them had flasks of the most undeniable pale
brandy it was ever my good luck to come across,
to which they made me most welcome. I think
I must have had three or four good pulls out of
their various flasks. One of the party had an
immense cigar-case, filled with as excellent
cigars as ever were smoked, and which he
pressed on me before I fell into a doze, which
lasted all the way to Portsmouth, when I was
awoke by the train, stopping, and the whole
party tumbling out to look for their corps and
make what arrangements they could for
breakfast.

Still more than half asleep, I made my way
to a small inn, which I rather think was a
private house doing duty for the day as a place
where breakfast was to be procured for a
consideration.

Very good the breakfast was, and very
reasonable the consideration—only one and
sixpence. My inward man refreshed with food,
and my outward person invigorated with a wash,
I felt quite another being, and set out to make
what observations I could respecting the Great
Volunteer Review of 1868.

Whatever our railway system may have been
formerly, it certainly left little to be desired on
Easter Monday last. It was about eight A.M.
when the train in which I had obtained a seat
reached Portsmouth, and two hours later the
whole great army of volunteers had assembled
in the town. My sleepiness got rid of, I took
some pains to ascertain the number of men
under arms, and found that, including nearly
two thousand regular infantry and about eight
hundred regular artillery, they amounted in all
to a fraction less than thirty thousand, with
fifty-two guns—a force by no means insignificant,
even if our great naval seaport and
arsenal had to be defended from the attack of
a real living enemy.

Taking them individually, nothing could be
better or more workman-like looking than the
great majority of the volunteers; it was, to my
eye at least, only when they were brought
together that their imperfections showed forth,
and these were by no means of a very serious
nature. The immense variety of uniforms
amongst them, the smallness of some of the
corps, and the immense comparative size of
some of their bands, are faults which these
gallant fellows might—or rather which the
authorities ought—to overcome. Thus one
corps—I was told it came from the West of
England—certainly did not number more than
sixty or seventy men, but it had a band—and a
very good one too—that was very nearly as
numerous as the regiment. Now, no doubt but
that a large band is an advantage. The great
fault of our English military bands is, that they
are not half strong enough, whereas in the
French army they exceed ours by nearly double
the number, and are in consequence all the more
martial in their music. But a French band
is for one regiment, and every French regiment
numbers three battalions, each battalion numbering
eight hundred men. For such a corps a body
of fifty or sixty musicians is by no means too
strong in numbers. But when a rifle volunteer
corps that stands on paper less than three
hundred men, and when under arms perhaps less
than two hundred, has a band of music equal to
that of a French regiment, the foolishness of
the proceeding must be obvious. The strongest
brigade at Portsmouth, on Easter Monday last,
numbered two thousand one hundred men, or
three hundred men less than a French regiment
of the line. But how many bands of music
there were in that brigade, who can say? Not
I for one. It seemed to me, before the troops
unpiled arms and fell in, that every fourth or
fifth man your eye came across was a bandsman
of some sort or other. And yet, in the seven
battalions of English Foot Guards—three of
the Grenadiers, two of the Coldstreams, and
two of the Scots Fusiliers—there are but three
bands; that is one band for each regiment, and
the said band always remains at headquarters,
each battalion having its own corps of drums
and fifes, just as in the French army.

Would it not—this was a reflection of mine
more than once during the day of the great
review—would it not be a good thing if our
volunteers were formed into larger bodies—say
into regiments of at least a thousand or twelve
hundred strong—and had fewer military bands
and less variety of uniforms? The number of
the latter is perfectly astounding, and is, at a
great assembly like that at Portsmouth as
bewildering as the different tongues at Babel
must have been. There were in that army of
thirty thousand men something like a hundred
different uniforms amongst the infantry alone.
There were scarlet tunics, and grey, and brown,
and green, and slate-coloured, and mud-coloured.
There was silver lace, and white-worsted lace,
black lace, green cord, red cord, purple, blue,
white, and yellow. Some corps had very neat
knickerbockers and serviceable leggings; others
long trousers over Balmorals; others what the
Yankees call "skinned boots," which means
boots drawn up over the trousers. Why should
this be? Why not let the volunteers settle
what uniform they prefer, and let it be adopted
throughout the whole force? The British line are
all dressed in the same way; the only distinction
between the corps being the number on their
caps and shoulder straps. The militia corps
are also all uniform, being dressed like the line,
save that their lace is silver instead of gold.
The great mistake of all the fancy work in
volunteer uniform was fully shown on Easter
Monday. It is impossible to make men dressed
differently look well together in the same
battalion. And yet, on a review day like that at
Portsmouth, adjutants and brigade-majors are
obliged to produce a great deal of patch-work in
order to equalise the corps, and the consequence
was, that volunteers in grey tunics with green
lace had, in many cases, to march in the same
company as others in brown tunics with red
lace. All this is wrong. It does not make the
best of what we have at our disposal, and gives
the whole body, so to speak, the appearance of