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 . 2, 1861.] and driven his abominable police-agents from the country, or into dark hiding-places from which they dare no longer to come forth, the least they could do would be to maintain order for themselves. Europe, at the same time, should not be too exacting in its opinion of the Southern Italians. These men are what their tyrants have made them. If it turns out that they are the fathers of freemen, we shall be content.

Cavour, as it is said, has a working majority in the Italian Parliament, and for every reason it is to be hoped that this may turn out to be true. The safety of Italy lies in undivided counsels. Garibaldi, with his great heart—the man who, after having conquered a kingdom, retired to his farm with the hope that all letters to him might be post-paid, because he could not afford the expense of paying the postage—is not a very likely man to embarrass the hands of the Italian Government at the critical moment when the fate of Italy is trembling in the balance. If we hear of him this If we hear of him this spring it will probably be in Hungary, or in the Adriatic Provinces of Austria, for he is a person who will not find much favour in the eyes of the official personages at the Horseguards at Turin. A report was current that Louis Napoleon had caused Count Cavour to be informed that if the Austrians sent a soldier across their own limits, or fired a gun in hostility, he would instantly cover Lombardy once more with his troops. The French are now in a far better, and the Austrians in a far worse position than after Solferino. At that time the best troops on the French side had perished in the various bloody engagements which had preceded the misunderstanding at Villa-Franca—public opinion in France, despite of the victories and triumphs of the French arms, was fairly alarmed at the gigantic proportions which the operations in Lombardy had assumed. Not forgetful of Sebastopol, the French were scarcely prepared to incur the carnage and hazard of protracted operations in the Quadrilateral. The slightest check in the career of Louis Napoleon’s success might, in the then temper of the nation, have seriously endangered his political and dynastic position. To advance was difficult; to recede, an impossibility. The great gainer at Villa-Franca was Louis Napoleon himself.

Who can say that the French have not a right to affix any conditions they please to the assistance they may be willing to afford to the Italians? Clearly Louis Napoleon was in the wrong, not only in the eyes of Europe, but even of France, when he detained his fleet before Gaëta, and prolonged the agony of a nation for his own selfish ends. Clearly he is in the wrong, when he remains in armed occupation of Rome, and fortifies Civita Vecchia in a way which does not inspire one with the belief that he has any real intention of relaxing his grasp upon that portion of Italy. But if he withdrew every French soldier from the Peninsula to-morrow, and refused to assist the Italians in a military way, on the grounds that a nation which could not help itself was not worthy of independence; and because it was not reasonable that the French nation should spend their blood and treasure upon a cause which was not their own; who could blame him? If he accompanied such declarations as these with expressions of hearty goodwill to the Italian cause, he would be doing exactly what we are doing in England. If we blamed him we should blame ourselves. The only difference in our position is that the bones of many thousands of Frenchmen lie buried in Lombardy, and that, were all the fruits of this great sacrifice to be thrown away, the French nation might call their ruler somewhat sternly to account.

It is impossible not to dwell upon this subject. Who has taken up a newspaper with any serious thought but that of looking for intelligence—first from the United States, and then from Italy? Risca colliery explosions—the frost, and then the thaw—scandalous trials in the Divorce Court—railway accidents—even the Metropolitan distress, are not subjects which interest the public just now in any very peculiar way, because every man of ordinary understanding in these islands is well aware that the points which most immediately concern him are the turn which affairs may take in Italy and the United States. Threatening as the aspect of affairs may be on the other side of the Atlantic, and vitally interested as our own people are in the solution of the difficulty in some satisfactory way, there is far more danger to us in a breeze from the sweet South than in an Atlantic gale. For all the bluster and disturbance which prevail at the present moment throughout the United States, it is difficult to acquiesce in the belief that in a moment of fierce exasperation against each other, they will consent to sign their own ruin. The Americans—let the expression pass to signify the citizens of the United States—are more demonstrative in their affections and animosities than we are in this older and more settled land. They have less reverence for the past—for their past is yesterday. They have more confidence in the future, for why should men despair of the future who find a whole continent open to their ambition upon the easiest terms? A man struggling for subsistence is ready to make allowances, to acquiesce in compromises, to admit that he cannot have all things in this world his own way. The Americans are not disturbed by any such hesitations. Earth and sea are their own—why should not every self-sufficient citizen of every state in the Confederation take his own course, and leave his fellows to their own devices? There is but one reason of which we know—and that is that amid the very storm and whirlwind of passion, a still small voice whispers the potent word “Dollar—Dollar—Dollar!” to every freeman’s heart, and this suggests the pecuniary advantages of political forethought, and patriotism.

How often have we Englishmen—that is, as many of us as have reached middle life—been astonished with the fierce declamations of the American Press, and of their indignation meetings, when directed against ourselves. Now, it was the Boundary Treaty—now Oregon—now a Fishery—now an Island. We have invariably given way with a somewhat contemptuous consciousness of our own superiority; but it has as invariably appeared that if we had not done so our antagonists, on their part, were upon the eve of retiring