fulfilling the obligation which she contracted at the altar? Why, when death had marked that husband for his own, was Napoleon still suffered to waste by inches, and finally condemned to have those eyes closed by stranger hands, which, could they have gazed on the once-cherished object of their love, might still have found solace in the parting hour. Nations may frame for themselves, we repeat, laws (if with that name they can be dignified) "of necessity," and Napoleon may, unhappily for him, have come under their influence; but the necessity for impertinence, for contempt, -for degradation,- for rudeness, for violence, neither did, nor could exist; and it will ever remain one of the foulest blots on England's fame, that she first entrapped her guest, and then, adding baseness to injustice, treated him with scorn and contumely. Of all the vices which degrade our species, there is surely no one, whether in a nation or an individual, which can equal that of cowardice; and when we find Napoleon, whose shadow, even, would have protected him in the days of his strength, trampled upon without mercy, we may well bewail that reverse of fortune which could subject such a man to the capricious hatred of a mere dwarf. It would have been kindlier, and far more befitting the dignity of England, to have

chopped off Napoleon's head, within her conqueror's Tower, than to have subjected him to the malice of every petty Jack in office.

"The root of revenge is in the weakness of the soul: the most abject and timorous are the most addicted to it.

"Who torture those they hate but cowards? "The hero lifteth his sword against the enemy that resisteth, but no sooner doth he submit than he is satisfied.

Killing is an act of caution, not of courage; it is safe, but it is not honourable.

"Death endeth the quarrel, but it restoreth not the reputation*."

* Economy of Human Life; Robert Dodsley: p. 72 and following.

CHAP. XIX.

THE MASSACRE OF THE TURKS IN EGYPT.

"THERE is one fact stated in Mr. O'Meara's book which we regard as perfectly conclusive,—the fact that Buonaparte deliberately, and in cold blood, shot 1200 prisoners of war. Sir Robert Wilson first brought this horrid charge publicly against the Corsican. It was repeated by M. Wittman, by M. Miot, and by some other writers; but, for the honour of humanity, most moderate people refused to give it credence, and those who yielded to the force of evidence were regarded as violent and prejudiced individuals: but, to our astonishment, on perusing Mr. O'Meara's book, we found it stated, that Buonaparte, without circumlocution or disguise, coolly admitted the fact. Military history presents, absolutely, no parallel whatever to this horrid deed. We have challenged the production of any instance of any thing like the same barbarity.

"Jaffa was taken by assault, and, three days afterwards, did the diabolical monster, Buonaparte, deliberately order out 1200 fellow-creatures to be shot. But Buonaparte says, Wellington would have acted at Jaffa as he did. Impudent assertion! When did Wellington do any thing in the least like it?-when did any general? No, no,-the fact stands, and we trust ever will stand, insulated, in the history of human wickedness. It is a murder paramount amongst murders. We defy the Edinburgh reviewer to produce its parallel. We

defy him to produce so bloody a monster as Napoleon Buonaparte.

Buonaparte is told that Miot says the number killed was three or four thousand.

"It deserves to be noticed, that, until Buonaparte's confession, the Edinburgh reviewer was among the incredulous many (and we confess we were so too) who could not bring themselves to believe this, and some other charges against him.

"Let the reviewer answer this; and then let him point out, if he can, any one individual, ancient or modern, who ever committed the delinquency, or the crime, of shooting 1200 prisoners, except Napoleon Buonaparte."-New Times, September, 1822.

AN ample field now offers itself for investigation: desirous of doing the subject justice, we have given, word for word, every passage from the New Times journal which can bear upon the discussion. On this particular part of our work, we had rather be accused of prolixity, than, by any abridgment, avoid replying to the serious charges brought against Napoleon, for his conduct whilst in Egypt. It is here, in preference to every point, that the Editor has taken his stand, to hand down Napoleon as a monster to posterity, to brand upon his character the indelible stamp of infamy,-to impress upon his name the stain that never fades. The execution of the Turks is the sticking-place to which the Editor

has screwed himself: it forms the ground on which he has chosen to fight the fight,-the citadel of each argument,-the first and the last of every denunciation,-the opening curse of the morning-the closing one of the night. "The damning fact of wholesale murder," exclaims triumphantly the Editor, "stands untouched; our arguments on it rest unanswered, and will to the last trump be unanswerable." The Edinburgh reviewers, the whole literary world, have been thrice and thrice challenged to produce the shadow, even, of a parallel to Egypt's horrors; but, like spirits from the vasty deep, they have been called in vain. After an appeal so stoutly made, it may appear most rash in us to be the first to break a lance with the formidable Editor; but, if we cannot beat him from his vantage station, we shall endeavour, at least, to make him pay the price of the victory. We, too, are in quest after truth; and, since we have chosen to play at bowls, we must e'en consent to take the rubs.

The Editor certainly has made his grand attack on Napoleon with great skill and judgment. He has brought up his whole host to annihilate the foe, his light troops as well as his masses. No species of force has been left idle; and we are free to confess, that he has hitherto enjoyed, if we may be permitted the term, a literary Waterloo, for his pains. We shall, in part at least,