The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834Various
History
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
Poor Tim! how little did he dream he was the subject the young god had
selected for as merry a frolic as ever fortune smiled upon in her
merriest mood. Tim was in his twentieth year,--"a leal light heart was
in his breast," he knew not the cares and anxieties of the world, nor
had he yet encountered fortune's frowns; he had enjoyed a full portion
of her smiles and blandishments, and his life had flitted along like a
gay summer's dream. He had yet to learn that all his castles were but
air built and fanciful, and it was necessary he should plod a little
upon his mother earth. Tim was none of your dashing thorough-going
bloods, who soar aloft with the eagles of the day, ever and anon to
pounce upon some harmless pigeon,--nor was he one of your gig and
tandem boys,--flourish and dash,--tinsel and paint,--who whirl about
for a season, and are all the go while the chink or the credit lasts,
but who, finally whirl off to jail, or into obscurity and
insignificance, nobody knows where, and nobody cares when. He was a
mild, pleasant, merry-making fellow. As for his person,--my dear miss,
you must excuse me; I know from your looks, you are curious to know
whether he had black hair and black eyes,--or light hair and blue
eyes,--or red hair and grey eyes,--but, really, I can't tell
you,--certain it is, he had eyes and a nose, and
"When he happened to grin,
His mouth stood across
'Twixt his nose and his chin."
There he lay, all defenceless, on his right side, (I like to be
particular,) with his clean white roundabout, and his waistcoat
unbuttoned, both thrown carelessly over his left arm; there lay his
heart, gently swelling and subsiding and he unconscious of its
undulating flow--while Cupid--I was about to say, while Cupid's keen
eyes were penetrating its inmost recesses, and eyeing it as a hawk some
sunny perch in a limpid stream,--but, alas for Cupid--the ancients have
interdicted the use of his eyes; nevertheless, on the present occasion,
it is necessary for my purposes that Cupid should, at least, take the
bandage from off his eyes, and the ancients to the contrary
notwithstanding, I do maintain that the sly god has as beautiful a pair
of eyes as ever were seen,--yes, and he is able to change them at his
pleasure. At one time, he appears with the mildest, softest, kindest,
clearest, heavenly blue eyes;--at another, with the keenest, blazing,
and yet the blackest eyes that ever flashed wit, and eloquence, and
expressing all the passions that the heart ever darts through its open
portals. All eyes are his, of every hue and every form,--and at this
moment, he was using as playful and as devilish a pair, as ever
bewitched and enchanted a trembling maiden. He sat quietly selecting
the most mortal parts of that defenceless heart, with bow well strung,
and barbed arrows, and ever and anon, he placed the winged messenger to
the string and twanged his silver bow. Cupid sometimes but tips his
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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