pecially if you are a sucking child, like me, in the ways of the world; and the lady of the house, usually a pretty woman, will feel it enjoined upon her humanity to counsel and protect you, and comfort you, or she will manage an acquaintance between you and some countess or baroness who lodges with her or at some neighbor's. I live now with a most spiritual little creature; she tells me so many obliging lies, and no offensive truths, which I take to be the perfection of politeness in a landlady; and she admits me to her private parties,-little family "reunions," where I play at loto with Madame Thomas and her three amiable daughters, just for a little cider, cakes, or chestnuts, to keep up the spirit of the play; then we have a song, a solo on the violin or harp, and then a dance; and finally we play at little games which inflict kisses, embraces, and other such penalties. French people are always so merry, whatever be the amusement; they never let conversation flag, and I don't see any reason it should. One, for example, begins to talk of Paris, then the Passage Panorama, then of Mrs. Alexander's fine cakes, and then the pretty girl that sits behind the counter, and then of pretty girls that sit anywhere; and so one just lets one's self run with the association of ideas, or one makes a digression from the main story, and returns or not, just as one pleases. A Frenchman is always a mimic, an actor; and all that nonsense which we suffer to go to waste in our country, he economizes for the enjoyment of society.

I am settled down in the family; I am adopted; the lady gives me, to be sure, now and then "a chance," as she calls it, of a ticket in a lottery ("the only one left") of some distinguished lady now reduced, or some lady who has had three children, and is likely for the fourth, where one never draws anything; or "a chance" of con

ducting her and a pretty cousin of hers, who has taken a fancy to me, who adores the innocency of American manners, and hates the dissipation of the French, to the play. Have you never felt the pleasure of letting yourself be duped? Have you never felt the pleasure of letting your little bark float down the stream when you knew the port lay the other way? I look upon all this as a cheap return for the kindnesses I have so much need of; I am anxious to be cheated; and the truth is, if you do not let a French landlady cheat you now and then, she will drop your acquaintance. Never dispute any small items overcharged in her monthly bill, or she that was smooth as the ermine will be suddenly bristled as the porcupine; and why, for the sake of limiting some petty encroachment upon your purse, should you turn the bright heaven of her pretty face into a hurricane? Your actions should always leave a suspicion you are rich, and then you are sure she will anticipate every want and wish you may have with the liveliest affection; she will be all ravishment at your successes; she will be in an abyss of chagrin at your disappointments. Hélas! oh! mon Dieu! and if you cry, she will cry with you. We love money well enough in America, but we do not feel such touches of human kindness, and cannot work ourselves up into such fits of amia bleness, for those who have it. I do not say it is hypoc risy a French woman really does love you if you have & long purse; and if you have not (I do not say it is hypocrisy neither), she really does hate you.

A great advantage to a French landlady is the sweetness and variety of her smile,-a quality in which Frenchwomen excel universally. Our Madame Gibou keeps her little artillery at play during the whole of the dinner-time, and has brought her smile under such a discipline as to suit it exactly to the passion to be represented, or the

dignity of the person with whom she exchanges looks. You can tell any one who is in arrears as if you were her private secretary, or the wealth and liberality of a guest. better than his banker, by her smile. If it be a surly knave who counts the pennies with her, the little thing is strangled in its birth; and if one who owes his meals, it miscarries altogether; and for a mere visitor she lets off one worth only three francs and a half; but if a favorite, who never looks into the particulars of her bill and takes her lottery-tickets, then you will see the whole heaven of her face in a blaze, and it does not expire suddenly, but, like the fine twilight of a summer evening, dies away gently on her lips. Sometimes I have seen one flash out like a squib, and leave you at once in the dark; it had lit on the wrong person; and at other times I have seen one struggling long for its life; I have watched it while it was gasping its last: she has a way, too, of knocking a smile on the head; I observed one at dinner to-day, from the very height and bloom of health fall down and die without a kick.

THE FATE OF MAJOR ANDRÉ.

ALEXANDER HAMILTON.

[The reputation of Hamilton rests essentially upon his high abilities as a statesman, and the very important part he played in the early political history of the United States. He also took a prominent part as a soldier in the Revolutionary War, and, though not twenty years of age at its outbreak, he became the special confidant of Washington, and was intrusted with secret commissions of high importance. As a writer he is the author of numerous letters and papers on public affairs which are perspicuous in style and convincing in argument. His letter to Laurens on the capture and death of Major André is a fine speci

men of his handling of a more general subject, and this interesting event has never been more clearly, justly, and pathetically treated. Hamilton was born on the West India island of Nevis, in January, 1757, being the son of a Scottish merchant. He was sent to New York in 1772, and from that time forward took a very prominent part in American affairs. In 1804 he opposed the election of Aaron Burr to the Governorship of New York, on the ground that Burr was unfit to be trusted with power. In consequence Burr challenged him. Hamilton accepted the challenge, and was mortally wounded in the duel that ensued. He died on July 12, 1804.]

September, 1780.

SINCE my return from Hartford, my dear Laurens, my mind has been too little at ease to permit me to write to you sooner. It has been wholly occupied by the affecting and tragic consequences of Arnold's treason. My feelings were never put to so severe a trial. You will no doubt have heard the principal facts before this reaches you; but there are particulars to which my situation gave me access, that cannot have come to your knowledge from public report, which I am persuaded you will find interesting.

From several circumstances, the project seems to have originated with Arnold himself, and to have been long premeditated. The first overture is traced back to some time in June last. It was conveyed in a letter to Colonel Robinson, the substance of which was, that the ingratitude he had experienced from his country, concurring with other causes, had entirely changed his principles; that he now only sought to restore himself to the favor of his king by some signal proof of his repentance, and would be happy to open a correspondence with Sir Henry Clinton for that purpose. About this period he made a journey to Connecticut; on his return from which to Philadelphia, he solicited the command of West Point, alleging that the effects of his wounds had disqualified

him for the active duties of the field. The sacrifice of this important post was the atonement he intended to make. General Washington hesitated the less to gratify an officer who had rendered such eminent services, as he was convinced the post might be safely intrusted to one who had given so many distinguished specimens of his bravery. In the beginning of August he joined the army and renewed his application. The enemy, at this juncture, had embarked the greatest part of their forces on an expedition to Rhode Island, and our army was in motion to compel them to relinquish the enterprise, or to attack New York in its weakened state. The General offered Arnold the left wing of the army, which he declined, on the pretext already mentioned, but not without visible embarrassment. He certainly might have executed the duties of such a temporary command; and it was expected from his enterprising temper that he would gladly have embraced so splendid an opportunity. But he did not choose to be diverted a moment from his favorite object; probably from an apprehension that some different disposition might have taken place, which would have excluded him. The extreme solicitude he discovered to get possession of the post would have led to a suspicion of treachery, had it been possible, from his past conduct, to have supposed him capable of it.

The correspondence thus begun was carried on between Arnold and Major André, Adjutant-General to the British army, in behalf of Sir Henry Clinton, under feigned signatures, and in a mercantile disguise. In an intercepted letter of Arnold's, which lately fell into our hands, he proposes an interview, "to settle the risks and profits of the copartnership;" and, in the same style of metaphor, intimates an expected augmentation of the garrison, and speaks of it as the means of extending their traffic. It