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arrived on the spot, and, seeing the dead body of Cassius, deeply mourned over it, exclaiming, "This is the last of the Romans." Collecting together the troops that had been dispersed, he formed them into one body, and drew the whole of the forces into one camp, determined to hold his ground against his opponents. Antonius and Octavius, for several days successively, led out their army for battle, and being much in want of provisions, were greatly embarrassed by the resolution of Brutus not to hazard a second engagement. At length, after twenty days, the murmurs of his troops, who would not or could not appreciate the motives that induced him to avoid the contest, obliged him against his will to lead forth his soldiers to meet the enemy, who were more solicitous than ever to bring the struggle to an issue, it being impossible for the Triumvirs to maintain much longer their position as assailants, and, consequently, the retreat if not the dispersion of their unwieldy multitudes must speedily have taken place.

Preparatory to the commencement of this eventful action, the commanders of both armies passed in front of their troops, and exhorted the soldiers to exert themselves manfully in order to secure a victory. Brutus exclaiming, "You have promised me a victory, you have forced me to snatch it now, rather than wait for a more secure possession of it hereafter. It is your business to fulfil your own expectations and mine." Dissimilar to this was the address of Antonius and Octavius. "You are poor and distressed," they said, "but in the enemy's camp you will find an end to your sufferings, and the beginning of riches and plenty." The day was far spent in preparations for the onslaught; at length the trumpets on both sides sounded a general charge, made a pause, and again sounded the charge. Simultaneously, both armies firmly advanced under a shower of missiles, closed with each other, and sword in hand fought resolutely with their antagonists. Inch by inch was the ground disputed, the place of a fallen combatant was immediately occupied by a vigorous avenger, and the scene of conflict was choked up by the bodies of the wounded and the slain. No tactical movement or evolution was attempted; individually and energetically did each man fight, as if the issue of the battle depended on his individual prowess. At length slowly and gradually, after hours of slaughter, the Caesarian troops gathered strength and weight, and pressed heavily on those of Brutus, who, unable to stem the torrent, began to give way, at first slowly and partially, but finally the foremost ranks became shattered, those in the rear shared in the confusion, and the front line, entirely broken, fell back on the second and third; which yielded to the pressure, afforded no support, and the overwhelming masses of conquerors rushed furiously over the bodies of their fallen adversaries, striking down men on all sides in their headlong progress. Marcus, the worthy son of the illustrious Cato, having in vain attempted to resist the enemy, refused to fly or to yield, and, baring his head that he might be recognised, fought desperately, and, ere he fell, erected around him a mausoleum worthy of a soldier—a heap of slaughtered enemies. In the rush that was made for the camp, all order was lost— the entrances were obstructed by the crowds of fugitives who struggled for admission, while others in despair took refuge on the heights in its rear. Octavius moved up his troops around the camp to succour those U. S. Mag., No. 342, Mat, 1857. F

who had sheltered themselves within it, while Antonius directed his forces on the parties of the opponents who were on the heights or scattered around the field, making dispositions to prevent their rallying or uniting together; and with his cavalry scouring the country in search of prisoners, and to cause further dismay to the broken columns of his enemies. Brutus had, however, still with him four legions, with which he gained a secure position in the hills in the rear of his camp, and the following day he endeavoured to induce his men to make a last desperate effort for their own safety, as well as for those in the camp, by breaking through their opponents and uniting with their comrades. His exhortations and entreaties were made in vain, the spirit of his soldiers was totally lost; all hope fled, either of victory, liberty, or of dying nobly on the field of battle. Brutus was conquered: deserted by his soldiers, surrounded by his implacable enemies, his only refuge was in death, and that he met like a Roman philosopher and soldier, falling on his own sword. Several of his officers, despairing of mercy from the conquerors, followed his example, and, to close the mournful tragedy, the noble wife of the high-minded, courageous, though perhaps erring patriot, Brutus, refusing life after the loss of her enthusiastically beloved husband, inhaled the deadly fumes of charcoal, and perished by suffocation.

With the battle of Philippi I shall close my survey of the campaigns of the Romans; for in the subsequent military operations there is little to interest us, viewing them with reference to the exposition of strategy and tactics; moreover the combination of the naval and the military forces would alone prevent in a great measure all operations on a grand scale, the two services, though aiding and assisting each other, being at all times impediments on the movements of each other, obliging each to conform to the necessities of their associates in warfare, and confining the base of the operations to a proximity with the sea. As might have been expected, there does not appear, therefore, any record of battles which, in their consummation or in their strategetical movements, are of sufficient importance to be brought under your notice.

At length, therefore, I terminate my brief description of the numerous engagements and extensive military operations of the Roman nation, from its first appearance on the field of war, until the commencement of the monarchy. In our route from country to country, in the movements of the troops of the opposing parties, and in the general system of warfare manifested throughout the long period embraced in our researches, ample evidence has been adduced of the advantages to be derived from military science; and much as we may admire innate courage, resolution, and discipline of the men, be assured that unless the commander also possesses these attributes of a soldier, as well as a thorough knowledge of the science of his profession, to chance in a great measure must he look for victory: but if the soldiers are gifted with true martial qualifications, and the general is well versed in the theory and practice of warfare, then, and then only, may victory be confidently and deservedly expected, then will again be manifested the glorious deeds of Alexander, Caesar, Marlborough, and Wellington; and then may the commander of an army exclaim, in the doubly confident words of England's noblest and most successful general, "With such an army, I felt I could go anywhere and do anything!"


We seem to know as little of the Russians, of their social condition, resources, and intentions, as our fathers did a century ago. They are still a puzzle to Europe in general, and to England in particular, so that even our "special correspondents," scampering from one end of their empire to the other, cannot positively say what they are about, or what they think of doing. All their fine words and finer schemes cannot bring us to the persuasion that they are bent on peace, and resolved to get their living honestly, like other nations, without poaching on their neighbours. We look with suspicion on their proposed lines of steamers, and no one will take shares in their projected railroads. But, after all, we are eager to obtain information about them; and the volumes now before us, giving an account of a visit to the country by an English lady since the war, will be read with interest by all classes.

Miss Bunbury, the fair author of this agreeable book, is no stranger in the north; and previous works have made us acquainted with her travels in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. But here she comes on entirely new ground. Russia is a country by itself, standing in Europe, but forming no part of it. Directly the traveller enters its borders, he leaves freedom, as the immigrant to hell leaves hope, behind. Immediately he finds himself amidst a swarm of locusts in uniform, of custom-house officers, police, clerks, officials of every kind, all medalled and clasped and starred like some favourite of the English Horse Guards. Our fair author was so overwhelmed by these cormorants, each exacting some fresh form, and each pulling a different way, that, at last, in despair, she appealed—to whom does the reader think ?—to no less an authority than the General-in- Chief of the Custom-House! She had been told that her portmanteau would probably not be liberated for a year; but by this audacious step she succeeded in extricating it in five or six hours, and, armed with innumerable passports and licences, was now at liberty to take a lodging. Bending her steps to St. Petersburgh, she found the far-famed capital to be but a dreary place. Its first appearance, indeed, is striking and picturesque; lines of stately buildings meet the eye, and from their midst rise a thousand gilded spires and towers, flashing in the sun. But the capital of Russia, like the empire itself, looks greatest at a distance; and as the traveller enters its streets, he grows wearied by the restraint, the rigidity, the monotony that extends itself on every side, without relief and without termination. The site was originally a swampy island, one of a cluster, rising from the waters of the Neva. The city and its environs now cover forty of these islands, while five others have been drained and cultivated, and formed into parks. Others are still in the occupation of the aborigines of the country—wolves and seals! It is sad to reflect what an amount of human labour—what a sacrifice of human life—the reclamation of these sterile wastes has entailed! We are told that the erection of Cronstadt alone cost Peter the Great 100,000 of his subjects. Our fair

• Russia After the War. The Narrative of a Visit to that Country in 1856. By Selina Bunbury, author of "life in Sweden;" "A Summer in Northern Europe." 3 vols. Hurst and Blackett, 13 Great Marlborough Street.

author visited this great fortress, but, as a lady, can, of course, tell us little of its military capabilities, or its power to repel an English fleet. Its aspect might lead a stranger to suppose he was in Paris, instead of the capital of despotic Russia; for the guns are so placed as to command the streets, so that the Czar might at any moment lay the city in ruins. There is no lack of good buildings in St. Petersburgh; and report has made us familiar with the Admiralty, the winter palace, the mansions of the great nobility, and, in the way of art, the equestrian statue of Peter and the lofty column of Alexander. Every street and every building is laid down by rule and line, marked out with mathematical precision, and bears the same appearance of being, as it were, in uniform, which pervades the whole territory and population of Russia. The Czars have so drilled and turiieked every man and thing, that we are never clear of the military, and seem to be always in a barracks. Even the merchants wear regimentals; and the late Czar had such a horror of any relaxation of the system, that he shuddered to see officers or soldiers in great-coats, and in winter they used to freeze to death rather than wrap themselves up, carrying their great-coats for ornament, not for use. How can we believe in the peaceful intentions of Russia, when she thus clings to the parade ground.

The friends of peace feel some confidence in the Emperor Alexander, who, on what foundation we know not, is believed to be actuated by pacific views, and to be really desirous to develope the commercial resources of his country. Certainly he ought to have learnt from the late war that his people are not naturally warriors, and that no amount of training can impart those qualities in which they have shown themselves to be inherently deficient. Whether he will profit by the lesson, time only can show, but it is hard to believe that either he or his subjects will become reconciled to the humiliation they have lately sustained. Here is a portrait of the Emperor, and a sketch of the guards, as seen by Miss Bunbury:—

"A picked body of men stood in line, I think there was not a quarter of an inch variation in the equality of their uncovered heads. They held their glittering helmets in their hands; and close before them stood a tall, fair, comely officer, in the prime of life, but with a look of care on his brow, an expression on his face that impressed one with the idea that he was employed in a service he disliked, serving against the grain as we say. I looked at him with interest, for I thought that he did not like the service of Russia, that he would be glad to throw off the white uniform he wore; that he was perhaps a Pole, or one of the many fragmentary parts that willingly or unwillingly compose the mighty empire of all the Russias.

"The whole green space was dotted over, and in the background thronged with more splendid and varied uniforms; and many of the finest figures that could be seen set off more gorgeous equipments: but none struck me as having the same expression as the officer who stood before the troops, an expression hard to describe otherwise than that of distaste to the life he led. A bell sounded, this officer took off his helmet, turned round, and accidentally cast his eye upon me; I met that full, blue eye direct, and almost exclaimed aloud, 'the Emperor! the Czar himself.' What is there in an eye accustomed to power that makes itself felt? There were far more dashing uniforms, far more commanding figures present, but there was no eye that when it looked full at you had the same force, conveyed the same sense of power. A gentleman who joined us said he had not seen the Czar for eighteen months, and could scarcely have known him, so much was his countenance and general appearance altered. The ruler of such an empire, and of such a one too when engaged in a miserable war, must have known enough in these eighteen months to mark his brow with care, and his countenance with dissatisfaction. On turning round and uncovering his head, as I have said, the Emperor Alexander II. walked with his helmet in hand to a gay looking little tent in which an altar was placed, and from which now issued the exquisite voices of the priests and choir singing the appropriate service for a festival, which, like most Russian ones, was half religious, half military. He stood there while it lasted. Of the officers outside I saw a few, a very few, bless themselves and bow at stated times, but the generality paid no sort of attention to what was going on. The soldiers crossed themselves and bowed their heads occasionally, and the movement when made simultaneously had a curious effect. A day or two after I began to think my physiognomical science had been at fault. Harry and I were walking in the park, and admiring a splendid perfectly white Newfoundland dog, and an equally pretty in its degree white Italian greyhound, when an officer and lady approached: he wore the loose grey over-coat now prescribed to officers as well as soldiers, and a round red cloth cap, like what is called a smoking cap, on his head; in his hand he held a half consumed cigar; a tall lady in a plain shawl and very plain straw bonnet—by no means of a fashionable shape, since it did not merely cover the back of her head—leaned on his arm; they were chatting and smiling together; a more perfectly free-from-care couple one could not see. The white Newfoundland dog, with its tail like an immense ostrich plume, attracted more of my notice; it was only in the act of passing that I met once more the full blue eye, and felt again whose it was, but felt it differently, for the face no longer seemed to say, 'pity as well as fear me.'"

The favourite summer palace of the Czars is the Tzarsko Selo. It is surrounded by gardens, traversed by avenues of plane-trees, some of which, if tradition may be believed, were planted by Peter the Great with his own hands. Tree-growing on this soil is rather an expensive affair, and it is calculated that every berry the Czar procures from his garden costs him £15. The whole expense for a small patch of ground thus kept in cultivation is no less than £15,000 a-year. Everything is so trim and precise and neat, that not a leaf is suffered to remain on the earth, and the walks are carefully swept, and one might almost say dutled, twenty times in the day. Here again we meet with the same old story, and the very gardens are in uniform!

The Czar Nicholas was very fond of his own likeness, and, consequently, his subjects purchased and exhibited it in every possible form. General Macintosh, describing his journey from Odessa to St. Petersburgh, amusingly relates how he was plagued by this mania. At every station he was confronted by a portrait of the Czar, in full costume, with his eternal cavalry boots ever staring him in the face. The gallant

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