I think I see a regiment of those writers who are just now taking the cat by the tail, parading for a day's march under that immortal chief--that he furnishes them with an ink-bottle for a canteen, fills their knapsacks with foolscap, their mouths with mouldy biscuit, and starts them off with sloped pens. They go along with the buoyancy of a corps of reporters reconnoitring for a memorandum, and they very quickly catch one and a Tartar to the bargain, for the monotony of the road is relieved by the crossing of a fine broad stream, and over the stream is a very fine plank to preserve the polish of Warren's jet on the feet of the pedestrian--they all jump gaily towards the plank, but they are pulled up by a grim gentleman with a drawn sword, who, with a voice of thunder, desires them to keep their ranks and march through the stream. Well! this is all mighty pleasant, but now that they are up to their middles in the water, there surely can be no harm in stopping half a minute to lave a few handfuls of it into their parched mouths. I think I see the astonishment of their editorial nerves when they find a dozen lashes well bestowed _a posteriori_ upon each, by way of their further refreshment and clearing off scores for that portion of the day's work (for the General was a man who gave no credit on those occasions). He had borrowed a leaf from the history of the land-crabs, and suffered neither mire nor water to disturb the order of his march with impunity. Now I daresay he would have had to flog an editor a dozen times before he had satisfied him that it was to his advantage; but a soldier is open to conviction, and such was the manner of making one of the finest and most effective divisions that that or any other army ever saw.