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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-