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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* i i ) i 3 4 i < t t e < i < 4 I i 3 1 I