The Sun.
London, England, 1855-09-11 00:00:00

(From the Times of this day.)

We would much rather not be under the necessity of
believing that there are some at home to whom the glo-
rious news from the Crimea will be a disappointment.
It is indeed with the greatest difficulty that we can ima-
gine the state of those minds that have blundered into
so morbid and ridiculous a position. Yet we cannot
doubt the fact. These persons, drawing largely on the
obscurity and uncertainty of the future, and encouraged
possibly by some sinister auguries of their own, have
dwelt incessantly on the delay and comparative failure
of our military operations—on the patriotism and devo-
tion of the foe—on the inexhaustible extent of his re-
sources—on the presence of a religious idea on his side,
and the absence of it on our own—on the fatal neglect
which, in a way known to none but these mystic politi-
cians, had converted England and France into the
authors of a new war, instead of the insulted, aggrieved,
and threatened parties in an old one. On these and '
other topics, fabricated in a workshop of their own, and
more or less unintelligible to ordinary people, this select
knot of politicians have brooded and declaimed till they
have forgotten they are Englishmen. They cannot but
think that a great misfortune has happened to England
and to the common interests of humanity in the fall of
Sebastopol. On Mr. Gladstone's own premises, that
event which this day fills with honest joy every sound
heart among ourselves and our noble allies is the ti iumph
of criminal ambition, obstinacy, and revenge. Accord-
ing
to him and his handful of political associates, a hide-
ous
crime has been perpetrated, and the flames of Sebas-
topol, a ith the thousands who lie buried in its smoulder•
ing ruins, cry from the ground for vengeance upon IIF.
As far, indeed, as regards their own country, there is
one small consolation. In the plain, modest language
of the British Commander-in-Chief, the French suc-
ceeded in their main attack, while our attack failed. But
for this the gentlemen we refer to would scarcely wish
to show themselves in public during the present re-
joicing. To the air of satisfaction which every English
face will wear this day, notwithstanding the destiny,
not to call it by a higher name, which has given the
palm of victory more to our gallant ally than to our
own arms, these gentlemen are now able to reply, " You
have not much to beast of ; it was not you that did it."
This saving clause in the victory will render their ex-
ietence tolerable for the present, and of course we can-
not but be content that such able and excellent men
should have some encouragement to live a little longer,
and to hope one day for some event more entirely ac-
cording to their wishes.
As for the people of England, in the broad sense of
that word, which we will not allow to have any excep-
tion, they will rejoice on this occasion with a deep, a
chastened, and a rational joy. They now know more of
the horrors of war than they did a twelvemonth ago.
They have passed many months of anxiety and grief,
and have been brought to the verge of despondency ;
they have learnt that they must make great sacrifices,
and expect great reverses ; and, what is even more,
many, very many, have had the sorrows brought home
to them in the loss of near and dear friends. But
people who have suffered so much, so cheerfully, so
hopefully, and with so increasing a determination to
persevere at all costs, are better able to appreciate suc-
cess when it comes. We all know by this time that we
cannot snatch a victory ; we do not come upon it by
lucky chance. That would, indeed, be robbing it of
its highest significance. There have been many great
dee.is of heroism which to this day live in fame.
There have been many national deliverances which,
after the lapse of centuries, still claim our personal
gratitude. But in all these the splendour of vic-
tory shines on a foil of disaster and death. Men-
tion any name of glory in the annals of Greece
or Rome, of England, of France, or of any other nation
of Europe, and that name only serves as a torch to throw
light on a long period of unsuccessful labour, unrequited
sufferings, and unredeemed losses. None have lamented
and remonstrated so much as we that we do not bring
our vast mechanical resources more to the sparing of our
men. There was a time when we did hope that possibly
we might compound with money and the toil of the ar-
tisan for the blood of the soldier. The result, however,
shows that the character of war and the game of the
battle-field are much the same as ever. It is still life
that is staked, and personal courage that must carry the
day. When the artificer and the engineer have done their
best, there remains the contest of man with man. In
that contest the utmost we can hope for is somewhat less
loss on our side than that of our foes. With that whole-
some conclusion forced upon us by bitter experience, we
are in a better condition to read the glorious news that
Sebastopol has fallen to the arms of the allies.
After the lessons of this long struggle, it would be
vain to exaggerate the success, even were there any
reasons for doing so. Our armies now stand on a heap
of ruins. As far as the skill of the Russian engineers
could devise it, not one stone is left upon another of the
vast works south of the harbour ' • and we may be sure
that, in the event of the Russians finding it necessary to
retire from the north, they will complete the ghastly
amphitheatre, and from thu water's edge the Western
conquerors will see nothing but blackened mounds,
shattered walls, and many a hideous spectacle of mortal
decay. What next—whether we shall complete the work
of destruction, or establish within its circle some portion
of our vast host, or whether trusting to the force of that
host and the abundance of our supplies, we shall drive
the Russian out of the Crimea, and hold it against him,—
is possibly not yet decided on. But we are satisfied that
the only way to bring the war to a close is to carry it
on with all our heart and soul, all the opportunities in
our reach, and all the means in our power. We are tied
to no terms, except such as the allies may have agreed
to between themselves, and such as, in the exercise of
their discretion, they may think best for the security and
peace of the world. The only object, then, that we need
at present recognise is to reduce the enemy to the lowest
possible condition, and compel him to sue for his very
existence. Let England know that we have to deal
with a foe who knows no rule but necessity, and who
will only_be restrained from resuming his long-cherished
BCheroo of universal dominiou by the want of power and