ound.

This connection is, in the first place, a permanent condition of War,
for it is impossible to imagine our organised Armies effecting any
operation otherwise than in some given space; it is, secondly, of the
most decisive importance, because it modifies, at times completely
alters, the action of all forces; thirdly, while on the one hand it
often concerns the most minute features of locality, on the other it may
apply to immense tracts of country.

In this manner a great peculiarity is given to the effect of this
connection of War with country and ground. If we think of other
occupations of man which have a relation to these objects, on
horticulture, agriculture, on building houses and hydraulic works, on
mining, on the chase, and forestry, they are all confined within very
limited spaces which may be soon explored with sufficient exactness.
But the Commander in War must commit the business he has in hand to a
corresponding space which his eye cannot survey, which the keenest zeal
cannot always explore, and with which, owing to the constant changes
taking place, he can also seldom become properly acquainted. Certainly
the enemy generally is in the same situation; still, in the first place,
the difficulty, although common to both, is not the less a difficulty,
and he who by talent and practice overcomes it will have a great
advantage on his side; secondly, this equality of the difficulty on both
sides is merely an abstract supposition which is rarely realised in the
particular case, as one of the two opponents (the defensive) usually
knows much more of the locality than his adversary.

This very peculiar difficulty must be overcome by a natural mental gift
of a special kind which is known by the--too restricted--term of
Orisinn sense of locality. It is the power of quickly forming a correct
geometrical idea of any portion of country, and consequently of being
able to find one's place in it exactly at any time. This is plainly
an act of the imagination. The perception no doubt is formed partly by
means of the physical eye, partly by the mind, which fills up what is
wanting with ideas derived from knowledge and experience, and out of the
fragments visible to the physical eye forms a whole; but that this whole
should present itself vividly to the reason, should become a picture, a
mentally drawn map, that this picture should be fixed, that the details
should never again separate themselves--all that can only be effe