gaged in mirthful sports, or, animated by the
music of the piano, mingled in the dance. Sometimes, in the buoyancy
of youthful joy, they forgot the demands of etiquette, and somewhat
incommoded, by their merry laughter, the more grave company in the grand
apartment. The lady of honor would, on such occasions, hint at the
necessity of repressing the mirth. Josephine would invariably interpose
in their behalf. "My dear Madame d'Arberg," she would say, "suffer both
them and us to enjoy, while we may, all that innocent happiness which
comes from the heart, and which penetrates the heart." At eleven
o'clock, tea, ices, and sweetmeats were served, and then the visitors
took their leave. Josephine sat up an hour later conversing most freely
and confidentially with those friends who were especially dear to her,
and about midnight retired.

In the month of March, 1810, Maria Louisa arrived in Paris, and her
marriage with Napoleon was celebrated with the utmost splendor at St.
Cloud. All France resounded with rejoicing as Napoleon led his youthful
bride into the Tuilleries, from whence, but three months before,
Josephine had been so cruelly ejected. The booming of the cannon, the
merry pealing of the bells, the acclamations of the populace, fell
heavily upon the heart of Josephine. She tried to conceal her anguish,
but her pallid cheek and swimming eye revealed the severity of her
sufferings.

Napoleon continued, however, the frequency of his correspondence, and,
notwithstanding the jealousy of Maria Louisa, did not at all intermit
his visits. In a little more than a year after his marriage the King of
Rome was born. The evening in which Josephine received the tidings of
his birth, she wrote an affectionate and touching letter to Napoleon,
congratulating him upon the event. This letter reveals so conspicuously
the magnanimity of her principles, and yet the feminine tenderness of
her bleeding heart, that we can not refrain from inserting it. It was
dated at Navarre, at midnight, the 20th of March, 1811.

"SIRE,--Amid the numerous felicitations which you receive
from every corner of Europe, from all the cities of France,
and from each regiment of your army, can the feeble voice of
a woman reach your ear, and will you deign to listen to her
who so often consoled your sorrows, and sweetened your
pains, now that she speaks to you only of that happiness in
which all your wishes are fulfilled? Havin