Advancing in orderly time, they came,--no sound heard save the dull reverberation of the earth as it trembled beneath the columns, when the hoarse challenge to “halt” was called from rank to rank as often as those in the rear pressed on the leading files; but as they reached the Brandenburg gate, the band of each regiment burst forth, and the wide Platz resounded with the clang of martial music. In front of the palace stood the Emperor, surrounded by his staff, which was joined in succession by each general of brigade as his corps moved by. A simple acknowledgment of the military salute was all Napoleon gave as each battalion passed,--until the small party of the Imperial Guard appeared, bearing the captured colors. Then his proud features relaxed, his eye flashed and sparkled, and he lifted his chapeau straight above his head, and remained uncovered the whole time they were marching past. This was the moment when enthusiasm could no longer be restrained, and a cry of “Vive l'Empereur!” burst forth, that, caught up by those behind, rose in ten thousand echoes along the distant suburbs of Berlin. To look upon that glorious and glittering band, bronzed with battle, their proud faces lit up with all the pride of victory, was indeed a triumph; and one instinctively turned to see the looks of wondering and admiration such a sight must have inspired. But with what sense of sadness came the sudden thought: this is the proud exultation of the conqueror over the conquered; here come no happy faces and bright looks to welcome those who have rescued them from slavery; here are no voices calling welcome to the deliverer. No: it was a people crushed and trodden down; their hard-won laurels tarnished and dishonored; their country enslaved; their monarch a wanderer, no one knew where. Little thought they who raised the statue of brass to the memory of the Great Frederick, that the clank of French musketry would be heard around it. Rossbach was, indeed, avenged,--and cruelly avenged. Never did a people behave with more dignity under misfortune than the Prussians on the entrance of the French into their capital. The streets were deserted; the houses closed; the city was in mourning; and none stooped to the slavish adulation which might win favor with the conqueror. It was a triumph; but there were none to witness it. Of the nobles, scarce one remained in Berlin. They had fallen in battle, or followed the fortunes of their beaten army, now scattered and dispersed through the kingdom. Their wives and daughters, in deepest mourning, bewailed their ruined country as they would the death of a dearest friend. They cut off their blonde locks, and sorrowed like those without a hope. Their great country was to be reduced to the rank of a mere German province; their army disbanded; their king dethroned. Such was the contrast to our hour of triumph; such the sad reverse to the gorgeous display of our armed squadrons.