Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

VOLUME 10. THE GEORGIA CITIZEN IS PUBLISHED EVEKV FRIDAY MORNING BY L. F. W. ANDREWS. Office —In Home's Building, Cherry Street, Ttro Doors below Third Street. TEH'l’:—t'l.lO I-r annum, in adtanre. a t the regafar charge will 1* One Dollar per square tf “c hundred word* or It**. f.*r the- drst iturr ti u. and Erty Ctm* for each subsequent insertion. All iul tertisem lit* not MieciHoi an to time, will be published mi'il f.ri.id. and charged accunhngty. A liberal discount allowed toth'we who advertise by the year. Liberal arrangements made with County Oflics-re. Druggists. Auctioneers. Merchants, and others, who may wish to make limited contracts. Professional and Biiduess Cards will be inserted un der this h'-ad, st the following rates, viz: for Fire line*, per annum, $ 5 00 hoc (‘even lines, do sm For Ten lines, 00 No advertisement of this class will he admitted, unless paid for in advance, nor for a less l*-nu than twelve months. Ad vertisements ot over ten lines will be clmrged pro rat- 1. Ad vertisements not paid lor in advance will be charged at the regular rates. Obituary Aollcew of over ten Hat*, wrill be cliarged at the usu*! rat s. \iinoiincenirnta ‘if candidates for office to be paid for a the usual rates, when inserted. sales of I-and and Vgrues, by Executors, Administra tors and Guardians, are requ red by law to be adverti s'd in a public gazette, forty days previous to the day of sale. ‘I hese sales must be held on the first Tuesday in the monih. between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the Court-house in the county in which the property Is situ ated. wales of Personal Property must be advertised in like manner, forty days. Aoiice to Debtor* and Creditor* of an Estate must be published forty day*. Notice that application will be made to the Ordinary for leave to sell Land and Negroes, must be published weekly for two months. Citation* for Letter* of Administration, thirty days; for Dismission ‘rum Administration, monthly, six mouths; for Disniisdon from Guanliansh'p, weekly, ft>rty day s. Kuie* for Foreclo* Ing of Mortgage*, monthly, sou months; for establishing bet papers, for the full space of thre months; for compelling titles from executors or admimstra t ors where a bond ha* been given by the deceased, the full pace of three months. 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