said; 'it's mighty hard work to talk with some folks in this willage. They have n't no learning, nor no faculty of obserwation. They 've got such thick sculls that you can't beat no ideas into 'em. They don't never know when they're convinced. It always does me good to talk to a man that is n't so confoundedly ignorant as not to know when to knock under. You preachers generally have some understanding.' I elt flattered. Just then, a clock that was perched up in a corner of the store, gave information that the hour- eleven had arrived. The philosopher asked to be excused for a minute, assigning as a reason for this digression of another sort, that he must go home and tell his 'woman' what to cook for dinner. He lived only one door off. It was a very good excuse, but one that was calculated to deceive. I knew that his mind was not on his dinner. He had an eccentric habit of always being at home at eleven o'clock, A.M., unless he was in the tavern. Always, at that hour, he diluted two fingers of water with three fingers of applejack, and a sprinkle of bitters, which dilution he swallowed without sugar. I excused him. Having indulged in his eccentricity, the refreshed philosopher returned, and resumed the narration of his views. Now, it is werry different with that 'wiper' from what it is with a bullock. He is cold-blooded. All snakes are. He has no stove inside. He is kept alive by heat that comes from the outside. You remember the story about the man who put what he thought was a dead wiper' into his bosom. The wiper' rewived as soon as he got warm. Which goes to show that snakes depend on heat from the outside to keep theirselves alive. And the reason why they lie dorminant' during winter, and come to life in spring is, that the sun is n't hot enough for them in the winter. So that, just as long as the sun shines on that 'wiper,' he'll keep alive. But when the sun sets, he 'll have to die, because of the want of heat.' I complimented him on the originality of his views, and started from the store, to trail my snake over to the chemist. He evidently thought that he had triumphed, and that I had knocked under. He said at parting: Now, when you get home, you look at your books, and see if my views a' n't right. You may be first-rate at preaching, but you haven't seen snakes as I have. You preachers get your views second-hand; out of books. But some people gets theirs first-hand; by actual observation. You have read how Galileo, and Columbus, and Newton, and Franklin, and Fulton got their views. I'm one of that sort of men who observe for themselves!' This extreme modesty on the part of the philosopher, prompted me to take him down a peg or two, which I did. I said: If this viper must die, for the reason you state, after sundown, how will the rest of snakes manage to keep alive?' He looked at me; he looked at the snake; he looked at the sky; he looked at the ground. He felt the contents of both his pockets, with both his hands. He frowned his brow. But it was no use. He had to come to it. He had to knock under. 'I wow!' he said; I NEVER THOUGHT OF SNAKES!' THAT. CUSS THE NATIVE LAND. BY ISAAC MACLELLAN. WHAT leads the daring soldier o'er the world, What though the shrill remorseless northern gale Nor heeds their rage, nor yet the tempest's shock. What though brief sun-shine warms the Arctic year, Lo! the poor child of Labrador's pale coast, In leaky boat tempestuously tossed, Plies his hard trade, and sings that GOD is good, To load his nets, and send his children food. Well doth he love his bleak, inclement home, In softer climes, beneath the blazing line Far where the blue Caribbean billows beat] By shadowed streams, beneath luxuriant vines; "T is a fair land! where plants of matchless dyes A realm in whose grand wilderness abound Vast wrecks of grandeur, temple, shrine, and mound; Ruins that tell a nobler race possessed, In unknown times, this Eden of the West; Yet, no tradition record doth bestow, Whereby their names and histories we may know: We pause, o'erawed, by Uxmal's fallen gate, And vainly ask the Indian of their fate! Reigns o'er that land a weak, untutored race, Late, when the stern invader from the North, Strewed Buena-Vista's rocky pass with dead, In desperate fight beat down the Mexic brand, So the poor serf from Afric's distant shores, Doth he not oft, in fancied vision, view May he forget the high-branched sycamore The straw-thatched roof, where first the dawning light Forget the white-haired, patriarchal sire, His sportive brethren, with their looks of fire, His mother's song, sung when the skies grew pale, And evening-shadows deepened in the vale? He ne'er forgets! nor, from his human heart May holy loves nor sympathies depart. When wandering 'long a foreign river's bank, Where strange flowers bloom, and unknown plants grow rank, He turns, in thought, to Niger's brimming floods, Fringed with green pastures, belted thick with woods; Of Congo's windings, Senegal's clear tide; And fain would tread their bordering sands of gold, Oh! that his nervous limbs might yet again Vain thought! vain hope! an exile doomed to roam, ISLAND SKETCHES. IMPRESSIONS OF JAMAICA, AND OF KINGSTON IN PARTICULAR. I was up with the sun this morning. Last night the full moon shone beautifully in the starry heavens. We had music, and dancing, and singing on board. All were merry and full of glee. Now, all is changed. The sun has mounted his beamy throne, and his golden rays are dancing on the blue mountains of Jamaica. Fleecy clouds are rolling around the dark tops of the highest peaks, while I am gliding along the coast of the land so celebrated for piratical depredations and negro insurrections. The island is one hundred and fifty miles long, and about fifty miles in breadth. The range of mountains, extending nearly the whole length of the colony, is truly grand and picturesque. The loftiest summit is eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. It is worth a journey from New-York to behold such a scene. Shortly after sun-rise, we took a black pilot on board, and after passing the point where once stood the beautiful city of Port-Royal, which was swallowed up by an earthquake in 1692, we reached Kingston, this world-renowned city of moral and commercial decay, about ten o'clock A.M. While at the wharf, negro boys came swimming about the vessel, crying piteously for dimes. The passengers would throw small silver coins into the water, and with the alacrity of pelicans, down went these black fellows after the prize. Nearly naked, and all bare-footed, some eighty or ninety women, black, dirty, and shining with grease, stood ready to carry in the coal for the steamer. Rank and file, and singing, or rather yelling, yet keeping time as they go, (each one bearing a round bucket of coal upon her head,) they march up one gangway with a stately strut, and delivering their load into the hold as they pass, they march down another in the most perfect order. Such an exhibition of tatterdemalion wretchedness and human degradation I was unprepared to witness. Leaving this sickening scene, I left the steamer 'to see what I could see.' On every hand were importunate beggars, that beggar description in all that is revolting and disgusting to humanity. Jamaica is called the Island of Springs. By others she is designated the Queen of the Antilles, and as being the brightest jewel in the crown of England. Respecting her mineral springs, there are four, somewhat noted for their healing virtues in cases of bronchitis, rheumatic, pulmonary, and cutaneous affections, viz.: Bath, St. Faith's, Silver-Hill, and Milk-River Bath. There are marvellous stories told of people living to a great age in those districts. I presume Methusaleh would have been living still had he been a partaker of their waters of life. Were Jamaica called the blackest instead of the brightest jewel in the British crown, I could perfectly appreciate the truth of the poetical appellation. Can it be that prostrate commerce, ruined |