Daily experience more and more confirms the observation, that the prominent features of character, seen among the European French, obtain likewise amidst the creole and other residents in their colonies. In England, it is not confined to the vulgar to regard the terms Frenchman and petit-maître as words of synonymous import; nor can it be denied, by the warmest advocate for Gallic pretensions, that an air of frivolity prevails among the French people, as a part of their national character. The same is likewise observable among the inhabitants of their settlements. Various causes probably act in combination to produce this prominent trait among them. It commences with their infancy, and connects with their earliest education.

The French people prescribe to themselves rules of health and of regimen. They seem neither to eat, to move, to act, nor to think according to nature: all is artificial, and le petit remède is as necessary as the pap or the breakfast. From the cradle they are taught de se soigner, de se menager! and habit begets a mode of self-discipline which puts nature to the blush!

But let me return to the circumstance which has led to these remarks. A few evenings ago, walking with some gentlemen of the hospital department, upon the public promenade, we observed a party of French boys, not amusing themselves with racing and rude gambols, like the youths of England, but collected into a group, discussing rules of health, and of diet, with all the zeal of practised nurses, or timid hypochondriacs. The peculiarity of the conversation having excited our curiosity, we were induced to listen to them with attention, and were not less surprised at the acuteness and discrimination of these youthful disputants, than amused at their subject, and the grave manner in which they had been taught to discuss it.

To avoid hurtful excesses, and observe such moderation as may be necessary for the preservation of health, is, at all times, advisable; but to teach children to debate, like pedantic pretenders in medicine, whether oatmeal-gruel be better than rice-gruel—barley-water more wholesome than toast and water—veal-broth than chicken-broth; whether it be best for the health to dine at half after twelve, or at one o’clock—whether plantains produce more humours than bananas—whether it be most proper for the constitution to put a bit of carrot or of turnip into the soup, is to bring them up such ineffable triflers, that they can be fit society only for invalids and aged females. The best mode of preparing a basin of soup-maigre, and which vegetables may be boiled in it with least danger of inflaming the blood, or forming too many humours, would afford conversation for half a dozen Frenchmen, for as many hours; and from the eagerness betrayed in the debate, a person might be led to imagine that they must be occupied upon a subject of not less consequence than apportioning allotments of the Turkish or the Austrian empire.

After we had been amused with the conversation of these boys, upon petit-bouillon, soup-maigre, eau-de-poulet, ptisan, and the like, we sat a short time with a party of French ladies, when soup and sickness, bile and humours, were again made the subject of discourse. An Englishman, who was present, happened to put a knife to a small pine, with the intention of dividing it among the party, when the French ladies all rose, with uplifted hands, to prevent it, exclaiming in broken English, “Eat anane at night!”—“Dat shall you make sick.”—“Cela vous fera mal au ventre.”—“It is no good for eat anane at night.”—“If it you shall eat, dat vill make much humours in de morning! Non! put it away, you shall not you-self kill!”

With all these minutiæ we do not find that they have better health, or live to a greater age, than those of the English who are temperate; the only striking advantage that we observe to arise, from this great attention to little things, is, that the French, both men and women, make most excellent nurses, being minutely assiduous and useful about the sick: and let me do them the justice to add, that I have never found any other people equally kind and compassionate towards persons afflicted with disease, whether their friends, their countrymen, or strangers.

With very sincere grief I have to announce to you fatal tidings of our poor commissary of accompts, Mr. Dornford, whom I mentioned to you in a former letter; and in whose fate I feel the liveliest sorrow. Notwithstanding the opinion of the learned Père Edouard respecting his progressive convalescence, he was advised to proceed, without loss of time, either to Europe or to North America: but, like too many others in sickness, pleading the usual round of negatives, he urged his worldly affairs as an insurmountable obstacle to the means recommended: viewing only the difficulties of absenting himself from his calling, the time necessary for performing a voyage to England or America appeared to him quite an age; nor was it until he was assured, by his own disordered feelings, that he must be soon removed from these and all other duties for ever, if he continued longer at Martinique, that he was at last prevailed upon to adopt the alternative of going to sea, and sailing about from one island to another. But, alas! the event has proved that it was too late for either the greater or the lesser means to be employed with effect.

The commissary-general very kindly accommodated Mr. Dornford with a commodious vessel, which had been fitted up in a superior manner, for his own use. In this he took his departure for Barbadoes, from whence he was to extend his voyage to various other islands. But, unfortunately, he there suffered a renewed attack, became much worse, was unable to pursue his voyage, and returned with all speed to Martinique, in the determination of going directly, with the fleet, to England. But it happened that the convoy had sailed the very morning of the day upon which he arrived. This was a grievous disappointment to him, the increase of malady, which he had experienced at Barbadoes, having generated the most serious alarm, and caused him, at length, to feel assured that there was no chance of his recovery, except from an immediate removal to a colder climate: but his professional attendants saw that it was now too late! They regarded it as a fortunate circumstance that the fleet had sailed, and that he escaped the hurry and agitation of going on board, where he would most likely have died before the ship could have left the harbour.

The alarming symptoms which supervened at Barbadoes, had given a new character to the disease, and proved that the system had suffered more injury than even the most apprehensive had imagined. A purulent diarrhœa and expectoration had suddenly taken place, and the already debilitated frame was rapidly sinking under their continuance. His attendants had only the sorrowful consolation of contemplating a departing friend, and all that remained to them was to watch his rapid decline, soothing the few short hours which might yet be spared him from the grave. On the 26th of June he landed at St. Pierre. In six days after, a final exhaustion ensued; and, on the 1st of July, he was no more.

I was requested to attend the funeral, and notwithstanding the distressful feelings I always experience from witnessing the awful solemnity, I could not refuse myself the melancholy gratification of joining in this last duty to so valued a man. Many officers of the staff and garrison paid the same tribute of respect to his remains, and the splendid, yet doleful procession, from his house to the place of interment, formed one of the most impressive and affecting scenes I ever beheld.

Upon examining the body, it was discovered that a large abscess had formed within the right lobe of the liver; which, from the inflammation having extended to the contiguous parts, had ulcerated into the intestines, and also through the diaphragm into the substance of the lungs; a circumstance which fully explained the symptoms of the few last days, while it proved that no effectual remedy was within the reach of human skill.