Napoleon had reckoned upon
this, as he always did upon everything, and for that good reason he had
not grudged the time devoted to his home affairs. These being settled
according to his will, and mob turned into pomp as gaily as grub turns
into butterfly, a strong desire for a little more glory arose in his
mighty but ill-regulated mind. If he could only conquer England, or even
without that fetch her down on her knees and make her lick her own dust
off the feet of Frenchmen, from that day forth all the nations of the
earth must bow down before him. Russia, Prussia, Austria, Spain, though
they might have had the power, never would have plucked the spirit up,
to resist him hand in hand, any more than skittle-pins can back one
another up against the well-aimed ball.
The balance of to-be or not-to-be, as concerned our country (which many
now despise, as the mother of such disloyal children), after all that
long suspension, hung in the clouds of that great year; and a very
cloudy year it was, and thick with storms on land and sea. Storm was
what the Frenchmen longed for, to disperse the British ships; though
storm made many an Englishman, pulling up the counterpane as the window
rattled, thank the Father of the weather for keeping the enemy ashore
and in a fright. But the greatest peril of all would be in the case of
fog succeeding storm, when the mighty flotilla might sweep across before
our ships could resume blockade, or even a frigate intercept.
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