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•JOHN HENRY SEALS. )
i AND / Editors,
L. TINCOLN VEAZEY. >
NEW SEMES, VOL, I.
i— #
* PCBLTSHKD
EVERY SATURDAY. EXCEPT TWO, IN THE YEAR,
BY JOHN H. SEALS.
TERMS :
SI,OO, in advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
1 square (twelve lines or first insertion,. .$1 00
Each continuance, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding
six lines, per year, 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00
ST AN DING A DVERTISEMENf 8.
1 three months, , 5 00
1 square, six months, 7 00
1 square, twelvemonths, 12 00
2 squares, “ “ 18,00
3 squares, “ “ 21 00
4 squares, “ “ 25 00
53IP’Advertisements not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
charged accordingly.
irir’Merchant?, Druggists, and others, may con
tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms.
LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square, 5 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square, 8 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n. 5 00
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi
anship, 3 25
LEGAL REQUIREMENTS.
Sties of Land and Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be
held on, the first Tuesday in the month, between the
hours'often in the forenoon and three in the after
noon, at the Court House in the County in which the
property is situate. Notices of these sales must be
given in a public gazette forty days previous to the
day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be
given at least ten, days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must
be published forty days.
Notice that application will be mado to the Court
of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must
be published weekly for turn months.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin
istration, monthly, six months —for Dismission from
Guardianship, forty days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four months —for compelling titles
from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has
been given by the deceased, the full space of three
mMths. ‘
falpTublications will always be continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
The Law of Newspapers.
1. Subscribers who do not give express notice to
the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue
their subscription.
2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their
newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them
until all arrearages are paid.
3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their
newspapers from the offices to which they are di
rected, they are held responsible until they have set
tled the bills and ordered them discontinued.
4. Ts subscribers remove to other places without
informing the publishers, and the newspapers are
sent to the former direction, they are held responsi
ble.
5. The Courts have decided that refusing to take
newspapers from the office, or removing and Leaving
them uncalled for, is primct facie evidence of inten
tional fraud.
J#R. The United States Courts have also repeatedly
decided, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform
his duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by
the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per
son to take from the office newspapers addressed to
him, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher
for the subscription price.
JOB PRINTING.
of every description, done with neatness and dispatch,
at this office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All
orders, in this department, must be addressed to
J. T. BLAIN.
9 PRO SP E V'S’ V 8
OF THE , .. . |
[quondam] i
TEMPERANCE BANNER.
ACTUATED by a conscientious desire to further
the cause of Temperance, and experiencing
great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in
space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica
i?on of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals,
we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve
nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of
the fact that there are existing in the minds of a
ja,.ge portion of the present readers of the Banner
and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties
which can never be removed so long as it retains the
no me we venture also to make a change in that par
tic lar It will henceforth be called, “THE TEM
PERANCE CRUSADER.”
Tkis old pioneer of the Temperance cause is des
trmd yet to chronicle the triumph of its principles.
It has stood the test—passed through the “liery fur
nace ” and, like the “Hebrew children,” re-appeared
unscorched. It has survived the newspaper famine
caused, and is still causing many exccl-
IcntlWrVjais and periodicals to sink, like “bright ex
halations in the evening,” to rise no more, and it has
even heralded the “death struggles of many coutem
noraries, laboring for the same great end with itself
n “still lives,” and “waxing bolder as it grows older,
now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In
fernal Liquor Traffic,” standing like the “High Priest”
of 11iejgraelit.es, V vho stood between the people and
the Dlajie that threatened destruction.
We Jntreat the friends of the Temperance Cause
to c-iv#JS their influence in extending the usefulness
of tlie paper. Wo intend presenting to the public a
sheet worthy of all attention and a liberal patronage;
for while it is strictly a Temperance Journal , we shall
endeavor to keep its readers posted on all the current
events throughout the country.
KSf“Prce as heretofore, sl, strictly in aavance.
JOHN H. SEALS,
Editor aid Proprietor.
Penlield, Gad Dee, A 1865.
Bcbofti) to ftmiytranrt. JJlorjditg, literature, Central Jnftllijcittr, flefos, fc
i dMgdmlL
For the Temperance Crusader.
WHICH IS THE MOST GENEROUS?
People, gertMaliy speaking, entertain very
incorrect views of generosity. Nor is this
error confined to the unlettered and igno
rant; it is more prevalent among all classes
than is often imagined. It is not at all un
common for one man to be denounced as
parsimonious and illiberal, and another laud
ed for his generosity, when, in truth, the for
mer is the more generous of the two. The
following contrast will more clearly illus
trate our meaning.
“Good evening, Mr. Jones. Will you
loan me five dollars ? lam in urgent need
of that amount, and if you will let me have
it I will repay you in a short time.”
The speaker was a young man with an air
of swagger that bordered on the swell, a face
exhibiting traces of dissipation and a dress
that betokened irregularity of habits. The
individual addressed was a middle-aged
man, whose appearance altogether indica
ted him to be substanch, hard-working, and
heavily burdened. Seeing that the latter
hesitated to comply with his request, the
young man continued ;
“I was so unfortunate as to be robbed of
my pocket book the other day, and I will
be without money until I hear from my
friends, unless you will loan me a little.”
Mr. Jones eyed him keenly, while he was
speaking, as if suspicious that all was not
right. He had, for many years, known the
applicant and his family—then living in a
distant town—he knew him to be almost
worthless, and was confident that the money
would be entirely lost, if loaned; and; at the
same time, that it would profit but little the
subject of his misapplied liberality. Besides,
he had but five dollars, and for that, he had,
what appeared to him, an indispensable use.
Therefore, he declined to loan it: alleging,
as his reason for refusing, that he could not
possibly spare the money. The young man
turned away abruptly, muttering through his
clenched teeth, “a stingy, selfish old scoun
drel, who cares for nobody but himself! If
he had thought he could make anything by
obliging me, he would have offered me five
times five dollars.”
Shortly after, while revolving in his mind
what he must do next, to raise some money,
he met another old acquaintance, whom he
immediately accosted:
“How are you, Dr. Thomas l 1 need five
dollars, will you loan me that amount V’
The Doctor hesitated. Noticing which,
o.ur adventurer urged the same reasons he
had, a few minutes previous, unsuccessfully
employed. With visible reluctance and
with a sigh, his listener drew out his purse
and handed him his last live dollar bill. Ea
gerly the young man grasped it, offered a
few hurried thanks, and walked away, say
ing to himself, “there’s a man after my own
heart. He’s none of your close fisted, cent
per cent, misers, but a generous and true
friend to a fellow in want. One man like
| him is worth a dozen such as old Jones.”
i This is one side of the picture. Let. us
| look at the other.
When Mr. Jones reached his home, he
found there a little girl thinly clad, her lace
sad aiul thoughtful, far beyond her years,
who said to him anxiously, as lie entered
“Mother sent me to know if you can pay j
her now for that, washing. The. man came |
again this morning for the rent, and said ifj
it was not p;, ;d this evening he’d turn us out j
ot the house, and if you can’t, pay motliejj, j
she don’t know what we’ii do.”
“How much is it, my little woman V’ ask-1
ed the other, pleasantly.
“Only five dollars,” she answered —her j
lace brightening as she spoke.
“There it is. Tell your mother Sam sor- j
ry 1 hav’nt been able to pay her before this.” ;
“Oil! thank you, sir. thank you,” said the j
joyful child as she ran off. And hope again j
lightened the despondent hearts of that poor |
family.
A few hours later, a poor woman knock
ed at the modest residence of Dr. Thomas,
asking ot the servant that opened the door
it the Doctor was at home, and being told
that he wa •. earnestly desired to see him.—
lie went out to her, looking as though lie
were uneasy and uncomfortable. •
the woman in a timid voice, “to get pay for
what sewing I have done for your family.
It is only six dollars, and if I can’t get it, 1
don’t know what my children will do for
something to eat. I hav’nt meal enough for
supper, and no firewood, and 1 owe three
dollars that I promised to have to night,
without fail.” She spoke earnestly.
‘*l hnv’nt the money, Mrs. Gray,” return
ed the Doctor, “but 1 will try to “send it to
you in a few days.” He seemed anxious to
cut short the conversation, so he merely add
ed a “good evening,” and left her. Her
heart sank. A tear trembled in hei* eye.—
Hastily brushing it away, she drew her
shawl more closely around her wasted form,
and returned to her cheerless home.* That
night she had no fire, and her children went
supperless to bed. But this was not all.—
She disappointed the neighbor, as poor as
she, to whom three dollars had been prom
ised ; this one, in turn, could not return the
meal she had borrowed from another poor
family; and all three families were involv
ed, more or less, in the same misfortune.
Is there any one who will hesitate to de
cide that Mr. Jones acted more generously
than the other ? Both knew Urey owed
PEKFIELI), (JA., SATURDAY. JANUARY 26, 1856.
poor families sums that ought to be paid im
mediately ; the one appropriated his money
to that object; the other had not moral
courage to do what he was in duty bound
to do. People should be careful to pay their
little debts before'they affect liberality to
wards those who ill-deserve it: especially,
when their so-called generosity will deprive
the poor of many of the comforts, and even
necessaries of life. CORNELIUS'.
Penfield, Ga.
c u& Selectivity
WHITS HANDS AND MUDDY COFFEE.
Henry Thornton had been a married
man just two months. lie was proud of
his wife’s glossy ringlets, her brilliant eyes,
and last of all, her small white hands. He
never once asked himself if these same
hands could iron a shirt, make bread or
mend a pair of socks. Not he; it was
enough to know that they could make
trills on the piano, work worsted dogs and
horses on crickets and ottomans, and paint
something styled a landscape. She was
not literary either. Henry Thornton could
not tolerate that kind of absurdity. In his
opinion a woman bad much better be a
sleep than putting her thoughts upon pa
per. He thanked fortune, too, that she
never took to dry disquisitions, tedious es
says, or egotistical books. Besides his
Helen didn’t care about politics, being a
regular ‘Know Nothing’ in regard to the
item of who stood the chance of being the
next President. As to the war in the East,
she could not tell positively whether Se
bastopol was lip or down ; or whether it
was in the hands of the allies or Russians.
Reformation topics she never broached,
either; Temperance was only fit for drunk
ard’s wiVes to talk about. So it will be
perceived that Helen Thornton was not a
‘strong minded 5 female ; a fact upon which
her husband felicited himself not a little.
We havesaid that two months comprised
the married life of the latter. It would be
gratifying to add that his happiness was
complete, that he had nothing to wish for;
but candor compels me to say that lie had
discovered a little alloy in his gold. To
be sure it would pass for pure metal, but
close examination disclosed the fact. In a
word his coffee had been exceedingly mud
dy for more than a week, and when lie
cautiously dropped a hint to the effect that
if her personal attention was given to the
matter the evil might be remedied, she
rather tartly responded that ‘coffee-making
was not her business,’ moreover shutting
herself up in a chamber, in a miff, thus de
priving him of her precious company for
the rest of the day. A kiss and anew
scarf set the matter right the next morn
ing, however, Mr. Thornton throwing in
gratis an apology for his ill-timed sugges
tion. He remembered Unit all mankind
(and we may as well include woman kind)
seldom attain to perfection; that roses are
always in the immediate vicinity of thorns,
and that rainbows and black clouds are of
ten seen together.
It is a curious fact but no less true, that
love scarcely ever outlives bad bread, smo
ky tea. thick coffee, hard boiled eggs, de
colored silver and soiled table linen. Af
ter all the romance and rhapsody laid to
ids charge, the little gentleman deals in
practicabilities, lie likes bread and. butter
and he wants the bread light and the but
ter sweet. Lie is .‘Wit-tie exacting too ; in
sisting that gaiters look better neatly laced
than when open and Happing at the side,
with i.he strings trailing on the ground.-
He was even known, once to take an an
rnpfc leave of a lad y on tin? ostensible plea
of dissimilarity; but she shrewd people
suspected that the true reason was becim.se
she wore dirty collars. He may be whim
sical, flighty ami extravagant sometimes,
but lie is just as sure to leave his air cas
.tlos and settle down quietly to the three
meals a day and a cigar in the evening,
as a feather is to obey the laws of gravita
tion, He writes tender poetry, too; ‘out
general!v inspiration seizes him after eat
ing heartily of roast need; the sly rogue
knows that an empty stomach is not fa
vorable to smooth rhyme or soft sentiment.
The honey moon had just expired, or
rather the months allotted to that interest
ing period ; for it has been ascertained that
that season can be protracted by proper
means, to an indefinite length of time.—
The twain were seated at the breakfast ta
ble. Mr. Thornton looked dubiously at
the burned and dried steak on the platter
before him, and made wry faces at his cup
of coffee, took one mouthful of the clammy,
leathery tons*’ and then spoke:
“My dear Helen.”
“Well, Mr. Thornton?”
“Did yon ever eat an y of mother’s bread ?”
“No—why do you ask V’
“Because she makes the best biscuit I
ever saw.”
“Undoubtedly ! A man’s mother is gen
erally his wife’s superior in everything. I
only wonder he is ever persuaded to. leave
her!” responded Mrs. Thornton dryly.
It was the first time she had ever spoken
sarcastically, an 1 Henry was puzzled.
“I merely referred to my mother, because
she superintended the brehd-making her
self. 1 wish you could le induced to do
the same.”
The lady lifted her taper fingers.
“Do you really wish me to putty my
hands with pie crust, and to bnrv my arm
in dough, Mr. Thornton !”
“-No —not exactly, ray love; but you
could overlook Biddy, and teach her to
make better stuff than this,” he added
pointing to the toast. “That wouldn’t spoil
your hands, would it ?”
“I don’t know how ; besides, Biddy don’t
want me in the kitchen, and I am not par
ticularly attracted there. I don’t mean to
spend my life doing house-work, or fret
ting abotit servants. I’m not able to do
anything more than wait upon the table
and entertain visitors.”
The bride sighed and leaned back in her
chair.
“But your cousin Mary keeps no help
and still gets time to—”
“My cousin Mary is very foolish to do
so much more than she need to. And then
her hands are as brown as a gypsy’s.”
“I never happened to notice them. I
only remember she makes delicate pastry,
and ] Jays the piano nearly as well as your
self,” rejoined Mr. Thornton, soothingly.
“I wish you wouldn’t quote cousin Mary.
I don’t like comparisons. She’s a drudge
and a blue. You said you didn’t like
blues.”
“I don’t—blondes are my favorites; and
you are as pretty a blonde as I ever saw.”
“She’s an advocate of woman’s rights,
too. Haw often you’ve said you were glad
that I don’t interfere with subjects which
don’t concern my sex. And now yon are
finding fault with mv house-keeping.”
“That’s the very idea, my love. I’m
only regretting your non-interference in
matters that do concern your sex.”
Mrs. Thornton ‘defined her position’ im
mediately. She did not design burying
herself in the kitchen, or attaching herself
to Biddy. She had married for a home
and maintenance, not to spend her time in
rolling pie-crust or moulding bread.
Henry Thornton looked surprised, and
no wonder, for he felt surprised, and his
adorable Helen could be perverse when it
suited her, he well knew; but that she
would-‘put down her feet so determinedly,’
set him to thinking. The young husband
did not wish his wife to perform the duties
belonging to the domestics, but he hoped
she would take the general supervision of
matters; he was a clerk with a modest sal
ary, and prudence was indispensable to his
situation. The story need not be length
ened. Waste and improvidence in the
kitchen soon brought pecuniary embarrass
ment, while in the parlor incapacity and
ignorance of what constitutes a true woman
and real lady, laid the foundation of much
discord, which time did not lessen. The
charm of the ‘white hands’ had departed.
Mere personal beauty, without intellectual
attainments, a fund of common sense and
moral worth, cannot prove long attractive.
Think of it, ye Benedicts, in search of con
nubial felicity.
THE GOOD PASTOR.
‘•No character on earth has such moral
beauty. It is Indeed a happiness of this pro
fession that it, involves no injury of rivals—
that one's success is another’s ruin. He is
the village peacemaker, the school visitor,
and the comtbrter of the sick and dving. as
well as the preacher of righteousness and
salvation.
By his very office he is a public ‘benefac
tor, a fountain of good influences. He is the
trusted friend of all his people, their coun
sellor and guide. To him it belongs to con
firm the wavering in faith—to inspire hope
and courage in those who are ready to de
spair; and to cheer the spirit that is about
to plunge into the awful night of death. His
work is complete when be sees those to
whom he had preached, departing from life
in peace and in triumph. Leigh Richmond,
in his Young Cottager, thus describes the
death of that poor child :
She turned towards me ith a look of sur
prising earnestness and animation, saying,
‘You, sir, have been my best friend on earth;
you have taught me the way to heaven, and
1 love and thank you for it; you have borne
with my weakness and ignorance; you
have spoken to me of the love of Christ, and
lie has made me feel it in my heart; l shall
see him face to face—he will never leave
me nor forsake me—Dear Sir, God bless
you.’
Who would not prefer this benediction of
a dying child to all the applauses of success
ful ambition? This is the pastor’s joy and
crown. His reward is not in fame—but in
good accomplished, in tears dried, in sorrow
soothed and human spirits redeemed. The
greatest minister he who has saved from
death the greatest number of his fellow be
ings.
The secret of his power lies in preserving
pure and stainless this sacred character.—
Great importance is given to talent and stu
dy, and justly so. But after all the strong
est influence which one man can exert over
another, is a superior moral being. It is the
power of a sincere heart, of devotedness, of
purity of life, of patience under suffering, of
love and humility.
Pascal distinguishes three kinds of great
ness among men—power, intellect and vir
tue. “Great geniuses have their empire,
their renown, their elevation, their victories,
and have no need of external grandeur.—
They are not discerned by eyes, but by spir
its—but that is enough. The saints have
their empire, their renown, their elevation,
their victories, and have need neither of ex
ternal glory nor intellectual fame which do.
not belong to their order of minds, and which
can neither add to nor take from that emi
nence which they require. They are seen
not by eyes or by the curious spirits of men,
but by God and by angels—God alone is
sufficient for them.”
Here is the distinction at which the min
isters! Christ ought to aim. All cannot be
great men. But ail can be useful. All can
be devoted to doing good, and exert that in
fluence which comes from a holy life.
HOW LIQUOR ACTS IN SMALL QUAN
TITIES.
It is thus that alcohol becomes a cause
of endless evil. By its influence as a ma
terial substance upon the material brain,
it poisons the fountains of action, so that
obliquity of conduct, and every form of
debasement, wretchedness and crime are
the natural and expected consequences.—
It is the inveterate foe of the intellectual
and moral principles in man. In all its
numberless forms, and in every quantity,
it is the potent adversary of the mind.—
When alcoholic mixtures are drunk, the
very first effect that we perceive is a per
verted action of the mental faculties. A
small quantity does not finish the work,
but begins it. It is the quality of wheat
that nourishes the body, but a small amount
will not completely produce this effect,
nor even protect from starvation; still, the
nature of all wheat, and every grain of it,
is to nourish and strengthen. So also with
Alcohol: a small quantity may not so poi
son the brain as to overthrow the intellect
ual fabric; still, such are its essential na
ture and tendency in every form and every
drop. Its inroading effects upon the mind
are not restricted to the employment of
excessive quantities; they follow from its
common us. There is much said about the
inoffensiveness of liquor, when taken in
trifling amount; but all this is little appli
cable to genera] practice. People do not
take liquors in infinitesimal doses. They
drink them to produce a specific and posi
tive alcoholic effect, and they demand and
use enough for that purpose. Whatever
may be said about ‘flavor’ ‘aroma,’ ‘fruiti
ness,’ ‘body,’ ‘nntriment,’ or other second
ary properties of intoxicating liquors, if
alcohol be absent, it is mockery to offer
these in substitution. We must bear in
mind, that when a 6inall portion of liquor
is taken—as a glass of wine—it is not min
gled with the mass of the blood and lost
in the general system. This result is for
bidden by law of local affinity. The Alco
hol is drawn out of the circulation into the
nervous tissues, and the single dose, there
fore, ceases to be insignificant. Although
minute, when compared with the whole
body, it becomes powerful, when concen
trated upon a single organ. In the quan
tity, therefore, necessary to produce the
agreeable exhilarating and stimulant effect,
for which it is used. Alcohol so deranges
brain action, as to violate the harmony of
the mind. The feelings become excited
and the temper irritable, so that the indi
vidual is easily ‘touched’ and provoked to
acts of impropriety and violence, by causes
which, under other circumstances, would
be unheeded. Long before the speech
thickens and the motions falter, there is a
firing of irrasible passions, which lead to
the commission of numberless offences;
from two-edged utterances that wound the
spirit, to homicidal thrusts, that destroy
the body.
A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT.
It was night. Jerusalem slept as quietly 1
amid her hills as a child upon the breast of
his mother. The noiseless sentinel stood
like a statue at his post, and the philosopher’s
lamp burned dimly in the recess of his cham
ber.
But a darker night was not abroad upon
the earth. A moral darkness involved the
nations in its benighted shadows. Reason
shed a faint glimmering over the minds of
men, like the cold inefficient shining of a dis
tant star. The immortality of man’s spirit
ual nature was unknown, his relations to
heaven undiscovered, and his future destiny
obscured in a cloud of mystery.
It was at this period two forms ofetherial
mould hovered over the land of God’s peo
ple. They seemed like sister angels sent to
the earth on some embassy of love. The
one was of majestic stature, and in the well
formed limbs, which her snowy drapery
hardly concealed, in her erect bearing aud
steady eye, exhibited the highest degree of
strength and confidence. Her right arm
was extended in an impressive gesture up
wards where night appeared to have placed
her darkest pavillion while on her left repos
ed her delicate companion, in form and coun
tenance the contrast of the other, for she
was drooping like a flower when moistened
by refreshing dews, and her bright but trou
bled eye scanned the air with ardent but va
rying glances. Suddenly a light like the
sun flashed out from the Heavens and Faith
and Hope hailed with exulting songs the as
cending Star of Bethlehem.
Years rolled away, and a stranger was
seen in Jerusalem. He was a meek, unas
suming man whose happiness seemed to
consist in acts of benevolence to the human
race. There were deep traces of sorrow on
his countenance, though no one knew why
he grieved, for he lived in the practice of ev
ery virtue, and was loved by all the good
and wise. By and by it was rumored that
the stranger worked miracles ! that the blind
saw, the dumb spoke, and the dead leaped
to life at his toueh! that whea he eemaaad-
C TERMS: #I.OOJN ADVANCE.
) JAMES T.BLAm, ‘7l
PIUSXKH.
VOL. niL-KDMBEE 3.
ed the ocean moderated its chafing tide, and
the very thunders articulated he is the Son
ofGod. Envy assailed him with the charge
of sorcery, and the voice of impious judges
condemned him to death. Slowly and
thickly guarded he ascended the hill of Cal
vary. A heavy cross bent him to the earth.
But Faith leaned upon his arm, and Hope
dipping her pinions in his blood, mounted to
the skies,
“JBH
A TEMPERANCE MAN.
While many of oui* friends are discuss
ing the question as to how much and how
often art office-holder can partake of the
drink of the drunkard, and st ll be “true
to th-e great idea of Prohibition ,” it may
not be uninteresting to read a definition of
a “temperance man,” given so far back as
1831, by the Right Hon. Chief Justice
Crampton. lie was then Solicitor Gener*
al for Ireland, and he gave liis idea of a
temperance man, in a speech delivered at
the opening of a Temperance meeting in
London:
“I beg permission to give my idea of a
temperate man, because I know that legal
subtleties have been set up against the Te
mperance Institutions. A temperate man
is he whose reason rules his appetite, and
an intemperate man is he whose reason is
ruled by his appetite. No man, in my
humble judgment, can be considered a tem
perate man who, to indulge his appetite,
will do an injury, either to himself, or
above all, to his neighbor. “Now, if lam
right in that definition, and if I can show
that the man who uses ardent spirits in the
most moderate degree is doing an injury
to his neighbor, then I dethrone him from”
the position in which he places himself as
a temperate man; and the individual is,
according to the true, logical and philo
sophical definition of the word temperate,
an intemperate man.”
The whole of private conviviality comes
under this condemnation, and even those
who do not use strong drink to indulge ap
petite, but in compliance with custom, can
not justify their practice as consonant with
the true principle of Temperance.
SMART CHILDREN.
A child of three years of age, with a hook
in its infant hands, is a fearful sight. It
is too often the death-warrant,’ fatal, yet
beyond his comprehension. What should
a child three years old—nay, five or six
years old—he taught? Strong meats for
weak digestions make no bodily strength.
Let there be nursery rhymes. I would
say to every parent, especially every moth
er, sing to your children, tell them pleas
ant stories ; if in the country, .be not too
careful lest they get a little tlirt upon their
hands and clothes; earth is very much
akin to us all, and children’s out-of-doors
plays soils them not inwardly. There is in
: it a kind of consanguinity between all
‘creatures; bv it we touch upon the com
| men sympathy of our first substance and
[ begot a kindness for our poor relations, the
| brutes. Let children have a free, open air
| sport, and fear not though they make ac-
I quaintance with the pigs, the donkeys, and
chickens; they may form worse friend
ships with wiser-looking tines. Encourage
a familiarity with all that love them; dumb
animals love children, and children love
them. There is a language among them
which the world’s language obliterates in
the elders. It is of more importance that
you should make your children loving t han
that you should make them wise. Above
all tilings, make them loving; and then,
parents, if you become old and poor, these
will bo better friends, that will not neglect
you. Children brought up lovingly at your
knees will never shut their doors upon
you, and point where they would have you
go.— JHackw>fP* Magazine.
LA BELLE LORMEUSE.
A young and frail Scotch girl, scdreelv
more than a child, and beautiful as any of
Walter Scott’s heroines, has lately attract
ed the public attention in Paris by sleeping
wherever she goes. Her name is Rrina
Walton, and her mother has brought her to
Paris by travel to cure her of her%ihgtrfar
malady. At the opera she no sooner takes
her seat in a box than she falls to sleep aud
thus remains until she is awaked, and it is
whilst in this position that she has gained the
title of “La Belle Dormeuse” While she
sleeps she is said to enjoy dreams so lovely
and so attractive that the awakening into
the common-place surroundings of this v
world displeases her, and she hastens back
again into dream-land. At home, in a car
riage, at the theatre, whenever she is left
alone for a moment, she settles into a calm
and sweet sleep; and with a lovely and
child-like face, and dreams such as she en
joys, one can readily imagine that her facf
in sleep is the centre of attraction for all
eyes, and that she well merits the title of
“the Beautiful Sleeper.” The symptoms of,
this case betray symptoms of the curio us*
forms of hysteria, and no doubt after tints’
has cured her of the abnormal
which she now finds herself, she will look
back upon that.period with as much fear as
she now does with delight,
Aside from the diseased his
child’s nervous system, it nflflßttriouit
to know how much there is of matedatityyn