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VOLUME X. (Original |3etJnj. Written for the Visitor. TO COUSIN MOLLIE. The world is bright before thee, Its summer flowers are thine, Its calm blue skies are o’er thee, Thy bosom pleasures shrine; And thine the sunbeam given To nature’s morning hour, Pure, warm, as when from heaven It burst on Eden’s bower. There is .1 song of sorrow, The death dirge of the guy, That tells ere dawn of morrow, These charms may melt away. That sun’s bright beam be shaded, That sky be blue no more, The summer flowers be_faded, And youth’s warm promise o’er. Believe it not—though lonely Thy evening home may be, Though beauty s bark can only Sail on a summer sea, When Time thy bloom is stealing There’s still beyond his art, The wild flower wreath of feeling, The sunbeam of the heart! MadUon t G<r. “ I)om. m Written for the Visitor. TO SUSIE SNOWDROP. I know not who thou art, sweet bird, Vet something whispered me, When first thy gentle notes I heard, Ofloveand minstrelsy— Sing on—nor let the captive's chain, E’er hind thy soaring wing; Though Spring-time with its flowers wane, Thy songs will comfort bring. Full well I know, in life’s ga v bower, There bloom the rich and rare, But yet it is my favorite flower— The Snowdrop pure and fair; Its beauteous leaves are not unfurled To every passer’s gaze: Like it, thou Ux> doth shun the world That fain would sing thy praise. MadUor*, Oa. Heliotrope. LIFE WAS MADE FOR LOVING. There is music in my heart, Playing many an airy measure; Fancy f.wd»ioneth my art To her wayward pleasure. Joy above and joy below, Mingled much with grief and woe, Is the life we treasure. Peace to all the earth around Brings this balmy weather; Then let love to love be bound, Fond hearts linked together. There is gladness in my soul, Falling like a twilight o’er me ; Thoughts ot sadness upward roll Like a veil before me — And about me, warm and true, Come those eyes of thine so blue, .Since the day I saw thee. Tell me not, sweet lady fair, Meu are protie to roving; By thy bright and golden hair! Life was made for loving. HAS SHE ANY TEN ? Oh! do not paint her charms to me, I know that she is fair! I know her lips might tempt the bee; | Her eyes with stars compare; Such transient giftsl ne’er could prizc r My heart they never could win; I do not scorn iny Mary’s eyes, But—has she any tin ? The fairest cheek, alas, may fade, Beneath the touch ofyears! , The eyes where light and gladness played, May soon grow dim with tears ! ‘ • I would love’s fires should to the last, pS Still burn os they begin; But beauty’s reign so soon is past, v So—has she any tin ? SH? EARLY RISING. dt Get up before the sun, my lads, Get up before the sun! This snoozing in a feather bed between sunrise and breakfast, lads, Rise and breathe the morning air; ’Twill make you feel so bright, my lads, Twill make you look so fair. Oct up before the sun, my lads; jShake off your sloth—arouse! JTou lose the greatest luxury That life has, if you drowse. sunrise and breakfast, lads, Arise then, do not lose - key to health and happiness, ’ By lying in a snooze. .Get up before the sun, my lads, - " And in the garden hoe, ■ <Or feed the pigs, or milk the cow, jjggt Or take the scythe and mow; gife’Twill give you buoyant spirits, lads, E Give vigor to your frame— IB Then lise before the sun, my lads, (ip And these rich blessings claim. CONSOLING. Spoil'll be forgotten, as old debts “ By persons who arts used to borrow; jpdbrgotten, as the sun that sets, jja When shines anew one on the morrow; Bnorgotten, like the luscious peach ™ That blessed the school-boy last September; Porgottcn, like a maiden speech, SI Which all men praise, but none remember. 51 Smtlljcrtx Wcfhlij Citcnrnj anir fttisallmiemis 3 Diurnal, for % Ijomc Circle* Sflfct Sales. IN LOVE OR NOT IN LOVE? BY E. \Y, DEWEES. “The amount of it is,” said handsomo Henry Harvey, to his friend Tom R——, at the end of a long and confidential conversation—“ the amount of it is, I’m in a confounded scrape. I’ve gone a little too far, perhaps, in my attentions, the girl’s over head and ears in love with me, and I don’t seo how I'm to get out of it with honor. I don’t like the idea of broken hearts, and all that sort of thing—but what is a fellow to do?- I’ve no more thought of marrying than I have of turning preacher. Come, give us your advice, old follow !” Toni eyed his friend with a merry twinkle in his eye. A sagacious and mischievous smile played around the corner of his mouth. “ Nothing easier in life than to get out cf the ‘scrape,’ as you call it, if you want to.” “ How ? how ?” asked Ilarvey, eager- Jy “ You say she's handsome, witty, ami able and accomplished?” “ Yes.” “ Well, then,” knocking the ashes from his cigar, “she’s just the wife I want, and I’ll take her off your hands,” “Absurd 1” cried Harvey, trying to turn into a pleasant smile the frown which suddenly darkened his face, “im possible, Ton),” he continued, amiably, “it would never do. In the first place, you would not suit each other in the least—there would be no congeniality of disposition, intellect, &c.” “Is she then so decidedly my inferi or?” asked Torn. “Inferior?” cried Ilarvey, filing up with suddeii indignation. “I don’t know the man she is inferior to. She’s a glori ous creature, I tell you.” “ Well, where’s your objection tlicn ?” “ Well, 1 meant—perhaps I’m not very civil to say so, Torn; but the fact is, though you’re the best fellow in the world, you're sometimes a little rough ; and she's so sensitive and refined, that— that—besides, as I told you, Tom—con found it—as I told you, she's in love with me, there’s the rub,” and he rubbed his hands together, with returning spirit, as if he had hit the idea he had been vainly seeking, at last. “ Thank you, Harvey, for your com plimentary hints,” said Tom, as he watched the ascending smoke of his ci gar; “ but on the whole, notwithstanding my extreme natural diffidence, I believe I don’t take quite so low an estimate of my character as you do. And as re gards the being so desperately in love, and all that—l know how much that means. Trust me for managing that.— Nothing for curing agiri of a fancy for one lover, like the appearance of anoth er. Why, if the odds were equal in other respects, the novelty gives the last comer such an incalculable advantage that there is no doubt of his success.— Besides, in this case, we will have the advantage of playing into each other’s hands. You have only to hold off a lit tle at first to give me a chance. You play cold, while I play warm, and I bet you a box of cigars I win the day, l as easy a* kissing,’ as the ladies say.” “I think you are entirely mistaken,” said Harvey, stiffly, in a tone of pique and annoyance. “ Well, shall I try ? aye or no ?” asked Tom. “Oh, certainly, I should be much obliged, of course,” replied Harvey, whose manner presented the greatest contrast to nis air of boastful security at the beginning of the conversation. That same evening Tom accompanied Harvey to Miss Northwood’s house. He found her all, and more than all, Harvey bad described. He was indeed charmed with her grace and beauty. The conversation, after the first pre liminary common-places, fell on works of art and the wondrous galleries of Europe. Tom bad been an extensive and intelli MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, MAY i7, 1856 gent traveler, and was in his element on this subject. He had much of interest bAny, and found much pleasure in an swering Miss Northwood’s discriminating questions. Ilarvey, who had never traveled, was, of necessity, silent, and thrown quite into the shade. From this subject the transition was easy and natural to music; and here, too,* Tom was at home. In fact, music was his strong point. He was an aecom plished musician, with all a musician’s enthusiasm for the art. Soon he and Miss Northwood were settled at the piano, singing, comparing tastes, and ecstasizing, as enthusiastic lovers of mu sic will. “Do you know this littlo air ?” asked Ton), “ I learned it in Venice, and it is, I think, peculiarly beautiful. It seems to carry with it a perfume of Italian flowers, and the souud of rippling, moon lit waters.” “Fudge!” muttered Ilarvey, from the distant sofa, to which he had retired, from behind the book lie was pretending to read. T’hen followed the air referred to, sung in the most exquisite taste, with the richest of manly voices. Miss Northwood admired warmly, and expressed what she felt. “Coquette!’’ sneered Harvey, in an accent of concentrated rage. But all unconscious of these muttered comments, the musicians lingered over their music. One favorite air suggest ed another, and there were scores to be looked over, and duetts to be sung.— And Tom had so many anecdotes to tell of such and such musicians, and such delightful little his ories of how such and such pieces of music came to be written, that time flew on swift and noiseless pinions. Miss North wood's e ves occasionally went in search of Harvey, but when ever she addressed a remark to him, with a view of drawing him intothc conversation, he replied with such un courteous brevity that she Was repelled from further advances. “ Well 1 ” cried Tom, as they emerg ed from the house late in the evening “pretty well for a beginning, Harvey.— So far so good. I consider the affair in most hopeful train. Mi9s Northwood more than satisfies my expectations, and I flatter myself I made an impression. Hey, Harvey ? ” An unintelligible growl from Ilarvey was the only reply. “I say, Harvey,” continued Tom, in the highest spirits, “ I don’t see those unmistakable symptoms of being in love in your fair lady, which I expected.— May you not have deceived yourself on that point ? ” Another growl, ominous this time> from Harvey. Tom proceeded. “ You did very well to-night, Harvey- I commend you. Keep your distance l that’s right—nopoaching on my grounds, you know.” “ Your grounds 1 you rascal! ” burst forth Harvey, in a fit of ungovernable rage. “ I’ve a great inind to knock you down for your insufferable assurance, you—you puppy. And there sir, is my card, if you want the satisfaction of a gentleman! ” Tom raised the card Harvey flung at him as he left him, bursting with laugh ter as he did so. “Tom, my good fellow 1 ” cried Harvey* as he burst into Tom’s room the next day, with the most beaming of smiles on his face—“ Tom, I’ve got something pleasant to say to you. Wish me joy, my flue fellow 1 It’s all settled. We’re to be married this day three months. It’s all fixed, and I’m the luckiest dog! Why don’t you congratulate me, old boy ? ” “ Because you take tny breath away. I can’t believe you. Why you told me yesterday you wanted me to take her off your hands ” “Nonsense?” “ And that you considered yourself in quite a fix, from which I good-humored ly consented to help you.” “ Fudge 1 ” cried Ilarvey, a blush of vexation and shame coming into his face “ And that Miss Northwood, poor thing, was likely to die of a broken heart ” “ Come, come, Torn ! no more of tliat au thou lovest me 1 The fact is, Tom, and I may as well own it—a man docs not know whether ho is in love or not, sometimes, till a little jealousy, or some thing else, opens his eyes for him. But its all right now.” “Oh 1 aye,” said Tom, with affected gravity, “you may think it’s all right: but there is something yet to be settled which may stand in the way of your true love running so very smooth.” As he spoke, he gravely drew forth Survey's card from his pocket. “1 have ordered coffee and pistols for to morrow morning, and who knows? I may stand a chance for Miss Northwood’s hand yet.” Harvey snatched the card, and sent it spinning into the air, as he burst into a merry laugh. Tom joined him heartily. Their hands met in a cordial grip, as they exclaimed—tho otic “You may thank tne, Ilarvey for teaching you your own mind,” and the other, “1 understand you, Tom, you’re the best friend I ever had. Seo if I don’t prove my gratitude some of these days, by flirting with the lady you’re in love with.” “You’re welcome,” cried Tom, “by the time I’m in love, you'll bo like the lion, sans teeth and claws—a married man, and no longer dangerous.” THE LAUGHING HERO. AX INCIDENT OF TIIE MASSACRE AT GOLIAD. It was the morning of tho 17th of March, 1830. Aurora, mother of dews and mistress of golden clouds, came, as she almost ever comes to the living scenery of the plains of Oolad— a thing of beauty, queen of the sky, on a throne of burning amber, robed in tbe crimson of fire, with a diadem of purple, ami streamers of painted pink. Oh 1 it was a glorious dawn for the poet to sing of earth, or tho saint to pray to heaven ; but neither poet’s song nor saint’s prayer made the matins of tho place and the hour. Alas no ;it was a very different sort of music. A hundred hoarse drums roared the loud reveille that awoke four hundred Texan prisoners and their guard—four times 'their number of Mexican soldiers the elite of the Chief Butcher’s army. The prisoners were immediately sum moned to parade before the post, in the main street of the village, and every eye sparkled will) joy, and every tongue uttered tho involuntary exclamation of confidence and hope—“ Thanks, Santa Anna! lie is going to execute the treaty 1 We shall bo shipped back to the United States! We shall see our friends once more! ” Such wero the feelings which the American volunteers and the few Texans among them, greeted the order to form into a line. The line was formed and then broken into two columns, when every instrument of music in tho Mexican host sounded a merry march, and they moved away with a quick step over the prairie to wards the west. Five minutes afterwards, a singular dialogue occurred between the two lead el's of the front columns of prisoners: “ What makes you walk so lame, Col. Neil ? Are you wounded ? ” asked a tall handsome man, with blue eyes, and bravery flashing forth in all their beams. “Col. Fannin, I walk lame to keep from being wounded; do you compre hend ? ” replied other with a laugh, and such a laugh as no words might de scribe—it was so loud, so luxurious, like the roar of the breakers of a sea of humor : it was in short, a laugh of the inmost heart. “ I do not comprehend you, for lam no artist in riddles,” rejoined Fannin, smiling himself at the ludicrous gaiety of his companion, so strangely ill-timed. “You discover that I am lame in each leg,” said Col. Neil, glancing down at tho members indicated, and mimick ing the movements of a confirmed cripple, as he laughed louder than ever. “And yet,” he added, in a whisper, “I have neither the rheumatism in my knees, nor corns on my toes, hut I have two big revolvers in tny hoots 1 ” “That is a violation of the treaty by which we agreed to deliver up our arms,” Col. Fannin mournfully suggested. “You will see, however, that I shall need them before the sun is an hour high,” replied Neil. “Ah ! Fannin, you do not know tho treachery of these base Mexicans.” At this instant the sun rose in a sky of extraordinary brilliancy, and a mil lion of flowemups flung their rich odors abroad over tho green prairie, as an of fering to the lord of light, when the mandate to “ halt” was given by one of Santa Anna’s Aids, and the two columns of prisoners were broken up and scat tered over the plain, in small hollow squares, encircled on every side by Mex ican infantry and troops of horses with loaded muskets and drawn swords. And then enmo a momentary pause, awful in its stillness, and disturbed only by an occasional shriek of terror, as the most timid among the captives realized the impending storm of fire and extinction of life’s last. hopo. And then the infernal work of whole sale murder was begun, and a scene ensued such as scarcely might be match ed in the very annals of hell itself. Tho roar of musketry bursted in successive penis like appalling claps of thunder, hut could not utterly drown the prayers of the living, the screams of the wound ed, and more terrible groans of tho dying ? Col. Fannin fell among the first vic tims, hat not so with the giant Neil. With the order of the Mexican officer to his men to fire, our hero stooped al most to the earth, so that the volley passed entirely over him. He waited not for a second ; thrusting a hand into a leg of each boot, lie rose with a couple of six shooters, the deadly revolvers, and commenced discharging them with tho rapidity of lightning into the thick est ranks of his foes. Panic-stricken with surprise and fear, the Mexicans recoiled and opened a pas sage, through which Neil hounded with tho spring of a panther and fled away as if wings were tied to his heels, while half a dozen horsemen gave chase. For a while it seemed doubtful w hether the giant Colonel would not distance even these, so much had the perils of the occasion increased the natural elasticity of his mighty muscles. But presently a charger fleeter than the rest might be discerned gaining on his human rival, and approaching so near that the dra goon raised his sabre for a coup de grace. Neil became conscious of his danger, and hastily slackened his speed, till the hot steam of smoke from the horse’s nostrils appeared to mingle with his very hair; and then, wheeling suddenly, he fired another round from a revolver, and the rider tumbled from his saddle.— The victim then renewed his flight. A mad yell of grief and rage broke from the remaining troops as they wit nessed the fate of their comrade, and its effect was immediately evident in the augmented caution of their pursuit—for they galloped afterwards in one body thereby greatly retarding their progress, so that Neil reached the river before them. He paused not a moment, but plunged headlong down the steep bank into the current, and struck for tho other shore. The dragoons discharged their side arms ineffectually, and gave over the chase. In a few minutes Neil landed, and as soon as he felt satisfied that he was real ly saved, burst into insuppressible con vulsions of laughter, and exclaimed: “It will kill me, just to see how aston ished the yellow devils looked when I hauled the revolvers out of my boots !’’ Such was Col. John Neil—possessing a fund of humor that no misfortune could ever exhaust, and a flow of animal spirits which would have enabled him to dance on the graves of all his dearest friends, or to have sung Yankee Doodle at his own execution. Give them something to Re member. “Goodnight!” Aloud, clear voice from the top of tho stairs said that; it was Tommy’s. “ Dood night,” murmur ed a little something from the trundle bed—a little something we cal! Jenny, that fills a very large place in the centre of one or two pretty large hearts.— ‘Goodnight,” lisps a little fellow in a plaid rifle dress, who was christened Willie about six years ago. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep; If I should die before I w-a-k-e and tho small trundle-bed lias dropped off to sleep, but an angel will finish the broken prayer for her, and it will go up sooner than many long winded petition s that set out a long while before it. And so it was “good night” all around the old homestead, and very swoot music it made, too, in the twilight, and very pleasant melody it makes now as we think of it, for it was not yester day, nor day before, hut a long time ago —so long that Tommy is Thomas Some body, Esq., and lias forgotten that lie was a boy, and wore what the bravest and richest of us can but once wear if we try—the first pair of hoots. So long ago, that Willie must stoop when lie crosses the threshold ; so long ago, that Jenny has gone the way of the old prayer she was saying, for, saying another, she did as before, fell asleep as she said it, and never waked more. Good night to thee, Jenny, good night 1 And so it was good night all around tho house, and tho children had gone through the ivory gate always left ajar for them—through into the land of Dreams, or through the golden one they call “ Beautiful,” in the land of Angels. So they are all scattered and gone and the old house is tenantless, and there is nobody tliero to say good night, and nothing hut the rain to come, and tbe birds that have built them a nest among tho broken stones of the hearth, and the sheep that take shelter from the pit iless storm under the one wall that is whole; and yet, now we think of it, there is a wonderful dignity about the old place. Its rooms were not very spacious; precious little tapestry adorn ed tho walls, the eaves were low, mossy and gray, but did wo not begin to live and love mid hope there ? Did not the old homestead have very much to do with the fashioning of our thoughts? Was it not as if an humble mould, for the shaping of our fancies? Did we not bear away with us when we went, a cabinet of pleasures that were painted there? Have you forgotten that shape less thing that used to lurk in the dark at the top of the stairs, always in wait to catch you on your way to bed, hut never doing it? And what long drawn sighs used to come moaning down tlie garret, and what trailing garments rustled along tho garret floor. We fancied it was a lady in a castle, a lady fair and young —and we so many cham pions to sound the bugle at the gate and bear her safe away. For then we had read the “Scottish Chiefs” and “ Thaddeus of Warsaw ;” and the Duke of Gloucester saw fewer Richmonds in the fields than there were Wallaces of us then—each one with a Marion or Helen to bless him. llieu the tales that Dolly told us round the kitchen fire, when she had “done up ” her hair, and swept up the hearth, and sat down to her sewing. Then it was wo gathered around and besought her for a stoty—of ghosts or witches, or little wonderful children, that lived a long time ago, and became very beauti ful, or very something that we longed to be. How we would have delighted to be Robin Hood, and lived in the woods, and wear array of Kennel green. How we wished we had been Jack the Giant Killer, or Richard Whitingtou, or Cin derella, or some she told us of. But NUMBER 20 when she tol<l us of glios-s in white, that made no f. ot fall when I hey walked; of their limnh, lmw cold they were; of their laugh, how hollow mid ghostly it was, have you forgotten how we drew at little nearer as the tale went on, and thought the light was burning dim and blue, and we begged her to s’ir the sleep ing fire, and dare not look behind us where (he shadows were, and faneitd something sighed or spoke, and syllabled our names. Each voice subsided to a whisper—all hut Dolly’s and she went on with castles dim, and spectres grim, and dungeons deep, and ladies fair, while her glittering needle darted in and out along the lengthened hem. At last one ot us throned upon her lap; another begged to lay her hand therein, and stilt the tale goes on. Ihe clock is on the stroke of nine, and hoiv we dreaded the last shrill chime! It came, we went r luctan'ly to bed ; dark the ball was, and the door must be left open a little ; mid“Dollv are you there?” and “Dolly, good night,” and it was Dolly this and Doily that, just to hear her speak, came from under the quilts that we had drawn over our heads, and we wondered what rattled the window, and what shook the bed, and didn’t you feel something cold, or hear something step, and how wo all wished we were asleep, or it was morning,- or the sun shone all night. llow we suffered then, and nobody knew it, and nobody bid us to be biave. Well, years have passed, hut we build castles as we did then, and feel just such great cold shallows as used to lurk in the hall, and people them with forms no eye has ever seen. The memory should not be a tomb, a p’ace for guests to re visit tile gtimpses of the moon in, but a place lull ot recollections of sunshine and loveliness. There should be something beautiful about a homestead—a beaut-I'ul picture, a beautiful brook, a beautiful, tree. A yard with glorious maples in it, and a running stream, mid an old well of crys tal water, and a roof with a vine on it, and eaves with birds in them, mid a pas ture full of daisies—what a lovelv place it must he, indeed, to think that in Jan uary we can always have a June; in an Arabia Petroa an “Aruhv tbu blest.” Mothers always look beautiful to ohil. dreti ; they make a picture for memory's cabinet, tiiat “the old masters” never equalled. But then they should he in a beautiful setting. Let there he a broad hearth and ample fire place in the iron boxes, or look at it through a grate.— Get a cord of old maple and a handful or two of old beach for a feu de joip, and a basket or two of old fashiomd chips, and keep them all for winter birth days, and Christmas eves and the New Year’s nights, and get an old fashioned body to build an old fashioned fir.-, and blow out the candles or turn off the’ gas and gather within the circle of the hearth light, and tell pleasant smiles. So you will give the children something beaufi fu! to remember, for believe v.s su.-h a picture in siu-h a light will never (Me out from the God-woven canvas that hangs in the heart. f The Richmond Enquirer savs that the collections made by, and contrhu tions made to the Mount Vernon Asso ciation, are large ; audit adds that “at the proper time, measures will be taken to open negotiations with Mr. Washing ton, and oil a full review of the whole field, wo entertain no doubt that a con tract will be made by the Cover; or with Mr. Washington, and that, on ti e pay ment of the $200,000 with.n five years, as provided by the late law, the latter will make a deed of the Mount Veruon Estate to the State of Virginia. Leap Year Dialogue.—“ will you tako my arm?” “Yes, sir and you too.” “Can’t Spare but the arm,” replied the old bachelor. “Then,” re plied she, “ I shan’t take it, as my motoj is, go the whole hog or nothing