I have already adverted to the impulsive character of the American people. It would seem that when even a small wave gets hold of the public feeling, it will not unfrequently roll on until it becomes a mountain billow, and causes an upheaving of the entire mass. When the Atlantic cable was completed, the public mind was excited into a condition of wild joyousness, and the nation revelled in a jubilee from one end of the country to the other. The visit of the Prince of Wales made “men forget their loves and debts, and think of their sorrows no more.” Democracy bent its willing knee before a royal idol, and the sovereign people “tossed their ready caps in the air.” When the Hungarian patriot paid his respects to the New World, the people offered the warm incense of their hearts before him: the rich rivalled each other in their homage to the noble exile; and for the time being all party distinctions were swallowed up in a loud tribute of hearty respect for the unsuccessful defender of his country—a rebel! During the late war it is but a weak expression of the fact to say, that the nation lived by excitement, renewed from day to day, and that the billows of popular frenzy rose and fell according as the hands of Moses were elevated or depressed. Yet it would not be just to, conclude that, because the Americans are an excitable people, they are wanting in firmness, determination of character, or caution. Occasional demonstrations of public feeling, such as those to which I have alluded, arise more from a spirit of independence than from a vital vital enthusiasm for the subject.