The Valley Virginian. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1865-1895, 1879-05-01

into 0l0CkS OF stone UnaG meets our eye
wherever we turn to-day.
It is rot so important that the spell OF the
middle ages was broken as that out OF the
new atmosphere walked the Triumvirs' elo-
quence, poetry and painting; a voice, a
song, shining light, producing that stir
ring OF the intellect, that craving for the
ideal, that passion for the beautiful, which
will never be satisfied until we shall reach
that higher renaissance and walk through
the realms Of light and truth and song.
It is not that Mahomet was visionary,
but that be believed in his dreams, and their
influence dies not out Of the world. 1t is
not so important that men through all ages
have worshped some form Of the Madonna,
as that men to-day kneel at our feet and
breathe their VOWS of everlasting devotion.
The period Of the renaissance is forever
great, because art, inspired by faith, seized
and made its own the classic wealth Of
heathendom.
Notwithstanding the turnings and twist :
ings to which facts have been subjected in
transmission through the ages, still the spir-
it Of truth, martyr like, survives, though its
body be put to the torture.
Men, events and epochs fit together like
mosaics in wall; sometimes it is the mis-
fortune of the historian to get the square
fact into the round hole, which considerably
weakens the structure. 1t is to maintain
the eternal relationship between the past,
the present and the future, which is the
mission Of history.
The present has no development of which
the past had not some ideal. Hercules still!
labors among US, conquering difficulty. Vul-
can still makes his anvil ring. The hydras
are net all slain. There are sirens who
tempt US still, and harpies who snatch away
our manuscripts and bear them to corner
of the north wind. There are men among
us TO- day with lions heads, from which they
have produced interminable tales. So you
see the old myths are emblems Of everlast-
ing truth. We have not forsaken the old
gods. We are still idolaters, Citing that
which we love with an ideal excellence, and
then worshiping that which we ourselves
have created. The difference between the
gods and goddesses, bulls and tigers Of the
ancients and moderns is not very great
after all i; theirs are little more literal, ours
little more ideal. There is tr ceable
line OF affinity between all the historic races,
running from old Greek and Roman down to
the last born heir of time, the American,
who, with his skin made of ice and his
veins filled with fire,'' combines the past
with the present, the civilized with the saw
age, in whose presence the lamb and the
lion lie down together. 'without the lamb
being inside the lion.
Do you tell us that the present is but
little moment to con tain the past? A dew
drop is but little world, but the arched
sky is reflected in it.
We are different from Pluto and Dante
only in degree; and in regard to eternity, as
Hood says, we are all contemporaries.
The golden age will never leave the world
while love, and truth, and art, and we are
in it. Yesterday is a colossal pedestal upon
which we rear the statue of to-day whether
it b. dwarf or giant, depends upon our
labor and sincerity.
We have made ourselves familiar with de-
parted greatness, have felIowshipped with
beings little lower than the angels, and
have been treated with much conGescension.
The heroes of history have become natura-
To ho nlr xx,stl, r ind
of pity on the prehistoric age of our lives
before we had developed to such mental
proportions that all the burdens Of the past
might rest upon our shoulders, warning to
future generations to stand from under.
We have conquered worlds knowledge
but the time has come when we must s'fold
up our tents. like the Arabs, and silently
steal away" signing that there are no more
worlds to conquer. We have thought history,
studied and made history, gone through her
multitudinous passages like the brave Prince
Theseus in search OF the Minotaur, and Mrs.
Stone is the kind Ariadne who holds in her
hand the siIken cord, that we may not be lost
in the mysterious labrynths, ever sending to
US along the slender thread token OF her
sympathy, spark OF her enthusiasm.
We have roamed the gardens Of Italy with
each happy lover. Whether we have only
flirted with these historical suitors or made
them lifelong companions is a matter OF
conjecture for the future. Our hearts have
become accllmated to the atmosphere of tia.
", This winter will not fade out into fee
BILE memory, but, we trust, will be to US al
ways living fact. The records of that mar
velous age hallowed by the mystery of years
have been brought to light, like secret writ
ing. by the warmth and fire OF our hearts.
Forever when close my eyes,
wander meath italian skies.
Happy my dreaming footsteps rove
Where Petrarch wandered with his love.
wake to bring you in my hand.
An olive from his native land,
Or living in that amber shrine,
Become myself Florentine.
We have travelled far by land and sea but
let us inherit the kingdom for we have
| brought home the golden fleece.
| 1.-THE foregoing was read by Mrs. Case a
the last meeting of the second year OF Mrs
| Stones class in history.-ED
| WHITEWAsH FOR OUTSIDE WORK.-1
Whitewash, it is well KNOWN passes to {
carbonate of lime in few days by absorb
| ing carbonate acid from the air, and beins
soluble to certain extent in water, is soor
washed off when exposed to the rains. II
prevent this wash prepared as follows last
much longer; To half bushel OF goo'
lime add enough water to slake and be abou
the consistency Of good syrup, and Will
hot add half gallon of linseed oil and sti
| WILL 10 this mixtnre add half pound 9