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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:. A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART, \ML C. RICHARDS, Editor* ©rtgmal Pact™. For the Southern Literary Gazette. MIDNIGHT MUSINGS. HI JACQUES JOUR NOT. . Midnight entereth at the city’s eastern gate. Her tin ker is on her lips. All is hushed and still.” j j( ,! solemn Midnight now, Day’s discords hushing, In shadowy rohes of woven darkness comes, And Silence reigns where late, in gladness gushing, The voice of Mirth was heard in happy homes. Tbe far-off stars their night-long watch are keeping, Bright sentries on the sapphire walls above — And millions angel-watched are sweetly sleeping, Environed by the twining arms of Love. A fen’ brief hours ago, and crowds were thronging The busy marts where Mammon's altars stand, Seeking with go Id to satisfy their longing — The Soul’s eternal, undefined demand ; And forms of youthful Grace and maiden Beauty Passed, like bright visions, through the crowded street, Some, with true hearts, to holy works of duty, And some in Fashion’s gay saloons to meet. Earth’s Weary Ones and Sad, their cares forgetting, Rest now ; and those in bitterness who wept, And wasted Day’s bright hours in vain regretting, Oblivious now, in Slumber’s halls are kept. The starlight falls alike on cot and palace— Alike on dungeon-wall and gilded dome — On halls where Beauty drains the golden chalice— On dens where squalid Want has made her home. But rest not all alike in peaceful slumber, O’er whom are bending now the vaulted skies ! Ah ! no: full mnny now the tardy minutes number, Who may not close in sleep their aching eyes! God only knoweth all of pain and sorrow The brooding Darkness veils from human sight; God only know’s how many, ere the morrow, Must close their eyes forever to the light ’ In dungeons low, where sunlight never sliineth, Stretched on his granite floor, the Captive lies ; For ITome, and Friends, and Liberty, he pineth, Shut in from God’s fair earth and starry skies. To some, their fitful slumbers rudely breaking, Come Phantom Forms, with voices of the Past — Dark, fearful Memories, in their souls awaking, For which, e'en thou, O! Sleep, no Lethe hast. A few dim lights in curtained rooms still burning, Tell tales of wo which words may ill express— Os weary forms in restless anguish turning ; Os eyes which balmy Sleep disdains to bless ; Os throbbing hearts—of bosoms wildly swelling; Os Watchers with the still, uubreathing clay— Weeping for those, the sunlight of their dwelling, Who in untimely night have passed away. Thoughts of the Loved and Lost —the Unreturning, Throng me around in mystic verdure clad: The feeble aid of my poor language spurning, They unexpressed remain—while music sad — The dirge of things which ruthless Time has ended, Falls on my ear —a sweet but solemn strain ! A thousand dreams of by-gone days are blended— A thousand dreams of mingled joy and pain ! Soon joyous Morn, her rosy gates unfolding, Will usher in, with pomp, the God of Day, And all yon stars, their watch no longer holding, Will quench their waning Gres and pass away. Well, if we then, the calls of Duty heeding, Engage in Life’s great work with holy zeal, Seeking to sthunch of broken hearts the bleeding— Desponding Souls to cheer —the Crushed to heal. Thrice blessed, evermore, is he who beareth The halm of Kindness to the aching heart — Who for the Lowly and the Erring careth, And Hope and Comfort striveth to impart! Gs Faith in God, and Life Eternal telling, Ho makes the Lost One’s heart with Joy to swell; Like music is his voice in Sorrow’s dwelling— His smile like Sunshine in the Captive’s cell. For the Southern Literary Gazette. GOOD-BYE I leave thee, but my heart remains ; Away from thee ’twonld die ’Tis oDly then—amid our tears—■ Our lips that say—“ Good-bye!” ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JANUARY 13, ISM. Ipojmlctr Calcs. CHRISTMAS EVE —AND— CHRISTMAS MATINS. TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT OF FREDEKIKA BREMER, FOR SARTAIN’S MAGAZINE. BY MARY HO WITT. _____ | little cottage stood in a dark pine wood. It was a wild December evening, and the ! snow fell in large Hakes on the low roof and on the Forest around. Light, however, shone | from its little window, and lighted up the pine tree which stretched forth its snow-laden j branches towards the casement, and lit up , the dismal wood outside, where the wolf sat j and cried, uh, hu, hu ! The lire blazed merrily within the little ; one-roomed cottage, and merrily curled the blue smoke as it rose from the chimney, and fire-sparks danced about with the snow flakes, which giddily tumbled down the chim ney into the pan of meal porridge, which stood and muttered over the fire, and thus they first tasted of the Christmas entertain ment. For it was Christmas porridge which now stood and boiled on the hearth; and this was no other than Christmas eve, and at this very time food was preparing for the whole of the holidays. It was not food for a rich man’s table—of that you may he sure; it was only for a peasant woman, and she a widow, who, with her children, lived here. Nevertheless, she was about to celebrate Christmas in the best way she could, and that was not to be despised either. She had bought for herself three pounds of meat, and this was now boiling famously with parsley and celery, and promising to make the most savory soup, together with some delicious cabbage for Christmas day. A piece of stock fish, also, was lying in its pan, and was all in an agitation, as if from delight of its own ex cellence. On the table in the cottage there already stood the Christmas cake, and the Christmas goblin,that wonderful beast which seems to say, “if you come here, I will gore you with my long, long horn !” And thus would the Christmas goblin stand through the whole of the Christmas holidays, and make a great show among the Christmas meats, and then, when this festival time was over, it would be laid, together with the Christmas cake, in a chest where it would repose until spring came, and the ploughing began, and then they would take it and chop it to pieces, because the Christmas goblin is a hard piece of clay, and give it to the beasts of burden, to the oxen and horses, which have to work in the fields, and which, it was believed, would derive from this Christmas cake and goblin such strength, and such an inclination for labor, as nobody can believe. Hence there would be abundant crops in the ! barns, a deal of grist for the mill, and plenty ’ of bread in the cupboard ; and all this would be caused by the Christmas goblin—that won derful beast! Two children, a girl and a hoy, jumped about the room, and could hardly contain their joy on account of Christmas eve, and the Christmas goblin, and the Christmas meats which were cooking on the hearth, which filled the whole room with their deli cious odor, and on account of the Christmas matins, at which they were to be present with their mother. Brother Peter was to drive them in the sledge with Polle; the children j had never yet been out to Christmas matins, ; and could not imagine what they were like, i but they had heard that they were something I very grand and beautiful, and they were ! quite sure that they were so, and, moreover, I that they were prodigiously amusing. Peter, however, stood cutting fire-wood for baking, and thought to himself that they were not at all amusing. The mother stood just by the hearth, and busy. Why did she stand so close to the hearth, and turn her face from the happy children? The flames on the hearth saw why : they saw that her counten ance was not happy, and that there were tears upon her cheeks. Why di i she turn her face away from the children ? Because she would ♦The Christmas kuse, which, for lack of a better word, I translate goblin, does not represent an evil spirit, but is merely the rude figure ot’ some domes tic animal, covered with plaited or twisted straw. — M. H. not cast a shade on their happiness. She could not help it, however; she could not help thinking of her husband, who died two months before, and how happy she was last Christmas, when he was alive, and how kind he was, and how he comforted her in his last moments, and said, “that if it were necessa ry that either husband or wife must be re moved by death, how much better it was that it should be the husband, because the wife could look after the children so much better than he could. The wife, however, now felt her lot to he a very heavy one, and had many an anxiety for the future, and most of all on account of the eldest son, her step-son Peter, who hither to hail been out at service, hut who had now come home, since the father’s death, to help the mother in performing the village servi ces.And now, precisely this very evening, when the mother had resolved, for the sake of the sacred time, and for the sake of the children, to put away all anxious thoughts, precisely now have they all come thick upon her, as thick and unceasing as the snow flakes, and when she shook them off, be hold ! there they were again the next mo ment, and made her heart so heavy—so very heavy! It was, as it were, under an evil spell. But the children, little Erik and Maja, they could think about nothing that was gloomy. “Nay, only look at the goblin. Maja!— See how he glares at you with his big eyes! Take care ! he will gore you ii you only touch him. He says, ; if you come here, 1 will run you through with my long, long horn T ‘ ” “Nay, do you believe that he will gore me ? t)o you really believe that he is alive ? Ah, how good that meat smells! Will it soon he ready, mother ? May we soon go to Cowslip, and tell her that it is Christmas eve, and look at the stars ?”f Yes, the supper was now quite ready.— The mother lighted a candle in the lanthorn, and around the candle she put a grand paper star, which the candle lit up, and which, in its turn, lit up the candle. The children then took each their bread cake, and the mother filled^a jug of new brewed Christmas ale, and with the lanthorn in her hand, went out to the stable-yard to let the creatures know that it was Christmas. The demure Mrs. Cowslip, the cow. was thinking about nothing; she was standing in her stall, chewing her cud, as the door open ed, and a light flashed into her eyes. She turned towards that side, and made a low mooing, in token that she recognized those who had entered, and that they were wel come. But when the children, in their zeal, sprang forward, and gave her pieces of their bread, and screamed into both her ears, “it is now Christmas. Cowslip!” she stepped hastily backwards, shook her head violently, and stared as if she would say, “Nay, but that is something out of the common way!” and looked quite confounded. But as Cowslip was a very rational and intelligent cow, she soon collected her facul ties. extended her nose, smelt at her bread, took it into her mouth, and chewed it with an excellent relish, supped up a good draught of Christmas ale, and appeared quite satisfied with Christmas. When the mother had strown her a bed of fresh straw, and given her an armful of the very best and finest hay from the rack, she said, “God keep thee, now, my darling; thou now hast had Christ mas eve!” At these words, Cowslip seemed rightly to comprehend the matter, and, with a great fragrant lock of hay in her mouth, she laid herself easily down again, that she might the better reflect, upon which she stared at the light, and had her own musings about the stars which the children tried to make her observant of. But the only reply she made was by a gentle lowing. After that they car ried the light to the stable, that it might shine upon Polle. and that they might give him a taste of Christmas bread, and announce to him that it was now Christmas. Polle pointed his ears, and lifted his head, expanded his nostrils, and neighed with ani-. ♦ The torpare, or cottager of Sweden, is bound to do a certain quantity of work for bis landlord, in ro turn for the small portion of land which he holds from him.—M. H. f These are Swedish peasant customs ; they tell the cows and other animals that Christmas is come, and. passing a light before their eyes, see. as they fancy, the star which indicated the house in which the Saviour lay.—M. H. VOLUME I .—NUMBER 35. mation, as if he wished to make it known that he expected this intelligence, and that it was welcome to him. The sheep bleated, and licked the hands that gave them their Christmas entertainment. It was so good, so very good! As for the two little pigs, they were quite out of their senses when their turn came: they leaped about, screeched, and tumbled i one over the other, so that nothing rational could he done with them. They were regu larly crazy with joy. After this, the mother and her children re turned to the cottage. The son, Peter, was also- there. He was a tall youth of sixteen, with a dark and strongly marked counten ance. The mother cast an anxious glance upon him. Since she had come into the family, she had had a deal of trouble with i his obstinate and discontented temper, which appeared to have become worse since his father’s death. And this evening, when the mother had desired him to ehop wood for Christmas, he had replied, “I must do every thing!” and, as he went out, he hanged the door with such violence, that the earthenware cups and dish es upon the shelf jingled and shook a long time afterwards. That answer grieved the mother, who well knew that she never spared herself, and never required much from him. lie now sat down with his arms propped on the table, and never seemed to observe that the mother was setting out the supper, and that she had done every thing so well. But when they were all seated at the table, and the mother had poured out the Christmas ale, the little ones glanced at each other, and then at their mother with a roguish look that seemed to say, “Now it is coming!” And with that the mother lifted her glass, and the little ones their wooden mugs, and all three at once exclaimed : “ Your health, Peter!” Peter looked up, and seemed almost as much astonished as Cowslip herself, when they told her that it was Christmas. “ And all happiness to you on your birth day, for upon this evening you were born !” added the mother. To which Peter replied, with a look of dis pleasure. “That is nothing to drink one's health about, or to wish one luck about eith er ! It would have been better to have been unborn !” “ That is a sinful word, my son,” replied the mother, severely. “When God give* health and strength to bear, to strive, and to work ” “ Nay, hut why must one strive and work ?” interrupted Peter. “My dear lad, what questions you ask !” said the mother. “ Must not people live ?” “ And why must they live ?” asked Peter again. The mother could not instantly find an an swer to this question—it distressed her; but the lad often made use of such expressions as left a great weight upon her mind; and, as she was now silent, Peter continued : “ When one has neither father nor mother, nor any in the world to live for, it would be just as well if one were dead ; then one should he rid of all one’s trouble.” “Am not 1 your mother, Peter?” said the mother, and tears started to her eyes. “ You are only my step-mother!” said Pe : ter, immovably, and rose up from the table. This wounded the mother more than any thing else, because she knew, in her own mind, that her heart had always been full of tenderness and maternal affection towards her step-son, and that she did not deserve this un kindness from him. But she could not say any thing now. nor look vexed, because it was Christmas eve. The little ones did not understand what was amiss with their brother. Their mouths were I waiting for the good soup, and they could not imagine that any one could be better oft than they were. When the mother saw that their | appetites were somewhat appeased, she pro posed that they should put aside a portion of i their supper for old Alle, in the poor-house, ’ which delighted them, and therefore er tied up a part of their meat and of their bread-cakes in a clean blue handkerchief, and set it on a shelf, till the next morning, when they should take it with them, when they went out for Christmas matins. Peter, however, contributed nothing; his counten ance was sullen, and, before long, he rose from the table, and went to his bed without saying “goodnight.” The little ones, also, soon lay side by side,