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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
IVM. C. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
©riginal JJacti'i).
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE NILE.
The Nile —the Nile—the Nile !
The ever-rolling Nile!
I stand upon old Cheop’stomb,
That age-enduring pile;
Creation’s gnomon—marking time
Bv centuries in their flow —
Sole record left of him whose bones
Have mouldered long ago.
I, for the moment, live
With men of other days;
My thoughts commune with bye-past times—
And, as abroad I gaze,
X see the sphynx —the date-tree groves—
The boundless wastes of sand —
And rapt imagination roves
Through the Pharaohs’ ancient land.
Parent of Science! hail!
Tho’ many an age has flown
Since thou, above all other climes,
In learning stood alone ;
Yet mute memorialsclustering stand
Round this majestic pile —
Stern trox>hies of thy master hand,
Eternal as thy Nile!
The Nile—the bounteous Nile!
When Error stalked abroad,
Small marvel that untutored man
Adored thee as a God.
’Twas Nature’s impulse ; gratitude
Worshipped the fount of good;
They dreamed not of a great first cause,
Beyond thy fruitful flood.
Thy blessings, like the wind,
Came from an unknown source —
None dared to seek thy secret spring,
Nor trace thy winding course.
When heav’n was brass, when earth was dust,
When vain wus human toil,
Then came thy waves with jilenty fraught,
To slake the parching soil.
Roll on, thou mighty Nile—
Refresh the arid plain,
’Till he, who op’d thy hidden fount,
Shall seal it up again.
But, ah! a sadder waste is here
Than Barca’s fields of sand;
A moral dcsolatiou spreads
O’er this devoted land!
Thy power stops here, oh, Nile!
Thy waters cannot cure
The vileness of the human heart,
Nor make its fountains pure.
Nought but the rill that gushes forth
From the Redeemer’s side,
Degraded man from guilt can free —
Laved in its purple tide!
Bright is thy surface, Nile !
But a yet brighter stream
Rolls down from sacred Calvary,
Commissioned to redeem.
Roth shall move onward, till your waves
At last united be ;
And Hope, and Peace, and Joy shall reign,
Land of the Nile! in thee !
EREMUS.
Athens, Dec. 1848. .
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
SONNET i TO LUCY.
ON BEING ASKED IF I COULD WRITE VERSE.
Soft a3 the music of a silver stream,
Thy liquid accents greet my raptured ear ;
As tenderly 1 hear thee whisper near:
Doth e’er the gifted bard’s delirious dream
Steal o’er tby senses, till the world doth seem
Divested of its falsities, as fair
As when a Paradise existed here,
And man could woman all unerring deem 1”
Dh! when thy sparkling eyes, with lustrous light,
Thus Lavish on my brow their fatal gaze—
And while my bosom thrills with fond delight,
As sweet thy silvery tone thy wish betrays—
(fii, can’st thou doubt, the vilest dunce could write
The purest verses in thy loftv praise!
ALTON..
Charleston, S. C.
A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART.
Popular (Ealcs.
WOOING A WIDOW.
Fli OM M R S. II ALL’S “MARIAN.”
“ Fifteen hundred a-yeav, a well-furnished
house, a handsome carriage, besides money in
the funds.” This was the actual state of
Airs. Cavendish Jones’s affairs; but report
magnified her wealth amazingly. It was as
tonishing how many young men suddenly
discovered that Sloane Street was a pleasant
er lounge than the Park, and either cantered
or walked past the new widow’s dwelling.
Great interest was made for introductions,
and m&ny were given—others refused ; some
on the ground of wishing to avoid interfering
in delicate matters —while many had cousins,
half-pay officers, slender curates, or young
mercantile men who wanted capital, whom
they desired to see established, for reasons
foreign or domestic, in the widow’s favor. —
To a delicately-minded woman this sort of
celebrity would have been painful in the ex
treme ; but Mrs. Jones was again raised in
her own estimation, and became so positively
absurd, that it was impossible to witness her
airs without the hitter laughter of contempt,
or the disgust which compels you to turn
from what is so absolutely unpleasant. Iler
thoughts were divided between two things—
what she could possibly do to make her
weeds becoming, and what sort of husband
she would have to rule over her heart and
property.
She had married long before her folly was
full blown, and it seemed as if it were never
to attain its perfection : it went on increasing,
and multiplied exceedingly. She would sit
all day at the balconied window, in the most
languishing attitude, lounging in a chaise
lounge, playing with a paroquet, or combing
her Persian cat; and, truth to say, the lords
of the creation were in no degree averse to
humoring her fancy. Half-pay officers are
peculiarly open to this sort of temptation.
Doomed to appear like gentlemen, in every
sense of the word, upon means which fre
quently a well-charactered footman would
scorn to accept as a remuneration for his ser
vices, it is not to be wondered at lhat they
have a very quick perception as to the ways
and means of increasing their incomes.
Three of this description were ready, before
three months of the lady’s widowhood had
expired, to throw themselves at her feet, and
possess themselves of her fortune.
One, a bluff, burly major of fifty-four, at
tempted to storm the citadel with his family
connexions, and a wooden leg; hut the sim
pering lady of forty-six mincingly told him
she did not intend to marry her grandfather.
The bluff major stumped down stairs with
considerable emphasis, and forgot to give the
smiling footman the fee which he had learned
to expect from all his mistress’s suitors.
It is a common thing to accuse clergy of
marrying for money: the taunt is not justi
fied by my own experience ; there are few in
that class of society who have enough to
support a respectable appearance, still fewer
who are wealthy. It is to he hoped that no
Christian pastor would engage the affections
of a young woman only to steep her to the
very lips in poverty, that worst of poverties—
genteel poverty; and if a gentleman have but
a small income, it is only just he should seek
for a companion whose dowry would add to
their mutual income.
This is but just; yet the reproach is heap
ed upon them, and it is thought a witty thing
to jest at a poor parson and a black coat. It
is as well to record that Mrs. Cavendish
Jones had but one clerical lover, and, as he
never officiated, there is little necessity for
considering him asareverend. He was “bur
ly and big;” and the lady having, in her
heart of hearts, resolved to have no one who
was not pale and interesting, dismissed him
with very little coquetting.
The fact was, she had made up her mind
to marry the handsomest man in the neigh
borhood—an artist, who having, according
to his own belief, taken his art unto himself
for a bride, never wasted a thought upon the
widow. She had met the youth at church,
where widows always and artists seldom go;
and, finding her usual attractive ways wast
ed upon him, she suddenly resolved to have
her picture painted for about the tenth time in
her life T . and many oi her wooers urged her.
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1848.
thereto, each hoping to possess the fair origi
nal. It would be difficult to imagine what
put the young artist into her head : it could
not he appreciation of his talent, for that she
could not appreciate; it was doubtless his ce
lebrity. In the meantime, the lady was fool
ed to the top of her bent—surrounded by
wooers. A French dancing-master, always
in attendance, who had gone to various ex
penses with gilt spurs, smart canes, and elab
orate waistcoats, to make himself appear,
what he professed to he, a foreign officer,
twirled his moustachios in such fierce dis
pleasure that they were in danger of falling
off when the pale student came to take the
first sitting : a banker’s , clerk exchanged
glances with a finikin contributor of prose
and poetry to small magazines and the little
annuals: a medical student, who always dis
coursed of surgical operations, bowed himself
out. In short, the drawing-room was desert
ed soon after the easel was fixed, except by
an impudent attorney and an Irish officer,
who had been on foreign service.
Mrs. Jones did not wish to be portrayed in
weeds, and so she resolved she would be
painted in some character—something out of
Sbakspeare’s plays—something (to use a
newly-acquired phrase) classical. The attor
ney suggested Juliet in the balcony ; no, that
would not do; Julietwasblack-browed; she,
fair as day. The Irishman, out of a bit of
spite to the attorney, suggested Portia repro
ving Shylock; but no, Mrs. Jones had heard
that the artist played chess, so she had bought
a handsome board and a set of men, all ar
ranged beforehand, and, after some hesita
tion, said she would he Miranda. Then
came the question, who would be Ferdinand ?
The attorney was on the point of offering to
sit, but was distanced by the Irishman. He
made the offer; and, to the attorney’s de
light, experienced a buff, such a one as lie
Ivas not likely to forget. Then the man of
law thought his opportunity had arrived, and
hinted how happy he to play Fer
dinand to such a Miranda : the lady turned
him off with even less ceremony than she
had bestowed upon the Irishman, who was
certainly the handsomer of the two. The
suitors, nonsuited , departed ; hut the lady re
mained firm in her determination to he paint
ed as Miranda, declaring that “ When she
was finished, the gentleman could be put in.' 1
Mr. Brandon, of course, objected to this
unartistical mode of proceeding, declaring
that it would be necessary to sketch the
group; and not till then did the lady lisp
forth, with a hanging-down of the head and
a drooping eye-lid, that he might “ Draw out
a man’s figure—any man’s figure — his own
would be better than any other—just do the
beginning of it to make the group; goon
with her, and finish it as it might be after
wards.” This hint was broad enough ; but
the young man either did not or would not
I understand it. The lady languished, flutter-
Jcd, and talked (all she could talk) nonsense ;
I and Mr. Brandon smiled as gaily as a man
can smile who is oppressed by the weight of
pecuniary difficulties, and dare not yield to
the yearnings of a proud and noble spirit.
The moment an object became difficult of
attainment, its value increased tenfold in the
eyes of this foolish woman; and she resolved
to conquer the artist, even though she might
possibly change her mind afterwards. It be
gan to he whispered abroad, particularly by
those who saw the picture, that the lady had
made up her mind, and that the second
mourning, which she had adopted all too
soon, would be exchanged in a little time for
the bridal veil. Some of her suitors quitted
the field—a few hold ones remained. The
attorney, who knew by experience that it
was possible, by persisting, in a case, to ruin
a client, much less an opponent —the Irish
man, bol l and brave —the ci-devant dancing
master continue l firm and Irue, and the medi
cal student kept a sharp look-out ; while a
lieutenant in the navy declared there was no
knowing how soon the wind might change,
and was prepared to tack with that wind.
The author of all this commotion waskeptin
a state of most delightful excitement, and de
voted her days and nights to dreams of love
and romance; during which time poor Ma
rian and her school-sufferings were unthought
of —except once, when Miss Womble, more
lean and yellow than ever, broke in upon her
with a complaint, that, if it were not for her
affection for her dear friend, she could not
retain so profitless a pupil in her establish
ment.
There was a painful absurdity in the scene
VOLUME I.—NUMBER 31r
which, day after day, look place in the draw
ing room at Mrs. Jones’s. She, seated in a
throne-like chair —very unlike any poor Mi
randa ever possessed in her island-home—
leaning over a chess-table, to which she of
ten called the artist’s attention, entreating
that “he would teach her the moves;” now
begging his opinion as to one attitude, then
as to another, and twisting herself into half a
dozen pretty shapes in succession ; while tho
young man, disgusted beyond measure with
the woman, could not help pondering over
the advantages which this wealth, flung as it
were before him, would bestow.
And no wonder he should so ponder—
Charles Brandon had the misfortune to be
born a gentleman, and a sad misfortune it is.
unless means are either bequeathed or achiev
ed to uphold the station : moreover, he had
all the feelings of a gentleman warm about
his heart, and that heart beat as proudly
within his bosom as if he had inherited the
possessions as well as the name of his ances
tors. Charles Brandon’s pride, be it observ
ed, was exactly of the pure, high character,
that would have lived upon itself in a garret,
and been satisfied, provided the world did not
know of his privations, and that he could
have covered them in darkness and solitude.
But his mother lived, a gentle, loving, and be- 9
loved mother, who had fostered and cherished
her high-souled and beautiful boy to the al
most starvation of herself—not the starvation
which some people talk of enduring, .and
which means dining off mutton instead of
venison, but the starvation that divides the
penny roll, and then appropriates loth por
tions to the object of its solicitude. This she
had endured, and would endure again; and
often sat in loneliness in his painting-room—
in loneliness, and the sickness of heart that
is engendered of disappointment—even then,
(when he was witnessing the heartless folly
of her whom Miss Womble insolently dared
to call “ his patroness") she sat in loneliness,
with Its attendants, cold and hunger, because
every nerve was to be strained to send her
son forth as a gentleman, and enable him to
attain distinction in that art, he was certain if
he lived, and could struggle for a time, to tri
umph over.
Mrs. Brandon saw this; she understood his
talent; and some had praised his pictures
who really understood what they said, and
despised the jargon which, in nine cases out
of ten, is all the hired critics know of theglo
lious art they malign or misunderstand. The
hoy and his pencil companioned each other
until he arrived at manhood, and then his
singular beauty, proud step, and lofty car
riage, commanded notice, ot which his moth
er was proud. And it is not very certain
that, at twenty-three, the son despised tho
! homage of bright eyes, or the whisper of ad
miration that sometimes reached him when
he entered a room.
Mrs. Jones, who possessed to the full the
vulgar habit of inquiry, found out that the
young man had a mother, and immediately
invited her to her house. Mrs. Brandon
knew nothing of Mrs. Jones’s vacillation and
folly; she had long ceased to have commune
with society, and her heart yearned towards
kindness, and returned the commonest atten
tion with the warmth and earnestness of long
pent-up feelings, which blazed forth at the
first breath of what was little more than cour
tesy. Then Mrs. Jone3 praised her son.
What a direct road that is to the heart of a
. fond and unsophisticated mother! She prais
ed her son ! She showed her the painting,
and said how well he would look as Ferdi
nand. Mrs. Brandon, though simple-minded,
was quick-sighted; she saw the woman’s
drift; she saw the well-furnished house; she
had ridden in the comfortable carriage; she*
partook of the sumptuous fare ; she thought
of their cheerless, almost foodless home—of
the gloomy past, of the uncertain future.
Her memory supplied her, with astonishing
accuracy, with tales of those who had died
of starvation, and whose talents were reward*-
ed afterwards with innumerable newspaper
paragraphs of praise—a biography got up for
a bookseller's advantage—and perhapsaslab
in a church, where the subject of the eulogy
might have heard service in the aisle without
being offered a seat. She did not combine all
this, because she was, as has been said, a
simple-minded woman; (it is not at all ne
cessary for women to be intellectual to be
good and affectionate;) but she had both
heard and seen much of the strange, unnatu
ral union of misery and talent; she remem
bered what they themselves had gone through;