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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
WM. C. RICIipUS,.EDITOR.
(Drigihal Poetry. 1 1
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE RUSTIC SEAT.
BY J . M. LKGARE.
Author of “Orta Undis, and Other Poems.”
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Cool twilight shrouds the wojtled hill ;
As here the narrow street: • •
Its shadows urge thee ; froiß- vtfie. j-iil
Meandering at thy feet.
The over-arching branches still
Enclose thee in their shade,
Where once nty hands, with rustic skill,
A seat of “branches made.
A long, long day of happiness,
(Yet scarce begun ere gone,)
While you stood by the work to bless
With eyes that smiled thereon.
A pleasant song the streamlet, sung ;
While in the still retreat,
The gnarled and mossy roots among,
We hollowed out the seat.
Quaint oaken boughs, trained to protrude
For syyns, and where inclines
The musing head, a cushion rude
Os interwoven vines.
With happy eyes that wondered oft,
“When would it be complete!”
You knelt upon a couch of soft
Brown foliage at my feet;
, , „ ■* ¥*%•
Or-, seated in the open sun
Amidst the holly trees,
With earnest faeo bent down upon
The book upon thy knees.
Withal, not many leaves that day
Were turned in book of thine,
So often went thy looks astray
in loving search of mine !
And when the work was all complete,
And I sat down to rest,
Relinquishing your former seat,
You nestled to my breast.
1 mind me well the sun went down
Behind a wooded hill,
The autumn, forest brown,
More dusky grew and chill:
And when you shivered with the cold,
Around you, (nothing loth,)
I drew my cloak, whose ample fold
Enclosed and warmed us both.
It was a privilege of eld,
Long into habit grown,
That closely to my bosom held,
You should be styled “my own.”
And now, so from the world apart,
Thy rest was doubly sweet: —
‘ Thank God !’ could only say your heart,
‘ Thunks! Thanks /’ at every beat.
For me Southern Literary Gazette.
REPROOF: A SONNET.
BY DAVID R. ARNELL.
Yes, 1 have felt how gracious is reproof
From the dear lips we love! Lady, I thought
so stand from man’s companionship aloof,
With sullen brow, and heart with hatred fraught,
And hurl back my revilings ; but thy word
Hath melted me like poetry. I heed
shy meek reproof, aud like a summer bird
ro the dull worldling’s ear my song shall plead.
Oh! woman is thrice lovely when she stands
1 pon God’s side, and to herself is true !
1 thank thee for it, and thy high command,
by all the love I bear thee, will I do ;
Nor in my sadness let my verse repeat
W hat I would fear to speak e’en at the Judgement
seat !
TO A FRIEND WANTING A BOOK-KEEPER.
‘ commend to your favor the bearer, dear sir, —
Asa book-keeper none can excel him ;
’ Fas kept a full score of my books for a year,
And when to return them I tell him,
He vows and protests that he’ll do so to-morrow :
He s a capital book-keeper , sir, to my sorrow !
An JUustratctr tUcckhj Journal of Belles-Lettres, Science anil tl)c Arts.
ALL ABOUT: WITH PEN AND PENCIL.
BY T. ADDISON RICHARDS.
U At a
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THE CATSKILLS.—PART SECOND.
Leaving the “V illage of Palenville—Evening walk
through the Clove—Mountain Paths by Moon
light —Night Scene at the Catskill Falls —Dark
Passage of the Forest, from the Falls to the Moun
tain House —Romantic Encounter—Adventure
with a Panther—Arrival at the Hotel—Evening
View of the Valley of the Hudson—Description of
the Mountain House —R ip Van Winkle —Sun-rise
on the Hills—Enthusiasm and Night-Caps—Visit
to North Mountain —Sailing and Angling on Syl
van Lake—Arrival at the Falls—The Cafe —De-
scent of the Steps, and Champaigne—Repose and
Return.
In my last chapter, I was upon the point
of removing, bag and baggage, to the “ Moun
tain House,” urged by the feeling which
prompted the poet’s lines—
“ I will seek the cheerful city,
And in the Crowded street,
See if I can find the traces
Os pleasure’s winged feet.”
On second thought, however, and after ga
zing again upon the much loved mountain
peaks, which frown upon the window of my
whilome studio, I resolved to make only a
brief pedestrian visit, still retaining the
“ Mountain Inn” as my head-quarters. The
memory of the true delights I had long en
joyed, in communion with ever-constant and
unsophisticated Nature, who, as some gentle
minded youth has sweetly remarked, “ never
did betray the heart that loves her,” proved
stronger than the prospect of fashion's heart
less joys.
Instead then, of taking the stage-coach in
its round-about traverse, I put some spotless
linen and a glittering pair of “ patent leathers”
in my knapsack, and starting afoot, as twi
light was falling upon the landscape, I again
traversed the Clove road for a distance of two
miles, until I reached the gorge of which I
have already spoken, as entering the Kauter
skill, from the eastward.
A walk of four miles, leads the tourist, in
this direction, from the village to the Moun
tain House. Two, as I have mentioned, up
the Clove—one other through the wild gorge
on which he then enters, to the falls, and still
another from thence to his point of destination.
The second mile of travel is over a wild and
toilsome path, even in the full light of day,
and doubly so in the mystic and solemn dark
ness of night. But I had made the journey
many times and oft —in sunshine and in
shade —and I knew well its every winding
and pit-fall; the precise points at which to
make the necessary passages of the mad tor
rent, which dashes through the ravine, in all
its varying degrees of elevation or depression,
as rain or drought affects its waters.
The whole of this passage is remarkably
fine and striking. It is more wild and more
thickly studded with venerable and fantasti
cally formed trees, with more luxuriant pines
and hemlocks, with a greater number and
more varied cascades, and with more noble
glimpses of distant landscape, than almost any
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATI RRVY, JUNE 17, IBIS.
other portion of the Catskills. In the uncer
tain light of evening, the mountain ridges on
either side of me, seemed of amazing height
and grandeur, and despite the lateness of the
hour, I was often constrained to pause and
admire the matchless scenes around. I
looked upward—
“ And higher yet the pine-tree hung,
Its darksome trunk and frequent flung,
Where seem’d the cliffs to meet on high,
Ilis bows athwart the narrow’d sky.”
I gazed below—
“ Rock upon rock incumbent hung,
And torrents, down the gullies flung,
Join’d the rude river that brawl’d on,
Recoiling now from crag and stone ”
During half an hour, I stepped lightly upon
moss-grown and slippery rocks, balanced my
self upon the trembling bridges of fallen
tret s, pushed aside the dense shrubbery of the
jungle, dripping with the dews of night, and
aV. ngth stood beneath the glorious cataract
of the Katterskills. With the aid of my staff
I climbed over the immense mass of decaying
timber which lay across my path, and gained
the rustic seat from which visitors love to
gaze upward upon the falling torrent.
The scene which then met my eye, was
one of such indiscribable charms that I could
not resist the sweet temptation to linger much
too long under the influence of its magic
beauty. The grand basin of the stream, and
the entire sweep of the valley 1 had just tra
versed, were buried in the shadows of even,
save only as the rising moon cast its strug
gling beams faintly here and there upon brush
and brake and crested wave. Gazing upward
the yet lingering rays of the departing sun,
kissed the glad waters “ good night,” ere they
leapt to their couch below.
To the music of the falling stream, were
added the sighings of the night breezes, in the
tree-tops and in the hollow caverns, the chants
of a thousand whip-poor-wills, and the deep
basso of the sonorous bull-frog. To com
plete the picture of fairy land, suddenly
the bright moon sprung unfetterred from the
fleeting clouds which had held her prisoner,
and as she looked upon the merry waters,
with her smiling eye, they danced into the
form of a silvery arch, and her approach was
rightly welcomed with a matchless bow of
promise. As I gazed upon this beautiful
sight, the sweet verses of Charlton fell invol
untarily from my lips:
“Beautifulbrook ! when the moonlight’s gleam,
Glistens upon thy falling stream,
And the varied tints of thv rainbow vie
With the brightest hues of the evening sky—
The woodland elf and the merry fay,
Chant on thy banks their roundelay ;
And with fairy sword and tiny spear,
Fight o’er their bloodless battles here ;
The drowsy bird from its leafy nook —
Peers on the whole with an anxious look :
And the cricket uplifteth his cheerful voice,
And the bats at the merry sound rejoice,
And the fairy troop on their sylvan green,
Frolic and dance in the moonlight’s sheen.”
In the spectral light which enveloped the
VOLUME I.—NUMBER 6.
landscape, I could not resist the impulse to
dream a little of the mystic past; to fashion
the uncertain forms of the graceful shrubs
into the semblance of fair and happy-hearted
maidens tripping upon the green sward of
Arcadia; or to detect,- in the darker shadows
of the rocky glen, the embodiment of a gal
lant warrior-band, waiting heroically for the
approach of the myriad-ranked foe, whose
armor and helmets and spears glistened, in
the countless leaves of the mountain gorge
below.
I never before witnessed such a magical
effect at these falls, excepting perhaps once,
when I sat upon the same seat, and after the
same walk through the lonely valley, as the
sun commenced its journey one glad summer
day. Then everything around me was clad
in the grey still mists of morning, save only
the very summit of the cascade, upon which
the bright rays of old Sol darted, until the
foaming waters glistened like molten silver
and gold, completely blinding the eye to every
less brilliant object.
While I then felt the utter impotency of the
painter’s art to struggle with the might and
loveliness of Nature, I blessed God that He
had given me, in some slight degree, the power
to feel and enjoy her matchless beauties;
that my soul had been—
“ Touch’d by the love of art, to learn to know
Nat ure’s soft line and color’s varied glow.”
When I had toiled up the innumerable steps
leading from the base to the summit of the
falls, and stood upon the mountain-top, the
scene had changed and my path was again
illumined by the last rays of the sinking sun.
A few moments more and Nature lost her
bright apparelings, while our lady of night
held unquestioned sway. The carriage-road
from the falls to the Mountain House, on the
eastern edge of tho tahln binds which crown
this range of hills, is nearly two miles in
length, and of easy passage at any hour.—
This frequented way leads, also, by the mar
gin of the lakes, of which I shall have occa
sion to speak anon. There is, however, an
other and much shorter path to the right, and
throughout the heart of the forest; and this
lonely path a fancy led me to choose, des
pite its dangers in the dßrkness of the night.
The density of the woods completely shut
out the moonlight, when after traversing the
rustic bridge which spans the stream very
near the point of its grand leap, I found my
self within their quiet shades. Late rains
had left innumerable pools here and there,
and as my foot sunk in their treacherous
depths, when I thought I was firmly stepping
upon a delightful little piece of smooth rock,
I could console myself only by the recollec
tion of the nice patent leathers safely stowed
in my knapsack. Now, I nearly lost my
equilibrium, as like a drunken man, I made a
high step over some nothing, which in the
obscurity, appeared a considerable obstruction
in the path. Now a dripping bough cooled
my brow with its greetings, and then my
thoughtless heel crushed the head of some
unsuspecting reptile.
That walk was a lonely one, and despite
my romance, I felt much relieved when 1 e
merged from the woods upon the more trodden
path that leads over the plain of the “ Pine
Orchard” to the Mountain House. The sight
of that beautiful structure, in its wild insula
tion, with its illumined windows, obscured
only by the passings and repassings of gentle
forms, was grateful to my eye, as was the
sound of its distant music to my ear. But
as it happened, my adventures for the eve
ning were by no means ended. • As I ad
vanced, giving a mental assent to the philo
sophical maxim, “ what’s the odds so you’re