New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1868-01-09
RINOUO-N1XIMILI4N.

The Cable brought us WOIu soHhc uhye ago,
that the remains of the late Emperor Maximl-
ian had reached Cadiz, on their way to Vienna.
The first stopping place that the Novara made
with her luclIless freight should have been, by
rights, somewhere in France. That would
have illustrated the prOverb of curses coming
home to rOost in way that would have a
little better suited the imagination. But, III a
practical sense, all Western Europe Is France /;
and wherever Maximilian's body, or what is
left of it, goes, it comes home to Napoleon.
And we may imagine the feelings of this ex-
allied parsonage as the busy telegraph flashes
the unwelcome news hither and thither and
far and wide, that his poor victim is come back
at last, TO share with his many other victims
the rest of the grave. Well may he cherish n
grudge AGAINST the Fates that have sent this
troublesome guest TO plague him, tossed
and yexed as he is already with Bismarck
and Germany, Garibaldi and Italy, with
Liberals at home, and grumblng people
crying for work and bread. Seeing how all
his schemes have come to naught; with every
cause he has tried To ruin prospecting, and
everything at home for whose prosperity he
has sefshly labored falling TO cureless ruin,
well may he begin to be aweary Of the sun.
Gloomily must Macbeth the Second remember
the day when he stood ut his palace gate and
wished his confiding, simple friend fortunate
tourney. "Ride you, to-nightf" "ls't far you
ride ~ "Goes Charlotte with your Fail
"not our feast,r To which the luckess Banquo
cheerily replied, "My lord, | will not"
And to-day he keeps his promise. He comes,
but not as he went. He departed in holiday
trim, with prospecting breeze, with slken
sails, with gold in plenty, and promises OF help
and furtherance as plenty as gold-with salutes
of cannon, and shouts of peoples, and soft
susurrus of courtly farewells, and rain OF
roses. and futter of perfumed hankerchiefs,
and the clappng of innumerable kids. Who
ever wishes to know how he looked when he
left his barber on that eventful morning, has
only TO stop at the window OF Fowler d
Weiss shop, on Broadway, where, amid
nightmare of skulls, and plastcr-casts OF
wits and witless, madmen, poets, and muir
derers, CHASTITY and grim, all huddled
up together as in a Day of Judgment, he may
see. perched on the bandit ii came In from
Paris, the waxen efligy OF the gallant young
Prncei Fair haxen ihair in cloud on either
side his head, parted in the middle, girish-
wise wide blue eyes as in picture. open anu
confding rosy cheeks, speaking of health and
youth full red lips, too red and full, and the
long wbiskers that add the last touch of dan
dyism to face that nowhere speaks OF man.
Such was poor Max, soft-hearted soft handed,
small footed. slim, but with larger mind than
the effeminate face and body betokened, when
he left the gate of the cruel, false, and cow
ardly tyrant, who babe him farewell with
face all smiles and heart all stone.
To-day he comes again, and as the Novara
sails into port, what sight is here! How the
face, livid and yellow, like old parchment, with
dark circles about the hollow eyes contrast
with the tawdry splendOr Of the military coat
in which bis shrunken, wasted, cadayer is en-
cased its tissues all injected with antiseptics,
and the dismal cavern where once in the golden
DAYS. the warm heart beat and throbbed, and
the lungs digested the sweet air, now stuffed
with mummy How the hair, still parted in the
middle, and dressed with the old pomades re-
fuses to lie quiet, but shrinks with sensitive hor-
ror from the hole by which were drawn out the
Door brains that played their part as i'll, and
which is now stopped-goOd God with plug
of wood for lack of the bit of bone the thiev-
ish Mexican surgeon stole for relic Of his
illustrious subject! How pitiable it is to see
the end of the Imperial nose, against which tho
laundering razor slipped as they shaved the
corpse, now mended clumsily with bit of
wax Could they not cut his mustache
straight, but the bunglng scissors must jab
those pouting lips, once cherry red, now blue
and thin, and shrinking from the glitterng
teethf "Down with the coffin lid! Hurry the
"body to the great marble vaults of the Haps-
burgs! Quick Avaunt and quit my sight |!
Hence, horrible vision Unreal mOckery,
"hence! Why, so, being gone, l am Napoleon
" the Third, again."
We believe the old fogies have about given