'Hilton Head, S. C., 1862.

'DEAR KNICK: My eyes were so pleased, my heart so gratified, the other day, at sight of your familiar face, that I must tell you a little anecdote of the army.

'When encamped near Washington, the field-officer of the day, while making his rounds, came to the camp of the Forty-sixth New-York, (FREMONT Rifles,) and was promptly hailed, 'Who comes dere?' The usual answer, 'Grand Rounds!' was as promptly given, when, to the astonishment of the Grand Rounds, the sentry sang out, in tones of mingled anger and regret: 'To mit der grand rounds; I tinks it vas de relief!"

There spoke a hero, craving for rest! Profane, but oh! so earnest! Anent which subject of Teutonic profanity, does the reader remember the story of the two ships, sailing on the sea, each commanded by a German, under English or American colors?

'Fot schip is das?' roared the first captain.

'Ter Hel-vet-ia!' responded the second.

'You coes to h-mit yourself unt petam,' was the irate reply of Number One, who believed that Ter Helvetia' was a recommendation to betake himself ad inferos. And the two parted, each greatly astonished at the other's want of refinement.

Time rolled on, and a year after the twain met without recognition in the Goldne Apfel tavern in Hamburg.

'One Jahr ago,' said Number One, who was the Schiffscapitain JOHANN BLAUWASSER, 'I fas ter gommander of ter Helvetia.'

'Hunderttausenddonnerwetter!' swore Number Two, DIETRICH DUMPELKOPF, 'vot you dinks! Shoost at dat dimes I fos gapitain of Ter Go-to-Holl'mit-yourself. Dere now!'

An explanation ensued, which ended in arrack punch, and a 'high Dutch' time generally speaking. Or all jolly, reckless, merry, lilting tunes, there are few better than the old 'Sich a Gettin' up Stairs;' and a friend has used it in a new song, entitled:

'WHEN dis war am broken out, LAWD! I neber shill forgot um,
Massa say: 'I done beliebe dat we'll gin a pound o' cotton.'

Sich a gittin up o' scares as I neber did see,
Sich a gettin up o' scares as I neber did see.

'Ole missus say to massa: 'De Yankee sogers run,
Ef yer only pint yer finger, and crack um like a gun.'
Sich a gittin up o' scares, etc.

'Says de cap'n to de sogers: 'Boys, you'd better hole yer breff,
If de Yankees hear you holler, it 'ill friten dem to deff.'

Sich a gittin up o' scares, etc.

Says de cap'n to de cunnel: 'I tell you wot, Ralph,
Walk jawbone to Washington, cum home wid LINCOLN's Scalp!
Sich a gittin up o' scares, etc.

'Wen de Yankee sogers- - cum down to Hilton Head,

Two o'clock de morning

massa jump from bed.

Sich a gittin up o' scares, etc.

'Two o'clock and barefoot, way ole massa run;
Neber crack he fingers, neber fire de gun.
Sich a gittin up o' scares, etc.

'Massa trabel west, cut across de bay;
Nigger trabel eastward, cum de tudder way.
Sich a gittin up o' scares, etc.

'People all a trimlin in Massa LINKUM's land,
'Wot de debbil shill we do wid a millium contry band?'
Sich a gittin up o' scares, etc.

Nigger raise his cotton, nigger plant his corn,
Sich a fuss 'bout nuffin never seed since I was born.
Sich a gittin up o'scares, etc.'

As we write, the 'Souf' is being scared to some purpose.

Hold firm to the

end, and all shall yet be well — for the white man as well as the contraband.

He will clear away the clouds all in His own good time. AN 'Ilionois' friend favors us with a Teutonic illustration of the value of whiskers: 'In this goodly granary of Chicago, there is a fashionable boarding-house, wherein laboreth an industrious Dutchman, with the Celtic title of 'MIKE.' MIKE is training a fine young terrier, and that terrier is to MIKE as the apple of his eye. In him do dwell both his pride and his love. One day MIKE was lending his aid in the kitchen, and the terrier crouched near him. A wag of a boarder entering, and knowing MIKE's pet love, very quietly remarked to one of the maidservants: 'MARY, what have you cut off that dog's whiskers for?' MIKE dropped the knife, with which he was paring potatoes, and raised his hands in horror. 'Mein GOTT!' he burst forth, with the volcanic energy of dire despair, 'Mein GOTT! you've just sp'ilt the hoole dog!'' There be many gay dogs who would cut but a poor figure, sans whiskers. Have we not read in some work of a certain turbulent ring-leading prisoner in a Spanish lock-up, who made 'no end' of trouble? 'Shave off his whiskers!' quoth the stern old Commandante, one day, when unusual complaints were made of this rogue, Fiercely did Rogue resist―'t was of no avail — in a trice the prison barber had soaped him, and he went forth transformed from a fiercely tigerish mustachioed, truculent-looking bully, to an insignificant, smooth-faced little sneak. From that day it was all up with his authority; like SAMSON, his strength had departed with his hair, and his name was ICHABOD. To those who have a fancy

for German student-songs, KNICK commends the following, which may be well sung in a north-wester, amid crashing glasses; and which ends with a fearful explosion of voices in the last word.

Yet we still hope
Nummorum gaudia
Drat 'em!

I wish I had 'em!

Ubi sunt gaudia?
Just exactly there,

Where the Boys are singing
Selecta cantica,

And the glasses ringing

In villa curia

All on the square,
Wish I was there!
Ei-ja!'

THE attention of money-diggers is 'respectably' called to the legend 'hereby affixed:

'A FISHING-PARTY, composed of a grocer, a merchant, and a gentleman whose occupation we are unable to give, all belonging to a county-town lying on the Scioto, in central Ohio, betook themselves some time ago to the river, and with skiff and fishingtackle all in order, were bent on 'making a day of it.'

'About the middle of the afternoon, they had occasion to go to the shore for some 'bait. While punching and digging about the roots of an old tree, they turned up a large, rusty cast-iron ring; observing that it was attached to something very heavy, they cleared away the sand, and found that it was the handle to an immense iron chest. After extensive excavations around its sides with divers sticks, roots, etc., they satisfied themselves that it was sure enough the deposit of some crafty' ancient miser,' dead of course many years ago, and doubtless contained immense treasures; whereupon they carefully covered it up again, and hastening back to town, provided themselves with picks, shovels, a lantern, etc., and impatiently awaited the approach of night. Carefully keeping their secret, they set out about dark, and were soon at work in the seclusion of the forest, disemboweling their treasure. It was a difficult job. Large stones had to be removed, and tough roots hacked through, and after the way was all clear, they found the thing too heavy for their united strength to budge. By means, however, of extemporized levers, and the expenditure of a liberal amount of tugging, straining, perspiration, and grunting, they succeeded, toward morning, in getting the thing fairly unearthed. Just at this juncture, a blunt, honest fellow, who lived not far away, passed along their vicinity, probably in search of his cattle, and discovered them at their work. As he drew near, he found them so intent upon their business that his approach was unnoticed; and his curiosity being greatly excited, he took his station unseen quite near them.

'They all seemed quite jolly over their achievement, as they stood about their treasure, panting and wiping their brows, and contemplating the huge chest that had given them so much labor, but was now about to reward them so munificently.

"I've often thought,' said the grocer, 'that I'd give a good deal just to be able to quit the grocery business forever, and retire on a good living.'

"I was getting mighty tired of the dry-goods business,' responded the merchant, 'but I've sold my last crate of queensware now, that's certain.'

"There never was such a streak of luck in the world,' chimed in the third; 'it's better than California ore, for here you have the money already coined right to your hand. Whoop! Golly!'

'The day-light began to reveal to them that the next task to which they were about to address themselves, would be quite as difficult as the former. In other words, that the thing would be very hard to open. It was enveloped in a coating of clay and rust

so thick that they could find neither hole, seam nor crack in which to get a start. The merchant proposed that one of their number go to town and borrow a sledge-hammer, and some cold chisels. 'Buy 'em, buy 'em!' exclaimed the grocer. 'Where's the use of borrowing now? I'll pay for 'em. Who cares for money when it's to be had by the shovel-full!'

'Our unseen observer now stepped forth from his hiding place, and stood before them for a moment in silence. They started back as if the ghostly owner of the hidden chest' had pounced upon them.

"You're a set of everlastin' fools!' he exclaimed. 'It's plain to me that you've been kickin' and covin' around that are old pile-driver this whole blessed night! What on airth d' ye mean?'

'The truth flashed over them in a moment. The immense body before them was no chest at all, but a solid mass of iron which had been used some years previously in driving some large piles in the river, just above the abutments of the neighboring aqueduct, with a view to checking the force of the current; and there being no further use for it, the workmen had carelessly left it on the bank of the river, and the spring floods had buried it. Our chop-fallen heroes made their way homeward without stopping to bid their friend good-by, or even to thank him for his timely disclosure. They were dis. posed to keep the matter a profound secret, but their tormentor was not. He liberally dispensed the news wherever he went, and soon the laughable story was on every body's lips. Meanwhile his victims were so sore, mentally as well as physically, that they could scarcely bear any allusion to the 'awkward circumstance.' The grocer was especially sensitive. He 'showed fight,' in fact, if any allusion was made to it in his presence. A jolly old silversmith entered his place of business one day, and complained of the impurity of modern gold, and wondered if 'MIKE' could n't furnish him some of the more ancient and less adulterated material. A flat-iron flying in dangerous proximity to his head was the only response, and the silversmith found it necessary to make immediate arrangements to get out of the way. One night, some mischievous fellows actually procured some oxen, and taking them down to the river, hitched them fast to the pile-driver, and dragging it to town, left it exactly in front of the grocer's place of business. A friend passing by, however, at an early hour, saw what had been done. He saw too that it would be a bore to the grocer, a very great bore, in fact, for it was so heavy that swearing at it would n't move it, and getting mad and kicking it would n't budge it an inch; and if all the grocer's friends, with one consent, should come together to remove it, it would severely tax their strength to get it on a dray, and the drayman himself would probably demand insurance for his vehicle so the friend knocked at MIKE's door, woke him up, and told him as much. He advised MIKE to take it goodnaturedly, and not even attempt to have the thing removed. He suggested in fact that MIKE should just collect a force, have it 'up-ended,' and painted. The 'ring' would make a good hitching-place for horses. The thing struck MIKE favorably, and he consented. He even went so far, after having it neatly painted, as to order the workman to add an inscription; and the stranger who now passes along the street reads with a half-mystified, half-amused look: 'M→'s money-chest, found on the banks of the Scioto etc. etc.'

Nothing like making the best of a bad bargain. Will our kindly correspondent call again? Bon compagnon we do desire to know somewhat more of thee. OLD writers say, that the quarter of an hour after a meal at a tavern, before the bill comes, is the weariest of life. But a correspondent of KNICK's has proved that the time wasted in waiting for one's dinner is fearfully · provocative of strange quidlibets and égarements, or mental wanderings in search of the grotesque.

Videlicet:

'DID the reader ever have occasion, in his travels through the West, 'or elsewhere,' to go from the handsome city of Peoria 'areound' through the unhandsome house-gathering of El Paso southward? If not, the reader has n't been somewhere that the writer has, that's all. I made my distinguished débût before an El Paso audience, a few days since, at one-forty-five P.M. I found the audience 'gathered together' on the porch of a little house, near the rail-road dépôt: it consisted of a big Dutchman, with a small pipe. The latter half curled a wrinkle of blue incense upward on my approach, and the former half saluted me: 'Valk into dinner?' I passed on unheeding the invitation -a habit acquired from long experience in Eastern cities, where the traveller is required to resist the seductions of a clamorous drove of hackmen and hotel-runners and left the 'audience confounded and thunderstruck. Having deposited my satchel and shawls in the dépôt, I turned around to confront my audience again. It said:

'I examined the reception room. The stove-door was broken off, and the fire was gone out. It was cold. The walls were decorated with various lead-pencil tokens of previous occupancy by train-waiters, à la Cave of the Winds. One inscription said: It beats the D-1 to have to stay in this GOD-forsaken place from eleven A.M. to four P.M.' Another declared: 'If God forgives me for coming here to-day, I'll never come again.' Another said: 'No good whiskey, no pretty girls, no nothing, El Paso, five hours.' My eye fell on a reversed rail-road advertising-card, on which were some intoxicated hieroglyphics, which, after much study, I concluded could be printed thus:

GOW TOW THE

UNION HOUS
IF YOU WONT

TOW GIT СНЕР
RATES AND SOTEN
ETE FORE YOURE
MEALES.

'Time hung heavily. I thought, after all, since the Union House had cheap rates, and something neat for meals, (so I translated,) I would pass away half-an-hour at the Union House table. The carte was not what you might expect at the St. Nicholas, to be sure, but I passed away my half-hour; and returned to the dépôt, picking my teeth, to resume my intellectual researches. Somehow that bill seemed to imperatively demand further scrutiny; I bestowed it. That word 'chep' certainly was very ambiguous; and the 'soten ete' was open to a more accurate translation, perhaps, than I had given it. I studied away. Presently the landlord, hostler, bar-tender, clerk, porter, and runner of the Union House, with his pipe in his mouth, looked over my shoulder, and eventually remarked: 'Who put dat dam ting up mit der dépôt ?'