massacre. A simple dialogue, a commonplace necessary act, is
staged sometimes for effect. "Then Lord Stratford apprised the
Sultan that he had a private communication to make to him. The
pale Sultan listened." . . . "Whose was the mind which had freshly
come to bear upon this part of the fight? Sir Colin Campbell was
sitting in his saddle, the veteran was watching his time." . . .
"The Emperor Nicholas was alone in his accustomed writing-room. He
took no counsel; he rang a bell. Presently an officer of his staff
stood before him. To him he gave his order for the occupation of
the Principalities." This overpasses drama--it is melodrama.

To the personal element which pervades the volumes great part of
their charm is due. The writer never obtrudes himself, but leaves
his presence to be discerned by the touches which attest an eye-
witness. Through his observant nearness we watch the Chief's
demeanour and hear his words; see him "turn scarlet with shame and
anger" when the brutal Zouaves carry outrage into the friendly
Crimean village, witness his personal succour of the wounded
Russian after Inkerman, hear his arch acceptance of the French
courtesy, so careful always to yield the post of danger to the
English; his "Go quietly" to the excited aide-de-camp; {17} his
good-humoured reception of the scared and breathless messenger from
D'Aurelle's brigade; the "five words" spoken to Airey commanding
the long delayed advance across the Alma; the "tranquil low voice"
which gave the order rescuing the staff from its unforeseen
encounter with the Russian rear. He records Codrington's leap on
his grey Arab into the breast-work of the Great Redoubt; Lacy Yea's
passionate energy in forcing his clustered regiment to open out;
Miller's stentorian "Rally" in reforming the Scots Greys after the
Balaclava charge; Clarke losing his helmet in the same charge, and