argument of an opponent either unanswerable, or that it could only be answered by alliance with some principle that might be turned against himself, he is a great adept at getting rid of it by a side-wind of absurd allusion. He very well understands the temper of the House of Commons, and especially of his own party. He knows exactly what will win a cheer and what ought to be avoided as calculated to provoke laughter in an assembly where appreciation of what is elevated in sentiment is by no means common. He is good at parliamentary clap-traps, and an invaluable coadjutor in the leadership of a party, which, for want of some common bond of cohesion, and distracted as the Whig-Radical party was by conflicting opinion and interest, required to be kept in goodhumour by the meaningless yet inspiriting generalities of Liberalism. Of the sort of quasi-philosophical language-the slang of undefined but developing democracy-which pleases the crude, unformed minds of those who are self-chosen to decide on public affairs, and on the conduct of trained statesmen and practised politicians, Lord Palmerston is a master. He is clever at setting traps for such vain and voluntary dupes. Vague and vapid generalities become, under the magical influence of his congenial intellect, high-sounding and inspiring principles. His process of developement, unlike that ascribed to the material world by a recent theorist, stops short at the nebulous stage. To resolve these seductive immaterialities into their elements, so that they might form more natural combinations-to allow the misty mass to become concrete-to let relaxed Whiggism consolidate itself into Chartism, or even into more congenial and more despised Radicalism, would be most inconvenient and disagreeable to one who, like Lord Palmerston, is a thorough aristocrat in all his real, self-confessed thoughts and prejudices, and who is disposed to treat all parvenues in politics with the genuine heartfelt contempt, the hereditary hauteur, of a "pure old Whig."

It partly follows from these things that Lord Palmerston is a good political tactician. He scents keenly and quickly the changing wind. He probably thinks little, but he ob

serves much. A superficial glance is sufficient to decide him on his line of conduct, because the popular feeling of the hour is what he seeks to captivate. He is clever in the arithmetic of party. He counts heads, and with the increase of numbers correspond his swelling periods. This sort of time-serving policy is not usually favourable to political foresight, nor would any one be disposed to accord that quality in any remarkable degree to Lord Palmerston.

Yet we are going to exhibit the noble lord in the character of a prophet. We would much rather attribute to his sagacity what we are, however, compelled to ascribe to some unlucky accident, the fact that he foretold not only the freetrade policy of Sir Robert Peel, but also the period of its adoption. Speaking in September 1841, "Lord Palmerston said, “The right honourable baronet had said that he was not prepared to declare that he would never propose a change in the Cornlaws; but he certainly should not do so unless at the head of an united cabinet. Why, looking at the persons who form his administration, he must wait something near five years before he can do it." It is a remarkable coincidence, that in four years and eight months from the date of this prediction, Sir Robert Peel introduced his measure for the repeal of the Corn-laws. So well did the Whigs understand their man.

To securing success as a debater, Lord Palmerston sacrifices the hope of becoming a first-rate orator. It is the province of the orator, while he is appealing to the passions or developing the policy of the hour, also to shape and polish his discourse and to interweave in it what will render it interesting for all time. Such qualities and such objects are not to be distinguished in the excellent party speeches of Lord Palmerston. They are made for the House of Commons, not for posterity. Except in the clap-traps we have mentioned, there is no ambitious language, no pretence of that higher eloquence which will stir the hearts of men after the particular voice is dumb and the particular man dead. You cannot pick extracts out of his speeches which will bear reading, and will excite interest, apart from

the context. There are no maxims or aphorisms, nor any poetical illustrations or passages of declamatory vehemence; but, on the other hand, the language is choice, the style pure and simple, the construction of the sentences correct, even elegant, and the general arrangement of the topics skilful in the extreme. The speeches seem not to be prepared with art, yet they are artful in the extreme; and there is a general harmony in the effect, such as might be expected from the spontaneous outpouring in argument of a highly cultivated and well-regulated mind. And although, as has been said, he is chargeable with inordinate garrulity on the subject of his foreign administration, yet you will sometimes find him speaking on topics personal to himself in a high and gentlemanly tone, quite unaffected, and which is extremely impressive. It is because his party speeches are a sort of serious pastime that he can at will throw aside all party feeling, and speak in a manly and elevated tone on great public questions. One of his amusing peculiarities is to identify himself with his party in all their great proceedings. "We" acceded to power; "We" brought in such a measure; "We" felt this or that; a sort of" I-and-my-king) style, which, in the somewhat selfimportant tones of the noble lord, and associated with his reputation for dictatorship in his own official department, sometimes borders on the ludicrous.

However much Lord Palmerston may fall into the sham-patriotic vein in his usual party speeches, there is one subject on which, as we have said, he is inconveniently in earnest. Touch his foreign policy, and on the instant his soul is in arms. Nay, he does not wait till it is touched, aspenlike though his vanity be on that theme. So intimately possessed is he of the absolute excellence of his foreign administration, and of its importance to mankind, that he is unceasingly, and without being asked, expounding and explaining it. He defends himself spontaneously, without having been attacked; and he never defends himself without gratuitously attacking some one else. Sir Robert Peel once charged him, in well-sugared parliamentary phrase,

with assurance. The imputation was well aimed; every one instantly responded to it; for, indeed, the noble lord has no unnecessary modesty in speaking of himself or his services. He is assiduous, and altogether unrestrained by delicacy, in trumpeting his own exploits as foreign minister. All the wars he didn't and all the wars he did bring about; all his dexterous manœuvres by which, while proclaiming peace, he was countenancing a kind of war in disguise; these have been paraded session after session, upon all imaginable pretexts, before the House of Commons, till Lord Palmerston's pertinacity has become proverbial. His amour propre, in fact, on the subject of his foreign policy almost takes the shape of a mania. His constant references to it, and the extent to which he has trespassed on the patience of the house, have detracted, to a considerable extent, from the influence which his undeniable talents as a speaker, and even his admitted abilities as a foreign minister, have long since entitled him to and secured for him. He is so easily excited on this topic, that whatever subject he may be talking on, however much his speech may necessarily be confined to subjects of a domestic nature, his mind seems, by a natural affinity, to glide into the one great theme which occupies his thoughts. At a guess, it might be hazarded that, taking the average of his speeches during the last ten or twelve years, four-fifths of them, at least, have consisted of self-praise, or self-defence, in connexion with his foreign policy.

It must not, however, be supposed that Lord Palmerston is, therefore, held in any contempt by the house. Quite the reverse. They may think that he shews a want of taste and tact in thus yielding so constantly to the ruling influence of his mind; but they are not the less prepared to award him the full amount of praise, and, what he more values, of attentive listening, to which his position, whether officially or legislatorially, entitles him. They are willing to admit that, as the foreign minister of England, he has shewn himself animated by something of the spirit of the great Earl of Chatham, in his magnanimous determination to uphold, at all hazards, the national

honour. His task was to make a peace-at-any-price party, pursue a war-at-any-price policy. It was his duty, as well as his ardent desire, to make the English name respected throughout the world. He took a high tone with foreign nations; and they felt that, while Lord Palmerston was at the head of our foreign affairs, they could not insult us with impunity. The House of Commons were fully aware of these things, and were disposed to respect him accordingly; but while listening to his perpetual explanations and justifications, they could not help feeling that a minister who was thus paltering between peace and war was very likely to illustrate the old adage, concerning the ultimate fate of him who tries to sit on two stools. They saw that his manly policy, instead of shewing itself in quiet dignity, was detracted from by a restless spirit of intermeddling, a habit of provoking the irritability of foreign nations, as if for the mere purpose of shewing our strength to disregard it. An opponent characterised his proceedings by the terms, "restless activity and incessant meddling." Lord Palmerston seems conscious that such is the opinion entertained of his conduct; for he has himself quoted the terms and deprecated such an application of them.

But the verdict seems to have been pronounced by the House of Commons, that the foreign policy of Lord Palmerston has been more spirited, vigorous, expert, than politic, dignified, or wise. It is confessed that he has enlarged views, which, perhaps, he has scarcely had a fair opportunity of developing; but, at the same time, it appears to be felt that

the steps he took to carry out those views acted as so many obstructions. He was for universal peace and free commercial intercourse, but he thought to obtain them by bellicose demonstrations. He had Peace in his mouth, but War in his right hand.

Out-of-doors, Lord Palmerston is very much misunderstood. The popular idea of him represents him as an antiquated dandy. He is really nothing of the sort, but a man of unusual vigour, both of mind and body, , upon whom time has made less impression than usual. He is not more particular in his dress than are most men of his station in society; and if he be charged with sacrificing to the Graces, all we can say on the subject is, that we could point out a hundred members of the House of Commons, of all ages, who are more open to ridicule on this score than Lord Palmerston. Any pretension he may have is, in fact, not personal but mental. His bearing is eminently that of the gentleman, quiet and unassuming, but manly.

As a speaker, his physical powers are scarcely equal to what his mind prompts him to achieve. There is a kind of faded air which you cannot help observing; but this impression may, after all, only arise from a constitutional languor of manner, and from the peculiar intonation of his voice, which has a hollow and fluty sound. With all his talents as a debater, he wants that special combination of personal dignity with popular qualities, which alone could qualify him to be the sole leader of his party, should any cause bring about the secession of Lord John Russell.

THE Indian village of Lorette, inhabited by the remains of the Huron tribe (one of the "five nations" so often alluded to in American history), is situated on the little river St. Charles, at a distance of ten miles from Quebec, and forms a sort of border-post, the fertile and cultivated valley of the St. Charles lying in front, while the black pine-forest, covering an apparently interminable tract of undulating hills (for they scarcely deserve the name of mountains, with which they are often honoured) stretches out from its back to the northward.

The entrance to Lorette from Quebec is made over a little wooden bridge, of a sufficient width to admit of a narrow Canadian market-cart and a foot-passenger passing each other in safety. To the right of the bridge the river may be seen broken into rapids by the rocks which project in jagged points in every direction, while the water foams and bubbles around them; on the left it tumbles in a beautiful cascade, to obtain a view of which it is necessary to pass through a part of the village, and descend the bank of the river just below the fall, which rushes obliquely over a bed of rock, the water afterwards passing in a narrow channel between steep and bushy banks, and running so tumultuously that it appears an absolute mass of foam.

The best view of the fall is to be obtained about half way down the bank, which is upwards of a hundred yards high; but the spray, rising in a cloud from the cascade, renders the descent so slippery as to require great caution in making it, and is quite sufficient to wet the spectator to the skin, should he be unprovided with a great-coat.

To return, however, to the entrance of the village, which has been already described.

An Indian house, formed of sprucelogs, planed and roofed by rough slabs of deal, something like a large "shanty," or Irish cabin, stands to the left of the bridge, and consequently on the right bank of the river. It was at this house I made

my first inquiries, and here that I saw the first Indian I ever encountered. He was a young hunter, scarcely more, I should fancy, than sixteen years of age, finely made, and but for the half coppery tinge of his dark skin, would have been acknowledged handsome in any country. He leaned in the entrance of his log-hut with the half-lazy, halfgraceful ease of his people; one leg at the half bend, the head slightly inclined forward, as he listened to and answered my questions, whilst, with the rough blanket coat hanging about his shoulders in all the elegance ascribed to the loose robe of the Asiatic, he might have stood for the picture of "the savage."

The house I found him at I have particularly noticed here on account of its romantic situation; the others are not worthy of mention, being like the rougher sort of Canadian farm-houses, having attached to them small patches of corn and plots of ground containing potatoes, planted in "lazy beds," which are broad barrows of earth thrown up, with trenches between, similar to those prepared for asparagus in England.

The chief's house is on the right hand soon after entering the village. It is like a Canadian farm-house of the better sort (that is to say, a wooden building of commodious size, variously coloured, with a profusion of long glass-windows), and at the time I saw it was occupied by an Indian woman, lively and communicative for her nation, with, not to say the most beautiful "papouse" (Indian baby), but the most beautiful infant I ever saw. As I looked on its small but distinctly marked features (far more distinct than those of a European child), and observed its clear, though dark skin, and rosycoloured little cheeks, I could not help thinking that it must be the child of some white man, when just as the mother (looking the model of what we may call an Indian matron) stooped over the child, apparently delighted with the stranger's notice of it (for no women are so Mattered by attention to their

children as the squaws), the father entered, and lo! he was one of the purest Indians in the village.

The Indians have seldom large families. The conjugal passions (if we may so speak), such as love for their wives, &c., are by no means powerful; indeed, with the exception of jealousy and anger, which at moments break out with the more violence from their ordinary state of quiescence, these people appear almost passionless, and, strange as the assertion may sound, nature appears to have placed barriers against the increase of their race, as if she intended that the forest should fall and the Indian with it.

An anecdote I know to be authentic occurs to my recollection as I speak of these traits of Indian cha

racter.

About fifteen years ago, Colonel G-, of Montreal, in crossing the bridge of Lorette was attacked by five Indians, who (instigated by jealousies) had lain in wait for him. They rushed at once upon the object of their revenge, intending to throw him over the bridge and into the rapids below; but, being an extremely powerful man, he succeeded in beating them off bare-handed, and escaped after a desperate struggle.

The circumstance will appear less surprising when it is remembered that the Indians are so little an athletic race that the Canadians themselves, by no means so robust as Englishmen, are apt to boast that one of their men will fight three Indians. The latter, indeed, are generally more the size and make of the Bengalees, and though capable of enduring great fatigue, are endowed with but little bodily strength, and appear utterly unable to labour, as well as indisposed to do so.

For the Indian women, many of them are decidedly pretty, though they require to be taken at an advantage-rigged out in their Sunday best, with clean blankets by way of shawls, coarse blue cloth short gowns, and leggings of the same material, trimmed with yellow silk, mocassins ornamented with beads, and last, but not least, with their jet-black hair (of which, being very good, they appear somewhat vain) neatly parted in the middle of the head. The time, however, to see the "squaws" in their

glory is just after mass (for they are all Roman Catholics) when they remain assembled for a short time in front of their church, previous to dispersing to their different habitations. They are small, neatly made women, with uncommonly little hands and feet, and would be graceful were it not for the peculiar form of the latter, which turn in as much as those of a soldier on drill turn outward. This conformation of the foot is more peculiar because no defect can be observed in the bone; on the contrary, the ankle is small, the joints appear well set, and indeed all the parts in proportion; but the muscles of the leg are twisted in the direction of the foot. This defect unfortunately spoils their walk, which would otherwise be graceful, as their short springy step, with the heel just sufficiently raised not to expose too much of the sole of the foot, would be considered highly becoming, were the feet turned, according to our notions of beauty.

The "Indian trot," which has so often been remarked upon, was, as near as I could estimate, a pace of about six miles and a half to the hour. In this trot the Indian makes a sort of half lurch from the hips, swinging his body from side to side, the step at the same time being short and quick. I have observed when I have been in the north of France the march (for it can hardly be called a walk) of the Norman peasants, a race renowned for their pedestrian powers; but in them the step is long and regular, and they carry their bodies firm and erect. The Indian trot, however, would certainly distance them, whilst the appearance of a party of Indians, their curious swinging walk, the mingling of straw and felt hats, long guns, light hatchets, and long sheath knives stuck in leather belts, bound round red shirts, with blanket and cloth coats, and their blue leggings with yellow mocassins, is certainly very striking; and their slight, nimble, well-proportioned forms, which seem to be framed by nature upon the model of the beasts of prey; their dark, half copper-coloured complexion, slightly prominent cheek-bones, and strongly marked features, are no less picturesque than their dress.

The Indians are seldom tall; the