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t POETBV. From the New Mmithly Magazine. THE RUINED HOUSE. BT rtl.IOIA HEMAN9. “Oh! ’tis the heart that magnifies this life, Making a tenth and beauty of its own.” Wordsworth. ’‘Birth has gladdened it; Death hath sane* tified it. Guesses at truth, JiTo dower of storied song is thing, O desolate abode J Forth from thy gates no glittering line Of lance and spear hath flow’ 1. Banners of Knighthood have not flung Proud drapery o’er thy walls, Nor bugle-notes to battle rung Trough thy resounding halls, Nor hare rich powers of Pleasaunte here By courtly hands been dress’d, For princes, from the chase of deer, g Under green leaves to rest: nly some rose, yet lingering bright B esides thy casements lone, Tells where the Spirit of Delight FHath dwelt, and now is gone. Yet minstrel-tale of harp and sword, Bnd sovereign Beauty’s lot, fiou=e of quench’d light and silent boarol For me thou needest not. It is enough to know that here» Where thoughtfully I stand, Sorrow and Love, and Hope and r car, Have link’d one kindred band. Thou binde9t me with mighty spells? —A solemnizing breath, A presence all around thee dwells Of human life and death. I need but pluck yon garden flower From where the wild weeds rise, To wake with strange and sudden power, A thousand sympathies! Thou hast heard many sounds, thou hearth, Deserted now by all! Voices at eve heve met in mirth, Which eve mav ne’er reca’l. Y-> th’s bouyant step, and Woman’s tone, And Childhood’s laughing glee, And song, and prayer have well been „ known, Heirlh of the Dead 1 to thee. Thou hast heard blessings fondly pour’d U <on the infant-head, As :f in every fervent word The living soul were shed: Thou hast seen pa. tings—-uch as bear The bloom from Life away-*- A'a ! for Leve in changeful air, Where nought beloved can stay t Her®, by the restless bed of Paint The vigil hath been kept, Til) sunrise, bright with Hope in vain, Burst forth on eyes that wept: Here hath been felt the hush, the gloom, The breathless influence shed Through the dim dwelling, from the room Wherein repose the dead. The seat left void, the missing face, H.ive here been marked and mourned; And Time hath filled the vacant place, Ami Gladness hath returned; Tdl from the narrowing household chain Th" links dropped one by one; And homeward hither o*"r the main Came the Spring-birds alone. Is ther" not cause then—cause for thought, Fix’d eye, and lingering tread, Where w th their thousand mysteries fraught, Ev’n lowliest hearts have bled! Where, in its ever-haunting thirst For draughts of purer day, Man’s soul, with fitful strength, hath burst The clouds that wrapt its ways’ Holv to human nature seems The long-forsaken spot! To deep affections, tender dreams, Hopes of a brighter lot! Therefore in silent reverence here, Hearth of the Dead! I stand, Where Joy and Sorrow; Smile and Tear, Hare boxed one kindred hand! MISCELLANEOUS. From the Macon Telegraph. ON GAMBLING. tROM AN tJNCLE TO HIS NEPHEW. My dear Jrepkeitj-^-You are now in position of gome property, which is, with prudent management, entirely • ilficient to afford you a competence tmough life. There are, however, many temptations to which you will necessarily be exposed in your inter course with the different charaeteri Who compose the family; Gaming, perhaps, is one of the most fascinat ing, and destructive in consequences of all others—one into which you will be most likely to fall without due caution of its danger. If you should happen to visit Milledgeville during the s *gsion of the Legislature, or to attend the sitting of the Superior Courtrin the different circuits, the black legged gentry will be found to be almost as numerous as the members of both houses and of the bar. Indeed, you will see men there who are ashamed to associate with the depraved gambler in public, whose standiu 1 in society, as also their 4c^uiremeul», would be sufficient to reflect credit upon more laudable pro fessions; slily emergiug from the back door of one of those sinks of corrup tion where the game of Faro (some times with a bank, but oftener with out one) is constantly kept in opera tion. Should you my dear R. ever visit one of those depraved places (which God forbid) there will be seen the impatient gamester, seated behind a small table covered with green cloth, with his silver box, ivory checks, both red and white, cards well shaved and shuffled, for the express purpose of fleecing the unguarded and unsus* pecting of their last remaining dollar. Liquors of every description are also to be found in the gambler’s apart ment, prepared so as to cause imme diate inebriation. Whenever a man is so blind to his future welfare and happiness, as to suffer himself to re sort to the Faro Table, no matter for what purpose, his fate may be consid ered doubtful. He is there subject to temptation, is accosted with flat tering and persuasive language to try his luck upon the game. At length he is resolved to try his fortune, by risking ten dollars. The inevitable consequence of which, is the loss of his money. Involuntarily, as it were, he puts his hand in his pocket and takes out ten dollars more, which is also bet and lost. The irritated better then begins to feel somewhat nervous, and irritated at the loss of his twenty dollars, walks to one corner of the room, takes a drink of intoxicatiiig liquor, which gives him nerve and spirit to bet more freely. Presently he returns to the gaming table, thinks it will never do to quit the game loser, therefore is deter mined to win back his twenty dollars, or lose twenty more in the attempt.— A call is now made upon the banker for twenty dollars worth of his white checks, throwing down twenty dollar bill upon the table, which is readily received by the banker into his mo ney box. Twenty white checks are then counted to the eager adventurer who bets five of them upon his favor ite card, waiting with intense anxiety for the turn. Soon the card is turned and wins for the better. This circumstance revives him very much; is now cer tain his luck has changed, lets all the money remain upon the same card; presses five dollars more to it, (to use a gambler’s phrase) so confident is he that it will win for him again. Well, the dealer proceeds to turn the cards, when behold upon the second turn, the banker rakes the money. Some person w r ho is probably in terested in the bank, cries out that the Jack is a calculation card, where upon the infuriated adventurer, fool hardy like, throws down his other ten dollars upon the named card, then with a palpitating heart gazing for the result. The exasperated better then curs es his cards, swears he is the most unfortunate man upon earth, thinks of the many valuable articles he could have purchased for his family if he has one, with the lost money, but for fear reason will interpose he again steps to the corner of the room, takes another draught of the intoxicating liquor, which now renders him an ad mirable subject for the gamblers to fleece, without any disguise on their part. Half distracted the unfortunate be ing with a blind devotion, once more repairs to the table, draws out his pocket book, then commences rush ing his luck as it is called, until his •last remaining stake makes Its exit from among the pot cards where it was bet, into the banker’s box. An attempt is now made to borrow, if his credit be good, or can And any friend so imprudent as to loan him money on such an occasion; which borrowed money is almost immediate ly transferred through the agency of Rheuben. or some other losing card, into the Faro banker’s box. Not a farthing is now left in his pocket to pay his tavern bill, or to de fray his expenses home. Compelled by sheer necessity to abandon a game upon which he would willingly hazard all subject to his con trol, between midnight and day, he walks reluctlantly to his boarding house, crawls in at a window, goes to bed, hut sleep is a stranger to his tye-lids. A feverish excitement pervades his whole system. Turning himself up on his bed, he reflects upon the heart rending scenes of the past night.— Himself reduced tb penury, perhaps a widowed mother or an orphan sis ter or an affectionate wife and child ren, have been beggared by his fatal imprudence. t Perhaps an honest client, or em ployer, who entrusted him with pecu niary affairs, has also been defrauded to a large amount, His misery is now complete. His reflections in supportable. Recourse is either had to the bottle to drown the unfortunate man’s sorrows, or to the loaded pis tol to put a speedy end to his misera ble existence. Such then is the ul timate end of those who resort to the Faro table. Suffer me now, in con clusion, to entreat you, as you value health, happiness, property, and rep utation, to shun, with a studied aver sion, the companj of the faithless gambler, as well qs the places to which he resorts; f&r be assured that his evil practic es will quickly lead you the downward* path to misery, and premature death. Most affectionately, yours, &c. H, C. D. From the Edingburjh Literary Journal. Monsters not mentioned in Linnaeus. For a succession of ages naturalists have endeavored to inculcate the opinion, that wild beasts are only to bo found among the brute creation; but the melancholy fact is at length ascertained, that many monsters be sides those which usually haunt dens and caves, go loose in society under false pretences, deluding that public: upon whom they prey, into a belief of their harmlessness. We propose stirring a few of them up with the long pole of our inginuity; and on the old principle of place am dames, we shall begin with The Consequential Wise-Man Mon ster—Self-conceit, pomposity, and the profound admiration of one wo- wan, have been an over-match for the originally weak intellect of Mr. Owlstare. He now imagines him self a walking Encyclopaedia and the final court of appeal in all cases where a literary, political moral or religious dispute arises Ask hitn to meet with the most eminent men of the day, and he never for a moment supposes that the compliment is paid to him, but to them. Tell him one of your best slories, and it will fail to produce any effect upon him he merely hints that he heard it better told before. Make one of your pro- foundest observations on philosophy or political economy, and he will only hem, and look half sage, half con temptuous. Try him upon the fine arts and he gives you to understa’d. that unless you have been to the Va tican, you cannot sail upon the same tack with him. Venture into the ar ena of science, and you are silenced by hearing him pionounce Sir Hum phrey Davy a merer schhool boy. The use he makes of all the informa tion he possesses, is to exalt himself; and when his ignorance by chance stares him in the face, he gets out of this dilemma, by trea'inghis adversa ry with sarcastic indifference. In general company this manner is suc cessful. He is not much liked, but he is immensely respected. Hospi table country gentleman, middle rate lawyers, wealthy merchants, with all their wives and all their daughters, hardly know how to treat him with sufficient deference. Every body begs the honor of drinking wine with Mr. Owlstare; every body is anxious to know what Mr. Owlstare thinks upon the subject; every body sends the nicest cut of the whole salmon, and the wing and the breast of the chicken, to Mr. Owlstare. He goes into the drawing room and the lady of the house carries him his tea cup with her own hands; whilst her eldest girl, ‘■who was seventeen the fifth of last December,” brings him the cake. He eats and drinks an unconscionable quantity, but every body is continual ly beseeching him to eat and drink. He goes home about nine; a kind of disagreeable caricature of Samuel Johnson; and his absence occasions, unconsciously, so general a relief, that the young people, in the exuber ance of their spirits propose a qua drille, and the previous generation sit down at whist, enlivening the pau ses of the game by the most animated encomiums on Mr. Owlstare. The Treacle-Tongued Monster—Is commonly a female. She is probably a would-be-young old maid, who lias warmed herself into a sort of paltry independence, principally by having had several legacies left her,’ as the wages of toad eating. She visits a good numbed of families of respecta bility, on what she considers an easy and intimate footing; that is to sayj she can look in upon them very soon after breakfast, or about tea-time, and she is sure not to derange their domestic economy, for they will say— “Oh! it is only Miss Amelia Trea cle tongue.” Her conversation is ve ry thickly studded with tender ap- peltativcs; such as “riiy dear;” terms ill which she continually addresses all her acquaintances. She is always very particular in her inquiries on the subject of health, and is distressed, to hear of the slightest ailment. A head- ach “alarms” her, a couch “sug gests the fear of consumption,” a Soar throat makes her pathetic, and re minds her of the “uncertainty of hu man existence.” She calls to ask after the patient every day, often twice a day, until the most perfect convalescence has taken place. She apparently has the most ardent at tachment for all children. She takes every little urchin in her arms, kisses him, calls him a “darling cherub,” and gazes on him delightedly, (at least when his mamma or papa is present,) although the said “darling child” be a spoiled, clumsy, dumpy, red-headed, disagreeable varlet. With all the minitiaa of little family histories, Miss Treacletongue is particularly well acquainted; she communicates a piece of scandal in the softest and most confidential man ner; she “hints a doubt,” or “hesi tates dislike,” with a whispery gentle ness, quite irresistible. She is rath er delicate, yet goes abroad in all weathers. At table-not in her own house, but that of a friend, she is continually pressing you to eat, and animadverting on the poorness of jour appetite. She has no taste or ear for music; but is exceedingly useful in praising the efforts of all young ladies of the house, and in aflecting rapture, till others think it necessary to affect it too. She is rather religious, and has a temper which nothing on earth would be capable of ruffling; yet in truth, if her real character were known, she is the most peevish, hy pocritical, greedy, selfish, and tyran nical being in existence. She is a concentration of stings, smeared with an external coat of honey; and does more mischief in her own officious, sneaking, underhand way, than a hun dred bold down-right murderers, who kill their men, and are hanged for it. The Clever Youug Man Monster.— The giovvth of this species of monster has been so rapid, that it almost calls lor the interference of the Icgislatuie. Like the rots of the old Egyptian city, they threaten to eat up every thing. One can hardly turn without meeting this monster; He is about two and twenty; has rather an expressive face a.id an interminable volubility of tougue. He is not one of those who hide their light under a bushel. Upon all subjects he is equally at home—that is to say, equally super ficial. He knows all about the next Waverley novel; he writes in Black woods Magazine, or at least says he u i ties in it, and can tell you who all the articles are by. On the corn laws, the drama, the Catholic ques tion, the opera, prenology, and mod ern poetry, he is ever ready to pour a torrent of midi mation, of somewhat ephemeral interest, it is true,—but that is not his fault. He writes and speaks on every subject that comes in his way. His father is proud of him; his sisters admire him; his cousins die for him. He publishes a thin quarto volume of very magnificently printed poetry, and like James Montgomery’s his owu portrait faces the little page, —-his nock is bare, and his shirt col lar turned down a la Byron,—his hair combed back over his brow, and his eye looking upwards, to see what is to be seen in the sky. Sensible men pronounce him a coxcomb, but the unitiated dircover genius in every line, and milliners fall into a pining melan choly by the hundred. Then comes a shower of Albums, and he writes in every one of them, and signs his name at full length by way of authograph. All this, thought it may make, the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.” The Clever young man Monster, unless roused by ridi cule into common sense and a useful pursuit, sinks into premature oblivion, and lives to wonder at his own little ness. joseFhus THE JEWISH HISTORIAN. Josephus, whose “History the Wati of the Jews,” is too welt kfioAtt to need any description, was jiorn at Jerusalem, in the year ofCafusCai- gula. At sixteen, he began to enquire into the sentiments of the different sects atoong the Jews—the Pharisees, Saducees and Essenes. At twenty- six, he went to Rome, to petition the emperor in behalf of several priests of his acquaintance, whom Felix had sent bound to Rome. He ingratiated himself with the wife of Nero, by whose interests he succeeded in ob<* taing liberty for his friends, and from whom he also received many presents. He then returned to Judea, when he saw every thing tending to revolt un‘ der Gesius Florus. In the beginning of the Jewish war, he commanded in Gallilee. He was afterwards taken prisoner by Vespasian. He and forty more Jews had concealed them selves in a cavern, where tbfcy form ed the desperate resolution of killing each other, rather than surrender themselves to the Romans. Josephud;' having been governor of the place and , ‘ therefore Chtitled to priority in point of rank, they yielded to him the honor of becoming the first victim. He however contrived to divert their minds from this, by proposing to cast lots for the precedency; and oftejri thirty-nine had ballotted and kitied each other, he, and the other that sur vived, agreed not to lay violent band* upon themselves, nor imbrue their hands in one anothers blood, but de liver themselves up to the Romans. Upon this Josephus surrendered himself up to Nickanor, who conduct ed him to Vcspaeian. When brought into the presence of the latter, Jose phus told him he had something to communicate to him which would probably strike him with surprise, and perhaps obtain his immediate credit— it was, that he should become empe— ror of Rome in less than three years. Aware that the general might think this a stratagem of Josephus to save his life, the latter taJd him he did not wish for his liberty; he was content to be kept as a close prisoner during that time; and that should his predic tion be realized lie was content then to be put to death. Vespasian yielded to his request, although, at first, he placed no credit in what Josephus had said. He, how ever, kept the latter* with him as a prisoner while he him self continued in those parts; but when he heard lie had been elected empe ror of Rome, he gave him his liberty, and raised him to his confidence and favor. Josephus continued with his son Tm tus, who took command of the army after his father Vespasian had gone to Rome. He was present at the siege of Jerusalem, and was a spectator of the awful desolations of the city, tem ple and country, and soon after wrote his history of the Jewish Wars, and Jewish Antiquities. The whole were finished in the 56lh year of his ace, A. D. 93. b Proposals F OR publishing, in the town of Nash** ville, a paper under the title of the JUVENILE MUSEUM—to be edited by Wilkins F. Tannehill and William T, Berry. Periodical publications have be-' come so numerous, that proposals for issu ing them are, by no means, novel or un-- common. We, with pleasure, witness the? iterary taste of our country increasing, end, therefore, cherish the hope that so humble undertaking will meet with su c- cess. Another circumstance which rai se our expectations is, that no publication of precisely a similar kind has ever been aa tempted in the Western country.* It may be deemed the height of arre*. gance for us—without the endowment of talents or the advantages of experience— to attempt to offer to the rising generation any thing like a source of amifsetnent.— But we hope our endeavors, However un successful, will not be mistaken for vanity or presumption. Young ourselves, (hav ing but little more than centred oijr teens) we intend to devote our exertions to th© entertainment, if not instruction, of the Fouthful part of the community; and al though we have no pretensions to literary onainence, we may occasionally offer some thing not entirely unworthy the acceptance of more advanced age. We will not promise too much, lest we should fail; we, therefore, only add, that we will endeavor so to conduct our papet as to meet the approbation of its patrons; and that whilst it is a source of pleasure to them, it may be a means of improvement to us. |C3* C ommunications will be received wilh gratitude, and attended to witV promptness. Conditions.—■'The Juvenile Museum will? be published oiice a week, on a half sheet' of medium paper; at $1,50 per afinum, payable in advance. To be commenced as soon as a sufficient number of subset]; hers areobtained.