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VOLUME X. Original Potto). Written for the Visitor. AlfD THOU ART GONE. To ****». And thou «rt gone, dearest and best, And left me to my wild unrest— Left me, beloved one, all alone, To “ mourn the hopes" I made my own. j bade thee leave, but did not know My soul would prove deserter too; ’Till soon, with bitterness o’erfraught, startled heart the truth was taught; And then—oh! then, too late I learnt, I loved the best what most I spurned. Oh! rash, rash lips, and unkind heart, That could to thee such words impart: Could tell thee it would have thee go! When all the while it loved thee so — Could give thy breast one woe or pain, Where, soothed to rest, “ my head had lain;** Listening with sweet delight to hear The throbbings of thy heart so dear; But now that heart is far away— The heart that taught me how to pray; And now alone, on the dark green sod, In my restless grief I’ll seek my God! And oh! in his mercy, I’m sure he’ll see The truth of my soul, in its prayers for thee. Shaxa. Augusta, Go., Written for the Visitor. MEMORIES. I must not say I love thee yet, For what can words like these avail? I dare not say I’ll kneel again, For pride and manhood check the tale. Yet wildly o’er my wayward soul, Rush feelings which I cannot stay; And all the sternness of control Is swept from my weak heart aw^y. Oh 1 memory of the maddening Past! Oh! mournful fate, that still must be; All—all alike are vain—the last Is still to love! —to worth ip thee! Schwa rzcn.sk i. Augusta, Ga. O Lovers, when Rare Lips say No. BY T. B. ALDRICH. I wooed her in the linden’s shade, And Bess was shy and half afraid; And when I asked—What? Lovers know! Her heart said yes, her lips said no. O Lovers, when rare lips sap No, Let not pour hope grow lets, grow less ; Lor oft 'tis so that simply No Is meant for Yes, is meant for Yes/ I told her all the world was Love’*, ; Her bosom fluttered like white doves 1— | Hut still she listened till, ah Bess! [ Her heart, her soul, her lips said yes) 1 O Lovers, when rare lips say No , Let not your hope grow less, grow Use / For oft His simply so that No Is meant for Yes, is meant for Yes I [Home Journal. NEIGHBOR NELLY. I’m in love with Neighbor Nelly, Though I know she’s only ten, While I am eight-aud-forty, And the married-cst of men. I’ve three daughters, all with beaux; I’ve a son with noble whiskers, r Who at me turns up his nose. Though & Squaretoes and a Buffer, Yet I’ve sunshine in my heart, Still, I’m fond of cakes and marbles— . Can appreciate a tart. I can love my neighbor Nelly Just as though I were a boy, And could hand her plums and spplet | From my depths of corduroy. I Bhe is tall, and growing taller; 4 She is vigorous of limb; | ( Vou should see her play a cricket With her little brother Jim!) k She has eyes as blue as damsons; She has pounds of abum curls; § She regrets the game of leap-frog I Is prohibited to girls. I adore my neighbor Nelly; I invite her in to tea, And I let her nurse the baby, Her delightful ways to see. Such a darling bud of woman! Yet, remote from any teens — I have learnt from Neighbor Nelly What the girls’ doll-instinct means. 0, to see her with the baby, (He adores her more than I,) How she choruses his crowing, How she hushes every cry! How she loves to pit bis dimples With her light forefinger, deep; How she boasts, as one in triumph. When she’s got him off to sleep! We must part, my Neighbor Nelly, For the summers quickly flee, And thy middle-aged admirer Must too soon supplanted be. Yet—as jealous as a mother, A suspicious, canker’d churl — I look vainly for the setting to be worthy such a pearl. SI Sonlljcnt lUrdilij Citawij nub lUiscfllanemis 3ounial, for tlje Ijome Circle. Cljoict Sketches. WHO’S TO BLAME? One evening, the fastidious Harry Wentworth, on coming home tired and depressed, found his wife in the parlor, dressed in a soiled morning gown, and wearing a pair of slippers down at the heel. To increase his vexation she was sitting in an easy chair, with one leg crossed over the other, reading a trashv novel. “ Why, Fanny I” he exclaimed in amazement, for they had been married only a few months, and hitherto he had thought her the pink of neatness. “ Well, what is it ?” she asked, look ing up. Then noticing the direction of his eyes, she assumed a more becoming position. “You don’t like my dress perhaps,” sfie continued : “ but really 1 was too tired to change it.” “ What have you been doing all day ?” said Harry. “ Oh, reading this,” she replied : she colored as she held up the book, and added, “and then it has been so warm!” Now her husband had been bard at work all through the sultry summer day, and bad, as was usual with him when busy, dined at his office. Yet his attire was neat, and even his hair newly brush ed ; for he bad gone to his chamber to do this before coming into the parlor. It may be supposed, therefore, that he was annoyed at the slovenliness of his wife, the more so, as, on looking at the novel, he found it quite a worthless af fair. He said nothing, however, except, “At least change your slippers, my dear. You don’t know how I dislike to see a lady slipshod.” “Do you ! how odd 1” said his wife> with a silly laugh, stooping to pull up the heels of her shoes. “ There, that will do, I think. I really can’t walk so far as the chamber this warm evening. I wish you would ring for lea, the bell is just by you, as I want to finish this chapter.” Her husband sighed, but did as lie was bid. The tea came up, and he took his seat, bu».the chapter was not yet concluded, and so he was compelled to wait. When, at last, Mrs. Wentworth came to the table the tea was cold.— The meal, under these circumstances, was a dull one, and the husbanj, after tea was over, finding his wife absorbed in her book, lay down on the sofa and finally went to sleep. Mrs. Wentworth had been the belle of tbe town before her marriage. Her sprightliness and beauty had been the theme of constant admiration. But these qualities would have failed in win ning Harry Wentworth’s heart, if thev had not been sustained by a most ex quisite taste in dress. See Fanny when you would, she was always carefully at tired ; and as Harry Wentworth was particularly fastidious on this point, he thought himself the happiest of men when Fanny, one bright summer even ing, promised to be his. But unfortunately the bride had no real habits of neatness, but only a love of admiration. It was vanity that had induced her while single to be careful of her dress ; but now that she was mar ried she gradually gave way to her na tural indolence. The first occasion on which she did this to any glaring extent, was the evening on which our story opens ; but it was soon followed up by other exhibitions of slovenliness. “I do wish, Fanny, that you would dress more neatly,” said Mr. Wentworth, in a vexed voice, some months later still. “ Night after night I come home and find you in that atrocious wrapper.” “ You used to think me pretty enough in any dress,” retorted Mrs. Wentworth, te3tily. “ But I never saw you in one like that before we were married,” replied her husband. “To be sure not,” said Mrs. Went worth, and she laughed ironically. “ I always dressed for the company then, and I do so now.” MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1856. \\ hat could Mr. Wentworth say ? If his wife did not think it necessary to be neat in his presence—did not con sider him as worthy of pleasing as the comparative strangers whom she called companj—it was useless to argue with her; so, after tea, the slipshod heels still annoying him, with a perceptible hole iu the stocking to increase that an novance, he moodily took his hat and left the house. At first Mr. Wentworth walked up and down the street, but at last, fatigued with this, he stepped into a debating room attached to a tavern. Here he met several acquaintances, and gradual ly falling into conversation, the evening passed rapidly away. When he went home Mrs. Wentworth, looking very sleepy, and a little out of humor, accosted him with—“ Where in the world have you been ? I finished my novel an hour ago, and have had nobody to talk to ever since. lam moped to death. There was a time,’’ she added, poutingly, “ when nothing in the world could have induced you to spend an evening away from me.” Her husband was on the point of re plying in a similar upbraiding style, but lie recollected that he had expostulated too often and too vainly, and so he said nothing. It was a week before Mr. Wentworth spent another evening out. He tried sincerely to slay at home ; but his annoy ance at his wife’s slovenliness was too great, and at last he left her again to her novel and her slipshod shoes. Mr. Wentworth has now become a confirmed visitor of the debating-room, the members of which are chiefly mar ried men ; and if the full truth were known, it would appear, we behevo, that most ot them, if not all, have wives re sembling Mrs. Wentworth. Sometimes there is an undue quantity of brandy and-water drunk at these meetings, so that some members, and Mr. Went worth among them, * * * caetera desunt. Woman and Marriage. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. I have speculated a great deal upon matrimony. I have seen a young and beaHtiful woman, the pride of gay circles, married as the world says —well. Some have moved into costly houses and their friends have all come and looked at their furniture and their splendid arrange ments for happiness, and they have gone away and committed them to their sun ny hopes cheerfully and without fear. It is natural to be sanguine for them ; as the young sometimes are carried away bv similar feelings. I love to get unob served, into a corner, and watch the bride in her white attire, and with her smiling face and her soft eyes meeting me iu their pride of life, weave a waking dream of future happiness and persuade myself that it will be true. I think how they will sit upon the luxurious sofa as the twilight falls, and build gay hopes and murmur in low tones the now not forbidden tenderness; and how thrilling ly the allowed kiss and beautiful endear ments of wedded life will make even their parting joyous, and bow gladly they come back from the crowded and the empty mirth of tbe gay to each others quiet company. I picture to myself that young crea ture who blushes even now at his hesita ting caress, listening eagerly for his foot gteps as the night steals on and wishing that he would come, and when he enters at last, and with an affection as undying as his pulse, folds her to his bosom, I can feel the tide that goes flowing through the heart and gaze with him on the graceful form as she moves about for the kind offices of affection, soothing all his unquiet cares, aid making him forget even himself in her young and unshad owed beauty. I go forward for years and see her luxuriant hair put soberly away from her brow, and her girlish graces resigned in to dignity, and loveliness chastened with the gentle meekness of maternal affec- tion. Her husband looks on lier with a proud eye, and shows hei the same fer vent love and delicate attentions, which first won her; and her fair children are grown about them, and they go on full of honor and untroubled years, and are remembered when they die. - A Young Man’s Character. No young man who has a just sense of his own value will sport with his own character. A watchful regard to his character in early youth with be of in conceivable value to him in all tbe re maining years of his life. When tempt, ed to deviate from strict propriety of de portmeut, ho should ask himself, “ Can 1 afford this! Can I endure hereafter to look back on this ?” It is of amazing worth to a young man to have a pure miud; for this is the foundation of a pure character.— The mind, in order to bo kept pure, must be employed in topics of thought which are themselves lovely, chastened and elevating. Thus the mind hath in its own power the selection of its themes of meditation. If youth only knew how durable and how dismal is the injury produced by the indulgence of degraded thoughts—if they only realized how frightful were the moral depravities which a cherished habit of loose imag ination produces on the soul, tliev would shun them as the bite of a serpent- The power of books to excite the imag ination is a fearful element of moral death when employed in the service of vice. The cultivation of an amiable, oleva ted and glowing heart, alive to all the beauties of nature and all the sublimities of truth, invigorates the intellect, gives to the will independence of baser pas sions, am] to the affections that power of adhesion to whatever is pure, and good, and grand, which is adapted to load out the whole nature of man into those scones of action and impression by which its energies may be most ap propriately employed, and by which its high destination may be most effectual ly reached. The opportunities of exciting these faculties in benevolent and self-denving efforts for the welfare of our fellow men, are so many and great that it is really worth while to live. The heart that is truly, evangelically benevolent, may luxuriate in an age like this. The prom ises offered are inexpressibly rich, the main tendencies of things so manifestly in accordance with them, the extent of moral influence is so great and the ef fects of its employment so visible, that whoever aspires after benevolent action and reaches forth for things that remain for us, to the true dignity of his nature can find freo scope for his intellect and all aspiring themes for the heart. The Colporteur and Man with a Jug. About six years ago a colporteur of the American Tract Society was travel ling on horseback through one of tbe most mountainous portions of Cherokee Georgia, laden with books for distribu tion and sale. When passing through a narrow gorge between two hills, where there was scarcely room for more than one person to pass, he met a man with a jug. The jug had no handle, but was held by an old, greasy leather string, tied around the neck The Colporteur accosted him “ Good morning, sir, can I sell you a book ?” “ No, sir; I have no money,” was the reply. “ Where are you going, my friend, with your jug?” “ To the still-house, sir.” “Suppose you take the money with which you propose to buy the whisky, and buy a good book, and go home with out the whisky, and read the book, and I promise it will be far better for you.” “ But, sir, I have no money—l am to get the whisky on credit.” “ Well, my friend, I will make anoth er proposition—l will buy your jug and give you a book for it. You can then go homo and read your book, and do without the liquor. What do you say to that ?” The man with the jug hesitated awhile, and then replied, “ I will let you have the jug.” The colporteur took the jug and gave him a copy of the Temperance Manual, and, hanging his new purchase on his arm, journeyed on till night, when he gave the jug to the lady of the house at which he spent the night. He visit ed several families before night, how ever, carrying the jug, which was a great matter of astonishment and wonder to all who saw him, and the question was frequently asked, “ What are you doing with that jug?” The colporteur heard nothing more of the man from whom he bought the jug until this year, during the sitting of the Superior Court in the county of C , six years having elapsed. Be ing at Court, still engaged in colporteur ing for th3 Tract Society, he was ac costed by a gentleman with the enquiry: “Do you remember trading for a jug, several years ago, in the hills about here ?” “ I do sir,” replied the colporteur. “ Yonder," said the gentleman, point ing to a sober looking man, “is the man from whom you bought it. lie “ He was at the timo you met him a drunkard—a pest to society. Now he is a sober man, and has been ever since the day you took the jug away from him. He is now an orderly and consist ent member of the church, and enjoys religion. Ho is industrious and sup ports his family well ; whereas, while ho owned the jug, he did little else than make his visits to the still-liousc, and fill and empty his jug.” The colporteur, feeling some interest, inquired of the man how the change was so suddenly wrought on him. “ Was it the tract ?” “ No,” said he, “it was your determination, and the interest you seemed to manifest in my welfare; and besides this, you took my jug, and that set me thinking ; then I went home and read the tract, and determined, by the help of God, I would never drink anoth er drop, and I have been enabled to keep that promise.” This is a plain, unvarished tale, and shows how much may ho done by strong persona! efforts. “ Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou sbalt find it after many days. Sleep. Observation and scientific experiment constantly confirm the fact that the brain is nourished, repaired, during sleep. If, then, we have not sleep enough, the brain is not nourished, and like every thing else, when deprived of sufficient nourishment, withers and wastes away, until the power of sleep is lost, and the whole man dwindles to skin and bone, or dies a maniac. The practical infer ences which we wish to impress upon the reader are two :1. By all means sleep enough, give all who are under you sleep enough, by requiring them to goto bed at some regular hour, and to get up at the moment of spontaneous waking in the morning. Never waken up any one, especially children, from a sound sleep unless there is urgent necessity, it is cru el to do so. To prove this we have only to notice how fretful and unhappy a child is when waked tip before the nap is out. 2. If the brain is nourished during sleep, it must have most vigor in the morning; hence the morning is the best time for study; for then the brain has most strength, most activity, and must work more clearly. It is ‘the mid night lamp’ which floods the world with sickly sentimentalities, with false morals, with rickety theology, and with all those harum scarum dreams of human eleva tion which abnegate Bible teachings. Prosperity is the only test that a vul gar man can’t pass through. If a man has anything mean in his disposition, a little good luck is sure to bring it out. £las\ )w of fjumor. Lawyers Outwitted. Not far from the city of Montgomery in the State of Alabama, on one of the stage-roads running from that city, lives a jolly landlord 1 by the name of Ford. In fair weather or foul, in hard times or soft, Ford would have his joke. It was a bitter, stormy night, or rather morning, about two hours before day break, ho was aroused from his slumbers l>y loud shouting and knocks at his door. lle turned out, but sorely against his will, and demanded what was the matter. It was as dark as tar, and as he could see no one, he cried out — “ Who arc you, there ?” “ Burder and Yancy and Elmorei from Montgomery,” was the answer, “on our way to Tuscaloosa to attend court. We are benighted, and want to stay all night." “Very sorry I can’t accomodate you so far, gentlemen. Do anything to oblige you, but that's impossible.'' The lawyers, for they were three of the smartest lawyers in the State, and all ready to dropdown with fatigue, held a brief consultation, and then, as tbev could do no better, and were too tired to go another step, they asked— “ Well can’t you stable our horses, and give us chairs and a good fire till morning ?” “ Oh, ves, can do that, gentlemen.” Our learned and legal friends were soon drying their wet clothes by a bright fire, as they composed themselves to pass the few remaining hours in their chairs, dozing and nodding, and now and then swearing n word or two of im patience as they waited till daylight did appear. The longest night has a morning, and at last the sun came along, and then in due time a good breakfast made its ap pearance ; but to the surprise of the lawyers, who thou, lit tho house was crowded with guests, none but them selves sat down to partake. “ Why, Ford, I thought your house was so full you couldn’t give us a bed last night ?” said Burder. “ I didn’t say so,” Ford replied. “ You did’nt ? What in the name of thunder, then, did you say ?” “ You asked me to let you stay here all night, and I said that would be im. possible, for the night was nigh unto two-thirds gone when you came. If you only wauled beds, why on earth did’nt you say so ?” The lawyers had to give it up. Three of them on one side, aud the landlord alone had beat them all. Ethan Allen. A good story is told of that rare old patriot, Col. Ethan Allen, whoso ser vices in the “times that tried men’s souls” were on!}- equalled by his daring asser tions of the right of private opinion in theological matters. A well known divine, pastor of the village church, call ed one evening on the Colonel, and while enjoying his true New England hospitality at the supper table, the con versation turned upon church matters. Quoth the minister, “ Colonel, how does it happen that a man of your ex tensive influence and information has never seen it his duty to join our society. You know we want laborers in the vineyard—especially such laborers as you are. Your example would tend greatly to strengthen our bands and for tify our hearts against tbe dire assaults of the evil one.” “ Well, brother,” replied Allen, “ I have often thought as you do about the business, and one day I had almost made up tny miud to fall into the ranks, but that night I had a dream which caused me to give it up.” “Ah !” exclaimed the minister,“ what did you dream ?” “ Well, I thought I was standing at the entrance of Paradise, and saw a man go up and knock. ‘ Who’s that ?’ asken a voice from within. NUMBER 39. 1 A friend wishing admittance,’ was the reply. The door was opened, and the keeper stepped out. 1 Well, sir, to what denomi nation did you belong down yonder ?’ ‘ I atn tin Episcopalian,’ replied the candidate for admission. ‘Go in, then, and take a seat near the door, on the East side.’ Just then another stepped up ; he was a Presbyterian, and the guardian directed him to take a seat. A large number were admitted, and received directions where to seat them selves. I then stepped up 1 tot he entrance. ‘Well sir, who are you?’ asked the guardian. ‘ I am neither High Churchman, Pres byterian, Lutheran, Calvinist, Catholic or Jew ; but I am that old Ethan Allen that you probably have heard of from below.’ ‘ What! the man that took Ticon deroga ?” ‘ The same,’ I replied* ‘ All right, Ethan,’ said he, ‘just step in and sit down wherever you please /” Punches. Punch says that the following should be - to the questions usually asked of the applicant for life insurance: “ Did your great grandmother ever complain of having been frightened to death ? “ Are you in the habit of reading Mr. Allison’s histories, or the morning Ad vertiser, or any other publications tend ing to lengthen life ? “ Is your wife a strong-minded wo man ! “ Do you know any Americans, and is there any chance of your getting into political or other arguments with the owner of a revolver ? “ Are you a polite man, who does not mind running out of a hot opera-house to get up a carriage on a wet night ? “ Did you every sit upon an Eliza bethan drama of modern construction, and how many years ago, and who at tended you, medically, afterwards ? “ Do you run after fancy preachers# and do they make you cry ? “ What was the general state of your ancestors’ health, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries ? “ Was any member of your family ever swallowed trp by an earthquake ? “ Do you always take care not to tread on orange peel in the street ? *’ Have you ever been afflicted with Irishmen, or any other epidemic 3 “ Who cuts your hair?” TWe Forget Me Not.—“ Grandmot her,” said little Gretchen, “ why do you call this beautiful flower, hiuo as the sky, growing by this brook, Forget me not ?” “My child, said, the grandmother, “ I accompanied once your father, who was going on a long journey, to this brook. He told me when I saw this little fl“wer, f most think of him ; and so we have always called it the Forget me not.” Said happy little Gretchen, “I have neither parents, nor sisters, nor friends, from whom !am parted. Ido not know whom I can think of when I see the For get me not.” “ I will tell you,” said her grandmother “ someone of whom this flower may remind you —Him who made it. Every flower in the meadow says Remember God ; every flower in the garden and the field says to us of its Creator, Forged me not.’ Queer, Questionable Queries. Is “deatb’sdoor” opened with a skeleton key? When a lawyer composes his mind does he do it in 6-8 time ? Would you say that a lady was “ dressed loud,” who was covered all over with bugles ? Is there any truth in the report that the Arabs who live in the desert have sandy hair ? And is it also true that those who live by the Red Sea have carrots ? In selling a New foundhind dog do you know whether it is valued according to what it will fetch, or what it will bring ?