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the waxing and waning of the tides; the stated fasts and festivals of the Church; the regular terms of court; prophecies of the weather; the favorable and unfavorable signs for planting cucumbers and rail-fences; for cutting bunions and chestnut timber; anecdotes and moral hints. This OMNIUM GATHERUM, we say, should have a place assigned it in the library. And since the calamities which have befallen it are not only great, but without a parallel even, we have resolved to give the Almanac, for once, an honorable mention in these GUARDIAN pages.

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ITS NAME AND ORIGIN.

It derives its name, so say the learned, from the Arabie: AL MANACH, and signifies, an annual reckoning.

At Amoricum, a village in Celtic Gaul (now France), during the middle of the third century, QUINKLAN, a wise monk, is said to have preserved a full account of the travels of the sun and moon, from which manuscript copies were largely multiplied, since the art of printing had been unknown. Accordingly it once bore the dignified title: "DIAGNON AL MANACH QUINKLAN," Prophecies of the Monk Quinklan. Such has been the high and classic origin of our now so shamefully slighted kitchen volume!

But still nobler and purer than Arabian blood courses through its veins. The Euphonic name CALENDAR savors of more than Arabic jargon. The proud Roman delighted to style his Vade Mecum by this term. But • even he had pilfered it from the mellifluous Greek. The thievish Latin fancied that Grecian name Kalein, and by bespattering it with a little "Romanizing tendency," he made Calare out of it, which being Angli cized, Germanized, or Americanized, means, "to trumpet forth—to make / outcry."

In the beginning, Roman, Greek, and Jew lacked every approximation towards the correct idea of the divisions of time. They were content, on every recurring New Moon, to call out its advent by means of a public crier. This was their simple and sole Zeit Weiser.

Presently the term Calendarium came to imply "a rent list," 'an interest register," "a toll index,"-in a word, a monetary or financial catalogue, in which the names of all those were recorded who, through public outcry, were to be notified of " pay day," on the advent of the Kalenda, i. e., the first day of every month. Whilst with us the god of Mammon erects his altar but once a year-in the Kalends of April,-for men to be sacrificed upon it, or to worship around it, the unhappy ancients were obliged to render him monthly service.

Eventually the terms "Almanac" and "Calendar" were wedded, and a third idea was born-an offspring, perfectly natural and legitimate-dif fering from both, and yet also agreeing with both ancestorial personages, so familiar to us all, to wit: "A register of all the prominent divisions and facts of the entire year."

High-born, yea, of royally classic descent, is this household volume, whether we say "Kalender," with the Teuton, or "Almanac," with the less guttural Anglican. And verily, whether we look to the nobility of its origin, or to the utility of its contents, the well-worn Almanac deserves a better fate, at the close of its annual term, than to be tossed into the "Rumpelkammer!"

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ITS HISTORY.

That wonderful man, Romulus, the founder and first emperor of Rome, laid the foundation to the frame-work of months, commonly styled a year. He then stands as godfather to this annually re-born child, in every domicile throughout the whole civilized world. Whether it was with him an original thought, or whether we must believe him to have borrowed it from neighboring nations, the learned do not say. At all events the Roman year numbered 304 days, which constituted 10 months. Let us look at the nomenclature:

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The first four only had special names conferred, whilst the remaining ones were known according to the numerical order in which they occur.

But scarcely had the skeleton been formed when its defect was realized. The monthly series was too short, as the year required twelve months. To remedy this, two extraordinary ones were added, called "intercalary months," numbering severally 28 and 22 days, which brought the total number of days to 354. Notwithstanding this addition, it fell short nine hours of a lunar, and eleven days of a solar year.

We may readily imagine the confusion resulting to the Romans in consequence of such deficiency. Numa Pompilius, the successor to Romulus, endeavored, as far as possible, to obviate the difficulty, by conferring peculiar names to the intercalary months, calling the first "January" and the second "February," and placed the former as the first, and the second as the last month of the Roman year.

Perhaps 400 years before Christ, "February" was assigned as the second month, numbering 28 days, which has likewise remained unaltered unto the present time. But withal, the arrangement could not supply the eleven days, which the astronomical or solar year requires. And to effect this harmony, Pompilius ordered that to every second year, immediately after the 23d of February, there should be alternately added now 22 and then 23 days, but omitted again after the lapse of 20 or 24 years. If any reader complain of being confused, let him know that we too feel similarly affected! The priests, under whose control the calendar remained, were oftentimes bribed by interested parties, and accordingly prolonged or curtailed the year at pleasure.

Fifty years after Christ, or in the 708th after the founding of Rome, the deficit in days amounted to 67, so that their harvest fell beyond the summer term, and their vintage occurred no longer during the fall season. He added the 67

Julius Cæsar tried his hand at an improvement.

missing days, and, as it so coincided that just then an additional intercalary month had also to be counted in, numbering 23 days, in accordance with the prior arrangement of Pompilius, the then current year received an accession of 90 days beyond the required number-say 445 days. Very properly has this year been styled, Annus confusionis.

Nothing daunted-for at what difficulties did Cæsar stop?-he, with the advice of the Greek astronomer, Sosigenes, introduced the solar year, discovered during that period, which numbers 365 days and 6 hours; and besides, he ordered that during every fourth year one day should be inserted. On this account, both the year and the improved Calendar bear the name JULIAN.

But the Julian Year exceeded the solar by some minutes still, which, though slight discrepancy in the start, would of necessity become considerable in the course of time. The arrangement was tolerated, however, until ti e sixteenth century, when Pope Gregory XIII. effected the last and best plan of the Calendar. He was assisted materially by Aloysius Tilius. Gregory, A. D. 1582, at which date the difference between the Julian and the astronomical years had already run up to 10 full days, had those surplus days cancelled from the October month. Instead of writing the 5th the 15th was dated. And in order to avoid a similar cancelling in future, it was ordered that the closing year of every century, which after the adopted rule, would always be a leap-year, should be reckoned a an ordinary year for three successive centuries, and that only the fourth centennial year should be considered a leap-year. Accordingly, the ear 1600 would remain of the latter order, whilst 1700 and 1800 would be ordinary and regular. So likewise will A. D. 1900. The year 2000 will be leap-year again. After this manner the Gregorian year became fixed as the annular seasons recur regular'y, e. g., the vernal equinox falls always on the 20th March. Thus the harmony between the astronomical and civil years was rendered full, barring 27 minutes. And 3200 years must elapse before one entire day must again be inserted, in order to preserve that harmony. Then the calculation must be started de novo-provided the world and the Calendar are still needed.

Pope Gregory ordered the adoption of the new Almanac, which to his memory is known as the Gregorian Calendar, or New Style, over the whole civilized world. At first Roman Catholic countries orly adopted the new arrangement, whilst Protestant nations and the Greek Church retained the Julian order, for no better reason than solely because the alteration had been effected by the Pope-a reason which is still sufficiently mighty, boʻh against the introduction or reviving of many a good custom, with some men.

But even Protestant countries gradually fell in with the New Style. Professor Eberhard Weigel, of Jena, had been especially instrumental in abolishing such a foolish prejudice, A. D. 1698.

In 1699 it was resolved to write the 1st of March, during the year 1700, instead of the 18th of February. England adopted the New Style A. D., 1752, by leaping to the 1st of December from the 29th of August. Sweden followed in the year 1753. Gradually all the rest followed, save the Greek Church. But they called their Calendar, "The New REFORMED ALMANAC," to forestall the charge of following Rome, in a measure.

John Miller, of Neuremberg, published the first Almanac, A. D., 1476.

It was written in Latin, and calculated for a period of thirty years. Its price was only $25.00.

The first Annual Calendar was published by Dr. John Volmar, of Hamburg, on the Elbe, in the year 1546.

The Almanac, then, is not a thing to be despised, when we take into account the labor necessary to its parturition; the mental toil expended to render it a faithful prophet of the course of time; the repeated reformation to which it was subjected; the fabulous price of the first exemplar; its truly cosmopolitan character; the daily fingering to which it must submit; its familiarity in every household: these are some of the characteristics which render the Almanac quite an institution!

The Emperor of China receives from his several hundred thousand detectives a daily account of all the acts of his millions of subjects dwelling in his vast dominion. These reports are sacredly preserved in a chamber set apart for their safe keeping. From these the archives of the nation are formed. But what is this but a grand National Almanac? Yet this, even, is not to be admired as much as the household Calendar, since John Chinaman gathers his after the facts have transpired-an ex post facto work, whilst our Almanac man is a seer, who spies out the course of Time not yet unfolded to the public gaze. The prophet-man is above the pivot man-is he not?

But now and reverently be it spoken!-we know of a still vaster Index Rerum-a Calendar of all Time and the entire Universe. God is its compiler. Bartholomew Ringwaldt speaks of it in his German Dies irae:

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THE ARCTIC SUNSHINE.-Dr. Hayes, the arctic explorer, graphically describes the return of the sun after an absence of long, cold months. For several days the golden flush deepens until the burning forehead of the "king of day" rises above the horizon, to circle round it for half the year. The inexpressible delight with which the morning glory is hailed, he says, almost makes one cease to wonder that the sun has devout worshipers.

We thought of the soul's experience in the transition from spiritual "darkness to light." The change is often marked by similar increase of illumination and joy. The chill and dismal air brightens and grows warm in the approaching radiance of the "Sun of righteousness." The former death-like desolation is discerned and felt in the deepening dawn, until the eternal splendor clearly marks the contrast between the "old things which have passed away," and those that are new.

THE TWO OCTOBER FUNERALS,

OR,

Lines on the Death of LIZZIE C., Oct. 13, and SUE S. C., Oct. 27, 1865.

BY C.

October winds are sighing

The Autumn's funeral wail;
O'er two fresh graves are lying
The clodlets of the vale.

Two weeks ago a maiden
Was brought by weeping train;
The Zephyrs now are laden
With notes of grief again.

By mourning friends another
Is borne on sable bier;
A youthful wife and mother
Now claims the parting tear.

Each form to dust returneth
And moulders 'neath the sod;
Each soul in rapture burneth
Before the throne of God.

Their spirits were united
In bonds of Christian love,
And angels good delighted
To carry them above.

No seasons now of sadness

Shall fill with tears their eyes,
They roam in joy and gladness
The fields of Paradise.

No more these sisters wander
Amid the scenes of earth,
But still we love to ponder
O'er such departed worth.

'Tis sad that hearts so youthful
So soon should cease to beat,
'Tis well that lives so truthful
Should have an end so meet.

While Nature now is weeping

O'er withered leaf and flower,
We mourn the sisters sleeping,
Yet hail the rising hour.

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