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Plank Roads. Our attention has been called to the following Correspondence, with the request to give it a place in our columns. We do so with pleasure, as the subject of it is at this time attracting a large share of public attention, and it is a brief statement of .the views of one of our most intel ligent and practical citizens. The ideas thrown out in this communication, are as applicable to the Western as to the Eastern part of the State. We should be obliged to the author of them, if ke would favor our readers, with an expression of his views upon the practicability, utility and profitableness, of this speeies of roads in our own section.—Ed. Sentinel. Hillcdgcville. Feb. 4th, 1850. Mr. John G, Winter ; —Knowing as*we do’ that you are well acquainted with the country from Warrenton to Sparta, and could perhaps form some estimate of the probable cos of a plank road between those two points, and a we are immediately interested and take considera ble interest in the project, for which an act < I incot po at ion is about to pass, the Legislature, you would, sir, confer a favor on us by giving us your views on the practicability of the ran temp’ated enterprise, its probable cost pe.r mile the leng:h of time the timber will last—the probable profits and expenses—its advantages over a Railroad, if you think there arc anv. and any other information which you rh' nk would aid in carrying forward the building of the road. The citizens of Warrenton and of Warren County, reposing geat confidence in your judgment in business matters, we ask the priv ilege of circulating y.mn answer to this among them. Yours, very respectfully, M. 11. Wellborn, Augustus Beall, Auaxi Jones. Millkdgeville, Feb. 4th, 1850. Messrs. M. 11. Wellborn, Augustus Beall • A. Jones, Esqrs. :— Gentlemen : 1 am in re. ceipt of your respected favor of current dale and hasten to reply. The shoit time allotted for my return home, will compel me to be bl ief. Col. Dexter has recently made a very able report on the subject of Plank Roads, and draws the comparison between them and Railroads very much to the advantage of the form*r in every respect which makes roads desirable o< profitable. 1 shall take pleasure in sending you a copy of it and will endorse all that lie ga\s. I shall In* pleased if lam aide in the slightest degree to arouse my old and valued friends in Warren, to the almost inestimable advantages of connecting Warrenton with Up country. by means of Blank Roads. The cost ol a good Plank Road from Wa rentoii to Spaita, need not exceed two thousan dollars per miie. The stock ought to pay a; least iwuty.live percent, net profit per annum. 1 think so well of the profitableness of tin Stock, that 1 would take it on a lease of twenty years at two hundred dollars the mile, per an num., and pay all tip* expenses. The road must be well bridged, cu've.ted, drained, and g aded as low as one font in thiity. The plank shout! be of heart yellow pine or chestnut, or young post oak. An extension of the route to Sami, ersville through Spuila, will place W a renin.i within fifty miles of the Cemrul Railroad; hail ing can be done over ihat fifty inib-s lor It--- than fen rents per hundred. This wou ticp ai* a competition between the Central Railroau and the Georgia Railroad, fi.r the cu-toui n! t! trade ot Warrentiri and the surrounding c* u-i try; and the ultimate consequence would le thal the merchant in Warrenton would proeu < his heavy goods from Savannah, nearly or quit as cheap as his comp ‘titnr in Augusta. Take for example a barrel of Sugar bougie in Savannah : Drayage to the Wharf, - -3 cents. Freight up River, - - - - 25 “ Insurance up River, 300 lbs. at 6 cts. per lb., 018} per cent., - 14 “ Wharfage at Augusta, 1 believe, -3 “ Drayage and Storage, - -3 “ Wharfage in Savannah, - • -3 “ Expenses from Savannah to Augusta, 51 “ Dravage to Railroad, - - -3 cents. Freight up Railroad, - • - 25 “ Freight 011 Flunk Road. 300 lbs. at 10 eta- per 100, • • - - 30 “ sti “ The difference in favor of the Augusta nier chant would be only 7 cts. per bbl. It is so long since 1 have had any pracfica. acquaintance with the charges on goods that i max be in error; you can examiii and cortect if erroneous. The higher the. cost of the arti cle the better for the Warrenton merchant. When you come to add the charges up Ine Railroad to Warrenton, from Augusta, the ad vantages of bringing their goods via Sanders, villc will be still greater. The two routes wiii create a struggle for your blisiuess ihai would resuit greatly to your benefit. A-* to travel, you would find an advantage equally great. In fivq hours you would be ii Sandersville. Leaving Warrenton at 5 o clock A. M. y ou would arrive at Savannah at 6 o’clock P. M. Thus in going North tou have a choi <• between the Charleston and Savannah steam. • rs. On your arrival iu Savannah, if you xvisl to proceed to Charleston, you would teach there next morning. The time would be a littfi longer than bv Augu-ta, but to compensate von you .would have a night s rest between Savan nah and Charlc'ton, The constiuction of one Plank Road will demonstrate the value of the improvement sut ficientlv to induce the building of others. There would soon be one to Eaionton, another to Milledgeville, another towards Washington, and Warrenton would be the centre ol them all. and finally a grand trunk to Augusta would be built. Ido not know that that would be very desirable for Warrenton, as she has a Railroau connection; but the dread of Plank Road .com petition would have a salutary effect on the Railroad proprietors in their accommodation to the merchants aud others. The advantage off-red by Plank roads as compared with common roads, may he briefly -summed up a- fdlows ; Travellers can gonear ly as fast again ; they can with tbeir private carriages go nearly fifty per cent, further in the day, and one good horse is suffif-ient for a large family. They save an enormous amount „> wear of carriages and harness. It will indue so much travel, that the road will he far belie; supplied with houses of entertainment. Thei nil the futiguo which is experienced on a common road in bad order. In heavy | tran.-poriation. they enable one horse or mule, to do the work of from four to eight, depending , pun circumstances. This enables teamsters to haul so much cheaper, that the cost of trans portation dwindles down to a very slight tax. Asa transporting agent it brings a customer that lives thirty miles distant as near you, as though he lived within five or six miles. In oth er words, a Planter who comes thirty miles on a Plank mad. can haul his products to your mar- - ket, at an expense not beyond what would be paid by another who used a common road, only six or seven miles in length.* The advantages of a Plank over a Rail, l would sum up as follows: It accommodates all i classes and all pursuits, at all times. It is not so last, but fast enough, aud the community as a whole would save time by the use of them, j Hauling <-an be done at least as cheap when you i have a learn, and much cheaper it you use your j own. when they are not profitably employed, j When the ground is too wet to bear either plow - j ing or hauling, the Plank road is in the best or- j tier, for it is never muddy, and in wet weather of i course not dusty. It is friendly to all sorts of traffic, and just as much so to the corn anS fod der and poultry, as to the Colton trade. The indispensable outlay is so small that every coun ty ran furnish the means without feeling it. If I you begin your road at a terminus, it cannot fall j through for want of means. If you build fixe ’ miles west from Warrenton, and your money gives out, you will have a dividend pay ing stock, ; and the earnings will soon enable you to build live miles more. It is never fell as a monopoly, ! lor the road bed only belongs to the company, j while it is worked by every body, from the poor mail in his cart to the rich man in his luxurious carriage. It adds to the aggregate wealth ot ; your community, for it requires not the aid ol i foreign capital, and the pines and oaks which j have been girdled in your corn and cotton fields, j will lie converted into a valuable road bed re ! ccieing instead of paying tribute to people of | other States and other countries. It quickens social as well as commercial and travelling in tercourse. The same amount of capital will construct from six to twelve times as much road, as the same amount applied in the construction of a Railroad. It hs a fine feeder for a Railroad, and yet may b* converted into a fell destroyer. |i is the Railroad’s master and can make it do its duty fairly and liberally. It is a powerful ally, yet if the public interest requires it, it can be converted into an engine of destruction to the mighty and hitherto invincible and despotic Rail road. The Railroad cannot destroy the Plank road, for the crumbs which fall from the table of the huge Railroad will afford sufficient sustenance to the modest, unpretending Plank road. I will offer the following reasons why you should build the contemplated Plank road : Ist. It will be a very profitable investment. If the management be at all judicious, it will yield Volt twenty-live or more per cent, net profit. 20. It will save your people an immense amount of Road making, equal I think to the tolls which the same parts would pay for the use ! of the road, and they would gain tin; labor of at i least live mules out of six, to say nothing ot the ! comfort of using a good road in ail weathers. 3i). It would add to the wealth of your county, j by making a market for all your oak and pine imber. 4th. It would add to the trade of your town by bringing your customers nearer to you. sth. Railroad companies are often blind to their own true interests, and deaf to your remon strances. Plank road would open their eyes and unstop their ears. 6m You would haio the credit of being among the first to embaik in an enterprise that is destined to rank among the most important, benelicent and useful improvements of the pres ets piogressive and improving age; beyond all others in its tendency calculated to unfold and improve the boundless resources of the great State of Georgia, and generally to promote the i moral, social and intellectual condition of her admirable population. 1 could furnish other and equally weighty rea ; sons, but 11Link you will agree that these are suf j . cieiit to satisfy the* cravings of avarice, or the learnings ot the benevolent heart for the happi ness of his fedow mortal, Having but an hour to devote to this interest, mg .-object, I throw myself upon your generosity t > excuse any imperfections of style or diction. in haste, with my best wishes for yourselves I as well as the rest of iny old friends in Warren, 1 t emain, respectfully, yours, &c. JOHN G. WINTER. Anecdote.— The following anecdote is told in an old book of the Rev. John Bulkley, a grandson of President Chauncey, and the first settled minister in Colchester. Conn.: 4,l The Rev. iVJr. Bulkiey was famous in his day -as a casuist and sage counsellor. A church in j nis neighborhood had fallen into unhappy divis j ions and c intentions, xvhjch they were unable to : adjust among themselves. They accordingly j deputed one of their number to the venerable Bulkley, for his services, with a request that he would send them his advice in writing. The matters were taken into serious consideration, and the advice, with much deliberation, commit ted to writing. It so happened that Mr. Bulkley had a farm in the extreme part o*f the town, up on which he intrusted a tenant. In supersed ing the two le ders, the one for the church was directed to the tenant, and the one for the tenant to the church. ‘•The church was convened to hear the advice which was to settle all disputes, and the modera tor read as follows : * You will see to the repair of the fences, that they be bui/l high and strong, and you will take special care of the old black bull.’ This mystical advice puzzled the church a- first, but an interpreter among the more dis cerning ones was soon found, who said : ‘Breth ren, this is the very advice we most need. The i direction to repair the fences is to admonish us j to take good heed in the admission and govern- | rnent of our members ; we must guard the church by our Master’s laws, and keep out stiang** cattle from the fold. And we must, in a particular manner, set a watchful guard over the Devil, /he old black bull, who has done so much j huitof late.’ All perceived the wisdom and fit - ness of Mr. Bulkley’s advice, and resolved to be j governed by it. The consequence was all the j animosities subsided, and harmony was restored t the long-afffii t and church.” J3” H hat ilo you lay here tor ?” said a watchman toan individual in Camp street, on New Year’s Eve. who occupied a horizontal position on the side walk ‘V\ bv, I--ok here, old teller.” said the party add res- : * *d, ‘J lay here some of the eggs I took in my non- j his evening.’’ D j IT Mrs Partington thus describes her Christmas dinner—“ The dinner was explendid, but my seat was • promote from the nick-nacks that I could not ratify j my aupetite. and fh* pick!**•! cherries had such a de- i e t >n my head that I Lad a motion to leave the ta- ! hie, but Mr gave me some hartshorn received i iu water, which bereaved me. S ® (HTlf] ill ® i osnr QSO EIL □ The Letter of Introduction. Letters of introduction are like lottery tickets, j turning out sometimes n blank, and sometimes a prize, just as accident directs. It has fre quently happened, however, that those present ed at the wrong address have been the most for tunate. We know of at least one instance in which a gentleman came bv a wife in conse quence of a blunder of this kind ; and another occurred recently in the place in which we write, “killing two birds with one stone”—that is, the letter-bearer making two acquaintances instead of one—by a series of odd and perplexing contrc temps. The missive in question was given to an English gentleman in London, who was about to indulge his wife and himself with a trip to Edinburgh. The writer was the brother-in law of the individual to whom it was addressed —Mr. Archibald—and the fortunate possessor was a certain Mr Smith, of Middlesex. Soon after Mr. Smith reached Edinburgh, where he had not a single acquaintance, he set j out to deliver his letter of introduction. He j | fuund his way to Drummond place easily enough, j i and then inquired for the street he was in search ; of-—Duncan street; but the native he applied ; to could not well make out his southern tongue, and directed him instead to Dublin street, which all men know is at the opposite side ot the Place. When our letter-bearer reached his number, he was surprised to find, instead of a respectable main door he had been taught to ex pect, a green grocer’s shop. He was puzzled, but alter comparing carefully the number of the house and the note, he concluded his London friend had made a mistake ; and in this idea he was confirmed by the greengrocer, to whom he applied. “Hoot, sir,” said the man of cabbages, “it’s nae mistake to speak o’—it’s just the ae side of the street for the it her,” and pointing to a house almost immediately opposite, he informed him there Mr. Archibald resided. Mr. Smith crossed over to the number indicated, and finding no knocker—for we do not like noise in Edinburgh —pulled the bell. “Is Mr. Archibald at home?” tfemanded he of the serving maid who came to the door. “Yes, sir.” “Can I see him ?” “He’s not in, sir.” “No ! Wiii you direct me to his office ?” “He has nae office.” “No! What does he do? Where does he go?” “He aye gangs to the kirk. “To the kirk ! What is he ?” “He’s a minister.” Mr. Smith was puzzled again. He had a | strong impression that his man was a merchant ; j nay, he had even some floating idea that he | was a wine merchant; but still, heie was the, ■ street, and the name, and not a particularly com* I moil name, a conjunction which formed a stub | born fact. He asked if lie could see Mrs. Ar chibald, and was at once shown into that lady’s presence. Mrs. Archibald received him with the ease and politeness of one accustomed to tin visits of strangers, and on being told he had a let ter of introduction for her husband, entered free ly into conversation. “I saw Mr. Archibald’s last communication to my friend in London,” said Mr. Smith, de termined to feel his way ; “it was on the sub ject ot schools.” “That is a subject in which Mr. Archibald is much interested, and so likewise am I.” “He mentioned, more especially, Mrs. So and-so’s school, in George Street.” “Doubtless.” “Then you are more nearly concerned in that school than any other.” | “It is natural wo should be so, for our children are there.” “I thought so !” There was no longer a doubt that Mr. Smith had hit upon the right Mr. Atchibald ; and ta ; king the letter ol introduction from his pocket, | he handed it to lariyi, jVditwJy extricating it, j before doing so, eflkSjopA Mrs. Archi bald read the letter cJtnTLv, 9nd then laid it up. | on the table without disturbed in some degree the good opinion t™ stranger had been rapidly forming of the lady, and the odd circumstance of her omitting to enquire after her own nearest blood-relations, threw him into a train of philosophical reflections. Mr. Smith, like all the rest ol the Smiths, kept a journal; and a vision of a “mein,” flitted before him. “Curious National Characteristic; Scotch women civil, polite, kindly, especially clergy men’s wives, but calm, cold, reserved; never by any chance ask strangers about their family, even when distant hundreds of miles.” Mr. Smith was however, an agreeable, good natured man. He spoke well and fluently, and Mrs. Archibald both listened and talked ; and the end of it was they were mutually pleased, and that when Mr. Smith was obliged to get up to take his leave she invited him with the sim ple hospitality of a minister’s wife, to return to tea, to meet her husband. Mr. Smith was much obliged, would be very happy; but, the fact was, his wife was in town with him. So much the better ! Mrs. Archibald would be delighted to be introduced to Mrs. Smith; he must do her the favor to waive ceremony, and bring her in the evening exactly at seven. And so it was set tled. When the evening came the weather had changed. It was bitterly cold ; the wind blew as the wind oniy blows in Edinburgh, and it rained, to speak technically, it rained flogs and rats! Mr. and Mrs. Smith differed in opinion as to the necessity of keeping the engagement on such au evening. Mrs. Smith was evidently ad verse to the idea of encountering the Scotch elements on a dark, cold, wet night, and all for | the purpose of drinking an unpremeditated cup of! ! tea. Mr. Smith, on the other hand, considered j j that au engagement was an engagement, and j should be kept ; that the Archibalds were an ex j ceilent family to be acquainted with, and that, by j keeping their word, in spite of difficulties, they | would set out by commanding their respect. Mr. f Siftith had the best of the argument ; and he prevailed. A cab was ordered, and shivering I and shrinking, they picked their steps across the j troltoir , and commenced their journey. This j time, however, Mr. Smith’s southern tongue 1 was understood, and he was driven, not to Dub- j lin street, where he had been in the morning, ] I but to Duncan street, where he had desired to go ; although of course he took care to give the coachman the correct number this time, as it was not his intention to drink tea with the green grocer. When they arrived at the house, the coach man dismounted and rung the bell; and Mr. Smith, seeing the door open, let down the win dow of the coach, although half choked with the wind and rain that entered, and prepared to nuke a rush with his wife across the tempest swept troltoir. “Nae Mr. Archibald at number so-and-so!” bawled out the coachman. ‘‘l say he is there,” cried Smith in a rage. “The servant has deceived you ; ring again.” j “li’s nae use ringing,” said th. 6 coachman, * speaking against the storm, “there’s nac Mr. Archibald here ; I ken myself.” ‘•ls it possible that I have made a mistake in the number? Hark ye, friend, try somewhere else. I know ol my own knowledge that Mr. Archibald is in this street, and you must find i him !” and he shut down the w indow exhausted. It was not difficult to find Mr. Archibald, for his house was almost directly opposite, and the tea-drinkers at length, to their great satislaction, found themselves on the landing place, with an open door before. As Mr. Smith paused for an instant on the threshhoid, he threw a strange, searching glance round the hall, and then turning to the servant, asked her if she had actually said that Mr. Arch ibald lived there ? The girl repeated the state- ; ment. “Then come along, my dear,” said he to his 1 wife ; “places look so different in the gas light!” : And starting through the hall, the servant in ; surprise walking backward before, they went i into the drawing-room at the farther end. Ihe girl had opened the door of the room for them, by the instinct of habit; but no sooner did she | see them seated, than she ran at lull speed to her mistress. “Come ben, mem,” said she, “come ben, this moment ! There are twa strange folks who ha’e marened in out o’ the street into the very drawing-room, without either your leave, and sntten themselves down on the tophy, as if the house was their ain !” Mrs. Archibald got up in : surprise, and even some little trepidation, j .“Did they not mention who they were, or, j what was their pleasure ?” “Not a word, mem ; they didna even speer if ! the master or you was at Inline, but tramped in the i moment they saw the door open.” Mrs. Archibald, who was a newly married lady, wondered who such visitors could be on such a n.glit, and wished her husband was at | home, but telling the girl to keep close behind i her, she at length set forth to encounter them. Mr. and Mrs. Smith in the mean time were speculating in a low voice, in the fashion of man and wife, on their adventure. “This is doubtless the drawing-room, my dear,” said Mrs. Smith, looking round. “It | must have been the dining-room I saw in the | forenoon.” “I wish we saw a fire in the mean time, my dear,” replied Mrs. Smith ; “that Ido ! Do these people think it is not cold enough for one ? And | such anight! Wind, rain and utter darkness ! I A clergyman forsooth ! and a clergyman’s j wife !” ‘ “It is a great neglect, I admit ; for it is real j ly cold, but we must consider that the natives of i a country are not so sensible of the rigor of their climate as strangers. Mr. and Mrs. Archibald, you know, are Scotch.” “Yes, Scotch !” said Mrs. Smith, with a sar ; donic smile ; “excessively Scotch !” And draw j iug her shawl over her chin, she sat looking j like an incarnation of Discomfort, till Mrs. 1 Archibald entered the room. “llow do you do, Ma’am?” said Mr. Smith, 1 getting up arid shaking hands. “You see I have t brought my wife to drink tea with you. My | dear, let me introduce you to Mrs. Archibald; | Mrs. Archibald, Mrs. Smith. The two ladies j exchanged bows, the one sulkily the other stiffly; and even Mr. Smith, though not a particularly observant man, thought their hostess did not look so pleasant as in tin; forenoon. “How is Mr. Archibald ?” said he after a pause. “My husband is pretty well, sir.” “Not at church again, eh ?” “Sir !” Here Mrs. Archibald looked anxious ly to the half opened door, where the girl was waiting concealed in the shadow in readiness to reinforce her mistress in case of necessity. “Avery windy, dismal evening; and cold; don’t you find it cold, ma’am ?” “Yes. sir.” “Perhaps we have come too soon ?” “Really, sir, I hope you will not think it ill bred; but 1 have been expecting to hear why you have come at all !” Mrs. Archibald ! Is it possible that you have forgotten me already ?” “I must confess you have the advantage of me.” “You do not remember seeing me this fore noon, when your husband was at church ?” “I really have no recollection of any such cir cumstance ; nor am l aware of any thing that could take my husband to church to-day.” “And you cannot call to mind, that you asked me to tea, and entreated me to bring my wife with me ?” “Surely not, since I was ignorant, till a few minutes ago, that such individuals were in exist ence.” “Mrs. Archibald! I of course cannot, as a gentleman, refuse to credit those assertions, but 1 take leave to tell you that I by no means admire the memory of the wives of the Scottish clergy ! Come, my dear. Our friend will be surpiised to hear of the hospitable reception ob tained for us by his letter of introduction, al though perhaps Mrs. Archibald”—and here Mr. I Smith wheeled round as he reached the door and j fixed his eye up m the culprit—“although per ! haps Mrs. Archibald is not disposed to admit j having received Mr. ’s letter at all.” “Oh, that is my brother-in-law !” cried Mrs. j Archibald, “do you come from him ? How is !my dear sister? Pray, sit down!” A few I i words sufficed to clear the whole imbroglio ; and I ! the true Mr. Archibald making his appearance | immediately after, threw still more light upon ! the subject by explaining that a namesake of his, ■ | a clergyman, lived in the street at the opposite j j angle of the Place. They learnt afterwards j ! from this gentleman, that on seeing the letter of j | introduction, he perceived at once it was intend- j i cd for him, and went to call on Mr. Smith to ! j explain the mistake. The Fates, however, were ! determined that the contre temps should run its i , course, tor Mrs. Archibald hud taken down the i wrong number!” In another room the party found a cheerful fire and the much desired tea; and before separat ing that night, Mr. Archibald placed collateral evidence ot a highly satisfactory nature upon the table that Mr. Smith’s original conjecture was correct, and that he was indeed no minister, but a Wine merchant. The Poser Posed. —ln a jolly company each one wa* to ask a question ;i( it was answered lie paid a f .rleit, or ifhecot II n< t answer it himself be paid a fort.it. Pat’s question was: How the little ground squirrel digs his hole without showing any dirt about the entrance? When they all gave up, Pat said, “Sure, do you see, he begins at the other end of the hole.” One of the rest exclaimed, “But how does lie get there ?” “Ah.” said Pat, “that is your question—can you answer it yourself ?” I tT“Do!cn East,” some where, a pious old lady was summoned as witness in an important case, j Having lived in the back woods all her days, she was J wholly unacquainted with the rules of a court of jus-: , tice- Being told that she must l 'swear,” the poor woman was filled with horror at the thought. After j ‘ much persuasion she yielded, and being told to “hold 1 up her right hand,” she did so, exclaiming, *‘t cell, if I must, 1 must — l}amn /” The coart imr.iedikt :!y ad-, journed. * j The Spirit of Progress. The gloomy night is breaking, E’en now the sunbeams rest With a faint, yet cheering radiance, On the hill tops of the West. The mists are slowly rising From the valley and the plain, And a spirit is awaking That shall never sleep again. And ye may hear, that listen, The spirit’s stirring song, That surges like the ocean, With its solemn bass along. “Ho! can ye stay the rivers. Or bind the wings of Light, Or bring back to the morning The old departed Night ? “Nor shall ye check its impulse, Nor stay it for an hour, Until Earth's groaning millions Have felt its healing power!” That spirit is Progression, * In the vigor of its youth— The foemaii of Oppression, And its armor is the Truth. Old Error with his legions Must fall beneath its wrath— Nor blood, nor tears, nor anguish, Will mark its brilliant path. I3ut onward, upward, heavenward, The spirit still will soar, Till Peace and Love shall triumph, And Falsehood reign no more. Franklin at the Fireside. —Never have I known such a tire-side companion, as he was, both as a statesman and a philosopher ; lie never shone in a light more winning, than when he was seen in the | domestic circle. It was once my good fortune to pass two or three weeks with him at the house ot a gentleman in Pennsylvania, and we were confined to the house during the whole of that time by the un remitting constancy and depth of the snow. But confinement could not be felt where Dr. Franklin was an inmate, llis cheerfulness and his colloquial powers spread around him a perpetual spring. Os Franklin no one ever became tirej. There was no ambition of eloquence, no effort to shine in anything which made any demand either Hpon your allegiance or your admiration. j His manner was just as unaffected as infancy, ilt was Nature’s spell. lie talked like an old putri ■ arch, and his plainness and simplicity put you at once ! it ; your ease,and gave you the full and free possession and use of all your faculties. i His thoughts were of a character to shine by their ’ own light, without any adventitious aid. They re | Quired only a medium of vision like a pure and sim ple style to exhibit in the highest advantage their na tive radianceand beauty, llis cheerfulness was un j remitting. It seemed to be as much the systematic and salutary exercise of the mind, as of its superior i organization. His wit was of (lie first order. It did l not show itself merely in occasional corruscafions, ■ j but, without any effort or force on bis part, it shed a ■ constant stream of the purest light overtire whole o! Iris discourse. Whether in company with commoners or nobles, he was always the same plain man, a Inn st perfectly at liis ease, his faculties in full play, and the full or j bit of his genius forever clear and unclouded. He 1 had commenced his life with an attention so vigilant, i that nothing had escaped liis observation, and every j incident turned to advantage. His youth had not been wasted in idleness nor overcast bv intemper ance. He had been all his life a close and deep read er, as well as thinker, and by force of liis own pow | ers had wrought up the raw materials which he had ! gathered from books with such exquisite skill and felicity, that he had added a hundred fold to their original value, and justly made them liis own.— Win Wirt. From the New York Spirit of the Times. Starting a Balky Horse. j A N. Y orker’s Account of some of the S. Carolina Bloods. “Dick” was the name of a favorite horse be longing to my friend S , of South Carolina. And a good horse he was, barring one tailing; like liis master, he was not always ready to leave home if it was early, or to go home if it was late, and once started, he was not always to be depended on. His plantation (S.’s I mean, of course, for Dick’s “plantation” w as at the foot of every hill,) was a pretty smart drive from the city of Charleston ; but Dick had often put us i through in time for a late dinner. Dick’s groom, Bob, a bright negro lad, always accompanied his master, on a smart going little cob, as out rider. There was a gay party to dine in Charleston, at the flash Hotel, and being among the invited guests, we were of course anxious to arrive in time for the beginning of the thing. * The sun had scarcely risen, before we were on the road, Dick doing the thing up handsome ly. Now there was a Half Way House, at which, of course, we were bound to stop, to wa ter something and the horse. Dick knew it sagacious animal, and turned in accordingly. But Dick’s instinct, or whatever you may be pleased to call it, advertised him, when lie was Drought from under the shed, and liis head turned towards the city, that Charleston was our des tination—and to Charleston Richard did not waht to go, but we did, and in something of a hurry too. “Go ’long, old fellow !” gently urged £ , laying the reins loosely over the dash-board. No go, except backwards —ears back, tail back, and whole body backing incontinently. “Who-o ! take him by the head, Bob.” But he only backed the worse, and nearly i broke the hack of the gig against one of the pil- j lars, as he came to a sudden stand against the steps of the piazza. “Touch him with the whip, S.” “Make him worse. Pat him, Bob—give j him a lump of sugar.” No use ; Dick, to all appearances, was deter- i I mined to stay where he was, and make a night j iot it. Neither persuasion nor blows had any i effect. S , feeling the necessity of dinner, ‘ j grew outrageous. “Pshaw ! this will never do. bring a bundle | of straw, boy ; we’ll start him off'.” The straw was brought, and put under him, | which performance seemed rather gratifying I than otherwise to old Dick, Bob soon brought i a coal of fire from the kitchen, and thrust it into j i the straw ; but it did not ignite immediately, and getting on his ha fids and knees, blew most vig. j orously, until the straw burst into a flame, when j in a moment, with a scorched belly, Dick was I off like a flash. The spires of Charleston were just breaking into view, and we were congratulating ourselves on being there in time, when, at the foot of a hill, Dick backed his ears—and stopped. No inducement could prevail on him to goon : we coaxed him, thrashed him, shoved the carriage on him—all to no purpose. It was already late ; Sand I had serious j thoughts of leaving him in Bob’s care, and walk- j ing into the city, when a bright thought struck Bob. “Get in de gig, Massa—l make him go.” No sooner were we seated, than Bob, gather- i ing a handful of dry grass, threw it under him and commenced blowing. The stratagem succeeded. Two puffs were j enough. Dick, fancying (if horses have fancy) that the fire was coming next, was off in a sec- i ond, and we were soon blushing and smiling amid the gay and festive throng. 1 We sat late—too late, perhaps. “But noiseless falls the foot of t'mo That oniv treads on flowers.” Tho “wee sma” hours were passed, and a “rous | or,” in the shape of a three-limes-three, with an “apple toddy” accompaniment, announced tho dawn. You can imagine the breaking up of i such a party ; the hanging round you of some dear friend, who is determined you shall not go ! without another drink. The maudlin tone of him in the rocking chair, as he exclaims— “If you leiil go, leave us a lock of your hair?” i “Why, it’s quite early yet,” from one who has I been dozing on the sofa, &c. &c. But the party is broken up, and as the sun g'ances on the old piazza, all wh’o can , assemble i to witness our departure, and give a parting hip, • hip, hurrah! At the door stood Dick, in all his glory, his plated harness glittering in the sunbeams, and casting the reflected rays on his glossy coat. All looked propitious. With light step, and lighter hearts, we bounded in. “Well, good-bye, boys, till xve meet again. Go ’long, Dick. ’ But Richard stirred not—his look as deter* j mined as that of his illustrious namesake, when j lie exclaim-, “Here will we pitch our tout.” But having no tent to -pitch, he merely pitched liis head, and pitched into Bob, whenever he ’ came near him. Meanwhile we sat, the centre of observation, ! and the subject of many a merry jest. “ Why don't you go, now you’ve broke up tho | party ?” i “Come in and take a drink—Dick will stand.” “What’s your hurry ?” ! “Why don’t you enter him for some Post Stake, £ , to go backwards ?” i “Call the waiter, to bring the Bill—that will | start ’em. I “Put a stone in liis ear !” i “Or a brick in Ins hat !” “Did you ever try Kelli tiger’s Liniment ?” “Have you tried Jesse? Give him Jesse— ha!—ha!—ha! Why don’t you go homo to* j your afflicted parents ?” “Have you forgotten anything?” &c., &c. r j were the ejaculations from the piazza. “Go ’long, Dick and a touch of the whip from S , w hich, of course, made him worse* “Ha !—ha !—hu ! —touch him again.” “Touch him on the raw, S.” j “Does he get oats at home, £ ?” > “Yes; certainly.” i “Strange, he don’t want to go home then.” | All this time £ sat in the gig, like a stoic, i twirling the reins carelessly in his hands, and i beating the thin air with his whip. At length ; he called out, “Now, gentlemen, you have had an ample op. | portunity of observing the vicious disposition of this animal, f never knew him to do so before | —did you, B ?” appealing to me. “But, ! like us, he hates to leave good company. Still, I we must be off-—and I have an infallible means of starting a balky horse. I should have prac* | Used it before, but 1 don’t choose to make it gen j orally known ; yet, as we are all friends, I’ll ! show you. It is a philosophical principle—and : nothing more nor less than a counter current of I air.” “Counter current of !” “To exemplify the principle, I will bet a dozen j of champagne that l will start this horse, vicious j as he is. (a touch of the whip, pur parenthesis) I in less than a minute.” “Dune—done —done !” from half a dozen j voices at once. “A dozen with each,” said £ , counting ; “one—two—three—four—five—six—six dozen. | Now, Boli, blow !” j Two puffs were enough. Away went Dick, i to the evident surprise of the admiring specta -1 tors. New Ido not pretend to say, in the style ■ of the novelist, that while we were rattling mer | rily along the road, enjoying the joke, that wo j knew exactly what was going on in Jones’s Her. ; tel, some miles behind us; but we did hear af : terwards, and did sec, that we had started u ! philosophical question, which our friends (in the | state they weft*) thought proper to discuss on I philosophical principles, and to grow very warm |in the discussion. What arguments they ad i duced, against such evidence before their eyes, ! it is impossible to say ; but “with something in ! their heads to steal away their brains,” they j came to tiic conclusion that they had “gained a ! wrinkle.” Some weeks after, £ , myself and R , J (one of the “sold” and a defender of “the cur -1 rent of air” principle, wore strolling down Meet i ing Street, when we noticed a crowd gathered | around a cart man, who was beating his horse most unmercifully, while the poor brute kept backing, until lie came to a stand still agaisnt the curb-stone; lie could back no farther, and j so he backed nothing but his ears, yet he struck j out very savagely with his fore feet, the carter I meanwhile belaboring him with his heavy j ' hi P- I “What an infernal shame !” said It.; “S M try i the ‘current of air principle.’” “No use, R., we will only get into a muss— | come along.” “No ! I abhor cruelty ; I’ll try it.” And in another moment R. was elbowing his way through the crowd. j “Stand back, will you? Here, give me a chance ; I’ll start your horse—no more flogging —stand away from liis head—he’ll run over some of you. Is all clear?” The crowd, taking him for some conjurer, some dealer in mighty magic, inado way accord i ig ! y* “Let go liis head—get on your cart—now ! keep clear of the wheels.” | Getting down on his knees, (the astonished crowd making way for him.) R. commenced blowing. Pull—puff—puff. The horse seem ed more irritated than ever. “Hold on a minute.” Puff—puff—puff. When rising up, (his face, from the exertion, resembling a full blown pfe ony,) his eye caught ours, one of us leaning the suppoit against a lamp post, the other rolling oit a door-step. The “current of air” principle, flashed upon him. He turned—and his look • O! can l ever forget that look? while a shout of laughter, in which I believe the horse joined, (tor it was horse-laughter) greeted him on every side. J “Go it, puff! anything to pay ?” “Weil, I’ll be bjowed!” “Je-ru-sa-lem ! ain’t he a go with his goatee ?” “Gabriel, blow pour horn! ha! ha! ha!” R seized our arm spasmodically, rushed down the street, feebly ejaculating, “I* or heaven s sake don’t mention it! what will you drink 1” Buckshot. A Paraphrase. —“Go it while you are young, tor when you get old you can’t.” “Make sundry evolutions with thy perambula. tors, while the sanguinous fluid of juvenility rushes warmly through the arterial structure of thy physical organization for when the roral congelation of many hybernal seasons, has sil vered the capilacious intergurnent of thy crani um, the ultima thule of thy farther advancement will have been reached.”