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S. M. BLACKBURN, Publisher. YOL. VIII. LITERARY DEPARTMENT. MISS ANNA C. M. BLACKBURN. ...Editor. For the Madison Home Journal. TO MISS M . ‘Why do I love thee ?’ Ask the flower Why it loves the morning dew; Ask the wild bird why its pinions Love the bright, the upper blue. I love you! 'Why do I leve thee ?’ Ask the waves Why they love to lave the shore And leap to kiss tiie pebbled strand, But to return and kiss once more. I love you! •Why do I love thee?’ Ask the brook, Meandering through the verdant vale, Why it kisses every flower That with perfume fills the gale. I love you! 'Why do I love thee ?’ Ask the stranger Exiled from his native shore. When his thoughts return te childhood, Why he loves his home the more. I love you! "Why do I love thee?’ Ask the star3 Why they love to shed on earth Rays of beauty, rays ol splendor, Dimmed not from their early birth. I love you! INDIRECTION. [Mr. Editor: We clip you a poem from a current number of the Atlantic, of Col. Richard Reolf, an acknowledged genius, and a lieutenant once of the no torious John Brown. He was supposed, though falsely, to have been related to Lord Byron. The poem is beautiful and splendid in metaphysics and tiatiscen dental thought. We think that it will please many of your readers, and wish that you would republish it. —John T. l’ou.] Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer: Rare is the roseburst of* dawn, but the secret that clasps it is rarer; Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter; And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning out-mastered the metre. Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the growing; Never a river that flows, but a majesty sceptres the flowing; Never a Sliakspeare that soared, but a strongerthan lie did enfold him; Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a migh tier seer hath foretold him. Back of the canvass that throbs, the painter is hinted and hidden; Into the statue that breathes, the soul of the sculptor is bidden; Under the joy that is felt, lie the infinite issues of feeling; Crowing the glory revealed is the glory that crowns the revealing. Great arc the symbols of being, but that which is symboled is greater; Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward creator; Back ol the sounds broods the silence, back of the gift stands the giving. Back of the hand that receives, thrill the sensitive nerves of receiving. Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the doing; Tiie heart of the wooer is warm, but war mer the heart of the wooing; And up from the pits where these shiver, and up from the heights where those shine, Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the essence of life is divine. For the Madisou Home Junius!. POETRY. BY FINLEY JOHNSON. This is an age of progress, and it has been Baid that in its pro gress, towards perfection, poetry has been crashed out of existence; and by the many elegies that have been chanted over it, one would naturally infer that such was the case. But poetry is not dead; its spirit is still abroad, and its wings are still brooding over all that is holy and beautiful, and the very elegies which have been chanted over it, proves its exist ences. The bird that sings, even a plaintive lay, in the dim old woods, is yet a living poet. Even our tears of sorrow, which fall like rain from our eyes, breathe music, and we weep poetry. Every tear that glistens like brilliant gems upon the trembling eye-lashes, is in itself a poem, even as the “one melodious tear,” which fell on the grave of Lycidas, was a potm of Milton. No, gentle reader, poe try is not deud; believe not the slander ; it can never die, neither can it sleep. It is abroad in the night watches, it comes to us in the spirit land, and hovers above us on the golden wings of dreams. It is awake when the twinkling stars of heaven one by one from their chambers creep, and are hung as “lamps of light” upon the walls of the azure heavens ; when the gentle zephyrs rustle the leaves of the grim dark trees —when the sleepless mother thinks upon Iter absent son—when the sail ir s bride listens to the tempos;'* roar, and when Nature |p|if and Nature’s God are holding sweet communion in the secret chambers of the hidden rocks. Poetry—true, noble, God-like poetry, can never die. That which is an attribute of an immortal spirit must in itself partake *of its immortality. God is poetry, and every true, believer i3 a' poet. God and poetry are one—above ourselves, and immortal. The things of earth may pass away, but the lofty aspirations of a true poetic soul, never. The world lias yet to learn the distinction between poetry and rhyme. To be a poet, and to write verse, are two very different things. We cannot confine poetry to metre, for rhyme but adds to verse a certain harmony. A stanzas is only a musical box, competent to play a certain number of tones. Rhymes are but bells, whose peals are confined to their number. However musical the poetry of rhyme, real poetry appears plain metre, and disregarding all meas ure, she often steps in the fields of verse, while buds and blossoms spring up beneath her feet. The true poet is unselfish ; he does not put the sun in his pock et for his own use, but rather gives its radiance to all. And the poet lover, though many miles away, is still with his mistress— though seas may roll between them she is ever present to him. The moon, of whose beauty he sings, shines on her home. The river, upon whose banks he re poses, flows for her. The gentle zephyrs upon their light wings, bear unto him her sight and moans, and nature has no charms, imagination no fancies, but with which she i3 connected. Then say not that poetry is dead, for it is immortal, and though for a time its brilliancy may be dimmed by the hosts of insects who flitter in its glare, yet soon shall they b 9 “among the things that wore,” and poetry, true, noble, God-like poetry, shine in refulgent glory, and unfading splendor. Awake then, ye poets of the Sunny South; ye have slumbered too long ; the snails of the fanati cal North have out-stripped ye in the race, but not by any inate power of their own, but through your own supineness. There are pure diamonds buried now, but the chisel of time shall show their beauty to perfection; and that pe riod is not far distant when South ern talent shall stand forth know ing no equal, fearing no superior, and bearing aloft the motto ‘Ex celsior,’ shall startle the world with the splendor of its achieve ments. God bless fhe South. For the Madisou Home Journal. HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY. * Nothing is more essential to the business man, for success in his mercantile, or business pursuits, than the establishment upon a substantial basis, his business po sition and his character for hon esty and fair dealings. This posi tion once attained in the commu nity in which he lives, success is always sure to follow his business operations. Without it he be comes like the consumptive pa tient, always ailing, and subject to the atmospheric changes of the hour. In the morning he lives— is known—in the evening, dead— forgotten. He is only referred to as a warning to others. Avoid his mistakes and steer clear of his er rors. While the honest merchant prospers from day to day. becomes loved and respected by the com munity in which he moves, success crowns his labors, and when the hour of earthly departure comes, he dies regretted, and his memory ever remains green, as a monu ment of worth, of honesty ; and the throe elements of success, ‘The old Proverb,’ that Honesty is the best policy,’ is verified over and over again throughout the world, and no man who lias adop ted the priucinle from the love of it, has ever repented of or for his choice. While thousands upon thousands have too late seen the mistake of neglecting its admoni tion, and thereby pursued the shadow for the substance. Hon esty is the best policy, and the more thoroughly it is brought in to every minute transactions of life, the greater the success, both in worldly as well as spiritual gains. That boy who is honest, honesty to himself, honest in his impulses, honest, I may say, in the principles of his inmost soul, will ever be regarded as a youth of high praise, and moral worth, and have credit and respect of all in the community in which he lives. The young man *uu in Liu youthhood foltnt and builds up for himself a character, and it sus tains and follow* him to the grave. That character which i framed Nation may Too Governed ana yet Too Free. and built up in youth, must, I say be of the right stamp, or else it will never be crowned with suc cess. That boy who is wild and rattling in bis disposition, cares nothing for a reputation; he knows not the value of it; he passes a gentleman in the street with a face of deception, and acts as though he was a lad of high moral worth. That boy who has the reputation above mentioned, is not honest in his inmost soul. He does not stop to think, that fentleman knows me, knows that have no reputation, and has no more respect for me, than the poor gambling vagabond. That boy may perhaps possess wealth, and great riches, but with all of it if he has no reputation, he is re spected no more than the poor street loafer and gambler. But not so with the honest youth; if h 8 has money he appropriates it to a good use, and will always keep what he has fairly labored and toiled for—will be true to his fellow associates, and will do that which is right, and to him will be no hardship. That is what I call true honor and honesty. Let ev ery body know that you are hon est, and be honorable for honor's sake, truthful and honest for the love of it. Who does not love transparent characters; anywhere, everywhere, in boys or girls, in young or old. A Youth. JUDGE AUGUSTUS REESE IN THE CONVENTION SKETCH BOOK. Madison, Ga. Nov. 5,1878. Editors Madison Home Journal: Please grant me the use of enough of your valuable space to enable me to note and correct one erroneous statement in the other wise unexceptionable sketch of Judge Bugustus Reese, as pub lished in the “Georgia Convention Sketches, 1877.” I here quote from the sketch so much of it as is necessary to my purpose : “Asa Judge he was ever urbane, upright, strong and fearless. In that position, as in all others, he stooped not to consult the prejudi ces and passions of the people, preferring to know what was right and pursue it; nor, on the other hand, did ho cringe and fawn at the foot-stool of power. This lat ter characteristic was decidedly exemplified in his refusal to obey the orders of Gen. Pope, which would virtually eliminated, as he thought, the white element from the jury box. And rather than do this, and especially at the dic ta tiou of a military satrap, he re signed his office, to the great re gret of his people who, neverthe less admired his manly course. * Judge Reese won his title of Judge by appointment of Govern or Jenkins in 1866. He was ap pointed to fill an unexpired term in the Ocmulgee Circuit, and in 1867 was elected by the people without opposition, and continued in office until the latter part of that year, when he resigned for the reason explained. The cor respondence occurring at that time between Gen. Pope and him self was conducted with manly dignity and ability on his part, and forcibly illustrated the nigh and unbending character of the man.” It will be seen that in this ex tract it is twice stated that Judge Reese resigned his office. Ho did not resign. Let ns now refer to the reccord of the correspon dence between the General and the Judge as published in the Home Journal of the 31st of August, this year, to see whether or not the facts sustain my nega tive. We find that the Judge in his first letter, dated September 9 1867, informs the General that he caunoi obtain his consent to be made instrumental in carrying out “General Orders Nos. 53 and 55,” which made the competency of jurors to depend upon the politics of the person surmoned, and gives his reasons why he cannot con sent to conform to the orders. At the close of this letter is the fol lowing paragraph : “If you should feol it to be your duty to prohibit me from the further exercise of Judicial powers, notice of that fact at your earliest convenience is desirable.” The General replies in a letter dated September, 1867, wherein be affects to review the reasons given by the Judge why he can not consent to the carrying out of the orders and concludes with this paragraph:—Whilst I do not for the present, prohibit you from the further exercise of judicial power, I do require you to observe the above orders, and will not overlook any failure on your part L> carry them fully into execu tion " The Judge'* rejoinder i* dated Sep tom bur 10, 1807, consist* of a MADISON, GA., SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1878. brief bnt courteous consideration of the views advanced by the Gen eral, and closes as follows: “I can't see that I have any alterna tive in the promises other than to proceed with the discharge of my official duties as heretofore until you shall feel it to be your duty to have given me a prohibitory notice.” The General, now seeing that the Judge could not be induced to forego his determination, replies the very next day : “As our views of your duty to observe and com ply with orders issued by me a9 District Commander are irrecon cilable, and as I consider it my duty to enforce my own opinion on the subject, and as I am un willing in the case of a gentleman of your character and standing to to so unpleasant an act as your removal from office, I suggest that, to avoid unpleasantness, whir h lam sure neither of us seek, you re sign yoar office. (Emphasis mine.) If you should conclude not to do so, be pleased to inform me, and to consider this lettor a positive prohibition against the further ex ercise of your office, unless you conform to my orderc concerning juries in this State. I regret very much that this disagreement should deprive the State of Geor gia of the service of so competent and worthy a Judge.” The final letter of the correspon dence, written by the Judge, Sep tember 20, 1867, contains this lan guage : “I cannot, as you have been heretofore advised, consist ently with my views of duty, be made instrumental in carrying out Orders Nos. 53 and 55, nor can I bring my mind to the conclusion that I ought to resign. Your let ter, therefore, is accepted by me as a ‘positive prohibition against the further exercise of my office,’ and will be acquiesced in by me as such.” On the same day, the 20th, Judge Reeso promulgated this no tice “to the people of the the Oc mulgee Judicial District“ Fe llow citizens : Elected by you to the Judgeship of this Circuit, without opposition, it is due to you that you should understand why it is that I do not, from this day, exercise the functions of the office. I refer you to the append ed correspondence. Augustus Reese.” This correspondence, together with the notice to the people of circuit, appeared in full text in the Chronicle dk Sentinel of the 24th of September, 1867, and was repub lished in theHoMEJoURNALas above indicated, on the 3ist of Aug. this year. By this record it is established that Judge Reese did not resign his office, but was positively prohibited by the “military satrap” from the further exorcise of its duties. With his convictions of duty, in the premises, he could not have resign ed. To have done so, would have been irreconoiliable with the prin ciples upon which he based his refusal to carry out Pope’s orders. The word resign, ex vi termini, means to yield, to give up, and supposes a voluntary movant. But Judge Reese yielded nothing. He persisted and triumphed in the position he had assumed, and therein consisted his ti no glory. In the extract from the sketch above quoted allusion is made, it is true, to the Judge’s “refusal to obey the orders of General Pope and some may urge that, although the word resign is used in the sketch, yet, when the whole con text is considered together, its lit eral meaning is so modified as to convey a correct idea, after all, of the transaction. If this construc tion should prevail, then I would be obnoxious to a charge of hy percriticism. But this construction cannot prevail without doing vio lence to another and equally car dinal construction —that the. ordina ry signification shall be applied to all words. But I apprehend that the auth or of the sketch himself will ack nowledge and appreciate the cor rection of the error. Whoever ho may bo, he is evidently an admir er of Judge Reese, and would do nothing, either by omission or commission, to detract from the high admiration and esteem so nuiversally and so justly enter tained for that incorruptible pa triot. A perusal of the sketch or even so much of it as 1 have quoted, reveals the fact that its author wields an eloquent pen and is altogether capable and ca pable and worthy of paying a just tribute to the character of the grand Roman whose unflinch ing devotion to principle, in the dark days of military rule, saved Georgia from that desolation which must needs haue resulted from having negroes serve a* ju rors kt our Court* of justice. U. W. 15. BABY BURGLARS. Juvenile Depravity of New York [From the N. Y. Sun.] Two little fellows, who could have been carried in the arms of of the officer who led them, went tottling down the aisle of the court-room, in Paterson, on Sat urday, to answer to a charge of burglarly. ‘Burglary! what do U medn?These babies?’ And the judge had to lean clean over the railing to see the tiny prisoners. They stood look ing up at him with their great eyes, the only clean feature about their faces, while their hair was matted and snarled, and baby-col ored. Rags covered their ‘ little logs, somehow or other hitched up around the waists, and through the gaps of their cotton shirts the white skin that proved their race was seen. Their hands were black as the earth, and no wonder, for they were so little that it didn’t take much soil to cover them, and their faces were smeared and grimy. It was a clear case against the babies, and they admitted that they had gone to the chicken-coop at two o’clock in the monring with some other fellows.” and robbed the roost. They could have deni ed it had they been old enough to have tried a defense, because they were caught in the act. ‘Bat I can’t imprison such chil dren as these,” said the judge. ‘Where’s their father? Where do they live? He was told that they lived al most anywhere, and that their fa ther and mother were too poor, and perhaps too careless, to watch over him ;so they had spent the time since they climbed out of the cradle, two or three years ago, up on the streets of Paterson. ‘What’s your name?’ the judge asked the older. ‘l’m Willie Asiam,and me broth er’s Eddy*’ ‘And how old are you? ‘Me brother’s five and I’m six I guess.’ Then an offiicer and a gentleman who were in the court told the judge that the urchins had been begging their food for months and sleeping wherever night found them. ‘They ought to be taken care of, but jail is no place for them.’ ‘Oh they’ve been to jail before, your honor.’ ‘Those babies been te jail!’ ‘Yes, twice.’ Here the father came in-a wea ry-eyed, over-worked laboring man. He said that he was away from horn* so much that he couldn’t look after his children, and he passed lightly over the rea son why the mother did not care for them. He agreed with the judge that the boys would have better care in the State Reform school, and so they were ordered by the court to be taken there. A brawny negro unlockod the doors of the cell in which they are confined, awaiting their transfer to the Reform school, their little faces peering through the bars of the cell door as he did so, and they came running through the corridor to the office yesterday af ternoon as Warden Bnckley called them. ‘Stand up there,’ said the war den kindly, and the little fellows ranged themselves side by side. The older thrust his hands in the pockets of anew pair of trousers which the warden had given them, and the younger stared with all the simplicity of an infant at the writer. Willie, the 6-year old boy, has a round pleas ant face, with great blue eyes and red lips, but his skin is white, and he looks aB though he knew what it much. Eddy’s features are pinched, and his lips thin, and with all his innocent look he can be very cunnning. So tiickly is the little fellow, that the warden found it absolutely neccessary to lock him in a cell apart from his broth er. A little present was sufficiant to gain the bov’s confidence, and in answer to questions they told their little history. ‘ We’so here cause we hooked chickens, aint we, Eddy? But we wouldn’t have hooked them if it hadn’t been for another fell.’ ‘Dick. He tolled us that he knowed how we could get chick ens, and so we laid awake until policeman went by ; then we went and got eui.’ ‘What were you going to do with chickens?’ ‘We’se going to roast era, wau’t we, Eddy? Eddy nodded hi* bead, squirrn iod and grinned. ‘Tell me how you roast them?’ Then Willie looked up with a growing expression of contempt : and wonder. ! ’Didn’t you never roast no chickens? You get’em, and then pull their necks off, and make a fire down in the lots and stick ’em into it.’ ‘That was what you were going to do?’ ‘Yes, if the man hadn’t caught us.’ ,Did you ever roast any before?’ ( Yeth, thir,’ and the little five year-old, ‘me’n Willie’n ’noder fel lar.” ‘When you didn’t have chick ens to roast, how did you get your breakfast?’ ‘We begged it. There was a wo man down by the bridge who giv’d us somethim’ every morn ing, wasn’t there Eddy?’ ‘Cept when we went down to the bake-shop,’ added Eddy, quite squirming. The bakeman sometime giv’d us two buns in the morning when we went round there early.’ ‘And two buns made you a good breakfast?’ ‘Only when Dick was with us. Then he’d eat one and Eddy and me’d eat the other one.’ ‘You got your dinner and sup per in the same manner?’ ‘What?’ said Willie, as if he did not comprehend the question, and it was repeated in a simpler lang uage: ‘Yes; somebody always give us something to eat.’ ‘And what did you do all day?’ ‘Played down by the cars and on the bridge, and went with the circus.’ ‘l’m going to be a circus man when I gets big and be a drum mer,” said Eddy, his eyes open ing wide, and forgetting his em barrassment for the first time. ‘They have drums at the Re form school,’ said the warden,‘and play baseball.’ Then Eddy and Willie looked at each other and giggled, bat Ed dy suddenly became embarrassed again, and began to squirm. ‘Where did you and Eddie sleep ?’ ‘Under the stoop by the bake shop. Me and Eddy and Dick and some other fellers used to crawl in there through a hole.— Sometimes the policeman came along and put his lantern in there and pulled us out.’ ‘Yeth,’ and Willie evidently re garded this as a very silly ques tion. ‘Why didn’t yon sleep at home?’ ‘Cause the fellers asked us to come out and have some fun in the night.’ Here Eddy laughed slyly, and Willie observing it, took it upon himself to reprove his brother. ‘Whet are yer laughin’ at? You used to get fellers to stay out and sleep under the stoop.’ ‘Have you ever been in here be fore ?’ ‘Yes sir,’ said Willie. ‘No, thir,’ said Eddy. ‘Tut, tut,’ said Warden Buck ley, warningly. ‘Yes, thir,’ said Eddy, faintly. ‘What for ?’ ‘Hookin’ apples down at Dun ham’s,’ said Willie. ‘What were you in for the other time ?’ ‘Hookin a banana.’ ‘Yes, they were brought here,’ said the warden, ‘bat I couldn’t keep sach little chits.’ ‘Do you want to go in the re form school ?’ ‘Dunno.’ ‘Have you ever been to Sunday school ?’ ‘Didn’t have no clothes,’ said Eddy. The brawny negro led them to their cells and closed the heavy bars, and they stood with their little white face at the bars until the prison door was shut. The boys had a sad home, and so they went from it to the street. Two or three rooms, perhaps a crust of bread now and then, and very little motherly love; this has been home to them, and the police say the boys seemed really to love the little stoop by the Main street bake shop, under which they crawled every night. At the reform school they will get what they have never known, regular meals, sweet beds and good care. They are working political co nundrums at London minstrel shows. This goes well with the audieuco, One of the corner men usks : ‘How could you convert Mr. Gladstone into a Conserva tive?’ The reply is ‘Spin him round until he becomes Dizzy!’ Fussy and particularly deaf of ficer, inspecting stables : ‘Ah, Smith, what on earth have you been cleaning your harues* with?’ Smith :‘Nothing,sir.' Officer : ‘Ah, then don’t do ii with that again ; see how it rot* the leather.’ Remember Lot’* wife, and avoid , letting anything turn year head. Two Dollars a Year in Advancb WIT _AND HUMOR. *’A little non sense now and then, is relished by the wises? men.” Fall suits are cut on the buy us. Getting left—Thej summer re sorts. ‘Won at last*—The shoemaker’s money. Every country church has its stare-way. Picnics may now be packed away in sawdust. How to dispel mental gloom— make light of your troubles. Did you ever see a carte blanche or a wag on wheels? A kind of timber for which there is no farther call—Summer board. As wall papers come down fa prices they go up on the walls. Would yon refer to the religion of the printer’s devil as imp pie ty? Why is a woodpecker like a tramp? Answer: Because he boree for his grub? When you cut give me a good deal, said the hungry euchre play er. Don’t put off till to-morrow the man yon can do to-day. Has any one yet observed this season that leaves fall before fall eaves. Russia finds nearly all her dreams of absolute power in Eas tern Europe Disraelized. Everybody thinks himself a moral half bushel to measure the word’s frailties. Billiards was originally played on the ground. Nowadays it is run in to the ground. Gail Hamilton is the Vesuvius of America. You never know when there will be a fresh eruption. Silver lynx is the coming fuT. They will prove the missing lyni in many a woman’s wardrobe. I love men, said Queen Christine of Sweden, not because they are men, but because they are not wo men. Dean Stanley astonished some Bostonans by telling them that he had never explored Africa. Counsel to witness: ‘You’re a nice sort of a fellow, you are!* Witness: ‘l’d say the same to you, sir, on my oath.’ Joint-debate: The one held be tween the heads of the honse on whether this piece of stove-pipe will fit that. Queen Victoria asked the king of Siam if he would like to be dec orated and the old fellow said, ‘Yes, if you will take me just as Si am.’ When an artist climbs over a fence to get a nearer view of a handsome bulldog, he must take the chances of his sketching the dog or the dog’s ketching him. A burglar broke into a Now Jer sey bouse, devoured a quantity of mince meat and droped dead at the gate. Nevertheless, pass that pie. Dere was only a leedle differ ence between us,’ said a burly Teu ton who had just horsewhipped another. ‘I was oxhided and he ▼as cowhided—dot’s all.’ A justice of the peace in Arizo na ruled ont the evidence of all witnesses, chased both lawyers out door, knocked the plaintiff over a bench, and decided “no cause of action.’ They pulled off the boots of a man before they hurried him in Dead wood the other day, Causing the local paper to come oat in a severe article denouncing ‘extravagance at funerals.’ An old granger, who came into town to purchase a piano for his daughter, asked the ageut if he hadn’t one with a ha. die in the end, ‘so we can all give it a turn once in a while.’ A clergyman who was recently called up to hold services in the State prison at bing-tting, prefac ed his remarks to the prisoners by saying that he was “glad to see *o large a number present.’ An editor with nine unmarried daughters was recently made just ly indignant by the misconstruc tion his contemporaries, put upon his able leader on ‘The Demand for Men.’ When Beniamino Franklin ar rived in Philadelphia be calmly walked up the btree* with a loaf of bread under hi* arm. liut he | couldn’t do it nowaday*. Nome* I body would steal his bread before he got a half a block awsj fron I the river. NO. 45.