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274
oifi* 6oy)lei~opoh)hes.
The Literary World, lor Dec., 1852. [New-
York : D. E. &L. A. Duyckink.] In this num
| her there is the usual degree of variety and ability
which distinguishes the paper. We recommend
’ the criticism upon Uncle Tom’s Cabin, as clever
and impartial.
Littell's Living Age, for Dec., 1852. [Bos
ton : E. Littell &, Co.] The selections in this
number are good, and from a sufficient variety of
sources.
Tite Western Literary Messenger, for Dec. }
1852. [Buffalo, N. Y.: Jewitt, Thomas & Co.]
This number contains articles full of interest and
information.
£Siioriqi Srebiiies.
We write this sentence with a new gold pen
from the manufactory of Spencer & lieudell, of
New-Yotk, and we hazard the asseition that a
better one has never been made in the United
States. * * The various editions of Uncle
Tom’s Cabin, in the United States, have already
reached the astounding number of two hundred
thousand copies; and in Great Britain the still more
astounding number of four hundred thousand. *
* There is always something feminine (not effe
minate) in the constitution of a poet. It is “man
hood iused with female grace.” * * “Why is
it, (asks Hawthorne,) that poets are so apt to
choose their mates, not for any similarity of poet
ic endowment, but for qualities which might make
the happiness of the rudest handi-craftsman, as
well as that of the ideal craftsman of the spirit ?
Because, probably, at his highest elevation, the
poet needs no human intercourse; but he finds it
dreary to descend, and be a stranger.” * *
Johnson says that “the true genius is a mind of
large general powers, accidentally determined to
some particular direction. Sir Joshna Reynolds,
the great painter, had the first fondness for his art
excited by the perusal of Richardson’s treatise.”
* * Booth, the tragedian, died a short time ago,
on the steamer J. S. Chenoweth, on her passage
from New-Orleans to New-York. The body
! was put in a metallic coffin, and will be forwarded
!to his friends. # * “I’ll take your part,” as the
dog said when he robbed the cat of her dinner. *
* Why was the first day of Adam’s life the
longest ever known? Because it had no Eve. *
* Thackeray’s definition of a snob is: “A man
who meanly admires mean things.” * * Two
examples from Cobbett’s Grammar: “The House
of Lords; a den of thieves.” * * The balsam
firs, which cover the Black Mountain in North-
Carolina, are said to grow nowhere else in Amer
ica, south of the latitude of Canada. * * An
advertisement in the New-York Sun : “81 G 2
reward. Strayed away from the premises ot J.
H. TANARUS., a young man, named A. H. S., supposed
to be on a bust. The above reward will be paid
for any information.” * * With a number of
persons, a brilliant writer is always a shallow one ;
perhaps because they cannot discriminate between
j brilliancy and floweriness. They’ see the glitter
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
of the star but do not understand how that glitter
comes, in all probability, from a world larger and
lovelier than their own. * * Professor Sparks,
of Harvard College, has sent in his resignation as
President, to take effect at the close of the present
term. * * Upwards of X7OO have been raised
in Van Dieman’s Land toward the expense of one
of the private expeditions in search of Sir John
Franklin, now fitting out in England. * * A
five dollar gold piece loses one nine-hundreth of
its value by circulating twelve months. * *
Three million and a half of the inhabitants of
Great Biitain depend for subsistence upon the va
rious manufactures of colion. * * Trinity
church was founded in 1696. Its present income
lis 860,00 U a year. * * In China, a man is
permitted to be divorced from his wife for seven
causes, one of which is loquacity ! * * “Un
cle Tom’s Cabin” has been translated into Ger
man. * * All the tickets for Thackeray’s
lectures were disposed of two days before the first
was delivered. * * Why is a nursery a place
for dauciug ? Becauce it is a batcl-ioom.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
LINES.
There wa3 a fire within my brain!
I did not mean to give thee pain.
I looked, I spoke—l know not what—
-1 loved, and felt—that thou dtd’st not ;
And I was mad—perhaps was weak,
The consciousness is on my cheek
lu blushes hot as molten lead,
And tears I blush as hot to shed.
God! that 1 could not hide my shame !
But needs must bare my heart of flame
To hearts so cold and minds so tame.
Aye think me weak, and smile with those
Who saw and jested with my woes.
Such still has been, such still must be
The doom, the meed of Misery,
When Misery permits the crowd
To guess the woe it strives to shroud.
Aye think me weak, and yet —and yet—
What eyes have seen these eyelids wet,
Though I have wept as guilt might weep,
When Hell reveals itself in sleep.
That night indeed—it was not long—
I had no sense of right or wrong;
That night indeed—thank God ’tis past!
How could the reckless madness last
And I be breathing here !
Henceforth I shut within my breast—
A ghastly and eternal guest—
Its deep and dark despair.
And thou and God alone should know
The inextinguishable woe,
Intense, unmitigated pain
Which weighs on sense, and soul, and brain.
Oh, I will carry on my brow r ,
A smile like that thou wearest now,
As careless and ; s gay
As if this heart were brimmed with mirth—
And had no cares upon the Earth
Which Earth could not allay.
Yet if the smile I’ll strive to wear,
Should sometimes wither to a sneer,
If what I look and what I say,
Have aught that’s bitter in its play,
Forgive it and forget—
And think I speak not as I feel—
I would not pain, but must conceal
And cannot kill regret.
Aglacs.
A DEATH-SCENE.
BY ELLIS BELL.
“O Day ! he cannot die
When thou so fair art shining !
O Sun, n such a glorious sky,
So tranquilly declining:
He cannot leave thee now,
While fresh winds ate blowing,
And all around his youthful brow
Thy cheerful light is glowing !
Edward, awake, awake—
The gol len evening gleams
Warm and blight on Arden’s lake—
Arouse thee from ihy dreams !
I
Beside ihee, on my knee,
My dearest friend ! I pray
That thou, to cross the eternal sea,
Would’sl yet one hour delay :
I hear its billows roar—
I see them foaming high ;
But no glimpse of a further shore
Has blest my straining eye.
Believe not what they urge
Os Eden Isles beyond ;
Turn back, fiom that tempestuous surge,
To thy own native land.
It is not death, but pain
That struggles in thy trreast—
Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again ;
I cannot let thee rest!”
One long look, that sore reproved me
For the woe I could not bear—
One mute look of suffering moved me
To repent my useless prayer:
And, with sudden check, the heaving
Os distraction passed away ;
Not a sigu of lurther grieving
Stirred my soul that awtnt day.
Paled, at length, the sw-eet sun setting ;
Sunk to peace the twilight breeze ;
Summer dews fell softly, wetting
Glen, and glade, and silent trees.
Then his eyes began to weary,
Weighed beneath a mortal sleep ;
And their orbs grew strangely dreary,
Clouded, even as they would weop.
But they wept not, but they changed not,
Never moved, and never closed ;
Troubled still, and still they ranged not—
Wandered not, nor yet reposed !
So I knew that he was dying—
Stooped, and raised his languid head ;
Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,
So I knew’ that he was dead.
A pert young lady was walking one
morning on theSteyne, at Brighton, when
; she encountered the celebrated V^ilkes:
I “You see,” observed the lady, “I have
come out for a little sun and atr.” “You
had better, madam, get a little husband
first.”
[December 11,