e eagles of the crags. I saw him at Marengo--at
Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow
and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's
withered leaves. I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster--driven by
a million bayonets back upon Paris--clutched like a wild beast--banished
to Elba. I saw him escape and retake an empire by the force of his
genius. I saw him upon the frightful field of Waterloo, where Chance and
Fate combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king. And I saw him
at St. Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the
sad and solemn sea.

I thought of the orphans and widows he had made--of the tears that
had been shed for his glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him,
pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambition. And I said I would
rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would rather
have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes
growing purple in the kisses of the autumn sun. I would rather have been
that poor peasant with my loving wife by my side, knitting as the day
died out of the sky--with my children upon my knees and their arms about
me--I would rather have been that man and gone down to the tongueless
silence of the dreamless dust, than to have been that imperial
impersonation of force and murder.

It is not necessary to be great to be happy; it is not necessary to
be rich to be just and generous and to have a heart filled with divine
affection. No matter whether you are rich or poor, treat your wife as
though she were a splendid flower, and she will fill your life with
perfume and with joy.

And do you know, it is a splendid thing to think that the woman you
really love will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time,
through the mask of years, if you really love her, you will always see
the face you loved and won. And a woman who really loves a man does not
see that he grows old; he is not decrepit to her; he does not tremble;
he is not old; she always sees the same gallant gentleman who won her
hand and heart. I like to think of it in that way; I like to think that
love is eternal. And to love in that way and then go down the hill
of life together, and as you go down, hear, perhaps, the laughter of
grandchildren, while the birds of joy and love sing once more in the
leafless branches of the tree of age.

I believe in the fireside. I believe in the dem