l progress.

He had two years to live when he set foot again in England, and most of
this was spent at Oaklands near Portsmouth. His health had been ruined
in the public service; but he continued to take a keen interest in
passing events and to write on military subjects to Colin Campbell and
other friends. At the same time he devoted much of his time to his
neighbours and his farm. In 1852 he attended as pall-bearer at the Duke
of Wellington's funeral; his own was not far distant. His brother, Sir
William, describes the last scene thus: 'On the morning of August 29th
1853, at 5 o'clock, he expired like a soldier on a naked camp bedstead,
the windows of the room open and the fresh air of Heaven blowing on his
manly face--as the last breath escaped, Montagu McMurdo (his
son-in-law), with a sudden inspiration, snatched the old colours of the
22nd Regiment, the colour that had been borne at Mi[=a]ni and
Hyder[=a]b[=a]d, and waved them over the dying hero. Thus Charles Napier
passed from the world.'

He was a man who roused enthusiastic devotion and provoked strong
resentment. Like Gordon, he was a man who could rule others, but could
not be ruled; and his official career left many heart-burnings behind.
His equally passionate brother, Sir William, who wrote his life, took
up the feud as a legacy and pursued it in print for many years. It is
regrettable that such men cannot work without friction; but in all
things it was devotion to the public service, and not personal ambition,
that carried Charles Napier to such extremes. From his youth he had
trained himself to such a pitch of self-denial and ascetic rigour that
he could not make allowance for the frailties of the average man. His
keen eye and swift brain made him too impatient of the shortcomings of
conscientious officials. He was ready to work fifteen hours a day when
the need came; he was able to pierce into the heart of a matter while
others would be puzzling round the fringes of it. Rarely in his long and
laborious career did an emergency arise capable of bringing out all his
gifts; and his greatest exploits were performed on scenes unfamiliar to
the mass of his fellow countrymen. But a few opinions can be given to
show that he was rated at his full value by the foremost men of the day.

Perhaps the most striking testimony comes from one who never saw him; it
was written three years after his death, when his brother's biography
appeared. It was Carlyle, the biogra