Newspaper Page Text
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fjonffi’s jfjpattment.
Charade.
It comes in the ram, as it patters and pours,
It comes in the wave, as it rattles and roars;
It comes on the winds, when they sigh so and sing;
And it comes with the birds; and it comes with the
Spring.
It comes from the streamlet that ripples along;
It comes from old Ocean, as he mutters his song;
It comes from the sound of the rustling grain,
But ’tis soft, low, and sweet, as’t says, “Dying again.”
It lives in the soul, in the depth of the soul,
And down in its prison it will tremblo and roll;
It comes to the Christian, when death draweth nigh;
’Tis brought by the Angels from above the bright sky.
Renin.
St. Joseph's Academy, Columbus, Gat., Sept. 30, 1808.
Answer next week.
►-».
ENIGMA—No. 68.
I am composed of 15 letters :
My 1,2, 3,8, 11, 9, is a comity in
Leinster.
My 4, 10, 9,6, is a county in Ulster.
My 1,8, 7,3, 14, is a county in Mun
ster.
My 6,5, 12, 14, is a river in Africa.
My 3, 14, 4, is a color.
My 9,3, 14, 6, is a small bird.
My 12, 10 6, 11, 6, is a city in Great
Britain.
My 4, 14, 17, 15, signifies to waste
away.
My 15, 7,3, 4,is a measure of length.
My whole was the name and title of
one of England’s greatest statesmen.
Answer next week. *
ENIGMA—No. 69.
I am composed of 14 letters.
My 12, 10, 14, 1, is a Chinese musical
instrument.
My 6, 13, 9,9, 2, 11, is a tool much
used.
My 4, 13, 3,2, is a girl’s name.
My 5, 11,1, 13, 7, is a musical instru
ment.
My, S, 5, 11,14, is a cape of the West
ern Hemisphere.
My whole is the rank and name of a
lamented Confederate General.
R. F. L.
Answer nest week.
Augusta , Ga. y 1868.
ENIGMA No. 70.
I am composed of 39 letters :
My 1,2, 3,4, 5, is the nut of the
King of the Forest.
My 6,7, 8, is a part of one of the
seven last sayings of our Lord.
My 9, is an article.
My 10, 11, 12, is a relative pronoun.
My 13, 14, 15,16, 17, is a sign ot the
potential mood.
My 18, 19, 20, 21, is what furnishes us
with the healthiest of beverages.
My 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, make
two words, to which, if we affix the words,
“of them,’ 7 we will have a sentence lor
Southern mothers to conclude their stories
of the dead and living braves of the
South.
My 29, 30, is a preposition,
My 31, 32, 33, is a personal pronoun.
My 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39 spell things
of which the feminine heart is fond—
things, the deft purloining of which, to
gether with silver spoons, has ranked B.
F. Butler among the most notorious of
thieves.
My whole is the designation given of
the mother of the justly celebrated Miss
Jane Porter.
Answer next week.
Savannah, Ga., Sept., 1808.
Answers to Last Week’s Enigmas,
Etc.— To Enigma No. 65—Horatio
Nelsom Seymour—Honest—Truth—
Horse—Rat—Man—Lion —Rose—Yarn
Noun.
To Enigma No. 66—Francis Preston
Blair, Junior—Fausta —Porsenna—Be-
lesis—Julian—Coriolanus —Cicero—Ne-
ro.
To Enigma No. 67—Oglethorpe Light
Infantry—Line—File —Toilet—Tight—
Harry—Property—Glory —Eagle—Fight
—Ran—The Elephant.
To Enigma JSo. 68—George Washing
ton—Nero —Ginger —Ash Negro—
Tongs—War.
To Charade— Silence.
< i • ——
[Prepared for the Banner of the South by Uncle Buddy.]
FAMILIAR SCIENCE.
MECHANICAL ACTION.
Percussion —Heat is produced by me
chanical action, 1, By Percussion : 2,
By Friction; 3, By Condensation, or
Compression. By Percussion is meant
the act of striking; as when a black
smith strikes a piece of iron on his anvil
with his hammer.
Striking iron makes it red hut, because
it condenses the particles of. the metal,
and makes the latent heat sensible.
Cold iron, as well as everything else,
contains heat; but when a thing feels
cold its heat is latent. By latent heat,
is meant heat that is not perceptible to
our feelings. When anything contains
heat without feeling the hotter for it, that
heat is called “latant heat.”
Cold iron contains latent heat; and,
when a blacksmith compreses the parti
cles of iron by his hammer, he brings out
latent heat, and this makes the iron red
hot.
Before the invention and use of Luci
fer matches, blacksmiths used to place a
soft iron nail upon tlieii anvil, strike it
two or three times with a hammer, and
the point became sufficiently hot to light
a brimstone match. The particles of the
nail, being compressed by the hammer
can no longer contain so much heat in a
latent state as they did before; some of
it, therefore, becomes sensible and in
creases the temperature of the iron.
Striking a flint against a piece of
steel, will produce a spark, because it
compresses those parts of the flint and
steel which strike together; in conse
quence of which some of their latent heat
is disturbed, and exhibits itself in a
spark. This development of heat, pro
duces a spark and sets tinder on fire, be
cause a very small fragment of the sfeel
or flint is knocked off, red-hot, and sets
fire to the tinder on which it kills.
It is necssary, however, to keep blow
ing the tinder with the breath, in
order that the increased supply of air
may furnish the tinder with more oxy
gon to assist combustion.
Horses sometimes strike fire with their
feet, because, when the iron shoes strike
against the flint stones of the road, very
small fragments, either of the shoes or
stones, are knocked off red-hot. These
fragments are made red-hot because the
percussion condenses the part struck; in
consequence of "which, some of its latent
heat is rendered sensible, aud exhibits
itself in these red hot fragments.
Friction. —By Friction ,is meant the
act of rubbing two things together ; as
the Indians rub two pieces of wood to
gether to produce fire.
Indians produce fire by merely rub
bing two pieces of wood together, in this
way : They take a piece 'of dry hard
wood, sharpened to a point, which they
rub quickly up and down a flat piece of
soft wood, till a groove is made; and the
dust collected in the groove catches fire,
because latent heat is developed from the
wood by friction. The best woods for
this purpose are boxwood against mul
berry, or laurel against poplar or ivy.
Carriage wheels sometimes catch fire
when they are dry, or tit too tightly, or
revolve very rapidly, because, the fric
tion of the wheels against the axle-tree
disturbs their latent heat, and produces
ignition. Greasing cart wheels lessens
the friction; and, because there is less
friction, the latent heat of the wheels is
less disturbed.
Rubbing our faces and hands makes
them feel warm. Ist, Because friction
excites the latent heat of our hands and
faces and makes it sensible to our feeling;
and 2d, Because the blood is made to
circulate more quickly 7 ; in consequence
of which, the quantity of heat left in its
passage is increased.
When a man has been almost drowned,
suspended animation is restored by rub
bing : Ist, Because friction excites the
latent heat of the half inanimate body ;
and, 2d, Because it makes the blood cir
culate more quickly, which increases the
animal heat.
Two pieces of ice rubbed together will
melt, because, it contains, as we have al
ready told you, 140° degrees of latent
heat, and, when two pieces are rubbed
together, some of this latent heat is made
sensible and melts the ice.
Carpenters’ tools, such as gimlets,
saws, files, etc., become hot when used,
because the friction of the tools against
the wood disturbs the latent heat and
makes it sensible. As an illustration
of this fact, we may mention here that
when a cannon is bored, the boreis be
come so intensely hot from friction, they
would blister the hands if touched. They
become so hot, because the friction ot the
bores against the metal is so great that
it sets free a large quantity of latent heat.
A wet sponge will clean a slate, be
cause the water holds in solution the pen
cil marks made on the slate, and the me
chanical friction employed in wiping the
slate detaches the particles of pencil-dust.
— •«>■
I am anxious, in common with all
persons, of whatever Church, who love
our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, that
his resurrection-day should be more par
ticularly set apart for religious worship,
and religious study and meditations.
And if the day ought to be thus dedicated
to such purposes, it is plain we ought to
abstain from anything that may inter
fere with its being so observed, both by
ourselves and by those we employ.—
1 Archbishop Whatley.
3MW& m mi wmm. ■
“THE HONEST LITTLE MUSICIAN.’*
“A story, a story; a true story, please,
Aunt Kate 1” was the exclamation of a
group of merry children, clustered round
the school-room fire one dark winter’s af
ternoon, when work and play were both
over for the day. The request was too
earnest and unanimous to be refused;
and. indeed, long and frequent practice
had made compliance with it very easy;
so Aunt Kate took the arm-chair prepar
ed for her, and began :
“My story shall be of a little boy in
France.”
“But is it really a true story ?”
“Yes, really true.”
“All, right then, Aunty ; please go
on.”
“Just at the time that the terrible war
between Charles I. and his people was
raging in our island, a young monarch
reigned in France, widely known as the
‘Grand Monarque.’ At his gay court
few were so powerful as the Duke of
Guise ; and, few, if any, so beautiful,
gay, and witty, as his cousin, the Duchess
of Montpensier, better known as Ma
demoiselle; and with both those grand
personages my little boy’s story is con
nected.
“Baptiste Lulli was born in Florence;
his parents, poor but respectable, both
died while he was yet young—his mother,
when he was but a few months old.
From her he inherited an intense love
and a great talent for music. His father
lived till the boy was six years old, and
then died, leaving him as his only inheri
tance, the remembrance of his true and
loving words and good example. ‘Be
honest, be truthful,’ were bis last words.
‘Be honest; trust in God, and he will
take care of you.’ And poor little Bap
tiste, in the midst of sorrow, and poverty,
and temptation, was honest and truth
ful. Often, his only lodging was on a
door step. He was too young to work,
yet he never stole. One thing, besides
his words and example, had his father left
him- -an old violin; with this he earned
his bread, though often it was but a dry
crust, or a handful of olives. On it, he
played from door to door, and the servants
seldom turned him away without break
fast or supper. It was, besides, his
loved companion, his comforter, and his
sole possession.
“One evening, as he sat dreamily play
ing at the door of the principal inn in
Florence, the sweet. and plaintive tones
attracted the attention of the Duke of
Guise, who had stopped there for refresh-
Bill and Joe.
Come, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by—
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew—
The lusty days of long ago,
When you were Bill and I was Joe.
Your name may flaunt a tilted trail.
Proud as a cockerel’s rainbow tail;
And mine as brief appendix wear
Ab Tam O’Shanter’s luckless mare;
To-day, old friend, remember still
That I am Joe and you are Bill.
You’ve won the great world’s envied prize,
And grand you look in people’s eyes,
With HON. and LL. D.
In big, brave letters, fair to see—
Your fist, old fellow! off they go !
How are you, Bill ? How are you, Joe ?
You've worn the Judge’s ermined robe;
You’ve taught your name to half the Globe;
You’ve sung mankind a deathless strain;
You’ve made the dead Past live again;
The world may call you what they will,
But you and I are Joe and BilL
The chafing young folks stare and say,
See those old buffers, bent and gray—
They talk like fellows In their teens 1
Mad, poor old boys 1 That’s what It moans”—
Aud shake their heads; they little know
The throbbing heart3 of Bill and Joe I
Now Bill forgets his hour of pride,
While Joe sits smiling at his side;
How Joe, in spite of time’s disgfiise,
Finds the old schoolmate ia his eyes—
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill.
Ah! pensive scholar, what is fame ?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind’s fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill and which was Joe f
The weary idol takes his stand,
Holds out his bruised and aching hand,
While gaining thousands come and go,
How vain it seems, this empty show !
Till, all at once, his pulses thrill;
'Tis poor old Joe’s “Godbless you, Bill!”
And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears,
In some sweet lull of harp and song,
For earth-born spirits none too long;
Just whispering of the world below,
Where this was Bill and that was Joe ?
No matter—while our home is here,
No sounding name is half so dear ;
When fades, at length, our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say T
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hie jacet J oe. Hie jacet BilL
—Dn. Holmbs, in Atlantic Monthly.
ments, for an hour, on his return from
Naples to Paris. He spoke to the child,
was as much pleased by his frank and
modest answers, as by his music, and
when called into supper, threw a Louis d'or,
the very first gold coin our boy had
ever touched. ‘lt is gold ! it will make
me rich ! I shall have anew coat, and
not go to bed supperless for many a da} 7 ,’
w 7 ere his first thoughts. ‘lt is a mistake;
it must be; that great man conld never
mean to give me gold for that music. It
is not mine, and I must give it back,’
were the second.
•‘The temptation was strong—how
strong, we, who were never friendless and
huDgry, can hardly imagine; but he re
membered his dying father’s words, and
resolved, ‘I may be poor, but I will never
be dishonest.’
“But how return ? In vain he begged
of the Duke’s servants to let him speak
even for one moment to him ; they only
pushed him roughly aside. The carriage
was at the door; another minute, and the
Duke had taken his seat in it; another,
and he would be gone. In desperation,
the child sprang on the door-step, favored
by the darkness,in the hope that, when
the carriage stopped, as surely it would
stop, he should manage to return the
gold to its rightful owner. Then only
he remembered he had left his one
friend, his loved violin, behind him, and
bitter tears rolled down his cheek at bis
sad loss; but it was too late now to
change his plans; besides, anything but
dishonesty; and on they went, Baptiste,
with difficulty, keeping his place on the
step, till at length, to his joy, a halt was
called. Eagerly he watched, earnestly
he begged for an interview ; but again his
efforts were useless—the carriage was
again just on the move. Too tired
to stand longer on the step, yet de
termined not to give up, he spied a basket
slung under the carriage, containing a
favorite dog. He crept deftly into it;
the dog seemed glad of company, and
together they lay there, and slept on till
the sun was high in the heavens, when
they awoken in all the bustle and noise of
an arrival in the courtyard of the inn at
Turin.
•‘Perseverance is nearly sure to be re
warded ; besides, ‘fortune favors the
brave. ’ So our little hero did gain ad
mittance to the Duke’s presence, and told
his little story, and laid the Luois d'or
on the table. Amazed and surprised
with the honesty, the courage, and per
severance, of the child, he spoke kindly
to him, told him the money was his own,
and offered to send him back to Florence,
or take him with him to Paris. Baptiste
had nothing to regret at Florence but his
violin, and he had golden dreams of the
glories of Paris, and of making his for
tune there; so he choose Paris, and the
Duke desired that he should have some
place in his suit.
“Poor little fellow! troubles he little
dreamed of were before him.
“Tiie Duke did really intend to provide
for the child; but great men have a great
many things to do and to think of, and
there were troubles in the kingdom.
Moreover, the Duke had not learned the
lesson, so early taught to little Baptiste,
never to break a promise ; so he was first
neglected, and then forgotten. His place
was in the kitchen among saucepans and
stewpans, a servant of the servants, hard
words, and ofted hard blows his portion;
and, as to music, not even the soft, sweet
tones of his native tongue; at times the
longing for it became almost intolerable,
and then he would weep bitterly for his
violin, his dearly loved violin. But he
was a brave little fellow, and quick with
al, and not easily daunted. If he could
not get a violin, at least he had sauce
pans. He had observed that these,
when struck, gave a different tone ac
cording to their size and shape. To ar
range them in right order, to find their
tones by striking them, was the work of
time; at length he succeeded in produc
ing music, wonderful and unique.
“The cook and other servants first
were amused, as they saw the boy thus
employed ever}' spare minute—they were
not many ; then they .thought he had
surely gone mad. It became, however,
a different matter when the saucepans
were not to be found in their places
when needed, and, when, besides, sundry
dints and bulges were the result of an
unusually long practice. The cook’s
anger was extreme; his abuse of poor
Baptiste grew louder and fiercer, and the
climax, which proved also the crisis of his
life came soon, and thus it came :
“A great party was given by the Duke
of Guise ; the entertainment provided for
the guests was the wonderful violin-play
ing of Michael Lambert ,the celebrated
musician of the day. The guests had
arrived, and were enjoying themselves up
stairs, while, in the kitchen, great pre
parations were making for supper : when
from those lower regions most strange
sounds—music certainly, but unlike any
1 heard before—interrupted by angry
voices, reached the drawing rooms. The
sounds were so loud, so continued, that
curiosity got the better of ceremony, and
host and guests all rushed down to ascer
tain its cause. Strange was the sight
that met theirs; a long row of saucepans,
of all shapes and sizes, before them a
hoy—our old frieud—'jamping from side
to side, as he struck them with a louo
stick, and drew forth tones such as sauce,
pans never breathed before or since.
There, too, was the cook, frantic with
rage, as he exclaimed, ‘rascal! villain!
my saucepans ! how is supper to be got X
Not one hour more shall you spend in
this house!’ While Michael Lambert
amazed and delighted, shouted, ‘Dnn !i
stop him; turn out the cook? what melo
dy! what time! what taste ! i ruly, it did
seem as if ail had gone mad. When the
Duke could make himself heard, he put
an end to the tumult. Not without shame
was he put in mind, by the child’s an
swers to his questions, of the little or
phan stranger he had brought with him
to Paris only to forget. He desired Lid
li to change his dress for a page’s, and
come to the drawing-room.
“There, Lambert handed hirn his own
violin, and told him to play. The kind
action, the sight of an instrument like
that so dearly loved and bitterly sorrow
ed for, overcame him altogether; he burrt.
into tears; gentle words and bright en
couraging looks soothed him ; and lr
took the violin, and from it drew nitric
that seemed to tell the story of its pact
sorrow as well as his present gratitud
and joy.
More than one fair face was wet with
tears when he stopped. His fortune war
made at last; no danger that he should
be forgotten again ; and it was unwill
ingly that the Duke 'yielded to the ur
gent entreaties of Mademoiselle that he
would give him to her care, but sh
would take no refusal. Lambert engaged
to give him lessons; he will be a greater
violinist than I am,.’ he said, “and I will
have the making of him ;’’ and he lived
to see his pupil the first performer h.
Europe. So great was his fame, that the
King himself demanded him from Ma
demoiselle, and put him at the head of
his own band, l Les Petits Vicious’.
“He was a great composer, as well a.
performer. The King gave him th
Professorship of the Royal Academy of
Music. His life henceforth had all th: ’
fame and riches could give. He died r
the age of fifty-three ; of that death, w
know nothing, but that, as he lay on hi -
dying-bed, he composed both words and
air of a hymn beginning, ‘dinner, thou
must die.’ His once powerful voice sum
it faintly, again and again, till the swe.u
tones were silent in death.”— Lond
Children's Hour.
W omen as Talkers.— Talk, as it l,
practiced by women, is a widely differ
cut thing from talk as it is enjoyed b
men. The conversational performance
of the first, are in some ways superb,
and in others—if I may dare to say so—
inferior to those of what the conventional
talker would call the “rougher sex'
Ladies are, in their talk, always quicker
and, more sensitive than men. They lore,
a lighter touch, and—glorious distinction
they are much more rarely guilty
boring.
This great swiftness of perception
women is a very brilliant and attract
quality, and one of which they are cun
scious and proud. Their mental maeh n
ry works more quickly and easily t
that of man. In that kaleidoscope-'n
swelling of thoughts which seem to t, .:
place in the mind, theirs seem to
thrown to the surface in greater abn,.-
dance and more rapidly than are those k
men. A woman will never sit long n
you without some available thought c :.
ing up. Her fancy is richer than our
aud she has more fecundity of id
But this greater fecundity produces wi .1
different results in different individu ■
In women of high capacity and int
gence, it leads to the development ofiu .
very delightful social qualites. They k
a readiness of resource which ena
them to say the thing that is most r:_
at the very moment when it is i.
wanted, to rectify the blunders ot o* •
people —of their stupid male relate
notably—to anticipate and prevent s ’-
threatening contretemps , or to counter
its effect a moment after its occurre:
It enables them to set the talk goiu.-
critical moments, and to keep it alive v
bright answers, and lively re pa. ’
always. It gives them the power
keeping people in good humor, or ot re
storing their equanimity when it is g
The descriptive powers, again, of wo:
are very great. —Cornhill Mayor.
Sleep.—lt is stated that a portion
raw onion, eaten just before retire >_
rest, will insure refreshing sleep t<> 1
sons suffering with lungs overbore a
with oppressive and irritating matter.