The Press.
London, England, 1856-01-12 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

kindred who in the bleak Crimea brave the
hostile climate with the same unshrinking
nerve as they withstood the legions of the
enemy in the field. Since last year many a
beloved father has perished hundreds of miles
away from the household hearth. Many a
son will never more be welcomed to the
parental embrace ; and the once stalwart form
of many a gallant spirit, the pride of his race,
and the idol of his Mends, moulders by the
shores of the angry Euxine For long years
to come the sound of " the trenches," " the
gravel-pits," "the Redan," will make manly
voices falter, and bedew gentle eyes, as the
thought of the youthful and gallant slain rises
before the memory.
It is impossible for any one to think
of his friends in the Crimea without
feeling the deepest sympathy for them.
Though they are not starving now, like a
twelvemonth since, they have great hardships
to endure. There are pangs ofthe heart, achingly
felt by those who suffer from the home sickness.
For two desperate campaigns they have fought
the good fight, and never flinched in the roar
of the battle, or while pestilence stalked
through the camp. But some of them may
waver as they ask themselves, " Do those at
" home care about us, and think of us, save
" now and again? Perhaps, if thought of at
" all, it is only as helping to contribute to the
" appetite for emotional excitement? They
" look at our pictures, they read public corre-
" spondence about us, and retail our Crimean
" gossip ; but, possibly, there it all ends."
No! It is not thus. " Our fellows in the
" Crimea, and safe home to them !" is the
frequent aspiration of domestic England.
Often and often are their hardihood and their
sufferings talked of and extolled. Let
our military friends be assured that none at
home underrate what they are enduring this
winter. In Spain, in Italy, or in Mid-Europe,
or in high latitudes, winter quarters are irk-
some to men of martial temperament ; but a
Crimean winter, when little is stirring, save
the wrath of the elements, when frost, rain,
and wind, make an alliance, is enough to
dispirit the most aspiring heart.
It is in such moments that the thought of
being forgotten, or not cared about, freezes it
soldier's better feelings. A soldier, officer or
private, does not show his emotions like a
civilian ; but he can feel the pang of neglect
or carelessness just as keenly. Heartiness is
a soldier's characteristic, and the want of it
amongst his friends or kindred is always felt
by men who quit the paths of lucre to follow
those which lead to glory But let them be
well assured that, so far from being not
thought of, their position swallows up many
other public and private considerations.
We know what they are braving, and while
we glory in their chivalry we feel for their
privations. The holly, and ivy, and misletoe
are not for them to see as is usual in an
English Christmas tune ; but fame, nut
fancy, invests our countrymen in the Crimea
with evergreen crowns of laurels. We only
sigh till the hour of " Welcome home " shall
be rang out by many a cheery voice to the
brave defenders of their country's name. May.
the God of Battles shield them by His Provi-
dence, and be pleased to give the victory to
our combatants ! This is the ardent prayer
poured forth from the purest and best heart s
in England; and we devoutly hope that it
will be heard, and that our affection for our
absent heroes will be gratified by seeing them
return to receive the public honours which
they nobly have deserved.