THE WIFE'S RESOLUTION", 
[Concluded from page 300, this number.] 
Mattie had felt some regrets for her unkind 
treatment of her husband, since his departure; 
and when the hour for dinner arrived and he did 
not come in as usual, she began to look out to¬ 
wards the gate with an anxious face. Little Pet 
came In from school, and her llrst inquiry was 
for papa; he was always there when she came 
in at noon, bat now she missed him and her ac¬ 
customed frolic. 8he ate but little dinner and 
after waiting for him till nearly schooltime, she 
went back feeling very sober, for her, being natu¬ 
rally a gay, happy child, with seldom a cloud 
over her bright young face. If Pet ate but lit¬ 
tle dinner, her mamma ate still less, and every 
moment now only Increased her anxiety, 
“ What if I have driven him away from his 
home? Oh, why was I so willful ?” were ques¬ 
tions which she often asked herself. Her sus¬ 
pense was just becoming an agony when she 
saw him coming up the walk leaning on the 
arm of a neighbor, and looking more like a 
dead man than a live one, he looked so very 
white. Her heart seemed for an instant to 
cease its pulsations. She. however, met them 
at the door, and to her iujuiry of what was the 
matter, he replied;—“ O ! Mattie, l am sick; 
my head aches almost to bursting; I bollove I 
shall go distracted.” She ltd the way to their 
sleeping apartment, and as soon as he had lain 
down she requested the neighbor to go for the 
physician ami then went about bathing his head, 
and trying to soothe the sufferer. The physician 
came in very soou; he pronounced ids disease a 
nervous fever brought on by overwork and some 
mental trouble. O, how Mattie's heart, uilsguve 
her at ibis announcement, and much more when 
before morning he became delirious. For two 
long weary weeks he knew not who bathed his 
head so constantly, who arranged his pillows, 
or who watched by his bedside night and day. 
How often Mattie’s heart ached when, in his 
delirium, he would wish for the happy days to 
return that they had enjoyed so much in the 
long ago; then he would seem to go back to 
those very days, ns if some fairy had lent him 
wings that he might visit the past. In his hap¬ 
piness he would ask her to sing. Mattie would 
grant his request and lie would remain quiet, 
seeming to appreciate the sweet warbling melody 
of her voice as in former days. At other times 
he would ask her to arruuge her dress and go 
with him upon some visit; and as she had so 
often refused whon he hud made the request in 
health, so now he would imagine she had re¬ 
fused him again, — then in hia weakness he 
would turn his face to the wall, and lay and 
sob like a child. At other times he would be 
talking with liia .-outer of their childhood, then 
of their marriage,—always dwelling on the first 
year of their wedded life with great pleasure, 
but upou the later years as being full of disap¬ 
pointments and heart-yearnings. 
Mattie shed many and bitter tears over her 
past life, and firmly resolved to live more for 
the happiness of her husband and family in the 
future,—and for her to resolve waa to begin to 
perform. 
The fever had reached its crisis, and Ciiari.es 
slept calmly. Ah! with what anxiety she watches 
every pulsation. “Will he live? O, will he 
live ?” Mattie asks herself these questions al¬ 
most continually. I low earnestly she puts forth 
a petition to the Great All-wise Fattier to give 
back her husband to her, if it can be consistent 
with His will. The Doctor sits by the bed, while 
Mattie moves silently about the room: she can¬ 
not sit still while this terrible suspense contin¬ 
ues. Now she moves toward the bed; Charley 
slowly opens hLa eyes, and 0, they beam once 
more with the light of reason! But there is a 
look of surprise upon his pale face, us he gazes 
upon his own Mattie. The Doctor forbids bis 
speaking; hut he feebly pnts out his thiu, emaci¬ 
ated hand to his wife. He recognizes his darling 
of former days, with the soft brown curls shad¬ 
ing her now pale check. She has on a tasty 
morning robe, with a dainty collar about her 
neck, and the snowiest of muslin skirts peeps 
out from the heavy folds of her dress. Yes! 
this is his own Mattie, and as she stooped 
down and imprinted a kiss upon his lips, he 
felt there were better days in store for them. 
There was but little need for a physician after 
this. Charley recovered very rapidly. 
Two weeks more passed away. One evening 
when they were all gathered in the sitting-room, 
Mattie said:— “Charley, I shall be ready to 
go with you to see Sister Lucille next week.” 
He looked somewhat surprised and said, a lit¬ 
tle sportively, “ I thought you did not wish to 
go.” 
“ Well, I have changed my mind since then, 
and I am willing to go.” 
“ And I have almost come to the conclusion 
that I am happy enough at home; but if you 
will be ready I think we will start Monday 
morning.” 
They met with a cordial welcome, and al¬ 
though Mattie felt a little diffident at first, 
she soon adapted herself to the wayB of so¬ 
ciety, and seemed to enjoy it us intensely us 
did her husband. When they returned home, 
Mattie was often tempted for awhile to go 
hack to her old habits; but the sight of tier 
husband, who seemed so happy, kept tier firm 
in her new resolve. And I believe her mirror 
fluttered her along, for it told her how much 
younger and better she looked than she had for 
the past fl ve years. Not long ago she was listen¬ 
ing to the children’s conversation when they 
were not aware of her presence, aud she heard 
little Pet remark:—“How much prettier mamma 
looks in her new morning dress tliau she did in 
I that old brown one she used always to wear be¬ 
fore papa was sick; and how pretty her hair 
l looks now that she wears it in its natural curls ; 
j and papa looks so happy too, and it’s not loue- 
, some us It. used to be, tor we have so much more 
company. Oh! how happy we are.” 
Would that all mothers might learn from thiB 
simple lesson to keep their persons tidy, and 
their homes in order, thus rendering them pleas¬ 
ant and happy. 
Michigan, 1367. 
NlikSSEUSTA PARTRIDGE.-(Cyrtonyx Massena.) 
Among the game birds of the United States, 
mentioned by 1>. (1. Elliot in a paper supplied 
to the Agricultural Department, Washington, is 
the Massena Partridge, as shown in the preced¬ 
ing illustration. This bird, a native of Texas 
and Mexico, is usually louiid in eovies remote 
from the cultivated sections of the country. 
Though thus retiring, the herds are gentle, be¬ 
traying little fear of the presence of man, pre¬ 
senting, in this respect, a strong contrast to the 
suspiciousness characteristic of their more uorth- 
e n relatives. The head and crest of the male 
birds are rendered st riking by a singular arrange¬ 
ment of opposing colors bearing a marked re¬ 
semblance to the painted face of a clown in 
pantomime. The female Is distinguished by a 
more sedate plumage of reddish brown hue, bar¬ 
red or streaked with yellow, but destitute of the 
conspicuous markings of the male. These birds 
are valued for their flcBh, and readily secured, in 
consequence of tlieir comparative tameness. 
^acinus ®(l|lics. 
Written for Moo M’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ALDERNEY CREAM AND CONSUMPTIVES. 
Has somebody Alderney stock for sale ? We 
fancy so. Hear him expatiate on the healing 
virtues of cream from Alderney cows. In order 
to gain an audience, he takes his place in the 
Country Gentleman—a very respectable medium 
for advertising. “ Have yon heard,” he In¬ 
quires, “ that cream from Alderney milk was 
[is] excelleut for consumptives ? I am told 
that one of the most celebrated physicians In 
Edinburg, whose skill in the treatment of con¬ 
sumption is very great, recommends its use as 
fully equal to cod-liver oil, and much more pala¬ 
table. If this is a fact, It is worth knowing, and 
should greatly increase the value of this breed 
of cattle.” Ah ! Indeed ! Bat what. Is the fact 
“ worth knowing ?” There are two that seem 
to have been discovered and recommended by 
“ the celebrated physician of Edingburg” to 
the notice of the world; first, that Alderney 
cream is fully equal to cod-liver oil for con¬ 
sumptives ; and secondly, that it is “ more 
palatable”—a notable discovery, worthy of the 
“ distinguished physician,” for which wc thank 
1dm, making our politest bow, and of which we 
intend to avail ourselves to-night in connection 
with our tea and raspberries. 
But is it quite as well known as it ought to be 
that a milk-and-cream diet is most favorable to 
consumptives ? We would not ho so nice as to 
limit this remedial luxury to the few who have 
an Alderney cow. Any good cow’s milk will 
answer the purpose—though we will not vouch 
for milk-men’s milk, which is manufactured 
from a chalk quarry with the aid of a hydraut. 
Doubtless there is a difference between the rich¬ 
ness of both cream and milk from different cows; 
but not enough to make it essential in the ques¬ 
tion of diatetlcs. The Aldemeys are good; and 
so arc many of our native cows. The prescrip¬ 
tion of milk and cream for consumptives is not 
a new thing,— not first known, at least in this 
country, in connection with Alderney cows. I)r. 
Timothy Guilds, pretty well known for many 
years, as head of the Pittsfield Medical Institu¬ 
tion, long ago, before he had ever seen an Alder¬ 
ney, we must believe, substituted cream for cod- 
liver oil for consumptives. Only last year, a 
well-known practitioner sent an emueiated inva¬ 
lid up into this region among the valleys formed 
by the spurs of the Green Mountains, with the 
express direction to make a free use of milk 
diet, which he accordingly did, much to his 
benefit, albeit there are no Aldemeys herea¬ 
bouts. Another from a neighboring city went 
to New York, that he might receive the best 
medical advice, which consisted in ordering him 
to make breakfast and supper on bread and milk 
alone; and this lie followed to the letter, remain¬ 
ing in the city some months to eat bread and 
what, by courtesy, is called milk. The beet evi¬ 
dence of the excellence of milk diet Is the fact 
that the man survived, when he received so lit¬ 
tle milk aud so much of water and other ingredi¬ 
ents. The two essential qualities of wholesome 
milk are purity and cleanliness,—the latter sel¬ 
dom so carefully attended to by milkers as it 
ought to be. With these qualities milk and 
cream from any cows will be found equal to cod- 
liver oil for consumptives, aud better than all 
the nostrums for dyspepsia and nervous prostra¬ 
tion. 
But to secure this good effect, they must be 
daily though not Bole articles of diet. The con¬ 
sumptive needs variety as well as others in his 
food. But let him quench thirst with cool milk; 
eat it with bread, apple pie, berries and, above 
all, with baked sweet apples the year round if 
possible. Let him cat cream and sugar, and not 
some vile compound called gravy, on his pud¬ 
dings. With some, molasses cookies and milk 
are a favorite dish. Let all his salt fish, if he 
eats any, ho freshened in milk. With a little 
forethought and ingenuity a great variety of 
palatable dishes—aye, “ more palatable" than 
cod liver oil—cun be made, In which milk or 
cream may be a large ingredient. The more 
crearn, of course, the more concentrated and 
powerful, as a remedial agent, this diet will he. 
Ami now, O country I'rUitiO, let me tempt 
your palate by giving a recipe for one dish of 
this kind. If you have not heard of it before, 
you will thank me forever and bless your stars 
that you live in the country where pure milk 
and good fruit can be easily obtained. I have 
not seen it in the Rural, though It is not new. 
Take good, fair, pound sweet apples—they are 
the best—one for each of you, mind,—that Is 
enough for tea; pare and core them whole; 
steam them thoroughly; put them on the table 
and sprinkle them to your taste with white 
sugar and milk or cream; then eat them, but 
not without thanks to the Giver of all good 
things. E. M. E. 
THE BSE OF STIMULANTS. 
It is quite true that after a man lias gone 
through a day of severe and harassing labor — 
whether in the city, or In seeing patients, or 
getting up briefs aud cases, or in any other way- 
lie feels very much refreshed and restored by the 
bottle of champagne which he has been recom¬ 
mended to take with hia dinner. But the resto¬ 
ration is only for the moment. No process of 
real enduring reparation takes place. One effect 
of the temporary exhilaration is a readiness to 
renew the labor from which he only desisted an 
hour and a half bufore. The stimulant supports 
him for two hours’ more work, anil the result is 
that the last state of that man is worse than the 
first. 
There is another way of recruiting the flagging 
system to which doctors are also very foud of 
resorting. If you feel wearied at any time, or 
faint, they say in a sympathetic manner, “Take 
a little brandy and wuter." This is mure fatal 
than the other. As the teetotalers say, it makes 
men a prey to the iusidiousness of the demon of 
alcohol. The interval between the periods of 
faintness grow small by degrees and beautifully 
less. The dimensions of the refreshment in¬ 
crease with a proportionate rapidity, and a man 
becomes a 6teady, if an unostentatious, tippler 
before he knows that he has left the domain of 
the most rigid temperance. Common language 
misleads him. A man is uot culled a drinker 
unless he drinks till he is drunk. Now, the bar¬ 
rister, or merchant, or doctor—for the doctor is 
no wiser than his own prescription—who thus 
recruits himself several times a day, never does 
drink until he is tipsy. He takes a sufficient 
quantity to make him so, but he takes it with 
discretion and judgment, lie can do an im¬ 
mense amount of work without ever feeling 
anything like severe exhaustion, arid he is natu¬ 
rally confident, therefore, that all is well with 
lum. It is uot ueeessary to trace the gradual 
source of things after the muiuer of a tract or 
an itinerant advocate of total al stlnonce. What¬ 
ever advantages the system of brandy-aud-water, 
taken in small but frequently-repeated doses, 
may have in helping a weakisb man through 
some period of emergency or pressure, it is con¬ 
formable both to analogy and experience to be¬ 
lieve that in the long run it must he ruinous. 
No doctors differ as to the ultimate conse¬ 
quences of sneh a habit if it becomes chronic 
and Buttled. Their theory is that it never does 
become chronic—a theory which reposes on a 
very thin delusion indeed. It is uot the business 
of a layman to teach the skillful leach the physi¬ 
cal deterioration which must ensue from repeat¬ 
ed stimulants, however small ouch one of them 
may be. A man need uot be a very subtle phys¬ 
iologist to discover this. The most important of 
all these is that it helps an overworked man to 
overwork himself still more. It fncilibites the 
growth of the very vice whose results it was 
supposed to mitigate. Instead of soothing a 
harassed mind, it only increases a mini’s capaci¬ 
ty of bearings to he harassed. Whether this la 
a kindness to him is uot much of a question. 
EYESIGHT. 
Milton’s blindness waa the result of overwork 
and dyspepsia. One of the most eminent Amer¬ 
ican divines has for some time been compelled 
to forego the pleasure of reading, has speut 
thousands of dollars in vain, aud lost years of 
time in consequence of getting up several honra 
before day, and studying by artificial light. 
Multitudes of men and women have made their 
eyes weak for life by the too free use of the 
eyesight iu reading small print and doing lino 
6cwing. 
In view of these things it is well to observe 
the following rules in the use of the eyes: 
Avoid all sudden changes between light and 
darkness. 
Never begin to read, or write, or sew, for sev¬ 
eral minutes after coming from darkness to a 
bright light. 
Never read by twilight, or moonlight, or of a 
cloudy day. 
Never read or sew directly in front of the light, 
or window, or door. 
It is better to have the light fall from above, 
obliquely over the left shoulder. 
Never sleep so that on first awaking the eyes 
shall open on the light of a window. 
Do uot use the eyesight so scant that it re¬ 
quires an effort to discriminate. 
Too much light creates a glare, and pains and 
confuses the sight. The moment yon are sensi¬ 
ble of an effort to distinguish, that moment 
cease, and take a walk or ride. 
As the sky is blue aud theeartli green, it would 
seem that the ceiling should be of a bluish tinge, 
and the wulls of some mellow tint. 
The moment you are instinctively prompted 
to rub the eyes, that moment cease using them. 
If the eyelids are glued together on waking 
up, do not forcibly open them, but apply the sa¬ 
liva with the. finger; it Is the speediest dilutent 
in the world. Then wash eyes aud face in warm 
water.—/ lull's Journal of Health. 
Intemperance.—I f all the wealth now sunk 
in the bottomless pit of Intemperance were ap 
propriated to the purchase of libraries, philo¬ 
sophical apparatus, or cabinets of natural history; 
If all the time, that element of priceless value, 
which is now worse than lost In the various 
haunts of dissipation, were devoted to the read¬ 
ing of well-selected books, to lyceum exercises, 
to music or other social aud refining arts, it 
would give to society a new moral and political 
sensorium. How can any man witness without 
pain this great deformity, where there should be 
beauty and divine grandeur!— Horace Mann. 
Ridicule a Two-Edged Sword.— He that in¬ 
dulges himself in ridiculing the little imperfec¬ 
tions and weaknesses of his friends will in time 
find mankind united against him. The man who 
sees another ridiculed before him, though he may 
for Up" present, concur in the general laugh, yet 
in a cool hour will consider the same trick might 
be played against himself; but wheu there is no 
sense of this danger, the natural pride of human 
nature rises against him, who, by general cen¬ 
sures, lays claim to general superiority.— Hr. 
Johnson. 
fl«a&ittg Ion Soling. 
“WAKE UP, SOLOMON!” 
“ Wake up, Solomon. It’s time to get up," 
shouted young narry to his sluggish brother 
one line July morning, as he jumped gaily out 
of bed, and began dressing himself. 
“ What time Is It?" yawned Solomon. 
“Nearly six,” replied his brother; aud mind, 
Sol, we start at bcvcii." 
It’s too early to get up yet,” said Solomon. 
“ I’ll snooze till a quarter to seven.” So the 
lazy fellow turned round, and was soon fast 
asleep again. When ho awoke his room looked 
very full of sunshine. The Iioubo was very 
quiet, too, and rubbing Ills eyes he muttered: 
“ I wonder if it is seven o’clock yet?” 
Crawling out of bed, he dressed himself and 
went down stairs. Thero was nobody in tho 
parlor, nobody In the sitting room, nobody In 
the dining room. 
“What can be the matter?” thought Solo¬ 
mon, as ho rang tho bell for the maid to.bring 
him his breakfast. 
“ \Vhcre arc they all ?” ho asked, as soon'as 
she appeared. 
“ Gone to the city," replied the maid. “ They 
started two hours ago.” 
“ Why, what time is it ?” 
“ Niue o’clock.” 
“ Nine o’clock ! But why didn’t they [call 
me ?” 
“ You were called at six o’clock, and wouldn’t 
get up. Your father wouldn't have you called 
ogaiu. He said he would teach you a lesson.” 
“ It’s too bad !” cried Solomon, dropping his 
head upon tho table aud bursting into tears. 
It was too bad that tho lazy boy did not loam 
the lesson of that morning so as to turn over a 
new leaf in the book of life. I am sorry to say 
he did not. He loved sleep. He hated work. 
He was the Blave of lazy habits, and is so to this 
duy. 
What sort of a man will Solomon Slowcoach 
be ? Well, If he don’t die of Idleness before he 
becomes a man, he will be a shiftless, good-for- 
nothing fellow. lie won’t have any knowledge, 
because he is too lazy to study ; nor any money, 
because he is too lazy to work; nor any good 
character, because lie Is too lazy to couquer 
himself. 
Wake up, Solomon! Wake up, my dear hoy! 
Shake off the chains that arc upon you! Be 
manly, be wide awake, ho something! If you 
don’t wake up you will soon he a lost boy. 
Wake up, Solomon, wake up! If you don't 
you will make shipwreck of your life. 
High Attainments.—I f there be any attain¬ 
ment which has seemed to you up till now to bo 
Impossible, long after It. If It be any bight of 
virtue, if it be any excellence of loveliness, or 
any eminence of grace, let your soul be enlarged. 
For Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ORNITHOLOGICAL ENIGMA. 
An Enigma I give for the wise one’s delight. 
To (letermlue which, you need use only sight; 
Afler this broad hint we’ll proceed to review 
My letters, that are In number eighteen aud two. 
13, 1, 8 is a bird very curious to behold, 
And when this is said, enough has been told. 
11, 10,1), 18, upward mounts into azure space on high, 
’Till his fast receding form becomes lost to the eye. 
20, 16, 3, 18 Is as black us your hut, 
But is none the worse bird on account of all that. 
4,10, 0,16,1, 10, 6 are industrious as mice, 
As they scratch for a living, and on table are nice. 
6,12, 2, 14, 15, 3, I t, 11 is in northern regions found, 
And where no snow Is they seldom abound. 
14, 17, 5, 12 Is often very fUmiliar with man, 
And a very small bird, so guess it if you can. 
Now. to learn my whole you will be iu doubt, 
But don’t rack your brain to And It out; 
For if at guessing you’re a little bit green, 
Just look right ahead, aud there ’twill be seen. 
Schoolcraft, Micb. M. n. Coopeb. 
Answer in two woekB. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 24 letters. 
My 6, 9, 24, 4 is ono of tho digits. 
My 5, 20,10,19,11,12 a man’s name. 
My 3,14,1, 8, 4, 24, 16 Is what we sometimes wear in 
winter. 
My 9,19, 18, 24 Is a kind of metal. 
My 22, 13, 2, 20, 11 Is the name of a State. 
My 5,19, 22 is one of our limbs. 
My 17 23,16,15 is not slow. 
My 21, 5, 8,16 is a kind of grain. 
My whole is an old saying. 
Brighton, N. Y. Bella. 
J2 if" Answer In two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
algebraical problem. 
An old man married a young woman, their united 
ages amounting to C. The old man’s age multiplied 
by 4 and divided by 9 will give tho woman’s age. Re¬ 
quired the age of euch In years and weeks. 
Batavia, N. Y. J. G. Johnson. 
Answer in two weeks. 
-- » 4» - - - 
For Moore’s Knral New-Yorker. 
AN ANAGRAM. 
Akeaw, ym ryel, ’ist romingn uroh; 
Ilet rit>8d rea nigiugs ni eht rvoeg, 
Nad ’sidtin bet gons ofmr rweob ot rbwoe, 
Liwl nma grotef sih karem’s eolvV 
Greenfield. 8. 8. Wescott. 
Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, Ac., IN No. 919. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma: —A stitch in 
time saves nine. 
Answer to Geographical EnigmaAgnes of Sor¬ 
rento. 
Answer to Arithmetical Problem:—1 furlong, 2 feet, 
0 inches. 
