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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.