Rensselaer Union, Volume 1, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 February 1869 — [From Mayne Reid’s “Onward.”] The Prose of Peace. [ARTICLE]

[From Mayne Reid’s “Onward.”] The Prose of Peace.

“Let ns have it—if wo can ; over all the world. But not without questioning the circumstances, and taking opinions upon it. A few are herewith appended. ******* •‘fa it pence* that I, an Englishman, should work three hundred days in the year, God, not man, allowing me sixty-five holidays; fiftytwo of them set apart for his own special worship, the other thirteen oi secondary consideration? Three hundred days of toil, for which I ccivo a suit of fustian or corduroy ; a smock-frock to screen them when they become ragged ; a pair of clogsoled shoes that cause corns on iny feet and make me lame before I am forty ; a dietary scale, that includes not fresh beef—only salt bacon, not of the best, and it only on weeks when I :un lucky enough to have work ! When not, it is skim-milk cheese to accompany the bare bread; both to be choked down, not with beer as yon may have heard, but what, for all I know, may be better still —cold water! I don’t quarrel with the cold water, if the bread and cheese could always be assured to me. But they are not. A week’s sickness, and the cheese disappears from my table. A fortnight, and the bread must be begged for, or eaten within the walls of a workhouse I “And yet I am told that my three hundred days of toil are worth much more—that ten of them in a tropical clime wonld give me all I want to weag and eat; and that thirty in any part of the temperate zone should ensure me the same ; or at all events be a sufficient set-off against my corduroys and tjkim-milk cheese! “It it be sp, and I have reason to think it is, thftp must I be cheatecT out of 270 days in the year ! “Is this peace ? If it so be, rfany me if I like it!” *» * * * *. * * “Is it peace, that I, a Frenchman, toil just the same as an Englishman, only with a little more skill, because my brain is a little more concentrated ? But I toil with no better reward. ’ v ? | ' “I can beat Jiim in stitching gloves, in weaving silks and laces, in contriving the plots bi novels and stagepl ay ß —for his authors are but translators from me. “What signifies either rny skill or originality? They.give me only a garret in the*Rue Vivienne, and a chair imon'the Boulevard ; where it is true I have iny cigarette, with a glass of sucre,’ a«d can show my striped stockings and patent leather shoeS to the ladies passing by. But still it does not seem what it ought to be. Most of these ladies are robed in silk, and sparkling with diamonds ; and I know that the men who pay for both do nothing at all, while 1 work hard in my atelier or sturftoTat tunes having to clean my own shoes, and wash my own shirt! a Sacre! It isn’t comfortable. It’s not substantial. Is it peace?’’ * * * » ** * “Is it peace, that I, a German, who work harder than.either Frencbman or Englishman—»oh ! they ere idlers when compared with me!—-late night and early morn, that I should be toiling at my trade, art, or pro-

session, with a labor equalling his. who piled Pelion upon Ossa? Is it peace that four years of iny life—the very flower of my youth—should be spent in practising the art of war ? And to what end? Solely that I may know hbW to defend the prince or potentate that robs me of my toil —nay, more, treats me as an inferior thing—fit only to do subservience, and pay tax to him 1 “Dander und blitzen! Is this as it should be ? Is it peace ?” • * * * * * * “Is it peace, that I, a Spaniard, having within my veins the best blood of Iberia, and in my brain the records of the Conquistadores —having also a strong tendency towards republicanism—should be compelled to submit to a monarch, now a king, now a queen whoso character has disgraced me throughout Christendom? Andto a Church that not only constrains my conscience, but taxes me till I have scarcely enough left to keep body and soul together ! “Caramba! Is this what you call peace?” * * • » * * * “Is it peace, that I, an Italian, who fought for it under the brave Garibaldi, and was promised it by the king of Piedmont, should find under this same king my toil continued, and my taxes as great, if not greater, than ever? Should find too that this tax goes not to relieve my fellow-countrymen, but to support our ‘Re Galantuonio' in his courses of dissipation, that we all know to be of the most disreputable kind? “Must I eternally toil for this—l who above all men, and. all things, love the dolee far niente? “ Cospetto! Who calls this peace?” * * * * * * * “Is it peace, that I, a Turk,—a disciple of the true Prophet, and descended from the great conquerors of Stamboul, have to crawl through its streets, not daring to look my Pasha fair and square in the face, but day by day in dread of the bastinado ? Is it peace that I must pay away four-fifths of my hard scrapings —not by way of backsheesh., but in a levy taken without leave, and out of my chatties, if I refuse it ? And for what purpose? To support some scores of lazy Pashas, and our Sultan with his thousand beautiful wives, whose faces 1 am never permitted to see! “Bismillah! is this peace? By the sword of the Prophet, I prefer war!” * » * * • * * “We are no better off,” says Greek, “with a foreign king forced upon us by the great Powers, not only to tax but restrain us from giving help to our more oppressed brethren in Crete. If we must have a king, give ns one of our own countrymen. Better Polvcrates - than this half-German, halt'Danishprincelet. But we don’t want either. We want no king at all. What we wish for is peace under a republic. Give us that, or give-tt9~wftr+” - ~— “And so say we—Swede, Dane, Dutchman and Russian—all we oppressed peoples!”