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VOLUME X.
T E K ME S S
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SELECTED POETRY.
THE PRAIRIE FIRE AND THE
nun FIRE.
BY RRV. JOnN PIERPONT.
The prairie fire ! at midnight hour
The traveler hears it roaring by—
A form of terror and of power,
That walks the earth and licks the sky.
The wild deer on his grassy bed
Wakes from his dream of breaking day.
Listens, and lifts his antlered head,
Snuffs the hot blast, and bounds away.
Where that destroying angel g»x*«,
Bom© on the Wings of autumn’s wind,
He leaves no grass, no prairie rose,
But all is scorched and black behind.
But when spring comes, a flowery belt
Across the prairie’s.bosom thrown,
Shows us that where his foot was felt,
The angel dropped a jewelled zone.
But there’s a fire along whose track
Spring never scatters flowers in bloom ;
No spring e’er follows —all is black
As midnight iu a hopeless tomb.
Alike upon the low and high
Falls this strange fire; it feeds and plays
On beauty’s cheek, in wisdom's eye.
And melts down manhood in its blaze.
And youth aud age—its power is such—
Blossom and fruit alike are burned;
And every virtue by its touch
Is shrivelled, and to ashes turned.
Quench, Holy Father! by thy power,
By love and law, spring and well,
With stream and cistern, flood and shower,
In mercy quench this lire of hell.
From the Memphis Morning Bulletin.
WILT THOU GO WITH ME?
Wilt thou, wilt thou, go with me
To my cottage in the glen,
Where the roses bloom for thee,
Far from the city’s busy ken?
There the tall old forest grows,
With its depths of shaded sea;
There no scorching sunbeam flows;
Wilt thou, wilt thou go with me?
There the stately river sweeps
Down its banks in gushing pride ;
There the fringed willow weeps
O’er its murm’ring, glit'ring tide;
There the w«>odbine clusters bright,
Fling their sweets to the honey bee,
There the primrose decks the night,
With no loving eye to see.
There the fountain pure and free
Gushes from its mossy cove,
There in mourful melody
Ring the notes of the plaintive dove;
Asa star to love and guide,
Wilt thou go ray lot to bless—
Wilt thou be my love, my pride,
My radiant crown of happiness ? Iris.
WINTER.
Thou hold’st the sun
A prison in tbe yet undawning east,
Shortening his journey between morn and noon,
And hurrying him—impatient of his stay—
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still,
Compensating bis loss with added hours
Os social converse and instructive ease,
And gathering, at short notice, in one group,
The family dispersed, and fixing thought,
Not less di persed by daylight and its cares.
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Os undisturbed retirement, and the hour
Os long, uninterrupted evening know.
fCowrxß.
31 Smtll)mt TUccldtj Ciiaanj tmtr iLltsceUanetms Bmmial, for tlje fjemte Circle.
A SKETCH.
BY RICHARD VAGRANT, ESQ.
” Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive.”
There are few, in the world, who have
reached the age of manhood, or even
launched the bark which floats on the
slmtiy sea of youth, who, in retrospect
itig the past, cannot dwell upon some
scene of melancholy or pleasurable in
terest—replete with circumstances, from
which must spring self-gratulation, un
relenting compunction, or the strongest
sympathy.
To him who has heeded not the im
pulses, and importunate stirrings of a
curiosity, which looks upon the world as
a gay, animated panorama—gorgeous,
but beautiful in its novelty—and longs
to gaze upon its attractions, memory
can bring many a pleasing picture from
the circumscribed circle of his experi
ence. But lie who has traveled, and
would draw upon recollection for a re
cital of the “ strange, tint passing stramm ”
of distant countries, feels a double charm
thrown around their reminiscences. In
revisiting the spot of some cherished
incident, he can again throw behind
him, the home of earlier days; feel
brighter and purer skies smile upon liinn
and in the distance, behold new pros
poets to rise and invite a nearer contem
plation of their loveliness.
When my eye first struck the lines
which head this bumble “ sketch,” mv
mind, huniedly dashing over the events
of the past, lingered to mark the appli
cability to an incident on which l al
ways think with interest. This is the
subject of my story.
Nearly two years had gone by, since
I first came to the village of S
with the intention of making it a place
of permanent residence. I was no long
er a stranger, but. could boast the friend
ship of many, and the acquaintance of
the whole community.
But a youth of sixteen is not content
with'a general, impartial, unprejudiced
! friendship; his affections are in the
spring time of their freshness ; confid
ing, and untainted by the cold calculat
ing selfishness of the world, the heart
longs for congeniality ; and the bosom
seeks to wake a responsive chord to its
hopes and fears. Such were my feel
ings, and such my aspirations, and fas
tidious must be the fancy, and ineorrig
ible the vanity of him who imagines he
can find none worthy to show his soul’s
sympathies.
Jerome F , was several years my
senior. I shall never forget my sensa
tions when introduced to his acquaint
ance ; the feeling of regard and attach
ment which tempered my salutation ; I
liked the soft light of his speaking eye
—the mild expression of those features,
whose almost faultless contour, bore tbe
impress of intellectuality; and there
was naught of that frigidness of bearing,
which too often repulses the approaches
of minority, or the obsequiousness of
paltry, strained civility, to tell us of con
descension. Suffice it to say, 1 was his
bosom friend, in the possession of the
whole history of his life.
I have said that nearly two years had
now elapsed ; not in the never chang
ing monotony, which hangs upon the
destiny of a village populace ; no, there
were pleasures, many arid varied, robbed,
it is true, of the heartless fallacy and
gaudy splendor of city dissipation, but
blended with reason, tranquility, and
innocence.
One evening while sitting as usual in
my chamber, waiting the arrival of mv
friend, and revolving the thousand inci
dents of life, an unusual depression
seemed to steal slowly but perceptibly
over my spirits. Why the change, I
knew not, for scarce a moment had fled,
transient as was its stay, since thought
had been teeming with a thousand gay
and fanciful visions. But deep melan
choly had thrown her sombre shade over
their brightness; and though I knew
not whether I vented my disaffection in
a “seasonable soliloquy,” certain lam
that I was unconscious of tb. presence
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 1856.
of another, until a gentle tap broke the
spell and scattered a chaos of confused
ly mingled apparitions.
“ Why It.” said F., “ you must have
been conjuring up blue spirits, and grey,
to keep you company; you look the
very personification of trouble.”
“ And I’m to have a miserable com
forter, for I declare your features are
more attenuated than one would paint
melancholy’s in her greenest mood.
But F what has detained yon ?”
“ Attendance to a painful story,
Mary has renounced me forever; in one
week she becomes my hateful rival’s.”
“ Impossible ! ” I exclaimed, with un
feigned astonishment, for it was start
ling intelligence.
But I must be brief, and endeavor, in
a few words, to give the subject of a con
versation, which enlisted powerfully the
feelings of both. The attachment ex
isting between F and Miss (I
had, like many o'hers, been implanted
when the unfettered intercourse and in
nocent gambols of childhood were free
from the shackles of rigid propriety and
measured formality.
But those lialcion days, with their
artless confidence, had passed away : the
period of youthful passions and expecta
tions had come, and the dawning of af
fection had verged into the morning of
love.
With what pleasure did I view the
exchange of those feelings which seek
expression in the many delicate attena
tions which fall so gratefully upon the
heart. ’Tis said :
“ The heart of woman knows no purer joy,
Is never flattered with such dear enchantment.
As when she bears the praises of the mun she
loves.”
And whatever may have been my
skeptism previous to my acquaintance
with Mary H , I lead* in the flash
of her eye, and the mantling eloquence
of her cheek, a confirmation of its truth.
The Sunday succeeding the day on
which F had communicated his
story, was appointed for the solemn cer
emony of baptism by immersion. It
was anticipated, tliat as usual, a crowd
of spectators would line the margin of
the lake. I had not seen Mary for
several days, and desirous of hearing,
from her own lips, a confession of her
innocence or treachery, I resolved to be
her conductor to the interesting scene.
I effected my object. Moore has well
said:
'‘Alas! how little cause may move
Dissension between two hearts that love.”
Mary thought it her province to mo
nopolise the whole affection, nay, atten
tion of her affianced husband—and when
she imagined bis look to fasten too
fondly on another—her chiding was not
reproachful silence. 111-founded suspi
cion at length tvas converted into dis- j
trust, and in a moment of excitement,,
she had thrown herself upon the heart
less promises of a wretch, whose vows |
had long insulted her ears. I have ;
sometimes felt my feelings wound to a j
pitch of phrenzied intensity; grief has,
swelled my bosom with emotion, too j
big for utterance, and risen high to;
quell the least sigh struggling tc escape; !
hut with it there was stoicism to endure j
it all. But who, that has not steeled j
his heart against every virtuous prin
ciple, can gaze, with calm indifference,'
on the troubled workings of a eounte- j
nance, where innocence and purity hail
long been enthroned, now mirroring tlie
wretchedness of conscious - repentant j
guilt, while suspicion whispers, that vir- j
tue’s adamant hold lias tottered, and
trembled and fallen !
I felt that the hopes of years were
blasted, and the holiest and purest im
pulses of a noble natuie had been crush
ed ; and a withering, icy deadness, fast
ened upon my sensations.
Oh, I can never forget the remem
brance of that day; the torturing pity
of my soul, as I looked upon Mary, while
hanging upon my arm by the water’s
edge, striving, beneath a mask of pen
sive seriousness, to conceal her misery.
Ardently I hoped, and fervently I pray
ed, that, to the conflict of agitated feel-
ings, and the remorse of a sensitive
mind, might be attributed the equivocal
expressions, susceptible of such alarming
construction. But there was qp tniliga
tion.
* * * * * * *
There was a gay and joyous company
assembled. Hilarity and mirth danced
in the lustre of many a bright eve, and
maiden's laugh blended sweetly the
music of its tone with the deeper har
mony of youthful manhood’s. But there
was near, though unseen, one downcast
eye, and colorless cheek, and they whose
festive glee was a dagger to that bosom,
knew it not. All was suddenly hushed ;
the plighted pair and the attendants en
tered the apartment, and the next mo
ment the priest, in solemn measured ac
cents was pronouncing the marriage
ceremony. Mary had succeeded in
throwing over her countenance some
thing like a ray of cheerfulness, but all
know not its mockery.
1 looked around in vain for my friend,
but just as the ritual scene was over, the
door was thrown open and Jerome en
• ered.
“ Mary,” said he, “ pardon my remiss
ness; detention was unavoidable, hut
sutler me to mingle my congratulations
with those of the friends around you."
There was no reply—the beautiful
girl gazed statuelike upon him—re
proach, fondness and a consciousness of
anything hut happiness was depicted in
her countenance.
Time has since wrought in iny feel
ings many changes, and swept his hand
over many events ol my life; but I find
the impressions of those days to live in
all the freshness of their first impress;
and I doubt whether the image of that
stricken girl, as 1 beheld her failing,
alone, in the solitude of her grief, aban
doned liy the ruthless villain, who had
sworn to love and protect her, will ever
be effaced from the tablet of memory.
Interest.
Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, in his last
letter in the New York Independent,
thus gives his opinion upon borrowed
capital:
“ No blister draws sharper than 1 in
terest’ does. Os all industries, none is
comparable to that of interest. It works
day and night, in fair weather and in
foul. It has no sound iu its footsteps,
but travels fast. It gnaws tit man’s sub
stance with invisible teeth. It binds in
dustry with its film, as a fly is bound
upon a spider’s web. Debt rolls a man
over and over, binding him hand and
foot, and letting him hang upon the
fatal mesh until the long-legged inter
est devours him. There is no crop that
can afford to pay interest money on a
farm. There is but one thing raised on
a farm like it, and that is Canadian this
tle, which swarms new plants every time
you break its roots, whose blossoms are
prolific, and every flower the father of a
million seeds. Every leaf is an awl,
every branch a spear, and every single
plant is an armed host. The whole plant
is a torment and a vegetable curse. And
yet a man had better make his bed of
Canadian thistles, than attempt to lie at
ease upon interest.”
Woman’s Heart. —Thackery says a
woman’s heart is just like a lithograph
er’s stone —what is once written on it
can’t be rubbed out. This is so. Let
an heiress once fix her affections on a
stable boy, and all the preaofe In the
world cannot get her heart’ above oat
boxes and curry-combs. “ What is writ
ten on her heart can’t be rubbed out."
This fact, shows itself, not only in love,
hut iu religion. Men change their gods
a dozen times—women never.
Senator Douglas is in Cleveland, Ohio,
still unable to proceed to Washington.
The City Bank of Augusta has de
clared a dividend of five per cent.
Governor Shannon, of Kansas, will, it
is said, soon resign.
Leap Year.
The recurrence of leap year lias called
forth many interesting reminiscences of
the privileges of the ladies. Among
other things of the kind it is mentioned
that:
By an ancient act of the good old
Scottish parliament, passed in the reign
of Margaret, about 1288, it was “ordon
it that during ye reign of her maist bles
;it Majestie, ilka maiden ladee of baith
high and low estait shell line liberty to
speak ye man she likes, gif he refuses to
take her to be his wife, he slialt be mulct
in the sum of a hundred pundis or less,
as his estate may be, exeepit and always
gif he can make it appear that he is be
trothit to anaitber woman then he shall
be set free.”
From (lie Sicur de Beauplan’s “Des
cription of the Ukraine, including several
provinces of the kingdom of Poland,”
published at Rouen iu 1002, it appears
that at that period the Cossack damsels
also made proposals of marriage. Mon
sieur Beauplan says:
Here then, contrary to the custom of
all other countries, may be seen young
girls making love to young men, and a
superstition among them and very care
fully observed, causes them seareelv ever
to miss their object, and indeed, renders
them more sure of success than the men
would be, should the latter attempt the
wooing. Ttiey proceed somewhat after
the following manner :
The maiden goes to the House of the
father of the young man whom she loves,
when she thinks the family are all to
gether and says on entering, Pnmayaboy.
which means, God bless you. She pays
her compliments to him who has made
so great an impression on her heart,
and tells him she thinks he will know
how to govern aud love his wife. “ Thy
noble qualities," she continues, “ have led
me to pray thee very humbly to accept
me for thy wife.” She then asks the
father and mother to consent to the
marriage. If she receives a refusal, or
some excuse, as that he is too young and
not yet ready to marry, she answers that
she will not depart until lie has espoused
her. Thus she perseveres aud persists in
remaining until she lias obtained a favor
able answer to her demands.
After several weeks the father and
mother are not only constrained to give
their consent, blit also to persuade their J
son to look upon her more favorably.
At the same time the young man seeing
the maiden so determined in her affec
tion for him, begins to regard her as one j
who is destined to be the mistress of his j
desires. Finally lie prays his father and !
mother to permit him to espouse her- j
Thus she accomplishes her purpose, and I
the entire family, through fear of God j
by expelling her from their house, ate '
constrained to give their consent to the !
union.
A Gem From an Old Book.—lt has
been eloquently arid truly said that if
Christianity were compelled to flee from
the mansions of the great, the academies
of philosophers, the halls of the legisla
tors, or the throngs of busy men, we
should find her last retreat with women
at the fireside. Her last audience would
be the children gathering round the knee
of a mother; the last sacrifice, the secret
prayer, escaping in silence from her lips,
and heard perhaps only at the throne of
God.
Sunset. —l have thought a hundred
times that if I had wings and no specific
gravity. I would soar just so far upward
that I could see the evening glimmer
over the edge of the earth, and, at the
satno time against its motion on the
axis, would hold myself in such a posi
tion, that for a whole long year, I could
look into the mild broad eye of the even
ing snn. But at length I would sink
down drunk with splendor, like a bee
o’erfed with honey, in sweet delirium,
on the grass. —Jean Paul.
Hon. Henry A. Wise was inaugurated
Governor of Virginia on the Ist Jan.
Washington and his Family.
OF the simple manners of Washington
and his family, we have an interesting
account in the travels of Mr. Henry
Wensey, F. S. A., an English manufac
turer, who breakfasted with them on the
morning of the Bth of June, 1794. “I
was struck with awe and veneration
when I recollected that I was now in the
presence of tbe great Washington—the
noble and wise benefactor of the world,
as Mirabeau styled him. We cannot
look down from this truly illustrious
character, on other great men, without
discovering in them a Vast and mortify
ing dissimilarity. The President seem
ed thoughtful, and was slow in delivering
himself, which induced some to believe
him reserved. But it was rather, 1 ap
prehended. the result of much reflection,
for he had to me an appearance of affa
bility and accommodation. He was at
this time in his sixty-third year, but had
very little the appearance of age, liav.ng
been all his life so exceedingly temperate.
Theta was a certain anxiety visible in his
countenance, with marks of extreme sen
sibility.
“Mrs. Washington herself made tea
and coffee for us. On the table were
two small plates of sliced tongue, and
dried toast, bread and blitter, but no
broiled fish, as is the general custom,
Miss Eleanor Custis, her grandaughter,
a very pleasing young lady of about six
teen, sat next to Iter; and next to her,
her grandson, George Washington Parke
Custis, about two yeats older. There
were but slight indications of form, one
servant only attending, who had no live
ry ; attd a silver urn for hot water, was
the only expensive article on the table.
Mrs. Washington struck me as being
something older than the President
though I understand they were both
born in the same year; she was short in
statue and rather robust, extremely sim
ple in her dress, and wore a very plain
cap, with her grey hair turned up under
it” This description corresponds per
fectly with that in her portrait by Trum
bull, painted the previous year, and now
in Trumbull Gallery at New Ilaven.
How the Modest Man was Mista
ken. —The Lowell Courier is responsible
for the following:
In a neighboring city, at Thackery’s
lecture, a few evenings since, a young
gentleman—the most modest man of his
sex, and no less polite than modest, was 1
sitting in a pew rather remote from the 1
light. A pretty lady was sitting next to
him. Looking on the floor during the 1
lecture, he espied what lie thought was
the lady's handkerchief, the lace trimmed j
edge just visible from under her dress.— J
Turning to his pewmate, he gallantly (
whispered, “you’ve dropped vour hand- i
kerchief, madam!” and before she could j
reply, he proceeded to pick it up. Hot- !
ror! he had seized the edge of her pet
skirt, and did not discover his mis
take until the top of a gaiter stared him
in the face, and the faint sound of a
laugh just nipped in the bud by the ap
plication of a real handkerchief, warned
him of his mistake. “ Phaney his pheel
in’s.”
Moral. —Don’t attempt to pick up
anything with lace to it belore you know
what it is.
•>» »
V aluable Recipe. —Mr. A. Bronson, of
Meadville, Pa., says, from fifteen years’
experience, ho finds that Indian meal
poultice, covered over with young hyson
tea, softened with hot water, and laid
over burns or frozen flesh, as hot as can
bo borne, will relieve the pain in five
minutes. If blisters have not arisen be
fore, tliej will not after it is put on, and
that one poultice is generally sufficient
to (fleet a cure.
It is stated that the delegates just
chosen to the next democratic State
Convention of Pennsylvania, stand 72
for Buchanan, 5 for Dallas, and 3 doubt
ful.
Despise none ; despair of none.
NUMBER 4
WIT AND HUMOR.
The Squire’s Georgia Widow.
“ Oh,” says the Squire, “ I wish I war
married, and well over it. I dread it
powerful. I’d like to marry a widow.
T allers like widows since I know'd on*
down in Georgia, that suited my ideal
adzactly.”
“ About a week after her husband died,
she started down to the graveyard, wbar
they planted of him, as she said, to read
the prescription onto his monument.
When she got there, she stood a minute
a lookin’ at the eend of the grave, with'
an epithet on them the minister had writ
for her. Then she bust out, “Oh hoo ! "
says she: “Jones, he was one of the Sett
men ! I remember how the last time he
come home, about a week ago, he brought
down from town some sugar and a little
tea, and some store goods for me, and
lots of little necessaries, and a little paint
ed hoss for Jeems, which that blessed
child got his mouth all yaller with suckin’’
of it, and tuk down that good old fiddle
of liis'u, and played up that good old
tune :
“Ruke her down, Sal, ob! rang dang diddle,
Oh I rung, dung diddle, dang, dang, da, da ! ”
“ Here,” says the Squire, “ she began
to dance, and 1 just thought she was the
greatest woman I ever seed.”
The Sq iire always gives a short laugh
after telling this anecdote, and then fill
ing and lighting his pipe, subsides into
an arm chair, and indulges in calm and
dreamy reflection l .
A Darkey’s Description or an El
ephant.— Him be b*g as a haystack on
| four wharf spiles, wid a- head like a flour
1 barrel wid a side ob sole-ledder Happen
j oil each side ob it, and a nose six feet
long, a squirm-in' round like the Ingine
rubber hose, and a couple ob tees slickin'
(out ob he inouf like two' barber poles a
slickin’ out ob a basemen barber shop.
1 When him walk, him roll from side to 1
j side like a sayler mail jis landed an’ I
j ’spent de reason am, ’cause him feet am
! berry tender, for him got corns on all
him toes. Him feet urn shaped sumfin'
| like a cullud man's, oi;ly hnxler, but like
Ido daikey’s, de holler ob makes a hole
; ill ile ground.
When he win made, it seem dat him
s’ood on four of deni wharf-spiles, as'
den pile on all de m-at dey could pile on.
Den dey made a grab) ob sandstone, gut
ta-persha, brown dust, meiassis an’ grey
dog, an’ pour it all ober de flesh an’ dar
lefl it dry. When dey come to de tail
de stuff gib out, an’ dey had to cat it
short!
A western editor, complaining that he
could not sleep, one night, summoned up
the causes thus:
“ A wailing babe of seventeen days—
a dog howling under the window — cat
fight in the alley—a tooth-ache—and *
pig trying ilie back door.”
Old But Coon.— An exchange paper
tells a story of a man who was found on
a Sunday morning, without a hat, sitting
on a block of granite, with his bare feet
in a brook, trying to catch a bad eold,
so as to sing bass at church.
A man who does not take a newspa
per, is not only poor, but will always re
main so. The less men know, the less
they earn. Folks who labor for seventy
five cents a day, always sign their names
with an X.
All the teeth of a certain scolding la
dy being loose, she asked a physician the
cause of it, who answered that it pro
ceeded from the violent shocks she gave
them with her tongue.
There is a man in Greensboro’ so witty
that his wife manufactures all the butter
used by the family from the cresm of
his jokes. She also makes cheese enough
for the neighborhood.
A “ Yankee,” describing an opponent,
says: “ I tell you what, sir, that man
don’t amount to a sura in arithmetic—
add him up and there's nothing to car
ry/”