of the spirit union of another world; yet this is never seen at first, and every impetuous soul, rushing on the threshold of life, worships the symbol for the reality the image for the god. Fear not, Fairy ; the flame dies, but the essence is not quenched: from the ashes of Passion springs the Phoenix of Love. Ada will recover this burning dream."

"Never!" cried the Fairy, "if she yields her heart up to thoughts like these. Thou art a fiend, Beauty— a betrayer! Avaunt, thou most accursed! thou hast ruined my child!"

And as she spoke, weeping bitterly, she averted her face from the Shade. All was once more still, and, her grief slowly calming, the Fairy hoped she was now alone, until, raising her eyes, she saw the being, more radiant and glorious than ever, still guarding the sleeping girl.

"Fairy," said the Shade, sadly, "this is no fault of mine. I have ever come to the human heart with thoughts pure as the bosom of the lily and beautiful as paradise, but the nature of man degrades and enslaves me. Thou sawest how my wings were soiled and their light dimmed by the sin of even yon guileless girl, and, alas! thousands have lived to curse me and call me demon before thee. Now, at thy bidding, I will leave Ada, and forever. She will awake, but

never again to that fine sympathy with nature, that exquisite perception of all high and holy things, I have first made her know. She will awake still good, still true; but the visions of youth quenched suddenly, as these will have been, leave a fearful darkness for the future life."

"Alas! alas!" cried the Fairy, wringing her hands, with a burst of sudden grief, "whether thou goest or remainest now, Ada must be wretched.”

"Not so," returned the Shade, in a voice whose sweetness, from its melancholy, was like the wailing of plaintive music "not so, if thou wilt otherwise. Thou hast erred: from the Shades of Love thou didst select me; and, panting as we each do for sole possession of the heart we occupy, it is impossible either separately can bring happiness to it. Each has striven for ages, but in vain. It is the union of the three, the perfect union, that alone makes Love complete."

"But will Mind and Virtue return?" asked the Fairy, doubtingly. "I bid them myself depart."

"They will ever return," said Beauty, joyfully, 66 even to the heart most under my sway, if desired in truth. A wish, sometimes, fervent and truthful it must be, but still a wish, alone often brings

them."

At that moment, a hurried prayer sprang to the

Fairy's lips; but ere it could frame itself into words, light filled the little chamber, and the three Shades of Love stood there once more, beautiful and shining.

66

Mighty beings," said the Spirit, "forgive me! Attend Ada united and forever, and I shall then have fulfilled my destiny."

"We promise," returned the Shades.

And gazing for a few moments in earnest fondness on the dreamer's happy face, the Fairy bade a last farewell to her well-loved charge.

JOSEPHINE,

EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH.

BY MARY E. HEWITT.

JOSEPHINE ROSE TASCHER DE LA PAGERIE was born at Martinique on the 24th of June, 1763. At a very early age she came to Paris, where she married the Viscount Beauharnais, a man of talent and superior personal endowments, but not a courtier, as some writers have asserted, for he was never even presented at court. Beauharnais was a man of limited fortune, and his wife's dower more than doubled his income. In 1787, Madame Beauharnais returned to Martinique to nurse her aged mother, whose health was in a declining state; but the disturbances which soon after took place in that colony drove her back to France. During her absence, the revolution had broken out; and on her return, she found her husband entirely devoted to those principles upon which the regeneration of the French people was to be founded.

The well-known opinions of the Viscount Beauharnais gave his wife considerable influence with the rulers of blood, who stretched their reeking sceptre over the whole nation; and she had frequent opportunities, which she never lost, of saving persons doomed by their sanguinary decrees. Among others, Mademoiselle de Bethisy was condemned, by the revolutionary tribunal, to be beheaded; but Madame Beauharnais, by her irresistible intercession, succeeded in obtaining the life and freedom of this interesting lady. The revolution, however, devouring, like Saturn, its own children, spared none of even its warmest supporters, the moment they came in collision with the governing party, then composed of ignorant and bloodthirsty enthusiasts. The slightest hesitation in executing any of their decrees, however absurd or impracticable, was considered a crime deserving of death. Beauharnais had been appointed general-in-chief of the army of the North. Having failed to attend to some foolish order of the convention, he was cited to appear at its bar and give an account of his conduct. No one appeared before this formidable assembly, but to take, immediately after, the road to the guillotine; and such was the case with the republican general Beauharnais. He was tried and condemned, and, on the 23d of July, 1794, he was publicly beheaded at the