I could not give him to any other nation in particular.  He was older, more wary, less joyous, and probably much more experienced, than either of his companions.  When they laughed, he only smiled; when they sang, he hummed; and when they seemed thoughtful, he grew sad.  I could make nothing out of him, except that he ran a thorough bass to the higher pitches of his companions’ humours.  The third was Italian “for a ducat.”  A thick, bushy, glossy, curling head of hair was covered by a little scarlet cap, tossed negligently on one side, as if lodged there by chance; his eye was large, mellow, black as jet, and full of fun and feeling; his teeth white as ivory; and the sun, the glorious sun, and the thoughts of Italy, towards which he was travelling, had set all his animal spirits in motion.  I caught a few words in bad French, which satisfied me that he and the German were jeering each other on their respective national peculiarities.  Such is man; his egotism and vanity first centre in himself, and he is ready to defend himself against the reproofs of even his own mother; then his wife, his child, his brother, his friend is admitted, in succession, within the pale of his self-love, according to their affinities with the great centre of the system; and finally he can so far expand his affections as to embrace his country, when that of another presents its pretensions in hostility.  When the question arises, as between humanity and the beasts of the field, he gets to be a philanthropist!

[Footnote 32:  The Americans are a singularly good-natured people, and probably submit to more impositions, that are presented as appeals to the spirit of accommodation, than any other people on earth.  The writer has frequently ridden miles in torture to accommodate a trunk, and the steam-boats manage matters so to accommodate everybody, that everybody is put to inconvenience.  All this is done, with the most indomitable kindness and good nature, on all sides, the people daily, nay hourly exhibiting, in all their public relations, the truth of the axiom, “that what is everybody’s business, is nobody’s business.”]

Morat, with its walls of Jericho, soon received us, and we drove to an inn, where chopped straw was ordered for the horses, and a more substantial gouter for ourselves.  Leaving the former to discuss their meal, after finishing our own, we walked ahead, and waited the appearance of the little Savoyard, on the scene of the great battle between the Swiss and the Burgundians.  The country has undergone vast changes since the fifteenth century, and cultivation has long since caused the marsh, in which so many of the latter perished, to disappear, though it is easy to see where it must have formerly been.  I have nothing new to say concerning Avenche, whose Roman ruins, after Rome itself, scarce caused us to cast a glance at them, and we drove up to the door of the Ours at Payerne, without alighting.  When we are children,