h dwells alone, whose memories of the past can
bring no gladness, and whose future lies cheerless and blank before it.

He spent his time chiefly in reading, riding on horseback, and digging
in his garden. He was fond of amusing himself with children, and would
join in all their little sports. He employed himself, also, in writing
the memoirs of his own campaigns. "Let us live on the past," he said.
But ah! what satisfaction could a view of his past life have afforded
him? Those who have lived only for this world must never expect anything
but self-reproach in reviewing the opportunities of usefulness which
they have lost, and the precious talents they have misemployed. What a
favorable opportunity, however, was afforded to Napoleon in his solitude
at St. Helena, of examining his past life. Happy would it have been for
him if he had diligently used the time thus given him in mourning for
his sins, and humbling himself for the misapplication of the vast
talents entrusted to his charge.

[Illustration: Napoleon at St. Helena. (Page 83.)]

That he sometimes thought of the subject of religion, indeed, is
evident, if we believe a conversation which Count Monthoton, one of his
attendants, has recorded. "Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and myself,"
Napoleon is represented to have said, "founded empires upon force! Jesus
Christ alone founded His empire upon love; and at this hour millions of
men would die for Him. I die before my time, and my body will be given
back to the earth to become food for worms. Such is the fate which so
soon awaits him who has been called the Great Napoleon! what a
difference between my deep misery and the eternal kingdom of Christ,
which is proclaimed, loved, and adored, and which is extending over the
whole earth. Call you this dying? Is it not living rather? The death of
Christ is the death of a God!" Napoleon became every day more and more
unhappy. He used to feed some fish in a pond, but they sickened and
died. "Everything that I love," said he, "leaves me: everything that
belongs to me is stricken!"

At last the event came which released him from all his earthly sorrows.
A painful disease, called cancer in the stomach, attacked him; and,
after considerable suffering, he expired on the 5th of May, 1821. The
night of his dissolution was a terrible one; a fearful storm was raging
all around. Napoleon had, for some hours, been insensible; towards six
o'clock in the evening, however, he pronounced