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T L 'T? ‘Bft’M&t MW? res ‘\r. r i -r r _-g- ~ -- - - - - -,,, . j H. SKAXS, l J • ,vi. > KIUTUHIk £ A. STEED. ) mi SERIES, VOL L THE TEMPERANCE BANNER, .Vl.i.wnEP BVEKV SVTt'HDAY PXCVVT TWO IN THE VFAH, ST JOH2I H. SEALS. tv bism:b s Urge circulation, which i* dally !l vul fslr to become the raopt popular paper In the Ui* offer. ,h with tpulMenc, (cwrlnp to Its circulation s*- ♦ntr *o **iYal,) to Merchant*, Mechanics*, and FroflMMional rocn, w* •*: ADVKRTWINO MU-DJCM through which tbvir bu*D* may . cTtrr. i.d in this aad adjoining States. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. FV * >,,r rkr!liUril t* n advance. 50 “ ** if not paid within six month? TGRM3 OF \OVERTIBIVG. 1 square, (eight line* or less,) first insertion,.. f 1 00 K.ich coutinuunco. 50 r ..rVwioi)al or Huio. Card**, not trending 0 iixwi*, j>c yr 5 S TAMHNii ADVERTISEMENT^. .•iu**rt ti<r month-*, without alteration, f 5 t*o ] “ six 41 altered quarterly, 700 l ** twelve “ “ 44 18 00 ij ejaare4 ‘* 44 44 ** 18 00 g 4 *• ** 44 •• 44 81 0 4 “ •* 44 44 44 00 ’\dv*rtinment? uot marked with the number insert!>og, will be continued outft forbid, and charged accordingly. vr* i rchants, DrufrgiH*, and othe-n, may contract for adver tising by the year, on reasonable term*. Froin the Dollar Tim**. KfIRCKT M E Ji 0T . Go where the water rippleth ever, Rippleth amid flowers that brightest b*-; Wander in leafy groves that ever quiver, And think of me. G where the tender flower meekly layeth Its modest gem beneath the sturdy tree; Wander beside the brook that gently plaveth, And think of me. Go when the sky ie fairest and brightest, Earth clad in Nature’s gaudy drapery; Wander where zephyrs play freest and lightest. And think of me. Go where Aurora decks the sky at even. And the winds sigh a mournful melody; Go out beneath the azure vault of Heaven, And think of me. THE OLD LOVE. BY TOZ JAMES o’IIKIEN. I met her; she was thin and old; She stooped and trod with tottering feet; The hair was gray that once was gold, j The voice was harsh that once was sweet { Her hands were dwindled, and her eyes. Robbed of the girlish light of joy’, Were dim; 1 feel a sad surprise That I had loved her when a boy. But yet a something in her air Restored me to the vanished time ; My heart grew young, and seemed to wear The brightness of my youthful prime. I took her withered hand in mine— Its touch recalled a ghost of joy— I kissed her with a reverent sigh, For 1 had loved her when a !>oy. ,-jWThe following lines are extracted from anew * tragedy, published in Blackwood, entitled “The Two Loafers of Arkansas Tarnation seize me, if I bear that taunt Os this young locofocol—Skin a coon’ i *Twere easy! Ay ! and ask rne to do more— To whip my weight in wild cats! or to dive For Aligatorsin the turbid stream, And having ta’en them by the rugged throats, j To wrench their entrails from their jagged jaws. And fling upon the bank —why, that were but | A summer evening's play I There’s mot a hoy • Within Arkansas but might do the same, And after, clamU r to the squirrel’s nest. And i\.b it of its nuts. Shall the base loafer Than whom, the Jone-bug which the night hawks ’ crack, j 1-s in creation greater of account, Chaw me so eatawamponsly ? Away— Tis night Ire red, my bowie-knife, ere day ! MM.* TO DEMISTS. To Dentists who may be in w ant of a little prac-1 lice just to keep their hands in, the following ar.ee-1 dots may afford a useful hint : A good ‘-at 10-actioe i might be worth picking up—it would certainly be j ammesing! Mr. fiedemar, the famous Saxon den- j tist, had a valuable tortoise-shell cat. that for four) days, did nothing but moan Guessing the cans** be look.-I into his’ month, and seeing a decayed tooth, o..o: relieved it of its pair The f .flowing day there . wore at least n <-hU at his door —the day after, twenty . they went on increasing at such a rate, that In- was obliged to keep a hull dog to drive them away : Rut nothing would help them. A ml who had the. tooth ache would come any number of miles! to him. It would come down the chimney even and not leave the room until he bad taken it* tooth out It grew such a nuisance at last, that he was never free from these feline patients. However, be- ’ ing one morning very nervous, he ac idbr.tally broke , the jaw of art old tabby. The news of this spread j lik wildfire. Sot a single cat ever came to him as-• Tr'usmh fer ■ a’- nianv truisms in the world, lake the f,. • ; j os sample in .-very-day life : <),, ne* • n <_■■ w o make a young laiiy feel hap py —very. ••Oia: “funnt mu” vfti tether a whole neighbor hoo< L One grseic him /.ill a whole assembly. One bad novel will waste whole ream* of go and pa- f per. Bfbotci) to temperance, literature, (General jtntelliuenee, aub (lie latest flelos. One drop of oil will stop a hideous noise. One pretty flirt will make a dozen plain girls un happy for an etftiro evening. One song w’iil set thirty people talkirg. T M r WIDOW!) H K A t . MV MISS CAROM VE SOCI.U, Services had commenced in the neat little sanctu ary, which the inhabitants of Fairtnount had ronso erated to the service of God. The n .iostcr hid re ached the psalms and scripture lesson, anl the first lines of the cjr>cning liymn The eyes of the p.avple were fixed intently upon him, for he was not onlv a good, sound, eloquent preacher, but he was a tine looking one too, and thus enchained not only the at tention . ‘fthe true, but the fa's, worshippers. The house was very still the clear melodious tones ol the speaker were the only sounds that throbbed on the balmy, golden air. which the midsummer’s Sab bath morn had breathed into that holy place. The first *y!lfthje of the second line was trembling on his lips, when a rustic- at the door, and the en trance of two persons, a lady and a gentleman, dis solved the charm In a second every eye turned from the pulpit to the broad aisle, an,l watched wiih more than ordinary eagerness the progress of the couple. A most searching ordeal were thev sub jected to, and when fairly and quietly seated in the front pew’, immediately in front of the pulpit, what a nudging of elbows there was aye, and how many whispers too. In vain the sound, tho good, the eloquent, the handsome Mr. It. sought again to seal the attention of his hearers. They’ had no eyes or thoughts for anybody else but widow C., and widow C.V young, genteel and dashing attendant How she had cheated them. Hadn't she said she didn’t fee! as though she could ever wear anything but mourning? And in spite of these protestations, hadn’t she come out all at once, dressed in white, and walked into the church in broad day light lean ing on the arm of a young gentleman ? Yes indeed she had. She v ould plead guilty to all these charges, grave ones as they were, and to the last two how many witnesses had been subponied. She was actually dressed in white —with an open corsage displaying an elaborately wrought chimisette, drapery sleeves, trimmed with the richest Mechlin lace, undersleeves ot the <=ame expensive material, with a white lace bat with orango buds and flowers, : with kid gloves and light gaiters—such was the de | seription every lady had on her tongue's end to ro ! peat over as soon as the. service was ended. I And the gentleman—he was dressed in style— i don’t be wear white pants of the latest pattern, and a white vest, and a coat of satin finish, and white kid* too ; and didn't he sport a massive chain, and didn’t he gaze often and lovingly on the fair features beside him ? Ah, yes, he did so. and there was no fiirther room jto doubt. Widow l’. had cheated them. She bad ; won a beau, laid aside her mourning, put on a bridal j attire, and was going to be married in church. But , who the beau w as, and of whence he came, was more j difficult to solve. | Services proceeded. The choir sung and the min ister prayed and preached - the people wondered when the ceremony would take place. ; But to their utter astonishment they wnre left to | wonder. ’ For when the benediction was pronounced, widow !O. and the strange gentleman walked with the rest ‘of the congregation, quietly out of the church. When j they reached the pavement be offered her his arm i very gracefully, and she placed her arm very eonfi , dingly on the beautiful coat sleeve as they passed on. { What a morning that was in Fairruount! What : a world of conjectures, surmises, inquiries, and doubts rolled over and over in the brains of not only j goscipping ladies, but sober matb-r of fact gentle men. The like of such a thing had neser occurred in the armals of the village. There was something ! new under the sun; and a lady bud a fcu i, and no | body knew it j Widow C. didn’t your ear burn that day? Ab, we 1 wonder they didn’t drop off; surely they must have ’ been crisp and crimson. , Thv Kev . Mr. 8.-preached to a crowded house that afternoon ; no compliments to him though. Every i one wa sure that the w edding would take place then, | but everybody was sadly disappointed; and if ’ tongues had run at railway speed before, they trav eled then on electrv* wires. The minister might have ’ preached in Greek that day, and the sermons would have been quite as edifying. But one subject ocey- j stied the village mind— -the widow’s lteau. It actually seemed, ton, as though the lady tried ‘to ronke all the talk she; could. After tea, arm in j - arm, with the strange gentleman she walked the 1 whole length of the vi'lsge, and away out into the cemetery, and river returned till the moon was high. 1 “A nice looking dree* I guess she had?” drawled j out grandma W., as she listened to the widow's wan- 1 derings : “I’m glad I hain’t got to wash it, all drab led up i with dew, as if must have been -but I don’t spose ; | she thought or care*! a w ord about it, sb- s so carried ! away with him But I'll give her a pie< mos my mind ; the first time f have a chance, if I •don't.'* ! Bur the good old dame began to ft ar she would ! never have the desired chance. Slit hurried through her washing rn Monday, and i Wbb-d over to the widow's as soon as possible, but the door was locked, and one of the neighbors said , i Mrs. C and a gentleman went off in a carriage, no body knew where, very esdy in the morning. “Yes. and nver g"t home ti'l nine o’clock in the evening.” I Look mit widow 1 Your charm-te’ Uon the carpet.; If she knew it, apparently she didn’t care, for the ’ next day she went t sailing with her beau, and the RENTED. GEORGIA, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 20,1155. n. xt day rambling with him ts to the mountains, and on the next forenoon w.nt with him in n carrl age to the station house, and tin re not only wept as she parted from him, but actually embraced and kiss ed him!” “What, in broad light?” exclaimed grandma AV. “Well if I ever heard or sivd the like nn't.” Little Nell, tin* old lady's youngest grandchild, wondering to herself if it was viy worse in broad day light than at any other time Perhaps you w ill wonder too. We do at least Tbore wiu a large attendance that aft. moon ntthc j weekly meeting of the sowing society K very body | went that could possibly leave home. And what a chattering there was when the bustle of assembling was over There was but one topic, but that was all sufficient; all engrossing—the wid- j ow ’s beau for the gentleman must be her beau—or \ at least might to h. Everybody had something to tell, something to wonder about Hut suddenly every magpie tongue was hushed, a universal stroke of numb-palsy seem od to have fallen on the group, as looking up they perceived the very lady about whom they were con- ! versing so eagerly, standing in the doorway. “Good afternoon, ladies,'’ said she in her n util ; quiet way. “I in glud to *e*. -o large and happy- a gathering. It Is a beautiful day for our meeting.” And then she proceeded to the table and helped herself to a block of patchwork, inquiring for the sowing silk, which having received she sat down in the only vacant chair, and commenced hemming a ! very red bird with a yellow wing on a very green twig, which latter had already been hemmed on to a square piece of white eloth, and the whole, when completed, wus designed to form the twentieth (.art j of a bed-spread. She seemed all engrossed with the j bird’s bill and spoke to no one. Everybody wonder | ed if she heard what they were saying when she! came in ; hut her placid countenance soon ru-assured the most fearful, and every one longed to commence a personal attack. Old grandma W. was the first tu venture. She meant to do up the matter very delicately, and in so roundabout a way that the lady would not suspect her of curiosity. So she began by praising Mrs. C'.'s dress. “Why, it's really a beauty. Where did yon get it ?” “I bought it,” w as tho quick reply “Here?” “No.” “Where then?” “In New York, lust spring.” “O, you did, did you? Hut l thought you wasn't never going to wear anything but black again.” All scrutinized the lady’s face in search of a blush, but it continued as usual, while she answered; “I did think and say so oricc, but 1 have finally al tered xny mind.” “You have, ha! What made you ?’’ “Oh, I had good reasons.” Here the hearers and lookers on winked and look ed very expressively at each other. “But did you not spoil vour beautiful white dress Sunday night, wearing it away tip to the burying ground ?’’ “I did not wear it.” Here was a damper on the oid lady. She had such a long lecture to read on extravagance, and she was determined to do it. too, w hen unfortunately for h r eloquent strain, Mrs. C'.’s dress had hung up in her wardrolw ali the time, and she bad worn an oid black silk. Alter a while the old lady took a fresh start. Nbe would not he baffled again. Sire would find out. all about that beau before she went home, “that she would.” She began by saving : “Your company went away this morning, didn’t they ?” , “They did,” was the reply. “He did not stay very long, did be ?’’ “Not sc long a* l w ish he had, was the unpliati’ answi r this time. And now the ladies did look at each other It was as good as a confession. “When did he poioo?” “Saturday evening.” “Wasyou looking for him?” “I had been expecting him for a fortnight or more.” “Why, du tell if you had then, and you never fidd on't either. Had he any busim s it: tbe, place?” “He had.” “VVhat was it?” Tins was rather more dim ? and blunt than the old ; | lady had meant to put, and she forthwith apologised. But the widow interrupted her by ay ing ; “O, I'd as lief you kn> >’ n not, he r-.tii’ ts ->ee : me.” O, widow C., your good name did go down then. JBe careful what you *ay next, nr you’!’ hav< only a . j remnant of character left to go borne * ith, and ram- I rants go very cheap “He did, did he, and he didn't come for nothing 1 else then. But was you glad t' s* - him r “Indeed I was. It w- one, of the happiest mo menta of my existence.” j “Well, well,” said the old ’.,.|y, hardly knowing how to frame the n< xt qut-ii : , “n’l—-well, he -a real g'ssi looking man, any *y. ’ “I think, so, too, and he’* not only good looking, | hut he’s gfsri hearted; ore of tie- best men I ever knew.” “You don’t say so! But ih ■ riel: •” “Worth a thousand or <j,” ‘-aid the lady, • areie*s >y- “Why, du tell if h<- is. Why, you will live- like a 1 lady, won’t you 1 But what is his name ?” The old lady’s curiosity had now ribsedto the high est pitch. ■“Henry Macon “ “Macon! Macon? Why wasn’t that your nam before yon w as married i ” “It was.” “Then he's a connection, is he ?’’ *‘Hc is.” “Du tell who he is then Not a cousin. 1 hope 1 never did think much of marriage between cou sins.” j “lie is not my cousin.” j “He isn’t? Not your cousin? But what connec . tion is lie, dll tell non V” “He is mv vni \.,i st HUOTIIi k “ If ever there u a rapid progress made in seeing j | and knitting by any ciiele of Indies, if was by lin'd j j comprising this society, for the next fifteen minute'-. \ Not u word was uttered, not an eye raised. Had tin i latter been done and tbe roguish and expressive glances which passed between Mr C. and the min ister, who unobserved, bad stood on the tlireahhold, I a silent spectator and curious hearer, perhaps, mind j you, we only say perhaps, they might have guessed j more correctly the name, character, stundit)!: and ! profession of the widow’s beau. I’NCLE JESSE’S TALK, ALI.IE HWIs; on, HOW To rtiAY. “Gome, my dear,” said Mrs. Lew is to tier little | daughter, “the birds have put their heads under their! wings and gone to sleep, and it’s time for you to go J to I mil Come, kneel down, and say your pravrrs, then kiss, good night!” “Oh, inn’” aid Allie, “I have fid ‘Our Father’ I every night for so long, and I’m tired of it; mayn’t • 1 learn something else to pray ?” “Why, Mlie, dear, its Chrifit’aajwn prayer. He has told us all to say it, and it asks for just what every child needs.” * “But I don’t ask for any thing when 1 say it, nia. I only think about remembering the words, and a gtsid many of them I don’t know w hut they mean.” “Well, my dear, come, kneel down by me, and 1 will help you.” Alice clasped together her two round dimpled i hands, and laid her curly head in her mother’s lap. “Now begin slow ly,” said her mother, “and tn to think w hat you sty.” “Our Father—which art— in—Heaven,” mur mured the little girl, pausing a moment after every word “that means God, don’t it, mother?” “Y s, arid when you say if, you ask < ind to be kind to you, like a father, and promise that you will be dutiful to him, like a child. Do you understand that, Allie?” “I don’t know, mo. Papa gives me every thing that I want I don’t need any olio r father.” “But what if papa hould did, Allie?” “Oh, I never thought of that, mat Ilu won’t die, w ill he, tna?” “I hope not, my dear ; but don’t you remember when Susan Warner’s father died, and left her poor mother sick, and they were so poor that Su-tn an-1 her sisti r had to cotno here to b< g for something to cat? And don’t you remember bow cold it was, and their clothes were ragged, and they n crc barefoot, end how glad they were to get n piece of dry bread, and said they hud riot eaten any thin'.'before alldav? Don’t you think that Susan would like to have her father coin ■ back again?” “O, yea, tna! for Ibui In would work and earn money, and they would have plenty to at again, ami 1 good clothes to wear. But, nn, if Susan had prayed to God before, he would have made her father well, and let him live.’’ “Yes, God gav her a father, ate! took him a-'.-dn. God gat” yo - your pupa, who is -o pood to you, and God can take.him aa- God giv— papa health, • ■ that he ‘an work ami c. arn nioncy to buy what wt waul, God might make him ; a-k, and then what would we do ? Don’t you sen, then, that you need a Hcnvenlv Faria r too?” “\ es, mamma,” I “And don’t you rrrn.-tnher when Lucy Thomas died? I took you to hoc her, and you know what pain slu ft as in. And her futhci stood by her, and she cried out, ‘O, papa, help me? O, papa, make me well again! <, papa, I don’t want to die I’ And I her j apu said that lie could not do any thing for her, , { and lie qried while be said it! Did not poor Lucy ] I need a noth’ i father? And when her spirit went lawat from the body, tier father could not go with j i her. Sir -.vii iri a strange world, and then she need id her Heavenly Father- -dUI alto not?” “Well, my d< vr Allie may b< taken • ck, and j , itrough pf>a may buy a great deal of medicine, and j ; send for the doctor, it may all do no good. What j will you do then? Arid my Allie may have to die; | I and tlu-ii ;>apa or mamma can’t go with her. She! w ill leave nothing hero but her cold Wly—he soul will want an ’tier home and another father. Where will Allie go, and who w ill lake cru of Allie, if she j | die*?” “Won’t God, mamma?” j “Yes, if Allie loves God now, ami prays to him.— 1 But, if while you are w ell, you don’t thank God for ’ it, arid try to plea*c him, you could not expert him j to love you, and hear your prayer-, and tfh are ol I you if you should be left an orphan, or should die.— | Suppose that you never cared for papa except when you wanted something from him: do you think tha I apa ceroid love you ? Huppo-e w hen he < ani‘ home, you actedjuat as it you didn’t see him—that you nev- j er bad a smile or a ki*s for him; hut that when you wanted new clothes, you w ould ask. him for them just. as if he wan bound to buy them for you, no matter < VOL. X\l-M\iRKR 12. imw naughty yod had been to him, do you ithat he could love sueli a daughter:” “No, mamma.” “Well, my dear, you arc Uod’s daughter, x well its papa’s; and God is near you nil the time, Ibou ’ you . ,-mrot , eehim: and (•• <| gH-.-syotr all , , forts you have. God preserves yottr life and vroir Ikthe-v's life. And when von are sick, nobody • i help you but Gnl; and when you die, yi,u will misernbh fot.'.cr, unh - II . ur fri. nth Don't you sec, then, that it is right for you to sny, ‘)u Father, every night, and that praying means a _-i. ,t teal more than remembering the words, and saying thorn over -’ I bat there are a good main thing ii j think about and to f. el, even while you repent ‘Our j Fither, who art in Heaven?’ I will try to explain | the re* tof tin prayer to you seme other timi. Now 1 go on my dear.” , “Oh, let me begin again, tna!” And Allie said, ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven,’ -lowly nml sweet ly, with her eyes turned upward and full of Ua> - und went on with deep feeling through all the peti tions of the Lord’s prayer. She was beginning to learn now to i*;: iv. \\ ill y ou not, dear children, try to learn tlu- *• me lesson I hope that \on all ay, )ur Fallier” ovc-re night. Do not jabhei over the words like a | arrot, hut think w ho your Father ill liinven i -what he is doing for you- -how soon you may have no f-itln r i but bun to take care of you; uud you will fill fit o ! saying it slowly as Allie Li wls did. i Perhaps 1 will t’ ll more about her learning to pray j Homo Other time. Chritlinu IJ< raid. DErumxu i noTHEa. ii v av i . I sT a vi o o i:#. Kitiy Lincoln had been runn’ng and playing m tbe garden, among the l> autiful flower:-, ar.d ,he looked almost like a blushing rose-bud her ,ell A sweet, graceful little creature wa* Kitty, and every one loved her dearly, for her In-nit was full of love, and her clear eyes revealed it ; xo, of course, none could help loving her. j Little children who love every one, are always greatly beloved. But you must not suppose my sweet Kitty v.a I little child ang'tlwho wa without f.mlG Some there are, so lovely, so nearly Ike the white winged ones above, that v. e know that they are to tarry with us but a little hot .on, and when we nee them pa ■ sing from us wo are not surprised or shock ed, for they seem to ho exhaled like dew from tho hearts of flowers, and wo only glance a moment t the little grave, where r*-posea the precious dust, f p wti know our treasuri is n t there, and that in llm ven there is one ar.gcl more. Our Kitty wait not one of these. With all her charm. 4, nod all her winning ways, there was it ; At.- ly.of earthline.-s about her y oung ualure, ands: i.e times, tie tigli notoffi n, ,*,!:e did v ry naughty tl*iu .*-, end her bright eyes were wot with rebellious tears. When Kitty came in from tho garden that plonnaiit Sstimlay afternoon, -.ho haidly looki I :o> if it were pi ifile for In rto do any thing hut kind and amiable thing s Smile- dimpled all over ber round face, and sparkled i.i lust eye*, u:> she entered her mother's elm- ber. “Kitty', darling, ” aui her mamma, I want you to rock baby Walter, wnilu I go into tho Other room a little while.” Now, if ever a child disliked to do anything in t: ■ world, Kitty disliked to rock a cradle. Many u timo I hvl hiu said It before, and now eht repeated it in* 1 * ide, for she did n .t ray it aloud. “1 wi-.h tliric wa-. not a cradle in the whole wo) It Babies ouyht to goto (deep without them, and, oh, dear, dear, ln>.v i do bate to ruck, rock”- - but she made no objection t > v tting down and roc I rig Walter. Tin: mother left tho room. “Rock, rook, rock,” steadily went tho cradle for ten minute*. Then the chubby bandit grew tic and.- “I mean to lie down ou the floor and pretend tq sleep,” thought Kitty. “Then Walter will wake up and lease m'unr.ia,’-’ suggested conscience. “Well, she might teach him to stop on the ind then, or without bring rocked all tho time,” an .were 1 Kitty, and she stretched her little figure ‘it j full length on tho floor. Pretty soon mamma heard a nestling sound from j the baby. “Hock away, Kitty, dear, baby’s waking, whi.-t pored she, but Kitty didn’t rock. ; Mamma stepped in to -ec what was the rea m here lay tho rosy chuck and curling hair low upon j the straw- curjiet j “Poor child,” oaid the dear, kind mother, in nc mi pasMonute tone, “bow tired she must have been.” And hushing tbe baby, she took a pillow from tho : bed, and softly and gently moved her daughter to a more comfortable position, plu’ ing In-r sinning ring lets and her soft red cheeks u|*on the snowy pillow. “alcep, little treasure,’ said the mother, and sbe j seated herself to rock and watch her boy. Ah, if -he had watched Kitty, stie would have I seen two larg i tears force their way through the in- I tcrlacing-of those long, daik lashes, which shaded | her checks, and they were followed by many others, j .'or tho heart of the shy little creature u.vs deeply ; touched by her mother’s unsuspicious tenderness. Never again was Kitty known to -ay she did not I like to r'H'k the cradle. The Sc- - “>.i of that so turner <lay wa* never f>rgotten, and more than once, in ar tcr years, di*t her tcaru-full, as she rec-dleJ tho soitrid iof her mother’s voice, and the tooc’i of her .hands that day; arid often was her heart -id to remember i tiiat act of and -ccptiou, long after lier dear mother was • slumbering in the tomb. . j — -- <m S vAKEh T. BLAI2J, ( riiiMiiß.