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-A* 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.