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Kor the Nu York Tribune.
WESTERN ADVENTURES. Being Lost?Rough Roads? Fording a Eiver by Night, &c. Lost '?Wh,, has not been lost? Probably not one man of country growth in a hundred has es? caped the experience: and of all the feeiings to which unfortunate humanity is liable, few I ima? gine arts le-s to be envied. The Sun has strayed to the wrong side of the heavens?the river runs up-stream. The fence is the wrong side of the road?the road itself has capped head for tail? the very tree, are wrong-all as if the man had Slept awhile and waked up in the wrong world. Manv a time in such case, among the sunny hills of New-England, have I suspected that I myself had been swapped away for some other urchin by mistake, and been fain to prick myself with a pin to test the question of identity. But in New England, such mistakes soon had their end. The road followed solved the mystery; or some field, or house, or known token, brought the wanderer to some, place and dispelled the hallucination.? Not in the wild West; there the lost wanderer runs into perils of which the uninitiated little dream The traveler rides up to the settler with ??How far to the next settlement?" 'Twelve miles.' ''Direct mad?" 'Yes.1 "No turning off?" ' No?keep straight ahead.' Cheered by the point and precision of the direction, he pushes on. Tiie road is evident, arid nothing can be plainer than thai the man who directed him w a man of intelligence?one who knows what he is about. In the midst;of the eulogy, thus pouring forth on the heart of the squatter, the road forks; and not a mile from the jdace of inquiry. Wrath and perplexity lake a round of fisticuffs in his bo? om, and then he concludes to go on: for. after all, thev way come together again. Soon a field suddenly meets birn.nnd the road grows gradually dimmer as he courses along the fence, in the hope of roming on to the old track again. He follows the fence a mile or so, and then meets what must be the road. The direction is right; it leaves mm field for the prairie, and besides there is none oth< r. With a good heart he puts forward, and riot until he has traveled some three or four miles, fat from man or his dwelling, does lie perceive that his road is actually leaving him. Dimmer and dimmer it grows. Here part of it runs round a slough; nor does it all seem to come back again. Then tt new track has been made to avoid -omo impediment, and it threatens always to he - now track?every now and then a part (if his road runs "ill" across the prairie, till all at once th< whole road has actually left him. Some few tracks seem to keep on, but nothing like a road, ft; the mean time night comes on, and happy i; he if it be not a cold or stormy one; and though h< puts forward with what speed he can muster, ii what he judges to be the proper direction, yf Night settles down, and finds him trackless am guideless in the great ocean of land. Hills ris? out of the plain in every direction; and grove; cloaked in shadows almost reveal themselves til obscurity has swallowed till the universe but tin stars, and he alone lives t<> gaze at them. ! But where will he go ? Let any man start with j out any object to guide him, in the doterniinatio | to proceed in a straight line, and he will com j around upon Iiis own track in a short time, have made some experiments, and never knew th man who could proceed in a direct line without . guide, for the distance of six rods. Where, thoi should a man on a prairie, in a cloudv nigh: without road, wander? After a sufficient numbe : of (gyrations, and sufficient fatigue, the travclr > concludes to tie up to a bush, if he ran find one ? and if he has a match, to kindle a fire of prairi ' .Truss, if nothing else offers, for the sake of com puny?or, in want of both, to hold his horse h I the bridle, and catch a little broken, cold, dew j ??loop, in the intervals of the wolves' howling, am j wait the light fin- further wanderings; and at a' sufficiently rational intervals to curse the stupidit of tin* man who could so badly direct him. 1. truth, 1 think this business of highway directio has never yet received iL-? share of attention, no where meet with any book on the subject whereas it should be subjected to rules, and taugh. | hoys as regularly as catechisms, with diagrarm ? Most people direct, a stranger as if they suppose, i him a< well acquainted with the road as then ? selves; and the result is, thai a man might as we ] ?? right and loft" a sufficient number of times, as i dancing, and then go on, as to ask his way i ninety-nine people out of every hundred he meot Being at Milwnkic the frost season, and havin; boon nicely shaken and chururd on the way ou' 1 made special inquiry for a smoother passag? back- On this subject I had the care to secur< the opinions of' some dozen people that had bee: out t>> the centre of Wolworth County, who, to a man, represented that as a prime road, and oven way worthy to be traveled. Cheered bv such as? surances, I -ot forward. Mile after mile, as wc ? lodged stumps and stones with even' now and i then a whirl in a hole, well nigh deep enough to upset us, did 1 wonder when' the good road was, bur. concluded it must be after emerging upon the I prairie. Accordingly of the first man 1 met I asked tho distance out. of the woods. "Eight miles."! ?vii- the consoling reply. While 1 was meditating upon the interminable length of eight miles, the -horses gave a snort and came to a dead stand.? I here lava -lough, wide, black, and deep as a little Acheron. On the opposite side there bris? tled a row of slumps, of such remarkable ferocity of appearance, a, to bid defiance apparently to <-xit. there was-nn dodging?trees and hushes. I and deeper mires ,m each sui,. [cf, no alternative. After suitable coaxing, the team plunged in.? Whether or no it found any bottom, I ncverascer tained; but tun inclined to suppose it was passed, i ?s Satan passed Chaos? ?' Wim twaii, or bands; or wings, pursues his wav An?i swims, or sinks, or wades or creeps or riles." At any rate, they came out as nicely plastered with mud as you will see a swine on a summer's day. Nor had I time to congratulate myself ?,, j my escape, bet?r?- another presented, as like us a bean to its brother. But the prairie was finally passed; not so hurriedly the end of the bad road. 1 kept no 'count of the -loughs we passed; ot all sizes; nor of the mites of marsh and stubborn mud we dragged through; but this 1 will say, that for superlative meanness, of all the roads I ever passed, none can for a moment compete with tho road from Milwakie to the centre of Woolworth; always excepting the corduroy opening from De? troit to xpsilunti ot former daw-. The evening found us at Spring i'raiie; u little, rolling dry spot of earth, of exquisite beauty?sprinkled all -?ver w ith dwellings, and full of luxuriant grain ; I which, with the "grass m the greenness of Jane, waving in the breath of evening, and gilded with the long rays of the setting sun, presented . spot that seemed indeed of another planet-a little stray islet of a better world! 'Happy people, d#se Spring pmirie folks,' thought I. Having had much luxuriant experience in mud navigation, niv first care was to address myself to a group of men and inquire the road for the future. With a lu-rubrious shake of the head one of them told me :hat fi?r seven miles to come there was now and hen a drv spot sticking; out of the marsh, hut that i worse road there hardly could be. The rest ?himed in, and one told how he got sloughed, with 10 load ; and others of narrow escapes, till my mind ivas fairly made up for the worst. As we passed ?Ii, and crossed now and then a wet spot of little Kite. I did not cease to io?k for the- horror? in ?tore, until a huge tavern and a rising court -house old me we were indeed at Elk Horn. I philoso diised. and discovered that all these people were loncsl : hut that the first lived in the woods, and 11 them a road that could be passed was a good ?tie; while the others lived on a smooth prairie, ind to them a little inequality was a fearful obsta ?|e. I repeat it?were I to take to pedagogy. ! would give weekly lessons on highway direc? tus. But I am to record an adventure that did not row out of misdirection, the details of which if jr?t interesting to readers, irere certainly so to the larties concerned. Years agor.e, when Indians .vere plenty, and white women were not, in these ?arts, my friend Ralph and I had been out in the egions of Sugar River for a hunt. After wander tig sufficiently, and shooting sufficiently, and <ee ng merrv deer which we dkl not shoot at, we started or home. Jt was late in October, and tin- (Lay. hurt at. best, threatened to be -honor still for us. ['he clouds, which had been growing dark and de ermined, liegan tu pour down rain in heavy, sleety' 'rops; and before we could reach Rock River, vhich we had to cross, night had fairly set in.? Vc gave ourselves no great uneasiness, however, s we had left our canoe snugly tied by the bank. .1 the morning. But oh reaching the spot, what vas our consternation to perceive it gone ! W e rawled through the bushes, up and down the tream, and felt for it, for seeing wes well out of he question, but ill vain. Gone it was, and some ?d-hide had got it, down whose throat we did not brget to wish it. But wlmt was to be done?? .'mss we must?then: was 110 shelter near us, ex ept the skies, and they seemed at this juncture I ?articitlarly leaky and cullender-dike?and as to i idling for a canoe it wus mere expense. There vas a ford near, where teams had crossed in the iimtner; but the water was rather high, and pos ibly cold. It was our only resource, however, and o it we took ?urselves. By this time the rain was tulting its merriest. The wind blew a stiff tune, uid us to seeing, the best that could be done at. it vas to look on shadows, and rather dark ones too. j I'he riv er was about forty rods wide, and ran as Rock .liver always does, as though in a luirry. We. found j he road, however, and began to shape our course. I Vny one who has looked long and steadily for an j 'bject, and just as he is about to discover it has a ' ihn come over his wye, can guess how long it took I o see any object by wIhcIi to shape our course ! (.cross the river; tuid inasmuch as the ford was a ittle crooked, some such guide seemed convenient. I Vt last a whitish spot seemed to appear, which j night be the road on the other side. We started , ti, hut the fog- was thicker near the surface of the 1 water than on the bank, or I had been deceived ; or I could no where discern any thing but the larknesrt. The water too was getting surprisingly leep, and nil at once wo were getting up to our inns. " How deep did you call this ford ?*' said italph. ' About three feet,' said I. " Then they nust be India Rubber ones," said he. " We are oo far up-stream," said my friend. ' Wo are loo ow.' said I. " Certainly too low for this depth of vater," said Ralph, ' But what can be done ?? To swim with a gun and bag of game is not so asv. in so swift and cold n stream. Let us try it ligher up,' said I. But to walk up-stream in four did a half feet water with all Rock River crowd tig you down stream, with no foot-hold but loose 'ravel stones, is easier thought than done. So we timed back, and regained a shoaler spot; and laving traveled up a piece tried it again. " We ire too high up, I t-ll yon," said Ralph, as he dunged again into water to his chin. In short, we tried it up-stream and we tried it down -tream; til! neither of us had any very clear con ?option of our whereabout*. Ralph declared the river was running the wrong way. ? Lot us call a ?ouucil of war," said 1. " Present, captain and j irst lieutenant,7' said my friend. Now fur once. dear reader, imagine yourself ;? jj,^ rnids>t of a j river of an uncertain depth, in tin Ortolie,- night : ! the wind howling and the rain pelting as though the holes in the clouds were the size of hens'eggs, with no very definite ideas of your lotus in quo.? " Let us go back and take a new start."' said Ralph. 'But which shore an* you going for V I inqtiin'd. " The one we came from.'' said he.? ' Doubtful," said I- "I am certain," said he. Now we stumbled ssver rough gravel, then plunged into holes. .Now the river ran like a mill race, and then held up as if for n fresh start, while Ralph whistled and sung alternately, as he had nwrr or less bn*ath to spare. At last we were among the bushes, and in a few moments had struggled by dint of crawling and pulling through the long1 grass, upon the bank, and with no little ado found. the mad that crossed the ford. " Her* is at it again/' said Ralph, as he dashed into the stream once more, ' But 1 think we are on the right bank already.' said 1. Nothing would however convince him: and not until 1 absolutely refused to follow, j would in- consent to give it up and take the road, which soon brought us to our divor. Nor would Ralph yield the point that night, that the cabiu had either lavn moved to tiie. wrong side of the river, or that the river itself had turned to running up-stream. J. A. W. Massachusetts Remtk.vtiaky.?The numlier of convicts in this prison on the 30th of.Sept. last, is stated iu the report of the Inspector t?> have been 331. Of these, 131 were received during the Th '"~'an,i in lh'' *w time 122 were discharged. , * ''^peuses of the Prison