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SUFFERINGS OF THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

strike angels with astonishment, and to fill even the spirits of darkness with wonder, be deemed of so little consequence as to arrest no thought, excite no feeling, and secure no spirit of inquiry?

NOTE. In the extracts from Labaume we have adopted Mr. Rees's Translation of Select Passages, contained in his Tract, entitled Sketches of the Horrors of War, in preference to extracting from the Translation, without the name of the author, in common circulation.

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CHAPTER SECOND.

INFLUENCE OF WAR ON DOMESTIC LIFE.

IN exhibiting the evils of war, more attention has generally been paid to the immediate horrors of the battle-field, than to the less marked and more remote evils which have been felt from this source in domestic life. So many attractions, addressed both to the sight and the imagination, throng around the memorable spot, where large armies meet and engage in battle, that, notwithstanding the inexpressible horrors of such a scene, men seldom turn away to contemplate the insulated objects of interest, scattered here and there in the distance. How many have dwelt with excited imaginations, and with a sincere feeling of deep commiseration, on the carnage of Austerlitz and Waterloo, to whom it has never occurred to turn to the distracted sister, mourning in her distant home over her fallen brother; or to the mother weeping in solitude over her beloved son; or to the wife, lamenting, with inexpressible grief, the untimely death of her husband! We propose, therefore, in the remarks which are to follow in this chapter, to indicate some of the unpropitious bearings of war on domestic life.

And in doing this, it is hardly necessary to remark that in domestic life we are to look for a large share of what yet remains of earthly quiet and happiness. The philanthropist and the Christian find much in the present state of things to perplex their faith, to create doubt, and to fill them with despondency; but, when they turn their eyes to the domestic circle, especially when it is blessed with the presence of the serious and

benign spirit of religion, they gladly acknowledge that there is one bright and illuminated spot in the surrounding darkness. But the horrors of war, dreadful and intense as they are on the field of battle, are experienced, with less display indeed, but with still greater intensity, in these distant abodes of peace and happiness. The soldier dies upon the field of battle; and however great may be the anguish he experiences, it is generally soon over; but the desolate hearts of his parents, and of his wife and children, are filled with sorrow, and hopelessness, and lamentation, for years. But these things are not made matters of history; in the emblazonment of the achievements of the battle-field they are entirely passed over and forgotten; it seems to be no part of the business either of the ephemeral gazette, or of the more serious and permanent page of history, to keep a record of tears shed in private, and of hearts that are bleeding and broken in retirement. But they ought never to be forgotten by the philanthropist, the Christian, the friend of the human species. That the piercing and overwhelming evils, which are now referred to, are not imaginary, every child and parent, every one who sustains the various domestic relations, has the testimony in himself, in the instinctive suggestions of his own bosom, whether he has actually experienced the evils in his own person or not. In the time of the American revolution, a young gentleman by the name of Asgill, a captain in the English service, though only nineteen years of age, was selected by lot, by the Americans, to whom he had fallen prisoner, to be put to death, in retaliation for some atrocities committed by the enemy. When the news reached England, his mother, Lady Asgill, with her whole family, was thrown into the deepest distress and sorrow. In her inexpressible affliction, she had recourse to the sovereigns of France, through the medium of the minister

count de Vergennes, although France was at that time at war with England. If any one wishes to know where the miseries of war are most truly and deeply felt, let him read the following extract from one of her letters to the French minister: "My son, my only son, dear to me as he is brave, amiable as he is beloved, only nineteen years of age, a prisoner of war in consequence of the capitulation of Yorktown, is at present confined in America as an object of reprisal. Shall the innocent share the fate of the guilty? Figure to yourself, sir, the situation of a family in these circumstances. Surrounded as I am with objects of distress, bowed down by fear and grief, words are wanting to express what I feel, and to paint such a scene of misery; my husband, given over by the physicians some hours before the arrival of the news, not in a condition to be informed of it; my daughter, attacked by a fever, accompanied with delirium, speaking of her brother in tones of wildness, and without an interval of reason, unless it be to listen to some circumstances to console her heart. Let your sensibility, sir, paint to you my profound, my inexpressible misery, and plead in my favor; a word, a word from you, like a voice from Heaven, would liberate us from desolation, from the last degree of misfortune." *

In

Such are the deep pangs implanted in the heart of an accomplished lady by the occurrences of war. consequence of her education and her distinguished situation in life, they have excited an interest in the public, and have become a portion of history. But there are multitudes of other mothers and other sisters, whose sorrows have been as deeply felt and as sincerely lamented, but whose griefs have never reached the public ear. Dark and withering as they were,

"

* Thatcher's Military Journal during the American Revolutionary War, p. 308.

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they have been known only to their own bosoms, or to the small circle immediately around them; too secluded for general sympathy, though not unseen by that God who has made of one blood all the nations of the earth, and who commands us to love our neighbor as ourselves.

In recently looking over Godwin's History of the Commonwealth of England, we were struck with an incident, which seemed to us to be strikingly illustrative of the disastrous bearings of war on the hopes and happiness of domestic life. The marquis of Vaydes was a distinguished Spanish nobleman, who had resided twenty-three years in America, having been nine years governor of Chili, and fourteen years viceroy of Peru. Having accumulated an ample fortune, he was now returning to enjoy his riches and honors in his native land; animated, doubtless, with all those fond anticipations of happiness, which are so apt to inspire one who has been many years absent from the home of his ancestors and of his childhood. He had in the vessel with him his wife and seven children; the eldest, a daughter, contracted to the son of the duke of Medina Celi, and the youngest not more than a year old. It is not easy to conceive what delightful and transporting emotions swelled the bosoms of this prosperous and happy family, as they rapidly approached the shores of their beloved Spain, where all their hopes were centred, and all their blissful visions were soon to be realized. But they were sadly disappointed; an unhappy and unnecessary war was then in progress between Spain and England; and the vessel of the marquis was attacked and taken During the battle, which was severe, and in which this vessel alone lost a hundred and ten men, she took fire. The wife and eldest daughter of Vaydes fell into a swoon, and, together with one of the sons, perished in the flames. The unhappy father had an