he thread that binds them,
they come, poor birds of passage, to settle, take refuge, and enjoy here
at least a moment's vital heat. They tacitly avow that this is the
universal country." Beau Brummel certainly avowed it; but then he, "poor
bird of passage," flew in a night from his own nest, to settle, take
refuge, and enjoy a moment's vital peace in France, away from duns and
creditors. Many, in similar circumstances, would unquestionably prefer
Paris to London, provided they could break the thread which attaches
them to their domestic responsibilities. France is the infant Solomon
sitting in judgment. Who, but she, has preserved the tradition of the
law? She has given her soul to the world, and the world is living on it
now; but, strange condition! "what she has left is what she has given
away. Come, listen to me well, and learn, oh nations! what without us
you would never have learned:--_the more one gives, the more one keeps_.
Her spirit may slumber within her, but it is always entire, and ever on
the point of waking in its might."

Now all this must be taught to the infant as soon as it can lisp, and he
will, no doubt, perfectly understand and appreciate it. The regeneration
of France (which is already so perfect, and is, besides, the great
exemplar of mankind) depends upon the child's proper appreciation of his
birthplace. If he will believe all that has been said, he is far on the
road, but by no means at the end of his journey. As soon as he is
breeched, his mother must become his instructor, and increase the dose
by some such foolish proceeding as the following:--

"Let her take him on St John's Day, when the earth performs her annual
miracle, when every herb is in flower, when the plant seems to grow
while you behold it; let her take him into the garden, embrace him, and
say to him tenderly, 'You love me, you know only me. Well, listen! I am
not all. You have another mother. All of us, men, women, children,
animals, plants, and whatever has life, we have all a tender mother, who
is ever feeding us, invisible, but present. Love her, my dear child; let
us embrace her with all our hearts.'

"Let there be nothing more. No metaphysics that destroy the impression.
Let him brood over that sublime and tender mystery, which his whole life
will not suffice to clear up. That is a day he will never forget.
Throughout all the trials of life and the intricacies of science, amid
all his passions and stormy nights, the gent