d
upon life to be but a long dance, and liberty and law but a jig. Yet
Monsieur talks in high strains of the law, though he lives in a country
that knows no law but the caprice of an absolute monarch. Has he
property? an edict from the Grand Monarch can take it, and the slave
is satisfied. Pursue him to the Bastile, or the dismal dungeon in the
country to which a _lettre de cachet_ conveys him, and buries the wretch
for life: there see him in all his misery; ask him "What is the cause?"

{78}"_Je ne scai pas_, it is de will of de Grand Monarch." Give him a
_soupe maigre_, a little sallad, and a hind quarter of a frog, and he's
in spirits.--"_Fal, lai, lai, vive le roy, vive la bagatelle_." He is
now the declared enemy of Great Britain: ask him, "Why?--has England
done your country an injury?" "Oh no." "What then is your cause of
quarrel?" "England, sir, not give de liberty to de subject. She will
have de tax upon de tea; but, by gar, sir, de Grand Monarch have send
out de fleet and de army to chastise de English; and, ven de America are
free, de Grand Monarch he tax de American himself." "But, Monsieur,
is France able to cope with England on her own element, the sea?" "_Oh!
pourquois non?_" "Why not?"

{79}Here is the head of a British Tar [_shews the head_]; and, while
England can man her navy with thousands of these spirits, Monsieur's
threats are in vain. Here is a man who despises danger, wounds,
and death; he fights with the spirit of a lion, and, as if (like a
salamander) his element was fire, gets fresh courage as the action grows
hotter; he knows no disgrace like striking to the French flag; no reward
for past services so ample as a wooden leg; and no retreat so honourable
as Greenwich hospital. Contrast his behaviour with that of a French
sailor, who must have a drawn sword over his head to make him stand to
his gun, who runs trembling to the priest for an absolution--"_Ah, mon
bon pere, avez pitie de moi!_" when he

{80}should look death in the face like a man. This brave tar saw the
gallant Farmer seated on his anchor, his ship in a blaze, his eye fixed
on the wide expanse of the waters round him, scorning to shrink, waiting
with the calm firmness of a hero for the moment when he was to die
gloriously in the service of his country.

Here is the head of a Spaniard, [_Shews the head._] But first I had
better remove the Frenchman, for fear of a quarrel between the two
allies. Now he has no dislike to England