When informed of the contemplated advance on Richmond, General Haupt concluded to replace the trestle-bridge across Potomac Creek by the military truss-bridge, which was of a more permanent character. The trestle-bridge had performed good service for more than a year, but, as it obstructed the water-way of the stream too much, and as the preservation of the communications would become of even greater importance after the advance than it had previously been, it was thought best to take it down. General Hooker, having heard of this determination, sent for General Haupt in much alarm, and inquired if the report as to the proposed rebuilding of the bridge was true, and protested against having it disturbed, saying that he needed all the supplies that could be run forward, and could not allow a suspension of transportation even for a day. General Haupt replied, that he was willing to be held responsible for results, but must be permitted to control his own means; he did not ask for a suspension of transportation; he would take down the high bridge and build a permanent bridge on the piers, and would not detain a single train even for an hour. General Hooker and staff declared that they did not believe such a feat possible; yet it was actually accomplished without any detention to the trains whatever, and in a period of time so brief as to be almost incredible. In less than two days the trusses of the three spans were placed in position.
If there is any one faculty which General Haupt appears to possess in a preëminent degree, it is resource. He never finds an engineering problem so difficult that some satisfactory mode of solution does not present itself to his mind. He seems to comprehend intuitively the difficulties of a position, and the means of surmounting them. He never waits; if he cannot readily obtain the material he desires, he takes that at hand. His new work on "Military Bridges" exhibits this power of resource in a remarkable degree; it is full of expedients, novel, practical, and useful, among which may be mentioned expedients for crossing streams in front of the enemy by means of blanket-boats,—ingenious substitutes for pontoon-bridges, floats, and floating-bridges,—plans for the complete destruction of railroad bridges and track, and for reconstructing track,—modes of defence for lines of road, etc.: for the book, be it observed, is not limited in its contents to the single subject indicated by its title.
The design of the author, as stated in the Introduction, appears to have been to give to the army a practically useful book. He has not failed to draw from other sources where suitable material was furnished, an indebtedness which he has gracefully acknowledged; but a great part of the book contains new and original plans and expedients, the fruits of the experience and observation of the author while in charge of the construction and transportation for the armies of the Rappahannock, of Virginia, and of the Potomac, under Generals McDowell, Pope, McClellan, Burnside, Hooker, and Meade. It is a book no officer can afford to be without; and to the general reader who wishes to be thoroughly versed in the operations of the war, it will commend itself as replete with information on this subject.
Meditations on the Essence of Christianity, and on the Religious Questions of the Day. By M. Guizot. Translated from the French under the Superintendence of the Author. London: John Murray.
Whoever is familiar with religious controversies, past and present, has not failed to notice of late an improvement in their tone, for which we cannot be too deeply thankful. This does not arise solely from the neglect which now prevails of the ancient and highly recommended plan of imprisoning, torturing, and roasting such obstinate heretics as are too obtuse or too sharp-sighted to yield to milder methods of treatment. Such incidents in history as the exposure of Christians to hungry beasts in the Colosseum, a Smithfield burnt-offering of persistent saints, or a Spanish auto-da-fe, with attending civic, ecclesiastical, and sometimes even royal functionaries, and wide-encircling half-rejoicing and half-compassionate multitudes, were not without their charms and compensations for victims blessed with a fervid fancy or a deathless purpose. These cruel scenes associated such with the illustrious dead who have held life cheaper than truth, and gave them an opportunity of saying to countless multitudes such as no pulpit-orator could attract and sway,—"See how Christians die!" The liability to such trials turned away the fickle from the assembly of the faithful and attracted the magnanimous. When grim Puritans, in our early history, broke the stubborn necks of peace-preaching Quakers, the latter often thought it a special favor from Providence that they were permitted to bear so striking a testimony against religious fanaticism. They felt, like John Brown in his Virginian prison, that the best service they could render to the cause they had loved so well was to love it even unto death. Indeed, martyrs in mounting the scaffold have ever felt the sentiment,—
"Yet that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own."
Such heroic treatment always relieves any cause from contemptuous neglect, the one thing which is always harder to bear than the fires of martyrdom. Every reader of Bunyan knows that he complains far less of his twelve years' imprisonment than he exults over the success of his prison born, world-ranging Pilgrim. He would doubtless have preferred lying in that "den," Bedford jail, other twelve years to being unable to say,—
"My Pilgrim's book has travelled sea and land,
Yet could I never come to understand
That it was slighted or turned out of door
By any kingdom, were they rich or poor."
The dreariest period in religious discussion commonly occurs when men have just ceased to inflict legal penalties upon the heterodox, but have not yet learned those amenities which lend so sweet and gentle a dignity to debate. In looking over the dusty pamphlets which entomb so many clerical controversies of our Colonial times, it has often seemed as though we had lighted on some bar-room wrangle, translated out of its original billingsgate into scholarly classical quotations and wofully wrested tests of Holy Writ. This illusion seems all the more probable when we remember that the potations which inspired the loose jester and the ministerial pamphleteer of that period but too often flowed from the same generous tap. This phase of theological dispute is best typified in that eminent English divine who wrote,—"I say, without the least heat whatever, that Mr. Wesley lies." The manner in which such reverend disputants sought to force their conclusions on the reluctant has not infrequently reminded us of sturdy old Grimshawe, the predecessor of Bronté at Haworth, of whom Mrs. Gaskell reports, that, finding so many of his parishioners inclined to loiter away their Sundays at the ale-house as greatly to thin the attendance upon his ministry, he was wont to rush in upon them armed with a heavy whip, and scourge them with many a painful stroke to church, where, doubtless, he scourged them again with still more painful sermons.
But, bad as were the controversial habits of the clergy, those of their skeptical opponents were still worse. That was surely a strange state of things where such freethinking as the "Age of Reason" could win a wide circulation and considerable credit. But it was not merely the vulgar among freethinkers who then substituted sophistry and declamation for honesty and sense. The philosophers of the Institute caught the manners of the rabble. What a revolting scene does M. Martin sketch in his "Essay on the Life and Works of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre"! "The Institute had proposed this as a prize-question:—'What institutions are best adapted to establish the morals of a nation?' Bernardin was to offer the report. The competitors had treated the theme in the spirit of their judges. Terrified at the perversity of their opinions, the author of "Studies of Nature" wished to oppose to them more wholesome and consoling ideas, and he closed his report with one of those morsels of inspiration into which his soul poured the gentle light of the Gospel. On the appointed day, in the assembled Institute, Bernardin read his report. The analysis of the memoirs was heard at first with calmness; but, at the first words of the exposition of the principles of a theistical philosopher, a furious outcry arose from every part of the hall. Some mocked him, asking where he had seen God, and what form He bore. Others styled him weak, credulous, superstitious; they threatened to expel him from the assembly of which he had proved himself unworthy; they even pushed madness so far as to challenge him to single combat, in order to prove, sword in hand, that there is no God. Cabanis, celebrated by Carlyle for his dogma, 'Thought is secreted, like bile, somewhere in the region of the small intestines,' cried out, 'I swear that there is no God, and I demand that His name shall never be spoken in this place.' The reporter left the members in grave dispute, not whether there is a God, but whether the mention of His name should be permitted."