I may here present to the reader the sentiments of a noble and distinguished writer, who had long been near Napoleon and had closely watched his career. On hearing of his arrival at St.-Helena, this French statesman and scholar gave the following commentary to the world. No one who is acquainted with the writings of Chateaubriand will suspect him of any bias towards the British character: yet he wrote thus of our vanquished foe: “The bloody drama of Europe is concluded, and the great tragedian, who for twenty years has made the earth his theatre, and set the world in tears, has left the stage for ever! He lifted the curtain with his sword, and filled the scenes with slaughter. His part was invented by himself, and was terribly unique. Never was there so ambitious, so restless a spirit; never so daring, so fortunate a soldier. His aim was universal dominion, and he gazed at it steadfastly with the eye of the eagle, and the appetite of the vulture. “He combined within himself all the elements of terror, nerve, malice and intellect; a heart that never trembled, a mind that never wavered from its purpose. The greatness of his plans defied speculation, and the rapidity of their execution outstripped prophecy. Civilized nations were the victims of his arts, and savages could not withstand his warfare. Sceptres crumbled in his grasp, and liberty withered in his presence. The Almighty appeared to have intrusted to him the destinies of the globe, and he used them to destroy. He shrouded the sun with the clouds of battle, and unveiled the night with his fires. His march reversed the course of nature: the flowers of the spring perished, the fruits of autumn fell; for his track was cold, and cheerless, and desolate, like the withering, wintry blast. Amid all the physical, moral and political changes which he produced, he was still the same. Always ambitious, always inexorable; no compassion assuaged, no remorse deterred, no dangers alarmed him. Like the barbarians, he conquered Italy, and rolling back to its source the deluge that overwhelmed Rome, he proved himself the Attila of the West. With Hannibal, he crossed the Alps in triumph; Africa beheld in him a second Scipio, and standing on the Pyramids of Egypt, he looked down on the fame of Alexander. He fought the Scythian in his cave, and the unconquered Arab fled before him. He won, and divided, and ruled nearly all modern Europe. It became a large French province, where foreign kings still reigned by courtesy, or mourned in chains. The Roman pontiff was his prisoner, and he claimed dominion over the altar with the God of hosts. Even his name inspired universal terror, and the obscurity of his designs rendered him awfully mysterious. The navy of Great Britain watched him with the eye of Argus, and her coast was lined with soldiers who slept on their arms. He made war before he declared it; and peace was with him a signal for hostilities. His friends were the first whom he assailed, and