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From the Baltimore Monument.
MELANCHOLY.
by josern b. hayes.
“ There’s nothing either good or bad,
But thinking makes it so.”
Though till men are more or less subject to
melancholy, it is a feeling which in a great
measure depends upon habit. Constitutional
differences indeed render some men more sub
ject to it than others, but even then, I airt in
clined to think it is more incidental than origi
nal arising, perhaps, front an indolent habit
of body, or a partial stagnation of the intellec
tual faculties.
This is rendered more probable, when we
reflect that the higher classes of society, who
are generally the most idle, complaim most of
that morbid slate o! mind which they term
ennui. When perhaps, n great deal ol that
uncouth gavety. which in the vulgar is called
a want of thought, is, in truth, the result of
activity. If this be true, it is well worthy our
uttent'on, as it forms a great share of our
temporal happiness or misery, the consequence
of our own actions, and renders us more cm
pliaticallv the architects of our on n destiny.
So far as physical causes, such as above
alluded to, tend to produce melancholy, the
remedy is within th reach of every one.
But if it be of a purely mental character, a
different, but very analogous treatment seems
to be required. , I
The mind must operate bv and upon itself-
It is an active agent, which like the body, re
quires not only its proper aliment, but also a
proper degree of exercise. It these are not
duly supplied.it either wastes its vigor on aiiy
trifles, or turning inward, preys upon itself.
Thus debilitated, the rniiul naturally falls into
a sickly melancholy. Hence it should never
be the passive recipient ot chance impressions,
hut kept so employed that all its faculties may
be brought into * .action ; choosing always
those subjects which are in themselves ealeu-1
luted to elevate and improve, and carefully
avoidingtho.se of a contrary teiuli ncy.
The mind, generally, adapts itself to the na
ture of the object which it contemplate. We
have the power in most cases, of contempla
ting such objects as we please ; therefore, il we
employ our thoughts on pleasaing subjects
only, or upon those of a different nature,
which our peculiar circumstances may thrust
upon us, this much desired end may be par
tially accomplished.
But it may be said, that our circumstances
might be such as to present not a single [(leas
ing image—nevertheless, i answer, the darkest
picture must have light and shade, and even il
we must look upon the shade, let us view it in
conjoin .ion with the light, and indulge the
pleasing hope of surmounting every difficulty.
This will relieve its gloom, for hope can make
the very desert blossom as a rose. Hope is
the parent of exertion, and exertion conquers
difficulties; but error and inaction are both
the_cau.se and effect of melancholy.
A mind which tamely > ields to indolence,
or dwells on objects of a gloomy character,
becomes in time incapable of the most ordinary
occupations of life, and finally, perhaps, falls
a victim to the hideous gorgons of its own
creation. Thus the pleasures of the present
hour tre often poisoned by unnecessary antici
pations of future evil, anti real advantages are
permitted to pass unheeded and unimproved,
while w.: are vainly repining the want of those
which we have not the energy to acquire.
The present is always with us, but the past
is irrevocable, and the tuture may never come:
it is therefore equally vain to sorrow for the
past, or to fear tlie future, provided the present
moment be properly employed. Ile who does
his duty in this respect, has neither leisure nor j
inclination for melancholy. His modest ex
pectations arm him against
and while a conscious rectitude of conduct
fortifies him against misfortune on the one
hand, a just appreciation of earthly things clias.
tens on the other; thus equal to either for
tune, his laudable exertions are ciowned with
the golden means of contentment.
Melancholy, like love, is not to be cured by
herbs, and yet much might be said in favor of
some artificial remedies which I have heard of.
Thus, if unpleasant objects are presented to
our eyes, can we not shut them out, or turn
ourselves away ? Nay, we may avoid those
places in which we may expect to meet with
tliein ; hence we often find a change of resi
dence recommended to persons who have
suffered much in any particular place, in order
that they may no longer see objects which re
mind them of their misfortunes. We may
likewise by an intellectual effort, banish un
pleasant ideas, and restrain the ravages of
imagination, lest they should lead to the wan
ton sources of melancholy.
And h*v is this to bo accomplished ! I
answer, chieily by attention. It is this active
power ofthe mind which places restraint upon
it, confines it to a point, and compels it to any
particular subject or train of ideas.
While reading or studying, this faculty is
more or less vigorously employed, during
which time the mind is unconscious of any
emotions except those which its present occu.
patiou is calculated to excite. What better
remedy then, for a mind inclined to melan
choly, than a close attention to intellcetnnl
pursuits! which tend not only to strengthen
and develop its beauties, but also to purify it as
a running stream is purified by its constant
motion. Beside it will be raised up and facilita
ted by the cheeri ig prospect of ultimate suc
cess in the pursuit of knowledge, which never
fails to attend such laudabie exertion. If it be
wrong to dissipate the vigor ofthe mind by
heedless wanderings amid the wilds of fancy,
how much the more may it be said of the mind
that yields itself a piey to the exaggerated
hydras of melancholy.
Finally, if 1 were asked the best remedy for
melancholy, I should use the words of De
mostlienes. who upon being asked the three
grand requisites of oratory, replied— Action !
action ! ! action !! !
Oa. 30/4, 1838.
Patrick Noble, of Abbeville, has been elec
ted, by llie Legislature, Governor of South
Carolina ; the *oU; was for Noble 90—Col.
Elmore 53. Dr. Tlios. Smith, of Darlington
was elected Lieutenant Governor by the sail e
body, by a majority of o.ie vote over I)r. 11
K. ilenagen. of Marlborough district.
NOBLE CONDUCT OF TWO SEAMEN.
The generous character of a sailor is pro
verbial, but seldom has it fallen to our happy
i lot, to record an act more truly noble, than the
following, which took .place a few days ago in
this city. A poor widow woman, who occu
pied two rooms in a house in the lower part
of Commercial-street, since the death of her
husband, about six months since, has been
comjielled to earn a living for herself, and a
family of young children, by taking in wash
ing, and with all her industry, and economy,
her quarterly rent bill became due, before she
could scrape together sufficient to discharge it.
Unfortunately for her, the landlord was one of
“Old Cru.ah’s” school, cold and calculating,
mercinary and unfeeling. llis sole business
was to collect his rents, and all bis recreation
seems to be, to distress the virtuous. She beg
ged of him to grant her time. He gave her
two days—she asked for more, and he refused,
stating, that unless her rent was paid before 12
o’clock on the following day, every stick of
her furniture should be put out of doors. The
time arrived, when agreeable to promise, his
lackevs were sent down, and the threat was
begun to lie [.at into execution. The | oor
woman prayed the unfeeling landlord to desist
in his purpose, hut her prayers were in vain.
At length, giving up entirely o despair, and
wounded pride, she seated herself upon her j
forlorn bed, with her children crying around (
her. At this crisis, two jolly American tars.
happened by, and espying the work going on,
the door open, and the wretched woman and
her children weeping, immediately stopped
their course, and began to reconnoitre.
“I say shipmate.” cried one, “there oesome
foul play going on in these waters —let’s over
liawl the craft '!' ’
“ Aye. aye, Jack,” replied the other, “ the
young ’oman by the bed, has hoisted signals
of distress—her pumps are going in right ar
nest —let’s give her a long hail.”
The tars called the woman to them, and
from her soon learnt the whole of Ley story.
“ Well, now shipmate, if that land-pirate
had’nt ought to be lathered with hot tar, scrap’d
.with a rusty hoop, and then keel-hauled, for
laying his grapling irons on the few loose spars
what are scattered about this wreck. Never
mind rnv good ’oman, keep your spirits up,
and we’ll set you in tl e right course, with
plenty of ballast and provisions. I say you
land-lubbers just belay there upon them things,
and we’ll be ’sponsible for the damage.”
“ How much do you owe this land-pirate ?”
The woman told him the amount, when Jack j
took from his wallet the same in hard curren
cy and paid the bill, made the woman a present
of a handful of silver, while his shipmate-in thej
meantime, went to a butcher’s shop, near by, j
and brought back a large joint of meat, for
the dinner of herself and poor children. They
left, after receiving the poor woman’s bles
sings, and wishes for their prosperity, and
went whistling through the streets as though!
nothing had happened. Boston Herald.
PROOF THAT A MAN IS DEAD.
A subscriber to one of the Eastern papers,
a few years ago, being sadly in arrears for the
same, promised the Editor that if his life was
spared to a certain day, he would, without fail
discharge his bill. The day passed and the
hill was not paid. The natural conclusion
then was, that the man was dead—absolutely
defunct. Proceeding on this conclusion, the
Editor, in the next paper, placed the name of
the delinquent under tlie obituary head, with
the attending circumstances of time and place.
Pretty soon after this announcement, the sub
ject of it appeared to the Editor—not with the
pale and ghastly countenance usually ascribed
to apparitions—but with face as read as scar
let. Neither did it, like other apparitions, wait
to he first, spoken to, but broke silence with—
“ What the devil, sir, did you mean by publish-,
ing my death?” “Why, sir, the same that I
mean when I publish the death of any other
person, viz: to let the world know that you
were dead!” “Well, but I’ll bee—s—d if lam
dead !” *• Not dead ! then it’s your own fault,
foryou told me you would possitively pay your
bill by such a day, if you lived till that t ime.
The day is passed, the bill is not paid, and
you positively must he dead—for I will not
believe you would forfeit your word ; O, no.”
“1 see you have got around me—Mr. Editor
but say no more about it—here’s the monev.
And, harkee, my wag, you contradict my death
next week, will you !”
“ O, certainly, sir, just to please you ; though
upon my word, I can’t help thinking you died
at the time specified, and that you have really
come back to pay this bill on account of your
friendship to me.”
home.
No man of sensibility, after battling with the
perplexities ofthe outer door world but retires
with a feeling of refreshment to his happy fire
side; he hears with jov the lisp ofthe cherub
urchin that climbs upon his knee to tell him
some wonderful tale about nothing, or feels
with delight the sott breath of some young
daughter, whose downy peach-like cheek is
glowing close to his own. lam neither a hus
band nor a father, but I can easily fancy the
feeling of supreme pleasure which either must
experience. Let us survey the world of busi
ness. “ What go we out for to see ?” the
reed of ambition shaken by the breath of the
multitude; cold hearted traders and brokers,
traffickers and overreachers, anxious to cir
cumvent, and turn to his purse the golden tide
in which all would dabble. Look at the homes
of most of these. There the wife waits for
her husband ; and while she feels that anxiety
for his presence, which may be called the hun
ger of the heart, she feeds her spirit with the
memory of his smile, or perhaps looks with
fondness upon the pledges of his affection as
they stand like olive branches around his table.
Poughkeepsie Journal.
FRANKLIN.
It is rather a curious incident, that when the
American Congress sent Dr. Franklin, a prin
ter, ns Minister to Franee, the Court ot Ver
sailles sent M. Girard, a bookbinder, as Minis
ter to the United States. When Dr. Frank
lin was told of it, he exclaimed, “ Well, I’ll
i print the Independence of America, and M.
* Girard will bind it.”
THE SOUTHERN POST.
To the Editor of the Georgia Journal.
Sir —l furnish you with tha extract of a
j letter from a gentleman of high standing, in
'.he State of Kentucky, to a Senator in the pre
sent Legislature of Georgia, with a request
that you publish it, as a matter containing val
uable information for the present Legislature
and the people of our State.
A friend of Internal Improvement.
Henderson, Ky., 29th Oct., 1838.
Dear Sir —The project for a Rail Road
from Henderson to the terminus of the West
; erti and Atlantic Road, springs out of the
known and acknowledged necessities and in-;
! terests ot both, yours and our sections of our
j common country. Each of these sections is
j large enough for an empire, and is possessed
of resources and facilities which are inexhaust-j
ible. All that is required to bring their ener-j
g:es into the fullest action an the subject of the
proposed road, is discussion, a due understan
ding of their own interests, and entire concert
; among the leaders in the enterprize.
The principle on which the project is foun.
j ded, is briefly this; your planters want our
meats, bread-stuffs, mules, horses, in a word,
jail our agricultural staples: and your mer
chants desire to buy or become factors for our
exports, and in exchange to furnish us with
our merchandize. So dear has been the con
viction of both your Planters and Merchants
tiiat this character of intercourse with us, will
lie immensely profitable, that your State and )
Citizens have expended and are expending near !
six millions of dollars in opening a communi
cation with the West through the Tennessee
River.
Our Western people have an interest scarce
ly less deep than yours in opening this inter
course. They want, and must shortly have,
an additional market for their agricultural pro
ducts, or they will Ire driven to abandon in a
great measure the culture of the present sta
ples, in consequence of our production. They
also have a most important interest in buying
their merchandize and selling their produce at
someone point, and thus avoiding the immense
losses resulting from fluctuations in exchange,
loss of time, paying many mercantile profits
and heavy expenses, incident to our present
system of buying at the East and selling in the
Southwest. The two sections want each oth
ers commodities, let them unite in preparing
the means of a mutual exchange.
All that is required to enlist all the energies
of both yours and our section in the construc
tion of our road is that character of discussion
which will diffuse among the inhabitants of
both, a proper estimate of its value. Let them
he convinced that it is their interest to make
the road, and the only difficulty in the enter
prize will be overcome; the road will be made.
In this vii w it is undoubtedly the best policy
for its friends to avail themselves of newspa
pers, public debates, conventions, indeed every
mode of producing a general conviction of its
value.
That the route from Henderson to Ross- '•
ville is the shortest and most practicable rail
road route from the West to the Southwest,!
there is but little doubt. From Henderson to
Nashville is 140 miles, and from.an intimate!
knowledge of the country, I am confident that;
in constructing this part of the road there will
be not only no inclined plane requiring station, j
ary power, but that the maximum grade willj
not exceed from 30 to 35 feet. From Nash
ville to Rossville I am not personally acquaint
ted with the country, but from the best and
most undoubted information, it is singularly!
favorable. The distance isals utone hundred
miles ; and as to a part of it, Mr. Hearing of
your State writes as follows to Gov. Gilmer:
“ I have just passed over the road leading
tiom Murtreesliorough to lloss’s Landing, and
I wav, very agreeably disappointed in this pro
f.ic of country ; with the exception of about 8 j
miles across the Cumberland Mountain the
ground is favorable for the construction of a!
Hail Road ; I do not believe that any station-j
ary power would be required on the line, ex
cept a short distance of 1 toll-2 miles as-j
rending and descending the Cumberland!
- Mountain. Indeed, Sir, from a personal ac-j
jquaintance with the country, it is the on'yj
practicable Rail Road route to connect the'
Town of Nashville with the Atlantic and Wes-|
i tern Rail Road.” This high commendation !
of the worst part of the route of our proposed
road, is fully sustained by all the other infer-;
mution which l have obtained.
The rout i and proposed terminie ofthe Hen
derson and Rossville Road, are not only fixed
by nature in the peculiarly favorable country
over which it is to run, but by the interest,
and the established and partly completed inter- j
nal improvement systems of the several States'
interested in its construction. The Wabash
and Erie Canal of Indiana, is 144 miles in j
length, and extends from Manhattan, at the'
mouth ofthe Maumee in Lake Erie by Fort
Wayne, (its sumfnit level) to Lafayette, and
! thence down the Wabash to Terre Haute, at
which point it unites with a cross cut Canal of!
24 miles in length which connects it with the j
Central Canal 110 miles from Evansville. Os
this Canal 110 miles between Fort Wayne and I
i Lafayette, are finished, and 166 miles between
Manhattan and Fort Wayne are under con- j
i tract, and will be finished by the Ist October,!
1839. The cross cut Canal is nearly finished,
j Twenty miles of the Canal from Evansville!
! North are finished, and much more under!
| contract. Intersecting this Canal at Evans, j
ville, Terre Haute and Lafayette, there are
three Rail Roads in Illinois, extending through)
die richest and most productive portion of that
State, to the Mississippi River, and through
that River furnishing means of intercourse,
i with the most fertile portions of Missouri, Wis
consin and lowa—Parts of all these Rail
Roads are now und ir contract. The States
of Indiana and Illinois have appropriated, the
first shout SI 0,000,000, and the second about
512.0tt0.000, to these works ; and thev will
lie finished beyond all doubt. Under their
present systems, Evansville will be the termi
! nus of all these Improvements and the depot
of tlie immense trade which will pass along
them. Is not that place marked then by the
hand of nature, as of man, as the Ohip termi
nus of the Atlantic and Western Rail Rond ?
Rossville, or’some point near it, is not less
strongly marked by Georgia as Hie place of
ij intersection between her system and the Hen-
H derson Road ; Evansville, Henderson, and
I Nashville, are or wifi ere long, be vast collec
ting points for produce, wh ch Savannah, and
the people of Georgia want; should they not
come direct and get them ? By forcing us to
adopt circuitous and expensive routes in carry
ing our produce to them; they either will
compel us to abstain from trading with them,
jor tax themselves with the increased cost of
transportation. Too much money and labor
! have been expended on the roads and canals,
both in the West, and South, for them to be
changed, even if a change were desirable,
\ which it is not. These with othej considera
tions presented in my letters to Gov. Gilmer,
j as it seems to me, fix the location of the pro
posed road, beyond all question, and also,
prove its value and importance.
*******
SPIRIT OF MCKENZIE’S G-LZF-TTE.
As this paper lias become the organ ofthe
Reliels in the Canadas, as well as the Rebels
for the Canadas, w hat it says, is worth atten
tion. Bill Johnson writes, “Near Auburn,
Dec. 4,” that Gen. Birge ought to be burnt or
tiling.” Johnson calls him an arrant coward.
A writer from St. Albans, says, “ Every at
tempt we make, will cost Great Britain millions.
We stop emigra ion—we ruin the British
trade. Should they (the Government) exe
cute one prisoner, we will retaliate.” W. W.
Dodge, publishes an affidavit, that Sergeant
Norman of the Coldstream Guards no way
aided him in his escape from Quebec, (Nor
man has been thrown into prison on suspicion
of having furnished laudanum to Theller and
Dodge to stupify the Guards.) Thomas
O’Connor, New-\ork, proposes to receive
subscriptions for the relief of the suffering
Canadians.
The Boston Transcript thus facetiously her
alds the great struggle in that State ;
TING-A-LING, TING-A-LING, TiNG-A-LING.
All those ’ere passengers what’s agoin’ to
take passage up Salt River, in the steamer Mi
nority, on Monday next, will please step to the
Cap ns office and settle. Gcmmen what bus
two tickets may secure state rooms in the cab.
in, but gemmen what has only one ticket, will
have hunks made up in the steerage. Indi
widuals what go as deck passengers, must
provide their own grub. No smoking aft,
and no passenger allowed to fry sassengers or
roast cheese at the furnaces. No credit given
at the bar, and no more luggage will be al
lowed than can be put in a han ikorch er—
cause the boat’s crank.
A olebeny —Them as are fat and heavy, must
sleep midships, and mind the roll, so as to keep
the boat in trim.
A gentleman named Huy, of Bruges, has
imagined a mode of walking, or even running,
on the surface of the water, by means of a
small balloon, which being attached to the up
per part ol the body, is to be a counterpoise to
its weight ot the atmosphere. Two pieces of
wood floating on the water, and attached by
means of cords to the two extremities of a bar,
suspended by the middle to the cord of the
balloon to keep it from rising. The progress
of the individual in walking on the surface of
the water is to lie facilitated by wide and wood
en sandals fixed on the feet.
Sir William Cmtis has been for many years
in Alderman of Loudon, and for some time
was a representative of that city in Parliament.
Yet he is generally believed to be a man of
shallow mind, grossly ignorant, and illiterate.
Among the absurdities attributed to him is,
that of giving the following toasts at public
dinners:
The British Tars of Old England.’
‘ A speedy peace, and soon.’
‘ The three C’s—Cox, King, and Curtis.’
At a school dinner—
“ The three R’s—Reading, Riting, & Rith
mctic.’
‘ The female Ladies of London.’
At the celebration of peace in 1815-, —
“ Peace all over the World and every where
else.”
FUN.
“ Mamma,” said a little fellow, whose mo
ther had forbid his drawing horses and ships
on the mahogany sideboard with a sharp nail
—“ Mamma, this amt a nice house. At Sam
Rackett’s we can cut the sofa,and pull out the
hair, and ride the shovel and tongues over the
carpet; but here we can’t get anv fun at
all !”
STEAM ENGINES.
The French Institute have subjected to care
ful investigation, the various circumstances
connected with the explosion of steam boilers,
and an ordinance of the King, founded most
probably upon the conclusions of the Acade
my, decrees:
Ist. That no high pressure engine shall be
established without a license.
2d. That every proprietor shall declare be
fore the proper authority, the degree of press
ure with which his machine is intended habitu
ally to act.
3d. That no high pressure engine shall be
erected without having its strength previously
determined by the hydraulic press. That ev
ery boiler shall be able to sustain five times the
force under which it is to act. That the in
tended pressure shall be stamped upon it, and
that no boiler shall be erecte I until it receives
this stamp.
4th. That two safety valves shall be adapted
toeach boiler, so large that either of them can
disengage the steam with sufficient rapidity—
one of them to be at the disposal of the fire
man, and the other covered with a grating,
locked, and the key kept by the proprietor.
sth. That two round plates shall be enclo
sed in the boiler, one of which to be at least e
qual in diameter to the safety valve, and to be
composed of a mixture of metals which will
melt or soften at a temperature of 10® “centi
grade,” above that of the ‘-boiler,” the otherof
double the diameter inserted near the locked
valve, and of such a composition as to soften
at 20° centigrade above the heat ofthe boiler,
these plugs to be stamped with the degree at
w hich they are fusible.
iilliman'* Jour. v. 9, p. 303.
ORIGINAL.
For the Southern Post. !
The Loves of an Attorney.
It has been a matter of much regret to me,
that while poets have sung the *• Pleasures of
Hope” and the “ Pleasures of the Imagina
tion” no patriot number of my profession has,
yet been found to trumpet forth the pleasures
,of an Attorney. The loves, ah o, of all living
things, from “ The loves of the angels” to!
“ The loves ofthe shell-fishes,” have been cele
brated in sweet sounding rhyme, while the ef
fects of the grand passion of an Attorney,
have not yet lound an historian, even in honest j
and unpretending prose. Mine then shall be
the task to poitray them, and mine own, the:
loves that form the subject of this great effort.
I was a remarkable enterprizing boy, and j
made out to work myself, at the age of twelve
into a huge passion ibr a very demur littie in
fant, who had numbered about as many years, j
But as,my heart was first caught by (1 do know
what) and my affections were withdrawn from
their object on account of their conceived slight
from her, in playing “ scorn,” I will pass from
this “my first love,” with the single remark,
that at this early period 1 formed an attach
ment for moonlight nights and learning several
lines of Moore’s,
“ When at eve thou rovest,
By the star thou Invest,” &,c.
Several flames of a similar character, in the
course of the three or four following years,
blazed up in my susceptible bosom, brilliantly
for a short period —flickered and went out.
The next epoch in the history of my affections,
was my sixteenth year.
I have before me (only in imagination dear
friend) a face that utterly bullies my skill in
portrature —I might say that it was sweet,
angelic, intellectual ; I might use a thousand
such generally descriptive terms, but I should
convey no idea of the young girl my memory
lias conjured up, and who sits smiling before
me as if in mockery of my vain efforts.
What shall I do? Shall I commence an in
ventory of her charms, classify and combine
them, add beauty to beauty, grace to grace
perfection to perfection, until 1 have work
ed up the portrait into loveliness equal to
the original? Or shall 1 try comparisons and
similes, and describe her in a rhetorical figure ? j
1 like the latter idea best. It is soonest ac
complished and will display the brilliancy of my
fancy. Flowers, it is said, are the language
of love, I will make them the vehicle of my!
description of lovely woman, there is some-:
thing in their light, delicate and transcient'
beautv, so like her of whom 1 write, and withal, i
so like her love for me, that they are admira
bly to my present purpose, once more then,
let me address myself to thee, kind friend, and
ask thee if thou hast ever seen a water-lily —a
young, tall, slender, graceful water lily ? It
thou hast, thou hast seen something ns young,
perhaps half as tall, and probably even more
! slender; but certainly not half so graceful as
Helen G., whin in her fifteenth year. Afier
all, 1 do not think water-lilies are perfectly to
the description of a female beauty. They
answer well enough as long ns we confine our
j observations to the figure, face, complexion,
&c., and are even useful when writing about
eyes ; as for instance :
“ Her floating eyes—oh! they resemble
Blue water lilies, when the breeze
Is making the stream around them tremble.’’
But when we come to the expression of the
countenance, water-lilies, and all other flowers,
are dead letter. There are a thousand beau
ties which they have no language to convey.
Since writing the above quotation, it has
occurred to me that a poetical would be better
than a flowery description of my Helen. There
is something in the very softness of poetry, its
refinement, its elevation, its enthusiasm ; so
congenial with the female character —so allied
to feminine loveliness, that it is singular the
idea should not have entered my pericranium
before. But, alas ! lam an attorney, and there
is a manifest incongruity between poetry and
law. But if I eannot write I can quote it;
and, with a proper admixture of political quo
tations and prose writing, I think I shall be
able to convey to the reader some idea of one
who exercised a controlling influence over my
early, very early life.
When first 1 knew Helen G., she was not
fifteen, half woman, half child—uniting the
light-hearted gaiety and playfulness of the one,
with the intelligence and the accomplishments
of the other.
“ Oh, she was beautiful! her flowing hair
Hung in profusion round her neck of snow,
And oft, in maiden glee and sportiveness,
Her gentle hand would catch her clustering curls,
And bind them in a braid around her brow.
Oh, she was beautiful! her graceful form
Moved upon earth so lightly and so free—
She seemed a seraph wanderer of the sky,
Too bright, too pure, too glorious for earth."
Oh, she was beautiful ! and, my eyes told
her so ; and a stifling, choking sensation I ex-:
perienced on taking tier hand to bid her fare
well some months after my first acquaintance,!
told me, what a sudden burst of tears, a mo
ment afterwards told her, that I, sweet youth,
was in love with her. Was it sympathy that
for a moment dimed her laughing eye ? Was
it with feeling that her voice trembled and hen
lip quivered, as she expressed the hope that she
should soon see me again ? Was it with an
ger that her cheek crimsoned, as I, for the
first time stole a kiss from her lips? I know not
for I hastened from her presence, bewildered,
amazed, sobbing, happy, foolish ! She went
ito school, and I was desolate. I continued
my accustomed pursuits, but they no longer
j possessed interest for me. I resorted to my
old amusements, but the lightness of spirit that
once gave zest to them, was with me no longer.
My eyes would wonder over the pages of my
books, but they might as well have rested on
vacancy, for my heart was with its owner, and
my fancy was busy in scenes enlivened by herj
presence. For four months I thus remained,!
partly happy, and partly miserable, but always I
idle. This dreaming life was interrupted by !
the actual presence of her who was the spirit!
of it. 1 did not let “concealment prey upon j
my damask cheek,” but told mv love, and was,
happy—happy for one short month, which
: tieing the utmost limit of a boarding school
vacation, 1 was once more separated from
j the object of my young idolitry.
Years passed before I saw her again, and I
had become an actor on the busy stage of life •
a whirlwind of human passions and cares had
swept over the heart once occupied with her
image ; but through all changes and through
all temptations I had garnered up in it the
recollection of my early affection, and with an
unwavering devotion had guarded it from the
grosser and more selfish that began to find an
entrance there.
“ We met—’twas in a crowd,”
at a large party. She was a gay, dashing,
fashionable woman ; sunound id by admirers
and flatterers, to whom she was dispensing
with wonderful ease and grace the wolds, and
nods, and smiles, without which they assured
her they could not exist. 1 think I observed
a slight fluttering in her manner as 1 approach,
el. I think the hue of her cheek was a little
less brilliant, and that her voice was a little
tremulous, as she answered my congratula.
tions on her arrival at . One moment
convinced me that the school girl’s love was
forgotten. The demon of fashion had taken
possession ofthe heart, for years I had foolishly
thought mine, and the love of admiration had
distorted a sweet, unaffected girl into a co.
quette. From the time I made this discovery
1 gave up all hope of further experience ofthe
“ grand passions, and determined, inasmuch
as a wife appeared indispensable to my reputa
ble standing in society, to make what is called
“a prudent marriage” that is, to marry a wo
man who had, what I had not, plenty of this
worlds gear. Yes my
“Tendersigh and trickling tear
Longed for a thousand pounds a year,”
not for the requisites of love in a cottage—for
the money itself—not for assistance in hasten
ing the departure of my own few straggling
farthings. Unfortunately for my matrimonial
prospects, the warmth of my new determina
tion carried me into extremes, and instead of
selecting for my future partner in life, a
moderately ugly woman, with a moderately
large fortune, I opened my batteries upon a
positive fright, with an estate larger than the
united domains of a score of German princes.
Alas ! she was the child of misfortune, and
my heart was from the first, drawn towards
her by the holy and blessed sympathy we feel
for those on whom the hand of affliction
presses. She had been bereaved of a father,
who, I presume was affectionate, and deserv
ing of her love, and was ihe only child of her
mother, and she (to wit, her [mother) was a
widow—a rich widow—very rich heiress. Poor
girl! was she not to be pitied ?
It was an afternoon in May. Sitting by her
in the back portico of her Mansion, “ in sweet
converse” my eyes was directed to the lovely
Savannah river that rolled majestically, its
smooth surface wending its way through the
green foliage that had intruded on its banks.
I was drafting a declaration of my feelings,
and had. with great care, framed one, to which
she could not possibly demur. lam not an
enthusiastic admirer of scenery of any descrip,
tion, and, with the exception of that dear little
animate production, the fairest of all, the works
of nature are unheeded by me, or passed with
an acknowledgment merely, not a feeling that
they are beautiful and glorious. But when I
looked upon the noble river before me, winding
its mighty current through a rich and bloom
ing country, decked with islands, and bordered
with green, and above all, when the setting
sun, collecting, as it were, all his glory in a
dying effort, threw his golden light over the
scene, I felt for once, that the works of nature
were beautiful; and that this world, notwith
standing the impassioned assertions of the
interesting young admirers of Byron, who, with
hanging head, bare throats, and black neck
handkerchiefs, bewail their blighted hopes, and
rail against their lot in having been created
mortals, was one in wh ih 1 might content
myself tolivo—to live, and live happy—happy,
even without the assistance of the fair dulcinea
who sat beside me.
1 gave up the idea of prudent marriage, and
my affections were once more afloat. But
love had become a disease with me. Liketho
stimulant of the opium-eater, or the potations
ofthe confirmed drunkard, its excitement be
came essential to my existence. My next
flame had but one fault, which unfortunately I
did not discover until my affections became |
almost irrecoverably fixed upon her. She
was the most brilliantly beautiful girl I ever
beheld. In form, feature and complexion, she
was unequalled ; and the dazzling brightness
of her eyes, the fine classic structure of her
head, and the air of easy grace which pervaded
all her movements, made her attractive in the
highest degree. I was a lover at sight. My
imagination, rdent as usual, made her in
mind all that I could wish. I was delighted
on first acquaintance, with the poignancy o
her remarks and bet sprightly powers of con
versation. I adored her. I opened to her the
inmost recesses of my heart; I gave vent to
romance, the enthusiasm, the poetry of my
nature. In a voice musical as the waterfall
that murmured near my feet, soft and sweet
as the summer night-wind that gently lifted my
hair I spoke to her of love, of love in the ab
stract, its hopes, its fears, its joys, its sorrows,
and, at last, 1 spoke to her my love ? 4 s
with a trembling hand I took hers, and with a
voice inarticulate with emotion, I proceede
with my tale. She suddenly turned around to
me, and said, “ now you needn’t think to cheat
me. I know what you want, \ouwantto
flirt with me and I wont.” ,
She was a stick, a stone, a warmed a'w
walking piece of marble, without a particle o
feeling or sentiment; beautiful as the finest
productions of the statuary, glowing to »P*
pearance, as the emenations of the painter*
but, in fact, as dead and insensible as either.
Interesting as these recollections are tome,
I fear to dwell longeron tliem, and will there
fore hasten to close. Repeated disappointin' nj
did not discourage me. Rejections were ? j
ten a relief. Long and persevering di' I
struggle against my fate, but I was obliged to
yield at length, and submit to my life of sing 6
blessedness. Other causes than those
which I have nlluded, have contributed tot ns
submission to my present destiny, but they
have also tended to make me satisfied with i •
My life, since all hope of change has depart o1 '*
and the fire and impetuosity of yfluth h^ e
given place to moderation of love and q iae *
tude, which come with the increase of y« a |' ? '
is not unpleasing to me. It is agitated but by