“The best description I ever saw of Napoleon’s appearance was in the letter of an Irish gentleman, named North, published in the Dublin Evening Post, and as it is so very characteristic, it may amuse the visiter.  He saw him at Elba in 1814, and thus paints him:—­

“He but little resembles the notion I had of him, or any other man I ever saw.  He is the squarest figure I think I ever remember to have seen, and exceedingly corpulent.  His face is a perfect square, from the effects of fat, and, as he has no whiskers, his jaw is thrown more into relief; this description, joined to his odd little three-cornered cocked hat, and very plain clothes, would certainly give him the appearance of a vulgar person, if the impression was not counteracted by his evil soldierly carriage, and the peculiar manner of his walking, which is confident, theatrical and a little ruffian like, for he stamps the ground at every step, and at the same time twists his body a little.  He was dressed that day in a green coat, turned up with a dirty white, &c. &c. &c.  His neck is short, his shoulders very broad, and his chest open * * * *

“His features are remarkably masculine, regular and well formed.  His skin is coarse, unwrinkled and weather-beaten, his eyes possess a natural and unaffected fierceness, the most extraordinary I ever beheld:  they are full, bright, and of a brassy colour.  He looked directly at me, and his stare is by far the most intense I ever beheld.  This time, however, curiosity made me a match, for I vanquished him.  It is when he regards you, that you mark the singular expression of his eyes—­no frown—­no ill-humour—­no affectation of appearing terrible; but the genuine expression of an iron, inexorable temper.”

We have only to remark that the picture appears to us exceedingly well drawn, and equally coloured.  Objection has been made to the large size of the epaulettes, and the colouring of the sea.  To the first opinion we may subscribe, but doubt whether the objection ought to extend to the latter, especially if we remember the great height of the cliff on which Napoleon stands, and the usual sombre appearance of the ocean towards the last minute of sunset.  The lower part of the figure, particularly the left leg, half advanced, is admirably drawn.

The effect of the picture, on the spectator entering the room, is one of the most extraordinary character.  Its general outline—­Napoleon standing on the crest of a tremendous cliff, with his back nearly turned to the spectator, the vast Atlantic, and the parting glow of the sun—­the figure too, the size of life—­will, in some measure, prepare him for this effect, which we confess ourselves at a loss to describe.  Its very grandeur impresses us with awe, and our afterthought becomes tinged with melancholy from associating the fate of the illustrious original with the towering cliff,—­the vasty sea,—­the dying splendour of the sun, and the specky sail of the guard ship fluttering in its