Year: 1866

They bore a coffin from the Tuiler-


les t'other day. Are you not disposed


to envy the life of a man whose home


was the palace? He was q cousin of


the French Emperor. Would you not
/ like 20 be the cousin of the French En-


peror? He was the First Chamberlain


and Superintendent Of the Imperial


Theaters. Wouldn't you give the world


to be present at all the ceremonies of


of the Imperial Court, to have the dis


tribution of tickets to them, and to be
/ the mortal whose very sight Wreathes


in smiles the faces of the haughtiest
stage beauties, and whose drafts on


their hearts they dare not protest In


deed you would lie had seventeen


grand crosses of the highest selected


orders in Europe, don't you envy himf


Good reader, envy no man. have


seen many a spoilt child of fortune in
his dressing gown. have never seen


one | would have changed places with.


Certainly Count Baechiochi seemed


dandled by fortune tenderly as she.ev-


er dandles any one. He was born in
the gilded cradle, and he trod life on


a carpet of roses; but he was the vic
tim of disease, which tortured him
with barbarOus cruelty 1t was one of
| those nervous diseases beyond the


reach of medical science. He could


not remain still either in a chair or in


bed without suffering the aeutest


pain. The nerves of motion were af-


fected. He transacted business on
foot, he dictated letters and lists ofin-
Vation as he paced his Office. He list
ened TO the performance of operas in
his latticed box, which had no seat in
it, and was covered with a thin carpet
that he might walk during the whole
performance. He saw balIets danced
from the slips of the stage. Often he
would take the dulleSt books issued
from the press, have candles lighted in
in broad daylight, and read the stupid
work until he caught its heaviness and
was composed to sleep. Sometimes
sleep would not come even when so
summoned: then he would walk until
it did come: he would walk about until
he had so exhausted the body that the
nerves were insensible to pain, and
sleep would become necessary TO life.
On one occasion he walked thirty-six
hours without inteTmission, trying to
subdue pain by fatigue.


The soles of his feet were red, as if
they had been boiled and blood had
been forced through all their pores.
The Emperor gave MIN rooms adjOin-
ing one of the largest passages OF the
Tuileries and had it covered with a
thick Aubusson carpet, that the poor
patient might enjoy his painful round
with least pain. He died from sheer
from want of sleep. Short
" before he died lie murmured, 'No-
rinel Norinew repeatedly. "What is
that? Do you want anything?" asked
one of the persons presant. Don't
question me-" replied. the fast dying
man.


Norine was a little shop girl Of Leg
horn, his first love: she is now an old
wrinkled shopkeeper of that city, and
has quite a large family. The dying
man, though he had lived IN palaces
amid the rank and beauty Of Europe,
was familiar with the prettiest women
behind footlights. thought of none Of
the pageantry and pomP of his career.
They were vanity of vanitie=. All his
last thoughts belonged to the humble
maiden whose eye had returned his
glance, whose lip had first breathed
owe into his ear. This was the oasis
n-life's desert-the rest was all sand.
Paris Correspondence Ne10 Orleans PIC
11sns.