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piness—Maggie, in her girlish beauty, a pic
ture for which her mother might have sat at
lier age —Mrs. Linton, an elegant and grace
ful woman, and the little Ned and Bella, rosy
cheeked, curly headed darlings, formed a fam
ily picture which I recall as the most lovely
I ever looked upon. The noble conduct of
Mr*. Linton had saved her husband; separa
ted from her he felt the full value of all he
had lost, and a reformation had brought about
their reunion. He had taken his former
stand at the bar—had risen in his profession—
redeemed his former possessions, and was
now waiting for Judge Huntington to leave it
that they might again occupy their old resi
dence.
That evening the conversation turned on
the anticipated removal; and, apart from its
general course, there were spoken a few
words which I could not avoid listening to,
so intimately were they connected with the
scene I first described.
“ I would like, my dear wife, to get into
the house before the twenty-first of the month
if possible. I particularly wish to keep our
wedding-day there. What a jubilee we
should have, Bella —what happiness;” and
Mr. Linton looked as though he never could
give expression to the intense emotion which
filled his heart, as he thanked God for his pre
cious wife.
“ Not for the world, Edward, not even to
keep our fifteenth wedding-day, where the
first was spent, would I attempt to hasten their
removal. With all her frivolity, Jane Eliza
has some feeling, and it will be entirely awa
kened now. Heaven forbid I should add one
pang, for the very reason I so well remember
what her visit to me, when we were prepar
ing to leave the house, cost me.”
“Mrs. Huntington’s thoughtless extrava
gance has proved her husband’s ruin, while
you, my noble wife, have saved your’s by
your forbearance —the generous forbearance
which prompts this resolution, therefore I
will not chide it; but it shall, through life,
be my study to give you no cause for its ex
ercise in future.” •
My dear reader, my story was a simple
one; but I was telling you a true tale, and I
would not, to increase its interest, alter one
word or circumstance —as I remembered them
I have told them.
£l)c Southern (frUctic.*
MY FATHER.
BY HENRY R. JACKSON.
I.
As die the embers on the hearth,
And o’er the floor the shadows fall,
And creeps the chirping cricket forth,
And ticks the death-watch in the wall;
I see a form in yonder chair,
That grows beneath the waning light;
There are the wan, sad features—there
The pallid brow, and locks of white !
li.
My father ! when they laid thee down,
And heaped the clay upon thy breast,
And left thee sleeping all alone
Upon thy narrow couch of rest,
I knew not why—l could not weep —
The soothing drops refused to roll;
And oh ! that grief is wild and deep
Which settles tearless on the soul!
hi.
But when I say thw vacant chair,
Thine idle hat upon the wall,
Thy book —the pencilled passage where
Thine eye had rested last of all;
The tree beneath whose friendly shade,
Thy trembling feet had wandered forth —
The very prints those feet had made
When last they feebly trod the earth ;
IV.
“And thought, while countless ages fled,
Thy vacant seat would vacant stand—
Unworn thy hat —thy book unread,
Effaced thv footsteps from the sand;
And widowed in this cheerless world,
The heart that gave its love to thee ;
Torn, like a vine whose tendrils curled
More closely round the falling tree !
v.
“ Oh, Father ! then for her and thee,
Gushed madly forth the scorching tears,
And oft, and long, and bitterly
Those tears have gushed in later years;
For as the world grows cold around,
And things take on their real hue,
’Tis sad to learn that love is found
Alone above the stars with you!”
lb aIFIIE Aa H ©AS BIFIF § ♦
WILL THERE BE FLOWERS IN HEAVEN ?
BY MISS C. W. BARBER, ALA.
•. Where is that radiant shore 1
Shall we ilot seek it and weep no more 1
[Mrs. Hemans
I sat alone in my school-room. The little
busy beings who had sat about me all day
had taken their dinner baskets upon their
arms, and trudged off over the hill, in the
paths which led to their several homes.
My desk was strewed over with withered
wild-flowers. Some were the offerings of in
fantile hands, while others hjul been brought
in by the botanical class for analysis. In
the recitation of that class, I had dwelt for a
longer time that night than I was wont, upon
the beauty of the vegetable w r orld, and the
goodness and wisdom of its Creator. I spread
before them the beautifully tinted corolla of the
field-lily, and showed them its thread-like
stamens crowned with golden anthers, and its
curious pistils. From another wild-flower, I
drew the delicate and nicely-notched calyx,
and explained to them its various uses, and
asked if man with all his boasted powers, had
ever planned or executed any thing one half
as lovely.
I turned over the pages of God’s holy Word,
and read a description of the riches of Solo
mon, “who yet,” I continued, “in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these .” If it is
out of our power to make anything as beau
tiful as the little flower we crush under our
feet at every step, should we not be hum
ble ?”
A breathless interest pervaded the little
group, and their voices were more subdued
than usual, when they came to wish me
“good night!”
After the echo of their footsteps had died
away, and the room had became silent, I open
ed a book and began to read. Soon my at
tention was arrested by a quick light step,
and a little girl of five summers slid in beside
me. Her little pale, sweet face, was turned
towards me, wdiile her sun bonnet had fallen
back, loosing the dark brown curls which
strayed in rich profusion around her face and
neck.
“I thought Francis had gone home?” said
I, as I lifted her to a seat beside me. “Is she
not afraid her mother will be anxious about
her ? ”
“ I thought Miss Barber would tell me more
about God, and the beautiful flowers,” she re
plied, “ and I have come back to hear.”
She had gathered a bunch of buttercups,
and I took them from her little hand, and told
her again of their curious structure. I spoke
to her of that most beautiful of God's creation,
the Moss Rose, and said that He had placed
the Magnolia Grandifloria upon our earth, to
render if more lovely,— more like heaven.
She caught the idea with enthusiasm.—
“Will there be flowers in heaven?” she ask
ed.
“There will be every thing which is bright
and beautiful there,” I replied, “and \iflow
ers can add anything to the beauty of the
golden courts, we shall surely find them there.”
“O!” said she, “I hope the angels will
wear wreaths of them; I am sure I shall love
better to look upon them, and to hear them
sing! ”
These were among her last words, as 1
parted from her that evening. The next day
Frances was not in her accustomed seat. I
inquired for her, and they told me she was
not well. I never saw her again. A few
days after, her coffin passed my window, cov
ered with a black pall, and followed by a
train of mourners. I watched them, until
they disappeared in the circuitous road which
led to the village grave-yard, and then 1 turned
away with a sigh and said, —“ 1 es, Frances ,
there are Flowers in Heaven , for you are
there! ”
HICKORY-NUT GAP, N. C.
The entrance into this gorge is very impo
sing. You see nothing but mountains above
anil around you. They rise, in vast succes
sion, pile over pile, far as the eye can reach,
those in a distance of a fainter and fainter blue,
till the misty tint can no longer be distin
guished from the silvery azure of the sky. —
Below T ANARUS, undulates an ocean of foliage; here
and there, is a wide space, but the lesser clear
ings, and the scattered houses, are swallowed
up in the mighty forest. The dewy woods
and fields are sparkling in the sunshine; the
thin mists are curling up the sides of the dis
tant hills, clinging to the forest tops, as they
ascend, till they rest on the summit, like a
golden crown. You are completely encircled,
embosomed, shut in from the world. By an
“ indulgent violence,” as Young has it, in a
scene like this, is “ faith in God imposed and
pressed on man.”— Mrs. Filet.
Reader ! two simple lines we trace
To fill v- hat else were vacant space.
tjoinc Correspondence.
For the Southern Literary Gazette,
NEW-YORK LETTERS-NO. 111.
New-York, May 20, 1848.
My dear Sir: Since my last letter but few
incidents of importance or interest have oc
curred here. Continued rains are aiding the
labors of old Sol, in robing Nature in her sum
mer green. People are preparing for depart
ure to their country seats, or for travel.—
Those whose purses are unequal to the mi
gratory demands of Fashion, are speculating
upon the most effectual method of hiding their
misfortune, in hiding themselves, from public
gaze during the usual summer period of ex
ile. We begin, also, to enjoy that pleasant
consequence of the warm season—the arrival
of our Southern friends among us. Last week,
your poet-novelist, Simms, made his debut.—
Few visitors are more warmly welcomed by his
friends, than he. His brief annual visit is al
ways anticipated and remembered with plea
sure. Ido not know what literary enterprise
he has on hand at this time, —something, cer
tainly as his proverbial industry’ assures us.
The Anniversary Week has passed off with
the usual bustle and variety. It is a sort of
religious Carnival, or, as it has been very suit
ably called, a Vanity Fair. It is the “star
ring” season of the pulpit. Piety grows
warm for a week, and Fanaticism runs mad.
A speaker at the meeting of one of the Anti-
Slavery mobs grew exceedingly abusive and
vituperative about Henry Clay, when one
of the auditors interrupted him by proposing
three cheers for the slandered statesman;
which were immediately given and heartily
reechoed from the walls!
The Drama, which has been at a very low
ebb of late, is somewhat improving. The
Italian Opera has failed, to be sure; but we
find a consolation in the fact that our old fa
vorite, Niblo, has taken the establishment
and will soon commence a summer campaign
with the Ravels. The Park will soon be
reopened, by the old management, with Ma
dame Wies’ troupe of theViennoise Children.
Mr. Hamblin, however, has taken the house
and will attempt the “ legitimate” there in the
fall season. Burton is about to do some
thing or other at Palmo’s, which is now in
his hands. The Olympic is still as funny
and popular as ever. The “Glance at New-
York in 1848” has been exceedingly success
ful. Castle Garden opened last Sunday eve
ning with a sacred concert. Collins has com
pleted one engagement at the Broadway, and
Anderson is now the star there. The great
dramatic event, however, of the past week
has been the new and much-talked-of tragedy
by the able author of “Witchcraft.” It had
been previously played for many consecutive
nights in Philadelphia, to large and delighted
audiences, and expectation here was on tip
toe. It has been well received and will doubt
less maintain an enviable place upon the
stage. The period and historical groundwork
of the play possesses strong local and nation
al interest, and, in the hands of Mr. Mathews,
very great attraction and variety. It is call
ed “ Jacob Leisler. the Patriot-hero oj New-
York." 1 Leisler, the leading character, was a
native of the city, and descended from the
sturdy Dutch settlers of the Province. He
made the initial movement upon this conti
nent in the great work of human liberty, in
his resolute and patriotic resistance to the op
pression of the British rulers, near the close
of the seventeenth century. Upon the flight
of James 11. from his dominions, considering
himself absolved from his sworn allegiance to
the British crown, he assumed the government
of the city in accordance with the demands of
the people, by whom he was bravely second
ed. The authority of the new king, William
of Orange, however; prevailed, and Leisler,
over-powered, was tried and executed upon
a charge of treason. From these stirring in
cidents the author has produced a very effec
tive story, notwithstanding their want of the
magnifying and poetizing influence of bygone
ages and classic locale. The interest of the
principal event is powerfully sustained
throughout, while many minor currents of
gravity and gayety, together with admirably
conceived stage-effects of scenery, tableaux,
etc., fix the attention, and seize upon the
memory of the audience. It is a drama sin
gularly calculated, in its sentiments to win
the sympathy of the million, and more espe
cially at this time, when the whole civilized
world is thoughtful and active on the great
theme of liberty and self-government. It
will doubtless be more successful than any
former dramatic work based upon our na
tional history.
The Art-Union Gallery has just opened
for the season, with a more brilliant collection
of works than was ever before exhibited so
early in the year. No less than 62 pictures
have been already purchased for distribution
among the members in December next. —
Among them is the beautiful historical pro
duction of Leutze—“ The Mission of the
Jews to Ferdinand and Isabella,” for which
the artist receives one thousand dollars. Some
fine pictures by Chapman ; Matteson’s large
work, illustrating an incident in the history
of Witchcraft in America; Steam’s picture
of “Washington’s Mission to the Indians;”
Beale’s “Bird-nesting” (a sweet composition)
and his “ Children of the Country;” “The
Strolling Musician,” by Edmonds; “The Old
Age of Milton,” and “ The Old Age of Gali
leo,” by Edwin White; Mr. Osgood’s “Draw
ing Lots,” “Mandolin” and “Head of Christ;”
“The Village Church,” and “Dover Plain,”
by Durand; some beautiful Landscapes by
Huntington; “ Scenes on the Anio,” by Ken
sett; “The River of the Water of Life,” by
Church; “The Kauterskill” and “Summer
Showers” by Richards ; “ View on the Juni
ata,” by Talbot; “ Startled Deer,” and “ Moon
Rising,"’ by Y. G. Audubon ; “Snow Scene,”
by Rejis Gignoux ; “ Catskill Scenery and
Vaucluse,” by Thos. Cole; and Landscapes
by Gifford, Grunewald, Boutelle, Wenzler
and others. I must not forget to mention,
also, Mr. F.R. Spencer’s fine picture of “The
Print Seller.”
At the last annual meeting of the “ Na
tional Academy of the Arts of Design,” the
following artists were elected associates : A.
H. Wenzler, E. White, S. W. Cheney, T.
A. Richards, J. B. Stearns, F. E. Church,
W. W. Wotherspoon and J. F. Kensett.
Mr. Durand was re-elected President, C. C.
Ingham, Esq., Vice President, Thos. S. Cum
mings, Esq., Treasurer, Mr. J. H. Shegogue,
Corresponding Secretary, and F. R. Spencer,
Esq., Recording Secretary.
Before I leave the subject of the Arts, I
must speak of the debut of the gifted artist
Dailey. The profession is congratulating it
self, upon the acquisition of this gentleman
to its number. Mr. Darley will reside and
labor henceforth in this great head-quarter of
artists, and professors of all departments. No
doubt he will find his removal a profitable
one ; for his field of study is becoming espe
cially popular and lucrative, and we have no
man who possesses higher abilities therein.
He has recently made a series of some thirty
exquisite, outline drawings, from Mr. Judd’s
powerful novel of “ Margaret,” which may
be published ere long, by subscription or oth
erwise. These designs have won the highest
admiration of our best connoiseurs, who fear
lessly pronounce them fully equal to the no
blest efforts of the most eminent artists in this
department. 1 may refer to this beautiful
work hereafter.
In the literary world, we have hut little
novelty at present. Carey & Hart are get
ting up a beautiful edition of the poems oi
Mrs. Sigourney, with illustrations on steel,
from drawings, by Darley; and Geo. P .Put
nam is about issuing anew edition of the
complete works of Irving, illustrated by the
same artist. Several books immortalizing
the lady writers of the land. I understand are
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