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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.