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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-