Sir W. Napier's Life of Sir Charles Napier.

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The Life and Opinions of General Sir Charles James Napier, G.C.B. By LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR W. NAPIER, K.C.B., &c. &c. 4 vols. Vols. I. and II. Murray.-Sir W. Napier thus flings down the gauntlet on his first page:

"This shall be the story of a man who never tarnished his reputation by a shameful deed of one who subdued distant nations by his valour, and then governed them so wisely, that English rule was reverenced and loved where before it had been feared and execrated. For thus nobly acting, the virulence of interested faction was loosed to do him wrong: honours were withheld, and efforts made to depreciate his exploits by successive Governments: nevertheless, his fame has been accepted by the British people as belonging to the glory of the nation.'

A just admiration of the genius of Sir Charles, and a keen sense of some unquestionable wrongs he suffered, give this book a certain air of antagonism and partizanship. But the warmth is pardonable. Hot is the Napier blood: silent endurance is impossible to any of the race; and loud as the complaint of Achilles by the vastly-resounding sea' is their outcry against injustice. When the details of a dispute are intricate or imperfectly known, our presumption should always be in favour of the man who has done something, as against the mere faultfinders. Now, the skill and the gallantry which distinguished the Indian career of Sir Charles are beyond all question. The result has justified him; and what justification could be more triumphant? It is certain that if he had followed the counsels of those who were subsequently the loudest in censure, his name would have been associated with disaster as shameful as the renown which now encircles it is glorious.

These two volumes carry us to the sixty-second year of his life. Very copious must be his remaining letters and papers, to fill up two more of the same size. The leading facts of the coming portion have been already related by the biographer in his history of Sir Charles Napier's administration of Scinde. But there is still room for the account by Sir Charles himself, written on the spot, and in the midst of the difficulties he overcame. His letters are full of life, good sense, and humour. They constitute the greater part of the two volumes before us, and delightful reading they are. The book abounds in adventure-shifts its scene to the most distant quarters of the globeis full of shrewd observation, racy remark, and suggestive reflections.

We see young Charles Napier, in his early days of military service, assiduous in the studies likely to advance him in his profession, temperate, indefatigable, foremost in every manly sport, but slow to form messroom intimacies; disclosing only in long and constant letters to his mother his secret thoughts and hopes, and all the incidents of his daily life. A fine lesson this for those weak-headed striplings who fancy that they give proof of their manhood by despising a mother's counsel and a mother's tears.

When in his twenty-seventh year, he was taken prisoner at the battle of Corunna. He had led his regiment in advance of the line, expecting support, and hoping to capture a battery. But the men

were recalled: he found himself at last alone in a lane, wounded in the leg, and doubly perplexed by his shortsightedness and his ignorance of the locality. He fell in with four English privates, just as two parties of Frenchmen came up on either side. Forgetting his wound, he cried to the men to follow him, and they would cut their way through. The capture is thus related by himself:

SIR CHARLES AT THE BATTLE OF COrunna.

"The Frenchmen had halted, but now run on to us; and just as my spring and shout was made, the wounded leg failed, and I felt a stab in the back; it gave me no pain, but felt cold, and threw me on my face. Turning to rise, I saw the man who had stabbed me making a second thrust; whereupon, letting go my sabre, I caught his bayonet by the socket, turned the thrust, and raising myself by the exertion, grasped his firelock with both hands, thus in mortal struggle regaining my feet. His companions had now come up, and I heard the dying cries of the four men with me, who were all bayonetted instantly. We had been attacked from behind by men not before seen, as we stood with our backs to a doorway, out of which must have rushed several men, for we were all stabbed in an instant, before the two parties coming up the road reached us: they did so, however, just as my struggle with the man who had wounded me was begun. That was a contest for life; and being the strongest, I forced him between myself and his comrades, who appeared to be the men whose lives I had saved when they pretended to be dead on our advance through the village. They struck me with their muskets clubbed, and bruised me much; whereupon seeing no help near, and being overpowered by numbers, and in great pain from my wounded leg, I called out, Je me rends! remembering the expression correctly from an old story of a fat officer, whose name being James, called out Jemmy round! Finding they had no disposition to spare me, I kept hold of the musket, vigorously defending myself with the body of the little Italian who had first wounded me, but soon grew faint, or rather tired. At that moment, a tall, dark man came up, seized the end of the musket with his left hand, whirled his brass-hilted sabre round and struck me a powerful blow on the head, which was bare, for my cocked-hat had fallen off. Expecting the blow would finish me, I had stooped my head in hopes it might fall on my back, or at least on the thickest part of the head, and not on the left temple; so far I succeeded, for it fell exactly on the top, cutting into the bone, but not through it. Fire sparkled from my eyes; I fell on my knees, blinded, yet without quite losing my senses, and still holding on to the musket. Recovering in a moment, I regained my legs, and saw a florid, handsome young French drummer holding the arm of the dark Italian, who was in the act of repeating his blow. Quarter was then given; but they tore my pantaloons in tearing my watch and purse from my pocket, and a little locket of hair which hung round my neck; they snatched at everything; but while this went on two of them were wounded, and the drummer, Guibert, ordered the dark man who had sabred me to take me to the rear. When we began to move, I resting on him, because hardly able to walk, I saw him look back over his shoulder to see if Guibert was gone; and so did I, for his rascally face made me suspect him. Guibert's back was towards us; and he was walking off, and the Italian again drew his sword, which he had before sheathed. I called out to the drummer, This rascal is going to kill me! brave Frenchmen don't kill prisoners!' Guibert ran back, swore furiously at the Italian, shoved him away, almost down, and putting his arm round my waist, supported me himself: thus this generous Frenchman saved me twice, for the Italian was bent upon slaying.'-Vol. i., pp. 103-105.

When released, we find him next serving in Portugal, then in the Bermudas, then in America, and in 1814 studying hard in the Military College at Farnham. After some time spent in the Ionian Islands, he was appointed, in 1822, Military Resident in Cephalonia, where he com

Miss Freer's Elizabeth de Valois.

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menced the construction of great public works, and a series of important social and political reforms. In the anxious times of 1839, when the ill-timed rigour of Government had driven the working classes to the verge of insurrection, he was entrusted with the military command of the northern districts. His sympathies were with the oppressed in all but that infatuated violence whereby the demagogues urged them to force a recognition of their claims. He describes the middle classes and the magistracy generally as far more ready than the military men to push things to extremity, and incur the risk of bloodshed. Accepting the Indian command, he out-generalled, vanquished, and captured those treacherous and formidable Ameers, who found, however, patrons in England as credulous and (to Englishmen) as inhuman as those who have just now made excuses for the atrocities of Yeh. Napier was accused of fighting to get the prize-money! Read the following description of this 'ruffian's' feelings after his great victory, written in his journal, August 21st, 1843:

REFLECTIONS AFTER THE BATTLE OF MEEANEE.

"Yes! I will make this land happy if life is left me for a year; nay, if only for six months, they shall be sorry to lose the Bahadoor Jung. I shall then have no more Beloochees to kill. Battle! victory! Oh! spirit-stirring words in the bosom of society; but to me! Oh, God, how my heart rejects them! That dreadful work of blood, sickening even to look on: not one feeling of joy or exultation entered my head at Meeanee or Dubba; all was agony-I can use no better word. I was glad we won, because better it was to have Beloochees slain than Englishmen; and I well knew not one of us would be spared if they succeeded: to win was my work for the day, and the least bloody thing to be done! But with it came anxiety, pain of heart, disgust, and a longing never to have quitted Celbridge-to have passed my life in the 'round field and the devil's acre,' and under the dear yew-trees on the terrace amongst the sparrows: these were the feelings which flushed in my head after the battles. Well, we are born for war in this good world, and will make it while men have teeth and women have tongues. But away with these feelings! let me go to work-let me sink in harness, if so God pleases; he who flinches from work, in battle or out of it, is a coward."-Vol. ii., p. 421.

Elizabeth de Valois, Queen of Spain, and the Court of Philip II. By MARTHA WALKER FREER. 2 vols. Hurst and Blackett.-These two volumes form the third contribution of the authoress to our collection of royal biographies. They give us an interesting picture of the Court of Spain during the happiest period of the reign of Philip II.-that in which he shared the throne with his third wife, the good and gentle' Elizabeth, or, in Spanish parlance, Isabel de Valois. Miss Freer has spared no pains in consulting letters and documents both at Madrid and Paris; and, aided by these authorities, she supplies a complete refutation to the scandalous stories afloat as to the relations of the young Queen with her step-son, Don Carlos. Her alleged previous engagement to the son; the dark and revengeful character of the father; the fact of her death so soon after that of Don Carlos-all these circumstances have been enlisted in the service of romance, and certainly afford material highly susceptible of dramatic treatment. In the light of the letters now brought forward, however,

Philip appears as a husband, and in an aspect much more favourable than that in which we are accustomed to regard him. Stern and distant to all beside, to Elizabeth he was ever tender and considerate. It is pleasant to contemplate this one bright side of his character, and to witness his unwearied affection for this his most-loved wife. It is difficult to imagine the possibility of the Queen's withdrawing her affection from a husband so devoted to her-a King in the prime of life, of a noble presence, and possessed of many intellectual gifts-to bestow them on a rough, uncultivated prince, deformed in person, and subject to frequent attacks of insanity. That her influence over her step-son was great, there seems not a doubt: we are told that 'he 'always retired from the Queen's presence comforted and soothed; the 'tenderness of her womanly pity was grateful to him, whom all feared 'and betrayed.' 'He deemed her gentle, lovely, and wise,' says Brantôme; and in truth she was one of the brightest and most peerless princesses in the world.' She appears invariably to have conducted herself with great prudence; her pity and interest for the prince were always suitably expressed, and, on the testimony of De Fourquevaulx, never offended the King her husband.

The daughter of the unscrupulous Catherine de Medici, Elizabeth, inherited much of her mother's talent for government, without any of her dissimulation. Had she lived, she would, no doubt, have become a prominent actor in political affairs.

Miss Freer supplies us with some new and interesting information regarding the meeting at Bayonne between the Queen of Spain, Charles IX., and Catherine de' Medici, in the summer of 1565. Catherine had long wished for an interview with her daughter, and, after much importunity, she had at length procured it; but she owed the concession to the expectation of her son-in-law, that some agreement would be entered into by the two Courts for the suppression of heresy. Such wishes, however, Catherine was not prepared to gratify. She shrank from allowing herself to be bound by a treaty with a foreign state; she wished to be left at liberty either to proclaim the Huguenots her dearest allies, or, if it suited her better, to proscribe them. In vague professions of orthodoxy, of friendship for the Catholic king, and determination to put down heresy, she was lavish enough, but would pledge herself to nothing. To the stern admonitions of Alva she listened with indifference, hoping, by her matchless powers of dissimulation, to bring the conference to an amicable termination without binding herself to any specific measures. For some time she avoided a general discussion on the subject; but being pressed by Elizabeth and Alva, she at last consented.

THE CONFERENCE AT BAYONNE.

'When the sounds of merriment were hushed in the town of Bayonne, the apartments of the Queen of Spain became the scene of a political conclave, on a grand scale, as Catherine had promised Alba. The individuals present were Charles IX., Catherine de' Medici, Elizabeth Queen of Spain, the Duke d'Anjou, the Duke of Alba, Don Juan Maurique, Alava, the Duke de Montpensier, the Constable de

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Montmorency, the Marshal de Bourdillon, and the Cardinals de Bourbon, de Guise, and de Lorraine. At this conference, Catherine formally tendered to Alba, to convey to his royal master, an amplified note of the project for the proscription of heresy, and its upholders, from the realm of France, in accordance with that presented before the journey of the Spanish Court to the frontiers. There cannot remain a doubt that the most violent measures were then discussed for the destruction or the enforced recantation of the most eminent personages of the Protestant leagues in France and in the Low Countries, and for the more absolute development of the powers possessed by the tribunal of Les Chambres Ardentes in France, and of the Inquisition in the Netherlands and Spain; the latter country having been, with few exceptions, hitherto free from the brand of heresy. 'I send executioners to destroy heretics root and branch, and not ecelesiastics to convert them!' had been the exclamation of Philip II., when urged by Eboli, and some of the more moderate members of the cabinet, to try lenient measures towards the 'apostates of the Netherlands.' The Spanish Cabinet, therefore, was disposed to accept of no dubious measure for the repression of heresy; and Alba gave counsel in accordance to the King and his mother, and vehemently urged the latter to maintain and adhere to the wise propositions which she had submitted to his Catholic Majesty. Charles, however, was placed in different circumstances to Philip II. The realm of Spain was loyal and orthodox, and heresy had manifested itself only in a distant province of Philip's empire. In France, on the contrary, princes of the blood-royal had forsaken the religion of Rome; the very capital itself was infected with heresy; and in the South, provinces and districts, comprehending more than a fourth part of the realm, declared for the reformed faith. The echo of conflict between Roman Catholic and Protestant resounded in the presence-chamber of the sovereign; while the royal banner was unfurled at the van of both armies. Catherine, however, had recently formed projects for the prompt pacification of France without the intervention of Spanish arms. Her agents, at this period, were busied in sounding the inclinations of the Imperial, Papal, and English Cabinets, with a view to the recognition of the Calvinists as a body in the state. It was then stated to be the desire of the Queen that the privilege of public worship according to the reformed ritual, together with other various rights and liabilities, should be permanently settled by edict of Parliament. But, unhappily, the sincerity of the Queen's placable intent was trusted no longer after the interview of Bayonne. The one point above all others deprecated and dreaded by the Huguenots, was the union of the military force of the realms of France and Spain for their overthrow. Such an alliance they felt, humanly speaking, that no faith of theirs could survive; and that its issue must be the destruction of their creed, and the proscription of the leaders of their party. Rumours, therefore, of the frequent discussions holden between Catherine and Alba produced such excess of fear and distrust as led to the immediate organization of the enterprize of Meaux-a conspiracy which rendered oblivion and reconciliation impossible between the parties.'-Vol. ii. p. 110.

Elizabeth appears to have taken a prominent part in these discussions, and excited the admiration of Alva, who thus writes to his master,-speaking of the Queen :-'I assure your Majesty that she has led this negotiation with a prudence, a discretion, and a courage which, although great was our previous opinion of her Majesty's capacity, has completely astounded us.' The praises of such a man attest sufficiently the ardour of her attachment to the Church of Rome. But the dictates of her religion could not extinguish the feelings of humanity. Her gentle heart deplored the atrocities of Alva; and she wept over the letter sent her by the wife of Egmont. But she was only too well aware that even her intercession would avail nothing, for the King had sworn not to interfere with the proceedings of his ruthless agent. After many years of delicate health, still further impaired by the