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us now see how Napoleon impressed a mere soldier—Marbot. He saw Napoleon Bonaparte in the midst of his greatest battles, at almost the most critical moments of his career, and was brought into the closest and most intimate contact with him. There are abundant stories of Napoleon throughout his volumes, and Baron Marbot can tell a story often with a great deal of point. And yet the impression of Napoleon is a blurred one. Did you ever read the description of Scobeleff after the failure of the great assault on Plevna, which was written by MacGahan—that brilliant journalist whom cruel death untimely destroyed? I recall the passage from memory after some fifteen years; I can still remember that terrible portrait of war, with Scobeleff, his face stained with blood and powder, his sword twisted, des-