retreat, and returned to France without a scratch. On the return from Elba he rejoined his old regiment, and, as its surgeon, fought against the English at Waterloo. After the peace his regiment was disbanded, and as the old soldiers of the empire were very much at a discount he elected to come to England, where he lived since 1816. He died at the age of ninety-five, retaining his faculties to the last. After his death I raised a fund to bury him, by writing a letter to _The Times_, in which I gave his history, heading my letter, "A Relic of the Grand Armée," and asking any friends of the first Napoleon to help me in burying him in some other place than a pauper's grave. My appeal having brought me £25, the Empress Eugenie being one of the subscribers, he was buried at the Catholic Cemetery at Kensal Green. There were two seamstresses who lived in Gilbert Street, Oxford Street, who were his countrywomen and his sole visitors, with the exception of the Catholic priest of the French chapel in Leicester Square. I asked them and the priest to accompany me to the funeral, which I attended as chief mourner. On our arrival at the mortuary chapel, the coffin was placed on a raised bier with three others. Presently two lads, wearing long black cloaks which reached to the ground, came from the altar. When they arrived at the spot where the coffin was resting, one lad suddenly produced from under his cloak a censer containing fire and proceeded to incense the quartette. How he ever carried the fiery thing without setting fire to himself was to me a wonder. He was immediately followed by the other lad, who, taking just as rapidly from under his cloak a vessel like a whitewash-pot, proceeded with a brush to throw holy water on the coffins. This being completed, the coffin was put on a truck and we hurried away as fast as we could go through the miry ground for a long distance to the grave. On reaching it, down went my two lady companions on their knees in the clay. My respect for the deceased did not carry me so far as that, especially as it was raining hard and the ground was a mere bog. Presently the acolyte produced his whitewash-pot and brush, and I was courteously asked to sprinkle the poor fellow's coffin with holy water, which I did. This having been also done by my companions, I was amused by a little girl about fourteen, who, suddenly taking the brush and pot from one of the young women, went to work sprinkling in grand style, and, what was rather alarming, let me in for more than I had expected. On our return journey the priest asked me to attend service in the Catholic Chapel, in Leicester Square, on the next Sunday. This I did. He was a very gentlemanly person. He thanked me very much for the little service I was enabled to render to the poor old French doctor, whom I missed very much, as it was my habit to sit beside the old man's bed and hear him fight his battles o'er again.