ed with its own, that you should vanquish or fall
together."

Let us take breath after these big phrases,--grand round figures
of speech,--which, when put together, amount like certain other
combinations of round figures to exactly 0. We shall not stop to argue
the merits and demerits of Prince Louis's notable comparison between the
Christian religion and the Imperial-revolutionary system. There are
many blunders in the above extract as we read it; blundering metaphors,
blundering arguments, and blundering assertions; but this is surely
the grandest blunder of all; and one wonders at the blindness of the
legislator and historian who can advance such a parallel. And what are
we to say of the legacy of the dying revolution to Napoleon? Revolutions
do not die, and, on their death-beds, making fine speeches, hand over
their property to young officers of artillery. We have all read the
history of his rise. The constitution of the year III. was carried. Old
men of the Montagne, disguised royalists, Paris sections, PITTETCOBOURG,
above all, with his money-bags, thought that here was a fine opportunity
for a revolt, and opposed the new constitution in arms: the new
constitution had knowledge of a young officer who would not hesitate to
defend its cause, and who effectually beat the majority. The tale may be
found in every account of the revolution, and the rest of his story need
not be told. We know every step that he took: we know how, by doses
of cannon-balls promptly administered, he cured the fever of the
sections--that fever which another camp-physician (Menou) declined
to prescribe for; we know how he abolished the Directory; and how the
Consulship came; and then the Empire; and then the disgrace, exile,
and lonely death. Has not all this been written by historians in all
tongues?--by memoir-writing pages, chamberlains, marshals, lackeys,
secretaries, contemporaries, and ladies of honor? Not a word of miracle
is there in all this narration; not a word of celestial missions,
or political Messiahs. From Napoleon's rise to his fall, the bayonet
marches alongside of him: now he points it at the tails of the
scampering "five hundred,"--now he charges with it across the bloody
planks of Arcola--now he flies before it over the fatal plain of
Waterloo.

Unwilling, however, as he may be to grant that there are any spots in
the character of his hero's government, the Prince is, nevertheless,
obliged to allow that such existed; th