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VOLUME X.
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EVERMORE.
The streamlet murmured soft and low,
Meandering ’mid the shadowing trees,
And as its gentle tone arose,
'Uplifted by the slightest breeze,
II sat upon a moss grown stone,
That served the streamlet fona’thore,
And bent my ear to catch the tone,
As low it whispered “ Evermore."
.And ’mid she flowers, and through the glen,
With ceaseless haste it passed along,
Nor luring bank nor rocky steep,
'’Could stay the cadence of its song.
A rainbow sat upon the spray,
The messenger of harm no more,
'The water bounded on its way,
And still repeated “ Evermore."
The streamlet grew a mighty tide,
Fed by a thousand mountain rills,
.And mirrored in its moving waves,
The forest of a thousand hills.
But os the. boat-man chuuts his song,
Timed to the splashing of her oar,
-His tuneful notes the waves prolong,
And echo sweetly “Evermore."
:80, soft and low in early days,
So, roughly tossed in youthful strife,
So, broad and deep in later years,
Flow's on the hastening stream of life.
Our bark afloat, the current strong,
We drift not slowly towards the shore,
And each fresh gale that wafts along,
Repeats more clear the startling song,
List! List! what means it ? 04 Evermore.”
SONG.
Meet me in the forest shade
Where the silver stream is flowing;
Meet me where the day beams fade,
And the lights of eve are glowing;
Years have past since last we met;
Hope’s bright star went down in sorrow,
Yet the past brings no regret,
For there comes a bright to-morrow.
Meet me when the silent night
O’er the quiet earth is bending
And the moon, with brow of light,
Through the azure sky is wending;
Meet it is, beneath her reign,
Childhood’s vows should be respoken,
And the chain renewed again,
Which the misty years have broken.
Meet mo on that silent spot
Where Love’s early flowers were braided
Let the past be ail forgot,
And the hopes that time hath shaded.
Let no shadow dim the light
With the early hours returning—
Be forgot the shade and blight,
And the years of bitter yea ruing.
Meet me in the forest shade,
Where the silver stream is flowing :
Meet me in that silent glade,
Where the wild-wood flowers are growing.
Years have passed since last we met,
Hope’s bright cord was rudely broken,
Yet the past brings no regret,
For those vows will be re-spoken.
1 NEVER CAST A FLOWER AWAY.
BY MRS. SOUTHEY
I never cast a flower a way,
The gift of one who cared for me—
A little flower—a faded flower—
But it was done reluctantly.
I never look’d a last adieu
To things familiar, but my heart
Shrank with a feeling almost pain
Even from their lifelessness to part.
I never spoke the word “ Farewell,"
But with an utterance faint and broken;
An earth-sick longing for the time
When it shall never more be spoken.
THE SHELL AND THE HEART.
Take the bright shell
From its home on the lea,
And wherever it goes
It will sing of the sea.
So, take the fond heart
From its home and its hearth,
r T will sing of the loved
To the tods of tba earth.
£1 Souiljcvn lUfthlij Cilmrnj nniJ Llli&cfUmtcmtg Bountal, for tljc fjomt Circle.
MILLY FRANCIS,
TIIE INDIAN MAIDEN.
The story of Pocahontas is familiar to
every American and English child who
reads a book, because of the noble deed
she performed, and because of the ro
mance of Jier after life. But we presume
few have heard tike name of Miily Fran
cis, though she displayed the same hero
ism, magnanimity and tenderness of feel
ing.
Her father was denominated a Prophet
among the Semiuoles, but was also a
chief and warrior, and a man -of great re
nown among his people. In the war of
1812, he joined the British forces, and
was conspicuous in several engagements,
and a terror to all who heard his name,
among Americans. He at one time vis
ited England, and a London paper said,
iu noticiug his arrival:
“ The double sound of a trumpet an
nounced the approach of the patriot
Francis, who fought so gloriously in our
cause in America. He was dressed iu a
most splendid suit of red and gold, and
by his side he wore a tomahawk, mount
ed iu gold.”
These things were, of course, given him
by his English friends, as Indians were
not accustomed to dress in this manner
among themselves, and something of Iris
princely bearing and aocomp'ishments
may have been acquired by his associa
tion with English officers, but his noble
form and countenance he obtained from
Nature herself.
He had two daughters, who are said
by American liistofians to have been ac
complished young ladies, who could
speak English with remarkable fluency,
as could all the family,except the mother
who began too late in life to succeed in
learning a foreigu tongue.
During the war all who were arranged
upon one side were, of course considered
enemies to all who were upon the other
side, and the country was full of soldiers
and military stations open at all Limes to
attack. At one time a soldier, named
Duncan M. Krimmer, stationed at Fort
Gadsden, near Milledgeville, Georgia,
went forth upon a fishing excursion, and
lost his way in the woods. For several
days he wandered about in the wilder
ness, and was at length found by a party
of ludians who were commanded by the
Prophet Francis. He was a soldier, and,
by the Indian code of warfare, doomed to
die. The ordinary preparations were
made and the victim bound to the stake,
around which faggots 4 wcre piled that
were soon to be kindled to consume him.
But Millv, the youngest daughter of
the chief, looked on in sadness. Whv
she should have been so much more
grieved at such a sight now than ever
before, we do not know. It could not
be the first time she lmd witnessed death
at the stake, hut there had been no re
cent battle, and therefore none of the ex
citement which would attend the capture
of a prisoner of war on ordinary occasions,
so, perhaps, it seemed to her a more cruel
deed. Her people had received no inju
ry, and he who has to suffer, was not
known to have perpetrated any particu
lar act of oppression or outrage. It
might be imagined that some particular
interest had been awakened in her heart
toward him, but after circumstances
prove this not to have been the ease.
A sense of justice and sympathy for
suffering, alone prompted her, when the
torch was about to be lighted, to throw
herself between the prisoner and the
fatal knife which was to slay him before
the firo was kindled, and declared that
she, too, would die, if he were not spared.
All were astonished at so unexpected
an act, for not a word bad been before
spoken to betray her intentions, and the
executioner paused as if paralyzed. See
ing there was hope, she threw herself at
her father’s feet and implored his mercy.
The chieftain looked long and intently
upon her face, which was very beautifub
and in silence listened to the tones of her
voice, which were full of anguish, and
was melted from his fierce anger to yield
to the passionate entreaties of his child.
The victim was released, and, while he
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MARCH 22, 1856.
remained among his captors, was treated
with the utmost kindness, and from Mii
ly received many proofs of the noble
and generous spirit she had at first mani
fested in offering herself a sacrifice for
the life of a stranger and an enemy.
A few days afterwards Mr. Krimmer
was ransomed by a party of Spaniards,
and soon returned to his friends and
duties as an American soldier.
Soon after the American party was
reinforced, and very efficient measures
taken to destroy the Indian and Spanish
towns along the frontier. “They march
ed,” says the historian, “ upon St. Marks,
a feeble town with a Spanish garrison
which surrendered without firing a gun.”
Among the prisoners who thus almost
passively tell into the hands of the enemy,
was (he Prophet Francis and hisfamily.
The principles of honor, gratitude and
humanity would prompt us to expect
that these would at least be spared an
ignominious death, after the magnanimi
ty which had been shown by them.
But it is unblushingly recorded that
“Francis and another chief wore hung
without trial and ceremony.” They had
probably shed much blood, and had
long rung the war-whoop through the
wilderness, and fearlessly brandished the
war-club, but it was in self-defense. It
uiiglihaud probably would liavo been
bad policy to permit the proud chieftains
to goon free again, chafing with a sense
of the wrongs they had experienced, and
would continue to experience; but it
would seem to us that a way should have
been devised other than to hang tlie
father of Milly Francis, who had saved
the life of an American soldier, without
exacting from him any promise as to his
future course ns their friend or enemy,
and delivered him up, to return to his
postand take up arms against them.
The Indian chief was decoyed on
board an American schooner, and his
eldest daughter, supposing it to be a
British vessel, soon came near in her light
canoe, but, on discovering her mistake,
quickly changed the dip of her oar and
glided away. The younger was made
prisoner with her father, and it was soon
known that she was the heroic girl who
had saved the life of Duncan M. Krim
mer. Her beauty as well as her hero
ism made her the object of attraction*
and the officers denominated her the
“modern Pocahontas” and bestowed
upon her the most flattering attention.—
If she had married an American, and
come among her husband’s friends as the
savior of his life, sho might have become
as famous iu the history as the Virginia
damsel; aud her posterity have been
proud to owe their origin to the
daughter of an Indian chief. But when
the young soldier offered the maiden his
hand in gratitude for having saved his
life, she refused. She did not consider
this a proper consideration upon which
to found such a union, and she did not
wish to become the wife or daughter qf a
people who had murdered her father iu
cold blood. She said, too, she had only
performed her duty and should have
done the same for any other. She could
not understand the policy; sho only
knew that she and her proud father had
been magnanimous and merciful and
that their family were now loaded with
calamity and disgrace. So the mother
and daughter turned mournfully away,
and sought again the solitude of the wil
derness, like so many that should have
been preserved in brightness beside those
whose only glory was gained in their de
struction, and who have grown rich on
the soil watered by their blood.
A True Mother. —A writer beauti
fully remarks that a man’s mother is the
representative of his Maker. Misfortune
and mere crime set no barriers between
her and her son. While his mother lives,
a man has one friend on earth who will
not desert him when ho is needy. Her
affections flow from a pure fountain, and
ceases only at the ocean of eternity.
The Railroads near Boston are block
ed up with snow.
Domestic Education in Amer
ica.
A writer in Putnam’s Magazine gives
a graphic description of a sceno often
witnessed in public houses in this country,
which is worthy of being read and pond
ered :
A public table is a very good place
for showing off the bringing up of chil
dren. One small boy, four or five years
of age, who had a seat directly opposite
mine, one day gave me an opportunity
of making an observation or two on the
effects of the discipline of the Virginia
nursery, lie was a determined looking
little fellow, evidently accustomed to
carrying things at home with a high
hand, and kicking all tho little negroes
about light and left.
lie began his dinner with a dish of
almonds, which happened to be standing
before him, and at which he made a
sudden grab the moment he was in his
chair. No squirrel ever put nuts into
his mouth faster than lie did, for a couple
of minutes, at tho end of which time ho
began filling his pockets.
At length the waiter asked him what
ho would have for dinner
“Give me chicken,” said ho sharply.
The chicken was brought.
“ Give me jelly.”
The current jelly also was brought.
But very soon, something going wrong
the youth began to cry. llis mother,
however, appeased him ; and, stopping
his noise, he called, in a mild tono of
voice, for some mik.
“ Give me milk.”
This furnished, ho 4 did not withdraw
his noso from the cup till it had touched
the bottom; and when ho did, there
was still a drop pendent at its ,tip. This
however, fell off, ns throwing his head
hack against the chair, he drew a loud,
long breath, as if his dinner were done
and he himself completely exhausted.
But a few moments, rest revived him,
when lie “ returned to his mutton.” Yet,
nothing within sight suiting him, he sat,
for the next five minutes, grumbling and
whining, and in a humor decidedly un
favorable to the digestion of his almonds,
chicken, jelly and tnilk. But, at length,
having made himself and his parents
sufficiently uncomfortable, he knew what
ho wanted and cried our boldly.
“ Give me’ lasses.”
“Molasses, Sammy,” replied his father,
“ You don’t want molases at dinner.”
This paternal reproof brought the
blood into the face of the heir, and
gathering up all the strength of his
lungs for one burst of wrath, he bawled
out, high above the clatter of knives
and forks.
“’Lasses! ’lasses! corn dodger and
’lasses! ”
The molasses was produced—if for no
other purpose to stop the young wretch’s
mouth. But corn-dodger being a break
fast-cake, he was cajoled into substituting
a pioco of bread for it. This ho now
amused himself with working around in
the molasses, till the bread was well
soaked through, and more or less brok
en to pieces. How, then, to get these
fragments into his mouth was the next
question. A spoon did not altogether
suit him, and, finally, in went the fingers.
These carried him successfully through
the job ; though, at the end of it his
face was well smeared from ear to ear
as if he had been sucking at the bung
bole of the original hogshead. He was
now told to wipe his face on his napkin ;
But I think he did it on the table-cloth.
To all appearances, the little gour
mand was satisfied. He leaned back in
his chair, braced his feet against the table,
and seemed as quiet as if he had been
the fattest boy in the State, instoad of
being, as he was as lean as a stick.
But he was not through his dinner
yet. Giving the rickety table a suddon
push with his feet, which overturned a
good sized dish of custards, he resumed
his upright position, and cried out,
“ Beef—give me beef.”
“O, sonny,” exclaimed the mother,
“ yon have eaten enough ! ”
“No, no, no 1 ” was tho indignant re
ply, “give me beef!”
What was to be done with the little
rascal ?—He kicked, squirmed, thew up
his napkin, and still cried for beef. He
would have it.
Well, the beef, too, was brought. But
he wouldn’t touch it—didn’t want it—
and sat pouting, with one finger in his
mouth. In fact, he could eat no more.
But as nobody said a word to him, he
was the more indignant, and, bursting
into a rage, he threw the plate contain
ing the beef into his father’s lap, that
containing tho remainder of the molas'
ses into his mother’s, and himself, at the
same time, under the table.
“ Ca;sar 1 ” called out the father, “ take
away this bad boy 1 ”
Aud before Sammy had time to catch
his breath, and scream twice, Ciesar had
him out of tho dining-hall.
Touching Incident.
A little girl, in a family of my acquain
tance, a lovely and precious child, lost
her mother at an age too early to fix the
loved features in her remembrance.—
She was as frail as beautiful, and as the
bud of her heart unfolded, it seemed as
it won by the mother’s prayers to turn
heavenward. The sweet, conscientious,
prayer-loving child was the idol of the
bereaved family. She would lie upon
the lap of the friend who took a mother’s
care of her, and winding one wasted arm
about her neck, would say: “Now tell
mo nbi ut my mama.” And when the
oft-told tale had been repeated would
softly ask: “Take me in the parlor, I
want to see mama.” The request was
never refused, and the affectionate child
would lie for hours, contentedly gazing
on her mother’s portrait. But
“ l’alc and wan »ho grew, and weakly—
Hearing all her pain no meekly.
That to them she atill grew dearer,
As the trial hour drew nearer."
That hour came at last, and the neigh
bors assembled to see the little one die.
The dew of death was already on the
flower, as its life-sun was going down.—
The little chest heaved faintly—spasmo
dically.
“Do you know me, darling?” sobbed
close in her ear the voice that was dear
est ; but it awoke no answer.
All at once a brightness, as if from the
upper world, burst over the child's color
less countenance. The eyelids flashed
open, the lips parted, the wan, budding
hands flew up, in the little one’s last im
pulsive effort, as she looked pierceingly
into the far above.
“Mother!” she cried, with surprise
and transport in her tone—and passed
with that breath into her mother’s bosom.
Said a distinguished divine, who stood
by that bed of death:
“If I had never believed in the minis
tration of departed ones before, I could
not doubt it now.”
“ Peace I leave with you,” said the
wisest spirit that ever passed from earth
to heaven. Let us be at peace, amid the
spirit mysteries and questionings on
which his love shall soon shed the light
of eternity.
The Governor of Maine on Slave
bv. —Judge Wells, the newly elected
Governor of Maine, in his Message to
the Legislature, admits that slavery is an
evil, but thinks “it is not the part of
wisdom, in order to remove one evil, to
bring upon ourselves an avalanche of
evils.’ He believes that when the own
ers of slaves desire to relieve themselves
of the institution, they will adopt gra
dual emancipation, and points to Liberia
as the seen# o' the future greatness of
the negro race. Ho acquiesces in the
abrogation of the Missouri Compromise
endorses the doctrine of “squatter sov
ereignty,” and sums up the subject of
slavery as follows:
“ The Southern people are subjected
to the burden of slavery ; they know
how to treat it better than we do, and
it is alike alien to patriotism, and a true
sense of religious duty, to inflame the
minds of Southern citizens and aggra
vate their condition by a constant course
of censure and an unnecessary inter
ference with their affairs.”
The Joint Snake.
A “stranger ” was describing the wot,
ders of this “ pizing sarpient ” to a kno
of individuals congregated “somewhere
out West.” They listened with open
eyes, and mouth agape with astonish
ment at the startling account. But the
assurance that it could separate itself
“ clean apart in five or six places, and
come together agin as sliek a j’int as
ever you see,” was a little too much to
believe all at once. Asa public speak
er onec remarked, they “doubt the fact,”
and intimated as much. “ That’s so, I’ve
seen it,” quietly remarked a very honest
and innocent-looking hoosier, who stood
by. “ Sho !ye don’t say so! Tell us
about it, won’t ye! ” exclaimed two or
three in a breath. “Wall, I don’t mind
tellin’, said the hoosier. “ Yer see, I was
coinin’ ’long the edge of the perayre one
mornin’, down in Indyanner, when, fust
I know, I come across one of them, ’ere
j’int snakes, as they call ’em, a great nice
feller, stretched out in the sunaspootyas
you ever see. I didn’t scare him, but
jest stepped back a little ways, and cut
asapplin’ about four feet and a half long,
and trimmed it out slick with my jack
knife. Thinks I, old feller, I’ll find pooty
quick how many j’ints you’ve got in yer.
So I stepped up kinder softly and hit
him a right smart lick across his back)
and by thunder !”
“ Did ho come apart ? What did ho
do then ! ” asked the listeners, very much
excited.
“Why, he flew into morn forty
pieces! and I'll be doggoned if every
darned one of 'em didn't take after me!'
A Good One.
We like a good joke even if it hits us
(our party), and therefore give place to
tho following yarn, gotton up by the
Columbus (O.) Fact, fanciful though it
may appear:
A political story was told in our hear
ing the other evening, by an old Whig,
which we do not remember ever having
seen in print. Os course we do. not
vouch for its accuracy in every parti
cular :
A few years since a party of distingue
Southern planters, two of whom were
Democrats, and one a Whig, being on a
visit to the North, were invited about
election time to dine at the house of a
wealthy, aristocratic, and withal very
beautiful lady in southern Ohio. After
being seated at the table, which was
luxuriantly spread with all tho delicacies
which wealth could command, a large
burly negro came in and seated himself
directly opposite the gentlemen at table.
The gentlemen were too well bred to
notice the intruder at the time, but im
mediately upon his retirement from the
room, one of the gentlemen remarked to
the lady:
“What could have induced yon to
insult us by the presence of a negro at
your table l”
“ Why, gentlemen, he is my husband!”
replied the lady.
“ Your husband!” exclaimed the three
simultaneously, with unfeigned astonish
ment.
“ Yes; my sister first ruined onr fam
ily pride in marrying, and I resolved to
equal her. This colored man was wealthy
and so I resolved to marry hinx”
“ Pray, who did your sister marry ?”
asked one of the party.
“ Why, she married a Locofoco, and
I have never been able to hold up my
head since 1”
The two Locofocos made an excuse
for cutting their visit short. The}’ en
deavored to keep the joke a secret, but
the Whig would tell, and so the “story
got out.”
The Yankee who Can’t Stake the
“ fixins.”— An impressionable Yankee
thus describes his experience of the so
ciety of the fair sex:—
A little glove etirs up my heart, as tides stir up
the ocean,
A snow-white muslin, when it fits, wakes many
a curious notion,
All sorts of lady fixins thrills my heart as they’d
orler,
But little female gaiter beet* are death and
nothing shorter.
NUMBER 12
A Hoosier at the Astor House}
I met on the train an elderly Hoosier,
who had been to the showcase exhibi- ’•
tion at New York, and who had al«o seen •
the hi po drome, as he called it.
“ Did you remain long in New Yotk?’ >
I asked him. “Well, no.” he answered,,
thoughtfully, “ only two days, for I saw
there was a right smart chance of starv- -
ing to death, and I’m opposed to that
way of going down. I put up at one of
their taverns and allowed I was going to •
be treated to the whole.”
“ Where did you stop ? ” said I inter- •
ru-pting him “At the Astor Horse. I'
allow you don’t ketch me going to no 1
such place again. They rang a gong, .
as they called it four times afore break- -
fast, and then, when I went in to eat -
there wasn’t nary vittles on the table.”
“ What was there ! ” I ventured to ’
inquire.
“ Well,” said the old man enumer- -
ating the items cautiously, as if from 1
fear of omission, “ there was a clean'
plate wrong side up, knife, a clean towel, •
a split spoon a handbill, and what was -
worse, added my companion, “ the in
sultin’ nigger up and asked me what I
wanted ? Vittles says I, bring in you* '
vittles and I'll help myself!”
Both Bhyme and Reason.
The Sandusky Register turns the crank
of its poetry machine, and sends forth the
following delicious sentiments r
Like the breath of the lilly, so sweet
aud so stilly, do smiles of kindness make
the heart glad. Frail is the flower, yet
great is her power to cheer the lonely
and soothe the sad. The smiles of
beauty, to do full duty, should beam on
the sinful, the sick, the distressed; nor
all their brightness be poured on the
lightness of butterfly flatterer’s sparkling
crest and hollow breast.
The voice of sweetness is music’s com
pleteness when words of kindness by
beauty spoken, breathe hope to the
sighing, peace to the dying, and faith to.
the hearts- by misfortune broken. Not
in halls of splendor, where praises attend
her; ’mid whisperings tender, does her
voice sound sweetest to Heaven above—
the “sphere of woman,” more angelio
than human, is the circle of Charity,
Faith and Love I:—how sweet it sounds
to the heaven above—Charity, Faith
and. Love!
Wouldn’t Contend.
A cross-grained, surly man,, too crook
ed by nature to keep still, went over to
his opposite neighbor, Mr. F, a remark
ably cool, calm, non-resistant, and ad
dressed him. thus:
“ That piece of fence over here is mine-,,
and you shan’t have it.”
“ Why,” replied Mr. F., “ you must ba
mistaken, thiuk.”
“ No, it’s mine, and I shall keep it.”
“Well,” said Mr. F., “suppose wo
leave it to any lawyer you shall choose.”'
“I won’t leave it to any lawyer,” said 1
the other.
“ Well,” continued Mr. F., “shall we
leave it to any four men in the village
that you shall select ?”
“ No, 1 shall have the fence.”
Not at sill discomposed, Mr. F. said, •
“ Well, neighbor, then I shall leave it to
yourself to say to whom it does belong,
whether to you or to me.”
Struck dumb by the appeal, the con- ! '
tontious man turned away, saying:
“I won’t have anything to do with a 1
man who won’t contend for his own 1
rights.”
Poetic Coloring.— With what colors ■*
would you paiut a storm at sea ?
Answer-—The waves rose and the ‘
wind blew.
How should a secret be painted ?
Answer—ln-violet.
How would you paint an absent- '
minded literary friend ?
Answer—ln a brown study.
Os what shado of white are snow
flakes ?
Answer —Flake white,
How would you paint the melancholy
natives of Berlin 1
1 Answer—ln Prussian blue.