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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.”