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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 21