concealed their numbers as to have made it constantly appear, whenever the power of the warrior threatened us, that he had an hundred bitter enemies in the country for one friend. How very few exceptions there were even to the poorest patriots reviling him. The poor, it is true, are from their low habits addicted to dissimulation; but they, at least, affected the pious decorum of believing in the unmixed diabolism of his character; and no vulgar sceptic called in question the Imperial monster's having lain with his own sister and poisoned the sick at Jaffa. Even Ireland resounded with the song of "Oh, the rogue, the thief, Bonaparte! in your distress he will not leave a copper t'ye." After the battle of Leipsic, did not radicals and all rejoice? On that occasion a song was written, (it was believed, at the Admiralty,) commencing, "It's all up with Boney, and the King of Saxony." Yet the rhyme became popular, the only one from the same quarter that ever did; and was chalked by apprentices on the ale-house walls.

It is clear, then, that this belief in the unqualified worthlessness of Bonaparte has fairly served its purpose as a belligerent principle. Two questions now naturally suggest themselves. In the first place, would it threaten us with any frightful political evils, if it were suspected that a single ray of real greatness ever penetrated into the black and unfathomable abyss of his character? In the next place, supposing it safe to trust ourselves with truth on the subject, may it not be the fact, that he is a man whose vices we have graven on brass, whilst we have written his virtues on water? On the former head let us be cautious, for there is no falsehood so impertinent as a truth out of season. Even after his commitment to St. Helena, the cloven hoof of his vulgar admirers began to shew itself. If he could have swum to Glasgow or Manchester, there is no saying how many starving weavers might have rallied round him in order to exact reform and a rise of wages. But there is now no chance of his ever encamping on the plains of Peterfield, or the fells of Campsie; for his thread is cut and his web is finished. This is more than some of us timid alarmists ever believed to be possible: it was at one time thought that we should never get rid of him. An honest German once hearing in his own country that he was dead, shook his head and said to his informant, "Bonaparte dead! ah, you don't know him." Now to a certainty, however, he is not only stone dead, but so long dead, that if Dr. Üre were to go to St. Helena with all his Galvanic apparatus, he could not twitch a single feature of his countenance. Let us speak of him, then, at least with self-possession, and not be so longeared to his accusers as to kick the dead lion. Our oldest women and youngest children are agreed, that though he was a great coward for not killing himself at last, he was the next greatest General in the world after the Duke of Wellington. He can affront our patriotism no more, and, perhaps, though he has done us much evil, he may have been the means of doing us some good. Did he not render us at one time a sublimely devoted, volunteering, and sharp-shooting nation? Has he not afforded us the mystically connected, though seemingly incongruous, pleasure of believing at one and the same time that he neither durst nor could invade us, and yet of arming, and enjoying the imaginary pathos of our own glorious death-bed on our

own native soil? What odes to our Country and orders to our tailors did he not call forth! Already the beloved wives are growing old in our affections whose virgin hearts we won in those plumes, and pantaloons, and martial uniforms, wherewith his menaces occasioned, or at least apologized for, our being arrayed. He has bequeathed to us the glory of having been drilled, without the necessity for self-devotion; and, by dying so civilly, he has left the Bourbons an ample opportunity of testifying their blessed regard for the rights of men, for the independence of nations, and for their ties of gratitude towards ourselves.

Of the two publications before us, we shall first notice Count Las Cases' Journal. The Count justly remarks, that we never commence the perusal of any history, without first wishing to know something of the character of its author. He therefore relates a few facts respecting his own past life. When the French Revolution broke out, Count Las Cases was a lieutenant-de-vaisseau, which corresponded with the rank of a field-officer in the line; but his rank opened the way to high professional prospects. Deprived, however, by the vices of the old political system, of a solid and finished education-being full of aristocratic prejudices, and prompted by his youth to generous resolves, he was among the first to hasten abroad and join the emigrant princes. Having narrowly escaped being landed on the bay of Quiberon, he began to reflect on the horror of his situation. He changed his name, and, becoming a teacher, went through a second course of education, in attempting to assist that of others. After the treaty of Amiens, the amnesty of the First Consul allowed him to enter France, where he found his patrimony disposed of; but he devoted himself to literature, and, under a feigned name, published an historical work, which reestablished his fortune. In process of time, he devoted himself to the new Sovereign of France. When the English invaded Flushing, he repaired as a volunteer to the Netherlands. He was nominated to the office of Chamberlain to the Emperor, and obtained a seat in the Council of State. Hence followed several confidential employments that were intrusted to him; and among these were two important missions to Holland and Illyria. At the siege of Paris, in 1814, he commanded a legion which acquired honours by its severe losses. He wished to have joined Napoleon at Fontainebleau, but could not reach him in time, and therefore passed a few months in England. On the Emperor's reappearance in France, he spontaneously repaired to him. He was present at the moment of his second abdication. About the selfishness or disinterestedness of all Las Cases's previous conduct, there may be a question; but from the date of the Emperor's second resignation, it would be hard to deny such a follower the praise of devotedness. He had been a Chamberlain of Napoleon's household, and a member of his Council; yet was his person hardly known to the Emperor: a circumstance this, one would think, which at least bespeaks his subserviency to have been unobtrusive. After the day of Waterloo, the Emperor's fortune was like a sinking ship, that promised more perils than prizemoney to those who should cling to it. Yet Las Cases did cling to it. He requested permission to participate his master's fate. "Do you know," said Napoleon," whither your offer may lead you?" "I care not," said Las Cases; "I have made no calculation about it”—and he lived to write the account of this transaction in St. Helena. Fidelity is a virtue that ennobles even a slave.

Las Cases's book is very desultory, describing in one page the Emperor's disgust at his bad coffee, and in the next page his plans for governing an empire. In a general view, however, the subject-matter may be divided into two heads-viz. that which regards Napoleon's history as an individual and an object of personal sympathy, and that which explains his public conduct and character through the medium of his reported conversations. On the latter subject, as we have already remarked, the Memoirs are more full and methodical than Las Cases's work, so that we shall refer to the latter publication chiefly for its portraiture of Napoleon as a man and as an exile. The following summary of his situation at Rochefort, immediately before his surrender to the English, is given by Las Cases as having been dictated by Napoleon himself::

"The English squadron was not strong: there were two sloops of war off Bordeaux, they blockaded a French corvette, and gave chace to American vessels which sailed daily in great numbers. At the Isle of Aix we had two frigates well armed; the Vulcan corvette, one of the largest vessels of its class, and a large brig lay in the roads: the whole of this force was blockaded by an English seventy-four of the smallest class, and an indifferent sloop or two. There is not the least doubt that by risking the sacrifice of one or two of our ships, we should have passed; but the senior captain was deficient in resolution, and refused to sail; the second in command was quite determined, and would have made the attempt: the former had probably received secret instructions from Fouché, who already openly betrayed the Emperor, and wanted to give him up. However that may be, there was nothing to be done by sea. The Emperor then landed at the Isle of Aix.

"Had the mission been confided to Admiral Werhuel," said Napoleon, as was promised on our departure from Paris, it is probable he would have sailed." The officers and crews of both frigates were full of attachment and enthusiasm. The garrison of Aix was composed of fifteen hundred seamen, forming a very fine regiment; the officers were so indignant at the frigate not sailing, that they proposed to fit out two chasse-marées of fifteen tons each. The midshipmen wished to navigate them; but when on the point of putting this plan into execution, it was said there would be great difficulty in gaining the American coast without touching on some point of Spain or Portugal.

Under these circumstances, the Emperor composed a species of council from amongst the individuals of his suite. Here it was represented that we could no longer calculate on the frigates or other armed vessels: that the chasse-marées held out no probable chance of success, and could only lead to capture by the English cruisers in the open sea, or to falling into the hands of the allies. Only two alternatives remained: that of marching towards the interior, once more to try the fate of arms; or that of seeking an asylum in England. To follow up the first, there were fifteen hundred seamen, full of zeal and willing to act: the commandant of the Island was an old officer of the army of Egypt, entirely devoted to Napoleon: the Emperor would have proceeded at the head of these to Rochefort, where the corps would have been increased by the garrison, which was also extremely well disposed. The garrison of La Rochelle, composed of four battalions of federated troops, had offered their services: with these we might then have joined General Clausel, so firmly fixed at the head of the army at Bordeaux, or General Lamarque, who had performed prodigies, with that of La Vendée; both these officers expected and wished to see Napoleon: it would have been exceedingly easy to maintain a civil war in the interior. But Paris was taken, and the Chambers had been dissolved; there were, besides, from five to six hundred thousand of the enemy's troops in France: a civil war could therefore have no other result than leading to the destruction of all these generous men who were attached to Napoleon. This loss would have been severe and irreparable: it would have destroyed the future resources of the nation, without

producing any other advantage than placing the Emperor in a position to treat and obtain stipulations favourable to his interests. But Napoleon had renounced sovereignty; he only wanted a tranquil asylum; he abhorred the thought of seeing all his friends perish to attain so trifling a result; he was equally averse to become the pretext for the provinces being ravaged; and above all, he did not wish to deprive the national party of its truest supports, which would sooner or later re-establish the honour and independence of France. Napoleon's only wish was to live as a private individual in future: America was the most proper place, and that of his choice. But even England, with its positive laws, might also answer; and it appeared, from the nature of my first interview with Captain Maitland, that the latter was empowered to convey the Emperor and suite to England, to be equitably treated. From this moment we were under the protection of British laws; and the people of England were too fond of glory to lose an opportunity which thus presented itself, and that ought to have formed the proudest page of their history. It was therefore resolved to surrender to the English cruisers, as soon as Captain Maitland should positively declare his orders to receive us. On renewing the negotiation, he clearly stated that he had the authority of his Government to receive the Emperor, if he would come on board the Bellerophon, and to convey himself as well as his suite to England. Napoleon went on board, not that he was constrained to it by events, since he could have remained in France; but because he wished to live as a private individual; would no longer meddle with public affairs; and had determined not to embroil those of France. He would, most assuredly, not have adopted this plan, had he suspected the unworthy treatment which was preparing for him, as every body will readily feel convinced. His letter to the Prince Regent fully explains his confidence and persuasion on the subject. Captain Maitland, to whom it was officially communicated, before the Emperor embarked on board his ship, having made no remarks on the above document, had, by this circumstance alone, recognised and sanctioned the sentiments it contained."

When the first rumours of their destination reached the fugitives, "Some person whispered to me," says Las Cases, "that the ships were to receive us in the course of the night and to sail for St. Helena. Never can I portray the effect of these terrible words. A cold sweat over-spread my whole frame. Unpitying executioners had seized me; I was torn from all that attached me to life. *** It was like the struggle of a soul that sought to disengage itself from its earthly habitation. It turned my hair grey.-Fortunately, the crisis was short; and, as it happened, the mind came forth triumphant." The Emperor, however, he says, to whom he read all the newspapers, did not betray any decrease of composure. He would not at first believe that he was to be sent to St. Helena. When Sir Charles Bunbury and Lord Keith came to announce his fate to him, they were admitted alone; and it is known that he protested against the sentence. A day or two afterwards, whilst he was conversing with Las Cases, Madame Bertrand, without having been called, and even without announcing her name, rushed into the cabin, and in a frantic manner intreated Napoleon not to go to St. Helena, nor take her husband with him. But, observing the astonishment, coolness, and calm answer of Napoleon, she ran out as precipitately as she had entered. "The Emperor, still surprised, turned to me and said, Can you comprehend all this? is she not mad?" In a moment after she attempted to throw herself overboard." In a subsequent conversation with Las Cases, Napoleon, though calm, seemed affected and absent, and hinted at the facility with which he could escape from existence, and save his friends the sacrifice of following him into banishment. His friend, of course, opposed the sug

gestion. "But what shall we do in that desolate place?" said the Emperor. "Sire," said Las Cases, "we will live on the past." "Be it so," rejoined Napoleon: "we will write our memoirs; for occupation is the scythe of Time;" and he reassumed an air of ease, and even gaiety. It is confessed that he betrayed a momentary anger on being informed that he was reduced to the title of General. If his irritation be taxed with weakness, it cannot be said that the act of untitling him displayed magnanimity. The ceremony of taking his purse from him must have been unpleasant even to those who believed it to be necessary for the secure possession of his person. Waving the discussion of that question, we quote our author's description of his mode of living on board the Northumberland. "The Emperor breakfasted in his own cabin at irregular hours. We (his attendants) took our breakfast at ten o'clock, in the French style, while the English continued to breakfast in their own way at eight. The Emperor sent for one of us every morning to know what was going on, the distance run, the state of the wind, and other particulars connected with our progress. He read a great deal; dressed towards four o'clock, and then came into the general cabin: here he played at chess with one of the party. At five o'clock, the Admiral, having come out of his cabin a few minutes before, announced that dinner was ready. It is well known that Napoleon was scarcely ever more than fifteen minutes at his dinner. Here the courses alone occupied from an hour to an hour and a half: this was to him a most serious annoyance, though he never mentioned it; his features, his manner and gestures, always evinced perfect indifference. Neither the new system of cookery, nor the difference or quality of the dishes, ever met with his censure or approbation. He was attended by his two valets, who stood behind his chair. At first the Admiral was in the habit of offering to help the Emperor; but the acknowledgment of Napoleon was expressed so coldly, that this practice was discontinued. The Admiral continued very attentive, but thenceforth only pointed out to the servants what was preferable. They alone attended to these matters, to which the Emperor seemed totally indifferent, neither seeming to seek or notice any thing. He was generally silent, remaining in the midst of conversation as if totally unacquainted with the language, though it was French. If he spoke, it was to ask some technical or scientific question, and to address a few words to those whom the Admiral asked occasionally to dinner. **** The Emperor always rose from table long before the rest of the company. The Grand Marshal and I always followed him to the quarter-deck, where I was frequently left alone with him, as General Bertrand had often to attend his wife, who suffered excessively from sea-sickness. **** After he had taken eight or nine turns the whole length of the deck, he would seat himself on the second gun from the gangway, on the larboard side. The midshipmen soon observed this habitual predilection, so that the cannon was thenceforth called "the Emperor's gun." The game of chess, we are farther told, was one of his amusements on the voyage. The Emperor was but an indifferent player. There was one very good chess-player on board, however, whom the Emperor always beat. He was shrewd enough to perceive that the victory was yielded to him from politeness; and winking his eye, asked how it happened that he lost with inferior players, and