I say nothing of the wars in which the British troops and the Colonial, side by side, at last succeeded in driving the French out of the country.  They belong to the history of the eighteenth century and to the expansion of the English-speaking race.  But for them, North America would now be half French and a quarter Spanish.  These, however, were regular wars, with no more romance about them than belongs to war wherever it is conducted according to the war-game of the day.  The manoeuvres of generals and the deploying of men in masses inspire none but students, just as a fine game of chess can only be judged by one who knows the game.  Louisburg, Quebec, ’Queen Anne’s War,’ ’King George’s War’—­Wolfe and Montcalm—­these things and these men produced little effect upon the popular view of America.  In the colonies themselves murmurings and complaints began to make themselves heard; as they became stronger, the discontent increased; but they did not reach the ear of the average Englishman, who still looked across the ocean and still saw the country bathed in all the glories of the West.  Then—­violently, suddenly—­all this romance which had grown up around and after so much fighting, so many achievements, was broken off and destroyed.  It perished with the War of Independence; it was no longer possible when the Colonies had become not only a foreign country, but a country bitterly hostile.  The romance of America was dead.

After the war was over, with much humiliation and shame for the nation—­the better part of which had been against the war from the outset—­the country turned for consolation to the East.  But, as has been said above, neither India, nor Australia, nor New Zealand, has ever taken such a place in the affections of our country as that continent which was planted by our own sons, for whose safety and freedom from foreign enemies we cheerfully spent treasure incalculable and lives uncounted.

Then came the long twenty-three years’ war in which Great Britain, for the most part single-handed, fought for the freedom of Europe against the most colossal tyranny ever devised by victorious captain.  No nation in the history of the world ever carried on such a war, so stubborn, so desperate, so vital.  Had Great Britain failed, what would now be the position of the world?  The victories, the defeats, the successes, the disasters, which marked that long struggle, at least made our people forget their humiliation in America.  The final triumph gave us back, as it was certain to do, more than our former pride, more than our old self-reliance.  America was forgotten, the old love for America was gone; how could we remember our former affections when, at the very time when our need was the sorest, when every ship, every soldier, every sailor that we could find, was wanted to break down the power of the man who had subjugated the whole of Europe, except Russia and Great Britain, the United States—­the very Land of Liberty—­did her best to cripple the Armies of Liberty by proclaiming war against us?  And now, indeed, there was nothing left at all of the old romance.  It was quite, quite dead.  In the popular imagination all was forgotten, except that on the other side of the Atlantic lived an implacable enemy, whose rancour—­it then seemed to our people—­was even greater than their boasted love of liberty.