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the southern sentinel
IS PUBLISHED
EVERY FRIDAY MORNING,
nv
T. LOMAX & CO.
TEXNENT LOMAX Principal Editor.
Office on Randolph street.
Ciirvanj Depmlmml.
Conducted nv CAROLINE LEE HENTZ.
COLD O’ER MY BOSOM.
Col<l o'er my bosom the tempest is sweeping,
Shelter me, love, from the pitiless air ;
Chill nre the night-dews that round ine are weeping,
Oh! but more chill are the tears of despair.
Dark was the hour when allured from thy dwelling, j
Wildered, I roamed from my haven of rest;
Near me, in wild wrath, the billows are swelling— j
Shield me, love, shield me once more in thy breast.
Sad is thy welcome; oh! sad and upbraiding—
Breathe forth the accents once melting with love— ;
Roses of joy—on thy cheeks they are fading ;
Garlands of bliss—they are rent from the grove.
Languishing, dying, the victim of passion,
Weary and wan, at thy feet I recline;
Angel of mercy—look down in compassion,
Take my last sigh, love, and blessing —they re thine.
C. L. 11.
[WHITTEN FOR THE SENTINEL.]
S E LIM:
AN ORIENTAL TALE.
[CONTINUED.]
Selim earnestly perused the face of his
brother, that he might penetrate the depths of
his soul and learn his latent intentions —but
he could not fathom them. He saw only the
bold, unquiet eye, the proud, curling lip and
haughty mien, which had distinguished him
in early years, and gained him the appella
tion of Solyinan the Proud.
The spot which had been selected, was one
which nature had guarded from intrusion with
the most jealous care. On one side, a clus
ter of trees, clothed in the densest foliage,
presented a wall of living verdure impervious
to the eye; on the other, a broad stream,
darkened by the boughs which overshadowed
its banks, poured its tributary stream into the
Euphrates’ distant waves. Selim impatient
ly demanded of his brother the credentials
which he had promised to deliver. Solyinan
drew from beneath the foldings of his robe a
casket, and touching a secret spring, display
ed its brilliant contents. It was filled with
I
the richest gems, but there were papers con
coaled in this magnificent bed of diamonds,
which Selim gathered up, regardless of the
splendor which surrounded them. From these I
papers he discovered that Zerah, his betroth- j
ed bride, the supposed daughter of Ibrahim- j
was the orphan Princess, who had been res
cued in infancy from the power ot Amarulh.
He, whose attachment td his murdered sover
eign had led him to protect this lone blossom
from the storm which had uprooted the parent
stem, placed her in the arms of Ibrahim’s gen
tle wife, who was watching by the cradle of
her own slumbering babe. Ibrahim was then
absent, but she vowed to cherish with a moth
er’s tenderness, the innocent being committed
to her care. In the meantime, by a mysteri
ous dispensation of Heaven, her own child
sickened and died, and when Ibrahim, who
had attached himself to the new dynasty, re
turned, he received to his bosom, with uncon
scious loyalty, the lovely offspring of a king
ly line. There was an inexplicable resem
blance between the two infants, and the wife
of Ibrahim justly deemed that her husband
would he secured from much solicitude and
danger, if he remained ignorant of the hazar
dous charge she had received. She was now
no more, and they, who now stood side by
side, in the solitude we have described, were
the sole possessors of this interesting secret
Selim grasped the casket as if it contained
his salvation, and exclaimed, “Mine be the
bosom to guard these sacred testimonies. I |
dare not hazard their safety, even in your j
hands. Should Amaruth but dream of her iden- j
titv with the objeet of bis fears, her life would |
bo the instantaneous sacrifice. Even now j
his emissaries are on the watch, sent to every
part of his kingdom, to discover the victim of
his ambition.”
“No—they shall be a pledge between thee
ami me,” exclaimed Solvman. “Thou hast
sworn not to betray me, but thou art human.
My life and that of my brave band are in thy
power. I have revealed to thee our most se
cret designs—thee, the favorite of a tyrant, i
IVlint surety hast thou given ? Nothing but i
breath, already melted in air. Shouldst thou j
yield to the weakness of passion, and deliver J
us into the hands of him, by whom thou art j
thyself enslaved, thy Zerah’s life shall be the
sacrifice of thy broken faith. I brought thee
here, that thou might’st learn the secret of
Zerah’s birth, bat never, never , will l relinquish
to the friend of tyranny, the treasure which
expiring loyalty committed to my trust. ’
lie ceased, and suddenly snatching the cas
ket from the hand of Selim, turned and plung
ed into the stream that rolled near the snot
where they stood. The action was so sudden
and impetuous that Selim was hardly con
scious of the deed, till he beheld his brother
severing the waters with one hand, while he
held in the other the glittering prize. Soon
springing upon the opposite bank, he waved
a parting sign and disappeared in the obscu
rity of the thicket. Selim gazed after this
wild and singular being with feelings it would
be dilfieult to define; but the conviction that
Solyinan despised the species of honor which
bound him to Amaruth, stung him to the
soul.
“He knows me not,’’ he bitterly cried; but
the recollection of Zerali and the dangers
which surrounded her, soon banished ev
ery other reflection. The sun was just be
ginning to gild the mist which curled around
the mountain’s brow,—that sun which was to
VOL. 111.
have shone upon their nuptial vows. The
(ear that Amaruth might discover the secret
of her birth deepened to maddening certain
ty, as he thought of the almost illimitable
power which the Sultan exercised over the
sordid minions which surrounded his throne, j
He could not believe that the knowledge of i
so important a fact was confined to the bo- \
sorn of one individual. He determined to |
seek the dwelling of Ibrahim, and warning
him of some impending calamity, urge him to
leave the country and bear his daughter to
some distant region, where they might remain
in security till the apprehended danger was
past.
Ibrahim beheld, with astonishment, the
clouded brow and troubled mien of Selim—
not such the mien that bridegrooms are wont
to wear. The pride of the father rose high in
his heart, for the beautiful Zerah was the fair
est flower of oriental climes, and he deemed
her a gift richer than all the gems of the East.
To Selim’s impassioned representations of un
known peril which awaited them, and en
treaties for their immediate departure, he lent
a doubting ear. He was one of the most
magnificent grandees of the kingdom, and
he felt that he possessed sufficient power in
himself to guard against any evils which
might threaten him. With proud integrity of
purpose he resolved to stand firm in the
strength of conscious rectitude. Selim was
unprepared for this resistance, and marked,
with anguish, the suspicions which had en
tered the breast of Ibrahim. He dared not
avow the secret which oppressed him—he
could not prove, by the necessary credentials,
the almost incredible tale, and he feared that
ambition, which held lordly sway over Ibra- ;
him’s minor passions, would lead him to sac
lificcthe innocence ancl beauty he had pro
tected while ignorant of its imperial origin.
Ibrahim summoned his daughter, and com
manding her to fathom the mystery of her lo
ver’s conduct, or to withdraw the pledge she
had given, left the apartment.
Selim had not, till this moment, experienced ‘
the overwhelming embarrassment of his situ- !
i
ation. lie stood pale and irresolute in the ;
presence of her, whom he was to have j
claimed that day as a triumphant bridegroom, j
The pride which sustained him before his fel
low man, was now annihilate 1 by a stronger
emotion. lie did not speak, but throwing him
self prostrate at her feet, buried bis face in the
foldings of her robe. And surely, if aught
ill woman’s form could justify the adoration
of the heart, this daughter of a kingly race
might vindicate the worship she inspired.
With eyes of celestial glory; a brow on which
the regality of nature was enthroned; a
cheek on which the rich bloom of the pom- J
egranate was mellowed to the softness of the !
virgin rose; tresses of dark redundance,that
wreathed as they fell, forming a native veil !
around her—she moved amid the maidens of
that eastern land, fair and transcendent as the
moon, when, attended by her starry hand
maids, she walks the palace of the skies. The
tern[ile was worthy of the divinity which it
enshrined. Thus clothed with the light of
material and spiritual loveliness, she seemed
born to feel and to create a passion, refined
above the grossness of mortality. Unlike the
proud and jealous Ibrahim, sbe doubted not
tbe faith of her lover. When, in broken ac
cents, he told her of the interdiction to their
nuptials, of the cloud that was darkening over
their destiny, she wept over their blighted
hopes, but instead of withdrawing, she renew
ed her vows of love and fidelity. Oh ! pure
and trusting is the tendernesss of woman’s
uncorrupted heart! A ray emanating from
the fountain of all purity and light, shining
on with unwavering brightness, undimmed by
j the gloom of sorrow, unextinguished by the
darkness of despair. The darker and closer |
the clouds gather around, the clearer and
brighter its divine effulgence. The sunshine
O
resting on the coming tempest, the rainbow
gilding its retiring shades.
Selim felt, in this moment, more than in
demnified for all ho had endured. The con
viction of her unalterable love, restored to ‘
him the energy’ and eloquence which had ev
er rendered him an irresistible pleader. Ze
rah yielded to the entreaties which Ibrahim
| had resisted, and ere they parted, consented
| to fly with him to some far and lone retreat,
| where, like the desert flower which blossoms
j unseen, save by the All-seeing eye, she would
be content to bloom alone for him.
Selim sought the palace of Amaruth. He
had one of the hardest tasks for a noble and
an ingenuous mind to perform. He was com
pelled to mask his purpose, to appear with
deep submission before the sovereign, whose
resentment he had incurred. The day must
| be devoted to the revolting task of deception
1 —the succeeding night to his secret flight.
He was retracing, with slow steps, the path
which led to the mountain stream, that he
might avoid the guards of the Sultan, when
he suddenly encountered Solvman, who was
hurrying along with breathless speed, his
countenance indicative of the most violent
i emotion.
“Fly'!” exclaimed Sol vman, in a voice which
sounded, in Selim’s startled ear, loud as the
tec-bir shout. “Fly—the minions of tyran
ny are abroad—they rushed upon me, cowards
as they are, —they wrested the casket from
my unguarded hand, —their scimitars were
flashing around me. I fled, but not in fear.
I fled in search of vengeance. See,’’ he con
tinued, lifting on high his bleeding hand, “for
! every drop ai blood a thousand streams shall
flow. Fly through yon secret path,—inter-
I cent the wretch who robbed me of my treas
CTljc Semtljctn .Scittiuel.
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, APRIL 2, 1852.
ure. He left his comrades far behind. Fear
not the power of Amaruth. I swear to re
deem thee or perish by thy side.”
Swift as the lightning’s flash he vanished,
and swift as the same electric messenger of
wrath, Selim pursued the path which Solyinan
had indicated. That fatal casket! Had he
ten thousand lives, he would have periled them
all for the possession of that priceless treas
ure. Zerah, expiring under the hands of the
assassin, rose, an embodied vision, before him.
So powerful was the illusion, that when he
caught a glimpse of a mantle fluttering amid
the foliage of the trees, he culled out with the
energy of despair—
“ Save her! All-Gracious Allah! save
her.’’
It was the guard, who was hastening to
the Sultan with the casket he had stolen.
He turned at the sudden adjuration. The
powerful grasp of Selim impeded his flight.
He was a man of towering stature and ath
letic limbs, noted for physical strength, and
one of the chosen guards of the Sultan. He
met the stern embrace of Seli.n, with one
which might have crushed a feebler frame.
They grappled long and fiercely, and it was
only with the life blood of his antagonist, that
Selim redeemed the prize for which ho would
freely have poured out his own. Burying the
casket in his bpsom, he mantled over it the
folds o£ ids robe, but the conviction of Ze
rah’s safety was immediately followed by the
consciousness of his own danger. He was
surrounded by the Janizzaries, who had over
taken the flying steps of their comrade, and
who had been sent as spies to watch the se
cret movements of Selim. He saw that it
was in vain to contend with an armed band,
but lifting his blade aloft, still dripping with
the blood of his adversary, with that majesty
of look and gesture which always had
such an overawing influence on inferior minds,
he commanded them to forbear.
“Stand back,” he cried ; “what would ye
dare to do? Go to the Sultan—say that ye
saw me wing yon felon’s soul to Paradise.
Aye, tell him too, that ye saw me fling into
tlie oblivious waves, what I would not barter
for all the riches of his kingdom.”
Then opening his blood-stained robe, he
drew forth the casket of Zerah, and raising
it high over their unsheathed weapons, dashed
it into the waters of the mountain stream,
then rushing on in a downward and swollen
current, forming a deep and unsearchable
grave. The deed was instantaneous. Selim
drew a deep inspiration, as if his bosom were
relieved from some oppressive burden. The
secret was now safe in iiis own heart, and
no tyrant’s power could penetrate that inner
sanctuary. Turning to the astonished guards
he signed them to advance. Accustomed to
obey the princely Selim, they involuntarily
yielded to hissway, and though they marched
on either side, with naked blades, precluding
the possibility of escape, he had more the air
of a sovereign with his attendant vassals, than
a victim to be arraigned before the tribunal
of offended majesty.
C. L. 11.
[TO EE CONTINUED.]
Christy, the Minstrel.
The Musical Times gives a brief sketch of
this famous person’s career, which we
subjoin:
“The early beginnings of this kind of en
tertainment we are not definitely informed
about, but have an impression that it first be
came popular by the performances of Rice,
the original “Jim Crow” of the stage, al
though Christy, we believe, was himself an
early solo performer, before he organized his
(subsequently) most successful band. There
fell into our hands lately, a biographical
sketch of this latter ‘Minstrel,’ which em
bodying as well a history of the first organi
zed ‘Minstrelsy,’ we will make a short tran
script of. It seems that Christy himself is a
native of Philadelphia, but went when a
young man, to New Orleans, where he be
came a clerk in a mercantile house, part of
liis duty, there, being the superintendence of
a rope walk, upon which was employed a
large number of slaves.
“From these slaves he first acquired a
i knowledge of negro characteristics, he being !
always a silent but close observer of their I
manners, and a willing student of their queer
and simple but expressive melodies. In 1832
Christy joined Welsh’s menagerie, and be
came a‘Negro melodist and a comic singer.’
He subsequently appeared upon the public
stage at Buffalo, in the character of an ‘Ex
travaganza and Bufl'o Vocalist.’ In 1842,
however, he determined to organize a band,
the members of which, independently of their
1 proficiency on their several instruments,
; should be sufficiently skilled in music to be
| able to harmonize negro solos, and vary the
j entertainments with properly arranged duetts,
trios, quartettes, and choruses. With such
j simple materials he has since established a
permanent and most popular entertainment,
from which he has already realized a very
large fortune.”
It appears that Mr. Christy, who is nowin
the enjoyment of an income larger than that
of the President of tJie United States, gained,
by his first year’s performance, only three
hundred dollars. His receipts, at present,
average about twelve hundred dollars a week.
ffCr A Fixe Ear for Music.— Two Irish
men, in crossing a field not over a hundred
miles from this place, came in contact with a
j jack, who was making “day hideous” with
his unearthly braying. Jemmy stood a mo
ment in astonishment, but turning to Pat, who
seemed as much enraptured with the song as
! himself, remarked :
“It’s a fine large ear that bird has for mu
sic, Pat, but sure he’s got a wonderful
i cowld.”
;
O* A Fact.— lt has been suggested to us
that of all the crying evils, babies are the
! “most tormentcncst.”
COuv Ccmlrilmtovs.
[WRITTEN FOR THE SENTINEL.]
Chance Thoughts Self-Suggested.
BY ERNEST SOLE.
As roses will wither and perish,
Tho’ kindly thou strivest for aye
Their beauty and fragrance to cherish,
Beyond their brief life of a day ;
As brooks tiiat in Spring murmur gladly,
In summer are dried to the dust, —
Thus truly we know, tho’ full sadly,
The hearts that we tenderly trust,
Will wither away like the flowers,
Will dry as the summer-dried rill;
Yet sweet in our saddest of hours,
Will memory cling to us still;
And idly we sit as we mind us
Os links now broken forever,
And weep that we never may bind us
With cords no parting can sever.
But the rose was of beauty the symbol,
Its image will never decay—
The rill that we quaffed in our gladne&s,
Hath strengthened our hearts for the way.
Then vanish all sickly repining
And cherish the friend of to-day,
The past„with its sadness refining,
Will gladden the future alway.
[WRITTEN FOR THE SENTINEL.]
Portuguese J oe.
BY MRS. M. S. B. SIIINDLER.
T During the battle of Lake Champlain, old Joe per
formed the daring exploit of nailing the flag to the mast
during the hottest tire of the enemy. Having road a
well authenticated account of the circumstance, it struck
mo that I might do my part towards perpetuating the
memory of so noble and gallant a deed, and the follow
ing lines were straitway written, l’oor Joe perished in
the flames, on the night of the fire in Exchange place,
New Orleans, several years ago. lie died while risk
ing his life in the service of others, and thus nobly closed
a noble career. ]
Upon the Lake the battle raged,
And bravely were strong hearts engaged
To win their country’s Liberty,
To conquer or to die!
The iron hail flew thick and fast,
Against the sails, against the mast,
While many a strong and gallant frame
The prey of Death became.
And fiercer grew the cannon’s sound,
And faster (lew the balls around,
While sadly rose, above the strife,
The groans of parting liie.
Still the brave tars btdield with pride
The “stripes and stars” exulting ride
Where many an earnest eye was east —
Upon the tow’ring ma t.
But hark ! a shot! ‘twas guided well;
And suddenly the colors fell!
Another—and another! now
Tho flag is lying low !
Upon the deck the Stripes and Stars
Float in the blood of dying tars ;
Yet surely ’tis a noble stain—
That life-blood of the slain!
But who is this who bravely dares
Replace those precious Stripes and Stars ?
The tatter'd ropes his lingers seize!
’Tis Joe, the Portuguese!
Into the rigging quick lie springs,
Fast to the splinter’d mast he clings;
And lo ! the Flag of Liberty
Once more is flowing free!
.Toe’s shining hat waves o’er his head ;
Three cheers! the flag again is spread !
Another burst of triumph now !
Three cheers from those below!
That fight is o’er —the battle done;
‘Twasbravely fought, and bravely won!
But Joe the bravest part did play
That well remember’d day.
* * * * * *
Long years have pass'd, and Joe is dead ;
His ashes to the winds are spread ;
Long live, within our memories,
Brave Joe, the Portuguese!
Shelbyvillc, Ky., March 6, 1852.
[Written for the sentinel.]
RECOLLECTIONS OF A VOLUNTEER.
BY MANGO D K CI,A VO .
POPULATION OF A MEXICAN CITY.
Captivated with the glitter of the city, and
astonished at the strange costumes, colors and
manners of the inhabitants, we paid but lit
tle attention to the massive walls which en
circle the city, or the impregnable fortifica
tions which defend it. Just five days before,
we had left the port of Mobile, where the in
habitants were wrapped in their thick cloaks
and shivering with cold, and we were no lit
tle surprised to find the Mole thronged with
moil dressed in white linen, nor could we re
concile this with the toilet of the lower or
ders, many of whom had neither hats upon
their heads nor shoes upon their feet, while
their bodies were closely wrapped up in a
thick woolen blanket.
Indeed, the population of a Mexican city
present an appearance curious beyond con
ception. The priests are numerous in all of
them—the crowns of all whose heads are
closely shaven. The gray orders wear no
shoes, but sandals instead. They dress in
cassock and gown, either black or gray. The
brims of tho hats of the higher orders of cler
gy are half a yard wide, rolled up at the sides
and slicking out before and behind, like the
prow and stern of a ship; and as they sail
along the side-walks, the half-naked greasers
fall down upon their knees before them and
beseech their blessing. The white people,
and the wealthier of the bronzed races, dress
as we do, and do not differ from us in man
ners and habits, except in the ease and grace
with which they salute a lady or offer you a
cigar. But beneath these there is a large
class, of all shades of color, who differ from
us in all things. They wear great coarse
hats, with bell crowns and wide brims, as
heavy as lead. They never use suspenders,
but sashes of gay colors, instead, which
! they tie round their waists and let the ends
hang low down their backs. Their panta
loons are never of the same color throughout.
| If the body of the material is black, they in
: sert a seat of blue or some other fancy color,
and line the inside of the legs with the same,
i And to increase the oddity of their appear-
ance, their pantaloons fit the body v and hips
as tight as the skin, but the legs are large and
full—slit open from the hips down to the an
cle, and are adorned with a row of round sil
ver buttons, set upon both sides as’ thick as
“quills upon the fretful porcupine.” They
scarcely ever wear coat, jacket or waistcoat,
but wrap themselves in a heavy woolen blan
ket, by inserting the head through a hole in
the middle of it, or gracefully swing it up
on one shoulder. They never ride a mule,
scarcely ever a horse. Their favorite char
ger is a foal of the she-ass sired by a horse.
There is still another species of humanity
belonging to the “magnanimous nation,”
whom wo must not overlook. They ride
neither horse, mule, nor any other four-footed
beast; nor wear shoes, pantaloons, hats,
coats, or blankets. They wear breeches—
yes, breeches, emphatically—which cover the
lower extremity of the body, and are orna
mented with legs an inch long. These things
are invariably made out of cotton. Their,
shirts, however, are made out of wool, and
have a slit in them for arm-holes. Their
coarse black hair they cut short, as some of
our fashionables did a few years back, and
their heads are as rough and bristly as the
back of a porker. They cover tho soles of
their feet with a piece of leather cut in the
shape of the foot, and tie it on with thongs.
One of the thongs passes between the great
toe and the one next to it, and causes them to
standout from each other like the thumb and
forefinger. These creatures are the workers,
and crowd the churches. When a certain
great bell in the city tolls, you may see scores
of them stop short, kneel upon the pavement, |
and whisper prayers to the saints, accompa- |
nied with frequent signs of the cross, and
blows upon the chest. When the catholic
enters the church, ho dips his finger in holy
water and makes the sign of the cross four
times on his face. These poor creatures are
not satisfied with this simple form. Rever
ently approaching the fount, he puts down
from his shoulders his heavy basket of provis
ions, which he usually brings in to the Sun
day market, and dips his hand into the holy
water, and pours as much as he can gather
up upon his bristly pate, and then signs all his
members with the sign of the cross. This
done, he kneels upon the paved floor of the
church, (there are no seats in the Mexican
churches,) and there remains until the mass
is concluded.
But I had like to have forgotten the ladies
—the dear Scnoras and Senoritas, the glory
of this miserable country. I never saw a
Mexican lady on horseback. They ride in
carriages without wheels. The body of a
common carriage is set on long shafts, ex
tending out behind as well as before. In
these shafts two mules are hitched, tandem
fashion, with the carriage between, which
swings delightfully from side to side, as the
mules amble along, like a skip before the
wind. ‘Those women who do ride on horse
back, (muleback is the more correct expres
sion.) always straddle the animal. No doubt
tho Bloomer costume will be popular in Mex
ico. The higher classes dress as our ladies
do, except that they substitute the rebosa for
the bonnet. The rebosa is a shawl in the form
of a parallelogram, two feet wide by six
long. It is brought up upon the head and kept
in its place by a brooch, and the ends being
brought before, it also answers the purpose
of sleeves and body for the outer dress. In
doors it is laid aside. They indulge in a ha
bit which would no doubt shock the taste cf
our dames, but when one is accustomed to it,
it is quite poetical. They smoke! they all
smoke—but mark you, they do not smoke ci
gars, but cigarettas—which are little rolls of
variegated paper enclosing tobacco. I was
one day sauntering along a green common, j
just at the foot of a spur of a chain of moun- j
tains, over which presides the majestic “Vol- i
can,” and in full view of its snowy peak, just
as the shadows of evening were darkening
the valley of Orizava, admiring tbe thousand
voluptuous beauties who promenade there in
the quiet stillness of every returning Sabbath
evening, when my attention was called to a
bevy of fair, graceful, nay, beautiful girls, in
the rosy morning of life, who, encircled in
each other’s arms, were slowly returning to
the city. The temptation was irresistible—
we followed them, lost in admiration, and
sighing for one kindly glance from their roll
ing black eyes, or one smile from their rosy,
pouting lips, when unexpectedly a whiff of
smoke gracefully curled over the head of one
of the prettiest of them, and in a moment
more five more wreaths of smoke ascended
to hoaven. I, who was in love with one of
them, in the ecstacv of the moment, supposed
it was grateful incense, which the beautiful
i creatures were sending up to heaven as a
■ sacrifice to the Virgin. My companion, more
shocked at their bad taste than pleased with
their loveliness, turned upon his heel and left
| me, exclaiming, “the b s are smoking,
by G-d!”
‘The great body of Mexican women dress
alike. They wear no bodies to their dresses.
But do not suppose that they expose their
persons to the gaze of the vulgar. ‘They do
better; they envelope them in a thin cover
| ing of cambric, which fits loosely and leaves
the arms hare; and such arms! they are not
large, but are elegantly proportioned and
rounded to perfection—as white as marble,
! and variegated with a net work of blue veins.
In this dress the motion of the body is per
fectly free, and the play of the round, protru
ding chests of the fair creatures, in breathing,
is like the swell and fall of the bosom of the
deep, Wheil caressed by the gentle breathings
of the South wind. This is the dress of the
Senorita within doors. Her chief employ
ment is to play upon the harp and sing the
songs of old Spain. O! it is a ravishing sight
to see a lovely girl, thus dressed, just budding
into womanhood, throw her long, tapering,
ivory fingers over the strings of the harp.
How transporting the hearings of their swell
ing bosoms; how thrilling the flash of their
great liquid black eyes; how melting the mel
ody of their sweet voices. Alas! alas! I
shall see them no more!
But there is another class of Mexican wo
men, who act as a foil to this divine picture.
The Indian woman! She, tawny as the North
American Indian, is horribly ugly, with her
broad, flat face arid high cheek bones; she
gets drunk and wallows in the mire of the
streets. She wears no sandals; no bonnet
or rebosa or turban or other ornament for the
head, except her own coarse hair, which she
plats in two long strands, with some red flan
nel, and swings behind her. She weArs no
frock, hut wraps a blanket round her body
from her waist down, and ties it round her with
a string. Her shirt is of the same form and
materials as that worn by the greaser. She
talks the Aztec and is the kinfolk of Mon
tezuma.
[WRITTEN for ti?e sentinel.]
Mr. Editor: Will you permit a lover of
the pure and beautiful in literature to tender
his grateful acknowledgments to yourself
and accomplished associate, the gifted Mrs.
Hentz, for the “feast of reason and flow of
soul” weekly furnished the readers of the Sen
tinel. Its rich and racy columns certainly
deserve, if they are not destined to obtain, a
circulation wide as the borders of the fair
Southern lands, to the advancement of whose
highest and best interests you evince such em
inent devotion. Nay, we see no good reason
why you should not he the recipient of a pat
ronage co-extensive with the Union—why
“the whole boundless continent” should not
he yours—and the Sentinel be joyously wel
comed in the happy home circles of the Re
public, North, East, South and West. Ge
nius knows no locality, and admiration of
the heaven-descended gift may not bo con
fined within boundaries prescribed by local
prejudice and sectional animosity. Furnish
the opportunity, and despite the differences
of birth, education and climate, its master
spell must and will be felt and acknowledged.
Mrs. llentz has, for many years, been known
to the American public as a Contributor to
our periodical literature, and has been justly
ranked among the first lady-writers of the
age. The fact, that the Literary department
of the Sentinel is under her immediate super
vision, and consequently graced with frequent
contributions from her able pen, will of itself
be the means of securing subscribers far and
near. Let it be known that her genius lends
its charms to your columns, and thousands
will hail with delight the opportunity thus fur
nished, of communing weekly with the pure
and gifted spirit they have so long loved and
admired. To ourself, the announcement was
an occasion of unmingled gratification. We
rejoiced to hear of so valuable an accession
to the “corps editorial’’ of our own, our na
tive State. Our heart was gladdened in an
ticipation of a brighter era of Southern liter
ature —a literature destined, when fully devel
oped, from the superior character of its ele
ments, to be richer, purer and holier than any
that has ever blessed the world with a refined
and elevating influence.
We theretore bid you, .Mr. Editor, God
speed in your noble enterprise. Asa
southern patriot, we tender our sincere thanks
for the part which j f ou have performed, and
the stand you have taken in defence of the
rights and interests of our much abused por
tion of the confederacy. Asa Christian phi
lanthropist, we offer you, sir, our fervent con
gratulations upon the good fortune which has
enabled you to secure in the Literary De
partment a co-adjutant, who can wield the
pen not only gracefully—to please and fasci
nate, to entertain and delight—but effectually
in the cause of truth and righteousness, to
send through the length and breadth of the
land a stream of healthful moral and religious
influence.
In conclusion, Mr. Editor, allow me to ex
press the hope that your efforts in a cause so
worthy, may be crowned with unprecedented
success, and that neither yourself nor fair as
sociate may ever have cause to regret your
connection with the Sentinel. So mote it be!
HANDY ANDY.
Oxford, Ga.
P. S. Feeling considerable interest in your
paper, I would fain become a contributor to
its columns, but that the want of leisure and
an unpracticed pen forbid. Events occasion
ally transpire in our quiet “village of shade”
worthy of a passing notice at least, and
sketches of our great men would doubtless
be interesting to your readers, but I should
have to write currente calamo, and I suppose
you want none of my “hurry-graphs.”
O’ Lady Franklin is a poetess. Very
early in life she manifested a great talent,
! and possessed a remarkable memory. She
! studied Greek at the age when most young
i ladies are puzzling over French. Her first
! poem was entitled “The Veils,” which was
j written in her seventeenth year. She won
i the heart and the hand of Sir John Franklin
by her poem, “The Arctic Expedition.” Her
! principal poem is an epic entitled “Occur de
Lion,” published when she was thirty years
ot age. We have not seen either of these
works, but they are said to possess considera
i ble merit. Lady Franklin Mas bor;i in 1795.
TERMS OF PUBLICATION,
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* “ “ “ “ “ in six months', 250
•* “ “ ** “ “ at end of year, 300
Rates of advertising.
One square, first insertion, §1 00
“ “ each subsequent insertion, - 50
A liberal deduction made iu favor of those who
advertise largely.
NO. 14.
[Extracts from the Westminster Review.]
Survey of American Literature.
Historians. —Among the historians who
have attained a high and deserved reputation
in the United States within the last few \-ears,
we are inclined to yield the first place to
George Bancroft.
With his critical sagacity in sifting evi
dence, his hound-like instinct in scenting ev
ery particle of testimony that can lead
him on the right track, and his plastic skill in
moulding the most confused and discordant
materials into a compact, symmetrical, and
truthful narrative, he cannot fail to present
the story of that great historical drama with
a freshness,’ accuracy and artistic beauty,
worthy of the immortal events which it com
memorates.
The volumes of the “History of the United
States” already published are well known to
intelligent readers both in Great Britain and
America. They are distinguished lor their
compact brevity of statement, their brilliant
panoramic views, and the boldness and grace
of their sketches of personal character. A
still higher praise may be awarded to this his
tory for the tenacity with which it clings to
the dominant and inspiring idea of which it
records the development. Whoever reads
it. without comprehending (he stand-point ot
the author, is liable to disappointment. For
it must be confessed that as a mere narrative
of events, the preference may be given to
the productions of far inferior authors. But
it is to be regarded as an epic in prose ot the
triumph of freedom.
The reputation of William H. Prescott as
an elegant historian is well known to British
scholars.
He is not a pro found thin Iter ; he seldom
descends below the surface; he has no love
for the investigation of first principles. Des
titute of all tendency to theory or to general
views, he is never lost in the region of specu
lative ideas. His mind is singularly free
from the transcendental element. Nor is his
imagination either plastic or suggestive. His
sympathies are languid, and not cold, but
lukewarm. He is never fired into a generous
enthusiasm in the contemplation ol a noble
act. Ho looks at the whole field of history
with a certain scholastic and gentlemanly in
difference, without permitting the serenity ot
his good breeding to be disturbed by any
thrill of passion, lienee he is after all a
mere collector of facts—a polished and
charming story-teller —a graceful showman
of the scenes of grand histoi ic achievements
—a lively and courteous cicerone, whose
knowledge of details is rivalled only by the
smooth facility of his descriptions. His style
is doubtless admirable, in its kind—furnished
With dainty elaboration—clear and limpid as
the gentlest rivulet which winds gracefully
through a quiet New England valley—redo
lent of the choicest literary culture, and be
traying an almost affected air of good socie
ty. But without any intellectual musculari
ty, temperate to tameness, uniformly elegant
and as Uniformly timid—free from anything
that could violently impinge bn the most fas
tidious taste, and equally free from anything
that can touch the higher sentiments oi our
nature and convert the field of history into a
sublime arena where great thoughts and di
vine principles struggle for the mastery—-is
soon palls on the sense of the reader with its
o’erhoncycd sweets, producing a profound
impression of monotony, and a gasping feel
ing of suffocation, like that of breathing the
air of a close greenhouse, in its almost pro
fuse luxuriance of winter blossoms. We
long for one free native blast from the rocky
hills in the midst of such costly artificial
beauty.
■ -Jared Sparks can claim no higher merit
than that of a diligent and careful compiler.
A work of considerable learning and re
searching been written by Samuel Eliot, en
titled the “History of Roman Liberty.”
Mr. Eliot is evidently a man of high, culti
vation, but can lay no claim to genius. He
is only safe when he follows his masters. —
Whenever he attempts to speculate on his
own account, a signal failure is the conse
quence; His book is at once an illustration
of the elegant culture which -is given at Har
vard College, the pride of Boston, and of the
timid, conventional superficiality of thought,
which distinguishes so large a portion ol’ tae
scholars of that literary metropolis.
Richard Hildreth is a more reemt histori
an. He has written the “History of the
United States down to the Admi dstration of
Thomas Jefferson,” and is now engaged in
its completion to a later period. His work
deserves more attention than it has received.
It is a keen, ice-cold, anatomical analysis of
American history, written with a bloodless
freedom from passion, dissecting the motives
and measures which have been usually sur
rounded with a brilliant halo of admiration,
and persistently eschewing every appeal to
sentiment, imagination, or emotion. The
language is clear, terse, vigorous, and for the
most part pure idiomatic Englis i. It con
stantly reminds you of greater power than b
exhibited.
Francis Parkmanis a young author of sin
gular promise. His recent “History of Po: -
tiac” is an admirable production. Combi
ning thoroughness of research with a
picturesque beauty of expression, it presents
a fascinating narrative of one of the most
pregnant episodes in American history. His
diction is copious, free and impressive, often
highly ornate, hut never violating good taste;
his descriptions of national scenery and of
military movements are graphic and spirited ;
and, with more than common powers of
grouping and arrangement, he has produced
a work whose symmetry and harmonious
coloring entitle it to a high place among the
recent masterpieces of literary art.
In connection with the present topic, we
may allude to the “History of Spanish Liter
ature, by George i icknor, a work which
shows how much may ho accomplished by
thorough scholarship, refined taste, and devo
tion to a speciality of research, without the ]
possession of rare ability, or the slightest j
tincture of the generous ideality ’tHneh
so often gives an electric glow to the com- j
positions of far less erudite men. The “Histo
ry of Spanish Literature” is not surpassed, j
indeed it h not approached, by any previous]
work on the same subject. Its criticisms are
almost invariably acuti and discriminating ;j
its narrative portions flow with a facile;
sweetness; and its translations, always faith
ful, frequently display considerable poetic!
skill. But throughout the whole work, the!
author rarely suffers himself to exhibit iu a|
thought or an expression, the originality