errible nation, the mistress of the ocean, in a manner and style that
will inspire respect from the present and future race of men. Nothing
now is thought of or talked of, but _New-Orleans_ and _Jackson_, and
_Jackson_ and _New-Orleans_. We already perceive that we are treated
with more respect, and our country spoken of in honorable terms. The
language now is "we are all one and the same people. You have all
English blood in your veins, and it is no wonder that you fight
bravely!" Sometimes they have uttered the slang of "_The Times_," and
cast reflections on the government, and on President Madison, but we
have always resented it, nor do we ever allow any one to speak
disrespectfully of our illustrious chief magistrate.

About the middle of the present month, (March) we received the news of
the landing of _Napoleon_ in France, while every one here supposed him
snug at Elba. The news came to England, and passed through it like
thunder and lightning, carrying with it astonishment and dismay. But
as much as they dread, and of course hate Bonaparte, the British
cannot but admire his fortune and his glory. There are a number of
Frenchmen yet here; and it is impossible for man to shew more joy at
this news from France. They collected together and shouted _Vive
l'Empereur!_ and the yankees joined them, with _huzza_ for Bonaparte;
and this we kept up incessantly, to plague the British. The English
bear any thing from us with more patience, than our expressions of
affection for the Emperor Napoleon. Now the fact is, we care no more
for the French, than they do for us; and there is but little love
between us; yet we _pretend_ great respect and affection for that
nation, and their chief, principally to torment overbearing surly John
Bull, who thinks that we ought to love nobody but him, while he
himself never does any thing to inspire that love.

About the 20th of this month, we received the heart cheering tidings
of the RATIFICATION OF THE TREATY OF PEACE, by the PRESIDENT OF THE
UNITED STATES. This long expected event threw us all into such a
rapturous roar of joy, that we made old Dartmoor shake under us, with
our shouts; and to testify our satisfaction we illuminated this depot
of misery. Even Shortland affected joy, and was seen more than once,
like Milton's Devil, to "_grin horribly a ghastly smile_."

As there can be now no longer a doubt of our being soon set at
liberty, our attention is directed to the agent for priso