Newspaper Page Text
% Journal of ^olifitiil nnir (Smral 'fUlos-^n ^Ubotaie of (&<|nnl |ltgljts.
vol. x. BATH, THURSDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 27, 1855. no. 15. Cl}? (Bastern Cimes IS PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING, BY GEO. E. NEWMAN, E4il«r and P r • p r i e t « r . Office in north end of PIrrcr’s Block, third story, corner o Front and broad Streets. Terms. If paid strictly in advance—per annum, If payment ia delayed 0 mos., “ “ If not paid till the close of the year, $1,50 1,75 2,00 O' No paper will be discontinued until1 ALL arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the publisher. O Sinjrle copies, four cents—for sale at the office, and at Stearns’ Periodical Depot, Centre Street. O All letters and communications to be addressed post paid, to the Publisher, Bath, Me. S. M. Pkttswii.i. k Co., Newspaper Advertising Apents, No. 10 State Street, and V. B. Palmer, Scollay’s Buiklintr, Court Street, Boston, are Agents for this paper, and are authorised to receive Advertisements and Subscriptions for m at the same rates as required at this office. Their re ceipts are regarded as payments. ♦ Eastern Cimes. For the Eastern Times. Where is thy Home ? I asked a beggar ; one of earth's forsaken ones. Her garments were tattered, and her face, though she was but a child, haggard and care-worn. She trembled and turned aside, for the word “home" was to her hut a ‘sound from other years and her eyes were sudden ly down-cast, and her voice strangely broken, but 1 knew that a home was once hers, though her answer was, ‘1 have no home 1’ • I asked a youth, who wearied of the sports of the day, had sait him down to rest upon a rock by the cottage door. A sister was twin ing his uncombed locks about her fingers, and an infant brother had run to welcome him.— I had thought that here, among these tender endearments, the indwelling heart would ac knowledge its home. But no ! the heart of the youth was not there! I was yet to know where teas his home, by the sudden sparkling of his eye, as he gave me his earnest answer ; ,—‘The sea ! The sea !’ 1 asked the miser. He turned from me and gave a nervous, furtive glance to a chest in which his heart's treasures were amassed. It was open, and he hastened to make it secure. As the iron key turned in the heavy lock, it sent a chill creeping over me, for I felt that his heart also, was locked within, and life to him was undesirable, and home .no/ home, without Gold 1 Gold ! I asked a maiden who had just left the door : of an elegant and costly mansion. Within were all the luxuries which wealth could pro cure, and it would seem that surely one must be happy who could call such a palace his home. ‘ Where is my home V She mechani cally repeated my words and then was silent. I repeated the question, and this time in a manner which gained her confidence. Point ing to the house she had left, ‘I live there,’ said she, bending towards me, as though fear ful of some wary listener, ‘but I am not happy there. 1 weary of this ceaseless round of fol ly and fashion. There's no one there who feels as I do, and I often steal away to find sympathy elsewhere.’ Home is indeed where the heart is, thought I, as she left my side, and how homeless must he feel who, though surrounded by a thousand, cannot but believe himself to be alone ! “ Alone—for in their hearts no feeling Will seem responsive to his own ! Each tone seems like a bell’s low pealing, Which slowly tolls, alone—alone.” Where is thy home? I asked a young man who was walking with striding steps along, the high way, puffing cigar smoke trom his whiskered lips, and humming a racant song. ‘Home?’ He pretaced the word with a most heaven-dating oath, and regarded me with a threatening look. His hair was blown aside by a passing breeze, and I recognized an old acquaintance! Ah. thought I, well is it that those Christian parents, whose early lessons of piety their son has quite forgotten, whose good counsel can no longer reach his ear, were tak en from earth ere they discovered inhere was the heart and home of their son ; ere thev heard him in that first unguarded moment, breathe out an insult to his Maker ; ere they marked the progress of those inclinations of his unchecked heart, which led it along down to its home among the lowest and most degrad ed of the human family. I asked the man of business. He smiled as though the question were but mockery. ‘Busi- : ness! urgent business !’ said he, and hurried i from me. He had answered me, however, and again I was convinced that ‘Home is ; where the heart is.’ I asked the matviac, whose distracted spirit is ever wandering abroad, seeking rest but finding none. His eye became suddenly bright with returning reason, which gleamed there for a moment, ‘like lightning round the ruins it had made.’ ‘My home? It is on the hill side. They have left me here, but it is not home.’ ‘Life is short,’ added he, relapsing into his wildness, ‘To-day, a carousal among a band of gay associates, to-morrow, a nice lit tle pic-nic party in a grave-yard !’ As I turned away, the word of my question seemed to come back to his mind, tor he broke out in to the tender strain : ‘Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.’ I asked a minister of the gospel. His face became radiant with divine, unspoken rapture. ‘My home?’ said he, raising his eyes heaven ward, ‘It is a blessed place, and I would fain lead thither all my poor wandering brothers and sisters ; for my Father ‘would not that any should perish.’ I paused here, for sure ly, thought I, where can the soul find truer or more lasting happiness than in contemplating its everlasting home in heaven? And how glorious a home is that, those only know who have passed from death unto life ; but relying with faith on the promise, ‘What we know not now, we shall know hereafter,’ we may all be led up the dark mountain to our Father, God. J-E. Never marry for a fortune. We overheard a poor unfortnnate get the following sock-do lager, the other day, from his better-half. ‘You good for nothing fellow !’ said she, ‘what would you be, had I not married you ? Whose was the baking kiver, whose the Dig trough, whose the frying-pan, and the iron hooped bucket, but mine, when you married me ?’ A few nights ago a Mr. Bodkin, who had been ont taking his glass and pipe, on going home late, borrowed an nmbrella, and when his wife’s tongue was loosened, he sat up in bed and suddenly spread out the parachute.— ‘What are you going to do with that thing V said she. ‘Why, my dear, I expected a rery heary storm to-night, and so 1 came prepared.’ In less than two minutes Mrs. Bodkin was asleep. THE REDEEMED HUSBAND. BY MRS. MARY A. LIVERMORE. The clock told the hour of twelve—the dead hour of night! In various and dissonant chimes it rung from the numerous steeples of city ; and with solemn slowness, and startling clearness, it sounded from the brass time-keep er stationed on the mantel of the little parlor, where sat Frances May, awaiting her hus band's return. Roused from the painful rev ery into which she had fallen, she sprang to her feet, paced the room rapidly for a few moments as in tumultuous agony, then suddenly stopped, clasped her hands over her bosom, and raising her eyes to Heaven, uttered the ejaculation, ‘Oh, my Father!’ and became calm again.— The childlike trust expressed in these words filled her heart as with light; and in the bles sedness of calm confidence in the Holy One, she sat her down beside her infant’s cradle, and sang a soothing lullaby. Slowly paced the hand of the clock around the dial’s circle. One of the morning pealed through the little apartment, and still James May returned not. A thousand vague, un formed fears flitted through the mind of the pale and weary watcher; a heavy sigh burst from her bosom, her needle work fell from her nerveless fingers, and the song which she attempted died upon her lips. Two o'clock three o'clock—four o'clock sounded : the gray light of morning broke over the heavens, the rattling of wheels over the pavements, and the occasional tread of a passer-by tAid that the world was awaking to the cares and duties of the new-born day—still the absent and ne glectful husband came not. .Brighter and brighter dawned the morning, and soon the re joicing sun streamed into the parlor, where still stood the little table bearing the evening meal intended for the absent one, where rested the wrought slippers beside the cushioned easy-chair, with the dressing-gown flung across it. Noon came—and then the wester ing sun began slowly to decline in the horizon, —and still James May was absent. In the fever of anxiety and the torture of suspense, poor Frances passed the long and weary hours. Her brain whirled, her temples throbbed, her heart was sick ; and she could neither give her attention to any employment, nor interest herself in the innocent playfulness of her infant daughter, or the lively prattle of her sprightly boy. If a coach passed, she sprang to the window, hoping and fearing, she hardly knew what: if a door was opened or closed, she started nervously and turned pale ; if the door-bell rang, or a knock was heard, the palpitations of her heart almost suffocated her ; and still the day waned, and waned, and before the suffering wife there seemed but the prospect of another lonely night, another eter nity of suspense. The certainty of any calam ity seemed more tolerable thag.these harrow ing fears and forebodings; and leaving her children in the care of a neighbor, she hastened with fleet footsteps to the house of-, in the heart of the city, where her husband had been employed for years as senior clerk. God of Heaven ! what agony was in store for her ! Her husband was not at his post in the counting-room, nor had he been there during that day, or during that week. She pushed her queries farther; and the kind hearted merchant at last owned, reluctantly and painfully, that he had been compelled to discharge him from his service a year before, for dishonesty. Frances gasped for breath, and for a moment it seemed as if the very jaws of death were opened before her. Hut by a mighty effort she crushed down her feelings, and leaning against the oounter, with more of faintness and fear than before, inquired yet farther. Little by little she wrung from her unwilling informant, while his heart bled for the wretched wife, the whole bitter truth. She listened to a recital of the doubtful and sus picious sources upon which her husband had, during the past year, depended for a subsist ance, of the dissipated and vicious haunts which he had punctually frequented, to the declaration that he was a reputed gamester and libertine, and to the appalling announce ment that he was that morning arrested for a desperate and daring forgery, just as he was on the point of embarking for Liverpool, and was then lying in the city jail; and the deep groan which burst from the heart of the poor wife, the heavy drooping of her head upon fhe counter, and her fall to the floor, senseless and corpse-like, told how unexpected and full of anguish were these sad revelations. The fatherly merchant raised the pale young creature in his arms, and applied restorative measures; and, half an hour afterwards, he was seen driving rapidly towards Leverett street jail, with Frances May seated beside him, where both alighted; he giving to her that support without which she would have fallen. They passed within the gloomy build ing ; a few seconds' delay occurred ; and then, preceded by the turnkey, she tottered, rather than walked, to her husband's cell. The key turned gratingly in the lock, the ponderous iron door swung open, she stepped forward, the door was closed and locked behind her, and Frances May was alone with her guilty husband. She moved slowly towards him, gazed into his haggard face, and read there a whole volume of suffering and sorrow ; and every shade of resentful feeling faded Irom her heart: from the depths of her soul she forgave and pitied him, and laying her head upon his bosom, she wept like an infant. The first burst of feeling over, a long and earnest con versation occurred between the twain—a con versation of confession, despair, remorse, and extravagant self-upbraiding, on the part of one —of extenuation, forgiveness, soothing, and encouragement, on the part of the other. It was all trHe, the story of his guilty life; and with his own lips James May confessed him self a guilty man, a felon, a forger. Not be cause born for evil, not because sin was the element he loved best, not for lack ot kindly affections or tenderness of heart, had he strode onwards to dishonesty, recreant to honor, hon esty, and domestic faithfulness, but through an early-developed love of gaming, so intense, so infatuating, so consuming, that it had se duced him on and on in vice, until at last the felon's cell embraced him within its massive and frowning walls, a guilty, daring culprit. Often, while his confiding wife, who felt his alienation from his family, and perceived the embarrasment of his pecuniary circumstances, but was unable to penetrate the cause—often, while she had supposed him reluctantly de tained from home by the pressing claims of business, had he been wasting the hours of the night in the society of the vile and profli gate,—rattling the dice, shuffling the cards, or roiling the billiard balls—polluting his lips with the ribald song and the blasphemous oath, —and lavishing upon tljp forms of beauty that flitted around him but to lure him to sin, and the eyes of light that shone but to lead him to ruin, those blandishments of affection which be longed alone to her—the deserted one. All this did James May confess to his wife and much more ; and as one of old, in the con sciousness of guilt, prayed to Ilim who was the embodiment of purity, ‘Depart from me, for I am a sinful man!’ so did the conscience stricken husband conclude his fearful revela tions of the past to his injured and innocent w ife, with the prayer that she would cast him off forever, account him as one of the dead, and leave him to meet alone the rigors of the offended law. No wonder that Frances May went forth from that interview with a face of marble whiteness, and passed another long night in agony that was speechless, from the inade quacy of words to express it. No wonder that, as she bowed before God, her over whelmed spirit could find no utterance of its big and bitter sorrow, and that her supplica tions to Heaven were but the deep groans of a nearly broken heart. The playmate of her childhood—the companion of her girlhood— the chosen oflfe of her heart—the father of her children—how far had he fallen ! How en tirely had he forfeited the love and respect of all who knew him, and how had he cast him self down to the lowest depths of degradation ! But would Frances May now cast off forever her sinning husband ? and would the entrea ties of her aristocratic friends and relatives that he might henceforth be left to his own fate, and that the interests and sympathies of the twain might be hereafter eternally di vorced, avail with her 1 Never! never! Not thus had she loved him ; and as she thought of him, guilt-buwed and sorrow-stricken in his lonely cell, and beheld his face in miniature in the innocent countenances of her blessed chil dren, her whole soul went out to him in love and pity, and she resolved that she would prove his savior, and would win him back to goodness. Morning came, and no expostulations or angry threats could detain Frances May from the city Jail. Another hour was passed in that dim cell, and oh ! bow like an angel of God, shj pleaded with her husband to form pur poses of reformation which would be immedi ately acted up^; to bear submissively the punishment atlflMd to his crime by the law ; so that when his guilt should be expiated, and his term of imprisonment ended, he would come forth into society a reformed man ! flow she reminded him of the innocent days of youth, of the blessedness of a clear conscience and an unstained heart ; and how she sought, by an outpouring of her own affection, to win back his love to herself and her babes ! Visit followed visit, each performing more and more the holy work of reformation, and strengthening, in the secrecy of the soul, that good willing, which must necessarily precede good acting, until the day of trial came ; when Frances May appeared in the crowded court room, that her presence might sustain the pris oner. Too timid to lift her eyes beneath the gaze of the curious multitude, she was yet strong in heart to endure any extreme of dis grace with her husband ; and although the public revelations of his dissipation, inconstan cy and dishonesty, seemed to destroy the sym pathy of others for him, and sometimes paled her cheek with strong emotion, or crimsoned it with shame, they dimmed not the look of ! love which she hent upoB him, nor infused in to her heart an emotion of anger. ‘Guilty,’ was the verdict of the empanelled jury, and ‘Ten years’ imprisonment and hard labor in the State Prison,’ was the sentence pronounced upon him ; a doom which his Wife shuddered to hear, for she feared lest hope would expire, and good resolutions would vanish, and evil passions would attain fearful supremacy during that long confinement. Noble woman ! how she soothed, and en couraged, and calmed him, and depicted the far-off future that would succeed his release in pleasing colors ; until, like herself, he be came submissive, and resolved to do right to the utmost of his ability! And how she ! hushed his self-upbraiding3 and expressions of remorse, and kissed away his tears as he wept over his children, who visted him the day be fore his removal to Charlestown, and promised that they should be taught to love and cherish him ! And, though her own heart was near ly breaking with sorrow at the dismal future before them both, she yet spake cheerily to him, and smiled her sweetest upon him, and bade him be of good cheer, for better days were yet in store for him. Noble Frances ! ■would that every child of guilt and sin, every imprisoned criminal, possessed a friend of kin ' dred faithfulness and affection—a friend of like goodness and devotion ! ' • James May entered upon his long and dreary term of penance ; and from that day Frances commenced the execution of a plan, in the de vising of which she took no counsel, save that of her own loving and self-denying heart.— Her native taste and skill enabled her Jo sue ceed admirably as a dress-maker; and to this occupation she declared her intention to de vote herself. It was to her a slight thing that her triends opposed this measure, and offered to herself and children an almost luxurious home; her plans embraced mi^c than mere provisions for her own and children’s neces sities. Ten years hence, a reformed and be loved husband would be released from prison ; and she knew how depressing to him would be the prospect of commencing life anew, without friends, without character, without money, with a family depending upon him for support; and for the exigencies of that period, she now aimed to prepare. Day and night she toiled ; soon her little work-room was ex- . changed for a larger, the number of her* ap prentices increased,find experienced assistants were employed; and, by-and-by, she was not able even to superintend, alone, her extensive establishment; her patrons were numerous, and included some of the wealthiest and most' aristocratic families of the city. Meanwhile, her attentions to her husband wete unremitled, her visits frequent, her con versation cheerful and encouraging, elevating and ennobling ; and thus was effectually coun teracted the evil influence which the severity of prison discipline might else have exerted, the overbearing domination of haughty officers or the ‘evil communications. which corrupt good manners.’ Never longed the hungry for food, or the thirsty for water, more than James May longed for these occasional visits from his wife ; and it would not be easy to decide, whether the love which he had felt for her in the earliest days of their affection was com parable to that which he now manifested. Time hasted onwards, and gradually slipped away the ten years, which, in prospect, had seemed almost interminable. Never fpr a mo ment had the true heart of the wife been turned aside fom her purpose,—the ultimate and complete redemption ol her husband. Never fur a moment had she regarded with favor any of the manifold schemes of her friends to pro mote her own interests, dissociated from those of her husband, nor listened to their entreaties! that she would disconnect her fate from his. And when, at the expiration of the eighth year of his imprisonment, friends interceded for a lover ot wealth and influeftce, who had laid at her feet hisfceart and fortune, urging her ac ceptance of him on the ground that her hus band's already lengthened term of confinement had legally divorced her from him, and that the eager aspirations of her gifted and intel lectual son demanded extensive moans of im provement, and the frail and delicate health of her daughter a freedom from care and labor that could not otherwise be obtained ; she spurned them from her presence with an out burst of contemptuous indignation which made them quail before her, and forbade them any farther intrusion on her private affairs, in tones of authority and decision that precluded reply. The day came at last,—long-wished for and desired ; and James May was liberated from his long durance, and set without the prison walls. Oh, the joy with Which he was wel comed by his little family! His wife and his children clung around his neck, weeping for very gladness; and, as his own tears minglpd with theirs, he asked again and again, ‘Can you, indeed, be so glad that 1 am released!'— The neat and tastefully arranged rooms of their dwelling—how magnificent they seemed, by contrast, with the stern, rugged and con tracted cell, in which he had dwelt for the last ten years' IIow luxurious seemed their fare! how ample their accommodations! Every thing that the watchful love of his wife could suggest had been done to render this first evening of his return pleasant; and, when a few of his former acquaintances who had ap proved of and sympathised in the measures of Frances relative to her husband, came, by pre vious invitation, to pass the evening with them, and spake kindly and encouragingly to the lepeutant man, his feelings overpowered him, and he hastened from the room, to dis burden his heart of the grateful emotion which overflowed it, iu thankful prayer. But when, on the next day, he expressed some anxiety to obtain speedy employment, and his wife brought forward a small book, showing her amount of bank deposits to ex ceed somewhat a thousand dollars, which she placed in his hand with the request that he would consider it his own, and use it as such ; and when he learned what constant toil and rigid economy had obtained this sum, what love had prompted the labor and sustained his wife throughout her toils and cares„Jamcs May bowed his head upon the table, and wept, as man seldom weeps, untik his whole frame was convulsed with the violent emotion. ‘Frances,’ said the grateful being, when he could speak, taking her hand reverently within his own, 'your love is only surpassed by the love of Christ ; and like his, iA be stowed upon so unworthy an object, that, al though it has become my very element of life, I am yet overpowered by it. Oh! if ever again I neglect and forget you, as I have done, may God neglect me when most I need his aid, and forget me, when he calls home his children to ljeaven.’ The next day a clerkship was offered to James May, through the tireless exertions of his wife, and the amount of severely earned money received another appropriation,—no less a one than the defrayal of his noble sun’s college expenses. Time passed away, and Frances May saw, with unutterable gratitude, that her husband's reformation was permanent; that there was an abiding renovation of his moral nature ; and that his loathing and dread of his former vices were too intense to allow of a relapse into sin. He was a truly re deemed man ; and to the quenchless, fathom less love of bis wife, was due the praise of his redemption. Often, as James May contemplates his pres ent happy position, surrounded by earthly blessings, winning more and more the good opinions of those who once believed him dead to every virtue, his life rendered useful and happy, he turns to his loving and beloved j wife, and says : ‘If every criminal had as kind and never-wearied a friend as I have found in you, and if to all the same love were mani fested, the same encouragement given, the same helping hand extended, and the same deep interest felt, society would soon cease to need its prisons and penitentiaries.’ istdlattp. Peeps into a Bee-Hive. There is nothing from the Master Hand, un touched by man, however small and insignifi cant it may seem l« some, but is worthy of our careful study and investigation. YVe for get that the minute insect, or the worm upon which we tread with loathing and disgust, was framed and received the Breath of life by the same Infinite Wisdom which created and animated us. They are governed by laws which they observe far more scrupulously than man does the laws which ought to govern him, even aided as he is by reason, a power they arc not supposed to possess. We have no doubt that all the lower orders, even to the tiniest of them all, enjoy their little life, and contribute to carry out the general plan. If we studied them more, and became more fa miliar with their habits, we should lose all re pugnance to them, and perhaps find lessons of value for every-day life in many of their works and ways. Let us see On the 17th of July last, we placed in our dining-room window an observing bee-hive, constructed of glass, so that all the operations could be plainly and conveniently seen. A comb about a foot square was placed in it con taining some brood, with plenty of workers and drones, but without the queen bee. The hive was then carefully observed by one of the ladies of the family, who has given us the following ac count of their doings :— ‘ The first business the bees attended to, was in commencing cells for a queen, and they prosecuted it with energy for two days. At the end of that time, a queen was taken from another colony and placed with them, upon which they pulled down the cells they had made in less than half the time it had re quired to construct them, and \hen began to piece out and repair the comb, which needed a corner. The queen at once commenced lay ing, and soon filled the unoccupied cells, when she was again removed, and the bees once more began the construction of queen cells. The unhatched bees now began to come forth, and in two weeks the family increased so fast as to make it necessary for them to pre pare to emigrate. So they built six queen cells, and in about tw elve days, the first queen was hatched. As soon as she was fairly born, she marched rapidly, and in the most energet ic manner, over the comb, and visited the oth er cells in which were the embryo queens, seeming at times furious to destroy them.— The workers, however, surrounded her and prevented such wholesale murder. But for two days she was intent upon her fell purpose, and kept in almost continuous motion to effect it. On the fourteenth day the second queen was ready to come out, peeping and making various noises to attract attention. A part of the colony then seemed to con clude that it was time to take the first queen and go, but by some mistake she remained in the hive after the swarm had left. The sec ond queen came out as soon as possible after the others had gone, and then there were two in the hive 1 Several minutes elapsed before it seemed to be known that she was left, and the two queens ran about on the comb, which was now nearly empty, so that they could be distinctly seen. But they had not, apparently, noticed each other, while the workers were in a state of great uneasiness and commotion, seeming impatient for the destruction of one of them ; and the mode they took to accomplish it was of the most deliberate and cold blooded kind. A circle of bees kept one queen stationary, while another party dragged the other up to her, so that their heads nearly touched, and then the bees stood back, leaving a fair field for the combatants, in which one was to gain her laurels, and the other to die ! The battle was fierce and-sanguinary. They grappled each other, and liM_ expert wrestlers, strove to inflict the fatal ^row, by some sudden or adroit movement. But for some moments the parties seemed equally matched—no ad vantage could be gained on either side. The bees stood looking calmly on the dreadful af fray, as though they themselves had been the heroes of a hundred wars. But the battle, like all others, had its close; *jne fell upon the field, and was immediately taken by the workers and carried out of the hive. By this time, the bees u;hich had left made the discov ery that their queen was missing, and although they had been hived without any trouble, they came rushing back, but not in season to wit ness the fatal battle, and the fall of their poor slain queen, who should have gone forth with them to seek a future home. There was evidently sore disappointment in this result, for when they realized their loss, they uttered piteous cries, and for a day or two ‘refused to be comforted,’ wandering about, apparently'without object, and in great confusion. The hive was now crowded again almost to suffocation, and after a few days’ uneasiness the bees all left and lighted on an apple tree near the window, fYom whence they were jarred off, and the queen and a half pint of the bees returned to their old quarters, where they are to-day, August 30th,doing well. A small colony made in July, was now brought for ward, and after sprinkling it as well as the bees from the house, with peppermint water, so that they might be all of one odor, the two strange colonies were mixed, and have con tinued to go on harmoniously together.’ Our operations with bees, and these obaer rations by our ‘better half,’ hare been under the direction ot the Rev. L. L. Langstroth, of Greenfield, Mass., a gentleman of fine na tive talent, aided by a most thorough classical education. Prevented from preaching in con sequence of the state of his health, he turned his attention to the delightful study of bees, ana for more than fifteen years has pursued it with all the patience and ardor of a first love, until he probably has acquired more accurate information than any other person who has yet written of them, lie has explored the subject in other languages, and in his work has brought together the most agreeable incidents and infulmation, making it mure attractive than any work ol fiction.—N. £. farmer. Defects in Stables. Knowing that horses often suffer in ways that their masters do not often suspect, and that there must be many both in city and in country, among the readers of such a paper as this, who would at once take measures to prevent their horses from suffering, if only the sources or causes of that suffering were j brought under their notice, wb commenced in a former paper a brief series of articles intend ed to point out to merciful men a few of the more prominent of the sources of suffering and discomfort to their horses which a little thought or pains taking /night readily abate or remove entirely. In continuation of the subject of defects in stables, we wish,'at this time, to direct atten- ! tion to one of very common occurrence, and of very-injurious consequences—the want of suf ficient ventilation. It seems as if the bulk of those who construct stables, and of those who have the care of horses, were of the opinion | that good, pure, fresh airis of no great use to a horse ; and that if horses only get plenty to eat and drink, and have not too much to do, they must of necessity do very well. They seem to be utterly ignorant of the well estab lished fact, that for the maintenance of life and of health a plentiful supply of fresh air is absolutely necessary. It must surely be from this ignorance, and not from hard hearted in difference to the comfort of their animals, that so many shut them up in. close stables, the at mosphere of which when the door is first opened in the morning, is exceedingly offen sive to the nose and of most disagreeable res piration. Whenever a disagreeable smell meets one when he throws open a stable door, especially at the first opening of the door in the morning, that stable is certainly defective in its con struction and unhealthy in its influences. A horse breathing such an atmosphere during the whole of a long night, cannot be as strong, lively, and vigorous as if his lungs had been supplied with pure air. The whole of the blood and humors of his system are more or less contaminated with a poisonous material— h true matcrics morli. Besides the ammonia cal and other foul gases arising from the drop pings and urine, there is an effluvium arising from the insensible perspiration of the skin, and furthermore a quantity of carbonic acid gas generated by the lungs at each exhalation. No wonder that after spending the long nights of a whole winter in such an atmosphere, so many horses, and cattle also, should be found lanquid, lazy, loggy, and nearly useless in spring—often at the very time when their ut most vigor and strength might be very profita bly and acceptably employed. " But some do not escape with merely an im pairment of their usual health and vigor in the season of spring, but are found to have weak or inflamed eyes, or to be easily attacked by colds, coughs, influenza and inflamations of the lungs. The breathing of foul and un wholesome air during the long winter nights, debilitates the tone of the lungs and also of the whole system, and wheft horses which have been subjected to such a contaminated at mosphere are exposed, as they must be, to the sudden changes of temperature and electrical conditions of the air in spring, they readily take colds and become victims of inflamation of the lungs. Horses that are compelled to spend half or more of their time in an atmosphere saturated with ammoniacal and carbonic acid gases, in which a man could not breathe without pain ful discomfort for one half hour, must (it re quires nothing more than common sense to see that it must he so) always be in near proximi ty to, or on the borders of disease, and on very small exposures must sutler from some attack more or less severe. If we reeollect aright, Dr. Dodd has somewhere slated in his book, or in some contribution to the agricultural journals, that horses have often been found dead in their stalls from the effects of carbon ized blood in a polluted atmosphere, and that many more would probably die were they not permitted to take a little of the breath of life through the day. Separating the Sexes in School. [On this point Mr. Slow, a celebrated Glas gow teacher, uses the following language :] The youth of both sexes of our Scottish peas antry, says Mr. Stow, have been educated to gether, and as a whole, the Scots are the most moral people on the face of the globe, edu cation, in England, is given separately, and we have never heard, from practical men, that arfy benefit has arisen from this arrangement.— Some influential individuals there mourn over the popular prejudice on this point. In Dub lin, a larger number of girls turn out badly, who have been educated alone till they attain the age of maturity, than of those who have been otherwise brought up—the separation of the sexes has been found to be positively injuri ous. In France, the separation of the sexes in youth is productive of fearful evils. It is sla ted, on the best authority, that of those girls educated in,the schools of.convents apart from boys, the great majority go wrong within a month after 'being let loose on society, and meeting tho other sex. They cannot, it is said, resist the slightest compliment or flattery. $ook anb fob printing. Having recently made extensive addititioni to sur formed variety of PB*A8i3 ASS® FARCY JOB TYPE# th*-E«*«™ Timm i. now Spared to at, JubWk,- “h if" 'tU<1 DE-“rATlH’ *«■ t irc.lnr., nill-bcnd.,Cords, Cmtm/mtme# Blnub», 1 ro*rn.n,nc., Sho|, BjlUi Label., A onion and Hand Bill** AiCn &Ci O’ Particular attention pal,Ito * -ii5iE©sssia ipmssysnsy©* All »-,rt entrusted to ns will be perform in the Ml manner, amt m lair a* am br affbrdrd. Orders solicited Hjn^prninidlyanswrredG1X>. K. NIIWMAlb 1 he separation is imendetl to keep them strict ly moral, bot this unnatural stclusioh actually generates the very principles desired to be avoided. W e may repeat that it is impossible to raise girls intellectually as high without boys as tviih them ; and it is impossible to raise boys morally as high without the presence of girls, I The girls morally elevate the boys, and (lie boys are intellectually elevated by the presence of girls. Girls brought up with boys are more positively moral, and boys brought up in schools with girls are more positively intellectual by tlid softening influence of the female character. In the Normal Seminary at Glasgow, the most beneficial effects have resulted from the more natural course. Boys and girls, from the age of two and three years to fuurteen or fif teen, have been trained in the same class-rooms, galleries, and play-grounds, without improprr ! ety ; and they are never separated except at needlework. Sagacity of the Northern Bear. On one occasion, a bear was seen to swim cautiously to a rough piece of ice, on which two female walruses were lying asleep with their cubs. The wily animal crept up some hummock’s behind the party, and with his fore feet loosened a large block of ice ; this, with the help of his nose and paws, he rolled and carried till immediately over the heads of the sleepers, when he let it fall on ono of the old animals, which w as instantly killed. The oth er walrus, with its cuhs, rolled into the water ; but the younger one of the stricken females re mained by its dam ; upon this helpless creat ure the hear Dow leaped down, and thus com pleted the destruction of two animals which it would nut have ventured to attack openly. • * The stratagems practised in taking large seal arc much less to be admired. These creatures are remarkably timi I, and for that reason al ways lie to bask or sleep on the very edge of the pieces of floating ice. so that on the slight est alarm they can by one roll tumble them selves into their favorite elements. They are exceedingly restless, constantly moving their head from side to side, and sleeping by very short naps. As with all wild creatures, they turn their attention to the direction of the wind, as if expecting danger from that quarter. The b-ar, on seeing bis intended prey, gets quietly into the water, and swims till Ire is leward of him, from whence, by frequent short dives, he silently makes his approaches, and so arranges his distance that at his last dive he comes op to the spot where the seal i3 lying. If the poor animal attempts to escape by rolling into the water, he falls into the bear’a clutches ; if, on the contrary, he lies still, his destroyer makes a powerful spring, kills him on the ice, and de vours him at his leisure. Working Girls. The Pittsfield (Mass.) Cultorist takes ■ practical and Yankee-like view of this very de sirable ‘institution.’ ‘Happy girls ! who cannot love them ? with cheeks like the rose, bright, sparkling eyes, and elastic step, how cheerfully they go to work. ‘Our reputation for it, such girls will make excellent wives. Blessed, indeed will be those men wbu secure such prizes. Contrast those who do nothing but sigh all day, and live to hdlow the fashions ; who never earn the bread they eat, or the stifles they wear; who are lan guid and lazy, from one week’s end to another. Who but a simpleton and a pnppinjay would prefer one of the latter, if he were looking for a companion. Give us the working girls.—• They are worth their weight in gold. You never sec them mincing along, or jumping a dozen feet to steer clear of a spider or fly ; they have no affectation, or silly airs, or try ing to show off 'to belter advantage, and yoo feel as if yog were talking to a human being, and not to a painted or fallen angel. If girls knew how sadly they miss it, while they endeavor to show off their delicate hands, and unsoiled skins, and put on a thousand airs, they would give worlds for the situation of the working ladies, who are as far above them in intelligence, in honor, in everything, aa the heavens are above the earth. Be wise, then, you who have made fools of yourselves through life. Turn over a new leaf, and begin, though late, to live like human beings ; as companions to immortal men, and not as playthings and dolls. In no other way canwou be happy, and subserve the designs of your existence.’ Reading in the Cabs 'The editor of the New tgigland Fanner in an article upon read ing in the cars, gives his own experience as fel lows : * We had several limes been cautioned against reading in the cars, but a bag full of ‘exchanges’ has proved too strong a temptation to resist, and for several years it has been oor practice to read from two or three to twenty or thirty papers while passing over a distance of twenty miles- But during the spring and early part of summer we invariably returned home wilh a painful sensation in and about the eyes, though feeling nothing of it on taking the cars at Boston. This pain at length beoame permanent, sometimes violent, and so great aa to prevent us from reading, and generally from writing, though Ihe sight was nut impaired.— Upon consultation with an oculist, -he stated that the optic nerve had become weakened by overtasking it, and inquired if we were not in the habit of reading in the carsUnder an in terdiction from reading and writing, the eyes have rapidly improved, and we cao now read half an hour at a silting, under favorable cir cumstances.’ . A parson reading funeral service at the grave, forgot the sex of the deceased, and asked one of the mourners, an Eroeralder,1 la this I brother, or a sister!’ ‘Neither,’ replied Pat, ‘only a cousin.’ Men usually follow their wishes till suffering compels them to follow their judgement.