phon," might accompany Napoleon to St. Helena. As
Maingaud's excuse was very lame, and O'Meara had had one or two talks
with Napoleon _in Italian_, Keith and Maitland should have seen that
there was some understanding between them; but the Admiral consented
to the proposed change. As to O'Meara's duplicity, we may quote from
Basil Jackson's "Waterloo and St. Helena": "I _know_ that he [O'Meara]
was _fully enlisted_ for Napoleon's service during the voyage from
Rochefort to England." The sequel will show how disastrous it was to
allow this man to go with the ex-Emperor.

In the Admiral's barge that took him to the "Northumberland" the
ex-Emperor "appeared to be in perfect good humour," says Keith,
"talking of Egypt, St. Helena, of my former name being Elphinstone,
and many other subjects, and joking with the ladies about being
seasick."[543] In this firm matter-of-fact way did Napoleon accept the
extraordinary change in his fortunes. At no time of his life, perhaps,
was he so great as when, forgetting his own headlong fall, he sought
to dispel the smaller griefs of Mmes. Bertrand and Montholon. A hush
came over the crew as Napoleon mounted the side and set foot on the
deck of the ship that was to bear him away to a life of exile. It was
a sight that none could behold unmoved, as the great man uncovered,
received the salute, and said with a firm voice: "Here I am, General,
at your orders."

The scene was rich, not only in personal interest and pathos, but also
in historic import. It marks the end of a cataclysmic epoch and the
dawn of a dreary and confused age. We may picture the Muse of History,
drawn distractedly from her abodes on the banks of the Seine, gazing
in wonder on that event taking place under the lee of Berry Head, her
thoughts flashing back, perchance, to the days when William of Orange
brought his fleet to shore at that same spot and baffled the designs
of the other great ruler of France. The glory of that land is now once
more to be shrouded in gloom. For a time, like an uneasy ghost, Clio
will hover above the scenes of Napoleon's exploits and will find
little to record but promises broken and development arrested by his
unteachable successors.

But the march of Humanity is only clogged: it is not stayed. Ere long
it breaks away into untrodden paths amidst the busy hives of industry
or in the track of the colonizing peoples. The Muse follows in
perplexity: her course at first seems dull and purposeless