1824'.] Stephensiana, 



gentleman, in a postscript to one of his 

 loiters: — " P.S. Talking- of thinking, I 

 must (ell }ou, that 1 have had many 

 lonif and serious conversations here, 

 witli Mr. Silas Deanc, a thinking man, 

 ii sensible man, and, I think, a wcii- 

 incaning man ; hul yet he lias so con- 

 trived it, thnt he cannot trust his person 

 either in America, France, or Great 

 Britain. He is a piece ol'a Scotclinian,* 

 was a sclioolmaster in some interior 

 town in America, the same where Betty 

 Canning, of infamous memory, was 

 married to a simple man of small for- 

 tune, and where, Mr. Deanc says, she 

 was treated with tliat contempt iluo to 

 an idle trapes, « !io told an idle story, 

 not much more absuxi than that told 

 l>y Archibald Bower, and his escape 

 from the Inquisition, twenty years bc- 

 lorc."— 2<Z edit. p. 297. 



CONDAMINE, 



Was a great stickler for inoculation. 

 " lietermine for yourselves, (cried he ;) 

 but know, tliat Nature takes one in ten, 

 and Art one in a thousand." 



THE CEMETEUY OF PARtS. 



When at Paris, I used often to stroll 

 beyond the Barrierc, and wander at 

 dusk over the quarried heights of Mont- 

 Martre. After a day of busy wonder 

 and tiresome curiosity, one may thus 

 feel a little mental repose, listening to 

 the sweeping flaps of the many mills 

 which the cold breezes of the night set 

 into commercial activity ; or seeking to 

 trace, by the fugitive rays of the widen- 

 ing moon, one of the hasty trenches that 

 were there sunk, diversely, as the Allies 

 a[tproaclied Paris, or to mark one of 

 those rude mounds, here and there 

 thrown over a lew of the bodies that fell 

 in the skirmishes of the day. I was 

 very fond of the Cimetiere, which lies a 

 little lower, and like it far better than 

 I'cro la Chaise: it is an humbler haunt; 

 nor idle art nor fashion li.uc spoiled its 

 religious effect. The ground is uneven, 

 — its arrangement neither formal nor 

 particular; the trees droop unjjruncd 

 and irregular ; the (lowers are fewer 

 and wilder ; and the foot at times will 

 crush a weed. If I die in Paris, I 

 shall lie in Mont-Marlre: indeed, one 

 were ill content to let land lie waste 

 round every church, were it not for the 

 impressive lesson which that spot, so 



No. XXV II. 



14J 



Tliis is evidently a mistake. 



solitary and so sacred, reads to every 

 passenger. For the rude breast or cul- 

 tivated mind, what can be more stirring 

 than the feelings which spring from that 

 mixture of man's neglect and luxuriant 

 nature? The nionldering tomb and the 

 green yard's fertility edify and mend 

 more than a saint's voice could move. 

 As I entered the gate one Jiiglit, thcro 

 was a man fixedly bent over a recent 

 tomb, on a little slope to the left. His 

 figure was good, and emotion gave grace 

 to his position, as iie stood mourning in 

 lull dress. As I observed, an elderly 

 man brushed by, and, with an earnest 

 look, seemed to reproach my want of 

 respect for the decency of grief. I 

 bowed, and advanced. " Monsieur's 

 state, (he remarked, as in explanation, 

 pointing backwards his thumb,) is in- 

 deed deplorable: a few months ago, 

 after a long and adverse suit of love, 

 he was hap])y in the arms of a doting 

 bride, and already his merit seems 

 doomed to follow her beauty to the 

 grave." I sat awliile musing on a stone, 

 until the keeper's loud voice roused me 

 from the spot. At that dark hour, over 

 a scene so lonely, his voice sounded 

 almost ominously: ^' Eiferme la portc, 

 — Alors, alors, euferme.^'' In a mo- 

 ment a pistol reported, and, as I hur- 

 ried to the gate, I beheld the young 

 widower's bleeding form supported in a 

 soldier's arms. His brains dripped 

 foully on the purity of the marbled 

 tomb over which he had wept, and a 

 pistol lay smoking at his feet. Already 

 he struggled in the last agony of death. 

 On the tomb was twined a wreath of 

 the flower everlasting, over which 

 fiiipped a paper inscribed with these 

 verses: — 



Saliit,reste sacrfd'iuie trop chere ei)oiise ! 

 Ke^ois de tes vertiis ce tribut so- 



leranel : 

 Pardoniie, iJe ton soit si mon ^nie est 



jalouse, 

 C'est que la niort du juste est im ealine 



etcrnel. Jeudi, liiJeuillet,lii'^l. 

 TransUUion. 

 Hail ! most sacred remain of all life gave 



to love, 

 One last deed of devotion my sad soul 



woidd prove ; 

 And if jealous it pine, oh! forgive mails 



woes. 

 You showed me, love, death was long last- 

 ing repose. 



ORIGINAL 



