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VOLUME X. '
sfleet |)ottn).
A PORTRAIT.
To ****** ***** *******
I know a maiden fair to see,
Hut difficult to know;
Although I ween there many be
Who think that they do so.
I have not known her very long
Yet think I know her well;
And in this simple little song
Her character I'll tell.
'Tia said she is a flirt —’tia true 1
She is —herself so says ;
She’s flirted from her girlhood up
And will so all her days;
Like erery pretty girl, sho lores
ller share of admiration,
And really does enjoy a bit
Of‘‘innocent flirtation.”
They say she’s a coquette —*tia false!
From willful coquetry,
As any of her gentle sex,
I will believe her free;
Os “ delicate attentions ” —?es
Petits soini —she’s vain,
Hut rather seeks herself to please
Thau to give others pain.
She’s not a girl who, if perchance
A man shall twice look at her—
Or, when he takes her out to church,
Ssy soft things meant to flatter—
She> not a girl, beneath all this,
Deep meaning to discover,
Or see, as does your spooney miss,
In every beau a lover.
No! she's a girl who knows the world,
And knows just hew things go;
She's not a fool; besides she’s “ cut
Her ore tooth” long ago.
Your brainiest fo;>» soft speeches move
Her soul to inward mirth,
While if a “flirt declare* his lovo,
Fhe knows just what 'tie worth 1
With apiritslight and volatile,
In «C'**.iing. ever gay,
Hlu’li always greet you with a smile,
Meet with bet* when v.,«, :
Calm, cdtuleas, ever sols-possessed,
U*r temper .lever flurried,
Tis w'» en .die looks her very best,
If ever ah-ia v.-rvied!
Yet deem all this mere outward rh >w,
Hor In :te r part coneon! ■ ng ;
Within her heart deep founts o’erflow
With pure and fervent feeling ;
Bat not t“ the cold, can-loss er--wd.
Are its deep waters given ;
To one atone is it allov i
To drink lljat draught ofi.cr.ven,
H -*r frit midulp’a steady and sincere -
is .r txkeu,
II Jl.j. nc. ill iSi..sc-wWredis;r
Nut ea*.*v i-* she ken ;
Wild fancy, v. during from the road
Hut would .not change love wi ll i .-.dovved,
Though all the world beset her.
She’s not perfection! —that would he
A something more than human ;
Wayward she is, at times, for sho
la, nf crall, a woman!
A little wilful, as when not
Was woman ever known ?
Her faults are all her sex’s lot—
Her virtues all her own I
Madison, Go.
YOU AND I.
Ilow shall we name the tie
Hy which both you and I
Are bound together?
We have been fond and true,
All the fair summer through,
And winter weather.
Friendship’s too cold a word—
Our hearts too deep are stirred—
For that calm feeling!
Too fond of fire are we,
Too fond and full and free,
Our hearts revealing!
Friends we can never be,
But, between you and me,
Something much dearer I
Friends can exist apart;
We two have but one heart,
We must be nearer.
Friendship is very well—
Hut wc—ah, we can tell
Os something rarer!
We know of sweeter blisses—
Clasped hands and loving kisses—
There’s nothing fairer 1
Since friendship’s not allowed,
And since a tiny cloud
Our bliss still covers—
Let us enjoy its charm—
I«t os—and what’s the harm ?
Let us be lovers 1
OUR FATHER.
Our father who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name;
Thy kingdom come; thy will be done,
Through Heaven and earth the same.
Give us this day our daily bread;
Our tresspasses forgive,
As also we fogiveness grant
To such as us aggrieve.
Into temptation lead us not;
From evil us deliver:
For thine’s the kingdom; glory; power;
Forever and forever. amen.
Cl Sontljcvn lyUfklij Citcnmj anb (Miscellaneous 3cntvnnl, for lljc Ijcmu CircU.
91 fiomAntic Stjonj.
THE BITTER NIGHT.
A TALK OP THE CUUSADES'.
“ Fling another fagot on the fire, my
child,” said a weak voice as of a sick
woman ; “ I am very cold. Ilow the
wind shakes this frail cabin. Ah ! it
was not so in Alman Castle, when
your dear father lived. The meanest
hind had then a comfortable roof and
pleutv of fagots. Little did ho think
his wife and daughter would ever suffer
thus.”
The speaker was a lady already ad
vanced in years, whose original fine dis
position pen ury and disease had render
ed querulous. The person sho address
ed sat by the scanty fire, preparing the
evening meal, for although the storm
rendered all without dark, the hour was
not yet that of the usual twilight.—
Clad in coarse and faded garments, with
her face worn with sorrow and care, it
would have been impossible to recognize
in her the once proud heiress, but for the
graceful figure, the proud eye, and the
air of refinement about her face and
movements, which nothing could'con
ceal. She heard her mother’s command
with a sigh, gazed wistfully on the solo
remaining fagot, and then mournfully
continued her occupation.
Clara Alman had been born in almost
princely halls, and educated as the
heiress of the broadest domains in the
south of England. Up to her fifteenth
year the sun of her prosperity had been
unclouded. She was beautiful, even be
yond her sex. and already surrounded,
by noble and worthy suitors. To one of
these she had pledged her virgin heart.—
All the delicious emotions of a first love
were hers, and life seemed to lie before
bor, like a flowery path beneath a sum
mer morning’s sun.
All at once a cloud came over her
sky. It was the era of the' Crusades.; and
when the lion-hearted Richard assumed
the cross, her father, and subsequently
her lover followed his example, and set
forth in sat tor the holy and. With
many'tears, Clara and her mother saw
them depart; but honor bade them go
forward; and the wife and daughter,
even amid their sorrows, felt that they
could not persuade them to remain.
A long year passed, then another,
then a third. At first Clara heard, at
long intervals, from her suitor; but in
the second year the intelligence arrived
that both he, and her father had fallen
in a deadly skirmish with the Saracens
led by Saladin in person. The melan
choly news, was a few mouths later
confirmed by the arrival of a squire of
the late lord, who said he had seen his
master fall in battle. lie added that
Clara’s suitor had been slain in attempt
ing to save her parent. This circum
stantial account destroyed the last hope
lingering in the bosom of Clara and her
mother, and they wept long and deeply,
almost benumbed by grief.
But from this sacred sorrow they were
suddenly and rudely awakened. The
vast estates at Alman, although entail in
the male line, were to have descended
to Clara on her marriage, by the con
sent of the king.
But the deed had never been made.
Richard was now in prison in Germany;
and his base brother John ruled unright
eously in his stead. The claimant to
the estates was in high favor with the
dissolute prince, and now came forward
to demand the domains. Rnge and re
venge were uppermost in his heart, for
he had been a rejected lover of Clara;
and having renewed his suit, after the
death of her intended husband, had been
again refused. Malignant by nature,
and pitiless from depraved habits, he
felt no remorse in ejecting both mother
and daughter from their habitation, and
leaving them, utterly unprovided for, to
the most abject poverty. All appeals to
the prince were in vain. He stood too
much in need of supporters to his usurp
ed throne, to venture a rupture with the
possessor of the Alman manors.
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JUNE 14, 1856
Since the event, nearly tho whole of
a year had elapsed, which had been
•spent by the sufferers in mingled grief
and penury. Winter had now come,
and the rude cabin in which they had
found shelter many leagues away from
their old residence shook in the tempest:
while tho snow beat in between tho
chinks, and the cutting blast sent a chill
to tho very hearts of tho inhabitants.
“ Why don’t you put on another
fagot? ” querulously said the sick moth
er, as a rude gust whirled through the
leaky lattice and made her shiver.—
Poor Clara, though far less warmly clad,
endeavored not to appear cold, but the
icy blueness of her skill contradicted
her demeanor. Tho tears gushed from
her eyes. Sho looked around.
“ Dear mother,” she said, “wo have
but one more fagot, which must last us
till the storm abates. If we use it now,
we shall have nothing with which to
cook our scanty breakfast in the niorn
ing.”
“ Merciful God ! ” exclaimed tho
mother, clasping her hands and lifting
her eyes to heaven, “ what will becomo
of us ; I can endure this cold no longer.
I feel I shall dio before morning. No
fagots—oh! Virgin mother of Christ,
have mercy on us ! ”
“ Mother,” said the devoted girl, run
ning to her and clasping her around the
neck, “1 will hold you in my arms all
night. lam young and can impart my
own warmth to your frame. Cheer iip )
dear mother,” she continued in a voice
of alarm, for fright and tho bitter chill
ness of the atmosphere were rapidly
producing a fearful change in the pa
rent's countenance. I will put on the
oilier fagot—wo will oat our scanty
supper, and you shall drink tho cup of
wine. We kept- it for an emergency,
and when can wo better use it. ? To
morrow will bo clear- -1 know it. —I
feel it; and then wc can get all we
want, for I will beg for it sooner than
see you thus. Dear, dear mother, see
the fire burns brightly, now. Eat, and
wc will seek rest—and you shall al|
night sleep warmly in my arms.”
“ God bless you, my child,” said the
mother, and the tears gathered into her
eyes, “ but I fear the worst,” she contin
ued, with a desponding shake of her
head. “ The storm looks as if it would
last for days—then what will becomo
of us ? ’’
Clara shuddered. Her heart felt as
oppressed with a mighty load, for, as
she listened, she recognized those deep
tones in tl:e tempest which always fore
bode a duration of some days. Had it
not been for the presence of her moth
er, whom she felt the necessity of en
couraging, she would have sat down and
wept in despair.
Suddenly there was a knock at the
door.—Both females started, and looked
at each other. Clara hesitated to move-
A voice was now heard asking admit
tance from tho awful storm, which the
traveler said surpassed any he had ever
witnessed. Fear was not a part of
Clara’s nature. Her heart was ever
open to pity. Without further thought
she unbarred the door. A tail figure,
wrapped in a knight’s cloak, and follow
ed by a servant entered. The stranger
lifted his cap as he came in, displaying a
weather-beaten face, surmounted by
thick locks of gray. He shook the
snow from him, advanced to the fire, and
then, with surprise, ill every feature of
his countenance, gazed around the room.
“You seem illy provided for such
weather,” he said, turning for the first
time to Clara ; “ have you no fagots ? ”
The poor girl shook her head.
“One can’t expect a stoup of wine in
such a place as this,” he said apologeti
cally. Clara gave a silent gesture of
dissent, as she returned his gaze. “ Then
Henry, we must thank the saints there
is some left in your flask. Give these
good people a portion, for they seem to
need it.”
Sinco the stranger had entered, both
Clara and her mother had gazed at him,
without removing their eyes for an in-
stant; it might be at his free demeanor,
or it might be from some other cause.—
Now, for the first time, Clara turned to
the servant, who, hitherto remained in
the back-ground, but advanced at these
words to the fire. The eyes of the girl
and thoso of the follower met.
“ Henry ! ” “ Clara ! ” were tho mu
tual exclamations, as they fell upon eaclt
other’s bosom.
“My husband!” was the simultane
ous ejaculation of the mother, as she
faintly opened her arms to the old war
rior, who, starting at her voice, rushed
to her, recognizing in thoso tones tho
pride of his youth.
“By our patron saint,” said tho carl,
when tho mutual surprise of tho parties
had been, in part, dissipated, “ this boats
the romance of the Round Table; I
never thought to find you hero. By
what foul wrong,” and his brow darken
ed like a thunder cloud, “ have you
been brought to this pass ? ”
Clara, for her mother was unable to
composo herself sufficiently to become
the narrator, now related the story of
their expulsion and subsequent suffering.
“By St. George,” said the irascible
carl, starting up with flashing eyes, and
shaking his clenched hand fiercely, “ I
will pull tho beard from the miscreant
for this outrage. Richard has returned,
know ye, my sweet daughter,” his mood
changing, as ho accompanied tho words
by drawing Clara to his bosom ; “tho
king shall have his own again, and wo
will rout this villain from your father’s
castle ere a fortnight.”
The lover now, for tho first time, inter
posed. “Should we not,” lie said, “be
fore wo talk any further, procure fuel
for the fire? I noticed a ruined shed
about a hundred yards distant; I will
go and tear enough, of it down to keep a
roaring fire till morning.”
“ Well aaid, and I will assist you,”
said the bold earl.
In a short time they had brought to
the hut and piled up in ono corner, the
necessary fuel. As the last load, was
cast down, the earl turned to Clara,
who was weeping and smiling by turns
at this great change in their circumstan
ces.
“ There, now that Lord Henry has
won it, go to him with a kiss, you weep
er,” ho said with almost boyish spirits,
“and he will tell you ho did not perish
in battle, but, stunned like myself and
buried under the slain, was made prison
er by tho Saracens, and how, after a
long confinement, we escaped together,
and have finally reached home.”
That was a happy night in the hut
on tho heath—as the old earl said after
wards, never, in the proudest halls had
be spent one like it.
Little remains for us to tell. Tho
next morning saw the sun shine bright
ly on the landscape, and ere noon the
whole party, deserting the frail cabin,
had found refuge in a hotel, about four
miles distant, which the earl had been
seeking the proceeding night, when, in
tho darkness, he lost his way.
The return of Richard spread univer
sal joy among his people. The flight of
prince John was followed by that ot his
chief favorites, who justly dreaded the
wrath of the monarch to whom they
had proved traitors. Clara’s unworthy
cousin, hearing at the same time of the
return of his monarch and of the carl,
did not wait for the appearance of the
latter, but took ship immediately for
France.
Great was the rejoicing at Alman
Castlo when tho hold earl once moro
took his seat on the dais in the great
banqueting hall, and greater still were
the bonfires and congratulations, when a
few months later, the lady Clara became
tho wife of him sho had loved so long.
The best thing to give to your enemy
is forgiveness ; to your opponent, tole
rance ; to a friend, your heart; to your
child, a good example; to a father, def
erence; to your mother, conduct that
will make her proud of you; to yourself,
respect; to all men, charity.
Hlxmllanmxz.
Here’s a Letter for You.
What welcome words! How many
times the heart has been stirred by
them. Who, that has ever been a wan
derer from home, a stranger in a strange
land, surrounded by new faces and new
scenes, the heart-sickening loueliuess
stealing over you, and you wish, oh! so
much, for an old friend, a kind word;
then how sweet and gentle would the
rudest voice sound as it utters these
words. That littlo lettor is welcomed as
if it were the pure faco of a dearly loved
friend. Perhaps it may be from mo
ther—hero the heart swells with min
gled emotions, and tho weary spirit starts
back to tho old home, lingering over
each well remembered spot. Brothers,
sisters, parents, are all seen agaiu in
your mind’s eye, recalled hy those famil
iar characters, and as you slowly fold up
the letter, you feel that indeed “tho fet
ters aro strong round the household
throng,” and their lovo will cast a halo
around your lonely pathway, which will
prove a shield in times of temptation and
darkness.
“Here’s a letter for you!” All, it
comes from tho far distant West, from
the dear emigrants who have left tho
fireside circle to seek a homo in that
bright and golden land of promise.—
How tremblingly tho fingers break the
seal, and a load of anxiety is lifted from
the heart as good nows is read—news of
contentment and prosperity though
perhaps a few tears may fall as you read
a description of their beautiful new home,
and then find they still have yearnings
for tho roof-tree. You aro glad they
lovo tho “old cot at home,” that they
often feel “’twould be an assurance most
dear, to know that they miss mo at
home.”
Yes! letters to the homo circle, from
those wandering from tho fold, aro treas
ures indeed. Ilow cheerfully each one
goes to their monotonous round of du
ties, with pleasaut thoughts, after such a
letter has been discussed.
There aro times, too, thoso words full
upon tho ear as doth tho death knell—
they almost palsy the heart. You have
beta anxiously, fearfully expecting it;
for rumors of illness of some dear one
far, far away, may have reached you.—
Every step, every sound, you hope, you
fear, may bring you tidings, Ilow sub
dued the voice sounds to you, as they
say—“ Here’s a letter for you.”
You take it! With sickening, dizzy
sensation you break the seal, which you
see is black, and read tho tale of pain,
sickness and death, written, perhaps, by
a stranger’s hand, who has gently clothed
tho crushing news in words of sympathy
and comfort. All! that letter has in
deed been a messenger of woe.
Who cannot go back to their old
school days, when you had such a dear,
sweet correspondent? Nothing sounded
so cheerily as those words, “ Here’s a
letter for you.” Ilow you would steal
away with tho precious missive, and read
its long, closely written, crossed pages,
chronicling the imaginary woes and
heart (rials of poor, dear suffering Annie.
Ilow she would pour into your willing
ear her many sorrows, until you believed
her a poor persecuted angel, and longed
to fly to her relief to shield her from the
rude touch of sorrow. Then with equal
feeling- she must describe her last new
dress, bonnet, beau, or novel, just as the
case might bo.
In after years, when tho heart may
have truly felt the iron hand of adversi
ty and suffering, perhaps letters may be
filled with regrets, with wanderings back
to tho happy past —our old school days,
ere the heart knew a sorrow, forgetting
that those happy days might once have
been thought almost unendurable.
I ask no greater pleasure than, when
I am weary, to have these littlo messen
gers come to me; to see my dear friends
come flocking around mo from distant
cities and countries, brought by memo
ry’s wand. Os those who cannot, in
reality be with me, wlieu I wad thoir
kind words, I seem to sea thaw woll
known faces, to hear the words flush
from their lips. There aro no words
more pleasing to ino than, “Haro’s a
letter for you.”
“Doa Good Turn wliou you
can.”.
What a glorious moral lossoa this
liuo of poetry convoys i Would that
it might he written in iuoffacable let
ters ou every heart Would that it
might become a great and ouuobling
rule of action all around us.
There is need enough of human sym
pathy and aid as everybody knows. The
world is full of trials and temptations;
thorns have sprung up, where roses once
blossomed brightly, and shadows have
fallen heavily, where everything was
gay and fair. Many have sunk down in
the march of life, some weary and faint
with tho toilsomo journey, and others
almost wild with the auguisb of disap
pointed hopes.
There is ono trying to rise abovo dis
heartening circumstances and win fame
and fortune.
Hero is another, who after haring
spent years of labor in fruitless attempts
to gain an honest livelihood, finds him
self haunted with tho spoctro of want—-
oppressed by the burden of caro and
sorrow.
Yonder is a fellow-being, who has
gono astray from the path of rectitude
and seems woll nigh overpowered with
his disgrace.
0, thero are thousands, who need
help—“ do a good turn when you cau.’i
Speak a word of encouragement to the
drooping spirit; reach out tho hand of
friendly sympathy to tho weak and de
sponding, and not only speak but act. —
Give gold if you havo it to relieve the
distress of the needy, but if you are too
poor in worldly wealth, you can find
some way to work in behalf of mankind.
A smile of approval —a word of sym
pathy and kind advice have been magi
cal in their influence more than once.—
They have lifted gems from obscurity—
changed gloom and doubt to hope and
gladness. Aye, “do a good turn when
you can.”
Woman.
Wo find the following going the
rounds of the press without credit. It
certainly displays an extraordinary dis
crimination, and wo think it no less dis
criminating than just:
“The English woman is respectful and
proud ; the French woman is gay and
agreeable; the Italian is passionate; the
American is sincere and affectionate.—
With an English woman lovo is a prin
ciple ; with a Freuch woman it i5 ac. *
price ; with an Italian it is a passion ;
with an American it is a sentiment. A
man is married to an English woman ;
is united to a French ; cohabits with an
Italian ; and is wedded to an American.
An English woman is anxious to securo
a lord ; a French woman a companion ;
an Italian a lover; an Americana bus
band. The Englishman respects his la
dy ; tho Frenchman esteems his com
panion; the Italian adores his mistress;
the American loves his wifo. The Eng
lishman at night returns to his house;
while the Frenchman goes to his estab
lishment; the Italian to his retreat; the
American to his home. When an Eng
lishman is sick his lady visits him; when
a Frenchman is sick his companion pit
ies him ; when an Italian is sick his mis
tress sighs over him; when an Ameri
can is sick his wifo nurses him. The
English woman instructs her offspring;
a French woman teaches her progcuy;
an Italian rears her young, wliilo an
American educates her children.”
“ Somehow or other,” said Frederick
tho Great, “Providence seems to do the
most for the best disciplined troops.”
The tippling phrase, “ taking a horn,”
originated from the horn drinking cups
of the ancient Britons.
NUMBER 24
Tha Throa Jolly Husbands.
Three jolly husbands, out in the coun
ify, by the names of Tim Watson, Joe
Brown, anil Bill Walker sat late one
oT«uing drinking at the village tavern,'
until being pretty well corned, they
agreed that each one on returning homo
should do the first thing that his wife'
told him, in default of which he should
next morning pay the bill. They then
separated for the night, engaging to
meet next morning, and give an honest
account of tkeir proceedings at home,
so Car aa they related to the bill.
The next morning Walker and Brown
were early at their posts, but it was some
time before Wataou made his appearance.
Walker began first:
“ You see wlrenjl entered my house
the caudle was out, and the fire giving
hut a glimmering of light, I came near
walking into a pot of batter that the
pancakes were to be made of in the
morning. My wife, who was dreadfully
out of humor, aaid to me sarcaatically ' J
“ EiU, do put your foot iu the batter
“ Just as you say, Maggy,” said I, and
without the least hesitation, I put my
foot in the pot of batter, and then went
to bed.”
Next, Joe Brown told his story i
“My wife had already retired in our'
usual sleeping room which adjoins the l
kitehon, and the door of which was ajar;
not being able to navigate perfectly, you
kuow, I made a dreadful clattering;
among the household furniture, and my
wife ia no very pleaaant tone bawled
out:
“ Do treat the porridge pot *
“No sooner said than dono; I seized
hold of the bad of tbe pot, and striking
it against the chimney jamb, broke it in l
a hundred pieces. After this exploit, I
retired to rest, and got a curtain lecturo’
all night for my pains.”
It was now Tim Watson’e turn to'
give an account of himself, which ho
did with a very long faoe ae follows:
“ My wife gave me the moet unlucky
command in the world; for I was
dering up stairs in the dark whon she
cried out;
“Do break your neck, do, Tim*
“ I’ll be cursod if I do, Kate,” said 1 r
as I gathered myself up. “ I’ll sooner
pay the bill.” And so landlord, here’s
the cash for you; and this is tbo last
time I’ll ever risk five dollars on tho
command of my wife.
Varieties.
Envy is the wrock of tho soul, and'
tho torture of the body.
One way to gain a business is to ad
vertise. To keep it, deal justly.
Many a man blows the bellows of the
organ that, sounds his own praise.
Tho man who had no tnusio in his
sole, wore seasoned leather.
Let your expenses be such as to leave
a balanco in vour pocket.
Why is a kiss like a rumor 3 Bn--
causo it goes from mouth to mouth.
If a good act benefits no one olse, it
benefits tho doer.
Prodigals are born of misers, as but
terflies are born of grubs.
Italian Provxrd. —lie who spits
against heaven, it falls upon his own
face.
What is tho difference between women
and lemons? Tho latter get the most
of their squeezing in the dog days and
tho former don’t.
If one of our people in the East be
found kissing a Turkish lady, can he bo
charged with embracing Mahoincdan
isni l
A dog, which had- lost tho whole of
her interesting family, was seen trying
to poke a piece of crape through tho
handle on a door of ono of the Philadel
phia sausage shops.
Eliza Emery wants all tho girls of the'
West, to lookout for her gay, deceiving,
runaway husband David. Sho says he
may be easily known, as he has a seas
on his nose, where sho scratched it.