Josephine would not follow the wishes of her children, who were anxious that she should quit France; but retired to her beautiful seat of Malmaison, with the title of empressqueen-dowager, and kept up the semblance of a court. Josephine visited for a short time her daughter-in-law, the vice-queen of Italy, and then returning to the former seat of her happiness, pursued her taste for botany. But she was doomed to see the overthrow of the throne which she had once occupied. She saw the emperor for the last time in January, 1814; on the 4th of April he abdicated. Napoleon's exile to Elba drew from her expressions of the most poignant regret; and it was evident to every one that her health was rapidly declining. The allied sovereigns treated her with the most respectful distinction. The Emperor Alexander sent his own physician, and visited her often in person; but a sudden inflammation of the throat brought her life to an end. Josephine breathed her last in the arms of her children on the 29th of May, 1814, being fifty-one years of age.

Josephine was passionately devoted to Napoleon as a man. The powerful influence she exercised over him was never abused, as the Emperor himself acknowledged, by a word of bad counsel. According to popular reports, it had been predicted twice over, at Martinique and in France, that Josephine would be queen; and as stormy scenes would sometimes occur between her and her husband, she had been heard to exclaim, "They speak of your star, but it is my star that rules these events." And, in fact, Napoleon was greatly indebted to her political talents and her fascinating manners, if not for his elevation to power, at least for his welcome among the influential circles of Parisian society. Though blinded by dynastic ambition, he must have felt eventually that his divorce was as mistaken in policy as it was indefensible and cruel in the execution. It is singular that Josephine, after all, should have given an heir to Napoleon in the person of her grandson, Louis Napoleon, the last Emperor of France.

GENERAL BEAUHARNAIS IMPRISONED AND EXECUTED.

M. Beauharnais was an active member of the Girondist party, of which Madame Roland was the soul, and he perished

with them. Many of the Girondists sought safety in concealment and retreat. M. Beauharnais, conscious of his political integrity, proudly refused to save his life by turning his back upon his foes.

One morning Josephine was sitting in her parlor, in a state of great anxiety in reference to the fearful commotion of the times, when a servant announced that some one wished to speak to her. A young man of gentle and prepossessing appearance was introduced, with a bag in his hand, in which were several pairs of shoes. Citizen," said the man to Josephine, "I understand that you want socks of plum gray."

Josephine looked up in surprise, hardly comprehending his meaning, when he approached nearer to her, and, in an undertone, whispered, "I have something to impart to you, madame." "Explain yourself," she eagerly replied, much alarmed; "my servant is faithful."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, “my life is at stake in this matter." "Go, Victorine," said Josephine to her servant, "and call my husband."

As soon as they were alone, the young man said, "There is not a moment to lose if you would save M. Beauharnais. The Revolutionary Committee last night passed a resolution to have him arrested, and at this very moment the warrant is making out."

"How know you this?" she demanded, trembling violently.

"I am one of the committee," was the reply, "and, being a shoemaker, I thought these shoes would afford me a reasonable pretext for advertising you, madame."

At this moment M. Beauharnais entered the room, and Josephine, weeping, threw herself into his arms. my husband," she said to the shoemaker.

"You see

"I have the honor of knowing him," was the reply.

M. Beauharnais wished to reward the young man on the spot for his magnanimous and perilous deed of kindness. The offer was respectfully but decisively declined. To the earnest entreaties of Josephine and the young man that he should immediately secure his safety by his flight or concealment, he replied,

"I will never flee; with what can they charge me? I love liberty. I have borne arms for the Revolution."

"But you are a noble," the young man rejoined, "and that, in the eye of the Revolutionist, is a crime-an unpardonable crime. And, moreover, they accuse you of having been a member of the Constitutional Assembly."

"That," said M. Beauharnais, "is my most honorable title to glory. Who would not be proud of having proclaimed the rights of the nation, the fall of despotism, and the reign of laws?"

"What laws!" exclaimed Josephine. "It is in blood they are written."

"Madame," exclaimed the philanthropic young Jacobin, with a tone of severity, "when the tree of liberty is planted in an unfriendly soil, it must be watered with the blood of its enemies." Then, turning to M. Beauharnais, he said, "Within an hour it will no longer be possible to escape. wished to save you, because I believe you innocent. Such was my duty to humanity. But if I am commanded to arrest you-pardon me-I shall do my duty; and you will acknowledge the patriot."

I

The young shoemaker withdrew, and Josephine in vain entreated her husband to attempt his escape. "Whither shall I flee?" he answered. "Is there a vault, a garret, a hidingplace into which the eye of the tyrant Robespierre does not penetrate? We must yield. If I am condemned, how can I escape? If I am not condemned, I have nothing to fear."

About two hours elapsed when three members of the Revolutionary Committee, accompanied by a band of armed men, broke into the house. The young shoemaker was one of this committee, and with firmness, but with much urbanity, he arrested M. Beauharnais. Josephine, as her husband was led to prison, was left in her desolated home. And she found herself indeed deserted and alone. No one could then manifest any sympathy with the proscribed without periling life. Josephine's friends, one by one, all abandoned her. The young shoemaker alone, who had arrested her husband, continued secretly to call with words of sympathy.

Josephine made great exertions to obtain the release of her

husband, and was also unwearied in her benefactions to multitudes around her who, in those days of lawlessness and of anguish, were deprived of property, of friends, and of home. The only solace she found in her own grief was in ministering to the consolation of others. Josephine deceived her children in reference to their father's arrest, and led them to suppose that he was absent from home in consequence of ill health. When at last she obtained permission to visit, with her children, her husband in prison, they detected the deceit. After returning from the prison after their first interview, Hortense remarked to her mother that she thought her father's apartment very small, and the patients very numerous. She appeared for a time very thoughtful, and then inquired of Eugène, with an anxious expression of countenance:

"Do you believe that papa is ill? If he is, it certainly is not the sickness which the doctors cure."

In the interview which M. Beauharnais held with his wife and his children, he spoke with some freedom to his children of the injustice of his imprisonment. This sealed his doom. Listeners, who were placed in an adjoining room to note down his words, reported the conversation, and magnified it into a conspiracy for the overthrow of the republic. M. Beauharnais was immediately placed in close confinement. Josephine herself was arrested and plunged into prison, and even the terrified children were rigidly examined by a brutal committee, who, by promises and threats, did what they could to extort from them some confession which would lead to the conviction of their parents.

Josephine, the morning of her arrest, received an anonymous letter, warning her of her danger. It was at an early hour, and her children were asleep in their beds. But how could she escape? Where could she go? Should she leave her children behind her-a mother abandon her children! Should she take them with her, and thus prevent the possibility of eluding arrest? Would not her attempt at flight be construed into a confession of guilt, and thus compromise the safety of her husband? While distracted with these thoughts, she heard a loud knocking and clamor at the outer door of the house. She understood too well the signifi

cance of those sounds. With a great effort to retain a tranquil spirit, she passed into the room where her children were sleeping.

The tumult in the outer hall continually increasing, Josephine, fearing of awaking Hortense and Eugène, cast a last lingering look of love upon them, and, withdrawing from the chamber, closed the door and entered her parlor. There she found a band of armed men, headed by the brutal wretch who had so unfeelingly examined her children. The soldiers were hardened against every appeal of humanity, and performed their unfeeling office without any emotion, save that of hatred for one whom they deemed to be an aristocrat. They seized Josephine rudely, and took possession of all the property in the house in the name of the Republic. They dragged their victim to the convent of the Carmelites, and she was immured in that prison, where, but a few months before, more than eight thousand had been massacred by the mob of Paris.

When Eugène and Hortense awoke, they found themselves indeed alone in the wide world. They were informed by a servant of the arrest and the imprisonment of their mother. After a few tears, they tried to summon resolution to act worthily of their father and mother. Hortense, with that energy of character which she manifested through her whole life, advised that they should go to the Luxembourg, where their father was confined, and demand admission to share his imprisonment. Eugène, with that caution which characterized him when one of the leaders in the army of Napoleon, and when viceroy of Italy, apprehensive lest thus they might in some way compromise the safety of their father, recalled to mind an aged great-aunt, who was residing in much retirement in the vicinity of Versailles, and suggested the propriety of seeking a refuge with her. An humble female friend conducted the children to Versailles, where they were most kindly received.

When the gloom of the ensuing night darkened the city, M. Beauharnais in his cheerless cell, and Josephine in her prison still stained with the blood of massacre, wept over the desolation of their home and their hopes. They knew not the fate of their children, and their minds were oppressed