ritish was very severe, and
the men in the American ranks were falling fast, when one of the
soldiers stepped up to the commanding officer 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 _realised_ 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 hip;
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
observing that linen was a very expensive article, 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has been superseded by the settlers, who, by way of improvement, have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 scripture,
and ancient and modern history, to supply 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
repeti