which is peculiar to one half-way gone in inebriation"Well, my dear sir, I am told that you, on the other side of the water, have made the discovery, that civilized man should walk, in modern fashion, on his hind legs?" "Yes," replied the major-"we have really in theory reached this point of knowledge, and it is thought to be the most graceful and gentlemanly way of getting over the ground-and we practise it, except at times when we imitate some of your Members of Parliament, who take the Circean cup, until, by necessity, they must go on all-fours, or not at all." The voice of the respondent was so clear, and his sentences so pointed, that the senator quailed beneath them—but soon rallied. The smile, however, was against him. "Pray, sir," said Sheridan, "where did you learn the English language?—you seem to speak it pretty well." "From my

mother," said the major-" who kept out of sight all Irish dictionaries." This, Sheridan felt a little personal. Changing his tone, he proceeded: "I understand that Edmund Burke was the god of American idolatry?" "Yes," said the major—" his Treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful is held in high estimation in my country, as well as several other of his works: his Regicide Peace, and his Letter to a Noble Lord, are read with avidity and delight in my native land; and he might have been still greater on the list than he is, if he had not used flattery and ever strained language in praise of his colleagues, in the trial of Warren Hastings." The smile now became a loud laugh; the wit was disconcerted, and was mortified by being put into this situation by a raw Yankee, as he thought him. He made a desperate struggle to rally-and, raising his voice to a high pitch-as men often do who feel that they have come off second best-said, "What is the state of the drama in your country, for I suppose that you may have seen a play?"

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"Yes," said the major-" when Hodgkinson and others who visited my country, enacted Shakspeare's tragedies, I sometimes attended; but, since the wretched translations of German rhapsodies have taken their place, I have had no great partiality for the drama, and have thought that when senators meddle with these matters, that parliamentary eloquence will decline." The roar was now obstreperous, and “ "Sherry" was silent—he had “caught a Tartar !” The wits saw the calibre of the stranger-and his table next day was filled with invitations to all sorts of parties.

In a few days he met Sheridan again, and now had a regular introduction. The orator gave the American a cordial shake of the hand, and said, "I am glad to see you. Egad! does your country produce men such as you?""No," was the careless reply-"most of them are vastly my superiors." He was then introduced to Tom Moore, who received him very cordially. The major did not understand it—but Moore was this evening pitted against him, and at supper it was arranged that they should be on opposite sides of the table, near each other. After the viands were despatched, and the wine began to circulate, Moore played off some of those light and lovely sailies which gave his conversation a charm above that of most other persons; these were met with equal power and courtesy. They were at once in love with each other, and no one could set them to "the encounter of sharp wits." Moore was soon called upon for a song for the table saw at once they were not to have a second edition of the Sheridan dialogue. He gave one of his own, (of which he had a store,) of more Attic honey than Anacreon himself could boast of—and he seemed to address his remarks to his new friend with all his warmth of soul. The major was next called upon for a song: he declared he was no musician. This was true, if he spoke

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of science; but his voice was natural, flexible, and sweet. He was pressed by all around him-for they wished, probably, to hear a native's measure, thinking it might be in the Cherokee or Seminole language. It was intimated that an aboriginal song would be most acceptable. "Well, gentlemen," said he, "you shall have a primitive song." He sung a foreign ode: some thought it was truly Indian, and were astonished to find how much Indian sounded like Greek! The classical ear of Moore caught the first line it was an ode from Anacreon. When it was finished, before Moore had an opportunity to rise, a song in Sapphic measure was commenced by the stranger-the words still being Greek. It had been composed by a learned friend of the major's, for him to sing at a classical glee-club. It was in praise of the translation of Anacreon. It purported to be ą poetical prophecy of the Lesbian dame-that the beauties. of her god-tongued Greek should, in some future day, when kingdoms had decayed, and the glory of Greece had departed, be, by a bard of an isle in the Western Ocean, where the horses of the sun went down to rest, infused into a newborn language. Moore arose, and continued standing while it was singing; and, when the singer ended, returned his thanks to the major in the most heartfelt manner. Half the guests could not think what the poet was about: all were astonished when Moore went on to say, that the poetry was as divine as ever the Delphic muse had inspired—uttered in the language of the Attic bee-and sung as one who had been taught in the school of Apollo. The applause was deafen, ing. Moore concluded by drinking the health of "the allaccomplished stranger." The major arose, and returned his thanks for the high honor done him, in a strain of eloquence which astonished his audience. He hastily, but felicitously sketched the history and progress of the English

language from the days of Sir Thomas More to Shakspeare, Milton, and the writers in the days of Ann, down to his own time, when orators and poets in Britain were earning the amaranthine wreath of glory: and, notwithstanding the dialogue that had passed between himself and Sheridan, he placed the orator among the great names of antiquity. He was interrupted by repeated bursts of applause, which were followed by that silence in which breath and motion seemed to be suspended. He showed that England's poets and great men were familiar to him as those of his own country. Ne. ver did any man make a deeper impression on his audience. Sheridan declared that he had heard Chatham, and all the great speakers of the age since, and that he had never heard this day's eloquence surpassed.

The major threw himself on his couch as soon as he left the convivial board, with a high fever in his veins, from his extraordinary exertions. He felt that he was an orator; but he carried the arrow in his wounded side, and no hand could draw the barbed weapon by which his peace had been slain. This was a secret to all his new acquaintances'; they thought him the happiest man alive. With fortune, health, genius, and the accomplishments of a finished gentleman, what could be added? They could not see, that, with all these blessings, he carried with him a vulture which was preying upon his vitals. In the pride of his fame he envied the humblest wretch he saw. What was the fame of an orator to him?

Ainong those he was introduced to was Lieut. General Sir John Moore, at that time an object of admiration in Eng. land. Nelson had fallen, and Pitt and Fox were sleeping side by side in their quiet graves in Westminster Abbey; and Sir John now stood first in the eyes of an admiring nation. His life had been an eventful one; he had entered the army

at fifteen years of age; had served in the West Indies with such gallantry, that he was appointed governor of one of the islands in that region. He was with Abercrombie when he fell in Egypt, in the arms of victory. Sir John had also served in Sweden and other places, and had won laurels wherever he fought. He had the scars of many honorable wounds to show; but his modesty was equal to his prowess. Sir John was spirited and witty in conversation, and loved the company of high-bred men. He had just been appointed to the command of the army of the Peninsula in Spain-as the British had agreed to assist Spain, struggling to get free from the withering grasp of France. He found that Major Hampton was a soldier, and had studied his profession, but had no chance to see dangerous service—and ventured to suggest to him, that he should be happy to accept of his service as a volunteer aid. This was readily acceded to by the majornot from the love of military renown, but as a palliation of mental pain. In the autumn of 1808, he proceeded, by forced marches, into the interior, to meet the French under Bonaparte. Sir John was every day expecting a large Spanish force to join him—but no such force came, although the British Ambassador was constantly promising Sir John that it should come forthwith. After marching an hundred. miles or more in the interior, and discovering that the French army was three times as large as the English, he made up his mind to retrace his steps to the sea coast, and from thence, by the aid of his fleet, to land on the south of Spain, where the supplies for his army could be more easily obtained, with a better chance of raising a Spanish army. When this was fixed upon by Sir John Moore, Marshal Soult commanded. the French forces. He had been left by Bonaparte to lead on the French army. He was an excellent general, with There is always great confusion

a fine body of troops.