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VOLUME 10.
THE GEORGIA CITIZEN
g pi'BLlS lIED IVEKV FRIDAY MOUSING BY
L F. W. ANDREWS.
Oi l H E —ln Horne'* huihlirtfi, Cherry Street,
Ticu Door* brioa> Third Street.
t ,;R\I-:-**.<> i trt aunum. In iltmrf.
\Ji-rll - iiii*iit* •! Il< rtiPi w cluiKe will I* Umt DoUir
ter s !nrc ‘ a “lri‘l word* **r Os". 1 r Vie first Inner-
U.*, M*l f fte i’e-im foremen tulxrtiueut lnnrrtioii. All u*l
vcrti*** nt’s t;t4 Ktrrifrsiaittlmr, will lw )>til>;islst until
f.iltitl,'.! • tttffiN acc trti'.'ticiy. A liber-1 Uiwtu.tl allowed
who i est Inc i-jr tlur year.
IJlterd .rru.<ient* ni.le -itK’ouiity Oflks-rs.
Auctioneer*, taereluiitn, and otiters. trbu tuay wiadt to make
lltuiletl contract*.
i> r „| wi nml and business t arda will tie iiu>ertel un
tier tlii- beitel. t tb* ratea. vD:
| .a Klee lines, per annum, $ ft 00
stint UMk U* * B*o
For Ten line*. do 10 00
Ru ;ul ertis-.uerit of t-.i* class will be admitted, unieM paid
fur in advance. But for a lea* t- nu tuaii twelve nao.th*. Ail
vtrtisv incuts ol over tea hues will be charged pro Til l. Ad
eertitee.aetit* n<4 jolil lor Id a.leal! :e will be cluurgtil at the
Ot.luiary \ollcea of occr ten line*, will be eburyed at the
a 1 ruts’*.
\ihi iuir*mriiCi* of c*ud d.Ues for office to be patkl f*r a
tiK u*u*l r*U*, wbett iuserteti.
*aleof Uini ffilisl by Ticcnton, Ad -ih.intru
tir AiiJ Guanlhuo*, are reju re<! by Itw ft* t* jmlvxHi iu a
butdiic t f>n) day* i*revi*!i U> the Uy of *ule. Them
bfii4 le held on the (f*t Tuesday In the mn h. U-twiui
litr Uur*'f ten iu the f**rvu**oti ami three in the af ernoou,
%l the Court•h m.-c m the county in which the property U *tu
*t- 4.
•!<•• of IVruonnl Proprrty mos* \* ad\ertUed in like
Oiinnrr, forty days
\oiuv lo Debtors mud C'redltors fmi E'tuW mw* he
tu!ill.Vied forty day*.
\otio** t am llca’ion will be made to the Ordiuary for
| (iV f to sell Land ami Negroes must be published weekly for
two months.
t lislbitls *•? Letter- of Aduiiniatra*i<*n, thirty davii; for
pfeodadoffi rum AdruinUtnJion, monthly, mi oistlu; for i
l>im:.<wtos from Gnonlhu.h : p. weekly, lofty dav<.
ttulrs for h*or**clow lag of monthly, sou
■)onth; fr edsbileh rtg 1 *t paper*. for the full space -f thr*
mouth*; hr compelling title* from eaecutor* or duii‘ii*ir- (
lor* where s bond Laa txu given by the deceased, the full
p.* e of three mouths.
For tlie ?lo!li*r's Make.
A young man, who had left his home in
Maine, ruddy and vigorous, was seized with
the yellow fever ia New Orleans; and,
though nursed with devoted care by friendly
airangars, ho died. When the coffin was
being closed, “Stop,” said an aged woman
who was present : “let nu ki.s* hi>n for his
mother!”
Lit me kiss him for his mother !
Ere ye lay him w ith the dead,
Far away from home, another
Sure may kiss him in her stead.
llow that mother’s lip would kiss him
Till her heart should nearly break !
How in days to come she'll miss him!
Let me kiss him for her sake.
Let me kisa him for his mother!
Let me kiss the wandering t*oy;
It may be there is no other
Left behind to give her joy.
When the news of w<e the morrow
Burns her bossoin like u coal.
Site may feel this kiss of sorrow
Fall as balm upon her soul.
Let me kis* him for his mother/
Heroes ye, who by his side
Waited on him as a brother
Till the Northern stranger died, —
Heeding not the foul infection.
Breathing in the fever-breath,
Let me, of my own election.
Give the mother’s kiss in death.
“Let me kiss him for his mother!”
Loving thought and loving deed !
Seek nor tear nor sigh to smother,
Gentle matrons, while ye read.
Thank the God who made -you human,
Gave ye pitying tears to shed ;
Honor ye the Christian woman
Bending o’er another's dead.
T. IL K.
THE TWO FRIES DS.
Or the I’rfsrßtiami.
About four years ago a party of trav
ellers arrived at a certain convent in
Jerusalem, at whch you can be put for
night, and entertained very much as Eu
lopean travellers, who are crossing the
Alps are received at the Great St. Ber
nard. Amongst the party who had new.
ly arrived was one who h id got the lock
of his pistol so deranged that it was im
possible to stir it, and as he, and most of
other Eastern travellers, very inuc-h dis
like the idea of proceeding on his jour
ney unarmed, he was anxious to have
the defect attended to at once. It was
easier to feel this want than to get it
supplied, there being no one at that time
in .Jerusalem who would be at all likely
to understand the pistol in question,
which was a revolver and finished with
all the latest improvements. At leng
however, after much consideration and
casting about as to what was to be done,
one of'he lay brothers of the convent
suggested a way out of the ditii-julty
which seemed promising enough. There
were, he said, a couple of German trav
ellers sleeping that night in the convent
who were locksm. h < by trade, and he had
little doubt that one ot them would be a
ble to do what was necessary to the pistol,
it aay body could. The weapon was hand
ed over to the lay brother who at once
took it to the room which the two Ger
nuns occupied, and explaining to them
what was amiss,asked it t hey would under
take to 9et it right. The travellers, he
added, would pay them liberally for their
trouble.
The two Germans were sitting at the
table when the lay brother came iu with
the pistol in his hand. The elder if
them, whose name was Max. got up from
the table, took the weapon from the
monk, and carried it to the window that,
he might examine it more completely.—
His friend remained at the table sitting
with his back toward Max, finishing his
•upper in a philosophical manner enough.
The German who whs examing the pistol
had not been so occupied fr a couple ot
minutea, when it went otf with a loud
noise. At that moment the poor fellow
who was sitting eating his supper at the
table fell forward without uttering a
aotmd. The charge hail entered his
back.
He fell upon his face on the ground,
when my friend, who told me the
story— and who was a surgeon to the
embassy was sent for at once—when he
arrived, it seemed to him at first as if two
inen had been killed, for both of the Ger
mans were stretched upon the floor, and
he who was to be the survivor, holding
l he other locked in his arms, wore upon
hi* ghastly countenance the deadlier look
of the two. It was quite a difficult thing
to separate then.. The wounded man
had got the other's hand in his, as if by
that to reassure him, and show him that
he loved him all the same.
Ihe surgeon ciused the wounded
—it was but too evident that he had
not long to live—to be removed to the
infirmary and laid upon the bed to die.
1 w *abed that st<H>d heath a window,
ar id across which when the sun was set
ting, the shadow of a cypress fell. A
v ry brief exam.nation showed that any
itL'inpt to iclieve the dying man would
ie useless, and they could only staunch
the blood flowing from his wound, and
watch him with that breathless eagerness
—there is none like—with which men
watch their brother, when each short
breath, drawn lessand le*s often, seems
as tho >gh it were the last. As for the
other German, he was sunk in a heap up
on the ground beside the bed in speech
less stuperfactioii. One of his hands
was on the Couch, and the expiring ef
fort of the dying nan was to take this
passixe hind in his. Those who were
around him seeing a change upon hi- face,
leant hastily over him, for they heard
him whisper faintly.
‘ Poor Max,’ he said — 4 Poor Max !”
The last act ol the man who died was to
pity the man who lived.
For some time it was very uncertain
whether the man who had slain his best
and dearest triend would not speeddy
fdlow him into another world, so fear
fully was he affected. For a still long
er period it was doubtful in the last de
gree whether he would ictain his reason.
And, indeed, at the time when the story
was told nv, lie could hardly be said to
be altogether of sound mind. At that
very time the mail was h united by a fix
ed presentiment t hat he should die one
day as his friend had died. No reason
ing with him hal the least effect—the
presentiment had taken a hold upon his
mind winch nothing could shake. Those
who wished h : m well--and there were
many—had of.cn tried to lead him to a
happier frame of mind, and to make him
take an interest in his own future. They
had urged him, since he had taken up
his abode in Jerusalem, to settle there
more comfortably, to get into a better
and ni >re convenient workshop, and,
since his skill as a workman always en
sured him th-> means of living, to marry ;
for they knew that the fresh interests ot
* domestic nature which would follow,
would be of the gicutest possible service
to him.
‘•The day will come,” was his invaria
ble answer to all such advice—*‘ilie day
will come when someone will shoot me
with a pistol through the back just I shot
my friend. That day will surely come;
what have I to do, then, with a wife, or
children—with a wife whom 1 should
leave fatherless ? What have lto do
with settling —with comlort, or a home ?
I -liali have a home when the pistol-bul
let sends me to my grave beside my
friend,” said th.- German locksmith.
So much for what I learnt Iron my
friend, the surgeon concerning the pa-t
life of the singular nun by whose ap
pearance 1 had been so powerfully struck.
Os the remaining portion of his history
the particulars came under my own ob
servation and knowledge. My revolver
was sent ba-k to be repaired, and as I
was just about to start away on a short
journey into the euvirous. and was in
some haste. 1 set off without trying it.
In the course of the day, however, part
ly wishing to ascertain how far my pis
tol was restored to a” condition of useful
ness, partly from a desire to bring down
a bird which I saw on the wing, uppear
ently within pistol-shot, 1 lifted my re
volver to let flv at him. The weapon
missed fire. On examination, I found
the defect this time was precisely the
reverse of what it had been before. The
lock went so loosely now, and had so lit
tle spring in it, that the hammer did not
fall upon the cap with sutiicient force to
explode it. I tried the pistol several
times, and fit ding it useless, sent it a
gain, on my return to Jerusalem, to the
German locksmith, charging my servant
to explain to him its new defect, and a
bove all things, to caution him as to its
being loaded, as l had done on
frmer occasions. Mark how the pistol
played with the man’s life! Mark how
it returns to him again and again ? \V hy
not have done its work at once? The
revolver was brought back to me the
next day in a state, as 1 was told, of per
fect repair, l itis tune I took it into the
garden to try it. The first time, it went
off well enough, but the next time —for
I was determined to prove it thorough
ly—l f mnd that its original delect had
returned, and the lock would not stir,
pull at the trigger as I might.
‘‘There is something radically wrong
here,” 1 said. ‘1 will go myself, nnd
see the German lock smith about it,
without delay.”
‘•That pistol again,” said the lock
smith, looking up as 1 entered his mis
erable abode.
What would I not have given to have
been able to say anything that would
have altered the expression of that hag
i gard countenance. Hut it was impossi
ble. I made some attempts to draw the
poor fellow into conveisation. 1 felt
that even if these had not proved (as
they did) wholly useless, my compara
tive ignorance of his language would
have stood in the way of my saying any
thing that could have been of any ser
, vice._ Our con vernation then limited it
self to the matter in hand, and we agreed
that the only thing to be done wi’-hit
now was to take its lock off and make a
perfictiy new one in intimation of it.—
This time, however, would take some
time, and it would be necessary that
the lock smith should keep the weapon
by him for three or four days at Last.
r He took it fr*m my hands as he told me
so, and placed it carefully on a shelf at
the back of his sh ip.
“Above all things,” I said, as I loft the
house—“remember that the revolver is
loaded V
“I shall not forget,” he said, turning
round to me, with a ghastly smile upon
his face.
This was the third time that that pis
i tol was taken back to the lock-sinilh for
, repair.
It was the last.
The German lode-smith, being very
much occupied, owing to the reputation
he had obtained as a clever workman,
i had taken into his employment a sort
ofapprentice or assistant to help him in
MACON, (iA., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1859.
I the simple and more ui<.chi n.eul parls ol
his trade.
Oae day soon after 1 had left my re
volver for the last time to be mended,
this boy had come in from executing some
errand and standing idly about the place,
took down my pistol from the shelf on
, * liich it lay, and began to look at it with
some curiosity, not being accustomed to
1 the sight of a revolver.
The poor German was going on with
his work muttering to himself, “Strange,
how that pistol returns to me, again and
again. ’
The words were not out of his lips
when the fatal moment so long expected,
arrived. The lad’s foolish curiosity led
him to examine the lock and pry into its
defects, and the charge from my revolver
entered his back. lie fell forward in a
moment, saying, as he fell, “At last!”
The foolish boy rushed out of the shop
with the pistol in his hand, screaming
for assistance.
My friend, the surgeon was instantly
sent for, and from him I gained thu par
ticulars :
Turning the poor fellow over on his
face, and cutting open his garments to
examine the wound, the surgeon said to
th >se who stood around : if by chance it
should have glanced iff and passsed
around by the ribs, as will sometimes
happen, this wound will not be fatal.
“It is fatal,” sad the wounded man,
with a sudden effort. “Have I been
waiting for this stroke so long, and
shall it fail to do its work when it comes !
It is fatal, he gasped, “and 1 shall die— ,
but not here.
1 have to relate a terrible and incredi
ble thing, which, impossible as it seems,
is yet true.
The German lock smi*h started up
from where ho lay, pushing aside all
those who stood around him with an un
natural strength. His boJy swayed for
an instant from side to side and then
darted forwards. The crowd gave way
betorchim, and he ru-hed from the house.
He tore along the streets —the few poo
pic whom he met giving way before h.m.
and looking after him in horre-r as he
Hew along—his clothes cut open at the
back, blood-stained and dripping, and
death in his ugird. Noti nepause, not
an abatement in bis speed till he reach
id the infirmary, passed the man who
kept the door, and up the stairs he iLw,
nor stopped till he came to a bed which
stands beneath the window, and across
which the shadow of a cypress tails when
the sun begins to sink.
It was the bed on which his friend had
breathed his last.
“1 must die here,” said the German
locksmith, as lie fell upon it. “ft is
here that I must die.”
And he died. The haunting thought
which had made his existence a living
death was justified. The presentiment
had come true at last; and when the thun
der cloud, which had hung so long over
this man's life, had discharged its bolt
upon his head, it seemed to us as if the
earth was then lighter, for tho shade had
passed away.
Isdea h the name for a release like
this? Who could look upon this happy
face, as he lay upon that bed and say so?
It was not the end of a life—but th<
beginning.
Mr. Spargen u C'ommaulou.
I am frequently receiving letters con
taining this question—What is my
opinion upon open Communion ? And
once for ail, to save all farther loss of
postage to my transatlantic brethren,
let me say 1 am, pastor of a Baptist
church, into whith none can be admit
ted unless they are believed to be obe
dient both to the doctrine and precept ol
ilie Lord Jesus. One Lord, one faith,
one bapti-in, is a brief tupitome of our
religious union. We altogether disap
prove ol churches which bear a divided
testimony on so significant a point as
Baptism. In this we are < ne, and hope
ever to remain firm in our profession that
the immersion of believers is the primi
tive Baptism of the church of Christ,
and that none other is worthy of the
name of Christian Baptism. We arc.
therefore, strict in discipline, and thus
enjoy the blessed consequences of union
in sentiment and heart.
But as lbr Communion, it seems to
us that this is no more at our disposal
than the blood of the Redeemer, which
he has shed for all his people, w hether
immersed or no. We believe restrict
ed fellowship to be impossible among
the saints of G>>d. With all the church
we do and must commune. The Spirit
of the living God has established an ir
resisitble Communion among all the re
generated, no church act can limit or re
strain the divine impulse. Respecting
ihe consciences of those who hold a limi
ted fellowship, we do most solemnly
protest against their error. Every
member of the visible church ofChrist is
invited by u> to sln>w forth publicly his
followship with Christ, with the whole
blood-bought family, and with us who
believe ourselves to be a part thereof.
As often as wo break bread, we have
the pleasure of seeing Europe, Asia,
Africa, America, and Australia, repro
sented at the table, and members of all tru
ly Christian communities are there also.
This I mention, not as a matter of Con
troversy, but simply in answer to in
quiries. And I must add that a differ
ence upon this point can never be suffi
cient to make me cease to love and com’
mune with the most stern of my Bap
tized Brethren.
May the day soon come when all
Pedo-Baptism shall cease, and then!he
much vexed question of Communion
must cud, also.
May the grace of our Lord Jesus
Christ, and the fellowship of the Spirit,
be with all the people of God for ever.
Amen.
Brethren, I am vour* ever truly.
c. 11. SPURGEON.
There is a majesty in innocence which
will sometimes awe the most reprobate.
Bread the Waters.
Ah, Jacob, now you see how all your
hopes are gone. Here xve are worn out
with age—all our children removed
from us by the hand of death, and ere
oiig we must be inmates of the poor
house. Where, now, is all the bread
you have east np<n the waters.
The old, white haired man looked up
at his wife. He was indeed, bent down
with years, bat age sat tremblingly up
on him. W. Manfred had been a com
paratively wealthy man, and while for
tune had smiled upou him he had ever
been among the first to lend a listening
ear and a helping hand to the call of
distress. But now misfortune was his.
Os his four boys notone was left
Sickness and failing strength found him
with but little, and they left him penni
less. An oppressive embargo upon the
shipping business laid the first weight
upon his head, and other mi-fortunes
came in painful succession. Jacob and
his Wife were all alone and gaunt pov
erty looked them coldly in the face.
Don’t repine, Susan, said the old
man.
True, we are poor, but are not yet
j forsaken.
Not forsaken, Jacob ! Who is there
to help us now ?
Jacob Manfred raised his trembling
linger towards heaven.
Ah, Jacob, I know God is our friend;
but we should have friends here. Look
back and see how many you have be
friended in days long past. You cast
your bread un in the waters with a free
hand but it lias not yet returned to
yon.
Ifu-h, Susan, you forgot what you
say. To be suie 1 may have hoped
that some kind hand of earth would lift
me from the cold depths of want; but 1
do no expect it as a reward for any
thing that 1 may have done. If I help
ed the unfortunate in days gone by, I
have had my full reward in knowing
that 1 have done iny duty to my fel
lows. O, of all the kinds deeds I have
done to my sufering fellows, I would not
for gold have one of them bloteJ from
my memory. Ah, my fond wife, ’tis
the memory of the good done in life
that makes old age happy. Even now
1 can hear .agiin the warm thanks of
those whom 1 have befriended, and again
I can see their sm !es.
Yes, Jacob, returned the wife, in a
lower tone, I know you have be< n
good, and in your memory you can be
happy, bir, ! there is a present upon
which we must look —there is a reality
upon wh.ch we must dwell. We must
beg f *r t’li and or s-tarve !
8.-g ! he replied with a quicker shud
der.
No, Susan—we are—
He hesitated, and a big tears rolled
down his furrowed cheek.
We arts going to the poor house.
(), God ! 1 thought so! fell from the
poor wit’s lips, as she covered her face
with her hands. ‘1 have thought so, and
have tried to school myself to the
thought ; but my poor heart could not
bear it!
Don’t give up, Susan, softly urged
the old man, laying bis hands upon her
arm. It nukes but little difference to us
now. We have not long to remain on
earth, and let us not wear our last days
in useless repinings. Come, come.
But when—when—when shall we
go ?
Now—to-day.
Then, God have mercy on us.
He will, murmured Jacob.
The old couple sat for a while in si
lence. When they were aroused front
their painful thoughts, it was by the
stopping of a wagon in front of the
door. A man entered the room where
they sat. He was the keeper of the
poor house.
Come, Mr. Manford, lie said, the se
lect men have managed to crowd you
into the poor house. The wagon is at
the door and you can get ready as soon
as possible.
Jacob Manfred had not calculated the
strength he would need for his ordeal.
There was a coldness in the very man
ner and tone of the man who had come
for him that went like an ice bolt to his
heart, and with a deep groan he sank
back in his chair.
Come—l-e in a hurry, urged the
keeper.
At that moment a heavy covered
carryall drove up in front of the door.
Is this the house of Mr. Jacob Man
fred ?
The question was asked by a man who
enter-d from the earryall.
He wa* a kind looking man about forty
years of age.
Then they told me truly, uttered the
hew comer. Are you from the aims-,
House-house ! he continued turning to
wards the keeper.
Yes.
And are you after those people ?
Yes.
Then you may return, Jacob Man-
Led goes to no poor house while 1
lire.
The keeper eazed inquisitively into
the features of the man who addressed
him, and then left the house. •
Don’t you remember tna ! ixc’.aimed
the stranger, gra-ping lha old man by
the hand.
1 cannot call you to my memory now.
Do you remember Lucius Williams?
That little boy whom thirty years
ago you saved from the house of correc
tion ; that poor boy whom you kindly
took from the bonds of law, and placed
on board one of your own vessels.
And are you—
Yes—yes, I am the man whom you
made. \ou found me a rough stone
from the hands of povei ty and bad ex
ample. It was you xvho brushed off
the evil, and who first led me to the
sweet waters of moral life and happiness.
I have profited by the lessons you gave
me in early youth, and the war.n spark
which your kindness lighted up in my
bosom lias grown brighter and brighter
ever since. Fur life 1 bave?ettled down to
enjoy the remainder of my days in peace
and quietness, with such of work as my
hands may find to do. 1 heard of your
losses and bereavements. 1 know that
the children of you IL-h are all gone,
but, 1 am a child of jour bounty—a
child of your kindness, and now you
shaft be still my parent. Come, I have
a home and a hearth, and your presence
will make them both warmer, brighter,
and happier. You made my youth all
bright and 1 will not see your old age
doomed to darkness.
Jacob Manfred tottered forward and
sank on the bosom of his preserver. —
He could not speak his thanks for they
were too heavy ft r words.
When he looked up again and sought
his wife.
Susan, he said, in a choking, trem
bling voice, my bread has come back to
me.
Forgive me, Jacob.
No, no, Susan, ft is not Iw ho must
forgive—God holds iis in his hands.
Ah, murmured the wife, as she raised
her eyes to heaven, I will never doubt
him again !
The Real Ghost Story.
The Boston Traveller, on the “best
authority,” tells the following ghost sto
ry, in which Mr. Hector M’Donald, of
Canada, who was recently on a visit to
that city, is the leading living actor.
Upon his departure from his home lie
left his finely well. The Traveller
says ;
The second morning after he arrived
in Boston, when leaving his bed to dress
lor breakfast, he saw reflected in a mir
ror the corpse of a woman, lying in the
bed from which he had j Ist arisen.—
Spell bound, he gazed wilh intense feel
ing and tried to recognize the features
of the corpse, but in vain ; he could
not even move his eyelids; he felt de
prived of action, for how long he knew
not. lie was at last startled by the
ringing of the bell for breakfast, and
sprang to the bed to satisfy himself if
what he had seen rcflecl r d in the mirror
was real or an illusion. He found the
bed as lie had left it ; lie looked again
into the mirror, but only saw the bed
truly reflected. During the day he
thought much upon the illusion, and
determined next morning to lub his
eyes and feel perfectly sure that he was
wideawake before h.* left bed. Butnot
w ithslanding these precautions, the visit
was repeated with the addition that he
thought he rtcogn iid in the corpse
some resemblance to the features of
his wife.
In the course of the second day he re
ceived a letter from his wife, in which
she stated that she was quite well, and
hoped he was enjoying himself among
his friends. As he was devotedly at
tached to her, and always anxious for
her safety, he supposed that his morbid
fears had conjured up the vision he had
seen r flectei in the glass, and went
about his business as cheerfully as u-.ii
al. On the morning of the third day,
after he liad dressed, ho found himse.f
in thought in his own house, leaning
over the coffinbf his wife. His friends
were assembled, the minister was per
forming the funeral services, his chil
dren wept —he was in the house of death.
He followed ihe corpse to the grave ; he
heard the earth rumble upon tho collin,
he saw „he grave filled, and the green
sods covered over it; yet, by some
strange power, he could see through the
ground the entire form of his wife, as
she lay in her coffin.
He looked in the faces of those
around him, but no one seemed to no
tice him ; he tried to weep, but the
tears refused to flow ; his very heart felt
as hard as a rock. Enraged at his own
want of fteiing, he determined to throw
himself upon the grave and lie there till
his heart should break, w hen he was re
called to consciousness by a friend, who
entered the room to inform him that
breakfast was ready. He started as if
awoke from a profound sleep, though he
was stand.ng before the mirror, wilh a
hair-brush in his hand.
After composing himself, he related
to his friend what he hid seen, and
both concluded that a good breakfast on
ly was wanted to dissipate his unpleas
ant impressions. A few days after
wards, however, he received the melan
choly intelligence that his wife had died
suddenly, and the time corresponded
with the day he had been startled by the
first vision in the mirror. W hen he re
turned home he described minutely all
the details of the funeral he had seen in
his vision, and they corresponded with
the facts. This is probably one of the
most vivid instances of clairvoyance on
record. Mr. M Donald knows nothing
of modern spiritualism or clairvoyance,
as most of his life has been passed upon
a farm and among forests. It may not
be amiss to state that his father, who
was a Scotch Il ghlander, had the gift of
“second sight.”
Tub Two-Headed Gird.— The Frankfort
(Ky.) Yeoman, of Tuesday, says of thiw
most singular creature, now on exhibi
tion there:
‘ Mad’ile Christiana Milly is now in her
ninth year, and poss-sses the extraordinary
appendages of two fine heads, four arms,
and four feet, all concentrated in one pel feet
body. She has two pretty and intelligent
laces, denoting vivacity ot life and genuine
inirthfulness. She sings sweetly many o
the most popular songs and ballards of the
day, and can converse with two persons at
the same time upon one or different sub
jects. The movements ol her body are ea
sy and quick, enabling her to dance, walk
or run with as much style and rapidity as
any child of her age. Not the least deform
ity will be found in limb, body or features.
The Louisville Democrat, of the 23d, says
that on nnd after Saturday, 30th, freight
trains will run through from Louisville to
Nashville, and that the passenger train will
follow on the uext Monday.
Lduioinix ouspiritualhut.
NUMBER X.
“THE END AND AIM or PPIUITI AL INTEBCUI U**.”
To ihr Editor of the Sew York Tribune :
There is no topic connected with this
subject less thoroughly understood than
this, even by llrm believers in the inter
course, and even my conceptions of it, im
perfect as they must necessarily be, can
hardly be detailed within tho limits of ibis,
the last of my papers. I can attempt only
to refer briefly to a few of the more impor
tant considerations.
1. No man or woman lias probably ever
lived, who has not, at some time, felt a
yearning yet once again to hold comniun
ion with some loved one whom death has re
moved from sight, and this prayer, so in
stinctive and so universal with the whole
family of man, is nowin the beneficence of a
Divine Providence, answered more specifi
cally and more generally than ever before
known, and the first thing demonstrated to
us is, that we can commune with the spirits
of the departed ; that such communion is
through the instrumentality of persons yet
living; that the fact of medium-hip is the
result of physical organization; that the
kind of communion iis affected by moral
causes, and that the power, like all our
other faculties, is possessed, in different de
grees, and is capable of improvement by
cultivation.
2. It is also demonstrated that that which
bus been believed in all ages of the world,
and in all religions—namely, intercourse
between man in the mortal life, and an in
telligence iu the unseen world beyond thu ;
grave—after having passed through the
phazes of revelation, inspiration, oracles,
magic, incantation, witchcraft, clairvoy- I
ance, and animal magnetism, lias, in this i
age, culminated in a manifestation which j
can be proved and understood, and like ev
rv other gift bestowed upon man, is capable j
of being wielded by liim for good, or per
veited to evil.
3. That which lias thus dealt with man in
all time is not, as some have supposed, the
direct voice of the Creator, nor of the Devil,
as a being having an independent existence
and a sovereignty in the universe of God,
nor of angels as a e'ass of beings Laving a
distinct creation from the human family,
but of the spirits of those who have, like us,
lived upon earth in the mortal form.
4 These tilings being established by
means which show a settled purpose and in
telligent design, they demonstrate man's
immortality, and that in the simplest way,
by appeals alike to bis reason, to this affec
tions, and to his senses. They thus show
that they whom we once knew as living on
earth, do yet live after having passed the
gates of death, and leaving in our minds
the irresistible conclusion that if they thus
live, we shall. This task Spiritualism lias
already performed on its thousands and its
tons of thousands—more, indeed, in the last
ten years than by all the pulpits in the land
—and still the work goes bravely on. God
speed it! lor it is doing what man's unaided
roason has for ages tried in vain to do, and
what, in this age of infidelity seemed im
possible to accomplish.
5. Thug, too, is confirmed to us the Chris
tian religion, which so many have question
ed or denied'. Not/indeed that which sec
tarianism gives us, nor that which descends
to us from the dark ages, corrupted by sel
fishness or distorted by ignorance, but that
which was proclaimed through the Spiritu
ism of Jesus of Nazareth, in the simple in
junction, “Thou shaft love tho Lord thv
God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul,
and with all thy mind.” This is the tirstand
great commandment. And the second is
like unto it: “Thou shaft love thy neighbor
as thy self.” (In these commandments hang
all the law and the prophets.
C. As by the inspiration through a found
ling of the Nile, there was revealed toman
the existence of one God over all, instead of
the many deities he was then worshiping ;
and as by the inspiration of him who was
born in a manger, there was next revealed
man’s immortal existence beyond the grave,
of which even the most enlightened had then
but a faint idea ; so now, through the lowly
of the earth, comes a further revelation, con
firmatory of those, and adding the mighty
truth, what is the existence in which that
immortality is to be spent.
Throughout all the manifestations, in every
form and in every language, whatever the
discrepancies, uncertainties and contradic
tions on other topics, on this of the man’s
future existence all coincide and harmonize.
It comes in broken fragments of scattered
revelations, here a little and there a little,
part through one and part through another,
but forming, when gathered together, a sub
limo whole, from which we can surely learn
the nature and condition of the life on which
we shall enter after this shall have ended.
This, as I understand it. is the great end
and object of the movement, all else being
incident to it. But it has only begun, and
its progress is glow, not from want of power
to communicate, but from want of capacity
to comprehend. Much that has already been
revealed, has not from this cause been re
ceived, even by the most advanced Spirit
ualist, and of c uirse not given to the world.
But tho work is going on. More is added
day by day; and it will not belong before
enough will be received by all to open to
their conception a knowledge of our future
existence, whose value no man can calculate,
whose effects no man can imagine.
7. Enough, however, has already been giv
en to show that man’s destiny is Progress,
onward, upward, from his birth to eternity.
Circumstances may retard, hut cannot inter
rupt this destiny; and man’s freedom is,
thut he may accelerate or retard ; but he can
not prevent. He may hasten, as did
one whose life on earth had been devoted to
doing good to his fellows, and who said to
me that he had passed away in the full con
sciousness of the change—hud found himself
turn unded and welcomed by those whom
ho aided while on earth—and had paused not.
one moment in the sphere of Remorse; or he
may, by a life of tin uial selfishness, retard
it for a period long enough to .atisfy the
vengeance even ol an angry Deny, if such a
thing can be.
8. Our progress to be alike in knowledge,
in love, and in purity. Alike in all it must
be. And any circumstance which causes us,
in any one of these elements, to lag behiud
the advance of the others, is sure to bring
uuforUinate consequences in its train, though
not always unhappiness. So clear, so un
iversal in this injunction to progress in all
ihree of these elements, that the heresies
which spring lip among U3 from our imper
fect knowledge of them, need give us no
alarm. Even tlie doctrine of Free Love, re
volting as it is—but which some misguided
ones have attempted to foist upon our beau
tiful faith—need cause uo anxiety; for pro
(hgacy in love is incompatible with progress
in purity. And while the command is,
“Love ye one another,so ever attendant
upon it is that other, “Be ye pure even as
your Father in Heaven is pure.”
Incidental to these more important points
are many minor considerations, on which I
cannot now dwell. By a careful attentior,
they will all be found consistent with these
weightier matteis. Distorted sometimes by
the imperfection of the mediums through
the intercourse comes, and sometimes per
verted by the passions of those who receive
it, carefully considered and patiently studied
until understood, I can safely assert, after
nearly nine years’ earnest attention to the
subject, that there is nothing in Spiritualism
that does not directly tend to the most ex
alted private worth and public Tirtue.
True, to some it is mere matter of curios
it3 r , and to others a philosophy ; but to many
it is now, and to all in the end will be, a
religion ; because all religion is the science
of the future life, and because it never fails
to awaken in the heart that devotion which
is at once a badge and an attribute of our
immortality. J. W. EDMONDS.
A Diiugcroim Felloxv lo le at
Large.
There is a dangerous fellow somewhere
down castor somewhere else, who ought not
to be allowed to run at large. He threatens
to play the very deuce and break up things
generally in consequence of a faithless gal,
who lias broke her troth to her liim, and
married another fellow. If ho should put
his threats into execution what would be
come of us ? Hear him :
“ I'll grasp the loud thunder,
With lightning I'll play,
I'll rend the earth assunder,
And kick it away!”
Now that's attempting considerable for
one man ; however, is he is willing to assume
the responsibility and pay damages, why let
him smash away, we're not afraid. He next
says:
“The rainbow 1 11 straddle,
And ride on the moon ;
O’er the ocean I'll paddle,
In the bowl of a .-poon !’’
Well, that won’t hurt anybody. Go ahead
old chap. We like to encourage a laudable
spirit of adventure.
I’ll set fire to the fountain,
And swallow up the rill;
I’ll eat up the mountain,
And be hungry still.”
Good gracious, what a destructive and fe
rocious animal lie is! Is there no way to
appease his wrath and stay his stomach ?
Miut we suffer this, just because hi* gal gave
him the mitten and took a notion to another?
No never! Down with him, we say, if he
continues to conduct himself in this extrava
gant way.
“The rain shall fall upwards,
Tlie smoke tumble down,
I'll dye the grass purple,
And paint the sky brown!”
Hear thut! A pretty world this would
be then. We might as well live in an old
boot with a dirty sole for the earth beneath,
and the brown upjier leather for heavens
above.
“ The sun I'll put out,
Witfi whirlwinds I'll play,
Turn day into night,
And sleep it away !”
There is no doubt if lie cuts this caper, the
sun will be as much put out about it as we
shall. We leave it to the wirlwinds to say
whether they are to be trifled with or not.
And as for turning day into night and sleep
ing it away, we would just as soon he w ould
as not, that is if he can.
“I'll flog the young earthquake.
The weather I’ll physic,
Volcanoes I’ll strangle.
Or choke with a phthisic.
Oh, no, for shame now. He dare not
clinch with old earthquake, and so he threa
tens to floga young one, and that of the neu
ter gender. Oh, you outrageous fellow !
Why don’t you take one of your size?
“The moon I will smother.
With nightmare and woe;
For sport at each other.
The stars I will throw.”
Served them right, they have no business
to be out at night when they ought to be in
bed.
“ The rooks shall be preachers,
The trees do the singing.
Tho cloulds shall be teachers ;
And the comets go sprecing !”
Well that’s all right enough except get
ting the comets on a spree, we don’t like that
very much. Our hero concludes as follows :
“I’ll tie up the winds,
In a bundle together,
And tickle their ribs
With an Ostrich feather.”
Oh, cracky! now he’s done it. We did
not think it in the gizzard of any man to do
half as much. Really, wo think that such a
desperate lellow ought to be caught, put ‘ m
a horn’ for half a week nnd safely guarded
by one flea, two musquitoes and a bed-bug.
Nature has a rnge ways of and iiog the
most beautiful things. Out of the oozy
eartli, the mud and rain of early spring,
come the most delieate flowers, their white
leaves borne out of the dirt as unsoiled and
pure as if they hud bloomed in the garden
of Paradise.
NUMBER 33
‘1 he Noble Karl and the Home Farmer.
A farmer once called on the late
Karl Fitzwilliam, to represcat that his
crop of wheat had been seriously injur
ed in a field adjoining a certain wood,
where his lordship’s hounds had, during
the winter, frequently met to hunt.—
He stated that the young wheat had
been so cut up and destroyed, that in
some parts he could not hope for any
produce.
“Well, my friend,” said his lordship,
“I am aware that we have done consid
erable injury—and if you can produce
an estimate of the loss you have sus
tained, 1 will repay you.”
The farmer replied that, anticipating
his lordship’s consideration and kind
ness, he had requested a friend to assist
in estimating the damage, and they
ihonght, as the crop seemed quite de
stroyed, fifty pounds would not more
than repay him. The Earl immediate
ly gave him the money.
As the harvest, however, approached,
ihe wheat grew, and in those parts of
the lield which were most luxuriant.—
The fanner went again to his lordship,
and being introduced, said—
‘•l am come, my lord, respecting the
field of w heat adjoining such a wood.”
His lordship immediately recollected
the cireumstai.e *.
“Well, my friend, did not I allow you
sufficient to remunerate you for your
loss 1”
“Yes, my lord, I find that I have
sustained no loss at all, for where the
horses had most cut lip the land, the
crop is the most promising, and I have,
therefore, brought the fifty pounds back
again.”
“Ah !” exclaimed the venerable earl,
“this is what 1 like—this is as it should
be between man and man.”
He then entered into conversation
with the farmer, asking him some ques
tions about his family—how many chil
dren he had, etc. His lordship then
went into another room, and returning,
presented the farmer with a cheque for
one hundred pounds, saying—
“ Take care of this, and when your
eldest son is of age, present it to him,
and tell him the occasion, that pro
duced it.
We know noi which to admire the
more, the benevolence or the wisdom
displayed by this illustrious man ; for
while doing a noble act of generosity,
he was handing down a lesson of integri
ty to another generation.
’ | Exchange Paper.
The Mineral Resources of Georgia.
So 3.
Letter front Hon. M. A. Cooper.
THE INTEREST TIIE STATE HAS IX
IRON AND ITS PRODUCTS.
To the Editor of the National American.
This topic is so vast in magnitude, and so
various in its ramifications, that in approach
ing it, we involuntarily pause and look
around in silent amazement, nskinging our
selves, where is the beginning ? History
teaches us the answer to that question. But
if we look forward, desiring to unveil the
Future, and ask where shall end the use*
of Iron? No answer can be afforded, ex
cept that they will end only with Time.
More can be said of Iron than of any oth
er metal.
Ist It gives employment to man and beast
more than a’l other metals.
“2d. Hence it combines Capital with Labor,
giving pro lit to the former and support to
the latter, to a greater extent than any met
al whatsoever.
3d. A pound’s weight of Iron, by this
combination, attains a value superior to a
pound of any metal known to man.
4th. The uses of Iron, in Science, in tho
Arts, in Agriculture, in Commerce, and in
Peace and in War, and in the necessaries
and the luxuries of life, are more various and
more entensive than any other metal.
oth. In proportion to the application of
Capital and Labor to the varied products of
Iron, in a Nation, is its jawer of defence,
its independence and greatness.
Gth. Without it, a nation is imbecile, pow
erless, defenseless, degraded and barbarous.
If these projections be true, the interest
which our Estate hus in the products of Iron,
is demonstrated, since it already appears
that Georgia is, by nature, furnished with
the prime resources of Iron, in the richest
abundance.
That these propositions are true, the testi
mony of a few witnesses will prove.
The housewife will tell us, that tlic kitch
en, the dining room, in the chamber and at
the lire-side, by day and by night, she can
not live without Iron. Even iu ihe parlour,
her entertainments would be dull without it.
She will testify, that without it she could
not clothe the family.
The gardener will tell us, that without it,
he could not supply the kitchen or the ta
ble.
The Agriculturalist tells us, that A is in
dispensable to cultivate the soil, as well as to
reap and gather the harvest; to suddue tho
forest as well as to protect his fields. Even
of the house iu which he lives, it forms a
part.
It has a jdace in the lady’s Wardrobe. It
delights her eye, reflects her image, and en
chants he ear with the voice of music. In
every mode of conveyance, she is luxurious
ly liorno along by its elastic nature.
Ity its aid the man of Science reads tho
Heavens, gazes at the sun, and counts the
stars. In the Arts, all things that are made
directly or indirect!v demand its instrumen
tality In Peace, it is the implement for
production in all thing* made of wood wool
or Colton, or from tho ground. In W ar, it
i< tin- dread Instrument of death in all Us
horrid forms. Os Iron we build the ship,
and bv it plow the ocean, aud guide and direct
our course. Ity it, we mount and ride uir
on the wings of the wind, bring down the
lightning, and, without loss of time, talk to
oiir friend u thousand miles from us, and in
on<‘ day’s travel sit down by his side.
Hence we perceive that the fourth projio
sition is true. It follows that the first is
true also—by which is also proven the truth
of the second.
Gall on the Jeweler and Watchmaker. —
Ho will tell vou of a delicate ajiring in tho
Watch you wear, made of Iron, one pound’s
weight of which sells for more than a pound
of Gold, Silver or Platina in any form —
proving to you the third projxadtion.
v The fifth proposition we will consider in a
subsequent fetter. Respectfully,
MAKE A. COOPER.