had remarked, at the beginning of the war, that there would be much use for the spade in the course of it.  In the Austrian campaign of 1809, there was the beginning of a panic that might have produced serious consequences.  The Archduke John, the Patterson of those days, was at the head of an Austrian army which was expected to take part in the Battle of Wagram; but it was not until after that battle had been gained by the French that that prince arrived near the Marchfeld, in the rear of the victors.  A panic broke out among the persons who saw the heads of his columns,—­camp-followers, vivandieres, long lines of soldiers bearing off wounded men, and others.  The young soldiers, who were exhausted by their labors and the heat, were conspicuous among the runaways, and there was a general race to “the banks of the dark-rolling Danube.”  Nay, it is said that the panic was taken up on the other side of the river, and that quite a number of individuals did not stop till they had reached Vienna.  Terror prevailed, and the confusion was fast spreading, when Napoleon, who had been roused from an attempt to obtain some rest under a shelter formed of drums, fit materials for a house for him, arrived on the scene.  In reply to his questions, Charles Lebrun, one of his officers, answered, “It is nothing, Sire,—­merely a few marauders.”  “What do you call nothing?” exclaimed the Emperor.  “Know, Sir, that there are no trifling events in war:  nothing endangers an army like an imprudent security.  Return and see what is the matter, and come back quickly and render me an account.”  The Emperor succeeded in restoring order, but not without difficulty, and the Archduke withdrew his forces without molestation.  The circumstances of the panic show, that, if he had arrived at his intended place a few hours earlier, the French would have been beaten, and probably the French Empire have fallen at Vienna in 1809, instead of falling at Paris in 1814; and then the House of Austria would have achieved one of those extraordinary triumphs over its most powerful enemies that are so common in its extraordinary history.  The incident bears some resemblance to the singular panic that happened the day after the Battle of Solferino, and which was brought on by the appearance of a few Austrian hussars, who came out of their hiding-place to surrender, many thousand men running for miles, and showing that the most successful army of modern days could be converted into a mob by—­ nothing.

Seldom has the world seen such a panic as followed the Battle of Vittoria, in which Wellington dealt the French Empire the deadly blow under which it reeled and fell; for, if that battle had not been fought and won, the Allies would probably have made peace with Napoleon, following up the armistice into which they had already entered with him; but Vittoria encouraged them to hope for victory, and not in vain.  The French King of Spain there lost his crown and his carriage; the Marshal of France commanding lost his baton, and the honorable fame which he had won nineteen years before at Fleurus; and the French army lost its artillery, all but one piece, and, what was of more consequence, its honor.  It was the completest rout ever seen in that age of routs and balls.  And yet the defeated army was a veteran army, and most of its officers were men whose skill was as little to be doubted as their bravery.