Mr. Payne knew Cornelia’s stern, severe opinions; he remembered also how she always shrunk from all those who had been guilty of even venial sins, and he felt more keenly, the mortification of his crime before her, than before any other living being. But so beautifully, so tenderly, and respectfully did she bear herself toward him, that one might have fancied she had forgotten every thing but the fear of losing her father. He grew stronger, and as soon as his health was restored he courageously examined his affairs. Young Hallett, who during Mr. Payne’s sickness had been an excellent and efficient friend, was of great service. Every thing was given up, the magnificent town house, the carriages and horses, the plate, and every luxury; but my friends looked very happy in their pleasant country home, and though quite humble was their style of living, they scarcely seemed to miss their former splendor. Even the tender, delicate Mrs. Payne, who had been born and reared in luxury, and for whom we had all trembled, bore the reverse of fortune as brightly and philosophically as Cornelia. But the most beautiful sight was the great change that had taken place in my friend Cornelia’s character. All sternness, all severity had vanished, and the gentlest spirit of Christian, loving charity displayed itself in every word, every act of hers. “Sweet are the uses adversity,” I often repeated to myself, when looking at her. Toward her father she always displayed the most delicate and affectionate respect, and the children no longer found in her a stern, close judging Mentor, but a kind, loving, indulgent companion. Three years after, a gay party assembled at Mr. Payne’s little country house. It was the wedding party of our dear Cornelia, who was the bride of Mr. Hallett. She is now the mistress of a fine establishment, and had the satisfaction of seeing her father once more comfortable. He was for many years associated in business with his son-in-law, and no one ever knew or dreamed that the highly respected Hartley Payne, of the wealthy firm of Hallett & Payne, was once on the verge of disgraceful ruin. * * * * * BALLADS OF THE CAMPAIGN IN MEXICO. NO. IV. BY HENRY KIRBY BENNER, U. S. A. [Illustration: Death of Najira.] AN INCIDENT OF MONTEREY. (FROM THE MEXICAN OF FERNANDO GARCIA.) IT was morn on the Mother of Mountains,[1] While, curling like incense, away Rose the mists from the Eden-like valley, In which lay our loved Monterey:— In the distance was green San Domingo, Where, wearied, in silent repose, Slept the ranks of the resolute Saxon, The files of our conquering foes.