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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.
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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