Division been rendered helpless by the starved and weak condition of the horses after the exertions of the march to Bloemfontein.

The above are the salient facts of interest in the memorable march which Lord Roberts was unexpectedly called on to make, and successfully carried through under circumstances of exceptional difficulty. The more we read of those circumstances-difficulties of climate, of communications, of food, and of transport-the more does the mind become impressed, both with the magnitude of the Field-Marshal's plans, and the precision with which they were executed. Strategy, not tactics, was the determining factor. With the exception of the battle of Paardeberg, which would not have occurred had the Commander-in-Chief been present, and the fighting at Abraham's Kraal, which was brought on by accident rather than by design, there was an entire absence of that fruitless "bludgeon work" which characterised General Buller's operations in Natal, and had so depressing an effect on the spirits of the army and the minds of the public at home. It was Lord Roberts' rule never to allow fighting which was not necessary, or which might not reasonably be expected to produce results commensurate with the sacrifices made. Throughout the march it was manifest that the guiding power of a master mind was ever at work inspiring the courage and stiffening the determination of all to win.

The material results which followed the occupation of the Free State capital were not proportionate to the efforts made for its capture. Although Bloemfontein was the seat of Government, the place possesses little political or commercial value. The chief military asset. placed to British credit was the railway, which has been so usefully employed during the past six weeks; but neither arsenal, munitions. of war, nor any collection of stores, fell into Lord Roberts' hands. The Free State burghers had all along drawn the sinews of war from Pretoria, and until Lord Roberts reaches the Transvaal capital, the military power of the two Republics will not be finally broken. Apart, however, from material results, it is impossible to exaggerate the moral effect created all over the world by the British occupation of Bloemfontein. Public confidence, which had been so sadly shaken by the previous mismanagement of the campaign, was forthwith restored, and the country is now (21st April) waiting patiently for the next move, conscious that the delay is due to necessary causes, and will not be prolonged one hour beyond the time required to complete arrangements for the final advance on Pretoria.

BY THE IONIAN SEA.

CHAPTER I.

FROM NAPLES.

THIS is the third day of sirocco, heavy-clouded, sunless. has gone out of Naples; the streets are dusty and stifling. mountains and the sea.

All the colour
I long for the

To-morrow I shall leave by the Messina boat, which calls at Paola. It is now more than a twelvemonth since I began to think of Paola, and an image of the place has grown in my mind. I picture a little marina; a yellowish little town just above; and behind, rising grandly, the long range of mountains which guard the shore of Calabria. Paola has no special interest that I know of, but it is the nearest point on the coast to Cosenza, which has interest in abundance; by landing here I make a modestly adventurous beginning of my ramble in the South. At Paola foreigners are rare; one may count upon new impressions, and the journey over the hills will be delightful.

Were I to lend ear to the people with whom I am staying, here in the Chiatamone, I should either abandon my project altogether or set forth with dire misgivings. They are Neapolitans of the better class; that is to say, they have known losses, and talk of their former happiness, when they lived on the Chiaia and had everything handsome about them. The head of the family strikes me as a typical figure; he is an elderly man, with a fine head, a dignified presence, and a coldly courteous demeanour. By preference he speaks French, and his favourite subject is Paris. One observes in him something like disdain for his own country, which in his mind is associated only with falling fortunes and loss of self-respect. The cordial Italian note never sounds in his talk. The signora (also a little ashamed of her own language) excites herself about taxation-as well she may-and dwells with doleful vivacity on family troubles. Both are astonished at my eccentricity and hardiness in undertaking a solitary journey through the wild South. Their geographical notions are vague; they have barely heard of Cosenza, of Cotrone, and of Paola. not at all; it would as soon occur to them to set out for Morocco as for Calabria. How shall I get along with people whose language is a barbarous dialect? Am I aware that the country is in great part pestilential ?-la febbre ! Has no one informed me that in autumn snows descend, and bury everything for months? It is useless to explain that I only intend to visit places easily accessible, that I shall travel mostly by railway, and that if disagreeable weather sets in I

shall quickly return northwards. They look at me dubiously, and ask themselves (I am sure) whether I have not some more tangible motive than

a love of classical antiquity. It ends with a compliment to the enterprising spirit of the English race.

I have purchases to make, business to settle, and must go hither and thither about the town. Sirocco, of course, dusks everything to cheerless grey, but under any sky it is dispiriting to note the changes in Naples. Lo sventramento (the disembowelling) goes on, and regions are transformed. It is a good thing, I suppose, that the broad Corso Umberto I. should cut a way through the old Pendino; but what a contrast between that native picturesqueness and the cosmopolitan vulgarity which has usurped its place! Napoli se ne va!" I pass the Santa Lucia with downcast eyes, my memories of ten years ago striving against the dulness of to-day. The harbour, whence one used to start for Capri, is filled up; the sea has been driven to a hopeless distance beyond a wilderness of dust-heaps. They are going to make a long, straight embankment from the Castel dell 'Ovo to the Great Port, and before long the Santa Lucia will be an ordinary street, shut in among huge houses, with no view at all. Ah, the nights that one lingered here, watching the crimson glow upon Vesuvius, tracing the dark line of the Sorrento promontory, or waiting for moonlight to cast its magic upon floating Capri! The odours remain; the stalls of sea-fruit are as yet undisturbed, and the jars of the water-sellers; women still comb and bind each other's hair by the wayside; and meals are cooked and eaten al fresco as of old. But one can see these things elsewhere, and Santa Lucia was unique. It has become squalid. In the grey light of this sad, billowy sky, only its ancient foulness is manifest; there needs the golden sunlight to bring out a suggestion of its ancient charm.

Has Naples grown less noisy, or does it only seem so to me? The men with bullock carts are strangely quiet; their shouts have nothing like the frequency and spirit of former days. In the narrow and thronged Strada di Chiaia I find little tumult; it used to be deafening. Ten years ago a foreigner could not walk here without being assailed by the clamour of cocchieri; nay, he was pursued from street to street, until the driver had spent every phrase of importunate invitation; now, one may saunter as one will, with little disturbance. Down on the Piliero, whither I have been to take my passage for Paola, I catch but an echo of the jubilant uproar which used to amaze me. Is Naples really so much quieter? If I had time I would go out to Piedigrotta, once, it seemed to me, the noisiest village on earth, and see if there also I observed a change. It would not be surprising if the modernization of the city, together with the state of things throughout Italy, had a subduing effect upon Neapolitan manners. In one respect the streets are assuredly less gay. When I first knew Naples one was never, literally never, out of hearing of a hand-organ; and these organs, which in general had a peculiarly soft note, played the brightest of melodies; trivial, vulgar if you will, but none the less melodious, and dear to Naples. Now the sound of street music is rare, and I understand that some police provision long since interfered with the soft-tongued instruments. I miss them; for, in the matter of music, it is with me as with Sir Thomas Browne. For Italy the change is significant enough; in a few more years spontaneous melody will be as rare at Venice or Naples as on the banks of the Thames.