have not taken place, and in which breaking hearts have not been ready
to prompt the exclamation "There is no sorrow like mine."

How is the agony of such moments increased by the recollection that in
the same chamber where such bitter grief now reigns, joy and pleasure
once dwelt, and that those who shared it can bless us no more! How like
a cruel mockery, then, appear the splendour and beauty of all that
meets the eye, unchanged as when it was in unison with our feelings,
but which now jars so fearfully with them!

I wonder not that the bereaved wife fled from this house, where every
object reminded her of a husband so fondly loved, so fearfully lost, to
mourn in some more humble abode over the fate of _him_ who could no
more resist the magical influence of the presence of that glorious
chief, who had so often led him to victory, than the war-horse can
resist being animated by the sound of that trumpet which has often
excited the proud animal into ardour.

Peace be to thy manes, gallant Ney; and if thy spirit be permitted to
look down on this earth, it will be soothed by the knowledge that the
wife of thy bosom has remained faithful to thy memory; and that thy
sons, worthy of their sire--brave, noble, and generous-hearted--are
devoted to their country, for which thou hadst so often fought and
bled!




CHAPTER VI.