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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
IVM. C. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
Original jlortri).
• For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE MINIATURE.
BY W . GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ.,
AUTHOR or ‘GUY RIVERS,’ ‘YEMASSEE,’ ‘ ATALANTIS,’ StC.
There needs no painter’s skill to trace
The lineaments of that dear face,
Or keep, for memory’s future tears,
The charms that hide with fading years ;
Such token, too, as this, I fain,
Would have tlice feci as worse than vain,
Since not alone were these the charms,
Dear heart, that Avon me to thy arms.
Think’st thou that smile, though rich it be,
That eye so bright those tresses free
This little dimple, where the loves
Sit smiling sly in sunny groves
That cheek so smooth, that neck so fair
That nameless grace beyond compare
Think’st thou that these alone may bind,
In faith so fond, so wild a mind 1
As soft a lip perchance as this
Had blest me oft with Fanny’s kiss ;
And Rosa has an eye whose gloiv
Would make a starlight in the snow ;
Not these! not these! but in thy breas t
The lurking loA r e that mine confessed ;
’T was not alone for charms in thee,
But that thy heart Avas full of me !
Take back these lines, aylioso language weak
But tells that painting cannot speak, —
That Avhile it makes some beauties gloiv,
But mourns for those it cannot show ;
A portrait, drawn with dearer art,
Lies perfect, sweet one, on my heart,
And truthful still, whene’er I gaze,
Thy love as avcll as look betrays.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
LINES TO
BY EDWARD J. PORTER.
Within the heart a secret sleeps
Still unrevealed;
And hiddenly that chamber keeps
It darkly veiled,
Till the predestined spell shall come,
And breathing round
Hath lighted up its cloister’s gloom
Its sleep unbound.
Well may tlie loveliness and light
Os eyes like thine,
Where gentleness, as pure as bright,
Its rays entAvine,
A spell-Avork weave with power to move,
And Avake to birth
The spirit’s fountain-waves of love
To sparkle forth.
♦
Thine was the radiant spell that broke
The veil Avhich lay
O’er the heart’s fountain, and aAvoke
Its waves to play;
Thine is the gentleness of soul,
Which, more than all,
Hath Avon, by its own SAveet control,
My spirit’s thrall.
The lovely light that beamingly
O’er thy fair brow
In softness plays, hath taught to me, —
UnknoAvn till now, —
This truth, that in the heart there lay
A breath —a tone
To wake alone Avhen beauty’s ray
Was round it throAvn!
Kingston, S. C.
MUSIC,
BY AN AMATEUR.
Oh ! there is music in the sky,
Where spheres majestic move;
And on the earth is melody,
Around, below, above:
It dwelleth in the fountain’s gush,
And murmurs through the dell,
T is wafted on the zephyr—hush 1
And in the dinner-bell!
Jin Jllustratcir tUcckln Journal of J3cllcs-£cttrcs, Science anil tljc Arts.
ALL ABOUT: WITH PEN AND PENCIL.
BY T. ADDISON RICHARDS.
THE CATSKILLS. —PART THIRD.
Return to the Mountain House —Grand Concert —
Chat with the worthies of Palenville, and new
mysteries—Magnificent dream on small matters —
Excursion to High Peak —Prattle by the way —
Comparative lleauties of the Seasons on the Cat
skills —Glories of the Winter and Eloquence of
Uncle Joe —The Poet Bryant, and Cole the Artist
—Ascent of the Mountain —Uncle Joe’s Prowess
with the Rattle-Snake —Other Snake Stories—
View from the Mountain Side —Terrible predica
ment when on the Summit —Want of a theme for
the Pencil, and Cruel Martyrdom of Uncle Joe —
Hornet Catastrophe-Other affecting Casualties—
Sketch from the top of Little Falls—Visit to the
Stony Clove —Disappointment —Soiree at Hunter
—Meeting with an Old Friend —Mysteries cleared
up —Sweet Dreams ruthlessly dissipated —Broken
Heart —Despair and Retreat.
In my last chapter, I left the reader after
the fatigues of the day, standing near the up
per bed of the Katterskill, instead of conduct
ing him, as I should, hack to the hotel, and
refreshing him with the excellent dinner,
which they know so well there how to con
coct, and which the morning’s rambles enable
me so much to enjoy. And after dinner, I
meant to have invited him into the drawing
room, to participate in a very unique and im
promptu concert, which might very properly
be denominated, historically speaking, both
sacred and profane. It was proposed and
agreed to, that every one present should sing
a stanza, each following the other with all
possible despatch. A more amusing medley
than that presented, could not well be imag
ined. Now the sweet voice of some accom
plished vocalist, and directly after, an excru
ciatingly sharp nasal twang, which w'ouldbe
the everlasting delight of a method!st meeting.
“Old Hundred,” followed by “Charming Ju
dy O’Callaghan;” “I dreamt I dwelt in mar
ble halls,” Hung upon the same breeze with
“Daniel Tucker;” and the Marseillaise as a
chorus to “Oft in the stilly night.” But the
grand finale, for the benefit of the ladies, was
performed by the gentlemen in the shape of a
march, single file, and in very close rank;
each one repeating the grotesque variat ions of
step, gesture and expression of the leader, and
all singing or whistling at the same moment,
a different air, from the simple lyric to passa
ges from the Latin chants! The singing was
followed by the highly intellectual game of
“Fox and Goose,” after uvhich some went
forth to lounge upon the parapet and analyze
the passing clouds; others gathered round the
card-table, while a few T ANARUS, reversing the step
from grave to gay, collected in groups, and !
discussed questions of as great profundity j
and moment, as that of the young gentleman
in the Debating Society —“ As to whether, in
political elections, one should be influenced
by the internal suggestions of faction, or go
verned by the bias of jurisprudence ?■”
As none of these amusements made me for
get that the day was waning, and still more,
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JULY 8, IS4B.
perhaps, as I could gain no satisfactory intel
ligence of my fair inconnue, who had kept
her apartments since our rencontre of the pre
vious evening, T replaced my patent leathers
in my knapsack, and strolled leisurely back
to the Mountain Inn at Palenville. It was
dark when I entered the house, and found
every body, as usual, deeply absorbed in dom
inoes. They gave me a hearty greeting, but
were much surprised at my speedy return;
especially those who were aware of my de
sire to improve my acquaintance with the la
dy aforesaid. Uncle Joe particularly, was
non-plussed, and in view of all the circum
stances, solemnly arrived at the erudite con
clusion that it was “most onaccountable.”
In answer to the general demand for the
incidents of my visit, I related the meeting
with the white-robed maiden.
“ I never let any of my family,” said Billy,
“stroll about in that way. Out of fourteen,
I never had one who ”
Billy’s nursery speeches being effectually
interrupted, I continued with the adventure of
the panther, in which every one suddenly took
unusual interest, exchanging, as I finished the
narrative, very significant and mysterious
looks.
“’Tis most onaccountable!” murmured old
Joe. “Most onaccountable! when the car
riage passed yesterday, I thought I had seen
her before, some where or other; and it must
have been here, for I have never been any
where else.”
I was about to inquire what they knew of
her and her history, when Billy added—
“ That affair of the panther made a great
noise here, at the time when it happened, and
we have always wanted to know what be
came of the lady, and if she was married!”
“Married!” I exclaimed, “Oh, no! not
she!”
“Why it was said,” continued my friend
Billy, “that she afterwards became the wife
of the gentleman who had saved her life !”
This very reasonable idea, which had never
before occurred to me, completely put to flight
all my dreams of romance, and I hastened to
change the subject by enquiring of Uncle Joe,
whether he would he ready in the morning,
t) accompany me in a projected visit to High
Peak. When his answer in the affirmative
vas given, and all other arrangements were
made, I bade the group good night and re
tred to dream of all sorts of wonders, trom a
nountain-top to the treasured glove of my
mysterious visitor.
“Morn was upon the hills!” as a poet j
vould magnificently express it —when upon
tie following day, my landlord awakened me
vith the information that it was a great and
glorious dawn for our excursion, and that
nothing remained to be done, but to be up and
off.
VOLUME I.—NUMBER 0.
The noise of his repeated knocks on my
door, in vain efforts to arouse me from a te
nacious sleep, mingled singularly with a
dream I was enjoying, of watching the felling
of a large hemlock in the forest. Each
knock chimed in with the blow of the sacri
ligious axe, upon the trunk of the noble tree,
until it, at length fell, with a deep groan,
echoed through the wilderness, like the roar
of old ocean, and prostrating, in its descent,
a hundred weaker brothers. The tumult
awoke me, and when I became conscious that
it was, after all, nothing more than a satanic
tattoo, played by the estimable knuckles of
my respected host, I could but laugh at the
very prosy and ignoble foundation of my stu
pendous fancy. Then I moralized a little and
thought how many of the pleasures and hopes
and honors of life, are equally indebted to the
magic of fancy for their attractions. And
then I bestirred myself in preparations to sat
isfy my curiosity as to whether therenoAvned
High Peak was one of those imagincry glo
ries, microscoped by the pen of the traveller.
With uncle Joe as a guide, and accompa
nied by two of my friends, who had made
their debut at the inn, late the previous night,
I started on my toilsome walk with as reso
lute a step as that of the youth who “ love
the banner with the strange device—Excel
sior!” My companions were as gay and
light-hearted as myself, as they sallied forth
on that lovely morn, “with health on every
zephyr’s wing;” and even uncle Joe failed to
look upon it as “most onaccountable,” when
one of them vented his superabundant enthu
siasm in a recitation of Mrs. Ellis’ verses—•
“Were Ia prince, it is not all
r l he charms of court or crowded hall
Could keep me from the lovelier sight
Os blooming earth aud rivers bright;
But here I’d come,
And find my home,
Sweet scene of peace, no more to roam.”
The three miles through the cove, which
we had to walk before commencing the as
cent of the mountain-side, slipped away as
those unheeded
When noiselessly falls the foot of time,
Which only treads on flowers.”
For to the student of Nature, who has watched
her thousand forms and features, until they
have become a part of his being, her very
“ sands are diamond sparks which dazzle as
they pass.” Not the minutest object but is
to him a source of pleasure. The resistless
cataract or the gentle dew-drop; the genial
rays of the bright sun, or the darkness of the
tempest—each alike win hislove. Whatever
face his goddess puts on, in whatever way
she display her beauty —like the lover in
Shakspeare—he would ever have her do
“ Nothing but that; more still, still so, and own
No other function. Each her doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns that she is doing in the present deeds,
That all her acts are queens.”
When, as we thus joyously trudged along,
our chat fell upon the comparative beauties of
Nature in her changing aspects with the sea
sons’ change—one loved the fresh and spark
ling emeralds of spring and her pure and
buoyant airs; another rejoiced and dreamed
happy dreams, fanned by the warmer and
more indolent breezes of summer, as he shel
tered himself beneath the denser canopy of
her move quiet and sober foliage; a third rev
elled in the gorgeous and fanciful appareling
of motley autumn, looking, as Willis expres
ses it, “as if a myriad of rainbows were laced
through the tree-tops —as if the sunsets of a
summer, gold, purple and crimson, had been
fused in the alembic of the West, and poured
back in anew deluge of light and color over
the wilderness.”
Uncle Joe listened with truthful sympathy
to all these varying preferences, but he thought