Mr. Ormsby, a gentleman residing in the city of New-York, took his family to West Point, to spend a week of unusually warm weather at the close of spring, and to see his nephew Gustavus, who had been a cadet at the Military Academy for near three years, and who was a boy of a very different disposition from Frederick Ormsby, being spirited, manly, and of a most amiable temper. Frederick, whose age was almost thirteen, was not entirely devoid of good qualities; but he was idle, rude, mischievous, and took the greatest delight in frightening and tormenting every one about him, particularly his sister Madeline.

Gustavus, having obtained permission to visit his uncle and aunt at the hotel, devoted all his leisure time to them; and being one of the cadets that act as assistant professors, and are therefore exempt from military duty, it was in his power to accompany them on all their walks, and to show them every thing on West Point worthy the attention of visiters. These walks would have been delightful, had not Frederick caused much annoyance by his vexatious tricks, and (to use his own expression) by planning frights for his mother and sister. Reproof affected him only for a few minutes, and even during their short voyage in the steam-boat from New-York, his father more than once regretted that Frederick had not been left at home.

Their first walk was to Washington's Valley, so called from having been the head-quarters of the illustrious commander-in-chief. On their way thither they visited the German Flats, once the encamping place of a great number of Hessian deserters, who came over to the American army while it lay at West Point. These fields, formerly a desert of stones and weeds, are now in high cultivation; and at their farthest extremity, where the wooded heights run out into the river, is the cemetery, shaded with old cedars, and ornamented with an elegant monument of white marble, round which are buried the few cadets that die here.

The walk from the German Flats to Washington's Valley, is delightfully cool and shady, being cut through the forest. The trees meet across the road, while their tangled roots project in the most fantastic forms from the banks on each side, and between their branches are seen at intervals the waters of the Hudson glittering far below.

The house, for ever memorable as the temporary residence of Washington, is a mere cottage; but under its low roof heroes once met, and plans were discussed, whose results we are now enjoying. It is surrounded by locust-trees, at this season resplendent with their conic clusters of beautiful white blossoms; and a clear brook murmurs through the garden, seeking its way to the river, whose waves roll gently in, washing the smooth grey sand that lies in front of the valley. Immediately behind this classic spot, ascends the mountain called the Crow's Nest, the longest and highest of the chain, that, extending along both shores of the Hudson, appears to inclose it on every side, giving it at West Point, the form of a lake from which there seems to be no outlet. On the opposite, or northern shore, rise the wild and barren mountains of Fishkill, far beyond which lie the fertile plains of Connecticut. Looking up the river, the view is terminated by the town of Newburgh, at ten miles distance, with Polipel's Island in front, and a fine range of country behind; the Chemungo mountains (a branch of the Catskills) closing the long perspective, their vast blue forms faintly visible on the remotest verge of the horizon.

Mr. and Mrs. Ormsby, with Gustavus and Madeline, took their seats on one of the numerous fragments of rock that are scattered over the sands at Washington's Valley; and while they were admiring the prospect, Gustavus (who was skilled in revolutionary lore) reminded his uncle and aunt, as they cast their eyes down the river, and looked toward the plain, of the ball given there by the American officers to their French companions in arms, in honour of the birth of the Dauphin. For this purpose, there was erected on the green an arbour of immense length, constructed of laurel-branches brought by the soldiers from the hills. This rustic arcade was illuminated by a multitude of little tin lamps, which have been kept ever since in the public store-house, and which are still used with great pride at the balls given by the cadets. On this occasion, Washington led off the first dance with the lady of General Knox.

Frederick, who had no taste for such conversation, soon rambled away, and amused himself by throwing stones at some ducks that were paddling in a brook at the entrance of the woods, returning now and then to the party at the river side, and soliciting Madeline to join him.

"I am sure," said he, in a low voice, "you will find it much more amusing to ramble about with me than to sit here listening to tales of the old war."

"Indeed," answered Madeline, "I am always glad to hear as many tales of the old war as I possibly can, provided that there is nothing in them shocking or disgusting, and no particulars of the killing; and my father says that no person of good feelings or good manners will ever detail the horrors, the real sickening horrors of a battle, in presence of females. But I will go with you, if my mother will give me permission." Mrs. Ormsby's leave was asked and obtained, and Mr. Ormsby cautioned his children to be absent but a short time.

Frederick took his sister toward the woods that stretched down to the water's edge, a little beyond the cottage, and they were soon out of sight.

In a short time, the little party that remained on the sands, were alarmed by a succession of violent shrieks, accompanied by another voice laughing loudly; and looking up the river, they perceived Madeline alone in a little boat, drifting out from behind a projecting point of rock, and evidently in great terror, while Frederick stood on the shore leaning against a tree, and ridiculing her fears. They all ran to her assistance, Gustavus foremost, and Mr. Ormsby supporting the trembling steps of his wife.

Suddenly a steam-boat, on her way down from Albany, came round the stupendous head-land absurdly called Butter Hill, and emerged into sight with thick clouds of smoke issuing from her chimneys, her wheels throwing up volumes of foam, and her prow dashing aside the water with a velocity that seemed irresistible. The shrieks of poor Madeline redoubled when she saw this tremendous machine coming on with a force that apparently nothing could stop, and threatening, in a few minutes, to overwhelm her little boat, unnoticed and unseen. Frederick was now terrified himself, and he called out to his sister, "Oh! Madeline, what have I done! The steam-boat will run over you. She will be upon you in three minutes."

"No, no," exclaimed Gustavus, "do not be frightened, Madeline. The boat is too far off; there is no danger." "We will get you immediately out of the way," cried her father, "but they will see you from the steam-boat, and avoid passing too near you." "Where is the rope," asked Gustavus, "by which this little boat was fastened?" "Here, here," said Frederick, "round the stump of this old tree. I proposed to Madeline that we should go and sit in the boat which we found at the water's edge. And as soon as I got her in, I thought that just for fun, and to set her to screaming, I would cut the rope with my knife and let her float off. I supposed she would drift down to the place where you were all sitting, and I only meant to frighten her. I knew that somehow she could be got out of the boat."

In the mean time, having lengthened the rope by fastening to it all their pocket handkerchiefs and Mrs. Ormsby's long shawl, Gustavus took one end in his hand, (the other being fast to the tree,) and jumping into the river, swam to the boat, by which means it was immediately hauled in to the shore, and in a few moments the affrighted little girl was safe in the arms of her parents, mingling her tears with those of her mother.

Mr. Ormsby's indignation was so much excited, that he declared if there was time to reach the wharf before the arrival of the steam-boat, Frederick should be put on board, and sent immediately down to New York. This, however, was impossible, the boat being now close at hand; and as Frederick appeared very penitent, and made fair promises of never again being guilty of similar conduct, his father, at the intercession of Gustavus and Madeline, consented to pardon him, and for the remainder of the day he behaved perfectly well.

On the following afternoon, they set out on a walk in another direction, and Frederick, who had been very good all the morning, was allowed to accompany them.

They went first to the Moss House, constructed, at his leisure hours, by the French cook at the hotel, and entirely the work of his own hands. He had opened a path through the thick woods, (hitherto in this place an impassable wilderness,) and carried it down the declivity of a craggy hill that descends to the river. This path, though narrow, steep, and winding, was neither rugged nor dangerous, and the trees interlacing their branches, formed an impervious shade across it. At its termination was a little garden, surrounded on all sides by a high wall of rough stones piled one on another, the interstices filled up with earth from which various wild plants were growing. This wall was overhung with masses of the forest grape-vine and other woodland shrubbery. The miniature garden was laid out in walks and heart-shaped beds, and planted with flowers, among which were lady-slippers, pinks, and convolvuluses. In one corner stood the moss-house, made of cedar branches, trimmed and cut of even length, filled in between with earth, and covered all over with a thick coat of the rich and beautiful moss that abounds in the woods and on the rocks of West Point. The door was open, and inside was a sort of settee, also of moss, and a little table made of twisted vine branches. In the garden near the house, was another rustic seat, or bench, the back formed of small boughs, curiously interwoven. Innumerable birds had taken up their residence near this charming retreat, and enlivened its dark shades with their brilliant colours. The oriole darted from tree to tree with his splendid plumage of orange and black, the blue-bird fluttered about in azure and purple, the yellow-hammer far surpassed the tints of the brightest canary, and the cedar-bird displayed his beautiful pinions of the richest brown, delicately pencilled at the edges with lines of fine scarlet, while the little humming-bird hovered over the flowers, and looked like a flying gem.

The Ormsby family next visited the monument erected by the cadets in commemoration of the gallant Kosciusko, who crossed the Atlantic to take a part in the American contest for independence, and who afterward so nobly, but unsuccessfully, defended the rights of Poland, his own ill-fated country. The monument is a fluted column of white marble, on a broad pedestal, simply inscribed with the name of Kosciusko. It stands near the ruins of Fort Clinton, on the eastern side of the plain, and on one of the lofty and abrupt heights that overlook the river.

They then descended to Kosciusko's Garden, a picturesque retreat half way down the rocks. Here, while with our army at West Point, the Polish officer had been accustomed to spend a portion of his leisure hours; and he had embellished the wild and rugged spot by planting it with lilacs and rosebushes. The cadets, with the surplus of the money subscribed by them for the erection of Kosciusco's monument, have facilitated the descent to this romantic and interesting retreat, (which was before almost inaccessible to ladies,) by causing to be made a long flight of stone stairs, firm and convenient, but sufficiently rude to be in unison with the surrounding scenery. These stairs, winding down between the rocks, lead to a beautiful grassy platform, backed by a lofty precipice of granite, which the hand of nature has ornamented with wild flowers that creep along its ledges, and shrubs and saplings that grow out from its crevices. Under a willow which droops on the level beneath, is a fountain bubbling in a basin of white marble, sculptured with the name of Kosciusko, and surrounded with flowering shrubs similar to those planted by the hero of Poland.

On the northern side of this beautiful spot the rocks are broken into the most picturesque masses, and shaded with forest trees of infinite variety; their foliage at this time displaying the liveliest tints of spring. The wild grape-vine clasped its crooked and wandering branches round the mossy stones, and scented the air with its fragrant blossoms; and the woodland honeysuckle threw around the sweetest odours from its clustered flowers of the most delicate pink. In front a shelf of rock projected over the river, whose clear blue waters glided far below, reflecting in their calm mirror "the headlong mountains and the downward skies." On the opposite shore rose the highlands of Putnam county; and Gustavus explained to his aunt and cousins, that in the year 1779, all the heights nearest the water had been crowned with batteries and covered with tents, the American army being encamped on both sides of the river; and that on the eastern bank, a short distance below West Point, is the house occupied by the traitor Arnold, and from which he made his escape when apprised that Washington was informed of his correspondence with the British general.

Mrs. Ormsby cast her eyes down the precipice that impended over the water, and beautiful as it was, being tufted with shrubs and trees to the very bottom, she turned away her head, and said it made her dizzy to look at it. They then sat down on one of the benches, and Mrs. Ormsby spoke of the strange and unaccountable fancy, said to be felt by some people, who, whenever they venture to the verge of a height, imagine that they feel an irresistible desire to jump down. "Mother," said Frederick, advancing to the edge of the rock "I feel that desire at this moment. I shall certainly jump in an instant. I shall be down directly."

Mrs. Ormsby turned pale, and desired Frederick immediately to come away from the precipice. "My dear," said Mr. Ormsby, "do you not see the laugh lurking in Frederick's eye? He only intends to frighten us. Can you suppose he has really any idea of leaping from the rock? No, no—though he delights in terrifying others, I am well convinced that he will never do any thing to hurt himself."

Gustavus then told of a soldier's wife, who, a few years since, (being, as was supposed, in a state of temporary derangement,) wandered in the night to these rocks, and falling over the precipice, her mangled body was discovered next morning, lying almost in the river.

Our little party then returned to the fountain, and Gustavus being provided with a leather drinking-cup, they all tasted the water. They stood there conversing for a considerable time; and when they turned to go away, they found that Frederick was not with them. They looked all around, but he was not to be seen; and when they called him, there was no answer. "Where can he be?" exclaimed Mrs. Ormsby, in much alarm. "I fear he has really fallen down the rocks. You heard him say that he felt that unaccountable inclination we were talking of." "But," said Mr. Ormsby, "I did not believe him, and neither should you. We know Frederick too well."

His father and Gustavus called Frederick loudly, but no answer was returned, except by the mountain echoes. The terror of his mother and sister was extreme. "Frederick!" exclaimed Mr. Ormsby, "Frederick—you surely hear us,—reply immediately." "Oh! Frederick," cried the mother, "if you really hear us, answer at once—put an end to our fears—how can you keep us in such agony?" There was still no reply. "Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormsby, "if Frederick yet lives, can he allow me to remain in this dreadful state of fear and suspense? Frederick, Frederick—this moment answer your mother!"

Mr. Ormsby's persuasion of Frederick's safety now began to give way to alarm, and Madeline trembled and cried. Mrs. Ormsby sunk, nearly fainting, on the bench; and while her husband brought water from the fountain and endeavoured to revive her, Gustavus, who knew every recess of the rocks, explored them in search of Frederick. He shortly returned, and said in a low voice, "Compose yourself, dear aunt, I have just had a glimpse of Frederick. He is safe, and not near the precipice. He has concealed himself in a sort of cavity in yon rock near the stairs, though the space is so small that I wonder how he got into it. He must have coiled himself up with some difficulty." "Do not let us go thither to seek him," whispered Mr. Ormsby. "He shall not have the gratification of jumping up and laughing at us." Mrs. Ormsby and Madeline, finding that Frederick was really safe, endeavoured to calm their agitation; and Mr. Ormsby and Gustavus began to talk of other things.

After sitting a few minutes longer, "Come," said Mr. Ormsby, in a loud voice, "we will now return; and as Frederick's concealment will not produce so great an effect as he supposes, he may sneak out of his hole and follow us at his leisure."

They left the bench, and were ascending the lower flight of stone steps, when a violent scream startled them all, and it was repeated with sounds of the most terrible agony. "Those screams are close by," exclaimed Madeline. "They came from the place in which Frederick is hidden," said Gustavus. "Another of his foolish jokes," said Mr. Ormsby. "Oh! no, no," cried Mrs. Ormsby, "those are the screams of real suffering."

Gustavus and Mr. Ormsby then sprung to the cavity in the rocks, and saw Frederick on the ground, wedged into a most uncomfortable posture, and sprawling out his hands with a gesture of the greatest terror, exclaiming, "Oh! take it off—take it out—take it away!" "Take what?" asked his father. "Oh! the snake—the snake!" cried Frederick. "It is crawling down my back—it must have a nest in this hole." Gustavus had by this time got his hand down Frederick's back, and was feeling for the snake. At last he drew out a small lizard, and held it up, to the great relief of Mrs. Ormsby and Madeline, whose terror had been nearly equal to Frederick's.

"Let me see it," said Frederick. "Is it really a lizard? How cold and slippery it felt, and how disagreeably it crawled down my back." "And you had not courage," observed his father, "to put your hand over your shoulder, and take it out, but you lay there screaming like a baby." "I was afraid it would bite my hand," said Frederick. "And would you rather it had bitten your back?" asked Mr. Ormsby.

"It must have fallen upon you accidentally from the rock above," remarked Gustavus, "and slipped down your back without intending it, for these animals are too timid to crawl voluntarily, and in day-time, over a human being."

"I suppose," said Frederick, "I shall be told that this is a just punishment for frightening my sister yesterday morning, when I set her adrift in the boat."

"Most assuredly," replied Mr. Ormsby; "and you have given us another proof that those who find the greatest pleasure in terrifying others, are, in general, very easily terrified themselves. To take delight in giving pain, is cruelty; and courage and cruelty are rarely found in the same person. However, we will not have our excursion to West Point spoiled by any more of your mischievous and unfeeling tricks; therefore I shall send you down to the city in the first steam-boat that comes along this evening, and to-morrow morning you may go to school again." Frederick was much mortified at the punishment in prospect, and earnestly besought his father to allow him to remain; but Mr. Ormsby said to him, "The pain you feel at being sent home, is nothing to that you caused your mother and sister when you tried to make them suppose you had fallen down the precipice."

"But I will do these things no more," said Frederick. "So you said yesterday," replied Mr. Ormsby, "after cutting the boat adrift with your sister in it."

"Dear father," said Madeline, "did he not suffer sufficiently for that, when he believed that a snake was crawling down his back? Pray let him have no more punishment on that account."

Mrs. Ormsby, who was the fondest of mothers, now interceded for Frederick, and her husband at last yielded to her intreaties, and allowed him to remain, on condition of the best possible behaviour during the remainder of their stay at West Point.

After stopping on the plain to see the evening parade of the cadets, and to hear the band, the Ormsbys returned to the hotel and took tea. The night being perfectly clear and dry, and the moon at the full, Gustavus proposed to them a visit by moonlight to the ruins of Fort Putnam.

Ascending the steep and rocky path that leads up the side of the mountain, amid the deep shade of the woods, that resounded with the croak of the tree-frog, and the rapid and singular cry of the night-hawk—they emerged into an opening where the moon shone brightly down, and arrived at the entrance of the fort—whose ruins are scattered over a large space of ground, now covered with grass and wild flowers. They looked into the arched and gloomy cells which once served as quarters for the garrison, or receptacles for military stores; and ascending the eastern rampart by a few narrow steps of loose and tottering stone, they looked down upon the whole extent of the plain lying far below them, with its gardens and houses, on whose windows the moonbeams glittered; its extreme point terminating in a ledge of naked rocks, running far out into the river. They saw a steam-boat coming down, all cast into shade, except the sheets of flame that issued from her chimneys, and her three lanterns sparkling far apart, their brilliant lights reflected on the water; after turning the point, her form was distinctly defined, as she crossed the broad line of moonlight that danced and glittered on the silent river.

Gustavus then conducted his friends to the western side, where the shattered walls of the old fort run along the utmost verge of a perpendicular mass of rock of a stupendous height. Mrs. Ormsby and Madeline shuddered as they looked over the broken parapet into the abyss beneath, the bottom of which is strewed with stones fallen from the lonely ruins; and Mrs. Ormsby kept Frederick carefully beside her, and held him tightly by the hand.

Just then the sound of the fifes, and the drums beating tattoo, ascended from the plain, and our party returned to the other side of the fort, that they might hear it more distinctly. Every note was repeated by the echoes, and the effect was that of another set of musicians playing immediately beneath the mountain. It being now half past nine o'clock, they turned their steps downward; and after proceeding a little distance they missed Frederick. "Another of his tricks," said Mr. Ormsby, "this time we will take no notice."

As they proceeded they heard the most dismal groans. "Frederick again," said Mr. Ormsby. "Incorrigible boy! let us, however, walk on; when he finds that he has failed to frighten us, we shall soon see him running down the mountain. Twice in one day is rather too often to make us believe that he has fallen down the rocks. I wonder he cannot think of something new. To-morrow, he shall certainly be sent home."

They walked on till they reached the foot of the mountain; Mrs. Ormsby and Madeline again feeling very apprehensive as to Frederick's safety—though Mr. Ormsby said he had no doubt he would soon overtake them, or that perhaps he would strike into another road, and be at the hotel as soon as they were.

This, however, did not happen; and after a while, finding that Frederick did not appear, his father became really uneasy, and Mrs. Ormsby and Madeline were exceedingly alarmed. Gustavus had taken a hasty leave, and left them when they reached the plain—being obliged, according to rule, to return to his room in the barracks before ten o'clock.

Two officers who were at the hotel, volunteered to assist Mr. Ormsby in searching for his son; and they went back to Fort Putnam, where, as they approached the entrance of the ruins, the groans again were heard. Guided by the sound, they approached the east side of the parapet; and looking over, perceived something moving among the branches of a cedar that grew half way down. "Frederick!" called Mr. Ormsby. This time he was immediately answered. "Here, here," cried Frederick, "I did really fall down this time, without intending to frighten any body."

They went to him, and found that the cedar tree had saved his life by catching him among its branches and holding him there; but that in the fall he had severely strained his shoulder. The pain, added to his fright, and to his total want of presence of mind, had prevented him from trying to get out of the tree; and he could do nothing but lie there and groan, being really very much hurt.

He was extricated and put on his feet again, and the two gentlemen assisted Mr. Ormsby in conveying him down the mountain. "Now," said his father, "had you not been so much in the habit of raising false alarms, we should have stopped at once when we heard your groans, and had gone in search of you; and you would not have been obliged to remain so long in the tree, and to have suffered so much before you could be relieved." "Oh!" said Frederick in a piteous voice, "I feared I should have been obliged to lie there all night, and perhaps die before any one came near me. However, it is fortunate I did not fall down on the side where the precipice is, for I should certainly have been dashed to pieces among the stones at the bottom."

When Frederick was brought to the hotel, his mother and sister were much shocked on finding him in such a condition. His shoulder was so swelled that the sleeve of his coat had to be cut open, as it was impossible for him to draw his arm out of it. He suffered great pain, and it was a week before he was well enough to be taken home; during which time he made many resolutions of amendment.

In conclusion, we have the satisfaction of saying, that this last lesson was not lost on Frederick Ormsby; and that he ceased to derive amusement from exciting pain and terror in others.

ELIZA LESLIE.