uth without lips,
showing rows of ugly yellow teeth. This figure was dressed in a green
uniform, with broad white facings, and on his head was a little cocked
hat. Opposite this army of wax figures a row of small brass cannon was
placed, and at their side lay diminutive bows, and arrows furnished
with pins. The ammunition-wagons were filled with black peas.

The game had just commenced. The imperial children had opened the
campaign against the hostile army of wax-figures. The little Archdukes
Ferdinand and Francis Charles stood as gunners at the field-pieces,
while the Archduchesses Caroline, Clementine, and Amelia, were armed
with small bows. The gunners fired at the ranks of the soldiers; the
archduchesses aimed at the terrible captain of the little army. Whenever
an arrow hit him, or a cannon-ball struck down one of the soldiers, the
children burst into loud cheers.

"What game is this?" asked Maria Louisa, contemplating with evident
delight the blushing cheeks and bright eyes of her young brothers and
sisters.

"That is the Bonaparte game," exclaimed little Archduke Francis Charles.
"Papa emperor presented the game to me when we were at Ofen, and taught
me how to play it. It is a long while since we played it, but to-day we
will try it again. Look, sister Louisa, that horrible fellow in front of
the soldiers is the villain Bonaparte, who is stealing the states of all
the princes, he is made entirely of brass, and no arrow can injure him,
but he has a vulnerable spot on the breast, where the heart is, that is
made of wax. On shooting at him, you always have to aim there; if you
hit it, the arrow remains, and you win the game and obtain the reward.
Oh, I am well versed in the Bonaparte game; papa emperor was so gracious
as to play it often with me at Ofen, when we were fleeing from that man;
and his majesty taught me also how to insult Bonaparte. See, sisters!"
and he took the little bow from the hands of the Archduchess Marianne,
and laid an arrow on the string. "Now, you miserable fellow," he shouted
in an angry voice and with flashing eyes, "now I will kill you without
mercy! You thief, you stole Venice and Milan from us--you must die!" He
discharged the arrow, but it glanced off from the figure.

"You missed him! you missed him!" shouted the little group.

"It is my turn now," exclaimed the little archduchess, taking the bow
from her brother. She put an arrow on it, and, contracting her eyebrows
and making he