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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 ** NUMBER m