his allies he selected to plunder. There was a singular opposition between his alleged motives and his conduct. He would have enslaved the land to make the ocean free, and he wanted only power to enslave both. “If he was arrogant, his unparalleled successes must excuse him. Who could endure the giddiness of such a mountain elevation? Who, that amid the slaughter of millions had escaped unhurt, would not suppose, that a deity had lent him armour, like Achilles? Who, that had risen from such obscurity, overcame such mighty obstacles, vanquished so many monarchs, won such extensive empires, and enjoyed so absolute a sway? Who, in the fulness of unequalled power and in the pride of exulting ambition, would not believe himself the favourite of Heaven? “He received the tribute of fear, and love, and admiration. The weight of the chains which he imposed on France was forgotten in their splendour: it was glorious to follow him, even as a conscript. The arts became servile in his praise; and genius divided with him her immortal honours. For it is mind alone that can triumph over time. Letters, only, yield permanent renown. “This blood-stained soldier adorned his throne with the trophies of art, and made Paris the seat of taste as well as of power. There, the old and the new world met and conversed; there, Time was seen robbed of his scythe, lingering among beauties which he could not destroy; there, the heroes and sages of every age mingled in splendid alliance, and joined in the march of fame. They will appeal to posterity to mitigate the sentence which humanity claims against the tyrant Bonaparte. Awful indeed will be that sentence; but when will posterity be a disinterested tribunal? When will the time arrive that Europe shall have put off mourning for his crimes? In what distant recess of futurity will the memory of Moskow sleep? When will Jena, Gerona, and Austerlitz, when will Jaffa, Corunna, and Waterloo be named without tears of anguish and vows of retribution? Earth can never forget, man can never forgive them. “Let him live, if he can endure life, divested of his crown, without an army, and almost without a follower. Let him live, he who never spared his friends, if he can withstand the humiliation of owing his life to an enemy. Let him live, and listen to the voice of conscience. He can no longer drown it in the clamorous report of war. No cuirass guards his bosom from the arrows of remorse. Now that the cares of state have ceased to distract his thoughts, let him reflect on his miserable self; and, with the map before him, retrace his bloody career. Alas! his life is a picture of ruin, and the light that displays it is the funeral torch of nations. It exhibits one mighty sepulchre, crowded with the mangled victims of murderous ambition. Let him reflect on his enormous abuse of power, on his violated faith, and shameless disregard of all law and justice.