Not one man in a thousand can talk or write the true 'Indian.' Our friend SA-GO-SEN-O-TA, formerly known as Col. WILLIAM L. STONE, is one of the best Indian writers in this country. His late letter 'To the Sachems, Chiefs, and Warriors of the Seneca Indians,' acknowledging the honor they had done him in electing him a chief, is a perfect thing in its kind. May it be long before the 'MASTER OF BREATH' shall call him to 'the fair hunting-grounds, through clouds bright as fleeces of gold, upon a ladder as beautiful as the rainbow!' · · · Our entertaining '_Dartmoor Prisoner_' has a pleasant story of a fellow-captive who on one occasion performed that 'cautionary' experiment which is sometimes denominated 'putting your foot in it.' The term is of legitimate origin, it should seem. According to the _Asiatic Researches_, a very curious mode of trying the title to land is practised in Hindostan. Two holes are dug in the disputed spot, in each of which the lawyers on either side put one of their legs, and remain there until one of them is tired, or complains of being stung by the insects, in which case his client is defeated. In this country it is the client and not the lawyer who 'puts his foot into it!' · · · We have commenced in the present, and shall conclude in our next number, a '_Legend of the Conquest of Spain_,' by WASHINGTON IRVING. We derive it from the same source whence we received the 'Legend of Don RODERICK,' lately published in these pages. We commend its graphic limnings and stirring incidents to the admiration of our readers. · · · A FRIEND and correspondent in a sister city dashes in with a rich brush, in one of his familiar letters to us, a sketch of a boss-painter, who was renovating the writer's house with sundry pots of paint; a conceited, half-informed prig, who having grown rich, talks of 'going to Europe in the steam-boat,' and has a huge fancy for seeing Italy. 'Yes,' said the house-and-sign RAPHAEL, 'I must see Rome and Athens; them Romans allers made a great impression on me; the land of APELLES and XERXES; ah! that must be worth travelling for.' 'Would you not rather run over England?' I asked; but the ass _poohed_ at England, and on the strength of his daubing our house-blinds, claimed an interest in the Fine Arts abroad: 'No, Sir, give me Italy--the Loover and the Vattykin; them's the places for my money! Gods! how I should like to rummage over them old-masters! They beat _us_ all hollow--that's a fact. I'll give in to them. There never was such painters before, nor never will be. I want to study 'em.' 'Yes,' I rejoined; ''twould interest you, doubtless; and after having studied the great painters in Italy, you might return by way of Switzerland, and scrape acquaintance with the _glaciers_.' The booby did not _take_, but only stared and said: 'Oh, they're famous for glass-work there, be they?' This lover of the Fine Arts had a counterpart in the man who having 'made as