military correspondence of Washington and Wellington without noticing how much each is characterized by the same qualities in the writers of good sense, or (to use a more adequate term) the highest practical wisdom-of singleness of purpose of heroism genuine and unostentatious-of integrity and an ever-present sense of duty and the spirit of self-sacrifice; and with these qualities a straight-forward simplicity of style-such as has been truly said to be the soldierly style-the style that is common to these great captains of modern times, and to Xenophon and Cæsar.

LECTURE IV.

At the very beginning of this lecture I must myself remind you, lest it should occur to your own minds if I were to omit it, of that well-known story of the Greek sophist who discoursed at length upon the art of war, when Hannibal happened to be amongst his audience. Some of his hearers, full of admiration of his eloquence and knowledge, for such it seemed to them, eagerly applied to the great general for his judgment, not doubting that it would confirm their own. But Hannibal's answer was, that he had met with many absurd old men in his life, but never with one so absurd as this lecturer. The recollection of this story should ever be present to unmilitary men, when they attempt to speak about war; and though there may be no Hannibal actually present amongst us, yet I would wish to speak as cautiously as if my words were to be heard by one as competent to judge them as he was.

But although the story relates to the art of war only, yet it is in fact universally applicable. The unprofessional man, idiúrns, must speak with hesitation in presence of a master of his craft. And not only in his presence, but generally, he who is a stranger to any profession must be aware of his own disadvantages when speaking of the subject of that profession. Yet consider, on the other hand, that no one man in the common course of things has more than one profession; is he then to be silent, or to feel himself incapable of passing a judgment upon the subjects of all professions except that

one? And consider farther, that professional men may labor under some disadvantages of their own, looking at their calling from within always, and never from without; and from their very devotion to it, not being apt to see it in its relations with other matters. Farther still, the writer of history seems under the necessity of overstepping this professional barrier; he must speak of wars, he must speak of legislation, he must often speak of religious disputes, and of questions of political economy. Yet he cannot be at once soldier, seaman, statesman, lawyer, clergyman, and merchant. Clearly then there is a distinction to be drawn somewhere, there must be a point up to which an unprofessional judgment of a professional subject may be not only competent but of high authority; although beyond that point it cannot venture without presumption and folly.

The distinction seems to lie originally in the difference between the power of doing a thing, and that of perceiving whether it be well done or not. He who lives in the house, says Aristotle, is a better judge of its being a good or a bad one, than the builder of it. He can tell not only whether the house is good or bad, but wherein its defects consist; he can say to the builder, This chimney smokes, or has a bad draught or this arrangement of the rooms is inconvenient; and yet he may be quite unable to cure the chimney, or to draw out a plan for his rooms which would on the whole suit him better. Nay, sometimes he can even see where the fault is which has caused the mischief, and yet he may not know practically how to remedy it. Following up this principle, it would appear that what we understand least in the profession of another is the detail of his practice; we may appreciate his object, may see where he has missed it, or where he is pursuing it ill; nay, may understand generally the method of setting about it; but we fail in the minute details. Applying this to the art of war, and we shall see, 1

think, that the part which unprofessional men can least understand is what is technically called tactic, the practical management of the men in action or even upon parade; the handling, so to speak, of themselves, no less than the actual handling of their weapons. Let a man be as versed as he will in military history, he must well know that in these essential points of the last resort he is helpless, and the commonest sergeant, or the commonest soldier, knows infinitely more of the matter than he does. But in proportion as we recede from these details to more general points, first to what is technically called strategy, that is to say, the directing the movements of an army with a view to the accomplishment of the object of the campaign; and next to the whole conduct of the war, as political or moral questions may affect it, in that proportion general knowledge and powers of mind come into play, and an unprofessional person may without blame speak or write on military subjects, and may judge of them sufficiently. (1)

Thus much premised, we may venture to look a little at the history of the great external contests of Europe, and as all our historians are full of descriptions of wars and battles, we will see what lessons are to be gained from them, and what questions arise out of them.

The highest authority in such matters, the Emperor Napoleon, has told us expressly that as a study for a soldier there were only four generals in modern history whose campaigns. were worth following in detail; namely, Turenne, Montecuculi, Eugene of Savoy, and Frederick of Prussia. (2) It was only an unworthy feeling which made him omit the name of Marlborough; and no one could hesitate to add to the list But he spoke of generals who were dead, and of course in adding no other name to this catalogue, I am following the same rule. Marlborough and Eugene, Frederick and Napoleon, are generals whose greatness the commonest

nis own.