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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.