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AMICUS’ JaETTER, No. IX,
If l.y the death, (so called, theologi
cally,) of Adam, sin came into the world,
and Christ’s death was a vicarious atone-;
meut, tl en sin was intercepted in its j
devastations, and frantic career, and j
the declaration of omnipotence, the seed ;
< (-the woman shall bruise the serpent s j
head, has lx en literally fulfilled.
New, reader, admitting', for the sake.
< f argument, hut denying its consistency J
with principle and tttilh, that there was!
a Satan who tempted Adam, in his ig- j
norance, to do that which criminated
him and his vast ptogeny, and that for
that sin, an atonement was made. This
is orthodox theology, and they preach
tin- ct into, and the amplitude of the
atonement. Now, my dear reasoning
co-searcher alter troth, let us scrutinise
and nnylize this theology. I must here
r<state their premises, that 1 may im
press you with the absurdity of then
conclusions. Adam’s disobedience, they
say, was a crime that brought his whole j
race under cond< mna'ioti. Mark man
condition at this point: lie is condem
ns, must remain under condemnation,
until that crime is rxpiatod. Again re
n cml-cr, it is theologically alleged, that
lie has committed a crime that he, in all j
that ho is, is insufficient to expiate j
And hence the inevitable necessity of a
vicarious atonement; an innocent man
must suffer for the crime of the guilty-
Matk the beauty of the Iheolt gy: God
made man capable cf committing a
crime, but incapable of ntoneing for it;
hence the inneer nt must die for the guil
ty, and the guilty go ui punished. Tins
is theological justice. Observe it clear
ly. Again we are taught that the plan
of salvation was completed, awl that
the atonement was ample. Bui in their
next sermon, they tell us that the atone
ment was hypothetical, that it was gin
eral; hut contingent —to wit: Christ
atoned lor our sins, provided wo believe
in him. (Murk this proviso.) Then
they till us, that it was for the original
sin alone, that Christ died, and that in
his death, he bruised the serpent’s head.
(Mark this point.) Then the preacher j
tells us that unless our sins are wash, and
away in the atooeing blood, that our i
souls will be loot in 1011. (Mark this.) j
lie didn't alone for our sins, but without ,
the efficacy of the atonement we can’t ;
be saved. They tell ns we can do noth- i
ing essential to our salvation that j
grace is a free gift through Jesus, Christ; j
but in their next sermon, tiny tell us j
that our faith is known by our works— i
that we are to be judged lor what we
do, and rewarded for the deeds done in
the body. llow blind with prejudice;
mast be tire mind that cannot see thr so |
glaring absurdities! Having already, i
in my former letter, noticed tire fall, and j
existence arid non-existence of a s.ttan,
I don’t now propose to recapitulate; but
will biit-fly call y-.ur attention to the
theological construction ol tire atone
ment. Just here I propose to make up
the issue: Theology alleges that Adam
JFas guilty of a crime, and that Christ,
ffn innocent parly, had to and did suffer
to ratisfy the ends oljistiee. 1 deny
it. That’s the issue. I have insisted
that Adam did no’, sin in that act which
he did—that he was doli inccpix. Ttn y
insist that he violated the law and suf-
fi red the penalty, io wit, that he died
for his transgression. Was it just that
he should die? If so, wly? Because,
you sry, il was the penalty prescribed.
Was the penalty sufficient? You answer
yen. Then in Adam’s death the crime
was expiated, for l.e had suffered the
penally. Now I inquire, where, in the
principle of justice, do. you find the re
quisition for the sacrifice of innocent
blood—the crucifixion of Heaven's Prince
to atone for man’s crime, that had al
ready been expiated by the offender, by
enduring the prescribed penalty? Now,
reader, mark my position: II Adam vi
olated the law and the penalty was ex
ecuted, that crime was ended; justice
was satisfied; and Christ’s death could
not have been to atone for that. But
upon the hypothesis that he did atone
for the original siu—that sin, upon your
theory, extending to all mankind, the
atonement to he ample must he co
extensive with the crime, To he effec
tive, il must obliterate il from the cr:m
ina! record and restore man to the Adam
ic perfection. Right here, noon your
theory, we are clear of the original sin,
and man is possessed of the same char
acter of existence lhat Adam possessed
before his disobedience. The death \
sentence of Adam most have been re
i voked by the atonement, or the atone- !
ment was not adequate to the emergen
cy. To be brief, your argument is that
Christ, in his death, undone what Adam
done in his disobedience. Your exten
sive theory embraces another question
so intimately and inseparately conncc- j
ted with this, that I propose to yon \
to it. You say thut the serpent was j
Satan, and that ho was the enemy ol
God arid man, arid the cause of Adam's
transgression. You also say that
Christ was the seed of the woman, and ;
that he bruised the serpent's head [
Here is your theoiy. What is the Ingi- j
eal sequence? Why, that Adam was j
once perfect—that there was a devil j
that tempted him to disobedience—that j
Christ took upon himself the harden of
mao's sins, sail led in his stead, expi
ated his crime, bruised the serpent's |
head, killed the devil, di strayed man's j
great enemy, removed the tempter, the j
cause of man's transgression, ami re
stori and man to his original perfection.-
I have given your theory and the only \
legitimate conclusions that can be tie - I
duced from it.
If that theory is“coriect, that Ct.rist
suffered the penalty due to our sins, ami !
released ns and destroyed the serpent,
which was the original cause of sin com {
ing into the world, since the death of!
Chr'st there can I e no sinners, and why? j
Because serving the devil is sin against j
God. Christ washed a way the original !
sin, and destroyed tile first cause; time- I
fore we can’t sit by serving a devil
iliatyour theoretical, vicarious atone
ment destroyed. This theory destroys
itself. There is no such thing as a vi— j
carious atom mi nt to be tound in the j
principle of justice. What is the prin
ciple of justice in reference to criminal
law? Why, that the offender shall suf
fer the penalty of his own wrong. Is It
uuscriptural to say that man suffered
that penalty? Gen iii. 17, 18, 19:
"And unto Adam he said: Because thon
hast hearkened unto the voice of thy
wife (not the ferpeul) and hast eaten of
the tree of which I commanded thee,
saying, thou shah not eat of it: ctnsed
is th j ground for thy sake; in sorrow
siralt thou eat of it a I the days of thy ,
life.” ‘‘Thorns and thistles shall it bring j
birth,’’Ac. "In the sweat of thy (ace ■
sbalt lima eat bread, til! thou return
unto trie ground." Ac. Was not this the
penalty? Has not -the curse extended
to the whole race of man? Are we not
still suffering it? Was not lhat the en
tire penalty? If not, who dare to in
crease il? Did God? Where is the
proof? But you say the serpent still
exists, aud will exist to all eternity, and
ttint Iris office is to destroy men. That
he was a fallen angel and for bis insub
ordination in Heaven he was cast into
the lakeoffire that will hum to all eter
nity. If that is true, God has changed
his decree, fur he has taken him out ol
the fire and brimstone, and located him
ou this earth, prescribed Iris mode of
ti ansportation, gave him an existence
that must end, and specified the food
that he should eat all the days of his
life. Now. if your serpr nt is a devil, he is
a temporal devil; for he has to eat to
live; be has to ( |yjt dust all the days of
his l.f'.S ipiirstAbe lives as long ar ihe
earth stands? Your theory is that the
earth is to pass away. Il that's true,
HE3E SHALL THE PRESS THE PEOPLE'S RI3KTS MAINTAIN, UN AWED BY FEAR AND UNBRIBED BY GAIN.
QUITMAN, GEO., OCTOBER 7, 1871.
the old fellow will starve for the want
of dust, and there wi 1 be no days f r
him to live. Gen. iii, 14: “And the
Lord God said unto the serpent, Because
thou hast done this, thou art cursed
above all cattle, and above every beast
lof tbe field; upon thy belly siralt thou
| go, and dust siralt thou eat all the days
jof thy life.” Is your serpent omnipres
ent? You say not. Well, please an
swer this question: How can ho he in
hell, superintending that vast boarding
establishment, and be in this world, a
guest at every hotel, a hoarder at every
private house, an attendant at every
church, a gambler in every gambling
saloon, a passenger ou every ear, and
every steam boat and stagecoach, all at
1 the same time, draining for his everlas
ting hot house; and at the same time
suffering the penalty of God's vengeance
by crawling on his belly, eating duut
for a living. That is the theological
story of the seipent, that they say is the
fallen angel that John saw. propheti
cally, in the vision, four thousand years
after the serpent appeared on earth. II
ho is not omnipresent, how is it that he
is a dragon chained in the bottomless
pit, (which you say is another world)
and nt the same time be hr this world in
j the person of a serpent, conversing with
a woman. And while assuming these
| I w.r persona'itics, and inhabiting these
| two separate and distinct worlds, arid at
I the same time a bright angel, the asso
ciate of cherubs ami seraphs, in the im
mediate presence of God, in the heaven
of heavens. With these obvious incon
! sistencies and absurdities, isn’t i!
I Strange that an intclligeiifponplo rtlll’l
I see. wont see, that it is an evil prin
ciple within themselves—and not an
! evil personality that they have to con
[ tend with. The word Satan is used
only four times as a piVper name in the
Old Testament with the article: John,
it, 12—ii, 1 Zaeh. iii, I, I Olrron. xxi,
1 New ex amine closely this chapter
and you will find that Satan is not and
nominated an evil spirit. In the 6:h
verse we find bin among the sons of
God, where they had assembled to pre
sent themselves before the Lord, and it.
several of the succeeding verses, we
find the Lord conversing with him on
terms of not only peace but perfect ami
ty. And in the 12th verse you find
that the Lord delegated to Satan a pow
er and authority over that which Job
posst s oil, to test his piety ami his pa
tience; and in the second cl aplor, you
find the same authority; and by this
agency did he not lose his properly, anil
was he not afflicted in person by the
same ? \V“ie all tlic-so afflictions
brought upon Job by any poison rxrr
cisiug an independent authority and
power, other than the God who did it
through his own chosen iinslniiiieniali -
t : c S? H so, why was it tl at Job was
not appi is <1 of that lad? lie knew no
Satan in his u 111 ct ions lie kfnw the
evils when they came upon him—but bo
recognised them as coining born G <l,
as you will perceive by reading Job’s
answer to his wife in the tenth verse of
the second chapter: ‘'What? shall wo
receive good, at the band of God, and
shall we not receive e vil? What did
iie mean? Why, that these afflictions
came from God and from no oilier
source.
The Vagabond Sage.
An old man of very active physiogno
my, answering to the name of Jao b
W ilmot, was brought to the police
court.
Ills clothes looked as though they
might have been bought second band in
Ins yonthfu’ prime, for they had suffered
more from the rubs of the world than
j the proprietor himself.
‘What bom nous? *
; ‘None; I’rn a traveler.’
‘A v igabond perhaps?’
, ‘You are not far wrong. Travelers
i and vagabonds are about the same tiling.
The difference is that the latter travels
1 without money, and the former without
brains.’
j ‘Where have you traveled?’
| ‘All over the continent.’
‘For what purpose?’
j ‘Observation.’
! ‘What have you observed?,
| 'A little to commend, much to censure,!
| and a great deal to laugh at.’
I ‘Humph! what do you commend?’
■A handsome woman who will stay at
| home; an eloquent preacher that will
preach short sermons; a good writer
j that will not write 100 much, and a fool
that lias sense enough to bold bis
tongue.’
1 ‘What do you censure?’
“A man that marries a g rl for her fine
! clothing; a youth who studies rned.-
cinc vi like he has the use of lis two
, hands; and the peoj 'o who el.et a
1 and. uiikard l r office.’
What do yon laugh at?’
‘‘l laugh at a man who expects his po- j
sition to command that respect which ‘
his personal qualifications and qualities
do not merit. ’
He was dismissed.
SUSAN 1.11*1*K; OH, THE LAW
sui r.
‘I tell you what it is, gal,’ said o’d j
Mr. Lippu to his daughter Susan, ‘l'm
determined never to Lev a edicaled fel
low for my son-in-law; that's a fix:d
fact.’
'But, father,’ said Susan, ‘education
don’t make or unmake a man any more
than riches do. It's the soul, the prin
cip’o, that constitutes a man.’
‘Wery true, Susan,’ rejoined daddy
Lippe, ‘at and I've found precious little
principle in college bred fellers. 1 tell
you that I’ve got along well enough, and
alius made my mark.’
As the old rnan said this, his eye roved
out of the window, over his broad and
well im]m..viA homestead with n gL*d
of self satisfneti >n.
Susan’s father was no exc ption to j
men of his class, who, when they imbibe
an idea, are pig-headed in their adhe
rence to it, Susan uncierst md this trait
of her father, and letting the argument
drop, relapsed into silence.
While old Mr. L’ppe entertained such
notions of letters, and by the way, was
always taking pains to inform everybody
concerning them, lie bad deviated sorno
wiiat with reap el to his only child, Su
san, who had improved the advantages
oestowed by an excellent public school,
situated at Stanhope, a small village ad
joining her lathe.’s farm. Her mind,
too, being naturally ol a studious cast,
she had stored it with an unusually
large, amount of information, which dis
played itself in a refined conversation
and a well bred vivacity of manners.
To these graces of inb Heel, was added
a beautiful person, a nl, as a matter ol
consequence, her hand was the coveted
pr 2 ■ of more than one young man in tire
neighborhood.
To the blandishments of the si earner
sex, however. Susan turned a deaf ear.
The young Stanhopers loved her father’s
broad acres full as well as limy did bis
daughter, who, with the quick instinct
ol a woman, penetrated the shallowness
of their proiestaii'us ol love. Bi sides,
there was a yuiing lawyer who bad en
tered suit for her heart, and won bis
ease, while teaclrug' school a short time
previous to hi.- adm'ssiou to the bar. li
would have been singular i! the daugh
ter ol ob-tinuto Lippe bad not been
equally obst mile in Fie constancy ol
her all'elion fir 11 urv Coverdale, her
litigatious lover.
01 this allaehrnent, however, daddy
Lippe was blissfully ignorant. I! • had
never seen young eoverdule, and that
young gentleman, being well aware ol
the antipathies of his contemplated
fallicr.-inJaw towards school masters
and their like, prudently refrained from
visit ing Susan at her home, l'liu accom
modations of the lioirsc nl a maternal
aunt of Susan's in Stanhope were vouch
.sated tin m; her uncle, the harness naker,
rather liking, than otherwise, their clan
destine visits. In this way the lovers
manag' and to keep the lire on the altar ol
tl cir hearts fanned to a bright (1 into
T’l.e impatient Coverdale desired to bring
his -nit to an issue, but the dutiful Susan
would not consent to an elopement.—
With tlm ivopo of mollifying her sire's
views on the subject oi education, she
bad introduced the theme, with what
success is recorded above.
That night, after family prayer, quite
t'i animate colloquy took place between
Susan's parents. The door of Susan’s
chamber being ajar, she became an inn >
cent listener to the conversation, which,
as it concerned liciself alone, proved
rather interesting. Mother loupe was
in Susan’s sneret, and favored it with
all her m’ght.
‘Now, old man,’ said she, as that
functionary was covering up the fire,
the last thing before going to bed, ‘it’s
downright mean in yon to oppose Su
san’s ijoi'i about Jaruing. I’m set not
to Lev any ignorant scalawag rooting
round artei my daughter.’
‘I :u!o this rood,’ responded daddy
L'pppe.
‘And I’ll make the ro st hot for you,
rejoined the dame. ‘Times ain’t now
what they was when we was youngsters.
Just think of mating Susan to Mat. Awl;
or yet to Chris. Gabby, the shoemaker,
who has about as much of an ijee ol
books as a ling has of meeting.’
There’s no might of use of argufying
about it, old woman; I’m sat.’
‘And so am I,’replied the irate dame;
‘and we’ll see who can sit to the most
purpose. It Susan can’t marry the
kind cfman she wants to, she can stay
: at home, aud tbit's the end of it.’
With this clincher, mother Lippe
i turned her face ti the wall, aud refused
I tc say another word.
In the meantime, Henry Coverdale
i was gradually winning his way to ein
! ineuce. Asa speaker, he stood head
! and shoulder above any of the young
i n en, his associates at the bar. Che re
sult of bis iff-I ts al.-o began to flow in
upon him in a golden stream. 4 et, be
still remained a l.acl.el -r tbrciigli many
j wonders. Still there was no signs of
! ~|d Mr. L'ppo relaxing in the least from
h 8 views ou ‘edacatlOU.
| However, things were destined to
shape themsolv's entirely diffueiit to
! what a mere observer might reasonably
b'pc to expect.
I This grew out of Coverdulc’u love for
I Susan, which now assumed the cart ol
! impatience.
One day a young man, in homespun
garb, presented himself at the house ol
old Mr. Lippe, and inquired if he want
ed to (lire a hand on tho farm.
The old farmer eyed him for Rome
moments, and finding him remarkably
well favored and knit together, said:
] 'Where are you from?'
T live at Monroe, when at home,' re
plied the young man.
‘Raised on a farm?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘About how much do you want a
month?’
“Whatever you think is right.’
'You’ll never got along in the world
unless you drive a better bargain than
that,'said Mr. L'ppe. ‘But I’ll tell yon
what I’ll do. You shull work a month
fur twenty dollars, and after that, if we
suit each other, we’ll bargain for a year.’
‘Agreed,’ said the young man, and
was installed fnrtlin»lii> .. i,,.,.,!.
As the reader guesses, the band was
none other than Henry Coverdale, who
had commenced to put into operation a
plan to gain the old man’s consent to his
union with Sus n.
Time wagged along. Old Lippe was
mightily phased with his hired hand,
and often praised him to the women
folks. Indeed, lip lo iked with a degree
of complacency ou his attention to Sir
nan, wl ich began to he marked—and
Cnvcrdale was on the point of popping
the question, when a circumstance oc
enrrt'd which induced him to postpone
it for a short lime. The circumstance
was as follows;
The farm of Mr Lippe was a part ol
a tract, the title of which had formerly
been in dispute, though it was indeed
and in equi'y his. Just at this time one
of those land sharks that infest the
country raked np a worthless claim, aud
entered suit for po»»v«»i*>n.
This proceeding was so obviously ah
surd and rascally, that Mr. Lippe mere
ly laughed at it, :> Ith ugh at the advice
of Ids hired hand, he appealed at court
to refute the claim, supposing, liowi ver,
that his bare word would be sufficient'
to dispose of tho scoundrel of a land
shark. Ilis hired hand also concluded
to lose the day and go with him, in or
ih r, lie said, ‘to sen what a judge and
court were like.’
Old Mrs. L'ppe and Susan accompan -
ied them I r the pin pose of making some
purchases, as they could get better
hai-gains in the county town than in
Stanhope.
The conversation ol (lie family had
placed Henry Coverdale in full posses
sion of the facts in the ease, and he had
manifi sled such an interest in the affair,
and appeared to be so anxious as to the
result, that the old man Was not aston
ished to see him enter the bar and take
a chair by Ilis sid-. lie noticed also
that his dame and Susan wero among
the spectators in the court room.
The case was called, and the lawyer
for the plaintiff arose and ma le out so
plausible astatemoiit, that it enraged
the old man dreadfully, ho much so that
he could scarcely content himself until
tho lawyer concluded.
The moment he sal down the old man
sprang to his feet.
'Sue In "‘o,’ exclaimed he, 'here are the
deeds, and ev ry man in the court room
knows me well enough to know that 1
never got them by rascality, or claimed
more than what was justly mine.’
'All that may ho t:ue,’ replied the
judge, ‘but tho court demands legal
proof relative to the point at issue. 1
presume you have an attorney, Mr. Lip
pe?’
’Never s lid a s’ngle word to a single
one. I never thought it worth while,’
said the old man, perfectly aghast at tiro
turn matters were taking.
At this stage, Lippe’s hired hand rose
to his feet.
‘May it pleaßC the court, I will under
take the ease for Mr. L'ppe,’ said ho.
'A pretty case you’ll make of it,’ said
the old man. ‘You can plow a wonder
ful sight b tier.’
T assure you, Mr. Lippe, that Mr.Cov
crdale is perfectly c unpeteut to the
task,’ said tbe judge, who was well ac
quaint'tl with'the young lawyer, and
who, though ignorant of his present re
iat'oim, fancied he smelt a joke in the
actions of the patties.
'Mcbbc your honor is right,’ said Mr.
Lippe; ‘but a plague take me, if you
don’t find him a like'y sight better farm
hand than lawyer.’
A general titter ran around the bar.
Tho suit proceeded. The young at
torney having previously mastered tho
whole ground, entered into its m -rits
with sqi h torce and clearness as aston
ished even t'ie court. But how shall we
j paint tliesurprise of old Mr. Lippe? It
took him bv storm. At every word of
I the young lawyer t o seemed to distend
! with astonishment, until his amazement
1 was something si ridiculously appalling
as to convulse th ; entire audience with
| laughter. Peal after peal resounded,
ami even tio fat sides of the judge, lor
: getting the r gravity, seemed ready to
1 -hake to pieces with merriment.
•Who—who —who are you?’ at last
I gasped the old man.
•Sit down, Mr. L'ppe,' said Covet'd ile.
‘I am attending to tin's ease.’
Teen stooping, lie whispered in his
‘I am trying to earn Susan.’
i 'She’s yo ir-,’ shouted ttie oid man.
regardless of tbe bystanderser tucCourt,
('52.00 per Annum
NO. 40
which, having now an inkling 1 of tho
mat tor, gave a loose rein to their jubi
lant, toolings. How Susan felt, howev
er, can bo better imagined than describ
ed. She blushed like one of her mother’s
peonies, and hastily bid her face in her
veil.
When the merriment had subsided,
and old Mr. Lippe had secured his equa
nimity, the happy attorney proceeded,
and finally made so clear a case for his
involuntary client, as caused the judge
to dismiss the suit. The old man left
the court in triumph, and with his hired
hand, proceeded forthwith to the clerk’s
* fiice, where a licence was procured.
The judge gave the coo it a short recess
and united the ha) py pair in the bonds
of matrimony.
Since this event, Mr. Lippe has chang
ed Ids views on cducati mal matters.
The other day, as Judge Ooverdalo
was leaving home (or Congress, he said
to his son:
..‘Lippe Coverdale, get your lessons
wi antr-woo Knows out wliat you'll jgo
to C ingress, too.’
'Who knows!’ exclaimed the happy
Susan.
Tlie Noble Revenge.
The coffin was a plain one—a poor
miserable white pine coffin. No flow--'
era on the top; no lining of white satin'
for the pale brow; no smooth ribbons
about the coarse shroud. The brown’
hair was laid decently back, but there
was no crimped cap with neat tie be
neath the chin. The sufferer from cruel
poverty smiled in her sleep; she had l
found bread, rest and health.
’! want to see mother,” sobbed a poor
little child, as the undertaker screwed
down the top.
‘You cannot; get out ot the Way, hoy'
—why don’t somebody take the brat?’
‘Only lot me see her one minute!* cried
tiro helpless orphan, clutching tho side
of the charily box, and as he gazed into
the rough box agonized tears streamed'
down the'cheek on which no childish'
bloom ever lingered. Oh, it was pain
ful to hear him cry the words: ‘‘Only
once; let me s o mother, only once!’
Quickly and brutally the heartless’
monster struck the boy away, so that lie
reeled with tho blow. For a moment
the boy stood panting with grief and'
rage—his bine eyes distended, his lips
sprang apart, fire glittering through his
eyes as he raised his little arm, with
most nnohildish assent, and screamed.
'When I'm a man I’ll kill you' for Hint!’
There was a coffin and a heap of
earth between the mother and the poor
forsaken child—a monument much
stronger Ilian granite built np in tho
boy’s heart to the memory of the heart
less deed.
* * * * * * *
Tho Court house was crowded to suffer-'
cation.
'Does any one appear as this man's
counsel? 1 asked the Judge.
There was a silence when lie had fin
ished, until, with lips tivluly pressed
together, a look of strange intelligence'
blended with haughty reserve upon his
handsome features, a young man step
ped forward with a firm tread and kind
ly eye to plead for the erring and friend
b ss. He was a stranger, but at the
first sentence there was silence. Tho' •
splendor of bis genius entranced—con
vinced. The man who COTlld .not find a
friend was acquitted.
‘May God bless you, sir, I cannot,’
said lie.
'I want no thank-,’ replied tlu /stran
ger.
*l—l—l be'ieve you are unknown to
me.’
‘Man, T will refresh yottr memory.
Twenty years ago this day, you struck
a broken hearted liule l-y away from
his dear mother's coffin. 1 was that
boy I’
The man turno I livid.
‘Have you rescued me, then, to taka
my lif V
‘No I have a sweeter revenge, t
have saved the life of a Win whose bru
tal deed has rankled in my breast for
the last twenty years. O•, then, and
remember the tears of a friendless child.’
The man bowed his head in shame and
wei t fnmi the presence of magnanimity,
as grand to him as incotnprehcnsil le.
Tho Phil .dolphin Press says:'
The coming woman has made lief ap
perauce in the Fifteenth ward, in tho
person of Doctor Kllcn I. Mellon. This
lady is unmarried, and therefore having
lost none of her rights even under tho
old common law ideas, will apply for
registry as a voter under the amend
ments to the National oinstitution. A
- XIV. of the amendments declares
that all persons born, & shall br C ti
zens of tho United States and ol tin
gtu’e’s wherein, they reside. The w! olu
| question, therefore, turns on the “per-
Honality of woman,” which will bo the
! real point in issue to he deeidgi^
Interesting Letter.— Newspaper re
j porters and editors will ropy the fot
lowing, and it ns fin
j true talc." The Sleolvilla (Mo.) Ex
\ pens has a corn spoiideot in the St-i 1-
villc jail. He write-: “Sept, the 9 18 7 1
Mr R belts i want you to no that it i
jam a prienar that i hope i wdl not all
I ways bee then i will Call and see you
and i tl.inh von w ill wish that pcaoo
j that you put in the p .per Was out.
G .J Daui you. _ _
J, 11. Gillem. '