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S)iUJ ILJ ii inliMlN M 1 iAMiI ji II UirAv lk ii il 11 lik TERMS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. (Original For the ,Southern Literary Gazette. A FUNERAL ODE: ON THE DEATH OF THE PRESIDENT. BV W. C. KICHAKDS. “ Requiescat in pace.” I. ’IV warrior fell —not in the tented field, His country's Hag in triumph waving o’er him; Death found him unarrayed with sword and shield, No bannered leagues of hostile men before him: When armed for fight and pressing on the foe, Kadi breath he drew was hot wilh strife and danger, Like Vleshech in the flames, he seemed to go Unharmed, to Fear and Death,alike a stranger. ii. When with a small hut gallant band of men By Mexic legions he was close surrounded, Hope, in his country’s bosom, died e’en then, And through the land the note of fear re sounded .’ Yet naught of ill the brave, old man befel, The bauds of death he broke like flax asunder; And many limes, as our proud annals tell, His scathless daring filled all hearts with wonder. hi. When Peace once more Iter dove-like eyes un closed, And smiled o’er all the land in rainbow beauty, The soldier from his arduous toil reposed, And every tongue approved his perfect duty : So weli he served his country in her wars, She deemed him tit to wear her chiefest glory, T hat name would add fresh lustre to her laws, Which, with her arms, was linked in living story. IV. Now, crowned wilh all the majesty oi state, The patriot-soldier nerved his mighty spirit, For every deed to make his country great, And swell the fame her children should in herit : No selfish aim his lofty soul possest, He worshipped ever at his country’s altar ; And nursed a courage in his generous breast. Which, in defence of Right, would never falter. v. While thus on Fame’s high pinnacle he stood, The gazing world forgot that he was mortal; Heedless that one so true anil wise and good, Might soon be called to puss Death’s frown ing portal: The summons came—as when a trumpet blast, A sudden wakes a slumbering host to battle, The dream that lulled them in a moment past— They hear the cannons roar and loud drums rattle. vi. The brave old hero heard the battle-call, And met his only conqueror—Death—un- daunted ; The King of Terrors could not him appal, Who yet no idle self-reliance vaunted: He died as dies the patriot and the man, His duty done—his soul to God commended : His country saw with pride the race he ran, And weeps that such a bright career is ended! lulq 15, 1850. (Original Coirs. For the Southern Literary Gazette. LA COQUETTE. BY T. ADDISON RICHARDS. “Time sped on, and the period of Mr. Eaton’s visit was still extended. Day alter day and night after night found him at the mansion of the Walbur ton s; until lie eame to l*e universally regarded as the accepted suitor of the admired helle of the village. Being a man of the noblest heart, with a won derful intellect and singularly tascina img manners, he won all hearts and even —-apparently —left some real im pression upon that of Henrietta her s‘lt. It was generally supposed that the haughty and capricious beauty at length really and truly loved, for she was known not to be passionless if sel *lsh. Despite my first natural preju- Jiet > against Eaton, 1 soon learned to Aspect and love him; so that, know ‘“g Henrietta so well, and observing tar to practice towards him the very **<o6 dangerous arts which had been s ‘> fatal to myself and others, I grew ailJ dous for my friend’s happiness. In rn y position, though, 1 felt that any in terference on my part would be very unwarrantable, since my hints might, reasonably enough, be supposed to s pnng from some malicious and miser hle feeling of petty revenge. ” W ith the flight of time these fears o “1 mine were entirely lulled, and, not- Wl thstanding mv scepticism, I was con strained to think the girl, at least, sin ’ e| e in her attachments to Harry Eaton. ‘‘re she not so, 1 felt that my warn would now be too late; for my generous friend’s love, was boundless as the sea. and his confidence as deep. j) x “‘neath a quiet exterior, he possessed very volcano of passion, which 1 was ’ “ ,lv 'inced would in this affair be fully Ul( used for good or for evil, as the ’ might prove. With the gayest Ul, t ieipations for the future, Harry at ” “gth took his departure from ll***, ‘“ prepare his city home, for his pro -1 “‘ Ne< l bride, whom he was pledged to “ l ‘m within the brief compass of two I s months. tae approaching nuptials of the “ llll g couple, now made the all en "•sing theme of discourse upon the J! | |,s °’ the good villagers of H***.— ‘ lUs it continued until about two _ after Harry’s departure, when a a mmei mm Mk mwm m mmmm. &m m® mmm> mb i® mmM* wmmmm. new cause for speculation absorbed the minds of the fickle populace. This new and surprising event was nothing \ess than the debut at the principal hotel in the town, of a real, live, whis kered, moustached and shampooed count, with servant and baggage to match. Shall 1 paint the sensation cre ated by this wonderful apparition ? What was the gay coat of Col. Charles Benedict, or the quietly growing repu tation and slender wealth of Mr. Henry Eaton to the person, rank, fortune and graces of the most noble Count Bou teille D’Eau! Heavens! the whole village was in the highest possible fever of excitement and expectation ! Mam mas looked meaningly at their daugh ters, and then the brows of mammas clouded as the ways and means of se curing the society of the distinguished Count, too slowly developed them selves, even in their ever-ready brains. Shall I depict the general envy when it was known that the noble stranger’s first visit, was to the lady Henrietta; and when the report was, on the fol lowing afternoon confirmed by the ap parition of the favoured belle, mounted upon a noble steed and attended by another exactly similar, upon which gracefully bent, the form of the gallant Bouteille D’ Eau ! “ Henrietta seemed fully conscious of her triumph, for proudly did she re turn the glances of her female friends, and intense was the hauteur of the smile w ith which she answered the look of appeal find interrogation which 1 gave her upon the part of my friend Eaton. I saw', with sorrow, that the worst feelings of her nature, which un der the pure influence of Harry’s sin cere eloquence and love, had slumbered —were again breaking forth, and with renewed force. Here was food for the loftiest vanity ! Not only was there the pride of birth and rank, but the wealth to maintain it, in its utmost ex travagance. In my own visits to the Walburton’s I never heard the name of Eaton men tioned, although the bridal day was quickly drawing nigh. The everlasting Count, with his quiet air of nonchalence and savoir viore , always presented him self, or if, for a moment, he was happi ly absent from the scene, his abomina name was unceasingly beat into my poor ears. It was ‘ the Count did this, and the Count did that; or Monsieur le Compte thinks so, and Monsieur le Compte thinks thus; Monsieur goes here and Monsieur goes there, until at last, in my impatience, I wished truly and sincerely, and without any equivo cation that among all his goings, he would have the extreme politesse to go to the d —l! “ In this critical posture of affairs, I surmounted all feelings of idle delicacy, and wrote seriously to Harry, inform ing him of rny anxiety, and urging him to make all dilligence to defend his in terests in person. In his reply to this communication, he thanked me for my kind solicitude, but thought my fears quite groundless and expressed his un qualified reliance upon Henrietta’s con stancy ! rejoicing, even, that chance had presented her so excellent an op portunity to prove her truth. ‘Should she not bear the test,’ he added, - 1 shall esteem myself unhappy, not in having expbsed her to it, but in her want of love to withstand so weak atrial. Un happy in having worshiped at an un worthy shrine, but fortunate in season ably detecting the unworthiness.’ “ Alas ! little was there in the un lovely character of Henrietta to claim this exalted confidence. To say that he was blind to her faults, would be doing injustice to his knowledge of the human heart and his intuitive skill in rightly reading the spring of human conduct. But with him the ‘imagina tion all compact’ displayed the never failing strength of union and this power of the fancy was often daringly permit ted to run away with sober reason.— Ilis extremely sanguine temperament led him to hope more good of his fel lows, than his reflection taught him he had any right to expect, Ilis percep tion therefore not only of defect but of great faults in the character of his be loved, had not the weight with him, which might have been expected. He ascribed them to the ill-effects of in judicious training and unwise associa tion, and he loved to regard her not on ly as his cherished wife, but as the child and pupil whose mind and heart he should develope and perfect by the master power of love. Thus her faults so far from destroying his love, served but as new fuel to the flame. But while it can be readily understood how a man like Ilenry Eaton, should thus hopefully deck his ideal, it may be a matter of more wonder, how he was first led to build that ideal with such faulty materials, and upon so unstable a foundation. It is from the very rea | son that he was what he was, that this result ensued, a man with duller intel lect, with less pure and fervent fancy ; a being more of the ‘earth, earthy’ would have better judged between the rock and the sand, and have paid more defcranee to coming winds and rains and floods. “In his first interview with Henrietta, his eye and fancy as an artist and as a worshipper of human loveliness were enraptured and dazzled. In after in tercourse he was more seriously at* tracted by the sparkling vivacity and wit, which unfolded this angelic beauty in a thousand changing and ravishing lights. The gentle and apparently un conscious insinuation of her admiration of his character and genius, was well and skillfully timed; for few are the souls quite dead to polished and judi. cious flattery. The humble deference paid to his slightest word ; the agita ted movement and the mantling blush when he drew nigh, so inimitably as sumed ; the abstracted and earnest gaze upon his face, withdrawn in con fusion when observed; the thousand other artful betrayals of a reverance and love which she seemed to wish to but could not conceal, formed the su preme and omnipotent lever with which the wily and heartless girl had won other hearts, and now raised from its iealous depths that of the dreaming Henry Eaton. The coquette, perhaps, loved the poet, as well as she could love any thing ; for his loyal and unselfish de votion had loudly spoken to whatever of goodness and truth remained in her heart. Whether these holier impulses would have retained the ascendancy had Eaton remained by her side, is doubtful. He was not there to warn and reprove, while the most noble Bouteille D” Eau, the ‘observed of all observers,’ the noble scion of a noble house, the happpy heir of Fortunatus, the Delphos ot the bean monde , the ir risistable Monsieur le Cornpte —was there to bewilder and intoxicate ! “The infallible upshot of all this came like a thunder bolt upon poor Harry when he was up to his elbows in the suds of his preparations and schemes for the girl’s happiness. Una ble to realize that such treachery could exist beneath so angelic a guise, he would fain have persuaded himself that it was but a gay jest meant to test his love. Under this illusion he wrote to Henrietta, but her reply, with a very slight outlay of feeling, confirmed the truth of the disette ; while the return of his letters—l never heard any thing of the gifts—served as a corroboratory supplement thereto. “ To Harry the affair was much less indifferent. Unwilling still to believe her so false, and,from his deeply cherish ed love, maddened by the thought of forever resigning her to another, he made a last appeal, in which he poured out his whole strong soul, with an elo quence which could not have failed in reaching a heart worthy of the offering. Unable to restrain his impatience, he took his seat in the coach which suc ceeded the post containing his letter, resolved to follow it and in person learn the worst; while he yet hoped to save her who had so long an d near his heart, and occupied his hourly thoughts. “Reaching the village, he repaired, without a moments delay, to the man sion of the Walburtons. Receiving no answer to his knock upon the half opened door, he entered the parlour and seated himself in his old familiar place upon the sofa, while his brain burned with fever and excitement. Scarcely was he thus established, when the sound of voices reached him from the adjoin ing room. It was Henrietta’s boudoir. She herself, appeared to be present, as also her brother, and Monsieur le Cornpte Bouteille D’ Eau, whom he re cognized from the manner in which he was addressed. Henrietta and her lover were commenting upon some manuscript which young Walburton was reading for their edification. Eaton was stupified to hear under such cir cumstances, and in such a tone of levi ty —the passionate words of his own last letter to Miss Walburton ! He listened scarcely conscious of what he did. “ ‘Attention Henrietta !’ cried the youthful Walburton. ‘ Here is a precious monceau which holds out a chance for you yet to repent and be converted.’ “ Then came the reading of the fol lowing extract from the letter. ‘I am not ignorant of your failings my sweet Henrietta, and I know that you some times give way, for a moment, to the weak influences of vanity. If such a feeling has prompted you in the present sad case, I know that it must pass away even in the hour of its birth. — You cannot sacrifice, to such an idle and pitiful impulse, the fifith, love and boundless adoration which alone make wedded life happy and joyous. You were vowed to me, dearest, when I know you must have been sincere, and you will not question the truth of my own heart. Reflect, oh reflect my Henrietta before it be too late! Cast not love from you. Let us remember the past only as a frightful delirium and once more be happy.’ ‘ ‘Poor fellow !’ soliloquized Henri etta, ‘ how T infatuated—only to think CHARLESTON, SATURDAY, AUG. 10, 1850. of my having been in earnest! of my ever having seriously loved him ! Ab surd !’ “‘Wery absurd weary,’ added the Count, ‘ But ’tis a charming letter ’pon honor ! Que le (liable m'eniporte, if it is not most remawkably noice!’ Mr. Benedict’s recital was here again interrupted by the suffering occupant of the hut, in which they wt re sojourn ing. \Y hatever her bodily pain, her mental anguish appeared very intense, from the despair with which the ejacu lation of ‘ may God forgive!’ was wrung from her colourless and quiver ing lips, The auditors preserved a strict silence for some instants, but as she uttered nothing furthur, the narra tive was continued as before. The poor woman’s prayer, however, seemed to fall Avith a strange effect upon the ear of Mr. Benedict, or else the asso ciations awakened by his theme afflict ed him, for he afterwards spoke with much less of careless humour. “At the heartless laugh which fol lowed the elegant speech of tne worthy Count, Eaton s spell was broken. In all the dignity of insulted pride and abused confidence he made but one stride to the apartment, appearing be fore the astonished inmates as a terri ble spectre from the g’rave. It is said that Henrietta grew pale and almost fainted at*the dreadful reproach con veyed in his cold and speaking look. “ ‘Madam !’ said he after a moments pau.,e, ‘may 1 beg you to return me that letter, as I hereby withdraw every syllable which it contains. I am in debted to you for some hours of false hope, fully counterbalanced by many yet to come of bitter memory. Think not that 1 regret your loss ! no ! I es teem it the happiest day of my life which has shown you to me in vour true colours ! In remembrance of the past, I cannot curse you madam; but rather would 1 pray heaven to pardon your black treachery, as 1 now forgive you ! farewell madam! farewell!’ “ ‘Stop sir !’ interposed the youthful scion of the Walburtons. ‘This in trusion and these words to mv sister are insufferable ! your card sir, and my friend, here, will seek of you on my part, satisfaction for this insult!’ “Eaton bestowed a smile of min gled bitterness and contempt upon the trio, as he replied, ‘not you sir ! I can not raise my hand against her brother. Give your weapon sir, to him, (point ing contemptuously at the Count,) he is a man of rank and of the world, who doubtless knows better the use of such implements than you or 1!’ “ The Count was about to interfere at this stage of the proceedings, but the brother interrupted him by turning hastily to Eaton and answering, ‘ Be it so. Bouteille D’ Eau has, perhaps, a better right to defend the honour of Henrietta than myself. I present you, Mr. Eaton, to rny friqpd the Count Bouteille D’ Eau.’ “ The Count responded to this intro duction with an easy smile, as he yawn ed forth, ‘Charmed to make your ac quaintance Mr. Eating!’ . “ Thus belligerently brought togeth er the rivals formally exchanged cards, and Eaton without another word proud ly withdrew. “ And what of the duel ?” eagerly demanded one of the young ladies, as Mr. Benedict paused for breath, “Was the Count killed ? Aye?” “ Not quite,” replied the historian, laughing. “ The preparations for the meeting were duly made, but when the parties should have assembled, the noble Count was ex-officio. It seems that having imbibed, somehow or other, a very strange antipathy to the disa greeabl smell of powder, he had, upon the morning in question, taken a very early ride to strengthen his nerves, and from which he has not returned to break fast even unto this day ! “It was soon after truly reported that he had nobly resigned his style and title, and had mingled in a truly republican spirit with the humble peo ple of the good old city of Mannahat ten. It was there, that six months af ter the event related, one day stepping into my barbers and happening to gaze up into the face of the able manipula tor behind my chair, I descried my old acquaintance Bouteille D Eau! Lest any sign on my part of recognition, should agitate him to the endangering of my most innocent jugular, I did not seem to remember his countenance, and finally departed leaving him quite unconscious that he had been recog nized. “ This and many similar stories get ting abroad but added to the deep mor tification and shame, which Henrietta and her family experienced from many rapidly succeeding causes of chagrin and distress. Among other things was the loss of their never very large for tune. Afterwards came the death of both parents. The intemperate and dis solute course of the brother, soon con signed him to the felon’s home. These trials and adverses, added to the com plete loss of public esteem which Hen rietta experienced; the ridicule and contempt which every where greeted her; with, it may be, some little re gret at losing the love of Eaton, in duced a sickness which passed from fever to that beauty marring disease —the small-pox. “ Thus with the loss of home, friends, lovers, beauty and health, she left the village and wandered forth a poor mis erable exile, to seek her bread from the charity of a cold world. Many at tempts have since been since made to discover her retreat, Eaton, especially has sought, but in vain, to find her. He remembers her yet in pity, and w T ould fain know that she is in no physical want. “ < )ur Harry has a noble heart, and although I have not much faith in woman’s vows, yet I trust that Byron’s idea touching ‘two or one being al most what they seem,’ is not altogether aphochryphal; and that if not our dis tinguished friend may have found in his sweet Ella, that very one rara avis ! He deserves it, and a long and happy life say I to him and his charm ing bride! “ Bride ! his bride !” shrieked the in valid to whom we have already more than once alluded, and who, as the speaker finished his story — making a desperate effort raised herself in her bed and gazed upon the visitors Avith sunken and haggard eyes. “ O God ! his happy bride!” “Just Heaven!” cried Charles, his eyes fixed upon the emaciated wretch, “It must be—it is her! vet in that wasted and degraded figure, I cannot recognize the lovely being of a few brief years ago ! Tell me poor woman —who are you ?” “Oh!” bitterly sighed the invalid, heedless of the question addressed to her, “Sorely, sorely, my God am I punished, and yet 1 have deserved it all! Harry married and happy, while I am dying a wretched outcast, and — she —his—bride !” “ Who are you V’ reiterated Charles. “His bride! 6 God ! his bride !” “ Henrietta !” said Charles earnestly and drawing nearer to the bed. “ Yes ! Henrietta WaJburton !” screamed the poor sufferer convulsive ly, and then sinking exhausted upon her miserable pallet. After a brief pause, she whispered hoarsely. “Par don—Charle —for all the wrong I have done you —I have suffered—oh ! how much—now—l am—dying Charles! oh! pardon—and tell Harry—not io—curse me—now’ —life is ebbing —forgive— forgive—!” Thus miserably and ignobly passed away,the stricken spirit from that form, once so full of high and haughty hope. Upon that mournful couch, what a moral did our merry party read to their merry tale. €l)t llruiruier. 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. [concluded from last week.] But, we must hasten, warned by our limits that we shall have but little space to do justice to the exquisite scenery of our sister State of Georgia. Still, we cannot leave this region of South-Carolina without a glance at another of its sylvan beauties. Let us hurry to the mountains of Saluda, and look at the falls, vulgarly called slick ing—a corruption, in all probability, of the Indian word, Salicana. Some eight miles from this glassy cataract, you find the nearest stopping-place or inn. The road thence, leads, as the trave ler chooses, over the Table Rock, which we have already visited, or by another route to the right. In our own visit, the latter, as the nearer route, was taken. From the piazza of your inn, you have a magnificent view of Table mountain on the north. A beautiful valley, at the foot of this mountain, is prettily styled “ The Valley of the Cove.” It is almost environed by the Saluda, which winds about it —a stream of moderate size—on the northern side. Our course, for a while, pursued the margin of this stream —sometimes it led us through it. At length we reach ed a cottage at the foot of the Saluda Mountain, and in close proximity to the falls —let us call them the Saiiuica —which leap down its rugged sides.— We may mention, however, while thus seeking, as we think, to restore the In dian title, that our hostess, speaking of the subject, insisted that they were called Slicking, for the excellent reason that they so sleekly tumbled over.— But this would apply to every cataract. The waters accumulate amidst the rae anderings of the Slicking River, and do not seem to get on very sleekly un4 til they take their final plunge. Saluda Mountain, at the falls, lies within the district of Greenville, some thirty miles from its district town. The fall is the boast of all this section of the State, and is, indeed, well-deserving of its reputation. You ascend the moun tain on foot. Some breath, and a fre quent pause, is required for the task. You follow the windings of the river, and, after a stride of a quarter of a mile, you reach what is called “ The Trunk,” it being the point of junction for two separate branches of the stream. Either of these branches you may pur sue in your further progress. The space between them gradually .in creases, as you ascend, and they are widely asunder at the summit. Be tween the two, you hear the perpetual music of their rushing waters, like rival voices—deep calling unto deep—and seeming to regulate their mutual sounds in -the recognition of an equal sympa thy. They both abound in cascades, which cry, at intervals, loudly to each other, doubtles, even, when there are no listeners—so profligate are they of their music. The right hand arm of the stream is much the most preferred by visitors, as being much the most im pressive and picturesque. “The Trunk,’’ by the way, must not be passed impa tiently ; though your better plan will be to examine it on your return. Here, you may sit and ponder, equally busy with thought and eye. Here, you may witness, at once, the marriage of the two streams, and the ardour with which they precipitate themselves, at the same moment, to a fond embrace in the de licious bed below. This lies some seventy feet perpendicularly down, and would have done for Sappho as effectu ally as Leucadia. Find your way to it, without following the example of the cascade or the poetess. It is easy to do so. The path is’ quite accessible to a patient spirit and tolerably sure foot. Nay, for that matter, you need not be too cautious; only, do not hur ry yourself, lest you lose some of the precious beauties of the scene. The place is full of them. And, now, that you are at The basin, stop and take breath. Sit and survey. Recline and meditate. It is a refuge quite as sweet and secure as that of Rasselas in the Happy Valley. It the very paradise of shade and sensibility. It is the dia mond in the desert, like that famous fountain which witnessed the combat of Saladinand Richard Coeur de Lion ; —like, yet unlike. Here is shade as well as seclusion-—coolness as well as water —beauty and grandeur as well as repose and solitude. No retreat could be imagined more equally wild and winning—none so pleasing and picturesque. The sun, save at meridi an, is seldom permitted to peep into tAis holy chamber. Ho may safely presume to do so at that hour, as we may then suppose the wood nymphs and the naiads, all to have made their toilet. And, now, that you have rest ed, look around you—look before you —look above you. On one side you behold the mighty parapets of rock —the great towers —the perpendicular columns of venerable stone, which the guardian Nature has upheaved as ap propriate homes and temples for the protection of her favourites. It is, you perceive, a bulwark ; and it is only in the crevices of the decaying masonry, along the sides, that Beauty has been permitted to insert her loving fibres, he r sweet shrubs, her velvet mosses, her chaplets of softest pink and gayest orange. Now, cast your eyes opposite, for the crowning drama, of which this is the appropriate scene and theatre.— Lo ! the two snow-white forms leapiug over, with the action of a mingled grace and terror, to bury themselves at our feet. There are the two white masses of cascade, with hair streaming in the wind, like that of the Welch Bards described by Gray, darting head long from the heights. This unique drama—this sacrifice upon the twin al tars of Terror and of Beauty—takes place every day. There is no post ponement of the performance, even though there be no spectators but the vulture and the wolf! But, let us hast en our march for Georgia. Our fair sister was the region of most attraction during the last summer.— The facilities for approaching her places of magnificence and beauty were great er than those of the adjoining States. She reaped largely of the benefits of that travel which cholera and abolition denied to the North. Her highways and inns were crowded, and the glories of her mountain scenery became fully known, for the first time, to her neigh bours. Her watering places are singu larly numerous. Her medicinal fount ains are equal in virtue to any in the South- Every upland county boasts of its particular blessings of hygeia.— Her waters have properties, besides, to which other'regions make no claim. — They bring inspiration, as well as health, to tliose who drink. A single cup con verts a plain man into a Troubadour, lie wakes at morning and finds himself famous “ blasted by Phoebus with po etic fire,” and he proceeds to sing, in strains that will be remembered when those of Milton are forgotten. Beauty listens with rapt senses to the unwonted melody, and in the enjoyment of anew luxury, the pleasures of a ball-room are abandoned. From a hundred watering places the pealing accents ascend. — Madison’s Gordon’s Rowland’s, echo to one another with a lyrical overflow, that sweeps away the confounded sense and “ laps it in Elysium.” It is the first time, perhaps, in the history of the world, when chalybeates answer the purposes of champagne—when, to pro duce all the effects of nectar and am brosia, one has only to swallow a few quarts of salts and magnesia, in tolera bly thick solution. Thus health, youth, beauty, taste and art, attended by song and sunshine, walk the faces of her mountains, and group themselves joyously about her fountains and her streams. Madison Springs are deservedly famous in the regards of Georgia. A fine house, kept, and crowded usually with excellent company, makes it easy to forget Newport and Saratoga. It would task a more fruitful pen than ours to de cribe the variety of influences which serve to beguile the thousands who seek this place of re tort, and forget the progress of time in the unceasing round of their enjoyments. The ball, the picnic , the fete champetre, the soiree, the tableaux vivans, nightly, render life a charming illusion, as well for heart as fancy ; and, if the eye is permitted to see the dropping of the sands in the hour-glass, they are of gold and amber as they flow. The beauty of the wings of time, in this region, THIRD VOLUME-NO. 15 WHOLE NO 115. makes one heedless of his flight. Here was the best society in Georgia, ilitli er came her selectest circles. You might meet at the same moment the gravest signiors of the State, dignified sage's of the long robe, yielding them selves to the fascinations of the most piquant of its fashionables; the stern man of public cares, revelling in the gardens of Armida, under the grateful despotism of the Faery Queene. Nor is Madison’s Springs alone. It is only one of many places of like attraction, which, as our purpose is not a catalogue, we need not particularize. If the read er is curious, let him look to the second work in our rubric, the “ Georgia Illus trated,” which is a beautiful specimen of the arts in the South. Here he will find full and interesting details of much that is conspicuous in the resources and scenery of our lively and lovely sister. The volume of Mr. Lanman will also supply him with much information in respect to her scenery and characteris tics. He gives sketches of Dahlonega, a region of equal health and beauty, to which the route of travel, last season, did not sufficiently incline; —of the Valley of Nacoochee—Mount Yonah —Clarksville—the Cascade of Toceoa, and the Cataract of Tallulah. Here is his description of Toceoa : “ The Tuccuah is a small stream—a mere brooklet, and, for the most part, is not at all distinguished for any other quality than those belonging to a thousand other sparkling streams of this region ; but, in its oceanward course, it performs one leap which has given it a reputa tion. On this account the Aborigines christened it with the name of Tuccoah , or the beautiful. To see this cascade, in your mind’s eye, (and I here partly quote the language of one who could fully appreciate its beauty,) imagine a sheer precipice of gray and rugged rock, one hundred and eighty-six feet high, with a little quiet lake at its close, surrounded by sloping masses ol granite and tail shadowy trees.— From the overhanging lips of this cliff, aloft, between your upturned eyes and the sky, comes a softly flowing stream. After making a joy ous lea;), it breaks into a shower of heavy spray, and scatters its drops more and more widely and minute, until, in little more than a drizzling mist, it scatters the smooth, moss-covered stones lying immediately beneath. All the way up the sides of this precipice cling, wherever space is afforded, little tufts of moss and delicate vines and creejiers, contrasting beautifully with the solid granite. There is no stunning noise of falling waters, but only a dripping, pattering, plashing in the lake ; a murmuring sound, which must be very grateful during the noontide neat of a summer day. There comes also a soft, cool breeze constantly from the foot of the pre cipice, caused by the falling shower, and this ripples the surface ol the pool, and gently agi tates the leave.- around and overhead.” The Hon. R. M. Charlton, in the “Georgia Illustrated,” thus describes tiic same scene: “ Several years have passed away since I last stood at the beautiful Fall of the Toecoa. It was one of the delightful summer days pecu liar to the climate of Habersham county. The air had all the elasticity of the high region that surrounded us, and the scenery was of a cha - after to elevate our spirits and enliven our fancy. “ A narrow passage led us from the road side to the foot of the Fall. Before us appeared the perpendicular face of the rock, resembling a rugged wall, and over it ‘The brook came babbling down the mountain’s side.’ The stream had lost much of its fullness from the recent dry weather, and as it became lashed into fury by its sudden fall, it resembled a silver ribbon, hung gracefully over the face of the rock, and waving to and fro with the breath of the wind. It reminded me, more forcibly than any other scene I had ever beheld, of the poetic descriptions of fairy-land. It is just such a place—as has often been remarked by others— where wc might expect the fays and elves to assemble of a moonlight night, to hold their festival on the green bank, whilst the spray, clothed with the varied colours of the rainbow, formed a halo of glory around their heads. It is indeed beautiful, surpassingly beautiful : the tall trees reaching hut half way up the moun tain height, the silver cascade foaming o’er the brow of the hill, the troubled waters of the mimic sea beneath, the lulling sound of the falling water, and the call of the mountain birds around you, each and all come with a soothing power upon the heart, which makes it anxious to linger through the long hours fM’ the summer day. “ Tearing ourselves away from the enchant ment that held us below, we toiled our way to the top of the Fall, using a path that wound around the mountain. When we reached the summit, we trusted ourselves to such support as a small tree which overhangs the precipice could give us, and looked over into the basin beneath. Then, growing bolder as our spirits rose with the excitement of the scene, we divested ourselves of our boots and stockings and waded into the stream until we came •vithin a few feet of the cascade. This can be done with but little danger, as the brook keeps on the even and unruffled tenor of its way until just as it takes its lofty plunge into the abyss below. “ The height of the Fall is now 186 feet; formerly it was some feet higher, but a portion of the roek was detached some years ago by the attrition of the water, and its fall has de tracted front the perpendicular descent of the stream.” “ Toccoa forms but one of the beautiful links in the chain of mountain scenery in the north-western part of Georgia. There may be beheld the grandeur of the lofty Yonah, the magnificenc and terrific splendour Tallulah, The quiet and romantic vale of Nacoochce, and the thousand brilliant landscapes that adorn and beautify the face of nature. All these at tractions will, doubtless, before many score of years have passed away, make Habersham county and its environs the summer retreat of Georgians from the low country, and help to unite in closer bands the dweller on the sea shore and the inhabitant of the mountain.” Toccoa is, indeed, a mountain beau ty of rare loveliness. The eascade falls in a sheet most like a thin gauzy veil, through which sparkles a galaxy of lit tle brilliants. It is the emblem of equal purity and beauty. Its adjuncts are all of the same character. Beauty, rather than grandeur, is the word by which to describe it, though the latter element is not wanting to its charms, it is only held in subjection to the su periour sweetness of its fascination. Toccoa is a lyric to the eye. It is a single outgushing of fond musical notes, wit h a sudden and sparkling overflow wildly quick, but rarely temperate; eager and full of impulse, yet chastened by the exquisite method of a grace and tenderness which prevail throughout the picture. A few miles from Toccoa is another scene, in rich and absolute contrast with it. If Toecoa is the beautiful, Tallulah is the terrible! We give a portion of the description of Mr. La li man : “ The Cherokee word I'aUulah or Tarrurah signifiies the terrible, and was originally ap plied to a river of that name, on account ot its fearful falls. This river rises among the Alle ghany mountains, and is a tributary of the Sa vannah. Its entire course lies through a moun tain land, and in every particular it is a moun tain stream, narrow, deep, clear, cold, and sub- ject to every variety of mood. During the first half of its career, it winds among the hills, as if in uneasy joy, and then, for several miles, it wears a placid appearance, and you can scarcely hear the murmur of its waters. Soon tiring of this peaceful course, however, it narrows itself for the approaching contest, and runs through a chasm whose walls, about four miles in length, are for the most part perpendicular, and, after making, within the space ot half a mile, a number of leaps, as the chasm deepens, it settles into a turbulent and angry mood, and so continues for a mile and a hall further, until it leaves the chasm and regains its wonted character. The Falls of Tallulah, properly speaking, are five in number, and have been christened Lodore, Tempesta, Oceana, Horicon and Serpentine. Their several heights are said to be forty-five feet, one hundred, one hundred and twenty, fifty and thirty feet, making, in connection with the accompanying rapids, a descent of at least four hundred feet, within the space of half a mile. At this point the stream is particularly winding, and the cliffs of solid granite on either side, which are perpen dicular, vary in height from six hundred to niiie hundred feet, while the mountains which back the cliff reach an elevation of perhaps fifteen hundred feet. Many of ihe pools are very large and very deep, and the walls and rocks in their immediate vicinity are always green with the most luxuriant of mosses. The vegetation of the whole chasm is particularly rich and varied. For you may find not only the pine, but specimens of every variety of more tender trees, together with lichens, and vines, and flowers, which would keep the botanist employed for half a century. Up to the pre sent time, only four paths have been discovered leading to the margin of the water, and to make either of these descents requires much of the nerve and courage of the samphire-gatherer. Through this immense gorge a strong wind is ever blowing, and the sun-light never falls upon the cataracts without forming beautiful rain bows, which contrast strangely with the sur rounding gloom and horror: and the roar of the waterfalls, eternally ascending to the sky, comes to the ear like the voice of God, calling upon man to wonder and admire.” He goes into subsequent details, which describe the several best points of view along the Falls of Tallulah. W e could wish that our Georgia friends would lind out, and restore, the Indian names of these places, instead of com pelling us to borrow the stale epithets employed in other places. What is Lodore to us, or Horicon ? Let them stay where they belong, and give us our own sonorous names, which, as in the ease of Tallulah itself, must always been superior in diginity and music, to the foreign graftings which we put upon them. The “Georgia Illustrated” contains finely engraved views, both of Toccoa and Tallulah. That of Toc ooah is very felicitous. We regard that of Tallulah as quite unfortunate, and conveying a most inadequate im pression of the wondrous beauty and sublimity, the terrible grandeur and wild pow ers of the scene. If Toccoah is the lyric of water-falls, Tallulah is the grand five act drama, the sublime and awful tragedy, scene upon scene, accumulating with new r interest, until the repose of death overspreads the catastrophe. It so happens that Tallu lah is a series of cascades, five in num ber, with a pause between each, in which the waters, exhausted apparently by previous conflict, rest themselves before resuming their fearful progress to new struggles. These rests afford you glimpses ot the, sweetest repose. The stream seems momently to sleep, and, in such lovely lakelets, that }ou almost look to sec the Naiad Princess emerging from the surrounding caves, w ith loosened trusses, preparing for the bath. Ihe next progress increases the action and the interest of the scene, until, at the close, you set; only the convulsive forms below’ you, writhing as it in death, and hear the deep groans ot their panting agony, sent up to you in an appeal that seems to ask for sym pathy and vengeance. But, we have no space left for description or dilation. — Tallulah takes rank, with Niagara. If inferior in the volume of its waters, it is vastly superior in the vat iety of its scenes. In Niagara you are the witness of one grand, overwhelming catastro phe. It is a single act, and all is over. Here you have the whole drama, and watch its progress with increasing inter est,from the first to the final scenes. The scenery of the; surrounding county is also very far superior to any thing that Niagara may boast. A landscape painter might spend his life yvithin a space of fifteen miles square, in this neighbourhood, and find anew and no ble subject for his pencil every day in the year. \\ 6 have said nothing, in our pro gresses through the several States to which we have given our attention, of the thousand lovely traditions and do mestic histories which crown nearly every one of their scenes of beauty with a commanding moral interest. — 1 hese must be reserved lor future pages. Enough, in this place, te re mark that the lover ot the legend may find tresh food for the imagination at every step he takes. The future bal lad, monger may weave a thousand border and Indian lays, from what he hears, such as, allied with peculiar lo calities, shall make them famous in the affections, and objects of search and study to the lover ot the marvellous. It is indeed surprising what resources for romance, for art, and poetry aceu late about you as you proceed. The genius loci and valley, stream, dell, dingle and bosky wood, and temples and memorials upon a thousand sum mits, such as will make tor us a via sacra, which the future will as greatly love to tread, with a passionate venera tion, such as we now feel when we wander along the banks of the Illissus, or muse upon the past beneath the mountain summits of Taygetus and jEgaleus. Hut a truce to our travail. The sum mer is begun, and our *• Soft-heads” are already on the move. Their numbers, however, are greatly diminished. They have openened their eyes upon the truths, North and South, which they have been too slow to see—and will not close them suddenly. In the former, they see that neither peace, nor security, nor comfort awaits them they see hostility, envy, malice and ad uncharitableness ; —in the latter, the} discover abundance, harmony, a world of treasures, equall\ open to the mind and eye; and sympathies which welcome them to abodes of hos pitality, and regions equally precious to the heart and fancy.