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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
Jin Jllustratcb iUcckhj Journal of Bcllcs-Cettns, Science anti tl)e Jlrta.
WM ۥ RICHARDS, EDI FOR*
©riginal JJoctrri.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
CHEERFULNESS.
from the german.
BY MARY E . LEE.
1,0! how the Day-star soars higher and higher,
Xhe skies are deep azure, the world a deep glade,
One note of complaint would grate harsh on eart h’s
choir,
For not in dark vestments is nature array’d;
Friend! lift up thine eye-lids, so drooping with
sadness,
\ full wealth of beauty will burst on thy sight;
Virtue alone should incite thee to gladness,
Gladness! true wisdom’s desire and right.
Close not thy spirit to joy’s magic power,
j{ ar k_to its voice in yon bird’s sudden song,
Breathe in its breath in the scent of each flower,
Feel—in the stream, how it ripples along,
Quaff— its full draught, where the vintage hangs
glowing;
Taste —how it gives for the ripe fruit, new zest;
Mark—how it lives in each green leaf that’s
growing,
Bright’ning the robe on the valley’s soft breast.
Why then these hot tears, that course one another,
In unrestrained drops, down thy pale, sunken cheek 1
Telling of feelings mere suited, O brother!
To woman, the sensitive, timid and weak.
Would’st thou despond, as though life had no
beauty,
When so many good deeds are yet to be won 1
Contentment rewards the fulfilment of duty—
Peace spreads its wing when the day’s work’s well
done.
Trust me! full many life’s joys and life’s sorrows,
Are born in the depths of man’s own restless heart;
Hope is a balm ’gainst all bitter to-morrous —
Patience can raise us above every dart.
Yes, when earth’s clouds shut thee in like a prison,
liaise but thine eyes to the star-vault above-
Steadfastly fix there thy faith’s fearless vision,
And good, the result of thy trial must prove.
Study fair Nature, with joyous devotion,
Lovely it is—ever cheering and new,
But cherish yet far more, the blissful emotion
That springs from benevolence holy and true.
Love is the richest and highest of pleasures,
If fixed hut on objects well worthy its choice ;
Then oh ! never lavish its innocent treasures,
When Reason forbids with her passionless voice.
Act! ’tis through action the spirit may win it
Undying honor to walk by its side;
Act! mark with wise deeds each fast-flitting min
ute,
As Time o’er his slippery pathway doth glide.
Work ! strive! as far as the power is given,
To hang some bright rainbow o’er every dark breast,
Nought can afford such a foretaste of Heaven,
As lulling to stillness another’s unrest.
What though we suffer 1 the storm-cloud that
lowers,
Shall strengthens our souls, as the spring-rain the
glade,
And o’er the lone grave, which the cypress tree
covers,
The blue-eyed Forget-me-not may throw its shade.
Friend! brother ! our duty forbids us to languish,
“oy is our Maker’s most urgent command —
Innocent joy, that bequeaths naught of anguish,
But looks, through Life’s rose-wreath, with smiles
on Death’s hand.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
ALONE!
BY LEILA CAMERON.
Alone! alone!
In the still even-tide and early morn,
My spirit breathes the self-same mournful tone
When thou art gone !
From the old elm
The Moek-bird pours the song we loved to hear,
But now his notes my spirit overwhelm —
Would thou wert near!
Linger not long !
Thy loved one pines to meet thy cear caress *
No voice like thine has power, in all the throng,
Her heart to bless !
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 21, 1848.
Do not the flowers
Fold up their heart-leaves when the day is done,
And sadly drooping through the darkened hours,
Mourn for the Sun 1
So I for thee,
Who art the sun that gilds my earthly lot;
No beauty brightens the dull world to me,
Where thou art not!
I miss thy voice
In that still consecrated hour when we
Were wont, to Him who makes the earth rejoice,
To bend the knee !
In those bright bowers
Where birds of Eden swell their tuneful notes,
And on the air perfumed with fadeless flowers
Their music floats:
In that fair clime,
The loved ones never part; and there, my own,
May we forever feast on joys divine —
No more alone!
Jin Original <£ale.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
FIRST AND LAST LOVE:
OR—•
WHY MY AUNT DOROTHY WAS NEVER
MARRIED.
BY J 0 SIAII ALLSPICE, ESQ.
In the little village of A , in the year
18 —, there lived a maiden aunt of mine, to
whom I had become much attached. Her
amiable, gentle nature, her kind heart, and
pleasant face, won the good will of all: and
though she had, in earlier life, enjoyed the
sweets of single blessedness, her latter days
could hardly be said to have been thus spent.
She was constantly surrounded by pleasant
companions, and her cottage often resounded
to the shouts of the young folks, who were
no better pleased than when spending a day
with her. Over their youthful sports my
aunt presided with a matronly dignity, which,
while it preserved good order and decorum,
was not so severe as to restrain ) r outhful vi
vacity within too narrow bounds, or to make
it assume the soberness of age.
The neat little flower-garden in front of her
house, laid out with mathematical precision—
the uniform regularity of the beds, and the
scrupulous cleanliness of the whole, could
scarcely fail to inform even a casual observ
er, of my aunt’s predilection in favor of sin
gle life; but if her garden betrayed her not,
a single peep into her snug little parlor, with
its quaint, old-fashioned furniture, declared it
in a voice too plain to be mistaken.
My aunt’s education , in the modern sense
of the word, had been “strangely neglected.”
The female tongue in her youthful days, had
never twisted and tortured itself in “ mispro
nouncing French.” Greek and Latin were
labyrinths to be threaded only by the “ domi
nes” of the time, while Metaphysics, a sea
too deep for female navigators, was left un
skimmed, and its doubtful waters seldom ven
tured upon, save by the village parson or the
lawyer, and even their knowledge of its sub
tleties soon grew rusty for the want of use.
Female intellect, not brave enough then to
wade through the miry, uncertain grounds of
speculative philosophy, contented itself in
solving less difficult theories ; and if it ever
floundered at all, it was not in the depths of
science, but the wash-tub. Occasionally soar
ing, however, above the kitchen and the dai
ry, it ventured to drop the useful for the or
namental arts, and adorned the mantel-piece
with some awkward burlesque upon the han
diwork of Flora, and sometimes beautified the
walls of the best parlor with pieces of tapes
try, its nearest approach to painting.
„ In these arts my aunt excelled, and her
C
progress in literature and the belles-lettres
was consequently limited. Her conversation
abounded in grammatical errors, but was cha
racterized by much practical good sense ; and
often have I turned my steps towards her
domicile rather than to the mansions of gaie
ty, preferring my aunt’s honest, straight-for
ward way of talking, to the tiresome nonsense
of her lisping juniors. One cold winter’s eve
ning, I was sitting in her parlor, as usual.—
A cheerful fire blazed and crackled upon the
hearth, and while my aunt filled one corner
of the little fire-place, I occupied the other.—
Conversation lagged, and my aunt had been
knitting sometime in silence, when a topic
presented itself to my mind, and after some
little misgivings, I broached the subject.
“ How is it, aunty,” said I, “that you were
never married I”
“Why, Siah, son,” (she always called me
Siah ,) said the good lady, “it’s a long story,
and onpleasant to talk about. Savin’ your
pore father that’s now in his grave, and your
uncle that died in the West Indies, I never
has told it to nobody; but many’s the time
I’ve sot heer, and looked into the coles thar
on the hath, and thort it all over. But as I
wus sayin’, I never has told it to nobody.”
“Surely, you don’t mind me,” said I; “do
tell me, aunty, all about it.”
I was a favorite with the good lady, though
I say it myself, and seldom made a request
without its being granted. After a short
pause, my aunt continued :
“But it wern't for the want of a offer,
Siah.” (My aunt was a woman.) “I’ve
had a plenty of offers, Siah—some good and
some bad ; but a plenty of ’em. I wus the
hell of the village once, Siah, and many’s
the lkd in A— would ha 1 given his right
hand for one of my curls; but that’s neither
here nor thar, Siah ; and bein’ as it's yon, I’ll
jest up and tell you all about it. Let me
see,” said she thoughtfully, looking up at the
ceiling and counting to herself —“forty-seven,
forty-eight, forty-nine. Yes, it’s nigh on to
fifty veers sence I wus 17 yeer old. I wus
livin’ with yore father, brother Nathan, then.
He used to keep store in a little shop, rite
whar Mr. Keen’s big house stands now, Siah
—rite on the corner, It’s a long time ago,
Siah, and my eyes was brite and blue then;
and you see this hair,” raising her cap, and
exposing to my view a few thin gray locks,
“it wus n’t allers so, Siah.” And my aunt
shook her head mournfully, and looked into
the fire, as if summoning her resolution for
the task. “But,” she continued, “as I wus
sayin’, I lived w T ith yore father, brother Na
than, at that time. I wus jest seventeen
when I began staying at his house. Well,,
the fellers was most allers thar. Every nite
putty neer, some of ’em would come in and
set awhile, and chat about the girls and so
on. Yore father used to chuck me under the
chin and tell me my face wus my fortune,
and advise me to git married and all that sort
of thing. But somehow or other, Siah, I
never took a fancy to none of ’em. Lovin’
is a thing, Siah, that comes natral like. It
aint no use to try to love, for es it don’t come
of itself, all the persuadin’ in the world aint
of no use. There wus one young man that
used to call very often to see me. Brother
Nathan liked him mitely, and whenever he'd
call brother M set a little while in the room,
and then go out. I knowed well enufl what
he done it fur, but somehow I could n't love
him, though he wus a mighty fine young man.
I ’bieeve brother Nathan was putty nigh as
sorry as the young man himself, when I told
him no ; but I wus ’termined never to marry
excep fur love, and so I had to refuse him.—
’Bout this time, a young man named Alford
VOLUME I.—NUMBER 24.
Brown come to dark for yore father. He
was the handsomest man, Siah, you ever laid
eyes upon. I’ve seed a heap o’ good lookin’
ones fore I’d seed him, and a heap sence, but
I never yit seed the ekil of Alford Brown. —
He wus tall, and strate as an arrer, with the
blackest eyes and hare you ever seed. I can
see him now jest as plain as es it wus yister
day, though it’s been forty yeers sence I seed
him last. He boarded at the house, and the
first time I ever seed him wus when I wus in
terduced to him at the dinner tabie. He wus
mity bashful at first, and when he come in
the dinin’ room, and brother Nathan says,
“ Mr. Brown —my sister, Dorothy Allspice,”
the pore feller blushed up to the very roots
of his hare and bowed, but said nothin’. He
wus one of them kind, though, Siah, that is
perlite and graceful by natei; and bashful as
he wus, and little used to s’ciety, he made the
gracefullest bow you ever seed; and sich a
smile! it took one quite by storm. He never
spoke at all durin’ dinner but once, when he
asked me to have some rice, and when I told
him, “ thank you,” he kept pilin’ the rice on
my plate tel it wus most full, he wus so both
ered. I said I’d tell you all about it, Siah,
and I’ll keep my promise. I must confess
that I felt curus the fust time our eyes met.
Thar is sich a thing as lovin’ at fust sight,
and I ’bieeve that wus one of the cases.
Well, it wus a long time ’fore either one of us
got better acquainted. I never wus bashful
tel he come to live at brother Nathan’s. Ev
ery time our eyes met, he dropt them on his
plate, and fell to eatin’; and sometimes he'd
give his knife sich a “wrench a.s to flirt what
ever he wus eatin’ clean out of his plate, and
then up he’d jump from the table, his face all
kivered with blushes, and that would be the
last we’d see of him fur a day or two. Fur
my part, I wus jest as much bothered as he
wus, though I’d never let him know it. It
got so at last, Siah, that I couldn’t look him
in the face, and sometimes when I’d venter to
raise my eyes and caught him lookin’ rite at
me, everything in the room would seem to be
in a whirl, and I could feel my heart beat
shorter and quicker, and the very blood in
my veins seemed to be all in a blaze. Has
you ever felt that way, Siah, when you caught
a rite putty girl lookin’ rite into yore eyes ?”
“ Can’t say I have, aunty,” said I, a little
non-plussed at the question.
“Well, Siah, though I didn’t know then
what ailed me, I has found out sence. I wus
in love. The room never seemed so cheer
ful, and bright like, when Alford was at the
store, and the time between meals seemed like
an age. I wus never happy when Alford
wus n’t neer me, but still, Siah, I hardly knew
what the reason wus. I wus a giddy young
thing, then, and had loved nobody in my life,
and I think it wus reesonable I wus so long
findin’ it out.
Well, one day yore father told me that Al
| ford wus goin’ away fur a month. Brother
wanted to send some money, about ten thou
sand dollars, es I remembers right, way up
the country to a Mr. Owen. Alford wus to
start early in the mornin'. We had a early
breakfast, and I went out to the hall-door
where his horse wus standin’ in front of the
house, to tell him good-bye. Somebody sent
fur brother Nathan and sister, (your mother,)
to go to see a sick lady out about a mile from
the village, and they went off jest before Al
ford started, so I was left there at home with
nobody but him. Well, breakfast was soon
over, and I stood jest inside the door, when
he told me good-bye. All his bashfulness
seemed to fly away all of a sudden, when he
; took hold of my hand, though he trimbled all
over when he siid ‘good-bye*’ and his hand