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LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM M. MARTIN 
 
 PRINTED AT THE 
 
 SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE. 
 1861. 
 
Xa/^C ON TENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Memoir Notes 9 
 
 fpit^* 
 
 ^ 
 
 The Sunset Prayer 37 
 
 Flowers 38 
 
 Little Mae 39 
 
 What is Woman ? 41 
 
 The Colonel 42 
 
 Not worthy of Her 44 
 
 To Miss Brenan 45 
 
 Home , 46 
 
 As a Good Man dies 47 
 
 Legend of L'Espiritu Santo 49 
 
 A Man dies not till his Work is done 49 
 
 My Cross , 61 
 
 The Cross 56 
 
 When the Shades of Eve are falling 56 
 
 Is there a Wave? 67 
 
 Little Lou 68 
 
 215131 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Katie Blair 69 
 
 Mary 61 
 
 Carpe Diem 62 
 
 Ye Ballade of Marie 63 
 
 Upper Dog in the Fight 64 
 
 Eosa hiding. 66 
 
 Madeline 68 
 
 I know an Oak Tree 70 
 
 To Lenore 70 
 
 Black and Blue Eyes 71 
 
 A Picture 72 
 
 The Beautiful never can die 74 
 
 The Poet and the Critic 76 
 
 Katie and 1 77 
 
 Dum Vivimus Vivamus 78 
 
 A Prayer 80 
 
 What shows us God? 81 
 
 What is Life? 82 
 
 Life is a River 84 
 
 The Night when first we met 85 
 
 Anabelle, my Golden Bell 86 
 
 The College Bell 87 
 
 Elegy on my Cat 88 
 
 The Little Girl in Black 89 
 
 Evangeline 91 
 
 Beautiful SaUie 92 
 
CONTENTS. V 
 
 In Bowers Green 94 
 
 Suannanoa River 95 
 
 King's Mountain 96 
 
 Last of the Abencerrages 98 
 
 A Curse and a Blessing 102 
 
 Musings 104 
 
 Visions 105 
 
 Three Sights of Mary 108 
 
 The Lonely Grave 109 
 
 To Lily 110 
 
 Eosa Ill 
 
 Perfumes, Birds, and Flowers 113 
 
 That One 114 
 
 My Love 115 
 
 'Tis then I think of thee 116 
 
 The Circassian 118 
 
 What Bessy has 119 
 
 The Lucky Escape 120 
 
 A Ballad of ye Valliante Knighte and ye Ladye 
 
 Faire 121 
 
 Teaching the Young Idea 123 
 
 Lines for Miss B 's Album 123 
 
 Affection's Flowers 124 
 
 Were I aBird 126 
 
 On the Island 129 
 
 How Beauteous is Moonlight ,....%, 130 
 
 2 i B 1 S 1 
 
 2' 
 
1 
 yi CONTENTS. 
 
 MaCanne: from Beranger , 132 
 
 Go for the Right, -whatever betide 135 
 
 Baby is at Rest 136 
 
 The Baby sleeps 137 
 
 Requiem 139 
 
 Death the Foe, and Death the Friend 140 
 
 'Twas at the Eventide 141 
 
 The Early Dead 142 
 
 Mother and Child 143 
 
 Dead of the Central America 144 
 
 Death the King 146 
 
 La Belle Creole 148 
 
 To Miss Mary S , of Georgia 149 
 
 Like a Sunbeam 150 
 
 A Wail for the Gifted 152 
 
 Battle Song 153 
 
 Christmas Carol 154 
 
 lutt^^s. 
 
 Indians 156 
 
 Raleighism 160 
 
 Women's Eyes 163 
 
 Little Girls 167 
 
 The Acme of Beauty 172 
 
 Crooked Sticks, etc * 176 
 
} 
 CONTENTS. Vii 
 
 Other Days 177 
 
 The Expected Comet 182 
 
 Rainbows 184 
 
 Gloves 189 
 
 Ruby at School 197 
 
 Sight-Seeing 201 
 
 How Ruby caught Her 205 
 
 Recorder, Reminiscor, et Obliviscor 210 
 
 The Destiny of the Nation : Extract from an Ora- 
 tion 216 
 
 Patriotism: Extract from an Oration 223 
 
 Extracts from Letters , 233 
 

 o 
 
 BY A FRIEND. 
 
 riiiLOSoniY -will perhaps never be able, within the 
 limits of human life, to explain the moral anomaly of 
 early death. 
 
 It is a phenomenon unclassified ; a fact that human 
 speculation hands up to a higher tribunal. 
 
 That there is a legitimate moral end subserved — a 
 good and great purpose consummated — wc feel that it 
 were atheism to deny. 
 
 f It is the part of the human to cry out against it. 
 It is the part of the Divine to say : Thy will be 
 done. 
 
 Let the Divine silence the human cry, and let Faith 
 say : It is well. 
 
 Wc may not understand ; yet we may trust. 
 
 Few of the wise sayings are so utterly void of mean- 
 ing as that of Menander : 
 
 *0;/ oi 6eol (})i\ovai.v aTro9n]<rKet, vdo<;. 
 
10 MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 Plautus put no life into the dead thought when he 
 uttered it in the since-dead Roman tongue: 
 
 Qucm dii diliguni adolescens moritur. 
 
 Nay, nay ; at last, 
 
 "All philosophy, all ftiith, 
 
 All earthl}', all celestial lore, 
 Have but one voice, which only saith. 
 Endure— adore !" 
 
 IT. 
 
 lie of whom we are to speak, died early — a little 
 past twenty-three ; just a third of three-score years 
 and ten. 
 
 William Maxwell Martin was born in Columbia, 
 South Carolina, on Sunday, June 4, 1837. 
 
 Previous to his fiftecntli year he had, in addition to 
 a careful course of English studies, acquired a good 
 knowledge of French, and had pursued with some suc- 
 cess the Hebrew language and Drawing. He then 
 added the classics, in which his progress was rapid 
 and his attainments accurate ; and in 1852 he entered 
 the Freshman class of the South Carolina College. 
 Two years later he was removed to Wofford College, 
 where he graduated in 1857, aged just twenty years. 
 His Commencement speech, "The Calico Flag," pro- 
 duced a sensation in its way beyond any thing in the 
 annals of the college. In 1858 he was elected princi- 
 pal of the Palmetto School in Columbia, which position 
 he resigned at the end of that year. The next year 
 he taught as private tutor. In 1860 he taught a school 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 11 
 
 at St. George's, in the lower section of his native State. 
 This school, a large one, and successfully conducted, 
 he resigned at the end of one year, for the purpose of. 
 devoting himself directly to his law studies ; resigned 
 cheerfully, for teaching had never been to him a con- 
 genial pursuit. From his purpose of professional study 
 he was diverted by circumstances arising at this pe- 
 riod — circumstances that lie in store for the pen of the 
 future historian of our country. Immediately after 
 the secession of South Carolina, the threatening aspect 
 of affairs in Charleston harbor required the presence of 
 additional military forces. A call was made for volun- 
 teers immediately available. Our poet friend attached 
 himself to the Columbia Artillery, the first company 
 called into actual service from that city, and left with it 
 for Charleston, on the 2d of January, 1861. They were 
 at once stationed in Fort Moultrie, near the site of the 
 Fort ISIoultrie of Revolutionary fame. He had part in 
 the firing upon the Star of the West, on the 9th of 
 January — as daring and gallant an act as any in the 
 history of our country. He was promoted during his 
 brief service, for soldiei^ly conduct. On the night of 
 Thursday, January 31, an alarm called the command 
 to arms ; and they stood to their guns during the whole 
 of a damp and disagreeable night. This exposure pro- 
 duced on our young friend a slight chill, attended with 
 fever. For a fortnight he continued indisposed, with- 
 out any very alarming S3'mptoms, partly in the hospital 
 and partly in Charleston. On the 16th he sought his 
 home in Columbia, and there the fever assumed a ty- 
 phoid character, and terminated his life on the morn- 
 
12 II E M U I II N T E S . 
 
 ing of Thursday, February 21 — one of the first victims 
 laid upou the altar of our country in this recent strug- 
 gle for liberty. 
 
 His tlie privilege to give his life to liis country. It 
 was one of liis own patriot dreams. His tlic lot 
 
 "In golden poet dreams to lire, 
 And, ere they fade, to fall." 
 
 III. 
 
 As a poet, he stood very near to Nature, and was 
 wont to listen attentively and sincerely for her voice 
 to set his OAvn to music ; nor listened in vain. 
 
 He loved, beyond all (hings of so-called inanimate 
 nature, the magnificence of the ocean. There was a 
 fa.scination in its wondrous beauty ; a prophecy to his 
 soul in its wondrous utterances. There was a signifi- 
 cance and a life to him in the sweep of distance, the 
 action and energy, the power and solemn loneliness, 
 the great purpose that beamed and throbbed in its 
 mighty wave-pulses. Tlie awe of its great presence 
 sat upon his soul with an autocracy that left no power 
 to rebel. 
 
 Next to the ocean, his passion was the proud moun- 
 tain; Here his emotion was more varied. The haughty 
 brow, the peaceful and distant vale, the wild gorge, the 
 slumbering cove, the dark and silent glen, the hushed 
 recess, the swell and succession of neighboring emi- 
 nences, all bore to his attentive soiil their own peculiar 
 utterances ; all filled, warmed, and elevated his spirit. 
 His varied tourings through our sunny land attached 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 13 
 
 him to many spots ; spots hallowed to his soul by 
 beauty alone, beyond the home-spots his heart clung 
 to ; but of all these shrines of beauty, he clung with 
 most devotion to Coesar's Head. They who have caught 
 the spell of its great presence by seeing its living gran- 
 deur, will understand this loyalty to a scenic throne 
 of beauty. His attachment to this locality was pecu- 
 liar; like a fascination, so beautiful, too, in its pure 
 devotion. 
 
 His soul felt a vitality in all beauty. Freedom, then, 
 was a native characteristic of his intellect also. The 
 flower embodied a thought or a feeling: 
 
 " Lovely are the flowers, 
 
 Seeming almost humanly; 
 Tender, fair, and fragile, 
 Clinging as if womanly." 
 
 He looked with a cold eye upon nothing in nature — 
 nothing that God has made and filled with life; and 
 God is in every thing, from the univercelcstial gran- 
 deurs of astronomy, down to the shapeless pebble that 
 helps receive the rising tide. For him " the smiling 
 buds of spring" "laughed in flowers." The humble 
 flower was dear to him ; for it bore his spirit messages 
 from the great Genius of Beauty. The proud mountain 
 was his favorite haunt ; for its grandeur thundered 
 into his soul's ear great truths of the Eternal in Power. 
 The outer world, in brook, breeze, and moving power 
 everywhere, spoke to his sensitive soul llioir several 
 whisperings of Eternal Love. 
 
 This nearness to nature, and this recognition of her 
 
14 M E M I R N T E S . 
 
 vital nearness to man and to God, gave his soul a tone 
 eminently religious; and this spirit pervades and im- 
 parts its bright spell to much that he has written. It 
 is above and independent of mere form, and, like the 
 vital breath, is the soul's atmosphere, rather than its 
 form of faith. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As a humorist, his vein was incessant. His presence 
 ■was a light wherever it came. Like the gushing char- 
 ity of his heart, it was inexhaustible and constant. 
 Its range, under guide of the most rigid taste, extended 
 from the reckless banter of the wayside — the pun, the 
 quirk, the brilliant repartee — to the polished jewel of 
 wit that would adorn the coronal of a queen of society. 
 
 The Hon. William C. Preston said of him, while yet 
 a boy, "He will be the Rabelais of America." 
 
 The occasional Humor Sketches that he contributed 
 to the periodicals of the day, of which specimens are 
 given in (he present volume, are far from being sam- 
 ples of his living humor. iNIost of these bear marks of 
 haste, adaptation to special occasions and to broader 
 tastes, and for immediate effect, rather than give a fair 
 reflex of the humorous character of the author. The 
 freshness, however, of every thing he wrote, tlie joyous 
 conviviality of tone, the unstudied mirthfulness, the 
 informality, the carelessness, the complete abandon — 
 these tilings tend to disarm literary criticism. "While 
 we must put some literary estimate upon them, we 
 must do so remembering the author's youthfulness, the 
 almost private nature of such productions, and the still 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 15 
 
 raore significant fact that he wrote these things rather 
 to fill a column of broad humor than to meet his OAva 
 ideal of composition. 
 
 V. 
 
 In all his writings — poetical, humorous, political, 
 epistolary, didactic — there is no bitterness. There 
 was no malice in his heart. In his broadest dash of 
 humor there is no gibe to rankle in any human bosom. 
 
 VI. 
 
 From that extreme of unquestioning gladness of style 
 in many of the prose extracts, and in some of the 
 poems, the distance would seem almost infinite to the 
 other extreme of moral sadness. Our friend's finest 
 eflforts lie near the poles of this intervening sphere. 
 This contrast is found nowhere else, we believe, so 
 striking, except, perhaps, in Burns. Our poet, how- 
 ever, did at his immature age more and finer things 
 than Burns had done when several years older ; and 
 Burns lived and wrote fifteen years longer than he. 
 In other things these two were alike — in love of nature, 
 in simplicity and earnestness, in generous trust of 
 friends, in whole-souled cordiality, the passion of pa- 
 triotism, manliness, frankness; 
 
 "A love of right, a scorn of wrong, 
 Of coward and of slave ;" 
 
 in militai'y tastes, and in nationality. 
 
 But we take no pleasure in urging such a compari- 
 son. We would not consent to call our friend the 
 
16 IM E M I R N T E S . 
 
 Burns of America; because it would be an injustice to 
 the cuUui'e, the purit}', and the promise of our frieuJ. 
 Burns at the age of twenty-three had written three 
 pieces that have survived to us ; the other had written 
 all Ihat he was permitted in life to write. 
 
 VII. 
 
 In estimating all that lie has written, his age should 
 be remembered. His career had only liegun. His 
 idea of the poet's mission liad only assumed a definite 
 form when his hand was stilled. The son of a poetess, 
 ho wore the bard-robe a brief term, and laid it aside. 
 His first verses, included in the present volume, were 
 written at the age of sixteen. They were addressed 
 to Miss B,, a Carolina cantah-icc, just then rising into 
 favor and distinction. Virgiu verses, inspired by 
 beauty and music — how appropriate the offering ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oratory was one of his special gifts. In this he 
 early sat at the feet of "the old man eloquent," the 
 Hon. William C. Preston. He was quite as much an 
 orator born as he was a poet. Culture developed both. 
 AVithout culture, both must have been comparatively 
 jniworlcss. This cxamivlo illustrates what I lie whole 
 liistory of mind proves, namely, the nonsense of 
 Cicero's idea, Nascimnr poclir, Jimu.'i orn/nre.s. With 
 equal force, too, would appear the absurdity of the 
 French proverb, Bon po'ete, mauvais Iiommc. 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 17 
 
 IX. 
 
 Whoever will read with us a few pieces in this vol- 
 ume, we deem will agree with us in our estimate of tlie 
 poet's genius. 
 
 If any one fail to feci what malies the "Sunset 
 Prayer" a true poem, no comment by us can ever reach 
 him. In earnest manliness and in vigorous truth, "A 
 IMan dies not till his Work is done," stands among the 
 best poems in our Southern literature. Tliese also arc 
 true poems : " Madeline," "A Wail for the Gifted," and 
 " My Cross." There is a native tenderness touchingly 
 poetic in "Baby is at llest." In playful fancy we 
 know of few things that surpass " To Lily and Flowers," 
 and in sentiment, "How Beauteous is Moonlight," and 
 "Mary." 
 
 Has any other poet in our language, before the ago 
 of twenty-three, produced poems of this range, excel- 
 lence, and finish ? 
 
 X. 
 
 That which is of the earth, earth}', rests in his native 
 city. President Longstreet, in the funeral discourse, 
 beautifully evolved the faith-triumph in this brilliant 
 and brief life. And those who have known him inti- 
 mately these later days; who have read his letters to 
 his family and friends ; who have learned the conver- 
 sations during his last illness ; who have felt and seen 
 the chastened spirit of the once wayward being; Avho, 
 at last, have looked upon the beautiful peace of hjg 
 
18 MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 death-presence ; those, we deem, must feel and believe, 
 with that aged divine, that in his deatli a trusting and 
 accepted soul had been wafted in peace to its God. 
 
 He lias passed back from the severe probation of 
 earth, 
 
 "The chastened spirit to its God, 
 The humble dust to dust." 
 
 lie was buried \Yith military honors, in the burying- 
 ground of the Washington Street Church. A fluted 
 broken column of white marble marks the spot. 
 Around the column above, the sculptor's hand has 
 hung a wreath of flowers, and upon the pedestal lies a 
 single bloom. Beneath this, upon the western side of 
 the quadrangular die, are these words : 
 
 "William Maxwell Martin. Born 4th June, 
 1837. Died 21st Feb., 18G1. 'The first Martyr to 
 Southern Independence.' Ilis death caused by expo- 
 sure in defence of his native State, at Fort Moultrie." 
 
 On the southern side, beneath a banner in basso re- 
 lievo, are these lines : 
 
 " Furl o'er the Poet's grave 
 The banner that he sang." 
 
 On the eastern, is a couplet from his own verses, 
 Avith his initials attached: 
 
 "Severed hearts shall be united 
 
 In that blessed home-land— heaven.— W. M. M." 
 
 On the north, beneath a sculptured lyre, we read : 
 
 "And lay upon his narrow cell 
 The tuneful Lyre he loved so well." 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 19 
 
 The die rests upon a base of dark bro-^vn sandstone. 
 
 Around it are the solemn, silent dead. 
 
 Past it, moves the tide of noisy, struggling life. 
 
 Anear and above it floats the atmosphere of a 
 memory hallowed by earth's purest affection. Foot- 
 steps, led and lighted by love, visit it often ; but oftcncr 
 still do cherishing hearts pilgrim thither. 
 
 J. W. D. 
 
 Columbia, S. C. 
 
IJO ME MO III NOTES. 
 
 OBITUARY NOTICE. 
 
 DT A. B. LOXOSTRKET, D.D., Lt.D., PRESIDENT OF THE SOUTtt 
 CAROUNA COLLEGE. 
 
 AViLMAM Maxwkll Mautin, son of ^Villiam and 
 M.argnrct Martin, hcarls of the Columbia Female 
 College, (lied on the 21 st February last, in the city of 
 Columbia, S. C, in the 24th year of his age. 
 
 lie was a young man of rare endowments. His 
 immediate ancestry in the paternal line were from 
 Mecklenburg county, Nortli Carolina; his great-grand- 
 father, besides other revolulionary services, com- 
 manded a company at "King's Mountain;" in the 
 iiititcrual line, they were from Dumfriesshire, Scotland. 
 The bard who lias iininortalizcd the shire was not hia 
 superior as a poet at his age. In some respects they 
 were alike; in others, (hey differed wiiUly. They 
 were both tender in sentiment, sparkling in wit, and 
 glowing in fancy ; both appreciative of nature in all 
 her aspects ; buth sportive and grave by turns. 
 
 During the funeral obsequies of the deceased, his 
 remains reposed on the spot where ho received the 
 ordinance of baptism in his infancy, and gave his 
 hand to the Church in his early boyhood. Ilis last 
 public address was on " Patriotism, " and the last 
 scene of his life was a beautiful illustration of it. lie 
 was among the fir'^l to volunteer in the service of his 
 State after her second Declaration of Independence. 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 21 
 
 He was assigned to the defence of Fort Moultrie. 
 Here he renewed his covenant with liis Maker; and 
 now, uniting in himself the Christian, the scholar, and 
 the soldier, he discharged his duties to the admiration 
 of every one. Called suddenly from his bed to his 
 gun, upon a raw and chilly niglit, he neglected the 
 proper precaution for shielding his person from the 
 severities of the season. Exposed to them through 
 many hours, he contracted the disease which termi- 
 nated his existence. lie lived to reach tlie paternal 
 roof, leave to his parents the best consolation in their 
 bereavement, and died — the first martyr to Southern 
 Independence. 
 
 EXTRACT OF A LETTER 
 
 FROM THE REV. VM. M. 'WIGnTMAN, D.D., LL.D, PRESIDENT OP THE 
 SOUTHERN UNIVERSITY, FORMERLY PRESIDENT OF M'OFFOKD COLLEGE. 
 
 I coxsiDEEED "William one of the most interesting 
 of all the young men I have known. His intellect 
 was of the first order ; his imagination had the true 
 poetic fire ; his power of application, when he chose 
 to put it fortli, would have placed him in the front 
 rank of the combatants for worldly influence and 
 fame. He could easily have taken the first honor at 
 college had ho striven for it, but, like most men of 
 genius, he disdained the patient toil, the painstaking, 
 plodding industry which so often wins the prize when 
 wrctling against more genius. 1 considered liis min- 
 nieucenicnt speech one of the best I have ever known 
 
22 M E M I R N O T E S . 
 
 produced by a graduating class Purified 
 
 from the frailties of earth, liis exalted powers shall 
 find in eternity a fitting development — a boon denied 
 on earth. 
 
 EDITORIAL OBITUARY NOTICE, 
 
 rr.OM THE TORKVILLE (8. C.) ENQL'IREK, TO WHICU UE WAS COX- 
 TRinUTlNO EDITOR. 
 
 W 1 L L I A M M . >I A 11 T 1 N . 
 
 Our Columbia friend, 'Slv. Jas. "Wood Davidson, 
 sends us a touching and wortliy tribute to the memory 
 of this sunny-hearted child of song, genial and kindly 
 luimorist, and youthful patriot soldier, who died in 
 Columbia on Wednesday night of last "week, from the 
 effects of exposure while at tlie post of duty and 
 danger at Charleston. It is needless for us to add a 
 word to this full and impartial, yet warmly sympa- 
 thetic and appreciative tribute to one whom we had 
 learned to love as a man and adjnire as a genius. But 
 we cannot tear the cherished name from its place 
 above, without striving to give utterance to the sorrow 
 that rolls its heavy tide back upon us at every effort 
 to throw it off. 
 
 Our memory forces us to recall the Chattertons, the 
 Keats, tlio Shelleys, the Drakes, and the Toes of 
 litcratnro, who, 
 
 " liikc the r.ainbow's lovely form, 
 Evanishiu*; amid the storm," 
 
MEMOIRNOTES. 23 
 
 gave us a few glimpses into the universe of unrevcaled 
 beauty, and then exhaled in a fragrant cloud of song 
 to heaven. Alas ! is genius indeed a disease preying 
 upon its possessor, like a worm at the ruddiest flower's 
 heart? Certain it is, the gem is often set in a delicate 
 casket. But we had looked forward for our gifted 
 young friend and literary brother, with undoubting 
 hope, to a long life of continually increasing lustre. 
 The symmetry of his form, the rosy hue of his cheek, 
 and the healthful sparkle of his eye, promised as 
 much. Now, however, the daisies, the violets, and 
 the roses of this spring will bloom above his youthful 
 grave. If South Carolina loses nothing more, she has 
 paid of her richest treasure for the priceless boon of 
 liberty. 
 
 The Carolinian, commenting on his death, remarks : 
 "He is well known as a writer of infinite humor. 
 Some of his contributions, both poetry and prose, 
 evince decided genius. He was a regular contributor 
 to the Yorkville Enquirer, and his death by the readers 
 of that paper will be particulai'ly lamented. He died 
 in the service of the State, and, as a tribute to his 
 memory, his remains will be escorted to their last 
 resting-place this morning with military respect — a 
 detachment of the Artillery Company, honorary mem- 
 bers of the Richland Volunteer Rifle Company, and 
 the Governor's Guards having tendered themselves as 
 an escort." 
 
 The readers of the Enquirer will, we arc sure, feci 
 every word of this that relates to them. His nume- 
 rous prose contributions, chiefly over the familiar 
 
24 MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 signature of "Ruby," carried with them an irresistible 
 charm of wholesoiuc humor and bewitching gayety. 
 And the sweetest singing-bird of the grove might 
 borrow new and sweeter notes from the honeyed 
 music of his poetry. We rejoice to learn that these 
 fugitive emanations — the liistory of a i-adiant, fasci- 
 nating, early-expiring genius — are to be collected and 
 preserved as the embalmment of tlie de^jarted poet's 
 name. 
 
 We had the pleasure of only a short personal 
 acquaintance with Mr. Martin. We met him for the 
 first time — and never afterwards in conversation — in 
 the Convention Ilall at Columbia, on the day when 
 South Carolina resolved upon the action, in the viinli- 
 cation of which he has given his life. Surrounded as 
 we were by many of the noblest spirits of the State, 
 engaged too in a work of intensest interest to us, we 
 were nevertheless irresistibly attracted to him by the 
 atmosphere of artlessness and good nature enfolding 
 him, and the lovely inspiration of his face. We shall 
 therefore cherish his image as we would an ideal — as 
 the impersonation of looks and tones that darted 
 instant sunshine into our heart. And thus we beg to 
 come, with kindred, and friends, and the State, and 
 mingle our sad sympathies with the tears that have 
 fallen from loving eyes over the early grave of the 
 poet, who ** to the good brings the best." 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 25 
 
 EDITORIAL OBITUARY NOTICE, 
 
 PROM THE CONSERVATIST. 
 DEATH OF WILLIA1\I M. MARTIN. 
 
 It was with unaffected sorrow that we read the sub- 
 joined solemn announcement of the South Carolinian. 
 Mr. Martin was a young man of brilliant parts and of 
 high social qualities. Sincere and devoted in his 
 friendships, he had attached to himself many warm 
 friends tbroughout the State, who appreciated his 
 merits and admired his talents. Among the many 
 young men in South Carolina eager to serve her in this 
 day of her trial, no one is more willing cheerfully to 
 sacrifice life and all else on the altar of his country, 
 than was William M. Martin. Yielding to patriotic 
 impulses, he intended to exchange for a time the pen 
 for the sword ; but, alas for the uncertainty of human 
 expectations, his hands are now laid cold in death, 
 and never more will he wield with his uncommon 
 grace that which is "mightier than the sword." It 
 was in the exposure of the soldier, as we learn, that 
 he contracted the disease that terminated in his un- 
 timely death. In the number of papers and periodicals 
 in the State whose columns his writings graced, we 
 were always glad the Conservatist was one. Our 
 readers have at different times i-ead and enjoyed, with 
 real pleasure, his entertaining communications ; and 
 now that he is no more, and his body is borne to its 
 last resting-place, they will join us in this feeble 
 tribute to perished talent and departed worth. 
 
2G MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF W. M. MARTIN, 
 BY PROFESSOR J. L. REYNOLDS, D.D., OF THE SOUTH CAROLINA COLLEGE. 
 
 Weep for the early dead, 
 
 Tlie funeral wail prolong 
 For him too quickly sped, 
 
 The gifted child of song; 
 And lay upon his narrow cell 
 The tuneful lyre he loved so well. 
 
 Furl o'er the poet's grave 
 
 The banner that he sang, 
 In strains that shook the wave. 
 
 And o'er the mountain rang ; 
 And hang upon the cypress there 
 His stainless sword, and helm, and spear. 
 
 Blest be the warrior bard, 
 
 Whose love is still the same, 
 Ilis country's homes to guard, 
 
 Or celebrate her fame ; 
 Warmed by the same celestial fire, 
 He draws the sword or strikes the lyre. 
 
 Alas ! the rainbow hues 
 
 That arched his early years, 
 Transformed to clouds, diffuse 
 
 In showers of falling tears ; 
 And he has won a warrior's crown. 
 For whom we craved a bard's renown. 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 27 
 
 Not where fierce squadrons wheel 
 
 Upon the ensanguined sod, 
 Amid the clash of steel, 
 
 He gave his soul to God ; 
 But sheltered in the parent-nest, 
 The wearied bird of song found rest. 
 
 Weep not the poet dead ; 
 
 Faith whispers, '* It is well ;" 
 While round his lowly bed 
 
 Hope's fragrant blossoms swell ; 
 And he who life's dark mazes trod, 
 Now sleeps in Christ, and rests with God. 
 
 THE POET'S GRAVE. 
 
 BY PROFESSOR J. I,. REYNOLDS, D.D., OF THE SOUTH CAROLINA COLLEGE. 
 
 I GAZED upon the poet's grave, as closed the funeral 
 
 day; 
 The armed array, the virgin train, the throng had 
 
 passed away ; 
 And from the temple's sombre walls, the shadows, 
 
 dark and chill, 
 Fell lengthening o'er the churchyard sward, and all 
 
 was calm and still. 
 
 All still, save that the dripping dew, as drop by drop 
 
 it fell 
 From leaf to leaf, with tinkling tone, rang out a quiet 
 
 knell, 
 
28 MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 And trickled ou the silent stone wliicli marks the 
 
 stadium's bound, 
 Where life's spent coursers reach the goal, and rest 
 
 from toil is found. 
 
 The night wore on, the moon looked down, with aspect 
 
 sad and mild, 
 And lit up every dewdrop there, to deck the Muses' 
 
 child ; 
 For she had heard his votive Ij're, and caught the 
 
 lofty strain 
 Which hailed her as the queen of night amid her 
 
 starry train. 
 
 Mcthought I heard a distant wail, a faintly uttered 
 
 dirge, 
 And from the dusky shadows saw a funeral train 
 
 emerge ; 
 Such plaintive notes, so sweetly sad, such mourning 
 
 train, I ween, 
 No mortal ear hath ever heard, no mortal eye hath 
 
 seen. 
 
 First came a troop of fairies armed, and clad in 
 
 corselets bright, 
 With burnished helms, and shields, and spears, that 
 
 flashed with quivering light ; 
 The guardsmen of the tiny flowers, with slow and 
 
 measured tread, 
 And drooping flng an<l nrmn reversed, closed round the 
 
 poet dead. 
 
M E M O I E, N O T E S . 29 
 
 In order next passed slowly on the feathered minstrel 
 
 choir, 
 With staid and solemn mien they marched, in sable, 
 
 sad attire ; 
 Bereft of him their favorite bard, forlorn and desolate. 
 They mourn their brother minstrel's loss, their own 
 
 unhappy fate. 
 
 Next came a band of beauteous flowers, the poet's 
 
 young compeers. 
 And, sighing, hung their drooping heads besprent with 
 
 dewy tears ; 
 The playmates of his sunny youth, their rich and rare 
 
 perfume 
 Brought forth, with verdant wreaths, to dress their 
 
 faded laureate's tomb. 
 
 From gurgling fount and rippling stream, from vale 
 
 and mountain side. 
 From nook and dell, all o'er the land his muse had 
 
 glorified, 
 The dryads and the oreads came, the nymphs of wood 
 
 and wave, 
 Came flocking on to chant the dirge around their 
 
 poet's grave. 
 
 Borne in their trembling hands I saw the dark funereal 
 
 yew. 
 The weeping willow's (railing bough?, the cypress' 
 
 mournful hue : 
 
30 MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 Emblems of this our mortal state, memorials of the 
 
 doom 
 That garners with the ripened sheaf the bud's unfold- 
 
 iug bloom. 
 
 The seasons came: pale Autumn, clad in robes of 
 
 russet brown, 
 And Winter, with his withered leaves, and dripping, 
 
 icy crown ; 
 Next, gentle Spring, with seeds and bulbs, to plant 
 
 the mound with flowers, 
 And Summer, with her golden fruits, and tears instead 
 
 of showers. 
 
 Then, in the long procession, moved the beautiful and 
 
 young. 
 The loved and loving gentle ones the youthful bard 
 
 had sung ; 
 And they whose bruised hearts had known his sweetly 
 
 soothing lay, 
 Were gathered there to weep their loss, and grateful 
 
 homage pay. 
 
 The "golden curls" of ** little Lou" lay wet upon her 
 cheek ; 
 
 Poor "little Mae" and "lovely Rose" for weeping 
 could not speak ; 
 
 While "fair-haired Mary," "Katie Blair," and sor- 
 rowful "Lenorc" 
 
 Caught the sad plaint of "Natalie," and sighed, "0, 
 nevermore." 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 31 
 
 With downcast cj^es and heaying breast, the -wayworn 
 " Stranger" passed, 
 
 And "Lily," in her guileless youth, her tear-drops 
 falling fast ; 
 
 While, drooping in her voiceless woe, appeared the 
 saintly mien 
 
 Of her, the queenliest of the fair, the sweet "Evan- 
 geline." 
 
 Within the churchyard's open gate the ranks of 
 
 mourners pressed, 
 And, closing round the dewy turf where lay the bard 
 
 at rest, 
 The requiem sang, in strains so sad, so sweet beyond 
 
 compare, 
 The angels must have stooped to hear, and linger 
 
 listening there. 
 
 Perchance, they lent their minstrelsy, for when I gazed 
 
 on high, 
 Methought I saw their jewelled wings flash through 
 
 the parted sky ; 
 Entranced I gazed ; then turned to view the poet's 
 
 sleeping bed — 
 The chant had ceased, the mourners gone, the gorgeous 
 
 vision fled. 
 
32 : MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 laj\ient for ruby. 
 
 TiiK funeral rites arc done, 
 And, like Ihc setting sun, 
 
 Thy gentle mem'ry lingers in the breast; 
 As when the rosy day 
 Passes in light away 
 
 From yonder west. 
 
 A star from Heaven fell down, 
 That with its radiant crown 
 
 Illumed the night: 
 Darkness and ashes now 
 Sit where its shining brow 
 
 Glittered in light. 
 
 A harp has ceased its flow, 
 That in the long ago 
 
 Poured forth yEolian strains : 
 Silence is where its lay 
 Rose like the rising day 
 
 O'er these bright plains. 
 
 We mourn thy early doom, 
 And by tliy quiet tomb 
 
 The violets wreathe : 
 Roses beside the spot 
 Whisper, ''Forget me not," 
 
 And wild flowers breathe. 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 33 
 
 And the low summer breeze, 
 Murmuring upon the leas, 
 
 Mourns thy sad fall. 
 All — all — is over now, 
 The sunshine of thy brow 
 
 Beneath the pall. 
 
 EsTELLE (Miss TuoMrsON). 
 Greenville, S. C, Feb. 27. 
 
 WILLIAM MAXWELL MARTIN. 
 
 We mourn thee a bard, a patriot gone, 
 
 A fair child of genius, a loved spirit flown, 
 
 The young heart so buoyant witli life and with glee, 
 
 The withered hopes buried for ever with thee. 
 
 The harp which on earth was attuned to thy songs, 
 Is exchanged for the harp which to seraphs belongs ; 
 And the scenes of this world, so dark and so drear. 
 Have been left for a brighter, a glorious sphere. 
 
 Though great is our loss, yet greater thy gain — 
 Thou'lt suffer no more in sorrow or pain — 
 The ancients, prophetic, were right when they sung. 
 That "whom the gods love, are doomed to die 
 young." 
 
34 MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 Yet sadly wc grieve, and aflfection's tears flow — 
 For nature is weak and o'erburdened with woe — 
 But tics which on earth are so painfully riven, 
 Will be reunited more firmly in heaven. 
 
 While sorrowing hearts were surrounding thy bier, 
 And thy requiem mournfully fell on the ear, 
 Hope murmured, "Sleep on! sleep on!" in the rest 
 Prepared for the saints in the home of the blest. 
 
 M. C. P. 
 
 THOUGHTS OF ONE ON THE THIRTEENTH OF 
 APRIL. 
 
 Low and lonely 
 
 Lieth he, this gala day ; 
 He that only 
 
 For this longer wished to stay,* 
 To behold it 
 When fame told it 
 
 Freedom's, with her proudest lay. 
 
 Ere our flag waved 
 
 On our own Fort Sumter's wall, 
 lie had death braved, 
 
 lie had freely ventured all, 
 
 * In his last conversation with his father, he said that al- 
 though entirely resigned to death, and ready, he believed, 
 through the mercy of Christ, to meet it, yet he desired, if con- 
 sistent with God's will, to live long enough to see how things 
 would go on at Fort Moultrie. 
 
MEMOIR NOTES. 35 
 
 To behold it, 
 Free, unfolded, 
 
 Waving from yon flag-staff tall. 
 
 There 'tis floating, 
 
 0, how glorious and free ! 
 As denoting 
 
 Light, and life, and liberty. 
 But ah ! never 
 Shall he ever 
 
 That much longed-for sight now see. 
 
 Bells are ringing ; 
 
 Cannon's boomings rend the air : 
 Lightning's bringing 
 
 News of joy for all to share. 
 Him it wakes not ; 
 Ah, it breaks not 
 
 On his now impervious ear. 
 
 Once he'd heard it 
 
 With the eagerest of them all, 
 AVhen he girded 
 
 On his sword, at Freedom's call, 
 And his life gave 
 To the strife brave ; 
 
 Then at duty's post did fall. 
 
 Seems the shouting, 
 
 As it comes so loud and near, 
 
36 MEMOIR NOTES. 
 
 As 'twere flouting 
 
 The poor weeping mourner's tear ? 
 No ! no ! never ! 
 For, for ever 
 
 'Twill be as his requiem <lcar. 
 
 Joy and gladness 
 
 For the battle bravely won ! 
 And no sadness 
 
 For the brave young soldier gone : 
 Trump and tabor, 
 Sound ! His labor 
 
 Is rewarded, and is done. M. M. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 37 
 
 l^m^ 
 
 THE SUNSET PRAYER. 
 
 The gold-crustecl gates of the purple-hung West 
 Have oped to receive the Day-God to his rest ; 
 While the handmaids of Thetis, who blushingly wait 
 To welcome the monarch with songs at the gate, 
 Robed in soft silken C3'mars of roseate hue, 
 Are preparing to scatter the diamond-like dew. 
 
 'Tis a calm Sabbath eve, and a breeze softly blows, 
 Perfumed with the breath of a newly-born rose. 
 And the envoy of night, in her mantle of gray, 
 Comes on, while a bird chants a dirge o'er the day. 
 
 From their homes in the heavens, the stars, as they 
 
 rise, 
 Look down to the earth with their bright loving eyes, 
 And bright loving ej'es too look up /rom the cartli, 
 And woo the sweet stars till they twinkle with mirth. 
 
38 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The Queen of the night-time — the silver-crowned 
 
 Queen — 
 Sends her heralding raylets to lighten the scene, 
 And the spectre-like forms of the Oak-tree and Pine 
 Glide silently forth, and tlieir weird arms entwine. 
 
 There's a fairy-like music which comes through the 
 
 trees, 
 And the murmur of waters is l)orne on the breeze, 
 And sings to my soul the sweet anthems of streams, 
 Like the mystical music heard only in dreams; 
 And to mortals a soul-filling draught is once given 
 Of love and of beauty — a foretaste of heaven. 
 
 And now, all regardless, forgetful, of earth — 
 
 Of its pleasures or woes, of its sorrows or mirth, 
 
 Of its triumphs of Science, its glories of Art, 
 
 K prayer would well up from the depths of my heart; 
 
 I'd pray the great Father of Goodness and Truth 
 
 To pardon the wild wayward errors of youth, 
 
 To bring back the Hope of the blest days of yore. 
 
 And give me the Faitli of my boj'hood once more. 
 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 Flowers are but sunbeams. 
 Prisoned in fair chalices. 
 
 Finer far than rubies 
 Glowing in rich palaces. 
 
LYINGS AND SKETCHES. 39 
 
 Dewy drops have lent them 
 Diamonds from their treasury, 
 
 But they kiss the flowers 
 Till they're paid with usury. 
 
 Evening stars have wooed them 
 
 Peeping forth so cheerily, 
 Till their bells, the flowers, 
 
 All were ringing merrily. 
 
 Breezes oft have kissed them. 
 
 Passing by so airily ; 
 Summer showers refreshed them, 
 
 Drooping down so wearily. 
 
 Lovely are the flowers, 
 
 Seeming almost humanly ; 
 Tender, fair, and fragile. 
 
 Clinging as if womanly. 
 
 LITTLE MAE. 
 
 Flitting through the passage-way. 
 Smiling sweetly, bright and gay. 
 Stepping lightly, little Mae 
 Came and stole my heart away. 
 
40 LYRICS AND SKETCHES, 
 
 Roses bloom upon lior check 
 Under eyes demurely meek ; 
 But I never dare to seek 
 To gather roses from her cheek ; 
 
 E'en the thought would make them bloom 
 Blusliing crimson ; quick they'd come 
 Crowding, till there was not room 
 For another rose to bloom. 
 
 She has tender violet eyes, 
 Where in ambush Cupid lies, 
 Whence he issues to surprise 
 Me, when gazing in those eyes ; 
 
 And they beam with radiant light, 
 As do stars on summer's night; 
 Still retaining pure and bright 
 Gleams they caught from heavenly light. 
 
 Lilies blossom on her brow 
 Tare as is the driven snow, 
 White as angel robes they blow 
 On her clasi^ic marble broAV ; 
 
 Down her neck so soft and lair, 
 On her bosom, they are there, 
 Gleaming on her shoulders bare 
 Arc the lilies pure and fair. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 41 
 
 Every flower that blooms in May, 
 Where the fairies love to play 
 Till they fly the coming day, 
 Joins to deck my lovely Mae. 
 
 Flitting through the passage-way, 
 Smiling sweetly, bright and gay. 
 Stepping lightly, little Mae 
 Came and stole my heart away. 
 
 WHAT IS WOMAN? 
 
 What is woman ? Not a bauble, 
 
 Lightly to be toyed and played with ; 
 
 But a partner of man's bosom. 
 Whom he goes through light and shade with. 
 
 What is woman ? Not the creature 
 
 Of a day or joyous hour, 
 But a sunbeam brightly gleaming. 
 
 When the darkest tempests lower. 
 
 What is woman ? Not the being 
 
 Of to-day or of to-morrow. 
 But through life the patient sharer 
 
 Of man's sunshine, of man's sorrow. 
 2 
 
42 LYRICS AND SKETCUES. 
 
 What is woman? A fair flower 
 
 AVlioin our gracious God batli planted 
 
 In this beauteous earthly garden, 
 Till in liis own palace wanted. 
 
 What is woman ? Hark I the angels 
 Come their choral anthem singing, 
 
 Wlnlc the golden bells of heaven 
 
 Loud their joyous chimes are ringing. 
 
 Thus they're singing : " She's an angel, 
 Sent to man from God above him, 
 
 From the shining courts of glory, 
 And her mission was to love him." 
 
 THE COLONEL. 
 
 He lay stretched out on an old pine log, 
 
 By his one-eyed horse and his bob-tail dog ; 
 
 And his breeches were showing by many a rent 
 
 That their lease, though a long one, was almost spent. 
 
 And as real estate you might class his shirt, 
 
 For its cotton was long since buried in dirt ; 
 
 And the brim of his broad-brimmed beaver was 
 
 gnawed, 
 But it was broad-brimmed still, for the brim was 
 
 a-hroad. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 43 
 
 The rays of the sun were pouring down 
 On the place where his hat should have had a crown. 
 With emotions of pity I drew near his bed, 
 And, gently to wake him, I punched at his head 
 With the point of my fishing-rod ten feet long — 
 For, you see, the Colonel was burly and strong ; 
 And as he turned over he slipped off the log, 
 And fell on the back of his curtailed dog. 
 
 The quadruped howled, the biped bawled, 
 Then lazily back to his bed he crawled. 
 "Awake, thou who sleepest — awake thee!" I cried : 
 "0, man, while thou slumberest, is passing the tide, 
 Which, taken when rising, will bear thee to fame — 
 AVill lead thee to fortune — will gain thee a name." 
 He grunted out something, perhaps 'twas a damn, 
 And said, *'Not so drunk as you think I am." 
 
 He winked his eye and he scratched his head. 
 And (omitting the oaths) this is what he said : 
 "Hello, Squire's that you? Did you think I was 
 
 drunk 
 Because I lay here on this old pine's trunk ? 
 A greater mistake, sir, you never have made — 
 I only was waiting to make a hoss-trade ; 
 Old Shepherd will come here, and thinking me slung, 
 I'll take him for fifty, or may I be hung." 
 
 I left him there on his old pine log, 
 
 By his one-eyed horse and his bob-tail dog, 
 
44 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And I thought to myself, as I sauntered away, 
 
 How many are sleeping and losing the day, 
 
 As we think. But not so, for if they do sleep, 
 
 'Tis only with one eye — the other doth peep ; 
 
 In a moment they're ready, with might and with main, 
 
 To seize the occasion, some profit to gain. 
 
 NOT WORTHY OF HER. 
 
 WoRTUY of her ? Poor girl, 
 With all her wealth and pride 
 
 So poor, a pauper's son 
 
 Might scorn her as his bride. 
 
 Worthy of her? *' Ding, dong," 
 1 hear the vendue bell ; 
 
 The crier calls, " yes! 
 A likely girl to sell!" 
 
 Worthy of her ? No, no. 
 My purse is all too slim ; 
 
 See lordly Dives there — 
 
 They'll knock her off to him. 
 
 Worthy of her ? Let her 
 Dare to my height aspire, 
 
 Like Danao she'd die, 
 Burnt by immortal fire. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 45 
 
 Worthy of her? Thank God, 
 
 I proudly answer, " No ! 
 Worthy of her ? Not I, 
 
 I cannot stoop so low.'^ 
 
 TO MISS BRENAN. 
 
 (the author's first poem, written in 1853.) 
 
 Thy voice, whenever heard by me, 
 
 Sent an electric thrill. 
 Which with the sweetest melody 
 
 My longing soul did fill. 
 
 Its brilliant burst of harmony 
 Did every sense o'erpower, 
 
 Nor heeded we the flight of time, 
 Nor marked the passing hour. 
 
 My spirits thou wouldst tranquillize 
 With sweet and simple song, 
 
 With strain seraphic seldom given 
 To any mortal tongue. 
 
 Music can charm the savage beasts, 
 And make the woods obey ; 
 
 It leads the mountains, and the course 
 Of rivers doth delay. 
 
46 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Since thou hast music at th}' Avill, 
 Thou hast fai- greater miglit 
 
 Than potent kings or conquerors 
 Victorious in the fight. 
 
 We all must say of thee, whene'er 
 Thy sweet voice wc have heard, 
 
 Let otliers liave tlicir nightingales, 
 We have ^^ our mocking-hird.^\ 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Is there a spot of earth 
 
 Better than all other, 
 "Whore fairest flowers bloom 
 
 Fairer than all other, 
 Where friends are round the hearth 
 
 Dearer than all other ? 
 There is ! It is my home, 
 
 Sweeter than all other. 
 
 Is there a land where stars, 
 
 Brighter than all other. 
 Shine from the heavenly dome, 
 
 Clearer than all other, 
 Wlience pleasure drives all cares 
 
 Farther than all other ? 
 There is ! It is my home, 
 
 Sweeter than all other. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 47 
 
 Is there a place I love 
 
 Better than all other, 
 Whence I would never roam, 
 
 Roam to seek another, 
 Where hearts' affections move 
 
 Stronger than all other ? 
 There is ! It is my home, 
 
 Sweeter than all other. 
 
 AS A GOOD MAN DIES. 
 
 'Tis grand to die as a good man dies. 
 When the fight has been fought, and the battle is won, 
 And great deeds of daring have bravely been done ; 
 When glory's bright halo encircles his name. 
 And the hero lies down on the death-bed of fame, 
 'Tis glorious to die. More glorious by far 
 When the soldier who valiantly strives in the war 
 'Gainst the armies of sin, and the cohorts of hell. 
 Who fights the good battle both bravely and well, 
 Is called by his Captain to rest from his toil — 
 From the troubles of earth, from its cares and turmoil, 
 And hears the earned plaudit, " Good servant, well 
 
 done ; 
 Ascend and receive the reward thou hast won." 
 O he is the hero who conquers the king 
 Whose throne is the grave, and whose sceptre the 
 
 sting 
 
48 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 He tears from his grasp ; and the sorrows and gloom 
 
 And terrors which dai'kly encircle the tomb, 
 
 Are driven away by the God-given light 
 
 "Which gleams through the darkness all radiant and 
 
 bright, 
 And his pathway illumes with the glorious rays 
 Which beam from the face of the Ancient of Days. 
 
 And the prize which the good man gains ! 
 
 0, 'tis not a laurel crown fading away, 
 
 Whose verdure remains and is fresh but a day ; 
 
 But a wreath amaranthine, all fadeless and bright, 
 
 Whose flowers gain beauty from heaven's own light; 
 
 And fresher they bloom, as their petals they lave 
 
 In the river of life, 'neath its crystalline wave. 
 
 'tis not a coronet sparkling with gems. 
 
 As are worn by earth's princes in rich diadems ; 
 
 But a crown of bright stars which in radiance outshine 
 
 The purest of diamonds from Golconda's mine ; 
 
 And its gems are good deeds which were secretly done, 
 
 And brighter they beam than the rays of the sun. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 49 
 
 LEGEND OF L'ESPIRITU SANTO. 
 
 There has been discovered, lately, a flower in the shape of 
 a dove. Its wings are of a beautiful light purple, and the body 
 pure white. 
 
 "And, lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the 
 Spirit of God descending hke a dove and lighting upon him." 
 Matt. iii. 16. _ 
 
 To the Jordan, swiftly flowing, 
 Jesus came, and, meekly bowing, 
 
 Stepped into the watery flood : 
 From the lieayens widely rending, 
 Came a pure white dove descending. 
 
 Lighting on the Son of God. 
 
 By the Jordan swiftly flowing, 
 Soon was seen a floweret growing — 
 
 Witness of this great event ; 
 Pictured on the snowy bosom 
 Of that fair and fragile blossom, 
 
 AVas the dove from heaven sent. 
 
 A MAN DIES NOT TILL HIS WORK IS DONE. 
 
 Let Azrael* come at early morn, 
 
 When the day is just begun, 
 Or come at the evening's close — a man 
 
 Dies not till his work is done. 
 
 ♦ The Death Angel. 
 
60 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Let his name be sung in marble halls 
 By Fame, in her loudest tone, 
 
 Or let him dwell in the pauper's hut, 
 Uncared for, and all unknown. 
 
 Or let him fight for truth and the right, 
 
 And die as a hero dies, 
 And live again in the hearts of men. 
 
 As saints to their heaven arise. 
 
 Or let him strive in the wrong to hide, 
 With error's dark cloud, truth's sun, 
 
 The avenging sword suspends its blow : 
 He lives till his work is done. 
 
 Then sorrow not for the budding rose 
 Death's frost has withered soon. 
 
 And grieve ye not for the ripened stalk 
 Which the reaper cut at noon. 
 
 And tremble not at the cannon's roar, 
 Though thousands around you fall ; 
 
 Nor fear the breath of the venomed plague 
 When you go at duty's call ; 
 
 And fearlessly go mid the Arctic cold. 
 And hent of the Southern sun ; 
 
 For the might of death can ne'er prevail 
 O'er man, till hia work ie done. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 51 
 
 And the man lives long who does his best 
 For those whom he dwells among ; 
 
 But he who lives for an hundred years, 
 If he docs no good, dies young. 
 
 MY CROSS. 
 
 " Why do 5'ou wear that cross ? Are j'on a Catholic ?" 
 "Yes, lady, I am a Catholic, hut not a Papist." 
 
 Lady, I am a Catholic : 
 
 1 do believe one triune God — 
 
 The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
 I know there is one holy Church, 
 
 Blood-bought, and founded on a Rock. 
 
 The gates of hell shall not prevail 
 
 To cause its overthrow ; a Church 
 
 Which no one sect will ever be. 
 
 The members of that Church are they 
 
 Who are true followers of Christ ; 
 
 Who are in love and charity 
 
 With all their fellow-men ; who fear 
 
 Their God with love, and love with fear ; 
 
 Who do their duty day by day. 
 
 Such are its members, by what name 
 
 Soever they be called. And this. 
 
 This is the Holy Catholic Church. 
 
 Its hope is hung upon the cross 
 Whereon our blessed Christ was slain ; 
 
52 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Its only chrism is in the blood 
 
 Of Him who died to save. No rules, 
 
 Or forms, or ceremonial rites. 
 
 Are its essentials : faith alone 
 
 In the Anointed crucified. 
 
 Not minster's spires and pinnacles, 
 
 Nor high cathedral's vaulted dome. 
 
 Alone contain its sacraments, 
 
 Nor are its altars only there ; 
 
 But where'er Faith, Hope, Charity, 
 
 Have made their homes in human breast, 
 
 And by their fruits give evidence 
 
 Of their indwelling ; and where'er 
 
 Man best evinces love to God 
 
 By love unto his fellow-man ; 
 
 Where'er, with simple, honest heart. 
 
 The God revealed is worshipped, there. 
 
 There is the Holy Catholic Church. 
 
 And like some glorious beacon-light, 
 Which gleams upon the troublous sea. 
 And comfort brings, and hope of home, 
 Unto the sea-worn mariner ; 
 Like some grand pyramid, whose top 
 Cuts through the thunder-laden clouds, 
 And wears a crown upon its head, 
 An aureole of electric fires. 
 Which shines afar with golden light 
 Upon the Simoon-driven sands. 
 And lights the wayworn wanderer ; 
 
LYEICS AND SKETCHES. 53 
 
 Such is the cross, the Christian's hope, 
 The blessed cross, the stay of life, 
 The hope in death, that blood-stained cross, 
 The glorious cross of Calvary ! 
 
 Lady, this cross upon my breast 
 
 Was once a curl of silken hair. 
 
 Upon a brow as purely fair 
 As thine, where wreaths of lilies rest. 
 
 It was a festal, gala night. 
 
 And fairest of the throng was seen. 
 With roses crowned, Evangeline, 
 
 Enhaloed with youth's rosy light ! 
 
 Ah ! well do I remember now 
 
 Each joyous word my love would speak, ' 
 Each blush-rose crimsoning her cheek, 
 
 Contrasting with her marble brow ! 
 
 And that soft curl she gave to me, 
 
 That silken tress of bright brown hair. 
 Than diamond wealth of kings more dear, 
 
 Might well a monarch's ransom be. 
 
 Ah well ! she was too fair for earth ! 
 Such beauty blooms in heaven alone, 
 Beside the Master's great white thi'one, 
 
 Where Love and Beauty have their birth. 
 
54 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 God called lier home : our hearts were riven ; 
 
 Our joys and laughter all were stilled; 
 
 There was a place could not be filled ; 
 One angel more was gained in heaven ! 
 
 I wear this cross : when wildly rave 
 My passions— when they fill my breast 
 With dark despair — it bids me rest, 
 
 By faith in Him who died to save. 
 
 It is my talisman, more dear 
 
 Than coronet or carcanet ; 
 
 It is a precious amulet, 
 To guard me from the tempter's snare. 
 
 The cross my sign of hope shall be 
 
 Through life ; and when my failing breath 
 Forewarns the awful night of death, 
 
 Its blessed light shall beam on me ! 
 
 That light my beacon-light shall be ; 
 Its radiance shall dispel the gloom 
 Which hovers darkly o'er the tomb : 
 
 That light first shone on Calvary ! 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 55 
 
 THE CROSS. 
 
 The Cross ! the blessed Cross ! 
 
 The sign of hope ! 
 
 when I grope 
 
 Through clouds of life, 
 
 Turmoil and strife, 
 Before its light may shadows flee, 
 That light first shone on Calvary. 
 
 The Cross ! the blessed Cross ! 
 
 The stay of life ! 
 
 When cares are rife, 
 
 When storms assail, 
 
 And foes prevail, 
 may its light illumine me, 
 That light first shone on Calvary. 
 
 The Cross ! the blessed Cross ! 
 
 The hope in death ! 
 
 When gasping breath 
 
 And failing sight 
 
 Forewarn death's night, 
 may its light my beacon be, 
 That light first shone on Calvaiy. 
 
56 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 WHEN THE SHADES OF EVE ARE FALLING. 
 
 When the shades of eye are falling, 
 Memory often is recalling 
 
 Names and faces dear to me ; 
 From my heart I banish sadness ; 
 Then with mirth and joy and gladness, 
 
 Dearest maid, I think of thee. 
 
 When the Sabbath bells are ringing, 
 When the joyous birds are singing 
 
 Merrily from every tree ; 
 When the glorious sun at morning 
 Comes "with light, the world adorning, 
 
 Maiden, oft I sing of thee. 
 
 When I rest in peaceful slumber, 
 From the dream-land, without number, 
 
 Lovely visions oft I see ; 
 But of all these forms, the fairest 
 Thou art, maiden, and the dearest : 
 
 Maiden, oft I dream of thee. 
 
 When, before the God of heaven, 
 By whose grace my life was given. 
 
 Solemnly I bow the knee ; 
 When I pray for all who love me, 
 To the gracious God above me, 
 
 Dearest maid, I pray for thee. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 57 
 
 IS THERE Al wave? 
 
 God ! is there a wave 
 Whose waters never bring 
 Remembrance, as they sing, 
 
 Or as they lave ? 
 
 • 
 for that Lethean wave ! 
 0, could I but forget, 
 I might be happy yet, 
 
 This side the grave ! 
 
 for that Lethean wave ! 
 There is a blessed flood 
 Whose fountain is His blood 
 
 Who died to save ! 
 
 And pardon's in that wave; 
 But not Oblivion blest : 
 So here, in wild unrest, 
 
 1 live and rave. 
 
58 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 LITTLE LOU. 
 
 Sweetly and brightly 
 
 Lived little Lou ; 
 Briglitly and sweetly, 
 
 Lovely she grew ; 
 Golden curls shaded 
 
 Eyes that were blue. 
 
 Roses and song-birds 
 
 Greeted her birth ; 
 Song-birds and roses 
 
 Joined in our mirth ; 
 Lightly when brightly 
 
 She came to earth. 
 
 Chilly and dreary 
 
 Earth now had grown ; 
 Dreary and chilly 
 
 Winter had blown ; 
 When Death, the King, came, 
 
 Called her his own. 
 
 Calmly and coldly 
 
 She takes her rest ; 
 Coldly and calmly 
 
 All whitely dressed ; 
 With her hands folded 
 
 On her pure breast. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 59 
 
 Kindly and softly 
 
 Now lay her low ; 
 Softly and kindly 
 
 Where daisies grow ; 
 Close by the river 
 
 Where waters flow. 
 
 Loving and living 
 
 With her was one ; 
 Living and loving, 
 
 Now life is done ; 
 She lives in heaven, where 
 
 Love reigns alone. 
 
 KATIE BLAIR. 
 
 Katie Blair has golden tresses ; 
 Katie has no silken dresses, 
 But she has a laughing eye, 
 And I pray you look away 
 As you pass my Katie by, 
 For come arrows from her eye, 
 Wounding careless passers-by ; 
 
 And wondrous fair 
 
 Is Katie Blair, 
 
 With golden hair. 
 Katie has no gems of art, 
 But she has a loviug heart. 
 
60 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Katie Blair, among the flowers, 
 
 Where the vines are wreathed in bowers, 
 
 Where she hears the mocking-bird, 
 
 Loves to play the live-long day ; 
 
 And her singing I have heard 
 
 Sweeter far than any bird 
 
 Or music I have ever heard. 
 
 very dear 
 
 Is Katie Blair, 
 
 With golden hair. 
 Katie has no shining gold, 
 But her worth can ne'er be told. 
 
 Katie loves to wander, roaming 
 In the evening, when the gloaming 
 Comes the envoy of the night ; 
 Wraps the day in cerements gray ; 
 iFar more lovely, far more bright 
 Even than the stars of night. 
 Are my Katie's eyes so bright. 
 
 none compare 
 
 With Katie Blair, 
 
 With golden hair. 
 Katie has no diamonds rare, 
 But a wealth of golden hair. 
 
 Katie walks with me together, 
 Sits beside me on the heather, 
 Where the peeping daisies hide ; 
 Turns away whene'er I say. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 61 
 
 <* Katie, will you be my bride ?" 
 Tries her blushes soft to hide, 
 When she says she'll be my bride. 
 
 when I am near 
 
 To Katie Blair, 
 
 "With golden hair, 
 Then I feel there's kindly given 
 To my soul foretaste of heaven. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Mary ! of all names the dearest ; 
 Maiden, of all maids the fairest ; 
 There's a music from the bells 
 Of lilies and of asphodels ; 
 Softly, lightly, faint it rings. 
 And the listening love-bird sings 
 While the earth the moonbeams kiss ; 
 What he sweetly sings is this : 
 * ' Mary, though thy fortunes vary, 
 Still thou wilt be lovely— Mary." 
 
 Mary ! of all names the dearest ; 
 Maiden, of all maids the fairest ; 
 Dearest, thou art known above 
 In heaven, where the angels love 
 E'er to hymn their lightest lays 
 Chanting holy Mary's praise 
 
62 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 In their blessed homes of bliss. 
 What they sweetly sing is this : 
 "Mary, thou canst never vary, 
 Thou art pure and holy — Mary." 
 
 Mary ! of all names the dearest ; 
 
 Maiden, of all maids the fairest ; 
 
 In my childhood I have played 
 
 With a little fair-haired maid ; 
 
 'Neath the jessamine I sung, 
 
 When we both were blithe and young ; 
 
 When I'd slyly steal a kiss, 
 
 What I softly sung was this : 
 
 " Mary, / can never vary, 
 
 Be thou true and faithful — Mary." 
 
 CARPE DIEM. 
 
 (LA BELLE JUIVE.) 
 
 While yet youth's garlands wreathe thy brow. 
 And life is full of hope, fair maid, 
 
 0, gather, gather roses now. 
 Before their bloom shall fade. 
 
 While yet joy's wine-cup sparkleth bright, 
 E'en as the glance of thy dark eye, 
 
 0, drain it, drain it ; laughing light, 
 Before it passeth by. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Forget that roses e'er grow pale ; 
 
 0, think not now that hearts grow cold ; 
 Forget, forget that hopes e'er fade, 
 
 Nor think that love grows old. 
 
 Thus with a laugh thou'lt greet old Time, 
 And round his scythe bright garlands twine, 
 
 Till thou shalt enter that blest clime, 
 The land of love divine. 
 
 63 
 
 YE BALLAD OF MARIE. 
 
 YoNGE Marie went out to ac ball, 
 
 Begirt in fine arraie ; 
 
 none was there 
 
 Was half soe fayre 
 
 As Marie with her silken hose ; 
 
 none was half so gale ! 
 
 But everywhere fayre Marie went, 
 Ye people all did laugh ; 
 In all ye crowde, 
 None laughed so loudc 
 As Nancie Brighte, ye rival belie- 
 None laughed so loude by half. 
 
64 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 There was a rent eke in ye heel 
 
 Of Marie's stoclxing white ; 
 
 This caused yc route 
 
 In mirth to shoute, 
 
 For no one in ye merrie throng 
 
 Did pittie Marie's plight. 
 
 But thinking then within myself 
 
 How badly Mae must feel, 
 
 I whispered there, 
 
 Close to her ear, 
 
 '< Marie, look ; look, I praie, 
 
 Look down to your heel." 
 
 How changed then fayre Marie was 
 
 When of ye evil warned; 
 
 Her face grew redde. 
 
 E'en as my hedde, 
 
 Then, "Darn the stocking," Marie saide 
 
 Ye stocking it was darned. 
 
 THE UPPER DOG IN THE FIGHT. 
 
 ANSWER TO THE UNDER DOa IN THE FIOHT. 
 
 I KNOW that the world — that the great big world- 
 If the said world ever thinks right, 
 
 "Will applaud, when I say I'd much rather be 
 Neither of the dogs in the fight. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 65 
 
 II. 
 
 The growls and the snarls, and the claws and the teeth 
 
 Are not very comfortable ; hence 
 By far the easiest time has the dog 
 
 Who carefully keeps on the fence. 
 
 III. 
 
 As the Grape-juice said, If I must, why I must ;* 
 If from fighting there's no way to stop, 
 
 Howe'er I may grieve for the underneath dog, 
 I'd rather be the one on top. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For you always see, if it be a free fight, 
 (Which it very often is,) this is so. 
 
 That every other dog who joins in the row 
 Will pitch into the one below. 
 
 Now sympathy — it is a very good thing — 
 And your heart, it may beat, it is true ; 
 
 But while it is beatin' you must recollect 
 That the dog, he is beaten too. 
 
 * As these italics may be obscure to some "pussons," I take 
 the liberty of quoting from Worcester, (Dictionary, not Sauce,) 
 as follows : " Must, n. [Mustum L.] new wine pressed from the 
 grape, but not fermented." 
 
66 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I 've always found much the safest of plans, 
 "When the people were slioutmg aloud, 
 
 Was to hold your tongue till you counted them well, 
 Then to shout with the biggest crowd. 
 
 VII. 
 
 You'll find that the world — that the great big world- 
 Will ever think the conqueror right ; 
 
 So I'll fill a glass full, and drink to myself, 
 As the uppermost dog in the fight.- 
 
 ROSA HIDING. 
 
 She need not quickly seek to hide, 
 Nor softly whisper, " Hush ;" 
 
 I hear her gentle breathing from 
 Behind the myrtle bush. 
 
 I see a white robe through the leaves, 
 
 And still the daisies rest 
 With liowing heads, as when they bent 
 
 By Rosa's footstep pressed. 
 
 * I may as well remark, for the benefit of the general reader, 
 tliat the foregoing "pome" is remarkable, not so much for its 
 poetry, as for its groat truth, being quite the rever.se of tho 
 proverb, "i'j non vci-o," etc. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 67 
 
 And here's the ruby-clasped zone, 
 
 Down-dropped in flying haste, 
 Which ever lovingly did cling 
 
 Around her slender waist. 
 
 Ah, well! since Rosa's fled, I'm sure 
 
 She cares not now for me ; 
 So I'll not follow, but I'll rest 
 
 Beneath this willow tree. 
 
 There's many a maid with brighter eyes, 
 
 And fairer face, I've seen; 
 ** There's just as good fish in the sea," 
 
 And better too, I ween. 
 
 So let her go ; I 've often thought 
 
 That when a maiden flies, 
 Should I pursue her, I would pay 
 
 Too dearly for the prize. 
 
 Ah ! here you come, you blushing rose ; 
 
 You blessed little dove ! 
 Come let me kiss those tears away. 
 
 And whisper words of love. 
 
 Come let me clasp that yielding Avaist, 
 
 But not with silken zone ; 
 I only jested when I spoke. 
 
 For art thou not mine own ? 
 
68 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Ila I ha ! "When you with maidens play, 
 Dear Dave, you'll find it true. 
 
 That when you will not follow them, 
 "Why, they will come to you. 
 
 MADELINE. 
 
 With a rosebud in her hair. 
 Drooping on her shoulders fair ; 
 "With a diamond on her breast, 
 Heaving in its sweet unrest ; 
 "With a robe of pearly lace 
 Round her form of matchless grace ; 
 "With a bracelet on her arm, 
 "Where each dimple held a charm; 
 Midst the maiden throng was seen 
 Blushing, laughing Madeline. 
 
 As the songs when birds rejoice 
 Was the music of her voice ; 
 As the stars in azure skies 
 Was the love-light in her eyes ; 
 As the violets was she. 
 Beautiful with modesty; 
 As the pearls beneath the sea 
 Was her soul in purity ; 
 Bright as sunlight's golden sheen 
 Was the heart of Madeline. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 69 
 
 But alas ! the Tempter came, 
 Bringing sorrow, bringing shame ; 
 Came the serpent to the dove. 
 Breathing guileful vows of love ; 
 Banishing with potent charm 
 Dream of danger, thought of harm. 
 From her innocence she fell ; 
 Fell from heaven, sunk to hell. 
 Lost ! for ever lost, I ween ! 
 Ah, well-a-day ! Poor Madeline ! 
 
 In the wide world now to roam ; 
 Lost for ever, love and home ; 
 By contempt and scorn dismayed, 
 Seeking not for human aid ; 
 Daring not to raise her eyes 
 To the cold, unpitying skies. 
 'Neath the lake's unruffled breast, 
 There she sought eternal rest. 
 A pallid corpse with staring mien ! 
 Is this the peerless Madeline ? 
 
 But the Tempter — where is he ? 
 List the sounds of revelry ; 
 See the flashing diamond's rays 
 Gleaming in the torches' blaze : 
 At the altar, by his side. 
 Stands his haughty, high-born bride ; 
 'Neath the lake the other one ! 
 Thus on earth is justice done. 
 His heart has now another queen : 
 Ah, well-a-day ! Poor Madeline ! 
 
70 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 I KNOW AN OAK TREE. 
 
 I KNOW an oak tree, 
 
 Where a jessamine vine 
 Around the old trunk 
 
 Did its tendrils entwine. 
 There in the summer 
 
 With Mary I'd rove ; 
 There in the evening 
 
 I told her my love. 
 
 The vine now is dead, 
 
 But the oak tree is there — 
 Its old rugged trunk 
 
 Left blackened and bare ; 
 I, like the oak tree, 
 
 Am left here alone ; 
 Mary, who loved me. 
 
 For ever has gone. 
 
 TO LENORE. 
 
 Thou art gone from my sight, 
 Like a dream of delight 
 
 That's faded and vanished and gone ; 
 Yet thy picture no art 
 Can erase from my heart. 
 
 While shineth in heaven the sun. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 71 
 
 And each day, as it flies, 
 Comes with sorrow and sighs. 
 
 That I bask in thy presence no more ; 
 I love not another 
 But God and my motlier, 
 
 Like I love thee, my dearest Lenore. 
 
 BLACK AND BLUE EYES. 
 
 I 'll sing of the black-eyed maiden 
 Of the bright and sunny South, 
 
 Where each breeze that blows is laden 
 With bloom for the cheeks of youth. 
 
 Let those eyes, with laughter beaming, 
 That oft I have gazed on long. 
 
 Be with inspiration teeming. 
 The theme of the poet's song. 
 
 But I '11 sing in softer numbers 
 Of the maiden fair and true ; 
 
 'Neath whose drooping lid there slumbers 
 An eye of cerulean hue. 
 
 Yes ; I'll sing of the blue-eyed maiden, 
 To my heart made doubly dear 
 
 When those brilliant eyes are laden 
 With the burden of a tear. 
 
72 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 When we banish care and sorrow, 
 With the first we may be gay ; 
 
 "When we think not of to-morrow, 
 And live only for to-day. 
 
 Bui when well-loved friends are leaving. 
 And when sorrow presses sore, 
 
 When in desolation grieving, 
 Wc love the blue eyes more. 
 
 A PICTURE. 
 
 The sun has sunk down to his rest, from on high; 
 His last rays are painting and gilding the sky, 
 Where the place of his resting is gorgeously told 
 By streakings of crimson and purple and gold, 
 Like the heraldic signs on a banner unrolled. 
 
 The topaz, and turquoise, and ruby are seen 
 Where the tints of the forest are changing from green, 
 And a many-hued carpet is spread all around 
 Where the storm-scattered leaves ovcrcover the ground. 
 From the tops of the trees comes a murmuring sound, 
 And the bells of the lierds ring a musical chime, 
 And the voice of the stream sings a mystical rhyme, 
 For now is the Indian, soft, sweet summer time. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. tS 
 
 Where the light from a -window streams into the hall, 
 
 And casts a broad gleam on the opposite wall, 
 
 And a tapestry hanging most curiously weaves 
 
 In intricate windings with shadows of leaves ; 
 
 In the widcspreading arms of a soft-cushioned chair, 
 
 Covered over with damask, so costly and rare, 
 
 "Where the low-drooping curtains, half-opened, disclose 
 
 Lace like the lily, and silk like the rose, 
 
 Is a beautiful maiden, so graceful and fair, 
 
 With bright loving eyes, and with brown silken hair, 
 
 And lips gently arched, save when one proudly curls, 
 
 And shows for a moment its treasures of pearls. 
 
 On her cheeks a rich cluster of roses doth rest,] 
 
 While lilies disport on her soft, heaving breast ; 
 
 And pure as the white robes of angels they blow, " 
 
 Or bright as the moonlight reflected from snow. 
 
 Or white as the foam where the swift waters flow. 
 
 The last rays of sunlight in glory are shed 
 Like a bright aureole round her beautiful head, 
 Till she seems a Madonna, with features divine. 
 Some priest-guarded picture adored at a shrine, 
 Where gleams from the votive lamps glimmering shine. 
 
 And her name ! 'Tis the sweetest to mortal e'er given, 
 And harp-striking angels resound it in heaven. 
 
74 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL NEVER CAN DIE. 
 
 *• O there is not lost 
 
 One of earth's charms."— Brtam. 
 
 Not one of earth's charms can ever be lost ; ] 
 
 The beautiful never can die ; 
 All tliat is lovely and radiant and rare 
 
 Will live on for ever and aye. 
 
 The sunbeams dissolve the dew-moulded sphere 
 Which lightly and brightly doth rest, 
 
 Like a radiant gem from a queen's coronet, 
 On a rose's bright, beautiful breast. 
 
 The drop flies away, on a shining sun-ray, 
 
 To float in the clear azure skies, 
 Where its sisters have flown to catch the last ray 
 
 Of the sun, their bright god, ere he dies. 
 
 They hang o'er the West, a drapery grand, 
 
 Of crimson and purple and gold, 
 Like the glorious colors which gorgeously gleam 
 
 From a monarch's rich banner unrolled. 
 
 Or float they down from their realms in the sky, 
 When falleth the soft summer rain, 
 
 And twinkle on flowers or leaves of the trees, 
 Or spangle the grass on the plain. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 75 
 
 Or when the winds blow, and tempests are high, 
 
 And heaven seems darkly to frown, 
 A white-winged snowflake softly flies forth 
 
 And rests on the Winter King's crown. 
 
 The autumn winds blow, the flowers all die, 
 
 And forests, in glory arrayed, 
 Drop their fairest of leaves like a pall o'er the grave 
 
 Where the beautiful summer is laid. 
 
 But voices of birds, which greet the young spring, 
 Wake the flowers to blooming once more ; 
 
 They ope their sweet buds as lovely and fair. 
 And perfumes they shed as before. ^ 
 
 Yes ; all the fair flowers which God loaned a while 
 To lighten our hearts with their love, 
 
 Shall gloriously bloom more beauteous and bright 
 In the heavenly gardens above. 
 
 For none of earth's charms can ever be lost ; 
 
 The beautiful never can die ; 
 All that is lovely and radiant and rare 
 
 Shall live for ever and aye. 
 
76 LYRICS AND SKETCHES, j 
 
 THE rOET AND THE CRITIC. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OP AUGUSTE KCEPPER. 
 
 The song-bird rocks in the Linden tree, '' 
 And caroUcth there right merrily ; 
 The sunbeams glance from his shining wings 
 As, gaylj and clear, he sweetly sings. 
 
 A bull-dog barks 'neatli the Linden tree, 
 Loudly and hoarsely and angrily ; 
 And leaps up fiercely, striving to climb, 
 And stop the sweet bird's musical chime. 
 
 The bird rocks on in the Linden tree ; 
 
 Looks down on the dog all scornfully ; 
 
 And though the dog barks, naught doth he care ; 
 
 He's high above in his realms of air. 
 
 The Poet, the bird in the Linden tree ; 
 The Critic, the dog, carps snarlingly, 
 And vainly strives, till his strength is gone, 
 To stop the song ; but the bird sings on. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES.' 77 
 
 KATIE AND I. 
 
 In the far forest, with nobody nigh, 
 
 Merrily wander my Katie and I ; 
 
 All the fair flowers that goldenly gleam. 
 
 Saucily nod to themselves in the stream ; 
 
 And I cannot but think 
 
 That they knowingly wink, 
 
 And shake their green leaves at us, passing them by 
 
 But we care not — why should we ? my Katie and I. 
 
 'Neath the old oak, where the mocking-bird sings, 
 
 Tenderly twining, the jessamine clings. 
 
 Drops, like gold bugles, its bells on the green. 
 
 Sparkling and gilding the throne for my queen. 
 
 As I blissful recline 
 
 With her hand clasped in mine, 
 
 Beware, have a care, cries the bird from up high. 
 
 We need not his warning — my Katie and I. 
 
 By the swift stream, where the violets grow, '' 
 Breathing my love-notes in whisperings low, ^ 
 When, with blush-roses o'ermantling her face, 
 Modestly, chastely, she meets my embrace ; 
 Then the jealous Blue-jay 
 Screams harshly, "Nay! nay!" 
 And his brother blue-jackets all join in the cry, 
 But we heed not — why should we ? my Katie and I. 
 
78 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The birds to the flowers have nestlingly flown, 
 
 Where tinkles the rivulet over the stone, 
 
 And vows of young lovers, as tender and true 
 
 As ours, they have seen all dissolved like the dew ; 
 
 So they call to my Kate 
 
 To beware of the fate 
 
 Of loving not wisely — betrayed, left to die ; 
 
 But why should we fear this ? my Katie and I. 
 
 For, from the high heavens, where love had its birth, 
 
 Love purer than ours never came to the earth ; 
 
 And long as eternity's cycles shall roll, 
 
 Wliile God doth endure, and while liveth the soul, 
 
 In the heaven above, 
 
 By the white throne of Love, 
 
 While sound the loud anthems to praise the Most High, 
 
 We '11 live there, and love there — my Katie and L 
 
 DUM VIVIMUS VIVAMUS. 
 
 Cease, my own, my Natalie — 
 
 These are things too deep for thee ; 
 
 Strive no longer to discern 
 
 When thy lot shall leave the urn, 
 
 Or when adown the river dark 
 
 Thy ghost shall glide in Charon's bark; 
 
 These secrets of futurity 
 
 Are wisely hidden, love, from thee. 
 
'■ LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 79 
 
 The herald conies, my Natalie, 
 To men of high and low degree ; 
 He swiftly comes, nor ever waits 
 For guarded walls or brazen gates ; 
 One word he whispers in the ear 
 Of peasant and of haughty peer. 
 The warrior hears (kat fatal word, 
 And furls his flag and yields his sword. 
 
 He comes to some, my Natalie, 
 When first above the burnished sea 
 The rosy morning sheds its light ; 
 He comes to others in the night, 
 When winds of winter wildly wail, 
 And ghastly forms and spectres pale 
 Come howling o'er the ocean waves, 
 Or shrieking from the mountain caves. 
 
 He comes and goes, my Natalie, 
 For none so swiftly fly as he ; 
 Then Death, the king, with sword in hand, 
 Comes hastening with the cruel band 
 Which follows at his chariot wheel ; 
 And they who bear the herald's seal 
 Tremble before Death's awful frown. 
 And bow their heads : he cuts them down. 
 
 And 0, my life, my Natalie, 
 The herald grim must come to thee, 
 And thou must fall beneath the might 
 Of Death, the king ; and then the night 
 
80 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 Wliich broods upon that river's shore 
 "Wliose waters chant with solemn roar 
 That awful dirge, "0, nevermore," 
 Will ne'er be o'er, will ne'er be o'er. 
 
 But know, my love, my Natalie, 
 The herald ne'er will come to thee, 
 Till He who sees the sparrow fall 
 Has need of thee ; and when His call 
 Thou hearest, darling, deck thy head 
 "With flowers as for thy bridal bed. 
 And Death the terror-crowned beguile- 
 Disarm the tyrant with a smile. 
 
 A rilAYER. 
 
 For Light — Light for the darkened soul: 
 For clouds of doubt 
 "Within, without, 
 Their gloomy shadows roll. 
 
 For Rest — Rest for the wounded heart: 
 From scenes of mirth 
 And joys of earth, 
 ^t lougeth to depart. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 81 
 
 For Peace — Peace for the troubled breast : 
 I 'd fly away 
 To realms of day, 
 And ever be at rest. 
 
 For Home — A home in Spirit-land, 
 In realms of light 
 With angels bright, 
 A home at God's right hand. '; 
 
 WHAT SHOWS US GOD? 
 
 Of whom inquire of our great God ? 
 
 Not of the learned, great, or wise, 
 But of the trees, the clouds around. 
 
 The beaming stars that nightly rise 
 Tell us of Him who reigns above, 
 Whose nature and whose name is Love. 
 
 The hills his attributes declare ; 
 
 The mountains make their Lord appear ; 
 Valleys rejoice to own their God; 
 
 And flowers sweetest incense bear : 
 To worship Him do all things move, 
 Whose nature and whose name is Love. 
 
82 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The cattle on a thousand hills, 
 
 Tliough dumb, proclaim their mighty Lord ; 
 And every beast that 's in the field, 
 
 And every warbling, singing bird, 
 Tell of a gracious God above, 
 Whose nature and whose name is Love. 
 
 WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 " Life is real, life is earnest."— Longfellow. 
 
 I ASKED a maiden passing by, 
 With rosy cheek and laughing eye, 
 AVith lightsome step and lovely face, 
 And form of fairy mould and grace — 
 " ! what is life, dear maiden, say ?" 
 She ceased a moment from her play, 
 And turned her eyes, that shone with glee, 
 And thus the maiden said to me : 
 "Life's a scene of endless pleasure — 
 Sweet the pleasure — dear tlic treasure ; 
 ! the world is brightly fair. 
 Here I 'd dwell — for ever here." 
 
 I asked a man so strong and bold, 
 Who, proud of birth and proud of gold, 
 With head erect, and flashing eye, 
 And stately step, was passing by — 
 
■ LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 83 
 
 " ! -wliat is life?" He stayed a while, 
 And cast on me a lordly smile, 
 Then turned his head the other "way, 
 As though he scarcely deigned to say : 
 *' Life's a scene of wealth and glory, 
 Long my name will live in story ; 
 Let me ever here remain. 
 Crowned with glory, blessed with gain." 
 
 I asked a man now growing old, 
 
 Whose step was slow, whose bk)od grew cold, 
 
 "Whose feeble form and shortened breath 
 
 Forewarned the awful night of death — 
 
 "0! what is life ?" He heaved a sigh, 
 
 And turned on me a tearful eye. 
 
 Then slowly, sadly raised his head. 
 
 And weeping, trembling, thus he said: 
 
 ** Every day's a scene of sorrow, 
 
 Followed by a joyless morrow; 
 
 This, alas ! is human life. 
 
 Scene of turmoil, scene of strife." 
 
 Now, sorrowful, I turned from man 
 To where the rippling streamlet ran. 
 And asked of Nature's countless forms. 
 Of mountains high and raging storms — 
 *' 0, what is life ?" A voice came up 
 From purling stream, from flower cup, 
 From mountain top, from tempest cloud. 
 From thunder's roll, and shouted loud : 
 
84 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. ' 
 
 "Truth thou seekest, this thou learnest- 
 
 Life is real and life is earnest ; 
 
 Not a scene of idle play; 
 
 Thou must work, and work to-day." 
 
 LIFE IS A RIVER. 
 
 Life is a river ! 
 
 God is its giver ; 
 
 Its source in the fountains 
 
 Of cloud-covered mountains, 
 
 Where the shades of the unknown 
 
 Brood gloomily over: 
 Its source deeply hidden, 
 To man 'tis forbidden 
 
 To seek to discover. 
 
 Life is a river : 
 
 Ceasing — 0! never — ' 
 
 It flows in bright bowers, ' 
 
 And where sorrowing lowers ; 
 
 Where the night of misfortune 
 
 Shades upland and meadow ; 
 Where joy's light is glowing, 
 It ever is flowing, 
 
 In sunshine and shadow. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 85 
 
 Life is a river, 
 Flowing for ever ; 
 Ne'er ceases its motion 
 To merge in the ocean — 
 The sea of eternity ; 
 
 And there the life-river, 
 Where human history 
 Ceases in mystery, 
 
 Returns to its Giver. 
 
 THE NIGHT WHEN FIRST WE MET. 
 
 IMITATION OF "THE NIGHT WHEN LAST WE MET," BY CALDWELL. 
 
 WILT thou, when thou'rt far away, 
 
 At thine own peaceful, beauteous home, 
 When thou art happy, bright, and gay, 
 
 With not one darksome hour of gloom, 
 Think of the lonely poet-boy 
 
 Who never, never will forget 
 That brightest hour of greatest joy — 
 
 The night when first wc met ! 
 
 When on life's stormy ocean tossed, 
 When all is dark and drear as night. 
 
 Thy prayers will save him almost lost. 
 And make his lonely pathway bright. 
 
86 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 Tlicn, Miirj, wilt thou think of nic, 
 AnJ, Mary, canst thou e'er forget 
 
 That brightest hour of all to me, 
 The night when first we met ! 
 
 TO ANABELLE, MV GOLDEN BELL. 
 
 Anabellk, my golden bell, 
 
 Thou hast an hundreil thousand chjirms ; 
 0, how my heart and purse would swell 
 
 Could I but clasp thee in my arms ! 
 I'd find the hottest summer's day 
 As cool as early morn in May, 
 And winter never could be cold 
 If thou wert mine, my mine of gold. 
 
 Thou hast no wealth of golden hair, 
 No rosy clieeks nor eyes of blue; 
 
 1 love thee for thy mind, I swear. 
 Yet for thy ]o\c]y pursoir^' too; 
 
 For thou'rt tlie life of my delight, 
 Thine eyes are diamomh in ray sight, 
 Thy teeth nrc pearls of countless price, 
 Thine ivort/ arms my soul entice. 
 
 * This word purson is spelt by the common herd person, but 
 by poetical license the u is inserted in place of e. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCnES. 87 
 
 On yonder bank how sleeps the light, 
 (The silver light from crescent moon,) 
 
 Where notes are payable at sight, 
 Such notes as make a merry tune ; 
 
 Come, wilt thou wander there with me ? 
 
 I'd drink deep drafts* of love from thee, 
 
 And drafts from such a shining rill 
 
 Would make me e'er thine own good Bill. 
 
 Though years may pass above my head, 
 They cannot change my love for thee ; 
 
 And though thou dwell among the dead, 
 Thy dust shall ever honored be ; 
 
 For joy, with brilliant golden light. 
 
 Could only make thy soul more bright ; 
 
 Though grief in fiery billows rolled, 
 
 It only could refine the gold. 
 
 THE COLLEGE BELL. 
 
 " Ilorrida Bell-a /" 
 (Said the Latin jjoeta,) 
 
 Most dolefully sounding. 
 When with clapper fcrctur. 
 
 * The poctic.'il iK'on.sse lioro agnin ronios mopt sirnngly into 
 plaj-, an<l, Midas-like, my draughts have become drafts/ 
 
88 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 And ire to prayers 
 By campana vocamuTy 
 
 And then Tve must hasten, 
 Or by Prsuses culjyamur. 
 
 No7i scriham Iambics, 
 
 Nee in Trochaic metre. 
 But with good old dog Latin 
 
 Mea inusa placetur. 
 
 Sell scriham no further 
 About '■'•Horrida Bell-a,''^ 
 • . But quxram my beaver, 
 
 And go see my Fuella. 
 
 ELEGY ON MY CAT. * 
 
 And art thou gone, my tabby cat, 
 
 And left me here alone ? 
 As 'cross the floor each mouse doth creep, 
 
 1 feel that thou art gone. 
 
 Sing loud, ye rats ; ye mice, rejoice ; 
 
 Poor Tabby is no more ; 
 No longer fly in fear, as oft 
 
 Ye did in days of yore. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 89 
 
 Be silenced every biting tongue 
 
 Of each calumnious rat ; 
 She lived a good and virtuous life ; 
 
 <'In pace requics-ca^." 
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL IN BLACK. 
 
 'TwAS in a far-off country church, 
 
 One blessed Sabbath day, 
 With humble souls and thankful hearts 
 
 We gathered there to pray. 
 
 The hymn was read with solemn voice, ] 
 
 Succeeded by a stir 
 When we arose ; but while we sung 
 
 A hymn, I saw a her. 
 
 I know 'tis wrong, when one's in church, 
 
 To look around or back ; 
 But eyes are eyes, and when they see 
 
 A little girl in black. 
 
 Whose eyes are eyes, with lustrous light, ' 
 
 Which gloriously do shine, ' 
 IIow can you keep yours strnight, I pray? 
 
 I 'm sure I can't keep mine. 
 
90 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 She wore a hat whose bending rim 
 
 Was bound with drooping lace, 
 Which zephyrs lifted when they sought 
 
 To kiss her lovely face. 
 
 And through the lace, like stars through leaves, 
 
 Came radiant, flashing gleams. 
 Like sunbeams from the diamond dew. 
 
 Or moonlight from the streams. 
 
 But oftentimes those eyes were veiled 
 
 'Neath lids all darkly fringed. 
 Which drooped until they swept her cheeks 
 
 With rose and olive tinged. 
 
 And then it seemed as though a cloud, 
 
 A pearly cloud, had sailed 
 Across the blessed sun, and all 
 
 Its glories whitely veiled. 
 
 I know 'tis wrong, this staring at 
 
 A girl in church ; but then 
 How could I keep from watching there ; 
 
 To see the light again ? 
 
 I know 'twas wrong, but do not tliink 
 
 That I devotion lack 
 Because I would keep peeping at 
 
 That little girl in black. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 91 
 
 It's uot my fault, and should you scold, 
 
 I can but cry, "Alack ! 
 Why did she look so witchingly ? 
 
 That little girl in black." 
 
 But it 's not wrong that now my heart 
 
 Keeps ever calling back 
 The brightly-painted picture of 
 
 The little girl in black. 
 
 EVANGELINE. 
 
 Evangeline ! There is a star 
 Comes brightly beaming from afar, 
 AVhose golden raylets, as they shine. 
 Do smile with smiles as sweet as thine. 
 
 Evangeline ! Is that thy home ? 
 At evening, dearest, when I roam, 
 And Nature's songsters sing to me, 
 I see that star and think of thee. 
 
 Evangeline ! That blessed light 
 Doth watch my resting all the night. 
 And gilds my visions, when it seems 
 As though they were too true for dreams. 
 
92 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Evangeline ! Beyond the gloom 
 Of earth, where fadeless flowers bloom, 
 taste the Lotus leaves ! forget 
 That I am left — that we have met. 
 
 Evangeline ! In azure domes, 
 
 Where shade of sorrow never comes, 
 
 'T would make thee sorrow didst thou know 
 
 My sorrows and my rayless woe. 
 
 Evangeline ! Beside the throne 
 Where love perfected reigns alone, 
 Though thou might intercessor be, 
 I cannot ask thee pray for me. 
 
 Evangeline ! There all is light ; 
 Evangeline ! Here all is night ; 
 And my poor heart is darkest seen, 
 Evangeline ! Evangeline ! 
 
 • BEAUTIFUL SALLIE. 
 
 BRIGHT is the water that flows from the fountain. 
 And pure is the snow when the winter winds wail ; 
 
 fair is the laurel that grows on the mountain, 
 And modest the violet down in the vale ; 
 
V LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 93 
 
 But purer than snowflake, and brighter than water, 
 In beauty excelling is — somebody's daughter ; 
 And fairer than flower on mountain or valley, 
 But modestly blushing, is Beautiful Sallie. 
 
 blest are the hours which fly in the bowers 
 
 Where golden-tinged sunbeams rejoicingly play, 
 Where richest of perfumes arise from the flowers 
 
 When birds sing a requiem over the day ; 
 But better than bowers or flowers of Aidenn, 
 And brighter than sunbeams, I know a young 
 
 maiden ; 
 And sweeter than roses where humming-birds dally 
 To drink their rich nectar, is Beautiful Sallie. 
 
 fresh are the breezes which blow in the morning, 
 And bright is the dew on the grass by the rills, 
 
 When first comes the daybeam, with glory adorning 
 And gilding and painting the valleys and hills ; 
 
 More glorious than morning, when zephyrs have kissed 
 her. 
 
 And fresher and fairer, is — somebody's sister ; 
 
 And brighter than streamlets where fairies should 
 rally 
 
 To offer their homage, is Beautiful Sallie. 
 
94 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 IN BOWERS GREEN.— A SONG. 
 
 In bowers green 
 
 The Rose, the queen, 
 Receives the homage of the Breeze, 
 
 Who plumes his wings 
 
 And odors flings 
 Which gathered were from orange trees ; 
 
 Then with a sigh 
 
 The Breeze doth die. 
 
 The Butterfly 
 
 Comes flitting by, 
 The Rose her wealth of sweetness brings ; 
 
 He has his will, 
 
 He sips his fill, 
 And then flies off on perfumed wings ; 
 
 Leaves as he goes 
 
 A scentless Rose. 
 
 A maiden bright. 
 
 With heart so light, 
 A poet once with rapture loved ; 
 
 But she preferred 
 
 A gay young lord 
 Who played a while, then careless roved. 
 
 Undone ! betrayed ! 
 
 Alas, poor maid ! 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 95 
 
 SUANNANOA KIVER. 
 
 If there be one who's sick and weak, 
 With hectic rose upon her cheek, 
 And wishes health, then let her go 
 And taste thy waters, Suannanoa.* 
 
 Thy sparkling waters, as they roll, 
 Bring strength to body, health to soul ; 
 No lovelier sight this world can show 
 Than thy bright waters, Suannanoa. 
 
 'Twas in this beauteous Western wild 
 Roamed the wild Indian — Nature's child ; 
 Here on thy banks he bent his bow, 
 And drank thy waters, Suannanoa. 
 
 'T was here in the primeval days, 
 Amid thy reeds and blooming bays, 
 The stately stag and bounding doe 
 Drank of thy waters, Suannanoa. 
 
 'Tis here that nature's lavish hand 
 Brings beauties forth at God's command ; 
 There's mountains high and valleys low 
 Upon the banks of Suannanoa. 
 
 * Pronounced Svvannano. 
 
96 ' LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 There's beauteous shrubs and flowers and trees, 
 There's perfumes floating on the breeze, 
 And gentle gales of incense blow 
 Upon the banks of Suannanoa. 
 
 And smiling fields of golden corn 
 The mountains and the vales adorn, 
 And fruits and beauteous flowers grow 
 Upon the banks of Suannanoa. 
 
 With lovely maiden by my side, 
 I 'd launch my bark upon thy tide ; 
 Adown thy waters I would row, 
 And sing thy praises, Suannanoa. 
 
 KING'S MOUNTAIN. 
 
 IN IMITATION OF MARCO BOZZARIS. 
 
 The Briton in his guarded tent 
 Lay resting, thinking of the hour 
 When western world, in suppliance bent, 
 Should groan beneath his power. 
 In thought he ruled Columbia's land 
 With rude, unhallowed, lawless hand. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 97 
 
 In tliouglit he walked through court and hall, 
 Then heard the maidens pauans sing 
 In praise of England's tyrant king, 
 And golden bells all joyous ring. 
 To hymn the joy of all. 
 
 An hour passed on. He mused no more : 
 
 They called him to his post : 
 
 He came, to hear the rolling drum 
 
 And sentry's shout — " The rebels come !" 
 
 He came to hear the battle's roar, 
 
 And see Columbia's legions pour 
 
 On Ferguson's proud host. 
 
 Then quailed beneath the patriot crowd, 
 
 And heard, with voice as thunder loud, 
 
 Proud Campbell cheer his band : 
 
 " Repel yon fierce invading host: 
 
 Drive, drive those hell-hounds from your coast ; 
 
 Be this the warrior's proudest boast — 
 
 To free his native land." 
 
 They fought, like heroes, long and well ; 
 
 They fought — and victory was theirs ; 
 
 They conquered, but brave Williams fell, 
 
 Bedewed with freedom's tears. 
 
 His death his grieving comrades saw, 
 
 Then sorrow hushed their proud hurrah, 
 
 And God received his soul. 
 
 And round Jehovah's throne on high, 
 
 He lives in angels' company, 
 
 While years their cycles roll. 
 
98 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 War's fierce contention now is o'er ; 
 America at last is free ; 
 Now hushed the drum and cannon's roar, 
 And Peace now reigns for evermore 
 In this blest land of liberty ! 
 Cleveland is with the spirit brave, 
 Shelby with the angelic band, 
 And Sevier fills a patriot's grave, 
 And Campbell rests in angel-land. 
 We speak their names without a sigh, 
 For pallid death can have no claim 
 While Preston* lives to give them fame 
 And immortality. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE ABENCERRAGES. 
 
 The frosts had followed autumn's blast 
 As came with steps nor firm nor fast 
 Of Abencerrages the last, 
 
 A noble Moor. ' 
 
 Leaving the shores of sunny Spain 
 Alone, with no imperial train, 
 Launching upon the boundless main 
 
 A pilgrim sad. 
 
 * In reference to an oration at " King's Mountain," by J. S. 
 Preston. 
 
' LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 99 
 
 His race and kindred all had died, 
 Had left Alharabra in its pride ; 
 Alhambra, like some peerless bride 
 
 Of Eastern kinp;. 
 
 He sighed and left his fathers' graves ; 
 Sighed as the storm-tossed ocean waves 
 Sigh through the startled mermaids' caves, 
 
 All fitfully. 
 
 Then striking loud his sweet-toned lute, 
 While nightingales around were mute, 
 He sang with voice like silver flute, 
 
 So sweetly wild. 
 
 He sang of courts, of knightly fame. 
 Of warrior brave, and lovely dame ; 
 Then sweetly, softly sang the name 
 
 Of her he loved. 
 
 While Lulu's name thus sweetly rung 
 
 Through woods where they, when both were young, 
 
 Together played, he also sung 
 
 This plaintive song: 
 
 "Farewell, Hispania! How I grieve 
 Thy beauteous gardens thus to leave. 
 Where vines their flowery garlands weave 
 
 For maiden's brow. 
 
100 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. ; 
 
 Can I thus leave thy streamlets clear, 
 Thus leave thy skies and balmy air, 
 Thus leave for aye my Lulu dear,' 
 
 My darling one ? 
 
 Thus leave thy shore-indenting bays, 
 Where I would launch (in boyhood's days) 
 My fragile bark, and sit and gaze 
 
 On setting sun ? 
 
 Ay, thus it is, and I must goj 
 
 To other lands, where breezes blow 
 
 That bear no dreadful shrieks of woe 
 
 To grieve my soul. 
 
 In other lands I '11 lay my head 
 Beneath the sod, among the dead, 
 Where Christian foot shall never tread. 
 
 Nor cross be raised. 
 
 Where yet through fast-revolving days 
 The maidens chant their sweetest lays, '; 
 And sing our glorious Prophet's praise 
 
 At evening hour. 
 
 But, Lulu, must I from thee part ? 
 
 The dreadful thought doth pierce my heart 
 
 Like swiftly-flying barbed dart 
 
 From archer strong. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 101 
 
 Yes, but at last to Paradise, 
 "When faithful Moslem shall arise 
 In one dear beauteous houri's eyes, 
 
 I '11 see my love. 
 
 For thou 'rt my love, my life, my soul ; 
 And when I've reached that happy goal, 
 We'll love while ages onward roll, 
 
 Eternally." 
 
 He stopped. The waves against the shore 
 In countless numbers, dashing, pour : 
 The music of old ocean's roar 
 
 Alone was heard. 
 
 He stepped upon a stately bark ; 
 
 The air was calm, serene but hark ! 
 
 That rolling thunder ! see how dark 
 
 And black the sky. 
 
 An awful storm all sudden rose, 
 
 All quivering Avitli the tempest throes : 
 
 In vain the stout bark might oppose 
 
 The furious blast. 
 
 Ah! 'twas his sad, untimely doom 
 To perish in the tempest's gloom ; 
 An amber cave his only tomb, 
 
 Where now he sleeps. 
 
102 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The mermaids watch his lonely grave, 
 And as those shores they gently lave, 
 A voice comes up from every wave, 
 
 And chants a dirge. 
 
 While sitting near Alhambra's gate, 
 Fair Lulu mourns her lover's fate ; 
 Impatient doth the summons wait 
 
 To join her love. 
 
 A CURSE AND A BLESSING. 
 
 I CURSE thee, new-born year ! 
 Thou com'st full fraught with care, 
 
 And bringing woe, 
 
 Full well I know, 
 For the child of earth. 
 
 In pleasure's room 
 
 Comes rayless gloom 
 For the cheerful hearth. 
 I curse thee, new-born year! 
 
 I curse thee, new-born year ! 
 For loved ones are not here ; 
 
 Thy roses bloom 
 
 To mock my gloom ; 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 103 
 
 Thou art gay and bright, 
 
 But I must moan, 
 
 Dark and alone, 
 In my sorrow's night. 
 I curse thee, new-born year ! 
 
 I bless thee, new-born year, 
 For thou dost make appear 
 
 Such visions bright, 
 
 In roseate light, 
 Of a better day. 
 
 When pain and toil 
 
 And life's turmoil 
 Will be passed away. 
 I bless thee, new-born year. 
 
 I bless thee, new-born year, 
 For thou dost bring me near 
 
 To home and heaven. 
 
 Where balm is given 
 To the troubled breast ; 
 
 Where there is peace, 
 
 AVhere the wicked cease, 
 And the weary rest. 
 I bless thee, new-born year. 
 
104 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 ISI U S I N G S . 
 
 ! BLESSED days of boyhood, passed 
 For ever from me ; flying fast, 
 
 Ere yet I knew liow rich a prize 
 
 Was mine. How bright then seemed the skies, 
 
 And flowers bloomed fairer then than now ; 
 
 There was a dew upon my brow, 
 
 By angel spirits kindly shed 
 
 Upon Youth's rose-wreaths round my head. 
 
 The roses all are withered now ; 
 
 There is a moisture on my brow, 
 
 But 0, it is the damp of death ! 
 
 1 feel no longer perfumed breath 
 Of breezes playing round my hair, 
 And whispering music in my ear ; 
 No laughing zephyrs kiss my cheek, 
 But, listening, one may hear a shriek 
 Amid the stillness of the night, 
 
 Which well might chill his blood with fright ; 
 
 'T is when the Fever's simoon blast 
 
 Has hurried, scorching, withering past ; 
 
 When, almost bursting from its vein, 
 
 The blood, like lightning, through my brain 
 
 Has seared its way ; and with a moan 
 
 And shriek scared Reason leaves her throne. 
 
 Life ! Life ! 
 With all thy tumults, wars, and strife ; 
 With all thy swiftly -fading joys, 
 Thy gewgaws, and thy gilded toys, 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 105 
 
 Thy bubbles, and thy syren song 
 Of " Life is short and Art is long ;" 
 When longest Art can ne'er extend 
 Faint pleasures to Life's quickest end, 
 What art thou, but a grievous weight 
 Impended by the thread of Fate, 
 From which we 'd gladly fly ? But then 
 We only die to live again. 
 
 VISIONS. 
 
 I SEE some happy children 
 Playing 'mong the roses ; 
 
 Their laughter sweet is ringing 
 As they gather posies. 
 
 I see their father coming ; 
 
 The children leave their play, 
 And run to give him kisses ; 
 
 For 'tis his natal day. 
 
 And one, the rest outstripping, 
 A beauteous, merry boy, 
 
 His father now is clasping 
 Close to his arms with joy. 
 4 
 
106 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 I see a smiling mother ; 
 
 A babe is on her breast, 
 And there the little cherub 
 
 In happiness doth rest. 
 
 'Tis like a little rosebud 
 Just peeping on the day, 
 
 To watch the shining insects 
 As the}'' around it play. 
 
 A sister, near her standing, 
 
 Plucks shining jessamine leaves, 
 
 And from the leaves and flowers 
 A beauteous garland weaves. 
 
 But now the scene is changing : 
 Ten years have passed away ; 
 
 New visions are before me, 
 And 0, how changed are they ! 
 
 Two of those playing children 
 Alone arc there to-day ; 
 
 One other is far distant, 
 And one has passed away. 
 
 That rosebud now is blooming, 
 A blushing, half-blown rose, 
 
 And brighter still, and fairer, 
 With every day she grows. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 107 
 
 Another pretty babelct 
 
 Is on his mother's knee. 
 But now a brighter vision 
 
 Appeareth unto mc : 
 
 I see an angel being ; 
 
 A harp is in his hands ; 
 His rustling wings spread odors 
 
 Fresh from the spirit-lands. 
 
 I hear him softly whisper, 
 
 " sisters, brothers, come ; 
 Come to these blessed regions, 
 
 Where God has made your home. 
 
 leave this world of sorrow, 
 
 And come with me to heaven : 
 A happy home and glorious 
 
 To each one shall be given." 
 
 And now the scene dissolving 
 
 Is fading from my sight ; 
 The stars are brightly shining ; 
 
 I look around — 'tis night. 
 
 And now while I am joining 
 
 The busy throng of life, 
 And every day am mingling 
 
 And struggling in its strife ; 
 
108 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 As now my place I'm taking 
 Among the ranks of men, 
 
 every day I'm wishing 
 I were a boy again. 
 
 THREE SIGHTS OF MARY. 
 
 I SAW her as a maiden ; 
 
 Like marble was her brow, 
 And on her cheeks were roses ; 
 Methinks I see her now : 
 none so rare, 
 none so fair 
 As Mary was when first the light 
 Of her dark eyes shone on my sight. 
 
 I saw her as a matron ; 
 
 She clasped close in her arms 
 A lovely, smiling infant. 
 
 Blessed with its mother's charms 
 none so fair 
 As to compare 
 With Mary when her matron eyes 
 Looked prayerfully unto the skies. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 109 
 
 I saw her in her coffin, 
 
 And heard the death-bells toll, 
 When angels were rejoicing 
 That heaven had gained a soul. 
 none more bright 
 With radiant light 
 Than Mary, with angelic wings. 
 As round God's throne she sweetly sings. 
 
 THE LONELY GRAVE. 
 
 *Neath: a spreading tree, in a quiet nook. 
 By the sparkling waves of a bubbling brook, 
 
 They left their angel boy : 
 There they hollowed for him a narrow grave, 
 Where a murmur rose from the streamlet's wave. 
 
 And left its note of joy. 
 
 There the modest violet raised its head, 
 There the woodbine waved o'er his lowly bed 
 
 And shed a rich perfume ; 
 While a warbling bird, with its sweetest strain, 
 A requiem seemed as if chanting then 
 
 Over his silent tomb. 
 
110 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Though his body lie 'iicatli the coW green soil, 
 They never grieve, for they know to God 
 
 His spirit hath been given ; 
 Tliougli tliey know in the grave that he will sleep long, 
 Yet the angels came with their sweetest song 
 
 And bore his soul to heaven. 
 
 TO LILY. 
 
 There's never a chalice, 
 
 In castle or palace, 
 As fine as the Lily, as graceful or fair ; 
 
 There's never a maiden, 
 
 Not living in Aidenn, 
 Can with little Lily in beauty compare. 
 
 There 's never a flower, 
 
 In garden or bower, 
 As white as the LUy, as spotless and pure ; 
 
 There's never an eye-light, 
 
 Though bright as the sky-light, 
 Can, like little Lily's, so softly allure. 
 
 The stars high above her 
 
 Look down, and they love her; 
 They envy my Lily, so jturc and so bright ; 
 
 But though they are seeming 
 
 So brilliant and gloaming, 
 My soul they can never so sweetly delight. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. Ill 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 ! Rosa knows where grows a rose 
 
 Beneath a willow tree, 
 Where music swells from Lily bells 
 
 In sweetest melody. 
 'Twas there we sat in summer time, 
 
 Beneath soft, starlit skies. 
 And heard the distant vesper-chime, 
 
 When evening prayers arise ; 
 And from my heart a prayer uprose 
 To God, to guard my lovely Rose. 
 
 A crown she wound, and bound around 
 
 With roses, gorgeously ; 
 (It was a sprig, a bending twig, 
 
 From off the willow tree ;) 
 And with the roses did entwine 
 
 Pansies and King-cups bright, 
 With tendrils from the Eglantine, 
 
 And Lilies purely white; 
 Then, crowned with beauty, she arose. 
 Herself a rose, my blushing Rose. 
 
 With queenly mien, serenely seen, 
 While vassals crowded round, 
 
 (The bending beaux saluting Rose,) 
 Was Rose with roses crowned ; 
 
112 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And where she moved vrith stately grace, 
 
 A "Glory" seemed to shine 
 Around her head and on her face, 
 
 AVith radiance all divine ; 
 And there I swore, "Come joys or woes, 
 My soul's own queen is lovely Rose." 
 
 bright the light (and quite as bright 
 
 The light in Rosa's eye) 
 Which shone from walls in marble balls, 
 
 When mirth was rising high; 
 And joyous maidens gleeful laughed. 
 
 Amid the merry dance ; 
 "While wine, from brimming beakers quaffed, 
 
 "Was bright as maiden's glance ; 
 And when the goblets high uprose, 
 "We drained them dry to lovely Rose. 
 
 Though rare and fair, there's none so dear 
 
 Among the maiden throng, 
 "Whose smiles are bright with Love's own light. 
 
 Whose hearts gush forth in song. 
 0, in the heavenly courts above. 
 
 Beside th' eternal throne, 
 There's naught more pure than is the lovo 
 
 Of her 1 call my own ; 
 And purely from my heart outgoes 
 A wealth of love for lovely Rose. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 113 
 
 TERFUMES, BIRDS, AND FLOWERS. 
 
 Stabry heavens arc o'er me shining ! 
 0, ye flowers o'er me twining, 
 Bind a wreath ; bind a wreath ; 
 While I quietly beneath 
 Sing a song of love and hope, 
 Where the daisy petals ope, 
 While a heavenly emotion 
 Thrills and fills me with devotion. 
 
 Lily bells are round me ringing ! 
 ye love-birds, round me singing. 
 Sing your song ; sing your song ! 
 And the lingering strain prolong 
 By the prattling, purling stream, 
 Where I now recline and dream ; 
 Every vision in my dreaming 
 Brightly iridescent seeming. 
 
 Dewy drops are near me sleeping ! 
 
 ye breezes near me creeping, 
 
 Perfumes bring ; perfumes bring ! 
 
 Where the blithesome blue-birds sing ; 
 
 Never from me more remove, 
 
 While I softly tell my love 
 
 In these beatific bowers, 
 
 Blest with Perfumes, Birds, and Flowers. 
 
114 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 THAT ONE. 
 
 I KNOW not who ^^that one'' may be, 
 Nor where ^'(hat one'' may dwell ; 
 
 Enough tliat she is ilcar to thee, 
 And loveth thee as well. 
 
 And thou hast gained, thrice happy friend, 
 
 A goddess for that shrine 
 Where Truth's sweet incense doth ascend, 
 
 And Love's own roses twine. 
 
 My heart, alas ! is like a tomb 
 Where boyhood's hopes lie dead ; 
 
 "Where Memory's lamp doth o'er the gloom 
 Pale, fitful gloamings shed. 
 
 But blest art thou ; though cold the blast 
 Of Life's storms round thee blow, 
 
 Thou hast a hope, an anchor fast, 
 And love's light at thy prow. 
 
 For thee there is a light which gleams 
 
 O'er life's (ompestuous sea ; 
 A sign of i»rt)iiiisc, as it beams. 
 
 Of home and rest to thee. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 115 
 
 I know that by thy path in life 
 
 Were thorns more thick than roses ; 
 
 And oft a sigh a former strife 
 And trial fierce discloses. 
 
 But thou hast reached the haven now ; 
 
 The breakers all are past, 
 And hope's bright birds are singing ; thou 
 
 Hast j)eace and joy at last. 
 
 may henceforth no storms molest 
 
 Thee with thy dear convoy ; 
 Nor carking care disturb thy rest, 
 
 Nor grief o'ercloud thy joy. 
 
 MY LOVE. 
 
 My love was like a fairy queen 
 
 Robed for her coronation ; 
 The Rose of all the world to me, 
 
 My Pearl of all creation. 
 
 Her cheeks were like the soft peach-down, 
 'Neath which the red is showing ; 
 
 Or like the velvet on the grape, 
 
 Through which the wine is glowing. 
 
IIG LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And in her dark eyes* wondrous depths 
 
 I plearaings oft was seeing 
 Of that love-light within her heart, 
 
 The essence of her being. 
 
 Ah well ! 'tis so, that some must dwell 
 
 Amid the courts of sorrow, 
 "While others see each joyous day 
 
 Precede a happier morrow. 
 
 And one with happier fate than mino 
 Has gained that glorious treasure, 
 
 AVhile 1 drag out the long, long days, 
 And weary moments measure. 
 
 Anotlicr dwells upon those lips 
 Which once to me were heaven ; 
 
 'Twas from that heaven the lightning fell 
 Which my sad heart has riven. 
 
 'TIS THEN I THINK OF THEE. 
 
 In the morning, when the sunlight 
 Comes to kiss the vales an<l hills, 
 
 When a tlirong of sweet emotions 
 Through my inmost being thrills, 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 117 
 
 When all nature is most lovely, 
 When the birds sing wild and free, 
 
 When the flowers bloom their brightest, 
 'tis then I think of thee ! 
 
 In the evening, when the gloaming 
 
 Wraps the earth in mantle gray, 
 When the song-bird, home returning, 
 
 Sings a sad dirge o'er the day. 
 When the silver moon is rising 
 
 Brightly beauteous o'er the lea, 
 When within myself communing, 
 
 't is then I think of thee ! 
 
 In the night-time, when the starlight 
 
 Shines so softly from the sky, 
 When these myriad worlds are showing 
 
 Brilliant glories to the eye, 
 When my soul, from earth escaping. 
 
 Looks into futurity, 
 When I feel myself immortal, 
 
 't is then I think of thee ! 
 
 Thus it is, that in the morning, 
 
 When earth woos the sunbeams bright, 
 Thus it is, that when the evening 
 
 Comes, foreshadowing the night, 
 When the grandest works of nature 
 
 In their brightest forms I see. 
 When my soul is filled with beauty, 
 
 'tis then I think of thee! 
 
118 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 THE CIRCASSIAN. 
 
 'NEATn a palm tree, by a fountain, 
 
 Where the Arabs love to roam, 
 Sat a maiden, from the mountain 
 Caucasus, where was her home, 
 Singing only, 
 "I am lonely, 
 Lonely, lonely." 
 
 Fairest of Circassia's daughters 
 
 There reclined upon the ground, 
 Heedless of the gushing waters. 
 Careless of the throng around; 
 Singing only, 
 " I am lonely, 
 Lonely, lonely." 
 
 Far away from sister, brother, 
 liy a robl)er'8 hand removed ; 
 Far away from father, mother, 
 Far away from him she loved ; 
 Singing only, 
 •' I am lonely, 
 Lonely, lonely." 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 119 
 
 Where the palm leaves sighed above her, 
 
 Where the waters gayly play, 
 There she sorrowed for her lover — 
 Selim, who was far away ; 
 Singing only, 
 <<I am lonely, 
 Lonely, lonely." 
 
 WHAT BESSY HAS. 
 
 Bessy's eyes are brightly beaming, 
 
 Lightly beaming ; 
 Love's soft light is in them gleaming, 
 
 Sweetly gleaming : 
 Bright black eyes and raven tresses. 
 Which the summer wind caresses. 
 Waving tresses— these are Bessy's. 
 
 Roses on her cheek are glowing. 
 
 Blushing, glowing; 
 Lilies on her breast are blowing, 
 
 Whitely blowing : 
 Joyous mirth, which naught represses, 
 Mirth which all the household blesses, 
 Kindly blesses— these arc Bessy's. 
 
120 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Laughter, light as music ringing, 
 
 Clearly ringing ; 
 Voice as sweet as song-birds singing, 
 
 Softly singing ; 
 Kindest words and soft caresses, 
 Love, which every heart confesses, 
 Mine confesses — these arc Bessy's. 
 
 THE LUCKY ESCAPE. 
 
 Had I tarried, 
 
 I 'd been married. 
 But that hour I'm always blessing, 
 
 ('Tis no lie, sir,) 
 
 When Eliza 
 I saw ut the window dressing. 
 
 At the window. 
 
 Naught to hiiulcr 
 Me from seeing all her actions ; 
 
 For 'tis certain 
 
 By no curlain 
 Did she hide her hue transactions. 
 
 All her lovelocks. 
 
 From a bandliox, 
 Soon are o'er her bald head roaming ; 
 
 For my 'most spouse. 
 
 Pencilled eyebrows 
 From the bureau (^uick are coming. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 121 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! 
 
 Is she shavin' ? 
 Turning now, her face discloses, 
 
 Redly glo-wing, 
 
 Each check showing 
 She's been only painting roses. 
 
 Now, by thunder ! 
 
 Lilies under 
 Roses o'er her neck are whitening, 
 
 While from pocket 
 
 To their socket. 
 In the teeth go, quick as lightning. 
 
 ■ Like an arrow 
 
 At a sparrow 
 OflF I shot me to the hat-place, 
 
 Got ray beaver. 
 
 And did leave her ; 
 Never courted more at that place. 
 
 A BALLAD OF YE VALLIANTE KNIGHTE AND 
 YE LADYE FAIRE. 
 
 'T WAS summer brighte, 
 
 Ae valliant knightc 
 Bestrode his galliant steede, 
 
 With beaver hatte, 
 
 And silk cravat. 
 And in his mouth a weede. 
 
122 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 Ac Indyc fairo, 
 
 "With yellow haire, 
 Did call ye vallijint knighte; 
 
 "When from yc sfcdc, 
 
 With grace and spedc, 
 He quicklie did alyte. 
 
 Yc ladye came ; 
 
 Shec called his name ; 
 Yc knight e, hce stoode quite still, 
 
 While shee a scroll 
 
 Did there unroll ; 
 It was his washing bill. 
 
 It was just then 
 Yc bell tolled tcnnc, 
 
 And rage his breast c did swellc ; 
 Ilec scratched his hcaddo, 
 And then bee said 
 
 That slice miglit goc to— Halifax. 
 
 Tlien loudo shco swore 
 That never more 
 
 Shee'd wash a single sliirte, 
 And left ye knighto 
 In sorry jillghtc, 
 
 In raggedness and dirte. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 123 
 
 TEACHING THE YOUNG IDEA. 
 
 Teaching Latin, long ago, 
 
 Incautiously I said "ylmo;" 
 
 The maiden quickly looked at me, 
 
 And asked me '' Quern)" I answered, ''Te." 
 
 Then to her father hastened she, 
 And said ^^Prxceptor amat wie;" 
 He growled, and gave his wig a shove, 
 And said, "Amato" — (Let him love.) 
 
 Then to mamma away she went, 
 Who said she didn't care a cent. 
 So thus it happened, she and I 
 In marriage simus conjimcti. 
 
 LINES FOR MISS B 'S ALBUM. 
 
 In the garden, where the flowers 
 
 Fill the air with odors sweet. 
 Where the fairies in their bowers 
 
 Oft in nightly revels meet ; 
 Where the sunbeams kiss the roses. 
 
 Where the song-birds sing to me, 
 Where the maidens gather posies, 
 
 "tis there I think of thee ! 
 
124 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 In the evening, ■when the twilight 
 
 Spreads jxrouniJ its mantle gi'fiy, 
 Where the waters in the starlight 
 
 Sing a sad dirge o'er tlie day ; 
 "When the stars adored by Magi 
 
 Of the eastern lands I see, 
 "When all things are beauteous, " Ilajic,"* 
 
 'tis then I think of thee! 
 
 AFFECTION'S FLOWERS. 
 
 Not in gardens of the lofty, 
 Not in rich parterres and ga}^ 
 
 Not where polished marble fountains 
 Throw around prismatic spray, 
 
 And exotics fragrance fling. 
 
 Do affection's flowers spring. 
 
 But by dwellings of tlie lowly, 
 
 Where the woodbine climbs the porch, 
 
 Where the glow-worm, at her try sting, 
 Liglits her i)hospliorescent torch ; 
 
 There, where song-birds sweetly sing, 
 
 Do affection's flowers spring. 
 
 • Her pot name. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 125 
 
 Where the streamlet sings an anthem, 
 
 Where the ins,ects gayly play, 
 Where the evening brings devotion, 
 
 Where God's people nightly pray; 
 There, where hearts together cling, 
 Do affection's flowers spring. 
 
 WERE I A BIRD. 
 
 Were I a bird — 
 
 I'd hasten to Scotia, the land of the brave. 
 
 Where the soil is upheaved by the patriot's grave. 
 
 And tread the green pathways my mother's feet trod, 
 
 To see where her fathers sleep, under the sod. 
 
 I'd go to the mountains where Vich-Ian-Vohr 
 
 Once marshalled his clansmen, so valiant in war ; 
 
 And echoing still the dark caverns among, 
 
 I'd hear the wild pibroch of Donnuil Dhu rung. 
 
 I'd hasten away on the wings of the morn. 
 To dwell in the land where a Wallace was born ; 
 Where his disenthralled spirit at evening returns 
 To hover o'er Scotland with Bruce and with Burns; 
 And there on Ben Nevis, where wild eagles scream. 
 By Solway's clear waters, or Afton's still stream, 
 On Cheviot's blue hills, or by Loch Katrine's waves, 
 I 'd chant a wild coronach over their graves. 
 
12G LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 I 'd po by the banks of Uie Nith and the Doon, 
 
 And braes of Balquither, where summer comes soon ; 
 
 By AUoway's Kirk and the Auld Brigs of Ayr, 
 
 And Craigie-burn, where the spring flowers bloom 
 
 fair ; 
 I would hasten along by the fountain and flood, 
 O'er heather- strewn hillside, through meadow and 
 
 wood ; 
 I'd climb the rock crag to the wild eagle's eyrie, 
 And sing there a song full of love to my dearie. 
 
 "Were I a bird — 
 
 I'd cross the white Alps, fair Italia, to thee, 
 
 And light in famed Venice, the gem of the sea, 
 
 "WJiere San iNIarzialc's bells their angclus ring, 
 
 And sweetest of love-songs the gondoliers sing. 
 
 I'd fly to Genoa, swift borne on the breeze 
 
 Which kisses the checks of the dark Genoese, 
 
 And under the olive trees arching above, 
 
 I'd drink from black eyes draughts of passionate love. 
 
 I'd hasten to Rome, once the queen of the world, 
 (Now, alas I from her brow the bright diadem's 
 
 hurled;) 
 I'd mount the old Forum, and Esqniline hill, 
 And empress of nations I'd fancy her still. 
 I'd see where the Tai-quius once dwelt in their pride, 
 And stand where Lucretia for chastity died ; 
 I'd seek f(»r each temple, each slirino, and each fane 
 Once drenched with the rich blood of hecatombs slain. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 127 
 
 I'd gaze till my soul overflowed with delight 
 
 At the fairy-like visions, so beauteous and bright, 
 
 Which in childhood illumined the depths of my heart, 
 
 All realized now by the Masters of Art. 
 
 While memory dreams of my boyhood would bring ; 
 
 Where Horace and Virgil once sung, I would sing; 
 
 Where Raphael and Augelo roamed, I would rove ; 
 
 Where Petrarch and Dante once loved, I would love. 
 
 Were I a bird — 
 
 I 'd cross o'er the ocean to blest Palestine, 
 
 Where the Godhead incarnate bj* mortals was seen ; 
 
 In the long - sought-for Canaan, the blest promised 
 
 land 
 Where Salem's proud temple was raised, I would 
 
 stand ; 
 Where the Cherubim hovered, illumed by the rays 
 Which beamed from the face of the Ancient of Days ; 
 I 'd follow the paths that Emanuel trod, 
 And dwell there in Bctlilehem, birthplace of God. 
 
 I'd wander along by the deep Galilee, 
 When golden-bright starlight is gemming the sea ; 
 And where the blue waters of Jordan's stream roll, 
 A sweet song would vibrate the chords of my soul ; 
 For its waters, smooth flowing, all calmly along. 
 Seem murmuring softly a heavenly song — 
 The anthems that Seraphim loudly sung when 
 They told the glad tidings, "Salvation to men." 
 
 I'd stand upon Lebanon's summit of snow. 
 
 On Moriah's proud height, and on Olivet's brow ; 
 
128 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 By Kcdron I'd wander to Getliscmnnp, 
 
 AVhcrc Christ groaned aloud in his strong agony; 
 
 On Calvary hear still his last dying cry, 
 
 " Eloi : Eloi ! Lama Sabacthani ;" 
 
 And then at the Sepulchre s-tand by his tomb 
 
 Whose glory for ever illumines ita gloom. 
 
 But were I a bird — 
 
 I'd hie me away to some far foreign laud, 
 
 Some isle of the blest, and there light on the strand 
 
 Where the shore -kissing wave purely white -crested 
 
 curls 
 Over ocean-bed spangled with jewels and pearls; 
 Where light-winged zephyrs disport in the trees, 
 And flower-cups welcome the health-giving breeze; 
 Where the Paradise birds play beneath the blue skies, 
 And the Phoenix immortal in glory arise. 
 
 I'd fly to a land beyond weak mortal's ken, 
 
 More distant and high than the ghost-lands of men; 
 
 Than Northman's Valhalla, where Odin and Thor 
 
 Received to their banquets the heroes of war; 
 
 Than blessed Elysium of Roman or Greek; 
 
 Than Indian's blest Hunting-ground farther I'd seek, 
 
 And on my bold pinions far higher I'd rise 
 
 Than Mussulmau's houri-filled, bright Paradise. 
 
 In that land where the breezes blow rich with per- 
 fume. 
 Where the amaranth flowers unfadiugly bloom, 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 129 
 
 Where the lilies and myrtles do rustic their bells, 
 And roses entwine with the blest asphodels, 
 I'd gather the lotus, forgetful of home, 
 And by the bright Lethean waters I'd roam ; 
 From their waves a full cup of oblivion I'd drain, 
 And borrow Nepenthe for sorrow and pain. 
 
 ON THE ISLAND. 
 
 'T IS a summer's eve by the ocean side. 
 
 And the queen of night, from the silvered tide. 
 
 Comes mounting up on high ; 
 And the stars shine forth, each one like a gem 
 Which has dropped from an angel's diadem. 
 
 And stud the azure sky. 
 
 'Tis a gala night ; there are maidens fair. 
 
 And the diamonds gleam from their perfumed hair 
 
 Grandly and gloriously ; 
 But I stand alone in the merry throng. 
 And the happy ones, as they glide along. 
 
 Scarce deign to look on me. 
 
 But I walk on the shore of the sounding sea ; 
 There's a voice speaks there, and it calls to me : 
 
 That voice they cannot hear: 
 Like the muffled tones of a midnight bell, 
 It is borne, with its mystic, mournful swell, 
 
 On viewless -waves of air. 
 
130 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 'Tis a solemn voice, and it speaks alone, 
 "With its soughing sigh and its mournful moan, 
 
 To aching hearts like mine : 
 But the happy ones, and the blest of earth — 
 Tiiey whose lives fly by in the halls of mirth — 
 
 Its meaning ne'er divine. 
 
 So I leave them there, in their crowded hall, 
 With their gay quadrille and waltz, and all 
 
 Their gems and jewels rare ; 
 And I go on the shore where the white surf rr^ves ; 
 There 's a music comes from the ocean waves 
 
 Grander than theirs in there. 
 
 now BEAUTEOUS IS MOONLIGHT ! 
 
 How beauteous is moonlight ! How silvery the gleam 
 Which rests upon lilies that float on the stream; 
 "Whose chalices glisten all brightly afar. 
 As though every petal reflected a star. 
 How brilliant it shines on the tops of the trees, 
 So gracefully bending to welcome the breeze ! 
 While round the old mountain it lights up the rills. 
 And crowns him, with silver, the Monarch of Hills. 
 
 How sweet is the moonlight! Where jessamines 
 bloom, 
 
 Whence the wings of the zephyrs bear richest per- 
 fume; 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 131 
 
 Where glisten the dcwdrops, like diamonds down 
 
 thrown 
 By some love-wearied faii'y unbinding her zone ; 
 How sweet for young lovers to wander alone, 
 With silence unbroken, save by the soft tone 
 Of the coy, blushing maiden, confessing her love, 
 Like the low-cooing notes of the lone turtle-dove ! 
 
 How bright is the moonlight ! It chases the gloom 
 Which night overcasts like the pall on a tomb ; 
 And trembling along on the wavelets of air, 
 It sheds a bright blessing o'er earth everywhere ; 
 It breaks through the darkness which covers the sky 
 When ocean is roaring and tempests are high. 
 And shines on the waves whitely crested with foam, 
 Bringing hope to the wanderer, and promise of home. 
 
 How holy is moonlight ! How quiet and calm ! 
 It comes to the mourner, a God-given balm ; 
 It brings to the wearied ones resting and peace, 
 And bids the wild tears of bereavement to cease. 
 How holy, when tumults and troubles of day 
 With the sun's dying light have been driven away, 
 To feel its blest light in full affluence given 
 O'er the soul, like a Paraclete coming from heaven. 
 
132 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "MA CANNE." 
 
 TRANSLATED FKOM THE " DERXIERS CnAN'SONS" OF BERANGER. 
 
 [First stanza omitted.] 
 II. 
 
 Far from life's cares let iis rest in the shadow, 
 Far from life's ocean-surf fitfully tossed ; 
 
 I'll sing to thee dreamily, down in the meadow, 
 A song of sweet memories — sighs for the lost ; 
 
 As oft I have sung when fast-falling showers. 
 
 That came with the thunderous voice of the blast, 
 
 Swept in their chilliness, killing the flowers ; 
 Or when the snow-storm went hurrying past, 
 
 Then sadly or gayly I dreamingly wandered, 
 
 While under my old hat my sweet thoughts I pon- 
 dered. 
 Come, cross the wood near the fields by the river, 
 Gather we flowers and songs there for ever ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Often, thou knowcst how, pleasingly dreaming, 
 
 Brightest of air-castles, musing, I'd build; 
 And in that dreaming each castle was seeming 
 
 With treasures and pleasures overflowingly filled. 
 An infant of Paris — of Paris the shameless, 
 
 / might have wandered its purlieus among, 
 Even uncared-for, and homeless and nameless, 
 
 Had not the muse set her mark on my tongue. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 133 
 
 Mother benignant ! She gave me a name, 
 And blessed me with home, and crowned me with fame ! 
 Come, cross the wood near the fields by the river, 
 Gather we flowers and songs there for ever ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 She was my nurse, and she tanght me to ponder 
 On nature and men ; and kindly she 'd say|: 
 
 ''Come from the city, child, with me to wander; 
 Come, gather roses which grow by the way." 
 
 Since then, though far from the thirst which devours, 
 For riches and courts, she cares for me yet ; 
 
 Though feebled with age, she brings songs and 
 flowers, 
 To bind in a wreath for the brow of her pet ; 
 
 The ma7i liears her songs with gladness and joy, 
 
 He hears the sweet lullaby sung to the boy. 
 Come, cross the wood near the fields by the river. 
 Gather wc flowers and songs there for ever ! 
 
 V. 
 
 *' Come, guide the Republic !" fools would advise me ; 
 
 Sages of yesterday foolishly prate ; 
 0, my companion ! would it not surprise thee, 
 
 Having to aid me in carrying the State ? 
 I must be stronger than Atlas, and bolder ; ^ 
 
 0, my good cane ! it would make thee to groan. 
 Had I the weiglit of the world on my shoulder, 
 
 And thou hadst to bear it all, joined to my own. 
 
134 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 A grief to my friends, to all Tvise men a joke, 
 
 To see me beneath the political yoke. 
 
 Come, cross the "wood near the fields by the river, 
 Gather we flowers and songs there for ever ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 In sunshiny days, and in dreariest weather, 
 Dearest companion ! thou ever Avast nigh ; 
 
 Faithfully have we grown aged together, 
 And with the dead past together we'll die. 
 
 To this new era, my cane ! I have bound thee, 
 Thou who hast guided my footsteps aright ; 
 
 Be thou support to the vanquished around thee, 
 Wildly who wander in sorrow's sad night. 
 
 Companion, farewell! I enter the gloom, 
 
 I leave thee, old friend, on the brink of my tomb ! 
 Come, cross the wood near the fields by the river. 
 Gather we flowers and songs there for ever ! 
 
 GO FOR THE RIGHT, WHATEVER BETIDE. 
 
 Though beauty entice you 
 
 With laughter and smiles. 
 And strive to ensnare you 
 
 With charms and with wiles, 
 pass them by lightly, 
 
 Their powers deride. 
 And go for tlie right. 
 
 Whatever betido. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 135 
 
 Though wealth may allure you 
 
 With diamonds and gold, 
 The strength of your manhood 
 
 Must never he sold ; 
 Bid riches " avaunt ye !" 
 
 With power and pride, 
 And go for the right, j 
 
 Whatever betide. 
 
 Though power oppose you 
 
 With strength and with might, ] 
 0, ne'er be disheartened. 
 
 Though hard be the fight ; 
 never be conquered, 
 
 Nor e'er turned aside, 
 But go for the right. 
 
 Whatever betide. 
 
 In archives of glory 
 
 Your name be enrolled, 
 In songs and in story 
 
 Your brave deeds be told, 
 Along with the heroes 
 
 Who fought and who died, 
 Who went for the right, 
 
 Whate'er might betide. 
 
136 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 BABY IS AT REST. 
 
 Died, October 28, 1859, at Spartanburg, Mary Jane, only child 
 of Professor James H. and Mrs. Margaret Jane Carlisle, aged 
 two years and four months. 
 
 Cease the sound of wailing ; 
 
 Still the throbbing breast : 
 List ! the angels -whisper, 
 
 "Baby is at rest." 
 
 II. 
 
 Bend, ye gentle flowers, 
 Shedding rich perfume ; 
 
 Breathe your sweetest incense, 
 Hallowing her tomb. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sing, ye winds of evening. 
 Softly, sweetly low ; 
 
 Lull her dreamless sleeping. 
 Sighing as ye go. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Beam, ye stars of night-time, 
 Calmly, purely bright ; 
 
 Lure her soul to heaven 
 With your radiant light. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 137 
 
 Come, ye blessed angels, 
 As through space ye roam, 
 
 Waft her on your pinions, 
 Bear her safely home ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ring, ye bells of heaven, 
 Let the anthem roll 
 
 Through the courts of glory- 
 God has gained a soul. 
 
 THE BABY SLEEPS. 
 
 Died, in Charleston, 25th June, 1S60, Annie Laura Amelia, 
 only child of John and Amelia J. Kenifick. 
 
 Poor baby ! thou art lying 
 
 In the cold and silent ground, 
 While the summer winds are sighing 
 
 Saddest requiems all around ; 
 There is no one now to cheer thee, 
 
 Though the tempests wildly rave ; 
 None are with thee, none are near thee, 
 
 Save the monarch of the grave. 
 6 
 
138 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 baby ! were I resting 
 
 In the silence of the tomb, 
 Or where the white foam cresting 
 
 Shows the sea-graves through the gloom ; 
 0, it could not be so gloomy 
 
 As this world seems now to me, 
 Where wild phantoms still pursue me. 
 
 Haunting ghosts of memory. 
 
 Dear baby, thou art sleeping 
 
 Where the flowers, as they wave, 
 Drop the dew, like mourners weeping 
 
 While they bend above thy grave ; 
 And birds come sweetly singing, 
 
 While the stars their vigils keep, 
 And the lily-bells are ringing, 
 
 Sweetly lulling thee to sleep. 
 
 Sweet baby, there is mourning 
 
 By the whilom blithesome hearth. 
 For the lost one ne'er returning, 
 
 For thy smiles and joyous mirth ; 
 Yes, they miss thee, darling, nightly, 
 
 AVhen the shades of evening fall ; 
 No footsteps now are lightly 
 
 Tripping through the sounding hall. 
 
 And, baby, though with wailing 
 And with woe we laid thee down, 
 
 When the blessed sun seemed paling, 
 And the heaven wore a frown, 
 
LYRICS "and sketches. 139 
 
 Yet, dearest, grief and sadness 
 
 Must be for us alone ; 
 To thee is joy and gladness, 
 
 Hard by the Master's throne. 
 
 Blest baby! thou art singing 
 
 Where angels chant their lays, 
 And golden bells are ringing 
 
 And chiming notes of praise ; 
 And though we are benighted 
 
 By mourning's darkest gloom. 
 We know the bud's not blighted, 
 
 But in heaven's courts shall bloom. 
 
 REQUIEM. 
 
 SUGGESTED BT SEEING THE GRAVE OF A STRANGER IN ELMWOOD 
 CEMETERY. 
 
 Seeep on, sleep on, 
 
 Where the stars watch your sleeping, 
 Sleep on, sleep on. 
 Where the dewdrops are weeping 
 Tears o'er the early dead, 
 Tears for the spirit fled. 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, 
 
 Where the green grass is growing ; 
 Sleep on, sleep on. 
 
 Where the river is flowing ; 
 
140 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Where its waves, as Ihey roll, 
 Chant a prayer for thy soul. 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, 
 
 Where thou 'It late be to waken ; 
 Sleep on, sleep on, 
 
 All alone and forsaken ; 
 
 But thy God heard thy prayer, 
 When no loved one was there. 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, 
 
 There is grief for the living ; 
 Sleep on, sleep on. 
 
 Where the lone grave is giving 
 Peace to the troubled breast, 
 And to the weary rest. 
 
 DEATH THE FOE, AND DEATEI THE FRIEND. 
 
 Death, avaunt, with all thy horrors, 
 Gloom, and darkness of the grave ; 
 
 0, avaunt ! ye damned spirits. 
 Why so madly howl and rave ? 
 
 Conqueror in a million battles, 
 
 0, thou shalt not conquer me ! 
 Yet I feel thy mighty power ; 
 
 Death, I yield — I yield to thee. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 141 
 
 Of the land of night and terrors 
 
 Thou dost open wide the door, ' 
 Where, with devils, fiends, and demons, 
 
 I shall burn for evermore. 
 
 Welcome, Death, thou friend in sorrow; 
 
 Welcome, quiet of the grave ; 
 There's no gloom and darkness brooding 
 
 O'er the hast'ning stygian wave. 
 
 Countless thousands are thy victims, 
 Yet thou canst not conquer me ; 
 
 Jesus' death to me has given 
 O'er the grave a victory. 
 
 Thou dost only ope the portal 
 
 Of a brighter, better land, 
 Where, with angels and archangels, 
 
 I shall live at God's right hand. 
 
 'TWAS AT THE EVENTIDE. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE AUTHOR'S BROTHER. 
 
 'TwAs at the eventide, 
 
 When angels took his soul, 
 The silver cord untied. 
 
 And broke the golden bowl, 
 And bore him home. Our hearts were riven, 
 But there were joyful songs in heaven. 
 
142 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 'Twas at the eventide 
 
 We heard the death-bell toll, 
 But heaven opened wide, 
 
 And God received his soul ; 
 Angels rejoiced to greet another: 
 They hailed our early-called one, "Brother." 
 
 'Twas at the eventide, 
 
 When the stars lit the sky, 
 And then in grief I cried, 
 
 *'How sweet 'twould be to die, 
 To leave the world and seek for rest 
 For the sad heart and troubled breast!" 
 
 THE EARLY DEAD. 
 
 SING a song, so sweet, so sad, 
 Not joyous, blithe, or gay ; 
 
 A solemn dirge be sung for those 
 Who early pass away. 
 
 Before the roseate tints of health 
 
 Begin their swift decay. 
 They go to fairer realms above 
 
 Who early pass away. 
 
 They go to heavenly kingdoms bright, 
 
 To everlasting day ; 
 They leave this earth to live with God, 
 
 Who early pass away. 
 
■ LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 143 
 
 They sing a song divinely sweet, 
 
 They hymn a heavenly lay, 
 They tune their sweet-toned golden harps. 
 
 Who early pass away. 
 
 They live a life of endless joy, 
 
 (The Holy Scriptures say,) 
 And sec Jehovah's glorious face. 
 
 Who early pass away. 
 
 MOTHER AND CHILD. 
 
 What is that shining in the sky, 
 Thatgleameth brightly far on high, 
 That nightly glimmers from afar ? 
 It is, my child, a glittering star. 
 
 What is that rising from the sea, 
 And shining hrightly o'er the lea ? 
 It is, my child, the full-orbed moon, 
 From gracious God a welcome boon. 
 
 The clouds ofttimes with fires are lit, 
 Which 'cross the vaulted heavens flit ; 
 That light mine eyes refuse to bear. 
 That is, my child, the lightning's glare. 
 
 Next, dreadful noises oft I hear, 
 Rolling and crashing through the air. 
 
144 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 This is, my love, the thundei''s roar, 
 Telling that all the danger's o'er. 
 
 Mother, who made these wondrous things- 
 These stars, that darkness with it brings ; 
 The lightning's glare, the thunder's roar ; 
 The moon, that high aloft doth soar ? 
 
 'T is God, my child, who made them all, 
 "Who made this world round, like a ball ; 
 He dwells in light, far up on high. 
 Beyond the reach of mortal eye. 
 
 THE DEAD OF THE CENTRAL AMERICA. 
 
 Tell me, ocean waves, 
 
 As ye roll on, 
 Mourn ye o'er the graves. 
 As ye roll on, 
 Where now the dead are sleeping, 
 
 Late to waken, 
 While widowed ones arc weeping, 
 All forsaken? 
 
 Tell me, stars of night, 
 
 As ye shine forth, 
 Pale ye your pure light, 
 
 As ye shine forth ? 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 145 
 
 Are ye youi' vigils keeping, 
 
 While tempests moan, 
 Where the loved ones arc sleeping, 
 
 Alone ! alone ! 
 
 0, •winds, as ye blow, 
 
 Hurrying on. 
 Bear ye sounds of woe, 
 Hurrying on ? 
 Heard ye their prayers ascending 
 
 From the ocean. 
 While sea and sky were blending 
 In commotion ? 
 
 Yes ; the ocean waves, 
 
 As they roll on, 
 Mourn in their deep caves, 
 As they roll on ; 
 Never an earthly meeting 
 
 To those death parts ; 
 Ne'er more a joyous greeting 
 To loving hearts. 
 
 And the stars grow pale. 
 
 As they shine forth, 
 When the tempests wail. 
 As they shine forth ? 
 And the stars watch their resting, 
 
 When the white foam, 
 On the curling wave cresting, 
 Covers their home. 
 
146 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. ' 
 
 And the roaring blast, 
 
 Hurrying on, 
 Shrieks o'er the wide waste, 
 Hurrying on, 
 Where there were stout hearts quailing 
 
 In agony ; 
 And thence it bore their wailing 
 Up to the sky. 
 
 DEATH, THE KING. 
 
 SUGGESTED BY "STORM, THE KING." 
 
 I AM Death, the King ! 
 
 And my minions are 
 Fever and famine 
 
 And cruel war ; 
 And my stern commands 
 
 They haste to perform 
 With willing hands ; 
 
 For I'm Death, the King! 
 
 I am Death, the King ! 
 
 No tribute I pay; 
 Monarch s and chieftains, 
 
 They own my sway ; 
 And before my might 
 
 Footmen and horsemen 
 Cower in friglit ; 
 
 For I'm Death, the King! 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 147 
 
 I am Death, the King ! 
 
 Amid crumbling stones 
 I have fixed my court, 
 
 And mouldering bones. 
 Where the battening worms 
 
 Make a royal feast 
 On noble forms ; 
 
 For I'm Death, the King! 
 
 I am Death, the King ! 
 
 No sorrow have I 
 For the tears I bi'ing 
 
 To the mourner's eye ; 
 From the mother's arms 
 
 I will snatch her child, 
 And blast its charms ; 
 
 For I'm Death, the King! 
 
 I am Death, the King ! 
 
 My brother is Sleep, 
 Who comes as a friend 
 
 To those who weep ; 
 And he dries the tears 
 
 Which I cause to flow, 
 And soothes all cares ; 
 
 /am Death, the King ! 
 
 I am Death, the King ! 
 
 With my red right hand 
 I ope the door 
 
 To a better land, 
 
148 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 Where my powers fail ; 
 
 For before God's light 
 Proud Death must quail ; 
 
 Even Death, the King ! 
 
 LA BELLE CREOLE. 
 
 0, Belle Creole, 
 
 Your hoops you roll 
 So nonchalantly down the street ! 
 
 As if you thought 
 
 You honor brought 
 By stepping with your dainty feet 
 
 Upon God's earth, 
 
 "Where we all have birth. 
 
 Elisc, ma belle, 
 
 Altliough you swell 
 So grandly past in crinoline, 
 
 Sometimes you stare, 
 
 And wildly glare, 
 As if a spectre you had seen — 
 
 Some damnJid ghoul. 
 
 Or wandering soul. 
 
 0, <*Reine d' Amour!" 
 In days of yore 
 How fondly Alphonse you caressed ; 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 149 
 
 His love betrayed ! 
 Ah ! now he 's haid 
 (A pistol bullet in his breast) 
 By the bayou, 
 For the love of you. 
 
 0, Belle Creole ! 
 
 Though you unroll 
 A list of rents as long 's my arm ; 
 
 Though you have gold 
 
 And wealth untold, 
 Alas ! your riches have no charm 
 
 To blind the glare 
 
 Of that horrid stare. 
 
 Ah ! Belle Creole ! 
 
 There is a goal 
 Where stands the Judge of life's long race, 
 
 And diamonds' blaze 
 
 Can't dim his gaze : 
 0, how will you meet the pallid face 
 
 And stony stare 
 
 Of the dead man there ? 
 
 TO MISS MARY S , OF GEORGIA. 
 
 Tiiou cam'st like a sunbeam, 
 
 A spirit of light, 
 Across my life's pathway, 
 
 All gleaming and bright ; 
 
150 LYRICS AND SKETCHES, 
 
 And shone for a moment, 
 And gladdened my way, 
 
 And turned all my darkness 
 To glorious day. 
 
 In life's dreary desert, 
 
 Thy memory shall be 
 A garden of llowcrs 
 
 All beauteous to me. 
 
 Like a meteor of glory 
 In heaven's blue dome, 
 
 Thy presence shone brightly, 
 Then vanished in gloom. 
 
 Thou hast gone, and the places 
 That shone with thy light 
 
 Have lost all their brightness, 
 Are shadowed with night. 
 
 LIKE A SUNBEAM. 
 
 Like a sunbeam 
 
 Coming, going; 
 Like the wave tide 
 
 Ebbing, flowing: 
 Such is life. Like grass we wither ; 
 
 For a moment 
 Living, loving ; 
 
 In a moment 
 Darkly roving. 
 
 Going— ah, we know not whither. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 151 
 
 Now we're joyous, 
 
 But to-morrow 
 Comes and brings us 
 
 Care and sorrow ; 
 Hearts must break, and friends must sever ; 
 
 On life's ocean 
 Tossing, surging, 
 
 Sail our life-boats, 
 Till submerging 
 
 Comes a wave— they're lost for ever. 
 
 Life's a journey- 
 Sad and weary, 
 
 To a valley 
 
 Dark and dreary, 
 
 Bounded by a gloomy river ; 
 Through the darkness 
 
 Looking over 
 Lovely visions. 
 
 We discover 
 
 'Tis the bright land of Forever. 
 
 'Cross the waters 
 
 Madly swelling, 
 For the homeless 
 
 There's a dwelling; 
 To the weary rest is given ; 
 
 Sorrows there will 
 Be requited ; 
 
 Severed hearts will 
 Be united 
 
 In that blessed home-land— heaven. 
 
152 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. ' 
 
 A WAIL FOR THE GIFTED. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HOWARD HAYNE CALDWELL. 
 
 And art thou cold and lowly laid ? 
 And has thy funeral prayer been said ? 
 And has the requiem sad been sung 
 For thee who diedst so loved, so young ? 
 And shall the smiling buds of spring 
 
 No longer laugh in flowers for thee ? 
 And shall the birds still sweetly sing, 
 
 But not for thee their minstrelsy ? 
 
 Yes ; flowers shall with zephyrs wave, 
 But only blend to bless thj' grave ; 
 And birds shall sing from greenwood tree 
 Only to chant a dirge for thee ; 
 While gently-falling summer rain 
 
 Shall shed its tears of sorrow where 
 Sad music murmurs o'ev the plain, 
 
 While nature mourns her worshipper. 
 
 Friend of my soul, thy heart is stilled, 
 That erst with ecstasy was thrilled ; 
 And silent now the courts have grown 
 Where fancy held her radiant throne ; 
 And eyes where fires of genius gleamed. 
 
 Ah ! death has quenched their glorious glow ; 
 From lips whence tuneful measures streamed. 
 
 Sweet harmonics no more shall flow. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 153 
 
 I'd lay thy loved harp by thy side, 
 If chance some lingering strain abide, 
 That, murmuring with angel-breath, 
 Might wake the dull, cold ear of dcatli ; 
 Cut by the ISIaster's great white throne, 
 
 Where golden bells are ringing now, 
 Where love perfected dwells alone. 
 
 Beloved friend, sure there art thou. 
 
 Thou didst not know— and none can know— 
 My love for thee, my depth of woe, 
 That thine allotted task is done, 
 While mine is scarcely yet begun ; 
 And still in dreams thy form I see. 
 
 When night o'erspreads her jewelled veil; 
 And still thou singest unto me 
 
 In some wild, weirdsome, witching wail. 
 
 BATTLE SONG.* 
 
 Men of the South, awake ye ! arise ! 
 The burning cross on its mission flies ; 
 On Southern soil is a stain of blood, 
 The dark portent of a fearful flood ; 
 'T is the deep and foul and damning stain 
 Of our brothers' blood by foemen slain : 
 Then arm, arm, arm for the fight ! 
 Let Southern might win Southern right. 
 
 * This and the following piece were the author's last poems. 
 
154 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Men of the South, the tempest is nigh, 
 
 The thunder-clouds overhang the sky ; 
 
 A warning voice from the wailing blast 
 
 Heralds the storm as it gathers fast ; 
 
 With your decks all cleared, and furled each sail, 
 
 Meet ye the storm and weather the gale ; 
 
 And arm, arm, arm for the fight ! 
 
 Ere the day dawns is the darkest night. 
 
 Then, men of the South, awake ! arise ! — 
 
 By your flowery lands and sunny skies ; 
 
 By the glorious deeds of daring done 
 
 When your fathers' swords brave victories won ; 
 
 By earth and hell and the heaven above ; 
 
 By life and death, and by hate and love, 
 
 0, arm, arm, arm for the fight ! 
 
 By Southern might win Southern right. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 With joyous hearts and gladsome smiles 
 
 We hail this glorious Christmas morn ; 
 This sacred day, when angels told 
 
 To men the blessed Christ was born. 
 And in the East a star arose, 
 
 The brightest of Night's diadem. 
 And hovered where the Christ-child lay ; 
 
 It was the star of Bethlehem. 
 That star, the harbinger of peace. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 155 
 
 Was greeted by angelic breath, 
 And with its radiance burst the gloom 
 
 And brooding clouds of sin and death ; 
 And beamed upon earth's darkest shore 
 A sign of hope for evermore. 
 
 This day comes now with doubled joy, 
 
 For on the land and o'er the sea 
 Is waving with undaunted pride 
 
 The evergreen Palmetto tree ! 
 And rising brightly in the skies, 
 
 Above the tempest-driven tide, 
 There beams a glorious planet-star — 
 
 The star of Carolina's pride. 
 The skies display no grander light, 
 
 And night can boast no brighter gem. 
 Than that blest star, whose glory yields 
 
 Alone to that of Bethlehem. 
 may it shine from shore to shore, 
 With golden light for evermore ! 
 
156 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 INDIANS, 
 
 "Lo! the poor Ingine!" remarked the Fifer to 
 Ruby, one day, pointing to tlie wreck of an engine 
 ■which had collapsed and expanded and blown up, until 
 what once was the beautiful perfection of mechanism 
 had become a mass of ruins, without form, and void. 
 They had just been discussing the question whether 
 Pope meant to pun when he said, 
 
 "His soul proud Science never trmght to stray 
 Far as the soul-ar walk, or milky-way ;" 
 
 and had come to the satisfactory conclusion that the 
 Indian had often sought the milky-ioay when in infancy, 
 ere yet he had become accustomed to grosser nutri- 
 ment. With a deep-drawn sigh, Ruby remarked, 
 ^'■Ileigh! the poor Indian," and, cow-like, commenced 
 ruminating, thinking of Indians, their past, their glo- 
 rious past, for ever past ; their ignoble and degraded 
 present, and their sorrowful, lowering future. 
 
 When in pristine days the Indian roamed in uncon- 
 trolled freedom through primeval forests whose savage 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 157 
 
 grandeur filled him with grand ideas of the Great 
 Spirit by •whose word they came into existence ; when 
 in the sound of the winds rushing down the valleys, or 
 sighing through the trees, or howling over waters, or 
 clashing and shrieking and shouting around the moun- 
 tain-tops, he heard but the war-cries and battle-alarums 
 of the spirits of dead heroes and braves ; when the 
 murmuring of waters and the rustling of breezes were 
 to him as the voices of good spirits from the cloud- 
 covered lands of the blessed hereafter ; when the flash- 
 ing and blazing of the lightning, as its electric fires 
 illumined the heavens, or the rolling and crashing of 
 the thunder, as it reverberated from cliff and cavern, 
 were gleams from the wrath-kindled eyes of Manitou, 
 or sounds of his voice when he spoke from his empy- 
 real throne ; when the warrior, returning from the 
 battle or the chase, came home chanting the songs of 
 victory, and was met at the lodge door by the "Lily 
 of the Waters," or the "Wild Fawn of the Forest"— 
 daughters of the wildwood, whose hearts were as warm 
 as the sunshine in summer, and pure as the wind-driven 
 snow of the winter, and whose souls were as kind and 
 true as is the turtle-dove cooing in gentle, loving tones 
 to her mate, and as brave as the swan when she drives 
 the wild eagle from the nest where her cygnets are 
 gathered ; when truth and honor were native to his 
 soul, and before the white man had taught him that these 
 were of less value than gold, and could be bought and 
 sold as chattels in the market-place ; then, when he 
 " saw God in clouds or heard him in the wind," and 
 was in constant communication with nature, which was 
 
158 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 his religion, his God, then was his past, his glorious 
 past! 
 
 Driven away from the graves of his fathers, from the 
 home of his boyhood ; tribes scattered and nations dis- 
 persed ; hunted from covert to covert, and driven be- 
 yond the blue mountains of the West, to dwell in a 
 strange land ; contaminated by all the vices which the 
 Europeans brought, but blessed with none of their 
 virtues ; wasted by diseases which followed civilization 
 and destroyed thousands in a day ; preyed upon by 
 harpies whose god is an idol of gold ; having tasted 
 the cup and become enthralled by the overpowering 
 might of the Demon of the Still, who has peopled hell 
 with millions ; down-trodden and despised, vicious and 
 depraved, liars and thieves, robbers and assassins ; 
 honor, truth, virtue, and valor for ever lost. Such, 
 alas ! is their ignoble present. 
 
 "There are fifty-four Indians remaining in Florida; 
 there are among these but fourteen warriors." This 
 extract from a late newspaper was the exciting cause 
 of the present epistle, and mournful were the thoughts 
 concerning the future of the Indian. Was this meagre 
 handful all that was left in the beautiful, flower-bear- 
 ing, palm-crowned Florida, of those who were once 
 the proud lords of all its fertile lands? Would the 
 teeming savannahs never more present for them their 
 stores ? Would the thick-woven, vine-covered coverts 
 of the almost impenetrable hammocks never more offer 
 to them a refuge from the invading foe ? In mournful 
 cadence comes the answer, Nevermore. Never again 
 shall the Suwanee's bright waters sing a lullaby for 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 159 
 
 the child left to sleep on its banks. Never again shall 
 the Ocklockonee reflect the graceful form of the dark- 
 browed maiden, as she views her beautiful features in 
 the limpid waters, or disports herself beneath its blue 
 waves. Never more shall the warrior launch his light 
 canoe on AVithlacoochee's stream, and glide along to 
 the lodge where his loved one dwells, or hasten down 
 the swift current, carrying death and destruction, at 
 the dead of night, into the silent camp of the slumber- 
 ing foe. 
 
 Alas ! the red men have departed, and are as though 
 they were not. Where once the shrill war-whoop was 
 reechoed from the forests, is heard now the shrieking 
 of the locomotive, as it hurries along on its iron path. 
 The ring of the woodman's axe breaks the solemn still- 
 ness which once reigned throughout the orange-groves. 
 And even the mounds which were raised over the 
 graves of the dead are worn down and destroyed by 
 the ploughshare. It requires no prophetic eye to see — 
 for the vista of years is not long — how, gradually, the 
 Indians will disappear; how, one by one, they will 
 pass away, until of the aborigines of America not one 
 will be left to tell the story of the glory of his ances- 
 tors, or the sad fate of their posterity. They are fast 
 disappearing from the present, to take their place 
 among the nations of history. Their relics will be 
 preserved among the curiosities of museums, and, in 
 the words of another, " theirs will soon be the dead lan- 
 guage of a dead people." And to pass away and be 
 forgotten ; this, indeed, is their mournful future. 
 If you ask, Why is this ? the answer is that it is a 
 
IGO LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 necessity of the scheme and plan of civilization. It 
 is an obstacle which must be overthrown in the course 
 of progression. It is a barrier which must be passed, 
 which impedes the westward inarch of the Anglo-Saxon 
 race, ever following steadily and rcsistlcssly in the 
 path illuminated by the beacon-light wliich gloriously 
 beams from the radiant " Star of Empire." 
 
 "RALEIGH ISM." 
 
 " Different men have different opinions ; 
 Some like leeks, and some like inions." 
 
 I AM distinctly opposed to controversy, and am for 
 letting every man enjoy his own opinions unmolested, 
 even should they be pernicious. I would not quai'rel 
 with the person, let him think as he pleases ; but when 
 he publishes his opinions to the world, and I publish 
 mine, if these opinions come in conflict, why, all I 
 say is, "Let 'em come." So ^much by way of ex- 
 planation. 
 
 The Elizabethan age in English history may well be 
 called the golden age of England. The kingdom was 
 at the height of prosperity, being ably and wisely go- 
 verned by a queen of masculine energy and will, 
 assisted by most efficient counsellors. England was 
 peaceful at home, secure from internal commotions ; 
 and her power was feared and respected by all foreign 
 nations. Commerce was flourishing, and every ship 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 161 
 
 •wliicli came to port brought the golden spoils of Span- 
 ish galleons, or the rich produce of Eastern and West- 
 ern Indies. T]io Protestant religion was then first 
 established on that firm basis from -which it has never 
 since been shaken. Literature was at the height of 
 its glory, and in its temple William Shakspeare was 
 the great high-priest. The grand old Baron of Veru- 
 1am, Francis Bacon, was entering on his high career 
 of reforming the systems of human knowledge. The 
 brave Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, led the armies 
 to victory on land, while Francis Drake rode conqueror 
 of the seas. In truth, this was a golden age, ren- 
 dered illustrious, as it has been, by the deeds of many 
 a one whose name the world '* would not willingly let 
 die." There was Spenser, who wrote about "the 
 heavenly Una and her milk-white lamb." There was 
 his noble patron, Sir Philip Sidney, renowned in peace 
 and war, who, ere he died covered with glory at Zut- 
 phen, gave the water, brought to cool his burning 
 thirst, to assuage the pangs of a d^'ing soldier. There 
 were the Cecils, Bui-leigh and Salisbury, father and 
 son, both famed as councillors and statesmen. There 
 were Cavendish and Grenville, and Frobisher and 
 Drake. There were Amias Paulet and Drue Drury, 
 who would not consent to treachery toward their royal 
 captive, Scotland's queen. 
 
 There was Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the proud lord 
 of famous Kenilworth, and haughty favorite of Eliza- 
 beth. And last, not least, was Walter Ealeigh — Walter 
 Raleigh, historian, warrior, poet, statesman ; Walter 
 Raleigh, who, if success were not the world's criterion 
 
162 LYRICS AND SKETCnES. 
 
 of merit, would rank highest among the heroes "who 
 assisted iu the palingenesis of the Western world ; 
 Walter Raleigh, who, having served his country faith- 
 fully and well, was rewarded for his services by the 
 headsman's axe. To be a brave and generous knight, 
 valiant, accomplished, and a gallant, courtly gentle- 
 man, was the loftiest aspiration of high-born youths 
 in those old days ; and such was Walter Raleigh. 
 His throwing his cloak on tlie ground, tliat thereon his 
 queen might pass by without discomfort, is an evi- 
 dence of his ready, thoughtful gallantry, which could 
 spring only from a kind and gentle heart. It may 
 seem to some, in these cold, main-chance, matter-of- 
 fact days, a romantic action, and rather high-flown, 
 but surely it was not a foolish one. And the queen 
 who would have passed on careless of the deed, or who 
 would have laughed at him, instead of being touched 
 by his loyal devotion, would richly deserve to be de- 
 throned and turned into a cook. This action, and 
 similar ones of others and of otlier times, have been 
 classed together, and sneered and reprehended under 
 the name of '* Raleighism ;" and this has caused this 
 letter. If deferential politeness and lofty acts of gal- 
 lantry to females be "Raleighism ;" if, by attention 
 and kindness, and even romantic and chivalrous devo- 
 tion, striving to raise woman from a household drudge, 
 or a mere creature to serve man's passions, to an ac- 
 knowledged position as man's equal or his superior, 
 (as she certainly is, in all the spiritual and aesthetic 
 sentiments,) be "Raleighism ;" if softening the man- 
 ners and elevating the tone and spirit of this brazen 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 163 
 
 age be "Raleighism," then I, for one, say, "Give me 
 Raleighisin." 
 
 When I see (and only in America can I see it) a man 
 rising from his comfortable place in a crowded car, 
 and yielding it to a female, whether she bo poorly clad 
 or dressed in rich apparel, because she is a woman, 
 then I think to myself, "Thank God! the spirit of 
 Raleigh still lives." 
 
 WOMEN'S EYES. 
 
 Eyes ever have been, are, and always will be objects 
 of great interest to mankind, from every point of view. 
 They are used as murderous weapons, when we look 
 daggers. They are used as places of deposit, as when 
 we say, "That's all in my eye." They sometimes ac- 
 quire a sort of personality when appealed to alone or 
 in conjunction with the illustrious Elizabeth Martin. 
 They are convenient marks at which to direct " smash- 
 ers," when engaged in pugnacious warfare. They are 
 the members of the body oftenest consigned by pro- 
 fane seafaring men to utter condemnation. Finally, 
 they are good, very good to see with. Glass eyes are 
 very smooth and bright, and look very well, but they 
 can never look to compare with the commonest and 
 homeliest pair of nature's productions. Spectacles 
 and eye-glasses and telescopes and microscopes are 
 very well in their way ; but what would they be with- 
 out the eye, as the final cause of all their usefulness ? 
 
164 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Eyes are like i ivers, for they have cataracts. They 
 are like old handkerchiefs, t-ometimes full of tears. 
 They are like house-frames, full of beams ; these 
 beams being of two species — the one (not desirable) 
 occurring when (he person is peculiarly observant of 
 motes in the ocular organs of others ; the other (very 
 good) most often seen in the bright eyes of beautiful 
 females. All animals have eyes, even oysters, except 
 those unfortunate fish dwelling in the black waters of 
 the Mammoth Cave, which fish, not being able to see 
 the dangers of the barbed hook, seize the bait, which 
 they can smell, without a moment's hesitation, and 
 thus become the easy prey of unprincipled anglers, 
 meanly taking advantage of their benighted condition, 
 "thus affording a melancholy proof of the depravity 
 of mankind." Potatoes have eyes ; and these vege- 
 tables, being the chief, if not the entire food of the 
 Irish people, are the cause of that nation's being so 
 extremely wide awake. Persons or chicken - cocks 
 with one eye are sportively denominated Blinkers, 
 upon the blind side of whom it is always safest to 
 begin the attack, in the event of a hostile collision. 
 When people lose their sight, God pity them ! There 
 is an afiliction to which all other physical ones are but 
 light. The flowers may dress themselves in brightest 
 hues ; the birds may gleam in the golden sunlight with 
 gaudiest plumage ; the sunbeams may gild the green 
 leaves and burnish the bright waters and crown the 
 mountain-tops with a coronet of glory, but it is all 
 black to them. All the grandest exhibitions of nature ; 
 all the most wonderful achievements of science ; all 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 1G5 
 
 the glorious trophies which art has raised, are to them 
 as though they were not ; and the remembrance of 
 former joys derived from these sources, (the sources 
 of the most I'efined pleasures,) must be fraught with 
 pain, from the consciousness of present and future de- 
 privation. Not eternal deprivation, though ; for, thank 
 God, death must come ! And death, closing the mortal 
 eye, opens wide the spirit's view, and the blind can see 
 such glorious creations in the land of immortality as 
 never yet^have been beheld among earth's fairest scenes, 
 enchantingly lovely though they may be. 
 
 I once heard of a cure for blindness, which, being 
 simple, I would recommend for trial. A blind man 
 once eating a very tough beef-steak, had to pull so 
 hard that he pulled his eyes open. I am happy to 
 state that in gratitude he alwaj's afterwards ate beef- 
 steak whenever he could get it. 
 
 But my preliminary remarks are stretching so far, 
 that they will leave but little room for expatiating 
 upon the original subject, which is 
 
 women's eyes. 
 
 They express more than men's eyes. Be they black 
 or blue, or brown or gray, or even green, (most hor- 
 rible, the latter,) there is always an expression about 
 them which shows that they are truly the windows of 
 the soul. You never saw a woman who could look one 
 thing and mean another. They very often speak dif- 
 ferently from what they think, but they never look 
 otherwise than as their feelings prompt them. The 
 mere matter of color makes but little difference. Of 
 
IGG ^LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 course you oftenest find black eyes an indication of a 
 quick, fiery, passionate nature, whose possessor hates 
 or loves fiercely, and blue eyes indicating softness and 
 pliability, and strong but not passionate attachment or 
 aversion. Yet you often find the natural sequence re- 
 versed, and the dispositions consequent upon one de- 
 scription of physical conformation all attending the 
 opposite. In this, as in every thing else, we nrc ruled 
 by conventionality, that great extinguisher of all natu- 
 ral feeling or expression. Because painters, when 
 they wish to represent Faith or Hope or Resignation, 
 or something preeminently extramundane, choose as 
 an impersonation a female figure, and represent her 
 with auburn or golden hair and fair complexion and 
 blue eyes, are we to conclude that Blondes are better 
 or purer or holier than Brunettes? Or, when they 
 would portray an Aspasia or a Cleopatra or a Ninon de 
 I'Enclos, because they use brown umber and burnt 
 sienna, instead of pink and white, or ivory-black, in- 
 stead of ultramai'iue, are we to suppose that women with 
 brown complexions, whose cheeks the sunbeams have 
 loved to dwell upon, and black eyes whose brightness 
 rivals the light of stars, are any more earthly or less 
 divine than the pale-faced, fiiir-haired representatives 
 of angels ? No : one is as good as the other, for both 
 are beautiful and true and good by nature. And you 
 find a bluc-eycd woman as likely to stray from vir- 
 tue's paths from want of will, as you find a black- 
 eyed woman from force of passion. 
 
 Women ca7i talk, and do talk, (Heaven knows,) but 
 they have so very many emotions that their eyes must 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 167 
 
 talk too. And then, as if kind Heaven were determined 
 to make them guileless whether or no, every emotion 
 of their hearts is very clearly shown in their eyes. 
 They cannot be deceitful. They may talk deceptively, 
 and if you listen without looking, or are unable to 
 read the signs in their eyes, you may be deceived ; but 
 Heaven has added this quality, so as to make her, so 
 to speak, in spite of herself, truthful. So let her have 
 blue or black or gi'ay or brown or green (which last is 
 especially horrible) eyes, a woman, as yet uncontam- 
 inatcd by earth's influences, is the most beautiful, the 
 truest, the purest, and the holiest of God's creations; 
 and the most beautiful, the best of her possessions, 
 are brightly-beaming, soul-lit eyes. 
 
 LITTLE GIRLS 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL, blusliing rosebud, a moss rosebud, is 
 something like a little girl ; only something like, though, 
 for earth does not possess in its fairest gardens or rich- 
 est treasuries any flower half so beautiful, any jewel 
 half so radiant as a graceful, lovely, innocent girl. 
 Modest as is the violet half hidden beneath the grass 
 and spangled with dewdrops, it is not more modest 
 than she is. Sweet as is the perfumed breath of the 
 jessamine, swaying and rustling its golden bells, it is 
 not more sweet than the fragrance of virtue and truth, 
 which is bounteously shed around her. Bright as is 
 the light which gleams from the diamond sparkling 
 
168 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 preeminent in a carcauet of gems, it is not more ra- 
 diant than the love-light which illumes and beams 
 forth from her eyes. Light as is the prattling and 
 babbling of the streamlet, as it goes leaping and glid- 
 ing along in its flower-decked banks, it is not more 
 joyous than the silvery sound of the musical laughter 
 which comes welling up from her mirth-laden breast, 
 and wreathing her cheeks and lips with sunniest smiles. 
 Pure as are the pearls whitely gleaming from the ocean 
 caves, or the lilies bowing to the salutations of the 
 breezes which come bearing the tribute of rich odors 
 gleaned from flower-beds over which they had flown, 
 they are not more pure, nor is purity itself more holy 
 than the heart of a little girl, fit shrine for the indwell- 
 ing of Heaven's choicest perfections. 
 
 He must be very wicked and sin-polluted who does 
 not love little girls. I love them of all sizes, except 
 when they are about six feet high, and weigh about 
 three hundred. Then, sweet and good as they are, 
 they become rather too much of a good thing. 
 
 Now there is one little girl who brings the light of 
 sunbeams and the odor of roses whenever she comes 
 near me, and I have promised to tell her a stoi^y ; and 
 as I would not for the world tell her a story, here goes 
 for the performance of the promise. (If it turn out 
 to be a very poor story, or no story at all, you must 
 remember that I said I would not for the world tell a 
 story. 
 
 A STORY FOR TINY — (mARY YOUNG BRYCE.) 
 
 Well, the winter had come, and all the beautiful 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 169 
 
 flowers were dead, and the birds had flown away and 
 carried their sweet music to gladden the hearts of those 
 who dwell in the more genial regions, where the sun 
 laughs all the year round with a broad grin of summer. 
 The melancholy, sighing winds of autumn had come 
 and condoled with the trees, and these had cast their 
 sad-colored leaves over the graves where the seeds 
 were buried, waiting for their resurrection. The little 
 life-germs of the future leaves and flowers were all 
 sleeping, covered over with their brown and russet 
 bedclothes ; and thus, though the winter winds might 
 blow coldly, and the sleet might rattle chilly, they 
 were all warm and cosy. Sometimes, when it grew 
 very cold, the Great Father would send down his 
 gently- falling, soft, fleecy snow ; and a warm white quilt 
 would then be added to their covering. So the winter 
 passed on, and the germs slept on. Now the sun, who 
 had been wrapped up in clouds, as if he too feared 
 the cold, began to peep out and wink at the tree-tops 
 where the icicles were hanging ; and the trees were so 
 glad that they wept for joy, and threw away the ice- 
 diamonds which the Frost King had given them, (for I 
 am sorry to say they had been coquetting outrageously 
 with old Hiems — that is, Jack Frost — while the sun 
 was gone, and had received many beautiful presents of 
 diamonds and pearls and all kinds of precious jewels,) 
 and forthwith they began to rustle their branches and 
 straighten out their twigs and primp up generally and 
 extensively. Then the little golden mntes which glide 
 up and down on the sunbeams, began to gather around 
 the trees and nestle on their widespread arms ; and 
 G 
 
170 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 they ■wliipperc'l to the germs and buds to come forth 
 an 1 i>l:iy ; fur the oM winter was dying, and tliey must 
 come forth and prepare the palace and the throne for 
 the reception of the young and rosy spring. How- 
 ever, the trees were timorous, and rather afraid to let 
 the buds come out so soon, and so they waited, just 
 like people do, to see who would lead the way. Then 
 an audacious little plum tree came out one morning, 
 and not only in summer costume, but actually all in 
 white, as if to show its contempt of danger by deri- 
 sively sporting the liverj^ of winter. No sooner did 
 this occur than all tlie peach trees resolved not to be 
 outdone, and here they came, nodding and bowing and 
 courtesying, all dressed out in their finei^t blush-colored 
 raiment. That is to say, I thought at first that they 
 were dressed as I have just described ; but a little 
 fairy who happened just then to be fluttering past, 
 whispered to me that this was not the dress of the 
 trees, but that they had heard the sweet singing of the 
 birds and spring zephyrs, and had looked out and 
 smiled with flowers, and so the trees were only clothed 
 with beauty. (I expect that is what made the peach 
 trees blush so violently.) Finding that beauty, how- 
 ever becoming, is not a very substantial clotliing, they 
 then did dress themselves in earnest, or rather m green ; 
 and the fruit trees had their clothes adorned with rows 
 of round, bright green velvet buttons. (I suppose the 
 other trees fastened their chithes with strings and rib- 
 bons and pins; but about this I am not certain.) Thus 
 they were all smiling and bright and happy, when 
 suddenly there was heard a low, rumbling, muttering 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 171 
 
 sound from afar off. The trees heard it, but played 
 on and smiled on as brightly as ever. Then the clouds, 
 who saw the coming of danger, came and wept over 
 the earth, for they knew that trouble was near. The 
 old cowardly sun hid himself quickly, and put on his 
 night-cap of mists and went to sleep again. The trees 
 played on and smiled on, but they began to tremble 
 and look pale, for they heard the clarion-notes which 
 the heralding tempests blew. Then came the army of 
 the Frost King, with sharp, shining spears and white 
 plumes, and they marched up in dreadful array and 
 made prisoners of the trees. Then John, the great 
 king of frost and ice and snow, put on his ermine robes 
 and pronounced sentence on the shivering, trembling 
 prisoners. 
 
 The sentence was : 
 
 1st. *' That all the trees who had been caught dressed 
 out in fine array to do honor to the young prince, 
 Spring, should have their buttons cut off and their 
 fine dresses scorched and torn, as a mark of disgrace." 
 
 2d. "That the plum tree, the ringleader, should be 
 beheaded immediately, if not sooner." 
 
 Loud were the lamentations and sighs of the poor 
 prisoners. (Some people, stupid people, said that it 
 was the wind blowing through the branches ; but I 
 knew better than that.) There were many friends to 
 sympathize with the trees, and many fellow-sufferers 
 to weep with them ; for upon the toes and ears of some 
 little persons were the marks of the cruelty of him 
 vhom people contemptuously call Jack Frost. And I 
 grieved too, Tiny ; for I thought, Alas ! alas ! where 
 
172 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 now will be the plum-jelly that I have loved so long 
 anl well; where the pics whose flavor rejoiced my 
 palate, and where the sweet milk and peaches, dearer 
 than all? 
 
 Now, Tiny, as to the meaning of all this, simply 
 told, it is this: The trees put out their flowers and 
 leaves too soon, and the frost came and nipped them. 
 You may ask why I did not say so, then, without all 
 that talk about dress and trumpets and diamonds and 
 60 on. The reason is, because I am very fond of talk- 
 ing and writing, when I get anybody to listen to me 
 and read what I write; so I took the opportunity to 
 say as much as I could. And now good night. I sup- 
 pose you won't be very anxious to hear any more sto- 
 ries from tiresome and tired Rubt. 
 
 THE ACME OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Do you know what I consider the acme of beauty? 
 Perhaps it may make but little difterence to any one 
 what may bo my private opinion on this highly inte- 
 resting subject; but it is a free country, and (thanks 
 to your courtesy to me) a free press, and 1 intend to 
 express my opinions, and if any one object, he or she 
 may go to the D-ictionary for a better interpretation 
 of the signification, or rather for a better realizing of 
 the ideal of the perfection of Beauty. 
 
 " Beauty is but skin deep," as was remarked to 
 St. Bartholomew when his cuticle was removed, and 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 173 
 
 he left in a garment not so becoming as comfortable to 
 those who like that style of summer dress. " Well, 
 suppose it is only skin-deep ; who wants it any 
 deeper ?" said the saint. With these preliminary 
 remarks, bearing their moral very much exposed, and 
 not by any manner of means distinguished for sense 
 or profundity — quite the reverse, on the contrary — I 
 come back to first principles, and proceed to say what 
 I consider to be the acme of mundane beauty ; and 
 this is, "A beautiful, refined woman seated on a fine 
 horse, holding a rosebud in her hand, and admii'ing 
 and loving a glorious sunset." 
 
 Now let me tell you some of the accessories, in my 
 opinion, necessary to this perfection. The woman (I 
 do not say lady, for woman is a good word) must be, 
 not brilliantly or garishly beautiful, but softly, wo- 
 manly, lovely. Not one who steps out boldly with 
 the stately air of a queen, and by her striking and 
 well-displayed charms seems to say, *'I am a beauty; 
 come now and bow the knee, and own my power ;" but 
 one who is beautiful because she cannot help it, and 
 whose blushes seem to say, *'If you xcill worship me, 
 do so, and I am grateful for the homage, for through 
 me you worship the Giver of beauty, the great God, 
 the perfection of all beauty." She should wear a 
 close-fitting dark riding-habit, and her hair should be 
 covered, but not concealed, by a black velvet cap 
 surmounted by two drooping plumes, one black as the 
 raven's wing, and the other as purely whi(«* as the 
 unsullied plumage of some hyperborean swan. The 
 rose-bud — any small flower would do, but I prefer a 
 
174 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 rose-bud, blushing, half-opened and moss-coverod n<*. 
 to its leaves and .stem — tlie rose-bud, I sny, should 
 have been gatliercd yrhhn incense was rising heavm- 
 ward from the flower-beds, and while the dew-diaraonds 
 were spangling its breast; and it should have been 
 preserved as an offering to her with a care equal to 
 the venerating guardianship wiih which a priest 
 watches over some saintly relic of olden days. The 
 horse should be small, compact, and not addicted to 
 pacing or trotting. His color should be a deep blnod 
 bay, or a coal black, or a dark sorrel. Said horse 
 should toss his mane and curve liis neck, and seem as 
 if proud of his lovely burden. The sunset should be 
 one of those seen only in Southern lands, where the 
 richest tints and brightest hues are commingled in 
 lavish profusion; where it seems as if an antevision 
 of the glories of the land of the hereafter were kindly 
 granted to earth-contaminated mortals. 
 
 Now, it was not " many and many a year ago," but 
 it was some time ago that your correspondent was 
 favored with the enjoyment of such a feast of beauty 
 as never the most beauty-sensualistic artist ever 
 revelled in. After a week of gayety and dissipation, 
 when, if one thinks at all, he muses on the '* rorjcVaa 
 vanitatinn," etc. ; when, wearied from excitement, and 
 having become of the earth very earthy, he seeks for 
 rest from the turmoil raging without and within ; 
 after just such a eea'^on, when T was tliinking and 
 feeling just as I have described, I was permitted the 
 great privilege of accompanying a most lovely lady on 
 an excursion into the country. The green leaves of 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 175 
 
 the trees were shining with gladness, and the rich 
 perfumes which came on the wings of the breezes, and 
 the carollings of the birds rejoicing in their regained 
 freedom from the cold thraldrom of winter, all were 
 sweet harbingers of the young and lovely summer- 
 time. We rode where the naked rocks frowned grimly 
 down from craggy eminences, and where caverns 
 yawned darkly and deeply beneath us ; but here kind 
 nature, ever benevolent and profuse with beauty, ever 
 and anon had sent a clambering vine to lace its tender 
 tendrils and cover the rude rock with a delicate net- 
 work of crimson and green. And as we rode along, 
 the sweet stillness of the scene was softened, not dis- 
 turbed, by the murmur of waters, the faintly heard 
 reechoings of the grand anthem which the river ever 
 is chanting; and suddenly mounting an eminence, 
 there was spread out before us in its picturesque 
 grandeur, like a broad stream of molten silver enclosed 
 between vine-clad and tree-crowned banks, the river 
 of rivers — the blest Congaree. Across the waters the 
 sun was slowly sinking to rest, while azure and gold, 
 and crimson, and purple, and orange, and rose, and 
 every thing gorgeous, and every thing grand, and 
 every thing richly beautiful, had been gathered to 
 adorn his resting-place And there on the green 
 banks of the majestic river I saw my ideal completely 
 realized — a beautiful refined woman, seated on a fine 
 horse, holding a flower in her hand, and admiring and 
 loving a glorious sunset. 
 
170 LYRICS AND SKETCHES 
 
 CROOKED STICKS, ETC. 
 
 Did you ever try to make up a nice cosy fire, ami 
 have a crooked misshapen log, which would lie no one 
 way, but was always in the way or out of the way, 
 preventing the cheery bluze from ascending? I have just 
 been endeavoring (o make up just sucli a tire, and just 
 such anotlier amorphous stick has malevolently thwarted 
 all my designs. I punched this way and I punched 
 it that way; I rammed here and I jammed it tliere; I 
 punched it all over, lengthwise, crosswise, and round- 
 aboutwise; but, in the words of Archimedes, "it was 
 no go," I retired, I yielded, I succumbed, beaten, as 
 many others have been, by a stick. I gave up the 
 effort as useless to stick to it, and as a wilful woman 
 will have her way, (so will a fat one have her weigh,) 
 and so will a crooked stick. There are many other 
 crooked sticks in this world besides those we use for 
 fuel. There are men who are never happy themselves, 
 and prevent others from being so by their sour faces, 
 and harsh remarks, and utter heartlessness. There 
 arc women who gossip about their neighbors, with sly 
 innuendoes, and cruel jeerings, and oftentimes with 
 lies. They spread false rumors, and cast stains on 
 hitherto spotless reputations. They follow with the 
 condemning crowd to stone an erring sister, but were 
 they told, " Let her that is without sin among you cast 
 the first stone," they would not dare to throw the 
 smallest pebble. These are the crooked sticks in tlie 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 177 
 
 fagots called communities; and these will the devil 
 use for fuel. Then they'll lie straight and keep quiet. 
 There is another kind of crooked sticks. They are 
 those who cannot keep straight, even though they try. 
 They lie smoothly enough at first, but suddenly the 
 heat increases, and here comes a bend, and a warp, 
 and a crook, and their symmetry is destroyed, and 
 then they are in the way of their fellows. These are 
 those good-hearted, kind, generous, oftentimes talented 
 men, whose course is virtuous, and straight, and beau- 
 tiful ; but the heat of fiery temptation comes, and they 
 are led astray and become crooked sticks. Perhaps 
 the devil will catch these too, but let us hope that he 
 will not make back-logs of them. Well, as I was going 
 on to say when these last remarks so rudely interrupted 
 me, I let the log alone, knowing that in the course of 
 time, by means of the vigorous application of fiery 
 measures from below, it would burn out of the way ; 
 and 80, with the happy consciousness that what is to 
 be will be, I bide ray time. 
 
 OTHER DAYS 
 
 It is always pleasant to look back to boyhood. 
 Don't let your glance fall on the intermediate space 
 from then until now, for there is too often some dark 
 spot which disfigures the beauty of the picture, and 
 will cause feelings of sorrow and often of pain. But 
 go back to boyhood or young manhood, when your 
 
178 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 heart was overflowing with joy and mirth, and you 
 rejoiced in the simple consciousness of deinq — the 
 mere act of living ; when, if you did do wrong things, 
 they were not very wicked, but might be called the 
 exuberances of life and youthful f^pirits; and they 
 were sooa atoned for, and as soon forgotten, and 
 should as soon have been forgiven. 
 
 I love thus to look back — for though I have not 
 seen many lustres, I have a past to revert to — and 
 think over the scenes which were then witnessed, and 
 the deeds then transacted. I love to remember the 
 agents of those actions, as gay, and careless, and 
 light-hearted a set of seventeen year olds as ever 
 raised a row or went on a breeze. Closely allied were 
 they — ay, closer than a band of brothers — and alwa \'s 
 ready for whatever might turn up, be it fight, fun, or 
 frolic. That band is dispersed now, and those lioys 
 are now men, striving araid the ranks of warriors in 
 the great life-battle. One is pursuing with rapid steps 
 a path which leads to fame and glory. A rougli road 
 is his; but he has that radiant jewel called genius, 
 which casts a bright light along the pathway. One is 
 in the quiet walks of life — good, honest, and upriglit, 
 if not renowned. But he, though unknown to fame, 
 may be a greater hero than the conqueror in a hundred 
 battles. One, alas, is going downward ; fast and 
 faster along a road smooth and declivitous and beau- 
 tiful at tir.st, Willi l)riirht-h\ied flowers growing along 
 the side, but ending in a gloomy cavern where the 
 monster Ruin dwells, and with a fiendish yell of 
 delight welcomes his victims. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 179 
 
 One has gone home. I would not wreathe his 
 memory with a cypress wreath, but I would twine around 
 it garlands of lilies and roses, for at last and in reality 
 he is alive. They laid him in a coffin and clothed 
 them in black, and with tearful eyes they snid he was 
 dead. But I looked and saAV a calm smile on his face, 
 the peaceful smile of a sense of rest — of eternal rest. 
 And I did not weep, for my heart reflected the smile, 
 and I knew he was now living by a stream where 
 grow amaranthine flowers ; a stream whose bright 
 waters are the Waters of Life. 
 
 I was thinking to-night of these old times, and 
 scenes, and friends, when an occurrence came before 
 my mind's eye which, for your amusement, I will pro- 
 ceed to relate. 
 
 Not very many years ago, in North Carolina, in a 
 village that shall be " nameless here for evermore," 
 there might have been seen, not ^^^ solitary horseman," 
 nor *'a beautiful maiden by a stream." No, dear 
 reader ; if you expect any thing of that sort, you had 
 better quit at once. I repeat it: there might have 
 been seen — that is, if any one had looked, and a great 
 many did look — so I may as well say, there was seen 
 a large crowd collected in the public square before the 
 
 Court House of , on the first Monday in January 
 
 of the year of grace 185 — . In the midst of this 
 crowd there was an individual elevated on a barrel; 
 and this individual, clothed as to his outward man in 
 a green coat of a shad-belly cut, and all ornate with 
 resplendent buttons of shining brass, was addressing 
 the assembled multitude on the incomparable excel- 
 
180 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lencies and ineffable virtues of a cei'tain patent medi- 
 cine, wliich would cure all the known ills to which 
 poor suffering mortality is sulyect, and prove a 
 panacea for a thousand hitherto-undreamed-of mala- 
 dies. He had just finished a pathetic and glowing 
 account of a j'oung and lovely female, who had grown 
 up amid the fostering care of a loving family, and was 
 beginning to bless her home with the thousand sweet 
 influences which a woman ever scatters around her: 
 as a flower repays the care of him who rears it, by 
 blooming in beauty and shedding around rich per- 
 fumes ; when, as the flower is wilted by the simoon 
 blast of summer, she was stricken down by the hand 
 of disease, and the gloom of the dark valley was 
 already casting its forerunning shadows over her 
 lovely features. This medicine was procured for her; 
 it was taken — she was healed. 
 
 There was an evident sensation produced upon the 
 crowd. Their hearts were warmeil, and the people 
 wore beginning to buy the medicine more as a reward 
 for curing that beautiful girl than for any self-bene- 
 fited advantages which might accrtie. Just then a 
 modest, mild-looking young man, with flowing golden 
 locks and an incipient (very incipient) moustache, who 
 Imd been standing near the barrel accompanied by his 
 well-loved friend Cutf, (now, alas! married,) attracted 
 the attention of the crowd to himself by remarking 
 thiit he had experienced the beneficial effects of the 
 medicine, and would like to give his testimony in its 
 favor. Taking up a bottle and holding it between his 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 181 
 
 eye and the sun, so as to mark its rich color, he thus 
 commenced : 
 
 "Though you behokl me now in youth and beauty, 
 proud in my youth and rejoicing in my beauty, [buzz 
 in the crowd,] it has not been very long since I too 
 was stretched upon the couch of suffering; for disease 
 had laid its heavy hand upon me, and the insidious 
 heralds of the conqueror were dinving the blood from 
 my cheeks, which had hitherto bloomed red with the 
 roseate liues of health. [Applause from a sentimental- 
 looking person with sleek hair and a dirty shirt.] 
 Day by day 1 grew worse and worse. Physicians were 
 called in, but all their skill was of no avail. The dis- 
 ease rapidly progressed, gaining one stronghold after 
 another, until it environed the citadel where the heart- 
 drum was feebly beating its alarum to call all the 
 forces and strength of the constitution to rally to the 
 defence. [*Go it,' said Cuff.] And now I felt myself 
 growing weaker and weaker, and knewr that the life- 
 sti'eam, which had hitherto flowed so brightly along, 
 was almost exhausted. I bade a long farewell to 
 sorrowing friends: I felt the icy grasp of the great 
 all-conqueror ; I heard the hollow tramp of the black 
 horses ; and hovering on the confines of time, I could 
 almost hear the flowing of the river, and the music of 
 harps, and the songs of angels. ['Glory!' from an old 
 lady.] Just then a messenger came riding furiously 
 on a sweat-covered, mud-stained, foam-flecked steed ; 
 he rushed into the room and presented a bottle of this 
 glorious Elixir of Life. With feeble but eager grasp, 
 I seized the bottle, drained its contents, and " 
 
182 l^VHICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "You recovered immediately," said the preen- 
 coated one who had been eagerly listening with a 
 smile of satif^faction ligliling his face. "No, my 
 friend," said tlie youth ; "unfortunately, I died!" 
 
 A yell I a shout ! a cry of "5'o/rf.'" was heard. A 
 shower of bottles darkened the air, and the extreme 
 ends of two very straight coat-tails were seen as the 
 speaker and his friend Cuff evanished round a near 
 corner. The youthful orator — I blush to confess it — 
 was 
 
 Your friend, Ruby. 
 
 THE EXPECTED COMET 
 
 A WONDERFUL thing is a comet, as it comes and shines 
 upon us with its fearful light for a short time, and then 
 daslies off with increased velocity into the boundless 
 regions of space. In the year 975, A. D., a great 
 comet was seen, with a fiery tail, stretching for forty 
 degrees over the sky. Then it struck terror into the 
 heart of every one, for it was regarded as a presage of 
 some direful calamity. It departed, however, leaving 
 peoi>le more frightened tlian they were hurt, and once 
 more left us, as it liurried away on its grand march 
 into space. In 1204 a comet again appeared, wliicli, 
 7inliJce Hamlet's father, did a (ail unfold, covering more 
 than half tlie sky, or about one hundred degrees. 
 This comet disappeared on the 2d of October, 1264, 
 and the same night Popo Urban IV. died. Well, this 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 183 
 
 one went like its predecessor, leaving people fright- 
 ened, and (they thought) a little hurt, for it was sup- 
 posed then that this celestial visitor had come from the 
 limitless regions of the universe, through millions on 
 millions of miles, merely to herald the old Pope's 
 death. In 1556 another comet was seen, with not 
 near so much caudal appendage, but it came like "Old 
 Tom Noddy, all head and no body." The tail was 
 only four degrees long, but the head was very large 
 and of a fiery red. This comet showed its rubicund 
 visage for a short time, and, after scaring Charles V. 
 from his throne, oif it pitched, streaming into space. 
 A rough estimate of the elements of the august visitor 
 of 1264 being found to coincide pretty nearly with those 
 of the red-headed visitor of 1556, it was supposed that 
 these two were identical, and the same also as the 
 comet of 975. Now, having found its period, it was 
 calculated that the dreaded visitor (whose room was so 
 much better than his company) would come again, on 
 a flying visit, within two years of 1858. And as Dr. 
 Cummings has decreed that the world will end on the 
 13th of .Tunc, some are beginning to think that this 
 old comet is going to stop our career, by incontinently 
 pitching into us right and left, and smashing the world 
 into an infinitude of asteroids. The French people 
 are, of course, in great excitement, and very many, no 
 doubt, will be extremely disappointed if, on the 14th 
 of June, the earth is not knocked into an immense, 
 ridiculous cocked hat. But astronomers have calcu- 
 lated that there are about one hundred and ninety-nine 
 million chances to one in our favor; that is, that our 
 
184 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 pitcher (metaphorically speaking) may go to the well 
 at lea^^t one hundred and ninety-nine million times 
 without being broken. These comets, large as they 
 appear to us, are to the vast universe but as the little 
 insects sporting around us, compared to the world 
 which contains them. They are, too, Professor Pierce 
 says, mere visible nothings. It is supposed that were 
 the earth to encounter a comet's tail, no particle of 
 the matter in its composition would ever reach the 
 earth, but as soon as it came in contact with the atmo- 
 sphere, would ignite and present an exhibition of fire- 
 works such as the world has never seen. The head, 
 then, is the only dangerous part ; and it is said that if 
 one of these old hard-headed monsters were to butt 
 the Avorld in the short-ribs, it would play thunder gene- 
 rally. But it is opposed to this, that the size and 
 weight of the comet are so small, in comparison with 
 the earth, that there would be no greater shock given 
 it than were a fly to alight on an elephant's back. 
 Moreover, " No one shall know when the Son of man 
 Cometh." So don't let Dr. Cummings or the comet 
 scare you, but on its first appearance hail it as a grand 
 celestial visitor; shake your fist at it and say : Shake 
 not your fiery tail, and try to scare me, for you can't 
 co7ne-it. 
 
 R A I N 15 W S 
 
 " This is not a free country, for we are rained over," 
 said "Ruby" to a most ])cautiful lady, as, amid the 
 rain-drops which fell thick and fast, they descended 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 185 
 
 from Kinsler's Hall, after the closing scenes of a com- 
 mencement-ball, and sought the always-on-such-occa- 
 sions-hard-to-find carriage. As John Phoenix says, 
 "the lady only remarked, 'te-hee,'" a low, sweet 
 sound of mirth, as the tinkling which a brooklet makes 
 
 whenrollingovershining pebbles. L , whohappened 
 
 to be a little in front, overheard the remark, and loudly 
 soliloquized, " I suppose you are a rain beau, then." 
 ** Ruby" faintly ejaculated, "Gosh!" and thenceforth 
 held his peace. But this is not one of the rainbows 
 upon which we intend to make our homily this time. 
 
 '* When you go in to get soda-water, next, be sure 
 and ask for 'a rainbow,' which is a newly-invented 
 and most 'delightfully-flavored sj^rup.' " Thus spoke 
 "Ruby" to three youthful females who, enveloped in 
 clouds of white and pink and blue muslin, and fluttei'- 
 ing with ribbons of every hue imaginable or incon- 
 ceivable, and resembling rainbows, were preparing for 
 their usual evening promenade. Now, be it known 
 that the aforesaid " rainbow" is a delectable compound, 
 composed of strawberry -juice, cream, soda-water, and 
 brandy, with a strong accent on the brandy. Well, 
 having laid his train, " Ruby" went in hot haste to the 
 " shotecary pop," to witness the explosion of the mine, 
 (having summoned Quam Durus to behold the scene,) 
 and commenced examining soaps, razors, perfumes, 
 and almost every thing else in the store, as an excuse 
 for waiting. Not long, however, did he have to wait, 
 before the three modern graces came in, rustling with 
 muslin and beaming with smiles ; and proceeding to 
 the soda-fountain, one, a dainty, fair-haired, rosy- 
 
186 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 cheeked, ruby-lipped, next-thing-to-an-angel, unfolded 
 the swcitest little rosebud of a mouth, and asked for a 
 "rainbow." The astonished clerk looked aghast, also 
 inquiringly, as if he had not distinctly heard ; and 
 then another rosebud opened and repeated the demand* 
 while a third was heard faintly to ejaculate, "bow." 
 Looking over to "Ruby," the young man received a 
 wink 80 full of the most intense significance, that his 
 eyes were opened spiritually as wide as they had been 
 before physically; and with a swoet smile, indicative 
 of appreciation, he concocted the beverage. To have 
 seen the expressions of surprise, horror, and disgust, 
 which in rapid succession contorted those hitherto 
 most serene and lovely features, would have been, to 
 some men that I wot of, suflBcient compensation for 
 having lived, and good cause for the chanting of Nunc, 
 etc. (I hope J. W. K. will not grab me for this.) 
 Turning about, their eyes were directed Ruby-ward, 
 and that young man received such looks as he never 
 would voluntarily experience again, though the riches 
 of earth's treasuries were oifered as the bribe. He 
 was borne off in a collapsed condition by Quam Durus, 
 and nothing was heard from him more, except a gurg- 
 ling, rattling noise, as if he were endeavoring to in- 
 voke hi"? l.ivorite, familiar "Gosh." 
 
 But tlies*' are not tlie rainbows of which I intended 
 to writi' to-day. I mean by rainbow, one of those 
 prismatic, heaven -spanning signs of promise, gleam- 
 ing forth from clouds and beaming through raindrops; 
 material representation of the light from heaven; the 
 spiritual rainbow, reflecting the rays of God's glory 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 187 
 
 and glowing with radiance caught from the ** Great 
 White Throne," and beaming on sorrow's clouds and 
 gleaming through teardrops ; the signal of hope, the 
 sign of promise, lighting the gloom of the poor grief- 
 laden, way-worn wandei'er of earth. After the rain, 
 the other evening, while a thick dark cloud hung like 
 a funeral pall over the east, and a gloom covered the 
 whole sky, suddenly the sun, just before setting, broke 
 through the envelope of mists in the west in all his 
 golden glory, and just as suddenly a beautiful rain- 
 bow, standing out in fine relief from its dark back- 
 ground of clouds, overarched the eastern sky. There 
 was crimson, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, vio- 
 let, indigo, lavender, and I don't know but you might 
 have discovered chocolate, ashes of roses, and moire 
 antique. (I am not so sure as to this last being a 
 color; anyhow, it is some part of a lady's vocabulary 
 when she talks of dress.) And while I gazed upon the 
 lovely scene, completely enraptured at the sight of its 
 innumerable beauties, my thoughts recurred to other 
 days. I had been told by my nurse (among other mar- 
 vellous fictions with which she regaled my youth, and 
 all of which I firmly believed) that at the end of the 
 rainbow there was always a bag of gold, which would 
 bountifully reward the labors of him who was lucky 
 enough to discover the treasure. So one day, after a 
 shower which had sweetly cooled the summer air, and 
 left myriads of diamonds sparkling amid the grass- 
 blades, a very diminutive Ruby might have been seen 
 toddling off towards the neighboring forest, as fast as 
 two very chubby, knock-kneed legs could carry his 
 
188 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 dumpy corporosity. The watchful nnd venturous 
 young one had escaped from the supervision of his 
 Ceberus, (or Cebera, as it was a female,) and, accom- 
 panied by an African of about the same size and age, 
 with the lust for gold swelling his little heart, was set- 
 ting forth to seek the bag of gold, wliich he was confi- 
 dent was attached to the end of a magnificent rainbow 
 which was then adorning the heavens, and whose ter- 
 mination he was equally confident was to be found in 
 the woods about half a mile from his home. On and 
 on he went, penetrating deeper and deeper into the 
 dark forest, but the farther he went, the farther off 
 seemed the rainbow, until finally it entirely disap- 
 peared ; and wearied and frightened and sadly disap- 
 pointed, the poor child threw himself upon tlie ground, 
 grieving bitterly at the frustration of his first hopes, 
 the destruction of his first air-castle. After a long 
 search, he and his sable companion were found, both 
 sleeping sweetly beneath an overlianging dogwood tree, 
 and were conveyed home, where they had been most 
 anxiously awaited and expected. 
 
 It has not been twenty years since then, and yet the 
 same Ruby, in some things, as then, a very child, in 
 other things, alas ! too old, has seen many as bright- 
 hued visions as the first all grow pale and fade away. 
 He has seen as radiant rainb )ws of hope, with as gor- 
 geous dyes, and with the same promises of a bag of 
 gold at the end, which treasure he has been as confi- 
 dent of securing ; but when he has striven to reach 
 the end and obtain the prize, the farther ho has gone, 
 the farther off has seemed the rainbow, until it has 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 189 
 
 faded quite away and left him wearied and sorrowing 
 for the hours lost in the search for an ignis fatuus. 
 And twenty years from now (if he live so long) he will 
 look back, and then, as now, find that he has sought 
 for fast-fading treasures, promised by equally as intan- 
 gible rainbows. 
 
 And so we go on from youth to age, seeking for bags 
 of gold at the ends of rainbows, and at the end of life 
 find that we have pursued phantoms, and, when it is 
 too late, we bitterly bewail a misspent existence. 
 
 **RUB Y" ON GLOVES. 
 
 Gloves are good things. This by way of text. 
 Now for the expounding. From the earliest ages they 
 have been used by all classes of men for various pur- 
 poses, but I believe that all commentators and antiqua- 
 ries and scholiasts are agreed that their pi-incipal use 
 is to keep the hands warm. The deceiving Jacob 
 was the first person who wore kid gloves, and since his 
 time many fair and gay deceivers have adopted his 
 fashion. Throwing down the glove was, in ancient 
 times, equivalent to a defiance to mortal combat. As 
 the glove was made of steel, it has been thought by 
 many that the challenger would have acted more wisely 
 by throwing it at his adversary, and thus securing the 
 desired combat, and at the same time the advantage of 
 the first blow. It may not be generally known that 
 gloves have been used as writing materials, but it is 
 
190 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 recorded that when some Maxwell or other was be- 
 sieged in some castle or other, and was getting very 
 tired of his diet of old boots and rats, he contrived to 
 get a message to Sir William Wallace, acquainting 
 him of his danger. That gallant hero being in the 
 trenches before another castle, and ready to begin the 
 assault, took his dagger and engraved on his brass 
 gauntlet, *' Revizesco — God is with us," and dispatched 
 it by mail, i. e., a warrior cl.id in armor, to tlie suffer- 
 ing Maxwell. Whether the Maxwell took courage, or 
 whether the English took him, I do not distinctly re- 
 member. 
 
 But there is another point of view in whicli gloves 
 may be considered. Take a glove, cut off the g ; what 
 is left but love? Take a glove, cut off the fingers; 
 what do you make but a mitten ? So gloves may be 
 considered with reference to their connection with love 
 and courtship, but not with marriage. Now I can con- 
 ceive of no more delicate yet invaluable gift from a 
 fair lady to a gentleman, than one of her gloves. 
 There should be to the favored recipient nothing but 
 her, dearer or better. It brings her, as it were, near 
 him, though she be afar off; for when he has that me- 
 mento of her, that little glove, still beai-ing the shape 
 of the beautiful hand which it at once shielded and 
 adorned, with all the curious and intricate network of 
 lines which nature's most delicate brush has pencilled, 
 his imagination recalls the liand, and the arm, and the 
 polished shoulders, and the slender neck, and the fair 
 white breast, and the rounded form, so lithe and grace- 
 ful in all its proportions, until a glorious image dwells 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 191 
 
 ■within the brightest chambers of fancy's palace, and 
 he sees her, the queen of his soul, in all her radiant 
 loveliness, as when beneath the starlit sky she said, 
 in softest tones, "Remember me with this." Brave 
 knights have gone into the battle with their lady's 
 glove upon their helmets, and under this alone as their 
 crest, and animated by the smiles of its fair donor, 
 have fought and died to prove her fairest of the fair 
 in all the land. And should I ever be called to join in 
 the conflicts of war, my country's glory and my lady's 
 love would be the greatest incentives to exertion, and 
 in their defence would death be welcome, and I would 
 pray that my last look might be raised to our country's 
 flag, and last kiss might be pressed upon my lady's 
 glove. 
 
 Yes ; cut off the g from glove, and you have love. 
 But when you cut the fingers from a glove — beware, 
 young man, how you attempt it ! — you make a mitten ; 
 and however pleasant it may be to receive the whole 
 glove, and however much you may regard it as the evi- 
 dence of the lady's favor, it is a different thing when 
 you are the unhappy recipient of the dismembered 
 trunk. 
 
 The phrase, " giving the mitten," took its rise after 
 this wise, Clotilda, thirteenth daughter of Sigismund 
 Bosphagus, was importuned by Dontuwish Umagetit, 
 a Russian, who had by chance found his way to her 
 father's kingdom, and on account of some valorous 
 deeds had been knighted, that he might claim her as 
 his lady-love, and wear her colors and gain her hand. 
 Now D. was hard-favored, having had the lower part 
 
192 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of his ears bitten off by the frost, which had also con- 
 ferred upon him a most curious expression of his nose. 
 His eyes were crossed in different directions, while a 
 sabre-scar had made a hole in his cheek, through 
 which his teeth were very visible. These various dis- 
 figurements, of course, were not very valuable adjuncts 
 to his suit, and his manners were rough and coarse, 
 having been more accustomed to the society of rude 
 men at arms in drinking-bootlis than to the more re- 
 fined manners suitable to a lady's bower. But worse 
 than this, than these, than all, she loved the gentle 
 niinsfrel, Guillaume de Gautblanc. Now Clotilda feared 
 to give him an abrupt refusal, lest she might enrage 
 her father, and provoke him to send her to a nun- 
 nery to pine away and die, and commit Guillaume 
 to a monkery, or worse ; so she contrived an expedient 
 (as any other woman could and would have done in 
 like circumstances) whereby she might free herself 
 from her odious lover, and yet not incur her father's 
 displeasure. She gave the knight a golden snuff-box, 
 telling him that it contained her riding-glove, and when 
 he brought her that glove filled with sand from the 
 shores of the Jordan, she would marry him. The 
 knight started off overjoyed, thinking that in a few 
 months he might be the proud lord of the loveliest lady 
 in the land. lie passed through many toils, dangers, 
 and wanderings, until he reached the shores of the 
 sacred stream. Not waiting a moment for repose, he 
 rushed to the shore, scraped up the sand, drew the box 
 from his bosom, where it had been carefully kept, 
 opened the clasp, drew forth the glove, and — found it 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 193 
 
 a mitten. Overcome with chagrin and rage, he plunged 
 into the waves, and his corpse was carried to its proper 
 place, the Dead Sea. 
 
 Women have not changed much since that day, and 
 their artifices are as many and as ingenious as then, 
 as many a man has found to his cost. Then ! puer 
 gracilis ingenueque, be warned in time, and let the warn- 
 ing make you cautious, lest some time after long and 
 anxious loving, after sunset rides and moonlight walks, 
 after serenades and presented bouquets of rarest flowers ; 
 after hand-pressings and heart throbbings, and after 
 sweetest smiles and softest whisperings, when you 
 proudly and gladly felicitate yourself upon having 
 gained the priceless boon of your lady's love, and re- 
 joice in the possession of the great treasure of your 
 "lady's heart, 0, beware, lest when you go to kiss the 
 glove, you find it the mitten ! 
 
 We have considered gloves with the g cut off, in 
 their relation to love, and gloves with the fingers cut 
 off in their relation to courtship ; and this is as far as 
 we can ; for when we come to marriage, we have done 
 with gloves. Then a man has the hand, and, of course, 
 is done with the glove. Then all the sentiment which 
 belonged to the hand when covered in its glove, is lost 
 in the possession of the naked reality. Yes, marriage 
 disperses the romance of love ; but as I have not yet 
 arrived at that settled, real condition, it must be par- 
 doned me if I indulge largely in the romance ; and 
 I'll tell you about some gloves that lie here before me, 
 taken from my desk this cold Saturday evening, when, 
 my week's work being finished, I am at liberty to re- 
 
194 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tire vrithin myself and visit the realms of memory, 
 borne in the car of revery. Here are a pair which 
 were once as white as the snow on Zembla's shore, but 
 now they are growing dingy and yellow, for I have kept 
 them long. Faintly to be seen, is traced upon them, 
 " G^, Alexandre." How well do I remember the evening 
 when, by a half-given, half-refused consent, they be- 
 came my prize. The gay and lovely of tJie elite of 
 
 C were there collected ; but among them all, she 
 
 who gave them was the peerless queen. And in them 
 there is a talismanic influence; for when I look upon 
 them, I think of her whose soul is purity itself, and 
 from whose lustrous eyes beam forth the rays of truth's 
 lamp, which burns brightly in her heart of hearts ; and 
 while her image is before me, all wrong thoughts and 
 evil actions and deceiving tempters are driven away. 
 But let us place them away carefully, as we would 
 relics in a shrine, for to me they are sacred, and take 
 up others. 
 
 Ah! here is one, 6.}, with a delicate fringe around 
 the wrist, made of rich lace. This carries me back to 
 a crowded hall, and shining lights, and perfumed air, 
 and flashing diamonds, and swelling music, and volup- 
 tuous waltzes. 0, it was a gay scene ! There were 
 lords and ladies there in the rich garb of other days. 
 There were fairies there, and fair sultanas, and 
 fast flew the hours on hastening wings. But fairies 
 were not more fair, sultanas were not more lovely, 
 than was the white-robed maiden who gave me this 
 remembrancer. But, alas! she is another's now ; and 
 so into the fire it goes, for I have no right to keep it 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 195 
 
 now ; for the hand is another's ; why should I cherish 
 the glove ? 
 
 See ! here is one, a 6i, a little torn, and thus 
 it happened : There had been a large party, and 
 at its close "Ruby" had the great privilege of escort- 
 ing one of the belles of the evening to her home. As 
 they proceeded, the cunning youth commenced speak- 
 ing of the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," and his 
 walk with the Schoolmistress, where the "Autocrat" 
 asks her to take the long path with him. Just as he 
 got to this part of the story, they came to a corner, by 
 turning which the path would be shortened; then, 
 "Ruby" bending low, whispered, "Will you take the 
 long path with me?" The maiden softly answered, 
 "Ask my pa." "Whether he did or not, deponent saith 
 not. The glove is supposed to have been torn in her 
 excessive agitation. 
 
 But here is a yellow glove, the smallest of them all ; 
 so small that the manufacturer would not mark it, fear- 
 ing lest his veracity might be doubted. And this the 
 little beauty from the South once threw at me, when I 
 asked for it. I threw it back at her, but when she 
 wasn't looking, picked it up again ; and if she were to 
 
 throw herself at me, I would well, never mind 
 
 what I would do. 
 
 But last of all is this one, beautifully white, for it 
 is not yet old ; and here is well delineated all that 
 network of lines of the hand, of which I have before 
 spoken. 
 
 Now listen to "Ruby," the gipsy, telling fortunes. 
 This line betokens that she will have pleasure for a 
 
196 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 short season, but sorrow and disappointment will soon 
 follow. This line shows that she is fickle and change- 
 able as the wind. This line shows that she is vain, 
 and too eager for admiration. All these lines joining 
 show that she is a coquette and a flirt, and that her 
 pleasures will be shortlived, and be succeeded by a 
 cheerless old ago, rendered sorrowful and gloomy by 
 reason of disappointment. But there is a jewel which 
 some one will give her, if she will only receive it, and 
 this, with its ruif/-liglit, will dispel all the clouds which 
 now darken her destiny. There, the fortune is told ; 
 the oracle ceases. 
 
 You may ask if I have mittens preserved. I make it 
 a rule never to answer impertinent questions, and what 
 I have or have not "is nothin' to nobody." And now 
 we will close this dissertation by repeating and singing 
 (if you please) the following lame lines about 
 
 THE LITTLE WHITE GLOVE. 
 
 There's a little white glove 
 
 Which I wear next my heart ; 
 And diamonds could never 
 
 Induce me to part 
 AVitli this little white glove, 
 Which belongs to my Love. 
 
 'T is the little white glove 
 
 Of the queen of my soul ; 
 And of a liard race, 
 
 With her love as the goal, 
 Tells this little white glove, 
 Which belongs to my Love. 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 197 
 
 Now this little white glove 
 
 Bears the form of a hand ; 
 'Tis the hand of the fairest 
 
 And best in the land ; 
 Yes, this little white glove, 
 Which belongs to my Love. 
 
 And could I but call 
 
 That little hand mine, 
 Death only could make me 
 
 Prepare to resign 
 That hand, and this glove, 
 Which belongs to my Love. 
 
 «'RUB Y" AT SCHOOL. 
 
 Well, well! 
 
 " Nunquam homini satis 
 Cautum est in horas;"- 
 
 and here Ruby goes, limping and hobbling, even as a 
 ame goose or a pai-alytic duck, a muscovy, for in- 
 stance ; not one of those curly-tailed, green-and-gold- 
 necked fellows who are so kindly and pressingly invited 
 to offer themselves as voluntary sacrificial victims to 
 the Lares and Penates of the kitchen hearth, in the 
 famous song, 
 
 "Dilly, dilly duck, come and be killed." 
 
 No ; he is not one of that kind, though he came very 
 near going and being killed ; and if Amelia Jane will 
 
198 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 call him her duck, it must be her lame duck. You sec 
 his steed is a very spirited "enimel," having a great 
 many natural and sfu(f-\cd graces ; and last Sunday 
 said steed, being anxious to get away from "meetin'," 
 jumped off before Ruby could jump on, and the con- 
 sequence was, 
 
 One leg was in the stirrup placed, 
 And one gyrating wildly; 
 
 (Lord Ulliti's Daughter modified ;) 
 
 until with one mighty effort the horse cleared a large 
 log, but Ruby didn't. A small "snag" upon said log, 
 being of an inquisitive turn, insinuated itself beneath 
 his ribs ; and so Ruby was thrown horse du combat, 
 and has a little leisure to write to the Enquirer, and 
 enquire^ er how she feels since the conclusion of that 
 Star-tale-ing story. One great comfort to him in his 
 affliction is, that the schoolboys will have cause for re- 
 joicing, and verify the old proverb, tliat "it is an ill 
 wind that blows nobody any good." If there be any 
 one curious on the subject of rainbows, he may call 
 upon Ruby, who will completely gratify his curiosity 
 by exhibiting in " propria persona" all the prismatic 
 colors, and a great many others, which Sir Isaac New- 
 ton never dreamed of. 
 
 Did you know that Ruby had become a saint? It's 
 a fact, strange as it may st>em. Now he was not canon- 
 ized, like St, George WasliinEjton was at the battle of 
 Princeton, nor yet by any Pontifical bull, though he 
 came very near being exalte<l on the liorns of neighbor 
 Jackson's bull. I do not think that his relics are re- 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 199 
 
 vered with any particular veneration, except by the 
 crows, who religiously avoid approaching the corn, 
 where his old coat, elevated on a pole, flutters its 
 ragged tails protectingly. The only miracle he has 
 performed was to borrow a quarter from the Thug, 
 who had never before been known to lend a dime, or 
 even to have one to lend. Nevertheless, he has been 
 translated — not to heaven, by any manner of means — 
 but to dwell among the St. Andrews, and St. Helenas, 
 and St. Georges, and St. Luke'', and St. Bartholomews, 
 and St. James Goose Creeks, and all the rest. Yes ; 
 he is "one of them Parishers," as he heard an up- 
 countr}'^ brother remark ; and he is at his old voca- 
 tion — instructing youth in the science of nitro-sul- 
 phuric projectiles ; in other words, teaching the young 
 idea how to shoot; an occupation admirably adapted 
 to sweeten the temper and develop the quality of pa- 
 tience, but one not very strongly spiced with variety. 
 And here his time is occupied in reading, writing, 
 teaching, and learning. Of course he eats and sleeps 
 sometimes, not being exempt from all mortal weak- 
 nesses ; but he performs these acts more from respect 
 to the customs and opinions of society than from ne- 
 cessity. 
 
 He is teaching a little and learning much. Nature 
 is his kind instructress, and he reads in her great 
 book, a gorgeously-illuminated volume whose every 
 page is enriched with most beautiful illustrations. He 
 sees a dewdrop, and, reasoning as to its origin, infers 
 the whole theory of vaporization. He poes the little 
 shining drop resting on the grass, like a diamond 
 
200 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 dropped by an empress on the green velvet carpet of her 
 throne. As the sun rises, the dew dissolves and floats 
 away to the heavens on the viewless wings of a sun- 
 beam. There the vapor from myriads of dewdrops, 
 and from oceans and seas and rivers and lakes, floats 
 along in pearly clouds, until their weight increasing 
 by means of condensation, they feel the attraction of 
 gravitation. Then first a little watery particle breaks 
 loose and commences its descent ; as it hurries down, 
 its coolinp: influence condenses others, which hasten to 
 join it, and, cohering together, form a sparkling sphere, 
 which reaches the earth a beautiful raindrop, the har- 
 binger of a refreshing shower. Having performed its 
 earthly mission, it again is drawn to the skies, and 
 the process goes on ad infinitum. And the little glo- 
 bule glistening on the violet's breast may have been 
 borne up from Capernaum's sea, or may once, a float- 
 ing sDOwflake, have rested on the crown of the monarch 
 of mountains. 
 
 He looks forth when night has overspread her star- 
 jewelled veil, and sees the moon obedient to the great 
 law of gravitation, revolving around the earth, which, 
 with its sister planets and their satellites, performs its 
 course around the sun, who, with his brother suns and 
 their planetary systems, is journeying on, marching in 
 the grand procession around some central source where 
 the Great Magnet is placed, where the Source of all 
 attraction is centred. And here his reason and ima- 
 gination fail him, and his mind, after its fai-thest reach, 
 sinks back upon itself wcarieil ; and overcome with 
 the awful grandeur of even the conception of the Great 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 201 
 
 First Cause, he bows his head and veils his eyes and 
 cries: "What is man, that Thou art mindful of him, 
 or the son of man, that Thou visitest him?" 
 
 And sometimes Ruby walks through the solemn 
 forests — nature's sanctuary — where the long-leafed 
 pines rear their tall and graceful stems and interweave 
 their spreading branches, forming emerald arches over- 
 head, and making aisles and columns and architraves 
 and domes finer and grander than Michael the Angel* 
 ever reared. There he hears the music of the wind- 
 harp, sighing and soughing through the trees, more 
 glorious far than any organ's notes, pealing through 
 minster's fretted vaults. 
 
 Yes, he studies earnestly in nature's book, and prays 
 to learn to "look through nature up to nature's God." 
 And he learns much ; for he has learned how little he 
 knows, and has been taught to 
 
 " Wait the great Teacher, Death, and God adore." 
 
 SIGHT-SEEING. 
 
 As I have conscientious scruples about attending all 
 manner of theatrical exhibitions, and shows of a like 
 character, and am therefore deprived of much sight- 
 seeing, it was with particularly pleasant emotions that 
 I perused the tasteful handbill which during the last 
 week was placed in my hands, which bill announced, 
 "A grand exhibition of Illuminated Paintings, com- 
 
 ■" Michael Angelo: Anglioc, Michael the Angol. 
 7 
 
202 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 prising over one hundred different views, unparalleled 
 in beauty and coloring." These beautiful works of 
 art, "exceeding in merit any the world lm>- ever be- 
 held," were to be exhibited at Temperance Hall, June 
 27, 1857, and for that night only. Thinking it too 
 good a chance of seeing a little pious pleasure to be 
 lightly passed over, I forthwith assailed Mr. G. with a 
 request (lie calls it a command) that he would take mo 
 and at least seventeen of our nineteen children (all of 
 them girls, and the dearest, sweetest creatures in the 
 world; Jane, for instance, is qualified in every respect 
 to make any man happy ; but I fear lest my maternal 
 pride may carry me away so I cannot, as I would like, 
 describe them all; but there is Carry — well, never 
 mind) — to see the show. Mr. G., as usual, (the horrid, 
 stingy brute,) objected, saying that it would cost about 
 six dollars, and that he did not think it would pay. 
 Tlien I showed him the programme, and told him Mr, 
 Fifer said that the pictures were to be illuminated by 
 the light of other days. I also presented to him in a 
 forcible manner the great benefits which the children 
 would receive by having the scenes from scriptural 
 history impressed upon their minds by the means of 
 the illuminated paintings, exceeding in merit any the 
 world has over beheld. I told him that our minister 
 approved of the exhibition, and wound up by giving 
 him a piece of my mind concerning laziness, meanuL-ss, 
 and general neglect of family. This had the effect of 
 extorting from him a i)romi8C to take us; and as we 
 hurrieil off to fix, I heard him muttering, *'Any thing 
 fur peace." 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 208 
 
 Well, we went to Temperance Hall, where we 
 found every thing in darkness. After waiting a 
 Avhile, a curtain was drawn, and we beheld a ground 
 plan of Jerusalem, which was beautiful. Mr. Fifer 
 said that the artist **had run it into the ground." 
 I didn't know what he meant, but suppose that it was 
 a complimentary expression. Then came a western 
 view of the city — Mr. Fifer said it was painted by a 
 Hoosier — then an eastern view; then a "familiar 
 view;" then Jehoshaphat. Mr. Fifer exclaimed, 
 " Great Jehoshaphat !" Then the three Fools of Solo- 
 mon. Mr. F. said that they had larger pools at the 
 great race, last week, in New York. And last of this 
 division of illuminated painting came Jordan, with 
 most beautiful scenery on the banks. It did look very 
 cool and nice. Mr. F. said if it was a good picture 
 Jordan must be a hard road to travel. When the polite 
 and gentlemanly lecturer called our attention to Adam 
 and Eve, driven forth from Paradise in fig leaves, one 
 gentleman said that they looked like they had been out 
 a long time. Mr. Fifer said that if Paradise looked 
 like that, it would not take much driving to get him 
 out, / did not look at this scene. After this, we saw 
 Abraham oflFering Isaac, and a very vicious-looking 
 ram in the background. Mr. X. asked Mr. Fifer if it 
 was a hydraulic ram. Mr. F. responded, "Yes; as it 
 is drawn in water-colors." Then came Pvcbecca at the 
 well, the well looking any thing but well ; likewise 
 Rebecca. Next we saw a picture of "Joseph sold into 
 Egypt." This was so admirably depicted as to draw 
 tears from eleven of my darlings. I know this, be- 
 
204 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 cause the holes were in their frocks when we got home. 
 Mr. Fifer said Joseph wasn't the on!}' person there 
 who was sold. Then came the return of the spies, who 
 had a very nice bunch of grapes, considering. Mr. F. 
 persisted in telling Jane their names were Jericho and 
 Deuteronomy. Then came the Brazen Serpent. Mr. 
 F, said that a j'oung woman who was looking up to it 
 looked a great deal more brazen than the snake. Then 
 came "Balaam and his ass." Mr. F. remarked that 
 the original of the picture of the animal was engaged 
 to go around with the exhibition as lecturer. Then 
 came a most awful scene of the slaying of Goliath by 
 David. It was a very hard fight indeed. Goliath 
 seemed to die hard. And there was the beautiful 
 young David, sitting on him and gouging him with his 
 left hand, while his right hand was engaged in pound- 
 ing him most lustily. And next we saw David dancing 
 before the ark. Mr. F. said that he was dancing the 
 Grape-Vine Twist. I do not think this picture was at 
 all correct, as the ark here was not a bit like Noah's, 
 which was shown to us afterwards, with all the ani- 
 mals going in just as easy and natural as can be. 
 When I saw the cow, I could not help thinking of our 
 Pidy, which gives fourteen quarts a day of the nicest 
 milk you ever saw. But I must hurry on, so as to 
 complete my talk. We saw the Rhine, with the gon- 
 dolas floating serenely upon its surface. Mr. Fifer 
 eaid that " that Rhine ought to be peeled off the can- 
 vas." We saw — Moses knows Avhat all! There was an 
 Inebriate's Progress, and an Avalanche, but as I could 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 205 
 
 not distinguish the one from the other, I am unable to 
 describe them. 
 
 After the scenes promised in the programme were 
 all exhausted, the gentlemanly and obliging proprietor 
 very generously and kindly proposed to exhibit others 
 for our gratification, and this was to be done gratui- 
 tously. He then showed us some highly comic per- 
 formances, consisting of depicted nightmares, and 
 flexible noses, built upon the extension plan, all con- 
 cluding with a grand patriotic picture representing 
 the Father of his Country, looking very much ashamed 
 of being in such disreputable company. We all left 
 very much delighted, having been greatly benefitted, 
 I hope. If he comes again, I mean the showman, I 
 will go and take the other two. 
 
 Yours, much delightedly, 
 
 Mes. Placidia Gammon. 
 
 P. S. — Mr. Fifer says that he is happy too, for he 
 gave the show-fellow a three-dollar counterfeit bill, 
 which had been for a long time impassable, and so got 
 paid two dollars and a half for going. 
 
 Mes. p. G. 
 
 HOW "RUBY" CAUGHT HER. 
 
 My friend Jack and I went to the opera. Now, 
 when Jack goes to any such place, he goes because it's 
 ** the thing" to go there. He can't tell the Drinking 
 Song in Lucrezia from the Dead March in Saul. Ne- 
 vertheless, he goes. I don't believe that he knows the 
 
206 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 diflFerence between Yankee Doodle and Old Hundred. 
 Nevertheless, he goes to every opera, and concert, and 
 matinee musicale; and as it is "the thing," is a great 
 connoiseur. He has picked up a few technical terms, 
 and can converse very learnedly about sopranos and 
 baritones, and basso profundos, and arias, and trios, 
 and all that sort o' thing. He always goes to the ope- 
 ra in a dress coat, with an irreproachable and unap- 
 proachable neck-tie, and immaculate gloves. And as 
 to lorgnettes — if you could only see Jack's — well, he 
 would as soon go to sea without a boat as to go to the 
 opera without his lorgnettes. Jack has a hat — a most 
 miraculous tile it is — which he keeps expressly for 
 such occasions, and calls his opera hat. We came very 
 near fighting once because I wore it on a fishing ex- 
 cursion. It is made with springs, so that, being press- 
 ed on the crown, it collapses in a very startling man- 
 ner. Now, "Ruby" being an indigent Bohemian, is 
 glad to get to the opera under any circumstances. He 
 wears a dress coat, if he has one ; if not, he pins up 
 the tails of his frock coat, so as to come the swallow- 
 tail dodge. He wears one light-colored glove, carry- 
 ing the other negligently in his hand — thus making a 
 pair of gloves go twice as far as they would if both 
 were worn at the same time. His old black velvet cap 
 serves him for opera hat, smoking cap, hunting cap, 
 and dress hat. When he wishes to use a lorgnette, he 
 doubles his fist and squints through the cavity. 
 
 Well, as I said before, my friend Jack and I went to 
 the opera — he with his "Gibbous," and I with my old 
 velvet. There were no private boxes, or stage-boxes, 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 207 
 
 or any thing of the sort ; for it was not a regular ope- 
 ra house, but a hall used for all public exhibitions. 
 The seats were arm-chairs, placed in rows, twenty in a 
 row, and near together. We had not been seated long 
 before the overture commenced, and the seats were ra- 
 pidly filled. There came into the row immediately be- 
 hind us a party of ladies escorted by one gentleman. 
 After they took their seats, I noticed that Jack recon- 
 noitered the house generally, and the party in our rear 
 particularly, through his lorgnette. I proceeded to do 
 likewise through my fist. For this proceeding Jack 
 reproved me, and the lady immediately behind giggled 
 at me. I noticed that she was black-haired, bright- 
 eyed, and beautiful ; and seemed, withal, merry and 
 mischievous. 
 
 Well, the curtain rose, and II Trovatore commenced. 
 I listened a while, but soon grew tired ; for the music 
 was poor, the singing was bad, the acting was execra- 
 ble, and the scenery contemptible. I was leaning with 
 my arm hanging down over the back of my chair, hold- 
 ing my old cap in my hand, almost touching the floor. 
 I felt something tugging at my cap. I raised it a lit- 
 tle, and the pulling stopped. Directly I felt it again. 
 I looked down and saw a beautiful ankle in a flesh- 
 colored silk stocking; and said ankle was working vi- 
 gorously. Its upper extension was hidden under a 
 cloud of points and lace, and I don't know what all 
 else ; and its lower continuation was buried in my cap. 
 Thinks I to myself, thinks I, *'Aha! you're caught, are 
 you, and nicely too !" With a very stolid and inte- 
 rested look, I kept my eyes fixed on the stage, until I 
 
208 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 felt the tugging going on again ; and then, with a sud- 
 den clamp, I closed the cap together and caught the 
 little foot as nicely as ever a mouse-trap did a mouse. 
 
 I heard a half-uttered "Oh!" behind me, but did 
 not move my eyes from the stage. Directly I began to 
 raise my arm, still holding tight to the cap. I thought 
 I heard a titter, and looking around, as if disturbed 
 by the noise, saw the owner of my little prisoner with 
 her face buried in her handkerchief, and laughing 
 most violently. Thinks I to myself, thinks I, "You're 
 a good 'un;" so I lowered my ai-m and looked again 
 toward the stage. Every now and then I would feel a 
 strenuous tug, but I only had to raise my arm and all 
 was still ; but I could feel the little foot trembling like 
 a captured bird. While they were preparing for the 
 ballet, I asked my friend Jack, who had all the time 
 sat bolt upright, fearing to rumple his collar or disar- 
 range his black hair, and staring intently through his 
 glasses, who the lady was who sat just behind me. 
 "Aw, she's a Madame Leoline V., a rich young widow, 
 a Creole from New Orleans," Making this response, 
 my friend Jack once more betook himself to his opera- 
 glass. From the way I held my cap, my hand would 
 occasionally touch that round, slim ankle, and I would 
 feel a thrill responsive to the one which would shoot 
 through my whole nervous system. There was such 
 an overflowing abundance of crinoline, and silk, and 
 muslin, and all that sort o' thing, that all this interest- 
 ing by-play was entirely unknown and unseen by any 
 one, except the two actors engaged in it. When the 
 ballet girls came on the stage, there was the usual libe- 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 209 
 
 ral display of arms and feet, and anMes, and ankles 
 continued; but none were beautiful or attractive enough 
 to draw off my attention from my little prisoner. I 
 had rested my cap on the lowest bar of my chair, so 
 that the imprisonment would not prove painful, how- 
 ever irksome it might be ; and it seemed as if the cap- 
 tive had become resigned to its fate, for the struggles 
 ceased. My friend Jack turned to me as the ballet 
 concluded with an overwhelming pirouette on the part 
 of the favorite danseuse. ** — foine ! beautiful foot 
 that, eh?" I answered, "Supple-ended." This satis- 
 fied Jack, and he resumed his lorgnette. 
 
 When the opera closed, I sat very quietly. Directly 
 I felt a most vigorous pull. I sat motionless. Soon I 
 felt a warm breath on my cheek, and heard a whisper 
 in my ear: "If you're done with my foot, I'd -like to 
 have it." " What will you give for it ?" said I. *' My 
 card," was the answer. Upon this I nodded and 
 opened the cap ; but notwithstanding all her efforts, 
 the foot could not get loose. I assisted. I found that 
 the heel of the slipper had got fastened in the torn 
 lining of the old cap. After some delay, I released it, 
 and for a moment it lay motionless in my hand. And 
 such a foot ! 0, Titania ! thine must have been 
 broader. 0, Cinderella ! thine must have been longer. 
 In my wildest dreams of beauty I never had imagined 
 such a foot. The daughter of the Celestial Emperor, 
 the brother of the sun, the cousin of the moon, and 
 the uncle of the stars, never had a smaller foot ; and 
 nobody under the sun ever had one of finer form. It 
 was delicately curved and arched at the instep, and 
 
210 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 gleamed like pearl beneath rose-colored waters through 
 the open work of the stocking. And think of it! — 
 think of it ! — picture it! The slipper — the casket 
 which enshrined this pearl — was of purple velvet. As 
 I yielded up the treasure, she laughed merrily at my 
 astounded expression, for really I was completely over- 
 come. I had heard of niuUuni in parvo, and here was 
 its realization. According to bargain, she gave me 
 her card inscribed with her name and address. As 
 she went out, I heard a lady inquire, "Who is your 
 friend who picked up your handkerchief?" "An old 
 Saratoga beau," was the reply ; and they departed. 
 
 Did I ever see her again? Ha, ha, ha! whoopee! 
 Come to see me, and among my treasures, carefully 
 wrapped up in an old white silk cravat, I'll show you a 
 purple velvet slipper, lined with amber - colored satin. 
 The little ras — vixen, I mean — gave me that slipper. 
 Eheu ! " Ruby" caught a Tartar. 
 
 RECORDOR, REMINISCOR, ET OBLIVISCOR. 
 
 MiDDLETOWN, in Connecticut, used to be a lovely 
 little town, and were it not situated north of Mason 
 and Dixon's line, I should like to live there ; that is, 
 if in sixteen years it has not grown into a great noisy 
 city. As I was quite young when there, of course I 
 cannot recollect much about its trade, or manufactures, 
 or population, or " any thing like that." If you -yyish 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 211 
 
 statistics, go to the census returns — I'm no census- 
 taker. But I do remember the cherries. I think there 
 were four thousand nine hundred and twenty three 
 trees, averaging nearly two hundred and thirty-four 
 thousand five hundred and sixty seven and eight-ninths 
 cherries per tree, making the sum total of cherries 
 about — a very large number. 
 
 Then there was Dr. Olin, the President of the Uni- 
 versity. My recollection of him is that he was im- 
 mense. I remember looking up to his face with the 
 same effort as it would now require to look upon the 
 summit of a pyramid. I thought him taller than a 
 cherry tree. AVell, there was the Wesleyan University, 
 filled with a set of thin-legged, narrow-chested aboli- 
 tionists. I wish I had had my present size then. They 
 would be always hunting up the little Southerner and 
 questioning him, and poking fun at him. Well, there 
 is one consolation, they heard some large stories. 
 
 Where there were not cherries and students, and 
 rosy cheeked helps, (as they called the serving maids,) 
 and Millerites, there were currants. They were at 
 breakfast, dinner, and supper, and between times. 
 Cherries, currants, mutton, and Irish potatoes, are the 
 only things I remember eating while at Middletown, 
 except perhaps a few gooseberries and some green ap- 
 ples — stolen, of course. 
 
 I began the study of Smith's Grammar at Middletown. 
 I bought it of Smith the bookseller, who lived next door 
 to Smith the tanner, two doors below Smith the silver- 
 smith, and opposite to Smith the blacksmith. After 
 pegging away at old Lindley Murray, it was like step- 
 
212 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ping from a rough bog upon a smooth causeway, to get 
 into Smith's. 
 
 I think they had some sloops at Middletown, and an 
 occasional steamboat. The persons I best remember, 
 are old Dr. Laban Clarke, a Methodist minister with 
 whom I boarded, who used to smoke clay pipes, which 
 I stole from him to blow soap-bubbles with, and was a 
 good, kind, old gentleman, and sometimes worked on 
 his farm and sometimes preached. (Remarkable sen- 
 tence, that last one.) Then there was his wife, who 
 sometimes knitted, and sometimes made pies, and occa- 
 sionally scolded the old Doctor, Mary, and me. Mary 
 was the help. She did every thing. She was astonish- 
 ing. She was superhuman. Like the ignorance and 
 credulity of the present age, she was amazing. Mary 
 would arrange the house, cook our meals, wash our 
 clothes, and then be neat and clean and rosy and 
 smiling when evening came ; ready to sit down to tea 
 with us, and then to promenade or visit the neighbors 
 until dark. I used to think her beautiful. Such rose- 
 red cheeks, and such plump, round arms ; and she was 
 very kind to ''the little trafficker in human flesh and 
 blood" — " the little nigger-driver," as some used to 
 call me ; " the little Southern gentleman," as she called 
 me. There was much alTcction between Mary and me 
 — Platonic, of course ; for she was nearly three times 
 as old as I was. Middletown went strong for Polk and 
 Dallas, I suppose, for the people made a great deal of 
 noise about them. There, again, I was opposed to all 
 my acquaintances ; for though very little and very 
 young, I knew that Hon. William C. Preston was a 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 213 
 
 great friend" of Mr. Clay, and that was enough for me. 
 I had met "Harry of the West" at Col. Preston's 
 house, and he had patted me on the head, and so I be- 
 came an out-and-out Whig, and knew as much what 
 my principles were as a good many others older and 
 wiser, whom Mr. Clay had made his partisans by (me- 
 taphorically) patting their knowledge-boxes. And^ to 
 this day I am— at least, not a National or Convention 
 Democrat. On the Fourth of July, " a day dear to 
 the heart of every American— a day," and so on, an 
 immense hickory tree was dug up by the roots and 
 hauled into the town by a team of fifty oxen, and 
 planted in the public square, amid great rejoicings, 
 and firing of guns and crackers, in honor of "Young 
 Hickory"— James K. Polk. True to my principles, I 
 didn't fire a cracker ; but in a meadow, mounted on a 
 haycock, made an address— a fervid appeal for Clay- 
 to an interested audience of three girls, and a boy, and 
 a dog. Since then, by reason of his compromises and 
 so on, Mr. Clay has not been "so highly esteemed by 
 this honorabie court." The court now pronounces 
 him a great orator and skilful juggler. 
 
 One day, soon after I went to Middletown, as I was 
 strolling along past a beautiful cottage half hidden by 
 trees and vines, I looked up and saw overhanging the 
 street the finest and largest ox-heart cherries ever be- 
 holden. Involuntarily I exclaimed, "Oh, crikey, how 
 I'd like to have some of those cherries!" "Well, you 
 can have some, if you'll come in," said a sweet voice. 
 I never was so completely taken aback but once, and 
 the Senior Editor remembers that time. I had seen 
 
-] \ LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 no one, and imagined myself entirely alone. Turning 
 in the direction of the voice, I looked through the gar- 
 den paling, and there, ah! there was a sight for " sair 
 e'en." The most fairylike little beauty that I ever 
 saw was standing there with her straw hat thrown 
 back to let the sunbeams play among her curls ; and 
 with the archest look, and with the sweetest smile 
 wreathing around her rosebud lips, she was evidently 
 enjoying my confusion. She had been stooping down 
 to pluck some violets, and the rose branches and 
 honeysuckle vines had embraced her so lovingly and 
 close, as to conceal her completely. Hearing my ex- 
 clamation, she had started up and answered me. Well, 
 1 went in. She was about my age, may be a little 
 older ; and we had a good time. We gathered cher- 
 ries, and went to the dairy down by the spring and got 
 some nice, cool milk ; and sitting under a willow tree 
 on the bright, green grass, we had a glorious feast. 
 By-the-bye, it was my birthday. She told me her 
 name was Pauline, and I informed her as to my cogno- 
 men and antecedents. She knew my name already, 
 and where I was from, and all. Who in a week doesn't 
 know every thing about everybody in a New England 
 village '.' And than I told her about my southern home 
 — about its flowers in spring and fruits in summer. I 
 told her of the wind sighing mournfully among the 
 long-leaf pines, and of tlic breezes shaking showers of 
 golden bells from the jessamine vines. I told her 
 about the low-drooping moss, and the great white mag- 
 nolia blossoms, and the crimson trumpet-vine. And 
 then I talked about Bill and 'Manda, my African play- 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 215 
 
 mates at home; and about my kind nurse, Rosina; 
 and Minerva, the cook and terror of my youth, and all 
 the rest. The hours flew swiftly by, and Mary was 
 soon forgotten : her red-apple cheeks faded into no- 
 thing, compared with the peach-down of Pauline's ; 
 and even the picture which I had brought with me, 
 painted on my memory, of the little Alice I had left in 
 Carolina, was dimmed for a while. Well, we met fre- 
 quently afterwards : at church, at home beneath the 
 cherry trees, in the meadow by the river; and it 
 wasn't long before the daguerreotype of Alice had en- 
 tirely faded. But, as usual in such cases, it was soon 
 replaced by another — the beautiful image of Titania, 
 as I used to call her — for I had read some of Shaks- 
 peare even then ; and as I remember her now, she was 
 the completest personification of my idea of the Queen 
 of the Fairies that I have ever seen. "Ah ! well," as 
 Thackeray, translating Horace, says, "the fugacious 
 years have passed away, my Postumius." Pauline 
 may be still on earth, (rather em-bon-pointish for a 
 fairy by this time, I suppose,) or she may be an angel 
 in heaven — I know not. But passing years, weight of 
 cares, nor silvered hairs, can ever bring to me forget- 
 fulness of that beautiful dream, (as it now seems,) that 
 sweet love-play of boyhood. And it may be that we 
 will meet again in the land of the hereafter. 
 
216 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 THE DESTINY OF THE NATION. 
 
 Extract from an Oration delivered at George's Station, in 
 St. George's Parish, S. C, on the 4th of July, 1860. 
 
 "Westward the course of Empire takes its way." 
 In Eastern lands there stands a monument. As the 
 traveler, weaned and worn with the toil of the day, 
 nears the end of his journey over vast deserts, and 
 approaches the Nile, he sees, darkly relieved against 
 the sky, in solemn, bare, and awful grandeur, the 
 Pyramid of Cheops. There it was reared while yet 
 the world was young ; and there it stands now, that 
 cycles of years have rolled away, and earth's children 
 have crowned her with the spoils of ages. The sands 
 of the desert, driven by the wild sirocco's blast, have 
 dashed against its base ; the clouds, borne upon the 
 wings of the tempest, have swept around its sides ; 
 the thunders have rolled, and the lightnings have 
 blazed, and the trumpet-tongued voices of the blast 
 have howled around its head ; but, undecaying and 
 ever indestructible, it stands as a sign, an awful moni- 
 tor. The fragments of columns and hieroglyph- 
 sculptured obelisks, and arches and pillars covered 
 with curious carvings, at its base, are the ruins of 
 proud cities and gorgeous palaces, where the powerful 
 king, who reared the stupendous pile, reigned amid 
 scenes of voluptuous beauty and oriental magnificence ; 
 was monarch over a hundred tribes, and, ruling with 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 217 
 
 unquestioned power, was almost worshipped as a god. 
 The arts had been cherished, science had made pro- 
 gress, and all that wealth and power could give com- 
 bined to make a glorious kingdom. Foreign nations 
 had been conquered, and their tribute was poured into 
 the overflowing coflFers of the king. Cities had been 
 sacked, and their rich spoils had been brought to de- 
 corate his capital. Tithes of oil, and corn, and wine, 
 from fertile fields and vine-crowned hills, filled his gra- 
 naries and storehouses. Armies of soldiers, footmen 
 and horsemen, bowmen and slingers, were gathered 
 under his banners, to follow him to war, or to protect 
 his throne from hostile invasion. Oh, it was a grand, 
 a glorious, a magnificent kingdom ; and he who ruled 
 it was a grand and glorious king. A waste of ruins, 
 covered by the encroaching sands — a lair for the wolf 
 and a den for the jackal — a handful of dust, soon to 
 be scattered by the whirlwind — these, and these alone, 
 remain of the kingdom and its king: destroyed and 
 forgotten, with no memorial left but the everlasting 
 pyramid to tell posterity their history. The course of 
 empire, which had started on its westward journey first 
 in the far-oflf east, had flowed on, and the star which 
 ever shines radiantly and gloriously in its front, had 
 rested a while over Egypt ; but obeying the impulse 
 given it when first it commenced its motion, the stream 
 had flowed past, and a waste of ruins marked its track. 
 The glory fled from Egypt when the course of empire 
 departed, and even the cloud-splitting pyramid scarce 
 catches the far-olF beams of its golden star. 
 
 To Europe next the course of empire flowed. Greece 
 
218 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 was the seat of liberty; and wherever the spirit of 
 liberty is, in all its purity and vigor, there will the 
 empire ever be. But Greece, proud Greece, famous, 
 classic, glorious Greece, lost that pure spirit of liberty. 
 Patriotism died out or was bartered for foreign gold, 
 and Rome became the conqueror of Greece, whose 
 might all lands had feared, and whose navies rode in 
 triumph over every sea. Then Rome, enthroned upon 
 her seven hills, empress of cities and queen of the 
 world, crowned with the diadems torn from the brows 
 of vanquished princes, became the seat of empire. 
 There liberty dwelt in her sacred temple, and reverent- 
 ly was worshipped. But with conquest came wealth 
 and luxury, and all their enervating consequences. 
 The integrity which had nerved Fabricius to refuse the 
 splendid offers of Pyrrhus, and fearlessly view the 
 strange and terrific beast — the free, bold spirit which 
 had impelled the armies to oppose the might of Han- 
 nibal and complete the destruction of Carthage, their 
 proud and hated rival — the adventurous courage which 
 had animated the legions when their eagles floated tri- 
 umphantly over the dust and din of war and the fallen 
 bodies of Gaul and Gael — this strong, brave spirit was 
 emasculated ; and liberty, finding no longer a home, 
 when her altars were defiled by the excesses of ty- 
 rants, fled shrieking away, and the star of empire once 
 more resumed its westward course. 
 
 The car of empire rolled on, now resting for a sea- 
 son here and for a period there. Germany, France, 
 Sweden — all were visited in their turn. Westward 
 still it kept its way. England next became the seat of 
 
I" LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 219 
 
 empire. During the age of Elizabeth, no country 
 could equal England ; and this might well be called 
 her golden age. The kingdom was at the height of 
 prosperity, being ably and wisely governed by a queen 
 of masculine energy and will, assisted by most efficient 
 counsellors. England was peaceful at home, secure 
 from internal commotions, and her power was 
 feared by all foreign nations. Commerce was flourish- 
 ing, and every ship which came to port brought the 
 golden spoils of Spanish galleons and the rich produce 
 of Eastern and Western Indies. The Protestant reli- 
 gion was then first established upon that fii*m basis 
 from which it has never since been shaken. Litera- 
 ture was at the height of its glory, and in its temple 
 William Shakspeare was the great high-priest. The 
 grand old Baron of Verulam, Francis Bacon, was en- 
 tering on his high career of reforming the systems of 
 human knowledge. The brave Robert Devereux, Earl 
 of Essex, led the armies to victory on land ; while 
 Francis Drake rode conqueror of the seas. In truth, 
 this was a glorious age, rendered illustrious, as it has 
 been, by the deeds of many a one whose name the 
 world would not willingly let die. And then did the 
 light from the star of empire shine most brightly over 
 England's wide dominion. That light shone for a 
 while, but it has begun to fade. At times it grows 
 more brilliant, only to be succeeded by a faint and un- 
 certain ray. And the car of empire has begun to 
 move. The light beams brightly now, and the car 
 seems resting now, for England is a grand and a glo- 
 rious nation ; but nevertheless, although very slowly, 
 
220 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 yet very surely, the car is in motion, and "westward 
 the course of empire takes its way." 
 
 Now let me describe a picture that is passing before 
 my mental vision. It is a calm, still night, and the 
 ocean in its placid rest is unruffled, save by the soft 
 summer breeze which plays upon its bosom. Three 
 ships are drifting with the tide, mirrored by the moon 
 in the clear depths of ocean, until the real vessel, with 
 its masts, and sails, and cordage, can scarcely be dis- 
 tinguished from its reflected picture. All is quiet and 
 still. The crew, wearied with toil, have sunk to rest, 
 and none remain on deck, save one — a solitary 
 watcher. Wrapt in his heavy Spanish cloak, he sits 
 and gazes upon the expanse of waters. There is a 
 troubled look upon his face, for he has ventured his 
 all in the quest of a New World ; and if the morning 
 shall dawn and the land be undiscovered, he must 
 change his course and retrace his steps, with blighted 
 hopes and blasted fortunes. With anxious gaze he 
 peers through the darkness. As the vessel mounts 
 upon a wave, a faint ray of light comes shining o'er 
 the waters. Ah ! bright and glorious is the gleam 
 which lights his features now. With a glad voice he 
 loudly shouts, "Land, ho! the New World is found!" 
 Then sinking upon his knees, Christopher Columbus 
 returns thanks to his God. To the eye of fancy, what 
 light was this but the first beams of the star of em- 
 pire, as it rose over the Western World ? That glori- 
 ous star, which, first rising then, is mounting steadily 
 up from the horizon now, until, reaching the zenith, it 
 shall stand fixed for ever, and blazon, and beam, and 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 221 
 
 gloriously glow with eternal light, as a sign and signal of 
 hope and promise — that star which shall be fixed as a bea- 
 con-light to tell to the nations of earth where is the 
 empire of the world, and where is reared the grand 
 temple where the spirit of liberty shall for ever be 
 enshrined ! Do not all the indications of passing 
 events point to one spot as the central seat of the fu- 
 ture empire ? 
 
 There is a river which moves along grandly, solemn- 
 ly, awfully, and with irresistible power. Rising among 
 the ice-crowned mountains of the North, it rolls along, 
 bearing navies on its breast, and, disdaining to be re- 
 strained between its banks, teeming with the rich pro- 
 duce of the finest lands, until it pours its flood of wa- 
 ters into the great Gulf, where the sun beams down 
 with tropical fierceness upon the broad bayous and 
 fertile savannas of southern regions. Somewhere — I 
 know not where — nor does any other, save the Great 
 God, know; but somewhere in the Mississippi Valley 
 is to be the seat of empire. Are not cities springing 
 up there in a day, as if created by the magician's 
 wand ? Is not the wealth of the East pouring thither? 
 Are not the Eastern States being rendered barren, in 
 a measure, by the flow of wealth, and population, and 
 talent toward the West? Is not the farthest East, 
 whence the course of empire began its way, beginning 
 to send tribute ? If not, what means all this pomp 
 and parade to receive the Japanese ambassadors, who 
 have left their secluded land to open intercourse with 
 the outside world, and have made their first visit to 
 any foreign power at the capital city of America? 
 
222 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Yes, the old East, the cradle of mankind, whose peo- 
 ple, having lost the energetic spirit which liberty al- 
 ways induces, have slumbered long in utter forgetful- 
 ness that it ever existed ; that old East has suddenly 
 been waked from its sleep of ages by American enter- 
 prise, and, recognizing yet the liberty it has lost, 
 comes to the West to revere and adore it. Yes, the 
 East, worn with its weight of years, and trembling in 
 its decrepitude, comes to greet and do reverence to the 
 young and growing West. As in days of yore, when 
 the shepherds watched their flocks in Galilee, and the 
 wise men came from the East, guided by the star which 
 rose in the West, and with its heavenly light shone as 
 a sign of the world's redemption from the fetters and 
 bondage of death and sin, so in our days have wise 
 men come from the East, guided by a star whose radi- 
 ance, only second to that which rested over Bethlehem, 
 illumines the world with its light, and proclaims to the 
 nations political redemption, and freedom from oppres- 
 sion and tyranny, ! it is a glorious star ! — the Star 
 of Empire ! One shining point is Justice ; another is 
 Strength ; a third is Valor ; a fourth is Freedom ; a 
 fifth is Education ; and the sixth is Religion ; while 
 the centre, the body, the source whence all these rays 
 do emanate and scintillate, the great light which 
 crowns the whole, is Patriotism and Liberty. Oh, 
 glorious Star of Liberty and Empire ! — brighter far 
 than planets, moons, and suns — more radiant than 
 galaxies and nebulae — grandest, and brightest, and 
 best, by far, of all the radiant, starry host of heaven ! 
 — eternally shalt thou shine with undimmed and in- 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 223 
 
 creasing effulgence, guarding and blessing this land of 
 the free ! 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 Extract from the first Annual Oration before the Alumni As- 
 sociation of WoFFORD College, July 10, 1860. 
 
 There was an earthquake once, and Rome had 
 trembled through all her seven hills. The capitol was 
 shaken from its lowest foundation to its highest gil- 
 ded pinnacle. Proud palaces and gorgeous temples 
 tottered and reeled. Monumental pillars, victory- 
 commemorating obelisks and columns, quivered from 
 the shock ; while the strong walls rocked to and fro, 
 and triumphal arches were riven. A yawning chasm 
 opened wide, with fathomless depth, and emitted pesti- 
 lential vapors in the most crowded thoroughfare of the 
 city, and as its black walls receded, threatened to en- 
 gulf the forum itself. And now there arose tremen- 
 dous confusion. The senators assembled, the equites 
 were seen burring past on foaming steeds. Long pro- 
 cessions marched to the temples, bearing gifts for the 
 shrines and victims for the altars. The vestals assem- 
 bled around their sacred fire, and as its undying flame 
 arose, besought with tears and prayers their virgin 
 goddess.'. Priests and flamens were convened. Sooth- 
 sayers and oracles were consulted. The people ran 
 hither and thither in wild confusion, for their proud 
 forum and regal Rome were in danger of destruction. 
 
224 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And now 'came the priests, bearing 'wands, and their 
 hair with fillets bound, and delivered the oracular an- 
 swer, " Rome's best and richest possession must be 
 thrown into the gulf as a propitiatory offering to the 
 offended deities." Loud rose the clamor now from a 
 thousand tongues, as the citizens debated as to what 
 was the most valued possession which Rome could 
 boast among her treasuries, rich with the gathered 
 spoils of conquered tribes, and the tributes of allied 
 nations. Confusion was worse confounded, for who 
 could tell but that the city might be despoiled, and yet 
 the desired end not be attained ? And now despuir 
 spread her black wing and hovered over the city, cast- 
 ing gloom like a pall on the sky, while terror and dis- 
 may were legibly imprinted on every face. But hark ! 
 a trumpet's sound is heard from afar off. Nearer now 
 and nearer comes the sound until, with one wild 
 clarion blast of triumph and defiance, a knight, moun- 
 ted on a gallant charger, bursts into the assembly. The 
 sunbeams blaze in reflected rays from the polished 
 steel which girds his manly breast ; they beam in daz- 
 zling splendor from the diamonds which adorn his 
 sword-hilt, and gleam in glorious radiance from the 
 rubies which blazon on his helm. It is Marcus Cur- 
 tius, a youth of noble ancestry. His fathers before 
 him have fought for Rome and died for Rome ; and al- 
 ready has he proved by valiant deeds upon the battle 
 field, that he is a worthy scion of a noble stock, and 
 that the honest name he bears never will be dishonored, 
 nor will the escutcheon of his fathers ever be tarnished. 
 Loud shouts the crowd, '* Salve, Curti, atavis edite 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 225 
 
 clarissimis." Beckoning for silence, he cries, **What 
 better or richer treasure can a city possess than arms, 
 and valor, and a patriot who is ready to die for his 
 country's safety ?" — then urging his steed, and waving 
 his sword, and shouting aloud, "Pro patria carissima,'* 
 he plunged into the gulf, whose closing walls became 
 his tomb. Yes, the noblest, the best, and the dearest 
 possession which a country can boast amidst her richest 
 treasures is, a true patriot who devotes his life for his 
 countrymen, and is willing to live or ready to die for 
 the security and welfare of his native land. 
 
 Pope says that "the proper study of mankind is man." 
 Therefore, that we may properly employ a short time, 
 let us engage in the consideration of man in one of his 
 noblest and most interesting characteristics. When we 
 regard man with reference merely to his physical na- 
 ture, his noblest attribute is strength ; for we admire 
 with a feeling of respect one whose stalwart form and 
 sinewy limbs betoken in him a strength greatly supe- 
 rior to that of his fellows. But this is an attribute 
 common with him to the brutes that perish, and we 
 have the same feelings toward the monarch of the 
 forest. Rising a step higher, we consider man with 
 reference to his mental nature, but still absolutely, 
 and with no reference to any of his relations to others-; 
 and here his highest quality is Truth. When we regard 
 him with reference to his spiritual nature, and in his 
 relations as a creature to his great Creator, then his 
 best attribute is Piety. So when we consider man in 
 his manifold relations to his fellow-men as a citizen of 
 
226 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the same State or nation, then his most elevated char- 
 acteristic is Patriotism. 
 
 Patriotism is generally defined a " love of one's 
 country" ; but in our opinion a better definition would 
 be '* a zeal for one's country." The mere passive 
 emotion of love can never be what is meant by this 
 ■word. There must be an entire abnegation of self, and 
 a passionate ardor and earnest determination to employ 
 all one's best powers for the benefit of his country, be 
 it his native land or the home of his adoption. There 
 must always be action connected with love to make 
 that love valuable or acceptable to the object upon 
 which it is bestowed. " Faint heart never won fair 
 lady," is an old and true maxim, which took its rise in 
 the days when valiant knights must do deeds of daring 
 and give and receive hard blows in the tourney's ring, 
 in order to win the favor of their lady's smiles. And 
 so it is with all kinds of love ; man must prove it not 
 by words, but by deeds. And now comes the conside- 
 ration what constitutes love of country — that is to 
 say, what deeds must the patriot do, and in what man- 
 ner must he act so as to prove his patriotism. He can 
 do this, in the first place, by adding to the resources of 
 the country. Let him take the geologist's hammer, or 
 the miner's lamp, and proceed in the career of discov- 
 eries. Let him delve deep into the caverns of earth, 
 where the gnomes and dwarfs of fable hold their ward 
 over the rich treasuries of genii and fairies ; and pene- 
 trating the adamantine bolts and bars amid the pois- 
 onous blasts of mephitic vapors, secure from harm by 
 the impenetrable armor which Science lends, let him 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 227 
 
 bring to light the shining heaps of metals and minerals 
 "which for ages have lain hidden in earth's dark womb, 
 and waiting there their palingenesis. Let him scar 
 the yielding breast of mother earth with many a deep- 
 cut furrow, and bring the lamp of Science to shed its 
 genial rays, and gather all that may be gained from 
 the experience of the past, in order to increase her 
 productiveness. Let him go boldly forth beyond the 
 hitherto untrodden paths in the realms of Science, and 
 Art, and open new roads for the increase of capital 
 and the advancement of enterprise ; and from that 
 unknown golden land gather materials by which he 
 may add other bright links to the chain of inventions. 
 Let him traverse the pathless waste of waters carrying 
 to distant lands the products of his own, and bringing 
 in return the wealth of their teeming stores, thus joining 
 far oflf lands together, appeasing the strifes of foreign 
 nations, and binding them together by the strong but 
 silken bonds of a common civilization. Or let him 
 descend in the diving bell beneath the ocean wave 
 and wander through its coral caves over pearl-strewn 
 floors, and where, like morning's dewy drops, the 
 precious amber falls, and behold the realization of all 
 his boyhood's dreams of Aladdin's fabled gardens, 
 where rubies, and diamonds, and emeralds, and pearls, 
 were the fruit which hung from the gold-crusted 
 boughs. The untold wealth of argosies is there, and 
 " full many a gem the dark, unfathomed caves of 
 ocean boar." Every new discovery in geology ; every 
 new appliance in agriculture ; every new invention ; 
 every facility for the increase of capital, and every 
 
228 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 particle of lost capital restored, is so much added im- 
 mediately to the wealth and resources, and then to the 
 power and grandeur of a nation ; and he who makes 
 these discoveries, appliances, inventions, facilities and 
 restorations, acts truly and well a patriot's part. 
 
 But a man can evince his patriotism in the second 
 place, by advancing his country's renown. Let him, 
 by diligent self-culture, gain for himself a great 
 place among tlie high priests who officiate in the 
 temple of Art. Let him color the glowing canvass or 
 carve the enduring marble, reproducing Nature in 
 her most glorious forms, or giving existence to the ra- 
 diant images which are the beautiful children of his 
 own brilliant imagination. Let him gain the applause 
 of listening Senates, and cause thousands to hang 
 spell-bound as they hear him evolve grand ideas clothed 
 in the enchanting garb which eloquence affords. Let 
 him wake to melody the living lyre, and with the sweet 
 rhythmic strains of poetry, touch a responsive chord in 
 the hearts of men, lulling their passions, and soothing 
 their sorrows. Or let him rudely sweep the strings, 
 and stir their souls and nerve their arms to deeds of high 
 emprise. Or let him on the battle-field, where man 
 meets man in the terrible struggle for life and death, 
 win for himself a bright page on glory's scroll, and 
 hear the welcoming shouts and joyous songs as a glad 
 nation greets his triumphal car, and hails with peeans 
 the hero returning laden with the spoils of the van- 
 quished ; and having added new lustre to his country's 
 arms, and another ray to the halo of glory encircling 
 her name, and all the praise, and honor, and glory, 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 229 
 
 -which will be his as the meed and guerdon of excellence, 
 will be reflected in ten-fold measure upon the land 
 •which, as a proud mother, exults in the fame of her son. 
 And last, but best of all, he can evince his patriotism 
 by doing good to his fellow-citizens. Let him go forth 
 as a Howard did, among the dungeons, and prison- 
 yards, and alms-houses, and among the polluted haunts 
 of the vicious and depraved, bearing comfort to the 
 sin-stricken children of sorrow, and alleviating their 
 pangs. Let him dry the widow's and the orphan's tears, 
 and strengthen and reclaim the weak and erring 
 brother. Let him hold up to perishing sinners the 
 cross upon which our Christ was slain, and point them 
 to the narrow way which leadeth to life eternal, and 
 tell them the Name, the glorious Name, the only Name, 
 by which they can be saved. Or let him, as a WofFord 
 did, spend a life of hardships and toil, that he might 
 found an institution from which, as a fountain source, 
 a triple stream of education, refinement, and religion, 
 might flow forth, refreshing all the land ; and from 
 which, as a central sun, the bright rays of a glorious 
 light might stream forth — a light which bursts 
 through the gloom of ignorance and dispels the clouds 
 of error, and penetrates with its grand effulgence into 
 the dark caverns where the vampire Superstition 
 dwells ; who, bat-like, hides his dazzled eyes, and flies 
 shrieking away. Yes ! if all these deeds be the proofs 
 of patriotism, and those who perform them be patriots, 
 what must be he who, by contributing his wealth to the 
 establishment of a well-ordered College, helps to prepare 
 the youth of his native land to perform ably and well 
 
230 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 any or all of these acts, and to fill honorably and use- 
 fully any of the positions incident thereto ? "What 
 must he be but a true patriot, who, by his own exertions, 
 furnishes the means of blessing his country by the 
 spread of education and the dissemination of the prin- 
 ciples of honor, truth, and virtue? 
 
 Having now briefly and hurriedly considered patriot- 
 ism objectively, as to its proofs, and as to who is the 
 patriot, let us now consider it subjectively. Patriot- 
 ism, tlie mere love of country, is a natural instinct ; 
 and as such is universal, existing in greater or less 
 degree among all men, and not depending at all, as to 
 its strength, upon their rank in the scale of civilization. 
 This principle is one of the beneficent provisions of a 
 kind Providence, causing men to dwell contentedly in, 
 and to love better than all othei's, their own lands, be 
 they barren or fruitful. It is this which makes the 
 ice-bound coasts of Greenland seem to the Esquimaux 
 but the barriers which shut out the rest of the world 
 from their Paradise ; and it is this which makes the 
 burning sun, beaming down with tropical fierceness 
 upon the arid plains of Sierra Leone, seem to the negro 
 but the genial warmth, fructifying the garden spot of 
 the world. 
 
 In a more exalted degree, rising from a mere in- 
 stinct into a sentiment, it was this glorious principle 
 which prompted the immortal three hundred when they 
 exchanged death for immortality at Thcrmopylno. It was 
 this which, as long as it remained vigorous and uncor- 
 ruptcd, rendered Greece invincible. And it was this, 
 and this alone, which overcame every other feeling in 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 231 
 
 the breast of Brutus, and prompted him when he struck 
 the dagger to the tyrant's heart. In modern times, 
 this principle of patriotism, animating the English 
 barons, extorted fi-om their monarch at Runnymede 
 for them and their descendants, the priceless privi- 
 leges of the Magna Charta. This sustained our fore- 
 fathers during the eventful days of '76, and won for 
 us the liberties we now enjoy ; the glorious inalien- 
 able rights of free speech, a free press, and a free 
 Church. It is patriotism which has filled the long 
 rolls of glory with the names of heroes ; and it is pa- 
 triotism which has filled the niches of Fame's grand 
 temple with the statues of demi-gods. patriotism! 
 heaven-born, God-given, earth-blessing patriotism ! 
 long mayest thou dwell in this our beautiful land, thine 
 own chosen home. patriotism ! guardian, protec- 
 tor ! long mayest thou spread thy broad segis over us, 
 warding off danger. patriotism ! bright angel, 
 shining spirit ! long may it be ere, sickened with our 
 sins, and disgusted at our crimes, thou shalt, with 
 blushing cheeks, and tearful eyes, and drooping pinions, 
 wing thy flight to thy heavenly home ; far, far be the 
 day when thou shalt depart from this land of the free. 
 But patriotism, though like its kindred principle 
 charity, is universal in its extension ; yet, like charity, 
 it should always begin at home. And surely for us at 
 the South, in these days of intriguing conventions, and 
 log-rolling caucuses, and wire-pulling politicians, now 
 and here is the time for its commencement ; and there is 
 need of all the patriot's vigilance and caution now, for 
 of a truth the dark days are upon us. There is a per- 
 
232 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lentous cloud which, rising first as little as a human 
 hand, has increased till its gloom overspreads our 
 whole northern horizon. Insult upon insult has been 
 heaped upon the South. One right after another has 
 been encroached on. One safeguard after another of 
 the liberties which the Constitution guaranteed to us 
 has been torn away, until Southern Equality and 
 Southern Rights have become by-words, and things for 
 scoflFs and jeers. The signs of the times warn us that 
 the danger is imminent that this Union, founded by the 
 wisdom of our patriot ancestors on a soil yet wet with 
 the blood of freedom's martyrs, will not much longer 
 exist ; that a bright constellation is about to be swept 
 from the political heavens, and that the United States 
 of North America must go take their place among the 
 nations of history. And better so ! Better far that this 
 Union be dissolved than that a confederation of sover- 
 eign States without equal rights to all its members 
 should exist. The grand experiment has failed, and 
 conservative democracy has become fanatical moboc- 
 racy. The feeling of hatred to the South now existing 
 at the North has not been the mushroom offspring of 
 an hour, but has been the strong and steady growth of 
 years. Eternal liostility to the South and to her most 
 vital and cherished institutions has been taught to the 
 children in Northern schools ; has been thundered forth 
 on the Lord's-day from Northern pulpits; and has 
 been sworn on Northern altars ; and John Brown was 
 sent to write the oath in Southern blood on Southern 
 soil. That blood cries aloud for vengeance; and surely 
 it is time for the South to arise in her might and hurl 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 23S 
 
 back the declaration of an irrepressible conflict, and 
 ** take up arms against this sea of troubles, and by op- 
 posing end them." Shall we wait for further aggres- 
 sions ? Shall we wait for more degrading insults ? Even 
 a crawling worm will turn to bite the heel which 
 treads upon it ; and shall the South, the land of chiv- 
 alry, and the chosen home of honor and valor, tamely 
 Bubmit to be reduced to a state of vassalage ? Forbid 
 it Heaven ! No ! animated with the spirit of our sires ; 
 catching inspiration from every breeze which blows over 
 Cowpens, King's Mountain, and Eutaw, and armed 
 with the justice of our cause, let us go forth trusting 
 in the God of battles, and fight bravely in defence of 
 Truth and the Right. True, the odds against us are 
 fearful and the result doubtful ; but death is preferable 
 to dishonor ; and let us strive for Southern Indepen- 
 dence even at the risk of utter destruction. God 
 grant that ere death's scythe shall cut me down, this 
 arm may strike one blow for Southern Rights. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS. 
 
 I THINK if a man dies discharging his duty, he dies 
 a noble death, and a home in heaven will be his re- 
 ward. -H- * ^t But I would like extremely to come 
 home. I try to enjoy myself, and make others happy 
 around me; but every pleasure, every happiness, is 
 alloyed with some pain. I have an undefinable yeam- 
 8 
 
234 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ing after home and its pleasant, quiet enjoyments. I 
 am surrounded here by friends, and have all the com- 
 forts of home ; but here I have no mother to watch 
 over me, no father to soothe my hours of sickness or 
 pain, and no sisters and brother to be my companions 
 and kind and gentle friends. All here like me, but 
 none love me. [March, 1856.] 
 
 You speak of religion to me, and I often think about 
 it, and hope the day is not far distant when I may be 
 among the children of God, having a mansion pre- 
 pared for me in heaven. [1856.] 
 
 But there are "recollections of the past, pleasant 
 yet mournful to the soul," on such a day as this. As 
 I sit and write, there comes before my soul's view a 
 sight of pleasing nature. I see a happy father coming 
 home, and laughing children run to meet him; and 
 there is one little beauteous, boyish form, clasped first 
 to his father's breast. The children precede their sire 
 to a lovely garden, blooming bright with spring's first 
 flowers, and there the mother sits among the flowers, 
 and bears upon her bosom as fair a floweret as in that 
 garden grows. 'Tis the babelet, raised among the 
 flowers until she is as fair as they, who stretches her 
 tiny arms to welcome father home. And now the scene 
 changes. There is the mother older, but not less 
 happy, and another rosebud rests upon her bosom. 
 There are the two sisters. The little bud has opened 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 235 
 
 and become a pretty, blushing, half-blown rose. But 
 
 is not there. The flowers are as sweet and pretty 
 
 as before, but he is not there to sport among them, 
 and gather sweets from every blossom. No, he joins 
 an angel-band in the gardens of the Lord, where he 
 chants a choral song of praise. Did I say he was not 
 with the rest ? ! he is with them all now. I lift 
 with trembling hand the misty veil which hides the 
 known from the unknown, and I see a fairy form with 
 wings resplendent with a thousand rainbow tints, and 
 in his hands there is a harp, and on his head there is 
 a crown such as king or emperor never wore, which 
 hovers over that happy home-group. [March 9, 1857.] 
 
 There is such a holy quietness about the country, 
 that thoughts of purity, and love, and heaven come to 
 me as soon as I get here. [1859.] 
 
 Hip! hip! hurrah! for the pen mightier than the 
 sword — richer than a gold mine ! Tell mother that I, 
 who never have written for any thing but fame, am 
 getting arffeni and or to gild my laurel leaves. If I 
 only get a dollar for my pay, I will prize it more than 
 all the rest of my salary. It is the beginning (small 
 indeed, but it is the beginning) of what I hope will be 
 a useful, profitable, and honorable course. Writing 
 has always been that in which I most wished to excel, 
 and my only and greatest ambition has been to be fam- 
 ous as an author. I would rather be a poet than a 
 
236 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 president, or any thing else on earth. This is really 
 and truly what I feel ; and I think when a man has 
 such a love for and pride in the object of his desires, 
 he is generally sure of success. I can overcome my 
 disinclination to labor, and work, and toil, and even 
 read dull books, if by these means I can help myself 
 on in my pursuit. But I do not have to labor much 
 for my poetry, such as it is : I only have to feel and 
 then write down exactly what I feel as I feel it. I 
 know that very often my after conduct and previous 
 behavior are very much at variance with the senti- 
 ments I express ; but I thank God for it, that while I 
 am writing, I really do feel what I say. As to taking 
 a subject and thinking about it, and then sitting down 
 and turning out a smooth and polished poem, I cannot 
 do it. I couldn't write a Fourth of July ode, or a 
 song for a celebration, or any thing else that I had to 
 prepare myself for, and was tied down to a certain 
 idea, etc. I know nothing of short and long syllables, 
 and feet, and dactyls, and spondees, and all that sort 
 of thing ; but I sit down sometimes, when I feel that 
 I must write something, and can't help myself, and 
 then I write something about whatever comes into my 
 head ; and I very often succeed in producing a pretty 
 little musical lyric. And however much you may 
 laugh at my vanity, I think that, for music and simple 
 beauty, not many of our present young poets are much 
 my superiors. And now I sincerely beg your pardon 
 for troubling you ; but I got started, and couldn't help 
 it. [1859.] 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 237 
 
 I do not wish to keep at school-teaching all my life, 
 short as it may be. I want to go out and mingle 
 among men. But I really do believe that, considering 
 my excitable temperament, it is much better for me 
 that I should be able to keep away from the turmoil 
 and excitement which would then surround me. [Oc- 
 tober, 1859.] 
 
 I enclose you some things which I have cut from the 
 newspapers. Some of them will please you; some 
 you may not like, on account of your aversion to love- 
 lyrics. But the poetry is good, and the music is sweet, 
 though the sentiment may not please you. And yet 
 there is or can be nothing more refining or elevating to 
 a man's nature than this sort of sentiment. Besides, 
 these little songlets give a man a place to express a 
 good many little pretty fancies that sometimes hover 
 in his imagination, and worry and tickle the brain until 
 they find modes of expression. [February, 1859.] 
 
 Have you ever read Alexander Smith ? If not, you 
 should read his Poems. I read them the other day for 
 the first time. There is something about them of such 
 an original wildness, such deep penetration into the 
 remote unknown, as you find in no other. He is 
 cramped, it seems to me, in his poetry. He is often 
 faulty in expression; but this results, I think, from 
 the wild poetic spirit within which longs to escape the 
 tenement of clay where now it dwells, to throw off all 
 
238 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 mortality and earthly taint, and fly away, singing and 
 rejoicing in its freedom, through the wide regions of 
 the immaterial. [1859.] 
 
 All the praise which comes from any thing I do, or 
 write, or say, I rejoice at, because it will please father 
 and mother. I am now, as ever, unambitious. I will 
 be glad of fame, if it come without labor. About the 
 world's opinion I do not care a straw. So whenever I 
 do any thing, it is for that small, sweet world, my fa- 
 mily, whom I love more than I show, and more than 
 they know. [1859.] 
 
 I would have written to you when I heard of A 's 
 
 death, but I could not. And I have not been able to 
 
 trust myself to write to . If constant recurrence 
 
 can familiarize one with death, I ought to be, and am 
 getting to be, accustomed to the feeling which comes 
 when we hear of the death of a friend. One after one 
 they have gone, and are going. My turn will come 
 after a while. When it comes, I think I will be ready, 
 [1859.] 
 
 I am very sorry that has returned in such a 
 
 poor state of health. It is very mournful to see a 
 young man, just starting upon life, with every nervo 
 sprung for the combat, and his heart beating high with 
 the elation of hope, suddenly stopped just at the 
 threshold, and his face turned from the beautiful pros- 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 239 
 
 pect, to look upon another picture of a short life, ren- 
 dered painful and weary by disease, and darkened by 
 the presaging shadow of swift and certain death. It 
 is sad to see the pillars of the temple, one by one, giv- 
 ing way, and the whole grand, God-made structure be- 
 ginning to crumble and dissolve. [1859.] 
 
 We had a Burns Festival in Camden last night, and 
 an address was delivered by Mr. Wm. M. Martin, in 
 the presence of a large and fashionable audience, who 
 seemed to be very well pleased. As I had only nine 
 days' notice, of course it was gotten up very hurriedly, 
 and occupied all my leisure hours during those days. 
 It is not as fine a production as I would wish, but it is 
 very creditable. It sounds much better than it reads. 
 I was invited by the Committee of Arrangements, con- 
 sisting of Messrs. , , , , • On 
 
 Tuesday afternoon, then, behold me in gorgeous array, 
 just as fine as two or three fiddles, large fiddles, bass 
 viols, riding up in my carriage (I had one all to my- 
 self) to Col. K 's, where I took tea and completed 
 
 my toilet. I then went to the hall, and, escorted by 
 the committee, ascended the platform, and was intro- 
 duced in a very pretty speech to the audience by Col. 
 K . I spoke about half an hour. After the ora- 
 tion, we proceeded to supper at the hotel. I was led 
 to the head of the table, and occupied the seat of honor 
 on the right hand of the president. After supper, the 
 first regular toast— ''To the memory of Robert Burns" 
 —was read. To this Col. K responded, and con- 
 
240 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 eluded by offering, on the part of the committee, the 
 following toast: "The youthful orator, Mr. Wm. M. 
 Martin, who has distinguished himself by his able and 
 eloquent effort to-night : may the end of his career be 
 as happy as its beginning has been honorable." They 
 called on me, and I arose and said: "Mr. President 
 and Gentlemen : — After the elegant and sumptuous re- 
 past of which I have just partaken, and to which I did 
 ample justice — more, I fear, than I did to the character 
 of Burns — I can almost say that I am too full for utter- 
 ance. For the kind manner in which you have been 
 pleased to notice my humble efforts for your entertain- 
 ment this evening, allow me to tender my heartfelt 
 acknowledgments. Conscious that the great theme of 
 the Life and Character of Robert Burns was too much 
 for my abilities, I would have declined the invitation 
 from the committee to address you, but I felt that all 
 the Scotch blood in my veins would rush to my face in 
 a blush of shame if I refused to do all that lay in 
 my power to give honor to the memory of Robert 
 Burns. I say that I thank you for your kindness ; 
 but kindness, coming from the citizens of Camden, is 
 not unexpected or unaccustomed to me. With you 
 were spent some of the brightest days of my boyhood, 
 and to them will memory often revert as bright oases 
 in life's pilgrimage ; and now in manhood's earliest 
 days, when a kind fortune has again cast my lot among 
 you, I come not as a stranger, but as a traveler return- 
 ing home to be greeted by warm hearts and smiling 
 faces. In conclusion, permit me to offer you the fol- 
 lowing sentiment : I give you, < The memory of Keith 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 241 
 
 S. Moffat, a true Scotchman, a brave soldier, a good 
 Christian, and an honest man: we hope that ere long 
 a monumental pile will mark the spot where now he 
 sleeps, his warfare done.' " The last regular toast that 
 was read was Woman. Here again I was called out, 
 and responded in a few words. I told them that when 
 persons were toasted, it was customary for them or 
 some of their friends to respond. I was sorry there 
 were no ladies there to answer for themselves. I was 
 not a woman. I wished I was half as good as one. 
 But I was a great friend of woman. I had a great 
 partiality for them. My mother was a woman, and I 
 thought women generally a great institution. What 
 could we do without them, to add brightness to our 
 joys, and to share and soothe our sorrows ? Why, law- 
 yers even liked women. 
 
 « Fee simple, and simple fee, 
 And all the fees in tail, 
 Are nothing when compared with thee, 
 Thou best of fees, fe-male." 
 
 «Auld nature swears the lovely dears," etc. 
 I told them that when I got to talking about women, I 
 must quit dull prose, and let my fancy roam in verse, 
 and then repeated those verses of mine, *' What is wo- 
 man," etc. [1859.] 
 
 How sad a thing, to speak conventionally, is Miss 
 
 '8 death ! And yet who knows but that it is a 
 
 most blessed and gracious dispensation ? If we believe 
 in an overruling Providence, we must believe that it 
 
242 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 was for some good purpose. She was called away be- 
 fore she knew much of sorrow or any thing of care, 
 and has been spared all the troubles and griefs which 
 must surely come to us who must, in obedience to the 
 requirements of Providence, remain here longer and 
 enjoy (?) a long life. Sometimes I think that I would be 
 glad to exchange situations with an etherealized spirit, 
 and leave this world ; but then I think that I may have 
 something allotted to me to perform in the future, and 
 I quietly bide my time. But it is truly a sorrowful 
 thing for one who enjoys life as she did, and who has 
 every element of happiness around her, and the 
 brightest vista wherein to look down the future and see 
 nothing but real pleasure and unalloyed joy, to have 
 to resign all her friends, and all her joys, and all her 
 hopes, save one, and change bright hopes and loving 
 smiles for the cold, dark grave, and the battening 
 worms. There is one hope left to some : you say it 
 was to her. Let us who were her friends, and who 
 love, and revere, and sympathize with her parents, 
 thank God for that, and pray that when all earthly 
 scenes are fading, and the rippling of the river be- 
 comes more and more distinct, that one hope, better 
 than all oihers, may be a beacon-light to guide us 
 safely through the gloom of the valley and across the 
 dark waters. [1859.] 
 
 Tell those violets were very, very sweet. I have 
 
 a heart somewhere, and it is sometimes reached. 
 Those sweet flowers thrilled it with such memories of 
 home, and love, and youth, and innocence ! [I860.] 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 243 
 
 Most of the sufferers in that tragedy in Camden are 
 poor people. God pity them ! In such times as this, 
 it does make us sympathize as though we were related. 
 The great human bond of brotherhood comes into play, 
 and makes us mourn with those who mourn. I have 
 Been that self-same flat crowded with a number of 
 bright and happy ones, and they were spared. These 
 others were taken. Rest their souls ! [I860.] 
 
 I have read fifty-nine Psalms and one of the chap- 
 ters in Jay's Exercises every night since I have been 
 here. I believe that my health will stand me well, but 
 these people seem to look upon fever as the rule and 
 health the exception. I do not believe, though, that I 
 am going to die yet. I hope and I think that there is 
 something for me to do yet ; and I believe that God 
 will spare me until it, whatever it may be, is accom- 
 plished. I cannot believe that Providence would have 
 interfered so often and so signally in my affairs, and 
 in my behalf, but for some good purpose. I do assure 
 you truthfully that I pray every day for God to change 
 my heart. I hope that I am better than I was, but I 
 fear greatly. [I860.] 
 
 I never lie down without opening my window and 
 looking up at the bright stars, and thanking God for 
 his mercies and his beauties. [I860.] 
 
244 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 But the mountains, grand as they are, cannot com- 
 pare with the sea. I cannot describe the emotions 
 with which I first gazed upon its broad expanse. You 
 may think me foolish and romantic, but it excited me 
 beyond measure. And I went away off on the island 
 by myself, at night, and drank in its deep beauty ; and 
 I prayed to God, feeling nearer to him than I had ever 
 felt before. I was very much excited. It seemed to 
 me that I would very gladly have let it seize me in its 
 embraces and carry me away, away, into that dim un- 
 known, that mist-covered afar-off, whence with the 
 rising tide it came, and whither it hastened to return. 
 [I860.] 
 
 Mine host, besides being very dull company, is very 
 conceited, and thinks he knows as much as I do. Only 
 think of his reading a piece of my poetry, and then 
 saying, with a conscious, self-depreciating air, "Well, 
 that's one thing I never could do ;" as if any one in the 
 wildest ravings of insanity would ever imagine that he 
 could! [I860.] 
 
 That was a beautiful little piece of Mrs. Stratton's. 
 She ought to write more, if she could. I think her 
 one of the best of all our Southern poets, or Northern 
 either. She ought to be encouraged. What a pity 
 that there is no Maecenas now-a-days who would sup- 
 port us poor, starveling poet-rascals, requiring only a 
 little flattery in return ! I have so much to do — so 
 many things to write, if I only had time, during this 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 245 
 
 very delicious weather. In the summer I can do no- 
 thing in that way at all. I hate to put pen to paper. 
 That story of Mrs. E 's, in the Enquirer, was un- 
 commonly well done. Some of its descriptions were 
 
 immensely fine. And don't D write piquant con- 
 
 tributorials ? [I860.] 
 
 What a curious and strange experience mine has 
 been of life ! I have lived a novel — one of Reynolds's 
 or Sue's, may be— yet it is a novel. And I believe 
 that the diflFerent scenes and actions I have passed 
 through, will yet work out good. I have seen an over- 
 ruling Providence, a special Providence almost, in 
 every action of my life. If not a special Providence 
 who sees and foreordains every thing, it must be the 
 strangest Chance. I know, if I know any thing, that 
 it is not Chance. [I860.] 
 
 He was as much sinned against as sinning. He was 
 despised as weak and variable, because he yielded to 
 the strong influences by which he was surrounded. 
 How many of us are there who would resist success- 
 fully ? Think of his trials, think of his nature, and 
 think of his kind and loving heart, and judge him 
 Hghtly. He has gone, with all his faults and imper- 
 fections, to the presence of his Maker, who said that 
 we should forgive an erring brother seventy times 
 seven, and whose dearest attribute is mercy. [I860.] 
 
246 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 However, be this as it may, I hope yet to be an 
 humble, meek, and faithful follower of the lowly Jesus. 
 My manners may appear light and trifling, and I may 
 be light and foolish myself; but I know that I have at 
 the bottom a good, warm, true, and loving heart. 
 [I860.] 
 
 I have finished all the law I have, and am reviewing 
 it. But it is with an unwilling mind that I throw aside 
 my pen, and banish my beautiful fancies, to take up a 
 dry law-book, or throw down Shakspeare and take up 
 Chitty on Bills, I should like to meet Timrod. He is 
 a better poet, I think, than any other in South Caro- 
 lina, except, perhaps, Hayne. D had a beautiful 
 
 poem in the last Enquirer, entitled, *'To Thee." You 
 ought to know him, though it would take you a long 
 time to do so. He is a noble man. Wasn't it kind in 
 
 M to send me that beautiful book ? I had seen it, 
 
 and admired, and coveted it often. [I860.] 
 
 The wedding last week, of which I spoke, was so 
 slow an affair, that it has left no noticeable points 
 
 upon my memory worth recording. I and Dr. , 
 
 and two aged females, indulged in a game of club-fist, 
 
 much to the delight of old and his son, the 
 
 preacher, who has any quantity of initials to his name, 
 a few among which are — of course. This game af- 
 forded me much internal satisfaction, thinking how 
 some of my fashionable friends would rejoice at the 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 247 
 
 spectacle. Then we had a game of " Solomon says so 
 and so," like unto ''Simon says wig-wag," of precious 
 memory. This was a game of pawns ; but one very 
 ancient, toothless female, protested that there should 
 be no kissing, because " sich carrying ons is rediclus" : 
 BO we had a slow time at this. Then we played ♦* Ton 
 honor," where hand was placed on hand, and then 
 drawn and withdrawn, until a certain number had 
 been counted. The unhappy person upon whom the 
 lot fell was then asked divers questions, which had to 
 be answered *"pon honor":— such questions as, 
 «» Who's you in love with ?" " When's you goin' to git 
 married?" etc. I put on my gloves and went at it, 
 causing much mirth by my answers, and making quite 
 a divertisement by inquiring of the female on my left, 
 with the six-inch high coronet, "How old are you?" 
 The supper was eaten at a long table in the yard, and 
 the scene was really very picturesque. The females 
 and men were got up quite gaudily, with any quan- 
 tity of beads and breastpins ; and these reflected the 
 light from the fire-stands, which were blazing in the 
 yard all about. One old gentleman asked me if I had 
 ever heard of Lorenzo Dow, and, upon my answering 
 affirmatively, proceeded to tell me a great many anec- 
 dotes of him, all of which I had heard before, and of 
 all of which he forgot the point, but made up for it by 
 laughing most heartily and contagiously. [I860.] 
 
 do not understand why good Christian 
 
 should be "quite broken up," unless by sympathetic 
 excitement. What has she ever done to be "broken 
 
248 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 up" about? She has no sins to be sorry for. Come 
 to the rationale of it : she is born in sin, and must 
 seek for a new heart; but why should she be so 
 grieved, so sorrowful for sin ? How can she repent in 
 tears for sins she has never committed ? Now, there 
 would be some reason in such a wicked sinner as I 
 have been being " broken up" and grievously afflicted 
 at the remembrance of guilt and sin, and become af- 
 fected to tears and groans in seeking pardon ; but for 
 
 one who has lived so very blamelessly as , I do 
 
 not see why it should be, unless from sympathy and 
 excitement. Don't misunderstand me. It may be all 
 right, but I don't understand it. There are many 
 things, very many things, about heaven and God, and 
 the system of Christianity, which I don't and can't un- 
 derstand, and, thank God, I have quit trying to ; and 
 now I do believe I have faith in Him who died to save. 
 I am not a Christian, nor am I under conviction, as I 
 know of; but I am much nearer the light than I was 
 six months ago. I am no unbeliever now. [I860.] 
 
 I write to-day to let you know that I am thinking of 
 you now ; indeed, I always think of you, but more es- 
 pecially to-day, your birthday. It may be that my ac- 
 tions have shortened the number of the returns of this 
 day to you ; but ! forgive me and pity me. I do not 
 think that I will grieve you again as I have done : I 
 pray not, and hope not. I do not feel any change of 
 heart yet, but I do feel more strongly determined than 
 I ever did to try and act well in future. I read my 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 249 
 
 Bible daily, and pray every day, thus acknowledging 
 my dependence on God at least, if nothing more. I 
 know that any service of mine can but be very imper- 
 fect, for I have wandered far away from the right path ; 
 but I do try to render some, as little as it may be. I 
 have been thinking a great deal lately, trying to school 
 myself to be willing to put away a great many things 
 which may hinder me and prevent me from being an 
 upright man. I feel that I am weak, and I need the 
 strength of One that is higher than I. I know that 
 you pray for me, and I have hope from that : without 
 it, it seems very dark. I suppose I can hardly expect 
 to be a rejoicing Christian, favored with great mani- 
 festations of God's love; but I do wish to be a good 
 man, if I can. [I860.] 
 
 This is Friday night, and I always feel as if it were 
 almost sacrilegious to employ it for any other purpose 
 than amusement or social enjoyment; and in compli- 
 ance with my views, I sit down now for a little talk 
 with one whom I am proud to number among '«the 
 many that I love," and who is, I hope, one of "the 
 few who love me." A letter is a perfect godsend to me 
 in my forlorn and desolate condition. Even a dun 
 loses somewhat of its sombre hue; and when one comes 
 kindly and genially, like yours, it is like a vision of an 
 angel in the night-time. [February, I860.] 
 
 By-the-bye, I received an epistle from my sister this 
 morning; and she writes of a very delightful visit to 
 
250 LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 my favorite of all places, except the sea-shore — 
 Csesar's Head. And she says that, by your kindness 
 and politeness, the visit was rendered the more plea- 
 sant. I wish I could have been with you. Nothing 
 elevates or exhilarates me more, mentally, or physi- 
 cally, or spiritually, than to stand on Caesar's Head 
 and look out upon the great, beautiful world. It, next 
 to the ocean, realizes more completely than any thing 
 else my ideas, or rather my dreamings, of eternity and 
 infinity. ^ * * -^ There is one thing in your letter 
 about "the power of some lifeless things that moves 
 one like a living soul." To my mind, it is a living soul^ 
 the great soul or sympathy of nature, the Alma Natures,; 
 and I wish to talk with you more concerning this same 
 subject. At present, adieu. [August, I860.] 
 
 I write now, having just been relieved from guard- 
 duty of twenty-four hours ; and hard duty it was ; and 
 consequently I am very much exhausted. We have 
 had one small engagement, of which I suppose you 
 know the particulars from the papers. We expected 
 an attack momentarily from Fort Sumter, in which we 
 were agreeably disappointed. I was not near as much 
 excited as I thought I would be ; and I was not at all 
 frightened, but stood at my gun with my finger on the 
 vent, giving my orders as coolly as if in a common 
 drill. We look for a fight every hour, and I believe 
 we are ready. I try to do my duty towards God and 
 man as well as I can. We expect the Brooklyn in with 
 
LYRICS AND SKETCHES. 251 
 
 troops; but there are preparations made to prevent 
 her entrance. If she comes, we will fire into her, and 
 Anderson will pitch into us. [1861.] 
 
 We wiU have a fight before the week is out, I expect. 
 Some of us will fall : perhaps I may. If I do, I want 
 you to know that I have tried to do my duty faithfully 
 and manfully. I have been a wilful, disobedient son ; 
 but I have always dearly loved the dear folks at home. 
 I hope that God in his great mercy will pardon my 
 sins for Christ's sake. I write this lying on my bed, 
 every moment expecting to be called up to my post. I 
 have kept my bed part of yesterday and to-day, on 
 account of illness. We were called to our guns night 
 before last, and spent the night until 5 o'clock, A. M., 
 standing at our posts. Two suspicious boats were re- 
 ported in the offing, and, as they came nearer, we fired 
 into them. One of the shot just grazed them. They 
 stood out to sea until daylight, and then came in, and 
 proved to be two Pee Dee boats laden with supplies for 
 us. The blame rests entirely upon the boats, for they 
 did not display the right signals. The night was in- 
 tensely cold, and I contracted a cold, with some fever. 
 This has put me a little under the weather, but I am 
 much better now. Everybody has been very kind to 
 me. [January 31, 1861.] 
 
 THE END. 
 
Date Due 
 
 JUN P ^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Library Bureau 
 
 Cat. no. 1137 
 
 
810. 8 V383L 315131 
 
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