"_I send you two letters from my adorable Queen. One was written to me the day we received this glorious news; the other yesterday. Keep them, as they are her own handwriting. I have kept copies only; but I feel that you ought to have them. If you had seen our meeting after the battle--but I will keep it all for your arrival; I could not do justice to her feelings or my own, with writing it. We are preparing your apartment against you come. I hope it will not be long, for Sir William and I are so impatient to see and embrace you._ "_I wish you could have seen our house the three nights of the illuminations: it was covered with your glorious name; there were three thousand lamps, and there should have been three millions if we had had time. All the English vied with each other in celebrating this most gallant and ever-remarkable victory. Sir William is ten years younger since the happy news, and he now only wishes to see his friend to be completely happy. How he glories in you when your name is mentioned! He cannot contain his joy. For God's sake come to Naples soon!_ "_We receive so many sonnets and letters of congratulations. I send you some of them, to show you how your success is felt here. How I felt for poor Troubridge! He must have been so angry on the sandbank--so brave an officer! In short, I pity all those who were not in the battle. I would have been rather an English powder-monkey or a swab in that great victory than an emperor out of it. But you will be tired of all this. Write or come soon, to rejoice your ever sincere and obliged friend,_" [Handwriting: Emma Hamilton] The man we brought up from the albergo near the Castel Nuovo to the Ambassador's palace in an Embassy coach, softened with a mountain of cushions, did not, to the ordinary onlooker, give much idea of the man who, as darkness was falling, hesitated not a moment to sail without a pilot or a chart between the French line of battle and a shoaling shore. But we, who were privileged to see that extraordinary man during every hour of his daily life, were well accustomed to the spectacle of him prostrated with sickness--from which, however, the chance of a battle would rouse him, like the sound of a trumpet, into the martial, alert little figure that seemed to the men who were to follow his orders to death, like the angel who came down to smite the hosts of Sennacherib. In spite of his prostration from fever and wounds, he had insisted on donning his full Admiral's uniform--he was going to visit the Representative of his Sovereign, and to the day of his death he never spoke of King George III. save as Our Good and Great King.