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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.