Another form for preparing eau de Cologne, directs the employment of eau de melisse des carmes, three pints, and the same quantity of compound spirit of balm, one quart of spirits of rosemary, three ounces each of the oils of cedrat, lemon and bergamot, half that quantity of the oils of lavender, neroli and rosemary, and three-quarters of an ounce of the oil of cinnamon; the whole to be dissolved in three gallons of rectified spirits of wine. The form now given is that of the Paris Codex, and the materials are directed to be digested for eight days, and then three gallons distilled. An excellent kind of eau de Cologne may be prepared, which is scented principally with bergamot, as in the following recipe: Take one drachm of the oil of bergamot, dissolve it in half a pint of rectified spirits of wine, and add eight drops of the oil of lemons, four drops each of neroli and rosemary, six drops of the oil of cedrat, and a drop and a half of the oil of balm. TO CLEAN AND RENOVATE VELVET.-With a stiff brush, dipped in a fluid composed of equal parts of water and spirits of hartshorn, rub the velvet very carefully. When the stains have disappeared, the pile of the velvet may be raised thus: Cover a hot smoothing iron with a wet cloth, and hold the velvet spread over it. The vapor will raise the pile of the velvet with the assistance of an occasional whisk from a brush. TO REMOVE GREASE SPOTS FROM DRESSES (WOOLLEN), FURNITURE, CARPETS, TABLE-CLOTHS. ETC.-Make the poker red-hot. Hold it over the grease spot, within an inch of the material. In a second or two the grease will disappear. Be sure not to let the poker touch the material to burn it. THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day; Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree': shade, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, No children run to lisp their sire's return, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; No Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death? Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire— But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, The applause of listening senates to command, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes. Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ;Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, Far from the maddening crowd's ignoble strife, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet even these bones from insult to protect, Their names, their years, spelled by th' unlettered Muse, And many a holy text around she strews, For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned,Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead, If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say:- To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. |