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THE REPUUEMC, IS PUBLISHED EVERT WEDNESDAY*, OVER J. D. WINN’S BRICK STORE COTTON AVENUE, MACON, CA. AT $3,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. RATES OF ADVERTISING, &c. One square, of 100 words, or less, in small type, 7i cents lor the first insertion, and 50 cents for each subsequent insertion. All advertisements containing more than 100 and ess than JIM) words, wiii be charged as two squares. To yearly advertisers, a liberal deduction will be made. Sales of Laud, bv Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon, and three in the afternoon, at the Court House in the county in which the pro perty is situated. Notice of these must be given in a public gazette, sixty days previous to tbe day : of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell land, must be publish ed four months. Sales of Neoroes must be made at public auc tion, on the first Tuesday of the month, between the legal hours of sale, at the place of public sales, in the county where the letters testamentary, oi administration of guardianship, shall have been granted, sixty days notice being previously given in one of the public gazettes of this State, and at the door of the Court House where such sales are to he held. Notice for leave to sell Neoroes must be pub lithed for four months before any order absolute shall be made thereon by the Court. All business of this nature will receive prompt attention at the office of THE REPUBLIC. BUSINESS CARDS. JOB PRINTING XBM<snraisjn> itibtss ©in?:: 33, With Neatness and Dispatch. Fashionable Dress Mnk'iig Establishment. Plumb Street, next to the Seminary. Orders fir Dresses, Ridin*; Habits, fee. &c. executed in the latest and most fashionable style, j and at the shortest notice. 30 ts Law Notice. A. P. POWERS A L. N. WHITTLE, Have assoeiated themselves in the practice of the Law, and will give prompt attention to such bu siness as may he intrusted to their care. —They will attend the following courts: Bibb, Craieford, .Monroe, Twiggs, Jones , Wilkin son, Houston, Pulaski, Henry, and Pike. Office over E. B. Weed’s store, second dour from Wm. B. Johnston. Macon, Marclt 12, 1845. 92 Btn BROWN A SHOCK LEV, ILATS*., MACON, GA. Jan 1, 1845. 12 -iv MS I JET \ WINGFIELD, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. Office on Mulberry Street, over Kimberly's Hat Store. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1841. 1-ts ‘ ~ FLOVI> HOI S!:. lIY B. S. N E WCO M B. Miron, Geoigia. Oct. 19,1844. l-'l WIIITINO A MIX, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN BOOTS AYR SHOPS, Near the Washington Hall, Second t-trees. Macm, Georgia. Oct. 19,1814. 1-tl J. f*7 JONES & CO. CLOTII IN G S T ORE. Il’of side .Mulberry Street, next door betrnr the Big Hat. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1944. 1-ff DOCTORS J. M. A 11. K. GK El; V. Corner of .Mulberry and Third Streets. Mhcom, Georg a. Oct. 19, 1844. l-t| f'KKKMIV A ItOHKKTS. Saddle, Harness, and IT hip, 71 A N UP A CTO BY . Dealers in. all kinds of Leather, Saddlery Harness and Carriage Tiimmings, O i Cotton Avenue and Second street, Macon, Ga, October 25, 1844. 3-t SAMUEL J KAY & CO. DEALERS IN Ready Made Clothing, Hats, Shoes, kc. Srciiiul street, a few doors from the \\ asliington Hotel. Macon, Ge irjria. Oct. 18,1911. I—ts REDDING & WHITEHEAD^ DEALERS IN rAYCYASD STAPLE DRY ROODS, Groceries, Hard If are, Cutlery, Hats, Shoes, Crockery, &c. &c. Corner of Cotton Avenue and Cherry streets. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1 —if JOSEPH A. sBYSbI'R, DEALER IN Dry woods, groceries, hard ware, tfcc. Brick Store, Cherry Street, Ralston's Range, first door below Russell k Kimberley's. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-t( GEORGE M. LOGAN, DEALER IN FAYCY AYD STAPLE DRY ROODS, Hard- Ware, Crockery, Glass-1 fare, &c. &.C. Corner of Second and Cherry streets. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1 —ts D.&W. GUNN~ DEALERS IN It A PLE DRY ROODS, Groceries, Hardware, Crockery, kc. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. I—ts J. M. BOA ROM AS', DEALER IN Law. medical, miscellaneous and School B'loks; Blank Books and Stationery of all kinds; Printing Paper, &c. &c. Sign of the I*arge Bible, txco doors above Shot weil's corner, xeest side of Mulberry Street. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1 —ts B R WARNER, AL'CTIOY AKD COMRISSIOY MER CHANT. Dealer in every description of Merchandise. “The Public’s Servant,” and subject to receiving consignments at all times, by the consignees pay ing 5 per cent, commissions for services rendered Macon. Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1 —ts Miss Matilda Mugg lias put out a fresh shingle at her shop door, with ibis an nouncement: Knowiis.— l ar got in some new artikles few sail—sich as krakers, kandles, kabbi gis.Korfy, kups & sawstrs, & menny oth er artikkles ta nemurus tu mensbun, all celling cheap. Koll in. P B.—Beene is bort hear, by ihc quart nr booshil. Applv in the passage mnnd the makkril barril. THE EBP IT S. M. STRONG, Editor. TOLIHE i. MISCELLANY. From Sitnm’g .Magazine. AN INCIDENT OF WATERLOO. BY J. T. IIEADLEY. A few months since, I was standing on the field of Waterloo, on the anniversary day of that great battle. The fields were waving with the ripening grain, just as they were on that memorable morning, before trodden down by the charging squadrons. As I stood where Welling ton stood on the ridge occupied by the English lines, and surveyed the entire field, and looked down on the narrow val ley where the fate of all Europe was once put up and battled for, a world of conflic ting emotions struggled for mastery with in tne. The magnificence and pomp of that stern array were before me, and my ear seemed distinctly to catch the first cannon shot that opened the conflict. Far on the right comes down on Hougoumont, Jerome Bonapaite, with his twelve thous and men. A sheet of fire runs along the walls of the chateau, and a gap opens in the advancing columns ol the foe. Its mangled head melts like frost-work be fore the destructive fire. The smoke of battle covers them from sight, and rolls up the valley, and 10, I see nothing but the melee of horses and riders, the tossing of banners, and the soaring of the French eagle amid the cloud of war, and 1 hear nought but the roar of artillery, the bray ing of trumpets, tbe blast of the bugle sounding the charge, and the heavy shock of cavalry. Amid the confusion and terror of a scene like this, which the imagination will call up on such a battle field, how natur ally does the mind rest on some single | character, or incident, and gather around it all the interest of the fight. It may not I be with others, but I find it true of myself in all circumstances. I remember, when standing on the top of the colonade of St. Peter’s and looking down at the tens of thousands, that were waiting the blessing of the Pope, I forgot nil in a poor pil grim beggar and his boy, that reclined on j the ample steps. Their distant home! ! among the Italian hills, their weary aspect 1 ;as they slum tiered therein the sunlight,! and their sudden starling up as the blast jof a solitary trumpet announced the ap proach of his “Holiness,” formed the ground work of a scene more touching than the one before me. So it was here. In the church of the little hamlet ol Water loo, lying on the edge of this field, are a multitude of tablets, placed above olficers ! who fell in this battle. Among them is ■one recording the death of a mere boy, ! who formed one of Wellington’s suite. The epitaph closes with--** he was eigh teen years old, and ibis was his twentieth battle.” I gazed on it with feelings ol the profbundest melancholy. So young and vet so tried. Trained amid the smoke and thunder of battle, accustomed almost ! from infancy to scenes of carnage and cruelty, what a moral effect it must have j had upon his character. An angel could ! not abide such discipline. I walked over I the field with an English officer ol rank, | and gleaned from him the following itici | dents of his life, which I have filled up. Young Gordon (my memory rnay lie wrong here respecting the name, it having become illegible in my note book.) was the second son of a distinguished English family. He had obtained a place in Wel lington’s suite, though a mere boy, and had been with him through all the Penin sular campaign. He was fitted by nature for a soldier. Enthusiastic, bold and strangely ambitious, the excitement ofbat tle and the occasions it gave lor distin guishing himself were his delight. Around his frank and open countenance clustered ringlets of chestnut hair, while Ids blue Saxon ej'e spoke at once the generosity and fire of his ardent nature. He had one only sister, the very reverse of him in I everything but her strong and generous feelings. Frail as the flower that is born J and matured in a single night, her very face reminded one of an early grave. It was of that delicacy and almost spiritual transparency, which make you shrink as you think of the first shock ot life, "ion look around in vain fir sonic shelter for such a flower. Her eye was large, and the very soul of tenderness, telling with out disguise, and painfully distinct, that affection was her life. Next in birth to the young soldier, all her extravagant feelings and yearning affection had centered in him. His bold and often reckless conduct bad caused her many a pang as they play ed together in childhood, while his gener ous love as he would come and fling his arms around her neck and kiss away her tears, had bound her to him with cords ol iron. She loved him with that utter aban- donment of heart, a being constituted as she was, always loves ; arid he returned rt with all the strength of bis brave young heart. She was all faith ams timidity ; he all hope and courage. Thus had they passed their childhood together, and when they came to part, hes heart sank like a smitten blossom to the blow. As he glan ced over his rich uniform and sword flash ing by his side, a deeper flush mantled his cheek, and prouder feeling beamed in his eye, while all over her spiritual features, came the hue of mortal fear and unutter able dread. Her head sunk on her bosom, and the big tear drops fell unrestrained and fast at her feet. At first, he attempt ed to laugh awav her fears, but seeing that I j,;. radlcrv pined painfully upon her heart, PRO PATRIA ET LC-CIBCS. 3IACON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, MARCH *«. IMS, he 100 burst into tears, and folded her to Ins bosom with all the holiness and strength of a brother's love. They parted, and her sweet but rare laugh was still less frequently heard. I will not follow him through his eventful career in Spain. Like ali soldiers, h learned to like his employment, and with the love of it came the loss of those sensi tive feelings that had been the beauty of his early character. Being a bold and energetic fellow, he was often entrusted with despatches to different parts of the army in the midst of battle. At the bat tle of Talavero, while Mackenzie was te tiring in magnificient order and with con summate skill, before the advancing French, he was sent to that officer with an order from the Marquis of Wellesley. It was midnight, and the route lie was to take was one of great exposure, being swept by the enemy’s artillery. The fre quent flaslies of the cannon that blazed on his path were the only lamps to guide him as he galloped over the uneven field. We will not say his bold young heart did not beat a trifle faster, us the darkness through which lie rode was sud denly made dazzling bright by the artille ry, whose roar caused even his well train ed war horse to start, while the earth was ploughed up in every direction by the shot—but we will say, he did not fal ter or hesitate, but delivered his order safely and well. On his return,just as he had enteied on the place of danger-, a can non ball struck bis horse’s flank, shatter eel it to fragments, and sending the blood and entrails all over his lace and uniform. He himself was thrown several yards,and lor a moment lay stunned by the blow. When he recovered, however, he boldly crossed the field, traversed by the shot, and arrived safely at Wellington’s tent. As he stood with cap in hand, pale, and covered with blood and mangled ilesli, (lie Duke thought (or a moment he was dreadfully wounded, but ns he listened lo bis account of tbe matter, he warmly com alimented bis gallantry. From that moment he became still more anxious to distinguish himself, and in several in ! stances nearly lost bis life. A sword cut i over his lefl eye had left a scar, of whic h 1 he was as proud as he would have been of ! two epatdelt-. Ni curl was ever allowed j !<i fill over it, and he was half vexed to i think the surgeon had cured the wound so I effectually. At length, after a year or more of hard lighting, he returned to England, before Wellington joined tbe allied forces on the Continent. It was a hurried visit, but a memorable one to his sister, now grown still more delicate than before. She fold ed him again and again in her arms, and wept -as if her heart would break. Many a long night had she lain awake, imagining her brother now in the headlong and ruin ous fight, and now pale and wounded, gasping on the plain. The terrible scenes of battle site bad so often pictured lo her self, bad shattered hei over delicate frame, and she had become doubly sensitive; while the scenes of blood he had passed through, ami the roughness of camp life, had blunted his feelings and made her c hildish terrors annoying and foolish. Yet he loved her as his idol, and when he part ed from her, he tied her miniature around liisneck. That separation wastheerown- ins agonv to her. She told him they should never meet again, that his body would be left on the battle-field of the stranger. It was in vain be attempted to calm her grief- —a foreboding like the spi rit of prophecy crushed every hope, and she saw him depart with the same feelings she would have seen the grave close over him. I have sometimes thought these strangely sensitive and spiritual beings | bad almost the gift of second sight—that i “coming events” to them do literally “cast ! their shadows before.” From that mo* j ment she never smiled, but faded gradu { ally awav. The whole story, together with the epitaph, had made a profound iexpression on my feelings, and as I stood on the field of battle and called up the ter- rific scenes of that teriific day, his form constituted the foreground of the picture. The morning of the battle was damp and heavy, but not the spirits of the young Gordon. As lie stood beside the Duke and looked on the magnificent array before him, be determined his name should be interwoven with the history of that day.— The great battle ot Europe was to be fought. All its kings stood looking on with breathless interest, for their thrones were at stake. The feelings of those two great military chieftains themselves, as they tints, for the first time, stixid face to face, and battled lor a Continent, were scarcely more stirred than his. From the moment he saw the head of that gallant column, which Jerome Bonaparte led down on Hmigotimont, melt away befure the destructive fire within, all the fury of a j tiger seemed roused within him. He | wanted to he somewhere, he cared not in | what capacity, where the onset was made. He was not compelled long to wait. The heavy cannonading that soon opened the whole length of the lines—the terrible charges made by the French cavalry soon gave him work to do. He was sent hither and thither, with orders, while the shot fell around him lrke hail-stones. He look ed on hi* pierced uniform and foam-cover ed steed with a kindling eve. The press ing danger now becoming more imminent on every side, the Duke led oe in person I #everal distinct charges This was the ■crowning point of vounp Gordon's wishes- Hr charged brs'de ?b'* PjUe with the im- petuositv of a veteran, arid whenever dan ger threatened his beloved commander,, spurred headlong into it. In the midst of a terrible carnage. Sir Alexander (Jordon rode up to the Duke, and expostulated with him on thus exposing his life, when every thing rested on his safety. While he was thus pleading for the life of another, a bullet pierced him and he fell. Young Gordon immediately spurred into his footsteps, and placed himself so as to 1 protect the Duke from the greatest appa rent danger. The weary veterau regard ed him with a smile of affection, and then as he wiped the sweat from his brow, ex claimed, “Oh that Blucher or night would come!” The next moment an immense: body of French cavalry came thundering down on one of the English squares. It J had already become weakened by the loss of whole ranks which the. French artillery, had mowed down, but withstood the des-: perate shock with true British bravery. — The French came down on a plunging trot, then breaking into a gallop fell like a rock upon it. Like that rock hurled hack j from the mountain, they recoiled from the | shock. Driven to desperation, by their j repeatedly foiled attempts, ihey stopped j their horses, and coolly walked them round | that brave square,and wherever a man fell, dashed in. Such desperate resolution, ami suc h recklessness of life, began, at length, to tell on the conflict. 'J'he square began to shake and waver, when Welling ton came dashing up with his guard—the square opened, and he was in its bosom. Their chief in their keeping—his fate vol untarily thrown in their hands, those brave British hearts could not yield. Rank af ter rank fell, but not a man stirred from bis footsteps. The French at length gave it up, and retired to their position. Again on separate squaies were these terrific charges made, and again, as fast as they wavered, did Wellington fling himself in their midst. Young Gordon was ever at his side, and in one of these dangerous nt lempls, had his sword struck out of his hand, by a chance shot. But there were enough other good blades on that ensan guined field without owners, and he was soon wielding one, from which the con vulsed hand of an officer had scarcely loosened. Thus, from eleven in the morning till ; four in the evening, had the battle raged, when a dark object was seen to emerge from a distant wood. Larger and larger it grew, till a whole column stood revealed with banners waving in the breeze. Bin-1 cber mid his Prussians had come. Both armies saw that the hour had arrived fbrj the final issue. Bonaparte then rode up] to his old and well tried imperial guard,! that had not been in the battle all day. — j Placing himself at their head, he led them : half way down the slope, when he halted i and addressed them in his impetuous and j fiery manner. lie told them that the fate ] of the battle and of France was in their j hands, lie was answered by those devo-! ted hearts, "the Emperor forever!" with :i ' shout that rung over the storm of battle, j and was heard all along the British lines. 1 He then placed them under Ncy, with or ders to force the English centre and pre vent the junction of Blucher with the 01-j lied forces. That hitherto invincible guard i came down in beautiful order, and with hearts burning with high hopes. They knew that their Emperor and the civilized world were looking on. They carried thrones and kings as they went. They needed nothing to fire their steady cour age. No drum, or trumpet, or martial strain cheered them on. No bugle sound ed the charge. In perfect order, and dead silence thev moved over toe plain. A hove them soared the French Eagle, no power had ever yet wrested from their grasp; and on them was the eye of Bona parte. The allied army saw. with awe and dread, the approach ol that nncon- 1 querable legion. The terror of Europe j was on the march. For a moment the fir- j ing ceased along the lines. The battle j was hushed. Tlie muffled tread of that magnificent legion alone was heard. Oh, you should have seen young (Jordon then.; With flushed cheek, and dilating eye, and | breath coming difficult and thick, he gaz ed on that silent lx>st. He looked as if ev ery moment lie would be off like a thun derbolt. Tire sudden calm was but momentary, j The artillery again opened like a volca no on the fee. wiiole ranks went down before the destructive fire, yet they falter ed not a for a moment. Over their fallen comrades, with the same steady front, they moved on, across the valley, and tip the slope. Before them cool, resistless charge, tire English lines melted like i frost-work. They took-the last fire of tlx* artillerv full on their bosoms, then walked over llie cannon, artillery-men and all.— On, on, like a resistless wave, they swept, j carrying every thing down in their passage, till they approached within a few rods of | where Wellington stood- All seemed lost, when a rank of men who had lain flat on their faces behind a low ridge of earth sod- ! denly heard the ringing order, “Up and at ’em.” They started up as from tfie bow- 1 els of the earth, and poured in their de structive fire in the very faces of that man gled guard. They recoiled to the dis charge as if smitten by a, sudden blow.— A second and a ibird followed. They reeled and staggered a moment, and then broke and fled. Young Gordon could be restrained no longer. He burstaway with i a yell like that ot a madnfan, and was lost in the fight. • • • • • • fc. night . the foe. ciuugt. pursuit, and was leading uat._ and bleeding army over the battle-tit*.. The full round moon was riding the quiet heavens, lighting up the mangled masses ofhurnan flesh that weighed down the field. Here an epaulette, and there h shivered sword, flashed hack its beams. Groans loaded theair, w hile the death-shriek came at intervals on the ear. ITellington wept. The excitement and rage of the battle was over, and Lis heart sickened at ibe awful scene before him. Among u heap of the slain, young Gordon was stretched. His sword lay shivered at his side, dabbled with blood. The miniature of his sister had fallen from his bosom, arid that spirit ual lace seemed guzing up inwards hea ven. A bullet had ploughed up his cheek, and traversing his brain ended his life at a blow. "He was but eighteen years of age, and this was his twrntu th battle." He sleeps in the little church at Waterloo, within sight of his last battle-field. • ••••• The history of that sister is soon told.— In a country chutch-yard of England is a [ilain monument recording her death and virtues. I turned away, murmuring to myself, “And thes. were but two of the twenty thousand hearts that single battle broke. Oh, War! thou last invention of .man for his own destruction. STORY OF A DIAMOND NECKLACE. One morning in the month of June, 1300, the Empress Josephine’s jeweller' was ushered into a little apartment of the,' Tuileries, in which Napoleon was seated at breakfast. “The necklace must lie the very best you can produce,” said the Emperor.— “I do pot care fiir the price; nevertheleis I will have it submitted to a fair valuation. . . 1 warn you of that. . . . Not that 1 doubt your integrity. . . . but because ... in short, because lam not a lapidary myself, and therefore not a competent judge of such matters. As soon as it i3 finished bring it to me, and take care that you show it to no one. You understand i" “Yes, sire. But I wish your Majesty could allow me u little more time, that 1 may be enabled to select the stone in the i most satisfactory manner. Choice dia monds are very scarce at present. . . . and they liuve risen greatly in i price.” ' | At these words the Emperor turned sharply to the jeweller, and said r “What do you mean? Since (he cam paign of Germany the jewel market has ■ been overstocked, l’arblean ! 1 know it for a fact, that our French jewellers have 1 been purchasing largely from ll>e petty ; Princes of the Germanic Confederation, ; whom the King of Prussia and Emperor of Russia liuve ruined, by stirring them up : against me. Go to Bapts, or to Mellerio; j they can let you have as many diamonds < as you may want.” “Sire, I have always made it n rule nev- 1 er to avail myself ol' tlie assistance of other tradesmen, when 1 have the honor of work ing for your Majesty’s august family. . . 1 have at ifiis moment in my pos session a set of diamonds which F purchas ed for the King of Prussia, who has com- i missioned me”— “That is your business, Foncier. and not mine. . . . But with regard to tlie - necklace, do the best you possibly can, and | shbw ilie people beyond the Rhine, that we surpass them iri jewelry as well as in all other things.” Oil a sign from Napoleon, Foncier made his last bow ami withdrew. A week af ter this interview, tlie Emperor received a j necklace. It was surpassingly beautiful. The jewels, the pattern, the mounting. even the case which it was enclosed—all were unique. Napoleon had it valued; it was estimated to be worth 800,000 francs,! precisely Ibe price which Foncier de manded for it. The Emperor was per fectly satisfied. About this lime, (Tune, ISOG,) Prince Lours Buonaparte, one of Napoleon’s younger brniliers, was raised to the rank of sovereignty, and proclaimed King of Holland. On the day when Napoleon was to re ceive the crown of that realm from lire bands of the Dutch envoys, and to place it on his brother’s head, all the Court assem bled at St. Cloud. Louis and Hortense ar rived in the morning from St. Leu. The ceremony, which was attended with great pomp, took place io the Stile du Trane. — The envoys of the defunct Batavian repub lic were magnificently entertained, am! it was announced that the new King and Queen would set out for their dominions on the following day. In the evening, i Napoleon sent to inform Hortense that he desired to speak with her in his cabinet.j She immediately attended the summons,! and when the page threw open the folding doors to announce her, the title of “Her Majesty the Queen of Holland” greeted her ear fir the first time. “Hortense,” said the Emperor, “you 1 have become the Queen of a brave and vir tuous people. If you and your husband act wisely, the house of Orange can never again return to Holland with its old pre hensions. However, from my knowledge 1 of the Dutch people, I think I can discern tn them one remarkable fault; it is, that uc.- < 1 der the outward appearance of great sim pliepv, thev are f ind of td especi- day,._ fete given In tne a*. jdoi. perb necklace adorned her swan-like neck. But soon came those disastrous day* when Napoleon’s sun began to set. Hor tense descended from the throne precisely as she had ascended it; in willing obedi ence. On ber arrival in Holland, her sub jects had greeted her with cries of “God bless our lovely Queen!" On her depart ure, those cries were changed to “God bless our good Queen?" To a heart like that of Hortense, this last greeting was consolitory, even at the moment when a throne was lost. On retiring into private life, she devoted herself to the education of her children, and to rendering filial atten tions to her mother, who, like herself, wa* the widow of a throne. • * * * * • The cannon of Waterloo had ceased to roar, and Napoleon was obliged to quit the Elyseei, and to take refuge in Malmaison, the last abode of tbe Empress Josephine. One evening when he was alone in the salon, seated before a table on which lay scatterec the notes from which his second act of abdication was to be drawn up, a lady entered. It was Hortense. Sire.” she said, in a voice trembling with emotion, “docs your Majesty remem ber the present you made me at 9t. Cloud, about nine years ago? ’ Napoleon gazed at the daughter of Jo spjihine, with a mingled expression of giicf and affection, then taking her hand, he said, "Wei!, Hortense, what have you to say to me?” “Sire, when I was a Queen, you gave me litis necklace. It is of great value.— But now 1 am no longer a Queen, and you are unfortunate . . . therefore I en treat that you will permit me to return it?” "That necklace. Hortense, replied Na poleon, coldly. "Why deprive yourself of it? It is now, probably, the half of your fortune. And your children?” . . . "Sire, it is all I posssess in tlie world.— But as to my children, they will never re proach tlhdr molher for having shared ) with their benefactor the bounty which he was pleased to confer on her.” She burst intotears, and Napoleon strug- r gled to conceal bis emotion. "No, Hortense,” said, he, averting hi* head, and gently repelling the hand which was stretched out to him; "no I cannot—’’ i "Take it, Sire; I implore you. There Jis no time to be lost. They are coming ! With these words she j thrust the jewel case into his hand. A few hours afterward* the necklace was stitch ed into a silken ccinturc, which Napoleon j wore under His waistcoat. Six weeks after this incident, Napoleon was on the deck of the Bellerophon, pre paring to embark on board the Northum berland. The arms of his suite were taken from them, their baggage was in spected, and they were not permitted to take with them either money or jewels. The trunks of the illustrious prisoner be ing searched, a box was found containing 4000 Napoleons d’or- He was informed that tire money must be given up. This sum, together with some funds which Na poleon had lodged in the hands of Lafitte, prior to his departure from Paris, was ail his fortune. Whilst the inspection was going on, Napoleon was gently pacing up and down if he quarter-deck with M. Las Cases. Casting a furtive look around him, and finding that he was not observed, he drew 1 from beneath his waistcoat the silken I ceinturt, and gave it to his companion, saving— “My dear Las Cases, a certain Greek philosopher used to say flint he carried aA his fortune about wiih him, though certainly he had not a shirt to his back. 1 don’t know how he managed ; but this I know, that ever since our departure from Paris I have been carrying all my treas ure under my waistcoat. I now begin to wearv of the burden. Will you relieve me of it ?” He unfastened bis ceinture, and Las Cases, without making any re ply, took it from him, and fastened it round his own .waist. It was not until after his arrival at St. Helena that Napoleon informed M. de Las Cases that the silken bond which he bad confided to his care on board the Bellerophon contained a necklace worth , 800,000 francs. Subsequently Las Cases expressed a desire to restore it to Napo leon. “Does it not incommode you?” inquired the Emperor, drily. “No, Sire.” “Then retain it," rejoined Napoleon; “fancy it is a charm or amulet, it will not trouble you.” Fifteen months afterwards, Las Cases was by order of the English Government, unexpectedly separated from Napoleon. He and his son were removed from Long wood, and conveyed to Plantation House, where they were*kept under strict served* lance until they emnarked for the Cape of Good Hope. Meanwhile, Las Cases still held pos session of the diamond necklace. Time ran on, and he was informed that he had only a few days longer to remain at St. Helena. He was distressed at the thought lof departing without being able to return i the treasure .tn its owner. Whit could he do f All communication between him *