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THE STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
A. MAHSt’HALK 1_,..
W. A. MARSCHALK, / Edi *°M nd Proprietors.
A DAY OF SUMMER BEAUTY.
BE O. lIROOKE.
Out tn ilia gokjen sunjmer air,
Atuid the per pie heather,
A woman sat with Meopjpg bead,
And hand# el owe to it toprethsr :
Never a bitter word she tail,
Thoneh all her life looked cold and dead—
fold in the glowing kiize that lay
Over the fair green Girth that day,
That day of summer beauty.
Far, far away where leafy woods
Touched tie sky, cloud-riven,
A thousand birds rang out life's bliss
In jubilee to heaven ;
How coold the poor o id withered throat
Carol ethoes |o each soft note? ® W jgrt” i
Every soul mns pay life’s cost—
Her deepest silence praised God most,
That day of summer beauty.
Too dulled he r soul, too worn, to feel
Summer dffight acitely;
Wbi’e earth was praising God aloud
H-r patience' praised him mutely.
Her narrow life of thought and care—
Not life to live, but life to bear,
( Tented that her soul \> as sad,
iw.ile all God’s soulless things were glad,
That day of summer beauty.
And where she stayed, a dusky speck
In gorse and heather glory,—
A wrary sf-irit watolaal and'road
The patios ofter <iory:
A spirit doutfeoppiiffit a nd worn,*
Had found another more forlorn,
That trustful stayed, nor Bought to guess
Life’s meanings—which are fathomless,
Through all the summer beauty.
Tilt FLOWER OF ROLEMBRANCE.
BY 3P. P.
It was in the spring of 1809. Napo
leon bad decided to lead his grand army
into the heart of Germany. Among
the officers garrisoned at Strasbourg
was Colonel St. Lo, Under the com
mand of St. Lo was a captain named
Jules Le Preux. Young in year, Le
Preni was, nevertheless, a veteran in
he service of the emperor, having
taken part in the battles of Austerlitz,
Jena, Eylau, and Freidland, in all of
which h 8 had displayed great bravery.
Le Preux rose by degrees to the rank
of captain and was well beloved by his
companions. Although he had passed
through the campaigns mentioned, and
had often joined in, fcae fervent cry of
“Long live the Emperor!” he bad
never seen the great, man whose migl ty
arm seemed at will to sweep all Europe,
and who was destined to leave to pos
terity an immortal name and a crown of
victories, the glory and brightness of
which not even the folly of his nephew
could dim.
One morning Colonel St. Lo had
given orders that he should not be dis
turbed. Ho was engaged in writing,
when bis attention was attracted by
hearing the corporal on guard warmly
expostulating with someone, and, re
membering the directions he had giveD,
and judging it beet to discover the
cause, he listened attentively. He soon
recognized the voice of Captain Le
Preux, and, rising, bade him enter.
“ You desired to see me ?” inquired
St. Lo, as he seated himself before the
table on which lay official papers.
“Yes, colonel,” replied the officer,
with embarrassment.
“ Well, well; be quick, my friend.
Important matters demand my atten
tion,” was the impatient reply.
“I wish to obtain leave of absence—a
mouth, no more. I have just received
a letter from my mother, tolling me she
is ill. I cannot rest without seeing
her.” The words were uttered ab
ruptly.
“It is quite impossible, Le Preux,”
replied the colonel, with a look of sur
prise. “You know I would willingly
grant your request, but we are awaiting
orders and may move at any moment.”
The captain bowed submissively,
■ieing the audience concluded,
retired. * ;
Ten days elapsed, when Jules again
presented himself at headquarters.
His face wore an anxious, troubled look,
and was exceedingly pale.
“ This letter is from the curate of my
native village ; it announces that my
mother is dying.” The words were
Epoken abruptly, and his voice was
even harsh as he added, “I desire to
leave.” Colonel St. Lo was about to
answer angrily, annoyed by the impor
tunity ; but seeing the young man’s
evident distress, he rose and grasped
his hand kindly.
“ Le Preux,” he said, “ it oannofc be;
the orders have come, and the cam
paign opens immediately, leave your
mother to the care of God. Courage,
my friend, your country calls for
The young man was about to speak,
hut the words died upon liis lips. Hav
ing received hasty instructions, he with
drew. That night the regiment left
Strasbourg. The following morning it
Vv 'Aß found, to the astonishment of all,
that Le Preux had deserted. The fact
was generally deplored, as Jules was
beloved and respected by all. That
some powerful incentive had actuated
him none donbted, for he had borne
the heat of many battles and the raking
fire of the enemy too often nob to have
won for himself a reputation for courage,
and “ He Brave,” as he was called, was
missed and regretted.
Search was made, but as it was of
necessity limited, the fugitive escaped.
The successive victories of Eckmuhl
and Easing followed. Vienna was
taken, and on the 6th of July the great
victory at Wagram was gained. Na
poleon then dictated a peace called the
Peace of Vienna.
Three months after, the grand army,
having reaped a harvest of glory, made
a triumphal entry into Strasbourg. On
he same day a wan, weary-looking
man passed through the gate, and in
quired for the headquarters of St. Lo,
who had been promoted to the grade of
general. Having fonnd his way into
the preset ce of St. Lo, he briefly in
formed him that he was Jules De Preux,
and desired to be placed UDder arrest
or having deserted.
General St. Lo recognized him im
uiately, and, although much astonished
.at the request, complied. Le Preux was
instantly placed under arrest, and,
Giving been tried by a court-martial,
was convicted and sentenced to be shot.
Baring the trial Jnles made no
attempt to exculpate himself, freely
admitting his fault. Having been ad
dressed by the presiding officer, he
replied calmly, but with no shade of
bravado, “I deserted, but I do not
repent of having done so. If it was to
do again I would not flinch. I merit
death, and accept my sentence as
justice.” Those present were
impressed by the dignity of his bearing,
a? > w ith folded arms, he followed his
guards from the room.
Le Brave’s,” conduct had always
been so exemplary, his obedience so
Perfect, that his fate awakened keen
sympathy. The few officers belonging
4 ? “is regiment who had been spared in
me hot strife at Wagram implored him
j° Petition for pardon; but he resoluto
y refused, nor did he offer any solution
V mystery that vailed his conduct,
-to feeling of regret or desire for life
tomed to disturb his tranquility.
ft was the night prior to the day
ed for his execution. Having made
j final preparations, and taking
* ave of one or two friends, Le Preux
threw himself upon a rude couch in his
cell and was soon in a deep sleep.
The cathedral clock had struck the
midni 8 ht > when the bolts were
softly drawn, and a man, dressed in the
uniform of an under offioer, entered.
The narrow room was lighted by the
white moonbeams that stole through
the barred window and rested caress
ingly upon the sleeper.
The officer advanced cautiously.
Standing beside the bed, he bent over
the condemned man. Having looked at
him attentively for some moments, he
touched him gently upon the arm. Le
Preux opened his eyes.
“ Has the time come ?” he inquired,
rising.
“ No, Jules, the hour has not come ;
but will soon strike,” was the reply
“ What, then, do you desire ?” said
Jales, seating himself.
“You do not know me, my friend,”
continued the stranger, disregarding
the prisoner’s words/ “I saw you at
the battle of Austerlitz, where yon
fought bravely and won the cross of
honor. Since the memorable 27th of
November I have entertained for you
sincere esteem. In the army you have
been held as a dutiful soldier. On en
tering Strasbourg I heard of your crime
and condemnation. The jailor of the
prison being a relation of mine, I was
able to obtain this interview. Those
about to die •fien regret that there is.
not some friend near to whom they can
confide their last wishes. What can I
do for you ?
“Thanks, comrade ; I have made my
peace, and have no wish,” Le Preux
said, briefly.
“ Have you nothing to say ?”
“ Nothing.”
“ Not even a farewell to some young
heart yearning for your return—no
message to a sister ?”
“No one watches for my return. I
have not any sister—never had one.”
“A father?* 1 *
“ He has been dead for years.”
“And your mother?” the stranger
pressed each question earnestly.
“My mother!” reiterated Jules,
bowing his face upon his hands, the
tone of his voice deepening, “ Mother !
Mother !” he said, tearfully. “Oh! do
not even utter her name,” he continued,
fixing his eyes upon the man. “She is
dead. I have only one hour or two of
life ; then we will meet and before her
I must lay a tarnished record.” As he
spoke his strong frame shook with sup
pressed emotion.
“Do you remember your mothei?’
Le Preux questioned, after a moment of
silence.
“ Yes, I loved her, and was in return
beloved,” was the quiet response.
“ Then I can open my heart to you.
It is a comfort in this hour to pour out
my soul. Will you listen?”
“ I am listening, Jules, with sympa
thy and interest.”
“ I was the only son of a widow ; my
native village wud called l
only remember my father; ho died
many years ago, but I can still recall
the pressure of his hand upon my head,
as it rested there in his last blessing.
I grew to manhood with but one affec
tion, and that centered upon my moth
er. I was her sole companion; her
life was one of piety—devoted to the
poo.* who received her only visits. To
the gentle teaching of that mother I
owe my little store of knowledge. From
early youth she had sought to instil
into my mind a lofty sense of duty. I
was called to serve my flag. Filled
with despair at the thought of leaving
her, I protested ; in my hour of weak
ness she strengthened and encouraged
me. She bade me go for her sake. With
a tender smile upon her white lips she
blessed me, telling me that my country
claimed a higher duty of me than my
holy duty to herself, adding it was the
will of God. ‘ Should you die before
me, my son, I will still have strength
to say, Father, into Thy hasds I com
mend his spirit. Go, and, as you love
me, be faithful to your duty/
were her last words, and I departed.
We had returned from Spain, flushed
with the glory of conquest. I endeav
ored to obtain leave, but, owiug to the
determination of the emperor to invade
Germany, I was obliged to abandon
the thought. I followed my regiment
to Strasbourg. od6 morning I received
a letter from my beloved mother, tell
ing me that she was ill. A great longing
possessed me to see her. I requested
leave, but it was refused. I remembered
her last words : ‘As you love me, bs
faithful to your duty.’ I resigned my
self. A week or more elapsed when a
letter from the curate of the parish
reached me. It told briefly that my
mother was dying—there was no hope.
My reason forsock me. At ail risks I
determined to return home. The yearn
ing to at last pray beside her grave, if
I might not look upon her dear face,
tortured me day and night. Like many
of the simple peasants of our mountain
village, I am imbued with superstitious
belief—a belief that has strengthened
with my years, and which I have cher
ished, and which no argument could
destroy. This superstition tanght me
to believe that the first flower which
blooms above the grave of a loved one
possesses a peculiar charm; the one
who gathers and retains it is never for
gotten by the dead. It was a sacred and
comforting thought. With this belief
in my heart, death seemed robbed of
half Its sting, and becomes only a sweet
sleep, like rest after fatigue. This
flower I desired to see bloom that I
might gather it, and with it the blessed
assurance of immortal remembrance.
The night the troops left Strasbourg I
fled. After a weary journey of ten days
I reached Foix, to find, alas, only a
grave. She had died blessing me. The
earth was still fresh and soft beneath
the green sod, but no flower had made
its appearance. I waited; weeks passed.
At length I rose at dawn one morning
and wended my way to the little church
yard. The sky was covered with fleecy
clonds, and ‘the sun rose in golden
glory as I knelt beside the grave.
Tnere, midst the green grass, I saw a
flower ; its tiny leaves were open, and
on the blue bosom rested softly, like a
sweet promise, a ray of morning sun
light. It was the little blossom ‘ For
get-me-not.’ My mother’s soul seemed
to look into my eyes pleadingly, while
whispering * Remember me, J ales, re
member me.’ Believing myself truly in
the sacred presence of the dead, I
gathered my treasure in silence, and,
with tears of gratitude and nope, rose
to depart. Nothing now retained me at
Foix, and the words : ‘lf you love me,
be faithful to your duty,’ I seemed to
hear at every turn; the very air was
filled with the sound. That duty made
me deliver myself up to justice. I had
violated commands, and was a deserter.
I obeyed, acceptihg calmly, resignedly,
the sentence awarded, lam about to
die. You say you are my friend. I have
but one request; if you will grant it I
can die without regret, even peacefully.
In a locket suspended around my neck
is the little flower I periled my life to
obtain. Promise that in death it shall
not be separated from me. ”
“1 promise,” replied the officer,
deeply touched. The condemned man
grasped his hand warmly. “ Comrade,”
he said, “may God bless you. If it
was His will to grant me another life, I
would dedictate it to you, aud prove
the affection your sympathy has in
spired ; but it cannot be. Farewell! ”
They separated.
The dawn broke, and with it cams
the sound of the drum and the tramp
of armed men whose measured steps
announced their mission Le Preux
greeted them with a silent bow, and
then went calmly forth to die.
His arms were folded upon his brea?t;
a soft breeze stirred the curls that clus
tered above his brow; his eyes were
fixed upon the eastern sky, where a
briliant sunrise shed a golden glory,
tinting the rose-leaf clouds that floated
on and on, as though to chase th© dark
shadow of night that was gradually
fading in the west.
As he passed down the long line of
soldiers, regrets and words of farewell
where spoken in underbreath; but,
deaf to all, and with not one last look
that might have spoken his resolution,
he move and on toward the place of execu
tion. He reached the spot; his eyes, at
his request,>w.©re left unbound, and still
rivited lingeringly, wistfully, upon the
drifting clouds, he heard his death
sentence read. A moment more and
the ramrods were drawn; then the dull
sound as the charge was rammed down
was heard, aud the first words of the
terrible formula were spoken, “Make
ready. ” But ere the knell was uttered
a loud cl*y of “Long live the Emperor”
rung out upon the air. With a wave of
the hand that stayed the deadly work,
Napoleon vaulted from the saddle, and,
with rapid strides advanoed toward the
prisoner, who, seemingly lost in
thougnt, stood motionless,"waiting the
fatal Are.
“ Jules Le Preux !”
The young man turned quickly
toward the speaker. His lips moved,
yet no word escaped them; but the
clear, steadfast eyes seemed to utter
the recognition. Kneeling, he pressed
his lips to Napoleon’s hand.
“Jules,” continued the emperor,
“do you remember the words you
spoke last night in your cell ? ”
“I’said if God gave mo another life I
would dedicate it to you,” was the
reply, clearly spoken.
“It is well. God gives you a second
life ; consecrate it not to me, but to
France. She is a good and worthy
mother; love her as faithfully as you
love the one who now smiles upon you
from yonder blue heaven. Arise.”
With these words he turned away, and
a cry of joy rent the air as Napoleon
ceased speaking, for all rejoiced at the
welcome doliverence of “Le Brave.”
Some years after Le Preux, promoted
to the rank of Colonel, fell upon the
battle - field of Warterloo, mortally
the love of France and her immortal
star of earthly glory, the soldier died
with the flag he had served clasped to
his breast, and in a clear, ringing voice
crying, “Long live the Emperor!”
“ Long live France ! ”
Hints on Bathing. .
The shock which all experience on
first going into cold water is communi
cated to the system at largo, and the
first symptoms of it is a gasp, partly
nervous, and partly in consequence of
the sudden revulsion of blood to the
internal organs—lungs and heart espe
cially, the heart being quickened.
Quickly, in a strong, healthy person or
in one to whom bathing is beneficial,
this first shock is succeeded by a re
action, this reaction being the natural
effort of the system to restore the
balance of circulating and nervous
power. In the sea this reactionary
effort is much assisted by the stimula
ting effect exerted upon the skin by
the saline ingredients of the water, and
it is still more aided if the body be ex
posed to the dash of the waves. In
fresh water, these aids to reaction being
absent, it is not so thoroughly or
quickly established. According to your
power of reaction, which you cannot
fail to discover before long, should be
your exposure to the sea. If you re
main in the water until the system be
comes so depressed that the power of
reaction is nullified, nothing but injury
can result. You come from your bath
cold, blue and pinched looking, your
fingers white and dead, and your teeth
mayhap, chattering like nut crackers,
and for the rest of the day you are
probably languid, sleepy, miserable.
A strong person, and a swimmer, may
stay in the water a quarter of an hour
or twenty minutes—even longer—and
retain his power of reaction; but for
some persons two or three minutes’ im
mersion, or even a single plunge, is
quite as much as they ean bear, at
least at first, and until they have gained
strength by their residence at the sea
side. Even if the shortest possible dip
is not followed by the health glow upon
the skin, and sensations of exhilaration
and increased power, it is better not to
repeat it for a few days. The want of
reaction or the production of depression
is summed up shortly—abstraction of
caloric or animal heat; and we need
scarcely remark that the very fact of a
person unused to it, entirely stripping
in the open air, is one means of sending
off thin heat, and that exposure to the
cold water is another most potent
means, albeit, loss of animal heat in
volves depression of vital action. There
are, however, other circumstances
beyond the constitution of the indi
vidual to be taken into consideration
with respect to bathing agreeing or not,
and these are such as increase or miti
gate the depressing effects. Thus, a
person, who could not bathe on a toler
ably cold day might do so in the very
height of summer, and especially on
those low, sandy shores where the water
becomes raised in temperature by
passing over an extent of sand pre
viously heated by the sun ; the water in
such situations—an everybody knows
who has any bathing experience—being
warmer than on a rocky or steep,
shingly shore. — Dr. Spencer Ihomson.
A Woman Feeemason.— Harper’s Ba
zar says that it is a mistake to suppose
that the lady who concealed herself in
a room where a “ lodge ” was about to
to be held, and who when discovered
was compelled or allowed to be initiated,
is a myth. The clock case may boa
myth, but the lady is not. She was the
Hon. Mrs. Aid worth, and continued
through life to take an active interest in
the order into which in her youth she had
so stars ngely gained admission. She found
ed the Dublin benevolent institution for
orphan daughters of masons. Her por
trait still hangs in the principal lodge
room in Cork, and under it in a glass
case the apron and jewel she used to
wear when she attended lodge meetings”
CARTERS VILLE, GEORGIA, MONDAY EVENING, AUGUST 23, 1875.
OLD WEATHER PROVERBS.
At a recent meeting of the Wiltshire
Archaeological society, at Swindon, Eng
land, the Rev. A. C. Smith read a paper
entitled “ Wiltshire Weather Proverbs
and Weather Fallacies,” which has been
very extensively reproduced by the
English press. Some of the quaint old
rhymes which it embodies are well
worth preservation as curiosities of folk
lore, aside from any value they may
have as guides in anticipating the char
acter of future weather.
I proceed now to mention such of the
proverbs as are in most general use
among us; but I would premise that
some of them are common to every
other county in England. How true is
the well known saying :
“ Evening gray and morning red
Bend# the shepherd wet to bod ;
Evening red and marning gray
Is the sure sign of a very line day.”
And this :
“ Mackerel sky, mackerel sky,
Never long wet and never long dry.”
And this :
“ Rain before seven,
Fine before eleven.”
And this again :
“A rainbow in the morning
Is the shepherd’s warning ;
A rainbow at night
Is the shepherd’s delight
which is only our homely way of ex
pressing the famous lines of Byron :
.“ Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life,
The evening beam that smiles the clouds
away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray.”
Then again how true is the old Wilt
shire saying :
“ When the wind is northwest
The weather is at the best;
• But if the rain comes out of the east,
’Twill rain twice twenty-four hours at the
least.”
These are general proverbs, applica
ble to all times; but we have an un
usual number of proverbs in Wiltshire
which describe the evils of too advanced
vegetation in a precocious spring. Thus
for January we have :
“ If the grass growd in Janiveer,
It grows the worse for’t all the year.”
And again :
“ A January spring
Is worth nothing.”
For February :
“ Of all the months in the year
Curse a fair Febrneer.”
So again for March, in true Wiltshire
language:
“As many mistises in March,
So many frostises in May.”
And the well known adage :
“If March comes in like a lion, it goes out
like a lamb;
If it comes in like a lamb, it goes out like a
lion.”
For April, again:
“ A cold April
The bam will fill.”
And again :
“ April showers
Bring summer flowers.”
Ajad^anotlier,^lauding the jgrolongation
“ When April blows his hom,
.’Tis good for both hay and corn.”
While even for May we have :
“ Mist in May and heat in June,
Makes the harvest come right soon.”
And again:
“Who doffs his coat on a winter’s day,
W ill gladly put it on in May.”
And for June :
“ A dripping June
Brings all things in tune.”
Every one of these Wiltshire proverbs
relating to the first six months of the
year, proclaims the acknowledged fact
that a prolonged winter and a, tardy
spring bespeak more abundant crops
and more assured plenty than the pleas
anter, however unseasonable, warmth
which sometimes gladdens all hearts in
winter and early spring. Nor is this
belief peculiar to our county, or even to
England. It is held quite as much in
the south of Europe. For the Italians
have a proverb : “ January commits the
faults, and May bears the blame and
it is a common saying in Spain : “A
year of snow, a year of plenty.” More
over, that such premature mildness of
the season does not in reality advance
vegetation, everybody who possesses a
garden knows to his cost And here
again we have several Wiltshire pro
verbs relating to this fact, and contain
ing very weighty truths. The one runs
thus :
“ Be it weal or bo it woe,
Beans blow before May doth go.”
Another says:
“Come it early or come it late,
In May ccmes the corn-quake.”
And a third :
“ Plant your ’taturs when you will,
They won’t come up before April.”
But again we have Wiltshire sayings
which affirm, what I believe to be an
equally undeniable truth, that together
with a prolonged winter and a dripping
spring, a dry summer is more to be
desired by the husbandman. That,
however, is a season we scarcely seem to
have experienced this year, when the
old Devonshire proverb, applicable
enough in that rainy county,* might
have been qouted with much truth even
here :
“The west wind always brings wet weather
The east wind, wet and cold together;
The south wind surely brings us rain ;
The nerth wind blows it back again.
Showing that from whatever point of
the compass the wind blows, rain is
sure to fall.
There is a very curious old Wiltshire
prejudice against anew moon occurring
on a Saturday, which, if not common in
the county now, prevailed not many
years since, bnt the origin of which and
the meaning of wh’eh I am at a loss to
conjecture. It is handed down in the
following proverb :
“ A Saturday’s moon
If it comes once in seven years,
Comes onoe too soon.”
Equally unfounded, though more easily
accounted for, is the notion which pre
vails among our people that the weather
on Friday differs from that of all other
days. The saying is :
“ To every other day in the week
Friday is not alike."
A somewhat obscurely-worded senti
ment ; but doubtless it originates in the
same principle which causes sailors to
dread putting out to sea on a Friday,
viz: the custom, onoe religiously ob
stive3, of keeping Friday as a weekly
fast.
The signs to be derived from the ani
mal world are very numerous and very
reliable, and are much observed amongst
our people in consequence. As exam
ples of the most common in this county,
they will tell you that seldom indeed
will a wet day be found to follow when
in the morning cows are seen lying down
in their pastures; still more seldom
when rooks are noticed high in the air,
or swallows are seen at a great height
hawking after flies; but rarest of all
when three white butterflies are seen
together, in the garden or field. The
latter is a sure sign of a fine day, which
I have hardly ever known to fail. They
will tell you, on the other hand, that
when the distant downs look near; or
the common plover or pewit, which
frequents onr downs in such numbers,
becomes restless; or the bees hurry
home and none leave the hive; or par
tridges grow wild ; or sea-gulls make
their appearance so far inland; or pigs
earry straw in their mouths ; or insects
fly low ; rain is at hand. These are but
samples of many similar instances of
unfailing instinct in regard to weather,
whioh every student of nature admires
in the various branches of the animal
kingdom. I will conclude with the
clever lines of Dr. Jenner, which sum
up the matter very accurately :
“ The hollow winds begin to blow,
Tbf clouds lock black, the glass is low,
The toot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
And spiders from their coowebs creep;
Last night the sun went paJe to bed,
The moon in halos hid her head :
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For see! a rainbow spans the sky;
The walls are damp, the ditches smell;
Cle ed in the pink-eyed pimpemoll;
The squalid toads at dusk are seen
Slowly crawling o’er the green ;
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
The. dist ant hills are looking nigh;
Hark! how the chairs and tables crack,
Old Betty’s joints are on the rack;
Anil see yon rooks, how odd their flight—
Thfey imitate the gliding kite,
Urjjeem precipitate to fall,
JWt they felt the piercing ball;
How restless are the snorting swine,
Th© busy flies disturb the kine;
Low o’er the grass the swallow wings,
The cricket, too, how sharp she sings ;
Pfßs on the hearth with velvet paws,
Bits wiping o’er her whiskered jaws ;
The wind, unsteady, veers around,
Or, settling, in the south is found;
The whirling wind the dust obeys,
And o’er the rapid eddy plays ;
The leech disturbed is newly risen
Quite to the summit of his prison ;
’Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow,
Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.”
Tlic Grave of Breckinridge.
The remains of Gen. Breckinridge, as
we learn from the Lexington Press,
were on Wednesday last removed from
tne vault in which" they had been tem
porarily placed at the time of his fu
neral, and interred in a family lot re
cently purchased in the Lexington
cemetery. It is matter of regret with
ns, and with the citizens of Frankfort
generally, that they could not have
found their final resting place in our
beautiful cemetery. The name and fame
of Gen. Breckinridge are so identified
with the state, and are so nearly the
property of the commonwealth, that it
seemed fitting that his dust should mingle
wph that of his comrades in the Mexi
can war, and of the other honored dead
whose graves a grateful people have
fondly consecrated with their love. In
deed, whatever may have been Gen.
Breckinridge’s later expressions, we
have reason to believe that it was his
long cherished wish tube interred here.
To the writer, when on a visit here
nearly a year before his death, while in
the cemetery admiring the beauty of
the scenery, he said, “ Do you know I
have always wished to be buried here ?”
When we replied we did not know it,
but, on the contrary, had supposed he
would prefer Lexington, he said, “No,
I have always jwisbed to be buried here.
General Preston, of Lexington, and
others, ic is known that he had ex
pressed the same wish. To General
Preston he gave, with a characteristic
touch of humor, one reason for prefer
ring the Frankfort cemetery, that cities
were bo apt to spread over cemeteries
located near them, but that he did not
believe there was any danger of that
here. The fact, however, that he had
not for nearly a year said anything
on the subject, or to any one so imme
diately connected with him as to give
his utterance the force of a command;
that he had in his will said he wished a
plain burial, added to the natural
preference of his family to have his re
mains rest in the place of his birth,
residence, and death, have led to the
decision we have announced. It has
been made and sanctioned by those
nearest him, and who have consulted
rather the impulses of love to keep him
in the midst of his family and of friends,
who were ever affectionate end true to
him, than the suggestions of policy
•touching the honor of a state burial
and a public monument. There is no
appeal from the decision, and we ac
quiesce thoroughly in it; though, as
having been intrusted with what we
have felt to be in some measure a com
mission, we have felt it onr duty to
make known the facts here given, es
pecially as we have seen a statement to
the effect that Gen. Breckinridge had
never expressed a wish to be buried
here, and our silence would do injustice
to some who have made the statement
on our authority.
As an evidence of the commendable
desire on the part of onr citizens to
show honor to the illustrious dead,
when it was reported that he had ex
pressed a wish to be interred here, our
cemetery board unanimously adopted a
resolution tendering to his family any
lot, without regard to size or shape, in
any part of the cemetery not appropri
ated which they might select. We have
not heretofore referred to this matter,
althongh the board communicated the
resolution to the family a fortnight or
more since, because we did not wish to
make the decision, which was properly
one for private affection only to deter
mine, the subject of newspaper discus
sion.—Frankfort Yeoman,
John Ruskin on Mosses, —Meek
creatures ! the first mercy of the earth,
veiling with hushed softness its dintless
rocks; creatures full of pity, covering
with strange aud tender honor the
scarred disgrace of ruin—laying qniet
finger upon the tumbling stones to
teach them rest. No words that I
know of will say what these mosses are.
None are delicate enough, none perfect
enough, none rich enough. * * *
Strong in lowliness, they neither blanch
in heat nor pine in frost. To them,
slow-fingered, constant-hearted, is en
trusted the weaving of the dark, eternal
tapestries of the hills; to them, slow
penciled, irisdyed, the tender framing
of their endless imagery. Sharing the
stillness of the uuimpassioned rock,
they share also its endurance; and
while the winds of departing spring
scatter the white hawthorn blossom like
drifted snow, and summer dims on the
parched meadow the drooping of its
cowslip-gold, far above, among the
mountains, the silver lichen-spots, star
like, on the stone; and the gathering
orange stain upon the edge of yonder
western peak reflects the sunsets of a
thousand years.”
Wobth Testing.— Save the tea leaves
for a few days, then steep them in a tin
pail or pan for half an. hour, strain
through a sieve, and use the liquid to
wash all the varnished paint-. It re
quires very little “ elbow polish,” a
the tea acts as a strong detergent,
cleansing the paint from all impurities,
and making the varnish equal to new.
It cleans window-sashes and oil-cloths ;
indeed, any varnish surface is improved
by its application. It washes window
panes aud mirrors much better than
water, and is excellent for cleansing
black walnut picture and looking-glass
frames. It will not do to wash unvar
nished paint with it.
The Omnipresence of Arsenic.
Arsenic is getting to be, throughout
the world, almost, as common as dirt.
We doubt very much whether it would
not be impossible, at the present day,
in any country, to convict, on chemical
evidence, before any jury, the most
bungling arsenical poisoner, if he or she
had a legal defender who would make
use, as he might, of the argument fur
nished him by the almost universal dis
tribution of the venomous element
throughout our most familiar walks of
life. We have received medioines our
selves from drug stores wrapped in er
eenical papers, put up in Paris-green
paper boxes, with arsenical paper caps
tied over the corks, etc. We have often
seen confectionery exposed for sale to
young children wrapped in the deadly
green paper. We have often found
young children sucking toys painted
with the horrible stuff, and with their
mouths stiined throughout with the
venom. The Paris green paper is one
of the commonest in use for binding
school books, and we have more than
once taken such books away from our
own young children, which had been
given them by their teachers. Numer
ous deaths of children are known to
have been thus occasioned. No coun
try can be called civilized in which such
suicidal ignorance, such stupid slaugh
ter of the innocents is common. One
more illustration only. If is very com
mon to see a lawyer or his clerk put
into his mouth, to moisten the gum side
of it, a beautiful green paper disk with
scolloped edges, to attach to some docu
ment. These things are found in every
lawyer’s office in the land and used con
stantly. They are seldom made of any
other than the Paris-green paper. Can
this be ignorance, or are our lawyers all
fatalists, and believe they can only “die
when their time comes.” In commenc
ing to write we had in our mind to refer
to someof the wonderful facts developed
of late, in Great Britain especially, of
open carta loaded with white arsenic
passing in open day through the coun
try in some districts, with drivers
sitting on top of the hideous heap ;
such carts being often exposed all
night open to the rain ; of strongly
arsenical waters flowing from mines and
metallurgical works into streams of
water afterwards drunk by large popu
lations, and so on. These are facts.
Everybody will remember the cargo of
salt and arsenic together shipped to us
from Europe a few months ago, which
got a little mixed during a rough pas
sage. This particular mixture was dis
covered. The water we ourselves drink
comes from a stream on one of whose
tributaries is a large chemical works,
which so contaminates the said tribu
tary with arsenic that cattle drinking it
have been poisoned to death. These
things, we say, are facts on both sides
of the Atlantic; but really, while we
wrote the first part of this article espe
cially, when we thought of the reckless
ness pf the Dublin nrnss. ‘which ha* an,
in many eases, to pile oh the Paris
green on their potato patches with a
perfect looseness, these other things
seem trifles, as flat and stale as they
certainly are unprofitable, and our en
thusiasm and zeal for the cause of
humanity seems to wilt down into a sort
of sentimentality, which is certainly lu
dicrously lame and important, if not
downright sickly.— The Oas Light
Journal.
The Innocent Old Lady.
Detroit Free Press.
She lives down on Baker street, and
she has a daughter about eighteen years
old. The old lady retains all her sim
plicity and innocence, and doesn’t go
two cents on style. The other evening
when a “ splendid catch ” called to es
cort the daughter to the opera the
mother wouldn’t take the hint to keep
still, and wouldn’t help carry out the
daughter’s idea that they had wealth.
While helping her daughter get ready
she asked :
“Mary, are you going to wear the
shoes with the heel off or the pair with
holes in ’em ?”
Mary didn’t seem to hear, and the
mother inquired :
“ Are you going to wear that dollar
gold chain and that washed locket, or
will you wear the diamond father bought
at the hardware store ?”
Mary winked at her, and the young
man blushed, but the old lady went on :
“Are you going to borrow Mrs.
Brown’s shawl, or will you wear mine ?”
Mary bustled around the room, and
the mother said:
“ Be careful of your dress, Mary; you
know it’s the only one you’ve got, and
you can’t have another until the mort
gage on this place is lifted.”
Mary remarked to her escort that it
promised to be a beautiful evening, and
as she buttoned her glove her mother
asked :
“Those are Mrs. Hardy’s gloves,
ain’t thev ? She’s been a good neighbor
to us, and I don’t know how you’d man
age to go anywhere if she didn’t live
near us.”
Mary was hurrying to get out of the
room when the mother raised her voice
once more and asked :
“ Did you run into Mrs. Jewett’s and
borrow her bracelet and fan ? Yes, I
see you did. Well, now, yon look real
stylish, and I hope you will have a good
time.”
Mary sits by her window in the pale
moonlight and sighs for the aplendid
young man to come and beau her around
some more, but he hasn’t been seen up
that way since that night. The old
lady, too, says that he seemed like a
nice young man, and she hopes that he
hasn’t been killed by the street cars.
Randolph’s Religions Services,
John Randolph was a great bible
reader and was deeply concerned with
religious subjects. He employed an
excellent and eloquent man, Mr. Abner
Glopton, to preach every Sunday to his
negroes, in the large chapel he had
erected on his plantation. When at
home he invariably attended these ser
vices, taking his seat by the preacher on
the open platform, from which the
preacher conducted the service?. On
many occasions, while kneeling beside
the preacher, who was prone to be car
ried away by the fervor of prayer, Ran
dolph would slap him on the Hack and
call out loudly, “Clopton, that won’t
do; that’s not sound doctrine. Clop
ton, take that back;” and if Clopton
remonstrated, Randolph, though keep
ing hinrelf on his knees, was ready at
once for an argument to maintain his
point. No one but Mr. Clopton, who
knew the ecctntricity and honest mo
tives of the man, could have borne with
these irreverent interruptions while in
the midst of prayer ; but Mr. Clopton,
when he found Randolph determined to
argue the point, either gracefully yield
ed or proposed to note the point and
argue it at the dwelling-house. To
visitors at the chapel, and they were
many, these scenes were exceedingly
curious and sometimes absurdly ludi
crous. But that was Mr. Randolph’s
way.
It is said that on one coid Sunday, in
this chapel on Mr. Randolph’s planta
t'on, while giving out the hyran in tho
oid-fashioned way, two lines at a time
aud it WBs being lustilev sung by the
negroes, Mr. Clopton, the preacher,
observed a negro man put his foot, upon
which was anew brogan, on the hot
stove. Turning toward him, he said in
his measured voice, “You rascal you,
you’ll burn yonr shoeas this was the
rhyme of the exact metre of the hymn,
the negroes all sung it in their loudest
tones. Smiling at the error, the preacher
attempted mildly to explain by taxing :
“ My colored friends, indeed you are
wrong; I didn’t intend that for the
song but there it was agiin, another
rhyme in good measure, so the negroes
sung that too with pious fervor. Turn
ing to his congregation, the preacher
said somewhat sharply, “I hope vou
will not sing again, until I have had
time to explain but this only aroused
the negroes, who sang the last word
with increased vigor. Mr. Clop ten,
feeling that his tongue seemed to be
tuned to rhyme, abandoned all efforts
at explanation, and went on with his
services.
The Haines of Havana.
Speaking of society in Havana a
writer says : There are at least three
times more males than females. Hardly
any other women than negresses are to
be seen about. Ladies with any preten
tion to youth and beauty would sooner
die than venture out unprotected, even
for their early mass; aud so uncommon is
the sight of decent women unattended
in the streets that foreign ladies unac
quainted with the custom, and saunter
ing from shop to shop, become the
objects of a curiosity not unfrequently
degenerating into impertinence. The
cause of this is that, besides the priests
and soldiers and sailors, the crowds of
Spanish immigrants are attracted there
by high wages and do not of course take
their families. Among the upper classes
an exclusive male society is cultivated.
The charms of cafe and club life, such
as they are, wean the Havana hnsband
from a home where real feminiue ac
complishments are as unknown as
hearth-rugs and flat irons. Housekeep
ing in the town, and still more in the
suburbs, is terribly up hill work. Man’s
life in Havana is wholly out-of-doors,
while for women there is no life within
them. In no town in France or Italy
are there so many or, proportionately,
such sumptuous and constantly crowded
cafes and restaurants. The Havana
merchant is as eager to make money as
he is ready to squander it. But the
town supplies little besides gross mate
rial enjoyment for his money. A box
in his third-rate opera, a drive in lus
dreary prado, are all the amusements he
can have in common with his wife and
left to mope at norne, praying uu pwp
with the passer-by from the window
gratings, or pacing the flat roof3 of
their houses like so many Sister Annes
waiting for those who are never coming.
A Cheap Fashion,
I observe, says a Paris correspond
ent, that white, and if not white the
nearest approach to white, is everywhere
the rage. White veils, white bonnets,
white dresses, white flowers, white rib
bons, white fans—all must be white.
Fashion has not been so lightly in
clined for many years past. The black
that was so universally patronized last
year and the year before last is entirely
discarded now—black barege, black
grenadine is no longer seen, unless, of
course, in cases of mourning—and the
lighter the hue of yonr dress the better.
All sorts of cheap cotton materials,
cheap in themselves, but excessively
dear if made up by the fashionable
dressmakers, are enormously worn.
There is a particular style of coarse
linen known in Paris as Oxford, which
is sold ther6 at five sous a yard, and
this is the stuff which all Paris is trying
its hardest to buy in great quantities,
and make np into most elaborately
trimmed seaside dresses. One of the
most elegant women in Paris appeared
at a garden party the other day in a
bewildering costome of Oxford, and
she was telling every one who gathered
about her to admire its multitudinous
developments of frill flounce that
it cost her seven francs and a half only 1
She had bought -the stuff at five sous a
yard, and her lady’s-maid had made it
instead of the dressmaker.
A Newspaper Novelty.— A Paris
correspondent writes : The Figaro has
introduced an innovation ; the first col
umn on the first page is a daily memento
of the chief sights and events of the i
city that hardly ever find their way into i
any journal either by advertisement or
special telegraph. Thus, such a restau
rant has a special plat (dish) to-day;
such a shop a famous picture ; the cen
tral markets display such luxuries; if
a spectacle be on the tapis you are in
formed the best moment to attend to
observe the fashionable crowd and the
proper time to retire; what meetings
are to be held ; what marriages cele
brated ; what sumptuous funerals to
come off. It is a kind of note book
compiled by “ men about town ” who
have Argus eyes and admission every
where. The cost of preparing that col
umn of really valuable mems is said to
be equal to the fourth of the expense of
he writing for the entire journal.
A Turkish Port Cede© to the Khe
dive. —The Ottoman government al- *
ways considered the port Zeliah as ,
forming part of the district of Hodei
dah in the province of Yemen, although
situated on the African coast of tfce
Red sea. The revenues of the town only
amounted to about £BOO r.er apnuin,
and in an autograph letler sent by
the sultan to the khod;v& by
his aid-de-camp, Khalil PasSey. bis
majesty allows the khedive to take, pos
.session of the place on condition of in
creasing the Egyptian tribute by £15,-
000. The bovyourouldou on the subject
has been issued by the porte. One of
the conditions of the document is that
the sums already received by tfce minis
ter of finance from the port in question
shall be placed to the credit of the
Egyptian government.
To be a doctor among the Indians in
volves no little risk. At Inyo, Calitor
nia, a short time ago, a medicine man
was stabbed and shot by oDe of the tribe
beciuse of his failure to cure his third
Eatient; this fact, according to an old
idian tradition, authorizing the near
est relative of the dead man to kill the
physician at eight.
A tablesPOONEOii of blayk pepper put
in the first water in which gray anabuff
linens are washed will keep them from
spotting. It will also generally keep the
colors of bla.'k or colored cambrics or
muslins from running, and does not
' harden the water.
VOL. 16--NO. 35.
SiYIMiS AND DOINGS.
Rest is not quitting
The busy career, —
R;st is the fitting
Of self to its sphere;
’lie the brook's motion,
Clew, •without strife,
Fleeting to ocean,
After its life;
'Tis loving and serving,
The Highest and best;
Tis onward, unswerving—
And that is true rest.
The sinple faith of, a Virginia Chris
tian is aided by his faith in man. He
was asked if be thought Stonewall Jack
son was in heaven. “ Wal,” said the
gentleman, “ I reckon he is, if he
started for that place. He always man
aged to get round in time.”
Edgar Poe's “ Raven ” hcs been
translated into French by Stephani Hal
larme, with original illustrations by
Edouard Manet, and has j use been pub
lished into folio form in Paris. Tho
English verses are placed side by side
with the translation. The illustrations
are said to be very fantastic.
Heat is evolved by friction of ice.
Mr. A. Taylor, in a paper recently read
before tire ideographical society of
LondoD, shows that heat evolved by
friction of ice upon ice is an important
element in glacial movement. By a
simple apparatus he reduced ioe to
water in a temperature of thirty two de
grees, at the rate of one and a quarter
pound an hour, by friction only of ioe
upon ice, the pressure applied being
but two pounds to the square inch. By
simple evaporation, the ice in the same
temperate re lost one-quarter of a pound
in the same time. In a temperature of
fifty-four degrees the production of
water under friction was three and a
quarter times greater than by simple
melting when there wiw no friction.
The actual heat evolved by friction’of
ice upon ice is nearly the same as from
oak upon oak, when well lubricated
Last verse of an ode to a Chicago
belle, just published in St. Louis :
Her mom h! O mouth! O flaetin>; hash!
From ear to ear a lovely gash!,
O mouth for kisses !
0 gaudy cavern, sloping down.
I’ll hurl niyself withiu aud drown,
In awful blisses!
It is well known that in the compart
ment style of railway carriages used iu
England much comfort depends upon
selecting one’s traveling companions.
Various devices are resorted to to pre
vent introders, and where a party of
tourists can secure a baby for company,
they are generally avoided, and have
the*compartment to themselves. Hence
this curious advertisement in a London
paper:
“ Artificial Babies fob Travelers.”
—The tariff of prices is as follows ;
“Common traveling infants, yielding
intermittent cries of fear, and capable
of being put in the pocket—lo Shillings.
“ Second-class, crying net too loudly,
but lamentably and insupportably—2o
shillings.
• -Jo— e*.u.jamiAltera. with A
five octaves — £2.
“ The same arranged as a prompt re
peater—£i 6s.
“Fifth-class, first quality, capable of
continued squalling-TV’
Good Luck.
A writer on “ good luck ” says : “We
will cap the climax by the most remark
able example of all as to how property,
now in the possession of the Earl of
Elgin, came to that nobleman. Years
ago two ladies of high position were
joint tenants of au opera box in London.
The occupant of the box opposite was
an elderly gentlemaD, who used to bore
them exceedingly by staring at them
through bis glass, until at hist bis At
tentions became a joke between tiiem.
Time rolled on, and they had long since
forgotten all about their old admirer,
when one day a gentleman called at
Lori! A/s bouse iu London and afcked
to see his sister. ■ When Bhe entered tlte
room be said : ‘Am I addressing Imviy
Bruce?’ She said that he was. ‘Then
I have a very agreeable and, I imagine,
unexpected piece of intelligence to com
municate. Under tbe will of a Mr.
Wilson, a former olient of ours, you are
entitled to a fine estate of several thou
sands a year/ The lady said it must bo
a mistake. She knew' no one of tho
name. ‘ But,’ said the solicitor, 4 no
identification could be clearer.’ 1 heu
a thought struck him. ' Mr. Wuson,
ho said,' ‘ lies near by, in his coffin, at
Mr. Benting’s, the great undertaker, m
James street. Perhaps you would not
mind golag with me and looking at his
face.’ Sue went. There was her old
enemy with the lorgnette. Not the
least remarkable part of the story was,
that he had intended toleave the fortune
to the other lady, who was the special
object of his admiration, and who La
had been told was Lady Brace.”
A Child.— While we are in the
dining-room we must not forget.a ydtle
miss of five or six summers,
consciously perpetrated one of the best
jokes of the season. Wine waa being
passed around, and sbe v?aa invited to
take some but declined. .
“ Whv do you not take w;ue with
yonr dit ner, Minnie V asked a gentle
man who sat near her.
“Tame I doesn’t like it.”
“ But take a little then, my child, for
your stomach’s sake, he urged.
“ I ain’t dot no tommik’s ache 1 in
dignantly responded the little miss in
the most emphatic manner. As bath
question and answer were distuietiy
1 heard bv those avouad, everyone buret
into laughter, whioh so frigatengd the
little maid that she cried. _
’ The same little miss upon being one
I day bantered because she was a girl,
and having represented to her that boys
were much more u&eiul in j<
world, although they were dfiuny “T*®
trouble, was aeked if she did not wish
she were a boy. “No indeed, she
quietly replied ; “ I’se worse now than
most boys.”— N. FI Mail. rgg
Bybon.—A correspondent of the >*oW
York Evening Post, whqwas
to Lord Byron by Ricnard bnnslcy
Sheridan in the green-room of theMld
Drury Lane Theater, thus describes the
appearance of the distinguished ■
“ Lord Byron was stancmg agarnst
one of ttie pillars which supported a
fantastic lantern. He was dressed ih a
dark blue dress coat, lc>ose wbb*
loons, and yellow vest. The pantaloons
were very long and almost eo*.
feet. A natural defect rendered Him
very sensitive regarding one
least. He could not bear that and should
be looked a*. His shirt collar was aim
ple and turned down ever the collar or
his coat, So as to show his neck, of
which he had reason to be vain. I|j
was long and white and supported a no
ble head, then decorated with natural
brown carls. I remarked that his hand.-',
one of which supported his head against
the pillar, were small and white.”