f out of the window.
You see to what a string of absurdities that will lead?"

The following traits are characteristic of the man. In the common
intercourse of life, and his familiar conversation, Napoleon mutilated
the names most familiar to him, even French names; yet this would not
have occurred on any public occasion. He has been heard many times
during his walks to repeat the celebrated speech of Augustus in
Corneille's tragedy, and he has never missed saying, "Take a seat,
Sylla," instead of Cinna. He would frequently create names according to
his fancy, and when he had once adopted them they remained fixed in his
mind, although they were pronounced properly a hundred times a day in his
hearing; but he would have been struck if others had used them as he had
altered them. It was the same thing with respect to orthography; in
general he did not attend to it, yet if the copies which were made
contained any faults of spelling he would have complained of it. One day
Napoleon said to Las Cases, "Your orthography is not correct, is it?"
This question gave occasion to a sarcastic smile from a person who stood
near, who thought it was meant to convey a reproach. The Emperor, who
saw this, continued, "At least I suppose it is not, for a man occupied
with important public business, a minister, for instance, cannot and need
not attend to orthography. His ideas must flow faster than his hand can
trace them, he has only time to dwell upon essentials; he must put words
in letters, and phrases in words, and let the scribes make it out
afterwards." Napoleon indeed left a great deal for the copyists
to do; he was their torment; his handwriting actually resembled
hieroglyphics--he often could not decipher it himself. Las Cases' son
was one day reading to him a chapter of The Campaign of Italy; on a
sudden he stopped short, unable to make out the writing. "The little
blockhead," said Napoleon, "cannot read his own handwriting."--"It is
not mine, Sire."--"And whose, then?"--"Your Majesty's."--"How so, you
little rogue; do you mean to insult me?" The Emperor took the
manuscript, tried a long while to read it, and at last threw it down,
saying, "He is right; I cannot tell myself what is written." He has
often sent the copyists to Las Cases to read what he had himself been
unable to decipher.

We are now approaching the last melancholy epoch of Napoleon's life, when
he first felt the ravages of that malady which finally put a period to