count as I can give you.

There was no mistake; every

thing went on as it ought."*

One other characteristic of these letters has been thus commented on by one of the authors of the "Guesses at Truth:"" Among the heroic features in the character of our great commander, none, except that sense of duty which in him is ever foremost, and throws all things else into the shade, is grander than the sorrow for his companions who have fallen, which seems almost to overpower every other feeling, even in the flush of victory. The conqueror of Bonaparte at Waterloo wrote on the day after, the 19th of June, to the Duke of Beaufort: The losses we have sustained have quite broken me down; and I have no feeling for the advantages we have acquired.' On the same day, too, he wrote to Lord Aberdeen: 'I cannot express to you the regret and sorrow with which I look round me and contemplate the loss I have sustained, particularly in your brother. The glory

Letter of July 24, 1812. Selections, p. 614. There is a passage in one of Lord Wellington's letters from India which I am tempted to quote as (so it seems to me) the concentration of practical wisdom. It embodies good counsel for others besides soldiers: "I wish to draw your attention to the secresy of your proceedings. There is nothing more certain than that, out of one hundred affairs, ninety-nine might be posted up at the market-cross without injury to the public service; but the misfortune is that, when public business is the subject of general conversation, and is not kept secret as a matter of course upon every occasion, it is very difficult to keep it a secret upon that occasion when it is necessary. There is an awkwardness in a secret which enables discerning men (of which description there are always plenty in an army) invariably to find it out; and it may be depended upon, that, whenever the public service ought to be kept secret, it always suffers when it is exposed to public view." Letter of June 28, 1804. Selections, p. 177. W. B. R.

resulting from such actions, so dearly bought, is no consolation to me, and I cannot suggest it as any to you and his friends; but I hope that it may be expected that this last one has been so decisive as that no doubt remains that our exertions and our individual losses will be rewarded by the early attainment of our just object. It is then that the glory of the actions in which our friends have fallen will be some consolation for their loss.' He who could write thus had already gained a greater victory than that of Waterloo, and the less naturally follows the greater."*

An example of the same fine spirit of humanity, of true soldierly gentleness of feeling, will no doubt readily recur to many minds in the letter of condolence on the death of a gallant son addressed to an eminent American statesman by the victor of Buena Vista. As a part of military literature, the despatches of General Taylor may be spoken of as having received the stamp of history, especially since death has set its seal upon the hero's character. They stand, unquestionably, among the most remarkable productions of the kind in the language, whether considered simply as specimens of genuine and masterly use of English words, as military narratives, or as illustrations of character. They made the soldier, President of the United States. The battles might have been won, the campaigns completed; but it was the way in which the story was told, and the character uncon

*Hare's Guesses at Truth, Second series, p. 191. There is to this letter a very characteristic and business-like postscript about Colonel Gordon's horse. W. B. R.

sciously disclosed through that story, that gained the confidence and the heart of the nation.*

I proceed to the second division of my lecture, to be more briefly disposed of, the subject of familiar lettersthat correspondence which, like conversation, is held with the unreserved confidence of private life, and without a purpose of publication. It is worthy of notice that this did slowly and late take a place in English literature—a fact which, if reflected upon, is, in some measure, illustrative of the character of the race, and of some worthy traits in that character. There is a passage in the brief memoir of the poet Cowley, written by his friend Dr. Sprat, and addressed to another friend, which has a bearing on this subject, and which has often been referred to with complaint. "There was," he says, "one kind of prose wherein Mr. Cowley was excellent; and that is his letters to his private friends. In those he always expressed the native tenderness and innocent gayety of his mind. I

* At this time (February, 1855) the world is studying with intense interest the despatches and other letters, public and private, from the new scene of blood in the Crimea. The Anglo-French alliance, one might imagine, has had its influence on national style. For though the despatches of Lord Raglan and his generals have all the precision and business-like simplicity of his countrymen on such occasions, florid French despatch-writing, with phrases about "the sun of Austerlitz" and "conquering a peace," has nearly disappeared. It died with Marshal St. Arnaud at Alma; for General Canrobert writes with the precision and directness of an Englishman. It is very curious, too, to observe the indifference with which, in his letters to his government, he refers to topics which, twenty years ago, a Bonapartist could not think of without fury. In his despatch of 28th November to the Minister of War, speaking of the first onset of the Russians at Inkermann, he says, "Lord Raglan tells me the firing was as severe as at any time at Waterloo !" W. B. R.

think, sir, you and I have the greatest collection of this sort. But I know you agree with me that nothing of this sort should be published; and herein you have always consented to approve of the modest judgment of our countrymen above the practice of some of our neighbours, and chiefly of the French. I make no manner of question but the English, at this time, are infinitely improved in this way above the skill of former ages; yet they have been always judiciously sparing in printing such composures, while some other witty nations have tired all their presses and readers with them. The truth is, the letters that pass between particular friends, if they are written as they ought to be, can scarce ever be fit to see the light. They should not consist of fulsome compliments, or tedious politics, or elaborate elegancies, or general fancies; but they should have a native clearness and shortness, a domestical plainness, and a peculiar kind of familiarity, which can only affect the humour of those for whom they were intended. The very same passages which make writings of this nature delightful among friends, will lose all manner of taste when they come to be read by those that are indifferent. In such letters, the souls of men should appear undressed; .and in that negligent habit they may be fit to be seen by one or two in a chamber, but not to go abroad in the street."

This is, indeed, very tantalizing, especially so, for Cowley's delightful prose-essays have a savour of what must have made his familiar letters most excellent of their kind; the passage described, indeed, the very perfection of such letters in the very reason given for withholding them. However one may dissent from the reasoning, and still more regret the application of it, it is entitled to some

respect as having a basis of sound sense, and expressive of a just feeling that honourable spirit which is, I believe, an element in the character of our race. It was so formerly, more so than now; for that "modest judgment," which the biographer of Cowley spoke of as restraining the publication of private correspondence, has grown to be old-fashioned; and the barriers of reserve have been broken down by the cupidity of booksellers, the vanity of authors, and a vicious curiosity of readers. If this department of English literature has, in late years, received many and valuable additions, it has not been all clear gain: the sanctities of domestic life and the proprieties of official life have been violated; the world has intruded where it had no title to enter, and often learned what it had far better remained ignorant of; the happy confidence of social communion has been startled in its security; and the author can Scarce write a familiar note without misgiving of future publication.

When Pope's correspondence was surreptitiously published by an unscrupulous bookseller, Dr. Arbuthnot wittily spoke of Curll, the publisher, as a new terror of death. When the letters of Robert Burns were first

* Dr. Johnson once remarked that the practice of publishing the letters of literary men had grown so common, that he made it a point to put as little as possible in his own. There will be found in the London Quarterly Review, a few years back, an excellent essay on this subject in its relation to official life, on the subject of the posthumous publication of Lord Malmesbury's journals and letters. Our American diplomatic subordinates have, of late years, committed the grosser scandal of scribbling for home newspapers. A greater indecorum, and one more detrimental to public interests, can hardly be conceived. W. B. R.