formed within probably of consecrated pasteboard, it is without covered by a sort of watered silk of white and silver. On the two peaks at the top of the mitre are two very little spangled tassels, that frisk and twinkle about in a very agreeable manner. Monseigneur stood opposite to us for some time, when I had the opportunity to note the above remarkable phenomena. He stood opposite me for some time, keeping his eyes steadily on the ground, his hands before him, a small clerical train following after. Why didn't they move? There was the National Guard keeping on presenting arms, the little drummers going on rub-dub-dub — rub-dub-dub in the same steady, slow way, and the Procession never moved an inch. There was evidently, to use an elegant phrase, a hitch somewhere. [Enter a fat priest who bustles up to the drum-major.] Fat priest 66 Taisez-vous." Little drummer-Rub-dub-dub-rub-dub-dub-rub-dub-dub, &c. Drum-major-"Qu'est-ce done?" 66 Fat priest Taisez-vous, dis-je ce n'est pas le corps. Il n'arrivera pas pour une heure." The little drums were instantly hushed, the procession turned to the right-about, and walked back to the altar again, the blown-out candle that had been on the near side of us before was now on the off side, the National Guards set down their muskets and began at their sandwiches again. We had to wait an hour and a half at least before the great procession arrived. The guns without went on booming all the while at intervals, and as we heard each, the audience gave a kind of "ahahah!" such as you hear when the rockets go up at Vauxhall. At last the real Procession came. Then the drums began to beat as formerly, the Nationals to get under arms, the clergymen were sent for and went, and presently-yes, there was the tall cross-bearer at the head of the procession, and they came back! They chanted something in a weak, snuffling, lugubrious manner, to the melancholy bray of a serpent. Crash! however, Mr. Habeneck and the fiddlers in the organloft pealed out a wild shrill march, which stopped the reverend gentlemen, and in the midst of this music — And of a great trampling of feet and clattering, And of a great crowd of Generals and Officers in fine clothes, With the Prince de Joinville marching quickly at the head of the procession, And while everybody's heart was thumping as hard as possible, NAPOLEON'S COFFIN PASSED. It was done in an instant. A box covered with a great red cross a dingy-looking crown lying on the top of it Seamen on one side and Invalids on the other-they had passed in an instant and were up the aisle. A faint snuffling sound, as before, was heard from the officiating priests, but we knew of nothing more. It is said that old Louis Philippe was standing at the catafalque, whither the Prince de Joinville advanced and said, "Sire, I bring you the body of the Emperor Napoleon." Louis Philippe answered, "I receive it in the name of France." Bertrand put on the body the most glorious victorious sword that ever has been forged since the apt descendants of the first murderer learned how to hammer steel; and the coffin was placed in the temple prepared for it. The six hundred singers and the fiddlers now commenced the playing and singing of a piece of music; and a part of the crew of the "Belle Poule" skipped into the places that had been kept for them under us, and listened to the music, chewing tobacco. . While the actors and fiddlers were going on, most of the spirits-of-wine lamps on altars went out. When we arrived in the open air we passed through the court of the Invalids, where thousands of people had been assembled, but where the benches were now quite bare. Then we came on to the terrace before the place: the old soldiers were firing off the great guns, which made a dreadful stunning noise, and frightened some of us, who did not care to pass before the cannon and be knocked down even by the wadding. The guns were fired in honor of the King, who was going home by a back door. All the forty thousand people who covered the great stands before the Hôtel had gone away too. The Imperial Barge had been dragged up the river, and was lying lonely along the Quay, examined by some few shivering people on the shore. It was five o'clock when we reached home: the stars were shining keenly out of the frosty sky, and François told me that dinner was just ready. In this manner, my dear Miss Smith, the great Napoleon was buried. Farewell. CRITICAL REVIEWS. GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.* ACCUSATIONS of ingratitude, and just accusations no doubt, are made against every inhabitant of this wicked world, and the fact is, that a man who is ceaselessly engaged in its trouble and turmoil, borne hither and thither upon the fierce waves of the crowd, bustling, shifting, struggling to keep himself somewhat above water - fighting for reputation, or more likely for bread, and ceaselessly occupied to-day with plans for appeasing the eternal appetite of inevitable hunger to-morrow a man in such straits has hardly time to think of anything but himself, and, as in a sinking ship, must make his own rush for the boats, and fight, struggle, and trample for safety. In the midst of such a combat as this, the "ingenious arts, which prevent the ferocity of the manners, and act upon them as an emollient" (as the philosophic bard remarks in the Latin Grammar) are likely to be jostled to death, and then forgotten. The world will allow no such compromises between it and that which does not belong to it—no two gods must we serve; but (as one has seen in some old portraits) the horrible glazed eyes of Necessity are always fixed upon you; fly away as you will, black Care sits behind you, and with his ceaseless gloomy croaking drowns the voice of all more cheerful companions. Happy he whose fortune has placed him where there is calm and plenty, and who has the wisdom not to give up his quiet in quest of visionary gain. Here is, no doubt, the reason why a man, after the period of his boyhood, or first youth, makes so few friends. Want and ambition (new acquaintances which are introduced to him along with his beard) thrust away all other society from him. Reprinted from the Westminster Review for June, 1840. (No 66.) |