downright traitor. An amusing instance of the injustice done him in "Book IX." may be slightly alluded

to.

Buonaparte himself did not commence the battle of Waterloo till twelve o'clock at noon. His reason for this is again and again stated to be, the bad weather, rendering the ground impracticable. He says, "The weather was extremely bad: this rendered the ground impassable until nine o'clock in the morning. * The French troops bivouacked in the midst of a deep mud; and the officers thought it impossible to give battle."

But when Grouchy is to be blamed for not having commenced the engagement at Wavre before ten o'clock in the morning, it is said, "The officer attributed it to the dreadful state of the weather, ridiculous motive!'P. 153.

In the same impudent reliance upon the reader's blindness, does Buonaparte charge the Duke of Wellington with rashness in accepting battle at Waterloo, relying on the aid of the Prussians, when, says he, if the weather had permitted the French army to draw up in order of battle at four o'clock in the morning, the British troops would have been cut up and scattered " before the arrival of the Prussians. "The loss of six hours from daylight," he adds, "was entirely to the advantage of the enemy; but ought their general to make the fate of such a struggle depend upon the weather?"-Pp. 205, 206.

If

This is just the sort of absurdity that one might expect from a man who had never been accustomed to the voice of reason, still less of contradiction. Every one sees at a glance that the weather was impartial, and acted upon all parties alike. Buonaparte himself could not attack on the 18th until noon, what is it but the act of a tyrant to blame his general severely because he was not in action with the Prussians at eight in the morning? And when he says that, but for the weather," he should have attacked the Duke at Waterloo soon after daylight, and broken up the English army before midday, is it not obvious that, “but for the weather," the Prussians would have reached Waterloo, not at four

in the afternoon, but before ten in the morning?

It is strange, however, that we should be seriously discussing the truth and correctness of an author's assertions, who himself evinces and admits, with his own hand, his readiness to utter a falsehood whenever the occasion seems to require it.

Ney, in his defence, makes this charge against his master:—

"About seven in the evening, after the most frightful carnage I have ever witnessed, General Labedoyere came to me with a message from the emperor, that Marshal Grouchy had arrived on our right, and attacked the English and Prussians. The general, in riding along the lines, spread this intelligence among the soldiers. Immediately after, what was my astonishment, I should rather say indignation, when I learned that so far from Marshal Grouchy having arrived to support us, as the whole army had been assured, between 40,000 and 50,000 Prussians attacked our extreme right and forced us to retire!"

Now this fact of the false report of Grouchy's arrival having been spread by distinct messages from Buonaparte himself, conveyed by his own aides-de-camp, is admitted without reserve in his own narrative, the Historical Memoirs, Book IX. At p. 167 it is said,"He put himself at the head of four battalions, and advanced on the left, sending aides-de-camp along the whole line to announce the arrival of Marshal Grouchy."

But was this merely an error, as Ney supposes, when he says, "Whether the emperor was deceived," &c. ? Not in the least. Again the Historical Memoir clears up the point. At page 159, speaking of seven o'clock, it says:-"At this moment, Marshal Grouchy's cannonade was heard; it seemed to proceed from beyond Wavre;" which, as Ney observes, "was the same as if he had been a hundred leagues from the field of battle."

So blinded, then, was this man by his vanity and arrogance, as actually not to perceive that he was chronicling his own shame; and imperishably recording the fact, that to serve a momentary purpose, he had no hesitation in publishing, in the most formal and imperial manner, a gross falsehood!

But observe how this affects the

whole question. In his elaborate apology, the Historical Memoirs, Book IX.,-to shield his own fame, he hesitates not to cast the most serious blame,-first, on Ney, for neglect on the 16th, and, second, on Grouchy, for neglect on the 18th. Both these accusations Mr. Horne, and all the rest of the Buonapartist tribe, adopt.

But Ney and Grouchy, in their published defences, utterly disclaim the faults charged against them; and on referring to Buonaparte's original bulletin, not one word do we find in the slightest degree_affecting either of these generals. In 1818, in his after-thought, Ney being dead, and Grouchy in America, Buonaparte charges the first with having neglected an important order on the 16th, and the other a still more important order on the 18th. But in his bulletin, written just after these transactions, we find not one word alleged against either of these officers. What can we judge, then, but that, as Buonaparte himself admits his own readiness to publish a falsehood in order to inspirit his generals and troops during the battle, so has he now repeated that offence, and fabricated other falsehoods, in order to cover the shame of his defeat?

We draw, then, towards the conclusion of our subject. And first let us class the various kinds of evidence upon which our judgment must be founded. We will begin with the lowest, and proceed upwards, to that which possesses the highest character.

The most untrustworthy, then, of all the various documents before us, is, unquestionably, the Historical Memoirs, Book IX. Yet this volume has probably obtained more credit than any other production on the subject. All the writers favourable to Buonaparte, who have used the pen subsequently to its appearance, have adopted nearly all its statements. And even less prejudiced authors, like Sir W. Scott, have given a certain degree of credence to it, which dashes their own narratives with a certain infusion of falsehood.

Considered calmly, however, this work is nothing else than the elaborate apology of a beaten commander,

of a disregard to truth whenever an object is to be gained. It is clearly irrational to admit the statements of such a writer, except so far as they can be supported by subsidiary evidence. In the present case, however, all the testimony which ought to be subsidiary, directly opposes those parts of Buonaparte's case on which he chiefly relies.

This second class of evidence, then, which ought to fall in with, and support, the defeated commander's statement, first contradicts it, and thus destroys it, and then becomes itself the chief testimony on that side of the question. Of this class are, the French narrative, professedly by an eye-witness, published at the time, and never, in any leading point, contradicted:-The statements of Ney, Flahaut, Lacroix, and others, authoritatively made, immediately after the occurrences, and remaining unquestioned by their contemporaries:

And above all, Buonaparte's own bulletin of the whole affair, dictated by him in Paris, three days after the battle. From these various documents, all composed with more frankness and less preparation than the Historical Memoir of 1818, we gain the safest view of the French side of the question.

The third class, and the highest in point of character, consists of those few English records which we require to put us in possession of the British strength and movements. And these, as they were placed, and remain, in the accustomed depositories of a free and responsible government, and cannot be suspected of having been tampered with to conceal a defeat, or answer a purpose, of any kind, we must admit as documents of entire credit and authenticity.

From these various documents, what is the view of the whole contest which may be fairly deduced?

First, of the respective strength of the two armies.

The Duke of Wellington had with him at Waterloo 17,616 British infantry, 5945 British cavalry, and 5434 of their artillery. He had 6779 of the German legion, and Hanoverians,

80,000 or 90,000 of the best troops in France, he demanded and obtained the assistance of a corps of the Prussian army. This aid was readily given; but the Prussians could not reach the field of action until past four o'clock, and then only in partial force. For four hours, the duke had to sustain the French attack with only 68,221 men, half of whom were but indifferent troops. It was not till seven in the evening that, the whole of Gen. Bulow's corps having come up, the allied force had become equal to that under Buonaparte.

The French array has been, with great art and studied contrivance, reduced, in the Historical Memoir, to 68,650 men. But every figure in that statement is refuted by some sufficient contradiction. In that statement he calls the first corps 17,900 men: Ney, who commanded it, calls it above 25,000. He sets down the second corps, sometimes at 22,000, sometimes at 16,500: Lacroix, chief of the staff of that corps, declares it to have been 25,000. He reckons the cavalry of the guard and the cuirassiers at 10,000 in the table; but when he speaks of them in the narrative, he calls them "twelve thousand." By these glimpses of the truth, we easily perceive that the real strength of his army has been carefully reduced, in the tables given in the Historical Memoir, by about one-fourth; and that the truth was told in his original bulletin, when he only ventured to assert that his army was "less numerous" than the English and Prussian united, reckoning these at 95,000 men. We come, therefore, to the conclusion, that his army cannot have been much less than 90,000.

These 90,000 men-being literally the élite of the French army; containing above 20,000 of the famed Imperial Guard, and 7000 cuirassiers; the first corps, reckoned by Ney at 25,000; the second, stated by Lacroix at an equal number; and the sixth, of less strength-were brought to bear, at twelve o'clock in the day, upon the Anglo-Belgian army of 68,000 men; out of which only 17,616 were British infantry. This vast disparity of force continued, and the attack was sustained, in

spite of it, for more than four hours before the Prussian succour arrived. It was half-past four o'clock, according to the Prussian dispatch, before their corps came into action; and then only two brigades of General Bulow's corps had arrived.

The Duke's array was not yet, even with their aid, augmented to 80,000 men; nor was it till seven o'clock, when the whole of Bulow's corps had come up, that the allied force amounted to 90,000 men,equalling the French in numbers, but still inferior in composition.

And thus did the struggle continue until past eight o'clock in the evening, when Buonaparte's last attack having failed, and "the troops retiring from the attack in great confusion;" - at that critical moment Marshal Blucher himself came into the field with a further reinforcement. The sun was just setting; but, encouraged by this aid, the Duke made all his line advance, the Prussians rushed upon the enemy's flank, and in a moment all was flight, havoc, and consternation.

Buonaparte endeavours to palliate his defeat by arguing that the Prussians ought not to have been there, and that Marshal Grouchy ought to have come up instead. That this is a mere after-thought we learn from his own bulletin; in which no complaint of Grouchy is made, and in which the interference of a Prussian corps is spoken of as foreseen. The only degree, therefore, in which Buonaparte's plea can be admitted is, that he might indulge some hope that Grouchy might have kept Blucher himself in play, and have prevented more then Bulow's corps from moving. This, however, was one of the "chances of war," and it turned up against him. Nor, if it had occurred, would it have materially affected the loss of the battle. The arrival of Blucher at half-past eight, was, by Buonaparte's own confession, just after the last French attack had been repulsed. It had no share in defeating the French; but it at once turned their defeat into rout, and wholly ruined their army.

Mr. Horne's conclusion of the whole matter is as follows:

"It was a drawn battle between the English and French, even with the timely assistance of Bulow's division. The victory is attributable to the Prussians; that is, to the arrival of their 30,000 fresh men at the close of the day. In Prussia, the chief fame of the victory is awarded, not to Blucher, but to Bulow. In England it is, of course, awarded to the Duke of Wellington, though not, at this day, to a very popular extent.”

This is the customary tone of depreciation which is kept up throughout Mr. Horne's work. He dare not go the length of the Historical Memoir, and claim the whole honour for the usurper, but he scarcely allows any merit to either of his opponents. The simple truth, however, is, that

the Duke met the attack of Buonaparte in which the latter, knowing his superiority of force, reckoned on an easy victory-with such consummate skill, that, after eight hours fighting, the French "retired in disorder." Then rushed in the Prussian field-marshal with his fresh troops, thirsting to wipe off the disgrace of Ligny, and these turned the defeat, which was already realised, into an utter rout and slaughter. Finally, the whole of the plans and intentions of the duke were fully carried out, and were pre-eminently successful; while the schemes of the usurper were, by his own confession, countermined, reversed, and made to work out his own full and final destruction.

ANOTHER green leaf has dropped from the stem of genius into the lap of earth!

"A mighty spirit is eclipsed; a power Has passed from day to darkness, to whose hour

Of light no likeness is bequeathed."

Theodore Hook is dead! Fallen untimely; for though no longer in the "May of life," he had not o'ertaken the sear and yellow of his days, nor lost the summer freshness of his mind; which might be said to have attained to the maturity and ripeness of autumn without any of its decay. He "should have died hereafter!" Mr. Hook was an extraordinary man. Those who knew him only from his writings knew but a very slight portion of the surpassing faculties of his mind. It was necessary to be acquainted with him personally, and in society, to be able to form any thing like a just conception or appreciation of his excelling powers. His pen failed to do the writer justice -it never fully exhibited the extent and variety of his genius. It seemed as if his talent was essentially oral, and refused to give itself wholly to a more permanent means of sustaining his reputation. Mr. Hook himself had a poor opinion of his printed productions, and always spoke of them to his familiar friends with unaffected, though playful disdain, marvelling how "such trash" found acceptance with the public. He wrote professedly for money; and, as he was

"not sedulous by nature to indite," never attempted to write until the very moment he was pressed to do

So.

What he did in a literary way was sudden and unpremeditated, like his wit in conversation, and never cost him more thought or time than that he employed in the immediate execution. He had not a grain of vanity. He would allow the commonest intellect in a person he liked to point out any alleged blot or imperfection in his compositions, and, if not too late, correct them under such criticism. Mr. Hook had been the darling of a remarkably talented mother, who dying while he was a mere boy, and his father, then at an advanced age, making a second marriage, an act naturally distasteful to his young son, to whom he had not given any profession, Theodore yielded to circumstance, threw himself upon the world's resources for his happiness, became the spoiled child of Society; and before he was eighteen, his company was coveted and courted by a wide range of fashionable and noble friends, as well as literary contemporaries.

In the year 1805 he became acquainted with Mathews. Hook having commenced dramatic authorship in a farce entitled the Soldier's Return, acted with great success at Drury Lane, had free access thenceforward to the green-room, wherein he conceived a great friendship for the comedian, at whose house he visited frequently

-nay, daily (for they were near neighbours), for many years after.

Theodore was at that time a tall, slim, fashionable-looking youth, with a fine figure; black clustering curls hanging about his animated face, every line of which was full of intelligence and genius. Without being handsome, he was extremely goodlooking; with dark and lustrous eyes, which were ears also in expression, for he seemed to hear as well as see with them. He thought himself ugly; and often with undoubted sincerity declared that, had a choice been given to him, he would have preferred beauty to any other earthly possession. As he grew older he treated this subject, as he treated many others, with a humour that was delighting to all near him; and in later days was very fond of exercising his pencil, with a power he possessed in no mean degree, in producing caricatures of his own increased figure and altered face, by such means goodhumouredly anticipating and blunting the observations that others might be inclined to make upon his prematurely changed appearance.

Mr. Hook's early love of "fun" was uncontrollable; his perceptions of the ridiculous, keen and unerring; and his desire to amuse himself and others with his observations and experiments upon folly and credulity was irresistible. His descriptions, then and since, of circumstances, men, and things, were curiously graphic and entertaining; and the most trivial particulars in detail were made important and laughable by his peculiar style of narration.

In other respects he loved in his youthful glee to divert those with whom he was intimate, and also to startle them by the feats of nerve displayed by him in any rash undertaking. No juggler, practising his varied sleights of hand successfully upon his audience, and perceiving the wonder his dextrous ingenuity excited, could feel more triumphant pride than did the youthful Theodore when "astonishing the natives," or his friends and companions by his venturous exploits and practical exertions for their amusement, and at the same time his own. In the quality of a dramatic author, it has been mentioned he had the entrée of the greenroom, where he became for the time

the Little Pickle of the building, enacting as much mischief as the renowned original himself ever concocted in the person of the inimitable Mrs. Jordan. Some of his boyish frolics, not generally known, may not be unentertaining to the reader. One season at Drury Lane theatre, during the run of a stilted melodrama, made up of magic and mysticism, a gigantic oracle had occasion to send forth in brazen voice certain awful revelations to the victimising hero of the scene; Theodore one night crossing behind the stage on his way out of the theatre, found himself close to the wood and canvass which composed the form and substance of the oracular prophet; and observing the tube through which some appointed person nightly issued the supernatural intelligence requisite "for the better carrying on of the plot" lying ready, but unattended by the person who had to perform the duty in question, Theodore spontaneously undertook the part.

This happened at a period of great political excitement on the hustings; and ere the proper person could regain the tube, and at the moment before the demon-hero expected to hear the soul-harrowing intimation that "the clock had struck!" Theodore, through the medium of oracular eloquence, blew a blast so loud and dread, that the expectant actor and the whole theatre were electrified by the extraordinary noise, and in the next minute all party-feeling was astonished, agitated, and confounded, by another almost stunning shout, which defied the characteristic unity of the drama's time and place, and all chronological consistency, by the popular and deafening acclamation of

66 BURDETT FOR EVER!"

On another occasion Theodore placed himself one night under the stage of the Haymarket theatre just as Mr. Liston was preparing in the comedy called the Finger-Post, to sing a song as a Quaker, the air as well as the words of which was extremely quaint and precise in its character. Hook had provided himself with a child's wooden trumpet, the squeak of which he introduced at the end of every line of each verse in such a manner as to occasion the most up