This gaiety of suicidalism is not the death à la mode with us; neither are we so sentimental in these delicate matters, as our neighbours over the water. We do not shoot each other by way of being romantic. Ladies and gentlemen forced to "part company," do not betake themselves to a retired spot," and tempt the dread unknown, by a brace of pistols, tied up with cherry-coloured ribbons.

In a word, when we shoot ourselves, we consider it no joke; we come to the resolution in sober sadness; we have no inherent predilection for the act; no "hereditary imperfection in the nervous juices" (as Montesquieu, with all the impudence of a philosopher, has gravely asserted) forcing us on to the "funis, amnis,"-the gates out of this world into the next. No people destroy themselves with a less lively inclination; and, so generally are sudden reverses of fortune the propellers to the deed, that with us not one suicide in ten would cease to live, if it were not that he has nothing to live upon. In fact, he does not relinquish life-life relinquishes him.

But if it be true, then, that we are so far from being a suicidal people, that the French have, by strict calculations, been computed to kill their five to our one; if among no commercial people has the crime of suicide, perhaps, been not only less frequent, but committed with less levity, the abhorrent offspring of the most intolerable reverses ;-if this be true, what becomes of all those admirable books, witty and profound, which your Excellency's fellow-countrymen have written about our acknowledged propensity to ropes and razors, our inclination to kill ourselves, from the slightest causes, and out of a principle of ennui? What becomes of the ingenious systems that have been built upon that "fact;" enlivened by the gaiety of Voltaire; rendered touching by the sentimentality of De Staël-one writer accounting for it one way, one another; but, all sure to account for what they had forgotten to prove? Your Excellency may perceive, by their theories, which I think I have now for ever demolished, how necessary it is for an Englishman sometimes to write about England. I say, their theories I have for ever demolished; yet, Heaven knows if I have,-there is a wonderful vigour of constitution in a popular fallacy. When the world has once got hold of a lie, it is astonishing how hard it is to get it out of the world. You beat it about the head, till it seems to have given up the ghost; and, lo! the next day it is as healthy as ever. The best example of the vitality of a fine saying, which has the advantage of being a fallacy, is in the ever-hacknied piece of nonsense attributed to Archimedes; viz. " that he could move the earth if he had any place at a distance from it, to fix a prop for his lever." Your Excellency knows that this is one of the standard allusions, one of the necessary stock in trade for all orators, poets, and newspaper writers; and persons, whenever they meet with it, take Archimedes for an extraordinary great man, and

ery, "Lord, how wonderful!"-Now, if Archimedes had found his place, his prop, and his lever, and if he could have moved with the swiftness of a cannon-ball 480 miles every hour, it would have taken him just 44,963,540,000,000 years to have raised the earth one inch !* And yet people will go on quoting absurdity as gospel; wondering at the wisdom of Archimedes, and accounting for the unparalleled suicidalism of the English, till we grow tired of contradiction; for, when you cannot convince the Squire Thornhills of the world, you must incur the mortification of Moses, and be contented to let them out-talk you.

I think, however, that I need take no pains to prove the next characteristic of the English people,—a characteristic that I shall but just louch upon; viz. their wonderful Spirit of Industry. This has been the saving principle of the nation, counteracting the errors of our laws, and the imperfections of our constitution. We have been a great people, because we have been always active-and a moral people, because we have not left ourselves time to be vicious. Industry is, in a word, the distinguishing quality of our nation, the pervading genius of our riches, our grandeur, and our power!

Every great people has its main principle of greatness, some one quality, the developing and tracing, and feeding and watching of which, has made it great. Your Excellency remembers how finely Montesquieu has proved this important truth, in the "Grandeur et Décadence des Romains." With France, that principle is the love of glory; with America, it is the love of liberty; with England, it is the love of action; the safest and most comprehensive principle of the three; for it gains glory, without seeking it too madly, and it requires liberty, in order to exist.

Now, I think that your Excellency (than whom, if no man sees more the folly in a statesman of over-refining, no man also, I apprehend, sees more clearly the necessity of his piercing beyond the surface, and seizing from the confused History of the Past, some one broad, though metaphysical principle, by which to guide and work out his policy) -I think, I say, that your Excellency will perceive, that when we have once discovered the national quality which has chiefly made a nation great, we cannot too warmly foster, and too largely encourage it; we should break down all barriers that oppose it; foresee, and betimes destroy, all principles that are likely to check or prevent it. It is Vestal Fire which daily and nightly we must keep alive; and we should consider all our prosperity to be coupled with its existence. Thus, then, if industry be the principle of our power, we cannot too

Ferguson. Critics have said, "what a fine idea of Archimedes!" but how much finer is the fact that refutes it. One of the sublimest things in the world is, plain truth!

zealously guard it from all obstacle, or too extensively widen the sphere for its exertions; a truth which our statesmen have, to be sure, diligently cultivated, by poor-laws, that encourage idleness; and bounties, prohibitions, and monopolies, that cut away the sinews of action.

From this it would seem, that a policy that would be bad with other countries, has been preeminently bad with us.

The last time Micromegas paid us a visit, he was struck by a singular spectacle. He saw an enormous Giant laid at full length upon the ground, in the midst of a mighty orchard laden with fruit; chains were on his limbs, and weights upon his breast. The Giant kicked most lustily against these restraints, and his struggles so convulsed the ground, that every now and then they shook plenty of fruit from the neighbouring trees; the natives stood round, and seized the fruit as it fell. Nevertheless, there was far from being enough for the whole crowd, and the more hungry amongst them growled very audibly at the more fortunate and better fed. The compassionate Micromegas approached the throng" And who art thou, most unhappy Giant?" he asked.

"Alas!" said the Giant, "my name is Industry, and I am the parent of these ungrateful children, who have tied me down in order that my struggles to get free may shake a few fruits to the ground."

"Bless me," said Micromegas, "what a singular device!-but do you not see, my good friends," turning to the crowd, "that your father, if he were free from these shackles, could reach with his mighty arms the boughs of the trees, and give you as much fruit as you wanted? Take this chain, for instance, from one arm, and try."

"That chain!" shouted some hundreds of the crowd; "impious wretch-it is Tithes!"

"Well, then, these cords."

"Idiot!—those cords are Bounties; we should be undone if they were destroyed."

At this instant up came a whole gang of elderly ladies, with a huge bowl of opium, which they began thrusting down the throat of the miserable Giant.

"And what the devil is that for?" said Micromegas.

"We don't like to see our good father make such violent struggles," replied the pious matrons; "we are giving him opium to lie still.” "But that is a drug to induce him to shake down no fruit, and then you would be starved-spare him the opium, at least."

"Barbarous monster!" cried the ladies with horror, "would you do away with the Poor-laws?"

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My children," said the poor giant, well-nigh at his last gasp, have done my best to maintain you all; there is food enough in the orchard for fifty times your number, but you undo yourselves by the injustice of crippling your father. You mean well by me-you com

passionate my struggles-but, instead of giving me liberty, these good ladies would set me to sleep. Trust to nature and common sense, and we shall all live happily together; and if these orchards ever fail you, I will plant new."

"Nature and common sense, dear father!" cried the children, "oh beware of these new-fangled names-let us trust to experience, not to theory and speculation !"

Here a vast rush was made upon those eating the fruit they had got, by those who in the late scrambles had got no fruit to eat; and Micromegas made away as fast as he could, seeing too plainly, that if the Giant were crippled much longer, those who had laid by the most fruit would stand some chance of being robbed by the hunger and jealousy of the rest.

Courage of the English.-Description of English Duelling.-Valour of the English Army.-Question of flogging in the Army dispassionately considered.—Its Abolition, to be safe, must be coupled with other Reforms in the Code.

I HAVE reserved for a separate chapter a few remarks upon one of our national attributes-viz. Courage, because they will naturally involve the consideration of a certain question that has lately attracted much attention amongst us, viz. corporal punishments in the army. Your own incomparable La Bruyère has remarked, "That in France a soldier is brave and a lawyer is learned; but in Rome," says he, "the soldier was learned and the lawyer was brave-every man was brave." Now I think that with us every man is brave. Courage is more universally spread through the raw material of England than it is among that of any other people; but I do not think the manufacture is quite so highly wrought up in individual specimens as it is in France. I think that an English gentleman, from the fear of a duel, would eat his words sooner than a Frenchman. You see a proof of this every day in our newspaper accounts of these “ little affairs." The following is a very fair specimen of a duelling correspondence.

SIR,

To the Editor of "The Times."

You will oblige us by inserting the following account of the late affair between Mr. Hum and Lord Haw.

Your obedient servants,

LIONEL VARNISH,
PETER SMOOTHAWAY.
Col. of the Regt.

"In the election for the borough of Spoutit, Mr. Hum, being the candidate on the Whig side, was reported, in the Spoutit and Froth Chronicle, to have made use of the following expressions relative to Lord Haw, who is supposed to have some interest in the borough :'As for a certain noble Lord, who lives not very far from Haw Castle, I confess that I cannot sufficiently express. my contempt for his unworthy conduct (great applause);-it is mean, base, treacherous, and derogatory in the highest degree, for any nobleman to act in the manner that nobleman has thought proper to do.""

On reading this extract, purporting to be from a speech by Mr. Hum, Colonel Smoothaway was deputed to wait on that gentleman by Lord Haw. Mr. Hum appointed Sir Lionel Varnish to meet Colonel Smoothaway upon the matter: the result was the following memorandum :

In applying the words, mean, base, treacherous, and derogatory," to Lord Haw, Mr. Hum did not in the smallest degree mean to reflect upon his Lordship's character, or to wound his feelings. With this explanation, Colonel Smoothaway declares on the part of Lord Haw, that Lord H. is perfectly satisfied.

(Signed) LIONEL VARNISH.
PETER SMOOTHAWAY.

But this epeapophogy, or word-swallowing, is only on one side in this specimen of correspondence. It is usually on both sides, and may be currently supposed to run thus:

"Mr. Hum having declared, that in calling Lord Haw 'a rascal,' he meant nothing personal to that nobleman, Lord Haw has no hesitation in saying, that he did not mean to offend Mr. Hum, when he called him a rogue' in reply."

Now this sort of shuffling with one's honour, as your Excellency very well knows, is never practised in France: the affront given, out at once go affronter and affrontee: they fight first, and retract afterwards. But the difference in the bilboa appetite of the gentry of the two nations depends, I suspect, rather on the advantage the French possess over the English in animal spirits, than in real courage. With your countrymen, duelling, as well as suicide, is a mere jest-an ebullition of mettlesome humour: with us, it is an affair of serious willmaking and religious scruples. Your courage is an impulse; our's must be made a principle. When once our blood is up, it does not descend in the thermometer very readily. The easy lubricity with which our gentlemen glide out of a duel is an understood thing with us, and neither party considers it a disgrace to the other. But if an Englishman has an affair with a foreigner, the case is very different; he is much more tenacious of apology, and ready for the field. A countryman of mine asked me once to officiate for him as second, in a quarrel he had with a Parisian roue: the cause was trifling, and the