46 The Empress of France. VOL. 1 THE EMPRESS OF FRANCE. love that had so often made her heart leap. She saw that her hour drew nigh. BY JAMES H. PERKINS. "She, in the working of whose destiny, The man of blood and victory attained His more than kingly height." When a few centuries shall have thrown their shadows upon the strange features of Napoleon, and given to every thing about him the tinge of romance, the story of his first wife will seem to the student rather a fable than a fact; he will look upon her as we look upon Mary of Scotland, but with a deeper interest; for she, far more truly than her lord, was from first to last "the child of destiny." Told, while yet unmarried, that she would be a wife, a widow, and a queen of France-the entire fulfilment of the first part of the prophecy, gave her courage to believe in the last part also when under sentence of death. When her bed was taken from her, because she was to die in the morning, she told her weeping friends that it was not so; that she should sit upon that throne on the ruins of which Robespiere then stood triumphant; and when asked, in mockery, to choose her maids of honor, since she was to be queen, she did choose them, and they were her maids of honor, when half of Europe looked up to her. On that night, which was to have been her last upon earth, Robespiere fell. Had he fallen a few days earlier, her first husband would have lived; had his fall been but one day later, Josephine would have been among the ten thousand victims, whose names we have never heard :-) -But he fell on that night and her destiny was accomplished. It was the evening of the 20th of November, the Court was at Paris in honor of the King of Saxony. Josephine sat at her window, looking down upon the river, and musing on the dark fate before her, when she heard Napoleon's step at the door. She sprang to open it, using her usual exclama tion,MON AMI!' He embraced her so affectionately, that for an instant her fears and woes seemed vain. She led him to a chair, placed herself at his feet, and looking up into his face, smiled through her tears. 'You are unhappy, Josephine,' said the Emperor. Not with you, sire.' Bah,' said he quickly, why call me sire? these shows of state steal all true joy from us.' Then why seek them?' answered Jo sephine. The Emperor made no reply. You are now the first of men,' she continued; why not quit war, turn ambition out of your councils, bend your thoughts on the good of France, and live at home amongst those who love you?' Josephine,' said he, turning his face from her, it is not I, it is France demands the sacrifice.' Are you sure of that, my lord?' said his wife; have you probed your heart to the bottom? is it not ambition that prompts you to seek reasons for repudiating me? for think not, Napoleon, I misunderstand you; are you sure it is the love of France?' Every word she spoke touched him to the quick; and rising hastily, he replied, Madam, I have my reasons; good evening.' 'Stay, sire,' said she, taking hold of his She married Napoleon, and through her, arm, we must not part in anger. I submit. her husband was appointed to the army of Since you wish it, I submit cheerfully. It Italy. Step by step they rose, till, at last, is not in my nature to oppose your will; I the crown rested upon her head:-the second love you too deeply. Nor shall I cease to part of the prophecy was proved true, and love you, Napoleon, because I am to leave she began to look forward to that loss of your throne and your side. If you still go power and rank, which had also been fore-on victorious, I shall rejoice with you-if told, and which was to close the strange reverse comes, I will lay down my life to drama of her life. comfort you. will pray for you morning and night; and in the hope that sometimes you will think of me.' And he that had wedded the child of destiny grew every day more strong, and more grasping. In vain did Josephine attempt to rule his ambition, and chasten his aims; he was an emperor, he wished to found an empire, and by slow degrees he made himself familiar with the thoughts of putting her away. When the campaign of 1809 was at an end, hardened and narrowed, the general came back to his wife; his former kindness was gone, his playfulness was checked, he consulted her but seldom, and seldom stole upon her private hours with that familiar Hardened as he was, Napoleon had loved his wife deeply and long; her submission to his stern resolve-her calm, but mournful dignity-her unshaken love, moved even him; and for a moment affection struggled with ambition. He turned to embrace her again. But in that moment, her face and form had changed. Her eye and her whole person seemed inspired! He felt himself in the presence of a superior being. She led him to the window, and threw it open. A No. 3. Beauty-Immortality in Youth. thin mist rested upon the Seine, and over the gardens of the palace; and all around|| was silent; among the stars then before them, one was far brighter than the rest; she pointed to it. Sire,' she said, 'that star is mine-to that, and not to yours, was promised empire; through me, and through my destinies, you have risen; part from me and you fall. The spirit of her that foresaw my rise to royalty, even now communes with my spirit, and tells me that your fate hangs on mine. Believe me or not, if we henceforth walk asunder, you will leave no empire behind you, and will die yourself in shame, and sorrow, and with a broken spirit.' He turned away sick at heart, and overawed by the words of one, whose destiny had been so strangely accomplished. Ten days were passed in resolves and counterresolves-and then the link that bound him to fortune was broken. Josephine was divorced-and, as he said himself at St. Helena, from that hour his fall began. Josephine was divorced-but her love did not cease; in her retirement, she joyed in all his successes, and prayed that he might be saved from the fruits of his foul ambition! When his son was born, she only regretted that she was not near him in his happiness, and when he went a prisoner to Elba, she begged that she might share his prison, and relieve his woes. Every article that he had used at her residence, remained as he left it; she would not let a chair be removed. The book, in which he had been last reading, was there with the page doubled down, and the pen that he had last used, was by it, with the ink dried on its point. When her death drew nigh, she wished to sell all her jewels, to send the fallen emperor money; and her will was submitted to his correction. She died before his return from Elba; but her last thoughts were of him and France, and her last words expressed the hope and belief that she had not caused a single tear to flow.' She was buried in the village church of Ruel, and her body was followed to the grave, not only by princes and generals, but by two thousand poor, whose hearts had been made glad by her bounty. 47 SINGULAR EFFECTS OF BEAUTY ON A YOUNG MAN.-Bishop Dupoy invited one day to dinner, two clergymen and three ladies: he noticed that during the whole of the repast, the youngest of the two clergymen had his eyes steadfastly fized on one of the ladies, who was very handsome. The Bishop, after dinner, when the ladies had retired, asked him what he thought of the beauty he had just been looking at. The clergyman answered, "My lord, in looking at the lady, I was reflecting that her beautiful forehead will one day be covered with wrinkles; that the coral on her lips will pass to her eyes, the vivacity of which will be extinguished; that the ivory of her teeth will be changed to ebony; that to the roses and lilies of her complexion, the withered appearance of care will succeed; that her fine soft skin will become a dry parchment; that her agreeable smiles will be converted into grimaces; and that at length she will become the antidote of Love." I never should have supposed, said the Bishop, that the sight of a fine woman would have inspired a young man with such profound meditation. THE FEELINGS OF IMMORTALITY IN YOUTH. No young man believes he shall ever die. There is a feeling of eternity in youth which makes us amends for every thing. To be young is to be as one of the immortals. One half of time indeed is spent-the other half remains in store for us, with all its countless treasures, for there is no line drawn, and we see no limit to our hopes and wishes. We make the coming age our own "The vast, the unbounded prospect lies before us." Death, old age, are words without a meaning, a dream, a fiction, with which we have nothing to do. Others may have undergone, or may still undergo them-we "bear a charmed life," which laughs to scorn all such idle fancies. As, in setting out on a delightful journey, we strain our eager sight forward, "Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail," and see no end to prospect after prospect, Her marble monument bears only this in-new objects presenting themselves as we adscription: What a fund of future writers, in her character and fate; and what a lesson to all || of us, whether in prosperity or adversity.— Western Monthly Magazine. A vance; so in the outset of life we see no end to our desires, nor to the opportunities of gratifying them. We have as yet found no obstacle, no disposition to flag, and it seems that we can go on forever. The affection of Woman is the most wonderful thing in the world-it tires not, faints Wise men make their enemies their in-not, dreads not, cools not. It is like the structors fools become enemies to their Naphtha that nothing can extinguish but the teachers. appalling look of death. 48 Marriage-The Bride, &c. MARRIAGE. Marriage is to woman at once the happiest and saddest event in her life; it is the promise of future bliss, raised on the death of all present enjoyment. She quits her home, her parents, her companions, her occupations, her amusements, every thing on which she has hitherto depended for comfort, for affection, for kindness, for pleasure. The parents by whose advice she has been guided, the sister to whom she has dared to impart every embryo of thought and feeling, the brother who has played with her, by turns the counsellor and the counselled; and the younger children, to whom she has hitherto been the mother and the playmate, all are to be forsaken at one fell stroke; every former tie is loosened, the spring of every hope and action is to be changed; and yet she flies with joy into the untrodden path before her. Buoyed up by the confidence of requited. love, she bids a fond and grateful adieu to the life that is past, and turns with excited hopes and joyous anticipation of the happiness to come. Then woe to the man who can blight such fair hope-who can treacherously lure such a heart from its peaceful enjoyment, and the watchful protection at home-who can, coward-like, break the illusions that have won her, and destroy the confidence which love had inspired. Woe to him who has too early withdrawn the tender plant from the props and stays of moral discipline in which she has been nurtured, and yet makes no effort to supply their place; for on him be the responsibility of her errors-on him who has first taught her by his example to grow careless of her duty, and then exposed her with a weakened spirit, and unsatisfied heart, to the wiid storms and the wily temptations of the world, FLATTERY. Sensible women have often been the dupes of designing men, in the following way :they have taken an opportunity of praising them to their own confidante, but with a solemn injunction to secrecy. The confidante, however, as they know, will infallibly inform her principal, the first moment she sees her; and this is a mode of flattery which always succeeds. Even those females who nauseate flattery in any other shape, will not reject it in this; just as we can bear the light of the sun when reflected by the moon. THE BRIDE. BY CHARLES JEFFREYS. VOL. I. Oh! take her, and be faithful still, And warmly breath'd as now. That binds your youthful heart: "T is one that only truth should weave, And only death can part. The joys of childhood's happy hour, The treasur'd scenes of early youth, In sunshine and in tears; When her young heart was free, Her lot in life is fix'd with thine, Its good and ill to share, Mark only Joy's increase, And may your days glide sweetly on In happiness and peace. HYMENIAL. "The silken tie that binds two willing hearts." MARRIED, In Stokes county, at the residence of Thomas Wilson, Esq., on Thursday the 27th ult., by the Rev. Thomas Pfole, Mr. WILLIAM F. STOCKTON to Miss MARY WILSON. How sweet is the charm when two fond hearts have met, Which warms while the life-blood is flowing, MOORE & WATERHOUSE, NO. 67 SOUTH SECOND STREET. PHILADELPHIA: JOHN LIBBY, TERMS.-The Ladies' Garland will be published on the first and third Saturday of each month. Each number will consist of sixteen octavo pages, well printed, on fine paper. Price only One Dollar a year, payable in all cases in advance. This work being a semi-monthly newspaper, is subject only to newspaper postage. Vol. I. THE LADIES' GARLAND. June 3, 1837. No. 4. CHANGES. The billows run along in gold And when upon the shore unrolled, They get themselves a different form, Life's billows on Life's changing sea Some with a hollow roar ; All water courses find the main, The main sinks back to earth; Grass grows from scattered clay- THE WANDERER'S RETURN. "They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling mourn The tree will wither long before it fall; The hull drives on, though mast and sa:l be torn The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall In massy hoariness; the ruined wall The day drags through though storms keep out the sun, The heavy dew of an April morning still lay unexhaled on moorland and meadow, though the sun was already riding high in heaven: the light air came in gusts, fraught with that delicious freshness, peculiar to the early spring; every brake and bush teemed with life and motion, the small birds flitted from spray to spray, filling the whole atmosphere with gushes of rejoicing melody, while far above the noisy rooks cawed, and fluttered among the quivering branches, busy in repairing their wind-rocked habita tions, for the reception of their callow brood; repairing them perchance to be demolished by the gale, which on the morrow shall cover the green earth with its icy shower, and blight in its first tender beauty, the budding vegetation of the year. Wild, thoughtless, happy denizens of the free air, we look upon your discordant sports, upon your fruitless labors. We moralize, and almost mourn over the disappointments, which must befal you from many a chilling blast, before the season shall realize its promise; and we forget that we, the boasted lords of a creation, the learned, the eloquent, the Happiness, like day, consists not in par-wise, are hourly "building palaces untial flashes, but in steady light; and whe-mindful of the tomb," that we are eternally ther this be bright sunshine, twilight or soft moonshine, it matters not, so long as it is uniform. TO LIFE find back its way. Life hath its range eternally, Like water, changing forms; And gather into storms: forming projects, and lapping our souls in golden dreams, which-however our reason may whisper that they can never come to 50 The Wanderer's Return. VOL. I. pass-shall nevertheless sprinkle the flow-ments of animated nature. The deer couchers of our existence with bitterness and wo, ing in picturesque groups among the tall as they melt like the haze of morning be- fern, the rabbit glancing for a moment fore the increasing sunshine of experience. through the bushes on his way to his neighSome such thoughts as these were passing boring burrow; the partridge, springing on through the mind of a traveler who was its startled wing from some sandy bank on already on the road, even at this early hour. which it had been dusting its ruffled feathers He was a man whose days had not passed in the fullest warmth of the sunshine. All their prime, although the frequent streaks of combined to form a sweet though somewhat white that mingled with the waving curls, melancholy picture-melancholy because it which might once have shamed the color of bore the likeness of a district, once rethe raven, and the deep furrows which claimed by the dominion of man, now gradutrenched his broad and massive forehead, ally relapsing into the untamed desolation might have become one many years his of the wilderness. The attention of the senior; his tall form was knit in the strong-rider seemed rivetted on the scenery as he est mould compatible with grace, and his features, though obscured by a settled cloud of melancholy, were like the chiselled lineaments of some sculptured marble. The broad thick moustache shaded a mouth whose decided curve bespoke unconquered resolution, and the dark gray eye, so passionless, and even philosophic, in its present expression, had yet a something which taught the beholder that there might be moments, when the glare of its wrath would be scarcely less bright, or less blighting, than the electric flash. proceeded; his eye roved from place to place, as if in search of some familiar object, and ever and anon returned to its gloomy abstraction, unsatisfied, as it were, in its inquiries, and disappointed in its expectations. There was none however of that bitter impatience, which the young and sanguine feel, when frustrated in the pursuit of ex pected pleasure, to be traced in the grave features and placid eye of the stranger. His thoughts seemed rather to partake of that stern and cold sorrow with which men are apt to meet a long-anticipated calamity, when they have steeled their hearts for its encounter; and feel, perhaps, even mingled with the very pain, a strange sensation of pleasure at the realization of true though gloomy forebodings. His garb, of that fashion which has been rendered immortal by the pencil of Vandyke; costly in its materials, and rich in its almost gloomy coloring, was worn in a manner which, if not actually careless, yet showed that the wearer had long ceased to feel interest A stranger, banished for years from the in his personal appearance. In marked dis- land of his birth; a wanderer, round half tinction to this negligence of apparel, the the sea-girt ball; a soldier of fortune, wieldcondition and equipments of the noble horse ing that sword under the banners of a forhe bestrode, as well as the state of his arms eign power, which political and domestic -at that period the mark of gentle blood-discords forbade to strike in the cause of his showed, that in matters deemed worthy of own country; a son, estranged from his note, neither care, nor cost, were spared. A father by the cursed excitement of civil dishuge grayhound, of the genuine Irish wolf sension; a lover, forsaken and abandoned by breed, now trotted lazily by the side of the the woman he adored; with a broken heart, charger, now bounded erect to the stirrup, but undaunted spirit, he was now returning, as if to claim the attention of his moody after long and lonely wanderings, in calm lord. The path along which he was jour- and philosophic sorrow, to the home which neying, at a moderate rate, swept in easy he had left, in the fiery indignation of aspirreaches through one of those tracts of foresting boyhood. Francis Audeley, the son of land, which abound even to the present day (though in small and detached portions) through the northern counties in England. The land lay in broken swells, here studded with huge oaks, whose mossy trunks, and gnarled branches twisting their gray and shivered extremities far above the red leaves of the preceding autumn, seemed as if they might have rung to the bugle, or twanged to the bowstring of the Saxon outlaw: and there retiring into thickets, where the varnished holly mingled its never changing hues with the silvery bark of the birch, and the tender verdure of the budding hazel. It was a lovely scene, with all its accompani a true-blue cavalier, had been among the earliest patriots, who had seen into the grasping policy, by which the first Charles was striving to base an absolute autocracy on the ruins of an overthrown constitution. With Audeley, to perceive injustice and tyranny, was to hate to hate, not silently, or in the recesses of his own bosom, but in the free light of heaven. He resisted-con stitutionally resisted-the encroachments of that short-sighted ambition, which so soon brought down the diadem to the block, and which has led after ages-so strange and unaccountable are the sympathies of mankind -to consider a false and selfish despot, in |