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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.