given. Ask a well-bred Englishman, if you shall help him from a dish before you; and what will be his reply? Will it be yes or no?-or, will it, in truth, be capable of any grammatical interpretation, as a reply? Is it not "I thank you"-" much obliged to you," or something of the same sort ? So, a Frenchman will say "bien obligé," mercie, monsieur;" a German, "Ich danke ihnen," " each and all seeking to avoid the rudeness of saying, directly, yes or no. or Ask an Irishman the way to St. Paul's, and his reply will be, "Is it St. Paul's ye'd have ?" Put the same question to a Scot, and his reply will begin with, "Aweel ?"-accompanied with a look, or word, or tone of shrewd interrogation. And so it is, in fact, with every people, particularly if they are sagacious, social, or situated in a part of the country where a stranger is rarely seen. Every one will have his money's worth. If he give information, he will have information in return. As a people, take them altogether, the Americans talk a purer English than we as a people. But then, there are not many Americans, who either speak or write so good and pure English,as multitudes of our countrymen do. Let us not arrogate too much, however, our speakers are far from being scrupulously correct, either in language or pronunciation, let them take what authority they will. They, like our writers, are in the habit of coining and manufacturing words at pleasure; and some of our critics have more than once mistaken for Americanisms, pure old English, or English that had been sanctioned by our poets, (the worst authority, by the way, in the world, because the poets are, by inclination, habit, and necessity, the most licentious in the use of words;) and omitted by Dr. Johnson, or forgotten by ourselves. Thus they have quizzed the Americans over and over again, for using the verb to improve (as it is the fashion to call such combinations,) in the sense of the words to use. It sounds very oddly to our ears, when we hear a New Englander talk about improving a house, when he only means to occupy it. But the New Englander has a higher authority than is generally known, for this-no less than that of Alexander Pope himself, who says, while speaking of a lady at a theatre, that "Not a fan went unimproved away." Let us farther recollect, that our spoken language, and our written language, are two different things. Our English, when written, is the same, throughout the whole British empire; but, when spoken, it varies at almost every furlong. In America, it is not so. The same language is both written and spoken, in the same way, by the same people. I shall now run a short parallel between the Americans and the English. We are an old people. The Americans are a new people. We value ourselves on our ancestry-on what we have done; they, on their posterity, and on what they mean to do. They look to the future; we to the past. They are proud of Old England as the home of their forefathers; we, of America, as the abiding place of western English men. They are but of yesterday as a people. They are descended from those, whose burial places are yet to be seen: we, from those, whose burial-places have been successively invaded by the Roman, Saxon, Dane, and Norman, until they are no longer to be distinguished from the everlasting hills. As a whole people, the Americans talk a better English than we do; but then, there are many individuals among us who speak better English than any American, unless we except, here and there, a well-educated New Englander; and a few eminent public speakers, like the late Mr. Pinkney, who was minister to this Court; and Mr. Wirt, the present attorney-general of the United States, who will probably succeed Mr. Rush in the same capacity; and, then, there are a multitude among us who speak a better English than is common among the well-educated men of America, although they do not speak the best English, such as the few among us do. I have heard a great deal said about the habits of cleanliness in England and America; and I have sometimes of an Englishman's face is greater; laughed very heartily at the reciprocal prejudices of the English and Ameri can women. that of the American, more intense. In the self-satisfied, honest, hearty, and rather pompous expression of an I have heard an English woman English face, you will find, when it is complain of a beastly American for not caricatured, a true indication of spitting into the fire: and I have heard his character. Other people call him an American woman express the great- boastful, but he is not. He only est abhorrence of an Englishman, for shows, in every look and attitude, that spitting in his pocket-handkerchief; he is an Englishman, one of that exor, for not spitting at all, when he hap- traordinary people, who help to make pened to mention that well-bred men up an empire that never had-has not, swallowed their saliva. A spitting-box and never will have, a parallel upon is a part of the regular furniture of earth. But then, he never tells other every room in America, although men so, except in the way of a speech, smoking is now entirely out of fashion or a patriotic newspaper essay. there. An American will not scruple to pick his teeth or clean his nails, if he should think it necessary-anywhere, at any time before a lady. An Englishman would sooner let them go dirty. An American never brushes his hat -very rarely his coat; and his hair, not once a-week. An Englishman will brush the first with his coat-sleeve, or a silk handkerchief, whenever he puts it on or off: and the two latter, every time that he goes out. The American is laughed at for his personal slovenliness, in England, and the Englishman for his absurd anxiety, in Ame rica. Such is national prejudice. The Englishman is more of a Roman; the American more of a Greek, in the physiognomy of his face and mind; in temper, and in constitution. The American is the vainer; the Englishman, the prouder man of the two. The American is volatile, adventurous, talkative, and chivalrous. The Englishman is thoughtful, determined, very brave, and a little sullen. The Englishman has more courage; the American more spirit. The former would be better in defence, the latter in at tack. A beaten Englishman is formidable still-A beaten American is good for nothing, for a time. The countenance of the Englishman is florid: not sharply, but strongly marked; and full of amplitude, gravity, and breadth; that of an American has less breadth, less gravity, less amplitude, but more vivacity, and a more lively character. The expression And so, in the keen, spirited, sharp, intelligent, variable countenance of an American, you will find a correspondent indication of what he is. He is exceedingly vain, rash, and sensitive: he has not a higher opinion of his country, than the Englishman has of his; but then, he is less discreet-more talkative, and more presumptuous : less assured of the superiority, which he claims for his country; more watchful and jealous; and, of course, more waspish and quarrelsome, like diminutive men, who, if they pretend to be magnanimous, only make themselves ridiculous; and being aware of this, become the most techy and peevish creatures in the world. The Englishman shows his high opinion of his country by silence; the American his, by talking: one, by his conduct; the other by words.: one by arrogance, the other by supercilious ness. The Englishman is, generally, a better, braver, and a nobler minded fellow, than you might be led to believe from his appearance. The face of an American, on the contrary, induces you to believe him, generally, a better man than you will find him. But then, they are so much alike; or rather there are individuals of both countries, so like each other, that I know many Americans who would pass everywhere for Englishmen; and many Englishmen who would pass anywhere for Americans. In heart and bead, they are much more alike, than in appearance or manners. 1 An Englishman, when abroad, is before her husband. An Englishwoman has more wisdom; an American more wit. One has more good sense; the other more enthusiasm. Either would go to the scaffold with a beloved one : but the female American would go there in a delirium; the Englishwoman deliberately, like a martyr. reserved, cautious, often quite insup- counsel:--child-bearing soon destroys portable, and, when frank, hardly ever her. A few summers, and she appears talkative; not very hasty, but a little to have been born a whole generation quarrelsome nevertheless turbulent, and rather overbearing, particularly upon the continent. At home, he is hospitable, frank, generous, overflowing with honesty and cordiality, and given to a sort of substantial parade-a kind of old-fashioned family ostentation. But the American is quite the reverse. Abroad, he is talkative, noisy, imperious; often excessively impertinent, capricious, troublesome, either in his familiarity, or in his untimely reserve; not quarrelsome, but so hasty, nevertheless, that he is eternally in bot water. At home, he is more reserved; and, with all his hospitality, much given to ostentation of a lighter sort; substitute-finery and show. An American is easily excited; and of course, easily quieted. An Englishman is neither easily quieted, nor easi ly excited. It is harder to move the latter; but once in motion, it is harder to stop him. One has more strength and substance; the other more activity and spirit. One has more mind, more wisdom, more judgment, and more perseverance, the other more genius, more quickness of perception, more adven turousness. The Englishman's temper is more hardy and resolute; that of the American more intrepid and fiery. The former has more patience and fortitude, the latter more ardour. The Englishman is never discouraged, though without resources: the American is never without resources, but is often disheartened. Just so is it with the female character. An American woman is more childish, more attractive, and more perishable: the English woman is of a healthier mind, more dignified, and more durable. The former is a flower-the latter a plant. One sheds perfume; the other sustenance. The English woman is better fitted for a friend, a counsellor, and a companion-for the mother of many children, and for the partnership of a long life. But the American woman, particularly of the south is better fitted for love than And so, too, is the American to be distinguished from the Irishman. The Irish are a gallant, warm-hearted, headlong people; eloquent, feeling, hasty, and thoughtful; great dealers in the superfluous. So are the Americans. But, then, the feeling of the Irish, like their eloquence, is rich, riotous, and florid; while that of Americans is more vehement, argumentative, and concentrated. The declamation of the American is often solemn and affecting-often too dry for endurance; generally too cold and chaste for enthusiasm; and sometimes exquisitely extravagant. The Irishman is a hurrying, careless, open-hearted fellow, as likely to do wrong as right, in a moment of exultation. But nothing can be more tiresome than the pleasantry of an American, when he feels disposed to be very facetious. There is nothing of that voluble drollery, that uninterrupted flow of sentiment, fun, whim, and nonsense, in his talking, which we find in that of an Irishman at such a time. The chivalry of an Irishman has a headlong fury in it which is irresistible. It is partly constitutional, and often miraculous. But it differs about as much from the chivalry of an American, as that does from the deep, constitutional, collected bravery of the Englishman, or the profound strange fervour of the Scot. An American would make a dozen fortunes while a Scot was making one; but then the American would often die a poor man, over head and ears in debt-the Scot never. An American finds it harder to keep a fortune, a Scot harder to make one. A Scot would do the same thing over and over again all his life long, Everybody has read of Smollet's Irishman, who desired his companion, while he knelt down, and hammered the flint of his pistol, which had missed fire, to "fire away, and not be losing time;" and everybody has acknowledged, that, whether true or false, it was perfectly natural; but could only be believed of an Irishman. So, too, it is told of an Englishman, that his house having taken fire-containing all he was worth-finding that he could be of no use in putting it out, he went, and sat down upon a neighbouring hill, and took a drawing of it. Such a story would never have been invented of an American. And so, too, the well-known anecdote of the young Scot, whose coolness in such an emergency, is a capital specimen of the moral sublime."Whare are ye gangin, lad ?"-" Bock again." Nothing can be more absolutely Scotch. I would trust to it in the hottest fire of another Waterloo. But I know something of an American quite as characteristic "Can you carry that battery, sir ?" said an American general to Colonel Miller, in the heat of battle.-"I'll try-" and the battery was immediately carried at the point of the bayonet. But, in this answer, there was not a little of that affectation of Spartan dryness which I have often met with in the Americans. Commodores Perry and Macdonough gave a fine specimen of it in their official communications; probably thinking of Lord Nelson's despatch from Trafalgar. Not long since, I met with an amusing example of this national vanity of which I have been speaking in the Americans. General Jackson was one of the candidates for the presidency. The papers were ringing with his name; and, go where I would, in some parts of the country, I could hear nothing but what related to the "hero of New Orleans." Among others, a German undertook to convince me, that, if General Jackson should become President of the United States, his name alone was so terrible to the rest of the world, that they would have nothing to fear in America. I remember his very words, "So gross," said he, "ist der Ruf seines namens, durch die ganze zivilisirte welt, dass keine nation es wagen würde uns zu beleidigen, wenn er am Ruder des staats stünde !!" Let it be remembered, that, in drawing this parallel, I have only given the general character of an Englishman and American. Exceptions, of course, continually occur. X. Y. Z. THE MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR HER BOY. Alas! alas! his dying head Was pillow'd on a colder bed- They told me vict'ry's laurels wreathed That "Vict'ry!" from his lips was breathed Cold comfort to a mother's ear Who long'd his living voice to hear!- E'en so thy gallant father died, My widow'd grief beguiled→ PILE THE HEIRESS OF FALKENSTEIN. (La Belle Mag.) prive thee of thy promised prey. At least, my gallant steed, this hand, which has so often curbed thy generous pride, shall preserve thy body from pollution until the fast-approaching storm shall cover thee with its dreary winding sheet, and hide thee from the devouring fiends of this lone wilderness." Then, darting a javelin at the vulture, she fell, shrieking, from the rock, and dyed the snowy surface on which she rested with her blood. DILE above pile arose the snowcrowned Alps; the desert waste, in sublime but appalling grandeur, presented one unvaried hue. A dazzling whiteness overspread the surface of the earth, an image of beauty and of desolation. The brilliant colouring of the glacier was buried beneath a fleece of newly-fallen snow, the mountain torrent was hushed into silence, and where of late the stream had gurgled lay a sullen column of ice. The very air was frozen, and not a passing breath indicated that nature was awake: her operations seemed for awhile suspended, as though she had yielded her dominion to the chilling hand of death. It appeared as if no living thing could exist in a wilderness so dreary, a region so cold and cheerless: the bear lay close in his den far below this deserted eminence; it was high above the haunt of the wolf, and even the chamois had withdrawn to a distant lair; but the horrid stillness was broken by the hoarse scream of a vulture, which, perched upon a rock in the scent of blood, anticipated her foul repast, and, toiling up the winding path, her keen eye tracked a knight on horseback. The jaded charger stumbled at every step, whilst the rider looked round in search of some human habitation, and ever and anon cast his eyes upon the earth, despairing that the exhausted strength of the animal he rode would bear him to the haunts of men. Paralyzed by cold, and overcome by fatigue, the wearied creature paused; its feet seemed rooted to the spot, and, incapable of farther effort, it remained immoveable. The knight dismounted. "Faithful companion of my exile!" he exclaimed, "my last and truest friend, I must leave thee here to perish. Thou art unequal longer to wrestle with the death that awaits thee, and perchance at a few yards distance from thy lifeless corse I also shall meet the destruction that threatens to be inevitable. Ill omened wretch!" he continued, "in vain dost thou whet thy beak, and snuff with grim delight the tainted air; I will de The knight speeded onwards, and, armed with courage and resolution, he for some time manfully surmounted the difficulties which opposed his progress: but the density of the gathering clouds increased, and a heavy fall of snow added to the perils which surrounded him. Still he persevered, but he began to feel sensible that his strength was flagging fast: a few more efforts, another struggle, and he must sink overpowered upon the frozen earth. 66 Holy St. Francis!" he exclaimed, "I thank thee, that, since my death is decreed, thou hast not permitted me to fall by the hand of my enemies. Oh, I had dreamed of triumphs and of victory over yon false and faithless crew. Visions of glory, ye are fading fast! Another and more fortunate competitor shall-but away with earthly hopes and mundane expectations; my hour is come, the saints whom I have served receive my soul!" Again he strove to advance, but he was compelled to relinquish the attempt, and in another moment his wearied limbs lay stretched upon the snow. For a short time he retained a consciousness of his situation, but oblivion rapidly approached-his senses and his breath failed him, and he became inanimate as the rocks of the surrounding wilderness. Life, however, was not yet extinct; the lambent flame still played about his heart, like the last flickering of a decaying lamp, and the dog of the desert, that most affectionate and intelligent friend of the human race, guided by the exquisite sense with which the lavish |
