feet copy of the original, it became the 
Mecca of sight-seers and promcnaders.” 
“ IIe was very peculiar about some things,” 
chimed in the daughter. “ He would never 
walk on the street with a lady unless she 
were veiled. And a woman in low liodicc 
and short sleeves—which is common in the 
South — was his abomination. If thrown 
in the society of one thus clad, he would 
turn away in disgust, exclaiming, 4 Cover 
yourself!’ ” 
“ And was he never found guilty of any¬ 
thing mean or dishonestV” I asked, ill-na¬ 
turedly, desiring to find some flaw in this 
seemingly perfect man. 
“Never. He seemed to be as good and 
pure and noble as he was perfect in form 
and fare, lie appeared in the city suddenly, 
and left it equally so. There was a rumor 
that a Spanish lady who spent several years 
in Savannah was in some way connected 
with him, but how we never knew. She 
was never seen there after he left, lie had 
pupils in music, and they were invariably 
greatly attached to him. One of them, a 
young Eschlip, one night, after his first per¬ 
formance at a soiree, ran across the stage and 
threw himself in his master's anus in a per¬ 
fect transport of gratitude. After Panwi’s 
disappearance, Esenia i* so grieved for him 
that lie finally announced his determination 
to seek him. ‘1 must find him, or I die,’ lie 
said, and believing the peerless Italian had 
gone to the deliverance of Ids country, set 
sail for Europe. The result of ids search we 
never ascertained.” 
About this time a new boarder came to 
the house. As she kept her room for several 
days, we only knew she was a Mrs. Gas- 
kei.Ii, and an invalid. A few mornings after 
her arrival a light tap came to my door and 
at an unceremonious “ Come in,” a lady in 
slight dishabille entered and introducing 
herself as Mrs. Cask ELI. begged the loan of 
some slight, favor. I gave her a seat and 
she remained some lime, chatting on ordi¬ 
nary topics, hut betraying great lack of con¬ 
centration. 1 saw at once that she was the 
wreck of an accomplished and gifted woman. 
There was that in her speech and maimer, 
the sweetness of her smile and the shapeli¬ 
ness of her hands, that betrayed her royalty. 
She puzzled me curiously enough. She 
might be. forty years old or lass. Her face, 
which was oval and pale, was covered with 
lines that no age could produce—only some 
great and overwhelming sorrow. Her eyes 
were blue and somewhat unsteady. Her 
yellow hair, crisp and lifeless, was worn in 
short curls about, her brows, and Urn slight 
irregularity of her features only gave pi¬ 
quancy to her expression. As her health Im¬ 
proved she often sat with ns in the parlor in 
the evening, and proved herself to lie a pleas¬ 
ant and entertaining conversationalist. She 
had t raveled a great deal, spoke Spanish and 
Italian with fluency, and sang and played 
with agreenbloness. 
“ You may think it very strange,” she said 
one evening, “but. my'life has been made up 
of epochs, and my future has ever been |>or- 
trayeif aforetime by some strange presenti¬ 
ment. I was sick for five years. 1 was mar¬ 
ried for five years. For five years I was ab¬ 
sorbed in a most intense and fearful love. I 
had honest ly loved my husband, but this was 
a love that consumed me—made me at once 
a goddess and a slave. Ah! a fearful pas¬ 
sion ! I have but. one more epoch — the in¬ 
heritance of wealth that comes from death, 
and brings death with it.” 
“ That is odd,” I said, musingly. 
Then she repeated a poem that had shaped 
itself in her brain in her dreamy morning 
hours. It was a mysterious, musical thing, 
like the sublime poems ive dream, but can 
never fashion into words when awake. 
“ Kecite something more,” I importuned, 
when she bad finished. 
She repeated an acrostic, saying as she 
finished, 44 Panxmi —a musical name, isn’t it? 
He was a friend 1 once had. lie was very 
gifted in song and melody, and ah ! he lack¬ 
ed in nothing Save -constancy. lie was an 
Italian, and you know how jealous and pas¬ 
sionate they arc I But how grand, how 
splendid he was! A sublime embodied poem 
— pathos, tenderness and nobleness; pas¬ 
sion, lire and wrath, harmoniously blended, 
but strangely individualized.” 
“ 1’anlmi ! Pantmi !—Why, I’ve heard Mrs. 
Mack speak of him; come with me!” and 
half dragging her after me in my impetu¬ 
osity, I introduced her as “ another Panimi 
woman; and they must all talk.” 
They did talk ! and Mrs. Gaskelt. en¬ 
thralled us for that evening in this wise: 
Panimi—Piktho Panimi — was bom In 
Rome, and had one sister, Lanzatti. He 
was a beautiful boy, and the idol of his 
uncle, who was a Cardinal. His father died 
when he was still young and his uncle took 
him to Naples to educate him. He was ever 
singing songs, putting rhymes together and 
playing on instruments, of which the viol 
was his favorite. One day his uncle called 
to him as he was playing in the garden. 
“ Pietro, come here 1 If you will practice 
two hours a day for half a year, you shall 
have my finest horse.” 
Pietko won the horse and made such 
wondertid progress that lie excelled his mas¬ 
ters, who were, no longer available. 
He was yet at the University when the 
revolution of 1848 broke out, and with the 
other students he joined the revolutionists. 
The revolution was subdued, the students 
arrested and condemned to be beheaded in 
twenty-four hours. The Cardinal interfered 
and Panimi’s life was saved. He was ex¬ 
iled from Ids country, went on board a 
United States receiving ship and remained 
three years. But one friend accompanied 
him, Centro, an Italian, who would have 
died for him. 
Pietro was the glory of the ship. His 
music entranced the officers and sailors; 
he was placed at the head of the band, 
and became the leading spirit on board. 
One of the naval officers became so much 
attached to him that he took him to his 
home in New York and said to his mother.: 
“I have a friend, a noble Italian, exiled 
for wanting Ids Italy free, lie is my idol, 
you must invite him here.” 
The mother endeavored to .modify her 
son’s ardor by showing him the impropriety 
of taking a stranger, a foreigner, into her 
home. But it was of no avail. Panimi was 
no stranger, he was so noble, lie was in¬ 
vited, came and dined with the family. 
There was no resisting or doubting him. 
That was to be his home so long as he re¬ 
mained. 
It was on July 3d that he came. There 
was a young woman visiting at the house, 
whom we will call—what Panimi after¬ 
ward called her — Aliuionsi. Shu was 
twenty-two years old, very fair, and her 
bright yellow hair fell in curls to her waist. 
Her figure was superb. She was lbnd of 
poetry, music and dancing; but then she 
seemed sad and was in deep mourning. At 
dinner she merely bowed, but took no further 
notice of Panimi. She had a horror of for¬ 
eigners. But Panimi looked at her. His 
eyes seemed hardly to rest elsewhere. The 
next day Panimi ventured a few common¬ 
places, and afterward said to Centro, “ I 
have found my destiny.” 
The next day he was silent, and seemed 
like one in a dream. In the evening At.- 
IUIONSI played the piano and sang, softly, 
“ Long, long ago.” All at once the strains 
of a violin moaned with the harmony, and 
after she arose she saw it was Panimi. She 
went to a sofa and ihe Italian to the piano. 
He played the same sad, old song. It was so 
plaintive, so rich in feeling, of such wonder¬ 
ful and ineffable sweetness that all the neigh¬ 
borhood was attracted by the music. Later 
in the evening the household party went mi 
the roof. But Alpiionsi soon returned; she 
disliked the foreigner, and it was several 
days before she treated him with civility. 
After she had once yielded her prejudices, 
she recognized the peerlessness of Pietro 
Pantmi. 
Alpiionsi had a friend, a young physi¬ 
cian, who often came to see her, and whom 
she sincerely admired. Between him and 
Panimi a bitter enmity arose Each became 
jealous of the other, and a challenge was the 
result. The work was almost instantaneous. 
Hearing loud words, Alphonsi ran into the 
garden, found Pietro with a dagger, and the 
doctor wounded. I It* had only a cane, which 
was insufficient. He was carried into the 
house, attended by a friend, recovered in a 
fortnight, and the matter kept secret. Pan¬ 
imi sued tor pardon, and Alphonsi went 
away and was absent a month. 
Panimi knew but little English, and ad¬ 
hered to his own tongue most tenaciously. 
But Alpiionsi spoke English, and each 
learned the other’s language. 
One evening Panimi sal on the hack pi¬ 
azza with his cigar. Alphonsi was enter¬ 
taining a gentleman in the parlor. The 
Italian looked down the rooms and watched 
her. It was more than he could endure to 
see her smiling on another. He called out, 
“ Alphonsi, come herd” 
She recognized the imperative tones, but 
did not obey. Again he called, and stand¬ 
ing where aim could see him, lie lighted the 
frill of linen at his wrist and held the one 
hand over the other to catch the flames. 
A r.pHONSl was at Ids side in a moment and 
smothered the fire with her handkerchief. 
“ Are you insane, Panimi ?” she asked. 
“ I called, you did not come,” was all the 
reply he made. 
Twice each week Alpiionsi went away, 
which excited Pietro’s jealousy, and he 
watched her movements. He found her 
tending a grave in Greenwood, read lier 
name on the stone and walked hack in des¬ 
pair. He could never many a woman who 
hadhceiy a wile, lie said to his hostess, lie 
went, away, returned after three days, and 
besieged Alphonsi. 
“Forget, Alpiionsi, forget eternally, that 
there was ever another. Blot out the past. 
Drown it in oblivion. Live only in the 
future. Begin life now. Promise me, Al- 
riiONST, promise.” 
His eyes were on lier; the overwhelming 
power of his magnetism enveloped her. She 
neither dared nor had the power to refuse. 
She promised. 
A few days after this a party was given at 
which both attended. Alpiionsi wore a 
heavy dress of black silk, with no ornaments 
save a necklace of Roman pearls. Panimi 
was dressed as a Roman gentleman. How 
noble and beautiful be looked! He had the 
clear-cut, Romhn profile, with delicate nos¬ 
trils. His brows were finely arched and 
penciled. His face, usually pale, was now 
heightened with color. His waving black 
hair, with the light, shining through it, looked 
like gold. There was something so enno¬ 
bling about him that all were ready to do 
him homage. Wherever he appeared lie was 
the one vital center. As in height lie tow¬ 
ered above ot her men, so in proportion the 
wonderful superiority of his vast personal 
magnetism and dignity of manner made 
mites of other men. 
Alphonsi had many friends at this gath¬ 
ering. Her beauty and accomplishments 
brought her many admirers. While con¬ 
versing with her friends she caught the keen, 
hungry glance of Panimi, and felt herself 
impelled to go to him. Blie went and stood 
beside him. 
“ It is well,” lie whispered passionately. 
“ You read my eyes as I do the stars. 1 shall 
speak no word. The woman I love must 
need none.” 
About this time Ai.phonsi’s friends inter¬ 
fered. They denounced him as a worthless 
Italian adventurer—a mere musician who 
had fascinated Alphonsi with his voice and 
eyes. They were utterly averse to her mak¬ 
ing so digraceftil an alliance. 
Alphonsi knew not what to do, and so 
did nothing. Pantmi’m health began to fail. 
He wrote to his mother in Rome;—“ 1 have 
found a woman 1 cannot live without.” She 
wrote in return“ Pietro must remember 
that Americans are not simple-hearted like 
Italians. But Pietro is wise. 1 wish you 
all happiness.” To Alpiionsi she wrote:— 
“ I love you, because you love my Pietro.” 
There was trouble in Italy again, and 
Pietro’s sister, the beautiful Lanz atti , took 
the veil. He despised their Popish religion, 
the priestly servitude. These tidings aggra¬ 
vated his ills, and his physician ordered him 
Sout.li. His passion for Alphonsi was so 
wild, so intense and fearful, that she refused 
to see him alone. Ilcr friend, the hostess, 
was always present. This aggrieved Pietro 
and he left suddenly. His absence rendered 
Alpiionsi nearly frantic. She begged her 
friend to restore peace. “ His face is stamped 
on my heart,” she cried. “ Wherever I look 
1 see only him ; I can see nothing else! Oh! 
I pray God to take me from the world. It 
is so fearful to love so ! \ am not myself; I 
cannot, lie hip. Oh! what wretchedness,” 
and throwing herself on the knees of her 
friend she moaned piteously. 
“Then you do indeed love Panimi, Al- 
PHONsr ?” asked her friend. 
“ Love, him ! — ask the flowers if they love 
the dew! or the spring flowers the sun! 
Lovcliim! I adore hint. T worship—there 
is neither God nor men — only him. 1 could 
die for him, Panimi, Panimi!”— and she 
fell herself raised in strong arms, and Pan¬ 
imi’s eyes were her sun again. The hostess 
passed from the room, and PnjTHO, clasping 
Alphonsi in his arms, kissed her so passion¬ 
ately that she was faint and frightened. 
“Oh ! let us both die, Alpiionsi !” he ex¬ 
claimed. “ Such happiness can never come 
again. We are both wretched away from 
each other, and yet a cruel fate separates us. 
Let us both die together. Death is sweet.” 
His voice, his manner, terrified her to des¬ 
peration, and, springing from his arms she 
passed to the balcony and shut the window 
between them. He stood looking at her lor 
a moment, and then crossing his arms said, 
coldly, “ I go, never to return. Good-night, 
good-by.” 
The next day Pantmi ivas to sail for the 
South. The great nervous strain that Al¬ 
phonsi had undergone - made her sick and 
half Insane. She would have no breakfast, 
and requested to be lef t alone during the day. 
After a lit tle she put on her hat and shawl 
ami went out. The sunshine and birds in 
the park were better than the silence of the 
house. 
In the afternoon, Panimi, repenting of his 
heartless adieu, returned with Centro to 
see Alphonsi again. She was not in her 
room, neither in the house nor the garden. 
They searched the neighborhood, and Pani¬ 
mi, guided by his passion and suggestions of 
his own nnld and impulsive nature, ran to 
the river and walked up and down and 
about the quays, asking if a woman Avitli 
golden hair had been seen. Darkness 
came, but no Alpiionsi. She must have 
drowned herself. At twilight, Alphonsi 
quietly returned and passed to her room. It 
was evident she had not been missed. She 
threw herself on a sofa by the window and 
gave herself up to the silence she felt creep¬ 
ing over lier like a clammy chill. Soon came 
a confused sound from below, and hurried, 
nervous steps. Some one entered her room 
hurriedly, and taking something from the 
table, was about retreating in the same ner¬ 
vous manner, but catching a glimpse of her 
Avhile dress, exclaimed, “Alphonsi! My 
God!” and then, more frantically, he shout¬ 
ed “ Alphonsi, a qui> Pietro !” It rang 
through the house like a bell. It was Cen¬ 
tro’s voice. 
Pietro came into the room like a ghost, 
and, throwing himself beside her, xvepl with 
all the abandon of a child, saying the while, 
softly, “ Alphonsi, oh, Alphonsi,” and 
tying her long hair about his neck, like one 
demented. 
Next day Panimi sailed, and Alphonsi 
waved her handkerchief until the steamer 
was lost down the hay. Her friends remain¬ 
ed inexorable, and would listen to nothing. 
Through Centro she learned that PrETOO 
had stopped in Savannah and had written 
her half a score of letters. They must have 
been intercepted, for she received none. She 
became unfit for anything, and would sit day 
after day and talk only of Pietro. A t lengt h 
she resolved to go to him, only to prov e lier 
loyalty and return. The past was no more ; 
life had only begun; and life was Panimi. 
She purchased her voyage tickets, and told 
her friends she was going to spend a tew 
days in Montford. She confided her plans 
to Centro, and took him with her. They 
reached the wharf; the steamer had just left 
the pier. There was a brig near by Dial was 
to sail that afternoon. How long would it 
take to make the voyage? “ Five days, per¬ 
haps,” the Captain said. They went on 
board, and by night the brig was out at sea. 
Then wit h the great waves around her, she 
saw what she had done. It was overpower¬ 
ing.—[Concluded next week. 
1'ujgimic information. 
DIET AND DISEASE. 
Without Indorsing all the conclusions of 
the following article, we copy as good, and 
not unprofitable reading, this spicy review 
ofawork on health by JL D. Mttssey, M I)., 
which appeared in the Radical for January. 
It will repay perusal. 
Now it is triumphantly asserted, by those 
who do not know, that everything about 
man shows that he is cut out lor a large 
feeder. Especially they insist upon the fact 
that Ids tooth and digestive apparatus show 
that he combines the capacities of the throe 
classes of animals—the fruit, grass, and flesh 
eaters. He leads ihe animal world in Jus 
capacity for assimilating all kinds of food— 
Which shows, they argue, that it was in¬ 
tended he should lie a great feeder. A cow 
has no power to import molasses into her 
pasture, or to make a plum pudding. Yet 
man has, and lie can do it. safely. But tile 
doctor denies both the feet and its eotichi 
sion. lie quotes from Cuvier,who says that 
“the natural food of man is fruit, roots, and 
the succulent portion of vegetables. His 
weak jaws and small canine teeth would not 
allow him, in a stale of nature to live on 
herbage or flesh.” He alludes to the three 
tests which should determine the food for 
man—first, the make of his teeth; second, 
the make of his digestive apparatus; third, 
the eating habits of the kinds of animals 
nearest man. And he contends that these 
three marks show that man was intended for 
a vegetable eater. 
First, the teeth. The fore ones in car¬ 
nivorous animals always meet. In man 
they do not meet, but overlap, as In all fruit- 
eating creatures. Besides, they are not. 
strong, as the lion’s or wolf’s; but weak, as 
with llu: fruit-eaters. Second, the side teeth 
are not long and projecting, ms with the car¬ 
nivorous, who thus can seize their prey ; hut 
are short, as with the fruit-eaters. Third, 
the back teeth of man have the grinding mo¬ 
tion which the fruit and grass-eaters have, 
but which the flesh-eaters do not have. 
Then they meet squarely. But those of the 
carnivorous overlap, so as to act as shears in 
cutting the flesh. They are not notched, 
as the carnivorous orders require in order 
that they may hold their food while eating 
it. In fact, he remarks that all omnivorous 
quadrupeds, like the bear, the raccoon, the 
opossum, the hog, have no lateral motion to 
their back teeth. But man, in common with 
the cow and fruit-eaters, has this peculiarity. 
Second, the form of the digestive appara¬ 
tus. This, with the grass-eaters, is always 
long and complex. With the flesh-eaters, 
always short and simple. With the fruit- 
eaters, as to length, it is intermediate between 
the two classes; as to simplicity, not so sim¬ 
ple as the flesh-eaters, not so complex as the 
grass-eaters. But man has precisely the pe¬ 
culiarity here of the fruit-eaters. Ilis inter¬ 
lines are not short, like the flesh-eaters; nor 
complex, like the grass-eaters; but interme¬ 
diate— showing, therefore, that he was 
meant to eat the grains and fruits. It is 
true, as the doctor remarks, some cows and 
horses have been known to eat and relish 
oysters and fish. But this fuet does not 
show an original intention. But if a com¬ 
plex diet fil ings disease, as it always does to 
these animals— if the distillery-fed cow has 
her teeth diseased and crumbling, like those 
of the over-fed urchin, wo must reason in the 
same way as to man. 
Third, the eating habits of the animals 
next to man. Now, what animals are most 
similar to him, in make, in teeth, in digestive 
apparatus? The gorilla, the ourang, the 
chimpanzee. Teeth and intestines are simi¬ 
lar. But these are all, with our other mon¬ 
key friends, frvU-eaten. Flesh is detrimen¬ 
tal to their health. Now, if all these facts 
do not show, as the doctor is inclined to 
think they do, that men and women are 
meant to lie grain-eaters, exclusively, they 
certainly do show that we were not meant to 
be Falstaffs with unbounded stomachs. 
They do show 1 hat wc were intended for 
simple food, like corn, or the apple, or the 
potato; and that such food is compatible 
with high health. As the rejoicing invalid 
said, “If man could only know the inspira¬ 
tion that will come from the feed of rye por¬ 
ridge and oat-meal tea, lie would pay higher 
prices for that than for the gorgeous lunch.” 
They do show that our vast varieties of food, 
though produced by that, glory of man, wo¬ 
man, are slightly demoniac in their origin 
and results. 
We have hinted that often disease in its 
various forms could be traced to an unhappy 
digestion and the contents of the stomach. 
The. doctor is sure of this cause, though not 
so wild as to think it the only one. Now all 
know the weak saws that a man will whine 
out when his lungs, nerves or stomach are 
in had trim. “ Oh ! it is my poor constitu¬ 
tion !" The poor constitution has to take it. 
“Confound these lungs! they were never 
good for anything. 1 inherited bad nerves 
from my good mother.” (Not a very shining 
compliment.) But the doctor would say, 
“ Friend, your digestion may he at the bot¬ 
tom of part of the trouble. Don’t be too 
fast.” And to show this he proceeds to pile 
up a small mountain of cases, illustrating 
how diseases far ofl’ from the stomach can he 
reached at that pampered center. We will 
give a few of the cases. 
A lady teacher. For two months in constant 
nausea, utterly prostrated. A good emetic- 
made her digestive apparatus give up the 
green leaves of some dandelions which she 
had eaten six weeks before. Presently got 
well. A fat old gentleman. Would have 
sharp cramps in his feet, and at times con¬ 
vulsions. The doctor would instantly relieve 
him by a little medicine administered to his 
sinning stomach. Dr. Wollaston, the, English 
scientific man. Had once a most violent 
pain in his ankle. Presently he tlireAv up a 
large ice cream, and the pain departed. A 
woman blind for three and a half months. 
Slight doses of guaiaeum administered to the 
stomach brought back her sight in one week. 
A gentleman with terrific pains at the heart, 
an intermittent pulse, was sure his heart was 
diseased. 11 is doctor, in one attack, sounded 
his stomach, found in it the greater part of a 
roast chicken. The chicken removed, heart 
all right. 
Then the common ease of a cold. It is 
known that after eating there Is always a 
secretion of mucus in the lungs and their 
tubes. And, with some not over-healthy, the 
secretion is apt to be very large. A very fat 
fowl, therefore, will often make a very find 
throat. Cleanse the stomach, probably, and 
the cold will often and at once yield. A lady 
with disease of the liver. Often with most 
acute, fierce pains from the jaundice. Once, 
after a long cessation of pain, a single mouth¬ 
ful of her “ pet ham” brought back the entire 
round of troubles. The 1mm subdued, she 
became all right. A lady who entirely lost 
her* voice—of a very costive habit. A suc¬ 
cessful treatment of the digestive organs 
(reached through the kidneys, which were 
also sluggish,) by a single dose of medicine, 
brought hack almost instantly her voice. A 
young child, always ailing, weak, irritable, 
stupid, body covered with sores, with most 
voracious appetite. The greater the quan¬ 
tity of food, t he greater the appetite. A diet 
exclusively of baked apples was commenced. 
Soon the passion, stupidity, voraciousness, 
sores, disappeared. A perfect recovery. A 
person fearfully afflicted with ulcers. No 
remedy. Cured through the stomach by a 
diet of bread and water. 
Asthma. A gentleman had a severe form 
of it. Seven bad attacks in six months. 
Dosed with morphine, cle. Cured perfectly 
by a spare bread-and-watcr did, and in a 
short time. Dr. Gregory Buffered Horn an 
attack of palsy. {Several light shocks. Was 
of full liahit. Turned about in his diet. 
Lived exclusively on bread, milk, vegetable 
diet, and in moderate quantities. Got well. 
Lived thirty yearn to ho ninety-three. A 
ease of epilepsy of fourteen years’ standing. 
Violent medicines given, including arsenic. 
Treatment through the stomach. Milk and 
crackers. Recovery perfect. 
Now we have reluctantly gone through 
with this dismal catalogue to show a great 
truth — that often, after raking heaven and 
earth to reduce a disease located far away 
from Ihe unsuspected stomach, a proper 
treatment at that vital point will do the busi¬ 
ness. We could give many more such cases, 
for Die doctor’s book seems to sport witli 
them. Ho runs them off as a Yankee does 
whittlings from a stick. But these are 
enough. We shall be glad if they teach 
sound sense. Tell us to seek causes where 
causes belong. 
