Survilliers. That dinner I shall ever remember, not only that it was the last time I shared the bounty of King Joseph, but from other interesting circumstances. Amongst his distinguished guests that day was the Countess of Merlin, whose late husband was one of his closest friends and chief officers during his stormy reign in Spain. Her presence seemed to arouse his feelings, and he conversed with more than usual animation. It was his habit to remain silent during the repast, occasionally drinking wine with some one he sought to honor, and when the hurly burly of eating was over to begin talking. As every body knows, the Countess Merlin is one of the most accomplished female strategists that the saloons of Paris have ever seen, and with infinite address she drew her former Sovereign back to the realms of his ancient power and grandeur; and kindling with his recollections, the floodgates of memory opened, and the whole company sat for an hour and upwards, intently listening to a variety of curious and thrilling anecdotes that no history will ever record. Perhaps the deepest effect produced on me was the frequent and familiar mention of names royal and noble, that historians utter with reverence; above all, was I strangely affected when speaking of the Emperor, he applied to him as he constantly did, the affectionate phrase, startling from its novelty, of mon frère, my brother. The great charm of King Joseph's society, "the divinity that hedged him round," was his extreme simplicity of manners, and total absence of pride of any sort. I can hardly illustrate it better than by citing an occurrence I once witnessed in his drawing-rooms. A lady of high rank was about bidding him adieu, when overcome by her feelings of affection and ancient loyalty, she knelt down, and kissed his hand, a common mark of homage to reigning kings. Joseph seized her instantly by the arm, raised her up, saying reproachfully, "Madame," and to my astonishment his cheek reddened. To relieve the embarrassment of the lady, he quickly broke a twig from some flowers standing near, and gallantly presented it with a good natured smile to his former " subject." It was natural that a man at his age should have been touched by this delicate stroke of flattery, for Lear, amid the wreck of his fortunes still remembered that he was "every inch a king." But this was the character of Joseph Bonaparte, as all will confirm who knew him in this country.* Simple, engaging and amiable, of sound understanding, benevolent heart and elevated character, he was loved as a king and respected as a man.

But to return to Prince Louis on the occasion above related. I was forcibly struck by his military aspect, affable manners, intelligent face, pale and slightly tinged with melancholy. Our conversation was necessarily formal on a first meeting, but the acquaintance began well for me, as I was invited to take a seat in his carriage on leaving, and he politely let me down at Fenton's Hotel. I met him several times during my brief stay; but in

Some two or three years ago an anecdote highly characteristic was related me by Hon. Charles J Ingersoll, the legal counsellor and friend of the late Count de Survillierst, during his long residence in this country. One day when they were together, the conv ersaion happened to turn on Prince Louis, who was well spoken of by his uncle, his parts commended, and his patriotism applauded.-" but yet it is his misfortune." he continued, "that he has been brought up as a Prince. He has a great deal of valuable experience to learn, that I picked up easily in the rough school of adversity. Had Louis been compelled, as I was, to look about for a living, he would be less inclined to risk the solid comforts of his position by engaging in perilous conspiracies, though I am willing to do justice to his motives." plain reference to the misfortunes of his family was the more creditable, as he was the most fortunate of all his brothers, having married the daughter of a rich banker, whose sister was afterwards espoused by Bernadotte, and is the stil! surviving Queen Dowager of weden.

This

the crowded drawing rooms of London in the height of the fashionable season, connected conversation is out of the question, and I could form, therefore, no conclusive opinion of either his character or intellect from personal observation. He was living, then, in very luxurious style; occupying one of the finest mansions in London, on Carlton Terrace, overlooking that lovely park of St. James. His position was enviable, indeed ; surrounded by a species of court, feted, and sought after by the highest rank of England; regarded with interest and curiosity by the public in general; a great name, a romantic history and imperial pretensions, he might fairly be considered one of the most fortunate of princes and one of the most blest of mortals. And there are, indeed, few who could have risen above temptations so attractive; but that Louis Napoleon was not a man to bestow his whole time and thoughts on the vapid amusements of society, though far from indifferent to them, is clear from the fact of his publishing, during his London residence, a very striking book entitled, "The Ideas of Napoleon." This book made a great sensation at the time, and was translated into every language of Europe. A distinguished statesman of England spoke of it in this wise:

*

Since the fall of Napoleon France has been divided into two hostile corps. On the one side are the men of order and authority, but who have not the sentiments of the masses, and who, consequently, cannot obtain their confidence. On the other side are the men of popular principles, it is true, but whose ideas of liberty, badly conceived, are incompatible with authority, and they know nothing about government. But the author of the Ideas of Napoleon" has taken a new position in causing to flow from the very principles of liberty a grand idea of order and authority."

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Without stopping to discuss the merits of Prince Louis' Commentaries on the Emperor's ideas, which are certainly remarkable, I will quote a passing criticism on its style. It conveys a better notion of the Prince's powers, as I have since discovered, than any other I have seen:

"His mind is lucid, firm, direct, like all intellects which regard from a height, far and swift, and cast in a synthetical mould, which is a result of the study of the exact sciences. The Prince Napoleon renders his thoughts with clearness, precision, and brevity; as many ideas as words. It is like a cannon ball which strikes before we know whence it comes, or what road it has followed. The mark, has it. been struck? the thought, is it expressed? is it clear? is it terse? is it true? The Prince desires no more, and he passes on to another. There is something of the genius of Napoleon in this, and of the mould in which his conceptions were formed."

It was only a few months after the period of which I am speaking that I learned the event which caused such universal astonishment; his rash attempt at Boulogne and its signal and mortifying failure. His fault, his folly, or his crime, as it is variously viewed by different parties, he is now expiating, and the rigorous captivity of several years is a bitter penalty for the dreams of a too sanguine ambition. As far as I could analyse my own motives in undertaking this visit, beside the honor conferred on me, it was to discover. if possible, the secret origin of those enterprises of Strasburgh and Boulogne, which really seem so reckless, and, at first sight, so unjustifiable. What prompted them? merely a thirst for action, or the vanity to wear a crown. Upon what means did he rely? the en

*These words I wish to explain, have a deeper signification than that they bear on the surface. By authority is meant a strong government, that is, again, a government of the old style, an absolute, despotic government. It is with these antiquated ideas of government, but deepseated and wide spread, that the "liberty men" are contending, and which keeps Europe constantly in agitation.

thusiasm of the masses, or well-combined plans of attack. And what was to be the result if he succeeded? the idle possession of power, or the holy application of it to the benefit of his country, the suppression of abuses and the advancement of liberty! There are so many conflicting accounts and rumors of the character, sentiments, and very generally of the incapacity of Prince Louis,* that I felt a very ardent anxiety to satisfy myself as far as possible on these not unimportant points; for, notwithstanding that I have been a good deal jested with lately on the matter, I still maintain that the chances of Louis Napoleon to the French throne are a good many per cent. better than either of the Bourbon branches, and why? because, in a word, he is a Bonaparte, and they are Bourbons. With the former is allied democratic associations and sympathies, for Napoleon, though of noble family, served a plebeian apprenticeship to fame, and rose to power through his own efforts and the support of the people; whereas the latter are identified with centuries of tyranny, crime and suffering, and found their claims on hereditary possession and not in the right of election. The Imperial dynasty, in the eyes of the people, represents their own sovereignty and the cause of the revolution; whilst the old regal line is connected with ideas of reaction, and a return to the hateful days of prerogative. Yes, I believe, nor have I scrupled to assert it, that whenever it may please Heaven to remove Louis Phillippe and his system, and both seem indissolubly united, that the curtain will rise on a new play, full of action, exciting scenes, unlooked for catastrophes, "the whole to conclude with a grand tableau;" in which, if my imagination does not carry me away, will appear, amid the blaze of feux pyrotechniques and the firing of cannon, Louis Napoleon, as Emperor of all the French, and some hordes of Algerines. This seems very improbable at the moment when M. Guizot is so serenely sure of his power that he hardly takes the pains to hide his game, but plays it out right openly. But whilst his eye wanders complacently over the surface, mine is busy piercing the depths beneath; and this soil of France is volcanic. Who can tell at what moment the crater will open and the lava pour forth? Every man should have a reason for his opinion; and why I think Prince Louis has a hold, and a strong one, on the popular mind, is upon these grounds. The masses everywhere reason clearly and to the point; never bothering their brains with fine spun theories, but deciding on facts only. The French people, mind, I say the people, have logically resumed thus: "We were tricked in 1830-our wretchedness is unabated-we are beyond helping ourselves; blessed be the friendly hand that struck at the incubus that keeps us down,-that hand is a Bonaparte's,-that incubus is a Bourbon-when we are up again we shall act accordingly." There is no sophistry here, for these are events of history; and, in my

*Touching this point of character I am gratified to quote from the London Examiner the following observations of Mr. Fonblanque, its editor, who is admitted to be not only one of the ablest writers of England, but one of the most upright and estimable of men.-" Many scornful allusions," he says, "have been made to Louis Napoleon, and we, for our own part, have not been sparing in our comments on his silly attempts at Strasburgh and Boulogne. He has had his follies, but it is most unjust to take the measures of his character from those follies; and all who know him will agree that, apart from his pretendership, which latterly has been in obeyance, he is a thoroughly sensible and well-informed man. He has had much prejudice to encounter, and not unnaturally, but he has overcome it, in whatever circles he has moved, by his good sense, his urbanity, and unaffected manners. Whether he is the man for the destinies of France may be discussed without a personal disparagement, which is really as little necessary for the solution of the question, as it is undue."

When it is remembered how easily Louis Philippe was overthrown, the attempts at Strasburgh and Boulogne seem less "silly"-but of that bye-and-bye.

view, Prince Louis, though ridiculed for his failures, is only endeared the more to the popular heart. Oh, but his motives!-say the other side. Again I repeat, the people rarely stop to weigh motives. With their rough sagacity they have discerned that there is nothing so uncertain and mixed in this world as men's motives. Were patriotism, philanthropy, and the whole catalogue of virtues thrown into the crucible, the ingredients for the most part would thus be resolved: 53 parts for others, 61 for self. This, I beg to remark, is what the people think. For myself, I have much loftier and more romantic notions of the motives of patriots and philanthropists. I have seen so many of them in all places. Well, the French people, then, care not a whit for the motives assigned to Prince Louis, nor even for those he really entertained, be they for their good entirely, or partly for his own. All they know and will remember -and there is no gratitude so long-lived as the people's-is, that he came down twice tilting at Louis Phillippe; and whether, in his Quixotic endeavors, he was followed by one Sancho Panza, or sixty; or whether he had a live eagle, or a dead one, hanging at his saddle-bow, is to them, severally and jointly, a matter of very profound indifference.

#

At all events, "that is my opinion," as the man says in the play, "though I may be mistaken." How many hours I spent in these profound cogitations, I am not aware, but they were suddenly put to flight by the abrupt announcement of Baptiste, as if he were in a hurry to say it, that we had got to Compeigne "Very glad of it, I answered, for I am hungry. Order dinner instantly; meanwhile I'll stroll through the town."

Declining the services of a valet de place, for I hate to be bear-led about; and on the other hand, delight especially in wandering through a strange town surprising myself, and wondering what in the worldthat place is; without having every thing rattled out by a loquacious cicerone in advance. From long habit I rarely lose myself, and when I do, am greatly amused in trying to find myself-which sometimes happens to the politicians, but with less success than generally attends my efforts.

I

But once only in Moscow, of a dark night coming from the Theatre, got into a downright "fix," and liked to have been run through by a dozen outlandish Cossacks, standing as sentinels at the corners, for not replying to their horrid gibberish, because I could'nt. Compeigne is rather a fine town, and celebrated for its palace, where Napoleon in 1810, first met Maria Louisa, but I had no time to go and see it. The streets, like all French streets, are some of them long, some of them narrow, and most of them dirty. Here and there is a fine opening called a place. The houses are of stone, very old-looking, and more resembling fortresses built to resist those feudal robbers, who, in the middle ages

1 inquired when in England (last year,) into this often quoted story of the "live Eagle," and, to my surprise, really found there was something in it. Count D'Orsay thus related it from one of the actors therein. The steamer carrying the expedition stopped to take up its complement at Gravesend, and, as might very well happen in this crowded seaport, a sailor was standing on the quay with an eagle to sell; a speculation of his own. "Voila une belle idee" exclaimed one of the sprightly cavaliers, whose invention was likely sharpened by a bottle of Sillery Mousseux, "here's a good idea. I'll buy this eagle and fly it over Boulogne The "green.grocers" who will likely assail us, will imagine it has been hatched by the Emperor's monument, and drop their muskets in awe and wonder." The experiment, however, was never tried, for the poor eagle was taken prisoner aboard the steamer, where he was for gotten, and Prince Louis never heard of the joke until he saw it afterwards in the papers. However, as leaders get all the glory, they must expect to bear their share of the follies of their followers.

used to rush in and fleece the burghers, than the convenient and airy dwellings which better suit our pacific times. The shops, like all French shops, are neat and attractive; their goods tastefully bestrewed with a nice eye to effect. I dropped into several, more to have a chat than to make purchases; that's the way-I recommend it to young travellers, to pick up information. And in France the shops are so inviting; perhaps because they are reigned over by the ladies. How odd it looks to an American to see a woman keeping the books, watching the clerks, and exercising supreme authority; whilst the poor wretch of a husband, if he is there at all, is somewhere out of the way, meekly employed in the humblest details of his business, trusting fanatically to the wit and blandishments of his helpmate for quick sales, and good profits. And who can stop to haggle with them, so charmingly dressed; so elegantly coiffe; or so gaily decked in their neat caps and cherry-colored ribbons. And they are not afraid of the police, not they; and they know as much of politics, and more, than the maire of the commune. the women a traveller could know little of the popularity of the minisBut for ters out of Paris; and I should infer from what I picked up in Compeigne, that when the present dynasty "goes out of office," no body will put on mourning.

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Gobbling down my dinner, for I had lost time talking politics, I was done in ten minutes, and as Baptiste closed the carriage-door on me, I ordered him to keep the postillions hard at it without counting the pourboire, for, I added, je suis, "bound to go through." "Plait-t-il ?" queried Baptiste, quite mystified. my hand. I love to use an American phrase now and then in a foreign N'importe-en avant," I said, waving country-it comes so pat; is so expressive, and puts one in mind of home. Baptiste is sorely discomfited by this wantonness of mine, and no doubt regrets his barbarous ignorance of the English language, little dreaming that in America we have set up phrases of our own that would perplex a Cockney as deeply as a Greek Idyll.

6

To while away time, I picked up a French book I brought along with me, entitled, "The Chateau of Ham," published in 1842. The author had been one, he says, of the very few who by skilful contrivance had won over the cerberus of the Home office,' and got permission to visit the Prince Napoleon, of whom he gives a highly wrought sketch. This work is well written. What wonderful facility the French have for writing. It seems to come by nature, so limpid flow their sentences; so sparkling is their fancy; so copious their remark. In expression no writers excel them, so pointed, pithy and pretty. In logical arrangement they are not surpassed by Aristotle or Bacon; but in knowledge candor forces me to declare, they are often quite inferior. The French write chiefly to amuse, rarely to instruct. Even Montesquieu oftener thought of glitter than truth, and he would not hesitate to confuse a student's ideas of government, rather than sacrifice the dramatic structure of a sentence. Yes, French writers have too much esprit, as they call intellect; they are always running after theories, soaring on wings. of speculation, or seating themselves complacently on a high mountain of hypothesis, nearly out of sight. To plod along on the plain, hard dry road of fact and common sense, they won't do it. The readers must go ballooning with them, whether or not; so spurning the earth, find them like Mahomet's coffin, always suspended in the air, where you dangling, let us leave them. I could explain this phenomenon which is connected with the history of their civilization, but that would be far 100 prosy just now.