[[100]]over to this country, that he might pass the remainder of his days under the blessings of our so-much-boasted constitution, as being "the envy and admiration of the whole world!" What milder appellation than "demon," therefore, did his lordship deserve, when, violating every principle of hospitality, he took advantage of Napoleon's faith in such promises, and seized upon the opportunity it afforded him of arresting the emperor as a prisoner of war, and of sending him to a barren rock, far from his wife, child, and friends, to be a prey to an unwholesome climate, and the rude insults of a mean and pitiful man like Sir Hudson Lowe!

"Great God of war, and was it so
That Britons crush'd a fallen foe!
Had Wellington been taken,
(And there were chances on that day)
Would Bonaparte have used his sway,
And left him thus forsaken?"

Indeed, there was once a time when this same Lord Castlereagh might have been taken prisoner by Napoleon, which would most probably have been done, if the French emperor had possessed no loftier ideas of justice and honour than his lordship exhibited. This circumstance is related by Mr. O'Meara, in Bonaparte's own words, as follows:

"When Castlereagh was at Chatillon with the ambassadors of the allied powers, after some successes of mine, and when I had, in a manner, invested the town, he was greatly alarmed lest I might seize him and make him prisoner. Not being accredited as an ambassador, nor invested with any diplomatic character to France, I might have taken him as an enemy. He went to Caulincourt, to

[[101]]whom he mentioned that he laboured under considerable apprehensions that I should cause violent hands to be laid upon him, as he acknowledged I had a right to do. It was impossible for him to get away without falling in with my troops. Caulincourt replied, that as far as his opinion went, he would say that I should not meddle with him; but that he could not answer for what I might do. Immediately after, he (Caulincourt) wrote to me what Castlereagh had said, and his answer. I signified to him in reply, that he was to tell Castlereagh to make his mind easy, and stay where he was: that I would consider him as an ambassador. At Chatillon, (continued Bonaparte) when speaking about the liberty enjoyed in England, Castlereagh observed, in a contemptuous manner, that it was not the thing most to be esteemed in England; that it was an USAGE they were obliged to put up with; but that it had become an abuse, and would not answer for other countries."

It will thus be seen that GRATITUDE, at least, ought to have prompted different conduct in Lord Castlereagh towards Napoleon; instead of which, the charges brought against Sir Hudson Lowe by Mr. O'Meara were not only deemed unworthy of inquiry, but his lordship actually dismissed the accuser from the British service. Thus a deserving and generous-minded officer was ruined, without even a hearing, for merely attempting to do an act of justice to the exiled Emperor of France! The charges against Sir Hudson Lowe, however, remained the same, and this summary mode of revenge inflicted on Mr. O'Meara was not at all calculated to acquit Lord Castlereagh from sharing in the accusation of wantonly oppressing Napoleon. Could any thing tend more to criminate his lordship than the sudden punishment of the accuser, while in the act of preferring his complaint? Grant that Mr. O'Meara had misconducted himself, and that he had thus

[[102]]given his employer a right to dismiss him, surely he ought not, in common honesty, to have done so till he had first given him every opportunity of making good his charges. His lordship's readiness to stigmatize, and even silence him, in this manner, wore any appearance but that of an honourable anxiety to meet and to defy his adversary. We cannot devote space sufficient to bring forward the charges of Mr. O'Meara; but the inquirer will find himself amply repaid for his trouble by their perusal. As Sir Hudson Lowe can only be looked upon as a cowardly ruffian, who scrupled not to execute the orders of his superiors in office, however unjust they might be, the real odium of Napoleon's treatment and death must rest upon the government, of which Lord Castlereagh was the most active member. Mr. O'Meara was appointed medical attendant upon the emperor by this government, and his professional ability and private worth have never been questioned. If Lord Castlereagh, therefore, willed not the death of Napoleon, it was his duty to have removed those causes of complaint which Mr. O'Meara emphatically pointed out "would render Bonaparte's PREMATURE DEATH as inevitable as if it were to take place under the hands of the EXECUTIONER!" The public are aware how fatally this prediction was fulfilled; but the whole evidence of Mr. O'Meara would carry conviction to the mind of any man who had not previously determined to disbelieve truth. Indeed, he has been confirmed in many essential points of his statements by the

[[103]]admissions of either the governor's advocates or the governor himself. One of these advocates stated that Mr. O'Meara was discharged for disobeying orders; but of what nature were those orders? The governor wanted him to act as a spy upon the emperor, and to sign false reports of the state of his health! Consequently, Mr. O'Meara did indignantly refuse to perform such a base and cruel service; and what man of honour and principle would not have done the same? A refusal of this kind reflects no disgrace upon Mr. O'Meara, but will rather hand his name down to posterity as one deserving better treatment than he unfortunately experienced.

In contemplating the manifold deprivations to which Napoleon ultimately fell a victim, we cannot help remarking upon one peculiar trait of the human mind,—that of being more moved by fiction than reality; for a tale of imaginary woe will excite more exquisite feeling, more real sympathy, than the severest reverses of fortune which may have occurred in our time, or which may be even present to our view! If Napoleon, for instance, had been an ideal personage, and the history of his life had been made the subject of romance or poetry, what mind so dull but would have moralized upon the vicissitude of human affairs?—what heart so cold but would have felt some commiseration for the captive? But when all that a poet's fancy could have formed and blended of surprising extremes, to raise the interest of the reader in the hero of the tragedy, had

[[104]]actually occurred and been signally manifested in this extraordinary man,—when he, who at one time was raised to an elevation and possessed a power never enjoyed by any other individual, was hurled headlong from his height to the abyss of humiliation, was imprisoned, exiled, captive, and forlorn,—how happened it that the feelings of our nature were not to take their accustomed course, that the sources of sympathy were to be dried up, and compassion, which had hitherto been considered amongst the most amiable of virtues, was all at once to lose its very essence and property, and not only not to be numbered amongst our weaknesses, but catalogued amongst our crimes? For the prevalence of this disposition,—which, alas! was too observable even among those classes in whom education and the intercourse of enlightened society would have naturally led to an expectation of better feelings and sounder conclusions on the subject,—it is difficult to account; unless it be true in morals, as in mechanics, that the motion may be continued when the impulse has ceased, and that to this we must refer the state of national feeling at the time Napoleon was suffering an accumulation of indignities at St. Helena. Since his death, however, the injustice and inhumanity of his treatment have been freely acknowledged and severely commented on; and there is every reason to believe that his great name will be finally rescued from that misrepresentation which interested writers have endeavoured to surround all his actions.