Nashville union and American. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1868-1875, 1872-01-28
GEMS FROM my CAsKET.

10 the Editors OF the Union and American:
Were l to pray for taste which could
support me under every vicisitude of for
tune, it would be a taste for reading. Give
man this taste, and moderately the means
OF gratifying it, and you can scarcely fail to
make of him happy man; unless indeed
you place before him a perverse selection of
bOOks-yOu bring him into contact
with the best society Of every age,
with the bravest, the modest, the
purest characters which have adorned
humanity. Such are the words of the
great and learned Sir Jno. Herschell, and
all refined and polished minds must &C
knowledge the truth of these remarks.
Those who have not the advantages of for
eign travel must read if they wish to be-
come familiar with the treasures of ancient
lore. Read as you may, you can never
feel in your inmOst heart the reality,
without standing midst the scenes of
departed grandeur and greatness of the
Eastern world. Standing midst ruin
andldecay, beholding monuments of antigua
ty, going in imagination over centuries, and
seeing the great and glorious master minds
Of the human race, resting beneath the
same heavens that smiled on them, and
sharingthe same,naturalIand sublime scenes
which inspired their souls with the beauty
and glory of the universe.
In lovely city not four thousand miles
from here, is a magnificent cemetery; it
combines both beauty and simplicity, with
a great historical interest Ny happiest
moments were spent roaming through its
shaded walks, admiring its magnificent
monuments, and holding communion, as it
were, with the illustriOus dead. "'Tis
haunted, holy ground Wherever the eye
it. Here in the ''city of the dead" what
train of reflections come upon me. Be
meath the same green sodrepOse the remains
OF the great, the good, and the glorious of
by gone days. Youth and beauty, genius
and intellect share the same fate. There
repOse the remains of an orator, whose
magnificent eloquence had charmed a
nation; yes, even the whole world bowed
before the shrine of his imprisoned
elOquence, and now that tongue Is
stilled fovever, and that flashing eye
from which beamed forth, fire and
genius, is stilled forever in the
still, cold sleep Of death. Here again mag
niticent monument, with its graceful shaft
towering three hundred feet high, sur
mounted by a beautiful statue carved in
Italian marble. 1t represents the figure of
a man shielding poor orphan child. The
effect is beautiful, the sculpture being fault
less and the figures life-like. The subject
o. this was a nObleman of i'm
mense wealth, who relinquished all the
splendOrs of an Italian court for the service
Of God, exchanging the crown Of spark
ling jewels for the crown of thorDS, and the
laurel-wreath Of fame for the noble call of
selfdenial. There is great deal of truth
in the expression of the modern poet:
THE world knows nothing of its greatest men,
The most gifted, the greatest, must pass
away; the one the great champion of his
cOuntry's right, the other her great spiritual
worker, are now no more. What is life
"a dream within a dream,
A pilgrimage from peril rarely free,
1t is a race where slippery sleeps arise.
Where discomfort and sorrow are the prize
And when the goal is won, the grave appears
1t is now evening; the last lingering rays
! Of the setting sun casts a shade of glory on
all around me. Millions Of flowers watt
their sweet fragrance on the evening breeze,
| and charm the eye with their many varied
| hues. Here is bed Of pure and spOtless
lilias at the base of a monument sur
mounted by seraph-like form. 1t is the
grave Of a darling child, aud morning and
| evening friendly hands bestrew her lonely
grave with those fairest of earth's offerings.
| weep not for those whom the veil Of the tomb,
| In LIES early morning, had hid from our
Ere sin threw veil DER the spirits Young bloom,
| Or earth had prOianed what was born for the
skies"
And now ere ebOn Night assumes her
solemn sway,'I will gather few flowers, in
mementoes of happy day spent in this love
! ly City of the dead.
! Though the flowers bring may withcr,
| Yet their fragrance viii remain.
! Like the loveliness and beauty,
Which are blended with thy name.
Fame, says a distinguished writer, is not
the recompense of the living but of the
! dead, and history proves this truth. Ofthe
| four great EyangelistS Of the hu-
man mind, Homer, Virgil, Dante
and Milton, little is known, ex-
cept what we can CLEAN from their own
| writings. OF Homer, we know so little that
| by some, his very existence has been
brought in questions; of Virgil, we possess
only few vague notices; of Milton, we pos
! sess no information, except what we can
! gather from his own writings. OF these
! four great names which iIlumincd
| the armament of ancient and
modern literature, little remains
save that they once lived and charmed a
world with the majesty, elOquence and
beauty Of their productions, and now that
| they are no more, to some, their very exist
| ence seems even q myth. DR.. johnson
most beautifully and truly says,
'I.ife's short summer-man flower"
If we look through the annals OF
ENGLISH literature we will see many
examples Of genius struggling with
/ despair, under the weight Of affliction.
Ehatterton is a dread proof of the too early
| development of intellect. ''He was born a
man, his mind burst at once into full flower,
! and like some plant made prematurely to
bloom, it faded and withered, with all its
blushing honors thick upon it, At the
| age of eleven he wrote verses which any
man might envy, and had he lived, would
| become the most noted writer of his time.
| ColerIdge has most beautifully immOrtalized
/ his memory in verse:
| eyes! clad in Natures rich AIRY,
! And bright in all her tender hues,
Sweet tree of hope! thou loveliest child Of spring.
Most fair did'st thou disclose thy early bloom,
| Loading the west winds with It's soft perfume!
| And fancy, elfn form of gorgeous wing,
! On every blossom hung her fostering dews,
! That, changeful, .wantOn'd to the orient day!
| But soon upon thy poor, unshelter head
! Did penUry her sickly mildew she'd
! And soon the scathing lightning bade thee stand
! In frowning horror DER the blighted land"
Such was the melancholy fate of one,
who, had he lived, might rank first among
! the authors of his time; but fOrtitude failed
him ere he reached the giddy height where
fame's proud temple shines afar, and thus
he sought all early and Uncalled for grave,
feeling, as he did, like an exile without
friends Or home; yes, home, sweet home,
! that word that finds echo in every human
| heart, aud that word for which SO many cul-
tivated languages has neither synonym nor
! equivalent. Mrs. MARY b. BAILEY.
! NASHVILLE, January, S72.