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pcootcb to Citcraturc, Science, anil ~trt, t!)c Sons of temperance, oi>i> JTclloujslpp, ittasonrn, anil (General intelligence.
VOLUME I.
OKI G £ K A St .
Written for “ A Friend of tlus Family.”
LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM.
M Lqvc, oh love ! whsit have Ito Jo with thee ? How sinks
th<‘ heart, how trembles the hand as it approaches the forbid
den theme ! Os all the gifts of the Gods thou most precious,
vet ever most fatal! As serpents dwell amidst the odermo
branches of the sandal trees ; and alligators in the thrice sa
c(j waters of the Ganges, so all that is sweetest, holiest, and
dearest upon earth, is mingled with sin, and pain, and misery,
and evil. Thus hath it been ordained from the beginning, and
thus will it ever Ije; and the lovo that hate never mourned,
is not lore ! ”
CHAPTER I.
How often in my melancholy musings have I
thought over these words, and felt in my secret
soul the truth of them. I know not there author,
and yet we should have known each other, as
perhaps then 1 might be induced to fancy some
thing of similitude in our destinies. Perchance
he wrote in very wantonness, or under the influ
ence of a passing sadness ; if so, he would have
no sympathy with me, and it is well it is as we
are, strangers —and yet 1 ask not for sympathy, I
wish it not, I almost hate my kind ; I commune
with none, I wander a dreamer, wrapped up in
the past, with but one prayer, one hope—a re
uniou with all I loved on earth, in heaven. I
was mv father’s second child, I had a sister and
brother. I know not if 1 judge rashly, but I al
ways deemed them dearer to him and m v mother
than I was. It must have been so, or they, es
pecially my mother, could not have remained in
sensible to the deep, almost devotional love l bore
her from my infancy. But they were cold to me,
while at the same time, I saw caresses and prai
ses lavished on their other children. Even when
a mere boy I noticed this partiality for my brother
and sis ter. My heart sickened, and I would turn
away alone, and weep and pray to become like
them, beloved. I sought to devine the cause,
there was none apparent. As regarded external
appearances, and these never, or should never
influence a parent, I was as fair as they. I have
heard my mother whisper to my father, “he is
beautiful! ” and they would look at me, and if
they smiled, and perchance laid a hand oil my
cheek, the blood would rush in my pale forehead,
and tears come gushing in warm affection from
my eyes. This would displease them, and my
mother would turn carelesssly aside and bid ’me
be more manlv, and then calling mv sister to her,
soon forget the passing tenderness for me.—
Then I have swallowed my emotions until they
have almost choked me, and sent the tears back
to their fountain unshed, and passed calm, but
pale from their presence, to brood over my inex
plicable destiny. At an early age I conceived a
passion for study and contemplation. Books
were mv delight, the most abstruce sciences,
my familiar companions; and having ample op
portunities to indulge my taste iri this respect, six
teen found my mind well stored with information,
desultory it is true, but all tending to make me
look forward with a strange yearning tor some
means by which to become known and perhaps,
distinguished. Poetry was my pastime —the ideal
the shadowy, and indistinct; but clothed in beau
ty such as the young alone can paint, became
more present to me as I revelled on the descrip
tions of a Juliet, a Portia, or an Imogene. The
hold and fearless love of aGulnare awakened a
thousand beautiful images in my mind, but in con
trast to her, arose my ideal, the soft, the gentle,
the lovingMedora, or the childlike, trusting Zu
lieka.
1 bus I lived in an imaginary world, happy,
but with a feverish happiness, that still sought for
companionship, one gentle, loving form, on which
to cast all the wealth of a heart bursting with
m y pent up affection. Another source of delight
to me which l should have mentioned sooner, was
painting ; and as the divine art each day be
moi'e familiar to me I shut myself up still
c and applied myself with untiring assidu
*yto my task—l supplied myselt with materials
un nown to the family, and there I would sit all
• an tique apartment, before my easel,
insensible to the outer world, forgetting almost
G necessary refreshment for the body, until
f e ca eel to actual life bv a summons to the farn
1} Hastily putting away all traces of my
f| C( 'k^] U^0n ’ * w °uld reluctantly obey ; but the
nsned cheek and eye, sparkling with the effect
? lritense application, gave indication, had there
been any to mark my appearance, that the idle,
reaming boy was far from idle. As soon as
possible I would return to my paint and pencil,
Jo apply m y Se if still more diligently, until, at
tired nature refused to obey, and I have
t town myself on my bed, at midnight, weared
<uid sick with my toil. But a few brief hours of
repose sufficed, and the morn’s sun found me as
ea gcr to commence my days routine.
As yet, I evinced no talent for portraits, but
would merely sketch from imagination. I had a
delicate appreciation of whatever was beautiful
in nature, and from this abundant source I drew
my inspiration. I soon began to sketch with force
and accuracy. My subjects were principally the
scenery that surrounded our sequestered and ro
mantic abode. When these wearied, I drew on
an imagination that appeared inexhaustible.—
But my exertions never equalled the ideas pre
sented to my mind, for the hand, as yet, was un
able to execute what the mind conceived.
CHAPTER 11.
I pursued my passion uninterruptedly for two
years. It had rendered me happy, and I deter
mined to adopt it as a profession, even at the
risk of my parent’s disapproval. My brother,
several years my senior, had entered the army,
and was already breveted Lieutenant. He was
my mother’s pride, and well did the epaulette and
sword become his haughty beauty. I heard his
praise from their lips morning and noon. 1
grudged him not, I took pride in his bravery and
manlinesss. Meanwhile they said that some
thing must be thought of for me, for I did but
little save lounging in my room.
“ Mother,” said I one day, determined at
length to ascertain her views of my intended
profession, “ think not so meanly of me, I am
not altogether what I seem, I have energy and 1
can go forth and win me a name aud living among
men, but I would have your blessing and appro
val.”
“ Where would you go, stripling as you are.
without ambition or experience of the world, what
could you do ? ”
u Whither I go,” said J, “it matters little. 1
am ambitious. My whole life, so far, has been
spent in the indulgence of one dream which I
must realize. The desire for fame I have I think.
I burn to embody those bright creations that
spring continually in iny mind. They are ever
present and I find it impossible to resist their
mighty influence. But far greater, if possible
my mother, is my desire for your approval, your
love,” I almost sobbed forth as I holy knelt be
fore her.
“ Gerald,” said my mother, and she smoothed
with her hand my curls. Transported at this
semblance of love, I seized her hand, and cov
ered it with my kisses. This seemed to annoy
her; as my enthusiasm had ever done, so I
checked myself and sat down as calm as I could
beside her. “ Gerald,” she said after a pause,
“I must take time to consider of this. I will of
course acquaint your father with this. In the
meantime be composed, and do not give way to
vour excitable temperament, it agitates me. —
Be as I said, calm, and after your father has de
liberated he will undoubtedly acquaint you with
his wishes and plans for your future.”
. She arose to leave me, without another word.—
There was no kindly expression of the eye, such
as I longed to see, though I fancied the voice trem
bled slightly, as with an effort to be cold, she ad
dressed me. I stepped before. I plead in ear
nest tones for forgiveness if my Wishes offended
her. I asked her blessingon me, and most rever
ently I knelt as she murmured forth her benison.
1 was restored to hope and spirit. She left me
restlessly pacing the chamber in which I remained.
Something whispered to me, “ Go forth into the
world. 4 ’ In short, it seemed my destiny and 1
yielded to its dictates.
CHAPTER IIT.
A fortnight elapsed, silently, I was left to pur
sue my labours apparently unthought of. I spent
whole nights at my easel, and they appeared as
moments, so completely fascinated was I by my
art. In all this while I saw but little of my fa
ther. He seemed to feel but little concern as to
the manner I employed my time. My mother
appeared rather to avoid another interview with
me, and I began to think the subject had been
dismissed from their minds, when one morning I
received a summons to attend my father. It was
with some trepidation I prepared to obey. I en
deavored to shake it off and to appear calm ;
partly succeeding I entered into his presence.
He was of siern, commanding visage, and could j
with few words awe the boldest to silence. On
this morning he was sitting in his easy chair in
deep thought, and I had entered and seated my
self ere he perceived my approach. I made an
effort of composure as he questioned me in a not
unfriendly tone.
“ Gerald, what is this your mother tells me ot
you ? What scheme is this? Do you really de
sign becoming a Painter ?”
I briefly replied that such was my strong desire.
“ 1 had other views for you” he said ‘‘ but I
suppose it were useless to urge them, I therefore
leave you to exercise your own inclination and
judgment, bearing in mind that as you have
chosen, so must you bear the penalty of a failure.
SAVANNAH, GA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 9. 1849.
I fear \*ou have chosen a perilous and rugged
path. The difficulties in your way w ill be many
and great, and then the probability that you may
never rise above mediocrity in your profession, I
confess rather mortifies me.”
I felt my brow contract at these words, and a
feeling for the first time of dread came over me,
for the path I had chosen. My father perceived
this and quietly added :
44 Let not my words cause you to falter. I
trust there are none of my name who lack the
moral courage neccessary to prosecute any lauda
ble enterprise.”
His last words reassured me, for be it remem
bered I was young then, not over twenty, had
never seen the great world, and with all the
shrinking sensitiveness of a young .maiden, I
dreaded the heartless censure or unkind rebuke,
scoffing laugh of the little, mean, and envious, to
which minds of a superior order are always ex
posed more or less. But in my innate conscious
ness of the power vested in me, I found my
strength, and determined to surmount every ob
stacle that lay in my road. My father spoke
long and gave me much good advice. I need not
say how gratifying to me was this mark of good
feeling, it was certainly appreciated to the full.
He enquired if I had formed any plans for pro
ceeding to obtain my object. I told him I had
not; that I had been so absorbed in the present
that I saw only through a dim perspective, the
future.
You will not object to my viewing your paint
ings?” I signified my willingness if such was
his desire, and would have left him to have ar
arranged my sketches, placing some in a better
light, putting others out of the way, &c. I felt a
sudden sensitiveness to ridicule, although his sub
sequent admiration of these pieces proved that I
had underrated their claim to praise. I saw he
was taken by surprise, I saw him gaze with
wonder and admiration on my boyish attempts,
and my heart beat as I walked to a window to
conceal my agitation. It may be necessary to
say that this was the first time they had ever been
seen. What was his surprise to perceive a por
trait life-like of my mother I The same haughty
queen-like bend of the neck, which no artist could
have given more truly ; the dark, lustrous eye,
all was hers. My father was spell hound. He
drew a chair, and remained along time without
speaking or turning from the portrait.
“ I hope you like it,” I said, 44 1 tried to make
it like her in order to make it acceptable to you.”
My father shook my hand warmly, and showered
praises. “ Like it ! ” said he, “ ’ tis a master
piece ! This day shall it be carried to my study.
Your mother will be proud of you my boy. Why
West could not have produced a better. That
you have great talents is unquestionable. But tell
me did your mother sit for this?”
“ She did not sir, nor has she seen it. I should
not have presumed to make the request.”
“ Then it is more wonderful still. I am sur
prised beyond words. You shall go to Italy.—
Prepare without delay. I long to hear of your
success in the world.”
My heart bounded at the proposition and I
poured forth my thanks rapidly. 1 told him ’twas
the height of my ambition, the one long, ardent
aspiration, that haunted me, and that had ren
dered me apparently the visionary, unsocial being.
I had been for years revolving in m v mind how
best to accomplish this end. My father talked
long and kindly. He seemed to open himself
freely and 1 loved him, oh how intensely ! I
could have thrown on his breast and .wept,
mv heart was so full. He assured he would
suply means to send me to Europe to study under
the great masters. During our conversation he
revealed that of which I was before unaware, the
fact that his means were limited. The style in
which he had been accustomed to live had nearly
swallowed up the fortune he originally possessed.
This intelligence, as may be supposed, deeply
grieved me, and thoughts of assisting him added
fresh ardor to my intended exertions.
CHAPTER IV.
The portrait was placed in the library, and
the house was called to criticise. I soon had
many congratulations; but, my father sand
mother’s praise was the sweetest music to my
ears. This was the means ot my enjoying an
entirely new position in the family. I was al
lowed from this day to attend my mother and be
of them, and with them. But matters were fated
not long to remain in this placid state.
In a few days my father was seiz'ed with apo
plexy, his second attack, and it proved fatal. For
many weeks there was the cold gloom of death
in our home, but were soon aroused from this
melancholy state by the dull realities of life. I
have said my father’s means were limited, nay
more, he was involved. Creditors came upon us.
These rapacious and insatiable minions of the
law, with merciless and cruel haste demanded
payment, and very little thus remained of our
once splendid establishment. My mother barely
retained sufficient for her and my sister to live
upon, and we removed to a small house with some
ornaments left from the wreck. 1 had to ne
glect my pastime for more actual business. My
brother, hastened from his Southern station on
receiving the intelligence of my father’s death
In this trying hour ho proved himself an affec
tionate son, for he did all in his power to comfort
our mother. He was her first born and her favor
ite, and his return seemed to restore her to life
and cheerfulness. .He proposed to her to ac
company him to Florida as he could not lea ve his
station for any length of time. To this my moth
er assented, my sister accompanying her. In a
short time all was in readiness for their departure.
The hour of parting came. That my mother
was grieved to be separated from me, 1 could
not doubt, but still 1 felt time would restore her
tranquility. I bade her adieu in as cheerful a
tone as 1 could command, hurt and wounded to
the soul that she could thus part with me, to make
my own path in the stormy World. My mother
spoke words of encouragement to me, and my
young sister wept. But why do 1 linger thus on
this, to,me, sad subject, they were cold, unloving
to me, and 1 felt myself a perfect Parish from
their household and family unity. And now I
was alone, with no one to take me by the hand to
encourage and lead me on. I routed myself to
exertion and cast to the winds all dispondent
thoughts. Many had commenced the world poor
er than I, ands felt ashamed of my weakness
in thus yielding momentarily to despair. I set
out for New York. Rented rooms in a fashiona
ble and frequented street. These I furnished
simply and tastefully, and inserted cards in the
various daily papers. And now, 1 was fairly
launched on the world without a friend, but with
a proud heart and unconquerable will. Em
ployment did not come at first, but this I did not
expect, as I had several pieces in an unfinished
state which I designed completing for exhibition.
I then turned my attention exclusively to portraits
and in a few months I had the triumph of hav
ing for my sitters some of the proud ones of our
land. A portrait of a distinguished statesman,
about this time procured for me much favorable
notice, and I was soon in a fair way of becoming
prosperous.
CHAPTER V.
One morning 1 was sitting dreamily, in my
studio, when my reverie was uncerimoniously
broken in upon, by a loud knocking at its very
door. I scarcely had time to open it before
in flaunted a woman, in a gaudy dress: her face
flushed, and panting with the exercise of walking.
I stood for a moment mutely regarding her. But,
she had only paused to take breath ; and throwing
herself into a large chair, unloosed the strings of
her bonnet, and began to fan herself with alarm
ing energy. Occasionally, she would look from
side to side, and nod her head, in a most amusing
manner, in approbation, as I imagined, of the
paintings. In all this time, she had scarcely
vouchsafed me a look; and I, after saluting her,
leaned on my easel, contemplating her figure and
self-complacent attitude. She was a tall, large
woman, dressed in the extreme of fashion, but
with no regard to taste whatever. After some
impatience on my part, and a good deal of blow
ing and other manifestations of fatigue on hers,
I was favored with the purport ot her visit, us
she thus in loud tones addressed, turning lull
around, as she spoke, and eyeing me rather
boldly :
“You is the artist, I suppose, sir, and these,”
—pointing with her singe the pictures which
the papers are making such a fuss about? Well,
they are pretty pictures, and I would wonder
fully like to have some taken of my family, pur
vided they was as pretty as these. Dear me !”
said she, jumping up, —“ who is that beautiful
creature, Mr. Artist? —excuse me for calling you
so —i could n’t make out the hard name on the
sign ; tell me who is that lady in the corner, look
ing so sad and pale? I wonder i: it is not some
sweet-heart, eh ?”
I smiled as I assured her it was not —that it
was a copy from an old painting of Dante’s
Beatrice.
“Dante’s Beatrice!” said she; “I din n’t know
her, she din n’t live in these parts, I reckon.
But Come, I want to know if you can paint me,
and all my family, and make us pretty pictures,
like these.”
I told her I could paint them, and I would do
my best to make them pretty, if she so desired.
This pleased her, and she went on to enumerate
how many sitters I should be favored with.
“ There’s my Jimmy, who ! s ten years old, and
Charley and Martha, and little Kate, too. Do
you think you could paint my little Kate : —she’s
so mild, an’ only five years old. ’
No difficulty at all, madam.
y **
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