monotony of the protracted strife. The unwonted silence is unbroken, save that now and again the rare report of some isolated gun comes lazily down the wind, and is formally answered from the opposing battery, — an interchange of cartels which just serves to assert the continuance of hostilities, and to vindicate the vigilance of the combatants. We are looking down into the interior of the Diamond Battery, so called because manned by sailors from Her Majesty's ship Diamond. The gabions and sand-bags, which form so important an element in the construction of works of this description, are carefully delineated in this picture, from which the curious in the secrets of military engineering may take a lesson in the art. Standing, sitting, and lying about the batteries, are groups of the devil-may-care sons of Neptune, displaying that happy abandon and easy grace of posture which distinguish them, whether on their own element or on shore. It is easy to gather from the innovations on their " nautical rig," which has suffered, not indeed a " sea change," but a terrestrial metamorphose, that they are rapidly accustoming themselves to this new phase of their amphibious existence, to whose exigencies they have accommodated themselves with their wonted facility.
Behind the traverses we catch a glimpse of the military guard of the trenches, whose costume de rigueur, and stiff precision of attitude, form a striking contrast to the unfettered garb and careless demeanour of the tars. Looking over the parapet, and utterly unconscious, or if conscious unmindful, of the hail of Minie bullets which such an apparition never fails to elicit from the ready rifles of the Russian outposts, stands Captain Peel, a son of the late Sir Robert Peel, whose already distinguished career gave promise when he volunteered, among the first, for duty in the trenches, of the brilliant and dashing services which he has since rendered there. Immediately below Captain Peel is Commander Burnet.
But what is that colossal object in the centre of the drawing, on whose portrait — evidently a labour of love — the Artist has bestowed so much of care? Reader! those round and flowing outlines, that exquisite proportion of parts, that smooth and brightly-polished surface, those vast yet not unwieldy dimensions, appertain to one of the creations of the War, — a joint and felicitous improvisation of Yulcan and of Mars, capable of hurling to an incredible distance missiles to which the terrible bolts of Jove himself are but as pop-gun pellets. It is a Lancaster 68-pounder gun, an implement of destruction Titanic in its forces, and " beautiful exceedingly " in the stern beauty of fitness for its terrible purpose. So grand an actor in the bloody drama of War was not likely to escape the attention of the spectators on the other side of the house, and the fracture observable on the gun-carriage proves how well the enemy's artillerymen were able to mark their appreciation of this great performer's powers.
Such are the main features of this interesting scene; the accessories in the shape of round shot, grape, and cases of shell ready for use, huts and sleeping-holes for the men, and the sadly suggestive and too necessary stretcher, are famihar to every one who has visited any of the batteries, and need no more than indication to the general reader.
THE FIELD OF INKERMANN.
The fields on which the great battles of the world have been decided are objects of interest to the remotest generations of men, and while the sites of large and populous cities become a topic for antiquarian disputes, and shrines once the most frequented cannot now boast a single worshipper, an endless succession of pilgrims continues to visit with pious enthusiasm and assiduous culture spots most frequently devoid of any remarkable natural beauties, but which are hallowed and endeared by the imperishable memory of the glorious deeds of which they have been the theatre. Though other contests have been marked by far greater mutual carnage, and have been attended by immediate results of higher moment, yet the real importance of the successful resistance at Inkermann can scarcely be overrated; and the enormous disproportion between the forces of the Allies and those of their assailants casts a halo over the victory, only less brilliant than the inextinguishable radiance which for ever illumines the deadly struggle at Thermopylae.