happy and calamitous contest with the American colonies, which broke out in 1775. After a struggle of seven or eight years, in which England lost 200,000 lives, and expended £139,171,876 sterling, peace was signed between the contending powers at Paris on the 3d of September 1783, by which Great Britain acknowledged the thirteen provinces of North America free, sovereign, and independent states.

Next came the war levied first against the French republic, and afterwards against Napoleon Bonaparte. In the early part of the century, it had been the great object of England to humble the French monarchy, and now that it was sufficiently humbled, the object was to reinstate it in power. The war began in 1793, and lasted till 1801; and recommencing in 1803, it continued till 1816. The expense incurred for this protracted, and, as it is now believed to have been, useless struggle, amounted to the enormous sum of seventeen hundred millions of pounds, which was raised partly by taxes, and partly by borrowed money! Without borrowing money, none of the wars could have been carried The debt thus incurred by the nation has consequently increased in exact proportion to the number and extent of the wars. At the revolution of 1688, the debt amounted to only £664,263; and at the peace of 1816, it was £864,822,461; the interest of which, to be paid annually out of the taxes, was £28,341,416. What embarrassments to trade, what privations and inconveniences, are caused by this inheritance of debt and taxation, need not be particularised; nor is it any consolation to remember that the greater number of the wars which led to so unpleasant an infliction were far from being unpopular at the time of their occurrence.

on.

It would almost seem, from recent events, that war is no longer desired or maintained by governments, but by the people. No sovereign of any civilised state now seeks to promote war for the mere sake of conquest, or from any other vulgar motive. Knowing the fearful cost at which war is conducted, governments appear to be more anxious to allay than to foment differences. In many instances, however as, for example, in the case of the war of the French in Algeria-the ruling power is a puppet in the hands of the people; and unless the people have the intelligence so to will it, the government cannot, with regard to its own safety, refuse to enter upon and sustain a warlike struggle. Let us hope that, by the progress of intelligence, the nation to which we belong may in future be saved from any acts so outrageous to common sense and humanity. Let us also soon see the prevalence of correct opinions on what is scarcely less objectionable than war itself an armed peace, in which nations are kept in agitation through their mutual jealousies and unjustifiable alarms. That the principle of free commercial intercourse will, more than anything else, remove such jealousies and their consequences, one of the most gratifying discoveries in political science.

is

HE scene of our story opens in a pretty countryhouse near a village in France. The master of the mansion, the venerable M. Grandville, has called in Jacque Denoyer, his gardener, with whom he desired to have some conversation.

"Please to sit down, Jacque; take a chair," said M. Grandville. "I want to have a little chat with you. Sit down, I tell you."

Jacque Denoyer seated himself near the door of the parlour where M. Grandville was breakfasting; he had a look of uneasiness, and a sudden blush gave a deeper colour to a face already embrowned by the sun.

"I am quite satisfied with you," continued M. Grandville. "If you go on the rest of the year as you have done this month of trial, I do not think we shall soon part with each other; as far at least as depends upon me. And now, Denoyer, are you quite satisfied here? Have you not too much to do? Can you manage both stable and garden?"

"Why not, sir?" replied Jacque Denoyer. "If I had ten times as much to do, I would not complain. Can I ever do enough for you, sir, who have saved from misery myself, my wife, and our three children?"

"One thing astonishes me, Jacque, and that is the extreme

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poverty in which I found you and your wife; and now that I am better acquainted with you, I am still more astonished at it. At first I believed you to be indolent, or destitute of ability; but I find you intelligent, quick, willing, a good gardener, and an excellent groom. I have even perceived that you are not without industry; that you are ready to supply exigencies which often occur in a country place. Besides, you are not a bad mechanic, and you even know how to read and write. How comes it, then, that in a country like this, where there are rich proprietors, manufactures of all kinds, marble quarries, and forges, in which any one who has hands may get employment— how comes it, then, that at your age you were destitute?"

The embarrassment of Jacque Denoyer visibly increased; he twisted and twirled his hat in his hands, without daring to raise his eyes; and it might have easily been guessed that he would have preferred being anywhere else than in M. Grandville's breakfast parlour.

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Jacque Denoyer," said he, in a tone full of kindness, "it is not as a master, it is as a friend I ask you these questions-it is as a man well convinced that it is never too late to endeavour at least to correct a defect or a vice which compromises both our own well-being and that of those who depend on us. Yes, my friend, let us have but the will, and we may at any age eradicate evil inclinations or pernicious habits. Come, speak openly. Tell me how you, who seem to be so clever a man, should be so very poor a one?"

Thus encouraged and spoken to by his master-a thing not unusual in France-Jacque commenced his story.

"I am the son of a decent, well-doing man, who followed the profession of a stone-carver in the town of Troyes. When still young, my father taught me a few things, and was quite pleased with my quickness of learning. M. Imbert, who was acquainted with my family, and who was the best architect in the town of Troyes, desired to see me on my father's report of me; and he said to him before me, You must put this child to school; he will learn reading, writing, arithmetic, and drawing; when he is thoroughly instructed in them, I will take him to my office, and if he continues to show talent, we will make a distinguished master mason of him, or else an architect, as I am.'

"You may suppose, sir, how delighted my father was and my mother also. I was the only one spared to them of ten children, and they caught eagerly at the thought of making a gentleman of me, like M. Imbert.

"After I had attended school for about a month, the master began to take notice of me. No sooner did I wish, than I learned. But I never gave myself any trouble, and I did as much business in ten minutes as the others did for the four hours of school. But when I knew that I was a genius, it was then indeed I took matters easy. Yes, sir, the master, the neighbours,

the gentlemen of the town who examined me, said so to my father; and the poor dear man did not know himself for joy at having a son a genius.

Although I did not very clearly know what a genius was, I was a good deal puffed up with the idea of being one, and on that account took things easily at school, learning only now and then when in the humour, but in the main passing ahead of my schoolfellows. At the last public examination I went through before leaving school, I distinguished myself by my answering; and the master said to me, 'You will get on, however little you may work.'

"M. Imbert, who was present at the examination, took me home with him according to promise, and thus was I most advantageously placed for making my way in the world. I was at first delighted at the thought of becoming an architect, so much the more as M. Imbert was goodness itself, and took great interest in me: but at the end of a year I had got enough of it. I felt a great desire to try something else. M. Imbert began to see my indifference, or rather my unwillingness, to stick steadily to his business. He remonstrated and scolded in a way far from pleasant. Jacque,' said he, ' I am afraid you will never do any good-Jack-of-all-trades, and master of none.' Tired of this sort of dog-life, and with a mind to be a soldier, I was more than half-pleased when I was drawn by the conscription. My parents, as you may well believe, were greatly grieved at it; but so was not I. Ah, sir, at that time the uniform was so handsome! and I, a youngster, already saw myself a captain, colonel, general, and what not beside. I seemed as if I had nothing to do but to put my foot in the stirrup. There were a great many raw recruits like myself, but then I had received a better education than most of them."

"Well, I hope you did your duty as a soldier?" observed M. Grandville.

II.

"You shall hear," proceeded Denoyer. "On entering the army, I soon found that all is not gold that glitters. It is one thing to idle about the streets in a gaudy uniform, and another to endure fatigue, wounds, and starvation. The Russian campaign was destined to give me a trial of soldiering. I passed three months with the depôt of the regiment, which was quartered in the environs of Mayence, on this side of the Rhine. I was one of five or six hundred recruits who were drilled every day, and all day long. I knew my business as well in a fortnight as the oldest veteran; and our officers took notice of me already, and predicted that I should have epaulettes at the end of the campaign. As I wrote a good hand, and spelt well, my sergeant-major intrusted me with his business, which I per

formed whilst he was amusing himself at Baden, on the other side of the Rhine; and that obtained me some kindnesses on his part..

"At this time my passion for books was stronger than ever. As one was never out of my hand, I passed for a very learned man, which did not at all make me a favourite with my comrades, or even with our officers. For then, sir, people did not think so much of men of education as they do now. What is more, the emperor himself, great man as he was, did not much like his soldiers to be readers. All he wanted was, to see them do his bidding; and he was furious at the notion of any one thinking for himself. Well, the order arrived for us to repair to Hamburg, to rejoin the Maréchal Davoust, Prince of Eckmühl. Then we went through Prussia and Poland, and stood fire for the first time at Mohilow. Look, sir, one who has not seen a battle, and a battle like that, where nine of our cavalry regiments were cut in pieces, can scarcely estimate the truth of the Spanish proverb, War is the feast of death.' Surely it is the feast of wolves. I felt that day my blood boiling in my veins, and yet my courage was more in exercise in subsequent battles than on that day of Mohilow. Then I was like one drunk or mad, but afterwards I knew the danger.

"I will say nothing, sir, of our horrible retreat, nor of the passage of the Berezina. It has been related by others in their books much better than I could do it. Surely the horrors of that time were sufficient to open the eyes of those who think that to turn the earth into a slaughter-house, and men into butchers of each other, is heroism? If in every war the Chinese saying comes true-I long ago met with it in a book, when I didn't believe it; now I do-The most brilliant victory is only the light of a conflagration, which the tears of suffering humanity slakes into a smoke, the faithful emblem of its miscalled glory if this be true of every war, what must be said of the horrors of this disastrous epoch, in which we had to contend at once with men, the elements-earth and heaven? There are still times, sir, when I start up in my sleep, when in my dreams I am again in the midst of these terrors. No words could place before you the sufferings, physical and moral, then endured. All social ties were broken. Hunger, devouring hunger, reduced us to the brutal instinct of self-preservation; while, like savages, the strongest despoiled the weakest. They rushed round the dying, and frequently waited not for their last breath; and if some preserved enough of good in them to consult their own safety without injuring others, yet their virtue, save in some few rare instances, went no farther. Leader or comrade fell by our side, and we passed by him without moving a step out of our way, for fear of prolonging our journey, or even turning our head; for our beard and our hair were stiffened by the ice, and every motion was pain. Often have I seen real tears of blood flowing from