his desire to do good, and he succeeds with grape-shot, and restores the reign of law. This was a service, and we take pleasure in making honorable mention of it, since by his energy he had saved the convention and rolled back the waves of anarchy. This service was the true commencement of his great career, and laid the foundation of his fortune. But Mr. Abbott mildly observes that "Napoleon never ceased to regret the occurrence, and tried to forget, and have others forget, that he had ever deluged the streets of Paris with the blood of Frenchmen." No indignant invectives escape from Mr. Abbott in view of the massacre of Jaffa, or the butcheries of Borodino; but when Napoleon really rendered a service to the cause of order and constitutional freedom, he discourses with all the mock humanity of a Socialist, and could make us believe that Napoleon regretted an act which was not only a duty but a good fortune. For this splendid service Napoleon obtained the command of the army of Italy, and gloriously triumphed over the enemies who had contemplated the invasion of the soil of France, when France was struggling for the rights of man. He returns to Paris, covered with glory, as the conqueror of Italy, and the savior of his country, and we sympathize with his success, for he had proved himself a genius and a benefactor. For this second great service he is rewarded with a new army for the invasion of Egypt. How does Mr. Abbott treat this third labor of the modern Hercules? Was the invasion of Egypt a political necessity? Did Egypt menace the liberties of France or of Europe? Was it necessary even to gain possession of that country in order to ward off any attack of England in that quarter of the world? Or, was the invasion an act of ambition and desire of territorial aggrandizement? Was it not prompted by lust of conquest, to extend French influence in the East, and rival England in colonial acquisitions, and only to be justified by the same argument as Alexander could urge for pushing his conquests into India? Napoleon himself, wearied with his life in Paris, said, "We must go to the East, where there are six hundred millions of men." The desire to conquer Oriental monarchies and rear up a gigantic empire in the East, was his earliest and most cherished dream. Nearly all historians speak of this Egyptian expedition as a most ambitious adventure-not merely to extend French conquests, but to head off England herself. Mr. Abbott says, "the expedition of Egypt was one of the most magnificent enterprises which human ambition ever achieved," in order "to establish in India governments which would respect the rights and promote the happiness of the people." In proof of this he quotes one of Napoleon's bulletins, "People of Egypt, I am come to restore your rights, and revive the true worship of Mohammed," and Mr. Abbott adds, with all the philosophical calmness of a Hallam, “It was an interesting peculiarity in the character of Napoleon that he respected all religions as necessities of the human mind." Such even is his faith in Napoleon's beneficence that he continues, "had he but succeeded in his designs, it is probable that Egypt would have been a civilized and prosperous land, with villas of elegance and refinement embellishing the meadows of the Nile, and the shores of the Red Sea would have echoed with the hum of happy industry, and opulent cities would have sprung up where the roving Bedouin now meets only desolation and gloom." Now if this is not, to say the least, most utterly wild and unfounded speculation, then we do not know what the English language means. Alas, for the cause of humanity! Napoleon failed, and the poor benighted and oppressed heathen of the Oriental world are still in their bonds and superstitions! We do not so much object to the puerilities of Mr. Abbott-these are good for children—his book is professedly written for the young-as we do to his disregard for the principles of right and wrong. We do not like to see the career of unscrupulous ambition held up to admiration, or disguised under the veil of philanthropy and love for republican institutions. We prefer to call things by their right names-ambition we like to call ambition, and hypocrisy, hypocrisy ; and we do violence to our moral feelings, and disregard the higher interests of truth, when we endorse such absurdities as Mr. Abbott presents as an excuse for the invasion of Egypt. Napoleon returns to Paris, having almost miraculously escaped the English cruisers, covered with new glory as the conqueror of Egypt, thanks to those mendacious and audacious bulletins from which the venders of trashy novels in these times might learn a lesson in the art of puffing. We will not comment on the balls, the fetes, the illuminations, the ringing of bells, the roar of cannon, the rejoicings-the delirium of joy with which the hero of Aboukir was greeted by the people of France. These are the rewards of conquerors to stifle the accusing voices of conscience. These are the devices which the demon of war has ever made use of to blind the infatuated idolators of military heroes. The conquest of Egypt" paved the way for the dictatorship; or, as Mr. Abbott asserts, for the hero "to rescue France from anarchy," when there was no other anarchy than rival factions seeking to monopolize power. The empire was the prey of the strongest, perhaps, and as the strongest ought to rule," according to Mr. Carlyle, Napoleon was justified for overturning the constitution which the representatives of the nation had framed, and the nation itself had accepted. Napoleon," says Mr. Abbott, "formed no conspiracy against the Constitution." He never, surely, would rob France of her Revolution. He was too conscientious to intrigue for the sovereign power. Yet even our author goes on to relate how he bribed Lefebvre-the commandant of the guard of the legislative bodies, by a present of the sword he wore at the battle of the Pyramids, how he intrigued with the various heads of parties; how he contrived that the leading military chieftains should pay their court to him at the same hour on the famous 9th of November; and how the coup-d'état placed him on a dictator's throne by the name of Frst Consul. There was no conspiracy here-amiable and charitable historian that thou artall the deeds of that day were black, but the chief actor of those deeds was white -he was innocent as a child; his fraud was simplicity, his treason was benevolence, and all for the good of France. Thus Napoleon saved his country again, and carried everything before him by the fascinating charm of military renown. O! thou clear-sighted and impartial critic, verily thou art a second Daniel, to reveal justice and moral wisdom. Step out, O learned judge, and receive the plaudits of the Cæsars and Cromwells of the world-of all tyrants who have overturned constitutions on the plea of revolutionary necessity. True, the nation approved of the usurpation, and voted it, after it had taken place. Would it not have been more in accordance with our notions of republicanism, if the nation had voted the consulate before Napoleon decreed it, and before the representatives of the law were shut up in a dungeon when protest would have been madness. Since power and empires belong to the strongest, perhaps the usurpation of Napoleon III. was equally justifiable. The giddy crowd cried amen in view of their own degradation, yet, nevertheless, freedom gave one piercing cry to heaven for vengeance, and expired amid the blaze of jetes and illuminations. The usurper took up his residence in the old palace of the Bourbons, and commenced his reign as the autocrat of France-or as Mr. Abbott would say, as the defender of republican institutions. We have no censure to pass on Napoleon as a sovereign ruler, until he became intoxicated by his victories, and the enormous elevation he had reached. He did seek, doubtless, to develop the resources of France, to make roads, build monuments, repair fortifications, restore credit, employ talent, reward genius, compile laws, and adorn his capital. He sought to add the laurels of Augustus to the more dazzling fame of Julius. He wished to reign, surrounded like Louis XIV., with artists, philosophers, and scholars, adoring representatives of rank and learning, who should burn before his throne their perpetual incense. Like many other despots, he was kind to ali who did not defy his power. He rewarded his idolators magnificently, and it must be confessed, reigned wisely and firmly. He also wished for peace, certainly until he had consolidated his power. And it would have been wise for England to have let him alone. Providence would have taken care of the results of the Revolution. But did he continue to be the guardian angel of the best interests of France? Did his consulate satisfy him, even after his brilliant Italian campaign, the pas sage over the Alps, the victory of Marengo, the recovery of Italy, the humiliation of his foes? What shall we say of his second usurpation, the seizure of an imperial crown, and, with it, the revival of those antiquated pageantries which the Revolution had repudiated? What has Mr. Abbott said in justification of the, murder of the Duke D'Enghien, the repudiation of his wife, the subversion of ancient monarchies, the insults he heaped on other poten tates, the invasions of Spain and Russia, and the ambitious resolution of establishing on the banks of the Seine a universal military monarchy? Christendom has pronounced these to be great crimes, and we must have cogent arguments to wipe away their disgrace. We do not want any pretty anecdotes here, how he gave smiles to ruined courtiers, and gold to broken-hearted widows. Humanity demands some convincing and overpowering reasons for these monstrous evils. It is not enough that he conferred blessings, if these were cancelled by subsequent calamities. We cannot forgive a man who has inflicted on our cause an irreparable wound, simply because he was once our friend. The verdicts of enlightened reason will never be in his favor. What are the arguments of Mr. Abbott, in relation to the heartless and treacherous murder of one of the most irreproachable of the fallen Bourbons, which occurred during the Consulate? He maintains that he meditated a conspiracy against the life of the First Consul. But where is the evidence? Does Mr. Abbott bring forward anything to prove it? Can he prove more than that Napoleon suspected such a crime? The truth is, he hated and feared the Bourbons, and determined to root them out of Europe, as if he were an oriental despot. And the heir of the Condés was the only one whom he could seize, and him only by invading a neutral territory, and tearing him from his home as men kidnap slaves. And him Napoleon kidnapped, and executed like a malefactor. The only expression we can find in the history condemnatory of this act is this: "The spirit is saddened in recording these terrible deeds of violence and blood;" but he immediately adds, that "it is surprising that Napoleon could have passed through a career so wonderful and so full of temptation, with a character so seldom sullied by blemishes of despotic injustice." And with these philosophical remarks, one of the most inexcusable of all crimes, that of murder, is summarily dismissed. Nothing indignant escapes the author, and in the lenity of his sentence, we are reminded of the ancient Roman Senator, who, on hearing that one of his slaves had committed a willful murder, mildly remarked that he should surely be punished if he repeated the offence! The alleged conspiracy of the Bour- bons against the life of Napoleon, "roused," says Mr. Abbott, "republican France, to increased efforts to consolidate the new government." So Napoleon, in order to gratify republican France, consented, though with reluc tance, to place upon his brow the imperial diadem, as if his life would be more free from the danger of assassination as Emperor than as Consul! If such an interpretation is meant for children, we protest against the falsehood; if it is meant for intelligent readers, it is an insult. Who does not know that the Senate, which decreed that Napoleon Bonaparte be named emperor, was composed of his creatures, and that the people and the army to whom he appealed for the confirmation of this act, were his idolators and slaves! And did not Napoleon know that other crowned heads would not consent to this, and that it would be the signal of new wars which must deluge Europe in the blood of millions? Where was his republican zeal, or his benevolence, or his patriotism, in wading to a throne through seas of blood? True, it was no concern of England, Austria, or Russia, that he should assume any title which the French were ready to grant. But the penalty was before him for the gratification of his vanity-wars, conflagrations, and ultimate ruin. He took the risk, and reaped the penalty, but not until the victories of Jena, Austerlitz, and Eylau, wafted his fame to the ends of the earth. Abbott, however, in the abundance of his charity, put this construction on the motives of Napoleon: "he hoped that Europe would be conciliated by the change, since the allied monarchs entertained apprehensions that republican principles might extend through their dominions." We are tempted to lay down our pen and laugh at this superlative nonsense. Europe feared Napoleon as the apostle of republicanism, and Napoleon, to silence the fears, became himself an emperor! As well might Brutus kill Cæsar, because he feared Cæsar's influence in promoting democracy! Neither Cæsar nor Napoleon was ambitious! Mr. No sooner had the peace of Tilsit given the emperor leisure to prosecute his plans of universal empire, than he cast his greedy eyes upon the Spanish monarchy, and resolved to annex it to his sway. The unhappy dissensions between the old king Charles IV. and his children, favored his designs. French armies, under various pretences, invaded Spain, and the royal family, seduced to Bayonne, found themselves the prisoners of Napoleon, and they preferred luxury and self-indulgence to the dangers incident to warfare. Joseph Bonaparte became king of Spain, and the exasperated and indignant Spaniards, aided by England, commenced that desolating insurrection, which did not end until the armies of Wellington had given the first great check to him who, in his Nebuchadnezzar arrogance, had said, "that it was a proof of the weakness of the human understanding for any one to dream of resisting me.' He himself, at St. Helena, admitted the blunder he had made, and remarked to Las Casas "that it was the first cause of the calamities of France." "Perhaps," says Alison," there is not, in the whole annals of the world, blackened as they are by deeds of wickedness, to be found a more atrocious system of perfidy, fraud, and dissimulation, than that by which Napoleon won the kingdoms of the Spanish Peninsula." But an Englishman is prejudiced. Alison is a bigoted old fogy. Only an American is capable of sitting as umpire in this matter, or as Mr. Abbott says, "only in America can an impartial history be written." Not even a Frenchman is fitted for the task; but Mr. Abbott has a cloudless reason, and such varied and extensive literary attainments, that he alone is capable to write the history of Napoleon-he alone has the qualities of a judge and critic-he alone can see things as they are--he alone has had the means of investigating these dark and complicated historical questions! And what is the response of the American oracle? "If Napoleon had decided to sustain the claims of Ferdinand, he would have been grossly recreant to his own principles in upholding one of the most bigoted despotisms earth has ever known. Standing before the world as the advocate of freedom, he would have left a stigma on his name which could never have been effaced. In self-defence he took from the Bourbons that power which they were striving to use for his own destruction, and the regeneration of the Peninsula commenced." To such potent arguments no response is necessary. What a pity that so noble a scheme as the regeneration of Spain should have failed! But since Mr. Abbott sees nothing in Napoleon but benevolence, and love of freedom, and personal disinterestedness, how does he get over the repudiation of his wife, the noble and generous Josephine, who was the maker of his fortunes, and who loved her husband with a fidelity and intensity, of which no one has ever spoken but in the strongest language of admiration. True, he appreciated this love, and honored the character of the empress, caused the Pope to celebrate the nuptials a second time, and even consented to her coronation, wrote her perpetually the most affectionate letters, and gave all the proof which so selfish a man could, of the warmth of his own affections. Yet on this glorious and accomplished woman he inflicted the most heart-rending of all cruelties, and prevailed upon her to consent publicly to the ruin of her hopes, and the wreck of her happiness, the greatest sacrifice which mortal woman has ever triumphantly passed through. Mr. Abbott admits that "it was a violation of the immutable laws of God, and, like all wrong-doing, however seemingly prosperous for a time, promoted final disaster and woe." But why add that "Napoleon unquestionably felt that he did right." Can a man, instructed in Christianity, violate those laws which it pronounces to be immutable as those of God, and feel that he is doing right? Is this a doctrine to teach the young? And why take pains to quote all the miserable apologies of French writers for this blasting infamy? Napoleon wanted an heir, did he? Why not select one of his hopeful nephews? No, he must repudiate the woman, sprung like him from humble origin, and ally himself with an imperial family. His pride and devouring ambition must be more fully gratified, and Josephine becomes his victim, and dies of a broken heart. Surely, "in America alone can an impartial history of Napoleon be written!" We now come to consider Mr. Abbott's treatment of the most gigantic of all Napoleon's crimes-the invasion of Russia. This "great democratic chief" is represented as being forced into the war with Russia, in consequence of the gold and intrigues of England, a country upon which the author vents all the bitterness that seems to exist in his loving and charitable nature. "It was," says he, "the struggle of liberty against oppression." "It was the struggle of the friends of popular rights against the partisans of the old feudal aristocracy." Therefore, "calling together his allies, Prussia, Austria, Italy," &c., among whom of course were no friends of feudalism, aristocracy, or despotism, "the king of the commons "found himself at the head of 500,000 men, all ready to follow his guidance with enthusiasm "to proclaim liberty, we suppose, to the serfs of Russia, and plant colonies of emancipated Cossacks on the plains of Moscow. He, the friend of the people, a sort of Robespierre, clothed with the armor of an Alexander, was only warring against despotism, and to preserve the balance of power, deranged by the encroachments of Russia. Had he but succeeded, the reign of peace and justice would have commenced, the lion and the lamb would have been seen side by side lying down together, and the great consummation of human happiness would have been accomplished. "For," said Napoleon at St. Helena, "Paris then would have been the capital of the world, and my old age would have been consecrated in visiting every corner of my empire-in receiving complaints, redressing wrongs, founding monuments, and doing good." Thus, Napoleon himself admits his own boundless ambition to revive, on the banks of the Seine, the recollection of Rome. "This, said he, was my dream." And a pretty innocent dream it was to head an army of more than half a million of men, gathered out of all the continental nations whom he had subdued, and to lead them over frozen snows to victory and plunder, until no enemy should be left in Europe capable of withstanding him. The invading hosts, however, smitten by the hand of God, only served to dye the rivers with their blood, and whiten the soil with their bones. This Nothing, however, escapes from the pen of Mr. Abbott derogatory to the fame or character of his hero, even in the prosecution of this most astonishing scheme of maddened ambition. horrible campaign, which no true-minded man can contemplate to the end of time without a shudder, is only a benevolent mission to give liberty to Poland, equal rights to Cossacks, and moral grandeur to the French nation. But we cannot pursue this subject further. We are filled with feelings of mingled disgust, pity, and indignation. We have no heart to follow our author in his chapters on Napoleon's fall, exile, death, and burial, nor on the restoration of his remains to the banks of the Seine, "which he loved so well," and where he now lies-where he will probably for centuries lie, in granite and in marble vaults, in comparison with whose magnificence, the tombs of the Cæsars are as mounds of clay. Our concern is not with Napoleon. His history vindicates his fame. We have to do with a biographer who has endorsed his worst acts, palliated his treacheries and cruelties, excused his blunders, and glorified his name in every variety of undignified panegyric. ambition of Napoleon was philanthropy, his heartlessness the dictate of a comprehensive policy, and his selfishness the result of enlarged political wisdom. No great moral truths are enforced in view of mistakes and crimes. The fears The and injured dignity of nations are denounced as selfish desires to preserve feudal and aristocratic distinctions, and their final rising to vindicate their wounded honor and restore their cherished nationalities, are painted with the single view of showing their revengeful fury in crushing a man, when misforfortune had overtaken him, who was a benefactor of his race, and the name of all names of which humanity has the greatest reason to be proud. And, throughout the work, England comes in for an exhaustless subject of abuse, as if all the depravity, since the original transgression, were centered in those aristocratic families who were among the bitter enemies of Napoleon. England has her faults-and we would not shield them. England, too, was punished for the interference she assumed in the struggle of the Revolution. England still has the misfortune to preserve many of the injustices of feudal ages. But it is a mistake to suppose that England is the foe of the liberties of Europe. In her lovely retreats are still sheltered those patriots whom France will not tolerate on her soil. She is still the asylum of persecuted exiles who could not live in any other country in Europe. With all her feudalities and aristocracies, let it be remembered that, in England, there is no imperial despotism—no army of spies, no system of passports, no shackles on the press, no inquisitorial police, no alliance with Jesuits, no religious persecution, no preponderance of military power. We have spent happy years both in England and France, but we have no hesitation in saying that in all the substantial elements of liberty, of truthfulness, of progress, and of moral elevation, |