d:

"The financial burden is doubtless great; but you have others. Witness
your pension expenditures. With us the money drawn from the people is
used in such a way as to be of inestimable value to them. We take the
young hobbledehoy farm-hand or mechanic, ignorant, mannerless, uncleanly
as he may be, and turn him out at the end of three years with his
regiment, self-respecting and well-mannered, with habits of cleanliness
and obedience, having acquired a bearing, and a love of order that will
cling to and serve him all his life. We do not go so far," he added, "as
our English neighbors in drilling men into superb manikins of 'form' and
carriage. Our authorities do not consider it necessary. But we reclaim
youths from the slovenliness of their native village or workshop and make
them tidy and mannerly citizens."

These remarks came to mind the other day as I watched a group of New
England youths lounging on the steps of the village store, or sitting in
rows on a neighboring fence, until I longed to try if even a judicial
arrangement of tacks, 'business-end up,' on these favorite seats would
infuse any energy into their movements. I came to the conclusion that my
French acquaintance was right, for the only trim-looking men to be seen,
were either veterans of our war or youths belonging to the local militia.
And nowhere does one see finer specimens of humanity than West Point and
Annapolis turn out.

If any one doubts what kind of men slouching youths develop into, let him
look when he travels, at the dejected appearance of the farmhouses
throughout our land. Surely our rural populations are not so much poorer
than those of other countries. Yet when one compares the dreary homes of
even our well-to-do farmers with the smiling, well-kept hamlets seen in
England or on the Continent, such would seem to be the case.

If ours were an old and bankrupt nation, this air of discouragement and
decay could not be greater. Outside of the big cities one looks in vain
for some sign of American dash and enterprise in the appearance of our
men and their homes.

During a journey of over four thousand miles, made last spring as the
guest of a gentleman who knows our country thoroughly, I was impressed
most painfully with this abject air. Never in all those days did we see
a fruit-tree trained on some sunny southern wall, a smiling flower-garden
or carefully clipped hedge. My host told me that hardly the necessary
vegetables