orget everything";
but facts were indelibly stamped upon his mind. He referred back to the
year _one_ with as much facility as a person of the rising generation
invokes the shade of some deed dead a few years. I looked with wonder
upon a person who remembered Napoleon Bonaparte as a slender young man,
and listened with delight to a voice from so dim a past. "I was in
Paris," said Landor one day, "at the time that Bonaparte made his
entrance as First Consul. I was standing within a few feet of him when
he passed, and had a capital good look at him. He was exceedingly
handsome then, with a rich olive complexion and oval face, youthful as a
girl's. Near him rode Murat, mounted upon a gold-clad charger,--and very
handsome he was too, but coxcombical."

Like the rest of human kind, Landor had his prejudices,--they were very
many. Foremost among them was an antipathy to the Bonaparte family. It
is not necessary to have known him personally to be aware of his
detestation of the first Napoleon, as in the conversation between
himself, an English and a Florentine visitor, he gives expression to a
generous indignation, which may well be inserted here, as it contains
the pith of what Landor repeated in many a social talk. "This Holy
Alliance will soon appear unholy to every nation in Europe. I despised
Napoleon in the plenitude of his power no less than others despise him
in the solitude of his exile: I thought him no less an impostor when he
took the ermine, than when he took the emetic. I confess I do not love
him the better, as some mercenaries in England and Scotland do, for
having been the enemy of my country; nor should I love him the less for
it, had his enmity been principled and manly. In what manner did this
cruel wretch treat his enthusiastic admirer and humble follower,
Toussaint l'Ouverture? He was thrown into a subterranean call, solitary,
dark, damp, pestiferously unclean, where rheumatism racked his limbs,
and where famine terminated his existence." Again, in his written
opinions of Caesar, Cromwell, Milton, and Bonaparte, Landor criticises
the career of the latter with no fondness, but with much truth, and
justly says, that "Napoleon, in the last years of his sovereignty,
fought without aim, vanquished without glory, and perished without
defeat."

Great as was Landor's dislike to the uncle, it paled before his
detestation of the reigning Emperor,--a detestation too general to be
designated an idiosyncrasy on the