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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;