434 REFLECTIONS ON WAR. MY MOTHER DEAR. THERE was a place in childhood that I remember well, When fairy tales were ended, "Good night," she softly said, In the sickness of my childhood; the perils of my prime; -LOVER. REFLECTIONS ON WAR. Though we must all die, as the woman of Tekoa said, and are as water spilt upon the ground which cannot be gathered up, yet it is impossible for a humane mind to contemplate the rapid extinction of innumerable lives without concern. To perish in a moment, to be hurried instantaneously, without preparation and without warning, into the presence of the Supreme Judge, has something in it inexpressibly awful and affecting. Since the commencement of these hostilities which are now so happily closed, it may be reasonably conjectured that not less than half a million of our fellow creatures have fallen a sacrifice. Half a million of beings, sharers of the same nature, warmed with the same hopes, and as fondly attached to life as ourselves, have been prematurely swept into the grave; each of whose deaths. has pierced the heart of a wife, a parent, a brother, or a sister! How many of these scenes of complicated distress have occurred since the commencement of hostilities is known only to Omniscience that they are innumerable cannot admit of a doubt. In some parts of Europe, perhaps, there is scarcely a family exempt. Though the whole race of man is doomed to dissolution, and we are all hastening to our long home; yet, at each successive moment, life and death seem to divide betwixt them the dominion of mankind, and life to have the largest share. It is otherwise in war: death reigns there without a rival, and without control. War is the work, the element, or rather the sport and triumph, of death, who glories, not only in the extent of his conquest, but in the richness of his spoil. In the other methods of attack, in the other forms which death assumes, the feeble and the aged, who at the best can live but a short time, are usually the victims; here it is the vigorous and the strong. It is remarked by an ancient historian, that in peace children bury their parents, in war parents bury their children: nor is the difference small. Children lament their parents, sincerely indeed, but with that moderate and tranquil sorrow, which it is natural for those to feel who are conscious of retaining many tender ties, many animated prospects. Parents mourn for their children with the bitterness of despair; the aged parent, the widowed mother, loses, when she is deprived of her children, everything but the capacity of suffering; her heart, withered and desolate, admits no other object, cherishes no other hope. It is Rachel weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted, because they are not. But to confine our attention to the number of the slain would give us a very inadequate idea of the ravages of the sword. The lot of those who perish instantaneously may be considered, apart from religious prospects, as comparatively happy, since they are exempt from those lingering diseases and slow torments to which others are liable. We cannot see an individual expire, though a stranger or an enemy, without being sensibly moved, and prompted by compassion to lend him every assistance in our power. Every trace of resentment vanishes in a moment: every other emotion gives way to pity and terror. In these last extremities, we remember nothing but the respect and tenderness due to our common nature. What a scene, then, must a field of battle present, where thousands are left without assistance, and without pity, with their wounds exposed to the piercing air, while their blood, freezing as it flows, binds them to earth, amidst the trampling of horses, and the insults of an enraged foe! If they are spared by the humanity of the enemy, and carried from the field, it is but a prolongation of torment. Conveyed in uneasy vehicles, often to a remote distance, through roads almost impassable, they are lodged in illprepared receptacles for the wounded and the sick, where the 436 REFLECTIONS ON WAR. variety of distress baffles all the efforts of humanity and skill, and renders it impossible to give to each the attention he demands. Far from their native home, no tender assiduities of friendship, no well-known voice, no wife, or mother, or sister, is near to soothe their sorrows, relieve their thirst, or close their eyes in death. Unhappy man! and must you be swept into the grave unnoticed and unnumbered, and no friendly tear be shed for your suffering, or mingled with your dust? We must remember, however, that as a very small proportion of a military life is spent in actual combat, so it is a very small part of its miseries which must be ascribed to this source. More are consumed by the rust of inactivity than by the edge of the sword; confined to a scanty or unwholesome diet, exposed in sickly climates, harassed with tiresome marches and perpetual alarms, their life is a continual scene of hardships and dangers. They grow familiar with hunger, cold, and watchfulness. Crowded into hospitals and prisons, contagion spreads among their ranks, till the ravages of disease exceed those of the enemy. We have hitherto only adverted to the sufferings of those who are engaged in the profession of arms, without taking into our account the situation of the countries which are the scene of hostilities. How dreadful to hold everything at the mercy of an enemy, and to receive life itself as a boon dependant on the sword! How boundless the fears which such a situation must inspire, where the issues of life and death are determined by no known laws, principles, or customs, and no conception can be formed of our destiny except as far as it is dimly deciphered in characters of blood, in the dictates of revenge, and the caprices of power! Conceive, but for a moment, the consternation which the approach of an invading army would impress on the peaceful villages in this neighborhood. When you have placed yourself for an instant in that situation, you will learn to sympathize with those unhappy countries which have sustained the ravages of arms. But how is it possible to give you an idea of these horrors? Here you behold rich harvests, the bounty of heaven and the reward of industry, consumed in a moment, or trampled under foot, while famine and pestilence follow the steps of desolation. There the cottages of peasants given up to the flames, mothers expiring through fear, not for themselves but for their infants; the inhabitants flying with their helpless babes in all directions, mi fugitives on their native soil. In another part, you opulent cities taken by storm; the streets, where no were heard but those of peaceful industry, filled on a with slaughter and blood, resounding with the cries pursuing and the pursued and eve y age, sex, and mingled in promiscuous massacre and ruin. -H FAME. AH! who can tell how hard it is to climb Has felt the influence of malignant star And wag'd with fortune an unequal war; Checked by the scoff of pride, by envy's frown, And poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown! And yet the languor of inglorious days Not equally oppressive is to all: Him, who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise, There are, who deaf to mad Ambition's call, Would shrink to hear th obstreperous trump of fame; Supremely blest, if to their portion fall REPOSE. SURE I am, 'tis madness, Inhuman madness, thus from half the world I venerate this land. Those sacred hills, But the same God, my friend, pervades, sustains, And every land, where spreads his vital presence. -BE 438 SURRENDER OF NAPOLEON III. THE SURRENDER OF THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON III. SEPTEMBER 1ST, 1870. THE Bavarians of Von der Tann's corps, on whom devolved the difficult task of carrying the village or town of Bazeilles and Balan (a suburb of Sedan, outside the fortifications), suffered enormously. They were exposed to a fire of infantry in the houses, and to the guns of the works, and the musketry from the parapets. The inhabitants joined in the defence, and as soon as the Bavarians had crossed the Meuse by their pontoons and by the railway bridge they could receive but little protection from their artillery placed on the heights. The French made the most strenuous attempts to repulse them, in which the Marines were particularly distinguished; and three divisions of Bavarians, which began to fight at four o'clock, were exposed to three distinct onslaughts from the town and from the corps under the walls. At one time it appeared as if they would be overpowered, although it seems as if success against them would scarcely have secured the French army from its ultimate fate. It is believed by the Bavarians that Mac Mahon himself was wounded very early in the day, when directing his troops in an offensive movement against Bazeilles. General Ducrot then took command of the whole army, but General de Wimpffen, producing a sealed letter, showed that he was authorized to assume the control of the operations of the army in case of any accident to Marshal MacMahon. The Marshal was wounded early in the morning, and according to the reports of the French officers, prisoners to the Bavarians, there was a difference of opinion between General Ducrot and General Wimpffen respecting the plan of attack which the French adopted at one period of the day as the best means of defence. Having beaten the Bavarians out of Balan at one time, the French made a rush in the direction of Illy, as if determined to cut their way through on the flank of the Saxon army, and pass towards Metz. But the Crown Prince of Saxony had by that time resumed the offensive, and had brought an overwhelming force to block their way. They were driven back, delivering the Bavarians from the stress to which they had been exposed. Their divisions advanced once more, and Bazeilles, or as much as remained of it, was firmly |