of the Prince, sank fatally wounded; a bullet pierced the brain of another gentleman when he had arrived within three hundred yards of the steamer; a third was drowned from exhaustion; but where the leaden hail flew thickest-where the angry waters fairly seethed again as the bullets lashed them into foam-there swam Louis Napoleon, the unfortunate representative of a principle, a cause, a defeat,' aut Cæsar aut nullus ever his motto, bravely battling with the waves. Thrice a bullet struck him; but the only injury he received was a flesh-wound in the arm. Louis Napoleon was yet to lead to victory, as Emperor, the troops who repulsed him.

At length the firing ceased (from no motive of humanity, but to prevent the fugitives regaining the shelter of their vessel); boats were put off to pick up the survivors, among whom was Dr. Conneau, who, after cheerfully sharing the six years' subsequent imprisonment of Napoleon at Ham, is now the companion of his second captivity.

Wounded as he was, the Prince still struggled gallantly to reach the Edinburgh Castle; but it was not to be. The worthy captain, who had watched his efforts with the intensest interest, was powerless to rescue him; and he was lifted into one of the custom-house boats and taken on shore, a prisoner, within three hours of his setting foot on French territory.

The illustrious captive once safely disposed of, the vessel which had brought him over naturally engrossed the attention of the French authorities, and the Edinburgh Castle was speedily boarded by a bevy of Gardes Nationales; but, fortunately for her commander, to whose courtesy the writer is indebted for these reminiscences of 'a morning call' on France, the English Consul at Boulogne interested himself in his behalf, and got the ship released from the embargo laid on her, and ere Napoleon had left Boulogne for Paris, the Edinburgh Castle was once more safe beneath the ægis of the English flag at Dover.

ROBERT C. BACON.

THE HAUNTED BARONET

BY J. S. LE FANU,

AUTHOR OF UNCLE SILAS,' ETC.

CHAPTER XXIV. AN OLD PORTRAIT.

SIR BALE-whom some people remembered a gay and convivial man, not to say a profligate one-had grown to be a very gloomy man indeed. There was something weighing upon his mind; and I daresay some of the good gossips of Golden Friars, had there been any materials for such a case, would have believed that Sir Bale had murdered Philip Feltram, and was now the victim of the worm and fire of remorse.

The gloom of the master of the house made his very servants gloomy, and the house itself looked sombre, as if it had been startled with strange and dismal sights.

She had lighted

Lady Mardykes was something of an artist. lately, in an out-of-the-way room, upon a dozen or more old portraits. Several of these were full-lengths; and she was-with the help of her maid, both in long aprons, amid sponges and basins, soft handkerchiefs and varnish-pots and brushes-busy in removing the dust and smoke-stains, and in laying-on the varnish, which brought out the colouring, and made the transparent shadows yield up their long-buried treasures of finished detail.

Against the wall stood a full-length portrait as Sir Bale entered the room; having, for a wonder, a word to say to his wife.

'O,' said the pretty lady, turning to him in her apron, and with her brush in her hand, we are in such a pickle, Munnings and I, we have been cleaning these old pictures. Mrs. Julaper says they are the pictures that came from Cloostedd Hall long ago. They were buried in dust in the dark room in the clock-tower. Here is such a characteristic one. It has a long powdered wig-George the First or Second, I don't know which-and such a combination of colours, and such a face. It seems starting out of the canvas, and all but speaks. Do look; that is, I mean, Bale, if you can spare time.'

Sir Bale abstractedly drew near, and looked over his wife's shoulder on the full-length portrait that stood before him; and as he did so a strange expression for a moment passed over his face.

The picture represented a man of swarthy countenance, with signs of the bottle glowing through the dark skin; small fierce pig eyes, a rather flat pendulous nose, and a grim forbidding mouth, with a large mole a little above it. On the head hung one of those