THE EXAMINER.

stances romantic as true, are almost daily occurring which illustrate this fact. ‘T’omake the world perfect, :t is only necessary that man’s faith should equal wo-

man’s devotedness. _— We find the following affectmg details in a late num-

ber of the Courrier des Elats Unis, translated trom the Courrier Francais. ‘The narrative is by M. Emille de Girardin, and is youched for as being corréct in every respect : ; 3 About a year ago, said he, M. Beligue was married to one of my cousins, and enjoyed with her that com- plete happiness which does not excite envy, because we believe it to be within the reach of us all, when a cruel malady came to interrapt this happiness which would be more common, perhaps, if it were not supposed so easy to be acquired. The physicians called this mala- dy—hepasoanteritis. My young cousin being on the int of confinement, was kept in her bed, carefully guarded by her mother, who endeavoured to deceive her with regard to the health of her husband. At length when she had been thus watched over for three days, her anxious tenderness became exeited, she threw herself from her bed, and rushed into his chamber—it was deserted. Four days before her husband had died, and she did not know it. Her grief lent her strength. Grief has two eee and despair. Which is the least painful to endure? Half naked, her clothes in disorder, no longer conscious of her condition, Madame de Beligue rushed through the burrough; her friends eaw her pass, she walked with a steady step. They were astonished, and songht the cause of these mad proceedings. She reached the spot, the hammers of| two workmen were falling upon a grave stone which they were carving neara tomb, the freshly turned up earth of which still rose above the other graves. The name of Clemence, which she bore, was already en- #taven tipon the stone, below the inscription which re- corded the good qualities of the Baron of Beligue—t “marechal des camys et armees, del ordre de Saint Louis, é&c. &c. With precipitate gesture she motioned them away. ‘They stared at her without understanding her. She made a last effort to speak, but her tears choked her. She no longer retained her senses, but her bare throat, which was violently agitated, the writhings of her delicate arms, attested the extremest degree of suaffer- ing. Life was receding before the extremity éf her tor-| ture. This painful exhaustion was succeeded by a frightful delirium. She overthrew the cradle of her new born babe, whose birh she so much desired,

LINES.

Where shall we male her grave ? Oh! where the wild flowers wave In the free air! Where shower and singing bird Midst the young leaves are heard— There—lay her there!

Harsh was the world to her! Now may sleep minister Balm for each ill. Low on sweet nature’s breast Let the meek heart find rest, Deep, deep and still!

Murmur glad waters by! _ Famt gales with happy sigh | Come wandering o’er That green and mossy bed Where, on a gentie head, Storms beat no more!

What though forherinvain Falls now the bright spring rain, , Plays the soft wind ? Yet still from where she lies — Should blessed breathing nse, Gracious and kind.

Therefore Jet song and dew Thence in the heart renew Life’s vernal glow! And o’er that holy earth Scents of the violet’s birth Still come and go.

Oh! then where wild flowers wave, Make ye her mossy grave In the free air! Where shower and singing bird Midst the young leaves are heard-~ There—lay her there!

Mapame Lamantine.—The wife of Lamartine is an English lady, whose maiden name was Birch. We

longer in the bloom of youth, she became passionately enamored of Lamartine from the perusal of his ‘ Medi- tations.’ Becoming apprised, from the newspaper state-

Sleep had closed her eyes for a single moment—all at once she aroused herself, crying out, ‘No, he cannot)

have died without my being near hin! be is not dead,|immediately wrote to him with an offer of the loan of

J shall see him again.’ This thought became fixed in) hew brain—she pressed her hand wp on her forehead,

ter looks became animated, and she attempted to rise.|appeared that Lamartine was so touched at this proof of Her mother, on her knees, souglit in vain to oppose her. |

They were compelled to follow her, She rejects their.

pretexts, she is conducted by an inspiration, her resolu-|

tion cannot be shaken.—* My poor dauvhter is mad!) exclaimed the mother, who wept in despair. Clemence’ threw her mantle over her shoulders and set out. Her! ynother, unable to retam her, accompanied her. Two domestics followed them. It was not yet four, by the) clock of the Manse. ‘hey had already opened the | shutters of all the dwellings. ‘hey day jabourers were setting out with their wallets and tools—for in summer, in haying time, the labours of the field commence early, end these things transpired in the month of July. The gravelly earth which covered the coftin of M. de Beti- gue was light and easily removed. Clemence assisted | with all her strength, and the coffin is soon uncovered, ' Dreadful spectacle! She threw herself upon the corpse, which she covered with tears and kisses. She raised him and pressed him to her bosom; and her terrified sncther could not drag her away. ‘They ran to call the worthy cure of Montrelais. Perhaps Clemence would listen to his voice and his pious exhortations. Through all the borough rumour spread that Madame de Be-| liugue was mad, and that she ought to be buried alive! with her husband. Women and children began to col-, lect. The cry of*Oh! my God? was heard. All ap- proach: Madame de Beligue has fallen back fainting. They sought to disengage her from the corpse. It was not dead !—it breathed !—and yet four days had it been interred. ‘They were terrified—some passing round, others dispersing, crying, ‘A miracle? The dying Cle- sence is forgotten. The Cure comes. It is necessary! iO remove the crowd, whose impiety is yet no proof) against their superstition. Clemence is taken to the Manse. There is no longer room for doubt. M. de Be- sigue ls not dead. His pulse is restored; his whole

ody is found to move. They wrap him ap. Two jioure are spentin bestowing upon him their care—at iength he comes out entirely from the horrible lethargy which had continued his existpnce in the grave. He, in tarn, now demands his wife. She had ceased to live! Death had let one prey escape him only to seize upon another. She was, indeed, dead! Poor Clemence! So young and so Jovely ! so artless and so overflowing with soodness ! Anotlier might, perhaps, describe these things! hetter than { have done: but no words can picture the}

despair of M. Beligne. Grief restoréd hin to all his! fucuities. He would have resigned himself to death, he would, have regretted his escape from it, had not the'

the necessity of calling a meeting of his creditors, she

the whole of her fortune, unconditionally, and with the smallest possible reserve for her own immediate wants, It

gencrosity, that he immediately set out to throw him- self at the feet of his benefactress. Believing that such unsought interest could have its mainspring in one sentiment alone, he chivalrously resolved to make her an offer of his hand and heart. The pair were soou afier married, the fortune ofthe bride amply repairing every breach which youthful extravagance had made in that of her husband. She is remarkable for her religi- ous enthusiam, and is very popular with the priests, from whose influence, it is said, Lamartine has derived a good deal of support.

A Rerormine Porr.—Before Pius IX. applied the axe to the numberless abnses which ke found spreading even to the very steps of his throne, he commenced with that which was nearest to him, his own household. Sixty herses were fattening in the royal stables, * These are too many by half? said the Pope, and thirty of them were immediately sold for the benefit of the poor of the city. His establishment he also reduced to the number absolutely necessary. Enormous sums had been Javish- ed in kéeping up the pontificial gardens, he modified the system without in the least degree derogating from their beauty or utility. ‘I am a priest of Jesus’ he said to his clerk of the kitchen, and not a Lucullus. Serve me in future as a poor priest.’ From that day his table has been furnished with only three plain dishes and very ordinary wine. After a long conversation with Cardinal Gizzi one evening, upoa the subject of the reforms he contemplated, he asked for some lemenade. His vaiet retired to give the necessary orders, and in the course of a few minutes the servants entered bearing two splendid gilt trays, laden with refreshments of every description, and prepared as if by enchantment. ‘I only asked for some lemonade,’ said the sovereign pontif— ‘It is true, most holy father, they replied; ‘ but we have only conformed to the prescribed ceremonial, and ac-

cording to custom, have to offer to your holiness these |

various refreshments.’—* Very well,’ replied ihe pope. —‘ Be good enongh to bring mea lemon.’ It was brought immediately. ‘Now give me the sugar, and a glass of water.” Then, having made the lemonade, he added, ‘Take away these dishes; distribute the refreshments they contain to the first poor persons you find upon the place of the Monte Cavallo; give each of them ten bai- acci, and for the future never offer me anything beyond

lthat for which L ask. Go!—Life of Pius IX.

_ Aw Exasrnation.—‘ Speaking of the Established Church in Ireland, and the contrast between its past and

ment, of the embarrassed condition of his affairs, and of

enjoyment of an excellent living in the gift of his lord. ship. The bishop to whom he applied for ordination hag expressed some fears that Barry’s theological knowled

was not sufficient for the crdinary duties of the pulpit, and recommended further study to the postalant,'’ Not long afterwards Barry was ordained, and appointed ty the living. A friend who knew him intimately, asked how he had contrived to get over the examination? ‘Oh, very well, indeed,” replied the Reverend Mr, ; ‘The Bishop was very good natured, and did not puzzle

'}me with many questions.’ ‘ But what did he ask you?

inquired the other. ‘Why, he asked me who wag the greater Mediator between God and man, and I made. rough guess, and said it was the Archbishop of Canter. bury.’—Daunt’s O’ Connell. |

Dirricuuty.--Walk up Jike a man to look difficulty in the face. Don’t be seared out of your, wits, or tremble like a school-boy, ready to be flogged. Have you ever been down--clear down in the mud—and stuck. there? The moment you plucked up courage and gave a spring, |were you not surprised at the change that came.over your spirits?. Did you not feel like a mew-me better-created man? You did, we know. And now, even now, since you have been taught better by sour experience, you are inthesuds again. The sun hashid away, and a black veil covers the face of nature, Shall the past lesson be forgotten? Don’t be a sucking, but show yourself a man, and face the difficulty, in what- ever shape it has come. Rise from your ge forward, and keep right on, and you will again be sur- prised at the change which four and twent wonap vit

roduce. Or if you prefer it, stick fast in the mud, and let the bloodsuckers and poliwogs kick you to death.

Pourcatory vrs. Matrimony.— a way, the ‘ghost of the departed’ reminds me of Joe Kelly’s ghost coming to his wife. ‘Molly, says he, *f’m in purgatory af this present,’ sayshe. * And what sort of a place is it” says she. ‘ Faix, says he, ‘it’s a sort of half-way house between you and heaven,’ says Joe, ‘and I stand it mighty aisy after laving you, says he.

Tue Lazy Cius.—There was formerly (I know not of its present existence,) in the town of B——, not a thousand miles from Worcester, Mass., a duly organis- ed association of anti-workies, under the name and style,

learn from the Manchester Guardian, that, while no/;, legislative par'ance, of the‘ B—— Lazy Club.” Over

the beautiful common in the centre of the village one of the members of the club was seen on a certain time, riding on horseback ai full speed. This being in direct violation of the bye-laws, he was called up before the club to answer for this misdemeanor. He frankly con fessed as to the speed, but exonerated himself , from blame by stating that the bridle reins having accidentally fallen on the neck of bis horse, he chose to be run away with, even at the hazard of his neck, rather than take the trouble to pick up the reins again, He was declared to be a worthy inember!

‘A wowan’s heart is an abyss,’ snid a philosopher.

‘If it be an abyss, it must be a very pleasant one,’ re- plied his friend, * since every man is impatient to throw himself into it.’

Nor Carcutne,—Somebody cribs the following item froin somewhere :

‘Come and see me,’ said a young man to a friend, whose appearance was rather poverty-stricken, ‘come and see me in my new lodgings, it overlooks a boarding school of the loveliest girls—so I pass the whole day at my window, and have hopes of being before long--you understand.’ * My poor fellow, said the friend, tapping his vest pocket, without eliciting the slightest metallic chink—+ My dear fellow, I have been living five years close to the Bank of France, but you see it has done no good.’

PROTRACTED LOVE,

‘] love you,’ oft the youth did say ; ‘{ love you,’ oft the maiden sighed ; Thus echoed both from day to day, Till one waxed old, the other—died.

LANDSCAPE.

The moisten’d Jowlands, delicately clear; Through the thin haze and morning gleam appear; On the smooth herbage cattle graze or sleep,

The neatherds by the rushy streamvet keep

Their quiet watch, until the day expire,

And slanting sunbeams gild the village spire.

Unexamptep Generosity.—Mr, Warren, the author of Ten Thousand a- Year, in the course of a recent lec- ‘ture in the hal] of the London Law Society, recounted the following incident :—‘ A short time ago,’ said Mr. Warren, ‘a gentleman of large fortune—a man, in fact, worth -his £40,000, was indignant with his only child, daughter, for marrying against his wishes. He qusr- relled with her, he disinherited her, he left his whole property of £40,000 to his attorney, and to two other gentlemen, all of whom were residing in Yorkshire. What did the attorney do? He went to his two co- legatees, got them to sign their respective claims over to himself, and then made over every sixpenee of the '£40,000 té the daughter and her children !—When I }mentioned this circumstance this very morning tou

sf hin ) ; ; ; . m* bh fue aie : TT ames : he . euild, which they placed in his arms, needed him,| present ministers, le related an incident ilinstrative of| friend of mine, one of the most distinguished men at

—his own child, whom he kissed for the first time,—|

Episcopal * good nature.” A Mr. Barry, brother of Lord,

the bar, he exelaimed, ‘God bless that man” The

what stronger tie’could bind him to life? And what! Barrymore, had, in the course of the last century, been| above gratifying cireumstance is literally true. Thee idesirgue to qtialify himself—by taking orders—for the! gentleman of fortune was a mancfactures 19 8 lowe ce:

eva sever that tie save death alone?

~~ .