Jack did in sinking. Sir, I shot his horse, and was advancing to seize him, but to my surprise he sprung on his feet, and with his long legs he soon distanced me. Long legs are the distinguishing marks of a Yankee."

"And long arms," added a voice close to the ear of the actor. They turned, and saw a man of towering stature, who had come from a field (by the side of, and below the rock on which they stood,) where he had been digging potatoes. He had approached unnoticed, with a well-filled basket hanging on his arm, and his spade musket-wise on his right shoulder. It is probable this personage would have passed on below the stand our pedestrians had taken; but attracted by Cooke's loud harsh voice, and without being kept aloof by any repelling sense of decency, (or perhaps thinking that what was uttered aloud in so public a place, belonged to, or was intended for the public,) he heard the words without stopping to listen, and felt disposed to retort when the disparaging description of the distinguishing marks of a Yankee struck his ear.

This interloper was as much above the Englishman's height as Spiffard was below it, and stood at least six feet two inches, as erect as a hemlock tree. His age was about fifty-five; his iron-grey locks peeped from under a slouched hat that had once been white. He wore no coat. His cloth waistcoat was open in front, and showed a clean coarse white homespun shirt, which, tucked up at the sleeves, and open at the collar, displayed arms and neck that might vie with a Grecian Hercules or an Irish hod-carrier. His lower extremities were furnished forth with woollen pantaloons and clumsy shoes, tied with strings of black worsted. His whole appearance was that of an independent American yeoman.

There can be no doubt that our countrymen are a taller race than the European family from which they sprung. They have a national physiognomy, more resembling the English than any other people, yet marked by a distinct character. This man's face was long; the muscles full and strongly marked. His eyes were small, and expressive of humour; his nose broad and straight; his mouth large; his lips thick; teeth irregular, and chin full. His complexion was a brown yellow, which only glowed faintly with red when he laughed, and that was not unfrequent.

Cooke eyed this giant from top to toe, and then said—“ But at the battle of Brooklyn, if battle it may be called, they made better use of their legs than their arms.'

"We had to learn how to use our arms then; our legs had been taught their exercise before."

"Were you among the rabble-rout who fled at the sight of the Union flag of Britain, and scarlet livery of your king?"

Spiffard, who although amused by the rhapsodies of his companion, was pained by the consciousness of the cause, and had constrainedly kept up his part in the colloquy, was glad to find that he might now become merely a listener to a dialogue between two characters so opposite as the loyal representative of Richard and Iago, on one part, and a rough republican tiller of Indian corn and buckwheat, on the other.

"I'll tell you what," said the yeoman, "we found that the red coats were getting between us and the town, and that our Lord Sterling as they called him,-what had we to do with Lords?-knew no more of maneuvering than we did; so we thought we had better save ourselves for another opportunity, and learn to handle our tools before we commenced the business of fighting."

"The better part of valour is discretion.' You were right to run when you were over there, at Brooklyn, but here at Kip's Bay, you had nothing to do but stand fast and shoot our men as they approached, cooped up in their boats, and exposed where every shot must have told. What did you run for, then? There was no maneuvering here. Your hero, your Washington, got you out of the scrape the night before, and very cleverly, to give the devil his due, though, if Sir William Howe had done his duty, you would all have been prisoners, and sent home to be hanged as rebels; but your commander saved you during the night, while Howe kept aloof, why, no one knows." "Perhaps discretion kept him at a distance ;-that better part of valour' you talked of."

"What should have taught him that discretion, with regular troops at his back, and raw yankees in front?"

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Mayhap he remembered that he and them same rig'lars had been at Bunker's Hill a short time before."

"Why, there is something in that," whispered Cooke, looking over his shoulder at Spiffard, who enjoyed the farmer's retort. "But," he continued, raising his voice, "we showed no discretion when we crossed here in open boats, huddled together, so that you might have shot us like black birds, or pigeons, or any other defenceless animals, who congregate in crowds, and sit still to be murdered; but you trusted to your legs again, and again Washington (and running) saved you."

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My friend, you seem to know a considerable of that time; where might you have been?"

"Lieutenant Cooke, of the fifty-fifth was in the foremost boat, and the first to land. I am the man!"

"I never heard of you before; but you are not the only hero who has been obliged to sound his own trumpet; and I don't like you the less for having been one of the rigglars of that day, especially as it's all over a long time, and as I know that though you landed in the summer of seventy-six, those that were left of you, embarked from the same little island in the fall of eighty-three. So, if you, and this little quiet gentleman, will jist turn in here," and he threw open the gate of a fence a little below the height on which they had been parleying, "and go to my house, we'll fight over all our battles again, while we wash down enmity with either cider or whiskey, or brandy, as you like best,-I don't keep wine, only currant, home-made."

"That I will, with all my heart!" said the tragedian, and down from the rock he hastened, by the side of the hospitable farmer. Spiffard followed, mournfully, for he foresaw in the invitation, an increase of mischief.

They entered a neat two-story wooden house, which fronted the water, and had the hill as a shelter from the northern blasts. All was comfortable within. The good woman sat knitting yarn stockings for her long-legged husband; and two pretty girls, her daughters, were busied in preparing habiliments of finer material, and more urbanity, for themselves. The matron was portly, and the household duties of the morning having been performed, she was dressed, as if she expected company, in the seemly sort befitting her age and station. Her round,

good-natured face was bordered by a neat cap, which was tied under her chin. Her gown of calico, and apron of white linen, pure as snow, new fallen, corresponded with the well-starched kerchief that rose from the shoulder to the cheek. She looked like the fitting wife of the substantial yeoman. The girls had more pretension in dress and appearance, as might be expected from their youth and the encroachments of the city. In fact, they emulated the style of young ladies, and would, if they dared, have protested against the rough guise, the basket, spade, and naked arms of their father, who shouted on entering, "Mother! I have brought these gentlemen in, to take a drink after a long walk."

"I'm glad to see them. Chairs, girls! From town, gentlemen?"

"Yes, madam."

"Come, stir your stumps, girls!" said the father. "Some cool water from the well; put down your trinkum trankums, and take the pitcher, bring tumblers, and mother, turn out the cider, the brandy, the whiskey, and your oldest currant wine." All was soon before them. Cooke took his grog, nothing loth, and Spiffard a glass of water. The farmer was pouring out for himself, and without taking his eye from the glass, "Wife," said he, "what do you think? This old gentleman says he made me run in the year seventy-six, when I was sodgering over there at Brooklyn."

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"Like enough," said the dame, laughing, "I never believed half the stories you have told me of your fights with the red coats."

"Thank you for that, mistress."

"Was this gentleman among the British then?"

"Yes. He was a gay young officer when I carried a musket in Sterling's brigade. He says we run like heroes."

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Ay, that ye did," shouted Cooke, who had already swallowed a second glass of the stiffest brandy and water, "that ye did, and your General with you, your Washington, I was close upon him, I had nearly caught him—”

"But you didn't."

"No, he was too quick at retreat.”

"You should have sprinkled some salt on him-fresh salt, the boys say. When you would catch an old bird, sprinkle some fresh salt on his tail. My sarvice to you."

Cooke looked astounded. He drew himself up with all the assumption of offended dignity, while he shot from his overhanging eyelids glances that were intended to awe the rustic. "Sir!" he began, but the ludicrous image suggested by his blunt host, with the consciousness that he was playing the braggart, overcame his acting and the desire to continue it; he suddenly changed from the heroic scowl to a look of arch good humour, and stretching his hand out to the yeoman, 66 You have beat me," he said, "give me your hand. I shall never be able to fight the battle of Brooklyn again. That salt has preserved Washington."

The yankee shook the outstretched hand with a hearty laugh, and a grasp that made lieutenant Cooke flinch from the encounter. "Wife," said the farmer, "you can give these friends a dinner of bacon, eggs, and potatoes, can't you?"

"Yes, and chickens and greens, and a good apple dumpling, with a hearty welcome."

"I wish," said Cooke, "we were not engaged. This is new. This is fresh. This would not be believed t'other side the water." Then in full apparent possession of his gentlemanly manner, which was eminently prepossessing, he seemed by an effort to regain the entire command of his rational faculties, explained the object of their walk, and took leave with thanks for American hospitality, adding, "Your fresh-salt shall preserve the memory of the master, the mistress, and the beauties of Kip's Bay as long as George Frederick Cooke lives to tell a story of 'yankee land.””

He bowed, and followed by the laughing girls, and smiling matron to the door, the Thespians departed. The farmer accompanied his guests until he saw them, by a shorter route, gain the high road to Cato's; and then returned home, saying as he left them, "I shall be glad to fight the battle of Kip's Bay over again with you any day you have a mind for it."

CHAPTER XIV.

The difference between a tavern and horse-shed.

"The beasts of the field know when to return home from their pasture, but the appetite of man is insatiable."-Eddic poem.

"But that the poor monster's in drink, an abominable monster."

"This can sock and drinking do."

"I told you, sir, they were red hot with drinking;

So full of valour that they smote the air

For breathing in their faces."

"This drinking and quaffing will be the ruin of you."

"He will lie, sir, with such volubility that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his best virtue."-Shakspeare.

"Hell always weaves its strongest web, not out of the conflict of passions themselves, but out of the powerless exhaustion which follows upon it."--Enk.

WHO has not heard of Cato Alexander's? Not to know "Cato's," is not to know the world. At least so it was

thought twenty-five or thirty years ago. But as all our readers are not supposed to be acquainted with the world, we must