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VOLUME 10.
the GEORGIA CITIZEN
~. [ i cLisnr.b every kriday MORS'isrt n r
L F. W. AN I) RK WS.
* >r i £ — /'* Hopne # Jlui/duty, Cherry Street, ‘•
I'”-., P'*jr* below Third Street.
—Ji.WO iM*r annum, in ndtaner.
\drnl , nn*iil ;<* Ui* rejmar cinrga o-Hl \ie One D'J’ ir
,i: ( ont kt flrej wxirti* (•/-*<*>. f, r |ti fled in##-
i laactfloa. A
;l :it* ic4 sprit*l l* iHMiah*i until
, . • ,;..l i-Vityed MeoniinglT. A liter*! dbcouiA allowed
,1 i*-rtte ly the year.
‘i .1 rr.i l ■■■■„■ nt* math- with Cos itiiy officer-. Dnijarid*. I
H % I ■ .-. iin ami I.lbfru. win* *.ay V i4i t., nt
t r , nii'l Hii-4rirei Card* ill f- luinttil uii
aiti ’ll’ J t and ttelullown/ ratra,iz; ;
r ■|V liner, per iiniiutn.—.......................a &00, J
> (■•.. . lirtfs *. • S’ )
f Xeuiinti- ,**“• —— Mw
\ ,l-rtt-.m rut <*f U.i< eiaso will be a-liuitted. utiles* paid
• tirv.’ r *>r * iew> t-n than twlre ine sth*. A<l
f,• ciiUot I'ttT ten Unet trill becHanct-d pro rata. Ad
,, is nut fnti-1 l*r in idvaiich will lie charged at the
O’ it tut r> \-tlWc* of or tr ten lint*, will l<e charset! at the
■n*l •**•*■’ ; ■ - I
t iiatiiiiirrmeiita f eandidatqh fur office to he jaid for a
t rite-'. When It <ert*d.
_.t_,,f |..hi.| and >rnifs, Iwlw .tors. Ai’ -iin -tn
r ‘ i ,\fxc nr rviu r.sl l.r law to be atkvrtijed hi a
zate'te, lorUi |toyjawrtuwa tvthe dry “f rale. H>r*c t
* - must tr hrldon the IlnU Tuesitlt lii the rie ii'h. lietween
lie i. sirs “f 1- o in tint fort iesf, i,.f three in the afiernoui.
j the Court tioiiw m ttlccoanty in which the property Is s.tu
i *
*f l*rrM*al I'rvirrl)’ mart U- advertlswl in like
nnr r. r. f rtr **■ • * *
\irtlet* lo mui ( prililiir* , mwA U
yim** fluty dat*.
\Mirr Hut aoplictfkin will U* made to the Onlisarr (hr
1. , ; t*. land and X**n*-, mart tie p*l*li>hed weekly for.
t *
Uiutii ti far LeWvr’ of ion, thirty days; fit*
jv. -n :n*u Adniinidraioa, i\ ttndtHi; to
fraiii <>u.4rdiAn>i4|, weekly, fety day?. ,
tiiilt-n f*r Kihtitliw ill* ks Mori.iura. luouihly. f*w r
n w . rhw: t r mrt ‘ fur the firtl ?<prte* f thrt^
n. ufiii; fr oimjn !lin*r llUes faun ewcuUir* or admiuistr*-
t r* where a hood hat* been jrfttt by the dceesusd, the full
itparr nl iur in*nths.
Cram the Joumtil and thuette.
THE PASSENGER BIRD.
BY KI.I7.ARF.ru . ICAKRKR.
“\\> w. rv bminsi f<r mem’ Knglttnd,
Sailing o’er n Xortborn sn,
(■aily danced the sjiarkiing hillowd.
Freshly blew the breeze and free.
Then above the~wffids~Tbat muruiured.
All cur snimj vavb>i.: • i >
And alaivc the wiiuU shrill |ii|iing,
lItMC a joyous Knr-t of ‘ottg.
Twas a ljttie bird i'n>ni llulland, ,
Wandered I'rwy clime,
\\ e were leaving* lSr*TenThl ti'.
Laud .if f -ag| tlewt r. anti
Singing in the sails above us,
■ Twas a mt'ssenget id -cheer, -
And wa pou-ed withiiugeringfooUtefis,
oft that simp!*- song t> hear, ,
Sometimes to the di,-cl>. dpscending
Came the bright bird fearlessly,
And the rough and hardy sailors,
Watched it with softening eve.
Who could harm the little hi ranger 1
Bright winged wranderer front the land.
And the tiny crumbs were scattered
For their guest with lavish hand.
Sat a tair haired girl beside me,
Sutinv-eyed, and sweet, and young,
And our heart* held speech together,
Though she sjtoke in foreign tongue.
In the sunlight and the twilight,
Sat we through the longjbright day,
Watching all their fairy changes,
Cloud and bilrow, sky and spray.
And we Wove our playful fancies,
Os the little wanderer'near.
What his errand, what his-story,
Wherefore did be liuggr.bere?
Hour by hour might pa.-- unheeded.
Still might come the storm or gale,
Sat the littlo bird unmindful, i
Far above the flapping sail.
When the long dark night was over,
■And tlie morning clasped tit# >ea,
Aud we saw tho el ids of Dover,
Brightly shilling on our lee,
As we heard the skylark singing
Sweetly at the gates of day.
Then otir little bin! from Holland
Spread his wings and flew away.
Time pM'~ed on, and I was sjweding
Swiftly-o’er the ocean foam, ••
And I saw the leagues of billow s.
Lie bctweei) me and uty home :
Then I thought that He wqo guarded
Tints a lone bird o’er the sea,
Stteh a frail and helple witnclerer.
lie wonhl aha* watch o’er me.
THE TORN NEWSPAPER,
OK,
UlftCU MSTAMTI*\L EVIDENCE.
BY OLIVER SINCLAIK.
‘I wiu. never consent to your mar
riage with William Appleton, Ida,’ said
Charles Kedington, with a (lushed look
and atigry t) cs.
‘lf 1 love William more than 1 love
you, Charles, why should you be angry?
This is not the w ay to make me love you
better than William. If l cannot be
your wife I can be your friend ! You
have paid me a compliment*l shall al
ways he t r,‘ilt oftvi-bfg fneyour
hand. I feel deeply your preference of
me over other and fairer maidens of your
acquaintance, and w‘lid i know would be
happy by Such an oiler. N-iy, do not be
displeased ! Because I refuse to be your
wife, is no reason that I cannot esteem
you as a friend.’
Thus calmly, and gently, and sensibly
spoke Ida and, a sweet, beautiful girl
of’ eighteen—the daughter of a pour wid
ow—to a rich young man of uncontiol.
hible passions, who had loved her long,
and would have made her his wife; fbr
though poor she was sociably his equal,
her father having been a gentleman of
fortune, who became reduced before his
death, through the failure of a bank— ,
in w hich he had invested all that he was
worth.
They were standing at the garden gate,
to which lie had asked her to accompany
him after having called to see her, say
ing that lie wish to say a few words to
her alone. These few words wore the
offer of his hand and fortune. Iler re
ply was, that she had been a month en-1
gaged to William Appleton. His angry
exclamation of disappointment called
from her the words of remonstrance and
kindness which she addressed to him at
the beginning of our tiuc.
‘Loveor hatred!’ he replied almost
fiercely. ‘ J must either love, or hate
you, Ida Boyd! There is no medium
with me! As For William Appleton,
may the dev— ’
‘ Charles—Charles I Stop where you
are. 1 his conduct is unworthy of you,
and painful- to me, 1 she cried, lay ing her
hand upon his arm, which he pettishly
withdrew from her touch. •If [ cannot
love you irby then will you hate me?~—
Does not ihfs your love for me
was r.ot such as would stand the test of
lifer
‘ Jda—talk not thus ! My love for
you would have made me die for you !
I et ter day, had you bid me do any deed
involving the risk of my life, 1 would
have marched, w ith a smile upon my lips,
to death, so that 1 felt that you approv-i
j ed!’
She looked in his face. The moon
light. gleaming through a lattice of leaves
above their heads, fell in soft splendor
i upon his forehead ; for his forehead was
uncovered as he spoke to the fair object
of his \vor>hrp. This was a momentary
silence. She broke it by saying:
*> Charle-i, I am very, very sorry foi
you ! i— ’ <
4 1*!y me not! \ our pity adds poi
son to the imrb which you have so com
pletely fastened in my heart. ■ Hade me,
Ma. hate me! That will be the rno-?t
grateful return you can make me, for
robbing me of yourself’
* Charles,’ said ihe lovely girl as she
took his reluctant hand into hers ; 1 dear
Charles, my friend, bow can you blame
me? llow can you f*el so? Love is a
mystery. I do not kn->w why I chose
William rather than )t>u.’
‘ He has kunwu you only ten months,
while / have known von from child
hood.’
* I know it, Charles. I have always
liked you. Do you not remember how
1 have so often given you flowers; and
how you used to love to carry my heavy
satchel of books hofne for me ; and how
you gave me birds and rabbits for pets,
and I named them after you •. and how
you used to do my liard sums for me,
and w hut good friends we used to be?’
••Yes. 1 remember ic all, Ida ; ar.d we
were very happy; and when I grew up,
and you grew- up and became so beauti
ful, I resolved that jolt should be my
wife ; but then came this stranger, and—
and—’
Here the emotion, if not a gush of
tears, of the young man choked his ut
terance, and he turned away without fin
ishing the sentence.
‘ As I said, Charles, love is a mystery.
1 loved him as scon as I saw him. 1 don’t
know how it was but our eyes no sooner
met than our hearts seemed to fly togeth
er, and to embrace like two tong absent
friends.?
Die disappointed lover made no im
mediate reply. lie walked for a few
momenta to mid fro before the gulden
gate. There was a clould visible upon
hi* brow, and a stem fixedness of the
lips which greatly alarmed hir. She
approached him gently, and said :
‘ Charles!’
‘Well, Miss Boyd !’
‘ Do not speak to me so unkindly.’
‘ What matters it? Are you anything
tome? Am 1 anything to thee? Ate
you nut his? 1 do well to speak un
kindly ! But, forgive me, Ida! lam
not angry with you. ■ Poets say love
cannot bo helped ! But as for him, who
knowing how much 1 loved you, and
who has come in between me and happi
ness—’. i
. ‘Say.no word in anger, Charles!—
For my sake, do not be angry with Wil
liaia’. .
‘ For thy sake!’
‘Yes, may 1 not ask this?’
‘ Ida, what do 1 owe you, that for thy
sake 1 should not hate him?’
‘Nothing; but, oh, forgive me! I
knew not you loved me so dearly. ou
never told me till to-night!’
‘ Because I did not deem it necessary
to tell thee,’ he observed, bitterly. 1
thought you understood the look of my
eyes, the touch of my hand, the tone of
iny voice! To td! you that 1 loved you
would have sounded to me like painting
the rainbow, or lending torches to the
light of the stars! But, alas, I see i
have been mistaken ! The love of this
world to secure itself must gabble and
speak itself out, or the loudest goose
will be the victor.*
‘ You are very bitter, Charles.’
‘ Pardon me, but 1 feel bitterly. Cood
night; Ida.’
‘ Let us part friends.’
‘Friends! Eh? Friends! What
docs that iiir&n ? Not enetnics ?’
‘More than that, Charles! Let us j
part friends!’
‘ Not enemies!’ answered the young
man. as he coldly received in his ow n her
soft hand, with which she warmly clasp
ed his. * 1 can never hate thee ! \\ hen
I die, Ida, your image will he found en
graveu upon nty inmost heart. Good
night. If I never more speak to thee, do
not imagine 1 hate thee. But I can nev
er look again upon the form which is
possessed bv my rival. tnHd night.’
lie left the ga’e and walked rapidly
onward. She impulsively followed him
half a dozen steps, but seeing he paid no j
attention to her pursuing feet, though he
mu-t have heard them upon the hard
pavement, she stopped, clasped her hands
together upon h**r bosom, sighed heavily,
and said: • ••* i r
* < >h, that I had before known how
Charles loved me. Yet he never told
his love. Jle was $o difiidont and dis
tant, while William pressed his suit
with such fervor. Poor Charles, I w ish
he could understand that I love him (as
a friend,) though William is to be my
husband.’
‘ Wi-po-will; wi-po-will!’ cried, in
plaintive note*, a wbipporwfll, in the top
of a neighboring tree.
‘ What a doleful cry. This bird's note
sounds ominously, and makes me feel
fear!’ she said, as she returned slowly
to the gate. ‘ They say it sings thus on
ly when some evil is going 4 o happen to
the hearer. Shall I go in, or wait lor
\\ illiam ?’ she soliloquized, as she lin
gered hv the gate, held ha’t-open in her
hand. ‘He was to be here at nine
o’clock, and the bell for nine will soon
ring.’
The young girl, with a tom heart—
for she loved both lovers (but William
i most and tenderest, having also pledged
h in lit r hand, heart and troth) —lingered
long after the nine o’clock bell had rung,
for William had promised her he would
come at nine. With every note of the
bell she expected to hear blended the
sound of his footstep. Ilalf-past nine
came, and her mother came out to her,
and said:
‘ Ida, you ought to be in, dear. Where
is William?’
* Not come, yet, mother. I wonder
what has detained hint.’
‘ Perhaps some engagement. You
know he is butae'erk, and hasn’t his
time to himself, poor young man, as Mr
iiediugtun has, who is rich. 1 must con
less, Ida, I am surprised that you should
have selected the poor mie.’
‘ lie selected me, mother ’
‘But you know that on the least en
couragement the richer would have ask
ed you.’
‘ I did not encourage him because lie
was rich. I could not trust myself. I
1 feared I Tmght be thinking of his for
tune: so I let the one who offered first
have my hind.’
4 Well, Wdliam is a good young man,
and will make you happy. But you
know my opinion. 1 would rather you
would have married Mr. Redingtoti.—
That fine house his mother lives in would
would have been y ours at her death w ith
a carriage, and all that.’
‘ Don't talk of such things, mother.—
They douotcorne into my thoughts. I
shall be perfVrtly happy with William.
And since I have seen the exhibition of
anger and feeling s town by Charles this
evening, I see he has a fearful temper,
which might have n.ade the wretched as
his wife ’
4 Well, come in, dear child. It is full a
quarter to tun. I lonrst people ought to
be in bed by half an hour after bell
ringing.’
‘ I will camp in soon, dear mamma. I
think William will be here by ten. 1
will just meet him at the gate here, and
say good night to him. He was to bring
me a wedding-ring.’
‘ Well, at ten you must come in. Tie
your handkerchief over your head, for I
feel there i tv dew.’
Ten wasstruvk by the old clock in the
house, but Ida's lover had not come.—
She waited till ten minutes past, when
slowly and wonderingly, t-he returned to
the- house, i ..... . . ~.i .i t
‘He has never failed me before,’ she
said ‘ but perhaps somethu g has detaim and
him. I cannot be that, now that lam
engaged to him, he loves me less, and
thinks that he need not be so punctual
to his engagements now, as if he was not
sure of me, aud was trying lo win my
consent!’
I low sensitive, how jealous, how ex
acting is true low.
Ida re-enter* and the house, and by and
b\ retired, but not until all hope of see
ing William that night had expired.
In the morning she dreamed a dream.
She believed she was walking aftivin-arin
with William by the side of the river, j
when a mermaid rose-before them out of
The water, And said, in a harsh voice :
4 Com? —1 have waited for you ! You
must go with me! My home in the
depth of (he river is ready !’
She thought that the mermaid so fas
cinated William, that he left her side,
and went, as by a resistless spell, to the
syren, who was about to entwine her
arms about him, when someone cried,
as if from the air : , • <
‘Fire, and slay her or she will des
troy him!’
She heard at the moment, a report, as
if from behind, and she saw \\ illiant,
with a. wound in his forehead, fail into
the arms of the syren, w ho plunged with
him into the river, and disappeared.—
Theie was a mocking laugh behind her,
and she thought the voice sounded like
that of Charles Kedington. She turned
to see if her fears were true, when the
loud voice of her moiher awoke her.
‘ Awake, child ? Up, Ida ! There is
fearful news !’
‘W bat is it, mother?’ she cried, start
ing from her vivid dream
‘ William—’
‘ William is dead!’ she shrieked, catch
ing the words from the pallid lipx of her
mother. ‘ 1 saw him shot! Is it not so?
Oh, do not be silent!’
‘News has just come that he was found
in— ’ “ 1 - * ‘ 1
4 ln the river, with a bullet wound in
his forehead !’ site cried.
■ How wonderful and true!’ cried two
or throe neighbors who were at her bed
room door; while a. third said, ‘ How
could she know this ?’
* L saw it all in a dream! Oh, tell me,
is William dead ?!
‘ Yes,’ answered the minister, w ho liv
ed near, and, having heard the news, had
hastened to the house of mourning, as
became h?s office. 4 He was found dead
an hour ago by the shore, hall in the
water. lie had been shot in the fore
head. His body has been taken to
his mother's, where an inquest will be
held.’
‘Oh, William! William!—who could
have done this? Dead! William dead!’
she shrieked, and fell insensible into the
arms of her mother..
*,* * * *
The death of William Appleton, by
violence, in so mysterious a manner, cre
ated the most profound excitement in
the peaceful village, lie was beloved
and popular, and was not known to have
an enemy. He had been found by the
bank, his body half in the water; but as
liis clothing and hair were thoroughly
wetted, it was believed he had been
thrown in, and floated ashore. The
place was about half wav between the
village and the residence of Ida Boyd, by
the road that led along the winding and
shady- banks.
4 He must have been going to see her,
or else coming from there,’ said a wo
man who was present as they were hold
ing the inquest. ‘He was ’gaged to her
and went to see her every night.’
i This opinion prevailed. The question
MACON, GA., FRIDAY, JILY 1, 185.
now came up, who could have clone this?
and what could have been the motive?
T here was no suspicion of person or
motive, and the jury gave in their verdict,
‘Shot dead, with a pistol or gun, by
some person or persops unknown, arid
then thrown into the river.’
What more could a coroner’s jury, not
omniscient nor omnipresent, decide ?
The funeral took place on the third day,
and was attended by a vast concourse of
people ; fur a murder invests death with
j a fearful mystery, which arouses ihe
| deepest sympathies of the human heart,
I as well as awaken the liveliest curiosity
> of our nature.
But. there were agencies of Providence
i at work, for the discovery of the mur
derer. The surgeon who had been call
ed to examine and pronounce upon the
nature of the wound,- had-drawn from the
orifice made by the bullet a piece of pa
| per saturated with the river water, lie
saw that it was newspaper wadding,
which had been driven into the wound
behind the ball. He stated to the coro
ner, from this circumstance, that the as
sassin must have stood .ch'*e to his vie
: tiin, for the w adding to also have entered
the wound. This assertion threw’ no
light upon the author of the crime, and
I had little weight with the coroner and his
rustic jury. The surgeon was a shrewd
man of the world, and who let nothing
| escape him, took the wadding home, and
having removed the stains of blood and
dr fed it, closely examined it, discovered
that it was a part of a newspaper called
the Evening Star.
Dr. Thomas, upon looking carefully
at this fragment, compressed his lips,
and was for a few moments silent, fixing
his keen grey eyes upon the floor.
‘The Et'eniny Star/’ he at length ex
claimed, or rather muttered. : 1 wonder
who takes Lhat paper in this village ! j
This I must quietly ascertain. I said, b?-
lbre the coroner, that this piece of paper
might be probably a clue to the murder- .
er, and I did not ‘vish to make any noise ;
about it, lest the murderer himself might j
be present at the inquest, and take the
alarm. I think I have shown my usual
sagacity. Now. with the aid of Provi
dence, I may find out who murdered
William Appleton, Poor Ida Boyd !
They Mty it has broken her heart, as they
were soon to be married ! The Evening
Star! Stay there, bit of paper,’ he ad
ded, ‘ until I look further!’
As he spoke he. locked the wadding in
a drawer, and putting the key in his
pocket, walked out. lie took the diree- I
tion of the post office, which he-entered 1
with a loitering step as if he hid no pur
pose. The Postmaster was sealed in his I
great armchair, (being a bent up, rheu
matic nan, w ith iron spectacle-) actually
reading a copy of the Evening S ar.
Dr. Thomas was a friend and his phy
sician. After a question or two as to
the state, of his llifumaUsm, the medical
man said:
‘ A New York paper, eh?’
‘ Yes, the Star ; Noah’s paper. They •
say lie is a Jew; but he is a great wit j
and a capital writer.’
‘So 1 have often heard. Do you take
it?’
4 No. He is on the other side of my
politics, ft comes here to Mrs. 1 ’ed
ington, w hose husband, you know, was
a great politician. You see her name on
it.’
4 Yes, T see. It is such an interesting
paper, I suppose many copies of it are
taken in the village.’
‘ * No. This is the only one taken ta
ken at this office. It is usually taken out
by her son Charles ; but he has not been
here for several days; so I thought J
would peep into it.’
4 A privilege,’ replied the smiling
Doctor, * which you Postmasters take,
not only with newspapers but with let
ters, eh?’
4 Ah, doctor, that is a serious juke !’
responded the man of privileges, as he
folded up the paper, for at that moment
Charles iiedington entered, and asked for
his papers and letters.
‘ So you keep up the old Star subscrip
tion. sir, like your father?’ said the
Doctor.
The young man answered, with a curl
on the lip, 4 1 suppose one can subscribe
to what paper he pleases V and thus say
ing he pocketed his paper and went out
ot the office.
Dr. Thomas wended his way to his
own house, slowly and thoughtfully.—
Charles liedington was above Suspicion ;
wealthy, son of a member of Congress,
born in the village, and of good name
and fame. Yet he was the only one who
took the Sldr, and it was a torn portion
of th# Star which formed the wad of ihe
bullet!
‘ It is possible that another uiay have
found or torn the {taper. Perhaps he
dots not file them, and throws them
away. Jf so, any one might pick them up.
1 must be cautious. I will call on his
mother, and ask her for the loan of a vol
ume of the the folio Encyclopaedia which
belonged to her husband. This will era j
able me to look about and perhaps learn
something.’
Thus he mused as he walked on. The
day he called on the widow, and was
shown into the library for the by i
Charles himself, who looked pale and ill
at ease—so much so, that the Doctor
atid, ‘Mr. Redington you do not look
well. You must look after yourself.’
The young man laughed and turned
away his head. Upon a chair the Doc
tor saw piled in a heap, a great number
of the Star. He took up one and 9aid,
‘This is a very singular American Jour
nal, Mr. Redington, to be edited by a
: Jew.’
4 1 seldom read it. lam not a politi |
cian. 1 keep it as waste paper.’
! ‘ Ah, indeed ! Permit me to look over
some of them ?’
‘ Yes; but you will excuse me as I
have an engagement. You can borrow
any books you please besides the Eney
j cloptedia.’
1 After the young man had gone, the
Doctor proceeded to examine the news
papers upon the chair, hut found them all
w’hole ; but seeing one wrapped around
a parcel upon the table, he approached
it, and saw tint it contained melon sted.
A portion of this paper was torn off.—
A glance showed him that lie had the
missing part in his drawer at his own
j house! •
Instantly and adroitly lie poured out
the seeds, and secured the paper. He
was over*\ helmed with surprise tmd pain.
As lie was leaving, Mrs. Redington met
him in the hall, and said, after a tew re
marks about books;
; Have they discovered the murderer,
Doctor ?’
‘ Not yet, I believe. 1
‘ Poor Ida! Charles thought worlds
of her, and lias not been himself since he
heaid how she is almost beside herself.
I think he loved her; but 1 always told
him she was too poor a match for him.
1 am very sorry for her, and for the poor
young man. How shocking !’
The Doctor left, and proceeded to his
house, took the wad, and went to the re
sidence of the Justice of the Peace. The
two gentlemen remained closeted togeth
er for an hour.
That night Charles Redington was ar
rested. while at the table, by two of
tho officers of the law r , and conveyed to
prison.
He denied all knowledge of the mur
der, and assumed the front and bearing
of injured innocence. He was, in due
time, brought into court for trial. The
only ground of evidence against him was
the fragment of newspaper. But the de
fence ably argued that the assassin, who
ever he was, might have stolen the paper,
as no such paper Was to be found on the
prisoner’s premises, or brought It with
liim from another town.
‘The Star cireulatns four thousand
copies weekly,’ lie added, ‘ and there are
four thousand chances that my client is
innocent.’
When everybody in court looked for
an acquittal, the torn newspaper whiJi
the Doctor had taken from the library,
with *‘ Mrs\ Eleanor Redington’s ’’narric
upon it, was produced, and the fragment
fitted to it btfoie all eyes.
When Char les Redington saw this pa
per produced, he uttered a cry of despair,
and sprang from the prisoner’s box so
unexpectedly, that he had reached and
leaped through at open window be
foie he could ho arrested. Mounted
men followed his flight, and he was over
taken and caught at the very spot w here
the body of William had h ‘cri discover
ed. The result was that, he confessed in
prison the deed of murder, so clearly j
established by circumstantial evidence.
He said that he had gone home after
leaving Ida Boyd, loaded his pistol, tear
ing off’ a portion of the Star, for the |
wadding, resolved to meet Appleton on
his return from his visit to Ida Boyd, and
compel him to relinquish her to himself!
That he met him on his way, and upon
his refusal to comply w r ith his demand, j
he shot him in a moment of uncontrolla
ble jealousy.
Three months afterwards Charles Red
ington expiated his crime op the gallows;
and on the evening of the same fatal day
the dead body of the fair Ida Boyd was
laid by weeping mourners in her last
home.
From the Nashville Gazette.
A SONG.
[Dedicated to the Chatham Artillery, of Sa
vannah, GV/.]
BY “CLARA” OF BIRUS-NEST COTTAO E.
We met you not as strangers,
But as brothers—tried and true,
And felt amid all dangers,
We’d a host of friends in you.
We knew the gallant soldier’s chest,
Was honor’s richest shrine.
And gentle hands in every breast
Would fain a laurel twine.
Ye have proud and glorious trophies—-
For which our fathers died;
Oh ! guard them as ye would our stars,
Or perish bv their side,
And never these priceless treasures yield,
Or stain those laurels bright—
Be ever first upon the field.
The foremost in the fight.
But now w'e part, brave strangers.
Friends, brothers —fare ye well:
Yet like sweet music in our hearts—
Your memory long shall dwell.
And welt we know should foes e'er da tv
Invade Columbia’s shore, ,
Their bloodiest welcome would be where
The “’Chatham's” cannons roar.
*T.he guns taken at Yorktmvn and presen
ted to them by Gen. Washington,
4 THRILLING ROMANCE.
CHAPTER. I.
She stood beside the altar, with a
wreath of orange buds upon her head —
upon her back the richest kind o'ducU—
her lover stood beside her with white kids
and dickey clean—the last was twenty
one year old, the fust was seventeen.
The parson’s job w as over—every one
had kissed the bride, and wished the
young folks happiness, and, danced, and
laughed, and cried. The last kiss had
been given and the last word had been
said, and the happy pair had simmered
down and sought the bridal bed.
CHAPTER 11.
She stood beside the wash tub, with
her red hands’in the suds,and at her slip
shod feet there lay a pile ol dirty duds ;
her husband stood beside her—the cros
sest man alive—the last was twenty
nine year old, the fust was twenty five.
The heavy wash was over, and the
clothes hung out to dry —and Tom had
struck his finger in the dirty baby’s eye.
Tom had been spanked and supper made
upon a crust of bread, and then the bride
and bridegroom went grumbling to bed.
The greatest instance of impudence on record
Lg that of a yankee, who, in an Italian city stop
ped a religous procession in order to light his ci
gar from one ot the holy candles.
Irish Sergeant:—“Attention company, an
’tend to rowi call. All of ye that are presint, say
here and all of ye that arn’t presist, say at'sint. I
*
From the Sumter Hepllbtlimn.
A l> Is l is s aO N
OF THE
DOCTRINE OF UNiVERSALISM
BETWEEN
Iter. TT. J. Scott, Methodist, ami Her. P. 77.
j Clayton, Cuircrsatiit.
j Rev. D. B. Clayton,
j Dear Sir: —Your third article is now
before me, and in it I find that you recur to
the infinity of sin. I discovered in the out
| set that we should differ very widely in ■< ur
estimate of the importance of that and its
kindred dogmas in the present discussfen.—-
I still think that 1 can in the present state of
j the argument rest the doctrine of endless
; punishment cri the explicit teachings of the
scriptures. And therefore, while I have a
disposition to be obliging. 1 cannot abandon
| this vantage ground in order to “try conclu
sions” with you upon the cruditjes and ab
strusities, of a blink-eyed metaphysics.
It occurs to me besides, that it is incum
bent on you to furnish some better explana
tion of Lius passage in Job before you insist
so strenuously on additional scriptural proof.
You are apprised of the fact that the term
infinite is employed in our authorized version
but three times in both the old and new tes
tament. In one of these places (Job 22, 5)
it is applied to human transgression, the ori
ginal Hebrew signifying without end or im
measurable. There are many other-passages
i! iat speak in terms almost as comprehen- j
sive ot’ the evil of sin, and there are yet
other pas-ages that teach it by implication.
I have not adduced these because there
would be some room for quibbling in regard
to their meaning. Y'ou can hardly complain
of me however for holding to the infinity of
sin, because taught in one text, when, you
make the final salvation of all men, (sus
tained as it is by no text) the corner-stone of,
your Theology. It is very prudent in you .
not to undertake the solution of the problems
propounded in my first article. I certainly
had a right to think that one who wrote !
with such facility in regard to I’reportion,
had both a taste and talent for that branch
of’ Mathematics, and would hot stagger at
two sin p’e sums id th 6 Rule of Tlm e. Dis
cretion is sometimes.however, (lie better part
;of valor. The solution of them would be
rather embarrassing, as it would demonstrate
that the rejection of the. infinity of sin in
volves not only the impeachment of Eiiphaz, I
but the denial of Christ's divinity, or else
the denial of salvation through his v,carious
1 sufferings.
In this connection you criticise, with some
degree of asperity, the quotation from Rich
! ard Baxter, and predicate upon it a misre
presentation (mnntentioual 1 have no doubt)
jof the orthodox Divines. I allude to the
: declaration that we teach that God's law “is .
| infinitely,above our comprehension,” and yet !
that men are punished tor its violation. If
i you intend anything to the purpose, by this
remark it must be that the orthodox system
of Theology punishes men for sins commit- j
ted througti unavoidable ignorance. This is ‘
not true, as your own candor must admit.—
We do not teach that man with his present
limited faculties weakened moreover by sin,
cannot fully comprehend the pniposes and
ends of moral law. any m ire than he can |
hilly comprehend the phys'cal laws of the
universe. It is one thing however to under
stand the preceptive part of that law so as
to know the line of duty ami the conse
quences of disobedience, ami quite another
to grasp all the uses and excellencies of tl at
law. The former is within the reach of a
child of twelve years, the latter would bafiie
the intellect,of the wisest of the children of
men. And yet this is. all that is needed to
vindicate the Divine Justice in the infliction
of the threatened penalty. If for example,
the boy who steals pins (to whom yon so
frequently refer) should ho arraigned before
the civil magistrate, it would be adjudged
sufficient that he.had mind enough to under
stand the law against petty larceny, and the !
prosecution would baldly be required to
prove that he had mastered the entire penal
code. Still less will it be necessary to the
sinner’s condemnation at the judgment seat
of Christ, that he knew all the bearings of
the infinite law of God.
Y*ou might then have spared yourself that
fit of virtuous indignation, and our readers
the old storv from Dion Cassius about Cali
gula, the Roman Emperor. God, unlike the
Roman tyrant, has made his law so plain,
that ho that runneth may read and under
stand it. He has said “the soul that sin
neth shail die,” —“The wicked shall he turned
into Ihdl,” Arc. Universalism seeks to ob
scure or weaken the force of these awful |
threatenings. By Greek criticisms, and end
less dispu tings, and forced constructions, it
effectually conceals the truth of God and the
terrors of the Lord. And we submit if the
Heathen Tyrant deserves to have heaped
npou him the curses of all men what is the
desert of this so-called Christian system.
\Ye shall renew at this point our exami
nation of your pj-oof texts. The first that ;
vou offe: is John’ 12, 32. “And I, if Ibe \
lifted up, Will draw all men unto me” Docs
this favorite text with Uhiversalists assert
the unconditional sYvation of all men through
the cross of Christ. If it do(>, of course
there is an end of the controversy. L<*t
us then examine it at length. In the first
place the men is not in the original at j
all, and whether it has been properly sup- i
plied has been a matter of grave .discussion.
Some of the ablest Biblical critics regard the
expression as referring simply to the univer
sal offer of the Gospel to both Jews and ,
Gentiles. Taking however the expression
as it has been translated, we still say that it
does not necessarily coqvcy the idea of the j
whole human family. And we now call
upon you to deny, if you are able, that the
phrase all men in the New Testament, more
frequently thon otherwise,signifies a smaller
nmnher than the whole posterity of Adam,
sometimes the inhabitants of a small district
or of a single city. It is not however abso
lutely needful to my argument to restrict |
this expressihb. I can accomplish iny ob
ject as well by ascertaining the sense of
“wilt draw” in the text. Not perfectly sat
isfied with the strength of the translation,
you inform us that the original elkitso means
to force along. Unfortunately for the force
of this argument, Donnegan, Schrevelius
and other Lexicographers, tell 113 that the
original likewise means to attract, to per
suade, and according to Mathew Henry, to *
invite. If we assign then to the phrase,
“wid draw all meD,” the sense of will force
or drag all men unto him, it must be for some
other reason than appear* in the text. We
inquire then If this idea of saving men,
whether willing or unwilling, and of forcing
them into Heaven, comports with the doc
trine of moral Agency? Let us say here,
once for all, that God neither will nor ran
compel men to be holy. He can no more
necessitate holiness, than he can lie or deny
himself, or confer the properties cf a circle
upon a square. The very idea destroys the
liberty of the human will, and utterly over
turns the distinction between vice and vir
tue. These difficulties, do not attend the
other construction, that the original term .
i means to attract and invite. In favor of this ‘
‘‘t ‘• l • t
interpretation I might cite Clarke and 01-
shausen, and the Calvinistic Commentators,
Scott and Butkitf, and Henry, and if I am
not greatly mistaken your Cnircrsaltsf Com
mentator Paige does not countenance the
employment of force. There is one text,
however, that overthrows your construction
more effectually than any human authorities
or reasonings. I refer to John 3rd, 14, 19.
“As Moses lilted up the serpent in the wilder
ness, even so must the Son of man be lifted
up, that Whosoever heliereth in him m’ht
not perish, but baVe evor'asting life.” The
end therefore for which Christ was lifted up
was not that “ail men” might be dragged to
| him, or saved unconditionally by him, but
! that whosoever belieretk might have evei Ust-
I ing life. The conclusion we arrive at then
is, that the drawing of the text is not com
pulsory hut suasory, and that it is fulfilled in
the invitations of the Gospel addressed to all
men both Jew and Gentile.
There is a sense, we will add, in which all
i men in a future state, will be drawn or
dragged to tho Savior. The Apostle says,
“we must all appear before the Judgment
; Seat of Christ.” While it is possible for a
man to withstand the attraction cl'the Cross,
he must yield to the magnetic power of the
Judgment scat. There and there only, will
men be dragged to Christ, not for the pur
pose of being saved, but to bear the awful
sentence ot fin and excision “Depart ye cursed
into everlasting fire.” I have not noticed
your compliment to Calvinism on the one
hand, nor your thrust at Methodism on the
other. The Calvinists will not feel greatly
flattered by your endorsement, and the only
reply I shall make to your sung at our Arti
cles of Religion is, that I am not now the
apologist ot Methodism, but the opponent
of Universalism.
YYntr next proof-text is John 2, 38, 39. —
( “I came down from Heaven to do the will
of him that sent me. And this is the Father’s
will which hath seDt me that of all which he
hath given nre, 1 should lose nothing, but
should raise it up again at the last day.”—
Now we ask the reader to observe that
Christ in this text says, that he came to do
the will of bis Father. What then was the
Father's will? Mr. Clayton would have us
believe that it was that all should he saved
unconditionally, for without this “Christ will
fail to accomplish the Object of his mission
into tho world.'’ To this naked assertion I
I eppose the statement of “the faithful and
true witness.” In the very next verse
Christ affirms: “ This is the will of him
that sent me, that eveiv one which seetli
the Son and believeih on him, may have ever
lasting life, ami I will raise him up at the
last day.” Believers then arc alone referred
to in the proof-text under consideration, and
theße too, believers who are faithful unto
death. Os this class Christ shall lose noth
ing, but shall raise them up to eternal life in
the last day. Y'ou think however this text
positively establishes that Christ will lose
nothing of all that the Faiher has given him.
If you take this without qualification, how
can you harmonize it with John 17, 12. —
“Those that thou gavesl me 1 have kept and
none of them is lost but the son of perdition
that the scripture might be fulfilled.” This
passage, it is agreed, refers to Judas Iscariot
Will you coctcud that Judas was not given
to Christ? Then you contradict your former
statement that all men were given to him.
Do you assert that Judas merely apostatized
from the Faith, and was, notwithstanding
suicide, saved in Heaven ? Lock at the
phrase Son ok Perdition, a proverbial saying
according to Oisbausen for “ one given over
to destruction.” But besides all this yon are
estopped from saying that Judas did not
finally perish. 1 want the reader to hear in
mind that the term lost in your proof-text :
now under discussion is in the original the I
satne term as that applied to Judas’ fate.—
Now if in jour text it signifies final perdi
tion, how cuu you, with the least show of
piopriety argue that when spoken of Judas j
it denotes a simple apostacy from the Savior? j
After this exposition of your proof-text, I
need say nothing about the testimony of I
your “three scripture witnesses” who state
that the Father has “given all things to the
Son.” In the sense of dominion all things |
shall indeed be subjected to his sway. His
friends shall be with him to share his glory,
and his enemies, “he shall rule with a rod ot ■
Iron.” Y'our three witnesses prove this and
no more. When therefore you offer their
testimony for the purpose of sustaining a to
tally and fierent proposition, I shall as an “Old i
Barrister” demur to the evidence.
Y T cmr next passage is introduced with a
prodigious “flourish of trumpets.” I bad
promised in a former article to retire from
the contest if you would produce a solitary
passage that asserted that “all men will be
finally saved,” and after some weeks of re
flection you refer me to the Ist Tim. 2,5. —
“For God will have all men to be saved.” I
mu-t confess, that in my judgment such an
other parturition has not occurred since
Horace’s Mountain travailed and brought .
forth a ridiculous mouse. Nor was I pre
pared for such an exhibition of the feeble
ness of your scriptural argument. The text
we need hardly say refers to the Divine pur
pose aud desire to save all men. This I do
not controvert. But we ask if God's will
is not very often thwarted. This must he
the case unless he is consenting to all the
thefts and frauds that are perpetrated, and
to all intents aud purposes aiding and abet
ting in their perpetration. It Inflows more
over that w joked men on earth do the will
of God as perfectly as it is done by the an
gels in Heaven. This is the inevitable con
sequence of a denial that God’s will may be
frustrated by the 3iti of the creature. And
it behooves you to get rid of these conse
quences that attach to your system before
you inveigh against the “horrible God” of
orthodoxy. To reply to all this as Univer
saljsts have done that whatever God “ de
sireth, that he doeth,” Job 23, 13; or that
“he woiketh all things after the counsel of
his own will” demonstrates that are
more intent unon victory than upon truth.
I proceed now to consider your last proof
text. “In thee shall all families of the earth
be blessed.” Gen. 12, 3. The same promise
is repea ed to Abraham, Gem 2’2d Chap., and
confi med by the oath of Jehovah. This
promise of God is considered by at least
one prominent Universalist as having no re
ference to final salvation, but the greater por- ,’
tion of Univarsalist writers esteem it the
very Gibraltar of their system. Hence
some have called Universalism the “Abra
harnic Faith.” Under these circumstance I
shall give it a careful and thorough examina
tion.
I shall not contend as you seem to antici
pate, that this promise of Abraham relates
exclusively to temporal blessings. On the
contrary, I recognize in this promise the dis
tinctive blessing of the Gospel, viz: Justi
fication by Faith and remission of sins
through the atoning blood of Christ, the
promised seed. This-is the blessing which 1
God covenants to confer on all the nations ; :
of the earth, is evident both from the testi- <
mony of Peter shortly after the day of I en
ticoast, and the statement of Paul in the j j
Epistle to tho Galatians. In Acts .>rd this j
blessing is said to consist (as you have ai- 1
NUMBER 14.
- ready stated) in being turned away from ini
quity. or as it is expressed in a preceding
i verse of same chapter in having ‘‘their sins
blotted out. - ’ In Gal. 3rd it is said, ‘‘The
> Scriptures foreseeing that God would Justify
the heathen through faith preached before
the Gospel unto Abraham saying in thee
i shall all rations be blessed.” It is evident
then from these scriptures that the blessing
• promised was remission of sins through
! faith in Jesus Christ. The final salvation
of any was not thin tore unconditional, but
made dependent on Faith. Bit you would
’ object to this construction that the promise
to Abraham was absolute, and that ‘‘to make
assurance doubly sure,” it was confirmed by
an oath. It has been forcibly remarked by
an able writer upon this very promise, that
the assumption that promises of a universal
or general character, are absolute and uncon
ditional, is the very bone and sinew of Uni
versalism. But how can the promise now
I under consideration be made unconditional.
■ It is true that the phrase “shall be blessed”
seems a strong one, but is there not a condi
tion implied. Now we know that Jonah
was directed to proclaim “yet forty days
and Ninevah shall be destroyed.” Here wms
no condition expressed, and still upon tho
repentance of the Ninehvites, they escaped
the threatened overthrow. Again: in Eze
kiel 33, “When 1 say to the righteous that
lie sha’l surely live, yet if ho commit iniquity
he shall die.” And so when God says as in
your proof text, “in thee shall all nations he
blessed,” it must be considered conditional,
so far us final salvation is concerned. But
the question is settled by the Apostle Paul
who distinctly asserts that those “ who are
ot /tilth are blessed with faithful Abraham,”
and that they are alone “heirs according to
the promise.” There can be no doubt that
through the preaching of this Gospel tens of
thousands of all the nations and kindreds of
the earth will be blessed. Imitating Abra
ham’s faith “who staggered not at the prom
ise of God through unbelief,” they shall
come from all quarters of the earth and sit
down with the Patriarchs in the Kingdom
of Heaven.
Having finished your argument on this
text, you conclude your article with a speci
men of the Gospel according to Universal
ism. It would appear to contain according
to your statement little if any cursing, and
to be smartly spiced with A ntinomianism.—
There is, we infer, very little danger of its
“frightening folks out of their wits” as the
“fire and brimstone,” Divinity has been
sometimes alleged to do. But seriously, my
dear sir, did it not occur to you when giving
us the Gospel ot Universal ism, how unlike
it was to the Gospel of .Mark and the other
Evangelists. The Gospel as recorded by
i liese writers and as preached with power by
the Apostles, was not all blessing. It did
; contain “forebodings of damnation,” it took
; special pains “to breathe the word Hell,” and
dealt Mrgely in the orthodox phrasts “un
quenchable fire” and “everlasting punish
ment. ’’ For this reason, amongst others, it
alarmed the ungodly. It made a Roman
Proconsul tremble in his own Judgment
Hall, and so frightened was the Philippian
Jailor that he fell down trembling and cried,
“Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” If your
1 Gospel does not produce similar effects, it is
because it is “ another gospel ‘ than that of the
New Testament. No cursing in your Gos
pel, no denunciation of the “wrath to come;”
| no wonder then that it never “drives men
to the mad house” nor to their closets, nor
‘to the sanctuary of God. It might be the
| better endured if it would drive men from
their sins; but instead, it strengthens the
hands of wickedness, and if preached by an
angel from Heaven with a “forty-parson
power,” would never so much as convert
“one sinner from the eirors of his ways.”
As to the antiquity of this Gospel “without
cursing,” your chronology is sadly at fault.
It is older than 3777 years, and its begin
| ning may be seen in Gen. 34, where that
; “old serpent” the Devil, says to the woman,
I “Ye shall not sureiy tun.” “Let him that
readeth understand.”
I have now reviewed seven columns of
your affirmative argument. Your proof
texts 1 have conclusively shown to teach the
very’ opposite of the “final salvation of all
men.” I sin then forced to the conclusion
j that Universalisin has no positive Bible tes
timony to sustain it. You have other texts
of like value as proofs, and these tv ill con
tinue to present. Some of them I shall ex
amine, but my three remaining articles will
be chiefly occupied with my objections to
Universalism.
It. is important for us therefore at this
point to state what arc the distinguishing
features of your system.
The Fathers of Universalism in this coun
try, Winchester, Murray and others, differed
very little from the orthodox clergy except
as to the extent of future punishment. They
disbelieved in the eternity of that punish
ment, but admitted that it might be dread
i hi), both in the degree and duration. It is
evident therefore that they were Restora
tionists. Traces of this last opinion are found
as early as the times of Origen and Clement,
of Alexandria, who were greatly addicted to
the Piatt nie philosophy from which they de
rived their Restorationism. Occasional allu
sions to this opinion are found in the subse
quent history of the Church and as late as
the Augsburg eonfes a ion it is referred to (in
correctly I think) as an “Ana baptist error.”
It was this view of future punishment that
Winchester and others first preached in
Ameiica towards the close of the last cen
tury. We see, however, in this as in other
instances, that error is progressive. Having
departed from the faith once delivered to the
saints, they continued to repudiate one and
another of the orthodox tenets until the
present system was fashioned and developed
by Balfour and Bsllou. This change was
not fully consummated until 1831, with the
loss to Universalism of some of its ablest and
purest advocates.
The Universalism now ir. vogue is then
barely 30 years old. and in this remark, we
allude not to the origin of the denomination,
but to the orign of their system of Doctrines.
What are these doctrines. Ist. That Jesus
Christ was not divine. 2d. That the death
of Christ was not a satisfaction for the sins
of men. 3rd. T’na: there will be no general
judgment. 4th. That thorigli'eousand wicked
are fully recompensed in the present life.—-
3rh. That there is no future punishment—l
call upon Mr. Clayton to say, h J- have cor
rectly stated the doctrines of Lniversalisna.
Besides these well established principles it is
taught by some of them that there is to be
no future general resurrection of the dead
♦hat the miracles of the New Testament
v.erc not miracles—that there is no Hell in
the Bible, notwithstanding Mr. Clayton pro
fesses to have found it in the 32d chapter of
Dent, —and to cap this climax of negatives
that there i3 no Heaven. This last notion
has as vet, only found its way into a
bath School book, for the “young and tender
minds” of Universalism. Some of these
opinions are not universally received by the
sect, but they are promulgated by their “men
of renown,” and will no doubt ultimately
leaven the mass. What an array of absurdi
ties. It ought not to surprise us that many