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S»lßWa>a2S3i<l>a*
VOL. I.
' THE
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POETRY.”
I =
From the Metropolitan Magazine.
SONG OF THE RUSHLIGHT.
0! scorn me biotas a fameless thing,
Nor turn with contempt from the lay I sing.
’Tis true I ana not suffer’d to be
On the ringing board of wassail glee,
My sickly beam must never full
In the gay saloon or lordly hall,
Yet many a tale does the rushlight know
Os secret sorrow' and lonely woe.
I am found in the closely-curtain’d room,
Where a stillness reigns that breathes of the tomb,
Where the breaking heart and heavy eye
l\re waiting to see a lov’d one die.
Where the doting child with noiseless tread,
Steals warily to the mother’s bed,
To mark if the faintly panting breath
[s fluttering yet in the grasp of Death.
[ am the light that quivering flits
In the joyless homo where the fond wife sits,
Waiting the one that flies his hearth
For a ribald crew and drunkard’s mirth.
Long hath she kept her wearying watch,
Sow bitterly weeping, now breathless to catch
l'he welcome tread of a footstep near,
fill she weeps again as it dies on her ear..
Her restless eye as the night wears late,
Is anxiously thrown on the dial-plate;
Did a sigh responds to the echoing sound
[’hat tells the hand has gone its round,
she mournfully trims my slender wick,
D she sees me fading and wasting quick,
Did many a time has my spark expired,
Did left her still the weeping and tired.
am the light that often shines
IVliere the friendless child of Genius pines,
Yhere the god-like mind is trampled down
Iv the callous sneer and freezing frown;
Yhere Want is playing a demon part
Did sends its iron to the heart,
Yhere the soul burns on in the bosom that mourns,
Like the incense fire in funeral urns.
see the hectic finger fling
flie thoughts intense that slashingly spring,
Did my flickering beam illumes the page
That may live in the fame of a future age ;
see the pale brow droop and mope,
D the breast turns sick with blasted hope,
Till the harsh cold world has done its worst,
Did the tortuned spirit hath groaned and burst.
! am the light that’s doomed to share
The meanest lot that man can bear;
see the scanty portion spread,
Yhere children struggle for scraps of bread ;
Yhere squalid forms and faces seem,
.ike phantom* in a hideous dream,
Yhere the ric’k may look witli startled awe
)nthe work es poverty’s vulture,claw.
)li! many a lesson the bosnmdearns
if hapless grief while the rushlight bums;
Many a scene enfolds to me
I'liat the heart of mercy would bleed to see.
Then scorn me not as a worthless thing,
N or turn with contempt from the song I sing:
Hut scorn as ye will, or smile as you may ;
De cannot revile the truth in my lay.
ELIZA COOK.
DOMESTC ECONOMY.
To Make Pie. —Play at blind man’s buff
n a printing office.
To have Music at Dinner. —Tell your wife
ihc is not so handsome as the lady who lives
icross the wav.
To Save Butler. —Make it so salt that nobo
ly can eat it.
The great seacret for those who are entering
on great employments is, in tlic first instance,
to seize upon men’s imagination by some ac
tion, or some circumstance, which renders
them remarkable.
To be born, to marry, and to die, is the
whole history' of man and woman.
ORIGINAL MISCELLANY.
For the Southern Post
Recollections of a Medical Student.
NO. 111.
THE SUICIDE.
The associations of early life are generally
of the most lasting kind ; and however crow
ded may be tiie incidents which throng the lanes
of alter years, they-are never able to obliterate
from one’s memory the scenes of earlier days,
when their innocent hearts had not as yet been
blasted by the foul effects of sin. And it docs
seem, that at this tender stage of human exis
t mce, the affections are more elastic, pungent
and active, if they are not capable of" such du
rabil tv. With myself, the above remark lias
j proven true, in relation to most of those who
were the associates of my school-boy days, and
though “ a change has passed over the spirit
of my dream,” and stern manhood has taken
possession of the place occupied by childhood
and youth, to meet one such now, is only to
revive t ie scenes of buried years afresh to my
view, and make me act them over again in the
realms of fancy. Tnis, in fact, seems to be
mo e the memery of the heart than the mind.
Among ot!>crs whose remembrance is hal
lowed by me, is the talented and lamented
A P -. lie was a youth of rare
intellectual powers, and though I did not as- j
sociate with him as much as with some others,
owing the differance in our ages, 1 ever enter
tained a peculiar feeling of interest for him, as
one courteous id his manner and amiable and
affectionate in bis disposition. Ilis father re
sided a few miles from my native village, and
though not wealthy was a respectable member
of community. At an early age lie was sent
to school at E . and from that time be
came a member of my father's family. Nor
was it long before he began to evidence the
dawning of that intellect, for which he was so
much distinguished in after life. Having com
pleted his academical pursuits, he made choice
of the profession of Medicine, in preference to
all others, as that which was best calculated to
promote the benevolent feelings which he che
rished so warmly in the native goodness of his
heart ; though it was strongly suspected by
some of his friends that he Would never lie able
to succeed at it, owing to his peculiar sensitive
feelings and uncommonly retiring disposition.
This was, perhaps, the strongest feature which
marked his moral and intellectual existence, if
except t.ie melancholiac temperament which he
seemed to exhibit, at particular times to an
alarming degree.
As an evidence of Ins bashfulness we need
only refer to one little item in bis history, which
on account ot its strangeness and the ludicrous
circumstances surrounding it, produced no lit
tle amusement for the wags of the village.—
One beautiful summer’s eve, when-every thing
around bore the stamp of an unreal and ro
m mtic ex stance, he was unsuspectingly drawn
into an evening’s promenade with a party of
young ladies and gentlemen. Unfortunately
for himself, he enjoyed a partnership with one
who being much older than himsell was better
acquainted with the tricks and capers of hu
man nature, and feeling some tender associa
tion for the coy youth, filled his glass with a
tale of love, which made him giddy at the re
hearsal, and as silence is said to give consent,
n this way, before he knew it, made a tacit ac
ceptance of her heart and hand. The cruel
jade, chuckling in her sleeve at the victory she
had won, was resolved to press her suit still
more energetically, and effectually if possible
and insisted in a most earnest and resistless
manner that their happiness should lie cansu
mated forthwith. She seconded tlrese efforts
by pulling him after her down to the Parson’s,
and though he trembled like a lamb in the
hands of its slaughterers, he was afraid to open
bis mouth until lie found himself actually in the
domicil of the priest of Hymen—an almost an
immolated sacrifice at his altar. But then rc
mtynbering the Vows he had made his Marga
rette, and summing up with one mighty effort
all the -self possession of which he was master,
lie positively refused to marry her. She per
sisted, bus he became frantic in his resistance
and so was snatched from the mouth of the
snare which had been laid so skillfully to en
trap him. Poor Margarette ! how she must
have felt to have gazed upon the exhibition of
so unnatural and unpleasant a scene.
It was not long after this strange rencontre,
before A left E —, for Philadel
phia, in order to complete his Medical educa
tion. His farewell to the one to whom lie had
engaged his destiny for life, as well as others
who he esteemed so much, must be left for the
immagination of the experienced reader to fill
up. No doubt so sensitive a mind as his felt
much at such a parting, and had it not lieen for
the visions of future honors which awaited him
he must have shrunk hack from the fearful un
dertaking. It was not for him, however, tho’
immersed in studies at a distance, 1o forget the
land of his birth, or the dear friends who evi-
MACON, (G v.) SATURDAY MORNING, MARCH 10, JB3B.
! deuced so much zeal in t.re promotion of his
welfare. I have never seen the letters he may
h ive written to his Margarette, but often have
1 been permitted to read those he addressed to
my father, which were filled not merely with
the marks of intellect, but the strongest expres
sions of friendship, and the warmest effusions
of gratitude.
_ Afor receiving the honors of his Medical
Alma-nutter , he returned to E , a polite
and elegant gentleman, and an intelligent and
accomplished physician. Believing that those
who knew him best, would be most likely to
bestow upon him their patronage, be was not
long in determifting to settle in that place, in
despite of the overwhelming competition with
which he was destined to contend. Nor
was it long before his fame as a Surgeon and
Physician, had reached to the zenith of all that
was enviable in a professional career; and
though uncommonly precarious in its character
it was not short lived and evancscnt in its na
ture, or linked and confined in its extent. As
an Occulist there was none who could com
pete with him—having in one instance, bound
up the bleeding heart of a widowed mother,
by restoring her son to the vision which nature
had withheld from him for some years, and
which many others had failed to accomplish ;
his fame was soon borne upon the wings of the
wind, and his house made a hospitle for the
maimed and diseased of all stages of human
wretchedness and suffering. Nor was he alone
in these ministrations of mercy to the atllictions
of his unhappy race : the lovely Margarette
whom he had early wedded, was destined to be
the partner of his blessings as well as the sha
rer of his woes. And here, let gratitude in
scribe a monument to his memory, which has
long since been graven in adament upon the
altars of a thousand affections. During that
awful scourge of Heaven which visited E
in 1823 and 4, when scarcely enough of the
living were found to bury the dead, our own
family were destined to suffer no little from its
deadly influences. At that time P was
not forgetful of former kindnesses. He atten
ded successively upon all the members of the
family, with a watchfulness and zeal that knew
no abatement, and all the recompense he could
Ik- induced to receive for his services was the
gratitude oft .ore he had relieved.
One might be induced to think from the ex- j
hition of a character so faintly drawn, th „t t.ie j
most peaceful and happy results must have
flowed in one unobstructed clunnel around the
altar of his affections, to cheer his despo .dan
spirit amid the oppression of the fancied ills o
life. But, alas ! by some merciless fate he
was destined, like the flexile reed, to tremble
before the gentlest breath of summer. He be
came the prey of a morbid fancy, and the de
monic workings of a vindictive melancholy
was seen to ravage wildly upon his manly
c.;Ceks. Though called to fill a high station
in tiie capacity of Surgeon to his country’s
arms, during a war with some of the Aborigi
nal tribes, he refused to go without assigning
such reasons as wore satisfactory to his friends.
All saw that a mighty change had been
wrought in bis feelings, though none suspected
by w hat unfortunate circumstance that change
might have been induced. His domestic re
lations seemed to move on under the most be
nign auspices, and there was nothing connec
ted with his history which might have led one
to suspect that he could lie an unhappy man.
Whatever may have been the predominant
spirit of misfortune, whether fancied or real,
vvaich rendered him the prey of a settled mel
ancholy, there were certainly a concatenation
of unfortune events which subsequently follow
ed each other that led to his final ruin. About
this time his father was attacked with the pre
valent disease, and fur the sake of better ac
commodations and readier medical attention,
he was moved to the home of ore who had
ever he considered other than a friend. Weil
j do 1 remember the last visit l paid the good old
man, in company with my father. It was im
pressed more forcibly upon my memory from
the fact of its being the earliest evidence I had
seen exhibited of t;.e triumph of Christianity
over the grim foe of man. lie died in despite
of the exertions of his loud son, leaving a last
ing impression upon the minds of all who be
held him, of the indestructibility and immortal
ity of the human spirit. This Unfortunate e
vent which had already proved so unspeakably
destructive to the happiness of the son, was
made tenfold more pregnant in its effect, from
the disgraceful and unchristian disposal made
of the corpse. Instead of being decently shrou
ded iu the halls of the Great, it was carried like
a loathsome and worthless object and deposited
in a barn, under the pretence of its infectuous
nature being deleterious to the family. The
next day some.two three friends, myself among
the number, carried it to the country and had
!it buried in the family cemetry. Returning
from thence, we met Dr. P -, riding in
i haste from the chambers of the sick to pay the
1 last honors due the remains of a beloved fa-
ther. I have witnessed, in my short career,
many countenances exhibiting the effects of
misery and despair, but in none of them have
I ever beheld more forcibly delineated the all
ol wretchedness than in his. Though I could
not feel myself the pangs that rent his bosom,
I could feel to pity a brother’s woe and weep
with him o’er the fate of a ruined family.
But this deadly stab to the vitality of his ex.
istance was but the beginning of sorrows.—
Stroke followed stroke in quick succession, un
til it seemed that death would scarcely leave a
single member of the family to perpetuate its
name to another generation. The young and
beautiful Eliza, bis much loved sister, lay at
my lather’s house on the very verge of the
grave, at the time these wretched scenes were
being acted out; and it was but a few days af
ter, before she, herself, was taken from these
mortal shores, and her remains deposited be
side the ficsh mound that covered the form of
her father. Under these appalling circum
stances the Doctor became almost a maniac.
Yet, Mary, his fond, affectionate little sister, had
survived the blast thus long ; and his griefs
were mitigated whilst he turned his affections
and centered them fondly on her. But, alas !
a few weeks had scarcely rolled around, ere
all his hopes were blasted again, and he found
that his lovely Mary, in the language of Poesy,
W'US
So often watered by affection’s tears,
Secured from every blast and bowling wind,
And made the object of untiring care ;
While ’neath its roo', unnoticed and unseen,
There preyed the lurking worms. The lovely flower
Unconscious, withered on its stem and died.”
One might lie induced to think that so
strange a succession of unfortunate providen
ces would have been sufficient to have broken
spirits,
Formed not with adamantine scarf around,”
hut surely, when coining in contact with one
so peculiarly sensitive, what better could have
been expected than a gradual sinking and giv
ing way of the constitution, Such evidently
was tire ease in his history. Though it came
not upon him with a sudden and desolating
crash ; long time bis better judgement held
fierce contest with the warring elements of his
passions—and Reason, seated upon her throne,
contended successfully against tire demoniac
spirit, despair. But she evidently was losing
her influence in the councils of his intellect,
and there was great cause to fear that sire must
ultimately Ire dethroned. The first evidence
he exhibited of mental hallucination was an
attempt to destroy himself, by taking a large
quantity of laudnum. 1 lis unhappy wife who
had snspected some such design, which was
now evidenced by his uncommon somnolency,
sent in haste for medical assistance, and by an
expeditious use of the stomach pump he was
lor this time saved the wretched fate of the
Suicide’s grave.
For a few years subsequent to this period
his history became a perfect blank to me, ex
cept what I have heard related by his friends,
owing to my leaving E , to wander a
broad on the surface of human cxistance to
seek in the mines of science the costly stores
of knowledge, and gather rich treasures of dear
bought experience withal. At the termination
of that period I returned to E-—-—, just at
t're time when the unpleasant means were be
ing put into operation which induced him to
take away that existence which God had be
stowed upon him for high and noble purposes.
1 met and conversed with him and must con
fess was somewhat chagrined, at the seeming
coldness with which I was received. But when
I learned his eldest daughter was Lying at the
point of death I could easily forgive what I had
fancied a lack of friendship, on his part; for
1 could read in his countenance an air of wild
ness which did not seem congenial with spirits
in this sphere ofexistance.
The next morning as I was passing the
street, the bell-man handed me a notice of the
death of his child, and an invitation to the fu
neral that afternoon. Poor P ! from
that moment his destiny seemed to have been
sealed. He was never himself again, and from
circumstances which subsequently showed
themselves, it was believed that the death of
his daughter was a prime mover to the perpe
t: ation of the horrid crime of suicide. He was
known to be very mild and equable in his tem
perament, but a few days before bis child’s ill
ness on account of something she had done
which displeased him very much, he had struck
her once or twice with his whip—tire only time
she had ever received such a correction in her
life. The sensative little creature was thrown
I into a fever, as her father was said to have be
lieved from this very circumstance, being con
stituted, like himself, with a most attenuated
nervous system. During her illness she would
evince for Irer father the most exalted affec
tion, and if premonished of her coming desti
ny, would say, “ Oh, Pa ! it is no use to give
m« any medicine, fyr I cannwt live !”
distracted parent suspected himself the cause
of all he affliction, and would seemingly', by his
actions, entreat her to live tor his sake if for
nothing else. I?ut it was all in vain, and in a
few days she became the victim to a fever sup
posed to have been induced by her peculiar
morbid sensitiveness of mind.
From this time his friends began to suspect
his intentions more seriously than formerly, as
many of them could see in his manner the
wildness of a diseased mind. These fears were
soon proven to be too well grounded. One
day he callod upon a young lawyer, and with
more sprightliness of manner than usual, ask
ed him to lend him a pistol, saying he wanted
to destroy some rats which anneyed him very
much in his shop. Without hesitation, Jus
friend loaned him the pistol, and he returned
to his office, and in a very few moments the re.
port was hoard by several individuals who
were in the neighborhood. Two or three per.
sons who were in the rear of his shop, having
seen him just the moment before standing at
his back window with u wild, distracted air,
immediately ran to see why he fired the pis.
tol. To their utter astonishment, they Iburid
him lying on his back, a perfectly mangled
corpse. He had placed the pistol under his
chin, which blew off the cap of his skull, und
loft some of the remnant of his once active
brain attached to the ceiling above. Ile had
given no person the least intimation of his in,
tention, and seemingly made no preparation
for such an event, as regarded his temporal con.
cens. Though from his earliest youth he had
been a strictly pious man, and professed strong
faith in the merits of the Redeemer, and doubt
lessly had it not have been for the influence of
a morbid sensitiveness which he could not mas
ter, would have been one of the last to have
laid violent hands upon himself Many were
the conjectures made in relation to himself;
many the reasons urged why he perpetrated
the deed ; but after all it remains enshrouded
in the same mystery which has ever hung ar.
ound it. Unlike other suicides, he never left
the least scrap of writing by way of farewell to
his wife or friends, or as tiie expression of those
unfortunate feelings which had led him to so
unnatural a crime. For myself, I was always
consoled with tho idea that no one who had
possessed such feelings as himself, in relation
to Christianity, could have ever committed such
a deed while in a state of perfect sanity. And
I doubt not that the virtues of my unfortuate
and unhappy friend, will yet tell for him in the
day of eternity, Reader! if you have Ire,
come interested in his history, you may see the
little spot where his remains repose so sweet
ly, free from the ills of this incongenial life, in
the church-yard at E , and you may
read upon the marble slab that covers his
grave —
“ Sacred to the Memory of
Sleep, troubled soul, in lonely silence here,
Far from the giddy and unthinking crowd 5
While sentiment lets fall an humble tear,
Worth more to thee than marbles to the proud.**
MEDJCUS.
For the Southern Poet.
Tliere lived some years ago, in one of the
districts of South Carolina, an individual
known by the name of George Waltham,
whose singular habits attracted much atten.
tion. Having heard of this strange person
age, curiosity induced me to call upon him.
He met me at the door and politely asked me
to walk in ; after a few moments convt rsa
tion, he absented himself, and in his absence
I took a survey of the apartment. I never
saw a more wretched abode—an old clothes
chest, a ricketty old table, and two chairs com.
prised the main portion of the furniture.
After a brief interval he returned, and ob.
served, “ I suppose, Sir, you are curious to
know who, and what I am; the coarsest rui
ment, the simplest food, and a bare shelter
from the storm, are the limits of my bodily
wants; and as for my mind, riches cannot
purchase it happiness. I will now endeavor,
irksome as is the task, to recount to you the
cause of my living so secluded from all socie
ty*
I once lived in an atmosphere of sunny
smiles, amid the gay and cheerful, and among
the latter, there was one pre-eminent, who was
robed with surpassing beauty ; her breast was
whiter than the feathers which veil the hire 1
of the Penquin; her cheeks surpassed t
rose opening to the morning sun; her fi e
eyes had a mixture of sensibility' in them which
spoke feeling to the soul; her shape and ere -.
plexion, the eveness of her teeth, the brU t.
ness of her fine hlack hair, and that air of
sprightliness and mirth dispersed all over her
person, were as toueing and engaging as the
languishing softness of an Isadora.
I became passionately fond of this young
lady, and was incessantly haunted with the
idea that fate had destined us for each othe..
At length I wrote a letter, and sent it to her
NO. 20.