Year: 1873

But [ tell you it must come decently


and in its own time The empress must


and [ know will, see how wise it is to re-
spect accomplished facts-to unite the
party. To quarrel with the Prince Ma
poleon now would be to ruin the party.
He would become on clement of discord,
and, Withdrawing from the party, would


aim for political power in an indepen-
| dent capacity"


"Then," | said, d" there will be no


move in the way of a coup 6'etGt ?"
''Oh, never !" was the response.


''That was a mistake, or rather, per-
| haps, q necessity, which history has
called crime. No dynasty can repeat
this kind of a mistake. You might as
we'll expect another shooting of the
Due d'Enghien. No-the furious elc-
ment in the Bonaparte party has died
out The empire will return when
France demands it. >"


"And when will that be ?" I asked.


when? Mon Dieu Once the
spring brought the violets but I am
afraid the violets do not always return
with the spring"


The Memory of the Departed.


may safely say that there are very
few in the world but what have lost some
friend or relation. And as we return
from the tolls and labor of the day, and
sit in the ever beautiful summer twi-
light, our thoughts will fly swiftly
backwards to the days when some who
have now passed away were among the
living, and the sunshine of prosperity
shOne in their pathway and we think
how we laughed with them in their Joy,
and shed tears and sympathized with
them in their sorrow. And, as we think,
the thoughts come crOwding each other
thicker and closer; the great tear drops
slowly chace each other down our
cheeks, and our hearts will grow sor-
rOwful.


But again we think how sweetly they
lived, and died an ornament to the army
OF the Lord I'VE are stimulated by their
example and their labors, and it cheers
our fainting, dropping hearts, and we
resolve to 90 on and live better. Aye,
L tell you the memory of the departed
is a blessing to the soul!


How sweet lesson We can learn from
little things i'll themselves, and yet
forming events in our history, the |
memory of which will never fade


How sweet, sometimes, at the close of |
a summers day, to wander through some |
old country churchyard where the |
tombstOnes are OvergrOwn with moss, |
and the halo of olden times hang gsacred- |
ly around the place; and, as we pass
along, STOPPING every now and then to |
read some time-worn, half-effaced in |
scription Of some friends tombstone, |
we meet with some simple line that |
strikes right through the outer crust of |
humanity, reaches our heart, and makes |
an impression that no after years of
toll and endeavor" can ever efface.


And how we love to linger around the |
grave of the little one that was the angel |
of our boyhood days, and water it with
our tears, and sit beside it and muse
upon the past and is it not. ask,
blessed thing, the memory of that one
departed? "Ah yes" you matter-of
fact man may say, "that it is all very
nice to put in print, but such feelinngs
never trouble me-


Well, I pity you; for any man that
can't feel it must have desolate heart
indeed. Why, the moments or days we
spend in such holy reflection are never
lost. Such thoughts are not always
with us, and no tears will ever flow half
so freely in after life Although friends
may fail us, and the world trample
upon us, the memory of the departed is
a blessing fOrever.-H'UiHg.