But when the war, at the beginning of the century, was renewed with Napoleon, the preparations against him were not confined to the water. We had not only our guardship in the river, but the town itself was stoutly garrisoned against any enemy. We had always several regiments of regular soldiers or militia quartered here. But, besides these, O! what drumming and fifing and bugling and trumpeting there used to be among the regiments of our own raising; for old Liverpool did her duty well and nobly in those days of threatened invasion. Young and old, gentle and simple, high and lowly were all alike seized with a military fever and a patriotic glow, and hastened to don red coats and cocked hats, carry muskets, or wear swords by their sides. And some famous soldiers we had amongst us, and plenty of them. Let us see. There was Colonel Bolton’s regiment, consisting of as fine and well-disciplined a body of men as ever mounted guard in St. James’s or Buckingham Palace. In what awe we used to stand of the tall, upright, somewhat prim, and starched old colonel, as, mounted on his favourite white charger, he marched, band playing, colours flying, at the head of his men, round and round Mosslake fields, looking, both he and they, defiance at all the world in general, and Napoleon, and Ney, and Soult, and Lannes, and Davoust, and Murat, and all the rest of the frog-eaters in particular. And then there was the fine old major, called Joe Greaves among his familiars, who lived at the top of Mount Pleasant, and kept a glorious house, and welcomed everybody, and was welcome everywhere. A fine fellow was the major as ever we set eyes upon, and he was the father of as fine a family as ever sprung up, like olive branches, round any man’s table. He was always kind, affable, and good-natured, whenever we met him. Peace to his memory! And Sir Thomas Brancker, quiet citizen as he now looks, used to wear, to us, a most formidable aspect, when an officer in Bolton’s Invincibles. Occasionally he would act as adjutant to the regiment, and, if our memory does not fail us at this distance of time, we once saw him—we certainly saw some one achieve the feat—ride at a troublesome boy, who would intrude within the line of sentinels, and leap his horse clear over the head of the terrified urchin. We also recollect a Hurry and an Aspinall, officers in this regiment. There was also Colonel Williams’s regiment of volunteers, a fine body of men, and well ordered and officered. The colonel had seen some hard service, and heard real hostile bullets whistling abroad. He was a strict disciplinarian, and a good soldier. We need not attempt to describe him. He lived to so ripe an old age, and to the last took such an active part in our public affairs, that most of our readers must have his picture, in his white Russian ducks, fully impressed upon their memory. He was an ardent lover of his race and of