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VOLUME X.
Cljoicc Pm tnj,
WRITE TO ME OFTEN.
Write to me very often
Write to me very soon!
Letters to me are dearer
Than loveliest flowers in June;
They are affection’s touches,
Lighting of friendship’s lamp,
Flittering around the heart strings,
Like fire-flies in the damp.
Write to mo very often !
Write in the joyous mom—
Or at the close of evening,
When all the day is gone;
Then when the stars are beaming
Bright on the azure sky,
When through the fading forest,
Coldly the wild winds sigh,
Draw up thy little table,
Close to the fire, and write—
Write to me soon in the morniug,
Or write to me late at night.
Write to me very often,
Letters are links that bind,
Truthful hearts to each other,
Fettering mind to mind—
Giving to kindly spirits,
Lasting and true delight ;
If ye would strengthen friendship,
Never forget to write.
THE TIME TO MARRY.
The would-be wise this council give—
“ Let love’s fond passion cool!
The man who early weds will live
To think himself a fool.
The galling chaiu that frets his limb,
Wears deeper day by day ;
Experience little teaches him
Who gives the heart its way.
He wisely weds who weddeth late
A thrifty, unimpassioned mate.”
When wrinkled oaks shall t wining cling,
With tendrils like the vine ;
When ravens, like the linnet, sing
With melody divine;
When honey drops from wither’d leaves,
And not from summer flowers ;
When winter brings us golden sheaves,
And snow-drift sunny hours;
When truth abused makes falsehood rigl.t,
Go withering wed and find delight,
The trembling notes young birds awake,
Rise sweetly into trne,
As April buds expanding make
The flowery wreath ot June;
So love begun in life 's young day,
Matures with mauhood’s prime
Defies the canker of decay,
And stronger grows with time;
0, early quaff love’s nuptial wine;
Aud all that’s best in life is thine.
POP GOES TIIE QUESTION.
Air— Pop goes the Weasel.
List to me, sweet maiden, pray ;
Pop goes the question!
Will you marry me, yea or nay?
Pop goes the question!
I’ve no time to plead or sigh,
No patience to wait for bye and bye,
Snare me now, or I'm sure to fly,
Pop goes the question !
“Ask Papa! ” oh, fiddle de dee!
Pop goes the question!
Fathers and lovers can never agree,
Pop goes the question !
He can’t tell what I want to know'
Whether you love me sweet or no,
To ask him would be very slow,
Pop goes the question !
I think we’d make such a charming pair,
Pop goes the quest ion!
For I’m good looking and you are very fail
Pop goes the question !
We’il travel life’s road in a gallant style,
And you shall drive every other mile,
Or if it please you, all the while,
Pop goes the question!
If we don’t have an enchanting time,
Pop goes the question !
I’m sure it will be no fault of mine,
Pop goes the question!
To be sure my funds make a feeble show',
But love is nourishing food you know!
And cottages rent uncommonly low,
Pop goes the question!
Then answer me quickly, darling, pray,
Pop goes the question!
Will you marry me, yea or nay ?
Pop goes the question !
I’ve no time to plead or sigh,
No patience to wait for bye and bye,
Hnare me now or I’m sure to fly,
Pop goes the question !
THE DESIRED ADIEU.
Kaid young Spring to old Winter,
“ How can you do so ?
I pt'omieed, warm sunshine,
Aud you come with snow!
“I promised the blue-bird,
With heart-cheering trill—
But you send the snow-fall,
And my bosom chill.
° I prithee be clever,
And gang on thy way,
The violets are waiting
To gaze on the day.
“ The crocus all ready,
Delays but for you,
Nay, linger not, Winter,
/ wait- your adieu !’*
Cl Smitljevn Wccklij Cilemnj antr ißiscet Uncoils for t\jc ijomc Circle.
o)oice Slnlii)e.o.
Children and Servants.
A WORD FOR MOTHERS.
“Come along. Ally, couie along. It’s
not this wav I’ll be stopping for you, so
[ come along !” said Mary Macartv, to the
little, delicate child she was leading by
| the band.
The child thus accosted, slacked its
pace for a moment to look into her face,
pitifully, then hurried on. Soon the
little feet faltered again, and again the
sharp voice said,
“ Conte along, I say.’’
At the same time little Ally’s arm was
pulled harshly, and she was almost drag
ging her along the street. It was late
in the morning, and the sun’s rays were
beating upon them furiously. With the
parasol she held, Mary shaded herself;
but the child had no protection.
“Hush, Ally, hush!” and the little
arm received another pull, and the mouth
a blow ; for tile child Had commenced
crying.
Pretty little Ally’s face was now bathed
in tears, and the blue eyes looked to
Mary’s so pleadingly.
“Please, Mary, take Ally; Ally
tired,” sobbed the little pleader.
But Mary’s heart was not touched;
and with another hearty pull she hurried
her along. The child wept harder than
ever, and the little feet almost refused to
move. Still Mary lifted her not, hut
! dragged her along.
I 03 3
“And sure, it’s a troublesome child you
are!” said Mary, as she half lifted, and
i half threw the child up the steps, as she
reached home. “11l not take you out
| J
again, that I won’t; and I’ll beat you
| now, if you don’t hush 1” and a slight
; blow tested the truth of what she uttered,
j Frightened, the child hushed crying
| aloud, hut its sobs were heard long after
i it had been laid down to sleep in its little
; bed, where it usually took its morning
j nap. Mary was soon below stairs, where
a friend waited to talk with her. She
| was over her pet with the child, and
| when its mother returned, had hardly
ceased speaking of the pleasant walk she
| and little Ally had just taken.
‘ 1 wonder, James, what makes Ally
moan and start so in her sleep, this
j morning? I am truly troubled about
her, ’tis so unusual.”
“Oh, don’t he frightened, Alice; I
; dare say nothing is the matter. Come
now, lunch is ready. Ally will soon
waken as well as ever, I dare say ;” and
so saying they left the sleeping child.
But all that day Ally seemed not very
well; and ere her usual time for retiring
came, she was fast asleep in her mother’s
arms. Now, more than ever alarmed,
1 the mother (tilled a physician. lie pro
nounccd the child ill, very ill, with some
disease of the brain. The usual ques
tions were put, “ Had the child been ex
posed to the hot sun ?” “ Had she been
! over excited,or troubled, or hurt in any
I way
! “ No, indeed ;no such harm had come
;to her child,” answered the mother, un
hesitatingly ; and “No, no! surely no!”
J answered Mary.
Once the mother asked, looking anx
iously and earnestly at Mary, if they had
not been out late that morning in their
walk, or if Ally had been hurried home ?
“ And sure, Mrs., do you think I would
allow harm to your child ? Do I not ■
love her as I would my own flesh and
[ blood ? And do you think I would not
take care of her?”
The mother was silenced. Surely,
Mary would not deceive her. But all
night long the little sufferer had no rest.
Two days she lingered thus, then the
pure spirit winged its way to Heaven. |
Deep grief was in that household.— j
Their only’, their cherished one had gone
from them. Henceforth she was theirs
only in another world.
Mary kept well her secret. The pa
rents never knew the wrong she had
done them—never knew that but for her
the child might still have slept upon
their hearts.
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, APRIL 12, 1850.
Mothers, look well to this matter.—
Leave not your children too much, even
to the best of servants. They are not
j their children—they* cannot feel for
; them, or have patience with them as we
have; and do not even ours sometimes
I fail us? Must we then expect more for
| hire? I trow not. Then look well to
I your children. Suffer them to be most
| in your sight—for else you know riot
what evil may come upon them.
“ A Brand Plucked out of tho
Burning.”
Several years since, a very’ large store
house on Water street, Troy, was con
sumed by lira. A young man was en
gaged in saving the property in the fifth
story of the building, and forgetting his
own danger, continued to throw goods
from the windows, until lie saw vhh
dismay that tho stairs had fallen,
there was no possibility of his escaping
in that direction. Fearing to stand
another moment on the trembling floor,
ho ran to the roof, hoping that some
plan would he devised for his rescue br
ibe crowd upon the ground. Some
minutes elapsed, and they seemed hours
to him, before he could perceive that he
was observed; but at last he saw ex
treme solicitude evinced, and could hear
an indistinct sound of voices, which ho
j construed into words of encouragement.
! Ladders were brought, and when the
longest were found too short, two or three
were lashed together, but when efforts
were made to raise them, they separated,
and tho method was abandoned.—Then
ropes and rope ladders were thrown up,
hut tho height was so great that it was
found impossible to make them reach the
roof.
The poor young man ran to and fro,
imploring aid, now excited by hope, and
frantic with disappointment. Every ex
pedient that ingenuity could invent to
save his life, seemed unavailing, and the
slate roof had become so heated that lie
could stand no longer. Despairing of
relief, he threw himself upon his hack,
and with an agony and earnestness in
-1 tense beyond our conception, addressed
i himself to prepare for that death which
- he saw was inevitable,
i With the rapidity of lightning, and
with its vividness too, tho scones of his
; whole life came up in his memory’, and
his “exceeding sinfulness” aroused his
slumbering conscience. He felt that he
| was not only to suffer the anguish of an
excruciating death in that conflagration,
but that the waves of that lake whose
i tires are unquenchable, were soon to
: engulph his never-dying soul. Tho jus
tice of God he saw depicted in every
curling flame, and the heat of his anger
■ seemed scorching his inmost soul. The
words, “God is a consuming fire,” filled
him with horror; but he had been
taught the way of salvation, and remem
bered that Christ died for sinners who I
are perishing, and that he was his only ;
I refuge. In a moment, with all the!
faculties of his mind, and all the affec- i
| tions of his heart concentrated, ho pros- j
| trated his soul in entire and uncondition- ]
al submission to the Saviour, saying and
j feeling, “My condemnation is just, per
feetlyjust and right.” “ God be merciful
| tome a sinner.” “Lord Jesus receive
my spirit.” The tempest in his breast
was hushed ; all was peace, “ that peace
which passeth all understanding.”
The swiftness with which these feel
ings passed through his mind can never
be described, but every exercise was
daguerreotyped on his memory, and will
never he obliterated. When apparently’
in the very grasp of death, and his ‘peace
like a river,” he felt a rope fall upon his
arm. He caught it, lashed it to the
chimney with what seemed superhuman
strength, and descended upon it to a
window in the third story, from which
it had been thrown with wonderful skill
and success. The man who seemed ac
tually “dead was alive again,” and he
who had been “lost, was found.” There
were shouts of exultation from the
throng below, and there was jov among j
the hosts of heaven, for a sinner had re- j
pouted.
This thrilling account was related to j
the writer by’ Rev. Dr. S , the author |
of the “Pastor’s Sketches,” who said he j
had kept a vigilant eyo on that man
ever since he related to him his wonder
ful experience, and he had lived a life of
exemplary and devoted piety. Few per
sons have known (he circumstances at
tendant on a greater number of cases of
conversion than that clergyman, and he
said it was the only instance of “death
bed conversion,” as he termed it, the
genuineness of which he had seen proved.
“Who is so great a God as our God?
Thou art a God who doest wonders.”—
Amcrican Messenger.
Courting in Church.
An eccentric rector remarked a gen
tleman at church who was not a parish
ioner, hut who, Sunday after Sunday,
placed himself in a pew adjoining that of
a young widow. On the first occasion
he detected him slyly drawing the lady’s
glove from off the back of the pew
where she was accustomed to place it
(her hand and arm were delicately fair).
By and bye, the lady’s prayer-book fell
of courre accidentally—from the edge of
her pew into tho gentleman's. He
picked it up—found a leaf turned down
—and scanned a passage which evident
ly caused a smile of complacency. Our
minister saw all their movements, and
continued to watch them with a sciuti
nizing eye, for two succc mvo Sundays,
< >n the third, as soon as tho collects were
read, and while the beadle yet obsequ
iously waited to attend him to tho chan
cel, our eccentric pastor, In a strong and
distinct voice, said,
“ 1 publish the banns of niarriago lie
tween M and II , (delib
erately pronouncing the names of the
parties). If any of you know any just
cause,” <fec.
The eyes of tho whole congregation
were turned on the w idow and the gay
Lothario; tho lady suffused with blushes,
and the gentleman crimsoned with an
ger; she fanning herself with vehemence,
and ho opening and shutting tho pew
door with rage .and violence. 'Hie
minister, meanwhile, proceeded through
his accustomed duties with a decorum
and ease as if perfectly innocent of the
agitation he had excited. The sermon
preached and the service ended, away to
the vestry rush the parties at the heels
of the pastor.
“ Who authorized you, sir, to make
such a publication of banns ?” demanded
they both in a breath.
“Authorized me?” said lie, with a
stare that heightened their confusion.
“Yes, sir, who authorized you ?”
“ Oh,” said the minister, with a sly
glance alternately at each, “if you don’t
approve of it, I’ll forbid the banns next
Sunday.”
“Sir,” said the lady, “you have been i
too officious already—nobody requested
you to do any such thing; you had bet
ter mind your own business.”
“ Why, my pretty dear,” said lie,
| patting her on the cheek, “ what I have
j done is all in the way of business, and if
you do not like to wait for three publica
| tions, I advise you, sir, (turning to the
' gentleman) to procure the license, the
ring and the fee, and then the whole may
be settled to morrow.”
“ Well,” replied the gentleman, ad
dressing the lady, “ with your permission
I will get them, and we may bo married
in a day’ or two.”
“ Oh, you may both do as you please,”
pettishly, yet nothing loth, replied the
widow.
It was a day or two after that tho li
cense was procured. The parson receiv
ed his fee, the bridegroom his bride, and
the widow for the last time threw her
glove over the pew, and, it was after
wards said, all parties were satisfied.
If you would be pungent, be brief; for
it is with words as with sunbeams, the
more they are condensed, tho deeper |
they burn.
More Fun from California.
I-Under the head of “ Tisfol Shooting,”
the celebrated E. W. Paul, the well
known shot, came out with a banter in
the papers, offering a number of propo
sitions, on each of which he set forth
his willingness to stake $5,000 that, he
could win. Wo give four or five of his
propositions :
1. I will fit a dollar to the end of a
twig, two inches long, and while a second
person will hold the other end in his
month, so as to bring tho coin within
an inch and a half of his face, I engage
to strike tho dollar three times out of
live, at the distance of ten paces or thir
ty feet. 1 will add, in explanation, that
there are several persons willing and
ready to hold the twig or stick described
above when required.
2. At the word, I will split three balls
out of live, on a knife blade, placed at
the distance of thirty feet.
3. 1 will hit three birds out of five,
sprung from tlie trap, standing thirty
feet from the trap when shooting.
4. 1 will break, at the word, five com
mon clay pipe stems out of seven, at
the distance of thirty feet.
5. I engage to prove, by fair trial that
no pistol shot can be produced who will
shoot an apple off a man’s head, at the
distance of thirty feet, ofteney than I
can. Moreover, l will produce two per
sons willing and ready to hold the apple
on their heads for me when required to
do so.
On reading the banter,, the inimitable
wag, Jno. I’hcenix ,cnme out with a series
of counter propositions, which are laugh
ably droll. . He says :
1. I will suspend two dollars by a ring
from a second person’s nose, so as to
bring the coins within three-fourths of
an inch of his face; and with a double
barrel shotgun at a distance of thirty
! feet, will blow dollars, nose and man, at
j least thirty feet further four times out of
| live. I will add, in explanation, that
; San Diego containing a rather intelli
gent community, I can find, at present,
no one here willing or ready to have his
nose blown in this manner; hut 1 have
no manner of doubt I could obtain such
a person from St. Louis, by Adam’s &
Co.’s Express, in due season.
2. At the word, I will place five balls
on the blade of a pen knife and split them
all!
3. I will hit three men out of five
sprung from obscure parentage, and stand
within ten feet of a steel trap (properly
set) .while shooting!
4. 1 will break, at the word, a whole
box of common clay pipes, with a sin
gle brick, at the distance of thirty feet.
5. I engage to prove by fair trial
that no pistol shot (or other person) can
he produced who will throw more apples
at a man’s head than I can. Moreover
I can produce in this town more than
sixty persons willing and ready to hold
an apple on their heads for me, provided
they are allowed to eat the apple subse
quently
- *•*
Surly Sentiments.
Vanity never yet died of a surfeit.
A parent who strikes a child is like
a man who strikes the water—theconse
qtiences of the blow are sure to fly up in
his own face.
j There are fools who cannot keep a se
j cret. Their excessive greenness, like
I that of new wood, causes them to split.
Reform is like an omnibus that’s al
ways “just going to start.”
Friends, like tumblers in frosty weath
er, are apt to fly at the first touch of hot
water.
It is with a faded beauty as with a
clock—the more the face is enamelled,
the more clearly do we see the progress
of Time.
Tho most uncomfortable house to live
in is a house full of pets,—such as pet
dogs, pet canaries, pet squirrels, parrots
and cats, —but worse than all, pet chil
dren !
There is no one so long-lived as your .
delicate fine lady who is always “dying."
Anecdotes of Avarice.
My Lord Hardwieh, the late Lord
Chancellor, who is said to be worth
.€BOO,OOO, sets tho same value on half a
crown now as he did when ho was worth
only £IOO. That great captain, the Duke
of Marlborough, when he was in the last
stage of life, and very infirm, would walk
from the public room in Bath to his
lodgings, on a cold dark night, to save
sixpence in chair hire. If tho Duke, who
left at his death more than a million and
a half sterling, could have foreseen that
all his wealth and honors were to be in
herited by a grandson of my Lord Tre
vor's, who had been one of his enemies,
would he have been so careful to save a
sixpence for the sake of his heir? Not
for the sake of his heir, but he would
have always saved a sixpence.
Sir James Lowther, after changing a
piece of silver in George’s coffee house,
and paying two pence for his dish of
coffee, was helped into his chariot (for
he was lame and infirm) and went home;
sometime after, lie returned to tho same
coffee house on purpose to acquaint the
woman who kept it that she had giveu
him a had halfpenny, and demanded
another in exchange for it. Sir James
had about £40,000 per annum, and
was at a loss whom to appoint his heir.
1 knew one Sir Thomas Colby, who lived
in Kensington, and was, I think, a com
missioner in the victualing office; he
killed himself by rising in the middle of
the night, when he was in a very profuse
sweat, the effect of a medicine which ho
had taken for that purpose, and walking
down stairs to look for tho key of his
cellar, which he had inadvertently left on
a table in a parlor; he was apprehensive
that his servants might seize the key and
rob him of a bottle of port wine.—
This man died intestate, and left more
than £1,200,000 in the funds, which
were shared among five or six day labor
ers, who were his nearest relations.
Sir William Smythe, of Bedfordshire,
was ray own kinsman. When he
was near seventy, he was wholly depriv
ed of his sight; he was persuaded to be
couched by’ Taylor, the oculist, who, by
agreement, was to have sixty guineas if
he restored his patient to any degree of
sight. Taylor succeeded in his operation
and Sir William was able to read and
write without the aid of spectacles dur
ing the rest of his life; hut as soon
as the operation was performed, and
Sir Wiliam saw the good effect of it, in
stead of being overjoyed as any other
person would have been, ho began to
lament the loss (as he called it) of his
sixty guineas. His contrivance, there
fore, was how to cheat the oculist; he
pretended that lie had only a glimmer
ing and could not see anything perfectly;
for that reason the bandage on his eye
was continued a month longer than the
usual time. By this means lie obliged
Taylor to compound the bargain,
and accept of twenty guineas; for a
covetous man thinks no method dishonest
which ho may legally practice to save
his money.— Mr. King's Anecdotes of
his own Times.
Never let a man and wife play togeth
er at whist. There are always family
telegraphs, and if they fancy their looks
are watched, they communicate by
words. I found out that I could never
win of Smigsmag and his wife. I men
tioned this one day to my partner, and
he told me, “You can never win of
them.”
“ Why ? ” sdld I. “ Signals by look ?”
“No,” said lie; “by words. If Mrs.
Smigsmag is to lead, Sir igsmag says,
“ Dear begin Dear begins with D, so
does diamond, and out comes a diamond
from tho lady. If he lias to play, and
she says “S, my love, play,” she wants
J a spade—“ Harriet, my dear,” says
j Smigsmag, “ how long you are sorting
your cards.” Mrs. Smigsmag stumps
down a heart and a gentle “ Come my
love,” on either side produces a club.
We learn a little of God’s ways, but
very little of bis purposes.
NUMBER 15
A Story Finished.
Some years ago a Cincinnati paper re
ceived and printed the first chapter of
what promised to be a thrilling romance,
with the expectation of being provided
with the concluding portions as might
be needed. The chapter was very inge
niously written, and concluded by hav
ing the principal character suspended by
bis pantaloons from the limb of a tree
over a perpendicular precipice. It at
tracted (lie attention of the press, and
inquiries were constantly made concern*
ing the continuation.of the story and the
fate of the hero. Day after day the vic
timized publisher looked for the remain
ing chapters, but in vain, they never
came to hand. Finding that they had
been sold, and wishing to put a stop
to the jokes their cotemporaries were
cracking at their expense, they briefly
concluded the story thus:
Chapter ll.—Conclusion. After hang
ing to the treacherous tree for four weeks,
his pantaloons gave way and Charles
Melville rolled headlong over the yawn
ing precipice. He fell a distance of five
miles, and came down with the small of
his back across a stake, which so jarred
him that he was compelled to travel in
Italy for his health, where ho is at present
residing. He is engaged in the butch
ering business, and is the father of a large
family of children!
Brevities.
Giants are seldom overlooked.
It takes a lifetime to know how to
live.
Nothing but a good life can fit men
for a better one.
Incessant activity, of what kind soever,
I leads at last to bankruptcy of health.
The greatest hero is not he who sub
dues nations, but he who conquers him
self.
The thoughtless and impatient shut
their eyes to danger, rather than labor to
avert it.
We start in life with a groat stock of
> wisdom, but it grows less and less the
i farther we go.
| A generous mind does not feel as be-
I longing to itself alone, but to the whole
human race.
The victor in an argument can afford
to dispense with “(lie last word.
The fame which follows true greatness
no friend need hold up, and no enemy
can keep down.
The world has no time to read books
of promise, and very little to read those
of performance.
It is one of the worst of errors, to
pose that them is another path of safety,
besides that of duty.
The only praise that ought to be re
lied on, comes from competent judges
without temptation to flatter.
Writers often multiply words, in the
va : n attempt to make clear to others
what is not clear to themselves.
If a truth be established, objections are
nothing. The ono is founded on our
! knowledge, the other in our ignorance.
Every sorrow wo meet is a billow on
this world's troublesome sea, which we
must cross to bear us nearer borne.
A quiet exposition of truth has a bet
ter effect than a violent attack on error.
Truth extirpates errors as grass extirpates
weeds, by working its way into their
place, and leaving them no room to grow.
Did Milcah Beak ?—A good old
dame was plying her distaff, and listening
devoutly to her daughter reading the
Bible at her side. She was reading in
the book of Genesis, and being not yet
perfect in the art, she would now and
then miscall a word. So it chanced
that she read, stammeringly, these words:
‘Now these eight did Milcah bore—”
“ What, what's that i ” said tho old
lady, “read that again.”
Tho good daughter complied, and
looking more carefully, read, “did
Milcah bear.”
“ Ah, that will do,” said the old moth
er, “ they might milk a bear, but to milk
a boar, my daughter, it is impossible.”