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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
2ln Jllustratelr lUeekitj Journal of I3elles~£ettrco, Science anil tljc
H JI. (I. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
original JJottrg.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
‘TOCCOA SONNETS.*
BY WILLIAM C . RICHARDS.
I.—TIIE STREAM.
Ln the brown shadows of a mountain wood
There flows a crystal stream scarce known to song,
That to its own sweet music glides along,
Charming the else unbroken solitude !
‘Tis called Toccoa in the Indian tongue,
And never yet was name more fitly given!
The Beautiful ! beneath the smiling heaven
No lovelier stream the Poet ever sung :
The forest boughs above it interweave,
And through their leafy fret-work sunbeams stray,
And on the dancing ripples tremulous play,
As golden threads the glancing shuttles leave :
Thus bright and musical the streamlet goes,
And on its marge the scented wild-flower blows
II.—THE FALL.
Pursue rvith me the border of the stream
To yon clear opening in the deep blue sky ;
So sweetly, softly glide the waters by—
We seem to wander in a pleasant dream.
But hush ! there comes upon the ear a sound,
A swelling murmur, now a stifled roar;
And there the stream a-sudden plunges o’er
A precipice above a depth profound ;
A moment more and we, upon its verge,
Had trembled with a shuddering sense of fear,
But, warned and calm, we cautiously chaw near,
And down the abyss our shrinking vision urge:
There, far below, a graceful cloud of spray
Hangs on the bosom of the rock-bound bay.
* A beautiful stream in the upper part of Georgia which
falls over a precipice of the Alleghanies nearly two hun
dred feet in height.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
HOW WEARY, 0! HOW WEARY.
BY J . H . F.
How weary, oh ! how weary,
Is this lonely heart of mine,
Around whose crumbling pillars
A thousand cares entwine !
Its earthly hopes are blighted,
As things too fair to last,
And all its dreams of beauty
Are faded now and past.
•
How weary, oh ! how weary
Is this poor wasted form,
Which once could stand full manfully,
And mock the raging storm.
It3 glory, now departed,
Like some poor drooping vine,
So bends and quails before the blast
This weary frame of mine.
But oh! how far from weary
Is this imprisoned soul,
Which waits, almost impatiently,
To fly from earth’s control.
Tiiat still is fresh and youthful,
Though heart and flesh decay,
And longs through heaven’s calm regions
To wend its happy way.
Athens, Georgia .•
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
DESPONDENCY.—IMPROMPTU.
< ‘h ! tired with toil, and sick with grief,
That long has worn and still must wear,
spirit fain would find relief
In other climes and purer air ;
1 or I have been a prisoner long.
Without relief, in loneliest cell,
I ncheer’d by Hope's delusive song,
lhat once, in boyhood, sung so well.
A weary term of years, I knew,
Bereft—in exile—gloomy—lone—
orgot by all the friendly few
l hat still might cheer the friendless one, —
And when the tie that still had been
Beyond the stroke of sorrows strong,
And warm’d the hope, and cheered the scene,
And brought me smiles in spite of wrong.—
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, ISIS.
When that was severed by the doom
That still has cursed each opening spring,
Soaring from young affection’s tomb,
My last and sweetest hope took wing.
Now shine no lights in star or sky,
Yet, sometimes fluttering through the shades
There gleams a smile that makes me sigh,
Lest something yet that’s left may fade.
WILFRED.
Popular Sales.
s
From the Union Magazine.
TIMOTHY WARD,
THE Y O UNG PREACHER.
BY REV. J. D. BALDWIN.
Chapter I.
Friend reader, sit down and talk with me ;
or, at any rate, listen to me very seriously. I
will begin by telling you that I am familiar
with some experiences, with which, I perceive,
you are not often called to sympathize. Be
lieve me, ministers of the Gospel have hearts
which yearn for human sympathy. They
are not wholly composed of “awfully sol
emn” materials. You will understand this,
I think, when you read what I propose to say
of my friend, Timothy Ward. Therefore at
tend .
As the traveller in Connecticut passes
through a certain portion of a certain county,
he may observe a brown one-story house, sit
uated just at the foot of a very large, steep
hill. The people in that neighborhood call
this hill a mountain ; and it is really a very
respectable mountain in the eyes of children.
In the imagination of those who leave the
neighborhood young, it lives with all moun
tainous honors until their impressions are cor
rected, when, after years of absence, they re
turn, as men, to visit the home of their child
hood ; then it seems as if the “dark brown
years'’ had worn away th£mountain to much
less than half its former size.
As you observe the house I have mention
ed, you will soon conclude that the people
who occupy it are not wealthy. It wears the
wholesome appearance of industry. And mark
the lawn-like grass-plat before the house, and
that splendid bush of white roses near the
door! By these, by the shrubbery, the flow
er pots, and other indications, you may per
ceive that some of its inhabitants cherish the
beauty of flowers and foliage. It is the resi
dence of Abraham Ward, whose family con
sists of his wife, son and two daughters. His
little farm contains about fifty acres of land.
He is a very worthy, industrious man, who,
in the course of his life, has experienced va
rious losses and misfortunes.
ln the beginning of one of the rosy-breathed
Junes that gladdened the world somewhere
between the years 1830 and ’4O, two men
and a boy might have been seen hoeing corn
in that field south from the orchard. One of
the men was fifty-five or sixty years old, the
other thirty or thirty-five years younger. —
These persons were Abraham Ward, his son
Timothy, and a lad who officiated on the
farm as “hired man.” The old man's ap
pearance showed plainly that he was one to
be respected, his eye was intelligent, his face
full of benevolence ; and he worked on in the
fragrant summer sunshine, as if to be depriv
ed of constant muscular exercise would make
him wretched. His son’s dress and appear
ance indicated different habits. He worked
with less ease—in fact, his hands were blis
tered, and he had covered them with buck
skin gloves.
Timothy Ward was a theological student.
For some years he had been chiefly engaged
pursuing his studies, or teaching, in order to
procure means to defray his school expenses.
His dark eyes and sallow face were alive and
bright, that expression of truth and k indness,
which so readily win confidence. His form
was strongly made, and not ungraceful,
though it showed indisputable traces of the
wear of sedentary habits. His forehead was
not very heavy; it had rather more depth
than breadth. A phrenologist examining his
head would have reported large moral organs,
with fair intellect and large approbativeness.
He wans his mother’s first-born ; and. from
the moment when smiles began to dawn and
brighten on his face, he had been a theme for
incessant wonder and prediction to half his
aunts and both his grandmothers.
“How bright lie is ! how much he knows
already! I really believe he understands ev
ery thing I speak!” exclaimed Aunt Eunice,
caressing the baby.
“ He knew his father before he was a month
old! He knows as well as T do when I am
about to give him medicine !” exclaimed Aunt
Phcebe.
“See, how he looks at the red window cur
tain ! He seems lost in thought!” observed
Grandmother Ward.
“ Ah, he will not live long, I fear! Such
forward children always die young !” sighed
Grandmother Stevens.
His mother thought he was very bright and
promising; but she had an unusual degree of
wisdom, as well as an uncommon share of
gentleness and affection. Under her guidance
he succeeded to pass safely through the years
of childhood and youth. She was a woman
of considerable intelligence and culture; and
from her he imbibed the love of books. He
became a diligent reader, and ranked among
the best scholars in the district school.
His parents were sincerely religious. They
were among the worthiest descendants of the
Puritans. He was trained to read the Scrip
tures, repeat the catechism, go regularly to
church, and abhor all sorts of immorality;
and from early childhood he had venerated
everything connected with religion. Yet it
was not until his eighteenth year that he be
gan to speak of religion as a great reality in
his own life. Then he made a public pro
fession of it, and united with the church to
which his parents belonged. From this time
he began to think of spending his life in the
the Christian ministry; and this direction of
his thoughts and feelings did not proceed from
any thing like vanity or selfishness. For
more than half a year he pondered, anxiously
desiring to understand his duty. He finally
decided that he must become a minister of
the Gospel, and, with the full consent of his
gratified parents, began the usual course of
study.
When it was generally known that Timo
thy Ward had begun to “ study for the min
istry,” the neighbors did what neighbors will
do in such cases; —they talked. Every man
and woman expressed an opinion ! One
thought Timothy would make an excellent
minister, because he was so grave and dea
con-like, and such an adept in the catechism.
Another presumed that he “would not set the
world on fire,” and maintained that such
grave youths usually became very dull, pro
sy men. This was replied to by another,
who quoted the case of Samuel, and predict
ed that Timothy would become a shining
light in the church, and die a doc or of divin
ity. A fourth said he knew several doctors
of divinity who were intolerably stupid; and
thought.it wiser for Timothy to remain at
home and work on the farm.
Timothy’s purpose met with hearty approv
al and encouragement from the minister of
the parish, Mr. Wilkins. No one, excepting
Mrs. Ward, so well understood the young
man’s character and capacity; and no one
else was so well able, or so well disposed, to
assist him.
It must also be recorded, that Timothy’s pur
pose to become a minister of the Gospel pro
duced immense excitement among his aunts
and grandmothers.
“ l knew it would be so!” said one.
“The Lord be praised!” cried another.
“ The Lord be praised, that I have lived to
see this day!” exclaimed his excellent Grand
mother Stevens, removing her spectacles to
wipe away the tears of joy.
They were all truly religious people, who
regarded the Christian minisiry as the high
est and most ennobling business in which
man can be engaged. Seeing the predictions
they had uttered over Timothy’s cradle about
to be fulfilled, they eagerly discussed every
circumstance of his childhood which had
seemed to indicate that he was born to he a
minister.
Aunt Eunice recalled the circumstance
of his behavior when his parents brought
him to church and gave him up to God in
baptism. He was aboyt five weeks old at
the time, she said, and they were apprehen
sive that he would be frightened, and disturb
the service by his cries. But, to their aston
ishment, he remained quiet and looked stead
ily at the minister, with the expression of a
little cherub, until the ceremony was perform
ed, when he looked up to heaven, and, open
ing his mouth, uttered melodious sounds, as
if he was trying to sing a hymn. She should
never forget it. she continued, for the child's
VOLIME I.—NUMBER 16.
conduction that occasion had affected her
more deeply than any sermon.
Aunt Plupbe related, that one day, when
the boy was about four years old, his father
was absent on business. On coming to the
dinner table the family began to eat. The
child sat silent for a while, and, at length, in
sisted that they should all stop, lay down
their knives and forks, and wait for him tt>
ask a blessing. They did as he desired, and
“the little creature asked a blessing almost as
well as a minister ”
Grandmother Stevens said his mind had
always seemed to be occupied with divine
things. She reminded them that when a child
he had frequently built himself a little pulpit,
in one corner of the room, from which he
would read the Bible, give out hymns, and
preach like Mr. Wilkins. She had listened
to one of his sermons, and was “surprised to
hear him talk so beautifully.” He had al
ways been a good hoy, she said, and she
hoped he would be a very holy and useful
minister, and shine as a light on the walls of
Zion. !She had always thought the Lord had
a great work for him to do. and she hoped
she might be spared to hear him preach.
Mr. Ward said the hoy had always been
inclined to study, and he was plainly in the
way of his duty now. He had always been
faithful on the farm, and they would do what
they could to help him along. It might he
difficult to find means to pay all necessary ex
penses, but, as Timothy was plainly in the
right way, the Lord would provide.
His mother said less, but she did not feel
less. She was a clear-minded, superior wo
man, as well as a true mother. She was
greatly beloved and respected by her son. On
this occasion, as well as on all others, he felt
that her words were full of wisdom, as well
as tenderness; and he left home, feeling noth
ing more strongly than the influence of her
character.
He pursued his studies successfully, though
his father’s ability to aid him was small. His
Grandmother Stevens rendered him some aid
Irom her little property. His aunts did some
thing to keep his wardrobe in good condition.
Mr. Wilkins remembered him ; and several
gentlemen in the parish were found ready to
give him occasional assissistance: so that, by
teaching awhile, after he left college, he was
able to clear off all debts, and have means to
pay the expenses of his course in the theolo
gical seminary.
This course was nearly finished. He had
spent the recent vacation at home. In a few
days he would return, to remain until the fall
vacation, when he expected to be examined
for his license to preach.
Chapter 11.
Wherein is told how my friend was licensed, and
what befell him when he first attempted to preach
We, boasting descendants of the pilgrim Pu
ritans, have ceased to resemble them in many
particulars, and in nothing more, perhaps,
than reverence. What a day was the Sab
bath in Connecticut when our great-grand
fathers were boys! Who was bold and strong
enough in those days to defy the feeling which
constrained all men to keep the Sabbath i
And what a man was the parish minister in
those times! Honored by all praying men
and women, dreaded by all mischievous boys,
and reverenced by the whole community, for
his office sake, he was an oracle to utter what
the people believed in, as great and holy. He
represented the ideas which so sternly ruled
the souls, and regulated the society of our
forefathers; and unto all law-making assem
blies of the people, he was a law. In those
days, he was a very bold boy who could un
dauntedly keep the road when about to en
counter the minister. All timid lads shrunk
from such an encounter, and failed not to leave
the road and hide somewhere behind the walk
The older people of my native parish tell me
that even when they were children, nothing
would sooner quell the fury of a stubborn
hoy than threatening to report his mi:beha
viour to Dr. Hart.
In those davs, the aspect of an assembled
association of ministers was very different
from that of the association before which
Timothy Ward appeared to be examined tor
his license to preach. Formerly they appear
ed before the people, and sat together, in then;
assemblies, —
“ Their heads with curled vastidity of wig
Thatched round and round, and queerly beautified
Then the young men were not allowed to for-