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house. The palace looked every inch
a palace, the whole of it being thrown
open, brilliantly lighted, and filled with
the chief people of the island, —not, 1
dare say selected on any very exclusive
principle. The scene was truly festal
in aspect, and everywhere there was
that air of enjoyment, the absence of
which is perhaps the most striking char
acteristic of those great London par
ties at which the grave guests seem to
be performing some penitential duty,
remembering the sins of their youth,
and fashionably repenting in purple
and fine linen. While some were dau
cin” others walked up and down a mag
nificent gallery which runs along the
top of the portico, the whole length of
the building. Above us stretched an
awning which protected us from the
dew ; ‘beneath us were countless flow
ers, which did not injure the air by
breathing it before us; around us the
tire-flies flashed, and from within the
music of the band streamed through
all the casements and floated far away
over the town. It pursued me through
the thickets and gardens in w hich I oc
casionally took refuge for the sake of
enjoying cooler air, and looking back
on the distant revelry through the bow
ers of lilacs and festoons ot roses. —
From those gardens it was not easy to
return to the palace; but their soli
tudes were made more delightful by
the intrusion of the. distant mirth.
Another characteristic scene at which
I “assisted” was the prorogation of the
parliament; a scene that illustrated
well the meaning of our British “ pro
tection” and the freedom of the lonian
republic. The parliament sits in the
Lord High Commissioner’s palace ;
and the members entered between fdes
of soldiers, w ho gave them a somew hat
unceremonious greeting, so fiir as “pri
vilege” is concerned, clashing their arms
every moment, with emphatic loyalty,
on the marble steps. As the Presi
dent took his place, the band wasplay
ing “ God save the Queen.” The mo
ment the Lord High Commissioner had
finished his speech, a loud peal of ar
tillery rang out from the citadel, and
pronounced the “Amen” in an audible
voice; and the much complimented,
and somewhat bewildered, senators
took their departure, amid the gleam
ing of swords, the glaring of uniforms,
and the prancing of cavalry that charged
up and down the esplanade. On the
whole, the spectacle was both pictur
esque and significant, and would have
met the cordial approbation of Queen
Elizabeth, who marvelled that the mem
bers of the “nether” house should some
times be betrayed into meddling with
“matters of state.”
There is at Corfu a university,—not
using the word, however, quite in the
sense in which it is applied to Oxford
or Cambridge. Daring a visit w hich
I paid to it I had some interesting con
versation with a Greek professor, ap
parently a man of much learning.—
Among other things he discussed the
subject of Greek prosody, and made
himself merry with what he called our
preposterous mode of pronouncing. I
referred to the poets, and asked how’ he
could make harmony out of Horner's
hexameters on his metrical principles.
He, on the other hand, appealed to ex
perience and to precedent, and affirmed
that our prosodaical system was mere
ly an arbitral’) and fanciful device of
our own, w hich pleased us because w e
had invented it and were used to it. —
Having no demonstrative process at
hand, 1 appealed, a* prudent controver
sialists do on such occasions, to com
mon sense, to the moral sense, and to
every infallible intuition which occupies
the space between these extremities :
especially 1 appealed to the ear. The
little lively old man clapped both his
hands to his head, and answered, “I too
have ears.’ 1 looked at his head, and,
there w ere two ears, not at all too long,
and in all respects as good-looking as
another mans. The professor also stood
on his native soil, discussed his native
language. ::i.id was paid for knowing all
about the matter. Accordingly, I made
my submission. The only mode in
which 1 can reconcile local traditions
with the needs of our western ears is
by supposing that thechaunt of the an
cient minstrel, in reciting, sw r allow’ed
up all discords, just, as in our cathedral
chaunt mere prose can be accommoda
ted to music, whether the clause be long
or short.
The sunsets of Corfu as far exceed
those ot \ enice, as the latter surpass
a London sunset seen on one of those
foggy evenings when that city, looked
at trom Hyde Park, might be described
as a mist with trees and houses in it.
One, in particular, 1 shall never forget;
I rubbed mv eyes, thinking 1 was in a
dream, and mounted from rock to rock,
trying to assure myself that it was a
reality. The colours were wholly dif
ferent in quality from any that 1 had
ever seen .in clouds, flowers, metals,
feathers, or even jewels. The Poet’s
expression, “an illumination of all
gems, gives you but a faint idea of it.
Lhe effect, on the whole, was very dark.
In a few minutes the splendid pageant
had spread itself over all the heavens,
the west being but little distinguishable
from the east. A sudden shade fell
over the scene, (the sky appearing to
come nearer to the earth,) at the same
time that you seemed to look for
leagues and leagues through the depth
of colours as glowing as if a world of
dark and shining iewels had been melt
ed into an atmosphere, and suspended
over our sphere. The woods and
glefisbelow, “invested with purpureal
gleams, >nggested to me, in their
dewy darkness, the Elysian fields, and
the shades where the heroic dead found
rest amid their amaranthine banks, and
meads of asphodel. Such colours could
never have been represented in a pic
ture. Even if the amethystine and
vermilion hues could have been intelli
gibly rendered, nature only could have
reconciled them to such shades of green
and bronze. It was as if the skv had
been a vast vault of painted glass :
nor perhaps will anything grander be
seen till the millennium morn. These
are the accidents which reveal to us at
least what is possible, and may well be
precious to us on that account” alone.—
A region in which such effects were fre
quently realised should be peopled on
su<h forms as we see in Perugi
no s pictures, standing in their rapt
beauty and eternal serenity against a
sunset sky of pale green.
I spare you the whole of my small
learning on the subject of the “ancient
Corcyra. \\ here lay the Homeric
Phaeacia. and where the city of Alcin
ous stood, nobody knows; and discus
sions on such subjects, when much pro
longed, prove chiefly that the dispu
tant has not caught much of the genius
loci. Ulysses probably troubled him
self little about the genealogy of Circe
or Calypso ; and the modern traveller
need not very closely investigate ques
tions about Ulysses, which however
they may be decided, leave the legend
where it stands. The habitation of such
things is the human fancy ; and w hoever
wants to know’ the exact spot where
the Hero was found by Nausicaa, had
better put by bis map, walk along the
coasts, and fix on a spot w here the meet
ing ought to have taken place. I found
a dozen such. There are, alas! few re
mains of antiquity in Corfu. Some
traces still exist of a temple, probably
dedicated to Neptune. They are situ
ated in a little green dell which hangs,
amid olive-bowers, on the steeps beside
the eastern sea. Some relics of ancient
mythology also hold their ground in a
modified form. Near the ancient Leu
cimna is an eminence called “ Nereido
Kastro,” a title derived from the cir
cumstance that the spot is accounted a
favourite resort of the Nereids, whose
tutelary care is not yet quite forgotten,
though no longer invoked with libation
and vows.
Some persons are simple enough to
imagine that the south is a land of per
petual sunshine. Such is not the case,
even in Corfu, that fairist garden of the
Adriatic. The morning of my depar
ture was not very promising. During
the preceding day the heavy rain fell,
as it were, in a mass, on the earth. —
The next morning the sky was still
louring, and the sea, during the preced
ing month a deep blue, had changed in
to a turbid and gloomy green. The
Albanian mountains frowned behind
their clouds, and the loftier of them
were of a threatening purple bordering
on black, with the exception of their
w hite summits, and the long rifts down
their sides in which the snow still lurked.
The sky, however, had become as bright
as usual before we had dropped anchor
in the bay of Paxos. We had not
time to land. The little luxuriant
island looked like a smaller Corfu, but
without its mountains. Its olive-woods
sloped down the hills in all directions
to the water's edge, and stood
“ With their green faces fix’d upon the flood.”
A few windmills clustered together on
a mound near the sea ; and their circling
sails harmonized with that general air
of industry and life which contrasted
with the Elysian stillness of Corfu’s
lawns and bays, where the natives
think it exertion enough to walk in the
sun, and their English protectors won
der that neither new roads nor schools
can inspire them with a little Dutch
industry or American energy.
\\ e reached the harbour of Santa
Maura, the ancient Leucadia, at about
four o clock in the evening. Landing
at the fort, and proceeding thence by a
long causeway and a ferry to the town,
we wandered on into the island till it
was late and dark. Our path lay prin
cipally through woods of olive; and
after some time the moon silvered the
distant mountain-tops wherever they
were visible through the gaps in the
forest, and rained its white light through
the twinkling foliage of the trees close
by us, and through the rifts in their
aged stems. At night we embarked
again; and 1 was left almost alone on
deck, to watch one of the most beauti
ful and pathetic of spectacles—a moon
setting at sea. It sank with a staid
pomp and magnificence analogous to
that of sunset, but far more melancho
ly in effect. The declining orb became
a dark orange-colour as it approached
the water. The clouds hung depressed
around it in heavy masses, wanly ting
ed, not irradiated, by its light; and the
sea, dark everywhere else, burned be
neath it with a gloomy fire. The moon
had all but disappeared, when the man
at the helm called out to me, “ That’s
Sappho’s Leap.” 1 turned, and its last
beam still played on a white rock, the ex
tremity of the Leucadian promontory.
That rock w ill be an object of interest
while the world lasts, associated as it
is with the memory of the most cele
brated woman who has ever lived ;
celebrated by a lov e-song and a love.
llow far her celebrity was deserved,
we shall never know; but travelling,
as w e do,through time as through space,
amid a world half-visionary and half
historical, we shall do best to regard
such records, as 1 did the material mon
ument, not with a near or captious scru
tiny, but at a distance and bv moon
light.
(Original Cssntjs.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
EGERIA:
Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside.
NEW SERIES.
XLIII.
Attachments. Our capacity to form
judicious attachments, does not so much
depend upon our capacity to think and
to observe, as upon the vigilance and
activity of rare instincts which have
been tutored by necessities and trials.
XLIV.
Judgment. It were no unchristian
mode of judging others, were we as
willing to suppose, in them, the merits
which we all fancy in ourselves.
XLV.
Self-Mirrors. The instinct which dis
cerns the evil motive in our neighbour,
proves the vice in question to be active
at the core of our own hearts.
XLVJ.
Female Virtue. The delicacy of fe
male virtue consists wholly in its un
consciousness. She to whom you can
teach nothing, has already learned the
worst knowledge of the human heart,
XLVII.
Old and Young. To the young the
past is an abyss; to the old an eminence.
It is before the latter that the abyss
presents itself, from the edge of which
they mournfully look back to the sun
ny heights which they never more shall
tread.
XL VIII.
Vice Short-lived. How much easier
would our virtues be of attainment, if
we could only remember always how
short-lived are all the enjoyments of
vice. Give them the whole seventy
years of our allotment, and how in.
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
finitely nothing is the whole sum of
being upon w hich even the most selfish
worldling would insist.
XLIX.
Child Angels. Why should there
not be child-angels—dear and infant
forms with wings—as well as those
which can tutor and direct us even
while they serve? It does not follow
that a perfect condition of happiness im
plies a monotonous equality of strength
and stature in the realms and princi
palities assigned to the abodes of the
blessed.
L.
The Future. It is strange that,
know ing nothing of the future our
selves, we should still be unwilling to
trust ourselves implicitly to that guid
ance which has already carried us so
far in safety.
LI.
Communities. Ancient communities
which, at the same time, remain sta
tionery, making no progress, are apt
always to refine at their own expense.
In such, the tastes ripen at the expense
of the energies; and refinement, when
it becomes fastidiousness, is fatal t<>
performance. The dangerous point t<>
which such a community can arrive, is
when it becomes habitually critical.
When the Athenian mob could teach
an actor the right reading, Athens was
no longer a power. A community of
critics will lack the courage to do any
tiling hut criticise. They will dread to
incur, by performance, the severities
which it has been their pleasure to pass
upon their neighbours. Such a com
munity w ill tell you of the burr in the
voice, the grammatical slip, of the un
couth expression of the great orator,
while all the world hangs with tears
and tumultuous delight upon the mag
nificent flow of his thought—the glori
ous sw'eep of his imagination. They
are quite too nice to be w ise—too cor
rect to be courageous —too solicitous
of their own utterance to hear the words
of wisdom or genius, or to gather truth
or inspiration from the lips of others.
C'jjt fturtj (T'rllfr.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE PLEIADES.
A TRUE TALE OF THE SEA.
It was a lovely night, “the moon
parting aside the light clouds’’ that
floated in the heavens, peered forth
with her brilliant lace. The sea, spark
ling beneath her earnest glance, seemed
like one vast casket of gems; each rip
ple appeared a diamond, and from each
billowy wave gleamed forth “the ever
changing opal’s light.” Truly, Lima
had never a more “shining bath in
which to lave” than on this night. For
hours I had stood watching “the sea of
fire” as it appeared in its brilliancy.
1 had never recollected seeing it more
dazzlingly bright; and calling to Henry
M., who was standing near, 1 invited
him to share the glorious spectacle with
me. He came, I thought, rather re
luctantly ; and after giving one rapid
glance, turned coldly away. J followed
him, for I had noticed that he shuddered
as if in horror at the sight. On similar
occasions I remembered his exhibiting
the same apparent disgust, and I felt
somewhat anxious to find out-'he cause.
He had seated himself when 1 reached
him, in thoughtful attitude, and placing
myself by his side, I gathered from
him the following thrilling incident:
It is some years since the vessel I
then belonged to, was taking in a cargo
of sugar at one of the West India
Islands. We w ere obliged to go from
our ship which was anchored at some
distance, to the landing, in boats, and
transport our cargo in that manner.—
The afternoon was a very windy one,
when two comrades and myself pushed
off in our boat, “ nothing fearing,” to
take in a load of sugar. We had got
out of sight of the vessel, when sud
denly there came upon us one of those
violent gusts so often experienced in a
tropical climate. It seemed as if the
“caverns of the wind” had been sud
denly opened, and their pent up prison
ers rushed out to scatter with their
footsteps the ocean’s foam around. The
boat reeled as the blast descended, which
sweeping over us with a mighty power,
hurled us from our places with a giant’s
strength. Oh ! the horror of that mo
ment, when J found myself tossing
about on the merciless deep, and how
cold the waves felt as dashing over me,
1 would rise and sink with their swell.
I had caught two pieces of timber that
were floating past, and in that manner
sustained myself, for the shore w r as at
too great a distance for me to reach it
by swimming. Upon looking around,
I found that my companions wore near
me bffeting the waves. For several
hours we tossed about, looking out
anxiously for a sail, and striving to
keep up each others fast drooping spi
rits. As long as 1 saw my companions
near, 1 felt buoyed up, and continued
to combat with the waves. But the
fearful agony of that moment 1 shall
never forget, when looking again at the
spot where J had last seen them tossing
wildly their hands as if imploring for
aid, I found that they had disappeared.
I called aloud, 1 implored them to an
swer; only one w r ord I said, to tell me
that I am not alone—alone on this hor
rible deep. But, Oh! my God, my
God, (said the speaker, overcome by
his emotion,) no voice replied, they
were gone, gone. The merciless waves
had opened and’ ingulfed them. Yes,
I was alone, alone to combat with the
fierce elements that seemed driving me
on to eternity ; alone w ith my last fail
ing strength, no voice near to cheer me,
no arm to uphold me. To add to my
horrors, night threw out her mantle,
covering the earth and sea. and soon
its shadows darkened all around. It
was the first quarter of the moon, and
oh ! how I looked up and blessed her,
as she hung out her brilliant crescent,
“ like a silver boat launched on a bound
less flood.”
While 1 lay gazing up to heaven
and thanking God for even this little
ray of light, which w r as enough to
enable me to distinguish surrounding
objects, I saw’ a shark moving its pon
derous form towards me. I felt as if di
vested of all powers of volition, and it
seemed as if 1 had been spared the fate
of my companions to meet w r ith this
more horrrible death. Slowly the crea
ture advanced, and then remained per
fectly motionless at a little distance,
watching me- I bent my gaze upon it,
and kept it fixed steadily, it moved
not, neither did I, save the gentle mo
tion of my body caused by the rocking
of the waves. All was still and silent,
the winds had murmured themselves to
sleep, the billows moved quietly as if
fearful of disturbing the slumbers of
those who slept beneath them. It must
have been about ten minuces, (to me it
seemed an “age of age*”) that, this
strange scene continued. At last J saw
the creature move grjdually off, and
with a deep plunge Oat agitated the
waters around, it smk beneath the
waves. After this I lay perfectly ex
hausted from terror and fatigue—l felt
that my wasted strength was fast giv
ing way, and I knew not what instant
the shark would return, eager for its
prey. Completely overcome by ex
haustion, you would scarcely believe
it, 1 slept—yes. slept,and dreamed. It
could not havebeen more than a minute
I lay in this deep slumber, and oh!
what a vision swept across my brain.
I thought that as I lay gazing up to
heaven, a delightful strain of music
filled the silent air, and slowly arose
that brilliant group of sisters—the fiiir
•Pleiades. They rested their “starry
instrument” in the azure skies, and
striking its shining cords, they breathed
forth a strain of peace and comfort.—
Again and again the delightful tones
breathed out, then died away “the faint
exquisite music of a dream,” until at
last no sound could be heard, but the
dying echoes that gradually expired
in their own sweet music. At this mo
ment an increased ripple in the waters,
aroused me from my deep, and I can
never forget the thrill of horror that
ran through every nerve, when I per
ceived the shark slowly moving around
me in circles, as if preparing to seize
upon its victim. Maddened almost to
insanity', I believe that 1 should have
made no effort at resistance, but on
raising an appealing look to heaven
to pray for strength to sustain me, I
saw glittering in all their beauty, the
Pleiades. In a moment my dream
rushed across my mind, and 1 fancied
I saw Hope written in burning letters
upon their brows, and nerved by that
sign, 1 prepared for the conflict. Silent
ly the horrible creature revolved around
me, and every instant would open its
huge mouth as if to ingulf me therein.
At last it came closer and 1 felt its cold
nose touch my face. In a moment,
with all the energy of despair, I rushed
upon it. The piece of timber I had un
der my right arm, now’ served me as a
weapon of defence, and sustaining my
self by the left, I fought with the other.
For about an hour 1 struggled with the
fierce monster. 1 beat it about the
head, trying to stun it, and every fresh
dart it would make at me, 1 would re
new the attack with increased vigour.
I screamed with all my strength to at
tract any vessel that might be near, un
til at last it seemed as if all strength
was deserting me. It was a desperate
and a fearful struggle between life and
death, and 1 dared not relax one mo
ment, for that instant would hurl me
to destruction. But even during that
long and terrible scene, the Pleiades
seemed ever before me, and 1 would
murmur Pleiades, Pleiades, as if I
thought that bright band would come
down and succour me. At last I made
a vigorous effort, and gathering up my
remaining strength, 1 dealt the monster
a blow on the head, that seemed to stun
it. It remained perfectly motionless
for an instant, and then I saw’ it move
gradually off, and disappear in the
depths of its ocean home. I was so
completely exhausted after this, that J
had scarcely strength to breathe, but
yet was compelled to make an effort to
keep myself from sinking. Worn out
as I was, I dared not close my eyes,
but kept them fixed upon “the starry
lyre of the sisters,” which seemed to
be echoing back my murmurings of
Pleiades, Pleiades. As I lay tossing
about on the deep, it appeared to me,
memory was gifted with ten thousand
eyes, that glancing back, brought to
light every action of my past exis
tence. Not a deed, not a thought, but
sprung to life once more, every friend
I had know n, every hope I had cherish
ed, every sorrow I had wept over, seem
ed actually present. Then for the first
time, did the freak that made me leave
the comforts of a refined and luxurious
home appear a crime; and again did
the tearful voice, and the subdued “good
bye” of my Mother, sound mournfully
distinct; as it seemed to blend itself
with the dreamy sound of the waves.
While I thus pondered on the past, the
lovely Pleiades gradually “ sunk into
their ocean bower,” and “night with all
her starry host” passing away, morning
broke upon me. Upon looking around
at the vast waste of waters that en
compassed me, I espied a soil , my heart
beat joyously, again I seemed endowed
with supernatural energy, and I called
aloud for assistance. My cries were
heard, and in an instant a boat was
lowered, and came wending its w T ay
through the waters. I watched it with
intense anxiety. As soon as it reached
me l was taken in, and on arriving at
the ship I saw painted upon it in large
golden letters its name—“ The Plei
ades !” Yes ! that glorious sisterhood
upon whom I had anchored as it were,
my hopes, was to me the harbinger of
life, the ark of safety from the storm.
Do you w onder now that the glitter
ing of the waves is to me but as a dark
shadow, and that l shudder as 1 gaze in
to their fearful depths ? And do you
deem it a marvel that 1 should turn
away my glance from the waves be
low, to the skies above, w here pictured
in brightness glimmer that group of
my vision—the Pleiades —who on that
fearful night hung out their “golden
sign of promise” on high. Yes, “ the
stars that gem the deep midnight” have
for me more beauty, than all the bright
ness that silvers the ocean’s foam, for
truly did their “ footsteps pass like an
gels o’er the sky,” when on that fearful
night there was breathed to me a les
son of Hope, from the bright, the beau
tiful Pleiades. E. B. C.
Original
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
NO MORE.
No more, oh! requiem pealed from hearts fast
breaking,
O’er faded hopes that strew life’s way,
Whose song, as their rapid flight they’re taking,
Has but one sad burthen for its lay,
“ We return no more.”
No more shall the wanderer, to his home re
turning,
Be clasped to hearts that yearn for him ;
In vain the welcome fire on the hearth-stone
burning,
Its light will only flicker and grow dim,
“ He’ll return no more.”
No more—the young form, from earth fast
fleeting,
Asa light cloudlet passes from the sky,
Oh! never more will health those pale cheeks
greeting,
Throw over them the rose’s brilliant dye,
No more—no more.
No more—the sad one murmurs when crushed,
forsaken,
Some cold voice bids her love again,
She looks up, and says, oh! this lone heart is
breaking,
The love it lavished all in vain,
Can return no more.
Oh! never more, are our wearied souls sad
breathings,
Will youth’s glad feelings to us return;
Life’s garland is all of sorrows wreathings,
The lights are out that on our path did burn.
To be lit no more.
E. B. C.
(Dnr I'rttcrs.
Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette.
White Sulphur Springs, f
Hall county, Ga. \
My Dear Richards:
I do not intend to bore you with a
long communication, so be quiet and
let me have your button hole a mo
ment. In my last, 1 guessed at the
temperature of the water of the Sulphur
Springs, but my guessing was not quite
so cute as some Yankee guesses that I
wot of, for I find that it —the water —
is 59°. More than this, 1 intended to
have told -you of the improvements
made in the grounds the past season—
of the bowling alley, now in process of
erection —of the bathing facilities—of
the Chalybeate Spring—and of the
Limestone Spring, one and a half miles
this side of Gainesville.
Gainesville, you know—or if you
don’t, I’ll tell you—is 1218 feet above
the ocean —N. lat. 34° 21, \\ . long.
7 —high enough, in all conscience,
to suit the most fastidious taste, and
such a delightful climate! You can
form no idea how easily one’s lungs
act in this region until you get here.
They have their own time of it, and
one is obliged to breathe whether he
would or no. And then the music of
the birds, as it swells from out the rich
foliage of the forest trees, and the
opening buds and the open flowers, the
rills chanting to the trees, and they
whispering back again, all “Breathing
calm freshness o’er the fair earth’s
breast”—stir up the blood, paint the
cheeks, stimulate digestion, and make
one vigorous and strong. According
to an analysis of the Limestone Spring,
made in October, 1840, by Dr Cotting,
State Geologist, there are the following
substances in its w ater, viz:
Carbonate of Lime.
Carbonate of Magnesia.
Peroxide of Iron.
A trace of Sulphate of Lime and
Iron.
Carbonic Acid Gas.
Mean temperature of the waters 58° ;
Specific gravity, 1.091. I am told that
Dr. Schreiber made an analysis of the
White Sulphur Spring, but I have not
been able to obtain it. lam informed
that he found more Lime in it than in
the Limestone. The waters of this
Spring should be resorted to by dyspep
tics, by persons afflicted with deopsy,
chronic rheumatism, or with cutaneous
affections. My friend, Dr. Branham,
tells me that previous to last year, he
thought more favourably of the Indian
Spring waters, and so expressed him
self, but that he now thinks differently.
The country here is very broken.
Perched on one hill is the neat cottage
of the late Dr. Few; on another, that
of that Dr. Branham; and at a little
distance, on a very commanding hill,
that of Dr. Alston, of your State.
Near by is a small church, and scattered
here and there are a number of small
cabins.
The route to the Spring is a pleasant
one. Travellers who have never visit
ed the Stone Mountain, can gratify
their curiosity and love for the wonder
ful by taking it (if they have capacity)
in the trip. That hero of the whip,
Holmes, has a fine line of coaches,
which are as comfortable as any in
Georgia. But, quantum suf.
Yours,as ever, MEDICUS.
I'ljt Inrrrii Slltnr.
From the Churchman.
SUNDAY EVENING.
How calmly sinks the parting sun !
Yet twilight lingers still,
And, beautiful as dreams of heaven.
It slumbers on the hill;
Earth sleeps, with all her glorious things.
Beneath the Holy Spirit’s wings,
And, rendering back the hues above.
Seems resting in a trance of love.
Round yonder rocks the forest trees
In shadowy groups recline,
Eike saints at evening bowed in prayer
Around their holy shrine ;
And through their leaves the night winds blow
So calm and still—their music low
Seems the mysterious voice of prayer
Soft echoed on the evening air.
And yonder western throngs of clouds.
Retiring from the sky,
So calmly move, so softly glow.
They seem to Fancy’s eye,
Bright creatures of a better sphere
Come down at noon to worship here.
And from their sacrifice of love
Returning to their home above.
The blue isles of the golden sea.
The night arch floating high,
The flowers that gaze upon the heavens.
The bright streams leaping by,
Are living with Religion—deep
On earth and sea its glories sleep,
And mingle with the starlight rays.
Like the soft light of parted days.
The spirit of holy eve
Comes through the silent air
To feeling’s hidden spring, and wakes
A gush of music there!
And the far depths of ether beam
So passing fair, we almost dream
That we can rise and wander through
Their open paths of trackless blue.
Each soul is filled with glorious dreams,
Each pulse is beating wild,
And thought is soaring to the shrine
Os glory undefiled!
And holy aspirations start
Like blessed angels from the heart,
And bind—for earth’s dark ties are riven—
Our spirits to the gates of heaven.
Lesson for Sunday, June 23.
THE CONTEMPLATION OF CHRIST.
“Consider the Apostle and High Priest of our profession,
Christ Jesus.” —Heb. iii. 1.
Nature presents us with a lovely
mirror, in which we see much of God
in his nature and perfections; but the
view is contracted, when compared with
the brighter exhibition furnished in the
glass of the Gospel, where his whole
name appears complete, and his attri
butes shine with a united, harmonious
and magnificent splendor. The glory
of God is best seen in the face of Christ.
Here is
A Glokious subject. The Apos
tle and High Priest of our profession,
Christ Jesus.” Look at the terms which
Paul uses in speaking of the Saviour:
“ The Apostle,” that is, one sent of
God. Jesus was sent on a glorious
work,, involving the endless happiness
of millions of the human race. “ The
High Priest of our profession.” Our
profession if we are true Christians, is
a holy, honourable, solemn and sacred
one; and Jesus, as our High Priest,
has made an atonement, and is now in
terceding for his people. They are
priests, but he is the High Priest; they
offer sacrifices, but he presents them to
the Father. As an Apostle, he was su
perior to Moses, and as an High Priest
greater than Aaron. The design of
the Epistle to the Hebrews is to prove
this.
A solemn injunction. “ Consider”
his pre-existent glory, his sovereign
grace, his matchless excellencies, and
his boundless dominion. Consider the
scenes of his life, the severity of his
sufferings, the circumstances of his
death, the triumph of his resurrection
and ascension, and the magnitude of his
work. Consider the example he has
left, the ordinances lie has enjoined, and
the privileges he has entailed on his
people. Wrapt in a contemplation so
glorious, brighter beams than those of
the natural sun shall irradiate your
path; instead of the desolating tern
pest, you shall have the refreshing
shower; sweet and fragrant flowers
shall be seen here and there, among the
thorns and briers of the w ilderness. —
Jordan’s streams shall not ingulf you,
for your High Priest has gone before,
and is waiting to welcome you on the
peaceful shores of the celestial Canaan.
Will you not consider Him !
ilonttrill (Erlrrtir.
CREATION OF MAN.
The North British Review in an arti
ticle on Hugh Miller’s “Footprints of
the Creator,” speaking of the late geo
logical period of Man’s creation, says:
“The large brain of man would have
been, as Mr. Miller states, quite out of
place in the earlier ages of creation.
He could not have jived amid the
storms, and earthquakes, and eruptions
of a world in the act of formation.
His timid nature would have quail
ed under the multifarious convulsions
around him. The thunder of a boil
ing and tempest-driven ocean would
have roused him from his couch, as its
waters rushed upon him at midnight;
torrents of lava or of mud w ould have
chased him from his hearth; and if he
escaped the pestilence of animal and
vegetable death, the vapour of the sub
terranean alembics w ould have suffo
cated him in the open air. The house
of the child of civilization was not
ready for his reception. The stones
that were to build and roof it, had not
quitted their native beds. The coal
that w r as to light and heat it was either
green in the forest or blackening in the
storehouse of the deep. The iron that
was to defend him from external vio
lence lay buried in the ground; and the
rich materials of civilization, even if
they w’ere ready, had not been cast
within his reach, from the hollow r of his
Creator’s hand. But if man could have
existed amid catastrophes so tremen
dous and privations so severe, his pre
sence was not required, for his intel
lectual powers could have had no
suitable employment. Creation was
the field on which his industry was to
be exercised and his genius unfolded;
and that Divine reason which was to
analyze and combine, would have sunk
into sloth before the elements of mat
ter were let loose from their prison
house, and Nature had cast them in
her mould. But though there was no
specific time in this vast chronology
which we could fix as appropriate for
the appearance of man, yet we now
perceive that he entered with dignity
at its close. W hen the sea was gath
ered into one place, and the dry land
appeared, a secure footing was pro
vided for our race. When the waters
above the firmament were separated
from the waters below it, and when the
light which ruled the day, and the light
which ruled the night, were displayed
in the azure sky, man could look up
ward into the infinite of space, as he
looked downward into the infinite in
time. When the living creature after
his kind appeared in the fields, and the
seed-bearing herb covered the earth,
human genius was enabled to estimate
the power, and wisdom, and bounty of
its Author; —and human labour re
ceived and accepted its commission,
when it was declared from on high that
seed-time and harvest should never
cease upon the earth.
“But though the early world was not
made for the reception of man. it was
well adapted to the habits and instincts
of inferior natures. Fishes and rep
tiles were well fitted to enjoy life on a
planet partially consolidated and shaken
with earthquakes. Birds could live and
multiply under circumstances which
would be unfavourable to terrestial ani
mals; and when the earth was far ad
vanced in its preparation for man, and
the land sufficiently dried and consoli
dated to sustain the weight of heavy
and gigantic animals, the mammiferous
quadrupeds were admitted to its plains.
But it is a curious fact, that the} were
no sooner admitted as a group, than
the reptiles appear in greatly diminish
ed proportions, while those of the
gigantic class are reduced in size as
well as number. Mr. Miller has as
signed a plausible reason for this re
markable change, llad the gigantic
reptiles been contemporaneous with
the higher herbivorous, and the more
powerful carnivorous animals, an ex
terminatory war must have taken place
between them; and the jungles and
the dense forests which they occupied
would have been a scene of cruelty and
suffering incompatible with the benevo
lence of the Creator. The reptile was
therefore removed from his place in the
front of creation; and no sooner were
‘creatures of a higher order introduced
into the consolidating and fast-ripening
planet, than his bulk shrank, and his
strength lessened, and he assumed a
humility of form and aspect at once in
keeping with his reduced circumstances,
and compatible with the general wel
fare.
From the Literary World.
THE MISSISSIPPI TO THE PENOBSCOT.
My dear Penobscot:
That you have lately had no com
munication with your Father—the Fa
ther of Waters —has not been my fault;
and now you are not indebted to my
paternal solicitude only for these brief
messages, but also to the eccentricities
of a chemist, who dipped up the cask
full containing these reflections to mix
with your own bright and crystal bab
blings.
I have read in some newspapers hid
away in my bosom, and stolen from the
cabin of a snagged steamboat, that the
wretched men of your neighborhood
are about damming you upon a large
scale, and curbing your mettle at vari
ous points into an unpleasant stagna
tion ; to stun you with the noise and
whirl of machinery; to blacken your
hopes with filthy dyes ; and stain your
virgin purity with mountains of clay
and charred timber. I can advise you
in such a crisis, for 1, too, have been
hardly dealt with, and have only lately
learned how to punish our oppressor,
man, for his various audacities and con
tumelies. As you well learned, before
civilization with its barriers of con
fusd noise intercepted our conversa
tions, 1 was once freer than now. 1
could stretch myself, when wearied,
over miles and miles of land ; I could
venture on a picnic far into the prime
val forests of the country ; I could play
pranks w ith the war-parties and tribe
hunts of the early Indians; I could
surprise the deer at his drinking, and
and overpower him where the arrows
of pursuers were hurtless; if the great
gulf, to whose luxury 1 administer, at
any time rutiled my temper, my liquid
products sought outlet into the many
bays about him. But the conqueror
came, and fenced me in, and dug into
my very vitals, and gave me heavy
burdens to bear, and hideous noises to
listen to, and bade my roving propen
sities cease, while my course of life
was made as monotonous as that of
our bastard relatives the Canals. For
how many years have 1 fretted and
fumed at all these outrages! I have
leagued with your remote brother, the
Missouri, (a wild, untamed fellow), the
(>hio (a gentle and lovely daughter),
the Red River (a perfect savage), the
Yellow Stone (a spiritless vagabond),
and with increased strength made re
peated efforts to regain my former
liberty. Perhaps in your quiet nook
you may have heard of the fright I
last year gave to my largest city ; and
how bravely 1 fought it week after
week, until compelled by sheer ex
haustion to give in. (I ruined the re
putation of two surveyors—that's some
consolation.) But this year the victory
is mine. I have avoided the city; it
contains material too powerful. I have
directed my forces against interior
places. 1 could contain myself no
longer. Was I not choking with the
secretions of old age? Was I not be
coming asthmatic, through compression
ot my lungs? Were not my oppres
sors threatening to dredge out the Falls
of St. Anthony, and hammer and forge
me far towards my very source? I
made my selections; and this early
spring-time made a dash at Vicksburg,
and at the Parishes lower down.—
Houses and sugar factories, cotton and
cane, have all been swept before me.
lam as free as ever. I have expanded
myself twenty miles at one point. I
have a dozen new channels for future
use at other points. 1 have united my
self as of old to Lake Ponchartrain,
and thrilling, even in my old age, are
her kisses. I may again be vanquished
and imprisoned. But, oh my oppressor
man, leave me my fond Lake to meet I
day after day, and I will withdraw f or
ever from the contest.
You, my Penobscot, are young and
lusty. Keep cool for a time. Let the
timbers fall across you, and the stones
and choke you. Bide your re .
venge. The winter is coming. Freeze
hard; freeze low; melt quickly; sun,,
mon all your energies; quicken the
flow of your arteries; come out in
swelling grandeur; and all the timbers
and masonry of the land may not re
sist you.
I would say more. But the cask of
the chemist is full, and my words would
be wasted. Imagine the waving of
adieux, from your almost heart-broken
b ather, Mississippi.
t'tif florist.
NEW AND RARE PLANTS.
Zanschencria Californica. —A ven
showy plant, lately found growing in
the fields near Monterey. It forms a
thick bushy mass, with its numerous
slender branches, and produces a bril
liant effect b\ its multitude of ga\
orange, scarlet flowers, somewhat"re
sembling that of the. Caura. It has
been cultivated abroad as a hard}
green-house plant, and taken up and
sheltered in a cold frame, or green
house in the winter. If, as seems pro
bable, this plant proves hardy with us.
it will be a great acquisition to the
flower garden, it grows about three
feet high, very bushy, with perennial
stems, woody at the base; natural order
Onetheracese.
Fuchsia Serratifolia. —This distinct
and beautiful Fuchsia is better worthv
of second trial here than any other,
and, if it answer to the character given
by \ an Houtte, of “allowing amateurs
of all classes to enjoy its beauty, be
cause it grows and flowers freely in the
open air all summer,” it will become a
favourite at once in this country, where
none of the new Fuchsias succeeded so
well, except with shelter in summer.
It is a native of New Grenada and the
countries bordering on Andes, and a
cold frame is sufficient to protect it in
winter. The plant is of handsome
growth, the leaves boldly seri ated, the
lower large, with rosy cal fixes touched
with green, a fine open corolla of an
orange colour. It should, for trial in
the country, be planted about the mid
dle of May, in a situation sheltered
from winds; a deep, moist, rich border,
with the surface mulched to retain
moisture.
Fuchsia Spectabalis. —The Queen of
Fuchsias, this superb species has been
called by Dr. Lindley. The flowers
are so large and the petels so expanded,
that they might at first sight almost
be taken for the oleander. The colour
is a rich, lively red, heightened by the
pure white of the very large stigma.
The foliage is large and broad and a
dark, velvety, green colour. This was
discovered in the Andes of Quito,
where it grows four feet high in shad\
woods. It requires the same treatment
as other green-house species, and plants
of it are advertised for sale by Messrs.
Parsons, and other leading growers.
[Downing's Horde ulturist.
Draining Flower Pots.— Of all cir
cumstances connected with the culture
of flowering plants in pots, none b
more important and less regarded than
draining; that is, putting a stratum of
broken pots, broken tiles or broken
bricks, of a soft quality, in the bottom
of the pots, underneath the soil and
roots of the plants; potsherds should
be broken down till the largest does not
exceed the size of a small bean—the
powder occupying the topmost part.
Asa general rule, every pot should
have nearly one-fourth of its depth oc
cupied by this material.
Flowers are considered the sweetest
of all nature’s smiles. Who does not
love—what heart so callous to all feel
ings—as not to yield to the brighten
ing influences of the children of showers
and sunny beams.
fttk ‘lV'iirtlj liitDtnitig.
If a woman, who is consumptive,
become enceinte , she will immediately
seem to mend, and may live for years,
bearing many children. Directly she
ceases to conceive, however, she will
fall ti victim to the awful disease, which
has only been lying latent in her.—
Again, if a woman happens to break a
bone, while enceinte , union of its ends
will be delayed until after her delivery.
It would appear that two actions can
not take place in her body at the same
time, and that nature has wisely or
dained that nothing shall interfere with
the process of procreation.
\ enous blood is dark crimson; but
restored to its red colour by passing
through the lungs.
The heart, by its muscular contrac
tion, distributes two ounces of blood
from seventy to eightv times in a
minute.
Oil of walnuts and walnut soap are
specifics for the removal of pimples and
and cutaneous blotches.
Plato was at one time a slave, and
was redeemed by his pupils for less
than four hundred dollars.
At the Lisbon earthquake, Bristo;
Hot Wells became red. A well in
King’s Wood became black, and the
Avon flowed back while rising.
Sarsaparilla is the root of a Peruvian
plant called smilax. Sassafras is t)i r
wood of a tree of the laurel kind.
Chocolate is a preparation from the
cocoa-nut, which is ground into powder
made into cakes, and flavoured with
spices.
The bones of a bird are hollow at 1 ,
filled with air. If a string be tk’
tightly round the neck of a sparrow.y 11
that no air can enter its lungs, and
leg be broken, it will live. Re*P' rat: ’ ‘
will take place by means ot the bro >< “
bone.
The Neptunian or Wernerian the<\
teaches that all the terrestial format!’
arise from water; while the Pluto’--
theory ascribes the whole to fire. 1 ‘
haps both may be partly true; wt‘ tel
as a constant,*and fire as an occasional
cause. But if combustion is the sob
cause of water, than the Plutonist:
claim priority.