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VOLUME 10.
THE GEORGIA CITIZEN
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Httottltmgs
Soul Longings.
BY MRS. A. G. COMSTOCK.
Away to the eternal hills,
Above the storms which rise,
Where peece the air etherial fills,
I lift my longing eves.
On those empyrean higlits sublime,
What radiant glories rest 1
My roving feet would gladly climb
Those mountains ot the blest.
My listening ear oft strives to catch
’The sweet harmonious strains,
Sung bv the bright-robed ones who watch
The shadows on the plains.
Oft, when our cherished ones take flight,
And doubt our faith enshrouds,
We cannot traeetheir path of light,
Up through the drifting clouds !
The murky mists are all too dense,
To let the sunlight through ;
But still the glory streameth thence,
Though hidden from our view.
Oh ! who could walk life’s rugged path,
If, when the heart is riven,
He could not see with child-like faith,
A brighter home in heaven *
New York, July, 1839.
Judge Edmonds on Spiritual
ism, No. ix.
SPEAKING AND WRITING MEDIUMS.
To the Editor of the X. K. Tribune.
Sir: AH the kinds of mediumship, ex
cept speaking and writing, are necessarily
alow in the process of communicating
thought for the reason that they convey
it either by symbols or by spelling out words
and sentences, letter by letter. Hence it
was, that as soon as the fact of spiritual in
tercourse was established, speaking and
writing mediums began to be developed,
that thought might be more rapidly con
veyed.
This kind of mediumship, like all the oth
ers, is rnaiked with a great variety of fea
ture, and like all the others, is capable of
mprovement by proper cultivation. In this
connection I can speak only of the general
characteristics, and chiefly of the medium
ship after it has gone somewhat through the
process of cultivation.
Those general characteristics are, that
words and sentences are written or spoken,
and thoughts uttered, which are not the
product of either the mind or the will of the
medium.
It is not always easy to ascertain that
this is so. A medium is in your presence
writing with ease, or speaking with fluency,
and the natural inference is, that it is of his
own mind that he is doing so, and the evi
dence must of necessity be strong to estab
lish that it is otherwise. The evidence will,
however, be furnished to any one who will
patiently investigate to the end. I have
endeavored to do so, and I will mention
some of the prominent evidences to show
that it is some other mind than the medi
um’s that is at work.
1. One is that of the medium’s speaking
in a language unknown to him, in which,
however, he eij >ys distinct thought and ut
ters proper sentences, which are understood
by those who are acquainted with the lan
guage.
2. Another is, that sometimes the medium
knows and sometimes he does not know the
thought he is thus uttering iu a strange lan
guage, and that not at all at his option or
under his control.
3. The medium frequently refers to events
and relates incidents unknown to him, but
recognized by others present at the time as
the truth.
4. He not unfrequently speaks of events
and incidents unknown alike to him and to
those present, but which are afterwards
known to be facts.
5. He prophecies events which are to
happen, and which do happen, and that some
times in regard to matter with which he has
no knowledge.
6. He often describes persons, gives names
and delineates characteristics, w bioh are re
cognized by others as correct, but of which
he is previously ignorant
7. He utters thoughts in conflict with his
own sentiments, which he does not receive
Md which he repudiates
-- He writes and utters things of which
he is ignorant at the time of their utterance.
Such is the case with all trance mediums.—
They do not know what they wnte or say;
and I once had the services of a writing me
dium who was not entranced, but who fre
quently wrote matters of which I know he
is, even to this day ignorant.
9- He displays knowledge of science and
•rta, which it is well known he does not
himseif possess, and uses words and techni
cal terms, the meaning of which he does not
know.
10. He delivers discourses, rnaiked by
close argument and profound thought, far
beyond his capacity. I have, for instance,
witnessed a little girl of some ten years old,
a loundling, with scarcely a knowledge ol
her alphabet, discourse with gentlemen o
advanced age and of accomplished education,
on topics, and in a manner that confounded
them, realizing the account of Jesus at
twelve years old, “in the temple, sitting in
the midst of the doctors, both hearing them
and asking them questions, and all that
heard him were astonished at his understand
ing and snswers.”
11. And to add to it all, the medium is
unable to do this at hD pleasure, but only
when under the influence of this unseen in
telligence. I have often seen mediums try
in vain to recall the power under circum
stances when they had every inducement to
success; and I have known the exhibition ar
rested midway, when the medium was mor
tified at the failure.
These and sundry other evidences which I
have not now the space to enumerate, but
which the candid investigator can readily ob
serve for himself, will enable him to be cer
ain that there are times and occasions when
the medium is writing and speaking
thoughts not his own, but flowing from
a mind and a will outside ot and beyond
himself.
This is no impossibility, though it may
seem so to some. The power is recognized
by the learned, independent ts Spiritualism.
Willkinson, in his treatise, “The Human
Body, and its Connection with Man,” speaks
thus of it: “And so, too, if the soul or spir
it, or any other spirit or influence, can make
the imaginations or the thought-movements
in the cerebral substances, these will seem
as much our own thoughts as though no such
influence had been exerted. But in both
cases, be it remembered, there is an object
out of the faculty exc.ted; though, in the
onecase, the object is out of the organism
externally; in the other case, out of it in
ternally.”
There are, however, some considerations
affecting these kinds of mediumship.
I. As to Writing Medutmehip: Some
times the writing is merely mechanical, the
arm of the medium being moved by some
other aid than his; sometimes he is un
conscious even that he is writing ; some
times he is aware that he is writing, but is
unconscious of what letters or words he is
forming, and sometimes he is unconscious of
all be is doiug, but is aware of the extrane
ous impulse Sometimes he writes by im
pression, the the ughts being given to h>m
but the language used being his own. Some
times he is aware of each word as he w rites
it, but is unconscious of what is the sen
tence that he forms. Sometimes he is con
scious of the sentence, but is not aware of
its connection with what has gone before or
what is to follow r . Sometimes he writes in
his native language; sometimes in a foreign
one unknown to him. Sometimes he writes
in characters apparently unmeaning, and
seemingly mere “pot-hooks-and-hangers,/
like a child learning to write, and sometimes
in well-formed hieroglyphics which are in-
and understood. Sometimes the
distinctive hand-writing of the medium is
preserved throughout ; at other times,
through the same medium, a different hand
writing is preserved for each spirit commun
ing ; and sometimes the handwriting of the
communing spirit, which distinguished him
in life, is closely imitated.
11. As to Speaking Mediumship: Here,
too, there is great variety in the manifesta
tion, and it is only of general features that I
can speak.
The principle difference in the kinds being
when the medium is entranced or in a nor
mal condition. Between these two ex
tremes there is every conceivable shade of
condition.
I have known the mediums when speak
ing to have all consciousness suspended, so
as not to see any object, or to hear any
sound, or to feel any wound of the flesh.
So I have seen them when ouly one of the
senses would be suspended ; as, for instance,
to be unable to see, though hearing and feel
ing were acute. I have seen them when
fully conscious of all that was going on, and
yet wiihout the power of exercising any
control over their own organs; and I have
seen when the medium was in the full pos
session ot consciousness and volition, and
yet was uttering the thoughts of an intelli
gence not his ow n.
I dtem the latter the most perfected spe
; ciea of mediumship—for the supremacy of
j one’s own individuality is left unimpaired.
The trance and semi-trance state is resorted
| to only because the medium is so undisc p
; lined that uul-ss his consciousness in 1 voli
tion are suspended, his own thought and
will will color, interfere with, and some
times interrupt, the manipulation. And I
have observed that mediums, originally and
only in a state of tranc?, have gradually, as
they have permitted themselves to be im
proved, been more and more in their nor
mal condition when used.
This, however, is comparatively rare, and
requires an uncommon degree of mental
culture and self-discipline. Ido not know
that I have ever yet seen a medium im
proved to the condition of which it seems
to me they are yet capable.
Under this state of things there is one se
rious diffiouly, too often overlooked, namely
—that the mind of the medium will affect
the communication.
Such has been the case with revelation in
all ages of the world. It is not and cannot
be perfect, until man himself—the channel
through which it is necessarily made —is
perfect.
MACON, GA., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 21, 1859.
In the meantime, however, amid all these
discouragements—at times it di.es come
pure and undefiled—there come to us, as of
old, revelations of the greatest moment to
man.
What they are I shall have occasion brief
ly to relate in the next and last paper of the
series. J. W. Edmonds.
Lake George, Aug. 15, 1859.
The following beautiful verses were writ
ten in a disconsolate moment of solitude,
by one of our most estimable citizens, in
memory of a departed wife, who had but
recently changed her abode from earth to
Heaven. The conception of the verses
speak volumes for the heart that conceived
them, and their taste is beyond the reach of
criticism.
Written for the Memphis Appeal.
The Dear Departed.
There is an Eden of the heart.
Where mournful flowers grow—
In that Eden a sacred spot,
Where ohrystul waters flow.
In rainbow lines the waters fall
On every mem’ry there :
Sweet voices from the flowers call
Bright angels from the air.
One beckoned from her home on high,
And sent a train below ;
The spirits all drew gently nigh.
And whisper’d words I know:
“We came the beauteous way of love,
The heavenly way of light;
In her pur© home—the world above,
She's now array’d in white.
“She bids you come, and see her now,
And loved ones gone before—
The golden crown upon her brow,
Her joy forever more.
“O ! listen to the words of love,
And climb our way to light :
“Wo leave vou for the world above,
Where there can ne’er be night.”
NOT MY CHILD.
BY AUGUSTA MOORE.
“What do you mean by ti eating that poor
child as you do ? A pretty mother you are.
truly.”
“Mother! I hope you don’t think that is
my child ! Do you suppose I'd have a girl of
my own looking like that, or fagging out
there in tlm hot sun the way she is. ge'ting
all broiled on, and to look -ore limn she
does already ; and, dear know*, that is need
less. Did ever you see sue!) a looking young
one? Here are my two!’’
“Ah! 1 *e<; these are dressed a great deal
better than the grl you was so berating;
they look, too. as though they had known
what human ass etion mean*; big, really, as
to beauty, ibe f .rlom creature in the onion
patch far surpasses them both iu foini and
leature. Who is she ? ‘
“Why, she is an orphan girl, left here to
be taken care of.”
“And you are taking care of her, it seem*;
but what is the reason your voice sounds so
differently when you speak to her than
what it does when you speak to your own
children? And why does so sour a look
come over your face w henever you turn to
ward her ? You look kindly enough when
you look upon your daughters.”
“You talk ve-y strangely. Do you expect
that I am to feel and act towarl a depen
dent as Ido toward my own lamtly? Am
I to make of her, and dress her up, and edu
cate her just a3 I do my own children ?”
“It would not hurt you il you were to do
all that, though perhaps so much is not ab
solutely required; but as to kind and con
siderate treatment, and to gentleness and
justice, you are bound just as much to exer
cise them toward her as toward anybody in
the world. You are at no more liberty to
speak crossly to, or discreditably of, that child
than your own. Other people's children
should not be treated as though aliens from
the feelings and wants of cherished borne
sons and daughter*. The way to learn how
to treat aright that poor girl in the garden,
is to make the case your own, and a.*k your
self how, under each circumstance that ari
ses, you should wish anyone who had charge
of your girl to treat her. Ask counsel of
the motherhood that is within you when
you would know how to treat anybody's
child. You cannot of course, feel for any
other litlle one as you do for those of your
own flesh and blood, but from what your
feeling lor your own prompts you to do for
them, you can learn how tO act toward all.
Take heed and i eware how ye < fiend (in
jure in any manner) one of t!i< se 1 itle one*;
for it were better that a millstone were
hanged about your neck, and you cast into
the midst of the sea, than to do it. for of such
is the kingdom of heaven, and G id, whose
are all little children and youth, is jateuliar
ly jealous of the hearts ami of the rights of
the orphan and the stranger. “Ye shall not
afflict any fatherless ch iI. If thou afll'.ct
them in any wise, and they cry at all unto
me. I will surely hear their cry, and my
wrath shall wax hot, and I will kill you, and
your children shall be fatherless.” So says
the Lord. “Take heed.” woman; “beware.”
—N. Y. Ledger.
A Model Love Letter
My Dear Street Julius :—How I
ong to behold your charming bright
black eyes, Oh, how horror strick
en am I at your absence. I want
to see you and feel your little heart
beat again mine. Oh, Sweet icha
bod, now do come out and lets get
married, Hod bless you, if you are
not already blest in being so sweet.
Oh! you marygold, you hollyhock,
your cabbage. Oh, you sweet owl,
do come and comfort your dying,
sorrowing, smitten, adoring dove.
’ Oh, Ichabod, how I love your big
black eyes. Oh, you trim tall fel
low fulf'of manna of sweet love, how
I doVant to see you, you model of
perfection. You have been gone
this two months, and to me, poor
me, it does seem like a hundred
years. Your dear, dear presence
would be to me more than the cool
spring to the parcded traveler of the
desert, more than tfce grass to the
hungry ox ; more than the pebbled
pool to the wanton duck—yet more
than a lump of sugar to a spoilt
child. Why then, will you not come
ves, fly, swift as lightning to kiss
the tear from the dimpled cheek of
your mad love. Oh, bleak and wild
is the house, the garden, the field,
and the world, without thee. Yes,
bless thee, my dumplin, my roostre
my gentleman.
From the Sumter Republican.
A DISCUSSION
OF TUB
DOCTRINE OF UNIVERSALISM
BETWEEN
Rev. W. J. Scott, Methodist, and Ret*. I). B.
Clayton, Universalist.
Rev. I). B. Clayton.
Dear Sir :—Our publishers in.
form me fluit j I urn entitled to occu
py one and a half columns in my
closing article. Ah I desire no un
due advantage, I shall confine my
self as nearly as possible to these
limits.
In the earlier part of this discus
sion I aimed chiefly at a refutation of
your affirmative” Urge meat. That
argument was based upon a number
of isolated passages, some of them,
according to Univeraalist’s testimony
having no relevancy to the issue. I
waived, however, these objections
and endeavored to harmonize them
with the orthodox theology. Wheth
er or not I succeeded in this under
taking our readers must determine.
In my'4th and sth articles I assum
ed the offensive, and offered nine dis
tinct objections to the system of
Faith you have espoused. These
objections were built not upon sin
gle texts, but upon classes of texts,
and and one of them, if scripturally
sustained, is fatal to Universalism.
Several of these objections you have
barely adverted to, while others of
them you have labored to overthrow.
In the present article I shall only
attend those points of my negative
argument which you have ventured
to assail.
In reply to my Ist objection you
refer me to the 10th of Mathew,
where Christ warns his disciples
against “the doctrine of the Phari
sees and Sadducees.” This you ar
gue was an explicit condemnation of
the popular belief in endless punish
ment. The author of this venera
ble and stereotyped Sophism, I doubt
not, is the author of that system of
Dialectics which you have termed
chop logic. It is however just the
reply 1 anticipated, for it is the only
one that ITiiversalists have ever at
tempted. It does not meet the ob
jection for two reasons, Ist because
the Sadducees did not believe the
doctrine of future punishment.—
That doctrine tens no part of their
creed. The warning therefore, in
Mathew, was aimed not at the doc
trine of future punishment, but at
some of those doctrines which the
Pharisees and Sadducees held in
common. It is highly probable from
the context that it was the notion
that the Messiah would he a Tempo
ral deliver, who should break off the
Roman yoke and restore the King
dow to Israel. Secondly, the re
ply fails to meet my objection be
cause the warning under considera
tion was only given privately to the
disciples. If Christ had designed to
correct the popular error as to end
less punishment he ought to have
addressed this or a similar warning
to the multitude. Instead of doing
this he warned them against the
“fire that is not quenched and the
worm that dieth not,” and even men- ,
need the Pharasecs and Sadducees J
themselves with the “damnation of
hull.” So little foundation is there |
for your “strong and erroneous” as
sertion that Christ denounced the !
current belief ofhis times in the doc- 1
trine of endless punishment. If,
however, you could establish this pro
position, 3'ou would then prove that
Christ and his Aposties were
strangely incompetent religious teach- j
ers. For it follows, as stated
in my fourth article, ilmt they j
have expressed themselves in such
dubious phrase that the Fathers
and Councils have all misunderstood
their teachings. That all except a
very small section of the religious
world have been for nearly 2000
years in gross error. This last con
elusion is so exceedingly preposter
ous thatone of your ablest write.s
admits that the Jews and Pagans
contemporary with Christ, did be
lieve in endless punishment, but in
sists that Christ maintained an -entire
silence in regard to it. So that it is
true as we have heretofore alleged,
that Universalism brands the Savior
either with egregious folly , or con
summate knavery.
But 1 must proceed now to examine
your criticism upon aionos. What
you say in reply amounts to nothing
more than these two statements : Ist.
That anion and aionos are sometimes
employed in what Dr. Clarke calls an
“accumulated sense.” This I have al
ready admitted, and there war no need
of consuming time to prove it. 2d.
That there are other terms besides these
that express endless duration. This
too may be coneeeded without inju
ry to our aigument. But you have
failed to show that any Greek scholar or
Greek Lexicon denies that eternal or
everlasting is the raidical signification
of aionios. Until )ou do this I must
must still characterise these hackneyed
criticisms as a “Miserable affectation of*
learning.” Your assertion that the end
less duration of the Divine existence is
only proved by such passages, as the
one in Timothy, where aphthartos—im
mortal is used, is altogether untenable.
The seventy who translated the Hebrew
Scriptures into Greek more than 200
years previous to the first advent, ein
ployed Tueos aionios the everlasting
God , as the descriptive title of J eiiovah.
Perhaps they were ignorant of the
Greek or else they would have used
aphthartos. 1 have before said that the
sacred writers wrote with precision and
propriety. And it is no just ground of
complaint that to humor the caprices of
a few Uni verbalists of these last times,
they have nut perpetrated such awkward
phrases a* immortal punishment incor
ruptible destruction and undefiled dam
nation. There is neither rhyme nor
reason in such a requirement. Before
dismi'sing this branch of the argument
1 must animadvert upon two additional
blunders that you have committed.
You quote a text from Uaiah which
says—“lsrael shall be saved in the
Lord with an everlasting salvation, and
ye shall not be destroyed nor confound
ed, WORLD WITHOUT END.” Show me,
you sav. a like declaration in regard to
the punishment of the wicked, and I will
renounce Universalism. 1 have a sus
picion that this is designed for effect.
D.d you not know, Mr. Clayton, lhat
the phrase world without end , is purely
English phrase? Did you not know
lhat the Hebrew text does not warrant
ihe constitution you place upon it ?
D.d )ou not know that Bishop Lowth
renders the Hebrew usque ad secula
eternilatis —to the ages ot eternity? —
Finally, did you not know that tin lat
ter clause of the sentence has the same,
extent of meaning with the former ?
Any one at all acquainted with ihc
paralellism of the Hebrew scriptures,
can see at a glance that your reasoning
is fallacious, if not disingenuous. And
upon this ‘slender threat!” you would
have our read-rs haig their hope of
heaven—on this single rotten plank you
would have them launch into eternity,
and plunge into the abyss of Hell in
the vain hope of finding a bottom.
But another blunder occurs in regard
to the number of times that aionios is
applied to future puui.-hmeut in the New
Testament. I have stited that it was
so applied five times ; you endeav
or to correct m * by saying that I have
argued that it was so applied seven
time*. This, is your blunder, not mine.
In the passage, Jude fi, from which 1
did argue everlasting punishment, ihe
Greek term is not aionios, but aidios, a
stronger term than the former, according
to Universalits. In Heb. C : 2. aionios
is applied to jndgmint, riot to punish
ment, so that my original statement is
correct. As to the discrepancy between
Prof. Stuart and myself it arises simply
from a difference in the editions of the
New Testament. S > much for this se
cond attempt of yours at Greek crit
icism.
My Bth objection to you system was
that it was doing no good.* In your re
ply you have ventured a reference to
the comparative progress of Univer.-al
j ism. Let us look at this for a moment.
In 17GG Philip Embury, the first Meth
odist preacher on thits continent, com
menced preaching in New York. In
1770 John Murray, the so called Father
of Univorsali in, arrived in America.
It will be seen that there is but four
years diflvrenee in these dates. And
yet, in 1855, according to a carefully
prepared statement of Dr. Baird, there
were more than twenty two thousand
Methodist preachers in the United
States, while the Universalist statistics
tor the same year show but Got} for the
whole of British America and the Uni
ted States. For a few years (owing to
local causes in New England,) Luiver
salism made a little progress, but from
1854 to IBSG, eleven year*, there was an
increase of but five in its ministry. The
truth is that the annual increase in the
ministry of the Methodist Cnureh not
unfrequently exeee Is all the ministay of
Universalism on this continent. We
grant that success is not always a fait
test of truth, but it is evident, from
these statistics, that they are symptoms
of decay and approaching dissolution
about your system. Like every false
religion, it has in it the elements of
self-destruction, and is destined before
many years to “die amongst its wor
shipper*.” I should regret this as much
as yourself if it was in any contributing
to the well-being of society. But I have
seen no proof anywhere of its good ef
fects. It has no roll of great names—no
Ilebers, or Marty ns, or Cokes, or Jud
80ns, or Wesleys—men of whom tlie
world was not worthy. It has reclaim
ed no tribe of men from savageism and
idolatry ; It has sustained no enterprise
for elevating the moral or physical con
dition of men. With a membership
greatly exceeding the Moravians, it. has
•fallen fur behind them iu efforts'and sa
crifices for the good of mankind. As
one of your own ministers has asserted
‘ your energies have been spent in wrang
ling and disputation with the orthodox.”
My. 9th, an ! last objection to Uni
versalism, was an account of its dem Du
alizing influences. This objection 1 sup
ported by the testimony of men who are
now engaged in the advocacy of the sys
tem. If I had been disposed to press
the objection I could have strengthened
my proposition by the statements of
Dean, ,r l’urner, Smith aud Brownson,
and others, all of whom were once
prominent clergymen of your denomi
nation. These men were so shocked by
its licentious tendencies that they aban
doned it as a mischievous heresy. I
have been at no pains to procure Prison
statistics, but as you have set the ex
ample of adducing such proof, I offer
you the statement of Rev. J. B Finley,
for Chaplain to the Ohio Penitentiary.
He says in a published work that “very
many” of the inmates of that Prison
“were carried there by the agency of
Universalism.” Now this result is
what we might expect from the belief of
a doctrine which promises the most un
scrupulous scoundrel mm, a life of bless
edness beyond the grave. That it does
not work a greater injury to public
morals is owing partly to the fact that
very few embrace the system, and that
many even of its professed adherents,
are not hearty believers in its doctrines.
They are at least troubled with misgiv
ings and apprehensions, that exert a re
straining influence upon their conduct.
At the same time I do not question that
there are a goodly number of the most
cultivated amongst them who are strict
ly moral. These exceptions, however,
do not invalidate the proposition, that
it is in the ii aiu productive ot immorali
ty*
The abolition of the d**ath-| cnally in
Michigan, Wisconsin aid the sruabi
German Slates, was a*e*rlained to In
promotive < f crime. \\ hat effect* then
might we expect to follow a general <li*
belief of all the threateniig- of the Hi
ble against the ungodly a id the sinner ?
it is my firm conviction that the univer
sal prevalence of such a doctrine would
in a tew years disorganize society, and
banish even the form of Godliness from
the eatth.
These considerations ought not to be
disregarded in making up an opiui< u
upon the tru’h of lHivetsabsin. li the
fruits are evil it is becau*e the tree is
evil. And every such tree deserves to
be plucked up by ihe roots.
And now, my dear sir, I mu*t bring
this article to a close. Wh n I have
more leisure than at present 1 Mill not
object to discuss with you, through some
suitable medium, the doctrines of tlie
Trinity, and the Atonement. Without
a change in my views, however, 1 can
not entertain your proposal for an oral
discussion on any religious topic.
Believing, as I do, that you area hon
est enquirer after truth, l indulge the
hope that you will yet embrace the
Faith of the Church of Christ, which is
declared to be ihe ‘ pillar and ground of
the truth.” Respectfully, Yours.
W. J. SCOTT.
I*r csp n f i in en l*>.
BY I). I*. THOMPSON, AUTHOR OF ‘LOCHE
AMSDEX,’ ETC.
“Wlienc:; thMr*nre Inborn tense ofcomii 111.
Tb at of times wni.perstotiie li.-iuuted breast,
lu a low tone that naUflitiMl ilrovuor still,
’ vi idsi feasts umiJ melodies a t*ecret nuts 1 ?
Whei.ce doth that mu mar wake, ’hat shadow fall ?
Why ihakesthe spirit thus ? Ms mystery ah !**
Among all t lie branches of the su
pernatural, there is no one which
has been so little discussed by phi-,
losophical writers as that generally
known by the term presentiments.
And j et there is no one among them
all better entitled to our considera
tion from the many and well authen
ticated instances which may be cited’
to prove their existence; nor is
there any one of them, at the same
time, so difficult of explanation, on
natural principles, when that exis
tence is established. It is thus ditli
cult of explanation, on natural prin
ciples, when that existence is estab
lished. It is this difficulty, proba
bly, which has deterred many learn
ed men from attempting a solution
of the mystery, while it is the secret
reason, we apprehend, why many
others pass the subject with a slur,
placing the presage to the account of
despondency of mind or nervous
timidity, and professing to look up
on its fulfillment as nothing more
than one of those remarkable coin
cidences which are often occurring
in the ordinary events of life. This
is doubtless an easy way of getting
along with what we will not believe, .
and cannot explain; but it ho hap
pens? that by far the greatest pro- i
portion of the recorded eases of pre
sentiments (by which term we mean
forebodings which are realized—not
false presentiments) have occurred
among a class of men the most noted
for firmness and courage, and the
least subject, by nature and disci
pline, to be affected by supersti
tious fears or nervous weakness.
Scarcely an important battle lias
been reported, by the details of
which it has not appeared that some
of the slain, though the bravest of
the brave, and never before troubled
with such impressions, have oonfi- j
dently foretold the death that await-i
ed them.
The bravo and chivalrous General
DeKalb, who fell at the battle of j
Camden, at the eve of that mem ora- j
hie engagement, told his brother of- .
ficers, that he felt, for the first time, |
that his hour had come, and, making
his last requests, rode into battle, j
and soon received in bis heart the
fatal bullet that brought his tower
ing form to the earth.
The gallant General Pike, the i
night before the storming of the
British fortress at Little York, in j
the war of 1812, made his prepara-1
tions for death, and wrote a letter, j
giving directions for the future edu
cation, &c., of his beloved daughter,
under the avowed impression that
he was not to survive the expected
battle, though, as commanding otii
cer, he was not necessarily to be ex
posed to danger. The battle came—
the fortress was blown up by the
retreating foe, and a small stone,
thrown to the distance of a quarter
of a mile, struck Pike, who was sit
ting on a stump, apparently out of
the way of all harm, and caused his
immediate death.
Our lamented Ransom, as wo are
informed by an officer of his regi
ment who fought by bis side ; the
night previous to the terrible battle
of Chepultapee, talked of home and
family, and the melancholy thought
of falling solar away from them in
a strange land, in a manner which |
convinced all that lie had been seiz
with an overpowering presentiment
of his approaching fall.
Hundreds of these instances might
be cited from the annals of war, but
deeming it unnecessary, we will pro
ceed to another class of cases.
It was once our fortune to be
thrown into a social circle, in which
were the near relatives of some of
those who had perished in the con
flagration of the Richmond theatre,
in 1812, which so widely scattered
the weeds of wo among the first
families of Virginia. Two or three
remarkable instances of presenti
ments were told us as having been
felt and avowed previous to the fire
by those who became victims; hut
we have treasured up one more pe
culiar than the others, because in
stead of being followed by the death
of him who was the subject of the
was the direct means,
in all human probability, of saving
him and a family of accomplished
daughters from destruction. The
piny announced for that night was
an attractive one. The gentleman,
to whom we allude had proposed to
his family to attend the theatre with
them, and several times, through
the day, spoke of the pleasure he an
ticipated in witnessing the perform
ance. But, towards night, he be
came unusually thoughtful; and,as
the appointed hour drew near, lie
took a seat with the ladies, and com
menced reading to them a long and
interesting story, evading all con
versation about the theatre. This
he continued until interrupted I*3’
one of the wondering circle, who
suggested that it was time to start.
Again evading the subject, he went
on reading till he was a second time
interrupted, and told that they must
go immediately or they should cer
tainly be belated. Finding he could
not put them off till too late to go,
as he had hoped to do, he turned to
them, and earnestly asked it as a fa
vor that they would all forego the
promised pleasure of the play-house
and remain with him at home
through the evening. Though deep
ly surprised and sorely disappointed,
yet they dutifully acquiesced, and, in
the course of the evening, while en
gaged in their quiet fireside enter
tainment, they were aroused by the
alarm of fire ; and in a few minutes
more by the appalling tidings that
hundreds were perishing in the
flames of the burning theatre, in
which, but for the request which
bad seemed so strange to them, they
too would have been found to he
numbered among the victims. The
next morning, the gentleman told
them, in explanation of bis conduct
the evening before that as the
hour set for the performance ap
proached, he became unaecounta
bly impressed with the idea or feel
ing that some fearful calamity was
that night to fall on the company
assembled at the theatre ; and that
the premonition, in spite of all his ef
fort to shake it off, at lengthjbecame so
strong and definite, that he secretly
resolved to prevent them from at
tending, and would have done so,
even to guarding the doors of his
house with loaded pistols.
One more instance must relate in
illustration of our subject, which is
that of an adventure which was
once related to us by an intelligent,
truthful and highly valued personal
friend, and which we will give in his
own words : —“Some years ago,” he
said, “1 was journeying on horseback
through a part of the wild and
sparsely settled country lying west
ofthe Mississippi; with about S2OOO
in silver and gold, stowed away in
may saddle-bags. After having tra
veled one afternoon till nearly sun
set, without seeing a single hut or
inhabitant, and while anxiously cast
ing about for some shelter for the
night, I had the good luck, as I then
esteemed it, to overtake a very hon
est looking squatter, of whom I en
quired the distance to a tavern.—
lie said it was fifteen or twenty
miles, quite too far for me to think
of going that night, but if 1 won id
I go with him to his cabin, which was
a mile or so off the road, 1 should be
welcome to such accommodations as
lie and bis wife could furnish me.
Being taken by the plausible and ap
parently by the kind manner of the
man, 1 thankfully accepted his offer,
accompanied him to his log hut, and’
was hospitably provided with re
freshments; when I retired to my
bed, which was on the lower floor,
and adjoining the room occupied by
my entertainers. With my saddle
bags which I had unwisely let the
man handle, placed under paid of my
pillow, 1 soon fell asleep, with feel
ings of the utmost security, having
no sort of suspicion that my inter-’
tainers were not kind and worthy
people. After sleeping awhile, 1
awoke restless and uneasy, why 1
knew not ; J thought I must be
sick, and fell to examining my pulse,
Ac., but could detect in myself no
symptoms of illness. Besides 1 soon
found my uneasiness was not like
that of any physical illness. It was
a feeling of apprehension—a vague,
yet strong impression that some
great evil or danger was impending
over me. 1 tried to reason myself
out of such folly ; but instead of suc
ceeding, soon found the strange feel
ings growing too intense to permit
me to keep in bed any longer. And
accordingly I arose, crept stealthily
to the door opening into the other
room, and listened. I could soon
distinguished the voices of the man
and his wife, who seemed to be en
gaged in a low and somewhat flur
ried conversation, of which I at
length caught enough to convince
me they were planning my death,
and the manner of disposing of
in}’ hotly afterwards. 1 hastily
crept back, dressed myself, and
drawing out my pistols, sat down
on the l>ed, und awaited the result.
Presently the door was cautiously
opened, and I caught a glimpse of j
the man entering, with an axe in his
hand: and approaching on top-toe
towards me. Instantly cocking my
pistols, I called to him to stop or I
would shoot him dead on the spot.
He was evidently taken by surprise;
for, tacking about with the quickness
of thought, he hastily skulked out
ofthe room. After watching with
my pistols in my hands, till the first
appearance of daylight, I made my
NUMBER 30.
escape, unheard, from the house,
mounted my horse, and departed
with all possible speed. Gaining
the road ; I rode on, and in about
live miles, instead of fifteen, came to
a tavern, where 1 ascertained that
the man, at whose house I had stay
ed, was strongly suspected of having
decoyed several other travelers to
his cabin, in the manner he had me,
and murdered them for their money.
The foregoing instances of pre
sentiments selected from the hun
dreds of others which might be cited
not only because they were remark
able and striking in themselves, but
because they occurred to men whose
characters for firmness and intelli
gence clearly exempted them from
all suspicion of having been the vic
tims of any of those mental infirmi
ties which lead to so many false pre
sentimentsyir groundless forebodings
among those of an opposite charac
ter—the foregoing instances, must
drive all candid and reflecting minds,
we think, to one of two conclusions ;
either, first, that the presentiments
is an intimation of coming events
which Providence, directly, or
through the agency of His special
messengers, gives to mortals to warn
them of the threatened evil, that
they may avoid it, or that they may
have an opportunity to prepare to
meet the fate which they are not to
be permitted to escape; or second,
that these presentiments are caused
bj* the operations of those mysteri
ous spiritual sympathies by which
one mind, it is said, sometimes be
comes apprised of, or, at least, af
fected by, what is silently passing
in another mind; so that one man
may thus be darkly informed of the
plottings which arc going on against
him in tlie mind of another, and
even to the extent that a mortal
may, in the same manner, receive im
pressions of approaching evil from
attendant spiritual beings, who may
be hovering around, and looking up
on us in commiseration, in view of
the doom which they see is’about
to overtake us.
These are the two conclusions,
from which we, at least, find ourself
compelled to choose. Which is the
most correct one ? While most of
those who are guided by the simple
faith of the Christian, in its literal
teachings, will probably adopt the
one first named, there are many, we
apprehend, inclined to believe in cor
rectness of the latter, conceiving it to
be in accordance, probably, of some
fixed law of Providence, which,
though hut imperfectly revealed to
us, may equally well calculated to
carry out His designs. Aud who
can say that it is not so:
“For knowledge strives it vain to feel her way
Amidst these marvels of the mind.**
Doctor Channing.
The following description of the
late Dr. Channing, and of his preach
ing, we take from the last number
of Mr. G. W. Curtis’s brilliant novel
of “Trumps,” in Harper's Weekly :
When our friends entered the
church, a slow, solemn voluntary
was playing upon the organ. The
congregation sat quietly in the pews.
Chairs and benches were brought to
accommodate the increasing throng.
Presently the house was full. The
hustle and distraction of entering
were over — there was nothing heard
hut the organ.
In a few moments a slight man,
wrapped in a black silk gown, slowly
ascended the pulpit stairs, and, be
fore seating Himself, stood for a mo
ment looking down at the congrega
tion. His face was small, and thin,
and pale ; but there was a pure light,
an earnest, spiritual sweetness in
the eyes —the irradiation of an anx
ious soul — as they surveyed the peo
ple. After a few moments the music
I stopped There was perfect silence
in the crowded church. Then mov
ing like a shadow to the desk, the
preacher, in a voice that was in sin
gular harmony with the expression
of liis face, began to read a hymn.
His voice had a Remarkable cadence,
rising and falling with yearning ten
derness, every thought, every aspi
ration of the hymn. It was full of
reverence, gratitude, longing, and
resignation :
“While Tliee I seek, protecting Power,
Be my vain wishes stilled ;
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be filled.”
When he had read it and sat down
again, Hope Wayne felt as if a reli
gious service had already been per
formed.
The simplicity and fervor and
long drawn melody with which he had
read the hymn apparently inspired
the choir with sympathy, and after a
few notes from the organ they be
gan to sing an old familiar tune. —
It was taken up by the congrega
tion until the church trembled with
the sound, and the saunterers in the
street outside involuntarily ceased
laughing and talking, and touched by
some indefinable association, raised
their hats and stood bareheaded in
the sunlight, while the solemn music
tilled the air.
The hymn was sung, the prayer
was offered, the chapter was read ;
then, after a little silence, that calm,
refined, anxious, pale, yearning face
appeared .again at the desk. The
preacher balanced himself for a few
moments alternately upon each foot
—moved his tongue, as if tasting the
words he was about to utter—and
announced his text: “Peace I leave
with you : my peace I give unto
you.”
He began in the same calm, simple
way. A natural manly candor cer
tified the truth of every word he