are not strong enough to vindicate his right, his cause is hopeless. Something may be done by promising to restore the fueros of Biscay; but even that is doubtful, for the Basques have a lively recollection of the evils brought on them by the last war. And they indeed they as much as any Spaniards -have been affected by the Zeitgeist. Four-and-twenty years of peace, during which French capital has poured in to make railways and English to develop mines, have wrought a great change. There has been a break in the tradition which made the old Carlist wars possible. First came Napoleon's invasion, which covered Spain with guerrilleros. The revolutionary Cortes at Cadiz offended and frightened the mass of the people. The troubles of Ferdinand's reign kept the organisation of civil war alive, and it was ready to fight for the first Don Carlos. Isabel's reign brought no settled

peace, and a great rally of old Spanish lawlessness was possible between 1868 and 1874. Since then there has been a solution of continuity. The cabecilla race is not extinct. Churchmen can still be found who regret the Inquisition. Given another military revolution, another outbreak of Republican folly, another collapse of Government, and the "men of the mountains" may again fly to arms to protect themselves. They will hardly "take to the Sierra" again, out of mere enthusiasm for a claimant to the throne who has even given up pretending that he will restore the absolutism and the authority of the Church, which were once loved as a protection against hated innovations. As for mere promises of better government, the answer to them is like to be in the words of our friend the priest, "Estamos muy cansado de todo,"-We are sick of all that, having heard it too often.

LORD

IN the December number of 'Blackwood' there appeared a brilliant article from the pen of Sir Henry Brackenbury, himself a soldier of no mean eminence, setting forth the soldierly virtues and heroic deeds of Stonewall Jackson. The book that was the subject of Sir Henry's review was not only the biography of a soldier, but was written by a colonel in the army, who is at the same time a Professor of Military Art and History at the Staff College. In such matters the army is far ahead of the navy.

It is not so much that there are numbers of men in the army who can wield the pen with a grace and facility that few naval men possess; but the navy itself scarcely recognises yet that there is such a thing as naval history, or that the art of naval war needs close and earnest study by those who hope to shine in their country's service. But in these last days a change is becoming apparent. Not only has that brilliant luminary Captain Mahan lightened the darkness with his clear and terse writings, which even the man in the street reads with interest, and enters into the spirit of; but many others are following in his footsteps, and the book1 now before me is quite as much a contribution to naval

history as it is a tribute to the memory of one who, like Henry Lawrence, was essentially a man who "tried to do his duty." Writing as I do, as a naval officer and not as a professional critic, I cannot undertake to lay down the law as to whether Captain Eardley-Wilmot's book is a literary success; but this I would say to all those who are interested in the sea-power of our empire, read the book, and you will get a clearer idea of the kind of men upon whom under God the wealth, peace, and safety of our empire does mainly depend. For it has been well said that amidst the extraordinary changes which fighting ships and their weapons have undergone within the last half-century, it is a most remarkable fact that the men remain in all essentials much what they were. It is true that the modern seaman knows more about hydraulic buffers, and the latest dodge in cam - levers, than he does of reefing a topsail or furling a topgallant sail in a breeze; but at bottom he is much the same man,- -more self-controlled certainly, but the same cheerful, tireless, intrepid, resourceful Jack Tar that he was of old.

Before opening the book I have a word to say to Captain

Eardley - Wilmot or his publisher. Why make the book so heavy? It surely is not It surely is not necessary that every naval book should come up to the weight of a 3-pounder shell! I know that there is good, or shall I say weighty, precedent for this procedure; am I not myself the happy possessor of a volume of Colomb's 'Naval Warfare,' which was considered by its purchaser too ponderous for a sea-going bookshelf? But surely it should be possible to cut down the displacement of an interesting book like this, so that it can be read with comfort when resting in an arm chair during the watch below. Captain Eardley-Wilmot does not profess to find anything of the genius or of the hero in Lord Lyons; his book is rather the plain narrative of the life of a man who was born in stirring times, and who lived to be Naval Commander-in-Chief in the Mediterranean in time of war, and though never called upon for great deeds, showed readiness and capacity in all that he undertook.

Lyons was born in 1790, of a good stock; his father owned property both in Antigua and in Hampshire, and had lived in both places. It was at the home in England that Lyons was born. Being the fifth of sixteen children, he had to push his own way without much help from home: he was, how ever, the fortunate possessor of a childless godfather in Admiral -then Captain-Sir Richard Bickerton, who gave the lad

his first start in the Service, and had him entered in his cousin's ship, the Maidstone frigate, at eleven years of age, just after the peace of Amiens was signed. The Maidstone lay at Portsmouth for three months getting her crew on board, and we gain a little insight into the kind of training that turned out the gallant and talented officer and accomplished diplomatist that Lyons afterwards became. Captain Moubray, besides being captain of a frigate, was also practically the head - master of a school for young officers, his under-masters being the gunner, the carpenter, besides the clerk, who, young Lyons writes, "teaches us to read, write, sum, and spell." The boy's letters are naïve :—

"Captain Moubray intends taking me and some more of the younkers in his cabin to teach us arithmetic till he gets a schoolmaster. There were four more men hung on board some of the ships here yesterday." The "four more" corpses dangling at the yard-arm, and this at home in time of peace, was a stern object-lesson for the younker, demonstrating forcibly that discipline must be maintained. Before starting for the Mediterranean the little boy of eleven writes, "I beg you will send me some money, as I have a great many things to buy." How far his bearleader the gunner, with whom he was "as happy as a king," helped him in these purchases we are not told. He has, too, to exercise discrimination as to his messmates, for in those days

"There are a great many wicked boys in this ship, but I do not associate with them. There is one little boy about my age, who is a very good-natured gentlemanly lad. There are likewise two or three young men who I associate with and like very much."

The boy was anything but a prig, and he was doubtless laying the foundation of a high character in keeping clear of the "wicked boys."

Later on, when Lyons is a mid. of sixteen, we get another glimpse of a man-of-war as a training - school for young gentlemen. This time it is the line-of-battle ship Ajax, under Nelson's celebrated frigate captain, Blackwood. The ship was unfortunately burnt at anchor off the Dardanelles, the fire spreading with such rapidity that in a few minutes, almost before the boats from other ships could reach her, she was a mass of flames fore and aft. No less than 270 men perished. Lyons tells his mother: "Captain Blackwood had thirty little mids. under his care, from the age of eleven to fifteen years. Many of them, not being able to swim, were lost." Indeed Blackwood himself had to jump overboard, and was picked up by a boat; so it is not to be wondered at that so many poor little lads went down with the ship. Fire was a terrible enemy in the ships of a hundred years ago, and many a mother who

intrusted her boy to some captain's care never saw him again.

On arriving in the Mediterranean Lyons found the station temporarily in command of his godfather, Bickerton, and the lad fared well and made friends. When he had been afloat some eighteen months war broke out again, and the crew of the Maidstone were turned over to the Active, a larger frigate, which ship was sent to watch Toulon under Nelson's orders, he having come out as commander-in-chief. Most unfortunately, no letters are extant to tell us of the next two years, which were spent at sea, always at sea, in fair weather or foul, watching first Latouche - Tréville and then Villeneuve with his growing force which never would put to sea. Captain Eardley-Wilmot speaks of "the excitement of blockading work." As a matter of fact, there was little more excitement about it than there is in a long and dreary night-watch. The weather was often terrible, the ships old and rotten, with crazy masts, threadbare sails, and no supplies of spare gear to fall back upon. The Active, Phœbe, and Seahorse were the only frigates which could be spared to watch Toulon; and this, too, when Nelson himself was writing: "I am kept in great distress for frigates and smaller vessels at this critical moment. I want ten more than I have.” But Nelson did not get his frigates. Our commerce cried out aloud for protection, and though we had some 400 frigates and smaller craft actually in com

com

mission, no more could be spared from their work of commerce protection. If this was the case with our limited trade of a hundred years ago, what would happen now, when our merce has increased tenfold? But to return to the Active. Captain Moubray having Nelson's written directions to perform the service of watching Toulon "with due caution," we can well imagine young Lyons as signal midshipman watching the enemy's frigates "cutting capers off Cape Sepet," and longing to have a go at them -but no, the Commander-inChief's orders are clear, due caution must be exercised, and there is nothing to do but obey.

At last, after eighteen months of weary watch, on January 18, 1805, the word is passed from mouth to mouth, the French are coming out. These weatherworn frigates were prepared for action always: there was little to do, but a great exultation in every heart, and high hopes that through their untiring watchfulness Nelson and his fleet would speedily be warned, and the day of action would come at last.

As night fell the wind rose, until it was blowing a hard gale. On went the heavy French liners, and after them in the darkness tore the two British frigates Active and Seahorse, risking their shaky spars in the rising gale. Before morning broke the two frigates hauled their wind, with their lee guns tearing through the water at every roll, and at their best speed made for Maddalena to

meet Nelson, with the signal flying, "The enemy is at sea. Immediately the frigates appeared, up anchor was the order; but what of the falling darkness and the dangerous channel to be traversed? This was nothing to those well-tried seamen. Safely and swiftly the whole of the fleet passed through the rock bound straits between Biche and Sardinia, and by 7 P.M. all were clear. But now came bitter disappointment. Oh for more frigates to scour the seas, for no trace of the French fleet could anywhere be found. For the whole of the next month Nelson, in an agony of mind, was searching, searching, searching,-now off Messina, Palermo, Naples, then to Greece and even Egypt, but no news of the French anywhere. At last, on February 19, on returning to Malta, he learnt that the French had put back to Toulon. Once more, then, the frigates were left to their weary watch, and the ships of the line snatched a little repose in Palmas Bay, Sardinia.

But the French really mean business now, so that, on March 31 the dreary monotony of the never-ending watch was broken, and the Phoebe and Active are again following the French fleet. As night falls the Phoebe is detached by the Active to carry the news to Nelson, and the Active follows through the night. Alas! when day breaks the French have disappeared. No one has been blamed for this, so we may be sure that Moubray did his best, and that it was impossible,