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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