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, *“ *” ”* ■'*"** “ lk ~ w-*"*- —. ,A ‘ -*'*# * ~ ** -.yy ( ■*’ “**• -■ , ****,:.ym C. . - tz: • 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