the Well Affected."-" A Candle for the blind Citizens to see by.""An Eye-salve for the Citizen of London."-" A City dog in a Saint's doublet." Such are the singular names of some few of the publications which have come down to us. The abolition of the Romish holidays and festivals was severely felt by the working classes, in depriving them of the usual stated returns of rest and amusement; and (11 June 1647) the apprentices addressed a petition to the parliament, praying that the riots and impieties of former times might not deprive them of that part of their liberties, lawful recreations, for the needful refreshment of their spirits, (without which, as they gravely concluded, "Life itself is not pleasant, but an intolerable burthen,") and humbly desiring "that, with shops shut and all work forborne, they might be indulged with a cessation of labour, which must doubtless in the fruition double the diligence and fidelity of the youth." The chosen favourite of the Nine, the " Attic Warbler," from whom we have already extracted, we fear too largely, announces the result of this application in the following melodious strains: "And London prentices shall honoured be A day's allowed-thus service is rewarded." This concession was made by the direction of a committee of twelve of the first statesmen and great functionaries of the day. The second Tuesday in every month was the time fixed. Among the circumstances which evince the superior importance of the City at this period of our history we ought not to fail to notice, that it was in the Grocers' Hall, the Merchant Taylors' Hall, &c. that Committees of the House were used to sit. But now our senators know their way to no part of the City except Threadneedle Street. The Governors and Directors of the Bank are more regarded than the Lord Mayor himself and the whole court of aldermen; and we will be bound to say, that the lords of the treasury make more account of the denizens of Change Alley and the Jewish fraternity of stock-brokers, than of the whole honourable company of apprentices: and we are quite happy that it is so. The virtues of a barbarian age, and the fine qualities that display themselves in times of violence and disorder, make excellent materiel for romances and holiday reading; but it is, after all, pleasant to be able to walk along the streets without any apprehension of the apprentices and their clubs. There is perhaps nothing in the Fortunes of Nigel better done than the description of the solicitation of passengers by the apprentices and shopmen: the cleverness and liveliness of Jin Vin's addresses presents a strong contrast to the tame, subdued, "Do you want any thing, Sir?" with which individuals are still occasionally greeted in passing through certain alleys of the metropolis. After reading this part of the work we resolved to see the thing itself; and under the guidance of an experienced friend adventured a passage through a narrow alley which leads out of Drury Lane, and is well known to notable housewives as a choice mart. As we went along, we beheld on each side great store of cabinets, tables, chairs, &c.; but except a low VOL. IV. No. 20.-1822. Ꮓ murmur from one woman, who did not raise her eyes, as she uttered it, from some needle-work on which she was employed, and certainly a most benignant and encouraging smile, with "Some excellent furniture, Sir," from another vender, we did not receive any notice, or recognize any type of the good old usage. It is, we think, after all, in the unexampled skill and address with which the author of Waverley embodies the manners of Auld lang Syne-it is in his antiquarian lore, and the magic with which he creates personages, acting, thinking, moving, and apparelled as of yore-that the true secret of his fascination lies. S. M. T. NAPOLEON IN EXILE.* THERE is but one opinion, we believe, about this publication, namely, that it is a very interesting one. Placed, as the author was, so near Bonaparte, in so many trying and secluded moments of his existence, when even the proudest of human spirits was likely to unbend itself to confidence and familiarity with one on whose kindness he was, in some degree, dependant, in such circumstances and with such a subject it was hardly possible for a man of ordinary capacity to compose an uninteresting diary. Among the sources therefore which the future historian will consult for the means of fully and minutely developing Napoleon's character, it is not conceivable that the present work will be overlooked. There is no doubt that Mr. O'Meara writes with a palpable and strong attachment to the fallen hero, and we will not assume that he is utterly free from either prejudices or inaccuracies. But where shall the materials that are to serve for a life of Napoleon be found that shall be wholly beyond the suspicion of passion or partiality? Mr. O'Meara is the willing and sympathetic reporter of Napoleon's bitterest complaints against those whom he considered as the imposers of unnecessary and vexatious additions to the sufferings of his exile. Of these Sir Hudson Lowe is particularly impeached. Utter strangers as we are to that officer's personal character, except through this channel, and abhorring, as we do, the idea of condemning any accused individual without a full and patient hearing of all that can be said in his behalf, we abstain from rashly deciding on the governor's conduct. We cannot help acknowledging that Mr. O'Meara records restrictions on Napoleon which, to our humble apprehension, appear to have been unnecessary ;-such as debarring him from the perusal of certain newspapers, and some other traits of his treatment: but in a general view of Sir Hudson's conduct, we hold it but common charity to keep in view that his responsibility was awfully anxious, and that the British Cabinet enjoined him a most rigorous and severe system of restraint upon his prisoner. The charge of inhumanity, if it be applicable, we apprehend must go much higher than Sir Hudson Lowe. Viewing the whole circumstances in which Mr. O'Meara writes, we thus receive his statement as an ex parte statement; yet, as well-wishers to the investigation of truth, we receive it with deep and earnest curio Napoleon in Exile; or, a Voice from St. Helena. The Opinions and Reflections of Napoleon on the most important Events of his Life and Government, in his own Words. By Barry E. O'Meara, Esq. his late Surgeon. 2 vols. 8vo. 1822. sity. It is right that the British Public should know whatever can be learnt about a personage, in whose ultimate treatment their national honour was concerned. In the real and credible picture of human affairs, there is no theme more calculated to excite reflection than the life and destiny of Napoleon a man who for nineteen years chained the history of Europe to his biography. It is true that there have been men absurd enough to doubt even of his abilities; but the world has never yet agreed, without some exception, in confessing the talents of great and formidable personages. The pious author of the "Night Thoughts" forgot to render even the Devil his due, when, at the end of one of his cantos, he denominated him a dunce. Generally speaking, however, Napoleon's transcendant genius has been unquestioned. There has been more dispute about his moral intentions and personal worth. Whilst some have believed that it was possible for England at least to have kept at peace with him; to have checked, without extirpating, his power; and to have allowed him to wield it as an useful counterpoise to the tyrannical governments of the Continent: others have regarded him as a malignant spirit, born only for the unhappiness of mankind, and therefore condemned to die on the rock of his imprisonment as justly as any of the Genii in the Arabian Nights was plunged in a sealed-up jar to the bottom of the ocean. In trying to judge between such conflicting opinions, the impartial mind naturally watches with anxiety for every glimpse of his character that can be more or less authenticated-from his deportment in adversity, from the explanations of his past actions and intentions detailed in conversation, and from the expression of speculative opinions that indicate the greatness or the prejudices of his mind. As to his personal character, no hatred that we have ever cherished against his ambition, and no dislike to be ranked among his blind and bigoted admirers, shall deter us from acknowledging the impression produced by Mr. O'Meara's anecdotes to be decidedly in his favour. They attest the sobriety of his habits, the manly fortitude of his mind in setting about literary pursuits, under circumstances that would have crushed an ordinary spirit to despair, and the dignified tranquillity and cheerfulness, and even the occasional playfulness of his manner, as when he indulged Mr. Bulcombe's children in joining their game at blind-man's buff. Let it be said that he grew sullen, truculent, and even abusive to the governor; but let it also be recollected that he was suffering what he at least regarded as a breach of human hospitality, under a burning climate, and when his mortal agonies were making their approach. Every thing relative to the domestic details of his life at St. Helena must be interesting to the curiosity; but there are many amusing sketches of this kind in the book before us which our limits prevent us from giving even in abridgment, and we shall not consume their scanty space in apologies. His habits at Longwood are thus described: "Napoleon's hours of rising 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 daylight. 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; when along with the rest of his suite, at eleven: in either case à la fourchette. After breakfast, he generally dictated to some of his suite 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 suite, for an hour or two; then returned and dictated or read until eight, or occasionally 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. One of his most favourite dishes was a roasted leg of mutton, of which I have seen him sometimes pair the outside brown part off: he was also partial to mutton chops. He rarely drank as much as a pint of claret at 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 frequently sent for a volume of Corneille, or of some other esteemed author, and read aloud for an hour, or chatted with the ladies and the rest of his suite. 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 (dans l'intérieur,) he sometimes sent for one of his suite 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 fifteen years, that he had never exceeded that quantity since they first knew him. We have, shortly after, a minute account of his bed-room at Longwood: Napoleon sent Marchand for me at about nine o'clock. Was introduced by the back-door into his bed-room, a description of which I shall endeavour to give as minutely and correctly as possible. It was about 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 surbace. Two small windows, without pullies, looking towards the camp of the 53d regiment, one of which was thrown up and fastened by a piece of notched wood. Window-curtains of white long cloth, a small fire-place, a shabby grate, and fireirons to match, with a paltry mantel-piece of wood, painted white, upon which stood a small marble bust of his son. Above the mantel-piece hung the portrait of Marie Louise, 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 alarm chamber-watch of Frederic the Great, obtained by Napoleon at Potsdam; while on the right, the consular watch, engraved with the cypher B, hung by a chain of the plaited hair of Marie Louise, 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 Austerlitz. 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 nankeen, and between that and the fire-place, an old-fashioned sofa covered with white long cloth, upon which reclined Napoleon, clothed in his white morn ing gown, white loose trowsers and stockings all in one. A checquered red madras on his head, and his shirt collar open without a cravat. His air was melancholy and troubled. 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 Marie Louise, with her son in her arms. In front of the fire-place stood Las Cases, with his arms folded over his breast, and some papers in 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. About his own character Mr. O'Meara describes Napoleon speaking thus: "What sort of a man did you take me to be, before you became my surgeon?" said he: "What did you think of my character, and what I was capable of? Give me your real opinion frankly." I replied, "I thought you to be a man, whose stupendous talents were only to be equalled by your measureless ambition, and although I did not give credit to one tenth part of the libels which I had read against you, still I believed, that you would not hesitate to commit a crime, when you found it to be necessary, or thought it might be useful to you." "This is just the answer that I expected," replied Napoleon, "and is perhaps the opinion of Lord Holland, and even of numbers of the French. I have risen to too great a pitch of human glory and elevation not to have excited the envy and jealousy of mankind. They will say, it is true that he has raised himself to the highest pinnacle of glory, mais pour y arriver, il commit beaucoup de crimes, (but to attain it, he has committed many crimes.') Now the fact is, that I not only never committed any crimes, but I never even thought of doing so. J'ai toujours marché avec l'opinion de grandes masses et les évènemens, (I have always gone with the opinion of great masses, and with events.) I have always made peu de cas of the opinion of individuals, of that of the public a great deal; of what use, then, would crime have been to me? I am too much a fatalist, and have always despised mankind too much, to have had recourse to crime to frustrate their attempts. J'ai marché toujours avec l'opinion de cinq ou six millions d'hommes, (I have always marched with the opinion of five or six millions of men); of what use, then, would crime have been to me? "In spite of all the libels," continued he, "I have no fear whatever about my fame. Posterity will do me justice. The truth will be known, and the good which I have done, with the faults which I have committed, will be compared. I am not uneasy for the result. Had I succeeded, I should have died with the reputation of the greatest man that ever existed. As it is, although I have failed, I shall be considered as an extraordinary man: my elevation was unparalleled, because unaccompanied by crime. I have fought fifty pitched battles, almost all of which I have gained. I have framed and carried into effect a code of laws, that will bear my name to the most distant posterity. From nothing I raised myself to be the most powerful monarch in the world. Europe was at my feet. My ambition was great, I admit, but it was of a cold nature (d'une nature froide,) and caused, par les évènemens (by events,) and the opinion of great bodies. I have always been of opinion, that the sovereignty lay in the people. In fact, the imperial government was a kind of republic. Called to the head of it by the voice of the nation, my maxim was la carrière ouverte aux talens (the career open to talents,) without distinction of birth or fortune; and this system of equality is the reason that your oligarchy hate me so much." Napoleon was great, and did much good in his time, whatever proportion it might bear to the evil: witness his code, and continental monuments. But when he congratulates himself on having never committed a crime, we are forced to recollect Toussaint having died in a prison, quite as uncongenial to his constitution as St. Helena was to Napoleon's, and he reminds us of Rousseau exclaiming to the Deity in |