Rensselaer Republican, Volume 21, Number 53, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 September 1889 — ST. PIERRE. [ARTICLE]

ST. PIERRE.

OMS of the most striking spectacles •eoentiy seen id Madrid was the burial of tile mother of the celebrated bull* fighter Fraacuelo. It appears that tile was a very timid woman and lived in constant alarm during his encounters. Her death took place during his last great fight, when he -killed six bulls. Frascueio showed his love ol his mother by givlng,her a princely burial, which is estimated to have cost him ever £6OO. The coffin, which was la lead and gold, was carried from the house to the hearse by six banderlleros, and was drawn by eight horses to the churchyard, accompanied by ever 160 carriages. At the most fashionable wedding of the season in London a sensation was produced by the concluding words of the officiating clergyman, and there was a tfeep silence throughout the fashionable company as he said; "My lord duke, happiness is not to be found in wealth, in the noble rank you bear, nor in art collections; the heart of man can not be filled with them. One thing—and one alone—will satisfy the heart of a true man, and that is love. Love is that for which the heart yearns, and there lies your true happiness.” Again, stretching out his hand to where the duke and his bride knelt, he said: "Help one another to draw nearer unto God. Begin by loving each other. Make each other’s happiness, power, and influence the object ol your life. Live for each other.”

First Impressions Which It Makes on the Tourist.

When you find yourself for the first time, upon some unshadowed day, in the delightful West Indian city of St. Pierre—supposing that you own the sense of poetry, the recollections of a. student—there is apt to steal upon your fancy an impression of having seen it at all before, ever so long ago, jou cannot tell where. The sensation of some happy dream you cannot wholly recall might be compared to this feeling. In the simplicity and solidity of the quaint architecture; in the eccentricity of bright narrow streets all aglow with warm coloring; in the tints of roof and wall, antiquated by streaking and patchings of mold greens and grays; in the startling absence of window sashes, glass, gas lamps, and chimneys; in the blossom tenderness of the blue heaven, the splendor of tropic light and the warmth of the tropic wind—you will find less the impression of a scene of 10-day than the seusation of something that was and is not. Slowly this feeling strengthens with your pleasure in the colorific radiance of costume; the semi nudity of passing figures; the puissant shapeliness of torsoes ruddily swart like statue metal; the rounded outline of limbs yellow as tropic fruit; the grace of attitudes; the unconscious harmony of groupings; the gathering and folding and falling of light robes that osciliato with swaying of free forms; the sculptured symmetry of unshod feet. You look up and down the lemon tinted streets—down to the daztling azure brightness of meeting sicy and sea; up to the perpetual verdure of mountain woods—wondering at the mellowness of tones, the sharpness of tines in the light, the diaphaneity of colored shadows, always asking mem? ory, “When—where did I see all this long ago?” Then, perhaps, your gaee Is suddenly riveted by the vast and solemn beauty of the verdant violet shaded mass of the dead volcano, high lowering above the town,, visible from all its ways, and umbraged, may be, thinnest curling of clouds, like specters of its ancient smoking to heaven. And ail at once the secret of your dream is revealed, with the rising of many a luminous memory—dreams of the Idylists, flowers of old Sicilian song, fancies limned upon Pompeiian wall. For a moment the illusion is delicious; comprehend as never before the charm of a vanished world, Ihe antique life, the story of terra cottas and graven stones and gracious things exhumed; even the sun is not >f to-day, but of twenty centuries gone; thus, and under such e. light, walked the women of the elder world. Too soon the hallucination is broken by modern sounds, dissipated by modern sights—rough of sailors ; descending to their boats, the heavy boom of a packet’s- signal gun—the passing of an American buggy. Instantly you become aware that the melodious tongue spoken by the pass- : ing throng is neither Hellenic nor Roman; only the beautiful childish speech •f French slaves.—Harper's Magazine. A Zapotec Codex. It is stated that Mr. Doremberg, a German in Puebla, Mexico, has acquired a Zapotec codex, very ancient The hieroglyphs are painted on the skin of Some wild animal, and beneath each j hieroglyph is written in Roman characters its meaning in the Zapotec language. The writing most have been the work of some priest about the year 1660. The hieratic characters are much older. The subject matter of the painting seems to be the many migrations of the ancient race of ZapotecT Indians. *; . , ifi?' K