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THE PIRATE.

(Continued from page 276;)

This remnant of good feeling wore away, or was stiffed by the influence of custom: four years indurated the once generous and compassionate nature of Rodnam; the destruction of human beings appeared as no more than the fate of warfare yet he inflicted no wanton crueltics, and was instrumental in restraining the ferocity of Monhagan our different occasions. Heaven in mercy arrested his progress in depravity, ere his better dispositions were quite deterio rated. The watch at the mast-head gave notice that a large merchantship, carrying some guns, was making for the port of Charlestown, South Carolina: the pirates got between her and the harbour, and prepared for action. The erew at this time had lost many of Rodnara's first acquaintances by sickness and wounds; they now, with few exceptions, consisted of runaway Negroes, who fight with desperation, preferring death to a surrender, knowing the terrific penalties of desertion from their masters. Three Negroes from the plantation which Mr. Rodnam had left were of the number; and when they found him on board, they shouted for joy, remembering his lenient exercise of authority. They studied to oblige him, and more important services were to testify their gratitude. The trading vessel was inferior in metal to the pirate, and her complement of men fewer by half overpowered by the ferocious boarders, the wounded Americans were forced to yield. They stood to their guns till faint with loss of blood, and not one man remained unhurt. The pirates, in admiration of their valour, behaved to them with more than their usual civility.

Roduain was among the first to spring from the deck of the pirate-ship into the trader; but he was not impelled by avidity for spoil. He had observed a young girl clinging to an aged gentleman, who, with his left arm and his head bound up, seemed to be losing blood through the bandages; yet with a drawn sword stood ready to oppose the board. ers. They made repeated thrusts at him before Roanam could allay their fury: the colours were struck; Mr. Shipley gave up his sword, and sunk in the arms of his daughter. What a situation of horror and woe for a young and delicate female! but she forgot herself

in grief for her parent. Mr. Rodnam tied up the gashes inflicted by the board ers, assuring the lady of honourable treatment. Mr. Shipley recovered a little; and Mr. Rodnam having repeated the protestations of respect and humanity, the dying gentleman said, "For myself I care not-but my child, my daughter. O young man, you look and speak like a gentleman, though—but why offended ? I am soon to be no more, and to you I must commit the honour of my ill-fated Mary. Oh! how ill-fated to be here, and her only protectors dead or dying! Save her! She has fortune and friends to give their all for her ransom: 'take all, young man; her friends will provide for her."

Mr. Rodnam, discerning in this încoherent rhapsody the approach of delirium and death, endeavoured to fortify the bereaved daughter against the impending affliction. Mr. Shipley expired before the pirates collected and divided their booty. They left the father and daughter to Rodnam and his attendant Negroes, as they seemed to require no other booty. Elated with their success, Monaghan and his crew forgot their wounds when dressed, and having ransacked every part of the vessel, sat down to carouse with the rich wines and French brandy which formed a portion of the cargo. Miss Shipley sat on deck with the lifeless body of her father in a distracted embrace. Alarm and grief suffocated her voice; but though her sorrow was mute, the expression of her face revealed the inaudible anguish of her mind. In acknowledgment of Mr. Rodam's endeavours to console her, she raised her eyes with looks of gratitude that penetrated his soul, and confirmed his resolution to brave every hazard in preserving her from insult.

In one continuous expanse of azure, lightly tinged by silvery clouds, the moon shone full and clear; the prizeship lay a motionless hulk on the surface of the main; and except the purling of gentle waves on the planks they supported, no sound was heard on deck. What a contrast to the uproar of intoxicated freebooters below! They left the watch to Rodnam and his triple shadows, as they nicknamed his devoted Negroes, and gave themselves up to enjoyment. The oldest Negro came close to Mr. Rodnam, and whispered to him, “Now, massa, now be time to save lady. We put down boat, all without noise." While they lowered a boat, Mr. Rodnam roused the faculties of Miss Shipley by holding out the near prospect of deliverance. "Can my father go?" she said.

PARALLEL BETWEEN THE AMERICANS AND THE ENGLISH.

"We dare not venture to wait so long. One moment and we may be lost," answered Rodnam. Miss Shipley pressed her lips to the breathless clay, and accepted assistance to rise. She was placed in the boat. Mr. Rodnam and the Negroes pulled with all their might, and they probably reached Charlestown before they were missed.

Miss Shipley introduced Mr. Rodnam to her relations, people of wealth and consequence. Her warm sense of obligation to her deliverer was undisguised; but her uncle and brother advised her to delay their marriage, until one year should prove that he was not quite unworthy of her hand. His first act was to emancipate the Negroes according to legal forms; but they begged leave to serve him as domestics in the field or house. The relations of Miss Shipley made over to him a piece of ground, which the Negroes cultivated; and his unexceptionable conduct reconciled her uncle and brothers to bestow on him the rescued lady and her fortune. But conscious of culpable errors in his youth and early manhood, he was severe to himself, rigorously abstaining from all those questionable indulgences which some of the lordly sex regard and claim as a prerogative. As a husband, a father, a friend, a member of society, he was held in general esteem; but no encouragement, no persuasion, could win him to mix with the busy or the gay. His exemplary virtues brightened the shade of retirement, and his affectionate wife found her dearest happiness in coinciding with all his tastes or inclinations. To her he rendered the domestic circle a little world of bliss, while he shrunk from observation, continually haunted by the mortifying conviction, that he might be pointed at as THE PIRATE. B. G.

A PARALLEL BETWEEN THE

AMERICANS AND THE ENGLISH. A SHORT parallel between the Americans and the English, we deem will be acceptable to our readers. We are an old people. The Americans are a new - people. We value ourselves on our ancestry-on what we have done; they, on their posterity, and on what they mean to do. They look to the future; we to the past. They are proud of Old England as the home of their forefathers; we, of America, as the abiding place of western Englishmen,

They are but of yesterday as a people. They are descended from those, whose burial places are yet to be seen: we,

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As a whole people, the Americans talk a better English than we do; but then, there are many individuals among us who speak better English than any American, unless we except, here and there, a well-educated New Englander; and a few eminent public speakers, like the late Mr. Pinkney, who was minister to this Court; and Mr. Wirt, the present attorney-general of the United States, who will probably succeed Mr. Rush in the same capacity; and, then, there are a multitude among us who speak a better English than is common among the welleducated men of America, although they do not speak the best English, such as the few among us do.

I have heard a great deal said about the habits of cleanliness in England and America; and I have sometimes laughed very heartily at the reciprocal prejudices of the English and American women.

I have heard an English woman complain of a beastly American for spitting into the fire; and I have heard an American woman express the greatest abhor rence of an Englishman, for spitting in his pocket-handkerchief; or, for not spitting at all, when he happened to mention that well-bred men swallowed their saliva. A spitting-box is a part of the furniture of every room in America, although smoking is now entirely out of fashiou there.

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 hatvery rarely his coat; and his hair, not once a week. An Englishman will brush the first with his coat sleeve, or a silk off; and the two latter, every time that handkerchief, whenever he puts it on or 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 Americau 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 Englishman 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 an 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 of an Englishman's face is greater, that of an 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 shews, in every look and attitude, that he is an Englishman, one of that extraordinary people, who help to make up an empire that never hadhas 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.

And so, in the keen, spirited, sharp, intelligent, variable countenance of an American, you will find a correspondent indication of what he is. 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 shews 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 superciliousness.

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 L Englishmen who would pass anywhere for Americans. In heart and head, they are much more alike, than in appearance

or manners.

An Englishman, when aboard, is re

served, 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, and 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.

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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 substance. The English woman is better fitted for a friend, a counsellor, and a companion-for the mother of many children, and for the partner 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 snmmers, and she appears to have been born a whole generation before her husband. An English woman has more wisdom; an American woman 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 English woman deliberately, like a martyr.

THE BLUE STOCKING.

IT was my good or ill fortune-the reader may word it as he pleases-to make the acquaintance while in Hampshire, of Mrs. Reuben Pottle. She was a singular lady. I fear I shall hardly do her justice; I will attempt her portrait notwithstanding. A little, thin, diminutive woman-with flaxen hair, dressed à la Corinne-blue eyes, that never rested an instant on the same object-a small round straw hat, in imitation of Reuben's wife, and a broad, red morocco girdle, confining a yellow silk gown :-such was Mrs. Pottle, both in appearance and dress, on the morning of our introduction. Her mind was as eccentric as her person. Always en magnifique-calling England the Island, and her husband an Emmet. She was the terror of the men and the vampire of the women.

Having an utter abomination of learned ladies, more particularly of one who was for ever talking about Athens and Sparta, the Capitol and the Parthenon, the reader may imagine my indiscribable horror, on finding myself in for a tête-âtête with this formidable woman. My sense of my situation deprived me, for some moments, of utterance, till recollecting that the silence must be broken, I began "What a lovely morning !"Mrs. Reuben looked at me in silence. "The first day of spring."-Not a word. Her little restless blue eyes twinkled on, as before. "This is really April weather." -Mute as death. Out of patience with her continuing to play the dumb belle, I bowed and took my leave. I was afterwards told, that on that subject I might have soliloquized for ever; for Mrs. Reuben, by no chance, ever noticed the weather. "Foul or fair, we could neither alter it nor amend it. Why then discuss it? It was a subject fit only to be dwelt on by those who were unequal to talk on any other." So said Mrs. Pottle.

Her husband, Reuben Pottle-or, as he was named, from the peculiar cast of his visage, Rue Pottle, was a slight, tall, conscious-looking man, who appeared completely cowed-a dog, to whom any urchin might say, "Where's your tail?" Twice, and twice only, did I ever hear his voice in his own house. The first time that I was amazed by its sound, was at one of Mrs. Reuben's musical parties. "My love, Sir Thomas Pickering bas arrived at his seat; and I request,' said she, in the tone of a seraph, "that the first thing you do in the morning may be to call on him."-"My love, you take very good care," sighed Reuben, "that the first thing I do in the morning is to go to bed:" and as the poor hen-pecked

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creature finished the sentence, he seemed amazed at his own temerity, and hastily scudded across the room. The other instance occurred with the gentlemen after dinner; when, on a furious ultraliberal declaiming against the doctrine of passive obedience, Reuben whimpered, in the tone of a school-boy behind the back of his master, "Ah! that's just the way with my little fool!"

"Of her hostility to the doctrine of nonresistance, Mrs. Reuben gave an instance in early life. She lost her mother at sixteen; and her father, a respectable farmer, finding himself unequal to control her vagaries, brought home a second wife to assist him in the task. To celebrate this event, a large party was invited; and after supper-reader, 'twas in middle life-the song, and the laugh, and the toast went round. Miss Ruth was called on for her's. "With all my heart," she said. Then rising and filling a bumper, she gave, with the voice of a stentor, "Confusion to all mothers-in-law." A very few weeks after this event, she played off a prank, which was attended with all but fatal consequences. It was the period of the murder of the Williamsons and the Marrs. She was walking in Kensington gardens, and, having taken shelter from a shower, in a shed, she amused herself by inscribing, in large letters, on the wall, "I'm the unfortunate man who murdered Mr. Marr's family." The horror this sentence excited, in several parties which successively came to the shed, Miss Ruth declared to be the richest treat in nature. But, unfortunately, among them came a lady and gentleman, the former of whom, from her situation, was ill qualified to contend with fright. She read the scrawl, and fainted. Her husband's fondest hopes were blighted; and she herself nearly lost her life.

'But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Reuben would have done very well, had she not, unfortunately, become a radical. To this political twist she contrived, that every thing about her should contribute. An immense dog, between a wolf and a setter, was christened "Reform ;”—and I well remember my amazement, when she said to me one morning, "I'll show you my darling-my pet-Reform. I believe you never saw him? Quite an idol of mine. Reform! Reform !"—and she whistled like a cockswain-when in rushed an immense mastiff, carrying all before him. Quite the thing for a lady's pet, to be sure, thought I. What will a woman make an idol of next?

'Then she had an album stored with autographs, by no means of the choicest description. I noticed one from Hunt, in Ilchester Gaol, written in a fine large

hand, and beginning, "Pen, ink, and paper, conspire against me;" and she pointed out, with unction, an illegible scrawl of Thistlewood's, which she said "Alderman- had most obligingly procured from him on the very morning

of his execution."

FROM MY PORTFOLIO. Anecdotes of Strange, the Engraver.

STRANGE was certainly a very fine qualities of the best artists in that engraver, possessing many of the highest department in which he excelled; but he But every thing in life, like a qua drew ill, and his extremities are frequently drille, has its finale; and that of my ac-gravings were published at Florence, and coarse and unfinished. Many of his enquaintance with Mrs. Reuben was approaching. At each of the morning calls Î had unwillingly made her, I found her engaged on an Italian author; and invariably, at a page plentifully besprink led with pencilled notes in the margin. My curiosity was piqued, and I inquired "the name of the favourite?"-"Ariosto." "And the numerous pencil marks are proofs of your diligence?"—" Oh dear, no! those are the improper passages. had them all marked out for me before began."-I laughed immoderately, and she-never spoke to me again.'

The Devil's Tavern.---The Devil's Tavern, immortalized by Ben Jouson, was situated in Fleet street, near Temple bar, on the site where Childs'-place now stands. The poet wrote his Leges Conviviales, for a club of wits who assem bled in a room at this tavern, which he dedicated to Apollo, over the chimney of which the laws were preserved.

In an ancient MS. preserved at Dulwich College there are some of this comic writer's memoranda, which prove that he owed much of his inspiration to good wine, and the convivial hours he passed at this tavern. The following passages from the MS. justify the opinion.

"Mem. I laid the plot of my Volpone, and wrote most of it, after a present of ten dozen of palm sack, from my very good Lord T---; that play, I am positive, will last to posterity, and be acted, when I and envy be friends, with applause.

"Mem. The first speech in my Cataline, spoken by Sylla's ghost, was writ after I parted with my friend at the Devil's Tavern; I had drank well that night, and had brave notions. There one scene in that play which I think is flat. I resolve to drink no more water with my wine.

"Mem. Upon the 20th of May, the King (heaven reward him) sent me a hundred pounds. At that time I went often times to the Devil; and before I had spent forty of it, wrote my Alchy

mist.

"Mem. The Devil an Assa, the Tale of a Tub, and some other comedies which did not succeed, (written) by me; in the winter, honest Ralph died; when I and my boys drank bad wine at the Devil."

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in Parliament Street, Westminster, where on his return to this country, he resided he likewise published. He afterwards removed to Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, and from some freak not explained, he erased the names of Florence and Parliament Street, and substituted that of Queen Street in their stead, so that enare now of great value, partly from their gravings dated from either of these places of their being genuine and early imprescuriosity, and partly from the certainty sions. There is a singular occurrence in the life of Strange, which is, however, as authentic as it is romantic. In the RePrince Charles's army as a bellion of 1745, he served in the ranks of soldier. After the battle of Culloden, he was pursued by a party of the King's troops, when he fled "for safety and for succour" into a friend's house. As there close at his heels, a young lady, in the was no time to be lost, the soldiers being full costume of that period, viz. a dress hoop, offered to shelter hin under the ample folds of her petticoat. To this strange proposal, considering all circumstances, it is not strange that he assented, and here," patulæ sub tegmine recubas," he remained undiscovered. Either love or gratitude suggested the Mr. Strange was then a bachelor, and sequel: we will suppose both conjoined. when his fortunes were more prosperous, he repaid with his hand the protection which the petticoat had afforded; and we may venture to assert, that no one ever yielded to its government who had better reasons for their deference to it. Mr. Strange was born in the Orkneys of Scotland. A grand-daughter of his (his only issue I believe) is now married to one of the judges of the Court of Session in that country. artist retained one copy of all his enIt is said that the opportunity of selecting the finest proofs gravings; and if we take into account his for his own portfolio, the preservation since under the same custody, and the exfrom all injury, by having remained ever ceeding beauty which engravings under snch circumstances acquire from age, in mellowing both the colour of the paper and the ink, we may form some estimate of the value of such a collection, and the interest it would excite, should it become the subject of competition.

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