Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

a jFatnUs J&eto#i>aiwr: fflrOotea to JUteraturr, tftr art#, Science, agriculture, JWtchauic#, Eimcattou, JForciau ana Domestic JutcUißcnce, ®utuour, Kt. BY C. R. HANLEITER. “ Much yet remains unsung.” From the “ Family Companion.” TO A LADY-ON PARTING. BY SAMCKT. WOODWORTH. Though milder skies allure thee hence, And smiling, native scenes invite, When fancy, to thy view presents A glowing picture of delight; No flowery vales nor verdant scenes So sweet a fragrance can impart, As friendship's tender evergreens, Nourished by memory in the heart. In ours, those plants shall ever bloom, Freshen’d by tear-drops of regret. While one sweet hope will light the gloom— The hope that thou wilt not forget. But should new friends and joys efface The forms of those thou leav’st behind, 0, let the humble lines I trace, Recall the picture to thy mind. New-York, 1842. [Mfl^©HLL^lNlYo “ Sometimes fair truth in Action we disguise ; Sometimes present her naked to men’s eyes.” THE TALISMAN. [Altered from the French for the Southern Miscellany.] It was past midnight, and the last wed ding guest had departed, when Alfred How ard, the bridegroom, tapped lightly at the door of a luxurious apartment, and enter ing, threw himself at the feet of a lovely woman who there awaited him. “Rise, Alfred, I entreat you,” said the lady, extending her hand to him. “ No, no,” replied the young man, still, however, keeping possession of the beauti ful hand, “ here let me stay and hold you fast, to assure myself that you will not escape from me, that all this is not an illusion, for I feel like the hero of one of those fairy tales which charmed me in childhood, and now at the summit of my felicity, expect some spiteful fairy to appear, and snatch my trea sure from me.” “Oh,” said the lady smiling, “you have me safe enough, and no magic could make me happier than I am as the true and faith ful wife of Alfred Howard.” It was not however without reason that ■our hero imagined himself treading enchant ed ground; for within three short months inexplicable good fortune had raised him from a state of friendless obscurity to one of wealth and happiness beyond his wildest dreams. As he was one day passing through a prin cipal street in Philadelphia, a splendid equipage before him suddenly stopped, and an elegant woman leaning from the window called to him, “Good morning,” said she smiling, “come up here, I have something to say to you.” The footman had already let down the steps, and Alfred in utter bewilderment seated himself beside the lady; when the carriage immediately rolled on. “ Sir,” said she, in a sweet voice, “ I re ceived your note this morning, but notwith standing your refusal, l still hope to see you at my party this evening.” “To see me, Madam!” exclaimed Alfred in astonishment. “Yes, sir, you Oh! excuse me,” said she, “I think Yes certain ly, 1 have made a strange mistake, but you resemble one of my friends so much that I took you for him.——Heavens, what must you think of me! yet the resemblance is so striking that any one might have been deceived.” • before this explanation was concluded, the carriage stopped at a house which Al fred recognized as the residence of an opu tent merchant who had died about a year before; and the lady at his side was this gen tleman’s widow and the sole heir to his im mense wealth. Alfred handed her from the carriage, con gratulating himself on the happy chance Vvhich had introduced him to her acquain tance ; accepted her invitations, and fascin ated by her grace and loveliness soon be came her constant and welcome visitor. The rich and beautiful widow was of course surrounded by admirers, but they were all speedily dismissed, and affairs so arranged, that one month from their first in terview, saw her the affianced bride of the humble student. Such wonderful good fortune astonished every person, but no one so much as he who Was the object of it. He was a modest man, yet in his perplexity he more than once Q Pplied to the little mirror in his simply fur- nished dressing-room to discover if any thing in his appearance could warrant such a happy prepossession in his favor. The result of his observations was, that though not positively ugly, he had but slight pre tensions to beauty; and his dress, though al ways neat and gentlemanly, was not such as to permit him to attribute his success to the tailor; he could therefore only suppose that he was loved for himself alone, or that Mrs. A was under the influence of a charm. Any way it was a blissful dream, from which he trembled at the idea of awa king. And even now, though a bishop bad sanc tioned their union, and the laws of his coun try confirmed it, neither religion or law had power to dissipate all his doubts; and he still knelt at her feet, holding her fast by the hand, in fear that the charm would be bro ken. “Rise, dear Alfred,” said his wife once more, “and sit here by me, for 1 have some thing to tell you.” The young man at length obeyed, and the lady commenced thus: “Once upon a time ” “Oh Heavens!” cried Alfred, “am I to hear a fairy tale after alii” “Be patient, and listen tome. There was once a young girl whose parents, though formerly wealthy were by unmerited re verses, reduced to poverty. They resided in Augusta, but in their distress, the hope of better days brought them to this city.— Nothing is more difficult than for a man ac customed to the enervating indulgencies of wealth to lay the foundation of anew for tune. This, the father experienced, and after struggling a few years with various disappointments, died from discouragement and want. “The mother soon followed her husband, and their daughter, then only fifteen years of age, remained alone in the world— friendless and penniless. “If a fairy was to be introduced into my story, this is the time when she should have stepped in, but no such personage appeared, and the poor girl, who as I have said, was left without friends or protectors, sought in vain from strangers for the opportunity of exercising that industry which constitutes the riches of the poor. “Famine menaced her; she had already passed two days without food, and beggary seemed her only refuge from vice—when dressing herself in an old garment of her mother’s, the only inheritance that remained to her, with her face carefully concealed, and her figure bent to simulate age, she went forth into the street When there, she stretched out her hand, but alas! that hand was too young and fair, it would have be trayed the disguise, and returning to her miserable abode she enveloped it in a coarse bandage, as if to conceal some loathsome deformity. “ The poor child stationed herself against a post, as far as possible from any lamp, and several times timidly petitioned for a penny, ‘only a penny to buy a little bread,’ but in vain. The night was cold and rainy, and the watchmen had already begun their rounds, when the unhappy girl, perishing with hunger, once more held out her hand, and addressed a young man, who stopped, searched in his pocket, and threw her a piece of money, apparently pitying her mis ery, yet unwilling even to touch her hand. “At this moment, a watchman who had probably witnessed the occurrence, sudden ly made his appearance, and shaking her rudely by the shoulder, exclaimed, ‘Oh, begging! you must come with me, my lady!’ “ The excessive alarm of the poor girl probably excited the young man’s compas sion, for laying his hand on her arm which a few moments before he had avoided even touching with his glove, he said to the watch man, ‘ This woman is not what you suppose, she is an honest woman, I know her.’ ‘But, sir ’ ‘I repeat to you that I know her my poor old woman,’ said be in a low voice to the trembling girl, ‘take this half dollat, and get out of the way as soon as possible, you appear too feeble to fall into such rough hands.’ “ The money glided from his hands into mine,” continued the bride, ‘‘and by the lamps of a carriage, which at that instant passed, I distinctly saw your face.” ••My facet” exclaimed Alfred. MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 4, 1842, “Yes, my husband, it was I, whose life and perhaps honor, you then preserved.” “You!” said Alfred, “soyoung, beautiful and delicate, you a beggar!” “Yes, I have once received charity, only once, and that was from yourself. The next day a woman whose pity I had inspir ed, procured me the place of sempstress with a respectable dress-maker, where in the exercise of my humble duties I soon became cheerful and happy. “One day as I was at work in the little apartment where we received orders, the rich Mr. A entered, and seated himself at my side. He was a man nearly fifty years of age, rather unpiepossessing in appear ance, and equally distinguished for his great fortune and his eccentricities. ‘Young lady,’ said he, ‘ I know all your history, will you marry met’ “ I started with astonishment, as you may well suppose. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I have abundant wealth, which I am not disposed to bestow on my nephews, and it does not suit my taste to be surrounded only by servants. I knbw that my age and unsocial habits would not be likely to excite love by the most assiduous course of wooing, and I have, therefore, been thus abrupt. But do not let this alarm you. I am perhaps better and gentler than I seem, and if kindness can excite your grati tude, it is all I expect. From what I have heard of you I wish to make you my wife, and it now only depends on yourself to prove that you can support affluence with as much dignity as you have endured its op posite extreme.’ “Iloved you,Alfred,” continued the lady, “ though I had only seen you for an instant; I found it impossible to forget you, and a secret presentiment ever whispered to my heart that our lives were destined to flow in one stream. “ I looked at Mr. A——, so unsuited to my taste —so unlike you!—and reflected that his singular proposal must have origin ated in some family difference which I was to avenge. This I felt unwilling to do; and if the gentleman did not receive a positive refusal, be at least perceived so much of my reluctance, that as it is in the nature of man to be stimulated by obstacles, he re doubled his importunities. “But I still thought of you; your image was constantly present to my imagination; and the remembrance of one whom I had seen only a moment, and who had never seen me, nearly caused me to sacrifice your future fortune and my own. But I had been trained in too rude a school to nourish romance. Though Mr. A was not a man to be loved, there was in his character a degree of stern integrity and moral eleva tion which commanded respect, and his gen erous intentions towards a friendless orphan won ray sincere gratitude. Your cherished image was therefore put aside, and I became Mrs. A . “You may well call it a fairy tale! What a caprice of fortune! I had now become the wife of one of the richest men in the Union; and while rolling in my carriage through the street where only a few months before I had begged for food, I often fixed my eye on the post against which I then leaned, and thought of your generous inter ference. “ Mr. A lived but a few months after his marriage, but I have the satisfaction of believing that my grateful attentions cheered his latter days. He left me, as you know, all bis fortune; and I then made the resolution never again to marry any one but the man who had succored me in my greatest dis tress. Ah! that I had but known your name!” As she said this, the. happy wife drew from her neck a gold chain to which was suspended a small locket resembling a min iature case; opening this, she took out a half dollar piece which she placed in her husband’s hand. “ It is the one you gave me,” said she; “ I have always preserved it in memory of you, though I often feared that we never should meet again. Oh! with what delight I at length recognized you in the street —how eagerly I stopped the horses, and leaning from the window seized the first pretext I could imagine to call you to me! I had but one fear—l feared you might be already married—in that case you would never have heard this story, and my only happi ness would have consisted in secretly enrich ing and befriending you.” ■ She paused, and looking at her husband I who stood silently contemplating the little coin which had thus guided him to happi ness—she said with a smile brightened by a tear, “You see, Alfred, that though no magic lurks with me, you have bestowed a Talis man.” Macon, May, 1842. THE ROMANCE OF JESSIE, THE FLOWER OF DVMBLANE. The poet Tannahill is justly celebrated for his many sweet Scottish songs. His short life of poverty, and unfortunate death are probably known only to the peasantry of his own country and the curious in biogra phy. Poor Tannahill, stung with indigna tion from a sense of mortified pride and, as he conceived, hopes blasted irremediably, rushed from a merry circle where he had spent the evening, and rashly put an end to all his earthly troubles by drowning himself near the place of his nativity. Many months previous to his death he had become gloomy and abstracted, and con templated self-destruction with a fearful composure. The following words solemnly addressed, and written by a brother poet on the eve of committing a similar act, were ever on his tongue. “ad ccei.um. “Good Heavens! the mystery of life explain, Nor let me think I bear the load in vain, Lest, with the tedious journey cheerless grown, Urg’d by despair, I throw my burden down.” Tannahill long had been the sport of way ward fate, occasioned, in some degree, by the faults within himself; but more particu larly by the apathy and remissness of his countrymen, who, with all theii boasted generosity, neglected. Like most poets, he was sensitive to excess, and deadly jealous of his fair fame. Always suspicious of the motives of his patrons, he was reserved and unamiable before them. That they should look down on him as an object for their com miseration, or entertain him as they would & paid creature for their amusement, was to his haughty spirit mortifying in the extreme; and, rather than submit to humiliating ca price of patronage broadly assumed, he chose to clasp poverty to his aching heart, and, in the ragged abode of misery, was pleased to utter those brilliant strains of imagery and sentiment which have beguiled many a weary hour, and yet shall enliven the social circles in his native land (if there be any thing in immortality) to the “ crack of doom.” The cause for irritation which immediate ly preceded this act of self-destruction, was a supposed insult given by one of his asso ciates on the fatal evening. Talent ways create envy, and consequently, begot enemies, who will seize opportune moments to mortify and annoy. This is according to human nature, and poor Tannahill ought to have estimated with the mind of a philoso pher, but unfortunately for himself, he car ried within his bosom the heart of a poet, tremblingly “alive all over” with a high sense of honorable feeling, rendered still more intense by a vivid imagination. Os his songs none have been more uni versally esteemed than bis “ Jessie the Flow er of Dumblane.” The beautiful imagery of the verse, and the plaintive sweetness of the air* gained it an immediate popularity which promises to be as lasting as the lan guage in which it was written. The fair subject of this song was a bon nie lassie in Dumblane. Her family were of poor extraction- and Jessie was content ed with a peasant’s lot. When Tannahill became acquainted with her, she was in her “teens,” a slight dimple cheeked, happy lassie; her hair yellow colored and luxuri ant; her eyes large and full, overflowing with the voluptuous languor which is so be coming in youngblue eyes with golden lash es. The tinge which lit up her oval cheek was delicate and evanescent, and her pulpy lips bubbled with bliss as she gave utterance to her heart. Tannahill was struck with her beauty, and, as in all things he was enthusiastical, became forthwith, her adent worshipser. — But her heart was not to be won. Young, thoughtless, panting to know and see the world, she left her poor amourante “to con songs to his mistress’ eyebrows,” while she recklessly rambled among the flowery meads of Dumblane, or of an evening sang his inspired verses to him with the most mortifying nonchalance. This was a two fold misery to the sensitive poet. A crea ture so sweetly elegant, so dear to him, so lovely and innocent, and yet withal, so en cased in insensibility as apparently neither to be conscious of the verses trembling on her dulcet tongue, nor caring for the ca resses of her lover. ’Twas too much, to mark all this, and feel it with the feelings of a poet, was the acme of misery. # But the “Flower of Dumblane” was not that unfeeling, unimaginating being which Tannahill pictured her. She was a creature all feeling, all imagination, although the bard had not that in his person or manners to engage her attention or to arrest her fan * The air is composed by R. A. Smith, of Edinburgh. The verses, too, arc indebted to his critical acumen— the manuscript sons having been twice the length of the printed one. The writer of this received his intel ligence of the fact from Mr. fcraitb, who was on inti mate terms with Tannahill, and often endeavored (o cheer up the drooping spirit of the bard. cy. The young affections are not to be con trolled. Love, all mighty Love, must be free, else it ceases to he love. Tannahill was plain in his person and uncouth in his manners, and felt and expressed discontent ment at the cruel disappointments which it had been his unhappy fate almost invariably to encounter. Jessie, on the contrary, look ed upon the world as a brilliant spectacle yet to be seen and enjoyed,—as a vast Paradise full of the beauty of heaven and earth, where men walked forth in the image of their Creator, invested with his attributes, and where women trod proudly amidst the lovely creation, an angel venerated and adored. To express dissatisfaction under all these circumstances was to her mind the extravagance of a misanthrope, the madness of a real lover of misery, and a sufficient cause for her not to respect him. Both viewed the world through a false medium, and their deductions, although at variance, gave color to their minds and accelerated their fate. Jessie could not comprehend what ap peared to her the folly of her suitor. She relished not his sickly sentiment; and as all womankind ever did so, she scorned a coo ing lover. The bard was driven to despair, and summoning up an unwonted energy of mind, departed, and left his adored to her youthful aberrations. Soon after this period, the song of “ Jessie, the Flower of Dumblane,” together with the music, was published; and became a public favorite; it was sung every where, in the atres and parties; a world of praise was showered upon it from woman’s flattering lips, and men became mad. to know the adored subject of the lay. In a short period it was discovered. Jessie Monteith, the pretty peasant of Dumblane, was the favor ed one. From all quarters young men and bachelors flocked to see her, and her own sex were curious and critical. Many pro mising youths paid their addresses to her, and experienced the same reception as her first lover. Nevertheless, at last poor Jessie became really enamored. A rakish spark, from Mid Lothian, adorned with education, being of polished manners, and confident from wealth and superiority of rank, gained her young .affections. She too credulously trusted in his unhallowed professions. The ardor of first love overcame her better judg ment, and abandoning herself to her love of passion, she made an imprudent escape from the protection of her parents and soon found herself in elegant apartments near the city of Edinburgh. The song of neglected Tannahill was to his Jessie both a glory and a curse, while it brought her into notice and enhanced her beauty, it laid the foundation for her final destruction. Popularity is a dangerous ele vation, whether the object of it he a peasant or a prince, temptations crowd around it, and snares are laid on every hand. Who would be eminent, said a distinguished child of popularity, if they knew the peril, the madness, and distraction of mind to which the creature of the popular-breath is ex posed! When the poet heard the fate of his be loved Jessie, his heart almost burst with mental agony, and working himself into the enthusiastic frenzy of inspiration, poured forth a torrent of song more glowing and energetic than ever before dropped in burn ing accents from his tongue. It is to be lamented, that in a fit of disgust, he after wards destroyed those poetic records of his passion and resentment. Ere three years had resolved their tripple circuit after Jessie left her father’s home, she was a changed woman. Her paramour had forsaken her. She was destitute iu her splendid habitation. Her blue eyes looked pitiful on all things around her; her oval cheeks were indented by the hand of mise ry, and her face and person presented the picture of an unhappy but amiable being. How changed was the figure clothed in silk, which moved on the banks of the Forth, from the happy, lively girl in Dumblane, dressed in the rustic garb of a peasant. But this is a subject too painful to dwell on: let us hasten to the catastrophe. It was on an afternoon in July, a beautiful sunny afternoon, the air was calm and pure. The twin islands on the Forth, like vast em eralds set in a lake of silver, rose splendidly o’er the shining water, which now and then gurgled and mantled round their bases.— Fifeshire was spread forth like a map, her hundred of inland villages and cots tran quilly sleeping in the sunshine. The din of the artizan’s hammers in Kirkahly and Queensferry smote the still air; and Dum fermline’s apron’d inhabitants scattered forth their withered webs beneath the noon-tide sun. On the opposite shore, Leith disgorged her black smoke which rolled slowly in volumes to the sea. Edinburgh Castle, like a mighty spirit from the “ vasty deep,” reared her gray bulwarks in air; and Arthur’s Seat rose highly and darkly in the back ground. The thorusses of the fishermen like hymns to the great spirit of the waters, ascended over Now Haven; and down from Crainsmouth, lightly boomiug'o’er the tide, floated the tall hark. The world seemed steeped in happiness. But there was one, a wandering one, an outcast, wretched aud despairing, amidst all this loveliness; her bosom was cold and dark, no ray could pen etrate its depths; the sun shone not for her, nor did nature smile around but to inflict a more exquisite pang on the unfortunate.— Her steps were broken and hurried. She VOLUME I. NUMBER 10, now approached to the water’s edge, and then receded. No human creature was near to disturb her purpose—all was in qui etness and privacy; but there Avas an Eye aboYe Who watched all. Jessie Monteith— how mournfully sounds that name at this crisis! But Jessie set herself down, and removing a shawl and bonnet from her per son, and taking a string of pearl from her marble seeming neck, and a gold ring, which she kissed eagerly, from her taper finger, she cast up her streaming eyes, meekly implor ing the forgiveness of Heaven on him, the cause of her shame and death. Scarce offering a prayer for herself, she breathed forth the name of her disconsolate parents, and ere the eye could follow her she disap peared in the pure stream. The sun shone on; the green of the earth stirred not a leaf: a bell did not toll; nor did a sigh escape from the lips of one human being, and yet the spirit of the loveliest of women passed away. BALM FOR A BROKEN HEART. A “ broken-hearted woman,” as she calls herself—Mrs. Laura Hunt, of Montgomery county, N. Y., notifies the public through the Amsterdam Intelligencer, that her hus band Joshua Hunt, has left her bed and board, and strayed to parts unknown; and she forbids all girls, old maids and widows, to meddle with or marry him, under the pe nalty of the law. She earnestly entreats all editors “ throughout the world” to lay the foregoing information before their readers. Mrs. Hunt will please to perceive that we have complied with her request.— Courier and Enquirer, And we two. — N. Y. Transcript. And we three.— Cinr.innatti Mirror, And we four.— N. Y:Standard. And we five.— Western Methodist. And we six. — Zion's Herald. And we seven.— Maine Free Press. And we eight.— Missouri Free Press, And wc nine.— Woodstock Whig. Leave her bed and lioard, the villain I And we ten. — National Eagle. Aud strayed to parts unknown, the vaga bond ! And we eleven.— Albany Advertiser, And we make up a dozen.— N. Y. Com. Ad rertiser. He left her bed ! O, the vagrant! And tve the baker’s dozen.— Pittsburg Statesman. And we start him again.— Miner's Journal. Keep him moving. Salt River is too good for him.— Jackson Courier. May lie have corns on his toes, and pains in his ribs all the days of his life. ,1 Leave a woman’s bed and board, the graceless knave! We’ll give him the sixteenth kick.— Carlisle Republican. Oh, the vagabond ! He deserves an addi tional kick, and We will give him the seven teenth. — Cleveland Herald. Break a woman’s heart, the fiend! Take that too. — PainviUe Telegraph. We underwrite the eighteenth endorser* —Courier and Enquirer. And we give the scoundrel the nineteenth shove.— Eastern Argus. And here goes the twentieth.— American Sentinel, And we repeat her wrongs and his shame to our twenty thousand readers.— Saturday Courier. Pass him round! Start him again, the scoundrel 1 And here goes the twenty-first kick.— Utica Daily News. And wo give him the twenty-second. Brethren add your mite.— Verrcnnes Ver monter. Here's our—kick No. 23. Tut it into the scamp thick and fast.— Concord Free man. E Oh, the awful crittur! He’ll be courting our Peggy next. Paragraph him, brethren* with a vongeance—Paragraph him.— Wash ington Index. Paiagraph him, yes, he should be para graphed oil the wings of the wind, for run ning from a woman’s led, or board. His eyelids should be buttoned back to an Au gust sun and be Hunted into the Mealstorm. — Macon, Ga., Telegraph. fly Paragraphed—yes, he ought to be whipped to death with a lash made of his own hide! We unite with Mrs. Hunt in warning all “girls, widows, and old maids” against meddling with him. A man who will run from the board and bed of a woman can’t he trusted for any thing, Joshua ! where are you 1 Have you nothing to say for yourself ?— Southern Miscellany. The Forget-me-not—Origin of its name.— Mills, in his work upon chivalry* mentions that the beautiful fioVver called Forget-me not was known in England, as early as the time of Edward IV., and in a note, he gives the following pretty incident, in explanation of the name; “ Two lovers were loitering along the margin of a lake, on a fine summer evening, when the maiden discovered some, flowers of the Myosotis growing on the water, close to the bank of an island, at some distance from the shore. She expressed a desire to possess them, when her knight, in the true spirit of chivalry, plunged into the water, aud swimming to the spot, cropped the wish ed for plant; but his strength was unable to fulfil the object of his achievement; and feeling that he could not regain the shore, although Very near it, he threw the flowers upon the bank, and casting a last affection ate look upou his lady-love, be said, “ For get me not,” and was buried in the water.”