ng and
growling at our acquisition of Savoy, as threatening us if we accept
Sardinia, as trying to drive the Pope from Rome because we protect him,
as trying to separate the Danubian provinces because we wish to unite
them, as preventing the Suez Canal because we proposed it--in short, on
every occasion and in every part of the world as putting herself in our
way. To these complaints, which are not without foundation, are added
others of which our ignorant people do not see the absurdity. They are
told that the enormous conscription, and the great naval expenditure, are
rendered necessary by the aggressive armaments of England. That you are
preparing to lay waste all our coasts, to burn our arsenals, to subsidise
against us a new Coalition, and perhaps lead its armies again to Paris.

'The Emperor's moderation, his love of England, and his love of peace,
are said to be the only obstacles to, a violent rupture. But they are
prepared for these obstacles at length giving way. "The Emperor," they
are told, "is getting tired of his insolent, and hostile, and quarrelsome
allies. He is getting tired of a peace which is more expensive than a
war. Some day the cup will flow over. 'Il en finira avec eux,' will
dictate a peace in London, will free the oppressed Irish nationality,
will make England pay the expense of the war, and then having conquered
the only enemy that France can fear, will let her enjoy, for the first
time, real peace, a reduced conscription, and low taxation."

'Such is the language of all the provincial papers and of all the
provincial authorities, and it has its effect. There never was a time
when a war with England would be so popular. He does not wish for one, he
knows that it would be extremely dangerous, but he is accustomed to play
for great stakes, and if submitting to any loss of his popularity, or to
any limitation of his power is the alternative, he will run the risk. He
keeps it, as his last card, in reserve, to be played only in extremity,
but to be ready when that extremity has arrived.'

_Tuesday, August_ 13.--We drove to La Prenelle, a church at the point of
a high table-land running from Tocqueville towards the bay of La Hogue,
and commanding nearly all the Cherbourg peninsula. On three sides of us
was the sea, separated from us by a wooded, well-inhabited plain, whose
churches rose among the trees, and containing the towns and lofty
lighthouses of Gatteville, Barfleur, Vast, and La Hogue. We