Part 6

_Fall of rain._--An account of the water that fell in rain and snow, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, from 1812 to 1819, inclusive, and the number of days, in each year, in which there was falling weather.

1819.

_Years._ _Inches._ _Days._ _Months._ _Inches._ _Days._

1812, 33-4/8 69 January, 1/8 1

1813, 40-1/8 75 Feb'ry, 2-5/8 6

1814, 52-2/8 74 March, 2-6/8 8

1815, 37-7/8 57 April, 2-1/8 5

1816, 30-7/8 70 May, 3-1/8 8

1817, 40-6/8 77 June, 1 4

1818, 36-4/8 68 July, 4-3/8 9

August, 8-3/8 11

Sept. 1-4/8 4

October, 1 2

Nov. 1-2/8 3

Dec. 2-2/8 5 ______ __

31-4/8 66

_London Breweries._--The Breweries of London, (says a late traveller over the British Island,) "may justly be ranked amongst its greatest curiosities, and the establishment of Messrs. Barclay &. Co. is one of the most considerable. A steam engine, of the power of 30 horses, does the greatest part of the work; for although there are nearly two hundred men employed, and a great number of horses, these are mostly for the out-door work; the interior appears quite solitary. Large rakes with chains moved by an invisible power, stir to the very bottom the immense mass of malt in boilers 12 feet deep; elevators which nobody touches, carry up to the summit of the building 2500 bushels of malt a day, thence distributed through wooden channels to the different places where the process is carried on.--Casks of truly gigantic sizes are ready to receive the liquors. One of them contains 3000 barrels. Now, at 8 barrels to a ton, this is equal to a ship of 375 tons. By the side of this are other enormous vessels, the smallest of which, containing about 800 barrels, are worth when full 3000 pounds sterling each. All this immense apparatus is so arranged that every part is accessible, and the whole is contained under one roof. The stock of liquor is estimated at 300,000 pounds; the barrels alone in which it is carried about to customers cost 80,000 pounds; and the whole capital is not less than half a million sterling; 250,000 barrels of beer are sold annually, which would load a fleet of 150 merchantmen, of the burden of 200 tons each. The building is incombustible--walls of brick, and floors of iron.

_Africa._--Several attempts are now making to explore the interior of this country, and a scheme for opening a grand commercial intercourse with Tumbuctoo and Sudan, has been planned, which promises success through the protection of the emperor of Morocco.

_London Nov. 30._--We learn by a letter from the celebrated Italian traveller, _M. Belzoni_, that he has recently performed a journey into the deserts of Lybia, to examine there the environs and ruins of the temple Jupiter Ammon. This journey lasted 50 days, during which time he saw different ruins, several temples and other remarkable objects. After having traversed the desert, he arrived at the place where the temple is supposed to have existed. The country was fertile, and he found some villages, but the inhabitants of the country, where, perhaps, for several centuries a European had not been seen, were very savage, and would not suffer him to pass, because they imagined that he was looking for treasures in their country. The ruins of the temple he discovered had been employed in the construction of another temple, which is already in part destroyed, and in forming the foundation of the cabins of a village. The most remarkable thing, however, discovered by _M. Belzoni_ in those environs is a spring of living water, of which _Herodotus_ makes mention, warm in the morning and evening, cold at noon, and boiling hot at midnight. _M. Belzoni_ has brought away some of this water for the purpose of analysing it.

_A Hint to Smokers._--The city of New York, is said to contain 130,000 inhabitants. Let 50,000 of them smoke only three Spanish segars a day, and it will amount in the year to the enormous sum of $1,095,000; a sum sufficient to pay the salary of the President and Vice-President of the United States, the Secretaries of State, of the Treasury, of war, and of the Navy, and of the Attorney, General, for 20 years, 10 months, and 8 days.

[_N. Y. Gazette._

_Extraordinary Longevity._--Dr. KNOTT MARTIN, of Marblehead, who died at the age of 88, left seven children by his first wife, who are now living, at the following ages, viz:--

Thomas, aged 88--Knott, aged 87--Eleanor, aged 80--Hannah, aged 77--Richard, aged 73--Arnold, aged 71--and Mary, aged 69. The aggregate of the seven being 554, and the average 78 years.

Also, by his second wife, Betsey, aged 53, and Bartholomew, aged 51. He had three other children, one of whom died in infancy, and the other two at an advanced age.

Eight of the nine now living reside at Marblehead, the other at Beverly, and all of them have a numerous posterity.

[_Salem Register._

_An effectual Method of Preserving Poultry houses free from Vermin._

Sir--As I do not know that you have positively interdicted all communications from farmer-_esses_, I must ask you to record a grand discovery, which I consider myself to have made, in the noble art of--_raising poultry_.

It may save much trouble to my sister housewives, to whom, according to the order prescribed by the _lords of the creation_, this department of domestic economy has been assigned. It is well known, that in this branch of our humble duties, the greatest difficulty arises from our poultry houses being so much infested with _vermin_; or, to be more plain, in the slang of the poultry yard, with _chicken lice_. Now, I have proved, by long experience, that they will not resort to houses wherein the roots, nest boxes, &c. &c. are made of _sassafras wood_. You may smile, and ask me, the _reason of it_: I am no philosopher, but I tell you, _sassafras wood_ will keep lice out of hen houses: I know it to be a fact, and when you will tell me _why it is_ that chips of cedar wood or tobacco will keep woollen free from _moth_, then I will endeavour to tell you _why_ it is, that sassafras wood will keep away chicken lice--one is universally known to be true, the other no less true, though less known.

A SPINSTER. [_Am. Farmer._

The London Globe, of Jan. 29, says--"We understand that the lords of the treasury have given directions to allow mechanics, artificers, &c. to emigrate from Great Britain to any country and in any ship.

At Brighton, the wildest of the feathered tribe have been so punished with the frost, that they have left the woods, for warmer shelter in the habitations of men. Black birds, starlings, larks and thrushes have been pursued by boys, at mid-day, and easily taken by the hand.

MARRIED.

On the 6th of March, RUBENS PEALE, of Philadelphia, to ELIZA PATTERSON, of Chesnut-Hill.

At Washington City, SAMUEL LAWRENCE GOUVERNEUR, Esq. of New York, to MARIA HESTER MUNROE, youngest daughter of JAMES MUNROE, President of the United States.

On the 2d ult. at the Friends' Meeting House, Alexandria, D. C. J. ELLICOTT CAREY, of Baltimore, to ANN H. IRWIN, daughter of Thomas Irwin, Esq.

THOMAS H. B. JACOBS, to JANE BOWEN, both of Chester County, Pennsylvania.

DAVID STUCKERT, of Germantown, to MARGARET TAYLOR, of this city.

In December last, at New-Castle, (England) Mr. SILVERTOP to Mrs. PEARSON. This lady has been married three times. Her first husband was a Quaker, the second a Roman Catholic, and the third is of the established church. Every husband was twice her own age; at 16 she married a man of 32, at 30 she took one of 60, and now at 42, she is united to a man of 84.

In England, on the 16th of Jan. last, WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq. eldest son of the honourable and philanthropic William Wilberforce, M.P. to Miss MARY OWEN, second daughter of John Owen, A. M. Rector of Pagelsham.

DIED.

On Monday afternoon, the 13th of March, after a lingering and painful illness, Mrs. MARGARET WEBB, being in her ninetieth year.

On Monday night, between 6 and 7 o'clock, after a confinement of two months, WILLIAM WAYNE, sen. in the ninetieth year of his age.

In England, 22d Nov. aged 95, JOHN SPOONER, who had been for more than thirty years successively the stranger's attendant at Brimham Rocks, in the county of York.

At Perth, Scotland, 1st Feb. widow M'LEAN, aged 102 years. Although infirm, she had the complete enjoyment of sight, and never required the use of spectacles.

At Inverfolla, Scotland, 5th of November, DONALD M'INTYRE, aged 101. He was the last of the followers of Prince Charles, in that district to whose interests he was ardently devoted, so much so, that amidst the infirmities of old age he seemed "strong with the vigour of youth" at the mention of his favourite's name, and the remembrance of his misfortunes.

In Curracoa, A. D. M. SENIOR, aged 85, the oldest member of the Hebrew community, and one of the oldest inhabitants of the island.

At New Orleans, 4th of Feb. Don FELIPE FATIO, Consul of Spain, formerly secretary of the Spanish legation at Washington.

Near New Orleans, Mr. ETIENNE BORRIE, the first person that succeeded in cultivating the sugar cane on the Mississippi.

In the city of Trenton, (N. J.) on the 8th of March, SAMUEL LEAKE, Esq. in the 73d year of his age, formerly one of the most distinguished advocates at the New Jersey Bar.

In Vincent township, Chester County, on the 3d of March Mr. JAMES EVANS, in the 94th year of his age.

At Boston, on Tuesday, the 22d of Feb. the Rev. JAMES M. WINCHELL, Pastor of the first Baptist Church of that city.

In January, at Grant's Braes, near Haddington, the venerable mother of the Scottish Bard, ROBERT BURNS, in her 88th year.

In Hesse, Hamburg, FREDERICK LOUIS WILLIAM CHRISTIAN, Landgrave of Hesse Hamburg, aged 72, leaving a very numerous offspring, one of whom is married to Princess Elizabeth, of England.

In Hesse, WILHELMINA CAROLINE, wife of the Elector of Hesse Cassel, aged 73. She was a daughter of Frederick V. king of Denmark.

In Germany, Count Stolberg, a celebrated German Poet.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

Whether the result of education and early associations, or derived immediately from Nature herself, there is excited in every bosom possessed of sensibility, a sensation of awe and veneration, when approaching the mansions of the dead. Here the storm of passion subsides into peace; and even savage ferocity, when contemplating the house appointed for all living, is moulded into mildness and mercy. Who does not delight to behold the verdant hillock, which designates the spot, where the remains of a dear friend or relative are deposited, decorated with vernal beauty, and alike protected from the withering inroads of neglect, and the rude approach of violence? There is a chord in every feeling heart, which vibrates in unison with the magic touch of memory when delineating in vivid colours, some departed object of our love and affection. The GRAVE-YARD furnishes a scene, in which memory is necessarily a prominent actor.

THE GRAVES OF MY FATHERS.

Evergreen be the spot where in silence reposing, The bones of my fathers so tranquilly sleep, Let no hostile foot-step with rudeness imposing, Disturb the fond vigils affection shall keep.

Leave to monarchs their pageants of pomp and of glory, To heroes their laurels all dripping with tears, Give to Jackson his fame in the pages of story, Where the wrong of the Indian abhorrent appears;

Let the relics of princes whose names are enshrouded, In the gloom and the darkness of Egypt's long night, Be distinguish'd by tombs on whose summits beclouded, The eagle seeks rest in her towering flight:

But spare, oh but spare me, that hallow'd enclosure, Which spring will soon visit with aspect serene, Where the earliest sunbeam to April's exposure, Shall bespangle with flow'rets her favourite scene.

While the songsters of nature with voices in chorus, Attuned to those feelings which nature inspires, And that moss-cover'd temple arising before us, Will quell all those rebels--our vicious desires:

Where the pure gospel fount so transparent in beauty, Oft in silence refreshes with gladness the soul, Which in humble devotion to heaven and duty, Seeks through faith and repentance a glorious goal.

Evergreen be the spot where in silence reposing, The bones of my fathers so tranquilly sleep, Every tye of affection their virtues disclosing, While the dew drops of eve shall in sympathy weep.

E.

AULD AGE

Is that Auld Age that's tirling at the pin? I trow it is, then haste to let him in: Ye're kindly welcome, friend; na dinna fear To shaw yoursel', ye'll cause na trouble here. I ken there are wha tremble at your name, As tho' ye brought wi' ye reproach or shame; And wha, "a thousond lies wad bear the sin," Rather than own ye for their kith or kin; But far frae shirking ye as a disgrace, Thankfu' I am t' have lived to see thy face; Nor s'all I ere disown ye, nor tak pride, To think how long I might your visit bide, Doing my best to mak ye well respecked, I'll no fear for your sake to be neglecked; But now ye're come, and through a' kind of weather We're doomed frae this time forth to jog the-gither, I'd fain mak compact wi' ye firm and strang, On terms of fair giff gaff to haud out lang; Gin thou'lt be civil, I s'all lib'ral be, Witness the lang lang list o' what I'll gie; First, then, I here mak owre for gude and ay, A' youthfu' fancies, whether bright or gay, Beauties and graces, too, I wad resign them, But sair I fear 'twad cost ye fash to find them; For 'gainst your dady, Time, they cou'd na stand, Nor bear the grip o' his unsonsy hand; But there's my skin, whilk ye may further crunkle, And write your name at length in ilka wrunkle. On my brown locks ye're leave to lay your paw And bleach them to your fancy white as snaw. But look na, age, sae wistfu' at my mouth, As gin ye lang'd to pu' out ilka tooth! Let them, I do beseech, still keep their places, Though, gin ye wish't ye're free to paint their faces. My limbs I yield ye; and if ye see meet, To clap your icy shackles on my feet, Ise no refuse; but if ye drive out gout, Will bless you for't, and offer thanks devout. Sae muckle was I gi' wi' right good will, But och! I fear that maer ye look for still, I ken by that fell glow'r and meaning shrug, Ye't slap your skinny fingers on each lug; And unca fain ye are I trow, and keen, To cast your misty powders in my een; But O in mercy, spare my poor wee twinkers, And I for ay s'all wear your chrystal blinkers! Then 'bout my lugs I'd fain a bargain mak, And gi' my hand, that I shall ne'er draw back. Well then, wad ye consent their use to share, Twad serve us baith, and be a bargain rare-- Thus I wad ha't when babbling fools intrude, Gabbling their noisy nonsense, lang and loud; Or when ill-nature well brush'd up by wit, Wi' sneer sarcastic takes its aim to hit; Or when detraction, meanest slave o' pride, Spies out wee fau'ts and seeks great worth to hide; Then mak me deaf as deaf as deaf can be; At a' sic times my lugs I lend to thee. But when in social hour ye see combin'd Genius and Wisdom--fruits of heart and mind, Good sense, good humour, wit in playfu' mood, And candour e'en frae ill extracting good; Oh, then, auld friend, I maun ha' back myhearing, To want it then wad be an ill past bearing. Better to lonely sit i' the douf spence Than catch the sough o' words without the sense.-- Ye winna promise? Och ye're unco dour, Sae ill to manage, and sae cauld and sour. Nae matter, hale and sound I'll keep my heart, Nor frae a crum o't s'all I ever part: It's kindly warmth will ne'er be chilled by a' The cauldest breath your frozen lips can blaw. Ye need na' fash your thumb, auld carle, nor fret, For there affection shall preserve its seat; And though to tak my hearing ye rejoice, Yet spite o' you I'll still hear Friendship's voice. Thus, though, ye tak the rest, it shan'na grieve me, For ae blythe spunk o' spirits ye maun leave me; And let me tell you in your lug Auld Age, I'm bound to travel wi' ye but ae stage: Be't long or short, ye canna keep me back; And, when we reach the end o't, ye maun pack. For there we part for ever; late or air. Another guess companion meets me there: To whom ye--nill ye will ye, maun me bring; Nor think that I'll be wae or laith to spring Fra your poor dosen'd side, ye carle uncouth, To the blest arms of everlasting youth. By him, whate'er ye ye've rifl'd sto'wn, or ta'en, Will a' be gi'en wi' interest back again: Froze by a' gifts and graces, thousands moe Than heart can think of, freely he'll bestoe. Ye need na wonder, then, nor swell wi' pride, Because I kindly welcome ye, as guide, To one sae far your better. Now as tauld, Let us set out upo' our journey cauld; Wi' nae vain boasts, nor vain regrets tormented, We'll e'en jog on the gate, quiet and contented.

[Taken from "Memoirs of Eliza Hamilton," by Miss Benger.

"DREADFUL HARD TIMES."

Yesterday I walked down, to that part of the town, Where people collect at the sign of the Tun, To discuss and debate the great matters of state, And show how things that go wrong should be done: There was ragged Sam Bent, who is not worth a cent, There was idle Dick Lawless, and noisy Jack Grimes, And swaggering Jim Bell, who has nothing to sell, All cursing the Banks, and these dreadful hard times.

There was old daddy Slop, who has lost his last crop, By neglecting to mend up some gaps in his fence; There was shabby Ned Thorn, who had planted his corn, But had never put hoe, no, nor plough to it since; There was dashing Bill Sutton, with his fine dandy coat on, Who was ne'er out of debt, nor was worth twenty dimes: They too join'd the throng, and still kept up the song, A curse on the Banks, and these dreadful hard times.

Next came in Dick Short, who was summon'd to court, For some hundreds of half pints of whiskey and rum; He had brought the last sack of his grain on his back; Tho' his children were crying with hunger at home; Here, landlord, said Short, come, bring me a quart; I must treat these, my friends, Sir, and merry Jack Grimes; I've the corn, sir, to pay, there's no booking to-day; Then he fell to cursing the Banks, and hard times.

Next came in Tom Sargent who had lately turn'd merchant, And bought a full store, I can scarcely tell how! But this much I know, about twelve months ago, That the Constable sold at the post, his last cow; Yet Tom dash'd away, spending hundreds each day, Till his merchants brought suits for their dry goods and wines; So Tom join'd the throng, and assisted the song, With a curse on these Banks, and these dreadful hard times.

Next appear'd Madam Pride, (and a beau at her side) With her silks, spread with laces, quite down to her trail; Her husband that day, unable to pay For the dress she then wore, had been lock'd up in jail; She turn'd to the throng, as she tripped it along, And she "hop'd that the merchants would swing for such crimes "As to make people pay their old debts, in this way;" And she curs'd all the Banks, and these dreadful hard times.

Now said I, Mr. Short, you are summon'd to court, And must soon go to jail for these long whiskey scores; And you, Mr Drew, aye, and you sir, and you, Who are hanging round taverns, and running to stores; And you madam Pride, must your silks lay aside, And you, Mr. Idle and you, Mr. Grimes, Must all to your labours, like some of your neighbours, And you'll soon put an end to these dreadful hard times. [_Gallia Gazette._

WINTER.

Though now no more the musing ear Delights to listen to the breeze That lingers o'er the greenwood shade, I love thee, Winter! well.

Sweet are the harmonies of Spring, Sweet is the Summer's evening gale, Pleasant the Autumnal winds that shake The many coloured grove;

And pleasant to the sobered soul The silence of a wintry scene, When Nature shrouds her in her trance, In deep tranquillity.

Not undelightful now to roam The wild-heath sparkling on the sight; Not undelightful now to pace The forest's ample rounds;

And see the spangled branches shine, And snatch the moss of many a hue That varies the old tree's brown bark, Or o'er the grey stone spreads.

The clustered berries claim the eye, O'er the bright holly's gay green leaves; The ivy round the leafless oak Clasps its full foliage close.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

TO ----.

When the bloom on thy cheek shall have faded away, When thine eye shall be closed in the grave, Thou shalt dwell in my heart like the last gleam of day. That purples with twilight the wave.

And if souls are allowed in a happier sphere To watch o'er the spirits they love, Be the guardian--the friend that thou wert to me here, Be my guide--my protector above. I know thou must die, and the cold earth will hide The form I shall ever adore; But in death, as in life, it will still be my pride Such virtue as thine to deplore. And, oh! when I gaze in the stillness of night On those orbs that bespangle the sky, I will think there thou dwellest an angel of light, And hearest thy sorrower's sigh. It will sooth me to feel, though a wilderness grows, This lone world all unpeopled for me; That, though drooping and withering, there still is one rose In this wilderness blossoms for thee. Though it will not be thine its last blushes to greet, To weep o'er its bloom to decay; If worthy such bliss, in a world we shall meet Where thou'lt chase every dew-drop away.

The following versification was from the pen of a very young, and interesting woman, in reply to the solicitations of her family not to accompany her unfortunate husband into exile.

The lovely author of these lines, whose beauty can only be exceeded by her retiring modesty, is wholly unconscious of their publication, and we well know will blush at celebrity which the accomplishments of her mind, the graces of her person, and the misfortunes of her destiny, have rendered inevitable.

_Versification from the book of "Ruth."_

INSCRIBED TO ----

Where'er thou goest, I will go, O'er Egypt's sands, or Zembla's snow! Where'er thy weary eyelids close. There will thy Charlotte seek repose;

Though on the naked earth we lie, While tempests rule the darkning sky, Still, still undaunted will I be, And find the holiest calm with thee.

That people whom thou call'st thy own, Shall only to my heart be known, And our great Father, God, above, With equal warmth we both will love.

Where'er thy last expiring breath, Is yielded to relentless Death, On that same spot will Charlotte die, And in the tomb, thy Charlotte lie.

The Lord do this, and more to me, If more than this, part thee from me, As living, but one heart we own. So dying we will still be ONE.

[_Port Folio._

_The Peasant and his Wife._

HE.

The long, long day, again has pass'd In sorrow and distress: I strive my best--but strive in vain, I labour hard--but still remain Poor, and in wretchedness.

SHE.