There was no bond of sympathy between it and a Bourbon, and to serve him after being the prop and pride of Napoleon was as mortifying as to be taunted by the stranger. In fact there was something twice as regal about the bearing and aspect of the Guard, as there was in the king himself. Still Louis commenced by flattering and caressing it. He eulogized it and was prodigal of promises. He told the marshals that he wished to look upon the Guard as his stay and defence, and went so far as to toast it at a public dinner. But he could make no advance in its affections--proud of its old renown, sore from recent humiliations, nothing seemed able to satisfy it. To complete and make permanent the breach, the king ordered the tri-color to be thrown aside. It was decreed that the mere wearing of it should be considered open rebellion. This was accusing those who composed the Old Guard of crime, when under these colors they were shedding their blood on the soil of France to keep it from being defiled by the foot of the stranger. But it was to them a cherished symbol reminding them of their deeds of renown. In many a deadly encounter they had clung to the tri-colored standard with a tenacity nothing could shake. They had pressed after it through fire and blood, and over ranks of living men. From the vortex of the battle, whither they had carried it, they had seen it emerge riddled with balls and singed with flame, but still triumphantly streaming in the wind. They had sworn to defend it, and die rather than surrender it, and no mortal power had ever been able to wrench it from their grasp. They had seen it wave by the pyramids and droop along the glaciers of the Alps. Over countless fortresses and cities they had lifted it in triumph. They had watched it fluttering amid the flames of Moscow, and closed firmly around it when beat upon by the storms of a Russian winter. It had watched with them around their frozen bivouacs, and had become endeared to them by a thousand struggles to preserve it untarnished; they had baptized it in their own blood, and it had been their companion through years of toil and suffering, and now to surrender it at the command of a Bourbon--to let it drop ignobly from their hands when through such perils and death struggles, they had held it with a firm grasp, filled them with indignation and grief. That tri-color flag had made the tour of Europe with them, and was at once the symbol of their glory and the history of their needs. Enraged at the command to exchange it for the white flag, many of the regiments burned their colors rather than part with them, and preserved the ashes as a sacred relic. Most of the soldiers wore the tri-colored cockade underneath the white one, and the eagles were hidden away to preserve them. They were changed into "the royal corps of France," but they had some mementoes left to show they were still the Old Guard of Napoleon.

But the old order of things was to be re-established, and not only were the national colors changed but the Guard itself underwent modifications so as to efface, as much as possible, the remembrance of the deeds that had immortalized it. Its officers were left in penury and want, and nobles of the old regime filled all places of honor and emolument.

This ridiculous conduct on the part of the king, completed the alienation of the Guard, and its bearing became so fierce and threatening that it was sent from Paris.

But the injustice and oppression under which it suffered did not produce such open indignation as the taunts and insults the officers and their wives received--the former from courtiers and the latter from even courtesans, who were in the favor of Louis, and the contemptible attacks in the newspapers on Napoleon. These latter called him a fool--declared that he had become an object of pity and derision, that all his troops had abandoned him gladly and returned to France to range themselves under the untarnished flag of the Bourbons. These things were discussed by officers and men in their quarters, and deep though smothered threats of vengeance uttered.

Soon after, a conspiracy was set on foot to bring back Napoleon. The officers of the Old Guard were deeply implicated in it, and occasional intimations reached the soldiers filling them with joy, for they burned to see their emperor once more in their midst. They were heard to say, "he will reappear to chase away with a look these emigrants who have insulted our ancient glory.
 

The Island of Elba was erected by the allies into a sovereignty for Napoleon, of which he took possession, May 4th. He who had swayed an empire that reached from the Baltic to the Mediterranean, and at whose imperial voice nearly a million and a half of men stood up in order of battle, now had a kingdom eight miles long and two miles broad, and an army of four hundred men to protect it. It was one of those terrible reverses of fortune it seems strange the human mind can endure without the overthrow of reason. To be hurled from the throne of such a vast empire and such heights of grandeur and power to the dominion of a little island, was a mockery more bitter to bear than death. Napoleon, however, met his fate with the dignity and serenity of a great mind. His first care on his arrival was his Old Guard. He organized it into six companies with a staff, and added a company of marines, and also a company of Polish lancers to which he gave the name of the "Squadron Napoleon." He provided clean and comfortable barracks, and all the necessaries of life for this little army, and then turned his attention to his new kingdom. Instead of sitting down in sullen gloom or devoting himself solely to pleasure in order to prevent time from hanging heavy on his hands, he went to work with the same zeal and cheerfulness he did, when an empire was under his control. He developed the resources of the island, and gave a new impulse to industry and commerce. He ordered new mines to be opened, grounds drained, and everything done to advance the interests or ameliorate the condition of his subjects.

He rose early in the morning, and accompanied by Bertrand or Drouot, rode over different parts of the island to see how his little kingdom was getting on. After breakfast he reviewed his miniature army, as he was accustomed to review the Old Guard in the court of the Tuileries. He would manœuvre these sometimes, for several hours. It seemed to amuse him and bring back those scenes of grandeur with which he had astonished the world. He devoted himself also to literature, and by his cheerfulness and urbanity, made all happy about him.

Sometimes he would go on foot to different points of the island, enter the stores and make purchases or leave orders, and terminate his tour at the barracks of the Guard, by which he was always received with loud acclamations.

But the old veterans, accustomed to a life of activity, and when in barracks to the variety and pleasure of a city, grew weary of this isolation, and together with the officers, pined for a different sphere of action. In order to drive away these feelings Napoleon obtained a company of comedians from Trieste and Naples, and set up a little theatre for their entertainment. The soldiers beheld again the Vaudevilles which had delighted them in Paris, and soon they were heard at all hours of the day humming some familiar song which these exhibitions recalled to mind.

Still the prospect of a life of idleness and exile was not very cheering, and Napoleon saw with regret the growing desire among officers and men to change their residence for one more congenial to their tastes. One day on entering the barracks of his Guard, while they were preparing dinner, he said pleasantly to a group standing near him, "Well, my grumblers, is the soup good to-day?"

"Yes, my Emperor," said one of the old scarred veterans, " but it would be better if --------,"

"If what," replied Napoleon, "is not the meat good, and the vegetables, are they tough?" "On the contrary," responded the grenadier, "the meat and vegetables are excellent, but one thing is wanting which it is not in your power to give."

"What's that, speak, let us see?" demanded Napoleon impatiently.

"Water of the Seine to boil them in," said the veteran coolly, and without changing a muscle of his countenance.

Napoleon smiled bitterly at the hit, exclaiming, as he walked away, "Bah! bah! one can eat a partridge very well without an orange. You are too much of a gourmet."

At another time as he was walking at evening, as he was accustomed to do, backwards and forwards through the long avenues of sycamores that bordered the grounds of his palace toward the sea, he came suddenly upon an old grenadier sitting at the foot of a tree looking very melancholy.

"What are you doing here alone?" he demanded brusquely; "what are you thinking about?"

The soldier sprang to his feet with the military salute, and seeing a smile on the Emperor's face replied frankly, " I was thinking, my Emperor, of my country, and I said to myself, this is the close of the harvest time there."

"From what country are you?"

"From Antram, four little leagues from Rennes, in Brittany."

"Brittany," exclaimed Napoleon, " is a very good country, a country of brave men, but a villainous heaven, it always rains there, while here the climate is sweet, the days are superb, and the sky resplendent. The isle of Elba is a much better place to live in than Brittany."

"My Emperor," replied the home-sick old soldier, "I am too honest to deceive you, but saving your majesty, I love the rain which falls at Antram better than the beautiful days of Elba, it is my idea, and I may say it without offending your majesty."

"But," continued Napoleon, "why don't you amuse yourself like your comrades? You have leisure, the wine is good, and you have the theatre to divert you; go to the theatre."

"That's true, my Emperor, but the pieces at the theatre do not equal those punchinellos of the boulevards of the Temple--that's something amusing."

"Ah, well," said Napoleon, as he walked away, "have patience; perhaps some day you will see again the boulevards of the Temple and its punchinellos." He repeated this conversation at evening and smiled at the simplicity and frankness of the old grenadier. The story soon got wind, and "I love better the panchinellos," was in every one's mouth. It had struck a responsive chord in the heart of each, and it was soon apparent how universal the grenadier's sentiment had become, for it gave them a way of expressing their feelings without offence.

Speaking of it one day, Drouot said to Napoleon, " We make poor Robinson Crusoes, and we do not resemble much Telemachus, in the isle of Calypso; for I presume if Minerva should appear among us in the shape of Mentor, she would not find it necessary to throw us into the sea in order to drive us from the island."

"Ah! that is it," said Napoleon, rubbing his hands, "if there now were a Calypso here, one would have to pull you by the ears to get you, like the son of Ulysses, back to Ithaca. The truth is, I have spoiled the whole of you. I have let you see too many countries and have accustomed you to such a moving existence, that you are not able to enjoy a philosophic repose." Then turning to some officers who stood by, he said, "Allons, Messieurs, if you are wise, perhaps I will let you make some time a tour in France." But perceiving he had said too much, he pressed his lips together, and forcing a pinch of snuff violently up his nose, abruptly changed the conversation.
 

On the 26th of February, 1815, Col. Laborde received orders from Drouot to let all the laborers in the gardens of the officers continue their work till three o'clock--at four to give the troops soup, and immediately after assemble them. At five they were to embark in ships prepared for their reception. The Colonel enquired where they were going.

"I can tell you nothing," he replied, " execute the orders I have given you."

This being accomplished, Napoleon, after bidding his mother and sister Pauline adieu, went onboard the brig of war Inconstant, and with three hundred of his Guard, put to sea. The rest of the Guard and troops, in all some six or seven hundred men, followed in several transports. When fairly out to sea, Napoleon walked into the midst of his Guard, and said, " Soldiers and officers of my Guard, we are going to France." Loud shouts of "Vive l'Empereur," answered him, and all was enthusiasm and joy.

Only one vessel hailed them on the way, the captain of which asked if they had come from Elba. Being answered in the affirmative, he inquired how Napoleon was. The Emperor having ordered the Guard to lie flat on deck so as to prevent discovery, himself replied, "il se porte à merveille." The brig suspecting nothing passed along, and on the first of March, Napoleon reached the coast of France. Drouot immediately landed with the Old Guard and despatched a captain with a company of chasseurs to a garrison at Antibes to feel the pulse of the soldiers. The latter was taken prisoner with all his company, and two officers sent to demand their release shared the same fate.

That night Napoleon bivouacked in an olive field with his Old Guard around him. But at eleven o'clock he took up his march for Grasse, where he arrived at eleven in the morning. The soldiers were in a state of the highest enthusiasm. Napoleon had promoted every one of them, and now, as they saw him marching in their midst again, they thought of the glory of the past, and beheld new fields of fame in the future.

The triumphal march of Napoleon with that little band of less than a thousand men from Cannes to Paris is well known. Fortified towns and cities opened their gates to him; troops sent forward to capture him, shouted "Vive l' Empereur," as they caught sight again of the form of their old commander; officers and generals were swept away in the wild enthusiasm that increased as he advanced towards Paris, and borne along on the swelling heart of the nation, he entered his capital, and without firing a shot sat down on his recovered throne. The city was delirious with joy, and never in the height of his power did Napoleon receive such marks of unbounded devotion.

In his proclamation issued at Grenoble, calling on the soldiers to rally to his standard, who, he said, "had elevated him on their bucklers to the throne," he declared that "victory would march at the pas de charge, the eagle fly with the national colors from steeple to steeple till it lighted on the towers of Notre Dame." His prediction proved true. Victory had gone at the charge step, and the eagle flown from steeple to steeple in triumph.

The next day after his triumphal entrance into the city, the Old Guard arrived by post from Lyons. As the Emperor approached Paris, the news of the reception that waited him, made him precipitate his advance, and the Old Guard was left behind. But now as these few hundred veterans, whose worn shoes and tattered garments testified to their rapid and fatiguing march across France, came thundering into the city in carriages, long and deafening shouts rent the air. They had been the companions of their Emperor in his exile; the iron band on which he had relied in his daring descent on France; they seemed a part of him, and hence were objects of almost equal enthusiasm.

During the day, Napoleon had a grand review of all the troops in Paris. After it was over, he formed them into a square and addressed them. The acclamations that succeeded had scarcely died away, when a column of strange troops were seen advancing up the Place du Carrousel. As they approached with their standard in tatters, but carrying the eagles of the Old Guard, the army saw it was the sacred battalion that had accompanied Napoleon from Elba, and had just arrived by post from Lyons. As these veterans drew near, the drums throughout rolled forth a thundering salute, and banners waved, and swords shook in the air, and frantic hurrahs arose on every side.

Napoleon with a gesture of the hand having silenced the tumult, exclaimed, "Behold the battalion which accompanied me in my misfortune. They are all my friends, and they have been dear to my heart. Every time that I saw them they reminded me of the different regiments of the army, for among these six hundred braves there are men from all the regiments. They recalled to me the grand achievements, the memory of which is so dear, for they are all covered with honorable scars received in those memorable battles. In loving them, I love you all, soldiers of the French army. They bring back to you the eagles. In giving them to the Guard, I give them to the whole army. Treason and misfortune had covered them with a mournful veil, but they now reappear resplendent in their old glory. Swear to me that these eagles shall always be found where the welfare of the country calls them, and then those who would invade our soil will not be able to meet their glance." "We swear it, we swear it," was repeated in prolonged echoes on every side.

On the very day of his arrival Napoleon reorganized the Old Guard by a decree in which it was specified that no one should be admitted in it but "those who had served in the French army." Among the officers that were appointed to command it, Drouot took his old place, the brave Friant commanded the foot grenadiers, Morand the foot chasseurs, Guyot the mounted grenadiers, and Lefebvre Desnouettes the mounted chasseurs. These had been tried on many a field of fire and blood, and could be trusted. Still the Guard was formed in great haste, and though it had been augmented to 40,000, only a part of them possessed the character of the troops that formerly composed it. This was soon seen in the lax discipline that was maintained.

The allies knowing that every day given to Napoleon multiplied his resources, began immediately to pour vast armies towards the French borders. Not willing to let the French people choose their own ruler, they, without offering any terms of peace, deliberately resolved to deluge Europe in blood again, to keep a Bourbon on the throne.

The history of the "hundred days," in which Napoleon raised an army of nearly 400,000 men and took the field in the almost hopeless struggle against such immense forces as were pledged to his overthrow, is well known. In a letter to the allies, he begged them earnestly not to disturb the peace of Europe. After defending his course in ascending the throne of France on the ground that the Bourbons were not fitted for the French people, and stating how he had been borne on their hearts to the capital, he used the following noble language, "The first wish of my heart is to repay so much affection by an honorable tranquillity. My sweetest hope is to render the reestablishment of the Imperial throne a guarantee for the peace of Europe. Enough of glory has illustrated in their turn the standards of all nations; the vicissitudes of fate have sufficiently often made great reverses follow the most glorious success. A nobler arena is now opened to sovereigns. I will be the first to descend into it. After having exhibited to the world the spectacle of great combating, it will now be sweeter to exhibit henceforth no other rivalry but that of the advantage of peace--no other strife but that of the felicity of nations." To this appeal the allied sovereigns deigned not even a reply. This plebeian who had covered them with confusion, should not rule the people that loved him, so they struck hands together, Austria, Prussia, Russia, and agreed to furnish a hundred and eighty thousand men each, to carry on the war. Over seven hundred thousand men were to be banded against Napoleon. The contest, of course, was desperate, for France could not always keep at bay the whole of Europe in arms. And yet writers never tire of putting on Napoleon the crime of the carnage of Waterloo--a battle he did not wish to fight. He was not prepared for hostilities, but was forced into them by those who after the field was heaped with the dead and Europe filled with mourning, turned round and pointed at him, exclaiming, what a monster! A monster for struggling with almost superhuman energy to prevent the invasion of his country by enemies whose only excuse was, they did not wish Napoleon to occupy the throne of France. Against Russia, Prussia, Austria, and England, does the blood from Waterloo cry out for vengeance. Nay, more, the slaughter that soon followed in the streets of Paris in the effort to get rid of this very sovereign they forced on France, lies at their doors. Already is Europe reaping the reward of her deeds, but the day of final reckoning has not yet come.

The old officers of the army and even the soldiers of the Guard looked upon the contest with dismay, but the younger officers and men, dreaming of Austerlitz, Friedland, and Wagram, were filled with enthusiasm. But though the old veterans looked grave and thoughtful, they determined to battle bravely for victory, and if it could not be won, to die on the field of honor.

On the 7th of June Napoleon set out for head-quarters, and a few days after, at the head of a hundred and fifty thousand men, boldly threw himself between Blucher and Wellington. He fell on the former at Ligny, and defeated him with the loss of fifteen thousand men. Drouot's artillery, with the columns of the Old Guard, moved against the centre of the Prussian army as of old, and pressing on over batteries and through clouds of cavalry, swept the field.

This admirable piece of strategy by which Napoleon separated the Prussian and English army, under ordinary circumstances would have secured him the campaign. Wellington had been completely out-generalled, and Napoleon never was more sure of victory than when he heard that his antagonist had retreated to Waterloo. There is no doubt there were traitors in his staff, for the despatch he sent Grouchy during the night, never reached him, while, in all probability it fell into the hands of Blucher. But, notwithstanding all this, had it not been for the heavy rain the night before rendering the ground too soft for artillery and cavalry to manœuvre, so that the attack was necessarily delayed, Napoleon would inevitably have beaten Wellington before Blucher could have arrived.
 

Although I have this charge in another work yet being the last act in its history, the closing up of its long and brilliant career, I will venture here to repeat it, giving some additional details.

During the day the artillery of the Guard, under Drouot, maintained its old renown, and the Guard itself had frequently been used to restore the battle in various parts of the field, and always with success. The English were fast becoming exhausted, and in an hour more would doubtless have been forced into a disastrous retreat, but for the timely arrival of Blucher. But when they saw him with his 30,000 Prussians approaching, their courage revived, while Napoleon was filled with amazement. A beaten enemy was about to form a junction with the allies, while Grouchy, who had been sent to keep him in check, was nowhere to be seen. Alas, what great plans a single inefficient commander can overthrow.

In a moment Napoleon saw that he could not sustain the attack of so many fresh troops if once allowed to form a junction with the allied forces, and he determined to stake his fate on one bold cast and endeavor to pierce the allied centre with a grand charge of the Old Guard, and thus throw himself between the two armies. For this purpose the Imperial Guard was called up and divided into two immense columns, which were to meet in the British centre. Those under Reille no sooner entered the fire than it disappeared like mist. The other was placed under Ney, "the bravest of the brave," and the order to advance given. Napoleon accompanied them part way down the slope, and halting for a moment in a hollow, addressed them a few words. He told them the battle rested with them, and that he relied on their valor tried in so many fields. "Vive l' Empereur," answered him with a shout that was heard above the thunder of artillery.

The whole continental struggle exhibits no sublimer spectacle than this last effort of Napoleon to save his sinking empire. The greatest military energy and skill the world possessed had been tasked to the utmost during the day. Thrones were tottering on the turbulent field, and the shadows of fugitive kings flitted through the smoke of battle. Bonaparte's star trembled in the zenith--now blazing out in its ancient splendor, now suddenly paling before his anxious eye. At last he staked his empire on one bold throw. The intense anxiety with which he watched the advance of that column, and the terrible suspense he suffered when the smoke of battle wrapped it from sight, and the utter despair of his great heart when the curtain lifted over a fugitive army and the despairing shriek rung out, "The Guard recoils, the Guard recoils," make us for a moment forget all the carnage, in sympathy with his distress.

The Old Guard felt the pressure of the immense responsibility, and resolved not to prove unworthy of the great trust committed to its care. Nothing could be more imposing than its movement to the assault. It had never recoiled before a human foe, and the allied forces beheld with awe its firm and steady advance to the final charge. For a moment the batteries stopped playing, and the firing ceased along the British lines; as without the beating of a drum, or a bugle note to cheer their steady courage, they moved in dead silence over the field. Their tread was like the sound of muffled thunder, while the dazzling helmets of the cuirassiers flashed long streams of light behind the dark and terrible mass that swept in one strong wave along. The stern Drouot was there amid his guns, and on every brow was written the unalterable resolution to conquer or die. The next moment the artillery opened, and the head of that gallant column seemed to sink into the earth. Rank after rank went down, yet they neither stopped nor faltered. Dissolving squadrons, and whole battalions disappearing one after another in the destructive fire, affected not their steady courage. The ranks closed up as before, and each treading over his fallen comrade, pressed unflinchingly on. The horse which Ney rode, fell under him, and scarcely had he mounted another before it also sunk to the earth, and so another and another, till five in succession had been shot under him; then with his drawn sabre, he marched sternly at the head of his column. In vain did the artillery hurl its storm of fire and lead into that living mass. Up to the very muzzles they pressed, and driving the artillerymen from their pieces, pushed on through the English lines. But just as the victory seemed won, a file of soldiers who had lain flat on the ground behind a low ridge of earth, suddenly rose and poured a volley in their very faces. Another and another followed, till one broad sheet of flame rolled on their bosoms, and in such a fierce and unexpected flow that they staggered back before it. Before the Guard had time to rally again and advance, a heavy column of infantry fell on its left flank in close and deadly volleys, causing it in its unsettled state to swerve to the right. At that instant a whole brigade of cavalry thundered on the right flank, and penetrated where cavalry had never gone before. That intrepid Guard could have borne up against the unexpected fire from soldiers they did not see, and would also have rolled back the infantry that had boldly charged its left flank, but the cavalry finished the disorder into which they had been momentarily thrown and broke the shaken ranks before they had time to reform, and the eagles of that hitherto invincible Guard were pushed backward down the slope. It was then that the army seized with despair shrieked out, "The Guard recoils, the Guard recoils," and turned and fled in wild dismay. To see the Guard in confusion, was a sight they had never before beheld, and it froze every heart with terror. Still those veterans refused to fly; rallying from their disorder they formed into two immense squares of eight battalions and turned fiercely on the enemy, and nobly strove to stem the reversed tide of battle. For a long time they stood and let the cannon balls plough through their ranks, disdaining to turn their backs to the foe. Michel, at the head of those brave battalions, fought like a lion. To every command of the enemy to surrender, he replied, "The Guard dies, it never surrenders," and with his last breath bequeathing this glorious motto to the Guard, he fell a witness to its truth. Death traversed those eight battalions with such a rapid footstep, that they soon dwindled to two, which turned in hopeless daring on the overwhelming numbers that pressed their retiring footsteps. Last of all but a single battalion, the debris of the "column of granite" at Marengo, was left. Into this Napoleon flung himself. Cambronne, its brave commander, saw with terror the Emperor in its frail keeping. He was not struggling for victory, he was intent only on showing how the Guard should die. Approaching the Emperor, he cried out, "Retire, do you not see that death has no need of you?" and closing mournfully yet sternly round their expiring eagles, those brave hearts bade Napoleon an eternal adieu, and flinging themselves on the enemy, were soon piled with the dead at their feet.

Many of the officers were seen to destroy themselves rather than survive defeat. Thus, greater in its only defeat than any other corps of men in gaining a victory, the Old Guard passed from the stage, and the curtain dropped upon its strange career. It had fought its last battle.

No one can contemplate this termination of its history without the profoundest emotion. The greatness of its deeds and the grandeur of its character, endear it to all who love heroic action and noble achievements; and as one runs back in imagination, over its terrible campaigns, it is with the deepest sorrow he is compelled to bid it farewell on the fatal field of Waterloo.

But there is one aspect in which the Old Guard is not generally viewed--it did as much for human liberty as any army, from that of Gustavus Adolphus, down. I do not pretend to say how much the troops were governed by this motive--how many, or how few, fought solely for glory, but that Old Guard never made a charge, with the exception of the last, that did not give an impulse to human liberty. Every time it broke the ranks of the despots of Europe, armed against the free principles working in France, it wrenched a fetter from the human mind. In short, it carried the liberty of Europe on the points of its sabres. The wild waking up during the last few years is the working of the leaven of French principles, or rather I should say of American principles, sown by French hands. All honor, then, to the Old Guard for breaking up the iron frame-work of feudalism which had rusted so long in its place, that nothing but a stroke that should heave and rend everything asunder could affect its firmness.

As I said before, I do not ascribe the same motives to the Old Guard that existed in the hearts of the soldiers of the American army or Cromwell's troops. Still they err much, who deriving their ideas from English history, suppose that they had no definite idea of the struggle they were engaged in. The very fact that Napoleon cloaked his occupation of the Tuileries by calling on his Guard to wear crape for Washington, "who, like themselves, had fought against tyranny," shows how strongly rooted republican principles were in their hearts. They knew that hostilities were first commenced by the allied powers for the sole and undisguised purpose of destroying the French republic, and crushing the principles of freedom. They also well knew that the tremendous combinations that were constantly formed against France had no other object than to defend feudalism and establish the old order of things. All this the commonest soldier knew and talked about in his bivouac. The troops often stormed over intrenchments singing republican songs.

The continental monarchs also well understood the struggle, and foresaw what has since occurred--the uprising of the people, and the humiliation of royalty. The general, it is true, had become Emperor, but the code he gave the people bestowed on them all the freedom they knew how to use with safety to the government. Every proclamation Napoleon made to a conquered state, every change he proposed to a government, was an immense stride in the onward march of civil liberty. It was on this account his overthrow was sought with such eagerness. While he occupied the throne the old order of things threatened momentarily to disappear.