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POETRY.
AFTER THE TEMPEST.
The day had been a dav of wind and
9torm;—
The wind was laid; the storm was over
past,
And stooping from the zenith, bright and
warm,
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at
last.
I stood upon the upland slope, and cast
My eye upen a broad anu beauteous
scene,
Where the vast plain lay girt by moun-
tains vast,
And hills o’er hills lifted their heads of
green,
With pleasant vales scooped out and villa
ges between.
The i$in drops glistened on the trees a-
round,
Whose shadows on the tall'grass were
not stirred,
Sflve when a shower of diamonds, to the
ground,
W'as shaken by the flight o f startled
bird:
For birds were warbling round, and
bees were heard
About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet
sung
And gossiped, as he hastened ocean
ward;
To the grey oak the squirrel, chiding
clung,
And chirping f*>ru the ground the grass-
hopper upsprung,
Ajad from beneath the leaves that kept
them dry,
Flew many a glittering insect here and
there,
And darted up and down the butterfly,
That seemed a living blossom of the
'. air.
The flocks came scattering from the
thicket, where
The violent rain bad pent them—in the
way
Stroll’d groups of damsels frolicksome
and fair—
The farmer swung the scythe or turn
ed tbo hay,
And ’twixt tfye heavy swaths his children
were at play.
ijrwas a scene of peace— and, like a spell,
Did that serene and golden sunlight
fail
®pon the motionless wood that clothed
the dell,
And precipice upspringing like a wall,
And glassy river, and while waterlall,
And happy living things that trod the
bright
And beauteous scene; while far be
yond them all,
On many a lovely vailev, ought of sight,
Was poured from the blue heavens the
same soft golden light,
I looked, and thought the quiet of the
scene
An emblem of the peace that yet shall
be,
When, o’er earth’s continents and isles
between,
The noise of war shall cease from sea
to sea,
And married nations dwell in harmo-
ny.
When millions crouching in the dust to
one,
No more shall beg their lives on bend
ed knee,
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in
the sun
Th’ o’erlabored captive toil, and wish his
life were done.
Too long at clash of arms, amid her bow
ers,
And pools of blood, the earth has stood
aghast,
The fair earth, that should only blush
with flowers
And ruddy fruits;—but not for aye can
last
. The storm; and sweet the sunshine
when ’tis past,
to, the clouds roll away—they break—
they fly—
And, like the glorious light of summer,
cast
O’er the wide landscape from the em
bracing sky,
On all the peaceful world the smile ofheav-
ea shall lie 1 Bryant,
THE LION AND THE WOLF.,
A hungry Lion on a lamb was feeding,
When a poor dog passed by;
And, with a patient look cu meekness plead
ing.
Shared in the banquet; whilst the royal
beast
Smiled at his ignorant simplicity.
A Wolflook’d on, and tho’t; “And surely I
May ha,ve a portion of the pley, at least,
Indeed, I’ll try.”
He came—cam# boldly'; when the Lion
saw
H's purpose, he uprais’d his kingly paw,
Smote him to earth, and left him there to
die
There’s some excuse for inexperience;
But none for daring, insolent pretence.’
free where sorrow aad disappoint
ment seemed to vie with humble tim
idity. This lady excited my com
passion from the moment I beheld her:
l felt certain that grief dwelt in jher
breast. An animated conversation
was going on around her as shesat
down, and once or twice she attempt
ed to join in it, but with a half aveited
glance, aud a tone so fearful and unde
cided, that no one attended to herlrc-
mdiks. She seemed to say withih
herself, why should / speak? Can a*
ny mortal feel an interest in what 1
say/ A half suppressed sigh, and an
adjustment of her dress, arising from
nervousness and not front vanity, for
she had eeased to feel it, closed the
scene, and she said no more that eve
ning than, to answer in monosyllables
to the questions that were occasional
ly asked by the mistress of the house.
Yet in the tone of those simple mono
syllables, I could discover a feeling
and perhaps too sensitive mind. To a
close observer of human nature in all
its wonderful varieties, a tone, a word,
a glance, will betray the secret though
unconscious feeling of the heart.—
Music was proposed, and it was the
whim of the moment to revive old
songs. A young lady, whose voice
was melody itself, sang with both fee
ling and good taste, “Oh Nanny will
thou gang with me? ,? All eyes were
turned on the young musician, but
mine still dwelt on the countenance of
Miss . It assumed, I thought, a (
more and more melancholy cast. A
approach on earth to that gift which
Christ alone can bestow.—Edinburh
Christian Instructor.
CINNAMON FIELDS OF CEY
LON. <
Our morning was as usual on a first
arrival, taken up by visits; in the af
ternoon, wc drove in Sir E. Barnes’
sociable, through the far-famed cinna
mon gardens, which cover upwards of
of seventeen thousand acres of land on
the coast, the largest of which are
near Colombo. The plant thrives
est in a poor sandy soil, in a damp
mosphere; it grows wild in the
ods, to the size of a targe apple-
but, when cultivated, is never
alkwed to grow more than ten or
tw«ve feet in height, each plant stan-
dingteparate. The leaf is somewhat
like hat of the laurel in shape, but of
r color; when it first shoots out
& changes gradually to green.
r out of blossom, but I am told
[flower is white, and appears,
full blossom, to cover the
light
the
few drop* from eyes that had once
been bright and lovely, fell on a dress j flower has little or none.
THE OLD MAID.
By an observer of real life.
Being at a party given by an elder
ly lady of good fortune, and not know
ing many of the company, as I was a
Stranger in the town of , I was
more of a spectator than an actor.—
At length I saw enter the room, an
nounced as Miss , a tall thin fig
ure, bearing evident marks of having
been once extremely elegant, with a.
whose faded colors showed but too ev- *,
ident signs of a very slender purse.—
No one but myself perceived the lit
tle bye-scene, and I was careful that
even my observations should not be
discovered by the object of them.
I returned home more melancholy
than from a tragedy, or the reading of
disappointed affections, for I had seen
real sorrow, and become the witness
of grief deep-seated, though stifled
within the struggling breast. I know
of no heroine of romance, who in her
sorrows, all poignant as fancy can
paint them, has not friends to pity,
console, and support her; but in real
life, human life as it is, many a disap
pointing, and many a bitter pang from
the overthrow of our hopes have hu
man beings, and espicially women, to
bear in silence and neglect. Are
there then no objects of compassion
beyond the beggars who importune us
at our carriage door? Are there no
wants but those of bread? Yes, th*
want of a friend to sympathize in our
sorrow—the want of one heart that
beats in unison with our own, and in
the loss ofliappiness—the want of en
ergy to rise above our misfortunes and
despise them, will bring us sooner into
our cold graves than the most abject
poverty and pinching hunger. A wo
man, a poor weak woman, without
ambition and without strength of mind,
whose heart is capable of tenderness
and love—what is she when age has
destroyed her charms for one sex, and
poverty has rendered her useless to the
other? Sadness becomtis her portion
and damps the p*wer of her little
mite to the agreeableness of the pas
sing hour. She becomes more and
more spiritless and dejected, more and
more deserted by her early friends,
whose lot m life Providence has de
stined to be less unfortunate. The ri
sing generation treat her with con
temptuous neglect; unable from her
slender frame and unstrung nerves, to
assist or encourage their amusements
she takes no interest in them, and from
their unconsciousness of sorrow and
its destructive etfects, they have no
compassion for her. She is to them
silent and inanimate; they ridicule and
despise her. Of those who have
known her in the days when pleasure
and light-heartedness were to her not
merely a name, many are far aw r ay—
many are no more; and i- one half-
kind and half-enstranged friend, whose
heart is almost indifferent to her suff
erings, be with her in the last sad hour,
and shed one tear as she closes l\er
eyes on this world for ever, it is more
than she has for many years dared to
•hope. Is this a picture of human wo?
It is a true tale. Let then a little of
our charity be bestowed on such suff
erers. Let us not insult their misfor
tunes nor add to them the pang of cold
ness and neglect; but let us be com
panions to the companionless, and gitfc
of our cheerfulness to the broken
hearted, as readily as we give our
bread to the hungry. It is a better
gift, a gift to the heart, the surest
that is ever bestowed, but with more
true charity in it than in the poor and
beggarly elements. It is the nearest
a
it is
It is
that
when i
garden.
After Rearing so much of the spicy
gales froki this island, I was much dis
appoints at not being able to discover
any scent at least from the plants, in
passing tlrough the gardens: there is
a very fragrant-smelling flower grow
ing under them, which at first led us
into the belief that we smell the cin
namon, but we were soon undeceived.
Oil pulling off a loof or twig, you per
ceive the spicy odour very strongly,
but I was surprised to hear that the
As cinna
mon forms the only considerable ex
port of Ceylon, it is, of course, pre
served with great care: by the old
Dutch law’, the penalty of cutting a
branch was no less than the loss of a
hand; at present a fine expiates the
same offence. The neighbourhood of
Colombo is particularly favorable to
its growth, being w r ell sheltered, with
a high equable temperature; and as
showers fall very frequently, though
a whole day’s rain is uncommon, the
ground is never parched.—Bishop
Heber.
ALLIGATORS OF THE ORONO-
CO.
The following is rcMIed in the nar
rative of an officer of the Colombian
navy, recently published, entitled
Recollections of Three Years’ Ser
vice,” &c.
In the course of the voyage (we
know not whether up or down the riv
er) \ had an opportunity, the wri
ter says, of ascertaining a fact con
cerning these creatures, which I no
not recollect to have observed in naf
ural history of them. The Indians
told me that, previously to their go
ing in search of prey, they always
swallow a stone, that, by the addition
al w'eight of it, they may be enabled
to dive with the greater celerity, and
drag whatever they may seize under
the water with them with ease.
They have frequently been known on
this river, where they are exceeding
ly large and rapacious, to draw men
and horses in an instant out of sigh t
Not giving implicit confidence to this
statement of the Indians, I determined
to ascertain if it were true, and men
tioned my intention to his excellency,
who assured me the Indians were cor
rect; and, forthe sake of amusement,
consented to shoot some to convince
me. The only parts where they are
vulnerable to musket shot, are on the
dirty white part of the skin along the
chest and abdomen, and in a space of
about three inches in breadth behind
each ear. The former can seldom be
aimed at, md w r e therefore tried the
latter. Bolivar, whose aim was cer
tain, shot md killed several with a ri
fle, in all of which, when opened,
were fouid stones, varying in weight
accordingto the size of the animal.—
The largest killed wa9 about seven
teen feet in length, and had within
him a s'one weighing about sixty or
seventypounds. The Indians, whose
occupition obliged them to be always
on tl« river, or close to its banks,
said that they had frequently observed
the young ones in the morning sw allow-
in" small stones at the w ater side, un
der the shelter of the wood, before
they searched for their victims, and
they deposited them at night in a place
of safety.
I haye never seen this myself, nor
never met with any person but the In
dians who have asserted that they
have; and I have sometimes doubted
whether these calculi are not secret
ed in the stomach. The alligators
are very obstinate, and would never
move out of the way of the canoe* un
less the crew made a tremendous
shouting, which, when there was a
great number of them, they preferred
doing, to avoiding them by steering in
another direction. They told us that
small canoes had been upset by these
creatures, which is not very improb
able, as they are of so slight construc
tion as to render capsizement a very
easy matter.
ON FAMILY GOVERNMENT.
From the British Methodist Magazine.
In spite of modern whims about lib
erty and equality, the government of a
family must be absolute; mild, not ty
rannical. The laws of nature, and
the voice of reason, have declare^ the
dependence of the child on the parents.
The weakness of youth must be sup
ported, and the violence of youth re
pressed, by the hand of age and expe
rience. Parental tenderness is too
apt to degenerate into parental weak
ness. “If you please, child,” and
“Will you, dear,” are sooii ans
wered with, “No, I won’t.” The
eins of government should be always
gently drawn; not twitched like a curb
bridle at one time, and dangled loose
ly at another. Uniformity in parents
procures uniformity in children. To
whip at one minute, and to caress, or
let the culprit go unpunished, for the
same crime, at another, cannot fail to
injure the force of parental authority.
Consider before you threaten: and then
he as grind as your word. .‘‘I will
whip you if you don’t mind me,” says
the parent in a passion. “I am not
afraid of it,” says the child. The pa
rent flies towards it with a paroxysm
of rage: the child prefers flight to
broken bones. “You may go now,
but you shall have your punishment,
with interest, the next time you do
so.” “I don’t believe that,” thinks
the child. It is experience that gives
the lie. “But,” say you, “whips and
rods were the scourges of the dark
ages; the present age is more enlight
ened, in it law' is reason: and authori
ty is mildness.” Beware of that rea
son which makes your child dogmatic
al, and that mildness which makes him
obstinate.
There is such a thing as the roil of
reproof; & it is certain, that, in num
berless cases, argu^tents produce a
better effect than corporal punish
ment. Let those be properly admin
istered, in case of disobedience; it ineK
fectual, try the harsher method.—
Never begin to correct till your an
ger has subsided. Cease not till you
have subdued the will of the offender:
if you do, your authority is at an end.
Let your commands be reasonable.—
Never deliver them in a passion, ae
though they were already disobeyed:
nor with a timid distrustlul tone, as if
you suspected your own authority.—
Remember that scolding is directly
the reverse of a weighty reasoning
It is the dying groans of good govern
ment. Never let it be heard under
your roof, unless you intend your
house should be a nursery of faction,
which may, at some future time, rear
its hydra head, not only against you,
but in opposition to the parents and
guardians of our country. Patriotism,
as weil as charity, begins at home.
Let the voice of concord be heard in
your family; it will charm your do
mestics to a love of order.
Alt Jourhai relates seme very srngul^
cases of the efficacy of fat boiled ba
con in indigestion accompanied by coij
stipation. A gentleman who had long
suffered from these troubles and hat
gone without success through the usu.
al courses of physic, was led by some
accidental circumstance to relinquish
the use of butter, and substitute fat
boiled bacon for ft, A slice of this
he put between his slices of bre^d
morning and evening, and soon found
his symptoms Of dyspepsia began te
disappear, his bowels became regular,
and his health was restored. Natural-
ly enough, he recommended this to his
complaining friend, and it was follow
ed by the same result. Afterwards
was recommended by his physician
a number of dyspeptic patients,
and he had the satisfaction to see them
mend under its use, and finally all
symptoms of disease vanished.
Decline of Mahomcdanism.—The n-
blest commentators on the prophecies
of Daniel a|pl St. John, among whom
are Sir Isaac Newton, Bishop Newton,
Doctor Zouch, Faber, Holmes, &c.
though they differ occasionally in the
interpretation of some ol the prophetic
symbols, yet all arrive at last at one
and the same conclusion, namely, that
the eastern or Mahomedan apostacy,
should last from its commencement
1260 years, and then its downfall and
complete destruction commence.—
When Daniel wrote, the Jews and o-
ther nations reckoned only 360 days
in the year, and the alteration in the
calender, making the year 365 days,
did not take place till between 500
and COO years afterwards. Conse
quently, Daniel must have meant
1260 years ol 360 days each, inas
much as he could have known no oth
er. If this reasoning is correct, this
year, (A. D. 1828) is the prophecy
complete; forthe Turkish date for
this year 124% Now the Turks reck
on their years of the same length as
we do, 365 days. If than we reduce
1243 years, of 365 dAys each, into
years of 360 days each, we shall find
that the M-ohomedan religion has this
year lasted 1260 years, with 95 days
over.
QtOx of Dyspepsias^AJato Europe
Economy—To Drovers.—A drove of
neat cattle, consisting of between 9t
and 100, recently arrived in Litchfield
Co. from the town of Wadsworth in
Ohio—a distance of 600 mileB. Ex
press directions were given to thq
men who drove them, not to drive on
the Sabbath. These directions were
followed, with the exception of five
miles, which they passed early one
Sabbath morning, for the purpose of
obtaining suitable accommodation*.—
They were 32 days or their way, 28
of which mere sp6nt in travelling.—
From this it appears that these cattle,
during so long a journey, averaged
nearly 20 miles a day, even including
the Sabbath on which they rested.—
This is considered quite unusual.—
They in fact arrived a week sooner than
was expected. They endured the
journey also much better than is usu
al—so ranch so, indeed, that they
were considered by the owner above
alluded to, and who saw them before
they started, to be in as good order in
two or three days after their arrival as
they were at first. There was like
wise a saving of expense from what
would have accrued if they had tiavelr
led each of the 32 days, resulting
from the charge for keeping being less
in proportion where they staid two
nights and one day in a place.
Cl. Observer.
System.—No man should aim to do
more than one day’s work in a day,
but let that be done every day. It is
the diligent hand that maketh rich.
Those who work beyond their strength
one day, sometimes feel justified in
spending the next in idleness, and per
haps spend more than they earned on
the day preceding. But the Christian
who is required to be temperate in all
things, should hold on the even way of
mediocrity between worldly ambition
and slothful negligence. The early
part of the day is undoubtedly the best
for labour, and should neither be wast*
ed in sleep nor lost in repairing breach
es occasioned by irregularity and care
lessness. The seasons for sleep, for
refreshment, for relaxation and read
ing, ought to be regular and uniform.
I am fully convinced that if farmers
would pursue this course, almost eve
ry one might find time to spend at*
hour or more every day in storing hie
mind with useful knowledge.
Not a few of the members of our
churches remain in entire ignorance a#’
the benevolent enterprises of the day,
either for w^nt of time, or disposition
to read, both of which are generally
inexcusable. But I leave to those to
judge* who spend their time in toil
and drudgery, whether they do it to
serve God more acceptably, or wheth
er they are seeking to gratify their
own avarice. Those who spend time
in idleness, certainly have no excuse,
JV*. E. Inquirer.
Intempes'ance.—Rev. Mr. Hewitt,
Agent of the American Temperance
Society, has-been preaching at WilL
iamstown, Ms. with astonishing effect.
“Two of the four-inn-keepers, and
all the merchants, six in number, have
iidividually come to the determina
tion not to sell or keep ardent spirits
in tlmir stores or houses.”—And this,
without waiting to dispose of tbeij;
present stock. The position main
tained by the preacher was, “that
when sober men ,could be brought to
regret the evils of intemperance more,
than they love money, intemperance
will cease to exist.” The intempe
rate cannot import, distil, or vend
spirituous liquors. All depends ou
the will of the sober part of the cobs,'
nmnity.—Proo. Investigatir,
