Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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