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VOLUME 10.
THE GEORGIA CITIZEN
rI HUSHED every ibiday morning by
L. F. w. A N I) II EWS.
(u-fi’ E—/'< Home's Building, Cherry Street,
Two Poors Mow Third Street.
per annum, in klunrr.
ij,,nlMnrnl'i rt th rv<*i ar chart-*- will be Owe Dnilar
” ium Am •’ireH tcuni* or uu, f- r the lift tim-r
----f” Irf y f Vnief.w each xitoqurnt ln**rtb-n. All a<l
au ant MiMntntutt, U be |iablil>eil until
,nJ chancen aec->nliti*lv. A liberal dtarnuut allometl
: abn alrcrtl-ai I* the year.
I .ial arrauttiinentn made IthCouaty OAatw. I>ru**li4-.
llerrfctnfcS and others, rb may i*h to make
-erf >aal and Hllte t arda will be lawnied urt
r .1. .t the ft.llt.wlii* rates*, sir :
. . rive Ham. per annum. * .1 to
I Eleven linen. do St*
y.rTeniinea. do 1” to
V fcl eftuement of this clam will be ailiuitted, un leu paid
fcT, j.l ranee, n-tr for a let* t- rtn than twelve no th*. Ad
\LiwmriiU nt over tea lines will be crou*ed pro rata. Ad
C !rtlse!cnM not paid lor in advance wll. be charged at the
nter.
INdluarv Votienl of orrr ten litter, v 111 be charged at the
uu'l nd-*.
I nni.iincrmentn of camlitlates f*ir o®ce to be paid for a
o‘V*tui rites, when inserted.
*alr* f Land and \ero*w, by executor*. Ad-ninistra
i rTuiJ Guanlian*. are required by law to be adrertued In a
nuiilie roe.lk. > days prevtoin* to the day ■ sale. 1 bene
nm < t held on the firM Tuesday to the in n-h. between
th h.jnrs at ten in the P rentsH, and three iu the afternoon,
it the C'tturt-house to the county to which the property la a,tu
ikiL
it s IVrwmal Pro|irrl|r must be a2 vert bed in like
Vdlce to liebltsr* and t redilora of an Estate mind be
forty days.
\uier i hat anpßc-i'lou will be made to the Ordinary for
l f3 . ,~, Laud aud Xegrot*, must be published weekly for
two K'tUtbs.
t italim* for Letters of Administra ion, thirty days; for
p *ii.issi*.t. nm Atluiinlstrallon. month Iv. six months: for
Ihsmiwiou front Gu.irdianshlp. weekly, forty days.
Rules for Foreeloain* of Mortaaitrs, monthly, four
aumths; r r eeabllshing I *J paper*, for the full space of three
months; for compelling titles from executor* or administra
tors where a bond has been given by the deceased, the full
spoc.- us three months.
Histdbim.
IDEAL AND BEAL.
BY JOME O. BAXE.
IDEAL.
Some year* ago, when I was young;
And Mrs Jones was Miss Delaney;
When wedlock’s canopy was hung
With curtains from the loom of fancy,
I used to paint my future life
With most poetic precision—
My special wonder ol a wife ;
Mv happy days ; inv night’s Elysian.
I saw a lady rather small.
(A Jem was my strict abhorrence,)
With flaxen hair, contrived to fall
In careless ringlets, ala Lawrence ;
A blonde complexion ; eyes that drew
From autumn clouds their azure brightness:
The foot of Venus ; arms whose hue
Was perfect in its milky w hiteness.
I raw’ a party, quite select—
There might have been a baker’s dozen ; j
A parson, of a ruling sect;
A bride's maid, and a city cousin ;
A formal speech to me and mine,
ills meaning 1 could scarce discover:)
A taste of cake; a sip of wine ;
Some kissing and—the scene was over.
I saw a baby—one—no more ;
A cherub pictured, rather faintly',
Beside a pallid dame who wore
A countenance extremely saintly.
I saw—but nothing could t hear,
Eicept the softest prattle, may be
Tbe merest breath upon the ear—
So quiet was that blessed baby.
HEAL.
I see a woman, rather tall,
And yet, I own, a comely lady ;
Complexion—such as I must call
(To be exact) a little shady;
A hand not handsome, yet confest
A generous one for love or pity ;
A nimble foot, and —neatly dressed
In No. o—extremely pretty!
1 see a group of boys and girls
Assembled round the knee paternal :
With ruddy cheeks and tangled curls,
And manners not at all supernal.
And one has reached a manly size ;
And one aspires to woman's stature ;
And one is called a recent prize,
And all abound in human nature !
Tbe boys are hard to keep in trim ;
The girls are often very trying;
And baby—like the cherubim—
Seems very fond of steady crying!—
And yet the precious little one,
His mother’s dear despotic master,
Is worth a thousand babies done,
In Parian or Alabaster!
And oft that stately dame and I,
When laughing o’er our stately dreaming.
And marking, as the years go by,
How idle was our youthful scheming—
Confess the wiser power that knew
How care each earthly joy enhances.
And gave us blessings rich and true,
And better far than all our fancies.
NOBODY.
“By the way. Bell, what has become of
that pretty May Burling, with whom you
used to be so intimate? ’
“Why, Clarence. I dropped her long
ago.”
“Indeed! what unpardonable offence did
she commit?”
“Never aty, that I am aware of; but you
know one cannot visit eveiybody, and all ol
my friends arc distinguished. They have
some decided talent. There is Louise Brad
ford, who is a thorough music an: she plays
equal to any professor. Julia Lee in an is an
artist; she {taints splendidly. Harriet No
land is a brilliant convetsationalisf. Susan
Everett is an authoress; she writes the
sweetest little poems and prettiest stories
that I ever read.”
“And what of Leonora Ilicks—what is
her talent V”
“I do not know that she has *ny that is
very conspicuous; but then she is an admir
able girl —you know that she is worth eighty
thousand dollars.
“Oh!’’ said her brother, in a tone which
slightly liscomfitted his sister: “and Mary
Wilson ?’’
“I should not think that any one need ak
concerning her. She is a splendid creature;
the most beautiful girl that I ever saw. I
always want her at my sociables for the sake
of embellishing (hem. P and you ever know
a handsomer girl, Clarence? ’
“I have seen girls whom I admired more.
1 would as willingly marry a stone image, .
Mary Wilson. She looks like a piece of
• nely chiseled marble, and possesses about
as much life and animation as a polished
hiodt. Little May Burling was much more
to my liking.”
” by, Clarence, no one ever considered
May Burling pretty. She was a nice little
“ mg, but what of that ? So are a hundred
j but one cannot visit them aIL May
*as neither beauty, wealth nor acoomphsh
meots. She cannot play or sing, she can
not draw, she cannot write, she cannot ;
ln short, she is a perfect nobody.”
Just then a servant entered with a card
bom a visitor, and interrupted the tete-a-tete
ween the brother and sister.
’ ■ r ence Milford had been absent for tbe
? ptcs ot four years, and returned to find the
j Unges that are usually wrought within so
* period of time; his friends were scat
tered—- aome to the bridal some to the
tomb.” His sister, whom he hail left a
young, light-hearted school girl, had “gone
into society,” and boasted that her circle
contained none but the gifted. She was a
girl of good natural endowments Lad been
well educated, and was still pursuing various
studies, with so much ardor, and with such
a total neglect of all f, minim* employments,
that her brother thought her fast congealing
into an intellectual iceberg.
About a month alter tLe above cor.versa
tion. Miss Isabella Milford was taken seri
ously ill. A neglected cold led to a lever;
and for eleven loug weeks the yojng lady
could not leave her pillow. At liist her
friends were assiduous in expressing their
regret, and in making inquiries after her
health, etc., etc., but none cauie to lay aside
their bonnets, and to sit beside the suffeiing
girl, to smooth her pi! ow, or to cadence tbe
tones of their gay vo'ces to suit the weak
and aching bead. And tae physician soon
forbade tbe admission of morning callers.
Poor Bell! How she longed for a mother
or sister, or for some friend who was not
fashionable, or who was not so taken up
with her music, her painting, or her writing,
that she could find a little time to pay aiten
tion to the sick! And there stole a strange
yearning iu her heart for her cast iff friend
M *y Burling.
One day a note was Lauded in her room,
written in a pretty, delicate hand. Bell was
too ill to op-*n it, so her brother broke the
seal, and read aloud :
“Dear Bell, —I heard the other day that
you weie very sick—too ill to leave your
room. I cannot tell you how sorty it has
made me fee!; it set me thinking of the time,
Bell, when we were so dear to one another—
when we were like sisters; and I long to
come right to you and forget that there has
been any estrangement I know not how
you may be situated, but I think it must be
very hard to be real sick, and have no mother
to nurse you. If you need me, Bell, or even
if you thiuk you do not, but are alone, please
let me come in just as I used to do.
Your old school-mate,
May Burling.”
In reply to this. Clarence wrote, with
Bell's consent:
“ Miss BurliSg: —My sister, being too ill
to address you, desiies me to say mat she
would be much pleased to receive you. She
is entirely alone with the servants and my
self.
“ With much gratitude for your kind
thoughtfulness, I am, yours respectfully',
Clarence At ilford.”
A few hours brought May to Isabel’s bed
side, whe.tf her capabilities of nursing were
fully’ tried, and well they stood the test. So
cheerful, quick and qmet, her presence was
like the sunshine—as brght yet noiseless.—
She knew of so many little soothing ways
to while away the pain ; of so many little
tempting d'shes which her own hands would
prej>are to refresh the invalid. Then, when
her patient was convalescent, what a fund
of amusement could she afford!—She could
interest her by tLe hour ; .sometimes by read
ing aloud, or by telling some droll anecdote,
or pathetic narrative, or by going through
some intricate game and puzz es, playing by
herself and little brother.
But Bell was finally almost well, and no
longer needed her fair nurse. May must go
home for that little brother missed her sadly,
and her mother could no longer spare her.
And B*-ll parted with her as reluctantly as if
May could play the piano or writs poetry. —
When Bell was lully restored to health, not
withstanding these deficiencies in May, she
was present at all her parties, and invariably
did much to enliven them.
At the expiration of a year, Mr. Clarence
Miltbid informed his sister one morning, that
as he considered it beneath the dignity of an
intellectual lady to mend gloves and to sew
on shirt buttons, he should provide himself
with that necessary article—a wife. Pre
sently, finding that he was serious in his in
tentions, she proffered her assistance in the
selection, which he at onje declined, saying
that his choice had not only been made, but
that he had already gamed the consent of the
desired young lady.
A shade rested on his sister’s face, for she
thought in her heart how dear a sister would
day Bt rlmg make; but it was too late now
to tell of.the hope she bad entertained, so
she only inquired tbe name in a disappointed
tone.
“Oh! will not like her I know,” re
plied her brother. “You cannot call her
handsome, she is not rich, she cannot draw
or paint, she never write?, in short, she is a
perfect nobody.”
“Why, Clarence!”
“It is the truth; but she has woman’s
richest birth-right —a pure, trup, loving
heart. She is skilled, too, in those sciences
in which no woman should be deficient, viz:
housekeeping, and care of the sick; and she
is earnest in her mission—to make home the
most enchanting and blessed spot on earth,
She is sweet tempered and companionable,
and has tbe art of makir g those around her
happy, which many of your gifted friends do
not possess. She never tries to shine: she
never d-zzles, yet she never fails to win.—
Will you care for her Bell? Can you love
a little nobody ? V’i’l you receive May Bur
ling for your sister ? ’
Tears were in Isabella’s eyes, but not
tears of sorrow; nor did she ever have cause
to regret that she owned for a sister, and
her brother for his wife, one whom, in her
ignorance aud thoughtlessness, she bad styled
in contempt —nobody. And, in the light of
May’s loveliness, through the influence of
her daily wa'k in charity and purity, Bell
learned to esteem character higher than in
tellect, and principles above talents, and the
cultivation of the heart tbe proper exercise
and development of its powers, (0 any’ out
ward attainment.
A NrKru.r: Travflino Throi oh a Lady’s
Arm. — Some seven or e ght months ago, tbe
wife of a prominent citizen of our city broke
off a portion of a cambric needle in the index
finger of her left hand, which she was una
ble to extract. No pain being caused by it,
the circumstance was soon forgotten. A
few days ago, feeling pain in her shoulder,
she had it examined, when a sharp point
was found protruding from the akin. On
itsiteing extracteil.it was fouud to be the iden
tical piece ol’ needle that was lost in her fin
ger eight months before. It had. during the
time, coursed the whole length of the lady’s
arm without causing any pain or inconve
nience.—[Cincinnati Gazette, June 22.
A Matrimonial Treasure for Somebo
dy.—There is a young woman employed
in the Harmony mills. Cohoes, who, during
a period of years that she has been employed
in that establishment, lias saved fiom her
regular wagts, and from earnings by doing
ornamental needle-work, over twenty-five
hundred dollars. Yet she has found lime
to study and master French, as well as the
higher branches of Erghsh. She is about
22 years of age, really good-looking, and a
i THE MYSTERY OF MY LIFE
BV AN INVALID.
I have been an invalid during the greater
portion of my life. Shortly alter I became
of age, T was attacked with dyspepsia, to
which I have been subject, with only brief
intermissions, for the last twenty years; but
I am going to give the reader a description
of my case, aud have only alluded to these
facts to avoid lengthy explanations.
A few years after obtaining my freedom,
an uncle of mine died, and left myself and
my sister his sole heirs. His properly was
sufficient to render ns both independent in
an humble way. My limited wants were
readily supplied by this little fortune, which
in my diseased state was a godsend to me.
My uncle died intestate, and I was ap
pointed administrator. He owned a vast
tract ofland in the State of Pennsylvania,
which constituted no mail item of his prop
erty ; but in exainin ng bis paper.-, in the
execution of my trust, I could find no deed
of this land.
Uncle Charles had but recently purchased
j this property; indeed, it was during the
journey he made in connection with its pur
chase. that he had contracted the fatal mal
ady w hich carried him off. He w f as not. a
communicative person, and never said much
to me about the land. He told me where
it was but I had forgotten all about it.
The non-appearance of the deed gave me
some uueasii ess. I applied to all his friends
for information in regard to the locality of
the property, but could ascertain nothing.
Again I searched for the deed, but with no
better success than before. It then occurred
to me that I had not seen the deeds of two
other pieces of property he owned. I ex
amined every part of the house in which he
lived, and sought for information in every
place I could think of I could not find the
deeds.
So far as the home estates were concerned,
it was not of much consequence, for the
deeds were all recorded; but in regard to
the Pennsylvania lands, 1 did not even know
where to look for them. I had not the most
remote idea in what part of the State they
were located, and, of course, should not have
the slightest clue to aid me in finding them.
The re9t of the estate, at the end of a year,
was settled, and we obtained full possession
but where the w ild lands were was still a
mystery. In vain I conversed with those
with whom my uncle had been intimate; in
vain I consulted maps, and looked over th
post-office guide, hoping to recall to my
mind the lost name; in vain I applied to
brokers and speculators in lands.
I fancied one day that my memory had
served me a good turn, and restored the for
gotten name. I wrote to the postmaster of
the place for information, and received an
answer thai no such deed as that described
was on record in his county.
My uncle's papers afforded no hint of the
locality of the lands, and I was forced to
give up the chase in despair. My only hope
was that the tax-bill would be forwarded to
me, and thus afford me the information I j
wanted. The other deeds were equally ob
stinate in keeping their hiding places
Nearly two years had passed away, and
my health was miserab e. My physician ad
vised me to spend a few weeks ou the sea,
and recommended a fishing vessel as best
suited to my case. The idea of a trip to tne
Banks was not particularly agreeable to me
in my weak state, and I determined to
break myself in by making a few short trips
in one of the fishing vessels that supply the
Boston market with fresh cod and haddock
every day.
Accordingly I made a trade with the
skipper o< a “pinkey” schooner, who offer
ed me the run of the vessel for one dollar.
I went aboard about eight in the evening,
and we stood down the harbor ; but the
wind was so light that we w ere obliged to
come to anchor and wait for the tide to
turn.
My companions were all asleep as soon as
everything was made snug, and I soon fol
lowed them for the warn of something bet
ter to do. I did not sleep much that night,
and became very nervous. In the morning
long before daylight, I heard the rain patter
ing upon the deck above, and the howling
gloomily through the rigging. I tossed
and turned until it was day, and then got
out of my dingy berth. But I could not go
on deck .n account of the pouring rain. My
situation was as uncom'ortable as it could
be, and I wished myself on shore, and in
my own house.
I will not picture to the reader the misery
of my situation during that long, dreary day.
The skipper and the men slept until ten j
o’clock, and then one of them ‘ turned out” j
to get breakfast, which consisted of salt junk
and hard bread, with insipid tea. I ate a
litttle, and when breakfast was over, my
compaaions went to sleep again. I tried in
vain to follow their example.
In the afternoon it ceased raining, but it
was too late to go a-fishing that day, and 1
we were doomed to remain, “like a painted j
ship upon a painted ocean,” fast by our an
chor. It was a relief to be able to go on
deck, and 1 rigged a fish-line for a little sport.
After waiting patiently for one hour to obtain
a bite, I had one. anil caught a sculpin. A
sculpin is better than nothing, and I contin
ued this exhilarating sport. I sat upon the
rail of the Pinkey, abstracted from the
world and all around me, like a true disci
ple of Isaak Walton, when suddenly I be
came conscious thst someone was watching
me. I turned, and theie stood the form of
one whom I had known well in life. In a i
word, it was my uncle Charles! It was a
bout three o’clock in the afternooo, and I
was as wide awake as I ever had been in
my life. I rubbed my eyes, for I felt that it
was a vision. It could not be uncle Charles,
for 1 had seen him in his coffin, and seen the
earth shoveled upon him nearly two years
before. I looked, and looked again. It
was mv uncle Charles that stood before me,
and I eoulk not banish his form from my
sight.
“Frank,” said he in tones perfectly natu
ral.
“Uncle Charles!” I exclaimed, bin I was
not alarmed.
“Have you found those deeds ?’’
“No sir.”
“You will find them in the closet in my
chamber. Raise the board on the floor, and
you will see a small trunk. They are in
that.’’
“But, uncle Charles
He was gone —when, where, or how, I
could not discern. I did not see him go.
1 I only know that I saw him one moment,
and the next did not see him.
This is the mystery of my life.
I bribed the skipper to put me ashore
that night and I hastened home, in the
place indicated by the phantom, if phantom
it was, I found the trunk and the deeds,
and also quite a large sum of money in
gold, which had probably induced him to
conceal it.
Whatever may be said of this remarkable
story, I have s mply stated the fact. I can
not explain it. It is still the mystery of
imy lite. One of my spiritual friends has
MACON, GA,, FRIDAY, JULY 8, 1859.
assured me it is not an uncommon phe
nomenon in the experience of believers in
that doctrine. Another tells me he saw his
own father, while on board a ship in Cali
fornia, and I have before me the record
of a case equally remarkable.
The visitation may have been the crea
ture ot my own imagination, though it
seems scarcely possible, for I had no previ
ous knowledge of tbe hiding-place of the
trunk. The reader is at liberty to explain
it as he chooses; but I should not have
dared to fell the story if I had not, heard
of several parallel cases.— True Flag.
Written for the Banner of Light.
MAN AND HIS RELATIONS.
BY. S. U. HltlTT A.Y.
CONDITIONS AND LAWS OF VITAL HARMONY.
The elements and forms of physical na
ture are not controlled by a single force act
ing forever in a irect line, but by opposite
forces in equilibria. The planets revolve, all
nature moves, and countless living forms are
organized through the harmonic action of
positive and negative forces that govern all
the elements of matter. A preeise balance
of these forces is indispensable to the uni
form and orderly operations of Nature.—
When the equilibrium is temporarily inter
rupted the motion becomes irregular, uncer
tain and destructive. The e'ements furnish
familiar but striking examples.
When the evolution of electricity—no
matter from what cause—is more rapid in
one place than another, the atmospheric
balance is liable to be interrupted. Electri
cal currents first move toward the negative
regions of the earth and atmosphere; the air
is put in motion in the same direction; tem
pests arise, and the wild rush of the ele
ments—in seeking their equilibrium—often
spreads ruin like a mantle of darkness over
stately forests, smiling fields, and the abodes
of men. In like manner, when the explo
sive gases are suddenly ignited by electric
forces and chemical fires, in the deep bosom
of the earth, proud cities are demolished;
continents are rent assunder; islands rise
like bubbles in the midst of the sea; and
the great globe itself trembles beneath the
terrible pulse and the gigantic tread of the
earthquake!
It is well known that two opposing forces
govern the movements of the heavenly bo
dies. Should one of these preponderate,
there would be a sudden and awful pause in
the music of the spheres. The planets would
reel from their orbits and scatter their ruins
through the immeasurable fields of space.—
Annihilate one of these forces and it is pro
bable that all organized bodies would be de
composed, and all matter in the Universe be
reduced to its primary dements.
That the forms and functions of animated
nature depend on similar law must appear
exceedingly probable to the mind of the
philos< phical observer. In the last Chapter
it was shown, that the existence of positive
and negative electrical forces could alone ac
count for tbe distribution of the animal
fluids. If, therefore, the circulation and all
the organic functions depend on the presence
and equal action of such forces, it will fol
low that tbe moment these become unequal
a functional derangement must ensue, and
this would be the incipient stage of disease.
But here it may be well to define the terms
I must employ as the representatives of
ideas.
Health is the natural condition of ihe living
body. I use the word to indicate that equal
development and perfect state of the physi
cal system wherein the stv.-ral organs are
sound, and their uniud action characterized
by freedom, precision and harmony. On the
other hand, disease is any condition of an
organized body in which the vital harmony
is disturbed, so that the functions are ren
dered abnormal or irregular. In other
words, disease is the loss of the equilibrium of
the forces which produce the vital and volun
tary functions of the body. Whenever this
occurs it may readily be perceived by an or
dinary observer. The irregular beat of the
pulse, the impaired digestion, nervous irrita
bility and general derangement of the secre
tions, all furnish infallible evidence that the
conditions of health have been disregarded
and the laws of life violated. Health being
the normal or natural condition, disease, or
vital derangement, necessarily presuppose a
departure from a true state of Nature. As
certatnlyas all causes produce corresponding
effects, health cannot continue where tbe
laws of vital motion and organic harmony
are perpetually infringed, nor can disease be
developed where those laws are clearly per
ceived and scrupulously obeyed. To secure
health, therefore, it remains for us to adapt
our manner of life to the precise require
ments of Nature.
The first, and therefore the most essential
condition of vital harmony, is a sound and
well developed body. When the organs are
disproportions! at birth, or their subsequent
growth is unequal, there can be no certain
and lasting harmony in their functions. A
A perfect organic action is only possible
when the organism itself is complete. Pre
cision in the movement must depend on per
fection in the vital mechanism. For exam
ple, if the vital organs be unusually small, or
the space they occupy inadequate to admit
of their free exercise and full development,
the individual will suffer from constitutional
debility ; health will be rendered insecure,
aDd the contmuanceof life uncertain. Again:
If the brain be very large, and the cerebral
action intense and unremitting, the forces of
the system will be unduly attracted to that
organ ; this may occasion congestion, insan
ity, a softening of the brain, or some other
local disorder. At the same time, the ex
tremities —not being properly warmed and
energized by an equal diffusion of the vital
principle —will be cold and weak; digestion
will be slow, respiration imperfect, tbe se
cretions irregular, and the enjoyment of un-
interrupted health impossible. The opposite
j exti ernes in the development and action of
the nutritive system may produce a Culvin
aEdson and Daniel Lambert—tbe one a
! suitable subject for the anatomical museum;
and the other a huge mass of carbon, that
; only waits for a deranged action of vital elec
tricity to set it on fire ; when the whole sys
tem may be consumed by what the doctors
call an intense fever or acute inflammation—
-1 familiar terms to represent the process of ac
! celerated vital combustion.
Next in importance to be a sound and
well-developed organization, is, tbe proper
application of the force on which the func
tions of the organs depend. When this is un
l equal, or is not so distributed as to supply
, each organ with its appropriate share, the
vital movement of necessity becomes irreg
ular. The motive power—which we have
ascertained to be vita! electricity—cannot be
unduly concentrated on a particular organ
without producing a correspondingly nega
tive state of other portions of the body, and
this condition occasions disorder in the or
ganic action. Whatever, therefore, disturbs
the nervous forces, and thus interrupts the
physical equilibrium, must produce disease.
And yet —disease being an unnatural state
of the system —it requires a more potent
cause to permanently destroy the vital bal
ance than to restore the equilibrium when it
has been temporarily interrupted. For—it
will be perceived—when we undertake to
derange the forces and functions of our be
ing, we must contend single-handed against
Nature; whereas, when we labor to pre
serve —or to re-establish if lost—the essen
tial harmony, we have Nature to aid us by
her constant and poweiful co-o{ oration.
The operations of the mind, state of the
affections, exercise of the passions, and our
pursuits in life, determine how tar the physi
cal harmony may be preserved; also, to what ‘
extent it is liable to be sacrificed. Tbe in
tense action of the mind may weaken all the
involuntary functions of the body, and a
frail organization is often prematurely de
stroyed by a mind of unusual activity and
power. When ihe affections are deep and
strong—especially when they have been
given to unworthy objects —when confi
dence is lost and bright prospects vanish like
dissolving views; when friends hold the
wormwood to the lips, and Hope disappears
or stands in the distance with veiled and
averted face ; when the heart is crucified, j
and one is left to wear a crown of thorns
for the sake of those he loved! —Oh, then
the nerves are swept with a tempest of hu
man feeling; the brain reels and burns, and
the vital flame may be extinguished as the j
cold floods roll over him!
When the passions are excited to great j
intensity, and the s >ul falls amid the dark
ness of its wild delirium; then, too, the vital
powers and processes are deranged and Life
trembles in its mortal citadel. Moreover,
when our pursuits are of such a nature as to
exercise but a single class of the faculties;
when Reason’s commanding voice is silenced
by the suggestions of a selfish policy; when
conscience is immolated at the polluted shrines
of Custom and Mammon, the vital balance
will soon be lost; for the individual who has
no mental or moral equipoise may not hope
to enjoy health, or to preserve the integrity
and harmony of his physical nature.
It is greaily to lie lamented that our modes
of instruction and discipline are so poorly
fitted to promote the normal growth and
the true life of the Race. They usually oc
casion an abnormal excitement of certain
(acuities and affections, while others—not
less essential to the perfection of human na
ture—are permitted to remain inactive.—
These partial aims and defective methods
produce various angularities of form and
function, while they seldom fail to destroy
the symmetrical proportions of body, mind
and character. If educated for a religious
teacher, tbe man’s reverence is liable to be
unduly exercised at the expense of his rea
son ; if trained for the law, his moral sensi
bilities may be blunted in the process of
sharpening his wits; if armed for the arena
of political strife, his peculiar training too
often renders him regardless of inoral obli
gation and indifferent to the sanctions of re
ligion; and, finally, if prepared after the !
most approved method for society, he be- I
comes the idle votary of fashion, aud a ser- !
vile worshiper at the shrine of Beauty.
Among the multitudes that crowd the
great avenues of business, we rarely meet .
with a man who, in every act of his life, is ;
governed by a clear perception of justice and
an enlightened sense of moral obligation.— .
We should be troubled to find a politician
who steadily holds the demands of his party
in subordination to the claims of his country.
In the palace homes of wealth and the gild
ed drawing-rooms cf fashionable society,
we meet with few women in whom the un
corrupted love of natural grace, simplicity
and beauty, predominates over the passion
for the modern, corrupt and frightful distor
tions of human nature. Instead of men and
women, such as God made, with forms and
facultiessyrwmetrically developed and barmo
uiously exercised, we have stuffed effigies of
the natural form, and painted caricatures of
“the human face divine.” Such distorted ,
and diseased images and forms of real life
and health, move with artificial grace and
automatic precision in all the gay saloons of
Paris and New York. Not a few of them,
when fairly disrobed, are found to be little
else but filthy sepulchres of human hearts
and minds.
But when the body is rounded into com
plete human proportions, the temperaments
properly blended, and the faculties and affec
tions equally developed—when the appetites
and passions are wisely restrained *nd truly
spiritualized, health is rendered secure; Man
becomes a sweet-toned lyre, and the vital,
mental, moral and spiritual powers of the
world, all combine to sweep the chords and
wake
“ The living soul of Harmony.”
WITH THE TRAILING ROBE OF SUMMER
With the trailing robes of summer,
And the humming of the bee;
With the mild, delicious summer,
Os the azure laughing sea,
Came a joyous, merry spirit,
With the sunshine in her face,
Singing songs of mellow sweetness
With a fairy’s artless grace.
Sing, ye birds, your softest music ;
Hum, ye drowsy, little bees ;
Darling Minnie, happy Minnie,
Wander whereso’er you please!
Gather blossoms—dewy blossoms—
For your glorious, golden hair;
Pretty pinks and dainty daisies
Crown your brow, so wondrous fair;
Fill your nands with blossoms starry,
From the hills and from the dells ;
Bring up lilies’ light-born lilies,
From their cool and limpid cells.
Sing, ye birds, your softest music;
Hum, ve drowsy, little bees ;
Darling Minnie, happy Minnie,
Wander wheresoe’er you please.
As we sing, that angel, Minnie,
Joins no more our happy play ;
With the waning of the summer
Passed her lovely soul away,
Like a white rose, faded, withered,
Fell she on the verdant sod;
Like a bright star, risen newly,
Shines she in the crpwn of God.
Happy Minnie, angel Minnie—
Joined with that celestial throng,
Now you taste a dearer rapture,
And you sing a sweeter song.
JUDGEEDMONDS ON SPIRITUALISM,
NUMBER six.
TEST MEDIUMSHIP.
To the Editor of the N. Y. Tribune:
Sir : Lord Bacon in speaking of Jesus of
Nazareth says: “All his miracles were con
summate about man’s body as his doctrine
“respected the soul of man.” “No miracle
“of his is to be found to have been ofjudg
“ ment or revenge, but all of goodness and
“ mercy and respecting man’s body.”
These remarks are equally true of the
manifestations of to-day. No harm is done,
though the power to do it is present, for it
is restrained by an overruling intelligence
and directed for our welfare; and that wel
fare the elevation of our moral nature.
Oue portion, however, of Bacon's remarks
is not strictly true of what is before us.—
The marvels of the present day are not
“consummate about man's body.” Aiming
still at his moral elevation, they go further
than a mere appeal to his senses. They ad
dress his emotions and his reason as means
of his regeneration, and this may properly
be termed mental proof of Spiritual In
tercourse.
Foremost in this class is Test-Mediumship,
showing at once the presence of the power
and the identity of the communing intelli
gence.
It must not, however, be understood that
this testing process is confined to the mental
manifestations, for it is apparent in all kinds
of mediumship. And there has sprung up
among us a class known as Test Mediums —
a class sui generis— and I have frequently
heard it said, “Wecannot answer that ques
tion through this instrument; you must go
to a test medium.”
I do not understand and cannot explain
why this is so. I only know the fact that
through some mediums tests are easily given,
while through some they are given only in
cidentally.
It is through this testing process that the
objections to the reality of intercourse be
tween us and the spirits of the departed have
been met and overcome. And it has come
to us in such a variety of forms that it will
be difficult to give anything like an enumera
tion. The utmost of any effort must be to
give a general idea.
First: Even in the sounds and the table
tippings, irrespective of the words spelled
out, there will often be observed the char
acteristics of the individual. Thus, a strong
man will be loud and vehement, a child soft
and light—a calm man will be slow and de
liberate, an impatient ODe quick and hurried.
Sometimes they will be bold and dashing,
and sometimes sorrowful or joyous, in ac
cordance with the emotions of the moment
The feeling against this subject is so strong
in many minds that I cannot give names
without inflicting pain. If it were other
wise, I could mention several persons well
known in this vicinity, whose manifestations
would be recognized at once as characteris
tic. Two I can mention without danger of
wounding any one, and that will illustrate
my meaning. My wife comes gentle and
joyous; Isaac T. Hopper, prompt, clear and
decided.
Second: Names, ages, dates and place are
given ; sometimes by writing several words
on slips of paper, and so folding them as to
hide the writing, and the right one be
picked out; sometimes by pointing ia suc
cession to several names, and receiving the
manifestation at the right word ; sometimes
by speaking or writing tbe word; and some
times symbolically.
Occasionally, however, mistakes are made,
and it may be a mere reflex of the mind or
the product of clairvoyance. But it is most
frequently correct, and often the word given
is unknown to the medium, and not recog
nized by the inquirer. One instance of this
is where the inquirer at the moment insists
the word is. wrong, but afterward finds it to
be right. Another is when the word given
is unknown to any one present.
Third: Letters carefully sealed and in
closed in envelopes are returned unopened
and correctly answered. A medium in Bos
ton, by tbe name of Mansfield, has answered
hundreds of such letters, thus showing that
there is a power at work which can read
what is inside the sealed envelope, and, by
the character of the answer, that it must be j
the spirit it professes to be. Sometimes this
is tested by the answers also containing a
copy of the letter thus concealed.
Fourth: Another phase is exemplified in
The Banner of Light , a newspaper of Bos
ton. For many months there have appeared
in its columns communications from spirits
whose existence and names were alike un
known to the medium, but have beeD
recognized, not merely by the names, but
also by incidents told and traits of charac
ter dispUyed.
Fifth: Seeing mediums have described
the spirits present so that they have been
recognized. This has been common at my
house for several years, and hundreds have
! witnessed it. I have myself occasionally
that power, and I mention as an illustration;
that a young man, unknown to me, was
once at my house, and I saw the spirits
present, and from my description he recog
nized one whom I had never seen or heard
of before.
Sixth: Through speaking and writing
mediums the characteristics of the spirits
are at times unmistakably displayed. Some
times this will be in the language used, be
ing in a brogue or broken English, or some
; peculiar idiom : sometimes by peculiarity of
thought, and sometimes by the tone of feel
ing.
Seventh: Incidents are related or alluded!
to which are known, only to the inquirer
and someone who has died. For instance,
not long since I received a letter from Maine,
purporting to be a communication from Pro
fessor Hare. It referred to interviews be- !
tween us, known only to us.
Eighth: Another instance, which is a test 1
rather of the presence of the power than of
individuality, is where thoughts concealed
from every one are openly revealed. Often
have I beheld this and observed how the in- !
quirer has been startled at thus realizing the
tiuth—often proclaimed, but seldom believ
ed—that every thought is indeed knowm to j
the intelligence which is ever around us, and
carried—where ?
I have not space to enter into the details j
of these things. They would fill many
pages of youi psper. I must content my
self w’ith appealing to the experience of the
many who have availed themseltes, as I
have, of the opportunities afforded them,
and with adding that all may witness them,
if they wish. They have but to seek and
they will find.
If they seek, one thing will strike them
as it has me, and that is that while all his
tory, sacred and profane, is full ot tbe evi
dence of spiritual intercom se in ail ages and
conditions of mankind, it has not been till
’ i
now that it has come in the definite form of j
identifying the spirit.
There is surpassing wisdom in this, come
from what source it may.
If the spirit that comes is one whoui 1
have never known, how can I be certain
that it is he? But if he comes as one whom
I have known intimately when on earth,
whose form and features appear to me as of
old, or are accurately described to me, who •
speaks of incid. ms known only to us, who ‘
displays his peculiarities of character who
gives correctly names, dates, ages and places
connected with bis earth-life, who evinces
the emotions natural to him, and all this un
known to the instrument through whom it
comes, how can the same mind resist the
conclusion that it is a departed friend who
is thus communing with me? and the still
weightier conclusion that if he thus lives
beyond the grave, I must too ?
Already have many inveterate disbeliev
ers in a future life been convinced by this
argument And yet we are told it is all
devilish!
Will it be thought strange that this feature
should now be first known ? Such are not
uncommon occurrences in the history of
man. We are in the habit of speaking of
the art of printing as being discovered with
in the last few centuries. Yet we read that
among the ancient Greeks and Romans they
knew the art of stamping letters on their
medals and vases, and at other periods the
ancients practiced the art. But they were
not sufficiently advanced to appreciate the
value of their discovery, and it slumbered
for ages. So the leading principles of the
Copernican system of the planetary world
was announced two thousand years before
it was finally demonstrated by Galileo and
Tycho Brahe and received by mankind.
And now with this feature of spiritual in
tercourse—it is but the legitimate result of
human progress. Instead of worshipping
the spirits as did the Pagans of old, and
calling them our Gods; instead of saymg as
did the Pharisees, it is of Beelzebub; instead
of being frightened at it, as the world was
in the days of witchcraft, we in this day had
the good sense to inquire what it is; and
we have learned that alike everything con
nected with humanity, it is capable of im
provement by cultivation and of contribut
ing to our advancement.
And thus out of apparently incongruous
elements has grown up a system of Test-
Mediumship, by wmch the long mooted
question of our immortality is settled, and i*
demonstrated to the simplest as well as the
brightest mind by irresistible appeals to the
senses, to the emotions, and to the reason.
Yet with many it is true now as it was
of old —they will not believe, though one
rise from the dead.
J. W. EDMONDS.
New York, June 13, 1859.
NEATS FOOT OIL.
J. N. Baker, High Prarie, 111., writes:
Take the knee joints of cattle, and boil
them three or four hours, when the oil
will rise to the top of the water. Re
move the kettle from the fire, and when
cold skim off the oil. Fvery farmer and
every one who would preserve leather,
should keep a supply of this article on
hand. For softening and preserving
leather, or harness, boots and shoes, etc.,
it has no equal. It is also highly rec
ommended for sore teats of cows.
Havre, June 20. —The cotton market is
buoyant with sales of 10,000 baits for the
week. Tres Baa 102, closing firm, block
100,000 bales.
NUMBER 15.
[/rom the Westport , Mo., Star.]
A Rich Correspondence.
Baltimore, April 29, 1859.
! [I M. M’Carty, E-q.:
Dear Sir: —We have frequently sent
you our circulars and have often thought
i it strange that we have not heard fiotn
| you. However, our object in writing
I this time, is to offer you the preference
i to purchase a very finely arranged pack
age of 26 tickets in the Grand Consoli
dated Lottery, * Class 11, drawing May
21st. This package gives you the ad
vantage of $.22 60 worth of tickets for
the cost of only S2O. The same has,
from its repeated success, won the title
of the Lucky Package, and, to convince
you of our confidence in its success, we
will promise to send you another pack
age free of charge if the first fails to draw
a three number prize, the lowest being
j $250. See full scheme within. We
make this offer in good faith, with an ef
fort to sell you the capital S4O 000, and
we hope you will accept it. Enclose us
S2O and the package will be sent by re*.
! turn mail, the result of which we confi
dentially think, will be satisfactory to
i you.
Yours, truly,
Corbin & Cos.,
Box 190 Post Office, Baltimore, Md.
N. B,—Prize tickets or certificates
! cashed as soon as returned.
Westport. Mo., May 16. 1859.
My Dear Sirs : —Your very kind fa
vor is received, contents duly noted and
properly appreciated.
1 am overwhelmed with a sense of ob
ligation to you f<r you for your unac
countable partiality to an entire stran
ger, and I am puzzled to guess in what
manner I have recommended myself to
your favor. Are you smitten by my
personal beauty—dazzled by the reful
gent beams of my rising “Star”—-or have
you heard of certain little circumstances
in my personal history going to show a
large degree of confidence, credulity,
greenness, or whatever you may call it,
rendering me a fair specimen for finan
cial experiments ? But whatever may be
the moving cause impelling you to thi9
generosity, be assured your disinterested
action is properly prized and your gen
erous proposal is readily accepted. You
may send That “ very finely arranged
package” by return mad, and su-hismy
confidence in its success and its well-won
“ title of the lucky package ,” that 1 do
not deem it necessary to enclose any
funds to pay for it. You may retain
S2O out of the $250 which it is almost
certain to draw—and if it should (as it
probably may) draw the capital prize of
$40,000 you may retain another S2O as
a slight testimonial of my distingnished
consideration. Should it happen per
bare possibility, that the package “fails
to draw a three number prize,” you need
not send the other package but retain it
in payment for the first.
You say you have frequently sent me
your circulars and have of.en thought it
strange that you had not heard from me.
I am truly sorry that my remissness ha 9
caused you any uneasiness of mind, and
my apology is that 1 did not know the
circulars were from a partial friend and
admirer, but, so far as I gave them any
thought at all, had supposed they were
from some Peter Funk or bogus specu
lator, of which you know, dear Corbin,
there are many in the Eastern cities. As
a general thing 1 pay no no attention to
circulars unless ordered to be published
in my paper and accompanied by the
rhino or spondulicks.
Please send me a lock of your hair be
fore the State officials get all of it, and
oblige your beloved friend.
H. M. M’Carty.
P. S.—ls not deemed inquisitive, dear
Corbin & Cos., let me know (in confi
dence) to how many’ hundreds through
out the country your expansive benevo
lence has induced you to send duplicate
letters of the one sent me 1
H. M. M.
Randolph Among the Boys.
A correspondent of the Central Pres
byterian furnishes some reminiscences of
his school days, more than fifty years
ago. The celebrated John Randolph,
then at the zenith of his power, as a
leading member of Congress, had three
wards (nephews) at the school, (that of
Rev. Drury Lacy, Prince Edward Cos.,
Va.,) and used to be a frequent visitor.
The writer says : •
It was Mr. Lacy’s custom to hear his
boys recite their Latin and Greek gram
mar lessons before breakfast, and 1 have
known Mr. Randolph, more than once,
to c<me f.om Bizarre (two miles) and en
ter the school house by sun up. At 9
o’clock the school was formally opened,
when all the boys read ver.-es about in
the Bible, until the chapter or port on
was finished. Mr. Randolph always
seemed highly pleased with this exer
cise, r<ad his verse in turn, and, w.th
Mr. Lacy, would sometimes ask ques
tions. On one occasion, whilst reading
one of the books of the Pentateuch, he
stopped a ltd with the question :
“Tom Miller, can you tell me who
was Moses’ father f”
“Jethro, sir,” was the prompt answer.
“Why—you little dog, Jethro was his
father-in-law.”
Then putting the question to four or
five others by name, not one of whom
could answer, he berated them soundly
for their carelessness and inattention in
reading, saying—hen you were read
ing last week, William Gok read the
verse containing the name of Moses’
father, and have you all forgotten it al
ready ?”
Just then a young man caught the
name, and unable to repeat the verse of
the Bible, repeated a part of a line from
Milton—“ The potent rod of Amram’s
son,” &c.
“Ah,” said Mr. Randolph, “that is the
way you learn your Bible —get it qut
of other books— what little you know of
it”—and with an exceedingly solemn