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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. 5