But he who never for reward doth ask, Happiest of mortals! he shall clearly see MEMORIES. As calmest waters mirror heaven the best, No stooping thought, nor any grovelling care, The sacred whiteness of that place shall stain, Where, far from heartless joys and rites profane, Memory has reared to thee an altar fair. THE militia needs reform, there is no doubt about that; even our Governor thinks so, with the advice and consent of his Council. Nay, more, he has set about the great work with praiseworthy vigor; changing the numbers of regiments in the most fearless manner; disbanding companies; breaking battalion officers, like so many string-beans; and even bearding gray-haired and bullioned generals, without the smallest regard to the number or quality of their herring-bones. Imitating the good example of the old Dutch commander, he rushes about, slashing at everything that looks like a pumpkin. It is to be hoped that he will not fall over his own scabbard. Let us beware, however, of all partial reforms; while we carefully wash the dirty boy's face, let us also brush his hair, dust his jacket, darn his stockings, and replace the missing buttons on his shirt. While we attend to organization, while we subject the state of discipline to the strictest scrutiny, while we peer into the cartridge-box and rummage in the sabre-tasche, let us not forget to inquire concerning the efficiency of the present mode of drilling. Various hand-books have been compiled, by officers of the regular army, for the benefit of our volunteer soldiery; but, unluckily, all these manuals are open to one great objection, which is, that from twenty-five to thirty years are required to teach, to an ordinary militia-man, all the rules and regulations laid down in these valuable standard works. Now comes my confession! Very humbly, and VOL. I. NO. IV. 21 on my knees, do I confess, that my sole object in writing this article is to extol, praise, or, in other words, to puff-"Will shortly be published by Bunrow & Co., A Complete Manual of Tactics and Drill, with Simple Rules and Observations, adapted to the Comprehension of the most unenlightened Volunteer Soldier. By Panoply Panhoplon, A. B.” It is comparatively an easy task to be a good critic. It is not very difficult to stick pins into bladders, which have been blown up by somebody else, at the cost of much puffing and blowing and redness in the face. It is hard to write a book, but anybody can upset an inkstand over it when it is finished. All this I say, that the labors of Mr. Panhoplon may be the better appreciated, and may escape uninjured from the assaults of the largessed menials of the press. For Mr. Panhoplon has written a book; not a collection of mouldy ideas, from the heads of the upholders of old-fashioned routine, but a fine, fresh work, full of original conceptions, novel deductions, and comprehensive results. Up to this time, we have been accustomed to look upon the simplest duties of the soldier as upon the feats of a wonderful magician; but now the veil of mystery is, at one slash, rent asunder, and we see that the whole secret may be presently mastered by the assistance of this unpretending little volume. In order to show that our author does not come to the field of his labor with hands unaccustomed to the tools of his trade, I shall here give a brief sketch of the course of study he has been through, and of the observations he has made. "From my earliest youth," says he, in his admirable Preface, "I have been remarkably fond of those musters, and other military displays, which the land of my birth is so justly proud of. In the days of my boyhood I often would follow, through the muddy streets, for hours together, in the rear of a company; to the neglect of my studies and the detriment of my pantaloons. At first, the discharges of the firelocks used to terrify me; but by degrees I became accustomed to the noise, and now I can conscientiously say, that the report of a field-piece even, not only does not frighten me, but, on the contrary, has the effect of raising my spirits to a high pitch of patriotism." In the years 1848 and 1849, Mr. Panhoplon, moved by a noble desire to perfect himself in the art military, made a European tour. In London he examined critically the appearance of the Horse-Guards' sentries; paid particular attention to the marching of the Household Foot; and witnessed a review of old pensioners in Hyde Park. But it was in the military metropolis of Paris that our author reaped the richest harvest of information. He haunted the Esplanade des Invalides; he was there at the reveillé and at the retraite; he watched the soldiers as they pitched sous, as they ate their dinner, as they cleaned their arms, and as they smoked. He never was absent, save when la line marched forth into the country, for exercise; or paraded on the Champ de Mars, on Sundays. Until he arrived in Germany, however, Mr. Panhoplon had not the opportunity of beholding the stern reality of modern warfare. He there had the good fortune to be directly in the midst of the most stirring revolutionary scenes; that is to say, he was at one end of the city of Frankfort, while an emeute was going on at the other. He did not actually witness the combat, but he saw the troops and heard the firing; and the mighty Raglan has neither seen nor heard anything more, during the whole siege of Sebastopol. Mr. Panhoplon's description of the terrific scene is extremely grand, and proves conclusively that he is capable of the highest style of descriptive writing. "There," he exclaims, (page 97,)" were the Prussian infantry, their heads overshadowed by the peculiar brass-spiked, leather coal-scuttle helmet of their country. Beside them were battalions of pudding-faced Austrians, who looked so contented, as they sat on the curb-stones and munched bread, that it really seemed cruel to send them into action. In their midst stood the general-in-chief, a grave man, whose nose and moustache seemed to have had a hard race for the superiority, for they were both of great size, and actually appeared to increase as you looked at them. And here they were, Austrians and Prussians, officers and men, all ready to do battle in the great cause of of the word of command! Although our author had no opportunity, while in Europe, for studying the difficult art of Artillery, he nevertheless took advantage of the first occasion that presented itself to perfect himself in this important branch of the art of war. While at West Point, he was not only present at several drills with the light pieces, but also enjoyed the rare privilege of seeing four eighteen-pounder shots fired at a mark across the river. In this brief sketch I have endeavored to give a tolerably accurate idea of Mr. Panhoplon's extensive military experience; and to show how superior his means of information are, when compared with those of our principal militia officers. How many of our generals have been in Europe? How many of our colonels have visited West Point? How many of our captains know anything beyond "Should' hums" and "Order hums"? To all these questions I answer, hardly one! While, however, he admired the mighty warlike organizations of Europe, Mr. Panhoplon could not fail to perceive that their systems were not suited to a force consisting entirely of volunteers. His object, then, in writing this book, has been to show that the same desirable results may be arrived at by much simpler means. A few extracts from his work will show, at a glance, the easy and practical methods of instruction which he has invented. "CAVALRY DRILL. "The Mount, in Two Motions. "1st Motion. The commander of the squadron gives the command, Prepare to mount.' The trooper immediately takes his hands out of his pockets and drops his cigar. He then leads his horse into some hollow (the gutter is most convenient), and places himself on an elevated spot (e. g. the curb-stone). He then grasps the reins and a large handful of the mane with his left hand, and takes hold of the stirrup with his right. While in this position, he slowly raises his left leg, and puts his foot quite home in the stirrup, at the same time seizing the crupper of the saddle firmly with his right hand. "2d Motion. The commander gives the command, Mount.' The trooper immediately executes seven little hops on his right leg, each hop being a trifle higher than its predecessor; at the seventh spring, he pulls himself violently upwards, by means of his arms, and, by this combination of forces, raises himself to the saddle and throws himself across it, remaining in the position which a bag of meal would assume, under similar circumstances. After resting a moment, the trooper says, ' Ho!' to his horse, one or more times, as the case may require; and then, using the buckle of his swordbelt as a pivot, turns himself round, until his body and legs are parallel with the longer diameter of the horse. He finally completes the motion by working himself into an upright position, and by placing the right foot in the proper stirrup. "Position of the Mounted Trooper. "Stirrups, so long that they can just be touched by the points of |