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by throwing their sailors and marines on shore. Beyrout, the headquarters of Solyman Pasha, the Frenchman, Ibrahim's second in command, was stripped of its fortifications by a bombardment, which left it open to the Turks. Sidon was assaulted in the most dashing style by Commodore Napier and the young Austrian Archduke at the head of their crews, and 3000 men were made prisoners. Napier then advanced into the country in command of a small miscellaneous force of English, Austrians, and Turks, attacked a strong division of the pasha's troops posted in the mountains, first out-manoeuvred and then out-fought them, taking some thousand prisoners, Ibrahim's green standard, and dispersing the rest. Then summoning the mountaineers to arms, he actually shut up Ibrahim and his main body in the mountain country, where he would probably soon have been compelled to fight at a ruinous disadvantage, had not a still more brilliant achievement been prepared to crown the honours of this brief, but admirable campaign. We allude, of course, to the capture of Acre, which has filled Europe with astonishment at the daring, power, and gallantry of the British fleet, and which all competent judges of military affairs unhesitatingly pronounce the most extraordinary exploit of modern warfare.

The defeat of Napoleon at the head of the army of Egypt, after fifty-two days of open trenches, and opposed only by a feeble garrison of Turks, and the crew of Sir Sidney Smith's ships Le Tigre and Pompee, had fixed the eye of the East upon Acre as the key of Syria. Its siege by Ibrahim in 1832, a siege which cost him eight months, showed its power of resistance, and increased the interest attached to its possession. Its capture by the Egyptians had decided the fate of Syria. From that period, it was made the grand depot of all the stores, guns, and munitions of war, prepared by the pasha for those dreams of conquest which had so evidently dazzled his daring and adventurous mind. He had fortified it with a care suited to its importance, had repaired the old works, and raised new, under the direction of European engineers; armed the ramparts with heavy guns of the newest and best description; and garrisoning it with

6000 picked troops, under the command of a Polish officer, who had taken the turban and title of a pasha, ranked it as the citadel of his new kingdom, and impregnable.

On the 2d of November the fleet under Admiral Stopford, consisting of nine sail, with the two Austrian frigates, and a Turkish ship of the line, approached Acre. A summons had been already sent to the commandant, which was contemptuously rejected. On the 3d, at three in the afternoon, the fleet stood in and opened their broadsides. Before six the fire of the garrison was wholly beaten down; and the sailors and marines were about to laud and storm, when intelligence was brought that the Egyptians had fled. By daylight the allied flags were waving on the walls, and all who survived were prisoners, to the amount of nearly 4000 men.

We are as unwilling to exaggerate British gallantry by foolish boasting, as we are to depreciate it by the pitiful attempts in which the French journalists are now indulging, to depreciate every British achievement. But we are content to stake the whole merit of this success on the judgment of the French themselves, before the operation. We ask, was there one of them which believed that Acre could possibly be taken by any force exhibited by the British in the Levant? Or was there one of them which was not astonished (and we use the word in its strength) at the result; at its rapidity, at its completeness, at the little loss of life which it cost: and at the new evidence of all but irresistibility which it gives to British action?

We assert that there was not a man in France who would not have scoffed at the idea that Acre could be taken by the British fleet in the Mediterranean; still less that it could be taken in three short hours. We know that the journalists now attribute this extraordinary capture to the explosion; but this is a mere pretence. It is notorious that the explosion did not take place until the batteries on the ramparts bad almost wholly been silenced: in fact, the fire of the ramparts had been almost wholly overwhelmed from the beginning, as is evident from its having cost the British not more than fifty killed and wounded. No part of the works is said to have been affected by the explosion, nor any injury

done, except the melancholy loss of life in the Egyptian battalion in reserve in the neighbourhood of the magazine.

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But we regard this exploit in even a higher point of view than its rapid demolition of hostile resistance. English warfare has been always honourably distinguished for its avoidance of all waste of life. It was for Napoleon to boast, that he and his school were "generals of ten thousand men a-day;" to talk of men as "the counters of a grand game of chess;' and adopt as the maxim of a hero, that where success was to be purchased, the quantity of blood was the least important part of the bargain. We have no doubt, that there have been officers in the French army to whom the life of the soldier was as dear as to the Englishman; but nothing can be more notorious than the existence of this maxim, which grew out of the Republic. The naval actions of the English have been always remarkable for the comparatively small loss of life with which they have been gained; and in the estimation of the country, this has always formed a principal feature of the public triumph. The loss at Acre was the smallest ever known in an affair of such magnitude; and, decisive as the victory was, we should regard it with increased congratulation, from its offering a hope that war (if such must come) may yet be carried on with diminished sacrifices to humanity.

On this important subject we shall give a glance at the losses in the principal actions since the beginning of the great war of the French Revolution.

In Lord Howe's action of the 1st of June 1793, there were twenty-six sail of the line engaged, with 17,000 men. The total of the killed and wounded amounted to 1078.

In Lord Bridport's action of the 23d of June 1795, there were fourteen sail of the line, with 10,000 men. The killed and wounded were 144.

In Lord St Vincent's action there were fifteen sail of the line, with 10,000 men. The killed and wounded were 300.

In Lord Duncan's action, October, 1797, there were sixteen sail, (including two 50's,) with 8000 men. killed and wounded were 751.

The

In Lord Nelson's battle of the Nile, 1st of August 1798, there were four

VOL. XLIX. NO. CCCIII.

teen sail, with 8000 men.
and wounded were 895.

The killed

In Lord Nelson's attack on Copenhagen, 2d of April 1801, there were eleven sail of the line and five frigates, with 7000 men. The killed and wounded were 875.

In Lord Nelson's battle of Trafalgar, 21st of October 1805, there were twenty-seven sail, with 17,000 men. The killed and wounded were 1524.

In Lord Exmouth's attack on Algiers there were five sail of the line and five frigates, with 5000 men. The killed and wounded were 818.

The difference of losses in those engagements is to be accounted for in general by the circumstances of the conflicts. But the attack on the Algerine batteries inflicted the severest loss of the whole, in proportion to the number of men engaged-it was little less than a fifth. The action at Acre cost least of all; and the value of this distinction is overbalanced by the fact, that it evidently arose, not from accident, but from increased skill. The precision to which the British gun practice has been brought within the last few years, was here tried for the first time in reality, and its effects were to drive the enemy from their defences almost in the very commencement of the battle. The daring with which the ships were brought up within scarcely more than pistol-shot of the walls, had been often equalled by the British; but the coolness, steadiness, and precision with which those enormous guns were worked, is described as a new feature in naval war. fire from the Admiral's ship is said to have amounted to eighty broadsides, poured in at the rate of one every two minutes, and the fire of the Commodore's ship, the Powerful, was scarcely less than volcanic. The whole establishes a new era in the assault of fortresses from the sea. Some attempts have been made to place the battle of Navarino on a rank with the capture of Acre. But that battle was in every sense an "untoward event." Though it did not diminish the naval laurels of England, it added nothing to them; and no man ever supposed that a fleet of nine English ships, even without its French and Russian allies, would not be more than a match for the fleets of Egypt and Turkey, huddled up in a small bay, and acting merely as so many blockhouses. Even the victory

F

The

was imperfect; for, though the greater part of the enemy's ships were burned, a portion of them finally reached the ports of Egypt, with no less than 5000 Greek captives on board. The action cheered no one. It was regarded as rash in its conception, incomplete in its execution, and "untoward" in its consequences. Of the gallantry of the admiral and his crews there could be no doubt they fought like Englishmen-but the national feeling, on the whole, was regret; the European influence was unfortunate; and, to this hour, the dismantled state of the Turkish empire is the penalty of Navarino. On the contrary, the capture of Acre has been followed by the most practical results. Ibrahim has retired with his army; Syria has been restored to the Sultan; the pasha of Egypt has sent in his submission, and the peace of Europe has been secured-at least until some new frenzy of France shall challenge the world. If the batteries of Acre had sunk the British ships; or, if the fortress had resisted for the fifty-two days, or half the fifty-two days, that she baffled Napoleon, we should have been at this moment plunged into a French war. Neither the moderation of LouisPhilippe, nor the knowledge of M. Guizot, could have restrained the volatile and capricious fury of the nation. A fleet would have been long since dispatched to the relief of Acre, and the troubles and terrors of the old Revolutionary war would have come again in tenfold darkness to cover Europe. Well may humanity rejoice in this triumph of the British

arms.

Mohammed Ali is now seventy-one years old; his stature is undersized, and his figure, though some years ago thin, straight, and formed for

activity, is now rather stooped, and corpulent. His physiognomy is, as might be expected, intellectual. He has the high Asiatic features, the lofty forehead and aquiline nose, with the flexible brow, so strongly indicative of quick changes of thought and passion. Till very lately, he took more exercise than is usual with the Mussulman, and could vault on his horse. He is fond of receiving travellers, whom he overwhelms with questions relative to their country, their objects, and their opinions of Egypt. His attempts to establish manufactories, to introduce the European discipline, and fix European traders in his territories, are sufficient proofs that he is superior to the habitual prejudices of his nation. As a warrior, he is probably the ablest existing in the East; his troops have never been conquered where he was present; and he has often reinstated their affairs, when they have been beaten under his sons. His conquest of Syria exhibited the talents at once of a statesman and a soldier; and this conquest would evidently have been the foundation of still larger conquest, but for the powerful interposition of England. he extended his dominions from Sennaar to the Taurus, and from the Mediterranean to the Euphrates, thus embracing both the kingdoms of the Ptolemies and the Seleucidæ, with an extent of territory far beyond the limits of both. It is to his honour, that, oppressive as a military government must be, his sceptre has been but seldom dipped in blood-that he has made travelling safe in his dominions-exhibited a law of impartial justice, and, in all the tumults of a distracted throne, has protected unhappy Palestine.

Alone,

THE CHEW TRAGEDY;

BEING A FAITHFUL ACCOUNT OF THE DOINGS OF JOHN MEEK'S MAGPIE.

AT a pleasant village in Somersetshire,
That boasts of a parson, attorney, and squire,
There lived a stout butcher, with plenty to do-
And no wonder-the name of the village was Chew!

With a flourishing trade, not to do things by halves,
He kill'd, Tuesdays and Fridays, sheep, bullocks, and calves,
That the people of Chew might chew, all the week round,
Beef, mutton, and veal, at sixpence a-pound.

Thus every one minding his own special business,
Not perplexing their brains with political dizziness,
Folks were all well to do, and brought things to this point,
That the times at Chew-Magna were not out of joint.

So as people increased, and increasing demands
Were made, by an increase of mouths, for new hands,
This butcher was forced a new 'prentice to seek,
And took one from the parish-poor puny John Meek.

Now this John Meek was a fatherless boy,
Had been fed by the parish, and known little joy ;
Was sad in his aspect, of delicate frame,

And as meek in his nature as Meek in his name.

But John had a heart-and as feelings long pent,
Like springs of pure fountains, will find out a vent-
So the boy, in the lack of all human direction,
Upon a poor Magpie had set his affection;

And whatever John thought, or whatever John said,
Whether listless or doing, or up or a-bed,
This Magpie had cunning and sense to have wit to,
And often he said and as often thought ditto.

Thus, being the friend and companion of John,

This Magpie in learning got wondrously on,

And so learnt the Queen's English 'twas thought very few
Spoke it better at least in the township of Chew.

Now this John Meek never could for his life
Bring his mind with his hand to the use of the knife,
And the cutting of throats of, and cutting up, sheep-
When not eating the mutton-cut John very deep.

So, as often the carnage around him was flowing,
John look'd at his Magpie, who look'd quite as knowing:
"Now that's what I call bloody work!" said John Meek,
And so said the Magpie, as plain as you speak.

But we now must leave Meek and his Magpie awhile,
And try to assume a more tragical style;

To tell the disasters brought on by three snobs,

Whose names were Dick Piper, Tom Pitts, and George Hobbs,

The season was winter, and frost on the ground,
And the prentices' nolyday week was come round;
When they think it their glory to kick up a row,
And do as much mischief as time will allow.

So when these three snobs had long troubled the town,
Had tripp'd young women up, and push'd old women down,
Not to let their vile mischief go down ere the sun,

They went off to the country-all three-with one gun.

Thus with popping at sparrows and larks in the tillage,
Tomtits in the hedges and cats in each village,
At a horse that was blind, at a sow and a ewe,
Behold them arrived at the precincts of Chew.

Now the butcher close by to an orchard had built
A shed for his sheep, where much blood had been spilt ;
And there John Meek's Magpie sat perch'd on a tile,
And saw the three snobs getting over the stile.

George Hobbs held the gun, and a gun is a thing
At the sight of which magpies take instantly wing;
So, with a short jump, and just keeping his tail in,
The Magpie adroitly pops over the paling.

But a poor tame redbreast had come to the shed,
As daily he did, by John Meek to be fed,

With his large patient eye, which, if robins could speak,
Meant, "Do ye come hither and feed me, John Meek!"

But that rascal, George Hobbs, when the redbreast he sees,
Creeps close by the hedge, almost down on his knees,
And pokes through a hazel, that keeps it from bobbing,
His gun, with the muzzle quite close to poor Robin,

Determined to kill-so, long from this rest,
He takes a sure aim, and the trigger is press'd,
Then bang went the gun, up ran Piper and Pitts
To pick up the bird-that was blown into bits.

But the Magpie, well knowing the danger was o'er,
Jumping up, was soon perch'd on the tile as before;
And facing the snobs, gave his tail a queer jerk,

And said, "That's what I call bloody work, bloody work!"

Away scamper'd Pitts and away scamper'd Piper,

As if their last steps were pursued by a viper;

George Hobbs stood aghast-"'Twas old Nick or a witch!" And, closing his eyes, threw his gun in the ditch.

His eyes being closed, terror painted a figure,

A black horned monkey (enormously bigger),

With two saucer eyes, each as large as a moon,

And flames from his mouth-and it nigh made him swoon.

But he soon made a start, for he felt that his legs,

As he broke through the hedge, were fast stiff'ning like pegs;
And the Magpie flew after the frighten'd delinquent,
Who dropp'd, in a swoon, in the orchard propinquent,

With but sense enough left to believe that Old Nick,
As the Magpie perch'd on him, had dealt him a kick ;

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