and their sufferings were at an end. Their comrades passed by them without moving a step out of their way, for fear of prolonging their journey, or even turning their head; for their beards and their hair were stiffened with the ice, and every movement was a pain. "Such were the last days of the grand army. Its last nights were still more dreadful: those whom they surprised marching together, far from every habitation, halted on the borders of the woods; there they lighted their fires, before which they remained during the whole night, erect and motionless, like spectres. They seemed as if they could never have enough of the heat; they kept so close to it as to burn their clothes, as well as the frozen parts of their bodies, which the fire decomposed. The most dreadful pain then compelled them to stretch themselves, and the next day they attempted in vain to rise. In the meantime, such as the winter had almost wholly spared, and who still retained some portion of courage, prepared their melancholy meal. It consisted, ever since they had left Smolensk, of some slices of horse-flesh broiled, and some rye-meal diluted into a bouillie with snow-water, or kneaded into muffins, which they seasoned, for want of salt, with the powder of their cartridges. The sight of these fires was constantly attracting fresh spectres, who were driven back by the first comers. They then laid themselves down among the snow behind their more fortunate comrades, and there expired." On the 9th of December the fugitives reached Wilna. After crossing the Berezina, they had been joined by about twenty-five thousand recruits, so that at Smorghoni their numbers amounted in all to about seventy-five thousand men. Of these, about one half perished during the three days' march; only forty thousand reaching Wilna. Here no arrangements had been made for receiving or accommodating them; and a universal pillage ensued, many dying in the streets before food could be procured. From Wilna, the wreck of the army pushed on in broken bands to Kowno, the last town on the Russian frontier. The greater number of them arrived here on the 12th of December, and crossed the Niemen next day. Out of four hundred thousand men, in the prime of health and strength, who had crossed the Niemen on their advance into Russia, not more than twentyfive thousand now recrossed it on their return; and these were covered with rags, with hollow eyes, and hunger-bitten faces. Plunging into the forests of Russian Poland, these poor wretches made their way to their several homes as well as they could, pursued for miles by the remorseless Cossacks. Many perished by the sword and by famine; and finally, only a mere handful reached France. Prince Eugene, after making every research to gather together the remains of his division, could muster only about eight hundred wounded, the miserable wreck of forty-eight thousand warriors. Thus the grand army, which was to have subdued Russia, was annihilated, and its boastful chief a fugitive towards France. On the evening of the 10th of December, the sledges which bore Napoleon and a few attendants from the scene of danger reached Warsaw; and hence, wrapped in furs, after a brief stay, they pursued their way as secretly as possible through Germany and France to Paris. What a miserable contrast did this rapid and obscure journey present to that of the French emperor's advance only a few months before! His sudden and unexpected appearance in Paris on the 19th of December caused general surprise; and it was only by concealing for a time the result of the campaign, and issuing false intelligence respecting the movements and state of the army, that he was able to prevent the discontent which was likely to arise. Ultimately all became known; but while Europe was filled with horror for so much suffering, France was distracted and amused with the prospect of new campaigns and victories which would efface the recollection of its losses. CONCLUSION. From the most careful calculations that can be made, it would appear that upwards of 650,000 men, French and Russians, invaders and defenders, perished in this most disastrous campaign. All estimates of the loss of life and also of property must, however, fall short of the truth. Many thousands of Russians perished obscurely, murdered in defence of their homes; thousands died of fatigue, hunger, and other privations. Innumerable villages, towns, and cities were sacked, burnt, and destroyed; and many years of dire suffering elapsed before the general distress was allayed, or the marks of disaster obliterated. What outrages were committed during the progress of the war, what hearts were broken, what grief was endured for the loss of fathers, brothers, and other relatives, what tears were shed-must all be left to the imagination of the reader. The scene is too harrowing to be minutely dwelt upon. And all that we have told, and much more that it would be im possible for the pen to narrate, was the work of ONE MAN-a military adventurer, labouring under the frenzied and selfish notion of establishing universal empire, centering in his own person and family. The retributive punishment for such an audacious crime was the most signal recorded in history. In two years from the time when Napoleon was at the pinnacle of his greatness, he was precipitated from power by the united and outraged sovereigns of Europe, and became an unpitied exile from the French ter ritory. 66 Posterity," ," said he in his latter days of adversity, "will do me justice." It now does it; but in a sense very differ ent from what his egregious self-esteem led him to reckon upon. The memory of a man who remorselessly caused the slaughter of millions of his fellow-creatures, can meet with no sympathy from the advancing morality of the nineteenth century. 32 HEN one person expresses hatred to another, or attempts to injure him, the first feeling of the person so hated, or liable to be injured, is usually of an angry kind. He hates in turn, or he stands indignantly up for his rights. This is natural, just as it is natural for a child to creep before he can walk, or lisp before he can speak. But as creeping and lisping at first do not form any objection to walking and speaking afterwards, so are those angry feelings which so readily occur to us, no argument why we should not come to treat those who hate or injure us in a different manner. If we always find that kindling up in anger, and returning evil for evil, prolongs mischief to ourselves as well as to the other party, but that we stop mischief, and make ourselves happy, by a kind and forgiving behaviour, there is no reason why we should not prefer the latter mode. The one plan is, in fact, as natural as the other, although with most persons it is not the one first thought of. But is it really best to treat our enemies kindly? This is the great question. We shall endeavour to prove that such is the case. It is matter of common observation that, when unloving words or looks are resented by the like, a complete division takes place between the parties. The hatred of the first person is deepened: he becomes a more unpleasant neighbour than he was before. And, because bad words have been used to him, his pride is touched, and he determines to show no symptom of relenting. But if, on the contrary, the object of his antipathy had refrained from angry words or looks, and addressed him in a friendly manner, his first feelings, which were probably of a slight kind, would have given way, and he would have been at once reconciled. Thus the evil would have been cut short at the very first, and those would have been friends who otherwise would be sure to become enemies, perhaps for the remainder of their lives. Now, if we consider how many disadvantages attend our having the ill-will of our neighbours, we shall be at no loss to see how important it is for us to prevent them by all proper means from becoming our enemies. And not only this, but let us also reflect on the sad fact, that our neighbour is unhappy in being our enemy; we are concerned to see that we do not become, however innocently, as we may think, the cause of his being haunted by unpleasant feelings. We are therefore bound, out of kindness to him, to act in such a way as to save him from the wretchedness of becoming our enemy. People will say it is difficult to be kind to one who has looked, or spoken, or acted harshly towards us. But a moment's reflection on what are his interests in the case, will go a great way to enable us to check angry feeling, and to call up the kind forgiveness which is so sure to win him to our friendship. It is not, in reality, difficult to act in this way when the other party has no just cause for being angry with us. The serenity of a mind at peace with itself rather disposes us to be forgiving. Should the case be otherwise, and we feel any cause for reproaching ourselves, then we are doubly called upon, by due expressions of contrition, to do all that in us lies to restore the broken peace. Though the anger of the offended person should appear unreasonably great, still it is our duty to seek to appease it, so that permanent enmity should be prevented. It is equally evident that little or no good is ever got by using force, or even threatening to use it, for the assertion of our rights. Questions about right usually arise without any ill design on either side. The circumstances are usually such as to make it difficult to say how the right lies. At first there is mere difference of opinion on the subject. It would, then, be easy to come to a friendly agreement about it, or to find a friend to decide between the parties, to the satisfaction of both. But if one shows undue eagerness about the matter, the other is apt to become keenly interested also. The selfish feelings are then called into play. If the love of property does not take the lead, pride will do so; and each thinks it would be disgraceful to give in to the other. Thus arise fights among children and savages, wars among the so-called civilised nations, and lawsuits among individuals who think themselves Christians. Immense damage is the consequence to all, happiness is put to flight for the time, and often the object of dispute is lost to both parties. Now, if any one were to make a point of always trusting to reason and good feeling alone, if it became understood regarding him that he would take no other means of prosecuting his own interests, would it be for his hurt or his advantage? The just answer to this question, in our opinion, is, that a few very bad people would now and then take advantage of his gentleness to injure him, but the most would act quite differently. Their benevolence, their sense of justice, their very pride would be engaged to make them treat the rights of that person tenderly. In the long-run he would find himself a gainer, if not in actual property, at least in the comparative peace of his life; for he would have avoided many troublesome contentions, and enjoyed a more than usual share of the esteem of the good, besides possessing, what is more precious than all, the consciousness of having done his best to promote sweetness, instead of sourness, in society. : LOVE IS POWER-BETWEEN MAN AND MAN. An affecting and beautiful example occurs in the history of David. Pursued by Saul in the wilderness of Engedi, he was lying concealed with his few followers in a cave, when the king and his party entered. David might have killed the king if he had chosen, and his friends advised him to do it. But he resolved upon a better course. He only cut off the skirt of Saul's robe. When the king had departed, David followed and called after him. The rest may be told in the language of Scripture. "And when Saul looked behind him, David stooped with his face to the earth, and bowed himself. And David said to Saul, Wherefore hearest thou men's words, saying, Behold, David seeketh thy hurt? Behold, this day thine eyes have seen how that the Lord had delivered thee to-day into mine hand in the cave and some bade me kill thee; but mine eye spared thee: and I said, I will not put forth mine hand against my lord; for he is the Lord's anointed. Moreover, my father, see; yea, see the skirt of thy robe in my hand: for in that I cut off the skirt of thy robe, and killed thee not, know thou and see that there is neither evil nor transgression in mine hand, and I have not sinned against thee: yet thou huntest my soul to take it. The Lord judge between me and thee, and the Lord avenge me of thee: but mine hand shall not be upon thee. As saith the proverb of the ancients, Wickedness proceedeth from the wicked: but mine hand shall not be upon thee. After whom is the king of Israel come out? after whom dost thou pursue? after a dead dog, after a flea? The Lord, therefore, be judge, and judge between me and thee, and see, and plead my cause, and deliver me out of thine hand. And it came to pass when David had made an end of speaking these words unto Saul, that Saul said, Is this thy voice, my son David? And Saul lifted up his voice, and wept. And he said to David, Thou art more righteous than Í: for thou hast rewarded me good, whereas I have rewarded thee evil. And thou hast showed this day how that thou hast dealt well with me: forasmuch as, when the Lord had delivered me into thine |