he madness and
wickedness of war, that would be deemed romantic in our darker land,
I have answered to the speakers, "But you are mightily pleased, and
illuminate for your victories in China and Ireland, do you not?" and
they, unprovoked by the taunt, would mildly reply, "_We_ do not, but
it is too true that a large part of the nation fail to bring home
the true nature and bearing of those events, and apply principle to
conduct with as much justice as they do in the case of a nation nearer
to them by kindred and position. But we are sure that feeling is
growing purer on the subject day by day, and that there will soon be a
large majority against war on any occasion or for any object."

I heard a most interesting letter read from a tradesman in one of the
country towns, whose daughters are self-elected instructors of the
people in the way of cutting out from books and pamphlets fragments on
the great subjects of the day, which they send about in packages, or
paste on walls and doors. He said that one such passage, pasted on a
door, he had seen read with eager interest by hundreds to whom such
thoughts were, probably, quite new, and with some of whom it could
scarcely fail to be as a little seed of a large harvest. Another good
omen I found in written tracts by Joseph Barker, a working-man of the
town of Wortley, published through his own printing-press.

How great, how imperious the need of such men, of such deeds, we felt
more than ever, while compelled to turn a deaf ear to the squalid and
shameless beggars of Liverpool, or talking by night in the streets of
Manchester to the girls from the Mills, who were strolling bareheaded,
with coarse, rude, and reckless air, through the streets, or seeing
through the windows of the gin-palaces the women seated drinking, too
dull to carouse. The homes of England! their sweetness is melting into
fable; only the new Spirit in its holiest power can restore to those
homes their boasted security of "each man's castle," for Woman, the
warder, is driven into the street, and has let fall the keys in her
sad plight. Yet darkest hour of night is nearest dawn, and there seems
reason to believe that

"There's a good time coming."

Blest be those who aid, who doubt not that

"Smallest helps, if rightly given,
Make the impulse stronger;
'Twill be strong enough one day."

Other things we saw in Liverpool,--the Royal Institute, with the
statue of Roscoe by Chantrey, and in its col