facts; and it should be instinct with life and emotion. It should be imbued with feeling, and it should awaken feeling, expulsive of that excited emotion which is the very soul of war. Exhibit in the most

vivid colours all which is calamitous in war. Exhibit with equal distinctness all which is felicitous in peace. Truth is here the most impressive, as it is ever the safest teacher. Have you ever seen a human being expire?-expire by violence?-drop down beneath a mortal blow? Can you not imagine him even now, when years have elapsed, falling before you? Can you not hear almost the deep groan with which the spirit broke from the shattered frame? Nay, what is less overwhelming, have you seen a limb torn from the body? And did not your tongue falter and your limbs tremble, when you spoke of it? Then what must be the horrors of a battle-field strewn with dying, with breathless, or with wounded bodies? Say not, that this is viewing war in a wrong aspect. It is viewing its actual aspect. It is viewing it on the side which truth, justice, and sympathy present. Yet, look at war in its other aspects; in its legitimate and certain-if it has any such-advantages. Balance them against inevitable and universal disadvantages; I will not call them by so mild a name, its miseries, its horrors, its crimes. Let your examination be deep, minute, and presented, not to judgment only, but to feeling, to all those sympathies which God has implanted in our nature, as true, as unerring, as reason itself.

War is supported chiefly by delusion. It is viewed as the theatre of noble actions, as the guard of liberty, and as the fountain of renown. With its degrading exhibitions of character, its splendour conceals its unutterable calamity. The distress of the many is forgotten in the glory of the few. On the field of

slaughter, not the cypress, but the laurel is planted. Its treasured memorials are those of victory and honour,-not emblems of death, of poverty, and widowhood. On this field I would look as a man ; and how can I think of glory in the remembrance of frenzied brethren spreading destruction and anguish? I would look as a Christian; and how can I envy this world's hero? I can seldom hope, that on the flood of glory, he was borne upward to the celestial paradise; that the voices which mingled in his praise as he went from earth, were echoed by the sentence of heaven, Well done, good and faithful servant,-enter thou into the joy of thy Lord. Oh, God, give me the death of the humble Christian, who sleeps and is forgotten. But save me from the destiny of him whose spirit goes proudly from the battlefield; though his deeds and his name go down through all generations, blazoned by the praises of history and the enchantments of song.

I cannot doubt, that the spirit may rise from the scene of carnage to heaven. Yet when I consider the character necessary to admission into heaven; when I remember the tendency of military life to prevent the formation of this character, and to promote the opposite, I must believe that many, hardened by warlike habits, have lost the eternity which, if subjected to better influences, they might have won. I know this argument will weigh little with most men. But I think it might have been admitted by him who said, What is a man profited if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

Account of Assana, King of the
Soolemas.

ASSANA YEERA, the present king of the Soolemas, is a man apparently

about sixty years of age. He is accounted, both in his own dominions, and in general report, a man of strict probity; and, from the pains he bestows in inquiring into, and settling the grievances of his subjects, is universally beloved.

Assana was educated at Labi, in Foulah Jallon, under the great highpriest, Salem Gheeladoo, who is well reputed for having brought up some of the best bookmen in the country.

Strong as were the king's prepossessions in favour of war, as being the constant practice of his forefathers, he would, nevertheless, lend an attentive ear, when I endeavoured to point out the advantages he might derive from legitimate and honest trade. One morning, on my entering the palaver-house, he exclaimed aloud: "Ah! white man, I thought of you all last night: your palaver is a good one. If I go to fight, I waste powder, I waste life, and sometimes I get nothing. If I get any thing, I do ill to other people; and the Book says that it is not right. If I make trade, I do myself good: I do other people good: I hurt nobody. I must try what you tell me for one year; and, if I get money, I shall not fight for slaves again. I have in my town a number of Tilligiggo men (people from the west,) who have brought me money, and wish for slaves in exchange. I have none at present to give them, unless I take them from Leinba. Let me

only get these men away, and I shall endeavour to find some other mode of keeping my people employed."

On another occasion, I detailed to him the horrors of a slave ship, and the misery entailed upon the unfortunate people, whom he and other African chiefs sold into captivity; and I operated so powerfully upon his feelings as to bring forth tears, and induce him to protest that he would never fight for slaves again. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "you English are good people: you do not wish to see black men in trouble. You keep ships to take the slaves from bad white men, and you do not sell them: you put them down at SierraLeone; give them plenty to eat, plenty to drink, plenty of cloth; and you teach them to know God."

He would frequently, however, dwell on the strong temptation to continue the trade in slaves, whilst white men could be found to purchase them.

Should the life of Assana Yeera be spared for a few years longer, his life may yet be sufficient to accomplish a great and important change in the habits and happiness of his people. Assana is ambitious to be considered to possess good information: and was highly delighted when I manifested surprise at the intimate acquaintance he displayed in regard our establishment at SierraLeone. -Major Laing's Travels in Western Africa, 1822.

to

An Only Son; A Narrative by the Author of "My Early Days." 12mo. Westley and Davis: London.

1831.

[Concluded from p. 52.] THE severity of military discipline has been a subject of much comment. From the nature of the service which exercises a despotic rule over the will and person of the soldiers, it

may be difficult to make it more lenient; hence the only effectual remedy to prevent the recurrence of such horrific scenes as the following, is the abandonment of a system which presents the crimson dye of blood from whatever point we view it.

The only person I had seen after our arrival in Portugal, whom I could distinguish as having met before, was a private

soldier named Edward Lawrence, the son of a small farmer residing a mile or two from Thorncroft. Lawrence was a tinelooking young man, rash and thoughtless it is true, but free from any marked irregularities of conduct. He served in our light company, and I was indebted to him for various little attentions which, in the chances of campaigning, even an individual of his humble grade will occasionally have it in his power to bestow, Coming from my own county, it was natural that I should take an interest in him, as he did in me.

Lawrence had sustained, as he conceived, unmerited provocation from a Corporal, named Stephens, who, being of an overbearing disposition, by his subsequent behaviour rather aggravated than allayed his resentment. It chanced that Lawrence, making merry with some of his associates, neglected the regular call of duty. Stephens, unfortunately the instrument of his arrest, chose in the discharge of his functions to indulge in an offensive remark. To this the reply was a blow. The unhappy offender was doomed to endure the punishment of contempt of discipline, inebriety, and insubordination. It is needless to enumerate the circumstances connected with his trial. The infliction of three hundred lashes was the mitigated sentence of the court martial.

On a bleak morning of December, the whole of the division was under arms at the village of Barcas. A hollow square was formed, in the centre of which three halberts were planted triangularly in the ground, having their steel tops locked together. Beside them stood my ill-fated acquaintance, attended by the agents of military justice. He was muffled in his great coat; and while the adjutant read aloud the award of the court-martial, he neither declined his head nor looked to the right or left, but apparently fortified his powers of endurance for that which was to follow. The troops, as is usual on such occasions, stood at "attention."

When the adjutant had completed his task, the surgeon, with his watch in his hand, advanced to the triangle. The prisoner was stripped to his shirt, which, being slipped upward, assisted in making fast his arms to the halberts. His lower limbs were likewise confined, and folds of cotton cloth were inserted at the waistband of his trousers, that the blood might stream outwards.

One of the drummers, a man of spare

but sinewy proportions, bared his hairy right arm, passed the instrument of flagellation through his fingers, and retreating some steps to collect his force by a rapid advance, awaited the word. I caught the dread command, and involuntarily closed my eyes. The first sharp stroke of the lash resounded almost simultaneously with the motion. A sympathetic shivering pervaded the ranks like a gust of wind agitating the forest foliage.

"Attention, soldiers!" cried the adjutant, at the highest pitch of his boatswainlike voice.

Startled, I cast a glance in the direction of the sufferer. Stroke after stroke descended on his muscular frame with frightful precision and rapidity. Each left a track as if cut by the surgeon's knife; yet not a moan betrayed the agonies of nature-not a breath, even when the thongs, soaked with the crimson stream, seemed to part reluctantly from the raw and gory surface.

I could sustain the sight of the barbarous spectacle no longer; my heart grew sick, my brain began to swim-I reeled, and fell forward on the sward.

"Attention!" vociferated the adjutant. Such a trifling incident was not allowed to interfere with the routine of discipline; I was suffered to remain unassisted until the rigour of martial law had been fully satisfied.

Lawrence was borne to the hospital, never having flinched throughout the course of his excruciating ordeal. On his recovery, he rejoined the corps. Both in body and in mind he had undergone a revolution. He, whose capacious chest, erect neck, and well-set shoulders, gave him a manliness of deportment unimprovable by drill, was bent and gathered up as if he had grown old before his time. Unlike the majority of those who have endured corporal punishment, the sense of degradation urged him into no course of self-abandonment. He declined the customary allowance of wine; was silent, reserved, solitary; scrupulous in the performance of his duty, shunning familiarity with former intimates, and avoiding the formation of new friendships.

About six months afterwards, on the eve of the battle of Albuera, Lawrence and his enemy Stephens were sent on a reconnoitering party among the hills. In a heavy fog they were separated from their comrades. The next morning, when every one was expected to be at his post, they were still missing. The

Our hero was on the forlorn hope at the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo; he received no wound himself, and was fortunate enough to save the life of a general, who would otherwise have fallen by a French grenadier, who had already wounded him, But though he escaped unscathed by the enemy, he had nearly lost his life by the brutality of two soldiers of his own company. He shall tell his own tale.

Success having crowned our endeavours, discipline was partially restored. My clothes imparted the feeling of being saturated with blood. During a brief breathing-space, I examined into the cause. A ball had shattered the canteen; the wine deposited in it oozed through my apparel. Thanking Providence for preservation, I dashed along the ramparts to the assistance of the troops at the larger breach. There we ascertained that the town was ours. Then succeeded sounds and sights of horror more dismal than ever burthened the tortured fancy of misanthropy.

Setting restraint at defiance, the soldiers, impelled by the brutish frenzy created in minds destitute of moral courage when recently escaped from the perils of strife, gave a loose to the direst passions which crime and ignorance have pampered to emulate the fiends. Dispersed in parties of from four to thirty, they butchered the distracted stragglers of the flying garrison, plundered the houses of the unhappy citizens, ransacked their cellars, and effacing by intoxication the last vestiges of humanity, sallied forth, yelling and ravening like wild beasts-holding an infernal carnival of riot, burning, violation, and massacre.

Passing through a narrow street with two Scottish serjeants, I heard the shriek of a female. Looking up, we saw at an open lattice, by the light of a lamp she

VOL. VIII. NEW SERIES.

bore, a girl about sixteen, her hair and dress disordered, the expression of her olive countenance marked by anguish and extreme terror. A savage in scarlet uniform dragged her backward, accompanying the act with the vilest execrations in English. We entered the court-yard, where the hand of rapine had spared us the necessity of forcing a passage. My companions were humane, conscientious men, with the resoluteness that in military life almost invariably accompanies these qualities. Armed for whatever might ensue, they kept steadily by me until we arrived at a sort of corridor, from the extremity of which issued the tones of the same feminine voice imploring mercy ward, my foot slipped in a pool of blood. in the Spanish tongue. Springing forBefore I could recover, the door of the apartment whither we were hurrying, opened, and two soldiers of my own company discharged their muskets at us, slightly wounding one of the gallant Scots. Intemperance had blinded the ruffians and frustrated their murderous intentions. We felled them to the ground, and penetrated into the chamber. There I had a hair-breadth escape from falling by the fury of another of the desperadoes. Parrying his bayonet, which he aimed at my breast, I could not prevent it taking a less dangerous course, and lacerating my left cheek, nearly from the lip to the eye. The gash, though frightful, threatened no consequence more serious than an ugly scar. Surgical knowledge enabled me to perceive this, as well as to apply the remedies within reach.-It was a light matter compared to the accumulated wretchedness visible around me.

The room wherein we stood had been devoted to the festivities of a retired family of moderate fortune. It contained the remnants of those decent elegancies that properly appertain to "the stranger's" apartment in a dwelling of the middle class. Mutilated pictures, and fragments of expensive mirrors, strewed the floor, which was uncarpeted and formed of different kinds of wood, curiously tesselated. An ebony cabinet, doubtless a venerable heir-loom, had suffered as if from the stroke of a sledge. Its contents, consisting of household documents and touching domestic memorials, were scattered about at random. An antique side-board lay overturned; a torn mantilla dropped on a sofa ripped and stained with wine. The white drapery, on which fingers steeped in gore

R

had left their traces, hung raggedly from the walls. Pinioning our prisoners, we barricadoed the doors against intrusion, and proceeded to offer all the assistance and consolation in our power to the in-mates of the desecrated mansion.

On investigation the serjeants found the dead body of a domestic, whose fusil and dagger showed that he had fought for the roof which covered him. His beard had been burned in derision with gunpowder. One of his ears was cut off and thrust into his mouth. In a garret recess for the storage of fruit, two female servants were hidden, who could scarcely be persuaded that they had nothing to fear. Having flown thither at the approach of the ferocious intruders, they had suffered neither injury nor insult. They came to the room where I lingered over an object unconscious, alas! of my commiseration, and in accents half choaked by sobs, called upon Donna Clara! I pointed to the alcove where the heart-broken lady had flung herself on the bleeding corpse of her gray-haired father. She, too, might have had a sheltering-place, could her filial piety have permitted her to remain there when her high-spirited sire feebly strove to repel the violaters of his hearth.

Master of a few Spanish phrases, I used them in addressing some words of comfort to the ill-starred girl. They were to her as the song of the summer-bird carolled to despair. Her sole return was a faintly recurring plaint, that seemed to say, "Let my soul depart in peace!"

I motioned to her attendants to separate her from the beloved source of her unutterable sorrow. They could not comply without the application of force bordering upon violence. Bidding them desist, I signified a desire that they should procure some animating restorative. A flask of wine was brought. The serjeants withdrew. One of the women held the lamp; the other gently elevated her mistress's head. Kneeling by the couch in the alcove, I poured a little of the liquor into a glass, applied it to her lips-then took it away, until I had concealed my uniform beneath the torn mantilla.

Affliction, thou hast long been my yokefellow Thou hast smitten to the core of my being with a frequent and a heavy hand: but I bless an all-wise, an all-merciful God, who tries that he may temper us, that I have not a second time been doomed to witness aught so crushing to the soul-so overwhelming in woe-as

the situation of the young creature over whom I watched on the baleful midnight of our victory!

She had battled with a might exceeding her sex's strength, against nameless indignities, and she bore the marks of the conflict. Her maidenly attire was rent into shapelessness; her brow was bruised and swollen; her abundant hair, almost preternaturally black, streamed wildly over her bosom, revealing in its interstices fresh waving streaks of crimson, which confirmed the tale of ultra-barbarian outrage; her cheek had borrowed the same fatal hue from the neck of her slaughtered parent, to whom, in her insensibility, she clung with "love strong as death." Daughter of Spain !-well was it for thy sire that he was gone from a polluted world-well was it for him to whom thou wouldst have flown in thy desolateness, that his place was filled by a stranger to his wounded dove-one who, though devoted as a brother, could better bear up under the bitter ministrations of that hour!

Through the means adopted, she gave token of revival. Her hand had retained a small gold cross, and she raised it to her lips. The clouded lids were slowly expanded from her large dark eyes. A low, agonizing moan followed. I hastened to present the wine. In the act, the mantilla fell from the arm which conveyed the glass. Appallingly she shrieked became convulsed-passed from fit to fit-expired.

I called the serjeants.

"We are here," they answered.

"Spurn those monsters, bound as they are, into the court-yard-remain in the house until morning-I must hence.”— Pp. 222-230.

Such is glorious war; the theme upon which orators and poets have delighted to dwell. The general

whose life Earnshaw saved, did not forget his deliverer, but made an application on his behalf, which got him promoted to an ensigncy. The general once, when in conversation, asked him :

"How came you with that scar upon your cheek?"

I related the mode in which I had been wounded, and the tissue of atrocities with which the affair was connected.

He filled a goblet of wine and gulped it down.