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POETRY.
BY BISHOP HEBER.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem!
Enthroned once on h-eh,
Thou favom’d home of God on earth,
T'hou Heav’u below the skv.
Now brought to bondage with thy sons,
A curse and grief to see,
Jerusalem, Jerusalem!
Our tears shall flow /or thee
Oh! hads’t thou known thy day of grace,
And flock’d beneath the wing
Of him who call’d thee lovingly,
Thine own annointed King,
Then had the tribes of all the world
G one up thv pomp to see,
And glory dwelt within thv gates,
And all thy sons been free.
“And who art thou that mourncst me?”
Replied the ruin grey, ,
“And fears’t not rather than thyself
May prove a castaway?
I am a dried and abject branch,
My place is given to t“ ee >
But woe to ev’ry barren graft
Of thy wild olive-tree 1
“Our day of grace is sunk it. night,
Our time of mercy spent,
for heavy was my children’s crime,
And strange their punishment:
Yet gaze not idly on our fall,
But, sinner, warned be.
Who spared not His chosen seed
May send his wrath on thee!
“Our day of grace is sunk in nights
Thy noon is in its prime;
Oh turn and seek thy Saviour’s lace
In this accepted time!
So Gentile, may Jerusalem
A lesson prove to thee,
And in the new Jerusalem
Thy home for ever be 1”
The following communication is copied
from the Greenfield Gazette.
LEGEND OF THE INDIAN SPRING.
The mind in its native simple cast,
without the aid of instruction or rev
elation, only compares an hereafter,
with what it sees and feels liot'e. The
never-dying Spring—nature in ever
lasting verdure—trophies of victory,
and implements of war in profusion,
constitute the heaven to which the na
tive untaught Indian bends the strength
of his mind. Forests inglorious abun
dance open to his eager aspiration—
where the wild game, the trout,
and the war dance shall never fail.
More than a century ago, there was
a solitary Indian foot ■ path, leading
from what is now Charieraont, across
the heights of Hoosac Mountain. It
commenced some distance to the
East of the foot of the Mountain, as
the present road goes, and ran in a
Southwesterly direction. There is
a tine spring of pure chrystal water,
where the savage quenched his thirst,
ere he commenced the ascent of the
rugged rocks. Here was the scene
of their games and athletic sports.—
This spring is still visited as a curios
ity, from its early history. The
tribes frequently halted there, and
passed weeks and months. The for
ests abounded in Game—the brooks
with trout, and a little below them,
on Deerfield River were “Salmon
Falls” as they were then called, from I
the great profusion of that luxury
•which is taken at their foot. You
would hardly realize that the Indian
batteau once floated on the brink of
that cataract. Yet a little village
has risen up which bids fair for future
wealth and distinction—and the Indian
has gone to his heaven of perpetual
verdure. Over these mountains, and-
around these streams, a company lin
gered in the fall of 17—-
The valley of Cold River is but a
short distance from here. Its wild
scenery is well calculated to please
the rude son of nature. Its tremend
ous precipices, overhanging the stream
on either side, correspond with his
bold and sublime character. To him
the howl of the wild beast carries no
terror. Constituted by nature with a
spirit that dares all that humanity can
dare, the tempest and the storm are
congenial to his soul. Towards the
beast of the forest he harbors no evil,
save that of making him subservient to
his savage existence. If you have
ever visited this sublime and astonish
ing notch in the Hoosac, it will repay
you for the fatigue of a day, and sur
prise, as well as delight you. The
savages while encamped at the Indian
Spring, before mentioned, were at
tacked by a small party from one of
the white settlements. Some were
killed—many were taken prisoners,
and a few escaped to the thick woods
of the mountain, and fled to what is
now called Lake George. Among
the prisoners were two twin children,
the offspring of the leading chief.—
Their parent# fell in the attack, and
m the little one* clasped, their dark
forms for protection, fear mingled
with revenge gave a glow to their
faces which the painter might strive
years in vain to pourtray. They were
taken by the whites, and brought, to
the settlements. If you have never
witnessed the ceremonies of an Indian
funeral, you have yet to learn what it
is that constitutes the last pure trib
ute of affection to friends. Wealth
may display its fantastic garments of
mourning—genius may paint the story
of the dead—and some gifted lover
may weave a chaplet of flowers for a
coffin wreath. Not 60 with the child
ren of nature. You will see them
wrap their dead father in a blanket of
bark, place him in the earth with his
head to the South, and his face to
wards the rising sun—the emblems of*
his glory will be laid beside him—pro
visions to supply him on his journey to
the heavenly forests, will be at hand in
abundance. And then the manly forti
tude of the children, as they lay down
their father in the earth, and chant
the requiem song over his ashes—
there is feeling in it—there is filial af
fection—there is religion in it. Ages
may roll away, but humanity will pro
tect the Indian’s grave.
These Indian children were educa
ted as well as those dangerous times
would permit. They ’learned among
other things the expert use of fire
arms. With the eye of a skilful hun
ter, the youthful son of the forest
marked the slightest circumstances
that took place around him, and seem
ed to be growing up for a higher
sphere of action than falls to the ordi
nary lot of youth.
A few years after this time, occur
red the celebrated fight at “the bars”
in Deerfield. You doubtless recol
lect the story, and I need not repeat
it. But the spirit which was created
for nobler ends, and more elevated
purposes, could not linger among the
gloomy ruins of his native tribe. In
the bosom of some forest he longed to
pass an age of tranquil enjoyment,
where the moose and the bear and the
Fawn would gather around his lonely
hut. What a pity it is that human
nature is so weak. The stoic is a sto
ic oaly in name. The little nun will
sometimes peep beautifully through
the wicket Work of the convent cham
ber, to cast an innocent glance at her
stranger lover. And so to the savage
lost his heart. An orphan girl of his
tribe, by the name of Roosallurck,
won his heart—he loved her as the
brother in affliction, without home or
>arents, loves his desolate sister.
They removed to one of the lakes at
the head of the Androscoggin river in
maine, and when the sun set in his glo
ry on Umbagog, he might be seen
with his dusky mate, guiding his little
bark over the still surface, and noth
ing was heard save the notes of
the wild bird, that nestled on the banks
of that beautiful lake.
You will hardly believe me when
I tell you that this gallant son of na
ture was in the fight at “Lovel’s
Pond,” and is now living. He has
outlived the pride of his native tribe
of Pocumptucks. He has buried the
youthful wife of his bosom, and been
twice married since her decease.—
Of Indian memory, he can tell you of
events that transpired a century ago.
With temperate and natural food, he
has survived the tradition of those
days. His body is much emaciated,
but he told the story a short time
since, of the fight in Deerfield mead
ows between the whites and his tribe,
with considerable accuracy. His
children have all left him, and joined
the St. Francis tribe. I would go
miles to see him, that I might look
back upon the relics of another age.
Would you know whereto find him,
I can guide you to Umbagog Lake.
There by the side of a beautiful spring
of water is to bo found his rude hovel.
He lives alone. He can sit in his
door and survey nature in her loveli
ness—the lake—the island—the moun
tains and little hills/ The birds of
the forest nestle in his roof. The
wild flower breathes its fragrance a-
round him. He is lulled to sleep by
the dashing spray, and waked by the
song of the robin and the lark. Such
a man is now living. When he dies
he will lie down to sleep in the earth.
“Where the wild wave
Will make sweet music o’er his lonely
grave.”
His how is unstring, and his hatch
et will be buried with him. In a lit
tle while you may go there, and the
thatch and the thistle around the door
will tell you that “Mootalluck.” is no
more., * '
L JULIUS,
From the Visitor and Telegraph.
THEOPHILOUS THE GREEK
PHILANTHROPIST.
We gave three weeks since an ac
count of the prospects of Greece, in
extracts of a letter from Mr. Brewer
to the Chairman of the Greek Com
mittee at Boston. Mr. Brewer has
made another communiuation to that
Committee, in which he describes a
character that will be contemplated
with pleasure. The following sketch
which he gives of Theophilus and of
his efforts in behalf of the youth of his
suffering country, will undoubtedly be
highly acceptable to the reader.
Perhaps no individual institution,
says Mr. Brewer, hVs excited so much
interest in the counfry itself, or is so
deserving of patronage from abroad,
as the Orphan Asylkm of Andros.—
Theophilus, its founder, is decidedly
one of the best men |n Greece. As
evidence* of this, I piay adduce the
universal testimony bf all classes of
people, not only the military and liter
ary Philhellenes, (if tbe phrase may be
tolerated,) but also of his own more
eagle-eyed countrymen. In a country
so unhappily distracted by factions and
local jealousies, and where so few
have appeared in public life worthy of
confidence, the man who is every
where respected, and to whose indiv
idual control, even a Greek is willing
to commit his money, must surely be
an honest inan. In the list of contri
butors to his Institution, published in
the iEgina Gazette, are found the
names of most persons of respectabil
ity, as well citizens as strangers.—
Whenever the name of Theophilus is
mentioned, it is accompanied with the
declaration, “Theophilus is a good
man.”
It is now more than twenty years
that he has been advantageously known
to his countrymen. After pursuing
his studies in different parts of Europe,
sometime previously to the corei-
mencement of the revolution, he be
came Professor of Mathematics in the
College at Haivali. In the evil hour,
which so suddenly and so entirely
swept away the wealth and palaces
of her merchants, & the libraries and
halls of her scholars Theophilus es
caped with the flying multitudes. Ev
er since that period, sometimes as a
member of the government, and at oth
ers as a private yet a bright example
of patriotism and virtue, he has been
toiling on, for the prosperity of his
country. Now in the evening of his
days, for his epuntry’s sorrows have
prematurely brought upon the frost of
age, he is making his last efforts for
the welfare of the friendless orphan.
Associated with Theophilus in his
benevolent undertaking, is his sister
Euphemia. She is one of the few
Greek ladies who have as yet made
their appearance as authors. Of
three of her publications, which I
have by me, the first is advice from a
Father to his Daughter, a neat little
volume of nearly 300j>ages, transla
ted from the French. It was pub
lished at Haivali in 1820, and is dedi
cated to the young females of Greece,
who are lovers of learning (Philomou-
sas.) The original work was a pres
ent to her, from the venerable Coray,
the Erasmus of Greece. Prefixed is
a letter from him, in which he calls
the translator “my very dear daughter
E.” and which contains many patern
al counsels, and wishes, both for her
self and the daughters of his country
generally.
The “Letters of certain Greek ladies
to the Female Friends of Greece,”
is a glowing appeal to their more fa
vored sisters in other lands. It was
published in Napoli iu 1825, and is
signed by the writer, and Many other
principal ladies of the country. Ex
tracts from it have, I believe, been
translated and published here. “Ni-
keratos^” a tragedy on the fall of Mis-
solonghi, was published the following
year, likewise at the government
press, then at Napoli. It was not in
tended for the stage, but in the dark
est hours of her country’s hopes, was
dedicated to the females of Greece,
as a last effort through them to re
kindle the dying patriotism of her
country’s defenders.
A building for this institution is e-
recting at Andros, the native island of
Theophilus, a retired & peaceful situ
ation. Should his funds admit it, his in
tention is to establish others hereafter
on the same model, in other parts of
Greece. For the benefits of such an in
stitution,! need not say, many thousand
little helpless hands are beseechingly
extended. Rescued from the deepest
wretchedness, hero might multitudes
under the enlightened and benevolent
care of Theophilus and his sister, be
qualified for usefulness on earth, and
(though perhaps through the forms of
theGreek church,) become acquaint
ed with a purer jGhristianity than most
of its members possess.
My feelings would prompt me to
say much more on this subject. Of
ten during ray stay at Syra have I
climbed up the hill to their residence
in the upper town. The cleanliness
of its floor of earth, and all its interior,
was a delightful contrast with the uni
versal filthiness of the town around
thorn. The good old man would nev
er fail to kindle into a glow, while
conversation turned on the means of
benefiting his country, and on the hap
py lot of mine. He is most warmly
attached to the institutions of the Uni
ted States, and when my English and
German associates Messrs. Hartley
and Korck, have spoken of them (in
terms of commendation which it
would scarcely be modest in our A-
mericans to use,) as the best for his
country to imitate. I have seen him
rise from his seat, and in the strength
and simplicity of his feelings, grasp
the hand of the speaker, and devoutly
wish that such might be the institu
tions of Greece. Still he is not a
blind admirer of any country or people,
and is entirely free from the fulsome
language of adulation which is forever
on the lips of most of his countrymen.
Indeed the simplicity and modesty of
his character, next to his mild benev
olence, are its most striking features.
In my voyages among the islands, I
have sometimes had him for a compan
ion His coarse, yet clean blue robe,
and. silvery beard falling upon his
breast, would at first perhaps attract
no notice, as not differing essentially
from the dress and appearance of their
priests. But as he poured forth the
expressions of his philanthropy and in
telligence, even the common women
have crowded around me to ask who
tills Plato was among them. To the
influence of such men, and to the
schools of hopeful youth, who, in the
language of the country, had never eat
en bread with the Thtrks, my mind al
ways reverted with pleasure from the
sight of thestupid priesthood,& the idle
and dishonest multitudes that continu
ally throng the billiard and card’tables
in the lower town of Syra, and indeed
every corner of Greece.
The Mocking Bird.—The plumage
of the mocking Bird, though none of
the homeliest, has nothing gaudy or
brilliant in it; and had he nothing else
to recommend him would scarcely en
title him to notice; but his figure is
well proportioned and even handsome.
The ease, elegance and rapidity of his
movements, the animation of his eye,
and the intelligence he displays in lis
tening, and laying up lessons from al
most every species of the feathered
creation within his hearing, are really
surprising, and mark the peculiarity
of his genius. To these qualities we
may add that of a voice, full, strong,
and musical, and capable of almost
every modulation, from the clear mel
low tones of the Wood Thrush, to the
savage scream of the Bald Eagle.—
In the measure and accent he faithful
ly follows his originals. In force and
sweetness of expression, he greatly
improves upon them. In his native
groves, mounted on the top of a tall
bush or half-grown tree, in the dawn
of dewy morning while the woods are
already vocal with a multitude of
warblers, his admirable song rises pre
eminent over every competitor.—The
ear can listen to his music alone, to
which that of the others seems a mere
accompaniment. Neither is this
strain altogether imitative. His own
native notes, which are easily distin
guished by such as are well acquaint
ed with those of our various song
birds, are bold and full, and varied
seemingly beyond all limits. They
consist of short expressions of two, or
three, or at the most five or six sylla
bles, generally interspersing with imi
tations, and all of them uttered with
great emphasis and rapidity, and con
tinued with undiminished ardor for half
an hour, or an hour at a time. Ilis
expanded wings and tail glistening
with white, and the buoyant
gaiety of his action arresting the eye
as his song.most irresistably does the
ear, he sweeps around with enthusias
tic ecstacy; he moqnts and descends
as his song swells or dies away, and
as my friend Mr. Bartram, has beauti-
fullv expressed it, “He bounds aloft
witli the celerity of an arrow, as if to
recover or recall his very soul, ex
pired in the last elevated strain.”—
While exerting hinuelf, a bye-sttuuder
destitute of sfight, would suppose that
the whole feathered tribe had assem-
bled together on trial of their skill
each striving to produce his utmost
effect, so perfect are his imitations.
He many times deceives the sports-
man, and sends him in search of birds
that perhaps are not within miles of
him, but whose note 'he exactly infi.
tates: even birds themselves are fre.
quently imposed upon by this admira-
hie mimic, and are decoyed by the
fancied calls of thoir mate, or dive,
with precipitation, into the thickets,
at the scream of what they suppose^
be the sparrow hawk.
The Mocking bird loses little of
the energy and pOvver of his song b)
confinement; in his domesticated state,
when he commences his career of
song, it is impossible to stand by unin-
terrested. He whistles for the dog-
Caesar starts up, wags his tail, and
runs to meet his master. He squeaks
out like a hurt chicken, and the hen
hurries about with hanging wings and
bristled feathers, and clucking to pro
tect her injured brood. The barking
of the dog, the mewing of the cat, the
creaking of a passing wheelbarraw,
following with great truth and rapidity.
He repeats the tune taught him by his
master, though of considerable length '
fully and faithfully. He runs over
the quiverings of the Canary; and the
clear whistleings of the Virginian
Nightingale, or Redhird, with such |
superior execution and effect that the I
mortified songsters feel their own in
feriority and become altogether silent,
while he seems to triumph in their de
feat by redoubling his exertions.—
Wilson.
HINTS TO MEN OF BUSINESS.
Superintend in person, as much of
your business as practicable, and ob
serve with watchful eye, the manage
ment of what is necessarily commit
ted to the agency of others.
Never lose sight of the powerful in
fluence of example, and be careful in
the management of your concerns, to
recommend by your own personal
practice, uniform habits of active, in
teresting and persevering, dilligence to
those in your employ.
Be prompt and explicit in your in
structions to your agents, and let it be
understood by them that you expect
they will execute the same in conform
mity thereto.
Let no common amusements inter
fere or mingle with business; make'
them entirely distinct employment.
Despatch at once, if possible, what
ever you rfiay take in hand; if inter*
rupted by unavoidable interference,
resume and finish it as soon as the ob
struction is removed.
Beware of self-indulgence; n6 busi
ness can possibly thrive under the
shade of its influence.
Do not assume to yourselves more
credit for what you do, thanypu are
entitled to, rather be content with a
little less; the public will always dis
cover where merit is due.
Familiarize yourself with youF
books; keep them accurately, and fre
quently investigate and adjust their
contents. This is an important item-
Cultivate domestic habits; for this
yogr family, if you have one, has a
strong and undeniable claim; besides,
your customers will always be pleased
when they find you at home, or at the
place of your business.
Never let hurry or confusion dis
tract your miud, or discompose your
self-command.
Under the influence of such habits
as these with a suitable dependence on
Providence for a blessing on the la
bor of your hands, you will have a
good foundation to rest your hope upon
for success in whatever business yott
m(ay be employed.—J\fd. Rep.
New Yore, Sept. 9.
Among the persons spoken of to suc
ceed the late Gea. Bailey, as Post
master of this city, we understand are
Col. Monroe, late President of the Ig
nited States, and Albert Gallatin, Esq,
A man in Boston recently* made au
attempt to cut hin throat with a pen
knife; but either from clumsiness oc
stupidity, only succeeded in giving
himself an ugly gash, which the Doiv,
tor sewed up again. He said “it
smarted plaguily.”
Presidents of Colleges.-—OF the Prer
sidents of 34 of the oldest Colleges in
the United States, 31 are clergymen,
and 3 are Laymen. Of the Clergy
men, 20 are Presbyterians or Congret-
gationalists, 4 are Baptist, 5 are Enis*
copalians, 1 belongs to the Dutch U&
formed, and 1 is a Roman Catholic*
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