Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME X.
j Select Podnj.
The love letters.
BY ALFRED TENNYSON.
| Still on the tower stood the rane,
A black vew gloom’d the stagnant air,
I peer’d athwart the chancel pane
And saw the .altar cold and bare.
A dog of lead was rortnd my feet,
X band of pain across thy brow ;
“ Cold altar, Uduven and earth shall meet
Ucfore vou hear my marriage vow.”
I turn’d and huimn’d a bitter song
That.mock’d the wholesome human heart,
And then we met in wrath and wrong,
We met, but only*meant tiTpnrt.
i’li 11 cold'Jny greeting was and dry;
She faintly smiled, she hardly moved;
1 saw with half unconscious eye
She wore the colors i improved.
She tyok the little ivory chest,
With half a sigh she turn’tf the key,
■ Then raised her head with lips comprest,
B And gave my Jotters back to me.
B And gave the trinkets and the rings,
| My gifts; when gifts of mine could please;
B As looks a fattier on the things
[ Os his dead son, I look ihi these.
B She told me all her friends had said ;
B I raged against the public liar;
% Shis talk’d us if her love Were dead,
Si Hut in my words were seeds of lire.
K “No more of loto; your sex is known:
Hr I never will be twice deceived.
Henceforth f trust the man alone,
|IL The woman cannot bo. believed.
'll 4 * Thro’slander, meanest spawn of hell,
P (And wuman’s sluuder is the worst,)
_ Ami you, whom once I loml so well,
** Thro’ yon, my Iffe will be accurst.”
> I spoke withJieart, and heat and force,
tj! 1 sho**kJy- jr breast with vague alarms,.
hn Like torrents from u mountain source
• We rushed into each other’s arms.
iL • f t
£ Welarted : sweelly gleam’d the stars,
Afid sweet the Vapor brawled bKte,
jl Low breezes fann’d the beliiy burs, %
As homeward by the church I drew.
The very graves appeared to smile,
H So fresh they rose in Khudow’d swells ;
0 “Dark porch,” I said, ‘‘and silent aisle
There come* a sound of marriage bells.”
k* From Morris A Willis’s Home Journal,
f THE STORY OF A KINO.
Dedicated to an Emperor.
BY JAMES N'ACK.
BL *‘ Wliat are those people reading?”
I Said Frederick, half aloud,
B While, standing by the window,
I He saw an eager crowd.
High on a wall adjoining
I A paper had bceu stuck;
K The people st( od on tip-toe
I To read with wonder struck.
he One of his six-foot guardsmen
[ Who heard him, answered, “ .Sire,
|P Your Majesty permitting,
B I hasten to enquire.”
H Soon, flushed with indignation,
l The guard returned— *‘ I see
pi ’Tis an atrocious libel
Upon your Majesty!”
•cp The King took out his snuff-box,
With more of smile than frown —
Jjftt “A libel, my good fellow !
jgjl Wall, go and take it down.”
Yes, Sire 1”—“ Friend stop a moment: —
You’ll take it down indeed ;
But just to place it lower,
B So all with ease may read.”
.|qjf*Tis done—around the soldier
% Amazed the people stand,
And question of his doings—
0* “Tis by the King’s command!
./ “ lie cares not what is written,
£9 Or said, by friend or foe,
Coutent to ask his people,
I Are these things true or no?”
They spurned away the libel;
Its words had lost their weight;—
.Oir* A thunder rolled to heaven—
“LiveFrederick the Great!”
ML Now, this was not the weakness
£ Os a good natured fool—
m it was the manly wisdom
Os one that knew to rule,
fill Thou who to France hast given
jit Her former power and glory,
SP Complete thy own, by taking
The moral of my story.
%*h Trust in thyself and people—
In fines and prisons less—
k3T° make all libels harmless,
• Give freedom to the Pre*s !
BONNETS AND SKIRTS.
little head and little bemaet!
Little pate with nothing in it!
(One might say “ with nothing on it,”
pit that you charm me every minute; —)
•k Little lady, now I know
HI Why maidens let their ringlets grow;
. For otherwise —as bonnets go—
» Their heads would freeze, and “that is so!’
Bttle waist and monstrous flounces!
low the silk sea waves ajd bounces!
Bow the hooping billows quiver
Bike a lovely rustling river!
I Oh wondrous water-silken sea!
> What whalebones in your depths must be!
[ What lots of gold, all wastefully
[ Squandered on you—bright silken sea!
3 Soittljmt lUrrhhj Citmmj unit iTliscfllnmons Smtrnul, for fl)£ Ijomc Circle.
£1 Capital (Ta Ic.
KISSING A STRANGE GIRL.
A STAGE COACR ADVENTURE.
When I speak of kissing, T don’t in
clude kissing mother or sister, aunt or
grandma, or the little people; that’s all
iu the family, and a mutter of course. I
mean one’s wife, sweetheart, and other
feminines, (hat are not kin or blood con
nection. “That’s the sort.to call kiss
ing,” and that’s the sort I am going to
describe.
There is a beautiful village abe lit
twenly-fourmiles north of New Ilaven,
called iu ihe Indiantonguc Pomerany.—
Y\ hut it menus in Indian I don’t know.
It was not taught us in the district
school up there, where wo learned our
A, 13. C’s, and afterwards progressed as
far as b-a, ha, k-e-r, ker, baker; when I
was allowed to graduate, and enter the
“ Y oulh’s Seminary,” under the charge
ot the Rev. Mr. Fuller. One of my
schoolmates in the hitter place was a
bright arid intelligent boy of the name
of Walter Marshall. I loved him, no did
everybody else in ihe old village love
him. lie grew up to manhood, hut not !
t’icrc. No, New England boys don't j
grow up at home; before they reach
manhood they ale transplanted, and are
flourishing in all parts and ports of (lie
known world, wherever a Yankee craft
has been, of the stars and Stripe*.
Walter Marshall, when he reached the
age of fourteen, arrived in New York '
from his native village in the destitu'- 1
I
situation that is frequent among New
England boys; that is to say, he had
only the usual accompaniments of these
unfledged chips, who afterwards make
the merchants and great men of this
country, and not (infrequently of other
lands. He had a little wooden Irunl-.i
pretty well stocked with "hum mattes”
a sixty eight cents liihle that his mother
had packed iti for him, fearful that he
might forget it, a three dollar New Ha
ven city hank hill, and any quantity of
energv, patience, perseverance and ambi
tion. He entered tin; counting"room of
a large mercantile house in South-street.
11 is honesty, activity and industry won
him many friends.
Among them was an English mer
chant, who had a large commercial
house in Calcutta, and a branch at Boin- ;
bay. lie was in this country on busi
ness connected with his Commercial firm I
at Calcutta, and did his business for the
firm Walter clerked for; and here the
latter attracted his notice. He was six
teen years of ago only ; yet the Bombay
gentleman fancied him, and made him a
liberal offer to go to India with him;
which, after very little palaver among j
his friends, Walter accepted. New Eng- j
land boys don’t often start off on their
unusually long wandering excursions, |
without first getting leave of absence for j
a few days preparatory exercise, which 1
they spend in going where they origi
nally came from ; and then, having taken
a few good looks at the weather-beaten
church, the high old steeple, which has
wonderfully reduced in size and elevation
since they first saw it, to notice it, in
school boy days; then they must hear
the old bell ring once more, even if they
have to take a spell at the rope ; then
take a turn among the white grave
stones, see if there are any green mounds
fresh made, and if so, to ask who, among
old friends, have gone to their last rest
ing place; then to kiss mothers and sis
ters, shake hands with father—and the
stage is at the door of the tavern, and
they are ready for a start to go “any
where.”
Waiter went up to do, and did do all
this; but be did not get into the stage
at the tavern. He walked down the
road, ahead of tbo coach, toward the old
bridge, and told the stage driver to stop
and let him get in at the minister’s house
—at Parson Fuller’s. Mary Fuller liv
ed there too, for she happened to be the
parson’s only daughter. She was the
merriest, loveliest little witch that ever
wore long, loose tresses of auburn hair,
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JUNE 7, 18-56
and had blue eyes. She was only twelve
years old, and Walter was nearly seven
teen. She did love him though ; lie was
almost all in all toiler; he had fought
her battles all through her childish cam
paign; and she had no brother. She
was Walter’s cousin, too—a sort of half
first cousin; for her mother had been
the half sister of Walter’s mother. They
were not too near related for the purpo
ses hereinafter to be named.
Poor Molly ! she woulJP have cried
her eyes out on the occasion had it not
been that \\ niter’s solemn phiz sot litr
ideas of the ridiculous in motion; and
she made a merry ten minutes as a wind
up to their party scene.
Three days afterwards Walter was ill
New York, and just four months and
twenty days farther on in Time’s alma
nac he was making out invoices and
acting ns corresponding clerk to “ the
firm ” in Bombay.
I shall not stop long enough to relate
how many times ho went to the exhibi
tion of venomous-looking cobra de ca
pelins biting Sepoys, just for fun, and
to show how innocent the beauties were,
and how easy their Lite was cured ; how
often he visited the far-famed Elephant
eaves; how many times lie dined with
Sir Robert Grant, the Governor of
Bombay, and how he was with him, and
w lint he said the very morning of the
day the old scourge—the cholera—made
the excellent Sir Robert his victim :
all these things I shall leave to another
time and a more appropriate heading. I
skip over all these and six years of time
beside, and land Master Walter at Staten
Island, bring him up to (he city in a
steamboat, and leave him at a respecta
ble hotel, and there let him sleep all
night, and take a good “shore rest,”
after a tedious voyage of four months
and more.
The next morning we awaken him ;
make him get lip, pay his hill, take a
hack, and ride down to the New Haven
steamboat, and go on board. It is seven
o’clock, A. M. At one, P. M., the boat
has reached the landing; his trunks
and “ traps ” are on board the Litchfield
stage; he has taken a seat inside; his
destination is an intermediate village.—
He is alone in the stage ; no, not alone
there is an old woman on the front
scat, and a Presbyterian clergyman on
the middle seat. The stage is lip iu
the city and slowly meandering about
New Haven town, picking tip passengers
who have sent their names to the stage
office, as is still customary in that staid
and sober city of mineralogy, theology
and other ’ologies in general. The
stage of Jehu pulls up at the door of a
neat little cottage in Chapel street to
take up a passenger —a young lady of
sweet seventeen or thereabout. Before
she has fairly got inside, Walter has
noticed her, and she has noticed him,
too. He gazes in astonishment at the
perfect vision of loveliness before him ;
he hasn’t seen anything of the kind for
some years. There is not a particle of
copper about her. She, oil her part,
half laughing, has regarded, him very
attentively; pushes back the golden
ringlets that almost shut in her face,
and takes another look, as if to he cer
tain that she has made no mistake.
“Here is a seat, Miss, beside me,”
said the gospel preacher.
“Thank you, sir, but I prefer sitting
on the back seat with that gentleman,
if he will let me,” said the most electri
cal voice that Walter had listened to in
some time.
“ Certainly, Miss,” said the delighted
Bombayite ; and when she seated her
self by him, she gazed into his face with
a kind of mixed up delight and astonish
ment, that Walter actually took a look
down upon himself, to ascertain what
there was about his person that appear
ed to be so pleasing to the fair maiden ;
but he discovered nothing unusual.—
The stage rolled on towards Derby, at
its usual rapid rate, of five miles an hour,
and Walter and the merry maid seemed
as chatty and cosy together as though
they had known each other for years
instead of minutes. The minister tried
to engage the ringlets in conversation,
but ho soon found himself “ nowhere.”
She had neither eyes nor ears for any
body else but Waller; and lie had told
her more about his travels, and Bombay
scenery, than he ever told anybody else
before or since.
At hist they came to Derby. Their
horses had to be changed, and four fresh
skeletons were harnessed and tackled on
to the old stage. Walter handed tho
gentle girl back to her old seat as grace
fully as he could have done had he
never lived in Bombay, but always stop
ped in New York. They were alone
now ; the minister and the old woman
had got out at Derby.
“ Well, wo are off onco inoro ; how
far are you going ? ” said Walter, as the
s!ago went off.
“ Not quite as far as Litchfield. You
say that your friends reside at Pompcr
auv. ITow glad they will ho to see you.
“ Very probably, unless they have
forgotten me, which is likely, for I supposo
I have altered some in seven years.”
“ Not a particle, I—”
The pretty maid forgot what she was.
going to say, but at last remembered,
and continued—
“ I should suppose you had not alter
ed, for you said y'ou were seventeen
when you were last at your home, and
now you are only twenty three. Y’ou
must have been grown nearly as large
as you are now.”
“ Perhaps so ; hut still, I am some
what tanned by exposure in the East
India climate.”
“ Yet 1 think you will bo recognized
by everybody in the little village. Do
you know a young lady in Potnperany
by the name of Mary Fuller ?”
“ What! little Maly ?my ‘ little wife,’
as 1 used to call her! Why, Lord love
you, do you know her ? Bless her
heart ! My trunk is filled with knick
knacks for her especial use. Do 1 know
her? Why 1 have thought ol her ever
sinco I went away. Y’onng lady ?
Why she is a little bit of a girl ; she is
only ten years old. No, she must he
older than that now. I suppose I shall
find her grown considerably. By the
way, are you not cold? It’s getting
chilly.”
The delighted young lady was trying
to conceal her face, which had called
forth Walter’s exclamation.
“ Yes, it is getting colder; it is near
ly dark and s‘o it was. Walter had a
boat cloak, and after a very little trouble
be was permitted to wrap it aiourid her
lovely form, and some how or other his
arm went with it ; and in tho confusion
he was very close to her, and his arm
was around her waist, outside the cloak,
though ; then ho had to put his face
down to hear what she said, and some
box*.’ tnose long ringlets of soft, silky
hair, were playing across his chock, hu
man nature could not and would not
stand it any longer; and Waller, the
modest Walter, drew his arm closer than
ever, and pressed upon the warm, rosy
lips of his beautiful fellow traveller a
glowing, burning, regular East India,
Bombay kiss, and then blushed himself
at the mischief he had done, and waited
for the stage to upset, or something else
to happen ; but no, she had not. made
any resistance; on the contrary, he felt
very distinctly that she had returned
the kiss, the very first kiss, too, he had
ever pressed upon a woman’s lips since
he gave a parting kiss to little Mary
Fuller, and he would have sworn he
heard her saying something (about the
the very moment ho had given her that
long kiss of youth and love) that sound
ed like “Dear, dear Walter.” Ho tried
the experiment again, and before the
stage had fairly reached the village, he
had kissed and re kissed her, and she
had paid them back kiss for kiss at least
a hundred times.
The stage was now entering tho vil
lage. In a few moments he would be
at Marv Fuller’s house. Ho thought of
her and ho felt ashamed and downright
guilty. YVhat would Mary, his “ little
wife,” that was to be, say if she knew
he had been acting so ? As these things
passed rapidly through his mind, ho be
gnn to study how to get oat of the af
fair quietly and decently.
“ You go on in the stage, I suppose,
to tho next town, or perhaps still far
ther ? ”
“ Oh, no 1 not me.”
What could she mean? But he had
no time to indulge in conjecture; tho
stage drove up slap in front of Parson
Fuller’s door, and there was tho venera
ble parson and his good lady in the
doorway ; ho with a lamp in his hand,
all ready to receive—Walter, as ho sup
posed.
11 Where will you stop iu the village ?
I will come and see you.”
“ I shall stop where you stop. I will
not leave you. Here you havo been
kissing mo this last half hour, and now
you want to run away and leave mo.—
1 am determined to expose you to that
old clergyman and his wife in the door
way yonder. More than that, your
“darling little wife,” that is to bo, as
you called her, shall know all about it.’
What a situation for a modest moral
mail ! It was awful. To be laughed
at—exposed; and who was she?—
Gould it be possible? He had heard of
such characters. It must be; hut she
was very pretty ; and lie to be the means
of bringing, such a creature into the
very house of the good and pious old
clergyman and his sweet old pet aud
playmate—his Mary Fuller ! lie saw it
all. It was a judgment sent upon him.
What business had he to be kissing a
strange girl if she was pretty? His
uncle and aunt had come clear down
the stone-walk to the dooryard gate, al
most to the stage door, which tho driv
er had opened. Walter felt that he
was doomed ; hut he had to get out.
“Don’t, for God’s sake, expose mo,
young woman ? ’
“ l will—get out! ”
“ Oh ! ” thought Walter, “ it’s all over
with me!” and now he shakes hands
with the clergyman, and flings his arms
around the aunt,
“ Mary 1 ” exclaimed (lie mother, “our
Mary in the stage, as 1 live! So, so ;
you would come up with your cousin,
eh ? ”
“ Y'es, mother; and what do you
think the impudent East Indian has
been doing? He has kissed mo at least
a hundred times, and that isn’t all ; he
tried to persuade mo to keep on in tho
stage and not get out at all! ”
“ Ah, no wonder he kissed you;
he hasn’t seen you for some years.—
llow glad you must have been when you
met 1 But what is the matter with you
Walter? Let the driver stop and leave
your trank at your father’s as lie goes
by, and do you come into the house.—
Why, what is the matter? Are you
dumb i ”
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself,
Walter, not to speak to my mother,
when she is talking to you!” chimed
in Miss Molly.
Walter now found his voice, and be
fore he got fairly inside, Miss Mary was
his debtor for a round dozen of kisses,
which she took very kindly. But as
for Walter, his mind was made up.—
He had turned over tho subject during
the last three minutes. Ho would mar
ry that strange girl. He was grateful
she had saved him from degradation,
loss of character, and everything else;
but would she forgive him for being so
free with a strange girl in a stage coach?
Doubtful; but she should have the
chance, at any rate.
Tho wanderer received a glad wel
come from his family and friends in his
own native village-; and Maty Fuller
was his traveling companion about the
place; and together they crossed tho
door-sill of every old farm house within
a circle of five miles round. Walter
had seen enough of the outside of this
great world. He had made some mon
ey, too, enough for his modest wants;
he was old enough to marry—and so
was Mary Fuller; and before three
months more had rolled over their heads,
the venerable old father made them one,
in the front parlor of tho old glebe.—
When the vows hud been spoken, the
List prayer made, and the blessing pro
nounced, Walter clasped Mary to his
breast, and imprinted on her lips another
first kiss ; but now it was the first thril
ling kiss of married love, and as he held
her a moment in his ardent embrace,
she whispered gently into his ear—
“ Walter, dear, it is understood in the
vow, no more kissing strange girls in a
stage coach ! ”
itlmHlanama,
American Shepherds.
George YV. Kendall, who is engaged
in wool-growing in Western Texas,
writes thus to the New Orleans Pica
yune :
“ But you should see our flock tonders
hereaways ou the Indian frontier: I
laughed outright as one of them appear
ed before me, with some 800 sheep in
charge. Ordinarily we are wout to look
upon shepherds as peaceful folks: poets
sing of them in gentle numbers, while
painters spread them before us with
crooks ou their shoulders and perhaps
lutes under their arms, • ready to pour
fortli simple lays to any rustic maidens
within hearing of their walks. But
instead of encountering one of these,
you may judge my surprise when a fero
cious, Fra D.avoloish looking fellow
stalked up to mo, a double-barrel gun
on his shoulder, a Bowie-knife hanging
on one side, and one of Colt’s six shoot
ers on the other, at the same time an
nouncing from a mouth completely hid
den behind a fierce surrounding of beard
and moustache, that lie was keeper of
the flock ! A more brigandish looking
shepherd was surely never seen ; yet
the arsenal ho carried about liim he
deemed absolutely necessary for bis own
protection against Indians. Crooks and
lutes are all well enough in the older
settlements, but the Camanches are not
to be charmed into good behavior by
such pacific contrivances. Another
flock tender, similarly aimed, soon came
up, and it struck mo that were all of
them to enter the bureau of Mr. Jeff.
Davis at Washington, accoutred precise
ly as when I first saw them, he would be
sorely puzzled to make them out as peace
ful shepherds ; he would take them for
regular highwayman first. Such is pro
tection.”
Early Christians and their
Slaves.
A correspondent, writing to the Na
tional Intelligencer, says:
In these days, when the principles of
Christianity are tutored to mean almost
anything, that a diseased prejudice may
dictate, it is refreshing to go back to the
earliest times of its existence, and see the
practices of those who lived in the gene
ration next but one to that of tho Apos
tles. I send you an extract from “Bun
sen's llippolytus and his Age,” vol. 3.
page 6. It is an authentic compilation
of “ The Church and House Book of tho
ancient Christians,” and tho chapter is
• llow they who require to be instructed
are to be examined before they are ad
mitted.” The extract is as follows:
“Let their manners and their life be
inquired into, and whether they be slaves
or freemen; and if any one boa slave
let him lx asked who is his master. If
he he a slave to any one of the believers,
let his master be asked if he can give
him a good character. If he cannot, lot
him be rejected until lie show himself to
be worthy of his master; hut if he does
give him a good character let him be
admitted. But if he he a slave to a hea
then, let him bo taught to please his mas
ter, that the word he not blasphemed.”
Tho hook is in the Congress Library,
and any one who chooses can verify tho
quotation.
The best college for a young man to
graduate in, is that of Adversity.
NUMBER 23
Advantage op Using Tobacco.—
The following was communicated to
Coin. Wilkes of the Exploring Expedi
tion by a savage of the Feejee Islands.
He stated that a vessel, the hulk of
which was still lying on she beach, had
come ashore in a storm, and that all
the crew had fallen into the bands of
the Islanders.
“ What did you do with them ? ” iae
quired Wilkes.
“ Killed ’em all,” answered the savage,
“ What did you do with them aft*r
you had killed them ? ”
“ Eat ’em—good,” returned the oaa
nibal.
“ Did you eat them all f ” asked the
half sick Commodore.
“ Yes, we eat all but on*."
“ And why did you spare one I ”
“ Because he taste too much like to
bacco. Couldu’t eat him no how l ”
If the tobacco chewer should happen
to fall into the hands of New Zealand
savages, or get shipwrecked somewhere
in the Feejee group, he will have th*
consolation of knowing that he will not-'
be cut into steaks and buried in the ua
consocrated stomach of a Cannibal.
VARIETY.
Sympathy may be found by the moat,
disconsolate in—the dictionary.
The humblest thing in the world—a
clock, as it is always running itself down.
Why is the letter U an uncertain let
ter ? Because it is always in doubt.
Nothing over touched the heart of a
reader that did not come from the heart
of the writer.
Grant graciously what you cannot re
fuse safely, and conciliate those you can
not conquer.
If you would be pungent, be brief, for
it is with words as with sunbeams—th*
more they are condensed the deeper thsy
burn.
The Ftcm op Cotton.—Peace ha*
its battles as well as War; it engender*
competition, and that gives rise to many
a mill.
A nail In the inkstand, or some old
steel pens that the acid of the ink can
eat upon, will prevent steel jians in us*
from being rusty.
A Floating Capital Jokh.—When
may a man be said io bo literally im
mersed in business! When he’s giving
a sv iinming lesson.
There are more lies told in the brief
sentence, “ I am glad to see you,” than
in any other single sentence iu the Eng
lish language.
If you want enemies, excel others—if
you want friends let them excel you ; in
other words give them the preference— '
occupying yourself tho lowest seat.
The Phrenological journal says that the
most healthful position to sleep in is with
the head on a line with the bodv, allow
ing the throat and lungs tho fullest play.
“Landlord,” said an exquisite, “can
you enable mo to realize from your culi
nary stores tho pleasure to a few dulcet
murphies, rendered innoxious by igneoua
martyrdom !” He asked for baked pota
toes.
An Irish sailor, as he was riding, mad*
a pause, and tho horse in beating off th*
flies, caught his hind foot in tho stirrup;
the sailor observing it, exclaimed, “how
now, Dobbin, if you are going to gotoD
I will get off.”
Jonah wroto to his father, after the
whale first swallowed him, stating that ha
had found a good “opening,” for a
young man going into the oil business—
but afterwards wroto for money to bring.-
him home, stating that he had been
“sucked in.”
Modest Request.—The philosopher
Anaximander effectually provided for his
not being forgotten, when, being asked
by the magistrates at Lampsacum, where
he had resided, what they should do to
honor his memory, he made the -
ingly small and sfinple request, that the
boys might have leave to £lay ©a the
anniversarv of his death.