Newspaper Page Text
124
Besides this, she was an elegant and thor
ough English scholar, which I will venture
to say nine tenths of the accomplished young
ladies of our land are not. She had read un
derstandingly and with delight our standard
works of History, Belles-Lettres, and Poetry.
Nor, was she ignorant of the literature of oth
er countries, hut more familiar, through fine
translations, not only with the great names of
France, Germany, Italy and Spain, but with
the writings which had illuminated these
names, than are those misses who have su
perficially studied the grammars of those lan
guages. Her mind was rich in thought en
gendering thought, and every day it grew
larger, and stronger, more capacious and more
energetic. Thus did her character become
elevated, and surrounded by lofty and beauti
ful ideas, she lived anew life of which few
have the power to conceive, and her soul
even while fettered by the flesh, had an exis
tence in a nobler world, revealed to it by good
and great souls, who had already passed into
the glorious state of being for which she was
preparing.”
“Why surely,” said Mrs. Allan, who had
listened to the old lady’s earnest, almost elo
quent words, with surprise and doubt, “ sure
ly you do not believe, that studying books in
this world makes people any better of! in a
nother?”
“ I certainly do believe, that when a person
studies with noble aims, they are fitted by
the knowledge they acquire, for a more ex
alted happiness during Eternity: and I think
too, that when great acquirements have been
made, upon which the blessing of God has nev
er been sought, when rare genius has been
bestowed and it has not been sanctified to the
promotion of the glory of God, the soul thus
endowed, becomes susceptible of greater an
guish in a world where, as the Bible teaches
us, punishment is inflicted for misimproved
advantages.”
“Well, for my part Mrs. Bently,” said Mrs.
Allan, “ I have no such ideas on the subject.
1 believe all the good or harm we can receive
from studying, we will have in this world.
Every one who goes to Heaven will be per
fectly .happy ; more than that no one can be.
.So the most ignorant person who lives with
the fear of God before his eyes, and dies in
humble faith that he is saved through Christ,
will be just as happy in heaven, as Sir Isaac
Newton or any other man who added great
learning to piety.”
“ Surely,” said Mrs. Bently, “the capaci
ties for happiness of all who reach Heaven,
will be filled and satisfied, but a soul expand
ed on earth by a judicious education, and a
constant communion with sublime and lofty
minds, and a heart enlarged by the active ex
ercise of the noblest emotions, will have much
greater capacity for blessedness. But one
thing I do not believe : it is this ; that the
highest purpose for which we should labor
and study, the promotion of the glory of God,
and our own eternal happiness, is at all ad
vanced by these soulless accomplishments.
And, I can but grieve to see the best years of
a young girl’s life, when she is freed from an
noying cares, and her young soul is open to
receive the impulses which shall direct it to
wards its high destiny, 1 can but grieve to
see such golden hours wasted, frittered away
in learning simply to shine in the gay circles
she will frequent for a few years, in acquir
ing modern, accomplishments.
When a witty English government defaul
ter, after his recall, was asked on his arrival
home, if he left India on account of his health,
he replied, “ They do say there’s something
wrong in the chest. ”
It was stated in the shipping list of the Tri
bune, a few days since, that there had arrived
below “two chips and a bark ”
An inveterate wag intends issuing propo
sals to the principal cities or the world to il-
I luminate their streets at a cheaper rate than
can be done by gas companies—as he “ makes
light” of every subject that falls under his
notice.
a®®ita aie sa & air aa a a
ijome Correspondence.
For the Southern Literary Gazette 1
NEW-YORK LETERS.— NO. 15.
Lake George, New-York, \
Aug. 17th, 1848. J
My Dear Sir , —If it be true that heaven
‘has made nothing worthy of contempt,’ I
begin to fancy, since my arrival here, that it
could have had no hand in the invention of
those ablutionary machines, which, in the ci
ty, we denominate “baths:” for, what is
‘Stoppani’ with his ‘hot’ and ‘cold,’ or ‘Ra
bineau’ with his ‘ salt,’ compared to the vast
crystal tub of Lake George, in which I here
make my daily toilet? I rise ever with the
first beam of the sun, and often reach the wa
ter before that gentleman's golden smde has
fallen upon its surface. After dreaming plea
sant dreams through the cool and noiseless
night, think of the interval of only a few mo
ment's walk from your couch to the margin
of the Lake, where you seize your oar, and
directly after secure your skiff to the branch
of a noble pine, overhanging the edge of a
fairy island—when, like Cassius, you plunge
in at the very moment that the morning rays
of the bright sun dart from behind the crown
of black rock on the East, tinging with gold
the dense verdure of the “Tongue Mountain”
on the West, lighting up the mighty gorge of
the “Narrows,” bespangling with radiant
pearls the broad bosom of the sweet Lake,
arid calling its hundred islets into life and
beauty. Really, my dear sir, under these pic
turesque and pleasant circumstances, I begin
to entertain a marked respect for the “cold
water cure.”
The reputed clearness of the waters of
Lake George is no fable. They are, indeed,
as the purest mirror, displaying the minutest
pebble and the smallest fish at the bottom, ma
ny feet below. I think it scarcely possible
that water should be more pellucid, though a
friend, lately returned from a tour to Lake
Huron, informed me that a white handker
chief, sunk sixty feet below its surface, would
be plainly visible in all its folds. Everybody
is familiar with the more poetic, but less used
names of this charming Lake, both suggested
by its singular purity—the “Lake Sacra
ment” of the French, and the Indian appella
tion gs “Horicon,” or “the silvery waters.”
So fairy-like is the whole aspect of the
scenery here—the valley of water and the
hills of verdure —that, during the first few
days of my visit, (lovely, sunliy days as one
could wish,) 1 felt quite curious to note the
effect of cloud and storm, and could scarcely
realize that the elements ever war in such a
gentle field. Amidst the wild and savage fea
tures of the Catskills, I looked upon the storm
and the tempest as the guardians of their own
strong castles; but here I thought they would
be nothing less than impudent invaders.—
Still, as the mildest eye will sometimes glance
in wrath, and the rosiest lip curl,in scorn, so
in due time, here as everywhere, the scowl of
the storm gathered upon the brows of the no
ble hills, and hid the smile of the gentle Lake :
soon however to pass away, and to leave
hill and water more verdant and sparkling
than before; only that
“ The vanished frowns enhance
The charms of each returning glance.”
After the air is thus cleared by storm or
shower, the surrounding hills glitter in almost
painful distinctness, each stem and stone, from
the base to the crown of the mountains, seem
ing to come within the grasp of your hand.
Only the other day, my companion was com
pletely “sold,” as the Bowery boys have it,
by this deceitful appearance; and he even
prevailed upon me to cross the Lake with
him, and ascend Buck Mountain. “It is so
easy and simple a matter,” said he, “and
may be accomplished in such brief time, and
with such slight exertion.” Alas! poor, de
luded wretches, well was it that our fancy
came with the rising of the sun, and that no
delay followed in the execution, for night
fairly overtook us before we regained our
domicile, under a firm conviction of the verity
of the old proverb, “ appearances often de
ceive.” Asa memento of this excursion, we
brought back a rattlesnake, which we demol
ished on the way, and the skin of which my
companion now wears as a hat-band. These
reptiles are abundant in all the ranges of
mountains upon the eastern side of the Lake.
I see, at this instant, from my window, the
rugged side of “ Rattle-snake Hill,” inhabited
by a large den of the varmints, any quantity
of which may be caught when you will.
Speaking of localities, by the way, reminds
me that I have not yet ‘defined my position.’
Know, then, that after the lapse of half a
month, I have voyaged but ten miles down
the Lake, and am now, as at the writing of
my last letter, near the landing, known as
“ Lyman’s.” This is, perhaps, the most in
teresting and varied portion of the whole thir
ty-six miles of Horicon. The coupd'ceil em
braces the entrance to the “Narrows,” with
the Tongue Mountain on one side, and Black
Rock and other peaks upon the opposite; the
North-west and the South Bays, and larger
clusters of islands than are assembled in any
other part of the waters.
Among the latter is a jewel of an island,
where a little shanty has lately been erected
for the accommodation of hunters of the pic
turesque, of deer, trout, bass and chubs. The
steamboat, which passes and re-passes daily,
in its tour of the Lake, will send you ashore,
or pick you up here when you please. The
boniface and Prospero of the spot isa marvel
lous proper man in his way —only two hun
dred and ninety-four pounds! He is portly
as FalstafT, and as jolly withal, and concocts
a lemonade in a manner worthy of Florence
or Palmo. He dotes, too, on fishing, and has
an eye for the picturesque, and a proper re
spect for strolling artists, having heard some
thing of “high art,” of distances, middle
grounds, foregrounds, tone, breadth, and the
dangerous nature of chrome yellow. He has
erected a flag-staid on his domain, from which
flies a star-spangled banner, made by the de
moiselles of Sandy Hill, of “stated preaching,’’
memory, and in each star of which is inscribed
the name of one of the fair seamstresses. But
the greatest curiosity of “Fourteen Mile Isl
and” is a tender juvenile of such an aquatic
turn, that the provident host has built a rail
pen to secure him and check his inveterate
disposition to run into the Lake. One more
advantage has this fair isle, as a residence,
with the mention of which I will bid vou
good night. It is directly under Rattle-snake
Hill, and, of course, within most exceedingly
convenient visiting distance of that beautiful
and attractive spot. FLIT.
PATCH-WORK.
following inscription is on a
gravestone in a church-yard at Luton, Eng
land :
“ Reader, I’ve left a world in which
1 had a world to do ;
Sweating and fretting to be rich —
Just such a fool as you.”
Economy is an excellent thing, and
should be practised by all, but a wise man
will never retrench his expenses by stopping
his newspaper. None but a fool would re
gard the seed the farmer sows as wasted.
see it confidently announced that
a young man of quite ordinary capacity once
made a very handsome living*by mindino- his
own business-
They are as fond of titles in the East,
as we are in the \\ est. Among his other
high sounding titles, the King of Ava has
that of “ Lord of Twenty-four Umbrellas.”
This looks as if he had prepared himself for
a long reign.
there any situation worse than a
lawyer’s clerk? Yes, that of a lawyer’s client.
heel must be somewhat better
said a gentleman to a buxom lass who had a
hole in the heel of her stocking. Why so' 1
she asked. Because, miss, replied the gen
tleman, I percieve it i6 getting out.
Southern (fcUctic.
THE REAPER.
BY J . M. LEOARE.
How still Earth lies!—behind the pines
The summer clouds sink slowly down.
The sunset gilds the higher hills
And distant steeples of the town.
Refreshed and moist the meadow spreads,
Birds sing from out the dripping leaves,
And standing in the breast-high corn
I see the farmer bind his sheaves.
It was when on the fallow fields
The heavy frosts of winter lay,
A rustic with unsparing hand
Strewed seed along the furrowed way.
And I too, walking through the waste
And wintry hours of the past,
Have in the furrows made by griefs
The seeds of future harvests cast.
Rewarded well, if when the world
Grows dimmer in the ebbing light,
And all the valley lies in shade,
But sunset glimmers on the height.
Down in the meadows, of the heart
The birds sing out a last refrain,
And ready garnered for the mart
I see the ripe and golden grain.
THE HUMMING BIRD.
BY JOHN JAMES AUDUBON.
Where is the person who, on observing
this glittering fragment of the rainbow, would
not pause, admire, and instantly turn his mind
with reverence toward the Almighty Creator,
the wonders of whose hand we at every step
discover, and of whose sublime conceptions
we everywhere observe the manifestations in
his admirable system of creation ? There
breathes not such a person : so kindly have
we all been blessed with that intuitive and
noble feeling—admiration !
No sooner has the returning sun again in
troduced the vernal season, and caused mil
lions of plants to expand their leaves and
blossoms to his genial beams, than the little
Humming-Bird is seen advancing on fairy
wings, carefully visiting every opening flow
er-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing
from each the injurious insects that otherwise
would ere long cause their beauteous petals
to droop and decay. Poised in the air, it is
observed peeping cautiously, and with spark
ling eye, into their innermost recesses, whilst
the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid
and so light, appear to fan and cool the flow
er, without injuring its fragile texture, and
produce a delightful murmuring sound, well
adapted for lulling the insects to repose.
Ihe prairies, the fields, the orchards and
gardens, nay, the deepest shades of the forests,
are all visited in their turn, and everywhere
the little bird meets with pleasure and with
food. Its gorgeous throat in beauty and bril
liancy bailies all competition Now it glows
with a fiery hue, and again it is changed to
the deepest velvety black. The upper parts
of its delicate body are of resplendent chang
ing green; and it throws itself through the
air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly con
ceivable. , It moves from one flower to anoth
er like agleamof light, upwards, downwards,
to the right, and to the left. In this manner
it searches the extreme northern portions of
our country, iollowing with great precaution
the advances of the season, and retreats with
equal care at the approach of autumn.
i mm i-—.
“ DOING” A LANDLORD.
A Story of Shape and Talent.
BY JOHN S. ROBB, OF ST. LOUIS, MO,
.J om C. H , Esq., a genius, whose
ideas of life were on such a magnificent scale
that they outran his interest, capital and all,
was seated upon the porch of a fashionable
hotel, in a large eastern village , one bright
Monday morning, cogitating how, in the na
tqre of things, it was possible for him to com
pass a dinner. The long score, unpaid, which
stood recorded on the books within, precluded
the idea of getting one there wi hout the tin.
and numerous searches through sundry pock
ets about his person were unrewarded by a
single shiner. The case was desperate, but
great minds are always equal to great emer
gencies, and Tom's was of that order. His
coat had been renovated by a scourer, for
whom he had written a love-letter, his hat
had been ironed by a good-natured hatter,
who had enjoyed his custom in better days, a
new coat of japan varnish had been lavished
upon his cane, his dicky was passable, and
no gentleman would think of examining the
extremities of his covering, or pry into the
shifts he had been put to for a shirt. Tom