Newspaper Page Text
From the Augusta Mirror*
BLOWING CAVES IN DECATUR COUNTY—*-TR ACES
OF VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS.
It 's perhaps not generally known that
Georgia has among her natural curiosities, a
Blowing Cave. As I have lately examined
two such caverns, 1 will give a description of
them. They occur in the N. E. part ofDe
catur County, near the 1 mits of Baker and
Thomas.
The first is amidst the pine woods, in an ex
tensive basin, and is but a “ lime sink.” The
first, is irregularly funnel formed at first, for
about ninety feet wide, by thirty deep. At the
bottom o' tli s funnel, is a small aj>ei ture about
five feet wide, somewhat choked with a clump
of shrubbery, that lias sunk downwards a short
distance,disclosing the dark unfathomed cavern
beneath. It is from this aperture the w ind
rushes o it, with a noise olten loud enough to j
be heard one hundred yaids off. The force of
the current of air, however, is not always the
same. Sometimes it is so great as to arrest
the hunter’s ear at a distance, aid again, so
gentle as to be heard only on descending the
steep side of the funnel to the brink. VV hen
the wind issuing from this place is small, an
observer is surprised at the disproportion be
tween its zephyr breath and the rumbling
noise, that dwells in the throat of the cavern.
Yet no one seems ever to have suspected the
presence of any other cause for this, than the
mere current ol air. On stooping low, how
ever, and applying my ear quite into the mouth,
it was easy to discern the splash and roar of
unsetn waters, tumbling ovc* a subterranean
cataract, into their dark and unknown reser
voir. How far tiie stream, that forms this
cataract, steals its silent w»ay beneath the sur
face—or what its volume —or how deep its
piungc, none can know. The distinctness of
its roar affords no criterion by which to esti
tarmte its depth; for the sound having no out
let but the tubelike mouth, is, ofeoursi, des
ceptive. It may be bit a few hundred feet, or
it may be a mile below the surface.
The vertical position of this cave beneath
the beholder’s feet, will forever forbid its ex
ploration. It is not probable that any ad
venturer will ever be found so hardy as to
descend by rope and windlass, through an
entrance so narrow, into a gulph so deep, so
dark, and so watery. Indeed, while standing
on the brink, one is conscious enough of dan
ger, as he sees in the walls around, evidence
of tiie recent formation of the cave, and as he
observes that the very foothold between him
and the abyss below, is but a thin bed of crumb
ling sand.
The second cave is about one mile west of
the first, and seems to be the crater of an ex
tinct volcano. It has no resemblance to the
first, except that boll descend perpendicularly.
The first occurs in a basin, composed of sand
underlying a thin bed of clay, without rocks;
tiie second drops in from the top of n hill com
posed of unctuous, tenacious, red clay, amidst
large masses of tough rock, hut little broken,
or worn, perforated as by an augur, and hav
ing no visible organic remains, and which I
suppose to be cehular lava. Toe crater, mea
suring from point to point o! the riin, is about
two hundred yaids wide, encircled, or rather
firmed by a mound of earth, that seems to
have been deposited in its place by eruption,
and which, though much abraded by waters,
especially on the inner face, yet preserve a
distinct outline. It is probable, the volcano,
which formed this crater, like all those whose
traces are yet found in the South of Geo gia
mid Florida.existed but a short time. Indeed,
ts the fact be not misapprehended, the large
masses of lava, that now choke the crater, at
the bottom of the inverted cone, and which
seem to have tumbled back to their present
place, shew that there never was b it one ex
plosion, and that the eruptive power expired
before 'he crater was wholly cleared of the
molten material.
When first discovered and for many years
since, the wind from this cave issued from
several small, horizontal holes in the side
of the funnel, or “ lime sink” as it too was
ca led, among rocks and rubbish, that wholly
obstructed the view. Suspecting the true di
roction. however, my companion and myself
tore away the rich earth deposited under our
feet by currents of water, from all sides of the
cave, and soon discovered that the cave was
immediately beneath our feet, descending per
pendicularly among large blocks of lava, that
now fill up the neck of the crater. Our exca
vation was very imperfect, but still sufficient
to show the direction, and something of the
nature of the cave, which can now be seen
descending deeply and darkly towards the
centre ol'lfie eartn ; going down far enough,
at least, to form an outlet tor the subterranean
tires but once raged oeneatn that portion of
the earth, and to which we are, doubtless, in
debted for the elevation of Florida, and that
part of Georgia, from beneath the waters of the
Atlantic. Our lubots, as vve toiled with our
bead downwards, were somewhat obstructed
by the dust and trash that were blown back
wards iijto air faces, by the steady current of
wind, at/d which (breed us to work with our
• yes shut.
It is said, and believed, among the inhabi
tants of tiie neighborhood, that the wind blows
oat of this cave twelve hours, and into it twelve
h"urs. Many assert, that they have witness,
ed the fact: and, in consequence, suppose that
the current of air is connected with the tides.
Tae cave evidently descends far below the
ievel of tide-water in the Guif of Mexico. Bat
my own observations, (made at all hours of
the day:) lead me to suppose the report is er
roneous ; and that the wi id always blows
outwards. It is probable, the opinion origina
ted in the fact, that the wind very naturally
varies in force at different times ; so as to be
scarcely perceptible at some seasons of the
year. This is caused, perhaps, by the increase
.or decrease of water in some subterranean
stream which falls into the cave. When the
waters ore full, the current of air is strong;
wlv n they are low, it is weak.
This cave is evidently of immeasurable
depth ; for though the current of air must be
produced by some cataract, or cascade, under
the earth, yet the ear listens in vain for the
faintest sound of water.—nothing cun lie heard
but the low murmur of tlie ccaseles wind.
Hundreds of |>ctrifactions, both vegetable
and animal, are found in the red-clay outside
tlx* ring of earth.
Though ♦'.» darknc** and depth of thi«
cavern are associated with ideas of terror, and
excite thoughts of earthquake and volcano,
S yet tne place is not devoid of material for iuncy
On tiie large rocks that fill up tne opening of
tne chasm which once shot forth fire and lava,
ja fertile mould has been deposited; from
which, liesides more useful trees, several young
magnolias are now tiffing their evergreen
heads, and expanding their matchless blossoms
over tne very mouth of that descent to Avernus;
not to hide it as a snare, but to catch the eye
upwards, where bloom and foliage, and blue
sky and light, shall impart peace and purity to
i the mind.
Tne Indian trail, too threading its lonely
way among the pine forests, shows that the
Tallahassees and Ciiehuws, in the intercourse,
were used to go far out of their way, in order
to visit this mysterious place. It was, perhaps
the abode of some Seminole deity; perhaps,
tiie oracle where their prophets held pretended
converse with the spirit-land. But wl at was
its precise place, or use in their mythology, the
politician and the soldier have put forever be
yond our knowledge, by driving them to the
far Wed. FOSSIL.
THE NBXVSPAPER PRESS.
In the state of the world at which we are
now arrived, with the mighty printing-press in
perpetual operation everywhere, like another
power of nature, it is not to be apprehended
that any important movement in human affairs
can happen, at least in the civilized parts of the
earth, without an account of it being immediate
ly drawn up, and so multiplied and dispersed
that it cannot fail to go down to posterity.
Without any regular machinery established
and kept at work for that purpose, the trans
mission of a knowledge of everything worth
noting that takes place to all future generations
is now secured much more effectually than it
ever was in those times wuen public function
ares used to be employed, in many countries,
to chronicle occurrences as they arose, ex
; pressly for the information of after ages. Such
were the pontifical annalists of anciet t Rome,
and the keepers of the monastic registers in
the middle ages among ourselves, and in the
other countries of Christendom. How meagre
and vn ueless are the best of the records that
have come down to us compiled by authority,
compared with our newspapers, which do not
even contemplate as at all coming within their
| design, the preservation and handing down to
other times of the intelligence collected in them
but limit themselves to the single object of its
mere promulgation and immediate diffusion.
THE GOTHS AND HUNS.
The terrific honors which these ferocious
nations paid to their deceased monurch.s are
recorded in hi.stor by the interment of Attila,
king of the Huns, and Alaric, king of the Goths.
Attila died m 453, and was buried in the j
midst of a vast champaign, in a coffin which
was inclosed in one of gold, another of silver, j
and a third of iron. With the body were in-!
ferred all the s oils of the eriemv, harnesses 1
embroidered with gold and studded with jew
els ; rich silks, and whatever they had taken
most precious in the palaces oft le kings they
had pillaged ; and that the place of his inter
ment might forever remained, the Huns de- j
prived of life nil w.io assisted at his burial!
The Goths did nearly the sam* for Alaric
in 410, at Kosenca, a town in C dab ia.—
Tiiey turned aside the river Vasento; and I
having formed a grave in the mid.-t of its bed,
where its course was most rapid, they interred
this king with prodigious accumulation of
riches. After having caused the river to re
sume its usual course, they murdered, without
exception, all those who had been concerned
in digging this singular grave.
THE CAMEL AND DROMEDARY.
It is generally supposed that the camel has
one hump and the dromedary two. This is not
the fact. There are two species of the camel,
one of which has one hump, and is common to
Attica, Arabia and all India; the other has
two humps, and is peculiar to Bactria. The
two-humped camels are less numerous than
those with one hump—about one in ten. “ The
term dromedary is rather distinctive of the em
ployment of the animal, than of its species.
When used to carry burdens, it is tailed a
camel; wuen used to ride upon, it is called a
| dromedary; and those thus employed travel
with great rapidity. The camel will carry
eight hundred or one thousand pounds. The
j dromedary will trot eighteen or twenty miles
an hour, and is less fatiguing to the rider than
to ride on horseback. »
ANECDOTE OF GILBERT STUART, THE AMERI
CAN PAINTER.
Stewart was as remarkable for the vigor of
his language as for the strength with which he
portrayed with his pencil. While in the city
of New York, his rooms were open on par
ticular days to receive visiters, who thronged
to admire the pictures of the gifted artist, who
had won such reputation lor his country
ab'-oad. Among others came Talleyrand.
Stewart, a great physiognomist, fixing his eyes
upon him attentively for a moment, remarked
to a friend, with a violent emphasis and ges.
tore. “If that man is not a villain, the Al
mighty does not write a legible hand !”
MUNIFICENT DONATION.
Paul Beck, Esq., of Philadelphia, has pre
sented tiie Methodist Episcopal Church iu that
city, with the house, and the lot whereon it
stands, measuring eighty feet front, by about
two hundred and seven feet deep, on Catharine
street. The house is fifty-four feet front by
seventy-one deep, with a basement story
above ground, for lecture and class rooms, and
was built at the expense of Mr. Beck, for the
'express purpose of being presented to the Me
thodist Espiscopal Church, as a place cf wor
ship. It is said to lie a chaste and beautiful
structure, and has been dedicated, under the
name of St. Puul’s Church.
An liish gentleman called on n singing
, master to inquire his terms—the singer said,
ithat he charg and two guineas for tlte first les
son, but only one guinea for ns many ns he
pleased nftervva:d. “Oh. bother the first
ijlesson.” said Mooncgan, “let us commence
li with the gecoKn.”
THE SOUTHERN P^)ST.
From the Quarterly Review.
HF.NRY KIRKE WHITE.
As our devious path brings us among the
ashes of those upon whom the grass, if we may
so speak, is still green, the difficulties of our
task increase. The face of Kirk White, worn
down with study and sickness, comes back
upon our heart, as we think of vvliat he might
have accomplished in riper years. Who can
read the two stanzas which conclude the frag
merit of the Christian, w.thout feelings of an
guish T
" Thus far have 1 pursued my solemn theme;
With self-re warding toil thus far have sung
Os god-like deed-, far loftier than beseem
The lyre which I in earlier days have strung;
And now my spirits faint, and I have rnng
The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour.
On the dark cypress, and the strings which rung
With Jesus’ praise, their harpings now are o’er;
Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard no
more.
“And must the harp of Judah sleep again 7
Shall I no more reanimate thy lay!
Oh! thou who visitest the sons of men.
Thou who dost listen when the humble pray,
One little spate prolong my mournful day!
One little lapse suspend thy last decree !
1 am a youthful traveller on the way.
And this slight boon would consecrate to Thee,
Ere I with death shake hands, and smile that I atn free.”
It must have been a melancholy spectacle
; to watch the declining fires of such a spirit as
this. We have a picture of the scene from an
! eye-witness:—
“ For some weeks before, the student was
j gathered to his rest, the slightest glance at the
pallid and worn expression of his face would
: have sufficed to convince any one that, without
some prompt alternation of his pursuits, the
days of the youthful scholar were numbered.
He himself was perfectly conscious of his pe
■ ril, and seemed every hour to detach himself
: moie and more from the bonds of the world,
and to prepare for his journey into a far coun
try: not a word of repining, not a murmur
escaped his lips. He looked upon his past
[sufferings, his early struggles, and Ins present
afflictions, as so many merciful indications of
the love of his Heavenly Father. “At best,”
he said to me one evening, “our journey is a
long, a rough, and dangerous road; but it
should cheer us lo remember, that every even
ing brings us nearer to our Father’s house,
which ever stands open to his prodigal and re-
Ipentant children. The world is a harsh mis.
dress, but consider how soon death fetches us
home from school! Every new affliction is,
do the sincere Christian, only another friendly
blow upon the fetters which bind him to his
I earthly servitude. Oh happy hour! when the
prison chamber shall brighten with ti c pre
sence of the angelic messenger, and the chains
shall fall from our feet, and the doors open be
fore us.”* In such a state of bo lilv debility, I
the mind could not be expected to take a lofty
flight. Yet the occasional gleams that broke
in upon his sufferings, served to cheer his spirit.
Once, when a tranquil night had recruited his
powers, he received me with the following
verses from one who, like himself, was early
transplanted to an immortal garden :f —
“ I hud again
After so many deaths, I live and write,
I once more smell the dew and rain.
And relish versing. Omy only Light!
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fall all night.
These are thy wonders, Lord of love !
To make us see we are but flowers that glide,
Which, when we once can find aod prove,
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide,”
* Conversations at Cambridge,
t George Herbert.
THE crocodile.
The crocodile is an entirely different animal
from the alligator, the latier lie ng ferocious
and dangerous, while the former is “the most
harmless of animals, as perfectly so as the
pigeon or the dove.” Mr. Buckingham says
he has seen women and children in the water
up to their necks, while crocodiles were swim
ming about near them. “ The impression is
universal that they are perfectly harmless.—
How they might behave if attacked and wound
ed, 1 will not say. Perhaps it might then lie
very formidable : but, when undisturbed, it is
peaceable, and avoids man. It seems, in fact,
a cold-blooded creature, like the turtle, and
feeds on worms and roots.” Mr. Bucking
ham states that Juvenal relates that the inhabi
tants of Tentara and those of Crocodilopolis,
both cities of the Nile, quarrelled about the
question, whether the crocodile should be wor
shipped as a god, or not; and that, on a cer
tain day. one of the parties appeared riding on
the backs of crocodiles, which they had train
ed to war, and challenged their enemies to the
combat. Whether the statement be true or
not, lie considers it not incompatible with the
quiet and tract .hie nature of the crocodile.
The anatomical structure of the heads of the
alligator and of the crocodile indicate very dif
ferent animals; that of the former showing
vast strength of jaw, fitting it for a beast of
prey ; while that of the crocidilc is wholly
weak and inefficient.
inundations.
The inundations of the Nile commence in
variably on the twenty-fourth of June, and
gradually increase, until the water covers the
whole country, at an average depth of five or
six teet. The houses are erected upon piles,
and the people pass and repass in boats and
on causeways. It is, of course, a season of
repose, also one of general festivity—the
Egyptian carnival.
Had we eyes sharp enough, vve could see
the arrows of death flying in all directions, and
account it a wonder that vve and our friends
escape them a single day.
How many minds—almost all the great
on vs—were formed in secrecy and solituile,
without knowing whether they should ever
make a figure or not. All they knew was
that they liked what they were about and gave
their whole souls to it.
“ Sleep is death’s youngest brother, and so
like him, that I never dare trust him, without
my prayers.”
SECRET OF SCOTTS POWERS.
Tne morning after he lie said, ‘- You
: have often given me in;* «t e riuls for romance—
now 1 want a good cave, and an old
church of the right sort.. We rode out, and
he found what he in the ancient slate
quarries of Brignal, and tiie ruined abbey of
Eggleston. 1 observed Shim noting down even
the peculiar little wild P* o wers and herbs that
accidentally grew round and on the side of a
bold crag near his intcn«_-l<;dcaveofGuy Den
zil; and could not help staying, that he was not
to be upon oath in his w or |t, daisies, violets,
and primroses, would as poetical as any of
the humble plants lie was examining. I
laughed, in short, at his scrupulousness ; but I
understood him when ,-eplicd, ‘that in na
ture herself no two see* 3* es are exactly alike ;
and that whoever copits^J truely what was be
fore his eyes, would the same variety
in his descriptions, and exhibit apparently an
imagination as boundless as t hc range of na-1
ture in thc scenes lie ■recorded; whereas—!
whoever trusted to im» agination, would soon
find his own mind and con
tracted to a few favoritts images, and the repe
tition ot these would or Inter produce
that very monotony anti barrenness which had
always haunted descript ; V i pnetrv in the hands
of any but the patient worshippers of-troth.
'Besides which,’he said, “local uawffes and pe
i cnlin ri ties make a *is story look so much
better in the lace. In jf aC |, f ro iii his boyish
habits, he was bat half -satisfied with the most
beautiful scenery when he could not connect
with it some local legfemd, an d when I was
forced sometimes tocc*j*iftss, with the Knife
grinder, “ Story! God bless you! I have
none to tell, sir”—he w ould laugh, and sav,
“ I lien let us make nothing so easy as
to make a tradition,”
A SPECIMEN 9F IVE; 2*,Cli LITERATURE.
Tiie Welch poetical triads are part of a
species of literature witl* which the reade r may I
not lie acquainted, as tly*. Welch is not taught;
in this country, either »*_« a living or dead lan- j
gunge. I lie specimen contains
many valuable observe-*tions expressed with;
1 singular brevity:
The three foundation is of genius are—the'
gift of God, human exe action, and the events of
life.
The three first quest of genius—an eye
to see nature, a heart tcx feel it, and a resolution
that dares to follow it.
Tne three things in*: ispcnsible to genius—
understanding, meditati *jn, and perseverance.
The three things that ennoble genius—vigor,
discretion and bowled ■*- to.
Tne three tokens of -pgenius—ext aordinary
understanding, extraoreJL inary conduct, and ex
traordinary exertions.
r*ie three things that i rnprove genius—prop
er exertion, frequent and successful
exertion.
The three things that support genius—pros
perity, social qualificat i oils, and applause.
The three qualificat :«->ns of poetry —endow-
ment of genius, judgmt* ait from experience, and
felicity of thought.
The three pillars of I earning—seeing much,
offering much, and \vr~ ting much,
gips^ies.
It is supposed that GSipsies took their rise in
! 1517. while Selim was -settling the government
of Egypt Great nurwibors of the ancient in
habitants withdrew int<r» the deserts and plans,
under one Uingarcos, f coin which they attack
'd the cities and of the Nile, and plun
dered whatever fell i■■ their way. Selim
and iiis officers, perces m ving that it would be a
matter of great difficul *- v to extirpate those ma
rauders, left them at 'liberty to quit the coun
try, which they did m great numlvers, and
| their posterity is kite* -wn all over E irope by
the name of Gipsies. *Manv of them. 1 mwever,
were afterwards incor- jporaied with, and adopt
ed the manners of tl ie people among whom
they resided.
A NE -WV litSl.
A gentleman whose? knowledge of theFranch j
was limited to a few and was ignorant j
of the meaning even r-*. f those, called nt one of,
our French reslmrct. a few days since for j
dinner.
“ Vat will you hav«=-? sare,” said the attentive :
French waiter.
“ I’ll take someof *r hat—that—what do you j
call it ?—same as I hail yesterday—some
F rencli dish another,'*'
“ I do not recollect-* sarc, vat you did have
day before dis.”
“Oh! some friend dish—let’s see, a fried ;
JUfe i!e chamber—l believe that’s what they
call it.”
j The poor waiter sk* rugged his shoulders and j
put on a look of pet — feet astonishment when
his customer called Rc»r a fried chambermaid f
N. 0. Picayune.
The old German (savs the Eve
nmg Post) relates of" one of their heroes, that
he fabricated a sword sotempered that nothing
could resist the e s He tried it one day
upon a warrior clad i 01 armor, which he deem
ed sword proof. “ T)»you feel any thing?”
said he. after he had given the blow. “ 1 had
a feeling as of cold m ron in inv bowels,” vva.s
his answer. yourself,”said the owner
of the sword. Tlt& warrior shook himself;
and fell in pieces fro* —n his head downwards.
The production a honey is made a regular
occupation in Egypt - The bees are carried
in boats up and (low n the river Nile, that thev
may have good f —>asture. They wander
through the flowery afcuelds all day and return to
,the bouts at night.
1-
An Irishman has defined nothing to lie “ a
footless stocking wi t- hoot a leg.” A descrip
tion by another raider is better. “VV hat
is nothing?” lie asked—“Shut your eyes
and you’ll sec it,” s-ssaidPat,
-areitiNr,.
A down-east edit his subscribers to
pay up, that he rnr» -w play a similar joke upon
his creditors. We like to sec a good jok« go
«wad. Tranwr'p*
ORIGINAL.
For the Southern Post.
Scene* for Lithograph in Georgia,
NO. 111.
The locality which is proposeJ to form thc basis of
this communication, would not be considered ns a sub
ject altogether adapted to a Lithographic representa
i tion, but from the physical connection which it main
tains with thc Stone Mountain, as well as the intimate
[ association in which both are held, in the mind of the
writer, it woulJ not oe improper, to draw the attention
of those who appreciate the curiosities of nature, to a
scene which is rarely visited, and it might be said, al
| most unknown. Were it situated any where hut in
the vicinity of the Stone Mountain, it would long since
have aitaincd some of the just admiration which it me
i rits. But, when one great or sublime object in nature
is Before us, or a thought or feeling in ihe moral world,
once assumes a leading character, every thing less sub-
I lime, less beautiful, or of less force, sinks below its pro
per estimate. So little is the subject-matter of this
communication known, that it has never been honored
even with a generally accepted name; and the very
great difficulty in attaching one which would convey
some signification or similarity to the natural configu
ration and appearance, must eventually depend upon
that conventional discretion, by which, in the course of
time, names are applied to all other curiosities. It is
referred to by one individual as the “Cedar Rock*” by
another as the “ Rock Plains,” and by a third as the
“ Rock Desertneither of which conveys an intelligi
ble resemblance or idea to those who have never seen
it, much less to one who has wandered over its barren
surface. It is situated, perhaps, seven miles from the
base of Stone Mountain, at the confluence of two
creeks, comprising an area of several hundred acres.
In a geological examination of the country, it would
no doubt be discovered that it is a part of the exposed
surface of that immense granite belt, w hich traverses
the Stale of Georgia, in that latitude, from one boun
dary to the other ; and from which thc detached mass
es of primitive rock, which arc found further South,
have been dissevered and torn by some convulsion of
nature, antecedent to the a min's of the human race. —
Tiie chronology of man may he gathered indistinctly
*t is true, in the primitive ages, from tradition, the my
thologic fable, and the rude epic. In later times, by j
that ever active intelligence which ambitiously perpetu
ates, by art, by monument, the most striking epoch of
its age. But the chronology of the earth, that sphere of
massy weight which “hangeth upon nothing”—its
changes from the shapeless, chaotic existence which
the philosophy of the Chaldean gave it—the myriads of
convulsions, existences and affinities which have ef
fected it, are hidden in its centre, and ever to be veiled
beneath its surface. And the error of hypothesis or its
truth, must alike rest unsettled until we rise to a supe
rior intelligence, when “ time shall be no more.”
But the wonders of nature, however inexplicable to
us—however htfle we may be able to trace out the
operation of secondary causes—still, in the result, leaves
enough to excite our admiration and astonishment.
We may, though we know nothing of that hidden vitali
ty which gives beauty, color and fragrance to the flow
er, yet experience a thousand tender emotions and deli
cate recollections, when we touch it. Our eyes may
take in a thousand grand and glorious prospects, and
yet dwell not on them with that veneration commensu
rate with the First Great Cause which placed them be
fore us. So would it be, perhaps, with many who
walked over the rock plain. We become sensible tha'
we approach it by the occasional appearance of large
unconnected, detached masses of granite, heaved up in
piles on the wayside, and anon by the traces which
leads us over acres of flat rocks, untenantad by a shrub,
and the grey surface, blacked by the dead, close cling
ing mass, which adheres to it like its own atoms. These
| appearances repeatedly occur on our way, becoming
! every instant more barren, wild and unearthly. But*
| after emerging from the last barrier which the stinted
forest trees interpose to confine the scope of vision we
come gradually on to the verge of the barren desert.
The edge, or border, presents an irregular tortuous
line of low brushy cedars, becoming rarer every step in
ward, until we enter into the granite paved wilderness.
A vast undulating field stretches forth beyond us, with
now and then small cedars, springing up from the lift!*
concavities in which the decayed moss and disintegrated
atoms of the solid stone have settled, giving a slender,
treacherous foothold for the trees to stand upon. At one
point, some more favored spot will prosper a little com
munity of trees, whose solid green foliage supports the
tender jessamine and its yellow cups cluster in myriads,
gracefully festooning the green carpeting of the cedars
Some rent crevice, too, strikes off, filled wiih mould, giv
ing the only sustenance to the meandering avenue of
cedars, which spring out of it. But, as we progress
inward, on our left, and south of us, a long inclined
plane is presented, and we urge forward to discover
the channel of the creek through the rocky waste.—
The short quick resonance of the footstep alone breaks
in upon the deathlike stillness—not a bird, or an insect,
or animal starts forth, to link you to the living being.—
We shout! but no laughing echo comes hack to mock
the dreariness—we fain would leave, even this vague,
untangible, invisible companion to herald some kind
red alliance with the living When we first advance
into it, thc mountain rises like a distant blue cloud, and
through the dim mist that plays around its summit, we
discover the gigantic crags, white from the blasts and
tempests of centuries. Near to us the thin and scat
tered cedars alone present a phantom of lile. Around
us we sec nothing hut the low and bushy cedar—each
looking the same as hundreds left behind, and vve at
last, confused, lose the marked points which we se
lected to pilot us, and wander forth in a labyrinth
which holds out no thread to lead us from it. No ob
ject presents itself with such distinct marks as would
enable us to turn to it as a polar star, to direct us thro’
the interminable succession of the little “ oases” of ce
dars. Having separated early from the party visiting
it, the writer, unapprized of the extern, strayed into it
—chance brought him in sight of a long continuous
chain of cedars, and moist green moss, at the foot of a
long and gentle declivity. With weary and laggiug step
the stream was reached, which finds a channel deep
worn into the rock, in some places, as if it had been
accomplished by the stroke of the laborer’s chisel; in
; others, spreading its silvery waters over the surface of
the rock, while, in long chains, myriads of light, trans-
parent, brilliant bubbles glide gently down, as if the
limpid drops were all seeking a separate destiny—at
one place gathering in its scattered pearls, and con
densing its volume, and murmuring through a narrow
tunnel, and at another, tailing over low grades or steps
of Basaltic regularity, and breaking the sabbath still
ness with a ceaseless rippling. We feel anew born
sympathy with some leaf, as it floats Jown the varying
current, and as we follow it, with eager watch at first,
the declivity becomes more abrupt at every step, and
the trees spring from the narrow fissures more dense.
Looking up the stream, we see no limit to the barren
waste; and it arises in a long ascending plane im
measurable to the eye. The cedars, although they
stem widely separated when we descended from among
them, yet each fills up some place on the rocks above,
and as we look up the apparent hill, towards the sum
mit, it seems to lie a dense, impenetrable mass of fo
liage. Weary of the iteration, and seated under the
wide spreading boughs, of the sole tenant of its little
world, it was deemed a shelter under which to rest in
unapproachable solitude. But a moment, alotie, served
to convince that the situation was alarming and haz
ardous. A short quick jsr was felt—another and an
other, wholly inexplicable—ere even the faintest sem
blance of a sound had awakened the stillness. To leap
up was the action of a moment, and the jars came in
quick and strong successions; and faintly from above
the sound followed the sensation. But a few more vi
brations, and a stone was seen rushing down the steep
with frightful velocity, crushing the cedars in its track
and dashing the white and foam, like dust, high in a j r '
at every leap, and springing from every concussion
with furious drone. It hounded past, and the shout to
apprize others of the perilous position, was unswered
alone by the wild flight and descending stroke of the
stone, as it whirled, far-leaping, to the bottom of the
plain. Too soon to recover from the terror of the situ
ation, a grating, dull jar from above, that foretold the
coming of another mass, made the solid pedestal trem
ble. A moment of intense horror caught the sharp
nietalic crash of a huge and ponderous stone, as it
came, gathering in power, force and destruction, at ev
ery bound. The very granites quivered under it.—
And darting up and howling like the dread spirit of
the storm, the sulphurous dust and singing fragments
hurst from it it on every hand. Rushing down with,
fearful might, it passed with rapid plunge, ever and
anon, hurled up by the elastic contact. Acceleratedat
everv pitch it soared higher and farther, at every suc
cessive leap, and the quick jerk under-foot, told when
to look for its upward flight. Dashing from sight in
the distance, the loud crash, like the minute gun, was
heard at every touch, as it hummed and echoed to the
abyss below.
The gaudy imagery of Poetry decks the land of the
Persian with myriads of roses. The balmy breath of
summer ever plays around the happy isles of Greece
—the amber clouds ever glow above the classic soil
of Italy—but, for the wild, terrific, unsung subl mity of
nature, give me “my own, my native land.” N.
For the Southern Post.
AH human Sciences imperfect—nothing ab
solutely true but the word of God.
Tullio, cio udendo, proruppe sdegnato : mi "era ogni
vostra scienzn, mentre clla none che una favilla qut *i
spentn, in paragone dell' oceano di spendore, nelquale
si spazia I’imelltgenza eterna !
Le noth Rom.ine d’Alessandro verri
colloquio pritno.
Is it any thing here below evident enough in itself to
deserve our full belief? It would be easy to show that
we firmly believe in things that act and are no bein: s’
in things that beget thought and are no spirits; in liv
ing abstractions, which our un ierstanding cannot seize
under any form, that are nowhere, and which we find
anywhere, that are without any pos ible name, and
which we have named, in things inexplicable and in
comprehensible.
We believe in number, the basis upon which we rest
the edifice of those sciences we call exnct; without
number no mathematics. Well! wdiat mysterious im
mortal being could pronounce, and in what language,
the number containing all the infinite numbers, the ex
istence of which is demonstrated us by our own
thoughts ? Ask the greatest genius amongst men.
were he a hundred yeais involved in deep, uninterrupt
ed meditation, what should he answ’er at last 1 We
know not where number begins, nor where it stop*,
nor where it will end ; here W'e call it time, there we
call it space : nothing exists but through number; with
out it, all would be a single and same substance; it
alone differences and qualifies. Number is toour mind
what it is to matter : an incomprehensible agent. —
What shall we, then define it? A Spirit emanated
Irom God to organize matter? for nothing can obtain
its special form, except by the means of divisibility,
which is an effect resulting from number. Are not the
minutest as well as the most huge creations distinguish
able from each other by their quantities, qualities, di
mensions and forces, all attributes owing their exist
ence to number ? Thc infinity of number is a fact
felt by the mind, but of which it cannot give any pmof
to itself. The mathematician will tell us that number
exists and cannot be demonstrated; as God is a being
whose existence is felt, but whose nature cannot l,e
understood. The unit begins all numbers, and still
there is nothing common between it and them; for
thc existence of number depends upon the uni’, which
although not a number, begets them all. God is a mag
nificent unity; between his nature and that of his crea
tions there is nothing common, and still he begets
them all.
Thus w-e see that we are unable fully to comprehend
number, the first degree of the peristyle that leads to
God, and on which our reason begins to totter. What!
we can neither seize nor measure the fitst abstraction
that God has delivered to us, and would we pretend to
submit to our measures the ends of the Almighty ?
Could we boast much more of our knowledge if we
we e to plunge in the abysses of motion, which is the
force that organizes number ? for the whole universe is
nothing but number and motion.
Now is not the same reasoning applicable to infini
ty ? God alone is infinite, or, if to use human lan
guage, there he any thing here below which is demon
strated to be so, we may be sure to discover on it one
of the faces of God. But let us pursue : we have ap
propriated to ourselves a place in that infinity : we have
accommodated it to our size in creating, if it may be
said that w-e have it in our power to create any thing
at all, arithmetic, which is the basis of every thing, even
of our societies. In the same manner as number, the
only thing in which those sclfslyled atheists have be
lieved, organizes physical creations ; so arithmetic, the
exist* nee of which depends on number, organizes the
moral world. This numeration ought to be absolute as
all that is true in itself; hut it is purely relative, and we
cannot give any proof of its reality : for if it has the
power of representing in fitues the value of organized
fubstnnees, it cannot represent in the same way the
organizing forces, the former being finite, the other in
finite, as proceeding from the creator; and moreover,
granting that nature be regular in its organizing power
or in its principles, it is never so in its effects.
Thus it is impossible to find in nature two objects
perfectly identical. In the natural order, then, two and
two cannot make four, but as an exception, and that
very seldom : for to get the proof of it, it would be ne
cessary to gather unities exactly alike, and we know
that it is not possible to find on the same tree two leave*
entirely similar, or two trees of the same species mark,
ed by no difference whatever.
This axiom of our numeration, false when applied to
the objects of the visible nature, is equally false in the
invisible universe of our attractions, where the same
variety exists with regard to our ideas that are the things
of the visible word extended in their relations : thus the
differences that exist there are s'ill more striking than
any where else. In fact, all there being relative to ti e
temper, strength and manners of individuals that arc
never alike, :he least objects represent sentiments. It
man can create unities, surely it is in giving an equal
w eight and value to lumps of gold. Well! you may
add the eagle of the poor to the eagle of the rich, and
say a' the bank that the two pieces represent equal
quantities, but to the eyes of the thinker, one will re--
present a week of comfort, the other the most epheme
ral capriee. Neither does fraction invnriably exist in
nature. It happens, and the proofs are not w-antmg,
that the hundreth of a substance is more powerful than
what we call the whole. If the fraction does not al
ways exist in the natural, much less does it exist in the
moral order, where ideas and sentiments may be va
ried ns the species of the animal vegetable and mine
ral kingdoms, but arc always whole. The theory of
fractions, then, is a mere complacency of our mind, and
number a power of which w e can wield only » small
portion, and the full extent of which we arc unable to
comprehend. We have built us a cottage in the infin
ite spare of nurnlicr, we have adorned it with hiero
glypha artfully combined and painted, and wie have ex
claimed in the pride of our henrta—all is there !
From purs, let u* pass to incorporated number.