Newspaper Page Text
M. Bland tapped on the wall as a signal, and
yj guard and another gentleman made their
appearance at the door, which led into an ad
joining room. M. Bland met them at the
door, and M. Suard having gone back, he led
the other gentleman to Pauline, and said,
“Mademoiselle de Meulan, allow me to
present to you your “ Unknown Friend !”
It was Duval.
M. Bland retired,
Pauline’s face was suffused with blushes,
and her confusion and emotion caused her to
tremble like a leaf. Duval seated himself by
her side, and by his tact soon measurably re
assured her.
The reader can better imagine what fol
lowed than we can tell him. One thing we
must note however. Duval frankly told Pau
line he had formerly indulged dissipated hab
its, and that he was the writer whom she had
superseded as contributor to La Publiciste.
He promised reformation, and Pauline be
lieved him. What lady does not believe her
lover, if she loves him in return ?
A few weeks after the above scene, there
was a wedding at M. Suard’s. Duval and
Pauline became one.
Shortly after their marriage, Pauline one
•day said to Duval—
“l loved you as the dissipated young man;
1 loved you as the intellectual-looking young
man whom I met on my way from my first
visit to M. Bland; I loved you as Duval: I
loved you as my “Unknown Friend,” and
I now adore you as my own. I was ashamed
of myself to love so many at a time, but 1
could not possibly restrain my feelings for
you in any of your different characters, al
though I did not know I was loving one and
the same person all the time. Ours is a soul
passion, and in whatever character your
physique appeared, my spirit still sought and
found yours.”
The reader will be anxious to know if Du
val kept his promise and reformed.
My answer is, our hero and heroine are
Monsieur and Madame Guizot.
Original JJoctnj.
For rite Southern Literary Gazette.
TO .
BY MARY E . LEE.
•’ Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be com
forted.”—[Hoi,y Whit.
Then, lady, surely thou art blest,
For through the weary years now past,
They tell rnc, sickness o’er thy frame
Its darksome robe hath ever cast,
And thou dost mourn that health hath spread,
Within Life’s tissue, no bright thread.
Thy fyte seems sad to me, and yet
I ween that thou hast many hours
Os purer pleasures than are given
To those whose paths are decked with flowers ;
For, happiness is seldom found
Where earth looks all enchanted ground.
No, lady, no ; the star of Faith
Shines brightest on a darken’d sky,
And Hope would not be Hope, if all
Was but a cloudless certainty ;
Then if they both ’bide in thy breast,
Believe me, thou art truly blest.
And more than these art thou not rich
In all the joys of social love 1
Loth not a sister’s watchful care
Bike a fresh childhood to thee prove ?
And for thy mother, sure thou art
I he strongest tendril round her heart.
And thou hast other bliss, I know, —
lhe gifts of inborn soul are thine;
I’ or, through the depths of human woes,
Bike waters gushing from the mine,
I hat intellect, that cannot die,
°rks out its noblest destiny.
But dost thou mourn 1—oh! there are still
et sweeter words for thee in store;
“Thou shalt he comforted,” He saith,
VVho through a life of suffering bore
I he heaviest cross that e’er can be
Baid upon poor mortality.
s© is m $ ie m il aif s a as¥ Hi
God bless thee, lady! though we ne’er
May meet each other on this earth,
But both, until life’s errand’s done,
Dwell, where our childhood had its birth,
Yet tender sympathy I send,
As to some dear, though unknown friend.
Farewell ! God bless thee ! Thou hast touch’d
Deep springs of feeling in my breast,
And, lady, though my prayer be vain,
That yet with health thou mayst be blest,
Still place thy trust, till life is o’er,
In that Physician who can cure.
Charleston , S. C.
ijomc (fforrcsponfccncc.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
NEW-YORK LETTERS—NO. VIII.
Rathbun’s Hotel, )
New-York, June 22, 1848. )
My Dear Sir : —
I have promised to take you with me
occasionally, to our re-unions of the devotees
of literature, art and taste, where you may
meet those whose lives and works exert so
great an influence upon your readers a thou
sand miles removed, equally with their neigh
bors and fellow-citizens; those whose names
are cherished household words, in the public
heart, and the inspirations of whose genius
add so much to the sweetest pleasures of life.
Since the dearth, this week, of local news,
gives me an opportunity for a little general
gossip, I will now follow up the allusion in
a late letter, to the soirees of Miss Lynch, by
some memories of visits to the hospitable
mansion of James Lawson, Esq.
This gentleman, a Scotchman by birth,
came to this country in very early life. He
has ever been extremely fond of literature
and the arts, and by the sympathy of his
tastes, the virtues of his heart, and his ac
knowledged abilities as a scholar, he has
drawn around him a distinguished circle of
deeply attached friends. Though a business
man, in the strictest sense of the word —with
a rare judgment in all matters relating to In
surance and the adjustment of averages —
which is one of the best authorities in Wall
street —he can indulge in an occasional 4 aside,
with the muses, and pens a ballad and adapts
the music to it with equal success and spirit.
His poems are marked by delicacy and ten
derness, and much of that Scottish naivete,
which makes him not unworthy to call him
self, which he does with honest pride, a
countryman of Burns. I find a couple of his
songs in my volume of autographs, which,
though not his best, by any means, I will
venture to transcribe here, as they will give
you an idea of his taste and talents.
SONG.
When spring, arrayed in smiles, Mary,
Danced wi’ the leafy trees;
When larks sang to the sun, Mary,
And hummed the wandering bees;
Then first we met and loved, Mary,
By Gristo’s laupin’ linn,
And blither was thy voice, Mary,
Than lintie’s i’ the whin.
Now autumn winds blaw cauld, Mary,
Amang the withered boughs,
And a’ the bonny flowers, Mary,
Are faded frae the knowes ;
But still, thy love’s unchanged, Mary,
- Nae chilly autumn there,
And sweet thy smile, as spring, Mary.
Thy sonsie face as fair.
The early lark nae rnair, Mary,
Trills on his soaring way,
Hushed is the lintie’s sang, Mary,
Through a’ the shortening day;
But still thy voice I hear, Maiy,
Like melody divine,
Nae autumn in thy heart, Mary,
And summer still in mine.
SONG.
They fain would have me think, that he
Is faithless to his vow ;
And all the love he breathed for me,
Is changed to coldness now;
That he will come no more at eve,
To glad me with his smile;
They ne’er can make my heart believe,
That his could so beguile.
His words of love I may not tell,
His looks I could not speak ;
But oh ! within my heart they well,
And burn upon my cheek ;
His memory, which hath ever been
A fount of purest thought,
Must oft recall each cherished scene,
And lesson he hath taught.
If false, I banish for his sake,
My dream of future bliss ;
And every coming hour will take,
Its wretchedness from this.
Though he should leave me to despair,
And turn my fond eye dim,
I’ll bless him in my morning prayer,
And in my evening hymn.
Besides these sweet songs, I have in my
possession, a poem entitled “ God in Nature,”
of a more didactic cast, which I send to en
rich your columns, in some future issue. Mr.
Lawson’s music has been frequently pub
lished, and has been honored by having em
ployed the voice of Sinclair. He sometimes
playfully alleges the indebtedness of bis fa
vorite friends, Bryant and Simms, to his mu
sic for their prospect of future immortality.
His attachment to these gentlemen is very
great. The latter is never suffered to lodge
elsewhere, when lie comes to N. York, than in
his house; and the friendship of the parties
has been uninterrupted during an affectionate
intimacy of nearly twenty years.
Mr. Lawson has been an editor, and was
at one time, associated with our “Courier &
Enquirer.” He has put forth, anonymously,
a volume of tales and sketches, and a tragedy,
called “Giordano,” which was enacted at the
Park, with very flattering success. He is
now in the flower and vigor of manhood. —
His fine intellectual countenance ever beams
with the happy smile, which betrays his un
varying repose and cheerfulness of tempera
ment, and whispers of the quiet and pleasant
vein of humor, which always enlivens his
conversation and makes you so much at
home in his society, that once visiting his fire
side, you cannot fail of a desire to do so again
and again.
As I have intimated, you will frequently
meet in Mr. Lawson’s drawing-rooms, with
his friend Mr. Bryant, the poet. Familiar as
you are, like all the world, with the works
of the author of “ Thanatopsis,” you will re
alize in his personal appearance and social
manners, the picture which your fancy has
already formed both of bis morale and his
physique.
Ilis countenance wears always that calm
thoughtful air of deep meditation and quiet
dignity, so marked in the philosophical, yet
elegant and happy productions of his pen. It
is not an expression of cold hauteur —of su
percilious contempt of those around him, but
of a high-souled, intellectual man, whose
mind is rife with serious and lofty thoughts;
not that of the vain and selfish egotist, who
looks down upon humbler and less gifted
contemporaries; but of the earnest student,
who, while he knows his powers, looks
meekly up to a yet greater Master.
This trait in Mr. Bryant’s character, has
caused him to be looked upon by those who
know him but slightly, as somewhat of an
ascetic, and yet in the abandon of a circle of
tried and intimate friends, hi3 manner is ge
nial und playful, and lie gives free course to
that fount of wisdom, and earnest kindness of
heart which no one can question him to pos
sess. And yet, by the million, he is a man
more respected than loved. His eminent mo
ral worth, not less than his exalted genius,
commands, everywhere, the highest deference
and regard. He is now* chiefly occupied as
the editor of one of our leading political jour
nals.
In the same circle with Lawson and Bry
ant, you will find the poet and novelist,
Simms. He generally visits New York, as
you are aware, for a few weeksin the spring;
and well know*n as he is, fora gallant, warm
hearted son of his own loved
“ land of the pine—the cedar and vine”—
yet, I defy him to out-do, in his hospitable
mansion at “ Woodlands” the heartiness and
earnestness of the welcome which he ever
receives from his Northern friends. At Mr.
Lawson’s, he is perfectly at home, and gives
free course to his natural humor in his inex
haustible and ever-varying conversation, al
ways tinctured by an under-current of infec
tious mirth and wit. It has always been a
matter of surprise to me, that a man who ac
complishes so much labor as Mr. Simms, can
find so many hours at the service of his
friends—hours when he will not entertain
you distractedly, but wdien he is yours, heart
and soul, with all the abandon of thoughtless
boyhood; as if there were no such thing as
grave and wearisome toil on the morrow. —
To you in the South who know him so well
ami value him so justly, it is needless for me
to speak of the contributions he has made,
during his active life, to every department of
our national literature. The limits of my
sheet would preclude a record, even of the
names of his various works of history, poetry,
essay, biography and fiction. You are fa
miliar, too, with his physique, and the mere
mention of his name will call up before your
mental eye, his manly form, and his noble
countenance.
Another valued friend of Mr. Lawson
and his guests, is Mr. Evert A. Duyc
kinck—known and esteemed as an accom
plished gentleman and an elegant scholar. —
He cannot hoasi of having accomplished so
much in literature as Dr. Simms, and yet his
faultless taste and rich fund of varied know
ledge precludes the possibility of hisdoingany
thing which he sets his pen to, otherwise
than well. His labors are always artistic
and graceful, while as a critic, he is ever
acutely discerning and just. Mr. Willis calls
him the only literary gentleman of leisure in
the United States, and this happy freedom,
perhaps, accounts for the finish and beauty of
his literary toils. But as he has a magic cir
cle of his own, where he plays the host not
less gracefully, than he whose guest we now
find him, I shall speak of him larther in a
record of an evening at his ows house; for
he well merits a chapter to himself.
I should like to introduce you to others of
Mr. Lawson’s friends, but I must, of necessi
ty, defer it for the present. I cannot, how
ever, take my leave without a word of one
other distinguished guest —Mr. Edwin Forest.
This eminent tragedian, by common consent,
at the head of his noble art, is often to be
found with his gifted and accomplished lady,
among the habituees of Mr. Lawson's house.
Os his professional abilities I need not speak,
or of his personal appearance. Most people
have seen Mr. Forest, and remember his com
manding figure and royal air,—if 1 may use
such a word in this republican age. High
though his rank as an artist, he is not less
esteemed for his moral and intellectual worth,
for his virtues as a gentleman, a citizen, a
friend, and every other relation of public and
private life. In the bright example of his
own successful career and life, he has cast
high honor upon his profession, and done
much to rescue it from the slight esteem in
which it is so unjustly held. He has gained
an ample fortune, and lives pleasantly and
happily, at his mansion in the city, or at his
beautiful villa in the vicinity. It is his pur
pose, I believe, very soon to retire from the
stage, when it is thought by his friends, he
may enter upon public life as a statesman. —
His name was at one time, put in nomination
for Congress, but his professional engage
ments, perhaps, induced him to withdraw it.
Very truly, your friend,
FLIT.
THINK OF IT.
If you make an intentional concealment of
any thing in a court of judicature, it will lie
like lead upon your conscience all the days
of your life.
59