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<nhat my hair is naturally of a light chestnut
color, also my eyebrows. My eyes have no
very determinate color, being of a light hazle.
My skin you see is fair.
On my first visit to Miss Octavia I came
naturally, that is, as I was, only l had an
imperial and mustaches, which I cut off to
act the part of a lady. I was compelled to
practise a ruse in order to gain time sufficient
for the purpose of preparing female apparel.
This was done by heavily bribing a mantua
maker. The curls I assumed to hide my
hair more completely. As Mansfield I only
put on those great whiskers, and mustaches
to give the nose a different appearance. Over
my own hair I wore that wig, and darkened
my eyebrows,” he continued rubbing the
paint from that part of his countenance with
his handkerchief. “Os course I assumed a
different deportment and style of dress in
each character. Now do you wonder at my
not bringing my sister?”
Octavia was silent. Admiration made her
nold her peace.
“We made Edgar -and May confidents,”
said Arthur “for the furtherance of such a
scheme. And they both acted very discreet
ly. Did I not tell you, that Fred, should
whisper something in your ear? —Fred, can
say that he has not broken a single promise.
And we can all say that we are very happy.”
Not many months adter the above conver
sation, Frederick Stanley, and Arthur Gum
ming led their respective brides to the altar,
where amid those that were collected together
on that happy May-day, they were united.
Arthur did not forget his wedding ring, nor
did an t/ of them cease to remember that joy
ous day, when collected together they formed
such a pleasant “ May-Party.”
£)omc (Jorrcspcmbmcc.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
NEW-YORK LETTERS:
NUMBER ELEVEN.
Rathbun’s Hotf.l, New-York, )
July 12th, 1848. )
Mi f dear sir , —With “my heart” still “in
the highlands,” I am again a denizen of Goth
am, having left the mountains some few days
since. I came down the Hudson in the night
—and such a night! 1 hope the clerk of the
weather has plenty “ more of the same sort.”’
The moon beamed most sweetly, and the fresh
and cooling airs were most grateful. I de
lighted myself on the deck of our noble
steamer until our watery path was buried in
the mighty shadows of the lofty peaks of the
far-famed highlands; while behind us a sing
ularly brilliant aurora borealis lent anew
charm to the witching scene and hour. A
friend and fellow traveler, whose chat helped
to beguile the passing moments, and who was
then returning from a tour on the St. Law
rence, maintained the superior claims of that
great stream to those of our glorious Hudson
for picturesque beauty and variety. I boldly
disputed every point of his argument, and
would confidently accept, as arbitor in the
quarrel, any truthful lover of Nature whose
eye had wandered over the attractions of the
rival scenes. The Hudson is the monarch of
rivers, like the mighty Mont Blanc, “crowned
long ago” with a diadem and wreath that
cannot be easily snatched from its brow. Be
fore I quite forget the Catskills, let me record
a “snake story,”—true as gospel,—which
happened on the day preceding my departure.
I was accompanying some of the inhabitants
of the clove in a ramble over the lofty ridge
which frowns to the northward upon the lit
tle hamlet of Palenville. This portion of these
hills is the favorite resort of the rattle-snake,
and you may at any time find these reptiles
there if you take the trouble to look for them,
as we did. After spoiling the usefulness of
two large “ Bell Birds,” as the good people
baptize them, one of the party called atten
tion to a rattle that he had heard beneath the
§© © aHIB m ft, HIT AM ©A 8 & THf £ ♦
flat rock upon which we were standing. The
music was repeated, whereupon a reckless
fellow, throwing off’ his coat, crept beneath
the rock and dragged the “varmint” forth,
coiled round his arm, while he grasped him
just below his head ! As he thus reappeared,
to the general horror, he dashed the snake
vnth a jerk at my feet, exclaiming, “Put him
in your pocket, Mr. Flit, and take him with
you to New-York!” Mr. Morse’s electricity
could scarcely equal the celerity with which
that rock was evacuated. I myself was, as
you may suppose, exceedingly slow in “pock
eting” the affront! Did 1 mention to you in
my last sheet that these same Palenville
youths amused themselves on the “Fourth”
in attempts to blast the immense rocks which
crown this peak of the Catskills! I did not,
in passing beneath it aftewards, miss the fa
miliar faces of any of the venerable sentinels,
but I am told that a terrible racket resulted
from the efforts of the ambitious lads. The
noise did not reach me, however, in the soli
tudes of the Stoney Clove. Perhaps it was
deadened by the roar of eloquence from the
lips of our patriotic orators on that occasion
which 1 have already described to you. But
I must say good bye to the mountains, and
be “in town,” though, in truth, “parting is
such sweet sorrow, and I could say good
night till it be morrow.”
I find everything as quiet here as a mouse,
excepting only the politicians and two tigers
who made their escape last night from
their cages in the case of “ Corporal Thomp
son,” inhabiting the outskirts of Broadway.
One of them has been traced to a cornfield in
the vicinity, but is not yet secured, while of
the other no account has reached us. Cor
poral Thompson, is a noted dispenser of be
verages, from pure soda and root beer to
those mysterious concoctions denominated
“Palo Alto smashers, “ Yera Cruz dodgers,”
“Montery grape” and “Moral Suasion.”
These sons of the wilderness, the tigers, he
kept for the amusement of his patrons, and
during the existence of the municipal laws
against the vending of what good and inno
cent Mrs. Malaprop calls “ arduous spirits.”
He used to retail them as the ingenious Bos
tonians did the “ striped pig.” Every body
of course, today, as he turns a dark corner,
is on the look out for stray tigers ! During
the excitement the little boy standing eight
feet high, in the museum saloons, is quite
overlooked ! If the Herald issues an Extra,
and I am every moment expecting one, I will
not fail to send you a copy.
On Monday night the barnburning division
of the Democratic party held ward meetings
to name delegates to the convention to be
held on the 13th of September next, at Utica,
at which time Presidential Electors are to be
chosen and candidates nominated for Gover
nor, Lieutenant Governor and other State offi
cers.
During my absence, Burton the comedian
has opened the theatre formerly occupied by
Pal mo as an Opera House. He has made a
very promising begining and with the ‘ stars ’
he will not fail to catch, added to an efficient
stock company, he will no doubt do well.
The Viennoise are at present in his temple.
Niblos establishment still retains the popular
favor. The Steyermarchische people gave
their ninth grand concert on Monday even
ing. The celebrated pianist, Maurice Strak
osch is also delighting us with his masterly
doings upon the piano forte. E.lwin Forrest
has recently returned from a verry successful
professional tour in the west and south west.
In Chicago he was received with great en
thusiasm. The papers of that city are full
of his praise, and I find in their columns, the
eloquent address with which the distinguish
ed orator took his leave of the worthy peo
ple. Speaking of valedictories, reminds me
that between your readers and myself “ there
hath been and must be ” such a word as
“farewell;” and circumstances demand that
upon this occasion it should be spoken quick
ly —yet, Farewell! FLIT.
Southern (Eclectic.
The annexed Poem is from the pen of a lady now
resident among us. It was printed some years
ago in one of the local papers, and has been recall
ed to our notice by a friend, whose prefatory re
marks we would have ventured to publish but for
want of space. The Stanzas, however, need no
introduction to ensure them a welcome [Ed.
As for man, hi 9 days are as grass—as the flower of the
field, so he flourisheth, for the wind passeth over it, and
it is gone; and the place thereof, shall know it no more.
[Psalms of DaVid.
Man’s life is like the summer grass,
That seems a moment to surpass
In verdant brightness—all below —
The next cut down, by one fell blow
Os death’s keen scythe, ’t is lightly cast
Withered, and dead, before the blast!
Man’s life is like the opening rose
That seeks a moment to disclose,
Its blushing beauties to the sun,
Exhales its per/ utne —and is gone !
Unnoticed sleeps uj on the spot,
Where late it bloomed ; unknown, forgot!
Man’s love is like this grass—this flower —
’Twill bloom and wither, in an hour,
A moment last within the rays,
Os beauty’s smile, and fashion’s blaze,
But fortune’s frown—or sorrow’s blast
Leaves not a vestige of the past !
PETRARCH AND LAURA.
BY THE LATE RICHARD 11. WILDE.
Os all the women who have been deified by
their poetic adorers, Laura seems to us one
of the least interesting. Why, then, did Pe
trarch love her ? If we consult our own ex
perience and observation, we shall not ask
that question, nor its converse —why did she
not love him? Love is commonly the result
of accident or caprice, rarely of any intellectu
al merit. The hope to win it by celebrity,
though frequently indulged, is among the
vainest of illusions, and Laura may have
smiled at such a folly without being unusu
ally stupified or insensible. The greater part
of her sex, like the greater part ol ours, have
no just conception or ardent love of glory.—
In general they hold immortality as cheap as
the mother of mankind or the widow of Na
poleon.
There have been remarkable and splendid
examples to the contrary, it is true, hut fortu
nately or unfortunately for us, and for them
selves, the mass remains unchanged. Many
have indeed been inseparably associated with
undying names, often undeservedly, some
times in their own despite; but most, being of
the earth, earthly, would have lost that privi
lege, had not the weakness of vanity or ten
derness preserved the memorials of their tri
umph, and thus rescued them from merited
oblivion. Nina, who would be called nothing
but the Nina of Dante, is the exception, not
the rule. Even she, perhaps, was thought
very naughty in her lifetime, and if she sac
rificed temporary good repute to long ages of
celebrity, had nearly made the sacrifice in vain,
since, though a poetess herself, she was so
little of a critic as to choose Dante da Maiano
an indifferent versifier. Far be it from us to
malign the fairer jiart of creation, to whom
every rhymer is a born bondsman; but in
truth and prose, the condition of women ex
cludes her for the most part from these lofty
aspirations. Shut up within the narrow cir
cle of petty vanities, household cares, frivo
lous amusements, devotional exercises, and
trivial occupations, she rarely feels inclined to
look beyond it, and if she does, is visited with
the anger of all her sisterhood. There is lit
tle reason to believe that Laura burst the
spell, or was in any wise exempted from the
common destiny, except by the fortune of a
more illustrious lover. Her long continued
system of alternate encouragement and re
pulse, so delicately managed and adroitly
blended, as always to keep alive his hopes,
yet always disappoint them, may not deserve
to be stigmatized as the refinement of heart
less coquetry, but certainly excludes the idea
of warm and sincere attachment. The very
ascendancy she acquired over him, by her
constant self-possession and invariable calm
ness, indicates the action of a more phlegmat
ic, on a more impassioned nature. For the
rest, discretion, sweetness, good sense, reli
gious faith, and serenity, make up the sum of
an amiable and tranquil disposition, as femi
nine as you please, and as remote as possible
from all our early, romantic conceptions.
Could the veil of ages be withdrawn, she
might be found either frail or cold, and,
whichever the alternative, must loose a por
tion of her worshippers. Now, on the con
trary, those who are not satisfied with either
part of the dilemma have still open to their
faith the further supposition, that Laura, ten
derly loving Petrarch, concealed or governed
her affection for one-and-twenty years, never
driving him to d eß P&* r by her rigour, nor be
traying the secret of her weakness. But
whether she was enamoured and virtuous, or
only coquetish, prudent or indifferent, it must
not be inferred she took no pleasure in her
lover’s praises. Who is offended by a deli
cate and well turned compliment?—or what
woman, however insensible to the beauties of
poetry, ever failed to admire a sonnet to her
own eye-brow? Love is not kindled by
rhyme,* but self-love is fed by it, nor should
we without reflection condemn Laura for not
valuing more highly, or making a more grate
ful return for the offering. We behold in Pe
trarch the restorer of learning, the creator of a
new poetry, the beautifier of a language
which is all melody. She saw in him only a
persevering sonneteer, who annoyed her with
complaints, or soothed her by flattery. To up
he appears with the glory of five centuries.
Could he have laid it all at her feet, possibly
she mighthave yielded. With the confidence
of genius he oftened promised her immortali
ty. But how could she believe him? Did he
always believe himself? So far from it, he
at one time set little value on his love verses,
building his hopes of fame upon his Latin po
ems.
The lady whose apothesis has been made
by the love and poetry of Petrarch, there is
every reason to believe, was any thing but
happy. His devotion, which alone has em
balmed her memory, we may rea lily suppose,,
brought upon her both envy and censure.—
The propriety of her conduct is said indeed
to have been such as to defy the gossips ot
Avignon. The offence of being beautiful and
idolized, however, is rarely expiated even by
an abandonment of the heart’s affections. Our
contemporaries ever judge us harshly. The
living rarely get credit for their real worth.
Nay, they are often hated for theory virtues
by which they eclipse others, while, in the
eyes of posterity, every fault and almost eve
ry crime is absolved by greatness. Laura we
may believe, if she really loved Petrarch, sac
rificed her attachment to duty or to reputation,
though she was unable or unwilling to fore
go the incense offered to her charms. The
sacrifice was in vain, save to her own con
science, for Ugo, her husband, was harsh and
jealous, and so little attached to her memory
that he married shortly after her death ; while
her daughter, Ogiera, so far forgot the mater
nal example, even in her mother’s liietime,
that the honour of the family obliged them to
shut her up in a convent. Thus the celebri
ty of Laura, arises from a homage which it
was weakness, perhaps, worse, to allow,
while her virtues were inadequate to insure
her domestic happiness, and most certainly
alone would never have preserved her from
oblivion, So strange are the caprices of fame
and fortune, so uncertain and inconsequent
the judgments of mankind.
(Eclectic of il)it.
ELECTRICITY AS A TEMPERANCE
AGENT.
BY WM. C. RICHARDS.
In a neighboring village we w'ere once
amusing ourself and a few friends with a va
riety of experiments in electricity, and the
door of the room standing open, a notorious
drunkard staggered in and stood eyeing our
movements witn a vague yet fixed gaze. The
electric battery seemed especially to engage
his attention, and as the vivid spark flashed
out at its discharge,he started back but instant
ly, rubbing his hands, approached nearer as if
to examine the strange object ; at the same
time addressing us by name—he v/as vyell
known to all—he demanded in a hiccupping
strain —
“W-what the d-d-deuce do you c-call this
here-f-fezz-i-t-y p-p-pop-b-bang thing?”
“It is an electrical battery, Boozy,” said
we.
“ A tea-ki-kittle, what?” returned he with
a drunken leer. But it was in vain that we
prompted him; he could not master the long
word, and finally, out of patience, he stamp
ed his foot and exclaimed —
“ W-well the k-kritically thing b-b-be-d-d
----d—d! W-what do ye d-do w-with it? ’
“ We make drunken men sober, Boozy,
said a friend, desirous of haying some fun. for
which indeed we were all ripe.
Boozy looked <it us a few moments, and
then rolling up his shirt sieves, and extending
his brawny arm, he replied :
“ D-d-damn it, th-then s-s-sober m-m-me!”
We accordingly lost no time in charging
the battery; dnd Boozy without the least hesi
tation grasped the hook with one hand, and
at our bidding fearlessly approached his other
to the glittering knob. The shock was heavy
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