The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1892-04-07

glOnS. The dead warrior lay upon sort
of double decked platform, in full view of
men. with only his martial cloak around
him, and had been carried in this manner
through the crowded streets of the city on
the shoulders of his comrades, from the
barracks, a distance of three miles or more.
preceded by a military band playing jubi-
liant marches and quicksteps. Uncotfined,
he was laid in the soldier corner to await
the resurrection reville. Each of his late
comrades took a shovelful of the freshly
turned up earth and threw upon him; and
the, to eNhilarating strains of The Bar
Der of Seville they uickstepped back to
town.
The riotous growth and intensity of
green in this graveyard is appalling, for it
is the rankness of the battletied-lif riot
ing upon death. The splendid palms that
tlaunt their plumes in the face of the sky
have their roots set deep in decay; and
in that decay are the germs of fever and
death. BY this time the sun had disap-
pearcd: but the evening breeze. reeking
with poisonous odors, came hot and unre-
frcshing. We thought of the old saw
anent a green Christmas and a fat grave
yard: for though the festive season is
passed, these February days must be cold
at home. But thank heaven. in no ccme-
terry of Goods country can such fairness
be found. Whatever you do, friends,
don't die in Brazil-or for that matter
anywhere in Spanish America. If you
happen to cherish the Protestant faith,
you would be put into a shallow hole,
among suicides, Jews, heretics, paupers,
and other poor outcasts believed to be be-
yond the pale of Christian charity: and
even then not left long to repose in peace
barely long enough for the comparative
safety of the living. After few weeks,
what remains of you unconsumed by the
quick lime that is literally thrown in at
the time of interment, (the only liberal
thing about iD, would be pitched into the
general charnel heap of detached bones
heads without trunks and trunks without
heads-to await the semi-annual burning.
son Schwer estS. in der Frende strrben IN
beurin," but nobody can realize how sad
it is to die unwcpt in foreign lands until
he finds himself in danger OF trying it.
| am not going to bore you with a de-
scription of the unrvallcd beauties of
Rios bay, for other travellers have done
il. time and time again. Enhanced by his
tory and tradition, they are even more en-
trancing than when the ancient mariners
discovered them that january day, three
hundred and ninety years ago; when, sail
ing through the narrow gateway from the
ocean into the bay, they fancied them
selves enteriug the mouth of a mighty
river that led to the Enchanted Land and
chlistened it Rio De .Iaeiro. "River OF
January from the month in which the
SUGAR, Portuguese for sugar loaf y bar
ring the entrance as it rises abruptly from
the sea 1872 feet; the Gavea, with its nat
ural Fertilization on top, which human
foot has never scaled: Corcovado the CO.
lossal s'human back Botofooa: Ilha DIES
Cobras, the rocky ''isand OF snakes:
Ilha dies Eatos island OF rats, and all
the rest OF them, enclosed. as by Il wall,
within a misty background of mountains.
draped with eternal ventures: the white
city with its countless towers in the fore
ground-surrounded by an amphitheatre
of ragged heights, so dark and froMnne
that they eNaggerate the calm of the wat
mer. There are plenty OF pictures to show
you how it looks, better than mere words
could do. Yet no picture can do faintest
Justice to tropical scenery. The contour,
and even the colors may be reproduced.
but it lacks the full glory of equatorial
sun and sky, the Hri"g green, the ever
shifting clouds which in these regions of
strong contrasts distinctly change the tint
of foliage and flowers wherever theil
shadows fall, the indescribable glow and
intensity of animal and vegetable life, the
hot air that visibly throbs and palpitates.
Some of us. feeling all this for the first
time realize in the depths of our souls
that some mistake in natures plan cast
our lines in the cold and colorless North
OF is it the natural mans vague in
| stinctive recognition of the birthplace OF
his kind? Gazing at the imperial palms of
Rio. than which none finer can be found
| in the world, one remembers that all the
traditions Of earth speak of Paradise as !;
place where palm trees grow. Who evcl
heard of Heaven or the Garden of Elder
located where winter rei@ns during hall
| the year! The most unpoetical of Yankee
preachers tell OF 1.-THE palm trees of Para
disc not altogether, let us hope, on &C
count Of the pleasant alterations; ant
the dear old orthodox hymns describe its
climate as ''high, eternal noon.
But Brazil must be a long way from
Paradise, OF the place, has greatly changed
since Ewes peccadillo. The flowers llav,
no perfume, the birds no song, death il
frightfully busy everywhere, and the PEG
ple-well, the kindest thing to be said o
~ IL. Il