always amusing, and sometimes instructive, to see what a foreigner thinks of us.

MY DEAR FATHER,

In this letter I am going to talk to you about the English character. Hitherto, I have only spoken to you about the character of the lower classes; but I want now to speak to you about the character of the nation generally, and to ascertain whether you agree with me.

I think a man's views about a new country should always be written down in the first year of his sojourn in it. I have always found that after a time my first impressions in this respect fade. You become one of the people with whom you live; and you cease to observe them critically just as you cease to observe yourself critically.

The English are, as Mr. Thurston says, sadly deficient in organization. I can hardly tell you in how many things their organization is incomplete. In fact, they have much less talent for this kind of work than we have. "Well then," you'll say to me, "how is it that their political constitution is so admirable, and has lasted so long, and has in fact beaten that of any other nation ?" I will tell you what I think is the cause of this political superiority. It consists in their moderation. An Englishman never presses

anything to its logical extreme. They understand the value of checks and compromises better than any other people that I have ever lived amongst; they know the use of the drag-chain.

You know what their House of Lords is like-what a profoundly aristocratic assemblage it is. Well, among the lowest of the people, I have found persons who had a great regard for this House of Lords; and, in short, in that lowest class there are zealous Conservatives, who appear, as far as their own private interests are concerned, to have nothing to conserve.

But to go back to organization, you will hardly believe how dull the English are in this important branch of human affairs. It does not seem to me as if any one of them had ever considered in what the merit of organization consists.

You must have observed, my dear father, that they do everything here bit by bit. There is no

viewing the thing as a whole.

Then, again, they appear, at any rate the Government and the greatest bodies in the state, to have no notion of the value-the monetary value—of an organizing mind. To put it very plainly, they will not pay the price for organizing skill in the higher departments. Lower down, they sometimes do see the value of this skill; and I have found that some commercial body will pay a salary to its manager far

above that which would be given to any of the permanent officers of state. The French beat them all to nothing in this matter; but then the French have not this wonderful moderation and tolerance which give such security to the English forms of governThe fact is, that Englishmen are not inclined to believe anything to be absolutely true; and therein he is right, for abstract propositions, meeting with the perversity of matter, require infinite modifications. The English have learnt this thoroughly.

ment.

Don't you see, my dear father, how this tells for my emigration project? If we could only introduce some organization into a mob of British colonists, we should have a body of the finest colonizers in the world.

Now I am going to talk to you about quite another subject, connected though it be with the national character of the British. They are the most curious people in the world, at least that I have ever seen; I mean that they have the most curiosity, and this I attribute to their dulness. At first I thought that they were a very vulgar people. The intense interest which they show in the movements of their royal or other great personages made me think that; but I now think that it is to be attributed to their dulness: for I observe that any transaction of the humblest kind in the streets attracts their immediate attention.

You cannot get into a cab (that is the name of one of their public vehicles; I do not know whether it was a name known in your time) but you will have two or three people earnestly watching the operation. And if there is a change to be made in the harness, there is quite an anxious and interested crowd to watch this simple proceeding.

I cannot help giving you another instance, a very ludicrous one, of what I mean.

ing here as a workman in

When I was work

-'s factory, I often had By the way, you would

to cook my own dinner. hardly believe how thoroughly ignorant they are here, in all classes, of the art of cookery. We used to be taught, I remember, in our school-books that the ancient British lived on acorns. I am sure that if any great shake were to happen to this country— I mean if they met with any great political disaster, and the nation were to degenerate-they would gladly go back to their raw acorns, and be delighted to get rid of the tiresome arts of roasting, baking, boiling, and stewing, which have been impressed upon them by their Roman and Norman conquerors.1

But all this is parenthesis. Well, as I was saying,

1

Casimir's state of mind, at this period, may be seen in these somewhat peevish remarks, which yet have some truth in them.

I often cooked for myself. One day I happened to fall in with a man wheeling a barrow full of mushrooms, and I thought I would add to my wretched dinner by buying some of them. By the way, again, the English know nothing about mushrooms, and leave the best kinds of those admirable fungi untouched. I shall never get on with my story. Well, I began to buy some of these mushrooms of the man. In a moment I had round me a small crowd of boys, girls, and middle-aged women, looking on with earnest eyes at this simple act of sale. Now, there was no bargaining or chaffering between myself and this man. There was nothing that could, I thought, interest or amuse these people. I could not help addressing my small mob, and asking them what on earth they saw that was remarkable in anybody's buying three pennyworth of mushrooms. Some of them slunk away, but some steadily remained, and declined to move on until they had seen the end of this interesting proceeding.

As I said before, I attribute this tiresome curiosity to their dulness. An Englishman is always desirous of seeing something happen (he is restless as well as dull)-something which, as one of their writers says, "will break the pattering monotony of life."

Another characteristic of theirs is their delight in commonplacedness. Tell a man of any other nation