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VOLUME X. Original Written for the Visitor. COME BACK TO ME. Bright happy days, where are re gone, Ye gay and sparkling hours ! When my young life was but a dream Os sunshine and of flowers. Alas! how little then I dreamed, How transient ye would be; How soon my heart would sigh in rain: Come back—come back to me! My early friends! oh, where are ye, The dearths .true, the loved, Who shared iiS infancy my sport, Ha-e ye tod fleeting proved ? No, no! that thought t’were hard to bear. For, ob! with heartfelt glee I cling to hope, that whispers still, Ye will come back to me! Susie Snowdrop. Madison Ga. Written for the Family Visitor. TO A FRIEND. When other lips, with ruby wine, Sung praises to thy name, And beauty’s brow, all lowly bent. In horaAgc to the same; Wheu eyes of age and youth, alike, Were shadowed by a tear, Fresh from the heart's pure fountain. The brightest tribute there; When manhood’s pride bowed to thy worth, And fair hands wreathed the vine, O ie lowly flower 1 twined among “ Hearts’ homage to the mind .” Accept it, as a soul’s rich prize, Truly and proudly* given ; Until a bright and holier crown Is wreathed for thee in heaven ! Augusta, Go. Shana. EVERY CLOUD HATH A SILVER LINING. Ho! all ye weary touts who gropo Along the vale of tears, Your hearts ne’er filled with bouyant hope, But with foreboding fears; Look upward, onward us ye go, And cease this dull repiuiiig,— “ There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark, But hath a silver lining.” ICo! all vc sad and mournful ones, Who wamider broken-hearted, From cherished frieuds dissevered long, From native homes long parted ; Raise your eyes to Heaven above, Wuro Fiit.n this wreUh ut twining,— 04 There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark, But hath a silver lining.” And should misfortune drape your sky In clouds of deepest black, Or sorrow's rain fall thick and fast O’er life’s uneven track, Look upward, and these words ye’ll see. In golden letters shining,— 4t There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark, But hath a silver lining.” And should the wealth which yc have gained, Take wings and fly away, And adverse winds blue cold, around The tenement of clay, Still upward look, and onward press, Give o’er your dull repining,— ‘’There’s ne’er a cloud howe’er so dark, But hath a silver lining.” LITTLE WOMEN. In a little precious stoue what splendor meets the eyes! In a little lump of sugar bow much of sweatness lies! So in a little woman love grows and multiplies ; You recollect the proverb says—“A word unto the wi*e.” A pepper-corn is very small, but seasons every diuuer. More than all other condiment, although ’tis sprinkled thinner; Just so a little woman is if lore will let you win her— There’s not a joy in all the world you will not find within her. And as within *he little rose you find the richest dyes, And in a little grain of gold much price and value lies, And from a little balsam much odor doth arise, So in a little woman there’s a taste of paradise. The skylark and the nightingale, though small and light of wing, Yet warble sweeter in the grove than all the birds that sing; And so a little woman, though a very little thing, Is sweeter far than sugar, and flowers that bloom in Spring. SONG. Meet me by the running brook, W here the drooping willows grow, Meet me in the shady nook, Where the silver waters flow. Friends we lovei are broken hearted, Smiles have flown and tears have started, Since the time when last we parted, In the days long ago. Meet me when the starlight plays O’er the wavelets bright and low; Tell of our youthful days, Ere the heart knew pain or woe. Joy will come to charm or leave us, Lingering hope will still deceive us; Life has nothing dark to grieve u«, In the da vs oflong ago. £1 Soulljcrn IPrrkh) Cilevanj anil Jlliscdlanmts Journal, for i\)t l)omc Circle, Gl Capital Sliftcl). CHARLESTON MARKET —ON— SATURDAY NIGHT. “ Laugh and get .at”—so l hare, so I intend. It is constitutional with m to laugh, and lam fat enough, every body admit*. lam neither witty nor humorous, mysell, nor have I the facul ty of making others so. Yet, when any thing humorous presents itself, I am as ready to enjoy and laugh at it, as though I possessed the qualities I admire. It is seldom I visit the great city of Charleston, feeling that lam too much ol a countryman to make myself agree able to my city acquaintances. The fact is, lam a modest man, and can sel dom get beyond a bow to.the dames of the ton and per consequence, I suspect they vote me a stupid fellow. N'im porte. Let that pass I have a vote too, \et I have visited Charleston occatohally, and looked upon and laughed at all the fun ny things I could find, from a book auc tion, down to Madame Salvo, the for tune teller. By the by, Madame told me my fortune. She said I had been in love seven years before—that my la d} -love was sorry tor having rejected me, and that if I renewed my suit, she would have me—that I should he rich and dis tinguished, and soon and so on. Well, niadame, said I, I am a profound believ-. er in your sublime art, but some how, the cards have deceived you this time, as my lady-love, instead of rejecting actually married me, more than seven years since. I bolted from her look of indignation, saying the wealih and dis tinction may come hereafter, but, truth to say, I am getting very tired of wait ing for them. Os all the funny fellows I met with, my quizzical friend, Jack Walthong, was tlie funniest. Had I permitted him, lie would have led me into all manner of scrapes. As it was, he kept me laugh ing for the three weeks I pa.sed in the city, seemingly never at a loss for a sub ject of mtrimerrt. “Coin-,” said Jack, “this is Saturday night—let us take a stroll through the market.” "What for?” I asked. “What fun is there in that f” “ Oh, upon my honor,” replied he, “ it is the most delicious promenade in the whole city. Cufty is in his glory, to night.” ‘ In what way, I pray you ?” “Tis the negro’s jul.iiee on Saturday night. If you want to see our city ne groes in a quasi state of freedom, indttlg ; ing a disposition always joyous, or aping ! the manners and language of the whites, ; come with me. As I have said, (Juffy and Dinah ate in their glory to-nighl.” I consented, of course, and we started on our Saturday night’s stroll through the market. “Stop!” said Jack, as be rang the bell of a large brick house in King street. A servant ojiened the door. “Is your master at home?” inquired Jack. “No massa.” “ When will he be in ?” “At eight o’clock, massa.” “ Say to him that a gentleman of his acquaintance will call on him at half past eight.” “ Will young massa leave his card?” “No, it matters not.” “ Who lives there, Jack ?” I asked. “H.rng mi- if l know.” “Why then did you leave such a message ?” “Oh. just to let the old codger, who ever lie may be, fret and fume about his professed visitor’s want of punctuality.” “ Indeed! Then permit rne to say. you must play no more of your pranks whilst I am in your company, or your fun may get me into a scrape.” “ Well, don’t be angry, and I promise to behave myself. Good evening, cousin Julia,” he cried, catching a lady by the hand, and -shaking jt most warmly.— “ Permit me to present my friend, Gen era! Woodcock. MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 1856 “Sir,” said the lady, drawing back, “ sir, you are mistaken.” “Ami! Then do I beg a thousand pardons. I was never so deceived in my life. I thought you were my cousin Julia. Pray forgive the rudeness I would not have willingly been guilty of for the world ” The rascal looked the very picture of humbleness and distress, and seemed, almost in agony, to deprecate the lady’s displeasure.- She could not but believe him. W ith the sweetest smile that po uts ever feigned, she slightly inclined her head and passed on. "Now, sir,” said I, “give me your word of honor that you will ho guilty of no more impeitinence to any one man or woman, whilst we are walking together, or I will not walk witli you another foot.” •Twill, I do. lam cured for this time. What a heavenly countenance that young girl has.” “ And wliat nil impudent fellow you i must be, and graceless as impudent, in thus addressing her.” “ How are you, Mr. Van Boskin,” said Jack, addressing a little old fellow, just as we reached the first entrance to the market, whose dutch ligure and fac u could not he mistaken. “Pretty well, I gib you tanks.” “ How have you been.” “ Pretty well, l gib you tanks.” “How are all with you?” “Pretty well, I gib you tanks, except mine wile.” “All! What’s the matter with Mrs. Vail Boskin ?” “ She pes te id, I gib you tanks.” “ You don’t say so. How Jong has she been dead ?’’ “ Well, if she hail lifted till next Tuesday, she would have pin tead about tree weeks.” “Indeed! Mr. Van Boskin. Well, I pity you, and hope you may find con solation in your state of widowhood.— Good by.” “ Goot |y. I hopes tat tis I lif till I tie, 1s! all me t mine old wife agin one of tese avs." “ Massa Jack, how you do? How your (♦orporosily sagatiate des times?” “Why, very well most learned Cato. llow is Miss Amy ?” “ She be gone out to do plantashun. “ What for ?” I “ Ky, you know jes to deplore the ex plodoments among do leetle niggers.— Old Mass taut it good for Miss Amy’s appregotioti. We kept on. Jack amusing himself with a jest or a jibe with as many as lie could possibly speak to in our slow ad vance. “ Broom, broom, who want to buy a broom, as do song sav ? Brootn, broom Missy Clar Fisher sing dat tip top.” “ Here, you young blackey with the brooms; I have come to the market on purpose to buy half a dozen and I see you have but five. What do you ask tor them.” “Cheap as dirt, mossa, only quarter dollar apiece.” “ You cheating gongola, you know that’s not cheap,” said Jack. “If you will take them home for me, I’ll give you a dollar for the five.” “ Bargain Mossa. Where you lib ?” “Number 342, right opposite ti e big draw. Tell my clerk I sent you, and he will pay for them.” “Yes. Mossa,” and off marched Sam bo, laughing exultingly at his friends, less fortunate, as he supposed, in dispos ing of their stock in trade. Poor Sain bo! it was a wild-goose chase for him- He did not kuow uiy friend Jack Wal thong. “ Korsets, korsets. I wonder if dere is no lady, black nor brown, dat wants to buy dese mighty nice fine korsets.— Dey fine enough for any white lady in Shar-les-town, and yit dese poor niggers aint got de music to see him. Korsets, korsets. I gib de black and de brown lady de prefer, and dey don’t by urn purty soon afore long, I take um up street and sell um to de old Missy Mill’ner.” “Confound your bawling,’said .Tack.— “ Cant you stop and let me look at your corsets. If they are as fine as you pre tend, I’ll buy them all.” " Look at ’em. Print , aint de mossa.” “ They’ll do. What do you ask for them ?” “ Take um all leven for tree dollar." “ Well you kuow the sign of the Golden ball ?” “Know him like a hook, mossa.” “Take them there, and inquire for Miss Amy ICoon. Tell her that her cousin William has bought your corsets for her, as she requested. She will pay you for them.” “Shaw mossa, what Miss Amy want so many for ? hey !” “ Why she lives in the country, nnd has got thirteen sisters, and wants to buy for them all.” “Do she, dat’s spectable. I take um mossa.” And otf trudged the corset seller. Our advance was slow, for the crowd was great, and v e were disposed to see and hear all that was going on. “ Bnnlder Paul ! Brudder Paul!’’ cried out a brisk youngster, to n vener able grey headed negro—" Bruddcr Paul, how you do dis longtime?” "Ah ! brudder Peter, I no see before yoll holier so loud. Tank God, Ise pooty well. How is you brudder ?” " Why, I is us well as could be spect “And how is sister Judy, brudder Paul, mid all the pickininnies ?’’ “ Tank God dey is all sponsible for dere hominy, Why you no come to last claiae-ineetin brudder Peter?” “Caiseold mossa want me to drive him to Icmpran :e siety.” “Old mossa going turi tetot’ler, brud der Peter ?” “Ky ! I guess you link not, you see him clii ik brandy when he git home— lie say, ‘Peter, speech deal ion mighty dry work, make me nikldi r toddy ;’ and moss slick to him till can.or run dry.” “ Gib you any Pea r ?’’ “Jess leetle bit; dal is, I take him on de sly.” “Mus’rit do dat Peter; bad nigger gets toxicated. Wliat old mossa talk bout” “ He say brudder Paul, dat de artli turn über ebor twenty four hours.” “ Pshaw, eber nigger in de city no better dan dat. Your old mossa, Peter, be no wiser dan a free nigger if he talk dat way. Don’t bliove any of dat sort. If old Moss wanter go to do devil, lot him go he own gate. You come to next el-use meelin, Peter, and be good nigger, an dats nntf for you. Good by now, Brudder Peter.” “Good by, Brudder Paul—spects to sisty Judy.” A noise at some little distance ahead, attracted our attention. It was a quar | rel between two gentlemen of color.— One was a gigantic black, in the rough dress of a fisherman—the other, a gen teel looking mulatto, handsomely dress ed, and apparently the body servant of some gentleman of di-tinction, for his manner was as cool and contemptuous to the big black, as if he felt himself •ailed uporrto sustain his master’s dig nity in his own person. The quarrel had evidently made some progress when we reached the scene of action. “ I tell you,” said big blacky, “ I tell you sur, mu latter nigger, you half-aud lialfer, vou cant kunger contraptions over Ugly Sampson —I’m well known in dis same market for dis last hundred years.” “ Who cares for that,” said the Mulat to, with much dignity. “If you is well known, that’s no rea-on you should force your acquaintance on a gentleman.— Please to clear out, or big as you are, you may get a thrashing.” “ Where’s de nigger to do dat ting, Mr. Copper-color pole-cat. You link to make Ugly Sampson slope on his own groun. Try dat, you poor man’s nig ger. Try if Ugly Sampson is feard.— Fuss try if you make ded nigger speak —fuss try if you squeeze hlood out of one big- turnip—den try if you make Ugly Sampson slope. My mossa is a gentleman, who your mossa, you lasses looking nigger? I spect you got no mossa. I spect you one poor free nig ger.” This latter taunt seemed too much for the Mulatto’s temper and dignity. To be accused of having no mossa, was an insult that stirred his proud blood, and he seemed to bo disposed to peril all in a fight with the giant. But at this mo ment, a pretty brown girl stepped for ward as a peace-maker. “ You Mr. Sampson Sawyer,” said she. “ Why you no ’have like a brack gen tilinan ought to’have, to the extinguish ed stranger, you liasde honor of suiting in my face. “Oh brack fish and wliitin. Miss Dinah Brantue, is de gentilmau a fren of yourti? Den I axes pardon wid all my sole. “ He’s dat wery ting. I hab de groat pleasure in sayin : an side dat lie’s de Gubtier’s man Sex, kutn to town wid him, to tend the great review of de tnilenta ry." “ You don’t say so, Miss Dinah ! What! de Gubner’s man Sex! Ugly Sampson is one big fool den for one time —Gubner, I begs pardon, an hopes you ee’seuse me—if I’d none you had de Gubner for a mossa, I’d sloped widout sayin one word.” The excuse was received as satisfaclo ry—amity was restored. Ugly Samp son—‘de Gubner,’ and Miss Dinah, shook hands, and parted with mutual protesta tions of respect. We strolled on till we reached the fish market. Such a crowd ed scene of bustle nnd confusion, shining happy faces, obstreperous mirth, nnd un restrained laughter, I had seldom cr never before witnessed. All kinds of fish were announced for sale, in all kinds of tones and voicos. It was the noisiest part of the market—a perfect Babel to the uninitiated. “Brackfish, brack fish, goin for notin and cheaper too—only seben pence a string. Plenty of money, an no poor kin. Gib um away to eny body dat wants at seben pence a string!—old mis sus licli as Jue!—Tank you massa.— Brack fish mighty good tor Sunda ! Old missus rich as Jue ! —Plenty inuntiy —no poor kin ! —Gib away de brack fish for notton, cept seben pence a string! —You cat fish Joe, you lazy shark ! why you no holler—let do Buckras know how wo gib away de brack fish !” Joe, a boy of fourteen, to whom this latter objurgation was addressed, began immediately to spin round like a top, and in a shrill voice, took up the burden of the woman’s song of—“ Brack fish— no poor kin—rich as a Jue—gib ’em away.” “How much a string?”asked Jack, picking up one and examining it. “ Quarter of a dollar,” young mossa. “Why, Motna didn’t you cry them at sevenpence.” “No massa, no—quarter dollar a tring.” “ Why, you want to cheat me—l wont have them.” “ Yaw ! Yaw! Yaw! Massa Jack Walthong, you link I neber seed you afore! - Can’t play your tricks on old Cic-ily, young Buckra—lgib h.m to you dis time.” At this moment, I caught a pair of burning eyes intently fixed upon us— the gaze was but for a moment, and the owner sunk into the gloom—but Jack> who was ever on the alert, and saw everything, detected the glance, and re cognized the person. “Ah! Mr. Lieutenant of the guard,’’ said Jauk, in a whisper, “you wa’ut quick enough that time. I will find out your quarry, before you pounce upon it, and be it petty thief or bold burglar will give him a hint of your charitable intentions.” “ Wbat mean you ?” I asked. “ Why, that our lieutenant of the guard, the most astute police officer in the South, is on the qui vive for some poor devil of a fellow, who is now pro bablv some where in the market. At- lons, and I shall be able if such be the fact to guess at him.” We sauntered on slowly in the direc tion of King Street, Jack noticing as closely as though he had been an officer of the police himself. About half way up the market we came in sight of a foreign looking gentleman, with mus taches and whiskers of enormous ex tent, wearing goggles, and carrying a gold headed cane. Jack pinched my arm. “ Watch close,” ho said, "I suspect goggles is the man.” Our gentleman s gait was too slow, and his manner too self-possessed for me to join in the suspicion. Passing the stall of n young aud pretty brown girl, the stranger made a hasty signal, wh'ch she evidently understood and answered. “Now I know you,’ said Jack.— “ He is the forger of whom yon have heard so much since you have been in the city. He boarded at our house, and did me the honor to make my per sonal acquaintance. Right or wrong, I’ll give him a warning, and a chance for his life. Let us pass him.” As we did so, Jack whispered in his ear, “Fool idiot. Is your life of so lit tle value that you would throw it away. Mark me, the eyes of the hawk are upon you. Fly if it be yet possible.” But it was too late. The burning eyes were in front of us. Soldiers of the guard were around us. “You are my prisoner,” said the lieu tenant. coolly. A pistol was half drawn. “Look around you,” said the lieuten ant, con tern ptuouslv. The prisoner saw at a glance bis fate was sealed, and surrendered himself pas sively into his captor’s hands. I had no inclination for continuing my stroll, and returned to my lodging to droant of the felon forger—widowed Dutchman—Peter aud Paul—broom and corset sellers, and brack fish at seben pence a tring, th.. t somehow had no poor kin. Anocdotos of Mr. Webster. Wlieu Daniel Webster was a law stil deu’, he helped to support his brother Ezekiel, at college, by copying deeds, •fee., while the latter occasional!} re cruited his finances by school teaching. Under date of Salisbury, N. H. Nov, 4, 1802, Daniel wrote to Ezekiel as follows: “ I have now by me two cents in lawful federal currency. Next week I will *end them, if they ;be all. They will buy a pipe—with a pipe you can smoke —smoking implies wisdom—wisdom is allied to fortitude—from fortitude it is but one step to stoicism, and stoicism never pants for this world’s goods. So, perhaps, my two cents, by this process, may put you quite at ease about cash.” After having declined a comfortable office, in order to pursue his profession, Daniel wrote from Salisbury, (on the 10th of June, 1804) to his brother, in this wise:“Zeke, I don’t believe but what Providence will do well for us yet. We shall live, aud live comfortably. I have this week come within an ace of being appointed Clerk of the Court of Common Pleas, for Hillsborough county. Well, you will say, you are no bet ter off tbati if you had not come withiu an ace. Perhaps I am—say nothing, but think a good deal, do not 4 distrust the gods.’ ” After Daniel had taken np bis resi dence at Portsmouth, and commenced practising as a young lawyer, he also soon commenced practicing as a young lover, by visiting Miss Grace Fletcher. At one of these visits, probably with a view of combining utility and enjoy ment, he had been holding skeins of silk thread for Miss Fletcher, when he suddenly stopped, saying, “Grace, we have been thus engaged in untying knots; let us see if we can tie a knot— one which will not untie for a lifetime.” He then took a piece of tape, and, after lieginning a knot of a peculiar kind gave it to her complete. This was the cere mony and ratification of their engage- j rnent. And now in a little box, marked ; NUMBER 31 by him with the words “Precious Doc uments,” containing the letters of hie early courtslrp, this unique memorial is still to be found. The kuot has never been untied. Soon after Mr. Webster came to the bar, he was retained in a suit between two neighbors. It seemed that they had got to logger heudsabout a dis puted line, out of which had grown tres pass suits and all sorts of controversies, and that the more malicious and artful of the two had so plied the other with law in one shape or another, that he had nearly ruined him. The latter nt last became aroused, and brought an action against the other for malicious prosecution, and retained Mr. Webster to manage it. On the trial, proof of malice was clear and convincing, and it was evident that the day of reckoning had at last come. In summing up for the plaintiff Mr. Webster, after making a strong argument against the defendant; showing that he had ngain and again instituted suits against his client, merely to perplex and annoy him, closed as fol lows: “In a word, gentlemen, Ido not see how I can better conclude than in the words of the good old psalm.” Then looking at the jury but pointing to the defendant lie repeated from bis favorite authors, Sternhold and Hopkins: He digged a pit, he digged it deep. Ho digged it fur hie brother, 1 Uy hie great sin, he did full in The pit he digged fur ’totlier. And so it proved. The verdict was heavy against the “digger.” In 1802 when the Whig- Convention was in session, first came news that Gen. Scott, who was supposed to be a little prone to display, particularly in plumage, was nominated for the presidency. Then came news that william A. Graham,of North Carolina, the land of tar, pitch, and turpentine, was nominated to the vice presidency. When the latter piece of intelligence was conveyed to Mr. W. ho wasengaged in shaving himself. He stopped, and, having heard the news, ro marked in his slow, emphatic manner, as he deliberately wiped his razor : “Well I do not see, then, but that the Whig party have tarred and feathered them selves.” It is related of Mr. Webster and' Mr. Mason that they were once riding the circuit together in the winter season. The snow was deep and the weather cold, and both were well muffled in buf faloes. Mr. Mason was an uncommonly tall man, and Mr. Webster, it is well known, had a very deep voice, amount ing at times almost to a growl. On the road, where it was not very easy turning out they met a bluff countryman, with his ox team, who shook his goad at them and sang out ‘ turn out there—turn out?" They gave him half the track, but ha insisted upon the wholo, anti began to threaten, when Mr. Mason began to rise, and rise until lie had got up six feet and more, and to the astonished view of tha teamster, seemed to lie going higher, w ben Mr. Webster growled out. in his most bearish manner, “ Turn out yourself, sir I” “Gee, gee,” cried the teamster, “why don’t you gee ?" putting the brad into his oxen as be cleared the track for wbat to his astonished vision, appeared a brace of giants. This latter anecdote reminds me of the case of the gentleman who was rj. ding with a span-new turn-out, when he was saluted by a teamster he was about meeting with an imperative order “.Turn ont, there ! turn out! or I will serve you as I did a man the other day.” Our owner of tire gay equipage, not caring to risk his carriage in an encount er with an ox-cart, took up a position on the extreme right and waited patientlv for the horrid dospoiler of vehicles to pass. JJe could not, howerer, resist his. ouriosity to know what dreadful thing the cartman did do ; and so, leaning his bead out of the carriage, be accosted him with the inquiry, “ How did you serve the man the other day f” “ How did I serve him ?” replied the teamster. - 1 “ why, be wouldn’t turn o'jt, so T tinned <rut nmolf.’*