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.