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VOLUME X. Select 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.