this grand fête. Marie Louise soon resumed no, not quite; that is fire creeping there along her seat, but Napoleon remained at the other end of the pavilion, conversing first with one, then with another. The Princess Schwartzenberg presented her young daughters to him, and received his compliments on the magnificence of the arrangements. The princess felt while she listened to them that all anxieties and fears with regard to the entertainment might now fairly be laid aside; never could ball-room present a more brilliant spectacle, never could fête promise a grander success. The hearts of both host and hostess grew light as they saw Napoleon in the best possible humor, evidently bent upon being polite after his fashion. It was now past midnight; the revelry was at its height; the whirl of the dance had completely broken the gêne of the great conqueror's presence. Dukes and duchesses, prince and princesses, kings and queens, were all enjoying themselves like ordinary mortals. There were silvery laughter, sweet, low voices, and glances still more sweet and eloquent; plenty of whispering and flirtation going on under cover of the music, especially in the less thronged galleries among the younger portion of the assembly. Tiaraed ladies, and bestarred and beribboned gentlemen, verging upon fifty, but successfully got up to seem twenty years younger, were looking forward with gentle anticipation to the supper, lying in state of gold and silver in a suite of banqueting-rooms. Some of the guests were proud of their jewels, their wit, or their grace; some women were proud of their own beauty, others of the beauty of their daughters; but not an Austrian present was there who was not proud of the ball; and well they might be. Under those snowy draperies, the light fell full and brilliant on such an assembly as Paris has hardly gathered since; jewels flashed, plumes waved, decorations glittered, to be multiplied infinitely in countless mirrors -the magnificent pavilion showed like one vast restless sea of splendor. Vague forebodings are rife in the minds of men, but why should they enter here? what room here for a thought of broken faith-a sigh for the castoff wife at Malmaison-why should a dark fancy see in the cold, shrinking girl on the dais an image of Iphigenia at the altar? Away with all ill-timed fancies! The orchestra strikes up a waltz; gayer, louder is the music; quicker, and still more quick the measure of the dance.

that drapery overhead. Quick as thought Count Damanion, one of the emperor's chamberlains, climbs a pillar, tears it down, and crushes out the flame in a moment. But look there-higher than any one can reach, what are those fiery tongues darting out from the fluted muslin straight over the orchestra? The music was hushed at once; the band hurrying to escape by the door leading into the gardens, at the back of the orchestra, gave free passage to the night-air. A rising wind blew very freshly in, and fanned the flames into instant fury. Wave after wave of fire surged over the whole roof; burning fragments were falling everywhere on the light draperies below and the ladies' dresses. The emperor had at once made his way to the daïs; some of his attendants, bewildered by the sudden alarm, suspected treachery, and pressed closely round him, their swords drawn in their hands. He himself was perfectly calm and composed; attended by the ambassador, with the empress on his arm, he left the pavilion with no more haste than he had entered it, exhorting the crowd, as he passed along, to keep order. On the first alarm, Prince Schwartzenberg had despatched an adjutant to order the imperial carriage to a private gate into the gardens near at hand; but Napoleon, when this was nearly reached, turned suddenly round, and refused in the most peremptory manner to leave by any but the principal entrance. His decision was no doubt formed under the idea that if this accident were connected with a design upon his life, the narrowness and seclusion of the bystreet into which the other gateway opened would favor the plans of conspirators. The carriage had to be ordered back, and thus a cruel delay arose for Prince Schwartzenberg, waiting with death in his heart beside Napoleon, who remained silent and unmoved, the empress trembling on his arm, the din of that dreadful tumult in their ears, the glare of the conflagration increasing every moment. Not more than one minute had passed between the first alarm and the emperor's departure, yet the flames had spread with such frightful rapidity that it was already impossible to save the ball-room. Tolerable composure had been hitherto maintained, but the restraint of Napoleon's presence withdrawn, every consideration gave way, and in agony and violence the tumultuous multitude pressed towards the doors.

There is a slight stir at that end of the ballroom where Napoleon is standing; the merest One of the German guests thus describes trifle-the flame from one of the lamps has the scene. "I had escaped," he says, "from laid hold of a gauze festoon. The light, harm- the oppression and heat of the ball-room into less-looking blaze has vanished instantly; a the gallery, which was far less crowded. On few flakes fall, which Count Bentheim extin- a sudden, wild shrieks and tumult rose. Rushguishes with his hat. It is quite over now-ing back to the pavilion, I saw the roof one

mass of quivering flames, leaping and spread- several persons that she was already in the ing in every direction. There was no time, gardens; there many people declared they however, to look on; a surging crowd drove had seen her carried, fainting, indeed, but me back with them into the hotel. I disen- otherwise uninjured, into the hotel. Prince gaged myself from them, and regained the Joseph eagerly repaired thither, but only to scene of the accident through the gardens. find a lady, a perfect stranger to him, who The immense pavilion was now in a univer- remarkably resembled the princess. Hurrysal blaze; the flames actually seemed to pur- ing back in an agony, his daughter frightfully sue the stream of fugitives. Heavy lustres burnt, was brought to him; the princess had were falling; planks, boards, and beams, gained the gardens in safety, but returned for dashed burning together. The wood-work, her child; they were escaping together, when exposed as it had been to the sun, the paint and a mass of blazing wood-work fell, and sepadraperies, were burning like fireworks and rated them. This was all the poor girl had all the water poured on from the fire-engines to tell. At this moment, the torturing preseemed to have no effect whatever upon the sentiment which had laid hold of the unhappy fury of the flames. While I stood looking on husband passed through every degree, and for a few seconds, they darted high above the certainly flashed upon his mind with a light roof of the gallery; heavy beams were fall- more fearful than that of the conflagration. ing close behind me, and I was obliged to As he approached the pavilion, his eye fell escape while there was yet time into the gar- upon an ominous sight-the Princess von dens. Never can I forget the spectacle there Leyen, her rich dress hanging in fragments, presented, that dreadful confusion of personal the diadem she had worn burnt deeply into danger, fear, and agony. Some were rush- her forehead. She had only been rescued ing about, their light dresses on fire; others from the flames to linger a few days in sufhad been thrown down and trampled under fering; and, alas! those who had brought her foot. Husbands were seeking their wives, out told that they had seen a figure in the mothers crying franticly for their daughters; midst of the fire whom it was impossible to groans of suffering, shrieks of terror, the save. On hearing these words Prince Joseph cries of those who threw themselves with pas-broke away from his friends, and would have sionate joy into each other's arms, the wail rushed up the burning steps, when floor and of agony, the heart-rending appeals for help; ceiling crashed into one ruin, volumes of ragall mingled in a horrible diapason." Many ing fire and smoke poured forth, and—all was persons were severely injured by the flight of over. steps from the principal entrance giving way suddenly. The queens of Naples and Westphalia, were both thrown down, and narrowly escaped being trampled to death. The Russian ambassador, Prince Kurakin, was rescued with great difficulty by his friends; other hands, less friendly, cut all the diamond buttons off his coat. Every distinction of rank was suddenly levelled in that assembly; stars, ribbons, nay, majesty itself, were jostled by servants, soldiers, and workmen; the firemen, half intoxicated, pushed their way through the crowd; royal ladies were elbowed by musicians and opera-dancers; and as a back ground to this scene of confusion, rose higher, fiercer, more general every moment, the terrible conflagration, paling and mocking the illuminations of the gardens. The hotel itself had now caught fire; the alarm had spread everywhere; and the streets were thronged with people crying out that half Paris would be burned down.

The saddest part of the story remains still to be told. When the fire broke out, Prince Joseph von Schwartzenberg was standing in conversation with the empress. His first tre was for his wife, the Princess Pauline, whom he had left only a few minutes before in another part of the room. He searched the ball-room for her in vain, and was assured by

So swift had been the destroyer in its work, that hardly a quarter of an hour had elapsed between the accident, seemingly so slight, to the gauze festoon, and this final act of the tragedy. For one minute, this awful spectacle suspended the restless agony of the crowd, and while they stood stupefied before it, the emperor, in his well-known gray coat, suddenly re-appeared among them. Under his orders, the strangers present withdrew without confusion; every entrance to the grounds was guarded by soldiers; the important contents of the archive-room, on which the fire had seized, were conveyed into a place of safety. Napoleon himself directed the efforts made for extinguishing the fire, and the search for the missing Princess Pauline von Schwartzenberg. This was entirely unsuccessful; not a clue could be obtained to her fate, though every house in the vicinity and those of all her friends were visited, and the smouldering ruins carefully searched. Prince Joseph hovered about, appearing now in the gardens, now in the different apartments, ready to sink from exhaustion, yet roused into activity through his restless anguish. Even Napoleon found pity for the unhappy man; he joined his friends in trying to persuade him to withdraw, and addressed a few words of encouragement and hope to him from time

to time. But the presence and words of the were dark whispers of conspiracy, incendiaemperor made no impression on his stubborn rism-reports that the enemies of Napoleon despair; he had no ear save for the deathcry in his heart, and for the reports-always the same- of the messengers sent hither and thither on their hopeless quest..

had resolved by one bold stroke to rid themselves of the obnoxious ruler, his family, and his devoted friends. The obsequies of the Princess Pauline von Schwartzenberg were Not till the fire had been well got under followed by those of the Princess von Leyen, did Napoleon return to St. Cloud. He left and of several ladies of high rank, who died behind him a thousand soldiers of the Impe- in consequence of injuries received. More rial Guard, who bivouacked there for the than twenty persons lost their lives; the night, and sat down to the sumptuous ban- number of those more or less hurt was upquet prepared for very different guests. As wards of sixty. The deep and unwholesome if no element of horror were to be wanting, impression produced on the public mind was towards the morning a fearful thunder-storm unmistakable, an impression which resisted broke over the smoking ruins. The rain every effort made in high quarters to supnow fell in torrents, and served to extinguish press and divert it. To the bulk of the peothe fire completely. Where the sun had set ple, Napoleon's divorce and subsequent maron that palace ball-room, he now rose over a riage had been extremely distasteful; and hideous heap of ruins, charred beams, shat- this, not only because Josephine was univertered masonry, broken furniture, mirrors, sally beloved, but that a superstitious belief and porcelain; every chance hollow was a had arisen-shared in some degree by her pool of stagnant water. Fragments of lustres, husband himself that her presence was the swords, bracelets, and other ornaments lay good genius of his fortunes. Already there fused together in masses. Nor was this all was vague but popular prediction extant, under a pile of half-burned wood-work, a that the dowry of an Austrian archduchess corpse was discovered, blackened and shriv- would be bitter misfortunes for France and elled almost out of human form. It could its chief; and now the memory of the terrionly be identified as that of the missing prin- ble disaster attendant on the nuptials of Marie cess by a jewelled necklace, on which the Antoinette, aunt to the empress, with the names of her eight children were engraved; dauphin was revived, and the present caa ninth, yet unborn, perished with the ill-lamity considered a fresh proof that fate had fated wife and mother. At this saddest of a fearful warning in store for every alliance all sights, every voice was hushed; tears stood in the eyes of ail, even in those of the soldiers; and at the moment, the last thunders of the storm, two heavy claps, rolled solemnly overhead.

Dismal days succeeded this catastrophe. A universal gloom overspread Paris. There

of France with the House of Hapsburg. When, within a few years, the divorcer of Josephine was discrowned and forsaken, many prophets, wise after the event, beheld in this fatal festival an omen of the downfall of the imperial fortunes.

DIED, at his residence, Poughkeepsie, N. Y., | tive land, especially those which pertained to its August 25, 1860, Mr. William Wilson, in the fifty-ninth year of his age. The Poughkeepsie Post says:

"In the death of Mr. Wilson we have lost one of our most valuable citizens. He had become, too, one of the oldest of our business men, hav ing opened a book-store in the premises now under our editorial rooms in Market Street, in the year 1834, where he remained a few years alone, and then formed a copartnership with the late veteran publisher and bookseller, Paraclete Potter. When Mr. Potter left for the west, Mr. Wilson continued the business alone, and has done so until within a few months, when declining health caused him to resign the active supervision of it, into the hands of his eldest son. Mr. Wilson was a native of Perthshire, Scotland, and his thoughts and feelings were thoroughly im

bued with the most noble associations of his na

literature of every kind. He had already assumed an honorable position in the world of letters, before he left Scotland, and was an acceptable contributor to Blackwood's Magazine, the Edinburgh Literary Journal, Chambers's Journal, and other periodicals. After establishing himself in business here he continued his contributions to Scottish periodicals, and wrote several exquisite poems for Tait's Magazine, over the signature of Alpin.' In a collection of Scottish poetry published some twenty years ago, several from the pen of Mr. Wilson appeared, which are remarkable for their great delicacy of sentiment, vigorous thought, and artistic construction.

"Over the signature of Allan Grant' Mr. Wilson has contributed some meritorious poems to the columns of the Albion, the Evening Post, the Knickerbocker Magazine, and more recently to the Chicago Record, published by his son."