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POETRY.
NATURE’S FAREWELL.
BY Mas. H6MANS.
“The beautiful is vanish’d and returns
not.’’ Coleridge's Wallenstein.
A youth rode forth from his childhood’s
Through the crowded paths of the world to
And thegreen leaves whisper’d aslie pass’d,
“Wherefore, thou dreamer! away so last.
“Kncw’st thou with what thou art parting
here, *
Longwould’st thoulinger in doubt and iearj
Thv heart’s free laughter, thy sunny hours,
Thou hast left in nair shades with the
Spring’s wild flowers.
“Under the arch by our mingling made,
Thou and thy brother have gaily play d;
Ye may meet again where ye roved ot yore.
But as he have met there—-oh! never more.
On rode the voutli—and the boughs among,
Thus the wild birds o’er his pathway sung:-
“Wherefore so fast unto life away? _
Thou art leaving for ever thy joy in our
lay ?
“Thou may’st come to the Summer woods
again, ,.
And thy heart have no echo to greet this
Afar from the foliage its love will dwell,
A change must pass o’er thee Farewell,
farewell!”
On rode the youth: and the founts and
streams .... .
Thus mingled a voice with Ins joyous
dreams:—
“We have been thy playmates through ma
ny a day,
Wherefore thus leave us?—Oh! yet delay.
-‘Listen but once to the sound of our mirth;
For thee ’tis a melody passing trom earth!
Never again will thou iind in its flow
The peace it could once on thy heart be
stow.
“Thou wilt visit the scenes of thy child
hood’s glee, . .
With the breath of the world on thy spirit
free,
Passion and sorrow its depths Will have
stirr’d,
And the singing of waters be vainly heard;
“Thou will bear in our gladsome laugh no
part:
What should it do for a burning heart!
Thou wilt bring to the banks of our lreshest
rill,
Thirst which no fountain on earth may still!
“Farewell!—when thou earnest again to
thine own,
Thou wilt miss from our music its^oveliest
tone!
Mournfully true is the tale we tell—
Yot bn, fiery dreamer!—Farewell, fare
well 1’’
And a something of gloom on his spirit
weigh’d,
As he caught the last sounds of his native
shade;
But he knew not, till many a bright spell
broke,
How deep were the oracles nature spoke!
DESCRIPTION OF JERUSALEM.
From the Missionary Journal of the Rev.
Joseph Wolfl’, 1828.
“I communicate to you some ob
servation about Jerusalem, from my
fellow laborer, Mr. King.
“Since its foundation by Melchize-
dec, it has been the scene of all that
is great and splendid, and terrible in
the annals of the world. Sometimes
it has been the seat of splendour and
magnificence, sometimes of destruc
tion and desolation. Twice it has
been laid in entire ruins, and twice has
Zion been ploughed like a field, as it
is at this day. . Seventeen times has
it suffered the desolations of war, and
now it is possessed by a nation, be
fore which every thing that is beauti
ful withers.
“In space of so many ages, and in
the midst of so many revolutions, it is
expected that some valleys should
have been exalted and some elevations
made low. I have viewed the city
from many stations; I have walked a-
round it and within it; have stood on
the mount of Olives, with Josephus’s
description of it in ray hands, some
times reading, sometimes looking to
see if I could discover any of those
distinctive marks of the different parts
of the city, as laid by him near 1800
years ago; and, after all ray research,
I compare it to a beautiful person,
whom I have not seen for many years,
and who has passed through a great
variety of changes and misfortunes,
which have caused the rose on her
cheeks to fade, her flesh to consume
away, and her skin to become dry and
withered. Still there are some good
features remaining, by which I recog
uise her as the one, who used to be
the delight of the circle in which she
moved. Such is the present appear
ance of this holy city, which was once
“the beauty of Israel,” and the joy of
- the whole earth, when compared with
the description given of it as it exist
ed before its destruction by the Ro- (
man army.
“Zion on the south, east and west,
is distinctively marked by Him, who
laid the foundations of the earth, and
Cannot be mistaken, being encompass
ed, except on the north, by vallies sev
eral hundred feet in depth. That on
the south is called Tophet or Gehen
na; that on the east the valley of Je-
hoshaphat, or the King’s Dale, or the
valley of the brook of Cedron; and that
on the west, the Pool of Beersheba by
some, and by others, the Pool of Bath-
sheba, because it is said that the
house and garden of Uriah were in
this valley, and that here David saw
his wife from the top of his house on
Mount Zion.
“Mount Moriah, on which the tem
ple stood, and on which now stands
the mosque of Ornar, is also distinct
ly marked, as it has on the east the
deep valley of the Brook Cedron.—
This valley on the west of it which
separates it from Bezetha, are nearly
filled up, yet sufficiently marked to
show where they were. The division
between Zion and Acra, I am unable
to find, unless it be a small valley or
gentle depression of land, which lies
a few rods within the walls of the
present city, and which without the
city appears to be much deeper, and
goes down to the fountain of Siloah,
reaving at the left of it, and towards
the temple, a high place, which may
very well be taken for Ophel. Be
tween what I supposed to be Acra, and
what is called Calvary, there is a
deep valley, extending from near the
tower of David, on the west side of
the city, down to the Mount Moriah '
on the east.
“With regard to Calvary, I am not
certain, but 1 am rather inclined to
believe that it is the spot marked by
the Church of the Holy Supelchre,
and that it was an elevation on the
end of a ridge, which runs out at the
N. W. corner of the city, and extends
as far as the eye can reach.
-‘With regard to Bezetha there can
be no doubt. It is much higher than
the site of the temple, and may be
considered as extending without the
city, some distance towards the north,
as far as what is called the Nuptial
Valley and the tombs of the Kings.
“Round about Jerusalem are moun
tains, which rise still higher than
those on which the city is built, and
which limit the view to a small dis
tance, except on the S. E. There
is also on the North a kind of vista,
through which may be seen Rama and
the mountains of Ephraim. On the
east is the Mount of Olives, from
which you look down upon the whole
city. At the foot of it over against
the north part of Mount. Moriah, is
the Garden of Gethsemane, which
cannot be very far from the place
pointed 4 out as such at the present
day.
SAND STORM IN THE DESERT.
It dawned at last; and morning
found me still in a wide and trackless
waste of sand; wlych as the suit arose,
was bounded by those flittering va
pors which deceive the thirsty travel
ler with the belief that water is near;
and have thence obtained the name of
the water of the desert. In vain I
looked for the marks by which my
friend Melina had taught me to recog
nize a place of refreshment. There
was but too much cause to fear that I
was now in one of those terrible tracts
of dry and moving sand, in which no
water is ever found, and which some
times, when set in motion by the wind,
swalled up whole caravans and their
conductors. Alas! the morning light,
so earnestly expected, only dawned to
to prove that 1 was surrounded by
dangers I had never dreamed of.
The wind, which blew so piercing
ly all night, lulled, as it generally
does, towards morning: but the hazy
vapor, loaded with light particles of
sand, through which the sun rose red
as blood, gave warning that the calm
would not continue long; nor had I
pursued my course another hour be
fore the roar of the desert wind was
heard, columns of dust began to rise
in the horizon, and the air became
gradually filled with driving sand.
As the wind increased, the whole
plain around me, which had been heap
ed by former tempests into ridges,
like the waves of a troubled sea, now
got into motion; the sand blew from
oft'their crests, like spray from the
face of the waters and covered myself
and horse with its dense eddies;
while often unable to distinguish the
true course, my horse toiled over the
ridges, sinking up to the very girths
in the deep baflling substance.
1 continued for appie-hours to per
severe, struggling against the fury of
the gale, when my alarm increased,
by observing that my horse, which
hitherto had stood it out with admira
ble perseverance, even when his pro
gress was most painfully impeded by
the deep sand, now became terrified
and restive. He snorted, reared, and
appeared unable, as well as unwilling,
to face the sharp drifting of the still
increasing storm. In vain I soothed
him, or urged him on with heels and
hand; the animal which had hitherto
obeyed hiy voice almost like an intel
ligent l/eing, now paid no attention to
caressds or to blows. In the several
squalls that drove past at intervals, he
fairly turned his back to them and
would ot move: and even when the
wind li led for a little, he could hard
ly be freed to advance a step.
I seined to yield my life without
a struggle, yet saw not the means of
preserving it. To abandon my horse
would lave been in fact to give up
hope; ior I could not proceed a sin
gle mile on foot, yet to remain station
ary, as [ was forced to do by the ter
ror of tie animal, involved manifest
destruction. Every thing that offer
ed resistance to the torrent of sand,
which sometimes poured along the
earth like a rapid stream of water,
was overwhelmed in an incredibly
short time, even when my horse stood
still but for a few moments, the drift
mounted higher than his knees; and,
as if sensible of the danger, he made
furious efforts to extricate himself.
Quite certain that my only hope
lay in constant motion, and in the
chance ofgaining the leeward side of
some hillock or mass of rocks that
might afford a shelter till the storm
should blow over, I gave up my true
course, timed my back to the wind,
and made all possible efforts to press
forward; &at last, when man and horse
were exhaisted, during a partial lull,
I observed something like a rock or
mound of earth looming through the
dusky atmosphere. On approaching
it, I discovered that it was the bank of
an inconsiderable hollow, which was
now nearly filled with sand, and
the opposite side of which, being ex
posed to the wind, had by the same
means become merely an inclined
plane; beneath this bank I fortunately
retired, resolved to trust to its pro
tection, rather than run the risk of a
further progress with the imminent
peril of perishing in the drifting sand,
where vision could not extend for a
space of itiany yards.—Frazier's Trav
els in Khorasan.
TURKISH CHARITY SUPERSTI
TION, &c.
The fourth commandment of the
Koran is that every believer shall
give the fortieth part of his income to
his poor relations, if he have any, if
not, to his poor neighbours. So well
is this commandment observed, that
beggars are very rare in Turkey.—
They extend their charity to the ani
mal creation. They have often been
known to buy birds in the market and
set them at liberty, under the beauti
ful superstition that the souls of those
birds will bear witness to their kind
ness before the throne of God.. This
is almost equal to the affecting super
stition of the Algerines, who burn in
cense and spread flowers over the
sepulchre, believing that the spirits
of the departed, sit each at the head
of his own grave enjoying the fra
grance of the incense and perfume of
the flowers. Some of their supersti
tions are less charming. They be
lieve that several beasts and fowls
.shall enter Paradise—the camel of the
prophet' Saleh which was raised to
life in Persia; Abraham’s ram; the
cow of Moses, whose ashes are min
gled with the water of purification;
Solomon’s ant; the Queen of Sheba’s
parrot, which brought her the first
news of Solomon; Jonah’s whale; the
little dog Carmer, that attended the
four sleepers who slept 372 years;
and Mahomet’s camel.
The fourth chapter of the Koran
contains the following injunctions:
“Shew kindness to thy parents, to
thy relations, to orphans, to the poor,
to thy neighbor who is a relative to
thee, and to thy neighbor who is a
stranger to thee; to thy familiar com
panion, to the traveller, and to the
captive whom thy right hand has ta
ken; for God loveth not the proud, the
vain-glorious, the covetous, or those
who bestow their wealth in order to
be seen of men.” In compliance
with the spirit of these injunctions,
the Turks voluntarily repair the roads,
make cisterns for the comfort of the
traveller, and the most devout amongst
M*e?i erect sheds by the way-side,
beneath whose shade the way-faring
man may rest.' And yet these men
are savage barbarians, and the whole
world cheers the amiable Russians in
their march of rapacity, extortion and 1
plunder!—jY. Y. Courier.
RYE.
This grain, though of the same fam
ily with wheat, is less valuable. A
bushel of rye weighs less, and gives
less flour, and of worse quality than a
bushel of wheat. In comparison,
therefore with wheat, it fails; still
there are circumstances which, as an
object of Gulture, may give it the
preference: 1st. It grows well in soils
where wheat cannot be raised: 2d.
It bears a much greater degree of
cold than wheat: 3d. It goes through
all the phases of vegetation in a short
er period, and of course exhausts the
soil less: 4th. If sowm early in the
fall, it gives a great deal of pasture
without much injury to the crop: 5th.
Its produce, from an equal surface, is
one sixth greater than that of wheat.
These circumstances render it pecu
liarly precious to poor people—to
mountains of great elevation and too
high northern latitudes.
Its use, as food for horses, is known
as well in this country as in Europe.
This grain chopped and the straw cut
and mixed, forms the principal horse
food in Pennsylvania; and in Germany
the postillions are often found slicing
a black and hard rye bread, called
“bonpournikle,” for the post and oth
er horses; and the same practice pre
vails in Belgium and Holland.
Its conversion into whiskey, is a
use, less approved by reason and pat
riotism; but if a spirituous liquor
must be drank, we have no scruple of
preferring the form of whiskey, (of our
own making) as that, which on the
whole, is least injurious to the human
body and most beneficial for the body
politic.
The species of this grain cultivated
here are two—the black and white;
for spring rye, (often mistaken for a
species) is but a variety, produced by
time and culture, and restored again
to its former character and habits, by
a similar process.
According to the course of crops,
potatos, in a sandy soil, precede rye.
The ploughing, harrowing, and ma
nuring given to that crop, will there
fore make part of the preparation ne
cessary for this. After harvesting the
potatos, plough the ground and so -v
and harrow in the rye, taking care, as
in all other cases, that the seed be
-carefully selected and thoroughly
washed in lime water, as the means
best calculated to prevent the ergot,
a disease to which it is most liable,
and which is supposed to be an effect
of too great humidity.
Rye is not exempt from the attacks
of insects; but suffers less from them
than either wheat or barley. When
ever the straw of winter rye becomes
yellow, shining, and flinty, and circu
lates no more juices, nature makes the
signal for harvest, and no time should
be lost in obeying it. “Cut two days
.too soon, rather than one day too late,”
was among the precepts of Cato;
which, if adopted here, would save
much grain—terminate the harvest a-
bout the tenth of July, and give a-
bundant time to turn down the stub
ble, and sow the crop next in succes
sion.—Albany Arg.
TO YOUNG MEN.
Bestow thy youth so Unit thon may-
est have comfort to remember it,
when it hath forsaken thee, and not
sigh and grieve at the account thereof.
Whilst thou art young thou wilt think
it will never have end; but behold the
longest day hath his evening, and that
thou shalt enjoy it but once, that it
never turns again; use it therefore as
the spring-time, which soon departeth,
and wherein thou oughtest to plant
and sow all provisions for a long *and
happy life.—Sir W. Raleigh—to his
Son.
A young man who has a fondness
for books or a taste for the works of
uature and art, is not only preparing
to appear with honor and usefulness as
a member of Society, but is secured
from a thousand temptations and evils
to which he would otherwise be ex
posed. He knows what to do with
liis leisure time. It does not hang
heavily on his hands. He has no in
ducement to resort to bad company,
or the haunts of dissipation and vice;
he has higher and nobler sources of
enjoyment in himself. At pleasure,
he can call around him the best of
company,—the wisest and greatest
, men of every age and country-^,}
feast his mind with the rich stores
knowledge which they spread before
him. A lover of good books can never
be in want of good society, nor ^
much danger pf seeking enjoyment in
the low pleasures of sensuality and
vice.-f Hawes' Lectures.
ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES.
A young’ lady at eighteen often
needs a warning voice to point out the
quicksands over which she is speed-
ing her thoughtless career. I hear
you are beautiful and have many ad
mirers. I am sorry for it. A young
woman, whose conduct is marked with
strict honour and principles, cannot
have many admirers. There is noth
ing that more certainly marks a bad
habit, and depraved moral principle,
a thorough destruction of it, than this
cruel and guilty encouragement of
honourable love.
A young man is never long attached
to a young lady, without her being a-
ware of it; commonly, indeed, before
he is himself aware of the nature and
extent of his feelings. The knowl
edge is almost intuitive. From that
moment, if she cannot reciprocate his
sentiments, her course is plain before
her, it is cool, undeviatiflg, unhesita
ting repulse, on every occasion, place
and manner. Love will die without
hope. To crush love in the bud is ea
sy; but trifle and tamper with it, till
it has taken root in the heart, and
its destruction is attended with the
extinction of the heart’s best and no
blest feelings.
Never forget this prime maxim in
these matters, not to discourage is al
ways to encourage.
Your choice I will not, I would not
bias. But I had rather hear that you
are engaged to a man of good charac
ter and industrious habits, than to the
wealthiest man without them; for in
this country, these are always a sure
pledge of final success.
A mean and culpable species of con
quest is the practice of not giving de
cided encouragement or repulse, with
a view of keeping your slave till you
have learned, to use the cant phrase,
you can't do better. I know not an ex
pression that betrays more despicable
meanness. She who uses it, shows a
willingness to sell her hand; to traffick
her person, for value received, that
is revolting in the highest degree.
No one, not even a parent, can tell
what character will render a lady hap
py, but herself; on herself alone then,
must, and ought, to rest the responsi
bility of her choice. I have seen so
many marriages commenced with all
the glitter of wealth and pomp, termi
nate in misery and broken hearts; and
so many that Were begun with no
promising auspices, which have prov
ed as happy as human life admits, that
I am convinced that the parent who
interposes, stands answerable to God,
his child, and his conscience, in a de
gree of responsibleness, most fearful
and tremendous.
Ladies- too often attempt to gain
husbands, as anglers catch fish, by
drawing the bait as he approaches it,
till he is impelled to grasp at every haz
ard; but she who angles for a husband,
may find too late, that she has gained
the man at the expense of the hus
band’s confidence in her principles and
heart.—Christian Reg.
The Vulture's Power of Sight.—Pro
fessor Licfienstein remarked, when
travelling in South Africa, that if an
animal chanced to die in the very midst
of the most desert wilderness, in less
than half an hour there was seen, high
in the zenith, a number of minute ob
jects descending in spiral wheels, and
increasing in visible magnitude at ev
ery revolution. These are soon discov
ered to be a flight of vultures—which
must have observed from a height
viewless to the human eye the drop
ping of the animal immediately mark
ed for prey.
Slave Trade.—A writer in the Bos
ton Commercial Gazette, says: It ap
pears by an official document, receiv
ed from Rio de Janeiro, that the fol
lowing importations of slaves were
made into that port in 1826 and 1827:
1826, landed alive, 85,966—died on
the passage 1985. 1827, landed alive
41,388—died on the passage 1643.
Thus it seem that to only one port in
the Brazils, and in the course of two
years, 77,350 human beings were
transported from their own country,
and placed in a situation as debasing
to the human mind, and infinitely
worse as regards physical sufferings,
than the ordinary condition of th^
brute creation.