Newspaper Page Text
1852.]
be solved by human calculation. Let
faith stand and adore the sovereignty
of the great Eternal, and patience wait
for the light of immortality, to reveal to
us more fully and clearly the ways of
God to man.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
Inscribed to two bereaved and fond parents.
Sleep, dear one, in thy lowly bed, —
We strew thy grave with flow’r9,
Yet know that happier dawns shall shed,
Such brightness round thy infant head,
As never gladden’d ours!
Not long thy sleep !—a summer night,
And then the eternal day,
All joy ; —for sin has brought no blight,
To check thy free and happy flight,
To bow’rs where all is gay.
Gay in the sinless thought, and dear
With pure delights, that grow
Still, in the eternal sunshine there,
To music, such as mortal sphere,
May dream, but never know !
Already, on thy infant face,
The soft repose would seem,
To shadow forth the dawning grace,
Os an ethereal hope and place,
Heaven’s opening gates and gleam.
Ah ! happier thus, and vain the tears,
That vex thy sweet repose ;
Why should thy hopes awake our fears,
Thy growing glories prompt our cares,
Thy raptures move our woes ?
Thou’st scaped the cell—hast broke the
chain,
Already wear’st thy wings ;
Wilt never feel the grief again,
Wilt never know the guilt, the pain,
That vex all mortal things!
Already, at heaven’s gate, with songs—
Thy angel gift at birth, —
Proclaim’st, to glad and greeting throngs,
Thy freedom from the woes and wrongs
That gloom’d thy home on earth !
That gloom it still to guardian eyes,—
That move their tears, —that wrest
From the strong bosom of man, the sighs,
And wring with woe the soul that lies,
Deep down in woman’s breast.
Yet why the woe ? For thee? And thou,
Afar, and joyous !—Shame !
Would’st bring thee back, thus heavenward
now,
To pangs of heart, to clouds of brow,
Long sorrows, strifes and blame!
Why, heart so sad ? fond eyes why weep ?
Cease mourners ! Would ye wake,
This little dreamer from the sleep,
That seems so beautiful and deep,
His weary eyelids take ?
W. G. S.
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
(giiitnr’s Department.
CHARLESTON: SATURDAY, JULY 24, 1852.
“THE WANDERING JEW.’’
Riding on the outskirts of the city, some eve
nings since, we were startled in the vicinity of
Peyton’s Bridge, by a voice proceeding from the
bushes, in the most earnest tones ol supplication.
So unusual a circumstance naturally arrested our
attention: We stopped to listen. The prayer
grew wilder and louder, until after the lapse of a
few moments, an uncouth figure leaped into the
road, and looking round an instant, as if in deadly
terror, hurried forward towards us. Without,
however, regarding our proximity in the least, the
strange apparition rushed past, and after proceed
ing some distance, fell down on tiie knees before a
mile-stone, which appeared to possess for it a pe
culiar power and influence. Upon approaching
the spot, we recognized the actor in this singular
scenp as an unfortunate individual, known in the
city by the sobriquet of “The Wandering Jew.’
He is evidently a foreigner, (though of what coun
try, we know not,) and quite as evidently—de
mented. Upon his back he carries a rude knapsack,
and a species of carbine is slung habitually across
his arm. His face is scarred and weather beaten,
and his garments the year round, consist of coarse
heavy woollen, enough in the summer solstice to
weigh down the strength of a giant. He lives in
a cave somewhere in the vicinity of the Meeting
street road. It is nothing more than a rude hole
dug in the ground, with no covering but the leaves
of pine-trees, which, of course, constitute a very
poor protection against the elements. He is much
of a vagabond, but can scarcely he called a beg
gar. Once or twice we have offered him money.
He refused it quietly, and seemed to be perfectly
contented with his condition. This man is a study.
Whence came he, what his birth, his fortune, and
his character? From certain words we have
heard him mutter, and a demi-military air, which
is apparent through all his squalidness, we have
concluded that he was once a soldier. Did he
fight on the side of tyranny, or were reason, and
friends, and home, and country, sacrificed together
in the patriot’s cause—the struggle for freedom
of mind, or freedom of privilege, so frequently
defeated at the first, and crushed into submission
for a season ? Or was he once an Officer ol Ban
ditti ?—a man of blood, who upheld the wisdom
of the ancient maxim—
“ That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can?”
We confess that this latter supposition seems
to us not unlikely. “The Wandering Jew” ex-
hibits occasionally a savageness of temper, ap
proximating to ferocity, which might have well
become one of that dangerous brotherhood, who
frequent lonely defiles, dark passes, and solitary
woods—“minions of file moon,” whose custom it
is to waylay the unsuspicious Traveller, and with
a grip on his throat, and a dagger glimmering
between his eyes, to demand, in a hoarse guttural,
“your money, or your life
An instance of this ferocity came to our notice
thus :—The hero of this paragraph, while enter
ing the city with his usual quiet mien, and thread
bare garb, was beset, upon one occasion, by a
party of mischievous urchins, who followed on
his track with jeers and laughter, and encouraged
by his stoical unconcern, took to pelting him with
sand and pebbles. One of these missiles struck
him upon the head. No sooner had he felt the
blow, than he leaped with a sort of yell into a
neighbouring shop, and in a moment after, came
out with his carbine cocked. Ilis persecutors
scattered in every direction, but selecting the
crowd that appeared largest, the insulted old Tro
jan leveled his piece and—fired. Fortunately,
the shot was small, and the boys were not large,
so that no damage accrued. It was not the fault
of the marksman, however, that the matter ended
thus. He was indubitably in earnest. So his
assailants seemed to think, for “Le Juif Errant”
has been suffered ever since to pursue his way un
molested, evidently somewhat feared, and not a
little respected by the juvenile community. There
is one other characteristic of our hero, which we
will mention. He has no respect whatever for
the law r , and here again our last hypothesis as to
his former pursuits, receives confirmation. Po
licemen armed with the dignity, and dressed in
the garments of the profession have essayed to
arrest him as a vagrant. But, for once, these
gentry have found themselves successfully resist
ed. The object of their attention, when convinced
that the officers of justice are nearing him with
evil designs, proceeds hastily to a lamp past, clings
firmly around it with arms and legs, and the uni
ted force of three limbs of the Law, has been
found unavailing to dislodge him. The difficulty
of his arrest, therefore, being coupled with his
generally inoffensive demeanor, “ this strange
wanderer” is now permitted to walk our streets in
peace. None disturb nis avocations, all wonder
who he is or was, but there is little likelihood
that curiosity will ever be gratified concerning
him. He came amongst us unknown, and so will
he depart. His body will probably be discovered
some cold morning in winter, lyiug dead within
his wild den in the forest.
THE GREAT MASQUERADE.
Who in the course of our varied and mysteri
ous life, has failed to be startled by the conviction
of the subtle arts, and the deep hypocrisy that
appear planted in the very heart of society, but
which a temporizing self-indulgence leads the
world to overlook, or to extenuate ? We occupy,
indeed, a scene upon which the majority of man
kind appear either as the Harlequin with cap and
bells, or as the skillful Masquer, who hiding the
foulness of his soul from the motley groups
around, is unconscious that that which effectually
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