ope and caused to advance by pulling on it sidewise.
Anglers will understand this when I state that it works on the principle
of the "otter," and, somewhat like the celebrated Irish pig going to
market, runs ahead the more it is pulled back by the tail. With this
torpedo the daring Russians resolved to attack the second gunboat, but
when they threw it overboard it would not work; something had gone wrong
with its tail, or with the levers by which, on coming into contact with
the enemy, it was to explode. They were compelled therefore to abandon
the attempt, and seek shelter from the Turkish fire behind an island.

"So then," said I, on quitting the hospital, "torpedoes, although
_terrible_ in their action, are not always _certain_."

"Nothing is always certain," replied Nicholas, with a smile, "except the
flight of time, and as the matter on which I have come requires
attention I must now leave you for a few hours. Don't forget the name
of our hotel. That secure in a man's mind, he may lose himself in any
town or city with perfect safety--_au revoir_."

For some time I walked about the town. The morning was bright and calm,
suggesting ideas of peace; nevertheless my thoughts could not be turned
from the contemplation of war, and as I wandered hither and thither,
looking out for reminiscences of former wars, I thought of the curiously
steady way in which human history repeats itself. It seems to take
about a quarter of a century to teach men to forget or ignore the
lessons of the past and induce them to begin again to fight. Here, in
1829, the Russians levelled the fortifications which at that time
encircled the town; here, in 1854, the Russians were defeated by the
Turks; and here, in 1872, these same Russians and Turks were at the same
old bloody and useless game--ever learning, yet never coming to a
knowledge of the great truth, that, with all their fighting, nothing has
been gained and nothing accomplished save a few changes of the men on
the chess-board, and the loss of an incalculable amount of life and
treasure.

As the day advanced it became very sultry. Towards the afternoon I
stopped and gazed thoughtfully at the placid Danube, which, flowing
round the gentle curve of Slobosia, reflected in its glittering waters
the white domes and minarets of the opposite town of Rustchuk. A low,
rumbling sound startled me just then from a reverie. On looking up I
perceived a small puff of smoke roll out in the di