Why should not we send over some of our JENNINGSES and STETSONS, our BERGALEWS and DOWNINGS, to repay our French friends for their many favors, and instruct them in the art of making pumpkin-pies and eating canvass-back ducks? The French at present know little more about us than that Doctor FRANKLIN made lightning-rods, and that COOPER writes Indian novels. They eat nothing that we raise, they wear nothing that we make, they adopt none of our fashions, they use none of our phrases. You would look in vain in the _carte_ of any restaurateur in Paris for such delicacies as apple-dumplings or corn-bread, and you might call in a Parisian cafe until you were hoarse, for a 'cobbler' or a julep, without getting either. Yet our uppish people will eat nothing, drink nothing, wear nothing that is not French. We have been told of certain brokers in Wall-street who import even their _desserts_ from Paris; not their _deserts_, my friend, for the guillotine is the only French thing which we don't imitate or import. No wine is fit for our tables without the prefix of a _chateau_ something; every thing that is composed of wool is something _de laine_, and all our clothes are made of _drap de_ this or _drap de_ that. But let us not paint our Gallic friends a shade darker than they deserve. They have taught us the use of napkins and silver forks; they give us the best perfumery in the world, and make the best gravies for our meats. What is the privilege of writing the songs of a nation, compared with the privilege of setting its fashions? The supremacy of the French in all matters of taste is not the effect of accident. Why do they rule the world by their elegancies? There is a philosophy in these things, as well as in every thing else, which is worthy of grave consideration.