gcls_courant_028 1

THE COURANT,
A Southern Literary Journal.

HOWARD H. CADWELL, Editor.] "Sic vos uon vobis." [Wm. W. WALKER, Jr., & Co., PROPRIETORS

VOLUME I. COLUMBIA, S.C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1859. NUMBER 28
[Column 1]
We publish, this week, a few lines which originally appeared
in the Guardian. It was painful to write this poem, and we
would have much preferred not to have reprinted it, but
the requests have been earnest, and from several persons, so
that we have not felt at liberty to decline.

With this much by way of explanation, we submit the stanzas:

STANZAS
ON THE DEATH OF E. M. W.
BY HOWARD H. CALDWELL

As one who, musing some sweet summer eve,
Looks down a vista of magnolia trees
That sport and play with every passing breeze,
While thought and fancy find a blest reprieve
In dreamy wanderings of the Long-ago;
And boyhood's hopes and youth's bright fancies seem
To shed upon that vision, each, its beam,
And flower and tree, and rock and wave, all glow
In the enchantment of midsummer's dream;
Forms lost, ah! long, long lost, appear again,
And saintly voices sound across the plain,
And hope's sweet stars, long set, again do seem
To throb with their old rapture on our pain,
And rising thro' the Heavens, to shed their silver rain:—

When quick and loud, a trumpet-voice of storm
Awakes the dreamer—thrilling all the vale,
And flowers bend down, and human faces pale
Attest alike an hour of dire alarm:
Oh thus, sweet friend! when musing, late, of thee,
While manhood's cheek e'en felt the trickling tear
That linked my Present to that Past, when care
Was smiled away in joys of fancy free,
The tidings came, that true, kind heart was still.
That voice of living melody was hushed,
Unbidden tears from my cold eye-lids gushed;
And most for him, for whom Earth now can fill
No bitterer chilice:—may God's blessing rest
Upon the stricken, and bring solace to his breast.

AN IRISH MANNER OF STOPPING A HOLE.—Our
folks have got a Biddy of the veritable kind. She is a
queer duck, and good-natured as a basket of chips.
Well, last Sunday, as we were sitting down to dinner,
we found the old cat, with three young grimalkins,
largely engaged in the nursery business under the
table.

"Biddy," said we, "take this cat and her kittens
and put them where we shall never see them more." A
hint of dreadful import, but not understood.

"Faith, sir, an' that I will."

The feline family was removed, and we proceeded
to dinner. By-and-by Biddy reentered, with an ex-
pression of her face that seemed to say—"Be dad, I
guess they're in safe keeping now."

"Well, Biddy, what have you done with the old cat
and kittens?"

"Be gor, sir, they're safe enough, sure. D'ye mind
the wood-house fornenst the stable? Well, I put them
all in there and fastened the door and windies. Then,
seeing that there was a hole besides where they might
get out, I stopped that up, too, and so, you see, they
won't trouble you any more."

We were satisfied, "av coorse," and we ate our din-
ner in peace; afterwards we walked into the yard,
where we saw the identical old cat and her three kittens
at liberty. Calling Biddy, we said:

"Did you not say you had fastened the cat in the
wood-house?"

"Faith, an' I did, sir."

"And stopped the hole?"

"Yes, sir."

Well she had, that's a fact; but what do you sup-
pose what stopped the hole with? She stopped it with a
section of stove-pipe! We thought we would split.
And there sat one of the little imps at the mouth of it,
just as it crawled out, licking its paws, and looking as
saucy as thunder.—Knickerbocker.

[Column 2]
THE FATE OF ALCESTIS.
BY MRS. ELLET.

"Facillis decensus Aven;
Sed revocare gradum
Hic labor—hoc opus est."

IT was twilight in the infernal regions. All was
stillness in the Stygian palace, for Proserpina had not
yet made her appearance from the chamber where she
usually retired after dinner, to indulge herself in a
siesta. Pluto had gone on a visit to Olympus to com-
plain of some new Esculapius, and the scarcity of fresh
arrivals in his dominions; for it was a subject of lamen-
tation throughout hell, that a full month had elapsed
without any tribute money being paid to Charon, for
carrying souls across the Hateful Passage. The old
man had the rheumatism from his long inactivity, and
looked so ferocious that none, save his master, cared to
speak to him; and even the sternly serene countenance
of the monarch, on his departure, wore so black an
expression that his attendants shrunk from his looks.
He had gone without taking leave of his queen; indeed,
it was whispered that the royal pair were not on the
best terms in the world; a matter not so unfrequent as
to excite much surprise, though the exact truth could
never be ascertained, none venturing to interfere in his
majesty's domestic affairs. The infernal courtiers were
scattered here and there about the palace, some playing
at dominoes, and smoking their pipes, under the shadow
of the huge cypresses that hung their mournful wreaths
from the columns of the porticoes; others reading the
newspapers by the expiring light, or stretched in listless
ease along the black marble benches. Three dark
figures were pacing the long gravel walks, wrapped in
their cloaks, with their eyes fixed on the ground. They
had the place to themselves, for none cared to trouble
the Eumenides, and they seemed too deeply absorbed
for conversation. The only interruption to the silence
was the heavy and continuous waving of Cocytus, as his
black waves rolled gloomily on, to unite themselves with
the vast channel of Acheron, and the distant crackling
heard from Phlegethon, as, occasionally, shoots of flame
illumined the increasing darkness. Now and then, too,
Cerberus, who lay slumbering on the river-side, would
lift up one of his three heads, and utter a low, lazy
growl at the sound of some fancied footstep. Then he
would shake his three pairs of ears, and compose himself
to sleep.

"You play me false," said one of the gamesters, rising
from his seat, "and I will venture no more with you.
Besides, it is too dark to distinguish the points."

"Nay, friend," returned the winner, "one stake more.
I will risk ten to one we have new arrivals to-night.
There is a plague raging in Thessaly."

"What of that? Here we have been weeks reflecting
for lack of employment. What will the world come to?
A plague! It does little good, when Jove sends an
antipode to every poison. The shears of Atropos will
rust for want of usage, and herself expire of ennui.
Look at the poor thing!"

The figure he pointed out was sitting in a melancholy
posture, under one of the pillars of the infernal throne.
One hand supported her head, and the other, hanging
negligently at her side, held the fatal scissors. The
marble whiteness of the hand was strangely contrasted
with her black robes.

[Column 3]
A sudden stir among the attendants, and Proserpina
herself appeared. Her stately figure was enveloped in
the imperial robes worn on state occasions, and a gor-
geous crown was upon her head. She moved with divine
majesty, attended, but not supported by her favorite
hand-maidens, and, bending a haughty glance upon the
awed group before her, paused ere she ascended the seat
of sovereignty.

"How now, Tyche ! you have the charge of our
palace ; why are not the lamps lighted ?"

"So please your majesty, Tisiphone's last draught of
oil for the uses of Tartarus, exhausted our present
store."

"The caitiff! Light the wax tapers, and trouble me no
more with thy presence. Are we to receive company in
darkness? Prepare supper in the great hall. Be mer-
ry, little one (to her favorite), thou knowest to-night is
the anniversary of my coronation."

"Alas, dear mistress," said the maiden, putting her
handkerchief to her eyes, "is it not rather an occasion
for mourning? Can you have forgotten the lovely vale
of Enna, and our blithe garlands, and pastoral songs,
and the birth-day gifts of Ceres? When shall we be so
happy again ? Oh that fatal pomegranate !"

"Have done with your whining nonsense, Cyane,"
cried the queen, angrily, "or by my father Jupiter, and
my mother Ceres, and my grand-mother Vesta, I will
send you to keep company with the trees and fountains,
that they may reply to your wailing, if you so much as
name Sicily to me again!" But when the favorite
pressed more closely to the side of her mistress, and
looked up tenderly and tearfully in her face, and dropped
her eyes on the ground, as if afraid of her displeasure,
she put her arm round her affectionately, and spoke more
mildly.

"Nay, good Cyane, take it not so to heart; come,
thou shalt revel it with us, for know," --and she bent
her lips to the maiden's ear, --a youth will join us to-
night, whose beauty would make jealous our brother
Apollo. He is to be my cup-bearer."

Cyane once more dropped her eyes on the ground,
and blushed ; but said not what she thought.

"Shall I not equal the Olympian Juno? It is Adme-
tus, son to the King of Thessaly, whom the Fates this
night conduct to my realm. We will be magnificent,
though my lord be in heaven. But the hour is come."
And she took our her gold repeater, which rang nine
clear strokes. "Atropos, my girl, you are dull to-night."

And Atropos lifted up her head with a melancholy
smile. The shears were half open.

Then a tumult was heard at the gates. They were
shaken with long and loud clamor, and the sound of
many voices. The palace slaves ran hither and thither,
to find out the meaning of the confusion, and Cerberus
set up a triple yell, that might have frightened Rhada-
manthus himself. The portals burst open with a thun-
dering crash, and Pluto's out-riders entered helter
skelter.

"What is all this ?" cried Proserpina, forcing com-
posure, as she sate upon her throne, beating rapidly her
cushioned footstool with her little foot, with impatience
at the unwonted disorder. "Is Tartarus let loose ?"

"Not quite, your highness," said a knight, throwing
himself from his horse, and kneeling on one knee at her
august feet, "only Pluto is coming back."