s once free and happy republic
during the past two years--yet no nation, plunged into any description
of conflict, has ever been so favored of Heaven with the means for
carrying it on and so delivered of Heaven from the dangers of famine and
pestilence which so often accompany the other affliction.

At no period in the history of any nation in the world, could the
statistics of that country exhibit the same amount of material wealth
and power of production as those shown by the loyal States of the
American Union at the moment of the breaking out of the Rebellion--the
capabilities of the seceding States being left entirely out of the
question. Private coffers and the vaults of our banks were alike full of
gold, which had been for years flowing in and amassing from the mines of
California and the favorable course of foreign exchanges. We had been
feeding the world, and at the same time supplying ourselves and the
world with more than half the precious metals yearly contributed to the
hoards of the nations; and that the country should literally have become
"full of money," was inevitable. But more especially did we hold power
over the whole world in our capacities for fruit-growing and in our
stores of breadstuffs already amassed. With proper management of our
resources, the latter fact alone might have made the whole world
tributary to us, and we could have dictated terms in war as well as in
peace.

When a certain young Lieutenant in the British naval service, from the
China fleet, crossed from Hong Kong to San Francisco on his way home on
leave, in 1861, and then came by the overland route from San Francisco
to New York, he fell into conversation in this city with a friend whom
he had known in England; and as there were then rumors of trouble with
Great Britain growing out of her expected help to the rebels, that
conversation very naturally turned towards the relative wealth and power
of the two countries.

"Well, I do hope," said the young English officer, "that there will not
be any trouble between the two countries, because we don't want to fight
you, you know!"

"And so do I," said his friend. "The _people_ of America do not bear any
ill will to the people or the government of England."

"But we should beat you if we _did_ fight, you know," pursued the
Englishman, with John Bull's tenacity of national pride.

"Think so?" asked the other, with the slightest suspicion of a sneer
upon his lip.

"Oh, no, I don'