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wfirni mmm mb. TERMS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. cfniginnl jjAortrt). 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,