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aiffli! MffiMll ■ (EMMS. TERMS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. (Original |*ortnj. ~~LINES Composed on the banks of Murder Creek, Jasper county, Ga., Oct. 1, 1848. BY J. A. TURNER. How Beautiful the scenery round ! How gleefully my blood-chops bound Through my warm heart, and life-qpntaining veins! Here spirit solitude divinely reigns, Vi,(l with a royal edict binds \1 v .-pint to the sighing winds, The tmbid st.eam, and nature’s woody sanes. All these have spirits which converse With mine, and to its ear rehearse Soul-strains, which inattentive wights hear not— Vll-ble-sed is the man whose happy lot It is to listen with a mind Attentive to the wo.ds refined Which nature whispers —ne'er to be forgot. Beneath me flows a stream, whose breast Hears on its current of unrest, Trad leaves which have been by the parent tree Cast off. Fit emblems are these leaves of me And of my fellow-men. We live But for an hour, and then our bodies give Unto death’s stream, to bear them to ,ts sea. Above my head the muscadine Twines round the o ik, and ihe grape-vine lis purple clusters draperies w.th leaves \.,w glowing yellow as the golden sheaves. The wdlow and the sealy-bark Unr autumn’s daits have served a mark, \iut thro’ yon pine the moaning zephyr grieves. Birds come upon the grapes to feed, Which, pierced, with crimson fluid bleed— U’ood-peckers chatter as they eat—the jay Stalls with harshness, wh.le delay On yon dead pine the coy and shy Gold-winged wood-peckers that will fly To get their share when jays have gone away. The log-eock, with his scarlet plume Taps yon old beech. He means a room To make wherein his mate may sit next Spring, And.broodiugo’er the eggs w.th spreading wing, Hatch bun a nest of gentle young. And ever darts his barbed tongue 1’ die worm’s recess, food for his crop to bring. fantastic in gyrations play The blue-bird’s wings. But, hark, away! The woods and hills ro-echo w.th the sound Oi the deep-buying mouth of many a hound ! And list! amid the dm 1 hear I he chatter, grateful to the ear, Os the gray-squirrel, which the dogs have found. lie now and then in mischief drops A hickory-nut from out his chops, Among the clamoring hounds which lay be neath, All eager for the gun to speak his death ‘ My rifle’s at the house—l’m glad, For if the fire-arm here I had 1 might be tempted now to steal his breath. Upstream, with brushwood nearly hid, The otter sports the young amid ; While down below, swimming in grand estate, The keen-eyed mallard chuckles to his mate. Whether I look above the bridge, Or down below, or on the ridge, Back from the bank, I’m still elate. Almost forgotten is my coik That dances on the water: —work Hard it is to watch its motion mid the sights That till my ravished heart with such delights. Under the surface now it pop- Aji.k! and from my line there drops A sucker, floundering on the banky heights. (Original Calcs. For tlie Southern Literary Gazette. COUNTRY PLEASURES AND EXCITEMENTS. BY JENNIE ELDER. I he name of “ the country ” conjures a vision 0| sylvan scenes and scenes elysian— Puritan purity and precision— -01 upright, downright dealings: P t. let one in their faith’s excess, Make a home away in the wilderness. And they’ll learn the lesson, more or less, 1 hat knowledge hath strange revealings. Were it not for the country, what “ould become of the poets ? In the city, where the sun and its reflected rav -s not satisfied with subduing the outer shell, passeth onward and in "urd, licking the springs of inspiration d>'v’. the first deep yearning and pas sionate desire is tor the green glades ai, il mellow shadows of the country. 1 here the poor, fevered soul may re new its half-seared energies, by drink ing violet dew and breathing odour of roses— by swinging on a green Jeaf or dancing to the music of the stream — tj v resting among the grass emeralds and the flower gems, or riding a white ‘loud in the region of skv diamonds. () - depend upon it, Nature is a purely beautiful resuscitation. The soul in visibly softens and expands, like a r ose-bmi tremblingly unfolding beneath tllu influence of gentle sunshine and pure dew; but, as the rose-leaves in lllle become colourless and scatter b‘ ;lr faded treasures on the ground, so k'Us from the soul its first sweet im pressions. lameness ever palls; we become cu !|"llS violet dew is too insipid; we lUrn to the vast caldron of society, and, ‘ l,l Wc are aware, we are floundering ‘‘ ‘ld the dregs at the bottom. We ‘""jht have rested very well on the s Parkli, lg froth at the top, but —this l’ l ’ curiosity! e have not the slightest idea of dis -1 ;tm g the universally conceded point, l‘at the country and its inhabitants are ■ rior in some respects to the city 111,1 inhabitants. As we have just “k the former have all natural ad- I stages, and therefore, being more U“‘pie and natural, ought to be superi- | ,JI to the latter, who, “cribbed, cabined i iiiLi mm&k wmm w unamm w mn mb scimss. mb m bemmb mmumm. and confined,” know Nature only through the medium of art. It has been said and sung, that “man san imitative animal.” I have seen a child jump into a mud puddle because his companion was fool-hardy enough to woo the rod by thus desecrating the purity of his garments; and, somehow, grown up ehihlren have the same pre dilictions in various modified forms, often but becoming sensible of their folly beneath the application of the rod. Just like the two boys are the city and country: the first leads the way, the last follows; the first has a beautiful path, bright with pleasure, gaiety and splendour, but the slough of strife, en vyings and heart-burning, is ever by its side; the last, poor unsophiticated rustic, toils devotedly for a path just like it, and the slough appears without an effort. And, after all, there is a wonderful sameness in humanity. Cir cumstances do not influence it as much as we suppose. And now for my tvee story. Georgiana Helen Elizabeth Manton might be said to have received a patent of distinction at the font, “each and every ’ name receiving due emphasis, as the crystal drops bedewed the head of the little “three years old,” who, not exactly relishing the procedure, gave vent to her republican feelings by exclaiming, “On a natty ting!” But this trial passed off, and the little Georgiana Helen Elizabeth left the land of childhood in the distance, as rapidly as her increasing attitude and self-importance would allow. At the age of thirteen, she turned her back on the village school once and forever, and entered society with a dignity and self possession, which showed she was well acquainted with the matter, in theory at least. This precious offspring of the Loves and Graces was very pretty. If she had not been conscious of this, pinafores and short frocks would have reigned for at least two years longer. She could boast of a slight, yet beauti fully proportioned form, a petite hand and foot, a wilderness of b.own, wavy hair, a large brown eye, and there her beauty, I might say, ended. She was pretty, not beautiful. Then, she was endowed with a vivacity of manner, a light springness of step, a habit of smiling, not to say giggling, and be sieging you with her large eyes, which went far to prove that she was fully aware of the value of those soul-sub duers. Georgiana stepped “on the carpet” with a full consciousness of woman’s power and dignity; and in pursuance of the advice of a prime old maiden aunt, kept “a stiff upper lip”—that is, in an allegorical sense. Her debut was a decided hit. Young sprigs of bachelor dom surrounded her “as thick as yel low jackets on cotton blooms,” and as a somewhat envious friend remarked, who but she. Ah! there was the rub! Envy and detraction are the wasps which strive to embitter the honey hive of bell-dom; and, alas for poor human nature, how oft they succeed. Unfortunately for Georgiana, she was blessed with pretty neighbours—few will deem this an anomaly—and, no sooner did the trumpet of her fame be gin to sound, than a counter blast, in tones “not loud but deep,” proclaimed it heresy. We all remember the pas sage “ Far better is it to be lowly born” &o. for the sake of the moral we will transpose or transform it. “ Far better is it to be plainly born, And dwell w.th silent livers in content, Than to be perked up in a sounding fame, And wear a smiling sorrow.” This truth did not become evident to Georgiana 11. E. at first—how could it ? for. did not every one of her young companions tell her when they met, how much they had longed to see her, how much they loved her, how much she was admired, until the fair girl fan cied she lived in times millenial. To anatomise the qualities of one whom we call friend, would be a strange, an humbling task. To find for the first time how much the appreciation of our er rors preponderated over that of our virtues. To find the one mingling with and chilling the other, and all for lack of moral courage to speak to us of these errors, thereby affording a means of re claim. No, a friend will extol to us the little virtues, and make the world the private confidant of our errors. — There are two classes of friends; I speak of those most numerous —whose friendship is “ but a name.” As we have said, Georgiana was not aware of this truth at first, so she went on her way gaily and happily. Hearts were thrown at her feet, but a glance convinced her that they were gilded only with a mixture of pewter and brass, with here and there a speck of sylabub, so, a little impulse, generally termed “ a kick” sent them rolling in the slough of despond. She was con vinced of the truth, literally, that “all is not gold which glitters,” and, for one of her years, was remarkably discrimi nating on the subject. Georgiana, besides her present fair stand in society, could boast of family. We, Americans profess an utter con tempt for such things, but from the days of George Washington down to those of the poet Dana, there is the same hankering after English progenitors, as has a child for a brilliant stick of can dy. Georgiana, then, could boast of an English connection. Her great, great grand-uncle married an Engli-h lady who had actually seen the King!! Her great grand-father, in the time of the revolution, had English command ers to honour his house with their pre sence ; and to honour his wine casks by withdrawing the spigot. This, with other lordly pranks in the way of smash ing costly china, and ripping brocade gowns and costly lace*, impressed the great event indelibly—perhaps deeper because such costly articles were nought to them now but a memory. It is a curious fact in life, that, though family property will, family pride will not degenerate. Some matter of fact block-heads actually undertake to ridi cule this, but, as pride and wealth are both said to be very evanescent, whv may not the one stand for the other, ? “ R ising higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire.” To cover the helpless sinking of its synonym Georgiana Helen Elizabeth struggled hard in her own sweet way, to restore the desired equilibrium. It was an understood law, that no tiller of the soil, or sturdy artizan should ap proach her august vicinity, and a codicil —or something; I know nothing of law terms —was added, that none who, however bright their present pros pects, might realise the frowns of For tune, need approach. This she had said to a friend, and she, pitying the probable fate of many a bright youth, kindly sent the intelligence on the four winds of Heaven. This threw conster nation among the legion of her admir ers. Desertion thinned the ranks dai ly. and the latter part of the third year of her reign, was darkened by a phenomenon—at a camp-meeting, she alighted from her carriage unaided ! People—young men especially, do not much like to be dictated to, The “lords of creation’ may pass their opinion freely and openly on the weaker half, but let her make a distinction, or ex press an unpalatable thought, and her throne totters; her sceptre is broken. \ ear succeeded year, and Georgiana, ignorant of the cause, wondered to see herself still a lone star. She looked in her glass and found no fault with its reflection ; she practised her little airs and graces, they were still pretty — even improved—she had added anew motion to her walk, and a sweet little grimace to her lips, yet still her pretty neighbours laughed at her broken spells, and the sad truth became apparent, that the power of mere beauty is fleet ing. Her mother was in despair, she had spared none of the advertisements of dress and jewelry. A huge minia ture glittered on her breast; a gold pencil dangled at her waist; a heavy locket swung close to her neck, and her taper fingers glittered with rings. She sent her on a visit to a neighbouring county, which proved to be extremely wise policy, for in a few weeks she re turned with a fine dashing beau, Mr. Horatia Hornby Hampshire. Mrs. Manton was delighted. She had heard much of the Hampshires ; their stand in society was high; their wealth con siderable, and, above all they could trace with precision their descent from Pocahontas. Mr. Hampshire, there fore, was received with marked atten tion. From that time forth himself and his buggy were at the service of Miss Manton. The pleasure of again receiving attentions was enhanced by past humiliation, and she took an inno cent delight in exhibiting her prize.— One day he drove her on a visit to her pretty neighbours. Miss Amanda Eu phrasior and Miss Cleopatra Inez were in extasies at seeing her. The words and the kisses with which they greeted her, were more musical than ever, and the reproaches for not coming sooner were heart-rending in their tenderness and pathos. “ You staid away so long, you naughty little truant! you gave your smiles to strangers, when you could not but know we were pining for them. Leave us not soon again, dear Georgy.” said Miss Amanda. “ And we had so much to tell you about Mr.—and Mr. —and Mr.—you know who. They have been here often, and I was so sorry you were gone.”— said Miss Cleopatra, who was some thing of a beauty and a flirt. Georgi ana could not but believe them. Her circle of friends had never been much jostled, one started not up to tell the savings or doings of another, and so, the subject of the espionage dreamed on. Mr. Hampshire came in for his share of civility. The young ladies chatted and smiled most amiably, pleasure winging the hours in a most delightful manner—he was charmed, and also exerted himself to please.— On leaving, Augustus Vermont—the brother of the ladies —invited Mr. Hampshire and Fred Marton to a hunt- CHARLESTON, SATURDAY, AUG. 17, 1850. ing excursion on a future day. It was accepted with pleasure. “ Delightful visit,” said Mr. Hamp shire as they dove off. “Such lively, sociable, amiable people. 1 am glad you introduced me.” Georgiana, with all her little vanities, was charitable, and very disinterestedly extolled her friends and their perfections. Let’s listen for a moment to the after-piece at the Vermonts, “ Quite a nice gentleman.” said Miss Armanda. “ Very,” said her brother. “I wonder if he’s courting at Mr. Manton’s,” said Miss Cleopatra Inez. “ I don’t know,” said her brother, “ but its very likely.” “She seems to think he is,” said Miss Amanda. “ Did you see how proud she looked when she introduced him ?” said Miss Cleopatra Inez. “ I did so. I wonder if he’s as rich as they say ?” “I don’t know. 1 expect he thinks she is. They always make such a show there.” “O, yes, and talk large too. If 1 was a little better acquainted with the gentleman, I'd give him a hint in a jokiug way, of their exclusive opinions and their means of supporting them.” “You’d better not meddle with it,” said her brother. “Why? said Miss Cleopatra sharply. “ Because, it’s none of your business. You women have such petty malices.” They had crushed his affection for Georgiana, in its incipient state, but it still lived faintly and covertly. “ And, I’d like to know if its your place to interrupt us while talking? I ll say just what I please.” Augustus whistled and left the room. “ I don’t see what Mr. Hampshire could see in her to admire, so proud and vain and yet so simple. I could lead a dozen like her by the nose. “Never mind, he’ll see this after a while. We must do the amiable to per fection, in his presence—he’ll soon see the contrast.” Mr. Hampshire and Fred. Manton spent the appointed day in hunting, du ring which the former met with a sad accident: he was thrown from his horse and broke his arm. At the pressing invitation of Augustus he remained with him a few days. Whether it was f. li the sake of healing his arm, or subject ing him to heart-wounds from his bright sisters, we do not know, but the latter fate would not have grieved Augustus —he could still think of Georgiana. He never revealed the cause, but, certain it is, that Mr. Hampshire’s pen chant for the society of Miss Manton retrogaded from that period. It was whispered about, seemingly with tro definite authorship, that the lady had appended his name to the list of the discarded, and as the gentleman was unconscious of any reason why he should join the list, he uttered no com plaint, sought no explanation, but quiet ly deserted, Irorse buggy and all, to the standard of Miss Armanda Euphrasia Vermont. He was highly pleased at the exchange, very happy—for a little while, and then being inclined to think a little, and to see a fault occasionally, he, one day came to the conclusion, that betw-een a woman whose chief faults were vanity and pretension, and one, who, however accomplished she might be, would stoop to detraction or exposure of her professed friend, the difference was tar in favour of the form er. His recession from orre forbade a thought of return, and his short-lived attachment to the other, served to open his eyes —he returned home and in a few months married a nice little do mestic maiden, who was neither beau tiful, nor rich, nor very proud, nor very vivacious, but, with a sprinkling of all these, made a most gentle, amiable and industrious little wife. Misses Amanda and Cleopatra are still unmarried, and, as Mrs. Augustus Vermont, Georgiana, grown a little wiser, “ keeps herself to herself” more than formerly, and loses a grain of pride every day. And, now, when I have scribbled over my little sketch, I wonder at my self for dwelling on foibles of my sis terhood. I wonder, and blame myself, but glancing at the Lady's book I find the following. “There are, in each in dividual, certain traits of character that claim our highest admiration; while others, of an opposite nature engender disgust to such a degree, that the few bright spots, which, on first acquaint ance, we delighted to look upon, be come clouded, their lu>tre dimmed, and their beauty destroyed by the deformi ties which surround them.' 1 Just so, 1 think, dear reader, and as writers, how ever they may esteem themselves else where, are supposed to lose self at the desks, their spiritual existence being merged in, and for the good of others, I trust, that to your humble servant,will not be ascribed that sententious little proverb concerning “glass houses,” &c. Like marriages, which are half made © • when there is one consenting party, poe try is half written in every woman's heart. JHferrllamj. THE FESTIVAL OF THE CRADLE. -here is a very pretty and interest ing amusement in Germany among the upper classes, called the Wiegen-Fest, or Festival of the Cradle ; and the fa vourite time of the year for a festival of this kind of acting-tableaux is the month ot May, because it is thought lucky to be born in this month, and be cause the Mai-blunchen, (Convallaria ma alis,) or Lily of the Valley, which then comes first into flower, can be ob tained as an emblem. \Y e may imagine in an old baronial schloss or chateau in the country, a party on a visit to a young count or T-ountess, whose first-born is only a few r -nths old. A spacious room is se lected for the reception of visitors, and adjoining is a smaller one, with folding doors, surrounded by an old oaken boundary, resembling the frame of a picture. A curtain conceals the whole. The resident villagers compose and ar range the tableaux, the count and countess forming a part of the audience. The curtain draws up, and a cradle is seen with a baby in it, the nurse rock ing and lulling her young charge to sleep with the melodious air of a Wie genhead or cradle-song, or what they in Eng and called a lullaby. The words in German are very simple and pretty, and ire expressive of a mother’s affec tion and care—that angels hover over and around the cradle to protect what lies within, and are ready to wipe up its tears —that the mother sits constant ly watching, arrd that her love for the chile never suffers her to sleep, &c.— A lady and gentleman enter represent ing the count and countess, and are dressed as much like them as possible. They join in the song, and contemplate witfc pleasure their cherished angapfajl or apple of their eye. Then a lady, dressed up as a gipsy, makes her ap pearance, and states that she is aware she is in the presence of line lords and lad es, beautifully dressed up in silks arrd satins, while she is only a beggar and in rags, but that she is an old gypsy who has ventured to come and amuse them, and hopes she may be permitted to speak. She approaches the personi fied count and countess, bearing as an offering an emblem of their darling child —the Lily of the Valley.* The gypsy now observes to the count and countess that all that she had pre dicted to them before their marriage had come to pass; that a veil or cur tain had beeu over the present scene till lately : that she would absent her self for a time, but would soon return and give them a peep into futurity ; she would again remove the veil, arrd show them what they would be fifty years hence. The curtain falls, and the well-known air of “ Freut euch des Le bens,” (Life let us cherish,) is heard, at the conclusion of which, the curtain is again drawn up, and there is seen sit ting in an arm-chair, the countess, now no longer in the bloom of youth, but tire venerable grand mama, in a cos tume suitable to her age, and still pos sessing a degree of beauty as pleasing and interesting of its kind as when she was fifty years younger. By her side sits the count, her husband, with snowy locks arrd wrinkled brow, but still re turning the good-humour arrd urbanity of his earlier years. Children and grandchildren surround the worthy pair, and perform a most interesting tableaux. A female voice is heard singing a fa vourite national air—it is the gypsy, who enters the family circle, and ad dressing the venerable count and countess, proceeds to state that as she had told them so correctly what would come to pass she hoped they would not refuse to giant her a reward, adding— “ *s<> schenke deine Freundschaftrnir, (Give me your friend hip ;) 1 will keep it as the most valuable gift you can be stow upon me, and should I be so hap py as to see you again fifty years hence, 1 will show you that I still retain Freund schaut—des Lebens schoeste Gabe, (Friendship—the most valuable gift in life.”) Music strikes up ; the family party, with the gypsy, join in the merry dance, and the curtain falls, on the pretty ta bleau. VYe have some curious customs in our own country of offerings to infants; and among these there is one partially practised at the present time in the North of England. A child, on its first visit to a friend, is presented by that honoured person with an offering of a small cake of bread, an egg, and some salt, iniended to signify that the child shall have a sufficient supply of such necess ries throughout its future life; and if this offering is neglected, the very reverse is supposed to follow. The custom is of great antiquity.— Cakes and salt were used in religious rites by the ancients; and even in Scripture we find salt indispensable as an offering: “ If thou bring an oblation of a meat offering baked in the oven, it shall be unleavened cakes of fine flour. With all thy offerings thou shalt offer salt.” There was formerly a custom in Scotland, ot laying a young child in a basket, in which was generally conceal ed so .ie bread and cheese. It was then moved three times successively over the fire, to counteract the ma lignant arts which witches and evil spirits are supposed to practice on in fants. There was a sim'lar practice in the Western Islands of Scotland, (accord ing to an ancient writer,) on the re'urn of the newly baptized infant from church. It was vibrated three times over the fire, and the following sentence re peated three times : “ Let the flame consume thee now or never.” This custom, it is further stated, had its origin in Athens, where a feast was held in a private family, called Am phidromae, on the fifth day after the birth of the child, when the gossips as- *ln Germany, when a child happens to be born in May, it is called a Mai-btunchen or Lily of the Valley, in the same way as they in England say, a May-bird. sembled, and ran round the fire with the infant in their arms, and then, hav ing delivered it to the nurse, were en tertained with feasting and dancing. In the time of Herrick, a crust of bread seems to have been considered of peculiar efficacy with regard to infants. We find him accordingly, alluding to it as follows : Bring the holy cruet of bread, Lay rt underneath the head ; ’Tis a certain charm to keep Hags away wh.le children sleep. w hen offerings were made to chil dren, they were always supposed to be accompanied by a blessing, and it is still a proverbial saying in some places: “Ask me a blessing, and I will give you some plum-cake.” Sometimes, also, a little of the cere mony of Taufe, or chistening, is intro duced, such us the interesting moment after the child has received its Tauf name, or Christian name, when all the ladies are so eager to feel the, weight of the child ! This, in England, would excite great astonishment, and would appear in fact “quite a mys tery ; but iu germany, this act of female curiosity is better understood, and easi ly accounted for. And it may here be also observed, that a very young child, in Germany, is always carried about in a down pillow, so long, that when the child is laid upon it, with its h. ad at one end, the other is folded up over its body, arid reaches as far as the should ers, like a blanket. This is called the iYag-kissen, or carrying-pillow. The whole is then bound round with bands; a beautiful thin cover is thrown over it, generally of a knitted material, or of fine muslin, very tastefully worked; and in this manner the child is carried about by the nurse, the swaddling be ing taken off only occasionally. As the godmother and a few other fiends have always some offerings to present to the child on this occasion, it is customary for those persons to take the nurse aside for a few minutes afte ■ the babe has received its name, and the gifts, which are generally gold or silver, are then slipped at the sides of the IYag-kissen, and immediately after, when the child is brought in to see the company, and handed about, so as to form an idea of the weight, or the amount of its newly acquired personal property, it is loosed from the bands, and the gilts are displayed to all eager eyes. No little curiosity is shown to see and read the labels that accompany the different presents, so as to ascertain the names of the different donors; also the pretty verses that are frequently found in the cups or mugs, all expres sive of good wishes to the little stranger, and some of the current coin of the country is never omitted among the presents, intending to denote a suffi ciency of wealth. This ceremony over, the nurse retires with her charge—the remainder ot the dramatis personae con clude the scene with music and dancing, when the curtain tails. It is thought unlucky in Germany to be born on a Friday, but the good luck said to be attendant upon the Sontags kind or Sunday-child, is well known ; so when the Trag-kissen is found well stored with offerings, a fond hope is cherished, that the Taufling, (christened child,) on whatever day it may happen to have been born, will be as lucky as the Sontags-kind. RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. “By the Lord—cut of]'!” said the captain, turning to his lieutenant; “we have to run the gauntlet of the fleet. The fellows are coining up like sharks.” “But we can make our way yet,” was the reply, “ taking the chance of being crippled in a tight. The second vessel will pass under our lee. close enough to deliver her fire with effect, and this one in shore will pepper us smartly. But the others will have to fire at long shot and we need not fear them much.” “True,” said the captain, “but the hot ter the work the better our brave lads will like it. We are in for it, and must rasp our way through.” The men by this time were at their quarters, the guns were ready, and the ammunition waiting to be served out. The battle lanterns along the deck stood prepared for use. A few minutes more would plunge us into the con test; for there was no doubt from the movements of the enemy that we were known. We kept on in silence for a while, our hearts beating faster, as the crisis approached. Rapidly the net drew around us. The in-shore sloop was closing fast, well to windward; while the second man-of-war was coining up, hand over hand, ahead, though on our lee. If we could pass the latter un hurt and outsail the former, we might yet escape, especially if by any chance she could be crippled. These thoughts were passing through my mind when, all at once, a gush of fire streamed from one of the ports of the in-shore sloop, and the report of a cannon boomed sul lenly across the night. It was the sig nal for us to heave to. We were, at this time, running more freely before the wind, having it on our larboard quarter, while the in-shore sloop, was crossing ahead on the same tack, with the wind forwa and of her chains. The other frigate was close on our starboard beam, but further down to leeward. Our distance from the leading man-of-war was comparatively inconsiderable. “Brace her up sharp!” thundered the captain, “or she will rake us. We ll give it to her broadside for broadside, and cross her forefoot if we can. And then good-bye.” There was just room enough to es feet this delicate manceuvre, and with a ship of less excellent qualities it would have been impossible. It might even now fail if the enemy should prove as quick to work as ourselves, or should injure our spars materially. Instant at the word the ship obeyed the helm, and like a thoroughbred came snuffing up into the wind. The next few minutes passed in breathless anxie ty. At first the enemy intended to head us off, but his vessel couid not THIRD VOLUME—NO. 10 WHOLE NO 116. compare with ours in weatherly quali ties, and we soon found that we should cross ahead of him though dangerous ly close. His ports were now open, and a blaze of light streaming from them across the sea, illuminated the prospect. DireCilv he opened on us with his forward guns, and then piece after piece was delivered, until his sides gleamed with continuous fire.— \Ye heard the crashing of bulwards, the whizzing of shot, and the cheers of his men ; but our orders were to stand per fectly still at the guns until the com mand to fire was giver*. The fifth dis charge dismounted a carriage near me and killed three of the men, besides wounding most of those at the piece. As the sufferers were carried off, the men at my station knit their- brows and muttered curses. They were like hounds in the leash waiting to be loos ened. But no permission to fire came. The excitement became intense.— Murmurs began to be heard at the di visions. Even the officers, sharing in the feelings of the men, looked to ward their superior in nervous impa tience. We were now drawing ahead and across the enemy, having passed the ordeal of his fire with our spars and rigging uninjured, except in trifling cases, though with our hull cut up and a large number wounded. The mo ment the captain had waited for was come. Removing his eye from the foe, on which he had kept it lixed tor the last few seconds, he gave, in a stern, half-suppressed tone, the long desired command, and instantly, with a thunder that 1 shall never forget, we poured in our broadside. Ihe effect was terrible. Every gun had been double-shotted, accurately pointed, and even before the noise of the explosion had died away, we heard the crashing of the spars and the shrieks of the wouncW. For a moment the smoke, thickly packed on the deck, concealed the ravages we had made ; but gradually the white cloud eddied and blew off to leeward, and then we saw the havoc of that fiery broadside. The enemy’s foremast lay over the side with all its maze of hamper, thump ing violently against her hull, and ef fectually disabling quite one-half of her starboard battery. Her maintop-mast had been shot away; the rnizzen shrouds seemed cracking, and the deck was a scene of general confusion and destruction. Vs far as we could judge many of the guns were deserted.— With a single well aimed broadside we had reduced the sloop to a wreck. “ Huzza ! shouted Taffrail “we have ‘em now, my boys. We shall be through the Straits directly—huzza! Here conies a second fellow, a parting good-bye to him—then we’ll show ’em our heels.” The man-of-war to which he alluded was the frigate coming up on our lee, which having waited till we were suf ficiently ahead of her discomfited con sort, opened her fire upon us. The scene now became more animated than it had been at any time preceding. On our star board side more than a dozen vessels were visible, skirting the whole seaboard in that quarter, and all crowd ing sail to cut us off, or come up in time for the conflict. At the head of these assailants was the frigate, now within dangerous proximity, and delivering her tire with utiusal precision and cool ness. The shadowy obscurity in the distance, the lights flickering along the horizon, and the gushes of fire continu ally streaming from her ports and blaz ing luridly through the veil of thick white mist that environed her, gave a wild sublimity to the prospect, which was increased by the sullen and mea sured booming of her long twenty-fours. We soon saw that the frigate was no match for us in speed and, as we were both running on the same tack, and as near as possible side by side, we had the satisfaction of beholding her gradu ally dropping astern. At this instant, however, a shot struck our main-top sail, which fell, but the damage was found trifling, and the canvass was speedily hoisted again to its place.— During this interval the frigate recov ered a portion of her lost ground, while others of the fleet attained a closer proximity, and began to open their bat teries on us, so that bv the time the damage was repaired no less than five oEthe enemy were thundering after us. Luckily, however, most of them were at suvh a distance, and their crews were so deficient in ball practice, that the danger was inconsiderable ; while our comparative immunity thus far had so exhilerated the men that they regarded the peril as even less than it really was, and enjoyed the stirring excitement of the chase with the feelings of spectators rather than of participants. Indeed the most imminent peril had been passed. We had now drawn nearly altogether out of reach of the guns of the dismantled sloop, which had continued, even after we‘had passed her, to maintain a sullen fire. Our on ly real antagonist was the frigate, wh ch was now well on our quarter, but rapid ly falling out of dangerous vicinity.— Suddenly we saw her foretop-mast yard fall, and though a score of men instant ly sprang aloft, we knew that before the damage could be repaired we should be safe. At this instant 1 looked once more on the now comparatively dis tant wreck. Shadowy and diin she lay on the eastern seaboard, fast fading in to the darkness. Between her and the frigate, circling the horizon to the north, were the various ships of the squadron, (lotting the seaboard with isolated lights. We had passed from their midst like a sea bird on the wing, when the sky lowers with a coming storm. All eyes had instinctively followed mine in its hasty survey and, as the as surance that the peril was over rushed on every mind, a deafening cheer burst from the crew, and rose to the welkin. Again and again it was renewed until the calm stars over head appeared to quiver with the uproar. In a few days we were on the broad Atlantic, and homeward bound. We arrived in Boston harbor without acci dent after a run of twenty days. ( Cruising in the Last- ffar.j (t'liinpsta of if rut Inoks. SENTENCES WRITTEN BY MR. ALLSTON ON TIIK WALLS OF HIS STI'DIO. From Lectures on Art and Poems, by Washington Allston. 1. “No genuine work of Art ever was, or even can be, produced but for its own sakt ; if the painter does not conceive to please himself, he will not finish to please the world."—Fuseli. 2. If an Artist love his Art for its own sake, he will delight in excellence wherever he meets it, as well in the work of another as in his own. 4 his is the test of a true love. 3. Nor is this genuine love compati ble witha craving for distinction; where the latter predominates, it is sure to betray itself before contemporary ex cellence, either by silence, or (as a bribe to the conscience) by a modicum of praise. The enthusiasm of a mind so influ enced is confined to itself. 4. Distinction is the consequence, never the object, of a great mind. 5. The love of gain never made a Painter; but it has marred many. 6. The most common disguise of Envy is in the praise of what is subor dinate. 7. Selfishness in Art, as in other things, is sensibility kept at home. 8. The Devil’s heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the phrase “devilish good” has sometimes a literal meaning. 6. The most intangible,and therefore the worst, kind of lie is a half truth. This is the peculiar device of a conscien tious detractor. 10. Reverence is an ennobling senti ment ; it is felt to be degrading only by the vulgar mind, which would escape the sense of its own littleness by ele vating itself into an antagonist of what is above it. He that has no pleasure in looking up is not fit so much as to look down. Os such minds are man nerists in Art; in the world, tyrants of all sorts. 11. No right judgment can ever be formed on any subject having a moral or intellectual bearing without benevo lence; for so strong is man’s natural self-bias, that, without this restraining principle, he insensibly becomes a com petitor in all such cases presented to his mind ; and. when the comparison is thus made personal, unless the odds be immeasurably against him, his de cision will rarely be impartial. In other words, no one can see any thing as it really is through the misty spectacles f self-love. We must wish well to another in order to do him justice.— Now the virtue in this good-will is not to blind us to his faults, but to our own rival and interposing merits. 12. In the same degree that we over rate ourselves, we shall underiate others; for injustice allowed at home is not likely to be corrected abroad.— Never, therefore, expect justice from a vain man; if he has the negative mag nanimity not to disparage you, it is the most you can expect. 13. The Phrenologists are right in placing the organ of self-love in the back of the head, it being there where a vain man carries his intellectual light; the consequence of which is, that every man he approaches is obscured by his own shadow. 14. Nothing is rarer than a solitary lie; for lies breed like Surinam toads; you cannot tell one but out it comes with a hundred young ones on its back. 15. If the whole world should agree to speak nothing but truth, what an abridgement it would make of speech! And what an unravelling there w’ould be of the invisible webs which men, like so many spiders, now weave about each other! But the contrast between Truth and Falsehood is now pretty well balanced. Were it not so, and had the latter the mastery even lan guage would soon become extinct, from its very uselessness. The present su perfluity of words is the result of the warfare. 10. A witch s skiff cannot more easi ly sail in the teeth of the wind, than the human eye lie against fact; but the truth will oftener quiver through lips with a lie upon them. 17. An open brow with a clenched hand shows any thing but an open pur pose. 18. It is a hard matter for a man to lie all over , Nature having provided king’s evidence in almost every mem ber. The hand will sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every feature is set the other way ; the knees smite together, and sound the alarm of fear, under a fierce countenance ; and the legs shake with anger, when all above is calm. 19. Nature observes a variety even in her correspondences ; insomuch that in parts which seem but repetitions there will be found a difference. For instance, in the human countenance, the two sides of which are never identical. \\ henever she deviates into monotony, the deviation is always marked as an exception by some striking deficiency; as in idiots, who are the only persons that laugh equally on both sides of the mouth. The insipidity of many of the an tique Statues may be traced to the false assumption of identity in the cor responding parts. No work wrought by feeliny (which, after all, is the u,ti rnate rule of Genius) was ever marked by this monotony. 20. lie is but half an orator who turns his hearers into spectators. The best (quoad the speaker) are those which he cannot help. An un conscious thump of the tist or jerk of the elbow is more to the purpose, (what ever that may be,) than the most grace ful ent-and-dried action. It matters not whether the orator personates a ti ip hammer or a wind-mill; if his mill but move with the grist, or his hammer knead the iron beneath it, he will not fail of his effect. An impertinent ges-