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VOLUME X.
Select Poctnj.
LITTLE FANNIE.
“Fftwn-footed Fannie,
Where have you been ?”
Chasing a sunbeam
Into the glen;
Plunging through silver lakes
After the moon;
Tracking o’er meadows
The footsteps of June.
“ Sunny-eyed Fannie,
What did you see ?”
Saw the fays sewing
Green leaves on a tree;
Saw the waves counting
The eyes of the stars;
Saw cloud-lambs sleeping
By sunset’s red bars.
u Tuneful-eared Fannie,
What did you hear?”
Heard the rain asking
A rose to appear;
Heard the woods toll
When the winds whistled wroDg;
Heard the streams flow
Where the bird drinks his song.
“ Fannie, dear Fannie,
0 take me with you,
To run, and to listen,
And see as you do?”
Nuy, nay—lest you borrow
My ear and my eye;
The music you’ll hear not,
The beauty will die.
LIFE WAS MADE FOR LOVING.
There is music in iny heart,
Playing many an airy measure;
Fancy fashioneth my art
Tj her wayward pleasure.
Joy above and joy below,
Mingled much with grief and woe,
Is the life we treasure.
Peace to all the earth around
Brings this balmy weather;
Then let love to love be bound,
Fond hearts linked together.
There is gladness in my soul,
Falling like a twilight o’er me;
Thoughts of sadness upward roll
Like a veil before me—
And about me, warm and true,
Come those eyes of thine so blue,
Since the day I saw thee.
Tell me not, sweet lady fair,
Men are prone to roving;
By thy bright and golden hair!
Life was made for loving.
FLORENCE.
She came—and the morning broke—
Rich perfumes scented the lea
The Lilac gleamed and awoke
As she waved her hand to me.
The Heliotropes in the sun
Shook with a tremulous glow,
And they welcomed her one by one,
With a courtesy modest and low.
The Amaranth seemed to smile—
The Asphodel sparkled with light.
The Daisy nodded the while,
Approving her colors of white.
Set off by the blue at her wa ; st,
And the beautiful tint of her cheek—
Dimpled, and fair and chaste—
Womanty, graceful and meek.
The breezes kissed her lips,
And playfully tost her hair—
Swaying her skirt, so the tips
Os two pretty feet were bare;
The violets seemed to blush—
The Daffodils sighed with pain—
The Acacia drooped in the bush,
As she waved her band again.
A sigh broke from my heart,
My breath came throbbing and quick,
As I saw her shadow depart
Thro’ the foliage leafy and thick.
I tried to peer in its depths,
Should again the rich colors expand —
But I lost the sound of her steps,
And the sight of her waving hand.
I watched, till the daylight paled,
By the dell where the lily grows—
The night-hawk fluttered and railed,
And frightened the timid Rose—
The moon burned sullen and red —
Only Marigolds studded the lea,
But a wind that wheeled over my head
Bore Jessamine airs to me.
YOU AND I.
Sweet longings hinted at and guessed,
Tender spiritual unrest—
We cannot near each other live,
Unless we something take and give—
You and I.
Playing with old regrets, we wait,
Half-happy, half-accusing Fate:
A broken Hope is like a ghost J
We both seek something we have lost—
You and I.
Not often may such natures meet
So sweetly tender, subtly sweet;
The instincts of pure souls are just—
We now may know in whom we trust—
You and I.
The world is cold, the world is vain;
Apart, wc both shall wear the chain.
Our griefs make each the other’s guest;
Two kcarU in one give perfect rest —
Yon end T.
SI Soutljmt lUtfkli) Cilmrnj anij iilisctlUntous 3journal, far tljc ijomc Circle.
31 Capital Stonj.
THE QUIET HORSE.
BY MRS. MOODIE.
11 A horse ! a horse !my kingdom for a horse !”
Mrs. Harrowby had taken it into her
head, that she must pay a flying visit
to her husband, who had been absent
for some weeks from home, superintend
ing the arrangement of a very compli
cated mercantile business, which had
involved his brother-in-law in bankrupt
cy. There was no immediate necessity
for the premeditated visitof Mrs. Harrow
by to the city of N , hut she sud
denly formed the wish of going thither,
and like most of her sex, when placed
in similar circumstances, she determined
to go.
The city of N was tl irty miles
off. Mr. Harrow by, when at, home re
sided on a small estate in the county of
L , which he amused him«elf by
cultivating. A most expensive recrea
tion, by-the-by, to one unacquainted
with the practical part of 'he science of
agriculture, and who derived the infor
mation on the subject, entirely from
books. The poor folks in his neighbor
hood called him the gentleman farmer.
The rich laughed at his theoretic and
speculative turn of mind, and prophesied
his ruin. Well, he was absent, and
everything at Harrowby was at a stand
still. Mrs. Harrowby was dull—she had
never before been so long separated from
her husband. The boys were rude and
troublesomo—the heavy rains had cloud
ed the fair prospects of the approaching
harvest, and without the superintendence
of the master-mind, all went wrong to
gether.
“I wish your father was at home,’’
said the anxious wife to the eldest daugh
ter, “ If nothing happens to prevent it,
I must positively go and see him to-mor
row.”
“ But, mamma, what horse can you
take ? The gardener has just, ridden
Billy to J , and will not be back
before to-morrow night. The mare,
Phoebe, is lame, and Wellington has
been so recently broken in that it would
be dangerous for you to attempt driving
him.”
“ Well, I know all that, Emma,” said
Mrs. Harrowby, impatiently ; “ I would
not drive Wellington for a thousand dol
lars ; but there are other horses in the
stable besides Phoebe and that wild
thing.”
“ You are not surely speculating upon
cart-horses,” said Emma ; shrugging
her shoulders. “If you must go, mam
ma, for which I can see no reason, you
had better hire a post chaise from the
viliage.”
“ Phoo, phoo! How your father
would stare to see me drive up to his
lodgings in a post-chaise. He would
imagine that someone was dead in the
family—that some calamity had hap
pened in his absence. Besides, think of
the trouble of sending all the way to
W—— for the chaise—the useless ex
pense. No, no, I have a plan of my own
worth two of that. Run, Harvey, to the
stable and tell old Coulter that I want
him.”
Away scampered Harvey, a bright
haired imp of six years old, to do as he
was bid, and quickly returned with the
old man.
Coulter was the head man on the
farm ; and to his care was committed
the team of fine Suffolk sorrels that
were only used for farm work. He had
lived for seven years in a small cottage
upon the estate, and regarded the threo
horses under his charge with as much
pride and affection as if they had been
his children; bestowing much more
pains upon them in covering, brushing,
and cleaning, than ever he had experi
enced upon his own person during a
long and laborious life.
Joe Coulter was a tall, lank-haired,
red-faced, athletic man, on the wreng
side of sixty; wrinkled and weather
beaten, but vigorous and active still.—
His face bore a strong resemblance to
MADISON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, NOVEMRER 8, 1856.
the physiognomy of his favorite animal
and ho had a simple, honest expression.
Pulling the front lock of his rusty red
hair, as substitute for a bow, while he
scratched the back of his head with his
left hand, the worthy peasant drew him
self straight up behind Mrs. Harrowby’s
chair, and drawled out in the tone of
true Suffolk whine:
“ Missus, here bees I, what are ye
commandsi”
“ Joe, I want to go to N , to
morrow, to see your master; what
horse can I take for the journey ?”
“ What boss ? None as I knows of
ma’arin,” and the old man re-commenc
ed scratching his head; “ work an’
pleasure require different servants.—
Master's riding boss be away, the inear
be lame, and that ere Valentine as you
calls un, is perfectly unmaoagable. An’
now though I be sure ve’d like to see
master, I fear ye must hide to whorne.”
“ But I'll do no such thing. T have
set my mind upon going, and go I will.
What should prevent me from taking
your fore horse, Sharpe. - ? He’s a beau
tiful animal.”
The old man started a pace or two
hack in utter amazement.
“Take Shearpur ? The Lard save
us! What put it into yer mind to take
him ? Why, inarm, he boas wild as
the old un. Ido maist think that the
soul of a lord have some how or other,
got into that beast. Loiko all handsum
volk, he be so proud o’ himself, an’ so
tricky, an’ he do rear an’ plunge an'
caper about loike a mad thing, it be ns
much as I an' my bor Jonathan can do
to hold un when he have a mind to go
his own wav. He’d smash the ebay all
to shevers in a brace o’ shakes ; an' may
hap, he the death o’ ye’s an’ the young
missuses. Although,” and the old man’s
eyes brightened, “he’s a bunnie brute,
an’maist fit for a gentleman's carriage.
He'd do yees a mischief in the twinkling
of an eye.”
“I certainly will dispense with his
services,” said Mrs. Harrowby. “What
of Boxer ?”
“Why, marm, he do well enuf as
middle boss in the team. He bees as
dull as ’tother’s spunky. Sharper starts
un, an’ Captain drives un on. He bees
so fat an’ lazy loike, it will take yees two
days going to N
“ And Captain ?”
“ Aye. He bees the quiet beast.—
He’s gentle as a lamb. A child might
drive un. If you take any of my hosses
it must e’en be the con It.”
For so the old man designated a horse
ten years’ old, who happened to boa
colt when he came to the place, and the
colt he still remained in honest Joe’ esti
mation.
“ The colt let it be, and mind, Joe,
let him be well fed and well cleaned, and
in the gig by six o’clock to-morrow mor
ning, for I mean to start early. In the
plated harness he will look almost as w 11
as Billy.”
“ Na, na,” said Joe, shaking his rag
ged locks, “ there’s about as much differ
atween you an’ the cook. Every boss
has his own place, an’ the colt be about
as fit for the ehay, as I bees for the tea
parlor. So be yees take man or boss
out o’ the sitivation God meant un for,
you do un a bad service.”
And with this elegant harangue, old
Joe Coulter returned to the stable to
prepare his darling for the alarming
prospects of the morrow.
Great were the preperations for the
approaching journey. Mistress, young
ladies, and maids, were up by sunrise,
making ready for the great event, gather
ing choice fruit and flowers, and collect
ing all sorts of farm dainties, in the
shape of fresh butter, cream cheese,
home made bread, and cakes, and de
liciously flavored ham, on which to re
gale the absent owner of the mansion.
As to old Joe, he was stirring by day
break, brightening the gig harness and
braiding the long flowing mane and tail
of the unconscious victim of female ca
price. After all was done to set him off
to the best possible advantage, tho old
man declared, “ that the coult looked a
perfect beauty, that his skin shone like
satin, an’he’d not disgraco a carriage.”
He found more difficulty in preparing
him for tho journey than he at first anti
cipated.
The plated harness was far too small
for the vast proportions of tho ponderous
beast; and had to be let out to the ut
most extent into which a hole could be
punched in the leather. The shafts of
the light vehicle wero far 100 narrow,
and greatly curtailed the poor animal’s
powers of locomotion, who looked sadly
out of place, and cut but a sorry figure
in his ill-fitting finery.
“ I know’d how he’d look in yon
trumpery,” cried old Joe, surveying his
favorite with a sorrowful shako of the
head. “ Just as Nan wu’d look in mad
am’s best silk gown. It don’t fit him,
an’ how can they specthim to look him
sel.’ An’ then, as to going, them shafts
be so toigli', they hold him loike a voice.
He can’t draw a breath in comfort. —
He’ll puff an’ blow along the road loike
them ugly things at sea, that turn over
an’ over like c.irt wheels, that the fishers
call porpoises.
“ Well Captain bor,” patting him af.
fectionately on the neck, “yer a gentle
man now. How do yo’s loiko the gear ?’’
The horse rubbed his white nose (for
he had tho misfortune to have a white
face,) caressingly against the hand of
his groom. “ Aye, yer a sensible creter i
as wise as a human, an’ as quiet as a
child. But I docs pitty yees from my
soul. When women volk do take a
notion into their heads, they be the
most onreasonable critters in the world.’
llis colloquy was here interrupted by
the apparance of his mistress with two
of the young ladies and the maid servant
bearing sundry baskets and bundles to
deposit in the seat of the gig.
! The girls were in high spirits at the
! prospect of their ride. The morning
was as fine as a morning in August
could he, and they joked alternately with
their mother and the maid, at the odd
appearance of their steed.
The size of the horse elevated the fore
part of the gig to such a degree, that it
seemed in the very act of falling back
wards.
“Is it safe, Joe ?” asked Miss Mary,
pausing on the stop, and looking doubt
fully at the old man.
“ It can’t go over while the hoss keeps
his legs,” said Coulter, sulkily : “An’
its no trifle I’m thinking that’ll capsize
un.”
“ He looks like an elephant in har
ness,” cried little Anna, clapping her
hands and bursting into a merry laugh,
as she bounded into the gig. “ I’m sure
wc need not fear his running away.”
“He bees very queat,” muttered old
Joe. “ But lie’ll go as he loikes, in
spite o’ ye, an’ no mistake.”
Mrs. Harrowby now mounted, reins
in hand, and though the horse presented
the loftiest portion in the strange group
another seat slanted inconveniently back
and had a very awkward appearance ; she
was not a nervous, timid women, to be
scared by trifles, and she anticipated no
danger. Bidding Coulter ’let Captain's
head go, she lightly touched him with
the whip, and in a cheerful voice, urged
him forward.
She might as well have tickled the
hide of a rhinoceros with a feather,
or spoken in Greek to a Cherokee Indi
an. The quiet horse neither felt her
whip nor understood her language. He
shook his mane, pricked up his ears, and
whisked his long tail into the laps if the
young ladies.
Anna, mischievous thing, was in con
vulsions of laughter, while Mrs. Harrow
by, provoked by the obstinacy of her
Bucephalus, applied the but end of the
whip to his round back, and so far for
got her breeding as to exclaim in no
very gentle tone, “ Get on, you stupid
brute.”
This energetic address set the great
animal in motion, and in a pace between
an ambls and a high trot, he floundered
round the carriage drive that lead to the
front of the house and plunged into the
road.
“ Hold un up well, marm,” was the
last exhortation of old Joe, as his shaft
horse jolted off at a tremendous heavy
gallop. “He bees cruel hard in the
mouth. The Lord sends yees a safe
journey whome.”
“ Amen,” ejaculated Miss Mary, who
considered that the prayer of old Joe
was not indispensable under existing
circumstances.
But when the horse commenced his
strange gymnastics, Miss Mary, who pos
sessed a more nervous temperament than
her mamma, who was what the Ameri
cans would have termed in these days,
“a strong minded woman,” began to feel
rather uneasy at their ticklish situation,
and she said with great earnestness,
“ Dear mamma, had we not better re
turn ? It will be impossible to drive
that horse thirty miles.”
“I’ll try my best,” said Mrs. Harrow
by. “ I don’t choose to bo conquered
by a brute !”
And on they went, at a pace so hard
and rough that they were as much out
of breath ns tho astonished horse, who
never accustomed to nny vehicle hut a
heavy wagon, or a dung-cart, seemed to
feel very much iu the same predicament
as a dog with a tin kettle tied to his tail.
The shafts held him so tightly that his
huge frame panted and swelled ns if it
would burst at every step the impedi
ments that restrained him, and he often
stopped and shook both shafts and har
ness with an angry impatience quite in
compatible with his character of a quiet
horse.
But to return to Captain ; when he
succeeded in toiling up a hill, he took
the liberty of stopping ns long as lie
saw fit, in order to recover himself and
take breath ; and it required the united
efforts of the whole party to get him to
start again ; and when this feat was at
length accomplished, he went off at a
ferocious pace, which threatened to jolt
them to pieces. At every farm-yard he
stopped and neighed ; and once, when it
unfortunately happened that the gate
that led from the road had been left open
to admit a load of wheat, he rushed with
headlong speed to the barn; and when
tho farmer seized his bridle to arrest his
course, he began sliding down upon his
haunches, which feat, so enchanted the
farmer’s son, a lout of sixteen, who was
standing on the dunghill, with his hands
in his breeches pockets, that he burst into
a horselaugh,and called to oneofthe men
—“ Run, Dick, to the house and bring out
an arm-chair, don’t you see that he wants
to sit down!” This made tho laugh
general; and after the farmer had at last
succeeded in forcing Captain to stand
up strait on his four legs, it required the
united efforts of him and his men to lead
him back into the road.
At mid-day, they had only accom
plished fifteen miles of the journey; and
they were obliged to stop for two hours
at a little house by the roadside, to feed
and rest the unmanageable animal. Mrs.
Ilarrowliy’s head ached, she was weary
and disgusted, and Miss Mary shrugged
her shoulders, and declared that it was
the most detestable journey she had ever
taken in her life ; and little Anna was
so tired with incessantly laughing at
Captain and his absurdities, that her vi
vacity was fairly burnt out, and she had
not the least spirit left to enjoy the fun
any more. At two o’clock, in a boiling
August sun, they once more resumed the
journey.
The shades of evening were darkening
the beautiful landscape, which spreads
far and wide around the ancient city of
N , when the wayworn travellers
caught a glimpse of their temporary
home ; and blessed their stars, that they
bad been conducted thus far in safety.—
But their trials were not quite ended.
Captain, who had been brought up in the
country, and bad never been in a large
town in his Jife; was not only
strangely agitated when his head was
turned into one of the principal streets,
but shewed unequivocal symptoms of
alarm at tho crowded and lamp-lighted
thoroughfare, (this littlo adventure hap
pening early in the present century,
long before the introduction of gas.)—
lie snorted, reared, and rushed from side
to side, no longer yielding the loast obe
dience to the feminine hand that vainly
endeavored to restrain the impetuosity
of his movements, and would in all prob
ability have done some serious mischief
to the gig and its inmates had not the
reins been grasped by a bolder hand,
and the ladies rescued from their peril
ous situation by a gentleman to whom
they were well known.
“My dear wife !” exclaimed Mr. Har
rowby, after the first affcctionatesalutation
had passed between them, “ what under
heaven tempted you to risk your own
life and the children's by driving over
such a horse ?’’
“Well, dear John, I will admit that
it was rather foolish, but I did so long
to see you. Coulter assured me that
Captain was such a quiet horse that I
never apprehended any danger.”
“I have no doubt, that ho is quiet
enough, my dear, when confined to his
proper place, and fastened to the plough
or tho drug-cart; but there is always
danger in taking either man or animal
out of the sphere where education and
circumstances alone render him useful, as
you my dear old woman, have proved by
your late experience.”
“ I used to think myself an excellent
whip, John, but I will never undertake
to drive a quiet horse again.”
Three days passed happily away at
N , and no one remembered Cap
tain, but the servant who supplied his
wants in tho stable. The fourth morn
ing was a glorious day for the harvest;
and Mr. Harrowby gently reminded his
wife and daughters, that the services
of the horse were required at home.
Once more the mighty brute was forced
between the narrow shafts ; and Mrs. Har
rowby, with less confidence in her own
skill, hut fully aware of the peculiarities
of her steed, undertook tho taskofdriv*
ing him home. The servant led Captain
beyond the lotinds of the city, and saw
him fairly started upon the turnpike
road. But so impatient was the country
bred horse, of the restraint and imprison
ment which he had endured in a close
and badly ventilated stable, at the house
they had quitted, that he needed neith
er whip nor voice, to urge him to return
to tho beloved haunts of his youth, and
tho comrades who shared his daily labors.
He literally set his face homeward, and
his pace kept time with his wishes. He
bounded forward at the top of his rough
ungainly speed, making his anxiety to
roach the anticipated goal known to the
travellers by his loud and frequent neigh
ing. The nearer he approached his na
tive pastures, the moie eccentric did
these manifestations become ; and when
at length, within half a mile of his own
stable, his shrill signals were answered
by his comrades from the field, the. poor
brute jolted along with a velocity which
shook the occupants of the gig up and
down with a motion which resembled
the pitching of a vessel when struggling
through a short rolling sea.
“Thank Heaven ! my dear girls, we
are once more at home,” cried Mrs. Har
rowby-, as old Joe Coulter threw open tho
front gate, and the sagacious animal greet
ed his old friend with a clamorous neigh,
rubbing his white nose against his caress
ing hand, as if he was delighted to see
him again.
“ Whoy, Captain, boy, ye’re right glad
to be wliome, I'm thinking. How do you
loike dragging o’ the womeu volk, an’
seeing all the grand sights in the city,
poor feller! but ye’re mortal tired;
an’ 111 be Mowed if y e haven’t lost a stone
o’ flesh.”
“ Indeed, Coulter, he has been well fed
and taken care of, but pray never speak
of him as a quiet horse again.”
He’s allers queat wi’ me,” said Joe.
“But ho knows his own company - , an’
those who understand his ways, an’ he
doant care for them that doant.”
“ You forgot, mamma,” whisperd An-
NUIBEB 45.
na, “ (hat Captain belongs to the farm
yard, and can hnrdly be called an edu
cated horse. Remember the moral papa
drew from our adventure. “No one acta
or looks well out of bis own place."
I Never Gossip.
Oh, no, I never gossip! I have
enough to do to take care of my busi
ness without talking about the affairs of
others, Mrs. Smith. Why, lliere’s Mrs.
Crocker, she deals in scandal by the
wholesale; it does seem to me ns though
that woman’s tongue must bo almost
worn out; but no, there's no danger of
that. If everybody was like me there
wouldn’t be much trouble in the world.
Oh, no, I never gossip. But did you
know that Miss Elliott had got anew
silk dress, Mrs. Smith * You didn’t! well,
she has; its a real brocade ; I say it
myself. Ido say it’s shameful for her
to be so extravagant; I mean to give her
a piece of my mind, Mrs. Smith. You
believe her uncle gave it to her? Well,
I don’t care if he did : why, it’s only two
months since her father failed, and now,
to see her dash out in this style, it’s
a burning shame. I suppose she thinks
she’s going to catch young lawyer Stan
hope, but I guess she’ll find herself mis
taken ; he’s got more sense than to bo
caught by her, if she has got a brocade
silk dress.
And there’s the upstart dressmaker,
Kate Manley, setting her cap for the doc
tor’s son ; the impertinence of some peo
ple is perfectly astonishing. I don’t
think she's any better than she ought to
be; for my own part, I never did like
her, with her mild, soft look when any
one's around; my word for it, she can
look cross enough when there ain’t; then
she says she’s only seventeen ! Goodness
knows she’s as old as my Arabella Lucre
tia, and she’s—well, I won’t say how old,
but she's more’n seventeen, and I ain't
ashamed to say so, either; but I guess
Dr. May’s son will have more discretion
than to think of marrying her.
Some folks call her handsome ! Well,
I don’t. She ain’t half so good looking
as my daughter Jane. Then the way she
does up her hair in such fly-away curls;
and if you believe it, Mrs. Smith, she ac
tually had the impudence to tell me that
she couldn’t make her hair straight as my
Maria Jane’s. Impertinence! if she’d let
curling papers and curling irons alone,
I’d risk but what her hair would be as
straight as anybody’s.
But what do you think of the minis
ter’s wife, Mrs. Smith ? You like her.
Well, all I can say is, you’ve got a very
peculiar taste. Why she’s proud as Lu
cifer; been married a whole week, and
hasn’t been to see me yet. You prej
sums she hasn’t had time ? I don’t see
what the minister wanted to go out of
town to get him a wife for, any way ;
and then, jibove all things, to get that
little girlish looking thing. Why didn’t
ho take one of his parishioners ? There's
my Arabella Lucretia would have made
him a better wife than he’s got now.
Then she’s just about the right age for
him. She’s two years older than the
minister! I should think it was a pity
if I didn’t know my pvrn daughter’s age,
Mrs. Smith ! If some folks would mind
their own business as I do, I'd thank
them.
A Dead Shot.— A physician who re
sides in the southern portion of this
City, upon visiting a patient at the ex
treme north, was asked by the sick man,
“if he did not find in very inconvenient
to come such a distance.”
“ Not at all, Sir," replied the son of
Esculapius, “for having another patient
in the next street I can kill two birds
with one stone.”
“Can you, Sir?” replied the invalid^
“ then you are too good a shot for me;’’
and immediately dismissed him.
r Men are sometimes accused of
pride, merely because their accusers
would be proud themselves were they in
their places.— Shewtone.