101:349;00@@@@@| 101:349;01[' ]| 101:349;02[' ]| <1811 ~~ 1863> 101:349;03[' ]| 101:349;04[' ]| ALL that$6#2$ day, from morning until past sunset, the 101:349;05[' ]| cannon never ceased to$9$ roar. It was dark when the 101:349;06[' ]| cannonading stopped all of a sudden. 101:349;07[' ]| All of us have read of what occurred during that$6#2$ 101:350;01[' ]| interval. The tale is in$4$ every Englishman's mouth; 101:350;02[' ]| and you and I, who$6#1$ were children when the great 101:350;03[' ]| battle was won and lost, are never tired of hearing and 101:350;04[' ]| recounting the history of that$6#2$ famous action. Its remembrance 101:350;05[' ]| rankles still in$4$ the bosoms of millions of 101:350;06[' ]| the countrymen of those brave men who$6#1$ lost the day. 101:350;07[' ]| They pant for$4$ an opportunity of revenging that$6#2$ 101:350;08[' ]| humiliation; and if a contest, ending in$4$ a victory on$4$ 101:350;09[' ]| their part, should ensue, elating them in$4$ their turn, 101:350;10[' ]| and leaving its cursed legacy of hatred and rage behind 101:350;11[' ]| to$4$ us, there is no$2$ end to$4$ the so-called glory and shame, 101:350;12[' ]| and to$4$ the alternations of successful and unsuccessful 101:350;13[' ]| murder, in$4$ which$6#1$ two high-spirited nations might 101:350;14[' ]| engage. Centuries hence, we Frenchmen and Englishmen 101:350;15[' ]| might be boasting and killing each other still, 101:350;16[' ]| carrying out bravely the Devil's code of honour. 101:350;17[' ]| All our friends took their share and fought like$4$ men 101:350;18[' ]| in$4$ the great field. All day long, whilst the women 101:350;19[' ]| were praying ten miles away, the lines of the dauntless 101:350;20[' ]| English infantry were receiving and repelling the 101:350;21[' ]| furious charges of the French horsemen. Guns which$6#1$ 101:350;22[' ]| were heard at Brussels were ploughing up$5$ their ranks, 101:350;23[' ]| and comrades falling, and the resolute survivors closing 101:350;24[' ]| in$5$. Towards evening, the attack of the French, repeated 101:350;25[' ]| and resisted so$5#1$ bravely, slackened in$4$ its fury. 101:350;26[' ]| They had other foes besides the British to$9$ engage, or 101:350;27[' ]| were preparing for$4$ a final onset. It came at last: the 101:350;28[' ]| columns of the Imperial*Guard marched up$4$ the hill of 101:350;29[' ]| Saint*Jean, at length and at once to$9$ sweep the English 101:350;30[' ]| from the height which$6#1$ they had maintained all day, 101:350;31[' ]| and spite of all. Unscared by$4$ the thunder of the 101:350;32[' ]| artillery, which$6#1$ hurled death from the English line, 101:350;33[' ]| the dark rolling column pressed on$5$ and up$4$ the hill. 101:350;34[' ]| It seemed almost to$9$ crest the eminence, when it began 101:350;35[' ]| to$9$ wave and falter. Then it stopped, still facing the 101:350;36[' ]| shot. Then at last the English troops rushed from 101:350;37[' ]| the post from which$6#1$ no$2$ enemy had been able to$9$ dislodge 101:350;38[' ]| them, and the Guard turned and fled. 101:350;39[' ]| No$2$ more firing was heard at Brussels ~~ the pursuit 101:350;40[' ]| rolled miles away. Darkness came down on$4$ the field 101:351;01[' ]| and city; and Amelia was praying for$4$ George, who$6#1$ 101:351;02[' ]| was lying on$4$ his face, dead, with a bullet through his 101:351;03[' ]| heart. ~~ 101:351;03[' ]| <\Vanity Fair.\> 102:351;00@@@@@| 102:351;04[' ]| 102:351;05[' ]| 102:351;06[' ]| The instinct which$6#1$ led Henry*Esmond to$9$ admire and 102:351;07[' ]| love the gracious person, the fair apparition of whose 102:351;08[' ]| beauty and kindness had so$5#1$ moved him when he first 102:351;09[' ]| beheld her, became soon a devoted affection and passion 102:351;10[' ]| of gratitude, which$6#1$ entirely filled his young heart, that$3$ 102:351;11[' ]| as yet, except in$4$ the case of dear Father*Holt, had had 102:351;12[' ]| very little kindness for$4$ which$6#1$ to$9$ be thankful. \7O 7Dea\ 102:351;13[' ]| \7certe\, thought he, remembering the lines of the A*Eneis 102:351;14[' ]| which$6#1$ Mr%*Holt had taught him. There seemed, as 102:351;15[' ]| the boy thought, in$4$ every look or gesture of this fair 102:351;16[' ]| creature, an angelical softness and bright pity ~~ in$4$ 102:351;17[' ]| motion or repose she seemed gracious alike; the tone 102:351;18[' ]| of her voice, though she uttered words ever so$5#1$ trivial, 102:351;19[' ]| gave him a pleasure that$6#1$ amounted almost to$4$ anguish. 102:351;20[' ]| It cannot be called love, that$6#1$ a lad of twelve years of 102:351;21[' ]| age little more than a menial, felt for$4$ an exalted lady, 102:351;22[' ]| his mistress: but it was worship. To$9$ catch her glance, 102:351;23[' ]| to$9$ divine her errand and run on$4$ it before she had 102:351;24[' ]| spoken it; to$9$ watch, follow, adore her; became the 102:351;25[' ]| business of his life. Meanwhile, as is the way often, 102:351;26[' ]| his idol had idols of her own, and never thought of or 102:351;27[' ]| suspected the admiration of her little pigmy adorer. 102:351;28[' ]| My Lady had on$4$ her side three idols: first and foremost, 102:351;29[' ]| Jove and supreme ruler, was her lord, Harry's 102:351;30[' ]| patron, the good Viscount*of*Castlewood. All wishes 102:351;31[' ]| of his were laws with her. If he had a headache, she 102:351;32[' ]| was ill. If he frowned, she trembled. If he joked, 102:351;33[' ]| she smiled and was charmed. If he went a-hunting, 102:351;34[' ]| she was always at the window to$9$ see him ride away, her 102:351;35[' ]| little son crowing on$4$ her arm, or on$4$ the watch till his 102:351;36[' ]| return. She made dishes for$4$ his dinner: spiced his 102:352;01[' ]| wine for$4$ him: made the toast for$4$ his tankard at breakfast: 102:352;02[' ]| hushed the house when he slept in$4$ his chair, and 102:352;03[' ]| watched for$4$ a look when he woke. If my Lord was not a 102:352;04[' ]| little proud of his beauty, my Lady adored it. She clung 102:352;05[' ]| to$4$ his arm as he paced the terrace, her two fair little 102:352;06[' ]| hands clasped round his great one; her eyes were never 102:352;07[' ]| tired of looking in$4$ his face and wondering at its perfection. 102:352;08[' ]| Her little son was his son, and had his father's 102:352;09[' ]| look and curly brown hair. Her daughter Beatrix was 102:352;10[' ]| his daughter, and had his eyes ~~ were there ever such 102:352;11[' ]| beautiful eyes in$4$ the world? All the house was arranged 102:352;12[' ]| so$3$ as to$9$ bring him ease and give him pleasure. She 102:352;13[' ]| liked the small gentry round about to$9$ come and pay 102:352;14[' ]| him court, never caring for$4$ admiration for$4$ herself; 102:352;15[' ]| those who$6#1$ wanted to$9$ be well with the lady must admire 102:352;16[' ]| him. Not regarding her dress, she would wear a gown 102:352;17[' ]| to$4$ rags, because he had once liked it; and if he had 102:352;18[' ]| brought her a brooch or a ribbon, would prefer it to$4$ 102:352;19[' ]| the most costly articles of her wardrobe. 102:352;20[' ]| My Lord went to$4$ London every year for$4$ six weeks, 102:352;21[' ]| and the family being too poor to$9$ appear at Court with 102:352;22[' ]| any figure, he went alone. It was not until he was out 102:352;23[' ]| of sight that$3$ her face showed any sorrow: and what a 102:352;24[' ]| joy when he came back! What preparation before his 102:352;25[' ]| return! The fond creature had his arm-chair at the 102:352;26[' ]| chimney-side ~~ delighting to$9$ put the children in$4$ it, and 102:352;27[' ]| to$9$ look at them there. Nobody took his place at the 102:352;28[' ]| table; but his silver tankard stood there as when my 102:352;29[' ]| Lord was present. 102:352;30[' ]| A pretty sight it was to$9$ see, during my Lord's 102:352;31[' ]| absence, or on$4$ those many mornings when sleep or 102:352;32[' ]| headache kept him a-bed, this fair young lady of Castlewood, 102:352;33[' ]| her little daughter at her knee, and her domestics 102:352;34[' ]| gathered round her, reading the Morning*Prayer of the 102:352;35[' ]| English*Church. Esmond long remembered how she 102:352;36[' ]| looked and spoke, kneeling reverently before the sacred 102:352;37[' ]| book, the sun shining upon$4$ her golden hair until it made 102:352;38[' ]| a halo round about her. A dozen of the servants of the 102:352;39[' ]| house kneeled in$4$ a line opposite their mistress. For$4$ a 102:352;40[' ]| while Harry*Esmond kept apart from these mysteries, 102:353;01[' ]| but Doctor*Tusher showing him that$3$ the prayers read 102:353;02[' ]| were those of the Church of all ages, and the boy's own 102:353;03[' ]| inclination prompting him to$9$ be always as near as he 102:353;04[' ]| might to$4$ his mistress, and to$9$ think all things she did 102:353;05[' ]| right, from listening to$4$ the prayers in$4$ the ante-chamber, 102:353;06[' ]| he came presently to$9$ kneel down with the rest of the 102:353;07[' ]| household in$4$ the parlour; and before a couple of years 102:353;08[' ]| my lady had made a thorough convert. Indeed the 102:353;09[' ]| boy loved his catechiser so$5#1$ much that$3$ he would have 102:353;10[' ]| subscribed to$4$ anything she bade him, and was never 102:353;11[' ]| tired of listening to$4$ her fond discourse and simple comments 102:353;12[' ]| upon$4$ the book, which$6#1$ she read to$4$ him in$4$ a voice 102:353;13[' ]| of which$6#1$ it was difficult to$9$ resist the sweet persuasion 102:353;14[' ]| and tender appealing kindness. This friendly controversy, 102:353;15[' ]| and the intimacy which$6#1$ it occasioned, bound the 102:353;16[' ]| lad more fondly than ever to$4$ his mistress. The happiest 102:353;17[' ]| period of all his life was this; and the young 102:353;18[' ]| mother, with her daughter and son, and the orphan 102:353;19[' ]| lad whom she protected, read and worked and played, 102:353;20[' ]| and were children together. If the lady looked forward 102:353;21[' ]| ~~ as what fond woman does not? ~~ towards the 102:353;22[' ]| future, she had no$2$ plans from which$6#1$ Harry*Esmond 102:353;23[' ]| was left out; and a thousand and a thousand times, in$4$ 102:353;24[' ]| his passionate and impetuous way, he vowed that$3$ no$2$ 102:353;25[' ]| power should separate him from his mistress; and only 102:353;26[' ]| asked for$4$ some chance to$9$ happen by$4$ which$6#1$ he might 102:353;27[' ]| show his fidelity to$4$ her. Now, at the close of his life, 102:353;28[' ]| as he sits and recalls in$4$ tranquillity the happy and busy 102:353;29[' ]| scenes of it, he can think, not ungratefully, that$3$ he has 102:353;30[' ]| been faithful to$4$ that$6#2$ early vow. ~~ 102:353;30[' ]| <\Henry Esmond.\> 103:353,00@@@@@| 103:353;31[' ]| 103:353;32[' ]| Our chief, whom England and all Europe, saving 103:353;33[' ]| only the Frenchmen, worshippped almost, had this of 103:353;34[' ]| the godlike in$4$ him, that$3$ he was impassible before 103:353;35[' ]| victory, before danger, before defeat. Before the 103:353;36[' ]| greatest obstacle or the most trivial ceremony; before 103:354;01[' ]| a hundred thousand men drawn in$4$ battalia, or a peasant 103:354;02[' ]| slaughtered at the door of his burning hovel; before 103:354;03[' ]| a carouse of drunken German lords, or a monarch's 103:354;04[' ]| court, or a cottage table where his plans were laid, or 103:354;05[' ]| an enemy's battery, vomiting flame and death, and 103:354;06[' ]| strewing corpses round about him; ~~ he was always 103:354;07[' ]| cold, calm, resolute, like$4$ fate. He performed a treason 103:354;08[' ]| or a court-bow, he told a falsehood as black as Styx, 103:354;09[' ]| as easily as he paid a compliment or spoke about the 103:354;10[' ]| weather. He took a mistress, and left her; he 103:354;11[' ]| betrayed his benefactor, and supported him, or would 103:354;12[' ]| have murdered him, with the same calmness always, 103:354;13[' ]| and having no$2$ more remorse than Clotho when she 103:354;14[' ]| weaves the thread, or Lachesis when she cuts it. In$4$ 103:354;15[' ]| the hour of battle I have heard the Prince*of*Savoy's 103:354;16[' ]| officers say, the Prince became possessed with a sort of 103:354;17[' ]| warlike fury; his eyes lighted up$5$; he rushed hither 103:354;18[' ]| and thither raging; he shrieked curses and encouragement, 103:354;19[' ]| yelling and harking his bloody war-dogs on$5$ and 103:354;20[' ]| himself always at the first of the hunt. Our Duke was 103:354;21[' ]| as calm at the mouth of the cannon as at the door of a 103:354;22[' ]| drawing*room. Perhaps he could not have been the 103:354;23[' ]| great man he was, had he had a heart either for$4$ love 103:354;24[' ]| or hatred, or pity or fear, or regret or remorse. He 103:354;25[' ]| achieved the highest deed of daring, or deepest 103:354;26[' ]| calculation of thought, as he performed the very 103:354;27[' ]| meanest action of which$6#1$ a man is capable; told a lie 103:354;28[' ]| or cheated a fond woman, or robbed a poor beggar of a 103:354;29[' ]| half-penny, with a like$2$ awful serenity and equal capacity 103:354;30[' ]| of the highest and lowest acts of our nature. 103:354;31[' ]| His qualities were pretty well known in$4$ the army, 103:354;32[' ]| where there were parties of all politics, and of plenty 103:354;33[' ]| of shrewdness and wit; but there existed such a perfect 103:354;34[' ]| confidence in$4$ him, as the first captain of the world, 103:354;35[' ]| and such a faith and admiration in$4$ his prodigious 103:354;36[' ]| genius and fortune, that$3$ the very men whom he 103:354;37[' ]| notoriously cheated of their pay, the chiefs whom he 103:354;38[' ]| used and injured ~~ for$3$ he used all men, great and 103:354;39[' ]| small, that$6#1$ came near him, as his instruments alike, 103:354;40[' ]| and took something of theirs, either some quality or 103:355;01[' ]| some property ~~ the blood of a soldier, it might be, or 103:355;02[' ]| a jewelled hat, or a hundred thousand crowns from a 103:355;03[' ]| king, or a portion out of a starving sentinel's three-farthings; 103:355;04[' ]| or (when he was young) a kiss from a 103:355;05[' ]| woman, and the gold chain off her neck, taking all he 103:355;06[' ]| could from woman or man, and having, as I have said, 103:355;07[' ]| this of the godlike in$4$ him, that$3$ he could see a hero 103:355;08[' ]| perish or a sparrow fall, with the same amount of 103:355;09[' ]| sympathy for$4$ either. Not that$3$ he had no$2$ tears; he 103:355;10[' ]| could always order up$5$ this reserve at the proper 103:355;11[' ]| moment to$9$ battle; he could draw upon$4$ tears or smiles 103:355;12[' ]| alike, and whenever need was for$4$ using this cheap 103:355;13[' ]| coin. He would cringe to$4$ a shoeblack, as he would 103:355;14[' ]| flatter a minister or a monarch; be haughty, be humble, 103:355;15[' ]| threaten, repent, weep, grasp your hand (or stab you 103:355;16[' ]| whenever he saw occasion). ~~ But yet those of the 103:355;17[' ]| army, who$6#1$ knew him best and had suffered most from 103:355;18[' ]| him, admired him most of all: and as he rode along 103:355;19[' ]| the lines to$4$ battle or galloped up$5$ in$4$ the nick of time to$4$ 103:355;20[' ]| a battalion reeling from before the enemy's charge or 103:355;21[' ]| shot, the fainting men and officers got new courage as 103:355;22[' ]| they saw the splendid calm of his face, and felt that$3$ 103:355;23[' ]| his will$0$ made them irresistible. ~~ 103:355;23[' ]| <\Henry Esmond.\>