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VOLUME X. TERMS! Tub Madison Family Visitor is published weekly \every Saturday morning,) at TWO DOLLARS per annum, ititariaU;/ in adr tncr. Fifty numbers in the year arc mailed to c-acli «u'j.-er.lxr. DitcurUiauance —Notice must be given at the expirati »nos subscription and ail arrranujttt staid, or subscribers held liable accordingly. Subscribers wishing the direction of their paper •changed, will notify us from whatoliice it is to be transferred. Cj.n.nunu'at 'urvi. —Addressed, post paid, to the M liison Faintly Visitor, with the author* mum in everv instance. '*r' Ail Job Work and other business in the Printing line, will meet with prompt attention svnd f iithful execution. Specimen* of our Book, C ird, Circular, Bill and Programme Printing can be seen at the Office. A loertisnnent* conspicuously inserted atsl per square for the tirst and lifty cents per square for each subsequent insertion. Those sent without a apjciiic itiou of the number of insertions desired, will be continued ** tiUJhtrtid” Notices of the sales of hand and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must Be pablished forty days previous to the duy of Male. Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given at least ten days previous to the sale. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty days. Notice th it application will be made to the -C >urt of Ordinary f.'r leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must beimbli-'hed weekly for two months. Citations for Letters of Administration must be published thirty days —for Dismission from Ad ministration, monthly six months— for Dismis sion from Guardianship forty days. Buies for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub lished monthly for folu months—for establish ing lost papers, for the full space of three months —for compelling titles from Executors or Admin istrators, where a bond has been given by the de ceased, the full space of three months. Publications will ahvuys be continued accord ing to these, the legal requirements,unless other wise ordered. I THINK OF MY CHILD. DY MRS. M. W. STRATTON I think of my child when the sun shines bright. And earth seems to revel in beauty and light, when the singing of birds, and the humming of bees, Make a musical world of the dew-laden trees. i weep for my lost one then. I mourn that she sleeps in the dark cold ground. Shutout from the beauty so lavished around, That wild flowers bloom, and the long willows wave, Iu silence, and sadness, o’er Immogene’s grave. I weep for my lost one then. I think of my child when the silvery moon Sheds loveliness holier, sweeter, than noon, And I think of her too in the still, dark night, The star-studded sky may not gladden her sight. I weep for nay lost oue then. 1 touch my loved harp, but its strings no more Are tuned tp the gladuess they breathed<>f yore; A white-robed spirit seems hovering near To sadden the note*, and a heart-wrung tear Is shed for my lost one then. I think of wy.child when a harsh world’s blame Would sully the whiteness of woman’s name, When slander is blighting with poisonous breath, t triumph to think that hhe sleeps in death, Nor weep for my lost one then. When a pale wife shrinks from a wme flushed * fuce, And a tyrant reigns in a husband’s place— And when cruel injustice with iron tread Has trampled a spirit, and whitened a head, J r jp Can I weep for my lost one then? I think of my child when the wind blows high, the lightnings flash from an angry sky, When the waves of trouble come bounding on, I triumph to think that my darling’s gone, Nor weep for my lost one then. Oh, I dream that she’s one of an an go! band, And I’ll meet her again in the spirit land— That she is not lost, only gone before, And try to believe that I grieve no more But I weep for my lost one then. PRAYER OF THE UNFORTUNATE. AY n A HOLD. Oh God! I pray you spare my heart, r Take not my love from me. t She is the only star that shines On life’s tempestuous sea— All other hopes that I have known Have vanished one by one; v Yet still my soul bore bravely up „ i And said, “ Thy will be done.” My parents, brothers, sisters dear, , r All vanished from my side, I was rushing blindly on, Without a chart or guide— When from the clouds, whose thunders burst £s. Cnpitying ou my head, A star appeared, and on my heart ' Its holy radiance shed. >; -Then spare, oh, God, the only guide That leads me on to Thee, she vanishes from my sight, H Then Hope has fled from me— I’d sink beneath the waTes of sin, ** If she and I should sever; Then spare, oh, God, my only joy, Or bloh me tut forever ! THE PRESS. BY JOHN J. SAXE. Firm in the right the Daily Press should be, The tyrant’s foe, the champion of the free; Faitbftd and constant to its sacred trust— Calm in its utterance, in its judgments just; Wise in its teaching; uncorrupt aDd strong To spood the right and to deuouncc the wrong! jsoug may it be ere candor must confess |)o Freedom’s shores a week and renal press! Cl Soul I) mi lUcdili) Gil mm] ißistcUani'ons Hour mil, for flic l)ome Circle. BAD SPECULATION; 08, THE DARK STRANGER. CHAPTER I. “ All, Angely, 1 am ruined—utterly ruined !” exclaimed Robert Wilson to his yopug mid devoted wife. “ Ruined I why, Robert, what can have happened ! 1 thought that you were doing so well in your business,” returned tlie wife, with I Iks deepest anxiety depic ted on her fair featuies. “And so 1 am, my love; but in an un lucky moment l embarked in a specula tion which has proved unfortunate, and every dollar I possess is gone.” •‘Why have you not told me of this before, Robert!” “I wished not to pain you,love?” “I fear yon have been imprudent; nay, I will not rep roach you.” “ I have Imped until now that I should be tlble to redeem myself. By risking a few hundred dollars more, l feel confi dent that I could retrieve my losses, and come out bright again, hut alas, 1 have not another dollar in the world.” Anil the young husband looked anx iously at bis wife, “ W hat kind of a speculation was it, Robert,” asked bis wife, as a slight mis giving crossed her confiding heart. “Oli, it was a strict 1)' business transac tion.rather complicated in its details, and I doll t think you would understand it. if I explained it,” replied Robert, evasively. “I am not so dull of comprehension that I cannot understand an ordinary business transaction.” “No, my dear, 1 know you would un derstand it better than ladies, generally would, but it is very intricate—very.” “I will not insist, Robert, upon know ing anything you desire to conceal,” said Mrs. Wilson, with a gentle reproach iu her tone; “but incthinks a wife ought to know the occasion of a husband's sor rows.” “Forgive me, Angely” replied the husband, imprinting a tender kiss upon her lips; “forgive me, and I will tell you ail.” “Nay, love, I ask it not; fam satis fied now. And is there no hope!” “If I had two hundred dollars I feel perfectly confident that I should redeem myself.” “ Is there no risk, Robert?"’ “I will be candid, Angely—there is some risk.” “ l will get you the money, Robert.” “ My ow n I rue wife !"’ Tips conversation occurred at the house of a young New York shopkeeper. He had been married lo a young, gentle hearted girl only a year before, during which period they had lived in uuinter mpted happiness. The young wife had no suspicion that the clouds of adversity were lowering over their joyous home until her I usband had communicated the fact. For some weeks, however, she had noticed that Robert was more than usually dull.— Once'or twice a week lie . had absented himself from her side in the evening, alleging that his business demanded his extra attention. Angeline Wilson, at the time of her marriage, was the possessor of a small sum of money, bequeathed to her by her father. It had been settled uptm her so that her husband could not.control it, and could spend no portion of it without her sanction. Ihe young shopkeeper’s business bad prospered beyond his most sanguine ex pectations so that his devoted wife, who would willingly luive placed her little for tunc in his hands, saw no occasion to withdraw it fioin her uncle, iu whose possession it was not only deemed to be safely invested, but was producing a handsome interest. Robert Wilson was a whole-souled young man, without a selfish thought in his composition, lie had married An geline for herself alone, and had hardly bestowed a thought upon her portion. But the “ bad speculation,” had wor ried him exceedingly. All the ready money he could command had been ex hausted, and in this extremity the thought MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MARCH 15, 1856. occurred to him that his wife could sup ply his wants. The idea of asking her relief was, to a man of his high-strung temperament, so entirely repugnant that he on y had the courage to hint at the service she might render him, CHARTER ir. With the money iu his pocket which Angely had procured for him, Robert Wilson hastened down Broadway. At the corner of Park Place lie paused, and and cast a furtive glance around him.— Evidently lie was much agitated. He thought of his loving wild at home. He had deceived her, and his con science smote him. She was all love and gentleness, sincerity and confidence, and he had basely deceived her. Should he not return, throw himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness? Snell a course was certainly the most grateful 13 his erring, penitent soul; hut he had made a “bad speculation,” and while ihere was a hope of retrieving himself, (lie demon of mammon within prompted him to sin again. Turning down Park Place, lie entered one of those gambling hells which are the curse of enlightened America. Again he paused on the stops of the magnificent establishment to silence the. upbraiding* ot his conscience. The beautiful, Joving e.xpiv-Mun of his wife, languishing away the tedious hours of his absence in lonelv misery, haunted him. But the usual consolation, the oft re peated resolution of the erring soul, “Only this time, and then I will forever abandon the way of the transgressor," came to urge him on. By I lie gas-light in tlie street lie ob served a dark form, closely niulfind in the. folds of a Spanish cloak, approaching the spot where ho stood. The stranger paused by bis side, glanced intently at him and then entered the saloon. Ho followed him; the ball flnsiie I with brilliant lights, and the gnv and fashionable of tlie metropolis thronged the scene. Men smiled as though the place was not the gale of hell itself. The old and respectable of the bar and forum, and the exchange, were there eouiiteneing by their presence and example tlie iniquity practiced within those gilded walls. Robert Wilson shuddered as ho en tered the saloon. Yet why should he shrink from a scene in which the respec table men of the community hesitated not to mingle ? Poor, simple young man ! bis soul had not yet come to believe, that wealth, sta tion and the honors of the world can sat isfy sin and hallow iniquity. In an unguarded hour he had been lured into this “den of thieves,” by a man of respectable standing iu society— the importer he bad purchased many of bis goods from, and w ho held his note in payment of them. lie had hazarded a few dollars, though l;is conscience smote him ail the while. He won ; ho was in the management of unsuspecting" dupes. He went away with his pockets well lined with the fruits of his unhallowed gains. Inflated by the ambition to become suddenly rich, be went again, and again he won. The devil lured him on. With a firm resolution to abandon these visits when he should have added the gain of one more nightto his previonsaecnmlation, he went a third time. If he succeeded on this occasion, as lie had on the two pre vious nights, he should be able to pay the only remaining notes be [owed. The prospects of freeing himself entirely from debt, suddenly and without labor, tempt ed him to engage once again in the ex citing game. But the gamblers bad permitted him to run the whole length of his rope. On the third night he lost—lost all he had before won ! Ail his fine fancies were thus dashed to the ground. But the hope of freeing himself from debt bad taken strong hold of his imagination, and he could not so easily resign it. Again he went, trusting that the changes of the game would again favor him—again and again he went, till all his available means were sacrificed. The gamblers adroitly permitted him to win a few dollars occasionally, and thus his hopes were kept buoyant. All was gone, but the passion of gaming had gained intensity as his world, ly substance melted away. Uneasily he strolled among the gam ing tables, now pause to glance for an in stant at tlie game, and then Lurrying nervously on again. - Ho bad two hundred dollars in his pocket, and—humiliating reflection ! —it had been given by his wife ! He must be careful of it; he could hope for no more. as lie paced the gaily thronged hall, he discovered the dark looking stranger who had confronted him at the entrance of the saloon, alone at one of the marble tables. The eye of the stranger was suddenly rested sharply upon him. It was a dark, deeply expressive blue eye —it seemed not unfamiliar to him. The glance, he knew not why, rivited him to the spot, and he stood tremulously gazing at the stranger. The complexion of the myste rious personage was decidedly white.— His beard, jot black, entirely covered the sides and lower part of the face; even to the contour of the inoutli. It was very long, and curled gracefully down over the chin. Over his head he wore a cap, from beneath which, long, black, glossy curls floated down over his coat collar. In statue bo was b low the medium size, CHARTER 111. “ Play,” said.the stianger, in a low, guttural voice, not unmingled with soft ness. Robert Wilson involuntarily sealed himself opposite the daik being, With his gloved hand the stranger placed.a fifty dollar nolo on the table. “ Highest wins,” said lie, laconically, as he pushed the dice box over to Rob ert. Ibis was certainly an irregular game and an irregular manner of proceeding —but it was simple, and iu this respect was preferable to him, so be placed a corresponding amount by the side of it. Robert shook the dice, and east them upon the table. “Twelve,” said the stranger as ho shook the box and made bis throw, “Eighteen,” continued be, sweeping the stakes from the table. The next throw Robert won. Tlie stake was doubled ; be won again.— Maddened by excitement, be placed all the money bo had on the table. The dark visaged stranger, without moving a muscle of his brow, covered it. Atone fell swoop Robert was penniless again. Rising from the table in a paroxysm of disappointment, be was about to rush from the scene. “ Stay,” said the stranger. “ I have not a dollar,” replied Robert bitterly. “Your watch.” “No,” replied Robert firmly; “it is my wife’s,” “Your luck will change again.” The young man hesitated. “Sure to change,” continued the stranger. With a desperate effort, Robert drew the watch from his pocket. “ Seventy-five dollars,” said he, trem ulously. The stranger placed tho amount on the table. The dice descended—Robert, won. For several throws ho won, but sink- ; ing all again, lie was once more penni less. The watch was put down again—it was lost! Robert was in despair. “You liavo a wife?”said the stranger, “I have—God forgive me!” replied the ruined husband, in a burst of bitter ness. “Ofcourse you love her not, or you would not be here,” continued the stran ger, carelessly. “I do love her, as I love my own soul! exclaimed Robert, perplexed by the singular turn the conversation had j taken. I Tho character of the professional ! gambler was too well known to him, not ! to suspect that the dark stranger had i some object in view in these inquiries.— Those fearful tales of gamblers who have staked money against the honor of a wife, flashed across his mind, and lie shuddered to think how near he stood to the fatal precipice, which eight hurl him in his madness into deeper dishonor. “You would not have her know what you have done!" said tho stranger, calm ly. “ Not for the world !” “Then play again; your chance is good.” “I have not a shilling." “ I will lend you.” “On what security,” asked Robert, ! trembling for tlie answer. “ Mortgage mo your stock of goods,” “You know mo, then?" “No; you are a shopkeeper.” “ I will.” The stranger threw him three liun • died dollars. In ten minutes it was all i lost! ■ “The mortgage,’’ said tho dark being . before him. I “Gan wo make it hero?*) asked Rob ert, overwhelmed with anguish. “ No; I will go to your house.’’ - ( “Impossible! not for tlie world.” “ But I will!” said the stranger, stern ly- “ By heaven ! yon shall not.” “ Hist! you shall be exposed." Robert was obliged to consent and borne down by the terrible agency that i preyed upon him, he conducted liismys | terious companion to bis once happy | home. The clock struck eleven as they j entered. “Your wife is not at homo?” said the j stranger. Robert was surprised to find that ! Angely was not in her accustomed seat jby the lire. Fu'l of painful misgivings, ' why, lie knew not, he hastened tolierapart meiit to see if she bad retired ; there was no I race of her to bo discovered. Returning to the sitting room, lie found lliu strange gambler rented by ill i | tire intently pouring over the pages of a | book lie bad taken from the centre table. “Left you I should say; women are I so tame,’’ replied the stranger sternly. 1 “Left me! no!” exclaimed Robert, easting himself into a chair, and venting in deep groans the anguish of his soul. “The mortgage," continued the stran ger, sharply. “I will write it in my room,” replied the young man, leaving tiio apartment. Wiping away the tears that coursed in great drops down his haggard cheek, i he picked out a black mortgage from 1 his papers, and proceeded to till it out. ; The task completed, he returned to the | sitting room. I As ho opened the door, ho started i back with astonishment at beholding Angely seated by the grate, reading the last number of Harper. “ Why, Robert, I did not know you bad got borne,” said slie, rising and plac ing a chair before the tire, where bis slippers lay, ready for him to put his feet into. The dark stranger was not there. “ What is the matter with you, Robert, ; how strangely you appear,” continued l his wife. “Do [?” and Robert stared round him in wild amazement. Where was the stranger? “ I did not know you were here, An gely,” stammered he, “I have boon out awhile this evening but I came in just as the clock struck eleven.” “So did I answered ho, more confused than before. “Where is Mr. , the gentleman who came home with me?” “ 1 have not seen any gentleman.” “I camo in at eleven with ” “What time is it now, Robert?” The watch—his wife’s watch—it was gone! “Your watch—l left ” “I have it; it is half past eleven,” said Augely, taking the watch from her pocket. sitting room, Robert staggered back in ainaznment. “ Wliat is the matter with you, Robert? you arc crazy, I should say.” “That watch”—Robert paused. “Well,” said Angely, beginning to wear a mysterious, mischievous look, “bow goes your speculation ?” “ Badly, my dear,” replied Robert, with a look of blank wonder. “ What, paper have you in your hand ?’ “Nothing—that is—l will put it in my secretary,” and he left the room to get the ugly document out of the way. He was not absent more than five minutes, but'wlien be returned, the dark stranger of the gambling bell sat at tlie fire. Robert began to think lie was dealing with the devil. “ The mortgage,” said the stranger, in his low deep tones. “ Who are you, sir? man or devil— who are you?” exclaimed the young man, rushing toward the dark form. But before lie could rfeneh it, the form shook olf the cloak, and ihe whiskers and the wig, and bis wife stood before him ! The spell was dissolved. He tinder stood it all. “ Are you cured, Robert,” said she, smiling mischievously. And then using the deep tones of the dark stranger, she continued: “You have a wife, of course you love her not, or you would not be here. Ah, Robert, that alone saved you ; you confessed your love, even in vour gambling bell. In making baste to get rich you have been led astray. But I forgive you, Robert,” and the gentle hearted wife twined her arms around his neck, and kissed bis cheek. j “Always forgiving as the spirit of mercy, I do not deserve vonr forgive j ness, Angely,” said Robert, his heart ready to burst, with anguish, at the j thought of the ruination he had nearly brought on himself and his lovely and ; confiding wife. After his remorse had abated, Robert became anew man. He never again ; entered a gambling saloon—paid atten tion to liis business—became a wealthy ' and respectable citizen, and never again bad Angely to reprove him for making a “ 15ad Speculation.” Fighting Indians with Blood Hounds. A correspondent of the N. O. Picayune ! gives an account of a fight between Sam 1 Jones, a notorious desperado of Texas, i and fifteen of the Lipan Indians. He was in his corn field when they made their appearance, but managed to escape, with an old German, into his cabin. The Indians soon surrounded the house with hideous yells. The old man j had but little ammunition, and was, of course, conscious that every shot should tell. When the Indians would attempt i to break in lire slight door, lie would i shoot, and while ho was loading, the ' German would keep them at bay, by pointing an unloaded gun at them through the crevices. They managed this way till tho outside of the house was bristling with arrows, aimed at them j between the logs, and tire old man’s powder had given out. At this moment , tlie Indians retreated a short distance to i hold a council. The besieged availed ! themselves of the chance to get the as sistance of a dozen bloodhounds that were confined in an outbuilding. Under cover of the two unloaded guns, Mrs. Jones liberated the dogs. Here was a reinforcement the red scamps had not * calculated upon, and in the twinkling of an oye, five of the Indians were hors de combat. The balance came to the res cue, and soon shot all the remainder of their arrows into the dogs, and beat a retreat, bearing their wounded, beating off the dogs with their bows, their buck skins in tatters, and blood streaming from every one of them. After the fight, the field exhibited one dead Indian, throe , dead dogs, sundry pieces of buckskin, j mingled with clotted masses of Indian flesh, hundreds of arrows and pieces of j bow’s, NUMBER 11 What Constitutes the Gentle man. Dr. Risk, in a recent lecture before the Boston Mount Vernon Association, traced the etymological derivation of the word “gentleman,” and its cognates, showing that‘the changes in its meaning gave the history of its changes in tho commonly received idea of a gentleman, lie showed that the true gentleman docs not attain to his gentility either by birth, accident or growth, but l*y consistent earnest effort. The tru< gentleman he defined to be the man who seeks to for ward the highest interests of those with whom he comes in contact, and who at tile same time is agreeable in his man ners. A Christian may fulfil the re quirements of the first part of the defini tion, and a villian the last. Only a true gentleman can do both. The world has decided by a law as strict as that which Beau Nash imposed upon the world of fashion at Bath, that in society the mask of humility must be worn. The true gentleman is humble. Addison gives us a picture of the gentleman of his day, in Sir Roger de Coverly. But he was no gentleman. Suppose he had been poor, it is not evident that he would have been proud and morose, a disagreeable com panion and an unpleasant neighbor? George Washington had the virtue of true humility. The true gentleman must he able to benefit, able to please, and willing to do both. This rule, of course, has its exceptions, for there are com panies where it is ungentlemanly to en deavor to please. The ability to please must ho founded upon a nice sense of ; honor, mental culture, delicate percep tions and refined simplicity. Dignity is j characteristic of the gentleman, but is j never attained except with the highest j .-elf-control. Pride is always feeling ! after and taking care of its dignity. Sim plicity is attained only with purity of motive, and with purity and simplicity come dignity. The true gentleman, whose character is founded upon the pillars of goodness and good taste will try to he agreeable only to those who ought to he pleased. There are also rules of dress and of deportment, but the true gentleman is likely to pay the least attention to them. If there is sap in tiie tree there will be leaves. The ex cessive independence of American men will, after all, not retard the development of a fine manhood. Religion is free and unshackled here, and a love of order and beauty is growing in the Republic. Hu closed by urging the members of the Association to be true gentlemen cultivating all that is high, and noble,, and lovely, and of good report. The address was filled with beautiful and apposite illustrations, drawn from the character and actions of Washington, the truest of all true gentlemen. An Incident. At some of our restaurants a metal check very much like a quarter, is given by tlie waiter to the customer, as a tick et of what lie has to pay. A simple minded Hibernian, who had just arrived, in New Yoik from Tipperary, going into one of tlie restaurants, called for dinner when the waiter had brought it, lie as usual laid down the metal counter.—- Paddy, astonished, said to himself: “Be Jahers, this is tlie land for me £ when a man asks for some dinner, they give him a bit of money to buy a sup ot whiskey into tho bargain.” When lie had swallowed his meal, the de lighted Paddy was leaving, when he was stopped by tlw waiter with, “Halloo! where’s your money—are you going without paying?” Paddy stopped, and taking the metal counter from his pocket, said, “ Boderation take ye all, ye spalpeens, why would yo be after giving me the bit of money at all at all, if ye meant to take it away again. Take away yer dir ty money ! Perhaps ye’ll be after wish ing me to return iny dinner to ye again !”' So saying he threw the metal ticket down ou the counter, and marched of in a state of virtuous indignation.