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148 meia sorrowing over her parlor floor, uncle Simon penitent for acting so rashly, and cou-’ sin Dorothy, kind-hearted soul, weeping over the untimely fate of the poor butterfly. The other day I went into the library, and my attention was excited by the buzzing of a yellow-booted dirt-dauber. I examined to see where he was, and finally found him building his nest upon a splendidly bound volume of the “Life and Writings of Wash ington,” by Jared Sparks. Os course, I de spatched the insect mason, and razed his cas tle. About the time I had finished, in came uncle Simon and rated me soundly for my cruelty. “These dirt-daubers, Abraham,” said he, “are very troublesome, but I rank them as 1 do doctors and lawyers; evils that can’t be remedied—at least without causing a good deal of pain and suffering.” Then he quoted to me the following lines of the sen sitive Cowper.— “ I would not enter on my list of friends, (Though graced with polish’d manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility,) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls, at evening, in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.” T was in hopes he would go on with the quotation, and justify me in the sight even of | our squeamish poet. But not so. He was for inflicting summary punishment, and had no idea of pouring into my bosom the oil of justification of my deed. It was in vain that I went over in my mind a continuation of the quotation from Cowper.— “ The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes A visitor unwelcome into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die.” — I say it was in vain that I went over these lines to myself. I dared not repeat them a lond, for this, so far from changing my un cle’s whim, would only have irritated him the more. So, to atone for my offence, and to a void farther scolding, I preserved a proper si lence under his reproof. In less time than I have been employed in writing this, he chang ed his tone, and asked my pardon for rebuk ing me; when I, thinking it was too trivial a circumstance to make “much ado about noth ing,” dextrously changed the subject. 1 mentioned uncle Simon’s fondness for see ing things eat, and also his supervision of the feeding of all the stock. He sometimes seems disposed to exercise the function of quarter master in the poultry-yard ; and has had sev eral disputes with aunt Parmela about the proper kind of food for the various species of infant fowls. One morning, very early, be fore aunt Parmela had gotten up, he made Sampson get a half bushel of shattered* corn, and pour it to the poultry promiscuously. Now, aunt Parmela had been in the habit ot feeding the young fowls with dough and small hominy, contending that a whole kernel of com would choke them. This happened sev eral years ago, and every spring since then, when the old lady’s young chickens die of the gapes , or her goslings are killed by the minks, she attributes their death to the corn which uncle Simon gave their progenitors years before, and accuses him of murdering fowls by the wholesale. I have not told you a tenth part about my uncle, hut I must bring this number to a close. I wanted to give you a formal introduction to him, by relating to you a few of the summa capita , as Eneas said to Dido, of his charac ter; but of these anon. *A term used on plantations for shelled corn. Durarility of Cedar. —At the head of one of the graves in the burial ground at “old St. Mary’s,” (Md.) there stands a cedar slab, which, as the inscription upon it indicates, was placed there in the year 1717! Notwith standing it has been exposed to the weather for so long a period, it is still perfectly sound, and if unmolested by desecrating hand, it will doubtless be standing when every man, wo man and child that now moves upon the earth shall have gone down to “darkness and the worm.”—S’?. Mar if s {Md.) Beacon. n, mr s a a ie ©ashpit fjonie (fivrrcsponiinuc. For the Southern Literary Gazette. NEW-YORK LETTERS—NO. 18. Lake George, New-york, ) September 7, 1848. J My dear Sir: —Since the date of my last epistle I have made a hasty visit to “ Schroon Lake,” “ Lake Paradox,” and other interest ing points in the neighboring county of Es sex. I return too late for my usual mail day, yet, I hope, sufficiently early for my corner in your columns. I must give you a few reminiscences of my recent excursion. Schroon Lake, some twenty miles or more northwest of my present domicile on the Hor icon, had often been described to me as re plete with interest, especially in picturesque and piscatory attractions. Lake George, with its thirty-six mile of ever-varying beauty, had been held up to my eyes as very petites pom mes des terre indeed, in comparison with the famous “Schroon.” I was exceedingly curious about the mat ter, and one unlucky morning,—bright and beautiful though as morning ever was, — I started upon a pilgrimage to the famed land. My friend G., with two strolling artists, ac companied me. It had been arranged that the expedition should be pedestrian, but a tol erably comfortable conveyance having been placed at our disposal, on the eve of our journey we voted walking a bore, and in due time ordered our carriage. When, after riding some two miles, we had gained the summit of the hills upon the wes tern line of Horicon, the stern and rocky face of Black Mountain was bathed in the purple light of the rising sun; the few fleeting clouds visible in the heavens were tinged with gold, doubly gorgeous in contrast with the cool, grey tint of the unillumined hills beneath, the blue waters, and the yet sleeping islands. Still a few moments, and “ Heaven’s wide arch was glorious with the sun's returning march.” Floods of living light swept over the wide-spread landscape—the hundred islets rubbed their sleepy eyes and joyously awoke again, while the waters threw off the “ dra pery of their couch,” in the shape of long layers of vapor, which the jocund king of day—merrily performing the role of chamber maid—busied himself in rolling carefully up on the hill-side and hiding away until they should he again required. Like the glimpses of the beautiful Horicon, when the “moon is on her way,” the scene was one of those fairy visions which dwell so often in the fancy of painter and poet. From the nature of the landscape, the effect of a totally different char acter to the sunrise view from the Catskill Mountain House, was nevertheless no less grand and beautiful than that famous sight. Continuing our journey over a rough moun | tain road, we found many sweet glimpses of I valley and hill, with here and there a roman tic lake of several miles, more or less, in ex tent. These discoveries made, ever and anon, pauses in our course, for the accommodation of the artists of the expedition, who would never suffer anything to pass nnsketched. — “ MonDieu! that’s a glorious bit!” says one. “Michael Angelo Buonarotti!” exclaims the other, “we must have it!” and to work they go. By the way, what a pleasant and curi ous thing it would be to have an exhibition of sunrise sketches, say those of all the ar tists of New-York; studies made not for the public eye, but simply as materal for the stu dent’s own use. The world could then see “what stuff dreams are made of.” In refer ing thus to the professional propensities of our painters, the propos I intended to draw was not the exhibition just alluded to, but the fact that the delays protracted our jour ney and postponed our arrival at the outlet of Schroon Lake, and, consequently, at the din ner table, until late in the afternoon. Upon comparing notes of our impressions of the Lake in the way of the picturesque from the glimpses caught during the last mile’s ride, and particularly at the outlet where it mingles with the broad waters of the Hudson River, the misgivings which had been crowding up on our minds during the day, passed away — and when we afterwards strolled to the sum mit of a neighboring mountain, our fears seemed to have quite vanished. The appear ance, however, was delusive as the signs of the weather, which, cloudy and fitful through out the day, despite the lovely morning, seem ed at this instant to promise more fairly.— The rain came at length in earnest, and when, upon the return of sunshine, we continued our journey to the head of the Lake, review ing in the transit all its windings and capaci ties, our bright expectations vanished, and the conviction forced itself upon our minds that we had left fair Canaan behind us on the Horicon. In short, though the waters of Schroon Lake offer, in the nine miles of their extent, many picturesque points, it seemed not so to our eyes, so long familiar with the far more beautiful features of Horicon. The waters have none of the pure transparency of Lake George —their windings are less numer ous and fanciful—the islands are few and un interesting. The hills are comparatively dwarfish, and their outlines unpleasing. And to cap the climax, all the noble trout have been destroyed there by an importation of pickerel, made some five years ago. We were disapointed not only in thus find ing ourselves in a well-settled region, when we expected to be “in the wilderness alone” —in finding very ordinary natural scenes where we looked for the “gloomy and grand ” —hut in divers other mishaps. Upon exam ining our baggage, for the first time, at the village of Schroon, each came to a “ realizing sense” of some terrible developments :—one had lost his umbrella, upon which he count ed to protect him against sun and shower— another had somewhat soiled his wardrobe by the breaking of a bottle of ink carefully stowed amongst gloves, shirts, vests and cra vats —and of the two artists, one found that a tube of white lead had burst and painted an admirably effective picture in the interior of his sketch-book, while in that of the other a paper of dry Vermillion had got loose, and the insidious powder had tinted tubes, brush es, papers, and his entire apparatus, with a hue like that of the sun when he went down “ with his battle-stained eye.” Yet let me not dwell upon these horrors, bnt, rather, pass on our way, where we were more fortunate. Two or three miles north of the Lake, we had some noble glimpses of highly cultivated valley scene, and grand ranges of mountain in the distance. In this region lies Lake Par adox, a beautiful body of water nearly four miles in length. It is far more interesting in every way than its pretending neighbor, Schroon, and we were almost consoled by its charms for our disappointments thitherto. A fine view of Schroon Mountain, of which the late Mr. ,Cole made so effective a picture, may be obtained from many points in this vicinage. Continuing northward, the traveler soon enters upon the wild mountain lands of Es sex county, and, after along day’s travel, ap proaches the celebrated Adirondack group. As our course was eastward, its principal at tractions ended at Lake Paradox—where I may also very reasonably bid you adieu. FLIT. NEW-YORK LETTERS.—NO. 19. Sept. llth. 1848. My Dear Sir , —l am sorry that my com munication for your fifteenth number should have failed to reach you in season. It was duly posted, and, as you suppose, no one is to blame for the delay but our reliable friend, “Uncle Sam.” I hope that ere this time he has made the amende honorable. By the way, I find, from one of my letters in the Ga zette, that while in Albany I paid a visit to the mansion of 11 Leonard” Young. T have some recollection of a call upon our worthy Governor, but whether or not his Excellency glories in th<* patronymic of “Leonard.” I really cannot take it upon myself to say. Autumn has come upon us in character The skies wear a chilly and sullen air: j n the moaning of the winds, and in the fall of the leaves, is heard the sad whisper, “Icha bod,” and soon the fell word will be legibly inscribed upon all the fair scenes around me The tourists in these latitudes have all fled r and lam left the “last rose of summer.” As I like not, however, to bloom long alone. I r too, shall soon be en route for my winter quarters. I passed a most pleasant day, last week .in a tour to the outlet of the Lake, passing thence on through the villages of Ticondero ga to the ruins of the Fort of the same name, on the banks of Lake Champlain. This tour is a favorite one with the Saratoga visitors. Caldwell, at the southern extremity, or ‘head’ of Horicon, is reached in the evening after a day’s travel from the Springs. Early the following morning, you take the steamboat, traverse the entire length of the Lake, and land at the outlet, after the lapse of a few pleasant hours. Stages carry you onward some four miles to the Fort, near -which you find a snug hotel buried in a beautiful grove, which casts its shadow upon the waters of Lake Champlain. Here you dine very com fortably, ramble about during several hours, are re-conducted to the outlet of Horicon— which you traverse by the evening light, as you have already by the morning sun—and, finally, sup cosily where you breakfasted, at your hotel at Caldwell. Can you imagine a more delightful excursion? Ail the live-long day amidst scenes not only of the highest natural beauty, but every spot memorable for gallant deeds. Os the scenery around “Ly man’s,” I have already spoken. Continuing the tour of the Lake northward, you make the passage of the “ Narrows,” winding in and out .amidst the islands, more numerous here than at any other spot ; and, doubling “ Sabbath-day Point,” you come in sight of the mountains of Antony’s Npse on the east, and the famous Rogers’ Slide on the West. You pass “Garfield’s,” a favorite Lake ho tel, before you reach these interesting locali ties, and soon after are at the foot of the Lake. If, by any possibility, you should grow weary on deck, you can step below and amuse yourself with the poetry and prose of the tourists’ Albums. Scanning these inter esting tomes myself, I found the record of the names of Sarah Jane Pell, Ann Eliza Pell, and a variety of other Pells, male and female, followed by the waggish note, “ Really quite re-pelling!” In the villages of Tye, as Ticonderoga is familiarly called here, you will find much to please you, both at the upper and the lower Falls; but of course the great attraction will be the ruins of the famous old Fort, where, if you desire it, you may be shown the precise spot at which Ethan Allen dashed over the walls, and demanded a surrender, “in the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continen tal Congress!” Avery considerable portion of the walls of the Fort is still standing, and seen from the ruins of the barracks, it pre sents quite a picturesque appearance. As I purpose giving you an extract or two from the letters of mv city friends, I must not indulge in further description, unless 4 be to record the poetic names of the noted “Hog Hill,” and the famous “ Pot-ash Kettle Rock.” So much for the country. Now a word oi town. C. sends me papers crammed with the proceedings of the New-York “sympa thizers” in the Irish movements, their absurd doings at Vauxhall, etc.: together with the news, by the Brittania and Niagara, of tin capture of the rebel leaders and the entire suppression of the revolt. Os home matters he speaks of yellow fever at Staten Island-