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WJHIEM MffiMMl mm TERMS, 52,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. (Original poctrij. For the Southern Literary Gazette. 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.