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VOLUME X.
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A GEM.
Into my heart a silent look
Flashed from thy careless eyes,
And what before was shadowy, took
The light of summer skies—
The first-born love was in that look;
The Venus rose from out the deep
Os those inspiring eyes.
My life, like some lone solemn spot,
A spirit passes o’er,
Grew instinct with a glory not
In earth or heaven before;
Sweet trouble stirred the haunted spot,
And shook the leaves of every thought,
Thy presence wandered o’er.
My being yearned and crept to thine,
As if, in times of yore,
Thy soul hath been a part of mine.
Which claims it back once more;
Thy very self no longer thine,
But merged in that delicious life,
Which made us one of yore!
There bloomed beside thee forms as fair,
There murmured tones as sweet,
But round thee breathed the enchanted air,
’Twus life and death to meet ;
And henceforth thou alone wert fair,
And, though the stars had sung for joy,
Thy whisper only sweet.
COURTSHIP.
I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl—
The fire was out, and so, too, was her mother;
A feeble flame around the lamp did curl.
Making faint shadows, blending in each other:
’Twas nearly twelve o’clock, too, in November;
She had a.shawl on, also, I remember.
Well, I had been to see her every night
For thirteen days, and had a sneaking notion
To pop the question, thinking all was right.
And once or twice had made an awkward mo
tion
To take her hand, and stammer’d, coughed and
stuttered;
But somehow, nothing to the point had uttered.
I thought this chance too good now to be lost;
I hitched my chair up pretty close beside her,
Drew a long breath, and then my legs I crossed,
Bent over, sighed, and for five minutes eyed her;
She looked as if she knew what next was coming,
And with her foot upon the floor was drumming.
I did not know how to begin, or where—
I couldn’t speak—the words were always chok
ing;
I scarce could move—l seemed tied to the chair;
I hardly breathed—’twas awfully provoking!
The perspiration from each pore came oozing,
My heart, and brain, and limbs their power seem’d
losing.
At length I saw a brindle tabby eat
Walk purring up, inviting me to pat her;
An idea came, electric-like, at that;
My doubts, like summer clouds, began to scat
ter;
I seized on tabby, though a scratch she gave me,
Aud said—“ Come, Puss, ask Mary if she'll have
me.”
’Twas done at once—the inurdrr now was out.
The thing was all explained in half-a-minrte;
She blushed, and turning pussy-cat about,
Said— **Pussy, tell him ‘yes’;” her foot was
in it!
The cat had thus saved me my categorj',
And here’s the catastrophe of my story.
JOSEY’S BABY.
Sister Josey’s got a baby;
(She is but a child herself;)
And the baby is a bright-eyed,
Laughing, crying little elf.
Well I mind the April morning—
I was scarcely five years old—
Addie came with smiles of gladness,
And a wonderous tale she told;
How a tiny, pretty creature,
To our mother’s arms was given,
How a wbite-winged angel brought it,
From its happy home in heaven.
Mother called our baby Josey,
And she was our pet aud pride;
No one thought of scolding Josey,
When she pouted, frowned or cried.
Only think how years crowd round us,
Bringing trouble, bringing change—
Now that baby’s got a baby—
Bless me! ain’t it very strange?
Such a precious, winning darling,
Eyes of softest, darkest gray,
Cheeks where blessed cunning dimples
Play bopeep the livelong day.
You should hear him laughing gaily,
Cooing like a little dove,
If you wero the crossest fellow,
Josey’s baby you would love.
THE MILL.
I loved the brimming wave that swam
Through quiet meadows round the mill,
The sleepy pool above the dam,
The pool beneath it never still,
The meal-sacks on the whitened floor,
The dark round of the dripping wheel,
The very air about the door
Made misty by the floating meal.
SI Smitljcnx Weekly Citcranj anti fttiscellanmis Sauntal, for ll )t £jomt Circle.
SI Capital Stonj.
A BITTER RETROSPECT.
BY SHANA.
After graduating at the Seminary of
returned to our beautiful home in W.
It wa9 a joyous meeting. The hearty
kiss of our dear old father, as looking on
us, he exclaimed—
“ Well, girls, and so you’re young la
dies now, aye? I suppose I must give
you a regular turn out, and of course un
limited credit at Messrs. Ribbon, Lace &
Co’s. \\ hat do you say, Nora, shall we
spoil the girls ?”
“ Anything,’’ replied my gentle mo
ther, glancing lovingly upon us. “Any
thing sooner than have them leave us
again—besides they are much too sensi
ble to be spoiled by good treatment.”
Months passed on, adding links to our
unbroken chain of happiness. One soft,
sweet evening it. May, Hilda, a cousin of
ours, two young gentlemen, Lena and
mj self, sat pleasantly talking in the large
cool parlor.
“Come, girls,” said tuy married sister,
entering the room, —ever devising some
pleasure for us—“let us walk, the eve
ning is so beautiful.”
We cheerfully consented, and prepa
rations were made accordingly. The
lights were extinguished, luit the room
appeared scarcely less bright. A soft
flood of moonlight streamed in from four
large windows, and gleamed softly on the
brightly flowered carpet. I turned to
the window, looked out upon the still
night and thought it one of the prettiest
I had ever seen. They had all left the
room, for Mr. L. taking my hand gently
drew me away, saying—“ Come, they are
waiting for us.”
I had always loved moonlight nights,
hut until that evening they had never
possessed any favorable influence over
me. If I chose to be spiteful, they nev
er made me gentle; if I felt scornful,
their soft splendor could not change my
humor into a loving one.
Mr. L. was like a brother in the fami
ly, and my avowed suitor. He never
hid it from any one, and had on a pre
vious occasion sought my hand in mar
riage, which proposition was rejected,
because I could not accept anything I
loved so dearly without a great degree
of awkwardness, which he smilingly de
lected, causing me to say no, instead of
yes. lie left town for a short time, but,
as is seen, on his return we again became
friends.
While standing there, looking out up
on the wavy, moonlit trees, with the cool
night breeze on my brow, I felt some
thing like sadness stealing over me, and
an earnest desire to be good pervaded
my heart.
“ Come, they are waiting for us,” and
Mr. L’s. band touched my own, not gal
lantly, but with respectful tenderness.—
I turned—knelt at his feet, and buried
my head in his lap. I heard his heart
beat loudly, and felt his lip trembingly
touch my bead—the past and future
were alike forgotten. I only felt the
perfect happiness of that brief moment;
I could have died then with the smile of
peace upon my lips.
“Harry! Nina! why don’t you come
on ?”
In another instant we joined the laugh
ing group. Cousin Hilda, a wild, teas
ing thing, suspecting the cause of our
detention, singled us out as her victims
during the walk. She must have con
gratulated herself upon the full accom
plishment of her wishes, for she did suc
ceed in annoying us thoroughly.
“ Harry,” said she, “ it isn’t fashiona
ble to walk with a lady on each arm.”
And pushing me aside, she unceremoni
ously took possession of the fashionable
one.
“Oh doesn’t the moon look beautiful
to-night! Harry, did you ever tell a lady
you loved her ? for fun, I mean, of course.
I know you are not in love, sure enough,
or you could not have eaten so much tur
key for dinner yesterday if you had been.
MADISON, GEORGIA. SATURDAY, OCTORER i 1856.
But I should like to know, for Ralph
Windhal! 1 know will soon acquaint me
with bis heart’s wishes, and I want to see
if be talks it right. I ’spose you men
learn one another? Nina, don’t they all
say the very same thing ?”
“ No, Hilda, some speak a great deal,
some a very little, and others not at all;
in which latter case the lady becomes
principal actor.”
I glanced at Harry, and knew by the
playful smile on my lips that he under
stood my answer.
“ Now, cousin Hilda,” said Harr}-,
“ which of the three different styles would
you like Ralph to assume? 'lf I might
judge him by my own feelings, I am sure
which he would choose.”
“ Oh, do tell me Harry, for I may not
have time to consider the most fascina
ting manner of once denying."
Mr. L. and I laughed, delighted at her
confusion.
“ Dear cousin nilda, how blooming
you look.”
“Oh, I’m very sympathetic, and have
naturally caught the bright contagion
from Nina’s cheeks.”
“Go on, go 01 , Hilda, if you are com
posed enough to remember where you
left off.”
“ Perfectly,—l was saying that at such
a crisis, pcthnps I might not have time
to consult grace and fashion, for such
heart-rending confessions are generally
made a minute before a third person en
ters the room —on a riding excursion
with a dozen witnesses rolling past you }
where one is compelled to say yes, to
keep the horse from running away : or
on a moonlight evening, just five min
utes after a pleasant walk is proposed—
either otto not admitting of space or
lime. And I should like to accept, say
yes, in the most becoming feeling man
ner, then manufacture some overpower
ing excuse such as the objection of pa
rents, and prove as decided in denial as I
was in acceptance. I love to sea a man
look ridiculous, and I am sure ho can’t
appear more so than when practising the
extremes of love, rapture and despair.”
“ I shall warn him of your intentions,
Miss Cousin ; you shall not practice any
such designs on my friend, for your
amusement, rest assured.”
“ Ha, ha, Ilarry, I wonder if you
think lie’ll mind a word you say, when
I tell him otherwise. Warn him, warn
him as much as you please, but I’ll bet
you—let me see —that pretty, plain gold
ring on Nina’s linger. Where did you
get it, Ni ? did Ralph give it to you ?”
“No, Ralph didn’t give it to me, but
finish your bet and I will see that it is
fairly won.”
“ Well, I bet you, Mr. Landon, that in
less than two weeks, Ralph Windhal!
will say to me just exactly what you
have said to Nina this evening.”
Her quickly spoken words caused her
own face to crimson, and giving us a
push and saying :
“Go, you tire me to death, walking
so fast,” she stepped back to the party
behind, escorted by the said gentleman,
who, for the remainder of the evening
was rendered through the smiles and
cruel jests of his pretty Hild3, for she did
love him, happy and miserable by turns.
We drew a long breath on feeling our
selves alone, but were astonished at find
ing no further use made of our freedom.
“ Wbat are you walking so fast for?’’
I asked, uot knowing what else to say.
“ Does not your own heart prompt an
answer ?”
“ You must have a high opinion of
my heart’s power to suppose it capable
of anticipating all your desires, besides I
thought that—”
“That what?”
“ Everybody liked to walk slow,” and
for the first time during the walk, I
looked up in his face.
“ My own little wife 1” he cried, fondly
clasping my hands.
On taking leave, I walked with him
as far as the stairs.
“ Nina, what excuse shall I have for
coming soon to-morrow ? give me your
glove 3”
“I won t; you must come early, and
if you do, it shall bo without an ex
cuse.”
“ Well, only be ready for me ; I will
bring you a fresh white rose bud for
your hair,” and giving mo the second kiss
of love, he softly whispered—
“ Good night, darling.”
We spent most of the next day to
gether, arranging when the wedding
should take place. I being at the time
happy enough, protested against its oc
curring in less than three years. Mr.
L. had no idea but that everything
would be settled within three days.—
Our love days passed as most other love
days, in quarrelling and peacemaking.—
Ho was always very kind and gentle to
wards me, and I found myself growing,
from an over indulgence on his part, in
those capricious, wilful ways with which
women aro so apt to disfigure their true
characters, but not having accustomed
myself to discipline, and perceiving no
evil results accruing at the time, I con
tinued on, little dreaming that I was
stamping my own fate with sorrow’s
seal. Aye ! it is in those first days that
poisonous weeds spring up around the
rose tree of love, and grow and gather
drying up the life stream of the blooming
flowers.
Again it was a still, warm afternoon
in May, when Harry, smoothing back
the hail- from my forehead, called me his
‘ little wife.” We were married.
“ Good-bye, Nina dear, don’t stay at
home so much; dress up, and go out, I
will watch for you,” he said, stooping to
give me the usual morning kiss—signal
for departure to business.
The next instant I stood at the win
dow watching him walk up the street,
wondering if he thought of mo vety
much during the day, and if ho felt as
proud and happy in thinking of me as I
did of him. Then when the hour for
his return drew near, I found myself in
voluntarily slipping behind the door, or
some hiding place, for I loved to hear
him walk quickly in, look around the
room, and ask in an anxious tene, where’s
Nina ?
As months passed away, I think I was
becoming much moto sensible and self
sacrificing in my actions towards my
husband. Ilis unceasing gentleness
caused mo to analyse my own conduct,
and in doing so I found myself ‘wanting,’
not in love, but in those rare estimable
qualities which shed around the hearth
of home a light that may never fade, a
wealth of love that knows no poverty.—
I no longer felt pleasure in exerting the
right of any influence I had obtained
over him, and often yielded my desires
to his superior judgment. In doing so I
experienced a deep and quiet happi
ness which was unknown to me before,
causing me to Jove my husband even
better than I did my lover.
“ Look, Nil” he exclaimed, coining in
unexpectedly one afternoon, “I’ve bought
you a pretty opera glass. I came home
to see if you will go to the opera to
night ; one of my favorite pieces is to be
performed.”
I gladly consented, and examined
more attentively my pretty present. It
was beautiful, the clear transparent pearls
forming so delicate a contrast with the
ruby and emerald settings.
“ Beauford,” he continued, “ wished to
get it for bis wife, but Allen Winter per
suaded him that it was all nonsense, say
ing that she would soon bo finding fault
with the unfashionable location of her
country seat or wish a change of bays
every season. Play the fool—that is the
lover—as mnch as you like before mar
riage, Beauford,” says he, “ but when the
preacher says amen, let your lovership
also respond a farewell.
“ I didn’t quite agree with him, Ni,
and was glad ho did not take it, as I
wished you to have it. Don’t you like
it?”
I was silent.
He bent down and looked into my
flushed and tearful face, “ Why, you fool
ish little moDkey,” he exclaimed, “to cry
because I make you a present; well I
won’t bring you any more, although
next month is your birthday.”
I did not explain to him the cause of
my tears, for I felt they were understood
and appreciated. Beauford, whom I es
teemed next to my husband as a man of
high intellect and manly bearing, had
listened to, and been swayed by, one
who had never known a holy feeling;
who cared for nothing that did not ad
minister to his personal comfort, and
who never did anything so unmanly as
to present his wife with a gift. I felt
proud, not of the value of my jeweled
gift, but of his superiority in comparison
even with Beauford. He had withstood
them both, had braved their snoots, and
obeyed the dictates of a noble nature.
“ Well, so you will go, Ni ?”
“ Yes, Harry, if only to test the merit
of your favorite piece.”
“Very well; if performed well you
cannot but be pleased ; but don’t stay
too long dressing, for we must hear the
overture. I must go now, but will re
turn early to tea,” and folding mo in bis
arms, called mo his own little Carissimo.
Oil, God! how life like. I again feel
that gentle clasp. Oh 1 memory, mem
ory will thv pangs never cease ? Allen
Winters, when the grave shall call thee,
and those of thy creed, to the great
throne ofjudgment, then and there wilt
thou he called upon to expiate the sin of
thy suffering victims who claim thy just
retribution !
Time passed ou and in its happy flight,
a dear and beautiful hope, became our
household gem. Harry both loved and
felt proud of his boy, but I—ah ! can T
tell how dearly I loved it ?
“ Now, Nina, our darling is asleep, we
have no company and can spend a pleas
ant evening to ourselves.”
Ho stepped into the library, and soon
returned with a volume of Shakspeare.
We seated ourselves at a small table
near the fire, as we had done every eve
ning previous to our little family addi
tion. I confess that when single I did
not possess the good taste to admire
Shakspeare, but since Harry began read
ing it aloud to me, I became one of his
warmest advocates. Baby was very
good; I had only once or twice to lay
aside the little white dress I was sewing
to pat him gently to sleep.
“Ilarry, it was very foolish in mo to
think that married life was not a happy
one ? I am very happy, if you are.”
Ilis quiet, sunny smile beamed an ac
knowledgement. Why should wo not
have been ? Bright sunbeams only
shimmered on our path, beautifying the
clouds they covered.
The next evening after tea we walked
in from the dining-room together, think
ing to have another pleasant reading, but
on entering the room, there sat baby on
nurse’s lap, with his beautiful eyes wide
open, looking at the light, slapping his
little fat arms up and down quite de
lightedly. Ilarry glancing a good evo
ning at his book, released nurse of her
charge.
“Oh, bow I love him,” I cried, pinch
ing his fat cheeks; “ I didn’t know what
precious things babies were before.”
After playing with him half an hour,
and seeing no signs of sleep in his bright
eves, Henry.said he would step round to
the reading room.
Again on the following evening baby
disturbed our plans; to me it was always
a pleasant interruption, and one which
required my almost undivided attention,
a great reason why it was not so pleas
aut to Ilarry. Baby talk was a sweet
language to my heart, and I often left
Harry and Shakspeare to their own en'
joyment, for the sweet sounds of my
baby prattler.
Mr. L , seeing no opportunity for
reading, stepped out, promising to return
soon. It was long before baby fell asleep,
and as lie lay sleeping so softly in his
little cradle, I thought Hairy’s papers
and friends must have proven interesting,
as it was near ten o’clock. Just then I
heard the sound of his step upon the
stairs. With a glad smile I wont to
meet him, From that period, baby pos
sessed a decided influence over the man
ner in which I passed my evenings.—
When he slept, Ilarry remained at home,
but his waking, after a few moments
fondling, was a license for leave taking.
Need I say he was oftener awake than
asleep. And then engagements had been
made, and whether of a beneficial or only
a pleasurable kind, must be promptly
fulfilled.
Spring had come; hut the beautiful
scenery of my girlhood home no longer
smiled before me ; nor did I mourn its
loss, for his home was also mine. The
cheerful light of the fire no more shone
upon the white walls of my quiet room.
In place of grate and tender, a bright
screen of basket, fmit and flowers bloom
ed almost natural with beauty. My
eyes now often wandered restlessly from
so much brightness, and I longed for the
old winter tires. The dim light of the
coals as they slowly burnt, and fell noise
lesssly to ashes, spoke to me move forci
bly of life—of the rich nnd poor, of joy>
of sorrow and of death. Often in those
quiet spring evenings, after rocking my
little Edgar to sleep, I would look around
the room with a feeling of loneliness.—
Thero wero books and instruments of
music, with which I might have wiled
away my hours, but I did not feel set
tied ; there was a disquietude in my heart
which I had not as yet defined.
Ono evening, after arranging rny room
and placing a vase of flowers, which
Harry had sent me, on the bureau before
the glass, as I sat at the window watch
ing the beautiful moon, as she rode the
white fleecy sky, I thought of Harry ;
tears started to tny eyes, and leaning my
head on the window sill, swept as I had
done many evenings before. Something
whispered that he no longer loved me.—
He remained away so often now, and
many of those small, hut sweet atten
tions, which are the birth right of love,
had ceased. Ah, why did not reason
urge the just excuse of circumstances.
\\ by did I not fathom his nature, and
learn with pride, that a mind fraught
with the aspirations of manhood, cannot
always listen to the warhlings of his babe,
however sweet they fall, or restrict his j
knowledge of life to the loving smile
that beams on the face of his wife, or
the tender words than fall from her lips,
and though open to error, such an one
can be with patient lovo ns easily re
claimed. No I only thought of decreas
ing love, that embittered my heart, and
closed it against nil other reasoning.
I always sat up for him at night,
often with tearful eyes, but on hearing
his step, I would hastily erase all traces
of weeping, and meet him with a glad,
(for I always fancied some harm had
happened.) but reproachful smile, telling
him how long and anxiously I had
awaited him.
But this evening, I neither cared nor
wished to conceal my disappointment.
The mantle clock chimed the hour of
eleven ; my pride was becoming offend
ed.
“ It is unkind of him, to stay so late,”
I cried with a tingo of anger in my tone.
“ He knows I am waiting for him.—
And why should I wait for him ? why
should I weep for him ? Does lie ever
think of me ? does his heart ever prompt
him to forgo a half hour’s pleasure for
my sake i” I rose, hastily prepared my
night dress, and laid tny head on that
night pillow, with feelings of love, pride,
and anger. Anger 1 and against one
by whose side I had stood, one short
year ago, in the fullness of my love a
wedded bride, responding with fervent
lips to the beautiful prayer, that in
uniting imposes to each, the holy keep
ing of a human heart.—“Oh, what a
falling off was thero 1”
Scarce ten minutes passed, when the
door opened, and my husband entered.
Ho looked around the room expecting
to find me up, but seeing that I had re
tired, ho stepped softly to the bed-side, I
closed my eyes, as though iu sleep. I
felt his hand tenderly pat iny cheeks
and his lips press a kiss upon my fore
NUMBER 40.
head. Oh, proud unbending heart, was
not that enough ?
It did suffice for the time; but as
weeks again elapsed as before, my lonely
embittered thoughts resumed their sway.
Other, and even less laudable feelings
were becoming predominant. Pride
was exerting her rule, and felt gratified
at the success of any effort made in re
taliation for his neglect and indifference.
“ Come in," I responded to a low
familiar lap at the door. And Mrs. 8.,
our particular family friend entered.
“ What, all nlono again ?” she ex
claimed, in tones of astonishment.—
“ Why, where’s your husband ?"
“ I don’t know,” I replied ; not having
learned to prevaricate to prevent worldly
censure, or obtain its approbation.
“ I suppose you don't mind where he
goes, ns long as be is in pleasant com
pany ?”
“ I don’t exact the right to bo told
where lie goes every time he leaves
home.”
“ I see,” sho answered, drawing bet
work from a small steel bag, in antici
pation of a friendly chat. “ You are a
real little philosopher ; I always knew
you bad better sense than other young
girls, although, to tell the truth, it is not
right to let men run about too mucb (
and I think it's time you should begin
to talk up a little. You know men are
so apt to get into bad company, when
they commence slighting their wives.
Ah ! me I pity poor women, any how,
especially young married ones; they
have a heap to learn, poor things, that
they little dream of. A man never
turns out to be what we thought, never 1
and the very ones which have been the
most honied lovers, prove to be the
most fickle husbands. I’ve'.tried it and
know it to my sorrow, what man is
made of.”
“ I have perfect confidence in Mr.
L’s choice of society,” I bluntly re
plied, “ and shall place no limit to any
thing ho may deem his pleasure.”
“ Well, well, child, as you please ; I
don’t know but after all you are right.
| Mr. Landon you know is not a man to
1 be talked up to by bis wife, as most
I other men, and as long as you don’t mind
| it, there is no use making a fuss.”
After Mrs. B’s departure I really felt
miserable—surely, I thought, there
must be something in it, or strangers
would not notice it.
Oh, how could she, once a young
wife and mother herself, having gono
through the bitter ordeal of an ill-fated
marriage, so heartlessly throw a drop
of poison into my cup of happiness.—
But she was one of Allen Winter’s class
and will reap the harvest of her evil
doings.
Bums of a Feather. —There is a
firm in this city, the name of which is
La}’, Hatch & Cos. The clerks are pre
sumed to be all Shanghais. [N. Y. Pie.
The Editor of the New York Dutch
man, speaking of a drink he once had
occasion to indulge in, says he couldn’t
tell whether it was brandy ora torch
light procession going down his throat.
“ I say, Harry, did you ask Hicks for
that money yet 1”
“ Yes.”
“ What did lie say ?”
“Nothing. Ho just kicked me off
the stoop, and that’s the last I heard of
it.
Good Advice. —Never deal with an
Undertaker if you can possibly avoid it.
They’re a mean lot—always waiting to
screw you down.—[Young America.
A wag proposes to publish anew
papor, to he called the “ Comet,” with
an original tale every week.
A cultivated mind and good heart
will give an intellectual expression to
the face.
There is nothing that hurts one’s
feelings more than a dog bite.