and parish matters to see much of him, and about that time went on a
journey of some weeks.

* * * * *

THE CONQUEST OF CUBA.

One hundred years ago the people of America were as much moved by
martial ardor as are the American people of to-day. The year 1762 was,
indeed, a far more warlike time than was 1862. "Great war" is now
confined to the territory of the United States, and exists neither in
Asia, Africa, nor Europe. Garibaldi's laudable attempt to get it up in
Italy failed dismally. There was a flash of spirit, and there were a few
flashes of gunpowder, and all was over. "The rest is silence." There are
numerous questions unsettled in the Old World, but the disputants are
inclined to wait for settlement, it would seem, until our affairs shall
have been brought into a healthful state. Europeans complain that our
quarrel has wrought them injury, and very great injury, too. They are
right as to the fact. England has suffered more from the consequences of
the Southern Rebellion than have the Free States of the Union, and
France quite as much, and Spain as severely as any one of our States. In
Germany, in Switzerland, and in Belgium, thousands of families have had
bitter reasons for joining in the cry that Americans do not know how to
manage their politics. We have heard of riots in Moravia, not far from
the scene of Lafayette's imprisonment and that of Napoleon's greatest
victory, caused by the scarcity of cotton. Yankee cloths that used to go
into remote and barbarous regions, through the medium of the
caravan-commerce, will be known no more there for some time. Perhaps
those African chiefs who had condescended to shirt themselves, thus
taking a step toward civilization, will have to fall back upon their
skins, because Mr. Jefferson Davis and some others of the Southern
Americans chose to make war on their country, and so stop the supply of
cotton. The "too-many-shirts" cry, which so revolted the benevolent
heart of Mr. Carlyle twenty years since, has ceased to be heard. The
supply is getting exhausted. The old shirts are vanishing, and the new
ones, instead of being of good stout cloth, are of such stuff as dreams
are made of. There might be a new version of "The Song of the Shirt"
published, specially adapted to the state of the times, and which would
come home to the bosoms and backs of many men. Mr. Davis's war may be
considered as a personal one against all civilized men, for i