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VOL. I.
THE
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1* O E T It Y .
From the United States Gazette.
DEAD FLOWERS.
BY CATHARINE H. WATERMAN.
They lie within my hand
Drooping, and pale, the summer's sweetest flowera.
Garlands whose beauty deck’d the sunny bowers.
A fair, and dying band.
This was a blushing rose,
The queen of beauty, whose bright crimson breast.
Offer'd the Bee a balmy couch of rest,
At summer's sunset close.
This was the Lilly, pale
Asa young corpse whose bosom's gentle flow
Hath lost its life stream—and the gathered snow,
Lies lowly in the vale.
They wreathed around a brow
That flash’d white brightness on the lily's leaf.
Above a cheek which paled the rose with grief,
Faded, aad dying now.
The eye* which shone beneath
Th-i coronal of ordour breathing flowers.
Looks not upon thee in the festal hours,
Thou poor neglected wreath.
But richer blossoms meet
Sound the pure beauty of the forchesd tair.
Binding the shining glories of the hair,
W inch their young tendrils greet.
And thou art left to mourn
In thy sad loneliness, like to a heart.
On which neglect hsa fixed its poison’d dart,
With many san owa w orn-
Thy sweet and balmy breath,
I« »a old feelings which fsnd memories wreathe
Round that crush'd fault, o’er its hush'd hopes to breath*
A fragrance after death.
Thou an familiar things
To my sad eyes, anti to my heap of woes,
Thou faded lily, and thou wither’d rose,
But old remembrance brings.
With things of by-past horns
I'll cherish th*e, pale melancholy leaves,
Tko' my weak heart a fifth with sorrow grieves,
JCuurning o’er thee, dead flowers.
rwnmi as**- .r*%m
MISCELL AN EOUS.
BEAUTY OF SCIO.
‘ln the morning l early anti walked out
upon the terrace. Nature had pul on u differ
ent garb. The wi id hud fallen, and t!.e sun
was shining warmly upon a scene ol softness
and luxuriance surpassing all that 1 hud ever
heard or dreamed ol" the beauty ot the Islands
of Greece. A wax with all 1 said about Syria;
skip tiie page. Toe terrace overlooked the
garden filled with orange, lemon, aim vnd and
fig trees; with plants, rores, and flowers of
every description ; luxuriant wilderness. But
the view was not confined to the garden.
Looking buck to the harbor ofScio was a bold
lange of rugged mountains bouuditigtl.e view
on tiiat side, on the right was the sea, then
calm as a lake; on both the other side, were
ranges of mountains, ineguiar and pictures
que in the ir appearance, verdant and blooming
to their very summits; and within these limits
for an extent of | erliaps five miles, were < on
tinued gardens like that at my bet, filled with
the choicest fruit ttees, with roses and the
greatest variety of rare plants and flowers that
ever unfolded their beauty before the eyes of
man ; above all, the orange trees, the peculiar
favorite oftlie Island, then almost in full bloom,
covered with blossoms, * tom my ctevatcd po
sitioti o i the terrace made tiie whole valley
app “ar nn immense bed of flowers. All, too,
felt the freshness and influence of the rain ;
and a gentle breeze brought to me from ih s
wilderness of sweets the most del etous |or
fume that ever gre ;te I the senses. Dot t think
me extravagant wh in 1 say that, in your wil
dest dreams, you could never fancy so rich
and beautiful a scei e. Even among ruins,
that almost made the heart break. 1 could hard
ly tear my eyes from it. It is one of the love
liest spots on earth. It is emphati ally a Pa
radise lost, for the hand oftlie Turk is upon
it; and a hand that withers all that it touches.
In vain does the Sultan invite t' c survivors,
and the children made orphans In his bloody
massacre, to return ; in vain do the fruits and
the flowers, the sun and the soil, invite them to
return; their wounds tire still bleeding, they
cannot forget that the wild l<east’s paw might
again be upon them, and tlieir own blood might
one dt y moisten the flowers which grow over
the graves of their fathers.’
Stephen’* Incident* of Travel.
From the Wesleyan Methodist .Magazine.
| OBSERVATIOHS ON PROGNOSTICATIONS OP THE
WEATHER.
I By the Rev. Adam Clark, L. L. D. F. A. S.
From my earliest childhood I was bred up
on a little thru), woich 1 was taught to care for
and cultivate ever since 1 was ab.e to spring
t.*c rattle, u.-etiie whig, manage t -e sickle, or
hoidle the spade and as I tbund that much of
o tr success depends upon a proper knowledge
i and management of the weather, I was led
j to study it ever since l waseght years of age.
I bel.eve Meteorology is a natural science, and
o e ofthe first that is studied ; and that every
| child in tie country makes, untaught, some
j progress iti it: at least so it was with me.
i had actually learned, by silent observa
! tion, to form good conjectures concerning
the coming weather, and on this head, to teach
wisdom among those who were perfect, espe
! «ially among such as had not been obliged
like me to watch earnestly, that what was so
necessary to the family support , should not be
spoiled by the weatlicr before it was housed.
Many a time, even in tender youth, have I
: watched the heavens with anxiety, examined
the different appearances of the morning and
j evening sun, the phases ofthe moon, the scin
tillattoii of the stars, the course and color of
the clouds, the flight of ti;c crow and the swal
low, tiie gainltots of the colt, tiie flutterings of
tiie ducks, ami ti.e loud •creams of the sea.
mew—not forgetting even the line and croak
ing of the frog. From the little knowledge I
had derived from close ofiservation, I often
ventured to direct our agricultural operations
in reference to tiie coming days, and was sel
dom much mistaken in my reckoning. When
[ thought I had a pretty good stock of knowl
edge and experience in this way, I ventured
to give counsel to my neighbors.—For my
kindness, or perhaps my officiousness on this
liead, 1 met one day with a mortifying rebuff,
j I was about ten years of age ; it was harvest
j time, arid “what sort of a day tomern ow w ould
be,” was the subject of conversation. To a
very intelligent geutlerfian who was present,
; f stated in op|io-*it:oii to his own opm on, “Mr.
18. tomorrow w ill be a foul day." To which
Ihe answered—*“Adam, how cun you tell V ’ I
! answered without giving the rule on which
my prognostication was founded, “O Sir, I
know’ it w ill be so.” “ You know ! bow should
I you know?” “Why, Sir,” 1 pleasant replied,
“Itecause I am toealhrrwise .” “Yes,” said
; he, “or otherwise" Toe next day, however,
proved that my angurv was well drawn.
About twenty years ago, a table, purport
i ing to be the work of the late Dr. Hersehel,
! was variously published, professing to form
j prognostics of ttic weather, by the times of
j the change, full, and quarters ofthe moon. 1
have carefully consulted this table for several
years, and was amaze iat its general aceura
} ey; for though long, as you have seen, enga
ged in the study of tiie weather,! never thought
i that any rules co Id Ikj devised, liable to so
! few exceptions. I have made a little alteration
in the arrangements, illustrated it with further
oliservatious, and have sent it that yon may
insert it in tlte Magazine, ns it has hitherto
been confined generally to h few almanacs.
A TABLE.
For foretelling tin; Weather through *ll the Lunation* of
each year, forever.
This table and the accompanying remarks,
arc the result of many years actual observation;
the whole being constructed on a due consi
deration of the attraction of the sun and moon
in their several positions respecting the earth;
and will, bv simple inspection, show the obser
ver what k'lid of weather will niost probably
follow the entrance of the moon, iiito anv of
its quarters, and that so near the truth as to
be seldom or never found to fail.
If the New M-ion—the Firs* Quarter
—the Full Moon —or the last
Quar er, happens
I Between niid-nijrlit and two ) |p a ; r Hard frost unless the
in the mornint', V | r ’ wind be s. or w.
Hand 4. morning, j Cold, wuh frequent show- gnow , nd monny .
— — 4 and <5, “ Rain. _ Rain.
8 and 8, “ ;W*nd and rain. Stormy
a i m , J Cold ruin, if wind west;
8 and 10, Changeable. | .„„w,, feast.
) !0 and 12, “ Frequent showers. Cold and high wind.
At 12 o’cl-iek, M., and 2, P. .M. Very rainy. Snow or rain.
Between 3 and 4, P. M. .Changeable. Fair and mild.
i t , f , ) Fair and fns’y if wind w
&£' f 7 f '" and *' w ’ or *. ..; rain or snow.
Rainy, U s. or s. w. $ ifs.ors.w.
- — ■ ■ ■' ■ 8 and 10, “ [Ditto Ditto
OBSERVATIONS.
1. Tbe nearer the time of the Moon’s
change, First Quarter, Full, and Last Quar
ter, are to Mid-n ght, the fairer wi l the weath
er be during the seven days following.
2. The space of this calculation occupies
from ten at night (ill two next morninu.
3. The nenrer the Mid-day, or Noon, the
phases oftlie Moon happen, the more foul or
wet weather may be expected during the next
seven days.
4. Tho space for this calculation occupies
MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 20, 1838.
fromteninthe forenoon to two in the after
noon. These observations refer principally
to Summer, though they affect Spring and
Autumn nearly in the same ratio.
5. The Moon’s Change— First Quarter-
Full—and last Quarter, happening duringsig
of the afternoon hours, i. e. fiom four to ten.
may he followed by foir weather ; but this is
mostly denendent on tl)« wind, as it is noted
in the Table.
fi. Though the weather, from a variety of
irregular causes, is more uncertain in the latter
part of Autumn, the whole Winter, and the
beginning of Spring, yet, in the main, the
.-drove observations will apply to those periods
also.
7. To prognosticate correctly, especially in
those cases where the wind is concern* and, the
observer should be in sight of a good vcme,
where the four cardinal points ofthe heavens
are correctly placed. With this precaution
he will scarcely ever be deceived in depending
on the Table.
It is said that the late Dr. Darw in, having
made an appointment to take a country jaunt
with some Trends on the ensuing day, hut per
ceiving that the weather would he unfavorable,
sent as an excuse for not keeping his promise,
a poetica'epistle containing an enumeration of
most of the signs ol approaching ill weather,
I have enlarged these by adding several new
ones, and remodelling others ; and subjoin it
ns very useful, and a thing easy to be remem
bered.
SIGNS OF APPROACHING FOUL WEATHER.
The holloa: wind* begin to blow ;
. The clouds look black, the flats is low ;
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep ;
And spiders from the cobwebs peep.
Last night the sun went pale to bed j
The moon in halos hid her head ;
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For see, a rainbow spans Ihe sky.
The i eallsare damp, the ditches smell.
Closed is the pink-eyed pimpemett.
Hark ! how the chairs and tables crack.
Old Betty's joints are on the rack ;
Her corns with shooting pains torment her,
And to her bed untimely sent her.
Loud quacks the ducks, the sea-fowls cry,
The distant hills are looking nigh.
How resiless are the snorting swine !
The busy flics disturb the line.
Low o’er the grass the swallow wings ;
The cricket too, how sharp he sings!
Fuss on the hearth, with velvet paws.
Sits wiping o’er her whiskered jaws.
The smoke from chimneys right ascends ;
Then spreading, back to earth it bends.
The wind unsieadv veers around,
Or settling in the south is found.
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the incautiou-’./fiV*.
The glow worms, numerous, clear and bright,
Illumed the dewty hill last night
At dusk the squallid toad was seen.
Like quadruped, stalk o’er tt e green.
The whirling wind the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays
Til e frog has changed h» yellow vest.
And in • russet coat is dressed.
The tty is green, the *ir is Will j
The mellww blackbird’s voice is shrill ;
The dog, so altered is his tas'c,
Quits mutton bines, on grass to feast.
Behold the rooks, how odd their flight.
They imi'a e the gilding kite.
And seem precipitate to fall,
As ifthey lelt the piercing ball.
The tender colts on back do lie.
Nor heed the traveller passing by.
In fiery red the sun doth rise,
Then wades through clouds to mount the skitt,
'Twill surely rain, we see't with sorrow.
No working in the field* tomorrow.
SWEET HOME.
The following striking pnssenges are from
the ‘ Journal of the late Mrs Sophia Manning
Phillips,’ a charming writer and |>oetess, who
died several months since, in Louisville, Ken
tuck v :
‘ Home—beloved and early home—l bil
the hail again ! Changed as thou art from
constant cheerfulness to tiie shadow of sor.
row ; lost, blessed scene ! as is thy sound of
blithe voices, and laughter, and music, and
harmless, kindly mirth, my very heart is glad
lad, t.tough the tear is in my eye—to return
among thy still and dear famd .tr things. God!
how tney ris ; up, and speak to me, as with a
voice! I hear the echo of my childhood’s laugh,
ter? I see the gleaming faces of my happy
childhood’s mates! I hail anew the wonder oftlie
waters! I chase the startled wings of fleeing but
terfl es. Dear, ho!y home! might 1 but die within
thy well known sight! But if lam to leave thee,
I will tear from my bosom, for the sake of him
that loveth me, all wild and haunting memo
ries. Not once hereafter will I reck the dark
corner, to gather up thjr vanished blessedness,
to count thy hoarded hours of merry times and
f i es h—to see thee as thou tecrl, my home, and
weep !
‘1 know no* wherefore, but this Sunday af
ternoon reminds me more strongly and strange,
lv than common, of olden words and days.
TThe warm air is abroad, mocking the rain of
dismal February ; the snow patters from the
eaves in twinkli ig drops ; the S'i» —-just like
tt e sun of other days!—is on my liead, I think
of thee, my lo>t,and sainted ! of toe hea.
ven spread out in peace and love above mire
eyes; of the earth, with all its vanished or
forth coming tribunes, or ties, ortrinls, stretch,
ing beside and beyond me. So the winter is
rolling onward and away. The Spring!
Perchance she even now seeketh her buds, to
awaken their slumber, and her breezes to at.
tune them to melody. She looketh, perchance,
to her skies, that their tint be forever unmatch
ed *—to hor floods, that they bound uudelny-
KOOK. tills or CHANGE. | IV SUMMER. | IS WINTER.
it* g, ere long at her call! These shall be
s jpiiread over the sweet earth a pathway ol
gT ■~eenness, and we that live on its bosom, shall
-*»tch along its valleys for feet which come
and listen among its pleasant sounds for
v< which arise not. And this is the cup
w « all must drink, and in our turn le mour ed
fc» r i day, and missed for a dnv, and go down
t« m the dust and the grave !—Who will weep
a r~ad stay for me, when my hour cometh ?
I^fcirlmpsDoi-e! This is a bitter and sad thought
were Ito dwell u, on t; but when the
li * - »ie indeed is at hand, when the breath is go
ir» away, and the eyes; can no more lift up
th»«*rnselvcs to earth or lieaven, mid tiie memo,
or scenes of the life that is leaving us are
and unrecognized—-it matters little, I
whose hand is on our head, or whose
t glowing lip is pressed to ours—the fading
arm <i the cold ! It matters rot!
• Thy latest ben m, descending sun,
Falls to my page from yonder heaven ;
I gaze—l yearn—*tis vainly done!
Nor sound nor signal thence is give*.
The souls of those who lose and love,
May spread their holy w ings around,
Earth whispers—but above,
Beck’neth no finger, breaks no sound.
I sec the summoned stars alone,
Gathering iu silence round the throne.’
LOVE.
—A singular book has lately made its appear
ance in Loudon. It is called “ABt ok of
Ti »oughts”—it must be a rare book indeed,
fosr~ books without thoughts are rather fashion
ably e now-a-days The following is a part of
a <z=hapter—it is rich: [N. 0. Picayune.
“There is a fragrant blossom, that niaketh
glr* <j the garden ofthe heart :
its root lieth deep ; it is delicate, yet lasting
as -xhc lilac crocus of autumn.
ZMjonelihcss aud thought are the dews that
W'c*_ _ *er it morn and even :
and absence clrerish it, as the bal
breathings of the South :
M tssun is the brightness of affection ; and it
blo~orneth in the borders of hope.
Mts companions are gentle flowers, and the
withcreth by its side.
ft saw it budding in beauty ; I felt the magic
of Fts smile:
'J'lieviolet rejoiced beneath it; the rose
stooped down and kissed it.
ud 1 thought some cherub had planted
the- re a truant flower of Eden.
bird bringeth forth seeds, that they may
flot-arisli in a kindly soil :
ft saw, and asked not its name; l knew no
lat* -v;uage was so wealthy,
“Enough every heart of every clime findeth
its echo within.
yet what shall 1 say ? Isa sordid man
caj » able of Love?
ft—lath a seducer known it ? Can an adul
tery—r perceive it ?
<l3r lieth t seeketh strange women, can he
feel its purity ?
ft Tr he that changeth often, can he know its
trut h?
Hanging for another’s happiness, yet often
dest*- roving its own ;
l ; haste, and looking up to God, as a sou i
tair * oftenderress and joy ;
yet flowing deep, as tiie shrine among
riv& rs;
ft casting, and knowing not change—it wal
ket 1 a with Truth and Sincerity.
I M'thelove ofthe heart is blighted, it bud
detf-» not again.
I -tf' that pleasant song is forgotten, it is to be
tear- *it no more;
etoften will thought look back, and weep
ove *- early ass ction,
rid ihe dim notes of that pleasant song w ill
lie t weard asa reproachful spirit,
jEolian strains over the desert
oft* »e heart,
here the hot siroccos of the world havw
witk*.ercd its one oas s.
DEFINITIONS.
Est ait—Compliments and flattery.
Est ridge—Something worn to manifest ones
gritswhich could not otherwise be discovered.
Est all Dancing—Th frisk of reason and the
wer* w of soles.
Ift anishment —Involuntary Em grut on.
S-^ard—Something which men pretend to
and are ashmed to wear.
Eft«ast— \ temperate animal, very unjustly
cotr-» jiaredwitha drunkard.
Ift^?auty—Poison lor hearts and slave for
van *•«>’.
Ift-«t—A method of enforcing what is doubt
ful.
ft'■got—An individual who venerates his
crrck w*.
Ift i rth—All that is vuluablc in some men’s
repu* nation.
fft*jttle-..Thc foundation of fashionable wit.
Ift wisiness—Borrowing and lending.
K**ALP A KILLIAN OF DOLLARS IN BETS.
Cft -9W' of the most melancholy signs of times
' we t~mnvt seen is the fact, hat over half a mil
' hon Dollars are staked in bets in Pennsyl
vania*, on the result of that Election. We
trusft in God tiie day is coming, when it will be
a Sr *=ate’B Prinson oflence to bet money on the
resafttof an Election. It is odious, wicked,
ganr* filling, ten thousand times more fearful to
the w-wrernis ofthe community than all the Ron
lette Tables or Gambling Hells in Paris, or
Lorx «don,
T*ftmnksgiving Day will lie observed through
out ftMauachuseU* ou the 29th of Nov, uaxt.
ISRAELITES OF MOUNT LEBANON.
Edward Daniel Clark, one of the most pleas,
ing of our modern descriptive travellers, and
whose lamented death occurred in 1822, in
the course of his life visited various countries,
and has left behind him many works of great
interest. About the beginning ofthe present
century he travelled through Russia, Egypt
aud Palestine, every where making such ob*
servatons on the character and manners of
these nations as might have been expected
from a gentle nan of refined feeling and a
scholar. When in Palestine, he v sited Jeru.
salem, Nazareth, Bethlehem, and the Lake of
Genneser th, near which he enjoyed an oppior*
tunity of conversing with a party of Druzes.
Almost every traveller in Syria has given us
some new particulars resp cting this curious
people. “They are,” says Clark, “the most
extraordinary people on earth—singular in
the simplicity of their lives, by their strict in.
tegrity and virtue. They only eat what they
earn by their own labor, and preserve at this
moment the superstitions brought by the Isia
elites out of Egypt. What will be your sur
prise to learn, that every Thursday tlicy ele
vate the molten calf, before which they pios
trate themselves, and having paid their adora
tion, each man selects a wife from among the
women present. Th.; calf is of gold, silver, or
bionze. This is exactly that worship at which
Moses was incensed in descending fiom Sinai.
The cow’ was the Venus of tiie Egytians, and
of course the calf was a Cupid, before w hich
the sacrifices so offensive to Moses were held.
It is related that they set up a molten calf,which
Aaron had made from the earrings of the
Israelite women, before wdiich similar sacrifi*
ces were made. And certainly the Druzes
on Mount Lebanon are a detachment of the
prosperity of those Israelites who are so often
represented in scripture as deserted from the
true fait , falling back into the old superstitio i
and pagan worship ofthe country from whence
they came. I took every method necessary
to ascertain the truth of this relation—and I
send it to you as one of the highest antiquities,
and most curious relics of remote ages, winch
has yet been found upon earth.”
The wreath of the bard may wither—the
creations of the sculptor may moulder into
dust, —the throne of the greatest conqueror
may Ire shivered, by an opposing power into
atoms —the fame of the warrior may no longer
be hymed by the recording minstrel—the hopes
of the youth may be disappointed—but that
which hallows the cottage and sheds glory
around the palace, virtue, shall never decay.
It is celebrated bv the angels of God—it is
written on the pillars of heaven and reflected
down to earth. The rock-cracker who pos
sesses it, is more noble than the intriguing
statesman. I would rather be in his place. I
would rather have the “ inward glory” with
which that poor man “is crowned,” than
overshadow tfie world with my martial banners.
I would not exchange his lot for the reputation
of a Raphael—the inspiration of a Byron—the
eloquence of a Mirabeau—or the intellect of a
Byron. 1 may be despised here, but if I pos.
sess it tlien shall I tower above them all, when
the guilty shall tremble in tlieir secret places
as they Ixihold “the hea ens rolled together as
a scroll.” Lous. Regie*er.
There is too little charity extended to Na.
polcon. He was in heart a republican, nor
did he desert the shrine of freedom until cir.
cumstances compelled him to adopt the impe
rial purple. He could have controlled tl*
wild horse; ofthe deserl with a thread, or bound
the wings oftlie eagle with a cobweb, sooner
than have governed fierce ardent, atheistical
France by a democratic constitution. He
stood on a burning volcano, desjiotic power
alone could quench its mighty fires. We do
not vindicate his entire course, but we find
rwW) t<v extenuate his actions. Was not
Italy bettered b, his victories ? Was not Spain
more wisely governed when Joseph Bonaparte
swayed its scepre, than when the Imbecile
Charles wore the crown 1 D*d not Paris reap
a great many literary advantages by a change
from Louis to Napoleon ?
Marsh and Soult has received permission to
remove the bones of tiie great man to France.
T(»ere they should rest. He embellished Paris
with his victories and her bosom should bold
one, who ever loved the land of his adoption.
ibid.
THE BEST WAY TO TEACH.
It was once said by the French philosopher
Diderot, “ tiiat the best way to edicate a child
is to tell it stories, and let it tell stories to you.”
There is so much true phi’osophy in this re*
m uk, we will extend a little.
There is a school-room education, and an
ambulating or walking education ; the one is
obtained out of tiie book on the ben h; the
other from walking among and talking of
tilings. And we believe that this out-* oor in
struction has been too much neglected ; edu
cation having been conducted on the principle
of looking out of the window at things, in.
stead of visiting objects, and learning their pro
perties and uses.
Ttie student, for example, looking out of
his college window at the horse, can give five
or six names to the animal: oi ein Latin, one
in Greek, another in German, and then the
French name, &c. The stable-boy can give
but oue name; yet which knows the most of
the p.operties, nature, disposition, and uses of
the horse ?
Education consists too much in merely
naming things, when it should relate more t»
their properties aud use*. It should connect
NO. 52.