which, if the war continue long, may become an intolerable nuisance to Northern trade. It stops the supply of cotton to the Northern mills, and will soon paralyze the most important branch of their own industry. And in the end it will probably lead to the interference of European powers whom it might have been far wiser to leave in the position of disinterested parties.

But although this use of naval power appears as unwise as we hold it to be unconstitutional, there are other directions in which it may be employed with effect. It enables the North to threaten every point on the coast, and to compel the defenders to maintain a force at each of them. Five thousand men threatening any one of ten points, and compelling but two thousand to be maintained at each, will thus neutralize four times its own number. Where numbers are so large, this loses much of its importance, but there remains the power of actual attack by naval expeditions. At the first view this appears very practicable; on closer examination, such operations will be found full of difficulty and danger. The coast of the Southern States is remarkably bare of harbours. The whole of these of any importance are defended by fortifications, generally believed last year to insure their safety against any possible attack; if these defences were impregnable then, they should be equally so now. Naval expeditions in summer would land the troops in a climate fatal enough without other foe; and this is so well known, that

such operations must of necessity be confined to the winter season, when transports crowded with troops must be exposed to disastrous losses upon a coast so dangerous at that period of the year.

Assuming these hazards to be surmounted, and a landing effected on some point of the coast, the expeditionary force would then be placed thus. It will consist of numbers insufficient to act with power as an independent army, for we know what was required to transport 30,000 men even over a smooth sea, from Varna to Eupatoria. On its appearance off the coast, telegraphic messages would flash over the South, and every railway would hurry down the militia of the neighbouring States. To these would be added the Confederate troops directed to the spot, and before the invading force, after establishing a depôt, could make its first inland march, it would be faced by an opponent superior in numbers, in possession of all the positions of defence, and growing in strength every hour.

It cannot be difficult for the Northern power to equip expeditions of this kind at New York, and to capture with them several of the small harbours in the Southern States, such as Fernandina, Brunswick, St. Augustine. To what effectual result? Were we at war with France, and had they possession of the seas, it would not be difficult for them to capture Whitehaven, once attacked by Paul Jones, or to take possession of Bantry Bay as they did before. How far would such operations extend in subduing the English people? As

the Southern States are twenty times as large as England, what can be the effect of such operations in subjugating them? The policy of the North is so to conduct the war as to avoid delay and disastrous expenditure, by concentrating its strength upon a vigorous, overwhelming, decisive blow. Time is a fatal foe-time means ruin through expenditure-time works out the recognition of the Southern power-time divides the North into two hostile parties, and may awaken civil war within itself. Slow and desultory operations (except for the purpose of amusing the populace) are therefore opposed to the interest of the North-beguiling attention from the vital importance of time-ruinous in cost-and incapable of decisive result.22

And there are special objections to this mode of warfare in the present instance. Peace must follow war; and here the object is to conquer, yet not to embitter, those who are to be retained as fellow-citizens. Great armies may overthrow a country, and after a time the fact may be calmly regarded as an affair of history. Even where great battles have been fought, trees will soon clothe their shattered limbs with a fresh foliage, and where ruts have been cut deep into the soil, Nature ere long will smooth them with a coverlet of green or golden harvest. But when in place of the operations of great armies-instilling rather a sense of solemnity than one of hatred-the shores

22 See Notes in Appendix.

of a country are ravaged by expeditionary attacks -if towns are to be bombarded, houses wrapped in flames, churches pierced with hostile shot, and the defenceless included in the common ruin-this kind of war drives a barbed sting into the memory of a people that will rankle ever after in the wound.

Another objection to warfare thus conducted is the excessive loss of life it involves. None have had more sorrowful experience of this than ourselves, nor is any page in our records so dismal, as that which narrates the history of the Walcheren expedition. There is slight danger in the climate of any part of Holland, when compared with that to be encountered in the Southern States. Nor is the climate the only cause of more than usual fatality. In operations of this nature it is essential to avoid delay, in other words, it is imperative to abandon the precautions by which, in ordinary warfare, loss is spared. Rashness becomes a necessity of the case. Life must be wasted that time may be saved. The current of human blood must flow warm and quick, and spurn the slow economy of engineering toil. And, what force can issue from the North more full of hope and promise, more gallantly arrayed, than that with which we attacked New Orleans in the last war? What more impressive lesson could be offered, than may be read in its disastrous fate? Sad, to think that brave men-brothers too—are again to be employed, digging them graves in those dank, festering swamps.

A few miles below the city of New Orleans lies a narrow, level plain. The sullen river forms its western boundary; between the other margin and the lake, intervenes a swamp of stunted brushwood and ill-shapen trees. Passing over it, years ago, the grass was long-luxuriant; but silence was all around-unbroken solitude. No sign of man appeared-nor foot of beast-no voice-no sound -not the faint tread of any falling leaf-no smoke to witness that human life abode there. No creature moved upon the ground-no bird broke the stillness of the air. The glittering sunlight seemed to mock the loneliness, as sprightly music grates on one who grieves. Alas, for our gallant host that once stood upon that plain! Alas, for those that never left it more! Whoever turns the sod may learn how thick they fell-how many, who thought to be folded to their last sleep in the old maternal breast, lie there-for ever-in that clammy soil.

The only practicable line of operation appears to be that already adopted, having its base on the Potomac. Virginia is a highly defensible country, especially against attack from the North, as its rivers run east and west, and so form natural barriers in the way of the invader. The country is hilly, abounds in forests, the people are the most martial, and the best horsemen of the Union. Let it be assumed that the army issuing from Washington fight a great battle and achieve a victory. Their inferiority in cavalry, and the nature of the country, render it improbable that