and cannon left at their stations look like iron-bound editions of Rip Van Winkle.

Its two strong points are Fortress Monroe and the magnificent water-battery now in process of erection. The first is an outpost, the second will be a powerful defense-if completed. Just now it is "suspended without pay," a munificent and far-seeing government having allowed five years to elapse since the last appropriation ran out.

And I will add just here that that clever old Engineer Time is sapping and mining so effectually on his own account the work will probably follow the example of the said appropriation and run out too -with the tide.

The grounds are extensive, and the new barracks and buildings make a fair show in the sunshine. A base-ball ground is rarely without a game in progress; the reading-rooms have a third of the command as habitués; and the chapel and regimental school are fairly well attended.

The commanding officer is Colonel Langdon (of the class of 1854), a typical military man, whose rule is rigid but kindly. He is tall, with inflexible figure, iron-gray hair, and severe gray eyes. A triangular wrinkle between his brows lends a stern look to his face, and he has the (to civilians) startling precision of movement, statement, and action peculiar to West Pointers.

He has a very weak spot in his heart for children, and in his office -as bare of ornament and luxuries as a field-tent in winter-two broken toys and a picture of two noble boys contrast oddly with statistical books, war-maps, tactics, and treatises on ordnance.

It took a very beautiful form some weeks ago—this tenderness for little ones. In Hull Street, just outside the garrison-gate and in a horrible part of the town, a mission-school had been established, but it fell into financial trouble, the rent could not be paid, and it was decided to abandon it. But the colonel sent word, "No. Bring the children into the fort-chapel, and teach them there."

He got a fine cabinet organ, interested an up-town clergyman, and now every Sunday afternoon two hundred children assemble in the quaint little place for instruction, a rousing "sing," and a stretch on the green, where the clean salt air can wash out their lungs and nostrils. The organist, who is likewise school-teacher and librarian, is a man with a history.

He is one of that Prussian regiment which at Gravelotte lost seven hundred men and thirty-six officers within forty minutes; and was one of the German contingent in Egypt. In the latter place he attracted the notice of Baker Pasha, and ultimately that of the Khedive himself. By the latter he was offered a commission in his service, and it was in actual process of execution when England "interposed" in Egyptian affairs and sent all foreigners, except Englishmen, adrift from Ismail's service. Then he gravitated here, and enlisted in our service, in which

his colonel says he can secure a commission at any time he chooses to exert himself to do so.

A fragment of the "Mindon" has drifted back to Baltimore on the tide of years. It is in the possession of the Historical Society of that city, and has a place of honor in its cabinets. It bears an inscription which declares it

"A piece of Admiral Cockburn's flag-ship, the Mindon,' which took part in the bombardment of Fort McHenry, September 13-14, 1814."

It is dated 1860, and goes on to state that the vessel "is still in use as a hospital-ship in the harbor of Hong-Kong."

Another relic is a brace of carcass-balls, which were dug out of the dry-dock a few years ago and mounted at the entrance of the churchyard. They are about a foot in diameter, and are perforated with holes, which were filled with tar, turpentine, and Greek fire, then touched off, and dropped towards the fort to fire it.

But of course the best relic of all is the old fort itself, and I know of few prettier places on a bright spring morning. To the right and left dance the blue waters of the Patapsco, and straight away in front stretches the bay, with Fort Carroll showing like a cheese-box in the offing. The grass springs green on the parapets, the dandelions burn like glow-worms, and the incoming and outgoing fleets look like peaceful and graceful ghosts of the great flotilla that assisted at the birth of our national anthem.

E. LORAINE DORSEY.

THE FRENCH ARMY.

[Translated from the French for THE UNITED SERVICE, by Major WILLIAM H. POWELL, United States Army.]

(Concluded from page 690, vol. xii.)

THE Parisian has always had some well-marked predilections for certain corps. Oftentimes, it would have been difficult to have explained why they received with frantic bravos this or that corps, while they maintained a rigid silence regarding the others.

The day of the review, when the Cuirassiers dimly appeared through the dust, showing their steady ranks, correctly aligned, the crowd became excited, and the emotion seemed to diffuse itself through all hearts; and, at the moment when they arrived opposite the tribunes, a formidable cry was raised,-

"Vivent les Cuirassiers !"

Salute Reischoffen! Salute the remembrance of the grand battle where forty thousand Frenchmen placed hors de combat, in eight hours, ten thousand six hundred and forty-two Germans. A single German regiment, the Fiftieth Lower Silesia, lost eight hundred and eightyseven men; the Sixth, of the same province, lost eight hundred and eighty-six. The Second Corps, to which they belonged, counted in the evening five thousand six hundred and fifty-six men less than in the morning. We had, in that gigantic struggle, some regiments-notably the Fiftieth and the Seventy-fourth-annihilated; the Zouaves and the Turcos had been cut to pieces; but the French Cuirassiers, who sacrificed themselves for the honor of their arms, for the éclat of the last of these combats, should have, in history,-as conquerors,—the honor of that day.

In order that the truth of that day may be known, we mention the fact that there were two charges of Cuirassiers at Reischoffen. At 1.30 P.M. the First and the Fourth Regiments were thrown forward; then the Second and the Third were thrown against the enemy; two colonels were killed; one, Colonel Lafutzen de Lacarre, his head having been carried away by a ball, his body was borne along for some distance on his horse towards the enemy. A third colonel was taken prisoner. An hour afterwards, the Eighth and the Ninth charged in their turn. So many men had fallen in the two actions, that the following day,

when Marshal McMahon was interrogated as to the strength of his cavalry, he replied,—

"The Cuirassiers, they are no more!"

Owing to divers causes, some particular circumstances pertaining exceptionally to Paris, the Zouaves (returned from Italy, 1859), the Turcos (same date and at end of the empire), and the Marine Infantry (1870 and 1876) had, at those times, all the honors of the fête.

The rarity of their presence in the capital, the services that they had rendered abroad, and the unfamiliarity with their showy uniforms, all went to justify this favor with the crowd.

For the Zouaves and the Turcos it is impossible to select any particularly glorious day; they have stood above all since their creation,— there are some Turcos at Tonquin,-and, above all, they have stained with their blood the flags which they have displayed to the enemy. The flags of the Second and Third Regiments of Zouaves and of the Third Regiment of native sharpshooters are decorated with the Cross of the Legion of Honor.

As to the Marine Infantry, we owe not only our colonies in the extreme East, but in Senegal, which it has conquered almost alone; it has, moreover, served gloriously at Sebastopol, at Bomarsund, and in Mexico, by the side of our land forces. During the last war it figured in almost all our armies at Paris and in Provence, after having furnished to the Army of the Meuse that magnificent division for which the day of Sedan termed it Bazeilles-almost a victory.

"Happy," it is said, "are those who have no history." But happy, on the contrary, are the regiments which have one.

The regiment is a living machine which renews itself without cessation,-staff, men, habiliments, arms; but thanks to the legends inscribed in golden letters on its flag, it is always the same regiment. It is carried in the ranks in order that it may repeat to the youngest of the conscripts the great works of their ancestors.

Salute, then, the flags and the standards: of the Fifty-first Regiment of Infantry, decorated for having taken three standards and three flags from the Mexicans in 1863-64–65; of the Fifty-seventh Regiment of Infantry, decorated for having taken a flag from the Germans August, 1870; of the Seventy-sixth Regiment of Infantry, decorated for having taken a flag from the Austrians at the battle of Solferino; of the Ninety-ninth Regiment of Infantry, decorated for having taken a standard from the Mexicans,-combat of Aculcingo; of the Chasseurs à pied, decorated for the flags taken at Solferino by the Tenth Battalion, and the battalion of the Chasseurs à pied of the ex-guard; of the First Chasseurs d'Afrique, decorated for having taken a flag from the Mexicans at the combat of San Pablo del Monte.

In counting the flags of the Second and Third Zouaves, and of the First Algerian Sharpshooters, it will make nine regiments which have

merited this honor, so rare as to be envied by all the other corps of the

army.

SAINT CYR.

"Frenchmen to the most remote, uncover

Before the flag which advances:

Of the first battalion of France

It is the standard! Enemies to your knees!

"Float to the will of the breeze, flag of the school,

Thee our symbol

Of glory and of honor,

The sight alone of which would cause the head to bow,
And in the breast

Make beat the heart."

What is that lively drumming? the drummers beating Saint Cyrienne! It is Saint Cyr! the battalion of officers in advance. Upon all the fronts of the regiments one can perceive an agitation. Colonels, generals, sub-lieutenants, shuffle about, and stand on tiptoe regarding them. It is St. Cyr which advances, the red and white plume floating on the sky-blue shako; it is a living wall. Bravo! bravo! what marching! The old moustaches, wet with a tear of youth, contemplate and admire. It is St. Cyr! it is the poetry, the hope, the tenderness of the army!

I have known the St. Cyrians for a long time. Formerly, when I was a child, I saw them at least three hundred times march majestically on the green carpet of the park at Versailles, to regain St. Cyr by the route aux Cochons; to-day, all those are either generals or dead, those of the time of Constantine, of l'obelisque, of Mazagrau; then they numbered five hundred, and with the promotions from La Nécessité, from the Tremblement, and from Isly, made six hundred. Now, there are eight hundred and fifty, like a regiment of infantry; they have also a squadron of cavalry exactly like a legion of the time of Marshal Saxe. This is not less than a battalion.

They have never had enough of the St. Cyrians. They are above all in the army. Since 1825 they have graduated between fifteen and sixteen thousand from the school. I have counted five thousand two hundred and seven of these on the Annuaire for 1883. All the others are not dead; but Algeria, the Crimea, Italy, Mexico, China, and the last war have consumed at least five or six thousand.

This is how the five thousand two hundred and seven remaining in active service are distributed in the different corps of the army: Intendance: 4 intendants-general, 17 intendants, 189 sub-intendants, and 17 assistants.

Gendarmerie: 10 colonels, 6 lieutenant-colonels, 28 chiefs of squadrons, 21 captains, 4 lieutenants, and one sub-lieutenant.

Infanterie: 152 colonels, 159 lieutenant-colonels, 752 chiefs of battalions, 1180 captains, 718 lieutenants, and 1387 sub-lieutenants.