The Press.
London, England, 1855-09-29 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

or ninety-eight pound shot might enter, bat they could not
penetrate. Compared with this massive structure of mud
and wickerwork, the thickest of our own or the French
works is as paper to a deal board. Then within, besides
the great superiority of their mantlets--strong ropen cur•
tains hung across the embrasures to shelter the gunners
from the besiegers' riflemen—you admire the cover pro-
vided for their artillerymen when not actually working the
guns, in little retreats proof against any but the very
heaviest splinters of shell. But these, again, are nothing
when compared with the shot and shell proof chambers for
the shelter of larger bodies of troops, which abound
throughout the work. I dived into several of these half-
subterranean waiting•rooms, and found many of them fitted
up with fireplaces, cooking conveniences, benches, and
other suitable furniture ; whilst in others of smaller di-
mensions, and which had evidently been occupied by the
officers, there were in addition bedsteads, chairs, tables,
and in some even handsomely-glazed cupboards, containing
empty wine bottles, and other traces of their occupants'
regard for creature comforts. —/b.
The beauty of the city was discernible even in its
ruined state:—

Whatever idea one has formed from looking at Sebas-
topol from Cathcart's hill and the trenches, and every one
has heard of its respectability as a city, I must say I
was little prepared to witness the remains of anything so
beautiful. To ride along what must have been the grand
street, and see the lamp-posts and pavements, seemed to
call forth the remembrance that there are such things yet
in the world. The houses, or I should say mansions, that
are passed one after another in the most frightful dilapida-
tion!, are most surprising—a number of these appear to
have been public buildings. Nearly every house must
have had some architectural pretension, the rows of pillars
and columns are unceasing, and from the visible remains
1 should say it ought to have been one of the prettiest
places in the world. The cleanliness, and I was going to
say order, was astonishing; what I mean by order was the
clearness of the streets, save where barricades had been
erected. The fronts of some houses appeared so perfect
that, with the aid of a strong imagination, you could
almost fancy you were riding in a nice town, where
nothing had happened, and in other parts that you were
only visiting the scene of a disastrous fire, and presently
expected to get beyond the pale cf its rage; but alas!
wherever you went, all, all was alike—never was destruc-
tion and desolation more complete—never had man
worked more successfully to destroy his own work. The
great point of attraction was a monument just inside Fort
Nicholas, and close to the water's edge; and a more en-
chanting view than that which is attainable at this spot I
never remember to have looked upon. It must have been
the fashionable lounge of Sebastopol. This monument,
which is surmounted by a boat, and bears date 1834, is
surrounded by a pleasure ground, from any part of which
you may get a view of Forts Constantine and Nicholas, the
harbour, the opposite side, and a great portion of the
town.—Morning Post Cor.