This they evince by _self-immolation_, after
the manner of eastern wives. Among the few poisonous plants of Canada,
is a shrub, which yields a wholesome fruit, but contains in its roots a
deadly juice, which the widow, who wishes not to survive her husband,
drinks. An eye-witness describes its effects; the woman having resolved
to die, chanted her death song and funeral service; she then drank off
the poisonous juice, was seized with shivering and convulsions, and
expired in a few minutes on the body of her husband.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.
* * * * *
TWENTY-EIGHT AND TWENTY-NINE.
"Rien n'est change, mes amis!"[2]
CHARLES DIX.
[2] I have taken these words for my motto, because they _enable_ me
to tell a story. When the present King of France received his first
address on the return from the emigration, his answer was, "Rien
n'est change, mes amis; il n'y a qu'un Francais de plus." When the
Giraffe arrived in the Jardin des Plantes, the Parisians had a
caricature, in which the ass, and the hog, and the monkey were
presenting an address to the stranger, while the elephant and the
lion stalked angrily away. Of course, the portraits were
recognisable--and the animal was responding graciously, "Rien n'est
change, mes amis: il n'y a qu'un bete de plus!"
I heard a sick man's dying sigh,
And an infant's idle laughter;
The old Year went with mourning by,
The new came dancing after;
Let Sorrow shed her lonely tear,
Let Revelry hold her ladle;
Bring boughs of cypress for the biel.
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