MOUNTAIN WARFARE.

I need not describe to you in detail, for that has doubtless already been done for you, the incidents of the preliminary fighting between the two armies—French and Italian—since the first outpost collision at Ventimiglia, and the first serious collision near Mentone. You are sure to have heard of all the thrilling incidents forming the prelude to the drama—the splendid but unavailing defence that was made by the 24th Battalion of French Chasseurs from Ville-Franche against the irresistible onslaught of the Bersaglieri of the 4th Italian Corps; the brilliant cavalry encounter between the 5th Italian Lancers and the French Dragoons of Tarascon (Tartarin’s native place on the Rhone); the exploits of the Italian Alpini, or Alpine Sharpshooters, in scouting and hill-climbing that would put to shame the records of the Alpine Club; the wonders of marching and ‘milling’ (if I may use a slang word) done by the mule-borne mountain-batteries of either belligerent: the obstinate artillery duels between the Italian ironclads which steam along the coast and the bastioned stone-work batteries that crown the mountain-tops; with all the other novel features in this almost fascinating picture of bloody war set in such a beautiful framework of blue sky and purple hills, o’erlooking a paradise of flowers.

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The Battle of HyÈres, or rather of Costebelle (where Queen Victoria lately passed a few quiet and peaceful weeks), though it resulted in the repulse of the French, and their retirement on Toulon, is not quite decisive of the campaign, as it will be next to impossible for the Italians to possess themselves of this formidable and important place, even with the aid of their fleet, before getting reinforcements from Italy, which cannot for the present be spared; and meanwhile the Brest Squadron of the French Fleet may be able to get rid of its embarrassments elsewhere and come round to the Mediterranean.

The situation, no doubt, will be simplified if General Ricotti, with his two Corps, manages to debouch from the Alps on the Mont Cenis side, and, disposing of all opposition in that quarter, come down the valley of the Rhone to co-operate with the army of the Riviera. But, in the meantime, the issue of the whole war may have been decided on the Vistula and the Rhine; and, if so, then the Italians will have accomplished their chief aim, which was to distract and hamper the forces of France, by creating a diversion on her flank and rear, and thus render her defeat by the Germans all the easier and all the more certain.

In any case, the victories already achieved by the Italians show them to be possessed of splendid soldierly material, both in men and officers—material in no single respect inferior to that of France; and when, after the late battle of Costebelle, the German Emperor telegraphed to King Humbert that ‘his troops had done things of which their Prussian comrades themselves might very well be proud, and which at least they had never surpassed even at Rossbach and Sedan,’ it must have been felt by all the world that His German Majesty, in employing the phrases of compliment, was only using the language of truth.

Sir,—I observe that some confusion has arisen as to the authorship of the letters from the Baltic and North Sea relating to the terrible war now raging. They are not mine. The author is my friend, Sir Rambleton Seaforth, who was on his wedding trip, and has certainly had a remarkable experience in that way. He is only a yachtsman, not a naval man, or he would have no doubt been able to give us fuller details, and a more correct view of the situation. The letters were written to me, and not intended for publication, and I much fear I shall be hauled over the coals when he comes home. But I shall answer him with the truth, which was that his sister stole them off my desk and sent them to you without asking my leave.

I am sorry to say that the pair did not come to the end of their adventures in the Thames. On her way into Sheerness she was ordered by signal to transfer her despatches into a picket-boat, which was sent out to her, and to proceed at once to Plymouth. As Sir Rambleton’s place is in Devonshire, he and his wife decided to go on in her. Unfortunately, when she made her number off the Start, she was signalled to proceed at once off Cape Finisterre for the protection of commerce, and to coal at Ferrol, but not to call there till actually short of coal. She asked leave to land her passengers, and was refused, so Sir Rambleton and his wife are at sea off Finisterre now, if they have not been captured and carried into a French port, as it was stated that quite a cloud of French cruisers had been ordered to rendezvous at that point.—I am, Sir, your obedient servant,