Newspaper Page Text
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
31 n JUustratci tOeckljj Journal of Bcllcs-Ccttrcs, Science anb tl)e Jlrts.
WM. C. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
Original JJoctrg.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE REVERIE OF THE CRIMINAL.
BY ROBERT M . CHARLTON.
These words were found in a condemned criminal’s
ceil after his execution :—“The summer is gone—the har
vest is over —the birds have sung their last song—the mer
ry stream sleeps in the cold arms of winter,—all nature is
dark and gloomy: oh . heart of mine, how is it with thee!”
The summer time- has come and flown,
The harvest moon its light hath thrown,
The birds have sung their last farewell
To verdant plain and flowery dell;
No more the streamlet’s crystal tide,
With murmuring voice doth onwards glide ;
Stern winter comes, with rude embrace,
All nature’s beauties to efface,
And with its wild winds whistling clear,
To chaunt the death-dirge of the year !
How is’t Avith thee, oh heart of mine!
Does Love’s bright sunbeam on it shine ?
Has Hope for thee a harvest moon,
Or birds of Joy a merry tune ?
Flows on life’s current bold and clear,
Or comes the winter of despair,
With dismal day and chilling night.
Thy hope, thy joy, tbv life to blight!
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
A MEMORIAL.
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ.,
At THOR OF- GUY RIVERS,’ ‘YEMASSEE,’ ‘ATALANTIS,’ UC.
The wing is down, that, when the day was dark,
Soar’d upward ere the lark ;
The eye is dim, that when the people slept,
True watch above them kept ;
The soul is fled, that, with a holy blaze
Warm’d all within its gaze ;
The fearless form is blighted, Avhich had stood,
Strong, battling like a god;
Firm against ancient error, and as true,
In conflict with the new ;
And hopes, that, from his presence, sprang elate,
Lie, blasted in his fate !
Tears that to all we give, however low,
Speak all our sorrows now ;
Fame, that belongs to rabble tongues, were vain,
And might his worth profane ;
The monument is frail, the pageant dim —
What could they speak for him 1
Prayers were vain—the soul avc honor thus
Might better plead for us:
Ascending high would be his holy pray’r,
While ours Avere lost in air!
Who shall requite the love he bore to man 1
His God ! —none other can !
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE VALE OF NACOOCHEE.
BY WILLIAM C, RICHARDS.
hnslirined in my heart is the Vale of Nacoochee,
And memory often makes pilgrimage sweet
I o the beautiful haunts of the bright Chattahoochee
A here its silvery fountains in melody meet.
1 he poets may boast, if they will, of Wyoming,
Gs peerless Avoca and loA r ely Cashmere ;
My fancy, contented without any roaming,
•''Lall find in Nacoochee a valley more dear.
‘ll. soft are its airs, and delicious its breezes,
Perfum’d by the breath of a thousand Avild tloAvers;
Mid wafting the music of Nature which pleases
far more than the charms of Apollo’s rare powers.
he sentinel mountains, around this sweet valley,
‘-•ift, Avatchful and proudly, their towering forms ;
uul w hen ’round their crests, the fierce tempest
clouds rally—
sleeps in their bosom, unreeking of storms.
v “° ve oh vale of my heart! there’s a splendor
’ nAAouted and peerless, in day’s glowing beam ;
‘'. I never are Ilian’s chaste kisses so tender,
” “hen she bestoAvs them on thy crystal stream.
■ “ell. lovely valley! sweet theme of my numbers,
1 h.A beauty shall evermore dwell in my heart;
’ i.-ion more rare shall be known to my slumbers,
’ ’scene from my memory shall later depart !
-Athens, Geo.
popular Sales.
THE SWAMP GHOST AT CHRISTMAS.
A SOUTHERN SKETCH.
BY MRS. MARY S. B. DANA.
It was Christmas Eve in old Carolina. —
Christmas Eve, —that fatal epoch for the den
izens of the poultry-yard,—when especially
the finest, fattest turkeys, if they had the gift
of prescience, might know that their hours
were numbered, and that a similar fate to that
which had befallen their fat friends about that
time the previous year, most certainly awaited
them. At Roseville, the plantation of Dr.
Erasmus Jones, it might, however, be discern
ed that something more than the usual Christ
mas preparation was going forward, or that
some excitement, greater than usual, caused
every cheek to flush, and every eye to bright
en at any unusual sound. The truth was,
that Frank Jones, the eldest son and brother,
was that evening expected home. For two
whole years the family had not seen his joy
ous countenance, and little wonder was it
that the lire of expectation sparkled in every
eye. During these two years Master Frank
had been at a distant northern college, poring
over musty tomes, —at least, this was the be
lief of his fond parents and friends, —prepar-
ing himself for furure distinction and useful
ness.
Two beautiful sisters he had, named Emily
and Lizzie; and these might now be seen
standing at the old-fashioned window of the
uper hall, which commanded the best view of
the avenue of stately oaks, leading from the
high road to the house. There, too, was lit
tle Ned, with his curly flaxen hair, and large
blue eyes, the very image of Lizzie, who had
always been accounted the beauty of the fami
ly. Ned was apparently as anxious as any
body to see far down the avenue, for he was
stretching himself upon tip-toe, and with evi
dent inconvenience was making most persever
ing efforts to gaze out of the window.
“What can keep Frank so long?” exclaim
ed Lizzie, “ I declare, it is almost sun-down.
See, Emily! the sun is even now sinking be
hind the trees. Oh, suppose he should not
come to-night!”
“ Don’t mention it, Lizzie, said Emily, “It
would be too bad; I should cry my eyes out.
Blit nonsense! I’m sure he’ll come.”
At these words Emily threw up the window
sash, and leaning out as far as possible,—so
far that Lizzie held her back with her strong
est grasp —she gazed intently down the long
avenue, now, in the fading sunlight, deeply
shaded by its overarching moss-grown oaks.
At some distance down the avenue stood a
group of twenty or thirty negroes, watching
for the beloved and earnestly-expected one.
And now a slight movement was observed
among them, while the sisters held their
breath and gazed out into the deepening twi
light still more earnestly.
“The negroes see something,” exclaimed
Lizzie, “Frank must be coming,” and just at
this moment the whole group started sudden
ly, and scampered down the avenue at the
very top of thmir speed, turning up their broad
flat heels behind them in a manner that was
perfectly wonderful to behold. The sisters
needed no better assurance of the fact that
the ivanderer was certainly in sight ; though
their optics, not quite so keen as those of the
negroes, still refused to give them the slight
est glimpse of even a distant speck at the fur
ther end of the long avenue. Down stairs
they ran, however, little Neddie scrambling
after them, and in another moment they had
cleared the steps, and were speeding down
the avenue after the negroes, their long ring
lets streaming behind them on the breeze.
Youth, and joy, and hope, gave wings to
their possessors, arid the sisters flew rather
than ran : so that in a few moments they
were clasped in their brother’s arms. While
this scene was enacting, the negroes stood re
spectfully aside, and then burst forth again
the congratulations and thanksgivings, which
had been for a moment interrupted. Such a
bowing and courlesying; such ejaculations
and kissings of the young master’s hand!
“ “Welcome home, my massa!” “ God bless
de boy! how* he grow!” ‘“Tank de farrar
(the father,) I live for see urn once more ?”
“ Ki! lie tall, same like old massa!” —these
and similar exclamations resounded from side
to side. And presently up trotted little Ned-
ATIIENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 1848.
die, completely out of breath, yet retaining
sufficient self-command to stretch out his arms
and hold up his rosy mouth for a kiss, which
was heartily given by the delighted Frank,
over and over again.
All this while, there stood leaning against
a tree a tall, dark-eyed stranger, whom no
one had till this moment noticed, and whom
Frank had been entirely 100 much occupied
to introduce. He was Frank’s college friend,
and at his earnest request had accompanied
him home. With an apology for his appar
ent rudeness, Frank now introduced him as
his particular friend, Mr. Charles Graham.—
The sisters had frequently heard his name be
fore, for there were few of Frank’s letters in
which he did not figure. Emily and Lizzie
frankly shook his hand, and at once express
ed themselves delighted to see him; and the
more so, as the pleasure was totally unex
pected. All greetings and introductions be
ing now for the present over, the whole party
proceeded towards the house, followed by the
negroes, two of whom led the young men’s
horses. Frank strode along with somew hat
impatient steps, for he was yet to meet his fa
ther and mother.
And his mommev, where w r as she ?—She
who had nursed him in infancy—who had
taken him from his mother when only two
weeks old, and sustained and nourished him
from the fountain of her own breast, while
that mother lay for months at the very gates
of death? Sure enough, where was she?
she ivas not far off; but alas, poor creature!
she was suffering from a disease of the eyes,
which had so impaired her sight, that she
could not go about as briskly as she used to,
and was obliged to content herself with a
more tardy welcome of her boy, as she fond
ly called him. She now stood leaning against
the fence, and as Lizzie, who in her eagerness
to convey to her invalid mother the glad ti
dings of her brother’s arrival, had run on
somewhat in advance of the rest —passed by
the old nurse, she called out to her, “ Miss
Lizzie, where’s Mass Frank?” “See him
yonder, mommer,” said Lizzie; “ now mind,
you mu s’n’t kiss him before that strange gen
tleman;” and then as if struck with a sudden
thought, the frolicksome girl turned suddenly
and ran back to her brother, the old nurse
calling after her, “Oh, go ’long Miss Lizzie,
you love to plague people.”
“Where is mommer?” inquired Frank, as
Lizzie ran toward him.
“There she is,” said Lizzie, “waiting for
y*ou to go and kiss her.” A quiet laugh was
all the reply he made, but springing to the
spot where his mommer stood, he stretched
out both his hands to greet her. The affec
tionate old creature said not a word, but ea
gerly taking his hands, carried first one, and
then the other to her lips; then bending down
her head, she dropped a long low courtesy,
kissed his hands again repeatedly, and ended
her impressive greeting, by raising her tearful
eyes to heaven, and uttering a fervent “Bless
de Lord!”
Dr. Jones w*as now seen descending the
steps to meet his hoy, and after that was
over, came the meeting of the mother with
her first-born son, upon the sacred privacy of
which we care not to intrude. But now, all
greetings over, Frank began to look about
him, and to ask the thousand questions which
naturally spring to the lips of those who have
returned home after a long absence. FLends,
neighbors, horses, dogs, and pets of all des
criptions, came in for a share of his friendly
notice ; the stranger, meanwhile, looking
about him, listening to the artless conversa
tion of the family with an air of interest and
gratification.
It was not cold though it was the 24th of
December, but the fire was blazing cheerfully
in the capacious chimney. “Oh, that glori
ous lightvvood fire !” exclaimed Frank, “ I
have not seen such a cheerful blaze since I
left home two years ago. What Nay you,
Charles?” continued he, turning to his friend,
“your famous anthracite may be hotter, but
lightwood is more cheerful —more inspiring.”
“It makes a beautiful fire certainly,” ie
plied Mr. Graham; “hut” continued he, “you
must not expect me to turn traitor to my Yran
kee home . let us make no comparisons,
Frank.”
“No unkind ones,” said Frank gaily; and
there the matter dropped.
The evening was spent delightfully, of
course : first came the bountiful supper; then
Frank opened his trunks, and brought out
the presents he had selected in New York.—
Among these was a superb fan, something,
VOLUME I.—NUMBER 13.
4
indeed quite rich and recherche. “And who
is this for ?” said Lizzie, when all the other
presents had been disposed of, and that was
left alone. “That,” said Frank, slightly col
oring, “is for my little playmate, Harriet
Banks; and by the way, Lizzie, why did you
not have her here to meet me ?”
“ Your little playmate !” exclaimed Lizzie,
“ why Hatty has become a woman since you
saw her ; you had better mind how you be
have to her, or you may get your ears pulled
before you know it, and may he, have to fight
half a dozen duels into the bargain.”
“ W-h-e-w !” whistled Frank ; “ never
mind, I’m not afraid of her; and Charles, if
you say so, we’ll ride over there to-morrow,
and wish her a merry Christmas.”
“With all my heart,” said Mr. Graham.
“ Y T ou had better not venture, Mr. Graham,”
said Emily, “for you will have to cross a
tedious swamp, which at present is more full
of water than usual. Indeed, sometimes it is
nearly dry, but now I believe it is almost im
passable.”
“Impassable?” exclaimed Frank, “ fy!
Emily, fy ! A swamp girl as you are, to call
any swamp impassable !”
But in addition to that, Mr. Graham,”
exclaimed Lizzie, somewhat hastily, and with
an arch smile, “the ghost of a murdered man
wanders there at all tunes, but is particularly
restless about Christmas—for it was at that
time he was murdered. He often shows him
self to those adventurous persons who dare to
disturb his resting place.”
“But we are going in the day time, Lizzie,”
said her brother, “and respectable bona fule
ghosts never show themselves by day-light.”
“At all events,” said Mr. Graham, “ I
think we had better go; I for one would be
delighted to see a Carolina ghost; then when
1 return home I will certainly go ghost-hunt
ing, that I may compare our Yankee ghosts
with your southern ones. Will not the young
ladies accompany us ?”
“ Not. to-morrow,” replied Lizzie, “weal
ways spend Christmas at home since our mo
ther has been an invalid; but we will give
you an early dinner, and you will have am
ple time to pay your visit, and get home be
fore dark.”
“Then perhaps we shall pass the fearful
spot before his gliostship shall be stirring,
and I shall miss the chance of seeing him,”
said Mr. Graham.
“Oh, we can lide out at midnight, for the
express purpose,” said Frank, “itisnotmore
than a mils and a half from here.”
While this conversation was going on, An
thony, a little negro hoy, who belonged espec
ially to Master Frank, stood just behind his
chair, with eyes, mouth, and ears wide open,
drinking in eagerly every word about the
ghost, and feeling very much concerned and
terror stricken. At length he could keep si
lence no longer, but exclaimed; “Mass Frank,
is me gwine wid you ? Ease I fraid dah sper
rit!”
“You booby, you !” said Frank, “do you
think the sperrit, as yon call it, is going to
take any notice of home people when we
have a stranger with us? why, it has better
manners than that; besides, you can’t see
sperrits in the day time, and we’ll get home
from Mr. Banks’ before dark.”
Anthony was a little re-assured but still felt
somewhat uncomfortable: however, lie wise
ly said no more about it. Bedtime had now*
arrived, and the company parted for the night,
some to sleep the sound and healthful sleep
of youth and innocence, and some to dream
of murders, impassable swamps, and ghosts
Before daylight next morning, every soul in
the house was aroused by the loud voices and
boisterous mirth of the negroes, who came
swarming in like bees; house-servants,*field
hands, old and young, great and small, to
awaken every siumberer, in order to “catch”
them. He who. on Christmas morning, first
cries “Merry Christmas!” to another, has
“caught” him; and this catching is usually
follewed by a present of somediscription from
the catchee to the catcher. All this amused
Mr. Graham exceedingly, and he proposed to
Frank to call some of them in, that he might
hear them for he protested he had nev
er heard anything half so comical in his lile.
“ Old Tom,” was accordingly summoned to
the bedroom of the young gentlemen. He
was a field-hand, but had been in the family
from time immemorial, and was therefore by
right of seniority, a sort of privFegea charac
ter.
He came in making a succession of most
elaborate bows, and on being formally intro- -