[From the Rome (Ga.) Commercial.]
The Bannerless Host.
We flung your flowers in the sweot Spring time,
Years ago when the trumpet’s swell,
Smiting the air with a battle chime,
Seemed like the voice of Israel.
Your passionate eyes were turned to ours ;
It needed not that the lips should swear ;
“ Behold!” we cried, as we tossed you flowers,
•* Behold our flag! Go prove love there!”
Our voices were low and soft that day,
But they wooed you to war’s fiery waves!
Our hands were white as the ocean spray,
But they pointed the way to bloody graves!
The sub, that turned that morn to gold,
Beneath a dark horizon dips ;
But hungry storms our eyes behold,
The apples are ashes on our lips!
And you? We crown the graves with flowers.
Where pulseless lie your hearts of dust ;
No more those passionate eyes seek ours,
Your flaming swords are turned to rust.
And kneeling thus beside you here,
Each taint, sad heart forgiveness craves,
That with our hands, as raised in prayer,
We pointed you to bloody graves.
But no! tears desecrate the sod,
That mourn the day, ye souls of flame !
With proud, imperial steps ye trod
The path to death, but not to shame!
When list’ning to the trumpet's sound,
That led you to a nobler fate—
Than thus to live, Prometheus bound,
On whom /onl birds their hunger sate—
Y’e went, like him of old, to die,
Os whom each Grecian song shall tell,
He sank ’mid shouts of victory,
And cried “We triumph!” as he fell.
We linger ’neath a darker sky,
Whence light celestial all has fled.
Weep ye for us, ye ever free!
A bannerless host, we crown our Dead!
“A fine hand is one of the first points
Thus read Kate Palmer, as she sat at
the parlor window on a bright winter
morning. Letting tall the magazine in
which she had been reading, she looked
complacently at the delicate, taper fingers
that lay among the crimson folds of her
dress. Her other hand, adorned with
snowy cuff and simple bracelet of jet,
crushed the brown curls that fell over her
It was a pretty scene for those who
passed over the frozen street on that clear,
cold morning—a radiant., lovely picture
The lace curtains drawn aside, the arm
chair of blue plush, and the graceful
form that filled it, the merino dress look
ing warm and fleecy in the sunshine, the
young head pensively bowed, the down
cast eyes and delicate profile, the shining
curls and the lovely hand carelessly
pressing them. It looked beautiful, and
Kate knew it. So she sat still, gazing re
flectively at the snowy hand on her knee.
“ Oh, dear ! ” she sighed, “I wish I
had a ring ! I’d give all the world for a
solitaric like Madge Madsden’s ! How
artfully she put up her little, fat hand,
and pretending to be biting her finger
nails, so that 1 might see her diamond !
Engaged to be married ! the idea ! She
is as plain as a pipe- stem, and not much
longer engaged ! And I—well, every
body knows that I am pretty, and where’s
the harm of knowing it my self?—to face
the truth, I’ve never had an offer! Os
course, Madge is a fool. I wouldn’t have
Dick Jay if he was hung with jewels
from his nose to his toes —not I ! But
there is one I would have, and oh ! wouldn’t
I have diamonds, too? Well, it takes
two lings to get married, and I havn’t
cither of them. To be sure, there’s time
enough yet. I’m just eighteen, and pret
tier than any girl I know, if I do say it.
Shan’t I feel old when I get to be twenty
Kate was interrupted by the entrance
of her mother, a faded woman of fifty,
whose whole appearance indicated a life
“Kate,” gaid Mrs, Palmer, with some
severity, “ you must do something. I’m
so tired that I can hardly stand, and here
you sit, hour after hour, idling away your
time. You must do differently. You
must change your course. I cannot do all
the work any longer. The weather is too
sold, and I am not well. Change your
dress immediately, and come down
Her daughter neither moved nor
spoke, and Mrs. Palmer sank dejectedly,
into the nearest chair
“ There, mother,” cried Kate, “you’ll
spoil that plush! The idea of sitting
down in the parlor with such a looking
Those words, “the idea,” conveyed
Kate’s strongest contempt. Mrs. Pal
mer's face wore an expression of despair.
“My daughter,” she said quietly, but
in a voice that shook with feeling, “I am
growing old. I have labored hard to
bring you up according to my theory of
right. Too late I sec that I was wrong.
T have denied myself a thousand things,
that you might be denied nothing. From
your infancy j have dressed you elegant
ly, and always at the expense of my com
fort. Year in, and year out, I have toiled
like a slave, that you might enjoy the
best advantages. What reward have I ?
I was content to live in four pleasant
rooms, but you wanted more style ; and
since I had never learned to deny you, I
came here. I was content with three-ply
carpets, and furniture of mahogany and
haircloth. Y"ou must needs have brussels,
and plush, with rosewood and marble.
You were gratified, bu: at a terrible sac
rifice! Then I never kept a servant ;
now I certainly cannot.’ Yet the work is
four times what it was, and I naturally
thought that you would assist me, but I
mistook. Yon must be dressed in ele
gance at times—anything is good enough
for me. I cannot even go to church for
want of proper apparel. Your white
hands must not be soiled—look at mine !
They are bruised, and chapped, and
swollen ; but no matter ! It is ‘no one
but mother, and she is old! Yes my
child, lam old, and scarcely able to toil
on as I have done. I cannot long. I fear
that you will live to remember this with
many a vain regret.”
The daughter was silent, and the
weary, disappointed mother rose and left
“ I don’t care,” said Kate, petulantly,
as soon as the door was closed. “ I can’t
help it, if she does work. I don’t think I
ought to spoil my hands. ‘A fire hand is
one of the first points of beauty.’ So it
is, and as long as I can keep mine ‘ fine,’
I shall. Mother’s so inconsiderate ! She
might know that I wouldn’t be fit tor so
ciety, and would never be married in the
world if my hands were disfigured with
A firm footstep sounded on the side
walk, and Kate looked eagerly out.—
With a blush of pleasure she returned the
bow of a fine looking young man who
passed the house, and then, as if from a
sudden impulse, turued_back, ran up the
steps, and rang the bell. Mrs. Palmer,
as usual, attended the door.
When he entered the parlor, Horace
Magna found Kate with one exquisite
hand still supporting her head, and the
other carelessly holding a magazine of
fashion, She was just as beautiful—nay,
more beautiful than when he had seen
her from the street.
Her cheeks glowed with emotion ; her
soft eyes beamed him welcome from their
clear, blutftlcptLis ; hei lily baud Lrumbled
in his, and the magazine fell beside her
daintily slippered foot that rested on a
But the light had quite faded from the
young man’s face. He had suddenly
grown cold and distant. She was as
graceful, as affable, as entertaining as
ever, but Horace said little, and departed
soon. He never called again. Kate’s
white hands had waited, and her blue
eyes beamed in vain.
A year afterward, Horace Magna mar
ried sweet Kitty Foster. Her hands were
not white, nor even shapely ; and she was
very sensitive about them. Somehow,
when they had been married a twelve
month, Horace discovered that Kitty
didn’t like that he should look at her
“ How is this? ” said he, playfully—
“ What ails my Kitty ? Ain’t her dear
little paws clean ? or has she some long,
sharp nails that I ought uot to see ?”
Kitty laughed till she cried, and then
told him that her hands were so homely
that she couldn’t hear to have him look
“ If they were only beautiful, like Kate
Palmer’s,” said she wiping away her tears.
“Kitty, sit down here—Fve something
to tell you,” said ho,, clasping her two
hands in one of his, and throwing his arm
around her. “ I once thought Kate Pal
mer the loveliest girl I had ever seen. A
great many other fellows thought the
same, and I guess they all came to the
conclusion that I did, eventually. Every
expression of her face, every word of her
lips carried the conviction to my mind
that she was as lovely as she looked.
But lips lie—so do faces ! I didn’t know
it then, and while I admired her form
and features, and voice and manner 1 ad
mired her character . equally. I have
never seen anything, in aia or in nature,
to compare with her hands; and Kitty
you don’t care now, do you ?—I wanted to
put two rings on her beautiful fingers.
Going down town one winter morning, I
considered what sort of ring the fust
should be, and concluded that a diamoud
—a solitaire, like your engagement ring,
Kitty—would best suit her style, and
probably her taste. Thus reflecting, I
passed the house, and saw her sitting at
the window, one beautiful hand up, so ;
as if waiting for my gift.
“ Why not now ? ” said I, to myself,
and turning, I went up, and rang the bell.
“ The door was opened by a pale, toil
worn, gray haired woman, who had al
ways attended the door when I had been
there. She said :
“ My daughter, sir ? she is in the par
“I looked at the mother. Poor soul!
Her calico dress was old and faded ; her
apron soiled; her sleeves were rolled up
and she wore no collar; her hair was
disarranged, and her hands! —1 don’t
know what they were like—worse than
any servant's. She opened the parlor
door and said :
“Daughter, a gentleman to sec you,”
and went away.
“ I mentally contrasted mother and
child. Kate’s snowy cuffs and collar,
and dainty hankerchief, and brignt dress;
her slippered feet and beautiful hands!
They were a contemptible sham, and
stamped her as a vain, proud, wicked wo
man. I would sooner have drowned
than married that girl! I despisde her.
I despised myself for having fancied her.
It was with difficulty that I could treat
her respectfully, and I could hardly stay
as long as civility’required. After that,
when 1 met a pretty, engaging girl, my
first thought was; “ llow docs she treat
her mother ? ”
“I found in you, my Kitty, one who
was the sunshine of home : the helper of
the needy : the kind companion of broth
er and sister ; the self sacrificing, devoted
daughter. I know what it was, my dar
ling, that darkened and harden these dear
hands : works of love ; every home ser
vice ; the laithful care that would not let
a mother bear ‘ the burden and heat of
the day.’ Bless you for hands like these
Kitty! If you don’t admire them, re
member that they are mine. I will not
have you depreciate my property, and
‘run down’ my treasures !
“ Meanwhile, wear this, and let it
prove that I love these dear hands, and
the gentle heurt that prompts them to
works of love.”
So saying, Horace slipped on her fin
ger an exquisite ring adorned with a
pearl, encircled with diamonds.
Mumfobd. —In her “Recollections of
Henry W. Allen,” Mrs. Dorsay says : It
was known among us that Win. B. Mum
ford was not guilty of this crime (?) of
taking down the United States flag, which
was done before the city surrendered, and
not done by him. General Butler’s court
of military commission found him guilty.
It must have been on circumstantial, if any,
evidence, because the flag was removed by
Adolphe Harper, a young lad of 16, who was
hurried out of the city by his alarmed
friends immediately after the commission
of the daring aot, before Harper wns nwnre
of Mmnford’s capture. Harper was sent
up the river near Natchez. Learning after
wards of the summary execution of Mum
ford. he, in an agony of distress, tried to
get back to New Orleans, in order to sur
render himself to the United States au
thorities, in a vain thought of expiation to
the martyred (murdered) Mumford. But
his friends about Natchez prevented this
mad act —prompted by the lad’s sense of
honor —and at last succeeded in convincing
him that it would be a useless sacrifice of a
noble life, which could be made valuable in
the South. Harper then joined Bradford’s
scouts, and was killed in a skirmish, about
ten miles from Natchez. He is buried in
Fayette. Ilis friends say he was always
under a cloud after Mumford s death. He
was very handsome, and a very brave,
Mrs. D. adds that she hesitated as to the
expediency of writing this factot history,
but cast expediency aside in the presence
Tiie First Liquor Law in Massa
chusetts. —The following is an extract
from Josselyn’s account of Two Voyages
to New England—years 1638—1663 :
“In 1637, there were not many hou»es
in the town of Boston, amongst which
were two houses of entertainment called
ordinaries, into which, if a stranger went,
he was presently followed by one appoint
ed to that office, who would thrust him
self into his company uninvited, and if he
called for more drink than the officer
thought in his judgment ihe could soberly
bear away, he would presently counter
mand it and appoint the proportion, be
yond which he could not get one drop.’’
Body of Major Sturges Found.
From a Richmond paper we learn that
the grave of Major J. 11. Sturges, of the
3d Georgia Regiment, who was killed in
the battle of Seven Pines, was found in a
corn field which was being ploughed. So
says the Savannah News. The body was
taken up and reburied at the junction of
the Charles City and Williams roads,
about two and a half miles from Rich
mond, Va. Our cotemporaries are re
quested to give this a notice in order that
it may reach the eye of the friends of the
Alexander Smith has left some unpub
lished prose papers, which arc soon to be
published under the title of “Lost Leaves,
with a memoir of the author.
The Philadelphia Conference Mission
ary Society have obtained a painting ol
Paul on Mars Hill, from which they pro
pose to have eDgraved a certificate.
ORIGIN OF PLANTS:
Madder came from the East.
Celery originated in Germany.
The ehesnut came from. Italy.
The onion originated in Egypt.
Tobacco is a native of Virginia.
The nettle is a native of Europe.
The pine is a native of America.
The citron is a native of Greece.
The poppy originated in the East.
Oats originated in North Africa.
Rye came, originally, from Siberia.
Parsly was first known in Sardinia.
The pear and apple are from Europe.
Spinach was first cultivated in Arabia.
The Sunflower was brought from Peru.
The mulberry tree originated in Persia.
The horse ehesnut is a native of Thibet
The cucumber came from the East In
The quince came from the Island of
Tha radish is a native of China and
Peas are supposed to be of Egyptian
The garden cress is from Egypt and
Horse radish came from the South of
The Zealand flax shows its origin by
The coriander grows wild near the
The Jerusalem artichoke is a Brazilian
Hemp is a native of Persia and the
The parsnip is a native of Arabia.
The potato is a native of Peru.
Cabbage grows wild in Siberia,
Buckwheat came from Siberia.
Barley was found in the mountains of
Millet was first known in India.
Running Down an 'lndian.— When
Lucius B. Northrop, late Confederate
Commissary General, was a young man,
he was an officer with Gen. Dodge, in his
famous expedition among the Indians.
Dodge’s object was to negotiate with and
conciliate the Indians. But as he ad
vanced into the country the Indians
would leave. The army could see them
on the distant hills, watching their pro
gress, but negotiation was not in Red
skin’s programme, and he left on sight, nor
stood upon the order of his going; come
into camp, he would not, and there was
uo chance for a palaver. Finally, Nor
throp told Dodge lie would bring in an In
dian. Now Northrop never could talk
horse like Grant, because there were other
matters on his brain, but he was sure to
be splendidly mounted, and on this occa
sion he rode a magnificent blooded mare
of great speed and endurance. One
morning, before day, he started out in
advance of the column. At the usual
hour the column marched; they soon es
pied an Indian, on the back of his fleet
little pony, watching their progress from
the top of a distant hill; suddenly Red
skin darted, like an arrow, down the side
of the hill, his little pony, at full speed,
running across the front of the column;
presently Northrop appeared in chase;
he had got in his rear, intending to
catch him by running him down. We
could see the whole of the exciting race.
Northrop soon overhauled and brought
Iledskin to a stand, who, of course, ex
pected the immediate pleasure of being
scalped and killed. In this he was disap
pointed, for instead he was brought into
camp unharmed, furnished with plenty to
eat and drink and some presents, and,
being made to understand the wishes and
intentions of Gen. Dodge, he was set at
liberty. There was no further difficulty
on that expedition.
Useful Hints. —Wood ashes and
common salt, wet with water, will soak
into the cracks of a stove and prevent the
smoke from escaping.
Stir Poland starch with a common can
dle, and it will not stick to the iron, and
will be much nicer.
Alum or vinegar is good to set colors
of red or yellow.
Sal soda will bleach very white; one
spoonful is enough for a kettle of clothes.
Save your suds for garden plants, or
for garden yards when sandy.
Wash your tea trays with cold suds,
polish with a little Hour, and rub with a
Frozen potatoes make more starch
than fresh ones; they also make nice cake,
A hot shovel held over varnished furni
ture will take out white spots.
A bit of glue dissolved iu skim-milk
and water will restore crape.
Ribbons of any kind should be washed
in cold soap suds and nit rinsed.
If your flat-irons are rough, rub them
with fine salt, and it will make them
Oat straw is best for filling bods. It
should be changed once a year.
If you are buying carpets for durabili
ty, choose small figures.
Buttf.r Making In Devonshire
Cows are milked twice a day, rnorni r:o . \
and evening, and the milk strained into
the milk-pans, which are generally made
of tin, and should not be two deep, or the
milk will not cool quickly. Early the
next morning, (as soon as the fire h as
attained a sufficient heat,) the milk is
placed on the stove or steam apparatus
to be scalded, beginning with the previl
ous morning’s milk until all is scalded.
There should be from 12 to 15 pints in i
pan, and, wtth a proper heat, it will take
from twenty minutes to half an hour to !
scald. When it is sufficiently scalded
you will see the cream look rough, and a
ring or mark will appear on the surface,
just the size of the bottom of the pan.
After scalding, the milk is placed in the
dairy to cool, and on the following morn,
ing the cream is taken up from each pan
with a skimmer, and placed in a large
basin, where it remains until it is remov
ed into the tub, to be made into butter.
In the summer butter must be made
every day; in the winter three times a
week will be sufficient. When you make
butter yon must pour off any clear or thin
cream there may be in the bottom of the
basin, and then put the thick cream into
your butter tub ; stir it with your hand
or with a stick round the tub, all one way
untill it becomes a very thick substance":
continue turning it until you see milk
coming from it, then pour off the butter
inilk and wasli well the butter with cold
spring water until there is no milk left in
it, and the water is quite clear; then add
a little fine salt to make it a proper salt
ness, wash it again, and continue work
ing it with the hand or stick, as may he
until you cannot get a drop of water
from it; then weigh the butter and make
it up into pounds. If this plan is strictly
followed your butter cannot tail to be ex
cellent. In very hot weather the morn
ing’s meal of milk must be scalded in the
afternoon, and the evening's meal early
on the following morning, to keep it
sweet. The stick used in our dairy, and
which is preferable in * every respect to
the hand, is formed like a small spud,
with the handle about 12 inches long.
When the red earthenware pans are used
for the milk, it takes nearly an hour to
scald each pan. We consider tin pans
preferable, for two reasoes : first, econo
my of time in the dairy work; second,
the milk in hot weather is less likely to
turn sour when quickly scalded.
Ma iiriagk of the O’Conor Don
Many of our readers may recollect havir ?
seen the young man whose marriage is
here announced. He made a tour through
a great part of the United States about
two years ago :—lrish Citizen.
The good people of Avon Dassett (one of
the prettiest villages in the midland coun
ties of England,) witnessed a grand cere
mony on Tuesday last, on the occasion of
the double marriage of the O’Conor Pod,
M. P., and Miss G. M. Perry ; and W.
F. Tempest, Esq., and Miss A. M. Perry,
Esq., of Biltham House, Avon D»>sel.
The bridal parties started from the man
sion at half-past ten to the pretty Catholic
church situate in the center of the village.
For a quarter of a mile the beautiful walk
was strewn with flowers and evergreens,
and every here and there triumphal arches
spanned the entire walk, bearing the fol
lowing inscriptions: “ God to with
them,” and on the reverse side, “ Health
and Happiness;” further on, “ From God
is my Help,” and “ Erin go Bragh and
another, “ Faithful to the End,” and rhen
again, “God Bless the Happy Pair-
The very excellent ’ choir of St. J ha-
Chureli, Bandbury, were present, as al
the popular band of the 3d Oxfordshire
Rifle Corps. The marriage ceremonies
were performed by the Right Rev. Bi-hop
Ullathorne. The day was observed a- a
right old English holiday. The poor
people from the adjacent villages were
made right welcome at the mansi. and,
where all kinds of good things were pi *
pared for them, as well as a variety
amusements in the park. A mou-t r
bonfire was kindled on the hill later n
the evening, and fireworks brought b '
happy event to a successful (dose-'
Never too Old to Learn.—Socrate*-
at an extreme age, learned to play • n
musical instruments, for the purp -o 1
resisting the influence of old age.
Cato, at eighty years of age, beg 3o *°
learn the Greek language.
Boccaccio was thirty years of age wi. ;
he commenced his studies in polite mo
rature, yet he became one of the thro
great masters of the Tuscan dialect, Rib
and Petrarch being the other two.
Sir Henry Spelraan neglected the -p‘
ences in his youth, but commenced j;'
study of them when he was between J
and sixty years of age After his time -j
became a most learned antiquarian t: lj
Colbert the famous French mini■
at sixty years of age returned to h'.-L 11
and law studies.