shire abounds with such characters of grandeur; and pressing closely upon the little town, its capital, throws its shadow into its streets, and gives it an air of deep retirement, such as I have never witnessed in any other place, and such as, although in the midst of the forest, Fontainebleau does not possess.

But its palace is interesting on many accounts, and cannot but be approached with deep emotion, by a mind that embraces the events of high antiquity with which it is connected, and the still more momentous deeds of modern times, which would amply suffice to rescue it from oblivion were it but a building of yesterday, and to place it amongst those memorable spots, whose names the page of history will preserve, and whose scenes and transactions future ages will incessantly revolve.

There is little, indeed, in the external appearance of the palace to interest the traveller; but the interior will fully repay him for the trouble he may have taken to survey it. Having been built at various periods, it presents a motley mixture of the very worst styles of architecture. Squat, ugly, and dwarfish, without the least pretension to regularity, it is as great a deformity in building as we sometimes see in nature. It surrounds an ample court, on three sides, while the fourth is formed by the road, from which a view of the edifice is obtained through a series of tall iron railing, the gilded points of which terminating in the form of a spear, are a sufficient indication that "Napoleon the Great" has been its inhabitant, for all his imperial railing was after this fashion. The palace consists of four dis

tinct chateaux, erected at different dates, and each one having its separate garden. The whole edifice contains nine hundred rooms. Six hundred years back is this palace mentioned in history. Francis the First took great delight in it, and to him it is indebted for much of its internal magnificence. Henry the Third of France was born within its walls. The haughty Louis XIV. paid it an annual visit, and it was amongst the royal houses which the famous Golbert repaired and beautified for that proud and ambitious monarch. But its greatest celebrity is derived from a modern name—a name at which Europe and the world once trembled, but a name that has prematurely passed away-whose charm was strangely and suddenly dissolved, and for which a mysterious destiny has seemed to anticipate the oblivion of the grave. You may well imagine with what eager curiosity we inquired for the chamber in which Napoleon signed his abdication of the throne of France, I might almost say, of the thrones of Europe, for they clustered round him like so many constellations, of which he was the central and combining luminary. Nor shall I easily forget my sensations, when I not only entered the interesting apartment, but was shown the little table on which the important deed was done the momentary deed, which transformed him from an emperor to an exile, and banished him from the palaces of France to a lonely dwelling on the ocean. What was the agony of his feelings at that moment--how he was at once transported by rage, by vexation, and despair-is sufficiently indicated in the vehemence with which he threw his

pen-knife on the table, the marks of which are still distinctly visible. The images that were present to my mind, and the reflections that crowded upon me in that small apartment, 1 should in vain endeavour to embody in language. I felt as if riveted to the spot-I threw myself upon the couch he pressed--I looked again and again at the table on which he wrote I surveyed every article of furniture the room contained, as if I expected that some of the inanimate things around me would find a voice to satisfy my ardent curiosity, and tell me all the momentous history of that day's transactions; and I believe that I had been left some time alone ere I was roused from my reverie by the return of the guide, to apprize me of the advance of the party. I then took a sketch of the memorable table and departed. We were also shown the room in which he held his last council, the table of which was still standing, surrounded by the magnificent chairs of state, nearly as when he rose from its gloomy deliberations. We, moreover, passed through the suite of apartments which were occupied by the Pope, when Buonaparte held him as a prisoner in France. All the furniture which his holiness used remains precisely as when he left it. The guide described him as a mild and peaceable old man, and I believe he endured the insults and injuries heaped upon him by the emperor, in a manner not wholly unbecoming the sacredness of his character and office. The theatre and the chapel, (a singular combination, but one uniformly found in the pa laces of France,) are both extremely elegant. The

floor of the former is composed of the finest marbles, while the ornamental part of the latter is very costly, and rich in gilding. Many of the rooms are splendid, but comfort seems to have been chiefly studied throughout the whole. The gallery of Francis I. is surrounded by the busts of eminent men, sculptured in white marble, and supported upon marble pillars. Our great Duke of Marlborough and the illustrious General Washington are each honoured with a place.

This palace suffered greatly during the reign of anarchy. It was stripped of all its furniture at that period, and is indebted for the elegance which at present reigns in its apartments to the taste of the fallen emperor.

Leaving Fontainebleau, we passed a column which they are erecting to commemorate Buonaparte's abdication, on the third of April, 1814. It stands at the confluence of several roads, and is not merely an affecting memento of the instability of human affairs, but is also a striking object amid the woodand scenery that surrounds it. The grotesque appearance of the rocks, and the fanciful grouping of the trees, continued to interest us for many a mile, till at length, amid the splendours of a glorious sunset, we arrived at this place safe, but not altogether without catastrophe, for we discovered at Pont sur Yonne, the last post, that the axle-tree of our carriage was in a state nearly approaching to fracture, a circumstance, in which the regret awakened by the delay it will occasion, is greatly moderated by thankfulness that we are safely arrived. Adieu.

Your's, &c.

LETTER XVII.

Geneva.

MY DEAR

HAVE you courage to renew the journey with me, and after traversing for three wearisome days a level country with little to relieve the eye, to cross the precipitous and rugged mountains of the Jura, to get a view of this charming lake, and the sublime and romantic scenes that lie beyond? Happily, you may accomplish the journey without the fatigue it occasioned us, for we have been exposed throughout the whole, with the exception of the last day, to the heat of a burning sun, whose rays I never felt so intensely hot before.

But before we leave Sens, where the repairs of our carriage were accomplished with much greater expedition than we had anticipated, I must conduct you to the cathedral, for it is one of the most ancient in France, the first stone of it having been laid, according to tradition, for I presume there are no written documents which convey the information, by the proto-martyr Stephen. It is, as you may suppose, from its high antiquity, a most venerable structure. The front is spacious and imposing, and adorned with various sculptures. In surveying it we had the advantage of the moon; and in the deep solemnity of mind which the view of it inspired, I was fully prepared to accede to all that Mr. Walter