and America; and I have sometimes of an Englishman's face is greate laughed very heartily at the reciprocal prejudices of the English and Ameri 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 America. 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 EngJishman has more courage; the American more spirit. The former would be better in defence, the latter in attack. 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 that of the American, more intense. In the self-satisfied, honest, hearty, and rather pompous expression of an English face, you will find, when it is not caricatured, a true indication of his character. Other people call him boastful, but he is not. He only shows, in every look and attitude, that he is an Englishman, one of that extraordinary people, who help to make up an empire that never had-has not, and never will have, a parallel upon earth. But then, he never tells other men so, except in the way of a speech, or a patriotic newspaper essay. He is And so, in the keen, spirited, sharp, intelligent, variable countenance of an American, you will find a correspondent indication of what 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 head, they are much more alike, than in appearance or manners. An Englishman, when abroad, is reserved, cautious, often quite insupportable, and, when frank, hardly ever talkative; not very hasty, but a little 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 hot 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 easily 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 Englishwoman 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 counsel :-child-bearing soon destroys her. A few summers, and she appears to have been born a whole generation 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. 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 irresisti ble. 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. MY child was beautiful and brave! An opening flower of Spring- Farewell! farewell, my dearest ! Methinks 't had been a comfort now To have caught his parting breath, Farewell! farewell, my dearest ! I little thought such wish to prove, 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- THE HEIRESS OF FALKENSTEIN. (La Belle Mag.) PILE above pile arose the snow- 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. 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. "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 bounty of nature has provided him, made his way through the drifting snow to the spot where the stiffening body reposed. This canine preserver was followed by an aged but athletic man; the dog scraped away the snow from the traveller, and his companion chafed the cold forehead, and applied a strong cordial to the lips. This timely aid aroused the fainting spirits of the knight: revived by the draught, and reanimated by the warmth imparted by his welcome visiters, he was soon enabled to proceed to the friendly shelter which they offered. Leaning on the arm of the hermit, for such he seemed, and following the sagacious brute who could alone discern the proper path, he soon arrived at a romantic dwelling, wherein the ingenuity and labour of man had combatted successfully with the hostility of the clime, and where comfort smiled in despite of the devastation which reigned without. It was not, however, until the succeeding day that the tempest-beaten wanderer discovered all the charms of his asylum. The hermitage was spacious, furnished with many of the luxuries of a splendid though rude age, and well supplied with food and fuel. A stout female peasant of the mountains, the dog, the old man, and a fair young girl, delicate and tender as the zephyr which wantons over an eastern vale, were the sole inhabitants. Carloman, the rescued knight, beheld this lovely vision with amazement: though clad in a simple dress, and sequestered in the wildest and most unfrequented haunts of the snow-crowned Alps, she wore the impress of nobility upon her brow, and her language and demeanour forcibly assured the admiring stranger that in her he saw no obscure or low-bred personage. The accomplishments of knighthood were evident in him, and there needed no question to convince his hosts that he came of honourable lineage. It was seldom that so distinguished a pair had met in such an humble residence, and Carloman felt an anxious desire to learn the cause which had deprived the glittering circle of a court of the noble maiden so well calculated to adorn the splendid scene. When the occupations of Michael were over for the day, and he was at liberty to attend upon his guest, he invited the knight to take a seat beside the blazing hearth. Adelheid had already drawn towards the fire, and Carloman wanted no other inducement to accept the offered chair which was placed opposite to so much beauty. "Sir Knight," said the hermit, though living in this lone spot, and encountering the fury of the elements rather than the tyranny of man, we are not uninterested in the passing events of the world below us. You appear to be late from Germany, our native land; what tidings do you bear concerning the state of the empire?" "The friend of peace," returned Carloman, "as I infer from your habit, you will grieve to learn that the wildest anarchy prevails in the distracted country I have left." "Then," said Michael, sighing, "Lodowic, the tyrant of Bavaria, has effected his ambitious purpose." 99 "By treachery and force," responded the knight, "by secret machinations and open rebellion, he has forced the Emperor Wenceslaus to fly; usurping the supreme authority, the electors who refuse to lend their sanction to his elevation are kept in close confinement, and threatened with death." "And where," cried Adelheid, " is the noble and the good Wenceslaus? the liege Lord of Germany, in what country has he found an asylum ?" "Gentle lady," replied Carloman, "an outcast and a fugitive, the few friends whom his misfortunes have left him know not at this moment whether he be alive or dead." "Alas, father!" said Adelheid, "although I might well disregard my own sorrows in sympathy for the deeper calamities which have befallen our illustrious monarch, yet will a selfish anxiety intrude. Shall I be safe, even amid these rocks and everlasting snows, from the now widely extended power of the inhuman Lodowic ?" "Our retreat," returned Michael, ❝is, I trust, a secret, nor can the ambitious tyrant of the hour |