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My joy, my relief, almost overpowered me, bat I eoald not force my new-found happiness •pon hia misery. •‘What Miss Laora?" “I am so glad yon have told me." “Are yon going to give me some good advice? “Yes, I believe I am.” “What is it?” “Since yon are married to Jodie Martinaale, claim her.” “She would never forgive the exposure." “I think you are mistaken. I believe she is waiting for you to do so.” “And her father?” ... “Would prefer anything to the humiliation of a secret marriage.” “Possibly he might invalidate the marriage, should he determine to.” . “Then marry her again. But, Mr. Keith, if J on are as good as I believe you, I think Mr. lartindale is too just to persist in separating yen from his daughter merely because he has a prejudice toward artists, and particulaly toward Englishmen who live abroad.” “I will live anywhere he pleases if he will only give me Judie. I will turn a manof busi ness, keep his books by double entry, if he so desires; I’ll buy a farm or gratify whichever hobby he happens to be riding, if I may only have my wife.” “I think in that frame of mind you will get her.” “Miss Laura, you don't know how much good you have done me.” “Mr. Keith, you don’t know how much good yon have done me.” “How so ?” “Well, I have had my own troubles because I believed my friend Judie had a lover. But I did not think of it being you.” “Who, then, M»- ^aura?” ha said a little fiercely. “Only Mr. Cadogan.” He smiled at that. “And it troubled you to suspect that Bert was fond of my wife?” “Somewhat so.” “I understand now why the poor fellow has written such lugubrious letters for six months past” “Has he written to you during the six months past?” 0 Mr Keith, let me see his letters?” I had had enough of travel. I wanted to go home. When we sailed Mr. Keith accompanied us. I think Mr. Cadogan must have had an’ ink ling of affairs through his friend, for he met me with that calm air of mastery and comprehen sion which suited my mood. “I shall not ask about your health,” he said. “Isee that the time has expired when my promise binds me not to speak as I would.” “You have had patience, Bert” “And long-suffering.” “Part of that has been mine.” “You made it for yourself.” “Well, I don’t know. Mystery always annoys me.” “It was not my own secret, or I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” “Please don’t have any of your own, or other people’s henceforth.” “I should not, of course, when we two are one.” Meanwhile Judie’s lover, her real lover, has tened to plead his suit. Mr. Martindale was con siderably shocked, and rather indignant at his daughter’s duplicity, as he called it. He said Mr. Keith did not suit him for a son-in-law; still, had he known that Judie was so determined, he would have preferred an avowal marriage to a clandestine one. They were married over again, and with consid erable pomp. Mr. Keith has a consulship which ■till enables him to live abroad. Judie became so used to her independence and admiration as a married woman, that she has been unable to give np her old habits, and shines as much as ever as a belle. For my own part, in my quiet home 1 have my husband, health and happiness. And, whatever troubles may come nigh me it is not in the form of Judie’s lovers. th* ekd. TAKE CARE WHOM YOU TRUST. BY COMPTON READE. CHAPTER XVII. When two good men hate one another, they meet with broad brow and square shoulder, as in the old brave days of duel. When two men of the baser sort hate, they face each other with the ignoble weapons of scowl and aciimony. But woman, the deepest hater of all, meets the woman she would comfortably consign to per ennial perdition, with—a kiss! Let us watch two women embrace. Adine Lovett and Louise Blackley. The one really indifferent, the other spitefully malicious. You would certainly suppose that they were the warmest of friends. Voluble are their little ton gues in enquiring after each other's olive-branch, and how each likes being married, and all that sort of thing. This demonstrative sympathy would seem to be appropriate, for it was their first meeting since they respectively entered the holy estate. Nevertheless, an acute observer might have dis covered symptoms in Mrs. Blackley of a very nnamiable character, in spite of all this impress ment of manner; whilst Adine beiDg hostess, had to affect a warmth she could not feel for the wife of one whom she regarded as an incarnation of evil. Mr. and Mrs. Blackley had been driven over by the rural dean in bis wagonette. The angnst functionary proposed to induct the Reverend Horace to Mudflat, for it at once transpired that individual had cot let the grass grow under his feet From Lingeville he had gone straight to the Bishop for institution, and there remained now only the ceremonies of induction and read ing in. Whilst the olergy were gone to the old churoh to indulge in the vain ceremonies as by law established, the two ladies were left to caress or to quarrel as tempers might determine. “ You’re coming to a wretched place, my dear,” said Adine. “Oh I its quite good enough for us, I assure yoa, ” snorted Mrs. Blackley, gaxing, however, uneasily at the dull walls. “ I hope it may prove so. This is such a dark room. ” “Yes, it is dark note; but tee shall throw ont a bow-window, and enlarge the garden; and then you see, dear, it will be quite an altered place. ” And Mrs. Blackley smiled sweetly. “But at the best bow wretohed for yon, after the luxury of Coldhole 1” “No. On the contrary, we quite think it will be a very pleasant summer residence. We shall of course always winter abroad. ” “But the bishop?” mildly suggested Adine. Mrs. Blackley laughed a low laugh of satire. “ My dear, ” she replied, “ bishops don’t inter fere with people who enjoy an inoome over and above their preferment. They are mueh too polite to Mammon for that. ” Adine shook her bead. Bhe believed in bitbops, ^ ^ “Nonsense, ” was the somewhat curt response this gesture. “Of course with Mr. Lovett different He is dependent on the ohurek. and so he must be good, and all that sort of thing. But what does this or any other living matter to Horace ? Why, we should be better off without a living at all!” Adine thought that Mndfiat would be much bettor without Mrs. Black’ey, but she did not say so. Her reflection was that the quondam mild Louise Hart had developed into a some what self-asserting member of society. The consciousness of a full purse gives a strength to meaner natures, which exhibits itself in tramp ling on their less fortunate neighbors. There was a pause, toe subject not admitting of further disousBion. “Do you think Horace altered?” enquired Mrs. Blackley, abruptly. “I—I—don’t know. I thought him—well, rather more clerical looking. Is that due to your influence, dear ? ” Adine somehow blush ed a little—a faot which did not escape her in- terrogatrix, who, quite prepared to accept of fence, reared her head into an attitude of social belligerence. “ I'm sure Horaoe always looked a clergyman, if he didn’t always act one, ” Bhe observed with a sly laugh. Adine blushed deeper and deeper still. So this woman had wormed her secret out of her husband. As tbis suspicion crossed her mind, she battled with her blushes, and nerved even oomplexion into coolness. “I really never studied Mr. Blackley’s appear ance my dear, ” she said, with an effort at in difference. “Indeed, dearest Adine! And yet you know that he admired you very much. ” “Indeed, dearest Louey, indeed I don’t knew anything of the kind, ” retorted Adine. These terms of excessive endearment, from fair lips, prove that bitter animosity is latent- near the surface. “But he did, ” urged Mrs. Blackley. “The Blocks were aware of it, and so was Mrs. Chow- ner, and everybody.” “ I really don’t understand why, ” rejoined Adine. “For the matter of that, I never could com prehend how any man ever admired, still less loved, a woman. Why, we’re nothing better than a parcel of dressed-up dolls.” And she gazed pensively on Borne very expensive red lace, which, for the nonce, acted as her outer integument. “ Nor I either, ” replied Adine, not to be out done. “Besides, Mr. Blackley is such a prac tical, sensible man. ’ The words had scarcely escaped her lips when Horace Blackley entered, smiling. Mr. Lovett and the rural dean were settling some missiona ry accounts in the vestry, so he had strolled to his new home alone. “Mrs. Lovett is landing your practical com mon sense,” cried his wife. “Very much flattered, I assure you,” he said, with an air of surprise; “apropos of what?” Adine was on her mettle, and resolved, if she could, to discover, whether that man with his ugly, secretive face, had, or had not, made a confidant of bis wife. “Louise asserts that years ago you cherished a secret admiration for myself, and I say I don't believe it, because you are much too sensible.” And she looked him fnll in the face. Perhaps it was an angry glance that he oast MrB. Blackley, who, however, received it com- plaisantly enough; he appreciated the situation thoroughly, for the simple reason that the easi est weapon fora domestic difference in his wife’s grasp was the same accusation, which she had learnt to snspect from dark hints dropped in mischief by Miss Block. His words, however, were smoother than oil, whatever may have been the state of his heart. “Mrs. Lovett will ev.er command admiration from everyone,” he responded, with a rectangu lar bow. The entrance of Apollo in the shape of the pompous little rural dean, followed by the ex vicar, saved the trio from no small awkwardness, whilst it left Adine no wiser than she was be fore. Mr. Blackley promptly changed the con versation. “I shall read myself in an Sunday, Lovett,” he remarked. “I had arranged to preached my farewell sermon,” replied Mr. Lovett, biting his lip at this unveiled rudeness. “Very sorry to put you out, but this affair of mine is business, not pleasure. The plan will be to have three services. I take the morning and afternoon. You the evening. Send round a notice to that effect.” Mr. Lovett was powerless. He was now cu rate in his own place. In vain did ho look across appealingly to the rural dean, a buckram speci men of clerical servility, who having heard that Mr. Blackley was possessed of much money, felt it alike a duty and a privilege to give him every encouragement. "A word with you in private before we go,’’ said Mr. Blackley, and accordingly Mr. Lovett took him into his study, remarking by the way that he was exceedingly anxious about tlis sale of the Coldhole adowson. “Bother that!” exclaimed the other. “Yon had better advertise it, and so forth.” “But,” said Mr. Lovett, “I imagined, as Cold hole is your piroperty, you would do all that.” “I don’t know why. You are more interested in the sale than I am. Besides, remember I have had already many expenses in connection with this negotiation.” “I do remember everything; but I must beg you also to bear in mind that oar very substance is staked on this wretched sale.’ “There, there. I hate fidgets, Lovett Take care of yourself. That’s my motto. I didn’t wan’t, however, to talk about this sale. What I must ask is, what do you propose as regards dilapidations ?” “Dilapidations !” “Yes, my good man, you owe me dilapida tions, don’t you ?” Mr. Lovett gasped for breath. He had for gotten this item. “Well,” continued Horaoe Blackley, “what do you propose ? Shall, we fix it a certain sum— say—two hundred pounds; or shall I send down a valuer from town ?” “But I can’t pay,” urged Mr. Lovett “You will have to pay at least four hundred pounds if the bouse and glebe are assessed by a professional man. I’ve been over the place, and I feel satisfied as to the amount I could claim.” Mr. Lovett’s face turned ashy pale. “Black ley,” he cried, “I am hopelessly in yonr power. Your advowson will sell at most but for seven thonsand pounds, ont of which 1 am already pledged to assign yon five thousand eight hun dred? This fresh claim—which, I own, I did not anticipate—reduces my share to one thou sand pounds; and as I have had to borrow a hundred pounds, it will not even meet the claim of the bank, let alone Mr. Bulp’s promissory notes. Private debts ongbt not to come into this negotiation. Surely you are rich enough to give me a year or two to liquidate them.’, “I have waited,” retorted Mr. Blackley, “and long enough too. Ooe of the induoements of Mndfiat was to reoover my oapital sank. That I tell yon flatly.” “Blackley, oried the poor man in a tone of agony that would have melted a stone; “Black ley, for heaven’s sake be merciful. Think of my poor wife and ohild.*’ “As usual,” sneered Mr. Blaokley, “as usual. Nothing bnt whining and whimpering. It’s always the same with parsons. Gnbbins makes • distinot offer of six thousand five hundred pounds for my living. Evidently he likes the place, and with judicious pressure will spring. Th»t is,” he added with ernel sarcasm, “unless Mr. Lovett elects to forego five hundred pounds, and close with this offer at once.’ “Of course that is out of the question,” re joined the other angrily; and so they joined the ladies SDd their brother ecclesiastic, who had been improving the shining quarter of an honr by discoursing sweetly on the habits and in stincts of the Fiji Islanders, as revealed to him in confidence by an imaginative missionary. CHAPTER XVIII. Sunday morning dawned brightly, and as the clock struck ten the ReV. Horace Blackley stood, sermon-case in hand, on the door-step of the rnri-decanal mansion, awaiting impatiently the arrival of the carriage and bis wife. Of course, the carriage, a clarence, came be fore the lady, and equally of course the husband was disposed to be irascible; although, in order to be np to time, the poor woman had been sad ly flustrated by convulsive struggles both with her mind, and certain pins, which art had planted at various depths in her own brown flesh. “I can’t think what the deuce made you want to come,” growled Horace Blackley, as soon as they were seated, and well along the road. “You'll have to lunch with those cursed Lovetts, and you know I hate accepting favors.” “Considering you were their guest for days—” began Mrs. Blackley. “Exactly. We were on different terms then. Now Lovett thinks himself injured, and is dis posed to be awkward. Y'ou know that.” “I know,” retorted his wife angrily, “that you wanted to go alone, in order to get np a flirtation with that yellow-haired creature. Pah! you j can’t deceive me.” “I hate the sight of both of them,” e ied he; adding between his teeth, “especially of her false face.” “I don’t believe a syllable you say,” she re- i plied. Whereupon the new vicar indulged in an ex pletive, which, as it had better not have been spoken shall not be written; the immediate re sult of which was drawing of woman's most le thal weapon—tears. “It’s a cruel shame for a man to speak such words to his wife—on Sunday, too,” she whim pered. “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Looey,” feel- | ingno small alarm lest the coachman should guess what was occurring inside. But this semblance of kindness only made her worse, and the tears magnified into sobs, neces sitating much marital affection ere ever she could be lulled to rest. “I wish you wouldn’t be so touchy,” remarked ! Mr. Blaokley, by way of vindicating himself. “It’s all that b-beastly Adine,”ejaculated Mrs. j Blackley, breaking out afresh, and in natural- | esqne diction. “There, there, I’ve told you once for all I hate and detest her." •’It’s only pique,” she replied; “you can’t de- j ny its pique.” ; “Never mind causes,” said he, “you shall have effects before long to prove my words. But stay; here is Mudflat. I told the man to drive straight to the church. Just a quarter to eleven. Good. The service is long, and I want to get it over, so I’ll stop the bells and make a start at once.” Mrs. Blackley pulled down her veil, and the pair entered Mudflat church in an extremely de votional frame of mind. The villagers, as is their wont had assembled j in the churchyard. Gossip could not decide ] whether the new “Passon was to read hisself in or theold’un to give a farewell discoorse.” Hope pointed to the latter alternative, which, however, was dispelled by the arrival of the ruri-decanal clarence, the charioteer of which vehicle, by his canary-colored inexpressibles, caused a far . greater sensation.than clergyman- __ Horace Blackley handed nis wife into the first- open pew, which happened to be farmer Roper’s and was dancing rapidly into the vestry, when his eye lighted on a very bold-faced female ar- j rayed in much cherry-colored ribbon, which j contrasted startlingly with a green skitt and blue ! bonnet; whereupon, strange to say, a smile of ! recognition passed between the two. Next to this person sat an old man of a villain- j ous and jail-bird type, whose raiment seemed to be composed mainly of skins. As the vicar passed, she gave the old man a nudge, sufficient | to bruise ordinary ribs, whispering at the same | time hoarsely, “That’s’m.” The old fellow winked knowingly; staring, | however, all over the church, as if there were a i great exhibition, or the Taj-Mahal. “There used to be a gallery,” he muttered, j “under that there arch some wheres. I axed j your mother there, I did, in the middle o’ the oid passon’s Rermon, and we was axed ourselves by the old passon afterwards.” But these delightful memories were interrupt ed by divine service, which Mr. Blackley com menced before the bell stopped, with a rapidity which augured well for his lungs. Somewhere about the Psalms the congregation had contrived to be seated; and a little later, with a blank face of surprise and vexation, Mr. Lovett entered, lollowed by Adine, who, on pass ing the cherry-colored woman, gave a curious little start and turned pale. Again the woman nudged her old man, whis pering in his ear, “Thats ’er.” • Ay, ay, I know,” he rejoined, so loud as to attract attention. The service, with the hideous addition of the Thirty-nine Articles, was wearisome enough; the sermon, however, had the merit of brevity. Horace Blackley regarded the present as a fitting opportunity for arriving at a plain understand ing with bis people so he gave them in a a few words, his programme, and the gospel according to his ideas. The sermon was on the subject of “self-help,” and it inculcated a hard doctrine, to the effect that if people didn’t look after their interests they deserved starva tion. He informed his new parish, at starting, that on principle he never put bis hand in his pocket to relieve suffering. Men had no busi ness to want. In faot. want was sin; and, as a Christian minister, he begged to decline aiding Bin. “Us hopes his deeds haint as bad as his words,” grunted a poor cripple to Mr. Lovett at the church porch after service; and the outgoing vicar had no reply to render to the lame man’s logio. “You will join us at luncheon ?” said Adine, as she shook hands with Mrs. Blackley, who preceded her spouse ont of ohurch. -‘I shall be happy,” was the reply; “but as we dine with the rural dean at five, I think my hus band will decline luncheon. In fact, he wishes a word with the farmer. After the cavalier behavior Mr. Blackley had adopted, neither Adine or her husband felt in clined to press luncheon on him. Indeed, he seemed deep in a disoussion with the clerk—a local curiosity, who with every disposition to act servile, oould not conceal ms bucolic detes tation of a new faoe, and was about as stupid In answering questions as if his brains were ad dled. Thus it came to pass that the Lovetts and Mrs. Blaokley walked on to the vicarage, and the vicar when onoe they were ont of sight marched off in a different direction, with the notion of* quiet cigar. After inhaling a sufficient quantum of nioo- tine, the good man bethought him that he should like to have a peep at his glebe. Tramp ing vigorously over field and farrow he was diseoveied—as he indeed expected and desired —by farmer Roper, who touched hia hat re spectfully, hoping that he woald like Madflat. Horaoe Blackley’s sols rejoinder to this oivil- ity was to ask the worthy farmer what he valued Roper turned pale; bat perceiving how the land lay, avoided a direct reply, observing that his family had held the glebe farm for a cen tury, and that he himself was quite prepared to pay a fair, or even a fancy rental. Horace Blackley looked the farmer up and down, coolly asserting that the land was not the property of Mr. Roper, but of the vicar, and that be, being vicar, intended to farm it him- self. The farmer scratched his head, trusting that Mr. Blackley would reconsider his determina tion. Mr. Blackley, however, notified sharply that his mind was made up, but that he shouidn t mind buying the stook, if he could get it at a bargain. “The stock, sir, I or any man can sell," cried poor Roper. “But what compensation shall I obtain for the moneys I've spent on the land ? Mr. Blackley knocked about the earth with his boot. “I don’t see any moneys !” he sneered. “God knows,” exclaimed Roper, “that I speaks the truth. I imagined that Master Lovick was a-going to stop with ns, and I pntt five ’undred pounds into these ’ere fields, only last ’ear. Only last 'ear, sir.” “That’s not business,” remarked the other laconically. “No. Nor profit neither. Moor like nnto rewing,” groaned the ill-starred farmer. “My man," said Mr. Blackley, “God helps those who help themselves.” “Sir,” rejoined Roper, “I wun’t believe as the A’mighty blesses them as ’elps ’emselves to hother’s rights.” At which speech the vicar langhed consumed- ly. The interference of a providence ip the affairs of men to his mind appeared a ridicu lous superstition. He did not, however, care to risk an answer to the farmer’s rhetoric. That would hardly have been politic. So he contented himself with an enquiry as to his immediate destination, suggesting blandly, for the bells were chiming, church. And thus a pair of knees were added to a very thin congre gation, for it had got wind that Mr. Lovett was to take the evening service, and the people pre ferred to reserve themselves. The canary-clad Jehu soon whisked the Blackleys away from Mndfiat, after a very chilly farewell from their predecessors; and poor farmer Roper, fairly bowed down to earth by this sudden stroke of evil fortune, ventured to call--although it was Sunday—on his friend Mr. Lovett, to pray for his interposition. A very painful interview it was. In vain did Mr. Lovett assure his old tenmt, in self-de fence, that this action of his successor was an abominable breach of faith, for that he had made an express stipulation in writing that the tenancy of the glebe was not to be changed. Roper, overcome by the logic of fact, appeared dull of comprehension. Nor was he reassured by Mr. Lovett’s earnest assertion of his deter mination to put the strongest moral pressure on Mr. Blackley. Neither man could believe for a second that any amount of moral pressure would have weight with a man of Mr. Blackley’s calibre. Mr. Lovett’s very voice betrayed his hopelessness of moving so hard-hearted and un scrupulous a specimen of selfishness. "It tain't even business, sir,” almost shouted indignant Roper, “least of all the gospil ?” Alas ! alas! Mr. Lovett had to reflect not merely that his own future in such treacherous * ands was one of t< ible risk, but that by his ill-advised act of l 'nation he bad in all like lihood brought . _iu on his faithful tenant. It was with such bitte- thoughts crossing his brain that he entered SI 'flat church for the last time, to wish the so - God-speed for whom till then he had been rt , onsible. His people were all there. Not till t ...it moment had l^e guessed iris—popularity. It was indeed deep-seated. The English like a plain straightforward gen tleman, and this one had inherited the blood and breeding of many centuries, which gave to his manner the charm of a frankness very pleas ing. As for Adi -e, the whole village loved her. Her generosity equalled her beauty. Too much a lady to interfere, she never neglected a sor row, or forgot a need. In short the people were genuinely grieved at losing two such good friends; and Mr. Lovett read their feelings in their faces ere ever he opened his lips to utter halting words, which but ill expressed his emo tions. The empty pew of farmer Roper was in deed in itself a silent reproach, which marred the hearty eloquence he could—but for that— have spoken, for the good farmer, having, after reflection, blundered on the ugly truth that Mr. Lovett was blameworthy, could not bring him self to attend this farewell service, whilst Mrs. Roper burnt with anger which at least was righteous. As for the people, they came sadly and left dissatisfied. Never had they heard their pastor to so great a disadvantage. Husband and wife sat down on that Sunday evening to their last repast in Mudflat vicar age; they had to leave very early on the follov- ing morning for Eingeville. The ornaments were all packed, and nothing left but the bare furniture, which, for the nonce, was to be stored away at Blankton. Altogether the house looked a picture of dreariness, and their hearts loDged to break from this prison, and to live a glorious new life. Yet somehow thought would linger on the scene they were quitting, and conversa tion involuntarily turned on Madflat people and Mudflat ways. ♦ "For one reason, at all events," said Mr. Lov ett, “I am sincerely glad to leave the parish. Poacher Nevis has gotten out of jail, and they tell me he is a power of evil with the people. Blackley will find that man, no small thorn in his side, if all stories are true.” “Poacher Nevis?” enquired Adine. “Have I ever seen the man ?” “He was in church to-day, my dear.” “What! Not the man with the curious clothes, who would talk aloud to that—that bold-faced creature, in all sorts of colors ?” “Yes, dear pet, that was the man, and the ‘creature’ is his daughter, a very bad character, whe has just come down from London, they tell me.” “And who is Poacher Nevis?” ‘ ‘A clever simpleton of the lowest class, capa ble of any wickedness; whilst, as for his shame less daughter—” “I think I have seen someone like her some where or other,” soliloquized Adine, a deep flush rising to her cheek- In this daughter of the poacher, she recogniz ed the low creature who had tortured her at “The Langham.” How thankful she felt, to be leaving Madflat; with such a mischief-maker about, it would have become intolerable. “Strange,” remarked her husband; “I too, seem to remember that face. After all, one is very easily deceived about physiognomies. Certain bad types keep on recurring, till at last they beoome familiar. ” “And then they haunt yon,” added she. A bad night’s rest, a struggle with boxes, many loving prayers and wishes, and so away from poor despised Mudflat, with its malarious cli mate, its kindly hearts, and a home, which, with all its many draw-backs, possessed one tranaendant merit—it waa a home. (TO BB CONTOTOED.) And when onr eyes are dim with unshed tears and our hearts are aching in their loneliness, when we yearn for the communion of a sympa thizing spirit, we may reaoh ont onr weary hands nnto One who “knoweth ns altogether,” may rest on the-bosom of Him whose love and ten derness is infinite, and find unutterable oom- fort IN FLORIDA. Petals' Plucked 2rom a Sunny Clime. NO. 2. Amelia Island—Femandino—Impressions by Gen. Oglethorpe—Ogeechee Mounds — Baronet McGregor — Commodore Aury—Adventurers and Fillibusters— Light House—Sea-Turtle. Femandino is situated ou Amelia Island, which is 18 ;miles in length and two in width. Vessels can enter the harbor at any time without fear from shoals, as the water on the her has an average depth of 19 feet. Its oldest settlers, as in many other places in Florida, were Spaniards—a few of whom are re maining. During the movements of the embargo, together with the privateers and slaves, three hundred squnre rigged vessels have been seen in this har bor at one time Gen. Oglethorpe wrote thus romantically of Amelia Island : “The seashore is covered with myrtle and peach- trees, orange trees, and vines in the wild woods, where echoed the sound of melody from turtle doves, nonpareils, red-birds, amt mocking-birds.” Another settler mentions the mounds when the country was first explored by the Spaniards. These mounds were the burying places of the Ogeechee Indians, who were overpowered and killed by the Caribs. Different nationalities looked upon Amelia Is land with longing eyes for many years, coveting it for their possession. In 1817, Gregor McGregor, a Scottish Baronet, an enthusiast on the subject of contest, came with only fifty followers, making proclamations, and issuing edicts of more magnitude than pla .s for their execution, but soon afterwards retired to the more quiet quarters of his Highland home. Theu came Commodore Aury with 150 men on a fillibustering expedition, and ousted the Spanish troops. At this time it would have been a difficult task to find a more motley crowd of residents in any country, than upon Amelia Island, composed of English adventurers, Irish and French refugees, Scots, Mexicans, Spaniards, Privateers, Natives and Negroes. Factions of such varied dispositions and incli nations, were not conducive to harmony in a com munity, consequently riots and disturbances were of frequent occurrence. Previous to this movement by Aury, negotia tions had been pending between the United States and the Spanish Government for Florida— consequently President Monroe and his cabinet looked upon the disputed property in a manner as their own possessions. The Spanish being unable to expel these priva teering adventurers, President Monroe sent Uni ted States troops which took possession of Fer- nandino without resistance, in the name of the Catholic Majesty of Spain. On Amelia Island, is situated a light-house, which shows a flash light 100 feet above the level of the sea, visible sixteen miles. The tower is built upon a promontory which overlooks the sur rounding country and the Atlantic, far as the eye can extend. At this point, the Atlantic, Gulf and West India Transit Company commences—where the gentle manly officers connected with, and in charge of the board, reside. The obliging superintendent is always here in readiness to give information upon the peculiar facilities, resulting from a residence on this route, as a health location, besides being so closely connected by steamship with all parts of the world. Femandino now contains a population of about three thousand inhabitants, and on acceunt of its healthfulness, is a resort during the summer season, by persons from the interior of the State. The misfortunes of our late war fell heavily on Femandino—crippl.ng its energies and crushing its present prospects for prosperity. Much of the rea * 1 estate of its residents was confiscated, and sold for taxes. Some of it has been redeemed ; the remainder is passing through a series of lengthy litigations, which, when set tled, are designed to decide the validity of tax sales generally throughout the entire State. This disputed point places the inhabitants in rather a Miciwber-like condition — waiting for something ‘ to turn up.” For a summer resort, away from the world of care and business, th s place seems peculiarly fitted. A delightful sea-breeze blows at all sea sons, the scenery is quietly beautiful, the walks and drives are fine. A shell road, two miles in length, leads from the town to the beautiful beach. This beach is the most attractive feature of the island. It is 21 miles long, and at low tide, over two hundred yards in width. Good livery stables are kepi here, filled with fat, fast horses, trained to trot or wade in the surf, allowing visitors to admire the expanse of calm, beautiful water, that washes the Atlantic shores. At ebb tide, imagination can not conceive of a finer drive—the beach being so firm that a pair of horses and carriage scarcely make an indenta tion on the surface, in passing over it. The pavement is God’s own workmanship — being composed of pure white sand, occasionally interspersed with shells, many of them the tiniest in existence. • Here the happy sea-birds ride on the foam, or flit across the breezy water; the sea-gulls and pelicans luxuriate and flap their wings in peaceful quietude, while the sand-crab takes his walks, standing upright like a pigmy of the human spe cies, presenting arms in a soldierly manner, and never turning his back, however hotly he is pur» sued. They are really very curious little crea tures, reminding us of the Lilliputians in Gulli ver’s travels. Here the turtle comes to deposit her eggs be yond high water mark, and when they are hatched returns to escort a family of 150 babies, to her home in the deep sea. Here, the bright moonbeams dance upom the surface of the water in silence and solitude, nntil it resembles a silver sea. Many very pretty shells are found on this beach, of various sizes and de signs, with occasionally desirable cabinet speci mens, that are thrown out when the waters are much agitated. This is the spot for the poet to weave his dreams, the disappointed in love or ambition, to find solace in nature’s oalm delight, the careworn business man to forget bills and banks, and the blase beanty to recruit the charms that too muoh flirting by gaslight has faded. Silvia Svkshiub. Henry M. Stanley, the Afrioan explorer, arrived in Rome recently. The medal which had been deoreed to him by the late king was pri vately presented to him. The advertisement of a Western stone-entter reads: “Those who buy tombstones from ns look with pride and satisfaction upon the graves of their friends.” “Wb have got to practioe the most rigid econ omy at snch a time as this,” remarked a man the other day to a crowd on the sidewalk. “I have stopped all the papers for whioh I former ly subscribed, and don’t bny candy, toyr snob trumpery for the children—times are Gome in, boys, and take a drink l’’—JBe.