All Europe seemed draped in the weeds of mourning during the years of his power and greatness. I have often thought his reflections must have been sad indeed, when, during the last five years of his life, he was a weary exile on the little gum-tree island of St. Helena, with only a few friends around him, and subjected to great unkindness from the governor of the island.

St. Helena is an island in the South Atlantic Ocean, belonging to the British. It acquired celebrity from being the place of Napoleon's banishment. From the ocean it has the appearance of a lofty pyramidal mass of a dark-gray color, rising abruptly from out its depths.

But on approaching, a number of openings are discovered, forming the mouths of narrow valleys or ravines, leading gradually up to a central plateau. On these, at all openings where a landing might be effected, military works have been erected for the purpose of making it secure.

What a contrast does his life there present, to the time when great continents trembled before the power of his triumphant armies.

Napoleon Bonaparte was born in Corsica, 1769, and died at St. Helena, 1821, where he was buried beneath a weeping willow, for nineteen years, when France demanded his remains, and gave such a funeral as few perhaps have ever witnessed.

THE CARNIVAL OF THE BOATS.

If any of the Pansies live near a river or lake, and are accustomed to row over the clear, shining surface, they can enter heartily into this most delightful of games. I should first seriously recommend that father or big brother John be invited to take charge of the boat, or if there are not enough big brothers to go around so that every boat can be under trusty guidance, there always is a big cousin or an uncle, or perchance a paid boatman who is competent to assume such a responsibility.

This being all arranged, the fun of trimming the small craft begins. Let each boatload keep all matters secret, so that the grand surprises that come out when the Carnival takes place, may form one of the pleasantest features of the occasion.

Get Chinese lanterns, fasten a pole at either end of row-boat, low enough so that the boats can pass safely under bridges if necessary. Two poles at either end are pretty when decorated with gay lanterns. Pass strings from one pole to another, and across from bow to stern. Hang on these bright bits of tinsel, silver, or any other trifle that will sparkle in the moonlight. Put tinsel or silver bands around top of oars above the hands—and a band around the rower's arms, and around caps. Let the girls wear white, with bright colors, and fancy hats or jaunty caps, carrying garlands.

When all is ready, the forward boat must carry one who rings a bell as the signal to start, also if possible some boys who can play on flutes or horns. There should be sweet voices on all the boats that can sing by a preconcerted plan, something in unison. As the boat sweeps around curves, and dips into bays, and shallows, one could never witness a prettier sight than the carnival presents. It is a regular game of "Follow my Leader" on the water. There must be complete obedience to the one who is leading, great good-nature, and a positive determination on the part of every child who enters into the sport to try his or her best to make all the others enjoy it.

After sailing around and around, singing and playing until tired, the Carnival ends with tying the boats fast, and "following the Leader" over the fields home, dropping the flowers at the doors of those who were not able to take part in the sport.

May you enjoy this Carnival of the Boats, dear Pansies, making it a bright spot in the lives of many, and a memory to gladden the heart.