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Eeooteb to £iterature, Science, cuti> 2lrt, ilje Sons of temperance, ©to Jdloiosijip, iitasonr]), anb General intelligence.
VOLUME I.
SELECTED PO ETRY *
From the Literary World.
At al antis: A. Story of the Sea and Other Poems.
By the Author of “The Yemassee, ” “Guy
Rivers,” &c. Philadelphia: Carey & Hart*
1848.
It cannot be denied, we believe, by any candid
judge, that Mr. Simms is one of the most accom
plished and industrious authors of the country.
Jf he is found deficient in some of the master-gifts
aucl graces of his art, he possesses a share of good
sense and downright sturdinesss of purpose
which always commends his labors to the atten
tion of the reader. We think a review of Mr.
Simms’s whole career, showing how various and
productive it has been, is a work of critical justice
yet remaining to be done. An examination of
the whole body of his writings would show him
successful, with different modifications and shades
of success, as a novelist, an historian, an essayist,
and a poet. It is in this last character that Mr.
Simms presents himself in the work before us,
and it is also in this character that his claims
have been most disputed or grudgingly acknowl
edged. With our view and feeling of the skill
and style employed in many of the productions
in the present volume, we think it would require
considerable hardihood to deny to the author the
possession of the poetical faculty in something
more than an ordinary degree. In many cases,
no doubt, the subjects are carelessly or hastily or
wilfully chosen, and disposed of in a somewhat
crude and unmelodious treatment. There is
ample however, to secure to Mr. Simms attention
as a poet and to vindicate for him the claims to
sensibility and imaginative power, which are the
peculiar attributes of poetical genius. Asa spe
cimen of a prevailing tone employed by the writer
we qnote :
MONNA.
i.
There was an eye, a steadfast eye,
That once I loved :—I love it now :
And still it gazes on my brow,
Unchanged through all, —unchangingly.
ii.
It could not change, though it has gone ;
For ‘twas a tiling of soul; —and so,
It did uot with the mortal go,
To that one chamber, still and lone.
111.
It had a touch, a winning touch,
Ot twilight sadness in its glance;
And look’d, at times, as in a trance,
Till I grew sad, I loved so much.
IV.
For life is selfish, and the tear,
In one we love is like a gloom;
And still I wept the stubborn doom
That made a thing of grief so dear.
v.
Through sunny hours and cloudy hours,
And hours that had nor sun nor cloud,
1 nat eye was wrapt, as in a shroud,
buch shroud as autumn flings o’er flowers.
VI.
1 a k* n guage dear to me,
ough strange to all the world beside;
f*rawt maUy a S r,o f I strove to chide,
s ” eet to mine idolatry.
T VII.
not stay the grief nor chase
m cloud that gloom’d the earnest eye;
A nrt 1 B ave —’twas all, —my sympathy,
And was written on my face!
, T VHI.
‘as on my face, as in my heart;
A tt, “ h en the Lady Monna died,
t>. lei J Bt ill I loved,—l never sigh’d,
earless saw the lights depart.
ix.
ey bore her coldly to the tomb;
they bore me to my home away;
rsor knew that form that vacant day,
y home was with her in the gloom.
They little knew how, still we went,
Together, in the midnight shade,
Communing with wet eyes, that made,
Our very passions innocent.
XI.
Born of the clouds, her mournful eye,
Was on me still, ns shines the star,
That, drooping from its heights ufar,
Broods ever on eternity.
XII.
It led me aye through folds of shade,
By day and darkness, still the same,
And heedless of all mortal blame,
I followed meekly where it bade.
XIII.
They watch’d my steps and scann’d my fuce,
And vex’d my heart ’till I grew stern ;
For curious eyes have yet to learn, 0
liow sorrow dreads each finger trace.
XIV.
Mine was too deep a love to be,
The common theme for idle tongue,
And when they spoke ot her, they wrung
M y spirit into agony.
xv.
I live a lone and settled woe; —
I care not if the day be fair
Or foul, —I would that I were near,
The maid they buried long ago.
ililii TALES,
From Godey’s Lady’s Book.
AMERICAN CHARACTERISTICS.
THE DAGUEKREOTYPIST.
BT T. S. ARTHUR.
If our children and children’s children to the
third and fourth generation are not in possession
of portraits of their ancestors, it will be no fault
of the Daguerreotvpists of the present day; for,
verily, ihey are limning faces at a rate that pro
mises soon to make every man’s house a Da
guerrean Gallery. From little Bess, the baby,
up to great great-grandpa’, all must now have
their iikenesses; and even the sober Friend,
who heretofore rejected all the vanities of por
trait-taking, is tempted to sit in the operator’s
chair, and quick as thought, his features are
caught and fixed by a sunbeam. In our great
cities, a Da guerreotypist is to be found in almost!
every square ; and there is scarcely a county in
any state that has notone or more of these in
dustrious individuals busy at work in catching
“ the shadow ”* ere the “ substance fade.” A
few years ago it was not every man who could
afford a likeness of himself, his wife or his chil
dren ; these were luxuries known to those only
who had money to spare; now it is hard to find
the man who has not gone through the “ope
rator’s” hands from once to half-a-dozen’ times,
or who has not the shadowy faces of his wife and
children done up in purple morocco and velvet,
together or singly, among his household trea
sures. Truly the sunbeam art is a most won
derful one, and the public feel it is a great
benefit! .
If a painter’s studio is a place in which to get
glimpses of human nature, how much more so
the Daguerreotypist’s operating-room, where
dozens come daily, and are finished oft in a sit
ting of half a minute. Scenes ludicrous, amus
ing°or pathetic, are constantly occurring. Peop.e
come for their portraits who have never seen the
operation, and who have not the most distant
conception of how the thing is done. Some, in
taking their places in the chair, get so nervous
that they tremble like aspens ; and others, in the
vain attempt to keep their features composed,
distort them so much that they are frightened at
their own image when it is placed in their hands.
Some months ago, a well-conditioned farmer
from the interior of the state, arrived Phila
delphia, and after selling his produce and making
sundry purchases, recollected that e a P ro
mised, on leaving home, that he wou . rln ß
back his Daguerreotype. It was all a piece ot j
SAVANNAH, GA.. THURSDAY, MAY 31, 1849.
nonsense, he had argued, but his argument was
of no avail, tor wife and daughters said that he
must do as they wished, and so he had yielded
an easy compliance. On inquiry, he was told
that Root was the man for him ; so one bright
morning he took his way down Chestnut street
to the gallery of the far-famed Daguerreotvpist.
Mr. Root was at home, of course, and ready to
accommodate the farmer, who, after looking at
sundry portraits, asking prices and making his
own remarks on all he saw, was invited to walk
up into the operating-room.
“Where?” inquired the farmer, looking cu
rious.
“Into the operating room,” replied Mr. Root,
as he moved towards the door.
The farmer was not sure } T et that he had heard
correctly, but he did not like to ask again, so he
followed on; but it sounded in his ears very
much as if Mr. Root had said “operating,”-
room, and the only idea he had of “operations”
was the cutting off of legs and arms. However,
up stairs he went, with his dog close behind him,
and was soon introduced into a room in the third
story.
“ Now, sir,” said Mr. Root—smiling, as the
farmer thought, a little strangely—“we will see
what we can do for you. Take a seat in that
chair.”
The farmer sat down, feeling a little uneasy,
for he did not much like the appearance of things.
Besides Mr. Root, there was another man in the
room, and he felt that if any unfair play were
attempted, they would prove too much for him.
This idea, as it clearly presented itself, seemed
so ridiculous that he tried to thrust it away, but
he could not. There was a mysterious ticking
in the room, for which he could not account. It
was like the sound of a clock, and yet not like it.
He glanced around, but could not perceive the
source from whence it came. At one moment it
seemed to be under the floor near his feet, then
in the ceiling, and next in a far corner of the
room.
As he took his place in the chair that had been
pointed out, Mr. Root drew a singular-looking
apparatus into the middle of the floor, and di
rected towards him the muzzle of what seemed
a small brass cannon. At the same time, the oth
er man placed his hand upon his bead and drew
it back inro an iron clamp, the cold touch of which
made the blood in his veins curdle to his very
heart.
The farmer was a man who both took and read
the newspapers, and through these he had be
come acquainted with many cases of “ mysteri
ous disappearance.” Men with a few hundred
dollars in their pockets—such was then his own
case —had been inveigled among robbers and
murderers, and he might now be in one of their
dens of iniquity. This fear once’ excited, every
movement of the two men, who were acting in
concert, but confirmed his suspicions. Their mys
terious signs, their evident preparation to act to
gether at h particular moment, all helped to ex
cite still further his alarm. It was more than hu
man uature —at least the farmer’s human nature
—could stand ; for, springing suddenly from the
chair, he caught up his hat, and escaped from
the room, dashed down stairs as if a legion of
evil spirits was after him, to the no small amuse
ment of the two “ operators,” who, though they
lost a customer, had a good joke to laugh over for
a month.
The different impressions made upon sitters is
curious enough. The most common is the illu
sion that the instrument exercises a kind of mag
netic attraction, and many good ladies actually
feel their eyes “ drawn ” towards the lens while
the operation is in progress ! Others receive an
impression as if a draft of cold air were blowing
on their faces, while a few are affected with a
pricking sensation, while the perspiration starts
from every pore. A sense of suffocation is a
a common feeling among persons of delicate
nerves and lively fancies, who find it next to iin
possible to sit still ; and on leaving the chair, they
catch their breath and pant as if they had been
in a vacuum. No wonder so many Dagucrreo
typeshave a strange, surprised look, or an air as
if the original was ill at ease in his or her mind.
Os course, these various impressions are all the
result of an excited imagination and an effort t,0 %
sit perfectly still and look composed. Forced
ease is actual constraint, and must appear so.—
In Daguerreotype pursuits this is particularly ap
parent.
Among Friends, it is well known that there has
existed a predjudice against having portraits ta
ken. To some extent this is wearing off, and
very many prominent members of this Society
have, of late years, consented to sit for their like
nesses, and in Daguerrean Galleries a goodly
number of plain coats and caps may be .-seen
among the specimens. But large numbers still
holdout, and will not be tempted to enter a paint
er’s studio or a Daguerreotvpist’s room. Some
firm enough in their resolutions not to sit them
selves, are at times induced to go with friends or
children who intend having Daguerreotypes ta
ken, and are, through a little stratagem, brought
within range of the lens, when, before they
dream of danger, their faces are caught and
fixed. Not long ago, a young lady whose fadi
er was a Friend, induced him to go with her to
Root’s. For a long time, while there, she urged
him to have his likeness taken, but the’old man
was as immovable as a rock. No inducement
she could offer had the least effect. When her
turn came to go up into the operating room, The
old gentleman went along. The iron head-rest
troubled the young lad} r .
“ Can’t you take me without this machine ? ”
said she.
“ Oh, yes,” replied the operator ; “but r you
will not be able to sit perfectly still, and the least
movement will cause the picture to be defective.”
There was a bright thought in the little lady’s
head, which was the real cause of its feeling so
unpleasant about the innocent rest. She leaned
it back once more, but ere the camera could be
opened, she was in motion again, and said that it
was no use, she couldn’t sit in that way, it made
her feel nervous.
“I wish father! ” said she, “you would stand
at the back of my chair, and let me lean my head
against you ; I can sit much better.”
“Certainly,” replied the old gentlemen, doing
as he was desired.
“Oh, that will do exactly !” cried the daugh
ter with ill-concealed delight, giving the opera
tor, as she spoke, a look so full of meaning that
it was instantly comprehended. In half a mi
nute the work was done, and the old man and
his daughter went down stairs to wait in the gal
lery until the finished picture should be brought
to them. The surprise of the former may well
be imagined when, on receiving the Daguerreo
type, he saw’ not only the face and form of his
daughter, but the likeness of himself standing
behind her!
On another occasion, a member of the Society
of Friends accompanied an acquaintance to the
rooms of one of our Daguerreotypists, where
thev were politely shown the operator’s instru
ment, and had the whole process explained to
them. The Friend was one of those who had
steadily refused to sit for a likeness, and this the
Daguerreotypist knew very well; so, slipping a
prepared plate into the instrument, he asked the
Quaker’s friend to sit down in a chair and look
steadily at the lens, and mark the curious effect
produced. The friend could see nothing.
“ Let me look,” said the Quaker ; and down
he sat in the chair, buy like his friend, he could
see nothing worthy of notice. On the next da}',
however, he saw his own likeness, in’ a handsome
moroccoc case, which he received with the com
pliments of the dextrous operator.
Not long since, a very beautiful young lady
NUMBER 13.
