his discovery of untried passes in
the higher Alps, and he had no mercy for pursy followers. I have often
said of this life-long student and philosophical head that he had in him
the making of a great military captain. He would not have been opposed to
the profession of arms if he had been captured early for the service,
notwithstanding his abomination of bloodshed. He had a high, calm
courage, was unperturbed in a dubious position, and would confidently
take the way out of it which he conceived to be the better. We have not
to deplore that he was diverted from the ways of a soldier, though
England, as the country has been learning of late, cannot boast of many
in uniform who have capacity for leadership. His work in literature will
be reviewed by his lieutenant of Tramps, one of the ablest of
writers!--[Frederic W. Maitland.]--The memory of it remains with us, as
being the profoundest and the most sober criticism we have had in our
time. The only sting in it was an inoffensive humorous irony that now and
then stole out for a roll over, like a furry cub, or the occasional
ripple on a lake in grey weather. We have nothing left that is like it.

One might easily fall into the pit of panegyric by an enumeration of his
qualities, personal and literary. It would not be out of harmony with the
temper and characteristics of a mind so equable. He, the equable, whether
in condemnation or eulogy. Our loss of such a man is great, for work was
in his brain, and the hand was active till close upon the time when his
breathing ceased. The loss to his friends can be replaced only by an
imagination that conjures him up beside them. That will be no task to
those who have known him well enough to see his view of things as they
are, and revive his expression of it. With them he will live despite the
word farewell.

CORRESPONDENCE FROM THE SEAT OF WAR IN ITALY

LETTERS WRITTEN TO THE MORNING POST FROM THE SEAT OF WAR IN ITALY FROM
OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT

FERRARA, June 22, 1866.

Before this letter reaches London the guns will have awakened both the
echo of the old river Po and the classical Mincio. The whole of the
troops, about 110,000 men, with which Cialdini intends to force the
passage of the first-named river are already massed along the right bank
of the Po, anxiously waiting that the last hour of to-morrow should
strike, and that the order for action should be given. The telegraph will
have already informed your rea