JULY e 
MOORE’S BUBAL NEW-YORKER. 
THE TRUE REMEDY FOR TROUBLE. 
Don’t try to quench your sorrow in rum 
or narcotics when in trouble. If you begin 
this, you must keep right, on with it , till it 
leads you to ruin; or if you try to pause, 
you must add physical pain and the con¬ 
sciousness of degradation to the sorrow 
you seek to escape. Of all wretched 
men, his condition is the most pitiful 
who, having sought to drown his grief 
in drink, awakes from his debauch 
with shattered nerves, aching head 
and depressed mind, to face the same 
trouble again. That which was at 
first'painful to contemplate will, after 
drink, seem unbearable. Ten to one 
the fatal drink will be again and again 
sought, till Its victim sinks a hopeless, 
pitiful wreck. 
Work Is your true remedy. If mis¬ 
fortune hits you hard, you hit some¬ 
thing else hard; pitch into something 
with a will. Thero’a nothing like 
good, solid, absorbing, exhausting 
work to cure trouble. If you have 
met with losses, you don’t want to lie 
awake and think about them. You 
want sleep, calm, sound sleep, and to 
eat your dinner with appetite. But 
you can't, unless you work. If you say 
you don’t feel like work, and go loaf¬ 
ing all day to tell Dick and Harry the j 
story of your woes, you’ll lie awake 
and keep your wife awake by your 
tossing, spoil your temper and your M 
own breakfast the next, morning, and /r{% 
begin tomorrow feeling ten times 
worse than you do to-day. all 
There are some great troubles that </ L, J 
only time can heal, and perhaps some 
that can never he healed at all; hut 
all can he helped by t he great panacea, 
work. Try it, you who are afflicted. 
It is not a patent medicine. It has 
proved it,.-, efficiency since first Adam 
and Eve left behind them with weep- "f[| 
ing their beautiful Eden. It is an effl- 
cient remedy. All good physicians in 
regular standing proscribe it in cases S|f 
of mental and moral disease. It oper- tjr 
atos kindly as well, leaving no disa¬ 
greeable sequel* rr, and we'assure you 
that we have taken a large quantity 
of it with most beneficial effects. It 
will cure more complaints than any 
nostrum in the materia meclica , and 
comes nearer to being a “cure-all*’ 
than any drug or compound of drugs 
in the market. And it will not sicken 
you if you do nut take it sugar-coated. 
-- ■+»»- 
THE MENDACITY OF FIGURES. 
- 
TiiAT “figures won’t lie’’ lias been 
asserted so often and so long that 
people have come to accept it. as an 
established fact, .when the truth is, 
that there is comparatively little lying 
done in the world in which figures 
do not, bear a part. If an oily- 
tongued charlatan would cheat largely, he 
always calls figures to his aid. No ruiu- 
ous speculation was ever made but impos¬ 
ing rows of figures proved beforehand that 
success was inevitable. How many, strong 
in the faith of the verity of figures, have 
pored over intricate calculat ions till faith 
became enthusiasm, and rushed into bold 
experiments, the failure of which has ruined 
them, and made figures thereafter seem 
like Macbkth’s 
“ Juggling fiends, 
That keep the word of promise to the eye 
And break It. to the hope.” 
Had the proverb been “figures won’t tell 
the truth,” it had been, if not correct, 
nearer the fact, for figures seem to have a 
marvelous predisposition to error. Ask the 
young bookkeeper, who seeks to effect a bal¬ 
ance after last night’s wine party, when the 
figures seem to dance before his eyes and in 
“clear cussedness” persist in grouping 
themselves in rows that will not “add.” 
Ask the Softool boy, on play intent, who, 
with aching head and tear-stained face, 
tries in vain to curb this innate propensity 
of figures to deceive—will he not bear testi¬ 
mony that figures never tell the truth till 
forced to it. 
Yet these are only cases where a pre¬ 
occupied or disturbed brain fails in power 
of controlling the capricious wickedness of 
figures; but if we take the man of strong, 
vigorous brain, who can make the figures 
lie any way he pleases, wliut wonders of 
mendacity they will express! Standing as 
apparently innocent symbols of verities 
the faith of many generations lias upheld, 
with the whole world shout ing “ figures 
won’t lie,” how they will teach false his¬ 
tory, false politics, false, science, distort 
social facts, degrade religion, make heaven 
a myth and hell an impossibility! Did not 
<’oi.f.xso prepare himself for attacking the 
authenticity of the writings of Monies by 
studying, nay print ing, an arithmetic? and 
were not his assaults made altogether with 
figures? Why, even the good and benevo¬ 
lent, the “world batterers,” when they 
husks of figures. Let them beware of specu¬ 
lations supported by figures only, till they 
are sure they have mastered the mystery 
the figures reveal, and even then never in¬ 
vest more than can be lost without injury; 
so will they save money and avoid being the 
dupes of the mendacity of figures, d. m. c. 
- *■■*■■*• - 
FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN. 
This city, famous for being the birth¬ 
place of Goethcaud the seat of the 0 jr.n n 
(Sitr j&torn-i^llcr. 
ENTERTAINING AN ANGEL, 
Sit' 
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.fjZQ-UAA.AM C-_ 
TI-TId QUAYS OF 1 FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN'. 
would cure some great evil, oall figures to 
their aid; mid what lies they will tell, in all 
innocence, being unable to control the evil 
inti nonce of t hese mendacious symbols. If 
their calculations were true, we should find 
that t hero arc more sick and diseased people 
in (lie world than its entire population, and 
more die than the hills of mortality would 
show if' each yearly list was a daily one; hut 
they are figures, too, and probably lie. The 
phrase “lie like a bulletin” would never 
have been written had not the bulletins 
been so largely made up of figures. 
Yet. we cannot do without figures. The 
purest man must deal with numbers. What, 
then, should he done? Obviously, we must 
learn to control them —make them tell the 
truth. We must learn to watch them, and 
discover whether the story they tell i« a 
true one. When this is done- when a clear¬ 
headed, honest man curbs the wild license 
belonging to their Oriental origin—figures 
are grand tilings, for they epitomize all 
human knowledge, and are the records of 
all human power. “The tools to him who 
can use then.” The ignorant, the careless, 
the dishonest, are alternately the directors 
and the dupes of deception through figures. 
Even the learned man who has failed to 
fathom this mystery, is the slave of those 
who have, and the sport, of incorrect sta¬ 
tisticians and blundering tabulators. 
Lot the young, therefore, knowing the 
evil there is in figures, and thut they must 
use them, learn to use them rightly. Let 
our young men make themselves competent 
to analyze a prospectus and pick out the 
grain of truth hidden by multitudinous 
Diet until the recent accession of the King 
of Prussia to the Imperial Crown, is situ¬ 
ated in a fertile valley on the right hank 
of the ltiver Main, twenty miles above its 
confluence with the Rhine, near theTaunus 
Mountains. Its population is about eighty 
thousand. It has a public library of about 
seventy thousand volumes. The Cathedral 
of St. Bartholomew is a very splendid build¬ 
ing, in the Gothic style, the towel* of which 
is still unfinished. 
The principal business of Frankfort is 
banking. It is, consequently, a very rich 
city, its situation making it a convenient 
medium of exchange between Paris, Vienna, 
Trieste, Hamburg and Berlin. Its chief 
local manufact ures are carpets, table-covers, 
jewelry, playing-cards, oilcloth, tobacco, 
snuff, and Frankfort black. It lias about 
twenty daily and periodical publications, 
and, after Loipsic, publishes more standard 
books than any other city in Germany. 
Our illustration embraces a fine view 
near the center of Frankfort—showing the 
handsome quays and buildings on one of 
the principal streets, and the peculiar l’erry 
boats which ply upon the Main. 
♦ - 
Who is a Gentleman?—H. L. A gen¬ 
tleman insults no woman, no matter who 
she is, or what she does. The man whose 
behavior is fashioned by his associates, in¬ 
stead of his self respect, is no true gen¬ 
tleman. 
- .. . . 
He who seeks to build his reputation on 
the weakness of another has an unsafe foun¬ 
dation. 
BY A. M. DANA. 
Rufus Harvey, returning from the vil¬ 
lage where he had been having the reaping 
machine mended, tossed a letter over the 
hollyhocks to little Frank Clare, who was 
playing in the door-yard. “Hero's a 
letter, father,” cried tho youngster, 
bursting, boy-fashion, into the house, 
his face somewhat .excited by the rath¬ 
er uncommon circumstance. 
Dinner was Just over—a dreadful 
harvest dinner. That is, the farm¬ 
hands had gorged a large supply of 
meat, vegetables and pie; and now 
Mrs. Clare, worn out by a hard mor¬ 
ning’s work, after arranging plates 
for tho children trooping in from 
school uud play, sank, with the babe 
in her arms, into her place with a view 
to forcing an appetite and then satis¬ 
fying it with some of the lukewarm vi¬ 
ands yet remaining in the dishes. 
;'*B “ Are those all tho peas there’s left, 
E-ilf mother?” asked Frank, who, having 
A C delivered the letter, made a rush for 
' , »d the table. 
"Yes, dear. It was all 1 had time 
*, J to shell,” answered the mother; and, 
instinctively ~for true mother love 
knows no selfishness—tho small por- 
tion of the one (to her) tempting thing 
Ujjs£j upon the table, was transferred to the 
plates of hungry Fkanky and the lit¬ 
tle sisters, whose piteous lips told that 
they too wanted n share of tho dainty. 
Meanwhile, Farmer Clare, sitting 
with his chair tilted back against the 
wall, read his letter. At tho close, as 
he refolded it, bo said: — “It’s from 
cousin Cyrub. lie writes that Mis 
Vv5 daughter Gertrude Is in want of 
I country air and is coming to make us 
a visit. It won’t be a had thing for 
us, I reckon, for though he doesn’t suy 
anything about board, lie’s sure to 
make it up some way. Cyrus was 
- ii never one to lie under obligations to 
ivT;! anybody. Shouldn’t wonder if he 
gets me the highest price for wheat 
again. Let me see — to-day’s the fif- 
*f$ t,couth. Well, she’ll be here to-mor¬ 
row. Ben can wait, for the train when 
Sts ho goes in with the milk.” 
And having arranged everything to 
™ his own satisfaction, lie laid the letter 
upon the table for his wife to read 
if she pleased. Poor woman! She 
eared but little to glance over the 
business-like penmanship. To her it 
rt was more like a death-warrant than 
_ anything else. At the first announce- 
— ment of the visit, the faint color 
~ dropped entirely out of her cheeks, 
and a cold, leaden weight seeniod to 
settle down upon her heart. And yet 
she was not naturally inhospitable. 
Far from it, There laid been a time, 
In her girlhood, and the early days of her 
married life, when tho task of entertain¬ 
ing company was only a pleasurable excite¬ 
ment; Imt now, with a rapidly increasing 
family, and, alas, not increasing strength, 
she dreaded It as an over-tasked galley- 
slave dreads an additional bunion. 
Let us see what her day, so far, has been, 
lip before four o’clock, but not. to enjoy 
the fragrance of dewy hay and glad matinee 
of bird songs, except so fur as one can enjoy 
these while skimming milk, scalding milk- 
pans, scrubbing dairy shelves, grinding 
coffee, frying bacon, and all tho other prep¬ 
arations for a farm breakfast. Then came 
the children. Four of them to wash, dress, 
feed and make ready for school. Before 
this was finished baby was awake, and it 
was only in short intervals of his fretting 
t hat she was able to wash the dishes, sweep 
up the house and make the beds, Tho 
lamps—those fearful kerosene nuisances 
which make more work t han city people 
would believe—must, stand till later; for 
now it is nearly lunch-time, and the unfail¬ 
ing pies must, be ready to carry to the field 
as well as for the table. Add to this tho 
cooking of a dinner for six men beside her 
owu family, and you will not wonder that 
her heart failed her at the prospect, of a city 
visitor. No wonder that she longed fox- 
time to take a good cry. Poor thing* it, 
might have helped her. Had there been 
but one word of commisseration or sympa¬ 
thy from her husband —had he but said, 
“Mary, this will make it harder for you”— 
she could have borne all cheerfully. But 
unconscious Farmer Clare would as soon 
