1859-07-12 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, JULY 12, 1859. NUMBER 12 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ For the Courant "PIGNORA FORTUNÆ." ----- BY HOWARD H. CALDWELL. ----- I. I stole into the darkened room, Mother and child were sleeping there: Long, silken lashes closed to rest, Dear hands upon each swelling breast-- Smiles beaming on both faces fair: The face that won my heart in youth, And kept it by her life-long Truth.

II. And her's--that blessing lately given, In pain and many an anxious doubt-- In whose blue orbs this dark world seems To me new-robed in beauteous beams Descending from a gracious Heaven-- Sweet babe! whose smiles recall again Each hope that once had beamed in vain!

III. They sleep, nor dream that humid eyes Are gazing on them in their slumbers: The charmed air is faint and still, Save that the mock-bird loud, and shrill, Pours his swift-varying numbers-- Delicious silence wraps us round, Like incense on some hallowed ground.

IV. Oh Love! this is thy holiest hour-- Oh Joy, the Cross that crowns thy Crown! See! like a dove when storm-clouds lower, The angel-babe doth, nestling, cower To woo the soft caresses down, And sleeping Nature knows by heart How to perform that tender part!

V. A sigh--the tiny eye-lids close, The dainty hands are folded soft-- And all around that snow-white bed, A halo bright meseems to spread, Such as we dream not oft; A light, that like the Guiding Fire, Shall lead my soul to region higher:

VI. Pure regions of the pure in heart, Where love enjoys for aye the bliss Of wide expansion in the Best, The high employment of the blest; On earth, taught by such scenes as this, That to our weary hearts hath given A bright and glorious dream of Heaven! July, 1859. ---------------------------------------- For the Courant. LITTLE LUCY. ----- Conquerimar Natura, Crevis quod gratia florum est. Ostentata oculis illico dona rapis.--Auson Idyl, XIV. 41. About a quarter-century ago, in the city of Charleston, there lived an aged couple, whose declining sun had been suddenly darkened by severe domestic affliction--the loss of their only son. Instead of seeking to lose, in brighter scenes, the remembrance of past bereavement, they retired, meekly, under the cloud, and resigned themselves, at once, to their lonely fate. But in the most bitter cup of affliction there are some alleviating drops; and Providence had kindly tempered their grief at the loss of their son, with the satisfaction of possessing his infant daughter, in whom they saw their descendant of the second generation. The young man, whose untimely decease had drawn such gloom over that hitherto happy household, had just reached man's estate; was united to one every way worthy of his manly affection, and enjoyed, in tranquil, domestic happiness, the fruits of his parents' industry and economy. But, by an unexpected stroke, he was cut down. Grief for his loss, preying upon a frail constitution, and aggravating a malady, under which she had for some time suffered, was too much for the delicate being whom he left behind; and, after a few months, his wife lay beside him. Her only concern in death was for the infant, to which she had, a short time before, given birth; and commending it, with her last words, to the kindness of those, who, she said, had been so kind to her, and under whose roof she had passed the happiest and the saddest hours of her life, she imparted her dying kiss upon its little cheek, and closed her eyes upon the world forever. A few months passed away; when the old people, having sufficiently recovered from the shock to think about arrangements for the future, resolved to leave the city, quitting, forever, scenes which were now only the remembrances of sorrow. Through the intervention of a friend, a farm was purchased in the up-country, a few miles from a quiet and thriving village. To this place they prepared to depart. But, before we conduct them thither, we must introduce to our readers some of those who are to accompany them; as they form the principal dramatis personæ of our story. Mr. and Mrs. Howard, a maiden sister of the former, and the orphan child, together with their servants, constituted the entire household. Miss Sally Howard was a tall, spare woman, of a not very prepossessing appearance. Her voice was loud and shrill; and, if one might judge from her keen, fiery eye, its pitch may have been somewhat elevated by a habit of scolding. Of this, however, the reader will judge better hereafter. She had reached that time of life at which single ladies, generally, cease to be pretty, without always ceasing to be vain. Everything which ingenuity could suggest, or art contrive, was had in requisition to repair the ravages that time had made on her person, which, to confess the truth, had never been peculiarly fascinating. Artificial teeth supplied the places of their long lost predecessors, and ringlets, which had derived their growth from other heads, hung gracefully over her sallow, wrinkled brow; whilst the mysterious contrivance of that craft, which is a secret to the sturdier sex, served to disguise the scanty portion of flesh, which had survived her fretting and teasing. Miss Sally was not naturally ill-tempered; but she was nice and prim to a proverb; and a residence of somewhat more than two-score years, in this dirty and disordered world, had disturbed, to a considerable degree, her placidity. Nothing suited her exactly; and not a day passed without revealing some lamentable source of disquietude. Our readers will, perhaps, auger unfavorably of the prospects of the little orphan, when we inform them that Miss Sally claimed her as her ward, and resolved to exhibit, in little Lucy, a practical demonstration of the benefits of her system of training. The child was to be under her particular direction; and she was to make a world's wonder of her. So much for Miss Sally and her ward. On the day of their departure, Mr. Howard descended the steps of his residence, supporting his venerable partner on his arm, and, with emotions too strong for utterance, approached the carriage, which Miss Sally, with her fondling, had preceded them. As soon as they were seated, he called to the coachman to move on. "Sir?" responded the boy, who had failed to catch his master's stifled accents. There was no reply. An old negro man on the sidewalk waved his hand, and the carriage moved slowly away. "Dat's de only way, daddy Toney," said a female servant, addressing the old man who had given the signal to the coachman; "when people's heart berry hebby, you mustn't talk to 'um, as de minister say, toder day, when he 'scourse' 'bout de friends ob Job." Old toney did not attempt to reply to this philosophical commentary upon his pantomimic sympathy, but hastened to gather the few things that remained, and follow his master. Toney had long been the confidential servant of Mr. Howard, and no one better deserved such a station. He had been his master's playmate, when they were boys together; was his constant attendant when away from home, and exercised a general superintendence over his domestic affairs. In consideration of his age and station, public as well as private, (for the old fellow was a sort of under-shepherd in one of the city churches,) he was generally saluted as daddy Toney. That he was not unapprised of his position in society, was very manifest from the dignified air which he assumed abroad, and the authority he exercised at home, not unfrequently making an ostentatious display of it, by brandishing his stick over the heads of the little negroes. The old man would sometimes scold and stamp about among his fellow-servants; but it was merely to remind them of his place, and enforce obedience. He was the favorite of all.-- Such was his unaffected kindness and politeness, (for he greatly affected gentility,) that he was respected, alike, by white and black. Even the little negroes, who would be as mute as mice, when the old man raved at them for "keepin' up sich a clatter in the yard," would play freely and without restraint about him, as he sat, of a winter's evening, smoking his pipe, by the kitchen fire. Toney truly loved, and it is not too much to say, was beloved by the late Edmund Howard. He was deeply] affected by his death; and, although he did his best to conceal his emotions, especially in presence of his fellowservants, thinking such weakness not altogether consistent with his official station; yet, whenever the name of Edmund was accidentally introduced at the kitchen fire, the old man would have a sudden call out of the room; or would walk to the door, look out, and draw the back of his right hand across his face. The removal from the city was quite unacceptable to Daddy Toney; for, like most cits, he was much attached to the comforts and conveniences of the metropolis. He particularly regretted, he said, "being shut out from his spiritual privileges," meaning the opportunity of going to church three times on Sunday, and once or twice during the week. But notwithstanding the reluctance of the aged slave, he was too kind and faithful to trouble his master with objections, and went on with the preparations for removing as industriously as if it had been his own proposition. On the day on which we have introduced Toney to ur readers, he was dressed in his best Sunday-clothes. A black suit, somewhat the worse for wear, shrouded his tall dignified person, whilst a clean white cravat and shirt-bosom formed an agreeable transition from his sable garb to his still more sable face. From the right pocket of his coat, which hung loosely from his shoulders, depended a bandana handkerchief--a luxury which was ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

90 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ not an every-day thing with him; but used, like Hudibras' wit, only on holidays. Toney's old minister wore black; and for that reason Toney would appear in no other color. Toney's minister used a bandana handkerchief. So did Toney. The minister carried it partly exposed, in the right pocket, for the sake of convenience. Toney carried his in the same way, for the sake of conformity to clerical usage. It must be confessed, however, that the old man's complacent glance at the bright bandana, as it dangled from his pocket, seemed to indicate that he would have preferred to carry it in that way, even if the custom had not been sanctioned by such high authority. When everything was ready for starting, Toney hurried the women into the servan't wagon, took his seat with the driver, and gave the order to start. A group of acquaintances had collected to witness their departure. Now came great shaking of hands, many assurances of remembrance exchanged, some little tokens of affection given or received, ending in the last tearful farewell. The old man was little moved by the scene of tenderness. He scarcely seemed to notice it, but sat upon the box, lost in thought. When the motion of the wagon roused him from his brief reverie, he turned towards his colored friends, and, with dignified obeisance, bade them farewell. As the vehicle rumbled off, the old man looked wistfully at the old home, and reached towards his pocket for his bandana handkerchief, but recollecting that it was a new one, checked himself, and lifting up the skirt of his coat, drew it over his face.-- As the wagon turned the corner, he threw himself round upon the box for the last look. His lips quivered --his whole frame shook--he snatched convulsively his new bandana, and, leaning his old white head upon his knees, drenched it with his tears. In this very undignified and unofficial condition, Toney left the metropolis; nor did he recover his usual placidity until they got several miles from the city. At the ten-mile spring he stopped to bathe his eyes, which the bright sun, he said, pained very much, lit his pipe, apologized to the driver for his long silence, resumed his seat upon the box, and was himself again. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the details of the journey. Suffice it to say, it was happily completed; and in a few weeks the old people found themselves comfortably situated in their new domicile. Leading a very retired life, they were little known to their neighbors; but the sad bereavement which enforced their privacy, and their bland and unostentatious courtesy sheltered them from the suspicion of aristocratic exclusiveness. As for Miss Sally, she had conceived such dreadful notions of the boorishness of country people, that she determined to keep her little ward from all intercourse with them. Mr. Howard's time was divided between his farm and his library. Bred a scholar, he was familiar with the best writers of Greece and Rome; but the Bible was his chief book. In its sublime and enobling truths, he found the richest food for the mind, and in its lofty hopes, the only lenitive of sorrow. Te spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora. Mrs. Howard's time was occupied in domestic duties. Miss Sallie was never idle. What with keeping matters straight about the house and premises, scolding the servants, taking care of the child, and devising ways and means for its education, her hands and her tongue were busily employed. It is true that little Lucy was provided with an excellent nurse in Maum Beckey, the wife of old Toney; but Miss Sally preferred to assume the principal charge. A few months after their entrance upon country life, little Lucy's first birth-day was duly celebrated; and not many days afterwards, Toney came in, while the family were at breakfast, with the gratifying intelligence that her feet had begun to discharge their appropriate functions. Lucy could walk! In his paroxysm of joy, the old negro quite forgot his usual reserve and dignity.-- His habitually grave physiognomy was twisted into an expression of infinite delight, and his gaunt sides shook with an uproarious cachination that startled Mr. and Mrs. Howard, shocked all Miss Sally's notions of propriety, set the dogs in the yard to barking, and roused the sleeping echoes of the surrounding hills. Maum Beckey herself soon appeared to confirm her husband's report, by an ocular demonstration of the skill of the young pedestrian, and the very soul of the affectionate nurse seemed to gleam from her eyes, as she watched the steps of the toddling child. Lucy Howard grew as all children do, and grew very healthy and pretty--as all children do not. She passed unscathed through the measles, whooping-cough, and those other petty bandits, that waylay the young traveler at the very threshold of existence, and in due time was conducted through the mysterious circle of Orthorgraphy, Etymology, Syntax, and Prosody. But what received the largest share of Aunt Sally's attention, was--manners. She was a walking "behaviour-book," full of "wise saws and modern instances." Little Lucy had scarcely learned to distinguish her head from her toes, when she was gravely instructed to hold the former up and turn the latter out. She was to sit erect; never to lean against the back of her chair, and to speak only when spoken to. "Children," said Miss Sally, "should be seen and not heard." Instead of providing, from her btother's ample resources, the means of enjoyment for little Lucy, her chief care seems to have been to limit and extinguish her desires. The child's preferences were invariably disregarded. Even in as small a matter as a slipper or a ribband. Miss Sally always selected the pattern which Lucy seemed least to fancy. "Vanity must be crushed in the bud." So that the poor little thing began to think that the sole rule of life was to do what she did not wish to do, and to leave everything else alone. To this stern discipline Lucy submitted with a gentle and uncomplaining resignation; for it never entered her mind that her dear, careful aunt could do or think amiss. But there was one restriction which wrung her young heart. Craving companionship with children like herself, she was denied their society. In her walks with old Toney and Maum Beckey, she saw at a distance the merry groups returning home from school; and as they leaped and gamboled on the green sward, she, too, would clap her little hands, and echo their ringing laugh. Accident occasionally brought them together, and as she looked into the bright, kindly eyes of the simple hearted rustics, while they lifted her bright curls or felt her soft hand, and spoke in tones that touched her girlish heart, she wondered what her dear aunt could mean, when she charged her to "keep away from those rude, uncouth children." The young heart (thanks to the God that made it,) is always true to itself. We can no more change the nature of childhood, than we can add a cubit to its stature, or accelerate its too rapid flight. Miss Sally occasionally walked out with Lucy, but her mauma and Toney were her usual companions. During these walks the old man regaled her with stories of by-gone days, and often spoke of her father and mother, and the bright place to which they had gone, where good people were happy, and children turned to angels. The child wound herself, every day, more and more around the old man's heart: and he was often heard to say, that although "Massa Edmund was a berry fine child, Miss Lucy was better more 'an all." Little Lucy repaid his kindness by the most implicit confidence. Into his ears she poured all her childish sorrows; and, in all her troubles and perplexities, went to him for help. He was her chosen intercessor with Miss Sally, for any relaxation of her stern discipline, and the old man never failed to urge her suit with becoming warmth, although, generally, without success. "We do'nt be children for eber," the old man used to say, "Miss Lucy hab berry short time to enjoy herself. Give her her chance." Poor old fellow, he little knew the full import of his prophetic words. But people of Miss Sally's age, are not apt to change their sentiments, and old Toney, not seldom, got a scolding for his pains. Frequently, when Lucy asked the privilege of sitting up a little after tea, on a balmy summer evening, Miss Sally would order her to bed, comforting her with the old saw, "early to bed, etc." On such occasions, the child cried bitterly, while the faithful old nurse hung over her, whispering soothing words into her ear, until all her troubles were forgotten in childhood's quiet slumber. How often has the old man (for he was permitted to sit, with his wife, in the child's apartment) wiped away the tears from her closed eyelids. How often, as he bent over her calm, quiet brow, did he bless her, and think within himself, that one, so young and innocent, could not but be happy. And who that ever gazed upon her sweet countenance, as she lay asleep, but looked upon her as some bright and beautiful being from a purer sphere, and felt that her very tears were not like the tears which are wrung by earthly sorrows, but such as angels shed over the miseries of a sinful world. It was not long after Lucy reached her eighth birthday, that she began to show unequivocal symptoms of disease; and in a short time, her health visibly delined. Mr. and Mrs. Howard watched, with increasing anxiety, the fading hue of health, as it slowly departed from the sweet countenance of their grand-child. Aunt Sally's tone of address became more tender and sympathising, and old Toney waited and watched around her, with redoubled solicitude. Slow as he was to entertain the thought, the observant old negro could not fail to perceive that his young mistress was fast changing for the worse. She was easily fatigued by a short walk; was less lively than formerly, and often reclined upon a pillow on the floor. The suspicions of the old man were too well founded. In a short time poor Lucy lay in her aunt's chamber, pale and feeble, like a spring flower withering upon its stalk. Some weeks passed over the little sufferer, without any apparent change. One morning--a bright sabbath morning--in the month of May, she said she felt much better, and begged them to open the blinds that she might look upon the green fields, and feel the pleasant breeze. Old Toney, who was in attendance, clad in his sunday suit, soon arranged everything to her satisfaction. It was indeed a beautiful morning. A light, quivering breeze played among the trees, waving the vines that hung in graceul festoons over the chamber windows, and stirring the child's hair, as it lay, parted in golden tresses over her pale brow. Partially revived by the fresh air, she turned over upon her side, and gazed tenderly upon the garden, where the rose and the fringe-tree, the sweet-shrub and eglantine, yielded their fragrance to the light breeze, that stole gently and noiselessly into the room of the little sufferer. The family withdrew--the old nurse left for a little while--and the old man and the child were left together. "Daddy Toney," said little Lucy, in a faint, tremulous tone, "I think I am going to die." "Lord a mercy!" exclaimed Toney, "how de chile talk. No, Miss Lucy, you must'nt die yet. You are so young and sweet. Leave old man like me for die. You must grow up and be a big 'oman." The child paused thoughtfully, and rejoined-- "I know I am going to die, daddy Toney." "How? my dear missus." "I know it, because the doctor looks troubled when he comes to see me, and then I see him and grandpapa talking together, for a long time, before he goes; and my dear grand-mama often comes to me when she thinks I am asleep, and kisses me, and cries over me." The child paused. The old man attempted to reply, but said nothing. He rose from his seat at the side of the bed, coughed, walked around to the head, drew the cuffs of his coat-sleeves over his eyes, and returned. "I am not afraid to die, daddy Toney," continued the child, "I am going that bright and happy place, you have told me of." The old man was silent. "You have been very good to me," said Lucy. "Don't say no more, Miss Lucy," replied the old man, rising and walking to the other side of the room. He took out his bandanna handkerchief, looked out of the window, wiped his eyes, replaced it in his pocket, and resumed his seat at the side of the bed. "How beautifully the sun shines, how sweet the ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 91 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ flowers smell, and the little birds, how prettily they sing. Bury me," she added, "where the birds will sing over my grave." The word grave, startled the aged servant; for he had sank, insensibly, into a reverie. He turned his eyes towards the dying child, and as he looked upon her pale face, and shrunken form, and heard from her tremulous lips, that ill-omened word, he leaned his head upon the bed, and wept. The tide he had so long struggled to restrain, at length burst its bounds, and the accumulated sorrows of many previous days found utterance in loud lamentations. These, heard in the adjoining room, soon drew Mr. and Mrs. Howard, with aunt Sally, to the chamber. Without heeding the old man, they approached the bed-side, and there she lay, beautiful in death, her little hands clasped upon her breast, and her soft hair trembling in the breeze, over her sweet, placid brow. Life had departed from her; not in haste, as if anxious to be gone, or mangling and deforming in its retreat, but slowly, and gently, as it loth to leave so fair a dwelling, or in withdrawing to mar its loveliness. Mr. and Mrs. Howard bent over the dead child, in all the agony of speechless grief. Aunt Sally knelt down at the foot of the bed, and burying her face in the covering, wept aloud. As soon as old Toney had partially recovered, he replaced his saturated bandanna handkerchief, and struggling to regain his composure, by a few preliminary hems and coughs, he rose from the bed-side, took the old people by the arm, and led them silently out of the room. Aunt Sally rose as the grandparents left the room; and throwing herself upon the child, kissed it passionately, and called upon it in wild despair, as if anxious to give at least one soothing, parting word. Her grief was indeed very great, for, notwithstanding her misplaced severity, she loved little Lucy with the most devoted affection. As she hung over the motionless body of her little ward, and stooped to kiss her pale, cold lips, that seemed to smile upon her even in death; busy memory retracted the past, and although conscious of the rectitude of her intentions, and of the earnestness of her devotion to her little ward, she could not disguise from herself the sad fact, that but for her Lucy would have been happier. Sad and bitter was the reflection. Her hands had drawn the only clouds that had dimmed the bright sky of a girlhood so transient. Sad, terrible, were her piteous moans, as she sobbed upon the bosom of the lifeless child. Old Toney returned to the room, and with a respectful motion of the hand, intimated to Miss Howard the propriety of her laying out her little charge. This opened the fountain of her grief afresh. It was now Toney's hard task to offer consolation, when, in truth, he needed it himself. "God takes the good, too good on earth to stay." "Yes," replied Miss Sally, and she seemed to revive with the expression. "Yes, I always thought dear, sweet Lucy was more an angel than a child." Toney withdrew Miss Howard now proceeded with the painful task of preparing, with her own hands, the little body for burial. The morning passed away. In the afternoon Lucy lay on a setee, in the front parlor, with the unwearied old servant still hovering about her. He had gone mechanically through the arrangement of the house, and now he took his station by the corpse, as if each succeeding moment that remained, before the final separation, was increasingly dear. It was touching to see him lay his hand upon her forehead, to see if it was really cold, walk to the window, through which the wind blew upon the child, and shut it down; then recollecting himself, raise it again, and resume his station by the corpse. The neighbours were apprized of Lucy's illness, and although but little known to them, her condition awakened universal sympathy. The children loved her. She had never, indeed, shared their diversions, but frequently on Sunday, after church, they had followed her in her rambles through the church-yard among the grave-stones, and listened to her sweet prattle. On passing to church in the morning, many of them stopped at the outer gate to enquire how she was, and went away with downcast eyes when told that she was no better. The rumor of her decease reached the neighbouring church, on the opposite side of the field, as the congregation were about dispersing. Mothers exchanged brief parting salutations, and walked away with their aprons to their eyes. Stern, stalwart men conversed in a subdued tone. The children gathered together in small groups, and walked towards the residence of the Howards. The more forward of them approached the door, and looked in upon the old negro and the dead child; and by gradual advances made bold to enter. Group after group reached the house, and entered; until the bier of little Lucy was surrounded by these young and sincere mourners. Some leaned over and kissed her pale, thin hands, as they lay locked upon her breast, others lifted up her bright ringlets, or pressed their hands gently upon her forehead. Looks were exchanged, but not a word spoken. Many of them had flowers, which they had plucked that morning by the roadside. On leaving they dropped the flowers upon the corpse, so that when they were gone, and the old man, who had been so absorbed in thought that he was scarcely aware of the presence of the children, rose to to take a look once more at little Lucy, he thought that surely angels had been there, and had scattered over the sleeping child these tokens of their guardian love. Monday came; it was the day of Lucy's funeral. At an early hour, the church yard was filled. Old Toney was seen issuing from the door of Mr. Howard's house, followed by the old people, Miss Sally, and the domestics of the family. They were carrying the child to her burial. Toney begged the privilege of bearing the coffin himself. This he could easily do, for a child of eight years, wasted by disease, is not heavy, even for an old man. Arrived at the grave, he laid his burden down, and took his station at the foot; whilst the crowd closed around it. A few words from the officiating minister breaks the profound silence, a prayer is offered, the coffin descends into the grave, and the family depart. Old Toney still keeps his post, gazing with unaltered composure upon the coffin, until it is lost to view, beneath the falling clods, and the mound is rounded which is to mark the spot where his little mistress is laid. Among the last to leave the grave, he walks slowly along the path that leads to the house. We shall not attempt to describe the feelings of the generous old slave. Suffice it to say, he had no sooner got out of the crowd, than he reached convulsively into his right pocket for his bandanna handkerchief; and its bright colours were soon repeatedly passing to his face, until he disappeared among the trees that encircled the homsetead. In a church-yard, in one of the upper districts of South Carolina, the visitor seldom fails to notice two graves, with a little one between them. There lie the remains of Mr. and Mrs. Howard, and the last of their race--dear little Lucy. --------"Pictas dat Flora coronas, Manibus hic supremus honos."--Calpur. Ecl. VIII. 69. At a short distance, and in a line with the child's, is another grave. "Siste viator." The dust that moulders there was the tenement of a noble soul. Daddy Toney, on his death-bed, made two special requests of his old master--to be burried in his clerical costume, with a bandanna handkerchief around his head, and to be laid as near as propriety would permit to his little mistress. "It isn't a fitten thing," said the old man, "that poor negro lie down by better people; but Miss Lucy wont hab no obections, and," continued the sable patriarch, "we'll soon all be where nobody ax 'bout de colour of de skin. Should the traveler happen to stop at the church, on Sunday, he may see a venerable lady, attended by a bevy of smiling children. He would scarcely recognize in her matronly gaze, and benignant countenance, the aunt Sally of our story. Yet, such is the fact. Schooled by the trails through which she has passed, she has learned to pity a world which she attempted in vain to scold into propriety. Her natural kindness has been developed in the more congenial occupations of a benevolent life. Every little girl reminds her of her "poor, dear Lucy;" she loves, and is beloved by all the young people. Indeed, some of the more staid matrons, charge her with spoiling, alike, young girls in the neighbourhood, and it is a common saying among them; "Why! you are as much of a girl as old aunt Sally." ------------------------------------------ PROVINCIALISMS NORTH AND SOUTH. ----- Though born and reared in Yankeedom, I have spent some years of late in the cotton zone of the South. I am, therefore, well posted in regard to the provincialisms of both sections. Here, in the South, the English language has been much modified by the negroes. Children reared among the slave population must, of necessity, get many early impressions from the negro nurse who attends them, and consequently acquire not only much of the phraseology, but some of the tone or twang of the African. This is more marked in those who never have been abroad for education. To many of your readers, a mention of the more common provincialisms of the South will not be uninteresting. The Southerner is not aware, generally, of his false English, when he says "have saw," for "have seen;" he has "great insurance" for "assurance;" "a heap of times," or "a heap of friendship," for a "great many," or "a great deal;" "he is a no account person" for "he is a person of no character; "powerful weak," for "very weak; "mighty little," for "very little;" "thar, far, bar, dar," for "there, fair, bear, dare;" "any dimensions of game there," for "any amount." A very common word is which instead of what. For instance, you ask a Southerner a question and he hears you imperfectly, he says "Which?" instead of "What?" He says "right smart," or "right smart sprinkle," for "much," "quite," or "considerable." The Southerner never says "stone," but even a pebble is a "rock" with him. When I first lived South, and heard of their "heaving rocks" at each other, I thought they were surely a race of Titans. "I seed him," for "I saw him." And so "he overseed for me last year," instead of "oversaw." The prefix "done" is extremely common; thus, "it is done gone," "the house is done swept," or, "he has done, done it." Also, "thunder pole," for "lightning rod;" "struck with thunder," for "lightning;" "clare" for "clear," very common; "stairs" for "stars," the heavenly bodies. The word "sorry" is in constant use in the sense of "indifferent" as "a sorry crop," "a sorry appearance," a "sorry-looking horse," etc. "Reckon," for "guess," or "presume," is in constant use. I regard the word "carry" as the best test of a Southern man. If you haer him order a servant to take or lead a horse to water, he invariably says "Carry my horse to water." The Yankee "stubs" his toe, the Southerner "stumps" it. The latter word is incorrect. "You are not going to town is you?" instead of "are you;" quite common, and derived from the negro. "Crap," instead of "crop" is common, and "drap," also, for "drop." "He holp me to do it," for "helped." A physician in practice South must say to his patient, "What hurts you?" "Does your head hurt you," etc., instead of where's the seat of pain, &c. Ths doctor generally is answered, "I have a misery in my stomach, or head," etc. A "boil" is invariably termed a "rising." The word cigar is pronounced South with the accent always on the first syllable. "Onion" is often "inyun" here. The garden vegetable "colewort," which is on every Southerner's dinner-table, and affords greens to the slaves, is called "collords." The Southerner will "prize up" anything, while the Northerner will "pry it up." Both, I believe, are correct. The Southerner "totes" everything, instead of "carries." Yet this word is not improper, though confined to the negroes and those reared with them. By-the-way, our friends here would say, "raised in Virginia," instead of "reared." Our youths never "bathe" in the stream, but invariably "go in a washing." "Me and John did it," for "John and I," is very prevalent. "Afeard" is often used for "afraid." We never hear of "clingstone peaches," but "pressed peaches." So "whetrock" is used for "whetstone," and ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

92 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "grindrock" for "grindstone." There seems to be an aversion for the good old Anglo-Saxon word stone. So the word "peacock" is never heard here, but "peafowl." Nor does the "cock" every crow here, but the "chickens" crow. "I did not go to do it," for "I did mot mean to do it." "Refuse lumber;" here the Southerner always accents the last syllable improperly. And so in the word "contrary" he improperly accents the middle syllable. "Medicine" is called "truck," as "Son, take this nice truck the doctor has left you." What strikes the Northerner most when he comes here, is the universal custom of calling everything "tricks." For instance, a new machine is a nice "trick." Picking up any article, our Southern friend will say, "Whose trick is this?" And so the word "traps" is often used. As, "He has gone and taken all his traps with him," instead of "goods." A man's "baggage" here is often called "plunder." The fish "perch" is called "pierch," or "peerch." "Crack a smile" is in common use, instead of "to smile." One expression of Southerners is far preferable to one of Northerners. I refer to the word of endearment given to a little child. The Yankee calls him "Bubby," which is grossly improper. The Southerner says "Buddy." How sweet and expressive is the latter appellation; for are not children tender "buds" of mortality? Let our Northern friends learn from this. In the South, "boards" are split shingles. Everything in lumber that is sawn is called by him "plank," no matter if only an inch or a half inch thick. "Onct" and "twiced" are general, instead of "once" and "twice." "Nary one," for "neither one," or "ary one," for "either one," is common. "Sort o' cloudy" is used for "somewhat cloudy." "It sticks out," for "it is quite apparent." The planter seldom "raisês" cotton, but generally he "makes" cotton. "Hand-write" is always used for "hand-writing." We have no "pails" here, but "bucket" is the word. "A cotton patch," "potato patch," etc., are used instead of "field." "Watermelons" are frequently called "watermillions." A friend at parting said to me, "Call often, I wish to use with you." I afterward learned he wished "to associate" with me. So, if stock or deer frequent a particular locality, they are said "to use" there. It is common to use the word "allow" here erroneously. For instance, "I allow to go to town to-morrow," for "I intend;" and "I allowed he knew his own business," for "I presumed," etc. "Lots" of anything, for "much," or a "great number," is common. I never heard of a "wash-dish," or a "wash-basin" here, but all the time a "wash-pan," whether made of tin or earthenware. One ox is always called "an oxen," and if more than one, "oxens." There is no such word as afternoon here; but "evening" instead. If there has been much rain, you often hear of "a power of rain." I have noticed that many young ladies are called "Puss" by their friends out here. The wife of a man with whom I boarded was always called "Puss" by every one, though that was not her name. The Northerners are universally termed Yankees. And it is here a term of reproach or derision rather than of honor. Strictly speaking, the inhabitants of all these States are Yankees--a name, you know, given to American rebels by the people and army of Britain. And among all other nations the American is called Yankee, whether he hails from Vermont or Mississippi. Though the Southerner tries to shake off the sobriquet, it nevertheless as much belongs to him as to the New Englander. YANKEE. ------------------------------------------ The New York Century thus lets in on the ornamentation of the national Capitol generally, and the De Soto particularly. The critique--not the first of the kind upon that work--carries conviction to the mind even of one who has never seen the picture: "The pictures in the Rotunda have various degrees of merit and demerit. The best is that old signing of the Declaration, now an American classic, by Trumbull. The worst, and the worst that can be, is that piece of man-millinery, in which De Soto and his gallant crew, after hardships innumerable, are seen approaching the banks of the Mississippi in full gala-day costume of the Court of Madrid, in silks and satin, velvet, Cordovan leather, feathers and embroidery, with flags flying, horses prancing, and no hint of the journey behind, or the fate before them; with only a vision of naked, enticing Indian women hospitably awaiting their arrival on the neighboring shore." ------------------------------------------ For the Courant. GREEN SPOTS.--No. 2. THE CONGAREE. ----- BY MRS. MARTIN. ----- I've read about the classic "Rhine," Have seen the "Aye" and "Nith;" And every stream sung by "the Nine" I am acquainted with; But none of them, howe'er renown'd, Possess the charm for me, That my fond heart hath ever found In my own Congaree.

I've view'd the calm "Connecticut," Sail'd up the glorious "North," They feast my eye, my fancy, but They call not feeling forth, Like that to which my heart of hearts Rushes tumultuously, When memory or sight imparts A glimpse of Congaree.

What is the "Amazon" to me, Tho' widest of the wide? The "Mississippi," tho' I see It as De Soto spied, When first its grandeur burst upon His sight entrancingly-- Unto my partial eye there's none Like noble Congaree.

The "Mersy's" tide I've floated on, And the "Potomac's" wave; Thence view'd the home of Washington, And, passing, wept his grave. The "Jordan" and the "Nile" both are Most sacred unto me; Yet my "Abana and Pharpar," Is my blest Congaree.

The "Pactolus" that flow'd o'er gold, The "Ganges'" cleansing flood-- Altho' I might one's wealth behold, Or, with the multitude, The other's vaunted virtue try, What were it all to me? In poverty I'd rather die, Beside sweet Congaree.

For O, beside its sylvan stream, When life with me was young, When youth indulg'd in fancy's dream, And caroll'd her sweet song; E'en there, a coy and bashful muse I woo'd and won, may be, At early morn, or twilight dews, By thee, fair Congaree.

And listen'd to thy tuneful surge, Rippling the live-long day, Or, to thy eddy's wailing dirge, That seem'd to mourn alway; O, didst thou mourn the Indian race, That, erst, frequented thee? Their footprints on thy shores we trace, Romantic Congaree.

Their arrow's pointed barbs we find, Along thy shelving banks, And tears mine eyes do often blind, To think how thinn'd the ranks Of those brave warriors of the past, Who've found oblivion's sea, Like to the leaves of autumn cast On waves of Congaree.

No more of this depressing thought-- Associations dear Be with those healing waters brought, The smile e'en with the tear; Made up of pensive joy and grief, The mingled feeling be, Tears bring unto the heart relief, Tears wept by Congaree. ------------------------------------------ TRANCENDENTALISM.--"You know, madam, that you cannot make a purse out of a sow's ear." "Oh sir, please fan me. I have intimations of a swoon. When you use that odious specimen of vulgarity again, clothe it in refined phraseology! You should say, 'It is impossible to fabricate a pecuniary receptacle from the auricular organ of the softer sex of the genus Hog.'" ------------------------------------------ We sleep, but the loom of life never stops: and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down, is weaving when it comes up. ------------------------------------------ Wisdom is better without an inheritance, than an inheritance without wisdom. ------------------------------------------ If you spend the day profitably, you will have cause to rejoice in the evening. ------------------------------------------ THE GROUPING OF VOLCANOES. ----- "Even more than the form and height of volcanoes is their grouping, because it leads us to the great geological phenomenon of elevation over fissures. Such groups of volcanoes, whether they have been elevated according to Leopold von Buch, in lines, or simultaneously around a central volcano, indicate the part of the earth's crust in which (whether it may have been from the lesser thickness of the rocky strata, or from their nature, or from their original fissuring) the tendency of the molten interior to break forth has met with least resistance. Three degrees of latitude are included in the space in which the volcanic activity manifests itself fearfully in Etna, in the Æolian Isles, in Vesuvius, and the Phlegræan Fields from Puteoli (Dicæarchia) to Cumæ and to the fire vomiting Epopeus on Ischia, the Tyrrhenian Ape's Island, Ænaria. Such a connection of analogous phenomena could not escape the notice of the Greeks. Strabo says, 'The whole sea, beginning from Cumæ to Sicily, is traversed by fire, and has undoubtedly in its depths hollow passages communicating with each other and with the main-land. Such an inflammable nature as is described by all, shows itself, not only in Etna, but also in the country around Dicæarchus and Neopolis, and around Baiæ and Pithunsæ.' Thence arose the fable that Typhon lies under Sicily, and that when he turns himself, flames and water burst forth, and sometimes even small islands and boiling water. 'Often, between Strongyle and Lipara, (in this wide sweep) flames are seen to issue from the surface of the sea, when the fire opens for itself a passage from the cavities in the depths, and violently forces its onward way.' In Pindar the body of Typhon is so vast, that 'Sicily, and the sea-surrounded heights above Cumæ, (Phlegra, the "field of burning,") lie on the monster's shaggy breast.' Typhon (the raging Enceladus) became in the Greek popular phantasy the mystic designation of the unknown cause of volcanic phenomena, lying deeply buried in the bosom of the earth. By the situation and space assigned to his bulk, they indicated the boundaries and connected action of the particular volcanic system. In the richly imaginative geological picture of the interior of the earth in Plato's grand contemplation of nature, in the Phædo, this connected system is, with still greater boldness, extended to all volcanic systems. In it the lava streams draw their supplies from the Pyriphlegethon, where, 'after it has often rolled round and beneath the earth,' it pours itself into Tartarus. Plato says expressly that in the fire-vomiting mountains, where such are found on earth, small portions of the Pyriphlegethone are blown out. The expression, 'driving out with violence,' may be understood to refer to the motive force of the previously inclosed and suddenly and forcibly escaping wind, on which subsequently Aristotle, in his 'Meteorology,' founded his whole theory of volcanic action."--Von Humboldt's Cosmos. ------------------------------------------ A design for the monument to commemorate the battle of Lake Erie has been prepared by Tom Jones, the Ohio sculptor, and accepted. It is thus described by the Columbus Journal: The base is about thirty feet square, from which rises a square block, having the entrance to the column, and supporting a panel on which will be cut in bas relief that most glorious event in the history of Perry, when he quitted the dismantled Lawrence, and with the battle-flag upon his shoulder, passed in a small boat, through the raking fire of the enemy, to another ship. The next important feature of the monument will be the broadside of the man-of-war, with its port-holes and cannon protruding; and above this will rise in majestic proportions the lofty column, representing the sturdy mast of a vessel, the top surrounded with sea-shells, among which, as in water, is placed the cap of the monument, formed with the prows of four noble ships of the line. This will be the striking feature of the monument--the bold prows, with their cut-waters and figure-heads, making the corners of a masterly Corinthian capital. From the centre of the capital will rise the crown--a ship's capstan, and worked out to the life; and upon the whole stands a statue of the noble Perry, fifteen feet high. The small island on which the monument will be placed is three hundred feet broad, and twelve hundred feet long, shaped like a coffin; and at equal distances from the sides and upper end is the highest point, rising forty feet above the water, solid rock. The monument will be one hundred and sixty feet high, which, with the forty of the island, gives an altitude of two hundred feet. ------------------------------------------ A wise man will dispose of time past to observation and reflection; time present to duty; and time to come to Providence. ------------------------------------------ Where love is, there is no labor, and if there is labor, the labor is loved. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 93 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Courant. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1859. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE COURANT. Subscriptions for the Courant will be received at the Bookstore of Mr. P. B. GLASS, in this City, where single copies can be obtained every week. The following gentlemen have been appointed Traveling Agents for the Courant: G. W. MEETZE, JAS. S. BALLEW, THOS. P. WALKER, W. THOS. WILKES. W. C. WINN. Mr. MEETZE will visit Lexington and Edgefield Districts, Mr. BALLEW, Laurens and Newberry, Mr. WILKES, Chester, Mr. WALKER, Richland, and Mr. WINN, Abbeville, and adjoining Districts--during the present month. We cordially recommend these gentlemen to the kind attentions and courtesies of our friends. WM. W. WALKER, JR., & CO. ------------------------------------------ "HARTWELL MESSENGER." We are pleased to see that the proprietor and editor of the Hartwell Messenger have re-commenced the publication of their journal. Our readers will remember that it was formerly the Pendleton Messenger, but for some reason, removed to the new flourishing town of Hartwell, Georgia. Mr. SYMMES is a clear, vigorous writer, while his associate, W. D. WILKES wields as graceful and as versatile a pen as any journalist in this country. "Southern Rights" is the watchword. ------------------------------------------ LAGER-BIER. All the world know that Lager is the best friend of temperance, at the same time that it is the finest tonic in the world. Our friend over the way, I. D. MORDECAI, has on hand a large supply of Lager in bottles, so that it may be sent into families or to persons at a distance. We have had the pleasure of trying some of it, and we must say, in candor, that it is extremely good. It is not so strong as the "buck-beer" but has more body than the common Lager through the country. ------------------------------------------ THE YORKVILLE ENQUIRER. Our readers will see by reference to our advertising columns that the enterprising proprietor of the Enquirer is offering some very strong inducements to subscribe to his excellent journal. The position of the Enquirer is now, as it has been all along, very high, and deservedly so--its corps of contributors has been always a brilliant one and its editorial department has been presided over with dignity and taste. No man will find himself a loser by taking a newspaper; but the contrary; and a good paper is a desideratum in every family--such a paper in all respects is the Enquirer. ------------------------------------------ "KOLNISCHE ZEITUNG." In our last number we put among the extracts, one which contained a good deal of information concerning the "alleged copy of the sentence passed on our Saviour." There were two questions leaded, at the head of the article, and from this typographical presumption, our readers might conclude that they were ours. But the stupidity of asking when and where was the Kölnische Zeitung published is none of ours--it came from the Nothern paper whence we clipped the entire article. But, to acknowledge the truth, we were very careless not to have observed and corrected it. Apropos, can any body tell us anything very definite about this "alleged copy," aforesaid? The knowledge of it surely is not confined to Cologne and her Zeitung? ------------------------------------------ "LIZZIE CLARENDON." We are sure that our readers will be delighted to learn that we have the promise of the MSS. of this highly gifted young Carolinian, who died only too soon for the good of all who knew her. Througout her writings there is a subtle spirit of grace and beauty, the outgushings of a pure heart, and a noble mind. We shall publish these memorials with great pleasure, and once for all, let us assure our readers, that the prime object of our journal is to bring before the public, the meritorious compositions of genius--particularly of Southern genius--whether the authors be living or dead. A true poet is a great blessing, in many senses--and they who have memorials of those who have "gone before," ought not to withhold them from the public, which must be benefited by them. ------------------------------------------ The Athenæum speaks in this wise, concerning Bryant's "Letters from Spain:" "Of Mr. Bryant's book we cannot say much. It is a mere prosaic diary, written from that sort of stern feeling of imaginary duty that impels dull people to write their travels. This cannot surely be Mr. Bryant, the American poet; if it is, we advise him to keep carefully to his poetry, and leave humble prose alone. It is written in a tiresome, business-like way, and is as matter-of-fact as the merest blue-book could be, except here and there where the author sticks on a spangle or two of rhetoric. This book of travels has none of the usual vivacity and freshness of American writing. There is not even a spice of nationality in it. ------------------------------------------ OLD COPIES OF THE BIBLE. We see from the extract below that our old master, Professor Barton, is not yet cured of his love for rare books, and that he devotes his time quite as much to them as to the writing of new ones, we will guarantee. The first book mentioned below is doubly valuable, from the fact that Lyra exerted so great an influence upon those who succeeded him, that is has been sung,-- "Si Lyra non lyrasset Lutherus non saltasset." Truly, we hope that some college will succeed in getting the valuable collection of our quandum master. Editors Southern Baptist.:--Dear Sirs; In a late issue of the Charleston Courier, mention is made of an Old Bible, the property of Dr. Mackey, printed in 1522, 337 years ago. Professor W. S. Barton, of Montgomery, who is said to have the largest private collection of books in Alabama, has in his valuable library a copy, S. Latina, cum postilliis Nicolai di Lira 1485, four volumes, small folio, or large 4to, beautifully illustrated. This interesting relic of early printing is in a fine state of preservation, and is highly valued by its owner as one of the greatest curiosities of his library. It is just 374 years old, or 37 years older than Dr. Mackey's. In this class of literature, his next oldest work is Erasmus' Greek Test., with new Latin translations and annotations, 1516, 343 years old. This edition (1st) is rarely to be met with.] Then comes a Black letter Bishop, 1580, and several others, among which is a copy of Breeche's Bible, black letter, 1607. I have not mentioned a tithe of this collection. I should like to describe his Latin and Greek Classics, old and rare editions, but I must leave this till another time. I understand that this collection will one day become the property of some College.-- Prof. Barton will bestow it where it will do the most good. It would be valuable in a College or Theological Seminary. C. ------------------------------------------ MOUNT VERNON. From the following extract, from the Mobile Advertiser, it will be seen that Madame LeVERT has not tired in her good work, nor have the the people of Alabama failed to respond to her patriotic calls: "We are glad to learn that the 'Appeal for Mount Vernon,' met a liberal response on the 4th inst., the Vice Regent Madame LeVert, having received a number of contributions, both in good wishes and money. We take pleasure in giving place to the following note, which was sent us by Mrs. LeVert yesterday: OFFICE OF THE DAILY MOBILE REGISTER } July 4th, 1859. } My Dear Madame:--Do me the favor to accept the accompanying twenty-five dollars, ($25,) as a trifling contribution by this establishment, and its employees, to the object which the ladies of the "Mount Vernon Association," have taken in hand with so much spirit and patriotism." I am very sincerely your friend and servant, JOHN FORSYTH. ------------------------------------------ A. J. REQUIER. "The New Orleans True Delta republishes the Ode to Shakspeare, written some years ago, by A. J. Requier, Esq., of this city, and uses the following language in relation to it; 'The grand creations of Shakspeare pass before the eye like the figures of a diorama. It is the finest verse-epitome of the dramas of that great author that we have yet seen in print.'-- This is not overpraise. The poem is worthy of the subject." When will our gifted friend--an ornament alike to South Carolina, his native State, and Alabama his adopted home-- give to the world a volume which shall contain all of his fine poems? We long to see "Crystalline" and the "Phantasmagoria," "The Ode to Shakspeare," &c., &c., in an enduring form. We hope that he will deovte this summer's vacation to collecting and preparing it for the press. ------------------------------------------ THE CLIMAX. From the last Saturday Press, we clip the following, apropos of the great national holiday at the North. A Boston weekly, (the Gazette,) gave, in advance, a clever burlesque report (by Mrs. Partington Shillaber) of the "Celebration at Frothville." I cannot lay my hand on the paper, or I should be tempted to extract some of the good things in the "report." The loudest and best was the inscription, in blazing stars, I believe, beneath a portrait of the Father of his Country: "G. Washington--He can keep a hotel!" ------------------------------------------ LITERARY NOTICES. ----- We have received from the publishers, the following works by WILLIAM S. BARTON, formerly a resident of this city, and long known as one of the most conscientious and successful teachers who ever labored amongst us.

"1. EASY LESSONS IN ENGLISH GRAMMAR; 2. ENGLISH GRAMMAR; 3. ENGLISH COMPOSITION."

Without entering into the details of the system upon which these works have been written, we may say in a general manner, that the plan is substantially that of Ollendorf, which has been so successfully used in Europe and this country for some years past. The secret of the success of this system lies in the fact that all rules are practically applied by the pupil, and therefore do not remain in his head as a dry abstraction. The Ollendorf method has almost entirely supplanted all the others, in the teaching of the modern European languages, and we doubt not, that when this method shall receive its last improvements, it will take the place of the old fashioned system, wherein practice had so very small a part. In fact, under the former systems, a dull, dry, abstract science was taught, and afterward the practice required to perfect one in any given language necessitated just such a course as Ollendorf's works put before the student now at the beginning. Prof. BARTON'S long experience as a teacher, has shown him that this is the best method of accomplishing, with the least labor too, the instruction of the pupil in a systematic and regular manner. The faulty division of the parts of speech, the unphilosophical forms of the rules, the lack of proper classifications and often, even, of examples--have all been carefully attended to in these volumes. While Prof. BARTON is not an advocate for the radical ideas which are getting abroad on the subject of English criticism--while he does not adopt the novelties of the times in orthography and etymology, nay, of syntax even; he uses all that is good in the systems of the "reformers," and has certainly made some very marked improvements on Lindly Murray and Smith and that ilk. These books have been carefully examined by a number of men in every way qualified to judge of their merits, and since so much more has been said for them, by these gentlemen, we shall dismiss the subject with a general commendation of the work, to teachers and parents.

"THE POLITICAL WORKS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE, WITH AN ORIGINAL MEMOIR." Redfield: New York, 1859. Blue and Gold. CHARLESTON MERCURY, for July 9, 1859.

From the "Literary Notices" of the Charleston Mercury, of the 9th, we extract the following: "Alas! poor EDGAR! we knew him well--know well that he did not know himself! This was his misfortune. But we must not report what we know. Let him sleep. "Nil nisi bonam, &c. One thing we may say--should say--must say. We note a disposition on the part of certain writers, who are totally ignorant of the facts of the case, to decry and to denounce those who have written biographies of Poe. Something had to be written. How nearly should it approach the truth? It was impossible to tell the whole truth of POE! He was unquestionably, one of the most morally wretched among gifted men! To have refused to tell anything, where so much was known; to have forborne the pleas which sympathy, and humanity, and charity were prepared to offer in defence of error and weakness, would have led, perhaps, to worse conjectures of the truth--if this, indeed, were possible. We, who know much, beg to say, that POE'S biographers must not be censured! They did their work tenderly. Nobody, to be honest, could have done it more tenderly. Griswold, who was a man of many faults, was very forbearing in regard to POE; and, personally, as we know, had but little reason for forbearance! His biography is as kind a one as any man, with any honesty, could have written. POE was, all his life, a victim to his own wilfulness! Hardly a sorrow, or suffering, or care, or annoyance, that did not spring from himself! And this he knew, though he did not often know himself!" It is strange that so many persons who ought to be above the clamor of Mrs. Grundy, will allow themselves to endorse, in a lump, a string of stories, such as have been told of EDGAR POE, and refuted time and again. The "disposition on the part of certain writers, who are totally ignorant of the facts of the case, to decry and denounce those who have written biographies of POE," which has been noticed by the critic of the Mercury, is, by no manner of means, what he supposes it to be: it is only the rallying of gallant spirits, to the defence of an erring, but much slandered man. In Russell's Magazine, for November, 1858, there was a refutation of many of these absurd stories; in our last week's paper there was a very clear statement of the facts, wherein it was shown that Graham and Godey both bore testimony to the good behavior of POE, and trumpet-tongued demolished the whining, hypocritical "Biography," written by that vulture, Griswold. The idea of the Mercury saying, "Griswold, who was a man of many faults, was very FORBEARING, in regard to POE." We scarcely think that of the readers of POE, a corporal's guard could be collected, who would agree that Griswold's life of POE was anything but a monstrous and wilful mis-statement throughout. Behold, then, as a consequence, that foul article in the North American, (which POE called, "the ineffable buzzard,') and equally in the dark as to the facts, Mr. George Gilfillan gave vent to all his spleen and bombast in one of his papers. Such biographies as that one by Griswold, can do incalculable harm: people at a distance, who have no means of ascertaining the truth, readily take up these statements, and without questioning, in the most of cases, simply because the editor was chosen by the poet himself. But this very fact makes the crime doubly damning; and with all the sins of his evil life, Mr. Griswold, "who was a man of many faults," committed none so attrocious as that life of POE. We refer our readers to the article before mentioned, which appeared in Russell's Magazine, and to the literary notice of last week's Courant, as containing a concise and unanswerable refutation of the slanders which have been circulated in reference to POE. Not that we mean to say that POE was without his faults--for he had all the characteristic faults of a proud and sensitive genius--but we do mean to say, judge him fairly, hear the pro and con, and do not condemn him on the idle tattle of such story-tellers as Griswold or the woman who wrote the vile article in the North American Review, or Gilfillan, or the multitude of small fry who use POE'S name as the synonym of all wicknedness. It is disgusting to hear sentimental young ladies talking of ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------