In our former article we remarked:

"It will be remembered that General Taylor had been idle eleven days at Agua Nueva, whither he had gone to fight Santa Anna, well knowing that Minon was on his flank with 2,000 horse, and yet it was not until the shock of battle took place, that he left the field to look after the defences at Saltillo! He knew no more on the 21st February, in relation to this Mexican force, than he had known 30 days before, yet the necessary duty of making disposition for the defence of Saltillo, was neglected until nearly too late. General Wool made the disposition for battle.'f

General Taylor himself tells us that he knew, January 14th, that "Santa Anna was within striking distance of my line with an army of 25,000 men," yet, our phrase "this Mexican force," referred solely to Minon's cavalry, which Captain Carleton states, having its head-quarters at Potosi, communicated both with Saltillo and Santa Anna, and had done so "all winter." The Courier, doubtless inadvertently, puts a wrong construction upon this, thereby creating the impression that we intended to do injustice to gallant officers who are second to none in their deserts, saying:

"He knew no more on the 21st February," says the critic," than he had known 30 days before." The presumption is, then, that Col. May and Major M'Cullogh made false representations to General Taylor-which charge, from my personal knowledge of these officers, I should deem rather imprudent to make against either.

Now that the able reports in relation to the advance of Santa Anna of the two officers mentioned, saved Taylor from ruin, there is no question, but Gen. Taylor had known thirty days before that Saltillo was to be defended against Minon as soon as he himselt had an enemy in front. The same erroneous understanding doubtless induced the Courier to suppose that the conduct of other officers was embraced in our criticism, which is very far from being the case. No army ever had better or more efficient officers than the galaxy of heroes on whose efforts hung the fortunes of the Republic in that trying hour at Buena Vista. What we infer from the facts before us is, that their hardships, dangers and individual glories were immeasurably increased by such "brilliant strategy" as the retreat upon Buena Vista. Nothing gives us more pleasure than to give our most hearty concurrence to the following views of the Courier:

"Who does not perceive, and is not ready to acknowledge, that on this occasion, of all others of the war, our officers were eminently conspicuous, as well for their skill as for their personal prowess? Who rallied the drooping spirits of our men in that fierce combat, in the course of which nearly every regiment and corps gave ground and were ready to quit the field, as some did, in disgraceful flight? Who nerved these men to stand to their flag, and directed their remaining strength and courage to the utmost advantage, but such officers as Wool, Churchill, Davis, Clay, McKee, Bissell, Hardin, Yell, Washington, Bragg, Sherman, O'Brien, Thomas, and a host of others that could be named?"

Well and truly did this battle eminently rest with the subordinate officers, who were required to make good the faults in the general leading. We would suggest to the Courier, however, to be less harsh upon the men who faltered. If it has conceived the spirit of our criticism, it will understand that we charge upon the moral consequences of the "masterly retreat" from Agua Nueva, the further retreat of some of the men upon Saltillo. If Gen. Taylor retreated fourteen miles to fatigue the Mexicans, the Indiana men may have wished to fatigue them a little more by a retreat to Saltillo. The Courier would apparently derive some merit for Gen. Taylor for selecting Gen. Wool to command in his absence. This we cannot allow, inasmuch as the rank of Gen. Wool entitled him to command in the

absence of Taylor, who was personally as prone to "wool "* the volunteers as to "wool" the enemy. But, says the Courier :

"Our reviewer says that Gen. Wool made the disposition for battle on the 21st ; which assertion, being true in a great measure, is not only refreshing, but it shows the discernment of Gen. Taylor in entrusting that duty to an officer of such admitted skill and experience. Gen. Taylor is not one of those selfish and narrowminded souls, who is jealous of any little reputation which may accrue to his subalterns, by allowing them an opportunity of doing something for themselves. All he desires is, that the work shall be done; and he puts it in the hands of those he knows can perform it best, regardless of the credit that may attach to himself in the matter. This trait is, in my opinion, one of the great elements of his success."

Now we are pleased again to agree with the Courier, and acknowledge, that trusting the work to others has been "the great element of his success." In being absent from the field during the commencement of the "grand conflict," he allowed the command to devolve by rank upon one who could "perform it best." Had he continued absent, Gen. Wool would scarcely have become the dupe of Santa Anna's white flag, and the slaughter of the Kentucky and Illinois troops would have been spared.

In all the movements of Gen. Taylor there were the traits of the good soldier with an utter absence of every quality which constitutes the general. A necessary consequence was, that the hardships, dangers and blood of the volunteers were constantly required to compensate for the neglect of the general, a neglect vainly to be sought for in the brilliant and definitive operations of Scott. He never recklessly and ruthlessly hurled his devoted and invincible battalions against impregnable rocks, because his own genius was inadequate to the attainment of the same desirable ends by less bloody means. Nor did he ever surrender the fruits of victory hardly won with great expense of valuable life, by concluding an armistice and suffering a conquered foe to march out scathless with the honors of war. The fall of Vera Cruz stands out in remarkable contrast to the capitulation of Monterey. At the latter place, after the most incredible efforts in storming batteries, scaling rocks, assailing trenches and charging the routed foe, how did the cheeks of the gallant survivors tingle at seeing the Mexican flag come down to the salute of their own guns, and the whole march out with their arms amid triumphant shouts. Who that saw the gallant victors surrounded by the slaughtered bodies of their unavenged comrades,

"Could doubt the shame, the indignant shame with which they thrill,
To hear those shouts and yet stand still."

We will allow the gallant and lamented Walker, that glorious son of Maryland, writing from Baltimore, to express it in his own language:

"It is useless for me to comment any more upon the affair. Of course I concur with every Texan in the field, in the belief that we could have forced every Mexican to surrender both in the town and citadel, with the two Texan regiments, and this proposition was made by many; and feelings of indignation, especially by the Texans, were expressed in the strongest language that could be made use of in regard to the capitulation. Very respectfully, your obedient servant, S. H. WALKER,

Captain Mounted Riflemen, U. S. A.

The armistice consented to by Taylor because, as usual, he was the dupe of his adversary, was of course not acknowledged by the government, but it had an evil influence upon the war; enhancing, in both blood and treasure, the price of peace.

*To "wool" in the army of occupation, was for the General with both hands to seize a volunteer who particularly displeased him, by both ears, as is sometimes done by irritable spinsters to contumacious lap-dogs.

TOUCHING THE TEUTONS.

PHILANTHROPY is all very well, my dear editor, but, like missionary effort, best indulged in at home. I, for one, lose every glimmer of it when I read the news from Germany. Poor dear old Germany!-turned topsy-turvy by a mob of greasy, beer-drinking students, and Socialist professors! The Henker take the Union: the Reich, the greatest of modern political humbugs! May the Henker also run away with the felt hats and cock's feathers, and all the other middle-age absurdities the Romanticists wish to restore! Why could not the Arch-Duke John stay at home in Styria with his post-mistress, and not come on a fool's errand to Frankfort? Frederic William may thank himself for much of this. He had always a yearning for Feudalism and clashed doublets.

This Teutonic Unity theory, a childish eagerness to give a political reality to Moritz Arndt's capital war-song, "What is the Deutscher's Fatherland?" will die out by itself; but demagoguism, and disorder, and crazy vagaries, are established for many a year. Is there to be no spot left in the world that an American may visit, without stumbling upon caucuses and ward meetings? Can we travel nowhere without seeing "Liberty" placarded at the street corners and being elbowed and jostled by "Freemen?" I cannot help regretting the old state of things, when the Yankee, arriving in Vienna, was told to beware of talking about government. Dark hints were thrown out about spies; one felt surrounded by a pleasing atmosphere of mystery-no annoyance came of it. Who ever saw a spy? No; we took pride in saying that at home we could do as we pleased, (although we had ten times more liberty here,) and all sorts of disadvantageous comparisons were showered upon the poor Viennese, who seemed to care very little about affairs of state. Jollity was with them the order of the day. The Volksgarten and Strauss, or a waltz at the Sperl or the opera with Madame Schwartz and the charming Forti-the Casino for dinner, Daum's for coffee, and Dehne's conditorei for ices. What puddings, what wine, and what ridiculously small bills! Everywhere music, dancing, good cheer, and money no object-just the place for the man who likes to combine enjoyment and economy. And now, heu quantum mutata-the shops are closed and Strauss is silent. Election notices are posted where the programmes of balls and theatres met the delighted eye, and the Sperl is turned into an Austrian Tammany. It may be all very well for the natives. I bow before Liberty, Civilization, Selfgovernment, Progress, and all that sort of thing-old stories to us on this side of the water;-but I say again, it is hard, very hard for the stranger. Imagine yourself at a German primary meeting, not knowing one word of the language! What fun!

Mr. Murray will not be able to tell us any more, with all the authority of his red covers, that Vienna is another Paris; which, by the way, it was not: no more like it than beer is like Burgundy, or a dowdy Fraulien in the Graben to a trim Lorette in the Place St. George's.

There was Prague, the most curious piece of urban antiquity in Germany-domes, steeples, and turretted towers, bristling on both sides of the Moldau-all so old and legend-rich! Frock coats and round hats looked strangely incongruous in this medieval town. One expected to hear the jingle of armor, and to see a knight or a Lanzknecht, fully

equipped, step from one of those ancient portals! How fares it with Prague under the new systems of nationality? Bombarded-domes, steeples, and turretted towers riddled with shot, and blown down with shell.

If these disturbers of the public travel had started this turmoil and destruction at their own suggestion, one might have pardoned it; but to copy French revolutionists as well as French tailors!-I sincerely hope that the pleasant German character, so simple and so kind, will not vanish before the spirit of the age; and those pleasant German customs too: the gardens, the coffee, the knitting and the orchestra! Wherever one went was the Park, and in it capital music and happy faces. You paid two cents for the privilege of sitting within the enclosure of the café to hear the orchestra more at your ease;-if you begrudged the performers your groschen, you could lie on the grass without and hear them just as well.

What good souls they are, those hearty Germans! Their minds, like their meals, substantial but coarse, yet fond of sentimentality as of sauerkrout. Unmannered, without being unmannerly, they are wonderfully simple, dead to ridicule, and guiltless of jokes. The Fliegende Blätter, a Deutsch Punch, published at Munich, is a melancholy instance of the national failing-pleasantries so heavy, that they would sink like lead in the densest fluid known to chemists; caricatures so witless, that they would have made a laughing hyena cry like a crocodile. And, too, whenever you told a German of funny men and funny prints, he would say, Yes, but the Flying Leaves! Have you seen them? How, are they costly?"

I cannot help telling you what happened to a friend, who trusted to a German's "taking." Dining at the house of a distinguished professor in Berlin, he ventured to illustrate the stature of Western men by making use of the Americanism quoted in Blackwood, and said that he had seen a Kentuckian so tall that he had to go up a ladder to shave himself. The company laid down their knives and forks, and turned reproachful blue eyes upon him. He believed he had missed fire, and thought no more about it. The next day, however, he met the professor, who accosted him solemnly, "My dear G―, how could you think us so stupid as to suppose we could believe that remarkable fiction of your's yesterday? Do you not see that each time your Kentuckian put his foot upon a round of the ladder, his head would go up just so much, and that, consequently, he never could get any nearer his head than when he started!"

This want of feeling for the ridiculous makes the Germans do all manner of things in public that other people fear to venture upon for fear of being laughed at. The mind of a young and healthy traveller is sometimes slightly unbalanced by beholding the conjugal kisses and hugs which couples so much indulge in, on the decks of steamers or in rail-way carriages. Generally, however, he feels a sense of exultation, like Hobbes' laughing man, or like old Mr. Weller, to know that he is not obliged to do it, and like the deluded victim before him, thinks it happiness. The same naiveté in the advertising columns of the newpapers, I saw the other day in the Magdeburger Morgen Blätt, an ancient Joe Miller in actual existence; although Joe's best jokes, by the way, are formulas of human absurdity as eternal as the axioms of Legendre. It was this:

"Bertha Baumwolle announces to the world the untimely death of her husband, Bernhard Baumwolle, after a short illness. She calls upon her friends, who, knowing the value of the deceased, can feel for her irreparable loss, for sympathy. At the same time, she begs leave to inform the much-honored public, that

the business will be carried on as before, at the same place, and she hopes to merit the continuation of their well-willing patronage by her attention and industry."

In the Schwäbischer Merkur might for some months have been seen, that there was 66 at Heilbronn, to let, by Caspar Hendtlass, a store or stock of goods:" Here followed a George Robins' description of the premises, and,

66

Through the painful loss of my youngest daughter, I feel myself impelled to give up this, my grocery business, and to devote myself only, hereafter, to the commission business."

Many other advertisements read oddly enough to a stranger :

Adam, of Wurtemberg, having died, it is prescribed that mourning of the third class shall be worn for three weeks, and likewise, mourning of the fourth class for three weeks."

Loving couples publish their engagements as well as their marriages: "We hereby publish ourselves to the world as engaged:

RUDOLPH SCHINKEN,
MINNA ESSIG."

Then comes the usual marriage announcement more Americano; and, in due course of time, something of this kind is sure to appear,

"At eight o'clock this morning, my dear and well-loved wife, Minna Schinken, born Essig, was delivered of a fine boy, which joyful event I hereby proclaim to my friends. RUDOLPH SCHINKEN."

Your true German never spares details. Paragraphs abound, in which persons in search of a situation describe themselves as well-born, and possessed of every accomplishment, moral, mental and physical. There is generally, too, in every paper, a mysterious half-column with hieroglyphic phrases, only to be understood by the person to whom they are addressed. I suppose them to be communications of lovers whose papas and mamas had dammed the course of their true love. In this instance there can be no doubt of it:

"At dusk, O my love-you know where,

"Yes! thine ever,

2. M."

S. T."

The following kind wish is quite common:

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A happy birthday to Johan Hundsfot, of Leipsic," etc.

This sort of thing is totally unknown to French journals; you find nothing in their affiches which you may not read on those round towers, bulwarks of decency, which you encountered on the Boulevards at suita ble intervals, before the Communists pulled them down.

If this revolution could extend itself somewhat to table and travelling manners, I confess I should be pleased. The barbarous medley of dishes at the "noon-eating" might be simplified and reduced to shape. No longer should pudding be brought on next to boiled beef, stewed cherries served with pickled fish, and the roast reserved for the end of the festivala startling incongruity of feed! No worse though, when we think of it, than our Yankee fashion of putting five or six different articles of food on one and the same plate, and taking a mouthful of each in impartial succession. Our friend Peck, who had just broken himself of eating with his knife, was horror-struck at observing the unclean steel between the