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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- -