against the Duke of Newcastle's wordy inculpation in the severest
despatch perhaps ever penned to his official superior by a soldier
in the field. Colin Campbell, with glowing face, grey kindling
eye, light, stubborn, crisping hair, leads his Highland brigade tip
the hill against the Vladimir columns, till "with the sorrowful
wail which bursts from the brave Russian infantry when they have to
suffer loss," eight battalions of the enemy fall back in retreat.
Lord Lucan, tall, lithe, slender, his face glittering and panther-
like in moments of strenuous action, wins our hearts as he won
Kinglake's, in spite of the mis-aimed cleverness and presumptuous
self-confidence which always criticised and sometimes disobeyed the
orders of his Chief. General Pennefather, "the grand old boy," his
exulting radiant face flashing everywhere through the smoke, his
resonant innocuous oaths roaring cheerily down the line, sustains
all day the handful of our troops against the tenfold masses of the
enemy. Generous and eloquent are the notices of Korniloff and
Todleben, the great sailor and the great engineer, the soul and the
brain of the Sebastopol defence. The first fell in the siege, the
second lived to write its history, to become a valued friend of
Kinglake, to explore and interpret in his company long afterwards
the scenes of struggle; his book and his personal guidance gave to
the historian what would otherwise have been unattainable, a clear
knowledge of the conflict as viewed from within the town.

The pitched battlefields of the campaign were three, Alma,
Balaclava, Inkerman. The Alma chapter is the most graphic, for
there the fight was concentrated, offering to a spectator by Lord
Raglan's side a coup d'oeil of the entire action. The French were
by bad generalship virtually wiped out; for Bosquet crossed the
river too far to the right, Canrobert was afraid to move without