however, unable to withstand an unexpected attack by cavalry, and are comparatively useless in a pursuit, while, as opposed to hostile infantry, they are inferior-numbers being equal-in that one man out of three is employed in looking after the horses of the dismounted men. Moreover, the horses are, in one sense, a sad clog, for the riflemen will always be nervous about keeping up their communication with them, and an enemy, whether infantry or cavalry, will inevitably try to strike at the horses as the weakest point. Therefore, though a small body of mounted riflemen will always be useful to reinforce rapidly a threatened point, or to seize a defile or position some distance from the army, I should be very sorry to see cavalry altogether suppressed in their favour. After all, it remains a question whether, with the new regulations and training, ordinary cavalry will not be able, when dismounted, to perform all the functions of mounted riflemen. It was expected that some of the moot points about the proper employment of cavalry would have light thrown upon them by our first autumn manoeuvres. Some of our most experienced cavalry officers were appointed to lead that arm, and to give it greater éclat the heir to the throne himself, with Colonel Valentine Baker as adviser, received the command of one of the brigades. Much disappointment, however, ensued. The Duke of Cambridge declared that the cavalry "evinced the greatest facility of movement over the most difficult and rutty ground"; that they "were well mounted, the ruling of the men was highly creditable, the condition of the horses perfect." He was, however, unable to praise the tactical handling of that arm, and, indeed, hinted that as regards reconnaissance, screening the movements of the army, and avoiding exposure to infantry and artillery fire, they had much to learn. The idea that cavalry should aim at keeping up a perpetual touch of the enemy, which, if lost at one point, should be immediately regained at another, was very imperfectly carried out, especially at Fox Hill, by the cavalry of Staveley's division, which was chiefly kept massed on the plateau, instead of being employed in ascertaining the movements and whereabouts of the hostile columns. An honourable exception must be made in favour of the assailants' horsemen on that day, who certainly formed a most impenetrable screen, and efficiently covered the movements of their infantry and artillery. A dashing reconnaissance of the Prince of Wales himself into the midst of Staveley's army showed that His Royal Highness had profited by the lessons imparted to him by Colonel Baker, though it was certainly not the business of a general to risk his life in an enterprise which ought to have been entrusted to a captain or subaltern. On the

whole, however, the cavalry were not employed judiciously during the manœuvres either on reconnaissance work or in line of battle. Many opportunities of falling suddenly on the exposed flanks of hostile infantry were neglected, and the intrepidity with which the cavalry, in large masses, remained halted under the cross-fire of infantry and artillery, however much it argued courage and steadiness, said little for the knowledge of war possessed by the leaders.

The artillery were highly praised by the Commander-in-Chief, and in truth they merited all that could be said in their favour. A very great change took place during these manoeuvres in respect to the handling of this arm. An order issued on 17th September authorised officers commanding batteries "under the direction of their own commanding officers to use their own judgment in selecting the best positions to enable them to operate with advantage either in covering an attack or retreat-conforming of course as much as the nature of the ground will permit with the movements of the corps to which they are attached." Of this liberty the artillery eagerly availed themselves rather too eagerly in fact; for they seemed at times inclined to shake off the control of the division general altogether. They were rather apt to open fire at so great a distance that their fire would have produced little effect. The consequence was that they were soon obliged to limber up and change position, and occasionally, especially when Lysons attacked Staveley's position at Fox Hill, were not up in time to afford adequate support to the infantry and cavalry. Even picked infantry skirmishers can do little harm to a battery at a greater distance than Soo yards, especially if advantage be taken of the ground to post the guns under cover.

Artillery should, therefore, seldom if ever take up a position more than 1,000 or 1,200 yards distant from the enemy's nearest skirmishers, for their fire ought to be directed not on these but on the formed bodies in rear. If the latter retire only 400 yards the guns must either draw nearer or be content with a serious diminution in the effect of their fire. But it is extremely objectionable to make a battery constantly change position; as during its movement it is silent and when it unlimbers it has to ascertain the range again. Prince Hohenlohe Ingelfingen thus lays down the rule:-"A decisive struggle of artillery against artillery can only be reckoned upon at a distance of under 2,000 paces. . . . Against other troops artillery is very efficient from Soo up to 3,000 paces, and according to the size of the masses at even greater distances." We nevertheless found that during the Franco-Prussian war the artillery, when it wished to produce a decided effect, approached the

enemy's infantry constantly within 1,000 yards.

Moreover, we may dismiss the idea of masses; for no commander would be rash enough to expose his troops in mass to even the distant fire of artillery, but would at least deploy them, when guns, firing at them at any greater range than 2,000 yards, would produce but little effect. Our artillery has lately adopted what I cannot but think a vicious practice, i.e., that of combining concentration of fire with dispersion of pieces. The notion is attractive to junior officers, because it gives them independence; but on the other hand, it renders it impossible to exercise control and difficult to effect a rapid change of either position or direction of fire. These objections more than counterbalance the advantage to be obtained by presenting small objects to the enemy's aim. Prince Hohenlohe is decidedly of opinion that artillery should be massed, and says, "In view to the communication of orders, we are therefore of opinion that the artillery should be attached to the division by divisions, and as a principle should never be attached to brigades by batteries. It is obvious of itself that the smaller the number of guns, the longer it will take to find the range. . . . . It ought not to be believed that it is easier for batteries to concentrate their fire on a common point if distributed to the several brigades, and from different parts of the terrace. First of all, the importance of the decisive point cannot always be perceived from every position, and then it will be a waste of time, and from the tired state of the orderly's horse, almost impossible to send orders as to the direction of the fire to the various batteries of brigades posted on widely separated points of the ground. Obstacles of ground sometimes make it quite impossible. ... The opinion we have expressed in favour of the employment of artillery in masses, and of the avoidance as a principle of its dispersion in single batteries, applies with equal force to its employment by single sections (two guns) and single guns." The upshot of Prince Hohenlohe's opinion is, that artillery should act in masses of three or four batteries, to be directed by the field officer commanding them, who should always keep close to the general.

(To be concluded next month.)

CLYTIE.

A NOVEL OF MODERN Life.

BY JOSEPH HATTON.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER XI.

AN INQUEST.

HERE had been more than one inquest at the Cuttle Fish. When Dick Swivel killed Tom Bigg, in a battle which lasted an hour and twenty minutes, there was great excitement at Bill Jeffs' house; but there was a mystery in the death of Philip Ransford, which gave a touch of romance to the incident, that was wanting when the jury sat on the black and bruised corpse of Tom Bigg.

The coroner held his court on the day following the discovery of Ransford's body. The sun shone gloriously. The Thames ran smoothly under the foliage of the opposite bank. It was as if Nature repudiated the storm of the previous night. Nothing of the kind, it seemed to say. A storm! You must have been dreaming. A creaking sign, windows rattling, a wind that rushed madly over the Reach and tossed the shipping! Quite a mistake. Peace never reigned more supreme. The steamers labouring under a stress of weather! Why, they made their harbours amidst soft gales and in calm seas. Not a breath of air disturbed land or water. On Erith Pier men lolled in the sun. The vessels moored almost mid-stream lay quiet and still. A dozen visitors were sitting beneath the shade of the trees in the adjacent gardens; and at Longreach a little crowd hung about the entrance to Bill Jeffs' hotel.

A dozen men sat in the ill-furnished bar, packed together near a square kitchen table, at which the coroner, Mr. Cuffing, and a police superintendent were sitting.

The local constable having opened the court in due form, the jury followed the coroner out of the room and up the creaking staircase. The crowd at the door watched them curiously at the entrance of the house. The jury were going to view the body, which met them face

to face in a small bedroom at the top of the stairs. It lay on its back upon a table, and allowed them to look at it and touch it: this white silent thing that we knew alive at Dunelm, a fine stalwart young fellow, flushed with strength and pride. It was quite still and humble, and could not help itself: this lump of mortality that used to lash the north country rivers for salmon, and make love to that beautiful belle of the cathedral city. The coroner turned it over, and talked learnedly about bullet wounds, until one of the jurymen, who had not been accustomed to that branch of science, turned white and ill, and set the example of leaving the room.

When they had returned to their former places in the bar-parlour, where the coroner held his court, that important officer of the Crown said he understood Mr. Cuffing was the principal witness in this inquiry, and he must therefore request that gentleman to leave the room.

Mr. Cuffing: Sir, I appear here as the solicitor of the deceased gentleman, and in that capacity conceive myself entitled to remain ; I say this, of course, with all respect and with due submission to your authority.

The Coroner: This Court knows no other authority but its own. Even a solicitor may not remain to watch an inquiry in any case without the authority of the coroner.

Mr. Cuffing: I quite understand, Mr. Coroner, the ancient dignity and power of your office; but I submit that

The Coroner: Allow me a moment, sir. Are you not a witness in this inquiry?

Mr. Cuffing: I am quite ready to give evidence if called upon. The Coroner: You certainly will be called, and in that case I think you must agree with me that the interest of all parties will be best served by your acting rather in the capacity of witness than lawyer, and I will ask you to be good enough to leave the room until you are called to say what you know about this melancholy busi

ness.

Mr. Cuffing: I bow to your decision, Mr. Coroner.

The lawyer left the room and walked to the door, where he was regarded with great curiosity by the crowd of idlers who lolled there in the sun and drank the muddy ale of the Cuttle Fish. Mr. Cuffing had quite settled his course of action. He would still play his game for Lord St. Barnard's money. It was clear to him that his lordship had shot Ransford, and he was grateful for the service. The noble lord's character had gone up immensely in Cuffing's estimation since yesterday. He would help his lordship in this emergency. He would prove himself worthy of the confidence which