armies in the last war effected everything that could be effected; and what was it? It cost a numerous army, under the command of a most able general [Lord Amherst], now a noble Lord in this House, a long and laborious campaign, to expel five thousand Frenchmen from French America. My Lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered much. As to conquest, therefore, my Lords, I repeat, it is impossible. You may swell every expense and every effort still more extravagantly; pile and accumulate every assistance you can buy or borrow; traffic and barter with every little pitiful German prince that sells and sends his subjects to the shambles of a foreign prince; your efforts are forever vain and impotent-doubly so from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your enemies, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty! If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms

From "Idyls of Norway and Other Poems," copyright, 1882, by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York.

Said Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty Brier-Rose:

What will become of you, my child, there is nobody knows.

You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the

broom;

You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom."

Thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late at eve, The goodwife, as she bustled with pot, and tray, and sieve;

But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she cocked her dainty head: "Why, I shall marry, mother dear," full merrily she said.

"You marry, saucy Brier-Rose! The man, he is not found To marry such a worthless maid, these seven leagues around."

66

But Brier-Rose, she laughed, and she trilled a merry lay: Perhaps he'll come, my mother dear, from seventeen leagues away!"

The goodwife, with a "humph!" and a sigh, forsook the battling,

But threw her pots and pails about with much vindictive

rattling.

Alas! what sin did I commit in youthful days and wild, That I am punished in my age with such a wayward child?"

Up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none her step could hear, And, laughing, pressed an airy kiss behind the goodwife's

ear.

And she, as e'er relenting, sighed: "Oh, Heaven only knows

Whatever will become of you, my naughty Brier-Rose."

Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied,

She shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath could hide;

For girls were made for housewives, for spinning-wheel and

loom,

And not to drink the sunshine and wild flower's perfume..

Thus flew the years light-winged over Brier-Rose's head, Till she was twenty summers old, and yet remained unwed. And all the parish wondered: "If anybody knows, Whatever will become of that naughty Brier-Rose?''

And while they wondered came the Spring a-dancing o'er the hills;

Her breath was warmer than of yore, and all the mountain

rills

With their tinkling, and their rippling, and their rushing filled the air,

With the misty sounds of water forth-welling everywhere.

It was a merry sight to see the lumber as it whirled Adown the tawny eddies, that hissed, and seethed, and swirled ;

Now shooting through the rapids, and, with a reeling swing, Into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing.

But in the narrows of the rocks, where o'er a steep incline The waters plunged, and wreathed in foam the dark boughs of the pine,

The lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent each straggling beam

A-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the stream. . .

And yet methinks I hear it now-wild voices in the night, A rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring light, And wandering gusts of dampness, and round us far and nigh,

A throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky.

The dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of gold and red,

As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the narrows

sped.

And terror smote us: for we heard the mighty tree-tops sway, And thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of spray.

"Now, lads," the sheriff shouted, " you are strong, like Norway's rock;

A hundred crowns I give to him who breaks the lumber-lock! For if another hour go by, the angry waters' spoil

Our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years of toil,"

We looked each at the other; each hoped his neighbor would Brave death and danger for his home, as valiant Norsemen

should.

But at our feet the brawling tide expanded like a lake,

And whirling beams came shooting on, and made the firm rock quake.

"Two hundred crowns!" the sheriff cried, and breathless stood the crowd.

"Two hundred crowns, my bonny lads! in anxious tones and loud.

But not a man came forward, and no one spoke or stirred, And nothing save the thunder of the cataract was heard.

But as with trembling hands, and with fainting hearts we stood,

We spied a little curly head emerging from the wood.

We heard a little snatch of a merry little song,

And saw the dainty Brier-Rose come dancing through the throng.

An angry murmur rose from the people round about.

Fling her into the river!" we heard the matrons shout;

Chase her away, the silly thing; for God Himself scarce knows

Why ever He created that worthless Brier-Rose."

Sweet Brier-Rose, she heard their cries; a little pensive smile Across her fair face flitted that might a stone beguile;

And then she gave her pretty head a roguish little cock: "Hand me a boat-hook, lads, she said; "I think I'll break the lock."

Derisive shouts of laughter broke from throats of young and old;

"Ho! good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, your tongue was ever

bold."

And, mockingly, a boat-hook into her hand was flung, When, lo! into the river's midst, with daring leaps, she sprung!

We saw her dimly through a mist of dense and blinding

spray;

From beam to beam she skipped, like a water-sprite at play. And now and then faint gleams we caught of color through the mist,

A crimson waist, a golden head, a little, dainty wrist.

In terror pressed the people to the margin of the hill,

A hundred breaths were bated, a hundred hearts stood still. For, hark! from out the rapids came a strange and creaking sound,

And then a crash of thunder, which shook the very ground.

The waters hurled the lumber mass down o'er the rocky

steep.

We heard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in the deep;
We saw a tiny form which the torrents swiftly bore
And flung into the wild abyss, where it was seen no more.

Ah, little naughty Brier-Rose, thou couldst not weave or

spin;

Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all thy mocking kin; For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death to save A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave.

"LET US HAVE PEACE"

By HENRY WATTERSON, Journalist, Author; Member of Congress from Kentucky, 1876-77. Born Washington, D. C., 1840.

From a speech before the Society of the Army of Tennessee, Oct. 9, 1891.

God reigns, and the
I am glad of that.

The war is over, and it is well over. Government at Washington still lives. I can conceive nothing worse for ourselves, nothing worse for our children, than what might have been if the war had ended otherwise, leaving two exhausted combatants, to