1859-11-17 The Courant

THE COURANT, A Southern Literary Journal.

Howard H. Caldwell, Editor] " Sic vos non vobis. " [Wm. W. WALKER, JR., & CO., PROPRIETORS

VOLUME I. COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1859. NUMBER 29

For the Courant. GEMS FROM THE DEAD. BY LIZZIR CLARENDON.

Lines on the Death of a Young Girl, Cousin to the Writer.

Thy mortal life is ended, Isabel But where its stream has wended, Isabel, By memory's faithful light We wander thro' the night Which sorrow's clouds have closed around our world, To view it on its course, Flowing with gentle force, Until its spirit-barque her sails have furl'd !

Its margin glows with flowers, Isabel, Dropped by the rosy hours, Isabel, When, in that happy time, In childhood's sunny clime, The sky looked cloudless on a world so fair; When pleasures came in troops, And joys in close-linked groups, To gaze into its depths with vision clear.

But thorn begin to mingle, Isabel! Where flower-bells wont to tingle, Isabel! Youth brings us deeper life, But with it comes the strife That turns the sparkling waters into foam! The stream, tho' pure and clear, Throws back a shadow near, Whispering the spirit - "This is not thy home!"

That shadow fell on thee, fair Isabel! That whisper came to thee, dear Isabel! And now we see thee not In each familiar spot; The stream has merged its gentle, rippling tide In that unbounded sea, Where storm nor cloud may be, And safely there thy spirit-barque doth glide!

MUSIC AND POETRY. Who is there that, in logical words, can express the effect music has upon us kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech, which leads us to the edge of the infinite, and lets us for moments gaze into that. Song seems, some how, the very central essence of us; as if all the rest were wrappers and hulls! All inmost things are melodious -naturally utter themselves in song The meaning of song goes deep. The Greeks fabled of sphere harmonies: it was the feeling they had of the inner structure of nature; that the soul of all her voices and utterances was perfect. The poet is he who thinks in that manner." It turns still on powers of intellect; it is a man's sincerity and depth of vision that makes him a poet. See deep enough, and you see musically; the heart of nature being every where music, if you can only reach it. Carlyle.

A RED-FACED GHOST, who was not quite sober, attempted to play in Hamlet at a country theatre. At length the curtain rose and the play commenced. Every thing passed off quietly enough till the ghost made his appearance, when there arose a continuous groar of laughter. A ghost with red face was a novel thing, and the said ghost keeping his legs with extreme diffculty. But the noise subsided, and the play progressed smoothly, till the scene in which Hamlet, Horatio and the officers appear.

Hamlet What ! looked he frowningly ? Horatio--A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. Hamlet--Pale or red ? Horatio -Nay, very red. "So red, indeed, that he looked as if he came from the very depths of the infernal regions, my lord."

MRS. PARTINGTON wants to know, If it were not intended that women should drive their husbands, why are they put through the bridle ceremony WHAT poet do miners most value? Coleridge.

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THE LION IN THE TOILS. BY C. ASTOR BRlSTED. WHAT followed the events related in our last number gave Ashburner a lesson against making up his mind too hastily on any points of character, national or individual. A fortnight after his arrival at Oldport he would have said that the Americans were the most communicative people he had ever fallen in with, and particularly that the men of "our set" were utterly incapable of keeping secret any act or purpose of their lives, any thing that had happened, or was going to happen. Now he was surprised at the discretion shewn by the men cognizant of the late row (and they comprised all the fashionables left in the place, and some of the outsiders, like Simpson) ; their dexterity and careful management, first, to prevent the affair from coming to a fight, and then, if that were impossible, to keep it from publicity until the parties were safe over the border into Canada, where they might "shoot each other like gentlemen," as a young gentleman from Alabama expressed it. Sedly himself, whose officiousness had precipitated the quarrel, did all in his power to prevent any further mischief, and was as sedulous for the promotion of silencio and misterio, as if he had been leader of a chorus of Venetian Senators. The Sewer reporters, who, in their eagerness to collect every bit of gossip and scandal, would have given the ears which an outraged community had permitted them to retain for a knowledge of the fracas and its probable consequences, never had the least inkling of it. Indeed, so quietly was the whole managed, that Ashburner never made out the cause of the old feud, nor was able to form any opinion on the probability of its final issue. On the former point he could only come to the conclusion, from what he heard, that Hunter had been mythologizing, as his wont was, something to Benson's discredit several years before, and had been trying to make mischief between him and some of his friends or relations; but what the exact offence was, whether Sumner was involved in the quarrel from the first, and if so, to what extent; and whether the legend about the horse was a part of, or only an addition to the original grievance; on these particulars he remained in the dark. As to the latter, he knew that Hunter had not challenged Benson, and that he had left the place, but whether to look up a friend or not, no one seemed to know, or if they did, no one cared to tell. At any rate, he did not return for a week and more, during which time Ashburner had full opportunity of studying the behaviour and feelings of a man with a duel in prospect.

Those who defend and advocate the practice of dueling, if asked to explain the motives leading a gentleman to fight, would generally answer somewhat to this effect: in the first place, personal courage, which induces a man to despise danger and death, in comparison with any question affecting his own honour, or that of those connected with him; secondly, a respect for the opinion of the society in which he moves, which opinion, to a certain extent, supplies and fixes the definition of honour. Hence it would follow that, given a man who is neither physically brave, nor bound by any particular respect for the opinion of his dailY associates, and the world he moves in, such a man would not be

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likely to give or accept a challenge. The case under Ashburner's observation afforded a palpable, contradiction to this conclusion.

Henry Benson was not personally valorous ; what courage he possessed was rather of a moral than a physical kind. Where he appeared to be daring and heedless, it proved on examination to be the result of previous knowledge and practice, which gave him confidence and armed him with impunity. Thus he would drive his trotters at any thing, and shave through " tight places on rough and crowded roads, his whiffle-trees tipping and his hubs grazing the surrounding wheels in 8 way that at first made Ashburner shudder in spite of himself; but it was because his experience in wagondriving enabled him to measure distances within halfan-inch, and to catch an available opening immediately. On the other hand, in their pedestrian trips across the country in Winchester, he was very chary of jumping fences or ditches till he had ascertained by careful practice his exact capacity for that sort of exercise. He would ride his black horse, Daredevil, who was the terror of all the servants and women in his neighbourhood, because he had made himself perfectly acquainted with all the animal's stock of tricks, and was fully prepared for them as they came ; but he never went the first trip in a new steamboat or railroad line. He ate and drank many things considered unhealthy, because he understood exactly from experience what and how much he could take without injury but you could not have bribed him to sit fifteen minutes in wet boots. In short, he was a man who took excellent care of himself, canny as a Scot or a New-Englander, loving the good things of life, and net disposed to hazard them on slight grounds. Then, as to the approbation or disapprobation of those about him, he was almost entirely careless of it. On any point beyond the cut of a coat, the decoration of a roOM, the concoction of a dish, or the merits of a horse, there were not ten people in his own set whose opinion he heeded. To the remarks of foreigners he was a little more sensitive, but even these he was more apt to retort upon by a fu quoque than to be influenced by. Add to all this, that he had the convenient excuse of being a communicant at church, which, in America, implies something like a formal profession of religion.- Yet at this time he was not only willing, but most eager to fight. The secret lay in his state of recklessness.- A moment of passion had overturned all his instincts, principles, and common sense, and inspired him with the feverish desire to pay off his old debts to Storey Hunter, at whatever cost. And as neither the possession of extraordinary personal courage, nor a high sense of conventional honour, nor a respect for the opinion of society, necessarily induces a feeling of recklessness, so neither does the absence of these qualities prevent the presence of this feeling, exactly the most favourable one to make man engage in duel. Moralists have called such a condition one of temporary madness, and it has probably as good grounds to be classed with insanity as many of the pleas known to medical and criminal jurisprudence.

Be this as it may, Ashburner had a good opportunity of observing and the example, it is to be hoped, was of service to him the demoralization induced upon man by the mere impending possibility of duel. Benson seemed careless what he did. He danced frantical

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ly, and drank so much at all hours, that the Englishman, though pretty strong-headed himself, wondered how he could keep sober. He was openly seen reading The Blackguard's Own, a weekly of The Sewer species. He made up trotting-matches with every man in the place who owned a "fast crab," and with some acquaintances at a distance, by correspondence. He kept studiously out of the way of his wife and child, lest their influence might shake his determination. All this time he practiced pistol-shooting most religiously. Neither of the belligerents had ever given a public proof of skill in this line. Hunter's ability was not known, and Benson's shooting was so uncertain and vriable when any one looked on, that those in the secret suspected him of playing dark and disguising his hand. All which added to the interest of the affair.

But when eleven days had passed without signs or tidings of Hunter, and it seemed pretty clear that he had gone away "for good," Benson started up one morning, and went off himself to New York, at the same time with Harrison, whose brief and not very joyous holidays had come to a conclusion. He accompained the banker, in accordance with the true American principle, always to have a lion for your companion when you can; and as Harrison was still a man of note in Wall-street, however small might be his influence in his own household, Benson liked to be seen with him, and to talk any thing --even stocks-- to him, though he had no particular interest in the market at the time. But, whether an American is in business himself or not, the subject of business is generally an interesting one to him, and he is always ready to gossip about dollars. The unexampled material development of the United States is only maintained by a condition of society which requires every man to take a share in assisting that development, and the most frivolous and apparently idle men are found sharp enough in pecuniary matters. This trait of national character lies on the surface, and foreigners have not been slow to notice it, and to draw from it unfavourable conclusions. The supplementary and counterbalancing features of character to be observed in these very people,-- that it is rather the fun of making the money than the money itself, which they care for; that when it is made, they spend it freely; and part with it more readily than they earned it; that they are more liberal both in their public and private charities (considering the amount of their wealth, and of the claims upon it) than any nation in the world,--all these traits strangers have been less ready to dwell upon and do justice to.

Benson was gone and Ashburner stayed. Why? He had been at Oldport nearly a month; the place was not particularly beautiful, and the routine of amusements not at all to his taste. Why did he stay? He had his secret, too.

It is melancholy but indisputable fact, that even in the most religous and moral country in the world, the bulwark of evangelical faith, and the home of the domestic virtues (meaning, of course, England), a great many mothers who have daughters to marry, are not so anxious about the real welfare, temporal and eternal, of their young ladies, as solicitous that they should acquire riches, titles, and other vanities of the world,-- nay, that many of the daughters themselves act as if their everlasting happiness depended on their securing in matrimony a proper combination of the aforesaid vanities, and put out of account altogether the greatest prize a woman can gain-- the possession of a true and loving heart, joined to a wise head. Now, Ashburner being a very good parti at home, and having run the gauntlet of one or two London seasons, had become very skittish of mammas, and still more so of daughters. He regarded the unmarried female as a most dangerous and altogether-to-be-avoided animal, and when you offered to introduce him to a young lady, looked about as grateful as if you had invited him to go up in a balloon. He expected to be rather persecuted, if any thing, in America than he had been at home; and when he met Miss Vanderlyn at Ravenswood, if his first thought had found articulate expression, it would probably have been

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something like this : -- "Now that young woman is going to set her cap at me; what a core it will be! " Never was a man more mistaken in his anticipations. He encountered many pretty girls, not a all timid, ready enough to talk, and flirtly enough among their own set, but not one of them threw herself at him, and least of all did Miss Vanderlyn. Not that the young lady was the victim of a romantic attachment, for she was perfectly fancy free and heart whole ; nor, on the other hand, that she was at all insensible to the advantages of matrimony, for she kept a very fair look-out in that direction, and had, if not absolutely down on her books, at least engraved on the recording tablets of her mind, four distinct young gentlemen, combining the proper requisites, any of whom would suit her pretty well, and one of whom-- she didn't much care which-- she was pretty well resolved to marry within the next two years. And as she was stylish, and rather handsome, clever enough, and tolerably provided with the root of all evil, besides having that fortunate good humour and accommodating disposition which go so far towards making a woman a belle and a favourite, there was a sufficient probability that beffore the expiration of that time, one of the four would offer himself. But all her calculations were founded on shrewd common sense; her imagination took no flights, and her aspirations only extended to the ordinary and possible. That this young and strange Englishman, travelling as a part of education, the son of a great man, and probably betrothed by proxy to some great man's daughter, or going into parliament to be a great man himself, and remain a bachelor for the best part of his life,-- that between him and herself there should be any thing in common, any point of union which could make even a flirtation feasible, never entered into her head. She would as soon have expected the King of Dahomey to send an embassy with ostrich feathers in their caps, and rings in their noses, formally to ask her hand in marriage. Nay, even if the incredible event had come to pass, and the young stranger had taken the initiative, even then she would not by any means jumped at the bait. For, in the first place, she was fully imbued with the idea that the Vanderlyns were quite as good as any other people in the world, and that (the ordinary conceit of an American belle) to whatever man she might give her hand, all the honour would come from her side, and all the gain be his; therefore she would not have cared to come into a family who might suspect her of having inveigled their heir, and look down upon her as something beneath them, because she came from a country where there were no noblemen. Secondly, there is a very general feeling among the best classes in America, that no European worth any thing at home comes to America to get married. The idea is evidently an imperfect generalization, and liable to exceptions; but the prevalence of its shews were modesty in the "Upper Ten's" appreciation of themselves than they usually have credit for. As soon, therefore, as a foreigner begins to pay attention to a young lady in good society, it is prima facie ground of suspicion against him. The reader will see from all this how little chance there was of Ashburner's running any danger from the unmarried women about him. With the married ones the case was somewhat different. It may be remembered, that at his first introduction to Mrs. Henry Benson, the startling contrast she exhibited to the adulation he had been accustomed to receive, totally put him down; and that afterwards she softened off the rough edge of her satire, and became very piquante and pleasing to him. And as she greatly amused him, so he began to suspect that she was rather proud of having such a lion to her train, as no doubt she was, notwithstanding the somewhat rough and cub-like stage of his existence. So he began to hang about her, and follow her around in his green, awkward way, and look large notes of admiration at her; and she was greatly diverted, and not at all displeased at his attentions. I don't know how far it might have gone; Ashburner was a very correct and moral young man, as the world goes, but rather because he had generally business enough on hand to keep him out of mischief,

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than from any high religious principle; and I am afraid that in spite of the claims of propiety, and honour, and friendship, and the avenging Zeus of hospitality, and every other restraining motive, he would have fallen very much in love with Mrs. Benson, but for one thing. He was hopelessly in love with Mrs. Harrison. How or when it began he couldn't tell; but he found himself under the influence imperceptibly, as a man feels himself intoxicated. Sometimes he fancied that there had been a kind of love at first sight-- that with the first glimpse he had of her, something in his heart told him that that woman was destined to exert a mastery over him; yet his feelings must have undergone a change and growth, for he would now now have listened to any one speaking of her as Benson had done at that time. Why it was, he could still less divine. His was certainly not the blind admiration which sees no fault in its idol; he saw her faults plainly enough, and yet could not help himself. He often asked himself how it happened that if he was doomed to endure an illicit and unfortunate passion, it was not for Mrs. Benson rather than Mrs. Harrison; for the former was at least clever, certainly handsomer, palpably younger, indubitably more ladylike, and altogether a higher style of woman. Yet with this just appreciation of them, there was no comparion as to his feelings towards the two. The one amused and delighted him when present; the other, in her absense, was ever rising before his mind's eye, and drawing him after her ; and when they met, his heart beat quicker, and he was more than usually awkward and confused. Perhaps there had been, in the very origin of his entanglement and passion, some guiding impulse and honour, some sense that Benson had been his friend and entertainer, and that to Harrison he was under no personal obligations. For there are many shades of honour and dishonour in dishonourable thoughts, and a little principle goes a great way with some people, like the wind commemorated by Joe Miller's Irishman, of which there was not much, but what there was, was very high. Be this as it may, he was loving to perdition-- or thought so, at least; and it is hard to discriminate in a very young man's case between the conceit and the reality of love. His whole heart and mind were taken up with one great, all-pervading idea of Mrs. Harrison, and he was equally unable to smother and to express his flame. He was dying to make her a present of something, but he could send nothing without a fear of exciting suspicion, except bouquets; and of these floral luxuries, though they were only to be procured at Old-port with much trouble and expense, she had always a supply from other quarters. He did not like to be one of a number in his offerings; he wanted to pay her some peculiar tribute. He would have liked to fight some man for her, to pick a quarrel with some one who had said something against her. Proud and sensitive to ridicule as he was, he would have laid himself down in her way, and let her walk over him, could he have persuaded himself that she would be gratified by such a proof of devotion, and that it would help his cause with her.

[[CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT.]]

"ONE BYRON."--The most contemptous taunt of insignificance has always been to call a man "one"-- as if a man could be more than one-- but it will be consolation, to those who are so reproachfully designated, that Byron was not only called "one Byron." but "this individual." The Paris correspondent of the London Globe has raked out from the papers of an old bookstand, a police report furnished to the Austrain Governor at Venice during Lord Byron's stay at Ravenna. It is dated from Rome, October 2, 1819, stating the poet Lord's departure from that place, and intention of visiting Venice :--- " On the twelth of this month an English peer, one Byron, starts from Rome ; he passes for a poet in his own country, and is suspected of affiliation with the society of Roma Antica-- at least, his style of writing has been described to me as of the 'romantic school', which I presume means carbonaro. He is known for the exaggeration of his liberalism. I have seen reason to keep an eye on this individual." ---------------------------------------------------------------- If you want an ignoramus to respect you, "dress to death," and wear watch-seals about the size of brickbats.

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THE COURANT A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL

A GRAND CONCERT--A LADY'S DESCRIPTION•

The Handel Centenary Concert took place in London, at the Crystal Palace, on the 25th ultimo. It was a very grand affair. The following is an extract from a letter describing it, written by a lady in London, to a musical friend in Richmond :

LONDON, June 28.-You ask after brother James. The last time I saw him he looked well, at least he seemed so, for he was at a great distance, although under the same roof; I do not think he saw me, though he appeared to be looking for me. It was at the Crystal Palace, in the great orchestra of the Handel Centenary Festival; he was in the band, and I in the chorus, perched--I will not venture to say how many feet from the floor. Oh, how I wish you had been here to have enjoyed it with us. I will not attempt to give you an adequate idea of the grandeur of this great event (musically speaking) of our country, but will, in a few days, send you some of our musical journals, that you may revel in the description, though so far away.

I assure you that it has gone beyond all that ever been done before, and the best musicians agree it was what they could not conceive of. You can have no idea of the power of such a sound, or its first effect on hearing it. Do not laugh when I tell you that, for the first two choruses, viz.: "God Save the King," and the " Hallelujah," I fairly cried, or must have fainted only fancy what four thousand (or nearly that number) of picked musicians could achieve ! all animated with & desire to do their utmost to make it go well. Oh! it was a glorious feast! The crispness with which the words came out, the oneness of the staccato passages, the subdued pianos, (like one 'tremendous whisper,) the steadiness of the mighty host, can only be described as marvelous. Fancy an organ occupying more space than most ordinary houses ! its width being forty feet, and its depth thirty ! and yet, from the magnitude of all around, it by no means appeared of such gigantic proportions. It contains eighty-four stops, and has twenty-eight pairs of bellows ! but you are not to suppose that its power (though thought of the expression, "the sound of mighty rushing waters,") was too much for us !

We ladies were on each side and in front of the organ, all in white and on each side were the tenors and the basses, the choruses reaching from the floor to the very roof. We must have been an imposing spectacle to the prodigious multitude assembled to listen ; and it is no less certain that they were to us a very splendid sight.

You remember that the audience always rise when the "Hallelujah" is sung, and I assure you, at that moment I involuntarily thought of the resurrection, but words fail to express the sublimity of the occasion.

The festival began on the 20th, with "The Messiah." The Duchess of Cambridge and the two daughters were in the royal box, but the Queen disappointed us. On Wednesday, the 22d, we did a selection from " Belshazzar," "Saul," "Samson," "Judas Maccabeus," with "The Dessingen Te Deum" On the 24th, the festival closed with that sublime and glorious work, "Israel in Egypt." You should have seen Costa's face of delight; you know of old how hard he is to please. I am told he said afterwards that if his nerves had not been tougher than copper wire, he could not have stood upright, and that he trembled so at first that he could scarcely beat steadily.

Prince Albert and the Princess Alice and Helena were present at the last performance; but no little Vic. It seems she had heard of the death of some old Grand Duchess or other, in Prussia, and the naughty little Queen stopped away in consequence, but we were very loval all the same, and roared out "Long Live the Queen," lustily, can assure you. She has missed her chance, as well as yourself, dear brother; for you will hardly either of you see the next Centenary; but come home and I will endeavour to bewilder you with my binid recollections of this splendid achievement, for it is too much for me with ink and paper.

The Queen sent some curious relics to be exhibited on the oecasion, among others the harpsichord Verdi used nearly all his life, and to which he composed his timehonoured work, the "Anvil of the Blacksmith," which produced the fine melody that has immortalized the worker in iron ; several of the original scores in his hand-writing, (rather hard to decipher, but plainer than those of Beethoven,) and some very curious caricatures of his quarrels with Buononcini, his great Italian rival, but whose works are now not esteemed.

Spare moments are the gold dust of time. the portions of our life, spare moments are the most fruitful in good or evil. They are the gaps through which temptations find the easiest access to the soul.

LIFE may be merry as well as useful. Every person that owns a mouth has always a good opening for a laugh.

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SCENERY OF JAPAN.-The scenery in Japan is grand and lovely ; at least that portion which I visited-the Southern-and it is said to be so throughout the whole Empire. It is, in fact, a grand garden, with here and there an indenture of some arm of the sea, dividing the terraced mountains and blooming valley into shining highways. There is not probably in the whole world another expanse of territory, the abiding place of any one nation or people, which possesses so much fine, grand, picturesque scenery as the Empire of Japan. Never did I see, in all my extended travels over the fair regions of the East, any series of views that would approximate in beauty to those of Southern Japan. The many-hued brightness of the terraced hills and mountains, spreading valleys and flashing waters, revealed pictures fairer by far than Claude ever painted on canvass. There is, I believe, no fairer scenery in the world than the Bay of Yeddo, few more picturesque than the environs of Simoda. One thing adds to the pleasure of the student of nature in gazing upon a landscape in Japan -- the spirit of peace seems to rest like a sacred thing upon its fair bosom. At the season of the year I was there -- August and September -- there was an almost unclouded sky all the time; a light blue haze rested ou sea and land, hill and dale, reminding me of Indian summer in my own land, lending its aid to beautify an already beautiful landscape, and every sound from a distance would come to the ear mellowed and soft, musieal and harmonizing with the wondrous beauties Niphon. Japan might consistently be called a land of stillness, for the harsh sounds incidental to the life of higher civilization are not heard. Life there seems to move on quietly and calmly even conversation is carried on a subsided tone ; the effort of a shout is not called for.

Doubtless, a further insight into the manners and customs of this strange people will reveal latent faults, of whose existence we are now ignorant. Their existence will be made manifest by contaet with foreigners. We now have, in this nineteenth century, the privilege of witnessing an experiment on grand scale. We shall see whether a people already high on the scale of humanity, are to be elevated higher by the process so peculiar known only to this utilitarian nineteenth century. Will they be hoisted to the seventh heaven of political corruption, or will they be cast back into the hell of their seclusion ? Will the vices of civilization bless them, even as their virtues have made them a peculiar and happy people? We shall see.

COSMO DE MEDICIS. Among the great men whom the era of the sixteenth century produced, none possessed more astonishing qualities than Cosmo de Medicis, son of the celebrated Giovanni de Medices, captain of the Black Band. At the early age of twenty he recovered, through his extrordinary perseverance and address alone, the Ducal seat of Florence, which had been founded by his ancestor, Cosmo, the father of his people, and Lorenzo, the parent of letters. In 1547 he became Duke of Florence ; in 1555, Duke of Sienna, and in 1569, Duke of Tuscany; and it was to his personal valour and energy alone, combined with a strong national love of country, that he owed his rapid progress in power. Constantly refusing an alliance with France, although the same was repeatedly offered by his relative, Catherine de Medicis, he united with the Emperor against the French nation. Great vices were, however, mingled with Cosmo's noble qualities, and history pronounces a severe judgment on his character, when she styles him crafty, cruel, and avaricious. In truth, this man, who freed himself from his personal enemies by means of the sword and poison -- who erected a gallows in each quarter of his splendid capital -- and who did not hesitate to lay heavy monopolies on the citizens for the purpose of contributing to his personal pleasures was yet indefatigable in erecting splendid buildings for public utility; became the patron of savans, painters, and poets ; founded the University of Pisa ; and was constantly watchful over the national honour and liberty of Italy.

ANTIQUITY OF SPIRIT RAPPINGS. -Dr. D. J. Magown says that spirit rapping and spirit mediums and circles for keeping up intercourse with Spirits, were common in Ningpo as early as 1344 Abbe Huc, a famous Catholic missionary to China, an author, in his last book, speaking of Ruburk, a Franciscan priest, born in Brabant ubout 1220, who went on a mission to Tartary, says: "It is rather curious, too, that table rapping and table turning were in use in the thirteenth century among the Mongols, in the wilds of Tartary. Ruburk himself witnessed an instance of the kind. On the eve of the ascension, the mother of Margon, feeling very ill, the first soothsayer was summoned for consultation, when he performed some magic by rapping on the table. [Agitator.

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AN OLD BIBLE:--Mr. John Symons exhibits to us a treasured volume, which is worthy of mention with others that have been lately reported in the Courier. It is a Bible, with Psalter, Music, Maps, Tables of Chronology and proper names, &c., &c. The cover contains the inscription : "John Broomhall, his book, 1799, the gift of Mr. William Whitehead."

The first title-page is wanting, as also a portion of an epistle to the "Most Gracious Queen," (Elizabeth.) We next find "a table containing the Cycle of the Sunne, Dominical Letter, Leape Yere, Easter, Rogation Sunday, &c., for 28 yeeres," including 1603.

The title-page of the New Testament reads as follows

"The newe testament of our lord Jesus Christ, conferred diligently with the Greeke and best approved translations in divers languages. Imprinted at London, by Christopher Barker, printer to the Queen's Most excellent majestie, 1582, cum privilegio."

To the New Testament is appended a Table of Proper Names with signification, a Table of Chronology, and an index of "the principal things" contained in the Bible, followed by "A perfit supputation of the yeres and times from Adam unto Christ, prooved by the scriptures and the collection of divers authors," and, as a final motto, the 8th verse of 1st Joshua.

The Psalter which follows, bears the following title: " The whole booke of Psalmes, collected into English meter, by Thomas Sternh, John Hopkins and others, conferred with the Hebrue, with apt notes to sing them withall. Imprinted at London by John Day, eum gratia and privilegio Regia Maiestatis Anan 1578"

This Psalter is now incomplete, closing with the 137th Psalm. - - Charleston Courier.

A CHERUB'S SMILE WILL TAME A SAVAGE.-- The houses of the Cabyle were all but deserted and empty ; the women and children were sent for protection to neighbouring tribes farther removed from the seat of war. In one, a Zouave, mad for plunder, was struck by observing a huge jar of rudely baked earthenware standing in a corner. To rush forward and dash it into pieces with his musket-but was the affair of a second, when, to his, surprise, out rolled a poor little Cabyle child who, forgotten amidst the general confusion and fight, had crept into the jar for shelter. The Zouave raised his musket, but the little cherub smiled on it as sailant as though perfectly at home. The rude Zouave's heart was touched. Perhaps he thought of some far-off home in France, where a brother or sister might be playing in the sunshine like the poor Cabyle child, who smiled unconscious of the threatening musket. Perhaps it was merely his better nature touched by that smile. know not how this was, but I do know that the Zouave, laying down his musket on the ground, secured the child on his back with his turban, and then rushed forward on his way. The poor baby was thus borne through the thickest of the fray, but it seemed to have a charmed life. The balls whistled harmlessly by it ; and though that night the brave Zouave was found lying on his face, with a ball through his brain, the child was asleep and unharmed. It was subsequently adopted by the officers of the regiment, and is yet alive. [ Sketches of Algeria.

"WE LIVE IN DEEDS, AND NOT IN YEARS." -- A pleasant, cheerful, lively, generous, charitable minded woman is never old. Her heart is as young at sixty or seventy as it was at eighteen or twenty ; and they who are old at sixty or seventy, are not made old by time. They are made old by the ravages of passion and feelings of an unsocial, and ungenerous nature, which have cankered their minds, wrinkled their spirits, and withered their souls. They are made old by envy, by jealousy, by hatred, by suspicions, by uncharitable feelings by slandering, scandalizing, ill-bred habits which, if they avoid, they preserve their youth to the very last, so that the child shall die, as the Scriptures say, a hundred years old. There are many old women who pride themselves on being eighteen or twenty. Pride is an old passion, and vanity is grey as the mountains. There are old women who have much of either. They are dry, heartless, dull, cold, indifferent. They want the woll spring of youthful affection, which is always cheerful, always active, always engaged in some labour of love which is calculated to promote and distribute enjoyment. There is an old age of the heart, which is possessed by many who have no suspicion that there is any thing old about them ; and there is a youth which never grows old, a Love who is ever a boy, a Psyche who is ever girl.

SHERIDAN beautifully said: "Women govern us, let us render them perfect the more they are enlightened, so much, the more shall we be. On the cultivation of the mind of women depends the wisdom of men. It is by women that nature writes on the hearts of men."

228 THE COURANT A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL.

[COLUMN 1] The Courant.

COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, NOV. 17, 1859.

THE COURANT.

Subscriptions for the Courant will be received at the Bookstore store of Mr. P. B. GLASS, in this City, where single copies can be obtained every week.

The office of the Courant has been removed to No. 144 Richardson Street, over Flanigan's Shoe-Store.

WM. W. WALKER, Jr., & Co.

Sad Accident.

On Saturday afternoon last, our Associate, Mr. W. W. Walker, Jr., accompanied by a young lady, was riding near the Cemetery grounds in a buggy, when the horse took a sudden start, pulling Mr. W. out over the front wheel, and dragging him some distance. He was severely, though not dangerously bruised and hurt, but no bones were broken. The young lady's injuries were more serious; her limb being fractured near the ankle.

"Sentimental Writing."

We have the pleasure of laying before our readers this week another essay from the graceful and vigorous pen of the writer who showed up the humbuggery of the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table." Since that time, we have published a very noticeable article from the same writer, on "Natual and Moral Law." This production we were pleased to hear praised the other day by one of the best judges of such things about Columbia. Our distinguished friend pronounced the essay alluded to, as an extraordinary piece of writing, and expressed extreme gratification with all of our contributor's articles. We call attention to these points, because anonymous articles, unless spoken of by the editor, are only too apt to be passed by, for some inferior production which bears its author's name. The essay in this issue is an admirable thing, and as such we recommend our readers to give it their attention.

The Fair---Can a Literary Department be Added?

One of the most distinguished of our literary ladies suggested to us, the other day, that we should throw out the hint to the Direction of the Agricultural Society, that a place in the annual Fair be assigned to literary labours. All sorts and conditions of men and women find some prize, within, at least, imagination's grasp; except only the literary folks. The farmer, the planter, the merchant, the artist, the artizan, the mechanic, the industrious house-wife, the ingenious maker of those Penelope-thread-works, all have a place; but the poet, the historian, the essayist, the novelist (now as important as any), have no chance at the Fair, where all work, save written brain-work, finds a possibility for a prize.

Suppose they offer some such list of prizes as the following:

1. For the best poem on a national subject, a handsomely bound copy of Bancroft's History.

2. For the second best poem on a national subject, a copy of Prescott's works.

3. For the best Novel illustrating Southern life and history, one copy of Cooper's Novels.

4. For the best prose essay on the duties of Southern authors, a copy of Calhoun's works.

5. For the best essay on some national historical subject, a copy of Webster's works.

6. For the best essay for common schools, a copy of Sir William Hamilton's essays.

In order that the duties of the Committee might not be too onerous, let the first three be judged by one Committee, and the last three by another.

All this, of course, is merely suggestion, made with the hope that some one who can digest a plan for the Direction of the Fair, will do so; and we shall have not only the splendid architectural, sculptural and pictorial triumphs, not only the horse and chariot-races of the Olympic, Isthmean and Nemean games, but prizes for the rising Pindars, and the rhapsodists, for every Carolina Herodotus who shall awaken the soul of a listening Thuciclydes!

Extraordinary Poetry.

Our neighbour of the Edgefield Advertiser is singularly favoured in the way of poetry. He has not only published some of the sweetest verses that we ever saw in a newspaper—the compositions, we believe, of Edgefield ladies—but he has a correspondent who gets on the other extreme, and indulges in a very amazing bathos. Hear our contemporary:

"THE GREAT CRUSADE.—A correspondent, 'B.' sends an effusion on Temperance under the foregoing caption. Two or three of his stanzas are bearable, while the rest are altogether abominable, both in language and construction. As a specimen of his artistic skill in playing upon a name, we transcribe the concluding half of his last verse. Read and admire:

"Join, then, in our great crusade— Belt on the bright and lambent blade.— Oh! kneel and pledge eternal aid To the Great Cause."

The Knickerbocker for November contains a most pathetically beautiful poem by the great TENNYSON, called the "Grandmother's Apology." We shall reproduce it for our readers ere long.

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The Atlantic Monthly.

Our Veteran Bard.

By some mischance we omitted to say that the Atlantic had changed hands. After the death of Mr. PHILLIPS, it was sold to the well-know publishers, TICKNOR & FIELDS, of Boston. The November number comes to us freighted as usual with all the varieties of good thing. The new proprietors, in assuming the controul of the "Atlantic Monthly." state that "the Magazine will be conducted upon the same general plan as heretofore. It will be their aim that, under its new management, the Magazine shall not fall short of it present high standard of excellence; and they would bespeak a continuance of the liberal patronage which has hitherto been accorded to it, all which is the best proof of the public appreciation of its merits."

The Saturday Press says: "We are informed that a new American opera, founded upon Mr. Longfellow's Miles Standish, will soon be produced in this city. The music is by Mr. Kielblock, the libretto by Mr. C Congdon, of the Tribune."

What a foundation, to be sure! That wretched milk-and-water stuff "the foundation" of an opera! Surely the superstructure will have to be exceeding light and airy, or it must break down. Quaere, docs WHIPPLE consider "Miles Standish" a great epic poem, as he did Hiawatha?

"Out of Space and out of Time."

Our friend of the New York Freeman's Journal says:

"LECTURES ON POLITICS.—The celebrated Dr. Lieber is delivering a course of lectures on 'politics,' at Columbia, South Carolina. The Courant, published in that place, contains part of his first lecture in its last number, and promises the remainder. These lectures cannot fail to be of interest."

Now, my dear sir, that lecture was delivered in New York, printed there in the Century (which might very well be called the Eleventh century, if that was the darkest of dark ages), and copied by us from that journal. It is the first of Dr. LIEBER'S lectures before the students of Columbian College, in your great metropolis. We have lost the illustrious Doctor, and New York has the gain.

"The Diamond Wedding."

What a ridiculous affair the great excitement of the OVIEDO-BARTLETT marriage has come to be! A Mr. STEDMAN, with true Yankee, or, what is worse, New York impudence, got off a poem on the subject, and said many silly things, and a very few sharp ones. Now, old Mr. BARTLETT waxes furious, and sends STEDMAN a furious letter, which the latter, in his alarm, regarded as a challenge; when, lo! in the course of the correspondence it came out that it was no challenge at all, but simply intended to inform Mr. STEDMAN that he was going to be "taken to court" to pay old BARTLETT rare damages.

"But the farce does not end here. Bennett, the immaculate, the sainted Bennett, comes out in a riduculous article under the caption of 'Scurrilous Literature in the Metropolis,' recommending Bartlett to appeal to a Grand Jury, get Stedman indicted, have him tried at the Sessions, so that he may 'spend a few months in the penitentiary, employed in some honest labour, which could not fail to exert the most salutary effect on his diseased mind, and afford a healthy example to fellows of the same school, who disgrace our periodical and newspaper literature.' It takes your veteran offender, who systematically assists in 'disgracing our periodical and newspaper literature,' to recommend severe measures with honester men. If Bennett had been judged by the rule he lays down for the punishment of Stedman, Sing-Sing would not have yet delivered up the convict. Talk of 'scurrilous literature.' The files of his paper reek with scurrility."—N. O. True Delta.

American Women.

Below is an admirable slap at all of our female relations throughout this lazy South. The Yankee ladies, as a general rule, do not come under this ban: they buy provisions,—and drive "sharp bargains" at it, too,—but they do not allow them to be wasted by bad cooking; they superintend the work themselves. Our Southern women, it must be confessed, are not half so tidy and methodical in house-keeping; and, withal, they read far more, and enjoy life far better, at the North. It is astonishing how dyspepsia and its kindred ailments disappear when a woman gets to taking some exercise and some interest in her household.

The high culture joined with the admirable industry of the German women, is, however, a standing reproach to all our complaining, ease-loving women.

MOORE'S Rural New Yorker, commenting on this matter, says:

"In Germany, where, certainly, intellect and literary acquirement's are preeminent, the ladies, even among the noble, spend the early part of each day in their kitchens, which are fitted up with the most scrupulous order and elegance, so that they can allow a friend to see them so occupied. In France, every lady understands the mysteries of the cuisine, and with a small furnace filled with charcoal, a frying-pan and a skillet will perform miracles of cooking. In England, the servants are kept for years; a good servant considers her interest identified with that of the family with whom she resides, and seldom changes. This promotes an attachment between them which is frequently preserved for generations, and the families of the same domestics will, for successive generations, live with the same families. How is it with the United States? The young ladies are most generally brought up with no culture. Their habits are indolent, as regards bodily exertion, and they think making any exertion degrading. This being the case, they are thrown completely in the power of a class who are at once promoted to the office of regulators and arbiters at home."

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Our Veteran Bard.

We are pleased to see the following high and well-merited compliment paid to our poet of "Chicora" and the "Hireling and Slave," in the Edgefield Advertiser's Charleston correspondence. "CLAUDE" is behaving vastly well:

"Mr. Grayson, after serving his constituency long and faithfully in Congress, and the government for twelve years as collector of this port, retired some years ago from public life, and has since devoted himself earnestly to studies and pursuits more adapted to his highly cultivated tastes and feelings. His able and powerful contributions to the 'Southern Quarterly Reiew,' long ago marked him as one of the most efficient champions of the South and her institutions ever enlisted in her defence; and his more recent essays have given him a high place in the affection and confidence of his fellow-citizens. Although at an advanced age, his ever-ready pen is still active in the field of literature, and from the seclusion of his study are continually coming forth fresh contributions to the literature of the day, which have added materially in dignifying and adorning its pages and elevating its standard of taste and purity. He will probably continue to write while life lasts—a genuine labour of love—for which the good he will confer upon society will be his only remuneration. He is still a hard student, and though not very robust-looking in body, enjoys a good share of health and spirit."

Eutaw Monument.

There seems to be a very general waking up on the subject of national monuments. All the glorious battle-fields of our war of Independence should have, not only a semi-occasional exercise of target-shooting, for a ''celebration," but ineffaceable monuments, to commemorate the event to all future times. Are not the battle-fields where our forefathers bled as holy as the place where were traced the world-known words

"'Ω' Ȩeiv' άγγeiλov."

We trust that the Eutaw Monument will be built. The Charleston Courier says:

"EUTAW MONUMENT ASSOCIATION .—General James Jones, of Columbia (Commissioner of the new State House, and formerly Adjutant-General), has presented two plans or designs for the consideration of the Eutaw Monument Association. Both plans have strong merits in adaptation to the end proposed, and it is probable that one will be adopted.

"Meanwhile we invite the attention and cooperation of our exchanges, and of the military, to the objects of this Association.

"lt is desired to ascertain a correct list of all the officers engaged at Eutaw, for the purpose of recording their names; and this is no easy matter, from the fact that many officers who did noble service there were partisans without continental commission, and consequently without technical rank. The conflicts and discrepancies of the historical accounts also increase the difficulty."

Carolina Female Artists.

We extract the following notices from MRS. ELLET'S new book —" Women Artists in all Ages and Countries." She mentions here some of the gifted artist-daughters of our State:

"Julia du Pré, a native of Charleston, South Carolina, was educated at Mrs. Willard's school in Troy, New York. On leaving the school, she accompanied her mother and sister to Paris. Mrs. du Pré wished to cultivate to the utmost her daughter's talents for music and painting, and gave her the advantage of the best foreign masters. They had been three years in France when a sudden reverse deprived them of their ample fortune: yet, with reduced means, they remained a year longer, that Julia might devote herself to the study of painting in oil. On their return to Charleston, Mrs. du Pré and her daughters opened a school for young ladies, which was attended with success. The continual occupation of teaching, however, deprived Julia of time and opportunity for the severe study necessary to perfect herself in the art to which she had wished to devote her life. Every hour of leisure she could command was given to portrait painting, and to making copies of admired works. Many of these were executed with great skill, and drew praise from Sully and other eminent critics. One of her best portraits is that of Count Alfred de Vigny, who had been intimate with her family during their residence in Paris. Miss du Pré also made a fine copy from Parmegiano, of a Virgin and Child, and a Dido on the Funeral Pile, from Giulio Romano. These, and other paintings, gained her considerable repute as an artist. She married Henry Bonnetheau, a miniature-painter of acknowledged merit, and continues to reside in Charleston. She spent the summer of 1859 in Paris, for the sake of improving herself in pastel-painting, and has lately finished some exquisite works in that style. "The Love-Letter," in the possession of her brother-in-law, Dr. Dickson, of Philadelphia, 'The Liasons,' and 'L'Espagnole,' have been highly praised among these. Mrs. Bonnetheau's gifts are crowned with the loveliest traits of woman's character. She is esteemed and beloved by a large circle of friends in Charleston, among whom are some of the best educated men in this country.

"The Misses Withers, of Charleston, South Carolina, paint in oil and water colours, and cut cameos with much ability and skill. They have also modeled groups and figures with success, and are devoted to these branches of art.

"Mrs. Charlotte Cheves is an amateur artist who might have gained celebrity had her life been given to the study of painting. She was Miss M'Cord, and was born in Columbia, South Carolina. She married Mr. Langdon Cheves, and resides on his rice plantation nearly opposite Savannah. She paints miniatures on ivory, some of them excellent likenesses, and finished with great delicacy. She has also painted pictures in oil, and excels in pastels and pencil-sketches. She is a musician, too, and possesses a very fine voice.

"Ellen Cooper, the youngest daughter of the celebrated Dr. Thomas Cooper, was a native of Columbia, South Carolina. She had a fine taste and much skill in painting and ornamental work, and was remarkable for intellectual culture and knowledge of general literature. She lived some years in Mobile, with her sister, and there married Mr. James Hanna, who took

THE COURANT ; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL 229

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her to reside on his sugar plantation near Thibodeaux, in Louisiana. She died in October, 1958. Her sister is one of the most accomplished amateur artists in the Southern States."

Was Bunyan a Thief? A London writer says: "An extraordinary statement is in circulation respecting Bunyan's Pilfrim's Progress, which is neither more nor less than that this celebrated work was not written by John Bunyan, but that the entire story is made up from an ancient manuscript. Miss CATHERINE ISABELLA CURT has published a translation from a French manuscript in the British Museum, of the Pylegremage of the Sowle, by G. DE GUILEVILLE, a Churchman who flourished in the fifteenth century. A translation of the original work was printed by CAXTON in 1483, a Bunyan's Pilgrim's Porgress is said to be nearly a verbatim copy of this extremely rare book. A recent comparison of the two works, however, has been made, and the resemblance between the two books is not such that the charge can be proved—as might have been expected."

We take the following from the Philadelphia Bulletin. There are some points of interest in this controversy :

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Attempts have frequently been made to rob Shakespeare, Scott, Coleridge, Jefferson, Washington and hundred of other great men of their reputation, but they invariably fail. Even American Vespucius, the most successful plagarist of whom we can think just now, did not succeed in robbing Columbus of a jot or title of his fame ; nor has De Quincey hurt Coleridge. The latest attempt at defacing a reputation is thus started in the Courier Des Etats Unis : "There is not in Great Britain a more remarkable book than 'Pilgrim's Progress.' It is a sort of Telemachus of Protestant religious literature, and is more highly esteemed by the English than Fenelon's chef d'oeuvre. Hitherto this work has been attributed to John Bunyan. But a young woman, named Catherine Isabella Curt, has just published in London a translation of an old French manuscript in the British Museum which is almost word for word, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. The manuscript is the work of a clergyman, G. Guileville, who lived in the fifteenth century. Its title, in Norman English, is Pylegremage of the Sowle. The printer, Caxton, who occupied the same position in London as the Etiennes in Paris, published in 1483 a translation of this manuscript, of which the authenticity appears incontestible. It would seem, therefore, that the credit of this celebrated book belongs to France, although France hitherto has shewn less appreciation of the original than England has bestowed on the copy."

A correspondent of the Pittsburg Dispatch shews that the idea of the young lady of antiquarian tates is an old one, and that the breath ought long since to have left its body:

"The following extract from 'Johnson's Typographia, or Printer's Instructors,' (London, 1824,) will throw some light on the queries made in the Dispatch of October 26th, and will shew that it is not by any means a new idea, that Bunyan had probaby read, and perhaps, in some respects, borrowed hints from that rare old work, 'The Pilgrimage of the South.' But that the 'Pilgrim's Progress' is 'nearly a vertabtim copy' of that book, is rather a startling assertion, almost as startling and absurd as the late attempts to prove that Shakespeare did not write the plays that bear his name! And now they want to 'flich' from the glorious old Tinker all the honour due to his memory! Well might we protest against such baseless theories, and (slightly altering the language) exclaim, with a recent enthusiastic defender of 'Sweet Will,' I have seen him chipped mauled, befribbled and overdone, and I have heard shouts against his ignorance of Greek; but never thought that and Englishwoman would try to prove that eh was a swindler, a thief, a jackdaw, and died in the odour of sanctity, the pilferer of Guileville. Have we no literary police—no pen jealous of the honour of out immortal allegorist? Oh, for an hour of the giant Christopher North ! Oh, for some swashing blows of his rhetorical cudgel to crush this absurd theory.' But to the extract :

" 'The Pylegremage of the Sowle, translated out of the Frensche into the Englishe, &c. Emprynted at Westmestre, by William Caxton, &c. 1483. Folio.'

"This work is divided into five books : the first teateth of the soul from its departure out of the body to its being sentenced to purgatory. The second, of the soul being brought to purgatory : these contain sixty-five chapters. The third, of an angel shewing the soul hell, and describing the pains thereof by the causes ; ten chapters. The fourth, of the green treet and the dry, and by the other wonderful sights ; thirty-eight chapters. The fifth, of the soul taken out of purgatory, and led up through the Heavenly spheres, with a description thereof, and of the calendar of Heaven, &c. ; fourteen chapters. Mr. Dibdin is of opinion that this work, and not 'Bernard's Isle of Man,' laid the foundation of John Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.' It is a curious work, and full of devout matter touching the soul. Caxton has not given the name of the translator : his colophon begins thus ; 'Here endeth the dreme of pylgremage of the sowle,' &c. The work is comprised in one hundred and ten leaves, numbered with running titles, in which are twelve poems or songs, upon religious subjects. Vol. I., p. 174-5.

"In a table, or list of Caxton's books, at page 269 of the same volume, the work is said to be of the fourth degree of rarity (six being the highest degree). it will be seen by the above extract that Dibdin, 'Bibliomaniac' Dibdin, has altogether distance Miss Curt in the matter, at least so far as time is concerned. Allibone (article 'Bunyan') notices the fact that it has been surmised by some that Bunyan took a 'hint' from Bernard's 'Isle of Man ; or, legal proceedings in Manshire against Sin,' (1627), and by others tha some of his ideas were borrowed from 'Carthemany's Voyage of the Wandering Knight.' It seems from the accounts of Dibdin, Warton, and others, that Lydgate, the 'Monk of Bury,' translated the 'Pylegremage' into 'Englishe.'

"After all, the probability is that Bunyan never saw or heard of Guillaume de Guileville's quaint work ; or if we did, that he borrowed no more from it than Shakespeare did from the Italian

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and French authors, or than Defoe did from the narrative of 'Alexander Selkirk.' The skeleton, the 'dry bones,' may perhaps have been on hand, but it required a master spirit to 'breathe' upon them to make those dry bones ' live. J. G."

Good for J. G. Let us hold on to every thing we can prove true, though stern necessity forces us to allow such rude knvaes as Neibuhr to knocl our romances of the elder time about the sconce with their dirty shovels! Even if Shakespeare had read a thousand legands, would that make the tender purity of Miranda less his own divine creation, or the splendour of Coriolanus less emblazoned with gold from his own mint, or the imaginings of Hamlet the less his own expression of the equestionings which fillw the soul of universal humanity? To Bunyan was granted the pale poetic pearl, and its serene rays streamed from his lonely call. Had Providence granted the same genius to M. de Guileville, the light would have been traced to him direct as star-rays, and the world have praised his glorious imaginings even as they have honoured those of Bunyan.

LITERARY NOTICE. —

"POEMS : BY SUSAN ARCHER TALLEY. New York: Rudd & Carleton, 130 Grand Street. M D CCC LIX."

We have had occasion several times, of late, to mention the name, or the nominis umbra, rather, of MISS TALLEY. She has not, as far as we know, published any books before, but she was highly praised by Dr. GRISWOLD, in his "Female Poets of America," and received some very high compliments from the critic who, of all his race, was the last man to bestow an idle compliment : we mean EDGAR POE. Speaking of Dr. GRISWOLD'S taste, as well as courage in braving the cliques, when he assigned so high a place to several of our Female Poerts, POE says, "He has not, however, done one or two of them that full justice, which, ere long, the public will take upon itself the task of rendering them. We allude especially to the case of MISS TALLEY. MR. GRISWOLD praises her highly, and we would admit that it would be expecting of him too much, just at present, to hope for his avowing, of MISS TALEY, what we think of her, and what one of our best-known critics has distinctly avowed—that she already ranks with the best of American poetesses, and in time will surpeass them all—that her demerits are those of inexperience and exessive sensibility (betraying her unconsciously into imitation), while her merits are those of unmistakable genius." (The italics in the last paragraph of foregoing quotation are ours, except the last word.)

A little farther down, he says : "In point of actual merit— that is to say, of actual accomplishment, without reference to mere indications of the ability to accomplish—we would rank the first dozen or so in the order, (leaving out Mrs. Brooks for the present.) Miss Osgood—very decidedly first—then Mrs. Welby, Miss Carey (or the MISSES Carey), Miss TALLEY. Mrs. Whitman, Miss Osgood, Miss TALLEY, and Miss Fuller." (Vol. 3, 290, et seq.) This is certainly very high praise, and, as a matter of course, the world will expect something very rare and wonderful in Miss TALLEY'S volume of peoms. As it almost invariably happens, when we expect much, we are most apt to be most bitterly disappointed. We must confess that we have experienced a slight disappointment in reading of this volume : but it lasted only while we read with the recollection of POE'S somewhat extravagent praise; as soon as we divested ourself of that, and read the book as if we had never heard of the author, we found much to justify the opinion of the critics who had praised her so highly. Such a loud and continuous blast of trumpets in advance, kept up for years (for every body reads POE and the "Female Poets"), has been a serious disadvantage to the book : every body, instead of geeting ready to be pleased, touched, and made better by this unpretending book of songs, looked out for a miracle, and expected things wich, of course, could not be realized ; looking for flights higher than HEMANS, or BROWNING, or OSGOOD ever made.

POE, with his usual penetration, perceived very clearly the chief defect of MISS TALLEY's poetry, to wit: Imitation. He very charitably charges it to "inexperience and excessive sensibility." The first poem in this collection, exhibits in a very striking manner, all the peculiar powers of the author, and at the same time, the most noticeable of the defects of her style. "Ennerslie" is a dark, weirdly song of Doom ; and the poetess shews her strength in a remarkable manner, in the dreamy pictures of the grim old place where

"Never a boat doth pass that way, Never is heard a carol gay, Nor doth a weary pilgrim stray Down by haunted Ennerslie."

This horrible place contains a doom-stricken lord, who is very miserable there all alone. Then come the following lines, which speak for themselves :

"In a niche within the wall, Where the shadows deepest fall, Like a coffin and a pall,— Gloomily—gloomily— Sits a ghostly owl, and grey, That there hath sat for many a day, And motionless doth gaze alway Upon the Lord of Ennerslie.

"Gazeth with its spectral eyes Ever in a weird suprise, Like some demon in disguise Steadily—steadily :

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And close beside that haunted nook Bendeth o'er an open book With a wan and weary look, The pale young Lord of Ennerslie."

"Gildeth on by Ellesmaire, Where doth dwell a lady fair With violet eyes and golden hair, Lonesomely—lonesomely ; At the window's height alway, She weaves a scarf to colors gay, And in the distance, grim and gray, She seëth haunted Ennerslie.

"Sitting in her lonely room Once, amid the twilight gloom, Bending o'er her fairy loom, Wearily—wearily, She heareth music, sweet and low— It is a song she well doth know— She used to sing it long ago ; It cometh up from Ennerslie.

"Carelessly he passed along The drooping willow shades among, Singing still the plaintive son Mournfully—mournfully : Upon her hand she leant her head, She mused until day was dead, 'Oh he was pale and sad, she said, 'And it is lone at Ennerslie.' "

But the scenerty changes ; a beautiful lady at Ellesmair, much after the fashion of Tennyson's "Lady of Shallott," gets to pining for the pale lord of Ennerslie, and the last, having prevailed on her old nurse to tell her of the curse of Ennerslie, she discovers that the hereditary madness could be cured by a maiden who, for love's sake, would dare to risk her own life. The new "Lady of Shallott" goes floating down the stream, the young lord rushes out when he spies her ; but she was cold and dead, and the fated youth cries out, "Oh, God, the curse is on me!" and the curtain falls.

We have signled out this poem in order to call the attention of our readers to the very palpable, although perhaps entirely unconscious imitation of "the Raven" in the first part of the poem, and of the "Lady of Shallott" in the last part, with Mrs. BROWNING'S manner throughout. It is impossible, however, to read this singular production without a profound sentiment of the power of the writer. It shines every where, and although the resemblances to the two poems above mentioned are unpleasantly strong, still you cannot feel that it is plagarism, nor even wilful imitation. It seems rather like a coincidence in thoughts than a grand larceny of them.

The other poems of the book which are remarkable, are "Madonna," "The Lady of Lodee," (although this latter is much after Teenyson's "Sisters," with their "earl was fair to see.") " Cloistered " has some good points ; "Airley," which is a most beautiful Scotch Ballard, and not unworthy the pen of the Ettrick Shepherd ; "Guy de Mayne," which has many fine fancies; and "Rest," a very sweet, plantive dirge. We had made out a pretty long list of imitations in this volume, but as they do not mar the poems sufficiently to cause them to lose their effect, we shall not trouble our readers with the entire catalogue ; but will only call attention to a few to shew how utterly unconscious the author is of her having so closely followed others.

On page 20, she has taken entire Longfellow's "Like some old poet's rhyme." In the "Land of Dreams" we alost hear parts of Poe's "Valley of Unrest," and the lines on p. 39, beginning "Spirits of the long-departed," have the same ring as Longfellow's "Footsteps of Angels."— On page 119, "The Dying Year" is just a mixture of Tennyson's "Death of the old Year," and Longfellow's "Midnight Mass for the dying year." At p. 154, "Herondale" begins in a very original style, but lapses into striking resemblances to "Locksley Hall ;" as, for example, the two first lines on p. 160. It seems queer to use that Miss TALLEY should have allowed such a line as this (p. 149), "How soars the others to empyrean heights." The accent of empyrean is on the penult, and not as she has it, empyr-rean.

After so much fault-finding, we shall quote a few of the characteristics passages of the work :

"And slowly fading, melt away Into a twilight gleam— As softly glides a pleasant though That deepens to a dream."

"How beautiful thou art! How beautiful—as if in thee All we may deem of good and fair That woman hath been, and should be,— In mind and heart, in form and face, In outer charm and inner grace, In nature's pure simplicity,— Were brightly imaged there."