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completely filled by the soldiery, while at the door stood the miserable proprietor without an assylum, deploring the death of his children, and the loss of his fortune. The churches alone afforded some consolation to the unhappy victims who had no other shelter. The cathedral, celebrated through Europe, and held in great veneration by the Russians, became the refuge of the unfortunate beings who had escaped the flames. In this church, and round its altar, were seen whole families extended on the ground. On one side was an old man just expiring, and casting a last look on the image of the saint whom he had all his life invoked; on the other was an infant, whose feeble cries the mother, worn down with grief, was endeavouring to hush, and while she presented it with the breast her tears dropped fast upon it.
“In the midst of this desolation, the passage of the army into the interior of the town, formed a striking contrast. On one side was seen the abject submission of the conquered—on the other the pride attendant upon victory: the former had lost their all—the latter, rich with spoil, and ignorant of defeat, marched proudly on to the sound of warlike music, inspiring the unhappy remains of a vanquished population with mingled fear and admiration.
The Night before the Battle.
“Although worn out with fatigue, we felt felt not the want of sleep, there were many among us, so enamoured of glory, and so flushed
