a wealthy man should make himself happy, and in an appropriate manner enjoy his fortune. He needed sympathy, and went into business to gain it. He had not strength of mind to see for himself, what no one had seen for him, and what few in his circumstances do see, that the pursuit of money-making, for a man already wealthy, is sordid, and no virtue at all. As might have been predicted, he soon lost his fortune, which went away with a crash and a swoop; and the excitement wore upon him until it prostrated him with a fever. In this condition his house took fire one night, and the flames spread so rapidly, that his life was saved only by the frantic exertions of his wife, which injured her spine, and left her a cripple. Poverty and misfortune stared him in the face on all sides. His hopes and his spirit were broken. In this state of affairs Father Green contrived to pay them most of his salary under the pretence of boarding with them. He has a room, I believe, in their house, where he keeps his books, and to which he resorts, when he pleases, but he is very much elsewhere. Nathans, however, is very agreeable. He, and Father Green, and the poor cripple, have a garden, and when the old man is there, they chirp and chatter, and seem to enjoy themselves. Nathans has a pleasant task, and like a great many unsuccessful men, is good everywhere, except at business. His Emily, once pretty enough to win compliments, is now the bent and feeble person whom you know. Seclusion and loss of personal attractions have led to extremely delicate and morbid susceptibilities, which find their gratification in the cultivation of plants and flowers. From the earliest violet to the latest chrysanthemum, she feels that not one of those would turn away from her to salute the greatest beauty in the land. You remember the beautiful bouquets, which are known at once, as coming from their garden. this occupation Nathans is quite himself. He figures at horticultural societies. He is a welcome guest at weddings and dinner-parties, But did it ever occur to you that our church was really supporting him? I dare say not. Yet this is now charged to the account of Father Green, and there is no doubt about the facts. Some quite unusual circumstances, and rather uncanonical proceedings on his part, have given emphasis to the contagion of discontent, and how it may result, I can not predict. But if my paper was not full, I would relate some singular incidents in connection with this matter, such as, if written in a novel, would not be believed. Perhaps I will do so in my next letter. Meanwhile my darling, rest in the consciousness of being loved, more deeply, more tenderly, more steadfastly, than human language can express.

In

то MY

T is over now! I dreamt of fame for thee.
Now that it ever flies me, sink, my heart;
I cov'ted all the priceless gems of sea,

All the broad good of earth, the pride of art.
I dreamt power in my hand was good in thine:
I lay a withered wreath upon thy shrine.

мот H ER.

"T is over now! All the bright hopes of youth,
All my fierce longings for bright glory, fled!
All my wild dreams of joy and love and truth
Are vanished all-are fled among the dead.
All, all has vanished! -- even to a name:
"T is over now, my childhood's dream of fame.
BLANCHE D'ARTOISE.

SOME TIME When Lord Cornbury was Governor of the province of New-York, and Nathaniel Platt was town-clerk at Coram, on the Island of Nassau, or Long-Island, in the said province, a notable case came up before the justice who at that time kept the peace at Coram. The details of this are partly collected from town-records, part from the antiquarian researches of the historian of Long-Island, and from the quaint and singular discourses which Judge Benson delivered, to their great edification, before that learned body, the New-York Historical Society, which they prized most highly from his venerable age. Partly I got them from insular tradition, (if I may speak so,) and the rest from that tricksy and communicative crew of spirits who at this day turn the tables upon the people, and rap alphabetically as with a mallet upon the round earth. They told me all about Becky Scudder, as she then was, and of Becky Scudder as she now is, in her angelic mould, and they recommended me to print the narrative in the KNICKERBOCKER Magazine. I told them to go directly to Mr. Clark. Will the spirits,' said I, 'communicate with Mr. Clark? NO!' they replied with a triple rap of the most emphatic kind.

Coram was a place where the devil played his pranks occasionally in old times. From there to Quog and Squam Beach, on the one side, to Devil's Tavern and Devil's Stepping-Stones on the other, (which Judge Benson speaks of,) and all around Speonk and Skunk's Manor, . he used to step it about pretty lively.' There were some witches, and the spirit of a drunken Indian fiddler, who used to float in a skiff or canoe on moon-light nights around Mosquito Cove, and adjacent parts, where he thrummed away upon the strings till he got all the porpoises in a state of excitement, and set them a leaping over each other's backs, and thrashing the water with their tails, and pumping up the brine through holes in their snouts, (which the devil bored with a gimblet,) like so many whales. From there to the light-house on Eaton's Neck, he played Barbara Allen' on one string, till the people were sick of it.

I shall have more to say about him on another occasion, in my work, 'De Antiq. Passovic, et de quibusdam aliis rebus.'

One thing, however, which the Indian did, I will mention in passing, although it has no connection with my present narrative; but the opportunity may never occur (if I do not write my work) to allude to it again. One night, while he was playing on his violin, the notion seized him to coax all the porpoises in the Sound through a narrow inlet, called 'the Gut' into Huntington Harbor. He did so. When the day dawned, the tide being at the full, the porpoises were seen throwing up their backs and cutting all kinds of antics. A very singular notion seized the mind of one William Gardiner, who at that early hour was counting his chickens, that he would turn those porpoises into oil. He would call all hands together, arm them with spears and harpoons, blockade with boats the narrow inlet which is called 'the Gut,' then when the tide sank low, and the porpoises retreated to the Sound, they would find the way barricaded, and every one of them would die with a harpoon in his back.

He did so. The boats were anchored in their place; the tide retreated; the porpoises were in shoal-water; they approached the place with their noses set; they veered about and retreated. The men stood with weapons in their hands. A second time the porpoises arrived in a fishy column, steadily, and with great fury, but when they came to the boats, they curved their backs, they whisked their tails, and leaping high in air, one after another, in spite of all opposition, with a fearful rush over the boats, which compelled the men to fall upon their stomachs, attained the open Sound.

But notwithstanding occasional sport such as the above, they used to have a pretty quiet time of it on Long-Island. Nothing was to be heard there but the surf, as the sound of it came booming from the narrow beaches over the Big Plains, as far as Back-Bone, where the echoes were thrown back. On Sabbath, the people went to meeting-house to the sound of a drum, for which, by a town-vote, they gave the drummer so many shillings a year, the value to be paid in samp or Indiancorn, and he drummed them all into church, where one Jonathan Edwards, I think his name was, or some one else of less greatness, preached vast and dismal sermons, two hours and a half in length, by the hour-glass. There were some offenders against the laws of society, it is true, and now and then they used to whip a negro or an Indian, laying the lashes upon his bare back until he cried like a loon. And people may say what they like about it in these piping times of new dispensations. Prisons are very good in their way, and gallows are good in their way; for some must be put in limbo, and others must be hanged; but for petty and for paltry tricks, such as chicken-stealing and the like, which are apt to come off scot-free, there is nothing so salutary as a good sound licking.

There was a stool of repentance in the churches on Long-Island, on which offenders, like Captain Underhill, the valiant warrior against the Indians, used to sit occasionally for his pecadillos about the fair sex, whereon he did so bewail his sins that his voice could not be heard for 'y blubbering.' But the justices, deacons, and elect-men, by their

1855.]

Kissing Betty Scudder.

joint and pious endeavors, kept the devil pretty well at bay, only he would now and then show his foot, as at the Stepping-Stones,' aforementioned.

The case to which I allude, and which the court had before it, was a mild form of assault and battery, resulting in little damage. To this day an occasional offender is brought to trial for a similar transgression, to teach fast' young men to reflect a little before they venture upon a 'smack.' The law sometimes thrusts its arm pretty deep into the pockets of the culprit, and in old times his capital was endangered by an investment in the stocks. Kissing goes by favor,' which is right.

During the harvest-time at Coram, the boys and girls were binding wheat-sheaves in the field together. The latent jollity which there is in Codes are artificial, but people will show itself, however restricted by the encrampment of rules, or by an established severity of manners. mirth is natural; and although the social life of the colonies was pretty grim and pretty grum, and what with the absence of luxury, the imminence of danger, the pressure of toil, the prohibition of sports, or the inability to engage in them, life assumed a stern and serious aspect, there was still a time when the profane fiddle would squeak out. There was some fatness in the lean land, and now and then at least an oily negro would 'yaw-haw!' over a basket of chips. On Long-Island, where there is a good deal of level plain, and muck, and sand, and barren sea-beach, and the inhabitants are disposed to be moody, they would sometimes shake with laughter, as well as with ague. some fun at Coram, and some relaxation at Buckram.

There was

The boys and girls were binding wheat-sheaves, and the work went on merrily, and there was much song and laughter, and the minister looked with a pleased face over the rails; for many matches were the result of these festivals. In a corner of the field, at the base of a yelI think that it is very low stack, there was deposited a corpulent little jug with a short neck, and I am grieved to say that it contained rum. probable that the circulation of that fluid, imbibed as it was without any suspicion in those innocent days, caused a lightness in the head, and an activity of the animal spirits, which in old Puritan times was thought nothing of, but which is now considered as derogatory to character.

'Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur cum illis.'

Well, the boys and girls were binding wheat-sheaves in the field at Coram. It was near sun-down; the crop was mostly harvested; but although they had toiled diligently all day, their spirits did not flag. If the whole island had been a wheat-field, they could have garnered it in company no doubt. Cheerful labor does not result in painful weariness. Hitherto they had transgressed no rule of propriety, till all of a sudden, Bill Barkaloo, who was working at the same sheaf with Betty Scudder, threw his arms around her neck, and kissed her lips with a resounding smack. It was the height of audacity, and although the blood mounted to her eyes in anger, and she slapped his cheeks until his ears rang, he ran away and threw himself upon the ground, and rolled and roared with laughter.