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VOL. VI. J. H. & W. B. SEALS }
THE l ()iniO> WAT.
How many frown at a common lot
And turn from the common way,
Where rare exotics will blossom not
Nor birds at their bidding stay.
The dust of travel offends their sight
When riches have taken wings,
And they marvel at those who And delight
In every-day, common things.
To some is given the rich estate
Encumbered with anxious care;
While others still for their fortunes wait
In castles they’ve built in air.
To one the splendor of princely halls,
The title to noble lands;
To another only the crumbling walls,
And empty and toil-worn hands.
To one the crown end a life of ease;
To one the cross and the pain;
To one the heights and the stately trees,
To another the desert plain.
To one will Fortune reveU the spring
That her wonderful store unlocks;
While another is given the only thing
That was left in Pandora’s box.
Good luck may lie in an empty purse,
A blessing in this disguise,
And wealth too often is but a curse
To those who have won the prize.
For many with Dives have gone astray,
Remorse and regret to meet.
While others have found that the common
way,
Led up the Golden Street.
M i ♦ i —
Spoiling Husbands
—OR A—
Word to Young Wives.
THE MOTHER-IIV-LAW’S AD
VICE.
If coldness and vanity are destructive of
the happiness of a married pair, excessive
attention and a blind complacency often pro
duce like effects and insensibly disturb the
best assorted union. True affection is weak
ened as soon as the object which inspires it is
degraded. We wish to be proud of what we
love; we we-.ry of an attachment which cloys
the heart, and we end by treating as a slave
the most intei esting being, who models all
her tastes on ours, flatters even our caprices,
and sacrifices to us that dignity of character
which equality of rights alone maintains.
It is generally on the side of the husband i
that this domestic tyranny is most easily
established; and against which it is impor
tant to forewarn young women, who, more
loving, weaker, and more timid, allow their
share of respect to be usurped without per
ceiving it; and who for a tender look, or
flattering word, or a pressure of the hand,
abandon that authority which nature grants
them, and which preserves the equilibrium
between the sexes by submitting the strength I
of one to the charms of the other
Helen de Merval was the daughter of a
Counsellor of State, who died in England on
an embassy', which restored peace to France.
Her mother, whose worth equalled her ten
derness, had m .rried her to the Baron Dapre-
mont, a young diplomatist, already known
by many important missions. This marriage,
which at first seemed one of convenience
alone, soon became the work of love. Helen
inspired the Baron with the deepest devotion.
She joined to every quality of the heart a j
rare cultivation and an observing mind, i
which one is far from suspecting in so young j
a person. She wrote also with an ease and j
purity, which showed at once the most pro- ]
found study and a perfect taste. Helen, di- j
rected by her mother, had preferred useful
occupations to those lighter accomplishments
which are too often abandoned when the
graver cares of house-keeping engage the
time of young women. She saw most of her
young companions, throwing aside their j
lyres and pencils, become perfect ciphers in ;
their own houses. She w sued to have in her
own mind resources and enjoyments which
would put every attack of ennui at defiance,
and save her from the dangers of idleness.
But at the same time Helen took care never
to make a display of what she had treasured j
up. Nothing frightened her so much as the j
reputation of blue. It was under the sim- j
plest exterior and the sweetest modesty, that
she concealed her real worth; even to such a
degree, that her husband was a long time
unaware of it.
Dapremont, on his side, combined all that
could render Mademoiselle de Merval happy j
and proud of her choice; a tall person, a
ncble and expressive countenance, the tone
and manners of a diplomatist received in all
the courts of Europe. He had that penetrat- j
ing look of a man accustomed to read the
hearts of men, and that easy and persuasive
elocution, which announces talents of a pec i-
liai order. However, with all these advan
tages it was remarked that the Baron had a
quickness which he sometimes carried even
to rudeness; an obstinacy of opinion, an over- •
bearing manner, which, though he concealed i
it with address, had made him enemies j
among bis colleagues in the corps diploma
tique. Madame Merval, a clear and close
observer, had perceived this defect in the
character of the Baron, notwithstanding the
precautions he took to restrain himself in her
presence. She thought it her duty to warn
her daughter against it, as her happiness was
the end of all her labors, and the most ardent
of all her desires.
“If it is happiness,” said she, for a young
girl to be united to a well-informed man,
whose merit conciliates general esteem fcr
him. it is at the same time dangerous to al
low him to feel his superiority too often; to
yield too blindly to bis opinions, or to obey’
all bis wishes. Recollect, dear Helen, that i
the rights we yield to an exacting husband |
can never be recovered. If we do not resist
him sometimes, we must soon become his
slave.”
“Dapremont will sooner become mine,” re- :
plied the young wife, “if I do not stop him j
in his cares, in his kind attentions, that he j
carries almost to entire submi-si n.”
“Do not trust to those, my child; the lion
licks the hand which caresses it, but the least I
opposition enrages him, and he soon finds
again his strength and power.”
Helen replied by a smile to this terrible <
comparison.
“How,” said she, “can I see a roaring lion
in one who surrounds me constantly with ev
ery mark of tenderness and homage, who
seems to divine from my looks all that can
please me, and whose tastes and desires are
identified with my own?”
“All that, my daughter, is too often only
the effect of the first moments oi' passion, and
is only the homage which they grant us as
the indispensable price for what we ourselves
give. I repeat it. my dear Helen, ‘who owns
a master, owns himself a slave.’ ”
The first months of this union seemed to
convince Helen that she had but little to fear
from that slavery, from which Madame de
Merval wished to preserve her.
Each day the Baron invented something to
charm his beloved bride, and prove to her his
love.
She alone regulated the household, and or
dered the amusements of the day. All that
she did was well done: all that she said was
charming; all that ih) wished was executed
instantly. Madame de Merval herself could
not forbear congratulating her daughter on
the perfect happiness she enjoyed, and began
to believe she had judged her son-in-law too
harshly.
The Baron was soon after charged by the
minister of foreign affairs with a secret and
delicate commission at the court of Berlin.
He was delighted to carry with him his
young wife, who on her part was charmed
to accompany her husband, so that the hap
piness they had mutually found in their un
ion, would not be interrupted. She left Mad
ame de Merval not without much grief, and
received at parting a last advice on the dan
ger of spoiling a husband, and of lowering
herself in his eyes. Before reaching the first
post, Helen had forgoten this counsel of her
tender and far-sighted mother.
After the most pleasant journey, she was
enraptured to find herself at Berlin, present
ed in the circles of the ambassadors, admit
ted to those of the court, where her noble
and winning demeanor, and her modest dig
nity won for her every heart.
Her love for the Baron increased each day.
No longer restrained by her mother, she lav
ished on him every care and tenderness. Re
moved from Paris, he had need of those kind
nesses and attentions so grateful to an offic
ial man, whose time is so precious, and whose
mind is engaged without relaxation in the
most important labors. Dapremont, natur
ally exacting, was flattered to see himself
anticipated in every wish, and allowed him
self to be spoiled by his wife as much as she
liked. She always adjusted his cravat, per
fumed his handkerchief, and aided him in
putting on his coat. She went so far as to
kneel before him to tie the strings of his
shoes. She had, in a word, assumed the of
fices of a valet, except when recalling the ad
vice of Madame de Merval, she refrained
from this constant attendance, which she had
thoughtlessly imposed on herself.
Dapremont was far from warning her of
this kind of forgetfulness of herself, and ap
peared pleased and gratified. He considered
himself acquitted of all obligation by an ap
proving smile, a kind word, or a timely ca
ress. Helen, who imagined herself becom
ing, by such entire devotion, still more dear
to him" she loved so tenderly, redoubled her
zeal, and ended by causing that to be regard
ed as a duty wnich was only the outpourings
of her love.
Dapremont soon required what delicacy
ought to have made him refuse. He con
strained Helen to preside every day at his
toilet, and ordered her more than oace in a
tone which he ought to have used only to
servants. This despotism, which he now con
stantly exercised in private, led him insensi
bly to despise the real merit of his wife, no
longer allowing her to make the least objec
tion or remonstrance.
Deceived by the angelic sweetness of Helen
and by her never failing modesty, he began
to consider himself vastly her superior, and
measured with arrogance the immense dis
tance which he imagined existed between
them. Hardly would he answer the necessa
ry questions she put to him; always rude or
contemptuous, exacting everything, and dis
satisfied with all, be reached to that degree
of tyranny and irritability which wearies
and "destroys affection, renders marriage mis
erable, and too often changes all its harmony
to the bitterest discord. Helen, far from her
family and country, had only her love for a
support, and her tears for a consolation. It
was in vain the advice of Madame de Mer
val recurred to her, and made her forebode
the long sufferings which must result from
her own weakness. She had not the strength
to overcome it. As a reed beaten down by a
£torm cannot rise again from the wave into
which the wind inces-antly plunges it. Helen
could not brave the imperious tone, the stern
look of Dapremont, and saw herself exposed
to the worst of slavery. Heaven at last took
pity on her affliction.
Dapremont, whose haughtiness had preju-
Anlilttnai, the Oil! Henry t'l
diced certain high personages against him,
on whom the success of his mission depend
ed, was recalled to Paris. He was al.-o on
bad terms with the French ambassador,
whose rank and authority he wished to rival.
The mortification he felt was deep. Helen
was eager to offer him every consolation in
her power: but the pain she felt for him was
softened by the idea of again seeing her
mother, her family and her country. The
j mrney was very disagreeable. She had to
endure more than ever. The Baron was em
bittered bv adversity. Helen in vain re
doubled every attention and kindness: she
was answerer! in a dry, catting tone, some
times even by insulting rudeness, « hich the
poor girl always bore with resignation.
She resolved to affect, in her mother’s pres
ence a happy calmnes--, and to bring back to
her countenance that composure which for
six months had been banished from it. But
however well she disguised what she had suf
fered. nothing escaped the scrutinizing eye
of Madame de Merval. How her daughter
was changed! Her eyes, wliose expression
was usually so soft and frank, seemed dim
med by tears. Her voice trembled with con
stantly suppressed sighs; each word her lips
essayed to utter bore marks of a broken spir
it. It was chiefly in her husband’s presence
that all these indications of .secret suffering
escaped her. She could not overcome, even
before her mother, the kind of terror with
which he inspired her.
“You are not happy,” said Madame de
Merval to her one day. “My dear Helen,
you wear fetters which weigh you down.”
“I, mamma? Think then my chain is dear
to me, that I find under it many advan
tages—”
“Of an elevated rank—of gratified ambi
tion : but there is something wanting, my
child, at your heart. I can read that better
than all others, and in that you cannot de
ceive me.”
Helen was moved by her solicitude, and
could not resist so touchiug an appeal. She
threw herself into her mother’s arms and
burst into tears.
“Come, my poor child, repose on this bos
om, which wifi be as ever your support and
comfort. Helen I have foretold it; the ex
jess of your love has disenchanted your hus
band—the excess of your kindness has made
a despot of him. ”
“It is true, but believe me I still have pow
er over his heart. If my enthusiasm for his
merit has dazzled his vanity, at least I have
preserved his esteem—I will even say his re
spect for my irreproachable conduct and my
devotion.”
“I am far from thinking, my daughter,
that the evil has no remedy. Second me,
Helen, and I promise to recall Dapremont to
the deference due you, and perhaps restore
to you all his love.”
“Oh! mamma, do not have that hope: my
husband has too much pride.”
“You must have as much as he,”
“He is so firm in his resolutions.”
“Be in your turn as immovable in yours.”
“He would be so enraged.”
“Then he would be conquered.”
“He might wish to separate.”
“You would become dearer than ever.”
“He would leave me.”
“Only to return again to your feet.”
Madame de Merval, whose intelligence
equaled her firmness, was well aware a man
would not leave a young wife, gentle, beauti
ful and irreproachable, and whose only fault
was loving him to excess. She feigned then
never to perceive the unreasonableness and
rudeness of her son-in-law, who always re
strained himself in some degree before her.
Helen, on her part, began by preserving an
imperturbable gravity whenever her husband
asked her for such and such things. She al
ways waited on him without delay, but with
out eagerness. If he was irritated even to
forgetfulness of all courtesy, Helen, with
coolness and attention, but without officious
ness, gradually appeased his ill humor.
Our despot was soon weary of his useless
scolding, and ended by asking with modera
tion what he had ordered with vehemence.
This first success emb ddened poor Helen,
who preserved only with fear and effort, that
composure necessary for the execution of his
plans. What rendered Dapremont each day
more irritable was, that he was still received
with coldness and reserve by the minister
The bad success of the mission, with which
he had been charged, had thrown him into
complete disgrace. He wished to exculpate
himself, and prove that it was the French
ambassador at the court of Prussia, who had
fettered his movements. He was furnished
with justifying memorials: but as power al
ways sacrifices the weaker to the stronger,
and as the enemy of the Baron was the de
pository of facts which would compromise
the minister himself, he did not hesitate to
censure the conduct of Dapremont, who re
tired indignant, promising never again to ap
pear as a d iplomatist until he was cleared of
ay Residence,
the charges brought against him, and ac
knowledged worthy the confidence once re
posed in him. This check might change his
1 fortune and stop him in his brilliant career.
Though apparently he seemed to brave it
with courage, his repose was disturbed; his
ambition suffered, though in silence, and his
ill-temper only became more and more in
supportable.
In vain Helen then redoubling her kind
ness and patience, recalled to him many cir-
cu astances which furnished him with a num-
&V of proofs that -might confound his ene
mies and restore him to the esteem and con
fidence of the government. He would hard
ly reply to what she said, listened with con
temptuous abstraction, and could not con
ceive how she could so far forget herself as
to offer him her advice, or point out to him a
plan of conduct. Helen then was silent.
Always guided and strengthened by her
mother, she never anticipated her husband in
the least thing, and followed perseveringly
the path she had marked out for her. One
event appeared to throw an obstacle in the
way of it. Colonel St. Charles, uncle of
Dapremont, and proprietor of a fine'residence
near the village of Sc. Prix, died. Dapre
mont finding himself in disgrace, eagerly
seized this opportunity for quitting Paris.
“Now is the moment,” said Madame de
Merval to her daughter, “for putting the
last stroke and effecting forever the conver
sion so necessary to your happiness. Your
husband, already surprised at no longer re
ceiving from you the attentions to which you
have accustomed him, attributes to me the
change, and anticipates bringing you back to
your old habits as soon as you are separated
from me. Hence he has not proposed to me
to accompany you. You must profit by it
to bring him by degrees to'feel the extent of
your condescension—of your sacrifices, no
longer to despise in you what ought to be the
charm of his existence, or to underrate your
talents, which you hide sometimes with too
much modesty. Remember you have in
your own power the happiness or unhappi
ness of your whole life, and consequently of
mine, if you are an instant softened my
daughter, armed by your weakness, your
husbane will become too overbearing; if you
resist—if you preserv .> that strength which
belongs to you, he will give up, and he will
then become the more dear to you as you
have had pain in softening him.”
Helen promised her mother to execute
punctually what she had pointed out to her,
whatever it might cost her loving and timid
heart. She then set off for St. Prix with
D ipremont. who was delighted to carry
away his submissive wife alone, and take her
from under the watchful eye and counsels of
Madame de Merval. He soon resumed his
rudeness and unreasonableness. Helen was
in some degree obliged to perform some of
the offices of valet de chambre for him. But
she no longer anticipated his wishes or
caprices. She did only what he asked, only
what he ordered—but that was a great deal.
However, this slight resistance did not suf
fice. She must have the courage to refuse
him whenever he required anything too un
reasonable or too humiliating to her whose
title he ought to respect and whose goodness
he ought to admire. Helen was tempted a
hundred times to execute this bold plan.
She only waited for an occasion in wnich,
without wounding her husband too deeply,
she could make him feel his ridiculous des
potism. Accident favored her wishes. Dap
remont was passionately fond of hunting.
The neighboring forest of Montmorency en
abled him to gratify castes which contributed
so much to health. So as soon as the great
hunt began he went out in the morning and
did not return until night, when he was tired,
harassed, and too often in a detestible humor.
One day he went through the forest as far as
Chanvrey in the rain without meeting any
game; he came back fatigued, muddied up to
his knees and chilled to the bone. Helen in
stantly made him change his clothes and lav
ished on him all those cares which ahealih
dear to her would demand. After a little
while Dapremont threw himself on a sofa,
extended his leg all covered with mud, and
said roughly to his wife, “Take off my gait
ers.” Sne pretended at first not to hear him,
but gathering all her strength and rearftnat-
ing her courage, she determined, though not
without heart-failing, at last to give her in
corrigible husband the lesson which he
deserved. “Well,” resumed he, more rudely
still, “do you not hear me? take off my
gaiters.”
Helen looked at him from head to foot,
rang the bell and said to the servant who
entered, “Take off your master's gaiters.”
Dapremont colored and appeared utterly as
tonished. This was the first time his wife
had ever dared resist him. and though she
was alone, separated from her mother, her
tone, her attitude, her accent, all announced
a firm and decided resolution. Whilst the
servant was unbuttoning his gaiters, he fixed
on Heieh a severe look, which she was not
able to endure, and afraid of destroying the
effect of her courageous effort, she went out
and descended to the drawing room. Dapre
mont did not appear there during the whole
evening. He sent to inform her that over
come with fatigue he had retired. Helen
sent several times to inquire what he wanted,
but under pretext of not disturbing him, she
denied herself the pleasure of going into his
apartment. He spent nearly all the night
reflecting on the strange change which had
cerns over his wife. She on her part did not
cease to think of what she had done. She
dreaded irritating her husband, wounding
his pride or braving his authority. She sent
directly the next morning to ask after him.
He replied he had passed a most restless
night, and complained of a bad sore throat.
Helen went instantly to him and gave him
every care the most attentive wife could be
stow. The sweet attentions which she lav
ished on him at this moment, as much from
habit as from affection, charmed the baron
aud made him think the poor slave had re
sumed her chains. She felt again that over- !
bearing scorn, that rudeness which he had
made her endure so often, which she had in
creased by that kind of self-denial which bad
made him believe that there existed between
his wife and himself a distance which she had
neither the right nor the power to pass.
After having worn out the patience of Helen,
he rose, made his toilet, and presented
as usual, one of his feet to his wife for
her to tie his shoe. He would have been
glad to see her kneel again at his feet to ex- .
piate in some 1 manner her audacity of the
day before. But what was his surprise to see !
her cast a most dignified look on him, and |
ringing for the servant, to whom she said as
she went out: “Fasten your master’s shoes,
and hereafter always do it.” So marked a
repetition of her offense no longer allowed
Dapremont to doubt that his wife had seri
ous intentions of freeing herself from the
servitude in which he had so long retained
her. Then comparing this dignified refusal
with the tender care which she had eagerly
paid in [the morning to soothe his sufferings,
he could but acknowledge that however ready
to perform the duties of an amiable and de
voted wife, she wished at the same time to
preserve her own dignity, These thoughts
threw him into a profound revery. He
shunned Helen during the whole day, dined
in the neighborhood, returned at night
silent and thoughtful and retired to his
apartment, where the whole night was a com
bat between pride and love, censure and ap
probation. This night was not Jess agitat
ing for Helen. Her resistance appeared to
her rash; she feared to have wounded his
impetuous character, his unconquerable van
ity too deeply. She almost repented having
obeyed her mother so exactly, and it was
not without terror that she saw Dapremont ;
enter her chamber tbe next morning. A
dark and preoccupied air marked his whole
figure; his step was that of a man who wishes
to conceal the trouble of his mind. At last,
fixing his eye6 on Helen, who instantly low
ered hers, he said to her in an altered voice:
“Madame, we must go to Paris directly, fol
low me.” He went out after these words,
followed bv his young wife, pale, downcast,
and convinced she had lost forever a heart
which she now regretted not having treated
with more caution What confirmed her in
this suspicion was that during the whole
route from St. Prix to Paris, Dapremont
never spoke to her once, or showed her the
least attention. He was the whole time
thoughtful and as if occupied with some
great design; he ordered the driver to urge
on his horses, arrived at “Madame Merval’s
door, where he deposited Helen, and gaining
the comer of the street disappeared from
her sight. Helen ascended trembling to
Madame Merval’s apartment, and related to
her with detail all that had happened.
“Oh! my mother, what have we done?’
“What our sex’s dignity, my daughter,
and your lawful rights imposed on us.”
“I have lost the heart of my husband for
ever.”
“Because he was always unworthy thine.”
“He will be divorced.”
“He will break your chains.”
“How can I support such a misfortune?”
“In saying ‘I have not deserved it;’ in sub
mitting to it with resignation.”
“But how can I bear it?’
“By thinking there remains to you tbe
esteem of g od men and the tenderness of
your mother.”
While Madame de Merval and her daugh
ter opened their hearts to each other and ex
pressed all their fears, Dapremont had gme
to the house of the minister of foreign rela- j
tions, from whom he had received a note in
the morning, which had caused his abrupt
departure.
“I have expected you with impatience,”
said the minister, extending his hand toward
him. “I have committed an act of injustice
One Year. 92.50,
Single Copy, 5c.
- NO. 257
which I am eager to repair. Some men in
power, jealous of your merit, have meditated
your destruction; but the proofs as strong as
evident inclosed in your memorial ”
“What memorial, my lord? I must con
fess, that despairing of ever unmasking
my enemies, I have neveV submitted any
thing to the examination of your Excellency.”
“Then some one has done it for you with
out your knowledge—read for yourself.”
He placed in his hands quite a long writ'
ing. At the first glance the baron recognized
the writing as that of his wife.
“The person who drew it up,” continued
the minister, “must have been one who fol
lowed you in your embassy, and knew all the
particulars of it. It is impossible to have
defended you with more strength or clear
ness. It could not be better proved that your
conduct has been irreproachable. Receive
your reward In the title of envoy to the
court of Saxony. And that nothing may
henceforth fetter your movements in the im
portant mission about to be intrusted to you,
you will communicate directly with me.”
Dapremont almost believed himself in a
dream. No longer doubting that Helen had
drawn up this memorial which gave him
back at once fortune and honor, he hastened
to rejoin her. He reached Madame de Mer
val’s house, sought her everywhere, asked
everybody for her. He at last penetrated
into the apartment of Madame de Merval,
where he found her much terrified by the
noise he had made in entering.. She per
ceived the expression of joy in his face. She
saw his eyes fixed on her with an inexpres
sible charm of love and gratitude. She felt
him press her hands to his heart, and carry
them to his lips. He at last pronounced these
words:
“Helen, dear Helen, how have I mistaken
thee.”
The precipitation with which he had as
cended the stairs, the emotion he felt, did not
allow him to explain himself. Helen passed
suddenly from terror to the sweetest emo
tions of joy, questioned Dapremont, and
wished to know the cause of this unhoped-for
change.
“I come from the house of the minister,”
said he, “and this memoir, written by your
hand ”
“Heavens!” cried Helen, “have I then suc
ceeded?”
She confessed that seeing her husband a
victim to calumny, which be had vainly at
tempted to destroy, and ayhich would make
the whole of his life unh^pny, she had da’-ed
for the first time to allow her pen to obey the
impulse of her heart. She added that after
she had collected some important documents
which the baron had left pele mele on his
desk, she had employed the moments in which
she was alone to draw up this justification of
her husband: that she had confided this me
moir to one who had promised to give it him
self to the minister.
“And thus,” said Dapremont, “whilst I
made yoif submit to humiliation for which I
blush; "while I confounded you with the weak
minds whose lot it is to crouch and to obey,
you elevated yourself above women of your
age, you overcame my enemies, you saved my
honor. My good angel, receive here the new
oath I make you, to love you. to honor you
as the model of your sex. Helen, in resum
ing your dignity you have restored me mine;
and you, my mother,” said he to Madame de
Merval, who shared the joy of her daughter,
“you it is to whom we owe the happiness
which now binds us together forever, enjoy
your work!”
With these words he embraced both moth
er and daughter, a 1 d they mingled their
tears of joy. Helen felt such deep emotions
of surprise and pleasure that she could not
speak. She looked with tenderness alter
nately on her mother and husband.
“I was very sure,” said Madame de Merval,
“that the course I reco amended would suc
ceed. Beauty, youth and true merit have
too much empire over tbe heart of man.
You cannot cherish too much, my child, the
husband your courage has restored you; your
gentleness has conquered, your writing has
revenged: but take care not to spoil hint
again, and never forget what I now repeat
to you for the last time, ‘Who owns a mas
ter owns himself a slave.’ ”
Grave of John Howard I*avne.
[Tunis (Africa) Letter to Boston Transcsipt.]
I must tell you of our visit to the Protest
ant cemetery, to see the grave of John How
ard Payne, the immortal author of “Home,
Sweet Home.” This man, who never knew
the joys of real home, died alone and un
happy in this far off land. We called upon
our American Consul at. Tunis, who told us of
some interesting things in connection with
the last years of our unfortunate country
man, who died in the same room in which we
were then sitting.
In a small enclosure, planted with cypress
trees and shut in with high walls, we found
this quiet resting place of the dead, among
many tombs of foreign consuls. English, Ger-
man and other nationalities. Our attention
was first attracted to the plain white marble
slab, resting on a square foundation, and
overhung by an immense pepper tree, whose
long, graceful branches reminded us of the
weeping willow of our own land. We stood
with uncovered heads as we read this simple
inscrip Jon:
John Howard Payne,
Twice Consul of the United States,
Died April i, 1802.
Born at Boston, June 8, 1792.
Sure, when thy gentle spirit fled
To rea'ms hpyond the azure dome,
With arms outstretched God’s angel said.
"Welcome to Heaven’s Home, Sweet Home.”
The Oriole.
; last Westminster Review tells of a
n oriole in South Africa, which builds
st on a branch overhanging a stream,
le purpose of avoiding snakes, it is sup-
After a considerable amount of con-
:ion between the pair of birds, the male
1 to build the nest, when the female, as
as it was partly done, tore it quite in
5. The nest was again commenced,
the female tore it down as before, not
ng a single thread on the bough. The
appeared angry, bat selected another
h and built again, and the mother bird
ed the nest, laid her eggs and hatched
oung. The reason appeared to be that
lother thought the bough was too stiff
ras probably strong enough to support
ke, while the second was more slender,
core birds Are studied the more beauti-
ley seem.