nger.

"At last it was levelled to his mind, and then his movements were
as quick as they had hitherto been slow. In a moment he stood
erect in the half-fencing attitude of a gunner, and his linstock
at the touch-hole: a huge tongue of flame, a volume of smoke, a
roar, and the iron thunderbolt was on its way, and the Colonel
walked haughtily, but rapidly, back to the trenches: for in all
this no bravado. He was there to make a shot,--not to throw a
chance of life away, watching the effect.

"Ten thousand eyes did that for him.

"Both French and Prussians risked their own lives, craning out to
see what a colonel in full uniform was doing under fire from a
whole line of forts, and what would be his fate: but when he fired
the gun, their curiosity left the man and followed the iron
thunderbolt.

"For two seconds all was uncertain: the ball was travelling.

"Tom gave a rear like a wild horse, his protruding muzzle went up
sky-high, then was seen no more, and a ring of old iron and a
clatter of fragments were heard on the top of the bastion. Long
Tom was dismounted. Oh, the roar of laughter and triumph from one
end to another of the trenches, and the clapping of forty thousand
hands, that went on for full five minutes! then the Prussians,
either through a burst of generous praise for an act so chivalrous
and so brilliant, or because they would not be crowed over,
clapped their ten thousand hands as loudly, and thundering
heart-thrilling salvo of applause answered salvo on both sides
that terrible arena."

If all this was melodramatic, it should be remembered that the time was
melodramatic itself; it is, however, saved from such accusation by the
truthfulness of the handling; and the homeliness of a portion of it
recalls the ballad of "Up at the villa, down in the city," with its
speeches of drum and fife. Nevertheless, here are combined the true
elements of modern sensational writing: there are the broad canvas, the
vivid colors, the abrupt contrast, all the dramatic and startling
effects that weekly fiction affords, the supernatural heroine, the more
than mortal hero. What, then, rescues it? It would be hard to reply.
Perhaps the reckless, rollicking wit: we cannot censure one who makes us
laugh with him. Perhaps nothing but the writer's exuberant and
superabundant vitality, which through such warp shoots a golden