turning their people into minions of slaughter. Nicholas (modest god of all the Russias) thought his murdering a few thousands an act most pious: it was all for the sake of Christianity and a very small holy

    rite!

   On the other hand, there was Mister John Bull, so dogged at times, and yet so hard to hold once his propensity for fighting somebody was excited, hurling very unchristian lead and steel into. Nicholas's subtle-headed serfs. But the thing most wondrous was, that Uncle John, now foaming with the fever of war, had got Johnny Crappo at his back instead of his belly—a fact that would be recorded on the strangest page of history. Strange fighting companions were they; but as pig and dog do now and then become bed-fellows, who can give too much expression to his surprise at this strange Anglo-French combination? Let the world say what it will with reference to our worthy friend Uncle John fighting the battle of Mohamedanism—let it lay at his door the grave charge of degrading himself by seeking to make firm the rotten props of one of the most debased governments that has stained the history of the world with its crimes, John will humanely acknowledge the charge while forwarding to Turkey a copious edition of his "Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge."

   We hope with Mr. Smooth, that Master Bull and Cousin Jonathan may war only in words. Both are sensible gentlemen; both are keenly alive to that inspiration called fighting for one's rights; both are for ever finding a small bone to snarl over; but peace is found the greater bone, which, by preserving, affords the best picking. Indeed, we must all admit, that if polite diplomatists and small politicians had their way, their naughty recriminations would give us plenty of war, with only bows and smiles to pay for the blood and treasure wasted. But Mr. Bull is considerate with his power; while Jonathan shrewdly calculates how much being embroiled in war will disturb his tin business. May our discretion continue to form the best defence against war between the most enlightened governments of christendom.

   At home our negro question bids very fair to get political parties into an interminable snarl; which said snarl is made worse by the singular hopes of those having friends who would like to be next President of the United States. The "white house," (that shrine of patriotic worship!) having its avenues strongly bolted and barred with formidable niggers from Virginia and Carolina, has become a mammon of faith before which politicians are making sad niggers of themselves. Mr. Solomon Smooth lamented this; and, in order to ascertain 

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