are brilliant mistakes
and stupid ones. Yours was of the former order--the Frenchman's of the
latter. If, instead of sending his whole brigade headlong down the road,
like clowns at a fair, he had dismounted half a squadron of his
dragoons, and sent them to fire into the casements of the chateau, while
he kept the rest of his men in hand in the neighbourhood, he must have
captured every soul of the party, and by this time had you all fast at
the French headquarters; but he blundered, and he has paid the price of
blundering." To my laughing reply, "that there was at least some merit
in the steadiness of the men who beat him"--"Of course," was his answer.
"The English steadiness is like the English fire, the grand cure for the
English contempt of the tactician. Yours is an army of grenadiers; you
are fit for nothing but assaults: but it must be owned that your troops
of old managed that part of their business well, and I dare say that the
art is not lost among you yet. Still, there are other matters to be
thought of. Pray," said he, turning his keen eye on me, "can any one in
the chateau tell how near is the French army to-night?" I acknowledged
my ignorance. "I ask the question," said he, "because I think it by no
means improbable, that they are at this moment marching down upon you.
Not that they can afford to lose a brigade of cavalry a-night, and I
therefore think you safe enough for the twelve hours to come; but I am
far from answering for the next twenty-four. Dampierre commands them; I
know him well--he is a bold and also a clever fellow; the loss of his
cavalry last night will leave him no alternative but to attack you or to
meet the guillotine. Those are fine times to make a general officer look
about him. My last letters from the Rhine state that the two generals of
the two covering armies on the frontier have been put under arrest, and
that they are now both on their way to Paris, from which Custine and
Beauharnais will never return with their heads on their shoulders."

I shuddered at this fate of brave men, overcome only by circumstances,
and asked whether it was possible that such a system could last, or in
any case could be endured by men with swords in their hands.

"It can, and will," was the reply. "Soldiers are the simplest race of
mankind, when they come in contact with the cunning men of cities. An
army, showy and even successful as it may be, is always an instrument
and no more--a terrible instrumen