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dcuotcb to Citcvaturc, Science, aitb il)t Sons of (Temperance, ©bb ifcllou)sl)ip, iilaoonnj, anb ©cncral jlntelligeurf.
VOLUME I.
■ SEfcECIgBP lllfif,
From Godey’j Lady’s Dook.
SPRING MU SINGS
There is n magic in the name of Spring
That stirs the purest fountains of the heart,
That spreads on gaudiest colors fancy’s wing,
And draws the soul from all of earth apart.
It is a resurrection time—the birth
Os all that’s bright and beautiful of earth;
The trees put on their robes of fresh young green,
And gently tremble in the morning air;
While all around, above, below, is seen
A rich magnificence of nil that’s fair.
The littlo rills, released from winter’s chains,
Along their pebbly channels safely glide ;
The mead its velvet carpeting regains,
And stretches forth in all its grassy pride.
The balmy breeze comes sighing down the dale,
And flow’rs of ev’ry hue bedeck the vale ;
A thousand insects sport on tiny wing;
Their sweetest notes a thousand warblers sing;
And buzzing here and there, with dainty lips,
The bee the sweets of ev’ry blossom sips.
The young corn upwards shoots its tender head,
Just peeping o’er the well-turned fertile soil;
The husbandman goes forthwith sturdy trend,
Jtejoicing in his well-requited toil.
And where yon mountains rise, instead of snows,
A halo circles round their lofty brows ;
So deep their blue, so mingling with the sky,
They seem dissolving in the shades of night;
While up their sides, fair flowers of ev’ry die
Unfold their charms to the admiring sight.
The little streams roll down the dark ravines,
And with their headlong waters hasten by,
And, smiling, look up through the dark-leaved screens
That in primeval grandeur wave on high.
The maiden trails the vines around her bow*r,
And thinks upon the bliss of some fond hour
Whon he who in her heart is now enshrined,
Shall sit with arms in love’s embraces twined
About her waist, while from the flow’rv wreaths
Concealing them from view, a perfume breathes.
0 lovely Spring! thou art a welcome guest!
Who does not hail thee with enraptured breast ?
Who does not feel new life within him spring
And new hope fondly in his bosom rise ?
Vague, undefined, and yet a blessed thing,
That fills the soul with Heav’o sent harmonies.
MAN'S WORKS SHALL FOLLOW HIM.
BY J. G. WHITTIER.
We shape, ourselves, the joy or fear
Os which the coming life is made.
And fill our future’s atmosphere
With sunshine or with shade.
The tissue of the life to be, #
V* e weave with colors all our own,
And in the field of Destiny
We reap as we have sown.
Still shall the soul around us call
The shadows which it gathered here,
And painted on the eternal wall
The Past shall re-appear.
For there we live our life again—
()r warmly touched, or coldly dim
tin* pictures of the past remain,
Man s works shall follow him!
_ si i TA% as.
From Godey’s Lady’s Book.
‘ CHE tr EVOR’S VISIT TO TRENTON FALLS,
AXD ITS CONSEQUENCES.
“How BT MARIE ROSEAU *
, hat ’ afteral1 ’ y ou should marr y
Wend RlanrlJ t exclaimed Mary Grey, to her
acknowledged £ teVOr ’ as tbe latter blushln S l y
named. 6 ner cn g a gement to the gentleman
but sttttT n f and Up ° n lhe faCC ° f Blanche ’
Her f ’ uu re Pv • •
the exchrnot*
“ Foro-iv 1011 ’ s^e said, in a gentle tone —
rna^ifes^ed e •Tk *° r the sur P rise 1
thoughts •k 1 t have better controlled my
that yon Ik Ut , J I cou ld not help feeling wonder
here*M arv i° U marr .Y Ernest Barker after ” ,
wo S 1 , ou hl again express a thought that
** tae e . art °f her friend,
said Blanpk 16 t 0 fi n j s h the remark for you, Mary,”
s F ea^n g quite composedly. “You
cUe said, after my having once, by a
chilling manner, given him to understand that
his attentions weie disagreeable to me ; and after
having spoken slightingly of him, denouncing
him as an awkward, unintelligent young man.—
There is no necessity for an apology ; it is / who
should bear the blame of your present feelings.*’
Mary paused, again in a dilemma as to what
answer she should make ; and Blanche resumed
the conversation in a pleasant tone.
“Did I tell vou the story of my visit to Trenton
Falls, Mary ? ”
“ No,” replied her companion.
“ Well, then, it was on my way to Elfindale
with Uncle Frank. He proposed the visit imme
diately after we had left Albany, and I gladly as
sented, for I had never been there.
“ Uncle had business in Utica, which detained
him until after the stage had left for Trenton. —
We took a private conveyance, at so late an hour
that it was nearly tea-time when we arrived at
our destination; and, of course, too late to make
a tour of the falls before, night. I was more than
consoled by my uncle suggesting that, as there
would be a bright moonlight, we should go in the
evening. Trenton Falls by moonlight! The
plan delighted me. I recollected the glowing de
scription of the scene, as once given by an enthu
siastic gentleman. True, with that remembrance
came also the thought of how aghast two or
three of his audience had been at the bare idea of
any one tempting Providence by a visit , at such
an hour, to a place so very dangerous. Yet this
did not cloud the bright anticipation, for I felt a
strong confidence in the wisdom and protection of
uncle, and further reflected that the gentleman
previously mentioned (a man of sense, too) had
reasoned that,’ with proper care, there was no
real danger ; particularly, since the steps and pas
sages along the falls had been repaired.
“ The hotel was very much crowded, and this
occasioned some delay in procuring an apartment
for me. At last three young ladies offered to
share the same bed, and allow me the small room
occupied by a third, for one night, (we were to
leave in the morning,) and I was ushered into it
just as the tea belt was ringing. My traveling
dress was thick with dust, ‘and though the long
ride had sharpened my appetite, yet it was im
possible to make my appearance in such a cos
tume. I was opening my carpet-bag to get out
something clean, when the young lady” whose
room I occppicd (a Miss Smith, of Philadeiphia,)
came to the door with an offer of assistance. 1
objected, on the plea of detaining her from tea.
In the pleasantest manner possible, she persisted
in remaining with me ; and after a few more de
murs, I consonted. We ordered tea in our own
room; and when I had hastily relieved my appe
tite and prepared for the walk, I met uncle in the
parlor. You know how good he is at meeting with
acquaintances everywhere, so it will not surprise
you to hear that I found him in one corner of the
room closely engaged in conversation witfi an el
derly and a young gentleman. The face of the
latter was singularly familiar. I tried to account
for the familiarity, but could not. The recollec
tion was accompanied by an unpleasant associa
tion, which confused my memory the more, be
cause there was something quite pleasing in the
expression. I could only presume him to be
some travelling companion, whom I had seen
while in an uncomfortable position ; such as
standing, while the baggage was being called out,
under a bright canopy formed by the bright rays
of a Julv sun, on the deck of the ferry boat be
tween New York and Jersey City, (all the seats
being appropriated by the “ excursion passengers
journeying at half price.) Very soon uncle per
ceived me, and introduced me to his friends Judge
Benton and Mr. ; but the last name was lost
entirely, and I was leftin ignorance as to the ap
pellation of the young gentleman, whose coun
nance was so familiar. . ,
“ ‘ When you are ready foryour walk, Dlancne,
we will be glad to accompany you,’ my uncle said,
SAVANNAH. GA„ THURSDAY, MAY 24, 1849.
almost immediately after the introduction.
“ Again 1 sought my little room, and returned
bonneted and shawled for our ‘crazy enterprise,’
as aunt has since been pleased to denominate it.
“ The young gentleman halted for an instant
in the doorway, and then perceiving that uncle
had appropriated Judge Benton to himself, (they
were on the same side in politics, and it was Pres
idential } r ear T ) he hastily offered his arm.
“It is too had of uncle to repeat names so in
distinctly. I would have given a great deal to
have known the name of my companion, particu
larly on account of the familliarity which I had
detected in bis face by the dim light of the par
lors, Then there was for a while an evident con
fusion and restraint in his manner, which I could
not understand, that served to increase my curios
ity. In a short time this wore off, and he spoke
unrestrainedly. You know what an abundance
of volubility I have ; yet, as the conversation
progressed, I had no other desire than to listen si
lently to his enthusiasm and good sense.
“ We had reached the highest fall, and I stood
transfixed to the spot, overpowered by the sensa
tions which the scene produced. My companion
was silenced by the same emotions ; and uncle
and Judge Benton had disappeared—l don’t
know where. I afterwards forgot to inquire ; but
I believe they passed on, with minds so closely
covered by the intricate webs of politics, that
there was no interstice through which a single
other thought might then edge its way into the in
terior. Even Trenton Falls by moonlight failed
to pierce the Aim. Take my advice, Mary, and
never marry a politician.
“Oh ! what a glorious sight it was ! There
were the high rocks, far, very far above our heads,
their summits crowned with the tall, dark pine
trees ; nearly on a level with us were the white
foaming waters, sending out a bright shower of
gems that sparkled in our sight, and then mingled
with the silver current that fell into the abyss so
many feet below us. My eyes for an instant
turned towards the face of my companion. 1
shall never forget the emotion pictured there, as
he gazed on, seemingly unconscious of my pre
sence. *
“ We kept the same attitude for some minutes,
and then, without speaking, he led me a little in
the rear; for, unheeding of danger, we had been
standing on the very edge of the rocks. Again
we stood silently looking on for a time, and then,
with a simultaneous movement, we ascended the
steps to the portico of the half-way house.
“ ‘ Will you go over the rest of the falls ? or
are you too much fatigued for further exercise ? ’
my companion asked.
“ I was tired, and, besides, felt no desire for any
further magnificence. My enthusiasm had been
raised to its utmost point, and seemed like the
chord of an instrument, which being tuned to the
highest pitch, one more effort will sunder; but I
thought it selfish to say no, when, perhaps, he
might prefer proceeding, and I hesitated. He
seemed to read my thoughts, for he continued —
“ ‘ I took the whole route myself last eyening,
and found the distance longer than I anticipated,
though not too long for me. If you wish to go,
it will give me much pleasure te gratify you.’
“ I declined, and proposed waiting where we
were for uncle and Judge Benton.
“We sat together on the portico, looking out
upon a scene of romantic grandeur ; I listened
attentively as his eloquent voice spoke of Nature
and of the God of Nature; for, with Cowper, he
thought,
“ 4 Acquaint thyself with God if thou wouldst taste His
•works.’ .
“ In the daytime, strictly speaking, his face
might not have seemed handsome ; but there was
a high degree of intellectuality in it, which, joined
to a pleasing expression, would have made him
appear to advantage in any light. You know the
effect the moonlight has in softning down all im
perfections and giving new beauty ; and as the re-
fleeted beams fell upon bis face, it looked singu
larly beautiful. There is something very attrac
tive to me in seeing a strong, gifted mind given
up, with all its high attributes, solely to Heaven,
and with bumble reverence submitting to the
guidance of a higher power. One who, wherever
he may be, never forgets that he is a Christian. I
felt then as in the presence of a mind vastly su
perior to any I had ever before met. We were
both too deeply engaged to bear the footsteps of
uncle and his friend, until they were standing
close beside us.
“ ‘ Well Ernest, have you taken good care of
Blanche during my absence ? ’ he inquired. ‘But
there’s no need of an answer,’ be continued, 4 for
the fact of your not having tired her to death by
dragging her the entire distance, proves you to be
fully competent to the charge, and I may safely
entrust her tovour care in returning.’
“ At another time I should have been provoked
at the nonchalance with which uncle seemed dis
posed to cast off his responsibility as my guardian,
but then, I know not why, I was incapable of any
other feeling than a meek humility, (a singular
state for me to he in, you will readily admit,) and
I silently took the offered arm of my guide. Our
companions kept quite near to us on our way back,
and the conversation was general. I felt but lit
tle inclination to talk, and uncle attributed my si
lence to fatigue. I could find no opportunity of
having my curiosity gratified that night, by ascer
taining the name of my unknown companion,
and 1 went to bed still in a dilemma as to his iden
tity. It was impossible to sleep, for my imagina
tion was busily at work in vividly picturing the
falls and surrounding scenerv, with the face of
my companion as it appeared in the calm moon
light. Who could he be? I tried to recall past
remembrances for the purpose of finding out. —
Uncle had called him ‘ Ernest! ’ Could he be
Ernest ? I could not repeat the surname ;
for the tall, ungainly figure of a bashful youth
presented itself to my mind, and I repelled the
thought as unjust to my talented friend ol the
evening. Still I could not help tracing a strong
resemblance of some sort, and I wondered at be
ing able to do so, when they were so very unlike.
The one so dignified and fascinating, the other so
shy and awkward. For hours I lay in this rest
less state; and when I closed my eyes for a few
moments, it only assisted my imagination in pic
turing even more distinctly the rocks and trees,
and water. At length I fell asleep, to dream that
I walked through the gardens ofVUaradise guided
by an angel, whose lineaments were strikingly
like those of some earthly friend, and awakened
earnestly entreating him to tell me what name
he bore on earth.
I do not believe that my slumber could have
been of more than two or three hours duration,
for when I became conscious of being still an in
habitant of earth, it was not more than five o’clock.
Uncle had ordered our breakfast at six, so I de
termined to dress quickly and take a stroll over
the pleasure grounds belonging to the house. I
had not walked far when uncle met me. He was
quite alone and I was delighted at the prospect of
having the mystery solved. Accordingly, the
morning salutations were hardly over, when I
said —
Do tell me uncle, the name of the gentle
man to whose care you consigned me last even
ing?’
“ ‘ Why Blanche, is it possible you have forgot
ten Ernest Barker ? ’
Certainly not,’ lreplied ; ‘but that was not
him.’ . _ •
“‘lndeedit was,’ said my uncle. ‘But I beg
your pardon for having forgotten that he was no
favorite with you when you knew him years ago,
at Elfindale.’
“‘You are joking with me,’ I said.
“ 1 In what way ? ’ he asked.
“ ‘ With regard to Ernest Barker,’ I answered.
“‘Jam not,’he replied. ‘He is 3^ t *
- - ‘ ■••**-*’ . v ~v ’ r if .
NUMBER n.
