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VOLUME X. T E K ME S S Tee Madison Family Visitor is published weekly (every Saturday morning,) at TWO DOLLARS per annum, invariably in advance. Fifty numbers in the year are mailed to each subscriber. Discontinuances.— Notice must be given at the expiration of subscription and all arrearages paid, or subscribers held liable accordingly. Subscribers wishing the direction of their paper ©hanged, Will Entity us from what office it is to be transferred. Co)n tb'iuic*Uioiis. —Addressed, POST paitv, to tbe Madison Family Visitor, with the anther’s na»ne in every instances Job Work an A <AheT business hi tit© Printing line, will meet with prompt utteution and faithful execution. Specimens of our Book-, Card, Circular, Bill and Programme Printing can be seen at the Office. A loertisemenls conspicuously inserted alfl per •quare for the tirst and fifty cents per square for •&ch subsequent insertion. Those sent without a specification of the nninbet of insertions desired, will be continued “ tillforbid?' Notices of the sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, fixeCSters, or Ou.irdiuns, must be published roßxr bays previous to the day of •ale. Notices f«»r the sa*e of Personal Property must he given at least ten ©ays previous to the sale. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate «nst be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published weekly for two months. Citations for Letters of Administration must be Butblished tttiRTY nvrs—for Dismission from Ad ministration, monthly six months—for Dismis sion front Guardianship forty days. Rules f »r Foroclosureof Mortgage must be pub lished monthly for four months—for establish ing lost papers, for the full space of threr months —for compelling titles from Executors or Admin istrators, where a bond lias been given by the de cayed. the full space of three months. Publications will always be continued accord ing to these, the legal requirements, unless other wise ordered. 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/”