poets, this little effort would be much more deserving of the public attention; but the converse is unfortunately the case. The subject, indeed, deserves a pen that has more leisure, and more ability than mine. The Conflagration of Moscow is the most interestingevent of these latter times-whether we consider the immensity of the force that was put in array against her, the magnanimity of the sacrifice, or the incalculable importance of the results. Our modern Manufacturer of Kings would certainly have issued a fresh batch from his imperial oven of the Kremlin, if it had not been overheated by some of the workmen.

I may be accused of not having treated my hero with sufficient respect, as in the opinion of many, he is still "majestic, though

in ruin." But he that had no dignity in suc cess, can lose none in misfortune: nor have I changed my sentiments of him, with any change in his destinies. In a former work, written and published when he was in the plenitude of his power, I ventured to assume the double office of the Vates. It was clear that when "weighed in the balance" he would be "found wanting," from the moment that he put his own aggrandisement into one scale, against the repose of Europe in the other; and I foretold his speedy downfal, from a full conviction that perfect selfishness must ever be destructive of Self. In the following pages I have chosen the safer office of an ex post facto predictor. In good truth, prophecying has been a dangerous trade for these last twenty

years. Dreaming, which goes by contraries, might have succeeded better. But I will hazard one prophecy--the name of Napoleon will go down to posterity "shorn of its beams;" the blackness of his heart will eclipse the brightness of his head. If his admirers affirm that necessity made him a tyrant, we will ask if he did not make himself a king. It is for them, and not for us, to separate the consequences from the cause. Some persons are already very angry with him for surviving his own defeat. But he that lived only to please himself, will hardly die to please others. His political death has taken place perhaps already; if so, the moralist may be allowed to cut up the dead, provided he does it like the anatomist---for the benefit of the living.

I have termed this adventurer the Spoiled Child of Fortune: her first smile was a long one, but it was her last--her frown was equally permanent and uninterrupted. The successes of this Pantimoreumenos were one uniform flow, his disasters were as uniform an ebb; and Moscow was the high-water mark. Had he read Herodotus, he would not have invaded the ancient capital of the Czars. That fatal dilemma which destroyed his army,might then have preserved it. That dilemma would have stared him in the face throughout every page of the Scythian expedition, and might be thus expressedCome to us with few and we will overwhelm you---Come to us with many, and you shall overwhelm yourselves.---Tohistory we leave him. But if there be an historian that can

forgive or palliate his wanton prodigality of blood, and his constant perversion of the greatest and noblest means, to the most sordid and selfish ends, such a writer, in order to be partial to the individual, must incur the charge of being most unjust and cruel to the species. The only reparation to be made to society for the guilt of such a life as that of Napoleon, must be the moral of it.

With respect to the execution of the subsequent trifle, I can only say that it is an humble attempt to revive a style in some danger of becoming obsolete. I shall be quite satisfied if my lines recal to any reader of taste the beautiful Paraphrase of the tenth Satire of Juvenal, by Johnson. I have always considered that particular ef