bours in the presidential contest, we think we run no
risk of upsetting the constitution, or treading upon the most fastidious
toe in the universe, by affording our readers the same hearty laugh into
which we were betrayed.

"Jonathan walks in, takes a seat and looks at Sukey; Sukey rakes up the
fire, blows out the candle, and don't look at Jonathan. Jonathan hitches
and wriggles about in his chair, and Sukey sits perfectly still. At
length he musters courage and speaks--

"'Sewkey?'

"'Wall, Jon-nathan?'

"'I love you like pizan and sweetmeats?'

"'Dew tell.'

"'It's a fact and no mistake--wi--will--now--will you have me--Sew--ky?'

"'Jon--nathan Hig--gins, what am your politics?'

"'I'm for Polk, straight.'

"'Wall, sir, yew can walk straight to hum, cos I won't have nobody that
ain't for Clay! that's a fact.'

"'Three cheers for the Mill Boy of the Slashes!' sung out Jonathan.

"'That's your sort,' says Sukey. 'When shall we be married,
Jon--nathan?'

"'Soon's Clay's e--lect--ed.'

"'Ahem, ahem!'

"'What's the matter, Sukey?'

"'Sposing he ain't e--lect--ed?'

"We came away."

Verily, Monsieur De Tocqueville, you are in the right--democracy is an
inherent principle.

But the train is progressing, and we are passing Lundy's Lane, or, as
the Americans call it, "The Battle Ground," where a bloody fight between
Democracy and Monarchy took place some thirty years ago, and where

"The bones, unburied on the naked plain,"

still are picked up by the grubbers after curiosities, and the very
trees have the balls still sticking in them.

Here woman, that ministering angel in the hour of woe, performed a part
in the drama which is worth relating, as the source from which I had the
history is from the person who owed so much to her, and whose gallantry
was so conspicuous.

Colonel Fitzgibbon, then in the 49th regiment, having inadvertently got
into a position where his sword, peeping from under his great coat,
immediately pointed him out as a British officer, was seized by two
American soldiers, who had been drinking in the village public-house,
and would either have been made prisoner or killed had not Mrs. Defield
come to his rescue.

Mr. Fitzgibbon was a tall, powerful, muscular person, and his captors
were a rifleman and an infantry soldier, each armed with the rifle and
musket peculiar to their service. By a sudden effort, he seized the
rifle of one and the musket of the other, and turned the