ing in substance to downright menace. 'You had better not go', we said, 'into Italy—you had better not invade any ally of ours—you had better not think of going to Turin or to Rome, for if you do, we shall consider it a matter deserving of grave consideration.' That was not the language in which we addressed the other party. To Austria we were suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. But Sardinia was gently and amicably told, 'If you do so act, it will be very much against your true interests. It will be wiser not to do anything of the kind. Pray don't for your own sake.' But no threat, nor anything like a threat. Sardinia was not told, as Austria was, that it would be matter of great importance if she budged a foot out of her own dominions. And all this diversity of treatment, all this reprimand of Austria, was designed to be made known, and to gain credit and popularity with the republican rabble. For then came that proceeding—so ludicrous at once, and so mean, that I have never read anything like it in the whole course of history. While we were anxiously advertising to all Europe, and more especially to the rebels at Milan, and to the red republicans in Paris, that we had held out to Austria this menace, we had at the very time in our pockets an answer from Prince Metternich to our menacing dispatch, saying, 'What is the matter with you? It is not yet the month of November, when the malady of your gloomy climate prevails, but it is the cheerful month of September. What ails you? Are you distracted in your brain to talk of our going to Turin? We have no more thought of going to Turin or Naples than we have of going to the moon. On the contrary, if
