Newspaper Page Text
[For The Snnny South.]
THE TRYST.
Under the boughs of a sycamore tree.
Where clambered a blossoming vine,
Sat Nellie and I—young lovers were we;
Her little brown hand, as soft as could be,
Was closely imprisoned in mine.
I frankly confess
I fondly did press
The dear little hand,
The beautiful hand,
That lovingly nestled in mine.
“ Nellie, my darling, I’ve something to say ”
“ O John, there's a bird in the vine,—
A mocking-bird. Ji hn; he’s singing his lay!”
“Yes, and he sings, •! will love you alway,—
I love, I adore you; be mine.' ”
’Twas nothing amiss
If then I did kiss
The soft dimpled hand,
The olive-brown hand,
That tremblingly nestled in mine.
“Listen,” said Nellie; "what else does he sing—
What words fr<m his half-open beak?”
“O love me, my love, and happiness bring;
And wed me. my love, this bright, balmy spring,
As bright as the bloom on jcur cheek.”
I think you can guess
I warmly did press
My lips where the blush,
The rosy red blush,
Was mantling her velvety cheek.
“Be quiet, now, John—you dear, foolish boy!
No more will I meet you at tryst.”
As threatening she looked, yet winning and coy,
Sly heart gave a bound of infinite joy,
And twice the sweet maiden I kissed.
The ghost of a pout
And smile play'd about
The coral red lips,
The ripe cherry lips.
The innocent lips that 1 kissed.
Now, while we sit in cur vine-covered cot,
Sweet mem'ries around us still cling.
The sycamore tree will ne'er be forgot—
The oild place of tryst a dear, hallowed spot,
Where we heard the blithe mocking-bird sing;
And Nell is my wife,
The pride of my life—
Sly own gentle Nell,
Sly neat, dainty Nell;
Anol I—well, she calls me her king!
than Solomon, that such investments bring forth,
some ^twenty, some sixtv, and some a hundred
fold.
Do yon ask why it is and how it is that such
investments pay such profits. The answer is
plain. The good soil, the most fruitful soil in
the world, is the intellects and souls of the
young; and sometimes a small seed, not larger
than a grain of mustard, planted therein will
j bring forth a large tree, in which the birds of
heaven will rest, and yield more fruit than orch
ards of apples and peaches. Do you see that
| father investing thousands of dollars in the edu-
| cation of his son? Why does he do it? He
says: “I am only changing my dollars and cents
\ into moral and intellectual power, and efficiency
j for good. The dollars and cents may take to
themselves wings. If I give them to my son, in
' ignorance, he will lose them. If I give them to
| him in ideas, in useful knowledge, he has them
■ forever. They not onlv enable him to extract
loose curtains, are quite comfortable and much
enjoyed by excursionists.
The central figure on our grand boulevarde is
the well-known, bare-headed statue of Henry
Clay—a colossal figure, mounted on a pedestal
sufficiently high to give him a good view of the
city generally. Tiers of stone steps running
around the base of the pedestal form a most con
venient stand-point of view to hundreds of peo
ple, on our usual holidays, to witness the pro
cession of Mardi Gras, Twelfth Night Revelers,
Knights of Momns, firemen's celebration, etc.
A little further on towards the river is the foun
tain. another object of attraction to the stranger.
This was built at some expense, as an experiment
by its inventor, and donated to the city. It
looks very well, on first sight resembling a hand
somely ornamented summer-house; but when
you come nearer, lean on the railing and look
in, you see a huge marble basin in the centre of
the little house, a fountain coming up through
[For The Sunny South.]
Meriinee*s “ Letters to ail Incognita.
BY W. M. A.
“ I am now reading a book, writes M. Meri-
mee to his “Incognita,” “that may interest you:
the history of the - Revolt of the Netherlands,’
by Motley. There are not less than five thick
volumes; and although not over and above well-
written, it is smooth in style and interesting.
He yields too much to anti-Catholic and anti-
monarchial prejudice; but he has made immense
researches, and. though an American, is a man of
talent." This is not a lawyer-like proceeding. I
ken, my good reader,—to raise your American
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
A Subscriber asks: “Is ‘Ouida an English or
French writer? Where does she live? What is
her real name?” . . . She is an English woman,
but resides in Paris, and her name is Miss De
La Rame.
Thomas Jefferson. —We have mislaid the let
ter of the young lady near Madison, but in reply
to her question in regard to Thomas Jefferson
would say that he was very much opposed to any
mixture of religion and politics, or of State and
church, though he did not go, perhaps, to the
lengths intimated by your letter.
Fickle Phil.. Madison, asks: “When a boy is
| ments of nature, but they enable him to help
| uphold the fabric of society in which he and his
J children are to live. They enable him to become
\ an ornament and a pillar in the church and in
] the State; and when the grave shall close over
! him, his soul will most likely meet mine in a
j far better realm. At all events, he has wealth
i which can neither be stolen, burnt up, or de-
j stroyed by floods: wealth that will likely go
i with him to that far-off land where weeping and
toil shall cease. I feel, therefore, that my invest
ment is a good and safe one.” If, then, the
j wealthy parent thus reasons, and counts the
j wealth of the mind the most valuable of all
| wealth, why may we not conclude that a fraction
of each man’s wealth, invested in the souls of
the rising generations—in a system of popular
education, wherein all the children may receive
the seeds of wisdom and knowledge, and wherein
are planted the seeds of honesty, good order and
| safety in society—is the best investment possi-
! ble to be made?
When we speak of popular education, we mean
! a system of labor-saving machinery whose raw
j material to work upon is the minds of the young;
a material in which divine germs are to be found;
j a material from which heavenly flowers spring
! up, and where each and every soul, touched by
j the wand of science, may become a co-worker in
j the garden of plenty, the Eden from which our
| parents fled, beguiled by the father of ignorance
j anel lies. We mean a system by which thou-
| sands upon thousands can be taught the ele
ments of moral and physical truth, upon an
j economical anel cheap plan; a system, and the
j only system, by which dangerous ambition is
softened into virtue, and the rights of society
I are guarded against its fury— where the love of
industry, truth and honesty are planted in the
| breasts of all; the system, and the only system,
! by which the faculties and powers peculiar to
man are developed and brought into play and
J harmony with his safety and prosperity. Talk
When we speak of an investment, we mean j about such a system being expensive and bur-
the laying-out of money or labor in the purchase densome It is the greatest labor-saving- and
far greater treasure and wealth from the ele- it, which keeps the basin filled with water from
[For The Sunny South.]
Popular Education as ail Investment.
BT J. XORCROSS.
or production of a species of property, usually
of a permanent and jn'odnctive nature—such as
a farm, a mill, or shares—from which we expect
a return in the shape of profits. Investments in
property with this end in view are of two sorts—
private and general. All property to which indi
viduals hold titles are private investments. The
general investments consist of public highways,
public buildings, and the like; and among these
may be accounted churches, school-houses, and
other institutions of general use. The former
consist of the surplus products of labor for indi
vidual uses. The latter have the same origin,
but are for the general benefit, and in the main
pay much better than the former, although the
dividends are not counted out in dollars and
cents. They pay better, because they contrib
ute to the general encouragement of industry
and enterprise, and the safety and security upon
which all human progress and prosperity de
pend; while the other sort but too often obstruct
and retard the general interests and welfare of
societj-. The latter investments are usually
brought about by the means of taxes and volun
tary contributions to a general fund and general
interest. We hear a great deal of complaint
about taxes and such contributions, as if they
were a total loss to those who pay them. But
such compilaints are only well-founded when
the proceeds are stolen or misappropriated. All
such payments, honestly and judiciously ap
plied—as, for instance, upon roads and neces
sary public buildings—are the best, the most
profitable, and the most durable investments
any people can make, because they remain as
permanent aids in carrying forward all other
business—all the private anil general affairs of
the community.
By far the greater part of people’s means and
labor are mvesteil in propeity such as food,
clothing, and the like, which are consumed or
resolved back into their original elements almost
as soon as produced. Another large portion is
invested in property which yields no income-
such as jewelry and other ornamental luxuries.
Another portion is invested in the means of
amusement and recreation—a blanch of invest
ments which have ever been fostered and encour
aged by despotic rulers, for the purpose, in the
main, of keeping the people in ignorance of their
greater needs, and from a knowledge and inves
tigation of their more substantial interests and
rights. This nas the case among the ancient
Greeks, as their free governments and laws de
clined; and among the Romans, as the usurpers
rose into power among them; and in truth, the
great struggle is and ever has been, with the
mass of society, to so employ and invest their
surpilus means as to guard thtm from falling
into the hands and under the despotism of ambi
tions men,— or in other woids, so as to enable
them to uphold a free government and equal
laws. This, perhaps, is the great and chief argu
ment in favor of popular education. And why
should it not be, so long as the fall of tree gov-
ment is synonymous with slavery or barbarism?
In the next place, what is the nature or what
are the contingencies that overhang investments
or property in gtneral? As belore remarked,
the main part of the products of labor are con
sumed almost as soon as in sight. Other por
tions are invested in luxuries whose benefits are
confined to the selfish gratificatii n of the pas
sions. Of that portion placed in permanent
wealth, we call it a good investment if it yields
ten per cent, per annum. But more than one-
half of such investments yield no income.
These contingencies come from the uncertainty
and evanescent characteristics of all physical
wealth, ever verifying the saying of Solomon,
that “ riches certainly take to themselves wings;
they fly away as an eagle to heaven.” Here let
us remark, that Solomon had exclusive refer
ence to material wealth, for he dwells at great
length upon the importance of getting knowl-
eelge and understanding. “Wisdom,” he says,
“is better than rubies, and all things that may
be desired are not to be compared to it. Nay,
my fruit is better than gold—yea, than fine
gold.” From this point of view, then, we rightly
conclude that investments in material wealth
are exceedingly pirecarious. and that the only
wise and sure ones are in the moral and intel
lectual culture of the rising generations—m the
rising intellects and souls of men and women;
and these pay by far the best dividends known
to the moral and economical world—for we know
from experience, and are assured by One greater
wealth-producing device yet invented. There
I is not, there never was, a device or an invest-
j ment that paid so well, or that so rapidly brings
dividends to the investors. Talk about tl e tax ?
j The amount required is no tax at all. It is the
j relief, and the only possible relief from such a
burden. It is the device which takes from the
shoulders the burden which is levied by igno
rance, idleness and crime, and converts our con
tributions into an investment from which no
philanthropist or true lover of his species ever
wishes to be deprived.
“Ah! but,” says one, “the highly-educated
community, the community where popular edu
cation prevails, are also heavily taxed.” This, it
must be admitted, is sometimes the case; but in
all such cases, it is the voice of the people intel
ligently expressed, and becomes a voluntary con
tribution, or an investment in public property
and public enterprise outweighing private prop
erty and private enterprise in utility, and finds
the river, and on its surface floats a miniature
steamboat, the R. K Let, the champion of the
Mississippi—a perfect gem, and the work of an
excellent artist. Round the upper sides of the
covering or shed to the fountain, numerous ad
vertisements catch the public eye, warning while
you gaze on th& smooth waters, to buy your
clothes at such a house, or get your leather
tanned at somebody else's.
A little farther on, one sees a crowd of people
moving, talking and hurrying by the immense
building on the lower side. It is the custom
house. The post-office is in one of its compart
ments. fronting on Old Levee, from Canal to
Custom House streets, and is said to be the larg
est and best in the United States. The building
is not finished yet, though began in 1848; but
the structure is so immense, occupying a square
of ground and four or five stories high, not
quite enough money has been wrung from the
people by the city authorities for its comple
tion. It holds the guardians of the people’s wel
fare (that is, the United States troops), and was
the”center of the fourteenth September struggle,
the soldiers within firing from the windows on
the densely-packed crowd in the streets. Ascend
ing the top through a convenient stair-case, you
find the roof a promenade ground, from which
can be seen the entire city, with its clearly-
defined crescent shape; the inhabitants, houses,
boats and shipping look like insects and their
tiny domicils.
For a mile or more from the river, there are
but few private residences on Canal street; it is
almost entirely devoted to stores of every kind
and description, some of them very elegant.
Olympe, that queen of modistes, holds her
own right royally in a large mansion on the
southern side. In the tall glass window-cases,
are exhibited the very latest of full-dress toil
ettes, but of such costly texture and still cost
lier prices that but few of the mortal feminine
kind care to do more than look.
Right near her establishment, is affine private
dwelling, its marble front showing clear and fair
above its neighbors. It was the home for many
years of one of New Orlean’s oldest citizens—
Dr. Newton Mercer—a lonely old man—wifeless,
childless, kinless even—last survivor and inher
itor of the wealth of his numerous relatives; 1
and that wealth did all possible to make amends
for the loss of family ties; but he was paralyzed
and could enjoy it but little. He had an eleva
tor constructed in the center of his house to
convey him with ease from one story to another.
That was his only means of moving, unless car
ried. His will, an eccentric one, containing
about two dozen codicils, was copied in the
daily papers, causing much comment. His leg
acies were numerous, and some of them very
worthy. St. Anna’s Asylum, a large institution :
for destitute and infirm widows, was named
after a cherished daughter of his, long since
dead; he endowed it largely during his life and
remembered it liberally in his will. To his most
devoted body servant, he donated a lavish and
ire against mine author, and then expect yon to • escorting a lady home, is it respectful for the
- •* “ - 1 -• L — ” ; - i; —boys to congregate in the rear, and laugh and
talk, in order to worn- the young man ? Is it
not very ungentlemanly and ill-bred on their
part?” ... It is by no means respectful, and
the boys should not so embarrass Fickle Philip.
Give him a showing.
“Engaged,” New Orleans, says: “I come to
you for advice—in a love affair, of course. I
visit a lady, not beautiful, but good, and have but
one objection to her, viz: though she is my
equal in social standing, yet she has friends who
are not—people good enough in their place, but
“ gosssipy.” My friends and relatives object to
meeting them as equals. Now, can you tell me
how to win her away from them ? Being a pro
fessional man and standing well, I object to such
companions for one who is to be my wife.” . . .
There are black sheep, you know, in every flock;
but we must not discard the white ones on their
account. If the lady of your choice is really su
perior to her friends, she is also conscious of it
as well as yourself, and after she is married and
taken from their immediate companionship, it
will be an easy matter to get rid of them, for
worthless people are very sensitive.
jump from the hot “frving-pan ” of indignation
into the hotter “tire” of admiration. But I
wish you to smile with me at an idea that I can
not rid me of,—the imagined horror of the
learned Frenchman at the idea of an American
attempting to criticise the workmanship ! Not
only an American, but a Southerner! — and
worse still, a “feminine!” To his indignant
ghost I cry (“over the left”) “ Men Culpa;’ to
you. good friend (“over the right”) “A cat
may look at a king.” I proceed.
Prosper Merimee was born in Paris in 1803.
Until Mr. R. H. Stoddard gavb space, in Volume
III. of the Bric-a-Brac series, to the “ Letters to
an Incognita,” I doubt if the name of their au
thor was familiar to more than a score of Ameri
cans outside of Paris. A most profound linguist,
master of the Italian. Greek, Latin, Spanish,
English, German and Russian languages, with
the history and literature of each; an indefatiga
ble traveler, having been once in the East, twice
in Greece, a dozen or fifteen times in England,
in Spain. Italy and elsewhere; no mean adept
in painting; thoroughly versed in the effect and
technicalities of architecture, he was undoubt
edly one of the most versatile of our nineteenth
century geniuses.
With his more ambitious works, among which
are “Columba—a Novel,” a “History of Don
Pedro I., King of Castile,” “An Episode in the
History of Russia,” a drama or two, we have
nothing to do, although they gained him the
plaudits of the literary world. It was only after
his restless spirit had gone to its rest that M.
Blanchard, the painter, in whose hands the
manuscripts had been deposited, gave to the
press the letters that have made the name of
Merimee, be he anti-American or what he may,
a cherished one. M. Blanchard dying soon after,
Paris found itself possessed of a most tantalizing
mystery, that promises to retain that sobriquet
for “ good and a’.” Learned academicians and
deputies were agog to find out who this charm
ing “Incognita” could be. Time, it appears of
late days, has the knack of complicating anew
instead of unraveling mysteries; but for our
part, it matters little whether the “wonderful
she” is, as the Revue des Deux Mondes maintains,
an English woman, moving in brilliant society,
or. as Mr. Stoddard inclines to believe, a French
lady, dame de compagnie to a Madame M ' de
B . We utterly repudiate the idea of her
being a “myth,” however, as a few try to show.
A creature she was of veritable flesh and blood—
beautiful, intellectual, capricious (diabolical, her
correspondent tells her on several occasions), ,
but lovely exceedingly, in the true sense of
loveliness; for so, of necessity, must a woman
be who for a period of over thirty years could
Agnes, Newberry, S. C., says: “I am a young
woman twenty-two years old; have three sisters
and one brother, all younger than myself. My
mother has been dead a little more than four
years—died while my youngest sister was quite
small. I have been receiving the attentions of a
young man whom I love very dearly. My father
admits that this young man is worthy in every
respect, but refuses his consent to our marriage,
assigning no reason therefor except that he can
not do without me. Now, Mr. Editor, I love my
father as dearly as any child can, and, as I have
said, I love the young man also. He says he
cannot wait longer for my father’s consent.” . . .
While the feelings and affections of your father
are most commendable, and should excite your
gratitude, he is rather unreasonable in this mat
ter. If he has no serious objection to the young
man, he should not cause you to sacrifice a good
opportunity without a good cause.
W. A R., Barnwell, S. C., say: “We notice, in
your issue of the twenty-sixth ultimo, advice
given ‘Old Sock,’ of Bamburg, S. C. We are
well acquainted with that gentleman and his
lady-love, and are as fully captivated by her
charms as he could possibly be. Now, our
trouble is just this: ‘Old Sock’ lives much
nearer the young lady, whose age he seems to
know so well, and he has not only that advan
tage, but also that of the splendid advice above
mentioned. Now, both of us being subscribers
to your paper, we will feel that you are rather
partial to ‘Old Sock’ unless you 'advise us how
inspire, at first, a love so unquestioned (thwarted to rival bim and win the j lady in qnes _
nv rDtp. wfi know not irni/ nor howi Ann At Iasl a• >» -vt i i i »* t _ i • •
in the general intelligence a balance-wheel which I expensive wardrobe—a small fortune in itself.
A few mornings before he died, he bade his at
tendant bring from his private room a large
sealed box that had been kept sacredly untouched
for years, exciting much interest in the curious
who could not venture to open it. Bidding the
servant unlock it, he took from thence two su
perb dressing-gowns worn by him and his young
wife during their bridal days. They had been
worn a few happy times; then, when trouble
came, shut up and put from sight through all
the long years, and now were given as a precious
memento to his faithful attendant. Men die and
leave their goods behind them.
This week has been a grand time among the
Jewish population—the feast of the Pentecost
being celebrated with great pomp by them, espe
cially by the new Temple of Sinai, of the reform
faith. Situated in a pleasant spot on Caronda-
let street, it is a place of great resort for all de
regulates and promotes the interests of the whole,
and a break-water against the dishonesty and
ambition of the vile.
O, for the day and the hour when such a sys
tem shall prevail in this our grand country,
abounding in wealth of soil, wealth of climate,
mines and forests, mountains and rivers, which
shall give us intelligence, knowledge and skill
adequate to the blessings which are here in store
for the wise and good ! 0, tor the day and the
hour when our people shall be ready to invest a
fraction of their physical wealth and labor in
the greatest and best labor-saving machinery
which the world has ever know n ! O, that the
day and the hour would come when the East
and the West, the North and the South, would
say: “Let us go down, let us go up, let us go
over to that beautiful sunny land—that land of
vast resources—to establish our homes, for there
they have a popular and an efficient system of ! nominations; and this week it has been crowded
by Fate, we know not why nor how) and at last
a friendship so faithful. There is a moisture
about my eyes when I read the few lines penned
but two hours before his death ending, “Adieu !
Je rous embrasse." There was no “myth” here.
We must all confess to the charm of a love-
letter — us-waril or whomsoever-ward. That
grand old tune that Adam first “raised ” in the
sylvan aisles of paradise we go on singing and
singing, as the centuries roll by. Varied music
we make of it—-dreamy waltzes, stately fugues,
chansons pastorale—but always and ever but va
riations of the dear old anthem, “Love.’’ The
tender, most love-breathing pages we will make
no extracts from; for, reader mine, you can im
agine them, or perchance a wee bird is singing
them in your heart just now—so ? But did lady
fair e’er read such lines as these before: “ It dis
tresses me to perceive your rapid progress in
satanism; that yon are becoming ironical, sarcas
tic and even diabolical,” etc. Mrs. Hill might
take dots here: “You jest at my gastronomy; do
you appreciate the entrails so greedily devoured
by ancient heroes? They are still eaten, and
are truly delicious, being composed of spiced
and appetizing little crusts, skewered by per
fumed mastic wood, which at once explains why
the priests reserved for themselves this tempting
morsel of the victim.” One more extract: “You
are a combination of the angel and devil, but the
latter predominates, * * * and holding me at the
end of your line, you keep me dancing between
education, under whose banner our children can | by the curious to see the rights of confirmation | heaven and earth until, weary of the sport, it may
ster- administered to the beautiful young Jewesses, please you to cut me loose, and I shall swim about
grow up to goodness and virtue, and our poster
ity receive an inheritance of greatness and true
glory-”
[For The Sunny South.]
THE CITY OF NEW ORLEANS.
New Orleans in June is not so warmly un
pleasant as usual at this season, due, no doubt,
to the relreshing rains we have had just when the
oldest inhabitant would begin to prognosticate
a most unendurable summer, with no visitors
but yellow fever and sun-stroke. This is unde
niably a healthy city; not more than one or two
yellow flags could be seen by the most observant,
and those so small as to be scarcely visible.
The times must be just what they always are,—
plenty of money to some and none to others.
Those who have it, rush off to give it to the
Northern population, expecting its return, as a
matter of course, in the ensuing winter. Canal
street, with its mile of stores and their tempting
displays, is the most frequent object of attrac
tion now, at least to the ladies; the gentlemen
only pass there to see them, and a pretty sight
they are, well worth the seeing, as they prome
nade in their new summer toilets, their tightly-
pinned figures showing off to the best possible
advantage. Neither rain or sun interferes with
visits to this street of all others here. Cars run
up and down all the principal thoroughfares,
and the galleries or balconies of all the stores
project to the outer edge of the broad banquets,
affording protection to the most dainty train or
delicate chip. The lower side of Canal is much
more frequented and popular than the upper.
Matinee days, it is just next to impossible to
pass through the thronging crowds or catch
more than a glimpse of one’s special friend; now,
there is room enough and to spare.
The grand dry gooels store of the merchant
prince. Holmes, is still largely pationized. That
occupies a central position between Rues Dau
phin and Bourbon. It is in the shape of the let-
| ter L, faces on Canal and comes out on Bourbon,
j the latter part calleel the Ville de Faris. All the
I elegant nouveautes there contained in the shape
j of laces of all descriptions, sashes, ribbons, lace
i overdresses, etc., are direct from that paradise
i of modistes, Paris. One lovely cambric mom-
“ Wisdom,” he says, ; ing wrapper, composed entirely of tiny puffs
and Yaltnciennts lace, was only two or three
hundred dollars, and won the envy of all unable
to buy it.
On the neutral ground of Canal run the nu
merous lines of cars—some to the river, thence
down to the French part of the city; others to
the Metairie Ridge [whose white gate can be
seen lrom here). They go to the fair grounds,
race courses, barracks, to the lake, and in fact,
to all parts of the city, six or seven miles each
way, lor the moderate charge of five cents for
every change. The summer cars, with their
Some of them would rival Scott's Rebecca. The
singing there is an attraction every Friday even
ing. The reader is said to have an unequaled
voice for purity and sweetness. The building
is a most beautiful object, and can be seen for
squares off when lit by sparkling jets of gas,
which throw out in clear light the rich mosaic
work of the temple, its dozen windows on each
siele giving a full view of the scene within. It
is surmounted by two tall towers, between which
stand two tablets of white marble in a wooden
frame-work.
I must stop to go and see the new altar in the
Jesuits’ church. Its beauty and finish are said
to be unsurpassed.
Au revoir, Sunny South. Flora Belle.
[For The Sunny South.]
UNDER THE MOONBEAMS.
BY MYRTA.
Some spirit is darted in the beams from thee
Which penetrates my frozen frame.
And passes with the warmth of flame.
With love, and e>dor, and deep melody,
Through me, through me !
How like tender play-fellows they are—plav-fel-
fellows we have known along ! We told our joys
and sorrows to them when they slanted through
window s over our cots, resting on spotless baby
feet, silvery baby hair and supplicating baby
hands, like a benediction. Ah ! brow and hanels
anel feet were lilted out of sin then by youth
fresh from God. Now, time has let us down
farther from heaven, anil we wonder if we were
ever guileless, and how it is we have strayed so
far from the whiteness of the moonbeams.
Ah ! how many with weary life, and weary of
the pride that struggles to make it gay, with
hearts sorely bruised and trust broken, have felt
the soothing power of the calm light on drawn
and fevered brows. How many have felt it was
“tioiVs hand laid upon the head of earth !”
There was one who played with me on long,
misty lawns, watching ghost-like shadows and
hiding in them. The hawthorn casts one on his
grave to-night. There was another, who gath
ered strength to tell of a deep love in their sub
dued radiance. Over the red lips he kissed the
white beams are shining now. And I know of
one who watcheel them with patient yearning
till she went away from me. Her spirit is up
above them, but “over her grave-couch, years
ago, the wild birds fluttered anil played at will.”
But the saddest of all are thoughts of those
faces upturned with ours once in innocent
prayer, drooping and crime-stained in the moon
light to night! Oh. moonbeams ! come to the
heart-sick children of earth for “a time, times
and half times;” flood our sinful earth with
peace and purity.
with the hook in my gills, but never again to
find the angler. Adieu, Nina, de mi ojos.”
I give these extracts as being a little out of the
beaten track. In his gastronomic way, he but
mixed the bitter and sweet, as the epicure his
pepper and mustard; ’tis but a dressing for the
fresh and tender morceaux that make up the bet
ter part of the dish.
I would now speak of the book in the light of
its true importance as I take it. From the favor
able circumstances which surrounded Merimee,
being a frequenter of the brilliant social circles
of London, Paris, and various continental cities,
as well as the high offices he at various times
held—first as Inspector-General of Historical
Monuments, then member of the Assembly,
afterwards a Senator, and lastly a prominent
member of the household of Napoleon III—his
personal recollection of eminent personages and
events are wonderfully interesting. He gives
us pen pictures of Rachel, Persani, Caraiguac,
Pasta, Lord Brougham, Toneguinuff, Edmund
About, Victor Hugo, Baron Munsen, the Empe
ror. Empress and Prince Imperial, Prince Napo
leon, Wagner, Gladstone, Palmerston, Bismarck,
Garibaldi, Sainte-Beuve,Theirs, and many others
of minor importance. I would feel no wiser
than the clown who showed a brick as a speci
men of his house, should I attempt to make ex
tracts and give you any adequate idea of the
book in this light. Two incidents I cannot for
bear mentioning, however.
While the Imperial family were at their villa,
at Biarritz, they were visited by M. de Bismarck,
his wife and daughter. I will give you Meri-
mee’s idea of the “great man.” He writes:
“Another personage, M. de Bismarck, pleased
me much more. He is a tall German, very po
lite, and far from naif. He is apparently utterly
destitute of soul (gemuth), but all mind. He made
a conquest of me. He brought with him a wife
with the largest feet beyond the Rhine and a
daughter who walks in her mother’s footsteps.”
This was in ’65. Little did the writer dream
tion.” . . . Naughty boys! to be conspiring
against poor “Old Sock,” to deprive him of his
“sugar plum.” Now, we sympathize very much
with both of you if you are really in love with
this same belle; but our stronger sympathies go
with ‘Sock,’ for if there is any institution that
really needs attention from a female, it is “old
socks.” Turn her over to him and let him be
darned.
“You Know Who,” Loachapoka, Alabama,
wants to know if bis sweetheart had a perfect
right to get angry with him and cry because he
said that she favored Mrs. Tilton. 2. Do you
think a young lady ought to have “went back
on me” because I escorted a beautiful young
grass widow to a ball ? 3. Have school-girls any
right to be jealous when I waltz the “Blue
Danube” with a married lady ? . . . 1. If her
resemblance to Mrs. Tilton consisted only in
personal beauty, she was hardly right in getting
angry, for Mrs. Tilton is represented as being a
pretty and fascinating woman. But we greatly
admire her conduct in resenting the coupling of
Mrs. Tilton’s name with her own. 2. She
should not have gone back on you, and even if
she had objected, she should not have allowed
you to know it. 3. School-girls, of course, have
no right to be jealous of a married lady, and we
guess you do them great injustice in supposing
they were. They are not such chickens, and if
they get you near the “Blue Danube,” they will
pile you into it with a mill-stone around your
neck, which you will find inconvenient for
waltzing.
A Subscriber, Lawrence ville: “I am a single
man of marriageable age (and conceit—a “use
ful man ”) in quest of a wife. Will you inform
your lady correspondent from Houston—the
good cook and housekeeper that I would like
for us to sit around the same table and say grace
over some of those ‘large, fat biscuits’ she boasts
of. I feel that I could do full justice to them. I
have a friend—of marriageable age. also who
nearly froze to death last winter. He is five feet
ten inches high; weighs ninety-five pounds in
blackberry season; has taken a great fancy to
the light, sanily-haired one hundred and sev
enty-five pounder; thinks it his Christian duty
to rescue her from the cruel fate of being scalped
by a Modoc, and asks will she i ?” . . .
We cheerfully lay these propositions before the
Houston girls, and congratulate them upon their
good luck. Good biscuits, you see, are very at
tractive, and even “sandy hair” has its admi
rers. The thin man, though lean, has a good
heart, it seems, as he is not willing to have the
scalp of the fair girl fall into the Modoc’s hand;
and now she must show equally as large a heart
by not allowing the lank gentleman to freeze
to death. All things work together for good to
them who are lean and fat and love good bis
cuits.
Lula, Macon, says: “I am in love with a
Mercer boy, and I can’t induce him to come to
see me. I met him soon after I entered the Wes
leyan Female College, and loVed him at first
sight. I have met him several times since at
picnics, and he seemed to enjoy my company so
much that he was inexpressible and full of every
other object around, and soon he makes it con
venient to excuse himself, but keeps a gazing
look on me during the day. I can’t understand
him. He is intelligent, and talks fluently with
others when away, and looks at me; and when
with me, looks at others and has but little to
say. I love him blindly, devotedly: can’t study
for thinking of him, yet can’t get him to love
that this tall, polite German was to work such my presence. What must I do? I can’t quit
r. l • i -I -n . 1 lnvinrr Viirr. fnr T lmvn trinil in voin Plnocn full
woe to his loved France.
His account of the Americans at the same
villa is amusing. “At the Thursday receptions, ”
he writes, “the Northern and Southern Ameri
cans have to be placed on different sides of the
salon, lest they should eat each other.”
What wonder that he voted us barbarians, and
wondered at the “Revolt of the Netherlands” em
anating from an American brain.
If what is in my heart has run out at the pen-
point, you will, at the first opportunity, read
these charming letters for yourself. I pray you
to do so. On the twenty-third of September,
1870, just as the dark war-cloud burst over fair
France, Prosper Merimee passed away; but his
work, I say—and I am no isolated prophet, I
ween—shall abide with us.
loving him, for I have tried in vain. Please tell
me how I am to draw nearer the charming ob
ject of my affections.” . . . From your account,
the Mercer boy gives unmistakable signs of
being struck—mortally struck about the heart.
When he is gay and talks fluently with every one
else, but is mum and embarrassed in your pres
ence, and don’t know what to do with his hands,
and yet can’t keep his eyes away from you, it is
a sure sign that you have him strung. But don’t
try to pull him to you too soon. Give him line,
and manage your leverage adroitly, and after
awhile you can manage him at will. But, then,
what a pity that a college boy and girl should
be in love ! As you say you can t study, and I
guess he can’t study; and what a misfortune for
two ignoram uses to form a partnership for life !