Newspaper Page Text
t down and began—' ‘Sir, I a
srd, General, till you lake a ass , and I
led it — ten years old, tn my own keeping —
, other glass, sir, then we will talk ot old allairs,
ir, we finished two bottles, and parted vs
ood friends as if nothing had eve happened
> make us otherwise.
.»
From the picayune.
• fUN ON BOARD A STEAMBCj* a t,
'laying a Strong Gam t eilka Flayer.
Not long since a gambler bad a play*
- I upon him by the deck bands ,d firemen
v .i board onn of our western steaine, a game
ven stronger than that played by second
lunicipality on this class of the ccw*t,munity in
\ r ew Orleans.
It seems that he had made out Iq>_ «strike up
.. small game” of poker with some- 0 f the deck
lands, and that by dint of cheating „ putting up
ie cards, and other tricks known c^*» o ly to those
ip to and who make a living “handling
he papers,” he had transferred a nearly all the
mrp'lus revenue from their poefe into his
own. He “cut and shuffled” toall appearance
fair for some time, but was fiuall —y caught at
some trick which at once let the l ■*©nest steam
boat men into the secret ot “ how t She thing was
done,” and proved that they lost their
money by any other than the Bean thing.”
The game, as a matter of xc=ourse, was
“ blocked” at once, and a demoi castration im
mediately made that the gambler sliould fork
over his ill-gotten gains. This he flatly re
fused to do—said that he had wo^ —* the money
fair, and that he was very clear what he
had come honestly by. They -mUI persisted
and he still refused.
The lioat at length stopped to wood, when
the men finding it uselesstoatteir-*pt regaining
their money by fair means, resot —ted to a plan
which the gambler undoubtedly t_ bought foul.
Having gained the consent of engineer to
use the engine for a short time, t finey forthwith
put apian in execution—a ratherbor
dering on that code of laws gon^=,rally known
as coining under the especial jt -»reliction of
Judge Lynch.
They in the first place made one end of a
rope fast round the neck of wondering
gambler, while the other was to the end
of the piston rod, allowing him only two or
three feet slack. They told hi «n that unless
ho shelled out their money they
would work the engine, and at t lie same time
that they were not responsible fer» r any injuries
he might sustain. Loth to givwr=» up his gains
the fellow cast one look at the n» —, w system of
extortion, coolly calculated his chances and
then told them “they might away and
bed d.”
No sooner said than done; nrl [fie gamb
ler was immediately seen firs xr chasing the
piston rod upon all-fours and -«lieii backing
out of its way. His eye all time was as
firmly set upon the rod as ever that of Herr
Cline or Gabril Ravel was pon the tight
rope. After working him forv—vard and back
several times, one of his asked
him.
“ Dont you think it best to over ?”
“ Dont bother me,” retorted t t ie gambler.
“You’ll get sick of that fun,” ■=» said another
of the boatmen, as he was foll^ —.wing the pis
ton rod up in the attitude of a h^^ar.
“ Not as you know on,” rejt—»inwl the gam
bler, as he backed out of its wr%. y.
In this way they ran upon t *ne poor fellow
for sometime, lie still manifes-w— ini, an uinvil
lingne s to give up his spoils- By this time
all the cabin passengers had h« -mril of the fun
going on below, and went dow to witness it.
After a few moments respite -the e igine was
again set in motion, and the along
with it The laugh from the fcjystanders was
boisterous and hearty in the extreme as the
poor fellew, intent upon nothit -mg but his own
safety, followed the piston roefc up to prevent
his neck being jerked off, then hacked
out of its way to avoid being fairly ran over
and crushed. We can liken tx is looks and ac
tions to nothing save an old bet*. r being dragged
by a chain up to some point against his will
and backing out the moment a foot of slack
was given him; orilsetoasav. age and hungry
bull dog with a rope round hiaa neck, fiercely
endeavouring to get at some prey and then
being dragged back the his mouth
was opened to secure it,
“ Fire, and fall back,” heard from an
individual in the crowd.
‘ Hoot hog, or die,” came B~roin another.
“ Twig him—only look!” j—says one.
“ Here he goes, there he -oes,” said a se
cond.
“ Ha ha, he he, hi hi, ho ho lausrhed ano
ther. °
“ Aint lie in a pretty fire. ?” cried still a
third.
“ Serves him right,” says fourth.
. “ Good enough for him,”*’ said a fifth, the
piston rod all the while keepii mg him in full ex
ercise, \yi»h the perspiration polling down his
cheeks in streams.
“ Aint you most ready to 1 ■■and over now ?”
said one of the plucked deck Biands.
“Dont bother me, I say,” m —etorted the gam
bler, “It you do I’ll loose my— lick.”
“ \V out you give up the ux 1” said ano
ther of those he had fleeced.
“If I do, Ido ; hut if I
continued the companion of the rod. “I’ve
got the hang of this gome— -understand the
principles of this now, and you
may work me from one cud Mississippi
to the other before I'll gives up the first red
cent—that you mav."
Hie gambler was worked in this way until
the boat was ready to start, without flinching
or showing any disposition t—t give up. Con
sidering that they had got t ~ le worth of their
money out of him in the shmj >eoffun, and that
lie had worked hard and n sufficient
amusement to more than cow Jiponsate for their
odd hits and picayunes, thees angine was Btopped
und (he man let loose.
After puffiing, blowing, and wiping the
jn-rspi ration from bis face, t *—le gambler looked
at his tormentors with aso a f-sotisfied uir, anil
exclaimed, •• You can't it over this child
with nnv of your common g- jsotni's, |'ve stood
three pluck one too often to- be bluffed off even
it tlien* was flirty against n> Anytime you
want to get up another and tlierc’s imy
thing to lie made by it, IW vour man.”
Tlte boot was soon under- wa v and ull hands
adjourned to tlieir rcs|icctiv —c millings.
travelling.
“Xo man’s education and views can be
enlarged, unless he has travelled much ; un
less he has changed twenty times his modes of
thinking and habits of life! The conventional
and uniform customs adopted by the man who
lends a study monotonous life in his own coun
try, are moulds which give a diminished im
press to every thing- Taste, philosophy, re
ligion, character, all are more enlarged, more
just and accurate in the man who had seen
i nature and society under various points of
view. Travelling supplies an optic for the
material and intellectual universe. To travel
in search of wisdom, was a sort of proverb
among the ancients; but it is not understood
among us. They travelled not merely in
’search of unknown dogmas and lessons of
philosophy, but to see and judge every thing.
For my part, I am constancy struck with the
narrow and petty view we take of the institu
tions and costumes of foreign nations; and if
my views have been extended : if I have
learned to tolerate things by understanding
them, I owe all these advantages to my fre
quent changes of scene and points of view.
To study past ages iu history, men by travell
ing, and God in nature—that is the grand
school. We study every thing in our misera
ble books, and compare every thing with our
petty local habits. And who made our habits
and our books ? Mon who know as little as
ourselves. Let us open the book of books !---
Let us live, see and travel! The world is a
book of whirl, we turn a page at every step—
How little must he know who has tuined but
one page !”
The above beautiful paragraph is from La
MartirieV “ Pilgrimage to the Holy Land,”
and is in accordance with the thought so elo
quently expressed by Shakespeare :
“ Homekeeping youths have ever homely wi s.”
SMITH HARPENDING.
We published, a few days since, a simple
statement that this individual, a poor journey
man printer, was claimant of a large amount
of property in the city of New York, valued
at some twenty five millions. His claim com
prises sixteen acres bounded by Broadway,
Nassau, Fulton, Maiden Lane, and John
streets. The following particulars relating to
Harpending and his claim, are from the editor
of the Connersville (Ind.) Watchman :
About two years ago, in the State of Louisi
ana, we became acquainted with the Smith
Harpending spoken of in the above article.
At tiiat time he called himself Neville, a name
he had assumed, some years previous, for
what purpose we did not learn. He was as
destitute of .sorts as we ever knew a jour printer
to be, though no worse off than most of them
generally are. He received enough from our
humble self, then a journeyman in the Louisi
ana Journal office, to supply his wants for a
few days. While there, he frequently spoke
of his claims to property of great value in the
city of New York, and upon our expressing
some doubts of the truth of what he stated,
and asked him what evidence of his claims he
had to show, he handed us a bundle of papers,
comprising letters from several attorneys in
New York, among which were several from
Aaron Burr, who appears to have first dis
covered that the property held by the Church,
was then reverting, or, perhaps, had reverted
to the Harpending family. We learned from
the papers that the land now occupied by the
Church, was, we think, in the year 1731,
leased to it for the period of one hundred
’ years, by one Harpending, the grand father,
or, perhaps, the great grand father of the claim
ant. The ground was not, at that time,
i within the limits of the city, and was used as
a corn-field and was of little value. Burr,
upon learning from the records of the city,
the situation of the property, made efforts to
find some of the descendants of Harpending,
and after several years, three of them, a brother
and two sisters, were found, all three residing
in Kentucky, near the Tennessee river. We
understood from Smith, the other and younger
j brother, that his brother and sisters had receiv
jed from the Church, the sum of 400,000 dol
j lars for a relinquishment of their claims on the
property. Smith, at the time was in Louisi.
ana, where he had been for fifteen or twenty
years, and was, by his friends, supposed to be
dead, they having heard nothing from him
during all that time. A gentleman from New
York, came across Smith in the town of Mon.
roe, and informed him of the matter. A cor
respondence with Aaron Burr, and other legal
gentlemen in New York, satisfied him of the
justness of his claims, but his poverty, as lie
said, had prevented him from taking any de
cisive steps towards the recovery of the proper
ty. His brother, a short time previous, had
offered him 820,000 to relinquish his claims,
but he would not accept the offer; all, or
nothing, he said. Should he succeed in his
suit, he will be one of the wealthiest men in all
the country.’
FOX HUNTING.
1 like horse racing, cock fighting, sports
of the turf, and sports of the ring..-on pa
per. VVhen I was a young fellow, I went
once on a fox chase, over Schuylkill bridge,
with a batch of sportsmen-wore boots and
buckskin breeches'; my horse run away on
the sound of the bugle, jumped over hedges
and ditches, and tumbled me into the mud,
since which time I have only attended Jockey
Club and Sporting Dinners, being the least
dangerous of the two, where the only fall that
can happen would” be a fall under the table.
Folks may say what they please of rising at
dawn, sweeping the dew from the green
sward, wading creeks Tor wild ducks, taking
the partridge on the wing, shooting snipe in
swamps, and coming home at night worn out,
wet and hungry, give me the birds nicelv
cooker 1 , with feet under the mahogany, a good
sea-coal fire, and a glass of old hock, and wc
leave all the romance of shooting and snaring,
with pointers and ponies, to those who admire
such rural sports. Noah.
THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
A lady of fiishion at Paris said lately to
her chambermaid, who was dressing her,
“ I low weary lam of this mourning—1 have
worn it fifteen days! Apropos, Rosina, tell
me lot whom I am mourning '
THE SOUTHERN POST.
NO WOMAN WITHOUT HER VALUE.
A poor peasant, of seven children born to
him in marriage, had but one daughter iefi,
and she was of a form so truely hideous, that it
might be said, «the curs barked at her as she
halted along.” There are other allurements
to enter into the wedded state, however, than
those of the figure. A showman, in his wav
through the village in which she lived, saw her,
and asked her in marriage. “Sir,” said the
honest rustia to the suiter of his daughter, un
willing to take advantage of any man, “ have
you observed the unseemly form of my daugh
ter? Are you aware that 1 have nothing to
give her ?”—“ These,” replied the other, “ are
of no weight to me.”—“ But she is both hunch
backed and hunch breasted.”—“ Oh ! that is
precisely what 1 want.”—“ Her skin is like
shagreen.”—«l am rejoiced at it.”—“ You
cannot perceive that she has a nose.”—
“ Good.”—“ She is hardly three feet high.”—
“Better still.”—“Her legs are like drum
sticks, and her nails like claws.”—“ Best of
all.”—“ To cut the matter short, believe me,
she is almost dumb, and altogether deaf.”—
“Is it possible ! ’ exclaimed the lover. “ You
transport me! Long have I searched fora
wife nearly formed like your daughter; but,
afraid to flatter myself with the hopes offiuding
such a one, I am how happy beyond my hopes.
She fully corresponds with my idea of perfec
tion. How rare is it in those days to meet
with so accomplished a figure But, my
good friend,” interrupted the father, “ I cannot
conceive what you propose to do with a wife
who is so ugly, and so deformed, and who is
always sickly, and hath not a penny.”—“ Do
with her! why, I travel the country, and get
my bread by exhibiting monsters, I will put
her in a box: I will carry her about with me ;
and, as for a fortune, let me alone for the ac
quisition of that.”
ANCIENT DANISH CUSTOM.
In Denmark an extiaordinary custom pre
vailed of burying a live animal, a horse, a lamb,
a pig, and sometimes even a child, at the com
mencement of a building. It is strange that a
similar custom appears from the Servian ballads
to have prevailed among the Scluvonians.
A lamb was generally entombed in the founda
tion of a church ; a horse in a churchyard.
This horse, the peasants say, appears again,
and goes round the churchyard on three legs;
when he meets any one, he displays grinng
teeth, and death accompanies him. He is,
therefore, called the hae/hesl —the death-horse;
and it is usual for a person, on recovering from
a fit of sickness, to say, “ I have given death a
bushel of oats.”
BUSINESS.
After all, there is nothing like business for
enabling us to get through our weary existence.
The intellect cannot sustain its sunshine flight
long ; the flagging wings drop to the earth.
Pleasure palls, arid idleness is
“ Many gathered miseries in one name.”
But business gets over the hours without coun
ting them. We may be very tired at the end,
still it has brought the day to a close sooner
than anything else.
A GOOD IDEA, PROPERTY PROMULGATED.
A suiter appeared in a court in London,
about the 20th of last month, and was about
making known the grounds of his application
when the judges told him that they had already
made a decision fatal to his plea. The suiter
confessed his utter ignorance of any such de
cision.
“It was in all the newspapers,” said tli r
Cou rt.
“ But I do not sec the newspapers,” said
the man.
“ That is not our fault,” replied the judges.
—“ Yom should see the newspapers, and every
other man should.”
That is a decision of an English Court, and
we suppose it is operative here as well as
there. u. S. Gazette.
BALANCE OF GOOD ILL.
The Persians held of old this very charita
ble maxim, that to be good, it was not necessa
ry never to do amiss, but to do for the most
part that which was right. When a person
accordingly was accused of any breach of the
laws, and even clearly proved to be guilty,
they did not immediately condemn him to be
punished, but proceeded to make a scrupulous
inquiry into the whole course of his life, in
order to see whether the good or evil actions
in it predominated ; if the good weighed hea
viest in the scale, he was acquitted; and it
was only if otherwise that he was condemed.
A PROLIFIC NUT.
An old gentleman by the name of Nut, in
Ohio, can number one hundred and thirty-six
nuts, in the shape of children, grand-children,
great-grand-children, and one great-great
grand child—quite a field of nuts from one
tree.
EARLY RISING.
There is no time spent so stupidly as that
which inconsiderate people pass in a morning
between sleeping and waking. He who is up
may be at work, or amusing himself; he who
is asleep, is receiving the refreshment necessa
ry to fit him for action ; but the hours spent
in dozing and slumbering are wasted without
either pleasure or profit. The sooner you
leave your bed the seldomer you will he con
fined to it.
OtT The proprietor of the New York Sun
day Packet is about to publish a list, in pam
ph'let form, of all the daily, weekly and month
ly papers in the United States, and therefore
respectfully request all editors who nmv see
this notice to furnish him a number of their pa
per or magazine. The carrying out of tin
object may be of considerable benefit to all
parties concerned.
CHANGE.
THE firm of Geor.ie Jewett A Cos. is this day
changed, and will hereafter be known by the name
and style of R. Carver Sc Cos.
R. CARVER,
.. „. OEO JEWETT
May Btb, 1899. may It 99tf
ORIGINAL.
..
For the Southern Pout
BLESSED DE THE NIGHT.
• Watchman —tell us of the night.
What its signs of promise are.”
Blessed be the night! sang the tired laborer, as with
weary steps, he hastened home from the scene of toil.
He had torn himself from his family in the morning,
and gone forth to his daily task, because he knew that
the dear objects of his affection must be fed and clothed.
To him there was but one way in which subsistence
for his loved ones could be procured, and that was la
: bor, severe unrequiting labor. To him the curse was
literal, by the sweat of thy brow shalt thou earn thy
bread. And he had obeyed the curse witha light heart,
for he knew that at eve the objects of his love would
smile upon him with affectionate gratitude for his self
sacrificing exertions. His sinewy arm had risen and
, fallen. His heavy hand had been plied, and his back
had been bent in severe toil. The perspiration had
fallen from his manly brow, and his weary feet had
been dragged about until they could with difficulty be
, lifted from the ground. The butterfly fovorites of wealth
had looked upon him in scorn, and he had home in
patient silence, their contemptuous looks and taunting
wolds. But now the day was passed. The instru
ments of toil were laid aside. H ; s coat was donned,
and he cheerfully was wending his way home, trolling
a merry catch, and anticipating the fond looks and
grateful words of his affectionate family. Nor was this
anticipation vain. The eldest children ran with eager
steps and joyful bounds, to meet tlieir sire ; the young
er ones clang around his limbs, and his wife met hint
at the door with subdued butjeheerful countenance.—
The eldest daughter placed a chair for her father—a
younger took his hat, and all gathered around him to
tell him the joys and griefs of the past day. His wife
spread the frugal board, and the parents, with the chil
dren, seated themselveS around it, with hearts grateful
I to the Great Donor of all earthly gifts. As the father
looked around upon the dear group, and beheld his
looks of love answered in the animated countenances
j of all, he felt that to him the night was indeed blessed,
which restored to him pure and unalloyed joys.
Blessed be the night! exclaimed the merchant, as he
j summed up his last account, closed his ledgers, and
prepared to leave his counting room. He had gone
forth to his business in the morning, with a fearful heart
! and an anxious countenance He knew that to him
the day must be one of trial and perplexity. He knew
that however wealthy he might be, the times were hard,
money could with difficulty be obtained, and the pay
ments he was to make were many and pressing. lie
! knew that notes were to be paid, or if not paid, they
j would be protested. In this case, his mercantile ho
j nor, which is the breath of the merchant, would be tar
nished. His business might be prostrated. His doors
1 mieht be closed, and bankruptcy stare him in the face
His place in society would be lost, and those for whom
he suffered trial and vexation would sink with him to
i indigence and obscurity. He had planned and striven
that his family might hold an honorable place in socic
j ty. He had succeeded He had beheld them, the hon
ored and the ornaments of the circle in which they
moved: and now, the question came to him, should
they be suffered to fall—should the elegancies of refin
ied life be lost to them—should they become the scorn
ied of those of whom they had been honored 7 No!
i He would make every exe.aon to save them from so
sad a catastrophe. Still, he might fail! And, to him,
the thought was anguish. Thus he had looked forward
’to the night with fearful forebodings of the state in
! which it might find him. But the day had passed. Its
embarrassments had been met and surmounted. His
1 honor had remained untarnished,and the prospect be
fore him was brighter than it had been in the morning.
He closed his ledgers,and turned, with a lightned heart,
to serk his home. His countenance, lit up with a still
I brighter radiance, as he ’houghtof the dear beings who
would greet with joy his return to his dwelling. His
] door was gained. His manly son, his lovely daught
ers, and his fond wife, met him on the threshold. His
daughters conducted him to the couch. His wife and
children caressed him, while one of his daughters ran
to the harp, and sang and played in strains that would
have driven the demon, care, from the bosom of the
most miserable of men. The family gathered around;
and as the kind inquiry, the merry song, and the witty
i repartee went round, the Merchant felt that, blessed
indeed was the night that drove away cankering care,
and brought with it peace und happiness.
Blessed be the night! cried the Merchant’s Clerk, as
I he turned the key in the door, and hastened to wend
j his way to his evening amusements. The day had not
j been, to him, one of great trials. Bankruptcy had not
! threatened to overwhelm him, nor had his mercantile
honor been in danger of being tarnished. He had not
been called upon to pay heavy notes, nor had the rage
jof disappointed men stared him in the face. Still the
day had been to him a weary one. His trials had been
j of that small class which, although they appear trifling,
yetweary the mind and body with their little perplexities,
lie had stood behind the counter, or turned over the
1 leaves of the ledger, but it had been for another ; he
had smiled on those who were annoying him,and had
! obeyed with ready step the calls of the importunate, but
j it had been for another ; he had soolhed the petulent,
j obeyed the imperious, served the impatient, and smiled
! upon all—but it had been for another; he had suffered
blame when it had not been merited, and bad not re
ceived praise when it had been his due—and this had
j been for another; he had felt that he might be the
means of accumulating thousands, and yet the profits
would not be his, hut another’s. His part, he had felt,
was to obey, and he hud obeyed, for the future promis
ed him that h a part should not be always that of the
underling. He beheld himself, in the future, an hon
ored merchant, and for that he now strove and suffer-
' ed. He saw that where his master now was, he would
himself, sometime, be. But the day wr« past —its vex
ations were over—the insolent no more insulted him—
the petulant scolded him no more, and the impatient
no longer hurried him. His companions were waiting
| for him, and he bent his steps with cheerful alacrity to
' wards ihem ; they received him with a shout, and a
j hearty welcome. He seated himself among them, and
care soon fled from his brow: the joke, the hearty
laugh, the merry song, and the pleasant talc went round.
And as the merchant’s Clerk felt his head cheered and
enlivened, he felt that the night was indeed blessed
which freed him from care and restored him to socia
bility and pleasure.
Blessed be the night! sang the votary of pleasure, as
he was whirled rapidly away to the scene of dissipa
tion. The whole day had been spent in a series of ex
ertions to kill the enemy, time Who that has not felt
it, can realize the misery of such a situation ? The
hours, which to the well-employed man glide away as
insensibly as if they had not been, seem to the votary
of pleasure to be clogged by the hand of some malici
ous sprite. His weary eyes turn from the listless game,
or uninteresting novel, and the face of the dial, and
back to the table, or the book, with unvarying regular
ity. But the hands of the dial will not move, and the
face of the watch supports too faithfully the testimony
of its friend, the dial. The ennuyed man turns away
in despair ; he seeks the street ; he looks for some a- i
musement in the prssing crowd, but the fares are all
common-place. He seeks the old miser, with the same 1
countenance he has worn for the lest forty years—the
old roue, with his wonted leer—the man of business, j
with the same care-worn countenance, and the youpg i
bloods, with their wonted swagger. My fortune for a
new face ! but no face ia there. Every one seems to
be mahcteu.lv determined to wear tlie same fine he has
alwavs worn, with n* variation or shadow of change, j
Wearied and disappointed, the voluptuary seeks (he
parlour again. He must, per force, be content with va
pid jokes, and forced smiles, until the dinner bell, which
is to afford him some relief, shall wring its wished-for
invitation. By dint of much industry, and many for
ced jokes, three hours are disposed of at the table. —
Then, again comes the tediousness of expectation.—
That is past. The votary of pleasure cries that the day
has gone, and life shall now begin. As he whirls rap
idly away with his merry companions, he feels that the
night is indeed blessed which frees him from the grasp
of the demon, ennuni, and restores him to the gay laugh
and the noisy rout. Alas ! to him the night was not
blessed : the aching head, and the repentant heart of
the terrible next day, assured him that he was not on
the road to happiness.
Blessed be the night! sang the houseless wanderer f
as with weary steps, and slow, he turned the corner of
an obscure alley in a large city. The mantle of dark
ness fell upon him like the mantle of charity. What
was it to him that the nignt found him without a place
to rest his head ? What was it to him that his only pil
low was the stone step, his only couch the brick side
walk, his only covering die starry canopy of Heaven,
and his only provocative to slumber the damp dews of
night 7 What was this in comparison with the blessed
privilege of being protected irom the cold, scornful gaze
ot men ? What was this in comparison with the en
durance of even the pity of man 7 To the manly breast
there is no thought more galling than the consciousness
of being the object of pity. It mortifies one’s pride, des
troys his self-respect, and places him, as it were,below
the rank of his fellow-men. But that day the wander
er had endured both the scorn and the pity of men ; he
had wandered through all parts of the city, soliciting
something with w’hich to sustain his mortal frame. He
had sometimes met with pity, more often with scorn,
and always with cold, contemptuous looks. He had
been frowned upon until he almost shrank from him
self, as too abject a thing to live. But now the day was
past. He could no longer behold the contemptuous
stare; and as he seated himself in a dark corner, which
he knew no man would penetrate, he felt that the
night was blessed indeed which protected him from
grievous annoyances, and restored him lo something of
self-possession and happiness.
Blessed be the night! cried the wanderer on the deep,
as the sails slut .red in the n’ght breeze, and he was
borne rapidly on to the desired haven. The live-long
day had the ship lain becalmed, under the scorching
sun of the tropics. To venture upon deck had been al
most hazardous under that burning sun ; he had lain,
then, stretched listlessly upon his pallet, panting for
breath. Occasionally he had sought amusement at
chess; but he could not keep up the interest of the game,
and he had sought his pallet in despair. He was anx
iously expecting to meet with friends when he should
arrive in port. There had been a long separation, and
the prospect of are-union was sweet indeed; but it had
seemed as if the ship would not move, and his eager
desires stretched him upon his pallet in a fever of im
patience. Every nerve and fibre of his frame seemed
strung with the intensest feel fig of anxiety. But dark
ness had, at length, covered the sea as with a shroud :
he had beheld the sun sink to rest, in fiery redness, be
neath the billow : the calm seemed to vanish with the
sun ; for directly a breeze sprung up, the sails fluttered
in the wind, and the ship went leaping over the billows.
Oh ! it was a wild, de'irious joy the wanderer felt as he
leaned against a mast upon deck and felt his temples
bathed in the night breeze. He knew the ship was
bounding over the wave, and that every moment it was
bringing him near to his long separated friends, and the
thought was joy. There is a wild excitement in the
mind of a novice upon the deck of a ship at night. The
cries of the sailors, the flapping of Uie sails, and the
ships leaping every moment into apparently a dark a
bys, all tend to excite him, and to teach him that the
situation is new indeed ,- hut above all, is the exciting
thought that he is one of a small band out upon the fa
thomless ocean, hundreds of mites, perhaps, from other
human beings —and that they might all perish in the
deep and there would be none to tell tlieir fate. But
this melancholy thought vanished from the mind of the
wanderei, os he fell himself borne rapidly on. And he
felt that blessed indeed was the night which freed him
from the burning sun of the day,restored the breeze and
gave the sweet assurance of a more speedy le-union
with his friends.
Blessed be the night ! exclaimed the Student, as he
opened the casement and let in the cool night breeze
upon his throbbing temples. The day had been spent
in study and thought. lie had poured out bis glowing
thoughts upon the hi. herto silent parchment; and lie
had looked with pleasure upon the sentences which he
thought might infuse his own enthusiasm iolo the minds
and hearts of others. Thus the day had been spent ;
not without pleasure, but he greeted the night with joy,
for it brought with it the season of calm meditation.—
A holy joy diffuses itself over the heart of the enthusi
ast at night. Tiie calmness that dwells around the hush
ed voices of fellow-men, the darkness giving anew im
pulse to the imagination, all conspire to render it the
appropriate season for thought. This the student felt,
as he looked out upon the star's dim twinkling in the
firmament and gave himself up to pleasing meditation.
Few there are, who know the joys of calm thought; but
those who do, would not sacrifice them for any other
earthly joys. The enthusiast remained absorbed in
pleasing revery, and at its end he felt a wiser and a
belter man. And he thought that blessed, indeed was
the night, that brought with it such calm and holy joys.
Thus hath an all-wise and merciful God, in ceasing
for a season man’s avocations, made it the instrument
of innumerable joys and blessings to him.
LETTERS FROM THE WEST INDIES—No. 10.
THE WINDWARD,
Ship Emily, off Mirtinica, March, 1839.
To the Editor of the Southern Post:
Dear Sir : After several ineffectual attempts to gel
up a party of Americans for an excursion to the Wind
ward Islands, we at length succeeded, and on Tuesday
last, the sth instant, weighed anchor on board the good
ship Emily, at St. Croix, and were once more afloat on
the broad waters of the Carribbean sea. The party
consists of eight ladies and thirteen gentlemen— most
of whom, after having quietly spent the winter in the
West Indies, are recovering iheir health, and finding it
too early to return to their native climate, seek amuse
ment and interest in this trip, to beguile the monotony
of the remaining period of their absence.
The first and second days of our voyage presented
one of those painful, half ludicrous and indescribable
scenes, which grow- out of sea-sickness, the which can
never be writen : a state of indifference to results when j
one scarcely cares whether they chance to fall over
hoard or not. The sickness was more general than I
ever before saw it on ship-board, and doubtless was
very properly ascribed lo our residence, for several
months in a billious climate, using acid fruits and veg
etables to a considerable extent, and enjoying better
general health than we had in some years. I had made
several voyages previously without any symptoms of
sea-sickness, yet on this occasion, with comparatively
smooth water, I was for twenty-four hours or more, a
mong the sickest on board. The third and fourth days
our symptoms began to disappear, and good appetites,
cheerfulness and pleasure, were seen brightening up the
countenances of the ladies, and giving a general tone j
of enjoyment to all on board.
A northerly breeze happening to strike us soon after j
having port, very unusual in the trai es, we had ac-!
coniplished more of our distance in three days than we
eipc< ted to have made in -even or eight ; and on the
third day we were abreast ofSt. Vincent, not more than
eighty miles from Barbados, the remotest point ot our
destination ; here, however, we met the regular trade
wind direedy in our teeth, which gave a different di
rection to our movements.
We did not laad at St. Vincent. The outline, or pro
fi’e, of the Island, however, was distinctly before us
and is generally mountainous and rugged, with val
lies which have the appearance of being fertile. It de
rives i’s name from having been discovered by the Span
iards on St. Vincent's day, and is said by some writers
who have visited it, to be about one-half susceptible of
cultivation. The English were the first cultivators of
its soil; but were dispossed by the French, a party of
whom, from Martinico, invaded and conquered it in
1779, and held it nearly four years, when it was restor
ed to the English at the general peace of 1783, and still
continues in their possession.
From St. Vincent, the trade winds still drove us
northerly. We passed St. Lucia, another English Is
land, having more land than St. Vincent, but posses
sing some peculiar features in its profile—especially two
peaks, or cones, called the sugar loaves, having much
he appearance of volcanic formations.
7 Pursuing our northward course, Dominica next
came up before ns. This Island will be found rather
noted in the history of the West Indies ; having been
one of four declared try the treaty of Aix La Chapelle,
in 1749, as neutral, and maintained its independent
character until in the division of the spoils, in the treaty
of Paris of 1763, it fell to England, who were disposses
sed by the French, in common whh most of the other
British Islands, in 1778, but again restored in 1783.
We ran very near the land, at the opening of Char
lotteville Bay, at the head of which stands the little town
and port of Roscau,some(hing more than half-a-mile in
length, between two small streams, called Charlotteville
and Ro. cau Rivers. A friend, who spent some days
on the Island, tells me that the place is small and does
but little business at present, hn ving been shorn of much
of its early interest by a large fire, during its occupan
cy by the French, from which it has never recovered.
Five hundred buildings, and more than two hundred
thousand pounds sterling value in rich merchandize
having been destroyed.
The Island derives its name from the circumstance
of having been d'ecovered by Columbus on a Sunday,
the 3d of November, 1493, and according to Edwards'
History of the West Indies, was the first land discov
ered by that great and intrepid navigator on his second
voyege ; an honor, by-the-bye, claimed by some other
Islands, among which, I believe, is our little home ofSt.
Croix. The same authority I have before quoted
states, Dominica to be twenty-nine miles in length, and
about sixteen in breadth, containing many high and
rugged mountains, interspersed with some beautiful and
fertile vallics. Immediately in the rear of Roseau are
some very high peaks; the Island is well watered, ha
ving many considerable rivulets, one of which rushing
through a gorge in the hills, foils from a great heighth.
r nd is a beautiful and conspicuous object from the ship
ping in the offing.
From this point, we directed our course toward Mar
tinico, one of the most interesting Islands in this group.
It rose up before us as soon ns we had passed the south
ern point of Dominica. Indeed, such is the regularity
in which the. e beautiful perreroal spots rise up from the
ocean, that you may always see three or more Islands
at once, in clear weather—lieiug generally from twen
ty to forty miles apart. As we approach the land the
rich growth of green cane on the hill sides and valliee
becomes a very conspicuous object, while the rugged
and more distant peaks display a wildness of scenery,
interspersed with lights and shadows, as it may lie ex
posed to, or sheltered from the rays of the sun, far sur
passing, in beauty of coloring, the richest treasures of
the pencil.
As we propose stopping at St. Pierre, you will, pro’
baldy, from thence, hear from me agaiii. M.
For the Southern Post.
Tile season of flowers, the most beautiful part of the
year, is this portion of die Spring, and such is now the
charming and welcome season spread around us, in
bright and pleasing contrast to rude Winter’s storms
and dreariness. The wanderer now at every step is
almost led to cry aloud, “ how beautiful I” The flowery
lawn, the sparkling stream, the masses overhead of de
licate green fringe and the cerulean blue still, still, a
bove, combine to form a prospect pleasing to the sight
and in sweet harmony with every other sense of body
or of mind subdued to gaze upon it. Each sound that
echoes o’er the verdant mead, wild heath or green wood
comes with a rich or mellow intonation and falleth on
the ear like notes of human joy or some wild strain of
melody hcord somewhere, and not quite forgot—the
song of birds, a distant bell perhaps, the baying of some
cur, the lowing sound of cattle on the hills, the ringing
stroke and echo of the woodman's axe ; these, and a
thousand other sounds, mingle and Wend together till
the air is filled with music rich and rare ; and how re
freshing is the breeze, how well adapted. How conge
nial to the senses are die rural prospect! the heart, oa
witnessing it, expands with gladness, and be full it must
with pure devotion in such a time as this—the most le
thargic and insensible are wakened from their apathy
and led to wonder and acknowledge the power and
goodness of the great Creator, and their own compar*
parative littleness. The balmy air is overladen with
sweet odors and the waving boughs with blossoms, the
young green loaves unfolded from their claspings,beck
on with fairy fingers to the passing clouds, or as pale
evening drops her curtain o'er the scene, reach out to
gather up the falling dews, that they may scatter them
again in welcome showers, at morrow’s noontide—;o
should we gather up the riches showered on our heads
to scatter them again around in sweet refreshing chan
ties. The joyous vine is springing from its lowly bed,
with clasping tendrils climbing up aloft upon the shoul
ders of some rugged tree or on some craggy heigafc
that it may look abroad nor be debarred the scene of
general rejoicing—so should we live to aid the joys a
round and rise the nearer heaven. Dame Nature is a
housewife—she hath her times of labor and of visiting
—this is her four o’clock, when she may don her drea
of sober grey and deck herself in all her jewels, she
comes with songs to meet us—her halls the broad, broad,
wood are carpeted with flowers and filled with mossy
couches, inviting us with her to pleasant converse °r
to sweet forgetfulness of woe. She waits our coming
with a smile, yet with impatient attitude, as if her cares
may call her soon away, and we may neverlearn shat
we have lost by our delay. Let us go forth while y et
the bloom is on the flower, for beauty is but a shadow
left by the rainbow and continueth not a glance ot
noonday, and her charms are withered. Lei us
forth with the young bee of early Spring, that we
gather knowledge in its freshness, so we may le* rn 10
distinguish the flower in its purity and fairness front
the seared and sickly bud of summer, and learn to a
mire the beauties and wonders of Providence, rat er
than find fault and murmur with our situation. Let 118
go forth, that me may contemplate the Creator in “
| wonderful works, and while it purifies and elevates t e
mind it will fit us for moral and intellectual diseip! |nc j
and teaches us, by drawing parallel between n * tur4
and moral beauty, to be able to distinguish between
j *»»***.
vice and virtue.
EOST,
ON MONDAY last, either in the street* ofMw«j<
or between Macon and Vineville, a small oi
morocco Pocket-Book, containingsotne paper*. * n “ ,
enty or seventy-five dollars iu Bank Bills. I lie Imt"
shall, by returning it to me, lx- suitald^
mat II ’ Hk