deplored with great emotion the death of his soldiers swept off by cold, hunger, and the Cossack's lance; when a courtier ventured to put in his word, and with a rueful countenance to reply, "Yes, we have suffered a severe loss." "True," rejoined Napoleon, "Madame Boulli is dead." Who, that is exposed to such treatment, could venture to hazard an opinion, unless perfectly certain beforehand of its success with the Emperor?

After the few preliminary chapters dedicated to a sketch of Napoleon, in his several relations of soldier, citizen, governor, and head of a family, the rest of the volume is occupied with an account of those military and political transactions, in which Rapp himself took a part; and more especially the conquest of Prussia, the fatal campaign of Russia, the siege of Dantzic, and the events of the hundred days. Rapp was among the number of those who had accepted a commission from Louis XVIII; and the dialogue which he records as having passed between himself and Napoleon, on his return to the Tuileries, is well worthy of perusal.

The description of the burning of Moscow is written by Rapp with a vivacity almost dramatic: the reader seems to watch the progress of the flames as he advances. The ill-fated retreat from Russia is likewise detailed with no less vigour and effect. Throughout the whole work, indeed, the narrative is rapid and clear. Attention rarely flags, though the subjects are sometimes treated at great length; the siege of Dantzic, more especially, is as protracted on paper as it was in the field. It was the great military event of the author's life; and of course a theme on which he dwells with complacency. To conclude, the whole work abounds with philosophic reflection; and in the style and manner of its composition far exceeds what might have been expected from a mere soldier, whose education must have been hasty, if it was not neglected.

Of Baron Fain's volume, we have scarcely left ourselves space to speak. It embraces only the events which preceded and occasioned the Abdication in 1814; and it is chiefly occupied with the military events of that singular campaign; which, though the least successful, was the most wonderful in its display of military talent, and the developement of Napoleon's resources. Although thus employed with marches and countermarches, the work, like all other works which treat of Bonaparte, abounds in matter interesting to the moralist, the philosopher, and the hunter after anecdotes.

We cannot, however, in closing this article, pass over in silence the leading impression we have received from a perusal of the Memoirs of which it treats and that is, the conviction of the overwhelming disparity of means to ends in the great drama of Napoleon's life. What infinite soil and suffering, what carnage, what desolation, what waste of the products of peaceful industry, were occasioned through a long series of years to carry the French eagles to Moscow, that they might be driven back to the capital, and be there trodden under the feet of a barbarian conqueror ;-to raise one man to the summit of Imperial ambition, that he might be dashed from his precipitous height, to dispute and chicane on the rock of St. Helena, to writhe under an ignoble and paltry tyranny, and to die obscurely, the victim of petty vexations, and of hardships that scarcely bear narration! What, on the other hand,

have his enemies attained by the success of their arms? The people, a transfer of masters, and perpetuated slavery!-the combined kings, an uncertain and precarious power, a throne raised with sand over the womb of a volcano!!! Such are the mysterious, yet the whimsical destinies of man, under existing systems. His talents, genius, perseverance, affections, his tears, sweat, and blood, are but as a rattle in the hand of an infant, which is agitated to make the amusement of an idle moment, and is broken to pieces on the first impulse of satiety or caprice.

TRUTH AND YOUNG ROMANCE, A SONG,

YOUNG Romance through roses straying,
Saw old Truth trudge lamely on;
One in pleasure's light was playing,
The other sigh'd for pleasures gone:
Cries Romance, "O rest a minute,
And discuss our views of Earth:-
Yours may have most prudence in it,
But in mine is all the mirth."

"Ah!" says Truth, "this world discloses
Nought but vain delusive wiles,
Thorns are under all your roses,
Sadness follows all your smiles:"
-Cries Romance, "Perhaps I often
Colour life with tints too warm;
Yet my warmth a shade may soften,
While your coldness chills a charm."

"What is Love?" the sage then asks him-
"Love-in summer-hours so sweet?
Wintry weather soon unmasks him,
And your idol proves a cheat!"
"Love!" the youth replies, "O sever
Real Love from vain deceits;
Constant Love brings hours that never
Lose their sunshine or their sweets."

"Friendship too, you call a treasure,
But," says Truth," it is a tie
Loosely worn 'mid scenes of pleasure,
And when fortune frowns-thrown by."
"Friendship," he replies, " possesses
Worth which no dark change destroys;
Seeking, soothing our distresses,
Sharing, doubling all our joys."

"Go," says Truth, "'tis plain we never
Can such hostile thoughts combine;

Folly is your guide for ever,

While dull sense must still be mine."
Cries the Boy-" Frown on, no matter,
Mortals love my merry glance;
B'en in Truth's own path they scatter
Roses snatch'd from young Romance."

T.

A DAY AT FONTHILL ABBEY.

THE world may just at present be divided into two classes of persons; those who have seen Fonthill Abbey, and those who have not: and it is the somewhat monopolizing and ambitious desire of this paper to make itself agreeable to both these classes. For the former, it would endeavour to retrace the scenes which they have lately visited, but which the cursory glance they were compelled to take at them can scarcely have permanently fixed on their memory, and which a second view of this kind may perhaps effect; and to the latter it would present the best, because the only substitute they will be able to compass, by the time they are reading this. But to each it can only hope to offer a sketch, an outline, a mere pen-and-ink drawing of the scene in question-leaving the fillings-up, the colouring, and the light and shade, to be supplied by the memory of the one and the imagination of the other.

The domain of Fonthill is so extensive, and the attractions it offers to the spectator are so numerous and various, that, in order to apply our limited time and resources in the most advantageous manner, we shall adopt the arrangement laid down for the casual visitors to this singular spot; for we can afford but a day to what cannot be duly examined and explored in less than a month;-unless, indeed, the readers of the New Monthly Magazine are disposed to meet in a body, and sign a Round Robin to the Editor, insisting on our being allowed to exercise "sole sovereign sway and mastery" in these pages during the next or any given month. In which case, on receiving due notice and double pay, we will engage to supply the usual number and variety of articles, including the usual quantity of entertainment, and of course written with the usual, or rather the unusual portion of talent, the subject-matter being all drawn from this fertile source. In the mean time, we must proceed in the routine above-named.

Placing the reader at once before the outer gateway of what is called the Old Park, we will first invite him to admire the grand character of this almost triumphal arch, and then, passing through its noble portal, enter the outward inclosure of the grounds immediately attached to the mansion. On passing this gate we find ourselves on the borders of a noble lake, the banks of which rise majestically on the opposite side, and are clothed with a rich grove of forest trees, of an immense height. The first sight that we have to point out, as not exactly consistent with the true taste that we had expected to find reigning and ruling throughout this spot, is a whole flock of swans, congregating together on the lake. There is a saying, that "some people's geese are all swans ;" but it is quite as great and as common a mistake to make all our swans into geese. There is nothing enhances the value of a thing like its rarity; or rather its value chiefly consists in its rarity, if it is an object of mere ornament. Even if it be ever so beautiful to the sight, its beauty loses its effect in proportion as it becomes multiplied. The swan that

"on still St. Mary's lake

Floats double, swan and shadow,”

is a lovely and highly poetical object; but multiply it to a whole flock, and the charm is broken at once. A swan is an object which depends,

for its effects, purely and entirely on the beauty of its form and motion; its appearance as an ornament to natural scenery should therefore be, like those of angels, "few, and far between." The effect of a whole company of moons floating through the sky together, would border on the ludicrous; and a whole flock of swans are, upon the same principle, no better than so many geese!

"But how is this ?" we hear our companion exclaim; "a Cicerone turned critic, will never do. We came all this way to see beauties, not defects; and unless we look for them, we never can see them. Away, then, with the critical spirit, and shew us nothing but what is worth seeing-or rather, worth coming to see; which faults and defects can in no case be, though they were the finest that were ever committed." The reproof is merited, and we bow before it, and stand corrected. Once for all, then, this spot does include many points well worthy of discommendation; and let those who like the task, undertake to supply this desideratum.

This, then, is the portal, behind which has been rising, year by year for a quarter of a century,-" rising like an exhalation"-a scene which was said to surpass the fictions of eastern fancy, and which was created apparently only that it might not be seen! And what is the "Open Sesame!" which is at last to dissolve the charm, and lay bare these mysterious inclosures to the rude and vulgar gaze of all comers? Alas! a little bit of gold!-Gold-the only universal picklock-the only veritable aqua mirabilis, which can dissolve all things-the only true Talisman of Oromanes,-which no force nor art can withstand, and which, sooner or later, all things must and will give way before-from the most accessible and yielding, to the least so-from the conscience of a politician to the pride of a misanthrope-from the impalpable echoes of Saint Stephen's Chapel, to the massive portals of Fonthill Abbey ! That which would not hitherto have moved at the mandate of all the Sovereigns of Europe, the Holy Alliance included, now flies open of itself a hundred times a day, at the mere sight of a half-sovereign, presented by the, perchance, soiled fingers of a London cockney or a country boor!

Proceeding along the carriage-way through the old park, with the fine lake before mentioned lying all along the view on the left, backed by a lofty grove of trees, and embowered lawns rising and falling on the right, we presently arrive at an elevated spot, where this part of the domain terminates; and passing on for a short distance to the westward, along a public lane, we reach a rusticated lodge, beside a gateway cut in the wall which surrounds the whole inner portion of the grounds.

There is a pleasant story connected with this wall, which may amuse us while we are waiting our turn to be admitted through its mysterious gateway. Two young gentlemen, one of whom has since turned out an enterprising traveller, and whose success may probably be traced to the spirit excited by the romantic termination of this first adventure, contrived to scale this barrier, and make their way into the groundsattracted by the rumoured wonders of the place. But it so happened, that they were almost immediately met by the owner, who, instead of directing his servants to shew them the gate, received them with a haughty politeness, and, after leading them through the splendours of

his solitary dwelling, set them down to a princely entertainment. When night arrived, however, and they proposed to take their leave, (doubtless overjoyed with the success of their adventure, and anticipating the curiosity and envy they should excite among their friends, by the tale they had to tell,) they were conducted to the spot where they had been first met, and informed, that, as they had found their way in, they might now find their way out again as well as they could! And they were left to themselves! What became of them, it is difficult to guess, and they themselves have probably never disclosed: for the place is a perfect labyrinth even in the day-time, and there is a single pathway through it which measures above twenty miles, without once crossing or retreading a footstep of the same ground. This capital piece of practical wit was not unworthy the author of Vathek, and is in fact, not unlike some of those bitter ones which Vathek himself used occasionally to indulge in.

The avenue we enter on passing through the above-named gate, consists of a narrow carriage-way, with a greensward path on each side of it, bounded and shut in by a thick plantation, chiefly consisting of firs, larches, and pines, the spaces between the pillar-like stems of which are filled by a variety of flowering shrubs, and wild underwoods, so that you cannot judge of its extent, except by the almost impenetrable darkness which pervades it wherever you attempt to look through; with the exception, however, of one point, where a magnificent view of the adjacent country suddenly breaks upon you at an unexpected opening on the left, near the termination of the road. This road is above a mile in length, and winds about perpetually, so that you can never see for a hundred yards before you; and you get no glimpse of any object but the road itself and the bordering plantation, except at the opening I have just noticed.

Before we reach the summit of this road, which ascends nearly the whole length of it, let us examine this delightful carpet on which we are treading it is worth the trouble; for it is rarer than that which proceeds from the rarest looms of Persia. Nothing but the absolute solitude which has reigned in this spot during so many years, could have completed the formation of such a one. You observe, as your feet cease to press upon it, it springs up from under them, as if it were not made or accustomed to be trod upon. It is composed of a thick elastic body of various kinds of evergreen moss, low ground-fern that is almost like moss, wild thyme, and numerous sweet-smelling groundflowers; the whole matted and interlaced together by a network of wild strawberries; their innocent little flowers peeping out here and there, as if afraid, yet anxious to be seen. Smile not contemptuously, gentle reader, if we now ask you to step off this sweet border, and not to make a common footpath of it. It was made for the eye and the mind, not for the feet; and if we do nothing better than induce you to keep on this gravel road instead, we shall not have accompanied you here in vain, either as it regards ourselves or you. If Mr. Wordsworth's poetry had done nothing better than teach a few lovers of Nature never to tread upon a daisy, the consciousness of this alone might repay him for all the ignorant and heartless vituperation it has called forth!

Having arrived within a few paces of the summit of the above road, v, for the first time, the extraordinary building, which we have