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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.