The Sun.
London, England, 1839-04-19 00:00:00

AITFI PROFITS.

WITHOUT PROFITS.

Age:2o A ge,2o Age 40.1 Age 50.

'Age2o.l Age f3O. Age AO. Age

s. d. s. d. L£ s. d. £s.d\X s. d s. d.k s. dj.-£ a. d.
1 11 8 2 2 21217 0 4 0 Si 116 11 2 9 213 g rlll.l.

A division of the nett profits will take place quinquennially.
Bonuses accrue on all beneficial policies on which three annual
premiums shall have been paid, a the time a division occurs;
and the holders of such Policies have the option either of re-
ceiving their bonuses in a present slim, or of having them ap-
plied in augmentation of their Policies, or in reduction of their
future Premiums.

Assurers on the non-bonus system may contract to pay their
Premiums either in one sum, in a given number of payments,
in annual, half-yearly, or quarterly payments, or in any other
way most suitable to their convenience.
Officers in flit Army and Navy, when in active service,.Per-
arms afflicted with chronic and other diseases, and such as are
going beyond the limits of Europe, are also Assured at mode-
rato Rates. be obtained
Prospectuses, and all necessary information, may
at the Office. Proposals can he
SWARD, Secretary.
MICITAEL asd.

CABINET UPHOLSI'ERY and BED-
DING, at the CABINET-MAKERS' TRADING
S9CIETY, 71, LEADENHALL-STREET, enrolled agree-
ably to Act of Parliament ; being the Manufacturers in all its
branches.
The system upon which this is conducted precludes the pos-
sibility of competition for cheapness, quality, and durability, as
no house in London can manufacture at their prices. The
Society wishes it to be thoroughly understood that they do not
receive hawked goods for sale, like the baraeors and haber-
dashers, but they make every article themselves, which enables
them confidently to warrant their goods of the best materials,
and if any fault appears within twelve months, it will be made
good free of charge. A trial is earnestly solicited of those about
to furnish, as the only criterion by which the merits and de-
cided advantage of purchasing at this establishment can be fairly
estimated.
The funds of this Society provide for the members in sick-
ness, old age, and burial ; they therefore sincerely hope that
their humble endeavours will meet with public patronage.
is an extract •—.
given, and orders punctuallyf executed ; and lists
Estimates
of prices may be had, from which thefollowing
Mahogany lounging chair!, covcre. vvo, i leather, e,ith spring
seats, 455. each ; mahogany chairs in horse-hair seating, 13,. 9d.
each ; Trafalgar, 17e. 6d• dit2toh; mahogany
sofas, 90s. each ;
mahogany Pembroke tables, ogany four
bed-
tur'n;itimirae
Pleads, sOs. ; tent ditto, 20s. ; 6
_. . , ditto, 201. ; japanned
chairs, 25.; cane-seat ditto, 3.(5.d
drawers, 345.
stands and dress-
, ing-tables, 6s. eteb ; japanned
ditto, 445. ; feather beds an attresers' 345. each ;. mahogany
chairs
s.es, warranted free from
; couches, 61. lOs ',
dust or smill, or the money realtu2r..ned solid rose-wood
stuffed with horse-hair, from as. each
ditto 100 tables, from 41. 10s. ; mahogany ditto, 70e.
each.:
fancy chairs, 7s. 6d. each. _
n.twe
Portable and solid
cleaned, and re-_made,
am
Window-curtains and bed-fur i , made fen, the newest
-beats elegantly
designs. Old furniture
and
furniture for Ship cabins, Yachts,
fitted.
71, Leadenhall-street.

C. LAVERS, Secretary.

LOSS OF TEETH SUPPLII
WITHOUT SVIIINGS, CLASPS, OR WIRES,
LOOSE TEETH FASTENED,
And ed Teeth
WITH MINERALFiningDec ay
M ARMORATum.
DRAY, S
STREET Ox
MONSIEUR LE
DENTIS I', No. 60, NEWMAN_ URGEON-
UM, applied without
FORD_sTHEET, continues to RESTORE DECAYED TEETH 7
-
with his celebrated MINERAL MARMOR AT
CU. RENO' Atil.
PAIN, HEAT, or PRESSURE, which in a few seconds
one minute the most exci • -he
DENS INTO ENAMEL, PREVENTING and
eTiAlating
TOOTHACHE, allaying in
TEETH,
PAIN, and rendering the OPER Al lON of EXTRA
ih UN.
NECESSARY. He a1,:,0 FASTENS LOOSE
arising from neglect, the use of Calomel, or Disease of the' (ether
INCORRODIBLE ARTIFICIAL or NATURAL TETlllms.
SURPASSING BEAUTY, FIXED, from ONE to a COMPLETE
SET, without EXTR A criNo the ROOTS, or GIVING an i
the ENCUMBRANCE of SPRINGS, CLASPS, WIRES,
AIN,
other LIGATURE, at the following PARIS CH ARGES':' or any
A Single Artificial Tooth XU 1 0 0
Aset
A Set of ;Satnral Teeth
A ,Set of Mons. Le Day's incorrodible Teeth,
highly-finished in the first style 2O 0 g
Arranged on the most improvel:l4,_Llfelentific principles, and in
rin
every ease recto,: perfect ARTIt LATION and AIASTICA.
TION. A rtin..-i,l Tei..th out of tapir, remodelled to tit the a
mouth,
and restored equal iii beauty and durability to their originals t t
At hoe" from fen till Four, ta.
N. B. No. do, Newman-strcet, Oxford-street.

THE LAST MOMENTS OF PRINCE

TALLEYRAND.

BY AN EYE WITNESS.
(Fran the Unitrd Service Journal.)

It was scarcely six o'clock, on the morning of the
17th of May, 1838, when I bent my steps towards the
old hotel in the Rue St. Florentin, with a mind full of
sad misgivings ; for when, at a late hour on the evening
previous, I had quitted it, I had been but slightly en-
couraged to hope that another day could possibly be
granted to its proud and gifted owner. The dull grey
dawn was just struggling to rise above the tall chestnuts
of the Tuileries. All was still silent ; and as I pulled
the heavy bell its echo reverberated through
the vast court-yard with a sound almost un-
earthly. I did not pause at the porter's
lodge to inqnire news of the night, for the first object
which met my eye was the physician's carriage, and I
rushed at once to the foot of the grand staircase.hich
which I had so often ascended with feelings so far dif-
ferent from those I now experieneed. The two stone
figures of Silence, which stood on each side of the
gigantic portal, humid and dripping with the morning fog,
struck a chill to my very soul. Those huge lions which
had so often been compared to the insatiate lions of
Venice, now reminded me of those mute and motionless
watchers carved by the marble gates of an ancient sepu:-
chre. It seemed as if every object were already enve-
loped in that atmosphere of death, and that the old
mansion, at all times sad and dreary, was already per-
vaded with the odour of the tomb.

What gave a colouring to this idea was the total si-
lence which reigned around, where in general, even at
this early hour, all was hurry and business. The ante-
chamber was deserted, for the anxious domestics had
crowded one and all to the apartment nearest to the
one occupied by their beloved master, in order to ob-
tain the earliest information respecting the progress of
his malady. There perhaps never existed a person who,
-with so little apparent effort, possessed in so great a de-
gree the power of conciliating the affections of his de-
pendents as the Prince de Talleyrand. Of those who
were with him at the moment, all had, with few excep-
tions, grown grey in his service ; while of those who had
started in their career with him in his youth none re-
mained—he had lived to see them all go down be-
fore him into the grave. The Prince had always been
accustomed to treat his chief domestics as persons
worthy of confidence, and many a subject of the highest
importance, which bad been nursed with the greatest
secrecy through the bureaux of the Foreign-office, has
been discussed at full length, and with all liberty of
speech, before his valet de,eliambre. It was, indeed,
his custom, for many years before his death, to select
the hour allotted to his toilet for the transaction of the
most important affairs, and the discussion of the most
weighty politics ; and never, upon any occasion, has he
been known to dismiss his valet from the chamber.
Perhaps some apology may be found for this apparent
carelessness, in the fact of his trust never having been
betrayed. The most remarkable of the whole tribe
was decidedly the venerable Courtiade, one to whom,
by reason of his long services and devoted at-
tachment, the Prince al!owed a greater latitude
than to any other, and whose homely remarks and
shrewd judgments upon passing events afforded him
the greatest amusement. This man had entered the
P: face's service long before the breaking out of the first
revolution, and died " still in those voluntary bonds,"
but four years ago, during the embassy to London. it
was said the grief which he experienced in consequence
el being left in Paris, owing to his advanced age and
growing infirmities, contributed in a great measure to
hasten his death. His attachment was rather that of a
member of the canine species, than of a human being.
During the yearly years of his service, he had partaken of
all the vicissitudesof the ever-changing fortunes of his mas-
ter. The Prince would take a peculiar delight in recount-
ing to strangers the story of his flight to America, when,
in obedience to a secret friendly warning, he re-
solved to take his immediate departure. Courtiade
was with him at the moment that he received the let.
ter which was the cause of this decision, and the Prince
immediately confided to him the step be was about to
take, at the slum time advising him, as be had a wife
and family, to whom he would doubtless wish to bid
adieu before venturing on so long and perilous a jour-
ney, more especially since the period of his return must
be distant and uncertain, that he should let him depart
at once, and follow in the next packet which should
sail. " Non, non," replied Courtiade, in the greatest
agitation ; "you shall not leave the country alone and
unattended—l will go with you ; but only leave me till
to-morrow night !" " That cannot be, Courtiade," re-
turned the Prince ; " the delay will endanger our posi-
tion, without being sufficiently long to be of service to
yourself and your wife." " Bah I c'est hien de ma femme
dont it s'agit I" exclaimed the valet, with the tears rush-
ing to his eyes ; "it is that apcursed..washerdomito,
who has got all your fine shirts and your muslin cra-
vats, and how in God's name will you be able to make
an
i appearance,„ and in a foreign country too, without
them

I shall never forget my first interview with the
Prience, nor the singular impression which this very
Courtiade produced upon me. I was admitted. as usual
with all persons who came upon affairs demanding at-
tention and privacy, at the hour of the Prin2e's toilet.
It was a little while after the revolution of July, and
just before his embassy to London. I found the re-
nowned diplomatist seated quietly at his bureau, which
mostly served him both for writing and dressing table.

It was, I believe, upon the very day that the Prince
was to take his farewell audience of Louis Philippe, ere
he set out for England, and he was to Lppear upon this
occasion in the usual court costume. One valet was ,
busily occupied, with a most serious countenance, in
powdering with might and main the thick masses of his
long grey hair. Another was kneeling low at his feet,
endeavouring,although with difficulty from hisconst rained
position beneath the table, to buckle the latchets of his
shoes. his secretary was seated at the bureau beside
him, occupied in opening, one after the other, a huge
collection of letters with astonishing rapidity, scanning
the contents of each, quietly throwing some into the
the waste-paper basket, and placing the rest in a pile
beneath for the inspection of the Prince. I could not
but admire the sang froid with which, while listening to
my errand, to him personally of the highest importance,
he suffered himself to be invested with the embroidered
paraphernalia of his official uniform. When the attire
was completed, the door of the chamber opened, and
in stalked, with tottering steps, the aged, weather-
beaten Courtiade, laden with divers small boxes of va-
rious forms and sizes. These were filled ivith the rib-
bons and insignia of the multifarious orders with which
the Prince was decorated. It was curious to witness
the total indifference with which the Prince suffered him-
self to be ort.:v.mcnted, as contrasted with the eager so-
lemnity of Courtiade, to whom the desire to fill this
office' with becoming dignity (for it was the only duty
which in his latest years devolved upon him) had become
the chief aim and object of existence.

I have been led into this involuntary digression by
the remembrance of my own sensations as I traversed
the now silent and deserted apartment, and was carried
back in memory to that first interview, inwardly com-
paring the anticipations of that moment with those by
which my soul was upon this occasion so depressed and
saddened.

When I entered the chamber where reposed the
veteran statesman, he had fallen into a profound slum-
ber, from which some amendment was augured by the
physicians, although it might partly be ascribed to the
fatigue induced by the over-excitement he had under-
gone a few hours previously in the performance of the
last act of the chequered drama of his existence—his
retractation—an act which, after having been visited with
praise and blame, with scorn or admiration, and each
in an exaggerated degree, must for ever remain a
mystery.

. .
The slumber, or rather lethargy, into which the
Prince had fallen, had continued for about an hour
after my arrival, and it was curious to observe, as time
drew on, the uneasiness which was manifested, even
alas ! by those nearest and dearest, lest this repose,
however salutary, should endure beyond the hour fixed
by the King for his visit. It was with some difficulty
that he was aroused from this oblivion, and made to
comprehend the importance of the event which was
ahout to occur. He was scarcely lifted from his re-
clining position and seated on the edge of the bed, when,
punctual as the hand upon the dial, his Majesty, fol-
lowed by Madame Adelaide, entered the apartment. It
was a study both for the moralist and painter to observe
the contrast between these two individuals, as seated
thus side by side, beneath the canopy of those old
green curtains, they seemed grouped as for the compo-
sition of some historical picture. It was startling to
turn from the broad expansive forehead, the calm and
stoic brow, and the long and shaggy locks which over-
shadowed it, giving to the dying statesman that lion-
like expression of countenance which had so often formed
the theme of admiration to poets and to artists, and then
to gaze upon the pointed crown, well-arranged toupee,
the whole outward bearing, taut soil pezt bourgeois, of
the King, who, even at this early hour of the morning,
was attired, according to his custom, with the utmost
precision and primness. Despite of the old faded
dressing-gown of the one, and the snuff-coloured coat,
stiff neckcloth, and polished boots of the other, the
veriest barbarian could have told at a glance which
was the " list of the nobles," and which the
" first citizen" of the empire. His Majesty was
the first to break silence, as in etiquette
bound to do. It would be difficult to define the ex-
pression which passed across his features as ho con-
templated what might be called the setting of his guiding
star. Perhaps be could not himself have rendered an

account of the exact impression which the scene pro-
duced upon his mind.
I a-n sorry, Prince, to see you suffering so much,"
said he, in a low tremulous voice, rendered almost inau-
dible by extreme emotion. " Sire, you have conic to
witness the sufferings of a dying man, and those who
love him can have but one wish, that of seeing them
shortly at an end."

This was uttered in that deep strorg voice so pecu-
liar to himself; and which age had not had the power to
quench, nor the approach of death itself been able to
weaken. The effect of the speech, short as it was, was
indescribable ; the pause by which it was preceded, and
the tone of reproach, calm and hitter, in which it was
conveyed, produced an impression which will not he soon
forgotten by those who were present.
The royal visit, like all royal visits of an unpleasant
nature, was of the shortest duration possible. It was
evident that his Majesty felt it to be an irksome mo-
ment, and that he was at a loss what cluntenanee to
assume ; and after uttering some expressions of conso-
lation he arose to take his leave, but too visibly pleased
that the self-imposed task was at an end. Here the
Prince once more, with his usual tact, came to his re-
lief, by slightly rising and introducing to his notice
those by whom he was surrounded, his physician, his
secretary, his principal valet, and his own private
doctor ; and then a reminiscence of the old courtier
seemed to come across him, for with his parting salu-
tation he could not forbear a compliment, " Sire, our
house has received this day an honour worthy to be in-
scribed in our annals, and one which my successors will
remember with pride and gratitude."
I must confess that I was grievously disappointed in
_ .

the anticipations which I had-formed of this visit. I
had looked upon it as the farewell of the safely-landed
voyager (landed, too, amidst storm and tempest) to the
wise and careful pilot who had steered hi:n skilfully
through rock and breaker, and now pushed off alone,
amid the darkness to be seen no more. But no: there
was the hurry and impatience of one. to whom the
scene was painful ; and that it was painful who can
doubt ? There was, too, that evident secret self-ap-
plause in the performance of an irksome duty ; but not
the slightest expression of any one sentiment of friend-
ship or attachment, such as I had imagined to have
bound these two men together. A friend of mine, a
man of great sense and discernment, to whom I made
this observation, remarked drily, " It is plain that his
Majesty has no fear to see him die ; but wait a little
while, and we shall see that he will have regret enough
that he should be dead !"

As a kind of relief to the gloomy side of the picture
might be observed the anxious feminine flurry displayed
throughout the interview by Madame, who appeared to
suffer much uneasiness lest the coldness of her Royal
brother should be noticed, and who endeavoured, by a
kindly display of interest and busy politeness, to make
amends for what might he wanting elsewhere.
I should not perhaps have deemed it necessary to
record thus minutely the particular detai!s of this scene
had not it already been so much dwelt upon in another
light. Astonishment and admiration, frivolous and ex-
slgerated, have been expressed with regard to this re-
markable act of condescension on the part of Louis Phi-
lippe, as though royalty were alone exempt from the debt
of manly and honourable gratitude. Why, there is not one
of the Sovereigns beneath whom Talleyrand had lived
who would not have hurried to show respect to
the death bed of this truly great statesman ; and yet
all had not been raised to the throne by his means !
Napoleon, the stern, the iron-hearted, even he would
not have hesitated, because he scorned not to avow
that he had owed as much of his political success to
the timely counsels of his Minister for Foreign Affairs
as to his own skill and foresight. Louis Dixhuit—nei-
ther would he have deemed such a step beneath his dig-
nity, HP, too, needed no reminding that he was deeply
indebted to the Prince de Talleyrand ; not perhaps for
zeal and activity, but for what, according to time and
circumstance, was to him of far more value—his wise,
discreet, and generous forbearance : while Charles the
Tenth would have come with pit-us resignation to mourn
the quenching of this last beacon of the old French
aristocracy, and would have rejoiced that by his means
it should have peen extinguished amid becoming dignity
and honour.

It was shortly after tl.e departure of the King that
he first symptoms of dissolution were observed by the
physicians. The whole family, every member of which
had been apprized of this, immediately gathered around
him. The Duke de Po— was there among the number,
and I could not forbear a smile as I remembered the
satir:cal observation made by the Prince himself, a short
time before his illness, upon the occasion of rather a
ceremonious visit from this personage—" Just leaves me
in disappointment," said he, as he departed ; "one would
think, by his melancholy visage and his lugubrious cos-
time, that he was deputed hither by some entrepeneur
des pomvesfunebres."
Towards the middie of the day the Mince began to
grow more restless and feverish. I could not resist the
temptation of seeking relief from the stifled air of that
close chamber, and passed through to the drawing-room.
I was verily astounded at the scene which there met
my eyes. Never shall I forget the impression produced
by the transition from that silent room—that bed of suf-
fering—to the crowded apartment. where " troops of
friends"—all the elite of the society of Paris—were as-
sembled. There was a knot of busy politicians, with
ribbons at their button-holes—some with powdered
hca3s, some with bald heads—gathered around the bla-
zing fire ; their animated conversation, although con-
ducted in a low tone by the good taste and feeling of
him who directed it, filled the apartment with ifs un-
ceasing murmur. I observed, too, some of the diploma.
tist's oldest friends, who had come hither from real and
sincere attachment, and who took no part in the eager
debates of these political-champions.
Among others, the Count de M., he whom I had
never seen but as the prime wit of all joyous re-unions
—whose pungent joke and biting sarcasm have become
the terror ()Chores and twaddlers, for they eh: g for ever
like burrs to those against whom they are hurled—the
only man, in short, with whom the Prince himself dared
not, upon all occasions, to measure himself in the keen
skirmish of intellect, now sat silent and sorrowful apart
from the rest, apparently lost in thought, not heeding
the various details of the scene which was enacting
around him, and which, had it been elsewhere, would
not have failed to call forth some of the sharp and
bitter traits of satire for which he is so much dreaded.
In one corner was seated a coterie of ladies discussing
topics entirely foreign to the time and place. Sometimes
a low burst of light laughter would issue from among
then in spite of the reprimanding " Chut" which upon
such occasions rose from the further end of the room.
On a sofa near the window lay exteniled, at full length,
the youthful and lovely Duchess de V., with a bevy of
young beaux—all robber-like and " jeune France"—
kneeling on the carpet beside her, or sitting low at her
feet on the cushions of the divan.
The scene was altogether one of other times. It
seemed as though the lapse of centuries might be for-
gotten, and that we were carried back at a bound to the
days of Louis Quatorze, and to the deathbed of Maza-
rine. There was the same in souciance, the same weari-
ness of expectation. Some were gathered there from
convenance, some from courtesy for the rest of the
family ; - many. from curiosity, and some few from real
frsendship ; while none seemed to remember that
a mighty spirit was passing from the world, or that they
were there assembled to behold a great man die. Presently,
however, the conversation ceased—the bum of voices
was at an end—there was a solemn pause—and every
eye was turned towards the slowly-opening door of the
Prince's Chamber. A. domestic entered with downcast
looks and swollen eyes, and advancing towards Dr. C.,
who, like myielf, had just then sought an instant's re-
lief in the drawing-room, whispered a few words
in his ear. He arose instantly and entered the cham-
ber. The natural precipitation with which this move-
ment was executed, but too plainly revealed its cause.
It was followed by the whole assembly. In an instant
every one was on the alert, and there was a simulta-
neous rush to the door of the apartment. M. de
Talleyrand was at that moment seated on the side of
the bed, supported in the arms of his secretary. It
was evident that death had set his seal upon that mar-
ble brow, yet was I struck with the still-existing vigour
of the countenance. 'lt seemed as if all the life which
had once sufficed to furnish forth the whole being were
now centered in the brain. From time to time he
raised his head, with a sudden movement, shaking back
the long grey locks which impeded his sight, and gazed
around ; and then, satisfied with the result of his exa-
mination of that crowded room, a triumphant smile
would pass across his features, and his head would again
fall upon his bosom.
From my profession, and the circumstances in which
I hove been placed, it has fallen to my lot to be witness
of more than one death scene, but never in eny case did
the sentiments displayed at that awful hour appear so
utterly consistent with the character borne by any indi-
vidual during life as in the case of the Prince de Talley-
rand. He saw death approach neither with shrinking
nor with fear, nor yet with any affectation of scorn or of
defiance, but rather with cool and steady courage, as a
well-matched honourable foe with whom he had
wrestled long and bravely, and to whom, now that
he was fairly vanquished, he deemed it no shame
to yield, nor blushed to lay down his arms and
surrender. If there be truth in the assertion that it
is a satisfaction to die amid the tears and lamentations
of multitudes of friends and hosts of relatives, then in-
deed must his last feeling towards the world he was for
ever quitting, have been one of entire approbation and
content, for he expired amid regal pomp and reverence ;
and of all those whom he, perhaps, would himself have
called together, none were wanting. The aged friend
111,1.

Scarcely, however, were those eyes, whose every ;.lance
had been watched so long and with such deep interee,, er
ever closed, when a sudden change came over the se, ee
y tOneakne' on ul
wing,haves o
greatthoughtwas thatthe a
eheti;ft
earciowrstb eel, ta sudd n
r':each one hurried from the hotel, in the hope orbiing s•
flight
i ti•
to spread the news among the particular set or cot et ie
of which he or she happened to be the oracle. Ei e
nightfall that chamber which all the day bad been
crowded to excess, was abandoned to the sertants of
the tomb ; and when I entered in the evening I fhund
the very arm chair, from whence I had so often heard
tie Prince launch the courtly jest or sting:rig epigram,
now occupied by a hired priest, whispering prayers ;or
the repose of his departed soul.
It was after the death of the Prince that the awe Peel
devotion with which he had inspired his Lovehold be-
came evident. Not one of the domestics left his sta-
tion upon any pretext whatever. The attendants waited
each in his turn, and at the same elated hour, to which
he had been accustomed during bie life. I my-
self saw the cook punctual to the hour in the morn-
ing at which he had for so many ycers been sum-
wined to receive his orders, now followed by his bet y
of marmilons, with their snowee bite costumes and log;
carving-knives, walk with solemn step to the fcot of t 'ec
bed, and, kneeling down with cotton cap in bead.
breathe a short prayer ; each sprinkled -the corpse v
holy water, and then the whole procession withdrooiu
the same silence with which they had entered. I was
deeply struck with the Mixture of the sublime aed
ludicrous in this scene. It reminded me of many of
whimsical creations to be met with in some of the old
German legends.
Contrary to the usual French custom, which crclains
that interment shall ensue eight-and-forty hours after
decease, the public funeral, upon the occasion of the de-
positing of the body in the church of the Pee.:un:viou,
did not take place until the following week, owing to the
embalmment, which was a work of time ; while the
transferring of the corpse to its final resting-place at
Valencey could not be accomplished until the month of
September, the vault, which was preparing even before
the Prince's death, being yet unfinished.
Independently of the interest which I felt in the ce-
remony, as well as tie desire to render this last horn,;::,

to or.c who had, upon every occasion of my intero,,w!e
pith him, been all kindness and urbanity to me, I de:er-
mined to repair to Vi!eneay and tvitncas the funerals—
for at one fell stroke had death sn-ept from tht cart It all

that remained of that onegcneration. The Pricer! do
Talleyrand—the wise, the witty, the clever, and I,h'r'ctin-:
ring—was to go down to the grave with tilt e.
.r.ileless
and the simple-hearted Duke his brother! I.ler,"ri the
same occasion; too; the stnall tomb of the infant Yartele
wherein she had peacefully slumbered for a space of two
years, was routed, and the tiny coffin was to accompany
that of the Prince on its long and dreary journey.
The hearse which was to convey the bodies was tiic
same which had been made for the removal of ti:e
corpse of the ex-Queen of Holland from Switzerhnicl,
in appearance something resembling an ammunition-
waggon, with covered seats in front, wherein were sta-
tioned two of the personal attendants of the Prince.
The body was raised from the vaults of' the Assumption
at midnight, and the little snow-white coffin was placed
upon the elaborately wrought oaken chest which con-
tained it.

1 was told by a friend who witnessed the scene, that
nothig could exceed the dramatic effect of the dep.ir-
tore of the corse-laden vehicle from Paris. The
ferment of the child from the londy cerw tery of 111,:mt
Parnasse—the lading of the ponderous coffin by the
light of torches—the peculiar rattle of the hearse through
the silent streets at that solemn hour, and beneath that
calm moon. which makes " all that is dark seem darker
still." One incident is worth recording. On sta,tiiig
from the iron gates of the chapel, one of the postilions
turned and shouted the usual question, " Vers.quelie
barriere ?" and was answered by a voice proceeding
from the hearse itself, " Barricre d'Enfer."

We arrived r.t Valencay on the third day after our
departure from Paris, and it was about ten o'clock on
the same night that the worn and dust-covered hearse
was descried, wending its way up the long avenue of
chesnut trees leading to the chateau. Every honour
which had been paid to the lord of the mansion during
his life was now rendered with
,scrupulous exactness

to his lifelesi corpse. No ceremony, however trillug,
was omitted. The wide gates were thrown open to ad-
mit the sombre vehicle, which entered the court of
honour with the same ceremony that had denoted the
approach of the stately carriage which had been wont to:,
drive at a somewhat ruder pace through the regal portal.
The whole of the numerous household, with the h,rir of
the domain in advance of the rest, were assembled en
the Verron. The Prince's nephew himself took his sti-A
in front of the hearse, to conduct it down into the town ;
the goodly array of servants and huntsmen and

foresters all following on foot, and bearing torches to
the Church, wherein the body wag deposited for the
night, previous to the final ceremony, which was to take
place on the morrow. _

- Early in the morning all was astir in the littl, burgh.
Never before had a sight so fraught with interest been
witnessed by its inhabitants. It seemed like a gala chiy
through every street. Not a window but was crowded
with spectators, while the footway was cheltedwith
peasants front all the neighbouring di.tr:ets . iiiteir
gayest attire. The National Gua:d of the town was
all afoot from the earliest hour in the moraine; ;
and altogether so cheerful was, ;the whole ilr>.
peCt of - the place, that the traveller who had
passed through on that day would have in:atoned it to
have been the anniversary of scme great public rfjo;e-
ing. The corpse of the Duke had arrived in far o,ff.:-
rent plight. :No pomp, no pageantry, was here—a
solitary post carriage, with a single pair-of hors,a—tto
train of mourners. The doctor who had attended his lart
illness alone accompanied the body from Saint Cx..--
main. Time was food for reflection in the et.ror ,si !
No needless expense had been wasted upon . :t;
ornament and funeral trappings, fur, when the coin
was uncovered, an exclamation of surprist: burst from
those around. It was of plain elms, such as contain
the remains of people of middling degree, and,
when placed beside those of his more fitronr,:d.
relatives, formed . a melancholy contrast. But noiv
one pall conceals the whole, the rich velvet and the pl,in
unvarnished planks. One long stream of melody ascend,
to Heaven, one prayer for the repose of all- who s 1: lit
beneath that gorgeous catafalque—for- him who had
died full of wealth and honour, whose vast and prism fal
intellect had held dominion over men's minds even to the.
.vey last2—and for hint who had elos:d his eyes in Belt-
tude and neglect, and whose intellect had wavered even
on the very verge of madness. Bath were transpur:ed
to the-chapel of the Sisters of St. Andre, found.-it by
the Prince himself, and wherein he had already placed
the family vault. His body was the first to dean( nd,
amid the firing of muskets and the noisy demonstrations
of respect of those without—then that of the Du;-.e,
amid silence unbroken, save by the harsh creaking of 111.2
coffin, as it slid down the iton grating-IRn last anti
least, although the oldest denizen of the tomb, the little
Yolande, the fairy coffin seeming, with its silver cluisino-a
and embossed velvet of snowy whiteness, rather a cosi:et
destined to ornament the boudoir of a youthful beauty,
than to be a receptacle of corruption and decay.
Tie vault was closed, and all was over. Each one
had contributed the last token of Catholic re:poct ;
and we al turned from the chapel to take the road to
the chat !au, where entertainnient for those cult, at-
tended the funeral bad been liberally prepared by its
new master ; and it was then that we began to look
around and to feel some curiosity to know who had
shared with us in rendering this last hot-11, ga to one rho
was entitled to the gratitude of every it,dividual of Lie
nation. We gazed right and left, but few were there:
and these were all those who had served hint devotedly
and faithfully—the grateful domestic, the e scure arid
humble friend ; but of the great cnes of the. e,.1-111
whom he had serred—of those whom he had raised to
greatness and honour—there was not ONE'.

LAMBETH PARISH.—ELECTION 07 GUAR-
DIANS.—The circumstances of this election arc of ton • X.
traordinary and novel a: character not to bare attrprfed
general attention tbrtughout the metropolitan parishes.
The late • Board cf Guard ans bad, cluing their year os i
office, dismissed the Secretary, who received a lart.e
salary, and bad his duties performed by a subordi• ate
officer at a small expense. The Poor.law Core I missionbrs re-
fused to sanction the dismissal of this functionary. As the' ime
approached for the election of a new Board, the getle-
man (Mr. Hedger) who bad acted as Returning Offic: r,
was presented as usual to the Commissiencra to fill t a
situation. The nomination of the Guardians in his Lwow.
was rejected by the Commissioners, who appointed Dr.
Kay (a Poor-law Commissioner) Returning Officer, e,e.
trary to the usual practice and contrary to law, if the i pi.
niors of Sir Frederick Pollock and Sir William Folle.t be
worth anything upon the law of the case. The less:•l..y of
the proceeding will become a question for decision in ti,e
Court of Queen's Bench by a writ of certiorari, moved 1' r
on the part of the parish./ This is not the only novelty in •
these proceedings. The voting-papers 'have hecn di),tri.
buted by the police and collected by them, to the sartrl.e
of all parties, as this is the first occasion in which tha
police force have been employed in connection. with
a popular election. Tho contest has now ten:nit:at si
in favour of the Tory candidates, who, no doubt, will
reinstate the ex-Secretary in thl emoluments of his
office—unless the Poor-law Commissioners should ice
reason, now that no duties have been perfomed
by him for the last year, to object to his re-appuiot „.„ 1,,
Twenty-four gentlemen were called to the Irish
bar on Monday, of which number six are Reman Catholics.
DUDLEY.-- ANTI-CORN-LAW MEZT°—
Pursuant to public notice, Mr. Patilton deliverediNone.of
his admirable Corn-law Lectures in this borough on Mon-
day evening last. The large room of the National School
became well filled before the lecturer had made much
progress,; and we must admit that we have seldom. if ev,r„
seen a more attentive audience than were pres• nt co this
occasion. A few more such scenes and we prorbeev a
re-action in Dudley which shall have the effect of Oen.-
ing that borough of the Tories who now dole it.— ,s,ve-
ferdshir tEramitzer.