Among the remarkable men of New Orleans, at this period, was Bernard Marigny, a scion of the noble stock of the Marigny de Mandevilles, of France.  His ancestor was one of the early settlers of Louisiana, and was a man of great enterprise, and accumulated an immense fortune, which descended to Bernard Marigny.  This fortune, at the time it came into the hands of Marigny, was estimated at four millions.  His education was sadly neglected in youth; so was his moral training.  He was a youth of genius, and proper cultivation would, or might, have made him a man of distinguished fame and great usefulness.  Coming into possession of his immense estate immediately upon his majority, with no experience in business matters, flushed with youth and fortune, courted by every one, possessing a brilliant wit, fond to excess of amusements, delighting in play, and flattered by every one, he gave up his time almost entirely to pleasure.  A prominent member of the Legislature for many years, he had identified himself with the history of the State, as had his ancestor before him.  He was the youngest member of the convention which formed the first Constitution of the State, and was the last survivor of that memorable body.  Soon after succeeding to his fortune, and when he was by far the wealthiest man in the State, Louis Philippe, the fugitive son of Louis Egalite, Duke of Orleans, came to New Orleans, an exile from his native land, after his father had perished by the guillotine.  Marigny received him, and entertained him as a prince.  He gave him splendid apartments in his house, with a suite of servants to attend him, and, opening his purse to him, bade him take ad libitum.  For some years he remained his guest, indeed until he deemed it necessary to leave, and when he went, was furnished with ample means.  Long years after, when fortune had abandoned the fortunate, and was smiling upon the unfortunate—­when the exile was a monarch, and his friend and benefactor was needy and poor—­when Louis Philippe was king of France and the wealthiest man in Europe, they met again.  Their circumstances were reversed.  Marigny was old and destitute.  The monarch waited to be importuned, though apprised of his benefactor’s necessities and dependence, and answered his appeal with a snuff-box, and the poor old man learned that there was truth in the maxim, “Put not your trust in princes.”

Wasteful habits, and the want of economy in every branch of his business, wrought for him what it must for every one—­“ruin.”  During the discussion in the Legislature upon the bill dividing the city into municipalities, Marigny, then a member, exerted himself against the bill.  He viewed it as the destruction of the property of the ancient population in value, and their consequent impoverishment, and threw much of his wit and satire at those who were its prominent supporters.  Among them was Thomas Green Davidson, a distinguished member of Congress, (still living, and long may he live!) Robert Hale, and myself.  Ridicule was Marigny’s forte.  Upon the meeting of the House, and before its organization for business, one morning, the writer, at his desk, was approached by Alexander Barrow, a member—­and who afterward died a member of the United States Senate—­who read to me a squib which Marigny was reading, at the same moment, to a group about him.  It read thus: