EFFECTS OF WAR IN NEW ENGLAND—PERSONAL EXPERIENCE—NEWS OF PEACE—ILLUMINATIONS—CONFESSIONS.

I remember perfectly well the universal state of anxiety and depression which prevailed in New England during the latter part of the war. The acts of government, the movements of fleets and armies, furnish no idea of the condition of society in its daily life. Let me give you a few items as indications of the embarrassments, vexations, and privations which the war had brought unto every man's house and home. Such a thing as silver or gold money was almost unknown. The chief circulation consisted of bills of suspended banks, or what were called "facilities;" that is, bank notes, authorized by the legislature of Connecticut, redeemable in three years after the war. These were at fifteen to twenty-five per cent. discount compared with specie. Banks issued notes of fifty, twenty-five, and twelve-and-a-half cents. Barbers issued bills payable in shaving, and various institutions adopted a similar course. The whole mass acquired the title of "rag-money," "shin-plasters," &c.: a large portion of it was notoriously worthless, either as being counterfeit, or issued by irresponsible parties, yet it generally passed without scrutiny.

I had personal experience of the universal depression. In the summer of 1814 I was out of my time, and cast about for some employment. I went to New York for this object, but found not the slightest encouragement. After some reflection I established a manufactory of pocket-books, in connection with one of my friends, who furnished the capital. The greatest difficulty was to find the materials. I made expeditions to Boston, Charlestown, Providence, &c., and was not able to obtain over fifty pieces of morocco fit for the purpose. In December I went to New York, and was more successful. I made a considerable purchase, and dispatched my goods by the carrier. Pretty well content with my success, I had gone in the evening to a concert at the City Hotel. While listening to the music there was a murmur in the streets. Soon the door of the concert-room was thrown open, and in rushed a man all breathless with excitement. He mounted on a table, and swinging a white handkerchief aloft, cried out,—

"Peace! peace! peace!"

The music ceased: the hall was speedily vacated. I rushed into the street, and oh, what a scene!

It was on the evening of Saturday, the 11th of February, 1815, that the news of the treaty of peace reached New York. In half-an-hour after Broadway was one living sea of shouting, rejoicing people. "Peace! peace! peace!" was the deep, harmonious, universal anthem. The whole spectacle was enlivened by a sudden inspiration. Somebody came with a torch: the bright idea passed into a thousand brains. In a few minutes thousands and tens of thousands of people were marching about with candles, lamps, torches, making the jubilant street appear like a gay and gorgeous procession. The whole night Broadway sang its song of peace. We were all democrats—all federalists! Old enemies rushed into each other's arms: every house was in a revel: every heart seemed melted by a joy which banished all evil thought and feeling. Nobody asked, that happy night, what were the terms of the treaty: we had got peace—that was enough! I moved about for hours in the ebbing and flowing tide of people, not being aware that I had opened my lips. The next morning I found that I was hoarse from having joined in the exulting cry of "Peace! peace!"

The next day, Sunday, all the churches sent up hymns of thanksgiving for the joyous tidings. I set out in the stage-coach on Monday morning for Connecticut. All along the road the people saluted us with swinging of hats and cries of rejoicing. At one place, in a rather lonesome part of the road, a schoolmaster came with the whole school at his heels to ask us if the news was true. We told him it was; whereupon he tied his bandanna pocket-handkerchief to a broom, swung it aloft, and the whole school hosannaed, "Peace! peace!" At all our stopping-places the people were gathered to rejoice in the good tidings. At one little tavern I looked into a room, by chance, the door being open, and there I saw the good-wife, with a chubby boy in her lap—both in a perfect gale of merriment—the child crying out, "Peath! peath!" Oh, ye makers of war, reflect upon this heartfelt verdict of the people in behalf of peace!

We arrived at New Haven in the evening, and found it illuminated: the next day I reached Hartford, and there also was a grand illumination. The news spread over the country, carrying with it a wave of shouts and rejoicings. Boston became clamorous with pealing bells; the schools had a jubilee; the blockaded shipping, rotting at the dilapidated wharves, got out their dusty buntings, and these, ragged and forlorn, now flapped merrily in the breeze. At night the city flamed far and wide—from Beacon street down the Bay, telling the glorious tale even unto Cape Cod. So spread the news over the country, everywhere, carrying joy to every heart—with, perhaps, a single exception. At Washington, the authors of the war peeped into the dispatches, and found that the treaty had no stipulations against the Orders in Council, Paper Blockades, and Impressments, which were the pretexts for the war. All that could be maintained was, that we had made war, charging the enemy with very gross enormities, and we had made peace, saying not one word about them!

So the war was ended.

Let us be frank, and confess the truth: the war, in the aspects in which history thus presents it, was disgraceful to the authors of it: it was, in many respects, disastrous to the country; and yet it has left us some wholesome lessons. It has shown the danger and folly of plunging a great country into a national conflict for narrow and selfish purposes, because, under such circumstances, the people will be divided, and it will be a partisan, and not a patriotic war; it has put on record another instance in which war has been declared in boasting, and ended precisely where it began, after years of violence, sorrow, and bloodshed. It has shown, also—in connection with subsequent events—the superiority of peace to war, even in obtaining the ends of justice; for let it be remembered that Daniel Webster extorted from Great Britain, by the force of argument, that which the sword could not achieve.