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For Kidney Diseases. ala. Teneors1. Boil*,
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A BREAT CAUSE OF HUMAN MISER'
Is the Loss of
A Lecture on the Nature, Treatment. ani
Radical cure of Seminal Weakness, or Spei
matorrhea. induced by Self-Abuse, Invo]
untary Emissions, Impotency, Nervous De
bility, and Impediments to Marriage gene
rally ; Consumption, Epilepsy, and Fits
Mental and Physical Incapacity, &c.-B:
ROBERT J. CULVER WELL, M.D., author c
the "Green Books" &c.
The world-ronowned author, in this ad
mirable Lecture, clearly proves from hi
own exparience that the awful1 consequer
ces of Self-Abuse may be eifectually remo;
ed without dangerous surgical operations
bougies, instruments, rings, or cordials
pointing out a mode of cure at once certai
and effectual, by which every sufferer, n
matter what his condition may be, may cur
himself cheaply, privatcly and radically.
ag- This Lecture will prove a boon t
thousands and thousands.
Sent under seal, in a plain envelope, t
any address, on receipt of six cents or twr
Aosta a thePublishers.
THE CULVER WEL L MEDICAL CO.,
41 Ann St., Niew York, N. Y.; Post Office Boa
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" tr1 .
IS IT SO?
To long for and possess not,
Remember and regret not;.
Mayhap. indeed, caress i.ot,
But ever to forget not,
Is better than enough.
A little song for singing,
A little time for sigh ing.
A summer swallow bringing
Some word of love's reply ing,
Is better than enough.
The end ofail our dreaming
Is surely but awaking;
And sweet and subtle seeming,
Is bitter and enough.
In a richly-furnished parlor, its
crimson curtallis closely drawn to
shut out the piercing ninter
night, before a glowing fire, sat
Maurice Greenwood, merchant.
Somewhat more than fifty years
had written their record of his
life; but his hair was thickly
sprinkled with gray, and his face'
with its deep-set hazel eyes and
compressed mouth, seemed like
that of one much older.
That face was one where will
was graven on every feature, as
with a pen of iron and diamond
point. But some regret, some
lasting shade there was, about
brow, and eyes, and mouth, and
Maurice Greenwood was not hap
Wealth he had, and every out
ward means of happiness, save
dear faces, by his fireside, and
tones of home affection. These
he had not; in his palace-like
home he lived alone.
Ah, there was a shadow on
Maurice Greenwood's hearth and
heart; one, too, of his own mak
His wife slept beneath the
green shades of the cemetery;
and his only daughter, bis beauti
ful, gentle, true-hearted Annie,
was no longer at his side. She
had kept her faith with the lover
whbo lacked . only gold ; and for
this be had banished her from
his home, and tried to banish her
image from his thoughts. But
that he could not do. He knew
not where Annie was ; whether,
wven, she were living or uot.
Time passed on, and he became
accustomed to his ionely life ; yet
the regret he could not banish,
embittered every qaiet hour.
At times, when, as now, he sat
alone by his deserted fireside, the
thought of his daughter grew so
vivid that she seemed to stand
beside him. Thbe whbite brow, the
radiant wavy hair of golden
brown, were the samie; but the
blue eyes with a sad, reproachful
look, gazed steadily into his own.
Once or twice tbe illusion had
been so strong that involuntarily
he stretched his arms toward her
and called ber name, and his
housekeeper, perhaps coming in
with his tea-tray, had found him
nearly fainting, or, as he always
'I do declare,' she said to an in
timate friend, 'if be would get his
daughter home, with her husband,
and treat her like a father, how
happy the man mighbt be ! Likely
enough, they've litt!e children
that would make the old house
alive again, and it's more like a
tomb than anyt- g else. But,
dear me, there's no knowing
whether she's alive ; wonder if he
knows? never can ask him ; it
won't do to mention her name-;
just set him against her still more,
if thatt could be ; but I wish I
knew ! To think I cradled her
on my breast, same as I did him
before her, andi I never thiought
to see my boy like this; just mnak
ing himself' wretched for the sake
of worrying his own flesh and
''Ten years to-day, since Miriam
left me,' said~ Maurice Greenwood
It was a mild, sunny spring
morning and opening leaf-buds
and a scent of garden violets, even
in the busy city, brought glad
tidings of that which should be.
A 6udden imnnle c-ame over him
to visit Miriam's grave, and he re- V
solved to ride out to the cemetery fc
It was a lovely, shaded spot tl
near the river, and the early flow- tc
ers were beginning to bloom. w
Maurice Greenwood stood there v,
alone in the still glow of sunlight, rE
that wrapped the 'city of the G
silent' as in God's great peace ; si
and in those moments a glimpse I
of a higher, better life dawned on it
his soul. F
What startled ',i:m ? What c<
made the strong min tremble in w
every nerve? For the moment it p
seemed to him a vision. A young st
girl passed with a basket of flow- ti
ers on her arm. bE
He had only a glimpse of her m
face, but the golden brown hair pl
beneath the little sun-hat, the m
form, the step and bearing were al
Annie's own ! bi
A great hunger sprang up in al
his heart and ho could not resist
the impulse to fQllow her. He o'
did so, silently, not to attract her m
attention. She did not see him
approach, as she sat on the grass ni
twining a wreath of the flowers -
she had brought, and singing a X
low, sweet melody ; one that An- sc
nie loved, and 'ften sang. in
He drew nearer ; near enough w
to read the inscription on the cc
marble tablet before her. His sir
daughter's name was graven ul
there, and the man with difficulty lo
repressed a cry of pain. The ci
young girl turned her head ; she e:
saw him, and sprang to her feet.
'Pardon me, young lady,' he o1
said courteously, 'for my seeming h
intrusion. 'She who lies here was I
very dear to me; but I have not
seen her these many years, and I ir
did not know of this.' 'If
His manner, his gray hair, and h
worn, sad face, reassured her, and
she remained awhile, answering S
simply and frankly his inquiries
about her father and home. She h
was the only child his Annie left, d
and likely soon to be quite alone, rE
for her father was fast failing. ai
Maurice pondered. Whbat should v
he do? Could he tell her that aj
he was her grand-father ? Would
she not fly from him as from a ai
savage beast if she should know tl
that he was the father who turn- St
ed her gentle mother from his w
heart and borne, and left her to a'
die in poverty and pain ? But rt
she must know or he could make no
reparation. And his good angel told d;
him that Annie would forget, in d<
kindness shown her loved ones, r<
even at this late hour, the deep
and bitter wrong done herself.
'I have a carriage waiting at ti
the gate,' he said, at last. 'Will 1k
you allow me to carry you home t<
and see your father ?' t
BuZ the revelations made there a
are not for mortal pen to describe.
When he left, there was peace G
It was but a little time that e
the sick man lingered, Maurice le
doing all he could for his aid and
comfort, and he went to his rest, le
happy in the assurance that it
Grace Brown should ever hold her a
mother's place in the heart and b
ome of the repentant old man.
This promise Maurice sought a
earnestly to fulfil, and though his d
daughter's presence seemed still s
conscious at times the shadow onc
his heart grew less, and not all of A
pain. Yet thoughts of the unre- f
turning past, regret, softened n
though it were, served in after
years as a warning, a beacon, the a
reminder his impervious will still g
Five years have passed since
Grace Brown came to Maurice 3a
Greenwood. Her presence has be- t<
come the sunlight of his home; b
her voice the sweetest music that E
meets his ear ; her band alone d
-ests on his temples with sooth- 11
ing touch, when sad memories e
oppress him ; and even, as she ,
comes near, the shadows on the fa
hearth and heart grow less. t
He sits musing alone this even- b
ing, and a shade of troubled
thought is on his brow. Rarely t
does ho talk to himself but he b
fees lonely now, though Grace I
Brown has been away but one I
short day. C
'Five years!1' he says. 'How
happy we have been ! And here t
this gi,.lis fanc must upset it all.'I
Thy haven't I seen thui De
ire? Why didn't I stop it? I
ust have been an old fool to let
>em go off on that boating trip
-day ? But, if I had refused,
bat then? It would only pro
)ke Frank, and make him more
solute than over; and as for
race, she'd have cried all day, I
ippose. I'm in a prety plight,
declare ! I might have foreseen
-but I didn't-when I took
rank into the office, and let him
>me here so much. I don't
ant him to have her; he's as
or as Job's cat-steady and
tre, and loves her, no doubt of
at. I'm not afraid she wouldn't
h bappy; but I wanted my pet,
y pride, my beauty to take a
ace befitting her. But, dear
e ! if I say say no she'll run
vay with him, or she'll go and
-eak her heart, perhaps. They're
I alike these girls.'
A look of intense pain passed
rer the old's man's face, and he
'Maybe if I'd been different, An
e might have been here now
-Miriam, too-who knows ?
bhat makes me think of Annie
to-night, I wonder?' he' said,
oving uneasily in his chair. 'I
ish those youngsters would
me home-I do. It seems as if
e stood by me this blessed min
e. Oh, Annie! Annie! don't
ok so. I haven't harmed them!'
'ied the old man, half-wild in his
'Will you have dinner now, sir,
wait for Miss Grace?' asked the
)usekeeper opening the door.
t's past your usual time.'
'Dinner before she comes! No
deed!' was the instant reply.
out isn't it time for her to be
'It is a little late to-night, sir.
be'll be in soon no a-oubt.'
'Late !' The old man sprang to
* feet as if his years had sud.
nly rolled from him. 'Late !' he
peated, as he hurriedly glanced
the clock, and then walked ner
usly to the window and back
The door-bell rang. An instant
'ter Grace's merry voice wound
rough the entries and up the
airs, and in she came, radiant
ith health and happiness, just
she had parted from him in the
'Oh, grandpa, such a splendid
mywe have had !' she exclaimed,
lightedly clasping her arms
>nd his neck.
'Then you have had no accident?'
'No, indeed. What made you
iink of that, grandpa? Am I
,te ? Oh, yes, I see,' glancing
wards the clock. 'We were
iking, and I didn't think much
'Happy child!l' thought Maurice
reenwood. 'God helping me,
11 not break her heart-one's
ough;' and the shadow grew
s than ever.
A year went by. Frank Shir
y had become a junior partner
the firm of Greenwood & Co.,
ad in the old family mansion a
idal feast was made.
'Ah!' thought the housekeeper,
she herself fastened the white
ress, and placed the oraege blos
>ms on Grace's fair brow. 'If I
>uld have done this for Miss
.nnie ! Well, what's past is past
rever, and she's angel crowned
'God bless you, my children!l'
id the old man ; and the shadow
rew light, misty, and almost die
Ten years more. Grace had filled
Lnie's place; her gentle care and
mder affection making the old man's
eart warm, and his home sunny.
[er husband had long been as a
early-loved son ; her childen, the
ttle heat's-ease blossoms that brought
omfort to his spirit. He is way.
porn and weary now, and the loving
ieods gathered around him know
hat he is passing from them swiftly,
ut with peace and trust in his heart.
For an hour or two he had slum
ered lightly, Grace sitting beside
im, his hand clasped in hers, when
e pened his eyes, and, looking at
er, with a world of effection in their
lear clear, steady gaze, said :
'Grace, darling, I have seen your
aother. She forgave me long ago.
n a littl while I sall hold her tc
my oreast agam, ia u wuUut;
was a babe. She is so beautiful,
Grace, all in white, with a rose crown
on her forehead, and young and b:ight
as you are now. I have tried to
make you happy, dear-kiss me '
And as Grace bent her face, dripping
with tears. to his, the failing hand
caressed her golden hair, as it had
been wont, and he spoke once wore,
feebly: 'The shadow is gone now !
She stands there, but it is all Glory
'What does he mean? What
shadow ?' whispered Grace's husband.
But she raised her head, slightly.
'Hush, dear-see-he is gone l'
THE DUELLING ACT.
An Act to Amend Chap. CXXVIII
of the General Statutes Entitled
"Of. Offeuces against the Per
son," to Declare the Law in Re
gard to Homicide in Duelling
and to Provide for the Punish
ment of the Same.
Whereas great uncertainty has
heretofore existed in this State ii'
the administration of the law in
regard to duelling; and whereas it
is, therefore, proper and expedient
that the law in regard to the
same should be plainly declared,
that it may be known in the fu
Be it enacted by the Senate and
House of Representatives of the
State of South Carolina, now met
and sitting in General Assembly,
and by the authority of the same:
SECTION 1. That Section seven
(7) of the one hundred and twen
ty-eighth chapter of the General
Statutes entitled "Of offences
against the person" be, and th
same is hereby, amended so as to
read as follows: "SECTION 7, Who
ever shall challenge another to
fight at sword, pistol, rapier, or
other deadly weapon, or who shall
accept any such challenge, shall
for every such offense, on convic
tion thereof be deprived of the
right of suffrage and be disa
abled forever from holding any
ofice of profit or honor in
this State, and siall be im
prisoned in the penaentiary for a
term not exceeding two years, at
the discretion of the Court. And
in case any person shall kill an
other in any duel with a deadly
weapon, or shall inflict a wound
or wounds upon any person in
any duel so as the person or per
sons so wounded eball thereof die
within the space of six months
then next following, that such
persons so killing another or so
wounding any person or persons
whereby such person or persons
so wounded shall die as aforesaid,
being thereof convicted, shall suf
fer death as in the case of willful
SEC. 2. That Section 8 of the
said chapter of the General Stat
utes be, and the same is hereby,
amended so as to read as follows:
"SECTION 8. Whboever shall will.
ingly or knowingly carry or de
liver any such challenge. in writ
ing or verbally, deliver any mes
sage intended as or purporting tc
be such challenge, or whbo shall be
present at the fighting of any
duel as a second, or aid or give
countenance thereto, shall for)
every such offense, on conviction
thereof, be forever disabled from~
holding any office of profit or hon
or in this State, and shall be imi
prisoned in the Penitentiary for a
term not exceeding two years, at
the discretion of the Court,-anc
shall be fined in a sum not less
than five hundred dollars noi
more than one thousand dol
SEC. 3. That from and after th<
passage of this Act all members
elected to the (General .Assembly
and all officers now required t(
take and subscribe the oath pre
scribed in Article II, Seetion 30
of the Constitution of the State
shall, in addition thereto, takt
the following oath before enter
ing upon the duties of their re
spective offices, to be admimis
terd in like manner as the oatl
now required : "1 do solemnly
swear [or affirm, as the case maj
be,] that I have not, since thb
firs da of January, A. ID. 1881
without the State, either as prin
cipal or second, or been present
thereat as a party thereto in be
half of either of the principals in
such duel, arid that I will not.
during the term of office to which
I have been elected, [or appointed,
as the case may be,] engage in a
duel as prin.cipal, or aid and abet b
in such duel as second, or as a
party thereto in behalf of either
principal or otherwise." To which
shall be added, in the case of all
officers, charged with the preser
vation of the peace, the follow
ing: "And I will, to the extent
of my ability, enforce the penal
ties prescribed by law against
duelling, and will not fail to bring
to justice all persons offending
against the said law that may
come within my view or know
SEC. 4. That this Act shall not
affect indictments now pending
for offenses under the law as it
now exists, or indictments that
may be brought for offenses com
mitted before the passage of this
THE NORTH POLE.-Some people o
have asked, 'What good can re
sult from finding the pole ?' The
late Prof. Henry is on record as
saying the magnetism of the earth
requires more observation in this r
direction than have been made; a
that we cannot complete our
knowledge of the tides of the
ocean, or of the winds of the
globe without finding the pole;
besides that, the whole field of
natural history wil! be enriched
by it, especially botany. geology
and minerology. The facts about
the effect of extreme cold on ani
mal and vegetable life cannot be
but iuteresting. As Prof. Henry
said, it will lead not only to en
large the'sphere of mental pleas
ure of man, but will promote the
application of science to the arts
of life. Prof. M. F. Maury puts it
in this way.
'Within this polar area the tides
have their cradle. and whales
their nursery. Thbere the winds .
complete circuit, and the currents
of the sea their sound, in the
wonderful system of oceanic cir
culation; there the aurora .is
lighted up and the trembling niee
die brought to rest ; and there, too,
in the mazes of that mystic cir,cle.
terrestriai forces of occult pow
er, and of vast influence upon the
well-being of man, are continua!ly .
at work. It is a circle of.myste
ries, and the desire to enter it; to
explore the untrodden wastes and
secret chambers, and to study.its
physical aspects has grown to a
There is an unknown area of 1,
131,000 square miles <>f thbe surface
the globe that is now a blank.
We cannot tell whether this area
is land or water. This question.
among others, these explorations
HE HAD PATnENC.-A true in.
cident, which happened at Lo
westoft, England : A. simple coun
tryman was following to the
grave, with many heavy sighs and
floods of tears a youg wife, to
a hom he had been devotedly at
tached. At the end of the fune
ral servied he wrung *hi s hands,
tore his hair, and was ready to
throw himself on the coffin, e.x
claiming that he could not survive
her. A buxom damse.i of the
same parish, whose <cbristian
name was Patience, was'standing
by, and ot. her the honest farmer
had, before his ma.rriage, nften
cast a wistful look. Seeing him
so agitated and grieving so for
the loss of his spouse, she said to
im in a very tende:r tone : "John.
John, hare patience." He turned
around, with streauiing eyes, and,
seeing who had addressed him re
plied in a fit of ecistacy: "Egad,
and so I will, my U-:ss, to-morrow,
if thou wi!l have, me." She was
agreeable, in every sense of the
word. They ba:v@ been married
for the last six ye-ars, and are as
happy as the day i:s long. They
own the "Pig and Whistle," at
Deccles, and four eb.ildren.
Venison is plengiful, but deer
Chang, a Chinese giant, arrived
n New York on an ocean steamer
ecentlv and was immediately
ounced upon by the. newspaper
aen. A reporter called at the
otel where the giant lodged and
aw, sitting un an improvised seat
f two chairs with heavy boards
id across, a presence which
eened to fill the whole room.
hang is unquestionably the lar
est man in the world. He is gi
antic. As he sat there smiling
rid nodding, his thoroughly Chi
ese face looked fully as broad as
a ordinary man's shoulders, and
s long, if not longer than a flour
arrel. His cheek bones bulge
ut, and are as large as a full-sized
range. He is thirty-three years
Id, is tbe son of a wealthy silk
ud tea merchant in Pekin, where
,e was born, is well -ducated,
peaks, reads and writes English,
rrman, French, Italian and
panish, and is thoroughly court
ous and gentlemanly. With
Ihaug is his "secretary," a bust
ng, busy, earnest little French
nan named Neaud, who looks up
u the giant with admiration and
"What is. your exact height,
ihang ?" asked the reporter.
"I have never been measured,
nonsieur. With our people it is
superstition which takos the
orm, of a religious creed, that no
na must be measured until dead.
would rather die than to allow
nyself to be measured. In:fact,
f were measured I would die at
>uce,l fear.- I am, however, sqme
vhcre in the neighborhood of nine
eet. I will stand up.and you can
tand beside me 'and judge for
Chang rose, and, uising, it
eerned as though he would never
top. The reporter stands six
ut three inches in height. He,
t Chang's suggestion, :put on E.
iigb silk hat and walked under
,e giant's outstretched arm, near
,he, shoulder, without coming
vitin two inches .of his sleeve.
rhen fixing the: :height, of his
ead about half way between th~e
iant's waist and neck, the re
orter checked off.three feetat a
uess and ~fownd' thA.t,the crown
>f the Chinamnan's head was'sure
y nine feet from the floor. His
ands and feet are comparatively
~mall and very well formed. He
ias exhibited before all the
rowned heads of Europe anid
Lustraia, and has been the pet of
everal sovereigns. He wears a
olitaire diamond ring, .given. him
>y thle emperor of Russia
s valued at $1,400. Attacbed to
as chain is a gold medal (riven
aim by the Berlin exhibition,
which asserts that he is the lar
;est man of recent times. He
i.so has half a dozen immense
diamond rings given him by
rajahs in India, mayors in Aus
tralia and potentates from .alI
uarters of the globe. While
talking to the reporter he sudden
lv dived into his vest pocket,
which was large enough to hold
an ordinary ian's hiead,~ and
brought forth a ring with the
official seal and' monogram of
Francis .J6seph. inscribed ,to
"Chag.'' He also b s a watch,
given him by Qu.den Victoria,
which weighs two pounds and a
half, and has a chain nine feet
long, dhich bare!y re,adhes around
his neck and 'dowvn to his vest
TIRED OF IT.' Wel i' et
ting about tir~ed of this 'ere life,'
said an ultra specipien'of the ge
ns tramp. 'Goiny half-starved
one day, and. drenc:hed to the
skin another;: sleep)ing one night
in a barn, the next night under a
hedge, and the thtrd in the lock.
up; this life isn't what it used to
be. Tell yer what 'tis, boys, if
'twasn't for the looks of the thing,
Id go to work.'
When they want to punish a
man severely in~ Arkansas they
give him a bath. Nothing is such
exquisite torture to an Arkansas
Back-yards-The.'trains on la