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nicle, now before us, states that sixpounder British guns are to be opposed (should a meeting take place) to Russian nine-pounders. Even the Times owns to an earnest wish that our artillery was double its present strength, and assigns the necesssity for that wish as a reason for avoiding field operations at the present time. Is this a blunder, or an unavoidable result of the insufficiency of our force of artillery, or of the want of means of transport? The question, of course, will be asked, and we trust the possible answer may be satisfactory.

Everyone is familiar with the statements of the Times correspondent at Gallipoli, with reference to the commissariat and medical departments, and we need not repeat them at length. Everyone also knows that, notwithstanding the denials of ministers in both Houses of Parliament, these statements have been proved to be true. There were no commissariat arrangements made preparatory to the arrival of the troops; there was no sufficient commissariat staff; there were no hospital arrangements; there were no medical stores or comforts. The purveyor's staff consisted of an hospital sergeant with a sovereign in his pocket, of which he could not get change, and consequently could not procure the merest necessaries for the sick. All this, and much more, has been proved beyond a doubt. And here again questions must be askedWhy has this been so? what has been done to set matters right? As to the commissariat failures, we believe they may be accounted for by the fact of there being practically no Secretary for War, without a necessity for throwing blame upon the department. There being no one to look after the general interests of the army; the commander-in-chief being employed in distributing commissions, the adjutant-general in assigning stations, and the clothing-colonels in computing off reckonings; the commissariat department was allowed to fall into abeyance. There has practically been no commissariat for several years-only a few Treasury- clerks, employed in totting up figures and checking defaulters in the public offices.

A commissariat staff cannot be improvised, and hence the absence of one at Gallipoli.

But the failures in the medical arrangements cannot be so explained. There is, and has been, a directorgeneral, and a complete staff, in active working order—what have they been about? This question also needs an answer; and when it shall be vouchsafed, we trust it will contain a satisfactory explanation of the present state of the department. It certainly does seem strange that, if the head of it be competent to his duty, so obvious and well-known an arrangement as that of an hospital-corps should have been forgotten, or left to be suggested by a gentleman not employed on the medical staff, and that the organisation of it should be committed to him. It seems not less strange that the Secretary for War should be kept in such thick ignorance of this branch of the army, as to be led to state, within the last few days, that an ambulance corps was an entire novelty, likely to provoke the imitation of continental nations, the fact being that it was in effective operation under Barons Percy and Larrey in the French army fifty years ago. There is another circumstance in this case for which also we find it extremely difficult to find any satisfactory explanation. About the year 1840, a medical officer of high rank and very distinguished name was sent to Turkey by Lord Palmerston, in charge of a party, for the purpose of ascertaining the state of military medical arrangements there, and of forming, if possible, an efficient medical staff in the Turkish army. That officer is, we believe, very much senior in rank to the present director-general, and has greatly the advantage of him in military experience. He is also, as we understand, in health and vigour. Was his advice or assistance asked in the conduct of the medical arrangements for the army of the East? If not, why not? But failing time and space warn us to conclude, which we do with the expression of a sincere hope that the Duke of Newcastle may improve the leisure now secured to him, and turn his acknowledged great talents from the work of ordering, and hoping for the accomplishment of his orders, to that of examining into the capabilities of the departments of the army, and the competency of their several heads.


BY M. J. T.


ADAM went forth from Eden, bearing thence
The fatal branch, prolific of such ill;

Rich with bright flowers and fruits, all glowing still, Fragrant, and fair, and tempting to the sense.


They passed the fourfold river in their flight,
Lit by the Cherub's sword's repellant glare,
That filled with lurid rays the trembling air ;-
Blood-red the waters glowed beneath the light.


Adam upraised the bough to shield his gaze
From that terrific lustre, as he trod

First from the soft and flower-enamelled sod,
Forth on a rocky path, a thorn-vexed maze.


But lo a marvel-sudden from the stem

Fell fruit and flowers as smit with canker breath, (To Eden flowers the outer air was death); Only a dry, bare branch remained with them.


Adam lived long repentantly, and when

He at the last lay dying, did he crave

Of Eve to plant the bough above his grave, Sole relic left of Eden, kept till then.


And told her that whene'er that stem should bloom
And bear rich fruitage, their unhappy deed,
Of which such woeful sequence was the meed,
Would be forgiven, and reversed its doom.


These were his words. Eve was no novice strange
Startled at death-she knew it but too well;
Cain taught that lesson early. But they fell,
As a mere sick man's wanderings, wide of range.


Still did she act on them, and plant the bough.
The grey old fathers of the earth, 'tis said,
Honoured their first forefather's lowly bed,
As still tradition made it known as now.


Noah through the Deluge bore it in the ark:
When earth renewed did bud and blossom free
Almost like Eden, did he look to see

Change, yet was none the watcher's eyes could mark.


Ages rolled on, and still the bough was seen

Dry, withered, under each successive spring;
Sapless, as never to revive, or fling

Shadows on earth, from foliage fresh and green.


Dry staid it, till one night a mystic star
Shed on it full the lustre of its rays,

Mild, healing, all unlike the withering blaze
Of flaming swords, meet for cherubic war.


And the sap rose within it, and it grew,

Putting forth tender buds like emerald gems; Studding the surface of its rugged stems, Developing strange beauty, strange and new.


And growing with its growth, a little Child
Sat 'neath it through the days of infancy;
Its shadow darkened towards maturity,
And both grew fair in beauty undefiled.


Pause here awhile, my verse, a little space;
For never fairer vision can you see

Than Virgin-Mother cradling on her knee
This Child, unlike all babes of mortal race.


Pause we, the noontide sun is glowing fierce,
Let us delay beneath its boughs to rest;
Calm beauty lingers on that mother's breast,
Which swords hereafter are foretold to pierce.


But still, nor fruit nor blossom did it bear,
This tall and stately tree of thirty years,
In it no sign of further growth appears;
Why should the axe its lofty stature spare?


A crowd press eager up the hill of scorn,

And in the midst is One whose steps they urge;

One worn and faint, and drooping from the scourge,

Robed regally, and diademed with thorn.


Alas for Adam! his luxuriant tree

Is hewn to form an instrument of death, That Simon the Cyrenian stoops beneathThe cross accursed. Ah! did he this foresee?


Did not it bear most wondrous fruit that day,
When He, the second Adam, did reverse,
Complete and free, the deep prophetic curse
From Eden, by the first one borne away?


Strange legend this-my feeble eyes wane dim,
And my heart fails me with a reverent fear,
Lest feet unhallowed dare approach too near
The mighty glory that encircles Him!




Behold, oh! mother-earth, once more
Over Dnieper's frozen flood,

Swoop down the hordes of Cossack blood,
As swept the Scythian tribes of yore.


Under Attila's banner red,

Upon the turbid Danube's banks,

Where Rome's last veteran "legion"-ranks Sank down beneath their whelming tread.


Behold a despot, greedier yet

Than he surnamed "the scourge of God,"

Camps on that field by him once trod,

Before whom Rome's dimm'd glory set.


Lured by a more deceptive star

Than led the old barbarian King-
Thy myriad sons, oh! earth, to bring
Beneath the sceptre of a Czar!


"To quench the old poetic fire,

Whose bursts of most celestial light'
Were erst to man's internal sight

Transmitted through blind Homer's lyre."


To chain art's soaring spirit down,

And ban the soul that dares to try And reach those fairy realms on high, Where Raphael won his dazzling crown.


These be his aims. Oh! thou bright sun,
That fling'st thy glories on our earth,
In vain thy primal rays had birth,
If deeds like these are to be done.


In vain beneath thy quickening might
The gems of life, wrapped in the gloom
Of nature's dark mysterious womb,
Burst into beauty, strength, and light—


If Freedom, Poet, Art no more,

Upon the gems of thought divine That slumber in the soul supine, Their vivifying beams may pour.


But lo! above the Moslem spears,
Above the Moslem turbans white,
Now mustered on that field of fight,
A radiant crescent-moon appears.


Meet symbol of our glowing hope,
That in the looming battle storm,
May truth, and right, and patriot arm
With giant wrong triumphant cope.


And thought of resurrection fires
Hungaria's bleeding bosom now,
And haply dreamest Poland thou
To 'venge thy brave Sarmatic sires.


Wherever clank of chain may be,

Beneath our heaven-true souls uplift To God their yearnings for the gift Of freedom's nobler destiny.


Oh! Lord of hosts, in mercy soon,

Spite of the Cossack steeds and guns, Unto these "heavy laden" ones Vouchsafe thy holiest, brightest boon.

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