I took one of the throne cushions and laid his bleeding body on it; I left him there, and going out saw at the entrance of the palace a woman pushing in with strange impetuosity-" Mon fils-mon fils!" she cried—(my son, my son)—“ a-t-il vaincu ?—a-t-il suivi son pere? (has he conquered ?-has he followed his father ?)"

I cleared a way for her, I opened my arms and cried, "Marie, ma femme-toujours cherie-voici votre mari!—(Marie, my wife-always beloved-behold your husband!)"

" Il

"Et notre fils ?—(and our son ?)" said Marie, after a little. est aussi dans le combat-il a placé le drapeau tri-coloré—(he is also in the combat-he has placed the three-coloured flag.)" "Le voila, mon mari, c'est pour l'amour de vous— -(behold it, my husband, it is for your sake.)"

"Marie, Marie, laissez moi vivre !—(Marie, Marie, let me live!)" I cried, I was overwhelmed with joy and grief.

I led her to the throne, I pointed out the bloody cushion, and said, "Marie, is that my son ?"

My wife staggered over to it, she fell beside it, she took the boy's head and laid it on her bosom-it hung down like a drooping flower.

"Look up, look up, my boy-mon cheri !" she cried, "behold your father!-you were the world to me when he was gone;-he comes and you go. Look up, look up-live, my Eugene, to bless him, live!"

Eugene (he bore the name of Josephine's son) looked up, his eye-lids fluttered and bent down again, a smile moved over his features, he said, "Mon pere," and died. France, Napoleon,-I had served you long, but this was my first sacrifice.

I joined again the contest in which my brave son had fallen; when it was nearly ended, I endeavoured to rejoin Marie, who had remained by the corpse of our boy; the Swiss and Lancer Guards were retiring rapidly, but flying shots were kept up through the streets; I thought I saw Marie coming to meet me, I had feared her anxiety would lead her to seek me, I hastened on, but my head was dizzy and my sight confused; food, rest, or drink, I had not thought of more than others; and when I missed her again I thought I had been mistaken, that it was not Marie I had seen advancing; but a few minutes and I passed what intercepted us, and there I found my faithful Marie: she had dropped on the ground-her breast was pierced by a musket ball-I reached her as that fond, faithful heart gave its last throb-it glowed no more at my approach.

My own life, France, was justly yours-it was left to me—you have cost me dearer. You may not know another Napoleon, but go on to be free, to be glorious, and the heart of a lonely, sad, and suffering exile will feel joy in your prosperity, though he no longer seeks a share in your glory.

TO CHRISTMAS.

OLD Christmas! merry Christmas! thou art with us once again,
And thy laugh of free light-heartedness goes ringing o'er the plain;
Thy step is as the step of youth which knoweth nought of care,
And holly-berries, ruby-red, are shining 'mid thy hair;-

That hair of silv'ry whiteness, as it floateth far behind,

Doth in the sunbeams glance, like spring that's borne upon the wind;
Thy ruddy face is lit with smiles, diffusing mirth around,
And thy jovial shout rings cheerfully, with joy inspiring sound.

Thou comest with thy merry tales of days that are gone by,

Though old, unwrinkled is thy brow, undimmed thy flashing eye,
And thou art full of tricks, as is a laughter-loving child,
And agile as a stately stag, that roams the forest wild.

Thou comest dancing to the sound of softly chiming bells,
Sweet Poesy attends thy steps, and Music with thee dwells;-
Glad Plenty walketh in thy train with gay Festivity,
They bear the wassail-bowl between, and deeply quaff to thec.

Old Christmas! merry Christmas! all worldly care awhile
Is banished, and dark Sorrow flies the sunshine of thy smile;
We meet around the festive board, as weary travellers meet
In arid wastes, beside a spring of waters cool and sweet,

What recollections stir within, emotions pure and blest;
Each like a child becomes again, with unpolluted breast;
We tell the gleeful tales, and sing the songs of other days;
The icy covering of our hearts dissolves 'neath memory's rays.

Then hail! all hail, blythe Christmas! the rich and eke the poor,
To celebrate thy coming, produce their choicest store;

And while the festive board is crowned-the glass is passing free,
They drink, they drink, in bumpers round, "Old Christmas! here's to thee!"

Chatham.

H. G. ADAMS.

FLOATING REMEMBRANCES.

BY

THE OLD SAILOR.

No. IX.

JACK TAYLOR.

"An inhuman wretch
Uncapable of pity, void and empty,
From any dram of mercy."-Shakspeare.

ON leaving the beach in the man-of-war's boat,-Grainger having with great difficulty regained terra firma, amid the jeers and shouts of the crowd,-Taylor was first made alive to the narrow escape he had had, and of the deep laid toils of him whom he had defeated. It was from the thoughts such an occurrence would naturally produce, even in a mind like his, that he was aroused by the shrill notes of the bugles of his regiment sounding the embarkation, and almost immediately afterwards, the first boat, laden with his comrades, left the Gosport side of the harbour to join the transports prepared for their reception. Taylor's attendance on board was therefore instantly necessary-and making a sign to Mary Anne, who had now recovered from insensibility, as the boat rounded-to alongside a large transport, he bowed politely to Lieutenant Jennings, slipped something into old Jem's hand for the crew to drink his health, and then ascending the side of the vessel, he in another minute stood on her deck, and was followed by his faithful attendant. All around presented indications of bustle and activity-chests, bedding, and knapsacks were rapidly being bundled below as soon as they arrived on board; innumerable boats were passing to and from the shore, crowded with the soldiers, while the leave taking of many who were never to meet more, could be plainly distinguished, as the brave fellows left their native land for ever. Among those who were to be quartered on board the same vessel as Taylor, was a young private named Wilkins, who had shortly before joined, and in whom the Lieutenant took a particular interest from having known him when brighter days had dawned upon him. Having procured a boat to proceed to the Portsmouth side of the harbour, he despatched Wilkins in charge of her to bring his luggage from the inn where he had stopped the night before, (for not deeming that the embarkation would take place so early, he had altogether neglected to procure any assistance to convey it to the vessel.) With strict injunctions to avoid the streets through which Taylor had that morning proceeded with

Mary Anne. He had no fear of meeting Grainger,-who had made the best escape he could, soaked to the skin,-or any of his brother rascals, and after paying the bill left by Taylor, he removed the packages belonging to him, and stowing them in the boat, eventually arrived safely on board the transport. The bustle had then in some degree subsided, though a solitary boat still kept dropping in with the stragglers who had joined, and who excited much laughter from their comrades, none of whom would have them on board the different vessels, alleging they were too closely stowed already. Orders were, however given, by the officers in command, for each vessel to receive its share, and this plan settled all disputes; the band stationed on board one of the largest transports, struck up "Rule Britannia," and in two hours afterwards, the whole convoy were in motion down Channel, with a fair breeze for the Western Indies.

On the larboard side of the vessel which contained Taylor, seemingly watching the land as it was gliding by, yet in reality with eyes fixed on vacancy, stood the stripling who had accompanied him on board, and who had declined joining the groups below, who were each making themselves as comfortable as they could; the merry laugh and cheering song had no charms for him-his pale, yet pensive countenance betokened that thoughts of no mean moment stirred his breast. Mary Anne (for we must continue so to call her) now felt more keenly the difficult situation in which she was placed-separated by the rules of the service almost entirely from Taylor, who was forced to mess with his brother officers, and keep himself in their company on account of the necessity of enforcing that discipline so necessary in the army-she felt alone in the world, and although she had more reason to fear him than any others, although he had so cruelly deceived her and basely wronged her, yet did she cling to him with more than common fondness, as the only one to whom she could look to for protection. The thoughts of the happy years she had passed at the school where she was educated, where no pain or sorrow reached the heart, but all was joyousness and freedom, now came with double energy to her memory; the kindness of her sister, under whose tuition she had been, the many comforts, nay, luxuries she had been allowed, and merry companions whose society she had enjoyed, struck across her brain with maddening force: where were they now? Their spring of youth had grown into the summer of womanhood--their virtuous course of conduct had procured for them the love of men far above them in the ranks of life, nay some might have already tasted the bliss of matrimony, but she!-oh the thought was too much for human endurance-dressed in a costume never intended for her sex-exposed to the gaze of a band of soldiers, whose only pleasure was in the glass and jest, and who were induced by habit to despise those who were not the same as themselves-every moment on the watch lest some circumstance might betray her, and bring down disgrace on him who had

procured her reception on board, as well as on herself, a path of wrete hed ness lay before her such as few had ever trod; it was true the chances were much against her being discovered, but whenever an eye more keen than usual was directed towards her, her own heart smote her, and she deemed she was lost, but the crimson blush that mantled to her cheek was almost instantly replaced by the same pale and sickly hue that had before predominated. The misery of her situation struck deep into the bosom of the unhappy girl; she had dared all for one who had betrayed and slighted her; she had not shrunk from a task few persons of an opposite sex and her own age would have undertaken, and for one who had openly declared she was a clog upon his promotion-and yet she did not hate him. The love of woman, that deep, undying love, which nothing short of death can quench, still warmed her heart towards him; and had he ordered her to do the most menial office, cheerfully would she have performed it to have heard the sound of his voice. Amid recollections of the past and dark visions of the future did she pass the time occupied by the mid-day meal; hunger and thirst were alike absorbed amid the confused fancies that crowded on her brain; her parched lips trembled, her head swam round, and she would have sunk back upon the deck had not a smart tap upon the back partly aroused her, and in a few minutes restored her to recollection.

"Well, my cock-maggot," exclaimed a stentorian voice, something like the roar of a speaking trumpet, "what can you see to look at so intently on land ?" Mary Anne could not answer. "What's the name you're rated in the ship's books, I should like to know ?"

Troubled recollections crossed the mind of the girl as she gazed intently on the countenance of the honest serjeant, whose face bore evident marks of many years hard service. In the hurry and confusion of the embarkation she had forgotten to provide herself with that most necessary appendage, without which many of our heroes would be looked upon as little-a name; she stared vacantly in the face of the soldier but answered not.

What, no name, my lad ?" exclaimed he, with a laugh; “what, had your owners so much trouble with you that the giving you a name slipped their memory, or had they so many that they did not know which to choose, eh ?”

"My name is Taylor," exclaimed Mary Anne, with great selfconfidence; "I came on board with Lieutenant Taylor as his servant, and am named after him. I was so much astonished at the size of the vessel and the speed with which she travelled that I could not understand your question at first."

“And what's the handle to your name," said the serjeant, "your surname I mean ?"

Mary Anne was assuming the same stupid look as before, but her self