200 Duke d'Enghien-Moreau. account that he has involved millions of men, (I might say all his contemporaries,) and the most flourishing empires, in this ruin,-but merely consider here his own inexpressible misery, for which he has to thank nothing but the prodigious exertions of his own energies. Buonaparte might have been happy himself, and have made others happy, for he was richly endowed by nature and genius Knowledge of mankind, which he abused till he was himself at length deceived by it; an extraordinary influence over the minds of his followers; personal bravery; the coup-d'œil of the experienced commander; a rare talent for inflaming the ardour of an army; uncommon address and a caution which forsook him in the same ratio as he imagined that he had no far ther occasion for it; a perseverance to whose power he himself is now obliged to submit, (for to such a degree is it degenerated that even his reason can no longer set bounds to his obstinacy); undaunted boldness and presence of mind in the most imminent dangers-how high these and other great qualities might have raised him, had not his innate coldblooded cruelty, his passions which know no bounds, his ambition and thirst of glory, his supreme contempt of mankind and of all rights human and divine, irre sistibly hurried him away, it is impossible to calculate It admits not of a doubt, that a man endued with those qualities might, by the power of reason, have obtained the ascendancy over his baneful propensities, if on the one hand the base slaves who surrounded him and found their advantage in his misdeeds, and on the other self-delusion, and the deceitful phantom of earthly greatness and glory, had not urged him forward to the fatal abyss. When in Egypt, Buonaparte is said to have given the English a solemn promise to use his influence to restore peace and prosperity to the yet unhappy French, under the sceptre of their deeply-injured and legitimate sovereign. Though I am not sufficiently acquainted with this fact to be able to assert its authenticity, yet it seems to be confirmed by subsequent How soon this charm was dispelled after he had signed the act of his abdication, appears from the following extract of a let ter, written by one of his former courtiers, and dated April 6, 1814: Le lache veut même survivre à sa gloire. Ce dernier trait le rend à nos yeux le dernier des hommes. On s'occupe en ce moment de lui assûrer un sort puisqu' enfin il persiste à vivre!-EDITOR. [April 1, events, and to be almost proved by his own words on occasion of the murder of the Duke d'Enghien. The morning after this atrocious deed, he observed to one of my friends: Les Anglois s'ob stinent encore à persister dans l'erreur que je ne suis qu'un fonctionnaire des Bourbons; pour le coup je viens de leur prouver que je travaille pour moi-même. I can pledge myself for the truth of this anecdote. It is generally known with what petty artifices he contrived to interest the French on the score of his health, when he asked his physician how long he was likely to live, and received for answer: "Perhaps three years, if you continue to sacrifice yourself as you have done :” to which he replied, "That will be time enough for me." By way of contrast, I may refer to the well-k own expression when assuming the imperial dignity-he wished to live thirty years longer; though he would before have been satisfied with three. Never did truth escape his lips; he was no more in carnest about the thirty years than about the three; but his real mortification was, that he could not live for ever, as he acted the god on earth in every other respect. In 180! he asked General Lannes, "To whom would the French look up if I were to die?"-" To whom else but to Moreau?" replied the general, without reserve. Buonaparte turned pale as death; and from that moment Moreau's ruin was decreed. With all his power this was no very easy matter to accomplish. Moreau enjoyed the respect of the world, and the love of the army; to him France owed the fairest portion of her acquisitions; and never had he stained the glory of the conqueror by the abuse of power. Though it was impos sible for the sneaking villany of Buonaparte and his creatures to attach any stigma to a character so pure and unimpeachable, whether considered as a man or a hero, yet from that period they heaped upon him every kind of mortification. No opportunity was neglected to hurt the feelings of his wife, a lady equally distinguished for beauty and virtue; and as no flaw could be found in her reputation, she was cha racterized as proud and ostentatious, and his mother-in-law as avaricious and intriguing; while his friends of both sexes had to encounter, without even suspecting the reason, every possible disappointment, and a thousand obsta cles in their plans of promotion and prosperity. I doubt much whether all 1815.] Execution of Georges-Lajolais-Josephine. these secret machinations ever came to the knowledge of Moreau, or if they did, whether they ever disturbed his serenity. How far Moreau was implicated in the last abortive attempt of the French in Vendée to put an end to their calami ties, in the confederacy of Georges and Pichegru, I am totally ignorant; this, however, I know, that Buonaparte dared to brand a man of such acknowledged integrity, the benefactor of France, through the medium of his servile tools before the tribunals, with the appellation of brigand-to confiscate his property-and to doom him to exile; but he failed in every attempt to take away his life. Je suis magnanime, said he very often, je n'aurois qu'à faire fusiller Moreau au Temple et publier un manifeste, et tout seroit dit. But after pausing some time to observe the effect of these words, he would add, Mais je n'en ferai rien, il vivra. In regard to this one man, whose memory must he ever dear to France, he learned with fury that there were limits which his will could not pass; and from the shores of the New World, Moreau's image often terrified him in the midst of the most extravagant dreams of his inordinate ambition. Every one still recollects from the public prints the day of horror in the summer of 1804, when, after the exile of Moreau, all the atrocities of the Revolution were forcibly recalled to the memory of the dejected Parisians by the public spectacle of the decapitation of twelve of the conspirators by the guillotine in the Place de Grêve. Enghien's death had preceded that day, when Georges and his accomplices fell beneath the axe of the executioner. The traitor Lajolais, aid-de-camp to Georges, was ostensibly apprehended and ostensibly sentenced to die, but afterwards pardoned, because Madame Murat and Madame Louis unexpectedly brought his daughter to St. Cloud, to implore mercy for her father. Nobody was deceived by this farce; but every thing that tended to undeceive was now too late, Buonaparte had thrown his net with complete success; all France was enveloped in it, and all Europe into the bar gain, with the exception of England, and those distant monarchies which were too powerful, or too deeply engaged in founding their own prosperity to concern themselves much about him and his plans, or then to foresee in them the future misery of Europe. When I was informed in December, 201 1803, that in the following year Buona- The chimera which Buonaparte followed with the greatest ardour was the invasion of England. He was deeply sensible that England, owing to her firm and lofty national spirit, the integrity of her principles, and her extensive influence, would never cease to oppose him. The brother of a notorious female writer, who to all her moral stains contracted during the R volution adds that of having been a spy of Buonaparte's government, had no soner communicated his plan of flat-bottomed boats, by means of which 400,000 men might be transported in twelve hours, than this mad project flattered the mind of the con 202 Flotilla for the Invasion of England. queror with all the hopes of practicability, and he proceeded to its execution, The Bateaux Plats, 25,000 in number, were constructed, as were at a later period the 500 windmills that were to accompany the troops to Russia, and to secure them effectually from the want of bread. During the building of the Báteaur Plats several sculptors were employed in the atteliers of the Louvre, withr closed doors, in preparing models of a medal to commemorate the subjugation of the British empire. The model of Lorenzo Bartolini, a Florentine artist, obtained the approbation of the First Consul, and a die was taken from it. I have had in my hand one of these medals in gold, with the likeness of the conqueror, and on the reverse a representation of Hercules strangling the triple-headed monster, and I must confess that on more than one account it excited my astonishment. This medal was ready in February, 1804. In June the pretty, light, ingenious vessels were nailed together, and the troops already organized for the invasion of England. The requisite artillery lined the shore; the boats themselves were supplied with provisions of all kinds, linen, and other necessaries; and about 500 men were posted as sentinels in and about this flotilla as it lay in the port. A wind, that was indeed rather violent for a summer's night, unexpectedly rose, and was so rude as to separate these Bateaux Plats, and send them, sentinels, biscuit, and all, to the bottom. The expenses of this enterprise were estimated at 20,000,000 francs, to say nothing of the lives of the men who perished on the occasion. One truly important result of this misadventure was that Bartolini's medal was not introduced into the numerous collection of memorials of that kind which have appeared during Buonaparte's reign. While the Bâteaux Plats were building, it was reported that a centinel at the door of the Museum had found a match and a quantity of powder. What could be more natural than the idea that the English had formed a plan for blowing up the Raphael and Apollo Belvidere? Ces scelerats! exclaimed Buonaparte, je les retrouve partout, je veux les exterminer tous! The precautions taken by Buonaparte for his personal safety were infinite. The most skilful workmen were selected to arrange the interior of his apartments according to his particular directions. Whoever entered his rooms could not of [April 1, himself find the way out again. He seldom sleeps two nights together in the same chamber. He never opens a letter or a book for fear of an explosion or poison; he never goes to any house till he has had the cellars and lower part searched, and every possible precaution taken to prevent the concourse of people. Since February, 1805, he has constantly worn strong armour under his clothes, and he causes all his food, both victuals and drink, to be tasted before he will touch it. At all the theatres to which he goes there is built a private walled passage, which is lined with guards, to his box. At the Theatre Français there is an iron gate at the entrance of this passage, through which certainly one may look and fire too, but to prevent the possibility of such an attempt, this gate, which at other times is always kept locked, is guarded both within and without whenever he intends to come to the house. All his boxes have blinds, which he can pull up to any height, or let down when he pleases. When he visit the Museum, the Library, and other places, all persons resident in the building receive notice to keep quiet in their apartments. When he appears abroad police officers are stationed at the corners of all the streets through which he means to go, to prevent other carriages from entering till the Emperor has passed. Thus, ever since his return from Egypt, whence the spirits of his victims poisoned and massacred at Jaffa pursue him, his whole life has been an uninterrupted series of torment; and it would be an imputation upon divine wisdom to doubt that his end, whenever it comes, will be as memorable and instructive as his life has been horrible and atrocious. MR. EDITOR, THOUGH the day of metaphysics may be said to be gone by, yet the body, spirit, and soul, both here and hereafter, are still of sufficient importance to be considered seriously and rationally, particularly when an idea occurs that may seem likely to aid the cause of revelation. With all those who believe in the immortality of the soul, that it will be separated by death from the body, and that the two will be finally reunited at the last day, with the addition of the spirit, or animal life, or at least something analogous to it, it is naturally an object of curiosity to enquire in what manner those various changes will take place. But as the state of things after death must be totally dif 1815.] On the State of the Soul after Death. ferent from any ideas that we possess in life, it becomes naturally and morally impossible, even if one should rise from the dead, that we could understand his story, for want of proper words to express the new facts. Something, however, even of that state, we do know from scripture; yet if we examine the New Testament, and endeavour to form a theory of immortality, as others have done before us, a considerable difficulty will arise from apparently contradictory statements. One part of the New Testament appears to justify the belief that the soul, in the act of death, is separated from the body totally, and immediately passes into a state of happiness or misery, whilst the body waits for the final judgment; but if that were the case absolutely, their final judgment would be unnecessary, as the soul would have already been judged precisely as the body must finally be,—a belief that does not tally exactly with the precise words of the scripture in other places. Other parts of scripture have been interpreted as justifying the idea that both soul and body remain unconscious and quiescent until the final judgment. Now Sir, both of these opinions cannot be right, though one of them may; but which to take is the apparent difficulty. The Romish church indeed endeavours to get clear of all doubt by means of a very profitable belief that there is an intermediate limbo or purgatory, where all souls go to expiate past offences, and of which they may be relieved sooner or later, provided the priest is well paid for his masses and requiems; but surely the absurdity of this must be glaring, when Christ himself has said that he was the Expiation, of which we may derive all the benefits if we believe and act, whilst Living, so as to apply that expiatory sacrifice to ourselves, by repentance and by a new life. The doctrine of purgatory therefore falls to the ground, particularly when we recollect that it is asserted in scripture, in the plainest and most intelligible language, that as man dies, so will be his final judgment! thereby rendering all attempts at expiation, after death, totally useless, except for the purpose of filling the coffers of an imposing priesthood. In short, the only difficulty is to reconcile the apparently clashing assertions of the New Testament. Now, Sir, it is a curious fact, that in many instances the common language of mankind upon sub 203 jects they did not understand, has been found perfectly compatible with truth, when that truth has been elucidated. Let us then examine the subject upon that principle, an idea which a few days ago flashed upon my mind whilst investigating the principles of an extraordinary dream; an investigation begun solely with respect to the feelings of the living mind, but which led me to the contemplation of death. Some very wise heads may perhaps laugh at this, but let it be recollected that I offer not a theory, but merely propose a hint for the purpose of shewing that both assertions in scripture may be rationally reconcilable, even in our imperfect state of knowledge with respect to futurity. "To It is common to talk of the "sleep of death,"-and Shakspeare says, die-to sleep-perchance to dream!" Indeed there are many other very com mon expressions on this subject which it must be superfluous to enumerate; but let us first analyze sleep and dreams, as far as we can, and then see how far an analogy may be applied to death itself. When we sleep, and sleep soundly, we remain in that state until the necessary degree of refreshment sets our body and senses at liberty, or until some exterior, or interior stimulus produces the aot of awaking, or a state something intermediate. In a sound sleep all voluntary motion of the body ceases; but there are involuntary motions that continue, produced, as we may suppose, by the animal life, or the spirit, as it is called," the breath of life;" and the soul and mind, whether they are one or two, are quiescent and unconscious, as far as we know, until we awaken, when all consciousness or recollection of intermediate events is totally denied us. If an exterior stimulus is applied, such as shaking, the noise of thunder, or a cannonade, or even a curtain lecture, &c. we either awake outright, or only partially, and in the latter case we dream. Again, if an interior stimulus takes place from the state of the stomach or bowels, or other causes not easily developed, we are either awaked totally or partially; if in the latter mode, we dream, and our dreams often have a reference to, or connection with the particular stimulus. Indeed, it may happen that we even fall asleep only partially, and continue during the whole night in a state of dreaming. These are facts so plain and simple, that nobody will deny them. But let us proceed a little further. 204 Surnames derived from Birds. When we dream, it is evident that me mory is awake, by our consciousness of persons and things, known and seen, beforehand: fancy too is at work in combining and arranging these remembered ideas, and sometimes in the way that imagination might do if we were awake: but reason seems totally asleep! To prevent all cavilling at the use of these words, I will premise that I consider memory as a faculty of the mind, and perhaps as a part of the soul acting upon, and acted upon by some part of the material body; by fancy I mean the power of arranging ideas when dreaming, and by imagination the power of arranging them when awake: but neither of these has the power of comparing them, which is the task of reason, and which latter, whilst we dream, is still asleep. I may add also, that in this proposed investigation, I consider the mind and all its faculties as forming part of a grand whole, of which the soul is the principal component. Now, it is evident that in a dream (as far as we can determine) the soul is unconscious, whilst certain faculties of the mind are in a state of activity; sufficiently so indeed to be conscious of identity with the body, but totally ignorant of the state in which that body actually is at the moment. In that state too we suffer pleasure and pain, even supposing the body and mind to be equally under the influence of one of these passions, but are totally unconscious of all ideas of past events, except those points of memory that are awake, for we often dream of conversing with those who are really dead; nay, imagine ourselves in the most distant countries, whilst we are slumbering in a London attic. Now, Sir, let us suppose, for it is but supposition, that in the act of death, as in the act of sleep, the body sleeps by the extinction, or quiescence, or removal of the animal life; that the soul is likewise quiescent and unconscious, but where or how is beyond all supposition; that, as in a dream, part of the mental faculties, either as distinct from, or as part of the soul, are awake, so as to be un der the influence of memory to such an extent as to be susceptible of pleasure of pain; that they are conscious of their identity with the specific human body to which they belong, but as little sensible of its then state, as they were whilst dreaming, unconscious of its being asleep on a down bed, or on a truss of straw! Let us suppose that the body decays, [April 1, just as it slept, unknown to the mind or soul; that as much of the soul's faculties, or of the mental faculties with the soul itself, sleep as took place during life; let us suppose that this dream of death, is a dream of happiness or misery, continuing until the last great day, when man shall awake, and, being conscious of his situation, shall finally be judged,→→→ and when we have supposed all these things, may we not allow that the two apparently contending statements in scripture are perfectly compatible with each other, and in strict consonance with our common sense? It may be said, that our inference of this theory would be, that after death we shall be totally unconscious of the friends we have left behind-but that does not absolutely follow. There may be more consciousness in the dream of death than in the mere dream of life; and if in such a state man could be made sensible of the happy effects resulting from his vir tues, or the dreadful consequences of his vices, it would have a striking resemblance to the state of a living conscience! But to investigate the subject further is needless, and would trespass too much upon your limits; I shall therefore conclude with a hope that it will be admitted that no absolute contradiction necessarily and imperatively results from the apparently contradictory scripture statement respecting a state of immortality. CERBERUS. MR. EDITOR, HAVING taken notice of the letter on the derivation of names in your magazine for February 1, I herewith send you a list, which I have been for some time collecting, which shews how much we are indebted to the feathered tribe for our names; and if you think it worthy of a place in your useful and amusing work, shall be glad to have it inserted, in hopes it may be enlarged by some of your readers. Bird, Eagle, Eagles, Kite, Buzzard, Gleed, Falcon, Hawk, Goldhawk, Sparrowhawk, Hobby, Merlin, Raven, Rook, Crow, Daw, Cookoo (alabourer at Sutton in Surrey,) Cock, Hen, Fowls, Chicken, Chick (at Bruton, Somerset,) Capon, Bustard, Starling, Stare, Partridge, Quail, Woodcock, Goose, Snipe (a midshipman,) Gander, Wildgoose, Gosling, Greygoose (examined as a witness in the Court of King's Bench, Nov. 14, 1806,) Gannet, Duck, Mallard, Drake, Sheldrake, Widgeon,Teal,Plover, Curlew,Gull, Moorhen, |