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her children from her if she remained, that she consented to | she was not well versed in the Scriptures, he gave her a copy join Josephine at her chateau of Navarre. of an illustrated edition with one hundred and fifty engravings after Raphael. Instead of tissue paper, each cut was protected by a thousand-franc bank-note. On another occasion he gave her a copy of the "Charte," and each page was interlined with a banknote of the same quality. But those who feel interested on this subject we may refer to the lady's "Mémoires d'une Femme de Qualité."

In her adversity, Queen Hortense had one sincere friend, the Emperor Alexander. At an early period he proceeded to Malmaison to see the two ladies, and promised to do all in his power to alleviate their fate. He it was who induced Hortense to give up her idea of emigrating to Martinique with her two boys, and remain in France. But fresh troubles were in store for her; ever since Napoleon's exile to Elba, Josephine had slowly pined away, and she received her deathblow when the Duke of Blacas proposed to remove the body of Hortense's firstborn son from Notre-Dame, and to place it in an ordinary cemetery.

The news of her death ran through Paris and created a profound sensation, for Josephine had made herself generally beloved. Carriages crowded the road to Malmaison, the owners of which testified their respect to the ex-empress. Even the royalists had a word in her favor; the king's favorite, Madame du Cayla, said, for instance, "What an interesting woman was that incomparable Josephine! What kindness, tact and moderation there was in all she did! It is exactly in accordance with good taste that she should die at this moment."

The queen had been removed almost by force to St Leu, where Alexander spent his last evening prior to his departure for England. He gave her much good advice how to conduct herself, and, as he knew how adverse Pozzo di Borgo was to all the Napoleons, he appointed a special secretary to the embassy, through whom her letters should pass. But Hortense felt that her period of adversity had arrived, and that she would have to struggle against calumny to maintain the name of her family unstained. Her previsions did not deceive her.

Strange events occurred in Paris during the abode of Napoleon at Elba. The Bourbons seemed to have awaked from a long lethargy, and were quite astounded at finding the children they had left in arms grown-up men. The king was the best of a bad lot, and did not at all stomach the homage paid to his "dear friends the enemy," as he sarcastically termed them. Still, he was dreadfully embarrassed how to treat Eugène and Hortense the latter he tried to elevate to the rank of Duchess of St. Leu, as a plain Mademoiselle de Beauharnois, while at his interview with Eugène, he addressed him as Marshal of France. But both defeated him by their straightforwardness, and Louis XVIII. was forced to recognise the fact that somebody had ruled in France during his absence, which he would have so gladly ignored.

In other respects nothing was altered, and the old court ceremonial flourished magnificently again. Nor was impudence wanting. At one of the first dinners Louis XVIII. gave to the allies, the Duchess of Angoulême, who was sitting next to the King of Bavaria, pointed to the Grand-Duke of Baden, and said, "Is not that the prince who married a princess of Napoleon's manufacture? What weakness to ally oneself with that general!" Considering that the Emperor of Austria, who sat on her other side, and the King of Bavaria were both allied to "that general," this remark displayed profound ignorance or consummate assurance.

The worst of the whole party were the wicked old émigrés, who returned with all their vices unanealed. On one occasion the Marquis of Chimene and the Duke of Lauraquais met in the king's ante-chamber-two old heroes of that frivolous age, when the boudoir and petites maisons were the battlefield, and the victor's crown was composed of myrtles instead of laurels. Alluding to some event of the ancient régime, the duke said to the marquis, in his desire to indicate the period more precisely, "It was about the year when I had my liaison with your wife." "Ah!" the marquis replied, with perfect equanimity, "you allude to 1776."

The king, as we said before, was the cleverest of all, and did not conceal his surprise at finding that Napoleon's generals, who had been described to him as peasants and ruffians, were as polite as his own followers. Tired of the constant squabbles, Louis withdrew into the recesses of his palace, and left the cares of government to Blacas. In his retirement he conversed with his "lady friend," a fashion which the royalists had restored. Madame du Cayla held this honorable post, and obtained the title of the "King's Snuff-box," because his majesty was fond of strewing some snuff on her round plump shoulder and inhaling it thence. The king rewarded her nobly. Finding that

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During this period Queen Hortense resided in Paris, enjoying the society of the few friends who had remained faithful to her. But her presence caused great alarm to the Legitimists, who believed that she was conspiring the return of Napoleon. Fouché, the double-faced, was at the bottom of all the intrigues against the duchess, and sowed the seeds of dissension on either side. At length Hortense felt it her duty to put a stop to all this scandal, and requested an audience of the king. She went, saw and conquered, for, from that time, the Desired One never ceased talking of the grace and beauty of his visitor, to such an extent that his family spitefully suggested that he had better marry her.

But Hortense had something else to think about at this moment besides conspiring on behalf of her father. A messenger had arrived from her husband, then residing at Florence, insisting on the immediate surrender to him of her two sons. She refused, and appealed to the laws for protection. One trait, referring to this period, is noteworthy; although Hortense never paid attention to the slightest calumny affecting herself in the public press, she at once ordered an answer to be given to an insulting article directed against her husband. To do so at a moment when she was contending with him for the dearest of her possessions, is an act of magnanimity that needs no comment at our hands.

Hortense was not to be comforted even when she heard of her stepfather's return from Elba, and the triumphant reception he had met with. She felt that his victory could not be permanent, and foresaw fresh troubles for herself. Still she did not swerve from her duty. As she had remained in France under the Bourbon rule for the sake of her sons, she resolved not to alter now. The emperor received her unkindly, and blamed her for having remained in France among his enemies; she merely bowed her head, and left it to time to justify her conduct. The emperor was speedily appeased, and regarded her with more affection than before.

During the Hundred Days Hortense was really the empress, and her first act was to obtain from her father a pension for the Duchess of Orleans, mother of Louis Philippe, who had been unable to leave Paris, owing to a fracture of her leg. She shortly after extended the same favor to the Duchess of Bourbon, who implored her intercession. Hortense was the queen at the Champ de Mars, and her salons were once again the resort of all the first men of France. Benjamin Constant read there bis "Adolphe," while Talleyrand seemed to have no other occupation than inventing fresh social games to amuse the queen and the ladies assembled around her.

We need not dwell on Waterloo; suffice it to say, that Napoleon, when he made up his mind to proceed to Rochefort and embark for America, resided for a while at Malmaison, where he took a last farewell of Horter se and her sons. The queen handed him a belt, which she requested him to wear round his waist. He demanded what it contained, and, after long hesitation, Hortense confessed that she had sown up her diamonds in it, which she hoped would be of use to him hereafter. At first the emperor declined to accept the costly gift, but, fearful of wounding his daughter's feelings, he made her the happiest of women-for she had been able to requite a portion of the generosity Napoleon had ever displayed towards her.

The last person the Emperor saw at Malmaison was his mother, and the interview took place in the presence of Talma, who had glided in, under the disguise of a national guard, to bid farewell to his beloved master. He has recorded for us the parting scene of mother and son, worthy of the most noble days of Sparta; how Madame Letitia stretched forth her hand, with the words, "Adieu, mon fils!" and Napoleon, after looking his mother fixedly in the face for a few seconds, said, with the stoicism of a Red Indian, "Adieu, ma mère!” and slowly quitted the room for ever.

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For the second time the Bourbons returned to France, but | physicians. But she did not lose her presence of mind--she their resolve was, on this occasion, vengeance. Louis XVIII. sent his baggage aboard, and resolved to spread the report that re-entered the palace of his ancestors to punish and reward, but he had followed. In the meanwhile she kept her son in the the idea of mercy was banished from his thoughts. His whole innermost apartments, and watched over him herself. fury was concentrated on Hortense, whom he had been taught But she had a fearful week to pass through; the Austrian to regard as the head of the conspiracy that brought Napoleon commander-in-chief took up his headquarters in her palazzo, back, and he requested it as a personal favor of Alexander that and malicious fate decreed that his sleeping apartment was next he should not intercede in her behalf. She was compelled to to that in which Louis Napoleon lay in the fever phantasms of quit Paris by order of the Prussian General Von Muffling, and smallpox. Whenever he coughed his head was concealed under proceeded to Geneva, not without danger of her life. But blankets, and if he spoke it must be in a whisper, through fear there was no resting-place for her. The French envoy in Swit- of arousing the suspicions of the Austrian, who had solely been zerland would not tolerate a defenceless woman so near the prevented paying his respects to the duchess because he was led French frontier, and when asked whither she would proceed, to believe that she was the patient. At length the physician she replied, in her despair, "Throw me into the lake, and declared Louis Napoleon in a fit condition to move, and Horthere will be an end of all my troubles." tense made a mighty resolve. In the determination to save her son, she decided that she would reach England through France, risking all the consequences of the rupture of her ban. She had already secured a passport through the kindness of an English nobleman, and the only chance of getting her son off was under the disguise of a footman.

But Hortense soon regained her equanimity, and proceeded to Aix, in Savoy, where the most terrible blow that fate reserved for her fell upon her. She had lost her cause against her husband, and had been condemned to give up to him her eldest son, Napoleon Louis. He sent for the boy, and Hortense surrendered him. All her hopes were thenceforward concentrated in her second son, who had attained a position which she could hardly have entreated for him in her prayers. But Louis Napoleon cannot forget how much he owes to the teaching of that devoted mother, who was his guardian angel, and sacrificed herself so repeatedly for him.

Fate at length appeared weary of persecuting the poor Duchess of St. Leu. She was allowed a few peaceful years in the canton of Thurgau, at her pleasant château of Arenenberg, but they were troubled by painful interludes. In 1821 the Emperor died on the rock of St. Helena. In 1824 Hortense lost her only brother, Eugène. Nothing was then left her to love but her two sons, who prospered in health and strength, although banished from their fatherland, and compelled to lead an inactive life.

At length came the year 1830, and there seemed a chance of revenge for the Napoleons. France hurled down the throne of the Bourbons, but the nation feared the revolution too much to desire a republic. They turned their eyes to the nearest relative of the throne, and Louis Philippe gratified their pride by restoring the tricolor, which reminded them of such mighty deeds. He brought back to Paris the ashes of Napoleon, and replaced his statue on the Place Vendôme, but his nephews must still remain in banishment. For such was the sole condition on which the European powers would recognise the new king, for, as Metternich said, "it was a question of legitimacy, not to suffer a Napoleon again on the throne of France." So Louis Philippe very calmly purchased his recognition by a renewed decree of banishment against the Napoleonides.

This was a terrible blow for their ambition, and the two young men resolved to try their hand elsewhere. Although separated, they kept up an eager correspondence; and when Hortense, in 1830, on her periodical visit to Rome, remained for a while in Florence, the brothers agreed as to their future course. Louis Napoleon accompanied his mother to Rome, and his presence was the signal for effervescence. So far did this proceed, that the Papal government ordered him from the city, and the only friend who stood up for him was the envoy of Russia. We all know how Louis Napoleon repaid this act of kindness in the Crimea.

When the Italian revolution broke out in Modena, the two brothers joined the insurrectionists. Their relations were in a horrible state of suspense about them, and succeeded in getting them removed from the staff of General Menotti; but they joined the insurgents as volunteers. So soon as Hortense heard that the Austrians were on the march, she started in search of her sons, determined to save them or die. She arrived at Pesaro, after undergoing countless difficulties, and found her sons there; but one of them lay a corpse in a village inn.

But Hortense had no time to bewail him; she must save the last joy left her. With Louis Napoleon she proceeded to Ascona, resolved to embark for Corfu, and throw herself on the mercy of the English. But that chance had to be given up, for Louis Napoleon had scarce reached Ancona ere he was attacked by smallpox, and brought to death's door. Here was a position: the Austrians were within two days' march, and Hortense could not remove her darling son under a week, said the

They reached France, where a sentence of death awaited them, and passed their first night at Cannes. What reminiscences were connected with that place for Hortense! At Cannes it was that Napoleon landed on his return from Elba; from Cannes he started with a handful of troops on his march to Paris, which city he reached at the head of an army. Labédoyère and Ney had joined him there, and paid bitterly for yielding to their enthusiasm. What guarantee had Hortense that the same fate did not await her and her son? And yet she passed boldly on. She had been a friend to Louis Philippe's mother, and thought that gratitude might still exist in the world.

It was a melancholy pilgrimage that Hortense undertook. She showed her son Fontainebleau, which had been the scene of her father's greatest triumph and greatest humiliation. Leaning on her son's arm, and wearing a thick veil lest any one should recognise her, the queen surveyed the appointments of the rooms, which were just the same as the imperial family had left them. What a reminiscence must it have been for Hortense when she entered the little chapel in which the mighty Napoleon had held the son, on whose arm she now leaned, over the baptismal font! Could the poor deserted widow believe that this son was once again to perpetuate the glories of Napoleonistic France? Perhaps so; for what will not mothers believe of their sons, though the latter rarely carry out the Alnaschar visions which every parent forms of her child?

Well, the pair arrived in Paris, and Hortense's first care was to apprise Louis Philippe of her arrival. What a fearful fright the poor old gentleman was in at the news! He could not crush the evil in the bud; he had not the heart to cut heads off; he was altogether too jolly a monarch to deal with a pair of conspirators such as he assumed Hortense and her son to be. And such, perhaps, they were, but it is impossible to say. Mamma behaved with the utmost propriety, and her son was most unfortunately taken ill just at the moment. It was impossible to turn them out of France, but whenever they could make it convenient, and so on. The king of course saw the Duchess of St. Leu, and, with his tongue in his cheek, debited the most pleasant compliments. It is easy to imagine the agreeable way in which he accosted the fugitive. "Lord bless you!" (or the French equivalent), "I know what exile is, and it won't depend on me if yours is not alleviated." Of course he assured the queen that the sentence of exile against the Napoleons lay like a stone on his heart, and he magnanimously added, that the time was not far distant when the mere idea of banishment would be unknown in his kingdom.

Hortense listened to all this somewhat in the fashion of a spendthrift who has taken a bill for discount to a Jew who holds his mortgage deeds, and yet she believed his promises. And the only result she obtained was that Louis Napoleon would be permitted to remain in France if he would change his name, but not a word about the owing money. But this Louis Napoleon thought a little too much; he at once agreed with his mother that the sooner they left France, for their honor and safety, the better.

In England the mother and son were comparatively happy, for all the first society of the land welcomed them. Had Hortense wished it, she might have been again a queen-that of

fashion-but she had a stern resolve, which she was determined to follow. She would not compromise her son in any way; and she was in the right, for the Duchess of Berry was at that period in Bath, and could not believe but that a Napoleon must be intriguing in behalf of her son. So great, however, was the excitement her public appearance aroused among the crowned heads, that Hortense resolved to return to her pleasant Arenenberg. For this purpose she asked leave to pass through France, which was granted, and the couple visited most of the spots memorable in Napoleon's history.

At Arenenberg, Hortense rested from her sufferings, and spent a few comparatively happy years. Here she wrote the affecting account of her travels through Italy, France and England, from which we have derived most of the previous details. In 1837, Hortense, the flower of the Napoleonides, died, wearied of her life, her misfortunes, and the exile in which she pined away. She bowed her head and went home to the great dead-to Napoleon and Josephine.



THERE is a charm in the very word, which calls up visions of "love in a cottage," such as we read of in story-books, or see in the opening scenes of a ballet or melodrama. It is a near relation of the honeysuckle, and both of them belong to the Lonicera or Caprifolium. Owing to the rapidity of their growth, the simplicity and beauty of the leaf and flower, they are very popular, and give a rural appearance, which has made them equal pets with floriculturists and the peasants.


No careful reader of history can fail to be struck with the narrowness of the boundary line which separates fact from fiction. The line between the two is not very distinctly marked. In glancing over the map of the world you will observe that political and physical geography are sometimes identical. The barriers which mark the confines of nations are sometimes indisputable. The Alpine range shuts out France from Italy, and the Pyrenees from Spain. There are the boundaries of the sea, which separate islands from continents. The insular position of England marks its difference from other parts of Europe. But the land marks or ocean boundaries are not always so distinct. Sometimes it is difficult to tell where one country begins and another ends-difficult to say, "Thus far monarchy extends, and here begins republicanism." Sea voyagers might cross the line, as it is called, without knowing it, if their attention was not directed to it; and in looking over a map you may readily blunder as to the exact limits of a nation. French and Swiss sentinels-the outposts of their several countriesmeet each other face to face, musket to musket, on the Baden bridge. You pass as easily from one country to the othersave and except in the excise department-as you would from Kent to Sussex. Now something like these national boundary Jines is suggested to us by the facts and fictions of history. In some instances the line of demarcation is bold and clear-bold as the Pyrenees, clear as the sea; in others, it is exceedingly obscure. Truth and untruth are next door neighbors, and it requires a wise head to tell one from the other. The historian, looking at these things, gravely puts down this as fact and that as fiction; but in five cases out of ten he might as well reverse the order of things, and call his fictions facts and his facts fictions. Which is fact and which is fiction? tell us, O potent historian. Verily he may reply in the words of the showman, "Whichever you please, my dear; you pay your money, and you take your choice; but don't breathe on the glasses." No, upon no account breathe on the glasses-else do you obscure the view for others, make dim the lens or medium, that one can't tell which is which. But, O historian, do you never breathe on the glasses? do you never obscure the lens?-0 grave and potent signor, I think you do!

You remember the anecdote of Walter Raleigh's "History of the World." He was about to write the whole story from the creation downwards; and truly there was time enough to write


many a folio in his long, weary imprisonment. But while he | is planning out his book, a quarrel or disturbance of some kind takes place in the courtyard close beneath his window. He listens, and imagines he knows something about it; he questions one of the warders to confirm his own impressions, but to his surprise receives an entirely different version; he questions another, and receives a statement utterly opposed to both. So he lays down his goosequill in despair, for how shall a man write a faithful history of what took place in Chaldea three thousand years ago, when he cannot separate fact from fiction in a circumstance that occurred under his own window half an hour ago?

There are some events so obviously fabulous that historians reject them. They will not allow the wolf to suckle Romulus; they will not allow Perseus to kill the Gorgon; they will not allow Jason, by the aid of the beautiful but treacherous Medea, to obtain the golden fleece; they have their doubts about old Priam and the lovely Helen-they have settled that much of ancient history is fiction; but modern history, of course, is trustworthy, and very satisfactory and complete are the details which sage historians furnish. They throw doubt on the old British kings who lived and reigned in that isle, so long before its hills echoed to the tramp of the Roman legions. They set down their struggles and engagements as so many battles of kites and crows; but as soon as the great Cæsar comes, and they read history by the light of a Roman candle, then veracity begins. Facts, sir, facts!

When the Roman galleys approached the South Foreland, the Britons gathered in immense multitudes awaiting their approach, but the standard-bearer of the tenth legion bravely leaped into the sea, and called upon his comrades to follow. Brave fellow! we know what he said, and how he acted, as well or better than we ken of Lieutenant Salkeld at Delhi gate. I wonder who took note thereof! Did Cæsar? Did he make a note on the spot? I rather think it was Tacitus, who enjoyed the singular advantage of being several hundred miles away. Did the standard-bearer make the heroic speech set down in all the history books?-who shall say?

Did Caractacus, that noble British chief, who was conducted as a prisoner through the streets of Rome, and presented to the senate, did Caractacus-who, I apprehend, was in civilization something like a North American Indian-did he address Claudius in that lofty and eloquent speech which Tacitus ascribes to him? Oh, it was a grand speech-fit, if it were but a little longer, for Enfield's "Speaker," or a modern elocution book; but I have my doubts, and I think, very reasonable doubts, whether Caractacus ever made it.

I wonder did Gregory I. make that wretched pun about the British children? They were for sale in a Roman market-notwithstanding the celebrated declaration about Britons never being slaves.

""Tis a pity," said the Roman pontiff, "these Angli should not be co-heirs with the angels. What part do they come from?"

"From Deira."

"Let them be delivered de ira," that is, from the wrath of God, "and called to the mercy of Heaven. What is their king's name?"


stan by the nose and made a speech, after the approved fashion, about clerical enormities, which would serve as an opening address at an ecclesiastical commission of the present day. I suppose he said something hard to the bishop; but I don't think it likely he was so oratorical as the historians make him. At the recent opening of some docks on the French coast, I am given to understand, by a French journalist, that the sea was hushed as the eye of the emperor fell upon it. This seems to be an old form of adulation. Canute's courtiers hinted to him precisely the same idea. The king ruled the sea. He looked on it, and the troubled waters were as smooth as a lake; he spoke, and the advancing tide receded; at least, the courtiers said so. Well, Canute, according to the historians, takes his armchair down to the sea-beach, and, surrounded by a group of sycophants, slowly waits the rising of the tide. Slowly it comes up-slowly but surely-caring no more about his majesty and the nobles than for a parcel of bathers. The king sat quietly till the waters touched his feet. Then, as you all know, he ordered it back, and as it still advanced, he turned to his courtiers and administered a severe rebuke in magnificent oratory, and winding up with a text. This is the same Canute who murdered Edric the Saxon, and threw him out of a window into the Thames; who slew Ulfa, who had once saved his life, because of some offence given in a drunken quarrel; it was he who, in a beastly state of intoxication, ran an innocent soldier through with a spear, and, then fined himself next morning for an assault.

I wonder did the wife of Harold go seeking the corpse of her lord after the battle? I have seen it in pictures many a time. I wonder did Robert of Normandy, on hearing that his brother Henry, whom he besieged in the castle of St. Michael's Mount, was nearly reduced to a capitulation by the scarcity of water, grant him permission to supply himself, and send him some butts of wine for his own table? I wonder did he make that heroic speech which is commonly ascribed to him; "Shall I suffer my brother to die of thirst? where shall I find another brother when he is gone?" This same Robert, according to Matthew Paris, afterwards, when imprisoned at Cardiff by the same Henry, had his eyes burnt out by his brother's order, with a brass basin.

I wonder if it be true about Beckett's mother? His father had served in the first crusade, had been taken prisoner by a Moslem, but had been aided in his escape by the dark-haired, bright-eyed daughter of the Tark. The knight left her, but she followed him-love guided her steps. The only direction with which she was acquainted was, that Gilbert was his name, England his nation, and London his dwellingplace. When she landed in England, she incessantly repeated the word London. She received all sorts of directions, but arrived at last in the metropolis. Then she wandered from street to street, uttering the word Gilbert-could anybody tell her where Gilbert lived? -that was the idea. No doubt the directions she received were exceedingly perplexing, "Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all on your left; marry at the very next turning, turn on no hand, but turn down directly to Gilbert's house." She found it at last, was joyously welcomed, abjured her old faith, and married the English knight.

Again, I wonder is it true, did Henry erect a bower at Wood

"Teach them," continues the pertinacious punster, "to say stock, with an extraordinary labyrinth-worse than the maze Allelujah!"

Did this absolutely take place? If the pontiff was stupid enough to make the jokes, how is it possible that anybody could be found to write them down and hurl them on the head of much suffering posterity?

I wonder did Alfred burn up the cakes of the good wife in whose hut he was sheltered? Was he so intent on making his bows, and arrows, that he suffered them to scorch and blacken, and burn? Did the good wife reprimand him, and shrewdly observe that he was always ready enough to eat the cakes when they were cooked? I trow not. But the historian sets it down as gravely as he does the matter of the forty counties or the trial by jury.

at Hampton Court and did he therein place his fair Rosamond? Did Queen Eleanor, led by the green-eyed monster, find out her rival, and, like the old pictures of tragedy, present her with a dagger and a bowl?


A GENTLEMAN (supposed to be Mr. Thackeray) who has been searching for a servant, writes thus to the Times:

"I selected the most promising advertisements in your columns, and wrote to appoint the advertisers to meet me in town. The first that called was a butler. He was a man of Now, it is not generally believed that St. Dunstan took some personal appearance, which he evidently thought it his somebody by the nose with a pair of tongs, and made that first duty to cultivate. His loose-fitting coat was of irreproachsomebody leap all the way from somewhere to Tunbridge. But able cut; his waistcoat, no reach-me-down,' but fitting withit is true that King Edgar metaphorically took that said Dun-out creases, and of spotless purity; his gloves ('twas a miracle

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how he got into them) were buttoned at the wrist; his collar was turned down, and his narrow Magenta tie the nearest approach I ever saw to what Mr. Slick called the little ends of nothing whittled down.' On being ushered into the room, he said he had 'embraced the earliest opportunity of obeying my summons.' I perceived at once, that like Agag, he must be approached delicately, and should have felt some hesitation how to catechise so refined a personage, but that I soon found the question was not whether I should engage him, but whether he would engage me. Did he pay the bills? Had he the entire charge of the cellar, or was there a sanctum sanctorum of which I alone kept the key? My answers were not satisfactory. Had I a groom of the chambers? No. In such case he con. cluded I had a valet? I supposed his scrutiny of my dress had not encouraged any exaggerated notion of the value of my 'exuviæ,' for, on my replying that the butler was the only man out of livery, and officiated as my valet, I saw I was a doomed For form's sake, however, he kindly consented to give me one more trial, and inquired whether, under these circum stances, it would be expected of him to bring in tea and coffee after dinner. I told him that I regretted that such would be the case, and he must, indeed, be prepared for any emergency. That I did not think it likely I should ever ask him to make the fourth in a quadrille, but that he would in my house be expected to do everything he was told-except feed the pigs. 'That,' said I, mildly, 'I do myself.' On my looking up to see the effect of my last observation, he was disappearing in the doorway. It is my firm belief that, had I attempted to detain him, he would have fled like Joseph, leaving his garments behind him.


"The next applicant was a cook and housekeeper. She was pleased slightly to touch on her autobiography-just sufficient to inform me that she had always lived in the best of families.' and then, like the butler, proceeded to ascertain whether I should suit her. Her first question, also, was-Did she pay the bills? Did I come to town every year? When in the country did the farm supply the house, and did I kill one sheep or two per week? When in town did I have 'hampers of fruit and vegetables up regular, which was mostly very ill-convenient?' When my examination was at an end I said, 'Mrs. Jones, you were only three months at your last place, nine at the previous one, eleven at the one before that. It seems to me these are rather short periods' 'Oh!' said she, they were such dooses of missusses; but in course your lady is a real lady, and keeps hirself to hirself.' Now, sir, in declining Mrs. Jones's services it is possible I may have lost a valuable servant, who could have cooked for me all my days, taking root in my establishment like the coachman immortalised by Dean Ramsay in his Reminiscences of Scottish Character,' who, on receiving notice from his mistress, quietly rep, Na, na, my lady; I druve ye to your marriage, and shall stay to drive ye to your burial.' Still, I am glad I did not take her for a first class ticket into Northamptonshire. This is no colored statement. The whole system of service, as at present understood in England, is rotten at the core All play and all pay' is the cry, and meat meals five times a day and port and sherry kitchen wines,' the only maxim of the servants' hall!"


WILLIAM MACKENDRY GWIN, the gentleman whose name has thus prominently been brought before the public in connection with the rebellion, was born on the 9th of October, 1805, in Summer county, Tennessee. He is the son of a clergyman of the Methodist Episcopal Church, Rev. James Gwin, who enjoyed a wide celebrity in the South-western States, and whose calling and experience led him to desire that his son should be furnished with a thorough education. His father placed him under competent instructors, and bimself superintended his mental training.

He was drilled in mathematics, and early displayed an aptitude for geometrical discussions. He finally graduated in the Medic School of Transylvania University. For some time he pursued his profession in Nashville, Tennessee, and was subsequently admitted to the bar; but he never practised in the legal profession.

Early in life Mr. Gwin was favored with the friendship of General Jackson, who knew him from his infancy, and had observed with pleasure the development of his mind. His industrious habits and strict reliability suited the old hero, who, during his Presidency in 1833, appointed him to the responsible position of United States Marshal for the State of Mississippi. Unfortunately, this office afterwards proved almost ruinous to his private fortune. He was continued in this position during the Presidency of General Jackson and under Mr. Van Buren. When President Harrison came into office, Mr. Gwin resigned his Marshalship, and became a candidate for Congress. The district in which he resided had just given a majority of 2,500 votes for General Harrison; but, in the contest for Congress, Mr. Gwin's popularity was great enough to secure his election on the Democratic ticket, by a similar majority of 2,500 votes, and he was duly returned to serve as a Representative in the Twenty-seventh Congress. During his term of service in the House he gained a prominent position by his devotion to the interests of his constituents. At the close of his term he was renominated unanimously, but it became necessary for him to decline a re-election.

While pursuing his private business, Dr. Gwin was appointed in 1847, by President Polk, to superintend the erection of the Custom House at New Orleans, which post be filled during Mr. Polk's term, and resigned on the change of Administration consequent on the election of General Taylor to the Presidency. Upon resigning the Superintendency of the New Orleans Custom House, he removed to California, towards which the eyes of the American people had been turned by the marvellous tales of gold-finding, which were just then exciting the world.

He was among the early settlers of that wonderful country, and from the first took an interest in its welfare. In the winter of 1848 it became evident that some steps must be taken by the people of California to save themselves from utter anarchy. Society was disorganized; there was no State Government, nor any municipal authority; the treasury of San Francisco was empty; rogues and gamblers were apparently masters of the entire country, and the only image of authority was a military Governor, who had no sufficient force to carry out his mandates. In this condition of things, General Riley issued a proclamation to the people of California, directing them, among other things, to choose thirty-seven delegates to form a State Constitution. Although there was a strong opposition to this course-and at one time a disposition to resist it-yet, with great efforts, the people were brought to see the necessity for arriving at a State Government through some mode; and Dr. Gwin, who had been untiring in his efforts to promote the interests of the Territory, was rewarded by receiving 1,073 votes for delegate to the Convention to form the State Constitution.

The election for delegates was held on the 1st of August, 1849; the Convention met at Monterey on the 1st of September, the Constitution was finished and signed on the 13th of October, and on the 13th of November it was adopted by the people; and John C. Fremont and William M. Gwin were chosen United States Senators, to accompany the instrument to Washington.

Thus, in less than four months the community passed from a condition of perfect lawlessness into the order of a State, with a Constitution afterwards (on the 9th of September, 1850) ratified by Congress, and the machinery of a government, which soon reduced society to tolerable system. Mr. Gwin, on his passage from California, was arrested on board the steamer, by order of General Sumner, in command of a detachment of regulars, who was also a passenger, and on his arrival in New York was committed to Fort Lafayette on a charge of treason. He has since been released.

A SMALL taper will illuminate the atmosphere to the distance of four miles; yet the luminous particles which fill that area cannot amount to the five thousandth part of a grain. This is, indeed, beyond our powers of computation. The minuteness of animalculæ is also equally wonderful. Insects have been discovered so small as not to exceed the ten thousandth part of an inch; yet each animalculæ must consist of parts connected with each other; each must have organs, fluids, &c., composed of particles; it is inconceivable-it is awfully grand!

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