_St. Augustine_, April, 1878.--The Indians have gone! Yes, the pets of some and the pests of others have left St. Augustine amidst the sympathetic demonstrations of a crowd, followed by the best wishes of all, that they may arrive safely at their points of destination. The marks of improvement are evident on the outside of them; but none need nurse the delusion that it has struck in. On being asked what they were going to do with their clothes when they went West, they replied, with a symbolic jerk, "Tear them off, and throw them away!" Think of Mrs. Black Horse and Mochi, with their heads dressed in fashionable Mother Goose hats, with plumes and white tissue veils, that had been given them by lady-visitors, their bodies rolled up in a buffalo-skin, before a campfire, after a long march in the rain, or fresh from a war-dance, with the dripping scalps of white men hung from their waists as trophies of bloody triumphs! They were delighted at the prospect of freedom; beating against rock walls and prison-bars was too much pressure for them--to which they yielded in sullen despair. They left their literature--religious picture-books and buffalo-hunts not being in harmony--"Moody and Sankey" song-books suddenly losing all charm for them, "Hold the Fort" being changed to "Leave the Fort." They said, "Me man, no school." Some of them could speak Spanish, and while here learned a little English. They corresponded with their kindred on the plains by picture-writing. A lady-visitor wished Minimic, or Eagle's Head, to give her a letter written him by his wife, when he replied, "What white squaw do with my squaw's letter?" The poetry of the idea was evidently lost on him. The "noble red man" of the novel-writer and these coarse savages, whose rough nature repels all polish, are quite different. Three of these Indians, who have taken to the customs of the whites more kindly than the others, are to be sent North and educated, the expense incurred being the enterprise of private individuals.