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far the purest and most rational system ever proposed to man; but we at the same time regard it as no compliment to Christianity, and as little less than an insult to the Author and Ruler of the universe, to represent every other system as vicious, sensual, disgusting, and impious. Let not us, who enjoy the full radiance of the sun, refuse to acknowledge that to others might have been dispensed, by the same gracious Being, the feebler beams of the moon and stars.

ART. VIII. 1. The Subaltern Officer: a Narrative. By Captain George Wood, of the Line. Second Edition. 8vo. pp. 235. 7s. 6d. Longman and Co.

1826.

2. The Adventures of a Young Rifleman, in the French and English Armies, during the War in Spain and Portugal, from 1806 to 1816. Written by Himself. 8vo. pp. 414. 9s. 6d. Colburn. 1826. We have chosen to notice these volumes under one head as belonging to the same agreeable and attractive class of personal narrative. They are the productions of two individuals who mingled, and fought, and bled in the animating and adventurous scenes of the gigantic European contest of our times. The very opposition of their station serves to introduce the enquirer into the interior of hostile camps, and their stories may assist in familiarizing him with the habits, feelings, and martial practices of conflicting armies.

Such works, if composed only with simplicity, truth, and common intelligence, have an irresistible charm, for they blend all the excitement of romance with the important realities of history. They enchain eager attention to the tale of privation and toil, danger and suffering; they exhibit all the vicissitudes of a soldier's wandering life, and they claim respect and sympathy for his chequered fortunes, in proportion as the troubled stream of his destiny has separated him from the monotonous flow and even tenor of domestic life. There is appropriate truth in the quaint dictum of Washington Irving, which one of the writers before us has assumed for his motto: A prosperous life passed at home has little incident for narrative; it is only poor devils who are tossed about the world that are true heroes of story.'

The difficulty usually felt by unmilitary readers in determining the measure of credit due to any relation of the kind, is the only circumstance to detract from that interest which must mainly depend upon the assurance of authenticity: but the professional observer 'will not easily err in deciding on this question, and is entitled to deliver his opinion ex cathedra, without the apprehension of misleading. In introducing both the volumes before us to the notice of our readers, we confidently praise the perfect fidelity of the pictures which they offer, and the general accuracy of the narration in which these are intermingled. Captain Wood's book, indeed, has no pretensions to vie with some other little works of the same class

on the adventures of the peninsular war. He has neither the natural animation of manner, the correctness and elegance of style, nor the real poetical turn of feeling which distinguish "The Subaltern," whose narrative, under a title so much like his own, we lately reviewed. Still less can he claim competition with the enthusiastic author of that delightful work, the "Recollections of the Peninsula," which every one has read; a work that we once heard a great authority declare had recalled to memory the most romantic feelings and the brightest moments of his profession, and which, for the high-minded sentiments and generous spirit that breathe through its pages, might be made the text-book of honourable principle for every young soldier.

In placing Captain Wood's volume in a secondary rank to these works, we mean no disrespect to a sensible and, we doubt not, a meritorious individual, who has passed through some of the most interesting and memorable scenes of the late war, and related his share in several distinguished actions with modesty, intelligence, and -evident accuracy. In one respect only has he left an occasional obscurity about his narrative, by the omission of dates, for which he offers two rather whimsical and amusing reasons; first, that there is a kind of fashion in omitting such particulars; and, secondly, that being a widower, not yet sunk into the vale of years, not insensible to the bewitching smile of beauty, nor altogether hopeless of finding favour in her eyes, he, like many others, tries to steal a few years from Father. Time, which he should not be so well able to do, did he confine himself strictly to dates.' We fear, however, that in order to give the reader a precise idea of the period to which the narrator's adventures refer, we shall be reduced to the necessity of dispelling some part of this obscurity, at the hazard of revealing the dreaded secret that some twenty years must have flown since he first wrote himself a soldier. He appears to have entered the army about the year 1805 or 1806; and we collect from him, notwithstanding the needless ambiguity in which he has clothed his career, that his service was passed, without intermission, in the 82d regiment of foot.

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The first few pages of his volume have little interest, being occupied only with a picture of his introduction to military life, when he used to drink at the mess as long as he could sit, and enjoy every amusement.' This is a somewhat coarse, though certainly a correct, representation of the practice of those days, when the manners, like the tactics, of our army were yet in the infancy of that improvement which has raised it to its present state of unrivalled excellence. The reader needs scarcely be told that the degrading habit of intoxication is now as totally unknown in our military circles as in any other coteries of polished society.

Our author was reluctantly prevented from accompanying his regiment to the bombardment of Copenhagen, the first service which occurred after his appointment, by its having fallen to his tour of

duty to be left in England in charge of the heavy baggage. To avoid this mortifying exclusion from the honours of the impending expedition, had been a point in dispute between himself and a brother officer, in whose favour it was decided. He was afterwards tolerably reconciled to this heavy disappointment, when his comrade, who had enjoyed the triumph of priority, and in whose identical place he would otherwise have stood, bearing the colours of the regiment, received his death-wound at Copenhagen. Such are the chances of war! The young soldier was not fated, however, to sigh long for the active scenes of his profession. His corps had scarcely returned from Copenhagen, when it was ordered to Portsmouth on a secret expedition under General Spencer. The original object of the assembled armament had been the attack of Ceuta; but the fleet had scarcely cleared the channel, when it was dispersed by a tremendous gale. Our author had here a hopeful experience of the joys of a transport; and his first visit to the Bay of Biscay was marked by the rude welcome, for which most of our military adventurers have small reason to remember with pleasure that ungentle nook of old ocean. His vessel, however, instead of being driven back to the Channel, like the greater number of the convoy, weathered the gale, and reached Gibraltar; from whence, in the exigency of the moment, the portion of troops that had arrived were suddenly ordered on to Sicily, which was then threatened with invasion by the French. In that island our author passed three months very agreeably, until his detachment was recalled to Cadiz, where General Spencer's force now re-united.

The noble resistance of the Spanish nation to the iniquitous aggression of Buonaparte had already commenced; and our author was shortly thrown into the midst of the activity and excitement of the peninsular war. With General Spencer's division he proceeded to join the main army of Portugal on its debarkation in Mondego Bay; and he shared in the glorious days of Roleia and Vimiero. His account of his sensations on going into action for the first time in his life is manly, unaffected, and natural, and will be recognized for its fidelity by every soldier's experience.

Being now entirely equipped for the ensuing campaign-having provided bill-hooks, camp-kettles, and mules for carrying them, with baggage-horses and every other convenience, we broke up camp to prosecute our active duties, and continued marching till we came up with the enemy, who had taken an amazingly strong position on the heights of Roleia, from which, after marching four leagues that day, we had to attack and dislodge them. Measures being accordingly taken, by executing such manoeuvres as would bring us in contact with the foe having previously fixed bayonets, primed and loaded, &c. we drew nearer and nearer to the scene of action. It was now that I could have dispensed with the honours of a military life; and had it been as honourable to have gone to the rear as to the front, I should certainly have preferred the former, and that in double quick time; for whatever heroes may say, yet to me I must confess it caused a little imperceptible

tremor, notwithstanding. notwithstanding the brave and manly admonitions of our gallant commanding officer. I was, however, fully convinced of the truth of his assertions; therefore, stifling this sensation, I soon found that spirit which I imbibed from my ancestors to take possession of my heart, and which, thank God! never forsook me in the hour of danger.

We now began to advance over those who had fallen among them was my brother Sub, who had been out skirmishing; and we came under what I then thought a pretty hot fire, both of field-pieces and musketry, not having witnessed the like before: but this I found was a mere joke to what I was hereafter to experience. However, it gave me a seasoning as I was soon after knocked down by a musket-ball striking me on the left groin; and I only attribute escaping a severe wound to having some papers in the pocket of my pantaloons, which prevented its penetrating into the flesh; but it caused a great contusion: I was, however, in a few minutes able to proceed with the regiment, and soon had the pleasure of seeing the French flying before us. We followed them till the lateness of the evening compelled us to halt, when, this being the first field of glory I had the honour of sharing in, I could not help noticing immediately at my feet a fine youth who was shot through some vital part. This poor soldier, when I first observed him, was lying on his back, his head supported by his knapsack: his visage appeared serene and calm, with a very healthy, ruddy colour in his manly cheeks: but every time I looked at him, I perceived his countenance gradually becoming paler, and his fine blue eyes losing their lustre, which I observed soon became fixed in death, without his uttering a groan or a struggle.'

We pass over the account of subsequent operations, of the splendid victory of Vimiero, the convention of Cintra, the evacuation of Portugal by the French, and the advance of the British army into Spain under Sir John Moore. On that march our author was seized with so violent a fit of illness as to endanger his life; and being compelled to remain in the rear of the army, he was not present with his regiment on the retreat to Corunna, Being thus left in Portugal, he remained in that kingdom serving in one of the provisional battalions, formed of detachments which had been cut off by the enemy's advance from rejoining their regiments. By this means, when a new army had been assembled at Lisbon under our Great Captain, he had the honour to share in the brilliant campaign of 1809. He was present at the passage of the Douro and the recapture of Oporto, in the pursuit of Soult's army, and on the rapid march of our troops to face a fresh enemy in the south. After this, his account of the remainder of the campaign, including the hardfought field of Talavera, is spirited, entertaining, and substantially correct; but we cannot linger with him over its details. At the first subsequent pause in active operations, the battalions of detachments were ordered home to be broken up and re-united to their respective corps in England; and our author was once more restored to his home and regiment. But he was not long idle; for those were stirring days of rapid adventure and perpetual excitement, to which, perchance, many a soldier may still in fancy, amidst these languid

hours of peace, revert with some measure of regret, until he remem ber that the cause of humanity at least has gained by the change; and if he lack better employment, he may be contented, with this reflection, to betake himself to mine uncle Toby's occupation, of carrying on the siege of Dendermonde in his own garden.

Our journalist, now familiar with and inured to service, had scarcely been in England six weeks, when he was once more at sea with his regiment, which was dispatched to Gibraltar. In that fortress, a quarter as monotonous, and at times as unhealthy, as a great prison hulk, he remained for some considerable period, with less affliction of ennui than a residence there usually engenders; for the garrison duty was diversified by an occasional change of quarters to Ceuta, and by the contrast not an agreeable one of the unlucky landing at Malaga under Lord Blayney. In 1812 his regiment was again ordered to join the grand army in Portugal; and from this period Captain Wood had the good fortune to witness and to share in almost all the memorable operations of the three next campaigns, until they triumphantly closed on the banks of the Garonne.

Through this well-remembered career of glory it is not our intention to follow him; but we shall just take at random our author's account of the struggle and plunder of the field of Vittorià.

We pursued our way, with good roads, good weather, good provisions, and plenty of dust, till we arrived in the environs of Vittoria, in the front of which town the enemy were posted most advantageously, and in great numbers: they certainly made a most imposing appearance as they formed their line of battle, towards which we advanced with a confident step; peals of artillery echoing through the lofty hills, as we descended their trembling slopes to gain the glorious field. We advanced through the tumultuous scene with a battery in our front, dealing out dire destruction; and halting here, as if to defy its greatest efforts, we waited the signal of attack: men and officers fell in every direction; and their wounds were most dreadful, being all inflicted with cannon-balls or shells, except that of our Colonel, who received a musket-shot in his stomach. Our front was exposed to the full range of this redoubt, and had to contend with a French regiment on the right of the battery; but after politely receiving us with a few sharp volleys, which we as politely returned, they retreated firing, and bent their course into a thicket. Towards this we advanced firing, and drove them furiously before us, till they were completely routed; and we had the satisfaction of passing over numbers whom we had laid prostrate. It was now that the hurry, bustle, and confusion of a great battle were experienced such smoke, such noise, such helter-skelter! the cries of the wounded the groans of the dying the shouts of the victorsthe dragoons and artillery flying dust in clouds caps, muskets, and knapsacks, strewing the ground-baggage, carriages, waggons, and carts, broken down. Such a spectacle might indeed cause the conquer. ing army to exclaim, "Oh! what a glorious thing is battle!" But what must be the situation and feelings of the vanquished?

This scene continued, till night put an end to the bloody fray and equally bloody pursuit; when we halted, leaving Vittoria some miles in