Carlow. POETRY. SPRINGS IN THE DESERT. WHEN the faint and thirsty poor Burning sands and tempest-strife,- Hears the weary pilgrim's sigh. 'Mid the desert's changing glade On the mountain's arid height They spread their mirror to the skies. Breathes a dewy freshness round; See! the palm its branches spread, Shades on shades successive rise, Eden's beauties bloom again, Music breathes through earth and air; Glory rests on hill and plain, God is beaming everywhere. Rise again those choral strains, Rock and vale return the song, THOMAS RICHARDSON. ANIMATED AND VEGETABLE NATURE. JANUARY. NEW-YEAR'S day is come. The sun, rather lingering in the winter solstice than standing still, as the etymology would intimate, has gained from the darkness at night several minutes, as the Calendar will show; and, after seeming to yield a little each morning to the force of winter, now rallies his resistless power, and begins to carry back the dawn, and promises that we shall have clear day, once more, by eight o'clock. If it does not rain, it freezes; and you may be sure snow lies deep somewhere on our island, if not just under your own window. As for "animated nature," there is not much of it to be seen out of doors, except man that "goeth forth to his labour," with beasts of burden, to share the labour; domestic animals in the farm-yard; cattle, under their shelter, eating dry fodder; flocks, fed within the pens, and a few stray birds. The robin comes as familiarly as if she remembered twenty winters back, although this be her first visit; and the children, seeming to cherish a tradition of humanity, sweep together the crumbs, softly deposit them on some conspicuous place, and peep through the window to see redbreast pick up his breakfast. The wren, too, uses equal freedom. The cricket, waking on the hearth, chafes his wings again in shrill delight. Beetles and snails have crept into holes of the earth, settled themselves in old walls, hollow trees, riven bark, or shattered branches. They knew not why, but they became sluggish, slumberous, and timid; and hid themselves unconsciously from the bitter wind and ice that were to come. Larks hide themselves in the stubble. Sparrows, yellow-hammers, and chaffinches swarm into the farm-yards. Fieldfares and thrushes descend upon the newly-manured fields. The water-fowl are driven from their frozen haunts, and even the sea-birds are drifted some way inland by the storms. A few hardy lichens, firs, and other evergreens, venture to hang out their leaves. Stripped of its foliage, every other tree stands like a skeleton, showing its peculiar framework. In the neighbour hood of Tunbridge- Wells, and a few other favoured spots, a delicate and hardy fern drapes the surface of the rock whereon it grows. The snowdrops will soon presume to raise their tender heads, just so soon as the snow melts off the ground, and the hard frozen clod, cracked, and almost pulverised by the swelling of its watery load, allows passage for the winter flower to come forth as earliest harbinger of spring. The charitable must now help the indigent poor with coals, blankets, and a thousand little comforts, that each thrifty housewife knows how to provide, for her pensioners, at little cost. The husbandman must take heed to his live stock; and be content to let the frost and snow enrich his land, if it be well drained. This is the time to abstain from many labours. You cannot plough; or, if it be possible to-day, the ground may be like rock to-morrow. If you build, the mortar will freeze and crumble, to the irreparable damage of your work. If you dig, you will only disturb nature's own husbandry, unless the soil be very stiff. If you plant, the roots will most probably be frozen, or else rotted. If you prune, the plant will be bitten at the wound. If you water plants, you will but chill them. This is the time for the vegetable world to rest, have its life cherished in roots, covered from the weather, and shut up in seed that awaits warmth to put forth the germ. Or you must cover the tender ones with straw, or screen them with matting, until rude, inexorable winter shall relent. First Quarter, 29th day, 10h. 34m. morn. MERCURY, in the constellation Sagittarius, is an evening star till the 3d; invisible till the 8th, and then a morning star to the end of the month. On the 1st, at 2h. 25m. P.M., in perihelion; on the 6th, at 11h. 23m. A.M., in inferior conjunction with the Sun; on the 17th, at noon, stationary; on the 29th, at 10h. 36m. A. M., at greatest elongation, 25° 3′ W.-VENUS, in the constellations Capricornus and Aquarius, is an evening star throughout the month.-MARS, in the constellation Cancer, on the 15th, passes the meridian at 1h. 11m. A.M.; on the 24th, at 0h. 46m. P.M., in opposition to the Sun. JUPITER, in the constellation Libra, on the 15th, passes the meridian at 7h. 32m. A.M.-SATURN, in the constellation Pisces, on the 15th passes the meridian at 6h. 9m. P.M.; on the 18th, at 3h. 30m. P.M., in quadrature with the Sun.-URANUS, in the constellation Pisces, on the 9th, at 10h. 48m. A.M., stationary; on the 21st, at 8h. 22m. A.M., in quadrature with the Sun. Eclipse. A total eclipse of the Moon will be visible at Greenwich on the 7th. Begins at 4h. 20.9m. A.M., mean time at Greenwich; middle, at 6h. 10m.; ends at 7h. 59.1m. H. T. & J. Roche, Printers, 25, Hoxton-square, London. |