may retire, the military authorities on the spot must select some position where the grand army, which they propose to employ in active operations, shall assemble. Such a position ought to be central, so that support may be conveniently sent from it to either flank, without, however, too much weakening the force which is kept in hand, to act wherever the enemy may show himself in greatest strength. It is not for us to indicate where the position should be. Enough is done when we point out that it ought not to be too distant either from Montreal or from Quebec, and that it should be chosen with a special eye to the railways, canals, roads, and other lines of communication which, when manoeuvring begins, can be made available. This plan of ours may, perhaps, be objected to as implying the abandonment of all those valuable counties which lie on the right bank of the St Lawrence, and, still more, of the Grand Trunk Railway between Quebec and Montreal. Why not endeavour, in the first instance, to retain your hold upon these counties? and if that be impossible, why give up the railway without a struggle? Our answer is, that it would be imprudent at the opening of a campaign to commit a young army to a general action with such a river as the St Lawrence in its rear; and that, in order to nurse such an army, and render it effective, you must leave many outlying provinces to take care of themselves. With respect, again, to the Grand Trunk Railway, it has elsewhere been shown that, with an enterprising enemy in our front, it becomes useless to us as soon as hostilities begin. A chain, be its length what it may, is only as strong as its weakest link; and a railway which runs for thirty miles within ten miles of a hostile frontier, can scarcely be made use of in war for the conveyance of troops. As to patrolling these thirty miles, either on foot or by detached cars, that expedient could serve no possible purpose. The first effort made by the enemy will be to pos sess themselves of the line, and destroy it; and unless you are prepared to support your patrols with an army, the patrols can offer no resistance which shall be effectual against superior numbers. But though we may withdraw our divisions for a time from the districts to the south of the St Lawrence, it does not therefore follow that they are abandoned. Each county has its own local militiathese will all turn out; and should the enemy be so ill advised as to weaken himself in order to put them down, they will show good fight for their hearths and homes against his detachments. But this is not all. The armies of New Brunswick and of Nova Scotia will not be idle. Leaving a sufficient number, say 2000 regular troops and 8000 or 10,000 militia, to guard the provinces, the remainder will act upon the enemy's communications, eluding or fighting the corps of observation which watches them, and breaking up every line of rail to which they can gain access. If successful here, success will soon attend the British arms elsewhere. The heavy columns in front of Montreal will find it necessary to retire. The British army will cross the St Lawrence in pursuit, and the campaign is just as likely to end by establishing a new frontier for Canada, with Portland on one flank, and Lake Ontario on the other, as by leaving the enemy in permanent possession of a mile of Canadian territory. We give these speculations for what they are worth. The results of a war so waged must, of course, depend upon the military genius of the leaders on either side, and the bravery of the troops. But assuming these to be equal, we think the odds are in favour of our own countrymen. Indeed, if the proposed canal be completed in time, from the seaboard to Lake Ontario, and the flying corps, which is to harass the American coasts, do its duty, the war with England of 1863 will probably teach the Federals a lesson which they are not likely to forget for many years afterwards. AUGUSTUS WELBY PUGIN.-NOTE. [A PASSAGE in the Review of the Life of the late Augustus Welby Pugin, which appeared in the December Number of the Magazine, has called forth the following very proper and judicious letter, which we willingly print, not merely in courtesy to Mr Pugin's family, but as a clear and satisfactory statement of facts, which must for the future remove all misconception on the subject. We have only to add how deeply we regret that, in describing the character and career of an eminent public man who had been visited with the saddest of all human afflictions, the loss of reason, we should have said anything which could recall that great sorrow to his family in a painful manner, or render it necessary for them to come before the public with any explanations on such a subject.] TO THE EDITOR OF." BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE." SIR,-I trust you will allow me space in your valuable pages to correct a misstatement put forward in your December Number, concerning the mental malady and death of my father, and the neglect he is alleged to have suffered at the hands of his friends. In an interesting and favourable review of my father's life, the writer more than once makes allusion to the mystery, now, he fears, 66 never to be cleared up," which surrounded the last days of my father's laborious career. He states how the English public, to whom the name of Welby Pugin was familiar, were on the sudden astonished at the news that the great artist was in Bethlehem Hospital; and how, after an outbreak of popular indignation, my father was stealthily removed by his guardians from the sad place of refuge. But how, asks the writer, came a man of so proud and independent a spirit-and one, too, who always had the honest English habit of paying his way-to be so deserted by his friends, as to be consigned in his calamity to the cold charity of a public institution? The writer then darkly throws out hints of the possible existence of an Ecclesiastical conspiracy, set on foot against an unruly son of the Church. Such a conspiracy is, I need scarcely say, a mere delusion on the part of the imaginative writer of this otherwise true and impartial article. The facts of the case are simply these:-On the first outbreak of my father's malady at the Golden Cross Hotel, Dr Tweedie was called in by the late Sir Charles Barry, who at once advised his being placed under the care of Dr Phelp, of Kensington House; but finding his state of mind did not improve, after anxious deliberation on the part of his friends, some of whom were desirous he should be intrusted to the care of Dr Forbes Winslow, it was finally decided in favour of Bethlehem. The reason adduced for this decision was, that a professional man, personally known to my father's friends, had just left that institution, after a short confinement, perfectly restored; and all agreed that he would there receive the best professional treatment, and be at the same time under the constant care of his old friend, Dr Doyle, of St George's. So far, again, from his removal from this institution being stealthily effected, or caused by an outraged public opinion, I can only say that my father's removal was solely at the instance of his wife, who, in conjunction with the Rev. Mr Glennie, acted in opposition to the wishes of his other friends (who were satisfied with his treatment and progress whilst at Bethlehem), and removed him to the Grove, Hammersmith, where they remained in constant attendance upon him. Dr Dickson was called in, under whose care he remained during six weeks, during which time my father had so far recovered as to be able to return to his house at Ramsgate, where, two days after his arrival, he was seized with an epileptic fit, from which he never rallied. The close of my father's life was surely tragic enough, without importing into the sad story conjectures as mysterious as they are groundless. Where, too, was the need of seeking for imaginary causes of my father's malady? In these days it is not so very uncommon an occurrence for men of genius and ardent natures to be cut off as he was in the pride and hope of life, shattered in body and mind. In my father's case, this sad termination of a too excited life is scarcely to be wondered at, when we consider that his devotion to his art was so intense as to admit of no bodily or mental relaxation, his continuous daily labours commencing at sunrise, and seldom ending before midnight. With regard to the surprise which has been expressed, that in his latter years my father experienced neglect from those high in authority in his Church, it is but due to his memory to take this opportunity of stating, that it arose in no way from doctrinal causes, but simply from architectural differences of opinion. Your obedient servant, THE GRANGE, RAMSGATE, Jan. 14, 1862. E. WELBY PUGIN. Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh. AFTER the remarkable encounter which had thus happened to the young minister, life went on with him in the dullest routine for some days. Thursday came, and he had to go to Mrs Brown's tea-party, where, in the drawing-room upstairs, over the Devonshire Dairy, after tea, and music, and the diversions of the evening, he conducted prayers to the great secret satisfaction of the hostess, who felt that the superior piety of her entertainment entirely made up for any little advantage in point of gentility which Mrs Tozer, with a grown-up daughter fresh from a boarding-school, might have over her. On Friday evening there was the singing-class at the chapel, which Mr Vincent was expected to look in upon, and from which he had the privilege of walking home with Miss Tozer. When he arrived with his blooming charge at the private door, the existence of which he had not hitherto been aware of, Tozer himself appeared to invite the young pastor to enter. This time it was the butterman's unadorned domestic hearth to which Mr Vincent was VOL. XCI.-NO. DLVII. introduced. This happy privacy was in a little parlour, which, being on the same floor with the buttershop, naturally was not without a reminiscence of the near vicinity of all those hams and cheeses-a room nearly blocked up by the large family-table, at which, to the disgust of Phoebe, the apprentices sat at meal-times along with the family. One little boy, distinguished out of doors by a red worsted comforter, was, besides Phoebe, the only member of the family itself now at home; the others being two sons, one in Australia, and the other studying for a minister, as Mrs Tozer had already informed her pastor, with motherly pride. Mrs Tozer sat in an easy-chair by the fire darning stockings on this October night; her husband, opposite to her, had been looking over his greasy books, one of which lay open upon a little writingdesk, where a bundle of smaller ones in red leather, with "Tozer, Cheesemonger," stamped on them in gilt letters, lay waiting Phoebe's arrival to be made up. The Benjamin of the house sat half-way : down the long table with his slate working at his lessons. The margin of space round this long table scarcely counted in the aspect of the room. There was space enough for chairs to be set round it, and that was all the table, with its red-and-blue cover and the faces appearing about it, constituted the entire scene. Mr Vincent stood uneasily at a corner when he was brought into the apartment, and distinctly placed himself at table, as if at a meal, when he sat down. 66 Do you now take off your greatcoat, and make yourself comfortable," said Mrs Tozer ; "there's a bit of supper coming presently. This is just what I like, is this. A party is very well in its way, Mr Vincent, sir; but when a gen'leman comes in familiar, and takes us just as we are, that's what I like. We never can be took wrong of an evening, Tozer and me; there's always a bit of something comfortable for supper; and after the shop's shut in them long evenings, time's free. Phoebe, make haste and take off your things. What a colour you've got, to be sure, with the night air! I declare, Pa, somebody must have been saying something to her, or she'd never look so bright.' 66 I daresay there's more things than music gets talked of at the singing," said Tozer, thus appealed to. "But she'd do a deal better if she'd try to improve her mind than take notice what the young fellows says." "Oh, Pa, the idea! and before Mr Vincent too," cried Phoebe 66 to think I should ever dream of listening to anything that anybody might choose to say!" Vincent, to whom the eyes of the whole family turned, grinned a feeble smile, but, groaning in his mind, was totally unequal to the effort of saying anything. After a moment's pause of half-disappointed expectation, Phoebe disappeared to take off her bonnet; and Mrs Tozer, bestirring herself, cleared away the desk and books, and went into the kitchen to inquire into the supper. The minister and the deacon were accordingly left alone. Three more pews applied for this week-fifteen sittings in all," said Mr Tozer; "that's what I call satisfactory, that is. We mustn't let the steam go down-not on no account. You keep well at them of Sundays, Mr Vincent, and trust to the managers, sir, to keep 'em up to their dooty. Me and Mr Tufton was consulting the other day. He says as we oughtn't to spare you, and you oughtn't to spare yourself. There hasn't been such a opening not in our connection for fifteen year. We all look to you to go into it, Mr Vincent. If all goes as I expect, and you keep up as you're doing, I see no reason why we shouldn't be able to put another fifty to the salary next year." "Oh!" said poor Vincent, with a miserable face. He had been rather pleased to hear about the "opening," but this matter-of-fact encouragement and stimulus threw him back into dismay and disgust. "Yes," said the deacon, though I wouldn't advise you, as a young man settin' out in life, to calculate upon it, yet we all think it's more than likely; but if you was to ask my advice, I'd say to give it 'em a little more plain - meaning the Church folks. It's expected of a new man. I'd touch 'em up in the State Church line, Mr Vincent, if I was you. Give us a coorse upon the anomalies, and that sort of thing-the bishops in their palaces, and the fishermen as was the start of it all; there's a deal to be done in that way. It always tells; and my opinion is as you might secure the most part of the young men and thinkers, and them as can see what's what, if you lay it on pretty strong. Not," added the deacon, remembering in time to add that necessary salve to the conscience-"not as I would have you neglect what's more important; but, after all, what is more important, Mr Vincent, than freedom of opinion |