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hand of man, though, is busy in its forest
haunts —felling the royal tree—obstructing
its rude waters —and winding the smooth and
trodden paths through its fastnesses. At the
entrance of this Clove is another of the ex
tensive tanneries, of which I have spoken. —
The village, however, is more picturesque
than usual. It is inhabited, as is all the vi
cinity round, by the sturdy sons of Mynheer,
who have ever been more famous for their
successful application of Nature’s treasures
to the practical purposes of life, than for their
respect and love of the beautiful. The ro
mantic Plauterkill winds through the
of this ravine, and abounds in precipice and
waterfall. In its passage of two miles from
its sourcejo the plain, at the mouth of the
Clove, it is said to make a descent of twenty
five hundred feet. Its cascades are of ex
quisite beauty, and of every form and extent.
Dark and solemn caverns penetrate its rocky
barriers, where the serpent and the wild beast
of the wilderness make their home. The
stream is replete with grandeur and loveli
ness. The admirer of nature might dream a
thousand wild and poetic tales in its romantic
shades; amidst the spray of the fall of the
Mountain Spirit; or the zephyrs which fan
the brow at the Blue Bell cascade.
The (Slove of the Plauterkill is flanked
by mountains of colossal porportions, tower
ing high in air, and groaning, with all their
mighty strength, beneath the weight of their
dense forests. A monarch amidst these hills,
is South Peak, with its crown proudly lifted
nearly four thousand feet towards heaven.—
It is full of remarkable localities, each en
wrapt in legendary lore. Not the least love
ly of its possessions, is the gentle lake, nes
tled in its lonely bosom, where the trout and
the wild fowl dwell in undisturbed security.
My visit to the Plauterkill and the South
Peak, was made near the close of a long
sojourn in the vicinity, and I was then about
to gratify a sudden desire for a glimpse at
more cultivated and polished life, than that
which had so long surrounded me. To this
end, I was purposing to migrate for a season,
to the fashionable region of the Mountain
House, where I should once more have occa
sion for my cravat, and could conscientiously
venture upon the extravagance of blacking
my boots.
On regaining mine inn at Palenville, a car
riage was just rolling oil towards this very
place; and a hurried glimpse which I caught
of a beauteous face, protruded for a moment
from its window, turned the undecided scale,
and determined me at once to gather up my
plunder and be off. My resolution was by
no means altered upon learning, as I entered
my studio, that the fair unknown, in my ab-
sence, had, by permission of the hostess,
amused herself with my portfolios. When a
further examination revealed to me a per
fumed glove, and that glove of the most petit
and most faultless contour, still warm from
the fair hand which had, designedly or not,
left it among my treasures —I could no lon
ger brook the briefest delay, in the hour of
my departure—and instantly prepared for a
visit to the Mountain House.
MISCELLANY,
When during the French Revolution,
she bell of one of the Municipalities announ
ced the rising of the people, and the summons
to arms, Talleyrand is said to have burst forth
with the exclamation —‘The toscin sounds—
we triumph!’ ‘ Who triumphs—which side V
demanded his hearers. 4 T will tell you that
tomorow,’ was the reply of the ambidextrous
diplomatist.
A Gentleman, walking through the streets
of Mexico, saw a soldier sitting on the steps
of a portico gambling with dice. “Do you
know it is wrong to rattle the bones'?” said he.
“ How can I help it?” replied the man; “I am
one ot the skeleton regiment.'’' 1
A Chaplain at one of our State prisons,
was asked by a friend how his parishioners
were. u All under conviction ‘ —was the an
swer.
ILinFSia&SY ©ABISIT IF B .
©riginal
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
LIBUSSA’S LAMP.
A STORY FROM THE GERMAN.
BY MARY E . LEE.
Towards the end of the last century,there re
sided in her ancestral seat at Bohemia, a young
and beautiful widow —Theodora S. l —who was
the object of admiration among all the noble
men of the adjacent country. The haroness
was also exceedingly rich: since besides be
ing the only child of wealthy parents, she in
herited from her husband, to whom she was
united but a few years, a large quantity of
land along the banks of the Sazawa. Her
beauty was universally acknowledged, even
by her own sex; perhaps because she ap
peared to lay no value on it herself ; never
showing any symptoms of vanity or affecta
tion. As she seemed thoroughly averse to
any second marriage, it was supposed by
some, that her first had proved unfortunate :
although others, who remembered her during
her husband’s life-time, asserted that, although
the Baron was sickly and plain in appear
ance, yet he was so devotedly attached to his
wife, as to give her no reason for unhappi
ness. Her acquaintances were therefore
compelled to believe, that it was caprice
alone, which prevented her from smiling on the
many suitors, who sought to win her hand;
and her determination against a second union
seemed so established, that no nobleman
cared to run the risk of a refusal; and two
years had actually elapsed, during which she
had not received a single offer. At the end
of this period, arrived Count Ladislaw, a
Hungarian nobleman, and the cousin and
early companion of the Baroness; who, after
serving some time in the wars, had obtained
leave of absence, to visit the property be
queathed him by his lately deceased father.
Until now, he had never thought of marry
ing, although fond of trifling with feminine
hearts; but as his mother urged him to seek
a wife, he determined to pay his suit to his
beautiful cousin, the baroness—and provided
with an affectionate letter from his parent to
that lady, he set off for Bohemia, and met
with a most friendly reception from Theo
dora : indeed, so warm was her welcome, that
the gay Count believed his hopes would soon
be realized; for, rich, handsome and talent
ed, he had been ever a favorite among the
ladies; and in his first letter home, he in
formed his mother, that he trusted soon to
win the noble prize.
Count Ladislaw was, however, greatly
mistaken, and he even began to tremble for
his success, when, at the first slight hint of
his real intentions, the Baroness became si
lent and constrained, and evidently sought to
change the conversation; while, repulsed for
the first lime in his life, the young nobleman
felt it a point of honor to carry his suit, and
secretly affirmed that Theodora S. was the
only woman who could ever render him
happy.
Such were his feelings, as he, one day,
entered the library of the Castle, a spot which
was the favorite resort of his cousin, as well
through her love of literature, as on account
of the beautiful prospect to be seen from its
windows; and where, in reading or some
feminine work, she was accustomed to pass
a greater part of each day. It was an old
fashioned, but tastefully furnished apartment,
richly carved oaken book-cases extended
along the wall, in which was arranged a
fine collection of books, together with many
articles of vertuj purchased in Italy by her
deceased husband; while the high-backed
chairs, with their rich embroidered covers,
and the round table of curious workmanship
which stood in the midst, all presented a
unique appearance. The Baroness sat busied
with some needle-work at an open window,
while the Count stood at her side, and loudly
expressed his admiration of the beautiful
scenery!
“Yes, you may well admire it,” observed
the Baroness in a friendly tone. “This
is my favorite seat. See! how nobly yon
mountain rises from the green sea of for
est trees, and how graceful is the ruin which
covers its summit. Almost every height in
Bohemia bears on its top some picturesque
castle ; and do you observe in that direction,
where the oak and birch woods almost join,
two broad red roofs ? There is the new ba
thing establishment belonging to my neigh
bor, Count P.; as yet they are but little fre
quented, the baths not being in much repute.
It is a pretty’ place, however, and although
somewhat lonely, I am sure you will find it a
pleasant resort, as 1 lately met there one of
the acquaintances of our childhood. Surely
you remember the little maiden, who was the
daughter of the Chamberlain, and who was
so pretty, so amiable, and so well educated ?
Well! do you know, the young Sophia is
now a Madam Muller, and is boarding at the
establishment.”
“ Indeed! truly,” said the Count apparent
ly surprised, “does she live in this neighbor
hood ?”
“ Why notasked the Baroness, smiling
and raising her fine eyes to the Count’s face.
“ But really, cousin, I do not believe that you
remember Sophia
“1 1 oh! yes, very well,” said the other
hastily; “ that is to say, I remember her as
well as people usually do those whom they
knew in childhood, though I doubt if I should
recognise her again.”
“ Not very complimentary, my handsome
cousin! Sophia, between you and I, was
passionately fond of you when a girl. But
gracious Heavens! how she has altered as
Madam Muller. Her sweet face was so
overcast w T ith sorrow when I saw her, that I
could not help asking her whether she had
lost her husband; and instead of replying,
she blushed deeply, then turned deadly pale,
and at last, unable to control her feelings,
burst into tears. But what ails you, Ladis
law ?” she anxiously enquired, as she looked
toward the Count. “ You appear unwell!
you are pale —are you ill V’
“Oh! no, it is only a rush of blood to
which I am subject,” stammered the young
man, greatly embarrassed; “and Sophia—
Madam Muller, is she yet in: the neighbor
hood ‘?”
“I do not know.” replied the Baroness,
“but if you wish, we can ride out and enquire
for her.”
“ No! certainly not; one never willingly
renews the friendships of childhood, since, in
so doing, one cannot tell what chain he may
wind around himself.”
These words were uttered so passionately,
that Theodora could not help looking up,
while, as if anxious to avoid her notice, the
Count first examined her embroidery, then
leaned out of the window, and at length, in a
quiet tone observed, “ Probably this person—
Sophia I mean, is in bad circumstances; if
such is the case, I ”
“ Nay ‘• rather I,” rejoined the Baroness in
a tone of vexation, “ would be glad to aid
her, since I never forgot her, as you seemed
to have done. To tell the truth, I did ven
ture to hint at some such thing, but she re
plied in such a comfortless tone, “ I thank
you I am in want of nothing —you cannot
assist me,” that I felt assured, as I gazed on
her pale, mournful face, that she w r as suffer
ing from naught but a broken heart.”
Ladislaw said not a word, but again took
his seat, and looked so much overcome, that
his cousin exclaimed, “ You are ill—certainly
something ails you!” then, as he shook his
head in the negative, she added, “Oh, man !
man ! your vanity will not allow you to plead
guilty even to bodily infirmity :” and as if
struck by some sudden thought, she resumed
her work for a while, then thus continued :
“although I have shown you several beauti
ful views in the neighborhood, yet the most
striking is reserved for the first cloudless af
ternoon. It is yonder ruin, which we behold
from this window, and which is peculiarly
deserving of notice on account of some highly
interesting legends, which I will reveal to
you at another time. My husband, who took
great delight in every thing relating to his
Father-land, committed them to writing, and
as some ancient weapons were found in the
ruin, he caused excavations to be made,
whose results agreed well with these stories.”
“You have raised my curiosity,” exclaimed
Count Ladislaw.
“Nay: you shall hear nothing until we
visit the ruins together; there I will read ,the
manuscript, and afterwards show you the an
tique to which it refers. All I will tell you
now is, that yon dilapidated castle is well
deserving of notice, since from the inscrip
tions on a portion of its rectangular tower,
which is all that remains standing, its age
may be traced back to far antiquity. In the
commencement of the thirteenth century, Cas
tle Dub, (Bohemian for Oak,) belonged to
Count Milohnerr, and is said to have been
built by the Fairy Libussa. It was bought
by Count Milohnerr, who accompanied the
•Hungarian King, Andreas, to Palestine, and
won for himself great fame in the Holy Land.
After passing through the hands of several
possessors, it was purchashed from Bohns von
Postupitz , and in 1443, many of the buildings
were torn down ; since then, the ruins are re
garded by many of the country people, as tin*
residence of evil spirits.”
“Which spirits, we two will exorcise, if
the task is not too difficult,” playfully ex
claimed the Count. “I am all eagerness to
visit Cast!e Dub, there to seek adventures and
dig for hidden treasure. What poetry hovers
around those old walls! To me, they look al
most like a cloud of mist, resting on the rock
which rises so precipitously from yonder
beech-wood. Castle Dub ! built by the Fairy
Libussa, ow ned by Milohnerr and Bohns von
Postupitz ! Excavations! Hieroglyphics! Evil
Spirits! what a; theme for a three volumed
romance, published by Zuerst in Nordhausen.”
“You may laugh as you choose, my
thoughtless cousin, but you may yet be
forced to confess that yon old ruins are not
entirely destitute of the tragic and poetic. If
I can assist the last, and add poetry to the
poetic, I shall not fail to do so.”
“Add poetry to the poetic'? Beautiful
friend! who can better do so than you,”
murmured the Count, as with a peculiar ex
pression of countenance, he raised the lady's
hand to his lip.
“ I only referred to the circumstances of
the excavations,” coldly replied the Baroness,
as she again bent over her work, and turned
the conversation into another channel; till
when Ladislaw was about to leave the room
she invited him to drive her to the ruins that
afternoon.
At the appointed hour, the horses w'ere put
in the carriage, and the Count stood ready at
tired for the excursion, w hen a message canm
from the Baroness, regretting that the arrival
of a visitor would prevent her from fulfilling
her promise, and on questioning the servant,
he learned that a stranger had just come in,
who was closeted with his mistress. The
young man was somewhat surprised by such
secrecy, but his curiosity rose to its height,
w T hen r about twilight, he saw a lady in deep
mourning ascend his cousin’s carriage and
drive quickly away. At supper time, Theo
dora appeared silent and serious, and what
was still more wonderful, a change seemed
to have taken place in her manner towards
Ladislaw; for instead of her accustomed un
restrained sociability, she treated him w r ith a
; ceremony which he could not blit notice. —
Then complaining of headache, she bade the
Count good night, w ithout remaining to con-
11