people, having the same rights and
privileges, each bearing a share of the public burdens, and all having a
voice in the general government.

"The love of distinction is natural to man. Three millions of people
cannot be shut up in a colony. They will either turn on each other, or
unite against their keepers. The road that leads to retirement in the
provinces, should be open to those whom the hope of distinction invites
to return and contend for the honours of the empire. At present, the
egress is practically closed."

"If you was to talk for ever, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "you couldn't
say more than the Prince de Joinville's hoss on that subject."

The interruption was very annoying; for no man I ever met, so thoroughly
understands the subject of colonial government as Mr. Hopewell. His
experience is greater than that of any man now living, and his views
more enlarged and more philosophical.

"Go on, Sam," said he with great good humour. "Let us hear what the
Prince's horse said."

"Well," said Mr. Slick, "I don't jist exactly mean to say he spoke, as
Balaam's donkey did, in good English or French nother; but he did that
that spoke a whole book, with a handsum wood-cut to the fore, and that's
a fact.

"About two years ago, one mortal brilin' hot day, as I was a pokin'
along the road from Halifax to Windsor, with Old Clay in the waggon,
with my coat off, a ridin' in my shirt-sleeves, and a thinkin' how slick
a mint-julep would travel down red-lane, if I had it, I heard such a
chatterin', and laughin', and screamin' as I never a'most heerd afore,
since I was raised.

"'What in natur' is this,' sais I, as I gave Old Clay a crack of the
whip, to push on. 'There is some critters here, I guess, that have found
a haw haw's nest, with a tee hee's egg in it. What's in the wind now?'
Well, a sudden turn of the road brought me to where they was, and who
should they be but French officers from the Prince's ship, travellin'
incog. in plain clothes. But, Lord bless you, cook a Frenchman any way
you please, and you can't disguise him. Natur' will out, in spite of
all, and the name of a Frencher is written as plain as any thing in his
whiskers, and his hair, and his skin, and his coat, and his boots, and
his air, and his gait, and in everythin', but only let him open his
mouth, and the cat's out of the bag in no time, ain't it? They are droll
boys, is the French, that's a fact.

"Well, there was four on 'em dismounted, a