Newspaper Page Text
sra-c:ixA&srr
SELECTED rOR THE MESSENGER.
SONG.
O ! pure is the wind,
As it blows o’er the mountain ;
And clear is the wave
As it Hows from the fountain;
And sweet are the flowers
In the green meadow blooming ;
And gay are the bowel's,
When the soft air perfuming.
O ! go, dearest, go
To the heath, and the mountain,
Where the blue violets blow
On the brink of the fountain ;
Where nothing, but death,
Ouraflection can sever;
And till life's latest breath
Love shall bind us forever.
0 ! bright is the morn,
When it breaks on the valley,
And shrill is the horn
When the wild huntsmen sally }
And clear shines the dew,
As the hounds hurry o'er it;
And light blows the wind ,
As the sail flies before it.
0 go, dearest, go, &c.
O ! soft is the mist,
When it curls round the island ;
And dark is the cloud,
As it hangs on the highland ;
And sweet chimes the rill,
O’er the white pebble flowing}
And quick glides the boat
O’er the smooth rowing.
0 ! fleet is the deer
Through the blue heather springing;
And loud is the shout
Through the wild valley ringing;
And soft is the flute
O’er the lake faintly sighing,
AVhen the wide air is mute,
And the night-wind is dying.
O ! go, dearest, go
To the heath and the mountain ;
“Where the heart shall be pure.
As the clear-flowing fountain ;
Where the soul shall be free,
As the winds that blow o’er us;
Anil the sunset of life
Smile in beauty before -us.
[ The following epitaph on a black
smith was handed to us as original,
with directions to dictate it as we
tiiougt proper—but not possessing any
poetical genius, the writer must excuse
us for giving it verbatim from the ma
nuscript.]
KPTAPII ON A BLACKSMITIIE.
With the nearves of a samson this son
of a sleiig
By tl ic anvel his lively hood got
And like true vulcan son lie was all
ways in time
To strik while the Iron was hot
2 By forgeng he livd yet he never was
trid
Nor condemd By the laws of the land
Tho this is a truth which cant be dnied
Hhc of ten was burnt in the hand
He blew u y no coals of sedition but still
llis bellows was allwais in blast
And I will confes it de-niit wboo well
But one vise and but one he posest
With the sons of saint crexvpian
Now kindred lie clamed with the last
he had nothing to do
He handeld now all but yet in his time
lie maid mancy an exeelent shew
Now actor was he nor concernd with
the stage
Now audeane to awe him appeal'd
Yet oft in his shop as if in a Rage
The nois of a liising was hiard
In steeling of axes was part of his
cears
Tho in theavong he never was found
And tho lie was constantley beating
on bates
No vesel he ere Run n ground
A las and a lack w hat more Shall we
say
Os vulcans un farchanate son
The pi east and the saxen have Borne
him a way
and the sound of his hammar is done
from the Intelligencer.
PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
There are no pleasures so com
pletely within our reach as the plea
sures of memory. There is scarce
ly a day or an hour ol our lives, in
which we are compelled toacknow
ledge the insufficiency ot all exter
nal objects to afford a lengthened
period of uninterrupted happiness ;
and there are moments when the
gayest mind will grow weary of its
common pursuits, and shrink in dis
gust from that which has often in
spired it with pleasure and delight.
In moments like these, the human
mind hastens to that enjoy ment
which is always to be lound in a
calm rational communion with itself.
The world and its common place
pleasures, will grow dull and life
less ; and are with eagerness exchan
ged for the stillness and the quiet of
some lonely retreat whose solitude
has never been penetrated hr the
sound of mirth, or the laugh of
thoughtless levity. Here the soul,
its cares ard its perplexities left
behind, springs aloft and traverses
on untiled wing throughout imagi
nation’s world, nor stoops from her
heavenly flight, until summoned by
imperious necessity'. Here, too,
the mind forgets its pains and its
disappointments in the contempla
tion of scenes of delight, that have
long since passed away, and ol hap
piness that, except in memory, can
never he known again. It is sel
dom that we find ourselves satisfied
with our present condition.
matter what may he the circumstan
ces of our situation —no matter how
delightful our occupations —vet u ho
can boast an hour ol uninterrupted
happiness ? Every joy brings along
with it its regrets, and those very
pleasures in which we most delight
to indulge, are the most certain to
leave a sting behind. And though
we ma\ r have been disappointed a
thousand times; though vve may
have found by repeated experi
ments that the gilded cup is noxious
and poisonous within, still at every
successive opportunity, do we seize
it with increased avidity, and quafl
the dangerous clraughtvvith renova
ted eagerness.
“ Dear is the memory of depart
ed hoursand whatever may be
our fate—however miserable or
wretched our condition —there is a
pleasure to be derived from trans
porting ourselves back to those gol
den scenes that once inspired de
light, which neither envy, nor mal
ice, nor treachery can destroy'.—
When we look back on our past lives
every thing dark and gloomy van
ishes from the sight, and the whole
picture assumes a more exquisite
softness and a more,delightful bril
liancy. Hence, although we may
be strangers to happiness —although
hope itself may he no longer an in
mate of our bosoms: still do we de
light in drawing comfort and con
solation from the recollection of the
days of our boyhood, and by such
contemplations to conjure up a kind
of artificial pleasure, in which is
icguiled the present dull, joyless
lour.
Never have I enjoyed more real
pleasure from recollections of this
iind, than in a visit which 1 lately
made, after a long absence, to the
dace of my nativity. That little
spot for a time occupied every
thought, and whilst the pleasing
reverie lasted, bounded every wish.
Every unforgetfulness—every pas
sion was calmed and tranquilized
.—even ambition itself seemed for
a moment to have found a pillow
on which to repose its weary head.
It was about the first ot , and
luxurious verdure bloomed upon
the whole face of the country ; the
green wheat on one side was wav
ing like a wide expanse ot waters
gently moved by the evening bree
zes ; and on the other the rich glow
ing clover fields loaded the air with
a thousand perfumes. W'xvas eve
ning as I approached, and the sun,
as it glimmered from behind the
trees, seemed to be bidding a re
luctant adieu to the lovely scene.—
It was here that I had been happy;
and as my eye caught an eager view
of each well remembered object,
my- heart once more vibrated to
those tender sensations which, years
ago, that same scene had inspired,
and which all the world beside
could not equal—it was a pleasure
almost too full, too replete for en
joyment !—I imagined my self again
a child —gay, innocent, thoughtless
and happy —the cares the disap
pointments and the thousand vicis
situdes of my maturer life, were all
forgotten; and on the wings ol
“wrapt imagination,” I was trans
ported from the dull gloomy pres
ent, back to the past, where all was
■sunshine and brightness. Such
were my feelings as 1 drew near to
the spot that had witnessed my ear
liest existence, and that still con
tained the objects dearest to me, of
all others on earth beside. Every
thing appeared exactly as I had left
—the same evidences of provident
industry were to be seen in every
direction—the same cheerfulness—
the same glow of health, still bea
med upon the face of every member
of the family ; and those eyes that
had wepf-nt mv departure were now
lighteuup with smiles of joy to wel
come artv return. But
“ Noiseless falls the foot of time
’1 hat only treads on flowers.”
The period which had been allot
ted me to spend there was verv short
|and had rolled avoftnd almost be
fore I was aware of it. The hour
for mv return had arrived, and 1
once more bid adieu to mv native
place and its beloved inhabitants
—the dream of enchantment has
past away, and I am awake to more
rational, but far less pleasurable
avocations.
NATIVE INDIAN FIELD SPORTS
In ail interesting little volume on
the above subject, published by-
Mr. 1). Johnson, a medical officer,
long resident in the interior parts
of India, and especially of Bengal,
vve iind rianv curious and interest
ing narratives of the various modes
in which the native Indians entrap
or destroy the game, and destruc
tive animals, with which those
-countries abound. It may’ not he
uninteresting to our readers (tew of
whom perhaps have an opportunity
of perusing the volume) to have a
lew particulars laid before them ol
these Oriental sports.
There is a class of natives called
Shecarrics , whose entire trade, from
generation to generation, is to en
trap game ; and it is surpri >ing with
what dexterity and simplicity of
means they effect their purpose. —
To catch hares, for instance, they
extend small nets, 15 feet long, and
18 inches high, along certain parts
of the jungly resorts, and then drive,
by their cries, the hares into their
ambushes. But the following is
the most curious circumstance at
tending hare catching:—
“ If,” says Mr. Johnson, “ they
see a hare in its form, in a place
where thev can run round it, and
approach near enough to take it up,
they commence running in a circle
of about eight yards diameter, keep
ing up an incessant shrill noise,
dwelling as it were on the same note
and lessening their circle gradually,
while they keep their eyes stead
astly fixed on the animal, whose
eyes are fixed on them. The ani
mal, in fact, becomes so fascinated
as to allow itself to be taken upde
iberately by the ears, when it com
mences a disagreeable melancholy
cry.” Mr. Johnson has repeatedly
witnessed this species ot Fascina
tion, and taken up the hares him
self in order to turn them out after
wards to shoot at while running.
The author relates a great num
ber of curious and interesting par
ticulars relative to the natural his
tory, habitudes, and ferocity of the
Bengal tiger. The following lit
tle history is dramatically affecting:
Two Biparies (a kind of pedlars)
were driving a string of loaded bul
locks from Palamnovv to Chittrah.
When they were within a few miles
of the latter place, a tiger sprung
on the man in the rear, and the ac
cident was seen by a guallah (herds
man) as he was watching his Buffa
loes. The herdsman ran boldly to
the poor fellow’s assistance, and
gave the tiger repeated cuts with
his sword: upon which the tiger
dropped the Rrparie and seized the
herdsman. The buffaloes observ
ing the rencounter, attacked the
tiger in a swarm, and rescued the
poor mau from instant destruction.
Tliqy.then tossed the tiger about on
their horns from one to another,
and at length killed him. The Hi
parie recovered of his wounds un
der Mr. Johnson’s care, but the
gallant herdsman, who first flew to
the other’s assistance, died of the
tiger’s bite.
The following incident was still
more melancholy :
As an old Mahomedan Priest
was travelling on horseback, at
tnid‘dav within a few miles of Chit
trah, accompanied by his son, an
athletic voung man, they heard the
roar of a tiger at no great distance ;
the son urged the father to hasten
the horse’s pace ; but the priest re
fused, and began quitting up his
prayers to the Almighty, in toe act
of which he was knocked off his
horse, by a blow from the tiger’s
paw. and instantly snatched up in
bis mouth. The son pursued the
tiger, and gave him some severe
cuts with his sword. The tiger ir
ritated bv the interruption, drop
ped the father, overpowered the
son, seized him in his jaws, and de
camped into the deep recesses ol
the jungle, where he devoured him.
The father was brought to Chit
trah, and dievl the same day of his
wounds.
1 ‘m+m
A notorious miser, having heard
a very eloquent charity sermon—
“ This sermon,” said he, “so
strongly proves the necessity ol
alms, I have almost a mind to beg.”
RUSTIC FELICITY.
Many are the silent pleasures o!
the honest peasant, who liws cheer
fully to his labour. Look into his
dwelling, where t ie scene ol even
man’s happiness chiefly lies; hs has
the same domestic endearments, as
much jov and comfort ill hi’ children
and as flattering hopes of their doing
well, to enliven his hours and gladden
his heart as you would conceive h>
the most affluent station. And l make
no doubt, in general, hut il the true
account of Ins joys and sufferings
were to he balan cd with those of !m
belters, that the upshot would prove
to be little more than this ; that the
rich man had the most meat but the
poor man the better stomach ; the one
had more able physicians to attend and
set him to riglits; the other more
health anti soundness in his hones, and
less occasion for their help ; that al
ter these two articles betwixt them
were balanced, in all others they stand
upon a level ; that the sou shines as
warm and the air blows as fresh, and
the earth breathes as fragrant upon
the one as the other; and they have
an equal share in all the beauties atui
real benefits of nature.
[Sterne.
From lllackwood's Magazine.
A republic in Spain will seek its
fellow in a republic in Italy. With
Spain and Italy revolutionized,how
long will France remain tranquil ?
How long will Germany, already
heaving, lie repining and murmur
ing before it bursts into a resistless
storm ; when these things come,
what will be the fate of England ? Is
there, even now, no secret transit
for the revolutionary stream thro’
the heart of her soil ? We will pur
sue this topic no further. Dens
avertat. And it is beyond all denial,
that the whole continent is at this
hour in a state of internal convul
sion ; that like the spirits of Pande
monium, there is among the more
powerful minds of Europe a sense
of loss and defeat, a desperate loss
of fierce hazards—a wild and fiery
dream of rebel grandeur, to be won
by force of arms. The Frenchman
cast on the ground by the fortune
of war, feels his hostility to thrones
unextinguished ; the German, who
fought for his rountry under the
promise of a constitution, feels his
hopes defeated ; the Italian, proud
of his ancient memories and flung
ten thousand fathoms deep from his
late ideal independence, feels and
groans; the Pole, loaded with the
Russian fetter, leels and curses his
degradation. Through the whole
circuit of the continent there is but
one preparation; great and terrible
for a catastrophe, of which no man
can calculate the horrors or the
close. The field is sown with the
serpent teeth of bitterness, ruined
ambition and inveterate discord.
Are we to see it send up its harvest
of the spear ? The thrones of the
continent st nd at this hour in a
mighty cemetery. It is in the will
of God whether the dead *>hall be
added to the dead, and the nations
melt away, or whether the trumpet
shall sound, the graves be broken
up, and all be terror, judgment and
ruin.
From Sturme’s Reflections.
THEFKAR OF APPARI TIONS.
During the long dark nights of winter
many people are troubled with a ridic
ulous Tear of apparitions. At the period
when the natural imbecility of man
was more a prev to superstition than
it is in this moie enlightened age, such
idle fears were less reprehensible, be
cause they were imbibed in childhood.
Rut that such notions should still dis
grace au intellectual people is remark
aide. It shows how ready the invention
of man is to be employed in conjuring
up monsters, and in tormenting himself
as if there were not already enough of
real evils to afllict him, lie creates ima
ginary ones and becomes wretched
because he thinks he is so. How
wretched is the. miser through his fear
of thieves—the misanthrope, from his
doubt and mistrust of all who surround
him—and the discontented man, from
dissatisfaction with his condition, amt
anxiety for the future! Hence let us
learn to guard against the illusions of
the imagination, which not only during
the night presents spectres to our
view, blit also in the day time often
deceives us by painting \ icf in alluring
forms and attracting colours. Happy
should we he if we were as eager to
fly from the temptations to evil as we
are from the imaginary terrors of an
apparition.
V* hence is it that some people,
whose courage in real danger never
shrinks, are violently affected by these
chimeras? It is because their imagin
ation clothes its objects in colours
intHli more glowing than thev really
posses®, and in this case being jx. r> I
vern (1 belore r> a-o i cr.ii operat •, p, I
ror has completely p ;.s-es-e:l th ■ mi-..p I
\dim.thg the existence ot -|) ci, . 1
wiiy should the return of one fi I
dead si* horribly shake our
when we iive in t ic cei taiety of
o h*, day transported into a worhi
incorporeal bei *.gs? 1 hough we a r
convinced that every moment
us nearer to Hie presence of the o- ]■.
rial God, we feel no fear from s'l-'ij
conviction; yet were an apparitiin at
midnight to interrupt our reji so and
announce the decree that we mu-t
soon follow i:. to an unknown country
the boldest among us would fed
emotion ot’ terror, ah l await the event
with the utmost torture of suspense,
Vet we regard not the voice of { u .
.Most High which cries, *• I'repire t>
meet tii\ God!” Let us not give up
Oar minds to unnecessary alarms, bit
rather fear tout Being at whose coinin’
the hearts of the bravest would b]
appalled, an l the wicked shall call
upon (he mountains to hide and tie
lulls to cover them. Fear to do x tat
which is contrary to the will of God,
and you may banish every other fear,
PEPPER.
Black Pepper, is the dried berry
of a climbing, or trailing plant,
(Piper rigruin) which grows in the
East Indies, and in most of th: id
ands of the Indian sea. Its stem
has numerous joints, and throws
out roots at every joint. The leaves
which are somewhat egg-shaped,
and pointed, are of a dusky brown
color, and have each seven very
strong nerves. The flowers are
small and white. It is customary
in the pepper grounds, in India, io
mark out the fields into squares of
six feet each, which is the usual
distance allowed for the plants;
and as these have not sufficient
strength to support themselves in
an upright growth, they are gener
ally placed near a thorny kind of
shrub, among the branches of which
they creep like ivv. When they
have run to a considerable height,
the twigs, on wliic ® the berries
hang, bend down, and the fruit ap
pears in long slender clusters ot
from 20 to 50 grains, somewhat re
sembling branches of currants, but
with this difference, that every grain
adheres immediately to the com
mon stalk, which occasions the
clusters to be more compact. Tho
j berries arc green when young, but
| turn to a bright red when ripe. As
soon as they begin to redden, they
arc considered in a fit state to be
gathered. When gathered, they
are spread on mats in the sun,
where they are suffered to become
dry, black, and shrivelled, as they
come to market. In this state they
have the name of black pepper.
Minerva.
MAHOMMF.DANISM.
The Mahominedan religion is estabi
lished in, or prevails throughout the
turkish dominions in Europe, Asia,
Africa, with the exception of some
provinces : in the llarbary States: in
interior Africa : on Madagascar, and
the eastern coasts of Africa: in Arabia,
in the Persian States: in some of the
Russian States in Asia: in independent
Tartary : in llindostan, among the
higher classes: and in some of the
eastern Islands. It has made many
proselytes in China, and some other
countries. Thus it appears there ure>
at least three Mahominedan empires,
those of Turkey, Persia, and Morocco.
Rut nearly two-thirds of the popula
tion of European Turkey are Chris
tians. And in llindostan, the follow
ers of tiie prophet are mingled with
idolaters only ill the proportion ot
about one to eight, So in most of the
cither countries named, there are many
people who do not believe the Koran.
From their aversion to registers
and enumerations of their people.it is
peculiarly difficult to ascertain the
number of the MahomineJans. They
have been calculated at 140 millions.
.Lord Bacon lias compared those v*'!j<
move in the higher spheres, to those
heavenly bodies in the firmament which
have much admiration but little rest.
Dr. S wrote a very small band
ami crowded a great deal into his pages,
lie did it to save the expense of paper.,
lie put one of his manuscripts into a
friend’s hands to peruse ; he returned
it to him with this compliment, “ If you
reason as closely as you write you are
invincible.”
An Irishman having a gun in lus
hand was ran at l>v a dog, and he
very properly ran his lmyonet down
the dog’s throat and killed him.
Why did you not strike him with
the hut end of your musket, said
the enraged owner. So I would,
answered the Irishman, il he tun*
run cl ire t<[\!foremost.