of our day, the wrath of the nation might break forth in a
way that would teach tyrants a salutary lesson.

But this great man was at the mercy of a lot of little men. They were
too cowardly to shoot him, so they determined on a cunning dastardly
process of slow assassination. The pious bard who sings the praises of
Napoleon's executioners--Wellington and his coadjutors--and whose
"History" was unworthy of the reputations of himself and his
publishers, will have sunk into oblivion when the fiery soul of the
"Sultan Kebir"[2] will seize on the imagination of generations yet
unborn, and intoxicate them with the memory of the deeds that he had
done.

Napoleon has said, "In the course of time, nothing will be thought so
fine nor seize the attention so much as the doing of justice to me. I
shall gain ground every day on the minds of the people. My name will
become the star of their rights, it will be the expression of their
regrets."[3] This statement is as prophetic as many others, more or
less important, made by Napoleon to one or other of his suite. It is
remarkable how accurately he foretold events and the impressions that
would be formed of himself.

Had the warning given so frequently to Sir Hudson Lowe been conveyed
to his Government, and had they acted upon it, there is little doubt
that a change of climate would have prolonged the Emperor's life. But
in going over those dreary nauseous documents which relate the tale,
one becomes permeated with the belief that the intention was to
torture, if not to kill. Dr. Antommarchi, who succeeded Dr. O'Meara as
medical attendant to the Emperor, confirms all that O'Meara had
conveyed so frequently to the Governor and to the Admiralty. The
Council sent for him to give them information as to the climate of
St. Helena. They express the opinion that at Longwood it is "good."
Antommarchi replies, "Horrible," "Cold," "Hot," "Dry," "Damp,"
"Variation of atmosphere twenty times in a day." "But," said they,
"this had no influence on General Bonaparte's health," and the blunt
reply of Antommarchi is flung at them, "It sent him to his grave."
"But," came the question, "what would have been the consequences of a
change of residence?" "That he would still be living," said
Antommarchi. The dialogue continues, the doctor scoring heavily all
the way through. At length one of the Council becomes offended at his
daring frankness, and blurts forth in "statesmanlike" anger: "What
signifies, a