man. The man
that has won the love of one good woman is a successful man. The man
that has been the emperor of one good heart, and that heart embraced
all his, has been a success. If another has been the emperor of the
round world and has never loved and been loved, his life is a failure.
It won't do. Let us teach our children the other way, that the happy
man is the successful man, and he who is a happy man is the one who
always tries to make some one else happy.

The man who marries a woman to make her happy; that marries her as much
for her own sake as for his own; not the man that thinks his wife is
his property, who thinks that the title to her belongs to him--that the
woman is the property of the man; wretches who get mad at their wives
and then shoot them down in the street because they think the woman is
their property. I tell you it is not necessary to be rich and great
and powerful to be happy.

A little while ago I stood by the grave of the old Napoleon--a
magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a dead deity--and
gazed upon the sarcophagus of black Egyptian marble, where rest at last
the ashes of the restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and
thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world.
I saw him walk upon the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide--I
saw him at Toulon--I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of
Paris--I saw him at the head of the army of Italy--I saw him crossing
the bridge of Lodi with the tri-color in his hand--I saw him in Egypt
in the shadows of the pyramids--I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle
the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags. I saw him at
Marengo--at Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, where the
infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his
legions like Winter's withered leaves. I saw him at Leipzig in defeat
and disaster--driven by a million bayonets back upon Paris--clutched
like a wild beast--banished to Elba. I saw him escape and retake an
empire by the force of his genius. I saw him upon the frightful field
of Waterloo, where chance and fate combined to wreck the fortunes of
their former king. And I saw him at St. Helena, with his hands crossed
behind him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea. I thought of the
orphans and widows he had made--of the tears that had been shed for his
glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him, pushed from his heart
by the cold hand of am