so mild was the temperature, that he hardly needed a shelter, even at night.

So the time slid on very pleasantly with Philip for about a year. By this time, he began to be a little tired of his own company; nor could the chattering of the macaws and parrots, of which there were many in the trees, entirely satisfy him. He caught some of the young birds, and reared them, and taught them to speak, but still he felt lonely. At last it came to be his custom every day to go upon the top of the highest hill, and look far off upon the ocean, hoping to see a ship, for he yearned in his heart to have some human being for a companion. Then the tears would fill his eyes, and flow down his rough cheeks; and then he would speak or think to himself as follows:

"Liberty is indeed a dear and beautiful thing, but still I want something beside liberty. I want to hear a human voice. I want to look into a human face. I want some one to speak to. I feel as if my very heart would wither for the want of a friend. I feel a thirst within, and I have no means of satisfying it. I feel within a voice speaking, and there is no answer. This beautiful island is becoming a desert to me, without even an echo. O! dear France! O! dear, dear home! How gladly would I give up this hollow and useless liberty for the pleasures of friendship and society. I would be willing to be restrained by the thousand meshes of the law, if I might once more enjoy the pleasure of living in the midst of my fellow-men."

With these thoughts dwelling in his mind, Philip went to rest one night, and though it was very stormy, he slept soundly. In the morning the feelings of yesterday came back, and with a sad heart he went again to the top of the hill; for the hope of seeing a ship, and of once more being restored to human

society, haunted him perpetually. Long he stood upon the hill and looked out upon the sea, now tossing from the tempest of the night, and throwing up a thousand white-caps in every direction. Having gazed upon this scene for more than an hour, he chanced to turn his eyes towards the extremity of the island, where, at the distance of about a mile, he distinctly saw a human being on the shore. He paused but a moment to assure himself that he was not mistaken, and then set off like a deer toward the stranger.

Brusque did not stop in his way, but ran with all his might. When he came near the object of his attention, he saw that it was a man, and without waiting to examine farther, ran toward him with open arms. The man was alarmed, and stooping down, he picked up a stone, and threatened to hurl it at Brusque. The latter now paused, and the parties soon came to an understanding.

The stranger said that he was a fisherman from Mauritius, an island in the Indian Ocean, belonging to the French nation. It is inhabited chiefly by French people, and negroes, who are their slaves. The whole population is about 20,000.

It seems that the fisherman had been driven out to sea by a storm, and, the weather being cloudy and he having no compass, did not know which way to steer for home. Thus he wandered about several days, till, on the preceding night, in an attempt to land upon the island where he now found himself, his little smack was dashed in pieces, and he only saved himself by swimming.

No sooner had he told his story, than Philip put his arms around him and kissed him over and over again. He was indeed delighted, for now he had a companion, for which he had sighed so long. Now, he had a human face to look upon; now, he could listen to a human

voice; now, he had some one into whose mind he could pour his own thoughts and feelings. Now, in social intercourse, he could quench that thirst which had parched his soul in solitude. Full of these thoughts, Philip took the stranger, and led him to his cave. He gathered for him some fresh pine-apples, and some oranges, and placed them before him. When the fisherman began to eat with a hearty appetite, Philip clapped his hands in joy. He then ran to a little spring that was near, and brought some cool water in a gourd shell, and gave it to the fisherman.

Now Philip Brusque was rather a proud man, and it was very strange to see him waiting upon the rough fisherman, as if he were a servant. But Philip was acting according to the dictates of his heart, and so, though a seeming slave, he did not feel that his liberty was violated. He was, in fact, acting according to his own pleasure, and he was seeking happiness in his own way. If Philip had been compelled to serve the fisherman, he would have hated and resisted the task; but now, doing it freely, he found pleasure in it. So true it is that we do things when we are free, with delight, which slavery would turn into bitterness and sources of discontent.

Things went on very well for a few days. The fisherman took up his abode in Philip's cave, and there he lay a great part of the time. Brusque brought him fruit and water, and all he wanted, and he did it cheerfully for a time. But, by-and-by, the fisherman began to command Brusque to wait upon him, to do this and that, and to bring him this thing and that thing. This immediately changed the face of affairs between the parties. Brusque became angry, and told the fisherman to wait upon himself.

The fisherman made a rude reply, and 4

high words followed. Brusque ordered the fisherman to quit his cave. The fisherman told Brusque to leave it himself. Their faces were full of red wrath. Anger begets anger. The fisherman struck Brusque a blow. Brusque retaliated, and being a powerful man, he instantly stretched the fisherman on the ground. He was completely stunned, and lay without motion, seeming actually to be dead.

Brusque's anger was too high for the immediate return of reason. He looked on the pale form with a feeling of delight, and spoke some words of triumph between his firm-set teeth. But this feeling soon passed away, and a better one returned. Believing that the fisherman was dead, he now began to feel regret and remorse. Already was that monitor within, called conscience, telling him that he had violated a universal law, a law enacted by the Maker of man, and whispered into every man's bosom. Already Brusque felt that while a fellow-being was on the island, he was not absolutely free; that this fellow-being had rights as well as himself; that he had a right to his life, and that in taking it away he had done a great wrong to justice, to liberty, and himself.

While these thoughts were passing in his mind, the fisherman moved, and showed signs of returning life. Brusque was again full of joy, and fetching some water, sprinkled it over the man's face. In a short time he so far recovered as to sit upright, and soon after he was able to walk about. Brusque led him to the cave, where, lying down, the fisherman fell asleep.

Brusque now left him, and walked forth by himself. He was of a reflecting turn, and from his training in the revolution, his reflections often took a political cast. On this occasion, his thoughts ran thus:

"What a strange creature I am! A few weeks since, I was mad with joy at the arrival of this fisherman; soon he became the tyrant of my life; I then wished him dead; and when I thought I had killed him, my heart smote me, and I was more miserable than if death had stared me in the face. He is now alive again, and I am relieved of a load; and yet, in the midst of this happiness, which seems born of misery, I still feel a strange sadness at my heart.

"When I was alone, I was perfectly free, but I soon found that freedom, without society, was like the waters of the river, near which Tantalus was so chained that he could not drink, thus dying of thirst with a flood before his eyes.

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I therefore yearned for society, and then I had it by the arrival of this fisherman. But he became a torment to me. What then is the difficulty? I believe it is the want of some rules, by which we may regulate our conduct. Though there are but two of us, still we find it necessary to enter into a compact. We must form a government, we must submit to laws, rules, and regulations. We must each submit to the abridgment of some portion of our liberty, some portion of our privileges, in order to secure the rest."

Full of these thoughts, Brusque returned to the cave, and when the fisherman awoke, he spoke to him on the subject of their quarrel, and then set forth the necessity of laying down certain rules by which the essential rights of each should be preserved, and a state of harmony ensured. To this the fisherman agreed, and the following code of laws being drawn up by Brusque, they were passed unanimously :

Be it ordained by Philip Brusque, late of France, and Jaques Piquet, of Mauritius, to ensure harmony, establish justice, and promote the good of all parties:

1. This island shall be called Fredonia.

2.

Liberty, being a great good in itself, and the right of every human being, it shall only be abridged so far as the good of society may require. But as all laws restrain liberty, we, the people of Fredonia, submit to the following:

3. The cave called the Castaway's Home, lately occupied by Philip Brusque, shall be alternately occupied for a day and night by said Philip Brusque and Jaques Piquet; the former beginning this day, and the latter taking it the next day, and so forth.

4. Each person shall have a right to build himself a house, and shall have exclusive possession of the same.

5. If two persons wish the same fruit at the same time, they shall draw lots for the first choice, if they cannot agree otherwise as to the division.

6. If any difference arises between the two parties, Philip Brusque and Jaques Piquet, they shall decide such questions by lot.

7. This code of laws shall be changed, or modified, or added to, only_by_the consent of the parties, Philip Brusque and Jaques Piquet.

All which is done this 27th day of June, A. D. 18—.

This was neatly cut with a penknife on a board which had come ashore from the wreck of Philip's vessel, and it became the statute law of the island of Fredonia.

(To be continued.)

CONTENTMENT.-A gentleman, it is said, had a board put on a part of his land, on which was written, “I will give this field to any one who is really contented;" and when an applicant came, he always said, "Are you contented? The general reply was, "I am." "Then," rejoined the gentleman, "why do you want my field?"

Napoleon's Last Obsequies.

In the first number of our Magazine we stated that the remains of the late Emperor Napoleon had been conveyed from St. Helena to France, for interment in the Hospital of the Invalides at Paris. This event having caused the display of much splendid pageantry, and public feeling among the French, we have thought it would be interesting to our readers to see a minute and correct account of the events and ceremonies that took place on this remarkable occasion.

The body of the Emperor was found in the earth at St. Helena, where it had been deposited in a tomb of very strong and compact masonry, so that although the workmen began at noon, it was ten o'clock at night before they were able to reach the body. It was enclosed in three coffins, two of mahogany and one of lead, all of which were found in a perfect state, though nearly twenty years had elapsed since they had been laid in the earth.

It is difficult to describe with what anxiety, with what emotions, those who were present waited for the moment which was to expose to them all that death had left of Napoleon. Notwithstanding the singular state of preservation of the tomb and coffins, they could scarcely hope to find anything but some misshapen remains of the least perishable parts of the costume to evidence the identity. But when, by the hand of Dr. Guillard, the satin sheet over the body was raised, an indescribable feeling of surprise and affection was expressed by the spectators, most of whom burst into tears. The Emperor himself was before their eyes! The features of his face, though changed, were perfectly recognised-the hands perfectly beautiful-his well-known costume had

suffered but little, and the colors were easily distinguished-the epaulets, the decorations, and the hat, seemed to be entirely preserved from decay—the attitude itself was full of ease; and but for the fragments of the satin lining, which covered as with a fine gauze several parts of the uniform, they might have believed that they saw before them Napoleon still extended on a bed of state. General Bertrand and M. Marchand, who were present at the interment, quickly pointed out the different articles which each had deposited in the coffin, and in the precise position which they had previously described. It was even remarked that the left hand which General Bertrand had taken to kiss for the last time before the coffin was closed up, still remained slightly raised.

The body was now placed in a new leaden coffin or sarcophagus, sent out from France for the purpose, and conveyed with appropriate ceremonies on board a French man-of-war, which immediately sailed for Cherbourg. Great preparations were made in France for its reception. On the arrival of the ship at Cherbourg, a steamboat was ready to convey it up the Seine to Paris. A great number of steamboats and vessels of all sorts were collected together, forming a numerous fleet, under convoy of which the corpse was transported up the river, stopping occasionally at the cities and towns on the way, to allow the inhabitants the opportunity of gratifying their curiosity and displaying their enthusiasm, by paying homage to the remains of the great soldier and chieftain of the French empire. The crowds that assembled all along the banks of the river were immense. The military turned out by hundreds and thousands. All sorts of pageantry, exhibition, and pompous show-consisting of triumphal arches, pyramids, bridges, columns, and

other fanciful and imposing devices contributed to give effect to the solemnities.

On the fourteenth of December, 1840, the procession reached St. Germain, a place within a few miles of Paris. The crowd of spectators which had thronged to the spot from Paris was so immense, that it was impossible to proceed and land the body till the middle of the next day. Two battalions of troops were stationed on the banks of the river; and the stream was covered with vessels decked with laurels and wreaths of immortelles, a bright, unfading, yellow flower, very much in use among the French on funeral occasions.

At the great bridge of Neuilly, three or four miles from Paris, an immense rostral column had been prepared, surmounted by a ball or globe, representing the world, and six feet in diameter. This was crowned by a huge eagle; but owing to the intense cold of the weather, the design was not wholly completed. On the base of this column was the following inscription, containing the last request of Napoleon: "I wish my ashes to repose on the banks of the Seine." A wharf had been built at this place for the express purpose of landing the coffin, and here the body of Napoleon first touched the soil of France. At the extremity of the wharf a Grecian temple, one hundred feet in height, was erected; and at the end of the bridge of Neuilly was a colossal statue of the Empress Josephine.

From Paris to Neuilly there extends a beautiful broad avenue, ornamented with rows of trees and handsome buildings. Along this road the population of the capital began to throng in immense multitudes before daylight the next morning. It was computed that five hundred thousand persons crowded into this avenue on the morning of the landing of the body. The troops of the

National Guard were drawn up on the bank of the river; prayers were said over the corpse, and the coffin was borne to the land by twenty-four sailors. The artillery fired a salute of twentyone rounds, and the multitudes that thronged the banks of the river rent the air with their shouts. The body was then placed in a magnificent catafalque or funeral car, twenty-five feet in length, with gilt wheels, and decorated with golden eagles. On the car was a pedestal eighteen feet long and seven feet high, richly ornamented and hung with gold and purple cloth. On this pedestal stood fourteen cariatides or columnar human figures of colossal size, supporting with their heads and hands an immense golden shield. The coffin was laid on this shield. On the coffin was placed a rich cushion, sustaining the sceptre, the hand of justice, and the imperial crown, studded with jewels. The whole formed a structure fifty feet in height, and was drawn by sixteen black horses, richly caparisoned, after the manner of the middle ages.

The procession then took up its march for Paris. In the procession was the war-horse of Napoleon, and five hundred sailors who accompanied the corpse from St. Helena. The whole avenue to Paris was lined with troops. Round the great triumphal arch at the entrance of the city, were lofty masts bearing tricolored pennants surrounded with black crape, and exhibiting each the name of some one of the armies of the Republic or the Empire, as "The Army of the Rhine"- "The Army of Italy," &c. On entering the city, the crowd was so immense that the procession had great difficulty in forcing its way onward. The number of spectators was estimated at 800,000. This is equal to the whole population of Paris; yet when we take into the account the great numbers that resorted to the capital from all parts of