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CARPE DIEM.
BY J. A. TURNER.
Cakpf. Diem while you may,
Carpe, or ’twill fly away ;
Sieze the present moment soon,
Take it as thy blissful boon.
Carpe Diem, look not back ;
lime it on his rail-way track;
Meter think of future pain,
With it trouble not your brain
Carpe Diem, for to-morrow,
Brings its own amount of sorrow ;
You may learn when ’tis too late,
Present is the blissful state.
Carpe diem, quickly seize
F.very moment as it flees ;
Carpe diem, and be wise—
Envious time with fury flies.
(Original (Tnlrs.
For the Snutliern Literary Gazette.
THE
FAVOURITE OF THF CZAR.
an incident in THE REIGN OF PAUL I.
[From the French of Paul Beu.]
BV MRS. ANNE F LAW.
CHAPTER 1.
I'he catastrophe which terminated
tin life of Paul I. has been related in
ditFerent ways: We do not establish
ourselves as judges of the various opin
ions which have been formed upon this
fatal circumstance; yet, notwithstand
ing all that has been w ritten upon the
subject, w e are happy ill believing, that
the sons of the unfortunate monarch
did not participate in the bloody drama
which terminated the life of their father.
We can never admit that Alexander
authorized the murder which sullied
anew the throne of the Czars, and we
urge, as a proof of this, the mildness of
his manners, his filial piety towards
the Empress Maria, the nobleness and
th> generosity of his heart. As to
Constantine, it is well known what en
ergy lie manifested against this unheard
of crime ; —it is also known that the
nobility never forgave him the resent
ment he maintained all his life, against
the criminals, who owed their exemp
tion from punishment as much to the
youth of Alexander, as to their power.
The Emperor Nicolas, still a child,
could not be injured by the parricide
suspicions which fell on his brothers, —
but. had he been as old as they’, he
would also have revolted from taking
part in the guilty plot:—We desire
n<> further proof of this, than the in
flexible rigidty of his character, and his
tender affection for his family.
Soon after his accession to the Em
pire, Paul I caused the remains of Pe
ter 111. to be exhumed from the church
of Saint “Alexander"’ Newski: by his
order they were placed beside the body
of Catherine, in the Church of the for
tress of Saint Petersburg,—the sepul
chre of the Czars, —and thus he reuni
ted his father, and his mother, in the
same tomb; on which was engraved
this inscription : Divided during life , —
reunited after death ,
After this funeral ceremony, this act
of solemn reparation, in which, the
courtiers could remark that the new
Czar had preserved the memory of the
past, succeeded the pompous festival
of the coronation. Saint Petersburg
had just witnessed the burial procession
of Peter 111. when Moscow opened
her walls to the dazzling crowd, which,
from the old palace of the Czars, sped
on its way to the Church of the As
sumption.
Moscow, the holy city, with its three
hundred temples, its picturesque spires,
and its gilded cupolas; —Moscow, the
antique cradle of the Russian power,
which had already four times risen from
its ashes, and which sixteen years later,
was fated to resist a frightful shock,
and emerge more brilliant than ever
from the conflagration which devoured
it, —Moscow had cast off her signs of
mourning, to display her most shining
adornments; cypress branches gave
place to fresh garlands of flowers, the
dismal toll, to joyous peals from a
thousand bells, —the funeral chaunt,to
shouts ofjoy. “ The Emperor is dead !
to. Long live the Emperor!”
I’aul I, wished his coronation to be
celebrated with the greatest magnifi
cence ; he himself regulated and or
dered every thing. He even desired
that the costumes worn by the ladies
°f his court, should be modelled after
those which figured in the elegant
circles of the last Kings of France ;
an d it was thus, that the galleries ol
Moscow glittered with the pompous
splendour displayed at the fAtes of
’ ersailles.
The nobility of Saint Petersburg,
and those of the most important towns
of the Empire, assembled in this an
cient hospitable city, and this im
mense reunion displayed all the pa
geantry of a rich and sumptuous court.
1 hu* the desires of the new 1 zar
‘’ ci'e gratified!
In the midst of the festivities dis
played each day, and in which Paul
took part with the Empress F6d6orov-
i iWM mmm> mom to mtmatrm, t m a m im isihe mb to wksml wmmwsL
na, —the Emperor remarked, among
the brilliant circle of thousands of
beauties who were grouped around the
throne, a charming young girl. Her
timid candour, her innocent graces, her
modest ingenuousness, the delicacy of
her features, the mild expression of her
countenance, in truth, all pertaining to
her, charmed and captivated. The ob
ject of general admiration she could
not escape the attention of the Empe
ror. He approached her:
“Which,” said he, “is the happy
family who gave you birth ?”
“ Sire,” replied the young lady, “my
father is the senator Laponkhin.”
“ The former governor of our pro
vince of Jaroshaw ?”
The young lady bowed in reply.
“ It was from among your ancestors,
replied the monarch, that our illustri
ous grand-sire, Peter the Great chose
his first wife.”
Again the young girl bowed ; —but
this remembrance of the Emperor’s
did not excite in her the least sentiment
of vanity.
“ We regret that one of our most
faithful subjects has been condemned
to oblivion. Vou can announce to him,
that we intend to grant him the re
compense his services merit, and that
we do not wish to forget a family, in
which loyalty and beauty are heredi
tary.”
Anna Petrovna saluted the monarch
is such a manner, as to prove her full
comprehension of the last words he had
addressed to her, —while her cheeks
became suffused with blushes.
When she again raised her head, she
perceived that Paul had retired from
before her, and glancing her eyes in the
direction taken by the Emperor, —met
the countenance of one, who had watch
ed with avidity all the incidents of the
conversation,that w e have just recorded.
This person was the Prince Gagarin
(Paul Gravilevitch), a young officer
of distinguished merit, who served un
der the command of the celebrated
Souvarof.
From this moment, the remembrance
of Anna Petrovna, remained graven in
ineducable characters in the memory
of the monarch We shall soon per
ceive the effect produced upon the re
mainder of his life by this sudden im
pression,this violent passion,—of which,
the results we hasten to sav —could not
•t
alarm the most rigid censor.
Before resuming the thread of events
which we have to relate, we must re
call to our readers the influence to
which we find Paul subject, when he
mounted that throne which his mother
had surrounded with so much splendour.
Born w T ith a remarkable uprightness
of mind, and capable of the most gen
erous resolutions.—but exiled by Catha
rine, from a sphere where his good
qualities would have found continual
and happy application,—and over
whelmed with humiliations by his
mother's courtiers, whose favour ap
peared to increase in proportion to the
contempt they publicly professed for
her son, —Paul, saw himself constrain
ed to veil under the mask of rudeness
and originality, the resentment of in
justice, from which his residence at
Gatchina did not exempt him, and
w hich acted on an irascible character,
in which contrasts struggled without
intermission for alternate rule.
The continuance of this narrative
throw's but little light on the causes of
the mournful catastrophe which so hor
ribly terminated his days ; —but from
the Episode which we have borrowed
from his life, we may conclude that
Count Pain his governor, if he placed
him among the ranks of the czarovitch,
so instructed him, as to stifle his good
qualities, —and thus rendered him but
little worthy of the throne to which he
was called.
United at an early age to Marie of
Wurtemburg, a princess as gentle, as
she was virtuous, he had always main
tained w ith respect to her and his chil
dren, a dignified and attentive conduct.
Born in 1754, he attained his forty
first year at the time that his mother
terminated a life as brilliant as it was
glorious.
On ascending the throne, the new
Czar signalized himselt by a modera
tion and wisdom, which was supposed
he did not possess; affable and kind
towards all, he extened his benevolence
so far. as to preserve to the favourites
of Catharine, the same situations they
derived from her, —and even loaded
them with new favours. Such was
Paul at the commencement of his reign.
We can readily perceive why the hopes
raised, so soon vanished, —and why
his natural sensibility changed so sud
denly to a terrible and violent deport
ment.
CHAPTER 11.
A year had passed by since Paul I
placed upon his brow the heavy crow’n
worn by Catharine. Already the gene
rosity displayed by him on his acces
sion to the throne, began to be obliter
ated by violent measures, and hard
duties,distributed without more discern-
ment than had been manifested in the
testimonies of his munificence.
Occupied by the grave cases of his
empire, sometimes endeavouring to
swerve from the route traced by his
mother, —sometimes forcing himself
to follow, and even overpass it.—he
appeared to have forgotten the strong
impression produced on his mind by
the graces and charms of Anna La
ponkhin. Either the image of the
young Muscovite remained constantly
graven in his memory, and he forced
himself to cast it aside, or, it had in
truth left upon it but a fugitive impres
sion,—for the father of Anna, had not
yet, according to the promise of the
Emperor, become, the object r*f new
favours. Perhaps the young girl was
even flattering herself upon this forget
fulness, when an unforseen event oc
curred to revive remembrance in Paul,
or to give anew aliment to the pas
sion he sought to combat.
Gregory Demidoff, a gentleman of
the chamber, presented himself one day
before the monarch, asking him to au
thorize the union he was on the point
of contracting.
Paul considered this species of au
thority one of his most important pre
rogatives ; especially at this epoch,
when events in France resounded afar,
and he dreaded the effect of unequal
marriages, which, under the influence
of new ideas, might be contracted among
the Russian nobility.
“ \Y e hope,” said he to the gentle
man, “ that the w ife you have chosen
occupies at least an equal station to that
of the Denidotf’s ?”
“ More illustrious, and more exalted,
Sire, ’ the chamberlain hastened to re
ply, “ and such as the greatest lord of
your court would be happy to aspire to.”
“ You excite our curiosity, sir; and
w hich is then the noble family that has
agreed to your wishes ?”
“ It is that with which even Peter the
great sought an alliance, Sire.”
“ What do you mean V replied the
Czar, in so passionate a tone, as to dis
concert the gentleman.
“That the senator Laponkhin has
granted me the hand of his daughter!”
“ Retire, sir !” said Paul, with the
accent produced by violent rage.
Whilst the countenance of the Czar
changed from white to red, and his im
petuous violence escaped in vehement
exclamations, Gregory Deiiidoff with
drew himself precipitately from the
cabinent of the Emperor. The latter,
—under the impression of an indefina
ble sentiment, but which revealed at
last, more than the remembrance of his
ecounter with Anna Laponkhin, caused
an order to be executed, which, without
opposing the marriage of Gregory
Denidoff. exiled him from St. Peters
burg, and excluded him from active
services near the Emperor’s person.—
CHAPTER in.
After making a voyage to Cazan,
Paul I returned to Moscow. During
his sojourn in this city, and at one of
his receptions, he again saw the en
chanting features, the graceful and
beautiful figure of Anna Laponkhin.—
Undecided for a moment, whether to
shun, or submit to their captivating
powers, Paul approached Anna.
“ Our severity, displayed towards
our chamberlain,” said he, “ has doubt
less injured us in the estimation of his
beautiful wife ; but we regret that she
supposed us capable of the wish to in
clude her in the exile imposed upon her
husband.”
“ The wife of Gregory Demidoflf,
Sire, can mourn the disgrace of her hus
band, without complaining of the se
verity of his master.”
“ And if it happen that Gregory
Demidoff be restored to the favour of
the Emperor, what will you think then,
madam?”
“ That if he places no bounds to his
clemency, he knows how to limit his
severity.”
“You display so much grace in plead
ing the cause of the exile, madam, that
it would be a denial of justice not to
revoke our former decision. You can
announce to Gregory Demidoff', that
we, to day, grant him our royal favour,
and that he can resume, near our per
son, the office of which we deprived
him.”
“ So much goodness, Sire, will over
whelm my family with joy,—and I
hope your majesty will deign to ac
cept the expression of mv grateful ac
knowledgements.”
“ Your sovereign trusts that hence
forward his court will not be deprived
of one of its richest ornaments, and
that in our capitol, as at Moscow, you
will be the object of flattering homage.”
Anna did not understand the entire
sense of the words uttered by Paul; —
confused and embarrassed she stam
mered the following answ T er.
“ I am not apprized, Sire, that my
father has any intention of presenting
himself at Saint Petersburg.”
The Emperor fixed on Anna a look
which sought to penetrate her thoughts.
Relieved from her emotion, she only
CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, JULY 20. 1850.
presented an expression of mild can
dour.
“ Your noble heart,” replied the
monarch, “desires, I comprehend it. to
see concentrated in the same centre all
its affections ; we cannot but applaud
this wish, and we will be happy to con
tribute to its realization. We have
now’ to repair a great neglect, and if
we show’ ourselves benevolent towards
your husband, we will be just towards
your father.”
Again Anna remained confounded.
The language of the Czar became more
and more obscure.
“ I believe, Sire,” replied she w ith
embarassment., “you are either labour
ing under a mistake, or I do not com
prehend your majesty.”
“ Facts madam, are more significant
than words, and if we prayed you to
announce to your husband the return
of our confidence, —we also authorize
you to say to your father, that it is our
pleasure to add to his titles that of
‘most Serene,’ and that we do not limit
to this rank the price of the services
which he rendered our illustrious
mother.”
“If I am not in error, Sire, it has
already twice pleased your majesty to
give me a husband ; —and although I
do not doubt your power,—a gentle
smile played on the lips of Anna, —1
ask myself if it can extend so far as to
give me a consort J have never seen !”
“ Who then is the wife of Gregory
Demidoff?” asked the monarch quickly.
“ Catharine Petrovna, my eldest sis
ter, Sire!”
At this discovery, as sudden as un
expected, Paul could not restrain the
marks of his satisfaction ; nevertheless
he repressed its too vivid appearance—
became charmingly gay, addressed ex
cuses to Anna, —and that same even
ing, having summoned the senator La
ponkhin. he announced to him his eleva
tion to a distinguished position, of
which, the duties necessitated his ha
bitual presence in the Capitol of the
Empire.
The senator, to whom his daughter
had repeated the conversation of the
Czar, instantly understood the cause of
his sudden elevation; he regretted it,
but fearing to offend so imperious and
passionate a master, he determined to
enlighten Anna on the dangers which
menaced her, and to watch over her
continually. He also decided to follow
to St. Petersburg, the monarch, whose
favour he attributed less to the services
he himself had rendered the State, than
to the charms of his daughter.
[Conclusion in our next.]
€l)c !i mintin'.
[Proof-sheets of the following racy,
pungent and withal most seasonable
article, from a forthcoming number
of the Southern Quarterly Review ,
have been kindly placed in our hands,
with permission to copy ad libitum. If
space serves, we shall give the paper
entire, in successive numbers of our
Journal, commending it cordially to
all, and especially to the race of “Soft
heads,” who will find themselves mir
rored therein, to perfection. — Eds.]
SUMMER TRAVEL IN THE SOUTH.
1. Letters from the Alleghany Mountains.
By Charles Lanman, author of “ A Tour to
the River Saguenay,” “ A Summer in the
Wilderness,” and “ Essays for Summer
Hours.” New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1849.
2. Georgia Illustrated, in a series of Views.
Engraved from original sketches by T. Addi
son Richards. The topog aphical depart
ment edited by William C. Richards.
We should only be indulging in one
of the commonest of all truisms, were
we to protest that there is no such thing
as unmixed evil in the world ; and all
the philosophy may be compassed in a
nut-shell, which chuckles over the “ ill
wind that blows nobody good.” It
will suffice if we insist that our bitter
is, frequently, the wholesome medicine
whose benefit is in the future; and
what we regard as the mishap of the
day, and lament accordingly, becomes,
to our great surprise, the parent of a
necessity that leads to most pleasant
and profitable results. To bring our
maxims to bear upon our present topic,
we have but to remark, that the chole
ra, which devastated the cities of the
North last summer, and the abolition
mania, —which is destined to root them
out, and raze them utterly from the
face of the earth, if not seasonably
arrested, —have proved, in some degree,
highly serviceable, if not saving influ
ences, for the people of the South.—
How many thousand of our wandering
idlers, our absentees who periodically
crave a wearisome pilgrimage to north
ern regions, instead of finding greater
good in a profitable investment of
thought and curiosity at home—who
wander away in mere listlessness and
return wearied and unrefreshed—were
denied their usual inane indulgencies
by the dread of pestilence. And how
many other thousands, capable of ap
preciating the charms of nature, and
the delights of a glorious landscape,
were, in like manner, compelled to
forego the same progress, by the patri
otic sentiment which revolts at the
thought of spending time and money
among a people whose daily labour
seems to be addressed to the neighbour
ly desire of defaming our character and
destroying our institutions.
The result of these hostile influences
has been highly favourable to the de
velopment of the resources of the soil.
We have, in the South, a race of “ Soft
heads,” —a tribe that corresponds ad-
inirably with the “ Dough-faces” of
Yankee-land. These are people born
and wedded to a sort of provincial ser
vility that finds nothing grateful but
the foreign. They prefer the stranger
to the native, if for no other reason
than because they are reluctant to ad
mit the existence of any persons, in
their own precincts, who might come
in conflict with their own importance.
In like manner, and for a similar reason,
they refuse to give faith to their own
possessions of scenery and climate. —
Their dignity requires foreign travel fol
ks proper maintenance. It is distance
only, in their eyes, that can possibly
“lend enchantment to the view.” They
are unwilling to admit the charms of a
region which might be readily explored
by humbler persons; and they turn
up their lordly noses at any reference
to the claims of mountain, valley, or
waterfall, in their own section, if for
no other reason, than because they
may aiso be seen by vulgar people. To
despise the native and domestic, seems
to them, in their inflated folly, the only
true way to show that they have tastes
infinitely superior to those of the com
mon he ;d lings.
For such people, it was absolutely
necessary that they should speed abroad
in summer. The habit required it,
and the self-esteem, even if the tastes
did not. It is true that they were
wearied with the monotonous routine.
It is true that they were tired of the
scenery so often witnessed; tired of the
flatness of northern pastimes, and out
raged constantly by the bad manners,
and the unqualified monstrosity of the
bores, whom they constantly encounter
ed, from the moment they they got be
yond the line of Mason and Dixon.—
All the social training of a polished
society it home, was disparaged by
the reckless obtrusiveness by which that
was distinguished which they met
abroad—the free, familiar pen ness of
monied vulgarity, or the insolent as
sumptions of a class whose fortunes
have beer: realized at the expense of
their education. A thousand offensive
traits in the social world which they
sought, added to the utter deficiency
of all freshness in the associations
which they periodically made, com
bined to lessen or destroy every thing
like a positive attraction in the regions
to which they wandered ; but, in spite
of all, they went. Habit was too in
flexible for sense or taste ; and, possi
bly, the fear that the world might not
get on so well as before, unless they
appeared, as usual, at the opening of
the season, in Broadway, and found
themselves, for a week at least, each
summer, at Newport and Saratoga,
seemed to make it a duty, that they
should*, at large pecuniary sacrifice,
submit to a dreary penance every sum
mer.
But the cholera came in conflict with
the habit. It unsettled the routine
which wasonly endurable in the absence
of thought and energy. It suggested
unpleasant associations to those who,
perhaps would suffer under any sort of
excitement, the wholesome as well as
the pernicious; and the idea of eating
cherries and cream, at the peril of ut
ter revolution in the abdominal do
main, had the effect of startling into
thought and speculation the inane in
tellect which, hitherto, had taken no
share in regulating the habits of the
wanderer. When, at the same time,
it was found that the pestilence con
fined its ravages to the North, —that
either the climate of the South was too
pure, or the habits pf its people too
proper, to yield it the requisite field for
operation,—and that Charleston, Savan
nah and other cities in the low lati
tudes, were not within the reach of its
terrors, —then it was that patriotism
had leave to suggest, for the first time,
the beauties and attractions of home,
and to make the most of them. Her
argument found succour, as we have
hinted, from other influences. Our
“ Soft-heads” no longer found that un
limied deference, and servile acknowl
edgement, which the societies they vis
ited had uniformly shown, in return for
their patronage. Society in the North
was in revolution, (did things were
about to pass away ; all things were
to become new. Property was to un
dergo general distribution in equal
shares. Every man, it was argued,
had a natural right to a farmstead, and
a poultry-yard, as every woman, not
w holly past bearing, had a right to a
husband. The old Patroons of Alba
ny were not permitted to rent, but
must sell their lands, at prices pre
scribed by the buyer, or the tenant.—
Debtors liquidated their bonds in the
blood of their creditors. The law of
divorce gave every sort of liberty to
wife and husband. The wife, if she
did not avail herself of the extreme
privileges accorded to her by this be
nevolent enactment, was, at all events,
allowed to keep her own purse, and to
spend her money, however viciously,
without accounting to her lord. If he
was lord, she was lady. She was not
simply his master, but her own ; and
a precious household they made of it
between them. Churches multiplied,
mostly, at the very moment when a
restless and powerful party —avowedly
hostile to all religion —w as denouncing
and striving to abolish the Sabbath it
self, as immoral, and in conflict with
the privileges of labour and the citizen.
In this universal disorder in laws
and morals, —this confusion of society,
worse confounded every day,—in its
general aspects so wonderfully like those
which, in France, preceded, and proper
ly paved the way for, a purging reign
of terror, —all the usual amenities and
courtesies were fairly at an end, even
in those places, hqitels and haunts of
summer festivity, in which decency and
policy, if not charity and good-will to
men, requires that every thing should
be foreborne, of manner or remark,
that might be offensive to any sensi
bilities. But the cloud and blindness
which every where overspread society,
was a madness too sweeping to forbear
any subject, in which envy, malice,
conceit, and a peevish discontent, could
find exercise at the expense of one’s
neighbour. In destroying, at home,
the securities of religion, the domestic
peace of families, the inviolability of
the laws, the guarantees of the credit
or—nay, taking his life, as that of an
insolent, when he presumed to urge his
bond—these reckless incendiaries (like
the French, exactly) must carry their
beautiful system to the hearts of other
communities. They are by no means
selfish. They must share their admi
rable blessings w ith others—nay, force
them, even against their desires, to
partake of their drunken mixtures.—
No situation, accordingly, is sacred
from their invasion. No refuge is left
for society, unembarrassed by their
presence. They rage in all places,
fireside, street, exchange, hotel, and,
not so much seeking to reform and
teach, as to outrage and annoy, they
studiously thrust upon you, at every
turn, the picture of the miserable
fanatic, whose vanity prompted him to
fire only that he might be
seen in its blaze.
Our “ Soft-heads,” who have been
busily engaged, for the last thirty years,
in feeding these fanatics, by draining
the profits from their ow n soil, are, at
length beginning to feel somewhat un
comfortable, sitting cheek-by-jow], at
Saratoga, and other places of vulgar
resort, and hearing themselves de
scribed as robbers and wretches by the
very people whose thieving ancestors
stole the negro with whom to swindle
our forefathers. They begin to suspect
that their pride is not wholly unim
paired, when they hearken quietly to
such savory communications. A lurk
ing doubt whether they are not the
persons meant, all the while, begins to
stir uneasily within them ; and in a
half-drowsy state, between dosing and
thought, they ask themselves the ques
tion, whether it were not much more
to their credit to resolve, henceforward,
neither to taste, nor touch, nor com
mune with a people, who, in mere wan
tonness and insolence, are making so
free with all the securities of their coun
try, its reputation and its property !
The “ Soft-head,” it is true, is not
without grateful assurances, from one
class of his neighbours, that his assail
ants are very sorry fanatics, who de
serve no sort of consideration; that,
though Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart,
bark at him furiously, yet he, Dick,
and his brother Tom, and his cousin,
Harry, all tavern-keepers, living in the
broad route of southern travel, are his
friends, —are the true, sturdy, butchers
dogs, who will keep the curs in proper
fear and at a proper distance. But, af
ter a while, “ Soft-head” asks himself,
—having asked the question fruitlessly
of Tom, Dick, and Harry,—why do
these curs, which are said to be so des
picable, —why do they continue this
barking ?—nay, why, when the barking
becomes biting,—why do not these fa
mous butcher’s dogs use their teeth for
the protection of their friends ? Why
are Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart, —
worthless puppies as they are, —why
are they in full possession of the roast 1 ?
The fanatics of abolition are said to be
few ; but why do they shape the laws,
dictate the policy, control the whole ac
tion of society I ‘ Softhead’ gets no
answer to all this this ; and now natu
rally begins to suspect that all parties
either think entirely with the offen
ders, or possess too little courage, hon
esty, or proper sympathy with the
South, ever to be relied upon as allies.
In fact, our ‘ Soft-head’ discovers that
—whether guilty or otherwise, —the
party pronounced so weak and worth
less, wields, in reality, the entire power,
and represents wholly the principles
and feelings of the North. The thing
is not to be gainsay ed. Your mer
chant, having large dealings with the
“ Soft-heads,” makes little of it; —your
hotel-keeper, entertaining large squad
rons of “ Soft-heads,” ‘for a considera
tion,’ every summer, gravely insists
that it is nothing but the buzz of a bee
in a tar-barrel; —your Yankee editor,
crossing the line of Mason and Dixon
—a Northern man with Southern prin
ciples ! —who teaches the “ Soft-head
Southron,” from “ hardhead Northern
school books”—he is potent in the as
severation that there is no sort of dan
ger,—that it is the cry of “wolf,” on
ly, made by the cunning boys, who
wish to see the fun of the false chase;
—and that, in his hands, as grand con
servator of the peace, every thing that’s
worth saving is in a place of eminent
security. Your thorough slave of par
ty, whig or democrat who hopes for a
secretaryship, or a vice-presidentship,
or a foreign mission,—or who, with
commendable modesty, resigns himself
to a post-mastership, or a tide-waiter
ship,—all these come in to the assist
ance of our “ Soft-heads,” and take
monstrous pains to reassure them and
restore their equanimity ! Governed
by self, rather than by nation or sec
tion, they cry “ peace”—all,—when
there is no peace! When there can
not be peace !—so long as the South is
in the minority, and as long as the spi
rit and temper of the North are so uni
versally hostile to our most vital and
most cherished institutions. Until you
reconcile this inequality, and exorcise
this evil spirit, that now f rages rampant
through the Northern States, —allied
with all sorts of fanatical passions and
pri nci pies,—Agrarian ism, Comm uni sm,
Fourierism, Wrightism, Millerism,Mor
monism, etc., —you may cry peace and
union till you split your lungs, but
you will neither makepeace nor secure
union.
Well, our*“ Softhead” begins to dis
cover this. lie has been weak and
lazy,—listless and indifferent, —vain
and an idler ; weary and a wanderer ;
but he still has latent sympathies that
remind him of his home, and he is not
blind to the warnings which tell him
that he has a property which is threat
ened, and may possibly be destroyed.
He rubs his eyes, and shakes himself
accordingly. He begins to bestir him
self. It is high time. He is no longer
in the condition to say with the slug
gard, “ A little more sleep—a little
more folding of the arms to slumber.”
“ Tray, Blanche and Sweetheart,” the
THIRD VOLUME—NO. 12 WHOLE NO 112.
full-mouthed abolition curs, are at his
heels, and, with their incessant barking, i
they suffer nobody to sleep. “ Soft
head” soon finds that they are not
satisfied to bark simply. They are
anxious to use their teeth upon him
as well as their tongues. His wife’s
maid, Sally, is persuaded to leave his
bonds, for a condition of unexampled
human felicity, which is promised her
in the neighbourhood of Five Points ;
and his man, Charles, walks off’ with
two loving white brothers, who soon
show him how much more moral it is
to become a burglar than to remain a
slave. “Soft-head” very soon hears of
both in their new Utopia. Sally writes
to him from the Tombs, or Blackwell’s
Island, and Charley from Sing-Sing.—
They relate a most horrid narrative of
theircondition; theirfollies,theircrimes,
the sufferings and abuses they have un
dergone at the hands of their sympa
thizing brethren, whose object has
been, not the good of the wretched
slave, but the injury and annoyance of
the “Soft-head” owner. They declare
thei.l repentance, and entreat his assist
ance. They beg that he will release
them from prison, and make them once
more humbly happy in the condition
which was so justly suited to their in
tellect and morals. The heart of “Soft
head” is touched. In this region he is
quite as tender as in his cranium.—
lie obtains their discharge, gives bail,
pays fees, and suffers a world of trouble
and expense, in helping the poor
wretches into daylight. But, will the
abolitionists suffer this triumph ? Will
they let the prey escape them at the
last? Oh no ! They dart between, a
mob at their heels, and rend Charley
and Sally away once more, —this time
by violence, —the poor darkies all the
while struggling against the cruel fate
of freedom, for which they are so to
tally unfit, and declaring, with tears
in their eves, how infinitely they prefer
being slaves to a gentleman, than breth
ren of such a gang of blackguards.—
“Soft-head,” himself barely escapes
by the skin of’ his teeth. lie is com
pelled to cast off’ the indolence which
he has hitherto fondly conceived to
form a part of his dignity, and, with all
haste, to throw the Potomac between
him and the pursuing curs of abolition.
Growling over the popular senti
ment at the North, which thus dogs
their footsteps and disturbs their equa
nimity, or grumbling at the sudden in
vasion of cholera, which makes them
tremble for their bowels, it is probable
that more than twenty thousand South
rons forebore, lust summer, their usual
route of travel. Mason’s and Dixon’s
line, that season, constituted the ultima
thu/e , to which they looked with shiver
ings only. Thus “ barred and banned”
—almost hopeless of enjoyment, but
compelled to look for it where they
were, and to find their summer routes
and recreations in long-neglected pre
cincts, it was perfectly delightful to be
hold the sudden glory which possessed
them, as they opened their eyes, for the
first time in their lives, upon the charm
ing scenery, the pure retreats, the sweet
quiet, and the surprising resources
which welcomed them, —at home !
Why had they not seen these things
before ? How was it that such glori
ous mountain ranges, such fertile and
lovely vallies, such mighty and beau
tiful cascades, such broad, hard and
ocean-girdled beaches, and islets, had
been so completely hidden from their
eyes ? By what fatuity was it that
they had been so blinded, to the waste
of millions of expenditure, in the un
grateful regions in which they had so
long been satisfied to find retreats,
which afforded them so little of plea
sure or content ? Poor, sneaking,
drivelling, conceited, slavish provincial
ism never received such a lesson of un
mixed benefit before ; and patriotism
never a happier stimulus and motive
to future enjoyment as well as inde
pendence.
It is too melancholy truth, and one
that we would fain deny if we dared,
that, in sundry essentials, the Southern
people have long stood in nearly the
same relation to the Northern States of
this confederacy, that the whole of the
colonies, in 1775, occupied to Great
Britain. A people wholly devoted to
grazing and agriculture are necessarily
wanting in large marts, which alone
give the natural impulse to trade and
manufactures. A people engaged in
staple culture are necessarily scattered
remotely over the surface of the earth.
Now r , the activity of the common in
tellect depends chiefly upon the rough
and incessant attrition of the people.
Wanting in this attrition, the best
minds sink into repose, that finally be
comes sluggishness. Asa natural con
sequence, therefore, of the exclusive
occupation of agriculture in the South,
the profits of this culture, and the
sparseness of our population, the South
ern people left it to the Northern
States to supply all their wants. To
them we look for books and opinion,—
and they thus substantially ruled us,
through the languor which we owed to
our wealth, and the deficient self-esteem
naturally due to the infrequency of our
struggle in the common marts of na
tions. The Yankees furnished all our
manufactures, of whatever kind, and
adroitly contrived to make it appear to
us that they were really our benefactors,
at the very moment when they were
sapping our substance, degrading our
minds, and growing rich upon our raw
material, and by the labour of our
slaves. Any nation that defers thus
wholly to another, is soon emasculated,
and finally subdued. To perfect, or
even secure, the powers of any people,
it requires that they shall leave no pro
vince of enterprise or industry neglect
ed, which is available to their labour,
and not incompatible with their soil
and climate. And there is an intimate
sympathy between the labours of a
people, and their higher morals and
more ambitious sentiment. The arts
are all so far kindred, that the one ne
cessarily prepares the way for the other.
The mechanic arts thrive as well as the
fine arts, in regions which prove friend
ly to the latter ; and Benvenuto Celli-
ni was no less excellent as a goldsmith
and cannoneer than as one of the most
bold and admirable sculptors of his
age. To secure a high rank in society,
as well as history, it is necessary that
a people should do something more
than provide a raw material. It is re
quired of them to provide the genius
also, which shall work the material up
in forms and fabrics equally beautiful
and valuable. This duty has been neg
lected by the South ; abandoned to her
enemies; and, in the tiainof this neg
lect and self-abandonment, a thousand
evils follow, of even greater magnitude.
The worst of these is a slavish def.r*
ence to the will, the wit, the wisdom,
the art and ingenuity of the people
to whom we yield our manufactures;
making it the most difficult thing in the
world, even when our own people
achieve, to obtain for them the sim
plest justice, even among themselves.
We surrendered ourselves wholly into
the hands of our Yankee brethren—
most loving kinsmen that they are—
and were quite content, in asserting the
rank of gentlemen , to foifeit the higher
rank of men. We were sunk into a
certain imbecility,—read from their
books, thought from their standards,
shrunk from and submitted to their
criticism—and, (No ! we have not yet
quite reached that point,—Walker still
holding his ground in the South against
Webster,) almost began to adopt their
brogue! They dictated to our tastes
and were alone allowed to furnish the
proper regions for their exercise. Above
all, their’s was all the scenery; and the
tour to Saratoga, West Point, New'-
port, Niagara, almost every season,
was a sort of pilgrimage, as necessary
to the eternal happiness of our race of
“Soft-heads,” as ever was that made
once in a life, to Mecca, by the devout
worshipper in the faith of Islam !
But, ow'ing to causes already indi
cated, a change has come over the spirit
of that dream, which constituted too
much the life of too large a portion of
our wealthy gentry ; and the last sum
mer, as we said before, left them at
liberty to look about their own homes,
and appreciate their own resources.—
The discoveries were marvellous ; the
developments as surprising as those
w hieh followed the friction of the magic
lamp in the hands of Aladdin. En
countered. on the opposite side of Ma
son and Dixon’s Line, by the loathsome
presence of Asiatic choleara and Afri
can abolition, thev averted their eves
from these equally offensive aspects,
and found a prospect, when looking
backward upon the South, at once cal
culated to relieve their annoyances, and
compensate admirably for all their pri
vations. The tide of travel was fairly
turned; and, through the length and
breadth of the land, in the several
States of Virginia, the two Carolinas,
Georgia, and even Florida, nothing was
to be seen but the chariots and the
horsemen, the barge and the car, bear
ing to new and lately discovered re
treats of health and freshness, the hun
gering wanderers after pleasure and ex
citement. For such an event, the coun
try was almost totally unprepared. A
few’ ancient places of resort excepted,
the numerous points of assemblage had
scarcely ever been indicated on the
maps. The roads were rough, and,
with the vehicles employed to traverse
them, admirably adapted to give w hoie
some exercies to rheumatic joints and
dyspeptic systems. The craziest car
riages were hastily put in requisition,
to run upon the wildest highways.—
Paths, only iust blazed out in the woods,
conducted you to habitations scarcely
less wild, of frames covered with clap
boards, —queer-looking log tenements,
unplastered chambers, and little un
couth cabins, eight by twelve—where
pride, in the lap of quiet, at all events,
it not of comfort, might learn upon
what a small amount of capital a man
may realize large results in health and
independence. It was the strangest
spectacle, in Georgia and South-Caroli
na, to see the thousands thus in motion
along the highways, and thus rioting in
rustic pleasures. Such cars and car
riages, as bore the trooping adventu
rers, never figured in fashionable use
before. You might see the railway
trains, long and massive frames of tim
ber, set on wheels, with unplaned
benches, an interminable range, crowd
ed with the living multitudes, wedged
affectionately together, like herrings in
boxes—sorted, if not salted masses—
without covering, speeding through the
sun by day, and rain by night, to the
appointed places of retreat; and, strange
to say, in the best of all possible hu
mours with themselves and all man
kind. A certain grateful determina
tion to make the most of the novel
dtsagremens of their situation, in ac
knowledgement of the substantial good,
in healthy excitement, and moral com
pensation, w hieh they enjoyed at home,
operated to make cheerluil all the
pects of the scene, and to afford a
pleasing animation to the strangest com
binations of society. Here encoun
tered, to the common benefit, ciicles
and cliques that had never before been
subjected to attrition. The reserved
gentleman of the lower country, nice,
staid, proper and particular, was pleased
to receive a freshening stimulus from
the frank, free, eager and salient man
ners of the gentleman of the interior.
The over-refined ladies of the city were
enlivened by the informal, hearty, live-
]y and laughing tempers of the buoy
ant beauties of the mountain and forest
country. They shared equally in the
benefits of the association. The too
frigid and stately reserves of the one
region were thawed insensibly bv the
genial and buoyant, the unsophistica
ted impulse of the other; while the
latter, insensibly borrowed, in return,
something of the elaborate grace, and
the quiet dignity, which constitute the
chief attractions of the former. The
result has compassed something more
than was anticipated by the several par
ties. Seeking only to waste a summer
gratefully, to find health and gentle ex
citements, —the simple object of the
whole, —they yet found more precious
benefits in the unwonted communion.