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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 ?”