The Press.
London, England, 1855-06-09 00:00:00

Yittratart.

Pictures from the Battle Fields. By the
Roving Englishman. London : Routledge
and Co.
Ws all know what character the old proverb
ascribes to a bird which defiles its own nest;
anti if common report speaks the truth in
attributing the authorship of this work to one
of the luckiest young men in her Majesty's
diplomatic service, we must say that he strikes
us as a remarkably ill-conditioned ornitholo-
gical specimen.
The first part of the volume before us is
devoted to an account of the author's journey
ings in the East, interspersed with desultory
sketches of life and character, done with a
certain degree of vulgar smartness and fluent
flippancy which the unfastidious may be will-
ing to accept for cleverness and wit.
From this portion of the book we will quote
his descriptions of "the Russian soldier" and
"the Russian officer "—taking leave to tell the
author that he mistakes the feeling of the
people to whose prejudices he would pander
when ho supposes that Englishmen will be
pleased to see such cruel caricatures of the
sturdy and resolute foernen whom it needed
the best chivalry of Britain to repel. Those,
at any rate, wire have confronted the Russians
in the field will read these passages with the
stern disapprovalwhich gallant soldiers ever feel
for the weak railers at the foe whom men of
truer and more chivalrous natures have en-
countered with fiercer weapons than words :
TUi RUSSIAN SOLDIER.
He is a sulky, sullen, stupid-looking fellow, with a pale
blue complexion, like that produced by what the doctors
call the " administration " of nitrate of silver in cases of
disease. Poor wretch ! he looks like a felon, for he has
been treated all his life as a hound. He has a short
straight nose, the nostrils of which are turned outwards,
and seem like two small holes in his face. He has little
round eyes; but he is too stupifled by ill-treatment to have
any expression in them, though he is in the first flush of
youth and strength. His hair is of a rusty bay or reddish
brown. It does not dare to curl or wave, and sticks out in
points and notches, as though in despair of doing right,
turn which way it will. He is a square-built, powerful
man, but he is listless, silent, and awkward. He appears
susceptible of neither pain or pleasure ; to have no respect
or love for himself. He seems to have neither reason or
instinct. He is a machine ready to obey a touch of the
impelling rod, or to have something within him which
hears and acts at the hoarse shout of command, but of
himself he does nothing. He has no will, no energy, no
pride of craft. If you speak to him suddenly, he starts,
and takes an attitude of drilled attention. He will not
flinch or stir for a blow, but his eyes darken and his thick
lips close, lie is dirty in his person and habits, but not
untidy or slovenly ; for he seems always on parade. tiod
only knows what thoughts pass through his mind, for he
never utters any. He appears profoundly impressed with
his own insignificance and inferiority to every one who
wears a good coat, and he bows down abjectly before a bit
of gold lace and a sword, whoever wears them. He has no
soldierly love of pleasure. He loves drink, indeed, and he
will sit silently soaking raw spirits as long as he can get
any, but the liquor has no brightening effect on him. He is
as impassive in his cups as when sober. He may drink
himself blind, deaf, speechless, motionless, but he cannot
drink himself gay. If an officer told him to walk down a
precipice, or drink a glass of speedy poison, the idea of re-
Monstrance or disobedience would never occur to him. He
would do either as merely a part of hie allotted task in
life, the object for which he was born. He has been told
that the French and English are impious heretics, a sort
of plausible devils in human shape ; he believes it devoutly,
for lie has no reasoning powers, no opinions. He believes
that be will incur Divine wrath by holding communion
with them ; that they will poison him if he eats their food ;
that they will torture instead of healing him, if he is
wounded ; that their medicines are death in disguise, their
benefits a mockery, their kindness a device of the evil one.
He does not think these things distinctly, and one after the
other; but such is the general confused impression on his
abject mind.
THE RUSSIAN OFFICER.
He is an incarnate falsehood, a backbiter, with malicious
intent, a most notable slenderer. He has no high and in-
spiring creed, no soul, no heart; but he has the jargon and
all. y despises and sneers at the
connive at the shame of his
his child, for his interest or
smallest scruple. He would dis-
kinsman or best benefactor, by
•to the galleys. He would
if it was not likely to be
I cheat at play. He would
,iis mistress in folding her to
the wages of crime from her
would poison her mind till it became
Re would give her aid and counsel in
f her husband, if any gain were to be got
lie covertly laughs at the whole thing; he
q$ really care two straws about the issue of the
struggle, except se far SO 4 HMI 80U10 clay affect his social

seeming of them all. lie utterly
honour of women. He would co
wife, hid sister, his mother, or hi
convenience, without the smalles
honour the hearth of his kinsina
means which should send him t
Commit a burglary unblushingly,
brought home to him, He would
dexterously pick the pocket of his
his breast. He would receive the
without a pang. He would poiso
as black as his own. He woullgi
the slow murder of her laulband,
by it. . . . 14e covertly laugl
does not. really care two straws