Beaufort Republican. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1871-1873, October 12, 1871, Image 1
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I VOL. 2. NO. 3J BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY OCTOBER, 12 1871, ^ \ Single Copy 5 CeiU#*
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gtaufort
THURSDAY, OCTOBER, 12,1871.
^ POETRY.
MYRRH.
BY JOAQl'IN MILLER.
P
'And you and I have buried Love,
A red seal on the coffin's lid;
The clerk lielow, the Court above,
Pronounced it dead; the corpse is hid.
And I, who never crossed your will,
Consent?that you may have it still.
" "" klimo t
"What recks it now wnose wm mc .
But call it miDe; for better used
Aia I for wrongs and cold disdain?
Can better bear to be accused ,
Of all that wears the shape of shame,
Than have you feel one touch of blame.
******
"I go alone; no little hands
To lead me from forbidden ways,
So little voice in other lands
Shall cheer me all the weary days:
Yet theso are yours and that to me
Is much indeed, aLd must it be.
* * _
MI did not blarv^you?ifo not blame
The stormy elements of soul
That I have scorned to tone or tame,
Or bind down unto d? '1 control;
In full, fierce youth, they all are voure,
With all their folly and their force.
* * *
> "But should you some time read a sign
A name among the princely few,
While jrou are with your friends and wine,
Then careless turn to one or two,
Say, uHt was mine, his smiles his tears,
Were nine were mine for years and years."
SflAKES.
Everybody in and around Norway Flal
was acquainted with Shakes. Shakes wai
every one's iivorite, and every one'f
laughing-stock. What his real name was
"O one on the Flat, excepting the Post
ster, knew or seemed at all anxious t<
* -tain. In outward appearance, hi
a specimen of debased humanity
^Vbar.cbery war ndelibly stained upoi
*w-/ /J" T n *i?b
to tee him with a cleat face. Stwski o
I gra\ force* vhe a ecu
muJwicus that .g to hi>, long ? -??
. _ - . . .... oc?. u. v coarse
>} woolen overall irt, with .altered
svr- coverec hi back, from whence
miny doubted whether it had been removed
since the day he first put it on, in
Giffin'sstore, twelve months ago. His
du:k pants had completely lost their origin/!
whiteness, and were tucked into a
wdl-worn, much-patched pair of gumbcots.
The veritable felt hat, worn by
| hru in '52, still maintained its usual posiIticn
on the side of his head. The only
cbmge it had apparently undergone since
then, was that a piece of an old rubber
[coat now constituted the crown.
Shakes's history outside of the precincts
of Norway Flat, was wrapped in
i complete mystery. Even the time of his
? arrival in the camp was unknown.
kH' >wn, the proprietor of the "Occidental"
?Norway Flat's principal hotel, drinking
and dancing-saloon?and also one of
| the pioneers of the place, asserted,
I "Shakes bummed around here when I
ust 'rived in '52." It was generally be
ieved that he hailed from the temperance
State of Maine. Shakes, however, was
i .o "temperanc; man" himself; to the conrary,
he had earned the unenviable reputation
of being an inveterate "whiskey
Jiummer." No one had ever known him
10 pas'' a single night on the Flat "out of
?:s "nps." It is true that these constant
im oings had so enfeebled his system as
to cause him to readily succumb to its influence.
A h>nely log-cabin stood on the hillside.
,^-es owned it, and proiessed to be its
Kx,cupant; but seldom, if ever, crossed its
threshold. The bar-room of some one or
D>ther of the numerous drinking-hells was
Bus home ; the tloor, a bench or a faro-taftle
was his bed.
B Although a slave to his appetite for inB>xicating
liquor, none its venders on
IllHway Flat were much the richer for
IllBng .Shakes as their customer. It was
jMsftm that a coin passed from his hands
barkeeper's drawer ; but drink he
MSpjfcve. and somehow or other he al|Kre|?.:iaged
to obtain it. The manner
SMB^^&it was obtained was but a seconeSBpj^P^te^ration
to him. Nothing was
wffi^^flating or too degrading for him
it. When begging failed, strate v
was immediately resorted to, and in
fBiis he was invariably successful. He
H^ould enter the saloon, go up to the bar
SKith thumb and forefinger inserted in his
Socket, and address the bar-keeper thus: j
"I say, bar-keeper, hurry up ; give m
a 'brandy straight.1"
The bar keeper would flrefc cast a gianc
at the position of the hand, and then ten
der the bottle to Shakes,-who would un
concernedly drink. "IIere'8 luck," am
retire from the counter without paying.
"Ho, Shakes I" 1 '
"Eh?"
"Come and see me."
"No, thankee; don't feel like it now
jest had un." ;
And the bar-keeper learned that he wa
duped once more, but dared not attemp
to punish his deceiver. The indignatio!
of the entire camp wonld most assured!
fall upon the individual who dared t
abuse Shakes. He was Norway Flat'
"privileged character." "Likes his whu
key, I know ; but he's a harmless, good
natured old devil for all that," was th
sentiment universally expressed by th
members of that little mining communi
ty.
? ? A ?
lneoriate as he was, Shakes was not in
detect. He was always, in sunshine o
rain, engaged in chopping cord-wood, o
in riving shakes?long shingles; frot
which latter occupation he received hi
nickname. The sun rose on Shakes en
tering the woods , it set upon him mafc
inga "bee-line" for the "Pony Saloon.
Fire-wood was worth SO a cord, an
shakes 816 a thousand, in those days, 01
Norway Flat Shakes always choppe<
fron two to three cords per day. Thre
dolare a cord he paid Billy the boal
min" for hauling it, which, of coursi
considerably diminished his earning}
stfl, there was a good margin left. How
; itcame to pass that he should always h
} por, could never be satisfactorily ex
j pained. His condition of being, what hi
? trmed "flat broke," was patent to all
. ad was considered another of the mys
) tries of his peculiar life that no one caret
2 t solved, and accepted unquestioned.
Norway Flat, since the time of its dii
i overy in *52, had'continued to be a pros
erous.mining ramp. Tht fabulous yiefc
f I ;?f manv ot claim." K" ' ^
' j <?f the leading newspaper
" ! if the civ J* world Numerous oppoi
I K.mit'cs lu : o?en oh';red Shakes to be
j
'. some the j 'bsrsor of ground of a proruii
(,'trv rl?.\rat U'.r, subsequently proving ri< b
mining, however, possessed no attraction
t for him. There existed no affinity be
. tween his nature and the excitement c
. the average goldminer's life. He neve
owned a foot of mining ground, "an*
didn't intend to," he was accustomed t
say; "I go lur the sure thing." Evei
when the Wake-up Jake Company atrucl
a two-ounces-to-the-pan prospect, Shake
declined to staking oft the adjoininj
ground, then vacant, and upon which h
was at the time chopping wrood. Th
same piece of ground afterward prove*
the richest spot on the whole Flat, near
ly 1,200 ounces being obtained from it a
the proceeding of one day's washing
This lack of enterprise?this disinclina
tion to venture?was supposed to be th
morbid offspring of his dissipated career
The only things for which he appeared t<
have any care were his axe, cross-cut saw
and frower. These constituted his entir
stock in trade, and for them he cheris"ne<
something bordering upon affection.
Stakes was viewed as one of Norwa;
Flat's fixtures. It had been settted lonj
ago in the minds of ita inhabitants tha
his bones would decay in the little ceme
teryon the knoll overlooking the Flat
The idea of his removing was never for i
moment entertained by any one in tha
j secluded community. Shakes and Nor
J w vy Flat had grown up with one anoth
' er. Norway Flat was Shakes's home
; If he possessed a home elsewhere, he ha<
i never been heard to speak of it.
The winter of '59 had set in. It wa
about the middle of November. Th
ground was covered with several inches c
snow. The tinkling of sleigh-bells wa
heard in the distance, and the little towi
on the Flat Avas instantly thrown into;
commotion. It was all occasioned by th
arrival of u13arnard's Monthly Express.:
The arrival of the express was an import
ant event in the otherwise monotonou
routine of every-day life at Norway Flat
for be it remembered that the era of wagoi
roads and railways had not then been in
augurated, and communication betweei
that mountain retreat and civilizatioi
was at best infrequent and uncertain
Among the anxious faces awaiting th
opening of the little wicket of the Post
ollice and the distribution of letters ap
peared that of Shakes. Shortly afterwan
he was obserted intently perusing a letter
e "Dam'd 'fl don't make tracks fui
hnm," he suddenly exclaimed, and as sude
denly bade farewell to Norway Flat and
> its surronndings.
That evening Shakes was missed from
fl his ususi haunts, and it soon became generally
known that he had left the Flat
This was an unprecedented episode jn
' Norway Flat's history. Nothing had
ever occurred before to disturb its uniform
; equansnity, excepting the shooting of Bed
Ali'ck by Russian Bill In a moment of
s frenaed excitement,'^roduoed in the heat
1j of a discussion as to the merits of the parti
ties then engaged in the Crimean War.
y His departure was the universal topic ol
o con/ersation around every fireside and in
8 every bar-room in the camp. The specuj
lathns as to the cause were as varied ae
[- they were improbable.
e ?he thermometer at Brown's that evene
inj, indicated 15? below zero; but no fears
[- wffe harbored in the mind of any one as
tothe safety of the one who had so uncer_
enoniously left the camp "homeward
r tound."
r Weeks passed on, and nothing had been
a seen or heard of Shakes since his depart8
ure. Norway Flat had almost forgotten
him. Brown, the landlord of the uOccidental,"
was standing in his doorway,
M gazing abstractedly at the distant windc
ing8 of the "down country'' trail. It was
t only the previous day that a prospecting
2 party had passed along it from the Flat,
e bound for the deserted mining camp ol
Diggers' Delight, situated about ten miles
distant. His thoughts naturally recurred
! to their departure and prospects. Sud7
denly, his quick eye detected in the dis?
tance a group of men slowly trudging toward
the Flat, and was somewhat astona
iehed to recognize in them the prospecton
of Diggers' Delight returning, bearing
' with them a heavy burden. The new?
j soon spread that Shakes had been found
dead at Diggers' Delight. It was evidenl
that night had overtaken him there, and
that he had determined to spend it in ont
of the deserted shanties. The lire-place
. j had been filled by him with wood, readj
lurtne match; but it remained unkindled,
Why, ho one could answer. The verdicl
. of all who heard the story was that he hac
fallen a victim to the severity of the weath
er on the evening of the day he left the
i Flat, or, as they expressed it, "fri2 dead.'
In an inside pocket of a vest worn unf
derneath his ragged overshirt, a pocket o:
I letters was found, all of which were writ3
! ten in the same handwriting, and address
0 ed to *'James Wilkinson, Esq , Norwaj
a Flat." Sundry photographs were alsc
^ discovered in the same pocket?one of at
g aged lady, another of a woman in th(
prime of life, and the rest of three beauti
e lul girls of from ten to fifteen years of age
e All the letters bore the same post-mark,
j u , Me." Each envelope was indorsee
in pencil mark, "Reed, (date,) J. W.'
One of them was indorsed, "liecd. Novr,
17, 1859, J. W." That was the day thai
] Shakes left Norway Flat. Its content!
explained the mystery of his life and pov
erty, and ran thus:
* , Maine, Aug. 30,1859.
My dear Jamea: Your last remittance of $250 ha.
? been duly received, and flic mortgage on the farm is nov
e ; j?id. * * * Have you not impoverished yourself t<
a keep us in comparative luxury? Wt have wanted noth
ing. * * Mother is ailing and rapidly declining
Doctor says she eannot possildy live through the cominj
y winter. She longs to see you, James, before she die*. ,
* * Ktuina, Annie, and (ierty are all well. * * * (J
^ James, do come home at onee; if not, 1 shall sell the plaa
t i next spring, and come to Norway Flat myself.
Your affectionate wife,
r>i.:.KN >yilki>mi5.
The bright side of Shakes's character
^ ; which he had so carefully concealed fron:
j the sight of his fellow-raen, was here re
| vealed. And he had now gone to anothei
homo to receive his reward.? Overlain
^ Monthly.
An Effective Temperance
Lecture.
e |
"What will you drink ?" asked a wait
er of a young lad, who for the lirst tircu
accompanied his father to a public dinner
: Uncertain what to say, and feeling sun
? that he could not be wrong if he followet
j bis father's example, he replied, "I'll tak<
what father takes."
? j The answer reached the father's ear
and instantly the full responsibility of his
11 position Hashed upon him. And the fa
ther sliuddered as the history of severa
Q 1 young men, once as promising as his owr
Q bright lad, and ruined by drink, startec
' i up in solemn warning before him. Shoulc
? his hope be blasted, and that open-fae<
boy become a burden 1 But for Btronj
i drink they would have been active, earn
^ 1 est, prosperous men ; and if it could worl
. j such ruin upon them, was his own soi
safe ? Quicker than lightning thei
thoughts went through his mind, and in
moment the decision was made. "If tl
1 boy falls, he will not have me to blame ;
and then in a tone tremulous with em'
i' "tlon, and to the astonishment of thos
who knew him, he said, "Waiter, I tal
water and from that day to this stroc
' drink has been banished from that man
house.
* ^
The Exiled Empress.
Cassell's Magazine for Octobefcontais
an article written by a lady who visitc
, and conversed with the ex-empress Ei
genie at Chiselhurst. The writer says:
r She looked what Tennyson calls 'hi
rinely fair" but as one who has suflere
much. There was a worn, weary loc
, inexpressibly pathetic in her eyes, ju
touched over the lower lids with black; h<
. cheeks were thin and very pale, her fa
, hair simply arranged low on the neck b
, hind, drawn back at the sides; and wil
curls on the forehead, and it was hero*
hair?distinctly and palpably her owi
"? > ~?" t.l~ OQi
UKr arcsa was ui uiautv po.iauabi.ba, ou
trimmed, with a small tunic, and a gei
, eral look of scantiness about it. She woi
.ft little white shirt-collar and cuffs, ar
not a single jewel, save one diamond st?
that held the little collar. Her mann<
suit her imperial presence, simply, court
, ou8, earnest. It is as of a ready-witt(
p woman, sweeet-tempered, full of hums
interests attd feelings, impressions bl
'? mobile, fascinating; emphasizing all sb
j says with her grandly cut Spanish eye:
i that might almost indeed stand her in li(
of speech, so eloquently do they convers
There is a wonderful and varied char
about her, Cleopatra-like, that neither a<
nor costom can wither or stale. To s<
( how the woman struggled with the Ec
r press, and how it brought her down '
j sympathy arS pity from a solitary strai
I ger, was very touching. Decorum aloi
. kept tears from my eyes.
[ She began in English (which she speal
, readily, and with a good accent, only no
, and then wanting a word which she asl
, you with her eyes to supply) by regrettin
that the Emperor was too^ill to see m
"Not ill, far from it," she said, "that
I God, but suffering greatly from rheuruat
. pains, in consequence of a chill when 1
> first arrived at Chiselhurst. The weal
, er had been warm and fine, and he hs
been tempted out, too much wrapped i
p (for it was so cold at "Wilhelmnhohe,) at
he had incautiously taken off his paletc
. and so cought cold, which had product
r an attack of rheumatism."
j Then she expressed much interest aboi
t the place I came from. It was associate
; with her earlj life. Ah! how happy I wi
. then?it seems like a dream?so happy,
and her glorious eyes glistened. "Ho
well I remember the house where I wi
[ at school, the broad terrace and the di
> taut bills, and my companions?my dei
, friends?they have not forgotten me."
t "Yes," said I, "young Miss B ."
j "Young! ah, no!" and she laughe
. "She is not young; she is my age, an
that is not young."
It is not allowed to contradict sove
s eigns, but as she said this she was a li
' ing contradiction of her own statemen
She looked wonderfully youthful, and h
. present thinness is very becoming in tb
' respect.
' "When I first came to England," si
a continued, "1 desire to go there."
"Ah1 madame, why did you not com
Wp woii1<1 havp. received vou with enth
siasra."
She bowed. "Yes, I wished it; it w
ray first thought; but it could not be."
r "But, madame, wi 11 you not cor
j among us, and see your old haunts?"
"Sometimes, perhaps, but not now:1
cannot; the Emperor is ill. I eann
leave him, and I go nowhere. I think
' nothing, day and night, but of po<
France. Ah, what horrors will be passi
through ere France can be at peac
Those dreadful scenes are always befo:
' me; the end is not yet."
Her eyes filled with tears and rested (
" her shabby black dress?and this was tl
i late queen of fashion?and her look seemi
" to say, "See how I mourn!" And it wi
true. There is often a whole world
' pathos in little tritles that involuntari
I bear witness to the individual mind.
1 "Madame," said I, "there is but o:
i ' consolation?the worse thin: a ?o in Franc
I the more the Emperor is sure to be recalle
I It is the Emperor alone who can gove
? France. They are like bad children, ai
r require the master-hand of wholesome r
. straints and discipline."
c 4T do not wish to return?I suffered t
1 much; but I trust that events will justi
Be the Emperor. Surely the worm must
a come to see what kind of people he had
to govern. The Emperor knew that these
people were in Paris?for twenty years he
se knew it, and he did rot shoot them. He
was too merciful.
lf> "Madame," said I, "it is as though the
Fenians ruled in London. The Keds are
the same all over the world."
'-The/Emperor is to be blamed for every
thing," said she, yet how rich and prcten
perous France has been for so many years.
:d The wages of the. laborers and the ou vriers
i- were high and work was plentiful. To
Paris came all the world, and money was
i- spent. Now the taxes have been paid for
id three whole months. The taxes not paid
>k and no money at the Bourse. The Ernst
peror is blamed, too, for the war. lie
2r was against it. Such blame is most unir
J just. But"?and she drew herself up?' 'we
e- do not desire justification. Time will do
ih that. Let events speak. By and by Eun
rope shall judge the Emperor fairly.
Q. I expressed a hope that the trials she
f. had undergone in Paris had not injured
a- her health.
re "No," she replied. Then she con tinid
ued: "I was forsaken by all the ministers,
tr Trochu, whome the Emperor had appiont?r
ed, lett me. They all left me and betraye
ed me. What could I do I I was alone.
?d Ah,'* she added, with an inspired look,
in "It was my passion!"
e, She turned her tearful eyes to heaven.
ie "Her passion!" Coulq anything be
s, more touching? Woman as I was, I could
;u have died for her.
e. "I was alone," she repeated, as though
m in justification; "utterly abandoned,
re What could I do but lly? I was afraid.
2e I could look death in the face: but all had
q- left me."
to "Were the datails of your Majesty's
a- flight which appeared in the newspapers
ie accurate?"
"Yes," said she, "tolerably so. For
to thirty days I was guarded by those men
w of Belleville. Oh, it was horrible 1 They
to took possession of the Tuilleries. My only
ig happiness was, that I suffered alone. The
e. Emperor away and my boy safe. No! I
ik could not have borne it had my boy been
ic in danger."
ie Again the inspired look came into the
h- biauiiful Spanish eyes,
td "By what door did these wretches enip
ter the Tuileries, madame?"
1(j "Everywhere?by all the doors and the
,t? winriows, too. They came down from the
d Place de la Concorde. I saw them coming
through the trees. Then they broke over
2t the fences into the reserved garden, and
d at last smashed the lower windows and
^ broke open the doors. They came, too,
on the other side, from the Place du Carw
rousel; black masses of men, pressing
j,8 closer and closer; they, too, broke in everys.
where. No one opposed them; the guards
ar were gonp. There were horrible cries,
and screams, oaths. From these theif-dogs
I expected death; I saw it in their faces,
d. these Belleville men; they wanted my
d blood. I was so weary I did not care; to live
or to die was the same to me. For the last
r_ three days there was a change; more savage
v. men came about me. I never left my
Lt- room; I lay down a little on ray bed for
er rest, but I did not undress; I would not
,i8 be murdered in bed in my night-dress."
made a little motion with her hand
hn I that I cannot describe. It told of
the delicacy of the woman, and
c',? the lofty decorum of the sovereign, that
u- carefully gathers her robes arouud hei
ere she dies,
as "Madame," said I, "had you fallen by
the hands of those wretches, you would
nc have lived forever in history and in poetry.
Every art would have been evoked
I to celebrate your memory. You would
ot have united the beauty and fascination ol
of Mary Queen of ijeots to the virtuous f irDr
titude of Mary Antoinette. It would
r?d have been a glorious immortality!"
e! "Yes," she said, melting into the sweetre
est, merriest smiles, "yes, that is all very
well; but I would like to enjoy a little in
)n my life.,,
3C rod grant you may, madame!" replied
ed I.
Thp Tlmnress then crlanced at a clock.
la 1 w
of "You have come so far to see me; you
ly must return. Your train will be soon
due; you must not lose it." How I
ne wished that time had ceased to be?how
e, I longed to go on listening to that musid.
cal voice and looking into those protean
rn eyes! She rose. She was again the Ernid
press?and stood here grandly calm, tc
e- rteiive my salutations. It was a rapid
change from the fascinating woman to the
oo lofty sovereign. She did not even oiler
,fy me her hand; she only bowed her head.
' ftUU X ltVl Ca b^U l/aVtiTT(*LUO iu W vuv mw??|
where the lady In waiting received and
conducted me to the door.
The impression left on my mind -Wad
that Marie Antoinette had been speaking
| to me, escaped by a miracle from the
Temple?Marie Antoinette youn^r and
more womanly, without the proud aiflH
tere reserve.Elephant's
Revenge and Grat-'
itude.
The elephant, with a sort of hflmorotfs
justice, is given to return injuries or insults
in kind. In Madagascar, an elephant's
cornac, happening to have a cocoa
nut in his hand thought fit, out of bravado,
to break it on the animal's head. The
elephant made no protest at the time; but
next day, passing a fruit stmd, he toot &
cocoa-nut in his trunk and returned the
cornac'8 compliment so vigorously on the
iViot Via l-illod him nn fhr> ?nnfc.
v** T'"'
If vindictive, the elephant is also grateful.
At I'ondicherry, a soldier who treated
an elephant to a dram of arrack eVery
time he received his pay, found himself
the worst for liquor. When the guard
were about to carry him off to prison, he
took refuge under the elephant and fell
asleep. His protector would let no" one
appear, and watched him carefully all
night. In the morning, after caressing
with bis trunk, he dismissed him to settlef
with the authorities as best he could.
IT #
Both revenge and gratitude imply intelligence;
still more docs the application
of an unfercseen expedient. A train of
artillery going to Seringapatam had to
cross to the shingly bed, of a river. A
man who was sitting on a gun-carriage
fell; in another second the wheel would
have passed over his body. An elephant
walking by the side of the carriage saw'
the danger ^and instantly, without any
order from his keeper, lifted the wheel
from the ground, leaving the man unla*
jured.
Queen Victoria Fancies.
Whatever may be the truth in regard
to the report that Queen Victoria intends5
to abdicate the throne of England, it is
known that she has been laboring for
some year past under atleast one phase'
r\f manfal infirmifir QVin hoa a firm nnn.
vi uivuuc*i luiauiivji vuv iiuo u* mtu vvu
viction that Prince Albert isalwaws nres*.
ent with Vi, ? i.tl rlt-tl - to **an h. \l *onv
munion -vith him. J7ec private rooms'
are arranges hey were *' u waff
alive. II d opj oslte U, hef
own in th b>>rui} am! he ' >c??:s which
he delighted ?o iwui to her are arranged
lovingly, in order, upon the table. Inf
some of her moods she will converse with1
him for an hour together, conducting her
own share of the conversation aloud and
with the vigor and interest of old times.
He had taught her by his example the
success of his business enterprises?especially
by his management of the lAichy of'
Cornwall?to superintend as much as possible
all her private affairs herself; to reduce
all unnecessary expenditures, and to1
forbid extravagance. Hence the greatest,
simplicity is observed at the Queen's table,
and she imagines that her husband
looks on, well pleased. At times, when
she is more than ordinary impressed with
. a sense of his presence, the poor, fond
woman will order a knife and fork to bo
placed on the diBuer-table for him, and
. cause the attendants to place every course
before the empty chair as if the master
r still occupied it. Every morning a pair
I of boots are cleaned and set down against
the door of the chamber which he once
. occupied ; and at breakfast, when in Scotia
land, she will often sit a long time in sip
lence, waiting for the Prince.
The Queen'8 strong belief in the corny
j munion of the living with the spirits of
the dead she received, no doubt, from
Prince Albert himself, who was a sort of
r | thcosophist?asov il .* nrfw-tn T
j Behmen, the my-!! an J. -u
j the philosopher Iran re . : . tali n
; Whatever may be 'ijoug!.! ,1 in i. tlcoI
ry of philosophic religious 1 -n. f lv
| sober, common sense people,- it is to Vioioria
a source of great consolation, and
she often talks-with the Prince concerning
, the state of the soul after death. ?She has
j been gradually withdrawing from public
.; life for some years past, and lives in a
world of her own. Iler harp and her ea.,
sol are both neglected, and she neither
, sings, plays, nor paints, except at rare in'
[ j tervals, when she will sweep her harp,
j strings-for a few momenta in memory of
some sweet (i-eriuarf air that her husband*
loved to sing or to hear siuig,