jective character generally is. Draped in the sombre or the flaming garments with which his imagination invested them, we see the poet himself, and all his mocking or upbraiding thoughts, wandering wildly through the melancholy numbers. There is a deep and beautiful tenderness, too, in some of his lyrics, as witness the exquisite poem of Annabel Lee the expression of his sorrow for the death of his gentle wife. It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived, whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And round about his home the glory And travellers, now, within that valley, A hideous throng rush out forever, While Poe's genius was necessarily infected And this maiden she lived with no other thought by the depravity of his life to the extent of Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child, and she was a child, With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven And this was the reason that, long ago, My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came In this kingdom by the sea. But the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea — In her tomb by the sounding sea. This strain of sorrow is only equalled by those in which the poet mourns over the wreck of his wasted life. Amid all his wild excesses, and his self-outlawry from the amenities of social existence, he had no more severe censor than that which spoke from within his own soul. This is strikingly manifest in the poem entitled The Haunted Palace, and especially in the following stanzas of it : In the greenest of our valleys, Radiant palace-reared its head; Over fabric half so fair. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate; Ah, let us mourn! for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate ! a misanthropical faithlessness in man, his poetry, from the circumstance of its being so strictly subjective, is less unhealthy than his prose. The utterance of his own self-knowledge is, moreover, always too passionate to be deemed insincere. His tales and sketches are often pervaded by the horrible, to an extent which is only saved from being repulsive by the power of imagination and the strength of the reasoning faculty displayed in them; but in his poems there are almost always glimpses afforded of a ruined beauty, and an analytic treatment of emotion, sufficient to give them a moral tone. He seems, as it were, to have preserved the latter sacred to the expression of his own sorrow; for that the phantom of the past rose up before him with awful, soulsubduing severity is clear, we think, from many of his best poems. The Raven is the know that it was written during what might most remarkable proof of this; and when we be considered the longest of those periods of sober earnestness, strong thought, and incessant labor which occurred in his brief career, we are at no loss to discover, that what seems fanciful and almost amusing to the ordinary reader, had a deep and terrible significance to the unhappy poet. This remarkable poem, which occupies, we think, the most prominent position among the originalities of American imaginative literature, is much too long to be quoted by us in its entirety, and not a little of its peculiar charm is necessarily lost by its unity of strong emotion being broken up. Suffice it to give a mere outline of the poet's reverie broken by the tapping at his chamber door, and the subsequent colloquy with the 66 stately Raven of the saintly days of yore" -a meet emblem of the dark shadow of his own worse than wasted life which conscience summons up before him. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore ; "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore And the lamp-light o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on the floor; power. It is certainly unique in American literature, as much so as the Christabel and Ancient Mariner of Coleridge are in our own; and unquestionably a poetical reputation has been with it for a moment, even in point of artistie earned by things that will not bear comparison construction merely, for there is a wonderful harmony between the feeling and the rhythmical expression. The peculiar irregular music of Poe's poetry is not the least striking proof of its original character. Style may always be imitated within the ordinary limits of mere versification, but that structure of rhythmical cadence which takes its form from the things expressed, is peculiarly the work in certain strains of inner music, so to speak of genius. Poe has carried this to an extreme within the author's fancy both as to the thought poems which have arranged themselves or feeling and the rhyme; but the former being obscure, the latter is to a great extent unintelligible, and in some instances discordant. Some stanzas from a piece, entitled The Bells, will suffice to illustrate the power he shows in maintaining the completeness of the harmony between the idea and its expression. Hear the sledges with the bells- - How they clang, and clash, and roar ! And my soul from out that shadow that lies float-This is an achievement in versification which ing on the floor, Shall be lifted Never more. We are disposed to believe that even these verses, detached as they are from the poem, and affording only an imperfect idea of its effect as a whole, indicate more than ordinary even Southey, curious and studiously desirous of excelling in such things, has not equalled ; it greatly surpasses most of his efforts, indeed, inasmuch as the imagination evinced in the last stanzas we have quoted surpasses mere feats in rhyme. We have already said that Poe's poetry them were in the form of large square cubes, may be regarded as in a very special sense with flat and horizontal tops; others, again, the expression of his own self-consciousness. presented every variety of form now resembling Wild and melancholy as is its general char- cities and vilages, now ruins; and again, you acter, there are a few strains which show that might imagine one to be a solitary country the spirit of the wretched poet was sometimes church, in the modest Gothic style, rising beautivisited by dreams of surpassing beauty. fully above the level plain, on the distant horiglimpses of purity of passionate yet exalted around it: some appeared to be loaded with huge zon, and adding a sacred charm to everything love, and of a higher faith than that of his boulders and mud, shortly to be precipitated into ordinary life even at its best. It would seem the sea which bore them along; while others as if in these his genius vindicated itself by a were yielding themselves submissively to the protest of beauty against the gloomy broodings wasting influence of the sea, and the powerof a disquieted conscience or the frenzied ex- ful rays of the sun. There was one iceberg cesses of a vicious life; and yet the beauty which was particularly noticed, because it never ever wears the hue of sadness. shifted its position, when others, of rather larger size, were drifting to and fro with the tides. It was about two hundred feet in height, above the surface of the sea, and its perpendicular sides, which were nearly equal, were not less than two The prose works of Edgar Poe are for the most part susceptible of being accounted for on the principle we have already hinted atnamely, that which places them in a completely different light as regards their author's own being from the poems. They are of two classes- those in which a strong yet gloomy imagination creates consistently with its own nature, exploring the deepest depths of the horrible; and those in which a keen, clear intellect is more predominant than imaginative power. The combination of these two characteristics in the works of a single man must ever infer no ordinary degree of intellectual strength: in the works of such a man as Poe, it is somewhat extraordinary. Let the reader turn to his singular sketch, entitled The Purloined Letter, or to some of his criticisms, after reading such things as The Fall of the House of Usher, or The Cask of Amontillado, and he will find it difficult to believe that the acumen, the clear, vigorous reasoning of the former, could ever have proceeded from a man of such a wild and morbid imagination as is evinced in the latter. Such, we are told by his biographer, was Poe's success in combining both these characteristics by admirably sustained argument on imaginary evidence, and in a supposititious case, that many of his readers could not be persuaded of its fictitious character. And yet we have seen what was the nature, the life, and death of this sad wreck alike of genius and humanity. Judging from the works he has left, Poe is unquestionably the most original imaginative writer America has yet produced. There is not a line in all his poetry which suggests the idea of imitation; and nothing in his prose-if we except his wilder tales, which are like so many refinements on the gross horrors of old German romance - to which we could adduce a strict parallel. miles in length. The upper surface was hori- DECLIVITY OF RIVERS.. ity suffices to give the running motion to water. that From Sharpe's Magazine. Now about this cast there is a historiette FACTS CONNECTED WITH THE LAST HOURS with which it is quite time the public should OF NAPOLEON. BY MRS. MAJOR WARD. become more intimately acquainted; it caused a subject of litigation, the particulars of which are detailed in the Times newspaper of 1821, but to which I have no opportunity of referring just now. Evidence, however, was unfortunately wanting at the necessary On the night of the 5th of May, 1821, a young ensign of the 66th regiment, quartered at St. Helena, was wending his solitary way along the path leading from the plain of Dead-moment, and the complainant's case fell to wood to his barracks, situated on a patch of the ground. The facts are these:table-land called Francis Plain. The road was dreary, for to the left yawned a vast chasm, the remains of a crater, and known to the islanders as the "Devil's Punchbowl;" although the weather had been perfectly calm, puffs of wind occasionally issued from the neighboring valleys; and at last, one of these puffs having got into a gully, had so much ado to get out of it, that it skrieked, and moaned, and gibbered, till it burst its bonds with a roar like thunder-and dragged up in its wrath, on its passage to the sea, a few shrubs and one of those fair willows, beneath which Napoleon, first Emperor of France, had passed many a peaceful, if not a happy hour of repose, surrounded by his faithful friends in exile. The day after Napoleon's decease, the young officer I have alluded to, instigated by emotions which drew vast numbers to Longwood-house, found himself within the very thrill of awe had subsided, he sat down, and death-chamber of Napoleon. After the first on the fly-leaf torn from a book, and given faithful sketch of the deceased emperor. him by General Bertrand, he took a rapid but Earlier in the day, the officer had accompanied his friend Dr. Burton, of the 66th regiment, through certain paths in the island, in order to collect material for making a composition resembling plaster of Paris, for the purpose of taking the cast with as little delay after death as possible. Dr. Burton, having prepared the composition, set to work and completed the This occurrence, not uncommon at St. task satisfactorily. The cast being moist was Helena, has given rise to an idea, adopted not easy to remove, and, at Dr. Burton's even by Sir Walter Scott, that the soul of request, a tray was brought from Madame Bertrand's apartments; madame herself holdNapoleon had passed to another destiny on the wings of the storm-spirit; but, so far from ing it to receive the precious deposit. Mr. the ensign above alluded to, impressed there being any tumult among the elements on that eventful night, the gust of wind I have with the value of such a memento, offered to alluded to was only heard by the few whose take charge of it at his quarters till it was dry cottages dotted the green slopes of the neigh-enough to be removed to Dr. Burton's; boring mountains. But as that fair tree dropped, a whisper fell among the islanders. that Napoleon was dead! No need to dwell upon what abler pens than mine have recorded; the eagle's wings were folded, the dauntless eyes were closed, the last words, "Tête armée," had passed the faded lips, the proud heart had ceased to beat . . . ! Madame Bertrand, however, pleaded so hard both Irishmen and soldiers, yielded to her to have the care of it, that the two gentlemen, entreaties, and she withdrew with the treasure, which she never afterwards would resign. There can scarcely, therefore, be a question that the casts and engravings of Napoleon, now sold as emanating from the skill and reverence of Automarchi, are from the original taken by Dr. Burton. We can only rest on circumstantial evidence, which the reader will that Dr. Burton's cast and that supposed to allow is most conclusive. It is to be regretted have been taken by Automarchi were not both demanded in evidence at the trial in 1821. Italianized by Automarchi, the name inscribed The engraving I have spoken of has been beneath being Napoleone. They arrayed the illustrious corpse in the attire identified with Napoleon even at the present day; and among the jewelled honors of earth so profusely scattered upon the breast, rested the symbol of the faith he had professed. They shaded the magnificent brow with the unsightly cocked hat, and stretched down the beautiful hands in ungraceful fashion; every one, in fact, is familiar with the attitude I describe, as well as with a death-like cast of the imperial head, from So completely was the daily history of which a fine engraving has been taken. The Napoleon's life at St. Helena a sealed record, cast is true enough to nature, but the char-that, on the arrival of papers from England, acter of the engraving is spoiled by the addi- the first question asked by the islanders and tion of a laurel wreath on the lofty but in- the officers of the garrison, was, of Bonaparte ?" Under such circumstances it was natural that an intense curiosity should be felt concerning every movement of th mysterious and ill-starred exile. Our your soldier one night fairly risked his commiss sensate brow. The coffin being too short to admit this array in the order proposed, the hat was placed at the feet before interment. "What news But the signal-book! Here are some of the passages which passed from hill to valley while Napoleon took his daily ride within the boundary prescribed : "General Bonaparte has left Longwood." The latter paragraph resulted from General Bonaparte having, in the course of his ride, turned an angle of a hill, or descended some valley beyond the ken, for a few minutes, of the men working the telegraphs on the hills! for the chance of a glimpse behind the cur- it entailed. In a word, although every one tains of the Longwood windows; and, after admits the difficulties and responsibilities of all, saw nothing but the imperial form, from Sir Hudson Lowe's position, all deprecate the knees downwards. Every night, at sun- the system to which he considered himself set, a cordon of sentries was drawn round the obliged to bend. Longwood plantations. Slipping between the sentinels, the venturesome youth crept, under cover of trees, to a lighted window of the mansion. The curtains were not drawn, but the blind was lowered. Between the latter, however, and the window-frame were two or three inches of space; so down knelt Mr. -! Some one was walking up and down the apartment, which was brilliantly illuminated. The footsteps drew nearer, and Mr. saw the diamond buckles of a pair of thin shoes; then two well-formed lower limbs, encased in silk stockings; and, lastly, the edge of a coat, lined with white silk. On a sofa, at a little distance, was seated Madame Bertrand, with her boy leaning on her knee; and some one was probably writing under Napoleon's dictation, for the Emperor was speaking slowly and distinctly. Mr. slipped back to his guard-house, satisfied with having heard the voice of Napoleon Bonaparte. Mr. had an opportunity of seeing the great captive at a distance on the very last occasion that Bonaparte breathed the outer air. It was a bright morning when the sergeant of the guard at Longwood-gate informed our ensign that "General Bonaparte" was in the garden on which the guard-room 66 I would have taken care that he did not looked. Mr. seized his spy-glass, and escape from St. Helena," said Wellington; took a breathless survey of Napoleon, who" but he might have been addressed by any was standing in front of his house with one name he pleased." It was not permitted that the once Emperor of France should be designated by any other title than "General Bonaparte ;" and, alas! innumerable were the squabbles that arose between the governor and his captive, because the British ministry had made this puerile order peremptory. I have now no hesitation in making known the great duke's opinion on this subject, which was transmitted to me two years ago, by one who for some months every year held daily intercourse with his grace, but who could not, while the duke was living, permit me to publish what had been expressed in private conversation. of his generals. Something on the ground I cannot close this paper without saying a attracted his notice; he stooped to examine word or two on the condition of the buildings -probably a colony of ants, whose move-once occupied by the most illustrious and most ments he watched with interest when the unfortunate of exiles. music of a band at a distance stirred the air on Deadwood plain, and he who once had led multitudes forth at his slightest word, now wended his melancholy way through the grounds of Longwood, to catch a distant glimpse of a British regiment under inspection. It is well known that Napoleon never would inhabit the house which was latterly erected at Longwood for his reception; that he said, "it would serve for his tomb;" and that the slabs from the kitchen did actually form part of the vault in which he was placed, in his favorite valley beneath the willows, and near We have in our possession a small signal- the fountain whose crystal waters had so book, which was used at St. Helena during often refreshed him. This abode, therefore, the period of Napoleon's exile. The following is not invested with the same interest as his passages will give some idea of the system of real residence, well-named the "Old House vigilance which it was thought necessary to at Longwood;" for a more crazy, wretched, exercise, lest the world should again be sud-filthy barn, it would scarcely be possible to denly uproused by the appearance of the meet with; and many painful emotions have French emperor on the battle-plains of Eu-filled my heart during nearly a four-years? rope. It is not for me to offer any opinion on sojourn on "the rock;" as I have seen French such a system, but I take leave to say that I soldiers and sailors march gravely and deconever yet heard any British officer acknowl-rously to the spot, hallowed, in their eyes, of edge that he would have accepted the author- course, by its associations with their invisi ity of governor under the burden of the duties ble, but unforgotten idol, and degraded, it. must be admitted, by the change it has un * Napoleon's dining-room lamp, from Longwood, is, I believe, still in the possession of the 91st Regiment, it having been purchased by the officers at St. Helena in 1836, |