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2 [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! WHITE HANDS. “A fine hand is one of the first points of beauty.” 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 brow. 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 though—” Kate was interrupted by the entrance of her mother, a faded woman of fifty, whose whole appearance indicated a life of labor. “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 ctairs.” 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 dress! ” 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 the room. “ 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 housework.” 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 velvet cushion. 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 hands. “ 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 at them. “ 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 lor.” “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, reckless soldier. Mrs. D. adds that she hesitated as to the expediency of writing this factot history, but cast expediency aside in the presence of truth. 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 gallant soldier. 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 dies. The quince came from the Island of Crete. Tha radish is a native of China and Japan. Peas are supposed to be of Egyptian origin. The garden cress is from Egypt and the East. Horse radish came from the South of Europe. The Zealand flax shows its origin by its name. The coriander grows wild near the Mediterranean. The Jerusalem artichoke is a Brazilian production. Hemp is a native of Persia and the East Indies. 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 Himalaya. 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 dry cloth. 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 smooth. 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-' Register. 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 lawyer. Colbert the famous French mini■ at sixty years of age returned to h'.-L 11 and law studies.