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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-