at two hours after midnight; for the hours of darkness and repose were then the chosen periods of council and activity. At this solemn season of the night, Denon reached the palace; it was silent and gloomy; an armed guard straggled through its half lighted and spacious apartments. The antiroom of the council chamber was occupied by republican officers, fierce and dark as midnight conspirators; a huissier in waiting had orders to receive the diplomatic artist, and to conduct him to a particular apartment.

Left alone in a large dimly-lighted room, Denon discovered he was occupying a silent space, that once resounded to every tone of gaiety and pleasure. It was the apartment of the beautiful Marie Antoinette. Twenty years back he had himself served there, as gentilhomme ordinaire to Louis XV. While he was" chewing the cud of sweet and bitter recollection," a door opened, and was cautiously closed; a man advanced to the centre of the room. Observing it occupied by a stranger, he started back. It was Robespierre! By the light of the lamp on the mantelpiece, Denon could observe the darkening countenance of this king of terrors, who appeared to fumble with his right hand in his breast, as if to claim the safeguard of concealed arms. Denon at once saw the danger of exciting even a momentary apprehension in a mind like his, and he dared not pause to parley, but retreated instantly backward towards the anti-room, his eyes fixed on Robespierre, the eyes of Robespierre fixed on him. A bell, on the table of the apartment he had quitted, rang with violence. In a few minutes the huissier who answered it returned, with a po

lite apology from the dictator to the designer of the fastes républicains. Denon was again introduced, and it was remarkable, that this furious demagogue, with an evident attempt to disguise the feeling he had experienced from the unexpected presence of a stranger, assumed, in his manners and deportment, an air of high polish and ceremonious breeding, as if he wished to impress upon one, who had himself been reared in courts, an idea of his own gentility, and of his superiority over the "wooden vassals" he was associated with. was dressed," says Denon, "like a petit maître, and his embroidered muslin waistcoat was lined with rose coloured silk."

"He

It was sometime after this memorable event, one evening, at a ball at M. de Talleyrand's, a young officer endeavouring to procure some lemonade, received it at the hands of M. Denon. This little courtesy brought on a conversation, which was the basis of a friendship indestructible by time, or changed by inequality of rank and remoteness of situation, by the exaltations of the most splendid prosperity, or the shocks of the deepest adversity. The young officer was-General Buonaparte.

The friendships formed by Buonaparte, were never relinquished by the Emperor; and among the honours and emoluments heaped on M. Denon, by his imperial friend, he was made a baron of the empire, officer of the legion of honour, member of the institute, and director-general of the Musée des Arts. Of the latter high situation he sent in his resignation to the king, on the second restoration; and now vainly courts that retirement and seclusion which neither his character, rank, nor reputa

tion permit him to enjoy. His house is one of the classic reposoirs, where the taste and talent of foreign nations pause, in their enlightened pilgrimage to the shrines of genius, to offer their tribute of admiration and respect. It is the littleLorretto of the Arts! and the high priest frequently supersedes the divinities at whose altars he presides.

M. Denon, in every sense, owes much to nature, and seems to have been "né pour tous les arts.""Born to be an adept in all the arts." "He was one day," says Lady Morgan, (from whose interesting work on France we have derived the above particulars)," talking on some subject of natural history to my husband, and describing his efforts to tame a crocodile; some artists came in, he was immediately plunged into a discussion on painting and antiquities; and talked alternately in French and Italian. When we were alone, I asked him the secret of his acquirements;—whether he had not been very studious in his youth? He replied carelessly, Tout au contraire; je n'ai jamais rien étudié, parceque cela m'a toujours ennuyé; j'ai beaucoup observé, parceque cela m'amusait: ceux qui en savent plus que moi me conseillent, ce qui fait que ma vie a été rempli, et que j'ai beaucoup joué.' 'Quite the contrary; I have never studied any thing, because that was always tiresome to me; I have observed much, because that amused me; those who have known more than me, instructed me; the result is, that my life has been fully occupied, and that I have enjoyed much."

NAPOLEON'S REFLECTIONS ON THE BATTLE OF

WATERLOO.

THE following conversation, respecting this famous battle and its consequences, passed between the unfortunate emperor and Dr. O'Meara, soon after his arrival in the island of St. Helena.

"If you had lost the battle of Waterloo," said Napoleon," what a state would England have been in. The flower of your youth would have been destroyed; for not a man, not even Lord Wellington, would have escaped." I observed here that Lord Wellington had determined never to leave the field alive. Napoleon replied, "he could not retreat. He would have been destroyed with his army, if instead of the Prussians, Grouchy had come up." I asked him if he had not believed for some time that the Prussians who had shown themselves, were a part of Grouchy's corps. He replied, "Certainly; and I can now scarcely comprehend why it was a Prussian division and not that of Grouchy." I then took the liberty of asking whether, if neither Grouchy nor the Prussians had arrived, it would have been a drawn battle. Napoleon answered, "the English army would have been destroyed. They were defeated at mid-day. But accident, or more likely destiny, decided that Lord Wellington should gain it. I could scarcely believe that he would have given me battle; because, if he had retreated to Antwerp, as he ought to have done, I must have been overwhelmed by the armies of three or four hundred thousand men that

were coming against me. By giving me battle, there was a chance for me. It was the greatest folly to disunite the English and Prussian armies. They ought to have been united; and I cannot conceive the reason of their separation. It was folly in Wellington to give me battle in a place, where, if defeated, all must have been lost, for he could not retreat. There was a wood in his rear, and but one road to gain it. He would have been destroyed. Moreover, he allowed himself to be surprised by me. This was a great fault. He ought to have been encamped from the beginning of June, as he must have known that I intended to attack him. He might have lost every thing. But he has been fortunate; his destiny has prevailed; and every thing he did will meet with applause. My intentions were to attack and destroy the English army. This I knew would produce an immediate change of ministry. The indignation against them for having caused the loss of forty thousand of the flower of the English army would have excited such a popular feeling that they would have been turned out. The people would have said, What is it to us who is on the throne of France, Louis or Napoleon; are we to sacrifice all our blood in endeavours to place on the throne a detested family? No, we have suffered enough. It is no affair of ours; let them settle it among themselves. They would have made peace. The Saxons, Bavarians, Belgians, and Wirtemburghers, would have joined

me.

The coalition was nothing without England. The Russians would have made peace, and I should have been quietly seated on the throne. Peace