Volume 98 — ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
Reading edition
Cavalry Expedients.—The startling announcement that appeared a few days since in the papers, to the effect, that from the Official Returns at the War Office it seems that for 18,000 men there are only 11,000 horses available, certainly justifies you in your suggestion that the Cavalry Regiments in Her Majesty's Service should at once be supplied with Four-Wheeled Cabs. In this way, a seat could be provided for every cavalry soldier in the Army; and as there would, instead of a deficiency (for four Dragoons, Lancers or Hussars, could ride in one cab), positively be a surplus of cattle, an extra horse could be strapped on to the top of each vehicle. This animal, in the case of the one in the shafts being disabled in action, could be hauled down and put in its place. The Cabs might be iron-plated and so offer the advantages of increased protection to the gallant soldiers inside. A charge of "four-wheelers" would, as you suggest, be certainly a striking if not imposing sight, and as they drew up on the field of battle, and discharged each their freight of four, they would certainly surprise a foreign foe. Anyhow this seems the only method, with the present limited supply of horses, of bringing the English Cavalry Soldier, mounted, into action.
AT SEA IN AN EASTER EGG-SHELL.
All at sea in an (Easter) egg, Like a Witch of the good old days! What is it moves you, my Puck, I beg? Say, is it purpose, or simple craze? There is nous and pluck In our modern Puck, And many admire him, and some wish him luck; But the Men of Gotham reached no good goal By going to sea in an open bowl. The business of brewing storms may do For a Witch, my Grandolph, but scarce for you, And the Petrel-part, played early and late, Must spoil a man for a Pilot of State. The knowing Nautilus sets her sails In a way to weather the roughest gales; But an egg for bark, with an imp for crew, To navigate Politics' boundless blue, Looks crank and queer; Drifting comes dear— It may pay for a day, but scarce for a year. A Puck-like sprite it may please to see "All things befall preposterously." But pure perversity soon out-pegs, Grandolph, "as sure as eggs is eggs!"
All Through London for a Shilling.—The Fine Art Society in Bond Street, has a marvellous exhibition in the London-pictures by Herbert Marshall—he ought to be called for ever afterwards the City Marshall—so well does he understand all moods of our great city, so admirably can he translate every phase of its atmosphere, and each subtlety of its colour. Just a hundred pictures this clever artist shows, and everyone is a portrait of an old friend. This Gallery is the very place to take country cousins to. Just turn them loose here for a couple of hours, and they will get a better idea of what London is really like, than if they stopped in the Metropolis for a month.