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them, Mr. Chaplin will be found one of the best To show that the author is no less at home in a armed and the most ready of the combatants. gentler vein of poetry, we refer to the verses entitled (We have omitted some parts of the notice of Mr.

LONG AGO.* Chaplin, and find it not desirable to give the uninterest

When at eve I sit alone, ing outlines of Mr. Russell, and the Right Honorable

Thinking on the Past and GoneEdward Strutt, who is the railway minister.]

While the clock, with drowsy finger,

Marks how slow the minutes linger-
From the New York Evening Post.

And the embers, dimly burning,

Tell of Life to Dust returning,

Then my lonely chair around,
We have before us a volume of poems by H. H.

With a solemn, mournful soundBrownell, just published by D. Appleton & Co.

With a murmur soft and low, That the volume contains things written with true

Come the ghosts of Long Ago. poetic fire will be apparent to those who read the

One by one, I count them o'er, following poem, the last in the collection :

Voices that are heard no more,

Tears that loving cheeks have wet,

Words whose music lingers yet
(10 Thomidor, 1794.)

Holy faces, pale and fair, Here let us stand-the windows and the leads,

Shadowy locks of waving hairAnd roofs are crowded—not a space between!

Gentle sighs and whispers dear,
And in the midst, above that sea of heads,

Songs forgotten many a year-
Glooms the black Guillotine.

Lips of dewy fragrance--eyes

Brighter, bluer than the skies-
A mighty, restless multitude is there,

Odors breathed from Paradise.
Maddened with joy, from the unpeopled town-
And the walls tremble at their shout, whene'er

And the gentle shadows glide
That heavy steel comes down!

Softly murmuring at my side,

Till the long and gloomy day, 'Tis nearly over-twenty heads have rolled,

All forgotten, fades away. One after one, upon the block-while cheers,

Thus, when I am all alone,
And screams, and curses, howled by hate untold,

Dreaming o'er the Past and Gone,
Rang in their dying ears !

All around me, sad and slow,
One more is left-and now, amid a storm

Come the ghosts of Long Ago.
Of groans and yells that seem the air to rive-
They raise upright a ghastly human form,

NARROW Escape.-Gustavus Count Von Schla-
Mangled, yet still alive!

brendorf was born at Stettin on the 22d of March,

1750. His father was Frederick the Great's minLike one awaking from a deadly swoon,

ister in Silesia during the Seven Years' War. As His eyes onclose upon that living plain

the friend of Condorcet, Mercier, and Brissot, he Those livid, snaky eyes !—he shuts them soon, Never to ope again!

was imprisoned during the reign of terror. His

conversation and kindness, his generosity and advice, As that forlorn, last, wandering gaze he took, were the comfort of his fellow-prisoners. Schla

Perhaps those cruel eyes, in hopeless mood, brendorf escaped death by a sort of miracle. One Sought, in their agony, one pitying look,

day the cart came as usual for its freight of victims, Mid that vast multitude.

and his name was called out. He soon was ready,

with the exception of his boots, which could not be Sought, but in vain! close wedged, and crushed, found. At length he said to the jailer, “ Without and mixed

boots, it is quite impossible for me to go. Let us Square, street, and house-top crowded-he see ; you can call for me to-morrow; one day cansurveys

not be of much consequence.” The cart proceeded A hundred thousand human eyes, all fixed without him. Next day Schlabrendorf, ready booted, In one fierce, pitiless gaze.

was waiting ; but his name was not called. The Down to the plank! the brutal headsmen tear

jailer was not a brute, and said nothing. SchlaThat bloody rag-nay! spare him needless pain! brendorf remained in prison ignored until RobesOne cry! God grant that we may never hear

pierre's fall. --Sketches of German Life. A cry like that again!

ExaggerATIONS.—Never to speak by superla

tives is a sign of a wise man; for that way of A pause—and the axe falls on Robespierre!

That trenchant blade hath done its office well-speaking wounds either truth or prudence. ExagHark to the mighty roar! down, murderer!

gerations are so many prostitutions of reputation,

because they discover the weakness of understandDown to thy native hell!

ing, and the bad discerning of him that speaks. Again, that terrible shout! till men afar Excessive praises excite both curiosity and envy;

And they in dungeons marvel what it mean! so that, if merit answer not the value that is set
Hurrah! and louder, louder yet, hurrah upon it, as it generally happens, general opinion
For the good Guillotine !

revolts against the imposture, and makes the flat

terer and the flattered both ridiculous. Well may ye draw a freer, longer breathAnd fettered thousands feel their chains more may be proper to state, that this piece was partly light

written before I had seen the beautiful verses of Mr. Your foe is lodged in the strong prison of death! which will be read and loved as long as true taste and

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Longfellow upon a somewhat similar theme-verses Paris shall sleep to-night.

tender feeling shall endure. VOL. XIV. 38



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A PAINTING THREE MILES LONG. his frail skiff, which he turned over to shield him

from the night dews, and with his portfolio of drawThere was a young lad of fifteen, a fatherless, ings for his pillow, and the sand of the bar for his moneyless youth, to whom there came a very ex- bed, would sleep soundly till the morning ; when traordinary idea, as he was floating for the first time he would arise from his lowly couch, eat his breakdown the Mississippi. He had read in some foreign fast before the rays of the rising sun had dispersed journal that America could boast the most pictu- the humid mist from the surface of the river, and resque and magnificent scenery in the world, but then start fresh to his task again." that she had not yet produced an artist capable of When the preparatory drawings were completed, delineating it. On this thought he pondered, and he erected a building at Louisville in Kentucky, pondered, till his brain began to whirl; and as he where he at length commenced his picture, which glided along the shores of the stupendous river, was to be a panorama of the Mississippi, painted on gazing around him with wonder and delight, the canvass, three miles long; and it is noted, with a boy resolved within himself that he would take away justifiable pride, that this proved to be a homethe reproach from his country—that he would paint production throughout—the cotton being grown in the beauties and sublimities of his native land. one of the southern states, and the fabric spun and

Some years passed away, and still John Banvard, woven by the factory girls of Lowell. What the for that was his name, dreamed of being a painter. picture is as a work of art we shall probably have What he was in his waking, working moments, we an opportunity of ascertaining personally, as it is do not know-probably a mechanic; but, at all understood to be Mr. Banvard's intention to exhibit events, he found time to turn over and over again it in England; but in the mean time we must be the great thought that haunted him; till at length, satisfied to know that it receives the warmest eulobefore he had yet attained his twenty-first year, giums from the most distinguished of his own counit assumed a distinct and tangible shape in his mind, trymen, and a testimony in favor of its correctness and he devoted himself to its realization. There from the principal captains and pilots of the Missismingled no idea of profit with his ambition ; and sippi. At a meeting in Boston in April last, Genindeed, strange to say, we can learn nothing of any eral Briggs, governor of Massachusetts, who was aspirations he may have felt after artistical excellence. in the chair, talked of it with enthusiasm as “a His grand object, as he himself informs us, was to wonderful and extraordinary production ;” and Mr. falsify the assertion, that America had “no artists Calhoun, president of the senate, moved a series of commensurate with the grandeur and extent of her resolutions expressive of their high admiration of scenery,” and to accomplish this, by producing the the boldness and originality of the conception, and largest painting in the world!

of the indefatigable perseverance of the young and John Banvard was born in New York, and talented artist in the execution of his Herculean “raised" in Kentucky; but he had no patrons either work ;” and these, being warmly seconded by Mr. among the rich merchants of the one, or the wild Bradbury, speaker of the house of representatives, enthusiasts of the other, whose name has become a were carried unanimously. synonyme for all that is good, bad, and ridiculous The Mississippi is thus described in general terms in the American character. He was self-taught, in a pamphlet descriptive of the panorama :-" The and self-dependent; and when he determined to Mississippi commences in many branches, that rise, paint a picture of the shores of the Mississippi which for the most part, in wild rice lakes ; but it travshould be as superior to all others in point of size erses no great distance before it has become a broad as that prodigious river is superior to the streamlets stream. Sometimes in its beginnings it moves, a of Europe, he was obliged 10 betake himself for wide expanse of waters, with a current scarcely some time to trading and boating upon the mighty perceptible, along a marshy bed. At others, its .stream, in order to raise funds for the purchase of fishes are seen darting over a white sand, in waters materials. But this was at length accomplished, almost as transparent as air. At other times it is and the work begun. His first task was to make compressed to a narrow and rapid current between the necessary drawings; and in executing this he ancient and hoary limestone bluffs. Having acspent four hundred days in the manner thus de-quired, in a length of course, following its meanders, scribed by himself :

of three hundred miles, a width of half a mile, and “For ihis purpose he had to travel thousands of having formed its distinctive character, it precipimiles alone in an open skiff, crossing and recrossing tates its waters down the falls of St. Anthony. the rapid stream, in many places over two miles in Thence it glides alternately through beautiful meadbreadth, to select proper points of sight from which ows and deep forests, swelling in its advancing to take his sketch; his hands became hardened with march with the tributes of a hundred streams. In constantly plying the oar, and his skin as tawny as its progress it receives a tributary which of itself an Indian's, from exposure to the rays of the sun has a course of more than a thousand leagues. and the vicissitudes of the weather. He would be Thence it rolls its accumulated, turbid, and sweerweeks together without speaking to a human being, ing mass of waters through continued forests, only having no other company than his rifle, which fur-broken here and there by the axe, in lonely grandeur nished him with his meat from the game of the to the sea. No thinking mind can contemplate this woods or the fowls of the river. When the sun mighty and resistless wave, sweeping its proud began to sink behind the lofty bluffs, and evening course from point to point, curving round its bends to approach, he would select some secluded sandy through the dark forests, without a feeling of subcove, overshadowed by the lofty cotton wood, draw limity. The hundred shores laved by its waters; out his skiff from the water, and repair to the woods the long course of its tributaries, some of which are to hunt his supper. Having killed his game, he already the abodes of cultivation, and others pursuwould return, dress, cook, and from some fallen log ing an immense course without a solitary dwelling would eat it with his biscuit, with no other beverage of civilized man being seen on its banks; the nuthan the wholesome water of the noble river that merous tribes of savages that now roam upon its glided by him. Having finished his lonely mcal, borders: the affecting and imperishable traces of he would roll himself in his blanket, creep under generations that are gone, leaving no other memo rials of their existence, or materials for their his classes and divisions. No form of water-craft so tory, than their tombs, that rise at frequent intervals whinsical, no shape so outlandish, can well be imalong its banks; the dim, but glorious anticipations agined, but what, on descending to New Orleans, of the future—these are subjects of contemplation it may somewhere be seen lying to the shore, or that cannot but associate theinselves with the view floating on the river. The New York canal is genof this river."

erating monstrons conceptions of this sort ; and The general width of the river is a mile from there will soon be a rivalry between the east and bank to bank; but after receiving the Missouri, this the west, which can create ihe most ingenious floatdiminishes instead of increasing; and the character ing river-monsters of passage and transport. it has hitherto preserved of serene magnificence * But the boats of passage and conveyance, that changes to that of a wild and headstrong turbulence. remain after the invention of steamboats, and are “ The bosom of the river is covered with prodigious still important to those objects, are keel-boats and boils or swells, that rise with a whirling motion, flats. The flat boats are called, in the vernacular and a convex surface, two or three rods in diameter, phrase, · Kentucky flats,' or 'broad horns.' They and no inconsiderable noise, whirling a boat percep- are simply an oblong ark, with a roof slightly uibly from its track. In its course, accidental cir- curved from the centre, to shed rain. They are cumstances shift the impetus of its current, and generally about fifteen feet wide, and from fifty to propel it upon the point of an island, bend, or sand- eighty, and sometimes a hundred feet in length. bar. In these instances it tears up the island, The timbers of the bottom are massive beams; and removes the sand-bars, and sweeps away the tender they are intended to be of great strength, and to alluvial soil of the bends, with all their trees, and carry a burden of from two to four hundred barrels. deposits the spoils in another place. At the season Great numbers of cattle, hogs, and horses, are conof high waters, nothing is more familiar to the ear veyed to market in them. We have seen family of the people on the river than the deep crash of the boats of this description, fitted up for the descent land-slip, in which larger or smaller masses of the of families to the lower country with a stove, comsoil on the banks, with all the trees, are plunged fortable apartments, beds, and arrangements for into the stream. Such is its character from Mis- commodious habitancy. We see in them ladies, souri to the Balize—a wild, furious, whirling river, servants, cattle, horses, sheep, dogs, and poultry, never navigated safely, except with great caution.” all floating on the same bottom; and on the roof

But the real greatness of the river is not obvious the looms, ploughs, spinning-wheels, and domestic to the traveller. “ If it be in the spring, when the implements of the family. river below the mouin of the Ohio is generally over - Much of the produce of the upper country, its banks, alihough the sleet of water that is making even after the invention of steamboats, continues to its way to the gulf is perhaps thirty miles wide, yet descend to New Orleans in Kentucky flats. They finding its way through deep forests and swamps generally carry three hands, and perhaps a superthat conceal all from the eye, no expanse of water numerary fourth hand—a kind of supercargo. This is seen but the width that is carved out between the boat, in the form of a parallelogram, lying flat and outline of woods on either bank; and it seldom dead in the water, and with square timbers below exceeds, and oftener falls short of, a mile. But its bottom plauks, and carrying such a great weight, when he sees, in descending from the falls of St., runs on a sand-bar with a strong headway, and Anthony, that it swallows up one river after an- ploughs its timbers into the sand; and it is of course other, with mouths as wide as itself, without affect- a work of extreme labor to get the boat afloat again. ing its width at all; when he sees it receiving in Its form and its weight render it difficult to give it succession the mighty Missouri, the broad Ohio, St. a direction with any power of oars. Hence, in the Francis, White, Arkansas, and Red rivers, all of shallow waters, it often gets aground. When it them of great depth, length, and volume of water; has at length cleared the shallow waters, and gained when he sees this mighty river absorbing them all, the heavy current of the Mississippi, the landing and retaining a volume apparently unchanged, he such an unwieldy water-craft, in such a current, is begins to estimate rightly the increasing depihs of a matter of no little difficulty and danger. current that must roll on its deep channel to the “ All the toil, and danger, and exposure, and

Carried out of the Balize, and sailing with a moving accidents of this long and perilous voyage, good breeze for hours, he sees nothing on any side are hidden, however, from the inhabitants, who but the white and turbid waters of the Mississippi contemplate the boats floating by their dwellings on long after he is out of sight of land.”

beautiful spring mornings, when the verdant forest, The features of the country through which the the mild and delicious temperature of the air, the river rolls are greatly diversified “ by wild rice lakes delightful azure of the sky of this country, the fine and swamps, by limestone bluffs, and craggy hills; bottom on the one hand, and the romantic bluff on occasionally through deep pine forests, and beauti- the other, the broad and smooth stream rolling ful prairies; and the tenants on its borders are elk, calmly down the forest, and floating the boat gently buffaloes, bears, and deer, and the savages that forward, present delightful images and associations pursue them.” Then comes the prairie scenery, to the beholders. At this time there is no visible extending for a hundred miles above the mouth of danger, or call for labor. The boat takes care of the Missouri; then the forest scenery of the Ohio ; itself; and little do the beholders imagine how difand then the alluvion, broading from thirty to fifty ferent a scene may be presented in half an hour. miles, till at Balize it is supposed to be three times Meantime, one of the hands scrapes a violin, and that breadth, and in great part a wilderness of cy- the others dance. Greeting, or rude defiances, or press forest, stagnant lakes, and impenetrable cane. trials of wit, or proffers of love to the girls on shore,

The following is given as life on the Mississippi : or saucy messages, are scattered between them and “The greater part of the commercial intercourse the spectators along the banks. The boat glides on of the country is with New Orleans, by the river until it disappears behind the point of wood. At Mississippi, in boats. These are so various in this moment, perhaps, the bugle, with which all the their kinds, and so curious in their construction, boats are provided, strikes up its note in the disthat it would be difficult to reduce them to specific tance over the water. These scenes and these



From Chambers' Journal.


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notes echoing from the bluffs of the noble Missis- and pathless wilderness. A contrast is thus strongsippi, have a charm for the imagination, which, al- ly forced upon the mind, of the highest improvethough heard a thousand times repeated, at all hours ment and the latest preëminent invention of art with and positions, present the image of a tempting and the most lonely aspect of a grand but desolate nacharming youthful existence, that naturally in- ture—the most striking and complete assemblage spires a wish to be a boatman.'

of splendor and comfort, the cheerfulness of a floatThe scene at a landing-place towards the evening ing hotel, which carries perhaps hundreds of guests, is striking. “The boats have come from regions with a wild and uninhabited forest, it inay be a thousands of miles apart. They have floated to a hundred miles in width, the abode only of bears, common point of union. The surface of the boats owls, and noxious animals.”' covers some acres. Fowls are Auttering over the Such are the impressions an American receives roofs, as invariable appendages. The piercing note from the vast Mississippi; and we think it useful of the chanticleer is heard ; the cattle dow; the to present them here, by way of contrast to the horses trample as in their stables; the swine utter caricatures of European travellers. But Mr. Banthe cries of fighting with each other; the turkeys vard's panorama, when it comes, will enable us, at gobble; the dogs of a hundred regions become ac. all events, to judge for ourselves of the physical quainted. The boatmen travel about from boat 10 aspect of the river, and of the boats, and appearboat, make inquiries and acquaintances, agree to ance, grouping, and costume of the passengers. • lash boats,' as it is called, and form alliances to We think, however, we may venture to assure him yield mutual assistance to each other on the way to that his exhibition will be viewed with interest by New Orleans. After an hour or two passed in this the old country" from better motives than those way, they spring on shore, to raise the wind' in of mere curiosity.- Chambers' Journal. the village. If they tarry all night, as is generally the case, it is well for the people of the town if they do not become riotous in the course of the

SCOTTICISMS AND SOLECISMS. evening; in which case, strong measures adopted, and the proceedings on both sides are sum- “The plague was in London, but they wanted it mary and decisive. With the first dawn, all is in Edinburgh," says the Caledonian, Jittle reflecting bustle and motion ; and amidst shouts, and tram- on what he is attributing to the people of the latter pling of cattle, and barking of dogs, and crowing city. If told of the solecism he had committed, he of the fowls, the fleet is in half an hour all under would probably confess that he thought shame of weigh; and when the sun rises, nothing is seen but himself, which would only be going wrong in anthe broad stream rolling on as before. These boats other direction. Tell him so-he adds, as Surely unite once more at Natches and New Orleans ; and not; but I will inquire at my friend Diphthong the although they live on the same river, it is improba- teacher.” ble that they will ever meet again on the earth." • Wrong again ; say, inquire of. You have the

A stranger is surprised, it is added, by the mode example, however, of the Waverley ncvels before of travelling in steamboats on this mighty river. you: your countryman, Scott, always asked a “Ile contemplates the prodigious construction, with question at a man. But tell me how you are toits double tiers of cabins, and its separate establish-day?" ment for the ladies, and its commodious arrange- “Oh, very bad, sir ; very bad. I have got a dreadmnents for the deck passengers and the servants. fully sore head." Overhead, about him, and below him, all is life and "I am sorry to hear you confess your wickedness, movement. He contemplates the splendor of the but I pity the unpleasant condition of your head. cabin, ils beautiful finishing of the richest woods, What was it owing to?" its rich carpeting, its mirrors and fine furniture, its “Oh, at dinner yesterday I took a few soup, and sliding tables, its bar-room, and all its arrangements they always disagree with me, particularly of late." for the accommodation of a hundred cabin passen- * Well, say, a little soup, and that soup has disgers. The fare is sumptuous, and everything in a agreed with you lately." style of splendor, order, and quiet, far exceeding “I'll try to remember ; but so old a scholar as most city taverns. You read, converse, walk or me is ill to learn." sleep, as you choose. You are not burdened by “ So old an instructor as I, however, do not find the restraint of useless ceremony. The varied and any dificulty in /caching. I would sain have you verdant scenery shifts about you. The trees, the corrected out of those errors you are so liable to fall green islands, the houses on ihe shore, everything into." has an appearance, as by enchantment, of moving “ You are very discrect. Will I have a lesson past you. The river-fowl, with their white and from you to-day?" extended lines, are wheeling their flight above you. “ With all my heart." The sky is bright. The river is dotted with boats “Well, don't sit any longer on the door, but above, beside, and below you. You hear the echo come into the fire, and let us proceed." of their bugle reverberating from the woods. Be- “As a beginning, then, please to know that I hind the wooded point, you see the ascending might be kind or civil in offering my instructions, column of smoke rising over the trees, which an- but not discreet. You ought to have asked me, nounces that another steamboat is approaching you. Shall I have a lesson?' And you should have told The moving pageant glides through a narrow pas-me to sit no longer near the the door, but to come sage, between an island thick-set with young cotton towards the fire." woods—so even, so beautiful, and regular, that they “ Oh dear, how many errors ! I don't think I seem to have been planted for a pleasure-ground can mind them all." and the main shore. As you shoot out again into Remember, my dear sir, if you please." the broad stream, you come in view of a plantation “ Well, remember. We Scotchmen are certainly with all its busy and cheerful accompaniments. At greatly a-wanting in the English language." other times, you are sweeping along for many Say wanting now; and your acknowledgment leagues together, where either shore is a boundless is a graceful one."




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“I am always very much put about, when in “ It is odd you should call a drunken man fresh. London, feeling the liability to speak incorrectly." In Scotland, a man is said to be fresh when he is

“ For put about, incommoded. A Scotchman is sober, as distinguished from being drunk. But both not a ship.”

applications of the word are wrong.' “ Well, I'll take tent for the future.”

"Well, so I've been told by my friend Johnson “ What is that you 'll take ?"

in London." “Oh, I mean I'll pay attention. Thereby hangs Oh, how is Johnson, and what is he engaged in a tale. A Scotch physician of langsyne was visit

now ?" ing an old lady, whom he was obliged to put under “ Why, the last time I met him he was very some very strict regulations as to regimen. Now, well. He told me he is now on the Morning Chrontak tent,' he several times repeated as he was leav- icle." ing her; meaning, “Pay attention to my rules.' On the Chronicle! Well, the Chronicle has When he came back, a week or two after, he found a good load of him, seeing he is not under fifteen the old lady almost gone, from a too liberal use of stone. tent wine.'*

“Oh, he's a great deal fatter now. Indeed he “ The more need, then, for all of you to tak tent is so stout, that he is become quite weak in the legs. not to use so dubious a phrase again."

Calling on me lately, he laid down on my sofa the “Oh, yes, we behove to be careful.”

moment he came in." Johnson,' said I, 'I'm sorry “ What is that you say?"

to see you lay there. I fear that beer and the de“Oh, it behoves us to be careful."

bate have been too severe upon you lately? At “Ah, it behoves you ; but you do not behove, which he fell a-laughing. Ah, he is a real good seeing, my dear sir, that behove is an impersonal fellow is Johnson." verb. However, I must leave you, for I see it is " I hope he prospers in his calling ?" twelve o'clock.'

“Oh, getting on famously. Hard worked, I “Oh, don't be in a hurry. The clock is before; daresay ; but he lays his account with it. The last it is only half twelve as yet.”

thing I heard of him was, that his wife's brother, a “ More errors still. But even though the clock dreadfully rich fellow had taken his son Alfred to be forward, and it is only half-past cleven, I must do for him.go, having already rather exceeded my time. So And so forth. Now for a third conversation, good morning.”

with similar interlocutors, but both well-educated Let us imagine another conversation, the per- men. sons different, but their respective countries the “ Your countrymen in Scotland are making great same.

advances in the acquirement of correct English ; but “ How do you do, Tomkins? Glad to see you the Scotticisms still cling to you. Never do the north of the Tweed at last."

very best of you entirely overcome the tendency to “ Thank you, my dear friend."

that kind of error." “ What have been your movements ?”

Why, I'm not quite sure that you English are “ We left on Friday last, and came here partly just to us in this respect. We are addicted to the by rail and partly by coach."

use of many wrong phrases and forms of speech, no “. But what did you leave ?"

doubt, but so are the provincial English—nay, even “Oh, why-what-ah, you 're always so funny. Londoners of the middle class; and it seems too bad We left London to be sure. We arrived in this to single out the Scotch for remark. I assure you here place last night.”

we observe in the English--excepting only the most “Well, I never heard of Edinburgh being a here highly-educated class—a vast number of improprieplace before. What kind of journey had you ?” ties which do not beset our countrymen.

“ All very well, but that the weaiher was to cold, " That may be ; but I do not think there is any and the man as drove the coach was rather uncivil. reproach meant. It only happens that you do comHowever, our fellow-passengers were such nice peo- mit many solecisms, and that an apt term for them ple. We got along with them extremely well.” has arisen."

“Ah, I'm glad you got along with them. It “ I am quite sure that the English people are too would have been a great bore to be left with them good-natured to mean any offence. It would, thereat any place by the way!

fore, be absurd to take any. But let us see now. “Oh, you Scotchmen don't understand English ; There is a considerable number of so-called Scottibut I've no fault to you on that account. You can't cisms, about which, I think, some little doubt may

be entertained, or which are represented by English "Of course not. But where do you intend to phrases that appear to me no better.” go? The season is too far advanced, I fear, 10 “Give me some examples, if you please.” allow of your visiting the Highlands."

“I shall, very willingly. A Scotchman, you are “Why, I was not a-going to. Besides, my mis- aware, speaks of having a watch on him, while an tress has been. I've half a mind, however, to go to Englishman says about him. Now, it appears to Glasgow and the Falls of the Clyde. The Falls me that a watch.may more justly be said to be on are ever so fine, I believe. By the way, them houses a man, than about him. A Scotchman meets a are mighly tall."

friend on the street, at which the Englishman ex“ Yes, eight or ten stories. We have many claims, •For heaven's sake, say in the street!' others almost as lofty.”

But I more than suspect that on is the better phrase, “ By the way, I see you have as may drunken seeing that the street is primitively the way or road; people in the streets as ever. Here comes one very the Roman roads through England were all streets, fresh indeed.”

though there was not a house upon them.”

At least your second case is plausible.” * Sir John Sinclair, in his Observations on the Scottish “ But I have more cases. Out of his judgment,' Dinlec!, published in 1782, says very naïvely respecting says the Scotchman respecting an insane person. Tak teni, " As that species of wine is far from being a specific in every disorder, this is a phrase which, by the l'Out of his senses, cries the Englishman, by way faculty at least, ought to be carefully avoided.”

of correction. Now, I say that an insane man may

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