three thousand Frenchman. A little more than a month later, Jan. 18, 1871, King William, in the palace of Louis XIV., at Versailles, was crowned Emperor William I. of Germany. His ancestor, Frederick the Great, on that day one hundred and eighty years before, had been crowned king of Prussia.

The terms of peace, concluded between Bismarck, Jules Favre, and Thiers, included the ceding of nearly the whole of Alsace and Lorraine with other territory, about six thousand square miles in all, to Germany, and a war indemnity of one thousand million dollars.

As soon as the emperor returned to Berlin, he went alone to the mausoleum at Charlottenburg. He was not insensible to the horrors of war. He knew how the heart of the Empress Eugénie would bleed and break like his mother's. He knew how the ceded countries would mourn, and how France would struggle under her pecuniary burdens; but out of all the sorrow had come that for which Louise longed and labored, — German unity.

He worshipped the memory of his mother. When he was eighty, and her statue was unveiled in the Thiergarten at Berlin, he said, "In my childhood and in my youth I could not understand what she foreboded, and yet God in his grace chose me to carry to completion what she foresaw, when I myself had scarcely a premonition of what was to happen. It is clear to me that God selects his instruments to do his will. And this inspires me with the deepest humility and the deepest thankfulness."

August Kluckhorn, in his memorial of Louise, translated by Elizabeth H. Denio, of Wellesley College, gives these touching words of the gifted queen: "Even if posterity does not mention my name among illustrious women, yet, when it learns the sorrows of the time, it will know what

I have suffered through them, and will say: She endured much, she remained patient in the midst of suffering. Then I could wish that at the same time they might say: She gave birth to children who were worthy of better times; she endeavored to lead them on, and at last her care has borne rich fruit."

The wish has been fulfilled. Her care has indeed "borne rich fruit." Gracious and beautiful, kind to the lowest and the highest, the cultivated friend of poets and statesmen, a devoted wife and mother, brave and able to lead, yet gentle and lovable, she was, and is, the inspiration of a great nation.

MADAME RÉCAMIER, THE BEAUTIFUL.

O be beloved was the history of Madame Récamier. Beloved by all in her youth for her astonishing beauty; beloved for her gentleness, her inexhaustible kindness, for the charm of a character which was reflected in her sweet face; beloved for the tender and sympathizing friendship which she awarded with an exquisite tact and discrimination of heart; beloved by old and young, small and great, by women, even women, so fastidious where other women are concerned; beloved always and by all from her cradle to the grave, — such was the lot, such will be the renown, of this charming woman! What other glory is so enviable?"

Thus wrote Madame de Hautefeuille in her lament over this celebrated woman.

What gave Madame Récamier her extraordinary power, her charm over all with whom she came in contact? What has made her memory fragrant for half a century?

The cry of every heart is to be loved; to her, love was given in the fullest measure. Every person desires to have influence; she swayed, as by magic, each of her acquaintances. Beauty counts for much, but she received the same worship when she was old and blind, and from those scarcely half her age. The richest in the realm asked her hand in marriage; the poorest gave her homage.

Literary men sought her counsel, and she inspired them to their best efforts. She had learned, what comparatively few ever learn in this world, the secret of power, the way to win and to hold hearts.

Jeanne Françoise Julie Adelaide Bernard was born at Lyons, Dec. 4, 1777. Her father, Jean, a notary, was a handsome man, but of weak character; her mother, Juliette Manton, was equally handsome, but of great strength of mind and business capacity. She amassed a fortune in speculation, and held it through the horrors of the Reign of Terror. She was not only capable, but vivacious and graceful, finding time to educate her daughter carefully, and to be to her a sister as well as a mother. The two were inseparable.

When Julie, or Juliette as she was usually called, was seven years old, her father having been appointed collector of customs in Paris, she was sent to the home of her mother's sister, Madame Blachette, at Ville-franche. Here she was very happy in the affection of a child of her own age, Renard Humblot, the first of her almost numberless admirers.

After a time she became a pupil at the convent of La Déserte at Lyons, where one of her mother's sisters had become a nun. She left this school with great reluctance, to live in Paris. After her death, this notice of her school life was found among her papers:

The next day, bathed in tears, I passed over the threshold of that door, the opening of which to admit me I could scarcely remember. I was put into a carriage with my aunt, and we set off for Paris. From this serene and innocent period of my life I turn with regret to one of turmoil. The former comes back to me sometimes like a vague, sweet dream, with its clouds of incense, its innumerable ceremonies, its processions in the gardens, its chants, and its flowers.

It is doubtless owing to these vivid impressions, received during childhood, that I have been able to retain my religious belief, though coming in contact with persons of such various and contradictory opinions. I have listened to them, understood them, admitted them, as far as they were admissible; but I have never allowed doubt to enter my heart.

In Paris, Juliette went early into the social life of which her mother was fond. Once at Versailles, when Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, and the whole royal family dined in public, as the crowd passed around the table the beauty of the young Juliette attracted the queen, who sent for her to come to their private apartments. Here she met the princess royal, a girl about her own age, eleven or twelve years old.

Juliette grew to womanhood very graceful, timid, yet elegant in manner, very fond of dancing, and gifted in music. She gave up singing and the harp in later life, but always retained her skill on the piano. When blind, years afterwards, she would play from the old masters at twilight, while the tears rolled down her cheeks.

Twice a week, the mother, Madame Bernard, gave fine suppers at her home, where she welcomed all clever people. Among the visitors was M. Récamier, a rich banker, tall and fair, with blue eyes and regular features. He was well versed in Latin, often quoting Horace and Virgil, and also spoke Spanish fluently. He was a good talker, very hopeful, throwing off care easily, agreeable, without very deep feelings, and generous.

He was forty-two and Juliette fifteen when he asked her in marriage. He had been kind to the child and had given her pretty playthings. He was proud of her girlish beauty, and she regarded him as a father. They were married April 24, 1793.