is necessary for the creation
and preservation of prompt obedience and clock-like regularity. Severe
laws are necessary in every body--civil, religious, and military--and in
no one, it is fair to say, are they more strictly enforced than in the
army of the United States. The sad penalty of death is rarely, if ever,
decreed, except in a regularly constituted war. A fearful instance of it
occurred in the valley of Mexico during our late contest with that
crumbling republic. Fifty deserters were condemned, but their execution
temporarily delayed by the officer in charge, that they might see the
stars and stripes run up over the falling castle of Chapultepec, and
their last gaze on earth be fixed, as well on the faithful valor of
their comrades, as on the flag they had shamelessly forsaken. As their
bodies swung to and fro, well relieved against the sky, and the setting
sun cast its lurid beams over countenances yet warm in death, many felt
the extreme severity yet justice of military law, particularly in an
enemy's country. In time of peace the punishment varies from a
dishonorable discharge to little temporary deprivations and
confinements, except for insubordination and desertion, when the law
again permits of considerable severity. The stories about long
confinements in dreary holes, starvation, &c., which we sometimes see in
the "newspapers of little circulation," are about as true as the nursery
tales in children's primers. Of the minor punishments, those which
combine an appeal to his pride are the most dreaded, and often have a
salutary effect. A mounted trooper would rather perform picket duty all
night, in any weather, than once take a stationary gallop on the wooden
"bob-tailed nag," facing the other way. The soldier's crimes--nearly
all--are criminal only in that they offend against military laws; and if
once in a while he has a hearing before Justice M., "you should not," as
he contends, "expect all the cardinal virtues for seven dollars a
month."

Wherever the pioneer has laid his axe, there you will find the soldier,
a ready watch-dog between the settler and the savage; and it is a great
misnomer for any one "in Congress assembled," to call him one of a
"peace establishment," as three-fifths of his number are now on active
service. In Florida--encamped in hammocks, or on the banks of some
unhealthy stream--he is parleying with the Seminole; while in New
Mexico, and over the vast frontier of Texas, he is enga