Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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