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any other strange cognomens you may give
me. i can bear any thing from or for you,
patiently and cheerfully.
“ Frank!” interrupted the bewildered wife,
“Do for heaven’s sake—for my sake, cease
this foolery, and go down to receive the guests.
They are all arriving, and no one in the draw
ing-room !”
11 My guests, my dear! I'm sure I did not
invite them, and besides, you know that 1
have to dress for dinner —would you not like
me to wear my new silk my dear, with the
beautiful point lace ”
Here our hero was interrupted in his toilet
speculations, by the abrupt and maddened de
parture of Isadora, who seeing no hope of ma
king her husband conscious of his duties, has
tened down stairs to welcome her friends, and
to make an apology of sudden indisposition
for Frank.
The excuse was of course sufficient, and
every thing went on in all apparent harmony,
until dinner was announced, and the guests
were preparing to move to the salon-a-manger.
At this instant, to the utter astonishment of
the party and to the entire petrifaction of Is
adora, the invalid host entered the hall, in a
complete suit of lady's apparel! He (or she)
greeted the assembly with infinite grace, and
hoped that Mr. Morton had given them all a
cordial welcome, and made her excuse for her
own tardy appearance. He then took the
proffered arm of his cavalier, Mr. Sydney
Brown, and leading the way, was, as by a
spell, followed by all to the table, where he
seated himself on Isadora's chair, and pointed
her to the one he himself usually occupied!
She mechanically obeyed the gesture, but
when Frank called upon her to pronounce the
blessing, she could bear it no longer—and re
calling her scattered senses, and a share of
her accustomed self-possession, she made a
motion for the banquet to proceed, and ad
dressing the party, hoped that the absurd
scene they were witnessing would be forgiven,
since her poor husband had long been some
what out of his mind, and was now evidently
insane.”
Mr. Sydney Brown, in pursuance of the
permission which he held from Isadora, lent
himself fully to the wild humor of his host;
gallantly paying him all sorts of compliments,
and carrying it so far as directly to address
Isadora, now and then, as Mr. Morton.
“ Shall I,” said he at one moment, gaily
bowing to Frank, “have the honor of taking
wine with my fair hostess ‘?*’ and then turning
to Isadora, he added, “my friend Frank, you
are backward to-day in good example; faith
your glass has not yet been touched!”
At another instant, he commenced a sen
tence to Frank touching a lady’s opera cos
tume, and finished it to Isadora, with a remark
npon the proboble results of the next Presi
dential election. Then again, he accused
Frank of stealing away the hearts of all the
beaux; but told Isadora she well repaid the
theft, by his own notorious flirtations.
How long this odd scene might have con
tinued we know not, had not a light suddenly
burst upon Isadora’s mind, as glancing at her
husband, she detected the often observed,
equivocal smile upon his lip; and at the same
moment, upon that also of Mr. Sydney Brown.
The scenes of the past few weeks, and the
sequel of to-day, was, as by magic, explained
to her. A deep blush of shame covered her
face, and she burst into an uncontrollable fit
of tears.
“Frank!” she exclaimed, amidst her sobs
of mingled shame and rage, “ why am J sub
mitted to this outrage ? What means this
cruel farce!”
“ It means, madam,” said Frank, now grave
ly rising and speaking in his wonted tone of
pride and command, “that you have so long
abused my love, in usurping my authority,
that I have resolved to gratify you to the top
of your bent, and resign the shadow with the
substance ; to abandon to you the outward
form of rule, since you have taken the spirit
§®© nr isa && El H, BIFBIB &IB Y ® BTFIFB ♦
of it. I, therefore, formally make over to you,
before these witnesses, every portion of my
wardrobe, while I, in return, shall beg the use
of yours! In short, madam, you will now
make choice of one or the other; either to
take upon yourself my entire duties in the
household, or totally resign your usurped and
ill-placed authority, and become as a wife
should be —modest, gentle and obedient!”
“Spare me! oh! forgive me! 1 ’ cried the
conquered Isadora, falling at his feet. “The
punishment you have inflicted upon me is on
ly just—and yet it is cruel—oh ! too cruel!
I have long, dearest Frank, felt my error and
sighed to retrieve it. The lesson you have
taught me, is bitterly completed to-day. It is
so stricken in my heart, that it can never be
forgotten. Forgive me! and I promise you
by the solemn vow I once pledged you, to be
come, henceforth, all your brightest dreams
could ever have shown you in a wife!”
“Ah, my Isadora! once again my own
loved Isadora!” cried the now really crazy
Frank, as lie raised his repentant wife and
clasped her to his breast, “ Oh! bitterly now,
should I regret the severe measures I have
used, but for the wonderful and happy results!
Oh! Isadora, you are well forgiven—but can
you ever pardon me, and our good friend too?'’
he added, placing her hand in that of Sydney
Brown, who stood, for once in his life, em
barrassed by the strangeness of his position.
This mauvaise honte vanished, as Isadora
kindly pressed his hand, and in a sweet voice
pronounced his pardon and her thanks. Syd
ney, sinking upon his knee, pressed the fair
fingers to his lips, and sacredly promised
never again to flirt with Frank, if the sacrifice
should even break his heart!
When all explanations had been duly made;
mutual pardons granted, and the felicitations
of friends offered, Frank addressing the as
sembly, said—
“ The role, which you now know me to
have been long playing, has, thank God, been
eminently happy in its denouement. I have
taken care that none should witness this pain
ful scene, but well-tried friends, in whose
honor I have perfect reliance, and I must now
exact a solemn promise from all, to keep the
incidents of to-day, forever sacred as the
i grave.”
“No, no!” interposed Isadora, “The world
knows my fault, and it is but just that they
should witness its punishment.”
“ I will not accept so hard a penance*’ re
turned Frank. “ Let them know only the re
sults. My good friend Sydney, whose genius
alone has accomplished these glorious effects,
will know best how to complete his work.”
*******
Once again the good people of were
1 taken by surprise. Mr. and Mrs. Morton
were never to be seen, but together; each as
gay and joyous as in the merry days of their
courtship. Whenever allusion happened to
be made to the metamorphosis, Frank looked
with a smile of pity and triumph upon the
guerist, which seemed to establish the very
common report, that the scandal-loving pub
lic had been the egregious dupes of the invet
erate wag and bitter satirist, Frank Morton,
who, with the assistance of his equally satir
ical Isadore, had so long successfully flayed
the part of the Hen-pecked Husband! Their
envious friends were compelled to swallow
this hitter pill of chagrin, when even the hith
erto invincible Sydney, confessed that his
friend Frank had at last done him Brown!
TO MARY,
Thine is the sweetest name to mortal given,
The link that binds this sinful earth to heaven ;
Love’s purest talisman—his magic spell,
A key that can unlock the heart’s deep cell;
A symbol bright of beauty and of grace,
Born in the soul, and mirrored in the face ;
And if in heaven an earthly name we bear,
Thine will be first of all aud sweetest there!
~ EPSILON.
May 30,1848.
&l)c (Essayist.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
SOUTHERN LITERATURE.
i
BY HON. B. F. PORTER.
The people who acknowledge that they do
not support the Literature of their own coun
try, or upon whom, notwithstanding their de
nial, such a charge is fixed by history ; at
the same time confess that they are, or are
proud to be barbarians. To import our
knowledge, as we do the fabrics of foreign
countries, is either to admit our poverty, or
gratify our pride; and ends, not in rendering
ourselves learned in original thoughts, but in
being mere retailers of what other men invent,
and distributors of the thoughts and language
of wholly dissimilar people. We will consid
er the wrongs which the Southern people do
themselves in this particular, in several views.
1. It is not right to regulate our letters by
pecuniary standards. In whatever way Lit
erature is developed, it necessarily involves
an expenditure of money; and whether we
look to this, as connected either with the sup
port of the scholar, or of the many who must
contribute to his success, it is evident that a
common sense view of the subject, requires
money to be regarded in the discussion. Now
the wealth of a country is not advantageous
to it, unless distributed among those who
form its population. The most prosperous
nation is that in which a large number of per
sons are divided off into a variety of employ
ments —the one depending upon the other—
and each feeling the want of the product of
the industry of the other. This principle op
erates as well in vocations of a mental as
of a mere manual nature. The majority of
the •employments of men have reference to
the means of supporting and contributing to
the ornament of life, physically considered.
The number of those is few, whose only pro
fession is to advance the elegant arts, and
guide the minds of men. These last are the
men who read; who look into the future;
who prepare the way for all those discoveries
which are successively disclosed, and wdiich
contribute so much to the happiness and de
fence of life. The nature of the trades, prop
erly so called, forbids that the operatives
shall be also instruments of invention, and of
dispersion of knowledge. A class must exist
who will read and think for others; and so
ciety presents, but on an enlarged scale, the
idea of twenty men turning the cranks of a
Factory, while one reads for the rest. The
sum paid for this mental service, it is direct
ly the interest of the mass physically em
ployed, should be paid to one of their own
people; because if so paid it is returned back
to them again, in payment for the labor of
their hands, in furnishing whatever is neces
sary for the comfort and maintenance of the
others. In this way the wealth of a people
is kept continually circulating among them
selves; and the reward of their labor, instead
of being drained off into foreign channels,
and supporting other communities, improves
the country in which they live, and adds some
thing to the advantage of every man in it.
2. Local literature is to be encouraged for
another reason. In every community there
will be found, occasionally, to rise up and
display its faint light above the horizon, the
mind of some poverty stricken scholar, whom
to animate in his ambition, becomes the very
essence ol charity. Ii Letters are advanced
generally, a taste is promoted for the patron
age of such persons; and the wealth of a
people from being confined to its own sphere,
is pleasingly contributed to the inciting of
those, who, in the vale of life, are making
vigorous efforts to achieve fame for them
selves and their country; and to bring down
upon the little home where they lived, the
gaze of posterity, as upon the birth-place of
Milton, Pope and Grey; a fame not merely
individual, but national: for every one who
by his brilliant life, directs the eye of posteri
ty to his country, adds to its glory and iden
tifies its character with his own.
3. The encouragement of our own Litera
ture contributes also to confine the thoughts
of our men of letters to their own land. This
is the very life of patriotism. It is a reproac h
to us in foreign countries, that we are not for
ourselves. We are base imitators of them
and their writers. We cannot write an essav
%>
without assuming the ground occupied by
Addison, or a poem without borrowing the
scenes or events of European history and
countries. Consequently our own land and
our own heroes go unsung. Our wars, the
most heroic ever fought, never roused the mind
of our poets —our country, the most beautiful,
never conciliates the pencil of the painter.
We trust that the ambition which prompts
the advent of anew enterprise in the Athens
of Georgia, will not be unsuccessful. Geor
gia embraces scenery more beautiful than the
finest of Switzerland —events more pregnant
with poetic conceptions than the mysterious
pine forests of northern Germany. Let us
build up writers of our own, and encourage
them to look in our own land, not only for
the topics, bnt for the rewards of letters.
(Eclectic of iDit.
PETER BRUSH,
THE GREAT USED UP.
BY THE LATE JOSEPH C. NEAL.
It was November; soon after election time,
when a considerable portion of the political
world are apt to be despondent, and external
things appear to do their utmost to keep them
so. November, the season of dejection, when
pride itself loses its imperious port; when
ambition gives place to melancholy; when
beauty hardly takes the trouble to look in the
glass; and when existence dotls its rainbow
hues, and wears an aspect of such dull, com
monplace reality, that hope leaves the world
for a temporary excursion, and those who
cannot do without her inspiring presence, bor
row the aid of pistols, cords, and chemicals,
and send themselves on a longer journey, ex
pecting to find her by the way:—a season,
when the hair will not stay in curl; when the
walls weep dewy drops, to the great detri
ment of paper-hangings, and of every species
of colouring with which they are adorned;
when the banisters distil liquids, anything but
beneficial to white gloves, when nature fills
the ponds, and when window-washing is the
only species of amusement at all popular
among housekeepers.
It was on the worst of nights in that worst
of seasons. The atmosphere was in a condi
tion of which it is difficult to speak with res
pect, much as we may be disposed to applaud
the doings of nature. It was damp, foggy,
and drizzling; to sum up its imperfections in
a sonorous and descriptive epithet, it was
“’orrid muggy weather.” The air hung about
the wayfarer in warm, unhealthy folds, and
extracted the starch from his shirt collar and
and from the bosom of his dickey, with as
much rapidity as it robbed his spirits of their
elasticity, and melted the sugar of self-com
placency from his mind. The street lamps
emitted a ghastly white glare, and were so
hemmed in with vapory wreaths, that their
best efforts could not project a ray of light
three feet from the burner. Gloom was uni
versal, and any change, even to the heat of
Africa, or to the frosts of the arctic circle,
would, in comparison, have been delightful.
The pigs’ tails no longer waived in graceful
sinuosities; wffiile the tail of each night-rov
ing, hectoring bull-dog ceased flaunting to
ward the clouds, a banner of w r rath and defi
ance to punier creatures, and hung down
drooping and dejected, an emblem of a heart
little disposed to quarrel and offence. The
ornamentals of the brute creation being thus
below par, it w T as not surprising that men,
wfith cares on their shoulders and raggedness
in their trousers, should likewise be more mel
ancholy than on occasions of a brighter char
acter. Every one at all subject to the “ skiey
influences,” who has had trouble enough to
tear his clothes, and to teach him that the sta
ple of this mundane existence is not exclu
sively made up of fun, has felt that philoso
phy is but a barometrical affair, and that he
who is proof against sorrow w hen the air is
clear and bracing, may be a very miserable