"It is divided. Some say it is entirely Simpson's fault for sending Codrington's division to the assault; others, that Codrington is to blame for the manner in which he made his arrangements."

And what do you think?"

"I think the man who had twenty thousand veterans, and who yet elected to play the game stroke of the whole campaign with two thousand raw recruits, and two thousand fellows who had jibbed at the very same spot before-deserves to be criticised by civilians."

And what, admitting the worst possible colouring that can be given to the case, has the disaster to do with the revenge of Waterloo? We must gather this from our author's own words:

I looked long at this Redan, which will henceforth be so unhappily conspicuous in our military history. We may shut our eyes to it in England, and the French may courteously ignore the fact in their public despatches; but the three Crimean armies well know how the reputation of our country suffered on that unhappy 8th of September. It is true that Alma and Inkerman are unforgotten, but we have descended from our great position. In a camp people count from the last great event. Our last great event was one of a very chequered character. Part of our troops stormed a most difficult position with some loss and great bravery; but, having got inside, were struck with panic, and were driven out again; another part of our troops displayed an emotion of which John Bull insists upon believing his soldiers incapable.

This is the simple fact, and not to know this at home, or to attempt to ignore it, or to pretend to believe that the attack upon the Redan was a feint, or to talk nonsense about that which was actually taken being utterly impregnable, is merely to provoke the sneers of the world.

I must add to this, however, that if Inkerman was a soldiers' victory, the Redan was the touchstone of the valour of the British officer. There was a story mysteriously current in the camp, that one man, who bore the Queen's commission-his name was never mentioned in my hearing-was kicked out of the trenches, having refused to march out. With this single exception (if the rumour had any foundation), every officer behaved like a hero.

Since we had this long talk (which I have attempted to condense from memory) among the charred fragments, and burst earthworks, and broken guns, and riven rock-work, and infinite confusions of this wild war-seared spot, I have spoken with at least twenty Frenchmen upon the same subject. They will subscribe to any theory, and join in any compliment to the English arms; they will even politely deplore the freedom with which our generals are criticised by our press; but they are always faithful to two impressions. The first is, that "there were great faults committed on the 8th of September ;" the second, that “if the Redan had been taken simultaneously with the Malakoff, the Russian army must have capitulated or been destroyed.'

And the reported words of an English officer, "By no fault of ours-——— by no fault of the veterans of the army-by the ignorance of the commander in not knowing the instruments with which he had to work, we have been dishonoured as an army in the opinion of the world. We cannot look a Frenchman in the face without blushing; and they know it, and overwhelm us with their condescending compliments."

As if our gallant allies did not fail also, on the same day, in the attack upon the Little Redan, as also on the Central Bastion, which, if taken, would have commanded the bridge of boats. As if the Zouaves-the first soldiers in the world-did not fail in the attack on the Inkerman Battery in February, and the French storming party did not fail in the attack on the Malakhof on the 18th of June!

True it is that the general who elected to play the game stroke of the whole campaign with two thousand raw recruits, and two thousand fellows who had jibbed at the very same spot before, deserves not simply criticism-the responsibility of the great disaster lies upon his shoulders, and will cling to his memory. According to the statements of our author himself, whom no one will suspect to be guilty of taking a favourable view of matters in as far as his countrymen are concerned, there is not an officer in the British army who doubts that if the Highlanders and the Marines, or if General Eyre's division had stormed the Redan, it would have been carried and held. That General Simpson did not doubt it was evident from the fact that he had the Highlanders alone in the trenches ready to assault it when it was abandoned by the Russians. If our assault had been successful, not a man of the Russian army, it is argued, could have reached the north side. Pelissier is said to have felt this, and, soon after the attack had failed, to have sent word to Simpson that the Russians were retreating across the harbour. Every one who heard this message felt that it was an invitation to renew the assault; but "to-morrow" was the watchword of indecision. It is obvious to any one conversant with the topography of Sebastopol, that the Russian retreat could only have been cut off by a successful advance on the extreme right or left, both of which attacks were made by the French. A message of a similar character was, we must suppose, then transmitted at the same time, by so intelligent a general as Pelissier, to the assailants of the Central Bastion, which commanded the bridge of boats. But our author will not even allow the subject to be discussed. All the misadventures that befel the French, he says, do not help us out of our disgrace. They rather show how real and disastrous it was, in that it provokes the discussion of such topics. Pity that a T. G., with so much military ardour, was not at once pressed into the body militant; and still more is it to be regretted that a premature peace should come in the way of his revenging the disaster of the Redan!

Our traveller does not say how long it was after the fall of Sebastopol that he visited the interior of the captured place, but it must, from his description, have been but shortly; indeed, he arrived at the time the city was still burning. He then seems to have stayed in the Crimea only about a week. And all he had to say of the city would only make an ordinary magazine article; the rest of the volume is, with almost unusual bookmaking ingenuity, filled up with the log of the Lindsay, Malta, Constantinople, Naples, Rome, Florence, &c. "Inside Sebastopol" merely serves as a title-some people would think a deceptive one -but our bellicose T. G. seems to have no compunctions of the kind. Indeed, had it not been for a hint from the publisher, he would have added two more volumes, he tells us, which were necessary to describe Paris; all, we suppose, under the same title!

After all we read of the bravery, the endurance, and the self-devotion of the noblest and the most glorious army which ever poured forth its blood in defence of the liberties and the honour of England, there is nothing like pictorial representation to impart true ideas and to correct erroneous impressions. However graphic and able-however eloquent and spirited-however gifted and brilliant the pen of the describer of

events may be, he must always be surpassed by the limner. In this respect Messrs. Paul and Dominic Colnaghi's work, "The Camp in the Crimea," stands unrivalled, and at the head of its class. It presents us with a series of sketches made on the spot by Mr. William Simpson, which will be as invaluable to the future historian as they are now to the reader of Mr. Brackenbury's slight sketch of the war which accompanies them, of Mr. Russell's admirable letters, or of any more recondite history that may hereafter appear. Their authenticity does not constitute their only value; their variety and fidelity are unsurpassable, and their beauty and spirit are beyond praise. They give us animated and correct representations not only of the great incidents of the war but of those minor, but especially interesting, details-those life and death subjects—to which only an artist can do justice. Such a work is an indispensable complement to all letters and narratives whatsover; without it, no true idea can be formed of the kind of personages who took part in the stirring events of the war; of the peculiarity of landscape and the appearance of the country at different seasons of the year; of the fearful additions which art made to the natural means of defence, presented by the locality; of the turmoil of battle, succeeded by the quiet repose of the tent; of the individual objects of sympathy presented by long trial, long suffering, and long endurance; or of the hardships undergone in life, and the last clammy relief in death! These are scenes over which many will long ponder with never-flagging, never-ending interest.

While upon the theme of the war, we cannot also allow the opportunity to pass of calling our readers' attention to a work of great interest recently published by Mr. Bentley, being the "Memoirs of British Generals distinguished during the Peninsular War, by Lieutenant J. W. Cole."

A work of this kind places examples before the officers of the British army which cannot but excite in them an honourable spirit of emulation, at the same time that the names are historical treasures, faithfully guarded in every domestic circle. Who is there who will not feel an interest in perusing the heroic achievements of Sir John Moore, the Marquis of Anglesea, and Lord Beresford ?-of Picton, Lynedoch, and Hill?

Mr. Cole's work does not comprise the whole list of Peninsular heroes; but it contains an honourable cohort from the distinguished band, and it is illustrated by portraits of heroes whose features are familiar to many, and whose memories are dear not only to their friends, but to the country at large.

MONT ST. MICHEL AND ITS

CACHOTS."

Le Mont St. Michel peut passer à bon droict comme une des merveilles du monde.-DOM HUYNES.

THERE are few travellers in these days of locomotion who have not visited one of the most interesting portions of France, the department of La Manche, and enjoyed the delightful promenades of the picturesque town of Avranches, a name familiar to all readers of Norman history, and especially renowned as the place where Henry II. did penance for the murder of Becket. Many have no doubt been struck with the beautiful prospects which meet the eye in every direction. The town winds round the hill in gentle descent; below, the river serpentines through many branches, until it falls into a large arm of the sea, and the mixture of woodland and water scenery affords peculiar attractions to the artist and the lover of nature. From the Jardin des Plantes especially, a fine view is obtained of the majestic Mont St. Michel, one of the most remarkable places in the world, which rises four hundred feet above the surface of the sea, at a distance of about ten miles from Avranches. After enjoying the magnificent coup d'œil which such an object presents, the eye rests upon a smaller rock near, called the Tombelaine, while in the distant and blue horizon appears the long and extended land of Brittany.

As the rocky prison of St. Michel is the present subject of our remarks, we will beg the reader to accompany us thither, merely premising that the few notes collected during a visit last year related chiefly to its condition as one of the principal maisons de détention of France. To record even the chief events that have transpired within its ancient walls would require volumes of certainly not uninteresting details. The elements of its history will be found in the lives of the abbots, which have been copiously related by ancient authors.

The earliest account of the Mont is involved in obscurity. Among the Gauls, a college of Druidesses is said to have occupied its site; afterwards, the Romans erected there an altar to Jupiter, and styled it Mons Jovis. A miraculous interposition, according to other writers, originated its dedication to the Archangel St. Michael.

In the reign of Childebert II., a Bishop of Avranches, "the godly St. Aubert," say the monkish chronicles, had a vision. The Archangel St. Michael appeared one night, and ordered him to go to a rock, then called Mont Tombe, where he was accustomed to offer his prayers and meditations, and erect there an oratory to the honour of St. Michael. Aubert, somewhat incredulous, took no notice of the angelic command, nor of a second intimation to the same effect; but a third manifestation, of a more tangible character, left no doubt upon his mind, for, irritated at the obstinacy of the worthy Aubert, and as a punishment for his incredulity, St. Michael made a hole in his skull by touching it with his thumb. No longer hesitating, Aubert laid the first stone of a monastic building, and worked with such zeal, that in a year, notwithstanding the difficulty of raising the materials to such a height, the foundations were laid, and a noble church raised to the honour of the Archangel Michael.

Such is the monkish tradition of the origin of this celebrated fortress. History enlightens us with more certainty on the subject. It is stated that at the commencement of the eighth century St. Aubert caused a small church to be erected on the mountain. In 966, Richard II., Duke of Normandy, commenced the erection of the Abbey, which was completed about the year 1070, under William the Conqueror. In succeeding ages additions were made to the strength and beauty of the structure; its isolated position, and the treasures that were poured into the coffers of the Abbey, requiring strong defences against invasion, and thus giving the Mont St. Michel the appearance it wears at present, both military and ecclesiastical. Attempts, however, were frequently made to take it, especially by the English, who were as often repulsed. A signal failure occurred in 1434, when our countrymen appeared before the place with an army of 20,000 men. But to prove the remarkable solidity of the fortress, it is recorded, to the honour of its 119 defenders, that the English were driven back with the loss of 2000 soldiers.

In the sixteenth century the Huguenots endeavoured several times to make themselves masters of the Mont St. Michel. One of these attempts, in 1591, by Gabriel Montgommeri, is worth recording.

Desirous to surprise the inmates of the Mont, he bribed a soldier of the garrison, whom he had made prisoner, to introduce at midnight a body of Protestants into the monastery, by means of the machine used to convey water and provisions into the fortress. Remorse induced the soldier to reveal the plot to the governor, who concerted measures for a signal revenge upon his enemies. The night fixed for the accomplishment of the surprise arrived, and the cord of the machine conveyed ninety-eight of the Protestants into the precincts of the Abbey. Astonished at the silence which accompanied the entrance of his men-for they had been put to death as they arrived, Montgommeri conceived suspicions of treachery, and retracing his steps, succeeded in escaping with the remainder of his troop.

The gloomy and lonely position of the fortress on the Mont St. Michel rendered it a congenial abode to Louis XI., in whose reign it first became a state prison; and here the cruel predilections of the monarch found ample scope for the exercise, upon his unfortunate victims, of the most ingenious tortures. On this lofty rock, seated amidst shifting sands, which are its safeguard, with none to terrify his guilty conscience, and obedient priests ready to sanction his most infamous deeds, Louis, with his favourite Tristan, revelled in crime. Cells were excavated in the rock where no light could penetrate, oubliettes, where the miserable prisoners were left to perish of hunger; and here the too famous cage was made under the direction of the monarch himself, similar to one constructed by the Cardinal La Balue, who was, by a most righteous retribution, the first victim of his own infernal invention.*

* The history of the Mont St. Michel cage is curious. Wraxall, in his "Tour," in 1777, thus describes it:-"We passed into a long passage, on one side of which the Swiss opened a door, and through a narrow entrance, perfectly dark, he led me, by a second floor, into an apartment or dungeon-for it rather merited the latter than the former appellation-in the middle of which stood a cage. It was composed of prodigious wooden bars, and the wicket which admitted into it was