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132 mant there. Wfe hope we may be excused for giving his speech entire, as it is not ir relevant to our narrative. “My Friends, —As you have called upon rne for a speech, I suppose I must give you ! one : so I will tell you about a fellow named Dick Rowan, who was my chum in Coliege. I didn’t have any idea of the character of the man, or I never would have allowed him to room with me. (‘ Shame, shame ! cried his companions, to have such a scamp with such a gentleman as Binton.’) I will tell you,” resumed the speaker, “ some of our College scrapes. In the first place, this Dick Rowan was the meanest man God ever made.— (Cheers.) He was the greatest liar in the country, and the greatest hypocrite. (Re newed cheers.) This fellow and me had a tight one night. (‘ Why, you ought not to have soiled your hands with such a puppy,’ exclaimed one.) But,” said Jack, “hear, and you won’t blame me. (‘Goon!’ cried all.) Well, then, this Dick Rowan had the impu dence to hold an argument with me, one night, on some subject young men are very fond of disputing about, you know. (‘Yes, we know,’ cried several.) I think it was about Addison, or some of them big guns at that time. Now, since I come to think about it, I believe it was that man who wrote the book they call—something about the under standing ; and n me, I’ve most forgotten. Eh ! boys, any of you remember the fellow’s name —eh !. eh ? (‘ Was it Locke on the un derstanding?’ asked one.) Yes, that’s the name—thank ye! And, as I was going on to say, we were quarrelling, or rather, carry ing on a argument about this key, or lock, (what do ye call it?) when this fellow r in sulted me, and I drew back and laid him on the lloor. (‘ Served him right,” said several.) Well,” continued Jack, “this cracker never forgave me for the flogging I gave him, but hates me to this day. I feel very sorry for the chap, and I only wish he would come in to my neighborhood; 1 would treat him like a gentleman. Don’t you know 1 would, boys? that you would, Binton! There ain’t a kin ler-hearte 1 man in this country,’ said one of the company.) “Well,” Jack went on to say, “this fellow studied like a horse, and when the College-examination came ofl, he made quite a noise. He spoiled a good deal of fun lor me, the rascal! He got quite proud, and 1 do believe he thought himself above me. Fellows, is there any thing in this world more disgusting, than to come across one of these conceited chaps like Dick Rowan? Is there, boys? (‘Nothing,’ ex claimed they.) Well, I have often wondered w r hat became of this low-born chap. I hear he is quite a character. I have no doubt he is as big a scamp as ever walked the face of the earth. Oil! I wish I only had him here, now, I’d choke his senses out of him. Just imagine, boys, I had his face just like this ta ble before me —Pdgivehim just such a thum per!” And, saying this, he dealt a terrible blow upon the table, breaking several wine glasses, and making his companions start from their chairs. Jack sat down, exhausted from rage and drunkenness. The boys for got to cheer him for awhile. In fact, the night was far advanced. Some, who were sober enough, crept to their beds; others could get no further than the floor : and thus terminated the hunt and the feast. CONCLUSION. Jack had been married about twelve months. The honey-moon had long since fled. Mrs. Binton was a wretched, unhappy woman. Having resorted to this as a last chance, she wasagain bitterly disappointed. She felt but too keenly the tyranny of her husband, and her life wa3 that of a slave. Binton grew worse day by day. He was never satisfied, unless in a whirl of excitement. A stranger to domestic happiness, he quarrelled with his wife, beat his servants, broke out into fresher scenes of dissipation and extravagance, and his house was purgatory itself; and there S©iDina&LEEl Oh 0 SASi II ©A%is~f'f is ■> seemed to be impending over him a pregnant cloud, which would soon burst, scattering death and destruction to all around. ******** It was a beautiful day in October, when the whole face of nature presented that rich and golden appearance, peculiar to Autumn. It inspired one, moreover, with feelings as rich and mellow as the scenery around. The air was still and pure, only now and then gently disturbed by the falling leaf, as it rustled down the hill-side, or was whirled giddily away by the murmuring brook. It was on such a day as this, that a gentleman with a lady on his arm, and a little boy, now running by the mother’s side, now letting go her gen tle hand, and stooping down to pick up some smooth pebble, or shining piece of glass, were strolling along by the side of a transparent brook. They hai not gone far, before they seated themselves on a rock, admiring the beau ty of day, and the scenery around. The child amused himself by throwing pebbles into the stream hard by. The mother v\ as very young, and one would scarcely believe the child to be her boy. Her face was beaming with happiness and intelligence. Her eyes were as blue as the sky above, and full of love, but beaming all for the man by her side, who was holding her lily hand, and dividing his attention between her and the little boy. — Need we introduce the group to the reader, as Richard Rowan, his wife and son ? “ Papa,” cried the little boy, “ yonde comes Tom from the Post-office.” Sure enough, Tom was bringing a pack age, which he handed to his master, who, up on receiving it, handed over to his wife sev eral letters directed to herself. After the Hon. Mr Rowan (for our hero was now a member of Congress.) had read his letters, he opened a newspaper, from the lower part of the Stale, and almost the first article that met his eye was headed, “A Horrible Tragedy,” and read as follows: “ It becomes our painful duty to record one of those fearful tragedies, which chill the blooJ and make one shudder for the depravi ty of human nature, and which we trust nev er to be called on either to witness or to chronicle again. The principal characters in this tragedy were our neighbors, Mr.and Mrs. Binton. We were summoned to attend an inquest upon the body of the latter, during which it appeared, from the testimony of the servants, that their master and mistress had been, the day previous, greatly excited in their feelings and language towards each other—- that the husband, with bitter invective and oaths, ordered his wife to be silent; and she, becoming indignant, directed her maid to pre pare her ward-robe, resolving instantly to leave the house of such a wretch. Upon this, B.nton seized a heavy whip, and used it with great severity upon his wife, who escaped to her room and locked the door. “The infuriated husband then sought the bottle, and drank deeply; after which, he went to the sea-.shore, and, springing into his skill, sailed out to a considerable distance, heedless of the storm which was rising. “Meanwhile, Betty, a faithful servant woman, sought to gain access to her mistress: but, finding her room locked, and receiving no answer to her repeated calls, she peered through the key hole, and discovered her mis tress lying partly on the floor, and very black in the face. Obtaining help, and breaking their way into the room, the servants discov ered that she was quite dead, having hung herself to the top of the bed post with a silk en scarf. “While the jury, who had held their inquest, and returned a verdict in accordance with the facts, we,e deliberating what measures should be taken to punish the wicked cause of this fell deed, a servant rushed into the house, in great distress, crying for someone ‘to go to the shore, for his poor massa was there dead.’ The whole company immediately repaired hither to witness a scene still more revolting to if possible, than that they had just left. — There, upon the edge of the surf, lay the corpse of poor Binton, his face horribly muti lated by crabs! The waves were running high and angrily, as if loathing the miserable creature, and lashing him with their wild tury. “ Strange and awful scene! In the brief space of a few hours, two human beings, re lated to each other by the tenderest ties of earth, thus hurried into eternity —the victims of dark and dreadful passion ! Tue skiff has not since been heard of. She was doubtless capsized in the squall, and sunk at once, be ing heavily ballasted. “Thus ends our narrative of this the most tragical event we have ever witnessed, and one. the like of which we pray we may nev er see again.” Rowan read this sad intelligence aloud to his wife, bringing the warm tears of pity and distress to hergentle eyes. He, also, was op pressed with sad and painful thoughts, and yielded to an extraordinary emotion, till at length his \vife said: “Do not let such misfortunes to others make you so very sad, my dear husband. They are, indeed, calculated to excite our sympathy; but, at the same time, you should rejoice in our happier lot.” And thus, with woman’s tenderness, she sought to soothe him. “ But, my love, he was my class-mate and my room-mate, and, in my sorrow for hisdark fate, I quite forget his unkind treatment of me.” With further expressions of pity and re gret, the affectionate couple returned to their happy home with their darling boy. Amid its charms we leave them ; and here, also, we bid adieu ‘o thee, gentle reader. Marietta , Ga. XURY, some (Horresponiiciuc. For the Southern Literary Gazette. NEW-YORK LETTERS—NO. 16. Lake George, New-York, } Aug. 24th, 1848. j My Dear Sir , —What a God-send is a mail to the stranger in a strange land; especially when that mail comes but once a week, and to such a Seclusaval as this, in which I now live, move, and have my being! llow anx iously the absentee awaits its arrival, and how pleasantly is the quiet stream of his life rippled by the hum of the great world, or the voices of far-01l friends, as they reach him in the columns of the newspaper, or the pages of a letter. My waters of time—to continue this wretch ed figure—were terribly agitated by the breeze oi the last post. 1 should say hurricane—for such it was—dashing the white-crested waves high on rock and shore. From the number of papers which I received, you might have taken me for a veritable brother editor; or, from the letters, a bachelor advertising for a wife. Among the printed matter, were sever al numbers ol your Gazette, which I am glad to see still growing in grace, and, I hope, not less in the favor of its “gentle readers.” In the shape of letters, came missives of ail sorts; political speculations, from worthy gentlemen, everlastingly fearing that the country is not safe; mnrmurings from old cronies at their unhappy metropolitan bondage, while I am roving over hill and dale; significant surmi ses from antiquated lady-friends, that Seraphi na C has gone to Saratoga in search of other than the picturesque, and that the Id's had better have remained quietly in town, than have gone gadding over the country with other people's money. Suppose that 1 give you some extracts—not from the political or the antique, but from others of my budget. First come the pleasant pages of a literary friend in Gotham, reminding me of the al most forgotten French Republic, with its ups an.l ciowns, and tnen that the odd volume of ‘Nodes Ambrosianm,’ the copy of ‘Harold,’ and ‘The Traveler’s Guide,’ which we have well nigh committed to memory, are happilv not the only books in the world, although they are the head and front of our little libra ry. But you shall hear Mr. D. discourse. “The French Republic,” says he, “i s a topic, without which we do not very well see how the newspaper and periodical press could have been sustained; just as, looking at the multitude of travellers, we wake the enquirv how the world could have got on without rail ways. The gradual settlement of public opin ion on the Republic question may be illustra ted somehow in this fashion. A mercantile house some fine day, has the general belief, errors excepted, that it is engaged upon the whole, in a prosperous line of business. The credit is good, and the bad debts are kept out of sight. In the absence of the firm, oil'on a holyday excursion, or laid up by a temporary illness, an officious but zealous committee, self elected, of friends or neighbors, step in and re-adjust the business on their own no tions, changingthe mode of entry, altering the ventures, dismissing the clerks and appoint ing new ones. The principal in uue time makes his re-appearance, ana is asked if he accepts the improvements. What is he to do ? He don’t understand the thing, but is told that ali is for the best. The olj he can not restore, for it has been broken up; so he tries the experiment. But, where is the seif elective commission ? Voracious for terms, insisting at least upon partnership, and taking the lead in the firm. My dear gentlemen, says the proprietor, this can’t be done. You must go about your business, and be thank ful for your escape. You should ali be pun ished as a pack oi depredators and swindlers. The proprietor stands for the French nation, the busy-bodies for the socialists, who have nobody to blame but themselves, and, appa rently, the least cause in the world to re proach any body with ingratitude. The Re public, in the meanwhile —the blue Repub lic—is a thing not to be despaired of: the red Republic, if it got the ground, wool i be ve ry fruitiul of despa.r. The people of France, if they do not extinguish it, will almost deserve to perish by it. , “There is, by the way, an article on French affairs, purporting to be a letter from Boston, in the last Blackwood, which contains one or two smart things, but, in its general spirit, may have been written by an English flunkey in America. It echoes English prejudices in terms which a manly Englishman must con temn. It is to be hoped the editor, in looking for contributions from America, will seek something a little more likely to interest the reader on this side of the water, than these second-hand imitations of original British To ry sentiments. “Avery elegant little book has been pub lished by Putnam, a legacy to his country men, left by Dr. Leiber, of South Carolina, on his recent departure for revolutionary Eu rope,—“The West, a Metrical Epistle.” It is a celebration, in verse, of the physical re | sources of our wide-spread land, growing into | a firmer texture of composition as the thought expands to the moral considerations of the subject. The political philosopher speaks in the following lines: ‘ Liberty demands Intense exertion. Stolid despotism (yini rest unmoved like inorganic stuff, And yet may last a time; not freedom so. Freedom is tike organic life, suspended Between the two unalterable points — Unceasing action or a putrid death. The terms of earnest freedom are not light; For freedom is but plenitude of rights, And ev’ry honest right a hugging twin Ol obligation—they were born toget her. They are like woof and warp of choicest web. A Bcurril rag, if one be ravell’d out.’ Idle epistle ends with a prophetic prayer, from Observatory Hill, Cincinnati, which is connected with Luther’s “ Wartburg’sCastled j Mount,” in which the blessings of Science, i Art and Literature, are invoked. The idea was one worthy of the honest German’s heart, and should be received by the country in the spirit in which it has been sent forth. Mr- Putnam hats with great good taste, made the j Bttle volume very attractive in appearance.