Every war is a blunder; every battle a blot of shame upon human
nature; and the greatest wisdom a successful belligerent can shew,
even when he has been forced into the fray by his beaten antagonist,
is to get out of it as fast as he can. But some wars are viewed, not
as they ought to be, as indications of the slow progress of the human
race from barbarism, but through the medium of the lofty and
chivalrous feelings of the resisting party, or the party which takes
arms against oppression. Hence, war and glory have come to be
associated in the vulgar mind; and hence the mere act of fighting is
termed honourable, although it is obvious that, abstractedly, it
should excite only feelings of shame. Even the late Afghan war is
looked upon as a _calamity_, relieved throughout by flashes of heroism
and gleams of success--a war which, rightly viewed, is either one of
the greatest crimes, or one of the most stupendous blunders recorded
in history!

This war, we observe, has already found a chronicler, and one
peculiarly qualified, both by his knowledge and talent, to do justice
to the subject.[1] Although possessing all the essentials of history,
however, the book has something more, and is therefore not strictly a
history, in the conventional sense of the term; the text as well as
the margin being burdened with letters, diaries, and documents of all
kinds--the crude materials which it is the province of the historian
to digest. The author, notwithstanding, has a clear historical head;
his narrative, when he permits it to flow uninterrupted, is animated;
his reflections generally philosophical; his summaries of individual
character acute and distinct; and so peculiar have been his sources of
information, that henceforward no man will sit down to write upon this