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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.