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THE SAILOR’S DEPARTURE,
O, fresh blows the gale o’er the wide mant
ling ocean.
And proudly the frigate repels the white
loam i
And high beats my heart with tumultuous
emotion
On leaving for fortune my dear native
home.
Perhaps for the last time, my father has blest
me,
1 see his white locks, and the tears on his
cheek ,•
And mother—how close to her bosom she
press’ll me i
And kiss’d me, and sobb’d as her kind
heart would break.!
I rtiay roam through the wide world, and
friendship may court me,
And love on my heart its soft characters
trace,
But ne’er shall affection lend aught to sup
port me.
So sacred—so pure, as that parting em
brace.
Friends and protectors! when dangers sur
round me,
When pleasure, when wealth, spread their
lurea for my fame,
That moment’sgood angel shall hover around
me,
To chase ev’ry thought that would disho
nor your name.
WOMAN.
‘Woman—gentle woman, has a heart
Fraught with the sweet humanities of life,
Swayed by no selfish aim, she bears her part
In all our joys and woes,- in pain and strife
Fonder and still more faithful! When the
smart
Os care assails the bosom, or the knife
Os “keen endurance” cuts us to the soul—
First to support us—foremost to console!
Oh! what were man indark misfortune’s hour
Without her cherishing aid—a nerveless
thing,
Sinking ignobly ’neath the passing power
Os every blast of fortune. She can bring
*'A balm for every wound;” as when the
shower
More heavily falls, the bird of eve will sing
In richer notes; sweeter is woman’s voice
When thro’ the storm it bids the soul rejoice.
Is there sight more touching and sublime
Than to behold a creature, who, till grief
Had taught her lofty spirit how to climb
Above vexation; and whose fragile leaf,
Whilst yet ’twas breathing in a genial clime,
Trembled at every breath, & sought relief
If Heaven but seemed to lour—suddenly
Grow vigorous in misfortune, and defy
The pelting storm that in its might comes
down
To beat it to the earth; to see a rose
Which in a summer’s gaity, a frown
Hath withered from its stem, ’mid wintry
snows
Lift up its head, undrooping, as if grown
Familiar with each chilling blast that blows
Across the waste of life—and view it twine
Around man’s rugged trunk its arms divine.
It is a glorious spectacle/ a slgm Jhearts
Os power to stir the chords of generous
To feeling’s finest issues; and requite
The bosom for all world-inflicted smarts.
Such is dear woman! When the envious
blight
Offate descends upon her. it imparts
New worth—new grace —so precious odours
grow [wo!
Sweeter when crushed—more Fragrant their
From the Columbian Star.
CODE OF INSTRUCTION FOR HUSBANDS.
[Wives need not show this to their bus- ]
bands, but if it fall in their way—very well.]
1. Let every husband be persuaded :
that, in the government of his family,
his authority is paramount to every o
tber, and that uis responsibility is there
fore, weightier than that of his wife.—
Let him recollect that one word from
him, will go farther than stripes inflict
ed by her—and that whilst she sinks in
to gentleness and good nature, he must
support government.
2. Be careful to act with such dis
cretion and good temper towards yout
wives, as to allow them no occasion to
contradict you. When we play the
lion, it is not wonderful that they should
act the tiger.
3. Be careful to bestow upon the
standing and capacity of your wives,
that respect and affection which may
seem to be applied in their admission
to a participation in yout plans and
transactions. By thus consulting them
you will relieve them from the necessi
ty of giving their advice unsolicited.
4. Exhibit that unexceptionable mo
rality which no censor, much less an
affectionate wife, could condemn. It
is the du*y ol husbands to be examples
of patience, goodness and sobriety, to
their families.
5. Remember that the condition of a
wife, with every possible alleviation, is
one of incessant care, of nameless in
quietudes, and of peculiar suffering.
6. Remember also, that whilst the
wife is compelled to use the most con
summate and self-denying address, to
perpetuate the affection of her hus
band, he secures and perpetuates her's
at a very small expense of pains and
attention.
7. Exact no more from your wives
than you will be willing to accord un
der similar circumstances.
8. Submit to this code, and your
wives will either conform to the fore
going, or else are incurable Xantippes,
and consequently not to be conciliated
by any concession.
WOMAN.
There in nothing more lovely and
interesting, in all the works of creation,
than a beautiful woman. Bui our ideas
of what constitutes Buch an one, are al
most as various, as our features and
complexions. One person is enamor
ed with a beautiful form, combining
delicacy and symmetry; another is cap
tivated with a ruddy cheek, a ruby lip,
a sparkling eye, or an elegant set of
features. Others again, set all these at
nought, and pay their devoirs to the
mind or manners alone. It is certain
ly agreeable to the beholder, to see a
female uniting all the charms and gra
ces that constitute beauty; tho’ while
we gaze on her with admiration and de
light, it is evident that the sentiments
we feel, are no oiher than those enter
tained in examining a statue ot Venus
de Medicis; with this exception, that
the living one is the perfect woik of
nature, while the inanimate figure is
the imperfect work of the chisel of the
statuary. In both cases we gaze and
admire; though with different degiees
of intensity; but in neithercase, is the
object capable of inspiring the senti
ment of pure love and affection. With
all the charms of nature, decked out
with the blandishments of art, and the
elegance of taste, we require something
more to awaken the tender passion.
Were I to seek for a lovely woman,
form and features should be the last
object to which I would direct my at
tention. I would require a mind natu
rally delicate, modest, sympathetic,
free, open, and generous—one, capa
ble of feeling and reciprocating all the
endearing sweets of love and friendship
—one, inclined to be pleased, rather
with what is useful in the private and
domestic circle,Titan with what is con
sidered ornamental or fashionable, in
the genteel world—one, capable of ap
preciating solid merit, in preference to
the frippery of the coxcomb—that
could be entertained with the Bible, or
other works of moral or scientific in
struction, rather than with the most ap
proved novels, even of Scott or Coop
er. I would require a person, better
acquainted with, and more deeply in
terested in the domestic duties of a
wife, than Waltzes, Contra Dances,
Cotillions, or Hornpipes—who could,
with deeper solicitude and more cor
rectness, look into her bill of family ex
penses, and know how to regulate
them, than to play a deep and success
ful game at cards—one mote anxious
to recommend herself to her husband,
than to others—one who would take
more pride in her industry, frugality,
and economy, and the proper govern
ment and instruction of her children
and family,than in exhibiting her grate
ful form, her elegant attire, her deli
cate fingers and diamond rings, her sy
ren voice and exquisite skill, in the
ball room, at the piano, or the harpsi
chord. In short, I would have a mind,
richly endowed by natute, and well
cultivated by art; united with a dispo
sition, soft, tractable, compliant, and
one that could, with equal constancy
and firmness, enjoy the pleasures of
! pt osperity, or bear up, wi'.h a proper
elasticity of spirit, with meekness and
i patience, under the ills of adversity—
! one who would in all conditions, re
main unchanged in het affections, to
wards husband and friends. In addi
tion to all these, I would have a female
who was fond of pleasure, as far as
might be consistent with her duties as
a wife, a mother, and a virtuous wo-
man; together with the interest of her
husband—neither given to melancholy
nor enthusiasm, nor to levity and irre
ligion—one who would not brook lobe
governed like a slave by her partner,
nor wish to usurp authority over him —
one who should associate with men,
with the easy and graceful dignity of
conscious virtue; neither with that un
bounded iieedomthat gives birth to
unfavorable suspicions, nor with that
cold, distant prudery, that always pro
duces disgust.
Such are some of the traits of female
character, with which I acknowledge
myself invariably captivated; no mat
ter under what exterior appearances
they may be concealed. The eye is
acknowledged on all hands, to be the
index to the heart, and to communicate
its own proper expression to the coun
tenance; and it is for this reason, that
we often see persons selecting from the
fair sex, those that the careless observ
er considers far less beautiful than o
thers. But there is nothing truly sur
prising in the fact—we only examine
the outward form; but the sensible lov
er has read the mind; he sees its beau
ties beaming through the eye, the pro
per canal of intelligence; diffusing
themselves over the features, removing
in his view, all deformity, and impart
ing indescribable charms, that others
do not so readily discover. Personal
charms, as they are called, it is true,
will heighten the interest ejccited by
these virtues, but can never increase
either our respect, friendship or love;
and it so frequently happens that beau
ty is accompanied with extreme pride,
superciliousness, and Vanity, by which
all the virtues are eclipsed, and 90 sel
dom that beauty is connected with all
that is good, that it is by no means as
tonishing, that so many reflated beau
ties, either do not marry at all, or make
such unpropitious matches, while so
many esteemed ugty, procure good
husbands, make amiable, and become
happy wives, and the best of mothers.
So true it is, that no exterior charms or
accomplishments, can make good the
deficiency of intrinsic virtues and real
worth.
The beauty imagines that she needs
nothing but her face and form, to cap
tivate the whole race of beaux-, to give
her a right to make a selection from
the whole, and the power to hold her
captive,“in everlasting chains.” But
alas!—ihe forgets that her “beamy is a
flower that fades” —that some few years
will change her lovely form; that a few
revolving seasons, will banish the dim
ples and carnation from her cheek, sul
ly the lily whiteness of her skin, make
sad havoc among those rows of purest
ivory that display their snow white
forms, with every fascinating smile;
scatter the white hairs around her love
ly brow, thin those auburn loc ks, now
nursed with so much care, and dim the
lustre of those brilliant eyes that now
sparkle with delight, and revel in a sea
of pleasure. These ate her captiva
ting chains—with these, she binds her
lover to her heart—-but these soon
must be dissolved, and with these, too
often, is dispelled ihe charm of love.—
The husband seeks in vain for the gra
ces of the mind, to counterbalance the
outward loss; and he finds, when too
late to repair his mistake, that he has
preferred the shadow to the substance
Coldness, indifference, perhaps dingus',
and wretchedness ensue, while she that
has recommended herself by her good
ness alone, becomes every day more
lovely in the eyes of her husband, and
makes her virtues the indissoluble ce
ment of a happy and inviolable union
of hearts and affections. Let the beau
ty remember that a vacant or viiiated
mind will deform the most lovely shape
and foatures; and endeavor to avoid
the fatal error. Let those less beauti
ful reflect, that goodness of heart, an
amiable temper, and a well cultivated
mind, will correct all deformity; and
while she thus recommends herself,
she has no reason to envy others, for
the possession of more brilliant pet so
nal charms than have fallen to her
share.
THE NATURAL BRIDGE.
The Natural Bridge in Vii ginia, is
of solid limestone, and connects two
hnp-e uwAttuir by a most
beautiful arch, over which there is a
gaeal wagon road. T.s length from
one mountain to the other is nearly 80
feet, its width about 35, its thickness
about 45, and its perpendicular height
over the water is not far from 220 feet.
A few bushes grow on its top, by which
the traveller may hold himself as he
looks ovet. On each side of the stream,
and near the bridge, are rocks project
ing ten or fifteen feet over the water,
and from two hundred to three hundred
feet from its surface, all of limestone.
The visiter cannot give so good a de
scription of this bridge as he can of his
feelings at the time. He softly creeps
out on a shaggy projecting rock, and
looking down a chasm of from forty to
sixty feet wide, he sees nearly three
hundred feet below, a wild stream
dashing against the rocks beneath, as if
terrified at the rocks above. The stream
is called Cedar Creek. The visiter
here sees trees under the arch, whose
height is seventy feet, and yet to look
down upon them, they appear like
small bushes of perhaps two or three
feet in height. I saw several birds fly
under the arch, and they looked like in
sects. I threw down a stone, 8c count
ed thirty-four before it reached the wa
ter. All hear of height, but they here
see what is high, and they tremble, and
feel it deep. The awful rocks present
their everlasting abundance, the water
murmurs and foams far below, and the
two mountains rear their proud heads
on each side, separated by a channel of
sublimity. Those who view the sun,
the moon, and the stars, and allow that
none but God could make them, will
here be impressed that none but Al
mighty God could build such a bridge
like this.
The view of the bridge from below
is pleasing as the top is awful. The
arch from beneath would seem to be
about two feet in thickness. Some idea
of the distance from the top to the bot
tom may be formed from the fact, that
when I stood on the bridge, and my
companion beneath, neither of us could
speak with sufficient loudness to be
heard by the other. A man from ei
ther view does not appear more than
tour or five inches in height.
As we stood under the beautiful arch
we saw the place wheie visiters have
often taken the pains to engrave their
names upon the rock. Here Wash
ton climbed up twenty-five feet, and
carved his own name where it still re
mains. Some wishing to immortaliae
their names, have engraved them deep
and large, while others have tried to
climb up and insert them high m the
book of fame.
A few years since,a young man, be
ing ambitious to place his name above
all others, came very near losing his
life, in the attempt. After much fa
tigue he climbed up as high as possi
ble, but the person that had before oc-.
cupied his place was taller than him
self, and consequently had placed his
name above his teach. But he was not
thus to be discouraged. He opened a
large jack-knife, and, in the solt lime
stone, began to cut places for his hands
and feet. With much patience and
difficulty, he woiked his way upwards,
and succeeded in carving his name
higher than the most ambitious had
done before him He could now tri
umph, but his tiiumph was short; for
he was placed in such a situation that
it was impossible to descend, unless be
fell upon the rugged rocks beneath
him. There was no house near from
which his companions could get assis
tance. He could not remain in this
condition, and what was worse his
friends were too much frightened, to
do any thing for his relief ‘They look
ed upon him as already dead, expect
ing every moment to see him precipi
• ated uponthe rocks below, and dashed
into pieces. Not so with himself. He
determined to ascend. Accordingly,
he plied himself with his knife, cutting
places for his hands and feet, and gra
dually ascending with incredible labor.
He exerted every muscle. His life
was at stake, and all the terrors of death
rose before him. He dared not look
downwards, lest his head should be-
come dizzy; and perhaps on this cii
cumstance his life depended. His
companions stood at the top oft he rock
exhorting and encout aging him. His
strength was almost exhausted; but a
hare possibility of saving his life 6till
remained; and hope, the last friend of
the distressed, had not forsaken him.
His course upwards was rather oblique
than perpendicular. His most critical
moment had now arrived. He had as
cended mote than two hundred leet,
and had still further to rise, when he
felt himself fast growing weak. He
thought of his friends and all his earth
ly joys, and he could not lenve them.
He thought of the grave, and dared not
meet it. He now made his last effort,
and succeeded. He had cut his way
not far from two hundred and fifty feet
from the water, in a course almost per
pendicular; and in little less than two
hours his anxious companions reached
him a pole from the top, and drew him
tip. They received him with shouts ot
joy; but he himself was completely
exhausted. He immediately fainted
away on reaching the lop, and it was
sometime berore he could be recover
ed.
It was interesting to see the path up
these awful rocks, and follow, in ima
! ginaiion, this bold youth as he thus sav
ed his life. His name stands far above
all the rest, a monument of hardihood,
of rashness, and of folly.
From Ma-ive's Treatise on Diamonds.
NOTICE OF PECULIAR DIAMONDS.
The largest of all the undoubted Di
amonds is that mentioned by Tavenier,
as being in the possession of the Grand
Mogul. In form it is an oval, about
the size of half a hen’s egg. Accord
ing to the same traveller, who weighed
it, its weight was 296 carats; it was
probably facetted all around in rose, as
he does not state it was brilliant cut. —
This gem was found in the washings
near Caldore, to the east of Golconda,
about the year 1550.
A large Diamond of a singular form
weighing 193 carats, is said to have re
presented the eye of an idol, & to have
been stolen from its position by aFrench
soldier, who escaped with it to Madras,
where he sold it foi about 2000/. to the
captain ot a ship; by whom it was dis
posed of in Europe for about 20,0C0/.
At length it fell tnto the hands of a
merchant, who sold it to Piince Orloff,
for the late Empress Catharine of Rus
sia, for the sum of 90,000/. in cash, an
annuity of 4000/. more, and a title of
nobility. In a former edition I stated
that this diamond belonged to Nadir
Shah; but this may be doubted, as the
Asiatics rarely part with Diamonds of
a large size; nor do I believe that a
single instance of the kind is known to
have occurred.
The Pitt or Regent Diamond is said
to have been found in Malacca. It was
purchased by Mr. Pitt, when Governor
of Bencooten, for less than 20,000/.; and
weighed 410 carats. He brought it to
London, had it cut in brilliant,and sold
it to the Duke ot Orleans, regent of
France, for 135,000/. five thousand of
which was expended in the negotiation,
delivery, &c. The cutting and polish
ing this grmoccupied above two years;
the whole expense of which is said to
have fallen little shoit of 3000/. The
fragments which were split or sawn
from it were valued at some thousands.
It weighs 136 1-4 carats, and may just
ly be deemed the finest brilliant in Eu
rope. By calculation it is worth more
than the sum paid for it, and in 1791,
a committee of jewellers valued it at
above 400,000/.
The Emperor of Austria possesses a
fine yellow Diamond, the largest of that
color known; it is oblong and cut in
rose, weighs above 139 1-2 carats. It
formerly was in the possession of the
Grand Duke of Tuscany.
The Pigot Diamond is a brilliant of
great surface both in table and girdle,
but is considered not of sufficient depth.
Its weight is 49 carats. This gem is
valued at 40,000/. and was, about twen
ty years ago, made th i subject of a
public lottery. It became the proper
ty of a young man who sold it at a low
piice; it was again disposed of, and af
terwards passed into the possession of
a jeweller in the city, and is said to
have been lately sold to the Pacha of
Egypt for 30,000/. It may justly be
called a Diamond of the first water, &
rank amongst the finest in Europe.
A superlatively fine blue Diamond,
weighing 44 carats, and valued at 30,-
000/. formerly the property of Mr. El
lison, an eminent Diamond merchant,
is now said to be in the possession of
our most gracious sovereign. This un
rivalled gem is of a deep sapphire
blue, and from its rarity and color,
might have been estimated at a higher
sum. It has found its most worthy
destination in passing into the posses
sion of a monarch, whose refined ta3te
has ever been conspicuous in the high
est degree.
A green brilliant of exquisite beauty
and great size, but of irregular form,
is worn by the king of Saxony, when in
court dress, as a button to the plume of
his hat.
A diamond of great purity, but of a
bad form, has lately arrived fiom In
dia. It is called the JVassuc , having
been taken in the Peishwa’s baggage
during the Mahratta war. It weighs
79 carats and 2 grains, yet it is valued
at only 30,000/. Its form is triangular,
and it is cut and polished so. as to rej
tain the greatest possible weight; but
it exhibits none of the qualities which
it would so proudly display if it had
been well-proportioned.
The king of Portugal has a rough
Diamond, which weighs neatly an
ounce troy. It was found in the allu
vium of the river Abaite; its form ap
proximates to the octahedron. No po
tentate is so rich in diamonds as this
monarch. I had the honor of being
shown his suite 8c estimated it at more
than two millions.
A fine stone, weighing 101 carats,
called the Nizam Diamoed, was bro’t
from India by Governor Hastings; it
made a most perfect brilliant, and was
presented to our late gracious Queen
Charlotte.
An individual lately received a rough
Diamond from Brazil, above 90 carats;
which, when formed into a brilliant,
weighed neatly 32; it cost 200/. in
workmanship.
In the crown jewels of France is a
fine light blue brilliant, which weighs
67 1-2 carats, and was estimated at a
bove 100,000/.
In commerce Diamonds of magni
tude rarely compensate ihs possessor,
there being so few purchasers. A
friend of mine told me, that his father
bought a fine brilliant tor 12,000/. and
kept it twenty years without being able
to dispose of it. Circumstances at
length arose which rendered it necessa
ry for him to part with it, on the best
terms that could be obtained; it was
sent all over Europe for two years and
was at last sold sot 9,000/.
There are in the hands of individuals
brilliants of considerable magnitude,
from twenty to thirty carats, & a rough
diamond has lately been imported that
weighs above 80.
LEDYARD’s ACCOUNT OF THE NILE.
In a letter to Mr. Jefferson, Ledyard gives
the following account of this river below
Grand Cairo:—
“You have heard and read much of
the Nile, and so had I; but when I saw’
it I could not conceive it to be the same.
What eyes do travellers see with? Are
they fools or rogues? For heaven’s
sake, hear the plain truth about it.—
First—-in regard to its size. Obvious
comparisons in such cases are good.
Do you know the river Connecticut?
Os all the rivers I have seen, it most
resembles that in size. It is a little
wider, and may on that account com
pare better with the Thames. This is
the mighty, the sovereign of rivers, the
vast Nile, that has been metamorphos
ed into one of the wonders of the world.
Let me be carelul how I read, and a
bove all how 1 read ancient history.—
You have heard and read too, much of
its inundations. If the thousands of
large and small canals from it, and
thousands of men and machines em
ployed to transfer by artificial means
the water of the Nile to the meadows
on its banks—if this be the inundation
that is meant, it is true; any other is
false. It is not an inundating river, i
