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Nellie, after a reasonable time had elapsed
in more disjointed colloquy.
“Always, dear Nellie. We have both
been so foolish and hasty !’’
“ I alone was to blame,” said Nellie. “ 1
took delight in vexing you.”
“No, I,” said William, “in suffering
vexation to get the better of reason.”
“ But all has been for the best,” said
Nellie.
And so it had been. In the little chasm
in their heart-life, each had wrought a fer
tile mine of self-improvement, the result of
which, in the one, was a perfectly amiable
and sincere woman, and the other, a supe
rior and most worthy man.
iiilJijJuUa.
BOOK OF BIGHT*
Gentlest sister, 1 am weary—
Bring, oh, bring the Book of Light!
There are shadows dark and dreary,
Settling o’er my heart to-night.
That alone can soothe my sadness,
That alone can dry my tears,
When I see no spot of gladness
IVuvrn tire du&hy Yale of jtnro
Well I know that I inherit
All that sometimes makes me blest;
And in vain I ask my spirit
Why this feeling of unrest.
But all day have been around me
Voiees that would not be still,
And the twilight shades have found me
Shrinking from a nameless ill.
Seeing not despair’s swift lightning—
Hearing not the thunders roll,
Hands invisible are tightening
Bands of sorrow on my soul.
Out beneath the jewelled archeß
Let us bivouac to-night,
And to soothe days’ dusty marches,
Bring, oh, bring the Book of Light!
*l’oems of Alice and Phoebe Carey. Moss &
Brother, Publishers, Philadelphia.
VIRTUE EMBODIED.
Isaiah, liii, 2, 3.—Heshallgrow up before him
as a tender plant, and as a root out of dry ground.
Ho hath no form nor comeliness ; and when we
shall see him, there is no beanty that we should
desire him. lie is despised and rejected of men ;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief t and
we hid. ns it were, our faces from him : ho was
despised, and we esteemed him not.
The eloquent Dr. Blair, when concluding
a public discourse, in which he had des
canted with his usual ability on the amia
bleness of virtue, gave utterance to the fol
lowing apostrophe : “ O Virtue , if thou
wert embodied , all men would love tliee /”
His colleague, the Rev. R. Walker, as
cended the same pulpit in the afternoon of
the same Sabbath, and, addressing the con
gregation, said : “ My reverend brother ob
served in the morning, that, if virtue were
embodied, all men would love her. Virtue
has been embodied, but how was she treat
ed ? Did all men love her 1 No: she was
despised and rejected of men, who, after
defaming, insulting, and scourging her, led
her to Calvary, where they crucified her
between two thieves.” The effect of this
fine passage on the audience was very
powerful.
“ ANSWER A FOOL ACCORDING
TO HIS FOLLY.”
I’sai.ms. xiv, 1, 4. —The fool hath said in his
heart, There is no God. They arc corrupt —they
have done abominable works—there is none that
doeth good. Have all the workers of iniquity no
knowledge 1 who eat up my people as they eat
bread, and call not upon the Lord.
A few years since, a friend of mine be
ing on a journey, called at a country inn
to feed his horse. On entering the bar
room—the only room in which he could
find a fire—he found a motley company
collected, who had evidently been exciting
their courage and keenness by the inspir
ing influences of the bottle. Nothing is so
common a subject of conversation, after
men have been drinking, as religion. I
suppose it is owing to the fact that their
courage is then screwed up. One of them
was declaring his creed. He believed there
was no God ! Another believed there was
no hell! And all professed to believe their
conduct in this life would have no influ
ence in the next! This was very evident.
At length, one, who seemed to be the
mouth-piece for the rest, took the danger
ous ground that he could give a reason for
the unbelief that was in him ! At this, my
friend, who had sat silently warming him
self, turned suddenly to the boaster, and
with great gravity said, “ Do you say, sir,
that you do not believe in the existence of
a God, a heaven, or a hell ?” “ Yes, I do.
1 don't believe in any of them ! Such non
sense may do to frighten children and old
women with, but no philosopher or man of
sense will believe them.” “ Pray, why do
you not believe in their existence?” ‘'Be
cause L never saw them, and 1 don’t believe
in anything I never saw.” “ Indeed ! did
you ever see your own brains ?” “ Why,
why—l don't say that I ever did: but
why T’ “ Well, sir, according to your own
creed, you have no brains ; and 1 suppose
that the same night that a rat ale them out
during your sleep, he left the cavity to be
filled with pumpkin seeds.” The foolish
creature was silenced, and the meeting was
broken up.
Bigotry Illustrated.—The venerable
William Jay, in one of his sermons at
Surrey Chapel, a few years since, illustra
ted his views of bigotry among different
branches of “ the household of faith.” by
the following anecdote :
Some time ago, a countryman said to
me, “ I was exceedingly terrified, sir, this
morning. I was going down a lonely
place, and I thought I saw at a distance a
huge monster. It seemed in motion, but I
could not discern the form of it. I did not
like to turn back, yet my heart beat, and
the more I looked, the more I feared; but
as we approached each other, 1 saw it was
only a man; and who do you think, sir, it
was ?” “ I know not.” “Oh! it was my
brother John.” “Ah!” said Ito mysell,
passing away from him, as he added that
it was early in the morning and very foggy
“Ah!” said I, “ how often, in a lonely
place and in a foggy atmosphere, has bro
ther John been taken for a foe! Only ap
proach nearer each other, and see clearer,
and you will find, in numberless instances,
what you have dreaded as a monster was
a brother, and your own brother.”
Knox at Frayf.r. —lt is recorded of that
great reformer, John Knox, that he was a
man so lamous for his power in prayer,
that the bloody Queen Mary said, when
the thunder of artillery was shaking her
empire, she feared his prayers more than
all the armies of Europe. And events
showed that her fears were not groundless.
This devout man used to be in such an ag
ony for the deliverance of his country, that
he could not sleep. He had a place in his
garden, where he was in the constant habit
of retiring to pray. One night, he and sev
eral friends were praying together, when
Knox spoke, and said that deliverance had
come ! What had happened he could not
tell, but he tell that something had taken
place, for God had heard their prayers.—
News soon arrived that Queen Mary was
dead, and the persecution ceased.
Keeping the Sabbath.—Nicholas Bid
dle, when President of the Bank of the Uni
ted States, dismissed a clerk, because the
latter refused to write for him on the Sab
bath. The young man, with a mother de
pendent on his exertions, was thrown out
of employment, by what some would call
over-nice scruples of conscience. But a
few days after, Mr. Biddle being requested
to nominate a cashier of another bank, re
commended this individual, and mentioned
this incident as a proof of his trustworthi
ness. “You can trust him,” said he, “for
he would not work for me on Sunday.—
N. J. Eagle.
v a i£ & a © &
[From Melville’s “Redbura.”]
TIIE EMIGRANT’S KITCHEN.
I have made some mention of the “ gal
ley,” or great stove, for the steerage pas
sengers, which was planted over the main
hatches.
During the outward-bound passage, there
were so few occupants of the steerage, that
they had abundant room to do their cook
ing at this galley. But it was otherwise
now, for we had four or five hundred in the
steerage, and all their cooking was to be
done by one stove—a pretty large one, to
be sure, but, nevertheless, small enough,
considering the number to be accommoda
ted, and the fact that the fire was only to
be kindled at certain hours.
For the emigrants in these ships are un
der a sort of martial law, and, in all their
affairs, are regulated by the despotic ordi
nances of the captain. And though it is
evident that, to a certain extent, this is ne
cessary, and even indispensable, yet, as at
sea no appeal lies beyond the captain, he
too often makes unscrupulous use of his
power. And as for going to law with him
at the end of the voyage, you might as
well go to law with the Czar of Russia.
At making the fire, the emigrants take
turns, as it is often very disagreeable work,
owing to the pitching of the ship, and the
heaving of the spray over the uncovered
“ galley.” Whenever 1 hail the morning
watch, from four to eight, I was sure to see
some poor fellow crawling up from below
about day-break, and go to groping over
the deck after bits of rope-yarn, or tarred
canvas, for kindling-stuff. And no sooner
would the fire be fairly made, than up came
the old women, and men, and children;
each armed with an iron pot or saucepan ;
and invariably a great tumult ensued, as to
whose turn to cook came next; sometimes
the more quarrelsome would fight, and up
set each other’s pots and pans.
Once, an English lad came up with a
little coffee-pot, which he managed to crowd
in between two pans. This done, he went
below. Soon after, a great strapping Irish
man, in knee-breeches and bare calves,
made his appearance; and eyeing the row
of things on the fire, asked whose coffee
pot that was ; upon being told, he ran over
to it, and thrust his own in its place, say
ing something about that individual place
belonging to him; and with that, he turned
aside.
Not long after, the boy came along again;
and seeing his pot removed, made a violent
exclamation, and replaced it—which the
Irishman no sooner perceived, than he rush
ed at him, with his fists doubled. The boy
snatched up the boiling coffee, and spirted
its contents all about the fellow's bare
legs, which incontinently began to dance
involuntary hornpipes and fandangoes, as
a preliminary to giving chase to the boy,
who by this time, however, had escaped.
Many similar scenes occurred every day
—nor did a single day pass, but scores of
the poor people got no chance whatever to
do their cooking.
This was bad enough : but it was a still
more miserable thing, to see these poor
emigrants wrangling and fighting together,
for the want of the most ordinary accom
modations. But thus it is, that the very
hardships to which such beings are sub
jected, instead of uniting them, only tends,
wsiii¥ ©asiiii a
by embittering their tempers, to set them
against each other; and thus they them
selves drive the strongest rivet into the
chain by which their social superiors hold
them in subject.
It was with a most reluctant hand, that,
every evening, in the second dog-watch, at
the mate’s command, I would march up to
the fire, and, giving notice to the assembled
crowd, that the time was come to extin
guish it, would dash it out with my buck
et of salt water—though many, who had
long waited for a chance to cook, had now
to go away disappointed.
The staple food of the Irish emigrants
was oatmeal and water, boiled into what
is sometimes called mush ; by the Dutch it
is known assupaun; by sailors burgoo; by
the New Englanders hasty-pudding; which
hasty-pudding, by the way, the poet Bar
low found the materials for a sort of epic.
Some of the steerage passengers, howev
er, were provided with sea-biscuit, and oth
er perennial food, that was eatable all the
year round, fire or no fire.
There were several, moreover, who seem
ed better to do in the world than the rest,
who were well furnished with hams, cheese,
Bologna sausages, Dutch herrings, ale
wives, and other delicacies adapted to the
contingences of a voyage in the steerage.
There was a little old Englishman on
board, wno had been a grocer ashore, whose
j greasy trunks seemed all pantries; and he
was constantly using himself for a cup
board, by transferring their contents into
his own interior. He was a little light of
head, 1 always thought. He particularly
doated on his long strings of sausages, and
would sometimes take them out, and play
with them, wreathing them round him,
like an Indian juggler with charmed snakes.
What with this diversion, and eating his
cheese, and helping himself from an inex
haustible junk bottle, and smoking his
pipe, and meditating, this crack-pated gro
cer made time jog along with him at a tol
erably easy pace.
But by far the most considerable man in
the steerage, in point of pecuniary circum
stances, at least, was a slender little pale
faced English tailor, who, it seemed, hau
engaged a passage for himself and wife in
some imaginary section of the ship, called
the second cabin , which was feigned to
combine the comforts of the first cabin with
the cheapness of the steerage. But it turn
ed out that this second cabin was compri
sed in the after part of the steerage itself,
with nothing intervening but a name. So,
to his no small disgust, he found himself
herding with the rabble—and his com
plaints to the captain were unheeded.
The luckless tailor was tormented the
whole voyage by his wife, who was young
and handsome; just such a beauty as far
mers’ boys fall in love with. She had
bright eyes, and red cheeks, and looked
plump and happy.
She was a sad coquette, and did not turn
away, as she was bound to do, from the
dandy glances of the cabin bucks, who
ogled her through their double-barreled
opera-glasses. This enraged the tailor
past telling ; he would remonstrate with
his wife, and scold her, and lay his matri
monial commands upon her, to go below
instantly, out of sight. But the lady was
not to be tyrannized over, and so she told
him. Meantime, the bucks would be still
framing her in their lenses, mightily en
joying the fun. The last resource of the
poor tailor would be, to start up, and make
a dash at the rogues with clenched fists;
but upon getting as far as the mainmast,
the mate would accost him from over the
rope that divided them, and beg leave to
communicate the fact, that he could come
no further.
This unfortunate tailor was also a fid
dler; and when fairly baited into despera
tion, would rush for his instrument, and
try to get rid of his wrath by playing the
most savage, remorseless airs he could
think of.
While thus employed, perhaps his wife
would accost him:
“Billy, my dear;” and lay her soft hand
on his shoulder.
But Billy, he only fiddled the harder.
“ Billy, my love!”
The bow went faster and faster.
“ Come now, Billy, my dear little fellow,
let’s make it all up;’’ and she bent over his
knees, looking bewitchingly up at him,
with her irresistible eyes.
Down went fiddle and bow; and the
couple would sit together for an hour or
two, as pleasant and affectionate as pos
sible.
But the next day, the chances were, that
the old feud would be renewed, which was
certain to be the case at the first glimpse
from the cabin.
[From “ Tho Buttle Summer,” by Ik. Marvel.J
TUILERIES.
“An empty palace! The half-eaten
breakfast remains on the royal table. Up,
up, by Staircase of Pavilion, by Staircase
of Stall National, by Staircase of the Seine,
the hooting crowd pushed on.
“Now, indeed, abdication is certain : for
there is no King, but Barricaders, Guards
National, Republicans, White-capped Wo
men, Polytechnics, Glazed-hatted Cabmen
—whatever you will. Crowded four a
breast, through the kingly doors, they
burst madly on, glutting their eyes on
damask and soft chairs.
“The boldest shout—bravo! a bas le
Roi —and tire their muskets from the win
dows. The timid sit in corners on Canape
—their muskets across their knees—watch
ing and wondering.
“Women fling down their muskets, and
feel of damask table covers.
“ Artists take off their bayonets, and ex
amine curiously, mosaic and tapestry.
“The Republican smiles sternly, and,
marching straight to throne-room, instinct
guiding him, stands boldly on cushioned
throne, and makes his musket ring on the
gilded frame-work.
—into Duchess of Orleans’ rooms, breaks
a fragment of the multitude. The Duchess
is gone. Her book is turned up oil the ta
ble where she read; little paper soldiers
strew the carpet where Due de Chartres
was playing at mimic war. Dresses lie
strewn here and there; gilt-braided cap of
Count of Paris, and hussar braid-covered
jacket of the little Duke.
“Within, further on, in chamber, are the
cap and epaulettes of poor Duke of Or
leans, guarded with holy reverence by the
widowed Duchess. These the crowd spares;
and it pauses, leaving the book in its place
upon the table; she will find, if she find
it at all, the page the same ; the paper sol
diers lie strewed as the Duke strewed them
on the carpet: and even lace-broidered
mouchoir lies untouched upon the sofa.
“ But not so of King-ooms. The Throne
passes out, hurly-burly, borne on four stout
shoulders; down go crimson canopy and
hangings; damask ii long strips streams
out of the windows, ind the crowds below
catch them, and tea ing them, make red
flags to stick in their musket muzzles.
“ Out go gilded tables, and statues of
King and Queen, and paintings. Above and
below', the whole building is now swarming.
From cellar grating they pass up mouldy
topped bottles of w'ine; and sitting on frag
ments of Royal furniture and on national
drums, they drink—confusion to the Royal
Runaway.
“ Salutes are firing from palace roof, and
drunken Marseillaise is breaking out from
the grim vaults below.
“ Troops, all of them, with Nemours at
their head, are gone, and the people are
master of court and palace.”
idJ3i;^JLLA.ij'y.
MY DREAM.
“ Some of the friends here assembled are
well aware —-why should I conceal it 1 —
that, for several months past, a load has
been pressing on my mind. They are al
so aware ot the cause. I certainly have
an impression that I shall never see Eng
land again. But how that impression be
gan, they are not aware. What lam now
about to relate will afford the explanation.
Yet what is the subject of my narrative 1
Adream — a mere dream ; and a dream ea
sily accounted for by the circumstances
in which it was dreamt. So it is. Colo
nel d’Arbley knows, the Major knows, that
I never shrank from peril. I have faced
death; toall appearance, certain death. And
unless I felt prepared to do the like again,
I should not have been now returning to
the arm} - ; —no, 1 would rather have quit
ted the service. Death lam prepared at any
time to meet; yet this presentiment of death
is a burden upon my spirits. Bythebye,
my glass is empty. Hadn’t I better replen
ish it ere I begin J
“ You are aware, sir, that ill health, the
effect of hard service and hard knocks,
obliged me to return to England last spring.
In the course of the autumn, I quitted Chel
tenham, and resided at Woolwich. There,
I was at a military party. We kept it up
all night. Next morning, I was unexpect
edly summoned to London; and, on my ar
rival,found work cut out for me, —papers to
be prepared—public offices to be visited —
lots of going about—Jots of writing—all
wanted instantly. Some parliamentary
wretch had moved for returns, and I was
to get them up. In short, the work could
be done in time only by my again sitting
up all night. It was on the day afterthese
two sleepless nights that I had my dream.
Where, do you think T And at what hour'*
At noon, with the sun shining above my
head, on a bench in St. James’s Park.
“ I had just been calling in at the Horse-
Guards for a chat, my business completed,
the excitement over, and was proceeding
westward on foot along the Birdcage Walk,
when I began to feel nervous and done up.
All at once, my faculties experienced a sort
of collapse. My whole frame was seized
with a deadly chill; I shivered spasmodi
cally ; my strength seemed gone ; and 1 be
came most enormously drowsy. Just at
that moment —I suppose it was some anni
versary, a birth-dav perhaps—bang, bang,
the Park guns commenced firing, close at
hand. In the midst of the firing, 1 saulown
on a bench, and, in no time, dropped asleep.
Then began my dream.
“It was a general action. The curious
circumstance is, that I was still in the
Park. The guns firing a holiday salute be
came the French position, which occupied
the plateau of a low range of hills. At
the foot of this range, in an avenue extend
ing along its foot, was I alone. The fire
ing went on, bang-banging, now no longer
a feu-de-joie —the report was that of shot
ted guns. I heard not only their discharge,
but the moan of the balls, and the whisk of
the grape ; yes, and the rattle of musquet
ry, the shouts of men charging, and all that
kind of thing. I saw the dust, the smoke,
the occasional flash, quite as much as you
can see of any battle if you’re in it. Yet,
all this time, 1 knew l was in the Birdcage
Walk. Presently, in the direction of the
Green Park, I heard a more distant cannon
ade, which was that of the British position.
It was now time to change mine; for some
of the shot from our guns began to pass up
the avenue, close tome, tearing, rasping up
the gravel, crashing among the trees, cut
ting down boughs, and rifting the trunks.
Yet something kept me fixed. At length,
looking in the direction of the British posi
tion, I distinctly saw a round-shot come
hopping up the avenue —hop—hop—hop—
nearer and nearer--but slowly—slowly—
slowly; it seemed all but spent. Just
when I thought it bad done hopping, it
took one more jump, and, with a heavy
pitch, fetched me an awful polt in the right
side. That moment I felt that I was a
dead man; killed in action, yet by a friend
ly ball, and while sitting on a bench in St.
James’s Park ! The vision now passed.
The noise and firing ceased ; troops, smoke,
dust—all the concomitants of combat van
ished ; the Birdcage Walk and its beauti
ful environs resumed their ordinary appear
ance.
“Presently, while still sitting on the
bench, 1 wasaccosted by a tall, sallow-look
ing gentleman in black, who smirked, bow
ed, and handed me a letter with a broad
black border—the seal, a tombstone and a
weeping willow. It was addressed to my
self—an invitation to attend a funeral. 1
pleaded my engagements—wanted to get
back to Woolwich—begged to be excused
, Sir,’ said he, in courteous accents, ‘you
really must oblige us. Unless you are
present,the funeral cannot take place. Hope
you won’t disappoint us, sir. lam the un
dertaker, sir.’ I somehow felt that I had
no choice, and went. The gentleman in
black met me at the door.
“Other parties were assembled at the
mansion ; but not one of the company —I
thought it rather strange—either spoke to
me, or looked at me, or showed the least
consciousnes of my presence. The under
taker was all attention; handed round
black kid gloves; fitted first one with a
hat-band, then another; and, last of all, ad
dressed me : ‘ Now, sir, if you please, this
way, sir; we only wait for you, sir.’ I
followed him. He led me in an adjoining
apartment, where stood the coffin, surround
ed by mutes. I wished to read the name
on the lid, but was prevented by the pall.
“ How we got to the place of interment,
I recollect not. The only thing I remem
ber is this : as I saw the coffin carried down
stairs, hoisted into the hearse, conveyed,
hoisted out, and at last deposited by the
side of the grave—every movement, every
jolt, every thump, seemed to jar my whole
system with a peculiar and horrid thrill.
The service was performed, the coffin was
lowered, the grating of the ropes grated
upon my very soul; and the dust sprinkled
by the sexton on itslid blew into my mouth
and eyes, as I stood by the brink of the
grave, and looked on. The service conclu
ded, the undertaker, attendants, and com
pany withdrew; and, what d’ye think 1 —
there was I left remaining in the burial
ground, with no companion but a solitary
grave-digger I He set to work, and began
shovelling in the clods, to fill the grave. I
heard their thud; I seemed to feel it, as
they rattled in quick succession on the lid
of the coffin.
“ ‘You’ll soon be filled in and all right,
old feller,’ said the grave-digger, as he pro
ceeded with his work.
“ A Strange idea had gradually occupied
my mind. It seemed absurd—impossible ;
and yet it offered the only conceivable so
lution of my sensations at that horrid
moment. I addressed the grave-digger,—
“ ‘My friend,’ said 1, ‘have the goodness
to inform me whose funeral this is.’
“ ‘Whose funeral 1 ?’ replied the grave-dig
ger. ‘Come, that’s a good un. Vhy, it’s
your own.’”— Blackwood.
A JOKE.
Mackay, in his “ Western World,” gives
the following amusing account of an inci
dent which occurred at one of our hotels,
during his visit to Charleston:
Having had but little rest on board the
steamer the previous night, I slept soundly
in one of them the first night ashore. How
far into the morning my slumbers would
have carried me I know not, but at a pret
ty early hour I was aroused by a noise
which, for the few moments elapsing be
tween deep sleep and perfect consciousness,
I took to be the ringing of the sleigh-bells
in the streets of a Canadian town. I was
soon undeceived ; the intense heat, even at
that early hour, driving all notions of win
ter, sleighs, and sleigh-bells, out of my
head. But though in Carolina, there was
still the jingling of the bells to remind me
of Canada. Every bell in the house seem
ed to have become suddenly bewitched but
my own ; and anxious to know what was
the matter, I soon made it join in the cho
rus. Even in the ringing of bells one can
trace to some extent the difference between
characters; and, for some time, I amused
myself, watching the different manifesta
tions of temper on the part of those who
pulled them, which they indicated. Some
rung gently-, as if those pulling them shrunk
from being troublesome; others authorita
tively, as if the ringers would be obeyed at
once and without another summons ; and
others again angrily, as if they had alrea
dy been frequently pulled in vain. Very
soon all became angry, some waxing into a
towering passion ; for although all might
ring, all could not possibly be answered at
once. I had brief time to notice these
things ere the waiters were heard hurrying
up and down stairs, and along the lengthy
wooden lobbies, which echoed to their foot
steps. Things now appeared to be getting
serious, and jumping out of bed I opened
my door just as a troop of black fellows
were hurrying past, each with a bucket of
water in his hand. I immediately inferred
that the house was on fire: and as Ameri
can houses generally on such occasions, go
off like gun-cotton, I sprung back into my
room, with a view to partly dressing my
self and making my escape. A universal
cry for “ Boots,” however, mingled with
every variety- of imprecation on that func
tionary’s head, from the simple ejaculation
to the elaborate prayer, soon convinced me
that the case was less urgent than 1 had
supposed ; and, on further investigation, it
turned out that the unusual hubbub had
been created by someone playing over night
the old and clumsy trick of changing the
boots before they were taken from the bed
room doors to be cleaned, so that, on being
replaced in the morning, each guest was
provided with his neighbour’s instead of
his own. 1 had lain down the happy pos
sessor of a pair of Wellingtons, which, in
the morning, I found converted into un
sightly highlows. Other transformations
as complete and as awkward took place,
the dandy finding at his door the brogues
of a clodhopper from the North-west, who
was attempting, next door, with a grin, to
squeeze his toes into his indignant neigh
bour’s patent leather boots. After some
search my Wellingtons were discovered in
another hall, standing at a lady’s door,
whose shoes had been placed before that
of a Texan volunteer, on his way to Mex
ico and glory. It was not the good for
tune of all so readily to recover their prop
erty, the majority of the guests having to
breakfast in slippers, during which the un
reclaimed boots and shoes were collected
together in the great hall, each man after
wards selecting, as he best could, his own
property- from the heap. Until the nature
of the joke was discovered, the poor Boots
had a narrow escape of his life ; and it was
amusing to witness the chuckle of the black
waiters, as, on discovering the trick, they
quietly returned, with unemptied buckets,
to their respective posts.
A PLEASANT BEDFELLOW.
I was awakened, last night, by a violent
storm of thunder and lighting, and wind
and rain. Hard dreaming as I was, 1 had
sense enough left to feel something moving
in the bed, and by the light from a flash of
lightning, to my unspeakable horror 1 saw,
crawling over the mattress, a cobra de ca
pello. He reared his head when he came
to my body, and slowly crawled on to my
legs; and as there was nothing over me
but a thin cotton sheet, I could distinctly
feel the cold clammy body of the venomous
reptile through the sheet. The heal of my
body seemed agreeable to the monster, as
he coiled himself up there. I lay dead still;
I knew my life depended on my remaining
motionless; for, had I moved a leg or an
arm, he would instantly have bitten me, af
ter which I could not have lived many min
utes. A cold sweat ran in a stream down
my back; I was in an agony of terror.
Home and friends, and all that was dear to
me, rushed to the memory; my whole life
passed in review before me; I saw no way
of escape, and I considered my doom seal
ed: every flash of lightningshowed me my
new bedfellow, in all his loathsomeness.
Well there the reptile lay,but how long Hea
ven knows; to me the time appeared inter
minable. When I had lain in one position
about three hours, my legs became soreand
stiff, from having been kept so long mo
tionless, and at this time I gave an invol
untary shudder, which attracted the notice
of the reptile. He raised his head about a
foot high, thrust out his forked tongue, and
looked around him as if for some living ob
ject to prey upon. I now thought it was
all over with me. I prayed mentally (for
I dared not move my lips for fear of attract
ing notice) for the forgiveness of my sins;
when, Heaven be praised, the reptile un
folded his coils, and crawled slowly away
from off my limbs on the bed, down by the
bedpost to the floor, and then left me. It
has been said that poverty makes a man
acquainted with strange bedfellows, it
might be added, so does wandering in for
eign climes.— From a Journal of a Wan
derer.
The Blues. —They are oftentimes the
creatures of habit, and live only by tolera
tion. Bad digestion, a cloudy day, a fit of
sentimentality, begets them, and then, like
spirits of ill omen, they weave around us an
invisible web to check our progress. But a
magic word dispels them as the crowing of
the cock does the spectres of the night. An
old gentleman once told me, that he had
made a discovery, which had been for ma
ny years of infinite value to him, and that
was, that Blue Devils never ride on horse
back. So you will find, my friend, they
never go on a brisk walk—they never vis
it a gymnasium—they play no wicket or
foot-ball—they- never read Charles Lamb,
or Theodore Hook, or Tom Hood. They
saunter along with you beneath the sol
emn elms, or through the quiet walks of
cemetery—they will bend with you over
the pages of Byron, or Bulwer—they may
inspire your solitary musings anywhere.
But action—resolve—society—eager pur
suit—healthy, vigorous thought—all these
are their enemies, and from these they will
always fly.
NEWS GLEANINGS.
Canada to be Abandoned. —The Lon
don United Service Gazette has reasons for
“boldly announcing that the question for
abandoning Canada, as a British Colony,
has been the most absorbing topic, (with
the cabinet.) and we learn from authority
in which we are apt to place firm reliance,
that it lias been all but determined to give
up Canada , as a dependency of the British
Crown ."’
We learn from a source in which we
place equal reliance, that Canada, if given
up, does not include Nova Scotia, New
Brunswick, and Prince Edward’s Island.
From the Salt Lakes.— J. H. Kinkead
arrived in St. Louis, Dec. 29, from the Salt
Lakes. He left with thirty-five compan
ions on the 19th of October, and met with
no accident. The snow was deep on the
plains. A treaty of peace had been ef
fected between the Military at Fort Lara
mie and the Pawnees.
Caught at Last. —A man named Shep
herd has been arrested at St. Johns, N. 8.,
for breaking the telegraphic wires upon the
route to Halifax. After an examination be
fore a justice he was odered to give bail in
SSOOO for trial at the next term of the Su
preme Court. It is thought at St. Johns
that he has accomplices.
A Collision. —The steamers America
and Viola came into collision a few days
since, a short distance below Donnoldsville,
in the Mississippi, by which the latter was
so badly damaged that she sunk almost im-
mediately after. The America succeeded
in saving 21 of her passengers.
Mrs. Farnham, who, with one or i Wo
females sailed for California in the ship An
gelique, from New York, was left behind
at Valparaiso by the captain, who set sail
leaving heron shore with scarcely a dollar
in her pocket.
New Steamers.—Two splendid new
steamers are building in England, for ih e
Cunard line. They are to be upwards of
2000 tons burthen, each, and will be pro.
polled by engines of 800 horse power
They are to be called the Asia and the Af
rica ; and are to be ready by the ensuinir
spring.
Killed in a Fight.— lt is stated from
New Orleans that Doctor Green of Shreve
port and Hon. Dr. Hester of Cado were both
killed in a recent street fight. No particu
lars given.
Steam on Canals. — A successful ex
periment was lately made on the Chesa
peake and Ohio canal, by a gentleman of
the name of Blaisdell, to propel boats by
steam, without causing a swell of the wa
ter. The rate attained was one mile in 17
minutes.
From China via California. —Among
the importations by the Empire City, are
several casks of China ware, chests of tea
and several packages of silks direct from
China, and consigned by a mercantile house
in San Francisco to a film in New fork.
Snow fell in Memphis in considera
ble quantities, on the 9th inst.
Cassius M. Clay. —We learn from the
Kentucky Chronicle that the grand jury of
Madison county, after an investigation of
the Foxtown rencontre, in which Cyrus
Turner was killed by Cassius M. Clay,
failed to find an indictment against Mr.
Clay.
EDITOR’S DEPARTMENT.
WM. C. RICHARDS, Editor.
D. H. JACQUES, Assistant Editor.
CHARLESTON, S. C.:
Saturday Morning.... . Jail. 12.1550.
Reduction of Postage,
This subject will undoubtedly engage
the attention of the present Congress, and
we earnestly hope that it will be disposed
of in a manner accordant with its own im
portance and with the enlightened spirit of
the age. It is the boast of our country—
and not always a vain one—that she is
foremost in great measures and in liberal
policy. It cannot be denied, however, that
she is behind Great Britain in the postal re
form, and that she has, moreover, witness
ed the complete success of the cheap post
age system in Great Britain, with more in
difference than she is wont to exhibit, con
cerning the issue of measures of great mo
ment to her people. Our wonder is, that
postage in the United States has not long
since been reduced to a similar low rate
with that of England, in the fullest convic
tion that the result here would be equally
satisfactory.
It is time that efficient measures were
adopted to secure the action of Congress
upon this point. The people desire a re
duction of the present postal rates, and
they should make their wishes known
without delay. We trust that petitions
will be poured in upon Congress from all
quarters, praying for the passage of a bill
to reduce letter postage to two cents the
half ounce, to any point within the territo
ry of the United States, and to require that
every letter forwarded in the mails shall be
pie-paid. By this arrangement, the great
loss now accruing from dead letters will be
prevented, and in the course of two or
three years, the actual income of the l’ost
Oflice will equal, if not exceed, the present
aggregate of receipts
Another point for which we would have
the people earnestly contend, is the gratui
tous delivery of newspapers. These im
portant vehicles of intelligence should go
free of postage, throughout the land, pour
ing their floods of light and knowledge into
every dark corner, irradiating every hut
and cabin, and diffusing abroad, without
stint, the benefits of the press. This would
be the dawning of an intellectual millenium
—for there are thousands of useful jour
nals, devoted to Education and Evangeli
zation, which would be scattered broad-cast
over the land, “without money and with
out price,” to the poor and the ignorant.
The question of the economy of a cheap
er rate of postage, is not an open one—
Experiment, upon a grand scale, under the
direction of the greatest government in the
world, has resulted in a perfect demonstra
tion of its advantages, viewed cither in a
politico-economical or in a social light. —
Our present rates of postage are too high;
they fetter the intercourse of the poor, and
restrict that of the rich. Let them be re
duced, then, to a point as low as possible,
without making the postal system a loss
to government. We write hastily, hut with
deliberate convictions of the necessity of
immediate legislation upon this point. Let
it no longer be said that Great Britain gives
her people a penny post, while the United
States demands of her citizens a tribute live
times as large for a service not more exten
sive, and not half so well performed. Let
us pray our rulers to amend this evil at
their present session in Congress.