e destinies of Europe?
Ye materialists, ye philosophers! answer that.

Is it to the rain that fell in such torrents until close on midday of
that stupendous 18th of June, that must be ascribed this wonderful and
all-embracing change that came over the destinies of myriads of people,
of entire nations, kingdoms and empires? Rather is it not because God
just on that day of all days chose to show this world of pigmies--great
men, valiant heroes, controlling genius and all-powerful
conquerors--the entire extent of His might--so far and no further--and
in order to show it, He selected that simple, seemingly futile means
. . . just a heavy shower of rain.

At half-past eleven the cannon began to roar on the plains of Mont Saint
Jean,[2] but not before. Before that it had rained: rained heavily, and
the ground was soaked through, and the all-powerful artillery of the
most powerful military genius of all times was momentarily powerless.

[Footnote 2: _i.e._ Waterloo.]

Had it not rained so persistently and so long that same compelling
artillery would have begun its devastating work earlier in the day--at
six mayhap, or mayhap at dawn, another five, six, seven hours to add to
the length of that awful day: another five, six, seven hours wherein to
tax the tenacity, the heroic persistence of the British troops: another
five, six, seven hours of dogged resistance on the one side, of
impetuous charges on the other, before the arrival of Bluecher and his
Prussians and the turning of the scales of blind Justice against the
daring gambler who had staked his all.

But it was only at half-past eleven that the cannon began to roar, and
the undulating plain carried the echo like a thunder-roll from heaving
billow to heaving billow till it broke against the silent majesty of the
forest of Soigne.

Here with the forest as a background is the highest point of Mont
Saint Jean: and here beneath an overhanging elm--all day on
horseback--anxious, frigid and heroic, is Wellington--with a rain of
bullets all round him, watching, ceaselessly watching that horizon far
away, wrapped now in fog, anon in smoke and soon in gathering darkness:
watching for the promised Prussian army that was to ease the terrible
burden of that desperate stand which the British troops were bearing and
had borne all day with such unflinching courage and dogged tenacity.

It is in vain that his aides-de-camp beg him to move away from that
perilous position.

"My lo