Newspapers / Masonic Journal (Greensboro, N.C.) / Feb. 25, 1876, edition 1 / Page 2
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■-U, ' i!' «i|;- )k. m f, at) 'm^ '; J- ffiSriX ? 'tl' Ifii. ■' ji)i at i*fe The Old Man’s Dream. BY OlIVEH WHNDELI. IIOI.ME8. J O, for one hour of youthful joy! Givi) me back my twentieth spi-ing I ra rather laugh a brigiit-eyed boy, 'I'han reign a gray.haired king. Off with the wrinkled spoils of age; Away with learning’s crown ; Tear out life's wisdom-written page, And cast its trophies down. One moment let my life-blood stream From boyhood’s fount to fame; Give me one giddy, reeling dream Of life, ami love, and fame. Mv listening angel heard the prayer, And calmly smiling, said, “If I but toiicli tliy .silvered hair, Thy hasty wish had .sped. But is there notliiug in tlie track, To bid theefmdly stay, AVhil'! tile swift seasons Imrry back. To find tlie wished for day Ah, truest soul of woman kind, tVithout thes what were life ? One Ifiiss I cauiiot leave beliind I’ll take my precious wife. The angel took a sapphire pen, And wrote in rain-bow hue. s‘The man would be a boy again. And be a husband too. And is there notliiiig yet unsaid. Before the change appears'f liemembcr all tliy gitts iiave fleii With these dissolving years.” “Why, yes, 1 would one favor more : My fond patcnal joys— I couLI not bare to lose thorn all; ril take my girls and boys.’’ The smiling aiig d dropped his pen, “Why, tills will never do; The man would be a boy again, And b.) a I'atlier too 1” And .so I laughe 1. My langliter woke The lionseliold with its noise, I wrot ■ my dream when morning broke. To please my girls and boys. reigned perpetually sombrous datkness and silence. Oocaoionally a pale glim mer of light, high up near the vaulted ceiling, shed a feeble ray on the mouldy walls, but for the most part all the place was one of deep funereal shadow, where the close, heavy atmosphere spoke of the charnel house, and the drear proximity of the dead. Finding the glib explanations of the guide somewhat tiresome, and seeing at no gre.it distance a talilet, above which a small grated window, apparently let in spired, I had a mad desire to A Niglit in the Crypt of the Pantheon. BY L. C. W. The Pantheon, or Church of St. Gene vieve, is one of the wonders of Paris, and one which every tourist is in duty hound to visit before he can conscientiously af firm that he has thoroughly “done” the French Capital. It is a noble pi'e situa ted 111 the Rtie Soufflot, and is rich in magnificent marbles, frescoes and paint ing, and more than ail is it celebrated for its splendid tombs and monuments, where repose the ashes of many of the most famous men of France. Here it was that Marat and Mirabeau were orig inally buried (the lal.ter with great pomp in 1791); both, however, were after wards depantheonized, and the body of ■ Marat thrown into a common sewer in the riie Montmartre. It was a bright afternoon in June, when I, in company with several other ' tourists, all strangers to me, and who, like myself, were waiting until the guide should get what he termed a “party," that is, a sufficient number to make the visit to the vaults tlje most profitable and the least troublesome to himseif. Like .all guides, he wa.s a voluble talker, and itold his story of the different passages and tombs in a mechanical, parrot-like manner, just as he had been telling it to curious sightseers every day for years. Ilis main object seemed to be to get through his task as soon as possible, and rather faster tha'n we cared to follow for our own personal skfety ; he led the way, light in hand, down the damp stone stairs ,to the vast CiVvernou.= depths below, where the pavement of the street, afforded enough light to enable me to deciphei the inscription. I made my way toil, leaving the gu de to enlarge upon the wonderful phenomena of the two concen tric circular passages, where the smallest sound repeats the loudest and most dis mal echo. It was the tomb of Mar.shal Lannes. Lost in contempleting t e beauty of its scurpture, and musing on the littlenes.sol human greatness, since it must end in a handful of dust, however costly may he the marble of its enshrinement, how long I stood there I cannot tell. I was roused from mv reverie by the slow fading ot the light, and the distant sound as of the shutting of a heavy door. I looked around in sudden surprise, and was dis mayed to find myself alone. Alone in that vast nmler^round home of the dead. The truth Ha.slied upon me in a moment. I h?»d been forgotten by the guide; the ponderous door had shut between me and the upper world, ami I was buneii alive within the mighty crvpl of the Pantheon. The thought was horrible, ami I loudly shouted for help. Vain effort ! Only the mocking echo of my own voice resounded through that ghastly solitude. Again and again I made the gloorav labyrinths ring with my frantic calls for assistance, while blindly groping uiv way from pas .sage te pass ige, endless, seemingly, in their immensity, and rank with odors ot thegrave. Uselessall; yet still I stmn bled on, reaching hither and lliitherin the noisome darkness for some mearis of egress from so hideous a prison. Which ever w’ay I turned only rough walla of polished marble met my outstretched hands. In my mad etideavor to escape I fell against a moi-ument, from which an urn at the toy, containing, perliaps, the ashes of some great .soldier or statesman, became detached, and fell with a thun derous crash to the floor, breaking into fragments, as I knew by the dust which nearly stifled me and forced me to draw back in disgu-st and terror from its deadly vapors. Could anything be mors appall ing? Yet a greater horror wms ia store for me than any I had thus far encoun tered, A superstitious feai- crept over me. Might not the dead arise and resent the approach of the living among them? W'hat if ail those long silent lips should suddenly find voice, and sternly bid me begone from their place of sepulchre ? Wfflatifall tnose skeleton hands, bniied years and years ago, should be uplifted and clutch at me through the darkness ? I fancied myself suri-ounded by baleful spirits, and loading the air with the .-ick- ening smell of their rotten grave gar- ment». Phantom footsteps seemed to glide along the floor, and ghostly whis pers assailed my ear from every corner. To my excited imagination a .sha'towy .spectre lurked everywhere, and to stir was to be clasped in its fearful embrace. Faint almost to unconsciousness, I knelt on the damp ground and tried to pray. Hour after hour passed, and still I knelt there, repeating over and over again the prayers of tny childhood. I was aroused at last by the far away chime of a bell. With bated breath and rapidly beating heart I eagerly counted the twelve, midnight ! Thank Goii, I "as not buried liei ond the reach ot eartlilv sound. The knowledge gave mi new courage, I pul out my hand, and on, horror! it tell ution a human face. Icily cold, iininovable and mute, but still a liu man face ; solid in substance and not a spectral shadow. The one briet touch told me as m-.ch without the aid ot vis ion. Strangely fa.scinated in spite ol the fear with which the unseen face had in touch ir tibl, ,.\s Was verv nalural, the cenoiiiphs those celebrated writers were mi e,- I’Pcial object of admi rat ton, and one wlacli (j deiighled to dwell upon when disi-curg ing ot their meri'S to stranger.-, been so n n lortit lui*e as to have sivooaeii ill >'ome remote corr.er of those iiuml, less iiiiderground corriders and and (lid unused giM\e cavern.s. seliloiu, if ever, e.sploied liv aiiv tieing, my ilo'-in w on Id have I an.l again. The leeiiny was irresi mv trembling hand .slowly traced the still outline of everv leatiire, I he tirow w.i.- ligiil atiil fixed, as if petrified when deal h struck from it, life atid warmth. 1 he eves, wide open, were stariritt blankiv, and the firm lips weie breathh.'ss, giving forth no sound or motion. I tire v t'ack attVigbted, afraid of the chill thing in.» it appeared so perfect a'ld so iifleriy (l(oi-.l. here was rue soul that h.ol once .an: imated the countenance wtiiotl 'he grim ilestrover ha i no power to cru,nbi-» niC(. dust ? Shuddering I sank t ' ttie e.arsh awe strickei. by that whicn 1 knew to 1- so near but which 1 could nor see. lud while f crouched there iin ibieto contr... thought or action, a flickeritig tnomit>eam (lenetrated the darkness from some.vneri- above me, and wavered over trial ghost Iv head a silverv thread ot light 1 look ed up and fi und it shining there, and it showed me a face of noble I’ontour. r*ur awfully whits iti it.s Frozen stiline.-s whiter than ever death left tlie lace r mortal befo.e. I saw it pl.itnlv—rh;- wan, b-ire tliro.at unshromled ot its cerc m nts ; the full, wide open eyes ; I he j. at lid forehead, and bloodless lip.s. Ir i.ad ho boiy. but seemed to be .suspiended in the air from whence it gazed down ■ ii me with its sight less eyes as _f toquestior, my living presence in a plai ? set up,art For the dead. Surely it would sptak. Yes, the beiuitiful head turns slow.y. tor it 13 beautiful even in its (lallor. L tiends Forward—lower, still lower. J stiiverin every limb, great drops of perspiiation bedew tny brow. I felt myselt .sulfocat ing; one long ag.nized ery broke Irutu tny parched lij'S ; nature could endure no more, and I fell insensiide to tiie ground. When I awok.a to consciousness, I found the light of two or three caudles flari.ig ti rough the oppre.ssive gloom of the vault where I lay as in.iiiimate iipparent- iy 1(3 the sculptured effigies which sur rounded me, and over me was bend.ng the old garrulous guide, now quite speechless from mingled a.stonishment and commiseration. Behind Imu were halfa dozen wondeiing tourists, all of whom were eager to do sometliing to w:ard restoring me to sensibility. A lit tle brandy from the pocket flask of a tail, kind-hearted EnglisVinaii, soon had the desired effect, and with the help of the guide I wa.s able to stand on my feet, al- though very weak and faint from fasiing and fatigue and the horror of excitement through which I had passed. I had been twenty hours imprisoned in the crypt of the. Pantheon. And the terrible face seen by the flickering, shivering moon beam, was—simply the cenotaph erected to the memory of Voltaire—the exquisite marble bust by Houdon. Nothing more. Imagination had done the rest. The remains of both Voltaire and Rous seau were secretly removed from the Pantheon during the Restoration, but their tombs are still shown,^eing in fact, one of the main attractions of the vaults. In my aimless wandering through the crypts, I had luck ly groped my way to the very spot most likely to be visited by ihe guide in his daily rounds with the usual number ot sightsec-r.s at his heels. uiier are 'lIiUli '*^11 certain, t'ornll hope ot ei^cMpeor leU-a^e have neeii utt’leifisiri mv state tif hel{.tleh'^ne^s. Ohcii :igiiin in file light und hrig|,ip,.5j and pure uir cl duy , 1 ,-pccdiiy recovered I'ff.n; tnc ,-hic k bclh iniiid uiul l-udy iu,] rru-uived dm ing Lie Inuire ot thut hiv'dI night ,-penl with ll.c umnlderiiig lur t.clow tire .miflucc ni tire eelih; 1,„(J cun n(-vcr *vcn Iliiiil', even at ,||j_ r.int p»ri(id ot time, of the vanit.s of the Pat::hcon w'oliouta visit,le .'liiii](|ef_ Y7/ I'-v tuj ( Vm./o'-/' If we traV(-ivs(- the world, u is |io,ssili|e to find ntic.s wiikoiii wains, wiiiioiii |([. ler.-, wi.huu! kinire. without weallli, ivitl). oiil c: ill, ■.vithoiil schools .111(1 Ihoaiif.,. hilt Hc;tv wiil.oiit a temple, or ikal ji!',ic» Micth no; wor.-i,!p, pr;i\ ci', anil ihe like, no • .lie I V cr Ml rt .1 rii;larrdi. j id7fi. 'I i.c ;. c;, ■ IhTd 1 ..rupiise.s ihe hiKj I p.ir' ol the'.l'dih a,:'* 'he begginiui.gcliiij . I'otitr, ,-ar ct T e liuiej ei lieiice ol lie ; 1 iiirsii hoiie- ot A ntenca, aic! loirrs* I pi.r O.- to the th'.h'Jth V ear ol tlie Jiiiim j punod ; tt.e i-ih4 l-llti year ul iheHizan- , litre; r.hc fOb-it) 7tii year ol the Jeiiiith Kr., I he ktifli) h V (Ml -ince the loiirila t.or. i.t llorue : tr,e gbBdd vearsiiHe ii,e b,-ginning ot the Kra ot Nalioiiasiar, wr.i, r, tills b'-en assigried to Wediiesiiar, iieVlTlri it lebnony.ol lhe3tl71sl vriit ol tire Julian peiioli eorrespoiiiliiif; nc coi OHIO Ki I lie etir oiioiogisis to the /oUih, not acL orihnv to the re-trunomers to liie 74lVth '.eartielore tlie Idrili of f'lmst; ihe^thHin yearol the Grecian Eli, or ttie Fra of Tie h^eleiieidte; the i592d >i-ai otllie Era ot Diocletian; the 12'Jod ■ ear ol 1 lie Mohaimuedaii Hegira; and tire 56dbl h V ea r ol i Ire Jews A Latch Ol 'Weather Signs, 1 n response to a cl tcular sent to all liie .station oliservers by tlie chief signal offi cer, a.sking for 1 he sign.s preceding.stofii.!, signal .sei vice oliserver Dumont has ic ceiilly .sent, to W ashiiigton a report lorliis locality, based upon his o" ii obsei'valioiiS, and the weather notes which Major ia- gersoll bad kept for several yeal.s, a"d loremaii Alliii s record. Alter delailinj the action of tlie instrunieiits lidtii* storms, the leporler gives the vveallier Signs by which tl.e apqiroach cf a sloiffli! lieiallied, and the.se rules with the mui- ims wliicli they have drawn from tIA own observations. We appeml tl* signs. 1. As a rule, if the wind toucliH northeast or east lor two or three dsWi it is a sure indication of rain. 2. Dense smoke and haze iu S’*!'! morning portend falling weather. 3. Summer showei'S of light cliarad® often follow two or three days of and haze. 4. Fog, frost and dew precede rail twentv-four to forty-eight hours, excep- I'og at close of a storm. 6. Wind veering from north or to south and southeast, precedes f»HiL weather. 6. Halos, lunar and solar, also fe'D defined and brilliant auroras, pi®*® rain twenty-four to sixty hours. , V. Barometer rising sr falh^'S erabb’ away from its mean, forebodes s ing weatliei', subject to modifying ‘ _ I fluenoes of the neighboring rang®- ! mountains or hills.
Masonic Journal (Greensboro, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Feb. 25, 1876, edition 1
2
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