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THit WASHINGTON GAZETTE.
BY JAS. A WRIGHT AND HUGH WILSON.
THE WASHINGTON GAZETTE.
TERMS. —Three Dollar* » year in advance.
tar No Subscription* takes for a shorter
time than aix month*.
“IN A MINUTE.”
"What do yon think Johnnie’s birth
day-present was ? A wheelbarrow.
He was six years old. And how rich
he felt I '‘Now 1 can wheel mother's
basket homo from market," said he;
“and 1 can help father, and do ever so
many things." That is right. It is
ao pleasant to do little services for
Others, especially for our parents ?
For two days he often asked, “Moth
er, what can I wheel for yon ?" But
•he had nothing to he wheeled :
“Thank you, Johnnie ; by-and-by I
•hall have something for you to do.”
Johnnie wished it was now, and not
by-and by.
About four days after, Johnnie and
bia barrow and some boys were down
by the frog-pond at play. And what
do you think they were’ wheeling ?
Four mud-turtles, which one of the
boys found in the swamp. I[ do not
know how muah pleasure it gave the
turtles, for they could not laugh nor
talk about it, hut the boys had good
lan.
In a little while Jonny’a mother
••lied him. He heard her call him
the first time and the second, but he
waa too busy to mind it. His .sister
then came to find him.
“Johnnie, mother wants you to go
down street and bring home [some
•ah."
“Don’t want to,” answered he.
“Tea, but mother wants you to,’
a»id bis sister.
“I'm taking my turtles to ride, and
1 can't, ’’ cried Johnny; “I don’t want
to.”
“Come,” cried his sister.
“In a minute,” screamed Johnny.
How long do you suppose that min
ate was ? It was nearly half an hour,
and might have been a great deal lon
ger had be Dot pitched into the mud.
“O, dear, dear,” he aried, picking him
•eif «p, and, and looking at hig-\dirty
elotbee. Now be tho«gbt
He could ran to her iavt w*ugt», wr
tbat he had need of her help, but be
could notgowben she needed nis. O,
the selfish little boy 1 His conscience
•mote him. He was loth to show
himself; but go borne he must for
who would take care of such a pitiful
looking child but bis mother 1
“Come here, my child,” cried his
mother. Ah, that is mother) she is
always ready to receive hur child,
however sad his plight. The mother
took her boy washed him, undressed
him, and dressed him again in clean
clothes. She did not talk much but
was very kind, and very sad too.
Ab, she did not serving him. John
ny felt her kindness, and more and
more be felt his disobedience.
“Mother,” at laßt he said, “I am
goiag to kill my turtles.”
“Why?” Si-ked she.
"Because,” cried Johnny, “because
they would rot let me go down the
atreet for you.”
“Did the poor turtles beg you not
to mind mother?” she asked.
“Not in so many words,” answered
Johnny, slowly; “but they seemed
to say, Btay, stay, a minute.”
“And do you think it was the poor
littla turtles tbat said that ?” asked
his mother, seriously.
Johnny hung down his head, as
well be might, trying to throw the
blame of his disobedience on the tur
tles, and not where it properly belong
ed, on his own naughty will. Adam
stnd Eve did just so when they did
not mind God in the garden of Eden.
Eve said it was the serpent that made
her do wrong. Ton see wrong doing
la always cowardly, trying to make
excuses, aDd throwing the blame up
on somebody else. Is it not mean ?
“Do you really think,” asked John
ny’s mother again, “that the poor
little turtles are to blame for your not
•oming when mother called you?
Do you deserve to be punished?”
“No," cried Johnny, finding it hard
to stand his mother’s look; “no, it
was only I. It was I tbat said, Stay,
stay; and (mother, God punished me;
he pitched me into the mud; and you
mads me feel bad, you were so kind
and the tears streamed down Johnny”
cheeks. “Do let me go down street
now for you, mother, do."
And the mother no longer need
ed the little servioes which be
had begrudged her. The fish bad
come up. “Send me on some other
errand,” pleaded Johnny; but she
had DOlhing for him to do. And for
all tbat day, and fer many days after
a sorrowful shadow rested upon the
child’s heart, tor that lost opportunity
of serving his dear, dear mother.
Don’t you think he minded her
very quickly next time ?
AN ENfMSH^ffGW.
To plain Americans, who value
home comports more than public con
fusion, and who love liberty more
than they love monarchy, the follow
ing, from Harper’s Bazaar, giving an
account of tho ceremony of presenta
tion to the Queen, will be amusing ;
To bo presented to the Queen is the
boast of English women and men.
The presentation rooms are on the
second story, and occupy the entiro
quadrangle of St. James’ Falaco,
opeuing oue into the other through
the whole suite.
About six levees are held a year.
It takes a hundred men three weeks
to prepare the rooms. Everything is
measured by the inexorable law of
etiquette. The dress is prescribed :
the material, the length of trains,
the modo of dressing tho hair, and
the style of the garments. Tbo
doors would bo shut in tho face of
the highest lady in the land if she
departed in the slightest degree from
the well known law. The dross es
the ladies must be velvet, satin, silk,
lace or tuilo. Brides nro allowed to
wear white tulle, and widows black
tulle; but each must bo trimmed with
roses or variegated ribboDs. Peers,
embassadors, and military officers
wear tbeir full uniform. Judges wear
wigs, and lawyers appear in gowns of
scarlet and black, according to tbeir
rauk. Bishops and clergy who have
the run of tho fCourt oomo out in full
clerical costume. Tho Court dress of
the “gentlemen,” is a black dress coat
and pants, and white vest, which
must be open, and white cravat. Tho
Master of Ceremonies prescribes the
order for dressing the hair. Court
hair dressers are*-—. They nre ei -
SjjuSed not. andrI**-’v 1 **-’ v
tire Froaentatio.;, auu -o thetr
sleeping in a sitting posture.
Tbe Throne Room is a right royal
room. There is not a seat in it ex
cept the throne and the gilded chair
at tbe foot. On a platform reached
by three steps, and on a crimson car
pet spattered with gold, Btands a gilt
Gothic chair surmounted by a cross.
This is tho Throne. It is covered
with a canopy of crimson velvet,
trimmed with heavy golden lace. On
the top of tho canopy is a golden
cushion, on which rests a larger gold
crown. Tbe Throne Room is very
long, nearly two hundred feet. Run.
ning the whole length is a heavy iron
fence, full five feet bighj cupped with
crimson velvet. Between it and the
wall is a narrow passage loading from
the entrance to the Throne, through
which but one person can pass at a
time. Tbe great throng below, at a
given signal, come np tho stairway,
wbiob is covered with cocoa matting
and worn crimson carpeting. They
enter tho great Audience Room that
opens into the Throne Room.
The Audience Room is very gor
geous with 'satin hangings, radiant
with vermiilion and gold, but it is all
cut up into little cattle-pens, made of
iron railings very high and strong.
They open one into another the whole
length of the great chamber, making
zigzag passages from the entrance to
the Throne Room. These pens are
seharatep by heavy iron gates, guard
ed by officials, through which each
person has to pass. Precedence is
everything. When the signal is giv
en below, then the rush commences.
The fine ladies become a disorderly
mob. They crowd on each other,
rend laces, trample velvets [and satins
under foot; and with ail these guards
to keep them orderly, they often ap
pear in tbe “Presence,” as ;t is called,
all tattered and torn, and in a stato of
general dilapidation.
Back of the Throne is the Queen’s
Closet. It is a dilapidated-looking
room, low studded, scanty furnished,
but old, which is the greatest attrac
tion. Her Majesty is painfully prompt.
At the exact moment she comes out of
her Royal Closet and takes, her stand
on the lower stop of the Throne.
On the aigoai being given,* Her Maj
esty’s Ministers, with the Foreign
Embassadors, enter from the private
door file singly before the Qoeen, bow,
WASHINGTON, iVILKES I COUNTY, GA., FRIDAY, JUNE 12, 1868.
and take their seats in the centre of
the room, where they remain. The
crowd is admitted one by one, passing
through all the pens till they approach
the Throne. TV manage the tram is
no easy matter. Lessons are given in
this art as on horseback riding, each
lady has to take care of her train
herself. She throws it over her arm,
and in the carriage the huge pile tow
ers over her head. She carries it up
the stairway to the Audience Room-
Hero a “Pago of the Prince," as he
is called, takes the train, holds ittill
she enters the Throne Room, when be
drops it.
The party passes up tbe narrow
pathway to tho place where tho
Queen stands, makes low bow, and then
backs down the whole length of the
room. Tbe lady cannot turn her
buck on the Queen, nor take up her
train. It is etiquette for the minis
isters and Embassaeors, who occupy
tho centre of tbe room to lift the
train und pass it from one to another
while the lady backs down to the
door. The momont she gets outside
of tho Throne Room she mutt take
care of herself and reach her carriage
as best she can. She cannot remain.
A strong iron bar prevents her from
repeatiugtho luxury of presentation.
She draws her finery throungh the
crowd and disappears, and finds her
coach where she can, which may be
half a mile off, for the coaches of the
nobility tako prcccdonce. The pre
sentation lasts about one minato- It
costs months of labor and anxioty,
and great expense. Tho finory will
bo worn on no other occasion. But
the party has been “presented at
Court,” and will tell it to bar chil
dren’s children. When [the Qneen
bolds Court it lasts just one [hour ex
actly. During tho whole time she
stands like a statute, as cold as insen
sible. She neither bows nor spoaks.
Tho mass silo before ber as if sho
were hewn out of the stone.
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
The English language is endowed with
a higher v.talliy than any ether now spo
ken UfMKi tkr >._d h -gs, -k<—
steal*, and assimilates words wherever it
can find them, without any other rule of
accretion than that the new word shall
either express a now idea or render an old
one more tersely and eompletely than be
fore.
Chaucer introduced many hundreds of
words from the Norman-French, which not
even his great example was sufficient to
naturalize; and at a later day Spenser
made a gallant but unsuccessful attempt to
revive from tho ancient Anglo-Saxon many
excellent words which never should have
been alidwed to perish. Yet, notwith
standing these illustrious and many other
failures, the language has continued to
grow, expanding, like a true, by its own
inherent vigor, and only resisting additions
tbat are clearly unnecessary, or that, if
necessary, are made too lavishly or sud
denly by rasb, unpopular, or incompetent
teachers.
One great advantage which tbe English
possesses over every European tongue is
tliat it is two fold. Like the star in the
great couatellation of Orion, whiub, seen
by the naked eye, appears single, but
which, observed through tho telescope, is
found to consist of two equally bright
orbs tbat revolve round each other, our
speech may be described as binary. With
in its broad and yearly expanding circum
ference are contained two separate forms of
expression—the one simple, homely, strong,
solemn, poetical, passionate, and Saxon ;
tbe other refined, colloquial, argumenta
tive, and Latin. He who would without
much trouble perceive tbe great difference
and yet tbe close relationship between the
two, baa but to read a chapter of the Old
Testament in the recognizeJ English trans
lation of tbe reign of James 1., and com
pare it with tbe same chapter in modern
French. The English version will be
found full of dignity, solemnity, and gran
deur; the French will be found easy, col
loquial, familiar, almost flippant. Yet the
story and the ideas are tbe same. The
superiority of tbe English is wholly due
to tbe Saxon element of the language.
The literature of England is, for this rea
son, under such heavy- obligations to tbe
Bible (independently altogether of ques
tions of morality aDd religion,) that it is
impossible to believe that our poetry could
be, as it is, tbe noblest body of poetry in
tbe world, if the pious divines and ripe
scholars of King James’s era bad taken it
upon themselves to translate the Bible into
tbe polite language of the Court, or in any
other than tbat employed by tbe plain
minded common people.
Next to the Bible, and influenced by its
literary example, the poets have been the
great <gj.-ervators of the English language,
the bus' ess of poetry being, above all
other (flags, to appeal, in the first instance
to the Lfeart, and rather to that than to the
fancy oi tbe imagination, the true poets
choose, necessity, the simplest and most
passionate words for their purpose. The
great pyet speaks to all his countrymen
and countrywomen, and not merely to
scholi \ If he would be understood of
all, he tousl use the best and strongest
words, and such as express most emphat
ically tfiio most precise shades of meaning.
It is tLt poets who make one word do the
office of a whole sentence, who crystalize
ideas into the most compact forms, and
who givd their countrymen, in one immor
tal line, the quintesscence of a thought
which ordiuary prose writers might 6pread
over wholo pages.
In tho present day, in the English por
tions oi’ the world—European, Asiatio,
African, Australian, and American—all
educated people use three different kinds
of English; Bible, or old Saxon English,
wbqn they go to church or read good po
etry ; vernacular, or colloquial English,
not altogether free from slang and vulgar
ity, when they talk to one another in the
ordinary intercourse of life; and literary
English, when they make speeches or ser
mons, and write or read articles, reviews,
or boohs. This threefold division of the
language has always existed, though the
great bulk of the people, up to very recent
times, nay have only been familiar with
tbe first, and its limited range of nouns,
verbs, out! adjectives, chiefly composed ol
strong, plain monosyllables of Anglo Sax
on and-Scandinavian origin and their im
mediate derivatives. — Blackwood's Maga
zine.
The Scotch Robbers.—One day, as
Archbithop Leightou was going from
Glasgow to Dunblane, a tremendous thun
der storm came on. He was observed by
two men of bad character at a considera
ble dist.ihce. They bad not courage to
rob him but wishing to fall on some me
thod of xtorting money from him, one
said, “I will lie down by tbe wayside, as if
1 were dead, and you shall inform the
archbishop that I was killed by tbe light
ning, »|d beg money of him to bury me."
■?* arwtahiiihop arrived at the spot
tbe *4 fed w 'taking turn tl*>. f»brie*W
story. ’.The archbishop sympathized with
tho suryvor, gave him money, and pro
ceeded jn his journey. But when the
man returned to his companion, he found
him really dead. Immediately he begau
to exclaim aloud, “Oh, sir, he’s dead.”
On the archbishop discovering his fraud,
be left tbe man with this important reflec
tion, “It is a dangerous thing to trifle with
the judgments of God."
How TO GET BIG Crops.— As a rule,
farmers are much more anxious to get
big prices iban big crops. There are
few farms whose average production
could not bo doubled in a very short
time by more capital and labor. It is
safer to use capital in farming than in
ulmost any other business. The credit
of the plow is quite as good as that of
the loom or tho anvil, and the capitul
will come if it is called for. Use more
manure, and get thirty bushels of
wheat where you now get fifteen, and
eighty busheis of oorn where yuu now
get forty. The quantity of grain
grown per acre is mainly a question
of manure and tillage. A big com
post heap makes a full gtairr bin.
With high manuring, tbe soil needs
deeper stirring, and a gradual bring
ing up of tbe subsoil to the surface.
With tbo present horse harrows and
cultivators, nearly all tbo cultivation
can be done by horse power, at a
groat saving of expenso, and a great
increase of the crops. Plant for big
crops Ibis season.— Am. Ag.
The Catacombs or Paris.—As grave
yards around churches have been filled,
and the ground sold for other purpose*,
the bones of the dead have been removed
to the catacombs, immense caverns, miles
in length, under the city, from which in
past ages rock has been taken for building.
A visitor says;
“Down a winding stone stairway of
ninety steps, and we reach the level of the
first passage-way, and from thence com
mence a series of wanderings through
vaults about eight feet wide and about the
same in height, for a distance of some two
or three miles, before we again ascend to
the open atreet. On either side of these
vaults human bones are piled up from the
floor to the ceiling, and so arranged that
the faces of the skulls are turned outward,
while between the alternate rows of these,
arm and thigh bones are laid across each
other, so as to present an even surface in
front, while behind the piles thus careful
ly arrayed the smaller bones of the bodies
are thrown pellmell. It is said that these
caverns contain the remains of over three
millions of human beings, brought here
from the various churchyards of the city.
'Death is indeed a leveller,’ and in no one
place of all the earth will this fact be more
strongly impressed upon tbe mind ihan
while visiting the catacombs of Pari*.”
ELECTRICITY ON MOUNTAINS.
M. Henry de Saussure has published an
interesting paper on a phenomena which
has but recently attracted attention. Ha
ving reached the summit of the PiiSurlev,
a mountain composed of crystalline rocks,
in the Grisons, and 8,200 metres in eleva
tion, M. de Saussure and his party kid
their alpenstocks against a little cairn of
dry stones which crowns the summit, and
prepared to take their repast.
Almost at the same instant the narrator
felt at his back, in the left shoulder, an
acute pain like that produced by a pin
slightly pressed into the flesh, and when ho
put his band to the spot witiiout finding
anything, a similar pain was felt in the
right shoulder. Supposing his overcoat to
contain pins, he took it off, but tbe pains
increased, extending from oue shoulder to
the other across the whole back. They
were accompanied by pricking sensations
and sharp, shooting pains, such as a wasp
crawling over tbe skin, and stinging nil the
time might produce.
It next assumed the character of a burn,
and M. de Saussure actually fancied Hint
his waistcoat bad caught fire and was about
to take off the rest of bis clothes, when
bis attention was arrested by a sound re
minding him of the reverberations of a
tuning fork. These sounds came from the
slicks which, resting against the cairn,
sang loudly, emitting a sound like that of
a kettle the water of which is about to
boil. All this lasted about four or five
minutes. M. de Saussure at once guessed
that his sensations proceeded from a flow
of electricity taking place from the sum
mit of the mountain.
No spark, however, was obtained from
the sticks; they vibrated strongly in the
hanj, and sounded very loud. Some
minutes afterward he felt his hair and beard
stand out, causing him to feel the setrn
tion resulting from a razor passed dry over
the bristles. A young Frenchman, who
was of the party, cried out tbat he felt the
hair of his moustache growing, and that
strong currents were flowing from the tips
of his ears; and they soon flowed from all
parts of the bodies of those present
A* they descended the mountain the
humming of the sticks and the other phe
nomena diminished and eventually ceased.
The sky was cloudy, and the travellers had
been overtaken by a shower of thin hail
and ileet. Oc the same day a violent
storm broke out in tbe Bernese Alps,
where an English woman was killed.—
Sleet, frost, and overcast sky appear to be
the conditions necessary for tbe production
of tbe phenomena above described. Many
of tbe guides have never obsorved them,
and others recollect Laving remarked them
once ot twice in their live 9.
Drunkenness.— The sea knows its
bounds, but not tbe deluge of drunken
ness. Its effects are many and hideous.
1. It makes room for the devil. All
sins break in at the loss of the Capitol—
reason. Thence the enemy commands the
whole town ; the eyes are wanton, the
tongue blaspheming, the hands slabbing;
all mischief*, “invadunt urbem somno vin
oque sepultum.” So were tbe Trojans
conquered; and for this cause, I think,
ever since, drunkards are called true Tro
jans. It is a Dead Sea, no fish can live
there, no virtue thrive there. It ia a root
of all evil, the rot of all goodness, the dev
rl could find no. rest in “dry places.”
2. It overturns tlie estate. “The drunk
ard shall come to poverty.” Prov. 23 :
21. He consumes more in a day than be
earns in a week. He is his own thief, de
vours himself.
I. It poisons tbe tongue. Swearing and
lying are the ordinary effects. The drunk
ards made songs upon David.
4. It is an incendiary to quarrels and
homicides. Drunken Alexander killed
Clitus, for whom sober Alexander would
have killed himself.
6. It ia a woe to itself. “Who hath
woe? who hath contentions I who bath
wounds without cause V
m
Family Economy. —There is noth
ing goes so far towards placing your
people beyond the reach of poverty
as economy in the management of
their domestic affairs. It is as much
impossible to get a ship across the At
lantic with half a dozen huts started
or as many bolt holes in her bull, as
to conduct the concerns of a family
without economy. It matters not
whether he furnishes little or muon
for his family; if there be a contin
ual leakage in tbe kitchen, or in the
parlor, it runs away he knows not
how; and tbat demon, wuste, cries
“more,” like the horse-leech's daugh
ter, until ho tbat provides bag no
more to give. It is the husband’s du
ty to bring into the house, and it is
the duty of tbe wife to see that noth
goss wrongfully oat of it.
VOL III—NO. 8.
THE PRESERVATION OF LEATHER-
A contributor of the Shoe and Leather
Reporter gives gome valuable bints in
relation to the preservation of leather.
The extreme heat to which moat men
and women expose boots and shoes
daring the winter deprives leather of
its vitality, rendering it liable to
break and crack. Patent leather,
particularly, is often destroyed in this
manner. When leather becomes so
warm as to give off the scent of lea
ther, it is singed. Next to tbe sing
ing caused by flee heat, is the hent
and dampness caußed by the covering
of rubber. Close rubber shoes do
stroy the life of leather.
The practice of washing harness in
warm water and with soap is very
damaging. If a coat of oil is pat on
immediately after washing, the dam*
,age is repaired. No harness is ever
so soiled that a damp sponge will not
remove the dirt; but, even when the
sponge is applied, it is always useful
to add a slight coat of oil by tho nse
of another sponge.
All varnishes and all blacking con
taining the properties of varnish
should be avoided. Ignorant and ia*
doiunt holsters are apt to ase such
substances on tbeir harness as will
give the moßt immediate effect, and
these, as a general thing, are most da*
structive to leather.
When harness loses it* lustr« and
turns brown, which almost any leath
er will do after long exposure to the
air, tho harness should be given anew
ooat of grain black, the grain surface
should be thoroughly washed with
potash water until all the greaffe it
killed, and after tbo application of ths
grain black, oil and tallow should bs
applied to tbe surface. This will not
only “fasten tbe color,” but make the
leather flexible. Harness which is
grained can be cleaned with kerosioe
or spirits of turpentine, and no barm
will result if tbe parts affected are
washed and oiled immediately after
ward.
Shoe leather is generally abused.
Persons know nothing or oare less
about the kind of material used tbas
they do about the polish produced.
Vitriol blacking is used until every
particle of the oil in tbe leather is de.
Htroyed. To remedy ibis abuse the
leai her should be washed once a month
with warm water, and when about
half dry, a coat of oil and tallow
should be applied, and the boots set
aside for a day or two. Thin will r*.
new the elasticity and life in the lea
ther, and when thus used upper leath
er will seldom crack or break.
Bund leather is not generally prop
erly used. When oil is applied to
belting dry it does not spread uni
formly, and does not incorporate it
self with the fibre as when partly
dampened wjih water. The best way
to oil a belt is to take it from tbe pul
lies and immerse.it in a warm solution
of tallow and oil. After allowing it
to remain a few moments, tbe bslt
should be immersed in water heated
to one hundred degrees, and instantly
removed. This will drive tbe oil and
tallow all in, and at tbe same time
properly temper tbe leather.
MORMONISM IN PERIL,
There seem* to be a reason for the opin
ion-nine are expressing that the invasion
of Utah by the projected Pacific Railroad
will shelter the peculiar institution of
Mormoiiism, if not Mormonisra itself. Bad
hs ibis world is, there are some things 100
bad even for it to endure when fairly ia
contact with them. Polygamy, and oth
er characteristics of Mormon ism, bars
prospered ss ibey have chiefly by fining
withdrawn from much association with the
rest ol tbe world, and, in a sort, bid away
among tbe mountain* of the far West.
Even *o much contact as other portion* of
the country have been compelled to have
with them has excited infinite disgust, and
fostered the conviction that they are much
too bad to live ; and when a great thor
oughfare of i ravel and trade comes to pass
through the very midst of them, it cannot
be long >re the moral sense of the nation
will make il*elf felt in tbeir overthrow.
We see it stated that Brigham Young
appears to be preparing for the crisis by
an attempt to bring in new installments of
resh converts, and tbat a fund amounting
Go about one million of dollars baa been
raised for “missionary" purposes. The
field of principal operations will doubtless
be, a* heretofore, the countries of the old
world. Any porlioo of the United Btetes
is much too near to Utah for the beauties
of its peculiar institutions to be apprecia
ted, while among the ignorant and poor of
the older continent the promise of easily
won competence in the present life, and a
Mahometan paradise i.n the life to come, i*
much more likely to have rffe.t thau
among tbe keen nud independent penpJe
of America.. Whether to inctea-e tbe
numbers of a garrison hopeles-lv beleaiig
ured is wise policy, Brigham Young may
learn in due time. Most people would
«»y that such a coarse promites only to
make the ultimate starvation end surrender
more sure and more swift in coming. Let
him try it, however, if he feele disposed.