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RY JAMES W. JO AES
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PROSPECTIS
, OF Tilts
FTPUifo paper formerly edited by Wm. E.
■_ Jones, is now-under the direction of the
undersigned. The growing importance of Ath
ens, the state of parties in Georgia, and the
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the maintaiiiaucc oflUu rightsand sovereigut;
Ts i.'ic Griffis) it:.-; reinmcKUioi.t oi i.viilini
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’ J. W. JONES.
PROSPECTUS.
AT the late meeting of the Alumni of Frank
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be expedient to make arrangements to issue a
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THE ATHENIAN.
The undersigned were appointed by the So
ciety a committee of publication and joint Edi
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•South, have ttfq long depended upon foreign
parts forour Literature, and neglected our own
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enterprise both by word and deed. State pride
the love of Literal are, our interest in the cause
of general Education, all call upon us to sustain
an enterprise so necessary to our improvement,
and the honor of the St’-te.
A. 3. CLAYTON,
JAMES JACKSON,
R. D. MOORE,
WM. J,. MITCHELL,
C. F. McCAY,
SAMUEL F. PRESSLEY;
H. HULL.
Tme Athenian shall issue monthly, on fine
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«nm>m, payable on the delivery ofthe first num
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npHE undersigned has settled in Macon wi lr
JL the view oi practicing LAW—He will at
tend the courts of the adjoining counties, ant!
may be found by application at the office ot
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Office, not quite complete, is on the second floor
ofthe New Commercial Bank.
In winding up my business in the Ocinulgee
circuit, I have associated with me Augustus
Reese, Esq. of Madison. Our joint attention
will be applied to that object.
E. A. NISBET.
Macon, January 28—3!)—15t.
The Southern Recorder, Chrouicje and
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Weekly until the first of May.
FOUR months afterdate, application will bo
made to the Honorable Inferior Court of
Madison county, when sitting for Ordinary pur
poses, for leave to sell the real Estate of Robert
Williams, Ncu’r. late of said County deceased
DAV\ SON WILLIAMS, Xd’iTr
Feb. 25,—43 -Im
o\lil)CV'a
From the Hdtiuek Courier.
I'Olt I.OVF IS STRONG AS BE ITH.
Bl' BARNARD AND LUCY BARTON.
They err who deem love’s brightest hour
In blooming youth is known;
Its purest, tendercst, holiest power
la later life is shown:—
When pasrions, chastened and subdued;
To riper years are given,
j And earth and earthly things are viewd
I In light that breaks from Heaven.
It is not in the flush of youth,
Or daj's of cloudless mirth,
We feel the tenderness and truth
Os love’s devoted worth ;
Life then is like a tranquil stream
Which flows in sunshine bright,
And objects mirrored in it seem
To share its sparkling light
’Tis when the howling winds arise,
And life is like the ocean,
Whose mountain billows brave tlie skies,
Lashed by the storm’s commotion ;
When lightning cleaves the murky cloud,
And thunders peal around us,
’Tis then we feel our spirits bowed
By loneliness around u~
Oh I then, as to the seaman’s sight,
The beacon’s trembling ray,
Surpasses far tlib lustre bright
Os summer’s cloudless day ;
E'en such to tried and wounded hearts
tn manhood’s darker years.
The gentle light true love imparts
’Mid sorrow, cares and fears.
Its beams on minds of joy bereft
Tlieit freshness, brightness fling,
And show that life has something left
To which their hopes may cling;—•
It steals upon the sick at heart,
The desolate in soul,
To bid their doubts and fears depart,
And point a brighter goal.
If such be love's triumphant power
O’er spirits touched by time,
Oh ! who shall doubt its purest hour
Os happiness sublime 7
In youth ’tis like the meteor's gleam,
Which dazzles and sweeps by ;
In after life its splendors seem
Linked with eternity'
A i’i’ize Talc.
BY MISS ELIZABETH BOGART, OF NEW YORK.
When Henry Lindon was twenty.five, Car
oline Wilton wasXjvild, lively girl, of twelve
years of age. She had a brilliant complexion
and a pair of sparkling tjiack eyes, full of fire
and intelligence ; and when she laughed with
all the glad feelings, and unchecked spirits of
happy childhood, her white and* even teeth
formed a most rtioy couuhxu wiui uer ruoy
iips. Free from care, and blest in the affection
and indulgence of her parents, she felt no envy
towards those who were raised afeote her by
the mere caprice of fortune. Vain of her
personal appearance, and knowing nothing but
that she was handsome, she was perfectly sa
tisfied with herself—and, had she been left
alone with her ignorance and her beauty, she
might have missed a few fleeting moments of
exquisite anti refined enjoyment, and escaped
after years of misery and repentance.
Young as she was, it was her fate to attract
tiie admiration and attention of Henry Landon,
an elegant and accomplished man of fashion.
With fine t dents, a liberal education, t nd a
heart alive to every sentiment of virtue and gen
erosity, was still eccentric, and possessed a
mind strongly tinctured with romance. His
walk in life was far above that of Mr. Wilton,
the father of Caroline—but. that Was, in his
opinion, the circumstance of accident, and nei
ther detracted from tho merit of Wilton nor
added to his otfen;
Landon had just arrived at the age w lien the
society of gentleman is most sought Is’ the la
dies—when a man is calculated to be most
agreeable; most ardent, most generous, most
confiding, when the flashing sparks of genius
in a youthful mind shines forth with the great
est brilliancy-—and ere the best feelings of the
heart have been wrapped by the coldness and
treachery, and selfishness of the world. Manx
a bright eye fell beneath his glance, and fol
lowed his receding form with looks of admira
tion—and many a sweet smile met his ap
proach, and threw a light on the blush occasion
ed by a passing compliment from his lips. It
was in vain—his heart was invulnerable—for
rather it was long thought so—yet it was at
lasi surrendered to a child.
Caroline Wilton, he fondly thought, might
be formed into the very creature of his imagin
ation ; and when once this idea had laken pos
session of his mind, he could see no beauty,
no attraction, in any other being. With a for
tune not only independent, but sufficient to gra
tify every whim ofhis enthusiastic and roman
tic disposition, he determined to educate her
for his wife —to bend her young and pliant
thoughts to those pursuits w hich lie most loved
and most admired—to give her naturally gifted
mind the highest polish of cultivation and im
provement—and then, to claim her Sensitive
and greatful heart as his reward.
A proposal so advantageous, an alliance so
flattering, could not fail to meet the approba
tion ofher parents, and was soon communica
ted to tire gtty and youthful Caroline. She
listened silently and attentively, as if endeav
oring to comprehend all that she was expected
to perform; and then, turning to Lindon with
all the candor and mz/rclZ" of ! k:r happy dispo
sition, she suddenly M r. Landon,
are you 1 Sure you you have
spent sO much learned all
that you wish me to beWL-i
“Certainly, my d he ; “blit
" hy do you ask such a
“ Because, I am not certain that i shall like
you as Well, when von get to be so much older.”
L indon Was forcibly struck with the answer.
It was the simple reflection ofa child of nature,
and a deep shade of thought passed over his
brow.” “It is a wild scheme,” sighed he to
himself-—“I have embarked on a s.m of expe
riment, in which not onlv niv own-happiness,
but that o- another, is involved; and there are
moments, when 1 fear that! am only
up sorrow lor an innocent* q'nd fovelv a . d
bitter disappointment for mys.lt’— ui a few
years, ’ thought he, as hv accidentally saw Ins
fine form and handsome face refit cted in an
opposite mirror, “can.'ut alter me su much as
to preclude all hope of niv iiamirii a young
kidf’s affections.”
Caroline’s quick eye saw th? change tn his
countenance, and with an intuitive sc use of
“where powers are assumed which haveJn'oT been delegated, a nullification of the act is THE r.iGHTt’tJt remedy.” Jefferson.
giving pain, or creating displeasure, she s£ld,
in a tone of earnestness, and with the mast
artless manner, “ Mi’.. Landon, I alweys say
any thing that comes in my head to papa, and
he only laughs at me—l dare say I shall 1; ve
you when lam grown up ; for I love papa now,
and he is a great deal older than I am.”
“ But why cannot you love me before you
are grown Up, Caroline ?”
“ O, because, I can’t love every body at once 4
You are verv good to me, and I will try to like
you as well as I can—but you are not a bit like
Edgar Morris, and I can’t help liking him the
best—for he brings *e flowers, and turns the
rope for me to jump, and climbs the trees after
fruit, and does every thing I waiJl him to do.”
Landon smiled —yet he went awavjjom the
’house of Mr. Wilton less sanguine ns to the
| rjsi’lt ofhis plan than he had entered it.
j Edgar Morris was the son of a neighboring
gentleman of small fortune, who contriv
ed to live .geutcely, and even with an air of
elegance, on a very moderate income. He
was two years older than Caroline, and had
been her playmate from infancy; and her
words were literally true; that ho would do ev
ery thing she Wanted him to do. They were
attached to each other as brother and sister,
| but were both too young to know of any other
kind of love ; and ere a childish affliction had
time to ripen into a deeper and more absorbing
feeling, they were separated by tho netv desti
ny and employments of Caroline.
Six years had passed away in a constant and
often fatiguing round of studies; and the beauti
ful, spoiled, and ignorant child, was metamor
phised into the lovely, polished, and accom
plished woman. 'Those who had known Car
oline Wilton at twelve years of age, could
scarcely have recognized her at eighteen. An
intellectual expression of countenance had ad
ded a surpassing charm to her native beauty—
her step had become graceful and elegant, in
stead ofspringing with the wild, elastic bound
of early days, and her mind had received and re
tained the fair impression of virtue, refinement,
and delicacy.
Landon*wus her constant friend and adviser
and not oulV*!!® director of Her studies, hut of
jle saw the change which her
mind working, and watched its
progress wiiii*delight: and loved her better
for being himself the means of making her what
she was.
Her feelings toward him were ofa nature
altogether different from common. She look
ed up to him as her benefactor and her best
friend.; and she gave him her heart in full con
fidence ofhis worth and nobleness, and with
the deepest sentiments of gratitude and esteem.
Her love had none of that romantic fervor
which characterized his attachment to her, but
it was pure, and true, and steady, and really
capable of great sacrifices, while, through
pride and folly, it refused a trifling one. •
Landon loved with an all-engrossing passion
—yet he knew that the beaatifiil object ofhis
idolatry was not quite perfect. With au amia
ble disposition, she had a spirit that, would not
I brook control, nor bend to aught but her own
j sense oi right and wrung. But neither was lie
himself without his faults. His temper was
often hasty; and Sometimes difficult; and bis
ideas ofprdpriety in others were carried some
what »oo far for a world where much must be
overlooked, and much forgiven.
Caroline was not generally fond of amuse
ments; nbr of attending public places; but for
} once she had set her heart on going to a mas
querade in a neighboring city. A little doubt
ful of the approval ofher friend she determin
ed to mention it to him, and ask his advice ;
yet resolved at the same timi not to be guided
by it, should he prohibit her gratifying what
she considered an innocent curiosity. He
came as usual in the evening to pay his ac
customed visit, and she began by playing and
singing his favorite tunes inorder to sooth eve
ry discordant feeling, and prepare him to grant
her request. Animated with the thought of
novelty and pleasure, sbe was all gayety and
good humor, and her young heart anticipated
nothing but happiness in the years to come ;
but her lover was unusually grave and thought
ful—and when the music ceased, to which he
had seemed tojisteu as if it had been for the
last time,the silence might have remained long
unbroken, but for her.
“Landon,”said she, with the familiar voice,
and manner of a privileged favorite, “ will you
go with me to the masquerade next week T’"
Landon had been thinking of the masque
rade, which, as a novelty, had occasioned much j
conversation among the gay and fashionable,
and many of his friends were prepared to throw
offtheir natural charters for the time, and sus
tain or fail in some other. It was it species of
amusement, that, in his opinion; was calculated !
to produce peruiciotrS tonsequences; and he
had determined, in his own mind, neither to go
himself, nor to suffer Caroline to join the partv.
“Masquerades are dangerous places, my
dear Caroline.” said he, in reply to her ques
tion, “ and I shall be sorry to see you there ;
but you are not serious, I know—you comiot
really think of going.” . j
“Indeed, 1 am very serious.” replied the live. I
Iv girl, with one of those smiles which had !
often beguiled him ofhis better judgment—“ I i
not only think of going, but intend to go ; and i
if you are afraid to trust me with Miss Sinclair i
and Colonel Graham, why you must absolutely j
go with me yourself. Come now, don’t look'
’angiy. and sentimental, and so much wiser j
than every body else. Where is the imp.ro- '
priety? I can see nothing wrong in it.”
He was not in the humor for trifling, and
Caroline spoke without her usual tact.
“It would be useless for me to point out the
impropriety,” said he, in a surprised and rnfher
an offended tone, “if you are resolved, at all
events, on going. Indeed, it would be onlv
causing you to disoblige me under aggravated
circumstances. I should nave scai ceiy believ.
eil that, you, Caroline, would have ventured to
decide on •itiy th'riig of consequence,- without
first consulting me, and paying some little do
ferei.ee to my feelings and opinions—but I
have perhaps over-rated my claims on your
gratitude, and observance of my wishes.”
The last words were spoken sarcastically,
'and had their full effect. Caroline’s lofty
spirit flashed from her eyes, but she was silent;
and, for the first time, tho weight of her obli
gations to Landon pressed heav'y ch her heart.
'Tliry were, both to blame, and both foil and
thought wrongly., yet neither would condescend
to mak first eoiicessi'oti to the other. Car
oline did. not 3 >euk again, and Lu. don rose to
t 'lu- leave, lie approached her trod took her
hand—
“ You will think iiblfer ofyour resolution,
Caroli tic,” said he, with a softer manner—“l
am sure, after all, that von will not lose a Iffoial
fur the sake ofthe World and its votari'es.—
The time has now c6rne, m hen you must cither i
give up the world forme, or me for the world.
. Let vuttr own b'Caff choose between the two.”
ATHEAS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MAY S7, 1837.
Hud h? stopped there, he would have gained
the victory, but he proceeded—
“ll you persist in your determination of go
ing to the ifiasqueratle. we part, from that time
forever.”
“ Then farewell.” said Caroline, with a sud
den emotion of pride and anger —and thus, in
one hasty moment, she broke the band ofyears.
and by a single fully, estranged a noble heart.
She stood for some time on the spot where he
had left. her. and then burst into tears, “ Oh!”
said she to herself, “ how f olish, how ungrate
ful, I have been ?—but I cannot recall my words
—I have vokontarily thrown away my happi
ness—and fur what? To appear for one eve
ning in a fictitious character at a masquerade.
Be it so then,” continued she riiournfully, yet
proudly—“ I shall assume a new, if not a false
character, for the rest of my life.”
The masquerade was over—and Caroline
returned, weary, and h’retehed, to her father’s
house. The pleasure she had anticipated was
all ideal; but the misery ai.d remorse II Inch
succeeded, were a sad and lasting reality.—
Landon came not to Welcome het return, and
solitude was too irksome to be borne.—She
went into Society, and ptlt bn fl tnask of gaietv,
to hide the Canker worm of disappointment,
which was secretly preying on her heart, and
j undermining her health and spirits.
Rdtrior, with her hundred tongues, soon
' spread the report, that Miss Wilton had dis
carded her noble and generous lover; and many
others crowded round her to supply his place,
but she was cold and distant to all, till she heard
that. Landon was going to be married. Too
hastily believing a Story that was fabricated
only to deceive her, she waited not its comple
tion, but in a moment of pride and resentment,
almost of delirium, she gave her hand to one
whose artful persuasions had chiefly induced
her io fcomriiit her first great folly, of throwing
offthe guiding care of her early friend and ben
efactor. But she knew not herself when she
made the solemn vow to love and honor anoth
er. She knew not the strength of her attach
ment to Landon till she had severed, with her
own hapd, the last remaining link between her- 1
self and him, and found, too late, that her heart
could t ot thus be forcibly torn away from the 1
only one to whom it had ever been freely and
fully given.
It was less than a year from the time of
the masquerade, that the public papers an
nounced the marriage of Col. Graham with
the beautiful and accomplished Caroline Wil
ton, and from that hour the disappointed and
disgusted Landon foreswore all intercourse
with the female sex.
Graham had once been among the number
ofhis friends; but he was the man of all oth
ers, whom he would have warned her to avoid.
Handsome find insinuating in his manners,
and apparently all that Was good and amiable;
he was, in reality, selfish, designing and ty
rannical, and altogether incapable of loving.
Vanity was his ruling passion—and vanity,
once gratified, Becomes a cold and heartless
feeling towards its object.
Caroline hud lost her mother ; and her fa- I
tiler, though itKlulgenr, even to u fault, was a
man of business, and tdb much occupied with
the affairs of the world, to think much of those
of the heart. He had been led to believe that
Mr. Landon and his daughter had broken their
engagement to each other by mutual consent,
and though exceedingly mortified expected a
termination ofthe projected alliance, he said
little on the subject; and, when Caroline as
sured him that it was her choice to marry Col, '
Graham, he kindly told her to consult her own
happiness, and act according to her wishes.
He did not live to witness the trials and vicis
itudes of her future life; and she rejoiced in
the midst ofher sorrows, that he was spared ;
the pang of knowing that she had sealed her ;
own misery, by her hasty union.
The flowers of three summers had bloomed ■
and faded since the fatal barrier had been pla- /
ced between and his love; and time '
had worn out the first bitterness of fooling, and J
destroyed much of his resentment towards
Caroline. He began to judge calmly and ra- :
tionally of the past; and acknowledge to his ;
own heart that he had been greatly to blame ■
—lt was the blind impetuosity ofhis own dis- I
position, which had dictated his last words to
her, and provoked the proud reply which had j
sepaflhted them forever. lie felt that he should
not have utterly forsaken her for a single folly.
So young, so beautiful, so full cf joydfls spir
its, and so free from the world’s guile, how
could he thus abandon her?
She bad left her native place, and gone with
her husband he knew not wither, lie made I
no inquiries concerning her fate, and his |
friends never mm.tioned her name in his pres- '
once. Indeed, ho kept up bt t little intercourse I
with those who knew him. He either spent t
his time in travelling, or secluded himself with
in his own walls; and the once brilliant, fas- [
cinatmg and elegant Landon, seemed changed i
to the morose and gloomy recluse.
He had been wandering through the coun
try during the summer month’s, impelled by a 1
restless spirit that haunted him incessantly; >
and in one of his excursions ho missed his I
way, and found himself, late in the eveidug, !
apparently in an unfrequented place, and pro- ]
bably far from any habitation; but after riding !
on rapidly tor half an hour, and stiffermg his I
hors'e to take his' own Course, he discovered a |
light, and turned toward it. As he approach- j
ed, he found it cam j from a small collage sur- >
rotmJed with shrubbery; and dismount;..a he j'
walked slowly and caiftiously on, till within a !
lew yard's of the window, whence it issued. I
It \i’as a still cveiii/g in the month of June, and
the moon was just rising in a clobdless sky. j
Landon stopped for q moment, and coiitom- |
plated the scene with an iudesciibaljle feeling!
ol nretancholv. (Suddenly the sound of music i
came from the house. IL: listened. It was :
a low mournful Voice, yet sweet and soft. >
1 he air was “The last rose of summer,” and !
awakened manv painful associations iti bis j
mind. It was the hist song that Caroline had {
ever sung for him <mi Tventful evening, j,
when a “trifle light - ;
lasting breach between tlw?m. lie appioach- J
cd nearer and distinctly .heard the following
*tV6ids:’-i
'Tis die last blooming summer
These eyes shall behofd — [
Long, long ere another, I
This hi .irt shall be cold ;
But ah ! it’s best feelings',
On eartlflnive 'qpen vhiJlM ;
And I grit '.«<• not, that shortly
It’s pulse shall be still’d,
Alone and in sorrow,'
Dark hum's roll by,
F'rsnken and friendless.
Why should I not die ?
The turf will lie lightly
' Ab we the Imie spot,
Where the heart-broken stranger
blu.d and forgot ° I
With the last stanza, the voice seemed to
falter, and there was a slight pause, apparent
ly from_uncontrollable feeling, in the condo
ling line. Landon stood as if chained to the
ground. The image of Caroline flitted before
his imagination, as he had last seen her in her
innocence and loveliness, and he could not di
vest himself of the idea that he had again
heard the sweet tones of her voice. Deep
interest was mingled with his curiosity to catch
a glimpse of the musician before he applied for
admittance, and he was accidentally gratified.
. The curtain which shaded the window was
■ suddenly drawn aside, as if to admit the air,
and a youthful fetnale; dresised in black, appear-
. ed to be the only inmate of the apartment.
Landon was concealed from view by the shrub
bery, and gazed ..vv'tih an intensity of feeling
which absorbed every: thought. The lady
passed Her Hand to her foi’eiiead, and walked
from the casement. He could not ba mistaken
—it was surely the step, the figure of Caroline
i Wilton-y—and as she turned again the light fell
on her face, and removed the least shadow of
I doubt. Yes.it was indeed she- —but oh! how
: changed from the blooming beauty of other
, days. Consumption and sorrow were fast per
forming their work of death—and her song
seemed |srophefil: of her early doom; . The ro
ses had faded from her cheeks, and her eyes
had lost their once joyful expression ; but no
thing could dispel the charm which the soul of
virtue and intelligence diffused over her love
ly countenance.
Landon rushed forward, and would haVe for
ced himself into her presence; but, as he laid
his hand on the latch of the door, the thought
darted across his mind, “she is married !” and
he turned hastily away. “Ungrateful, mis
guided Caroline,” said he to himself, “ why
hast thou again crossed my view ? It is not
for me to soothe thy sorrow now—and the hus
band thou hast chosen, where is he?”
These thoughts nerved him to quit the spot,
and discovering a beaten track, he pursued his
way, and soon found a shelter for the night.
The next morning fie departed, without asking
a single question concerning the cottage or its
inhabitants ; but the memory of that pale lace
and wasted form, haunted him wherever he
went.
Summer had glided away, ano the foiling
leaves of autumn cast a deepergloom over his
mind. In the romance and eccentricity of his
disposition, he had buried all his painful
j thoughts and feelings in his own bosom ; but
I they became at length too bitter to be borne,
and he determined secretly to revisit the lone
ly cottage,
Evening again cast her shadows on the sur
rounding objects, and a dim light shone faintly
from the same casement window. Landon
reached, unobserved, the very spot where he
had last stood ; and What Were Ins sensations
to hear again the notes of music ! It was a
voice of sorrow, and seemed a requiem over
the dead. Wildly and solemnly it floated on
| the autumn blast—and the words which fell
j on his ear, harrowed his soul with anguish.
Steep on, sleep on—thou wilt not wake
Altho’ poor Helen’s heart should break,
j To see thee thus so calmly lie,
Unmindful of her tearful eye.
And art thou gone, tfly Caroline ?
Oh ! art thou, now, no longer mine ?
Then fare thee well—why should I weep,
To see thee thus so sweetly sleep ?
{ This world was never fit for thee—
It was not meant thy home to be ;
Thou wast to us a season given,
But thy abiding place is Heaven,
• The strain ceased, and sobs were heard au
, dibly in plate of the music. Landon was
I much affected, and as he had once known EL
j len Sinclair, the bosom friend of Caroline, in j
i the days of her happiness, he entered the apart- j
) ment where she was sitting, by the remains of
' her youthful companion.
j Ellen started at his well remembened form, 1
I and then, with a look of coldness, haughtily j
I said, “You have come too late, Mr, Landon. '
I Why do you intrude at such a moment ?
! Would you take a last look at. those still, cold
! features, beautiful even in death ? but oh ! the
! spirit is not there.”
( Landon spoke not, but turned to the bed, i
and klclt by the side of his departed love, j
Long did lie gaZe in silence, till at length, in a ;
voice choked with strong emotion, bo exclai. I
med, “Sleep on, beloved Caroline!—Sleep on. ;
in thy calm, unbroken rest! Far, far happier i
art thou cow, than he who is gazing at thy |
senseless form, with a broken heart. Oh' j
J that I had left thee under thy father’s roof, :
j beautiful and innocent, and happy as thou wast I
I when I first saw thee. Sweet flower, thsu /
I mightest have bloomed wild, and lived out thy I
) days—but transplanter:, and fostered wifli too ■
j mtich care, thou wast unable, like a green-hou.se I
■ plant, to bear the pitiless blast of the world. I
I Why did 1 take thee from die protector which
! nature had given thee ? 0 ‘ too severely have
I 1 been punished for my presumption and vani
j ty. Thou art gone ! and this work of death
I is all the effect of one single folly in me.”
j The heart stricken mourner rose from his
j knees and left the rqom, and it was many
j weeks after the turf had been laid on tho grave
I of Caroline, ere he could bring himself to in
quire the particulars of her history since her
: marri’ge.
| Her tale Was a common one. It was the
Istorv of a woman disappointed in her first
I love—marrying from other feelings—fulfilling
I her duties to her husband with fidelity,' but I
; a ilh a brokun heart—neglected by the man j
! for whom she had sacrificed her happiness, j
and at last forsaken and left to die in the spr ng |
1 time of life, with inj'urqd feelings, withered as- i
I flections, and blighted hopes.
She left a flew lines flor Landon, written just
j before her death. They were as follows :
! “To my early benefactor,l would devote a
i few of the remaining moments of my life. I
> They must, indeed, be for I feel that I j
am dying. Ten years have passed, Landon,!
I-since I was first taught, to look up to you j
jas my protector, adviser, ai d best friend. |
j 1 jdare not look back on the first six, bo-
I cause I must not now indulge those feel-1
[ ings which ever come with the recollection of i
: that gulden part of my life. My foolish heart
li sometimes whispers me, “ how happy I might
| have been!” but, believe me, tny friend, the
happinessof this world, after all, is but a dream.
1 'l'lie last four years have been to me an age <’l
Uni-row—and yom>g as F am I am' contented Io :
die. I feel that. I have lived long enough to I
have had my full share of good and evil--but:
the evil has been better for me than life good. !
It has turned my thoughts froth the joys u hich
pass away, to those which endure forever—
Land it has tjiugh.t mo to seek thq straight and
j narrow path, which leads to a brighter and a
j better world,
“Had it been the will of providence,
I I- should' have rejoiced to see you once more ; |
but it may not be—\ve can never meet again
in this world. A few short hours will proba
bly finish my brief career, and close the scene
of life forever. Y<!ySr noble and generous
heart will mourn, I know, for my early fate,
and my last earthly thoughts wj.ll linger with
the benefactor of my youth. There is a Fee
ling that will i.ot die, but with the spark of my
life. There is a deep and enduring affection,
which is often found in woman’s heart. If un
fortunate, it may be concealed, and-struggled
with, and schooled into submission, amidst oth
er cares and duties ; but when the hour of
death approaches, it \j ill assert its power, and
swallow up every earthly feeling',
I knotv, too Well, that the bright prospect of
my early days were all blasted by a single fol.
hj— and the effect of that one has caused me
to commit a hundred others, which have bro’t
misfortune, and misery, and death in their
train ; But I mourn not now for myself; I
grieve only for the sorrows which I have in
flicted on the best of men. Oh! Landon, for
give my ingratitude to you—forgjve the cruel
disappointment of your hopes, the desolation
I have spread around your path, and drop one
tear to the memory of the wretched
Caroline.”
Weeks, and months, and years, glided on,
unheeded by the desolate and heart-broken
Landon; but time at length softened the vio
lence of grief, and wore away the heavy
gloom of disappointment. In the very prime
of life, rich, handsome, and accomplished, with
splendid talents and brilliant genius, he could
not fail of being an object of attention and in
terest. He b -gai? again to smile with the light
of other days—to charm with his conversa
tion, and,delight, with his various accomplish
ments ; but his heart was buried in, the early
grave ot his Caroline. Landon had loved,
but. not as men loi’e. Surrounded and courted,
and flattered, by the ybting, the gay and the
beautiful, he was still true to his first passion,
aril passed on through life, a solitary and iso
lated being, the victim of a single folly, and
its bad effects.
There was many a youthful bosom, whose
warmest and best affections would have been
gladly devoted to him, had he given the sligh
test encouragement —but the “ heart requires a
heart, nor will it be satisfied with less than it
gives.”
A.WOMAtVS FAREWEIrt.
Fare thee well! ’Tis meet we part,
Since other ties and hopes are thine ;
Pride that can nerve the lowliest heart
Will surely strengthen mine !
Yes, I will wipe my tears away,
Repress each struggling sigh:
Call back rhe thoughts thou led’st astray,
Then lay me down and die !
Fare thee well! I’ll not upbraid
Thy r fickleness or falsehood now ; —-
Can the wild taunts of love betrayed
Repair one broken vow ?
But if reproach may wake regret,
In one so false and weak,
Think what I w as, -when first we met,
And read it on my cheek!
Fare thee well! of yonder tree’
One leaf is fluttering in the blast.
Withered and sere —a type ofinine —
For I shall fade as fast ’
Whilst many a refuge still hast thou,
Thy wandering heart may save,
From thee keen pangs that wring mine now,
I have but one —the grave!
From the United States Gazette.
HE ASKFB TOO SOON.
In reply to ‘Tie came too late.’'
BY MISS BOUARE-
; He asked too soon —ere he did prove
The magic of delay’,
, He asked, .era woman learn'd to lovq
And cast his heart away :
felt no thrill, when his true hand
Did warmly press her own ;
His vows and prayers where lightly sean’d,
Too soon his heart was known.
He asked too soon—a wayward thing I
I s woman’s love when sought.
The heart’s best treasures it will fling
On him who'll prize it not:
She fain would have the proud one bow,
The rover t-uru and kneel;
Thecoldest hearts make warmest vow,
And the unfeeling feel.
He asked too sqon—th’ opposing thought
And blended feelings known.
In her, whom love has truely taught
His tyrant sway to own:
A hope to gain the seeming lost,
The fear that’s won will fly,
Perplexed by doubt, by’ passion toss’d,
All this her soul must try.
He asked too soon—she view’d his worth
With calculation cold,
He'd fame, he’d merit, gentle birth,
And wealth of thought untold;
But he did ask, ere passion threw,
Romance around his name,
And when the maid his feelings knew,
She felfno Kindred flame.
From the Liverpool Telegraph.
JDIAIET.
BY T. RAWLINSON.
See, who comes yonder to her lattic'd bower,
Wrapt, in the mantle ofher peerless charms ;
With loosen’d breast, revealing its young snow,
And blue eye cast on Heaven’s bright midnight scene ; I
Tis Julie*, or ’tis innocence ; sweet child—
Yet more than child, Verona’s loveliest flower
Scarce more than budded : “Comes she to.hcr rest,
Or to the gaze of night; or to her thought,
And memory of what she was, at morn,
And what at eve, ere yet young Romeo sighed.
She has not tasted guilt, and her foot
Press'd not the marble stair, as it was wont
With its light sound ; it came not as itshould,
Free by her nurse's side ; nor on her lip,
Was all the maiden's prattle ofthe dance.
And song, and guests, that grac’d her father's halls.
And when her lady-mother hade good night,
And parted with a. loss, like one in fear,
Or one in freedom scarce yetsure, trac’d down
Her steps, retreating from the door;
And trembled, as the storm-touch'd leaf is mov’d,
To hear the voice, her owp sweet, mother’s voice.
Ask of the nurse, ‘‘Why Juliet’s step so light.
Should jon that evening falter;" yes, she trembled—
Yet knew not whyguilt was not in her heart—
But looking on her iniiocence, she saw
A ripple on its bosom as’of vice.
Attack for love, for childish, maiden love,
That on her casement leaning, thus looks down
Half sad, and half gay—like one in tears, yet laughing
On buds of pomegranate, and bleaching-rose.
Vol. V--Ve. 4.
From a Manuscript Lecture on Horticulture.
The Biegraphy of the Rose.
BY SAMUEL L. KNAFP.
Isis, the most ancient of the Egyptian divin
ities, represented the prolific properties of na
ture, and particularly of a 11 the useful and love ?
ly productions of tr.e earth;, and by different
names, she, at that period, held sway over the
whole world. She was represented holding
a f’lobe in her hand, with a vessel full
of corn. The ancients thought that the choic
est flowersgrew where she trod on her own
domains, and when she was most delighted by
the honors paid her, there sprung op the rose)
dearest of all flowers,.in her woship. fler
worshippers soon believed that the rose was
the most, acceptable of all flowers to the god
dess, and laid garlands of them iu profusioq
upon her altars. From Egypt, Isis was brought
to Greece, and there represented the whole be)\
vy of goddesses, from Venus to Ceres, and 1
there was styled "tnisTfcss, mother, muse, or
the goddess of ten thousand names.” This
offering, from mortals, of het#lovejy
seemed to breathe from the altar ai purifying
and exalting incense over her worshippers.
Through every age of legend, peetry and fa
ble, the rose has ten thousand eulogists ; but
few have ever attempted to give its history.
The rose, in all countries and in ali times)
has bsen held as the queen of flowers. The
name, as it comes to us, is from tho Greek
rodon; it has relation to the colour, red, Tho
Greeks took their impressions of the rose, and
all matters of taste in the vegetable kingdom,
from the Egyptians, Persians’or otHefr nations
of Asia. Everywhere it is tile type of beauty
and love, bestowing its name to eririefi other
flowers, which derive from ’he rose their chief
celebrity, and taking unquestionable prece
dence of all in ornament ot taste. The Greeks
had more taste than imagination, and they
pruned in their beautiful fables the luxuriant
growth of Oriental fancy. They have, this
tradition of the rose—“ The god of love madu
~. present to llarpoerates, the god of silence,
of a beautiful rose, the first that had been
known, to engage him not to discover any of
his mother, Venus;’’ and hence it has become
a citstoni to have a rose placed in their rooms
of mirth and entertainment, that under the as
surance thereof they might be Induced to lay
aside all restraint, and speak "'hat they pleas
ed. Thus did the rose become a symbol of
silence; so that sub rosa, under the rose, deno
ted as much as to be out of danger of any dis
closure of conversation. The wretch whis
violated these customs, was held next in con
tempt to him who committed perjury to tlik
£ oJs ’ . . < *
In Lidia and other portions of the east, tlie
rose was commingled with sentiment and song;
its beauty and its perfume made it, in their
imaginations, a match for tho sweetest of na
ture’s musicj and in their sweet imaginings;
the nightingale was married to the rose. The
poetry of this regton of the rose was full of
their loves and happiness. Anacreon wrote
odes to this favoured flowerj enchanting as tin*
song of the nightingale itself; and the poets of
all ages have followed his example.
1 lie love of flowers seems to be a universal
passion. Bundles of flowers covered the ta
bles of the Greeks, and were worn during re
pasts, because they were supposed to possess
a virtue that reached the mind as well as tho
sonses; and not only preserved the wearer
from (Flo perfumes of wine, but refreshed his
thinking faculties, preserving the purity of
ideas and the gaiety of spirits. The rose)
with other flowers, was placed on the altars
of every god of affection and peace. They
sprung up in every garden and grew in every
bower.
Flowers are delightfill to all. The tasteful
Athenians, wlio Had a market for the sale of
them, were obliged to pass sumptuary laws to
restrain the extravagance of the purchasers.
Cleopatra, when she melted the pearl for her
wine-cup, trod on beds of flowers; and Nero,
the cruel Nero, could only bo propitiated bv
an offering of flowers. If historians are to
be relied on, this tyrannical monster paid thir
tythousand pounds for the flowers to ornament
I one feast! and ages before his time. Tarquiti
the Proud rested himself in his gardens after
Iris massacre. These monsters were, at times’
' kept from the scent of blood by the scent of
flowers.
Such was the passion over every mind in
the east for flowers, that from them has been
made a universal language of friendship, af
fection and love. It. is one of no difficult ac
; quirement, and fragments of it have been dif
fused far and wide; and these fragments have
been caught in our own language. Sh iks
peare displays his knowledge of these scraps
of emblematic conversations, in his character
of OpheliS: ,
‘•There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance
-—pray you, love, remember; and there is pan
sies, that’s for thoughts. There’s fennel for
you, and columbine; there’s rue for you, and
here’s some for me; we may call it herb of
grace o'Siv.n]-,vys. You may swear your rua
with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would
give you some violets; but they withered all,
when my fa her died.”
This love of' flowers was widely diffused iu
England among the common people. Their
trivial names bear testimony to this partiality.
There is hea.rt’s-ease, lady’s-deligiit, jump)
and-kiss-tne, dec. and a host of such terms.
When the courts of law were held in agricul
tural counties in England, large assemblies of
tho gentry flbeked to their towns; these courts
were held in the summer, and floweis were
brought in and scattered profusely around the
judges on the bench of usticc. This was a
relict of an ancient custuffi, and its observance
was not calculated to do any harm. There
was quite as much efficacy in these simple
garlands of flowers, as i« the costly ennine
worn by the judges on their robes; the former,’
at feast, refreshed the senses, white the armino
was’ only an emMem of purity; and these flow
ers iiicTicated as much the purity of their de
cisions. as the ponderous wigs they weaf
bear relation to their brains-
Jloscs are ornaments of the attar of hymen)
while vases of lilies are placed upon tho graves'
of youth and innocence. On careful exatnin,
at.ion, even in this age of philosophy, we shall
find that flowers, have had a much greater
ttioral influence than we have imagined.
We have observed that the rose was offer
ed to Isis in her sacred mysteries, and was to
her the most acceptable of ah offerings.
beautiful, but often misunderstood metamorpho
sis of Apulius, gives to tha rose a tpagic effegt.
—ln this fable Lucius is transformted into the
Asineus Aureus, for having pursued a hYe of
profligacy and vice; but becoming repentant,
and hating the form he bore, Isis appeared to.
him in a dream, and told him" that if he would
push forward on’the day of h?r coming festi
val, and take a mouthful of the roses thrown,
by the princes upon her altar, that life wuliid 1