That is unquestionably what Russia wants and covets to-day, and what the other great Powers are determined she shall not have.  Possibly Greece may yet be the renewed seat of a Greek empire, under the protection of the Western nations, as a barrier to Russian encroachments around the Black Sea.  There is sympathy for the Greeks; none for the Turks.  England, France, and Austria can form no lasting alliance with Mohammedans, who may be driven back into Asia,—­not by Russians, but by a coalition of the Latin and Gothic races.

It is useless, however, to speculate on the future wars of the world.  We only know that offences must needs come so long as nations and rulers are governed more by interests and passions than by reason or philanthropy.  When will passions and interests cease to be dominant or disturbing forces?  To these most of the wars which history records are to be traced.  And yet, whatever may be the origin or character of wars, those who stimulate or engage in them find plausible excuses,—­necessity, patriotism, expediency, self-defence, even religion and liberty.  So long then as men are blinded by their passions and interests, and palliate or justify their wars by either truth or sophistry, there is but little hope that they will cease, even with the advance of civilization.  When has there been a long period unmarked by war?  When have wars been more destructive and terrible than within the memory of this generation?  It would indeed seem that when nations shall learn that their real interests are not antagonistic, that they cannot afford to go to war with one another, peace would then prevail as a policy not less than as a principle.  This is the hopeful view to take; but unfortunately it is not the lesson taught by history, nor by that philosophy which has been generally accepted by Christendom for eighteen hundred years,—­which is that men will not be governed by the loftiest principles until the religion of Jesus shall have conquered and changed the heart of the world, or at least of those who rule the world.

The chapter I am about to present is one of war,—­cruel, merciless, relentless war; therefore repulsive, and only interesting from the magnitude of the issues, fought out, indeed, on a narrow strip of territory.  What matter, whether the battlefield is large or small?  There was as much heroism in the struggles of the Dutch republic as in the wars of Napoleon; as much in our warfare for independence as in the suppression of the Southern rebellion; as much among Cromwell’s soldiers as in the Crimean war; as much at Thermopylae as at Plataea.  It is the greatness of a cause which gives to war its only justification.  A cause is sacred from the dignity of its principles.  Men are nothing; principles are everything.  Men must die.  It is of comparatively little moment whether they fall like autumn leaves or perish in a storm,—­they are alike forgotten; but their ideas and virtues are imperishable, —­eternal lessons for successive generations.  History is a record not merely of human sufferings,—­these are inevitable,—­but also of the stepping-stones of progress, which indicate both the permanent welfare of men and the Divine hand which mysteriously but really guides and governs.