Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME X.
(Original pacta).
For tho Visitor.
THE LITTLE GIRL WHO BRINGS
ME FLOWERS.
I hare a little friend of modest mien—
A soft blue eve, and calm, retiring face;
Her faded dress is always neat and clean—
There’s in her steps a kind of quiet grace.
Often with light tread steals she to my side,
During my solitary,thinkiny hours;
Then, lightly as she came, away doth glide,
First slipping in my hand some sweet, fresh
flowers.
So quietly I hardly know her near,
She comes and goes, this little friend of mine,
Shrinking from “thanks” as with a bashful fear,
But always leaving sweet wood-flowers behind.
They are no hot-house plants she brings to me,
Nor does she cull them from rich, varied bow
ers—
But peeping out beneath some oaken tree,
She finds these flowers—delicious, woodland
flowers.
Dear little flowers! sweet tales they tell to me
Os the broad forest—cool and shaded glen ;
Os little streamlets chanting merrily
Os treasures all “ far from the haunts of men.'*
The lights and shadows in my life do blond,
And sometimes Sorrow’s cloud above me low
ers—
Then, “ a good angel,” comes my little friend,
And gives me flowers—beauteous, God painted
flowers.
I have some by me now of modest hue;
They lay a welcome offering at she shrine:
I trust that whate’er path she may pursue,
Such garlands may around her be entwined.
What care I if the sun her face has tanned,
As she bareheaded roamed the wood for hours ?
I love the suubrowned face, and sunbrowned
hand—
I love the little girl who brings me flowers.
“ Annie of Bellevue.’*
Richmond Co s. Ga.
TO ADELE.
I've mused on thee, oh lovely one,
At evening’s gentle hour,
Till on my thoughts thy loveliness
Has left its spell of power.
Thine is a brow', and thine an eye,
The wildest heart to tame,
For, lightning-like, each glance of thine
Can thrill through sold and frame.
I’ve mused on thee at gentle eve,
With thoughts I cannot speak;
Thou art a smile on nature’s lip,
A dimple on her cheek.
No sculptor, sleeping 'mid the flowers,
At summer day’s decline,
E’er dreamed of fairy forms more bright,
More beautiful than thine.
Sweet haunter of my twilight dreams,
Bright vision of my heart I *
Os all I hear and all I sec
Thou ever seem’st a part.
In all the wild woods’ melodies,
In all the songs of birds.
And in the tones of breeze and stream,
I hear thy low, sweet words.
And in the soft and moonlight clouds
That float aloug the sky,
And in the willow boughs that sway
As sway the breezes by;
And in the lake, on whose clear breast
Are pictured grove and hill,
In Heaven’s pure stars, and earth’s sweet flowers,
I see thy beauty still.
The thought of thee—it is a strain
Os music in my life—
A golden leaf in memory’s book,
A star ’mid storm and strife.
It is a wild flower of the heart,
Bathed in the dews of years,
And dimmed not by the cares of earth,
Its passions, and its tsars.
THE KISS.
Stars were beaming, Luna gleaming, I was
dreaming,
Dreams as sweet
As the olden summers golden that have rolled on
Still, yet fleet,
Then from Aidcn came a maiden—(beauty-laden
girl was she:)
Glorious creature! each fair feature a love teacher
Unto me.
“ Close beside me”—who dare chide me ?
“ Here love, bide thee;”
Blushes—Grace!
It confesses how her tresses, with caresses,
Touched my face.
There’s no praising the amazing bright eyes gaz
ing
Into mine.
Lips whose meetness, whose repleteness of all
sweetness
Were divine.
But she waited, meditated, I—elated—
Gently chid,
Smiling, told her no one older womd behold her,
If she did.
Nearer, nearer, clearer, clearer, warmer, dearer
Came her breath.
Then forgetting, all regretting, angels letting
Her—oht Death!
Still she waited, hesitated, said she hated
To: I chid;
She grew willing—o! ’twas thrilling! .Dream
fulfiling!
For she did.
3 smt%nt XVtckhj Cilmmj anlr iVLxscdlmums Saitmal, far tlje fjame Circle.
3 Capital Stori).
SARAH GOODWIN AND ttfp
BOYS.
Sarah Goodwin was the name of a
poor seamstress, residing in the city of
New York. She was not wholly friend
less, but those whom she knew, and who
would have aided her in her struggles,
were very poor, and could not. So she,
a widow with four boys, from the ages
offourlonine years, struggle through
winter’s cold and summer’s heat, pro
viding her little family with bread, and
that was all. Meat and luxuries were
denied Sarah Goodwin and her boys.—-
I’he latter were good children, always in
their homes after nightfall, and giving
their mother eveiy cent of their little
earnings as often as they found work to
do.
At last the mother f.-ll sick, and
through a weary illness she had no other
attendance, save the occasional help of
a neighbor, and the constant aid of her
poor little boys. They were never from
her side, and it was touching to behold
their sympathy, their gentle ministra
tions ; everybody prophesied that they
would be blessed in coining years, for
their thoughtful kindness towards their
mother.
The widow recovered, but it was now
the heart of bitter winter, and their little
stock of fuel was nearly gone. As soon
as her strength permitted, she walked
through the cold of a cheerless day to
the shop of her employer, and told her
pitiful story. But it was hard times;
her illness had made room for others as
destitute as herself; in fine, they had
not one stitch of work to give her.—
With a sinking heart, but praying to
keep her courage up, the poor woman
toiled on from shop to shop until it be
came late, and what with tears and the
darkness she could .hardly see her way
home.
“If Mr. Hart himself had been there,”
she soliloquized, bending to the strong
wind, and drawing her scanty shawl
closer about her form, “ I know he would
have given me work.”
As she whispered thus through her
chattering teeth, a tall man, with a long
gray beard, passed bv her, and as he
j did so something fell to the sidewalk
j and laid upon the crusted snow. Sarah
paused; she had heard the noise made
by the little packet, and a mysterious
impression led her to search for it. Oh,
joy ! it was a purse heavy filled to the
brim ; yellow anil shining laid the gold
within its strong meshes, as she carried
it towards the lighted window.
“ My poor boys, they shall want food
no more,” she ejaculated fervently;
“ this isgold ! God put it in my way—He
saw I was despairing.”
Suddenly, like a flash of lightning,
the thought occurred to Sarah that not
one cent of tho new-found treasure was
honestly hers. But a moment she lin
gered, pressing the money with her
benumbed fingers, the sorrowful tears
chasing down her thin cheeks, then
starting forward to find the owner of
the purse, she walked hurredly up the
street, fearful that the temptation, should
she arrive at her poor room and see her ;
hungry children, might prove too strong .
for her integrity.
Opposite the great hotel, as she stood
hesitating what way to take, she saw ■
the stranger enter. She knew him by
his long singular beard; and timidly
crossing the street, she made her way
into the billiard hall, and there, bewil
dard by the light, knew not what to say
till twice asked by a servant what she
wanted. Os course she could do no
more tliau describe the stranger by his
tall stature and strango beard. But he
had already gone out again ; she must
call on the morrow, they said, and ask
for Mr. Ashcroft.
The next morning, having eaten noth
ing, for she could not touch a farthing of
the gold, she was admitted into the room
whero sat the stranger. He arose as
she entered, and gazed with a curious
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1856.
air till she presented the purse. Then
he started with pleased surprise, laid
down his paper, took tho gold and de
liberately counted it over.
“It is safe,” he said, “ you have not
taken—”
“ Not one piece, sir,” she cried eager
ly, trembling as she spoke.
“ You seem poor,” remarked the
stranger, carelessly.
“ I am poor,” she replied.
“ Got a family, I suppose ?”
“ Four little boys, sir ; lam a wid
ow.”
“ Humph, humph, so I suppose—that’s
the old story.”
“ Ask Mr. Hart, the tailor,” cried the
widow, stepping forward a little; “he
knows me well ;he knows,.if lam poor,
I am honest.”
A bright red spot burnt on her cheeks
as she spoke and she forced back the
tears.
“ Now confess,” said the stranger,
rising and walking (o and fro, before the
fire, “ confess that you expected a largo
reward for this.”
“ I did think, perhaps—” and she
turned with quivering lips to the door.
“ Stop, stop,” cried the stranger ; “you
know you would never have roturned
the purse had you not expected to be
paid for it.”
“Sir,” said the widow, her tone in
dignant, her thin form towering; and
oh, the withering rebuke in her voice
and manners.
The stranger paused, holding tho
purse in his hand; then drawing forth
the smallest possible coin that it contain
ed, offered it to lit r.
For a moment she drew back, but
then remembering that her poor boys
were hungry at home, and in bed be
cause there was no lire, she burst into
tears as she took it, saying, “ This will
buy bread for my poor children,” and
hurrying away, she buried the bitter
ness of that morning in her own heart.
It was four o’clock on tho same day.
Sarah Goodwin sat by a scanty fire,
busy in sewing patches on the very poor
clothes ofher four boys.
“ Run to the door, Jimmy,” she said
to the eldest, as a loud knock was heard.
“ O, mother,” the boy cried, returning,
“ a big bundle for us ? What is it ?
What can it be ?”
“Work for me, perhaps,” murmured
the widow, untying the huge package,
when suddenly there caine to light four
suits of gray clothes, with four neat
black shining caps, and each set fitting
exactly to the dimensions of her boys.
Almost paralyzed with astonishment, the
widow remained on her knees, her eyes
riveted on tho words—“ a present for
the fatherless,” while the boys, appro
priating their wardrobes, danced about
the floor shouting with glee.
“ What’s in the pocket, here ? what’s
in the pocket ?” cried Jimmy, thrusting
his hand in that receptacle, when lo!
out came the very purse of gold the
widow had returned that morning.
A scene of joyous confusion followed
and the voice of prayer extended from
Sarah Goodwin’s full heart. Again and
again she counted the glittering treasure.
Five hundred dollars ! It seems an al
most endless fortune. How her heart
ran over with gratitude to God and the
stranger.
She could not rest, till throwing on
her bonnet, with cheeks glowing now
with hope and happiness, she ran back
to the hotel to pour forth her thanks.
A carriage stood at the door laden
with trunks behind. The driver qjount
ed the seat as she had reached the steps
and turning her head there, within sat
the mysterio# stranger with long beard.
She had not lime to speak, but ho nod
ded his head as he saw her with clasped
hands standing there, her very face
seeming a prayer embodied.
Sarah never saw the eccentric stranger
again. She took a little shop and
stocked it well and put her boys to
school.
To-day she is tho proprietor of a hand
some storo. Os her four boys, two aro
ministers, one is a doctor, and the other
a thriving merchant.
Nobody knows where the man with
tho long gray beard lias gone, but if he
is living and his eye meets this, he will
have tho consolation of knowing the
noble results of this generous deed to
ward Sarah Goodwin and her four boys.
A Good Deed in Season.
by Virginia p. toivnsend.
“Get away with you, you dirty old
beggar-boy. I’d like to know what
right you have to look over the fence at
our flowers?” The speaker was a little
boy, not more than eleven years old, and
though people sometimes called it hand-,
some, his face looked very harsh and dis
agreeable just then.
He stood in a beautiful garden, just in
the suburbs of the city ; and it was June
time, and tho tulips were just opening
themselves to the sunshine. Oh ! it was
a great joy to look at them as they bowed
gracefully to the light wind their necks
of crimson, of yellow, and carnation.
The beds flanked either side of the path,
that curved around a small arbor, where
the young grape-clusters that lay hidden
among the large leaves wrote a beautiful
prophecy for the autumn.
A white paling ran in front of the gar
den, and over this the little beggar-boy,
so rudely addressed, was loaning. Ho
was very lean, very dirty, very ragged.
I am afraid, little children, you would
have turned away in disgust from so re
pulsive a spectacle, and yet God and the
angels loved him!
He was looking, with all his soul in
his eyes, on the beautiful blossoms, as
they swayed to and fro in the summer
wind, and his heart softened while ho
leaned his arm on the fenco railing, and
forgot everything in that long, absorbed
gaze. Ah ! it was seldom the beggar
boy saw anything good or beautiful)
and it was sad his dream should have
such a rude awakening.
The blood rushed up to his face, and
a glance full of evil and defiance flashed
into his eyes. But before the hoy could
retort, a girl sprang out from the arbor,
and looked eagerly from one child to the
other. She was very fair, with soft, ha
zel eyes, over which drooped long, shin
ing lashes. Rich curls hung over her
bare, white shoulders, and her lips were
the color of the crimson tulip blossoms.
“ How could you speak so cross to the I
boy, Hinton ?” she asked, with a tone es
sad reproach quivering through the I
sweetness of her voice. “I’m sure it'
doesn’t do us any harm to have him look :
at the flowers as long as he wants to.” j
“ Well, Helen,” urged the brother)
slightly mollified, and slightly ashamed, j
“ I don’t like to have beggars gaping '
over the fence, it looks so low.”
“ Now, that’s all a notion of yours>
Hinton. I’m sure, if the flowers can do
anybody any good, we ought to be very
glad. Little boy”—and the child turned
to the beggar-boy, and addressed him as
courteously as though he had been a
prince—“ I’ll pick yc u some of the tu
lips if you’ll wait a moment.”
“ Helen, I do believe you’re the fun
niest girl that ever lived!” ejaculated
the child’s brother, as ho tnrned away,
and with a low whistle, sauntered down
the path, feeling very uncomfortable—
for her conduct was a stronger reproof
to him than any words could have been-
Helen plucked one of each specimen
of tho tulips, and there were a great va
riety of these, and gave them to the
child. His face brightened as he re
ceived them, and thanked her.
Oh! the little girl had dropped a
“pearl of great price” into the black, tur
bid billows of the boy’s life, and the after
years should bring it up, beautiful and
bright again.
Twelve years had passed. The little
blue-eyed girl had grown into a tall,
graeefi^woman. One bright Juno af
ternoon she walked with her husband
through tho garden, for she was on a
visit to her parents. The place was lit
tle changed, and tho tulips had opened
their lips of crimson and gold to the sun
shine, just as they had done twelve years
before. Suddenly they observed a young
man in a workman’s blue overalls, lean
ing over the fence, his eyes wandering
eagerly from the beautiful flowers to her
self. He had a frank, pleasant counte
nance, and there was something in his
manner that interested the gentleman
and lady.
“ Look here, Edward,” she said, “ I'll
pluck him some of tho flowers. It al
ways does me good to see people admir
ing them,” and releasing her husband’s
arm, she approached the paling, saying
—and the smile round her lips was very
like the old, child one—“ Are you fond
of flowers, sir ? it will give me great
pleasure to gather you some.”
The young workman looked a moment
very earnestly into the fair, sweet face.
“Twelve years ago, this very month,” he
said, in a voice deep, and yet tremulous
with feeling, “ I stood here, leaning on
this railing, a dirty, ragged little beggar
boy, and you asked me this very ques
tion. Twelve years ago you placed the
bright flowers in my hands, and they
made anew boy—aye, and they have
made a man of me, too. Your face lias
been a light, ma’am, all along the dark
hours of my life, and this day that little
beggar boy can stand in the old place,
and say to you, though lie’s an humble
and hard-working man, yet, thank God,
he’s an honest one.”
Tear-drops trembled like morning
dew on the shining lashes of the lady, as
she turned to her husband, who had
joined her, and listened with absorbed as
tonishment to the workman’s words.
“ God,” she said, “ put it into my cliild
licart to do that little deed of kindness,
and see now how great is the reward that
He lias given me.”
And the setting sun poured a flood of
rich purple light over tho group that
stood there—over the workman in his
blue overalls, over the lady with her
golden hair, and over the proud-looking
gentleman by her side. Altogether, it
was a picture for a painter, but the an
gels who looked down on it from heaven
saw something more than a picture there.
Cupid and the Tea Kettle.
Erskine’s eldest brother, Lord Buchan,
had throughout life those eccentricities
which age only fully developed in the
Ex-Chancellor. One of his lordship’s
breakfast parties drew on him tho ridi
cule of all the town. Lord Buchan se
lected nine young ladies of rank, who
were to personate the nine Muses, whilst
he himself received them as “ Glorious
Appolo.’’
“ Streams of weak tea, like curling incense
spread,
Wreath’d round the president’s belaurelled head.’
The young ladies and their host were
in fancy dresses; but unluckily, the
classic models, had in one instance been
too closely observed, for when Cupid
entered with tho tea kettle, lie had no
dress whatsoever. Hereupon tho nine
young ladies were so much amazed that
they all started up : and tittering or
screeching ran out of tho room. For
this trifling blunder Apollo cared not a
rush. It detracted not one iota from
his own dignity in his own estimation.
The classical scenes had taken place, and
therewith ho was content.
The Trousseau op a Princess.—The
bridal arrangements, the magnificent
trousseau of the bride, <fcc, in view of the
approaching marriage of the Princess
Royal at Berlin, attract so much atten
tion that hundreds are actually going
from Lqndon to witness them. There
are six rooms filled with silks, satins, rib.
bons, velvets, costly lacc, artificial flow
ers, exquisite embroideries in gold and
silver, bonnets, caps, gowns, gloves, body
and table linen, diamonds and jewelry)
shawls, mantles, and toilet requirements
of every description, color, and material.
Thirty persons have been engaged during
several months on the embroidery, and
120 needle women have worked on the
different articles.
Maxims for Married Women.
1. Let every wife be persuaded that
there are two ways of governing a fami
ly ; the first is, by the suppression of that
which will belong to force; tho second,
to the power of mildness, to which every
strength will yield. One is the power of
the husband ; a wife should never employ
any other arms than those of gentleness.
When a woman accustoms herself to
say, I will, sho deserves to lose her em
pire.
2. Avoid contradicting your husband.
When we smell a rose it is to imbue the
sweets of odor; we likewise look for
everything that is amiable in women.
Whoever is often contradicted feels in
sensibly aversion for the person who
contradicts, which gains strength by
time, and, whatever be her good quali
ties, is not easily destroyed.
3. Occupy yourself only with house
hold affairs; wait until your husband
confides to you those of higher impor
tance, and do not give your advice till
he asks it.
4. Never take it upon yourself to he a
censor of your husband’s morals, and do
uot read lectures to him. Let your
preachings boa good example, and
practice virtue yourself to make him in
love with it.
5. Command bis attention bv being
kind to him; never exact anything and
you will attain much; appear always
flattered by the little he docs for you>
which will excite h:m to perform more.
0. All men are vain ; never would his
vanity, not even in the most trifling in
stances, A wife may have more sense
than her husband, but she should never
seetn to know it.
7. When a man gives wrong counsel,
never make him feel that ho has done so,
but lead him on by degrees to wlmt is
rational with mildness and gentleness,
but when he is convinced leave him to
the merit of having found out what is
just and reasonable.
8. \\ hen a husband is out of temper,
behave obligingly to him ; if he is abusive,
never retort; and never prevail over him
to humble him.
9. Choose well your friends, have but
few, and he careful of following their
advice in all matters.
10. Cherish neatness without luxury
and pleasure without excess ; dress with
taste, particularly with modesty; vary : n
the fashions of your dress, especially as
regards colors. It gives a change to the
ideas, and recalls pleasing recollections.
Such things may appear trifling, but they
are of more importance than is imagined
11. Never bo curious to pry into your
husband’s concerns, but obtain his confi
deuce at all limes, by that which you re
pose in him. Always preserve order and
economy; avoid being out of temper
and be careful never to scold; by those
means ho will find his own house pleas
anter than any other.
11. Seem always to obtain informa
tion from him, especially before compa
n y, though you may pass yourself for a
simpleton.
12. Never forget that a wife owes all
her importance to that of her husband.
Leave him entirely master of his own
actions, to go or come whenever he
thinks fit. A wife ought to make her
company amiable to her husband, that
lie will not be able to exist without it •
then he will not seek for pleasure abroad,
if she do not partake of it with him.
So great is the sympathy between
the nerves of tho teeth and of the ear,
that remedies applied to the latter, wilj
relieve tho pain in the former. Laud
anum, dropped upon a lock of cotton,
and introdneed into the ear, will often re
lieve the toothache. This is quite a pop.
nlnr remedy and it is upon the same
principle that the actual cautery has
been applied to the antihelix of the ear to
relievo painful teeth.
A writer says, a lady’s beau is an
animal, tret with in every social circle,
and describes “ the thing ” as “ a com
pound of whiskers, lavender and poma
tum.”
NUMBER 44.
A Bold Preacher.
When Samuel Davies was President
of Princetown College, he visited Eng
land for the purpose of obtaining do
nations for the institution. George tho
Second had a curiosity to hear a preach
er from “the wilds of America.” He
accordingly attended, and was so much
struck with the commanding eloquence
of the preacher, that he expressed his
astonishment loud enough to be heard
half-way over the church, in such terms
as these :—“ He is a wonderful man !
Whv, he beats my bishops!” Davies
observing that the King was attracting
more attent'on than himself, paused, and
looking his Majesty full in the face, gave
him, in an emphatic tone, tho following
rebuke :—“ When the lion roareth,
let. the beast of the forest tremble;
and when the Lord speaketh, let the
kings of the earth keep silence.”—
The king instantly shrunk back in his
seat, and remained quiet during the re
mainder of the sermon. Tho next day
the monarch sent for him, and gave him
fifty guineas for the institution over
which he presided, observing at the
same time to his courtiers—“ lie is an
honest man—an honest man.”
The fact we are about to relate
has tho very rare merit of truth combin
ed with the pleasant excitement to tho
wonderful.
Some time ago a friend of ours pur
chased a imimber of picture frames,
tastefully made of acorns and handsomely
stained and varnished, which he placed
in his library at his country house.—
1 he ensuingseason he and his family went
on a rather distant tour, and for some
months the country house remained
closed and untenanted. The season was
an unusual damp one durinr their ab
sence,and upon their return itwasdeemed
advisable to have their rural homestead
well aired and dried by constant fires in
all the rooms before inhabiting it again.
Orders to this effect were therefore de
spatched, and the opening began under
the direction of she old housekeeper. -
Windows and doors were flung wide open
one after another, letting in tho sunshine
to mildewed walls and hangings, until
the “ household corps” arrived at tho
library, when, as the first pair of shutters
swung back, the breeze fluttered and
played on the walls with a sound of rust
ling foliage,causing a universal and rather
startled movement of the eyes in thedirec
tion of the mysterious sound. The aston
ishment of tho gazers whrn they beheld
the cause of the rustling, our readers will
easily credit, when we inform them that
several acorns on each picture frame had
sprouted, and a grove of miniature oaks,
were gently waving their tiny boughs
and fluttering their dark green leaflets
around the majestic brows of Washing
ton, and Franklin, and Adams, and
half a dozen others of our venerable
fathers of the Republic. Nature her
self had broken through her accustomed
laws to crown these patriot heros with
her own wreaths of honor, and offer, even
in her dying struggles, this beautiful
tribute to their memory.
Now, is not this fact worth all the
fables of Seherzerrade or Swift a hundred
times over?
Philadelphia Evening Journal.
Earn your own pork, and see
how sweet it will be. Work, and see
how well you will be. Work, and seo
bow independent you will be. Work
and see how happy your family will be!
Work, and see how religious you will be •
for before yon know where you are, in
stead of repining at Providence, you will
find yourself offering up thanks for all
the numerous blessings you enjov.
EST ‘Tat, you have dated your letter
a week ahead. It is not so late in the
month by one week, yon spalpeen."
“Troth, boy, indade an’ it’sjist meself
what is wanting swato Kathleen to get
it in advance of the mail. Sure I’ll not
care if she gets it three days afore it is
written, me darlin.”