Visit to the Residence of Napoleon at St. Helena.

“We soon came in sight of the level plateau of the Longwood estate, the residence of the late emperor, and six miles from Plantation House.  Here the country gradually assumes a more desolate and a wilder look; and the English visitor arrives at the unfortunate and unwelcome conclusion, that the best part of the island was not given to the illustrious captive.  One cannot avoid agreeing with Sir W. Scott, that Plantation House should have been accorded to him, in spite of the detering reasons of its vicinity to the sea, and its sequestered situation.  Longwood, however, has better roads, more space for riding or driving, and in summer must have been much cooler than the less sheltered parts of the isle.  As we turned through the lodges the old house appeared at the end of an avenue of scrubby and weather-worn trees.  It bears the exterior of a respectable farm-house, but is now fast running to decay.  On entering a dirty courtyard, and quitting our horses, we were shown by some idlers into a square building, which once contained the bed-room, sitting-room, and bath of the Empereur des Francois. The partitions and floorings are now thrown down, and torn up, and the apartments occupied for six years by the hero before whom kings, emperors, and popes had quailed, are now tenanted by cart-horses!

“Passing on with a groan, I entered a small chamber, with two windows looking towards the north.  Between these windows are the marks of a fixed sofa:  on that couch Napoleon died.  The apartment is now occupied by a threshing machine; ‘No bad emblem of its former tenant!’ said a sacrilegious wag.  Hence we were conducted onwards to a large room, which formerly contained a billiard-table, and whose front looks out upon a little latticed veranda, where the imperial peripatetic—­I cannot style him philosopher—­enjoyed the luxury of six paces to and fro,—­his favourite promenade.  The white-washed walls are scored with names of every nation; and the paper of the ceiling has been torn off in strips as holy relics.  Many couplets, chiefly French, extolling and lamenting the departed hero, adorn or disfigure (according to their qualities) the plaster walls.  The only lines that I can recall to mind—­few are worth it—­are the following, written ever the door, and signed ‘——­ ——­, Officier de la Garde Imperiale.’

  “’Du grand Napoleon le nom toujours cite
  Ira de bouche en bouche a la posterite!’”

The writer doubtless possessed more spirit as a sabreur than as a poet.

“The emperor’s once well-kept garden,

  “‘And still where many a garden-flower grows wild,’

“is now overgrown and choked with weeds.  At the end of a walk still exists a small mound, on which it is said the hero of Lodi, Marengo, and Austerlitz, amused himself by erecting a mock battery.  The little chunamed tank, in which he fed some fresh-water fish, is quite dried up; and the mud wall, through a hole in which he reconnoitered passers-by, is, like the great owner, returned to earth!”