If Napoleon, however, failed to reach that point of excellence, to which one man only has attained,-if he had not the moral courage to withdraw from the temptations of power, and from the plans of ambition, it cannot be denied that he wielded the one, and executed the other, with address and advantage to the empire over which he presided. He was the idol of his subjects, and he did not abuse the veneration with which he was beheld. He was the idol of his soldiery, and he taught them to be all but invincible. In war he introduced tactics and strategy such as amazed the pupils of the old school, and confounded all their calculations. He fostered merit wherever it was found, distributing honors with unsparing but judicious hand, yet using a discipline not inferior to that of the Romans in their hardiest days; and thus making the whole army but parts of one stupendous machine. In peace, he studied to restore man to his true dignity. No longer were the multitude to remain as serfs to an enervated and ignorant noblesse; no longer were the dronish priesthood of an over-gorged church to fatten on the spoils of the exhausted laborer; no longer was the gate of preferment in honorable pursuits to be shut against all but such as could show sixteen quarterings on their escutcheon. The nobility of merit became the only honor that could now pass current, a nobility which any one had the chance to attain. As a legislator, see the "Code Napoleon ;" as an engineer, visit the Pass of the Simplon; as a politician without, see his confederations and alliances; as a politician within, see the state of the French Government under "The Empire."

But the plague-spot was upon him. He had not HEREDITARY RIGHT to support him. The legitimates, forgetting or ignorant, that kings are made for men, and not men for kings, put their ban upon him. The man who could assert that the people are the origin of power, and that for their weal only, have kings a voice potential, was not likely to be long a peaceful associate with autocrats and Modern Cæsars. They destroyed him! He is gone-his hope, his progeny, is gone! Yet he still lives in the events to which he gave birth. His prophetic soul saw the struggles which all Europe would make ere long, for the assertion of their rights, as men born free and equal; he announced it with the latest breath of his struggling life, and behold the truth of his predictions, in the state of that continent at this hour!

And what must be the feelings of our own countrymen, on viewing this state of affairs? Do we not know that it was from hence the Promethian torch was lighted, which was to cause a fire that cannot be quenched? Was not the first germ of liberty in Europe carried there by the chivalrous assertors of our own independence? By patriotic Frenchmen who had the magnanimity to approve our cause in the New World, and the courage to maintain our principle in the old? It should, therefore, be matter of honest exultation that the liberty for which our fathers freely bled, which they carried, through distress and danger unexampled in the history of warfare, which they enjoy at this day, and which they trust forever to uphold,-has at length found its way to the land of our ancestors, and that thus we render to them the rights of paternity.

To return to the "Diary;" though we can by no means award it the meed of praise, either for its composition, or for the importance of its communications; though we have many reasons for doubting its authenticity

as the writing or the property of Admiral Cockburn, yet there is much of a pleasing and amusing nature in its pages. The compiler has had access to sources of information which he might have turned to better account, and he might even have had more ingenuity in inventing for it an origin. But every thing that treats on such a subject, makes its way through all obstacles. Whilst the memory of the father is yet green in our recollections, ere the world have had time to subdue their feelings, upon the reflection of his fate, the son is also cut short in his earthly career. That son, upon whom many a veteran of Marengo, or of Lodi, has turned the eye of hope and expectation,-that son who was to emulate the greatness of his sire,-nipped, like the untimely bud, before a laurel has been gathered to his brows, before he could try the temper of his sword. The book will therefore be read, and we wish it should, if it were only to keep fresh the reminiscences which will, however, never be utterly erased.

The Buonaparte family have some peculiar claims on our sympathy. Many of them have found a home on our shores, a shelter from political storms. As a nation we feel the distinction a compliment; it is a tacit admission, that here peace and security abide; whatever the reports of autocracy and legitimacy may announce, of the factious dispositions and turbulent ambition of that family; we are bound to admit, that in our states they have always been found peaceful citizens, enlightened scholars, good men. The greatest of that, or of any other family, wished though vainly, to make us the companions of his retreat, and notwithstanding the prophetic tirades of his enemies, notwithstanding the ambitious spirit we knew him to possess, we should have welcomed him without a fear, to the land where alone all men are equal.

THE FOUNTAIN-HEAD.-AN ANECDOTE.

THE ancestors of a certain noble Scottish Duke were of the Roman Catholic persuasion, and the family continued so until a comparatively recent period. The following curious anecdote is related of the last Catholic head of the family, and the circumstance is believed by many to have been chiefly instrumental in bringing about the change in his religious opinions.

The nobleman in question,* possessed very extensive estates in the northern part of Scotland; the management of which was intrusted chiefly to the care of various stewards, or as they are there called, factors; notwithstanding which, he resided upon them personally, the greater part of his time, and was considered on all hands as a liberal gentleman and a kind landlord. A tenant of his, who indeed might be called a sort of retainer,as his forefathers had lived during several generations on the land,-unfortunately, through inadvertence and ignorance, broke one of the covenants of his tack or lease, of no importance in itself, yet sufficient to entitle the

*Said to be the ancestor, probably the grandfather, of the present Duke of Gordon. VOL. I.

3

landlord to eject the occupant. Upon being informed of the mischief he had committed, and of the fatal consequences that might ensue to himself and family, he repaired to one of the "factors," and without attempting to palliate the offence, save that it was unconsciously done, he begged the steward's good offices at the castle, that he might have his lease renewed at a small fine. The steward being either rigorous in his duty, or having another to serve, declined to interfere, and bade the poor man prepare to abide the issue of his indiscretion. Sorely dismayed, but not in utter despair, he tried another, and another factor, but still received the same kind of answer. Half frantic at his ill success, but determined not to yield to his fate whilst there was the least glimmering of hope, he resolved at length to apply personally to the noble peer. He repaired to the castle, humbly requested an audience, which was kindly granted. The poor man told his honest tale without a gloss or an attempt at excuse; he merely urged that he was poor and with a large family; that the broken clause was one of which he did not even know the existence; that he had besought in vain the favor, from the factors, of its being represented to their principal; and that to be turned out from the place where he was born, with all his family, would be utter ruin to them, and heart-breaking to himself. The benevolent nobleman rejoiced the desponding farmer's heart, by informing him that he should remain, and should sustain no injury; and being struck with the shrewdness of some of his remarks, he directed that he should receive refreshment, after which he wished to have some farther converse with him.

With renovated spirits he joined his landlord again, who, being curious to draw out the sentiments of this poor but shrewd man, shewed him all parts of the castle within and without. Among other places, they went into his chapel, which was beautifully enriched, with windows of stained glass and other ornaments usual in the Catholic churches. Upon the farmer's asking what were the figures in the paintings, and on the windows, he was informed that they represented the blessed saints and martyrs of the church. "Aweel," said the farmer, "and what for an't please your lordship are sae mony o' them put i' ae place." The peer replied, "that they were intended to quicken the spirit of devotion in religious breasts, and that they were intercessors at the throne of Divine Grace, for sinners on earth, who appealed through them." The honest Scotchman sighed and shook his head; which the nobleman perceiving, demanded what moved him. "Ah, my gude lord," replied he, "it doesna belang to the likes o' me, to meddle or mak in sic like matters." Being however urged, at length the man replied, "aweel my lord, I canna but think that a' these saunts i' your lordship's chapel, are, sae to speak, a wee like your ain factors. I got nae gude frae nane o' them, but a blessed help when I eam to the fountain-head; an' if it please your lordship, I canna but think that there's as muckle chance o' a gracious reply frae the Lord above, himsel, as ye'll get through a' the saunts i' the calendar." The noble peer, it is said, was so struck with this apposite remark, that he immediately turned his thoughts seriously to the examination of the faith he was professing, which ended in his renunciation of its tenets, and adopting the principles of the reformed church.

SIR WALTER SCOTT'S FAREWELL,

AND

MONSIEUR ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE'S REPLY.

THE year, which has so lately completed its circle, and which is henceforth to be considered but as a component atom of a by-gone eternity, has been more than commonly fatal to the great and distinguished of the literary world. Death has been busy among the mightiest names of earth, Champollion, Cuvier, Goethe, Scott, are gone "quo pius Æneas, quo dives Tullus et Ancus" and have left no rival, no successor behind them. There is scarcely a department of science which will not feel their loss; nay more, there is scarcely a being, of any nation or tongue under heaven, capable of enjoying the pleasures of literature, who will be insensible, not merely to grief for them, but to sorrow for himself-sorrow that the genius which has so often charmed his leisure, or soothed his cares, shall never address itself to his spirit again. That the hands, which have contributed so largely to the amusement, the improvement, the welfare of his kind, are now for ever wrapt "in cold obstruction's apathy."

They were all great, all unrivalled in their several branches of literature, and they have left behind vast claims on the gratitude, and immense contributions to the knowledge, of posterity. It is with the last alone that we have now to do. He was not only more our own-as being a writer of our own language, and a painter of scenes more interesting to our own immediate feelings-but he was a far more general favorite, a far more universal benefactor. Thousands, who probably never heard of the others, have revelled in the effusions of his genius, and will long feel a blank in the round of their enjoyments, aye! and miss, from the circle of their affections, a friend-almost a kinsman-in Walter Scott.

Few, we imagine, of our readers are unacquainted with the brief and touching Farewell, by which the veteran concluded his latest labor. This Farewell, which will be found in the last pages of Count Robert of Paris, called forth from a living poet of France, perhaps the most popular, in our opinion the most inspired, of his countrymen, a reply so beautiful, both in feelings and imagery, that we have thought it advisable, at a moment when so general a feeling has been excited with regard to the illustrious dead, to present to our readers the original Reply, accompanied by a translation into our own tongue, as literal, as we think compatible with the nature and idioms of the languages.

It will immediately be perceived that the lines were written previously to the death of the poet; we nevertheless trust that, although the golden bowl has since been broken, and the silver cord loosened, our humble tribute of admiration and regret may not come so late, as to be considered uncalled for or irrelevant.

REPONSE AUX ADIEUX DE SIR WALTER SCOTT A SES LECTEURS. PAR A. DE LAMARTINE.

Au premier mille, hélas! de mon pèlerinage,
Temps où le cœur tout neuf voit tout à son image,
Où l'âme de seize ans, vierge de passions,
Demande à l'univers ses mille émotions,
Le soir d'un jour de fête, au golfe de Venise,
Seul, errant sans objet dans ma barque indécise,
Je suivais, mais de loin, sur la mer, un bateau
Dont les concerts flottants se répandaient sur l'eau ;
Voguant de cap en cap, nageant de crique en crique,
La barque balançant sa brise de musique,
Elevait, abaissait, modulait ses accords
Que l'onde palpitante emportait à ses bords,
Et selon que la plage était sourde ou sonore,
Mourait comme un soupir des mers qui s'évapore,
Ou dans les antres creux réveillant mille échos
Elançait jusqu'au ciel la fanfare des flots;
Et moi, penché sur l'onde, et l'oreille tendue,
Retenant sur les flots la rame suspendue,
Je frémissais de perdre un seul de ces accents,
Et le vent d'harmonie enivrait tous mes sens.

C'était un couple heureux d'amants unis la veille,
Promenant leur bonheur à l'heure où tout sommeille,
Et, pour mieux enchanter leurs fortunés moments,
Respirant l'air du golfe au son des instruments.
La fiancée en jouant avec l'écume blanche
Qui de l'étroit esquif venait laver la hanche,
De son doigt dans la mer laissa tomber l'anneau,
Et pour le ressaisir son corps penché sur l'eau
Fit incliner le bord sous la vague qu'il rase;
La vague, comme une eau qui surmonte le vase,
Les couvrit: un seul cri retentit jusqu'au bord:
Tout était joie et chant, tout fut silence et mort.

Eh bien! ce que mon cœur éprouva dans cette heure
Où le chant s'engloutit dans l'humide demeure,
Je l'éprouve aujourd'hui, chantre mélodieux,
Aujourd'hui que j'entends les suprêmes adieux
De cette chère voix pendant quinze ans suivie.
Voluptueux oubli des peines de la vie,
Musique de l'esprit, brise des temps passés,
Dont nos soucis dormants étaient si bien bercés!
Heures de solitude et de mélancolie,

Heures des nuits sans fin que le sommeil oublie,
Heures de triste attente, hélas! qu'il faut tromper,
Heures à la main vide et qu'il faut occuper,
Fantômes de l'esprit que l'ennui fait éclore,
Vides de la pensée où le cœur se dévore!
Le conteur a fini: vous n'aurez plus sa voix,
Et le temps va sur nous peser de tout son poids.