''Save yourself, and follow me!' he muttered through his closed teeth, and running with all speed to the back window, without stopping to open the blinds, or raise the sash, he plunged head-foremost into the yard. 'My flesh was wretchedly burnt; each pore of my skin seemed penetrated by a red-hot needle. Every fibre of my body was a chain of fire; yet a chill ran through my frame; my limbs were paralyzed with horror; the weight of a hundred tons seemed pressing upon my breast. 'Before following my brother's example, I tremulously applied my hand to the door, and on using a little strength forced it open. Joyfully I hailed the passage, and rushed precipitately down stairs. You know the rest.' * * * * * HERE the patient ended. The admission of air by the window was probably the cause of the door giving way to his touch. The unfortunate young man died early in the morning, in a state of savage delirium. It should be observed, that his narration was frequently interrupted by paroxysms of madness; but it was not necessary to preserve any thing more than the bare details. His brother went through a tedious period of recovery, during which time his infamous partners made way with the secreted property. No suspicion got abroad of the actors in this drama. Petro retired to some distant place, with what feelings, intents, or fate, I shall not attempt to describe. FOOTNOTE: [1] Our city readers will need no other evidence than the present sketch, that these 'Notes' are drawn from real life. We have often seen one of the scarified 'incendiaries' whose melancholy story is here narrated. EDS. KNICKERBOCKER. THE BIRCHEN CANOE. IN the region of lakes, where the blue waters sleep, My beautiful fabric was built, Light cedars supported its weight on the deep, And its sides with the sunbeams were gilt. The bright leafy bark of the betula tree, A flexible sheathing provides, And the fir's thready roots drew the parts to agree, And bound down its high-swelling sides. No compass or gavel was used on the bark, No art but the simplest degree, But the structure was finished and trim to remark, And as light as a sylph's could be. Its rim is with tender young roots woven round, Like a pattern of wicker-work rare, And it glides o'er the waves with as lightsome a bound, As a basket suspended in air. The heavens in brightness and glory below, Were reflected quite plain to the view, And it moved like a swan, with as lightsome a show, My beautiful birchen canoe! The trees on the shore, as I glided along, Seemed moving a contrary way, And my voyagers lightened their toil with a song, That caused every heart to be gay.