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1852.]
In the thickets sing no thrushes ;
Arbour near me there is none ;
Through the maple branches leafless,
PallTd shines the Autumn sun ;
And no maiden says, “I love thee,”
While her eyes upon me shine ;
In no tender smile I bask me,
And no hand is clasped in mine.
Banks of the Merrimac, Oct. 22, 1852.
(Bititor's Dejnutmnit.
CHARLESTON, S. C
SATURDAY MORNING, JAN. 10, 1852.
EDITORIAL TOPICS.
The themes of the newspaper editor are almost
invariably themes of necessity, rather than of
choice. This is especially true at the present day,
when events of public interest succeed each other
with such rapidity, that one is displaced by a suc
cessor before it has enjoyed its legitimate nine
days’ reign. At this moment, to illustrate, what
daily, or weekly, political or news journal, of any
pretensions to metropolitan character, makes its
appearance without a leader on Kossuth ? lie is
the spirit of the American press—he the great
embodied idea of our journalists. In the broad,
bright glare of his presence and fame, all things
else are swallowed up, as the stars are absorbed
in the flood of noon-tide radiance. Without
amplifying the suggestion, the fact remains—self
evident and irrefutable—that there is but one theme
in journaldom just now, and that theme is Kos
suth !
This fact impressed itself almost painfully upon
our mind a few moments since, as we sat down
to our Sysiphean- toil in the editorial chair. We
say painfully, because it revealed to us the almost
utter hopelessness of our quest in the wide domain
oJ I hougnt, for some other topic with which we
might reasonably expect to interest our readers.
It any one ot them should be disposed to ask U3,
why we would fain resist the force of circum
stance which perpetually obtrudes the great Hun
gatian upon our vision and our thoughts, we can
only leply, that we think the tide of crude and
ill-digested utterance on that theme, already full,
and last enough without any impetus, however
humble it may be, which our pen could impart to
h. \Y e have briefly said what we have to say, at
pie>entat least, about Kossuth and his mission—
the one an enthusiast, and the other a chimera ;
an d yet both of them appealing, by many con
gelations, to our best and most generous im
pulses. Hence it is, that we felt embarrassed a
httie while since, when we darted the eye of en
quhy the catalogue of “editorial topics,”
and saw every theme, whether intellectual, artis
t*o, moral, religious, or social, fantastically dis-
like the figures of a magic lantern into
tlm one only word— Kossuth ! To no purpose did
we shut our eyes to think. The darkness itself
became luminous, and throughout’ clasped fingers
saw, in wavy undulations of light, the same
haunting word Kossuth ! The vision would not
away t In vain did we imagine ourself to be forty
dines Macbeth, and with the accumulated energy
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
of such a multiplication bid it “avaunt.” It was
I there st hl—and when in hopelessness we unclosed
out eyes, the chandelier mocked us, by casting
i u P on tho snowy sheet of paper which lay beneath
it a flood of tremulous tight, whose multitudinous
: flickerings assumed the shape of that one word—
Kossuth.
from that moment to this, we have guided our
pen with a vain endeavour to avoid the charybdis
ot the day. Unconsciously,however, we have been
i diawn within its influence, and while earnest and
firm in our purpose to show our microcosm, that
I are other topics than Kossuth for editorial
| leaders, we are compelled to acknowledge that
we have not been so fortunate as to find one.
| CON SISTENCY IN DRESS.
V\ e are not a “Lady’s Book,” nor do we pre
| tend to be oracular, but there are certain things
: which one notices, and which we may be par
doned for alluding to. At any watering place
where there is a fair representation of the princi
pal cities in the Union, nearly all the ladies cun
be distinguished by the style of their toilettes.
The Boston lady, rich and sombie as to material,
stiff and ungraceful in making up,—New-York,
with less costly, less unique fabrics, but in the
j latest style, light, gay, and decidedly French, —
Philadelphia, neat to plainness, and the best fit
ting, best harmonized dresses of all, while Balti
more shows a warmer tone and greater pro
fussion of trimming. Still further South, come
the rich deep colouring, costly ornaments, and
expensive laces.
But elegant materials, and even elegant gar
ments, can be spoiled in their effect by a want of
| harmony, with time or place, or other artieles
1 worn at the same time. For instance, a white
! satin evening dress, and a badly fitting morocco
slipper—a fine Valenciennes chemisette—and un
; dersleeves, a coarse pattern of embroidery ; or a
- brocade silk in the morning, with short sleeves.
We do not advocate bending to every fashion, or
the changes of the mode, but there are a few broad
rules laid down, which our fair readers would do
well to remember. It is often remarked that most
ladies look best in mourning, and it is not gen
erally known that the reason lies in the absence
of all glaring contrasts of colour, and the general
neatness of forms observed in so plain a dress.
We know that a lack of harmony in colouring is
not confined to ladies alone, for during the holi
day week just passed, it was our fortune to meet
a youth rejoicing in a sky-blue brocaded vest, and
bright green gloves,—but that is the most positive
and obvious error into which they fall. A sombre
dress should have a blight ribbon, or delicately
tinted gloves to relieve it, —a green cloak finds it
appropriate contrast in a white bonnet, but mixing
colours, as a pink bonnet, yellow gloves, Maza
rine blue cloak, and purple and cherry coloured
neck ribbons, would make a showy, rather than
elegant toilette. We have alluded to mixing
costly with inferior articles of dress, —vve have
often seen velvet cloaks and Aheap bonnets, or a
thick mousseline de lainc. Unless all can be
costly, all should be plain ; and, after all, more
depends upon the making up than upon the material
itself. Ruffled bombazines, or flounced brocades,
would be an overloading to any figure, and large
plaids takes away even from a moderate height.
Above all, morning and street dresses should be
particularly neat and simple, as it is in them our
country women are apt to be too prodigal of or
nament.
S Steb of do^ip.
Ballooning.
A recent number of Household Words con
tains one of the most interesting miscellanies,
upon the above topic, which we havo met with in
our late readings. It is full of graphic description,
startling incident, and playful philosophy. We
were particularly struck with the following ac
count of the adventurer’s sensations upon first
mounting into the air. It is quoted from Mr.
Poole’s capital brochure, entitled “Crochets in the
Air.” Mr. Poole went up with the intrepid aero
naut Mr. Green, who lias made nearly five hun
dred ascensions, and carried up nearly fifteen hun
dred “passengers,” without a single fatal accident,
though not without some “hair-breadth escapes.”
Mr. Poole says:
“‘I do not despise you,’ for talking about a
balloon going up, for it is an error which you
share in common with some millions of our fellow
creatures; and I, in the days of my ignorance,
thauglit with the rest ol you. I know betiernow.
The laet is, we do not go up at all; but at about
five minutes past six on the evening of Friday, the
14th of September, 1838—at about that time,
Vauxhall Gardens, with all the people in them,
went down ! I cannot have been deceived, 1 speak
from the evidence of my senses, founded upon re
petition of the fact. Upon each of the three or
four experimental trials of the powers of the bal
loon, to enable the people to glide away from us
with safety to themselves—down they all went
about thirty leet!—then, up they came again, and
so on. There we sat quietly all the while, in our
wicker basket, utterly unconscious of motion ;
till, at length, Mr. Green snapping a little iron,
and thus letting loose the rope by which the earth
was suspended to us —like Atropos, cutting the
connexion between us with a pair of shears—
down it went, with every thing on it ; and your
poor, paltry, little Dutch toy of a town, (your
Great Metropolis, as you insolently call it,) hav
ing been placed on caste rs for the occasion—l am
satisfied of that —was gently rolled away from
under us.”
The Spirit of Punch.
The coup d'etat of Louis Napoleon is likely to
prove a great card to Punch, who has already be
gun to play it with his wontcu spirit, llis chief
picture for the 13th ult., represents Louis Napo
leon “cutting up his goose for the golden eggs.”
It is a most “clever” hit. He has also “a bill of the
French Flay,” with Louis Napoleon as sole man
ager—and the piece, “The French Republic, or
Freedom in Fetters.” Besides the principal char
acters, the performance will be supported “by the
entire strength of the French Army,” and “to en
sure just criticism, the free list— not excepting
the Press —entirely suspended !”
It announces also as “in preparation,” a revival
ol the serio-comico-molo-dramatic spectacle of
The Empire.” He gives us, moreover, the follow
ing emphatic and elaborate “ Leader” on the
French Revolution.
“Louis Napoleon is a school-master, who find
ing that young France has got his sum all wrong,
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