ENTRANCE TO THE PORT OF MARSEILLES.

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port itself is a natural basin, 520 fathoms in length by 150 in breadth, with a depth varying from 16 to 24 feet. This depth is insufficient for ships of the largest class, but so complete is the shelter, so insensible even the rise of the tide, that vessels of large burden enter with little apprehension from any agitation of the waters. The most admirable facilities are afforded for the loading and unloading of vessels, and 1,200 may find accommodation close to the quays, which are steep to the very edge. Seaward the assaults of the seasons are warded off by the interposition of three rocky islets, If, Rattoneau, and Pomegue, between the two latter of which is a safe roadstead for men-ofwar, and all are strongly fortified. Here is a lazaretto, built during the plague of 1720, covering an area of fifty acres, and so capacious that the whole French army performed quarantine within its double lines of enclosure, on their return from Egypt. The entrance of the inner harbour is defended by the cross-fire of forts St. Nicholas and St. Jean, and a chain was formerly stretched across between them.

It was in St. Jean's tall tapering tower, of impenetrable strength, that Monsieur Egalité and two of his sons, Montpensier and Beaujolais, were imprisoned; and it was from the dreary darkness of its cells, that the father was taken to the scaffold, the sons allowed to pass into exile. Before the republic thought it expedient to grant liberty to the suffering prisoners, the elder, Montpensier, attempted to escape, but, falling upon the chain that crossed the harbour, he was retaken, and confined until his liberation was granted, on condition of joining his brother, Louis Philippe of Orleans, in America.

"Having failed in attempting to deceive the sentinels and pass the drawbridge, the Duc de Montpensier, assisted by his servant, made fast one end of a rope to a pin for securing the window, and, passing the remainder of its length through the casement, commenced his perilous descent; but scarcely had he accomplished half the dizzy height, when the rope broke, and the unhappy prince fell senseless to the shore. Here he remained, perfectly unconscious of everything that passed around him, for about half an hour, when his returning senses enabled him to behold the clear bright moon, whose tremulous beams then played upon the surface of the silent sea. He was soon, however, rendered alarmingly and painfully alive to his miserable situation, finding that he was immersed up to his waist in the sea, and that one of his legs was broken. Crawling a few yards from the spot where he fell, he succeeded in reaching the harbour-chain, and laying hold of it, drew himself up and reclined upon it. Having about thirty louis in his purse, he calculated upon obtaining relief from some of the passing boats, as the harbour was not then shut; but, in this also he was miserably mistaken, for although seven boats passed within hail, during two hours of torture that he endured hanging on the chain, there was not an individual of their companies who had not become wholly callous to all appeals of humanity, and his cries of agony found no response save that of some horrible imprecation. The chilling cold of November would have been alone sufficient to have congealed the sufferer's blood and produced dissolution, and immersion in the open sea must have accelerated the fatal process; but the fever and inflammation that ensued from a sprained ankle, broken leg, and other injuries, counteracted the benumbing effects of the cold air and water, which were instrumental in

preserving the sufferer's life. An eighth boat at length arrived, manned by men of nobler hearts, and better instructed in those Christian precepts which teach us our duty to our neighbour. These fine fellows, as they pulled into the harbour to reach their homes at the hour of promise, heard the faltering voice of a fellow-creature in distress, and instantly called out to him to hold on for a little until they had apprised their friends of their arrival, and that they would return without further delay to his relief. After the expiration of about twenty minutes the boat returned, and the honest fellows who brought it taking the unfortunate prince, then stiff, cold, and unable to describe his situation, on board, steered out into the channel."*

Chains have since not only been removed from the Port of Marseilles, but struck off from the once enslaved people of France; and the tower of St. Jean is now only a witness, retained in the service of history, to render the present generation content with the comparative liberty of their lot.

THE PARK OF ST. CLOUD.

Are not these woods

More free from peril than the envious court?

Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference.

SHAKSPEARE.

WHEN the wicked Clotaire, the son of Clovis, assassinated two of his nephews, and usurped the throne, Clodoald succeeded in escaping his dagger, and, with a different, but perhaps not less happy, fortune than the founder of the royal family of England, secured a safe asylum in the shelter of a forest.+ Constructing for himself an humble hermitage within the bosom of the aged grove of Norigentum, he there devoted his remaining years to penitence and prayer; and when his pilgrimage was ended, and the secret of his birth discovered, admiring votaries not only canonized his memory, but exchanged the former classic name of his retreat for "St. Clodoald," or "St. Cloud," in honour of the royal recluse who had been so long its tenant. Here on the banks of the river Seine, and about six miles from Paris, a town of better founded pretensions to beauty than to extent or prosperity, soon arose, and the locality possessing many natural graces, a convenient proximity to the capital, and an ancient sanctity, was chosen as the site for a royal demesne. St. Cloud has not escaped the calamities of war, nor the conse

• Vide Life and Times of Louis Philippe, p. 265, et seq.

Fleance, after the assassination of Banquo by Macbeth's orders, escaped to Aber, in Caernarvonshire, and there married a daughter of the lord of that district. His son Walter, visiting Scotland, was appointed Lord High Steward of the kingdom, and from him, who then assumed the name of Walter Steward, the royal family of England is descended.

quence of being the favourite abode of the ruler of the land. In 1358, it was burnt down by the English; and in 1411, a party of the Armagnacs laid it level with the ground. For the chateâu itself was reserved the lot of witnessing many assassinations, political intrigues, and even depositions of kings, so that its name is frequently encountered in turning over the pages of general history. The town possesses but little internal attraction; its environs, however, are adorned with several magnificent residences, and beautifully retired spots, of which perhaps the Château of Bellevue, the Ville d'Avray, and Valley of Fleury, are the most agreeable.

To the Château and the Park of St. Cloud belong distinct and different histories. Both may be styled works of art, but their records will be found to have less similarity. In one, the darkest passions that agitate the human breast have been in dreadful operation, and became the fountains of much misery to France and to the world; in the other, the softest sentiments that civilize our nature have reigned uninterruptedly for many a year, and been productive of a large amount of harmless happiness. "The Park is a chef d'œuvre of art, surrounded by every natural elegance; the Château, placed between two terraces, between two avenues, presides over this collection of meadows, of verdure, of lawns, of basins." Le Notre, the most celebrated landscapegardener of his own nation, has here earned for himself a high reputation. Dividing the great area subjected to the arrangements of his taste into two portions, he has succeeded in securing to the royal occupants of the Palace the unenvied possession of their delightful promenades. The smaller enclosure, parc reservé, is immediately attached to the Château, and extends up the slope of the hills behind it. Extensive gardens, profusely ornamented flower-beds, shrubberies of the rarest plants, alcoves, bowers, grottos, temples, pillars, and statues, are introduced with the happiest effects; and the silent character of these enchanting scenes is increased by the sleeping aspect of many artificial lakes. When Jerome de Gondy owned these wide domains, they were not deficient in those accessions which accomplished taste, controlling unbounded riches, could confer upon them; but, when Louis XIV. purchased, and presented them to his brother, the Duke of Orleans, they had been improved and beautified in a style commensurate to the splendid conceptions of that great monarch.

At the foot of a beautiful open-work iron bridge, light and aerial, that spans the Seine, stand two handsome pavilions, between which is the entrance, from the Sevres road, into the great Park of St. Cloud. It is in these delightful grounds, overshadowed by chestnuts, and limes, and elms, which have attained a prodigious height, that the citizens of Paris pass so many hours in the enjoyment of every species of exhilarating amusement. Always open to the public, the Park is almost always animated by the presence of pleasure-parties, especially on the first and third Sundays of every month, and during the fête of St. Cloud, which lasts from the seventh to the twenty-eighth of September. The following vivid sketch of a single occasion will happily illustrate many: "The Parisians have arrived, and have already spread beneath the yoke elms; the cries were never more joyous, the groves never more thronged; the road is filled, the steamboat brings each hour its lovely cargo of young men and girls. Listen! the music is beginning!

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