would smack his lips for blood. Warriors and rulers care no more for the resolutions of peace conventions than a bear would for an argument. The cause of peace never will prevail until nations are made to see that war gives such weight to their taxes; until, in nations where the elective franchise is enjoyed, the friends of peace make themselves felt at the polls; until every man who enlists in an army is made to feel that his business is one of murder; until military titles are made odious and disgraceful; until standing armies are abolished; indeed, until Immanuel, the "Prince of Peace," sets up his kingdom among the nations..

We now leave England, the home of our fathers, and cross over to the continent. In succeeding chapters, we shall pursue our way from London to Dover, at which place we shall embark for sunny France - for gay, glittering Paris. I have written more than I originally intended upon England, and even now feel that I have done little justice to the subjects discussed. I have given an idea of the things which I have seen, and the impression they made upon my mind. These impressions may be, and doubtless are, in some instances, incorrect, as it cannot be supposed that a stranger, spending a few weeks in a country, should see every thing, or in all cases judge correctly of what he did see. I used my time, feet, and eyes to the best advantage, and if I have misjudged, why, there it is.

XV.

LONDON TO PARIS.

WE started from London on the South-western Railway, one morning just as the sun was clearing away the mist which hung over the metropolis. It was pleasant, after being shut up for weeks in the city, to get out into the clear atmosphere of the country, where the green fields and fresh breezes seemed more delicious than ever.

"Adieu, the city's ceaseless hum !

The haunts of sensual life, adieu!
Green fields and silent glens, we come

To spend this bright spring day with you."

The car in which we rode was an uncushioned lumber box, scarcely as good as our baggage cars, and inhabited by several Irish people, with crying babies, market women, and some well-disposed country folks, from whom we derived much valuable information. The country through which we rode was not as fine as that in some other portions of England; and as we passed along, few objects of interest presented themselves.

We arrived at Dover, after a ride of four hours, and commenced at once an examination of the town. It proved to be hardly what I expected, and I soon discovered that a few hours would make us well enough acquainted with it. The principal object of interest is

an old, dilapidated castle on the hights. As we went climbing up the steep ascent, a tinkling bell sounded at our side, and on looking around, we saw a large box, with "Remember the poor debtor" inscribed upon it. Over it was the bell, which connected by a string with the cell of the debtor, who, as he saw the stranger passing the box, would call his attention to it by ringing the bell. On the hights which command the

harbor and channel is the famous cannon known as "Queen Elizabeth's Pocket-piece," and which was given by that queen to the garrison. It bears the date of 1544, is twenty-four feet long, and is now so corroded as to be unfit for use. We looked in vain for the inscription which we always supposed was upon it:

"Scour me bright and keep me clean,

And I'll send a ball to Calais green."

The old fort is governed by a company of dull uniformed soldiers, who were very civil to us. They live a life of lazy inactivity, deriving their support from the hard-earned wages of the poor. At the foot of the hill, and along the shore, was spread out the little town, which seemed to give very few signs of life and industry.

At three o'clock we took a little steamer for Calais, leaving behind us the white cliffs of Dover, and all we had seen of merry England: The passage across the channel was performed in about two hours. The day was a delightful one, and the channel gave none of its usual signs of commotion, and we went skipping on,—

"O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,

Our thoughts as boundless, and our homes as free;
Far as the breeze can bear the billows' foam,

Behold our empire and survey our home!"

On arriving at Calais, we found the cars ready for Paris, and we entered them and were soon on our way. Of Calais I have no impression. I did not remain there long enough to get a single idea of the place. All I know is, that for the first time I was in a country where I could understand scarcely any of the language, and where the orders of the custom-house officers, and the yells of the cabmen, and the shouts of the porters, were all as unintelligible as the diction of the moon. It was a relief to get into the cars, out of the way of officious and meddling hangers-on, who, seeing our greenness, gave us any quantity of unsought advice, for which we did not even thank them; though one man, who showed us where we could purchase our tickets, demanded a franc as his fee, which we paid, as the shortest way of getting rid of him. The country to Paris is very fine, but indifferently cultivated. The farms around were unfenced, and the residences of the tenants were very poor, many of them being built of mud, and thatched with straw. The unusual sights gave evidence that we were on foreign soil; and the constant jabbering of the Frenchmen who were with us in the car, and whose speech was as unintelligible to us as ours was to them, kept us constantly aware that we were out of the province of good round Saxon speech, and good wholesome Saxon habits.

The cars in France are much better, and the expense of traveling less, than in England. The second-class cars on the continent are nearly equal to the first in Britain, and the first class are fitted up in a style of surpassing elegance. Our fellow-passengers were very civil and well-disposed persons, but had on most disagreeable beards, as black as your boot, and almost as long, and all the way to Paris kept up a continual

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smoking of the worst cigars a non-smoking traveler ever had to endure.

On getting out of the cars at a station on the way, I tried to purchase some refreshments, but found the keepers knew as little of English as I did of French, and, for a while, the prospect of securing a supper seemed dark; but I at length laid hold of what appeared to be a nice pie, and, as I could not understand the price, pulled from my pocket all the change I had, and allowed the damsel in charge to take as much as she chose. But on seating myself in the cars, and opening my pie, I found it to contain nothing but a sausage. I had not learnt to love French cooking; and this roll of meat, done up in so suspicious a manner, brought to my mind all the stories I had ever heard of the delightful manner in which French cooks serve up dogs, cats, and babies, so that the most experienced will hardly distinguish them from the choicest dishes ever craved by the appetite of the epicure; and some one very kindly began to tell the story of a distinguished American, who, in China, sat down to a sumptuous feast, and ate voraciously of a delicate dish which was set before him. When his dainty meal was finished, and he sat wondering what the food could be which had tempted his appetite to such an extent, a servant entered, and, wishing to have his curiosity gratified, and yet being entirely unacquainted with the language, he pointed to the dish, and said, "Quack, quack," meaning to ask if it was duck. The servant replied, "Bow wow, bow wow," intimating that the delicious food was not duck, but dog. My roll was thrown out of the window, to the great astonishment of the Frenchman, who seemed not to comprehend my motive, and to be shocked at my waste.