she turned. Every tor- ture which cruelty could inflict, or persecution invent, was unsparingly meted out to those, upon whom her merciless displeasure fell; and as her emissaries skulked in the bosom of every family, fresh victims were brought daily to the altar, and thus the shrine of human sacrifice wreaked with blood from sun to sun Upon the slightest evidence, sub- jects were arraigned, and the beauti- ful as well as the brave, dealt with as the famished tigress deals with her helpless prey. It was this “Magda- line” possessed of seven times seven devils, who made not only plebians quake, but the consul, pretor, cen- turion, tribune, and even the most august member of an august Senate. The violent eruptions which for years had so much agitated the civil and military peace, originated in, and was augmented by the most graceless rulers that ever swayed an unhappy people. However implicit the obe- dience yielded the imperious dictates of Royalty, Claudius still felt a sense of fearful insecurity ; as he knew that both his power and behests were at most precarious, especially over his “Legions;” the least treachelois, as the most loyal of whom, he had taught by precept and example, to violate at the demand of interest, every code of honor, implying duty or obligation to others. 36 El YG IlêNIC AND 1,1'TERARY MAGAZINE. He also judged from the fate of | his predecessors what his own might be; for he was deeply convicted, that the flattering adulation, and friendly pretentions of the multitude vibrated between fear and hate; based as his power was, upon the most imperious, severe and unrelent- ing discipline. In that era of abso- lute authority, an offender of royal (lespotism was doomed from the hour suspicion fastened upon him; and whether sentenced to the incarcera- tion of dungeons dark as eternal night, or perish by inches on the fro- Zen banks of the Danube, he proved it alike in the end, that eaſile was a living tomb, and the tyrant a greedy sexton. The fate of the Consul Mar- cus Manlius, was to be preferred to banishment; who according to Livy, was precipitated from the Tarpeian rock, from which he once hurled the Gaul, who led the midnight attack against Rome. Under the supreme dominion of two such rulers as Clau- dius and Messalina, how could any head rest securely upon its pillow 2 especially that of the excellent and brave. The conciousness of imminent dan- ger gleamed like a suspended blade over all such; and the handwriting upon the wall terrified the Belshazzar's of every feast. - - Profligate to a shameful extent, yet was the Empress as jealous of her husband's connubial fidelity, as if her own life had been an epitome of chas- tity, or one of the most blameless rectitude. Yea, jealousy, that de- formed offspring of either a small mind or licentious imagination, reign- ed like some wild fury over her every thought; and entering deeply into every emotion, until sentiment be- • the finest and holiest affections. came passion, and passion mania This suicidal policy has found its al- tars in the most imperial household, as in the most humble cots; and the results to its votaries are ever the same: bitterness of spirit, anguish of mind, and a final and moral death to How- ever brilliant the style, or sumptuous the boards affluence may afford; yet more destitute than a menial, are those possessed of that mental malady, which like a cankerous cancer of the vitals, is deep seated and incurable. The patience of Claudius was well nigh spent ; and he had resolved to rid himself of his dangerous and ex- acting tormentress. As the evil ele- ments of his nature had never been tempered by Divine grace, he shrunk from neither the contemplation or ex- ecution of bloody deeds; and what- so-ever his brain planned or plotted, no obstacle however formidable stood long in the way of its prosecution. Amid the crowded magnificence of the Court, the surfeit of luxury, and the accumulated wealth of rifled na- tions, we leave for a while this hap- less couple, to look in upon Beatrice and her beloved protegee. The last, rays of a setting sun, still lighted up a spacious hall, whose gilded walls of purple and vermillion, reflected lustre upon the rich and massive furniture, relieved as it was by ornaments, statuary and sculpture of the most exquisite and costly workmanship. Mirrors of polished silver multiplied and re-multiplied every object, until one not accustom- ed to such magnificence stood amazed and bewildered. Near a window shaded by an elegant drapery of gold and damask, overlooking a conserva- tory of rare flowers and mimic foun- ARRIA. 37 tains, sat two females; one weeping; the other silent. The lofty self-pos- session of the elder, with the childish grief of the younger, told they had seen life in very different lights.— While the latter wept with unre- strained violence, the former bowed her classic face upon soft fair hands, where something like rain drops for the first time in years, fell warm and fast upon their marble beauty. At length rising calmly up, Beatrice drew the young mourner to her feet; and leading her away to the parterre be- low, ministered such words as fell like the dews of Gilead to her trou- bled spirit. The rays of an autumn moon like floods of molten silver floated high up amid the hill-tops, and rested soft as an infant’s slumber upon the bo- som of the Tiber’s waves; while flowers ten thousand breathed out their fragrant lives, bowed as if at vesper prayer, or laden with the weight of nectared dews. O, who 'an walk thus amid nature’s sanctua- ties, watching the bud unfold, and the blossom fade, without mingling holy aspirations with the odors of those silent, but eloquent ministers ? We do not believe that the infidel in his vigor, or guilt in its decrepitude and grey hairs, can dwell amid such manifestations, without feeling the presence of that Omnipotence, whose fraternal arm encircleth infinity, and in whose hands all Creation rests, helpless and dependant as infancy upon the paternal breast. Days, and months at last numbered years, since Arria had gone to dwell in the house of Beatrice; by whose tenderness, and in whose house of sumptuous ease, the young orphan had been soothed, and won from her early grief. It was there the illumi- nated chambers, tower and halls, be- tokened the celebration of some right, sacrifice or event, not of every day’s occurrence. Before a gilded mirror of massive silver, stood in the blushing and mellow beauty of mai- denhood, the bride-elect of Cecina Poetus, crowned and adorned for the altar's side. Thus attired for her nuptials, and surrounded as she was by her happy and delighted guests, stood the matchless Arria, faultless as a Hebe, and stainless as Diana walking amid the stars. The Augus- tan law prohibiting the intermarriage of pretorians and plebians, had been repealed ; and the proud Roman was then to level all distinctions of rank, by taking in 1marriage the dowerless but lovely daughter of Cestrius. While thus upon the vestibule of that temple, the entrance to which was to forever separate her from the control or guidance of any save her husband, Beatrice felt disposed to have her pause for a few moments. So waving her hand toward a pon- derous door, signified to those pres- ent her wish to be felt alone with her fair ward. With an agitation she had not felt for years, her arms were closely folded about the bride; and for once, their tears met and mingled together. Gently disengaging her- self from Arria’s embrace, and still with one arm encircling her waist said. “Not that I would dim the sparkling fountain fresh springing in the heart, or fill thy bosom with fear prophetic of some coming ill, but child of beauty, I would have thee remember there are reefs upon the high sea of life, on which barks as HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. fair and strong as thine have struck and stranded. A Roman’s wealth is but weak artillery before Imperial power, and high birth or sounding titles, but frail helmets in these con- flicting times; and she who would be my brother's wife, must be prepared for shifting scenes in his fortunes; and forget not cherished one, that an in- cautious word might involve your ruin, and put to flight the rainbow anticipations now spanning the hori- zon of your young life. Enough, my gentle girl; but hope not for too much; as many a sun, whose rising promised a cloudless setting, has been obscured even at its zenith.” Never did a mirror reflect two more different faces than was at that moment imaged upon its smooth sur- face; for Beatrice the stately and the stoical, with intensely dark and lus- trous eyes, stood the personation of some sculptured deity, while the azure hue of Arria’s lambent orbs, spoke in their summer days, radiance of ideal dreams, such as comes to none but once in this sad life. The expres- sion of her sweet face was of that peculiar cast, which persuades the beholder that an angel had stooped from paradise, and whispered thoughts of Heaven unheard by other ears. This with the poetry of thought en- circling her brow as a gemmed tiara that of queens, constituted that fair bride the picture of some happy child, reveling mid sunlight and flowers. Ah, dear Arria persued Beatrice; “stern and ascetic as the world terms me, Love, that all of happiness and misery of a woman's life, once filled my soul with as much ecstacy as it now thrills thine; and lifted my heart as far above the harsh realities of this world, as the stars are above its dust trodden paths. I can look back to an era in my own bleak life, when like thee I was arrayed to act a simi- lar part in a similar scene; but while raising the magic beaker to my lips, it was struck by a potent hand and fell in shattered ruins at my very feet. Just at the moment of realizing the hoarded hopes of years, the Senate issued a decree prohibiting my ºnion with one it deemed inferior to me in rank; and having torn from my arms the only man I ever loved, left my lorn heart to wither from that fatal hour. But revenge is sweet; and she who planned and plotted my ruin, I am but enduring life to see die as she deserves 1’’ Alas, poor Beatrice! Though thy dark hair like a sable plume, was still glossy and profuse ; and thy queenly brow unfurrowed as Parian marble, yet that calm repose of manner, and habitual tendency to reflection ; spoke of a rose which had been touched by frost in its early bloom, and a current deep-bedded and strong-frozen too soon at its sunny source. But the ancient hall was superbly filled with the wealth and nobility of Rome; for fair women and gallant men had congregated to witness the nuptials of Cecina and the lovely Arria; and all hearts were glad, and gay, as the marriage bells pealed to the very stars. In the morning of that bright day, according to custom, the auspices of Juno had been duly con- sulted ; and the chosen sheep offered in sacrifice to the gods. Then all was in readiness for the ceremony. The pointed spear had already divided the abundent hair of the radiant bride, ARRIA. , () 39 and its glossy braids twined with rarest flowers, drooped gracefully upon her full white neck. The flame- colored veil swept in fleecy folds to her tiny feet, on which were dainty sandals strapped and laced with crim- son cords. Cecina, with his atten- dants on either side then approached; and after binding her long white robe with a girdle made of scarlet wool, (called, modus Herculeus,) lead her proudly forth to the altar's side. After their vows had been taken, the musicians sang the nuptial song; when after a grand entertainment, the bride made the usual consecration of all her early playthings to Venus, and the guests dispersed with appro- priate ceremony. × sk >is >}; >k >{< One year of happiness flew swiftly away; giving to the blest pair a fore- taste of that celestial place, they hoped to enter fully upon through the medi- ation of their favorite gods. Sacri- fices were again offered in the temple of Juno ; as every other indication manifested some new event at the house of the delighted Consul. The faint wail of a new born life had touch- ed the master chordin his high proud heart; and again the bridal hall flash- ed with a thousand lights, while the beautiful and brave congregated, who in their tunics and togas full white and flowing met to celebrate the occasion. But alas! How often our giddy feet dance upon the crater of a burning Etna, which the eye per- ceives not, and whose deep caverned thunders the ear hears not ; and how like inebriated revelers we sit down to life's banquet; resolved to quaff the poison and believe it nectar. While at midnight that gay assem- bly feasted, sung and rejoiced, their festivities were suddenly arrested, as if hushed by some terrific shock, im parted by the low mutterings and convulsive throes of subterranian fires. Shriek after shriek shook the startled air, rising like cries from a flaming ship ; or yells from those who flee volcanos when they rain down fire. Each blade in that grand old hall from its scabbard flew, as rushing to the street the astonished guests be. held the maddened multitude, crowd- ing in confused masses toward the mart, where legalzied murder held its desperate reign. The array of torches and head-long rush of desper- ate men, declared no event of com- mon hue to be in agitation; but none dreamed that blood from royal veins was to stain the shrine of human crime. The last of the three hundred knights and thirty-five Senators had been seized as a conspirator; who with the Empress Messalina, and Silius, whom she had publicly espoused, was then lead forth to pay the forfeit of their enormous offences. All Rome had been simultaneously aroused to a full sense of its impend- ing danger; and calling imperatively upon the name of Poetus, demanded of him protection from, and resistance to the fury of an enraged tyrant. Onward the eager populace pre- pared to the place of execution, where amid flaring lights, excited voices, and cries of dying agony, the scene closed, and the curtain fell upon one of the bloodiest dramas, ever chron- icled in the catalogue of historical eventS. Days succeeded to that fearful tragedy; and the gloom of the royal palace gave evidence that the con- 40 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. * trolling spirit of a high authority had ceased its fearful reign; as also, that some unnatural crime of great mag- nitude had been madly conceived and desperately executed. The scroll of the Emperor's sims was well migh filled, and the measure of his iniquities almost running over ; but with renew- ed force they were destined to flow back in streams of molten lead, upon his own guilty head and purjured heart. For a brief season he denied his presence to all men; and thus self- immured, remorse with its scorpion sting and fang of fire; struck down its venomed roots to the very core of his festering soul. Neither his wealth, power, or the beautiful embel- lishments he had added to Rome, brought the desired ease; for like a lost spirit in regions of everlasting might, he tossed upon his couch of self made misery. At length he was induced to espouse his miece Agripina—widow of his brother Germanicus, and by whom he was eventually poisoned to clear the throne for her son Nero. Prev- ious to his violent death however, he was doomed to witness one more national rupture; and as the Empire was again stired with cries of oppress- ion, outrage and wrong, he felt that the hushed earthquake of human passions was about to burst into terrific füry, then ready to engulf, cover, and destroy him. Tiberty lifted her voice from every vale, and vengeance yelled from the hill tops to the reiterating waves of the sea; re- bounding from the Appenines to the Alps. The infuriated populace had risen in its majesty against abused power, which had crushed out the last right human or divine, to which man was legitimately born. But the lash of relentless rule will at last arouse the most submissive, and render desperate the most prudent and forbearing. Neath its severity, nature cannot always writhein silence; and when once incited to rebellion, the tempest is not, more reckless of its victims. Oppressed almost to annihilation, the vigor of human courage had waxed weak; and the chivalry of her public spirit died almost out. But the valor of a few remaining men of influence kindled for a brief season, which like a sudden eruption of old Vesuvius, shook the Empire from its centre to its bounds, yet meteoric as the flash of falling stars, it vanished and was lost forever. This rebellion aroused Claudius from his stupor; and having rallied his “Legions,” defeated and drove back the enemy beyond the environs of the city. Cecina Poetus, one of the most dauntless leaders of the rebellion, finding himself deserted by his troops, attempted to escape into Dalmatia; but being there ap- prehended, was captured and taken back in a ship to Rome. Arria, with her infant son had also fled to the former place; and there being denied the privilege of returning in the same vessel with her husband; hired a fish- erman's bark, when down the gulf of Venice, and through the Mediterani- an sea, she kept pace with that charm- ed ship in its stormy course. Back they bore him in triumph to imperial Rome; where in the confines of a gloomy dungeon, he was fettered down, without one ray of light by which to count the links that bound his manly limbs. After weary months [Concluded on 52d Page.] LITERARY, 4 I the Misan. i Y LE FERVE. Lean as a hungry hound, he sits at mid- night - Counting coin by coin; gloating upon his Hidden wealth, as half-starved wolves upon - Their slaughtered prey. Shivering with cold, As through his tattered rags the bleak winds - Creep, the chilly currents in his shrunken Weins freeze at the fount C f life. Upon his withered face, cadaverous As gnomes by midnight seen, a ghastly lamp Reflects its rays, dim and indistinct, as Shadows filling charnel vaults. Before his glaring eyes—deep set and faded As a tarnished gem, the golden God Is spread; while he, all reckless of the storm Or hunger-fiend, chuckles in brutal triumph At his worshipped shrine. Then to his narrow couch of dirty straw, He drags his loathsome limbs; fast hold- ing in IIis brawny clutch, the key that locks his yellow idols up. No wife is there to pillow His cold head, nor clasp of infant arms a Welcome speaks; but on his barren bed, Desolate as a mountain crag, he lays Him trembling down. - No moonlight visions of remembered loves— No starlight thoughts upon his darkness broke— - No rainbow memories such as woman Only brings, flashed through the gloom Encircling his lost soul. If greed of gain possessing human hearts, Kills, crushes and subdues those white- winged Dreams, which nestle down like angels in man's Vol. 1.-No. 1.-F d Breast, O, what is life thus spent? o” what beyond The grave is such regained ? I’d rather eat a scanty crust with gener- Otis se Mind enjoyed, than viands Of him, whose thoughts to gold, from Sun to sun Are everlasting chained. surfeit on the WEST PoinT, GA. —----— — sº e-Q- e º ––– . The Year 1860. WHEN we look abroad, the land into the surrounding country, around the family circle, at the table, in the church, amidst the throng, at the ju- dicial bar, in the pulpit—every place where man frequents, we see a change. New faces have taken the place of tha old and familiar ones. Seats that have long been filled, but never can be again, are standing vacant, while a chain of memories with both sad and pleasing emotions crowds itself upon the mind. There are the two “old arm chairs” whose occupants once sat, and, by their benignant smile, or half reproving glance, kept the fire- side in holy joy, mental improvnent, or pleasant pastime. The eldest bro- ther or sister that presided at the ta- ble has left the circle to engage in the absorbing pursuits of life, or to rest in the confines of the tomb. That young and blushing wife and mother that but a few years ago, in obedience to the command of God, took refuge under the arm of a devoted husband, has since the ushering in of 1859 gone to the land of shades; and perhaps so soon another wife has taken her place. It is not so with the mother. We lose a wife or hus- band, and soon their vacancy is fiilled by another. But the loss of father 42 IIYGIENIC AND I,ITERARY MAGAZINE. 'or mother is irreparable. The son or daughter may adopt filial relations, but the depth of this feeling cannot be fathomed; the filial heart has lost, and forever lost, its parental chord. Young man young lady' you have been spared to see this year com- mence. Bright and cheering are the prospects presented to you. But re- member the same were presented last year to those who have gone. The dazzling sum of prosperity has risen in your sphere of action and pursues his way to the meridian, but ere he reaches that point you may be called to give account of your stewardship. Before the year of 1860 closes many thousands will be called to that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns. And for fear you may be one of that mumber you should change your mode of living and adopt the following pre- amble and resolutions: Whereas, in order for man to enter the kingdom of eternal Glory, it is necessary for him to have an intimate knowledge of God and himself, and to have this knowledge it is necessary for him to live in close communion with God every hour; Therefore Resolved, 1st. That from this day I will approach him, humbly on my knees, three times every day, fervent- ly seeking his blessings and aid, and as many more times as my engage- ments will permit. 2nd. That I will daily peruse dili- gently his word in order to find out the fullest extent of my duty, and commit to memory such parts as I think shall be of benefit to me and others. 3rd. That I will walk humbly, giv- ing offense to none; love mercy, show- ing kindness to all; speak kindly to all, of all, and for all, that my en- emies may have no opportunity of accusing me with slander. 4th. That I will do all in my pow- er for the glory of God; such as at- tending the ordinances of the Church, letting my light shine, being prompt to every engagement, speaking to others about the salvation of their Souls, using my influence in promo- ting the cause of religion. 5th. That I will to the best of my ability keep my body under subjec- tion, turning away from all objects of lust, suppressing all immoral con- versation that may arise in my pres- ence or leave the company; prevent as far as possible all unholy thoughts. 6th. That I will keep out of debt. 7th. That I solemnly dedicate my- self, my all to God, and bequeath to Him and His objects one-tenth of all my proceeds, and make as judicious a distribution of the same as if it were my own. ($) Good HUMoR.—Those who go to the breakfast, dinner, or tea-table with smiling faces, cheerful hearts kind, good words to all, are prepared to relish every thing set before them. Nothing seems wrong. While those of a sour, morose temper, sluggish feelings, a stupid drowsiness’ pervad- ing the entire system, have no appe- tite, and hence, eat but little. Or if they eat much, it is forced upon the stomach, which is incapable of digest- ing it; and the result, is a feverish headache, nervousness, and general debility which feed rather than cure the crabbed spirit. We therefore suggest to all, to be of mild tempers, cheerful spirits, especially at table, if you wish to improve your health. ($) - - - - - -------- ~ *-a --~" ~ * v- ~~~~ * LITERARY. ALL GOODINESS IS NOT LOST I}Y FINI, EY JOHNSON. (), give not way to dark despair, Within this world of ours; For still some sweetness is contained In life's fair blooming flowers; And though upon the sea of doubt, You may be tempest tost; Believe that in the heart of man All goodness is not lost; For though his heart may be depraved, And deeply prone to sin; Yet there's a light which flickereth, And brightly burns within. The stones when dug from out the mine Seem rough unto our view ; But veins of purest metals are The centre running through : And there's no rock to which some plant Will not for succor cling; No peak so high, but some lone bird Will round it soar and sing; Then, oh, believe when on the sea Of doubt you may be tost; That man has still an angel ride, And goodness is not lost. We know that rough and rugged souls Beneath their rudeness hide Much that is pure and beautiful— They have a better ride;— And there is in the heart of all A faithful sounding chord; That may be struck unknown to us By some sweet loving word; Then let us give that loving word, And give it without cost; Thus proving that the heart of man To goodness is not lost. 'Tis true that in the hearts of some The light that burns within, Is hid by dark and sombre clouds Of ignorance and sin; They grope about in gloomy night Northink of coming death; Life is to them a fleeting dream A passing of the breath; Yet still some kind and gentle hand With very little cost; t May show the world that in their hearts All goodness is not lost. God knows that course and mean enough Some human natures are ; Yet how can we their angel ride See, standing off afar; Then let us speak in tones of love And lend a helping hand; For kindly deeds and gentle words No nature can withstand ; And when upon the sea of doubt We may be tempest tost. ——sº C-º-0 A SIPAINISH LEGEND. B Y R Y M M O N J () N E S . Evadere ad auras, Hoc opus, hoc labor-est.—VIRGIL. But to return and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies. DRYDEN. Don Alphonso had always been a sad dog, and had much oftener bu- sied his recording angel with the catalogue of his sins than of his vir tues. His ancestral acres he had bet and lost at faro; and the Cuban plan- ations and negroes he had inherited from his Creole mother had equally attested the uncertainties of fortune; for his stakes had been high, and his cards low, and no skill could with- stand the hands he had for some time held. One night before sitting himself down to the table for what he feared might be the last time, he vowed to the Virgin a half-a-dozen wax can- dles, would she favor him with strong- er hands and better fortune—telling her plainly that without some such outside pressure, he would be com pelled to forego for the future his fa- vorite amusement, 44 MAGAZINE, IIYGIRNIC AND LITERARY And no doubt Our Lady would readily have undertaken the Don's case, only her assistance had been pre- viously bespoke by his still more des- perate antagonist—a priest who had just cut his father's throat to ob- tain his evening’s stakes, and who had moreover promised her a dozen candles. So the poor Don who had bet his bottom doubloon, on the re- sult of the game, of course lost—an event of not much consequence in itself. But in the bitterness of his heart he squirted a mouthful of to- bacco juice full in the face of a statue of Our Lady—the greatest of all crimes ' And while the Priest his luckier antagonist, was making good his escape to a neighboring Cathedral (to save himself from hanging for the murder of his father,) the poor Don was seized for his impiety, and forth- with delivered into the clutches of the Inquisition. Whatever may have been their other failings, it is well known that the Holy Inquisitorial Fathers gen- erally gave the devil his due, and so the l)on was sentenced to be buried without putting him to the previous trouble of dying. The Priest mean- while, by his zeal in confessing the fair penitents, who now more than ever flocked to his confessional cell, had regained his former reputation for sanctity, and him the Inquisition, who liked poetic justice, appointed to perform his burial ceremony and solemn consecration to the devil. But the two confreres on the night which was to be the Don's last, wisely opined that not much ceremony was needed in order that he should reach the place of his destination, and in this the gentle reader will soon see the friends were quite right.' So in place of the anathamas from prayer book or missal the wicked couple oc- cupied themselves with a pack of cards in studying the Book of Kings, safely judging that the Don would be sped on his downward journey as much in this way as in any other. All night they shuffled and dealt at this amusement on the top of the Don's coffin, until the daylight drift- ing feebly into the dungeon reminded them that the most unpleasant part of the nights work was yet to be per- formed. The coffin was now lowered into a grave which had been previ- ously dug. The Don descends with a shrug of his shoulders, the Priest wishes him a prosperous journey, and he soon sinks into a gentle slumber to the sound of the falling clods. “So this is the grave, is it? the Don at length finds himself saying, on waking up. Hereupon he cursed the smell of his coffin, and exerting all of his strength prized open the lid. But he soon finds that he is mista- ken as to his being in the grave, and what troubles him still more, that it is not the paint of his new coffin that disturbs his olfactories, but a dense smell of sulphur ! It was too much He had all along hoped that at most he would only find himself in purga- tory, but the smell frightfully con- flicted with this theory ! Determined not to believe until fur- ther proof, and not caring to be seen in the coffin which his Inquisitional friends had given him, and which in- deed was not of rosewood, he hastily extracted himself, and passed on through what appears to be an m mense charnel house. Groping his way, he at length finds himself i. LITERARY 45 corridor whose ends were lost in the distance, and which opened on every side into vast cathedral-like halls. The grotesque and gloomy character of the architecture did not tend to re-assume him. It was Grecian, Arabesque, Egyptian, and yet neither—apparently that of some pile built remote ages ago, in the night of time. Figures half monster half demon, whether living or only sculptured on the wall, he knew not, appeared through the heavy, lurid atmosphere of the place, to writhe in and out, like imprisoned genii, or enchanted sentinels. High up above the black marble walls, the Don fancies he sees a vaulted ceiling, frescoed with pictures of the Saints and Angels, and the walls and battlements of a city in the dim dis- tance. But he soon finds that he is again mistaken; there is no ceiling, and he crosses himself to think that the Dim City is a reality and no picture! Vast as this endless labarynth of corridors and halls appeared to be, it seemed none too large for its many occupants. In one apartment were honest looking street-laborers employ- ed in paving the establishment with good intentions. Another was filled with “swells,” criticizing through their eye-glasses, the interior arrange- ments and swearing that the “thing” was a splendid failure. There were some whose punishment appeared to have commenced already—dandies who were promenading in unfashion- able shrouds—gallants framing loving speeches to their own wives, and often- erthan anything else, reformed drunk- ards who were strong advocates of •old water. At a door-way which appeared to lead downward, an en- |terprising burglar was busy with a bunch of “nightingales.” Shivering, but not as may be imagin. ed with cold, the Don approaches a window, and peers intently through its blood-stained panes. He can see noth- ing distinctly. One figure alone can he make out, who seemed engaged in opening and shutting, with an enthu- siasm in which the Don did not share, what appeared to be the doors of large furnaces. The Don follows ev- ery movement of his with a sort of fascination. His soul is dying within him. . Something must be done, but what? Long he stood there with his nose flattened against the window- pane, gazing out upon the seething, surging ocean of flame—vainly ask- ing himself the question, but getting no answer. Suddenly he discovers that the figure he had been watching through the window is now standing by him, and regarding him with an air which greatly increases his em- barrassment. “A little warm,” at length faintly murmurs the Don, by way of break- ing the painful silence. But his new acquaintance reserves his opinion, and motioning to the Don to follow him, moves towards a door-way at the head of a stair-case. “You don’t think we need go any lower,” says the Don imploringly, as his guide commences unlocking the door. “Can’t we compromise it in someway 2 Is there no plan upon which we can arrange it without re- sorting to extreme measures " But his companion's manner seems to in- timate that no such arrangement is customary in such cases, and that the day of compromises is past. “Stay,” continued the Don, mak. 46 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. ing a last effort as they reached the head of the staircase—I shall have at some day, an immense coal mine. All of this shall be yours. I have invent- ed a new furnace. You shall have the patent. Will you listen now, to reason 2° But the Don's taciturn companion has already re-locked the door be- hind them—which has prevented his answer, if he made any, from being heard. Whether he accepted the I)on's proposal in reference to the coal mine and furnaces, and merely continued on his way for the purpose of completing the arrangement, or from some other motive, has not as yet been ascertained. Nor indeed have any telegraphic dispatches been received in reference to his subse- quent movements. Some fears are ascertained by many as to his safety, but other more sanguine friends con- fidently predict his re-appearance in August, as his constitution from ear- ly excess will not admit of his re- maining in a warm climate during that season. . *...* HoME.—There are few words in the English language that have great- er opposition of meaning than the word “home.” When it is rendered pleasant by the associations that gath- er in its sacred fold, it is a paradise to all its members, and whereever they roam they long to return; but if con- fusion, bickerings and strife hold their sway it is converted into a Pandemo- nium. If sisters render it attractive by their winning smiles, loving caress- es, gentle and tender sympathies, bro- thers will haste from their places of employment to bury their wearyings and heart-troubles beneath its love- turn at the close of day. mantle; if wives make it the sphere for exhibiting their attractions, if they make their kingdom governed by love, husbands would find more re- creation in its calm but lovely retreat, than in the noisy din of the Saloon. If brothers would pay more attention to the little foibles (you may call them) of the female portion, sisters would oftener hall with cheering Smiles and affectionate kisses the re- If husbands would leave their heavy frowns and angry words at the store or work- shop he would oftener meet a hearty welcome at the door, would always have smiling faces to look upon and a gentle embracing arm to encircle his waste. Happiness would be com- plete. ($) -—:O:- — HoPE—Hope is the last thing of our earthly nature, that dies in man, and the first of a heavenly na- ture that revives. When adversity lowers the standard of human ambi- tion, hope is the first that comes to its relief. Despair often darkens the vision; difficulties often impede the progress, but hope soon fastens its anchor deep in the soil of unseen pros- pects, and re-animates the drooped spirits. 4. The soul is a magnificent vessel, tossed upon the sea of life by tempes- tuous perplexities, cabled to the fer- tile soil of Eden by its powerful an- chor, Hope, while its mighty capstan, the great wheel of time, slowly revol- ving, gradually winds up the mortal coil, till, beatified by the blissful scenes, she reefs her sails and calmly rests in the bay of etermal peace. ($) LITERARY. £üurational BY SILVER UNDER this head we propose to notice briefly some of the advanta- ges the children of the South and West have over any other race, and leave the artist in the raw material to account for the backward state of education. Speaking from observa- tion, we would notice not merely the broad good humor of these children, but, connected therewith, the close approach of their general deportment and treatment of each other; to the high bearing of studied propriety in maturer years. There is in the sec- ond place a freedom from awkward bashfulness on the One hand, and hard- faced officiousness on the other. Points which every experienced edu- cator knows must exist either natu- rally, or by discipline, before real progress can be effected. But the most important advantage remains to be noticed. It is a singular fact that Northern Languages, the world over, are mellifluous, soft and agreeable in sound. What is true of Langua- ges the world over is true of dialects in the United States and Canada. The Canadian or Yankee is necessarily as deficient in rich cadence, true accen- tuation, and good pronunciation as is the “rich Irish brogue; ” and com- pared with the intonation of the South and West is deficient in har- mony, as the extreme Northern Rus- sian is to the racy sweetness of the Castilian Tongue. MENTAL soil. Brpartment, A.G.E. It is a remarkable fact, that the ac- curacy in the use of the English lan- guage, which is acquired at all by a child of any other nation, is acquired by painful study and mortifying imita- tion, is the free gift of nature to the child of the South and west. With these advantages to start on a grave inquiry arises. How comes it, that our good-natured innocency of intel- lectual thrift may, with some truth, be thrown up to us compounded with our Northern neighbors ? We ignore the excuses that Legis- latures have not been sufficiently lib- eral; that a sensual utilitarianism has burned out the real object of human existence, and that the people of the South, and West do not duly appre- ciate the social position of their chil- dren. These excuses prove too much and leave the point yet in darkness as to the correct and rational, as well as the systematic mode of educating our rising race. This is a question which is equaled only by the value of the soul, and to which we invite the at- tention of every lover of his race and country. : (): The Editor of the “Illinois Teach- er,” upon introducing the Bible in schools, says: But there is a ground om which the educational function of the State may recognize the Bible as worthy a place in our schools, and even require the +8 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY M A GAZINE. use of selected portions of it as a text- book. We say selected portions, for we presume none who advocate its use would urge the perusal of the Levitical law, the genealogies of the Chronicles, or Paul’s most abstruse arguments addressed to the Romans. But it is a fact which the State can not overlook that this book is one which stands in a peculiar relation to the social and intellectual life of the community; that it is the one book which gives tone to the morality of society; that it is a classic book in the highest sense of the term ; its language is more familiar to the peo- ple than that of any other book, and its history, poetry, and ethics, are proper subjects of study and thorough knowledge. . —a- - - -ºr---ºr-º- The Atlanta Female Institute. This Institution is now in success- ful operation in the Basement of the First Presbyterian Church on Mariet- tà street. The Principal, Professor J. R. MAyson, was raised on the Chattahoochee river about eight miles from the City, graduated at Emory College, Oxford, Georgia, and has been a successful teacher for several years. Was late Professor in the La Grange Female College. It was through his efforts that the Institute was erected and the means for the building secured. The building is rapidly progressing and will be com- pleted some time next Summer, at which time the Professor will take his numerous family of sparkling eyes, rosy faces, ruby lips and warm hearts into his “hall of Science” to “rear the tender thought, to teach the young idea how to shoot.” - I had the pleasure of being present a few evenings since to witness his man uer of conducting. When introduced to the school I was very much grati- fied at the gentility of reception with, which I met. I give my hearty thanks for his Findness in unceremoniously calling upon me to address the young ladies at the close of his lecture. But as I never addressed a young lady in my life, it was absolutely preposterous that I should attempt to address at one time between 75 and 100 of the most fascinating daughters of Atlan- ta. The Assistants of MR. MAYSON are accomplished and highly intelli- gent teachers, very well acquainted with human mature and are prepared to counteract the growing evils so pertainant to the young. , It is scarcely possible for the citi- zens to take greater interest in this College than they have. All that re- mains now to be done is, to send in the daughters and wards, and they will come forth to, “be as corner stones, polished after the similitude of a palace.” —sº e - Q- e º – -- -— Book Notices. I have examined the Books present- ed me by MR. J. B. TALLMAN, Agent for E. H. Butler, Publisher Philadel- phia, and being well pleased with them, have adopted them in my school. We prefer Howe's Young Lady’s Reader on account of the variety and excellency of its selections, which make it interesting to the pupils. Its style and arrangement, not being so full of rules as to render it irksome— make it a pleasure instead of a task to peruse it. - We admire Coppie's Logic on ac- count of its conciseness. The ele- mentary principles are so condensed and the whole science so simplified that it may be well learned in a short time. . We heartily commend them to HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. 49 teachers generally. J. R. MAYSON, Principal Atlanta Female Institute. [THERE is no discount upon our old friend, Mitchel's Geography, while there is very great improvement in the Atlas as to the delineation of the Maps, designating plainly all the coun- tles, &c., &c. ED.] —sº e - ©--e ºs-—— Learning to Talk. There is a very great and very common error committed by parents ºnd friends of children when the children begin to “lisp the first ac- cents.” Children very naturally imi- tate in both word and action every thing they hear and see. Instead of the parents correcting the improper words as they fall from the child’s lips, they laugh at them and really en- courage it by using the same words in a more improper manner than it does and by speaking in a gibberish style words the child never heard until it pronounces those words in the same way. There is, it is true, some pleas- ure in hearing a little two-year-old jabber around the knee an almost un- intelligible language, and watch with pleasing anxiety the earnest efforts of the dear little soul to make himself plainly understood. But while we love it in one of this age we abhor it in one of maturer years. What can be more detestable than the gibberish, thick-tongued language of a lubberly looking urchin six or eight years old? We do not have reference to those who are born with a deformity of mouth, such as is commonly called thick-tongue, or, tongue-tied, (but even they can be taught to call words distinctly and properly with a little pains-taking) but we refer to those VOL. 1.-No. 1.-G. who would have talked as intelligibly as any if their parents had never used a word in their hearing except what was a plain, distinct and intelligible character. * How often we hear the expressions, “I dwine wid you” for, “I am going with you.” “Dim me some toffy” for, “give me some coffee,” “thtay wid me, titter,” for, “stay with me, sister,” “tum, leth doe down town” for, “come, let us go down town,” . and thousands of others, all arising from the negligence of parents. Now, the only safe remedy is, when parents hear their children use such express- ions (and they are not going to hear them unless they or some one else first use them before the child) stop them at once, find out, as best they can, what the child means and speak the words in a clear distinct manner, and make the child repeat them in the same way until it speaks them prop- erly. In doing this there will arise fre- quently very great dificulties. The parent will find it difficult to remove the lisping sound of th where the let- ter S is used, and most particularly at the beginning of a word. This can be overcome only by patience and constant application. Thus; if you wish the child to use the word stay it will be sure to say thūay, you must then require the child to usethe let- ter S after you, prolonging the hiss- ing sound till that lisping has ceased, which will be the case in a few min- utes; after it has ceased to say eth. for S, then give it the hissing sound of S alone without calling the letter at all. You will probably do this but once before the child will have called it as distinctly as you can ; you 50 EDUCATIONAL. have then to repeat the hissing sound and follow it immediately with the remainder of the word, thus; S-s-s-s- tay. Do this the first time, the second time shorten the hissing to S-s-tay, then pronounce it properly Stay, and if he is not cured of that error, why—I—why—what—well, just bring him to me and I’ll cure him myself. *. When you have accomplished this task you will have comparatively no trouble in the usage of all words com- mencing with an S or s's in them. You can exercise the pupil upon a host of words requiring the hissing sound. But as I told you in the first place you will have a great deal of trouble. The next thing is, take any other word which you may hear him use or her, as the case may be, and treat it in the same way until you have re- moved the difficulty. As our space will not allow us to give a great variety of words and the strictures upon them, and as it is only necessary to get a proper sound of the letters, we will give an illustra- tion upon a few of the words and let the teacher supply the others. We take next the word coffee which embraces all that class of words containing the sound of K, or C, hard. As it is more difficult to get the pu- pil to groove his tongue in such a manner that each edge will touch his upper jaw teeth so as to form a cir- cular passage between it and the roof of the mouth than it is to give the sound, we will illustrate by sound. If, however, the pupil can be made to put the root of the tongue up against the roof of the mouth and press it there while he tries to blow with his mouth wide open only letting his tongue down far enough to permit the air to pass he will make without any difficulty the sound of K which is the one required. While the tongue is in this position the end of it must be touching the gums of the lower front teeth. But provided this pro- cess should fail, we will give the oth- er, and with both combined, our word for, it success is sure. In the first place require the child to pronounce the word “back” two or three times dwelling on the sound of K at the close of the word, after which shorten the sound to its prop- er length. Then add the syllable “er” to the word making it “back-er,” but be careful to put a heavy stress upon’ the K in the last syllable, pronounc- ing it back-ker. When the child has successfully pronounced the word in two syllables, then take the last, “ker,” by itself and have it use the word till is has sufficiently overcome the difficulty. You may then submit any word in the English Language commencing with K or C hard. Now you have comparatively sup- pressed a very great evil. But this very great evil could be remedied very easily if the proper steps were taken. Let me implore you, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and the rest of mankind generally, in the name of conscience, in the name of the coun- try, yes, in the name of all the teach- ers, when you speak to a child, though it be an infant upon your knee, if you have the remotest idea that it can dis- tinguish the sound of the human voice from any other sound, if you desire it to understand you (and you ought not to speak if you think it cannot) and wish it to reply in good language IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. 51 fºr and improve daily, speak to it in plain distinct words, and never allow it upon any occasion to use unmeaning sounds in a murdered gibberish style. I appeal to you in the name of con- science because you are committing a sin against the Almighty by depriving children of a knowledge of the science of their mother tongue. I appeal in the name of the country because the brevity of life is so great that every one should be prepared for its awful responsibilities as soon as possible, and every impediment laid in youth is that much dead weight in manhood. I appeal in the name of all the teach- ers, because you are preparing an in- strument to test the extreme patience of some teacher in his 'arduous toils and perplexing efforts to undo what you have taken great care to do be- fore he can have any pleasure in placing your child where he ought to stand, and before you can have the pleasure of knowing that he is im- proving. I hope my readers will not think me an old croaker for if they had the battle to fight that we have from Monday morning to Friday night they would quickly cry for quarters. We will try to keep up the subject for several numbers if we are com- petent. We are always getting into some difficulty and have to crawl out, beg out or—back out. The marriage of Garibaldi with Mademoiselle Raimondi, which has been reported with some charmingly romantic traits, is now contradicted —or what is equally unfortunate, the yound lady is married to another Garibaldi, the son of the famous Gen- eral. The old hero was off with a sporting party shooting wild goats at the time that his marriage was said to have taken place. The following lines are most respectfully dedicated to Professor J. R. Mayson, by the author : Education better than Gold. J3 Y J. A. STE WART". Commercial Atlanta—the growth of a day, Impatiently grasping and brooks no delay, Right onward and upward ye wing your swift flight, Nor halt to consider the wrong or the right : But onward—press onward–courageous' and bold, Is heard in thy scramble for riches and gold. Short sighted Atlanta—why grasp ye at wealth, Neglecting the blessings of wisdom and health. No lasting enjoyment from gold can ye find, Except in developing treasures of mind. Rear high your bright temples of knowledge and light, Let wisdom's calm beacon illumine the night, Let thought’s purests visions of justice and truth, Be deeply impressed on the minds of our youth. Commercial Atlanta so distant and cold, Allured by the phantom of riches and gold, Neglecting your children their minds to im– prove, Regardless of duty affection and love. Bold spirits awakening are now in the van, Erecting a college.—success to their plan Success to the building ! success to the school Untrammeled by party or sectarian rule. In THEE will our daughters rich treasures unfold More precious than rubies and richer than gold ! LovE AT FIRST SIGHT.-All the poets who have written on love, have admitted as a fact which is apt to be disputed by prosaic natures—I mean the possibility of instantly falling in love at the first sight of a charming woman. If the poets are good authority, a man may fall in love as suddenly as he may lose his balance and fall from a precipice, or from the steeple of a meeting-house. 5 2 IEDUCATION AI. [Concluded from 40th Paſſe.] to the captive, his delicate offspring died ; and its devoted mother, rather than dwell in halls of light and luxu- ry, preferred the gloomy cell where the father of her angel boy pined in- clanking chains. For what said she, “have I to love but him 2 to whom from woman’s dawn I have bowed mc down, over- mastered by my own consent—a will- ing votary—a self-made captive— hugging close the silken bonds like a circean spell around me thrown. Then why should I resign my claims to that, which is my own or shut forever out the only presence, in which my being wakes to joy.” While thus innmured, the final stroke was added to these bereaved and hapless parents; by the Despot's decreeing the prisoner should die by his own hand. Ibut even then, ling- cring upon the very verge of mortality as they both were, with that great tact, delicacy of feeling and discrim- inating judgment, she would attempt to divert him from the terrible antic- ipations impossible to escape; by pointing him to Hope, that heaven- born planet, and immortal star which ever gleams upon woman’s heart, in the night of its earthly sojourn. Upon that dreaded morn, day dawned at last; when in the presence of the hushed multitude that brave man was to die by coercive suicide. Accompanied by his daring and beautiful wife, he was borne to the center of that bloody arena, in which the life drops of many a noble heart had been poured out. Arria, pale as sculptured marble leaned upon her husband’s trembling arm; yet firm and unfaultering as a rock in the bosom of the sea. O ! what a sublime study for a Phideas, was that heroic wife, as with a strong grasp she held the blade, Claudius had cruelly appoin- . ted her to present to Poetus. All being ready, the harsh signal pealed from a distant tower; and she finding him still irresolute, quick as a flash from overcharged clouds, pluck- ed back the poniard from his tremb- ling hand, and plunging it to her own proud heart said, “Cecina, love, it does not hurt.” Recovering the fatal blade as she sunk at his feet he buried it recking with her precious blood in his bosom, and thus cut the last link holding him to a world of crime ! WEST POINT, GA. ——sº e-Q- © Cº-- ---— Dictionary of Love. ABSENCE.-Absence is considered the great bane and torment of lovers. Every lover writes to his loved that, when absent from her, the time lags on leaden wings; minutes are tor- tured into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and years into in- terminable ages. Existence has be- come a burden, and he is kept alive only by the sweet hope of meeting the dear object again. ATTACK.—A brisk attack is a favor- ite phrase of the experienced at the business of love making. They have probably taken a hint from the play, “Faint Heart never won Fair Lady.” Machiavel gives the lover a cue, in his lesson to politicians: “It is bet- ter,” says he, “to sin through too much vivacity than too much timidity. Fortune is a woman, and requires a brisk attack. She grants victory of. tener to rash, impetuous characters than to the cold and circumspect,” CoNSTANCY.—There is scarcely a virtue in the whole code of love which is more admirable than constancy and conjugal devotion. Without this, all IIYGIENIC AND LITERAIRY MAGAZINE. 53 * the other charms, even female loveli- ness, seem worthless. Whatever beau- ty she may possess, even tho’ she may have the tinge of Hebe on her checks, and the grace of an Ariel in her steps, will go for nought, if she is destitute of this chief excellence of a lovely woman. CoQUETTE--A coquette has been defined a woman who wants to en- gage the men without engaging her- self. She is a composition of levity and vanity, whose chief aim is to be thought agreeable, handsome and amiable, whether she really is or not. A witty author compared such a woman to a fire-eater, who makes a show of handling, and even chewing live coals, without receiving any danger from the fire. She is always playing the part of love, without realizing its passion. HANDs.--—The hands are the ton- gues of timid lovers. Many a bash- ful swain, who could never find cour- age to open his mouth, has, by a gentle pressure of the hand, betrayed the secrets of his heart to the beloved object. When the hands of two such lovers are locked together, their hearts start into their fingers’ ends, and every finger is transformed into a tongue, which discourses most eloquently of the bliss which is burn- ing within. No.—For a little word, this is a tremendous one in love. When it is really a negative, it is a funeral bell rung with one ruthless blow, over the departure of the last hope in a lover's breast. But no often means yes in love. A refusal may so be spoken as to amount to a promise. A chastise- ment may be so administered as to be really a caress. Popping THE QUESTION.—This is a terrible business to a timid lover— a thing which he dreads more than a tooth-pulling. A long time after he knows that his fair one has made up her mind to have him, and after she has shown him that her soul, if not “in arms,” is eager for the wedding still he approaches the final business of formally popping the question, covered with blushes and trembling with fear. *— —-- — sº a -º- e º – - --. -- Jº Slavery, in the Dutch East Indies, came to an end on the 20th of September, 1859. The group of islands composing the Asiatic depen- dency of the Netherlands, consists of Java, Sumatra, Borneo, and other islands, comprising an area of over 500,000 square miles, with a popula- tion of seventeen millions. To a con- siderable extent, the sovereignty of the Netherlands in those islands is little more than nominal. Many provinces and districts are governeil by petty chiefs who are independent of any central authority. Other Powers also have footing in some of the islands. The act of abolition gave compensation to the slave- holders, but it was not received in all cases. Some received it, and turned it over to the emancipated. The slavery that has existed in these islands was of a very modified character. emur-sº-ſº- GRAMMIAIR IN UTAH. We clip the following from The lIown- taineer, a smartly conducted sheet at Great Salt Lake City : 1. Three little words you often see, Are Articles—a, an and the, 2. A Noun’s the name of anything, As school or garden, hoop or swing. 3. Adjectives tell the kind of Noun, As great, small, pretly, white or brown 4. Instead of Nouns the Pronouns stand, IIer head, his face, your arm, my hand. 5. Verbs tell of something to be done— To read, count, laugh, jump, or run. How things are done the Adverbs tell, As slowly, quickly, ill or well. 7. Conjunctions join the words together: As men and women, wind or weather. 8. The Preposition stands before A Noun, as of or through a door. • The Interjection shows surprise, As, ah! how pretty—oh how wise. The whole are called nine parts of speech. Which reading, writing, speaking teach. 6. 9 54 I.DITORIAI,. - EDITORAT. IN appearing for the first time be: fore the public, I would follow the usual custom of prefacing my edito- rial career with many promises and predications, but as life is so uncertain, and human sight so dim, and “Com- ing events do not always cast their shadows before,” I regard it as deal- ing in uncertainties to go beyond the present. Suffice it to say we will do our best to make and keep the Maga- zine a first class periodical. And in our efforts to do this we hope our friends will give us a fair opportunity for a start, after which, if we have fallen short of our aim, we are wil- ling to bear their contumely. If combined talent, (such as our corps of contributors presents) su- perb material, perfect mechanical ex- ecution and diligent attention to the wants of the public, and immediate -----------------—----- application of remedies will please and satiate the cravings of a progres- sive race, then we can safely say without a boastiful spirit, THE HY- GIENIC and LITERARY MAGAZINE will prove a success. In assuming the duties of the Mag- azine we would not enter, at this time into a long editorial about any and every thing that could or might be said in a salutatory, but simply set forth the objects and expectations we have in view. The Editor of the Hygienic Department has already stated in his place what empirics and impostors may look for from that quarter. We intend to expose to the •uttermost all impositions of every character that are now being, and may hereafter be, practised upon com- munities. - In the Literary Department we expect to exercise great caution and all the tact we have. Our Journal will certainly contain a literary feast monthly, excluding all unpalatable. contributions that may present them- selves upon our table. We invite writers to avail themselves of the op- portunity now given to hold com- munion with the reading public, through a Southern Literary Journal. We call special attention to the Educational Department, to which the discussion of the important sub- jects referring to general education will have free intercourse. Anything containing information upon the va rious systems of education will be thankfully received. 4. We ask our readers to bear with us in the appearance of this number. The many unavoidable difficulties at- tending the progress at present have prevented our setting before them what we here desired to do. We place this not as a specimen, but only a ba- sis for the future. In point of exe- cution and arrangement there may be some objection, for which we desire the indulgence of our friends, and promise to give in future something decidedly more pleasant and agreea- ble. OUR ExCHANGEs.—We tender our sincere thanks to our Exchanges for their kindness in coming regularly to this Office while it has been nearly five months since we have mailed them any thing in return. As we have commenced operations again we will be punctual in the future, and as soon as room is afforded will open a review list to be continued till each one is noticed individually. ſ HYGIENIC AND IITERARY MAGAZINE. Unavoidable Difficulties. The causes which have delayed the presentissue are rather too numerous to mention. The fire that destroyed so many of our business houses in November last consumed the Office and material with which the Medical and Literary Weekly was published. We then changed the publishing to another office which was just being re-fitted; we were delayed beyond all expectation by the materials not ar- riving in time. Scarcity of hands in the office, and many other difficulties happening to the Magazine have kept us thus far behind what we should have been had we not been subjected to such inconveniences. But as We are now nearly under good headway we shall, after the March number, have each one out a little before, or, at least, by the first of the month. THE VIGNETTE. –In consequence of the continued inclement weather we have not been able to prepare the sketch. Our enterprising and ener- getic citizen, MR. Coluxinus HUGHES, is succeeding admirably, and will have it completed very soon. As soon as the engraver has finished it we shall give it its proper place. Many of our readers will readily re- cognize the scene. —sº e -º- e ºs- - - - GREAT excitement is now going on at Hunnicutt & Taylor’s, especially among the perfumery and fancy articles, ICerosene Oil and Lamps, and a few medicines. THERE is a little excitement at Grier & Ezzard's, where they are receiving new Spring and Summer Goods. By the way, if you wish to get a suit that will make you look better than you really are, just give them a call. - Jº The Prize Poem by Dr. A. Means, will appear in our second is- sue. Every body should read the Doctor’s vision of the Millennium. Though chained to earth by frail mor- tality, he "lifts his towering mind ſar above this sin-cursed earth, and takes a glorious view of the sanctified Saints, assembled in the City of God, with nothing to molest their eternal joys. The earth purified, the world redeemed, the heavens renewed, and myriads of holy beings shouting prai- ses to the Lamb. We forbear saying more at this time, and suggest to everybody to send in two dollars, that they may get the whole volume, resting sat- isfied that they will be well paid for their subscription by the Doc- tor’s Poem. —sº- e-º-- © º----------- WE take pleasure in calling the attention of the public to our adver- tisements, and doing so would just say to our dress-loving friends, bo- fore you buy any thing in the line of Jas. S. Martin, Jun., to call at his store on Marietta Street, and suit yourself to what you want. Don't forget the Three Dollar Hat. Mr. Martin has arrangements per- manently made whereby he can keep up uniform prices and be always ready to accommodate customers at home and from abroad. Should you conclude that he has nothing in his advertisement that you want, go immediately to his Store and you will find that he has not mentioned his entire stock of goods in the card, but that he has a “few more left.” Our lady friends (of whom we fancy we have a numberless multitude) Would do exceedingly well to call and take a glimpse of Miss Berry's 56 th- EDITORIAI,. extensive stock of splendid, most mag- mificent MILLENERY and DRESS Goods. Oli, the beautiful array of exquisite Bonnets that catch the eye in every direction—and of the latest, most approved Styles, which we are glad to see are a little larger. Besides, there are those superb, Spiral Spring, Picollominy Skeleton, Etruscan Ilace, Gossamer Indestructi- ble, Self-adjusting—There we were afraid we would forget its name. But just call and examine for your- self, and if it, as well as numerous other things she has, suits you, buy it and take it home, and We are sure you will find a name for it. At Lawshe's, you will find every variety of Jewelry to suit the tastes of all, from the humblest dame to the most fastidious belle. Watches, Clocks, fancy and plated Ware of all descriptions. Call and feast the eye if you dont purchase. TIII: Card of Cox, Hill & Co. will be found by reference to the adver- tising list. Every thing to invigorate the inner man is there always on hand or just receiving. —º-e ‘ Peº- JESSIE RANDOLPII.—It will be seen by a reference to our Literary De- partment, that this intellectual and highly accomplished writer is the au- thoress of a story entitled “Zella,” which took the 200 dollar prize of. fered by the Editors of the Medical and Literary Weekly. It commen- cos in this number, and will be con- tinued till completed. Quite a number of contributions are on file, and will have their places as soon as opportunity is afforded. Many of them are compositions of merit and will be quite interesting to our readers. We take pleasure in refering our friends to the list of contributors on the cover, who have promised to give something in almost every issue. Miss ANNIE IR. BLouxT.—This highly accomplished and talented young lady intends, as we have learn- ed, to publish, in connection with Carrie Bell Sinclair, a volume of her poems. The fame Miss Blount has acquired as a writer, under her own name, and that of “Jennie Wood- bine,” is of sufficient recommenda- tion to guarantee a rich treat to every one who may obtain the work. Weshall notice it more particularly when we receive it, as she has prom- ised to favor us with a copy. We have on file for our Magazine several Poems, which will appear in her vol- ll]]] G. A BEAUTIFUL SENTIMENT.-“We live in the midst of blessings till we, are utterly insensible of their great- ness, and of the source from whence they flow. We speak of our civili- zation, our arts, our freedom, our laws, and forget entirely how large a share is due to Christianity. Blot Christianity out of the pages of man’s history, and what would have been 2 what is civilization ? Christianity is mixed up with our being and our daily life; there is not a familiar ob- ject around us which does not wear a different aspect, because the light of Christian love is on it—mot a law which does not own its truth and gentleness to Christianity—not a custom which cannot be traced in all its holy, healthful parts to the gos- pel.” HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. 5 Aſ “CRUSH?” PARTY. “There is one thing in this fashion- mad age that I detest worse than any other. It is a dancing-party, or ‘crush,” as it is termed. How I was ever tempted to attend one, is my constant wonderment. I thought, when I received a card of invitation from my old friends, the Smiths, stat- ing that they would be happy to see me on a certain evening, and heard privately that the young ladies were to make their first appearance in society on that occasion, or ‘coming out,’ as it is called, that it was to be a very select and quiet affair. Imag- ine my surprise, when, on getting within two squares of the house, and hearing a band of music in full blast, I said to a young friend who was also going to the ‘crush,’ ‘They must be serenading some politician, by the moise,’ and heard him reply: “Oh no They are just commenc- ing a polka-redowa.” “With that he quickened his pace, dragging me along, and we soon reached the “brown-stone mansion,” our destination. Every window was a blaze of light. When the door was thrown open, and we entered the hall, a babel of sounds struck my ear, such as it never heard before. After ten minutes’ unceasing struggle, I gained the stairs, wiped my perspir- ing brow, and gazed down upon the heaving sea of heads that filled every part of both parlors and hall, in per- fect amazement. While I stood thus stupefied with the sight and sound, my hat in my hand, an impudent ne- gro rushed down the stairs, shouted in my ear, ‘Gentlemen in the back room, second story,’ and disappeared. Directly my young friend also passed me, saying, as he pointed over his shoulder, “Back room, second story.” I concluded to make my way to the * back room, second story,’ to see what it contained. The door stood open, and I entered. It was filled with young dandies, some brushing their hair, some their boots, and some their clothes; but from what I heard, Vol. 1,–No. 1.-H. * { I should judge their conversation needed the most brushing. In every corner, on every chair, upon the tops of the doors were piled mountains of coats and hats. I took off my over- coat, a new one, tried every closet- door to find a suitable place to hang it up ; found them all locked, and was obliged to deposit it upon one pile of garments, and my hat upon another. I then descended to the ‘regions be- low,” the hall ; and after numerous unsuccessful efforts, reached the drawing-room door in safety. The deafening music had ceased, but the clatter of tongues was, if any thing, louder than before. Near to where I stood I noticed several young women consulting pieces of gilt-edged paste- board, and heard them whisper among themselves that same strange word, ‘Polka-Redowa.’ Very soon the music struck up in all its force; couple after couple embraced, and commenced whirling round and round in a very strange manner. I made up my mind to watch the damsels who had been whispering together, and see how they would act under the circumstances. As soon as a man approached and looked at one of them, out she stepped, he passed his right arm around her waist, took her right hand in his left, but said not a word : she leaned her head languidly upon his shoulder; both then commenced moving their feet rapidly, and away they spun, round and around like the rest, now to the right, now to the left, mow backward now forward, bumpiug and bouncing against the other couples in the crowd. I caught a glimpse of my hostess once in a while ; but as for getting near enough to speak with them, it was quite out of the question. After several hours of this whirling, supper was annoume- ed and into the supper-room the whole company marched, two by two, to the sound of martial music. Then commenced one of the greatest bat- tles for eatables I ever saw or ever heard of. With the pushing, hauling, crowding and grabbing, the refresh- ments soon disappeared—the greater 5S * . - - -- portion upon the floor ; my clothes were completely ruined by the stewed oysters, ice-cream, jelly and cham- pagne that was spilled upon them. “I beat a retreat from that place in double quick-time, and was soon comfortably seated in my own cham- ber ; a segar in my mouth, and slip- pers upon my feet, vowing ‘mever, positively never,’ to be caught at such an affair again.”—Júnickerbockey. ----------, -º- e <> tº 4º-- - - - - - MISS MARTINEAU on EARLY Ris- ING.. I speak from experience here. For thirty years my business has lain in my study. The practice of early rising was, I am confident, the grand preservative of health, though many years of hard work—the hours gained being given, not to book or pen, but to activity. I rose at six, summer and winter; and (after cold bathing) went out for a walk in all weathers. In the coldest season, on the rainest morning, I never returned without being glad that I went. I meed not detail the pleasures of the summer mornings. In winter, there was either a fragment of gibbous moon hanging over the mountain, or some star quivering in the river, or icicles beginning to shine in the dawn, or, at Worst, some break in the clouds, some moss on the water, which I carried home in the shape of refresh- ment. I breakfasted at half past seven, and had settled household business and was at my work by half past eight, fortified for seven hours' continuous desk-work, without injury or fatigue. - Ovvce at Week. —º-º jº- -mſ---sur-wº- & Envy increases in exact pro- portion with fame. The man that makes a character, makes enemies. A radiant genius calls forth swarms of peevish, biting, stinging insects, just as the sunshiiie awakens the world of flies. —-----, -º e <>- e ºs- -- ~~ § It makes a great difference whether glasses are used over or under the nose. If the former, the * MISCIELLAN REO.U. S. person can see and go straight ahead —if the latter, the head is rather apt to go where it can’t see at all. A glass before the eyes, is apt to make a man a philosopher—one before the mouth will most likely make him a fool. ——“***— MEDICAL Associ ATION OF GEOR- G.I.A.—The annual assemblage of the Medical Association of Georgia for 1860, will take place in the City of Rome, on the Second Wednesday in April next. The Press throughout the State will please extend this mo- tice to their readers. A. G. THOMAs, M. D., Sec. of the Med. A. of Ga. ———sº e-º-e ºs--- . ‘THE BIBLE.—We sincerely wish that people would read the Bible more, and talk about it less. We have now “The Bards of the Bible.” And what can be said of the bards of the Bible more than they say for themselves 2 Can the Psalmist be clapt upon the back patronizingly, and be told that he writes well, and that Mr. Gilfillan admires him 2 Was it not enough to have the “Old Men of the Bible, the ‘Young Men of the Bible, the ‘Women of the Bible,” the “Babies of the Bible,” and must we have the Bards of the Bible 2 Oh! the Holy Book is above praise. Mr. Gilifillan might clap his hands till they were raw, to applaud the harp of David, and it would be no use. In short, we would say, read the Bible more than you read those who advise you to read the Bible.” OFFICE GRAND Worthy PATRIARCH. l Atlanta, March 7th, 1860. j I have appointed our esteemed Brother, Rev. M. A. MALs BY, Deputy Grand Worthy Patriarch with ample powers to organise Divisions in any part of the State, authoris- ing him to Lecture upon the subject of Temperance as State Temperance Lecturer, and recommend him to the due regard of Sons of Temperance and Temperance men generally everywhere. ~ W. G. WHIDBY, G. W. P. COX, HILL & CO., WEHOTLESALE GER O CIEES ANI) (5minimission ifierchant, AND L E AI, F, FRS IN - WINES, LIQUORS, CIGARS, TOBACC0, &C, Peachtree Street, - - - - - - - - - - - Atlanta, Geo Jan. 1860. clocks warenes, swelry, SILVER AND PLATED WARE, Watch Material, Tools &c. Watches carefully Repaired by ER LAWSHE. zº-sign Golden Eagle, Atlanta, Ga. Jan. 1860. J. B. ARTOPE & SON'S MARBLE WORKS, \ *-* T-- - - -------, N Corner Third and Plumb Street, - - - - - - - - - - Macon Georgia. LABS, Monuments, Obelsiks, Plain and Fancy Carving, done at shortest notice. . . Jan. 1860. º COTTON IS KING and the pro-Slavery arguments comprising the writings of HAMMON, CHRISTY, STRINGFELLow, BLEDso, HARPER AND CARTwRIGHT, IT is believed that this work is imperatively demanded by the interests of the South, * It will.be published by Pritchard, Abbot & Loomis, Augusta Georgia. . . . • - Jan. 1860, w"Is 's 'swr .# AuſAI a's goºd quous put solus Hopn(), sº onotu Itou I, apātoap ºutpy ºut Hituou ‘90,135 Iſºuaºu-M uo ‘āuplpha Abu suosuuof up poojs Jäu, outuruxo Pº II”, “ thou% oaſi ol oftul at opiand oth put ºutpy Jo aidood out oilauſ XIHAL S N O I Lºſ I? I O S GI CI Triſ Y TO °sermºeoecº-sºº x an exºr do Nawilossy Horvº v HITA qasiao Isar AvH. "EIHOIS SCIOO}) X^{CI MARIN - 69 “Q3 º Gº 'NYING:003 i i SCIOO-) KSICI i SCIOO}) X\{CI ***** ******* -4------------------------------------------. ------- - ‘KoſoAorſ ‘JIN Kq paydnooo Kinuooo, ‘Yooths unou -IRO uo ooliopſso'ſ 'odols in.ICI solol Kºl Y 14moſuun H. JoAo ‘juſpungi Aott StopUIOO III oog() 'Aqillo! A puu tºur||V Jo Suozúſo ouſ, o] soo!Alas Ituossajoud stu SMGIGIGI “NAAO'H9ſ ‘AA H "XICI ‘sp. Leo Tetroſsse.JO.I.T ‘MIOX AoN - "I& ABIMI * NIOS NIHO ſ X [HTINIT. H. - (pped sod) souppy looſqus Sun; tıodu *: o]].IA put ‘sopºtamp to ‘ssoid out to loyantu outdoid ‘sonsolov “stunqLV loſ satill soldot put soutooods uomuluosold ‘SAuss'ſ ‘suoſº.1() ‘Sosso.jppV (ISIullſ Ilya oh º K.Its toºlſ I 5uţățubai lit on soot Ados stu Jolſo plmo M ‘loºp. A tº sº u Moux IIoM itſloq pouăsloptin HH "OITI:ET ſºlº I GHITHIU L OU L I ‘ubſ’ ºut oilouſy [littonu N., luoobſ humºr-ºldo v10.1049 VINVTIV ‘AvT Liv x [H. Nº-Lo-LLv. Manufacturers and Dealers in Men's and Boy’s Clothing, Gent's Furnishing Goods, Cloths, Cassimeres, Vestings, Tailors' Trimmings, &c., wholesale and retail, Iron Front Store, º - s - - sº Whitchall Street, Atlanta, Georgia. May 7, 1859. - MASSEY & LANSDELL, Drucists AND APOTHECARIES. Whitehall Street, Atlanta Geo. Are prepared to duplicate all Charleston, Augusta and Savannah bills. Stock unsur. passed in any Southern market. July 2. J. Y. W. E L L S & C (). Wholesale and Retail Dealers in Groceries and Provisions, Peachtree Street, - - - - - - - - - - Atlanta Georgia. [In Daniel's Netr Building.] Keep constantly a supply of the following articles, of superior quality. Sugar, Lard, Rice, Coffee, - - Flour, Pepper, Molasses, Tobacco, Spice, Syrup, Candles, Ginger, Salt, Soap, Raisins, (May 7.) Bacon, Starch, Cigars. T. R. RIPLEY. Dealer in China, Glass, Earthen and Queens Ware, Silver, Plated and Britania Warc, Fine Cutlery, Lamps of all descriptions, suitable for Railroads and Steamboats. Also, Oils, Burning Fluid, Camphene, Looking Glasses, Paints, &c. Whitehall Street, near R. R., May 7. - Atlanta, Ga. B3(C)(OK & MUSIC, STORE, J. J. Richards & Co., keep a wholesale and retail cheap cash Book, Music and Fancy Store, on Whitehall Street, Atlanta, Georgia, oidº per mail promptly attended to. Established Nov. 1, 1855. ay 7. - , , - - ; : - - IDr. V. H. Taliafer-r-o. OFFICE over the Drug Store of Hunnicutt & Taylor, Calls will be ived at Office at all hours during the day and night. y received a the Jan. 1860. A LARGE OCTAVO MONTHLY MAGAZINE, Devoted to the Philosophy, Jurisprudence and Symbolism of Ancient craft Masonry; - and General Masonic Intelligence. ESTABLISHED IN 1849, §Mº lºgº, D.G. M., and | EDITORs. JOHN W. J.EONARD, P. M., is rubilisiiki, in Aſiania, usuauia, on THE FIRST of EVERY MONTH, * And Mailed to subscribers anywhere in the United States or Canada, at the following Rates of Subscription : One copy for one year, - * → - • * = - º - $2 00 Five copys for one year, - - * - e - º * * - 8 00 Ten copies for one year, º - - - - - * - s - 15 00 *:::* It is expressly understood that these rates imply Any ANCE payments only. Where subscriptions are NOT paid till the end of the year, $2 50 will be charged in all cases TO AL DVD HDD FETISIEEE.S. We believe there is no advertising medium in the South, which possesses greater facili- ties for bringing the business of Merchants and other advertisers before the best class of customers in the Southern States, than the “sign ET & Journal.” We will be glad to re- ceive and give prominence to advertisements of any respectable business, on the following TIME, IRE Nºſsºs = Ten cents per line (double column) for each insertlon of not less than five lines. Ten lines (double column) one year, ................................................. $10 00' Whole page, per annum, ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ........ 1()() ()0 Whole page, six months, ............. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 60 ()() Whole page, three months, ..... ...... • . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 35 00 Whole page, one insertion, ........................................... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 15 ()() fºr All accounts for standing advertisements will be collected every six months. For those of three months or less, we will send the accounts immediately after the first appear- ance of the advertisement. - * , tº Yº - © e. Address all advertisements, remittances, substription lists, and all matter pertaining to the business of the “Signet & Journol" to LAWRENCE, MCPHERSON & CO., “Signet & Journal” Office, Atlanta, Georgia. Communications relating to the Editorial Department, Questions of Masonic Law aud Usage, Exchanges, Books for Review &c., should be addressed to EDITORS "SIGNET & JOURNAL,” , , , - a n - Marietta, Georgia. N. B.-The names of subscribers should be pixinx written; and the name of the County and State, as well as the Post Office, in all cases should be given. Strict attention to this rule will save subscribers disappointment, and ourselves loss and annoyance. jan, 1860. - NN TuD IRR s IE EE Y NAMI IE NUN e AUGUSTA, GEORGIA, Offer for sale soºn & Row N FRGº' wagºs. HE collection comprises Apples, Peaches, Pears, Plums, Apricots, Neetarines, &c. Apple Trees are all of the most approved Southern varieties. Red Astrachan, Red June Taunton, Nickajack and Shockley, we propogate by the thousands. - Peach Trees are of the best varieties known, which will ripen in an uninterrupted succession from early June to November. Early Tillotson, Early York, Early Crawford, Van Zandts, Superb and Nixs Oct, Cling, we propogate by the thousands. All our trees are grafted and are of thrifty growth. We do not import trees to sell. Ours are all home-grown. & We also offer Grape-Cuttings, Strawberry Plants, Asparagus Roots, Everblooming Roses and Ornamental Shrubbery. Col. Buckner's Apple Orchard, in Middle Georgia, has yielded $1,400 per acre, per {l,In Illl Iſl. t Baye We pack Trees so that they may go safely to any part of the South. Descriptive and priced catalogues sent gratis to all applicants. Address, ET EMINTG & TNTIHET SCINT, Augusta, Georgia. February 27th, 1860. John A. PUCKETT. - AND NOTARY PUBLIC, ATLANTA, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . GEORGIA. MISS JANE BERRY respectfully calls the attention of her numerous friends and the public generally, to the FACT that she is still on Whitehall Street, over Rawson, Gilbert & Co.'s Store, where she is prepared to accommodate them in any $ . . . . . STYLE OR PRICE. Persons wishing to buy FANCY MILLENERY and DRESS. GOODS, will certainly give her a call before going elsewhere. § fºr For Taste, Style, Completeness and Variety, her Assortment cannot be excelled. Jan, 1860. Atlanta, Ga. | HAVE just returned from the North with a large stock of - l Hats. Caps and straw Goods. To which I invite the attention of Wholesale and Retail buyers. I will sell goods in \my line Twenty-Five per Cent Cheaper THAN ANY OTHER HOUSE IN THE SOUTH. . Give nme a Trial ; I have on hand all the Latest Styles. I ALSO CALL YOUR PARTICULAR ATTENTION TO MY THREEDOLLAR SIKHAT which cannot be equalled in the South. g One and all call and see me, and see for yourselves. - JAS. S. MARTIN, Jr., Marietta Street, - - - - - - - - Atlants. Georgia A LARGE Assoºriest of UMBRELLAs. cANES AND PARA. Q S.--- SOLS. - * February 27th, 1860. -- * * + | s i i x A- INT ID * * . . !------- . . .-----> -----, - | M. A. MALSBY, i a º rorton and proprieton. . ATLANTA, GEORGIA : . DAILY INTELLIGENCER PoweR-PRESS PRINT. : . . . . . . . . - 1s 6 o. & Table of Contents. * --> -----sº- --- HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT, IIow we shall live to be healthy, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Taking Cold, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sleeping Apartments, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Medical Reform Par Excellence, . . . . . . . . . An Analogy, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * Hygiene in the Practice of Medicine, . . . . . . Questionable Advertisements, . . . . . . . . . . . . Fireproof Fabrics, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * Value of Instinct in the Choice of Diet, . . . . . . Medical Properties of the Tomatoe, ... A Word to Mothers, . . . . . . . . . . . . . e e º 'º a s 6 tº it ºr e º u tº º º tº tº º tº º º e º 'º - * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * LITERARY DEPARTMENT, The South—Guardian Angels—Annie Laurie, . . . . . Zella, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Vision of the Millinnium,... . . . . . Beulah, . . . . . . . * - & e º 'º tº The Prince of Gourmand, . . . . Forgive us our Sins, . . . . . . . . . º we The Rose and the Laurel, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Voltaire's Candid, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . w & º ºs e º t w it e º 'º e º 'º $ tº EDITOR'S TABLE, Book Notices, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * Parton's Life of Jackson, . . . . . . . Self-Help, . . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * e º 4 & 5 º' tº s ºr a º Mr. Spondulick's Sermon, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * tº gº º, (i. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * • e < * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * a g º 'º e º a º e º s - tº e. e. v e a tº e º w w tº e º e º e a e s w e º 'º º • * - «» & to e º e * & is tº º º * º * * * * * * * * * * * tº q is º * - ſº e º 'º & º * tº º jº º º sº e º tº º & © tº & * * * * * wº * • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * º © º º * a y ºr * tº e º 'º * * * tº ºr 4 tº e Gr * * * * ~ * * * * * * * º e • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * s a º Aº e s e º a tº a c * * * * * * g e s > * Romance of a Poor Young Man, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Georgia—Early History, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * * tº e º e º 'º º & e º w * & & † is * g tº 4 tº e s º o ſº * * & a tº e * tº a wº o * * * * * e - tº e tº º º * @ * - t . . 83 . . 85 ... 103 ... 105 ... 109 ... 113 ... I 15 ... 117 . . 124 . 124 ... 124 . . . 125 . . 125 . , 126 HY G IIH) NIC A N ID LITERARY ------- - - - - - - - - - ------- MAGAZINE, WOL. I. *------ - - -------- - - - - -- ATLANTA, GA., FEBRUARY, 1860. £jpgicnic Department. ----------—sº- -- V. H. TALIAFERRO, M. D., EDITOR. How we shall Live to be Healthy, Is a question which interests people of all grades and conditions in life. Hu- temperance / There are other causes, it is true, which are less avoidable, as the multiplication of the human fami- man nature, with irrestible instinct, ſly upon the face of the earth, and the clings to life. Were it in our power, none would die; neither would we grow sick, or suffer pain. Yet with this instinctive desire for long life and health, the world is ever trying to bring upon itself dis- ease and affliction, and notwithstand- ing the continual enlightenment of the human family in the arts and sciences since the day that reason shed its flood of light upon the mind of man, disease has increased and life short- ened, untill now, in the broad sunlight of the nineteenth century, the face of creation is one living, moving spectacle of drunken, sickly, puny pigmies.— Are these terms strong? Compare the present with the past. Why this wonderful depreciations of the human species? Wherefore the cause of so great a decline of human health and lon- gevity? The answer which irresisti- bly forces itself upon our mind is—in- consequent building up of cities, and the clearing of forests, all of which load the atmosphere with noxious gass- es and poisonous vapors. These, na- turally enough, would alone, to some extent, deteriorate the human species, but the great curse of Adam’s race is ALCOHOL and ToBACCo. Upon them the great mass of both men and wo- men, young and old, are drunk from morn 'till night ! One loving friend is greeted upon the street reeling from alcoholic stimulation ; another is feed- ing the super-excitement of his mind and nervous system with the juice or smoke of tobacco ; another is seen be- fore his hot, smoking coffee has been quaffed, and his step is excited and un- steady, his hands tremble, his eye balls roll uneasily, and he is cross and peev- ish to madam and little ones. (In the matrimonial state, we believe, custom has made such things allowable.) 66 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. When we are brought to consider the immense quantity of alcohol and tobacco that are being daily consumed as luauries, the question naturally enough arises, are they necessities? Are we so constituted by supreme divinity as to require this great stimu- lation ? Are they promoters of health and longevity? If so, “my gracious,” we ought to live a long time. What think you, ye wine bibbers, ye alcoholic devotee ? A distinguished physician and profound scholar, who has recent- ly written upon this subject, contends that alcohol is a promoter of health, and points, as an example, to the very aged, whom, he says, are almost inva- riably “dram drinkers.” If the doc- tor's reasoning be correct, of one thing we feel quite sure, that he has yet a long while to tarry on this “low ground of sorrow !” It is not uncommon to observe the very aged in appearance, whose silver- ed locks, bowed forms and tottering steps betoken the close of “three score years and ten”—when the truth is that time, in its natural course, had not done its work unmolested, but alcohol had stimulated the man for thirty years, and he dies at forty or fifty—the very prime and maturity of manhood—bear- ing the marks both in mind and body of sixty or seventy. Examples to ver- ify our statement, multiplied and nu- merous, occur in everyday life. The merchant's counting room, judicial, legislative and professional bodies, all furnish them in numbers. Neither al- cohol or tobacco is essential to health, but its use abominable and baneful. They essentially belong to the materia medica, and as medicinal agents they are powerful and efficient. Ah! they are medicines / how so? You do not certainly accuse us of continually im- bibing physic? Why, the incessant drugging of which you speak would kill us. It does kill, day after day, by hundreds and thousands. The re- tail “grog-shop,” dark spots in every city and village, and along public thor- oughfares, are but licensed institutions to deal out a most active medicinal agent and poison, from which we are with alarming speed rapidly degener- ating. What it will and must lead to we can but judge by the past. Beck in his excellent work on Mate- ria Medica, says: “I shall consider it first as a medicine, and second as a poison.” “In its pure state, it acts as a power- ful irritant and caustic poison. To whatever part of the body it is applied it causes contraction and condensa- tion of the tissue, and gives rise to all the symptoms of local inflammation, pain, heat, redness and swelling.” Reader, read that paragraph again, and if you are in the habit of taking al. cohol in your stomach, remember the language of Beck / Alcohol in its undiluted state is never given inter- nally, from the fact of its powerfully poisonous influence, but is used medi- cinally, mixed with water, or in its di- luted forms, as wines, brandies, &c.— . We find, then, that it is a more pow- erful agent than arsenic, strychnine or opium. They are used as medicines in diluted forms, and if taken in too large doses or too long continued, cer- tainly produces death. Equally so with Alcohol, in its concentrated or diluted forms. It may be slow to claim its victims, but so sure as the sun shines, it will ere long, stop the beat- ing of that aching heart, and still the quiverings of that bloated rotten car- FIYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 67 cass. The consumptive with his spark- ling eye of hope, emaciated form, and burning cheek, will more likely escape his premature doom, than will the drunkard avert the fatal termination of alcoholic poisons, and stay the curse of God. Would you wine-bibber, debauchee, have us tell you the secret and myste- rious workings of this powerful agent 2 Then listen, and know that we tell you truly. From its regular use, (though moderate it may be) it produces, first, local irritation and debility of the di- gestive organs. Who ever saw a ha- bitual “dram-drinker,” whose stomach could digest a meal without its unnatur- al excitement 2 Here then, without going further, we have serious disease of the digestive organs. A man, in this city, died, under our own observa- tion, from disease of the stomach and bowels, produced by the use of alco- hol. The liver, also, unable to bear lon- ger its unnatural excitement, becomes enlarged, congested and indurated, and fails to act in its capacity of a great de- purator and purifyer of the blood, and the whole system becomes, in conse- quence, contaminated and poisoned.— Who has not seen the yellow, sickly pallor of the “debauchee”? The liv- er has failed in its function, and no longer separates bile from the blood. In several instances have we witnessed death, resulting from the effect of al- cohol upon the liver. It is upon the brain and nervous system, however, its most serious and alarming effects are produced. When its use is first com- menced, nervous sensibility is height- ened, the brain acts with more ener- gy and activity, and hence the pleasur- able exhileration which is experienced. But it is a law of the physical econo- my, that super-excitement is always followed by a corresponding depress- ion, and hence the unsteady hands, quivering limbs, and jerking muscles of the “dram-drinker.” Debility of the nervous system has been produced, and it fails to impart tone and vitality to the tissues and organs, sufficient for the performance of their normal func- tions; and just here lies the solution to the question of the great moral in- fluence of alcoholic drinking. As the natural susceptibility, tone, energy and vitality of the brain and nervous sys- tem are weakened or lost, in the same proportion will an individual become animalized, demoralized and degraded. Would we have examples 2 See the fall of that young man from the most honorable and respectable position in society to the very lowest among his species. Who are murderers, accounts of whom daily fill the press of the land 2 Who daily widows and orphans thous- ands? Who, in closed chambers and secret places, with unseemly devils and horrid spectacles filling the air before the diseased vision, falls the God-forsa- ken victims of suicide? Ah who are all these? Alcohol, in thunder tones, which echo to the ends of the earth, peals forth the solemn and awful an- SQU6.7°. Feed the brain and nervous system of the best and greatest man on earth, with alcohol, and you will sink him lower, and make him meaner than the vilest serpent that crawls in the dust. Delirium tremens, that serious and much to be dreaded disease of the drunkard, is nothing more nor less than debility and enervation of the brain and nervous system, which have lost their natural tonicity and vitality from long-continued super-excitement; and 68 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. the common practice of treating the disease with alcohol, upon the princi- ple of “similia similibus,” &c., is em- pirical, and in our opinion has “done the job” for many poor drunken “sin- mers.” W. H. T. Taking “Golds." Every body has “colds” and every- body expects it, therefore nobody tries to avoid it. But a simple cold fre- quently proves a more serious affair than is anticipated, and sows the seed for permanent and fatal disease. Catarrh, or cold, is the effect of an unequal distribution of the circulation, together with an impression made upon the nerves which are interwoven in the skin, and hence a draught of cold air infringing upon any part of the cutan- eous covering, not accustomed to ex- posure, drives the blood from the part to the internal vicera ; and from the close sympathy which exists between the skin and air passsages, it is either in the lungs, the bronchial tubes or na- sal passages, the impression is made and the excitement produced. The most serious diseases, such as consump- tion, Pneumonia, Pleurisy, &c., follow colds. Numberless are the blooming cheeks that have yielded to the “hectic flush” by the very common and foolish practice of exposing the upper part of the body, both in doors and out of doors, in summer's heat, and winter’s cold. But why complain 2 If consump- tion should ring its doom in the ears of every woman in Georgia, the habit and result would still be the same. If this practice must continue, we would insist upon its not being changed from day to day. If a lady intends wearing her dresses low upon the body, why, Wear them so all the time, and not to- day have the dress close around the neck, a cloak upon shoulders, (and snuffing at the nose from the previous night's ball,) and to-morrow entertain- ing an exchanted gallant with full half the chest (its chaps all skilfully filled with “grease” and powdered over) exposed for his sparkling eyes to feast upon. You need not protest that you don't grease to fill the chaps. You do “grease,” and besides that, eat a half jar of pickles to make the voice clear, and grunt all night long with a pain in the “stomick,” of (course poetically,) and can’t get up in the morning from an attack of dyspepsia, for which the doctor is called in, tak- ing care never to mention for once anything of “pickles.” Well! I suppose women will have their own way, and its no use “a-talk- ing”—“the man is the head, she is the neck, and she turns him where she wishes.” Colds are much more common dur- ing the merging of one season into another, owing to the change of tem- perature taking place. We should, therefore, be careful to regulate the quantity and qualtity of clothing to the degree of temperature; and ladies should beware of low neck dresses and thin shoes, lest they contract disease, which will last them through life. To our certain knowledge, there are many ladies entirely deprived of the enjoy- ment of health, by wearing very thin shoes upon the cold damp ground.— Colds are sometimes contracted by persons getting wet in a shower of rain; this will always be prevented if the wet clothes are exchange for dry. Treatment—Upon going to bed, rub the entire surface, briskly and ſorcibly with a large coarse towel dipped in IIYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 69 lukewarm water; or if the patient has been accustomed to it, the water may be cold. This should be kept up until a rich crimson glow pervades the skin; after which thoroughly dry the sur- face, and then anoint with pure fresh lard, being by no means economical of the quantity applied. After the above prescription has been carefully carried out, burn the feet awhile to a fire, then drink a cup of strong ginger or pepper tea—get to bed—go to sleep, and wake up in the morning well, having drugged and dis- gusted the stomach with no Jacobs “10,000 Negro” Cordial—electrified alterative—compound clarified—mag- netized—imported !“e pluribus unum” —swamp mist or other “tom fooleries.” A most excellent and simple remedy for colds is powdered gum arabic, snuffed up the nostrils, frequently through the day, until a complete mu- cilaginous coat is formed upon the irri- tated mucus surface. We have seen this remedy relieve the most trouble- some catarrh in twenty-four hours. W. H. T. ————sº---— Sleeping Apartments. IT is as necessary to life and health, that regular sleeping hours, in suitable apartments, be observed, as to have healthful diet, exercise, &c. We find those, scrupulously particular in regard to long walks, evening rides, &c., who never give a thought of how or when they should sleep, or what they should breathe. The length of both waking and sleep- ing hours have been regulated by Na. ture's God, and as night approaches, wearied nature seeks repose, save in cases of perverted instincts, which have become thus by a course of unnatural training, such as retiring to rest when the night has half been spent, and steal- ing from the day its freshest, purest hours. By the process of respiration, all the blood in the system undergoes regular- ly every few moments, an entire change from venous to arterial, and the perfec- tion of this change depends upon the quality of atmospheric air breathed.— At every inspiration, fresh air is car- ried into the numberless sponge-like vessels of the lungs, by which it is brought in close contiguity with the circulating mass. When the venous blood gives up its carbon, already un- fit for further use, and receives instead the oxygen from the inspired air, then comes the act of expiration, which carries the air from the lungs with its load of carbon, and thus is kept up the beautiful and wonderful process of alri- ation of the blood. A perfect and com- plete alriation of the blood, is essential to the health and well-being of every living animal, in as much as from the blood is made every tissue, and is fed the function of every organ in the sys- tem. Though the action and power of the mind is dependent upon the organ- ization of the brain, yet its food and stimulus is derived from the blood, and if, in any way, it is deficient in any of its elements, the brain, of course, suſ. fers correspondingly in the develop- ment of its great function—the gener- ation of mind. The custom is almost universal to shut out all ingress of night air to sleeping apartments, and when we re- member that, by an adult, 319 solid inches of atmospheric air is respired every minute, we can readily perceive that the air of any room, though it be large, if not ventilated, will, by the 70 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. continual call by the blood for its oxy- gen, to be exchanged for carbon, neces- sarily, of course, soon render it obnox- ious and deleterious to all the vital functions of animal life. Show us a woman whose custom is to sleep in a close room, and we will warrant she has hysterics, head-ache, indigestion— is weak in the knees, looks pale, is fret- ful, pulls her husband's nose, spanks the children, etc., etc. Show us chil- dren whose nights have been passed in close rooms, and we will warrant them sickly, sallow, lazy and half-grown.— Show us a man who is too economical to give himself fresh air of nights, and we will warrant him inefficient and of no account. The air in a bed-room should be kept perfectly pure, by con- tinual and free ventilation. Who has not experienced the disagreeable odor which meets his nostrils, upon entering a close room, where one or more were sleeping? It is at first almost insuffer- able. Not only does the air of close bed-rooms become obnoxious and pois- onous from the carbonic acid exhaled from the lungs, but also from effete materials thrown off from the skin.— Where bed chambers are kept well ventilated, bad colds, pneumonia, and other lung diseases, are rarely contract- ed. It is usual in cases of catarrhs, weak lungs, or where there is great susceptibility or pre-disposition to lung diseases, to sleep in rooms that are par- ticularly close, thinking the night air the very last visitant that should gain admittance. This opinion is no less erroneous than is its practice injurious. We are well assured, no less from ob- servation than reason, that where the diathesis pre-disposes to diseases of the lungs, no better plan can be adopted for their development than sleeping in air-tight chambers; and when such dis- eases have been developed, nothing in relation to treatment is more import- ant, than to give the lungs and the blood the benefit of pure, cool air. Another practice, both deleterious and ruinous to health, is sleeping with warm, glowing fires, even though the chambers be ventilated, for the lungs need air, not icy cold, but cool and fresh as nature supplies it; not only this, but the air becomes rarified by the heat, and goes to the lungs with an in- sufficient volume of oxygen, in conse- quence of which the respiratory pro- cess must become unnaturally quick- ened, in order that the blood be duly and properly arterialized. Pure, cool air is nature's gift ; let us have it fresh and unalloyed, in health and in sickness, in joy and in Sorrow, as heaven-high it rolls in sweeping waves from neath its boundless cano- py. It gives life and gladness to the singing spring bird, as he fills his little lungs with the delicious breeze, and re- verberates the forest with his wild, un- tutored melody. Not alone over the animal does this gift divine, hold pow- er, but the vegetable kingdom inhales its freshness and gives back sweet, mellow perfume, thus adding luxury to necessity, perchance giving gladness, more or less, to the gloomy, cheerless path of life. Then why shut it out from the chambers at night, and breathe, in its stead, loathsome odors and poisonous gasses 2 Yes! let us have it in its swift rolling currents, to soothe and to cool the troubled, fever- ed brow, and to bring fresh life, new vigor, and new impulses to the wearied and languishing powers of life. 'Tis the boon of creation; let us have it at morn, at noon, and at night; in youth, HYGEENIC IDEPARTMENT. 71 in manhood and old age, and when wearied life, like “a clock worn out with keeping time,” at last stands still, let it come as a heaven-sent joy, to waft upon its bosom the immortal spir- it to its home. The bed room should be kept clean and neat. No plunder, filthy water, dirty clothes, &c., &c., should have their places in the sleeping apartment. Every thing which would in any way interfere with the purity of the atmos- phere should be carefully excluded. Fires of no kind, especially of coal, should be left burning, upon retiring. While most of the gases evolved from the consumption of wood or coal will pass off by the chimneys or pipes, yet they will escape in greater or less quan- tities into the room. Where fires therefore must be had, they should be is abominable and altogether contemp- tible. The idea of inhaling the exhal- ations of anothers lungs and skin is sufficiently repulsive, to say nothing of the head-aches, languid feelings, yawn- ings and gapings, hysterics and bad feelings generally of mornings. Whole families not unusually sleep in one “big” bed. Oh horrid “Familiarity breeds contempt.” The practice of man and wife sleep- ing in the same bed together is uncivil- ized and indecent, and in thousand and thousands of cases engenders vul- gar contempt, blunts that modesty, delicacy and refinement of feeling one | to another which should ever exist as nature has intended. We believe this custom is indirectly the cause of more than half the numberless divorce cases occurring every where. Between man of wood, as coal evolves in such large and wife the utmost modesty and del- quantities that most poisonous of all ficacy of feeling and sentiment should gases, Carbonic acid. The frequent ever be cultivated, as it constitutes occurrence of death from the gases of burning coal, in localities where it is almost exclusively used, is sufficient warning of its use. Beds that are used should be frequently put in the sun where the wind can have free ac- cess to them; particularly should this be attended to in the summer, when the secretion of the skin are excessive, which, if not attended to, soon load the bedding with effete material thrown off the blood as superfluous and ob- noxous, and which may be taken up by the absorbent powers of the skin, carried back into the circulation from which it has been eliminated, thus con- taminating the whole mass. Bed-cloth- ing should undergo frequent changing and at all times be clean and neat. The practice of piling in bed to- gether in numbers from two to four, º the strong link to their loves. We are creatures of circumstances and many times we are unavoidably influ- enced in our feelings when least ’twas intended. This prevailing custom in our opinion, and in which we are sus- tained by physiologists, hygienist and moralists, is uncivilized, unchristian- ized, indecent, immoral and unhealthy. Children should never be permitted to sleep with adults, neither should diseased persons lie together or with those who are in health. The system of every individual has a certain elec- trical condition, which is necessary for its healthfulness, and which it will un- der favorable circumstances maintain. Persons, then, whose system are in dif. ferent electrical states sleeping togeth- er for eight or ten hours, will necessa- rily have that condition ultimately so 72 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. interfered with as to permantly, and it may be, seriously affect the health. More likely will this be the case when children are sleeping with adults, or diseased with healthy persons, owing to the greater differences in their elec- trical conditions. To sum up then, our remarks, the bed chamber should be kept 1st. Well ventilated. 2nd. Clean and meat. 3rd. The bedding should be kept sumned, aired and cleanly. 4th. Fires, and especially of coal, should not be kept. 5th. Sleeping together is unhealthy, because of electrical differences and the breathing by each other of effete and poisonous material thrown off from the lungs and skin. V. H. T. — . .--------—sº- - - - - ---> THE following is an extract from J. Dickson Smith upon “Rational Medi- cine and Thomsonism.” Read it and see the foul deception and base quack- ery imposed upon the public. Thomp- son is as much the leader of the sys- tem, he promulgated, to-day, as when holding his patent in one hand and his infallible “ yerbs” in the other. The fact that his system was not founded upon Anatomy, Physiology and thera- peutics is sufficient evidence to any ra- tional mind of its littleness both in conception and application: “Medical Reform, Par Excellence.” This is the system that has been try- ing, for the last half century, to strug- gle into existence; but the Siren song of which is yet heard only under, the roof of its own rustic cabin. Its plau- dits are pronounced only by its own followers, and the reverberation of its praise is as circumscribed, compara- tively, as the echo in the dale. Like other “unit' systems that have sprung up in the world, it has flourished only for a season, and its earlier days were its palmiest days. This new light was but a meteoric flash. It now wanes, and serious apprehensions are being indulged that there is not ‘vitality’ enough left about it “to keep the in- ward heat above the outward, and the fountain above the stream.” It once flourished to some extent in Georgia, but it seems to be succumbing under the light of truth and experience. Its claims never have been recognized in the courts of Science. It is in vain that its votaries urge its claims over the regular, time-honored system of Medicine. It would be like the dray- man substituting the mighty locomo- tive and its train in the transportation of freight. But what was the origin and history of Thomsonism 2–It has its origin in Samuel Thompson—a native of the State of New Hampshire. While quite a boy “driving the cows and minding the geese,” Samuel Thompson took his first lessons in Physic from Mrs. Benton, an old woman doctor who used ‘yerbs.” When she went out to gather herbs and roots she would take Sammy with her, and “learn him the names of the plants and what they were good for.” Samuel Thomson grew to manhood having, “not the most distant idea of engaging in the the practice of medicine.” He had, he says, “but little learning, and was awkward and ignorant of the world.” —having been raised in the back woods, and sent to school only one month. But in obedience to his fond- ness for tasting “herbs’ he uncon- sciously got to be doctor, in the old woman “root and herb system.— Knowing nothing at all of the human system, his first great conception was that man was composed of four ele- ments—Earth—Water—-Air—-and Fire; that the Earth and Water were the solids, and Air and Fire the fluids.- As a deduction from this basis he con- cluded that “heat was life, and cold death,” and that constitutions are HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 73 alike.” “Food and medicine” he said “were the fuel which continues the fire, or life of man. He next conceiv- ed that “there are but two great prin- ciples in the constitution of things, ºld. applied to the mind or body; the “principle of life and the principle of death.” That which “contains the principle of life can never be tortured into an administration of death ; ” and that “if a medicine is good in any case, it must be absolutely good in all cases.” That is—that a plant, because it contains the “principle of life,” can- not do otherwise than promote the principle of life in man—that is, cure disease; and that if a medicine is good in one case, it must be good in every C:\SC. Now this seems truly a most won- derful conception, and the induction therefrom exceedingly clear and logi- call No wonder that such a logical (?) system has grown out of it (!) From this new philosophy must have sprung the Thomsonian doctrine that vegeta- ble remedies are not poisonous ; and minerals, because inorganic—posses- sing not the “principle of life,” are necessarily poisomous 2 Pursuant to this idea that “heat is life and its extinction death,” and that “medicines kindle up the decaying spark,” he says that it is “immaterial what is the name or color of the disease—whether bilious, yellow, scarlet or spotted; whether it is simple or complicated,” and that “names are arbitrary things.” This was the origin of the Thomsonian theory; the great cardinal principle of which was—one cause for disease, one disease, and one remedy, the same routine course for all. Samuel Thomson had no use for Anatomy. He said that a knowledge of the human system was “no more necessary” for the doctor, in qualify- ing him to “administer relief from pain and sickness,” “than to a cook in pre- paring food to nourish the body.” He denied in toto the importance of know- ing anything about the human organ- ism, or its functions, in health; and that it mattered not as to the charac- ter of the disease, or its “color,” for there was one general treatment for all cases. His disciples have held the same doctrines, even since the organi- zation of the “Reform College.” Prof. A. N. Worthy once took for his sub- ject, in an introductory lecture, “the dissection of the human body,” rebuk- ing, in harsh terms, the practice of dis- secting, and denied vehemently that “medicine was founded upon a knowl- edge of Pathological Anatomy.” So we see that this Thomsonian theory saps the very foundation of everything like rational therapeutics. Now, these were the original, and most wonderful conceptions of Thom: son, upon which were based his “new” theory of Medicine—known in this day as “Medical Reform par eaccel- lence.” This was indeed new philoso- phy, and quite contradictory of the old saying that “there is nothing new under the sun.” This theory was new, and just about as nonsensical and ridi- culous as it was new What say you, reader ? Would Plato have recogni- zed it as philosophical ? But what was his practice—founded upon this new theory He gathered a quantity of herbs from the woods, which had been pointed out to him, by Mother Benton, and set about mixing and compounding them. He soon made out a number of preparations, which he designated No. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6; a compound powder called Compo- sition; and another called nerve pow- der. But Lobelia was his great hobby, which he discovered when he was four years old; but he discovered after- wards that it had been discovered sometime before he discovered it.— Thomson, likewise, “made use of steam.” Out of these materials— plants and steam he devised what he call a “cours E or MEDICINE.” “Firstly, give Nos. 2 and 3, adding a teaspoonful of No. 6; then, steam, and when in bed repeat it, adding No. 1, which will cleanse the stomach and raise a perspiration. Then give an in- jection made with the same articles.— 2 74 IHYGIENIC AND LITERAIRY MAGAZINE. Put half a teaspoonful of the nerve powder into each dose, and into the injection. The injections to be admin- istered at all times, and in all cases of disease, especially where there is can- ker, and inflammation of the bowels, and if mortification, add No. 6. This was the “regular course of med- icine '’ to be “made us of ’’ in all cases —constituting the “routine course’’ of Thomsonian medicine; and which is still in use. Samuel Thomson declared long before his death, that “his system and remedies were as near perfection as it was in the power of man to bring them.” So perfect the theory, and es- tablished the practice, that the whole was committed to rhyme in the follow- ing THOMSONIAN VERSES : “First steep the coffee number 3 With number 2, then use it free : To clear the cold and raise the heat, Now place a hot stone at the feet. “The inward warmth now oft repeat, And change the stone when lost its heat; . The fountain 'bove the stream keep clear, And perspiration will appear. “Then take the emetic No. 1, Until its duty is well done; [free The stomach cleansed, and the head made From filth and pain, both equally, “Should the disorder reinforce, Then follow up the former course; The second time I think will do, The third to fail, I seldom knew. “The emetic No. 1's designed A gen'ral med'cine for mankind, Of every country, clime or place, Wide as the circle of our race. “In every case, and state, and stage, Whatevcr malady may rage; For male or female, young or old, Nor can its value half be told. “To use this med'cine do not cease, Till you are helped of your disease; For Nature's Friend, this sure will be, When you are taken sick at sea. “If any one should be much bruised When bleeding freely is used; A lively sweat upon that day Will start the blood a better way. “Let names of all disorders be Like to the limbs joined on a tree; Work on the root, and that subdue, Then all the limbs will bow to you. “So as the body is the tree, The limbs are cholic, pleurisy, Worms and gravel, gout and stone, Remove the cause, and they are gone. “My system's founded on the truth, Man's Air and Water, Fire and Earth, And death is cold and life is heat, [plete. These tempered well, your health's com- [Thomson's “Guide to Health,” Page 146. This new “system and remedies” thus perfected and reduced to poetry, was patented by Thomson in the year 1813, and the patent rights sold all over the country. He practiced it, and sold the right to practice to others. He had discovered—not steam, for it had been propelling steamboats many years; not Lobelia and Cayenne, and Camphor, and Myrrh, for they were already in the Materia Medica; but he had discovered a new and peculiar mode of mixing and administering them. It was a discovery of immense importance, so he patented it and sold it to every body. Thomson was re- peatedly indicted for killing his pa- tients, and in one case heavy damages obtained; but yet, “no case,” says M. S. Thomson, “ has over been substan- tiated.” Such is the early history of Thom- |sonianism as given by Samuel Thomson himself. Such the outlines and doc- trines of theory and practice. It was the offspring of a crude and uncultiva- ted brain. It was nurtured by igno- rânce and illiteracy, developed to a state of ridiculous and absurd “perfec- tion,” and finally prostituted by its founder to mercenary and selfish pur- poses. It scorned to contempt the ex- perience of past centuries, and yet perched itself upon “experience.”— What experience? The experience of Samuel Thomson. He acknowledged no auxiliary help. He originated and “perfected” it, and sold it to posterity for money. He realized the profits in cash, leaving to his followers the one- rous and difficult task of demonstrat- HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 7 jºr ing to the world that it possessed any inherent intrinsic merit whatever. Samuel Thomson, in his new theory of medicine, reminds me of the “Quack Frog” in AEsop's Fables: A frog emer- ging from the mud of a swamp, pro- claimed to all the world that he was come to cure all diseases. “Here,” he cried, “come and see a doctor, the proprietor of medicines such as man never heard of before ; no, not Æscu- lapius himself.” The moral of this fa- ble is, “Test a man’s professions by his practice.” Now, if this rule be applied to modern Thomsonism, what will be the verdict 2 Will it stand the teSt. - I do not like to say it, but “facts are stubborn things,” and when recorded, are subject to the inspection of all rea- ders—this was a patent meflicine— quack nostrum system, leading the van of the mighty host of patent “pama- ceas.” It was the first record, that I have seen, of a “system and remedies” being secured by patent right, but an innumerable host of patent Physics has followed in its wake. I say it was a quack nostrum system, and its own record shows the fact. (Thomson’s “Guide to Health,” pp. 250 and 251.) Now what do we find in original Thomsonism to charm us 2 In what consisted its excellencies 2 Does the reader admire the grand philosophical conceptions of Samuel Thomson? Does he appreciate Lobelia as a universal curative 2 and admire its excessive em- ployment in all kinds of disease? Does he look upon it as an adequate substi- tute for all other remedies? Is he charmed with its effects as exhibited in the “alarm stage 7” Does he like the Thomsonian abuse of steam as a remedy ? Does he like the principle of “routinism”— employing the “same means” in all classes and “colors” of disease, regardless of circumstances? If he does not appreciate these features, then he can have no fancy for Thom- Sonian medicine, for these are its pecu- liar characteristic traits, and there is nothing else to distinguish it. An Analogy. HOMEOPATHY, like the recent riot at Harper's Ferry, had its origin, in the perverted intellect of a monomaniac. The wretched author of the one, a de- luded fanatic, leveled a blow at an in- stitution incorporated into the organi- zation of our social and civil govern- ment, which, were it possible that it should have succeeded, would have overthrown the most magnificent struc- ture ever erected by the genius of Re- publican liberty. The puny effort, however, of the poor madman who foolishly attempted to execute the monstrous conception of a diseased brain would but for the concomitant circumstances be more pitied than blamed. The absurdity of the attempt, owing to the insignificance of the movement, the number and character of the persons engaged, but for the loss of some valuable lives, the inn- portance of the object attempted and more especially the exhibition of the . dangers of fanatical heresy growing out of it, would have been too ridicu- lous to have merited the attention it has received. The other, likewise, the creation of an addled brain, brought into unmerited notice by its author, the crazy old philosopher of Leipzic, and a few of his more prominent disciples, by striking at the stupendous struc- ture of medical science, virtually exclu- ding the materia medica from the practice of medicine, would, if the folly of its author could be carried out, overthrow the work of ages, tested by the experience and approved by the testimony of many of the best intel- lects which have ever loomed upon the world of science, and though not less ! supremely ridiculous than the wild 76 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. r— scheme of old Brown, in consequence of the danger attending its practice to the lives and health of many deluded and unconscious victims it too is, not- withstanding its pigmy character and the manner of men who profess the tenets of its decrepit author, of suffi- cient importance to entitle it to the at- tention of those capable of exhibiting its enormity and arresting its treasona- ble designs. As well might the old felon, John Brown, or his surviving disciples and confederates, if any there be, expect to consummate his fell purpose of insur- rection among the slaves of the South, as for any charlatan in medicine to an- ticipate, by his iniquitous impositions in pandering to the prejudices of the ignorant and philippizing against legitimate practice, the overthrow of that system recognized as belonging to the only orthodox school of medi- cal science by the thousands who adorn its ranks and administer daily to the relief of thousands of the hu- man race who are stricken by disease. While we can pity the miserable au- thor of the late treason, and admire the courage with which he heroically sacrificed himself and sons upon the alter of his faith, we can have no sym- pathy with, or for, the wretches who have the temerity to set up their pigmy voice and influence against the well ap- proved works of ages, and who, not- withstanding the contemptible little- ness of their sphere, do by entering the houses of widows and leading silly women (and “sillier men’’) captive, catch in the meshes of their nefarious- ly contrived net some unsuspecting victims, including the helpless infant and the babbling child of years, whose locks may be frosted by time, that has brought no understanding. I con- sider it no less incumbent upon the guardians of health to expose the shameless miscreants who are guilty of the atrocious duplicity perpetrated by the professed disciples of Hahne- mann, then was it the duty of the State and Federal athorities to make an example by bringing to condign punishment the Kansas desperado and his deluded associates. To enter into an argument for the purpose of exposing the glaring fallacy of a practice whose authors claim much, or any, medicinal virtue in the millionth part of a grain of charcoal, in such minute portions do they pro- fess to administer medicine, would be ridiculous. Why do these culpable Quacks, who discard the use of medi- cine in quantities sufficient to secure any appreciable effect, not unmask themselves and boldly proclaim their hostility to the use of any drugs and openly advocate what the French pro- perly call “the expectant plan P’” Truth answers, such honest candor would betray their folly and lose them the golden reward of iniquity. I propose, in a future paper a full expose of this flimsy bauble, yelept Homoeopathy, in my estimation the least plausible, but for its mask, of du- plicity, of all the system of charlatanry with which our age and country is ac- cursed. REDNAXELA. Athens, Tenn., Nov., 1859. - —º- Hygiene in the Practice of Medicine, * Hygiene is a subject which, in our opinion, should at this day command more attention than any one subject connected with the Medical Profession, and yet, perhaps, it is less regarded than any other. It does not confine itself to eating and drinking, to men- HYGIFNIC DEPARTMENT. 77 tal and physical culture, &c., but em- braces a wide field, taking in all those great natural laws which govern and influence the universe. The revolu- tions of the earth with its varied sea- sons, bringing the genial air of Spring and heat of Summer, and gradually and imperceptibly, as it were, gliding into fall, until the chill winds of win- ter are sweeping the earth, purifying and invigorating the face of nature, might and day, the unspotted sky, with its undisturbed electric currents, as well as the clouds with their electrical phenomena, all have their controlling influences upon the human system. And these influences are of such char- acter as must control in no little de- gree the progress and terminations of abnormal or pathological conditions. We lay down as an unfailing maxim that no natural law or principle can be violated without its evil conse- quence; the maintenance of health and the successful management of dis- ease, therefore must depend, to no in- considerable extent, upon their care- ful observance. We will, in the first place consider in as condensed manner as possible, the influences of Solar Dight upon health and disease. Says a writer upon this subject “Man in his most perfect type is doubtless to be found in the temperate regions of the globe, where the social influ- ences of light, heat and chemical rays are so richly balanced. Under the scorching rays of the tropics, man cannot call into exercise his highest powers. The caloric rays are all-pow- erful there, and lassitude of body and immaturity of mind are the necessary results, while in the darkness of the polar regions the distinctive characters of our species almost disappear, in the absence of those solar influences which are so powerful in the organic world. We perceive thus the influence of the different degrees of the sun's power over animal development, and conse- quently infer that continued total dark- ness is incompatible with organic ex- istence. k Solar light is stimulant and tonic. This we conclude from facts already mentioned, and from the fact that the germ cells of the invertebrata, as well as some of the lower order of verte- brata animals, are by the influence of the sun’s rays developed into embry- onic life; also the disappearance of corpuscles in the blood of individuals confined to dark localities. The stim- ulant action of light is perhaps more observant in the vegetable than animal kingdom, the fact of which is striking- ly exemplified by the unfolding of flowers to the morning sun and closing again upon the approach of night. Plants reared in the dark are whitish, denoting a want of the coloring prin- ciples of their circulating fluids. So marked, indeed, is the stimulant prop- erties of light upon vegetable growths that when confined to the dark they will bend towards a crevice through which is admitted a ray of light, as if to drink and relish its life-giving influ- ence. We are told by Dr. Priestly that plants in the dark are in a state similar to sleep, and that they resume their functions when placed under the influence of light and the direct action of the solar rays. We mention these facts merely to show the analogy be- tween the effect of solar light upon the animal and vegetable kingdoms. The most remarkable fact is, that in each, the circulating fluids are impov- erished in its absence. What then does this argue? That darkness pre- disposes to the developement of dis- ease; that debility and impoverished blood needs especially the influence of the sun's rays, and that anaemia, ener- vated and impoverished constitutions, cannot be renovated in the dark. No practice is more prevalent among in- valids than the exclusion from their chambers of the sun's light, and no practice is perhaps, more pernicious. Take for example, an emaciated dys- peptic, whose blood is poor and thin ; whose tissues have all wasted from de- ficient nutrition and in whom the func- tions are all lazily and languidly per- formed, and confine him for weeks to 78 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. an ordinary invalid's chamber, in which the windows are closed and curtained with studied care, and the effect must necessarily be, notwithstanding the most skilful and judicious medication, a continued and persistent aggravation of all his difficulties. The consump- tive will be upon his bed for months without for once feeling the life-giving and soul-enlivening influence of the clear sun light, while his physician is perchance filling his system with drugs for the enrichment of his blood and the building up of his tissues, when nature’s own tonic and invigorator is excluded from him. Our confidence in the application of medicinal agents should not lead us into forgetfulness of these controlling natural agencies. Let the anaemic, the impoverished con- stitution, the dyspeptic and consump- tive throw aside their dark window curtains and let freely flow the light of heaven in their dark chambers, and gloom and despondency will possess them less frequently, the blood will re- ceive a new impetus, and flow more freely through the capillary system— its richness will be increased and the tissues and functions therefore invigo- rated. If these conclusions be true, and we believe our reasoning proves them so, are we, as medical practition- ers sufficiently observant in giving our patients the advantages of solar light? As a general thing the Doctor leaves it with his patient whether his room be dark or light. There are, of course, conditions in which the influence of the sun's light would be pernicious, as in acute infla- mation, even active antiphlogistic mea- sures are necessary to be adopted. In such cases darkness would be prefera- ble, because it is the opposite of light and its influence is sedative. In most cases of sickness of whatever charac- ter the patient needs either the stimu- lant action of solar light or the seda- tive influence of darkness. One strik- ing advantage to be derived from giv- ing a patient an ordinary amount of Sun-light, is that the system will be more readily cognizant of the sedative influence of the darkness of night, and quiet slumber therefore more certainly insured. It has been observed in some of the large European hospitals that patients recovered less rapidly in the darker wards, and where the light was almost entirely excluded, the fatality was greatest. This is a fact of the great- est importance to the Medical Prati- tioner. ~ To sum up then our conclusions, we infer 1st: That light is essential to organic developement, and perfect con- formation. 2nd. That it is stimulant and tonic. 3d. That it enriches the blood and enlivens the vital actions. 4th. That darkness is the reverse of light and its influence is sedative. Sk sk :: sk Sk Sk Pure air consists of a relative pro- portion of oxygen, nitrogen and car- bonic acid. It is impure whenever these proportion are destroyed, or when unduly combined with other properties, and consequently delete- rious to health. By an adult 1915.2 solid inches of atmospheric air is res- pired every hour, and 319 solid inches every minute. We therefore perceive the necessity of a strict attention to a perfect and continual ventilation of in- valid apartments, for when the system is debilitated by disease, it of course loses more or less of its powers of re- sistance to morbific influences. The sick chamber is usually permitted to be crowed by friends and acquaintan- ces; the atmosphere of which soon becomes, from its deficiency of oxy- gen, and impregnation with carbonic acid, unfit for use, and especially for an invalid. Yet how rarely does the physician, in his over-weaning anxiety to deal out his potions with a skillful hand, examine with scrutinizing care the apartment of his patient to know if the air he breathes is easily and readily exchanged for that which is pure. We have no question but phy- sicians not unfrequently, in making their morning calls, are astonished to find that patients whom they expected strengthened and improved from their IIYGIENIC IDEPARTMENT. 79 studied and skillful prescriptions, weak- er and in a more precarious condition, when the fact is, the air of the room had, during the night, been breathed and re-breathed by the patient and his attendants until, loaded with carbonic acid, the already diseased and weak- ened system yields to the influence of poisoned air. A diseased system needs especially a pure and uncontaminated atmosphere, and in consideration of this fact we deem it highly deleterious to have a number of attendants confined for days and nights within the sick cham- ber. The sick patient not unfrequently has a bed-fellow, and almost invariably is the sick infant taken to bed at night upon the arm of its mother or its nurse, and breathes continually the im- pure and poisonous exhalations from her lungs. When such gross errors are permitted, medication can be of but little avail. Frequently little things turn the scale for either life or death, and we believe we are warranted in saying that frequently the balance is given in favor of the latter by the powerfully poisonous influences of car- bonic acid exhaled from the lungs of the sick and their attendants in close- ly confined sick chambers. If we would eradicate disease and build up debilitated and enervated constitutions, let us give our patients, both might and day, a pure, cool at- mosphere, with its due proportions of oxygen and nitrogen, giving life and vigor to the vital energies, and a per- fect and natural transformation of ve- nous to arterial blood. Every physi- cian who understands the relationship between atmospheric air and organic existence, knows the truth of all we say, and yet how common to neglect them. W. H. T. —sº- Questionable Advertisements, . Under the above head, the (Phila- delphia) American Presbyterian has a most excellent article, condemning the praetice. of admitting into the columns of public. prints, those objectionable medical advertisements with which our papers are flooded, and which are so injurious, both to body and mind, in their tendencies. It is not a little re- markable, that our journals, all of whom profess to uphold the cause of morality, if not of decency, should generally be silent upon the subject of so great an outrage. Even the large sums which are paid for the insertion of such advertisements should not, one would think, be sufficient to silence al- most the whole press, on a subject of so much interest to the welfare of the community. There is not a city, and hardly a town, in our country, in which one or more newspapers are not print- ed, containing habitually advertise- ments which, if not grossly indecent, are the most barefaced impositions.— Men subscribe for journals whose col- umns are filled with announcements which cannot be read by their wives and daughters without feelings of shame and indignation, nor by their sons without danger. It is not our province to point out the moral evils which inevitably fol- low this state of things; but in the name of the profession, in the name of humanity, we tender our thanks to the Presbyterian for its remonstrance against the practice of admitting into newspapers advertisements which hold out delusive hopes to the sick, and af. ter inducing them to spend their mo- ney for worthless, if not pernicious compounds, leave them in a worse state than before. We are aware that our motives will be misconstrued by some ; that our indignation may be prompted by the jealousy occasioned by the suc- cess of “illegitimate” medicine. The charge is simply absurd. Individuals may be occasionally injured by the success of empirics, but as we have stated before now, the profession is indirectly, and many physicians are di- rectly benefitted by the unfortunate consequences of taking quack medi- cines. It is the deluded public who suffer, a large portion of whom can only be made to believe, after they have been taught by bitter experience, 80 HYGIENTC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. that ignorant pretence, unblushing im- pudence, barefaced imposture, are but a poor dependence in time of need.— We appeal to the respectability of our profession throughout the land, and through the world, as a proof of the purity of our motives. The journal from which we quote copies a number of advertisements, whose absurdity would provoke laugh- ter, if it did not excite our pity that such transparent frauds should be played off on the public, with hardly a remonstrance from the press, which, on the contrary, in too many instances strongly recommends them to the pat- ronage of the public. “We take up a paper,” says the Presbyterian, and “as we read we find the announcement that a certain per- son offers his “Cancer Drops and Ointment” to those afflicted with can- cer and scrofula. With more modesty than ordinarily characterizes the ven- der of such nostrums, he only asserts that it is a ‘safe and generally certain remedy for such diseases.” Now, are the editors of that paper so grossly ignorant as to believe that cancer or scrofula can be cured by ‘ointment and drops ? Do they not know that thousands are sent to premature graves by drugging themselves within, and plastering themselves without, with such nostrums ?” We subjoin another extract: “But, as if this were not enough— and how strange it is that with such a remedy any other should be in demand —we have, in the same paper, a disin- terested individual, who has a certain cure for consumption, which he longs to give the suffering. Hear him : “‘A retired physician, whose sands of life have nearly run out, discovered, while living in the East Indies, a cer- tain cure for consumption, bronchitis, coughs, colds, and general debility.— Wishing to do as much good as possi- ble, he will send to such of his afflicted fellow beings as request it, this recipe, with full and explicit directions for ma- king up and successfully using it. He requires each applicant to enclose him one shilling, three cents to be returned as postage on the recipe, and the re- mainder to be applied to the payment of this advertisement.” “Think of it ! Consumption cured for ‘one shilling’ and a postage stamp !!! No wonder that the editors desire to spread the glad tidings among their thousands of readers. “How is it with our friend ? Is he engaged in the good work? Yes. He has a whole column, from the top to the bottom of his sheet, filled by the advertisement of one enterprising vender of these precious remedies.— Here is a priceless balsam, proclaiming its virtues in paragraph upon para- graph of human grandiloquence.— Cough, bronchitis, asthma, all fly be- fore its wondrous powers of expulsion. Even consumption cannot stand it. “‘Before its delightful influence all chills, fevers, night sweats, blueness of nails, a hot, flushed skin, an uncertain strength, emaciation and decline—dis- appear like the poisonous dews of night before the glorious morning sun. This is no delusion, but a demonstra- tive fact, sustained by incontestable proof from all parts of the country. “If your difficulties lie in another quarter of the frame, you need not despond. We learn from the same source that anything, from Cholera to the bite of a rattlesnake, may be cured by a certain “Pain Killer ſ” “The editor, perceiving the desira- bleness of his readers not overlooking this invaluable medicine, favors them, under the head of ‘cheap life insurance,’ with a short notice of it, and of an- other equally useful remedy, in a space lying between the call of the Rev. Mr. to the pastorate, and the marri- ages of the week!” We heartily agree with the Presby. terian that the publishers of newspa- pers are responsible for what they send into the houses of their subscribers, and that the public may and should hold them accountable for the tendency of their advertisements, as well as for that of other portions of their sheet. [Boston Med. & Surg. Jour, and Med. Gaz. HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 81 | Ages ago, Anchises marvelled at the crinoline of Venus. So Homer feigns— | . “Wideus eam Anchises, admirabatur formam et stupendas vestes.” The sex have followed the fashion of their divinity; and though succeeding ages have accumulated objurgations, sermons, satires, and parodies, the en- during folly has survived. Spite of Lucian, and Seneca, and Horace; spite of Bassus de intmoderato mºuliorum, cultu-of Philo Judaeus, Tertullian, and Guivaria, the institution still flour- ishes in its utmost enormity. It is as when Ovid complained—pars minima Fireproof Fabrics. | | } estipsa pwella wi. “A hundred yards, I think, barely suffice for the ample skirt;” and as the unthinking maid, moth-like, draws near the fire—presti- oso amicta palliolo—she forgets too often that part of her which is not herself, and sad catastrophes occur. The watchful tutelage, and perchance inventive sympathy, of the press sup- ply weekly testimony to these perils of the modern petticoat, and have narrat- ed many score cases of martyrdom in which the flaming vestment has been more fatal than the robe of Dejanira. But neither ridicule, reprobation, nor fear of roasting, has banished this dan- gerous fashion. And since modern no- tions do not accord with such strin- gent enactments as Lex Valeria et Op- pia, our chemists have set themselves to investigate the value of certain salts in rendering fabrics non-inflammable, so that thus the heedless votaries of fashion may be endued with a fireproof º casing. The candles of the Christmas- tree, the ball-room chandeliers, stage lamps, and household fires, shall no longer become the funeral pyres of beauty, helplessness, and infirmity. At the desire of the Queen, who sought to save those whose whims she could rule, Mr. Versmann and Dr. Op- penheim were requested by the Mas- ter of the Mint to undertake a series of experiments which should render ladies' vestments fireproof. This they the acceptance. have not been wholly successful in achieving; for since all organic struct- ures are liable to decomposition by heat, every attempt to impart to them the property of indestructibility by fire must fail. But they have done al- most enough : the dress will no longer flame, it will only crumble; and, in the worst case, the fair wearer may rise like a Phoenix, unhurt from amid the ashes of her outer shell. This result has been attained with no small difficulty. A number of chem- icals are cited more or less precious for this purpose. Most of them have a grave defect: they injure the color of the fabric; and though Bacon would have it that “in beauty that of favor is preferred before that of colors,” yet no arrow can be spared from the quiv- er, and such expedients would find lit- We cannot follow our chemists through the long lists of salts on which they have experimented, but strongly commend the brochure to the perusal of all concerned. Tungstate of soda and sulphate of ammonia are those most strongly recommended; the former on account of its being the only salt not interfering with the iron- ing of the fabrics, and the latter by its efficiency and low price. These are, however, soluble, and will not with- stand washing ; so that the laundress must be prepared to mingle science with her soap-suds; and we must in- sist upon her employing sulphate of ammonia and tungstate of soda, al- lowing her, by way of revenge, to call them by any misnomer which may please her. It is only due to Mr. Wakley to state, that during a period of nearly twenty years he has been endeavoring to discover and bring into use some article which might prevent accidents from the burning of clothes; and with- in the last two years, at his request, Mr. Lloyd Bullock, practical chemist, has been engaged on the same subject and with a similar object. We believe that Mr. Bullock's labors have nearly reached the desired point, and that we shall have the pleasure of announcing 3 82 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. the happy result within a brief period. —London Jancet. ——º--- -- - - The value of Instinct in the Choice of Diet. BY THOMAS HUNT. In a paper of much interest, which was read before the Medical Society of London, Mr. Hunt begins by referring to the signification in which the term instinct has been used; and then pro- ceeds to express his opinion that it is no more true to allege that man has no instinct, than to deny that the lower animals possess a certain amount of reason. In man, instinct is first ex- hibited by the propensity of every new-born infant to suck and swallow— a propensity prior to experience, and independent of instruction. As age advances, the tendency to suck is grad- ually supplanted by a tendency to bite and masticate. Instinct, indeed, pre- sides over the whole physical life of man, regulating his diet, and suggest- ing how he may best preserve his ex- istence. After some remarks on regi- men, including clothing, bathing, air, bodily and mental exercise and recrea- tion, sleep, and all essentials to health, inclusive of diet and medicine, the author proceeds to offer some observa- tions on diet. He observes that, in the question of prescribing a proper diet, instinct is beforehand with us, both with regard to the quantity and the quality of the food; and the vari- ations between different people, with regard to dietetic points, are adduced as showing that the instinct of the in- dividual is a far better aid in this mat- ter than science, which has hitherto been able to shed but a very feeble light on this intricate subject. The author believes that many cases of dys- pepsia actually originate in, or at least are aggravated by, a too rigid adher- ence to artificial rules of diet, a too restricted use of the good things which nature has provided, and a too strict avoidance of fruits, acids, sweets, fresh vegetables, vinous liquors, &c. We know something of the analysis of or- ganic products; but of the process of their synthesis we are quite ignorant; and it seems presumptuous in us to dictate to the economy of digestion what materials are best suited to it. The natural sensations of the patient are far safer guides, both in health and in disease. In early fever, the appe- tites of man are far different from those in health; as fever advances and takes on new types, the longings of the patient vary; and sometimes ar- ticles supposed to be improper and in- digestible (such as pickled walnuts, ect.,) are desired, and, if the patient can only get them, he often dates his recovery from the indulgence of this apparently capricious taste. Many most distressing cases of dyspepsia may be relieved by allowing the pa- tients every kind of food which their appetites may suggest. A variety of food is generally preferred, and is most salutary. The author relates several instances in which he had known dis- ease of the digestive organs to be cured by the free indulgence in articles which are generally denounced as im- proper. There are exceptions to the rule that the instinct is the best guide. In some cases, the sensations of the palate and the stomach are disordered; as in the chlorotic female or the habit- ual drunkard; and sometimes we meet with cases in which persons are fond of certain substances, which, however, always “make them ill.” Modern cookery, also, by setting before us a succession of spiced and savory food, also renders the appetite morbid, and causes exceptions to the rule that in- stinct dictates the quality of food. —sº----— - Medical Properties of the Tomato. There may, perhaps, be some foun- dation for an assertion which has been lately several times repeated, that the tomato is an efficient “deobstruent,” whatever that may be, and will be a good substitute for calomel by reason of its gentle action on the liver. It is said to be a useful and harmless reme- dial agent in biliary obstruction, and is described as “almost a sovereign HYGIENIC IDEPARTMENT. 83 remedy for dyspepsia and indigestion,” obviously an exaggeration, perhaps a misstatement. It has been attested in cases of cough, and succeeded; so have many thousand remedies. There is little or no positive evidence in its fa- vor; but enough of positive assertion and probable virtue to make it worth the attention of experimental pharma- cologists. It may be used not only as an article of materia medica, but has the advantage of being an agreeable item in the materia alimentaria.- London Lancet. wº--º-º-o-º-º- A word to Mothers. BY YOUNG PHYSIC. This is the season in which so great mortality obtains in the infantile world. July, August, and September, are emphatically the sickly months in Missouri; particularly is this true in reference to children. - Now is the time of that dreaded disease—“the summer complaint”— dreaded by fond and doting parents, for they well know what they have at stake; dreaded by the scientific and conscientious physician, for he too well knows that his best directed and most certain remedies will often fail him, and his little patient will sink, day by day, until the “last cord is severed and the golden bowl is broken at the fountain.” The last months are par- ticularly destructive to children who are just entering upon their first den- º or who have been recently wean- ©Cl, A few words of advice for the ben- efit of the children, may not be out of place. If mothers would use a little of that common sense for which the American women are so noted, for the protection of their offspring, they would lay bet- ter foundations for the future health and happiness of their children, as well as ward off present disease. God Al- mighty has seen fit to give us fixed, unalterable, and definite laws, both moral and physical; for the infraction of those laws he will most assuredly call us to the strictest account, and however lenient he may deal with the soul, all of our experience proves that he never forgives blood, sinew, bones, or muscle. “He that sins shall most surely die.” Let mothers, then, take the charge of their little infants into their own hands, instead of intrusting them to the care of indifferent and careless servants. th A child's physical training should begin with its birth; its instincts and natural desires should be studied and strengthened; its dress should be loose and comfortable ; it should have reg- ular hours for nursing and sleeping. An infant needs much quiet and much sleep, and by quiet I mean both ab- sence of ºvoise and motion. Teach your child to nurse at bedtime, and to sleep through the night by itself with- out more food. This can easily be done, and ought to be done. Never put your child into those de- testable things called cradles. Better cut its throat at once, and free it from all the pains and ill which you will most certainly rock into it. Rocking produces a partial congestion of the brain, causing dizziness, such as you may experience by turning upon one foot rapidly for a minute, and it is very like unto the effects of liquor upon the brain of a drunken man. This congestion causes a stupor, and the child lies still ; but, oh! don’t call it sleep, that balm and sweet restorer, 'tis more nearly death ; it is the sleep of a drunkard, or an apoplectic, or of a faintness; ’tis disease produced by over-excitement, over-stimulation of the brain. - Ye wicked mothers why not pour wine or rum down their throats? it would put them to sleep as well, and save a deal of squalling. Why, the Lord bless you, dear madam, let it squall and kick too; how else can it use its little lungs to so good advant- age? 'tis a stronger exercise than breathing, and almost as good as laugh- ing; either will make the child grow fat. A child often cries because it is sick, but it often cries, too, because it 84 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. can’t laugh, it gets tired of smiling ! let it cry, good woman, it won’t hurt it; it will give it lungs like a wild ze- bra. Your rocking produces nervous dis- ease; it makes the child fretful, spoils its appetite, saps its constitution, and transmits many an ill that might have been avoided by taking a more simple and natural plan. Let it sleep like “Diana’s” or “Bridget’s” child does —by itself, in quiet and in peace. sk >k >k Sk >{< *k sk Don’t put your child into a little jolly wagon at this age, and send it into the bright light and heat of a noonday’s sun, nor into the dampness of a Western evening, to take exer- cise—exercise, indeed ' 'Tis a subter- fuge; you only want it out of the way. Now, a child should have fresh air and exercise, but this is the last way in the world to give it to them. If the child has been properly cared for and correctly trained up to this time, it will pass through its “second summer” unscathed. But if its whole life has been mismanaged, if the whole armament of starch, bandages, cords, stays, and pins—if rocking and jolt- ing—if feeding and stuffing—if med- dlesome attention and disgraceful meg- lect have all been in league against the life of the little sinner ; if added to this, it has been “soused” into a tub of cold water every morning, in spite of the screams and kicks of the little sufferer, whose feeling and instincts are wholly ignored, then, alas ! for the fate of that child. But to come now to the immediate period of the disease, be the previous habits what they may. This is the season for ripe and un- ripe fruits, melons, berries, &c., with which our fertile country abounds, and they are within the reach of all. They are not only eaten as they come from markets, rinds, seeds and all, but, to still add to their indigestibility, they are served up in a score of ways, with rich sauces, stale extracts, made into jellies, preserves, &c., and the children are allowed to eat at all times, and in quantities which are limited only by the capacities of their enlarged stomachs and swelled bellies. The child gets pale, becomes fretful, loses its appetite, starts in its sleep, and has a general malaise. The kind mother is afraid that worms are troub- ling her dear child, and then comes the whole infernal farrago of vermifuges, lozenges, drops, cordials, &c., until worm chases worm out of the little pale-faced pot-belly; but still the child gets “no better fast,” and when the list of known and probable remedies, old woman’s teas and “yarb’ have been tried in vain for days, the doctor is hastily summoned in the small hours of a raining night, to see—what? the last struggles of a murdered child ! Perhaps the little sufferer lingers for days with the “summer complaint,” produced by bad habits, aggrevated by nostrums, and kept up foolishness; it yeilds day by day, as if dying of a slow poison, and the parents console themselves—after having called all the doctors in the city, who have conflict- ing opinions upon the treatment of the disease, and after it has run the gaunt- let of all the “pathies” and old wives’ remedies—by saying, “It is the will of God; let us bow in humble submission.” Now, what is this disease that kills so many children How is it to be prevented ? By giving your children plain, sim- ple, nutritious and wholesome food, in proper quantites, and at proper times; such as milk, eggs, butter, bread, ripe fruit, &c., but avoiding indigestible food, pastries, candy-shops, and such things, that create an artificial or de- praved appetite, or weaken digestion. If the child gets a little unwell, keep it in-doors, diet it, watch it, but don’t dose it before you send for a doctor, for unfortunately the little innocent often gets enough “stuff” after a doc- tor comes to kill a dozen children, were it not that the humane druggist has taken the timely precaution to supply it with inert and deteriorated medi- cines. For the present, yours truly. —St. Joseph Medical Journal. ºf LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 85 sºrºr-wa------~~~ ********- -----, *-*a*- £iterarm Department. ----- —-Q--— MADAME LE FERVE, EDITRESS. ASIDE from all educational conside- rations, our own loved South, with its flashing waters, warm blue skies, and melting showers, is, we think, pe- culiarly adapted to the development, of not only a high grade of masculine intellect, but also, a superior order of genius, regardless of sex or circum- stances. Not only is our soil generous in the yielding of its substance for the nutrition of bone, muscle, and sinew, but low down, where the miner's shaft may send its eager point, lie hidden stores of ore, yet undreamed of, by the most sanguine and visionary.- And, too, with our wealth of luscious fruits, melting in delicious sweetness upon our lips, combined as they are with the fragrant beauty of our Floral gifts, how can we, with such a climate, resources and productions, be mentally wanting in all the great attributes re- quisite to a great people º That some latitudes are more favorable to genius than others, none but the ignorant will deny ; since all classics know, that only Greece and Italy have produced the finest sculpture and painting, as Germany has the master achievements in philosophy, music, and metaphysics, why, then, may not our balmy South, with her warm sun, blue skies, tempt- ing fruits, honey-laden flowers, rich soils, fervent hearts, brave men and beautiful women, equal, if not surpass in qualifications, those of a colder land, in whose veins the blood creeps slow- * er, and with whom the greed of gain supplies the love of man. Too long have we tacitly acknowledged our- selves inferior in learning to the Nor- thern States, when really, like freighted ships of costly merchandise, we have lain supine at our moorings, while those of less value have covered and monopolised our Literary seas. Then let us be up and doing, and hold our heads where they were designed to be, erect upon our shoulders; with suffi- cient courage and self-confidence, to look all competition bravely in the face. We have, as a people, only to patronise and encourage each other to ensure national strength, and literary success; for, bound together as we irresistably are, by our own peculiar institutions, we only need co-operation to defy all and every form of rivalry. Not that we wish to see female Na- poleons, neither like Licurgus, would we have woman read laws to the pop- ulace; but call on her earnestly to shake off that incubus of vanity and display, which too long obscured her divine attributes, rendering her a gew- gaw or play-thing, fit only to amuse the idle moments of men. While a genteel appearance is always essential to gentility, yet she who is a slave to her toilet can never find time, either for home duties or the culture of those talents entrusted to her for improve- ment. We know that all women were not born with the wand of genius in 86 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. their hands, as all heads are not crea- ted to wear a crown ; but that is no reason why each one should not aspire to the achievement of some excellence. Parents are very much to blame for the fruitless vine confided to their cares; and no son or daughter, who has spent a fruitless or unprofitable life, but may justly reflect in some de- gree upon their home tuition. The haunts of shame and felon’s cell would be less populous than they are, if pa- rental discipline tended more to intel- lectual elevation, and less to groveling acquisitions, vanity and display. Not that I would lay the sins of every child at its father’s door since the in- mate propensities of some are more vicious and intractable than others; but to a very great extent censure the mode of indoor training, and that want of moral influence so shamefully neglected around the family altar. Beneath the rays of our almost trop- ical sun, the mind, like vegetation, ma- tures much more rapidly than in a less genial clime; as also our passions, im- pulses and incentives, are more ardent, excitable and strong. Then, where is the reason upon which to base the conclusion, that we may not success- fully compete with the North in lite- rature, as we certainly have done in national prowess, and are doing in schools, churches, and internal im- provements? Have we not as great stars in our political firmament as she Then, why should we not in every other respect, have our “Rolands for her Olivers ?” But the women of this soft clime have been held too sacred by their proud lords to suffer their delicate fabrics to be soiled in the dusty arena of competition; and thus have we been left in the rear of our older sisters, who, to our disparagement, have split many a lance with honor in the tournament of literature and science. They, our fathers and husbands, are almost wholly to blame for all this, since southern men generally, have es- chewed the highly cultivated of our sex, and, as if by mutual consent, shrunk from them with intuitive intol. erance, regarding them as a class of anomalous appendages to society.— Beside, not a few bearing a similar form to our own, positively endorse the same sentiments, I mean those who stand outside the vestibule of learning. Nothing is more absurd than for an educated man to ally himself to an in- sensate and unlearned woman, with the impression, that ignorance implies innocence; since the more highly we are sublimed the less dross we possess. Then let the South look to the eleva- tion of her women ; and instead of suppressing her aspirations, assist her in reaching the summit; for if they will only bid us “God speed” we shall ere long erect a monument of glory to her pride and honor. LE FERVE. —º- Guardian Angels Are ever on the wing; and anon come hovering gently down, even around the worst, and most miserable of us. Not only do they pause by the bed-side of innocence and beauty, but, piercing the dungeon’s gloom, reach down to the felon’s soul, awakening tender memories, and re-touching the faded lineaments of childhood's forgot- ten pictures. There within the secret gallery of that hidden tabernacle, he stands musing alone; above the portals of which is written in burning letters, self-condemnation. Turn as he will, these invisible creations point him un- LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 87 erringly to the words; inspiring him with renewed resolution to shake off the fetters of sin and transgression.— Recollections of a fond mother, whose lullaby first soothed him into rest, with those of the blushing, budding fresh- ness of a sister's virgin bloom, lifts back the dark curtain from the sacred archive, when lo! upon his pinioned hands, fall hot and fast, great tears of sorrow, contrition and regret. Softly as wailings from a drowning child, comes floating back despairing cries of one, whose pleading hands were raised in vain, to beckon him away from dan- gerous cliffs, over which his misguided feet in madness lingered. Again, these children of heaven come nestling around the pillow of her whose steps have sought “forbidden paths,” and from whose heart, white wings have long departed. The brief obli- vion - which libations from a gin-shop brings, with their lull and languor, ma- nia or indifference, drives not forever back the accusing spirit, nor shuts en- tirely out those celestial visitants, God, in his mercy, delegated to watch over his erring flock. In the hush of a sum- mer's balmy night, or the fearful rage of wind and storm—shaken as we may be, between contending elements of air and water, or basking in the sun-light of love and luxury; yea, every where, from the hut of want to the halls of ease, our guardian angels follow, point- ing us aright, however persistent we may be in the wrong. See, yonder sleeps a manly youth, whose bearded the good man sleeps; untortured by the visions haunting him, who violates the précepts, all must accept, who would blest and happy be. Step softly now, for this is hallowed ground; a spot to youth and beauty— sacred and intact; where no rude foot intrude its way—a downy nest, where only mother-birds their loved ones cov- er. Here, slumbering sweet, a fair young girl folds her white hands to rest; and as the balmy breath escapes her parted lips, no shadow from a darkling wing, falls on the mirror of her sinless soul. Sheltered from the rough winds, rudely brushing other cheeks, her feet have not yet tried the wily paths grim want hews for the poor. Securely guarded from tempta- tion’s touch, the evil genii has not en- tered in ; and thus she lays her soft cheek in her rosy palm, or with clasp- ed hands upon her stainless breast, she sleeps the type and symbol of the angel hovering at her side. LE FERVE. “ANNIE LAURI.E.”—Mr. Chambers says, the verses of this song, which are in a style wonderfully chaste and ten- der for their age, were written by Mr. Douglas, of Finland, upon Annie, one of the four daughters of Sir Robert Laurie, first Baronet of Maxwelton, by his second wife, who was a daughter of Riddle, of Minto. As Sir Robert was created a Baronet in the year 1785, it is probable that the verses were composed about the end of the 17th or the beginning of the 18th century. It is painful to record that, notwithstand- chin bespeaks a boyhood past, but why jing the ardent and chivalrous affection comes o'er that unseared brow, flitting shadows dark and fast, if not from mem- displayed by Mr. Douglas in his poem, he did not obtain the heroine for a e º * & & g ories of transgressions, still pursuing wife. She was married to Mr. Fergu- him in dreams? But see how ealm son, of Craigdarrech. HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. ^ $2OO Frize Story. ZELLA, BY JESSIE RANDOLPH. -č (HAIPTER IV. A happy breakfast party was that, assembled around Madame D’Alvig- ny’s hospitable board, on the morning after Leon’s arrival and from the ge- nial smiles that lighted up her face, as she viewed the goodly company, it was fair to conclude that the stately and still blooming Madame was the happiest of them all. After she had arranged them all to her liking, and to their liking too, it seemed, with one or two exceptions; first came Eugene and Miss Summers to her’ right, and next to them, Col. Delany and Miss Lavolette, while upon the left were placed, first, Leon and Zella Warren, and next to them Miss Julia Lavolette and Mr. Pennington, next to him the minister, Mr. Gaines, while Gen. D’Al- vigny occupied the Chair of State at the foot of the table. The meeting between Zella and Leon was rather awkward at first, but it soon wore off, and they chatted away unreservedly about their childhood days and the time that had passed since they were together last. Florence and Eugene seemed to be getting along very well, also, over their side of the table, very much to Madame's satisfaction, and to the evi- dent annoyance of both Mr. Gaines and Col. Delany. Florence was per- fectly radiant, her morning dress was vastly becoming, and the crimson flow- ers with which she had dressed her hair, notwithstanding the hour, height- ened the effect of her dark and singu- lar beauty. Frank Pennington was, in the place of all others, by the side of Julia Lavolette, that he would have chosen, had the choice been given him, and that once established, the locality would have been a minor consideration entirely. Paradise or Purgatory, be- ing equally a matter of indifference to him, so long as there was nothing said of a separation; at least, that was what he told Miss Julia ; and in matters of that kind gentlemen are always truth- ful. * Col. Delany and Miss Margaret were both absent-minded, for one was think- ing of a certain Lieutenant, who had shone as a star of the first magnitude in the fashionable firmament, during the past winter, and who bent his head so low to whisper in her ear at parting, that his silky mustache brushed against her cheek:-“Before the flowers of Spring are all gone, I shall be back again,” and spring's flowers were near- ly gone. The other was watching the evident flirtation between Mr. Eugene D’Alvigny and Miss Summers. So their conversation was remarkable only for its dullness, yet the laugh and jest went round, wit flashed and sparkled like lightning from a summer cloud, and mirth, and gladness crowned the hour. But in this world of ours every thing pleasant or joyful comes to a speedy end, and breakfast was at last over. Leon resigned Zella to her un- cle, and offering his arm to his mother, he enquired, as they led the way to the drawing room, “what was to be the order of the day’s amusements * “I scarcely know,” answered mad- ame, “how, or where we will spend the day, but as it is Zella's birthday we will let her decide the important question.” • * LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 89 “A party of gipsies,” continued Leon, “regular Bohemian gipsies, came over in the schooner with me from Cuba, and intend stopping here several days, probably longer, and I thought it possible some or all of you ladies, might like to drive, or, as the morning is fine, ride over and see them. One of them, who calls herself the Queen, promised to tell me my for- tune when I came, in return for the privilege I gave them of hunting in my father’s woods. Are any of you desirious of consulting the future ?” he asked, in a tone of mock gravity ; “if so, allow me to recommend my protege, Myra, to your charitable con- sideration.” “The gipsies 2 by all means, we will all go to see the gipsies,” answer- ed several voices, Zella's among the rest—“we will all go and have our fortunes, told.” “Did you say ‘Myra' was the name of the gypsy Queen 2° asked Miss Margaret. “Yes,” answered Leon, “that is her name; did you ever hear of her before ?” “I saw her, and had my fortune told when I was in Havana, last win- ter,” she answered, blushing deeply, “and she told me I—” g * “Would marry a moral officer, and go to Lea,” broke in the merry voice of Julia. “Do you know my sister has had quite a fancy for gypsies, ever since P’” “That being the case, Maggie,” said Florence, “why did you refuse the bur- ly Captain, who was so devoted six months ago. It is no use to struggle against fate. Marry him you must ; and to sea you will have to go, if the gypsey said so, and your telling him no, was only postponing the evil day.” “Never mind her,” said Julia, “ she was only testing the strength of the Captain's affection, or the power of her own charms—I don’t know which ; but she is bound to be a sailor. I see salt-water in her eyes, and a white squall looming up in the horizon of her forehead. But come, let us not stand here talking all day, or the gypsies will have time to embark on their raft, or craft—which is it Maggie 2—and sail to the other side of the water, before we can make them a call.” “I think so too,” said Madame, “therefore, I propose that we make a move of some sort. Eugene, will you please to give orders for the horses and carriages to be brought out 2 mean- while we bodies must go and re-change our dresses for something more suitable for the woods.” “While the bodies were getting ready, Leon set off as avaunt courier, to inform the gypsies of the intended visit. The party followed at their leis- ure, laughing, singing, chatting, and being in every way as uproariously merry as a party of ladies and gentle- men well could be. Some rode in car- riages, some in the light and airy lau- dau, peculiar to Cuba, and some on horse-back, among whom , were Eu- gene and Miss Summers. In a dell almost entirely surrounded by hills, the gypsies had pitched their camp. Their tents, seven in number, one large and six small ones, were al- ready erected, and their occupants were going about their daily business with as much nonchalence as though they had been reared upon the spot. The gypsies themselves, numbered, 4 90 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. probably, a hundred, of all ages, sizes and conditions, from the screeching infant upon the grass, to the aged bel- dam with her staff. Our party paused, involuntarily, as they reached the brow of the hill, to view the strange and picturesque scene that had sprung, like magic, into exis- tence, and while they were watching the curious spectacle, Leon joined them. “The gypsies are not ready to re- ceive us yet,” he said, and will not be in an hour or more. Suppose, while we are waiting for them, we all leave the horses and carriages in charge of the servants, and take a ramble; if I mistake not there is a little fall some- where about here that I should like to see again. What say you ladies?” The ladies consenting, the party scat- tered themselves through the woods in search of the falls, that Leon had expressed a wish to see. The first that found it were to call to their companions that they might all come. Julia and Frank were the first to ar- rive at a place where a little brook tumbled over some rocks and fell about ten feet, but which Leon insisted upon calling a magnificent cascade. Their call was answered by half a dozen mer- ry voices, and in a few moments the party had all gathered round the “in- fant Niagara” and were making the woods echo to the sound of their soul- stirring mirth. Julia had gathered some bay leaves and one Snowy blossom, in her walk, and was soon busily engaged in ma- king a wreath. Maggy, half reclining against a tree, was throwing pebbles in the water. Zella, laughingly, de- clared she foresaw she would suffer terribly from “ennui,” consequently had provided herself with a book, was idly scribbling on a blank leaf, with Leon's pencil. Florence sat watching Julia's proceedings for a while, and suddenly concluded she would make a wreath, too. . “Go, Eugene,” she said, “you and Leon, and get me the things necessary: such as leaves, flowers, and fine straw ; I want two flowers for mine,” she add- ed, “in a “bow Tasso.’” “For whose head is it intended, when made, Miss Florence 2'' asked Leon. “Not yours, certainly, but go, and if you cannot get flowers, bring me a large conch shell, or a live crabb, for my centerpiece.” Julia worked away perseveringly, and the brothers, after charging Frank not to let the craw-fish catch the la- dies, while they were gone, linked their arms in each other, and walked away. “Well, Leon, old boy,” said Eu- gene, as soon as they were out of hearing, “it has been a long time since you and I were here together, and will, no doubt, be long before we are here again, as our mother told me you are en route for that jaw-breaking University somewhere on the other side of the world, to be gone a small age; but I say, old fellow,” he contin- ued, suddenly, and with more affection than he had ever shown before, “why will you not stop with us? if you will stay I will divide my fortune equally with you; and there is, you know, enough for both. Stay and share it. In the days gone by I know I was none of the best in the way of a bro- ther, but I had not learned to appreci- ate you then; I have now, and would LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 91 like to do better if you will give me a chance. What say you?” Leon could scarcely credit his senses —these were the first words of affec- tion that had ever passed his brother's lips, and they overpowered him. He leaned his head upon his hands, and for a moment, pictured himself at home in his father's house, enjoying the af. fection that he had so coveted in child- hood, the companion and friend of his brother, and the companion, too, of Zella. The vision, however, was only momentary, for memory arrested her privileges, and brought before his eyes the chilling embrace of his mother, the careless shake of the hand from his fa- ther, and, also, the impulsive disposi- tion of his brother ; and then came a vision, too, of a lovely old man in his West Indian home, who had been fa- ther, brother, companion and all to him—who had loved him when no one else cared for him, and to whom he had made a promise to consider his house a home so long as the old man should live—and when that picture arose, if any weakness had lingered before, that dispelled it. With the tears still upon his cheeks, he raised his head; “No brother,” said he, “many thanks to you; but I cannot take advantage of your generos- ity to the extent of half your posses- sions, for I promised Uncle Jerome, never to leave him ; besides, I wish to travel and see some of the beauties and wonders of the old world, and this is my only chance; but I thank you all the same, and will not forget your kindness, although I cannot accept it.” "“Cannot! fiddlesticks; will not, you mean,” exclaimed Eugene, impatient- ly. “But have it your own way, as you always did; and as long as you will not, there is an end of the matter —but, listen, those girls are calling us; let us get the flowers.” And, with an offended look, he turned away to per- form his errand; his brother following him in silence. They clambered up the hill, and gathered the snow-white bay flowers with their green and glossy leaves, then descended to the other side and gathered the shells old Ocean, in her wanton play, had thrown upon the beach, those bright children of the waves, whose pearly chambers forever echo to their parent's voice, adding a wail of their own because they can never return to their blue and briny home; and thus laden with the treas- ures of earth and ocean, the brothers returned to their companions. The scene had changed slightly du- ring their absence. Julia, had finished her wreath and placed it upon the head of Zella, very much to her surprise, as was evident from the half pleased, half startled look that still lingered on her face. Her book had fallen from her hand and was lying open at her feet, her long brown curls were slightly dis- ordered from the sudden removal of her hat, a deep flush was on her cheeks, a beaming light in her dark blue eyes, which harmonized well with the wreath whose rich green leaves and single flowers of snowy whiteness all com- bined to render her at that moment the very personification of loveliness. “Look brother,” exclaimed Eugene rapturously. “By heaven she's a beau- ty, I must secure that flower.” “And I the leaves,” said Leon as he quickly followed his brother.” “There, Miss Florence,” said Eu- 92 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. gene as he deposited his flowers beside her; there, go to work and make me a wreath for my trouble, and without waiting to hear her reply he walked to where Julia and Zella were disputing with Leon about the propriety of young ladies wearing wreaths instead of hats to protect them from the sun. “No ; no ; Leon,” said Zella, “I should tan as dark as yon gypsies be- fore night, and certainly that would not improve me, notwithstanding you think the brunette so hansome; so I’ll just trouble you for my hat, and as Julia positively refuses to make any body else a wreath you may have mine.” “I protest, Miss Zella,” exclaimed Eugene—“I claim the first right to that wreath.” “Upon what grounds?” asked Zella, with a smile. Eugene colored slightly, but didn’t reply, while Zella quietly removed the wreath from her head and offered it to Leon. “Pray, accept, with my best wishes, etc., etc.,” said she, “I would make a speech suitable for the occasion, but I cannot ; no doubt you can get one of those wise heads yonder, to do that favor for you,” pointing to where Mar- garet and Florence were sitting; “any way allow me to advise you to carry these shells where they belong, or the lady will get tired waiting for them.” “Sure enough, I had forgotten them,” said Leon, moving away. “Come here, Julia,” called Marga- ret, “and show Florence how you made your wreath.” Julia followed Leon, leaving Eugene and Zella alone—she spoke a few low words that produced a look of flushed surprise and pleasure, upon the face of the ingenious child, who had not yet learned the world’s hard lesson of dis- simulation — words that reached no ear save hers for whom they were in- tended—yet the effect was not lost upon one who looked on with a burn- ing heart at the bitter scene. In a few moments they joined the others, to see how the wreath-making pro- gressed. From some strange cause, Florence had lost all interest in her oc- cupation, and was tossing her shells into the book, tearing her flowers to pieces, and refusing either to make a wreath, or give a reason for her change of purpose. “Well, brother,” said Leon, “as nothing else remains for you, I sup- pose I shall have to divide my wreath with you, and as you said you wanted the flower here, here it is.” “I didn’t say so,” said Eugene. “What I did you not say you must secure that flower P” asked Leon. “Yes, but I didn’t wear the one in wreath,” answered Eugene. “Which one did you mean, then P’’ asked Leon, simply. Margaret smiled, and remarked, “Perhaps the flower was only a fig- ure of speech.” - Eugene did not reply, and Zella faintly comprehending that there was a significance in what they were say- ing, and fearing she was the subject, blushed and looked more discomposed each moment, and at last, unable to control herself any longer, she asked, “What in the world are you all talking about 2 I cannot understand anything you are all saying. Can you, Miss Florence 2’’ - Florence gazed steadily at her a LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 93 moment, without taking the slightest notice of the question, then with a curl of the lip, she muttered some- thing about “affected ignorance.” Zella looked hurt, and turned away. “Has any body seen my book?” she asked. “Yes, you left it yonder where you were sitting,” answered Eugene; “stay, I will get it for you. “Miss Zella,” said Frank, who for the last half hour had been sitting with his back against a tree, looking on and listening, but taking no part in anything—“Miss Zella, will you not take pity upon my loneliness and loan me your book? I have been trying ever so long to get Miss Julia here to utter a connected sentence, but all in vain. I fear her mind is wandering.” “Content yourself,” retorted Julia, “the supply of mind to which you can reasonably beg a claim is too small to “Wander.” “Now does every body hear that? said Frank, with a tragic air. Miss Zella, my only hope of existence de- pends upon you. Can I have the book?” , Yes,” answered Zella, archly, “if you will promise to read it through; and turning to Julia she whispered, “it is my copy of Estelle and he does not read French.” Julia laughed merrily as Frank took the book from Eugene, and promising not to miss a word, resumed his re- clining attitude. The remainder of the party contin- ued their light conversation, all except Florence, who gloomy and absent minded, until they were interrupted by an exclamation from Frank: “Oh! my comets /* he exclaimed, “who ever dreamed that Miss Zella Was a poetess.” . “Zella a poetess 2 What our Zel la? Miss Warren taken to poetry? impossible!” were the ejaculations that greeted him on all sides as they crowd- ed around him. “How do you know that Frank?” asked Eugene. “Here it is in her own handwriting,” he answered. “Miss Florence,” said Eugene, “that is an encroachment upon your domains, is it not ? Look to your laurels.” Again her proud lip curled in scorn, as she replied: “There is but little ground for fear, I should think; if I had any laurels or bays either, I should not think them in any great danger.” “That is because you do not know the enemy's strength,” said Frank. “Strength,” she repeated, “I should think not; for where can the strength of a person be who does not know an Iambus from an Anest, and is wholly ignorant even of the cesural pause ?” . “Poetry !” she exclaimed contempt- uously, “doggerel you mean.” “Listen,” said Frank, “and judge for yourself.” Zella had started forward to take the book from Frank, but as Florence's last words reached her she steped back and with a reddening cheek she allow, ed him to read what, in an idle mo- ment she had scribbled on the fly-leaf of her book. - “Judge for yourself I say, Miss Florence,” continued Frank, “but if this is not poetry, then may I never . encounter another piece. Why the humming bird’s song that I read in the Herald this morning signed “Sap- pho” is no where to it.” “Hush Frank,” whispered Julia, “that is Florence's signature.” 94 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. “Pray give us the poetry,” said Eu- gene, impatiently. “What is it enti- tled.” “Wishes, nothing more, now lis- ten,” and in a full, rich voice he com- menced: “Oh ! Italy, bright land of song To stray thy matchless groves among; To gaze with soul-enraptured eye Upon thy blue, thy magic sky, To watch old Tiber's dashing stream, . While radiant Lunar sheds a gleam Unknown in other climes. To sit and muse by Arno's tide, On those who “lived, and loved, and died;” To wander 'mid the ruined shrines, Where Elfin flowers and Cypress vines Clung round the mouldering fanes. With beauties rare my soul to fill, A nectar from each flower distill, Then drain the cup and die | Enough of joy, enough of bliss; Oh! fate, if thou wilt grant me this Will to my heart be given— Then make for me a narrow grave Beside the Arno's yellow wave. And commend my soul to heaven.” “Bravo bravo l’’ exclaimed Eu- gene, as soon as Frank had finished reading, “why, Zella, you sly little mouse, why did you never tell us be- fore, that you could write poetry " “I did not think it worth telling,” she answered, “and, as Miss Florence says, I thought it was only doggerel; and when Mr. Pennington asked the loan of my book, I had quite forgot- ten the scribbling on the fly-leaf, or I should have said “no.’” “No doubt of it,” sneered Florence, “but as the mighty secret is now out, let me advise you to try again; indite us a longer poem about Spain. Can you not ? And we will crown you afresh with bays, and dub you the poetess of the world.” Zella's eyes filled with tears, and an angry reply rose to her lips, but a strange voice arrested her. “Myra, the gypsey, was sent for— what would this goodly company with her?” C H A P T E R V . All turned in the direction from whence the sound proceeded, and dis- covered a woman whose strange, wild appearance was a sufficient justifica- tion for the exclamations of wonder and astonishment that broke from the lips of several of the party. Tall and beautifully proportioned, with limbs as round and as graceful as a gazelle's, eyes as black as night, and hair that hung in silky masses far be- low her waist—with features of regu- lar and perfect beauty, and a complex- ion of the pure gypsey brown, yet with the rich hue of health glowing through the dusky cheeks—she was, indeed, a person very well worth looking at, and one that would have claimed special attention anywhere; her age it was impossible to guess—she might have been only four or five and twenty, and she might have been forty; her cos- tume was a strange mixture of the tasteful and the fantastic. The short crimson skirt, heavily embroidered in beads and tiny shells, was relieved by the closely fitting black velvet jacket, with its costly ornaments of jet and silver lace; a jet rosary, with a heavy golden cross attached, was around her neck—in her ears she wore the long and blood-red cornelian pendants— badges of royalty—and upon her arms, which were bare nearly to the shoul- ders, were clasped bracelets and arm- lets of alternate jet and gold. With perfect self possession the sin- gular woman folded her arms and LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 95 waited to be addressed. To all save Leon and the elder Miss Lavolotte she was a stranger and an object of curi- osity and wonder, which they were at no pains to conceal. She bore their scrutiny with wonderful equanimity, however, and while they were gazing so wonderingly at her, her own eyes were not idle, but with the deep read- ing of human nature for which the tribes are always proverbial, she was earnestly scanning them one by one, and had finished her survey before their curiosity was half satisfied.— Evidently becoming impatient of the prolonged stare, she repeated the ques- tion: “Myra the gypsy is before you —what would you with her ?” Margaret advanced and held out her hand. “Have you forgotten me Myra,” she asked. “The melody of the song-birds notes —answered the gypsy, lingers upon the heart long after the sound is lost to the ear. I have not forgotten, is that the sister I have heard you speak of?” she asked gazingly ernestly at Zella. “No,” answered Margaret, “this is Miss Zella Warren, this is my sister, and that is Miss Florence Summers.” “Summers!” repeated the gypsy with a start, fixing her eyes keenly upon Florence, “what, the land agent's daughter?” º “Yes,” answered Margaret, “do you know him * like himself,” she answered, coolly. “What do you mean, woman?” asked Florence, haughtily. “What do you know of my father?” “Several things,” was the laconic 3DSW (2]”. “Can you not communicate 2" asked Florence, mockingly. “Can is one thing; will is another,” answered the gypsy. “At the proper time and place, I both, can and will; but,” she continued, turning to Leon, who was standing near her, “who are the gentlemen present? Will you in- troduce me?” “Certainly ſ” answered Leon, “this is my brother, Mr. Eugene D’Alvigny, and this is Mr. Pennington.” The gypsy bowed slightly to them both, then turning to Leon again, she asked, “Your brother, did you say?” “Yes,” he answered, “my twin; and only brother. Very like twins, are we not ?” said Eugene as he laugh- ingly placed himself beside his brother, the better to show the contrast. The gypsy gazed from one to the other a moment, and then asked ab- ruptly, “Which one favors his father ?” “I do,” answered Eugene. “And whom do you favor ?” she asked, “your mother ?” “No, they say I resemble an uncle of mine, a brother of my father, after “I have heard of him,” was the eva- whom I was named.” ive answer, “and you are his daugh- 3r ?” “I am,” answered Florence proudly, his only child.” The gypsy sneered, “which circum- “Did you ever see him P’’ she ' asked. “No, he died before I was born,” answered Leon. “Well, you certainly do not resem- ance Ishould think were ablessing to ble each other,” she replied, “but I he world at large, if his children were am wasting time, and for the third * 96 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. time, gentle folks, what do you require of me 2’” “That you will tell our fortunes,” answered Eugene, “will you oblige us that far ” “Yes, pray tell our fortunes,” said Florence, sneeringly, “mine, espe- cially.” “Your face will tell yours to every passer-by,” answered the gypsy, “and if you cannot read the story so plainly written, the fault is your own.” A second time Florence was worsted in a war of words, which of course, did not improve her temper, and but for Eugene's reproving glance, they would have come to an open rupture; for it was evident that the gypsy nei- ther loved nor feared, “the only daughter of Mr. Summers,” and would contest the ground inch by inch. But fortunately Florence remained silent, and the gypsy, after waiting a moment, seated herself upon the grass, and turning to Leon, asked, “Who first is willing to lift the veil that hangs before the future, and look face to face upon their destiny ?” “Two of us know our destiny al- ready,” answered Leon, “you made Miss Larabette there and myself aware of our fate more than a year ago; but I wish you to tell Miss Warren hers,” he continued, as he offered his hand to Zella to lead her where the gypsy was sitting. She hesitated a moment, and then came forward—the gypsy took her dainty little hand, and studied it long and carefully; tracing with her finger the lines and crosses mapped out upon it. Wholly absorbed in her occupation, she seemed to have forgot- ten completely, that any one else was near, and in a low melodious voice, she began chaunting some wild strains of poetry, that ran thus: - “Brightly, oh! brightly, spring draws on apace, Life's cares touch thee lightly, joy beams in thy face, The flowers blow around thee, the breeze fans thy brow, The chains have not bound thee, unfettered art thou; Oh! would that thy pathway might thus be, But alas ! gentle lady, there's sorrows for thee; Thy young heart will open with love's rosy bloom, * But envy will turn its sweet light into gloom. Grief, coldness, estrangement, are all writ- ten here— Rage, jealousy, falsehood, and leaden de- spair— But sunshine and shadows fly swiftly o'er the plain, Y And thy smiles shall come to thee, sweet, lady, again; Then in hoping, and patience, the dawning abide - w The dark eyed one loves, and will make thee his bride.” She emphasized the last line, strong- ly fixing her eyes keenly upon the face of her hearer, to watch the effect of words—Zella looked bewildered, and the gypsy repeated, “The dark eyed one loves and will make her his brºde.” “Plain enough, Miss Zella,” broke in Frank, “you are to marry a dark eyed individual after having gone through some tribulations, so begin by discarding all your admirers, whose orbs are not of the color of anthracite) coal; it is fate you see, so no blame can possibly be attached to you; but come, Miss Florence, give the oracle a look into your palm, and then I shall claim my humble turn.” Florence lazily stretched forth her hand— t & H LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 97 ºr- “Mother Witch,” said she, “Will you deign to consult the fates for me? But let me entreat you, give the story in prose; poetry-making has grown so common now that anybody you meet, from a school girl to a wandering gyp- sy, can jingle a rhyme for you.” “Have no fears,” answered the gyp- sy drily; “the school girl and the stroller will pluck no leaf from ‘Sap- pho's' poisonous laurels.” Again the angry flush burned in Florence’s cheek. This time the gyp- sy's words cut deeper than before, and sinking back upon the grassy seat, from which she had half arisen, she drew back her hand. “Weave your tissue of falsehoods,” she said, “for those who will believe them, for myself, I desire none of your jargon.” - “We generally look within for our standard,” answered the gypsy quiet- ly; “if we are false and treacherous ourselves, we naturally conclude every one else is false and treacherous like- wise. “My jargon’ to such as your- self, is not at all desirable, I know, for I would tell you of a green and flow- ery plain across which a serpent drag- ged its slimy length, destroying all the cane in its way, and leaving a track of desolation behind, whereby you might trace its ruinous progress. I would tell you of the beauty of that serpent's skin, of the subtle knowledge that flashed in the depths of its lustrous, beaming eyes, and of the sin that dwelt in its heart; of the passions of envy, hatred and jealousy that burned in its soul; and I would tell you of its dark and bloody death, when lashed to fury by those passions, with the added pang of remorse, it turned and fasten- edits envomed fangs in its own writh- ing, coiling body, and died, as it had lived, destroying to the last.” With every vestige of color gone from her face, Florence listened like one fascinated to the terrible sketch, and when the gypsy came to the still more terrible conclusion, it overpow- ered her, and she fell back against the tree and gasped for breath. “Why, Florence,” said Julia hasti- ly, raising her head and resting it up- on her shoulder, “you are not fright- ened are you ? It is only the wild creation of a gypsy's brain; you cer- tainly attach no importance to it?” Florence smiled faintly as she raised her head and wiped the cold perspira- tion from her brow, the gypsy mean- while looking on perfectly unconcern- ed at the effect her words had produ- ced. Eugene was offended: - “Witch,” he exclaimed turning an- grily to the gypsy, “could you not keep a civil tongue in your head 2 look how you have frightened the lady.” “The lady should have set the witch an example of civility,” retorted the gypsy. “Come, come,” answered Eugene angrily, “no more of your insolence, or my patience will give way.” “Brother,” said Leon, laying his hand on Eugene's shoulder, “Myra came here at my request, relying upon my assurance that she would be re- ceived with kindness. I see,” he con- tinued, somewhat bitterly, “that I promised too much, but while she re- mains, remember that she is under my protection.” Eugene calmed down at his brother's reproof, and muttered something of an apology, at the same time tossing the gypsy a coin, to neither of which, how- 5 98 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. ever she paid the slightest attention, but stood with folded arms, and eyes fixed intently upon Leon’s face, and seemingly battling against some pow- orful emotion herself, which was pain- fully apparent, in her bloodless cheeks and tightly compressed lips; but her self-control was great, and whatever it was was forced back, though her voice quivered as she addressed Leon : “Young gentleman,” she said, “this is not the first kindness you have ever shown to a wandering out-cast of a gypsy, and for which I have nothing to offer in return—but Myra has mem- ory. Farewell !” She held out her hand as she spoke, which Leon shook kindly, expressing, at the same time, a hope that they “would see her again;” to which the gypsy did not reply, but was turning away, when Zella timidly advanced and offered her a bunch of flowers, which she had gathered during her ramble. The act was a simple one, prompted by kindness alone. The gypsy paused a moment, and gazed fondly into the blue eyes raised so sympathizingly to her own, and yield- ing to a sudden impulse, she threw her arms around Zella, and pressed a kiss upon her brow ; then, without a word, she took the flowers and turned away, and a moment afterwards they caught sight of her crimson skirt, as she dash- ed rapidly down the hill. “Quite an adventure this,” said Frank, breaking the silence. “I say! you knowing ones; is this what you call gypsey fortune-telling 2 because, if it is, I call it somewhat unsatisfactory; for not a single peep of my fate did I obtain, although I signified my desire to consult those mysterious bodies half a dozen times. Ah, me ! this makes twice I have tried to get a fortune, and failed in both instances.” “But,” he continued, “what do you all say to going home 2 The venerables of our party have gone long ago, and I think we had just as well follow.” The proposition was favorably re- ceived, and the party prepared to re- turn—all more or less impressed with their strange adventure. Florence walked, gloomily, apart from the rest, with contracted brow, and eyes bent on the ground, in deep, and, apparent- ly, painful thought. When they reach- ed the place where they had left their horses, Leon assisted her to mount, waiting beside her a moment for his brother to mount and attend her on the homeward ride, as he had been her cavalier of the morning; but while he stood there with his hand resting up- on her horse's neck, Eugene and Zella galloped by, waving their hands to him as they passed. Florence gave a startled look of sur- prise as they rode by, and lapsed into her gloomy mood again, which contin- ued until they reached home. A large dinner company had arrived during their absence, among whom were some old friends, but although the guests were all cheerful and agree- able, and although the conversation was intellectual, free and lively—yet nothing could remove the cloud that had settled so darkly over the spirit of Florence, and when the long din- ner was at last over and the company arose to re-assemble in the drawing room after making their evening toilet, she excused herself to Madame, upon the plea of indisposition, and was seen no more that night. - LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 99 C. H. A. P. T. E. R. VI. “Look your prettiest, my love,” said Madame to Zella, as they left the table, “some white buds in your hair would be very becoming, and a run to the garden to get them will be an im- provement;” and as the wishes of Madame chimed perfectly with the de- stres of Zella, she readily obeyed; and * strolled leasurely over to the garden to gather her flowers, which, having done, she leaned against the garder wall awhile to enjoy the beauties of the evening. The breeze was balmy and soothing after the fatigues of the day, the sunset was enchanting, and the witching hour of the soft summer twilight stole upon her before she was aware of its approach; starting from her reverie she hastily gathered her flowers and turned homeward. The garden was some distance from the house, yet the way might be consider- ably shortened by passing the family burying ground. Zella was wholly free from all su- perstitious fears, and, therefore, with- out a moment's hesitation, she turned her steps in that direction, and huried along, looking neither to the right nor left, for the short twilight was fast changing into darkness. The low brick wall of the burying-ground, offered but a slight obstacle to her progress, for with a fawn’s agility she sprang over it, and was hurrying through when a noise arrested her, and she paused to listen. From the direction of the graves, there came a succession of low, deep, wailing sobs, as though some human soul was wearing itself away in human sorrow, Astonished, but not alarmed, she advanced lightly, to obtain if possible a view of the in- --- *** * ****-*~~~~~... ---...-e-...-a, dividual who had chosen that lovely place and hour to relieve their over. burdened heart, and through the gloom of the increasing darkness she saw a female figure kneeling with bowed head and clasped hands, beside the tomb of Leon D’Alvigny. “Poor Mom. Judy,” thought she, “how she loved her master; the sight of his nephew and namesake has re- called him afresh to her mind, but let her weep in peace,” and she hurried along to reach the house before the bell rang for tea. The company had all assembled in the drawing-room, ex- cept Leon, who was waiting for her On the colonade. “Where have you been so late 2* said he, as she ran up the steps, “I Was just thinking about going to look you up.” “Over to the flower-garden,” she answered, “to get some rose-buds.” “And will you give me one 2" he asked. “Certainly,” she answered, extend- ing her flowers toward him ; “choose for yourself.” * “May I have any I like 2" he asked. “Yes,” she answered. “Then wait until I return from Eu. rope,” said he, “and then I’ll make my selection.” “That is a very long time to wait,” said she, “my flowers will all wither before you start. What will they be by the time you come back * “Leave that to me,” he answered, laughingly. “I have a way to preserve them ; but come, everybody else has gone in, and my lady mother will be wondering what has become of us.” A light word, a merry smile, a fleet- ing glance, a lingering clasp of the fingers—what is any and all of them? 100 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Nothing yet who shall count their worth 2 Who shall say how much those nameless trifles shall influence our whole after lives 2 For three weeks the gypsy tribe re- mained encamped in the dell, and every day some of the families of the neigh- borhood came to visit them. With the family at the chatteau, it formed a part of each day's amuse- ment, but there was no more fortune- telling; for in spite of their efforts to considerit as ajest, each one remember- ed with some, like a shudder, the fearful picture the gypsy drew when speaking of Florence, and none of the rest had sufficient courage to trust the web of their fate to Myra's spinning. Her tem- porary anger had entirely passed away, and she seemed, by her civility and even kindness to all, not even except- ing Florence herself, to make them forget that she had ever yielded to even a passing weakness; the business of entertaining the company, however, often fell upon other members of the tribe; for Myra, herself, was occupied a considerable part of each day, in gathering shells upon the beach, and afterwards, by an art known only to herself, in forming them into baskets, and even vases of strange, though beautiful designs. It formed Zella's chief amusement to watch her at her work; and the gypsy always seemed pleased to have her near. Yet very lit- tle conversation ever passed between them, for the gypsy would never talk if she could avoid it ; and Zella would not force her when she saw it was un- pleasant; but one day she yielded to a fit of curiosity, and asked her where she learned the rare and singular ac- complishment of making such pretty things out of shells 2 “In Spain,” was the brief reply. “Who taught it to you?” continued Zella, with a school girl’s curiosity. . “A nun,” answered the laconic gyp- Sy. - “And will you not teach me?” she persisted. - * “It would take you too long to learn,” she answered; “but I will give you this pair of vases to remember the Bohemian Myra, when she is gone.” “I shall not need vases to make me remember you,” answered Zella, ear- nestly, “but I shall prize your gift more than anything else I have, and will keep them always.” The reply seemed to please the gyp- sy, but she remained silent, and Zella returned home to exhibit to the admi- ring eyes of the family her treasures. In a few days from that time, the schooner which brought Leon and the gypsies to their temporary stopping place, was discovered on its return. The gypsy Queen ordered one of the tribe to signal it to stop. The schoon- er answered the signal, and in a short time had anchored in the bay. A brief order was given by Myra, in the camp, which was immediately obeyed; the tents were struck and packed; their effects were gathered together, and by the time the small. boats reached the shore the gypsies, with that suddenness which always characterizes their movements, were ready to embark. A sudden impulse prompted Leonto go too; the time which he had allow- ed himself to spend at home was almost out, and another opportunity might not offer again in some time, so he made his preparations hurriedly and engaged a passage also aboard the schooner. Ofcourse the partings were LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 101 painful to all, yet none shed as bitter tears as his old nurse, Mom. Judy, who gave utterance to her grief in the wild- est sobs and moans. “God forever bless you, my chile,” said she, as she kissed his hand again and again. “I know Ole Judy done ben dead when you come back; but come to old niggar's grave, darlin, and if what Miss Zella say 'bout dead folks hearin be true, I’ll leab Heabben itself for cum to my chile; an' don’t be fraid o' poor Judy, honey, ole niggar won't hut one hair ob de head what use to sleep in dese ole arms. Good- bye, my darlin good-bye!” And thus the wanderer started. His first intention, when he left his home in Cuba, had been to ramble over Europe a year before commencing his course at the University, but his visit to his father's house had occasioned a change in his views and plans. “Got- tingen first,” thought he, as he paced the deck of the vessel that was bearing over the blue waves of the Atlantic. “Gottingen first, and then another visit home, and may-be when I again start on my travels, I shall not be alone; and, while indulging in those dreams of the future, he would often find himself repeating, here and there, a strain of poetry: “With beauties rare my soul to fill, A nectar from each flower distil, Then drain the cup and die.” “No, no, not die, he would say to himself; “not die in thy young and peerless beauty, but live to bloom in all thy matchless perfection for—me ! —yes, me! Why not ? From boy- hood’s hours up to the present time, the one image has reigned supreme in my heart; and if truth and devotion can win her, mine she shall be when a few more years have flown over that bright head, and when I have become a little more worthy the priceless bles- sing.” s Thus reasoned Leon, thus planned, and schemed, and hoped he for the fu- ture, and when the life at the Univer- sity was fairly begun, that hope kept him aloof from his fellow students when their Bacchamalian revel was at its height. That hope enabled him to resist when the Circean song was breathed in his ear, and that hope sus- tained him when his weary spirit flag- ged. Ah, dark indeed would be our lot in this world if hope did not shed her rainbow beams across the turbid stream of life. The years rolled on, and the third one of his stay in Gottengin was draw- ing to a close, when a letter from home reached him that hurried his depart- ure by several months, for it contained news of an approaching event of con- siderable importance in that household —no less a circumstance than his bro- ther's marriage. “You must come,” wrote Eugene, “our mother wishes it; Florence wish- es it, and I wish it, which trio of wishes, would I should think be suffi- cient to satisfy the vanity, even of a Gottengin student; your presence alone is wanting to complete my hap- piness; for although we have lived apart so many years, yet since you have been in Europe, I have found it harder to do without you than ever before, and more times than one, I. have been on the point of crossing the water in search of you. But somehow a pair of eyes compelled me to pro- crastinate from day to day, and now you can save me the journey by com- 102 HYGIENIC AND. LITERARY MAGAZINE. ing to me. You will find us all pretty much as you left us. No event of im- portance has occurred save the death of our old nurse, Mom Judy, who remembered you until the last, and charged me with many kind and ten- der messages for you on your return.” “Pennington and Miss Julia Lavo- lette are to be married next winter, the maternal and widowed Lavolette hav- ing given her consent, after Col. Dela- ny had come down so handsomely for Frank, though he will not be his un- cle's heir, as the Col. has resolved up- on matrimony a second time. Only think of it; he is sixty if he is a min- ute. Who the body is who designs personating “May to his December,” must remain a secret until your return —meanwhile, pack your portmanteau, say adieu to your Gretchen, if any of those outlandish beauties have won your heart, and spread your wings, or sails, and hasten home, for my fair en- slaver declares the knot shall not be tied until you make your appearance, and poor I am compelled to submit to the cruel decree.” EUGENE. The letter surprised Leon exceeding- ly, for Florence and his brother were about the last two people upon earth, he would ever have supposed would marry ; yet, the ties of association are strong, and they had known each oth- er from childhood. Florence was beau- tiful, fascinating and gifted, beyond anybody of his acquaintance; so, after all, it was not so very wonderful that she should have made an impression upon his susceptible brother. It was evident to Leon, however, from the tenor of his brother's letter, that grat- ified vanity predominated over love, and he sighed for Florence, as he thought of her fiery, exacting and im- petuous disposition, wedded to such a fickle, selfish nature, as he knew Eu- gene to be. He foresaw trouble ahead for them, but saw, likewise, that he could not prevent it, so he wisely re- solved to let things take their course, without troubling himself with antici- pations. t Col. Delany’s approaching marriage was also a surprise, but his heart told him it was not Zella, who was to be his bride, and he cared for nothing more; so he packed his “portmanteau” according to instruction, and having no adieus to make, was soon en rowte for home. The voyage was long and tempestuous, but he carried within the sunshine of a happy heart; therefore the gloom of the weather affected him not; as the leaden clouds poured out their contents without cessation, and the winds howled afresh their requi- ems for the countless dead who slum- bered in old ocean's rocky and gem- lighted chambers Yet, the elements disturbed him not, for shining through the surrounding gloom came a beam of light from the home he was ap- proaching, and above the wailing of the wind, he heard the sound of a voice, whose tones of music would have charmed him back from the very gates of Paradise. Such is life and hope—such is youth and love—they gild with their golden radiance, all the darkest scenes of earth—they cover with their gorgeous, mantle all the pitfalls in our path. [To BE CONTINUED.] —sº----- CHEERFULNESs.—Cultivate a cheer- ful disposition; endeavor, as much as lieth in you; recollect that this is as much a command of God as that one which says, “Thou shalt love the Lord with all thy heart.” ; : * LITERARY DEPARTMENT, 103 And bear on board the commerce of the | world,— i Nay, rarer still, the pabulum of Life, In Bible stores, to feed its famish'd tribes. Then rushing on o'er continental plains, | They bound, in smoke and thunder, through 'IP FR I Z E IP O E MI. A VISION OF THE MILLENIUM. Away, away my restless reaching mind, Obey the impulse beating high within— The truthful index of immortal life. + Away from books, and banks, and civil strife, And all the horde of mercenary cares— Long, long task-masters o'er thy humbled powers— And foll'wing far the onward lines of light, That richly streak the glowing moral hea- vens, And make their focus on a distant age; O'erleap the lapse of intervening years, And settle down beneath the hemisphere Of uncreated light that pales the stars And canopies the globe with dazzling sheen, Surpassing far yon zone of ample sweep, That belts the evening sky of Saturn's orb. Transcendent light of God's millenial day ! The hallow'd radiance of supernal bliss — The end of prophecy—the reign of Heav'n To this, in by-gone years, the hoary seers With gifted vision look'd, and patriarchs, And saints of later age, all bent their eye; Upon the looming future, full of hope. The gath'ring light of eighteen hundred years Has half reveal'd the soul-absorbing scene, And sprung the faith of Zion's sons afresh. Earth, air and sea their noblest tribute pay, To speed creation to its goal of bliss. Immortal mind is levied on from high, And plumes her wing for bold, empyreal flight, * Een Mammon smiles and taps his golden t stores, To cheer the heathen with the “Book of Life,” While Science, thron'd amid the starry hosts, And stretching far the sceptre of her reign, O'er boundless realms, her own, sublimely bows, And wreathes her wealth of honors round ... the Cross. The Arts (her servants all,) submission yield, Their generous tribute to the glorious work, And rivaling in speed the panting winds, Her wondrous messengers, on burning wheel, Swift scour the bosom of the boiling seas, } ; : the hills, And tunnel'd mountains echo to their tread, As drap'd in night, and yelling to the winds, They pierce th' embowel'd rock, and belch- ing fire, Insult his throne and challenge Pluto's reign. The stygean gloom surpassed th’ emergent train, Swing high in air, and ring along the cliffs; Transilient, clear a hundred yawning chasms, And tireless, leap the intervening floods, To hail, with eagle-scream, the farthest goal. Not still enough to crown this matchless age And conquer Nature for the reign of Grace; The very seas unbar their coral caves To let the world look in. And far below The em'rald beds, where fabled mermaids sleep, The wiry cable springs its graceful curves, And widely spans sub-oceanic steeps; While Thought, electric, shoots the deeps profound, To gladden nations on the distant shore, And bind, in brothers' bonds, antipodes. All, all portend th’ august approaching day. Faith, stirr'd by thick'ning signs that mark the time, Uplifts her kindling eye and hurries on To hail the dawn of great Messiah's reign. The world's foregone—its noisy din is hush- ed— Earth's sickly hopes and vapid joys forgot. The orient heav'ns, aglow with liquid gold, Out-shed their splendors on creation's hosts. The widning day unfolds: The SHILon comes / - The streamers from his rising throne flash far, And herald gorgeous glories yet to come. Hail! Prince of Peace —Great David's son and Lord— Eternal Power ſ—All hail!—forever hail || 104 HYGIENIC AND. LITERARY MAGAZINE. The ransom'd nations shout “Thy kingdom come.” O! what a scene a God on earth again, And crowding millions of apostate men, Each full of Heav'n, and welcom'd to his smiles; - Symphonious hallelujahs echoing far, And rolling on the winds, to list'ning zones, The boundless raptures of a world redeem'd. All, all is peace. Perennial glory shines O'er the broad bosom of the moral deep. No ruffian temptest lash the sea of life; Or wreck their victims on a hopeless coast. Calm sleep the waves—the howling winds are hush'd, For more than Neptune rules the noiseless main. Thrice hallow'd era to the tribes of earth— The Grand Deceiver struggles in his chains: The prison'd victim of Messiah's power. Infernal Malice heaves his burning breast, But dare not sluice its venom on the world. Sin, scath'd and sear'd, has wither'd to its death— And plants of holy growth o'erspread land— No clarion rings tº inflame the marshal'd host, Or drown the clangor of their clashing steel; No thund'ring ordnance shake the ‘ensan- guin'd plain,' Nor butcher'd thousands bleach on foreign soil— º No deadly blade is touch'd by villain's hand; No reckless mobs exult in Seething flames— The black, confounded brotherhood of crime Abhor the light, and covert seek in Hell. One broad, one boundless, one intensive day, Illumes the moral world, and gilds the grave. Earth breathes the air of Heav'n—celestial sounds Ring through her thousand palaces, and Swell In rapturous strains, from cottages of clay. the One step—one brief, one rapid, noiseless step— Soft as an angel's tread on Hermon's dew— And all is Heaven—unmask'd, unclouded Heav'n— A God wrveil'd—eternity began'ſ Stupendous thought! The ravished soul's o'erwhelmed, Its seat, a throne—immensity, its range! . * * * * * •k $ But stay — these vasty contemplations sweep My spirit from its moorings. Where am I? High Heav'n's the focus of the God-head's light, - Where none but eyes immortal, gaze un- scath’d. Poor earth-born soul, retreat—thou tread'st too far— Begirt with flesh and blood—resume thy toils— Await the op'ning future, fast in Faith, And clad in peerless mail of heavenly mold Still breast the wingless bolts, that, wand'- ring fly - From spent assailants, tott'ring to their fall. A mother's voice inspire, and sainted forms That arm'd thy boyhood with the shield of pray'r— - Seem bending from their thrones of living light, - And wave the victor's palm to woo thee on. The conflict mars its close; the hearts are seal’d— The fiercest batteries silenc'd, boom no more. Th’ infernal foe, with shatter'd shield and blade; Windictive, fears and flies supernal power, And leaves his stroug-holds to the sons of God. * The skies are blushing as the morning rose; And Vict'ry, bending from her azure throne Entwines her garlands for thy conq'ring brow. s Thyrapturous gaze, from inspiration's peaks, Caught but the adumbration, shooting far— Of world-wide splendors in a coming age. That age is hast'ning on. God speed its pace, Till, stooping from their heights, the burth- en'd skies, Are rent with over-charge of endless bliss, And cloudless glory merges earth in Heav'n' - —sº- t Human doctrines cannot cure a wound in the conscience. The reme- dy is too weak for the disease. Con- science, like the vulture of Promethe- us, will still lie knawing, notwithstand- ing all that such doctrines can do. . . LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 105 BEULAH. The old school of religionists who condemned all novels as being decided- ly immoral, would probably much won- der at the subject matter of some of the more recent of these publications. In Adam Bede the heroine, a poor fac- tory laborer, wanders from village to village, endeavoring in every way to do good—nay, preaching herself when ‘necessary. While in Beulah no sub- ject of less importance than revealed religion or the immortality of the soul appears ever to be discussed or enter- tained by any of the characters who figure on that work. Novels, which in the time of Fielding no young lady, much less a christian young lady could be allowed to read, have now become theological works and aids to morality. Our only fear is that what they have gained in morals they have lost in point of interest; and the reader who regards a sofa and a good story as a tolerable approach to heaven, will find but little of the beatific qualities in the work now before him. Beulah, considered merely as a story, will not rank higher in point of inter- est than the “Lamplighter,” “Watch- man,” or any of those ephemeral publi- cations which are written by gifted female writers—obtain a short lived popularity, and are then heard of no more. To being a carefully construct- ed tale, it has about the same preten- tions as Miss Hannah Moore's Coelebs in Search of a Wife. The personages that figure in this work are all exceed- ingly commonplace or metaphysical. The only type of character the author deals in, is that of a very intellectual man or woman with broad expansive foreheads and faces otherwise of a sick- ly palor, who only seem to differ from each other in regard to their religious views. They all seem more or less intimate with metaphysics—some of them having been to Germany for that purpose, and all of the characters evi- dently belong to the same “set.” Regarding the work simply as a conversational treatise upon philoso- phy the book has unmistakable claims to merit. The style is nervous, and the work abounds with passages of rare eloquence. In depth of thought and varied erudition, the work is in- deed remarkable in one so young. It wearies its readers in the end by dwel- ling too exclusively upon the author- ess' favorite study; but on the other hand it has informed many as to the truths of metaphysics, who would have never opened a work which bore that title. But we are here supposing that the reader does not skip these eloquent passages, which, fortunately or unfor- tunately, is too often the case. As those who read them do not under- stand them, it is however a matter of little consequence, either way. The following is the description the authoress gives of Beulah : “At a first casual glance one thought her rather homely, may decidedly ugly; yet to a curious physiognomist, this face presented greater attractions than either of the others. Reader, I here paint you the portrait of that quiet little figure whose history is contained in the following pages. A pair of large grey eyes set beneath an over- hanging forehead—a boldly project- ing forehead broad and smooth—a rather large, but finely cut mouth; an irreproachable nose, of the order fur- thest removed from aquline, and hea- vy black eyebrows, which, instead of arching, stretched straight across and nearly met. There was not a vestige of color in her cheeks; face, neck, and hands wore an unhealthy pallor, and 6 - 106 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. a mass of ripling, jetty hair, drawn smoothly over the temples rendered this marble-like whiteness more appa- rent.” Beulah is a child brought up at the Orphan Asylum and subsequently adopted by Dr. Guy Hartwell. (A peculiarity of the book is that one half of the characters seem to be adopted by the other half.) Dr. Hartwell is the hero of the work. The following is her description of him: “To have seen him then in his pur- ple silk robe de chambre, one would scarcely have believed that thirty years had passed over his head. He was tall and broad-chested, his head mas- sive and well-formed, his face a curious study. The brow was expansive, and almost transparent in its purity ; the dark, hazel eyes were singularly bril- liant, while the contour of lip and chin was partially concealed by a heavy moustache and beard. The first glance at his face impressed strangers by its extreme pallor, but in the second look they were fascinated by the misty splendor of his eyes. In truth, those were strange eyes of Guy Hartwell. At times searching and glittering like polished steel; occasionally lighting up with a dazzling radiance, and then as suddenly growing gentle, hazy, yet luminous, resembling the clouded as- pect of a star seen through a thin veil of mist. His brown, curling hair was thrown back from the face, and expos- ed the outline of the ample forehead. Perhaps utilitarians would have carped at the feminine delicacy of the hands, and certainly the fingers were slender and marvellously white. On one hand he wore an antique ring composed of a cameo Snake-head, set round with diamonds. A proud, gifted and miser- able man was Guy Heartwell, and his characteristic expression of stern sad- ness might easily have been mistaken by casual observers for bitter misan- thropy. - * I have said he was about thirty, and though the handsome face was repel- Bible. lantly cold and grave, it was difficult to believe that that smooth, fair brow had been for so many years uplifted for the hand-writing of time. He look- ed just what he was, a baffling, fasci- nating mystery.” º What the “baffling mystery” about her guardian was, we are no-where in- formed, but presume the writer means his philosophy was a little more diffi- cult to understand than any body else's. His temper had in early life been sour- ed by his first wife, whom also he had in the first instance proteged or adopt- ed, and as he spoke but little to any One subsequent to that event, even on the subject of metaphysics, it may have been that he thus came by his reputa- tion for mystery. Beulah is now sent to school by her protector—a public school, beit under- stood, she being too sensitive or inde- pendent to attend any other sort. Af. ter graduating with distinguished hon- or and reading a composition on female heroism, she accepts, in spite of the re- monstrances of her guardian, a situa- tion as teacher, which she continues to hold until the end of the story. Not only her guardian, but every one suc- cumbs to Beulah, who, throughout the work, appears as one of those lofty, high-stepping maidens who ought al- ways to have their way, and whose way is invariably right. Having ac- complished her education, Beulah is now in a situation to discuss seriously all of the philosophies from Thales to Compte, and this she commences do- ing by denying the inspiration of the She discusses this and kindred subjects with all of her fellow heroines and heroes, and these discussions inva- riably end in the complete triumph of Beulah. First comes Clara, a young instructress of “sweet angelic charac- LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 10 7 ter,” very much in love with Guy Hart- well, and otherwise simple. It, how- ever, requires a long battle of some fifty or sixty pages, before Beulah gains much advantage, which at length, how- ever, she does, after Clara's strength or learning is exhausted. Considering that Clara was only a young lady of “sweet angelic character,” the follow- ing, which we extract, will convey some idea of the fierce struggle she must have sustained with the eloquent Beulah: “There is not a department of earth where harmony reigns. True, the stars are serene, and move in their everlast- ing orbits, but they are not of earth ; here there is nothing definite, nothing certain. The seasons are regular, but they are determined by other worlds. Verily, the contest is still, fiercely waged between Ormuzd and Ahriman, and the last has the best of it, so far. The three thousand years of Ahriman seem dawning.” “But remember (says Clara) the Zend Avesta promises that Ormuzd shall finally conquer, and reign su- preme. In this happy kingdom. I love to trace the resemblance to the mil- lenium which was shown St. John on lonely Patmos.” & “It is small comfort to anticipate a time of blessedness for future genera- tions. What benefit is steam to the mouldering mummies of the cata- combs I want to know what good the millenium will do you and me when our dust is mingled with mother earth in some silent acropolis P’’ Thus does Beulah, at first eloquent as above, but finally intolerably weary- some by reason of the constant mo- notony, built up and upheld her lofty theology. Clara at length exhausted by disease and philosophy, gives place to Cornelia Graham, a haughty heir- ess, who is herself in time carried away by metaphysics in the shape of * **** *-**** - --------- sº---------, death. Eugene Graham, the adopted son of a wealthy gentleman, and to whom she is at first affianced, makes an abortive effort to withstand her, although he has been five years at a German University, but signally fails. She is little satisfied with his progress there, in her favorite branch of learn- ing, and at his resigning himself to become a merchant instead of aspiring to be a lawyer; while Eugene is no better pleased at her leaving her guar- dian's. The engagement by mutual consent ceases, and Eugene soon after marries Antoinette Dupres. One night, however, previous to the marriage, Beulah goes to a party, where she sees her rival waltzing in Engene’s arms. “On they came, so close to Beulah that Antoinette's gauzy dress floated against her, and as the music quick- ened faster flew the dancers. Beulah looked on with a sensation of disgust, which might have been easily read in her countenance; verily she blushed for her degraded sex, and sick of the scene, left the window, and retreated to the library, where the more sedate portion were discussing various topics.” That is, various topics connected with philosophy; about which she and the more sedate guests probably dis- cussed for the rest of the evening.— Antoinette we consider the better phi- losopher of the two, and Beulah's sen- sation of disgust at seeing her rival dancing happily with the man to whom she is engaged, was probably more the result of jealousy than of outraged virtue. Beulah herself we shall finally see in love with Dr. Hartwell, and her own conduct is still more unconven- tional : , “She felt his strong frame quiver he folded his arms about her, clasped her to his heart with a force that al- most suffocated her, and bending his # 108 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. head, kissed her passionately. * * * * Her cheeks burned ; her lashes drooped.” Her cheeks were not burning with shame, at the degradation of her sex now. We do not say that Beulah de- serves censure; but if Antoinette is to blame Beulah is still more reprehen- sible. Waltzing, however voluptuous it may be in a ball-room, is certainly less dangerous than kisses and embra- ces in a bowdoir. Towards the end of the book, a new character is introduced, by the name of Reginald Lindsay, a back-woods lawyer, from Mississippi, whom the foolish reader may at first suppose is more familiar with brag and poker, and rough scenes of western life than German metaphysics, and therefore if for no other reason than to escape this ever-recurring theme, will be disposed to welcome. All such calculations wil be egregiously disappointed. Mr. Lind- say flies off at as many metaphysical tangents as any of his predecessors; and in the first conversation in which he takes part, talks in this wise: “Beulah shrank from the steadfast. gaze of his eyes, and resolved ere the close of the evening, to sound him concerning some of the philosophic phases of the age. An opportunity soon occurred. Chancing to allude to his visit to Rydal Mount, the transi- tion to a discussion of the metaphysi- cal tone of the ‘Excursion' was quite easy. “You seem disposed like Howitt to accord it the title of “Bible of Quaker- ism,” said Mr. Lindsay, in answer to a remark of hers concerning its tenden- cy. * * * * * Wardsworth’ stands as a high priest in the temple of nature, and call mankind from sci- entific love to offer their orisons there at his altar, and receive passively the teachings of the material universe.” Clearly nothing is to be hoped for from Mr. Lindsay. He resembles rath- er the Theological student than the western hoosier we at first hoped he was, and read further along that he was kicked out of all hope by the foot of Miss Beulah, with a keen sensation of delight. Her heart it soon becomes evident to the experienced reader, is only favorably affected to Guy Hart- well, though when that long-winded lover offers his hand and fortune, at her feet, he is rejected a time or two by Beulah, as every high-minded young lady ought, who has a proper sense of her self-importance. But love, after metaphysics is exhausted, finally triumphs, and it is in that scene which we have already quoted, that Hartwell is repaid for his trouble. In truth, we cannot help thinking that the authoress is describing herself in Beulah, and indeed in almost all of the prominent characters, just as much as Byron reproduced himself in his poetry. It may therefore be regarded as the mental history of the authoress, more than as a work of imagination. In its way, we consider the character of Beulah as much disordered and dis- tempered, as any of the sickly crea- tions of our more sentimental novels. Her stomach was simply out of order. Beulah never descends to the supper table at parties, and it is only in small quantities and with the utmost reluct- ance that she is allowed to eat any- thing, anywhere through the book.-- We do not find fault with the author- ess on this account or complain that it is unnatural. On the contrary, most of the peculiarities and eccentricities of genius—the suicides and rash acts of life, in novels or out of them, are more the result of disordered stom- LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 109 achs, than of any other immediate catise. Beulah—we mean the personage and not the book can in no sense be called a loveable woman. She has none of the amiability or softer traits of char- acter which generaly distinguish her sex. Her high endowment excite our admiration, but not our love. It may be well enough to watch woman as- cending the cold and glacial heights of metaphysics in novels, but in real life the nearer she remains to the warmth of the domestic hearth, the better will she fulfil her destiny. We shall bring this article to a close by quoting one passage more in which the authoress defines the inutility of metaphysics, a passage which we con- sider decidedly cool, after having oc- cupied the reader's attention for five hundred pages with nothing else: “What has (human genius) affected for philosophy that great burden which constantly recalls the fabled labors of Sysiphus and the Danaides 2 since the rising of Bethlehem’s Star in the cloudy. sky of polytheism, what has human genius discovered of God, eternity, destiny ? Metaphysicians build gorgeous cloud palaces, but the soul cannot dwell in their cold, misty atmosphere.” RYMMON. ATLANTA, GA. . . ——sº--—— - THE PRINCE OF GOURMANDS. * The extent of love's conquests are probably as great now as when Virgil affirmed that the passion conquers everything. Nobody need wonder, then that Anthropophagus, the King 9f the Cannibal Islands, was once him- self down with this complaint, and suf. fered as much from the malady as the meanest of us. • . Of this great monarch but little can now be affirmed with any certainty. The fact that there was such a King, and that he dined royally off of his ene- mies, strangers, and indeed almost everybody else to whom he took a fancy, is nearly all of his history that has come down to us. Distinguished visitors were as often seen at his table as at ours, but they were introduced thither by his cook, and with this ad- ditional difference, that instead of din- ing at his expense, he made his dinner at theirs. This singular taste, with his royal predecessors, had been only an occasional amusement. Anthropopha- gus made it an every day science. It was the King's hobby—he made it a matter of conscience and duty. Nay, he carried his carniverous tastes into politics and religion. The royal de- crees were dated from his kitchen which indeed was his Bureau of State. His cook was his Prime Minister, and Primate of the Church. The King was the admiration of his subjects, who honored him with the name of Anthro- pophagus the Pious. Such was the character of the reign- ing monarch when the beautiful Prin- cess Mathilde visited his capital. How she ever came there, is not very well known. It is thought that the vessel in which she was crossing the sea blew up or went down in some mysterious way—the balance of the crew going with it. The Princess however had learned the graceful, not to say useful accomplishment of swimming at the Finishing School at which she gradua- ted, and cutting out boldly, for land, without much regard for the direction, soon found herself, after a few days easy swimming, on the coast of the King's dominions. I rather think if she had known the character of his 110 HY&IENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. *-*~------- - ---------------------- * -- ~~~~--------, ------ - ----wº- ~ * majesty, that she would have turned round without landing, and swam home terrified, to her dear mamma. As the beautiful Princess emerged from her briny bath, she found the Ring with a crowd of his hungry fol" lowers, drawn up to receive her. The royal custume was remarkable for its simplicity. A long cotton robe or shirt of unbleached homespun floated around his royal legs; and his only additional garment, a blue coat with brass but- tons, which he had taken from the last French gentleman he had eaten, in- creased the magnificence of his appear- ance. His Prime Minister instead of a wand of office was sufficiently distin- guished by a white apron. As the lovely princess rose from her briny bath which had now lasted for several days the look of languor, which in her case was real, but added to her beauty. The King, although he had not yet dined, was struck dumb with amazement at this lovely Vision. First because true to this philosophy he thought that this would be “A pretty dish To set before the king;” and secondly, because he was undoubt- edly in love at first sight. There now commenced in the mind of the mon- arch a contest similar to that which Macbeth is described as having under- went. If on the one hand he could not contemplate her beauty without loving her, on the other he could not regard her well developed proportions without wishing to eat her. The struggle between conscience and his cook—between his heart and his stom- ach, was fearful. Never was monarch or lover placed in a more cruel posi- tion. been guilty of some breach of court His grand-mother, who had etiquette, he had eat without com- plaint; he had dined off of his prime minister without any other feeling than that of regret for having suffered him to live until he had become tough ; he had indeed, discharged the same duty towards his first wife with a keen feeling of delight. But to eat his sweetheart—the only woman he had ever loved, supposing her to be ever so fat and well-conditioned, was, to say the least of it, a little unpleasant. The king was at length awakened from his revery, by being informed that his dinner had for some time been awaiting him—the first time such an event had ever occurred in his reign. As some action was necessary with regard to the Princess, he determined to postpone eating her under pretence of putting her in her best possible. condition. For such pickings as the Princess were not often found even at the royal table; and as his majesty was the Prince of Gourmands as well as of Cannibals, he determined that the Princess should meanwhile have every advantage his larder could af. ford. The respite was however of short duration. The poor Princess whose figure naturally inclined to en bon point, and who besides had no pickles or vinegar to keep herself lean, was soon in better condition than ever. However, to counterbalance this mis- fortune, the love of the king increased with her weight. . “If I could only eat her and marry. her at the same time, then indeed. would I be happy!” exclaimed the hesitating monarch. But here for once the king had an idea. “I cannot eat her and then marry her,” argued he, “but I can first marry, her and then eat her ſ” Delighted at this dis- LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 111 covery, he determined to marry her the next day. “A month's time,” he reasoned, would be as long as any king ought to care for a wife, and so that she was ultimately eat, what dif. ference would a month's delay amount to ?” To such outrageous intensity had his love increased, that he determ- ined to endure for that period, the contempt of his subjects, and the scorn of his cook. The king flattered him- self that he had compromised the af. fair in a fine way, between his pleasure and his conscience. He had never read Rochefoucould, and did not know that we flatter ourselves that we aban- don our sins, when in reality the taste for them has first left us. * As if to blazen his weakness abroad, he determined to celebrate his nup- tials without regard to expense. With this end in view he commanded that the principal ladies of his court should be served up at his marriage feast, more especially, too, as there was some danger that their deep discontent at the approaching ceremony might break out into a revolution. The beautiful Princess, his bride elect, was an adept herself in the culinary art, and had accidentally brought over a cook- book in her work-box. She explained the various dishes to his majesty, all of which he admired, particularly one known as a pate de fois gras. “In this,” said she to the monarch, “you must take some animal—say a goose —pick him alive, and then nail his feet to the floor. You now kindle around him a slow fire, and proceed to roast him alive. It is rather a cruel affair,” continued the princess, shrugging, at the same time, her beautiful shoulders, “but with proper management, your goose will come on the table alive!” At which his majesty bestowed on her one of his rare smiles, and vowed, that he would certainly at some day try it. So the Princess with her own fair hands prepared her many rivals in ev- ery style, and little knew how soon the king might do the same kindness for herself. But over her marriage feast with its many dishes, the sword of Damocles was hanging. For the king had vowed that a month from the time she graced his nuptial couch she should appear upon his table / The poor Princess For thirty days she might sleep in fancied security. On the thirtieth her marriage bed would be her funeral pyre We have met with honey-moons nowhere that had in futuro so abrupt a termination as this. The thirtieth day was now rolling around, and the king reminded of his dreadful vow, was continually becom- ing more gloomy and thoughtful. He dined off an ambassador or noble every day; yet he was worn down to a shadow. To add to his troubles, his wife, to whom it was now necessary to break the unpleasant intelligence, did not wish to be ate Was ever mon- arch more unfortunate “I will eat her,” said the poor king, “but it will only from a sense of duty.” He de- termined after that, if he did not kill himself from over eating to deliver himself into the hands of his cook and follow her fate. But true to his char- acter, to the last he could not restrain an oily smile or from smacking his lips when he thought of the contemplated feast. As one of his royal brothers, a king of England had allowed the Duke of Clarence to decide the manner of his death, Anthropophagus with equal 112 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. magnanimity allowed his wife to de- cide in what way she shall be cooked. The princess becomes resigned to her fate. She has the natural contempt for the chef of his kitchen which one artist entertains for another, and de- termines, to be sure that the work shall be well done, to cook herself. His Cannibal Majesty now gives her a farewell kiss, which had always rather resembled a bite than a salute. It was something of the same kind with that of the monkey in the old nursery rhyme, who at his nuptials with the baboon's sister saluted his bride in such a manner with his chaste kisses as to blister her cheek. The princess now retired to the kitchen and the king to his dressing room. For the destiny of life is two fold: It is some- times necessary to be eaten, as well as to eat. * - His Majesty has sat himself down to his table, and will soon be the hap- piest and at the same time the most miserable of kings. He thinks with the hunter at a similar feast, that such a dish may be a little inconvenient for one, but is certainly not enough for two, and therefore determines to dine alone. The princess is now brought upon the table in an immense dish not unlike an oblong bathing tub, clothed in a robe of white pastry. The pastry is still raw, for which his majesty was notoriously fond. The king is much moved at this last proof of her devo- tion, and choking with grief and pas- try, gives full vent to his emotion. “See,” exclaimed he, “she reproaches me with this kindness in her death;” and quite evercome, he let his knife and fork fall nervelessly from his hands. “No, no—not in death yet,” here cried the princess; I have cooked my- self in the style of which I once had the honor to inform your Majesty— that is to say, a la pate de fois gras. I have succeeded so well that you now see me alive. You will find me, as I have always been for your majesty, exceedingly tender. You may eat me now if you will,” continued the prin- cess at the same time demurely fold- ing her hands over her breast and re- spectfully closing her eyes. What monarch could be other than overcome at having such a wife The princess’ complexion which was origi- nally fair had now become a dark bru- nette, but this if anything had rather improved her appearance. He could scarcely believe his eyes, and was in- clined for a moment to regard her as a lovely vision who had come from the grave or the kitchen to haunt him with her death ! . . His doubts did not last long. He caught the Princess to his royal bosom, and vowed for the future never to be. have so naughty any more—he would always live on a vegetable diet. The immense dish in which she had been lately interred, he flung through the window, which broke with a loud crash below, on the bald head of his cook. Peace being now once more happily restored, the monarch sealed his prom- ise of reform with a kiss. Alas for, the weakness of his majesty | His sa- lute was so impassioned that he carried off one of her cheeks between his teeth. To eat her entirely now fol- lowed as a matter of course, and in truth, before he had finished his repast, there was not left one bone unpicked. He had loved her so well he could keep not from eating her. & The next morning the king died, it LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 113 was said by the Court physician, of an indigestion. But every body else knew better. Alexander shed tears because there were no more worlds to conquer; and Anthropophagus, in his grief still more inconsolable, died because there was no other princess that was worthy a place at his table. RYMMON. ——sº---— Forgive us our Sins, JAMES SUMMERFIELD SLAUGHTER. The long and fervid days of sum- mer were waning into autumn, the for- est trees still hung out their “leafy banners,” the green grass was yet waving under the low wind, and flow- ers bloomed; but the slight frost in morning and the cool wind presaged that a sad fate, like an angel of death, would fall upon the green and fragrant charms of summer. The seasons are suggestive—autumn brings with it re- flections of the decay and death that awaits all our hopes and the final dis- solution of these frail tenements of clay in which the inner life resides. Upon the heart of Harry Lee Autumn laid sad reflections and bitter self re- proaches. From early boyhood he had entertained a sort of presentiment that consumption, that fell distroyer of our race, would cut short his earth- ly pilgrimage; and he cherished this feeling until he not only became indif. ferent as to his temporal duties, but was even reckless of life itself. At the time of which we write he lived. in one of the North Western Territo- ries—whither he had repaired from the State of Georgia, in a freak of dis. sipation. Harry Lee was brave—he was gifted—a noble heart sent the life current through his body. He had genius and was not in personal appear- ance behind the handsomest of his sex. But as we have already said he was reckless—in fact dissipated—confirm- ed in disipating habits at the early age of twenty-three. We will notice his condition at the era of our story. Night crept through the forest, and went up to the stars. A chilling North wind was blowing, and as the silent watchers of the night passed, the wind seemed to rise to a perfect fury, and a dark cloud began to arise in the West. That night found Harry Lee without a shelter—shivering with cold. He had no home of his own—was an orphan— had squandered a small inheritance.— You must ask the dumb oracles of the midnight festival—the broken bottles —the gambling tables, if you would know how he became penniless, far away from the spot where he drew the first and purest inspiration of life.— Boast not ; ye that think a strong wall of morality secures you from the temp- ter, Sin—for the dark hour may come when the Evil One shall pass over your fortress, and bind you his captive.— Harry Lee was once as firm in his pur- poses as you or I. But to our story. He thought, as the chilling winds swept by, of childhood, of school-boy days, and then of Alice May. He was then spotless of the world’s sin. Noth- ing he knew of the hard life ahead. “Whither shall I go f" he asked himself, half aloud—a drift of rain fell in his face. “I have no money, and could not pay the village landlord. Ah! well, I will go to the old house in the field.” So saying, he set out for an old and dilapidated shanty, sit- uated in a neighboring field. By this time it was quite late. Harry arrived at the old house, and lay down upon the floor to sleep.– 7 114. HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Long and painfully he ruminated on past years and his present position, un- til sleep kindly relieved him. That night the storm god howled terrifi- cally, but he woke not the sleeper.— The morning came, and with it a calm as beautiful as serenity and loveliness could be, as if the demons of discord had given place to the gentle angels of peace. This old house was on the plantation of a kind-hearted and wealthy old gen- tleman, named Morton, who had once been married, but had been deprived of the companionship of a lovely wife, by death, and was left childless and alone. The morning after the storm, he was walking over his farm, and, luckily for Harry Lee, went by the old house and thought to step in. Harry was still sleeping. Morton, much as- tonished at beholding a man asleep up- on the floor, went to the place where he lay, shook him and roused him. “What!” he exclaimed, “is this you Harry Lee?” Harry, startled by the presence of the old man, sprang up. “Yes; why?” “Why are you here * Did you sleep here last night P” “I am here because I had no where else to go. I slept here, of course.” “How came it that you had no where else to go?” asked the old man ear- nestly. “Because I am both moneyless and friendless.” & “Why moneyless and friendless?” “For the reason that, like the base Indian who threw away the pearl, I have thrown away my money, and have not labored to make friends.” A long colloquy ensued, and Harry told Morton of his whole life—of his dissipation—how that ill-fortune had swept away the last of his family, and finally, how the virtuous and good had scorned him as an outcast. The story deeply affected Morton, and he offered friendship and a home to Harry. It is needless to say it was accepted.— This was the blessed hour of reform. A few years after, Harry united his fortunes to the beautiful and accom- plished Alice, and settled himself near his friend and benefactor, Morton, and was perfectly happy. s At this time, a project was set on foot to fit up a Santa Fee trading ex- pedition, and old man Morton became much interested in the enterprise. He disposed of his entire estate, and went out on the trading expedition. The party was robbed of all their goods, and left penniless by the Indians.— Morton worked his way to the nearest town, and there, as an humble laborer, took employment. For five years he toiled on and secured a bare support. In the village where he had formerly lived, nothing had been heard of him or the party. One evening, after a hard day’s toil, Morton sat by the fire and read the public journals. His eye kindled, up- on meeting a name that had become dear to his heart—it was Harry Lee. Harry had worked his way to distinc- tion; was a statesman, and now filled a seat ably and well in the United States Senate. Again, after many years from the commencement of our story, and after the night Morton saw the name of Harry Lee in the public journals, the lengthened shadows of twilight crept across the lawn and up to the old resi- dence of Morton. The flowers were LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 115 in full bloom—the katydid chirped its song, and the misty moonlight crept through the bending boughs of a weep- ing willow, under whose shadow was a tomb, over which a great statesman bowed and wept. Morton was dead; Harry wept over him. He was bronght back by Harry—re- instated in his old home, and lived out the remnant of his life with his pro- tege, who now had several children.— Truly, “cast thy bread upon the wa- ters, and it shall be gathered after ma" my days.” —-tº--— “The Rose and the Laurel.” BY JENNIE WOODBINE. “How valueless seems the envied laurel beside the dy- ing rose.”—BULWER. Night in the princely dwelling—hushed and still The sounds of busy life—the star-beams bright " . Pour through the open windows, and illume Each lonely chamber with mysterious light: Soft, silken curtains rustle in the breeze, And light-winged zephyrs summer leaflets stir, - Calling their rich delicious fragrance forth But not for her—oh ! never more for her / The violet nestles in its hood of green, The white pink sinks in slumber light, and soft; And still as to its worshipped idol turned The faithful sun-flower rears its head aloft. The rose has gathered its fair petals close, To meet the dew so gently oler them shed; Just as her young heart folded up its leaves When night, and storm raged wildly over- head. The mocking-bird with many a changing note Trills his sad song upon the Summer air So mournfully, you'd dream he had no note, For in his midnight chant there breathes despair. & Poor bird! hast thou like weary mortals learned. That love brings less of joy than fevered pain Ż Thy song has such a bitter wailing, caught, I’d almost fancy thou had'st loved in vain. Say, feathered minstrell did'st thou ever turn To some bright song-bird of the sunny dell ? And did'st thou sing to her on star-lit nights The thoughts that in thy little bosom SWell? Say, was she faithless to thy murmured love? Turned she in cold indifference away? Or did some cruel arrow find her breast, And make so dark for thee life's little day? If not for thine own griefs, for others Weep— In yondermansion there are human woes ; A worthless thing the envied laurel seems And valueless beside the dying rose. Perch lightly on the window shutter, bird, But blend no gay notes in thine little air; Oh! let thy lonely midnight song gush forth, In pitying tenderness—for death is there? How calm and still ! no sound of revelry Disturbs the solemn silence—late those halls Rang high with mirth and music—now alone Upon the else unbroken stillness falls The muffled tread—the swiftly hurrying feet Of those who gather round to see her die: The murmuring music of the plaintive breeze: The stifled sob—the low half-broken sigh. Upon a low white couch whose graceful folds Of silken drapery, sweep the polished floor, § Like some fair fading rose, the lady lies Dreaming of childhood's happiness once more: Murmuring in broken words of blissful hours When she was all the world to him she loved, When through the heart that throbbed for only her, Ambition's fearful storm had never moved. How beautiful she is 1 her golden curls Float like a halo round her forehead fair, Where the blue veins course underneath the skies— 116 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. A few-white buds in-lie her shining hair. One sculptured arm like Parian marble White About her head is thrown—the other lies Upon the snowy sheet—pale is her cheek, And closed as if in sleep her violct cyes. The moonbeams fall upon her faded face And light with richest hue her clustering hair; The stars look down upon her pityingly— Her parted lips are moving as in prayer, And now her eyes unclose—they seek his OWn, He who bends over her with fond caress; Who feels that if the grave must hide that face, The whole wide world to him is valueless. Yet Fame had been his god—for it he turned Aside from home, and all its calm delight; Spurning as mean, and worthless, little joys, He struggled up Ambition's giddy height: The world had won him—its deceitful voice Had lured him on—its praise was all he sought; - And now the laurel garlanded his brow; But by how dear a price the wealth was bought ! His noble form had graced the Senate's Hall; His voice of eloquence had swayed the crowd; His inborn genius awed the listening throng, And now a conquered world before him ſhowed. Brave men knelt to his worth—fair women Smiled When he approached—admiring thou- sands ltung Spell bound, enraptured, by the magic words Of burning eloquence upon his tongue. Was it for this that he had yielded up His all of happiness—that faithful love— The only flower left in an earthly bed— Akin to those that blossom up above 2 And had he crushed affection's tender buds For fame's high pomp-its glittering pa- geantry? Alas! proud man! thou yet shalt live to learn That one fond heart worth all the world to thee! To win the laurel, he had left the rose— That rose, the heart he won in boyhood's hour, - Nor knew he that remorseful bitterness Would prove how dearer far the humbler flower— To win the world's applause—its empty fame, He sternly cast his early love aside— Poor flower! it faded slowly from neglect And in its loneliness—it pined, and died List 'tis the clock strikes twelve how fearful sounds * That little throb from the big heart of time ! And now the mocking-bird, silent before Trills its lone lay as if to form a chime. All still, and cold and pale, the lady lies; What wonder, she in dreamless slumber sleeps; - And o'er the hands locked in a mute em- brace The strong man bows his head, and weeps —ay6 (066p3. Years pass—amid the mighty ones of earth That proud man stands—how cold, and Stern his brow ! As though he hated even his fame, and yet The world's applause is all that's left him now ; In vain for him the trumpet sounds its burst, In vain for him may beauty's ringlets wave; In vain for him may sweet-lipped maidens sing; His all of heart lies in one little grave, He stands before the idolizing crowd; He hears the praise once to his ears so sweet; But 'tis with stern indifference he feels That conquered Fame lies prostrate at his f feet. And oh! when in proud loneliness he turns To snatch a few brief moments of repose; These words ring through his heart—“how oalueless | The envied laurel, by the dying rose.” DITERARY DEPARTMEN’ſ . 117 *** -** *-* --- - - ---------------- ****, *-*-* - - --- - - -- ~~~~~. - . . Woltaire's candid I had been traveling all day day in a stage coach, in that portion of Geor- gia known as the Wire Grass Section, through allies of zig-zag fences and cotton fields, or interminable forests of pine, and with no sound borne upon the air but the dreary sighing of the wind through their long-leafed branch- es. The road, owing to recents fresh- ets had been almost impassable in ma- ny places, but about night-fall as we approached the village of Dogwood, it became evident that we could proceed no farther. The creek which intersec- ted our road had overflowed its banks, and carried away with it the bridge. The only thing to be done was to abide in the village until the creek again be- came passable, and to kill time mean- while in what way I could. The latter was a work of some diffi- culty. Nothing could be more dreary and desolate than the village itself. It had once been a place of some size and importance, but the only houses now occupied were a few doctor's shops, the same number of offices by legal gentlemen, a store and the hotel. Lastly there were the indispensable bar-rooms for the retail of corn whis- key under various names, which we believe are to be found in every village of our state. Blackstone defines a city as being the residence, or head- quarters of a bishop. In the same way, a Georgia village would not be called by that name that could not boast of at least one bar-room. Those in Dogwood, were fully as large as a ball room any where else, or that of the St. Louis Hotel in New Orleans, and were kept by musical gentlemen, who were always learning, and yet never learned to play upon the fiddle. The outfit of a bar-room was extreme- ly simple—consisting principally of a tumbler, a spoon and decanter, from which latter were indifferently extract- ed rum, whiskey or brandy, or indeed any drink that the taste of the pur- chaser might fancy. The most dreary place about the town was the “Big Indian " hotel. The dullest and most wearisome crea- ture I have ever met, was the hotel keeper. From the endless Tales of My Landlord there was absolutely no es- cape. Besides, unless I joined the group in copperas breeches and home- spun, who were dancing in the bar- room to the sound of the fiddle, or lounged around the only store in the village there was no other place to which I could escape. Just about the time I had fully made up my mind to swim the river or creek, and proceed upon my way on foot, I chanched upon an old French volume, mildewed and moth-eaten, and which I am fully convinced was the only book in the place. It was none other than Voltaire's Candid, and must have been, judging from the date, nearly a century old. The leaves were still un- cut. It afforded me some occupation wondering how the work came there, and a good deal more endeavoring to understand its contents. But read it, in some sort, I did, and now that I am again thrown upon my own resources (for to tell the truth I am still detained in the aforementioned village) I have determined—merely pour passer le temps—to try to tell in a few pages of English, what took Voltaire in French two hundred. Let me in the first place caution all readers against ever opening the origi- 118 IlyGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. mal. The book itself is dull, discon- nected and extravagant; its morals are too bad to bear translation. Our own excuse is, that we had nobody to give us good advice, and that we would probably, under the circumstances have forgotten to take it, if it had been given. Candid was a youth who dwelt in the castle of the most noble baron Thunder-ten-trouckh, whom nature had endowed with a most amiable disposi- tion, and a mind of remarkable sim- plicity. The old servants of the house suspected him to have been the son of the baron’s sister by a clever gentle- man of the neighborhood, whom that young lady refused to marry, because he could produce no more than seven- ty-one quarterings in his arms; the rest of the genealogical tree belong- ing to the family having been lost through the injuries of time. 4 The baron was one of the most pow- erful lords in the province. His castle had not only a gate but windows.- His groom served as his huntsman, and his parish clerk was his grand al- moner. He was called my lord by all of his people, and he never told a story but every one laughed at it. The baron had a daughter Cunegund, fresh colored, plump, comely and de- sirable. Pangloss, her preceptor and Candid's, was the oracle of the family. He proved to every body’s satisfaction that this is the best of all possible | worlds, the baron’s castle the best of all castles, and the baron's daughter the most amiable of all young ladies. “It is demonstrable,” said the phil- osopher, “that things could not be otherwise than they are. Observe, for instance, the nose is formed for spec- tacles, therefore we wear spectacles. The legs are visibly designed for stock- ings, accordingly we wear stockings. Stones were made to be hewn and con- struct castles, therefore my lord has a magnificent castle; for the greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged. Swine were made to be eaten, therefore we eat nothing but pork the year round.” Candid did not remain very long at the castle, to enjoy the sage's instruction. He fell in love with the baron's daughter, and while vowing everlasting fidelity, he was discovered by the baron and kicked out of doors for his pains. Before he had traveled far he was enlisted, much against his will, in the army of the king of Prus- sia. He took a fancy one morning to enjoy the country air, but had not long indulged this whim, when he was cap- tured by a guard sent after him—court- martialed, and left to his choice to run the gauntlet thirty-six times or be shot. Candid preferred the former until he had three times run through a regi- ment of two thousand men, who each gave him a lash with a whip as he passed; whereupon he begged his tor- mentors to do him the favor to shoot him at once. This they were about to do, when his Prussian Majesty, hap- pening to pass along, showed such re- markable clemency by pardoning him, that he was deservedly praised in every journal of the age. As soon as his back had somewhat skinned over, he was marched against the enemy. The drums, fifes and can- nons made such harmony that poor Candid, who trembled like a philoso- pher, thought it advisable to escape from this heroic butchery by taking refuge among the baggage wagons ; and while the two armies were causing LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 119 Te Deums to be sung in each of their camps, and burning each other's vil- lages, agreeably to the usages of war, Candid was leaving the theatre of ac- tion as far behind as possible—with no provisions, it is true, in his wallet, but with Miss Cunegund's image in his heart. Candid arrived in the city of Lisbon the day after an earthquake. The In- quisition had just decided that the only way to preserve the city from to- tal ruin was to burn a few persons with great ceremony by a slow fire, and that this preventative would be an in- ſallible antidote to all such evils in the ſuture. Candid had the misfortune to differ with the priests upon several theological questions, and was accord- ingly sentenced to be burnt at the stake in a paper mitre covered with flaming devils. However, he escaped with only having his back beat once more, and by a series of adventures once more meets up with Miss Cune- gund. That lady had passed through al- most as many vicissitudes meanwhile, as Candid. She had been captured by the Bulgarians, and her father's fine castle destroyed. She had been en- gaged to an Italian Prince, with an unpronouncable name, but while she was sailing to his palace beside the Lake of Como, she had been attacked by the Corsairs, and carried a slave to Morocco. The Emperor of that coun- try had fifty sons, each one of whom was at the head of a party, and carry- ing on war against all of the rest.— She was successively captured by each one of these young gentlemen, but at length met a countryman who prom- ised to assist her. “I was one of the singers of the Prin- cess Palestrina's chapel,” said her new friend. “How 2° cried she, “in my mother's chapel ?” “The Princess Palestrina your mo- ther ?” said he, bursting into a flood of tears. “Is it possible you can be the beautiful princess whom I had the care of bringing up 2 I return to Italy to-morrow. You shall return with mo.” The princess thanked him with tears of joy, and showed more gratitude than her new friend perhaps, deserved, as he delivered her the next day into the hands of the old Sultan himself- But at length she made her escape, and, after having traveled half around the globe, and committed a thousand peccadilloes, which it is to be hoped, none of her well-behaved sisterhood will imitate, all of which she confesses to the enarmoured Candid, with a charming frankness—she once more finds herself in his arms in Lisbon, and vows that she will never be sepa- rated from him any more. Before she had finished speaking the room was entered by an officer of the Inquisition, and him Candid in spite of his amiable temper thought it prudent to kill upon the spot. He quickly mounted the Inquisitor's horse, with Miss Cunegund behind him, and rode to the nearest seaport town. Here he wielded a sword and handled a musket with so much agility, that Don Hernan- do d'Ibaraay Figueora y Mafcarnes y Lambourdos y Souza bestowed upon him a captaincy, in the army which was just then embarking for America. Just as he was rejoicing at his good fortune, and had determined to marry Miss Cunegund, Don Hernando d'Iba- raa y Figueora y Mafearnes y Lam- 120 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. bourdos y Sourza commences paying that lady attentions which are not to be misunderstood, and to twirl his mustache whenever poor Candid ap- proches her in a way which very much terrifies our timid philosopher. To add to his misfortunes he sees, when he is about to disembark with his troops, that the alcades and alguazils are in, hot pursuit of him for the mur- der of the Inquisitor. There was no time to be lost. He left Miss Cune- gund in the care of his long-named ri- val, and once more re-commenced his travels. While passing through in Persia, he was presented at Court, and on one occasion listened to a very curious dis- putation on a very delicate point of doctrine, namely, whether the prophet Mahomet had plucked from the angel Gabriel’s wing the pen which he had used in writing the Alcoran; or, if the angel Gabriel had made him a present of it. The orthodox opinion seemed to be that Mahomet had plucked it. Though it was contended with as much show of truth that the prophet was incapable of any such rudeness, and that the angel had very politely given it to him as a present. The dispute lasted for three days with a warmth worthy of the noblest days of controversy, when Candid ventured to insinuate a doubt whether Mahomet had even written with any such pen. The philosophers on both sides were enraged beyond measure, at this sug- gestion, and drubbed him most philo- sophically for his pains. Their wrath at length subsiding, they begged our hero's pardon for their too great warmth, and one of them commenced forthwith a very fine harangue on mildness and moderation. The king, however, was very much pleased to hear Candid; and as the wise men of his court thought the youth a fool and an ignoramus, his majesty was fully persuaded that he was a great man. He did not stop here. At the solicitation of an Iman (priest) who had taken Candid under his protection, he determined to rank him among the number of his most intimate favorites. “God be praised, and our holy pro- phet,” says the Iman, addressing him- self to Candid; “I am come to tell you a very agreeable piece of news. You are going to raise the envy of the world—you will swim in affluence. Let gaiety reign over the horison of your countenance. The king grants you a favor which has been sought by many, and you will soon exhibit a sight which the court has not enjoyed for these two years past.” “And what are these favors with which my prince intends to honor me?” said Candid. “This very day,” said the Iman, quite overjoyed, “you are to receive fifty strokes upon the soles of your feet, in the presence of his majesty.— Prepare yourself to go through this little trial, and render yourself worthy of the king of kings.” “I let the king of kings,” cried Can- did, in a rage, “keep his favors to himself, if this is your way of obtain- ing them.” “It is thus,” replied the Iman coldly, “ that he deals with those on whom he means to pour out his benefits. I love you too much to regard the little pet you shew on this occasion, and I will make you happy in spite of your- self.” He had not done speaking when the LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 121 \ executioner of his majesty’s pleasure arrived, who was one of the most ro- bust lords of the Court. Candid in vain remonstrated against their pro- ceedings. They perfumed his feet ac- cording to custom, and four eunuchs carried him to the place appointed to the ceremony. The cannons were firing, the bells of the mosques were ringing, and they stretched Can- did on a small gilt form, to the flour- ish of trumpets, before his majesty and the most distinguished personages of his Court. Candid was roaring and howling with all of his force; but the Iman apologized for this breach of eti- Quette by giving the people to under- stand that he went through this vio- lent agitation only the better to divert his majesty. The king was so well pleased that he laughed like a fool; and after the fifty blows had been given, he ordered fifty more to be added. But his prime minister, actua- ted through jealousy, now represented to him that such an unheard of favor to a stranger might alienate the hearts of his subjects. Thereupon his majes- ty revoked the order, and Candid was allowed to escape to his apartments. The grandees now came around him to congratulate him upon his good fortune. The Grand Mufti not only allowed him to kiss his hands, but like- wise honored him with a blow in the mouth. From whence the politicians }conjectured that Candid would arrive Jat extraordiny preferment, and what is very uncommon, the politicians were not deceived. As soon as our hero was cured he was introduced to the king to return his thanks. His majesty received him very graciously, giving him two or three hearty boxes on the ear in the course of their conversation, and an occasional kick a posteriori. It was generally conceded by the courtiers, who were bursting with envy, that no one, since the accession of the king, had ever received so many proofs of his love. A few days after this inter- view, our philosopher, who was very much enraged at the favors he had re- ceived, and was mentally cursing the Iman as the author of his misfortunes, was appointed a governor of a prov- ince, with absolute powers, and deco- rated with a fur-cap—a grand mark of distinction in Persia. He was riding off to his new gov- ernment in very fine feather, with the , camels, eunuchs and wives which the king had given him, when he was sud- denly surrounded by a band of horse- men, who discharged a volley of fire- arms upon him. Candid thought at first that it was a sulute intended to to do him honor; but a ball which he received in the leg soon convinced him of his mistake. He was taken a prisoner; his enemies accuse him of speaking disrespectfully of the king's whiskers, and being tried for high trea- son he was found guilty, and sold into slavery. We find him once more traveling when he had regained his freedom, and meeting as often with the buffetings of adversity as ever. In one country he is met by a lady who insists upon his loving her a little. Upon his mod- estly declining, she calls her husband, who feels the insult keenly, and who chastises Candid for his insolence, with cuffs and blows. Very much dis- satisfied with this kind of treatment, he determines to commit suicide the next day. As however it is necessary to live gaily to the last, he resolved to 8 * 122 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. spend the night in revelry and dancing, and at a dancing bout at which he at- tends, actually goes down the dance with a pretty partner, with the best grace in the world. The dance finish- ed he kisses his smart country girl, and led her to a seat without calling out and kissing the queen of the ring. Upon this a murmuring arose, and Candid's new friends were very much incensed at so flagrant an act of disre- spect. Not knowing that he had com- mitted a fault, and supposing the mur- muring was the buz of admiration at his dancing, Candid did not discover his mistake until a rude clown inform- ed him by giving him a blow upon the nose. His old misfortune again over- takes him—the fiddles and musical in- stuments are broken over his head, and the poor philosopher who had already been castigated as often as the editor of the Herald, is again compelled to submit to a sound drubbing. “Everything is embittered to me,” said our hero, when they have at length taken to their heels. “I have experienced a great many misfortunes, but I did not expect to be bruised to a mummy for dancing with a country girl at her own request.” At length after meeting up with a thousand mishaps and adventures, the ever-faithful Candid is repaid for his constancy by again finding his long lost inamorato, Miss Cunegund. She had escaped from Candid’s old rival, the fierce-whiskered Spanish Don, and while on her way home, the vessel in which she was sailing, was captured by Corsairs, and she was once more sold into slavery. At the time of Can- did's meeting with her she was wash- ing dishes upon the banks of the Propontis. She was no longer young or beautiful. Her face was full of wrinkles and crows-feet ; her arms were red, and her hands hard. To add to these little draw-backs, Cune- gund's father, the German baron, whom Candid had but recently rescued from the gallies, and who could not forget that he had seventy-two quar- terings in his arms more than Candid, positively refused his consent to the match. “Thou foolish fellow,” said Candid, “have I not delivered thee from the gallies, paid thy ransom, and thy daugh- ter's, too, who was a scullion, and is very ugly, and whom I yet condescend to marry P And shalt thou pretend to oppose the match 2 If I were to listen only to the dictates of my anger I would kill thee with my sword.” “You may kill me as many times as you choose,” said the baron, “but you could not marry my daughter unless you were a baron of the empire. She may remain a kitchen scullion all of her life, but her husband must have seven- - y wn •º e * 33 ty-two quarterings on his arms. Candid had not in truth a great in- clination to marry Miss Cunegund, but the extreme impertinence of the baron determined him to conclude the match. Besides, if a man has once loved a lady, and promised to marry her, be she ever so ugly, and even if she is a kitchen wench, was he not bound to marry her ? Miss Cunegund, who did not know that she was no longer beautiful, having no glass to tell her otherwise, was exactly of this opinion, and, indeed, pressed hini so warmly that he could not recant. The only thing to be done was to sell the baron again to the gallies, and at once consummate the long-delayed union.— And so after having wandered all over. LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 123 the world; been governor of a pro- vince ; after having at one time pos- sessed more riches than all of the kings of Europe, and been in doubt as to which of their kingdom's he would buy, he settles down on a little farm near Constantinople, with this wrinkled scullion for his wife. Candid makes a good gardener, and Miss Cunegund an excellent pastry cook. The old philos- opher, Pangloss, whom we introduced in the outset of the story, despairing of making a figure at the German Universities, joins them in their re- treat; and with him Candid disputes about metaphysics and morality, in much the same way that we find Beu- lah and her friends nearly a hundred years after. They often see boats fraught with effendis, bashaws and ca- dis, that were going into banishment at Lemnos or Mytilene; and other cadis, bashaws and effendis were coming to succeed the exiles, to be themselves driven out in their turns. They saw many heads curiously stuck upon poles, and carried as presents, to the Sublime Porte. Such sights gave rise to fre- quent disputations and many philo- sophical reflections; the last and truest of which is that the simplest life is the happiest, and that if every one had to tell his story, there would none of us be found but what has cursed his ex- istence a thousand times, and thought himself the most wretched of men. So ends this queer story of Candid. I should like to make here a few pro- found observations on the vanity of things in general, but it is too late to- night, and the long-wished for coach starts early in the morning. I leave behind me the book in the hope that it may again amuse some ennwied spirit as much as it has me. Mean- while, the place now, at this hour, is just as I found it. I can occasionally hear the dancing of heavy feet in the bar-room, to the same fiddle accompa- niment—the faint jingle of spoons and tumblers, and the constant inquiry of “what's trumps” or “why in the deuce don't you ante?” The landlord himself has a select crowd of his own and, as usual, is now in the middle of one of his interminable stories. [NOTE BY INDIGNANT LANDLORD.— “The above manuscript I found in the room, at one time occupied by a well- known blackleg. If he had left behind instead money to pay his hotel bill and little bar-room accounts I should have been more grateful. As it was, the only compensation I have yet received was one of his fancy vests—which in- deed I am in the habit of wearing at this time. His account of the bad state of the roads was a poetic fiction which meant that he did not have mo- ney enough to leave. What he says in reference to my “interminable sto- ries,” was simply the result of pique. The slander is too absurd to scratch out; and if there is anything, my friends tell me, which I do well, it is (ha, ha!) the telling of a good story ! If you ever meet up with the gentle- man you may tell him that his box of “tools” is still in my possession, which I will readily part with upon the pay- ment of his bill.”] ł *...* ---------—sº-----— The man who has no conscience of his own to keep, is generally the most anxious to be the keeper of other peo- ple’s. The Alabama Conference of the Methodist Church has determined to erect a monument to cost four hundred dollars, over the grave of John New- land Maffit, at Mobile. 124 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. (6 bit or g’ iſ a b lit. *—----- -—º-—- New Books, THE LIFE OF ANDREW JACKSON.— • By JAMES PARTON. [At J. J. Richards'.] Mé. PARTON has done his readers an invaluable service in given them the life of a man who probably stands se- cond only to Washington in personal popularity. As the author well re- marks, it is a standing political joke, founded on facts, that in some of the re- mote settlements, the ancient inhabi- tants still go to the polls under the im- pression that they are voting for old Gen. Jackson. To all such, and in- deed, to all who reverence the past great men of America, the work will be a vade mecum. It is written in the author's well known easy style; abounds in personal anecdotes that we find no where else, and possesses that interest which only attaches to a biog- raphy. The work as far in it, as we have read, is written in a candid and impartial spirit, and he gives us anec- dotes and incidents in Jackson's early history, apparently indifferent to the el. evation or depression of his hero’s char- acter. As to Jackson's youth, the opinion of old Mrs. , conveys it so forcibly, that we cannot forbear quo- ting it here: “At length it came to her ears that Andrew Jackson was talked of for the Presidency. She was accustomed to relieve her mind on this subject, by words in this wise: “‘What Jack- son up for President 2 Jackson 2 An- drew Jackson 2 used to live in Salisbury? Why, when he was here, he was such a rake my The Jackson that. husband would not bring him into the house ! It is true he might have taken him to the stable to weigh horses for a race, and might drink a glass of whis- key with him there. Well, if Andrew Jackson can be President, any body can.’” One more extract : “Foot races were much in vogue at that time—a sport in which the long- limbed Jackson was formed to excel. Among the runners, was one Hugh Montgomery, a man who was as re- markable for strength, as Jackson was for agility. To equalize the two in a foot race, Montgomery once proposed to run a quarter of a mile on these conditions: Montgomery to carry a man on his back, and Jackson to give him a start of half the distance. Jack- son accepted the challenge, and the ab- surd race was run amid the frantic laughter of half of the town, Jackson winning by two or three yards. All came into the winning post in good condition, except the man whom Mont- gomery had carried. In his eagerness to win, Montgomery had clutched and shaken him with such violence that the man was more damaged and breathless than either of his two competitors.” The remaining two volumes, Mr. Richards informs us are to be pub- lished by subscription. SELF-HELP, with Illustrations of Char- acter and Conduct. By SAMUEL SMILEs. For sale at Richard's Book-Store. - The title of the above work ex- plains its contents. It is an exposition of the principles and line of conduct which great men have pursued in eve- ry age, and by which many ultimately attained to success. It is the history -all that it is important to know—of ED I To Rs.” TABLE. 125 self-made men; that is of men who were ever made at all. No person, and especially no young man can read the work without acquiring new ener- gy for the duties of life. Among other instances of hard working men, the author gives us the following of Bul- Wel' : “Few writers have done more, or achieved higher distinction in various walks, as a novelist, poet, dramatist, historian, essayist, orator and politi- cian. He has worked his way step by step, disdainful of ease, and animated throughout only by the desire to excel. On the score of mere industry, there are few English writers who have writ- ten so much, and none that have pro- duced so much of high quality. The industry of Bulwer is entitled to all the greater praise as it has been self. imposed. Ilike Byron, his first effort was poetical, (Weeds and Wild flowers) and a failure. His second was a novel (Falkland) and it proved a failure, too. A man of weaker stuff would have dropped authorship; but Bulwer had pluck and perseverance, so he worked on, determined to succeed. He was incessantly industrious—read prodigi- ously—and from failure went courage- ously onward to success.” ~-—sº ºp- ©-º-º-º-º- THE ROMANCE OF A POOR YOUNG MAN.—Translated from the French of Oc- tave Feuillet. MR. RICHARDs has lain upon our ta- ble the above book, which interested us so much, that in spite of our duties as an editor, we perused it at one sit- ting. The work is a reprint from the Knickerbocker Magazine, from which by the way has emenated many of our best American productions. It is beau- tifully executed typographically, and otherwise we recommend it as one of the most interesting fictions that has appeared in some time. In spite of its French origin, our lady readers will meet with none of the morals which are supposed to pervade every French novel. & [º MR. HowARD, who recently lectured in our city upon the “Early History of Georgia,” contends that our State had a nobler origin than any other, and that, however much New- England may boast of her Puritan or- igin and South Carolina of her Hugue- not ancestry, the foundation of this colony was due to still nobler progeni- tors. We are very anxious to lay claim to an honorable ancestry, and are natu- rally pre-disposed to invest the memory of the men from whom we spring with that dim halo of glory which time is ever increasing. The founder of Rome was thought by the Romans to be de- scended from the god of war. Eneas was fabled to be the offspring of Ve- nus, while many other nations of an- tiquity still more grateful, elevated the heroes themselves, to the rank of gods. States are nearly always founded by the same class of people—a restless, discontented class, who, at home, and in the parent country, are very much in the way of every other, and with whom they consequently can not agree. The Romans, so far from de- riving their origin from the gods, were in reality, the descendants of a band of robbers. Our own ancestry, we think, was not much more honorable. It was composed of prodigal sons, debtors, idlers, and other classes which had been liberated from jail. The English Trustees were noble philanthrophists, and so, too, was Gen. Oglethorpe. But the first ad- venturers who come to a country are rarely the men of whom a nation or people are the most proud; and, in truth, there is but little reason for con- sidering ourselves an exception to the rule. 126 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. MR, SPONDULTOK'S SERMON.— We listened not a great many Sun- days ago to a sermon, at which, in spite of the sacredness of the occasion we could not at all times forbear from smiling. His mind had the scattering powers of a shot-gun, and like Berke- ly in his celebrated essay on Tar Water, he spoke on every subject in the whole arcana of human knowledge. In point of style and eloquence, it was the Whang-Doodle sort, and bore a bad resemblance to the “Harp of a Thou- sand Strings.” We did not object to his former oc- cupation, that of a hog-drover—on the contrary, we maintain that he ought never to have left it. But we did ob- ject to a greasy, yellowish coat, and a dark colored shirt. We might have overcome our dislike for his sandy-col- ored hair, if it had been brushed. We might have thought his purple visage, beneath which alcoholic currents were fiercely coursing, prepossessing, if it had only been shaven ; and to his coarse red hands which dangled at his side, or were flung wildly into the air, we would have become reconciled, if they had been a little less dirty. The foundation of his sermon were the memorable words of our Savior—“It is finished,” but no single verse in or without the Bible, or all of them to- gether, could properly be regarded as the corner-stone of the remarks, Mr. Spondulick then and there flung off. To the best of our remembrance, the following is the skeleton of the first part of his sermon : “The meaning of the word finish— a windin up of things. Phrase appli- cable a good many times in the histo- ry of the world. For instance, Greece, Rome. All the governments, except ourn, rotten concerns and will soon be finished. England particularly in a § bad way. Revolooshanary War. Gen eral history of our forefathers of free- dom. Looked once or twice as if we would have a general finish of things even here. For instance, the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law. Politi- cians everywhere busy. General de- scription of Congressmen and Con- gressmen’s wires—including Mrs. Sick- les. The Bill finally pulled through. Mr. Clay and Calhoun. “We’ve had a tough time of it,” says one of 'em. (“‘What will you take.”) “Yes,” says Mr. Clay, “but it is finished. A little brandy and sugar.’” - The above variety of subjects were not enough for the comprehensive sweep of Mr. Spondulick’s intellect.— Observing the fairer portion of his au- dience growing restive under some of his fiery periods, he rose in his stirrups and delivered the following finishing broadside : “Again, there is such a thing as a Finishing School for females, er-ah.— And if ever a woman can be said to be finished it is when she gets through one of 'em, er-ah. They are to be seen flirting and slashing around, poor mis- erable creeters, at every dance and at every ball-room. Oh, yes, (with ironi- cal emphasis) you can see 'em every- whar, but in the prayer-room, er-ah. And my hearers there are some of 'em here to day with short sleeves and no bosoms to their dresses worth men- shuning er-ah. Who come here in petticoats as big as haystacks,to stare at the men, er-ah. Who are wallering in their sins and inikities, instead of i bathin and drinkin in the pure foun- tains of life as it falls from my lips, er- |ah. Oh, woman, woman, what do you mean, er-ah. What was you doin’ in the garding a runnin’ on with the snaik, er-ah 3 * 95 Oh, woman, er-ah- The rest of Mr. Spondulick's ser- mon was here drowned by the horn which was just then blown for dinner. There was a simultaneous rush for the door, and in a moment Mr. Spondu- lick found himself addressing empty benches. - ADWERTISEMENTS. 127 COX, HILL & CO., Wholesale Grocers and Commission Merchants, i And dealers in Wines, Liquors, 'Cigars, To- bocco, &c., Peachtree Street. (Jan.1860)...Atlanta, Ga. store, Whitehall Street, Atlanta, Ga. } CLOCKS, WATCHES, JEWEL– RY, SILVER & PLATED WARE, Watch Materials, Tools, &c. Watchrs care- fully repaired by fºr LAWSHE, Atlanta, Ga. | [3"Sign Golden Eagle. J. B. A.RTROPE & SON'S MARBLE WORKS. Corner Third and Plumb Str., Macon, Ga. [*Slabs, Monuments, Obelisks, Plain and Fancy Carving done at shortest notice. } Jan. 1860. | | COTTON IS [OING ! And the pro-Slavery argnments comprising the writings of Hammon, Christy, Stringfel- low, Bledso, Harper and Cartwright. It is believed that this work is imperative- ly demanded by the interesis of the South. It will be published by Pritchard, Abbott & Loomis, Augusta, Ga. Jan. 1960. { TO THE PUBLIC. The undersigned being well known as a writer, would offer his services to all requir- ing Literary aid. He will furnish Addresses, Orations, Essays, Presentation Speeches and Replies, Lines for Albums, Acrostics, prepare matter for the press, Obituaries, and write Poetry upon any subject. Address FINLEY JOHNSON, Jan. 1860. New York. * *-*-* * DRY Goods -- ~~~~~ --~~ GOODMAN, SHIELD & Co., [3°New Dry Goods Store, have just opened with a large assortment of Dry Goods of all descriptions. They invite the people of At- lanta and the public at large to give them a call, and examine their stock in Johnson's new Building, on Whitehall str., near Hum- ter, Atlanta, Ga. Their motto is : “Quick sales and small profits.” J. Y. WELLS & CO., Wholesale and Retail Dealers in Groceries and Provisions, Peachtree Street, Atlanta, Ga. (In Daniel's new building.) Keep con- stantly a supply of the following articles, of Superior quality: Sugar, Coffee, Molasses, Syrup, Salt, Bacon, Lard, Flour, Tobacco, Candles, Soap, Starch, Rice, Pepper, Spice, (Jan. 1860) Ginger, Raisins, Cigars. w. HERRING & son, Manufacturers and dealers in Men's and Boy’s Clothing, Gent's Furnishing Goods, Cloths, Cassimeres, Westings, Tailors' Trim- mings, &c., wholesale and retail. Iron front MASSEY & LANSDELL, Druggists and Apothecaries, Whitehall St., Atlanta, Geo., are prepared to duplicate all Charleston, Angusta and Savannah bills. Stock unsurpassed in any Southern market. T. R. RIPLEY, Dealer in China, Glass, Earthen & Queens Ware, Silver, Plated and Britania Ware, fine Cutlery, Lamps of all descriptions, suitable for railroads and steamboats. Also, Oils, Burning Bluid, Camphene, Looking Glasses, | Paints, &c., Whitehall street, near Railroad, Atlanta, Ga. IBOOK AND MUSIC STORE. J. J. RICHARDS & CO. keep a wholesale and retail cheap cash Book, Music and Fan- cy Store on Decatur Street, Atlanta, Ga. Orders per mail promptly attended to. Established Nov. 1, 1855. DR. H. W. BROWN, Offers his professional services to the citi- zens of Atlanta and vicinity. Office in Col- lier's new Building, over Hunnicutt & Tay- lor's Drug Store. Residence on Calhoun St., recently occupied by Mr. Lovejoy. DR. W. H. TALIAFERRO, Office over the Drug Store of Hunnicutt & Taylor. Calls will be received at the Office at all hours during the day and night. tº ATTENTION LADIES : Miss JANE BERRY respectfully calls the attention of laer numerous friends, and the public generally, to the fact that she is still on Whitehall street, over Rawson, Gilbert & Co.'s store, where she is prepared to accom- modate them in any style or price.' Persons wishing to buy Fancy Millinery and Dress Goods, will certainly give her a call before going elsewhere. For taste, style, complete- ness and variety, her assortment cannot be excelled. 128 ADVERTISEMENTS. Hºuſtintinº A large Octavo Monthly Magazine, Devoted to the Philosophy, Jurisprudence and Symbolism of Ancient craft Masonry, and general Masonic intelligence, established in 1839. SAMUEL LAWRENCE, D. G. M., JOHN W. LEONARD, P. M., Editors, Is published in Atlanta, Ga., on the first of every month, and mailed to subscribers any- where in the United States or Canada, at the following rates of subscription: One copy, for one year, . . . . . . . . . $ 2 00 Five “ “ “ . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 00 Ten “ {{ “ . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 00 It is expressly understood that these rates imply advance payments only. Where sub- scriptions are not paid till the end of the year, $2 50 will be charged in all cases. 9 Advertisers.—We believe there is no ad- vertising medium in the South, which pos- sesses greater facilities for bringing the busi- ness of Merchants and other advertisers be- fore the best class of customers in the Sou- thern States, than the Signet and Journal. We will be glad to receive and give promin- ence to advertisements of any respectable business on the following terms: Ten eents per line (double column) for each insertion of not less than five lines. Ten.lines (double column) one year, . . $10 1 page, per annum, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 1 “ six months, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (30 1 “ three months, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 1 * One insertion, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 [y*All accounts for standing advertisements will be collected every six months. For those of three months or less, We will send the accounts immediately after the first ap- pearance of the advertisement. Address all advertisements, remittances, subscription lists, and all matter pertaining to the business of the Signet & Journal, to LAWRENCE, MCPHERSON & CO., Signet & Journal Office, Atlanta, Ga. |3* Communications relating to the Edi- torial Department, Questions of Masonic Law and Usage, Exchanges, Books for Re- view, &c., should be addressed to EDITORS SIGNET & JOURNAL, Marietta, Ga. N. B.-The names of subscribers should be plainly written ; and the name of the County and State, as well as the Post Office, in all cases should be given. Strict atten- tion to this rule will save subscribers disap- pointment, and ourselves loss and annoy- $ºll CQ, January, 1860. [* I have just returned from the North with a large stock of HATS, CAPS AND STRAW GOODS, to which I invite the at- tention of wholesale and retail buyers, I will sell goods in my line Twenty-Five per cent. Cheaper than any other house in the South / Give me a trial; I have on hand all the latest styles. I also call your particular attention to my THREE DOLLAR SILK HAT, which cannot be equalled in the South. One and all call and see me, and see for your- selves. JAS. S. MARTIN, Jr., Marietta St., Atlanta, Ga. P. S.—A large assortment of Umbrellas, Canes and Parasols. FLEMING & NELSON, NURSERYMEN,........AUGUSTA, GA., Offer for sale Southerm, Group.m. Fruit Trees—the collection comprises Apples, Peaches, Pears, Plums, Apricots, Nectarines, &c. Apple Trees are all of the most approved Southern varieties. Red Astrachan, Red June Taunton, Nick- ajack and Shockley, we propagate by the thousands. Peach Trees are of the best varieties known, which will ripen in an uninterrupted succession from early June to November. Early Tillotson, Early York, Early Craw- ford, Van Zandts, Superb and Nixs Oct, Cling, we propagate by the thousands. All our trees are grafted, and are of thrif. ty growth. We do not import trees to sell. Ours are all home-grown. We also offer Grape-Cuttings, Strawberry Plants, Asparagus Roots, Everblooming Roses and Ornamental Shrubbery. Col. Buckner's Apple Orchard, in Middle Georgia, has yielded $1,400 per acre, per 3,1] Ill llll. - [& We pack trees so that they may safely go to any part of the South. Descriptive and priced catalogues sent gratis to all applicants. Address NELSON, FLEMING & Feb. 1860. Augusta, Ga. THE ATLANTA INTELLIGENCER, PUBLISHED DAILY AND WEEKLY. Daily, (per annum). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $6 Weekly {{ • . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Book AND Joe PRINTING Promptly and Cheaply Executed. [* Orders from the country respectfully solicited, and will receive the personal at- tention of the proprietors. - i | 77– ~ * ~ *-* ~ **-- ~~4 2 vs. - ... s. - --~~~~ – MARCH & APRIL, 1860, NO. 3. A VOL. I. * .* { { * * - t t { { d ...” t f HY GIENIC AL INT IT) ... I (D. ; (MD “ . . * T (Mº)” “Y,\*\\ : - t \ --~~ Jº) M. A. MALSIB Y, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. 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I 'LNGIWIL'HWJCIGI OINCII+)AH -º- "STULO) [IO, D JO OIC[UJL HY G. T. E N T C LITERARY MAGAZINE WOL. I. ATLANTA, GA., MARCH & APRIL, 1860. NOS, 3 & 4. } {jpgienic Department. —sº--——— V. H. TALIAFERRO, M. D., EDITOR. Phrenology. In the January issue of the Atlan- ta Medical and Surgical Journal, there appears an article by Joseph W. Clift, upon the above subject, which takes in review our editorial article in the Medical and Literary Weekly of July 26, upon “Tempera- ment vs. Phrenology.” He sets out with the assertion that, “The writer seems never to have studied Phre- nology with an unprejudiced mind, and labors under a misconception of its teachings.” Were this charge true, our views in relation to it would doubtless have been more in accord- ance with those advanced by our critic and reviewer. In reference to this charge of handling that we un- derstood not, we will simply state, that we have been the student of Ancient and Modern Phrenologists; the notorious “Water-Cure Doctors,” Fowler and Wells, included; and if ‘we are not much mistaken, these great Hydropathic lights stand at the head of American Phrenology. Perchance these false dogmas would have led us far in the dark, but for the sound practical truths of Dungli- son, Dalton, Draper, Paine and Car- penter, whose wise teachings hold up in the clear sunlight of science the palpable errors and deceptions of Phrenological teachings. With these lights, and the guidance in our anatomical demonstrations of that great man, Granville Sharp Patter- son, we saw no evidences of truth in Phrenology. Yes, sir, we have stu- died Phrenology with the same spirit which guides us in the investigation of any and all scientific questions, and most candidly believe it a “spec- ulative theory,” co-equal in its ridi- culous folly and error with clairvoy- ance, mesmerism and witchcraft. In the paragraph following the one in which we “seem ’’ not to have studied, &c., our reviewer says: “Phrenology teaches that as we pos- sess a pair of hands, eyes, ears, &c., 130 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. so in like manner are our mental faculties double, &c.” We have no question that were it not unmistak- ably perceptible that but one head belongs to every man, it would be stubbornly claimed that as he has two hands and two feet, “So in like manner” must he have two heads.-- And furthermore, says our review- er: “His allusion to the “Flat Heads” is equally unfortunate for his argument. Because, development of certain faculties of the mind is al- ways followed by increased nutri- tion, and certain portions of the brain are enlarged faster than sur- rounding organs, it does not justify the conclusion he seems to have ar- rived at, that we, by creating an ab- normal growth, could change the faculties.” Abnormal means unnat- ural, or a departure from a given, rule or regularity. Now, if an organ be unusually or unnaturally large, it is abnormally developed, whether by a natural or mechanical process.- "The arm of the blacksmith is abnor- mally large, and yet its strength is proportionate to its size, and were it in our power to develop muscular structure without the exercise, it would be equally powerful. Were Phrenology true, every fac- ulty of the mind having its distinct and separate locality upon the brain, and the strength and power of each faculty judged by its corresponding cranial protuberance—then, most as- suredly, would the “flat heads” be deficient in all their nobler traits, from the fact of mechanical obstruc- tions to the growth of the organs, characterizing them, while the more lateral and posterior organs of the brain would be abnormally develop- ed, and in a corresponding propor- tion, abnormally active and power- ful. But the Phrenologist would answer these objections to his favor- ed so-called science, by saying that if an organ or any number of or- gans were prevented, by any me- chanical means, from development, that the activity of such organs would not be interfered with, be- cause of a corresponding increase in the development of the brain else- where. Truly is this a flimsy argu- ment for Phrenology. For instance, were we to make pressure upon the organs of benevolence and venera- tion, and thereby prevent their growth, other sections of the brain, having different and distinct func- tions to perform, could not take up- on themselves the double office of supplying these deficiencies, because their functions are separately dis- tinct. But holding, on the other hand, that mind can only be made manifest by the action of the brain as a whole, then these difficulties are easily solved, and we are at no loss to understand why it is that the characteristic traits of the Indian are the same, no matter in what shape he may grow his cranium. Phrenologists, since the day of Gaul and Spurzheim, have based their theory upon the idea of the plurality of the mental faculties, hav- ing severally and separately their distinct localities in the brain—each one of these distinct localities hav- JIYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 131 \ ing, as it were, independent func- tions, and being known, as to their size, strength and power, by devel- opments upon the cranium. These then should accordingly be their on- ly guide, but in order the more ef- fectually to elude the force of all ar- guments against it, they are now claiming as within the broad scope [ha! haſ] of Phrenological science, those general characteristics which belong to different temperaments, different races, and different animals. As well might the “two hands,” “two feet,” gout included, be term- ed Phrenological. Physical organi- zation gives peculiar character to temperaments, races and animals.- An Irishman is an Irishnan, no matter under what sun he claims his birth. in general characteristics, though born and reared upon European soil. When Phrenologists, by examination of craniums, will give us the different temperaments and peculiar charac- teristics of different races, then we will begin to admit that there is truth in Phrenology; but, instead of this, they, as frequently as other- wise, fail to point out the most prom- inent faculties of the mind, or repre- sent the weakest faculties as being the most prominent and powerful. A reputable and far-famed champi- on of Phrenology, upon examination of my own cranium, told me that my musical talent was unusually de- veloped—that I could, with little trouble, perform well upon any in- strument, and sing any song—and, indeed, that music was the great de- An American is the same light of my nature, and that this tal- ent was inherited from my mother, who, without doubt, was exceeding- ly musical. This announcement very naturally created no little mirth among my acquaintances, knowing, as they did, my inability, from child- hood, to be able to sing or whistle correctly the most simple song, or play a tune upon any instrument, notwithstanding my more musically inclined father, hitched me regularly to every singing school, fiddle school, or other musical institution which might happen along; and what is still very remarkable, my mother never was known to sing a Song so that it could be recognized. This is no isolated case—they are numerous. We assert upon playsiological au- thority and the science of accumula- ted ages, that plurality of mental manifestation, as belonging several- ly and separately to distinct and par- ticular parts of the brain, is unesta- blished in the slightest degree. Gaul and his confederates most signally failed in their dissections of the brain, to elucidate their theory, but, in- stead, added confusion to uncertain- ty. The National Institute of France, influenced by the pretensions of Drs. Gaul and Spurzheim deputed five of its most learned and scientific members to carefully dissect the hu- man brain, in connection with the authors of this new and astounding theory, to ascertain the grounds, if any, for its establishment, and give a “clear and precise abstract of it.”— The result was, that the report of this committee, far from confirming 132 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. the views of Gaul, proved a most in- surmountable barrier to the adoption of his views, and to day, Phrenology is almost wholly discarded by scien- tific men and authors. Dunglison, Carpenter, Dalton, Draper, Paine, all, discard it upon the ground of a false basis, while the world-renowned quacks—“Water Cure”—Fowler & Wells, lead the van of seekers after Phrenological wonders. Were Phrenology true, the Na- tional Institute Committee would certainly have found, as they expect- ed, Some anatomical divisions or lim- its, to separate parts of the brain, having distinct and different func- tions. But, alas, for the beautiful theory of Gaul and Spurzheim, no such divisions or limits could be de- tected, and yet how exactly precise, even to the hundredth part of an inch, is checked off upon the crani- ums the different faculties of the mind. The layer of gray matter which occupies the surface of the brain, and which ramifies with its beautifully folding convolutions, is continuous throughout each princi- pal portion of the brain. In this gray matter is supposed to reside the active functions of the brain, bearing the same relation to the other structures of the brain that the ganglions do to the nerve. Now, in nervous ganglia having separate functions, anatomical divisions are always traced; but the surface of the brain we find to be one continu- ous and compact pulpy mass, hav- ing not the minutest trace of divi- ding lines in its structure. We would as much expect separate, distinct functions of the brain traceable by divisions as in nervous ganglia. Cruvellhier, in his anatomy, says: “The depth of the convolutions va- ries from ten to fourteen lines, but it is extremely variable in different individuals; moreover, there are, perhaps, not two convolutions, nor two parts of the same convolution, which correspond in thickness in the same brain.” “It would be undoubtedly curious to describe minutely all the convo- lutions. Vesalius, who appears to have entertained the idea of so do- ing, likened the appearance of the surface of the brain to those irregu- lar forms which are traced by un- skilful painters in delineating clouds. Vicqd’Azyr made an unsuccessful attempt to elucidate this subject.— Gaul and Spurzheim, who were in- terested in giving a minute descrip- tion of each convolution, abandoned the task. I have myself attempted, and so has Rolando, to describe and name some of them.” Thus do we perceive, from this standard anato- mist, the impossibility of describing these convolutions, upon the mere superficial surfaces of which, accord- ing to Phrenology, are seated sepa- rately the organs of the brain. What a brazen absurdity, then, the idea of mapping out upon these variable Convolutions, the upper surfaces of which only can be explored, so pre- cisely accurate, every faculty of the brain separately and distinctly, while indeed many of these convolutions never present themselves upon the HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 133 outer surface of the brain, but lie buried beneath other and larger folds. One simple #hysiological and anatomical question successfully re- futes the whole doctrine of phrenolo- gy, viz: In what part of the brain structure is seated, mainly its great function? in this gray matter, which makes up the entire surface of the brain. Is this entire surface subject to external exploration ? it is not, and thère is the end to the whole of it. The pleurality of the mental fac- ulties must be admitted; but we re- gard them as the result of the ac- tion of all parts of the brain, con- jointly and in unison; and in this opinion we are sustained by every physiological and anatomical evi- dence bearing upon the subject.— The manifestations of the mind are subject to many controlling circum- stances, and which are not necessa- rily dependent upon any change in the organization of the brain.— Though from any circumstances, a faculty of the mind be weakened or destroyed, no corresponding change can be detected in its organ, as re- cognised by Phrenologists. This is incompatible with all known physi- ological laws. “How decided an alteration in the disposition is pro- duced by emasculation,” and yet without the least change in the organ called amativeness. Now, it is well known that no nerve or tissue of the body loses its function without an evident and decided change in its structure. “Two animals can scarce- ly be more different from each oth- er than an ox or a bull,” and yet though the psychical manifestations are so changed, the cerebellum.” maintains its natural development and proportions. Prof. Dunglison in his Cyclopædia of Practical Med- icine, says: “Cretinst in whom the cerebellum is defective, display more or less idiotism or defect of in- tellect, but no corresponding defici- ency in the sexual instincts, which on the contrary often exists in such unhappy beings in the greatest in- tensity, and impels them to furious excess. Again, injuries of the pos- terior part of the head are observed to be followed by stupor and loss of memory, indicating the function of the cerebellum to be connected with the exercise of the mental faculties rather than animal propensities.”— This is a stubborn fact for Phrenolo- gy, and one within itself sufficient to stamp it for all time to come, as un- reliable and untruthful. We would call upon our reviewer for refuting physiological facts—we do not want speculation. When we remember that the convolutions of the brain are from ten to fourteen lines in depth, and therefore the edges only subject to external ex- ploration, beside other equally strong facts, we are irresistibly forced to the eonclusion that, not only is it a “speculative theory,” but that its teachings are worthy the profound- est contempt of scientific men. *According to Gaul and Spurzheim, the animal instincts all have their seat in the cerebellum. }This is the name given to deformed and wretched beings met with in Pyrenees, Berne and upper Gascony. In France they are called Caputs. 134 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE, But still there comes a more seri- ous objection to Phrenology as a science, than has yet been given.— All the mental faculties have been located upon that portion of the brain accessible to external explora- tion. In saying all we mean all— every one—not a faculty but has its corresponding accessible organ.-- Now, we emphatically assert, that the entire surface of the base of the brain, including the greater part of the cerebellum is inaccessible to phrenological fingers tout ensemble. Not only so, but the inner surfaces of the convolutions, those of the great longitudinal fissure, as well as the surfaces of the fissure of Sylvius which divides the cerebrum into an anterior and middle lobe are equally inaccessible. These hidden surfaces make up at least two-thirds of the whole sur- face of the brain, and we would, in all sincerity, ask if it is reasonable to suppose that it has no agency in mental manifestations, because it is inaccessible and cannot be made to fit phrenological theory. Putting aside all scientific facts, Phrenology can not be sustained by outside evidences, as the collection and comparison of crania of indi- viduals of different mental traits. Prof. Dunglison, whose physio- logical research and compilation sur- passes any of his day, says: “If for example, we should examine a hun- dred monomaniacs, in all of whom certain feelings and propensities has been developed even to morbid ex- cess, and it should be discovered by *- a person competent to form a judg- ment on this subject, that no evi- dence displays itself in the cranido- copy of so many individuals tond- ing to support the doctrine, we should hold that it ought in all fair- ness to be abandoned. Some hun- dreds and even thousands of such persons have passed a part of their lives under the inspection of M. Es- quiral, who possesses most extensive resources for elucidating almost ev- ery subject connected with the his- tory of mental diseases, and has neg- lected no inquiry which could fur- ther the attainment of that object.— The result of his observation will be allowed to be of some weight on the discussion of this question, in which the appeal is principally to facts of the precise description of those with which he has been chiefly conver- sant. At his establishment at Ivry he has a large assemblage of cra- nia and casts from the heads of lu- natics, collected by him during the long course of his attendance at the Salpetriere and at the Royal Hos- pital at Charenton, which is under his superintendence. While inspect- ing this collection, the writer of the present article was assured by M. Esquiral, that the testimony of his experience is entirely adverse to the doctrine of the Phrenologists—it has convinced him that there is no foun- dation whatever, in the facts for the system of correspondences which they lay down between certain meas- urements of the existence of certain mental endowments. There are few if any individuals in Europe whose HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 135 sphere of observation has been so extensive as that of M. Esquiral.” Phrenology a science One would doubtless be convinced (?) by the skillful and wonderful manipulations of such mesmerising luminaries as we have recently had among us, who not only mesmerise their subjects, but call in play any mental faculty, by touching its corresponding cra- nial development. We have as yet, seen only human crania examined, but we suppose that well educated Phrenological fingers would very readily decide as to the amiability kicking or running qualities of a horse, give their color, number of spots, their durability, &c., as well as give the pedigree of chickens, their capacity for laying, &c., also localizing the fives, tens, twenty’s, déc., within iron safes by the corres- ponding developments, depressions, and such like incontestible (?) eviden- CGS. - Our reviewer winds up his defence of Phrenology with the following questions: 1st. “If the brain con- tinually acts as a unit, how and why can we exercise several faculties at one and the same time?” 2d. “And why is there such a thing known as a monomaniac 2" 3d. “And why is Phrenology false, when it teaches that the intellectual faculties of the negro are so small that he is better fitted for manual labor than intellec- tual effort?” 4th. “And why do we instinctively judge of a stranger's intellect by the shape and general conformation of his head º' To question first, we deny that seve- ral faculties of the mind can be call. ed into exercise at one and the same time, else we might translate Eury- pides, solve one of Euclid's most difficult problems, and laugh and talk with our friends of past occur- rences, “at one and the same time.” To question second, we would an- swer, that “such a thing as a mono- maniac" is known ; because a man may lose his capacity to control his mind upon a particular subject, which may occur from a variety of circumstances. Momomania cannot be established by pathological evi- dences in the brain, which in case Phrenology were true, there would be no difficulty in doing. In an- swer to question third, we would state that we were not aware the negro's capacity was judged of by the weight or bulk of his head. If so we would expect a few Websters looming up from among the unambi- tious thick-lipped species. We think we could measure some whoppers in our locality. To question fourth, we would reply that, we did not know that strangers' intellects were known by the shape of their heads, and were not apprised before that any body else knew it. W. H. T. —-sº--—— ſº. The number of physicians in the State of Virginia, according to the census of 1859, is 2,072. --~~<>-----------— [ºff The Tea Plant is cultivated in Louisiana without any difficulty. It has shown its power to withstand the hottest days of Louisiana, and also the late freezing cold weather. 136 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Phantoms, *-*. We ridicule and abuse the ignorance, idolatry and witchcraft of the past, and listen in astonishment to the mar- velous tales that were wont to startle, and turn to icy cold with terror, the very blood of their superstitious be- lievers, but very loth we are to admit the bare possibility of our own en- lightened minds being in the least clouded with ideas of ghosts, or the existence of the spirits of the dead, which confront us on earth in real characters. There are none who are forgetful of the precaution to preface their ghost stories and scary sights, with the most positive assurance that they are not in the least superstitious; and at the same time admit their total inability to explain, or, in any wise, see through the mysteries their eyes have seen. We are told, for instance' by a most worthy and estimable neigh bor, that he is a firm and settled dis. believer in ghosts , always has been and always will be; but that, without a doubt, for more than a month after the death of his brother, he conversed every night with his spirit, which bore exactly the features, the form and size, and wore the same clothes of his bro- ther in life. We insist that he slept, and his dreams were so vivid as leave the impression of reality. No, that could not have been the case, for he usually got out of bed and talked aloud, with his eyes open, and his senses clear, and he could not be mis- taken in what he beheld with his own eyes. Another tells us that the vision of a strange man is pictured in his sight whenever he passes a certain spot— distinctly perceives every feature, even the wrinkles on his face, and count the buttons on his coat ; but whenever he attempts to take hold of it, it vanishes in the air. He has occular demonstra- tion of the positive existence of ghosts. Again, we are told by one, that he awoke at night from a sound sleep, and beheld standing near his bedside, a haggard and ghastly being of whom he had just had a most frightful dream. From the rays of the moon through his window, he could see him distinct- ly, even the snapping of his large frightful red eyes. Fearful to speak or even to move, he gazed with breathless terror, upon the features of his unwel- come visitant, until unable to bear his appearance and proximity longer, sprang from his bed, and rushed from his room. We know a person who had a similar vision, which followed him wherever he went, day or night, in private and in public : under no circumstances could he evade his pres. enee. He was convinced that it was an illusion, but nevertheless, it barred him from all pleasures and enjoyments, and, indeed, made life itself a burden. These visions occur with persons of nervous, impressible temperaments, and usually following dreams of the same character. A friend of ours rose in the morning at his usual hour, and as- tonished to see himself lying at full length in the very place he had just then vacated. Bewildered and con- fused, he knew not whether he was himself or some one else, and to estab- lish his identity, consulted his mirror. Finding his own self reflected from the mirror, turned to take a more critical survey of his fae simile companion when he was no where to be found. What is the explanation of these visions, which give rise to so many | #YGIENIC I) EPARTMENT. 137 wonderful ghost stories, haunted houses, and the like? Most persons think they are less apt to be deceived by their sight than any of the senses. They believe what they see, though the world denies it. The eyes them- selves are not really cognizant of im- pressions made upon them, but act as mirrors, as it were, by which impres- sions are reflected upon the brain.— Then, if an impression be made upon the brain, otherwise than through the sènse of sight, from diseased imagina- tion, or other morbid condition of the brain, the sight may be deceived.— Berkley contends that external objects only, have existence, as they are per- ceived by the mind—that is, that no object has existence outside of mind. If the opinion of this distinguished metaphysician be true, that objects in reality, only exist in the mind, so like- wise does it appear from the history of illusions, that objects which are not real, have their existence in the mind, and it would accordingly appear that this brain, with its conflex and beau- tiful sense of sight is an unsafe and uncertain index to the real existence of objects. Sir Benjamin Brodie, who, unlike Berkley, recognises the positive exist- ence of matter, in explanation of the causes of mental illusions, says: “We may suppose the part actually affected, to be the expansion of the nerve of sight in the retina of the eye; but it is more probable that it is that part of the brain itself, which belongs to vi- sions.” It is, at any rate, certain, that illusions result from some abnormal condition of the system on the brain itself— Brodie gives the instance of Nicolai, the bookseller of Berlin, who was 2 § * haunted by visions of persons coming into his apartment, sitting down, and even conversing with him and with each other, and this during a period of several months. He also was, at first, taken by surprise, believing the phan- toms to be real objects, but he was soon enabled to convince himself that they were not so. His recovery was attributed to an improved state of his bodily health. W. H. T. ——-----—sº- - ---------- The Medical Application of the Waters of the Atlanta Mineral Spring. Analysis of the Water of Atlanta Mineral Spring. By Prof. MEANs. Estimates made upon one gallon, Imperial Measure.) Specific Gravity, [dist’d water being 1] 1.0005 Temperature, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 Fal'. Quantity per hour,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . GASEOUS CONTENTS. Carbonic Acid, . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.96 cub. inch. Hydro-Sulphuric Acid,...... .233 {{ Atmospheric Air, about 1% per cent. son,ID CONTENTs. Iron, as a Proto-Carbonate, suspen- ded in Carb. Acid gas, ... . . . . . . .13.34 grs. Sulphate of Magnesia, . . . . . . . . . . . . 11.84 “ Carbonate of Magnesia, . . . . . . . . . . . 4.15 “ Magnesia as base in both,. . . .6.01 Sulphate of Soda, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.82 “ Chloride of Sodium, . . . . . . . . . . . ... 16.06 “ Lime, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . a traCe. Silica—not estimated. IEntire solid contents,. . . . . . . . . . . . .55.11 grs. From the analysis by Prof. MEANs, we find that in one gallon of the water there is contained 14.34 grs. of iron, (proto-carbonate,) suspended in 7.96 cubic inches carbonic acid gas. The preparations of iron are the best tonics known to the physician, in- asmuch as their action is directly upon the blood—its solid contents becoming greatly increased, whereby the impov- erished blood becomes enriched, and the pale cheek is made to glow with the beauty of health. 138 HYGIENIC AND flTERARY MAGAZINE. Iron is applicable to those diseases in which the blood is impoverished, and the system, in consequence, ema- ciated and enfeebled. In almost all chronic diseases, this condition of the blood exists, and iron becomes an ap- propriate remedy. The principal diffi- culty in the introduction of iron into the blood, is in presenting it in a solu- ble form, and acceptable to the sto- mach. Owing to this difficulty, we are frequently deterred from its use in those diseases in which it is indicated, where debility or irritation of the di- gestive organs exists. When the di- gestive organs are in a strong and ac- tive condition, iron is readily acted upon by the gastric juices, but when debility or irritation of the stomach exists it is only aggravated by the use of iron. No physician of experience but has felt this embarrassment in the administration of this valuable tonic. Its use is said to be objectionable in Consumption and Dyspepsia—diseases in which the blood calls loudly for iron, for the very reason that it enfeebles and irritates the digestive organs, thereby deranging, instead of improv. ing the blood-making process. Now, could we present a preparation of iron which would be altogether acceptable to the stomach in its most debilitated and irritated conditions—a prepara- tion in such a state of solution that it passed readily from the stomach into the blood, without calling upon the di- gestive powers of the stomach to dis- solve it, would we not be called a great benefactor. Truly and justly would we. We cannot, by any known chemical combinations make such a preparation. The Chemist points you to Nature's beau- tiful, sparkling gem—the diamond— learned and gives you its simple chemical con- stituents; but in vain does he attempt by the union of those constituents to make the diamond. And so we can point you to Nature's own living fount, from which the anaemic, the con- sumptive, and the dyspeptic may drink, and give richness and color to the blood, and life and tone to the tissues, and instead of enfeebling the stomach, give it fresh vigor and renewed ener- gy. In the waters of the “Atlanta Mineral Spring” we have iron suspen- ded in carbonic acid gas—the happiest combination which can possibly be presented ; not only from the fact of its solubility and ready absorption, but from the fact that it is made plea- sant and acceptable to the stomach in consequence of its suspension in carbo- nic acid gas. All over the civilized world this gas, in consequence of its refreshing and invigorating influence upon the digestive organs, is sought for in com- bination with drinks. It is this that makes the soda fount so popular, and its water so relished, when Summer's heat has enfeebled and relaxed the whole system. It is this gas that gives the inviting and soul enlivening sparkle to the wine; and this that makes the iron of these waters so agreeable and acceptable to the stomach. Previous to our knowledge of this Spring containing, as one of its ele- ments, carbonic acid gas, we have been astonished at the enormous quantity of the water we have seen children taking at one time. We have seen them, from six to ten years of age, drink, at one time, from seven to twelve ordinary sized glasses of water from this Spring, without the least uneasiness in the stomach. Its admixture with carbonic acid is the explanation. HYGLENIC DEPARTMENT. 139 w ------ -------- . In all diseases of chronic character in which the blood has become impov- erished, and the tissues, in consequence, are not being nourished and sustained, these waters will prove a valuable boon. Consumption, Dyspepsia, Chro- nic Diarrhoea, General Debility or En- ervation, Torpidity of the Secretions, may receive benefit from these tonic properties. With these tonic ingredients, we find that these waters contain sulphate and carbonate of magnesia, sulphate of soda, and chloride of sodium. Those salts are antacid, and consequently valuable in correcting acidity of the stomach and relieving headache, “heart-burn,” and other disturbances arising therefrom. They are diuretic and valuable in kidney disturbances, irritations, and inflammation of the urethera. These salts are also slightly aperient and diaphoretic, acting mildly upon the skin and the secretions of the bowels. To sum up, then, our conclusions: these waters are 1st tonic, 2d diuretic, 3d diaphoretic, 4th aperient, 5th anta- cid, 6th disinfectant, and are applica- ble to the followin diseases: Consump- tion, Dyspepsia, Chlorosis, Dysme- norrhoea, Chronic Diarrhoea, General Debility, or Enervation, Headache from indigestion, Torpidity of the Se- cretions, Chronic Uterine Diseases, Irritation and Inflammation of the Urethra. W. II. T. ——ssº- 13; A case of death from Hydro- phobia from the bite of a hog, which occurred while attempting to remove a bone which was lodged in the throat of the animal, occurred in St. Louis re- i | } cently. Quackery and Medical Advertising. Quackery, the scourge upon human society, and disgrace to the medical profession, can never, and nowhere, has prevailed to such an awful extent as it does in New York. Yet nothing is done to check it. It is not only al- lowed to exist, but we look calmly on to see it spreading like a “phagedemic ulcer” producing its deleterious effects. It is perfectly astounding with what nonchálance and forbearance the regu- lar profession sees its rights daily trampled upon. Why is this? Is there no protection against these impostors 2 Are there no means to caution a cer- tain class of people who daily, through their credulity, fall victims to such an inhuman and heartless trade 2 I think it high time that the medical profes- sion be aroused from its lethargy.— The Law, I regret to say, does not af. ſord the proper protection ; but then it does not necessarily follow that we should quietly look on without at least an attempt to resort to those means which are within our reach, and which fairly promise, if not entirely to pre- vent, at all events to check, its injuri- ous and corrupting tendency. Medical advertising has been fre- quently brought ſorward to relieve the profession of certain existing evils ; but never, to my knowledge, has it been used for the purpose of eradica- ting a violation of what is right, which concerns the public at large, and which it is the duty of every honest physi- cian to labor in subduing. The Medical Advertising, in an un- ostentatious way, should be looked upon as unworthy and undignified, I am at a loss to comprehend. The pre- vailing, but repressed, desire to be- come honorably known, under existing circumstances, is a farce and perfectly ridiculous, and is, if I am not mista- ken, exactly the reason why impostors can practice their deceptions unmo- lested and with impunity. If adver- tising is a humbug and must be avoid- ed because Quacks resort to it, so must be considered the hanging out a shin- gle. If we are in danger in the one 140 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. to be classed with impostors, so we are in the other. Our very next door neighbor, who perchance may be a butcher, baker, or almost anything else, may fancy to be a Doctor, and display his name in golden letters at his window. How can the stranger distinguish if he has no other guide to go by ? Is this not the reason, that , people knowing the extent of quackery in this city, soon learn to place no faith in a mere doctor's sign 2 This is all very well to the senior practitioner, who being well establish- ed in name and in the profession has nothing to fear, and is little, if at all, injured by this state of things. But it is the junior practitioner who suf. fers. His capacity and ability may be equal, if not superior, to many of his confreres; yet, being restrained by the straight-jacket of custom, and the fear of professional ill feeling, from bringing his name before the people, he must needs remain in obscurity ; and if he has not the means to meet the expenses which surround him, or some other source whereby to support himself, must either starve or forsake the profession to which perhaps he has devoted years of ardent and untiring study. It certainly cannot be the desire of the regular Medical Profession, that this state of things should continue. Shall we forever adhere to habits and customs, merely because they were practiced by our forefathers ? I am convinced that an alteration—a reform —of the present state of affairs is not only desirable, but would be hailed as an era by a large proportion of the medical fraternity. But, as “one swal- low does not make a summer,” so likewise, were it madness for a single individual to attempt to “pass the Rubicon” of custom. Such a step would be looked upon as a declaration of war against the whole medical pro- fession, and “Regulars” would unite with “Quacks,” to put such a move- ment down. No, if medical advertising shall succeed ; if we wish to throw off the —-4 yoke of antiquity; and above all, if it is desirable to check and extinguish quackery and imposture, we must act in concert. Divided we will accom- plish nothing ; United everything. I therefore beg leave to propose the following: That a Medical Society be organized, whose principles and aims shall be to protect the regular practitioner and the public from impostors and quacks. That it be made one of the duties of the said society, to publish in one or more of the daily papers of this city, a correct list of the names, and places of residence of its members. That the society use its influence with the State Legislature, to have the rights of the regular practitioner pro- perly and lawfully protected, and, quackery and imposture punished as they deserve. Convinced that this is the only way to effect a reform, and, in time, and by degrees, to extinguish quackery, I have undertaken to bring this important subject before the profession, sincerely hope that every regular physician, hav- ing the public good at heart, will be- stow upon it the consideration which it deserves, and express his opinion freely and frankly thereon. Above all, should the senior practitioners, and the faculties of our medical colleges step forward to promote by their experi- ence and influence, a reform, which though it may not be absolutely nec- essary to themselves individually, is nevertheless a duty they owe to their junior brethren, as well as to the pub- lic. - - Should the foregoing propositions be approved of—as I hope they will be—by a sufficient number of the Regular Practitioners to form a nu- cleus for such a society, a meeting can be called at an early date for the pur- pose of organizing, and there is but little doubt that many, seeing the ef. fect, will follow. a. CHARLES IIAASE, M. D. Late House-Physician of Bellevue Hospital, 278 Fourth Avenue. The above communication from the HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 141 pen of Dr. Charles Haase, published every thing which happens to con- in the New York Medical Press flict with strikes in the right direction. their individual interest. We re- Quackery simply means prºtention to joice that one so able has taken this that which the boaster cannot accom. subject in hand, and hope he will not let it rest until something has been done. We have for a long time, been convinced that a large number of the profession have been decidedly too “squeamish” about medical ethics.- Specific rules and regulations are no- cessary for all institutions; but the idea of decrying, and putting under the ban, a professional brother, be- cause his sign is not the right size, or his advertisement in the newspaper is a little too conspicuous, or an editor, (they have the biggest souls of any people in the world,) in the goodness of his heart, sees fit to compliment him through his columns, is, to say the least, little beyond conception. For a Dr. to seek, or pay for news- paper puffs, is quite another thing.— It then becomes not only unprofession- al, but ungenteel. We fully agree with Dr. Haase, that young physicians are very frequently kept under, or starved out, as it were, because they are aware that should they advertise in such a way as to make their advantages and capacity known, they would at once be branded with quackery, by their older and better established competitors. It is really amusing how exceedingly rvice some M.D.’s get, who, intuitively it seems, think themselves the standards of all professional laws. Now, any doctor that has a thimble full of brains, knows a quack advertisement from one that is not, and the people generally are beginning to find out the same thing. Physicians, we fear, are too | | plish. The term is more generally used in connection with medicine, be- cause there is more ostentatious pre- tention in it, than in all things else on earth combined. The advertisement, which announces a specific or certain cure for a long list of diseases, is “quackish,” simply because it lies. There are no specifics in medicine. The advertisement which simply and instantaneously states what can be done, is both legitimate and gentlemanly. We design in future, to discuss this question in all its bearings, and hope in the meantime, the profession every- where, will consider the proposition of Dr. Haase. W. II. T. — —-sº- Remarks upon Vineyards, BY AN OBSERVER. -º There is an evil in our land, over which Piety has prayed and Philan- thropy wept, which I greatly fear is to be wonderfully increased by the mis- taken zeal of those who wish its ex- tirpation. Without enlargement, simp- ly to say that Intemperance is a curse by the side of which, War, Famine and Pestilence “pale their ineffectual fires,” is to briefly express what every reasoning individual knows. Oh it is a sad sight to see so many brave barks go down beneath its treacherous waters; to know that Legislation is licensing a foe to spread death in the ranks of those over whom it should extend its protection ; to feel that the friend of your bosom is being bound by chains festooned in roses, and that over all our prosperity a Demon “holds high State,” at the waving of whose wand a blight will fall as destructive as frost to summer much disposed to apply quackery to buds! * 142 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. { One great object gained by the Temperance reformation was the cor- rect ideas it infused in the mind of the people. Iłefore that, men thought that by alcohol the sick were made well, the well made better. If one were wet, take a drink; if dry, take a drink; if hungry, take a drink to stay the stomach ; if filled to repletion, take a drink to facilitate digestion ; if un- happy, take a drink to cheer the heart; if pleasure were “tingling the blood” and thrilling the nerves, still, take a drink; if warm, if cold, if busy, if idle, under any circumstances, fly to the panacea—a drink. A little reasoning exposed the falla- cy which for years had eclipsed the truth. Alcohol could not be what its advocates claimed, as, then, it must produce diametrically opposite results. It could not be serviceable in hot weather, as its mediate effect was to debilitate ; nor in cold weather, as the unbroken experience of those who have endured the rigors of an Arctic winter, assert ; nor to a well man, since those who use it not at all are less subject to disease than those who indulge in it habitually; nor to one sick, only as a poison might be admin- istered as one would laudanum or prussic acid—not so soon, it is true, bringing swift destruction, but yet the more to be dreaded, as the miner, than the brave foe who meets you face to face with his cry of defiance ringing from his lips. All intelligent physicians will bear witness to the taste for ardent spirits created in sickness by the tender assid- uity of the Doctor who recommended a little wine, and for that reason are cautious in prescribing it when a substi- tute is at hand. There is no good reason why alcohol, in any form, should be used by one in good health. In the system an enemy encroaching more and more with cach succeeding day, until at last, from conquering the outposts, it captures the citadel. I converse with highly intelligent gen- tlemen—Temperance advocates too— who think some remedy for the evil I 2-ºf ------- = -- ~~~~. ---------" •ºrº. m. mºrº- have been portraying, is to be found in the culture of the grape. I beg leave to differ from them toto caelo. I believe that no reason can be given why, if our rivers should blush in wine, that intemperance would lose many, if any, of its victims. If wine were hawked about our streets at a nominal price, instead of making the number of drunkards less, it would multitudinously increase them. I believe that if those old red hills of Georgia, whose soil has been borne away by the neighboring streams, should bear the trailing vine, reeling i with clusters of grape, purple and gushing, that a day would arrive when alcohol would be lord of all, and we would be a nation of wine-bibbing drunkards. Suppose wine as abund- ant as it is in some portions of Europe, would that occasion the non-use of the more ardent kinds of spirits 2 If this question be answered in the affirma- tive, then two other questions present themselves. Would the wine here made be any the less adulterated than are whisky, brandy, gin, &c. P. If not, would the effect resulting be any the less disastrous than that which now deluges the land 2 To the first ques- tion I answer no, and unless it can be shown then that the use of wine itself is a positive blessing, I have nothing more to do but to make that answer good-bye argument. If the manufac- ture of wine will not cure the drunk- ard, nor be a positive good to others, I cannot conceive its utility, unless it may prevent drunkenness. Drunkenness is a disease manifested in an inordinate desire for, and a cor- responding indulgence in the stimulus of alcohol; how, or why, we may not be able to tell, but the indulgence of any stimulus creates an artificial phys- ical necessity, which will be ministered to or not, as the victim has opportu- nity, connected with resisting power on his part. Alcohol induces a certain state. A drunkard will use enough for that purpose, whatever it be to produce that particular effect. He will drink until that condition is pro- IIYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 143 duced, whether it be whisky rectified, or wine as weak as it can be found.— Drunk must come, whether it takes a half-pint of brandy, or a quart of any- thing else not so strong. If wine and strong liquors both were easy of access, the drunkard would use the strong liquors because drunk would come sooner and with less troºt- ble. The only way to induce him to drink wine as a substitute, would be to render impossible the obtainment of that which has been not inaptly termed, “the common drink of the coºntry.” So long as upper Georgia and Tennessee and other States make corn as easy as they do now, long will whisky be distilled; and so long as bees are busy and peach-trees bloom, so long will honey and peach brandy be mixed. Wine, then, even if as pure as the mectar of the gods, will not save the drunkard. Whom, then, will it benefit 2 In the first place, I believe that wine in this country—the proportion of agri- culture and other business remaining as at present—would never be made so abundantly but that it would be drug- ged, if it were the interest of the pro- ducer; and that it would be to his in- terest, I do not doubt; since, if he will adulterate it, he can produce twice as much intoxication with the same wine. Suppose it poisoned as other liquors now are, and almost everybody induc- ed to indulge in it by the Siren cry, “No danger l’” how much better would we be than if the same number of persons were habitually using Al- cohol as it is now sold P A nation of drugged wine drunkards are in as sad a plight as a nation of drugged whis- ky drunkards, and I would as soon see this land filled with the one as the other, and would sooner see thirty thousand die annually from mean bran- dy, than thirty millions under the daily use of wine, which it was the interest of the producer to adulterate, and which would therefore receive all the drugs which the diabolical ingenuity of Avarice might deem it policy to add. It is said that wine is drank in its i ; pure state in Europe by all classes. I doubt it. At all events, the European wines we obtain are sadly changed since they left home, if they were not altered previously. A slight glance at the character of our people and their occupations, will show that, however pure wines may be in foreign countries, our domestic wines would not rival them in native purity and cheapness. The South raises cotton. Dickens says truly, “the fate of the commer- cial world literally hangs on a thread. Would the South transfer her laborers from clothing the world to making grapes? Would it be to her pecuniary advantage 2 According to our popu- lation, it is absurd to suppose that we would over make wine as they do in the old world. We wield the rod of commercial empire mow. Alexander conquered the world, yet wine was his master.— Let us not uncrown the South and place the diadem on the head of Bac- chus. I take the broad ground, that wine, even in its purity and as abundant as our never-failing streams, is a “moc- ker;” an enemy to be dreaded more than whisky or brandy, as it presents a more seductive phase than they. It is the river which empties into the sea of intemperance, and will assuredly carry there its victim, if he surrenders himself to its current. Wine in its pure state is a poison. It contains al- cohol, and its effect on the system is injurious. If the culture of the grape, then, would save all those who are whisky drunkards, and prevent any more from becoming such, and, yet, would deliver all our people to what the Bible calls a “mocker,” what would we gain 2 It would be like burning a house to get rid of the rats. It would be making of the worth of the country a scape- goat whereby the skin of whisky would be carried into the wilderness. From the bones of wine’s victims, a ladder would be made by which to rescue the drunkard from the male- bolge in which his passions had preci- 144 HYGIENIC AND fliTERARY_MAGAZINE, pitated him. There is no safety but in abstinence. Wine implants a taste for a stimulus, which alone the fieriest draughts can quench. The safe side is, to touch not, handle not, taste not. It “is a mocker.” Within its rosy depths how many a bright light has been ex- tinguished On its surface, smooth as summer's sea and phosphorescent with its flashing light, there lurks the mom- ster, and the rock, and you who dread the shipwreck and the maelstroom, embark not, I pray you, on its temp- ting wave. Marion, when in South Carolina, men were slow to give up their gains and risk all for liberty, heard with satisfaction, melancholy it is true, when British tryammy had burn- ed some Royalist’s home, and wasted some Conservative's substance. And why? Becuase he wished that men should thereby have their eyes opened to the wrongs under which the Colon- ies were suffering, and against which he was struggling. And so, when I hear that whisky has called to its aid the virulence of other poison, I, too, have not an unmingled regret, since thereby men may know the character of the foe, intemperance, with which we have to contend.—Atlanta Medi- cal dº Surgical Journal. - --º-º-º- The Prohibition of Tobacco in the Phila- delphia County Prison, The resolution of the Board of In- spectors of the Philadelphia County Prison, prohibiting the habitual use of tobacco by the prisoners, adopted near- ly a year ago, has been found satisfac- tory and beneficial in its influence.— The precedent is worthy the attention of all institutions of a penal or refor- matory character throughout the coun- try. The report of Dr. Henry Yale Smith, physician to the prison, says on the subject, that, if “nothing else has been gained by its prohibition, we have the satisfaction to know that the pri- soner's cell, including window, walls, floor, etc., is no longer besmeared with a flood of tobacco juice, as though it was for no other purpose than a spit- box. We are happy to say, that al- ** * * * * * **** though at first many of the prisoners exhibited much opposition to the rule, and for some time refused to work, yet very soon they became accustomed to the privation, and now, as a general thing, they express themselves satisfied with the regulation.”—Med, and Surg. Reporter. My Experience in Homºeopathy. By JNo. T. PLUMMER, M. D., OF RICHMOND, IND. It is not from the theoretical jargon of homoeopathic books, that I have de- rived my knowledge of the Hahnema- nic art. But all I know on this subject that is worth the knowing, is the re- sult of my own cogitations, accident- ally confirmed in the course of my med- ical practice. That the reader, who may have some- times been confounded by the reports of prompt and wonderful cures effect- ed' by infinitessimal doses, may have the benefit of some of my experience in this line, I am willing to relate a few C2S62S. © The first two instances occurred in my own family. One of the children was sent into the office by his mother, with the request that I would prescribe something for a pain in his stomachº- Being engaged at the time. With anoth- er patient, I directed the child to wait. He returned into the house to his mother, but soon came back with an urgent solicitation that I should give him some medicine, as he could not par tiently endure the pain any longer. Some time before, on that day, he had been seated on the office counter with a piece of bread in his hand, A few crumbs of which he had left there, were now before me. He was stand- ing by me. I picked up two small fragments of the bread, and as I con- tinued talking with my other patient, rolled them into pills. wº “Here,” said I to the child, whose head was high enough to reach above the counter, and who, I thought, had been watching the process of mould- ing the bread into his medicine, “ take these in a little water.” I had no idea of deceiving the child, but supposed HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT. 145 that the idea of swallowing bread for medicine, would divert his attention for a time from his suffering, which I did not conceive was so pressing as he judged it to be, and enable me to finish my interview with the person present. The little fellow ran into the house with his pills, for the purpose, as I supposed, of amusing his mother with the details of their manufacture, and I lost sight of the case. Weeks had passed, when one day his mother informed me that he was again suffering from the same kind of pain, and desired me, very innocently, to give him some of the same medicine that he took before. “I have no re- collection,” said I, “of having given him any medicine lately.” “Oh,” said she, “it was some weeks ago. He brought in two little pills which I gave him in water, and they relieved him very promptly.” This unexpected success with bread pills, did not, however, induce me to place them among my standard medi- cines. Yet in this instance the micae panis proved as efficient as the micae &nvisibles Hahnemani could have been, The other domestic case was one of apparent paraphlegia. Months had been fruitlessly spent in the use of eve- ry probable means of relief. I conclu- ded to suspend hostilities against the disease, at least until I could recruit, and meanwhile administer the homoeo- pathic charm—nothing. The effect was marvellous! In less than ten days the patient was able to walk | Thus Ex nihilo aliquid fit. Some years ago, during a few hours absence in the country, a friend whom I had recently taken into partnership, was called upon to visit an elderly fe- male, (one of my chronic patients), of highly nervous temperament, who was suffering “exceedingly.” He returned to the office for medicine, and finding one of the jars containing a powder, and marked P. Assafetida, he lifted the lid and smelt the contents. ‘Yes,’ said he, within himself, “that's just the thing.” On my return home, he desired to y know how I “got my assafoetida so fine?” “Fine 2’’ said I. “Yes, how do you pulverize it so nicely P" and he directed his finger to the jar. I smiled. He stood for a moment, then taking up the vessel, “this,” said he. “That,” I replied, “is not pulverized assafoeti- da.” “Then,” said he, “it is wrongly labelled.” “No, I keep nothing with- out its proper label.” “Why,” said he, confounded by the contradiction between my denial, and the plain evi- dence of his own eyes, “how is this 2 Here is the label: pulvis assafetida.” “No,” said I, “not pulcis, only P.” “Well, that means pulvis.” “But,” said I, “it also means pilulpe.” “True, he replied, “but there are no pills here.” “I see,” was my reply, but there have been pills there, and what is now in the jar is only the liquorice powder which was dusted over them.” A short silence ensued; he looked confus- ed, then laughed outright, and replied, “Well, at all events, I cured the old lady over the way of a desperate at- tack of pain, by grain doses of it. The last case I shall mention was that of an old man, living some miles in the country, to whom my attention was directed while on a visit to anoth- er member of the family. For more than nine months he had been subject to “chills and fever,” and diarrhoea.— IIe had used various means of cure, to no good purpose, and as different phy- sicians had failed to relieve him, he had become disheartened. His case, I told him, I thought was not by any means hopeless, yet, at the same time, not very encouraging; but I was wil- ling to do what I could for him. With some difficulty, he consented to try another course of treatment.— But on looking over my pocket-case of medicines, I found nothing, as I thought, adapted to his affection. But for some flatulence which he experien- ced, I divided a little camphoreted powder into two portions, I prescrib- ed them, requesting him to send to my office the next day to obtain the neces- sary medicines. As no messenger came on the fol- 3 146 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. lowing day, I supposed the old man had become faithless in the power of drugs, and concluded to let nature take her downward course. This in- ference was corrected a long time af. terward, on a visit to the same family, when he became high in his praises of the two little wonder-working pow- ders, which stopped the purging and the chills and fever, “so that’” said he, “I didn’t think it necessary to send for any more.” But he wanted me not to forget what the powders were made of, for he never saw the like in any medicine, &c. Such are specimens of the marvel- lous cures in homoeopathy, and such are the innocent trumpeters of its fame.-Washville Jour. of Medicine and Surgery. —sº- From the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal. Immediate Cure for In-Grown; Nail. Messrs. Editors—Dr. Lorinser’s ar- ticle on this troublesome affection, translated for the Journal, and pub- lished December 15, reminds me to do what I have many times been on the point of doing, and that is, to commu- nicate a mode of treatment which I have pursued in these cases for over twenty years. It is simply to cauter- ize the part with hot tallow. The patient on whom I first tried this plan, was a young lady who had been unable to put on a shoe for seve- ral months, and decidedly the worst case that I have ever seen. The dis- ease had been of long standing. The edge of the mail was deeply under- mined, the granulations formed a high ridge, partly covered with skin, and pus constantly oozed from the root of the mail. The whole toe was swollen, and extremely tender and painful. My mode of proceeding was this: I put a very small piece of tallow in a spoon, and heated it over a lamp until it be- came very hot, and dropped two or three drops between the mail and the granulations. The effect was almost magical. Pain and tenderness were at once relieved, and in a few days the granulations were all gone, the dis- eased parts dry and destitute of feel- ing, and the edge of the mail exposed so as to admit of being pared away. without any inconvenience. The cure was complete, and the trouble never. returned. I have tried this plan repeatedly since, with the same satisfactory re- Sults. The operation causes but little if any pain, if the tallow is properly heated. A repetition might in some cases be necessary, although I have never met with a case that did not yield to one application. Admitting the theory of Dr. Lorinser to be cor- rect, the modus operandi is very plain- ly to be seen. The liquid cautery in- sinuates itself into every interstice, under the mail, along the fistula into the ulcer at the matrix of the nail, ac- complishing in one minute, without pain, all that can be effected by the painful application of nitrate of silver for several weeks. Let this simple plan be tried before resorting to the barbarous plan of pulling out the nail, or any other mode of torture that has been invented. N. GILMAN, M.D. . Hatfield, Dec. 22, 1859. —º-— t Failure of Hypnotism. The excitement produced by the intro- duction of Dr. Braid's method of hypnotism into Paris, as a proceeding applicable to the operative purposes of surgery, is likely to end in the flat- test evaporation, as we predicted.— The successes have been less striking, " and the failures more numerous, than we excepted. Experiments have been made on a very large scale in nearly all the hospital establishments of Paris. It has been clearly proved that only women are affected, except in uuusual instances. As regards the male sex, the question is judged. With females the results are variable, imperfect, and practically useless to surgery. A well arranged series of trials was carried out by Drs. Demarquay and Giraud Teulon, in fifteen cases. The tempera- ment of the patients and the results, are very impartially related. It is 't HYGIENIC DEPARTMENT, 147 -* ºw- worth while to analyze these cases; the patients were all females, the ma- jority having (cancerous) affection of the uterus. The result was, in No. 1, catalepsy without anaesthesia; 2, no results; 3, no results; 4, hysteria, with exaggeration of the sensibility; 5, muscular relaxation, sensibility still continuing ; 6, no results; 8, anaesthe- sia; 9 and 10, no results; 11, slight bewilderment—“experienced during the trial voluptuous sensations;” 12 and 13, no results; 14, fell asleep— awoke and carried out when pricked with a pin ; 15, anaesthesia. So that, out of fifteen females, there were two in whom anaesthesia was produced.— Butthis is neither profound nor lasting. A noise, or the movement of the ob- ject before the eye, is sufficient to in- terrupt the process. Meantime, it is evident that all the forms of abnor- mality which may be induced by thus forcing the vision are not thoroughly known. Enough is seen to demon- strate that the proceeding can have no surgical value, and that the results at- tributed to “mesmerism,” “animal magnetism,” “electro-biology,” and the like, are capable of imitation by these means. This was already shown by Dr. Braid's experiments; but, sin- gularly enough, it has been customary to draw very opposite conclusions from his experience. While interest is still felt in the inquiry in Paris, it is very desirable that the physiological rela- tions of the enforced action of the eyes on corresponding parts of the brain should be investigated. The whole series of phenomena incidental to cat- alepsy, epilepsy, hysteria, and induced coma, may be found to be connected with disturbance of the circulation at the base of the encephalon, which is, for the most part, so carefully guarded against by the anatomical arrangements of the beautiful circle of arteries to which Willis has given his name.— Meanwhile, the comparative danger of inducing-these forms of disease, or of - administering chloroform, -must be rearefully weighed by experiments.- N. O. Med. Wews and }. Gaz. Epilepsy; its Pathology and Treatment, Translated from the German. By T. A. DEMME, M. D. The medical literature of Europe has recently been enriched by a contri- bution from the pen of Schrodor van der Kolk, Professor of the University of Utrecht, upon the Anatomy and Physiology of the medulla spinalis and oblongata. It has afforded us great pleasure to condense from the work the following observations upon the pathology and rational treatment of epilepsy : I. From the conclusion arrived at by recent experiments, (Brown-seg- nard that the medulla oblongata is the principal centre of bilateral reflex movements, the author infers that in this portion of the nervous system the immediate cause of epilepsy must be searched for. \ 2. In all cases of this affection there is hyperaesthesia and increased activity of the medulla, which, therefore, res- ponds to every irritation in rapid re- flex movements, (convulsions). This increased susceptibility becomes more marked when the controlling influence of the cerebrum is removed : hence the effect of etherization upon epilep- tic patients, and the consequent availa- bility of this agent in diagnosing real and simulative epilepsy. 3. At the commencement of the af. fection there is only this hyperasthe- sia of the medulla oblongata, without any organic change therein. When the disease has been of some duration there is organic change as manifested in dilation of the capillary vessels.- The post-mortem examination of 17 cases of incurable epilepsy confirmed the above statement. Accordingly as the patients, during the attacks, bit the tongue or not, was this hyperaemia perceptible in the course of the ner- vous hypoglossus or in that of the vagus. Accurate measurement of the capillaries was made by means of the micrometer. 4. Upon the above premises the au- thor bases his rational treatment. 148 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. In the first stages of the disease the indication is to apply cups to the neck, establish issues, etc. A practice ex- tending through 35 years has shown the beneficial operation of digitalis.-- At the same time any distant causes must be removed. Among these, worms, acidity, torpidity of the bow- els, etc., are to be considered in child- ren; in adults, irritations of the abdo- minal organs, constipation, onanic, amenorrhoea, chlorosis, etc. 5. With many epileptic patients there is extreme sensitiveness of the intestines: to allay this irritability of the sympathetic nerve no medicine is so eminently calculated as belladonna. It seems to act specifically upon the bow- els. In cases complicated with cos- tiveness, the belladonna is advantage- ously combined with cathartics. This is the indication which belladonna, be- fore empirically prescribed in epilepsy, all SWCTS : Chlorosis, phethora, etc., must be treated upon general principles. The tartrate of antimony and potas- sa sometimes comes into play as an ar- terial sedative. 6. In regard to the nitrate of silver so often given as a specific, the author remarks, that if cases now and then are relieved by its use, (which he has however never witnessed,) it cannot be in consequence of any action upon the demulla, but the result of the local action of the nitrate possibly, remov- ing irritability or chronic inflammation of intestinal mucous membrane. 7. The oxide of zinc has proved remedial; no doubt by its soothing action upon an irritated mucous mem- brane: thus removing one of the causes provocative of the reflex movements, (convulsions.) 8. Lactate of zinc was given to 20 patients, (12 grains daily, the dose be- ing rapidly increased.) , 3 recovered, II improved, and 6 remained the same. 9. The valeriante of atropia was prescribed in 34 cases, (dose 1-120 of a grain daily—gradually increased un- til one half grain was taken.) Of the F. 34 cases, 1 recovered, 15 improved and 18 were unaffected. This remedy seems particularly adapted to cases of the disease of long duration. We regret that time and space de- prive us of the pleasure of making any further extracts from this valuable work. — — — —sº-- -------- Comfort for the Corpulent, Nature is sometimes too liberal in her supply of fat; and though necessary, it then becomes burdensome, and sub- jects the object of its prodigality to much ridicule. The discovery of a certain remedy, under these circum- stances, may prove a boon. The fol- lowing experiment, or systematic plan of treatment, adopted by myself, who am constitutionally ſat, will clearly show that abstaining from bread and fermented liquors will remedy this in- convenience in an incredible manner. Weighing 15% stone, I reduced myself in three months to 12% stone by strict- ly adhering to the following plan of dieting myself:-Breakfast early, con- sisting of 2 oz. of biscuit, I egg, 2 cups of tea or coffee; then fasted till five; my dinner consisting of animal food, etc., but no bread; likewise avoid- ing bread at my tea or supper—Mr. Moore in Med. Times and Gaz. ——º-—— Habitual Drunkenness, It has been legally decided by Judge Balcolm, of Tompkins county, N. Y., on an indictment of selling liquor to a person “guilty of habitual drunken- ness,”—that a man who gets drunk once a month for a year or more is to be deemed guilty of habitual drunken- TheSS. --~~~~~ Three young natives of Madagascar have been sent to study medicine in Paris, by the Prince Bakotyn, a very enlightened man, who is the eldest son of the present Queen Ranovolo. HITERARY DEPARTMENT., 149 —r- x- £iterarm Department. — 4-Q-º- MADAME LE FERVE, EDITRESS. ——sº---— Celeste. BY LE FERVE. Pale, beautiful Celeste! On thy soft couch Of sacred rest, we saw thee fold thy shadowy Hands, as smiling back in fearless trust, thy Spirit looked to God. Gleaming like orient pearls through rubies Cleft, thy teeth of ivory whiteness shone; While from that high, pale brow, the lus- trous Waves Of shining hair, swept in massive wealth. But shrunken veins, like violets touched By frost, lay dark and faint upon thy tem- ples Fair; for on thy form once lithe as silver Footed antelope, death's ghastly hand had Set his fatal seal. And yet, distinct as Rose hues lingering on the lip of ocean Shells, or fading blushes in the heart of Blighted flowers, was that softtinge, the hec- tic Bloom leaves only to its legal heirs. For lo! some viewless hand had noiseless touch'd Thy brow; and it grew pale as dew-bleached Webs, when Summer from her generous palm, The last sweet blossoms drop. In health's high halls, 'mid revelry and mirth A wily spy marked thee his own ; and 9 As his lips with Judas guile, the beauty Of thine own despoiled, we saw thy hopes To Dead Sea's fruitage turn. But storm and sunshine Have succeeded each, since to the coldgrave's Dreamless rest, we borethysinless dust; yet, "Mid our visions of the cherubim, we, Too, behold our loved Celeste, star crown'd In ministration at the throne, before Which millions cry, hoxanna to the Lamb För months, the hectic's fatal flush, in mant. ling Beauty veiled its shaft; and then we knew The deadly rose had struck its hidden roots Deep seated in the grave. Alas, that from the glowing worm, feasting, And fat'ning on the loves of life, such tints Are borrowed to delude the wretch, who Smiles in fancied safety to the last. % Insatiate reveler he, who, ever crying More, holds his high carnivals in beauty's Bower, and banquets on the rich man's child, Drinks free and full libation from the heart Of kings, while from the cottage home, scatter'd And confused, he tears the peasant's all. Pale, beautiful Celeste! as day by day, And through the weary night, we counted | o'er Thy pulses failing throbs, all felt that soon, Like fleecy clouds at sunset seen, thou'd pass Away, whence mortal eyes could follow not. Oh, who can trace the eagle's path, through upper Air to its mountain home, or track the dol- phin Of the dark blue sea, as he glides to his Cave 'neath the ocean waves? Oh! who can scent the winds to their source; or, Point to the cloud whence the lightnings es- cape P As hopeless the task for man to define, Whence comes the deep spell of a beautiful face. Thus musing, loosed we then thy braided Locks; and as they lay upon thy bosom Fair, methought of shades on snow-drifts falling, When amber clouds at sunset glow. 'Twas then the last hope lingering in thy Heart, died out; for as a lamb unto The shambles lead, thou did'st in silence bend 150 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Thy head; when from the trembling hands of love, t Those soft locks sever'd feli, like fine flax touched By flames. Then gently down we laid thee for Repose; when o'er that faded face a glory Shone, bright as rainbows seen at noon, when back * The curtained heavens sink to rest. Awe-struck, with speechless lips and folded arms, * We silently looked on ; for all about Thee felt God had thy spirit touched with His own living fires. 'Twas finished 1 and while we lifted up Our hands in prayer, lo, through the gloom Cál (10 Floating down, a wing of love new fledg'd In Paradise. A few days flitted by, And the “silver cord was loosed,” when like the Peri, who at last found offering worthy Heaven, thou did'st despite our falling tears, Yield back thy spirit to its God! Then gathered we a palls pale woof, in White folds round thyrigid form; when as a Half-blown bloom by chill winds swept, we laid thee, In thy virgin glory, down to rest. - —- -----sº--- A Lesson for the Ladies. A gentleman, who had often been annoyed by waiting a long time for the making of the toilet of those ladies he had escorted to balls, was invited by one of the ladies to attend the recent Leap Year Ball, at Hyannis. The la- dy called for him at the appoinued hour, but he was ‘not quite ready.” Our la- dy friend was ushered into the parlor, and had the pleasure of waiting until nearly ten o’clock, for thé gentleman to “dress.” The joke was kindly taken, but was so well done, that the fame thereof had extended to almost every person in the ball-room, in the course of the next hour. Not, a few were the jokes and repartees exchanged, and all said that our gentlemanly friend had done the thing up brown.” $2OO Prize Story. ZELLA. BY JESSIE RANDOLPH. * C H A P T E R W II . Night had closed in when the little schooner that bore our wanderer home, anchored in the well known little inlet, but every foot of the way was as fa- miliar to him as the avenues around his father's house, and a walk of three or four miles to one as young, strong and vigorous as himself, was a small matter; so, leaving his baggage, save his portmanteau, in the captain's charge until morning, he had himself rowed ashore in the yawl, where, much to his surprise, as well as pleasure, he found his father's carriage awaiting him. “Are they all well, Jem * was his first question to the driver, as he tossed in his portmanteau, and sprang in after it. “All berry well, sah,” answered the negro, holding the door open—all ber- ry well, an’ you jis in time, for de weddin’ come off in de mornin' airly; missus been feared, sah, you no 'rive in time; 'spose you know, sah, ole mom. Judy been done gone, entirely?” “Yes,” answered Leon, “I knew it, but drive on, Jem, we will talk to- morrow, I am anxious to get home, now.” That his reveries were pleasant du- ring that homeward drive, none can doubt; and, as the carriage turned in- to the broad avenue that lead to the house, an idea suddenly occurred to him, which he immediately proceeded to put in practice. “Stop, Jem,” said he to the driver, “I will get out here, and walk to the house; I want to take a look at them all, before they see me; driye to the LITERARY INEPARTMENT. 151 º \ Æ. stables the other way, and carry my baggage into my room when you have put up the horses.” The drawing-room was brilliantly and profusely decorated with flowers in honor of to-morrow’s festival; the doors and windows were all open, and upon the night breeze, came the sounds of music and the laugh of happy voices. Teon stepped noiselessly upon the colonade, and looked within—at the far end of the room sat his mother, in appearance, as youthful, and far more handsome, than she was ten years ago; beside her stood Col. Delany, talking very earnestly, while every moment his eyes would wander to where his brother Eugene and Miss Summers were standing together, before the portraits of his father and mother that had recently taken their places upon the wall. & Zella was seated in one corner of a sofa alone, while around the piano, was grouped the Misses Lavolette, the Chaplain, Mr. Gaines, Frank Penning- ton, and a whiskered and moustached individual, whom he did not know, but who seemed to be very devoted to Miss Lavolette, while Frank and Julia looked as happy as though to-morrow were to be their wedding day, also ; all were smiling and happy, save one —Walter Gaine's, the Chaplain—but upon his face there set a look of such deep and hopeless sorrow, that it made Leon's heart ache to look at him; his hair was grizziling rapidly, yet he might still be called a young man, and deep lines of care were furrowed on his brow. Teon studied the shadowy face a moment, wondering what could have 9aused the change, when suddenly re- membering Zella, his only surviving relation, his eyes sought her again for a solution of the mystery, yet it was not there, for every year that had passed over her since last he saw her, had only served to deepen her charms. The slight girlish figure of other days had changed, and rounded into the full and graceful proportions of the woman—the flowing curls of girlhood were now gathered into smooth and shining band that showed to advantage the faultless contours of head and face, and the rosy hues of health finged her cheek with its bewitching bloom, giv- ing a sparkle likewise, to the eyes, in whose blue, unfathomable depths shone the soul-light of poetry. “Beautiful, beautiful!” he murmur- ed, as he gazed upon her, forgetful of all beside, “the realized dream of my boyhood;” and his heart throbbed with unwonted force as he wondered if all his dreams would be thus real- ized ; a moment after he had crossed the threshold, and stood in their midst. Eugene and Florence were the first to perceive him, for they were stand- ing nearest to the door through which he entered ; his brother's hand was the first he clasped, and, as soon as their greetings were over, he turned to Florence, and taking her hand, he bent down and touched her cheek with his lips; she looked somewhat surprised, though not offended, but when he whispered in her ear, “Receive a brother’s kiss, dear sis- ter,” the blood rushed to her face in a torrent, then receding left her as pale as ashes. Leon had barely time to note the flush and palor, for, by this time all had crowded âround him and for the next few moments nothing was 152 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. heard but a confused and happy hum of voices. “Welcome, my son,” said his mo- ther with unusual tenderness; “wel- come always to your home, but dou- bly so now, for after to-night you will be my only son, your brother will be- long to his wife, but I shall not com- plain if you are here to console me. Leon folded his mother in his arms, and fairly sobbed upon his shoulder. Truly he was happy then, and the bliss of those few moments made amends to him for all the painful past. The evening passed away like a dream that lingers long upon the memory when sleep is over, and the toils of the day has begun, and in recalling it after- wards, he likened it to a rainbow, whose gorgeous splendor was in strange and painful contrast to the inky blackness around it, and truly it was the one rainbow upon his storm- cloud of life. “My children,” said madame, as the hands of the clock pointed to the “noon of night,” “it is growing late, and my son Leon must be fatigued with his long journey, besides, you know, we must all be astir early in the morning ; so allow me to recom- mend that you all retire.” “Now, directly, aunty,” said Miss Julia Lavolette, “Col. Delany wishes a song, and just as soon as we can sing it for him, we will be off. Miss Florence, I do not like to disturb your tete-a-tete with Eugene, there, but can- not you lend us your voice a few mo- ments’ likewise you, Miss Lavolette, just break the naval gentleman's sen- tence off in the middle, he can splice it no doubt, and the knot will be an improvement.” “Really, Julia,” answered her sis- ter with a blush, “you are too bad; why can’t you tell me plainly you want me to sing 2" “Well, then, plainly, Miss Lavolette, I want you to sing, you too, Zella, we will have to muster all our forces for Col. Delany’s accommodation,” she con- tinued merily. “What is the song 2" asked Zella. “We are the wandering breezes,” answered Julia; “just the thing to show off Florence's magnificent con- tralto, and Maggie's sophrano, to be modest and say nothing of ourselves, eh, Zella P’’ ‘Ourselves!” echoed Margaret; “you cannot sing a note of the song to save your reputation as a musician. It is all you can do to play the accompaniment; but pray go on, Col. Delany will get out of all patience, directly.” * “No danger while Florence talks to him,” answered Julia, mischievously, “but I am ready,” and running her fin- gers over the keys, she began. Leon stepped through a window, out on the balcony, and passing down the steps, stretched himself full length up- on the grass, to listen to the wild, sweet melody that floated through the win- dow and out upon the night breeze, in such soul-thrilling strains. Yet there was one voice of the trio, whose tones awoke an answering sound in his own heart, and whose echo lingered after all other sounds were hushed. The night was one of unclouded beauty, the moon was out in all her full-orbed splendor, with all the myriad stars following meekly in her train.- The night winds stole gently through the trees, with a sound as though an- gels were calling their kindred spirits away from earth, and the perfume of the mimosa and orange flowers hung LITERARY, DEPARTMENT. 153 * heavy upon the air; no wonder Leon | such a confession of weakness from yielded to the witching influence of the hour, and let imagination picture the future for him, a whole life-time like that night. The voices of the singers had long ceased, the lights were extinguished, the room was deserted; yet, still, Leon lay there unconscious of the passing hours. A footstep on the grass arous- ed him, and, looking up, he saw Mr. Gaines approaching. He raised him- self on his elbow and accosted him. “Why, Mr. Gaines,” said he, “I thought you were asleep long ago; have you turned heathen, and come out here to pay your devotions to the Luna goddess?” ‘Oh, no l’ he answered; “I leave such extravagance to you young people. I came out here, thinking this fine night might relieve the pain in my head, from which I am suffering severely.” “Any objection to company ?” ask- ed Leon. “None, whatever; on the contrary, I am glad to find you here, for there are times in this world of ours, when every human heart seeks human sym- pathy.” “Most certainly, then,” said Leon, “you who were always so ready to sym- pathize with others, will not fail to find it when your time comes. I fear your health is not so good as formerly. I noticed with pain this evening, that you were not looking as well as when I saw you last.” “Physically, I am none of the best,” answered the minister; “but mentally I am ſar worse. The fact is, “he con- tinued, “I have been playing the fool here lately, and am reaping the reward of my folly. It will sound strangely to you, no doubt, Leon, to hear me; and on this wide earth there is no other to whom I would make it, but you and I have been friends for many a year, although I am twelve years your senior; and, as I said before, there are times when we yearn for the sympathies of our kind. I said that it was lately that I had been playing the fool; but, in reality, I have been en- gaged in that very laudable business for the last eight years, though I only ventured to tell it lately. To do the lady justice, however, she was as mer- ciful as possible in her rejection, ex- pressing regret at the pain she was in- flicting, and so on; but, Leon, my boy, let me tell you, should you ever be so unfortunate as to learn for yourself, you will find that kind words do not heal the wounds of the heart.” “I am surprised,” said Leon, “that anybody should reject you. Do I know her ?” “Do you know Miss Florence Sum- mers ?” “Good heavens ! is it possible 3 claimed Ileon. “It is even so,” answered the minis- ter; “and with all my religion and philosophy, I cannot get over the dis. appointment. I think of traveling,” he continued, “and this, as much as anything, brought me out here. When do you return to Europe?” “I do not know, sir, exactly,” he answered; “my movements will de- pend wholly upon circumstances; but a trip to Europe would benefit you, I am sure; and if you say you will re- turn with me, I will hurry my affairs and set out as early as possible.” “It is a bargain, Leon,” he answered; “there is something in your fresh, young nature that revives me, and to ” ex- 4 154 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Europe we will go, and ramble over its classic fields together. Meanwhile, the night wanes; had we not better go in 2 for to-morrow, you know, brings its duties. You are first grooms- man, and will have to be astir early. Excuse me for having burdened you with my troubles, and accept my thanks for your ready sympathy.— Should you ever meed mine, come to mo without reserve; ” and with arms interlocked, they entered the house and sought their respective couches. Weary with the fatigues and excite- ment of the day, Leon fell asleep im- mediately; but his sleep was disturbed by dark and disagreeable dreams, wherein Zella Warren figured conspic- uously. Sometimes she was in dan- ger, and called upon him in tones of anguish for help; at others she re- pulsed him with words of scorn and indignation. Sometimes he saw her in robes of bridal white, and again she was clothed in habiliments of the deep- est mourning. Sometimes he clasped her in his arms, and bestowed the most endearing epithets, but a cloudy, misty figure came between and shout- ed “Sacrilege” in his car, and tore her away; and although she looked back with longing eyes, yet still she left him, desolate and alone. And thus, in fitful and uneasy slumbers, the night wore away; and as the grey light of morning broke over the eastern hills, his sleep became sound and healthy, as though the beams of the coming day had chased back to their dark homes the grim phantoms of the night. From the refreshing slumber he was aroused hy a voice calling, “Massa Leon, Massa Leon, Mistiss say, sah, drink dis coffee, and git ready for cum to de church quick. Say de ladies an’ hersef bin goin’ in de carriages. Say you gemplemons mus' cum on hoss- back, an' hurry, too—big storm cum- in.” “Are the ladies all gone?” asked Leon, rising. “Yes, sah, dey jus’ druv off; all gone, sah, but one, Massa Frank, an’ he mos' ready.” “I will be down in a minute,” said. Leon; “have the horses ready.” “Dey is, sah; Tom holdin' 'em now.” “Very well; go and hurry Master Frank; we can easily overtake the la- dies.” “Hallo,” said Frank, as Leon came down stairs, “if you and I don’t mind, we will be too late for our part in the ceremony; and just look at that cloud, don’t it travel !” “We will have to run for it,” an- swered Leon, as he sprang into the saddle; “so let's begin at once; ” and away they dashed in the direction of the church. The storm came on rapidly; the wind was sighing mournfully among the trees, as though in dread of what was coming, and the dal kness in- creased every moment. Nothing daunted, however, Leon and Frank hurried on, and came in sight of the church just as the first large drops of rain began to fall. The party had all reached its shelter before then, and some of the gentlemen were standing in the vestibule, waiting for the broth- €1’S. The church was situated in a thick grove of water oaks, whose feathery foliage shut out the light of the bright- est noonday. The windows, also, were almost entirely covered with the ivy vines that had for years found a resting LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 155 place against its mouldering walls; consequently, on the present dark and stormy morning, the face of those nearest were scarcely recognizable by the last comers, who hastened to take 'their places as the ceremony might go OIl, “Oh! laggards,” spoke the voice of Madame, “to keep a marriage waiting, too bad. Here, Frank, Julia is get- ting impatient, and you, Leon, lead the way; you are first groomsman.” A tall figure came forward, and lay- ing her hand on Leon's arm, walked with him up the aisle.” “Presto,” thought Leon. “I thought you waited with the whiskered Lieu- tenant ; a change of programme, I sup- pose.” He did not look at his com- panion, and if he had, the church was too dark for him to distinguish her fea- tures, and thus they placed themselves before the altar; another couple came and took their places on the other side of them ; another, and another, until the chancel was filled. Before them in his white robes, book in hand, stood the minister, who, as soon as all were ready, commenced reading the solemn and impressive marriage service. With eyes fixed on the floor, Leon listened, partially ab- sorbed in a dream, that placed two of the figures now standing there, in dif. ferent positions from those they real- ly occupied. The deep, rich tones of the minister's voice fell dreamily upon his ear, yet made no impression upon his mind—even the names were un- heeded ; but when his brother’s voice was heard responding, it slightly arous- ed his attention, and he thought how deep, how solemn was the marriage vow. The awful silence that precedes a tempest, had settled down upon the earth—not a sound disturbed the omi- nous stillness. The ceremony went on, and came to the part where a woman’s voice must respond. “I, Zella, take thee, Eugene, to be my wedded husband.” With a start that shook off the hand that was rest- ing upon his arm, he grasped the chan- cel railing, and leaned forward to ob- tain a view of the bride’s face. At that moment, a flash of lightning, that illu- mined with its intense brilliancy every nook and corner of the church, flashed and blazed around them, and by its ghastly light, Leon saw that the one who stood beside his brother, with her hand clasped in his, and the orange wreath upon her brow, was Zella War- ren, while by his own side, as first bridesmaid, stood Florence Summers. The deafening croak of thunders that followed the lightning was a suf. ficient excuse, had anybody noticed it, for his reeling round, and grasping a column for support; but the ceremony went on regardless of the interruption; with a mighty effort he forced back the tide of emotion that had so nearly overwhelmed him, and resumed his place at the altar, in time to hear the words of the minister, “I now pronounce that you are man and wife in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen.” As the last words were spoken, there came another blinding flash, followed instantaneously by a peal of thunder that seemed to shake the very earth; yet, above the roar and crash of the elemental war, was heard the wild, wailing shriek of a woman, yet not a shriek of fear, but of anguish, so deep, so intense, that those who heard it 156 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. shuddered. The next moment Flo- rence had fainted. In the confusion that followed, no one thought of congratulating the bride; few remembered that there was a bride; and those who did, had better have forgotten it; the storm was upon them in all its fury; flash after flash blazed around; peal after peal shook even the solid earth; and the spirit of the wind lent his dark aid to the al- ready terrible forces of the storm. Leon had resumed his leaning posi- tion against the column, and dark and furious as was the storm that raged without, it was tame in comparison to the mighty hurricane that convulsed his soul, pent up within the limits of one human bosom, the spirit lightnings flashed, the thunder roared, and the billows of wroth upheaved until they threatened the frail mortal structure with total annihilation, and not the structure only, the soul likewise was in danger; the powers of light and darkness were contending for the mas- tery, and oh, mercy darkness was gaining the day. “JHe shall not have her,” was the wild, burning thought that stamped itself upon his brain.— “ He shall not have her ; I will tear the very heart out of his body first.” Terrible was the glance in those eyes—terrible the purposes in the soul. Oh, angels guard him “JBrother Leon, said a voice in his ear, will you not give me one kind wish on my bridal morning 2 It seems more like my funeral than my wed- ding, or like some body was going to do something dreadful; do speak to me, if you are not afraid of the storm, like every body else; is it such a very hard one º’” The voice saved him; it was his guardian angel, taking her hand within his own burning palm, he drew her down into a seat, and placed himself beside her, and leaning his head upon her shoulder, he wept the great thun- der rain of his spirit out upon the pure resting place. Surprised and frightened, Zella wept too, though she knew not why, and the tear drops falling upon Leon’s hand, recalled his presence of mind. He arose from his resting place with the dark thoughts all driven away, and purer, holier ones in their stead. Oh! Zella, he murmured, as he kissed her brow, may you be ever happy; may no storm-clouds ever lower over your head; may bright, happy sunshine, and birds and flowers be yours for ever- more; and, Zella, pray for me. He kissed her again, and turned away; as he did so, his eyes rested upon another picture; supported in the arms of the minister, still in his sacred robes, lay Florence, partially revived; the minis- ter clasped her cold hands in his own, and murmured in her ears words of encouragement and Christian consola- tion, for he, like all the rest, thought it was fear that had bowed that haugh- ty head so low, but in an instant, the truth flashed upon Leon’s mind, “she, like myself, is a sufferer from the hap- piness of others,” thought he ; poor girl, poor girl, her proud heart will surely break in the terrible struggle. More like a funeral than a bridal was the solemn party that came back to breakfast after a couple of hours’ ab- sence; yet the solemnity was more in keeping with the feelings of some of the party, than would have been music, sunshine and flowers, for there are bu- rials that have no outward show, graves that are not dug in the ground, and LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 157 —t ghosts that haunt us by day as well as by night, in solitude as in crowds, sleeping or waking—they are the bu- rials of our hopes—the yawning graves in our hearts—the phantoms of our vanished joys. C II A P T E R W II. I. A year had passed away since the marriage of Eugene and Zella, and had brought more than one year’s amount of changes; two other bridals, Col. Delany and Miss Summers, Frank Pen- nington and Miss Julia Lavolette, had followed in rapid succession. But Leon did not want to see them in com- | pany with Mr. Gaines; he had return- ed to Europe almost immediately after his brother’s marriage, very much to the surprise and regret of his brother, and friends generally; he gave no rea- son for the movement, only that he preferred to spend some longer time abroad, and as he was now the heir of half a million of dollars, no one had any right to interfere with his wishes. His health had suffered terribly, and that was one reason why he wished to travel. Avoiding the noisy, bustling cities, our wanderer sought rest and quiet among the vine-clad hills of France, the sunny glades of Portugal, and amid the sublime grandeur of the Swiss and Tyrolean Alps. But as winter drew on, and his health became worse in- stead of improving, Leon decided to take up his residence, for the next six months, in Rome. Mr. Gaines favored the arrangement, and at the beginning of winter, we find them domesticated in the “Holy City,” and Leon in a fair way to recover his peace of mind, when in event occurred that rendered useless all his former efforts at forgetfulness. * He was strolling idly along the street, one day, watching, with interest, the crowds that were hurrying to and fro, when a hand was suddenly laid upon his shoulder, and a voice shouted in his ear: “Why, halloo! old fellow, is this you, or your ghost 2 Don't you know a body over this side of the water 2’’ “Why, brother!” exclaimed Eugene, extending his hand, “is it possible— you here?” “I here,” answered Eugene, “alive and well. Can I say as much for my absent-minded, ghost-like brother ?” “I am alive, you see,” he answered, “but not very well. Did you come alone 3” “No, indeed Lieut. Fremont and Maggie wished to make a bridal tour this way, and Zella and myself, Col. Delany and Florence, concluded we would come, too. Florence wished to see Rome during the Carnival; Zella wished to see her Uncle, and I wished to see my brother ; so, here we all are, or, rather, here I am—the rest are at the hotel; but Zella was so anxious to see her Uncle, that she dispatched me, the first moment of my arrival, with positive injunctions not to venture in- to her presence again, until I had cap- tured him. Ah Leon; you have no idea the miseries a poor hen-pecked husband has to endure; but, come along,” he continued, linking his arm into his brother's—“having found you, I can venture back and await the reve- rend’s convenience.” Leon would fain have excused him - self, but how was he to do so? The dark wing of his destiny was over him. and, although he had crossed the water to escape, yet the shadow had followed him even here. 158 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. His friend and companion, Mr. Gaines, had learned to bear his cross with christian meekness and fortitude, and, therefore, the meeting between Florence and himself, was calm and unembarrassed, although he studied her face long and deeply, as if he would penetrate below the beauteous surface, and see whether the heart was happy when the red lip smiled so sweetly and the dark eyes beamed with such burn- ing brilliancy. Apparently he was sat- isfied, for the cloud from his own face cleared away, and a look of content- ment took its place. The coming week found them all es- tablished in one of those beautiful vil- las that are to be found at every turn, a regularly organized household, and prepared to pass the time as pleasant- ly as possible. Strange fate, that threw together in close and daily intimacy, those who had tried so hard to live apart ; and, by the way, intimacy re- vealed 'secrets that each would fain have kept from the other. With pain and deep concern, Mr. Gaines noticed, after the first few days, the coldness, nay, almost indifference, with which Eugene treated the wife of only a year; and a flush of indigna- tion would sometimes mount to his very brow as he observed the sparkle of exultation that gleamed in the dark eyes of Florence, when some pointed neglect was visible. It seemed to him that Florence rejoiced because Zella was slighted. Poor Zella, herself, did not complain, not even to her Uncle, but the light of youth was gone from her eyes, the spirit of happiness from her heart.— One short year had proved to her the folly of her hopes—one short year had dispelled all life's bright allusions—all its lovely day dreams and rainbow fan- cies, and had planted in their stead, the seeds of a hopeless sorrow. The young and trusting heart that she had given to her husband, was still his own, but his fickle, stormy nature, had chill. ed her warm affections, and made her look with fear and trembling to the fu- ture. Many a husband of a year, or less, has done the same thing before, and will again—it is the same old, old tale, the wide world over. Col. Delany and Florence were up- on the best of terms. He allowed her unlimited liberty of action, and any amount of spending money—could any reasonable woman desire more ? Sure- ly the recipient of all these smiles of fortune, ought to be happy; but, was she If so, why those restless, burn- ing eyes, and why that impatient, fit- ful hectic of the cheek; and why that strange excitement of manner, so dif. ferent from the calm, self-possessed Florence of old P Alas! alas! was there ever an Eden without a serpent 2 The first month of their stay in Rome, Col. .Delany received letters from Mr. Summers, that compelled his immediate return, on important mat- ters of business that could not be post- poned. Col. Delany had signed papers for Mr. Summers, to an enormous ex- tent, and the speculation threatened to be a failure; and Mr. Summers, not wishing to bear the responsibility alone, had written to Col. Delany the state of affairs, and earnestly urged his return. Col. Delany prepared immediately, on the receipt of the letter, to obey its summons; but, much to his surprise and regret, Florence refused to go, and all his entreaties failed to change her determination—so he was forced to go and leave her; and with many tears, LITERARY DEPARTMENT . 159 and a presentiment that he could not About twenty miles from the city shake off, he set out upon his home- ward journey. In “imperial Rome,” time never hangs heavily on one's hands, and our friends contrived to dispose of their's to their entire satisfaction—visiting its wonderous works of art—its churches, that stand unrivaled in the world—its ruins, that elicit our admiration and as- tonishment, and all its thousand ob- jects of interest and attraction, with which that spot, so famous in the world’s history, abounds. Zella's wish, “To watch old Tiber's dashing stream,” was realized; yet, like all other wish- es, whose gratified longings we are apt to imagine would be the summit of earthly happiness, she found that there was bitterness ever in the cup ; for Eugene was never beside her, to share her admiration of the beautiful around; and the Jasper walls of Paradise would fail to excite our enthusiasm, if a loved one were not near to enjoy its beauties with us. She had, however, in her short year of married life, learned the difficult lesson of patience; and though the tears would often come in spite of her, as Florence, with Eugene for an escort, would mount her horse and dash away, looking so proud and hand- some, while she remained at home, or took a sober stroll with her uncle, yet, she complained not, and strove to hide, even from her uncle, the extent of her misery. No remonstrance to her hus- band, ever fell from her lips; for, gen- tle as she was, there was also in her nature, a lofty and unbending pride, and her burning heart often whisper- ed, “if she can lure him from me, let him go”; and so passed three months of the time allotted for their stay in Rome. r £-it-x.iit.-- ~& there was a villa, called the villa of “Santa Clair,” that possessed a good many objects of interest for the trav- eler, and our friends resolved one day, as they had nothing else to do, to drive out and examine its beauties. The neighborhood was rather a sus- picious one, for robbers were said to lurk in old woods and caverns, and watching their opportunity, rush out upon unsuspicious travelers, and rob- bing them of money and valuables, and oftentimes life, escape before the alarm could be given, back to their woody fastness. Many of these stories were well au- thenticated, but of all people in the world, the Americans are unquestiona- bly the most daring and reckless; so our party gave no heed to the warn- ing, but proceeded in their excursion. On the way, they overtook an at- tachment of government troops, going there also, for a robbery had been com- mitted on the road only the day before, and the authorities were trying to dis- cover and capture the offenders. Ilieut. Fremont suggested the pro- priety of placing themselves under the protection of the troops; but the com- mander informed them that they were going to try a new plan upon the rob- bers, and therefore could not take charge of them. “That villain, Reolanda,” said he, “is a keen old fox, but if he don’t look sharp, we will trap him yet; we will keep you in sight, however, and should any danger menace you, we will come to your assistance.” The ladies of the party were igno. rant of the danger of their undertak- ing therefore, the day to them was 160 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. one of pleasure throughout—pleasure to all save Zella, and upon her brow there rested a shadow heavier than usual, for Eugene was more careless, indifferent and cold, than he had ever been before, consequently the beaute- ous landscape and the glorious day failed to give her pleasure. The Villa was formerly the residence of a Spanish nobleman, of high rank, whose Italian wife preferred a home in her own country to that of her hus- band's, and unlike most Spanish hus- bands, he was willing to gratify her; hence their residence in Italy. The Villa had long been uninhabited, for husband and wife were both dead, and no heir had ever been born to inherit the property; it was now somewhat injured by time, but still a noble resi- dence, and with all the arch band that surrounded it, would have been no mean fortune for a prince. Costly pictures adorned its walls; master- pieces of statuary ornamented its halls, its landings, and even its lawns; the lofty apartments were lighted by stained glass windows, and where rain- bow hues beautified all they touched; and the landscape around was in per- fect keeping with the stately palace; rocks and trees, hills and streams, birds and bowers, all combined to ren- der it one of the most lovely and at- tractive spots which this sin-contami- nated earth could boast, and yet it was the chasm haunt of robbers. Our party had examined the edifice from cellar to dome; had lunched in one of its lofty halls; had admired its gems of art, and now strolled out into the woods to enjoy the charms of na- ture. As they were leaving the hall, Leon presented his arm to Florence; Lieut. Fremont and Maggie were al- ready gone; Mr. Gaines was nowhere to be seen; so Zella and her husband were of necessity thrown together. Florence didn’t seem to like the change, but was forced to make the best of it; yet, rather absently, she strolled along, sometimes answering the remarks of her companion, and sometimes not ; neither of which made any difference to him, for his thoughts were as far away as her own; he was thinking of the visit to the gipsys' camp years ago, in their native land, on Zella's fifteenth birth-day, and the train of ideas so completely engrossed his mind, that he forgot where he was, or who was with him, and was living over again, in memory, the time when he stood before her, begging the wreath of bay-leaves with its one white flower that Julia had just placed upon her head. The voice of Flo- rence aroused him from his dream. “Leon,” said she, “did it ever oc- cur to you that landscapes resemble people * “No,” he answered, “I do not think I ever fancied the resemblance l’” “It is no fancy,” she answered, “look, for instance, and tell me if this one does not resemble myself; every element of beauty is here combined; but the rocks show a volcanic origin, the flowers are poisonous, many of the trees are scathed by lightning, and yon brook that murmurs so musically along, falls into a dark and gloomy cavern just beyond that hill, and the whole landscape, with its wreath of rock, trees and stream, terminates in yonder blood-red cross, so clearly de- fined against the evening sky, you can, of course, explain philosophically, the “why” of all—you will, tell me that beyond this range of hills, there is an LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 161 extensive plain that we are on an ele- wated point; and, of necessity, the brook must fall—that the same eleva- tion invites the thunderbolts, and that volcanic rocks are to be found in all tropical climates—about the cross you will tell me that a murder was once committed on the spot, and that the comrades of him who was slain, erect- ed there the emblem of a crucified Sa- vior, to entreat the figures of the pass- erby for the repose of a soul, all of which I know ; yet, the knowledge does not destroy the resemblance at all ; the scene itself, independent of its causes, is like my life—the one, notwithstanding all the grandeur and beauty that prodigal mother Nature lavished upon it, ends in a blood-red cross, and the other, in spite of all its brilliant surroundings, will end in the same way; that is, if that staring em- blem means a violent death. “Why, Florence,” exclaimed her companion, “you surely do not think that will be your fate—who would kill you?” “I do not know,” she replied; “I might kill myself; but look ''” she exclaimed, hurriedly, “Zella has fallen, and probably hurt herself seriously— had you not better go to them 2’” Leon needed no second telling, but bounded away to the place where he had last seen his brother and Zella. “Don’t be alarmed,” spoke Eugene; “a pebble rolled under her foot, caus- ing her to fall, and slightly sprain her ankle, and the pain has made her feel faint—just call the driver, will you, to bring me some wine, she will be bet- ter in a few moments.” Leon left him to execute the com- mission, and while he was gone, Eu- gene seated himself on a rock and held his wife in his arms, and with sorrow for her present suffering, and a qualm or two of remorse for his past cold- ness, he strove with gentle words and soft caresses to sooth her. From her position, Florence was a witness of it all; and the wild passion- ate blood boiled in her veins at the sight. Sitting down upon the broad, flat rock upon which she had been standing, she covered her face with her hands, and trembled from head to foot—strange excitement for the wife of Col. Delany, at witnessing the re- conciliation between two of her old friends. Was it joy at their restored happiness 2 A footstep rustled in the bushes near her; “Ileon returning,” thought she, as she hastily proceeded to re- move as much as possible, the tra- ces of her recent emotion. She turned aside her head, as the step came nearer; and when it paused be- side her, she did not look up, nor speak. “Senora,” spoke a strange voice, at the same time a hand was laid gently upon her shoulder. She turned round quickly—well might she start—for there, in her very presence, armed to the teeth, and with his brawny hand resting upon her shoulder, stood “Ro- lando,” the famous robber captain, with his dark evil eyes fixed piercingly upon her face; she knew him in an in- stant, for his portrait, taken the last time he was in prison, was in every shop window, in Rome; and she knew, also, that upon his head the govern- ment had affixed a price that would almost pay the ransom of a king. The daring spirit of the woman tri- umphed over her momentary alarm, and calmly facing him, she inquired, as 4. 5 162 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. indifferently as though she was speak- ing to a peasant—“what do you wish?” Admiration and astonishment flash- ed in the robber’s dark face, for Women didn't often address him in that man- ner. So bareing his head, and bowing politely, he proceeded to inform her in French, that she was sitting before the entrance to his cave, and he would be under many obligations to her if she would be so kind as to move aside, and let him pass in ; “for,” he continued, “do you see that large party of citizens, yonder, who are so very much interest- ed in studying the landscape with their glasses? They are a party of troop- el's, sent here expressly to capture me, but as I object slightly to the proceed- ing, if you will allow me, Senora, I will go home now, and see the gentlemen some other time.” “Thanks for your kindness,” he continued, with a bow, as Florence complied with his request, “you have saved my life, for there was no way for me to reach my den but to pass you; and one shriek, if you had chosen it, would have placed Jean Ro- lando where he could borrow no more purses.” While speaking, the robber stooped down, and, pushing heavily against the stone upon which Florence had been sitting, to her great astonishment, it rolled away, disclosing a ſlight of steps which led down into a subterra- nean chamber. The robber sprang lightly into the opening, and standing so as to be enabled to close it in a mo- ment, he continued his conversation.— The trees and bushes screened him completely from the view of all except Eugene and Zella, but they were sit- ting with their backs towards him, and apparently too much engrossed in each other to heed anything that was going on around them. “Thanks,” he continued, “for your kindness, and in proof of my gratitude, accept this gift,” removing, as he spoke, a silver whistle from around his neck. “Should you at any time, or for any- thing, need the services of Rolando, if you are within fifty leagues of this spot, blow this whistle twice, as hard as you can, and, a robber's word for it, the echo will scarce have died away be- fore assistance comes. Then command to any extent, and should the one who answers, fail to perform your bidding, before another sun shall have set, he will be food for the ravens.” Scarce knowing what she did, Flor- ence reached forth and took the rob- ber's gift, and at the same moment, her eyes happened to rest upon the two be- fore her, who had changed their posi- tions since she saw them last. Zella had arizen to her feet, and was leaning against her husband's bosom, smiling through her tears. Eugene was sup- porting her, with one arm around her waist, while with the other hand he Smoothed back her tangled hair, and stooping forward he pressed a kiss up- on her lips. All Florence's anger re- turned, and stamping her foot, she ex- claimed, vehemently: “All assistance is in vain, while she remains to torment me with her pres- ence.” “Adois, Senora,” said the robber, for his quick ears had detected returning footsteps. “Adois' we will meet again.” He closed the opening, and Florence resumed her seat, as Leon came in search of her. Of course she told no one of her encounter with the robber, and, what was more, she listened with great interest, an hour afterwards, to LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 163 the Captain's account of Rolando's dis- appearance, which he seemed to con- sider little short of the miraculous. “We thought,” said the Captain, “to creep up on him by laying off our uni- forms, but I believe the rogue penetra- ted our disguise, and hence our defeat. Had not your party,” he continued, to Eugene, “better delay their return to the city until midnight, and accept of our escort 2 We will have to remain here until then, to guard the diligence, and as the road is so very unsafe, per" haps you would like to remain too.” But Eugene, with his usual impetu- osity, declined the offer; as it would compel them to wait too long. “We can drive back in a couple of hours or so,” said he, “and what is the use of waiting until midnight to start 2" Leon had some misgivings about their safety, but he forbore to speak; and just as the sun was setting, the party entered their carriages and set out for home. Eugene, Zella and Florence, occu- pied one carriage—Mr. Gaines and Le- on, Lieut. Fremont and Maggie, the other. “We will take the lead,” called out Eugene, “four postillions to a carriage, and our four selves are enough to bid defiance to the most celebrated robber of the Pyreneese, much less the bri- gands of Italy; so I propose that we all make ourselves comfortable, and go to sleep ; for I, for one, am tired— where do we get fresh horses?” “Six leagues from here, Senor,” said the head postillion, “and if we drive fast We will meet a small detachment of troops there who will give us their company home.” “Hang the troops,” said Eugene, impatiently, “I wish the robbers would capture you every one, you are so afraid of them.” “So would you be, Senor,” replied the man, “if you knew them.” “Well,” answered Eugene, “I hope I shall have that pleasure before long, and now put your horses to their might and take us home as soon as possible.” The man obeyed, and they traveled on over the rough roads in silence; two or three leagues had been passed over without accident, when one of the traces of the first carriage broke, and occasioned a halt, until it could be mended, which, however, did not take very long ; and just as they were about starting again, one of the pos- tillions opened the door, and thrusting his lantern forward, took a deliberate survey of the occupants, and their po- sitions—prolonging his stare at Zella until she became somewhat terrified, and drew down her veil. Eugene, who occupied the back seat with Flo- rence, and who was just falling into a doze, aroused himself and demanded somewhat sharply of the intruder, “What's wanting 2" The man muttered some unintelligi- ble jargon, and closed the door. The postillions cracked their whips, and the horses started off at a rapid rate. Half an hour probably passed, when Eugene becoming restless and dissatisfied with his seat, proposed a change with Zella, to which she readily consented, and took her place beside the sleeping Florence, and was soon herself in the land of dreams. The coach stopped again; the pos- tillions halloed “hellow.” The door was opened, and a pair of strong arms was thrown around Eugene, lifting him up and taking him foreibly from the 164 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. carriage. The moment his feet touch- ed the ground, Eugene called for help, and planting his unknown foe a blow in the chest that sent him reeling back- wards, he grasped him by the throat, and both rolled together upon the ground. A moment the scuffle contin- ued, when, whoever he was, finding that he was losing all advantage, sud- denly placed his hand upon his belt, and drawing his pistol, before Eugene could prevent it, he fired full in his face. Eugene fell back without a groan, and was dead by the time those who were in the other carriage, could reach the spot. Lieut. Fremont raised the body of the murdered Eugene, and with the postillion's assistance, placed it upon the grass, while Leon and Mr. Gaines dashed into the woods in pursuit of the murderer. Zella had swooned away, and was being in blissful uncon- sciousness of the terrible calamity that had befallen her ; while Florence, in all the wildness of a maniac's grief, was tearing her hair, and uttering shriek aſter shriek, until the woods echoed and re-echoed to her phrenzied grief. The scene of the terrible tragedy was but a little distance from where they would have stopped to change horses, and the cries reaching the de- tachment of guards who were stop- ping there for refreshments, they gal- loped out to the relief of any who might be in need of assistance. On reaching the spot, a portion of them scattered through the woods in search of the robber, while the rest remained to render what aid they could to the agonized group on the road side. The confusion was fright- ful—for a time nothing could be heard but the shrieks of women, exclama- tions and imprecations of men, and the gallopping to and fro of the guards. At length, however, Lieut. Freemont succeeded in restoring something like quiet. Mr. Gaines and Leon returned from their unsuccessful search, and pro- ceeded to make arrangements for the continuance of their mournful jour- ney. They placed the remains of poor Eugene in one carriage, and like a hearse, started it first ; into the second Lieut. Freemont placed his wife and the still insensible Zella, whom Mag- gie received in her arms, and having arranged them as comfortable as he could, he turned to look for Florence, whose shrieks, from sheer exhaustion, had for some time been stilled. “She is under that tree,” said Mag- gie, pointing in the direction where she had last seen Florence; “call her.” He called, but received no answer. “She has fainted, I expect,” said Maggie, as her husband and Mr. Gaines went in search, but Florence was not there ; they called her name long and loudly, yet no answer came, and in blank and white-faced horror; they sought to read in each others eyes the solution of this new and terrible mys- tery. “What new devil’s work is this?” asked Lieut. Fremont of the command- er of the troops, as they met in their search. “It passes my comprehension,” was the answer, “but listen! by Heaven, there is Rolando's whistle, and, as I live, it is answered.” “Disperse men,” he continued, to the troops, “scatter in all directions; the robbers are some- where in the woods, and may be the lady is there too.” They did “scatter in all directions,” } LITERARY DEPARTMEN'i. 165 searching beneath every tree and bush, and leaving scarce a leaf unturned, but without avail. Neither robber nor la- dy could they find, and finally, as dawn was breaking over the hills, they were compelled, out of consideration for oth- ers, to abandon for a while, their efforts to discover the missing Florence. —sº- Song of the Flowers. BY M. LOUISE ROGERS. * We come, a star-eyed, smiling band; We come from the bosom of earth, With our garlands of buds and bloom, All bright from their beautiful birth. To deck the meadows and the grecn hill-side, The gardens and forests where the wood- nymphs bide. Oh! all the forms amid our throng, Are fashioned in a fairy mould; Their hues are bright as the blush of morn, And varied in crimson and gold, In the purest white and sapphire hue, That paints the skies cerulean blue. The blushing rose is our Floral queen, The ruby dwells on her lip; The dahlia nods her regal head, To the butterfly's dainty sip; Then there is the lily's white-robed form, With breath as sweet as the breeze of morn. We've the woodbine's tiny coral bells, And jessamines golden and white, To wreathe the low-roofed latticed porch, Where the love birds dream at night, And rose-buds, emblems of love and truth, To garland the brows of beautiful youth. We've pinks of many brilliant hues; Pansies and daffodils gay; Hyacinth cups and columbines, To bloom where your footsteps stray; And purple violets and sweet heart's-case, With vest of most any hue you please. We've troops of daisies, all star-cyed, That hide in the forests their bloom; We've orange sprays for the fair young bride, And wreaths for the altar and tomb; And white buds to clasp in the fingers pale, That are folded down in death's dark vale. We bloom not alone in marble halls, Or 'mid scenes that never knew guile; Round the vilest abode and 'mong the poor, We come with our sweetest smile, And scatter perfume from our rainbow crests, Where'er there is man to comfort and bless. The fairies dwell in our fragrant cells, Where the zephyr gently woos; They steal our tears to make them pearls, And robe their forms in our hues; And when shadows fall from the brow of night, They dance from our clasp in the pale moon- light. Oh! a beautiful life is ours; Of our birth ye mortals have dreamcd; And say the angels wandered down, When light from the throne first gleamed, As they trod the earth with their white wings furled, We sprang from their steps and decked all the World.* And a beautiful mission is ours, To you, Oh! mortal, of earth; We come to gladden your hearts and homes All on from our beautiful birth, And lead thc soul up from the earth's green Sod, From Naturc's children, to Nature's great God. *Old Tradition. —sº- ABOUT GIRLS.—The best thing about a girl is cheerfulness. We don’t care how ruddy her cheeks may be, or how velvety her lips, if she wears a scowl, even her friends will consider her ill- looking ; while the young lady who il- luminates her countenance with smiles, will be regarded as handsome, though her complexion is coarse enough to grate nutmegs on. As perfume is to the rose, so is good nature to the love- ly. Girls, think of this. —sº--------- ABSURDITIES.—To judge of people's piety by their attendance at church. To attempt to borrow money on the plea of extreme poverty. 166 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Love is Blind. I5Y BESSIE B–, C II A P T E R [. “I cxpect an old friend of mine will be in town this evening,” said Mr. Moreland to his wife, as he rose from the dinner table one day about six months after their marriage ; “and if you have no objections, I will invite him to take tea, and spend the night with us.” “Certainly,” said Elsie, as she ac- companied him to the street door, “you know your friends are always wel- come; but who is this you are expect- ing to-day ?” “An old college friend that I have not seen since I graduated—his name is Robert Marston—he has some pecu- liarities about him, but is one of the best hearted fellows in the world, and I know you will like him when you have become acquainted, and learned how to make allowance ſor his eccen- tricities. Perhaps,” he continued, seat- ing himself on the hall sofa, and draw- ing her down by his side, “I had bet- ter tell you more about him before I go, so you will understand him better when you meet.” “He has, to a stranger, a most an- noying habit of sinking into a reveric, frequently in the midst of an animated conversation ; and if he answers you at all, giving replies so foreign to the subject you were talking about, as to almost make you doubt his sanity; yet he has a strong mind, and is the most resolute and determined, in overcom- ing all obstacles that lie in his path, of any person I ever met with. I think if he could only see his strange habit in the light which others see it, he would conquer it at once. He reads character almost by intuition, and I have almost regretted that he did not make law, instead of medicine, his profession ; on the practice of which, he is about to enter. He wrote yes- terday from A , where he has been to visit some relatives previous to set- tling down, and said that as the cars passed here, he would give me a call; and I think I can easily prevail on him to spend a day or two with us. But I must hurry away now, or I shall not be at the depot in time ;” and snatch- ing the accustomed kiss from the rosy lips held up to receive it, Edward Moreland left the house. When Elsie met her husband and his friend that evening, and encoun- tered the dark, penetrating eyes of Marston, which seemed to read her inmost soul, she could scarcely forbear smiling at the description which Ed- ward had given. Much of the con. versation between the gentlemen was concerning former acquaintances; and as it was maintained hour after hour, with unflagging interest, she began to think that her husband's friend had probably conquercd the habit of which he had told her, while she admired the intimate acquaintance with human na- ture which he ovinced. At length, Moreland made some inquiries relative to his friend’s visit to A–. Almost immediately, Dr. Marston became ab- stracted and silent—answering only in monosyllables. Edward exchanged meaning glances with his wife, and for several minutes not a word was spo- ken. But as Marston, who had been sitting with his eyes fixed on the glow- ing embers, unconsciously raised his hand to his head, and pushed back the hair from his temples with the gesture of one who is trying to solve some g LITERARY DEPARTMENT. " 167 difficult problem, Moreland exclaimed, “A penny for your thoughts, Bob.” Thus addressed by his friend in the familiar language of boyhood, Marston started, and looked up with a smile, while Edward continued— “I had began to think that you had abandoned your old habit of dreaming, but I see it clings to you yet.” “I thought I had overcome it; at least, when with others,” returned Marston; “and I presume you would ridicule me if I was to tell you the subject of my reverie; but as you have called for my thoughts, you shall have them : provided Mrs. Moreland will excuse my telling a short story by way of explanation.” Elsie answered, “that it would give her pleasure to listen to it,” and Mar- ston proceeded : “While I was in A , I went with some of my friends to an evening lec- ture. Just before it commenced, an elderly gentleman, accompanied by a young and very beautiful lady entered, and a seat was tendered to the lady in close proximity to the speaker’s desk, to which the gentleman carefully handed her, and then found one for himself as near as circumstances would admit. As the lady turned her face toward me, I thought I had never seen one before possessing such angelic sweetness; and when the speaker rose and commenced his lecture, I noticed that she leaned toward him as though it was difficult for her to hear. I felt unaccountably interested in her ; and though conscious that I was guilty of rudeness by so doing, I kept my eyes fixed on her face nearly the whole time. Just before the close of the lecture a singular gesture, peculiar to the blind, first led me to suspect that those beautiful eyes were sightless, and a closer observation as her companion led her past me when the audience was dismissed, convinced me that I was right in my conjecture.” “It must have been cousin Julia,” exclaimed Elsie, “uncle Howard wrote me that they intended to visit A– about this time.” “Did you learn the name of the lady ?” asked Edward. “I ascertained that it was a Miss Howard who had formerly attended the Female Seminary in that place; and that her blindness was occasioned by a stroke of lightning, but as my relatives were unacquainted witn her, I could learn no farther particulars.” “Elsie must have been right in her conjecture—she is Mrs. Moreland’s cousin;” and Edward proceeded to give his friend some account of her affliction, and the circumstances at- tending it. The young doctor listened eagerly, asking from time to time, questions having a scientific bearing on the case, and when Edward had concluded his narrative, he again relapsed into a reverie. “And so our fair cousin is the cause of your abstraction to-night,” said Moreland, again endeavoring to arouse him. “Precisely so,” was the reply, “and you say the best occulists of Europe were consulted concerning her case ?” “Yes,” replied Edward, “at least the best that could then be found in Jondon and Paris.” “And yet she can be cured,” ex- claimed Marston, with emphasis, start- ing up, and pacing the room. Then resuming his seat, he said, “pardon my vehemence, but this case has excited a } 168 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. most uncontrollable interest in my mind.” “If you think such a thing possible,” said Edward, (referring to the first part of his remark,) “I wish you would undertake to do it; for I believe in my heart, if any man on earth could ac- complish it, you would.” “I am not prepared now to do it,” was the reply of Marston, “but God willing, I yet will be ;” and soon after the friends separated for the night. Next morning, Dr. Marston was even more abstracted than the evening previous, and announced his intention of leaving in the nine o’clock train, although he had previously consented to spend a day or two with his friend. Edward knew his eccentricities too well to ask for an explanation of this sudden change in his arrangements, but as he shook hands with him at the depot, Marston said with a meaning smile, “you will hear from me next in Europe;” and he kept his word. C II A P T E R II. Robert Marston had devoted more attention than is usual among practi- tioners of the medical science, to the diseases of the eye; and the case of Julia Howard, had excited a most in- tense interest in his mind; not only from the peculiar circumstances con- nected with it, as related to him by : Edward Moreland, but also from the clear view of her character, which his quick perception had enabled him to take. Inheriting an ample patrimony, he was not dependent on his profes- sion; and had chosen that of medicine because he believed it would afford him more opportunities of doing good than any other. For the honor and emoluments usually sought after by those who make the law their choice, he cared not a straw. Until he saw Julia Howard, he had never met with any one capable of exciting in his breast the emotion of love. Hand- some, talented and wealthy, it is no marvel that many bright eyes had aimed their glances at his heart; but while he was courteous and gallant to all, it was reserved for the beautiful blind girl to call forth an affection which nothing but death could quench. To restore to her the blessing of sight, was now the one great aim and object of his life; and to the desire to pre- pare himself to attempt this with the best possible prospect of success, was owing his sudden determination to visit Europe. First to London, then to Paris, from there to Berlin, and finally to Vienna, went our indefatigable enthusiast, in pursuit of knowledge regarding the, to him, all-important subject. Master- ing all difficulties, dissecting all theo- ries, and seizing upon, and treasuring up, every thing which they contained, that could have a bearing upon the one case in aim, with a facility and quickness which astonished the phleg- matic Germans. After spending nearly a year in Europe, Robert Marston, sanguine of success, embarked for America. * To him, steam seemed tardy; and he felt as though he could almost fly to reach the object of his desires.— But he was doomed to meet with a cause of delay which he had not dreamed of. For nearly a week had the noble steamer pursued her course over the trackless waters, and he was rejoicing in the thought that he was almost home, as he reclined on the deck, and strained his eyes in the vain LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 169 Gndeavor to see through the dense fog some signs of land, even though it were but the desolate shores of New- foundland. Then smiling at his own impatience, he would relapse into one of his habitual reveries, and dream of Julia, and the light and joy he was to bring to her. Then he would wonder if she would love him, and smile again at his own romantic passion. IIe had never spoken to her—never heard her voice—and yet he felt that they were kindred spirits. He had labored for her as zealously, if not as long as Ja- cob did for Rachel, and what was to be his reward 2 Perhaps another pos- sessed her heart, who, when he had been instrumental in bringing back to her the light of day, would step for- ward and claim her hand. Then he tried to feel that to contribute to her happiness, even though he was not permitted to share it, would be suffi- cient reward; but love is proverbially selfish, and he felt that such a disap. pointment would be more than he could bear. Wholly occupied with such thoughts, he saw not that another steamer was rapidly approaching them, till a sudden and simultaneous cry from all on deck roused him to conscious- ness, just as the two vessels came to- gether with an awful crash, while a scream of horror went up from more than five hundred human beings stand- ing on the verge of eternity. All was now a scene of indescriba- ble confusion and alarm; and, as the vessels fell apart, several persons were seen struggling in the water, and striv- ing to prolong their hold on life, by grasping at every object that came in their way, while on board, terror seemed to palsy every arm. Mothers were rushing to and fro, calling with frantic cries, upon their children—hus- bands were seeking their wives, and wives their husbands—brothers and sisters were clinging to each other in close embrace, while here and there a few, more composed, were bidding farewell to friends and relatives, giv- ing each other a message of love for dear ones at home, in case either should survive, or silently committing them- selves to Him in whose hands are the issues of life and death. Marston ran below, and hastily as- suring himself that the vessel, though in imminent danger of sinking, would not do so immediately, he entered his state-room, and coolly proceeded to se- cure about his person a small sum of money, and some memoranda of facts which he had learned during his stay in Europe, bearing on the, to him, one important subject, and which he valued more than gold; then fastening a life- preserver about him, he returned to the deck. A dreadful scene here presented it- self. The boats, in which an attempt had been made to place the helpless women and children, were either bro- ken and destroyed by the insane haste of those who attempted to launch them, or seized and filled by the selfish crew. The efforts to construct a raft, were rendered, in a great measure, abortive, by the ignorance and haste of those en- gaged in it; while the shrieks and en- treaties for aid of those who had been forcibly ejected from the boats, and were now struggling in the water, gave to the whole a sickening horror, better imagined than described. Marston soon convinced himself that there was no chance of safety from the assistance of others; and wrenching a door from its hinges, he sprang into 6 170 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. § the water and committed himself to this. frail snpport. Soon after, a small por- tion of the raft, which had been bro- ken by the rush to it, coming near him, he succeeded in getting upon that, thus rendering his position more se- CUll'Q. - A young and beautiful lady, clinging to a piece of wood, drifted near him. His habitual gallantry did not desert him, even in this precarious situation ; and he assisted her to a place by his side. Fortunately the sea was smooth, and as they driftéd away, they saw the noble vessel, her decks still covered with human beings, reel and tremble for a moment, then disappear in the watery abyss. A groan burst from the lips of the lady, as she exclaimed, “my father ſ” and shuddering, closed her eyes. Marston silently committed them both to the care of that Heavenly Fa- ther, who is able to save all that call upon Him, and calmly awaited that death which he knew must be their portion if not rescued by some passing vessel. - ‘sk All that long, dark night, they con- tinued to float helplessly on. Marston endeavored to divert the mind Öf his companion, by conversation. He learn- ed from her that she was the daughter of an English nobleman, who had ta- ken passage with her for America, to visit an only sister, who was the wife of an officer in one of the colonies. In return, Marston told her such things as he thought would interest her, con- cerning himself. * At length the morning dawned, but that same dismal fog still hung around them. The Lady Alice was much ex- hausted; and her companion felt that she could not survive but a few hours, unless relief came. Towards noon the fog lifted, when, oh! unutterable joy! it disclosed a vessel coming directly to- wards them. Lady Alice, who had but a moment before required her compan- ion's utmost exertions to support her failing strength, and keep her on the raft, was filled with new life by the prospect of deliverance. Marston shou- ted, and made signals, till they were fi- mally perceived from the ship, when a boat was sent to their rescue. Com- pletely exhausted, now that help had arrived, they were lifted from their raft, more dead than alive, into the boat, and in a few moments after were transferred to the ship. The Captain, on learning of the disaster that had oc- curred, put his vessel about, and tack- ed hither and thither, in the hope that more survivors of the ill-fated steamer might be discovered, but in vain; and toward night she again continued her COURTS e. \ As Marston saw himself borne away from his native land, his heart, which had swelled with gratitude for his de- liverance, sank within him, and the ob- ject of his desires seemed more unat- tainable than ever; but he soon rallied from this desponding state. He in- dulged the hope that they might meet some vessel bound to the United States, to which he might be transferred; and though he felt himself, in some meas- ure, bound to attend the lady, he had assisted to rescue, to her home; still, his anxiety to see Julia was such, that he determined, if he had an opportuni- ty of returning, to commit her to the care of the Captain, and hasten back; but no such opportunity offered. The Lady Alice, who had been care- fully nursed by the Captain's wife, was soon able to join him in his prome- nades on deck. She expressed her LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 171 gratitude to him in the warmest terms, and it was soon evident that she enter- tained for her preserver feelings of the tenderest nature. To an ordinary man, the prospect of being loved by a noble lady, a descendant of one of the proud- est families in England, and possessed in her own right, since the death of her father, of immonse wealth, would have been a strong temptation to aban- don any othe" attachment previously formed; but the heart of Robert Mars- ton could not swerve from its chosen allegiance. Though by no means in- sensible to the beauty and vivacity of Lady Alice, he felt that one smile of the gentle blind girl, was of far more value to him; and when his companion turned her soft blue eyes upon him, as though seeking for some evidence of love, he would look away from her to- ward his western home, and sigh for one not so easily attained. When they landed in England, he strove to release himself from any far- ther attendance on Lady Alice, but she would not consent to his leaving her; and insisted that he should accompany her to her estates, situated in the nor- thern part of the kingdom. He yield- ed a reluctant consent, and thither they Went. Arrived in her “ancestral halls,” she left no effort untried to reach the heart of Marston; and had he not guarded it with a triple shield, some arrow from her quiver must have pierced it, during the moonlight rambles and tete a tetes to which she invited him in that “glo- rious old park.” w Unable at length to restrain his im- patience longer, after spending about two weeks in her society, he announced his determination to leave the next day. That night the Lady Alice clung closer than ever to his arm, as they wandered through the gardens and groves surrounding the mansion; and her sunny curls rested on his shoulder, as she looked up in his face with tear- ful eyes, and spoke of the loneliness she should experience when he was gone. He could resist no longer, and gazing earnestly into her face, he said: “Would you wish me to remain here always, or would you be willing to ac- company me to America?” “I could go with you to the ends of the earth,” she replied, as she hid her blushing face against his shoulder. “But recollect,” he said, “I have no rank, no title, no wealth to match your own; but am only an humble physi- |cian in my native land.” “I care not for that,” she exclaimed. “Did you not save my life, and do I not owe you all that I have 2 Remain here, and my wealth, my rank, my ti- tle shall be yours. I am mistress of my own actions, and none has a right to gainsay, or question me.” “But, Lady Alice, I ask not for such a reward. I love my native land, and would rather be one of the humblest of her citizens, than a titled lord in a foreign country.” “Then I will leave all for you,” she cried, looking up in his face, while her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “They are nothing to me compared with your love.” For a moment Robert Marston drew her to his bosom, and she nestled there like a weary dove; then leading her to a seat, he told her of his love for the gentle blind girl, and of the light he had hoped to bring to her darkened life. He spoke of her angelic loveli- ness—of the stroke that had fallen so suddenly and heavily upon her, and 172 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. shut her out from the sight of all things beautiful—and of the joy and gladness she would experience could she be again restored to sight, till the impulsive girl by his side, springing to her feet, and throwing aside the arm that encircled her, exclaimed, “Go to her—in God's name, I com- mand you, to go to her, and my bles- sing shall go with you; but if, when you have brought back sight to her eyes, she should refuse to love you, come to me and you will find a heart in which your image will be ever treas- ured with a true and holy affection;” and imprinting a kiss on his forehead, she rushed from the arbor in which they had been sitting, and disappeared from sight. Long did Robert Marston remain where she had left him, and conflicting were the emotions which agitated his breast. Was he not pursuing a phan- tom—a shadow — which, after all, might elude his grasp, while here a true and loving heart, accompanied by that wealth and honor which mortals usually court, was laid at his feet 2— Should he leave the substance for the shadow 2 But the conflict lasted not long. The love which had led him through so many dangers and difficul- ties, triumphed, and he decided to leave as he had intended. Next morning Lady Alice did not meet him as usual, at the breakfast ta- ble, but she sent him a note, in which she bade him an affectionate farewell; assuring him that her blessing should go with him, and that she esteemed him the more for that manly frankness with which he had scorned to take ad- vantage of her passionate declaration. This time Robért Marston's home- ward voyage was safe and prosperous, and when he again set foot on the shores of the New World, the anthem of thanksgiving which arose from his heart, went up as grateful incense to the throne of God. C II A P T E R I-II . “Has the sea given up its dead?” exclaimed Edward Moreland, as he sprang to his feet, and grasped the hand of his old friend. “Is this veri- table flesh and blood, or is it the ghost of Robert Marston that I see before me 2'' “Do I look like a ghost P” returned Marston, with a hearty laugh; “if so, ghosts are far more substantial beings than I had supposed them to be.” Moreland, to whom Marston had written occasionally, during his stay in Europe, had learned of his embark- ation in the steamer, and, as no tidings had reached them of his rescue, his friends had concluded that he had found, with the hundreds of others who had perished by that fearful catastrophe, a watery grave. Julia Howard had been spending several weeks with her cousins, and when all hopes of Marston's safety were abandoned, they had told her his history, and of the effort he had made for her benefit, and she had mourned sincerely that one so good and noble, should have been sacrificed for her. “I have a pleasant surprise for you,” said Moreland, as he gave his friend a seat in the parlor of his own dwelling, after listening to an account of his ad- ventures, (for Marston had first met' him at his office,) and going to his wife's room, he said to a lady who was sitting there with her, “I have a friend in the parlor that I should like to pre LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 173 sent you to, cousin Julia, will you go with me P’’ “Certainly, iſ you desire it,” was the reply. “Who is it º’’ asked Elsie. “Never mind,” returned her hus- band, “you shall know presently;” and he led Julia from the apartment. “Miss Howard, Dr. Marston,” said Edward, as he re-entered the parlor, and placed the hand of the blind girl in that of his friend, “Though the sea has not given up its dead Julia, it has returned to us the friend we feared it had engulphed. I believe you know something of each other's history;” and leaving them thus, he rejoined his wife. When Mr. and Mrs. Moreland en- tered the parlor, nearly an hour after- ward, the hand of Julia was still clasp- ed in that of Marston, while the flush on her cheek, and the light that gleam- ed in his eye, told as plainly as words could have done, that he had won the love he so much coveted, and had so nobly earned. Marston pressed Julia to become his wife before he commenced operations on her eyes; but this she steadily re- fused. “Do what you can for them first,” said she, “and when the result is known, whatever it may be, I will then gratify your wishes. Give me but to see your face, and I am most assuredly yours; but if God, in his providence, should not permit this re- sult, of which you are now so sanguine, you might shrink from taking to your- self the helpless burden you would then know me to be.” “But should I still desire you for my, own, even though I should fail, which God forbid, what will be my answer P” “Then,” said Julia, as she laid her head on his shoulders, “I will go with you, nothing doubting.” Long and wearisome, and fraught with pain, were the months which Ju- lia. Howard spent in her darkened chamber ; but the faith of Marston never wavered, and his confidence in- spired her with courage. When, at last, the bandage was removed, and she saw for the first time the dark eyes looking so lovingly upon her; she sprang, with a glad cry, into his open arms, and laying her head upon his bosam, murmured, “My home forev- er.” :: Sk :k: >}: >}: >k $: Bright is the sunshine that now lights the happy home of the blind girl, and its beams are prised all the more for the clouds that darkened her girlish days. —sº--—— Night and Morning----A Recollection. IB Y D E A N S L O W . I was eight years old, or within a few months of it, when my father, who, so far as I know, had never men- tioned the subject before, said gravely to my mother, “This boy, my dear, must go to school.” It was a cool evening in early Spring, and we were all seated round the wide old fireplace in the cabin I was born in. A cheerful fire, made of small sticks of dry wood, blazed up before us. The chair I occupied, a rough oaken frame, with a rawhide bottom, was a long ways too tall for me. I had hitched myself upon a corner of it with one thigh, keeping a firm grasp with my hand around the upright post behind me. In this position, I sat tracing with the great toe of my right foot, 174 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. divers crooked lines in a little bed of ashes which I had drawn out, for the express purpose, on one corner of the smooth hearthstone. With my head bent towards my left shoulder, I was gazing intently at the toe-marks in the ashes, my mind hanging down in that dreamy ease which, alas, is the attend- ant of no stage of our being except the innocent days of childhood. Near the opposite jamb sat my mother, with her gentle countenance fixed on the long, thin knitting-needles that shot to and fro between her fingers, like flashes of lightning. Further from theffire, and immediately in front of it, stood the rude arm chair in which rested the staunch form of my father. There had been silence in the little group for a long time, and when my father spoke as I have mentioned, he looked neither at my mother nor at me, but continued to gaze, as before, at the top of the flame in the wide old fireside. “This boy, my dear,” said my fa- ther, solemnly, “must go to school.” My great toe stopped instantly in its line of march, and bored a hole through the soft ashes to the solid rock. I listened with a beating heart for my mother's reply, but she uttered not a word. Her knitting-needles flew on ; and my father, apparently uncon- scious that he had made any remark, gazed away at the sharp top of the fire. The end of my toe rubbed me- chanically on the hard rock at the bot- tom of the hole in the ashes: my fa- ther’s observation engrossed all my thoughts. Our old white cat came to me, and walked round and round my leg, rub- bing her soft hide against it, curving her long, slim tail upward, and pur- ring a low, dull tune from out her aged throat. I stole an uneasy glance at my father’s face, and seeing its deep abstraction, felt sure his strong mind had passed on to some higher thought than that of sending a poor boy to school. With a feeling of re- lief, I bent forward to the old cat, and stroked her affectionately on the back with the palm of my hand. The old creature swayed down her spine be- neath the gentle pressure, and purred more vehemently than I had ever heard her before. We had been companions from my infancy—this cat and I–and I had loved her once as tenderly as if she had been a human being. For a year or two past, my boy’s nature, wild and wayward as it was, had drawn me away from her, and I had made scarcely any return for the many evidences of kind- ly feeling which she had never ceased to manifest. Poor old cat I now felt all my ancient fondness revive; and as I bent over her, and patted her long fur, and saw her sober eye twinkle with delight, I wondered at my past neglect of so true a friend. I was having a fine time with the cat, and my father’s observation had entirely faded from my memory. I was thinking how I should like to have a small cord of suitable length, so that next morning I might tie it round the neck of my friend, and lead her up and down the garden in the warm sun- shine, as I used to do. My mind re- verted presently, to the little stock of old strings of various lengths and sizes, the gradual accumulation of many months, which I had stuffed away care- fully in an auger-hole in the wall of the cabin. As my imagination was tieing these together, one after another, to LITERARY DEPARTMENT, 175 --- complete the desired cord, my father's arm-chair grated on the floor, and look- ing up, I saw him turning slowly round and resting his great, solemn eyes full on my mother. “Indeed, he must go to school,” said my father. My mother laid down her knitting, and crossed her hands meekly on her lap. I whispered to the dear old cat to go off, and taking up the wooden poker, punched away at the fire with as much apparent indifference as I was able to assume in so painful a crisis of my affairs. “He is too young,” said my mother, deferentially. “Nonsense,” said my father; “he is eight.” “Only seven, ten months, and twenty-nine days,” re- joined my mother; “I have been count- ing it up.” “Very well, he is quite old enough,” urged my father; “I went at five, and had read, at his age, every word in Robinson Crusoe.” , My father enunciated this latter truth in a very firm tone of voice, and as he did so, brought his spinal column to an exact perpendicular. His digni- ty at that moment was very awful. The argument, owing to his stronger intellect, or else to the superior merit of his cause, was thus cast all on my father's side; and my mother, only faintly articulating some allusion to his being an uncommon person, and one with whom I, poor thing, was not to be compared, yielded the point, and consented that next morning I should be posted off to school. The wooden poker fell from my hand, and my mo- ther, after imprinting a score of kisses on my sorrowful face, put me to bed for the night. I sobbed myself to sleep. On awaking in the morning, which I did just as the dawn was drifting through the open window of our cab- in, my feelings were very painful.— One single hope remained. It was, that as I was an, only child, and the darling of my mother, she would yet intercede for me on some new plea, and save me from what I really be- lieved was the most dire misfortune that could befall me. But morning waned, our frugal meal was over, and my mother, although besought by me in private in a manner that made the tears stream from her eyes, either could not, or would not, move the stern resolve of my father. Equipped at last with a small split basket, containing a few simple viands for my dinner, and with a blue-backed primer, which, on account of the pic- tures in it, I might have prized as a real treasure on any other occasion, I set out on a melancholly walk to the school-house. My pathetic appeal to be allowed to take the old cat with me for company, was answered by my fa- ther with a mild but firm refusal, so the cat and my dear mother; the only two beings that could have consoled me in this day’s sorrow, were left be- hind. My father did not go with me, because his father had not gone with him, on a like occasion, some forty years before. The two miles I had to walk, seem- ed very long—as long, perhaps, as five times the distance would appear to me now. Knowing where the school-house Stood, and being ashamed to carry my grief, or the evidences of it, into the presence of the master and all the schol- ars, I stopped, when almost in sight, at a small branch that crossed the path, and washed my face. With the sleeve of my coat I wiped it dry, and hoped 176 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. that all traces of the tears I had wept were gone. Happily I did not know that my eyes were red and swollen, marks of my distress that could not be washed out. On I went up to the rustic temple of learning. It was called a house, but, in fact, was only a pen some sixteen feet square. The walls were of round, rough logs, notched at the ends to hold them together, and, with this excep- tion, in the exact state as when cut from the forest. A clap-board roof weighed down with saplings, mantled the dumpy pile. Floor there was none, but in lieu of it, the native soil, made level and hard by the trampling of ma- ny feet. A three-sided projection at the upper end of the building, mount- ing no higher than to the mantle-piece, constituted the chimney, the materials of which were split logs, lined for a short distance up the back with some rough stones, laid without mortar.— The door was an awkward apperture cut out opposite the chimney, very wide, but very low, and wholly desti- tute of shutter. Windows were not needed, for every log lay at a cool dis- tance from its neighbor, and the im- mense cracks thus formed gave the freest admission to light and air. The only furniture the edifice contained, was the split-bottom chair of the mas- ter, several benches made of slabs from a saw-mill, desks to correspond, and a row of long wooden pins bristling from one of the walls, and designed for hang- ing up hats, bonnets, shawls, buckets, baskets, and every other suspensible article that might be introduced. As I neared the door and observed the master sitting within, grasping in his right hand a long keen hickory that might have served for driving a team of oxen, and a crowd of boys seated on one side of the room, and a still larger crowd of girls on the other, I trembled so with awe and modesty, that, but for the rememberance of my father, whose authority was not to be trifled with, I should have turned round and run back home as fast as my feet would carry me. I entered, however, with the best grace I could, and seeing how the hats and baskets of others were disposed of, hung up mine, also, on one of the long pins I have mentioned. No one seemed to notice my advent, for the scholars were all bending over their books, as if studying for life, and the master, who, I heard afterwards, had just finished flogging a fat, freckled-faced boy that sat close by the fireplace, was regard- ing him with a tender, sorrowfnl look, as if every pang that cut the poor boy's heart made a corresponding gash in his own. Seating myself between two cleanly urchins, who happened to be the only occupants of a short bench that stood near the door, and pressing my blue- backed primer, unopened, very tightly between the palms of my hands, I stared vacantly, first at my own bare feet, then at a lumpy place in the dirt floor, and finally at the tip of the mas- ter’s nose. j By slow degrees the master's eyes wandered from the fat object of his chastisement and sympathy, and set- tled upon me. At that moment I felt myself pressed violently into the strug- gling multitudes that throng the Tab- ernacles of Learning, and lost, like them, in a wide waste of knowledge and of sorrow. f —sº- TRANSPORTED FOR LIFE. who marries happily. The man LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 177 The Realm of Song. BY LEOLA. “'Tis Poesy's hand that paints in the shadowy Isle of Song, and casts o'er the cold realities of life, a golden veil of beauty.” What sweet spirit thus enchants me, With its soft and tender lay? What bright visions now entrance me, As o'er woodland hills I stray? Forms of beauty round me gliding, Softest rays of lucid light, Streams in sylvan shadows hiding, Opening buds and flowers bright! Purple clouds of gilded lining, Crimson waves on azure seas, Rainbow hues of brilliance shining O'er the emerald crested trees. Fields elysian, crystal fountains, Golden tassels, leafy sprays, Fruits immortal, vales and mountains, Beauty's richest scene displays. Minstrel hands o'er lyres sweeping, Strains of rapture deep and wild, Soft enchantment gently creeping O'er the heart of Nature's child. Music's spell ascending Heaven, Quickly wakens all the skies, And the bright and “peerless Seven,” In a glittering circlet rise ! Then the Moon a goddess seeming, 'Mid the lesser stars of night, Sways her wand with diamonds gleaming, Tinging all with radiant light. Gems spring up from dark recesses, Pearls are showered from above, As the God of Heaven blesses, Earth with Piety and Love / Poesyl Bright spirit dwelling, Over all that's pure and fair, Of unfading chaplets telling, Painting lightly every care. Linger here and still enchant me, f; With thy thrilling, plaintive lays, While the spectral visions haunt me, Wisions sweet of other days. Happy seraphs roam above me, In this flowery realm of dreams. Sé&T now dear forms that love me, Hov'ring o'er these star-lit streams. Here I’d linger—oh forever, With this heaven-inspired throng; Guardian angel! take me never, From the beauteous Isle of Song ! —sº- Jonathan Swift. In the life and character of this ex- traordinary man and incomparable English classic, some points occur of so delicate and doubtful nature, that a diversity of opinion must be expected always to exist respecting them ; and some of such painful and melancholly interest that they never can be dwelt upon without reluctance and regret.— But of his singular genius, his trans- cendant talents, and varied attainments, no question can be entertained ; and by the apparently incongruous combi- nation which pervades his conduct and writings of sound, good sense, with piercing wit and whimsical eccentrici- ty, he has transmitted to succeeding times more ample stores both of in. struction and amusement than any other literary man of his age. The influence he exercised over his own times by his brilliant talents, his mas- terly comprehension of the great in- terests there at stake in the fierce struggle of irreconcilable parties to both of which he was opposed, and the dexterity with which he held up to the public in his caustic satires their respective' errors have scarcely been estimated at their full value. His was a mind that belonged, less to a party than to mankind; endowed with a firmness that prompted him in every situation to maintain an independent attitude. Supported by these feelings he attained the highest eminence to which an individual in the ranks of life can aspire, as the counselor of the first ministers of State; and the stren- 178 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. uous supporter of the interests of his fellow men; and without them it is impossible he could have acquired that political ascendancy which he undoubt- edly enjoyed, or won that popular re- nown which rewarded his zealous and unwearied exertions for the peace, freedom and religion of his country. The leading characteristics of this great man’s mind are strikingly mani- fested in the astonishing efforts which he made to show mankind the causes of their corruption and degradation, and to teach the people in what con- sisted their weakness and their strength; in the grief and indignation with which he beheld their sufferings; and in the benevolence with which he sought to inspire them in a firm con- fidence in their means of ultimate emancipation. It is not surprising that a man of Swift's lofty wisdom— exact knowledge of human nature, and keen political sagaicity, should have despised the extremes of party, and yet at the same time, by his surpassing wit and talents, have extorted the ho- mage and respect of men of all ranks and opinions. The most celebrated men. of their age—poets and politi- cians—Bolingbroke and Oxford, Pope and Addison, freely acknowledged the influence and superiority of that mas- ter intellect which possessed so merit- ed a power, so strange and fascinating an influence in directing at once the destinies of a people and ministry, the fortunes of his private friends, or a resolution in the public mind. It is, perhaps, the proudest triumph of his genius that the best and greatest men have borne the strongest testimony of his merits, and to the extent of his political and literary fame. The lan- ... guage by which he is addressed by the \ most distinguished persons in every class, the learned and witty, the great and noble, the fashionable and gay, carries many evidences of the estima- ble and engaging qualities by which such general affection and respect must have been attracted and secured. The happier period of his life, du- ring which he reaped the reward of his genius and worth, was destined to have but too brief an existence. His day of life grew dark almost before its noon. The morning had risen amid lowering clouds, through which the beams of his genius broke slowly, till they reached their meridiah power; and his evening went down with an eclipse so dark, as strongly to impress on the mind the frail tenure of those endowments, which not even the loft- iest genius or the purest moral worth can permanently ensure to their pos- sessor. Nearly all the biographers of this illustrious but eccentric genius, have found reason to remark, that his character was so various and contra- dictory, as to render it difficult to con- vey a clear and accurate idea of it as a whole. It is a magnificent picture composed of strong lights and shad- ows, but in which the grandeur of de- sign, the rich and varied composition, the general effect and splendid colors, became only the more powerful from the occasional contrast of the depth of contrast, giving relief to other parts of the subject. His conduct in the discharge of what he considered his public duties, the greatness and disin- terestedness of his literary character, and his general benevolence, far out weigh the less estimable traits of his singular and powerful mind. As a public man no one ever had more true greatness and disinterestedness of con- LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 179 duct; he provided for all who applied to him, deserving of his support, be- fore he received any recompense for his arduous labors in the cause, as he esteemed it, of the religion and liber- ties of his country. Perhaps his crowning merit, coming immediately after the days of our Charleses and Jameses, was to teach literary men not only to respect them- selves, but by consistent principle, manly independence, and long assidu- ous mental cultivation, to claim respect and equality of mind instead of patron- age from superiors only in rank and station. The same elevation of intel- lect, the same moral strength and reso- lution, will be found to animate the whole circle of his duties. The bold asserter of civil liberty combined with the highest religious doctrine, he was also a strenuous supporter of the rights of the Anglican Church as of his own cathedral, and in attention to its reve- nues and economy he was most strict and exemplary. Here, if carried no farther, is fame enough for any one.— In the words of his friend Pope, it may in this respect be said— “Honor and fame from no condition rise; Act well your part—there all the honor lies.” With a rare sense of justice, present- ing a pattern to greater members of the church, he consulted the interests of his successors in preference to his own, and diverted not the renewal of leases to family purposes. Another ex- cellent feature of his religious charac- ter was, that no one more detested the vice of hypocrisy. And his great anx- iety that no stain of this kind should attach to his memory, betrayed him into a certain boldness and plainness of manners, which gave offense in high quarters, and often proved distateful to those who were not aware of his pure motives. Lord Bolingbroke de- clared that Swift's conduct through life was that of hypocrisy reversed; and in real love of peace, good will to men, and charity to all ranks and creeds, (as witness his friend Pope and many oth- ers), and in the still higher cristian vir- tues of truth and fidelity, he was sur- passed by none. ——º- The Dawn of a Brighter Morning. BY CARLOS. It was a clear moonlight night in the month of November. All nature sati- ated with the beautiful prospect around had quietly sank to rest. One eye above was vigilant—sleep came not to the eye-lids of Arthur Sinclair, the Editor of the Courier. Pensive and melancholy, he sat gazing upon a hand- ful of dying embers, which threw a pale and sickly light over the gray walls of his sanctum. His usual hilar- ity of feeling was gone, and his tell- tale countenance evinced the fierce con- flict which was raging within him.— The Courier, which, under his prede- cessors, nad been conducted with such distinguished ability, and received so liberal a patronage, in his hands, seemed to have lost its potent charms over the public mind, and almost every post brought with it a polite request from some dissatisfied subscriber, for a dis- continuance of his paper. Arthur felt that something must be done to re- trieve his waning reputation as a jour- nalist; but how to do this, was the mystery. He had published all his best productions; he had worked till a late hour of the night, and early dawn had found him at his desk. His wan and emaciated figure too plainly showed that his arduous labors were 180 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. wasting the energies of his nature.— Starvation stared him in the face, and famine, lean and lank, was knocking at the door of his humble habitation for admission. No new subscribers came, and his old list kept on diminishing with in- creased rapidity. He had exerted eve- ry energy of body and mind to avert the on-coming calamity, but instead of the bright sun of prosperity irradiat- ing his pathway, he saw the heavens gathering blackness, and the fierce lightnings of adversity flashing across their angry front. He contemplated the mournful history of his past life— memory pointed to no daring exploits, no mighty achievements which could allay the grief that was gnawing at his vitals. He viewed the dreary pros- pect of the future, and saw no green oasis, under whose umbrageous trees his weary limbs might recline, and at whose purling brooks he might quench his burning thirst. Strange thoughts, flitted across his brain, and he conjured up spirits, “white, red and gray,” in the few remaining embers before him. Oppressed with an accumulated load of sorrow, and harassed with painful reflections upon the prospect of an un- happy life, it is not strange that Ar- thur should entertain the thought of putting an end to his miserable exist- (211C0. In his distorted imagination, he saw a land far beyond the azure canopy above, of flowing meads and rippling rills, of shady bowers and delicious fruits—a land where happiness takes up her abode, and care-worn grief durst not enter. Over its spacious plains, the timorous fawn, unmindful of its fierce pursuer, man, bounded in sportive glee, Birds of plumagebright, and animals surpassing in beauty the conception of finite minds, dotted the undulating surface of this fair land.— The nightingale, too, was there warb- ling her sweetest strains, and gentle Zephyrs were wafted by, pregnant with her celestial music. No poisonous reptile, with envonomed ſang, no pes- tilential winds were there. No beast of prey, nor any unsightly thing, marred the beauty of the scene.— Here the sceptre of the insatiate mon- ster, Death, dropped from his icy fin- gers; no funeral array betokened the last sad office of friendship. The in- habitants were crowned with perpetual youth, and beautiful beyond descrip- tion. Sometimes, tears, sparkling like dew-drops in the morning's light, would moisten their dark eyes, but they were tears only of joy and glad- I162SS. Arthur contrasted their noble forms and elastic movements with the loath- some lump of clay which he was drag- ging on to the grave, the banquet- house of worms. He compared their blissful condition with his wretched lot, and longed to depart from the scene of his turmoil and disappointments, to join the brilliant throng his fancy had created. He brooded over his misfor- tunes till the glare of his leaden eye too plainly told that the demon of mania had usurped the throne of reason.— Torture intolerable racked his quiver- ing frame. With the frenzy of despair he seized the pointed steel which was soon to drink his life-blood. His hand was upraised to strike the fatal blow ; but, no! a faint glimmering of reason stole through his soul—he paused to debate the question of life and death. He thought of his beloved Minerva, pure as a snow-flake from Heaven, and LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 181 strº-ºs-ºs--- *-*. beautiful as the Houri, whom, a few years since, he had sworn at the bridal altar to love and cherish—he thought of the wailings of her widowed heart when she should learn his melancholy fate—of her helpless and defenseless condition when he, around whom the tendrils of a heart gushing warm with affection were entwined, had rudely dragged himself from her fond embrace —of the hour when she united her des- tiny with his, and when he vowed nev- er to desert her to the cold charities of an unfriendly world. He thought of the orphan cry of his two lovely chil- dren which would pierce his withered soul in the world of spirits—of the double damnation his suicidal act would heap upon his crime-stained soul in deep perdition. All this, with light- ning speed, passed in review before him, and he arose, resolved, once more, to struggle against fate. But still the burden of his misery was not removed. He sought relief by examining the various objects in his apartment, which had so often afford- ed him pleasure, by gazing upon the mementos of absent friends, that in by-gone days were wont to thrill his soul with delight; but every thing his eye rested upon seemed an instru- ment of torture most excrutiating.— No longer able to remain in his study he strolled forth into the open air.— The Queen of Night, with her train of glittering attendants, rode gracefully upon the bosom of the blue ocean above, Myriads of stars peeped down from their aerial height, as if all the eyes of the universe were looking forth in mockery of human wretchedness. Not a leaflet was in motion—all was silent as the chamber of death, save the howling of a hunter's hound which perchance was separated from the rest of the pack. The lengthened shadow of the tall forest trees gave a sombre appearance to the otherwise brilliant scene, reminding our hero of the dark cloud of misfortune which had so sud- denly overcast the sky of his hopes. Occasionally he fancied he saw a fig- ure, of gigantic proportions, rise up in the distance, and for a moment his step would falter; but instantly dis- missing his puerile superstition, he steadfastly pursued his journey. On, on he wandered, he knew not whith- er. At length he entered a narrow pathway which led through a dark and unfrequented wood. The solemn hoot- ings of an owl, porched on a neighbor- ing tree, warned him that he had left far behind him the habitations of men, and was fast immerging himself into the depths of the dismal forest. He knew that a return would not alleviate his suffering, and plunged deeper and deeper into its cheerless solitudes.— The distracting thoughts which, for several hours, had agitated his mind, had thrown him into a profound rev- erie, and when he awoke he was stand- ing on the banks of a deep and broad stream, which was silently rolling on to its ocean home. Under the influ- ence of the bright but softened radi- ance of the moon, it presented the ap- pearance of a vast sheet of burnished silver. He saw his image reflected in the liquid mirror before him, and in- voluntarily shuddered at the mighty change a few short hours had wrought in his manly features. Again he be- came the viatim of despair, and was upon the point of seeking a watery grave, when a hollow, sepulchral voice addressed him from the deep shade of a wide-spreading beech, a few steps in 182 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. his rear. He recognized in that un- earthly tone the language of the grave, and felt that the idle tales of “gor- gons, hydras and chimeras,” to which he had so often listened around the winter fireside, and had so long re- garded as altogether visionary, were verified with a fearfnl reality. His eyes started from their sockets, and “each particular hair stood on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine.” Turning quickly round, he strained his eager eyes in the direction whence the sound proceeded. A tall and pale fig- ure, clad in the habiliments of the grave, stood erect, its long, bony fin- fiers towards him in an attitude of Sup- plication. Its countenance wore a sad and grief-worn expression, and the spectre “grinned horribly a ghastly smile,” as thus it addressed the terri- fied and bewildered being before it: “I am the spirit of thine enemy, come to warn thee to stain not thy hand in suicidal blood. Thou thinkest thy con- dition grievous to bear, but come not, I entreat thee, to join me in my home of fire. I, myself, am a suicide, and couldst thou feel the misery I ſecl, couldst thou but get a glimpse of the writhings of the damned in their pris- on of woe, thou wouldst think thy lot an enviable one. In life I hated thee, I defamed thy character and that of my friends; but those dark passions I burried in my earthly grave. Stay thy murderous hand 1 Fly! fly from these haunts, where I am “doomed to walk the night till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, are burned and purged away.’” © The spectre vanished. Arthur was transfiexed to the spot, motionless and incapable of utterance. Insensibility seized hold upon him, and he fell a lifeless mass upon the cold earth. How long he remained in that condition he knew not, but when consciousness was restored, the sun had arisen and was careering towards the zenith. He has- tened home to the bosom of his family, completely cured of his mania for self. destruction. On his arrival there, he found several orders for his paper in waiting. This somewhat revived his spirit, and he entered with alacrity upon his duties. Iſis business pros- pered, and, in process of time, he found himself master of a handsome fortune. He still lives; but the fearful events of that night are yet fresh and green in memory. ———“Cº-- -— * The Orphan of the Chattahoochee, IBY MIRIAM, “Mr. Vernon, will you assist me a few moments 2 The current is so strong, I fear we shall be forced down the stream ; and with a little assistance we can reach the shore.” “Certainly, sir,” replied the gentle- man addressed, who immediately, half leaping, half walking, advanced to- wards the strong, double-linked cable, that extended across the river, and lay- ing hold of it with as much vigor as if he had been long accustomed to it, heaved in concert with the ſerryman. “Not too hard, Mr. Vernon ; we shall break the chain if we pull too rapidly, as the entire wait of the ferry- boat, together with the force of the stream, is pulling against us,” said Mr. James, when he felt the boat suddenly shoot forward, the clanking chain screaking over the rollers, while even the horses of the carriage, that had just been driven aboard, started out of their tracks by the sudden lurch. We have thus, uncerimoniously in- LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 183 troduced two of our characters, one of whom is to play an important part in the drama of this sketch. The other shall not be altogether unnoticed. On the western shore of the Chatta- hoochee, about four hundred yards from the river, stood a large framed house, with a colonnade in front. The dwelling was situated about one hun- dred yards from the main road, having an avenue for carriages, running from the entrance gate to the wicket through the paling. Here visitors left their ve- hicles and crossed the lawn, immediate- ly in front of the house, to the colon- made. Ascending about six steps that ran the whole length of the house, you were ready to be ushered into a suite of parlors, that, for brilliancy, spacious- mess and accommodation, eguld not be surpassed. They were furnished with every variety and style of furniture.— The external appearance of the build- ing was in perfect harmony with its in- ternal view. “Rain! rain! rain!” cried Susie Ver- non. “When will it cease ? Oh! I am so out of patience. I have been waiting four days for the water to cease falling, and the clouds to break up their everlasting gloom. They have almost spread a gloom over my heart.” “I should be very sorry to know, sis- ter, that a gloom had come over your dear heart,” said Henry Vernon. “But raining as it is, I must go and visit my friend Mr. Lewis, and sce what I can do for his comfort to-day. The river is rather high, and as the wind is blow- ing very strong, Mr. James will have hard work to manage his boat to-day. Treat Sallie kindly while I am gone— let her want for nothing; her father, I hope; will be so, in a few days, that we * can move him ; and then she will not be so troubled about him as she is.” “Yes,” said Susie, “it would be bet- ter if he were here where I could at- tend to both, and where she would have an opportunity of seeing him every day, and of talking to him about her own condition.” Henry drew on his rubbers and over- coat, and started to the house of Mr. Lewis. He found the sufferer in a bet- ter condition than he was the day pre- vious. He had lain fifteen days, having been taken with a malignant fever, which had well nigh ended his life.— His daughter, Sallie, having waited up- on him until she was perfectly exhaust- ed; and, upon one occasion, having gone over to Mr. Vernon's for some nourishments, (for the Vernon family had opened their hearts and purses), she was seized with violent pains in the head and palpitation of heart, which rendered her so completely delirious that she was compelled to take a bed, from which she had not as yet recover- ed. Henry ordered the servant, whom he had sent previous to his leaving home that morning, to arrange the room, keep up a good fire, and dry the furniture and other articles, which had become very moist by the damp at- mosphere. After depositing a basket heavily la- den with provisions, and directing the servant to attend closely upon Mr. Iewis, Henry prepared to return.— Finding, however, as he opened the door, that a fresh shower was falling, he returned to the sick bed, and, tak- ing the Bible from the stand, sat down and began to read. “Will you read some for me, Mr. Vernon,” said Mr. Lewis. “I feel bet- 184 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. ºt ter this morning, but I think it not prudent for me to disturb my brain by trying to confine my mind to the page; besides, I can better understand when others are reading.” Without replying, Henry turned to the 14th chapter of St. John, and be- gan: “Let not your hearts be trou- bled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” He read in a slow, distinct tone, till he came to the passage:— “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giv- eth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” “Ah!” said the dying man, “those are the musical sounds of Heaven; those are the words of Jesus. My heart with inward pleasure bounds, as I contemplate myself standing upon the verge of eternal glory, ready to de- part and be with Him, which is far bet- ter.” “You are not so near the brink of death as you imagine,” said Henry, trying to divert his mind from such thoughts, for he was a noble-hearted specimen of humanity, and did what was in his power to relieve its suffer- ings. “You will yet recover, if you manage discretely, and I have no doubt of your doing that if I may judge from the past. You have borne your suffer- ing with great fortitude, and as the worst is over, there is a probability of restoration.” As he made the last remark, he rose and went to the door of the adjoining room to conceal the tears that were fast Alling his eyes. The physician had told him, on his last visit, that life would probably last two weeks, and , this coming forcibly to his mind, caus- ed the outflow of feeling he was trying to conceal. Passing across the room to a win- dow that overlooked the garden, he stood, pressing his brow against the pane, and mused upon passing events. The tie that existed between the Ver- non and Lewis families, as friends, was binding. They had long lived there as neighbors, and Mr. Lewis always found a friend in the person of Mr. Vernon. Sallie was the only child, and being quite poor, had to help her father in attending to business. She had been the house-keeper since her mother's death. Henry thought of all the trou- ble that would soon come upon the “Orphan of the Chattahoochee,” as he had romantically called her. Hethought of the loss of those last fond friends, who, in an hour, might be swept off, but whom all eternity could not re- place. “What,” said he, “will be the result 2 Poor, helpless, forsaken, friendless.- friendless / did I say? Never! She shall have a friend as long as the life- blood circulates in the body of Henry Vernon. Yes; she shall be noticed; she shall receive attention from the proud and haughty—she shall shine as brightly as any star that glitters in the firmament above—she shall be rich.” Pulling out his watch, he was sur- prised to see that it was four o'clock. He wheeled suddenly round and step- ped back to the bed-room, but finding Mr. Lewis asleep, he softly walked to the front door, buttoning his coat as he did so, for now, for the first time, he felt chilly. As he opened the door, the bleak blast of the norther that was then pouring in, made him shrink back; , LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 185 so giving a few directions to the ser- vant, and telling her not to leave his bed during the night, and to anticipate even his slightest wants, he passed out at the door, promising to return in the morning. On reaching the river, he was about to step in the ferry-boat, when he heard the halloo of some one on the hill be- hind him. It was from the driver of a close carriage, to which were harness- ed two fine black horses, evidently of the best breed, by the way they stamp- ed the earth in their tread and held such lofty mieh. He stood to one side of the boat and admired their noble ap- pearance as they came proudly up to the water’s edge, and halted till the persons within, a young man about twenty-two, and his sister, perhaps six- teen, could alight preparatory to cross- ing. $ It was while crossing at this time, that the scene opening this story, oc- curred. Mr. Vernon, or Henry, as the reader now knows him best, was stand- ing by the railing, about midway the flat, when Mr. James called for his as- sistance. The river was overflowing in some parts, large rafts of logs were constantly coming down, and it was with great difficulty that they could keep her clear of these dangerous wrecks. We will take occasion to describe Henry, as he pulls away at the cable. His height was five feet eight or ten inches, well developed about the shoul- ders and waist; his chest stood out prominently; his head was quite erect, having dark auburn hair, that, when long, (and he usually wore it so,) was wavy from its root to the end. His eyes were of that mild Italian cast, but \to a close observer, full of fire. His 8 entire appearance was a bland, amiable courtiousness, and affable manners, that were sure to command the respect and win the admiration of all who met him. His voice was really sweet and melo- dious, having been cultivated to both declamation and music. And many a time had he thrilled the negroes of the plantation by day with his pathetic strains, and at night by his eloquent and heart-moving addresses. His delicate bare hands, so soft and effeminate, were greatly contrasted by the hard, brawny hands of Mr. James, who had been his father's ferryman for more than twenty years, but whose strength was now rapidly failing. They had drawn near the shore, where the water did not run so fast, and Mr. James told Henry he could manage by himself. As Henry quitted his hold and turned towards the two travellers, he caught the eye of the lady fastened upon him, who, as soon as she saw his glance, blushed and let her eyes suddenly drop to the water; at the same time the young man asked if there were any accommodations for travelers. Henry told him there was a house where he could find very com- fortable quarters not more than a quar- ter of a mile from the river, and that as he was going to the same place, he would take pleasure in showing him to the house. The gentleman replied, “You will greatly oblige us by taking a seat in the carriage and accompany us to the place, as the road is very muddy, and the wind is blowing so tempestuous and cold.” “I will gladly accompany you, sir,” he replied, “but so far as taking a seats in the carriage, I would as soon walk.” “But, sir,” remarked the lady, who 186 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. had lifted the veil so as to fully display her face, “would you refuse to ride in a comfortable carriage, and prefer in- stead this heavy, clinging mud º I should think you were afraid of stran- gers if you act thus.” “To relieve you from that thought, ma'am,” said he, “I will take a seat with you, but I assure you I am quite accustomed to this mud; and to walk in it all day, in fact, as I have often done, would not affect my constitution in the least.” Having seated themselves again in the carriage, in company with Henry, they were driven to the house, not, however, without finding out each other’s names; and Henry had the pleasure of knowing that he was in the company of Miss Eloise Stickney, the accomplished and beautiful belle of Gracewood. Her accomplishments had long been a subject of conversa- tion by visitors at Vernon place, but now seemed all a dream to Henry, be- cause he was so much engaged in do- ing good and comforting the afflicted. But when they reached the house, which, as the reader knows, was the residence of Mr. Vermon, Susie gave vent to her joy in a sudden exclama- tion, “Oh! I am so glad you are going to spend the night with us, we shall have a splendid time. Some young friends of mine are coming, after tea, to pass the evening, and I think you will be pleased with them.” Susie was a plain, out-spoken little creature ; and as familiar at first sight as she was after six months' acquaint- ance. Though highly educated, and well versed in the etiquette of the age, she acted with so much freedom and gracefulness that you became at once attached to her, yet respected her, and even stood in abeyance. I have called her little because she was below the medium size, quite sprightly, deep, blue eyes, and hair rather dark, and cheeks very flush.-- Her lips inclined to pout, and in her entire appearance you could easily discern the complete personation of loveliness. She was the favorite of all who met her, both male and female.— No one was an enemy, unless it be the common enemy of virtue. It was not strange that, so soon she should have won the entire confidence of Miss Stickney, who, in reply to her remark, that she would be pleased with the expected friends, said, “You have one friend, Miss Vernon, with whom I am better pleased than I could be with any one else.” Susie very readily comprehended her, and changed the subject by asking “how far they had travelled that day?” “Twenty-five miles,” she hesitating- | ly replied. “Had it not been raining so, and the roads in such a condition, we could have gone nearly forty.” “Then, I am glad it rained,” said Susie. “I was in a mad pet this morn- ing, because of the inclemency of the weather, but now I feel that I am in a fair way to be fully repaid for the in- convenience I have suffered; for, if it had not been such a day you would have gone much farther, and I should, perhaps, have never made your ac- quaintance.” “It was my intention to stop here if I had arrived at noon ; for I never could have passed without availing myself of an opportunity of seeing the lady that could captivate, simply by ` glance, the heart of George Askew.’ At the mention of this name Susie's LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 187 eyes flashed, and her cheek became perfectly suffused with blushes. For some time she sat gazing in the fire, when turning to Eloise she asked, how she knew anything about George Askew and his captivated heart 2 “Have you forgotten the last Com- mencement at Oxford, when you were so carried away by the eloquence of a young man that displayed such powers of oratory, and spoke so well upon the political condition of the country which you pronounced ‘good P’ Have you entirely lost sight of the handsome young man, whom, by your opposition to balls, you kept by your side the whole evening, when so many fond mothers made their daughters disre- gard the attention of every young man at the ball, hoping to make conquest of George's heart 2" “I remember the occasion referred to, except keeping him at my side.— He told me he was compelled to go, to tho party, but did not seem to be in a hurry. And when he finally rose to leave, his hat was missing, which I confess I had hidden for the purpose of teazing him, though he did, not ap- pear in the least teazed, and sat down perfectly contented to stay till I was ready for him to go. But that does not explain why you know anything about the affair.” The reader will remember that the young man who was with Miss Eloise, was, during this conversation, in the sitting room with Mr. Vernon, while Susie, who had not seen him, had con- ducted Eloise to her own room, to change dress and prepare for tea. They remained in the room till they were summoned to the table. Wheth- er they did not wish to return to the sitting-room, or whether they were too busily engaged arranging their toilet, or still, whether they were rehearsing the past, remains to be seen. Suffice it here for our gentlemen readers, that ladies can always find enough to em- ploy themselves for an half or three- fourths of an hour, and yet not appear any better on their return from the boudoir than before going to it. They descended to supper laughing and passing jokes at each other, as though they had been long familiar friends. When they reached the di- ning-room they found Henry and the young gentleman standing at the backs of their chairs waiting for the ladies to pass to their respective seats. “Miss Vernon, permit me to present to your acquaintance Mr. Stickney,” said Henry. Miss Susie made a quick motion of the head, and immediately took her seat, signifying to Eloise to do the same. In a moment her handkerchief was in requisition, and she feigned a sneeze; but the quick eye of Eloise detected the crimson blush, and the slight agitation of form that passed en- tirely unnoticed by the others. After leaving the table they repaired to the parlor, where the evening was spent in singing and playing on the piano, but before the hour for retiring arrived, Susie and Mr. Richard Stick- ney, alias Mr. George Askew, were plighted, and, one short month saw them happily married. We have now no more to do with two of our characters, and shall briefly dispose of the others. The next morning opened a bright sunny day. As the rain had fallen heavily, it packed the earth, instead of softening it, and as the wind had blown nearly all night the ground was toler- 188 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. ably solid by morning. Hence, it was no difficult matter for Mr. and Miss Stickney, for those were their real names, to pursue their journey. At a later hour in the day, Henry went to see Mr. Lewis, and moved him to his own house, where, as before re- marked, he could have more attention. Sallie had become something better during the night, but was not yet out of danger. Susie had now something else to occupy her time, but she did not fail to bestow the usual attention and kindness to Sallie. The days passed without much of in- terest occurring until the second week after the engagement, when one morn- ing the family were aroused by the ser- vants, who said Mr. Lewis was dying. In a few moments all were at his bed- side doing everything in man's power to stay the fleeting breath. Henry sent post-haste for the physician, who came immediately, but said it was im- possible to do anything more than give him some opiates that he might rest. Henry attended very closely all day, while Susie was engaged soothing Sallie, who, after visiting her father that morning, and seeing him sinking so fast, fainted and had to be carried back to her bed. The physician and Henry exchanged ideas several times during the day, which made them both weep freely. “He may live till morning,” said the Doctor, “but I think it very probable that he will go about the close of the day.” The day was unusually calm, bright and pleasant. The sun seemed to shed a more genial ray, and the atmosphere seemed more balmy than it had been during that winter. As the sun drew near the western horizon, Mr. Lewis asked to be propped up on his pillows, that he might look for the last time upon that scene that reminded him so much of his present condition—life's close. After gazing at the scene till the sun's western limb had quite dis- appeared, he told them to lay him down, then turning to Henry, said— “My son, I leave my Sallie in your care; take her to your bosom. I have been a kind father to her, you have the capacity of being the same.” Raising his hands towards Heaven, he exclaim- ed, “Into thy hands I commend my spirit, thou Holy One of Israel,” and expired just as the last red ray was withdrawing its light from the scene. Henry, who had caught the falling hands and pressed them to his bosom, while the tears fell from his cheeks, lit. erally bathing the pallid hands, was just uttering a farewell sentence, when a shrick, so wailful, so shrill, that it thrilled his whole frame, went up at his side, and a gentle but quick touch brushed his form, at the same time a dull heavy sound shook the apartment they were in. He wheeled quickly round, and saw Sallie laying prostrate at his feet; she had stolen in unobserved, and stood looking on until the last breath, when her spirits gave way, and she sank to the floor. As quick as thought he raised her lifeless corpse and carried it to her bed, and began the necessary process for restoration. When she was fully restored, it seemed that a strange dream had possessed her mind, but the truth soon forced itself upon her. Henry had every convenience pro- vided for the burial, and the old man interred with great order and solemni- ty. Sallie left her bed entirely in a few days, and was as joyous as circumstan- LITERARY DEPARTMENT. 189 ces would permit, at Susie's wedding, where she was surrounded by the most flashing array of beauty and ornament. Just here changes the thread of our sketch. The next day after the wed- ding, the party took a kind of tour over the hills, on horse-back. Henry and Miss Eloise took places next in or- der to the happy pair, and Sallie and a Dr. Brown following, while several other couples brought up the rear. The Dr. paid marked attention to Sallie, she having been represented to him as a cousin of Henry’s, which he knew if true, would be quite a profita- ble hit for him. But her heart was not easily affected, and when he proposed to her, she frankly acknowledged its pre-engagement. Dr. Brown enjoyed no more of the trip ; his brow became dark and sul- len; his fiendish eye glared from be- neath a black, hairy brow, and his fierce looks indicated that some dreadful plot was being formed in his mind. So feigning sickness, he excused himself to the party, and turned his horse homeward, much to the relief of Sallie, and Henry, too, for he had seen some uneasiness manifested by her. “Cousins marry !” muttered the Dr. through his clenched teeth, when fully out of hearing; “I’ll blow the whole crowd to , first.” When he reached the bridge across a deep ravine over which he had passed that morning, he dismounted, saying, “Here I’ll wash my hands in their heart’s blood.” He rolled a large rock about midway the bridge, and placed it in the middle of the road. He found much to his gratification, a small cavity two or three inches deep, and about an inch in diameter. This he filled with pow- der, and, fitting a peg in it, prepared a match, then sat down to await their return. He had not long to wait, for he soon saw them turning a bend in the road, two or three hundred yards distant. Henry and Sallie were the last, while Eloise, was in company with some others. As soon as he saw them he applied the match, and sneaked off the bridge into the woods where his horse was tied, and mounted him, ready to leave at full speed. The last couple had passed, except IIenry and Sallie, and he began to think they would get by before the explosion. But just as the horses heads were immediately over the stone, a faint flash made them stop suddenly, almost throwing the riders from their saddles. The explosion followed so soon afterwards that the horses, without having time to make another step, shrank back upon their haunches, then springing forward and sideways, clear- ed the railing of the bridge, and horses and riders fell a mangled mass upon the crags below. * Three minutes later the sharp report of a rifle was heard, and Dr. Brown fell dead from his horse, a ball having penetrated his heart. Mr. James, the ferryman, had been hunting, and just as he was emerging from the woods, he saw the explosion which caused. such fearful results, and started to run to the scene, but hear- ing the sound of a horse in a gallop, he turned and saw the Dr. riding away. Concluding at once that he had done the mischief, as quick as powder could flash, he sped the ball on its errand of death. 190 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Q: ) it or 'g —sº- To Our Subscribers. * We give our readers a double num- ber in this issue, under the following Circumstances: The No. will contain the date of March and April, but will have only eight pages more than the usual amount. Our object for pursu- ng this course is to catch up with the late, as it will be almost impossible to get out the numbers in their respec- tive times otherwise. The readers will have the same amount of matter in the volume as if there were twelve Nos. issued, though it will contain only 2leven. This issue contains 72 pages, instead of 64, as will also the next seven Nos., as we will have to supply 64 extra pages, to replace the absence of one entire issue. By this arrangement the Magazine will hereafter be issued by the first of each month, which will en- able the subscribers to receive their numbers in due time. Will not our friends who are sub- scribers interest themselves in our be- half, and present the claims of the Ma- gazine to their neighbors? Let young men show it to their lady acquaintances and insist upon their taking it; and should they have a hesitancy in subscri- bing, pull out your two dollar bill and subscribe for them. We would also suggest, as this is leap year, that the young ladies teach their beaux an im- portant lesson in generosity and liber- ality by having it sent to their address. It is also worthy of thought that it will be quite an accession for the son Q: a ble. or daughter to make to the centre table of his or her parents. Parents, too, should not forget that the amount and variety of good reading matter it con- tains renders it a superior Magazine, suitable for the parlor, fire-side, and office, or studio. Its Hygienic depart- ment recommends it to the parents and physicians; its Literary Department recommends it to the general reader; while its Educational Department should be read by the teacher and the scholar. There is no class of readers that it does not suit. Now we make a call to all to give us their aid. There are not many places where this Magazine is taken but what a few more could be induced to take it, and we suggest to each and every subscriber to go in person and speak of its merits, presenting the ben- efits that will likely accrue from a pe. rusal of its pages, and the necessity of patronizing home institutions. The great cause of so many enter- prises going down is simply for the want of support. Resolution after re- solution is passed by enthusiastic com- munities, advocating home enterprises, independent trade, Southern institu- tions, and making a great harangue about building up facilities in our midst, but when the Agent or Editor of a Southern enterprise presents his claims to their patronage and asks sup- port their enthusiasm becomes mild, their zeal is very prudent, their boister- ousness, like the calming eruptions of Vesuvius, subsides to the gentle mur- EDITOR's TABLE. 191 murs, somewhat resembling a language of this kind : “I love to see such things going on ; I hope you will suc- ceed; we have been dependent long enough ; the South ought to come to your help-but I don’t feel inclined to take the work just now ; my expenses are rather heavy this year; perhaps I may remember your Journal the next year.” And the individual walks away to curse and abuse Northern institu- tion, Abolitionists, and everything North of Mason & Dixon's line, but sits for hours reading, pouring over the pages of some New York, Boston, Philadelphia, or London papers or magazines, while you and your enter- prize may go to the – Tom Walker, or some where else. We have no com- ment to make upon such persons or their patriotism. We have not the least objection to any one in the South and West taking any Northorn publication they please; for we concede to every one the right to patronize any institution he wishes. Nay, more | The whole South and North ought to regard each other as brothers, and interchange, as they have always done, their literature; but when men rant so much about oppression and abolitionism, we would like to see them put more bone and sinew to the wheel, and aid it in its revolution. There is entirely too much wind- work, and too little pocket-work, going on among our Southern patriots, for any enterprise to succeed well. Now, we ask, what shall be done 2 You have long enough listened to the sor- rowing and humiliating complaint that the South has no literature, and that we are too entirely dependent upon other parts of the Union for a substan- tial literature, or that Southern writers and authors have to apply to Northern facilities to place their brain-labor be- fore their own families and friends.- But this need exist no longer. I.et the people come forward and lay their pat- ronage at our disposal, that we may be enabled to pay for superior contribu- tions, and we assure our public that they shall find as pure, as good, as re- fined a literature in the South, as ever came from any other section, though it may not be as plentiful, and yet it will not be scarce. —sº- The Bible as a Text-Book, There can be no reasonable objection offered by any one (except an Infidel,) to the Bible being used as a Text- book in schools or colleges, whether they are sectarian or not. If a school is under the immediate supervision of a denomination, that denomination should, by all means, adopt the Bible as a Text-book, because it would show that they held it as an exponent of their faith. If a school is not under the supervision of any denomination, but patronized by the community at large, the Board of Trustees, or Com- missioners, should place the Bible upon the desk of all the pupils, and demand of the teacher as rigid exercises in it from all, as if it were any other book. A community could offer no higher ap- preciation of their liberty to serve the God of heaven than adopting His Book as the standard of their mental exercises. There is not a community in Chris- tendom but has its church edifices, its pastors, or preachers, and congrega- tion of church-going people. These communities are very pious in the dis- charge of religious duty, if that duty consists in attending Sabbath service, 192 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. (and sometimes week-days, too,) com- forting the sick and afflicted, abstaining from real sinful recreations, observing the Sabbath as a day of rest, and abu- sing infidelity and all sects that do not strictly agree with them upon minor points of their doctrine. Yet these very communities, however pious they may be, are guilty of one of the most alarm- ing sins that can be committed by a nation, a community, or an individual —and that is, refusing to have their children taught those all important subjects so necessary for time and eter- nity. If there could be found one fam- ily whose head would not let the Bible be read in his house, all the neighbors would raise a tremendous uproar about it, and trample, if possible, his charac- ter in the dust. Now let us compare these righteous brethren of such strict morality to this unfortunate, unsanctified neighbor.— The school (or college either,) is noth- ing more nor less than a family of chil- dren congregated together for the pur- pose of pursuing their daily duties, with the teacher, or teachers, as its pa- rental head, who, in a very great de- gree, must be responsible for the reli- gious as well as mental training of each. For all hold that the position the teach- er occupies as manager of the children, renders obedience on their part impli- cit and immediate. But the teacher is mot, as some regard him, entirely re- sponsible for the character formed by children while nnder his jurisdiction, from the very fact, that the parents can, at night, if they wished, counter- act all the influence exerted upon the child during the day; and, thereby, become more responsible than the teacher. The parent being partially responsi- ble for the religious training of children at School, and being as much of a pa- rental head as the teacher, and having a perfect right to say what shall or shall not be taught his child—can there be any other view taken than that he is as guilty of refusing the knowledge of the Bible to his child, as his misgui- ded neighbor, who says it shall not be read in his family P “But my child is a Baptist,” say the parents; “I can’t think of having a Methodist or Presbyterian teach my child the doctrine of his church.” A Methodist says: “No, sir! you can’t play that game on me; I would as soon my child would never look into a Bi- ble, as have it taught by the doctrines of such sects as your teacher profes- ses.” Thus we hear ultra sectarians (and they are not few) all over the land, go on about introducing the Bi- ble as a Text-book in schools and collo- ges. Pshaw It’s all fudge—fal-de-roll The idea is simply ridiculous—perfect- ly nonsensical. A fancy pretence to keep their children from learning some- thing about the Bible. I have said above that parents, if they were dis- posed, could counteract at night what- ever influcmce was exerted through the day. I go farther: I say that any pa- rent can remove in one hour the im- pressions of a week, if the child is an obedient, dutiful one, and the parent such as he ought to be ; but if this is not the case, he ought to place the government of the child in other hands, seeing that he himself is bringing it to damnation. It is about as sensible in a farmer to say that he will not entrust his slaves upon the farm to the gov- ernment of his overseer, for fear he will incite insurrectionary feelings in EDITOR’s TABLE. 193 them, as it is for a parent to say he will not entrust his children to a teach- er of different opinions, for fear of hav- ing them proselyted. So far as infidels having objections to the Bible, as a text-book, is worse than foolishness. There is scarcely a man or woman that ever thought of raising an objection to any one of the mass of Readers that throng our school rooms and Colleges. They are full of rules which have to be committed; they are full of exercises for the benefit of pupils. Many teachers are very rigid in exacting correct and complete exercises from the scholars, and yet these very books, Readers, that are lauded so much for beauty of style, ex- cellency of composition, and chastity of language, are thronged from lid to lid with fancied sketches, imaginary nar- ratives, and fictitious histories—the very ground upon which infidels and stoics base their strongest objections to the Bible. Now, if they admit, (and many of them do,) that the Bible is a book cal- culated to teach high-toned morality, they admit more in its favor, to say nothing of its divine origin, than they can prove of these others. And yet they would throw the Bible upon the wave of destruction, and clasp to their bosoms these fancy-sketched works, that scarcely ever aim at morality, un- less it is in quotations from the Bible, or from some one who has elaborated upon some Scriptural thought or ex- pression. I do not wish to be understood as objecting to many of the Readers that are used at the present day, but that it would be better to use the fount of morality than one small stream of the thousand that issue from it. A few thoughts upon the compo- ments of the Bible, and dismiss the subject. I offer no argument whatever in favor of its Divine origin, because I wish to grant to those objecting to that feature of it all they ask, and then find sufficient support of my position. There is no sense in meeting an infidel upon the authenticity of the Bible as a position in favor of its introduction in places of learning; for, when you say anything about a Holy Spirit's having an influence over the reader, he laughs at you, and scorns the idea of anything like holiness being connected with such a combination of “foolishness and cun- ningly devised fables.” If the Bible be true, it will have its effect upon the mind of its reader; but, if not true, there never can arise any more harm from its perusal than from the perusal of any other ordinary Reader written by eactraordinary men. What are the excellencies of the Bible that would recommend them- selves to us, if in any other book, is a question that presents itself for con- sideration, which, if we answer, will be sufficient argument to refute the objections so often urged. As the points of which I shall here treat are of equal importance, I do not give supremacy to either by speaking of it first, but simply because it rises first in my mind. If we seek for a concise and authen- tic history, fraught with the interest of past, passing and future events, fill- ed with the accounts of circumstances that occupied a space of four thousand years, and yet so graphically delineated that the African slave, the natural, as well as the sage, the patriot, the philo- sopher, have found interest, pleasure, information, we could find it no where 9 194 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. sooner than in the book called the Bible. It narrates with thrilling in- tensity the rise, progress and fall of nations, empires, kingdoms, provinces. It marks with a most terrific accuracy the destiny of individuals, communi- ties, provinces, tribes, nations. It pro- phetically declares the existence of cities, towns, countries. It has record- ed on its pages what never has been successfully refuted, and what we must admit as true, since it still exists and performs, with surprising accuracy, what it was represented to have per- formed in the beginning, viz: the crea- tion of the world. What better his- tory do we want? To what author, ancient or modern, could we apply for a fuller and more complete analysis in so short a space 2 For descriptions of character, both good and bad, no penman, other than the sacred bards of Israel, ever present- ed to the eye in such lovely or hideous forms; no novelist ever introduced his scenes in a more enchanting or repul- sive manner; none ever followed his hero or heroine through more vicissi- tudes; none ever marked the depth of human depravity, or the heighth of moral felicity, with more vividity than these, whether they be true or false. What shall we say of its language 2 All the volumes of history and of ro- mance, and of essays, and of dydactic and descriptive poetry, and of sublime effusions of the greatest men of every age, piled up together, cannot equal it. It is short, interesting, instructive, comprehensive, sublime, beautiful, chaste, deep, lucid and perspicuous.- For variety of thought and expression, there is no book under the sun that can begin to compare with it. The Bible student can hold communion with pro- phets, kings, poets, novelists, histori- ans, chronologists, servants, masters, lords, men in the highest and lowest conditions, women of every capacity of mind, saints, psalmists, angels, the Savior of mankind and the Creator of all things visible and invisible. He can be entertained in the portraiture of hu- man misery or happiness; he can turn from the deep investigations of man's hidden arts, to the beautiful display of Nature's loveliness. He has laid open to his view the roads to infamy and crime, with all the sign-posts and fin- ger-boards along the way; at the same time he sees, welling up before him, the smooth, gentle retreats of piety, that give rest to the wearied feet, and peace to the aching heart. Now, I ask, is there a man of sense, whether infidel or christian, who can offer the slightest objections to a book possessing so many advantages, and prefer, instead, those of less import both in composition and variety. I know that Histories, Geographies, Arithmetics, Grammar, and all these studies, are necessary for daily infor- mation, and, therefore, make no objec- tion to them, but can there be any rea- son given why the Bible should not be used. Christians can certainly give none if they believe it to be their duty to impart all the light they can to their children. Those who do not believe the Bible to be the word of God, can- not offer, in our estimation, any rea- sonable objection, because, if it be tru- ly His word, they are responsible for their children’s salvation; but if it be not his word, then it is, under the cir- cumstances, the best book that can be had, and ought to be studied as a text- book. EDITORs’ TABLE. 195 Learning to Talk. NUMBER. II. -*s In a former article, we pointed out some of the errors connected with the raising of children, and endeavored to present a remedy, but omitted, as we consider, the most important feature, viz: the cause. Mothers and fathers, too, will give a broad smile, and, per- haps, a curl of the lip, in utter con- tempt at so futile an effort as this may be considered. But we ask an impar- tial and attentive hearing, and, when we have finished, if we have not made some good suggestions, we will submit the field. It requires no effort to find such a family as we are now going to de- scribe. The fond and loving mother takes up the child, and with almost smothering kisses, says—“Blesh your little soul, I tould eat up dis leetle moub and dees eyes, and dib you away to de ole bad man, and den you’d neb- ber see mudder 'din ; no you would’nt da .” Then tossing it in the air as high as the arms can reach, and sometimes higher, (which my Co- says is not healthy,) they press it to their bosoms with fervor enough to almost force the life out of it, exclaiming, as they do so, “Oney, mudder lub you to def.” But this kind of conversation at an early age does not do much damage, and if the nonsense were confined to a period of the child’s age reaching from one to two years old, there would nev- er be any. But when they reach three and four, and some as high as six, who are backward in talking, we find the parents—both mothers andfathers, and not unfrequently, brothers and sisters —engaged in making, yes, really ma- king them learn to talk a gibberish, broken language. They will work for hours to learn the child to say, “tat,” “titten,” &c., for cat, kitten. The words “shumt’n nishe,” for something nice; “lish'en de mushic,” for listen to the music; and thousands of other words and phrases, are uttered by those having charge of children, until the children use them with the same accuracy that the teacher does. “As the twig is bent so is the tree inclined,” is an expression used by guardians to their wards, in endeavor- ing to counteract their evil practices, and yet they are, at the same time, in- stilling habits, in one or another way, directly opposite to what they wish. The utter folly of this plan will be seen very readily by comparing these mothers to the French mother, who intended to give her daughter a supe- rior English education, but would not permit her to speak a word of English till she should become fourteen or fif- teen years old, for fear she would get the words fixed in the mind; thinking that when she was that old she could learn everything so much easier when she began. The result was, when she began to pronounce, she made such sad havoc that she became disgusted, her teacher became discouraged, and the whole scheme proved abortive. What in the name of common sense can be the object of parents when they use so much care and time to learn their children just what teachers and instructresses will have to beg out, work out, or thrash out, before they can get any sensible ideas or words in them? The idea of talking to a child in such a manner as that, and expect ing it to be counteracted by its teach 196 HYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. ers when it has grown old enough, is simply absurd. It is like sowing seeds in a garden, and letting them grow un- til they are nearly matured before the grass and weeds are hoed out, and then expecting them to yield as much and as sweet fruit as that which was culti- vated well from the time it was plant- ed. Every mother and father knows that children who have been taught to speak distinctly and properly, succeed better in all the exercises at school; every teacher will testify to the truth of the assertion, that children who have been properly taught at home are of less trouble than those who have had so much time bestowed in making them dolts, thick-tongues, blubberers and fools. If any man wanted to employ a boy for any purpose whatever, he would never think of taking one that could not talk plainly. It would as soon be expected of him to take a parrot in his employ, for the benefit he would de- rive from his conversational powers, as to take one of these parrot-tongued hoosiers. And yet we see every day demonstrations that parents are deter- mined to bring up their children in op- position to common sense; in injury to their children, and in disgrace to them- selves. What can we say that will effectual- ly remove this evil? What can we do to convince persons that it is an evil? If we abuse them, they will become of: fended and refuse to follow our advice; if we use all the argument that can be paraded, they will say, “that all sounds very well, and they would like to see us practice what we preach”; if we raise an eloquent appeal, if we bring to bear all the persuasive powers that one mind has over another, if we paint the scenes of difficulty that impede their progress, they will say that our figures are highly wrought, our repre- sentations are very good, but we are only writing for the sake of language —only trying “to show off”—and there- fore take no notice of what we say. If we enter into stern realities and prove to them all we propose; if we bring up other children, who, at an early age, have made surprising advancement in knowledge and good sense, (having been directed with great care by the parents,) they say, such children are prodigies, are more highly favored by Nature than others; and when we show them that it is the pains that have been taken with the “favored” ones and the neglect of the “unfavor- ed” that makes the difference, then we hear the angry words, “Its none of your business; you need not be inter- ested in the training of our children; sweep your own door.” Just here we offer a few thoughts, proving our right to be interested in the training of all children. We have been placed here by Divine Providence for some purpose unknown directly to ourselves. Here we have to live, and that among mankind, too, until He sees proper to remove us; and if we are to stay here, we are in duty bound to do all we can to alleviate the suffer- ings of mankind; and, in doing this, we render ourselves happier, besides doing for others what, in all probabili- ty, they never could do for themselves. If this be true, (and who can doubt it 7) have we not a right, a legal right, a Heaven-granted right, to interfere in the raising of such children, and point out such errors as we know are delete- rious to them, injurious to their asso- ciates, and reproachful to their parents? EDITOR's TABLE. 197 Thanks! Thanks! ! Thanks!!! We extend our heart felt thanks and sincere gratitude, with all the unboun- ded good wishes of our heart, to those ladies who have exerted themselves in our behalf, and handed in such splendid lists of subscribers. We are sure of success when the ladies become inter- ested in our enterprise. Can a few more go and do likewise? We shall not forget you when it goes well with U1S. —sº--— To Subscribers Medical and Literary Weekly, Those of our subscribers who have not paid their subscription to the Medi- cal dº Literary Weekly will confer quite a favor on us by sending in as early as possible. We say, once for all, that we need every dollar due us to enable us to publish the Magazine. We shall furnish all subscribers with this Journal until their time of sub- scription expires, and if not renewed, we shall have to erase their names, as we intend doing a strictly cash busi- 7.62&S. It will be remembered that the for- mer paper closed its issue on the first of October, intending to re-appear in December, but as it was dated Janu- ary, we are indebted two extra num- bers to the former patrons—i.e., those whose subscriptions expire on the first of May will receive the May and June Nos., and so on, &c. —sº----— Book Notices, Messrs. J. J. RICHARDS & Co., of this city, have kindly laid upon our table copies of the following works, and which they now have for sale at their Book Storo : Edith’s Ministry.—By HARRIET B. McKEEVER. Matrimonial Brokerage. Henry St. John, Gentleman.-By John EstEN Cook. None of these we have as yet found time to read, and may refer to at an other day. The Memoirs of Robert Houdin, the well known magician and conquer- or, who astonished the Courts of Eu- rope, at one time, with his singular feats, is an interesting account of his life and adventures. The Pic-Nic Papers purports to be a volume of new stories, by CHARLEs DICKENs, but which, on a careful ex- amination, contains but little that re- minds one of Boz. We doubt if there is one, or more than one paper in it, by that author. The title page is evident- ly a publication dodge, designed to de- ceive careless readers, who confound Pic-Nic with Pickwick. The book contains, nevertheless, many cleverly- written stories. The Habits of Good Society is a carefully prepared manual of the laws which should govern our social inter- course. The book will be found useful by many who have already learned to wash their face and brush their hair. The book which has interested' us the most of any that has appeared be- fore us during the month, is the Life and Times of Gen. Sam. Dale, who might be called the DANIEI, Boox.E, of the South-west, and who indeed, lived at one time within the limits of Geor- gia. The book conveys a vivid idea of the manners and lives of the early set- tlers of this country, and, as a speci- men, we extract the following: “We had all of us set out for Clinch | Mountain, to the wedding of IIoppy 198 IIYGIENIC AND LITERARY MAGAZINE. Kincaid, a clever young fellow from Holston, and Sallie M’Clure, a fine bouncing girl of seventeen, modest and pretty, yet fearless and free. We knew that the Shawnees were about ; that we incurred the risk of a fight, an ambuscade or capture, or even death on the route; but in those days, and in that wild country, folks did not cal- culate consequences closely, and the temptation to a frolic, a wedding, or a feast, and a dance till day-light, and of. ten, for several days together, was not to be resisted, and off we went. “In half an hour, we fell in with Captain Barnett, who warned us that Indians were about, and that he was scouting for them. Ever cager for a fight, we joined this company, and trudged on to Clinch Mountain. In- stead of the bridal party, the well- spread table, the ringing laughter, and the sounding feet of buxom dancers, we found a pile of ashes and six or seven corpses, tomahawked and scalp- ed. The rest of the party had been captured by the Indians, including the Miss Sallie, the bride elect. At night, she was tied and forced to lie down between two Indian warriors, but contrived to loosen her thongs and make her escape. She struck for the carie-brake, then for the river, and to conceal her trail, resolved to descend it. It was deep wading, and the cur- rent so rapid that she had to fill her petticoat with gravel to steady herself. She soon recovered confidence, and reached the still smoking homestead next evening, just as a few neighbors had finished burying the dead. Kin- caid, her lover, was among them, and, resolved to leave no more to chance, at his entreaty, and by the advice of all, the weeping girl gave her consent, and by the grave of the household, and near the ruined dwelling, they were immediately married.” The following is the author's descrip- tion of Tecumseh : “At length Tecumseh spoke, at first slowly and in Sonorous tones; but soon he grew impassioned, and the words fell in avalanches from his lips. His eyes burned with supernatural lus- tre and his whole frame trembled with emotion, his voice resounded over the multitude—now sinking in low and musical whispers, now rising to its highest key, hurling out his words like a succession of thunder-bolts. His countenance varied with his speech; its prevalent expression was a sneer of hatred and defiance; sometimes a mur- derous smile ; for a brief interval a sentiment of profound sorrow pervaded it ; and, at the close, a look of concen- trated vengeance, such, I suppose, as iºguishes the arch-enemy of man- $11] Cl. I have heard many great warriors, but I never saw one with the vocal powers of Tecumseh, or the same com- mand of the muscles of his face. Had I been deaf, the play of his counten- ance would have told me what he said. Its effect on the wild, superstitious, untutored, and warlike assemblages may be conceived; not a word was said, but stern warriors, the “stoics of the woods,” shook with emotion, and a thousand tomahawks were bran- dished in the air. Even the big war- rior, who had been true to the whites, and remained faithful during the war, was, for the moment, visibly affected, and more than once I saw his huge hand clutch, spasmodically, the handle of his knife. All this was the effect of his delivery; for, though the mother of Tecumseh was a Creek, and he was familiar with the language, he spoke in the northern dialect, and it was af. terwards interpreted by the Indian lin- guist to the assembly. His speech has been reported, but no one has done or can do it justice.” AT) VERTISTEMENTS. : ...).9 COX, HILL & CO., Wholesale Grocers and Commission Merchants, And dealers in Wines, Liquors, Cigars, To- bacco, &c., Peachtree Street,...(Jan. 1960).. Atlanta, Ga. CLOCKS, WATCHES, JEWELRY, SILVER AND PLATED WARE. Watch Materials, Tools, &c. Watches care- fully repaired by ER LAWSHE, Atlanta, Ga. [º Sign Golden Eagle. (Jan. 1860) J. B. ARTOPE & SON'S MARBLE WORKS, Corner Third and Plumb Sts., MACON,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . GEORGIA. ſº Slabs, Monuments, Obelisks, Plain and Fancy Carving done at short notice. Jan. 1860. TO THE PUBLIC. The undersigned being well known as a writer, would offer his services to all requi- ring Literary aid. He will furnish Address- es, Orations, Essays, Presentation Speeches and Replies, Lines for Albums, Acrostics, prepare matter for the press, Obituaries, and write Poetry upon any subject. Address FINLEY JOHNSON, Jan. 1860. New York. DRY GOODS 'GOODMAN, SHIELD & Co., ſº New Dry Goods Store, have just open- ed with a large assortment of Dry Goods of all déscriptions. They invite the people of Atlanta and the public at large to give them a call and examine their stock, in Johnson's new Building, on Whitehallst., near Hunter, Atlana, Ga. Their motto is: “Quick sales ind small profits.” J. Y. WELLS & Co., Wholesale and Retail Dealers in *RD CERIES AND PROVIs 10 Ns, * (In Daniel's New Building.) Peachtree Street,.............. Atlanta, Ga., Keep constantly on hand a supply of the following articles, of superior quality: Sugar, Coffee. Salt, Bacon, Lard, Flour, Tobacco, Candles, Soap, Starch, Rice, Pepper, Spice, Ginger, Raisins, Cigars. W. IIERRING & SON, Manufacturers and Dealers in Men's and Boy's Clothing, Gent's Furnishing Goods, Cloths, Cassimeres, Westings, Tailors' Trim- mings, &c., wholesale and retail; Iron Front Store, Whitehall Street, Atlanta, Ga. MASSEY & LANSDELL, Druggists and Apothecaries, Whitehall St., Atlanta, Ga., are prepared to duplicate all Charleston, Augusta and Savannah bills. Stock unsurpassed in any Southern market. T. R. RIPLEy, Dealer in China, Glass, Earthern and Queens Ware, Silver, Plated and Brittania Ware, fine Cutlery, Lamps of all descrip- tions, suitable for railroads and steamboats. Also, Oils, Burning Fluid, Camphene, Look- ing Glasses, Paints, &c., Whitehall Street, near Railroad, Atlanta, Ga. BOOK AND MUSIC store, J. J. RICHARDS & CO., keep a wholesale and retail, cheap cash, Book, Music and Fan- cy Store, on Decatur Street, Atlanta, Ga. Orders per mail promptly attended to.— Established Nov. 1, 1855. DR. H. W. BROWN, Offers his professional services to the citi- Zems of Atlanta and vicinity. Office in Col- lier's new Building, over EIunnicutt & Tay- lor's Drug Store. Residence on Calhoun St., recently occupied by Mr. Lovejoy. DR. W. H. TALIAFERRO. Office over the Drug Store of Hunnicutt & Taylor. Calls will be received at the Office at all hours during the day and night. ATTENTION LADIES I MISS JANE BERRY respectfully calls the attention of her numerous friends, and the public geuerally, to the fact that she is still on Whitehall street, over Rawson, Gilbert & Co.'s Store, where she is prepared to accom- modate them in any style or price / Persons Wishing to buy Fancy Millinery and Dress Goods, should certainly give her a call before going clsewhere. For taste, style, complete- neSS and variety, her assortment cannot be excelled. 200 ADVERTISEMENTS. TH"||||||||ſt |||||" A large Octavo Monthly Magazine, Devoted to the Philosophy, Jurisprudence and Symbolism of Ancient craft Masonry, and general Masonic intelligence, established in 1839. SAMUEL LAWRENCE, D. G. M., JOHN W. LEONARD, P. M., Editors, Is published in Atlanta, Ga., on the first of every month, and mailed to subscribers any- where in the United States or Canada, at the following rates of subscription: e e s e e º e º e º º One copy, for one year,.........# 2 00 Five “ “ “ . . . . . . . . . . 8 00 Ten “ “ {{ 15 00 It is expressly understood that these rates imply advance payments only. Where sub- scriptions are not paid till the end of the year, $2 50 will be charged in all cases. To Advertisers.-We believe there is no ad- vertising medium in the South which pos- sesses greater facilities for bringing the busi- mess of Merchants and other advertisers be. fore the best class of customers in the Sou- thern States, than the Signet and Journal. We will be glad to receive and give promin- ence to advertisements of any respectable business on the following terms: Ten lines (double column) one year, . . $10 1 page, per annum, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 1 “ six months,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 1 “ three months, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 1 “ one insertion,. . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . 15 3-All accounts for standing advertisements will be collected every six months. For those of three months or less, we will send the accounts immediately after the first ap- pearance of the advertisement. Address all advertisements, remittances, subscription lists, and all matter pertaining to the business of the Signet & Journal, to LAWRENCE, MCPHERSON & CO., Signet & Journal Office, Atlanta, Ga. [3° Communications relating to the Edi- torial Department, Questions of Masonic Law and Usage, Exchanges, Books for Re- view, &c., should be addressed to EDITORS SIGNET & JOURNAL, Marietta, Ga. N. B.-The names of subscribers should be plainly written; and the name of the County and State, as well as the Post Office, in all cases should be given. Strict atten: tion to this rule will save subscribers disap- pointment, and ourselves loss and annoy- an Cé. January, 1860, Plants, Asparagus Roots, Everbloo.ii [š I have just returned from the North with a large stock of HATS, CAPS AND STRAW Goods, to which finvite the at tention of wholesale and retail buyers. I will sell goods in my line Twenty-Five per cent. Cheaper than any other house in the South / Give me a trial; I have on hand all the latest styles. - - I also call your particular attention to my THREE DOLLAR SILK HAT, which eannot be equalled in the South. One and all call and see me, and see for your- selves. - JAS. S. MARTIN, Jr., Marietta St., Atlanta, Ga. P. S.—A large assortment of Umbrellas, Canes and Parasols. FLEMING & NELSON, NURSERYMEN,....... AUGUSTA, GA., Offer for sale - Southern Grown. Fruit Threes—the collection comprises Apples, Peaches, Pears, Plums, Apricots, Nectarines, &c. Apple Trees are all of the most approved Southern varieties. Red Astrachan, Red June Taunton, Nick- ajack and Shockley, we propagate by the thousands. Peach Trees are of the best varieties known, which will ripen in an uninterrupted succession from early June to §. Early Tillotson, Early York, Early Crºw- ford, Van Zandts, Superb and Nix's. Öct. Cling, we propagate by the thousands. All our trees are grafted, and are of thrif. ty growth. We do not import trees to sell. Ours are all home-grown. | We also offer Grape-Cuttings, Strawberry O' roses and ornamental shrubbery. Tº Col. Buckner's Apple Orchard, in Middle Georgia, has yielded $1,400 per acre per 8:Ill llllll. * * [3° We pack trees so that they may ºely go to any part of the South. . l Descriptive and priced tºloguese, gratis to all applicants. Address 1 * : : FLEMING & NELSGN iſ Feb. 1860. Augusºn." THE ATLANTA INTELLIGENCER, PUBLISHED DAILY AND wºrkiy. Daily, (per annum,). . . ... . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . $6 Weekly “ . . . . . . . . • . . . . . . . . . . . 2 BOOK AND JOB printinc Promptly and Cheaply Executed. [3” Orders from the country respectfully solicited, and will receive the personal at- tention of the proprietors. - IIIT & Boutub - - - ? H. UNIV. OF MIC UN LIBRARY ----|-· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·:* … * …« . . » ;）،º ： · · · · · · · · ·：§…）））….……… ， ， ， ，--->|-·-· · · · · · · ·，≤ . .~--~ „…………：-）））））））））） ---，ſaesaeaeaeaeae …………！！！！！!！！！！！！！！！！！ ：-）….….！！！！！！！！！！！！！！!！！！！ …………………….….….…….…--~~~~~ ，;，,，Z，…） -