decided success.  The Northern troops were driven back upon steep heights just south of Gettysburg, of which the contour made it difficult for the enemy to co-ordinate his movements in any attack on them.  Here Meade, who when the battle began was ten miles away and did not expect it, was able by the morning of the 2nd or during that day to bring up his full force; and here, contrary to his original choice of a position for bringing on a battle, he made his stand.  The attack planned by Lee on the following day must, in his opinion, afterwards have been successful if “Stonewall” Jackson had been alive and with him.  As it was, his most brilliant remaining subordinate, Longstreet, disapproved of any assault, and on this and the following day obeyed his orders reluctantly and too slowly.  On July 3, 1863, Lee renewed his attack.  In previous battles the Northern troops had been contending with invisible enemies in woods; now, after a heavy cannonade, the whole Southern line could be seen advancing in the open to a desperate assault.  This attack was crushed by the Northern fire.  First and last in the fighting round Gettysburg the North lost 23,000 out of about 93,000 men, and the South about an equal number out of 78,000.  The net result was that, after a day’s delay, Lee felt compelled to retreat.  Nothing but an actual victory would have made it wise for him to persist in his adventurous invasion.

The importance of this, which has been remembered as the chief battle of the war, must be estimated rather by the peril from which the North was delivered than by the results it immediately reaped.  Neither on July 3 nor during Lee’s subsequent retreat did Meade follow up his advantage with the boldness to which Lincoln, in the midst of his congratulations, exhorted him.  On July 12 Lee recrossed the Potomac.  Meade on the day before had thought of attacking him, but desisted on the advice of the majority in a council of war.  That council of war, as Lincoln said, should never have been held.  Its decision was demonstrably wrong, since it rested on the hope that Lee would himself attack.  Lincoln writhed at a phrase in Meade’s general orders about “driving the invader from our soil.”  “Will our generals,” he exclaimed in private, “never get that idea out of their heads?  The whole country is our soil.”  Meade, however, unlike McClellan, was only cautious, not lukewarm, nor without a mind of his own.  The army opposed to him was much larger than that which McClellan failed to overwhelm after Antietam.  He had offered to resign when he inferred Lincoln’s dissatisfaction from a telegram.  Lincoln refused this, and made it clear through another officer that his strong opinion as to what might have been done did not imply ingratitude or want of confidence towards “a brave and skilful officer, and a true man.”  Characteristically he relieved his sense of Meade’s omissions in a letter of most lucid criticism, and characteristically