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VOLUME X. Cljoicc p.ortnj. SCHOOLBOY’S SONG OF SPRING. Hurra! harm! for the coming Spring, lad our voices loudly ring, Hurra! hurra! for the coming Spring: When the hens shall lay their eggs; When the ewes shall fetch their lambs ; When the cows shall bring their calves; And 0, the cackle aud ba’—ma’—», Shout, boys, shout hurra, hurra! Hurra! hurra 1 fur the coming Spring; Let our voices loudly ring, Hurra! hurra! for the coming Spring; When the maples shall yield their sap ; When the crows shall begin to caw; When the pee-wee shall sing in the woods; When the adder-tongues shoot u p around Where the snow first melts from the ground ; When the partridge’s morning dram Shall mingle with the brooklet’s hum ; And the hens still lay their eggs; And the ewes still fetch their lambs; Aud the cows still bring their calves ; : And 0, the murmur of the various souuds! Let the wild hurra go gaily around! Hurra! hurra! lor the coining Spring ; Let our voices loudly ring, Hurra ! hurra! for the coming Spring; When the robin shall sing from the tall elm’s top; l ,andi When the mists shall rise from the fallowed Where the oats shall be strowu with a willing hand ; Where the meadows shall look so sweetly green When the cattle shall browse on all the hills; When the lambs shall frisk o’er the boulder rocks; When the sun shall shine with a genial glow ; When the lake shall lie so quiet below; And 0, when we take the beautiful trout. Aud the school-bcll sounds no more lor its! And still the hens shall lay their eggs ; And still the ewes shall fetch their lambs; And still the cows shall bring their c.-lvcs; And O, tho cackle and ba’-ma’-a! Shout,boys shout,hurra! hurra! Let our voices gaily ring, Hurra! hurra! for the coming Spring! I YEARN FOR THE SPRING. I yearn f irthe Spring, when the birds shall sing, And each morning awake fresh flowers: i We have waited long for the lark's blithe song, And the lengthening evening hours. A shroud of snow had lain on the earth, An icy hand on each stream, The sun in the sky opened its languid eye, A And sent but a sickly gleam! And the frosty breeze moaned among the trees, F And the rattling hail and rain Qnine sweeping past, with an angry blast, 7 And dash'd 'gain it the window pane; And never a flower, in that stormy hour, Dared to raise up its tiny bead— |gor the gentle things fled on Summer’s wings, Or else in the snow lay dead ! Jtyearn for the Spring when the birds shall sing, And each morn shall awake new flowers; ‘Wu nave listened long for the woodlark’s song, And the thrush at tho evening hours. ,*Tis a beauteous thing when the bud first bursts, And chi'.d-like the young leaf stands, Aud catches the drops of the gentle shower Tn its small and velvety hands; When the tender grass feels the south wind pass In its chariot all unseen, And old mother earth, at the new Spring’s birth, Arrays her in robes of green — When the unbound stream as if in a dream, Murmurs on to its unknown home, , And tells the tall reeds, as onward it speeds, jj That the fair Lady Spring hath come! -Oh, I yearn for the Spring—for the balmy Spring, Who floats like a fairy queen, And toucheth the land with a magic wand, Till all beauteous things arc seen. I long to be out at the ear'y dawn, When the eastern light is new, ’Along the odors borne from the scented thorn, And the shadows of silver dew; 6b I cannot tell how my soul doth swell With an inward happiness, Jot simply to be is a bliss to me For the which my God I bless! From an unknown source comes a nameless force ■Which pervades my being through— A joy, and a love, and a strength from above And I seem to be made anew! Ob, come, then, Spring—let woodlarks sing— Let the’flowret open its eye; Like the lark I’d soar to the heaven’s blue floor— Like the flower, gaze up to the sky. T.sMadamo du Deffand said of her cat ; "tl love her exceedingly, because she is tlife most amiable creature in the world, but I trouble myself very little about thA degree of affection she has for me. I should be very sorry to lose her, be cause I feel that I manage and perpetu ate my pleasures, by employing my cure to perpetuate her existence.” ;■;* Dr. l’arr, when a boy at Harrow, had ,*b very old a face for his age that one tiny his contemporary, Sir William Jones, aid, looking at him, “ Parr, if you should have the good luck to live forty j years, you may stand a chance of over taking your face.” Cl Sinttljcvn lUeehUj Cite van) ant) ißisccUmuous Scmvnai, for the Ijome Circle. Cl Capital Sion). THE DEVIL’S MILL. AN IRISH TALK. Beside the river Liffey stands the pic turesque ruins of an old mill, overshud otved by some noble trees that grow in great luxurance at tho water’s edge.— Here, one day, I was accosted by a silver haired old man, that for somo time had been observing me, when I was about to leave tbe spot, approached me and said, “I suppose it’s afther takin’ of tbe ould mill you’d be, sir?” I answered in the affirmative. “Maybe your honor id let me get a sight iv it,” said he. “ With pleasure,” said I, as I untied the strings of my portfolio, and drawing the sketch from among its companions presented it to him. Ho considered it attentively for some time and at length exclaimed : “Troth, there it is to life—the broken roof and the waterfall—aye, even to the very spot where the gudgeon of tho wheel was wanst, let alone the big stone at the corner, that was laid the first by himself. and he gave tho last word with mysteri ous emphasis—handing the drawing back to me with a “ thankee, Sir,” of most respectful acknowledgment. “And who was ‘himself,’” said L “that laid that stone?” feigning igno rance, and desiring to draw him out, as tbe phrase is. “ 0, then, maybe it’s what you’d be a stranger here ?” “Almost,” said I. “And did you never hear tell of this mill,” said he, “and how it was built?” “ Never,” was my answer. “Troth, then, 1 thought young and ould, rich and poor knew that far and near.” “ I don’t for one,” said I; “ but per haps,” I added, bringing forth some little [(reparation for a lnnch that I had about me, and producing a small flask of whis key—“perhaps you will be so good as to tell me, and take a slice of ham, and drink my health,” offering him a dram from my flask, and seating myself on the sod beside the river. “Thank you kindly,” says he ; and so after “ warming his heart,” as he said himself, he proceeded to give an account cf the mill in question. “You see, Sir, there was a man wanst in times back, that owned a power of land about here—but God keep uz, they said he didn't come by it honestly, hut did a crooked turn whenever ’twas to sarve himself—and sure he sowld the pass, (an allusion to a post/jf importance that was betrayed in some of the battles between William 111. and James II.) and what luck or grace could he have afther that?” “How do you mean he sold the pass ?” said I. “ Oh, sure your honor must have heard how the pass was sowld, and he bethray ed the king and counthry.” “No, indeed,” said I. “ Och, well,” answered my old infor mant, with a shake of the head, which he meant, like Lord Burleigh in the Critic, to bo very significant, “it’s no mather now, and I don’t care talkin’ about it, and laist said is soonest mended howsomedever he got a power o’ mo ney for that same, and lands and what uot; the more he got the more he craved, and there was no ind to his sthrivin’ for goold evermore, and thirstin' for tho lucre of gain. “Well, at last, the story goes, the divil (God bless us) kem to him, and pro mised him bapes o’ money, and all his heart could desire, and more too, if he’d sell his sow] in exchange.” “ Surely he did not consent to such a bargain as that 3” said I. “O, no. Sir,” said the old man, with a slight play of the muscle about the cor ners of his mouth, which, but that the awfuluess of the subject suppressed it, would have amounted to a bitter smile. “Oh no, he was too cunnin’ for that, MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, APRIL 19, 18-56. had as he v as—and he was bad enough. God knows—lie had some regard for his sinful sowl, and he would not give him self up to the divil, all out; hut the vil lain, he thought ho might make a bar gain with the ould ehap and get all he wanted, and keep himself out of harm’s way still—for ho was mighty cute, and throth he was able for ould Nick any day. “ Well, the bargain was struck, and it was this a way : The divil was to give him all the goold ever he’d ask for, and was to let him alone as long as he could; aud the timpter promised him a loug day, and said ’twouhl boa great while before he’d want him at all; aud when that time kem, ho was to keep his hands oft’ him as long as the oilier could give him some work he couldn’t do. So, when the bargain was made, “Now,” says tho Colonel to the divil, “give me all the money I want.” “As much as you like,” says Ould Nick, “ how much will you have ?” “ You must fill that room,” says lie, pointing to a numbering big room, “ up to the cedin’ with goolden guineas.” “ And wclkim’, says the divil.” “ With that, Sir, ho began to shovel in tho guineas into tho room like mad, and the Colonel towld him that as soon as ho was done to come to him in his pallor, below, and that he would then go up and see if the divil was as good as his word, and had filled the room with the goold guineas. So tho Colonel went down stairs, aud the ould fellow worked as busy as a nailer, shoveling in tho gui neas by hundreds and thousands. “ Well, he worked away for an hour or more, and at last began to get tired, and lie thought it mighty odd the room wasn’t filling faster. “ Well, afther resting for a while ho began again, and he puts his shoulder to work in airnest, but still the room was no fuller at all, at all.” “Och ! bad luck to me,” says the divil •‘but the likes of this I never seen—far and near, up and down, tho dickens a room I ever kem across alone, I could cram it while a cook would be crammin’ a turkey, till now, and here I am losing my whole day, and I with such a power o’ work on my hands yit, and this room no fuller than if I began live minits ago.’’ “By gor, while he wasspakin’ he seen the heap of guineas in the iniddlo of the flure growing littler and littler every minit, and at last wor disappearing for all tho world like corn in the hopper of a mill.” “Ho! ho!” says Ould Nick, “is that the way wid you,”—and he ran over to the heap of goold, and what would you think, but it was runnin’ down thro’ a great big hole in the fluro that the Colonel made through the ceilin’ in the room below—and that was the work he was at afther he left the divil, though he purtended ho was only waitin’ for him in his parlor, and there the divil when he looked down the hole in the flure, seen the Colonel, not content with two rooms full of guineas, but with a big shovel throwin’ them into a closet at oue side o’ him, as they fell down. So puttin’ his head through the hole he called down to the Colonel— “Hillo! neighbor,” says he. “ The Colonel looked up and grew as white as a sheet when he seen lie was found out, and the red eyes starin’ down at him through tho hole. “ Musha, bad luck to your impudence,” says Ould Nick; “is it sthrivin’ to chate me you are ? you villian 1” “O, forgive this wanst,” said the Co lonel, “and upon tho honor of a gentle man I’ll never ” “ Whist! whist! you thieving rogue,” says the divil, “ I’m not angry with you, I at all, at all, but like you the kether, be- j kase you’re so cute—lave off slaving yourself, there—you have goold enough for this time, and whenever you want more you have only to say the word, and it shall be yours at command.” “So, with that, the divil and he parted for that time, aud myself doesn’t know j whether they used to meet ofthen afther or not; hut the Colonel never wanted money anyhow, but went on prosperous in tbe world—aud, as the saving is, if he took the Jil t out of the road, it did turn to money wid him ; and so, in course o’ time, ho bought great estates, and was a great man iutirely—nor greater in Ire land, troth." Fearing here a digression on landed in terest, I interrupted him to ask how ho and the fiend settled their accounts at last. “Oh, Sir, you’ll hear that in good time. Suro enough its terrible, and wonderful it is at tho end, and mighty improvin’—glory be to God !” “ Is that what you say ?” said I in sur prise, “because a wicked aud deluded man lost his soul to the tempter?” “ Oh, the Lord forbid, your honor— but don’t bo impatient and you'll hear all. They say, at last, afther many years of prosperity, the ould Colonel got strick en in years, and he began to havo mis givings in his conscience for his wicked doings, and his heart was heavy as the fear of death kern upon him—and sure enough, while ho had such mournful thoughts, the devil kem to him mid towld him ho should go wid him. “Well, to be sure, tho ould man was frikened, hilt ho [ducked up his courage and his cutencss, and towled tho divil, in a bantharing’ way jokin’ like, that lie had particular business thin, that he was goin’ to a party, and hoped an ould frind wouldn’t ineonvaynience him that a way ” “ Well,” said I, laughing at the put-off of going to the party, “ tho devil, of course, would take no excuse, and carried him off in a flash of lire ?” “ Oh, no, Sir,” answered the man, in something of a reproving, or at least of ! fended tone—“that’s the finish, I know very well, of many a story such as we’re talking of, but that’s not tho way of this, which is truth, every word that I tell you ’ “ I beg your pardon for the interrup tion,” said I. “No offence in life, Sir,” said the ven erable chronicler, who was now deep in his story, and would not bo stopped. “ Well, Sir, the divil said he’d call tho next day, and that lie must he ready— and sure enough in the evenin’ he kem to him ; and when the Colonel seen him he reminded him of his bargain that as long as he could give him some work ho couldn’t do, he wasn’t obleeged to go. “ That’s thrue,” says tho divil. “ I’m glad you’re as good as your word, anyhow,” says the Colonel. “I never bruk tny word yit,” says the ould chap, cocking up his horns consait edly—honor bright,” says he. “ Well, then,” says the Colonel, “ build me a mill down there by the river, and Lave it finished by to-morrow rnornin.” “ Your will is my pleasure,” says Ould Nick, and the Colonel wint to bed quite aisy iu bis mind. “But jewel machree, sure the first thing we heard the next mornin’ was, that the whole counthry round was run ning to see a fine bran new mill, that was on the river side, where the evening before, not a tiling at all at all but rushes was standin’, and all, of course wonderin’ what brought it there ; and some say in’ ’twas not lucky, and many more troubled in their mind, but one and all agreeing it was no good; and that’s tho very mill forninst you that you w ere takin’ ass, and the stone that I noticed is a remark able one—a big coign stone—that they say the Divil himself laid first and has the mark of four fingers and a thumb on it to Ibis day. “But when the Colonel heerd it, he was more troubled than any, of couase, and began to oonthrive what else he could think iv, to keep himself out iv the i claws iv the ould one. Well, he often heard tell there was one thing the divil never covld do, and I dar say you heard it too, Sir—that is that he couldn't make a rope out of the sand of the sae ; and so when the ould one kem to him the next j day, and said his job was done, and that now the mil! was built, he must cither j tell him something else he wanted done, or come wid him. “So the Colonel said he saw it was all over wid him, ‘hut,’ says lie, ‘ I wouldn’t like to go wid you alive, and sure it’s all the same to you alive or dead !” “Oh, that won’t do,” says his friend; “ I can’t wait no more,” says he. “ I don’t want you to wait, ray dear friend,” says tho Colonel; all I want is that you’ll *l'6 pleased to kill me before you take me away. “ With pleasuoo,” says Ould Nick. “But will you promise mo my choice ofdyiu’ one particular way ?” says the Colonel; “ and so," says he, “ I’d rather die by bein’ hanged with a rope made out of the sands of the sea," says he, lookin’ mighty knowin’ at tho ould fellow. “I’ve always one about me, to obleego my friends,” says the divil; and with that lie pulls out a rope made of sandi suro enough. “Oh, it’s game you’re makin,”s«ys the Colonel, growin’ white as a sheet. “ The game is mine sure enough,” says tho owld fellow grinnin’ with a terrible laugh. “That’s not a sand rope at all,” says the Colonel. “Isn’t it?” says the divil, liittin’ him ncrosss tho face with the ind iv the rope, and the sand (for it was made of sand, suro enough,) went into one of his eyes, and made the tears come with tho pain. “That bates all I ever seen or heard,’ says the Colonel, strivin’ to rally, and made another offer—‘is there anything you can’t do ?’ ” “Nothin’you can tell me,” says the divil, “so you may as well leave off your palaverin’ and come along at wanst." “ Will you give me one more offer ?” says the Colonel. “ You don’t desarve it,” says the divili “ but I don’t care if I do,” for you see, Sir’ lie was only playin’ wid him, and tantali sin’ tho owld sinner. “All fair,” says the Colonel, and with that lie ax’d hi in -if lie could stop a wo man’s tongue. “Tliry me,” says Ould Nick. “ Well, then,” says the Colonel, “ make my lady's longue ho quiet for the next month and I’ll take you.” “She’ll never trouble yon agin,” says Ould Nick; and with that tho Colonel heerd roarin’ and cryin’, and tho door of his room was thrown open and in ran his daughter and fell down at his feet, tell ing that her mother had just dropped dead. The minit tho door opened the di\U runs and hides himself behind a big el bow chair; and tho Colonel was frikened almost out of his sivin senses, by raison of the sudden death of his poor lady, let alone the jeoparty he was in himself) see ing how the divil had forestallen him every way, and after ringing his hell and callin’ to his sarvints and recovering his daughter out of her Jaint, ho was goin’ away with her to her room when the divil caught bowld of him by the coat aud tho Colonel was obliged to let his daughter be carried by the sarvints and shut the door afther them. “ Well,” says the divil, and he grunted and wagged his tail, and all as one as a dog when he is pleased, “ what do you say now ?” says he. “Oh,” says the Colonel, “only leave me alone until I bury my poor wife, and I’ll go with you then, you villian,” says he. “Don’t call names,” says the divil - “you had betther keep a civil tongue in your head, and it doesn’t become a gen tleman to forget good manners.” “ Well, Sir, to make a long story short, the divil purtcnded to let him off, out of kindness, for three days, until his wife was buried; but the raison of it was this: that when the lady, his daughter fainted, he loosed the clothes about her throat, and in pulling some of herdhress away, he took off'a goold chain that was on her neck and put it into his pocket, and the chain had a diamond cross on it;, (the Lord be praised !) and the divil daru’t touch him whin ho had the sign of the er.oss about hjm. I “ Well, the [ioor Colonel, God forgive him, was grieved for the loss of his lady, and she had an illcgaut birr’iu'—and they say that when the prayers were roadiii’ over the dead, the old Colonel took it to heart like anything, and the word of God kem home to his poor sinful sowl at last. “ Well, Sir, to make a long story short the ind iv it was, that for the three days o’ grace that was given to him, the poor deluded ould sinner did nothin’ at all but read tho Bible from mornin’ till niglit, and bit or sup didn’t pass bis lips all the time, he was to intent upon tho holy book, but sat up iu an ould room in the far end of tho house, and hid no one disturb him on no account, and struv to make heart liould with the word iv life; and sure it was somethin’ strengthened him at last, though as the time drew nigh that the ininiy was to come he didn't feel aisy; and no wonder; and be dad the three days grace was past and gone in no time, and the story goes that at the dead hour o’ tho night, when the poor sinner was readin’ away < 8 fast as he could, my jewel, his heart jumped up to his mouth, and gettin’ a tap on the shoulder— “Oh! murtber,” says he, “who’s there ?” for he was afeered to look up. “It’s mo,” says the Ould One, and he stood right forninst him, and his eyes, like coals of lire, looking him through, and he said, with a voice that almost split his ould heart “ Come ! ” says ho. “ Another day,” cried out tho poor Colonel. “Not another hour,”says Sat’u. “Half an hour;” “Not a quarther,” says the divil, grin niu’ with a bitter laugh, “give over yer readin,” I bid yo,” says lie, “and come away wid me.” “Only gi’ me a few minutes,” said ho. “Lave atf your palaverin,’ you snakin’ ould sinner,” says Satin; “you know you’re bought and sould to mo and party bargin I have o’ you, you ould haste," says he—“so come along at wanst," and ho put out his claw to ketch him; but the Col’nel took a fast liould o’ the Bible, and begg’d hard that he’d let him alono, and wouldn’t harm him until the bit o’ candle that was just blink in’ in the socket before him was burned out. “ Well, have it so, you coward,” says Ould Nick. “ Jhe ould Colonel didn’t loso a minit (for he Was cunning to the ind,) but snatched tho little taste of candle that was forninst him o’ the candlestick, and puttin' it on the holy book before him, he shut down the cover of it and quenched tho light.—With that the divil gave a roar like a bull, and vanish ed in a flash o’ fire and the poor Colonel fainted away in his chair; but the sarv antsheered the noise, (for the Divil tore off the roof o’ the house when he left) and run into the room and brought their master to himself agin. And from that day lie was an altered man, and used to have the Bible read to him every day, for he couldn’t read himself any more, by reason of losin’ his eye sight, when tho divil hit him with the rope of sand in tho face. “ So you see, Sir, afther all, the Colonel undher Heaven, was too able for tbe divil, and by readin’ the good book his soul was saved, and glory be to God. isn’t that mighty improving ?” “No enjoyment,” says Sydney Smith, “ however inconsiderable, is confined to the present moment. A man is the hap pier for life from having made once an agreeable tour or lived for any length of time with pleasnat people, or enjoyed any considerable interval of innocent plea sure.” When a gentleman once remarked in company how very liberally those per sons talk of what tbeir neighbors should give away, who arc least apt to give any. thing themselves, Sydney Smith replied : “Yes! no sooner docs A, fall into ditfi culties than Ik begins to con idor what C. ought to do for him.” NUMBER 1G VARIETIES. Lady Huntington, when dying,said t “ I shall go to my father this night.” A man’s life, says South, is an appen dix to his heart. Champfort said of the ancient Gov ernment of France: “It is it monarchy tempered by songs!" If a straw, says Dryden, can be made the instrument of happiness, be is it wise man who does not despise it. Southey said to a low-spirited friend, “Translate Tri* » i Shandy into II» brew, and you will be a happy man." When someone said to Horne Tookc,- “The law is open to every one," he re plied, “So is the London Tavern." A chapter from “ liorrtbow’s Natural History of Iceland ” concerning Owl* * “There are no owls in this Island." “ A patriot is easily made," said Wal pole. “It is but refusing an unreasona ble demand, and up starts a patriot." The last words of a good old man,. Mr. Grimshaw, oti bis death bed were these : “ Here goes an unprofitable ser vant 1 ” Talleyrand, speaking of a well knowiv lady, said emphatically, “She is insuffer able 1 ” Then, as if relenting, bo added , “ But that is her only fault.” A physician once boasted to Sir Henry Halford, saying, “I was the first to dis cover the Asiatic cholera, aud commu nicate it to tho public 1 ” Oliver Crorn well’s grace bofore din ner : “ Some have meat, but canDOt eat f . And some can eat, but have not moat,. Aud so—the Lord be praised! ’. The observance of hospitality, even' towards an enemy, is inculcated by » Hindoo author, with groat tligance.. “Tho sandal, too, imparts its fragrance even to the axe that hews it.” Voltaire’s definition of a physician is r. l An unfortunate gentleman, expected ‘every day to perform a miracle; name ly, to reconcile health with intemper ance.” Pope, in his old ago, said : “ As much' company as I have kept, and as much as I have it, 1 love reading better. I' would rather be employed in reading, than in the most agreeable conversation.” It is not the height to which men are advanced that makes them giddy ; it is the looking down with contempt upon those beneath.— Conversations of Lord Byron. Voltaire was at table one day, when, tho company were conversing on the antiquity of the world. llUopinion be ing asked, he said, “ The world is like an old coquette, who disguises her age." Sydney Smith’s definition of the Pop ish Ritual: Posture and imposture, flections and. genuflections, bowing to the right,courte sving to the left, and an immense amount of tnan-milinery. When the rich miser Ehves, who left about a million of money to bo divided between his two sons, was advised to give them some education, his answer was : “ Putting things into peoples heads, is taking out of their pockets.” A saddler at Oxford having forgotten to which cf his customers he had sold a saddle, desired his clerk to charge it ini the bills of all his customers, and has afterwards acknowledged that Uvo-and thirty of them paid for it. When James 11. insisted very much on Lord 's changing his creed,. he replied : ‘ Pionse your Majesty, I am pie en-- gaged! ■’ “ How l" 1 When last in Egy pt, I promised the Pasha if ever l changed my religion to become a Mahometan. Tho Lord Chief Justice Kenyon one* said to a rich friend asking his opinion as to tho probable success of a son, ‘-Sir, let your son forthwith spend his fortune-; marry, and spend his wife’s ; and then he may be expected to apply wi ll ener gy to bis juofession.”