when writers inveigh against respectability, in the present degraded meaning of the word, they are usually suspected of a taste for clay pipes and beer cellars; and their performances are thought to hail from the owl’s nest of the comedy. they have something more, however, in their eye than the dulness of a round million dinner parties that sit down yearly in old england. for to do anything because others do it, and not because the thing is good, or kind, or honest in its own right, is to resign all moral control and captaincy upon yourself, and go post-haste to the devil with the greater number. we smile over the ascendancy of priests; but i had rather follow a priest than what they call the leaders of society. no life can better than that of pepys illustrate the dangers of this respectable theory of living. for what can be more untoward than the occurrence, at a critical period and while the habits are still pliable, of such sweeping transformation as the return of charles the second? round went the whole fleet of england on the other tack; and while a few tall pintas, milton or pen, still sailed a lonely course by the stars and their own private compass, the cock-boat, pepys, must go about with the majority among “the stupid starers and the loud huzzas.”
no sooner had the comtesse marie laid eyes on raoul than she felt an inward emotion, the violence of which caused her a species of terror.
the girl hesitated a moment by the bed. the intensity of the expression she had surprised had impressed her powerfully.
night came, death also; they awaited that double shadow, and, invincible, allowed themselves to be enveloped therein. each regiment, isolated from the rest, and having no bond with the army, now shattered in every part, died alone. they had taken up position for this final action, some on the heights of rossomme, others on the plain of mont-saint-jean. there, abandoned, vanquished, terrible, those gloomy squares endured their death-throes in formidable fashion. ulm, wagram, jena, friedland, died with them.