The Donaldsonville chief. [volume] (Donaldsonville, La.) 1871-current, 1882-08-19
MYRA,S NIEANDEIsINGS.

with its Bright side Pictured Coming
Thro' the Rye"-St. Swithin's Day, and
Superstitions Generally.
NEW ORLEANS, Aug. S, 1882.
MY DEAR AUNr CHAT:
| If all Accomplishments of our daily life
were as full Of rhythmic melody as the
falling rain, what a paradisical expert
ence we would enjoy. After having ones
sense of harmony perceptib]y Jared upon
aud disturbed by the discordant sounds
which too often mar the melody Of OK
istence, it is an absolute Joy to withdraw
ones self from the ceaseless hum and
buzz of life's machinery for awhile and
listen to this gentler voice Of nature.
The drops falling from the caves of the
houses beat time in soft and measured
cadence, and to this accompaniment our
own souls furnish the tune, inspiriting
OF saddening, sorrowful or gay. What
could he more peace-giying than the
sound Of rushing water, gurgiing, rip
ping and tinkling from the house tops,
and making mysterious crescendoes and
arpeggio chords through the air! Then,
the exquisite sheen of pearls it forms on
the window panes, with its myriad tiny
globules, ever changing, ever blending,
till the sun, breaking from behind the
fretwork of cloud, magician-like, charges
each little silver ball with wondrous
prismatic glow, and, as they roll away
from our admiring gaze, we would be
almost awed if we had seen for the first
| time the delicate rainbow color.
No, no, Aunt Chat, /, for one, could
never plead guilty to blue" tendencies
| upon rainy days. III were even strongly
ton of mind, 1 think the fogs of discon-
tent wonld be quickly cleared away by
the blithesome raindrops. For me, the
charm Of the seaside lies more than any
thing else in the murmur of the waters.
1t seems as if one must bid corroding
care and commonplace grievance avaunt
when separated from the din and noise
of the work-a-day world, and listening
to the soft swish of the waves breaking
against the shore. As it rises and falls,
Gibbs and flows, ever murmuring, ever
measured and rhythmical, now chanting
low wailing dirge, then rising in sweet
est musical cadence, can not describe
the effect it has upon meat once sooth-
ing and elevating. The very monotony
and ceaselessness Of the incoming tides
low mnrmur, renders melodious what
changefnl variety could never effect, and
as we listen to the tender lullaby of old
ocean, we are charmed into obliviousless
Of the Earring noises of the outer life
even us child is soothed into delicious
slumher in the mothers arms by Groom
ing love-lays. ..~.~"
OF course you have observed what
perfectly natural faculty people have for
noticing what comes in their own par
ticular line, while they may be dull and
blind enough to that which ight, BY it's
unfamiliarity, lie supposed to surprise
and startle. So it was characteristic
remark that sugar planter friend made
here few days ago, when lie commented
upon the very imperfect drainage Of the
city! 1t had been pouring in torrents,
and the street in front Of us was literally
flooded, when our friend assured us that
the water disappeared very much more
rapidly on his plantation
In the course Of my reading learned
that the old familiar song, "Coming thYo'
the Rye" does not have reference to
field of rye, at all, but to shallow stream
or ford through which dry, though
rather slow and critical passage could he
effected by stepping from stone to stone.
So when it rains very continuously here,
the street and sidewalks immediately
fronting us, overflow completely, and it
is prettily suggestive, to passers-by trip
ping d;,intily from cobble stone to cobble
stone i'll the middle of the road, which on
slightly higher eminence, happen not
to be submerged, and so furnish valuable
landmarks for unfortunate perambula-
tors. Of course one misses the romantic
and picturesque environment of the Scot
fish Rye, the leafy boughs woven over
head and empowering silver stream, so
the comparison is not quite complete.
The old song embodies a wealth of mean
ing when we reflect upon the ample time
and opportunity afforded for tender
whisperings and that more palpable ex-
preston of love, in Il careful, slow-paced
"Coming thro' the Rye!"
The old legend of st. Swithin, so f:,mil-
lar that it were needless to narrate it
here, though well enough vouched for,
is not so plausible as The pretty Scotch
story, and in our enlightened era we can
not honestly give credence to that old
superstition about the rain. Many old
curiosities of superstition still survive,
but the faith in them has long since fed
away amid the realistic and materialstic
wants and beliefs of a world of progress.
And yet we read that Louis Napoleon in
bis will emphasizes the solemn declara-
ton: "With regard to my son, let him
keep as a talisman the seal used to wear
attached to my watch" This piece of
feticism would appear to have formed