bed of fire, and afterwards executed him on a tree. The death of
Maximilian was tardy retribution for the death of Guatemozin. And
thus in this world is wrong avenged, sometimes after many
generations. The fall of the French Emperor is an illustration of
that same retribution which is so constant. While he yet lives,
judgment has begun.

If I accumulate instances, it is because the certainty of
retribution for wrong, and especially for the great wrong of War,
is a lesson of the present duel to be impressed. Take notice, all
who would appeal to war, that the way of the transgressor is hard,
and sooner or later he is overtaken. The ban may fall tardily, but
it is sure to fall.

Retribution in another form has already visited France; nor is its
terrible vengeance yet spent. Not only are populous cities, all
throbbing with life and filled with innocent households, subjected
to siege, but to bombardment also,--being that most ruthless trial
of war, where non-combatants, including women and children, sick
and aged, share with the soldier his peculiar perils, and suffer
alike with him. All are equal before the hideous shell, crashing,
bursting, destroying, killing, and changing the fairest scene into
blood-spattered wreck. Against its vengeful, slaughterous descent
there is no protection for the people,--nothing but an uncertain
shelter in cellars, or, it may be, in the common sewers. Already
Strasbourg, Toul, and Metz have been called to endure this
indiscriminate massacre, where there is no distinction of persons;
and now the same fate is threatened to Paris the Beautiful, with
its thronging population counted by the million. Thus is the
ancient chalice which France handed to others now commended to her