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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 Duval frankly told Pau line he had formerly indulged dissipated hab its, and that he was the writer whom she had superseded as contributor to La Publiciste.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