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POETRY. AFTER THE TEMPEST. The day had been a dav of wind and 9torm;— The wind was laid; the storm was over past, And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm, Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last. I stood upon the upland slope, and cast My eye upen a broad anu beauteous scene, Where the vast plain lay girt by moun- tains vast, And hills o’er hills lifted their heads of green, With pleasant vales scooped out and villa ges between. The i$in drops glistened on the trees a- round, Whose shadows on the tall'grass were not stirred, Sflve when a shower of diamonds, to the ground, W'as shaken by the flight o f startled bird: For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung And gossiped, as he hastened ocean ward; To the grey oak the squirrel, chiding clung, And chirping f*>ru the ground the grass- hopper upsprung, Ajad from beneath the leaves that kept them dry, Flew many a glittering insect here and there, And darted up and down the butterfly, That seemed a living blossom of the '. air. The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where The violent rain bad pent them—in the way Stroll’d groups of damsels frolicksome and fair— The farmer swung the scythe or turn ed tbo hay, And ’twixt tfye heavy swaths his children were at play. ijrwas a scene of peace— and, like a spell, Did that serene and golden sunlight fail ®pon the motionless wood that clothed the dell, And precipice upspringing like a wall, And glassy river, and while waterlall, And happy living things that trod the bright And beauteous scene; while far be yond them all, On many a lovely vailev, ought of sight, Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light, I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene An emblem of the peace that yet shall be, When, o’er earth’s continents and isles between, The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea, And married nations dwell in harmo- ny. When millions crouching in the dust to one, No more shall beg their lives on bend ed knee, Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun Th’ o’erlabored captive toil, and wish his life were done. Too long at clash of arms, amid her bow ers, And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers And ruddy fruits;—but not for aye can last . The storm; and sweet the sunshine when ’tis past, to, the clouds roll away—they break— they fly— And, like the glorious light of summer, cast O’er the wide landscape from the em bracing sky, On all the peaceful world the smile ofheav- ea shall lie 1 Bryant, THE LION AND THE WOLF., A hungry Lion on a lamb was feeding, When a poor dog passed by; And, with a patient look cu meekness plead ing. Shared in the banquet; whilst the royal beast Smiled at his ignorant simplicity. A Wolflook’d on, and tho’t; “And surely I May ha,ve a portion of the pley, at least, Indeed, I’ll try.” He came—cam# boldly'; when the Lion saw H's purpose, he uprais’d his kingly paw, Smote him to earth, and left him there to die There’s some excuse for inexperience; But none for daring, insolent pretence.’ free where sorrow aad disappoint ment seemed to vie with humble tim idity. This lady excited my com passion from the moment I beheld her: l felt certain that grief dwelt in jher breast. An animated conversation was going on around her as shesat down, and once or twice she attempt ed to join in it, but with a half aveited glance, aud a tone so fearful and unde cided, that no one attended to herlrc- mdiks. She seemed to say withih herself, why should / speak? Can a* ny mortal feel an interest in what 1 say/ A half suppressed sigh, and an adjustment of her dress, arising from nervousness and not front vanity, for she had eeased to feel it, closed the scene, and she said no more that eve ning than, to answer in monosyllables to the questions that were occasional ly asked by the mistress of the house. Yet in the tone of those simple mono syllables, I could discover a feeling and perhaps too sensitive mind. To a close observer of human nature in all its wonderful varieties, a tone, a word, a glance, will betray the secret though unconscious feeling of the heart.— Music was proposed, and it was the whim of the moment to revive old songs. A young lady, whose voice was melody itself, sang with both fee ling and good taste, “Oh Nanny will thou gang with me? ,? All eyes were turned on the young musician, but mine still dwelt on the countenance of Miss . It assumed, I thought, a ( more and more melancholy cast. A approach on earth to that gift which Christ alone can bestow.—Edinburh Christian Instructor. CINNAMON FIELDS OF CEY LON. < Our morning was as usual on a first arrival, taken up by visits; in the af ternoon, wc drove in Sir E. Barnes’ sociable, through the far-famed cinna mon gardens, which cover upwards of of seventeen thousand acres of land on the coast, the largest of which are near Colombo. The plant thrives est in a poor sandy soil, in a damp mosphere; it grows wild in the ods, to the size of a targe apple- but, when cultivated, is never alkwed to grow more than ten or tw«ve feet in height, each plant stan- dingteparate. The leaf is somewhat like hat of the laurel in shape, but of r color; when it first shoots out & changes gradually to green. r out of blossom, but I am told [flower is white, and appears, full blossom, to cover the light the few drop* from eyes that had once been bright and lovely, fell on a dress j flower has little or none. THE OLD MAID. By an observer of real life. Being at a party given by an elder ly lady of good fortune, and not know ing many of the company, as I was a Stranger in the town of , I was more of a spectator than an actor.— At length I saw enter the room, an nounced as Miss , a tall thin fig ure, bearing evident marks of having been once extremely elegant, with a. whose faded colors showed but too ev- *, ident signs of a very slender purse.— No one but myself perceived the lit tle bye-scene, and I was careful that even my observations should not be discovered by the object of them. I returned home more melancholy than from a tragedy, or the reading of disappointed affections, for I had seen real sorrow, and become the witness of grief deep-seated, though stifled within the struggling breast. I know of no heroine of romance, who in her sorrows, all poignant as fancy can paint them, has not friends to pity, console, and support her; but in real life, human life as it is, many a disap pointing, and many a bitter pang from the overthrow of our hopes have hu man beings, and espicially women, to bear in silence and neglect. Are there then no objects of compassion beyond the beggars who importune us at our carriage door? Are there no wants but those of bread? Yes, th* want of a friend to sympathize in our sorrow—the want of one heart that beats in unison with our own, and in the loss ofliappiness—the want of en ergy to rise above our misfortunes and despise them, will bring us sooner into our cold graves than the most abject poverty and pinching hunger. A wo man, a poor weak woman, without ambition and without strength of mind, whose heart is capable of tenderness and love—what is she when age has destroyed her charms for one sex, and poverty has rendered her useless to the other? Sadness becomtis her portion and damps the p*wer of her little mite to the agreeableness of the pas sing hour. She becomes more and more spiritless and dejected, more and more deserted by her early friends, whose lot m life Providence has de stined to be less unfortunate. The ri sing generation treat her with con temptuous neglect; unable from her slender frame and unstrung nerves, to assist or encourage their amusements she takes no interest in them, and from their unconsciousness of sorrow and its destructive etfects, they have no compassion for her. She is to them silent and inanimate; they ridicule and despise her. Of those who have known her in the days when pleasure and light-heartedness were to her not merely a name, many are far aw r ay— many are no more; and i- one half- kind and half-enstranged friend, whose heart is almost indifferent to her suff erings, be with her in the last sad hour, and shed one tear as she closes l\er eyes on this world for ever, it is more than she has for many years dared to •hope. Is this a picture of human wo? It is a true tale. Let then a little of our charity be bestowed on such suff erers. Let us not insult their misfor tunes nor add to them the pang of cold ness and neglect; but let us be com panions to the companionless, and gitfc of our cheerfulness to the broken hearted, as readily as we give our bread to the hungry. It is a better gift, a gift to the heart, the surest that is ever bestowed, but with more true charity in it than in the poor and beggarly elements. It is the nearest a it is It is that when i garden. After Rearing so much of the spicy gales froki this island, I was much dis appoints at not being able to discover any scent at least from the plants, in passing tlrough the gardens: there is a very fragrant-smelling flower grow ing under them, which at first led us into the belief that we smell the cin namon, but we were soon undeceived. Oil pulling off a loof or twig, you per ceive the spicy odour very strongly, but I was surprised to hear that the As cinna mon forms the only considerable ex port of Ceylon, it is, of course, pre served with great care: by the old Dutch law’, the penalty of cutting a branch was no less than the loss of a hand; at present a fine expiates the same offence. The neighbourhood of Colombo is particularly favorable to its growth, being w r ell sheltered, with a high equable temperature; and as showers fall very frequently, though a whole day’s rain is uncommon, the ground is never parched.—Bishop Heber. ALLIGATORS OF THE ORONO- CO. The following is rcMIed in the nar rative of an officer of the Colombian navy, recently published, entitled Recollections of Three Years’ Ser vice,” &c. In the course of the voyage (we know not whether up or down the riv er) \ had an opportunity, the wri ter says, of ascertaining a fact con cerning these creatures, which I no not recollect to have observed in naf ural history of them. The Indians told me that, previously to their go ing in search of prey, they always swallow a stone, that, by the addition al w'eight of it, they may be enabled to dive with the greater celerity, and drag whatever they may seize under the water with them with ease. They have frequently been known on this river, where they are exceeding ly large and rapacious, to draw men and horses in an instant out of sigh t Not giving implicit confidence to this statement of the Indians, I determined to ascertain if it were true, and men tioned my intention to his excellency, who assured me the Indians were cor rect; and, forthe sake of amusement, consented to shoot some to convince me. The only parts where they are vulnerable to musket shot, are on the dirty white part of the skin along the chest and abdomen, and in a space of about three inches in breadth behind each ear. The former can seldom be aimed at, md w r e therefore tried the latter. Bolivar, whose aim was cer tain, shot md killed several with a ri fle, in all of which, when opened, were fouid stones, varying in weight accordingto the size of the animal.— The largest killed wa9 about seven teen feet in length, and had within him a s'one weighing about sixty or seventypounds. The Indians, whose occupition obliged them to be always on tl« river, or close to its banks, said that they had frequently observed the young ones in the morning sw allow- in" small stones at the w ater side, un der the shelter of the wood, before they searched for their victims, and they deposited them at night in a place of safety. I haye never seen this myself, nor never met with any person but the In dians who have asserted that they have; and I have sometimes doubted whether these calculi are not secret ed in the stomach. The alligators are very obstinate, and would never move out of the way of the canoe* un less the crew made a tremendous shouting, which, when there was a great number of them, they preferred doing, to avoiding them by steering in another direction. They told us that small canoes had been upset by these creatures, which is not very improb able, as they are of so slight construc tion as to render capsizement a very easy matter. ON FAMILY GOVERNMENT. From the British Methodist Magazine. In spite of modern whims about lib erty and equality, the government of a family must be absolute; mild, not ty rannical. The laws of nature, and the voice of reason, have declare^ the dependence of the child on the parents. The weakness of youth must be sup ported, and the violence of youth re pressed, by the hand of age and expe rience. Parental tenderness is too apt to degenerate into parental weak ness. “If you please, child,” and “Will you, dear,” are sooii ans wered with, “No, I won’t.” The eins of government should be always gently drawn; not twitched like a curb bridle at one time, and dangled loose ly at another. Uniformity in parents procures uniformity in children. To whip at one minute, and to caress, or let the culprit go unpunished, for the same crime, at another, cannot fail to injure the force of parental authority. Consider before you threaten: and then he as grind as your word. .‘‘I will whip you if you don’t mind me,” says the parent in a passion. “I am not afraid of it,” says the child. The pa rent flies towards it with a paroxysm of rage: the child prefers flight to broken bones. “You may go now, but you shall have your punishment, with interest, the next time you do so.” “I don’t believe that,” thinks the child. It is experience that gives the lie. “But,” say you, “whips and rods were the scourges of the dark ages; the present age is more enlight ened, in it law' is reason: and authori ty is mildness.” Beware of that rea son which makes your child dogmatic al, and that mildness which makes him obstinate. There is such a thing as the roil of reproof; & it is certain, that, in num berless cases, argu^tents produce a better effect than corporal punish ment. Let those be properly admin istered, in case of disobedience; it ineK fectual, try the harsher method.— Never begin to correct till your an ger has subsided. Cease not till you have subdued the will of the offender: if you do, your authority is at an end. Let your commands be reasonable.— Never deliver them in a passion, ae though they were already disobeyed: nor with a timid distrustlul tone, as if you suspected your own authority.— Remember that scolding is directly the reverse of a weighty reasoning It is the dying groans of good govern ment. Never let it be heard under your roof, unless you intend your house should be a nursery of faction, which may, at some future time, rear its hydra head, not only against you, but in opposition to the parents and guardians of our country. Patriotism, as weil as charity, begins at home. Let the voice of concord be heard in your family; it will charm your do mestics to a love of order. Alt Jourhai relates seme very srngul^ cases of the efficacy of fat boiled ba con in indigestion accompanied by coij stipation. A gentleman who had long suffered from these troubles and hat gone without success through the usu. al courses of physic, was led by some accidental circumstance to relinquish the use of butter, and substitute fat boiled bacon for ft, A slice of this he put between his slices of bre^d morning and evening, and soon found his symptoms Of dyspepsia began te disappear, his bowels became regular, and his health was restored. Natural- ly enough, he recommended this to his complaining friend, and it was follow ed by the same result. Afterwards was recommended by his physician a number of dyspeptic patients, and he had the satisfaction to see them mend under its use, and finally all symptoms of disease vanished. Decline of Mahomcdanism.—The n- blest commentators on the prophecies of Daniel a|pl St. John, among whom are Sir Isaac Newton, Bishop Newton, Doctor Zouch, Faber, Holmes, &c. though they differ occasionally in the interpretation of some ol the prophetic symbols, yet all arrive at last at one and the same conclusion, namely, that the eastern or Mahomedan apostacy, should last from its commencement 1260 years, and then its downfall and complete destruction commence.— When Daniel wrote, the Jews and o- ther nations reckoned only 360 days in the year, and the alteration in the calender, making the year 365 days, did not take place till between 500 and COO years afterwards. Conse quently, Daniel must have meant 1260 years ol 360 days each, inas much as he could have known no oth er. If this reasoning is correct, this year, (A. D. 1828) is the prophecy complete; forthe Turkish date for this year 124% Now the Turks reck on their years of the same length as we do, 365 days. If than we reduce 1243 years, of 365 dAys each, into years of 360 days each, we shall find that the M-ohomedan religion has this year lasted 1260 years, with 95 days over. QtOx of Dyspepsias^AJato Europe Economy—To Drovers.—A drove of neat cattle, consisting of between 9t and 100, recently arrived in Litchfield Co. from the town of Wadsworth in Ohio—a distance of 600 mileB. Ex press directions were given to thq men who drove them, not to drive on the Sabbath. These directions were followed, with the exception of five miles, which they passed early one Sabbath morning, for the purpose of obtaining suitable accommodation*.— They were 32 days or their way, 28 of which mere sp6nt in travelling.— From this it appears that these cattle, during so long a journey, averaged nearly 20 miles a day, even including the Sabbath on which they rested.— This is considered quite unusual.— They in fact arrived a week sooner than was expected. They endured the journey also much better than is usu al—so ranch so, indeed, that they were considered by the owner above alluded to, and who saw them before they started, to be in as good order in two or three days after their arrival as they were at first. There was like wise a saving of expense from what would have accrued if they had tiavelr led each of the 32 days, resulting from the charge for keeping being less in proportion where they staid two nights and one day in a place. Cl. Observer. System.—No man should aim to do more than one day’s work in a day, but let that be done every day. It is the diligent hand that maketh rich. Those who work beyond their strength one day, sometimes feel justified in spending the next in idleness, and per haps spend more than they earned on the day preceding. But the Christian who is required to be temperate in all things, should hold on the even way of mediocrity between worldly ambition and slothful negligence. The early part of the day is undoubtedly the best for labour, and should neither be wast* ed in sleep nor lost in repairing breach es occasioned by irregularity and care lessness. The seasons for sleep, for refreshment, for relaxation and read ing, ought to be regular and uniform. I am fully convinced that if farmers would pursue this course, almost eve ry one might find time to spend at* hour or more every day in storing hie mind with useful knowledge. Not a few of the members of our churches remain in entire ignorance a#’ the benevolent enterprises of the day, either for w^nt of time, or disposition to read, both of which are generally inexcusable. But I leave to those to judge* who spend their time in toil and drudgery, whether they do it to serve God more acceptably, or wheth er they are seeking to gratify their own avarice. Those who spend time in idleness, certainly have no excuse, JV*. E. Inquirer. Intempes'ance.—Rev. Mr. Hewitt, Agent of the American Temperance Society, has-been preaching at WilL iamstown, Ms. with astonishing effect. “Two of the four-inn-keepers, and all the merchants, six in number, have iidividually come to the determina tion not to sell or keep ardent spirits in tlmir stores or houses.”—And this, without waiting to dispose of tbeij; present stock. The position main tained by the preacher was, “that when sober men ,could be brought to regret the evils of intemperance more, than they love money, intemperance will cease to exist.” The intempe rate cannot import, distil, or vend spirituous liquors. All depends ou the will of the sober part of the cobs,' nmnity.—Proo. Investigatir,