them into action in the evening. I believe,
however,' continued Napoleon, 'that Wel-
lington is a man of great firmness. The
glory of such a victory is a great thing;
but in the eye of the historian his military
reputation will gain nothing by it.'

Our author's account of Napoleon's
Bed-Room, forms a striking contrast
with the splendour of Versailles :-

It was fourteen feet by twelve, and ten or eleven feet in height. The walls were lined with brown nankeen, bordered and edged with common green bordering paper, and destitute of surbase. Two small windows, without pullies, looked towards the camp of the 53d. regiment, one of which was thrown up, and fastened by

Before him stood a little round table, with some books, at the foot of which lay, in confusion upon the carpet, a heap of those which he had already perused, and at the foot of the sofa facing him was suspended a portrait of the Empress Maria Louisa, In front of the

with her son in her arms.

folded over his breast, and some papers in fire-place stood Las Cases, with his arms one of his hands. Of all the former magnificence of the once-mighty emperor of France, nothing was present, except a superb wash-hand stand, containing a silver basin, and water-jug of the same metal, in the left hand corner.

His manner of spending his time is detailed in the following extract :

Napoleon's hours of rest were uncertain, much depending upon the quantum of rest he had enjoyed during the night. He was in general a bad sleeper, and frequently got up at three or four o'clock, in which case he read or wrote until six or seven, at which time, when the weather was fine, he sometimes went out to ride, attended by some of his generals, or laid down again to rest for a couple of hours. When he retired to bed, he could not sleep unless the most perfect state of darkness was obtained, by the closure of every cranny through which a ray of light might pass, although I have sometimes seen him fall asleep on the sofa, and remain so for a few minutes in broad day light. When ill, Marchand occasionally read to him until he fell asleep. At times he rose at seven, and wrote or dictated until breakfast time, or, if the morning was very fine, he went out to ride. When he breakfasted in his own room, it was generally served on a little round table, at between nine and ten;

a piece of notched wood. Window-curtains
of white long cloth, a small fire-place, a
shabby grate, and fire-irons to match, with
a paltry mantle-piece of wood, painted
white, upon which stood a small marble
bust of his son. Above the mantle-piece
hung the portrait of Maria Louisa, and
four or five of young Napoleon, one of
which was embroidered by the hands of the
mother. A little more to the right hung
also a miniature picture of the Empress
Josephine, and to the left was suspended
the alarum chamber-watch of Frederick the
Great, obtained by Napoleon at Potsdam;
while on the right, the consular watch, en-
graved with the cipher B. hung by a chain
of the plaited hair of Maria Louisa, from
a pin stuck in the nankeen lining. The
floor was covered with a second-hand carpet
which had once decorated the dining-room
of a lieutenant of the St. Helena artillery.
"In the right-hand corner was placed the
little plain iron camp bedstead, with green
silk curtains, upon which its master had
reposed on the fields of Marengo and Aus-when along with the rest of his suit, at
terlitz. Between the windows there was
a paltry second-hand chest of drawers; and
an old book-case with green blinds stood
on the left of the door leading to the next
apartment. Four or five cane-bottomed
chairs, painted green, were standing here
and there about the room. Before the back
door there was a screen covered with nan-
keen, and between that and the fire-place,
an old fashioned sofa covered with white
long cloth, upon which reclined Napoleon
clothed in his white morning gown, white
loose trowsers and stockings all in one.
A chequered red madras upon his head,
and his shirt collar open without a cravat.
His air was melancholy and troubled,~

eleven; in either case a la fourchette.— After breakfast, he generally dictated to some of his suit for a few hours, and at two or three o'clock received such visitors as by previous appointment had been directed to present themselves. Between four and five, when the weather permitted, he rode out on horseback or in the carriage, accompanied by all his suit, for an hour or two; then returned and dictated or read until eight, or oecasionally played a game at chess, at which time dinner was announced, which rarely exceeded twenty minutes, or half an hour in duration. He ate heartily and fast, and did not appear to be partial to high-seasoned or rich food.

:t,

One of his most favourite dishes was a, And stern as seem'd his sullen mood,
roasted leg of mutton, of which I have
seen him sometimes pare the outside brown
part off; he was also partial to mutton
chops. He rarely drank as much as a pint
of claret to his dinner, which was generally
much diluted with water. After dinner,
when the servants had withdrawn, and
when there were no visitors, he sometimes
played at chess or at whist, but more fre-
quently sent for a volume of Corneille, or
of some other esteemed author, and read
aloud for an hour, or chatted with the la-
dies and the rest of his suit. He usually
retired to his bed-room at ten or eleven,
and to rest, immediately afterwards.
When he breakfasted or dined in his own
apartment, he sometimes sent for one of
his suit, to converse with him during the
repast. He never ate more than two
meals a day, nor since I knew him,
had he ever taken more than a very small
cup of coffee after each repast, and at no
other time. I have also been informed, by
those who have been in his service for fif-
teen years, that he had never exceeded that
quantity since they first knew him.

He smil'd beneath a laughing heav'n,
And scowl'd before the raving flood,
Remote from this dark world of woe, bu e
He sought within his mess grown cell,
What pride of place could not bestow,
Nor bright philosophy revealaevaselt a
Mysterious dread and cold dismay,
Still hover round his dark abode,
And never since his dying day
Has human foot his threshold trode. :
Wash'd in the cold and drifting spray,
His bones fulfil their primal doom;
For morning bright, or ev'ning grey,
No soul hath pierc'd his lonely tomb.

The moon waned faintly o'er the cliff
With trembling light and paly ray,
When worn with sad and untold grief,
A Hermit sigh'd his soul away.
No touch of soft affection's hand,
Reliev'd his sick, his aching head;
None sought to stem his ebbing sand,
When he was number'd with the dead.
All cold and faint he sunk in death,
And struggling gave his parting groan
To die along the echoing heath,
Or mingle with the cavern's moan.
No dread of death disarm'd his soul,
As lorn he liv'd, he wish'd to die ;
No requiem save the billow's roll;
No dirge save in the sea-bird's cry.
No friendly foot e'er cross'd his cave,
No look of love e'er met his eye,
Nor friend had he, nor foeman,-save
The raging sea, or angry sky.

To these his converse small was given,

The night-owl and the bat frequent,
This place of lone abandonment.

THE PARTING.

She look'd, she wept, she bade adieu
Her cheek was close to mine;
I press'd her to my heart,and who
Could then that form resign?
For tho' I've seen her play ful smile,
And kiss'd her glowing cheek-
No tear of love e'er fell the while,
Her passion chaste to speak.

But then I ween her balmy sighs

Her bosom's tempting swell,-
Her silent tears, and streaming eyes,
Love's passion strove to tell.

If in thy bosom glow'd the sire
How couldst thou mar thy child's desire.
She turn'd on thee her soft blue eye,
And made her mild request;
To save that bosom from a sigh,
Was surely to be blest,

But thou couldst turn thy head away
And frown with a forbidding-nay.

And thou cou'dst see the smile depart
That dimpled on her cheek,

And thou cou'dst see the big tear start
That more than words can speak,
And see, all reckless of relief,
The face of joy turn'd into grief.
"Thou shou'dst have known that youth's

fair morn

Brooks disapointment ill,

And hope's etherial veil when torn
Requires a master's skill.

then belonging to Mr. March, at Maidenhead bridge. The discipline of the school was now at an end; and the masters had no better means of bringing back the run-aways than by sending expresses to the parents of the ringleaders, in order that they might employ their authority to reduce them to obedience. The late noble Marquis of Granby was applied to among the rest, and he immediately dispatched his own gentleman with a severe reproof to his son, and a peremptory order to return to college. The young Lord disdained all obedience, and the paternal minister did not spare paternal threats, which he concluded by assur

Thou shou'dst have turn'd affections eyes ing him, " that if he did not imme On her, and not on avarice.

When thy forbidding word was given
Hadst thou but mark'd her eye,

Thou wou'dst have seen the light of heaven
That came and flitted by.

She shed a tear,-and such a tear

As only angel forms might wear.

diately go back to school, the Marquis would come down himself, and force him thither." "If that is my father's determination," replied his Lordship,

"he would do well to bring his regiment of blues along with him."

Hadst thou but mark'd thou wou'dst have The general disturbance was soon

composed; and though Lord Granby pretended to be very angry with his son, he always related this account of his boy's spirit with great glee to himself.

DR. JOHNSON.

Mr. Garrick was once present with Dr. Johnson at the table of a nobleman, where amongst other guests, was one of whose near connections some disgraceful anecdote was then in circulation. It had reached the ears of Johnson, who after dinner, took an opportunity of relating it in his most acrimonious manner.

Garrick, who sat next him, pinched his arm, and trod upon his toe, and made use of other means to interrupt the thread of his narration, but all was in vain. The Doctor proceeded, and when he had finished the story, he turned gravely round to Garrick, of whom before he had taken no notice

.

son, and my two elder brothers are now in the army." His Lordship, not in the usual mode of recommending the lad to his Majesty for the next vacant commission, but with a spirit, the in

whatever." Thrice (says he) Davy, you have trod upon my toe; thrice have you pinched my arm; and now if what I have related be a falsehood convict me before this company." Garrick replied not a word, but fre-heritance of his noble family, instantly quently declared afterwards, that he wrote to his agent, Sir William Montnever felt half so much perturbation, gomery, to lodge the money for an Eneven when he met his father's ghost. signcy then to be sold in the fifth regiment, and to name this boy as the successor. The commission was signed accordingly; and at Bunker's-Hill, Brandy-wine, &c. his Lordship's Ensign behaved with a degree of courage that reflected honor on the regiment.

THE EARL OF CHATHAM.

When this great statesman had settled a plan for some sea expedition he had in view, he sent orders to Lord Anson to see the necessary arrangements taken immediately, and the number of ships required, properly fitted out by a given time. On the receipt of the orders, Mr. Cleveland was sent from the Admiralty to remonstrate on the impossibility of obeying them.He found his Lordship in the most excruciating pain, from one of the most severe fits of the gout he had ever experienced. "Impossible, Sir," said he, "don't talk to me of impossibilities," and then raising himself upon his legs, while the sweat stood in large drops on his forehead, and every fibre of his body was convulsed with agony, "Go Sir, and tell his Lordship, that he has to do with a minister who actually treads on impossibilities."

NOTICES

TO CORRESPONDENTS. Our corresdondent A. B. C. D. will observe his small poem in our present number; and next week we will insert the article on the "Poetical Genius of the Middle Ages." We will be happy to insert any further communication from him consistent with the arrangement we have laid down; but do not think it would be agreeable to the generality of our readers to devote a whole number to a single article. Variety is the charm of such a publication as the Melange.

Jucundus has chosen an interesting subject, but the execution is defective.

Should "The Traveller" be repeated, it must be entirely new modelled and the language improved.

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universal influence were performed within its boundaries. It was the grand mother of political intrigue-the parent of all that is good in modern science, and the refuge to the renmant of genius, which even these dark periods could not wholly obscure.

The middle ages (or the reign of Popery as they are sometimes called) though universally ruinous to the sci

Greece has produced her Homer, Portugal her Camoens, and England her Shakespeare, her Milton, and her Byron; but to Italy alone was reserved the honour of giving birth to five such poets as Virgil, Lucan, Dante, Ariosto and Tasso. In that highly-favoured country, it seems as if nature was re-ences, were not unfavourable to poetry. solved in one period or another, to put forth her strength, and by a constellation of mighty spirits, illumine her mental darkness, and triumph over the barriers which, for a thousand years, superstition has been forming to impede the current of genius. Italy has many claims to attention which no other land possesses. It was the seat of the mightiest empire of ancient times; where arts, literature and arms flourished and had their reward, and where ambition stretched its sceptre over humbled monarchies, and held beneath its sway the most potent dominions of the earth. It is the country whose sovereign Pontiff held afterwards as powerful an influence over the consciences of men, as his martial archetypes had over their fortunes, and where under the fostering care of superstition, arose Romance and Chivalry to civilize the world. Hence deeds of

The vigilance of the priesthood, though it might check every other kind of literature, could never have damped the spirit of the bard. It could neither prevent his mind from soaring into the regions of fancy, nor close the hearts of the people against his themes. Even though superstition and ignorance had arrayed their fiercest weapons against poetry, they could not have succeeded. But the clergy were far from attemping such a task. Dark as they were, they knew that poetry might be turned to their own purposes, they knew that its cultivators might indulge in praise of that system they kept up, and by operating on the enthusiasm of the people, might induce them to adopt every fiction, however wild, and to engage in every chimera, however extravagant, and licentious. Poetry moreover was not a vehicle for communicating knowledge,