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VOLUME 10.
THE GEORGIA CITIZEN
i ? pnmsnra every Friday horsing by
L F. v\. A N P B E w s.
OmiWw Horne x Budding , Cherry Street,
Two I)oors below Third Street .
rKK'l*;—!?• .OO irr Annum, In rtiancr.
4d>rrti rnMA at then**i; ar chArge will b oj’ Dollar
ttirfed •a©ottlia*y. A'liberal iWuuut allowed
AivtbVc i •’ Mtr -bants, and ©Users, who may wUa Vo make
a*4 Bb4iimi ('ar4i will be Inserted un
ly, > nnum. .♦ 500
1 r li* “I*
.•’/vmw ri..rf.Tie*t nu than twelve luoathn. A'i
■r, ‘ -iit ot over tea line* will be ti.iirg.U pro rj/ j. Ad-
Te -aments aot fa!d >or Id IKlrtaue will be charge.l at tlie
’ intman V.tlcoi r over ten liner, will be clanred at tbe
IgpeMoenoenfeef cii,i|hUlw for office to be paid for a
•ait-oof Ln4 and Van**, l.jr Fieentor*. Ai’-vnirfra
. Triiut (.U irdians, are leua>red bv law to be adverti.e.l m a
■Vue tr loitv day* prt\ ...onto the day of rale I lieae
L ’.must ■ •• held on the first Tuesday in the m n h. betwtvn
the b its"f ten ill the forenoo-i and three In the af.en on.
al ibe o'oift-buiise in the county in which the property is s.tu
•eles of Prnonial Property riort be advertised in like
>. (ii-r to Itebtor, and f'rrdllorn of au Erhitc murtbe
nut r.-htd forty daya.
Vain- ‘bt aai tiea'km will be made to the Ordinarv for
t sell Land and Xtgroea, inuat be published eekly for
TitaUons for Utters of ddmlnlstm low. tWrtw.Uvs: for
Dfewiterioa root AdmiaHtration, monthly. is monibi; for
DiaiUiiviuu from Guardianship, weekly, forty day*.
Unit** for Fwrtlui In;: of Burtxtm, month It. sou
• nth. fnr estaMM) 114 I t for the full pace trire.
’ . fur competing liilea Amh executors or arfhntolflfr*,
t ;T ‘ •'** a bond ha* been given by the deoaaeeri. the ftil 1
J-Htctcllnmj.
Thou Art a Child of Sorrow.
BV X. E- CBIO-BT.
In everv change of time ami place,
in every line tluit 1 1 tought may trace
Os pact, to-day, t.vmorrow.
In thoughts of childhood, youth, <*r n^c,
Uml thou throughout thy pilgrimage,
Thou art a child of sorrow.
The Wise that sometimes tills thy cup.
Ur from thv own heart ImbNes up.
Is Wit to lend or borrow;
Not long thou claim'st the precious joy,
Moon dost thou And the ha-e ahoy,
Thou art a child of sorrow
[From the .Yew York Mern-ry.]
The Spirit’s Song.
BT BOUND CUrfOBD.
Mv home is where the cherubs bathe
Un the rosy tints—on the golden wave—
On Eden’s peaceful river;
Free from the stroke of the dreaded dart
That broke the strings of the Lltrobbing heart.
And freed the sotifforever! . j
And I wander on. and forever new—
The lovely vales that rise to view
And the sweet sequestered bowers;
Jjotn with the sainted Winds that sing.
And they dip their plumes and tiie golden wing. \
In the dew on the faded (towers.
Vad the plains are full of the sweetest strain
Attuned to the lowly Jesus sb.in,
And it murmurs on forever;
It thrills from a thousand trembling strings.
That swell the mighty river.
Not a living branch tar a wilierng'leaf
I> seen i.u plain or monntain.
Ami the soul is free from the -ting f pain.
And tlie eyes shall never close again—
For we drink from I'fe's sweet fountain!
And the sin and strife of the vale of tears.
Through glorious (light of the endless years
Shall reach US never, never!
And. while celestial music rolls.
Well i,,m in the ceaseless march of souls.
And travel on forever!
The Look
er KUZABJCTH B. BABBETT.
Tne Savior looked on Peter. Av. no word—
Ne gesture of reproach ! The Heavens serene
Though heavy with armed justice, did not lean
Their thunders that way ! The forsaken Lord
hnkni onlv. on the traitor. None nffird
Mhat tliat t'K*k was. none guess ; for those who have
Wronged lovers loving through a death-pang keen.
Ur pale-cheeked martyrs smiling to a sword.
Hate missed Jehovah'at the judgment-call !
And Peter, from the heighth of Ma-phemy—
- I never knew this man"—did quail and fall.
A knowing straight that God—and turned fr ee.
And eut out speechless from the face of all,
And fill,si tlie silence, weeping bitterly.
1 think that look of Christ might seein to say—
-Thou Peter ! art thou then a common stone
Which I at last must break my heart upon.
For all God's charge to His his high angels may
Guard mv foot lietter ! Did I yesterdav
Wash thi feet. nv beloved, lluit they sfiouhl run
Quick to deny me ‘nenth tlie morning sun—
And do thv kisses, like th rest, betray ?
The cock crows coldly . Go. and tuai.ifest
A late contrition, but no booties* fear !
Ki,r w hen thv deathly need is bitterest.
Thou -halt not is- denied, as I am here—
My voice, to (rod and angel-- -hall attest |
Breauts* / bxow thus limn, let hint he e /w.”
Temperance-
Dr. Githkil in his work entitl'd.
‘“The City—its Sins and i-s Sorrows,’
thus glowingly writes of the sin of in
temperance :
“Before G>d and man, before the
Church and the world, 1 impeach intent’
peranee. 1 impeach it with th* murder
of innumerable soul? 8. In this country,
blessed with fieedom and plenty, the
word of God and the liberties of true re
ligion, 1 charge it as the cause—whoev
er be their source elsewhere—of almot
all the poverty, and almost all the crime,
and almost all the irndigion that dis
grace and alllict the land. “1 am not
mad. most noble l'estu-. I speak the
words of truth and soberness.’ Ido in
my conscience believe that these intoxi
cating stimulants have sunk into perdi
tion more men and women than found a
grave in that deluge which swept over ,
the highest hill-tops--engulphing a w< >rld,
of which hut eight were saved.
“Go uot away, 1 pray you. under the
delusion, that like a fog bank which
lies thick and heavy on the valley, when
the heights are clear, and the hill-tops
are gleaming in the sun, intemperance is
confined only to the lowest stratum of
society, 1 know the contrary. . . .
It has wrecked the fortunes of many a
merchant. It has spoiled the coronet of
its lustre, and sunk rank into contempt.
It has sent respectability to hide in a
Poor-house, and presented scenes in lux
urious drawing rooms, which have fur
nished laughter to the scullions in the
kitchen.
“What hopes so precious that it has
not withered ? What career so promis
ing that it has not airested ? What
heart so tender, what temper so fine
that it has uot destroyed ? What
things so noble and sacred that it
has not blasted ? Touched by its hell
fire flame, the laurel crown has been
changed to ashes on the head of mourn
ing genius, and the wings of the poet
■corcbed by it; he once who played in the
light of sunbeams, and soared aloft into
the skies, has basely crawled in the dust.
Paralysing the mind even more thanthe
bdy, it has turned the noblest intellect
nto driveling idiocy. Not awed by dig
nity, it has polluted the ermine of the
pudue. Not scared away by the sancti
ty of the temple, it aas defiled the pul
pit. In all thc-e particulars, 1 speak
what 1 know. I have .s_*nn it cover wiih
a cloud, or expose to deposition from
(he office and honors of the holy minis
try, no fewer thim ten clergymen with
some of whom I have sat down at the ca
ble of the Lord, and ali of whom I num
beied in the rank of acquaintances or
friends.
“Oh ! if this sacred office ; if this con
stant handling of things divine ; if hours
of study spent aver the word of Gnd : if
frequent scenes of d-ath, wiih iheir
awful and sobering solemnities ; it the
irremediable ruin into which degiadation
from the holy office plunges a man, and
his house al'.tg with h.in : if the uu
►peakable heifrou-ne-s ot this sin in one
who held the post of a sentinel, and was
charged with the care of souls—if these
do not fort fy and fence us again-.t ex
ic-s. ih*-n in the name of G >d. ’let h m
that thmketh he standeth, take heed let
ihe fall.* You are c* rifideut in }our
stret gth—so was he. You can use wit fl
out aini-mg— ? o ..uce could he. I tell
you 1 have seen ministers of the Go-pel
charged by fame, dragged to the bar of
the Church, and degraded before thc
worid as drunkards, whom once 1 would
as little expected to fall as some of you
—as you believe it p --ible that this
1 vice shall yet degrade me from the pul
pit, and cause my children to blush at
tlie mention of their father’s name.—
Such cases are trumpet tongued. Their
voice sounds loudest warning. In such
a fall we hear the crash of a stately tree.
Leave an ungodly world—deaf, stone
deaf to the voice of Providence—to quaff
I their cups and make the fall of miuiste.s
the song of drunkards ; leave them to
say that all religion is hypocrisy, and set
in such a case but the dropping of a
i mask trorn falsehood s face. Let that
which emboldens them in sin teach you
|to stand in a we. For it seems to me
I as if disturbed in his grave by the shock
i of such an event, the old prophet, w rapp
ed like Samuel in his mantle-shroud, had
left the dead, to cry in the ears of all the
j living who regard with indifference the
fall of a minister. ‘How l, fir-trees, for
the cedar is fallen.’
‘‘l pray you do not hate the drunkard;
he hates himself. Do not depise him,
oh, he cannot sink so low iu your opin
ion as he has already sunk in his own. —
Y nur hatred and contempt may rivet,
but will never rend his chains. Lend a
kind hand to pluck him from the mire.
With a strong hand shatter the bowl ;
remove the temptation which while he
hates he cannot resist. Hate, abhor,
tremble n* his sin. Arid for pity s sake,
for God's sake, for Christ's sake, for hu
manity s sake, rouse yourselves to the
question. W 1 iat can be done ? With
out heeding others—w hether they follow
or whether they stay —ru-hing down to
the beach, throw yourself into the boat,
push away, and bend in the oar like a
matt to the wreck. Say, I will not stand
by and see my fell-ov creatures perish,
and hey are perishing. To save them I w ill
do anything. \\ hat luxury will I not
give up ? \\ hut indulgence will I not
abs’a n from ? What customs, what
shackles of ou habits will I ni>t break,
that the>e hands mnv be freer to pluck
the drowning from ihe deep ? GikJ rm
help. Ills word my law. the love of Hi-
Son my rulinj; mot ve. i shall never bal
ance a poor personal indulgence against
the g>d if my country and the welfare
of mankind. Brethren, such resolutions
-ueh h gh. and holy, and sustained, and
se f-dem irg effoits, the height of this
evil demands.
‘1 may -urely • laim from every man
who lias lach m God, and loves Jesus,
and is willing to live for the benefit ot
mankind, a candid, a full and prayerful
consideration of this subject. ’
I'tOHt till J/YofestOttf.
Nothing to Live For.
BY VARA MON THOSE.
‘I wish you had died when your moth- i
er did ; you are nothing but a plague to !
me P
These words were spoken by a mas- j
online looking woman, to a jale, spirit]
like child, about twelve years of age.— I
They were in the large kitchen of a New
England farm house, and the little girl
had overturned a pan of milk upon the
clean white floor.
•Indeed. Aunt Sallie. 1 could not help
it,’ she pleaded.
The above words was the answer the
child received. Her lips quivered, and
“ her eyes filled with tears. She stood ir
resolule, gazing at the’ door, as though
she had an idea of running away.
‘\\ hat are you standing there idle
for V continued Aunt Sallie; ‘go and do
your work—you have a precious sight
on hand, and this floor to clean besides,
you good for nothing.’
The child’s large blue eyes darkened,
and a crimson glow came and went upon
her before pale cheek,: with a fierceness
that startled Aunt Sallie, she exclaim and:
‘\\ hat right hsive you to order me in
that manner, or make me work as if 1
was your slave! \ou may clean the
floor yourself—l w ill not do it.’
•Margaiet Smart, do you dare to
speak to me in that manner, you who
are living upon charity, w ho are depend
ent upon ire for every morsel of bread
that you put in your mouth ! I will
each voj how t* talk !’ and the blows
were nt light that descended upon Mar
garet’s uncovered neck.
This was not calculated to calm her
fiery spirit, ar.d on the impulse of that
angry nvmient she rushed from the
h >use, with th vow never to return a
* gain.
The scorching rays of the afternoon
sun fell upon her unprotected neck and
brow, but she heeded it not, for the fin
that burned within was fiercer than that.
She w T anderd all the afternoon without
an object, and when the long shadows
fell athwart the meadows, she sought the
village churchyard, and knelt beside her
mother’s grave. There, in that quiet
resting place of the earth’s departed, the
waves of auger rolled back from Marga
ret's soul, and bitter were the tears that
water-d that lowly grave.
‘Oh, my mother, jny mother, why did
yo leave your Madge alone here—all a
loiie, nobody to love her ! Aunt Sallie
w ishes i was dead, and oh, don't I too,
for 1 have nothing to live for, nobody to
love; nobody to love me, why can’t I
die—l am so hateful “? Oh, if l was only
lying here by mother, nobody would
miss me, nobody would caie, and I would
not be knocked about any more.’ This
was the child’s wish, to lie in the silent
grave, for she had nothing to live for.
That fame afternoon in a lace-draped
boudoir reclined a young creature,
“Standing with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Maidenhood and childhood fleet.”
Her large hazel ey es wandered over
the wide extended landscape, then with
a weary sigh, she turned away and mur
mured :
‘I am weary, weary, I would that I
were dead.’
1 wonder if that is wrong? but why
should I wish for life—l have nothing to
live for? 1 know the meaning of nothing
but pain and suffering. 1 have my fath
er, but to him I am nothing but a trou- j
bio; all that I am good for is to lie here !
and suffer.’ Truly, as she said, life had
but few pleasures for Lulu Waters. An
invalid from early childhood, she had !
never been able to engage in active
sports with children of her own age; at
school she was far behind the class, for
her strength would not admit of hard
study. She was an idol of her father,
but his love could not compensate for
all else that she lost. She seldom went
into company, even when she was able,
for she could not bear the pitying glan
ces which >he saw everywhere directed
to her. The burden of her w eary sigh
was, that she had nothing to live for. —
She certainly wanted an object upon
which to lavish love and care—something
that would depend upon her wholly for
happiness.
When the sun was slowly sinking to
rest, she arose to take her customary
evening walk, and bent her steps to the
churchyard with a wreath of flowers for
her mother's grave. As she entered the
tranquil spot, where she ever found
sweet r< st of spirit in communion with
her Maker, the fir-t object her eyes rest,
el upon was Margaret lying ’ipoii the
ground in an attitude of abject grief. A
similar feeling caused Lula to approach
her, and bending over her, she said :
•Little girl, do not lie here—you will
get silk.’
‘I wish I could, and die,’ sobbed
Mirgaret.
‘Why do you wish to die, my child l
asked Lulu.
4 1 have lioihing to live for,’ was ihe
answer she received.
Lulu started. Here was a being—a
mere child, from the depth of a sorrow- j
stricken heart, breathing forth the same
complaint that came so often from her
discontented spirit—‘nothing to live for.’
She raised her up, and was struck with
the beauty of the face that rested against
her. ‘What is your name, nty dear?’ she
said.
‘Margaret Stuart; 1 have no one to j
love me ; my mother is in heaven, she j
uwd to call me her little Maggie Wild j
fire, but 1 have no pet name now. 1 !
want to die, but if 1 do, l know I shall
not go to her, for l am so wicked, so
hateful, everybody despises me, and God
is angry every day, for He always is j
with those who are discontented and
cross.”
Again Lulu started ; the child’s words ,
struck home. Gtfd was angry every day j
with those who were discontented and ;
cross. What was she? A weak mortal ;
rebelling against his all wise Providence. ;
It was He who saw fit to lay the hand of
affliction upon her, and why did she .
murmur? lie had given her a kind
and indulgent father, and a luxurious
home.
There was Margaret all alone at her
mother’s grave —homeless and friendless.
Which of the two was God most displeas
ed with for being weary of the life he
had given them ! Lulu had determined
to take Margaret home with her, and in
striving to teach her that there was an
object in life, she might find one herself.
Mr. Waters objected to the charge his
daughter wished to undertake, saying it
was too much for one in her state of
health. Aunt Sallie declared that as she
had had the trouble of Margaret for
two years, now, when she was getting a
b!e to be of sum* 1 use o her, they should
i nut take her away. But both these ob
MACON, LA., FRIDAY, JULY 22, 1859.
! i'eetions Lulu overruled, and Sunnybank
became Margaret's home. Sunny bank
it indeed proved to her ; she was no
longer weary of life—pleasure upon fai
ry wing crowned her pathway with flow
ers. The gentle, fragile Lulu she almost
worshipped, and it was her greatest de
light to watch over her and tend her
when too ill to leave her room, and ac
company her in her walks and drives.
She was Madge Wildfire to Lulu in
every sense of the word ; for, on more
than oneoccasion, the child’s wild, furious
temper shocked her quiet friend. Lulu
had an object in life now; there was
something to live for. She had under
taken to be the guide and director of
Madge, and the task gave her abundant
employment. For two years Madge
had been growing like a wild we. and, un
heeded, uncarod for, and the evil of her
nature h id well nigh swallowed up the
good ; now the seeds of wickedness were
to be erased, the tares separated from
the wheat, and Lulu was to accomplish
the work. Se did it successfully, though
not without labor. Time sped on, and
years passed, and Madge grew r to woman
hood under the tender care of Lulu, and
still hercomfoit and joy.
Lulu Waters had not lived fur noth
ing, her object in life had not been a
phantom which she vainly pursued ; and
long after she was resting in her quiet
grave, was a living monument of what
she had accomplished. Madge took Lulu’s
place in the home of Mr. Waters, and in
that abode of happiness and luxury, j
she was acknowledged his adopted
daughter.
She lived to make others happy. She
smiled with the joyous, wept with the j
sad. Blessings everywhere descended j
upon her head, and peace crowned her j
path way. When she met earthly !
pilgrims, weary 7 of their life, she related :
to them her own experience, and bid j
them seek, and they would find an object |
in life.
Teacii Children’ to Lovf,. —A fath
er had better extinguish his boy’s eyes
than take away his heart. YY ho has ex
perienced the j >y of friendship, and val
ues sympathy and the affection of the
soul, and would not rather lose all that
is beautiful in nature’s scenery, than be
robbed of the hidden treasures of the
heart? Who w.u!d not rather follow
children to the grave than entomb his pa
rental affections? Cherish, then, your
heart’.-’ best affections. Indulge in the
warmand gushing emotions of filial, pa
rental, and fraternal love. Think it is
not a weakness—God is love. Love
God —love everybody and everything
that is lovely. Teach your children to
love the ro-e, the robin and their pa
rents. Let it be the constant object of
domestic culture to g've them warm
hearts and ardent affections. Bind your
whole family together by these strong
cotds. Yuu can’t make ihem too strong.
Religion is love to God, and love to
man.
The Fainter and his master.
A young painter bad just finished an
excellent picture, the best that he had
made. llis master himself found no
fault with it. But the young artist was
so charmed that he looked at this speci
men of his art incessantly, and neglected
his slndies; for he thought himself per
fect.
One morning as he went to rejoice a
new over his picture, he discovered
that his master had completely defaced
it. Angry and weeping, he ran to him
and enquired the cause of this cruel act.
The master answered, It is the work
of serious deliberation. The picture was
good as a proof of your advancement,
but it was at the same time your ruin.
How so? inquired the young artist.
Beloved, answered the master, you
loved no longer tlie.art in your painting,
but merely yourself. Believe me, it
was not a finished production, even if it
appeared so to us; it was only a first
effort. Let not the sacrifice grieve you.
The great must be in you before you
can bring it on canvas.
Courageously and full of confidence in
himself and his master, he seized the
pencil and finished his magrificent work,
the Offering of Iphigenia ! For the
name of the artist was Tmnanthes. — Ex
‘l’\*E Got Orders not to Go.’ —‘l’ve
got orders, positive orders, ni>t to go
there ; orders that 1 dare not disobey,’
said a youth, who was being tempted to
a smoking and gambling saloon.
‘Come, don’t be so womanish —come
along like a man,’ shouted the youths.’
‘No, I can’t break orders,’ said John.
‘W hat special orders have you got ?
come show ’em to us, if you can ; show
, us your orders.’
John took out a wallet from his pock
et, and pulliugout a neatly folded paper,
‘lt's here,’ he said, unfolding the paper,
and showing it to the boys. They look*
ed, and one of them read aloud : ‘Enter
not into the path of the wicked, and go
not in the way of wicked men. Avoid it,
j pass not by it, turn from it, and pass a”
way.’
‘Now,’ said John, ‘you see my orders
forbid me going w ith you; they are God’s
orders, and by his help I don’t mean to
| break them.’
The Angrel’s Visit.
On a beautiful Spring morning, as a
young mother completed toilet, and was
about to leave the room, as was her wont,
io look at two lovely sleeping infants,
with that fond affection, and holy love,
and beaming joy which mothers only
know. As she turned from the cradle of
the y oungest (now with the angels,) the
elde-t, a little more than two years old,
; suddenly raised herself, and gazing up
ward fixed her clear blue eyes on the
j mantel, whilst her face wore an express
ion of joy, such, I am sure, as an
gels only wear, she exclaimed, “Oh,
they are gone, mamma, they are gone ! ’
“What are gone ?” said the mother gent
ly —afraid that the tones of her voice
would break the illusion. “Oh, the lit
tle babes with wings—so many of them
—and the booful (beautiful) flowers !
oh, all around so pretty : they are gone,
mamma !” and as her mother continued
to question, the angel expression faded,
and a look of disappointment settled on
her countenance, and dispersed the radi
ance that shone there a moment before.
The child had been told of the beau
ties of a heavenly home—of the joy that
awaits the redeemed. The opening leaf,
the swelling bud, had been placed in
those tiny hands, their beauties pointed
out—daily had she been told and taught
to admire the skill of the great Artist.
She had been taught to love her little
kneeling-place, and at twilight to clasp
her infant hands in prayer, before her
couch was pressed by that form. Was
it a wonder, then, that her infant slum
bers should be sweet ? that angel forms
should throng her bed ? that flowers,
su.h as bloom only in the paradise of
God, should be scattered thickly around
her ? Oh, was it—was it any wonder,
that when that glorious vision vanished,
the pleased expression lasted until her
reason was convinced that in her sleep,
Christ, the Savior of sinners, had wooed
her spirit to the realms of bliss, and that
in her waking, she was only with mam
ma ? that ihe fl.iwers had sided, that the
angel forms were invisible ?
May the Angel of the Covenant ever
be around her pathway ! may her heart,
in early life, respond to the Spirit’s call!
may the Saviour be her best friend !
may she be kept unspotted from the
world, so that when life’s silver chord is
loosed, she may dwell where flowers nev
er fade —a gem in the diadem of God,
whose lustre shall never grow dim*
Smokers and Smoking.
Our fathers got up a rebellion on
the account of a tax on tea ; but we
seriously think that they had not
half to justify them in a rebellion a
gainst Britain that we have in preach
ing a crusade against smokers. If
there is anything which is our espe
cial abomination, it is smoke. To be
sure, if a man chooses to till his mouth
with the most nauseous weed that
the earth brings forth—to dye his
teetli as an Arab beauty does her nails
—to compel the careful housewife to
keep at his elbow that indigenous el
egance of Yankee land, a spit-box —
to salivate himself into a consump
tion ; we say, ifa man chooses to do
this, we have no special objection.—
This is a matter that concerns his
wife and children, if he have any ; and
if lie be an old batohelor, it is not of
much consequence how or when he
shuffle off this mortal coil. But smok
ing is a nuisance that spreads itself
more widely—it is borne upon the
wings of the wind.
The stench of tobacco smoke is
communicated like contagious dis
ease —it emanates from the rooms,
furniture, and clothing of the smo
ker —poisons the sweet, free air of
heaven, and retains the noxious pow
er for months together. No quaran
tine process that we know of will
purge it away. All know that it is
deemed contrary to the law of nations
so poison wells of water; but God’s
tresh, healthful, exhilerating air is
poisoned every day with a substance
that is as effectual is in producing
nausea in the stomachs of a great
part of the community as any of
the drugs of the apothecary’s shop.
This love of tobacco, like the love
of ardent spirits, is an acquired hab
it. Tobacco is a virulent poison,
it will kill a cat, or a dog, or a child,
and is to the natural sense of taste
one of the most nauseous substan
ces in nature. It is only by a pretty
rigid discipline that most men can
acquire the habit of using it. But
when the habit —that of smoking, es
pecially —is once acquired, its posses
sor becomes at once possessed with a
most violent spirit of propagandism.
Not only does he smoke himself, but
he determines that everybody’ else in
his vicinity shall smoke too. Now a
brandy drinker, however much he
may like a social glass, does not of
i ten compel one to drink with him,
! whether he will or not ; he does not
often spurt his glass of brandy into
y’our face, forcing the sickening stuff’
dofrn your throat. But the smoker
does this constantly. We have heard
somewhere an anecdote in point—
stale, perhaps, we will give it. A
[ clerical gentleman, noted for his caus
’ tic wit, was riding in a stage ; the
! carriage stopping at a farm-house, a
| stout old German got in and soon felt
prompted to indulge tlie Teutonic
! propensity for smoking. Pulling out
a well-filled pipe be began operations.
The gentleman in black endured the
infliction quietly. lie then turned to
him of the pipe : “Sir,” said he, “do
you think it quite fair to compel me. to
take this smoke down my throat after it
has once been down yours ?” After a
little reflection, the point of the joke
dawned upon the foggy mind of the
smoker, and he slowly knocked the
fire out of his pipe, and tbe stomach
of the afflicted man regained its wont
ed quietness.
Now this argumentum ad hominem,
which put out the poor German, ap
plies with equal force to nearly all
smokers. It is in travelling that this
annoyance becomes most-severe.—
You get into a coach for a journey;
presently someone takes out an ele
! guilt cigar case, and after some ex
| animation selects a cigar to his liking:
Next comes the match from his pocket
andjustashe is about to light bis
lucifer, bis politeness comes sudden
ly to mind, and, with the blandest
possible of smiles, lie says, “Gentle
men, J hope smoking will not be of
fensive to any of you.” Having be
gun to do the gentlemanly thing, the
smoker thinks that he must carry it
out ; so out lie gets, and rides upon
the box with the driver. There,
at least, lie can smoke as much as he
pleases, and be puffs away with all I
the fierceness of one of Irving’s:
Dutch Governors—while tlie gentle
breeze produced by the motion of the j
coach brings every Avbiff through the
windows full iu your face !
You step into a railroad ear. ‘Here,’ j
say you, inwardly, “I shall be nose- j
free.” But not so fast !—soon the
bell sounds, and the ears stop for a
moment or two. Just before they
start again, out from a shanty come
two or three smokers at the top of
their speed. “Will they presume to
come into the car ?” you groan out
in despair. “Oh, no ! they are too
polite to do that ; they will stand up
on the platform outside of the ears,
and smoke there, while you, asClias.
Lamb says, sit
“and catch
Some collateral sweets, and snatch
Sidelong odors,”
till tbe cigars are burnt up. Then
tbe gentlemen come in, and you liax’e
the benefit of their breath, coming
from the lungs saturated with tobae- :
co smoke.
Next you go on board a steamer,
perhaps. You read in a conspicuous
place, “All baggage at the risk of the
owners,” “No smoking abaft the
engine but you soon find the pro
hibition is to smokers, but doos by no j
means extend to smoke. You begin
to flatter yourself that for this time,
at least,you shall escape sea-sickness,
You walk the quarter-deck with all
the dignity of an admiral ; you feel
tlie gentle rise and fall of the gallant
vessel, as she “leaps to the careering
seas you are full of life and buoy
ancy ; ou perhaps have begun to
hum “I am on the sea ! I am on the
sea!”—when (), horror of horrors !
just as the boat is settling down into
the hollow of a wave, there comes a
breeze laden not with Sebean odors,
but with a compound of the vapor of
heated oil, bilge waeer, and tobacco
smoke ! Your song goes down to B
flat in double quick time, and you
stagger off down to your birth, to
settle up your accounts with “Davy
Jones.” Pale and stupid you once
more get on shore, uttering ever and
anon a feeble anathema against steam- j
boats and smokers, and are soon ush
ered into a public house, where the
first thing that greets you is a bar
room tilled with smoke and smoking
loafers. After a while you get shav
ed and dressed, and having, by the
help of some internal improvements
in the shape of tea and toast, begun j
to get your land legs on, you sally I
forth (perhaps to some beautiful
down east village) to visit some witch |
of a cousin, or some friend of that
sort. You snuff the fresh land breeze i
with new life, and excogitation of a
tine train of sentiment, with the con
fident hope of making a decided‘hit.’;
You get seated by a window, looking
your best in midst of a picturesque
description of the effect ol* moonlight
upon the sea, when lo ! a cloud of ci
gar smoke from the throat of some
idle schoolboys envelopes both you
and your ideas. A wav goes senti- !
ment, and your stomach heaves in
sad remembrance of your last night’s
passage, and you make the shortest
road to the street, to avoid more dis- j
agreeable consequences.
The fact is the civilized world is ;
divided into two classes—the smokers
and the smoked ; the tormentors and
tormented. We are for the smoked
—the tormented. We feel for our
fellow sufferers, but whence shall we
hope for any relief? We have no
hopes of redress. We must expect
to go on as we have done hitherto,
suffering in meekness and silence
from vomiting and tobacco smoke,
till we are so thin that we cannot
make a shadow, and our skin is as
brown as a red herring or a leg of
bacon. — Old Paper.
-
Military Academy, Marietta.
Col. A. V. Brumby and Captain McCon
nell have resigned their stations, and Major
Capers, of S. Carolina, has been appointed
Superintendent, and Capt. McGill, Com
mandant.
The Charleston Courier, of Friday last,
says:—
“Capt. W. J. McGill will accept, and
will ably and acceptably fill the office ten
dered to him in this complimentary elec
tion.”
Maj. Capers declines.
JUDGE EDMONDS ON SPiHiruAUSK
NUMBER SEVEN.
HEALING MEDIUMS.
To the Editor of the New York Tribune:
Sir : “Now, when John had heard in
the prison the works of Christ, he sent
rwo of his di-ciplcs and said unto him,
Art thou he that should come, or do we
look for another ? Jesus answered and
said unto them, ‘Go and show John
again those things which ye do hear and
<ee : the blind receive their sight, and
the lame walk ; the lepers are cleansed,
and the deaf hear.”
Hut not alone by him were these
‘hings done. He ordained twelve, and
“gave them power against unclean spir
its to cast them out, and to heal all man
! ner of sickness.” He choose seventy,
and sent them forth, saying, “Ileal th*.
sick, and say unto them, The Kingdom
of God is come nigh unto you.”
And when it was reported to him that
others, not his followers, were casting
1 out devils in his name, he said, “forbid
them not, for there is no man, which
‘hall do a miracle in my name, that Can
lightly speak evil of me.”
Now mark the parallel :
1. Casting out Devils —l take this
I phrase as I find it in Scripture, as indi
! eating that the subject is possessed by
an influence which produces violent
throes, or, as is said in Scripture—
“ Straightway the spirit tore him, and he
fell on the ground, and wallow r ed, foain
ing.”
I have witnessed many instances of
this when the subject was relieved sim
ply by lay ing on of hands, and some i
times by a mere command to the spirit
to depart.
I was once at a circle in Troy—some
| twenty persons present —when a strong
man became unconscious and violently
convulsed. He beat the table great
force with both his fi-ts. 1 put tny hand
on his head, against vehement struggles
on his part to prevent it, and in a f. w
moments he was restored to quiet and
consciousness. I ori'V had a man simi
larly affected in mv own room who beat,
his head viole* t'v on a mar b e top tabl*-,
and fell on ‘h fl <*r in cm* vul-i**ii-. H.
was recovered bv the same means, tho
more slowly. A man from Chicago
waited on me, afflict*d with continuous
convulsions of his aims and legs. He!
was restored by the mere exercise of the
will. L ist yar, at mv house, I found a
man laving < n the floor distorted and
convulsed. I fifed him up, compelled
him to sit in a chair, and then with a
few words, addressed, not to him. he was
at once restored to composure.
These instances are enough for illus
tration. They may be startling to one
not acquainted with the subject, but it is
ignorance alone that makes th -m so. It
is not difficult to understand it, and easy
to learn how to control it. Good sense,
firmness and unselfishness afford always,
first or last, an adequate remedy, for
what often, from the ignorance of friends,
consigns the subject to a lunatic asylum
or condems him to a course of injurious
medical treatment
2. Ison tig —This is a frequent charge
against Spiritualism : and jt is not long
since that a newspaper in this city, in
support of the'charge, cited from the re
ports of several asylums proof that one
out of fifty cases was produced hy this
cause. But it had not the candor to say
three or four times as many were pro
duced hy religious excitement, and a
greater ptoponion by disappointed love
and pecuniary difficulties ; and while it
was earnest in insisting that therefore
Spiritualism should be put down, it fail
ed to draw the still stronger inference
against falling in love, pursuing wealth,
or seeking religion.
It is true tha 1 Spiritualism, like every
other exciting cause, has sometimes un
settled a weak mind ; but is also true
that it can often discover the cause of in
sanity, and thus indicate the remedy. I
will mention an instance :
We once received a letter, telling us
of a female who was occasionally seized
with attacks of mania. Physicians had
tried her cure in vain, and her friends
were about sending her to an asylum.
We replied that she was at those times
influenced by a spirit of a relative who
had died insane, and we pointed out a
course to be | urued. The parties were
all strangers to us, and we afterwards
Gamed h*t her father, in a fit of insan
ity, had committed suicide, and that the
course we advised being pursued, she
was cured.
\\ hat did Scripture mean when it
said, “There came a certain man kneeK
ing d-’Wn to him arid savii g. Lord, have
mercy on my soul, lor h* is a lunatic
and sore vexed, and <ftiine> he falleih
nto the fiie and of’ into the \*ater.’’—
• And Je ii rebuked the devil and h
deparie I out <>t him, and the child was
nir-d from ‘h.u very hour.”
I know somethii g ot the disea-e of
in-anity. My profes-ional and judicial
lif- ha- c impelled me to study it, and I
ha e eomimn ed with several \h • died
insane ; and 1 am convinced that there
are no means known anong men that
can do so much to cure and eradicate
the disease as spiritual intercourse well
understood and wisely guided. How
long it will be before those whose spe
ciality the disease will have the good
sense to look into it, instead of condemn
ing it without inquiry and without
knowledge, time must determine.
3. Heahng the sick. —This is a chap
ter full of interest, yet I must of neces
sity be so brief that I know I can give
nothing like an adequate idea of the vast
amount of good to mankind that has
flowed and is flowing from this source.
There are too modes in which this
work is done. Oneis by discovering what
the disease is, and prescribing the reme
dy. My own case is an illustration of
this. For over thirty years 1 was inva
lid, varying the scene only by occasional
attacks of long and severe illness. Du-
NUMBER 1 7.
ring this time I was treated for various
liseases. My last severe illness was in
1854, when I was sick for about four
months. A pa'rt of the time I was so ill
hat death was hourly expected. Then
it was that the spirit came to my aid.—
They discovered that rny disease was
what no physician had suspected. But
hrough the mediums then around me,
‘.hey could not prescribe the remedy. 1
<ent over two hundred miles for one
through whom they could, and whom
they named to me. 1 followed their pre
scriptions from that day, and I am now
in the possession of better health than I
have had in forty years, or that I ever
expected to enjoy.
There are very many mediums in this
country through whom disease is discov
ered and cured in this manner. But
there a*-e more remarkable, though less
frequent made, and that is by simply
laying on of hands.
The following is a brief summary of
some instances of this :
J. Loewendhal, of No. 201 Atlantic
street, Brooklyn, has cured in a few m.n
utes “a violent pain in the side,” “gen
eral debility, accompanied by a most try
ing and nearly constant headache,” and
in; a few sittings has cured neuralgia
of four or five months duration, and bron
chitis, and affection of the kidneys.
William O. Page, No. 47 West 27th
street, New York, cured in a few min
utes, a female who had dyspepsia and
chronic diarrhoea for years, and was
at the time given up by her physician,
as she had also iuflammation of the
womb and bowels. He has cured rheu
matism by one layingon of his hand; and
a Jong seated dyspepsia and neuralgia
and a child severely afflicted with rheu
matic fever.
Dr. C. D. Griswold, of Buffalo, thus
cured a case of shaking palsy, from which
the patient had been suffering some sev
en weeks.
Rufus B. Newton, of Saratoga Springs,
has cured “Consumption and spinal dis
ease of eight year’s standing,” “heart
disease and paralysis of the left side ;”
“oyspepsia, female weakness and spinal
disease “übsoess on the right jaw, hip
disea-e and fever sore j” “heart disease,
pr.-ssure on tne brain and nervous de
rangement,” an “acute lung difficulty,”
“cancer,” “blindness of one eye and pars
tial blindness of the other,” “bronchitis
and “catarrh.”
C. C 1 ork, of Boston, has cared rheu
matism of four \ ears’ standing, when one
of the legs was drawn up, and the hands
drawn out of shape : deafness, headache,
and vomiting ; a person who for 2 years
had lost her speech ; an external tumor,
which had been growing two years;
rheumatic fever; tooth iche : scrofulous
tumors and cancer.
John Scott, of No. 36 Bund Street,
New York, was originally a pilot on a
Mississippi steamer, but for now over
five years has been used as a healing me
dium in St. Louis, Louisville, Cincinna
ti, Columbus and Cleveland, and in this
city since February, 1858. He is now
receiving at his house from forty to one
hundred patients a day, and is working
many strange cures, principally by im
position of hands.
In this way he has cured an arm of a
physician, poisoned in a dissecting room;
rheumatism, inflammatory and chronic,
even where the limbs were drawn up
and distorted ; total blindness ; club
foot from birth; fevers, particularly scar
let and yellow fever : small pox, even af
ter breaking out: cholera, of which he
has cured hundreds, and never failed ;
paralysis, where, owing to age, the cure
wus slow and hard ; neuralgia; displac
ed, and broken bones ; insanity ; chil
dren dumb from birth ; epileptic fits;
issues of blood from nose, mouth and
womb ; ruptures ; falling of the womb ;
piles ; dyspepsia ; scrofula ; cancers,
sometimes by absorption, sometimes by
removing them from the body, and re
stored withered limbs.
And all this, 1 repeat, by simply lay
ing on his hands, except in one case of
insanity, where, living at a distance
from the patient, he was offeicd a large
sum to visit him, but he refused saying,
“Go home ; he will be well by Thurss
day and he was !
These are a few of the many cases of
healing by laying on of Jiands, which
are known among us. To detail more,or
to spread out the evidence which 1 have
in my possession, would exceed my lim
its. But this is enough to show the ex
igence of the phenomena now as of old.
Now what is the inference to be drawn
from these things ?
1 prefer answering the question in the
language of the earlier as well as of the
latter fathers of the Christian church.
Tertullian appeals to the power of the
Christians over those possessed of devils
a* a n atter of fact and a proof of the
truth of Christianity.
Origin claims that the signs, wonders,
and various miraculous power which fol
lowed Christ were all “confirmation of
his dignity and he says, “None can
d< übt that the Apostles performed mir
acles, and that God gave testimony to
their discourses by signs, wonders, and
various powers. Our blessed Savior
abundantly discovered that his power
was nothing less than of God, by the fre
quent and incontestible miracle which
he wrought even in the presence of the
J ews, but which they tried to evade, on
the plea that they were done by the aid
jof the devil.” He says ; “Christianity
is not indebted, either for its origin or
progress to h jman influence, but to God,
who has manifested Himself by means
of various miracles, founding His reli
gion thereon.” Arnobius asks, “Was
he a mortal, and one of us, at whose
voice sickness and disease fled away ?
whose presence the race of demons, hid
| in the bodies ol meD, could not endure?
who caused tine lame to run ; whose light
1 touch stayed the issue of blood, restored
the withered hand, and gave eyes even
to those born blind ? * * * Who
healed hundreds vexed with divers dis*
eases ?”