George Napier soon recovered from his wound, but at Ciudad Rodrigo, where he headed the storming party of the Light Division, he had the same arm again broken with more serious results, and, like many a gallant man of that period, he bore through life the trophy of an empty sleeve. But from the day of this to him disastrous battle-field, his brother William was a stricken man, for he carried that French bullet, the unceasing source of suffering, to his grave. The ball had passed round the spine, fracturing one of the processes in its course, and there it remained, causing at times intolerable neuralgic pains, and producing on such occasions an irritation of mind, for which, in reviewing the painful controversies of his after-life, a large allowance should be made. Who shall say how much of that bitterness of heart which sometimes embroiled a noble-hearted man in unseemly contentions, was due to that ever-present cause of physical irritation, the hærens lateri letalis arundo,' which racked the nerves and exacerbated the temper? Gone for ever from him was that gaiety of heart, that elastic buoyancy of feeling, which had made him the delight of his friends and the life and soul of every joyous company. The energy of his spirit indeed was not quelled: pain could not master that; nor was the force of his intellect weakened, nor his warm affections chilled by that monotony of suffering, which thenceforth made his protracted life a long disease. But from the shock his constitution had sustained, it was impossible that it should recover; he was an altered man, and in the tone of depression and complaint which thenceforth breathes through his letters, in the melancholy thoughts and desponding views of life which escape from him, we see proofs that the most heroic minds are not wholly proof against the effect of shattered nerves and physical prostration.

In connexion with the action of Caza Noval, the following letter addressed by Colonel Sir John Morillyon Wilson to the writer of these volumes is too interesting to be omitted:

'My first interview with my dear departed friend Sir William Napier was on the battle-field of Caza Noval. I was then captain of the grenadier company of the Royal Scots. We were advancing towards the enemy, when I saw an officer, at the distance of about eighty yards, stretched on the ground beneath an olive tree, to the right of my company. Believing him to be either dead or badly wounded, I ran towards him and said, "I hope you are not dangerously wounded," at which he shook his head. "Have you been attended to by a surgeon?" He nodded assent. "Can I be of any service to you?" I said; and he again shook his head, but did not utter a word. He looked deadly pale, and I was deeply impressed

with the classical outline and beautiful expression of his handsome countenance. I told him I had some cold tea and brandy in my flask, and asked if I should give him a little of it; at which he raised his head, a sudden beam of pleasure sparkled in his eyes-he stretched out his hand, and I gave him a tumbler-full, which he drank with a most interesting expression of unexpected enjoyment -so much so, that I gave him a second dose; and when he had finished, he seized my hand and grasped it several times, as much as to say, "I don't know who you are, my good fellow, but I feel most gratefully thankful for your kindness." I then said, "Heaven protect you!" and ran off to join my company. I had not the slightest knowledge who he was, and amidst the firing and excitement of the moment I did not notice his uniform. In after-life I often spoke of this wounded officer as the handsomest man I had ever beheld. I never met him again in my wanderings through the various thoroughfares of military life, until about sixteen years afterwards, when he resided at Freshford, near Bath. I was then on a visit to Lady Wilson's father when dear "William" dined there, and after dinner when we were just about to join the ladies, and while I was standing near the fireplace with my arm resting on the mantelpiece, the gentlemen were speaking about "handsome men," and I said, of all the handsome men I had ever seen in the various parts of the world where I had been, there was none to be at all compared with the one whom I then described to them as above written-Napier sprang from his chair, put his arms round me, and exclaimed, "My dear Wilson, was that you? that glass of tea and brandy saved my life!" And a few tears trickled from his bright and animated eyes, expressive of his grateful recollection of the good service I had rendered him in that hour of his need and painful suffering.'

The two wounded Napiers were selected out of the whole army by Lord Wellington for the brevet rank of Major in acknowledgment of their zeal and conduct in the actions. William rejoined the army with his wound still open; was appointed brigade-major to the Portuguese brigade of the Light Division, was present at the battle of Fuentes Onoro, and until the raising of the second siege of Badajoz. Being then attacked with fever, which terminated in ague, he was sent home, not without reluctance on his own part, by Lord Wellington. Arriving in England in the autumn of 1811, he married in the following spring Caroline Amelia, daughter of General Fox, and niece of the statesman, a lady whom all testimonies concur in pronouncing admirable, not only for her domestic virtues, her gentleness of character, and unfailing patience under the severest trials, but also for those mental gifts which made her an invaluable helpmate to her husband in some of the most important undertakings of his life. The reader will find at page 259 of the first volume an account of the signal service that

Lady Napier rendered to the historian of the Peninsular War, in making available for his use a most important collection of French correspondence in cipher, which but for her ingenuity and patience must have remained illegible and useless.

Napier's attachment to this devoted wife was deep and constant; nevertheless he had been only three weeks married, and was far from recovered of his wound, when, hearing that Badajoz was again besieged, he started off once more for Portugal. At Lisbon he heard of the capture of that city, and of the death in the fatal breach of his dearest friend, Lieut.Colonel Macleod, an event which plunged him into an agony of grief. Macleod is dead,' he writes to his wife, and I am 'grovelling in misery and wretchedness. I could roll in the dust 'were it not for shame.' His agonies of distress for the loss of those he loved were in proportion to the ardour of his affections. He now took the command of the 43rd, of which he had become regimental major, declining a flattering offer made to him by the officers of a Portuguese regiment, the 3rd Cacadores -to enter that service and take the command of the regiment. In the battle of Salamanca, the 43rd under his command bore a distinguished part, and gained applause for the admirable order and discipline of their advance in line under fire, Major Napier riding in front of the left centre company, a mark to the cannon of the enemy, yet unscathed. After the raising of the siege of Burgos, he was with his regiment in the harassing retreat into Portugal, which terminated at Ciudad Rodrigo, and rendered good service by his energy and vigilance. After a brief interval of absence in 1813, he again joined the forces, and volunteered to lead the storming party of the Light Division against San Sebastian. Major Napier's services were at first accepted, but on repairing to his post he found himself superseded by the appointment of another officer. He appealed to Lord Wellington, who, however, declined to listen to him, 'saying that he did not approve of volunteering, though obliged to resort to it sometimes, as he lost his best officers in that way. But though disappointed in this, Major Napier achieved a marked success in another operation-that of storming one of the strongest mountain positions on record, the hog's back ridge of La Petite Rhune in the Pyrenees. This exploit, though not one of the least brilliant in the war, and equally marked by the sagacity and courage with which it was conducted, did not happen to fall under Wellington's personal observation; had it done so it could hardly have escaped a prominent notice in his despatches; and though it was in the power of the historian of the war to redeem this injustice of fortune by a notice

from his own pen, he has made no mention of an achievement which, if performed by another officer, would have been sure to receive his especial commendation.

At Arcangues, Major Napier was again wounded, but did not quit the field, nor would he allow his name to appear in the list of wounded, lest he should alarm his wife, who was expecting her confinement. After the battle of Orthes, in which also he was engaged, being seriously ill with dysentery, and suffering from the effects of his wound, he was advised by General Pakenham to ask leave to go to London for advice, and that officer in fact obtained the leave for him. He thus missed, to his great chagrin, the battle of Toulouse. Arriving in England in April or May 1814, he received at the termination of the campaign the brevet rank of Lieut.-Colonel. He now joined, together with his brother Charles, the Military College at Farnham-so anxious were they both to take every opportunity of improving their professional knowledge, and so little did they regard the distinction they had achieved in the field as affording a dispensation from further study. While thus engaged, the news of Napoleon's flight from Elba startled Europe from its dream of peace, and William Napier, eager to be once more on the scene of action and of glory, embarked at Dover to join his regiment in Belgium; but it was too late. While he was putting his baggage on board, the decisive battle was being fought at Waterloo. After a few days spent in Brussels, he accompanied the army to Paris, where he was a witness of the triumphal entry of Louis XVIII., a spectacle which he regarded with no favour. For the next three years he remained in France with the army of occupation, the 43rd being quartered in various towns in the north-eastern parts of that country. This appears to have been the most profitless and uninteresting period of his life. Inaction, succeeding to the stirring scenes in which he had previously been an actor, drove his thoughts inwards to the contemplation of his own enfeebled health, his ill-requited services, and his separation from the wife and children for whose society he pined; he consoled himself, as best he might, with books, with pictures, with letters to his wife, and with occasional outbreaks of that old Adam which neither wounds nor sickness, nor the sorrows and disappointments of life, had been able to subdue:

'About a week ago,' he writes to his wife from Bapaume, 'I saw a bricklayer, an old French soldier, beating an English one in the street. . . . This excited my rage, and upon my interfering, the French gentleman informed me that he would serve me in the same way. This did not cool me, as you may guess, and I put myself in

attitude, and we had a fit, which ended in my knocking him clean off his legs eight times following with as many blows, when he declined any more battle.' (Vol. i. p. 198.)

The provocation might be great, but we cannot admire Colonel Napier's readiness to fall to' on this and some similar occasions. The period fixed for the British occupation at last expired; the army returned home, and in the year 1819 the military career of this distinguished officer, then only thirty-three years of age, was brought to a close. Though terminated thus early, it had been active and very honourable. He had been thirty times engaged; had commanded a regiment in several general actions, and detachments nearly equal to a regiment in several others. He had gained two steps and three decorations in the field-he stood high in the estimation of the Duke of Wellington, who had honoured him with his confidence, and had condescended to discuss with the young officer strategical questions with a familiarity which he allowed to few. He had missed Waterloo, indeed, but we know upon good authority that a few days before that battle General Alten, who commanded the Light Division, in passing in review the characters of the various officers in it, fixed upon Napier and Baring (his own aide-decamp, who afterwards so resolutely defended La Haye Sainte) as the two men of the whole division whom he would have selected for a desperate service. His courage, indeed, the inheritance of his race, was almost a proverb, but to this he united professional knowledge, the result of zealous and diligent study, which few officers of his rank could pretend to. In addition to these claims, he had received three wounds, one of them so severe as to make his life a martyrdom of suffering. And now what was his reward? Though a lieutenant-colonel by brevet, he was still but a regimental major, and he saw officers much less signalised than himself, promoted over his head. An opportunity was indeed afforded him of obtaining the lieutenant-colonelcy of his regiment by purchase, but the means for such an outlay were wanting to him, and though Lord Fitzroy Somerset generously pressed the required sum upon him as a loan, William Napier would not borrow what he could not foresee the means of repaying. Another officer, who had seen but little service, was about to exchange into the 43rd as major, with the view of purchasing the lieutenant-colonelcy over his head, and to avert this mortification, Napier resolved to go upon half-pay, and to seek distinction in another field, since his own poverty and the neglect of those in power denied him advancement in his own profession.

The question naturally occurs, to what cause is this insen