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Southern literary gazette. (Charleston, S.C.) 1850-1852, January 03, 1852, Page 5, Image 7

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1852.] long been, even that] John, the carriage, the carriage : swift! Let ine go home in silence, to reflection, perhaps to sack cloth and ashes! This, and not amuse ment would have profited those high-di zened persons. Amusement, at any rate, they did not get from Euterpe and Melpomene. These two muses, sent for, regardless of ex pense, I could see, were but the vehicle of a kind of service which I judged to be Paphian rather. Young beauties of both sexes used their opera-glasses, you could notice, not entirely for looking at the stage. And it must be owned the light, in this explosion of all the upholsteries, and the human fine arts and coarse, was magical; and made your fair one an Ar mida —if you liked her better so. Nay, certain old improper females, (of quality) in their rouge and jewels, even these looked some reminiscence of enchant i ment; and I saw this and the other lean domestic Dandy, with icy smile on his old worn face ; this and the other Marquis Singedelomme, Prince Mahogany,-or the life foreign Dignitary, tripping into the boxes of said females, grinning there awhile, with dyed moustachios and ma cassar-oil graciosity, and then tripping out again ; and, in fact, 1 perceived that Coletti and Cerito, and the Rhythmic Arts, were a mere accompaniment here. Wonderful to see ; and sad, if you had eyes! Do but think of it. Cleopatra threw pearls into her drink, in mere waste; which was reckoned foolish of her. Rut here had the modern aristocra cy of men brought the divinest of its arts, heavenly music itself; and, piling all the upholsteries and ingenuities that other human art could do, had lighted them into a bonfire to illuminate an hour’s flirtation of Singedelomme, Mahog any, and these improper persons ! Never in nature had 1 seen such waste before. 0 Colletti, you whose inborn melody, once of kindred as I judged to “the melodies eternal,” might have valiantly weeded out this and the other false thing Irona the ways of men, and made a bit of Cod’s creation more melodious, —they have purchased you away from that; chained you to the wheel of Prince Ma hogany’s chariot, and here you make sport for a macassar Singedelomme, and his improper females past the prime of life! Wretched spiritual nigger, oh, if >Oll had some genius, and were not a born nigger with mere appetite for I P urn pkin, should you-have endured such ! a lot'? I lament for you beyond all other expenses. Other expenses are light; you me the Cleopatra’s pearl that should have j ~| eeil flung into Mahogany’s claret-cup. . and Rossini, too, and Mozart and Belli n.l °h, Heavens, when I think that mu sic too is condemned to be mad and to hum herself, to this end, on such a fun |ol P l^e ) —your celestial Opera-house SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. grows dark and infernal to me! Behind its glitter stalks the shadow of eternal death; through it, too, 1 look not “up into the divine eye,” as Richter has it, “but down into the bottomless eye-sock et’—not up towards God, Heaven, and the Throne of Truth, but too truly down towards Falsity, Vacuity, and the dwel ling-place of Everlasting Despair.—Lon don Keepsake, for 1852. f- or the Southern Literary Gazette. THE LORDE CHRYSTMASSE. A Christmas Carol,altered from tiie old English. I am here, the Lorde Chrystmasse ; Give me welcome, lad and lasse, For I come to heale trespasse,— Hurts of soule to heale ; Tidyngs of greate joy I bring, And ye neede, with welcomynge, To rejoyce the inanne I synge, Borne for sinner’s vveale ! ’Tis Chryste’s comyng that ye see He who dyed upon the tree, That youre soules, from sinne sette free, May be his once more : In this promise, make ye cheare, — Yet of evyll joyes beware, Satan spreads his fatal snare, Though his sway bo o’er ! Welcome me, the Lorda Chrystmasse ; Be ye happy, lad and lasse, Yet, beware ye, lest ye passe Bounds ol precious grace ; Peaceful be the pure delyghtes, That make giadae these merne mghtes, So that on Chryste’s holye heightes, Ye may alle have place ! THE DEATH OE A WHALE. [From ‘'Moby Dick,” by Herman Melville, published by the Harpers.] “ ‘Start her, start her, my men ! Don’t hurry yourselves; take plenty of time — but start her; start her like thunder claps, that’s all,’ cried Stubb, sputtering out the smoke as he spoke. ‘Start her now; give ’em the long and strong stroke, Tashtego. Start her, Tash, my boy— start her all; but keep cool, keep cool— cucumbers is the word—easy, easy —only start her like grim death and grinning devils, and raise the buried dead perpen dicular out of their graves, boys—that’s all. Start her!’ ‘\Voo-hoo! Wa-hee!’ screamed the Gay-Header in reply, raising some old war-hoop to the skies; as every oarsman in the strained boat involuntarily bounced forward with the one tremendous leading stroke which the eager Indian gave. But his wild screams were answered by others quite as wild. ‘Kee-hee ! Kee hee!’ yelled Daggoo, straining forward and backward on his scat, like a pacing tiger in his cage. ‘Ka la ! Koo-100 !’ howled Queequeg, as if smacking his lips over a mouthful of Grenadier’s steak. And thus with oars and yells the keels cut the sea.— Meanwhile, Stubb retaining his place in the van, still encouraged his men to the onset, all the while puffing the smoke from his mouth. Like desperadoes they tugged and they strained, till the wel come cry was heard—“ Stand up, Tashte go!—give it to him !’ The harpoon was hurled. ‘Stern all!’ The oarsman back ed water; the same moment something went hot and hissing along every one of their wrists. It was the magical line.— An instant before, Snubb had swiftly caught two additional turns with it round the loggerhead, whence by reason of its increased rapid circlings, a hempen blue smoke now jetted up and mingled with the steady fumes from his pipe. As the line passed round and round the logger head, so also, just before reaching that point, it blisteringly passed through and through both of Snubb’s hands, from which the hand-cloths, or squares of quilt ed canvas sometimes worn at these times, had accidentally dropped. It was like holding an enemy’s sharp two-edged sword by the blade, and that enemy all the time striving to wrest it out of your clutch. ‘Wet the line! wet the line!’ cried Stubb to the tub oarsman (him seated by the tub) who, snatching off his hat, dash ed the sea-water into it. More turns were taken, so that the line began hold ing its place. The boat soon flew through the boiling water like a shark all fins. — Stubb and Tashtego here changed places —stem for stern —a staggering business trul v in that rocking commotion. From the vibrating line extending the entire length of the upper part of the bout, and from its now being more tight than a harpstring, you would have thought the craft had two keels —one cleaving the water, the other the air—as the boat churned on through both opposing ele ments at once. A continual cascade played at the bows; a ceaseless whirling eddy in her wake ; and, at the slightest motion from within, even but of a little finger, the vibrating, cracking craft cant ed over her spasmodic gunwale into the sea. Thus they rushed ; each man with might and main clinging to his seat, to prevent being tossed to the foam ; and the tall form of Tashtego at the steering oar crouching almost double, in order to bring down his centre of gravity. Whole Atlantics and Pacifies seemed passed as they shot on their way, till at length the whale somewhat slackened his flight. ‘Haul in—haul in!’ cried Stubb to the bowsman, and, facing round towards the whale, all hands began pulling the boat up to him, while yet the boat was being towed on. Soon ranging up by his flank, Stubb, firmly planting his knee in the clumsy cleat* darted dart after dart into the flying fish ; at the word of command, the boat alternately sterning out of tho 5