and consequences, are laid bare elsewhere; but the veil has not been raised to us, nor should we wish it raised. Under strong restrictive circumstances, Nicholas of Russia lived the life of an antique hero, and, we think we may say, at last died the death of a Christian. At least, if any evidence is to be gotten from deathbeds, the evidence of his deathbed all tended that way. And after death, we are told, “at first the face of the corpse was very much sunk and fallen in; but in the evening the fine features had become more imposing than ever, from their repose and regularity."

We

It is well that he died, like Cæsar, with his dignity wrapt about him. We should not have wished him to die otherwise. His faults, like his virtues, were those of a king, and it would have been a shock to the feelings of the world, if, like Napoleon I., in his last days he had undergone unkingly degradations. As to the probable influence of his death on the destinies of Europe, on the conduct of the war, on the fate of the world, it is hardly yet possible to form any well-grounded conjecture. The effects of the passing away of a great man are not immediate. recollect that this was remarked at the time of the death of the Great Duke. Until the Russian war broke out, he was not really missed. Would he have dissuaded from the Crimean expedition? We cannot tell. Would Russia have gone to war with us at all during his lifetime? We cannot tell; probably not. But certain it is that in the recriminations consequent on the disasters of this war, his counsels have been painfully missed, and one or two words of his would have been paid for by untold treasure. Nor can we yet tell what effect the death of Nicholas will have on the future of Europe. Though Nicholas is dead, his death has scarcely yet been realised by the world. It is natural that Alexander II. should profess his intention to continue his father's policy; but the question is, Has the mantle of Nicholas fallen on his shoulders? There are ten chances to one against it. The military power of Russia is where it was at the death of Nicholas. But Nicholas was not a consummate general, though he

knew how to choose generals, and was a brave and good soldier himself. What will be missed first by Russia is that name which overawed half Europe, and seemed to realise in a distant capital, through ambassadors and agents, the magnificent presence of the man.

To Germany-even to the courts connected by family alliance with him-the removal of the late Czar must be like the removal of a nightmare. It cannot be agreeable to any prince to be on bad terms with his subjects, least so to a prince whose dominions are not larger than the county of Rutland, for then the difference assumes the complexion of a quarrel in the same household. Yet many of the petty German princes have notoriously been on bad terms with their subjects, in consequence of promising constitutions and other privileges, and not performing these promises. To what are we to attribute their reluctance to gain popularity at an easy rate, except to their dread of the Russian incubus, which, whenever their hearts warmed towards their people, and they felt inclined to fraternise with them, and play king, lords, and commons in miniature, rose up like an embodied Remorse, and warned them back to the gloom and isolation of despotism, which, whatever it may be for the ruled, must be in all cases a most ungenial position for the ruler? The French proverb,

"Pour être heureux

Il faut être deux," holds good in this case as in all others. Friendship is impossible when one man knows that he is entirely in the power of another. Marriage, in its true and loyal sense, is nearly impossible also; hence the Sultana of Turkey is not considered a wife, and is consistently not considered so. Thus a despot on a small scale forfeits happiness for no adequate remuneration; and what is the sublime in the case of the Czar, becomes the ridiculous in the case of the Gross-herzog or the Elector. No doubt, many of them will be glad to escape from a false position, and the death of the Czar will be a positive relief to them. As for the King of Prussia, with his great resources and enormous standing army, his position is and has been

most degrading. Should his policy change from this time, he will get no credit for it, as it will be at once said that he changed because the fear of the Czar was taken away from him. The plea of family affection,-a selfish plea in the mouth of a responsible being will avail him not, for thewishes of the deceased are as sacred to family affection as the wishes of the living. The most plausible motive for his vacillation and double-dealing will still remain, and it is to be feared that his wish to assume it will still prevent his joining the Western Powers, we mean, a fear of French aggrandisement. Not that Europe will ever be brought to believe in the prominence of this motive in the mind of Frederick, for unless the neutrality can be preserved throughout, the future and contingent danger will be realised immediately, and the first effect of Prussia turning her back on civilisation will be the testing of the strength of Ehrenbreitstein, and a French army under the walls of Mayence, not for the first time in history. We fear that, under present circumstances, the difficulty of Prussia joining the Western Powers, unless her people take courage and force her king, is increased rather than diminished. Her court will cling to the neutrality like a limpet to the rock. On the other hand, the lesser German princes will not be ashamed to own that they were afraid of the Czar― rather, we suppose, of what he would say than of what he could do-and they will throw their small dressswords into the same scale with the heavy sabre of Austria. Germany will at last feel her danger, and rise to fight for her own rights; and at the very last, Prussia, partly from shame to draw her sword against the Fatherland, partly from fear of being left behind, may consent to follow in the wake of Austria, with a hope of overtaking and finally heading her, which will probably not be realised. We can fancy the ineffable disgust with which all patriotic Prussians must regard the conduct of their king. We believe that Austria has been kept back from a hearty adherence to the Western policy, more by her own internal difficulties, than by any personal liking for or personal dread of the late Czar. With

VOL. LXXVII.-NO. CCCCLXXIV.

a disaffected Hungary, a disaffected Italy, a disaffected Bohemia, and Germany disunited and cowed by Russia, no wonder that she stood aloof. If she moves now in the right direction, she has a fairer opportunity than ever of taking the lead of Germany; and the house of Hapsburg may be itself restored, even in these latter days, to a position which may remind the world of ancient glories. Certainly, she will be guilty of a piece of "magnificent ingratitude" towards Russia; but the gratitude due to the preserver is surely cancelled when the preserver becomes the invader. And Austria has been invaded by the mouths of the Danube. If Germany joins against Russia, as we hope and eventually believe she will, Poland will be restored to some kind of nationality-as far, no doubt, as is really practicable. Hungary will also be restored, and more easily, for the young Emperor of Austria, who has not personally offended the Hungarians, has nothing to do but to restore to them their ancient rights, and become King of Hungary to them instead of Emperor of Austria, to secure their affections, and give its pristine strength to that right arm which, as against Russia, is now paralysed. Hungary and Poland are the two great outworks, the detached forts, which ought to protect the enceinte continuée of Germany from the approaches of Russia. It is most pitiable that Russia has already got such hold upon them that she will be hard to drive out. We wonder if the Germans ever study the map of Europe. Probably they have never seen the map in Mr Urquhart's book. A glance at that map would alarm them. Russia has not penetrated into Germany only, or penetrated only into Turkey, but her frontier has been advanced all round pretty regularly, as with the wash of a mighty spring-tide. The most alarming part of the business is, that, should the tide rise higher, there are no natural barriers to stop it. All is plain and level before it; it has only to sweep on and on. There is no Switzerland, no Pyrenees or Grampians in the way. There is the Hartz, and there are the Carpathians, but these mountains will be but as reefs to be last covered: they will not present a solid wall to

21

the advancing tide. There is no hope but in the manhood of Western Europe, and the united and determined resistance of the German and Scandinavian races, joined, perhaps, with the Magyar, to their ponderous enemy, the Sclavonic race. It is as with the Dutch and their daily position, a life-and-death struggle, national and individual existence depending on damming out the sea, and keeping the dykes sound. One weak place will do as well as another: the rushing tide will soon make for itself a thoroughfare in that weak place, through which the sea of barbaric horse, foot, and artillery, will sweep, destroying and to destroy.

Many

a time before has this tide risen, and many a time has it ebbed. Once it washed as far as Paris; again it was arrested when Diebitch was stopt at Adrianople, and it rose higher then than ever before. Its ebbings, which were probably only in the course of nature, were attributed to the modera

tion of Nicholas, who, like the fabled Poseidon, might well have been called the "Earth-shaker;" and he seemed to have the power of storm and calm in his hands over this mighty sea. His removal from the scene will soon show the extent of his personal influence. It is quite certain that Europe now lies open, to a great extent, to this Sclavonian inundation; we may hope that the death of Nicholas will prove that change of the moon which produces the turning of the tide, and that, before it has time to rise again for the last, the fatal flow, Europe will look to her defences, and not forget, while she makes all firm and sound around her, that her best defence is trust in the greater than all czars or emperors, whom even the winds and the waves obey, and who can produce at His bidding, and in a moment, from the tumult of the waves a great calm, from the confusion of warring nations a great and a blessed peace.

the Government and the General. The plaudits of anticipated victory were changed to threats, forebodings, and despondency. Where a speedy triumph had been expected, there had been comparative failure-where national glory was to have been cheaply obtained, there had been losses and misery amounting to national disaster: therefore there must be blame. Such was the process of reasoning conducting to a conclusion almost unanimously assented to; the clamour swelled daily;-Mr Roebuck gave notice of his motion of inquiry into the conduct of the war ;-Lord John Russell suddenly quitted the Government; and the Ministry, defeated on Roebuck's motion by a majority of two to one, went out amidst such a clamour as greets the last moments of a criminal on the scaffold.

Amid the din of invective, those who read the parliamentary debates and leading articles of the time, will be puzzled to detect the true ground of censure. They will see that the nation was dissatisfied, and with whom, but will have some difficulty

in knowing why. Everybody has been ready to indicate the culprits, but none to specify the crime, except in the general terms of neglect, ignorance, and apathy. But though the accusers were confessedly in want of specific charges, yet the causes of our failure, in those points where we had failed, having been divined, or imagined to be divined, it was easy to ask why those causes had been allowed to exist.

For instance, it was known that the severest hardships of the army had arisen from the want of a communication between Balaklava and the camp; and it was asked why a road had not been made? It should have been made, it was urged, at the commencement of the siege, and should have been the first thing thought of.

Now, at the commencement of the siege, and for six weeks afterwards, the roads were hard and good. Before us was a place which we hoped to take after a short cannonade, and, notwithstanding that all the men available were employed in the trenches and batteries, and transporting armament and material for the works, the delay still seemed very tedious to the impatient troops. The trenches, once constructed, must be manned; and, thinned as the army was by sickness, to do this adequate ly absorbed all our available men. To make a road seven miles long was no light task, even if men and time could have been spared for it.

After a time, it began to be seen and admitted by the press, that the army once landed in the Crimea, the events, up to the end of October, followed in a sequence easily accounted for, without fixing culpability on the chief actors. It was seen that to have occupied the first period of the investment in making a road, would have called forth deservedly a charge of deferring the completion of the enterprise, in order to carry on an extensive work which might never be wanted. As the season wore on, the days between us and winter, like the Sibylline books, grew in value with each diminution of their number, and not one could be spared from the business of the siege. The enemy were seen throwing up their defensive works, and unless we kept pace with them,

we must expect to break ground under an overwhelming fire. On the other hand, to have pushed the enterprise to a rash termination, by assaulting the town without waiting for the battering-train to do its work, would have entailed, even with success, the yet more serious charge of incurring an unnecessary waste of life, when a little patience and trouble spent in availing ourselves of the means we possessed, might secure a comparatively bloodless victory-a charge which all but men of surpassing self-reliance would shrink from the risk of. Viewed in retrospect, it is easy to detect our errors, and to point to a better course of action; and the least sagacious and resolute general of the allied army would, if the problem were again set before him, apply the lesson of experience in the alternative of a speedy assault or deliberate provision for wintering on the heights. It is a cheap sagacity, and pleasant to exercise, which points out the faults of the past. In fighting our battles o'er again, mediocrity becomes infallible, and doubt and difficulty are no longer elements of warfare.

If, then, it is granted that, up to the end of October, things had gone as well with us as could fairly be expected, let us take that as the starting-point of imputed error. It is said that, it being then clear that no prospect remained of a speedy capture of the place, measures should at once have been taken to provide against winter. A road should have been made, provisions stored, and huts and stables constructed-all very desirable measures, but unfortunately not practicable. As already mentioned, the duty of the trenches exceeded our means, when guards, pickets, and the covering force were provided for, and our men were already dying of fatigue. Therefore, in order to begin other works, men must be taken from the trenches. But to guard the trenches insufficiently would be worse than not to guard them at all: it would be adding the slaughter of men to the loss of guns, therefore they must be abandoned; and to withdraw the guns and ammunition, and dismantle the batteries, would have been of itself a considerable labour. But our lines once abandoned, the French could no longer hold theirs, as they would have

been liable at any time to be taken in reverse; therefore the whole siegeworks must have been given up, to be reconstructed at a more convenient season, while the Russians augmented their defences without interruption. Would this have suited either army or either nation? Or would it have been considered preferable to the severe losses we have suffered? Besides, our attention was no longer confined to the siege. The army in the field against us was daily increasing, and had already attacked our position twice. Such were the circumstances under which it is said roads ought to have been made, provisions stored, and the troops sheltered.

The asserted superiority in the condition of the French army was cited as proof that we were in much worse state than we need be. It is by no means certain that our allies were much better provided than ourselves; at the same time, it is difficult to compare with accuracy the condition of the two armies, because the French systematically represent their own affairs in the most favourable light. And without presuming to doubt the advantages of a free discussion by the public press of our military system and operations, yet we must admit it to be, if a weakness, yet a natural one, on the part of our allies, to veil their own proceedings as much as possible from an equally severe scrutiny. Assuming, therefore, that inquiries made from the French as to the progress, reinforcements, and general state of their army, did not always elicit unadulterated facts, we may still find indulgence for the motives which tinged those facts with a roseate hue. To hear that its army was disorganised, famished, and dying of disease, and to be held up to the world as an example of disastrous military policy, might, however interesting to the public, be somewhat obnoxious to the vanity of a warlike nation, proud of its achievements, and fond to excess of glory.

There is no doubt that, during the early part of the campaign, the French suffered more from disease than we did. If, during the winter, the case was reversed, the change is easily accounted for. Large and constant reinforcements from France lightened the labours of the siege, and left plenty

of men for the construction of the road from Kamiesch to their camp. While our men, from the fewness of their numbers, were often two, even three, nights in succession in the trenches, the French spent four nights out of five in their tents. Six days enabled them to communicate with Marseilles, and six or eight more to procure from thence any supplies which might be suddenly found needful.

It was said we ought to have insisted on the labours of the siege being proportioned to the strength of the two armies respectively. But, at the commencement of the siege we rather outnumbered the French, who offered us our choice of the right of the attack, with Balaklava as a port, or the left, with Kamiesch. We chose the right, principally for the sake of holding Balaklava, which was altogether in our hands, and its harbour filled with our vessels. When reinforcements arrived to the French, they had a greater extent of trenches to occupy than we, owing to the nature of the ground in their front permitting a nearer approach to the place. The whole of the French troops, with the exception of Bosquet's division, which was posted near the Woronzoff road, encamped in rear of their own lines, where, however convenient for the relief of their trenches, and for supplies from Kamiesch, they were at a great distance from any point of the position liable to be attacked. It would certainly appear to have been more desirable that they should have contributed a larger proportion to the covering force; and, after the battle of Inkermann, they sent troops of all arms to reinforce our first and second divisions, and placed a brigade of infantry in the lines of Balaklava. At the beginning of February, the French, numbering more than seventy thousand, which was five times our effective force, took the whole of the lines and field-works on the hills around Inkermann, while we armed the batteries with guns, and furnished artillerymen to work them. Had the army been all French or all English, of course every reinforcement would have lightened the burdens of the whole; but, in the absence of any express stipulation for such a contingency, it was natural that the French should avail them