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180
Sketches of £iff.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE STRUGGLE OF LIFE.
“ Still achieving, still pursuing.”—
[Longfellow.
“ Press on ! for it is god-like to unloose
The spirit, and forget yourself in thought,
Bending a pinion for the deeper sky.”
[N. P. Willis.
The human heart “ hopes on, hopes ever.”
The spirit of man cannot rest; he continues
to struggle onward, perseveringly, unceas
ingly. From infancy to youth, from man
hood to extreme age, all his energies are put
forth, for the attainment of his desires : let
these be reached, and for a moment he thinks
himself happy ; if disappointment only awaits
him, he fancies himself wretched; still
“ Despair is never quite despair,
Nor life, nor death the future closes;
But round the shadowy brow of care,
Will hope and fancy twine their roses.”
I have been in the bosom of a family where
youth, beauty and genius glowed on each
countenance; their hearts were laid open to
me, and when I saw there hopes, beautiful as
the imaginings of happy youth, I wondered
not; ahd when I read in their young souls
schemes glorious as their genius, I wondered
not. But I found myself in another house
hold, where poverty and squalid want were
written on the brow of the veriest child, and
misery had deepened furrows on the fronts of
those whose noon of life had not yet come ;
and when I looked for darkness and despair,
I found each toiling with anxious eye and
throbbing heart for a goal they thought to
reach. I gazed intently on the wonderful
sight, and read the lesson, “ Man struggles
onward, and unceasingly.”
f went forth from their midst, musing on
the restless, ambitious nature of our race, and
! ost in my fancies, heeded not the course I
was pursuing, when the hum of many voices
arrested my attention, and a group of merry
children was soon before me. How they
laughed and danced, in the frolic joyousness
of their young hearts! Now a merry chorus
tilled the air with melody, and then a full,
lich laugh, such as only a child can send
forth, rung gleefully upon the evening air.—
The live-long afternoon they had sported;
here where the hazels cluster so thickly, they
had played at “ hide and go seek,” till the
stoutest panted for rest; there where the
brook bubbles its clear cold waters ’round
those slippery stones, they had “ followed the
leader,” till the heart of the most venture
some failed him. For what did these toil ?
Was ambition awake in hearts so young and
careless?
“Oh! if I could be leader once,” said a
tiny creature, and in her beautiful eyes stood
the semblance of a tear.
“Try, Clara, try!” resounded on all sides.
“ Yes, try, little sister; the stones are not
very wide apart,” said a lad, whose brown,
ruddy cheek, showed the kisses of a dozen
summers’ suns.
Then Clara stepped on the glassy stones,
but she drew her foot back very quickly and
dared not proceed. Her heart panted with its
wish for distinction, but it was the heart of a
little girl, and very timid when the effort was
to be made which- would secure the accom
plishment of its wishes.
“Try again, Clara,” said her brother,
whose eyes were directed encouragingly to
wards the stepping stones, so templing, yet
difficult to attain. Again and again the at
tempt was made, till the little foot rested firm
ly on the damp stone and she went boldly on.
When she came to the opposite side of the
brook, there was a high bank, and the child
could not hope to reach its top, so she turned
her course down the stream, leading the little
band of striving, eager beings, who were im
aging to me our ever struggling human race.
But before Clara passed me, I had heard
her say, eyeing wishfully the high rock
which arrested her ambition,) “Oh ! how I
S® ©TTSI D&SEI fla a ■ff &IEA IE H MIT S ♦
wish I was a little larger, that I might lead
over that great bank. I wonder if I ever
shall be able to do all I want to !”
I watched those lovely children no longer;
the child’s wish had repeated the lesson —
“Thislife is but a struggle for something yet
unattained.”
Time passed away, and I stood on the deck
of a noble steamer; around me were gathered
hundreds of both sexes, all ages, and every
rank in life. Intent on my study of human
nature, I silently passed through the crowd,
marking the varied lines which cares, or pas
sions, or the gently stealing foot of Time had
traced on the countenances of those who had
reached the prime of their lives, while the
face of youth attracted me equally by the
beams of hope which lent their brilliancy to
each eye, or wreathed the rosy lip with smiles
of pleasurable anticipation.
There was one group, whose grace and
rare beauty won my admiration, and near
them I paused.
“ Clara, dear sister,” said a noble-looking
man, whose countenance had been shaded
with gloom, as he gazed on the fair creature
by his side.
The lady turned at the sound of his voice,
and the cloud left his brow; but the face
which her movement revealed to my sight—
surely I had looked upon it before ! I watch
ed the eloquent play of her features, and Me
mory’s harp rung loud and joyously as she
sung, “ The buds whose loveliness won your
admiration on the green-sward, in the merry
spring time, are before you now in their per
fected summer beauty.”
“Clara,” continued the brother, “how
wonderful that in your gentle and loving
heart, so much ambition should find room for
its powerful workings! Jn the simplicity of
your childhood, you toiled to be the “leader,”
on the slippery stones of a purling brook.—
Asa young girl, nothing could give happi
ness to your aspiring nature, but the place of
honor among your school-mates \ then your
rich voice in song, or the flashes of your bril
liant wit entranced your admiring friends.—
Soon even this wearied you, and your young
heait has thirsted for the idolatry which only
a glorious intellect can awaken, till its tu
multuous throbbings have almost destroyed
its resting-place. You are leaving behind
you now, the scene of your temptation; in
my quiet home you will find none of the ri
valry which distracts the so-called “ literary
world,” with its pettiness. Envy, jealousy?
and the stings of malicious criticism will no
longer disturb your peace; there your life
can be passed in happy usefulness, nor will
the powers of your mind be enfeebled, nor
the light of your genius dimmed by a world
ly ambition. Do you know now my reason
for urging you to leave that “ charmed cir
cle” and will you not trust in my affection,
sweet sister ?”
The beautiful woman whom he addressed,
bowed her head upon his shoulder, and in low
tones replied—
“ I have erred grievously, Ernest, in dream
ing that I should find happiness in the intox
icating draughts of admiration my foolish van
ity craved. I have long felt that a well of
bitterness has been opened in my heart, and
its waters were extinguishing the true and
lofty aspirations of the soul. I have striven
to repress those worldly desires, and to w T alk
simply by the holy light of mind, but only
faint glimmerings of such a beacon can find
their way through the mists which envy and
prejudice have cast around all that is enno
bling and elevating in life. I was wearied of
the vain toil and hopeless struggle; I can re
linquish it without a sigh, and I pray that the
future may never be disturbed by such con
flicts.” She ceased speaking, but from the
same teacher, I learned again the lesson
“This life is a continued struggle.”
I watched a youth as he passed through
the routine of his school studies. I saw him
bear away the medal, which proclaimed his
superiority in that assemblage of youthful
intellect. Did he now relax in his vigorous
efforts to attain the highest rank ? No! He
went forth in the world to toil for a name
which should grace the annals of his country.
His application was severe and arduous; the
agony of “ hope deferred” was most intense,
but he reached his mark ! Even then he rest
ed not, for learn, that the soul of man can ill
brook inaction. The Senator, whose wise
counsel was the bulwark of the nation ; the
Statesman, who scorned the petty acts of con
spiring demagogues : the Orator, who with
mighty eloquence enchained the world, still
labored w r ith all the intensity of his god-like
powers for his country’s weal. “Man toils
unceasingly.”
I looked on life in the pent-up city, and
read varied tales of human nature. I saw
man calling down the vengeance of an offend
ed God upon his guilty head, as by impious
deeds and daring wickedness he worked out
his own destruction ; and again was embla
zoned in characters of light the story of the
good man’s struggle towards a heavenly goal.
There, too, was the miser, accumulating day
by day the yellow dust which his degraded
soul worshipped, and I turned with a sick
heart from this vile perversion of his Creator’s
image. I saw one on w T hom Heaven had be
stowed gifts, till he seemed elevated above all
men; moreover, wealth in profusion was la
vished around him, and he had many friends,
but he gave not God the glory, and w r asted
life in unceasing struggles to find happiness
in things of time. The lesson of vain endea
vors was still to be learned from all this hope
less toil. * * * * *
An autumnal evening saw me wandering
where naught met the eye but the perfect
beauty of a glorious world. The sun had
just sunk upon his couch, and gorgeous dra
pery falling in many a graceful fold surround
ed his resting-place. I lingered on an emi
nence, crowned by beautiful trees and luxu
riant shrubbery. A few days previous, and
these had been arrayed in garbs of emerald
hue, but Winter’s harbinger had silvered the
turf beneath them : and though they had rear
ed their proud heads, and stretched forth their
stately branches, the messenger had breathed
on them as he passed, They need not have
disdained or feared that chilling breath, for
he had but imparted to them a ten-fold beau
ty, and now their rich coloring mocked the
pallette of the painter. Above me w T as the
glory of the heavens, about me the glory of
earth. I revelled in the delightful scene, and
drank in its loveliness until I seemed no long
er a dweller in a world upon which was
written “ passing away.” The immortal spi
rit awoke within me, and craved communion
with its Creator, panting for intercourse with
the disembodied souls which at such an hour
hover near us, and apprise us by their bless
ed influence of the glorious destiny which is
our birth-right. But then, even when images
of mortality seemed fading from my vision,
and revelations of another world about to
open upon my sight,—l was reminded of the
shackles of earth, for her pall of darkness
was folded around me, the night winds touch
ed my burning brow with their chilling in
fluence ; while in dirge-like music they chaun
ted a requiem to the vanished loveliness, and
to my unsatisfied aspirations, and the refrain
of their song was still—“On earth there is no
rest / Life is a continued struggle for some
thing ever unattained .” C.
rOETIC APHORISMS.
CREEDS.
Lutheran, 1 opish, Calvanistic, all these creeds and
doctrines three
Ate extant; but still the doubt is, where Christian
ity may be.
ART AND TACT.
Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined;
Often m a wooden house a golden room w e find.
THE BEST MEDICINES.
Joy and Temperance and Repose
blam the door on the doctor’s nose.
tjome (Comspoubcncc.
For the Southern Literary Gazette
NEW-YORK LETTERS.—NO. 23,
Rathbun Hotel, New York )
Oct. 4, 1848. ’ j
My dear Sir —The world of Gotham is at
this time greatly occupied in shaking hands
everybody is congratulating everybody upon
everybody’s return to town. Each thinks
that the other has wonderfully improved by
his summer rovings, and is looking so much
better. Narrations of dreadful hair-breadth
’scapes are passing from lip to lip, insomuch
that we may almost fancy ourselves to have
fallen each upon the adventurous days of
knight errantry. Rusty old bell-handles are
again polished up ; jealously closed window
blinds are reopened; leaf-strewn and
grass-grown pavements are re-swept and re
weeded, and the prisoners of basements and
back-parlors again enlarged. Should the roll
of the beau monde be called now, but few ab
sentees would present themselves. (Excuse
the bull.)
During this week, a world of calls will be
made; the initial meeting of the season of
serial soirees, conversaziones, societies, reu*
mores, clubs, etc. will take place, and the
town will be fairly established in winter
quarters.
During my long absence, themes of gossip
have so accumulated that I shall this week
he necessarily more voluminous than in my
last letter. We have a great variety of sub”
jects to talk about. Asa matter of course,
the chief theme of public converse here, as
elsewhere, is the approaching Presidential
canvass. Happily, the struggle with us, tho’
earnest, is going on with unwonted forbear
ance and good feeling: the Whigs, since the
last letters of General Taylor and Mr. Clay,
consider the schism in their ranks to be heal
ed. Such is apparently the case, but “ap
pearances,” as an able writer has very judi
ciously remarked, “ often deceive.” Last
week a monster meeting of the friends of the
Hero of Buena Yista took place at Yauxhall
Garden, where the highest enthusiasm and the
greatest unanimity prevailed; and when some
of the leaders of the late Clay movement no
bly confessed their sins and rallied beneath
the folds of the great orthodox flag. Among
others, Mr. Horace Greely, of the Tribune, at
last gave in his adhesion to the nominations
of the Philadelphia Convention, “ not,” he
says, “that he loves Taylor more, but Cass
less.” A second mammoth Whig gathering
is to be held at the same place to-morrow
night. The call for this assembly is made by
the cart-men of the city, and is signed by near
ly seven hundred of these hardy and honest
sons of Labor. Unhappily, the Democratic
party does not seem to be so united; the
wound made by Mr. Van Buren’s “most un
kindest cut of all” is still bleeding, and may
at last prove mortal. But the grand denoue
ment is nigh : one more moon, and nous ver
rons.
At the Convention of the Anti-Rent party,
held in Albany last week, General John A.
Dix was nominated for Governor and George
W. Patterson for Lieutenant Governor. Mr.
Van Buren was sent to purgatory and Gov
ernor Young canonized. And now, having
done the State some service, let us turn to the
Church.
Ihe Annual Convention of the New York
Diocese of the Episcopal Church, which sat
here last week, closed its labors on Friday
evening. One of the City Journals, speaking
of the proceedings of this body, says :
It had been expected that protracted de
bates would have arisen on several important
topics, such as Bishop Onderdonk’s case and
the St. Philips’ (colored) church case. But
the expedition with which the business of the
house was accomplished, brought their labors
to a close after a session of only three days-
On the important subject touching the qualifi
cations of lay members of conventions, Dr.
Vinton’s resolution finally prevailed, by a con
siderable majority, so that if the present ac-