rdant elements, the fires of matrimonial affection burning as
brightly as when lighted upon my marriage morn, I now calmly survey the
re-establishment of a happy household, over which reign domestic bliss
and--Master Moses Alphonso Butterby.

* * * * *

Such is an accurate statement of the case, all of which is respectfully
submitted.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: For many useful hints in this diagnosis, Mr. Butterby is
indebted to Mr. E.C. Hancock, of New Orleans.]

DIAMONDS AND HEARTS.

A Sketch of Rio de Janeiro.

CHAPTER I.

The sun was setting on the Passeio Publico. On one side the fading light
gilded the delicate green of the palms, and on the other it shimmered on
the placid waters of the bay.

It whitened the little lodges, nestling in the luxuriance of foliage,
and glistened on the gaudy boats, lying motionless on the pearly bosom
of the deep. It sparkled on the little lakes where troops of joyous
children gathered around the swans, and lost itself in the blue mists
that circled the green and purple mountains in the distance.

Past the clustered giants of the sea, whose banners told of mighty
nations that made war, past the forts where the sentries kept weary pace
on the ramparts, it lighted up the "Pao de Assucar;" through the
crowded thoroughfares where the hum of traffic told of multitudes in
peace, it glowed on the Corcovado.

Far into the golden west, past the islands that dotted the harbor, past
the last villa of Sao Christovao, it burned and blazed among the
hills, until shadowy peaks, that seemed but ghosts in the dim
remoteness, burst resplendent on the view, gorgeous in their prodigality
of color.

Rio de Janeiro had mustered her children in crowds. Long and broad as
was the promenade, its marble mosaics scarce contained room for the
multitude. Anxious matrons, on one side, gathered on the granite stairs
to watch their children in the garden beneath; heedless youngsters, on
the other, hung over the balustrades for a view of the tide swelling at
the foot of the wall; fair young _donnas_, bewildered at the throng of
admirers, filled the air with peals of glad laughter; exquisite
_senhors_, thrilled by the music, yielded themselves willing captives to
the seductive influences of the hour.

Who but a Latin can understand the wild abandon of a _festa_? who but he
can enter into the spirit of the many fete-days sanctioned by his
ancient Church?

Armand