five years ago, for the man whom we used to
call the "bloody Corsican upstart and assassin?" What stories did we
not believe of him?--what murders, rapes, robberies, not lay to his
charge?--we who were living within a few miles of his territory, and
might, by books and newspapers, be made as well acquainted with his
merits or demerits as any of his own countrymen.

Then was the age when the Idees Napoleoniennes might have passed through
many editions; for while we were thus outrageously bitter, our neighbors
were as extravagantly attached to him by a strange infatuation--adored
him like a god, whom we chose to consider as a fiend; and vowed that,
under his government, their nation had attained its highest pitch of
grandeur and glory. In revenge there existed in England (as is proved
by a thousand authentic documents) a monster so hideous, a tyrant so
ruthless and bloody, that the world's history cannot show his parallel.
This ruffian's name was, during the early part of the French revolution,
Pittetcobourg. Pittetcobourg's emissaries were in every corner of
France; Pittetcobourg's gold chinked in the pockets of every traitor in
Europe; it menaced the life of the godlike Robespierre; it drove into
cellars and fits of delirium even the gentle philanthropist Marat; it
fourteen times caused the dagger to be lifted against the bosom of
the First Consul, Emperor, and King,--that first, great, glorious,
irresistible, cowardly, contemptible, bloody hero and fiend, Bonaparte,
before mentioned.

On our side of the Channel we have had leisure, long since, to
re-consider our verdict against Napoleon; though, to be sure, we have
not changed our opinion about Pittetcobourg. After five-and-thirty years
all parties bear witness to his honesty, and speak with affectionate
reverence of his patriotism, his genius, and his private virtue. In
France, however, or, at least among certain parties in France, there
has been no such modification of opinion. With the Republicans,
Pittetcobourg is Pittetcobourg still,--crafty, bloody, seeking whom he
may devour; and perfide Albion more perfidious than ever. This hatred
is the point of union between the Republic and the Empire; it has been
fostered ever since, and must be continued by Prince Louis, if he would
hope to conciliate both parties.

With regard to the Emperor, then, Prince Louis erects to his memory
as fine a monument as his wits can raise. One need not say that the
imperial apologist'