me, that I cannot shake them off-my days have been a toil and weariness-I have had no resting place for the sole of my foot -no certain pillow for my head. I have been sometimes in the workhouse, sometimes in bridewell, sometimes in jail, but no where long. There is only one place where I shall have a long, long home; and my last bed may be in a prison, an almshouse, in a ditch, or on a dunghill; for nobody cares where an old drunken soldier draws his last breath.

"And now I ask your worship, or your reverence, whether all the sin lights on my shoulders? whether I bear all the blame of my evil deeds, or if some may not be laid to their charge, that make wars and gather armies? If kings did not love to fight, men would never become soldiers. And is it not as much a sin for those who stay at home and contrive wars, and plan battles, as for those who fight them? Is it not a sin for one man, who happens to be a king, because he is jealous of another man, who happens to be a king too, to set men together by the ears, like wild beasts more than christians, to murder and destroy? For 'tis, after all, little better than murder, except that there are thousands killed instead of one,-which to my thinking makes the matter worse instead of better."-pp. 48, 49.

A few days after telling this story, Jamie is found dead one cold morning under a tree.

This made a strong impression on Charles, but he gradually got over it so far as to think he might still be an officer. An of ficer, he thought, was a different kind of being, and might be good notwithstanding his profession. Still, however, he had not the same confidence in his resolution as before, and Jamie's story often occurred to him.

Some months after this, Mr. Ashton carries Charles to visit colonel Gordon, a good man and brave officer, who had gained great reputation in the service, but at the expense of his health and constitution. He tells Charles his story, with such reflexions as the different events suggested.

The following is after he has been in a single skirmish.

The skirmish was over before any reinforcement arrived, and thus I shared the principal honour of the success, and made my debut with credit. I was, of course, elevated by this good fortune, and anticipated with confidence more brilliant achievements. But still I could not reflect upon the affair except with feelings of almost unmingled horror and detestation. To look at it with the eye of calm, unprejudiced reason; to look at it by the light of Christian morality; and what did it amount to? Why, to little better than a piece of downright butchery. Here had been a couple of hundred men, who had never seen each other before, had no cause of animosity or hatred, no ground for enmity, fightNew Series-vol. IV.

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ing together as fiercely as if they had received from one another the most deadly injuries; killing, maiming, and mutilating, as if the objects, against whom all this fury was directed, had not borne God's image stamped on their features, had not been fellow creatures, but ferocious and cruel beasts, whom to slay and destroy would be a deed of merit. And for what? A cause, of which but few of us understood the merits-scarce any felt sure that they were fighting on the right side.'"- pp. 76, 77.

The next is the description of a battle.

The battle began by a heavy cannonading from a distance. This was a great trial of the courage, because there was nothing to be done, but to stand still and bear it as well as we could, till every thing was ready for our advance. Very few of us were kil led, but the death of a very few in this situation, is felt more than that of a great many in the heat of action.

"I did not suffer much for myself. My pride kept me up, and the necessity of setting an example to my men. But the agony of terror which many of them underwent cut me to the soul. The veterans cared very little; but the raw soldiers showed by the quivering lip, the pale cheek, the wet eye, and the tottering knee, that it was an almost intolerable trial to them. A ball might often be seen coming towards a particular spot. Then there was a struggling, a pushing to get off the line in which it came. Some, who distinguished it plainly, saved themselves; whilst others, who did not, rushed directly into its path, and were knocked in pieces. Perhaps, while they had gathered themselves into a crowd to get rid of one, another came whizzing along from a different quarter into the midst of them, and tore half a dozen, limb from limb. Sometimes one would strike into the ground at our feet and, cover us with dust and blood. We all longed for the signal to rush onward, that we might get out of this intolerable state of apathy and suspense-worse than the most fierce and bloody en

counter.

At length the battle commenced; but we were still left as a reserve, to be employed in case of necessity, as occasion might direct, and were therefore only suffered to be anxious and doubtful spectators of the contest. The troops marched up in regular, well ordered lines, and delivered their vollies as if they had been firing on a field day. But soon they became covered in one dense, impenetrable mass of smoke, only lightened up occasionally by the flash and explosion of the artillery, which shrouded the whole array of both armies. From beneath that canopy issued the irregu lar rattling of the musketry, the roaring of the cannon, the shouts and groans of men, the braying of the trumpets. Now and then a passing breeze would dissipate in part the sulphureous cloud, and we could see the waving of a few torn and disfigured standards, the glance of the fire arms, the helmets of the cavalry, and the plumes of the officers as they dashed to and fro along the ranks.

Presently horses without their riders, their housing stained with blood, their reins under their feet, some disfigured by hideous wounds, came galloping, snorting with terror, to the rear. Then followed many of the wounded; some creeping, as best they could, by themselves, others borne upon horses; all pale and bloody, and uttering groans, or, more frequently, curses, which excited either my pity or horror. Some cried out that the day was lost; others, that victory was ensured; all, that the combat was deadly.

"In looking on thus, a mere spectator of the conflict, I could scarcely realise that they were in truth men, who were thus ferociously contending together." "-80-83.

"It was not long after this, that we were ordered by our general to storm a hill in possession of the enemy, which overlooked their camp. It was executed with valour, but at an expense of more than a thousand men. When in our possession, he discovered that the position was not so commanding as had been expected; that another hill in its neighbourhood offered far greater advantages, and could be more successfully occupied for the purpose of annoying the enemy. In short, that he had been mistaken in his survey of the ground, and that the other hill should have been attacked instead of this.

"The second hill was immediately stormed, and carried after a desperate resistance, in which our loss and that of the enemy amounted to many more than on the first attempt. A few days afterwards, it was found that the advantages to be derived from the posts were not sufficient to compensate for the expense of maintaining them. They were therefore precipitately abandoned.

"I dined in company with our general not long after this occurrence. One of his officers lamented the loss of men, which had thus been unnecessarily sustained. The general replied with a careless laugh. That this was of less consequence than it appeared to be; because,' added he, we are soon going into winter quarters. We can spare them very well, for we shall have abundance of fresh recruits in the spring, and may thus make a saving to government of their winter's keeping.""-pp. 84, 85.

The narrative of Bonaparte's campaign in Russia, in which colonel Gordon is a volunteer on the side of the Russians, is not only true in the impression which it makes, but in its facts, which are taken with little alteration from the most authentic accounts.

The following is part of the description of the field of action, after the battle of Borodino.

"The interior of the ravines presented the most horrid spectacle. Here those of the wounded, who were able to crawl, had collected themselves during the night to avoid the agonies produced by a sharp and piercing wind. This, however, served but partial

ly to alleviate their miseries. The raw and cold air penetrated even into these recesses. and inflicted upon the mangled limbs and lacerated wounds of the unfortunate sufferers, the most cruel distress. Some of these, parched by the dreadful thirst which gunshot wounds always create, had crawled to the margin of a little brook, in order to quench it; but its waters resembled a river of blood, and they were forced to turn away unsatisfied, or else to drink the blood of their fellow beings.

"These wretches lay in heaps upon the bare and rugged sides of the ravine, crawling one over another, in order, if possible, to assuage, by the vital warmth of others, the keen anguish of their wounds. But nothing could alleviate their terrible agonies They filled the air with piercing cries, and uttered the most heart-rending groans. In the extremity of their misery, they longed, they begged for death; and besought us with the most touching entreaties to release them by shooting them through the head." "-89, 90

"Fifty-three days after the dreadful battle of Borodino, I crossed over the field on which it had been fought, in pursuit of the flying French. Of thirty thousand men who had been killed on that bloody day, the bodies of almost all lay still unburied. They hardly retained the human form. Acres were completely covered with their torn and mutilated remains. Some had been half devoured by dogs and birds of prey; some were falling apart from the progress of decay; whilst others seemed yet to retain whatever of their original figure their wounds had left them."-pp92, 93.

We have room for only one short extract more, in which some of the imaginations of Darkness' are realized.

"The route of the pursuing troops was covered with the stragglers of the enemy, so reduced by hunger and cold as scarcely to retain the human form. They seemed to have lost all the attributes of their species. Some were deprived of their hearing or their speech; many were reduced to a state of frantic stupidity, in which they roasted the dead bodies of their comrades for food, and even gnawed their own hands and arms. Some were so weak, that, unable to lift a piece of wood or roll a stone to the fires they had kindled, they sat down on the dead bodies of their companions, and with haggard countenances gazed steadfastly upon the burning coals, or turned their ghastly eyes and fixed them immoveably on the no less ghastly faces of their fellow-soldiers, who sat around them. No sooner had their fire become extinguished, than, unable to rise in search of fresh fuel, they became benumbed by the cold, and sank beside the dead carcasses on which they sate.

Many were entirely deprived of reason. They were absolutely insane; and, urged by their sufferings, plunged their frozen feet into the midst of the fire, in order to warm them. Some, still more delirous, threw themselves with a convulsive laugh into the

flames, and perished in horrible agony. uttering the most piercing cries; while others, excited by their example, and urged by the most irremediable despair, followed them, and experienced the same fate."-pp. 104, 105.

Our readers may judge from our copious extracts, of the spirit in which this little book is written. It is dedicated, very properly, to the venerable Noah Worcester. All who appreciate the importance of his efforts in this cause,* and desire to see a truly religious feeling prevail on this subject, will cordially unite with us in recommending what cannot but enforce the common cause of humanity.

We cannot conclude without expressing a wish, that a pen which is so successful in giving one part of the scene presented by war, might be employed in describing another, which would have, we think, on generous minds, a still stronger effect. This is the heart breaking and despair of those who remain at homewho are made widows and orphans-are bereft of children or still dearer friends.

ARTICLE XX.

The Treatise on Religious Affections by the late Rev. Jonathan Edwards, A. M. somewhat abridged by the removal of the princi pal tautologies of the Original; and by an attempt to render the language throughout more perspicuous and energetic. To which is now added, a copious Index of Subjects. 16mo. pp. 316. Boston. 1821.

THE form and style in which this work is here presented to the public, will, we doubt not, be gratifying to most of its admirers; and they are numerous. Next to his book on the Freedom of the Will, this Treatise on the Affections may be considered as the work on which President Edwards' reputation, as an acute metaphysician and ingenious writer, princi

*We cannot omit this opportunity of recommending to the Christian public, and especially to instructers of youth, Dr. Worcester's late publication for the use of schools, entitled The Friend of Youth. It has been sent abroad with such respectable and powerful recommendations, as to render it unnecessary for us to do more than call the attention of our readers to it, by the simple statement of its design. It is intended to aid the cause of philanthropy and peace, by cherishing in the susceptible minds of children the principles and feelings of christian benevolence. It consists of a great variety of extracts in verse and prose, calculated at once to form the judgment and to affect the heart. The general adoption of such a book in our schools, must be attended with the happiest influences on the rising generation.