Her reason for concealing the relationship was never developed.  Indeed, I was too much overcome with joy ever to inquire.  Undisturbed by discordant 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?