Time wore on, and spring matured. The surface of England began to look pleasant: her fields grew green, her hills fresh, her gardens blooming; but at heart she was no better. Still her poor were wretched, still their employers were harassed. Commerce, in some of its branches, seemed threatened with paralysis, for the war continued; England's blood was shed and her wealth lavished--all, it seemed, to attain most inadequate ends. Some tidings there were indeed occasionally of successes in the Peninsula, but these came in slowly; long intervals occurred between, in which no note was heard but the insolent self-felicitations of Bonaparte on his continued triumphs. Those who suffered from the results of the war felt this tedious, and, as they thought, hopeless struggle against what their fears or their interests taught them to regard as an invincible power, most insufferable. They demanded peace on any terms. Men like Yorke and Moore--and there were thousands whom the war placed where it placed them, shuddering on the verge of bankruptcy--insisted on peace with the energy of desperation.
They held meetings, they made speeches, they got up petitions to extort this boon; on what terms it was made they cared not.

Spring matured, and the surface of England began to look pleasant: her fields grew green, her gardens bloomed; but at heart she was no better. Still her poor were wretched, still their employers were harassed. Commerce seemed threatened with paralysis, for the war continued; England's blood was shed and her wealth lavished, it seemed, in vain. There were occasionally tidings of successes in the Peninsula, but these came in slowly. Men like Yorke and Moore, shuddering on the verge of bankruptcy, insisted on peace with the energy of desperation.
