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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.