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[From thi' Metropolitan Record.J
A Dream of Roses.
by a.. .r. bequikb.
She sought us in * vision
A vision of the mom.
What time the fruitful peu<lant*
Hang on the Indian com,
And the stillj glades re-echo
No merrily winded horn.
Our youngest sister saw her.
While on her bed she lay.
In sickneps so enduring
That none of us could say.
If the uncertain morrow
Would help or take away.
She stood from out a landscape
So rich in turf and tree.
That not the myths of story—
The marvels of the sea,
Could match the swarded wonder
Whereon she seemed to be!
Stood, with cresceut splendor
Besprinkled all her hair,
And on her cheeks a crimson
Ho exquisitely rare.
It seemed a rended cherry’s
Resuscitated there.
A pair of gem-like flowers
She held in either hand :
The one, a half-blown blossom
Just struggling to expand :
The next, a bloom consumnat*
Os that ambrosial laud .
O purple-hearted roses!
Whose tints cannot be told—
With opal thread sand sparkle*
Os granulated gold !
O, leaves of green resplendence—
And lily hands that hold!
She gave our sleeping sister
These twin, etherial flowers—
Herself, the full-grown calyx
Rinsed in purpureal showers ;
'ihe bud she sent her helpmate.
An elder brother of ours.
Ah ! little dreamed the dreamer.
Who saw that angel wife.
This same consummate flower
WaR her perfected ltfe—
A token of the closure
And crowning of the strite.
And thus, amid the glimpses
Vouchsafed the newly-born.
While yet the tearful twilight
Obscured the tearless morn,
She came to us with roses
From realms without a thorn !
For the New Orleans Sunday Times.
TWO DESOLATED CASTLES,
[From German and French Sources.]
BY LOUIS NEUMAN.
I—MI RAM A R.
Fairy-like above the quiet surface of
the sea towers iu all its royal splendor
the castle of Miramar, reminiscential of,
and hallowed by, the celestial dreams of
a happy future in which Maximilian and
Charlotte so often mutually indulged.
What a tell-tale of happy days, only
seemingly long past, the walls, and parks,
and groves, the monotonous murmur of
the sea, and the little birds from their
mrial rostrums whisper in our ear! A
ballad, sounding like a funeral hymn, of
happiness lost beyond redemption; of
proud princely dreams ; of bright expec
tancies never fulfilled ; of cheerfulness
and gaity now banished to return never
more ! The proud castle on the Adriatic
is now desolated ; its halls are deserted,
and their tasteful magnificence has lost
its fascination ; the whole ensemble but
reflects inexpressible woe. A light, west
ern breeze, stealing through bushes and
trees, touches the aerial harp on the tower.
Listen to the low, plaintive tones! A
quiet, melancholy sadness, a tender, dole
ful sorrow ! Truly an elegy!
Lut let us momentarily forget all sad
reminiscences connected with this castle,
in order to en joy the beauties which art
and nature have erected on this once in
hospitable rock.
The creator of all this splendor drove
hack with a stout hand the waves of the
sea, metamorphosed the bleak rock into a
lovely island ; and where the elements
were engaged in everlasting conflict, he
set up the insignia of his dominion. —
Miramar is a miraculous creation—a
fairy palace erected bv human beings.
A narrow pathway, bound on one side
by the rock and on the other by the sea,
leads into the garden by whiqh the castle
is surrounded. It bears everywhere the
imprint of refined taste. It is no gar
den after tin* style of the park of Ver
sailles, where man pretended to correct
nature. lam inclined to claim a cosmo
politan character for these grounds ; they
reflect the genius of man, who, after the
return from his voyage around the world,
resolved here to “pitch his tent.”
Truly, Archduke Ferdinaud Maximil
ian was a. “ citizen of the world,” in the
fullest sense of the word, and I remem
ber some, though trifling facts, which
speak greatly in favor of his cosmopoli
tan turn of mind. Years ago I visited
the Archduke’s library at Miramar. He
tiad appropriated the most magnificent
full to the library use ; around the walls
were arranged in elegant cases the
choicest literary products of all nations,
and prominently above all the splendor
w^re to be seen the busts of Homer, Dante,
Shakspeare and Goethe. It must bo ad
mitted that the Archduke knew how to
select the men who merited his admira
tion.
All window's of the castle, hut more
so the terrace, afford one of the finest
views imaginable. To the east we have
somewhat a bird’s eye view’’ of Trieste
and her harbor ; and southward, as well
as eastward, we glance upon the blue
w’aters of the Adriatic ; the view is un
obstructed, and the sea seems to be w ith
out, terranean boundaries. Enjoying 1
such rare scenic grandeur, the heart heats
faster and faster, the soul is wandering
far oil’, and, panting to free herself, en
tangles us more and more in a spell
bound net. All earthly cares are forgot
ten. while, under the influence of the
marvelous beauty around us, we live a
short rans-souci. existence. Thoughts
crowd upon thoughts, and not looked for
visions show* us the future in the brightest
couteur-de-rose. Any resolve* originated
and ripened while enthusiasm holds clear
common sense captive, is predestined to
mislead * * * and poor Max has,
alas ! fallen victim to mad resolves, con
ceived and fostered during his many lei
sure hours, dreamed away in his terres
trial paradise.
From the terrace can be seen the win
dows of the hall in which the last decisive
words w’ere spoken; there it was where,
on the 10th of April, 1864, Archduke
Ferdinand Maximilian solemnly declared
his willingness of “ accepting the crow’ll
offered him by the people of Mexico.”
Ominous blindness to look upon this dele
gation, acting in concert with the French
Emperor, as the true representatives of
the Mexicau people." In this same
hall, and also on the evening of the 10th
of April, 1864, the last dinner was given.
The table is still standing at its usual
place, and the chairs are still around it;
only their occupants are dispersed—the
best of all has forever left the ranks of
mankind.
Sad reminiscences which this place calls
forth! It can he easily * imagined for
w’hat reason the Empress after her re
turn from Mexico, did shun these apart
ments, which to her w’ere but mute, still
none the less powerful, witnesses of the
happy days she had passed in company
with her dearly beloved Max. The un
happy woman could not long endure the
doubly miserable life she was compelled
to lead on the shores of the Adriatic,
and she has been brought hack to h£r
native Belgium. Did this change of
scenery have any beneficial effect upon
her distracted mind ?
11—T ERYUEREN.
Two leagues from Brussels, close to a
road leading through the woods, is situa
ted a village which, with its low and low
roofed, white painted houses, presents a
bright aspect. Tervueren is the name
of this village. In its centre the road
bends, and, a few paces further on, termi
nates under the walls of* a royal palace.
This chateau surrounded by parks, groves
and grounds extending far into the coun
try, was from 1815 until 1830 the favo
rite residence of William I, King of the
Netherlands. During the reign of Leo
pold I. of Belgium, it stood almost deso
lated ; only that the Count of Flanders
sojourned there occasionally, in company
with his canine pets. Whoever is ac
quainted with the proverbial economy of
King Ixiopohl. and who knows that that
sovereign could never he persuaded to
expend more than insufficient sums for
repairs and alterations, can imagine to
what a sad state of neglect the once mag
nificent interior of the chateau of Tervueren
has changed.
This castle is the fourth which an un
fortunate woman inhabited during the
short space of her life—a woman who,
too, bears already her fourth njmie. At
Lmken she was known as the Princess
Charlotte ; then, at Miramar, as the Arch
duchess of Austria ; later, as the Empress
of Mexico; and now, at Tervueren, the
people have surnamed her the insane.
Whenever the “ wayward sisters’’ of
Destiny have sent adversities upon a
human being, and his mind has, under
the influence of misfortune, become dis
tracted, he is sometimes taken to those
places where he passed the happy days
of smiling childhood, places which wit
nessed his pure, innocent, childish plays,
watched by a happy mother and a fond
father. There, where he learned to love,
he learned, too, to be happy, and thereto
he is led to regain the happiness lost.
Where are the companions of former
days ? Is there, amid the groves, and
bushes, and woods, no fa vorite abode '(
Is there no tree that seems to her to give
more ample shade ? Are there no re
fuges, hallowed by the memories of the
blooming girl, into which to lead her
that the sped be broken ?
Oh, certainly, there is a place, where
the most pitiable of her sex grew into
womanhood, and where the insane should
be brought. But they did not dare to
bring her back to Darken.
>MggM ©F 111 |®lfl 1
They dared not do it, because she did
not live even one happy hour, nf all the
seventeen years during which she had to
call this dismal, weird palace her home ;
because it must remind her of King
Leopold—that egotist who succeeded in
acquiring the reputation of a shrewd
diplomatist, hut also that of a had father.
Whenever a human being—still more
so if a woman—suffers under the adverse
vicissitudes of life, search is made to dis
cover the cause, or. as the case may be,
the party whose guilt has served as prin
cipal actor in the deplorable metamor
phosis; Y igilantly he is searched for,
and, when discovered, his name becomes
a stigma. Has he been named ? Has
the world stigmatized him who is to be
charged with being the primitive cause
of Princess Charlotte’s misfortune ? The
opinion of the world is manifold in re
gard to this unhappy woman ; but the
true cause has as yet not been pro
claimed.
The actual cause of Ex-Empress Char
lotte’s insanity is to be found in the un
happiness of her youth with which the
cold-hearted father surrounded her.
We read of women who, notwithstand
ing’ they have suffered more dreadfully
than Charlotte, have not fallen victims to
insanity. Did Henrietta, of France, or
Marie Antoinette, suffer, perhaps, less ?
True, the widow of King Charles had
her children to console her ; but the wife
of Louis XY I. had to endure solitary
confinement, separated from her chil
dren, who she knew were in the hands of
the executioner. Still, both those women
had pleasant reminiscences which are
balsam to the bleeding soul, while Char
lotte’s remembrance of her early days
consists in the ghastly phantom of a joy
less childhood; and this is the root of
insanity.
From her infancy on, the character of
this woman has continually and methodi
cally been perverted. Her history is,
indeed a universal lesson. It seems as if
this princess stepped into our century to
teach, as a living example, to what ban
ishment from the family circle can lead a
woman who by chance of birth possessed
in superabundance all that the heart may
long for ; for she was rich, she was re
fined, she was pretty : she was a King’s
daughter * * * and she was loved,
too * * * but then it was, alas!
too late.
Her whole childhood was passed under
the guardianship of her mother who taught
her naught hut folding the little hands
and prayer, and the child scarcely re
alized what had happened, when, after a
prolonged sickness, this good mother died,
and the eleven year old girl was left quite
alone in the large palace at Laflven.
At this age, girls are talkative, but
only among themselves. Like loves like.
But Charlotte was not a beneficiary of
companionship. She grew melancholy
in her almost monasterial seclusion.
Sour-faced governesses were her only
companions—no heart that beat respon
sive to heart ; and all the bitterness (al
though she knew then but little of the
chances and changes, the struggle and
weariness of human existence,) lay be
tween herself and her God.
Poor girl, who thus suffered for six
j long years ! Alone, and ever alone, be
tween the mother’s grave—whither she
made frequent, pilgrimages to pray and
to momentarily relieve the oppressed
heart from its maddening burden—and a
stern father who came but. seldom, and
who, whenever he came was a terror to
all.
Princess Charlotte was then seventeen
years old. She was tall and of slender
figure; her mouth exquisitely small ; the
nose of the antique Roman mould; the
eye, large and bright, showed inquisitive
ness and uneasiness ; her rich hair was of
a chestnut brown color; her feint was
aristocratically pale, but often changeable
in its color, for, in her timidity, she blushed
continually whenever addressed Her
whole demeanor showed a noble modesty.
Whoever saw her thus, walking slowly, the
head slightly bent; how her timid, al
ways upturned looks sought coyly the
eyes of persons who spoke to her, would
have imagined her a simple, gentle, and
amiable creature, only fit to lean for pro
tection upon thestiong arm and the cher
ishing love of another being ; * *
but her eye bore also the imprint of sor
row and woe.
It was a bright, August day when,
attired in costly bridal robes, and leaning
upon the arm of a young fair-faced man,
who wore the uniform of an Austrian Ad
miral, she appeared upon the balcony of
the royal palaco at Brussels, before the
multitude assembled beneath. A few
days later she was accompauied by a
brilliant cortege to the railway depot.
Amid the chiming of the bells, the roar
of cannon, the heating of drums, and the
cheers of the people she left her father’s
kingdom.
It is now ten years since we witnessed
her departure. It was to metamorphose
her into a duchess, that the Austrians
came to carry her away from Belgium.
And now, they come to bring her back
to her native land. A few months ago,
a carriage drove up the street of Ter
vueren. But the carriage was carefully
closed; the unfortunate woman was
brought where in former days she had
never been.
What hopes are entertained for her
there? She has no mother; she is hus
handless and childless Where is the woe
and anguish, or even the insanity that
would not vanish before the smile of a
pretty child ? ***##*#
No, this happiness is denied here. There
are predestinate individuals, and this wo
man, once au empress, is deotined to show
the consequence to woman of a lonely,
eornpanionless, loveless, childhood.
For what was she in want of to render
her a happy woman ? Two things, if ever
she had possessed them, could have main
tained the sanity of her now overthrown
mind; a sympathizing mother and a
pleasant home while she was still young,
ajid a child after she had grown into wo
manhood.
The murder of her husband left her
poor, fond heart a blank. Nothing was
left her in all the wide world she had
known, to keep alive the affections. The
heart died, the mind gave way, and she
lives a miserable thing, of whom the low
liest peasant mother and wife may say—
“ Poor Carlotta !”
[.For th« Banner of tha South.]
WAYSIDE FLOWERS.
CULLED BY KSPERA.NZA.
There seems to be the same relation
between nature and revelation that exists
between the real world and the world of
dreams. For, as in dreamland all our
thoughts form themselves into life-like
images, so also do all supernatural truths
appear in nature as physically perceptible
phenomena that are wanting in nothing
save their interpretation. Hence the
Holy Scriptures might be called the dic
tionary, or key, to the book of nature ;
and it would be an interesting work if
someone were to undertake writing a
“ dream-book of nature” or an interpre
tation of the divine truths that lie hidden
within the visible universe. Even reve
lation would gain by such a work—for it
would become richer, more vivid, and
easy of understanding, since it would be
accompanied by the finally unsealed hiero
gly’phics of nature.
The earth is a mirror in which all na
ture, but more especially man, reflects
the beauty of those ideals which are reali
ties only in the world beyond the grave.
And, since this earthly beauty is only a
reflection, it is quite natural that its me
diums should be ever changed—-just as
the sun which is mirrored in the waters
of some gushing brook remains always
the same, though its image in the stream
is everlasting by passing from wave to
wave. Now, as the diamond which spar
kles in the yiirror cannot be grasped by
reaching out your hand towards the glass
which reflects it; nay, as your hand, by
each action, would only become farther
and farther removed from the jewel ;
therefore, if we desire to secure the prize,
it is necessary to look for it in a direction
opposite to that of the image. Thus, also*
man should not desire after the beautiful
of earth, since it is only a faint reflection
of heaven, but should look upon it only
as an incentive to search for and secure
that which is the lasting and essential
principle of all terrestrial and heavenly
beauty.
If the life of the soul bears auy re
semblance to the flames of a tire, music
may be likened unto a zephyr which gently
stimulates those flames and causes them
to expand and to soar skyward more free
ly. Music enables the soul to become
more self-conscious, and draws it gently
hut surely within the magic circle of the
world of harmony, peace and rest. Again,
the soul may be compared to a gigantic
and wonderful harp, or organ, of which
music touches the strings, or keys, and
thus produces the latent sounds within.
As, but for the fall, man could have
obtained his daily bread without labor,
thus also it is likely that he could have
discovered the beautiful in art and the
true in science without extraordinary ex
ertion. Since the fall, however, both
the beautiful and true are like unto a
buried treasure, which is only brought
to the surface piecemeal and with diffi
culty , while it often disappears again even
as we fancy to grasp it Still, just as
God manifests His justice in some indi
viduals, so, also, he shows his heavenly
bounty in others to whom he grants an
extraordinary talent and capacity for the
arts and sciences ; and He does this, no
doubt, that we may see faintly in those
who have been thus far favored what all
mankind might and would have been if
they had remained sinless.
As the vapory cloud is condensed in
crystal drops of rain wherever heat and
cold envelope it simultaneously, thus, too,
is the human tear born wherever love and
sorrow meet within the heart.
Biblical philology’ and criticism pro
duce almost the same effect upon, the the
ological student that anatomy seems to
produce in a student of medicine : by
studying too closely the smaller parts he
loses his faith in that spirit, or soul, which
manifests itself so clearly in the whole
and perfect organism. The critic is
ea«ily led to believe no longer in that
divine truth which assumed, so to speak,
the letters of the Bible as a body, and
the anatomist begins to doubt the immor
tal soul which dwells within the mortal
body. The former sees nothing divine
in each separate word, and the latter
discovers nothing but matter in the sinews
and hone of his subject.
It might be put as a question of psychol
ogy : whence is it that we awake from
our sleep at a certain hour, whenever
we have resolved to do so ? There must
be something awake in man while he
sleeps, something which does not belong
to the self-consciousness of the individual,
something which never sleeps, which is
aware of our resolution, which can note
the time both of night and day, and which
possesses, at the same time, a sufficient
amount of influence and power to awaken
us from our slumbers at the proper
moment.
Every’ individual reproduces in minia
ture the history of the human race, so far
as it has already transpired. The child,
with its simple, confiding, and forgiving
heart, is but a type of the first ages of
the world ; while the restless, ardent, and
imaginative youth, reproduces the ages
that succeeded
Vanity in things of religion is also a
species of simony, especially when one
performs such duties for the sake of the
honor connected therewith ; for human
honor and earthly gold are both equally
disdainful trash when compared with
heavenly goods.
It is a peculiar right, and one that in
variably makes a deep impression to see
anywhere but more especially in the free,
open air, a little child sitting on the green
sward alone and wrapped up in quiet
thought. Nowhere can you find a closer
resemblance to the angels of God than
when such a child unites within its soul
the innocence and deep contemplation of
the angelic spirits.
There may be two separate and distinct
paths by which the individual soul can ap
proach God and become virtuous. The
one consists in exerting our own utmost
powers to progress on the way to perfec
tion, while the other is constituted in fre
quent and fervent prayer. In both ways
does the grace of God become efficacious
only the relation of that grace to the ex
ertion of our own own powers is different
in each. Prayer might be called the
long arm of the lever.
St. Peter’s in Rome.— St. Peter’s, for
its erection, required one hundred and
seventy-six years, and, to perfect the
structure, demanded an additional hun
dred and seventy-four years. Its cost was
fifty million dollars in gold, and to keep
it in repair, requires au annual expendi
ture of twenty thousand dollars. Os its
vast dimensions, perhaps the best idea is
conveyed by the statement that it covers
eight acres of ground. To the top of the
dome is four hundred and forty-eight feet,
and in approaching Rome, long before
any other structure about the city strikes
the eye, this dome, like a great ball, is
seen towering in the air.
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