Two regiments of the Guard followed by a vast multitude, passed under the terrace of Elysée Bourbon, where Napoleon was, demanding with loud cries that their Emperor should put himself at their head, and conduct them against the enemy. Napoleon harangued them, urging them to quietness. An orator of the populace in replying to him mentioned the 18th Brumaire. The Emperor interrupting him, exclaimed, "You recall to my remembrance the 18th Brumaire, but you forget that the circumstances are not the same. On the 18th Brumaire, the nation was unanimous in its desire of a change. A feeble effort only was necessary to effect what they so much desired. Now it would require oceans of French blood, and never shall a single drop be shed by me in the defence of a cause altogether personal." Singular language for a tyrant. After all had dispersed, Montholon, who gives this account, expostulated with the Emperor for having arrested the hand of the people, strong enough in itself to save the capital from the enemy and punish the traitors who were negotiating to deliver it up. Napoleon replied in these words, which should be written in gold, and are sufficient of themselves to repel half the slanders his enemies have uttered against him. Note, he was speaking to an intimate friend in all the frankness of private intercourse. "Putting the brute force of the people," said he, "into action, would doubtless save Paris and insure me the crown without incurring the horrors of civil war, but it would likewise be risking thousands of French lives, for what power could control so many various passions, so much hatred, and such vengeance! No, there is one thing you see I cannot forget, it is, that I have been escorted from Cannes to Paris amid the bloody cries of down with the priests! down with the nobles! No, I like the regrets of France better than her crown."

Noble words, uttered in a moment when his crown was leaving him, and nothing but the sad fate of an exile before him. The crown glittering on the one hand, together with the prospect of punishing his foes, banishment and disgrace on the other, and yet to say, "I like the regrets of. France better than her crown"--to say it too, when the saying was the doing, was the noblest proof that could be given of the truth he uttered. How strange it must sound to those who have contemplated him only by the light or rather darkness of English history, to hear this man whom they have regarded as a monster of cruelty, wading through seas of blood, refusing to save his crown, because in doing it, he must turn Frenchmen against Frenchmen. Ah, not one of his kingly foes would have done this--not one was ever heard to utter so noble a sentiment.

Napoleon having retired to Malmaison, General Beker was sent by the provisionary government to hasten his departure to America. While talking with him, the former asked, "Well, what are they saying and doing at Paris?" He replied, that opinions were very much divided about his abdication, "but the remnants of the army have remained faithful to you, and are assembled under the walls of the capital. A great proportion of the citizens and the whole people of Paris seem determined to defend themselves, and if a powerful hand could rally all these elements to a last effort, nothing would be hopeless perhaps." This plain hint thrown out by one who was sent to be his keeper, was lost on him, and he enquired only for his passports.

True enough the "remnants of the army were assembled under the walls of the capital," and there too, was the remnant of the Guard, still nearly twenty-six thousand strong, and filled with indignation at the decision to surrender Paris to the enemy. Officers and soldiers cried out treason, and uttered threats of vengeance. And when the order came to the battalions to abandon their post, they refused to obey. The old grenadiers broke their muskets and tore off their uniform, and cursed the authors of this great disgrace. Paris had fallen a year before, but had they been in its walls, the foot of the stranger would not have polluted its streets. So they and every one else had believed, and now to surrender it without striking a blow was a double disgrace, and an insult to their bravery. Several officers protested against the capitulation, while the old veterans swore that before quitting the capital, they, at least, would take vengeance on the traitors, and thus do one act of justice. Brightened at the terrible aspect of these veterans, who were not yet humbled so low they could not strike boldly for their country, the generals of the army and the authorities prevailed on the favorite commanders of the Guard to intercede. Docile at the voice of their beloved Drouot and other favorite chiefs, they bowed in resignation. Being ordered beyond the Loire, where its tomb had already been prepared, it took up its sorrowful march. The bearing of all was mournful, but calm and resigned. Still the government was in constant terror lest Napoleon might again put himself at the head of his ancient braves, and sent Beker to hurry his embarkation.

While these things were passing at Paris, Napoleon was still at Malmaison, delaying his departure till the last moment. One morning, just before he was to set out, he was aroused by thundering shouts of "Vive l' Empereur, down with the Bourbons, down with the traitors." They arose from Bruyer's division which was returning from Vendee, where it had been stationed during the fatal Belgian campaign. The soldiers had halted before the chateau, refusing to take another step until the Emperor was at their head. The officers were compelled to submit, and General Bruyer went in and asked to see Napoleon. Montholon went in search of him, and found him in the library sitting by the window with his feet on the window sill, quietly reading Montaigne. While France was shaking to its centre, and his imperial crown lay broken at his feet, and the wrecks of his vast empire strewed the continent, and a desolate future stretched before him, he could compose himself and sit down quietly to his book, as if there was nothing to disturb the equanimity of his feelings.

General Bruyer was admitted, and in a quarter of an hour the army was on its march for Paris, shouting "Vive l' Empereur," in the full belief they should soon follow Napoleon to the field of battle.

Soon after, he sent a message to the government offering to take command of the army under Napoleon II., as a simple general, promising after he had repulsed the enemy, "to go to the United States, there to fulfil his destiny." In it he gave the plan he was to adopt, showed how feasible it was, and guaranteed that in a few days he would drive the enemy beyond the frontiers of France, and "avenge the disasters of Waterloo." "Eighty thousand men, he said, "were gathering near Paris," which "was thirty thousand more than he had in the campaign of 1814, although he then fought three months against the large armies of Russia, Austria, and Prussia; and France well knew that he would have been victorious in the struggle had it not been for the capitulation of Paris. It was moreover, 45,000 men more than General Bonaparte had headed when he crossed the Alps and conquered Italy." The government, instead of accepting the proposal, was terrified at it, and urged more vehemently than ever, his speedy departure.

Napoleon had not the slightest doubt his proposition would be accepted, and was preparing to take horse and join the army, when the refusal was brought him. Without exhibiting the least emotion, calm and serene as ever, he simply said, "Those people do not know the state of public opinion when they refuse my proposal; they will repent it," and added, "Give the necessary orders then for my departure, and as soon as everything is ready, let me know," and in an hour after, he was hurrying toward the sea shore. "His forehead at this moment," says Montholon, "was sublime in its calmness and serenity."

Along the whole route to Rochefort, and after he arrived there, he was saluted with loud acclamations, and "Vive l' Empereur," heralded him to the coast where he committed the fatal mistake of trusting to the honor of the English government. He thought a great nation, like a great man, would be magnanimous, but discovered too late his error. Yet he was avenged on her, for the slow death and petty torture she inflicted upon him, was covered the laurels she won at Waterloo, with ashes. In the meantime, the Old Guard had constantly urged Napoleon through messengers to put himself again at their head. They had followed him with their earnest request even to the sea-shore, but he steadily refused. Following quickly on the steps of this, came the order to disband the Guard. The soldiers were to be unmolested, but the officers who had served in the last campaign, were declared to be incapacitated to receive any title or to form a part of the new army about to be organised. Never before did a government give its own army so rude a blow. It might have been expected from an enemy, but for a corps that had covered France with glory and lifted her to an eminence she had never before reached, that had shed its blood freely for her protection, to be so disgraced by France itself, shows that the government was unworthy of such a noble phalanx.

Not content with executing this contemptible act, no sooner was the disbanding effected, than it commenced its proscription, and the superior officers were dragged before military commissioners. Ney, who led the last charge of the Old Guard, was publicly shot in violation of a sacred promise given by the allies, that he should be safe. At length the hatred of the king reached the inferior officers and they were designated "brigands of the Loire," and were forbidden to show themselves in Paris, or even occupy the localities which had been assigned them by the minister of war. They were hunted like deer up and down, and if one was heard to express the least regret over what had been done or recall a single souvenir of their ancient glory, he was immediately dragged before the provost court over which an old emigrant presided.

The officers finding there was no repose for them in France, sought refuge in foreign lands. Some went to Turkey, some to Greece, and others to different portions of the continent, where they were well received on account of their old renown. Some passed over to England, where help was extended them by noble men who sympathized with their misfortunes and honored them for their great deeds. Thus they became scattered up and down the earth, seeking a livelihood in various ways--many who had long held high commands, supporting themselves by teaching French. The officers of a corps composed of 26,000 men made a little army by themselves.

Many of the proscribed officers went to Spanish America and served in the war against Spain, while others came to the United States. Among these latter was the fiery Lefebvre Desnouettes, who had so often led the chasseurs of the Guard to the charge. Lallemand, one of Napoleon's bravest generals, came here also, and soon perceived that if these old warriors could not be rallied together in some one place, their characters would degenerate, and the French name, honored along our western rivers, suffer disgrace. A proscribed and exiled soldier descends by natural steps to the rank of an adventurer. He therefore planned a place of refuge for all, to be called the"Champ d' Asile." He finally selected a spot in Texas, about fifty miles above the mouth of Trinity river. He had two objects in view in this; first, to have a place to receive those officers who were exiled by the government, and those who voluntarily left the country to escape the persecutions they were subject to from the Bourbon dynasty, and in the second place, to establish a "propagande revolutionnaire," in the bosom of Mexico, or a society for the dissemination of free principles in the Spanish provinces, with the ultimate design of freeing Mexico from the Spanish yoke.

In 1817, General Lallemand, who had communicated to Joseph Bonaparte, then residing in Philadelphia, his plan, assembled the officers of the Guard, as well as the other proscribed officers of the army in that city. Having explained his intentions and expressed his hopes, he persuaded by his eloquence nearly all the inferior officers to accompany him. The general officers, however, thought the plan chimerical and unwise, and refused to join the enterprise, with the exception of the brave Rigaud, who fell in with it.

A ship was freighted with provisions for four or five hundred men, and six pieces of artillery, six hundred muskets, and a large supply of powder. Some days before their departure, Joseph Bonaparte gave to the more needy officers a sum of money sufficient to pay the debts they had contracted while in Philadelphia. He did not wish the officers of the Old Guard, those who had shared the fortunes and renown of his imperial brother, and borne through their long and glorious career so lofty a character, to have a spot, however slight, on their names.

The expedition, nearly two hundred strong, left Philadelphia the 17th of December, at seven o'clock in the morning, and arrived at Galveston Island the 18th of January. Here they disembarked to wait for Lallemand, and constructed huts of reeds and pieces of timber thrown ashore from shipwrecked vessels--surrounding the whole with a fosse--to protect their bivouac from the attacks of savages. On the 20th of March, Lallemand arrived with some sixty more, from New Orleans. Four days after, they started for the "Champ d' Asile," in ten large launches, which they had bought of a pirate.

The "Champ d' Asile," was a taking name--it spoke of rest and quiet after the troubled and wandering life of the last two years, but the spot itself was desolate enough. In those vast solitudes surrounded by wild beasts and rattlesnakes and implacable Indians, these veteran officers of the Old Guard were to make themselves a home. To dishearten them still more, the fleet of boats which on their arrival they had sent back after the provisions, remained absent a month.

The exiles, however, put on a cheerful countenance, and commenced their organization. Three cohorts of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, were formed to defend the colony and maintain orders while fortifications were erected to protect them from the attacks of the Spaniards and Indians. The last time those officers had superintended the erection of fortifications, was on some great battle-field of Europe; now they were laboring with their own hands in the wilds of Texas. Their camp was guarded with the same scrupulous care they were wont to guard their bivouac, when Napoleon was in their midst. Then all were officers, while now all but a few ranked as common soldiers. This little army of officers spent a good deal of its time in manœuvring and military exercises.

For the generals, superior officers, and women, large huts were constructed, but all the others bivouacked as they did in Poland, during the campaigns of Eylau and Friedland, eating their meals from wooden trenchers. To drive away wild animals an enormous fire, made of fallen trees, was kept constantly burning, around which, at all hours of the day, groups of veterans could be seen telling stories of the past and awakening the memory of by-gone deeds of fame. The environs of the fire these exiles jocosely called the Palais Royal, and those who told stories and related adventures, the fops that promenaded it. Lallemand would often come to this "Palais Royal," and relate conversations he had had with Napoleon in the closing up of his career. In the forests of Russia and in many a desolate spot those exiles had ordered just such a fire built in the midst of their squares, and now as they recalled those scenes, they could almost see the form of Napoleon standing before it, as he was wont to do, with his hands crossed behind him and his stern brow knit in deep thought. The past came back with renewed freshness. Each one had some reminiscence of his chief--so, said one, did he stand before our fire on the morning of the battle of Dresden, and never moved, while the thunder of cannon was shaking the field; and so, said another, did we surround him in the forest of Minsk, on the banks of the Beresina. They traversed the whole ground from Lodi and Arcola, to Waterloo, fighting all their battles over again, and then their eyes would gleam as they spoke of St. Helena. It was a singular spectacle to behold those veterans from the pyramids, from Marengo, from Austerlitz, Jena, Eylau, and Borodino, grouped together around a huge fire in the forests of Texas, recounting their deeds and making the woods echo with shouts of "Vive l' Empereur." One could hardly believe that they had passed through such great and stirring scenes for nearly a quarter of a century, and that those poor exiles had led the columns of the Old Guard in its terrible onsets, and that their shout of victory had gone up from the greatest battle-fields of Europe. It looked strange to see in that far- off temple of verdure, the eagle of Austerlitz lifted on high, and around it grouped the symbols and trophies they had preserved with religious care.

But no description can give such a vivid impression of the whole scene, as the celebrated picture of Horace Vernet, called the "Soldat Laboreur," in which he exhibits in all the distinctness of life the old soldier of the Imperial Guard--his face seamed with scars--the cross of honor on his breast, and his spade in his hand toiling in the solitudes of Texas.

Thus they passed weeks and months in their solitary home making the woods ring with the stirring description of marches, and sieges, and battles, and victories. Some among them had been with Napoleon at Elba, and recalled his kindness to his Old Guard there, and how cheerful he seemed when manœuvring his little band, as though it were the grand army. They had long conversations about him in his island prison, and spent much of their time in forming plans to effect his deliverance. One was, to obtain a swift sailing ship, and hover round the coast till a favorable opportunity offered itself, and then make a sudden descent and carry him off. If that remnant of the Old Guard could once have set foot on the island, it would have required something more than bayonets to have stopped their march on Longwood. But what did they design to do with him when they had effected his release? To go to France and exhibit another return from Elba, and another triumphal entry into Paris? No, they "would bring him to the Champ d' Asile." He should stand before their bivouac fire, as of old, and they would minister to his wants and he would be content in their midst. What a hold he must have had upon their affections when he could fill them with such desperate resolutions and longing desire to have him with them.

But sickness soon began to thin their ranks and break down their hopes. In the meantime, the Mexican government having learned that a French colony had, without permission, settled upon its territory, sent a detachment of twelve hundred men to destroy it. The Indians, who had ever been friendly to the exiles, informed them of the premeditated attack. The latter immediately put themselves in a posture of defence, determined, notwithstanding their inferiority of numbers, to maintain their ground. The Spanish commander, however, halted when within three marches of their camp, and waited for sickness and discouragement to do what he dared not attempt. He was not compelled to wait long. Not receiving the means they expected from France, to carry out their plan of freeing Mexico, and finding that after the first excitement had passed away, the Champ d'Asile had become in their country a subject of ridicule rather than of serious thought, and no assistance could be expected from any source, they resolved to abandon the colony. Their numbers were constantly diminishing, and it was madness to stay till their weakness would render them an easy prey to whomsoever might attack them. On the 6th of August, therefore, or a little more than four months from the time they landed, they abandoned their camp and went over to Galveston Island. They remained here a month longer, when, to complete their wretchedness, a horrible tempest swept the gulf. The waves rose to an immense height, rolling several feet deep over the island. These weary veterans, as they looked out on the wide waste of water, gave themselves up for lost. But there chanced to be two large and strongly-built cabins situated some distance from the shore which offered a temporary protection, and they crowded into them. Here for three days and nights they struggled manfully against the waves,-when the storm subsided. Their provisions and powder, however, were all swallowed up in the sea. Their ammunition was their last hope, but it had gone like all their other hopes, since the battle of Waterloo.

Another month of agony was endured on this island, at the expiration of which General Lallemand sent word that all prospect of attaining the end they had in view was gone, and requested them to return to New Orleans. The same pirate that had before carried them to the island took them off. The sick and feeble went by water, but the stronger crossed over to the mainland, and guided by the Indians, struck through the forests of Texas to the frontiers of Louisiana, where many of them stopped and repaid the hospitality they received by teaching the children French. Those who went to New Orleans reached there just as the yellow fever was raging with the greatest violence, and they, one after another, fell before its fury.

Fifteen months after, a subscription of 80,000 francs, which had been collected in France, was received. But between the sea, sickness, yellow fever, and accidents, the ranks of those brave officers had become sadly thinned, so that out of more than two hundred, only forty-seven could be found. Those, with their usual generosity, divided the money with those who had been drawn to New Orleans by false promises, but had not yet embarked for the "Champ d' Asile."

The artillery of the enemy did not thin the ranks of the Old Guard faster than proscription, exile, poverty, and disease. Those who came to this country disappeared like snow.

Once more only, do we get a glimpse of the Old Guard. A large number of wounded and maimed soldiers were in the Hotel des Invalides when the body of Napoleon was brought back from St. Helena, "to rest," as he requested in his will, " on the banks of the Seine, amid the people he loved." These dressed in the old uniform of chasseurs, grenadiers, &c., came forth to receive him. Amid the pomp and funereal splendor of that day, nothing moved the people more than the appearance of these invalid soldiers as they stood on each side of the entrance of the church to receive the body of their old chieftain. The last time they saw him was on the field of battle, and now the waving of standards and thunder of cannon, recalled the days when he marched in their midst. The past came back in such a sudden and overwhelming tide when they saw the coffin approach, that struck dumb with grief, they fell on their knees and stretched out their hands towards it, while tears rolled silently down their scarred visages.

Long after, he who visited the Hotel des Invalides at any hour of the day would see these old soldiers treading softly around the coffin of Napoleon, as though they were afraid to disturb his repose. That elevated tomb at night presented an imposing spectacle; upon the pall that covered this strange and mighty being, lay his hat worn at Eylau, his sword and his crown, while over all mournfully drooped the standards taken at Austerlitz. In the centre of the gold-bordered draperies that extended from column to column of the chapel, shone in large letters, "MARENGO," "WAGRAM," "AUSTERLITZ," "JENA." A chandelier, suspended from the ceiling, shed a dim light over all. Around this tomb, night and day, stood four veterans with drawn sabres, and often on the steps that led to it, you would see a mutilated grenadier of the Old Guard kneeling as if in prayer.

Such is the history, and such was the character of the Old Guard, "a phalanx of giants," the like of which the world has never beheld. Its fame will deepen with time, and its memory grow dearer to all those who honor great deeds and noble men.