KKafi>li, ^VSF>OW AM5> IflOTIlESi EM l^'EASS. The wliitc orange biossunis are twined in her hair, The siilvery white drapery hangs over tlu; fair, The light-hearted groonisnian stands lu-ar by her side, ■\Vhilo blushes and bright smiles enliven the bride, , And fondly ho whispers, iny darling, my pride. And a soft voice, like an angel’s, Was heard then to say, Be happy, my sweet one, be happy to (lay. ’Twas a voice of a mother, That poised by the way, Just lingering to speak and then passed way. The vows on the altar by each now are laid, The bride and tbo bride-groom their pledges have paid, He smiles and she weeps, while father has blest. Dear friends have greeted and sisters caressed. But sadly she stands there and sobs ou his hroast. Tlicn a low whisper so tender And sweet met her car. Like the vnhtesshe had hoard, so soft and so dear, Tliat she knew a kind mother Was liovering near, Who came as an angel to dry up each tear. I saw her again 5ii their cottage so neat, He Inul done v^•hat he could her joy to com- ph'te, Striving like lover every care to abate, No sorrow as light, no jc)y ever so great. A true liushand was he, a kind ic'ving mate. By night and hy day, whether Wa!vin.g or sleeping/ An angel spirit her vigil \^as keeping. And oft as a fear, like dreadcol Scrjicnt was creeping, Would hush every sigh and still all her weeping. A few full moons had waxed and waned. Five times, I think, had graced the sky ; Tlieir sorrow came, her heart was iniined— 0, such grief! the loved one must dic--- She ])rayed, but no it could not he, ’Twas lir^avcn’s divine and sad d('cree. She heard a voice like angel near, Tliat some vSW(>et voice of mothi'v dear, “Look up..U'y ciiild, for God is nigh, And he will liear the wiIow’s cry.” Tlieii she yuinsed not, hut sp('d as on the swift liu-htiiiiig’s \\-ing, The comfort sIk^ needed fixun God’s throne to hiing- Now, sable clad mourner, 0, why art thon sad ? There is cousohitiou and joy to he had, Come, loolc up to heaven, thy heart sha.ll be’ glad : This earfh lias its darknc'ss and sorrow as had. Luod U]) to thy God and tliy soul shall ho glad. T!io golden chain that hound you, now Seems hrok(m in twain, Thy God has the link to unite it again, hi darkness ami bitter sorrow. Ho comenot in vain — With the sweet little cherub, He mends the chain. -• GKANDFATHER. THE WOHKY. Many of us pray to be deliv'er- ed from sudden death, and do we worry ourselves into it ? To most of us it is not given to choose our lives, to avoid the rough places, to gently shoulder to one side disagreeable facts. AVe must climb over the rocks, though they hurt us sore, and the difficulties, however they may annoy us, must be met with brain fret and wear, until they are con quered, or we liave passed them. They are as real, living, annoy ing as any tangible ache or pain could be ; as bruising and irritat ing as the peas in the shoes of tiie pilgrims of old. Nervous health is quite another and different thing. Calm and steady mental work is conducive to long life, but nervous emotion, mental work that is a constant urging, and, at the same time, is an unchanging of the even tenor of the mind, eats away the brain faster than any mental labor, no matter how hard, that is systematic. As men do not really die of heart disease as often as supposed, but of apo plexy, or congestion of the lungs, so the}^ do not die of brain work, but of braiu worry. ;ias€i;i.AK j-uttkis i'kom 't'siu «KANI> MAS'i'SJi. Office Grand AIastek of Masons, Wilson, N. C., May 29th. To the TF. M., Wardens and Breth ren of- Lodge :—The time approaches when Masons through- ont the ivoi'ld meet to celebrate the anniversary of one of the patron saints of the order, when in every Lodge room the jnire principles of our order will be re hearsed and every Mason feel proud tliat he marches under the bannei' of Charity and Brotherly Love. It is meet that we .should on these occasions indulge somewhat in a practical exemplification of the pirinciples 'and teachings of our order, and show to the world that our professions are more than rhetoric, and high-sounding dec lamation. It is true we should not publish to the world our deeds of charity to be seen of men, but such is the position of our benev olent ivork in regard to one of its objects, that publication is inevi table. Lot us then make such an exhiJiition of attachment for our Asylums as will verify the sincer ity of our professions. Let such an impetus be given the work as its importance and sacrednoss de mand, and oui duty and obliga tion require. Let such immediate contribu tions be made as will materially aid in the sustent.ation of the or phan work, and such measures adopted as will insure systematic, regular, reliable support. Insist on the continued persis tent work of your Orphan Asy lum comniittee.s. Urge them to regular effort, if the duty is un pleasant. The receipt of small sums regularly every month fi-om every Lodge committee would show to those engaged in the work that in every Lodge the cause was alive, and inspire others to greater exertion. Encourage the ladies and chil dren to organize Orjihan Aid So cieties. They will, while adding to the strength of the orphan work, benefit those engaged in them, by ennobling their feel ings, developing the benevolent spirit, and improving their own minds by devising and carrying out the plans of the societies. Let the 24th day of Juno 1876 be the starting point for such a revival of interest in the orphan work as will put beyond a doubt its linn establishment in the hearts, of not only the masons but all the people of our State; when the poor friendless orphans may bo assured of the protection which has boon withdrav>ai by the strik ing down of their natural pro tectors. None of us know but that our children may need the fostering care of the Asylum, no one knows the hour of his depart ure. And may God bless you all, my dear bretliren, and enable you so to work aijd walk, that our Institution may be strengthen ed, our Grand work supported 0,116, our Temples adorned by the beau tiful fruits of Brotlierly Love, llelief and Truth. George W. Blount, Grand Master. What by duty’s voice is biddeu, there where duty’s star may ftuide, Tliitlu-r't'ollow, that accomplish, whatsoever else betide. TllVi: SJIGMSTF. Lofty ends give dignity to the lowest offices. It is, for instance, an lionest, luit you would not call it an honorable occupation, to pull an oar ; yet, if that oar dips in a yeasty sea, to impel the life boat over mountain waves and througli the roaring breakers, he who has stripped for tlie venture, and, breaking away from weep ing wife and praying mother and clinging children, has bravel}' thrown himself into the boat to pull to yonder wreck, and pluck his drowning brothers from the jaws of death, presents, as from time to time we catch a glimpse of him on the crest of the foam ing billow, a spectacle of gran deur which would withdraw our eyes from the presence of a queen surrounded with all the blaze and glittering pomp of royalty. Take another illustration, drawn from yet bumbler life. Some years ago, on a winter morning, two children was found frozen to death. They were sisters. The elder child hadtlie youngest seat- en in her lap, closely folded with in hcj' lifeless arms. She had stripped her own thinly-clad form to protect its feeble life, and, to warm the icy fingers, had tender ly placed its little hands into her own bosom; and pitying men and weeping women did stand and gaze on the two dead creatures, as, with glass}^ eyes and stifiened forms, they reclined upon the snow wreath—the da3^s of then’ wandering and mourning ended, and heaven’s own pure snow 110 purer than that true sister’s love. They were orphans; houseless, homeless beggars. But not on that account, had I been there to to gaze oil that touching group, would 1 have shed one tear the less, or felt the less deep- 13^ that it was a display of true love and of human nature in its least fallen aspect, which deserv ed to be embalmed in poetry, and sculptured in oostl3' marble. Yes, and however humble the Christian’s walk, or mean his oc- pation, it matters not. He who lives for the glory of God, has an end ill view which lends dignit3r to the man and to his life. . . . Live, then, “looking unto Jesus;” live for nothing loss and nothing lower than God’s glory; and these ends will lend grandeur to your life, and shed a I10I3', heav- eiilj' lustre on 3^111' station, how ever humble it ma3^ be.—JDr. Guth rie. OSJlGtX OF fclj.'aSSaC.tl, i'MKA.'SKS. TO PASS THE RUBICON Is a phrase which means to en gage in an enterprise with an ir revocable decision. The Kubicoii was a little river .which separated the Koinau empire from Gaul. The expression has refered to Caesar, who crossed this bouiida- 1-3 line and maijclied against the Koman Senate, after that bod}' had ordered him to disband his army, which he had in Gaul. On arriving at the famous stream, Cmsar hesitated, being impressed with the awful consequences that would follow, and said to one of his Generals, “if I pass this river what miseries I .shall bring on my counti'3'; if 1 do not I am un done.” Soon after he exclaimed, The die is cast,” and rushed across the Kubicon. SUB ROSA. Under the rose. AVhat is sfid or done privately and secretly among confidential friends. The origin of this term is said to be the following : Cnpid, it is said, gave a rose to Hippocrates, the God of Silence, and from legend arose the practice of suspending' a rose from the ceiling over the table while eating, when it was inten ded that the ’conversation must be kept secret. This custom gave rise to the phrase sub rosa. ULTIIIA THULE, Means “the utmost extent.” Lit erally tlie extremity of the earth. “Ultima Thule,” was the most re mote island in the Northern parts known to the Romans. KARA AVI.S, (a rare bird) is a term used by Juvenal to signifv’ a prodig3' for sometliing wonderful. To say of a man that ho is a rara avis means that he is singular, eccentric, &c. BRUTUM FUI.MEX, Empty thunder. When any one delivers a speech full of sound and liny, it is called Brutum Enl- men. A boastful threat, or an absolute law which no one res pects is also call Brutum Fulmen. HOW TO SLEEP. Prof. FeiTicr of King’s College has been an attentive student .of sleep and dreams, ivith a view to reducing- these ])henomena, at once common to all mankind, to distinct and logical natural laws ; and ill his lecture he makes known the results of his studies. These have led him into very fascinating paths of observation; and thei' are espociall3' valuable as Dr. Ferrier, rejected altogether wliat he regards as the doubtful wis dom of the ancients on the sub jects of dreams, and putting aside as idle speculation the curious guesses ot Epicurus and the more subtile theories of i’la.to, avails himself of the recent discoveries and lights in science. He has been bold enough to draw analo gies from not only the animal but the vegetable creation, thus avail ing himself both of the Darwin ian and the llux]e3’an philo- soplnu Not the least valuable use of his lecture is the practical guid ance it gives to tlie action of dail3' life. Assuming as a foundation that “no living lieing' is capable of continuous and iminterniitteiit activit3',” and that sleep, or re pose, is the process by which the waste of the physical and mental energies is repaired, ho derives the lesson that, in order to induce natural and liealthful sleep, such methods are to bo adopted as will abstract an excess of blood from the brain. Tliis ina3' be accom plished by exercise, which draws off the blood to the more weary organs; wdiile a well-ordered di gestion demands the blood that keeps the brain in too great an activity for the stomach, where it is needed. To sleep well, too, according to Dr. Il’errier, one must, if pos.sible, rid himself of all care, anxietv, and disturbing thoughts, as the natural season of repose approaches. A brisk walk toward the close of the da3', and when the biain l as been over taxed, is com.acuded to us. But Dr. Eerrier warns us—and it wore well if he could bo heard every where and heeded—from opiates as “dangerous ground.” They do not produce sleeji so much as torpor. If 3'ou cannot get sleepy melliods which nature itself dic tates, he says, it is full time to call in the family doctor. Among Dr. Ferrier’s conclusions, that respecting tlie heait is not the least cui'ion.s. This organ is sometimes said to be in cons'a t activity-, imliko the other organs. But Dr. Ferrier says that tliis ac tivity is not constant but rlyth- mioal, “a term of iietion being followed b3' a jiause or rest, du ring which the heart is to all in tents and purposes asleep.” Bum ming up the pauses and beatings of the heart on this tlicory, he maintains that the heart sleeps eight hours in the twenty-four— the period which lie regards as most health}’ duration for the re pose of the whole bod}’.—Apple- ton’s Journal. S12E ©r CWEiA'TMSES. Greece is about the size ofY”erJ mont. Palestine is about one-fourth the size of New York. Hindoostan is more than a hun dred times as large as Palestine. The Great Desert of Africa has nearl}’ the dimensions of the Uni ted States. The Red Sea would reach from AA”ashington to Colorado, and is three times as wide as from New Y'ork to Rochester. The English Channel is nearly as large as Lake Superior. The Mediterranean, if jilaced across North America, would make sea navigation from San ■ Diego to Baltimore. 'I'he Caspian Sea would stretch from New York to St. Augustine, and is as wide as from New Y^ork to Rocliestei’. Great Britain is about two- thirds tlie size of Hindoostan; one-twelfth of China, and one- twent3’-fifth of the United States. I he Gulf of Ylexico is about ton miles the size of Lake Super ior, and about as large as the Sea of Kamsohatka, Ba}’ of Bengal, China Sea, Okhotsk or Japan Sea; Lake Ontario would go in each of them more tlian fifty times. The following bodies of water aro about the same size : German Ocean, Black Sea, YTllow Sea. Hudson B.li}- is rather larger. I'iio Baltic, Adri.itic, Persjan Gulf and zEgoan Sea, half as largo, and somewhat hirgei- than Lake Su- perli)!'. Take kindly the suggestions of others. A celebrated sculptor wrought long and hard and care- full}’ on a statue. The day came when his statue was raised to its column and unveiled. “ YVliat do 3'OU think of it I” said he to a friend, who knew tar less of art than himself. “ The nose is too large,” was the reph’. With con summate tact the sculptor caught a bit of marble-dust and his cliisel in one liand and his hc.mmer in the other. Ascending the ladder, he afi’ecied to chi,sel the nose of the statue, and as he did so, let fall the marble-dust in his hand. “ What do \ ou think of it now f” “ Veiy inucii impi'oved,” was tho reply.

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