cer and said, "Colonel, don't you think that we might compromise this affair ?" "Well, I reckon I should have no objection to submit it to arbitration myself,” replied the colonel.

Even the thieves must be commercial in their ideas. One rogue meeting another, asked him what he had done that morning; "Not much," was the reply, "I've only realized this umbrella."

This reminds me of a conversation between a man and his wife, which was overheard by the party who repeated it to me. It appears that the lady was economically inclined, and in cutting out, some shirts for her husband, resolved that they should not descend much lower than his hips, as thereby so much linen would be saved. The husband expostulated, but in vain. She pointed out to him that it would improve his figure, and make his nether garments set much better; in a word, that long shirt-tails were quite unnecessary; and she wound up her arguments by ob

and that she could not see what on earth was the

reason that people should stuff so much capital into their pantaloons.

There is sometimes in the American metaphors an energy which is very remarkable.

"Well, I reckon, that from his teeth to his toe-nail, there's not a human of a more conquering nature than General Jackson."

One gentleman said to me, "I wish I had all hell boiled down to a pint, just to pour down your throat."

It is a great pity that the Americans have not adhered more to the Indian names, which are euphonous, and very often musical; but, so far from it, they appear to have had a pleasure in dismissing them altogether. There is a river running into Lake Champlain, near Burlington, formerly called by the Indians the Winooski, but this name has been superseded by the settlers, who, by way of improvement, have designated it the Onion River. The Americans have ransacked

ply themselves with names, yet, notwithstanding, there appears to be a strange lack of taste in their selection. On the route to Lake Ontario

you pass towns with such names as Manlius, Sempronius, Titus, Cato, and then you come to Butternuts. Looking over the catalogue of cities, towns, villages, rivers, and creeks in the different States in the Union, I find the following repetitions:

Of towns, &c. named after distinguished in

Of other towns, &c. there are,—

The consequence of these repetitions is, that if you do not put the name of the State, and often of the county in the State in which the town you refer to may be, your letter may journey all over the Union, and perhaps, after all, never arrive at its place of destination.

The States have already accommodated each other with nicknames, as per example :—

Illinois people are termed ... Suckers.

The names of persons are also very strange; and some of there are, at all events, obsolete in England, even if they ever existed there. Many of them are said to be French or Dutch names Americanized. But they appear still more odd to us from the high-sounding Christian names prefixed to them; as, for instance: Philo Doo