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TERMS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE.
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For the Southern Literary Gazette.
the lunar bow.
I vv:l ’ the mitlnight hour, and God’s lair stars
Had taken silently their lotty place,
Ynd watched the sleeping world while daylight
dreamed.
,0: | )t ne ' e r had seemed so beautiful before,
For clouds, like those that drape the halls of
death,
Flitted in solemn grandeur o’er the sky,
shrouded mourners walk beside a hier.
In the far west the lurid lightning played,
And lit the concave like a smile from God ;
While the green leaves of many a whispering
tree
Murmured the sweet, sad songs the watcher
loves.
Far over all. now clear, now hid among
The silver-lined and mournful funeral clouds,
The moon majestic waved her ciescent crown,
Veiling her bright celestial eyes behind
A shade of thick impenetrable shrouds,
Or bursting forth from her dark hiding place
Serene and cold, silvered all things with light.
Such was the night; and I, the worshipper
Os all things bright and beautiful, delayed
To gaze and gaze the midnight hours away.
Hnw still I how exquisite ! how like a dream
The fleeting richness of the scene above !
And as 1 leaned upon my casement lone,
Enhanced, not e'en Italia’s skit's I thought
Could picture forth an hour so fair as this,
hut suddenly an angel presence came,
And seemed to stand with white wings, out
ward spread
Athwart the skies, and io I a lunar arch
Curved like the eye-brow of a god appeared,
And sited a halo over all the earth.
1 with clasped hands, and heart too full for
words,
Uplifted my unworthy eyes to Heaven,
And blessed the Lower that traced those beau
ties there —
Then gazing till it melted in the sky,
With a full heart, in peace, 1 sank to rest.
IOL AN THE.
For llie Southern Literary Gazette.
CONTRAST.
As the last warm beam of parting day,
Vet crowns .Mount Rosa’s lofty peak,
That caught the golden dawn’s first gleam,
While clad in veils of cold, grey mist,
The valleys darkly lie ; —so ’tis in life.
Vet murmur not. For see! the day-god
Clasps an icy peak of “ cold sublimity,”
That melts not ’neath his ray:
at, ah! he's kissed the valley’s l*y sod,
fill .he glad earth gaiiy laughs,
1” the rich, soft beauty of its
>1 rainbow-tinted flowers.
My heart,
Content thee in the vale, where smile
For aye, the green eat ill’s floral eyes.
INITIA.
(Original Call's.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
LA COQUETTE.
BY T. ADDISON RICHARDS.
Tiif. day in the little village of****
had been one of festivity nod mirth.
It was the bridal occasion of the gifted
and admired Henry Eaton, and the no
less loved and idolized Ella Stetson. —
The friends of the adventurous voy
agers, upon the dangerous sea of Hy
men, after escorting them to the nearest
d'pot upon tl”.’ railway which approach
ed the village, left them with whole
band-boxes of adieux and kind wishes,
to pursue, hence forth, together the
thorny walk of life. As the last cam
bric waved from the window of the
swiftly speeding car disappeared, the
gay cavalcade prepared for the jaunt
homeward.
Much and, perhaps, feelingly might
we here discourse upon the novel emo
i ! weighty thoughts whu h must
r tilled :<;■ i; -;iits and occupied the
a. ids of the newly wedded pair, in
” ii t.} ,* untried scenes and duties
e iite. ik,v, for the first time fully re
: use important trust each held
heart and happiness of the other;
I- sundering of old and dear ties, and
•’ filiation of new ones. Such reve
rie- doubtless stirred these souls, even
no n the unpoetic stage ot a rail ear.
i’h.i our purpose would call us lrom
their -ode, even if propriety did not
teach us to leave them to their own—
for tlie nonce at least —happy and all
suftic: out society. Let us then, gopd
reader join the train of the returning
escort.
*’ We must lose no time,” cried Mr.
benedict, gazing upon the swiftly cours
ing clouds, which, iutecepting the sun*
rays, threw ever and anon upon the
eartii, immense stretches of dark and
■■solemn shadow. “We must challenge
3ie winds in fleetness if we would out
jouiT;. y llie rapidly approaching storm!
i Acre! i t <•-] the rain upon my face
ahead), ‘ . those Hnerel drops which
ml whisper of plenty, and the heavens
:l| e illumine i with an intense, starf
*ln ,2. ghastly ight which glares spde
and i.u;Viciously, as if enjoying
•*"’ absolute certain! • • its pc -e 1 * and
tts corning triumph ; a.v if ohu-kling at
impotent efforts of tue poor ay-
Uter to escape ’ts Hutches S'”
A storm will serve for E!h*. - bap
,ls|nnl fontsuggested one of the ja
il • . 00
my “it is but fating that it should ac
company the assumption of her new
fiame.”
i rue rejoined tiie first speaker,
’ ,l would certainly be very wrong to
’""it such a rite! However, nevet fear,
are caudidtites for a most orthodox
hnmersion ! ‘ Happy is the bride that
ilie shines on,’ says the song. —
a mmm mm&k mmm m ummm, w &m mb sgiuhgus, mb to wsmMmm.
Alas poor Ella ! What a threatening
horoscope!”
“Now Mr. Benedict!” ejaculated a
young girl, with a sweetly deprecating
smile, and the slighest possible touch
of her pretty fan upon the gentleman’s
knuckles, “none of your ugly sarcasms
today at lea 4. Ella and Henry are
and will be far more happy than even
the imagination of yourself and all
your brother baches, bached together,
could picture ! We have left them, I
am sure, with the happiest omens—
good, generous and pure hearts, and
each with perfect and holy confidence
in the other’s love and truth.”
“1 confess!” answered the gentle,
man, “that our sweet little friend did
go off ‘merry as a marriage belle’ and
1 sincerely hope that she may never
change her tone, but that her merry
flapper of a tongue, may always ring
with the joyous sounds in which she
bade us farewell !”
“ Excellent and liberal for you Mr.
Benedict! 1 perceive that you are not
absolutely incorrigible.”
“Gently, gently!” interposed Mr.
Benedict, “ Bender unto Caesar the
things which are Caesar’s, but no more.
1 am, and ever shall be, one of Mrs.
Norton’s most earnest disciples ; as 1
seek my pllow in the even and rise from
it in the morn, 1 say to my heart ‘ Love
not —love not; the thing you love may
change’—when longer purses, higher
houses, gayer dresses, richer cashmeres
and bigger pies bill tit her feet!”
“I vow Mr. Benedict, it is absolute
ly insufferable that you should thus
malign us,” screamed a gay lass, repre
senting, in the dignity of her speech,
the concentrated indignation of the fair
portion of the party, “ you know that
you do not speak from the heart, if in
deed you have par hazard such a useless
piece of anatomy.”
“ If I do not, I speak from observa
tion and experience ; less romanesque
to be sure, but more truthful,” replied
Mr. Benedict, smilingly. “ Why the
time was when I myself had an attack,
a very slight attack of‘the furnace-like
sighing;’ when I was fearfully disposed
to moon-light and sentiment. Happily
my feet were drawn from the horrible
pit and miry clay of credulous love
and set upon the rock of sensible phil
osophy. Apropos of the present occa
sion—l could a tale unfold, which —”
“ Oh yes !” interrupted a little Miss,
“Mr. Benedict was deeply concerned
in the queer affair of Henry Eaton and
Henrietta Walburton, which made so
much talk some few years ago, and
he has often promised to tell me till
about it.”
“Yes!” chimed in all the group,
“we will be bis ghostly confessor and
put him upon the penitent stool for
our amusement as we go home.”
“ Agreed!” answered the friendly
inclined culprit, “for in so doing I shall
‘give a reason for the hope which is not
within me’of woman’s artlessness and
truth.”
While he was yet speaking the bap
tismal font before unritioned sprung a
mighty leak, ands t ruck dismay into
the countenances of the gaily dressed
travellers. ‘.l V abri! a V abri! was
the universal cry. In tue confusion
none knew where to turn until Mr.
Benedict suggested that they should
seek the covering of a little hut, some
hundred yards from the spot where
hey then stood. At any other moment
this retreat would have been studious
ly avoided, perhaps by all, into such
disrepute had it fallen from the ques
tionable character of its successive oc
cupants, and the many mysterious affd
fearful tales interwoven with their his
tories.
“ The hut,” said Mr. Benedict, in an
swer to a query of the party, “is at
present not empty ; but its only oc *u
pant, I am (old. is a poor, unhapyy
woman who seems to have nothing left
to do in this wide world of sunshine
and Madness, but to crawl alone into
some obseice a:.d unknown corner
where she may die ur seen and unwept.
Whether curiosity supported the im
perative voie* of necessity, we pause
not to ask ; certain it is that very lit
tle debate preceded tnc resolution to
seek at once the shelter and hospitality
ot the cabin.
Be: pensive to the knock of the party,
the rude half-fallen door was opened,
or rather lifted upon its remaining
hinge by a feeble little girl, sallow and
meagre from neglect, w atching and the
want of fitting nourishment. The
wuole ohed which had but one poor
apartment —not to boast of, but to
blu h so in sad harmony with
its dilapidated exterior, and with the
wietched aspect of its miserable con
cierge. The only occupar’ of this only
chamber, save the sir!, was it woman
of riper years \nd u-ve,- gr.-ris,
stretched upon a *•• .met in the
remotest and most obscure corner. —
The very slight glimpse which some
of the intruders were enabled to catch
of her countenance, spoke mournfully
of the most abject depression of both
body and mind. The iron plough-share
of misfortune, sorrows and disease,
had left its cruel furrows in her pale
and attenuated visage. She took no
notice of her guests after aiding the
girl to bid them welcome. Turning
wearily and heavily upon her side, she
again buried her face in the tattered
covering of her humble couch. Some
ot the more benevolent of the party
would fain have questioned her as to
her history, her condition and her
wants, but to all such approaches a re
pelling gesture of her wasted hand was
the sole and decisive response.
Safe from the rain, which was now
descending with a vivacity worthy of
the presence of the royal Lear, our
gay friends, grouped around the deso
late hearth, again summoned Mr. Bene
dict to while away the moments with
his promised recital, pledging him a
full pardon for his scepticism in the
bright religion of love, if he should
present his peers with due apology and
argument therefor.
Thus encouragingly solicited, the gay,
frank, accomplished, and universally—
said to be—charmingly pleasant fellow,
Charles Benedict, commenced and pur
sued his true and touching narrative in
the following words:
“ It is but a few years since, as many
of you know, that the village of ll***
was unrivalled for the beauty, wit and
graces of its lovely maidens. It was
then the .nucleus of fashion for the en
tile neighbourhood. There it was that
Madame Marsary established her Pen
sion franenise, where Misses were re-’
quired to speak French always in
school, and where the requisition was
doubtless complied with even unto sur
feiting, inasmuch as none were ever
known to employ la belle langue else
where. as at ll*** that the popu
lar professor of motion, Mons. Balen
eez, opened his salon de danse , and had
the honour to give his semi-monthly
soirees. Here, also, was erected the
new Episcopal Church, its ambitious
spire capped with that startling inno
vation upon puritan fastidiousness—
the cross. Here was the country book
and music store set up, where card
cases, papeterie, port-feuilles , etc., were
sold, together with the last fashionable
songs and polkas for the piano-forte.
Here the ladies’ French boot-maker,
M. Soulier, located himself and dis
pensed shoes smaller than any feet
which ever trod his nicely carpeted
floor. It was here that the latest style
of bonnet, the richest silks, and the
finest embroidered cambrics were dis
played. Here, too, the disci j le of the
immortal Daguerre did up the human
face divine in indigo anil shade, at one
dollar only, and equally bad in all
weathers. In short, so gay, so delight
ful, so beau-mondish had H*** at that
period become, that it was regarded,
by the inhabitants at least, as a very
considerable reflex of mighty, spark
ling, tumultuous, universal Paris. ll***
then, being the grand hymenial bazaar,
necessarily drew into its vortex all the
beaux and belles of the surrounding and
even distant regions.
“Queen among the peerless beau
ties —the rose among the lovely flow
ers —the gem in the sparkling and gor
geous tiara —was the gay, dashing,
haughty, fascinating, maddening, divine
little wretch, Henrietta Wal burton!—
Gods! what a creature she was! i
cannot find adjectives enough to qualify
and describe her, as the grammariens
have it. The most tediously copious
lexicographer never dreamt and of such a
girl when he made his vocabulary. I
must have recourse to another lan
guage, and with the French call her
,naynifique! brillante! el superbe! In
short, she had the most preposterously
and furiously seductive face and form
which it lets ever been my heaven to
gaze upon! Could you, Phideas, my
old bov, could you but ha>e ‘seen her
for a moment, as methinks l see her
now ! ”
Here, the impassioned eloquence of
the charming Mr. Charles was for an
instant interrupted by a sudden start,
with an expression as of acute pain, by
the poor sufferer upon the bed. As
the moment after, however, she had re
sumed her old position, arid silence
again reigned, the narrator continued:
“it seemed to my vision that the
planets looked with moody envy upon
the bright sparkle of her eye; that the.
lovely rose grew pale in sisterhood
with her cheek, that the coursing bee
disdainfully rejected his hard-earned
lead, to sip sweeter honey from the
nectar of her lips; that the emerald
leaves caught the measure of her wav
ing tresses, while shadows fled Horn the
grid earth at the approach of her fairy
step! But why thus eulaige upon the
the matchless cl.-rms of the once divine
Henrietta'! Loi are they not w ritten
upon the hearts of more than one here
present and in the memories of ail ?
Judge of her wondrous fascinations,
when even l—Charles Benedict—fell,
for a season, the victim of their might!
To*tlo myself justice though, it is but
proper that I should mention that my
tall was purely accidental. I was book
ed for matrimony absolutely without
my own consent or knowledge, and
CHARLESTON, SATURDAY, AUG. 3, 1850.
retained my place for a certain period,
only in answer to the more generous
impulses of my very tender and sensi
tive heart. You shall have the w hole
story, since, in some shape or other, it
must be more or less unveiled in the
current of mv promised tale.
“Asa chevalier of dames, J was ne
cessarily, so long as it should suit my
pleasure, one of the most humble slaves
of the then star and mirror of fashion,
Henrietta Walburton. I racked my
horse to keep up with her in her daring
rides, and rny brain to pay fitting com
pliments at once to her charms and to
my own reputation for wit and gal
antry. T hus passed weeks and days,
without the intrusion, on my own part,
of more than now and then a very
dreamy idea of more serious business.
Thus, too, would it probably have been
continued, despite Henrietta’s undis
guised preference, but for an unlooked
for circumstance. Upon a certain night
a fancy ball was given in the village
and attended by all the Hite. I had
myself assumed the touching character
of Borneo, and it so happened that 1
met, in Henrietta, the most bew itching
of Juliets. 1 played my part to the
satisfaction of every body but myself.
Fearful, I suppose, lest the night air in
the trying ‘garden scene’ should give
me cold, I had, perhaps, somewhat too
liberally ‘from the heather brushed the
dew’; and might have been a trifle too
natural when I envied the favoured
glove. However, the play became
death to me, and as I retired that night,
1 had a confused impression of having
in some way or other during the eve
ning committed myself. I vainly strove
to sleep; hour after hour slowly passed,
and at five the clock seemed to strike
testily, as if it wished to say, ‘there,
take that and be satisfied!’ Why
should 1 hasten for your pleasure, w hile
so many millions, and more worthy
souls will bless rny quiet and slow
progress? 1 cursed of course, but to
no purpose, the democratic philan
throphy of my stoical plenipotentiary
from the court of old King Time.—
Since sleep was denied me, 1 sighed for
the approach of day. At length 1 fell
into a fitful slumber, but dreaming that
1 had become a married man, 1 awoke
with a cry of terror and despair.—
Again I dozed, and this time more
pleasantly. The gracious figure of the
charming Henrietta was before me;
her eyes rested upom me lovingly and
trustingly, as was her wont at such
happy moments in which she hinted to
my vanity that a kind word, a smile,
from my precious lips, had formed the
very dreams and reveries of her child
hood. Dreaming, methought that love
laid built an airy rail-way from her
fairy lips to mine, while young Cnpid,
playing engineer, was urging to its ex
tremest speed an immense train of
kiss-laden cars ! Next f fancied myself
a doting husband and a happy father,
until the music of the children’s voices,
as my wife said —the eternal din of
their bellowing, / said—awakened me.
The awakening was pleasant; but alas!
it was not all a dream. Scarcely had
I rubbed my eyes open, when my valei
entered and handed me a note of the
most approved form and appointments,
and sweetly perfumed withal. The
missive was nervously opened, and l
stood aghast at the full realization of
the extent and enormity of \ :.y folly ot
the previous evening. It was from
Henrietta,begging her ‘‘darling Charles’
(heavens! the very memory is terrific!)
‘to excuse her, from the matinal walk
to the Maidens’ Bower, which she, had
promised him.’ ‘Hoping that he is as
happy as herself in the memory of the
passage of the past evening, and will
be alone at 12 M., when, she will ex
pect to sc him Begging that he will
not come earlier, sin X sli. really pun
ishes herself more thou lie doa - him ,:
What was to be done? Soon atri-r 1
i
friends dropt in and congratulated me
upon my conquest. The malicious 1
rascals, with many a fly jest at my ex
pense, wished me joy in tny pros;.eetiv ‘ ]
ca*eer. Every thing and eveiy bod)
seemed to couple my name inseparably
with that of Henrietta. Whatever ab
surdity 1 had committed, ii certainly
appeared to be no joking matter. 1
felt that I must assume all the blame
1
in the case myself and 1 theieibre re
solved to sa v or do nothing, pro or con,
until I should have visit’ and my dulcinm
and remarked the light in which she
•egarded the affair My conduct, I de
termined, should be modeled upon ike
result of my observations, and in no
event should be dishonourable or un
kind, cost me what it might. Alas!
my worst fears wet 3 but too fully re
alized. When I entered the parlour ol
Henrietta at the appointed hour, she
cast herself into my arms with a pathos
that might have melted Gibraltar itself.
She overwhelmed me with kisses, which
1 could not return! She called me the
long —oh! long-sought object of her
heart’s life! The being into whose
eyes she might gaze and there behold
her every air-castle of love and happi
ness converted into soiid, never-crum
bling marble masonry! As her lovely
hand rested upon my arm, it was to be
the strong staff which she would, in
weal { or woe, ever trust, while she
would east a quiet, happy smile at
every frowning cross in life! So much
love, such deep idolatry—who could
: have withstood it? To have done so,,
would have been to break the poor
dove’s gentle heart. Such hard-heart
edness, such barbarity would have been
cruel —impossible! Besides, to east
aw ay such a richly promising means of
happiness, would have been but scorn
ing the evident partiality of Fortune.
I believed her sincere, and to her ‘kind
ness my heart leapt kindly back.’ I
could not help loving her for her flatter
ing choice —for the fullness and depth
of her love to me.
So far from rejecting the felicitations
of my friends, I gladly took them, w ith
till the dry jests with which they were
accompanied, i even congratulated my
self, became a willing slave to the blind
god, and all that morning and many
others, fancied myself rolling in clover
or supping w ith my friend Mahomet in
the seventh heaven! Unfortunately,
this oriental table did not lack the ever
attendant skeleton. To be sure, the
terrible monitor was for a time draped
in its accustomed gorgeous and capti
vating robes, but the feast at, length
ended, the mantle fell from its should
ers, and all was changed. In the chair
of the presiding divinity, lending a
whisper of assurance to every young
hope—a smile of approval to every
mad dream—now sat the stern and
grim teacher of the vanity and folly of
such anticipations and such trusts.
“As 1 grew more intimate with Hen
rietta, 1 feared that my love would
prove but a momentary effervescence,
and that her s sprang from any thing
than pure affection. I soon fancied her
character to be vain, w eak, selfish and
artful. Her preferance of me, I thought
might spring, in a great measure, from
the eclat of my profession, for I then
wore an epauletted coat and sported a
jewel-hilted sword, or it occurred to my
suspicious fancy that her vanity might
prompt her to the conquest of a heart,
notoriously impregnable, and the pos
session of which would excite the envy
of her companions and friends. 1 ques
tioned whether 1 should be remember
ed, if by chance a star of larger mag
nitude should happen down that way.
All these fetus, and, to tell the truth,
the ignition of anew flame in another
quarter, induced me to seek an end to
the very tender intercourse which had
now for some time existed between us.
Nevertheless, Henrietta’s demeanour,
when alone with me, was so extati
cally and excruciatingly loving; she so
shamed all the most rapturous and soui
gushing eloquence of Byron, Moore,
Bayly and company, that I still hesi
tate? in my design, lest after ail she
might really love me, and my deser
tion might pale the damask of her
cheek and biight the bud of her joy
forever: lest banished from the sun
shine of uv smile, she might—as she
had often vowed that in such a flight
she would —be unable to survive the
blow, and falling the victim of love’s
inconstancy, drop into the gloom of an
early and heart-broken grave.
With these conflicting fears and sen
timents, 1 resolved that my course
should be homoq uliie. No real, pro
voking cause for jealousy could i find,
or I should certainly have pounced upon
it w ith most froggish celerity. No way
then remained but to pick some idle
quarrel,and diplomatically throw ing the
blame upon her, demand my ‘papers’
and march oft in offended dignity, de
claring all intercourse henceforward at
an end! Full of these noble resolves
and bolstered up w ith all the cal.ous
barbarity which 1 could command, I
one morning put on my hat and gloves,
and, cane in hand, sallied forth to do
the deed If 1 should Hud her in a
morning dress, I was in the precise
humour u. find Gulf that she did not
wear something eke; or if something ,
else” was the order of the Jay, I was
determined to idolize a dishabille. If
-he ;Mould wear blue, I meant to ecu
sider white more becoming, or if white
Uppened to be her colour, my weak
ness would in evitably incline me to
nine. In all, in any thing that i knew j
that could find abundant and redundant \
cause for a k>\ er’s quarrel, w htch a very
feeble generalship might blow from the
smallest flame to an overwhelming hur
ricane, or confine to a vivacious tem
po t, which, duly passing cif would
b ive purer air and brighter skies. I
might, however, have spared my ten
derness and my tactics. Henrietta |
wa: a more accomplished aid consum
mate flirt than myself. While! v. juld
innocently have displayed all the feel
ing and trepidation of the young prac
titioner in ills first ruuo suigLai cut
tings and slashings, she would have
proceeded with the Cook business-like
sang /raid of the hardened veteran. —
Despite my previous desire to find a
theme of altercation, need I mention
my extreme chagrin when 1 saw that
my dear Henrietta had anticipated me!
W hen I found that 1 was tenderly hesi-
tating to reject her, she had already
unfeelingly and remorselessly aban
doned me! Every one, I presume, has
egotism enough to understand the feel
ings of mortified and humbled vanity
with w hich I entered Henrietta’s bou
doir. anh found her in familiar chat
with the new lion of the village, a
stranger of but a few days residence,
who had been attracted, it was said,
solely by the reputed charms of Miss
Walburton. I had heard of his arrival
and of his introduction to the family of
mv adorable fiancee, but I was astound
ed at finding him so completely do
mesticated and such a favoured proto
g<se of the fair lady. She greeted me
frankly, but without the slightest word
or look which could betray the exist
ance of feelings she had been so long
accustomed to profess. I was equally
indifferent, and from that morning no
kind word ever passed between us, al
though our intercourse still continued.
Unlike Bayly,
* With worldly smiles and w'orldly words.
We passed each other by ;
Or turned away unfeelingly,
With cold averted eye.’
I knew well enough the name of my
successor from the moment when Hen
rietta presented me to her visitor and
friend, Mr. Henry Eaton!”
At this point of the narrative, the
speaker was again interrupted by the
ladies once more tendering their kind
offices to the unhappy hostess. During
the progress of the history, many au
dible sobs and moans, coming at inter
vals from the sick bed, seemed to be
tray the existence of intense pain, in
body or mind. The poor woman, how
ever, still sought to be left unnoticed,
and Mr. Benedict resumed :
“Henry Eaton was, at the time of
which I speak, in the dawning of the
fame, now so widely spread, as an
artist, a gentleman and a wit. Not
only was he the lion of the little vil
lage, but the courted ornament of the
gayest society of the metropolis in
which he dwelt.
(Concluded in oar next.)
Cjjr Unarm it.
SUMMER TRAVEL IN THE SOUTH.
1. Letters from the Alleghany Mountains
By Chatles 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.
[continued from last week.]
Os the Waiin Springs, which still
indicate the near neigh bom hood of those
volcanic fires by which the passage of
the Tselica was opened through its bar
rier mountains, Mr. Lanman might
have made a pleasant chapter. But he
gives us only a paragiaph. These
springs
“ Are thirty-six mites from Asheville, and
within six of the Tennessee line.” There are
several of them, the largest being “covered
with a house, and divided into two equal apart
ments, either one of which is sufficiently large
to allow of a swim. The temperature of the
water is 105 degrees, and it is a singular fact,
that rainy weather hn<= a tendency to increase
the heat, but it never varies more than a couple
of degrees. All the springs are directly on the
southern margin of the French Broad; the
water is clear as cry tal, and so heavy that even
a child may be thrown into it with littie danger
of being drowned. Asa beverage, the water
is quite palatable, and it is said that some people
can and ink a number of quarts per dav, and yet
experience none but beneficial effects. The
diseases which it is thought lo cure are palsy,
rheumatism, and cutaneous affections. The
Warm Springs are annually visited by a large
number of fashionable and sickly people, from
all the Southern States, and the proprietor has
comfortable accommodations for two hundred
and fifty people. His principal building is of
brick, and the ball-room is 230 leet long.—
Music, dancing, flirting, wine-drinking, riding,
bathing, fi hing, scenery-hunting, bowling and
reading, are all practiced here i t an unlimited
extent; but, what is more exciting than all these
pleasures put together, is the ra e sport of deer
hunting.”
The Painted Rock, one of the cu
riosities of the neighbourhood, receives
briefly our traveller’s attention; but
he overlooks “the chimneys” which are
not less curious- We find him next at
the Black Mountain, which is supposed
to be the greatest mountain elevation
east of the Mississippi. It is really
seven thousand feet high, and may well
deserve the name of the monarch of
the Apalachian range. The valley of
the Sw innanoah, a charming mountain
nymph . t U. most capricious beauty,
a tiibutary of the Tsellc?.. wins the pass- j
ing homage oi our traveil, as it might, j
well do. it has frequently comma; tied
ours. And Laid Mowntaii; gives him
occasion to tell the story of the crazy
hermit, David Greet who wa- its pa- j
ttlurch possessor, and who wrote sun
dry wild treatises on religion and go- j
vemment, such as might well accord
with a country such as he occupied,
where every animal but man w •• iti
his dominion. But we must u*l longer
...ccompany the footsteps of on-, author,
who, in his hasty and superficial man
ner, gives us many glimpses of other j
spots of rare beauty, such as v ■ have
already glimpsed at. What we have j
further to ,in respect to pic.;-;
-am and piotioesque among the .;
sources of the 0!d North State, must *
be briefly gathered from < ur own ox
rience.
Let the explore, adopt tffo par
sued by us, seek the -auric legions and
be always content with the same sc
ot 0.-.a iety, and we confidently nro;
him a summer of the most ple-surah
and healthy excitement. We baw ,
crossed the mountains at the gaps vi
G:-.brl<* and Mount Tyron, passing :
through Flat Rock and Asheville, Flat ;
Flock, bv tl ay, to those woo seek
for society oiuv, may well detain the
refined and educated traveller. It is
THIRD VOLUME—NO. 14 WHOLE NO 114.
j one of the most exquisitely placed of
all the mountain villages of the United
States. \\ e can scarcely recall one,
the charms and advantages of whose
mere location is comparable to it; oc
cupying grouped ledges of the moun
tains, in proper relation to each other,
with valleys scooped out between, and
winding paths, conducting to habita
tions, each of which has it special ledge,
which keeps it almost entirely alone.
The society here exhibits the highest
polish of the Atlantic cities. The
amenities are tenaciously observed;
and, if there be any fault at all, it is in
that want of the salient, which is ne
cessary to relieve the monotony of
mere polish—the fastidiousness which
grows out ot an extreme refinement
being but too apt to deprive society of
ail proper piquancy. For this you
must go beyond. You must do as we
have done. Pass resolutely through
the well settled regions, and, mounted
on stout mountain steeds or ponies,
having supplied yourselves with pack
mules or horses, and summoned all the
professional hunters to your aid, push
beyond all the iimits of civilization.
We were singularly fortunate in pur
suing this plan. Having the advan
tage of friends and kinsmen along the
bolder limits of South-Carolina, we
made our provision through their as
sistance, and directed our progress bv
their experience. \V r e carried our bag
gage wagon and supplies. We gather
ed some famous hunters—men to the
manner born—one fully seventy vears
of age, lithe yet and vigorous, whose
cabin was perched upon the loneliest
cliffs of the Hogback Mountain. These
came with their eternal long rifles, and
thei r dogs, a peculiar breed, —the friends
and companions, as well as the willing
subjects of the owner. With these
we pushed mto the great billows of that
sea ot mountains which roll upward
and away from the borders of South
and North Carolina, towards Tennessee
and \ irginia. We crossed the heights
to w hich Mr. Lanman only looked up.
W e planted our tents among their val
leys. Ihe Black, Balsam, and other
mountains yielded our game; and,
hunting for bear and venison by day,
we slept by night at their feet, with oc
casionally the howl of the wolf or the
scream ot the panther, sent down, as
the proper music of the scene, from
the lonely peaks above. Here, when
the day was ended, we lay beside the
fires with our hunters, aiid listened to
the story of their lives, taking notes
by the way, and accumulating a rare
mass ot mountain chronicle, which vve
may hereafter employ in other pages. I
In this w tiv we whiled away a summer. !
conscious only’ of a pleasurable excite
ment, and never of fatigue. On the first
dav of October—such is one of the re
cords in our note book—we picked our
way to the top of one of the loftiest peaks
east ofthe Mississippi, feeding on buckle
berries at every step, the vast tracts of
which spread from the base to the sum
mit of the mountain. A thousand
acres ot huckleberries,at a singleglance,
was no ordinary spectacle.
\V ould you change the ground, and
continue your route into South-Caroli
na ? This is easy, and you will find it
equally, or more abundant, in results.
It is surprising what resources of beau
ty* and sublimity in landscape are pos
sessed by all these sister states. The
same great ranges of the Apalachian,
with the same varieties of form, the
same curiosities ot nature, the same
lovely associations of the sublime, the
terrible, the beautiful, are to be found
in every day’s progress. To pass from
the stupendous summits of North, to
those ot South-Carolina, is but a step
But you may probably prefer to re- |
verse the route—to take the latter
State first, and move upward from the
sea. You may linger profitably for
weeks in the neighbourhood of Charles
ton. For a sea prospect, and the lux
urious delights which accompany it, in
a large, liberal and polished society,
Sullivan’s Island is surpassed nowhere
along the Atlantic coast. There is not
a finer beach in all the Union, and the
associations, historical, traditional and
social, are such as w ill admirably com
pensate the seeker. But you will find
all these recorded in the book of
Father Abbot, the proper hand-book
of this region, to which we commend
you.
\V ere it the w inter, or spring season,
which Hie traveller wruld employ, the
parish country along the seaboard of
South-Carolina, w ith a range of a hun
dred miles upward, would afford him
ample sources of recreation and objects
of interest, at once highly attractive
and peculiar. The modes of life among
the luxurious planters of this region,
the elegancies of society, the charm of
manners, the presence of fine literary
tastes, and the voice of the genius loci ,
speaking through scenes of eminent
traditional and historical interest, might
well compensate the loiterer who should
cl vote a.• ‘*u>on to these precincts.—
But, leaving tnese for the present, as
not calculated to attract in midsu vr,
v.u proceed to the upper tier district!,
v. inch belong to the mountain region*.
W e speed to Givtiivilla, Epavia-nburgh
or Pendleton, points from which you
may diverge to a thousand spots of a
scenery not surpass and ho any of the j
sister States. On your route, you pause
at Glenn's Springs, one of the most
f'.shb-nable of the watering places ot
South-Carolina. These springs belong
to the same family, the members of
w!ri h t ,a scanei ‘a throughout h i ihe
ivrnth In .-auvlb • regions, from Vir
>;** to Missh'sipm. They possess the
*Aii<e g-- a characteristics, and are
obabiy .ally medicinal, being im
ptvjgWed ore or les* with stuphur,
if: :: esia and salts. At Glennb Soring
n will make tii- aeun-siut.mev oi the
ofthe middle upper country
g“. . ‘ , with a slight sprinkling of
otnere from t u ■ The former
ure ‘ us c tti.,:rit.!.;ble unrobe,
rrirouci. c. ihe reason. You u i find j
them equally court os. i-Ueifigeut. and
frank; easy in ir c tanners, and
pro; ot and grace; ; ti their hosp’t&d
ties, “"om this poiui. tk *. transition it-. I
easy to Spartanburgh, a region of per
fect health throughout, lying beautiful
ly for farming, and remarkably well
settled. Here you find ocher medici
nal waters, the Cedar, the Pacolet,
Limestone and Sulphur Springs, each
of which has its advocates, though their
visitors are much less numerous than
those of Glenn’s. The Paseolet, and
other falls and rapids, are objects of
great curiosity ; and the famous battle
field of the Cowpens affords a point of
great attiaction to him who loves to
seek out the memorials of the Revolu
! tion. But, if the object be mountain
scenery, the traveller will speed for
Greenville, which lies adjoining, to the
north and west. The village of this
j name is a beauty among villages, and
its cascade of Reedy River, which
skirts the settlement, affords numerous
subjects for the painter, In the north
east angle of the district, however, you
find bolder pictures, where the beauti
ful blends with the sublime, and in
forms the imagination with images at
once of the stupendous and the sweet.
The Hogback Mountain, acraggedand
perilous ascent, that might find a more
suitable name, is the first of a lordly
brotherhood of heights, which enshrine
a thousand scenes of the terrible and
lovely. Adjoining it, you have the
Glassy Mountain, so named because
of the glazed beauty of its rocky sides,
trickling with perpetual water, in the
sunlight. The waters which flow from
these mountains form the sources of
the Tyger and the Pacolet. Here, also,
you have the Saluda and Panther
Mountains, and, above all, the won
derful rocky cliff’ and precipice of
Caesar’s Head —a name given to it from
a remarkable profile, which, at one view,
the crag presents, of a human, which
might be a Roman face. Sachem’s
Head would be much more appropriate
to the aboriginal locality, as the profile
is quite as proper to the Indian as the
Roman type of face. As the name of
the Indian priest in the Southern States
was lawa, this title would seem a not
inappropriate one to the stern, prophet
like image which this rock affords. The
mountain itself is an entire mass of
granite, rising abrubtly from the valley,
through which a turbulent river hur
ries upon its way. From the precipice,
on this quarter, you have one of the
most magnificent prospects that the
world can show. Standing upon the
edge of the cliff, your eye courses,
without impediment to the full extent
of vision, leaving still regions beyond,
which the fancy spreads out inimitably
beneath your feet. Apart from the
sublime emotions of such a scene, from
such a spot, the sense of danger is en
livened when you discover that the
mountain rises erect from abase seem
ingly quite too slender for its support,
while an awful fissure, divides the mass
from top to bottom, detacjiing an im
mense mass, that threatens momently
t<> go down in thunder upon the uncon
scious valley. The Head of Caesar, or
the lawa, is in some peril of serious
abrasion, it not demolition, in the na
tural progress of events.
But, Pendleton is the district of
South-Carolina most affluent in curiosi
ties of this description. The Table
Rock is one of the wonders of the Apa
lachian range. It rears its colossal front
of granite—an isolated mass, perpen
dicular as a wall—more than eleven
hundred feet in height, with a naked
face of more than six hundred feet.—
The precipice is on the Eastern side.—
It is ascended on this side, by means of
a ladder or steps of wood, fastened with
iron clamps to the stone, and with
several stagings compassing the per
pendicular height. You literally hang
in air. You look down, with a shudder,
upon the awful chasm a thousand feet
below, lour ladder shakes—its steps
are in decay—occasionally one has dis
appeared—and your heart sinks mo
mentarily, rendering necessary the en
couragements of your guide. The
great black wall glistens with the de
scending streams, which the sun coins
into brilliants as fast as they scatter in
to spray. Go below—look lip —and
your soul rises with the majesty of
prayer. On the western side, a stream
darts away, headlong with great speed
—as a doe pursued by the hunters,
whom you may fancy you see in the
five cascades which hound off, from as
many quarters, on a like course, all
striving equally for the Oolenoe, one
of the tributaries of the Saluda, in
which they are all finally lost. But,
the chase is continued daily. There is
still a doe to fly, and still as many hun
ters to pursue. The mountain, on this
side, is well wooded, and is thus in re
markable contrast with the naked wall
of rock in the opposite quarter. You
gain the top of the rock, and find a
rude square or platform. The. wonders
increase around you. Here is another
rock, which is the giant’s stool as the
mountain itself is his table. You may
fancy a dinner party of Gog and Ma
gog, and, it you sleep and dream, may
conjure up images of a feast, where
your chance is to be eaten last, unless,
like l lysses, you can succeed in couch
ing the eye of your feeder. Your fan
cies will be greatly helped by the proofs
around you of unknown race s You
are shown the tracks of gigantic feet,
beasts, birds and men, which may be
those of elephant or tortoise —both are
insisted upon—or the result of the na
tural attrition of water in the rock,
which you may find it quite as pleasant
to believe. Passing to the verge of the
precipice,you feel, with Natty Bumppo,
that you see creation. A cedar tree,
tor yea-s. was the termini \ beyond
which no foot was set. It grew in a
crevice of the rock, and ovethung the
precipice. It was the ordinarv trial of
the adventurer’s courage to Hasp this
tree in his embrace, and swing wer the
chasm. But, the tree perished, finally,
and the teat is performed no lower. —
You sit and gaze; but it will iequire
*y ne before the eye opens fully
i-’ on its vast possessions. To the
north and east, your view is bounded
| by the Alleghanies, of which the rock
1 upon which, you recline is one ot the
! barrier mountains. On a” other sides,