but we must not pick any more plums out of the pudding by extracting it. Here we will say good-by to Mr Smith and the author of Balder, whom we expect to see shortly in the Crimea, as we hear they are among the most diligent officers of the militia in their study of the manual exercise. We hope they may distinguish themselves in the war, so as to become in their turn the subjects of a sonnet, ode, epic, or any kind of poem except an elegy. Meantime, we thank these and all other poets who have sought to do honour to the troops, by celebrating their achievements and hardships. We wish we could be sure that the regard of the country, now so warm and sincere, for the army, would long outlast the first bloom of peace. Perhaps the reader has erewhile been by when a gentleman, in corduroy breeches and highlows, who added to his other accomplishments a taste for dog-fighting, has called up, with many blandishments, his dog Towzer, whom he has backed, for a pot of beer, against Tiger. Towzer, long habituated to kicks from the highlows, comes skulking up, and, as his master puts forth his hand to pat him, slinks out of reach of the suspicious caress. But there, in front, is Tiger, with all his teeth displayed, churning between them a horrid snarl; and Towzer, converting his legs into four pegs, stilts forward, with every bristle horrent on his back. "At him, good dog!" says he of the highlows, and rearing up the combatants close in a confused mass of teeth, growls, and chokings. As they stand apart again, breathless, after the first round, Towzer glances askance through his remaining eye at his master-the pot of beer has invested him with unusual interest-and the gentleman in corduroys looks with CAMP BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, 12th March 1855. strange tenderness at his hurts. "Hi, Towzer!" and, encouraged by that parting clap on the back, the faithful animal shakes his bleeding ears and rushes in. Ultimately, Tiger, utterly prostrated, is carried off to the next pump, while the victorious Towzer, elate with conquest and encouragement, keeps close to the highlows, wagging incessantly the stump of his tail. But this favour vanishes with the last drops of the pot of beer; and, saluted by a sudden kick on the ribs, he awakes to a sense of his proper position in society in the piping time of peace, and retires to an obscure corner to lick his wounds. The reader will draw the moral. Fortunately, the soldier puts not his trust in prince, poet, nor people, but looks elsewhere for encouragement and reward. As it was in the days of chivalry, so it is now, and ever shall be. Husband and bachelor value the gazette only because she, whoever she be, will read his name in it; or, he may have neither wife nor sweetheart, only his ideal sculptured with infinite pains in that inner studio of his where none can penetrate; or, again, he may cherish such a number of idols (your military man being sometimes a little of a Lothario) that individuality is lost in the crowd of charms and sweet remembrances; but still the feeling is the same. He sees not, like his ally the Turk, amidst the smoke of the battery, the gates of paradise, with houris beckoning through; but he knows that eyes, bright with an intelligence and feeling such as no houri ever possessed, are looking towards the East, that they will beam on his return, if he do return,-and that, if not, they will, in thinking of him, grow dim with tears, whose source lies in the warmest and tenderest hearts in the world. THE CAMPAIGNS OF A FRENCH HUSSAR. THE latter campaigns of the greatest conqueror of modern times, although less successful than his previous ones, and terminated by his total discomfiture, yet were scarcely less glorious to the gallant and devoted armies that fought and fell in vain to extend his power and sustain his throne. The men who combated under the French eagles from 1812 to 1814 may justly feel as proud of the laurels they won -although these were unentwined with the solid fruits of victory-as the participators in the more brilliant and profitable campaigns of Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram. More decisive victories have been gained, but none where greater valour was displayed, than that of Borodino; at Lutzen and Bautzen the flower of Germany's youth, stimulated by their sovereign's earnest appeal, and by the impassioned songs of Körner-fighting, too, for their hearths and altars, and for all that makes life preciouswere defeated by an army of French recruits. If Leipzic was a terrible reverse, account must be taken of the desertion of the Saxons, and of the overwhelming numbers opposed to Napoleon's army, which had, for the greater part of its cavalry, conscripts whose first drill had been upon the line of march to Germany. And the campaign of France in 1814 was a succession of brilliant actions, honourable alike to the valour of the troops and the genius of the general, although it postponed but for a brief space the submission of the former, and the latter's abdication. At a moment when England and France are arrayed, for the first time, side by side against a common foe, the memoirs of a valiant and adventurous French officer, who passed through the horrors of the Russian campaign, was present in a multitude of well-fought actions, and reached the end of the war with life, but not without several wounds, much suffering, and some captivity, can hardly be devoid of interest. General de Fer enzac has already given us the history of a French infantry regiment during the Russian expedition; Colonel Combe's narrative is one of personal adventure, extending over several years, but in its course we naturally hear not a little of the exploits of the dashing regiment of light horsechasseurs-à-cheval-in whose ranks he served during the most active portion of his military career. Published in an unpretending form, at one of the military libraries of Paris, his pleasant and spirited volume did not reach our hands until more than a year after its appearance. It has perhaps a stronger interest now, owing to the English and French alliance, and to the war in which we are engaged, than it had then, and has probably been read but by few in England. Married to an English lady, and having many English friends, Colonel Combe nowhere, throughout his book, betrays even å spark of that irritable dislike to our country and nation so often found in old Buonapartists, and which might be expected in one of those devoted adherents of the Emperor, whose staunchness to his cause, when all hope was indeed gone, earned for them no better rewards than the nickname of the Brigands de la Loire, persecution, and even death; whilst it in many instances, as in that of the Colonel, proved a bar to their advancement even under the soi-disant liberal reign of Louis Philippe. Colonel Combe dwells upon his boyhood only enough to show that his nature was pugnacious, and his vocation decidedly military. "I have always been fond of noise," he remarks, with much naïveté, when relating the warlike games, the mock combats, and rattle of drums, which in 1807 were the favourite amusements of French schoolboys. He was of too impatient a disposition to grapple with the long and severe studies which are the necessary preparation for admission to the Polytechnic School, and notwithstanding his mo Mémoires du Colonel Combe, sur les campagnes de Russie 1812, de Saxe 1813, de France 1814 et 1815. Paris, 1853. ther's tears and entreaties, he declared amends to themselves for toils and his firm resolution to enter the military hardships past and to come. The school of Fontainebleau, which sent Emperor was then at the pinnacle of out officers of cavalry and infantry, his power and fame; a series of the and was a more rapid avenue to the most extraordinary triumphs had surarmy. With characteristic tenacity rounded him with a halo of glory; to of purpose he carried his point, and at the eyes of the dazzled world he seemFontainebleau his bellicose disposition ed a demigod, and the least of his displayed itself in numerous duels. soldiers a hero. The able lieutenants In July 1808 the school was trans- who had aided him to attain that ferred to St Cyr, where the Emperor almost fabulous elevation, were kings, often visited it. These visits, his viceroys, and princes, rolled in wealth, gay and affable manners, the confidence and denied themselves no luxury. he showed the cadets, the attention he In 1811, Eugène Beauharnais arrived paid to the smallest details concerning at Brescia, with the Princess Amelia them, made him adored by them. He and all his court, to review the troops frequently himself passed them in re- of the army of Italy, assembled in view, made them manœuvre, and camp at Monte Chiaro, four leagues asked them all manner of questions. from the town. There were twenty It is not surprising that he became thousand men, and the manœuvres their idol. Young Combe was not took place twice a-week. The other the least enthusiastic in his attach- days were devoted to magnificent ment to the extraordinary man, who entertainments-splendid balls, and certainly possessed, as much as any grand performances at the new theatre, potentate we read of, the power of then just completed. The fitting-up fascinating those he chose to please. of the viceroy's box alone had cost Shortly before the campaign of Wag- 25,000 francs. In the old theatre the ram, a battalion of five hundred youths, officers of the garrison performed the best instructed in the school, French vaudevilles, to the great demarched, by the Emperor's order, from lectation of the Brescian dames, and St Cyr to Paris, to be present at a advantage of the poor of the town, to great review. Napoleon, who was whom the proceeds of the perforproud of the school he had created, mances were devoted. It was a chose a number of the cadets to act, Capuan existence, although subseduring the review, as officers and non- quent events amply proved that it in commissioned officers in the ranks of no way enervated those who shared it. the Old Guard, and one to command Towards the end of 1811, rumours in chief. They acquitted themselves arose that war was at hand, and on of their respective duties with a per- the 20th January 1812, the 8th Chasfection that delighted the Emperor, seurs got the route. Rejoicing at the who invited the whole battalion to prospect of a campaign, and of its dine at Véry's, and sent Duroc to concomitant laurels and promotion, preside. He would also have at once the officers-and especially those who, given commissions to the whole five like M. Combe, had not yet fleshed hundred, but, on the representation of their sabres-confidently and cheerGeneral Bellavene, who commanded fully abandoned their delightful Italian at St Cyr, that he should then have quarters, and turned their faces northno instructors left for his recruits, he wards, little foreseeing what changes agreed to leave him two hundred. M. one short twelvemonth was to bring Combe was of the three hundred, about in their numerous and wellwho within a short time were ap- equipped ranks, and how few of those pointed to regiments. The 8th Chas- who then so gaily went forth to battle, seurs, to which he was sent, was were ever again to behold their native then quartered in Italy. At Brescia land. When a servant was nailing he passed two delightful years. If down one of M. Combe's boxes, on Napoleon's brilliant soldiers were ever the eve of his departure from Paris, ready to abandon their pleasures for his mother, who heard the blows from the battle-field, on the other hand, in an adjoining room, felt her heart sink, the brief intervals of leisure his ambi- and fainted away. It seemed to her, tion allowed them, they made ample she said, as though it were his coffin they were closing. And truly, says the cool chasseur, considering the large consumption of officers at that period, there was some analogy. Great though it might be, however, the mortality of any previous campaign seems trifling when compared to that of the terrible expedition upon which M. Combe and his comrades now joyously started. The 8th Chasseurs were fortunate in their colonel. Count de Périgord, since become Duke de Talleyrand, was twenty-five years old when he assumed the command, brave, generous, and rich. All through Germany, wherever the regiment halted for a day, he issued invitations for a ball and supper. Thus merrily were Bavaria, Prussia, and Saxony traversed; and then M. Combe's corps went into cantonments in Silesia, where it remained six weeks whilst the army was concentrated, preparatory to entering Poland. Once in this country, hard work began. Marching and counter-marching were incessant until the passage of the Niemen. On the farther bank of that stream was assembled the whole French cavalry, 80,000 strong, whose bivouac occupied three leagues of ground. The next day this magnificent body of horsemen was distributed amongst the different corps d'armée, never again to be united. The 8th Chasseurs, with three other French regiments, one of Saxon, and one of Bavarian light horse, formed General Chastel's division of Grouchy's cavalry corps. After the siege of Smolensko the greater part of the two German regiments disbanded, the men betaking themselves to their homes with arms and baggage. The officers did their utmost to prevent the desertion, and many of them were killed in the attempt, but in vain; when they reached Moscow there remained barely four squadrons of the Germans, who had started for Russia 2400 strong. As early as at Wilna privations were felt. A loaf of bread was a great treat. The immense mass of men concentrated at one point ate up the country. The night-marches were very painful and fatiguing. Towards dawn, M. Combe could not resist slumber. He used to place himself between two of his men, thrust his feet far into his stirrups, put his valise on the front of his saddle, and his arms and head on his valise, and sleep soundly enough for refreshment. But this he could not always venture to do. As a light-cavalry man, his duty took him frequently to the outposts, and the Cossacks began to swarm. The well-trained French dragoons cared but little for them, experience having taught them that by keeping in a body they might defy their irregular skirmishing attacks. In a recounoissance, at the head of twenty-five men, M. Combe kept off a hundred of those dirty savages, who had got between him and the army, and might have annihilated his little band had they charged in a body. But that is not their way of fighting, and did not occur to them. On this occasion M. Combe received his first wound-a slight one in the hand, from a Cossack lance. This was near the Beresina, on whose left bank, not far from Mohiloff, the division halted, and built itself huts of branches. The river was fordable at about a quarter of a league from the camp; and at about three leagues to the front was the town of Liady, where, according to report, a number of Russian staffofficers and a body of irregular Cossacks then were. The general-inchief asked Colonel de Périgord for an officer and fifty men, volunteers, and well mounted, for a dangerous reconnoissance, to be pushed as far as Liady. It was the turn for duty of a lieutenant named Monneret, a brave and experienced officer. "He forded the river," says Colonel Combe," and had scarcely ridden a league beyond it when he was surrounded, and escorted by a mob of Cossacks to the town itself. There a panic terror had seized everybody to such an extent that they had forgotten to shut the gates. Monneret, sabring all he met, dashed into the principal street, rode right through it, went out by the opposite gate, turned the town, and came back by the same road by which he had gone, after losing a third of his men. But, strange as it may appear, when he made his report to the general-inchief, Grouchy refused to believe him. Monneret, cruelly offended by this doubt, declared to the general that he would immediately return to Liady, with fresh men, and that, as a proof of his having been there, he would mark the gate of the town with two sabre-cuts, in the form of a cross. He made the same vow to all his comrades, entreating us to have justice done to his memory, for he considered his death certain, his first reconnoissance having put the enemy on his guard, so that he was sure to meet with superior forces. When his party was formed up, he embraced us, sprang upon his horse, and soon we saw him again upon the road, after he had forded the river for the third time. Then took place one of those brilliant exploits that are worthy to be handed down to posterity, and which, nevertheless, remain almost forgotten. Monneret, surrounded by a throng of Cossacks, forced his way, bravely supported by his dragoons. This time the gate of Liady was shut; he struck it twice with his sabre, and, retracing his steps, was so fortunate as to reach the camp, but pierced, as well as his horse, with innumerable lance wounds, and bringing with him only fifteen of his men. Three days later we entered Liady at the head of the column forming the advanced guard, and every officer of the 8th Chasseurs, as well as of the division, had an opportunity of satisfying himself of the truth. I will not permit myself to blame General Grouchy's conduct in this affair, because, as I was not present when Monneret made his first report, I cannot positively affirm that that officer did not take offence too easily. Whilst setting them an example of courage, I have always known General Grouchy to be sparing of the blood of his soldiers. I relate what I saw without commentary. One of the chasseurs who were under the orders of Monneret, Bouthelié, now a captain, is still alive, and inhabits Paris. I appeal to his testimony." Gallant feats of this kind were plentiful during the Russian campaign, as they always have been, and doubtless always will be, where French troops are engaged. The campaign was now fairly opened. The French had come up with the Russian army, whose rear-guard resisted vigorously. On the march to Orcha, Grouchy's division, emerging from a defile, suddenly found itself opposed to the whole Russian rearguard, less Prince Bagration's corps d'armée, which was to join it by way of Mohiloff. The Russians formed squares of battalions on the farther side of the high-road, which was bordered by a double row of poplars. The position was a good one; for, when crossing the road, the cavalry were compelled to open their ranks, and their charge was consequently not sufficiently compact to break the squares, into the centre of one of which M. Combe was near being precipitated. "Through a hail of bullets and a cloud of smoke," he says, "I reached the front rank of the Russian infantry, and I did not see the enemy distinctly until the moment when my horse, going full gallop, stopped short before the bayonets. I ought to have been thrown over his head; fortunately my grip was sufficiently strong to enable me to regain my seat, and I had time to deal a sabre-cut on the head of the Russian soldier nearest to me. But I was obliged to follow the movement of my squadron, and we went to re-form in rear of the column, after losing a great many men." Grouchy, convinced of the inutility of cavalry charges under such circumstances, at last discontinued them, and employed his artillery to harass the retreat of the Russians, which was continued steadily, and in good order, parallel with the Smolensko road and its protecting line of poplars. But the French light horse soon revenged its repulse. That same night Davoust received orders from the Emperor to march upon Mohiloff, to prevent the junction of Bagration's corps with the Russian army. Taking 10,000 men, including eight squadrons, of which M. Combe's was one, the marshal set out before daybreak, and at eight o'clock reached a wooden bridge across the river Borysthenes, over which Bagration was to pass. The bridge was cut, intrenchments were thrown up, cannon planted, and the work was not complete when Bagration's corps made its appearance, debouching from a thick forest. The river just there is not very broad, but swampy, and with high banks. The Russians opposed some pieces of artillery to the |