The Count, possessing all the characteristics of a gentleman, acknowledged politely the kind attention of the strangers to his son, while, on the other hand, they returned his obeisance with the due respect excited by his uniform friendship and undeviating attachment to greatness in adversity.

The discerning eye of Field Marshal Bertrand justly appreciated the superior rank of the strangers, to whom he observed, that during the short period he had then been in England, he had experienced much courtesy, of which he should always retain a grateful recollection.

This accidental interview was creative of reciprocal satisfaction, and the parties separated, not without an invitation on the part of the boy, that his newly found acquaintances would again visit the "friends of the Emperor."{1}~5~~ 1 LINES SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY THE EX-EMPEROR NAPOLEON IN HIS LAST ILLNESS.
Too slowly the tide of existence recedes For him in captivity destined to languish, The Exile, abandon'd of fortune, who needs The friendship of Death to obliviate his anguish.
Yet, even his last moments unmet by a sigh, Napoleon the Great uncomplaining shall die! Though doom'd on thy rock, St.Helena, to close My life, that once presag'd ineffable glory, Unvisited here though my ashes repose, No tablet to tell the lone Exile's sad story,-- Napoleon Buonaparte--still shall the name Exist on the records immortal of Fame! Posterity, tracing the annals of France, The merits will own of her potent defender; Her greatness pre-eminent skill'd to advance, Creating, sustaining, her zenith of splendour; Who patroniz'd arts, and averted alarms, Till crush'd by the union of nations in arms! I yield to my fate! nor should memory bring One moment of fruitless and painful reflection Of what I was lately--an Emperor and King, Unless for the bitter, yet fond recollection Of those, who my heart's best endearments have won, Remote from my death-bed--my Consort and SON! Denied in their arms even to breathe my last sigh, No relatives' solace my exit attending; With strangers sojourning, 'midst strangers I die, No tear of regret with the last duties blending.
To him, the lorn Exile, no obsequies paid, Whose fiat a Universe lately obey'd! Make there then my tomb, where the willow trees wave, And, far in the Island, the streamlet meanders; If ever, by stealth, to my green grassy grave Some kind musing spirit of sympathy wanders-- "Here rests," he will say, "from Adversity's pains, Napoleon Buonaparte's mortal remains!" We have no disposition to enter into the character of the deceased Ex-Emperor; history will not fail to do justice alike to the merits and the crimes of one, who is inevitably destined to fill so portentous a page on its records.

At the present time, to speak of the good of which he may have been either the intentional or the involuntary instrument, without some bias of party feeling would be impossible.
"Hard is his fate, on whom the public gaze Is fix'd for ever, to condemn or praise; Repose denies her requiem to his name, And folly loves the martyrdom of fame." At all events, he is now no more; and "An English spirit wars not with the dead." "The Count," said Dashall to his Cousin, as they pursued their walk, "remains in England until he obtain ~6~~ permission from the King of France to return to his native country: that such leave will be given, there is little doubt; the meritorious fidelity which the Count has uniformly exemplified to his late unfortunate and exiled Master, has obtained for him universal esteem, and the King of France is too generous to withhold, amidst the general feeling, his approbation." Passing through Long Acre in their progress towards the British Museum, to which national establishment they had cards of admission, the two friends were intercepted in their way by a concourse at a coach-maker's shop, fronting which stood a chariot carefully matted round the body, firmly sewed together, and the wheels enveloped in hay-bands, preparatory to its being sent into the country.

Scarcely had these precautionary measures of safety been completed, when a shrill cry, as if by a child inside the vehicle, was heard, loud and continuative, which, after the lapse of some minutes, broke out into the urgent and reiterated exclamation of--"Let me out!--I shall be suffocated!--pray let me out!" The workmen, who had packed up the carriage, stared at each other in mute and appalling astonishment; they felt conscious that no child was within the vehicle; and when at last they recovered from the stupor of amazement, they resisted the importunity of the multitude to strip the chariot, and manfully swore, that if any one was inside, it must be the Devil himself, or one of his imps, and no human or visible being whatsoever.
Some, of the multitude were inclined to a similar opinion.