been tried on Saturday the 10th, was doomed to die on Monday the 12th. But, being an old man-seventy-four years of age-and descended from a respectable family, and his case being a peculiarly horrible one, certain humane persons of weight in the neighbourhood exerted themselves to procure for him a reprieve, and they succeeded. "It was too short a time," so ran their petition, "for such an old sinner to search his heart;" and the judge, agreeing with them in the opinion, a respite of the sentence for a month was granted. The old sinner used his reprieve, not in any endeavour to make his peace with God or man, but to weary the government with applications for pardon. He exhibited, in making these efforts, the same selfish and dastardly spirit which had animated him throughout his career of crime. He complained of the hardship of suffering for an offence committed so long ago, and accused his brother of being not only a participator in the offence, but the party by whom its commission had been suggested. Strange to say, his petitions, unworthily expressed as they were, prevailed so far, that a second reprieve during pleasure reached him; but the sentence was not commuted. On the contrary, Justice appeared, at last, to awake from a trance, and the order for his execution reached Nottingham. He was overwhelmed with despair. He complained that grievous wrong had been done him; yet, during the night previous to his execution, he acknowledged that the blood of other poor victims besides that of the infant lay upon his head: one, a young woman, whom he had murdered because she was with child by him; the other, a labouring man, whose arm he had broken with a blow of a hedge-stake, and who, being in delicate health, never recovered the injury.

Such was the man and his career. The fate of the frail partner in the most heinous of his moral offences was very different. Slowly she recovered after her confinement, for though they concealed from her that her child was dead, she yearned with a mother's instinctive fondness to have the babe near her, and pined and fretted when assured that this was impossible. Strange to say, likewise, the fact of her confinement

never reached her father's ears till some time afterwards, nor got bruited about the neighbourhood, except as some horrid suspicion is taken up and circulated. The woman who had nursed her when an infant was still in the family, and the wretched culprit, having opened her griefs to her, found a generous and a true heart to lean upon. That old and attached menial contrived matters with such exceeding skill, that for several months Martha kept her chamber, under the plea of some ordinary illness, and received, in her hour of trial, the assistance of a midwife, who, being brought from a distance, and introduced into the house blindfolded and at night, was never afterwards able to say on whom she had attended. The same faithful creature agreed to intrust the infant to the brothers, on the assurance that they would carry it to a place of safety; and when, on the following day, the rumour of what had actually occurred reached her, she retained self-possession enough not to betray the feelings which it called up. From that time forth, however, she could never bear to look upon the doubly-unnatural father; and so, after abiding by her charge till she was able to go abroad again, she quitted Mr. Horne's service, and was never heard of in that part of the country again.

Unhappy Martha! For her all peace, all self-respect were forfeited for ever. She did not go mad, but she moved about the house like a broken-hearted thing, nor ever exhibited the slightest sign of reviving interest in any thing, till her father sent for her one day into his study, and informed her that he knew all. Nothing could exceed the old man's gentleness. He laid his guilty daughter's head upon his shoulder and wept like a child; and when she mustered courage to ask him how he effected the discovery, he told her that Charles had, in consequence of some quarrel with his brother, made him aware of all the circumstances. "But what can I do, Martha? We cannot recall the past, and to expose it would only bring disgrace and ruin upon us all; so I have exacted a promise from both of them that they will dismiss the subject from their memories, and you, my poor child, must endeavour to do the same." Oh, who can tell what that

guilty and heart-broken woman may have felt, when these words of mercy and of a parent's love fell upon her ears! She did not promise to forget, that she could never undertake to do; but she pledged her word to make no inquiry after the child; and frightful as the struggle often was to keep it, she made it triumphantly, and the promise was kept.

From that time forth all the members of the Horne family, the father alone excepted, hated one another with a deadly hatred. The feeling of Martha towards her brothers was, to be sure, loathing and terror rather than hatred; but William hated her, and took every opportunity of shewing it, whilst Charles, treating her with neglect, but seldom with unkindness, turned all his rancour against William. And so, for a space of three-and-twenty years, their days were passed, in a sort of companionship which we can liken to nothing more nearly than that of doomed spirits in the place of their torment; for they either could not or did not fall upon the obvious expedient of a separation, but dwelt together under the same roof, perpetual blisters and thorns one to another. At last, the patriarch, after far passing the age of man, died; and Martha, who had nursed him through a long illness, and was ever ready to lick the dust from his shoes, was thrown, through the imbecile deceit of a three-fold will, penniless upon the world.

The history of the progress of this man in guilt seems to bear out in a very remarkable degree the theory which, in the opening of the present paper, we ventured to propound, namely, that though crime be something quite distinct from moral evil, and in itself not unfrequently less deserving of reprobation, it is the sure result, in every instance, of the absence of those powers of self-control, which are not to be acquired except from long practice, and the negation by the individual to himself of many an object, in itself harmless, of which he may experience the desire to become possessed. Crimes -and great crimes, too-are sometimes committed without premeditation; and when they so befal, we pity the criminals—who, indeed, are just objects of our compassion-to the full as much as we blame them. Yet, even in such cases, the careful

The

inquirer will never fail of tracing back the particular act to some habit of self-indulgence, which, though overlooked by the world, has long existed, and given a bias to the whole character of the criminal. Among these, moreover, there is none which so surely extinguishes, in the end, all perception of moral right as the surrender of the will to the impulses of one, not unnatural, propensity. And if this debasing passion be suffered in early life to gain the ascendancy, there is an end to both the power and the will in its victim to cultivate either the intellectual or the moral faculties which Nature may have bestowed upon him. William Horne, for example, appears to have been a child of slow parts, coarse tastes, and of a disposition, contradictory and wilful. A weak, though learned father, instead of observing this, and adapting the manner of the boy's culture to the soil on which he had to work, devoted a great deal of time and attention to the calling into existence of tastes which had neither seed nor germ in his son's constitution. task was, of course, difficult, and the labour to both parties great, which the injudicious father endeavoured to lighten by over-indulgence out of the school-room; and the consequence was, that his pleasures became the business of the youth's life, his studies a penance, from which he seized every opportunity of escaping. Suppose, however, that a different course had been pursued, and that the father, seeing whither the natural temperament of the son tended, had encouraged him to devote his mind to out-of-door pursuits; the young man would have probably been what is called wild, in any event, but the good farmer and keen sportsman never could have committed such crimes as those for which, on his seventy-fourth birthday, William Horne suffered. For libertinism, though it vitiate the tastes and unfit its victim for the appreciation of the good and the beautiful, rarely, till it outruns all bounds, associates itself with cruelty and a disregard of human life. When it becomes the great master-passion in the man, however, there is no telling into what atrocities it will lead him, and this the case of William Horne

has, we conceive, very sufficiently attested.

We believe that public attention in England is gradually turning to military affairs. Time is wearing away the fatal prejudices which led to so many disasters, and made even unconquered soldiers purchase ultimate triumphs at so vast an expense of blood and treasure. We are beginning to perceive the folly of terming ourselves a naval and commercial people independent of military forces; and are, by degrees, rather ashamed of the fantastic apprehension, which even in modern times made us jealous of a British army, and made us look upon sons, brothers, countrymen, as constitutionally dangerous the moment they were arrayed in their sovereign's uniform: a reputation for exalted patriotism and enlightened philanthropy is no longer acquired by simply libelling the army. The progress of science has narrowed the Channel, reduced mighty oceans to comparatively small dimensions, brought our shores within the reach of hostile arms, and exposed our colonies, scattered over the wide surface of the globe, to attacks, against which naval forces can prove no permanent security. And though the power of steam, which is effecting these great changes, augments the naval advantages we already possess, by adding to our superiority as soldiers and seamen, the superior skill and energy our people have evinced as engineers; yet it seems now admitted, that no coast can be protected against armaments conveyed by steam-vessels, unless by land forces ready to meet the assailants on shore. This important truth is gradually making its way in public conviction, and calling attention to military affairs.

The perfect working of the government machinery, which in civilised states permits the rulers of nations to bring the whole force of empires into the field, together with the improved system of military discipline and organisation, which renders armies more compact and more movble than in former times, have ren

dered the operations of offensive warfare infinitely more formidable than the mere unsupported inroads of former periods could be considered. Against the dangers resulting from such a state of things we are naturally bound to be prepared; we owe this to our own security, and to the high station we hold at the head of civilisation. We entertain no hostile feelings against other nations, we seek for no additional possession. The sun never sets upon our empire; a hundred and fifty millions of people live beneath our sway; and what acquisition made by war could possibly equal the additional power, glory, and force, certain to be gained by every step of progress and improvement made in peaceful times by an empire of such boundless extent and resources? Our conduct in peace and in war-and it cannot be too often repeated in opposition to so many libels foreign and domestic -has ever been fair, frank, generous, and upright, an example to the nations of the earth. The enlightened and the dispassionate in both hemispheres will, we have no doubt, give us full credit for such conduct, but nations are not always ruled by absolute wisdom; and great as the sacrifices we have made, to live upon friendly terms with France and America, it would be utter folly to disguise from ourselves the enmity entertained against us by the low democracy of both countries; and which can hardly fail to break into open hostility the moment those parties acquire ascendancy either at Washington or in Paris.

As the zealous advocates of peace, we recommend readiness for war; for the most violent aggressors will pause before they assail the bold and the well prepared. On the other hand, nothing so much encourages an enemy as the efforts of domestic parties striving to crush the martial spirit of a people, and weaken the military efforts of the state under the plea of economy; at the same time that they vilify the conduct of

government towards other nations; thus giving hostile powers, though treated with the greatest fairness and generosity, a plea to excite animosity against us even on the strength of our own words. History has sufficiently shewn how greatly the efforts of domestic factions aided the cause of rancorous foes in our late French and American wars.

We have at present no intention of lecturing on patriotism or on tactics, though we may occasionally introduce some of our future papers with a few remarks on the latter subject. Our only object here is to avail ourselves of what we believe to be the augmenting taste of the public for military reading, in order to sketch some of the sanguinary campaigns which placed Napoleon on a throne of never equalled power. As military history, when the causes of success and defeat are properly developed, tends not only to interest the reader, but to enlarge and clear the views, enrich the ideas he may already have formed on the subject, it cannot be too much recommended to nations liable at all hours to be called into the field; for it is only a wide-spread national knowledge of the theory of war, which can ensure the most efficient training and successful employment of the forces. We use the word theory here, in its just and real meaning-the bright source of every great improvement made in human knowledge: the dull martinet tactician believes it to be some monster of darkness, that ought to be consigned to the flames with all possible speed. Brave soldiers and gallant officers we can always command, for they are the produce of our soil; but these alone cannot command success. We had brave troops at the commencement of the Seven Years' War, and were yet unsuccessful in all our early undertakings; the gallantry of our men could not avert the failures of the American contest, and the ultimate success of

the great war against republican and imperial France was only purchased by fifteen years of mismanagement and disaster. Reasons enough it may be supposed for now devoting some attention to military affairs.

Feebly as the following sketches may be drawn, we can safely say, that we believe them-the Italian campaign more especially-to be founded on the best and most authentic documents on which military history was ever composed; and we shall, in due time, lay our authorities at length before the reader. It will no doubt be said, as it has been said already, that the views taken in these papers are highly unjust to Napoleon, that they are mere "crotchets" in fact. The reader need not be told, that every novel doctrine advanced against widely spread and deeply rooted opinion is invariably so termed; every new idea in science, philosophy, history, has been assailed; and the practice will probably continue as long as human knowledge shall continue to advance. We may, no doubt, be mistaken, as well as our critics, in the views taken in these sketches; but we have, owing to our authorities, the advantage of stating the facts more accurately, we believe, than they have yet been stated; and having done so, we leave it to the reader to follow us in our inferences, or to draw his own, if it must be so, more logical conclusions. But military critics, it is said, differ so widely on these points as to render it doubtful who is to be believed. This should not, we suspect, offer any real difficulty; for the reader who comes with an unbiassed mind to the investigation of any subject will necessarily follow the writer who brings the points whence truth is to be derived, in the clearest and most intelligible manner home to his understanding. No person of ordinary ability is likely to be imposed upon by mere terms of extravagant praise or censure.

an adventurous rise. The tempest of the Revolution had levelled the barriers that in ordinary times ex

clude all but nobles and the possessors of high rank from the direction of public affairs; lawyers, adventurers, and renegado priests, ruled the republic by aid of the terror which the guillotine inspired. Armies were often commanded by individuals who before the commencement of the troubles had followed the most peaceful occupations; and many of those who had been non-commissioned officers in the royal regiments, were already colonels and generals of division in the second year of the "Republic One and Indivisible."

Napoleon had received a good military education at the best seminaries in France. The revolution found him a lieutenant of artillery, and the emigration of the superior officer raised him to the rank of colonel; and this was already standing very high at such a time, and when his country was at war with the principal powers of Europe.

But though circumstances thus placed him in a favourable position, he was not at first very successful. By the indisposition of his superior, the command of the artillery at the siege of Toulon had devolved upon him; but his conduct seems to have attracted no particular notice; for his name is not mentioned in the despatches announcing the capture of the fortress; he received no immediate promotion; and his next service was of very secondary importance. In the summer of 1794, we find him, however, commanding the artillery of the army of Italy; but he did not long continue to hold the appointment, for in the following year we already see him at Paris, soliciting employment from the minister-at-war, and actually placed for a time on the retired list.

His fortunes appear, at this period, to have been very low indeed: he seems to have been in pecuniary difficulties, and actually sought the hand of Mademoiselle de Montansier, a lady of great wealth, but far advanced in years. Failing in this pursuit, he projected a voyage to Constantinople for the purpose of seeking service in Turkey, when the revolution of the 13th Vendémiaire opened brighter prospects to him.

When on that occasion, Barras, the victor of the 9th Thermidore, was placed at the head of the troops

destined to oppose the insurgents, he gave the command of the artillery to Napoleon, whom he had known at the siege of Toulon. The result is well known; the National Guard fled at the first fire; but it is a mistake, as generally asserted, that any particular merit was ascribed to Napoleon all the honour, such as it was, devolved upon Barras, who really commanded the troops. This officer, having on the formation of the new government been named one of the Directors, resigned the command of the army of the interior, which was given to Napoleon, whose star now rose rapidly above the

horizon.

Among the ladies most distinguished at this time in the Parisian circles of fashion for figure and elegance of manners, was Josephine Beauharnois, widow of the Marquis de Beauharnois, guillotined during the revolution. She had great influence with the Director Barras, some say more than legitimate influence; and when Napoleon sought her hand, she obtained for her future husband the promise of the command of the army of Italy. Capefigue, who has seen manuscript Memoirs of Barras, relates, on their authority, that the future empress attended constantly as a petitioner in his antechamber, till she secured the fulfilment of the promise. parties were married on the 9th of March, and on the 27th of the same month, we already find Napoleon at the head of the troops destined to place him on the highest pinnacle of power and fortune.

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The youthful commander found head-quarters at Nice, where for three years they seemed to have taken root; his five predecessors in command having always fallen back to that station after every successful campaign. Like the other French armies of the period, the army of Italy had fought with success against the enemy; they had closed the previous campaign by the victories of Loano and St. Bernardo, but they had not hitherto derived from their triumphs any advantage that could place them on a level with the conquerors of Holland, Belgium, and the Rhenish provinces: they had only subdued Savoy, the county of Nice, and the Riviera. They were