1827.] A Day at the Camp of St. Omer. 615 



tent lifting its snow white form from out the green earth, like some fairy 

 tenement, and the lines of them stretching away to the right and left, in- 

 terminably, till the distant points are scarcely distinguishable from tlie grey 

 sky, against which they seem to rest. The space thus covered, cannot be 

 much less than two miles ; and the only object whtch breaks the beautiful 

 uni fortuity of the scene, is a windmill which rises from the very centre of 

 the camp, and seems to give it a connection, which it would otherwise 

 w T ant, with the scene of rural life that we have left in the plain below. 



The sun having by this time reached the heights, and given a new ex- 

 ternal character to the scene, by the bright glow which it has cast on the 

 tents, and the long shadows which flow from each of them, into the great 

 open space in front, we will approach them nearer. We English, if we do 

 not at present undervalue the courage of the French soldiery, have no very 

 prepossessing notions of their other moral qualities. Those who are in the 

 habit of connecting causes and effects, will at once get rid of any unworthy 

 prejudices that they may have acquired in this respect, the moment they 

 set their foot among the tents of the French troops now encamped at 

 Saint Omer. It is difficult to imagine any artificial arrangement of inani- 

 mate things, from which more might be gathered, in regard to the charac- 

 ters, feelings, habits, and even modes of thought, of the parties from whom 

 the said arrangement has proceeded. Here are thousands of human dwel- 

 lings, wanting every comfort for the attainment of which human dwellings 

 are erected even those of common shelter from the winds and rain ; and yet 

 there is not one of them that does not present some indications of something 

 amiable or praiseworthy, in one or other of the humble beings who are sleep- 

 ing beneath its slight shelter. In most, this indication shews itself in the form 

 of a little garden, occupying the trifling remains of space allotted to each tent, 

 and not actually covered by it. There are hundreds of these little gardens 

 no two alike and every one evidently attended to with the most 

 diligent care. In some you see nothing but flowers in others, trimly cut 

 evergreens, rising out of smooth turf in others, low growing herbs, sown 

 so as to form initials, devices, &c. in others, little arbours with seats and 

 tables of turf beneath in others, fountains, streams, waterfalls, grottos, 

 temples, &c. That all this is on a scale so diminutive, as to correspond 

 only with a child's baby-house, assuredly adds to, rather than diminishes 

 the interest attached to it, and the value of the indications that may be 

 drawn from it, when it is recollected that all is the voluntary occupation, or 

 rather the cherished amusement, of persons whose business and duty it is 

 to cut the throats of their fellow creatures, and who have seldom been 

 known to fail in that duty, when called upon to perform it. 



The most amiable of these indications of personal character to be found 

 in the Camp at Saint Omer, are undoubtedly the gardens above named. 

 But there are others quite as indicative and characteristic. In many, the 

 little space in front of the tent is occupied by models of fortifications, or 

 military trophies, or loyal devices, or poetical inscriptions, or triumphal 

 arches, each no doubt representing the predominating idea of the maker, 

 on the particular subject sought to be illustrated ; and each more or less 

 indicating his bias of mind. One, for instance, who piques himself on his 

 little budget of knowledge in military history, faces the entrance to his tent, 

 by a model of some fortress, the defence of which is famous in military 

 history. (It would be curious to meet with an English common soldier, 

 who had ever heard talk even of the battle of Poictiers!) Another, whose 

 interests and feelings keep nearer home, erects a trophy to the plain, or 



