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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.”