You ask me B----ty, why I mourn, Yet dry'st the tearful eye? You ask me why I look with scorn, And check the heaving sigh? Time was, when I could carol forth, To tune of lively glee; But dark despair has left no hope-- Nor sigh--nor tear--for me. Like me--perchance some wayward sprite, Might dazzling lead astray; Then leave you on the giddy height, To perish far away: Take heed while yet you have the choice, Avoid the Syren's way; Nor listen to the artful voice, Which calls--but to betray; For sigh from him that is deceived, Or tear from eye that once believed, Is sought in vain--tho' fill'd with grief, Nor sigh nor tear can bring relief; 'Tis _time_ alone can steel the heart, And foil the Syren's pointed dart. POWHATAN. _Petersburg, Dec. 19, 1834_. For the Southern Literary Messenger. THE MECHANICIAN AND UNCLE SIMON. About the period of what "_I am gaun to tell_," the ancient aristocracy of Virginia had passed through its death struggle; the times when the rich were every thing and the poor nothing, had passed away; and the high pretensions of the sons of the Cavaliers had yielded to the more levelling opinions of the Roundheads. The badges of distinction, such as coats of arms and liveries, had become too odious to be generally kept up; occasionally however the latter were seen, but so rarely, that they looked like the spectres of departed greatness, and excited a feeling of contempt or pity for the weakness of the master, rather than respect for his wealth and rank. There was one class of people nevertheless, who retained all their attachment to these distinctive marks; and indeed they do so to this day: I mean the class of servants who belonged to the old families. They were the veriest aristocrats upon earth, and hated with the most unrelenting hatred all the ignoble blood of the land, and deeply deplored the transition of property from the nobles to the serfs. Though their own "_ancient but ignoble blood_" had literally almost "_crept through scoundrels ever since the flood_," they detested the poor and adored the rich. I shall never forget the Fall of the year ----. I had just graduated at one of our northern colleges, and received my two diplomas, with their red ribbons and seals attached. They were deposited by my good friend Andrew McMackin, the most expert diploma rigger in all the village, in a plain cylindrical case of pasteboard, for safe keeping, and would have remained there probably to this day unmolested, had not the rats made an inroad upon them, and in a single night demolished sigillum and signature--all that it had cost me years of hard labor to obtain--aye, and twenty dollars to boot. Not satisfied, I suppose, with the attestation of the president and venerable board of trustees, they were desirous of adding their own ratification of my pretensions to science. Be that as it may; full of delightful anticipation at the prospect of