the effect of looming to be so strong, that, in the language of Mr. Jefferson, it had almost 'subsided in the horizon.' The comb of the ridge only was perceptible, and presented the appearance of small tufts or points. This, I think, goes to confirm the suggestion before made, that the vapor ascends in columns. The very jagged appearance of those parts of the ridge, seen under such circumstances, I deem conclusive on this point. The steam from boiling water takes that shape, and still farther illustrates the position.

If Mr. Jefferson had taken pains to note the state of the atmosphere, during those periods when the mountain of which he speaks presented those whimsical appearances, I am well persuaded that he would have found them at no time visible, except during the prevalence of such a state of the atmosphere as I have mentioned. Indeed I hesitate not to say, that the principles of philosophy will authorize no other conclusion. And whether on land or on water, the effect is the same, since it must be owing to the same cause. The most skeptical can satisfy themselves in relation to this matter, with very little trouble.

In my next number, I shall present some facts in relation to the transmission of sound through the air, and offer a theory of thundershowers, and of west and north-west winds.

AN OAK BY THE WAY-SIDE.

THOU rear'st aloft thy giant limbs, as if to grasp the skies,
And 'neath thy branches, far and wide thine outspread shadow lies;
Thou hast battled with the storms of old, yet dust is on thy leaves,
And his web within their deep green folds, the venomed insect weaves;
Thy trunk some rude unlettered churl hath seamed with many a scar,
But the hand of Time hath stamped decay on thee more deeply far:
Yet proudly still thou rear'st thy head, as thou all change defied -
How like earth's mighty ones thou art, lone tree by the way-side!

And hark! a shout sounds o'er the hill!- they come, the urchin-rout,
With screaming whoop, and loud halloo, from school poured wildly out;
They halt beneath thy spreading limbs, and many a ragged crown
Again with deafening shout is flung, to bring thy high fruit down:
The wanderer, worn and travel-soiled, who rests beneath thee now,
Hies on his way, forgetting e'en to bless thy shady bough.

Hadst thou but kept thy forest-haunts, contented with the rest
To wear thy coat of goodly green, nor thus, with towering crest,
Stood forth upon the world's highway alone, amid the coil
Of life, the bustle and the hum, the whirl and wild turmoil,
Daring the tempest - thou, old oak, for ages might have stood,
Time-honored 'mid thy sturdy sons, the patriarch of the wood;
Nor then, as now perchance, have wept thy faded leaves, and died
Alone! alone, a withered tree, upon the chill way-side!

New-York, November, 1837.

IONE.

I have several times since remarked the fact, that the ridge mentioned above was wholly invisible, and that too in an unusually serene state of the atmosphere, which, however, was highly refrigerative.

DEPARTING

·

TIME.

BY THE AUTHOR OF ERATO,' AND OTHER POEMS.

'ANOTHER, AND ANOTHER!' - Hoary Time!
How fleetly come, and how unheeded go,
Thine emissaries, Years! Thou art to few
A riddle that is read; and yet to most
A secret that hath not the power to move
Their idle curiosity, or win

So much attention in a varying year,

As is at Folly's glass, or Fashion's shrine,
Each day bestowed-ay, often every hour.
The knell of thy departure sometimes rings
Full on the quickened ear; and startled Thought,
Leaping bewildered from the airy halls
Where most it doth inhabit, for a while
Fixes its vision on the awing gulf

In which thou disappearest, year by year:
But soon, unused to contemplating aught
So vast and terrible, it shrinketh back,
And stealeth to its airy halls again.

Oh, it is sad to think how unobserved

Thou glidest onward; for in thee man works

His all of good and evil - weal and wo!

Thou gone, there comes no future chance of change :
Fixed is the destiny- written the doom -
Indelible the record! Hark!

Again,

Full-toned and solemn, from thine awful gulf,
Comes up that voice, which striketh not the ear,
But in the brain rings long and thrillingly:
'Another, and another!' Echoed back
From the rapt mind, the universe doth seem,
For the lone moment, without other tone:

6 Another and another!' Knell of hope

To some, of life to others, and of Time
To all! And yet, unresting voyager!
Man notes thy progress, only as he notes
The still career of pestilence by what
Thou strikest, in thine onward march, to earth,
And strewest in thy path an utter wreck!

We make or mar Life's blessings! We do hold
Within ourselves the measure of our fate;

And as we fill it with the vanities
And shadows of existence, or the things
Of comeliness and substance, will it yield
Bliss-giving good, or soul-destroying ill.

The world is beautiful. Thought ne'er hath framed,
In its most frenzied moments, vale so sweet,
Mountain so towering, sunny stream so fair,
Torrent so grand, abysm so awful, cliff
So dizzying, parterre so richly gemm'd,
With varying flowers, or velvet slope so soft,

But Nature, in her visible works, doth far
Surpass them all. And this so glorious world,
Man's heritage and home is. Gift abused!
Fortune unmerited! How like a god's

Might be his bearing here! Or, nobler thought!
How much of angel-purity, and joy
Celestial, might his mortal state afford,
Which now is poisoned by all evil things,
Through his perverseness. Not to ease the pain,
Lighten the burthen, meliorate the lot,

Or soothe the grief of his poor fellow-man,
Doth he esteem his duty; but to roam

The earth in search of treasure, while there is
A nook unvisited- to grasp, and grasp,
Until the arm is nerveless-to exact,

Even from Want, the pittance that might save-
To wring from houseless Beggary its groat,
And claim its tatters and, with miser-care,
To hoard ill-gotten gains, while Wretchedness,
Squalid and shivering, seeks his door in vain!
Alas! that lay so sombre should be sung
Mid the rejoicings for the new-born year!
But man hath bowed his spirit in the dust
Forgotten his high birth, and destiny
Exalted and sublime - debased his name
And noble nature and so long on earth
Bent his keen eye, and fix'd his scheming mind,
That he doth think THIS is the house in which

He shall abide for ever! Therefore 't is,
That in the colors of awakening truth
Fancy now dips her pencil, and portrays
That which may startle. Hark!

Again - again:

'Another, and another!' Thrice, now- thrice,
That solemn-sounding knell hath in my brain
Rang thrillingly and long. Oh, would this lay
Could here and there a thoughtful bosom find,
And but a tithe impart of what I feel
Working upon my spirit now!

What! - mirth,

REMINISCENCES.

'My Mother! when I learned that thou wast dead,
How sad and fearful were the tears I shed!

.

I heard the bell tolled on thy funeral day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And turning from my nursery-window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adien.'

COWPER.

How well I can remember one Saturday afternoon, when seated with two or three other children in my little play-room-while we dressed and talked to our dolls, and spread our tea-things, and affected all the importance that we had ever observed in our mamas on such occasions - how well I can remember saying: 'I will not marry until I am twenty. This was the age at which my mother married.' Surely this was the language of prophecy, though rather a far calculation for a miss of eight years. That I was to be married, seemed as certain as that I was one day to become a woman; and though the mystic tie was not investigated, even in thought, yet my mother married; and that I was to do the same, when arrived at womanhood, did not admit of a doubt. So naturally and beautifully does woman fall into her appropriate sphere! And happy are those daughters who find in their mother's example a pattern to imitate in all respects.

I was an only child, and my constant play-fellow and school-mate was my cousin Ann. She was a year older than myself, lively and good-natured, and loved any thing better than getting her lessons. She courageously protected my shrinking timidity, when in danger of oppression from older and more confident girls. Our obligations were mutual, for she invariably applied for my assistance in her neglected tasks. 'Do help me out in this composition!' or 'Just finish this sum for me, my dear coz!' and putting her slate in my hand, away she flew to a laughing group, the gayest of them all. My solitary amusement was reading. Blessings on him who first invented sleep!' says Sancho Panza. I would say, Blessings on him who first invented the art of printing.' What inestimable treasures are books, those 'silent but eloquent companions!' What stores of rational amusement what worlds of delight and instruction — what never-failing sources of enjoyment-varying

'From grave to gay, from lively to severe!'

Cultivate in the young a taste for correct literature, and you have already opened to them the door to knowledge and to virtue. I have culled from almost every source, and do not recollect the time when an interesting book would not detain me from play, or even from my meals. With a volume of the Arabian Nights' in my lap, and my cheek resting on my hand, Come to your dinner, my love,' was unheeded, though repeated for the twentieth time; and until something in a louder tone, as: Those books shall be put away!' roused my attention, I was deaf and blind to all external objects. My mother

was extremely judicious in the choice of the books she placed in my hands, yet I constantly borrowed from the girls at school. These were often trash, and served to excite an imagination perhaps naturally but too active, and encouraged a strong predisposition to romance. At one time, I was an Amanda; then a Helen Mar, or a Lady something or other; for I placed myself in the situation of whatever heroine I read of. So strong has been the impression at times, that my very brow has ached on my pillow, in the vain endeavor to banish these fancies from my heated brain. It was during one of these moods, that a girl at school remarked to my cousin : 'Your cousin is very proud; she acts as if she felt herself above us.' That it gave rise to many unconscious absurdities in my conduct, I have no doubt; just as a tragedian will carry the steps and deportment of a king from the scene of their enactment.

As I have said, I was an only daughter, and in no little danger of being spoiled by indulgence, when the death of my father roused me from a delightful dream of romance and of innocence. I was not yet nine, and my beloved mother, struck with the blow, was followed to the same tomb in fifteen months. Though sensible of the loss which was to throw a shade of sadness over my future years, yet, removed to the house of my grandfather, I did not then realize it in its full extent. Beside my grand-parents, there remained at home, in single blessedness, two aunts, the eldest of whom not only ruled her father's house, but in some measure those of her married brothers and sisters. It was soon settled that I was to be sent to a new school. This was my first trouble. Many of the young ladies I was sincerely attached to; and my cousin, who had been a sister to me, how could I be separated from her? Tears were vain, and it was decided that writing, arithmetic, and grammar, were all the studies necessary for me to attend to. I had commenced French, previous to my mother's death, but, 'It will be of no earthly use to her,' said my aunt. Geography was mentioned: 'If she studies the geography of her own house, and understands that, it will be of more importance,' persisted the uncompromising stickler for good housewifery. She was overruled in this; and though dancing was decidedly objected to, I subsequently took lessons in music.

W- Academy was much larger than the school I had left; and the first day of my entrance, as I looked around on the different teachers, and saw under their care nearly a hundred young faces, not one of which I knew, I felt that I was indeed alone in this little world of strangers; and when the principal entered, his near resemblance to my late father completely overcame me. I burst into an involuntary flood of tears. What is the matter with her?' was repeated on every side. I could only sob out to a young lady, who

This opinion of my good aunt was forcibly called to mind lately, on hearing a lady, who had lived eight years in a house, declare, that she really did not know if there was a cellar belonging to it or not. This lady was not so ignorant as she pretended; but she feared it might detract from her refinement to be supposed to have an acquaintance with either the kitchen or the cellar. Her ideas of gentility were about as accurate as those of a young lady, who a short time since, to settle the disputed respectability of a family recently moved into the place, said she thought they must be genteel people, for in riding past their house, she saw mahogany chairs by the window!