in treating of the conditions requisite for human health. Already the Times has devoted its powerful advocacy to the question, and, we trust, the day is not far distant when the Legislature will enact a law promulgating the entire prohibition of intramural interment in all towns and cities. Such a measure is imperatively called for, not less by the proper concern which we owe to the living, than by the due respect which we owe to the dead.

mediately summons the sexton or his assistant, who are always in attendance by night and by day. These are properly educated as to all the requisites necessary for the recovery of suspended animation; although, we believe, no cases have yet occurred where their services in this respect have heen required. The corpse is generally conveyed from the home to the receiving house in the early morning, or in the quiet of evening, and the interment takes place generally a few days after, attended by only the nearest relatives of the deceased. There is a solemnity about this last sad office, when performed away from the noise and bustle of the crowd, such as is not observed in the interments occurring in the heart of our large towns, where the mourning procession is often jostled by indifferent strangers, each passing on his own way, about his own business, and which, not improbably, by the familiarity of the sight, thus tends to stifle all proper respectful and reverential feeling in the mind of the beholders.

Continental nations have already set us a beneficial example in the interment of their dead. On the outskirts of nearly every German town that we have visited, we have found a public cemetery, situated in some pleasant spot, the grounds of which are neatly laid out, planted with trees and shrubs, and the graves of the dead generally set about with flowers. This is the case at Frankfort, Munich, Mayence, and all the towns along the Rhine. The burying ground there is designated the Friedhof, or Peace Yard-how beautifully descriptive the name! We remember distinctly a neatly laid-out cemetery, about a mile from the comparatively small town of Coblentz, planted with ever-green trees and shrubs, the walks nicely trimmed and gravelled, the graves bordered with daisies, many of them planted with pinks and carnations, and roses, which were then in full bloom. Here was a newly-covered grave, on which a rose, just planted, had scarcely yet had time to take root, marking the peaceful resting place of one who had died only a short week ago. Near to this was another enclosure, where the flowers were strong and flourishing, giving indication of several years' steady growth. The inscription on the cross, in which form most of the stones are erected, informs you that he who lies beneath died some four years ago; and some kind mother, sister, or child, has just visited the grave and trimmed the flowers which bloom upon it. But here is another: the grave of one who died twenty years ago; still the flowers which crown that grave are as neatly trimmed as if he had died but yesterday. Beautiful and most touching is that tender respect for the ashes of the dead which is displayed by the appearance of these German burial-grounds! There were some four or five English graves in the Coblentz Friedhof. One had come to the Rhine country in search of health, and found a grave instead, he was thus sternly arrested on his pleasure-tour; another, a youth, had been accidentally drowned in the Rhine; a third was the grave of a young wife, whose husband had erected a handsome tablet to her memory, which Time had already half-defaced; a fourth was that of "Maurice Fitzgerald, son of the Knight of Kerry." It was pleasant to observe that the graves of these English dead were as well cared for as the others; -there where they lay in that peaceful German burialground, the roses were blooming over their graves instead of the nettle and burdock, which are too often the only ornamenst of our country grave-yards at home. Another very beautiful Friedhof is that formed several years ago, about a mile and a half outside the town of Mayence. It is neatly laid out, the most prominent object in it being a fine monument, under which are interred 150 veteran soldiers, officers and privates, natives of the town, their names and services being inscribed in gold letters, and the whole being surmounted by a statue of the general under whom they served. Here also, as in the cemeteries of other German towns, is the house appointed for the reception of the dead, generally within twenty-four hours after their death. The corpse is removed from the home, and a cause of contagion and the further spread of the disease, is thus removed; while, in the event of life not being quite extinct, every means of restoral are at hand, and immediately put in requisition, in the house of reception in which the body is deposited. The deceased is laid on a bier in a room properly warmed, and a rope, attached to which is a bell, placed in the hand, the slightest movement of which im

Cemeteries have been established outside of all the principal towns in the United States. To some of these cemeteries an horticultural garden is attached; the garden walks of which, though decorated, are kept apart. These cemeteries are places of public resort, and are there observed, as in other countries, to have a powerful effect in soothing the feelings of those who have departed friends, and in refining the feelings of all. At Constantinople, the place of promenade for the Europeans is the cemetery at Pera, which is planted with cypress, and has a delighful position on the side of a hill overlooking the Golden Horn. The greatest public cemetery attached to that capital is at Scutari, which forms a beautiful grove, and disputes in attraction, as a place for readers, with the fountains and cloisters of the Mosques. In Russia also, nearly every town of importance has its burial-place at a distance from the town, laid out by the architect of the Government; it is always well planted with trees, and is frequently ornamented with good pieces of sculpture. And we do not see that forms of beauty are at all inappropriate in a place set apart for the reception of the dead. We may possibly err by viewing death in too gloomy a light; if we regard it as one of the necessary conditions of existence, as necessary, indeed, to give a due relish to life, as Dr. Thomas Brown has shown, we might abate in our gloom, and draw more cheerful, salutary lessons from its advent. The early Christians inculcated that death should not be accompanied by mourning. Cyprian thought that no sorrow at all was to be expressed for the death of a Christian, nor, consequently, any signs of sorrow, such as mourning habits, because the death of a Christian was only the transition of him to Heaven. Indeed, it is a not unusual practice in some parts of Germany for the people to hold festivals twice a year over the graves of their friends. At Munich, the festival on All Saints' Day, is described as one of the most extraordinary spectacles that are to be seen in Europe. The tombs are decorated in the most remarkable manner, with flowers, natural and artificial, branches of trees, canopies, pictures, sculptures, and every conceivable object that can be applied to ornament or decorate. The decorations generally occupy several days previous to the festival; and during the whole of All Saints' Day, and the day following, the cemetery is visited by nearly the entire population of Munich, including the sovereign, who goes there on foot, and many strangers from distant parts. Sometimes not less than 50,000 persons have walked round the cemetery in one day.

The poet Wordsworth, in a paper on the subject, first published by Coleridge, thus advocates the practice of extra-mural interment:-"In ancient times," he says, "as is well known, it was the custom to bury the dead beyond the walls of towns and cities, and among the Greeks and Romans they were frequently interred by the way-side. I could here pause

business my mother, the Marchioness of St. Aubin, can have with a grocer, who bears the very plebeian name of Cannelle."

"Not at all," said Jeannette, "I can understand the business they are speaking of; for, as I am thirteen years old, I keep my father's books, and write many of his letters."

"I am also thirteen years old," said Felicia, "but I have very different things to attend to. My music occupies me six hours a day; then dancing, drawing, languages, dressing, and visiting - but, I suppose, Mademoiselle, you don't understand these things; and no wonder, when I am so rich and you are poor.'

At these last words Jeannette gave a look of such mingled surprise and compassion that Felicia turned very red, and was about to ask for an explanation; when the grocer's daughter turned off the subject by once more inviting her visitor to enter the parlour.

It was a small square room, perfectly clean and neat, but very plainly furnished.

"Do you live here?" asked Felicia, as she gave a scornful glance around.

"Yes," replied Jeannette, smiling.

"I should die here."

My grandfather died here also," said Jeannette; "but then he was ninety-four years old!"

At that moment the door opened, and the Marchioness of St. Aubin appeared, followed by M. Pierre Cannelle. "Then, Monsieur," said the former, "it is arranged that you and your charming little daughter will dine with us to-day."

"Thank you, Madame, replied the grocer, "I shall only ask time to clean myself a little. Jeannette, my duck! go put on your best bib and tucker. We 're to dine at the Chateau !”

Jeannette blushed deeply as she saw the ironical smile with which Felicia listened to her father's vulgar expressions. But she bowed gently without speaking, and hastened to place chairs.

The Marchioness thanked her, but declined sitting down; and taking a polite leave, withdrew with her daughter.

"Come, Victoire," said Felicia to her maid, "you must dress me beautifully, for I want to dazzle the eyes of that grocer's daughter who is to dine here to-day."

"That will be easily done, Madame."

"Indeed I should hope so," said Felicia, who did not perceive that her attendant was making behind her back various gestures expressive of ridicule; for certainly few young ladies in Paris can be compared to me in beauty and accomplishments, not to speak of my splendid fortune! But tell me the names of the guests who are already arrived."

"First, Madame, there is the gentleman who invented a method for teaching a person to read in six weeks with a box of counters, and a letter of the alphabet on each counter."

"Ah! M. Bertrand, the Principal of the Institution where my brother is placed."

"Then there is your uncle, M. de Mezière, and Messicurs de Marmontel, de Mondorge, Gossek, your teacher on the harp, Vaucanson, the poet Bertin, the painter Latour, d'Alembert, and many others, both ladies and gentlemen."

"Well, Victoire, make haste, fasten these flowers and feathers in my head-dress, and give me my handsomest ornaments. Are the grocers come yet?"

"Oh! indeed they are, Madame, and if you could only have seen them getting out of their shabby old hackneycoach! The little girl is dressed in a plain white frock, without a single ornament in her hair."

Certainly, Madame, you'll make her cry with envy !" said the maid, who found it her interest to flatter the foibles of her spoilt young mistress.

The toilette of Felicia being completed to her entire satisfaction, she went to seek Jeannette in the garden, M. Cannelle having been from the moment of his arrival closeted with the Marchioness. The young Countess gathered a nosegay, which she graciously presented to her guest, and then invited her to enter the drawing-room, where the visitors were assembled. As they approached the door, Felicia heard one of the gentlemen pronounce her name. Praising me already!" thought she. And unwilling that Jeannette should lose a breath of the sweet incense offered up to her vanity, she whispered to her to wait until her hair was a little better arranged. Jeannette was of a frank, unsuspicious disposition, and not understanding the manoeuvre, readily consented. Felicia caused her to kneel down, and began busily to arrange the glossy curls of her hair, listening meanwhile to the conversation of the guests. What a disappointment! it was of the grocer's daughter they were speaking!

"She is a sweet little girl," said M. Marmontel.

So simple and so modest," added M. de Mondorge. "And such a lively intelligent countenance," said the painter, Latour.

"I have known her from her infancy," said the Abbé d'Olivet; "it was I indeed who made M. Cannelle known to the Marchioness; and what I admire most in his daughter is her admirable steadiness. When very young she lost her mother, and since then has devoted herself to promote her father's comfort. She keeps his accounts, and manages his house, as well as if she were thirty years old."

"Come," said the gentle voice of M. Gossek, " we have talked enough of this young stranger; tell me now, what you think of my pupil ?”

"Oh!" said M. d'Alembert, "I don't think I ever met a more ridiculous, vain, disagreeable animal than this young girl, who desires to be called the Countess de Lancy,' just as if she were not quite absurd enough without that addition."

Two or three times during the progress of her own praises, Jeannette had tried to escape from her position, but Felicia, who hoped that they would afterwards speak of herself, and who was holding her compania by the hair, forced her to remain where she was and listen. As soon, however, as the attack on Felicia commenced, Jeannette, with her hair but half arranged, stood up resolutely.

"Stay," said Felicia, with the courage of despair, "stay, my friend; perhaps I need this lesson, and I will submit to it."

"I have made a great many automata in my time," said M. Vaucanson, "but I should feel thoroughly ashamed, if the springs and wheels of any one of them were as visible as those which move both the mind and body of this little premature woman. She does nothing naturally; all about her is made up and artificial." "Besides," observed M. Rameau, "her mother, who is as conceited as herself, dresses her in the most absurd costumes. At one time she used to appear as Cupid, with a bow and quiver; then in a semi-masculine costume. Now, I believe, she affects the robes of a countess."

"Well, well, gentlemen," said Gossek, "in spite of all these follies, which, after all, proceed in great measure from our flattery, you must confess that my pupil has naturally a sensible, courageous mind, together with considerable talent and beauty."

"Yes," replied d'Alembert, "a fine disposition spoiled; a rose eaten up by caterpillars."

"And we are the caterpillars," said the Abbé d'Olivet. Once more Jeannette made an effort to get away; but Felicia, looking at her with tearful eyes, said softly, “I

So saying, Felicia quietly removed the mass of feathers and artificial flowers which disfigured her pretty head, and having dried her eyes, smoothed her hair, and taken off her rings, bracelets, and necklace, she appeared suddenly metamorphosed into a graceful, modest little girl.

A moment afterwards, she entered the drawing-room, holding Jeannette by the hand, and the guests who had just spoken of her so freely, were amazed at the change in her appearance.

After having sung and played the harp, Felicia quietly retired to her place, and when one of the gentlemen approached her with the usual compliments, she replied in an humble tone, "Monsieur de Marmontel, please not to flatter me. If my music has given you any pleasure, I am glad of it; but I know I am only a child, and if your praises should make me fancy myself a prodigy, perhaps you would laugh behind my back at my silly credulity."

Man of the world as he was, Marmontel felt confused at this home-thrust, and turned away without replying.

Dinner was announced, and after it was over, and the servants had retired, the Marchioness de St. Aubin thus addressed her guests:

"A sudden reverse, my friends, has taken place in my fortune; and in the support of religion and the assurance of your sympathy, I seek consolation. I have no longer a right to my title, for I have sold the property which conferred it. This gentleman," she added, pointing to Pierre Cannelle, " has become its purchaser."

Had a thunder-bolt burst over the head of Felicia, she could not have felt more astounded.

Oh, my mother!" she cried, " are we then ruined?" "Yes, my child, we have lost all our possessions except a small yearly pittance, and now are without a roof to shelter us."

"Oh! Madame," cried the grocer, "don't say so; you are heartily welcome to occupy my house in the Rue Traversière as long as you please.'

For a moment no one spoke, until Felicia, bursting into tears, exclaimed:

"So many humiliations in one day! All the illusions of vanity gone, and my fortune gone with them! And then to be thankful for the offer of that small mean house which, a few hours since, I so heartily despised!"

"My child!" said her mother, "my child, let us say of our fortune what King David said of his child: The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken it away. Blessed be the name of the Lord!' Henceforth I am no longer the Marchioness de St. Aubin, but Madame Ducrest."

"Forgive me, my mother, forgive me!" cried Felicia, embracing her. "This weakness is unworthy of your daughter. See, it is over now; and with the help of God, I will employ the accomplishments of which I was so vain, for your support and comfort." Then, with a radiant smile, she seated herself at the harp, and accompanied her clear sweet voice in a splendid cantata.

All present were filled with astonishment at the strength of mind and soberness of judgment displayed by this young girl, whom they had hitherto regarded as the spoiled plaything of a doting mother.

"M. de Mezière," said Marmontel, "your niece will one day be a remarkable woman."

"Ah!" replied her uncle, "a noble nature is always proud in adversity-it is in the crucible that we recognise the pure gold!"

Marmontel's prediction was fulfilled. After the loss of his property, Mademoiselle St. Aubin's father went to St. Domingo, leaving his wife and daughter in France. After a short time he realized some money, and when

then at war with France, and carried a prisoner to England. Among his companions in captivity was a young man, the Count de Genlis, to whom the ex-Marquis de St. Aubin became much attached, and frequently showed him' the letters which he received from France. The greater part of these were written by Felicia, who was fondly attached to her father, and wrote to him with inimitable grace and talent. After a time, through the instrumentality of M. de Genlis' uncle, who was minister of foreign affairs, both the prisoners obtained their liberty, and returned to France. There the young Count became acquainted with Mademoiselle de St. Aubin, and shortly afterwards married her.

Presented at the court of Louis XV., Madame de Genlis became universally admired. The Duchess of Orleans attached her to her person, and entrusted her with the care and education of her children.

The eldest of these, Louis Philippe, became afterwards King of the French, and together with his brothers and sister, both loved and revered his early instructress.

Madame de Genlis wrote several valuable works, chiefly on education. She lived to witness the first revolution, and the restoration of the Bourbons to France, and died in the year 1830, at the age of eighty-four.

THE LATE INSURRECTION AT DRESDEN.

[The following particulars respecting the late melancholy occurrences at Dresden, said to be from the pen of a trustworthy eyewitness, are taken from a German newspaper, the Deutsche Zeitung. In all fatal commotions of this nature the innocent suffer with the guilty.]

On the morning of the 9th of May, while the insurrection was going on in Dresden, I was disturbed from my slumbers, at the Golden Stag, by a loud cry in the adjoining room. I sprang to the door and saw the boots, who called to me to dress myself quickly and to come down, as the next house was attacked by the Prussians. On descending to the parlour I found there six gentlemen, among whom were three students of forest-law, with whom I was acquainted. We agreed to remain quietly in the room, to take our breakfast, and await the result. We were perfectly calm, but cheerful and even jocose. We had no arms nor ammunition of any kind, and supposed that no attack would be made on strangers. We had closed the shutters and struck a light. In ten minutes a Prussian rushed into the room, fired off his gun, and stretched one of our party on the ground; the ball is still to be seen in the window-frame. The smoke having extinguished the light, we concealed ourselves as well as we could. "Come out," we then heard shouted out, "come out, you scoundrels, to the light." We obeyed, and saw about half a dozen Saxon and Prussian soldiers in the court-yard, by one of whom a shot was again fired at one of our party, who fell to the earth. Why was he shot?-Because he wore a Calabrian cap. I was taken in charge by a Prussian, dragged through the passage to the street, where I saw none but unarmed citizens, flying away in all haste from a crowd of soldiers who were firing upon them from the two corner houses. The soldier seized me by the neck, and threw me from him to the distance of many feet, then sprang upon me, dragged me up, and flung me from him again, until we reached the barricades at Engel's, the restaurateur's. The soldiers from the two corner houses roared out, "Shoot the rascal, dead." At that moment, when they were about to do so, the chief cannoneer, Von R., came out of the restaurateur's, and took charge of me. At my entreaty he took me through the lower apartment of the house and the entrance-hall, up to the billiard-room. Going through the passage, I saw the Saxon infantry of the body-guards engaged in plundering the cigar-vaults of the merchant M., which were