Darien gazette. (Darien, Ga.) 1818-1828, September 02, 1828, Image 2

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jpoctrp. 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