He wants underdone beef, and what he calls
sincerity, but the Frenchman calls one raw and the
other rude. He deems the courtesy a falsehood
because expressed in terms which, if translated,
would imply an interest of actual affection, but
he forgets it is not intended for translation. It
is a light wine that won't bear a voyage; and
he imagines the hospitality a sham because it
has no forms to represent the same quality when
practised at home. He is indignant at not being
admitted at a foreign interior to see what may be
called the family, but he forgets that in foreign
usage this is a sanctuary closed to all but near
relationship; and, lastly, he is disgusted with the
dulness of mere "receptions," as well he may
be, with a society whose whole resource is
conversation, while he is a man in all likelihood
no great proficient in any language but his
own.

If anything were wanting to cap the little
attractive graces of the travelling Englishman and
render him positively odious abroad, Lord
Palmerston hit upon it when he called him the
"Civis Romanus." There never was a more
mischievous piece of boastfulness, nor one more
productive of trouble and misunderstanding. The
first effect of it was to persuade the travelling
Bull that, wherever he went or whatever he did,
there was always waving over his head the
protecting ægis of the English flag with an imaginary
"Gare à qui le touche!" inscribed on it. The great
insecurity which pervaded all Europe at the
time this boast was uttered, served to swell and
exaggerate its importance.

The attitude of England was imposing all
the more that none knew to which side her
influence would incline; there was consequently
on all sides an amount of toleration extended
towards Englishmen abroad, that is scarcely
credible. Every absurdity was overlooked, every
ridiculous infraction of public custom was
permitted. There was extended to the "Islanders"
a species of prescriptive right to bully landlords
and waiters, insult gendarmes, and overbear
authorities generally, of which to do them
justice they were not slow to avail themselves.

It was during this saturnalia that an English
traveller to the Bagni de Lucca having washed
his hands, emptied the contents of his basin out
of window, and, in doing so, deluged the late
Grand-Duke of Tuscany, the sovereign of the
country, who happened to be passing beneath.
Horrified at his accidental rudeness, the Englishman
rushed down stairs, and in the most eager
manner protested his sorrow, and entreated pardon.
His imperial highness, wiping his face,
simply said:

"It can't be helped; only don't speak of it,
or I shall have a correspondence with your
government, and be smartly snubbed by your
Foreign Secretary besides."

Such is the story that was put about, true or
not true.

These lucubrations are not meant to take
any political colouring, and so I abstain from
tracing the course of those events which,
down to the Lombard campaign, continuously
served to elevate France and depress Great
Britain in the eyes of foreigners. The Italian
war, however, completed the question, if there
indeed then remained a question, as to which
nation the palm of pre-eminence belonged,
and France once again stood forward as
distinctly "la grande nation." Now, in my heart,
I do not believe that we were ever, at any
portion of our history, richer, greater, or more
powerful than at this period—better able to
protect our own, or in a stronger position to
assail another's. No matter, the foreigner has
decided that our navy was worth little and our
army worth less, that we were loud talkers and
little doers, very repressive at home and very
liberty-giving abroad, eminently exclusive while
we preached toleration, and, in a word, much
nearer that "perfide Albion" the French called
us, than they had hitherto imagined. Bull the
traveller, however, knew nothing of all this. He
had taken out his passport as "Civis Romanus."
There was nothing to warn him of the changed
feeling of the Continent to his nation. Foreign
officials of every class were only too glad to pay
off the long arrears of all the outrages they
had—or fancied they had—endured from Bull;
and hence we had those unhappy incidents
at Bonn, and at Heidelberg, and other places
—far more injurious to international esteem
and good will, than really serious differences
between cabinets.

A witty archbishop, who has a liking for
ingenious analogies, when once defending the
rights of majorities, asked, Why is it that
white-faced sheep eat more than black-faced sheep?
Because there are more of them.

In this way, we may assert that the reason
of the existing prejudice against English
travellers abroad is, that more of our countrymen
travel than the people of any other country.
Let France, with all her boasted civilisation
—the other nations of Europe are out of the
question—send forth swarms from every class of
her bourgeoisie, from her smaller tradesfolk and
petty shopkeepers and artisans—and of all of
these I have seen British representatives on the
Rhine—and perhaps, after all, with all our
absurdities, we might not come out of the
comparison disgracefully; that is, I am certain
that as a set-off for short-comings on the
score of courtesy, would be remembered many
a kindly act, and many a manly and generous
service.

Enough of warning; in my next I hope to
have a pleasanter theme.

THE MORRILL TARIFF.

IF it be not in slavery, where lies the
partition of the interests that has led at last to
actual separation of the Southern from the
Northern States?* In the original constitution
of the Union it was provided that "all duties,
imposts, and excises, shall be uniform throughout
the United States;" also that "no tax or

* See American Disunion, in our last number.