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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