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til every other neighbouring steamer has left; then her smoking, and wheez ing, and bell-tolling will case until to morrow afternoon, when a second edi tion will be issued, and so on till some other of the line is up. It’s a regular thing with some boats. “ And do the public stand it ?” “ Her public have to: she’s Hobson’s choice to-day. Do you remember Tom , he who played the Kent bu<de so effectually at Captain Rice’s last concert I He was once on board of her when all this fun was going on. Bv-ana-bv both Captain and Pilot went ashore some distance off, and Tom mounted to the wheel-house, for he’s a bit of an amateur Pilot, as he is an amateur in music. Winking to two or three of his friends on the levee, off went the lines: the wheels were re volving backward at the time furious ly, and off she spun into the river, up setting a brace of fat darkies who were o carrying supplies aboard, and sending a dozen conchshells from a little w her ry behind, to amuse the mermaids and catfish below'. ‘ Stop her,’ cried the Captain, running to the water’s edge, and gesticulating furiously. The Pilot fell to swearing (as all Pilots do in emergencies),and the crowd about hur rahed. Tom headed her up river, and away she went for a few’ lengths ; but he hadn’t calculated the current; and the first thing he knew, he was against a seven hundred-touner, just in, full of Dutch emigrants, battering against her sober sides like a battering-ram at the walls of Jeru-alem, and frightening the poor jaw-breaking linguists out of their senses.” “ It took Tom some time to work out of that scrape. Old , who was then District Attorney, gave it as hi - opinion that the proceeding was ‘ flat piracy but he couldn’t find a Grand Jury to do anything but laugh at him and call it a good joke. But here we are off.” And the Peytona spun into the stream like a mettled courser at the drum tap. She was evidently puffed with seifcon ceit of her own power and ability; for not a stair deigned to creak under the loads of baggage and fat humanity which had hurried up and down from deck to deck ; not an inch of carpet in the splendid saloon had dimmed be neath the tread of passengers; her smoke belched upward with all the pomposity offurnace-kiudling ; and her wheels beat the turbid w aters with solid pats which were intended to strike suita ble terror into the mammoth catfish round about. The “Peytona” w ; as built like all other Western river steamboats, with an elliptical hull, beaten out at the poles more than is geometrical in an ellipse, and upon the hull sat the ma chinery, duly imprisoned and overlaid by the mansion-like cabin, which was pillaged up from how to stern. A flight of steps from the water’s edge gave passage to the boiler deck and entrance to ihe two saloons beyond. Still anoth er deck was over the inclosed cabin whither the Captain and Pilot went in to appropriate exile whenever the boat was on its winding way, and where children gambolled (is vice so young on the Mississippi river, 1 think 1 hear some listener say), while their papas smoked in active opposition to the puf fing escape pipes at their side. We swept by the city. A mile or so of shipping to eye, with here and theie some caravanserai, like cotton yards, and the houses had longer sepa ration between them. Here was La fayette, the asylum ofanglicised Dutch men ; next we bent into Carrollton ; and then commenced the monotonous scenery of the Mississippi river: flat land and winding river, trees, and sedgv grass, with occasionally a bit of bluff, with elevation like the snow’ hills your schoolboy builds in the midst of a New Hampshire winter. Night came on, with it, the tea urn; after which 1 plunged into a state room, arranged my wardrobe for the next four days, and settled down to sleep, thinking of “ Longfellow” in the nar row’ berth, and his poetry, especially of the lines— Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is my de-t.ned end or way ; But to I.ve that each to-morrow Finds me. further than to-day further up the Mississippi, of course. ****** One day upon a Mississippi steam boat is generally a stereotype <>f all the other days of passage, i'here may sometimes occur a snagging, or a fire, with perhaps a collision, to vary the in cidents ot each sluggish hour ; but since the river navigation is so well under stood, and Captains and Pilots by be coming owners of the crafts they guide, are more careful, a total want of catas trophe is the most expectable by even nervous ladies. One day, then, is the sample of all; and how does it wear away ? she dull light of morning becomes brighter and roseate over the tree-tops about, as the steam packet stilt putfs an I paddles her way along. As the sun emerges from the forest a >out, sleepy travellers emerge from their state-room doors on the outside guard passage-way, and in every va ie ty ot demi toilette, swallow the fresh air. A heavy-eyelided negro will be scattering dust in the cabin with seri ous intention of accomplishing the operation usually termed ‘'sweeping.” Another of the same description will be summoning courage for the exertion of shaking the large cabin-bell, whose sound is intended to diminish a pas senger’s quota of sleep. Other sleepy waiters will emerge from unknown parts of the boat and attend to the compli cated machinery of the table ; which by their exertions (although five min utes before it had scarcely afforded room for the lounging legs of a Hoosier) soon becomes a long table ready for break fast, dinner, or supper at the appropri ate hours for each meal. At the noise of the clicking plates and rattling knives and forks, the hungry passengers from door-gaping state-rooms, and from side doors, and through the windows from the hurricane deck watch with stoma chic interest the evolutions of the wai teSs:. They anathematize the laziness of this one or commend the briskness ° 5 iat one - They count the plates, and endeavour to smell out the bill of aie as opens the pantry door. And wL Vu” e y. e * f hey measure the bread e cabin boy carefully puts out y eveiy plate (delicately plunging a fork into an immense bread tray full of bread-chunks and then executing a quit-claim by a dexterous shove of his dextre forefinger.) By degrees there accumulate before the watching eyes hot corn-bread and rolls; steaks and chops ; while pitchers of milk and ba sins of sugar are deployed in the cen tre of the table. A fat waiter enters with a coffee urn, which is bubbling musically. A retinue of leaner waiters similarly armed, with now and then an urn of tea, follow’ him. Diffident pas sengers edge slowly up. The “ old travellers” march towards the head of the table with confident air and select ing a particular chair, stand behind it and eye it as if determined to risk life itself before surrendering up a seat or missing the first dive atabeafsteak and plate of rolls. Other gentleman have walked towards that steamboat sanc tum sanctorum ycleped ladies’ saloon ; and self-complaeently watch the open ing doors, for well they know they have a seat reserved. The hungry dissidents, and “old un’s below are eye ing with envious sullenness these afore said reserved seats and their reserv ed future occupants. Presently the Captain descends from his place of exile on the hurricane deck; takes off his hat and polishes his red forehead with a still redder handkerchief, and marches dignifiedly to the top of the table, followed by admiring eves at the foot. The admiring eyes soon reas sume an hungry aspect. The bell rings, and down drop the passengers and pro creed to attack the edibles. The la dies’ table is a complete battle-field of affectation struggling with the appetite which a river breeze induces; steam boat coffee is criticised ; biscuits are nibbled ; and perhaps in a certain quar ter a plate of hot rolls furnishes text for an anti-dyspeptic lecture from an old lady to whom dry toast proves a great consolation. Breakfast over, the ladies retire to their toilette, or their lace and worsted work, or perchance a book ; others of them enliven the cabin with music from the grand piano which every first-class boat provides for her company. The gentlemen seek the boiler deck, where they sit in gaping arm-chairs; and talk; or read in their books with coloured covers the various wonders of modern romance; or hang their legs over the rail and smoke in musing silence as they gaze at the scenery about. Poli tics is the prevailing theme; although now and then a reckoning of distances affords an exciting topic of conversa tion for the moment. The waiters within have taken to pieces the com plicated table machinery, only to put the pieces together again in a few hours. At one of the bits of table there is card playing. Some gamblers are near by watching an opportunity to join the party. But they are compelled to be cautious and diplomatic; for gambling on the Western waters, like watch-stuf fing in goodly Manh ttan, has come to be understood ; and there is little card fleecing nowadays on the Mississippi first-class packets. At another table a billious-looking youth is endeavouring to write ; but gives up in despair upon hearing a passer by remark sotto voce to a friend “ how proficient that young man is in short-hand hieroglyphics.”— At another table some infatuated youths have commenced a game of chess ; but before five moves a castle, urged by the shaking boat as she labours over a sand bar, and which was still hemmed in by unmoved pieces,gives check by a strange freak, and bishops and knights prance about merrily. On drives the boat; perhaps stop ping “on a sw'amp-bound coast” to land a passenger or take one up ; in either case shoving a narrow plank ashore and sending him to walk it as if both him self and plank were troubled with an ague fit no patent medicine could pal liate. Or the boat stops at some town or city builded almost among a prime val forest; and the passengers step ashore to stretch their legs and walk a bit through the town or buy refresh ments. Or the boat hungers for wood, and at a given signal there pushes out from the river bank a flat boat loaded with a dozen cords. A line is thrown and the flat boat made fast to the steamer’s side, where the w r ood soon changes po sition without any loss of time save in speed diminished by towing along ad ditional floating matter. The wood un loaded, the lines are cut, and the flat boat floats back to its station. Lunch vs an agreeable interlude. So is dinner; arid the siesta in the hot cabin. Or the afternoon lounge by the favoured few in the ladies’cabin, where there is of course the usual variety of nonsense, flirtation, and music. Or the watching the daylight fade as promena ding the hurricane deck. Then rings the tea bell. There is more eating and drinking. The cards thereafter shuffle brisker at the table by the bar ; and the laughter and fun in the ladies’ cabin sounds better from beneath the brilliant lights. Then comes sleep ; and closes a day the like of which you will see to morrow, and as long thereafter as cir cumstances and low water keep you un der headway. Low water! I gathered some experience as to the meaning of that phrase after getting into the Ohio. Our skilful pilot had brought us past a half dozen of boats smaller than our own w ho were aground; many of them, however, very distin guished in a general way. Tht re was the “General Scott,” puffing and blow ing on a sand bar with all its fires fore most. There was the General Worth, and the General Taylor, and the Gene ral Washington, all striking their flags at two or three feet of water, covered with the ignominy of our passing shrugs and laughs. But the turn of the “Pey tona” came next; and with a bump which threw the head steward into the door of a state-room he was entering among a parcel of trunks ; and brought powerful groans from all the freight of nervousness on board ; and upset the calculations of a trio of amateur sharp ers who were being pigeoned by their would be victim. The boat “ brought up” on a sand bar. “ More steam” was the word passed to the engineer; while the heaviest of the passengers held a mass meeting in the stern to lighten the weight of the boat on the bar, and thus enable the boat to back out and feel a better chan nel. Swfifter and swifter revolved the paddles; fire flashed from the furnace eyes of the “Peytona;” she was spur red to the utmost of her powers; but “ the nature of the course proved too much.” A flat boat was near at hand and the usual business of lightening cargo by throwing us overboard—don’t care—into the said flat boat was imme diately resorted to. The latter was SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. soon filled with her male cargo, leaving the ladies and babies on board ; thus forming a sort of nautical Methodist as semblage. The proceeding answered, and the good river Ohio, no doubt, pleased with this offering of man’s pride to the power of her channel lowered the sands beneath us and over the bar we went. Os all places in the world for the study of humanity in all its variety of light and shade, in all its grotesque ness, picturesqueness, and kaleidoscope changes of character, give me the Mis sissippi steamboat. Industrious pa tronage of Manhattan omnibuses, par ticuly the line which boasts the guardi anship of town-renowned “ Kipp & Brown,” or of the Harlaem railroad cars below “ Twenty-Seventh street,” may do something for the “proper study of mankind.” lam not sure but that diligent pursuit of novelty in the direc tion of our city suberb, “ Hoboken,” of summer afternoons, may be of ben efit in the same line. But travel on the Mississippi river and you will give the palm to its steamboats. Here you meet all the grades of life ; a thousand chapters of human history bind them selves ever in the cabins, capable on slight acquaintance of an interesting reading; human passion in every va riety turns its sides for inspection. A week of contact rubs off the outer coat ings of selfishness ; picks the locks of mind; unfolds a score of conventional heart coverings ; lays bare a thousand tricks of life; and fills your book of mental observation with curious and valuable notes and addenda for refer ence. Let no Manhattaner hankering after foreign travel neglect to “voyage it” on the Western waters before breath ing European air. (T'ijr ‘it)nrltr nf /asjtion. PARIS AND LONDON FASHIONS. Promenade or Carriage Costume. — High dress or pelisse of shaded silk, the tints sage-green and rose colour. — The skirt, which is made very fall, is trimmed up the front with rows of nar row sage-green velvet, set on in a zig zag or \aidyke pattern. This trim ming gradually diminishes in width from the edge of the skirt to the waist, and widens as it is carried up the cor sage, over the front of which it extends nearly from side to side. ‘The sleeves are demi-long, widening at the ends, where they are finished by a reverse or sort of turned-up cutF, trimmed with rows of velvet, set on in the same man ner as the trimming on the front of the skirt and corsage. Muslin under sleeves, consisting of full puffs, confined at the wrist by a band, above which there is a row of needlework, which falls on the sleeve. Round the throat a small mus lin collar, having a very narrow frill of needlework quilled at the edge. — Bonnet of drawn crape lined with pink silk. There is no trimming whatever on the outside, and the under trimming consists of very small pink and white flowers intermingled with white tulle. Gloves of pale yellow’ kid. Full Evening or Ball Costume. — Dress of white tarletan muslin over a slip of white satin. The skirt of the dress is trimmed with three flounces of lace, each headed by three folds of white satin, placed at some little distance the one from the other. The corsage is low, and the sleeves so short as to be entirely covered by the berthe, which consists of a double row of lace, finish ed by a fold or piping of satin at the top. The hair is simply banded at each side of the forehead, and arranged in twists at the back part of the head.— The head dress is a beautiful wreath composed of hearts-ease, wild rose, and geranium, tastefully arranged in full tufts at each side, and finished with pendant sprays of grass of a brilliant light green. The bouquet de corsage, which is of a very large size, is com posed of the same flowers, mounted in a corresponding manner. Deini-gloves of white kid, and on each arm several splendid bracelets set with precious stones. Pocket handkerchief edged with a very broad row of Brussels lace. Pardessus for the Opera or Theatre. This pardessus will be found exceeding ingly useful as a wrap on leaving crowd ed assembles; or, as tneautumnal sea son advances, it may be available for the evening promenande at the seaside. It is composed of rich green velvet, lined with white quilted satin, and edged all round with a narrow row of ermine without tails. The pardessus may be made of satin, if preferred, and a trimming of swansdown will be found to have a very light and pretty elfect. General Observations on Fash ion and Dress. For walking dresses shaded siik continues to be a favourite material. Blended tints, in which green or dark blue predominates, are most fashionable. Colours of a decided tone have this season taken the place of the pale hues heretofore generally adopted. For trimming bonnets or caps, ribbons of rose colour or rich amber are very much employed ; and those tints are aso very fashionable in shaded silks blended with green, brown, or other dark colours. Among the prettiest canezous may be mentioned those made of clear white muslin, with triple pagoda sleeves.— The sleeves are trimmed with rows ot lace or needle work, so disposed that the undermost row reaches to the wrist, and the uppermost descends to the el bow. Each of these rows, which, of itself, seems to form a distinct sleeve, is looped up at the inner part of the arm, and fastened by a small bow of ribbon. These canezous are open on the bosom and meet at the waist, where they are attached by a ribbon— they are finished at the waist by basques, or merely by a row of lace or needlework. In the latter case, this kind of canezou may be properly call ed a spencer. In outdoor costume, pardessus and mantles of worked muslin are very much worn. Sometimes they have li nings of coloured silk, but are most fashionable unlined. The needlework on some of these muslin mantles is ex quisitely elaborate. Someshaw'ls of dentelle-de-laine have recently been imported from Paris.— They are in various colours ; but they have not, as yet, met with any general favour. In Paris, leghorn bonnets have been very fashionable this summer, and they are now beginning to appear in Lon don. They are trimmed much in the same style as other bonnets suited to the more elegant styles of walking cos tume. The latest novelty introduced by the Parisian milliners in the trim ming of leghorn bonnets consists in the strings being exceeding long, and made of very broad ribbon, thus presenting almost the effect of a scarf tied under the chin. Sometimes these strings are sufficiently long to allow oftheir being fastened by a brooch to the waist, and the ends are left to hang down the front of the dress in the manner of a sash. One of the most admired wedding dresses of the present season has just been completed for a youthful Parisian bride. The dress itself is composed of organdy muslin, trimmed with two flounces of Brussels lace ; the lace be ing so deep as entirely to cover the skirt of the dress, and forming, as it were, a double jupe. The corsage is high, partially open in front’ ala Louis Quinze, and richly trimmed with lace; the sleeves with double pagodas of lace. The bridal veil is a very wide scarf of Brussels lace. Parasols of white moire are among the most elegant of those used for the open carriage. They may be trimmed either with fringe or lace. The handles of some consist of carved ivory or coral; others are of enamel. We have seen a parasol of French manufacture destined for a foreign process, the han dle of which is of nanel, inlaid with mother-o’-pearl and tuiquoise. This parasol is covered with Brussels lace, and is lined with pink silk ; the lace so disposed as to hang over the lining, and to form an awning round the para sol- €l)c jnirrrii Slltnr. THOSE THAT SEEK ME EARLY, SHALL FIND ME.’- Now, while every pio.-pect cheers?— Now, while in thy youthful years, Eie ihe treacherous snare? ol sin Lure thy feet and d.aw thee in, Hear the Go pel’s warning tone ; Give thy heait to God atone. Leave your sports and earthly toys, Seek for mo.e substantial joys ; Listen now to wisdom’s voice, Early make her ways your choice ; Bear this precept still m mind: “Seek me early, you shad tiiid.” Hast thou in thy youthful days, Sought in pleasure’s giddy maze, Eartlily pleasures that must fade? Joys that death will soon invade ! Hast thou an immortal mind ! Seek thy Saviour—seek and hud. Now is the accepted time, Seek the Lord, while in your prime ; Give to him your youthful days— Spend them now in prayer and praise ! On the heart, this precept bind— “ Seek me early, ye shall find.” Time with you is speeding fast, Youthful days will soon be past;— Will you give to God your prime ? Will you .-eek the Lord in tune ? Seek the joys for you designed— “ Seek Him early, you shall find.” THE CHRISTIAN’S DIGNITY. “ For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and Mother.”—Matt-xii. 50. These are gracious words, and pro ceed from the lips of Him who spake as never man spake. In them we have the constitution and dignity of the Chris tian character. The constitution of the Christian character. It is well for us to consid er what is required of us as the genu ine followers of Christ. What is in cluded in doing the will of God ] It is to believe. This is expressly stated as being the Father’s will. It is more than a common faith: the devils believe and tremble; but many who profess Christianity have never trembled before God. This faith is connected with experience ; it is of the operation of God, and works by love. It is to obey. Obedience is the prac tical evidence of faith. Faith may be compared to a tree planted in the gar den of the soul, rooted and grounded in Christ, covered with the green leaves of a lively profession, watered with heavenly showers, and yielding the fruits of obedience, and the graces of the Spirit. Our obedience must be right in its principle, sincere in its mo tive, evangelical in its spirit, cheerful in its manner, and universal in its ap plication. The dignity of the Christian char acter. It is attended with present benefits. — Here is an endearing alliance: “ I he same is my brother, and sister, and mother.” It includes an interest in his affections, intimate communion, and sympathy. It shall be succeeded with future hon ours. He who owns them here, will not be ashamed of them hereafter. — They shall be kings and priests unto God, pillars in his temple, and jewels in his crown. It is conferred without partiality. — “ W hosoever.” There is no restriction, but that which we put on ourselves. — W e cannot go beyond the Gospel com mission, for it extends to sinners whose iniquities have reached unto heaven,are as black as hell, and numerous as the sands on the sea shore. RELIGION IN EARLY LIFE. No one, at the close of an advanced life, has ever regretted that his early years were spent iu the service of God. But thousands have regretted when upon a dying bed, that the morning of their days was spent in rebellion against the King of kings. “ If,” says the eloquent and pious John Angell James, “ there be true honour in the universe, it is found in religion. Even the heathen were sensible of this; hence the Romans built the temples of Vir tue and Honour close together, to teach the way to honour was by virtue. Re ligion is the image of God in the soul of man. Can glory itself rise higher than this ? What a distinction to have this lustre put upon the character is youth! It was mentioned by Paul, as a singular honour to the believing Jews, that they first trusted in Christ; and in refering to Andromicus and J uma t he mentions it to their praise, that they were in Christ before him. To be a Child of God, an heir of Glory, a disci ple of Christ, a Warrior of the Cross, a citizen of the New Jerusalem, from our youth up, adorns the brow with ar amanthine wreaths of fame, A person converted in youth, is like the sun ri sing on a summer’s morning, to shine through a long bright day ; but a per son converted late in life, is like the evening star, a lovely object of Chris tian contemplation, but not appearing till the day is closed, and then bu for a little while.” flit llruirutrr. Forthe Southern Literary Gazette. EGER! A: Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside. THIRD SERIES. I. Maternal In fluences. —It was Madam Compan. who, in reply to an inquiry of Napoleon, proposed the establish ment of an institute for the education of Mothers. The mother is, in most cases, and for obvious reasons, the only teacher of the morals of the young. The vital misfortune is, that she, her self, has never been taught, or has been taught eroneously. She is thus em ployed to perpetuate error to the future generations, and to sow and renew the future growth of evil, as Eve did at first. Many a fond parent has igno rantly brought her son to the gallows. The boy who bit off his mother’s ear beneath the fatal tree, conveyed a ter rible lesson to society,which, unhappily for the young, it will not learn. 11. Love of Self There is always one grand passion of the heart, in w hich ev ery man is without a rival. 111. Diffidence of True Merit. —People who possess the most, speak least of their virtues. It is he who distrusts himself that shows most anxiety to per suade others of his possessions. Experience. Experience is the stile and stone in the highways, over which we bruise our shins, and endanger our necks. It is not until we have pained and perilled our limbs in this encounter with her obstructions, that we are pre pared to traverse in safety the common roadstead V. Secret of National Prosperity. — Lord Bacon puts the secret of national prosperity into a brief compass. He says: “There are three things which one nation selleth to another : the com modity as it is yielded by nature, the manufacture, and the vecture or car riage. So,” says he “if the three wheels go, wealth will flow in like a spring tide.” We shew up the same idea in our collocation : “Agriculture, Commerce and Manufactures,” and the old doggrel puts the philosophy into a form scarcely less portable : “ Let the Earth have cultivation: Let the Seas give circulation, Art bestow manipulation, And you build the mighty nation.’’ Mighty, perhaps, but not absolutely great or glorious or permanent, until “ You give your people education.” and I thus presume to add a line which I conceive to be absolutely necessary to the philosophy, if not the poetry. VI. Satisfaction in Discovery. 1 see no reason why the person who has been so fortunate as to find a mare’s nest, should not be suffered to cackle over the eggs. Fortune. Happy accidents are the parents of a thousand great designs; but the same person who charges all his miscarriages upon Fortune, never makes the least acknowledgment to the same Goddess, in t! e day of his success. Sylia, among great men, is almost the only exception to the rule, on record. He conciliated the favours of the Goddess, as we may do most of the sex ; by waiving, with a becoming humility, his own claims in deference to hers. VIII. Ingenuousness of Innocence. —In the ingenuous nature, the heart is continual ly looking out from the eyes, as a young girl from tin window. It is on ly the knowing damsel who peeps from behind the curtain or the lattice. IX. Tears. To tell us, by way of consola tion, that the object lor whom we mourn was mortal, is to offer the very reason for our tears. Tears are the undoubt ed language of mortality. Were the case not remediless, consolation would be easy ; and we should weep, if only at the lesson which reminds us that we are mortal also. Besides, how should we forbear our sorrows, when we discover that one who was a perpet ual source of joy, can also prove a per petual source of privation? X. The Heart. Alas! how should we doubt of the fortunes of the heart, when it was in the shape of Love that Ahrimanes first found his way into the egg of Ormusd ! XI. Charity. It is charity, I suppose, that sometimes puts out a poor man’s candle, and reproaches him for going in the dark. We are apt to disparage the education of the poor, and to op pose all legislation in its favour; but nobody allows us to forget that pover ty is very ignorant, very immoral, and of the most unbecoming tastes and pro pensities. XII. Self Government. No people can be esteemed equal to the duties of self government,w^Lose cupidity is such that they dare not look the cost of their lib erties in the face. XIII. A Compliment to Humility. It must be very grateful to the man who hum bly estimates his own claims, that the world always heartily approves his judgment. XIV. Great Men. Great men are a com mon property. They form the solar system for the world of mind, and shine more or less brightly upon all the nations. ilMir Tetters. Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette. JAMAICA PLAINS, Mass. \ September 4th, 1850. } Messrs. Editors : About four miles south from Boston there lies spread out a considerable valley or plain,surround ed by hills of moderate elevation, and undulating ground, and adorned by a tine little lake of pure water. The bot tom of this lake is of a moderately coarse gravel, which renders its waters richly transparent. Its sides are adorn ed with sycamore and maple trees and shrubbery which, in the sunshine, cast their shadows on the water, and dance on its ripples. Round its borders, on rising land, are situated many tasteful seats,belonging to merchants of Boston, and retired citizens, with fine gardens, stocked with every variety of the choicest and most delicious fruits of the country, so highly cultivated by skill, labour and enriching manure, that both their variety and perfection are, every where not seen,almost past belief. To show how perfect wild fruits may be made by careful cultivation, we would here notice that we have seen the common wayside high bush black berry, brought to a perfection in size, and flavour, by garden culture in this place, that we had never so much as dreamed of, while its glossy exterior and size, made it an ornament to the tea table, to which place it was ad vanced after the successive departure of the strawberry and the raspberry, a position, it will be acknowledged, we think, sufficiently trying to test its gas tronomic virtues and horticultural per fectibility. In and around this fascinating spot, there are scattered, on hills, covered with their rich and varied native foliage, and pretty plantations of maples, firs, pines, mountain ash and oak, and the graceful, cone-like, deep green spruce, more than one hundred lovely cottages, and other evidences of magnificent structure and tasteful adornment.— With broad lawns, well cultivated gar dens, and large orchards, redolent of the early apple, rich pear, and luscious peach and plum. Os strawberries, raspberries and currants too, the season has also been liberally productive, while the hills have teemed with blue berries, blackberries and whortleber ries. The display of flowers too has been, and continues to be, profuse.— Every neat little cottage, as well as no ble mansion, having its flower and fruit garden. There is one handsome seat here that has a splendid old avenue of nearly or quite a half mile long, I should judge, of alternate American and English Elms; the former are known by their broad spreading roots, and the unequalled breath and surpass ing gracefulness of their giant bodies and limbs. The English pass into the earth without any expansion of their roots above ground, and are more com pact ; but want the breadth and gran deur of the American. This avenue reminds one of the probable origin of that lofty and noble architectural orna ment, the Gothic Arch ; the intertwi ning limbs of these noble trees, having uo doubt, suggested its first design to the human architect. Thus can we trace to the unseen hand of the great Architect of the Universe, “ the giver of every good and perfect gift,” the origin of all artistic, as well as all nat ural beauty. The spot which I have here described, is Jamaica Plains, the seat of architec tural and horticultural and agricultural taste, and home of liberal hospitality. Yours, &c. THE WANDERER. (Original fentjs. DUELLING. It is a great mistake, though a very common one, to ascribe the origin of duelling to the middle ages. The prac tice is quite as old as the passions of man—belongs to his sense of individ uality as well as injustice, and where the self-esteem is great, will always follow the ebullitions of his anger. We find it in Scripture history, at the earliest periods. It is the very soul, and forms the substantial interest of the action in half the books of Homer; was practiced among the Romans when they were yet young as a people, was not discontinued when they grew older; and was employed for the redress of grievances—whether effectual to this end or not —and in a greater or less degree, among most of the enlightened nations of the earth. We are not now justifying the practice, but stating it simply, and do not wish to be misun derstood. By those who ascribe the origin of duelling to the middle ages, it is confounded with the judicial com bats of those periods. This is to mis take a consequence for a cause. The judicial combat was probably suggested by the duel. Nothing, indeed, could be more natural than the adoption of some such mode of deciding a bewil dering doubt, where no evidence but that of the interested parties could be procured, and at a period when it was the social policy to encourage physical courage as one ol the first of social vir tues. A person wronged, oi professing to be wronged, declared equally, by his readiness to fight,the injustice which he suffered, and the indignation which he felt. Public opinion naturally adopted individual opinion, and author ity found its sanction of the process in the universal recognition of the practice This mode of arriving at the truth was scarcely an incorrect one, where a large faith in the combatants lend its aid to determine the results, independently of the lessons of skill, or the force of phy sical power. The conscience entered necessarily into the combat, and where it was the conviction that “God would defend the right,” the cry became something more than a signal for the combatant to lay on. The conviction that he would do so went to the heart of the nation. Shakspeare illustrates this conviction, in the language of Henry the Sixth, at the close of the scene where the ’prentice kills his mas ter, whom he has accused of High Treason. King Henry.— Take hence that traitor from our sight ; For by bis death u>e do perceive his guilt ; And God, in justice, hath revealed to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow Which he had thought to have murdered wrongfully.” It is true, the conquering ’prentice him self had no such prescience of success. He was, as the reader will remember, monstrous apprehensive of the issue. “ Oh, Lord, bless me, I pray God ! for I am never able to deal with my mas ter !” The recollection of numerous drubbings before from the same hands, might naturally lessen his confidence in the saving faith of the nation ; but the result of the combat was as naturally to confirm it. Shakspeare's faith in thus arranging the issue, was rather in the greater number of ’prentices than masters, who were habitual attendants of the theatre. But for this, the fate of the parties might have been differ ent, But to return; —Even as a judi cial combat, duelling had its birth long before the age of chivalry, Mark An tony challenged Octavius Cassar to sin gle combat, in order to decide the right to empire ; and what was the famous duel between David and Goliath but a question of strength between the respective deities of Israel and Philis tia. Talking of chivalry, by the way, the wars waged by Saul and his war riors, and the chiefs under David, Jon athan, Abner, and Joab, against the high places of the Philistines, exhibit numerous individual adventures, which are as much like the fighting of the middle ages as possibly could be. What were the exactions of Saul from the audacity and courage of David, as a condition for his daughter’s hand, but of this sort! And how like to a histo ry of chivalry is the scene in Second Samuel, second chapter : —“And Ab ner, the son of Ner, and the servants of Ishbosheth the son of Saul, went out from Nahanaim to Gibeon, and Joab, the son of Zeruiah, and the servants of David, went out and met together by the pool of Gibeon ; and they sat down , the one on the one side of the pool, and the other on the other side. And Abner said to Joab, let the young men now arise, and play before ns. And Joab said, let them arise. Then there arose and went over by number, twelve of Benjamin, w hich pertained to Lhbosh eth, the son of Saul, and twelve of the servants of David. And they caught every one his fellow by the hand, and thrust his sword in his fellow’s side, so they fell down together.” A fair duel that, twelve against twelve : but the parties were dissatisfied, and it be came necessary for the armies to meet In the fight which followed, when Ab ner was beaten and fled, we haveanoth er incident, the colouring and character of which tell exactly as do those of the chivalrous periods; “Asahel was as light of foot as a wild roe. And Asa hel pursued after Abner; and in going he turned not to the right hand nor to the left from following Abner. Then Abner looked behind him and said l art thou Asahel?’ and he answered ‘I am!’ And Abner said unto him, ‘Turn thee aside to thy right hand or to thy left, and lay thee hold on one of the young men, and take thee his armour." 1 This was in the generous spirit of the knight errant, conscious of his superiority and strength. But the vain glorious Asa hel disdained this generous counsel. “And Abner said again to Asahel, ‘turn thee aside from following me : wherefore should I smite thee to the ground? How then should 1 hold up my head to Joab, thy brother V It was a mingling of admiration with pity for one so young, so swift of foot and graceful, and withal so unwisely courageous. “Howbeit, he refused to turn aside; wherefore, Abner, with the hinder end of the spear smote him un der the fifth rib, that the spear came out behind him, and he fell down there and died in the same place.’ The cool expert old warrior. But how, still like the feudal periods in Europe was the sequel. The noble Abner, sent away in peace by David, is pursued by the subtle politician and cruel warrior Joab, with messages of kindness, solic iting an interview. Confiding freely and frankly, as was his nature, when Abner comes to the meeting, then •Joab took him aside in the gate to speak with him quietly , and smote him then under the fifth rib, that he died- for the blood of Asahel, his brother.’ Here is the germ of a middle age romance, embodying a whole volume of the spirit of chivalry. Hundreds more could be cited; but this is already too much of a digression. The origin of single combat to decide question, right, to go to the very roots of h, subject, may be found in every *<;•).,, i ground or college campus. The toner, failing to produce conviction, v , more natural implement than the f, for dernier resort. lam very sures the J udicial Combat w as never resort* \ to when the testimony of any credili third person was to be obtained where the hostility and bad blood 1 tween the opponents, would not ha brought them to blows; settle the q Uts . 1 tion between them as you may. \\ smile at the simplicity of those ages| iv which this irrational court was recur nized; butourtheory must be admitted and for one thing, at least. Their ven error of this description, must be treated with respect. What a eonti dence must they have had in the over uling and special providence. What a conviction that the truth would he made manifest. What a faith not onh in the justice, but in the immediate in. terest and presence of the Deity, in the affairs of men. What a belief in his sympathy", in his interference in their concerns. We have reason,— but, verily, they had faith. We are more wise than they, perhaps, but more worldly also. They could be lieve too, in those days, in their ghosts and witches—their phantasms and fantasies; but were these more so than many of those wondrous specula tions of stock and steam which rage and madden through our days. In lo sing our speculations, we have lost our veneration. We believe nowin nothing spiritual. I can forgive and respect the mesmerist—the clairvoyancer, who can see through stone walls, and across lakes and mountains—if he honestly believes that he sees. He is, simply, a soul, which, struggling in darkness, is yet struggling after new light. Nav, ] am not sure that there are not some of the Mormonites, who are really blind; and who really have a sort of monke\ faith in their Joseph of Ohio, other wise named Smith. There is no sav ing what strange tricks human creduli ty w ill play upon poor, struggling, hu man judgment. It is a condition to be pitied,this of the Mormons; who do seem honestly busied only in setting them selves apart, with the Millerites, to await the Millenium, w hich they have imagined for themselves, out of their own erring, but earnest fancies. But the knaves who build earthly palaces and worldly fortunes, by reason of the faith and confidence which is in their neighbours—who preach falsehoods equally great with those of Mormon and Mesmer, only that they may riot in their flesh-pots—who laugh at the holy simplicity of the child of faith, and mock delusions which are yet the fruit ot a child like sincerity,—where should these stand in the regardsof men and angels?—these, who have no faith, unless in the cunning of their own right hands! Tluse, too,we may pity yea, we should—for, of a certainty,with more of the wisdom which secures worldly wealth and worldly pleasures, they are yet made of feebler and fouler clay than enters into the creation of these poor idol-worshippers. We should pity them, true, but not forget to punish them also. ■illisrrllnmj. Packing Seeds. Mr. Editor: —It is a fact eminently deserving the atten tion of seedsmen, that all those seeds which are oily, soonest lose their ger minating power. Seeds of this kind should be put up with sand, or earth. The manner of packing is as follows: first sprinkle into the box intended as their receptacle, about three inches of well dried sand ; then deposite the seeds at distances proportioned to their size, then another layer of sand one inch thick, and so on, till the receptacle is full. In this way, the vitality of the seeds will be preserved for years or as long indeed as they are kept dry. 1 have planted the castor oil bean fre quently after it had remained two years in a paper bag, kept in a dry place,and never found them to germinate, while the same seeds kept in dry sand, vege tated vigourously after the second year. [ Germantown Telegraph. A Cure for the Bite of venom ous Animals.— lmmediately on the in troduction of the poison, make a posi tive pressure with a tube of any kind, sufficiently large to encompas the out er edges of the wound. By this pro cess the superficial circulation is inter rupted, and the venom is almost instan taneously exuded from the injured por tion of the body. The rule applies to a musquito bite. [The above is from an exchange.- The plan we believe is a good one, but the difficulty lies in its application, es pecially in repeetto the musquito bite. To administer the tube to a moonlight musquito bite, requires a degree ofoc cular accuracy which the author ot the above must be fortunate if he possesses- Scientijic American. Suckers should be carefully removes from fruit trees of every description? it is not sufficient merely to cut theni offlevel with the surface of the soil, •such a mode of treatmeut only c* use * them to throw up a progeny ten tnfl‘ more numerous. To do the thing P perly, the soil should be bared aw*.' 1 the suckers traced back to their orig” and carefully removed with the p° ll “ of a sharp knife. A man’s nature is indicated by U dress. The open-hearted man ‘ his clothes loose and comfortable,” 1 * narrow-contracted men sport white choakers, tied very tight. 0 ‘ monied gentlemen, on the contrary? a close shaved, and look glossy and co like anew bank note. Never as” favor of a man who wears his eo • tight.