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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE: Jin Jllustratcb iUcckhj Journal of Bcllcs-Cettns, Science anti tl)e Jlrta. WM €• 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