On the 14th of May, when the ‘federes’ were marshalled in processional order and treated with what was called a solemn festival, as they moved along the boulevards to the Court of the Tuileries, they coupled the name of Napoleon with Jacobin curses and revolutionary songs.  The airs and the words that had made Paris tremble to her very centre during the Reign of Terror—­the “Marseillaise,” the “Carmagnole,” the “Jour du depart,” the execrable ditty, the burden of which is, “And with the entrails of the last of the priests let us strangle the last of the kings,” were all roared out in fearful chorus by a drunken, filthy, and furious mob.  Many a day had elapsed since they had dared to sing these blasphemous and antisocial songs in public.  Napoleon himself as soon as he had power enough suppressed them, and he was as proud of this feat and his triumph over the dregs of the Jacobins as he was of any of his victories; and in this he was right, in this he proved himself the friend of humanity.  As the tumultuous mass approached the triumphal arch and the grand entrance to the Palace he could not conceal his abhorrence.  His Guards were drawn up under arms, and numerous pieces of artillery, already loaded were turned out on the Place du Carrousel.  He hastily dismissed these dangerous partisans with some praise, some money, and some drink.  On coming into close contact with such a mob he did not feel his fibre respond to that of the populace!  Like Frankenstein, he loathed and was afraid of the mighty monster he had put together.

But it was not merely the mob that checked the liberalism or constitution of Napoleon, a delicate and doubtful plant in itself, that required the most cautious treatment to make it really take root and grow up in such a soil:  Some of his councillors, who called themselves “philosophical statesmen,” advised him to lay aside the style of Emperor, and assume that of High President or Lord General of the Republic!  Annoyed with such puerilities while the enemy was every day drawing nearer the frontiers he withdrew from the Tuileries to the comparatively small and retired palace of the Elysee, where he escaped these talking-dreamers, and felt himself again a sovereign:  Shut up with Benjamin Constant and a few other reasonable politicians, he drew up the sketch of a new constitution, which was neither much better nor much worse than the royal charter of Louis XVIII.  We give an epitome of its main features.

The Emperor was to have executive power, and to exercise legislative power in concurrence with the two Chambers.  The Chamber of Peers was to be hereditary, and nominated by the Emperor, and its number was unlimited.  The Second Chamber was to be elected by the people, and to consist of 629 members; none to be under the age of twenty-five.  The President was to be appointed by the members, but approved of by the Emperor.  Members were to be paid at the rate settled by the Constituent Assembly, which was to be renewed every