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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART.
UM. C. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
(Original Roclrg.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE LOCK OF HAIR.
BY LEILA CAMERON.
Within my casket's narrow hound,
With treasured relics stored,
A lock of glossy hair I’ve found,
Most precious of the hoard.
For oh! the one it calls to mind.
To me was very dear;
So generous-hearted, true and kind —
So gentle and sincere!
It was not in his youthful bloom
That he was called away ;
Nor does the marble o’er his tomb
Speak aught of Time’s decay.
All in the pride of manhood’s prime,
He bowed his noble head;
His spirit sought a happier clime—
He slumbered with the dead !
We never met, but I had learned
To think of him with love ;
And oft, since then, my soul has yearned
To meet with him above,
For one who claimed with him on earth
The ties of kindred near,
So oft had told me of his worth,
I could but hold him dear!
1 know he had a noble soul,
A high and gifted mind ;
1 know he held in stern control
The passions of his kind.
1 know he ne’er refused to heed
The tale of human woe ;
Or failed in hour of direst need
His sympathy to show.
Upon his forehead's broad expanse
Was stamped the seal of thought;
And from his eagle eye, the glance
Os intellect was caught.
Yet often from that proud dark eye,
There beamed the chastened light—
Which spoke of hopes beyond the sky,
Unkenned by mortal’s sight.
His manly form was clothed with grace
And dignity combined —
A casket meet in which to place
The jewel it enshrined !
Around his mouth a smile there played,
Os winning sweetness rare ;
And on his brow in clusters strayed
The curls of rave n hair.
His voice possessed such nameless spell
In every witching tone,
It seemed each accent as it fell,
Made music of its own.
Its melody the list’ner thrilled,
Like some forgotten song,
As, round the vase where flowers distilled,
The perfume lingers long ’
We never met—but much I prize
This little lock of hair,
Which, treasured in my casket lies,
The dearest relic there.
Aud every silver thread that gleams
Amid this raven tress,
With memories sweet and chastened teems,
My saddened heart to bless!
Tranquilta, Dec. 19, 1847.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE DEATH OF THE YEAR.
H Y WILLIAM C . RICHARDS.
A dirge for the dying—the pale old year
!a stretch’d on his couch that must serve for his bier ;
Le has run his full race, and the goal being won,
He will sink to his grave as his-fathers have done.
A link he will add to the lengthening chain —
[ 1 ime that has been, but will ne’er be again ;
And that link we shall miss from the few that belong,
the chain of Life’s future as brief as a song !
He has pass’d like a dream of the darkness away
Hike the lightning’s white glare, or the meteor’s red
e smiled o’er his cradle—we weep o’er his bier —
And they see in born together—the smile and the
tear!
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23, ISIS.
O ! Time, who shall measure the speed of thy flight,
Or teach us to number thy moments aright 1
When a year than a moment scarce longer appears.
If its record, alas! be not written in tears!
Tears ! have they not fallen like showers of rain
Wrung out from the victims of Sorrow and Pain 1
From the heart-broken widow by Avarice crush’d,
Till her plaint in the silence of Death has been hush'd!
From the orphan forsaken of all but of God —
And His steadfast love proved alone by His rod :
From the mother whose sun has gone down in the
sky—
As her first-born —her idol—was smitten to die.
Let Poverty tell us what tears have been shed—
By the thousands it mocked as they clamored for
bread:
And Shame and Remorse, the sad children of Guilt,
Let them number the tear-drops their victims have J
spilt!
Then let the dark records of War be unrolled—
And its victims by hundreds —nay thousands—be 1
told,
A hundred fair fields with their heart’s blood are red,
And a tear for each drop of that blood has been shed.
Oh, sad then the song for the dying should be —
For the dying whose face we shall never more see:
We rejoiced at his birth, —at his death let us weep,
While pure in our hearts his sad mem’ries we keep.
They shall teach us to measure the speed of Time’s
flight,
To number its grief-burden’d moments aright;
And to pray that each year which to us may be giv
en,
Shall find us, at closing, far nearer to Heaven !
Jpopnlar Sales.
THE NEIGHBOR-IN-LAW,
BY L. MARIA CHILD.
Who blesses others in his daily deeds
Will find the healing that his spirit needs;
For every flower in others’ pathway strewn
Confers its fragrant beauty on our own.
“So you are going to live in the same
building with Hetty Turnpenny, 11 said Mrs.
Lane to Mrs. Fairvveather. “You will find
nobody to envy you. If her temper do not
prove too much even for your good nature,
it will surprise all who know her. We lived
there a year, and that is as long as anybody ;
ever tried it.' 1
“ Poor Hetty!’’ replied Mrs. Fairweather;
“ she has had much to harden her. Her mo
ther died too early for her to remember; her
father was very severe with her ; and the
only lover she ever had, borrowed the saving
of her years of toil, and spent them in dissi
pation. But Hetty, notwithstanding her sharp
features and sharper words, certainly lias a
kind heart. In the midst of her greatest pov
erty, many were the stockings she knit, and
the warm waistcoats she made, for the poor !
drunken lover, whom she had too much good
sense to marry. Then you know she feeds
and clothes her brother s orphan child.' 1
“If you call it feeding and clothing, 11 re
plied Mrs. Lane. “The poor child, cold and
pinched, and frightened all the time, as if she
were chased by the east wind. I used to tell i
Miss Turnpenny that she ought to be asham-
ed of herself, to keep the poor little thing at !
work all the time, without one minute to !
play. If she does but look at the cat as it
runs by the window, Aunt Hetty gives her a
rap on the knuckles. I used to tell her she
would make the girl just such another sour
old crab as herself. 11
“That must have been very improving to i
her disposition, 11 replied Mrs. Fairweather,
with a good-humored smile. “But in justice ;
to poor Aunt Hetty, you ought to remember
that she had just such a cheerless childhood
herself. Flowers grow where there is sun- -
shine. 11
“ I know you think everybody ought to
live in the sunshine,” rejoined Mrs. Lane ; j
“and it must be confessed that you carry it
with you wherever you go. If Miss Turn- 1
penny has a heart, I dare say you will find it
out, (hough I never could, and I never heard .
of anybody else that could. All the families j
within hearing of her tongue call her the,
neighbor-in-law. 11
Certainly the prospect was not very en
couraging: for the house Mrs. Fairweather
proposed to occupy was not only under tile
same roof with Miss Turnpenny, but the
1 buildings had one common yard in the rear,
and one common space for a garden in front.
I The very first day she took possession of her
I new habitation, she called on the neighbor
: in-law. Aunt Hetty had taken the precau
tion to extinguish the lire, lest the new neigh
bor should want hot water, before her own
wood and coal arrived, Her first salutation
was, “ If you want any cold water, there’s-a
pump across the street; I don’t like to have
my house slopped all over.”
••1 am glad you are so tidy, neighbor
Turnpenny,” replied Mrs. Fairweather; “it
is extremely pleasant to have neat neighbors.
1 will try to keep everything as bright as a
new five-eent piece, for I see that will please
you. I came in merely to say good morning,
and to ask if you could spare little Peggy to
| run up and down stairs for me, while 1 am
j getting my furniture in order. I will pay her
! sixpence an hour.”
Aunt Hetty had begun to purse up her
! mouth for a refusal; but the promise of six
pence an hour relaxed her at once. Little
Peggy sat knitting a stocking very diligently,
with a rod lying on the table beside her.—
She looked up with a timid wistfulness, as if
the prospect of any change was like a release
from prison. When she heard consent given,
a bright color flushed her cheeks. She was
evidently of an impressible temperament for
good or evil.
“Now mind and behave yourself,” said
Aunt Hetty; “and see that you keep at work
the whole time. If I have one word of com
plaint, you know what you’ll get when you
come home.” The rose-color subsided from
Peggy’s pale face, and she answered “ Yes,
ma’am,” very meekly.
In the neighbor’s house all went quite
otherwise. No switch lay on the table; and
instead of “Mind how you do that—if you
don’t I’ll punish you,” she heard the gentle
words, “There, dear, see how carefully you
can carry that up-stairs. Why, what a nice,
handy little girl you are !” Under this enli
vening influence, Peggy worked like a bee,
and soon began to hum much more agreeably
than a bee. Aunt Hetty was always in the
habit of saying, “Stop your noise and mind
your work!” but the new friend patted her
on the head, and said, “What a pleasant
voice the little girl has! It is like the birds
in the fields. By and by, you shall hear my
music-box.” This opened wide the window’s
of the poor little shut-up heart, so that the
sunshine could stream in, and the birds fly in
and out carolling. The happy child tuned
! up like a lark as she tripped lightly up and
down stairs on various household errands. —
But though she took heed to observe all the
directions given her, her head was all the
time filled with conjectures what sort of thing
a music-box might be. She was a little
afraid the kind lady would forget to show it
her. bhe kept at work, however, and asked
no questions; she only looked very curious
ly at everything that resembled a box. At
last, Mrs. Fairweather said, “I think your
! little feet must be tired by this time: we will
! rest awhile and eat some gingerbread.” The
1 child took the offered cake with a humble lit
tle curtsey, and carefully held out her apron,
to prevent any crumbs from falling on the
floor. But suddenly the apron dropped, and
the crumbs were all strewed about. “Is that
; a little bird ?” she exclaimed, eagerly; -‘where
|is lie 1 ? Is he in this room !” The new’
! friend smiled, and told her that was the mu
| sic-box; and after awhile she opened it, and
! explained what made the sounds. > ‘'he then
took out a pile of books from one of the bas
kets of goods, and told Peggy she might look
at the pictures till she called her. The little
girl stepped forward eagerly as if to take
them, and then drew back as if afraid.— j
“What is the matter V’ asked Mrs. Fair-;
weather, “l am very willing to trust you
with the books; I keep them on purpose to |
amuse children.” Pegeylooked down, with ;
her finger on her lip, and answered in a con- 1
strained voice—“ Aunt Turnpenny won't like
it if I play.” “ Don't trouble yourself about
that. I will make it all right with Aunt :
Hetty,” replied the friendly one. Thus as- I
sured, she gave herself up to the full enjoy
ment of the picture-books, and when she was
summoned to her work, she obeyed with a
cheerful alacrity that would have astonished
her stern relative. When the labor* of the
dav were concluded. Mrs. Fairweather ac
companied her home, paid for all the hours
she had been absent, and warmly praised her !
VOLUME I.— NUMBER 33,
docility and diligence. “It is lucky for her
that she behaved so well,” replied Aunt Het
ty, “if I had heard any complaint, I should
have given her a whipping, and sent her to
bed without her supper.”
Poor little Peggy went to sleep that night
with a lighter heart than she had ever felt
since she had been an orphan. Her first
thought in the morning was whether her new
neighbor would want her service again du
ring the day. Her desire that it should be so
soon became obvious to Aunt Hetty, and ex
cited an undefined jealousy, and dislike of a
person who so easily made herself beloved.
Without exactly acknowledging to herself
what were her own motives, she ordered Peg
gy to gather all the sweepings of the kitchen
and court into a small pile, and leave it on
the frontier of her neighbor’s premises. Peg
gy ventured to ask, timidly, whether the
wind would not blow it about, and she re
ceived a box on the ear for her impertinence.
It chanced that Mrs. Fairweather, quite unin
tentionally, heard the words and the blow
She gave Aunt Hetty’s anger time enough to
cool, then stepped out into the court, and af
ter arranging divers little matters, she called
aloud to her domestic, “Sally, how came you
to leave this pile of dirt here ? Didn’t I tell
you Miss Turnpenny was very neat ‘* Pray
make haste and sweep it up. I would not
have her see it on any account. I told her t
would try and keep everything neat about
the premises. She is so particular herself,
and it is such a comfort to have tidy neigh
bors.” The girl, who had been previously
instructed, smiled as she came out with the
brush and dust-pan, and swept quietly away
the pile that was intended as a declaration of
frontier war. But another source of annoy
ance presented itself, which could not he quite
so easily disposed of. Aunt Hetty had a cat,
a lean, scraggy animal, that looked as if she
were often kicked and seldom fed ; and Mrs.
Fairweather had a fat, frisky little dog, al
ways ready for a caper. He took a dislike
to poor, poverty-stricken Tab, the first time
he saw her, and no coaxing could induce him
to alter his opinion. His name was Pink,
but he was anything but a pink of behavior
in his neighborly relations. Poor Tab could
never set foot out of doors without being sa
luted with a growl and a sharp bark that
frightened her out of her senses, and made
her run into the house with her fur all on
end. If she even ventured to doze a little on
her own door-step, the enemy was on the
watch, and the moment her eyes closed, he
would waken her with a bark and a box on
the ear, and off he would run. Aunt Hetty
vowed she would scald him. It was a burn
ing shame, she said, for folks to keep dogs
to worry their neighbors’ cats. Mrs. Fair
vveather invited Tabby to dine, and made
much of her, and patiently endeavored to
teach her dog to eat from the same plate : but
Pink sturdily resolved he would he scalded
j first—that he would! He could not have
I been more firm in his opposition if he and
1 Tab had belonged to different sects of Chris
tianity. While his mistress was patting Tab
on the head, and reasoning the point with
him, he would at times manifest a degree of
indifference amounting to toleration; but the
moment he was left to his own free-w’ill, he
would give the invited guest a heavy cuff
with his paw, and send her home spitting
like a small steam-engine. Aunt Hetty con
sidered it her own peculiar privilege to cuff
the poor animal, and it was too much for her
patience to see Pink undertake to assist in
making Tab unhappy. On one of these oc
casions, she rushed into her neighbor’s apart
ments. and faced Mrs. Fairweather, with one
hand resting on her hip, and the forefinger of
the other making very wrathful gesticulations.
“I tell you what, madam, I won’t put up
with such treatment much longer,” said she;
“I’ll poison that dog—you’ll see if I don’t :
and l shan’t wait long, either, I can tel) you!
What you keep such an impudent little beast
for, I don’t know, without you do it on pur
pose to plague your neighbors.”
“I am really sarry he behaves so,” replied.
Mrs. Fairweather mildly. “Poor Tab!”
“Poor Tab!” screamed Miss Turnpenny.
“What do you mean by calling her poor
I)o you mean to fling it at me that I don't
give her enough to eat V ’
“I did not think of such a thing,” replied
Mrs. Fairweather, “I called her poor Tab,
because Pink plagues her so that she has no
peace of her life. I agree with you, neighbor
Turnpenny, it is not right to keep a dog that
disturbs the neighborhood lam attached to-