over it apparently. He examined it very curious-like, inside and out, sat down here under the great chimney, and leant his chin upon his stick, and looked very fixed-like. He seemed as if he saw a whole company in the room before him, and smiled to himself; and then he got up and clambered up them old steps there, into the rooms above, where the old beds is, and walked about, and looked out at the windows, and sounded the flooring."

"How do you know it was Sir Walter Scott?" we enquired.

"I don't know nothing about it, except from hearsay," said the man. "I was one of the down-boys that drove him, and I heard he was the great book-writer, that everybody was mad about. He hadn't Sir' tacked to his name at that time. He earnt that, I heard, afterwards."

A flight of steps at the extremity of the Crown yard, and which are built up amidst the massive ruins of the ancient outwarks, leads into a sort of pleasaunce of the castle, and we are immediately in the vicinity of, and indeed within the "roundure of its old faced walls." Here we wander amidst fruit-trees and flowering shrubs, and fragments of outworks of immense strength, which are reared on the banks of the rapid stream, in a perfect scene of the past. Every glimpse of the magnificent tower of Gundulph, as we approach and catch sight of it amidst the foliage of the garden, speaks of the fierce contentions of the Norman period, when war was the business of life, and when kings struggled amidst a bright host and with all the pomp and pride of chivalry. Helm and shield and blazoned banner, seem here as if still pertaining to the locality. The very spirit of the knightly and the noble-a sort of Plantagenet spirit, if we may so term it, seems to breathe in the neighbouring air. Yes, as we gaze around we feel that we are standing upon the very ground and beside those thick-ribbed towers where the fierce contentions and desperate conflicts-those fiery encounters in which mailed knights stood in opposition hand to hand-had taken place during the many sieges this castle has sustained. Here, in the immediate neighbourhood in which we stand, the barons of England, nay, even the kings, with the lion of England embroidered upon their glittering surcoats, from seam to seam, have smote with deadly hand, amidst the din, the turmoil, and the shout of horrid war-the war of "pomp, pride, and circumstance"-in which the heraldic device upon the shield, the gonfalon, the pennon, the bright armour, and the gilded trappings of the combatants, lent a lustre to the deadly and raging field, which our own smoke-enveloped and noisy system knows not.

THE TWO FUNERALS OF NAPOLEON.

BY ROBERT POSTANS.

But where is he, the champion and the child

Of all that's great or little, wise or wild?

Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones?
Whose table earth-whose dice was human bones?

Behold the grand result in yon lone isle,

And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile. BYRON.

THE change from the calm to the tempest-from the deep and impressive solitudes of the ocean, to the busiest haunts of men-from savage to civilized life, are prominent examples of the mutations to which seamen are liable. And these events sometimes follow in such rapid succession, and are of such varied import, that even their truthful narration appears as though decked in the borrowed hues of fiction. To use an uneasy metaphor a sailor may be said to be a naval knighterrant, with the ocean for his steed, upon which he rides in quest of adventure. Thus mounted, he sometimes stumbles upon sights as rare, and scenes as beautiful, as any that are to be found in the storybooks of yore; and perhaps there are but few who will deny that the pages of Dampier and Captain Cook are as full of chivalry as the Chronicles of Froissart, or that before the majestic daring of Columbus all knighthood pales.

These notions received additional strength, as my eyes fell upon the subjoined sentence inscribed in an old log-book, which I had just then discovered, somewhat mildewed and moth-eaten, at the bottom of a sea-chest.

The Free Trader Homeward Bound, May 5th, 1821.

A MEMORABLE EVENT OCCURRED THIS DAY.

Apparently, at the time these words were written, it was supposed that they would be sufficient to recall to the memory, at a future period, the circumstance they so briefly recorded, for my old journal said nothing more about it. True, it was further stated lower down on the same page with genuine nautical brevity under the head of

Remarks.

"All useful sail set."

"Bent the best bower."

"Pumped ship."

"A stranger in sight," to which was added

"Lat. by observation 16′ 30′′ south, Long. 5′ 30′′ west.

Assisted by the latitude and longitude, as well as by the date, I made two or three desperate dives into the stream of time, hoping to rescue from oblivion the "event," and, after a hard struggle, succeeded in bringing to the surface of my memory, the leading incident, and then the whole affair floated through my mind with all the freshness of yesterday. And, perhaps, it will be as well to state, for the information of the general reader, that on the day in question, the Free Trader was running before the south east trade wind, over that aqueous portion of our planet, which rolls between the Cape of Good Hope and the island of St. Helena.

From what has been stated, it was evident that the "memorable event" had been dismissed in too summary a manner, and, indeed, circumstances, after the lapse of a quarter of a century, have induced me to take up the scanty detail at that moment, when the morning sun first broke upon the white caps of the waves, with the Indiaman upon their crests tipped and gilded with his light.

It was my morning watch, and I recollect leaning over the capstan, and lapsing into one of those paradoxical states, when, although attending to nothing in particular, yet almost every object within the range of our senses undergoes a sort of dreamy observation. I could see the man at the helm, and note how firm he kept the plunging ship in hand, his sinewy grasp seemed by a secret intelligence to impress his will upon the vast mass of the vessel. Without disturbing the process of observation, a shoal of porpoises would occasionally rush along, pursuing their earnest and busy passage at a velocity, compared with which the progress of the swift ship was tardiness itself, for I could hear the hissing of the crisp sea as it curled into a crescent of foam beneath her bows. Then came the busy hum of the "morning watch," mingling with the welcome sound of "eight bells," and the merry whistle of the boatswain piping to breakfast. The motion of the rolling vessel-the freshness of the delicious south-east trade-the thoughts of home-the dancing waters, and the sparkling sunshine, each of these, in their turn, would for a moment slightly arrest the attention, but vigilance is a cardinal virtue in old Neptune's domain, and bustling times were close at hand. A ship in the middle of the Atlantic, with a rattling south-easter, whistling through the rigging, is not the bed where day-dreaming can be indulged in with impunity, and so it soon appeared, for a hoarse voice from the main topmast cross-trees, as if by magic, dispelled the illusion, and brought my senses to their duty.

"Sail, ho!"

"Where away?" was the prompt demand.

"Right ahead," returned the seaman. "I make her out a full rigged ship lying to."

The officer of the watch had barely time to apply his "Dollond," in the direction indicated, when the man aloft was again heard shouting.

"Land on the larboard bow."

As the Free Trader had been traversing the ocean for weeks, with nothing to relieve the eye, but "The blue above, and the blue below," the excitement which was caused by the discovery of the stranger, coupled with the sudden cry of "Land," is not surprising. For it is in the deep solitudes of the ocean, that man most keenly feels how dependent he is upon his kind for happiness. In such situations the most trifling incident arrests the attention-a floating spar, or even an old tar-barrel, become objects of speculative curiosity. Accordingly, as we neared the strange ship, the cut of her canvas, and the mould of her hull, were critically examined by the more experienced seamen, who can generally guess from the appearance they present, not only the nation to which a ship belongs, but her occupation also, But, on the present occasion, they were puzzled to give a reason why a large vessel like the stranger, should be lying to, just where she was, (that seemed the mystery) and apparently waiting our approach.

This quiet bearing lasted until the Free Trader was in the act of passing the strange vessel, and then, as if suddenly roused out of her lethargy, a thin volume of white smoke was seen curling out of one of her forward ports. The explosion was followed by the appearance of a flag, which, after fluttering for an instant, blew steadily out, and much to our satisfaction, displayed the blue field and red cross of the English ensign.

"What ship's that?" bellowed a loud voice from our formidable looking neighbour, who had ranged alongside the Indiaman close enough to be within hailing distance.

"The Free Trader."

"Where from?" was demanded.

"Calcutta, and bound to London," replied our captain.

"Do you intend calling at the island?"

"Yes!"

"Then send a boat on board his majesty's frigate, the Blossom, for instructions," was demanded in tones that left no doubt what would be the result of a non-compliance.

An interchange of visits speedily followed between the frigate and the Indiaman, and soon after they were sailing side by side in the direction of the land, keeping company until the Free Trader had received such sailing directions as enabled her to stand in for the island alone. The frigate then took up her cruising ground as before.

It would require but a slight stretch of the imagination, to convert the perpendicular cliffs of St. Helena into the enormous walls of a sea-girt castle. There is an air of stern and solemn gloom, stamped by nature upon each rocky lineament, that reminds one of the characteristics of a stronghold. Not a sign of vegetation is outwardly visible. Headland after headland appears, each in its turn looking more repulsive than those left behind. The sea-birds, as they utter their discordant screams, seem afraid to alight, but wheel about the lofty summits of the bald rocks in a labyrinth of gyrations; while an everlasting surf, as it advances in incessant charges at their base, rumbles upon the ear in a hollow ceaseless roar.

It was during the operations of working the Free Trader round one of the points of the island, that the heavy booming sound of a large gun was heard, slowly borne up against the wind over the surface of the sea. As the sun was just then dipping in the bosom of the Atlantic, it was generally thought on board to be the eveninggun. But again the same solemn heavy sound floated by on the wind. Again and again it came in measured time, when at length, as we cleared the last projecting headland, the roadstead and the town came suddenly into view. At the same time the colours at the fort on Ladder Hill, and on board the admiral's ship the Vigo, of 74 guns, were seen fluttering at half-mast, denoting the death of some person of distinction.

While sailing into our berth, and after the anchor had fixed us to the land, the reports of the cannon came upon us at intervals. Their sounds seemed bodeful of some great event. We all looked inquiringly for some explanation, but before any positive intelligence had reached the ship from the shore, surmise after surmise had given way to a settled conviction; for by one of those inscrutable impulses of the mind, every man in the Free Trader felt assured those island guns announced the death of Napoleon.

Our suspense was brief, for soon after the anchor was down, a shore boat came alongside, containing an official person, to demand the nature of our wants, and he confirmed our suspicions. This intelligence, although anticipated, created a feeling of disappointment, as every individual in the ship had speculated during the voyage upon the chance of seeing Napoleon alive. However, by an easy transition, now that he was dead, we wondered whether we should be permitted to witness his funeral; but as no communication was allowed from the ships in the roads to the shore between the hours of sundown and sunrise, we were obliged to pass the night in conjecture. Under these circumstances, we were scarcely prepared for the news that reached us early in the morning. It was a general notice to all strangers and residents, informing them that they were permitted to visit the island and witness the ceremony of the body of General Buonaparte as it lay in state.

After the lapse of six-and-twenty years, and now, when the passions of that mighty conflict which filled Europe in the early part of the century are extinct, it would be difficult to make the present generation comprehend the profound emotions which this news had upon those who, like ourselves, happened to be at St. Helena at this eventful period. Consequently, on the second day after Napoleon's death, nearly every individual on the island, as well as those in the different vessels at anchor in the roads, repaired to Longwood, the place where he died.

Of course the house was thronged with people, but as the greatest order prevailed, I was soon in the room with all that was left of the most wondrous man of modern times. Suddenly coming out of the glare of a tropical sun into a partially darkened room, a few moments elapsed before the objects were properly defined. Gradually, as the contents of the apartment tumbled into shape, the person of Napoleon, dressed in a plain green uniform, grew out of the comparative gloom, and became the loadstar of attraction.

He was lying on a small brass tent bedstead, which had been with him in most of his campaigns. I found it impossible to withdraw my eyes for an instant from his countenance: it caused in me a sensation difficult to define, but the impression can never be forgotten. There was a crucifix on his breast, and by its side glittered large diamond star, the brilliancy of which strangely contrasted with the pallid face of the dead. The skin was of a most intense whiteness, and looked like wax.

What struck me as most strange was the mean appearance of the surrounding furniture, and of the "getting up" of the ceremony. Few people in England, or indeed in France, would credit the dilapidated state of the apartment. It was literally swarming with rats and other vermin. There appeared, however, to be no want of respect to the memory of the dead hero, whatever might have been his treatment when living. But the knowledge of this tardy justice did not prevent a comparison between his fallen state in that rat-pestered chamber and the magnificence and power with which imagination invested him when living. And although it may be idle to compare

It is a well-known fact, that after Napoleon's body was opened, his heart was placed in a vessel in this room, and that during the night a rat devoured a large portion of it.