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POETRY. From the U. S. Literary Gazette. A HYMN. The groves were God’s first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,—ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest, solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the souyd Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole o’er him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why, Should we, in the world’s riper years, neg- gleet God’s ancient sanctuaries, and adore Or.ly among the crowd, and under roofs, That our frail hands have raised. Let me at least, Here in the shadow, of this aged wood, Offer one hymn—thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century living crow Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy and tall and dark, Fit shrine ibr humble worshiper to hold Communion with his Maker. Here are seen No traces of man’s pomp or pride;—no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here— thou fill’st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music;—thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness ofthe place, Comes, scarcely felt;—the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship;—nature, here, In the tranquility that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Bryant. CHEROKEE HYMN. L. M. aezy^a. I’. O’JIWCKA (PiSSIr KR w* ©<p<?r; Jri^PotSoiA.I Crojyj 8GK GDbffB. & DcSAF ®«0*0* O’et-O-a MiCR, OVUVO-a JXJ4, ©IrSa D4. 3. AAV EXd’O-fl’’ $T»0-Sc»A S-qWa^. h-c3BAP<£B.AI>, D4Z h-caWA-V*. 4- 0 3 GJ}«V" b>mo-A t SGhEJlP D4, t**V*Z Dxrso O’JlWO-a O’JJh-. 3. R?e, as, (ptrvi; <5BZ Dy^'QoP; Ii-oSSO- 3Jrh./3B, (PJlCsZ h-<S>BGa. 6. t,W* AWpZ/lP DJiotSO DA&T r CP.'IWCWJ 0M5It> JrZA JrJrtiiFJir.- 7. OV1WCKA CMJIe aoso- tsft; ©»yphT dr TydespdfcKT. MATTHEW, GHAP. IX. -rS,- D<3A4T IX. 1. JrCTAZ 0°G0«, SJ!?.tTT, 0>GR O’JISSA- t «MTT. 2. 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Eiicr*rz di^b wvvs TGrsaBir’ x>a- •04 CPBSfT 5 ^, (Mi.IP 0 ) MT4 DB'JPlP (P4G CP- R.aqy. 21. j)v$z qjJ4 ©“Bo-ipt; tg?*z (pq.S'V d&XRIi4, D4 cQXa©. 22. IrVZ 0 s SWAR D«f V>A&, J)D qJX4- qy, DtOJr, C°SFooPJ,6“BIi. KJ3CTR Ga©o®l-0». DP'BZ 0^GT«V* ©“JGRy. 23. IrUZ DatS^EotiB S^X4 O s MCs, SA&- z aiiTwyaty d^b© BhBET, 24. hSJS44y; tgio*©-, OAZ O’hrR *y dpitg; spop^asyh. Ec^Gaeto-^z. 25. O J 0DO-RZ B®, ©“B'q O’liBiS? ©“CJvpil, DPGrcZ S(T0-y. J 26. easyz ad szggcs etr saj* o 3 ®?- csy. 27. hVZ Otr 0 s B0-R, DIiWP UIiF© E- GaeBGfFRy, 0 s JIME .AD OhJSaJEyj asyh- Apy, SG> GAT,. 28. SPK9Z 0 1 B4, vlhlv© EGMT4y, irvz iisji544y; TaeA.AGrifcai$(»A ^p Goiiy TEXlTJia ERT. 29. .AD IiEGJU4'4y, ii, GE©Gt , j9. 6- •rz sr.x4 aiiSAP, ad qjjxty. qaejo t- 0®AaG v Jta®E IiafiDPavDB. 30. aiiSAFZ sPossTKy, h-vz stpacw- •qy, ad i»sjs44y; Lata ys o s Ad , pRy. 31. D4Z O s 0T»O v R*V* SIiZGWO-y 01* IiE- ejfflT. 32. ©“iiqAc^w’z, EiiGr«v*, eaazp-q d©o- o'GP'©, Datye ©“cST. 33. Dotyoz DIrqASR 0 S GI*© O’WhRy. O’LGaz o s iiaexiiARy, ad qiijsRy, x Aq- AGT Goty TCota >5B\VP^. 34. D4Z DiiXPB ad qiiJisRy; Dotye o s E©G?-a Ea<>p ssqA©ats DBasye. 35. iruz list jj«o sss* Dd* jata sss- Jt cptDAqy, BSh^rotEy jiitVGTata*, dj 1 DPIrAvfcoiJEy <I>B SZPJ' 5 O’JlWO'-a O s TPAa szpasEy, d«t sso-eatE awo-iT’ aiipy aj»rf- 0>(rz iC'y b© o s JivtT. 36. SA«AZ O’BGa B©, SiWAPCsy, GO ^z o s Xi©Ey, Dd 1 ©“©asifhcxa ivRy, d© JRZS0 Tcroaea o s ii^TPAa jute iri»4T. 37. e-rz aD iisas44 EGoatGaAa; < sivB ©“©irteesa RtraGr, D4z diisiifg? aix- *0.©o®T>Jia. 38. Gatyz TGF-asa ritbeb wb-b iptps ao-aea^ ah4©atD/i,A v-fb o’Cipocst. INTEMPERANCE. From the address of Charles Sprague. When the husband and father for gets the duties he once delightel to fulfil, and by slow' degrees becomes the creature of intemperance, there enters into his house, the sorrows wat rend the spirit—that cannot be allevi ated, that will not be comforted. \ “It is here, above all, where she who has ventured, everything, fels that every thing is lost. Womtjn silent, suffering, devoted woman, h bends to her direst affliction. T measure of her wo, is in truth fu whose husband is a drunkard, shall protect her when he is her in suiter, her oppressor? What shall delight her, when she shrinks from the sight of his face, and trembles at the sound of his voice?—The heart is in deed dark, that he has made desolate. There, through the dull midnight hour, her griefs are whispered to" herself, her bruised heart bleeds in secret.— There, while the cruel author of her distress is drowned in distant revelry, she holds her vigil, waiting, yet dread ing his return, that will only wring it % his unkindness, tears even i ici iding than those she shed o- t angression. To tiing a deep- across the present, memo- back and broods upon the like the recollection to the sunstrik«n pilgrim, of the cool spring that he drank at it in the morning, the joys af other days come over her, as if only to mock her parched and weary spirit. She recalls the ardent lover, whose graces won her from the home oI her infancy.—the enraptured father, who bent with such delight o- ver his new born children—and she asked if this could really be him—this junken being who has nothing for her but the sot’s brutality—nothing for those abashed and trembling children, but thef sot’s disgusting example!— Can we/wonder, that amid these a* gonizinf moments the tender cords of violated affection should snap asunder? that thp scorned and deserted wife should confess, “that there is no kill ing like that which kills the heart?” that thpugh it would have been hard for heij to kiss for the last time the cold lips of her dead husband, and lay his body for ever in the dust, it is har der to behold him so debasing life, that evjen his death would be greeted in inerty ? Had he died in the light of his gpodness, bequeathed to his fa mily thp inheritance of an untarnished name, the example of virtues that should blossom for his sons and daugh ters from the tomb—though she would have wept bitterly indeed, the tears of grief would not have been also the teirs of shame. But behold him, fallen away from the station he once adornffl, degraded from eminence to ignominy—at home, turning his dwell ing intddarkness, its holy endearments into mjekery—abroad, thrust from eompanonship of the worthy, a self brandel out-law—this is the wo that the wiB feels, is more dreadful than death-j-that she mourns over, is worse than widowhood.” AN INJITATION TO DINNER. It wai observed that a certain cov etous rich man never invited any one to dine with him, iI’ll lay a w r ager,’ sa d a wag, ‘I get an invitation from hifn.’—The wager being accapted, he goes the next day to the rich man’s ho^ise, about the time he was know r n to sit down to dinner and tells the ser vant that he must speak with his mas ter immediately, for that he could save him a thousand pounds.—‘Sir,’ said the servant to his master, “here is a man ill a great hurry to speak with you, tvho says he can save you a thousand bounds.’ Out comes the master, ‘nvhat is that you say, sir— that you can save me a thousand pounds?’ ‘Yes, sir, I can—but I see you are a^ dinner; I will go myself and dine; and call again. ‘O pray sir, coxm in and take a dinner with me.’ ‘Sri shall be troublesome.’— ‘Not at 111.” The invitation w'as ac cepted. jAs soon as dinner was over, and the flmily retired, “Well, sir,’ said the man of the house ‘now to our business. 1 Pray let me know how I am to saw this thousand pounds?’— ‘Why, sir ’ said the other, ‘I hear you have a daighter to dispose of in mar riage.’ (I have.’ ‘And that you in tend to rortion her with ten thousand pounds.’/ ‘I do so.’ ‘Why, then, sir, let me have her, and I will take her with n|ne thousand.’ The master of the house rose in a passion and turned him oiit of doors. O'Connell.—The following amusing story was related by Mr. O’Connell, at a recent Catholic meeting in Dub lin. ° Mr. O’Connell began—-“You will expect a Speech, but I will tell you a story, which will lose nothing in inter est by being founded in fact. In the County of Cork, there lately lived a man named Seely, and for what I know he may live there still. He, it seems, was not only opposed to Catholicism, but his antipathy to every thing Popish, was proverbial. Seely had a friend equally prejudiced, and in one of their conversations, in which, as usual, the Catholics were the subject, Seely ssdd, “Tom, I hate Popery, and I don’t know why.” “I hate it too,” said Tom, “but I can’t tell the rea son.”—When the discussion took place between Pope and Maguire, Seely posted alfyhe way to witness the tri umph of Pipe against his Papist oppo nent. He/went every day and actu ally run majd from his high rough feel ings. In ope of his wandering fits, he took a notion, that his right leg was a Papist, though all the rest of his body was Protekant. Doctors were sum- monedfmnd medicaments administer* ed, but still no good resu hed. He would not suffer his Popish leg to be covered by his blanket, cold as it was. His friends remonstrated. “What!” said Seely, “could I be such a scoun drel as to let a Popish leg sleep with me? No, I would rather die than act such a rascally part!” John Pull acts iu the same manner as Dick Seely. Ireland is the right arm and leg of England, and yet be cause she is too Popish, John will not throw around her the blanket of the Constitution. Jin ambitious man—is a morter- piece that aims upward always. He is one that flies in a machine, and the engines that bear him are pride and avarice. He mounts up into authori ty, as a coachman does into his box, by treading upon the wheel of fortune; and gets up to preferment, though it be on the wrong side. He leaps over hedge and ditch, like a hunting nag, and like a vaulter, will throw him self over any thing he can reach. He will climb like the cripple, that stole the weathercock off Paul’s steeple. He rises like a meteor from corrup tion and rottenness, and when he is at his height, shines and dispenses plagues and diseases on those that are beneath him. He is like a hawk that never stoops from his height, but to seize upon his prey. He is like the north pole to his friends, the nearer they are to him, the higher he is above them; and when they steer by him, unless they perfectly understand their varia tion from him, they are sure to find themselves mistaken. He is never familiar with any man in earnest, nor civil but in jest. He is free of noth ing but his promises and his hat; but when he comes to performance, he puts off the one as easy as the other. He salutes men with his head, and they him with their feet; for when he rfods at one end, they make legs at the other. He is a great pageant borne upon men’s shoulders, that pleas es those that only look upon him, and tires those that feel his weight. He sells offices at the outcry ofthe nation, and has his brokers that know where to put off a commodity of justice at the best rates. He is never without a long train of suitors, that follow him and their business, and would be glad to see an end of both. He is com monly raised like a boy’s paper-kite, by being- forced against the popular air. His humility is forced, like a hypocrite’s, and he stands bare to him self, that others may do so too. His letters, of course, are like charms for the toothache, that give the bearer ease for the present, according as he believes in them, for which he pays the Secretary, and after finds himself cheated both of his money apd his ex pectations too.—Butler. ANECDOTE. A revolutionary soldier the other day told us, that the present King of England had saved this country mil lions of dollars! Not knowing that e- conomy was a very prominent trait in his character, we inquired how he did it? Our informant replied, that “when the present King was about 16, he went to a jeweller and ordered a pair of elegant Shoe Buckles, intend ing to wear them at an approaching levee. The credit of the prince had been so much reduced by his extra vagant habits that the jeweller refus ed to trust him. The prince, in a rage, told the jeweller he should spoil his trade, and with this threat left him. At the next levee the prince appear ed having neatly tied his shoes with a plain black ribbon. The fashion thus set by the heir to the throne was followed by all classes; and buck les, which were before universally worn, both in England and America, were entirely thrown aside, and buck le-makers were obliged to learn oth er trades.”. WHEN IS MAN RICH ENOUGH. When a lad an old gentleman took the trouble to teach me some knowl edge of the world. With this view 5 I remember he one day asked me, When is man rich enough? I replied; when he has a thousand pounds. He said, No. Two thousand? No. Ten thou sand? No. Twenty thousand? No.— A hundred thousand? which I thought would settle the business; but he still continued to say No. I gave it up and confessed I could not tell, but begged he would inform me; He gravely said, when he has a little more than he has, and that is—never! Ifhe acquires one thousand, he wishes to have two thousand; then five, then ten, then twenty, then fifty; ffom that bis riches would amount to an hundred thousand and so on, till he had grasped tW whole World; after which he would look about him, like Alexander, f 0t ! other worlds to possess. Many a proof have I had of the truth of this old gentleman’s remarks since he made them to me, and I au happy to say that I have discovered the reason. Full enjoyment—full satisfaction to the mind of man, can onlj be found in possessing God, with all hit infinite perfections. It is only the Cre ator, not the creature, that can satis fy. — least.—A method of making what may be called a portable or durable yeast, is as follows: Take a quantity of hops, suitable to the quantity of yeast you intend to make, boil them well, and strain off the water in which they are boiled, into this water stir a suitable quanti ty of flour, and considerable salt, and then add to this a proportionate quan tity of good yeast; let this mass rise as much as it will; then stir in fine In dian meal till it is so thick that it can be made into small cakes of the size of a dollar or larger. When the cakes are thus made, dry them in the sun till they are hard, minding to turn them frequently to prevent their moul dering, and then lay them in a dry place, for future use. When you wish to have yeast, take one of these cakes, crumble it to pieces, pour warm water on it and let it stand in a. warm place, and it will soon rise suf ficiently to make good yeast. A quantity of these cakes may be thus made at once, which will last for six months or more. CONVEYANCE OF SOUND. The wide spread sail of a ship, rendered concave by gentle breeze, is a singular collector of sound. It hap pened once on board a ship sailing a- long the coast of Brazil, 100 miles from land, that those of the persons walking on deck, when passing a par ticular spot always heard most dis tinctly the sound of bells varying as iu human rejoicings. All on board list ened and were convinced, but the phenomenon w'as mysterious and inex plicable. Months afterwards, by comparing notes, it was ascertained, that at the time of observation the va rious bells of the city of St. Sal- vadore on the Brazilian coast had been ringing on the occasion of a festi val; the sound therefore, favoured by a gentle wind, had travelled over 100 miles of smooth water, and had been brought to a focus by the sail in the particular situation in which it was listened to. It appears from this, that a machine might be cdnstructed hav ing the same relation to sound, that a telescope has to light. A waggonef, who passed through Athens, Geo. sometime since, on be ing asked, “where he was from?” gave the following answer: “I am from Cow-horn hill at Ox-feed ford of Yearling branch, which runs through Calf meadow, and empties in to Heifer prong of Steer Creek, near Bullsborough in Coweta County, Georgia. My name is Stock-ton— was born on Elk river—brought up in Cattlebury, Kentucky: and I can yoke an ox, break a bull, or chase a buffaloe equal to a Prairie hunter, and sfcrn any man opposed to Jackson.” Reputation.—The way, according to Socrates, to obtain a good reputation, is to endeavor to be what you desire to appear. “Men,” observes Shakes peare also, “should be what they seem.” Presumption.—Three men, who a few days since met together at a pub lic house in this city, joking over some ale, agreed to go and get measured for their coffins, which was ac cordingly done, and, singular as it may appear, they have all three since paid tne debt of nature, and now occupy their new and last habitations, having survived their joke but a few days.-*- Eng. paper. The Osages who left this country last year, were at Frankfort, on the Main, where the public were admitted to them for a sum equal to about half- a-crown. From Frankfort they were to proceed to Dresden and Berlin. Late Fires in JV*eu> Fork.—Fifty convicts were discharged at once from, the State Prison in the city of New York, a short time previous to the lat? fireB- Scarcely had those fires sub sided when Albany was smoking undqr (Ka mirlniotlil tmvli