The Southern journal., August 12, 1845, Image 1

About The Southern journal. (Monticello, Miss.) 184?-18??

Image provided by: Mississippi Department of Archives and History

                
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The Indian Girl’s Lament.
"
BY W. C. BRYANT.
An Indian girl was selling where
Her lover, slain in battle slept,
Her maiden veil (her own black hair)
I Came down o’er eves that wept,
And wildly in her woodland longue,
This sad and simple lay she sung:—
“I’ve pulled away the shrubs that grew
Too close above ihy sleeping head,
And broke the forest bows tlmi threw
Their shadow o’er ihy bed—
That, sbining from the sweet southwest,
The sunbeams might rejoice tliy rest.
“It was a weary, weary road,
'That led thee to the pleasant coast,
Where thou, in his serene above.
Hast met thy father’s ghost;
Where everlasting autumn lies
On yellow woods and sunny skies.
“ ’Twas I the broidered moccasin made
That shod thee for that distant land—
"Twas I thy bow and arrows laid
Beside thy still, cold hand—
Thy bow in many a battle bent,
Thy arrows, never vainly sent.
M tut >. UbUO t CtUa.'CU t 41 Jr UiVrUdlj
Ami wrapped thee in thy bison’s hide, •
And laid ihce food that pleased thee best,
In plenty by thy side;
And decked thee bravely, as became
A warrior of illustrious name.
• I
“Thou’rt happy now, for thou hast past
The long, dark journey of the grave, 1
And in the land of light at last
Hast joined the good and brave;
Amid the flushed and balmy air,
The bravest and the loveliest there.
“Yet oft thine own dear Indian timid,
Ev’n there thy thoughts will earthward
sway
To her who sits where thou wert laid
And weeps the hours away,
Yet almost can Iter grief lorgct,
To think that thou dost love her yet
“And thou by one of those still lakes,
Thai in n shining cluster lie,
On which the south winds scarcely break
The image of the sky,
A bower for thee and me has made
Beneath the many-colored shade.
“And thou dost wait and watch to meet
My spirit sent to join the blest,
And, wondering what detains my feet
From the bright land of rest,
Dost seem, in every sound to hear
The rustling of my footsteps near.”
Memory is the heaven of the virtuous—
the hell of the depraved,
tT ■
A Fable.
A king made a law (hat if any one suf
fered from injustice or ingratitude, the in
jured man should call upon the people by
the tolling of a bell, hung in a temple which
the good king had caused to be built for
the purpose, at which sound it was ordered
to (he citizens to gather together, to hear
the complaint, and to adjudge justice for
the wrongs that should be shown to
them.
The people of this country were so vir
tuous that a long time passed and no one
had complained of injustice or ingratitude;
ancftneanwhile the building began to decay.
Its doors had rotten from their hinges;
brambles had began to choke up its en
trance-way; while tall grass sprung up
from the crannies of its pavements, and
spiders festooned the capitals of its co
lumns.
The good king was dead, and so were
n^ny of his successors; and the uses of
the place itself had almost come to be re
membered as some old legend, when, late
one night, in the midst of a howling winter,
the toiling of the hell was heard .
The inhabitants of the city, at midnight,
surrounded the place, and found, to their
surprise, only an old horse, which, seeking
shelter from the snow, had strayed there,
and whose feet had hecome entangled
I with the bell-ropes, and so by chance had
rung it.
■ In the'simple minded habits of rever*
umlc ci!iu uuuutcuce lor mose piaceu in an
thority, which marked the people of those
days, they ordered the owner of the beast
j to he sought for and brought before them.
It was proved that it had been useful and
faithful to him in his youth, hut that nowit
had grown old, and that lie had turned it
out of doors, regardless of its welfare to
seek a shelter for itself, and to pick up a
scanty living as miserable as possible, by
beggary or robbery by the wayside.
And the simple-hearted but right-mind
ed people, who stood thus together at mid
night round the old temple, saw plainly
that, there was injustice and ingratitude—
such as the edict of the good king had many
years before ordered them to judge; and.
first taking from the owner of the animal a
portion of those means which it had aided
him hi acquiring, sufficient to protect .its
old age from suffering and want, they or
dered him to leave their city and never re
turn to it; “for,” said they, “a man who
will not protect to the end an old and
faithful servant—of what use is he to the
world?”
But thii was a long while ago.
The First Sabbath.
The sixth day of creation drew near its
close. The/Sun had finished his course,
and the gloom of evening began to spread
over the earth. The first horn son of earth
stood upon a hill in Eden, near Eloali, his
7 i
guardian angel and guide.
it grew darker and darker upon the hill
1 wilight rushed to the embrace of night,
and threw her dewy robes over hill and
valley. The songs of the birds and the
noises of the beasts were hushed, and even
the air seemed to sleep.
“What is all this?” said the man with
a soft and low voice to his heavenly
guide.
“Will the young creation disappear, and
sink down into chaos?”
Lloah smiled, and said, “It is the repose
of Earth.”
J\ow appeared the heavenly lights, the
moon arose, and the starry hosts followed
in splendor.
Man looked upwoul with sweet surprise,
and the angel of the Lord looked with plea
sure upon the gazing son of Earth. The
night was still, andilio song of the night
ingale floated in the air.
Eloah touched the man with his stall'.—
He lay down on the hillock and slept. His
first dream came over him, and Jehovah
made him his companion.
When the morning twilight opened—
Eloah touched the slumbering one. lie
awoke and felt new power and life stream
ing through him. The hills and valleys
rose out of the gloom, the young light came
glittering down upon the fountains of the
river of Eden, and the Sun rose, bringing
the day. Man looked upon his now form
ed wife, the mother of all living. Surprise
aud delight filled his heart.
“See,” laid Eloah, “the divine is ere
~ ' v
nted out of rest. Therefore shalt thou
consecrate this day to rest and devo
tion.” , -*
An old Joke in a new Dress.
An old lawyer in the city of New York
tells a good joke about one of his clients.
We have r^ad or hoard something like it
before, but even if we have so good a story
will bear repetition. Here it is:
A fellow had been arraigned before the
police for stealing a set of silver spoons.—
The stolen articles were found upon the
culprit, and there was no use in attempt
ing to deny the charge. Lawyer G-was
applied to by the prisoner as counsel; and,
seeing no escape for his client except on
the plea of insanity or idiocy, he instructed
the fellow to put on as silly a look as pos
sible, and when any question was put to
him to utter in a drawling manner, with
idiotic expression, the word “spoons.” If
successful,the fee was to he twenty dol
lars. I’he court proceeded to business; the
charge was read and the question put to
the prisoner—
“Guilty er not guilty?”
“Spoons!”ejaculated the culprit.
The court put several questions to him.
but “spoons! spoons!” was all the answer
it could elicit.
-“The fellow is a fool!” said the judge:
let him go about his business.
The prisoner left the room,and the law
yer followed dose in his wake; and when
they had got into the hall, the counsellor
tapped his client on the shoulder, savins-!
“Now, my good fellow, that twenty
dollars.”
The rogue, looking the lawyer full in
Ihe face, putting on a grotesque and silly
expression, and winking with one eye—
exclaimed—“Spoons and then made
tracks.
Anecdote of Tennyson.
An American who hns lately roiurncd :
from Europe,brings with him the following
anecdote of Tennyson:
At a German inn he met with an Eng
lishman remarkable in a three-fold manner;
for bis appearance, which was interesting ;
and striking—for his conversation, which ^
was markedly peculiar—and for his hat, i
which for the length of time it had been I
ignorant of a nap, might have balanced I
the seven sleepers in the economy of na-!
lure. One day the two si rangers were pui \
into the same vehicle to visit a ruin or a
waterfall, and then, for the first time, the j
Englishman discovered that his companion
was an American. Upon learning this,
he drew a note book from his pocket, and
taking from it a copy in MS. of “Tenny.
son’s Mariana in the Moated Grange_”
asked the American if he ever had seen
it.”
“Certainly,” was the reply, “I am very
familiar with it.”
But is 1 ennyson much esteemed in Ame*
iica?
\
“Ho is admired by all whose admiration
is an lionor.”^
“Is he?” exclaimed the Englishman with
a boyish delight glowing from his face—
“why I’m Tennyson!”
The anecdote is highly characteristic of
Tennyson, he appears to be in the habit of
showing his poems in manuscript to bis ac
quaintances. The last number of the
Knickerbocker contains a poern which an
American gentleman obtained in this
manner. *
“Mr. Jayne, what is the price of this
plug of tobacco?” said a rosin heel to a
merchant.
‘•One dollar,” was the reply.
“What is the price if I cut it in
two?”
“Fifty cents, of course,” said the mer
chant.
“Then I will cut it in two.”
On a recent moonlight night, a mother
had the following observation made to her
by her son, a little urchin of about six years
of age.
“It must be all nonsense, mother, about
there being folks in the moon.”
“Why so?”
“Because, how could they crush them
selves together when it’s only half-moon?'1'1
Mamma (grinning) replied—
“Maybe the folks are like spy-glasses—
and shut in.”
The Factory Girl.
, by ELLEN ASHTON.
In a sweet and rural valley, nestled a
mong the hills of old Massachusetts, stands
a pleasant village, with a picturesque mill
pond and factory. Three summers ago
this hamlet was the temporary residence
of two young men, who were apparently
trav elling artists, as their chief occupation
seemed to consist in sketching the scenery
ol the neighborhood, which was celebra
ted for its beauty'. Their arrival had cre
ated some stir among the villagers; for
without a bit of pretension, both young
men had a certain dignity of manner, that
caused them to be looked up to, and many
a pretty factory girl, as she tripped to her
work, cast back a look over her shoulder,
if she met either ol the handsome stran
gers,
Though the society of the village was
unusually intelligent, and the females re
markable for lov eliness, there was one fa
med above all the rest, in both mind and
person—sweet Edith Mather. She was
an orphan, without sister or brother, and
lived with an aged aunt, whom she chiefly
supported by her labor in the factory.—
Euith was popular with every one. She
was so gentle, considerate and kind, that
even those who first envied, learned at last
to love her. The younger of the artists,
whom we shall name Lovel, soon became
interested in this sweet creature; at least,
if looks, tones, and a constant seeking of
llff nrOOn noo uiovn nm> L. ^ a 1
* -J ..V. V.tAO IIIKO
interested. e
One day he and his friend had clamber
ed up some rocks on ihe steep hill side
from which the village was overlooked, and
as they sat there, the factory bell rang,
and the green was immediately covered
with the girls emplyed in it, wending their
way thither after dinner. Among them it
was easy to recognize the light and grace,
ful form of Edith.
“Is she not beautiful? Where can you
show me a form so sylph like?” said Lov
el, with undisguised enthusiasm.
His companion made no reply for a mo
ment, but then abruptly remarked.
“1 think it is lime we left this village.”
“Why,” asked Lovel, in a lone of sur
prise.
“Because if we do not, you will have
lhat girl in love with you. Your admira*
lion is evident to all her friends, and you
ire too honorable to hold out hopes you
never intend to fulfil?”
“Hold out hopes 1 never intend to ful
fil?”
Yes—for you don’t think of marrying
the girl, do you?”
“To he sure.”
“The deuce you do!” said his compan-1
CtOflllwo IA K! _ r.»At in iinnir^Aln/! I
3 --
ishment.
Lovel indulged in a heart}' laugh, and
then asked, ‘Why not?’
‘Why not? Why fora thousand rea
sons. She’s only a factory girl, a lady of
neilher birth nor education, but a country
lass, very good indeed in her way, only no
match for Fred. Lovel. Think of presen
ting her to your fashionable friends in town!
No—no—it will never do. Shake off' this
love fit; pack up your trunk, and let us be
off to-morrow. ’
Lovel shook his head.
“I am perhaps a more romantic man
than you are, Horry,’’ he said, but I have
some commdn sense aboift me, and 1 think
1 have brought it to bear upon this quesi
tion- We have now been here a month,
in which lime I have become pretty well
acquainted wills Edith. I left town—we
hoik left it—heartily sick of its frivolties;
and on my part with the firm opinion that
I knew no woman in our set there whom
1 would be willing to make my wife.—
The city girls are so fiivulous, and fond of
parties, so eager for wealthy alliances, and
really so ignorant of household affairs, that
for a man of my taste to marry one of them
would be folly. 1 am not fond of gay life
—I think it wastes so much precious time;
and I want therefore, a wife who will be
domestic, and not involve me in a round of
balls and other entertainments. 1 do not
wish to be a hermit; a few friends area
great blessing, and I shall always be glad
to gather around me a small circle of the
right kind; but promiscuous, fashionable
visitings I detest. Now I think I have
found just the partner i will require it
Miss Mather. She is well informed, a
agreeable, simple in her taste, has souuc
sense, and withal possesses a large share
of personal beauty, and if I mistake not
the power of loving very' deeply. If 1
marry her and take her to the city, her in
tuiiive tact—and she has this to a remark
able degree—will soon supply any defi
ciency in manner. In short, I do not
know where I could make a better choice,
‘IIow?—when she has no accomplish
ments?’
‘She cen sing with untaught grace; and
as for jabbering French, I don’t know how
that will make her any better. She would
soon learn too, with her quick parts. Be
sides, I care more to have a wife usefully
informed, than to have one possessing on
ly superficial accomplishments.’
‘But her family! recollect who your
grandfather was.’
‘And who was hers? a worthy divine,
poor I grant, but estimable. Besides I
am above the cant you talk of. If her pa
rents had been honest, I would care little
whether they were of royal blood or peas
ant extraction. I believe with Burns that
‘worth makes the man,’ and the only de
gradation I acknowledge is thatoftrime.
‘Well, if you are resolved on it, I know
enough of your obstinacy to say no more,
but faith, Lovel, if you had a guardian and
T .. l . ¥ i . . i /• . .
* wuo nt, i wnuiu muu > uu iiuui inis p«ace
to-morrow. You’d thank me for it when
you recovered your senses.’
The conversation here ceased: and di"
rectly the two friends retraced their steps
to the village.
The next morning Level’s companion
came down stairs attired for a journey.
‘I am going back to town,’ lie said, for 1
am tired ruralizing. The fit for that is
over; and I am afraid that if [ stay here, I
shall be as foolish as you.’
So the two friends parted, for Lovel re
mained behind: and, in less [ban a week,
it was known every where in the -village
that he and Edith were engaged to be mar
ried.
‘If you can content yourself with the
precarious life of a poor artist,’ he said,
when he told his affection, *we may be
happy.’
Edith answered by a look of her bright
eyes, so tender, confiding and eloquent,
that Lovel adored her from that moment
more than ever.
In a fortnight they were married, when
Lovel look his bride to see his relations,
in the South from whence he came. Edith’s
parting with her aunt was sorrowful but
it was made in the expectation of speedily
returning. Arrived at Philadelphia, the
carriage drove to a handsome residence in
Walnut street. It was evening and Edith
was dazzled by the glare that burst from
the windows.
“This is the place,’said Lovel, assist"
ing his wife to alight, and almost carrying
her into a supurb parlor, with its saxony
carpet, rosewood furniture, costly curtains
and mirrors reaching from ceiling to floor.
‘Whose house is this? Have you rela
tions living thus? said Edith, surprised at
so much magnificence.
‘It is my house, it is yours, dearest,’
said her husband,''I am not a poor artist,’
but a man rich in goods, yet richest of all
in you.’
Three years have passed silfcc then,
and Edith has fulfi led all that her husband
foretold of her. She has made the best of
wives and is one of the most brilliant or
naments of the circle she moves in, Lov
el’s friend married a silly, fashionable wo'
man, and no greater contrast in happiness
exists in families than in these two former
friends.
A handsome, rural cottage, filled with all
the appliances of luxry, has been erected
in Edith’s native village, and thither every
summer, she and her husband repair to
visit her aged aunt, who has been installed
mistress of this pret'y retreat.
Eloquent Extract.
A spirit of faultfinding; and unsatisfied
temper; a constant irritability; little ine.
qualities in the look, the temper or the
manner; a brow clouded and dissatisfied
—your husband or wife cannot tell why—
will more than neutralize all the good you
can do, and render life any thing but u
blessing. It is such gentle and quiet vir
tues as meekness and forbearance, that
I the happiness of life consists, far more
than ia brilliant eloquence, in splendid
talent, or illustrious deeds that ghall send
the name to future times. It is the bub
bling spring which flows gently; the little
rivulet which glides through the meadow,
and which runs along day and night by
(hi farm-house that is useful, rather than
the swollen flood or the warring cataract._
Niagara excites our wonder; and we stand
amazed at the power and greatness of God
there, as he ‘pours it Irom the hollow hand.’
But one Niagara is enough for a conli.
nent ora world? whilst that same world
needs thousands and tens of thousands of
of silver fountains and gently flowing riv
ulets, that shall water every farm, and ev
ery meadow, and eveiy garden, and that
shall flow on, every day and every night
with their gentle and quiet beauty. So
with the acts of our lives. It is not by
great deeds only, like those of Howard,
noi by grelt sufferings only, like those of
the marrtys—that good is to be done; it is
by the daily and quiet virtues of life—the
Christian temper, the meek forbearance,
the spirit of forgiveness in the husband,
the wife, the father, the in ither the broth
er the sister, the friend the neighbor, that
good is Jto ,be done; and in this all may be
useful.—Rev. Alltrt Bams.
Getting a Place at the Fire.—Every bo
dy has read the anecdote of Dr. Franklin,
who, when travelling upon a ‘‘raw and
gusty day,” stopped at a tavern, and found
me uar room hre entirely preoccupied by
a set of village loafers, who would not
budge an inch in the way of civility to a
stranger. He called for a peck of oysters
for his horse; and while the unmannerly
cubs all went to the stable to witness the
novel spectacle of a horse eating oyters,
the Doctor selected a comfortable place at
the fire to “roast his oysters, and to warm
himself.” Of course the horse didn’t eat
the oysters, but the doctor did! About as
good a siotj.
Times of a certain captain in the recruiting,
service at the west, who went into a gro«
eery where were a lot of loungers, and no
one offered to him a seat. Knowing eve
ry thing about the grocery, he went be
hind the counter, and seizing a keg mark
ed ‘powder,’ exclaiming ‘Gentlemen,| it’s
my opinion that we’ve lived long enough!’
I lie way they ran out of the store was a
caution to “ground and lofty tumbling.”—
Of course the keg wasempty.
heart
rise up in a pastorial region, the green si
lent hills from the dissolving snow-wreaths
that yet linger at their feet. A few warm
sunny days, and a few breezy and melting
nights, have seemed to create the sweet
season of spring out of the winter’s bleak
est desolation. With the revival of na"
tore our own souls feel restored. Happi
ness becomes milder, meeker, and richer
intensive thought; while sorrow catches
a faint tinge of joy, and reposes itself on
the quietness of earth’s opening breast.—
Then youth is rejoicing—manhood sedate
—and old age resigned The child shakes
his golden curies in his glee—he of riper
life has the coming year with temperate
exultation and the eye that lias been touch
ed with dimness, in the general spirit of
delight, forgets or fears not the shadow of
the grave.
A Pointed Rebuke.—One that affected
to be rich and powerful, if he went abroad
and met any one well-dressed and of rank,
would shrink back and conceal himself—
and if asked why he did so, would say—
“Ma cousins and connexions areeo nume
•roof, *tis really quite troublesome.”
He and his friend meeting a beggar one
day, his friend, who had been disgusted by
his airs, mimicking his manner, and shrink
ing back, exclaimed—“My cousins and
connexions.”
“Pray,” said the quality gentleman in
surprise, “how came you to have a cousin
in this state?”
“Why,” said he, “all the respectable per
sons we meet you take to yourself; and 1
have nobody else left.”
“We understand that a hasty pudding
which had been set out to cool, was taken
up to the watch house by a watchman, on
charge of smoking in the street.
Fortunate.—We learn that a gentleman
who recently visited the circus found a ring
there. *
- *v .'-a** ’ V