sian existence, he retired to his country-seat,
in January, 1815, the very season when people of consideration are most
engrossed by the busy scenes of the metropolis. There he led an
unfettered life; he gave his mornings to field sports; and the guests he
entertained in the evening were such as, from their humble condition,
rendered formality useless, and placed him completely at his ease.

It was here that on the 6th of March he was surprised by the arrival of
an aide-de-camp from the minister at war, who ordered him, with all
possible despatch, to join the sixth division, of which he was the
commander, and which was stationed at Besancon. In his anxiety to learn
the extent of his instructions, Ney immediately rode to Paris; and
there, for the first time, learned the disembarkation of Buonaparte from
Elba.

Ney eagerly undertook the commission assigned him of hastening to oppose
the invader. In his last interview with Louis his protestations of
devotedness to the Bourbons, and his denunciations against Napoleon,
were ardent--perhaps they were sincere. Whether he said that Buonaparte
_deserved_ to be confined in an iron cage, or that he would _bring_ him
to Paris in one, is not very clear, nor indeed very material.--We
reluctantly approach the darker shades in the life of this great
officer.

On his arrival at Besancon, March 10th, he learned the disaffection of
all the troops hitherto sent against the invader, and perceived that
those by whom he was surrounded were not more to be trusted. He was
surrounded with loud and incessant cries of _Vive l'Empereur!_ Already,
at Lyons, two members of the royal family had found all opposition vain;
the march of Napoleon was equally peaceful and triumphant. During the
night of the 13th, Ney had a secret interview with a courier from his
old master; and on the following morning he announced to his troops that
the house of Bourbon had ceased to reign--that the emperor was the only
ruler France would acknowledge! He then hastened to meet Napoleon, by
whom he was received with open arms, and hailed by his indisputed title
of Bravest of the Brave.

Ney was soon doomed to suffer the necessary consequence of his
crime--bitter and unceasing remorse. His inward reproaches became
intolerable: he felt humbled, mortified, for he had lost that noble
self-confidence, that inward sense of dignity, that unspeakable and
exalted satisfaction, which integrity alone can bestow: the man who
woul