of my
country, are these:--That France decidedly wishes to live by war and
plunder--that France deserves no such government as that of the virtuous
Louis--that, till the soldiery are disbanded, and their leaders
punished, France can never be governed by the Bourbons:--that the
majority in the nation do not wish for Napoleon in particular, but for a
revolutionary government, and that we have no right of interference with
their choice: but that the propriety of our immediately engaging in war
could not be doubted, for our very existence as a nation depended on
such conduct--that we had the same right to attack Bonaparte, as we had
to attack a common robber, more particularly, if this robber had
repeatedly planned and devised the destruction of our property.

They will draw the happiest conclusions in favour of our own blessed
country, from a comparison with France--looking on that unhappy nation,
they will exclaim with me, in the beautiful words of La Harpe:
[45]"J'excuse et n'envie point ceux qui peuvent vivre comme s'ils
n'avoient ni souffert ni vu souffrir; mais qu'ils me pardonnent de ne
pouvoir les imiter. Ces jours d'une degradation entiere et innouie de
la nature humaine sont sous mes yeux, pesent sur mon ame et retombent
sans cesse sous ma plume, destinee a les retracer jusqu'a mon dernier
moment."[46]

CHAPTER V.

MODERN FRENCH CHARACTER AND MANNERS.

An Englishman never dreams of entering into conversation without some
previous knowledge upon the point which is the subject of discussion.
You will pass but few days in France before you will be convinced, that
to a Frenchman this is not at all necessary. The moment he enters the
room, or caffe, where a circle may happen to be conversing, he
immediately takes part in the discussion--of whatever nature, or upon
whatever subject that may be, is not of the most distant consequence to
him. He strikes in with the utmost self-assurance and adroitness,
maintains a prominent part in the conversation with the most perfect
plausibility; and although, from his want of accurate information, he
will rarely instruct, he seldom fails to amuse by the exuberance of his
fancy, and the rapidity of his elocution. But take any one of his
sentences to pieces, analyze it, strip it of its gaudy clothing and
fanciful decorations, and you will be astonished what skeletons of bare,
shallow, and spiritless ideas will frequently present themselves.

In England, it often happens,