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POETRY. THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. ’Mid the light spray their snorting cam els stood, Nor bath’d a fetlock in the nauseous flood— He comes—their leader comes!—the man of God O’er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod, And onward treads—The circling waves retreat, In hoarse deep murmurs, from his holy feet-, And the chas’d surges, inly roaring, show The hard wet sand and enral hills below. With limbs that falter, and with hearts that swell, Down, down they pass,—a steep and slip pery dell. Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurl’d, The ancient rocks, the secrets ol the world; And tlowers that blush beneath the ocean green, And eaves, the sea-calves’ low roof’d haunt, are seen. Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread; The beetling waters storm above their head: While far behind retires the sinking day, And fades on Edom’S hills its latest ray. Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light, Or dark to them, or cheerless came the night, Still in their van, along that dreadful road, Blaz’d broad and fierce the brandish’d torch of God. Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave On the long mirror of the rosy wave: While*its blest beams a sunlike beat supply, Warm every cheek and dance in every eye— To them alone—for Misraim’s wizard train Invoke for light their monster gods in vain; Clouds heaped on clouds their struggling sight Confine, And tenfold darkness broods above their line. Yet on they fare by reckless vengeance led, And range unconscious through the ocean’s bed. Till midway now—that strange and fiery form Show’d bis dread visage lightening through the storm; With withering splendor blasted all their might, And brake their chariot-wheels, and marr’d their coursers’ (light c< Fly, Misraim, ily!”—'The ravenous floods they see, And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity.- ‘■Fly, Misraim, fly,!”—From Edom’s coral strand Again the prophet stretch’d his dreadful wand:— With one wild crash the thundering wa ters sweep, And all is waves—a dark and lonely deep— Yet o’er these lonely waves such murmurs past, As mortal wailingswell’d the nightly blast; And strange and. sad the whispering breez es bore The groans of Egypt to Arabia’s shore. [Bishop lleber.] CHEROKEE HYMN. L. M. j©zy<su. 1. TyoBso-c-a odi, TBBO-iM’Bdi.l O'./IVVO-JJ O'JlCS DC TyAl-ff£Jt» 2. ..ITBmVI, TlrcS/SO-, BItAPIp D4‘, AAY ECu-ASM” TyeBIi KRT. 3. Lata TGXAPT, BBAaB TSvtr, o 3 a.wo-a (peat ECSaOtSa T?X-. 4. TJhAh TJ..O, j>h c-heap; Goiyor hSAlfftET AiPaszCvSB. 5. 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B® O’.SSIr (PMCS DPothBitrotE DtT DAWotE, ADZ IiDhdiSaP, EhC?*^ DatScS (PEi«y DPatBBwI Dif OC5a ySB, D?SL D- hyfcAO) Dtf DIi<SS0 (P0PT; DO.IoP. D4- Z DSWOT vhBCT TEG,.^ JSSlv. 20. t r *V*Z OVCKG St9/lWO“ ShSit; Gh (PG TST CPdtXhAA S-T®AT».a4 (PhdeSOG:- ^z (Ph ^h^-ao-e BRy. 21. (PliTGT TGPotiaa AtfBh, CPliTCT TGPot)I,a.I .WG/Sa, TCT^Z s^v^a SS-GO- dth/l-Il ha TTiVT ^)t.S>a©dtlt/l(J' VfhS D(f UAh AAY GBSO CPOUG D(f AotS (PeBO-P^KT’ (P/i Crh^-^Jl (PhatSO“CX:T. 22. D4Z aD hC=LW4i>P, (PGJ1 DyPGT T- GP«iB/ia B4<«!.i caer ts hw.i ita xja- BO ItoiS^ W-5 DiT BAIi. 23. haz BXh s-qiw.i tbit tguavb, CxxYZ GB^GKiWh; TGT^Z S4‘^.I SS^l©- dtBa-il Iu4 TTddT TiBS-aeavBJld' *B1I4>, DB Aa ASr-V’. 24. D4Z aD hCX:J^4ap, O’Ga DyPGT TG- PdtB/ta B4»ea cacr ts mwj aa sjab- 0- Rot84^ *BII. 25. Gacr IrF C-ACr- AD <1,SSRY, Ec5>F- RPIr RAB GESCra Dif Rfia aD lr- ?dodts\va.si DhBOUh Dif DOLcswa, ahhPz hsaeqA©4-a. 26. ii, RAB, Gdty^Z Ah Gf<L0~A. 27. hsi Byha4-^ rab, d<t c ye <35- WoP CP<yif (PAB‘V* 0-C*R, C Dd 1 YG tSSWop (PAB (Pdl51r4 w (PG.R D(T IiSi y© lrOXASB RW (PdJIr. 28. rto, db dty.MUB. Dypee ah-q©- oBBaa, DcT SBr 5 UGP4a DB BU3ASt^L- dt\Vh. 29. TirB Dxytvewadta d<t «y*SG- XB, DXAPdSABGr^Z DiT DXBAPdt-I»5 Dy- za, (PhcBdd'pslot'a/SZ ABirG-lT’RP aGBO-A. 30. Dxywos^z <ia43 V3 o , v M sP4<hz g-b- ueacr. The following beautiful article, which we extract from the Christian Mirror, probably alludes to the last tribute of respect which was paid to the remains of Mrs. Mallenville Al len, the late consort of president Al len, of Bowdoin college, whose decease we mentioned sometime since in our paper. It is seldom we meet with a production possessing the merit which this docs. Maine Paper. THE GRAVE YARD. Its form was a parrallelograin, cut from a dense grove of ever greens.- The wild growth of nature had been eradicated, and the surface levelled, which was now covered with herbage of a lovely verdure. Ranges of Mon uments, rising to a modest distance a- bove the ground, and intersecting each other, separated the whole into equal portions; and pointed out the fu ture tenements of those, who’project ed and planted them. A painted en closure, rendered more beautiful by the wilderness which surrounded it, and over which the dark trees Waved their branches, guarded the spot from all unhallowed intrusion. Already had it been made sacred, as the place in which slept the ashes of the wise and good, the philosopher and the di vine. Two gates opened from the high way—the one for entrance, the other for egress, when the rites of sepulture were to b$ performed. At the for mer of tbjse 1 saw the hearse enter. It bore-lalas! the sorrowing train told but to > emphatically what it bore. A widowi d father, supporting with each hand i motherless babe, and fol lowed by Ahers still, a numerous household led the procession. You miglu seeihat the polished circle had lost one of its brightest ornaments.— Science and literature were mourn ers. Among the train were their de votees and teachers. The chil dren of want add sorrow were there. The hand that bad ministered unto them, was motionless—the voice that had comforted them was silent in death. You would have said, She, “who hath washed the saints’ feet,” lias gone to her long home; lor the church and ministers of God might be seen in the pensive train—feeling, more than ever, like “strangers and pilgrims,” as they hud one less to ac company and encourage them in their toilsome journey to that “better coun try.” A fellow worshiper, with whom they took sweet counsel and went U the house of Got. in compa ny, wa* snatched from their society, never more to join them in “courts below.” The sable carriage approached a newly opened grave and halted. Its precious burden was taken down, and deposited in the narrow house. The wood which Contained and concealed it, inanimate and senseless, was an object of ear and tender interest, from the usl to which it was devoted and claimel a parting gaze. The train cluste ed around the grave, with aching hearis and tearful eyes, to look their last farewell. Nature aided their griei Surrounding objects wore a pensve aspect; lor though the “king of da)” had yet some distance to travel, b fore he shoirid reach the western horzon, still the thick wood which encircled the spot, intercept ed his rays, tind cast a sombre shade over this abode of the dead, producing what might lliterally be called the “twilight ofthe grave.” The group and the sceiery were a tit subject for the poet or the painter; but a higher inspiration was there. The bereived husband stood at the head ofthe grave, which hadjust “ta ken the new treasure to its trust,” the “relies” of his “bosom’s wife” n nd lint mnt !uti> r\ i luc III til' was a moment of pleasing, painful re collection—of oppressive and trium phant anticipation, according as the thoughts rested on time of eternity, matter or spirit, the orphanage or be loved children, or tile freed spirit of their now sainted mother, and the hour when, faith whispered, “we shall meet «again.” To him no life could be so desirable, as that which had lied. The conilicting emotions, the remembrances and forecasts of that memorable hour can be conceived in all their overwhelming effect by those only, who have had similar ex perience. He uncovered his head; a breathless silence reigned through the sympathising multitude, whose eyes were all turned to the chief mourner that they might read on his counte nance the indications of what was pass ing within. There was a powerful struggle of nature; but faith triumph ed, He broke the silence—arid said, with a voice, firm, indeed, but so far mellowed with grief, as to convey a sentiment with tenfold effect to the heart— u My friends!—May we nev er enter this grave yard, to deposite the remains of a fellow creature, with out remembering that the day is com ing, all that are in their graves, shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and come forth! they, that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they, that have done evil, unto the resurrection ofcondemnation!” A thrilling emotion pervaded the assembly. The moral sublimity of the scene and of its associations, af fected every heart. If any had come to the spot an infidel.—an infidel he could not have beep at that moment— an infidel he could not have retired.— lie must have felt that the righteous hath hope in Ills death; that to him the grave is not \hrouded in impene trable darkness, hor associated with annihilation or despair. He must have seen the power of faith in the divine promises, to sup port the soul, while suffering from the disruption of the tenderest ties, which bind it to the earth, and under the loss of every thing that can render ex istence here desirable. He must have seen, that the doctrine of a re- rection to immortality is suited to man and that there are times when he must be a most miserable being with out it—that there are those, who when they behold the clods of the val ley thrown over the dearest objects they have knovwi on earth, do not sor row as those who have no hope; for if we believe that Jesus died and rose a- gain, even them also, who sleep in Jesus, will God bring with him.— Wherefore comfort one another with these words. The Hypocondria.—The dispeptic ought to run away from, or determine to combat, the first menace of discon tented feeling. Low spirits may often be successively resisted, if the at tempt be commenced sufficiently ear ly. ‘I will be good’ says the child, who sees the rod ready to direct the will into the way of goodness, and ’I will be cheerful, ought the dull and dispeptic to say, who observes above him a cloud of hypocondraic fancies ready to burst upon his devoted head, if he chooses the path which leads to afflictive feeling. It is easier, I shall be told, to preach than to practice— to prescribe than to pursue; but of this I am certain, that before the hab it becomes confirmed of yielding to their influence, a determined, and I would say, conscientious resolution of dispersing the coming mist of vaporish depression, may prove, to a consider able extent, successful and effective: Possunt quia posse videntnr. ‘We would not be paradoxical or extrava gant enough to assert, that for a per son to be in health, it is sufficient that he wills it. But without transgress ing the moderation of truth, we may venture to give it as our opinion, that a man often indolently bends under the burden of indisposition, which a spirit ed effort would, in the first instance, have shaken from his shoulders. If, upon the approach of the malady, he had set his face against it, he would probably have arrested it in its threat ened attack. The doctrine of irresis tibility, in all its extent, is neither a true nor a wholesome doctrine, and the hypocondriac should reflect, that in saying to gloom, ‘Henceforth be thou my god!’he not only directs his own destiny, but implicates others in his fatal choice. “Call it madness, call it folly, Call it whatsoe’er you may, There’s a charm in melancholy, I would not, il’I could, be gay. “Melancholy has something in it of poetical and sentimental, which consti tutes a great portion of its charms; but stripped of its ornamental accom plishments, and laid bare to ri dissect ing view, it will be found to consist in a great measure of pride, selfish ness, and indolence. 1 cannot con ceive a more delightful spectacle, than that of an individual whose constitu tional cast is melancholy, warring a- gainst his temperament, and deter mining to enter with hilarity into the scenes and circumstances of social life. In this case we have all the interest of melancholy, without its objectional parts.—Dr. Erwin's on Indigestion. THE FISHERMAN. Mr. Editor,—I was some time since walking upon a wharf, where a fishing boat lay, and as I \vas passing, and repassing, the master ofthe boat was uttering the most tremendous oaths. At length I turned to him, and standing beside his boat, said. Sir, I am unacquainted with your business, what kind of fish are these? He re plied, “They are Cod-fish.”—IIow long are you . mally out in order to obtain your load? “Two or three weeks,” was the answer. At what price do you sell them? He inform ed me. Well, have you not hard work to obtain a living in this way? “Yes—hard work, said he. I inquir ed with what do you bait these fish? “With clams.” Did you ever catch mackerel? “Yes.” And I suppose you bait them with clams, too? “0 no,” said he, “they will not bite at clams.” Then you must have differ ent kinds of bait for different sorts of fish? “Yes.” Well now, did you ever catch a fish without any bait? “Yes,” said he, “I was out last year, and one day, when 1 was fixing my line, my hook fell into the water, and the—fool took hold of it, and I drew him in.” Now, sir said I, I have of ten thought that Satan was very much like a fisherman. He'always baits his hook with that kind of bait which different sorts of sinners like best; but when he would catch a profane swear er, he docs not take the trouble to put on any bait at all; for the fool will always bite at the bare hook. He was silent, his countenance so lemn; and after a moment’s pause, as I turned to go away, I heard hitn say to one standing by him, “I guess (hat’s a minister.”—Christian Mirror. FEMALE INFLUENCE. Every where throughout the circle of her intercourse, her influence is felt like the dew of heaven; gentle, silent, and unseen yet pervading & efficient. But, in the domestic circle its power is concentrated; and is like the life- giving beams of the sun, awakening, illustrating, and almost creating the moral aspect of the scene. To speak first of the filial relation—none can conceive how much a daughter may promote the comfort and the moral benefit of her parents, but those who have seen the female character ex hibited under the influence of an en lightened understanding, and an im proved heart; which, by their mutual action, haVe produced the most ex tended views of duty, with the strong est desire to fulfil it. As a sister, a female may exert a most important influence. With no strong counter acting circumstances, she may give what features she pleases to the mor al and intellectual character of those with whom she is connected in this re lation. All the sweet endearments of mutual affection and confidence will give weight to her influence. An in telligent, high-aiming female, of a well disciplined mind and pious heart, has been known to give a much higher cast of character, attainment, and condition, to a large circle of brothers and sisters, than they would otherwise have received. But it is as a mother that woman has all the powers with which the munificence of her Divine Benefactor has endowed her, matured to their highest perfection, and exer cised in their greatest strength. BUTTER. From the New England Farmer. The dairy-house should never front the south, southeast, southwest. It should, where it may be practicable, be situated near a good spring of cur rent water. The proper receptacles for milk are earthern pans, not lined nor glazed with lead, or wooden trays. In warm weather, milk should remain in the pail till nearly cool before it is strained, but in frosty weather it should be strained immediately, and a small quantity of boiling water may be mixed with it, which will cause it to produce cream in a greater abund ance, and the more so if the pans or vats have a large surface. In hot weather the cream should be skimmed from the milk at or before sunrise before the dairy gets warm, nor should the milk, in hot weather, stand in its receptacles longer than twenty-four hours. The cream should be deposited in a deep pan, kept du ring summer in a cool place, where a free air is admitted. Unless churn ing be performed every other day, the cream should be shifted daily into clean pans, but churning should be perfonried at least twice a week, in hot weather; and this should be done in the morning before sunrise, taking care to fix the churn where there is good draught of air. If a pump churn is used, it may be plunged a foot deep into cold water, and remain in that situation during the whole time of churning, which will much harden the butter. A strong rancid flavor will be given to butter if we churn so near the fire as to heat the wood in the winter season. After the butter is churned, it should be immediately washed in ma ny different waters, till it is perfectly cleansed from milk; and it should be worked by two pieces of wood, for a warm hand will soften it and make it appear greasy. Butter will require and endure more working in the Winter than in Summer. Those who use a pump churn must keep a regular stroke; for if they chum more slowly the butter will, in the winter, go back, as it is called; and if the stroke be quick, it will cause a fermentation, by which means it will acquire a very disagreeable flavor. Cows should never be suffered to drink impure water; stagnant pools, water wherein frogs spawn, common sewers, and ponds that receive the drainings of stables are improper. Printing for the Blind.—At the E- dinburgh asylum for the blind, books of a peculiar description have been introduced, by which the t)oys are a- . ble to read slowly but correctly-