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4 REV. A. J. RYAN, Editor AUGUSTA, GA, OCTOBER 24,1868. THANKSGIVING PROCLAMATION. The President of the Northern States, plus the Southern Satrapies, has issued a Proclamation, appointing Thursday, November 26th, as a Day of Thanks giving. It is the usual annual compli . ment paid by Government to the Almighty. It smacks of Religion, and is a yearly profession of the Piety of the “best Government the world ever saw.” We are of opinion that more attention will be, on that day, given to Thanks giving dinners than to Thanksgiving prayers. But, of course, our people have their own peculiar tastes. Many a pulpit will, on that day, ring with praise, not of God, but of our Government. It is the linost day of the year, and best fitted, for giving three-fourths of sermons to Politics, and one-fourth to Religion. It is a capital day for political Preachers. Already they are preparing the sermons which are to regale the ears of their Christian audiences. It will be a prime day, too, to contrast the saints of the North—the advanced Christian people of New England—with the ruffians of the South. The President gives us a list of the benefits for which we are to bo thankful; but, the benefits he enumerates are all material. So it is--our grand material ism covers from sight our fearful moral condition. Better appoint a day of fast ing and humiliation—a day of sack-cloth and ashes—in which our people may do penance for their crimes, and cry to Heaven for mercy. Better appoint a day in wlficb the whole Nation will abase itself before Almighty God, and plead for pardon for the crimes which fill the land. But our People have not yet learned “to do penance.” The time will come—God knows when—and the lesson, such a lesson as the God of Justice has taught to proud Nations before, and will teach again. THE LATE ELECTIONS. The result of the late elections means the election of Grant in November. Well, if the people want him, let them have him. They need a master ; he may make one hard enough to suit them. Vox Populi , Vox Dei —so the papers say. Our condition, in the South, cannot be much worse; and past sorrows have made us strong to bear wrongs. We wait in patience, we bide our time, we trust in God—and not all the woes and wrongs of the Past, Present, or Future, can shake our abiding Faith that we shall yet recover every Right, the success of which was staked in war, and lost. How we shall recover them, we are not prophet enough to say. It may be best that the extreme point of Democracy should be reached, that temporary Despotism should come; then Anarchy; then, out of the chaos shall arise, the brighter for the darkness that so long enshrouded it, the Star of the Southern Confederacy. It may shine on us while we live, or it may shino over our graves in the next, or next, generation; but, shine it will, when the clouds around it are riven, whether stormily or peacefully, God only knows. And so, in one sense, Grant’s election, though a present disadvantage, may be a future blessing. The party electing him, not knowing what moderation is, will pu|h things farther and farther towards the edge of the precipice. That reached, the People, unless they are mad, will retrace their steps. If they are mad, and will continue so, and grow worse, the sooner this Government is swept over the precipice, and dashed to pieces at the bottom, the better. We cannot4>e made to believe in the permanency of this Government. It has no pledge, or pro mise of immortality. We still less can be made to believe that the Union will he lasting. Where political parties are as radically divided as are ours, to say nothing of other causes of disruption, it is an impossibility that a union should last. Half a Continent may be an Empire, but half a Continent cannot be a self-governing Republic, unless the people composing it are of a high order of intelligence and conscience. Hence, we believe that the People of this Country shall yet, by peaceful measures, or by war, divide into separate Governments. Grant’s election will be another link in the chain of events reaching towards such a result. When that day comes, our course as a People in the Past, and our fidelity to defeated Principles in the Present, shall be grandly vindicated. So let Grant be elected—it is a step nearer to the end—it -is going into a deeper darkness; but it is a coming nearer unto the day. SPEECH OF HON. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. John Quincy Adams, by invitation, delivered, in Columbia, South Carolina, a Speech, which has been widely copied in Southern papers. It is a very singu lar Speech. We read it twice, in order to master its meaning. Not that it was too profound to be comprehended after one perusal; but, like all emanations from Massachusetts, there was not very much in it to understand; and, what there was in it, seemed to admit of a double meaning. In fact, the sentences seemed to cancel one another. A portion of them seemed to mean one thing—an other portion seemed to admit of a totally different signification; and, we are at a loss to say whether or not the Speaker understood what he was saying. We, certainly, could not say, from the perusal of the Speech, whether John Quincy Adams is a Radical, or a Democrat. If our friends in Carolina wanted new lights on political subjects, they selected a very poor light bearer. He tries hard to excuse, and, at times, to justify, the Northern people in their clearly iniqui tous course towards the South. He. asserts, but fails to prove, that we our selves gave them cause and occasion for their suspicions, and misapprehensions of our motives and our conduct. Why did he not say, at once, that a Nation of hypocrites cannot understand truth, fidelity to promises, and honesty of in tention ? Malice cannot, or will not, comprehend Candor. The man who deals in lying can never understand or trust the man of truth and of honor. We are sorry that John Quiucy Adams, of Massachusetts, was invited by our friends of South Carolina to come all the way from his Northern home, in order to deliver a Speech which means nothing. YANKEE HATReToF THE IRISH. “But one of these things wo may con sider pretty certain, either—which we scarcely believe —the Southerners will become used to Negro Suffrage, as we have become used to Irish Suffrage ; or, if the two races prove incapable of subsisting together under their new relations, the weaker will go tire wall, emigrate, die oft', or be got rid of somehow This gem of a sentence closes an article in last week’s issue of the “Round Tabled The Round Table pretends to be very fastidious in the use of the English lan guage. That it is only a pretence, the above bunglesome sentence testifies. The want of. elegance of diction is, how ever, the least objectionable feature in the extract. Here, again, in the first lite rary journal published in New York, crops out Yankee hatred of the Irish. A blow on the cheek of the coward who writes such a sentiment is the best answer and the best criticism. The mean miscreant who penned it, would, we are sure, be afraid to utter it in the presence of the Irish whom he affects to despise. If any class of men has found a lower level than the Negroes, it is the Yankee. During the war here, Yankees prated of Irish bravery and Irish prowess—how they deluded them—sent them to the front—and remained, stealing and plun- ©I I'M Mraßfci A DISTINCTION WITH A DIFFERENCE. “The Junta has seized the Jesuit’s pro perty in Spain, and abolished the Order.” The Army of Queen Isabella has risen in revolt against her, and inaugurated a Revolution in Spain. Tims far, the Revolution has been a success; and, therefore, no matter how wrong it is, no matter what the acts which accompanied it, because a success, it is right. So judge the men of our days, who measure all things by the standards of success or failure. The Revolutionists are applauded the world over, though the world very well knows that it has been, so far, only a rising of the Military, every one of whom, by rebelling against their Queen, breaks a soldier’s oath, and commits a flagrant act of perjury. We have not heard much that is definite in regard to the sentiments of the People of Spain ; and what we have heard is, at best, doubtful, as all news comes to us from the Revolutionary party. We suppose that, in Spain, as well as here, the People must yield to the Army, and the Civil Law must go down before the f supremacy of Military Proclamations. It is quite amusing to read all our papers have to say on the subject of the Spanish Revolu tion, when we remember how little the writers know about the affairs of Spain. It is, however, the forte of our writers to write most, and longest, and most elabo rately, just about matters of which they know least. Queen Isabella is held up to the world as a woman of no virtue by those who know nothing of her, and who presume to possess such respect for the oharacter of woman. But Isabella is a Catholic, and the Spanish Nation is Catholic, and to be Catholic is to be calumniated. Wo have remarked that nearly all the papers of the North lustily applaud the Revolution, and hail the day now dawn ing upon a people crushed beneath the wrongs of royalty. Why will not these papers give a passing notice to our wrongs ? Why will they not expend some of their charities of expression upon us ? If the People of Spain have the right to Revolution, and if they be ap proved in exercising it, why not we? What wrongs do they suffer ? W hich of these flippant writers have studied their wrongs ? But Revolution i3 right every where, anywhere, among any people; but, unfortunately, we are excluded from the universal privilege. The Queen dethroned, the Junta established, and resting on bayonets, they are to have a free, consti tutional Government—free as our own— and, bless the mark! as Constitutional; an European imitation of the “best Gov- dering in the way, while the brave Irish were gallantly baring their breasts to the storms of battle. None better than the Irish, in days of danger—none worse, when danger is over. Such is \ ankee gratitude. We hope, if there ever comes another war, the Irish will remember this. It is very true, that Southerners will never become used to Negro Suffrage. It may be forced on them ; they may be obliged, by pressure of power, to endure it; but, it may as well be known, that the moment they can free themselves from the vile thing, they will do it. It is true, too, that the Negroes, unless they identify their interests, or subordinate them to those of their late masters, who are now their only friends, will be got rid of somehow. Indeed, they are, like their inferiors in New England, ridding us of themselves. The increase of popu lation among them, thanks to the new ideas brought to them from New Eng land, is growing beautifully less. Not for nothing, did schoolmister and school marm come down among them. “The Yankees came down like a wolf oil the fold”—only, without the honesty of the wolf, thcy # put on sheep’s clothing. Very strange statistics come to us from New England, which show how fast the Puritans are ridding the world of their presence. It is well they have the Irish among them—otherwise, they would die out. But, bye and bye, the Yankees will be got rid of somehow. eminent the world ever saw.” So, Seward, the Serpentine, hurries to recog nize the new 7 -born thing, aud to stand iis God-father; and we expect that it will prove worthy of its Sponsor. Certainly, the new Government of Spain has begun well. One of its first official acts is to seize the Jesuit’s property, and to abolish their Order. The first right of freedom, new-found, it exercises, is the right to rob—a right, certainly, attended with a great many advantages. Mark, the People have not done this ; the Military Junta have done it. But, of course, they are Revolutionists—they have succeeded —they can do what they please, and, whatever they do, is right; and, espe cially right, when their action strikes at the Jesuits. But God is just ; wiien the present Revolutionary Government is a dream of the past, the black soutan of the self-sacrificing Jesuit will be respected in the streets of Madrid. For the Banner of the South. ONE OF MANY, i. I was weary with the mysteries of life —I was burdened with the mysteries ot death. Through the days and the nights of many years I had labored hard as mind ever labored to solve them. But, my labor was in vain. How could I— myself a mystery —unravel the myste ries that hang about me ? I questioned men—they laughed. I studied Nature— but Nature baffled me. I pored over books—they bewildered me. I went down into the solitudes of my own spirit —but I was lost as in a desert. At times, doubt—doubt of all things, of men, of God, of Earth, and Heaven —cold and cheerless, and stormy as a winter’s wild midnight—would sweep down upon my soul, and, out of the darkness, like a sheeted ghost, Despair would creep and glare, with hollow eyes, upon me. And a great Fear would chili my very being. At times I was brave —-1 feared nothing. I could mock the darkness and the storm. Terror had no terror for me. Life was a trifle—Death was a toy I played with. But such hours were few ; such feelings were the evanescent foam on the deep, dark billow. Sometimes, I thought of my Mother, and I prayed; and I listened and I waited for an answer, in vain; and I looked up to the Heavens, where my dead mother told me, long ago,* God" dwelt; and I would ask, with a great, nameless terror in my heart, “Is there a God ?” and I heard men, who believed in Him, cursing His name —if it was His name—down in the streets. I never, in wildest moment, blasphemed His name; for, my Mother had loved it, and my Mother was dead. But, I did curse the world, and men, with curses black and bitter as ever fell from mortal lips ; for the world had deceived me, and men I had trusted, but they betrayed. Far into many a midnight I watched and wept, for the tumult of thought in my soul banished sleep from my eyes; but, my tears were bitter, because they were vain. Every thought of mine was a question without an answer. I wauted what the tired child wants when it creeps to its mother’s side and nestles in her lap after a long holiday —rest; I wanted what the weary wave wants, when, tossed on the deep, it steals to the shore to sleep —rest; I wanted what I read graven on the tombstones where the dead are laid down and left—rest; I wanted what my mother said that long-gone, yet never gone, summer evening, when I leaned over her white face, and the poor, pale lips half opened,, and barely whispered, “I go to Rest.” I pined for what I heard the Priest pray for, when, with beautiful, sad face, he stood over her coffin-lid, and, with gentle voice, murmured, “ May she rest in peace ” Ah! Mother! over the dreary reach of the desolate years that have tramped across thy child’s heart till they have made it as hard as a stony street, I call your name, in holiest love, to-night, and I weep that I, who nestled on your bosom, was not laid beside you in your grave ? Could you come back, Mother, you would not know your child, to-night; or, if you knew, would you love him as of yore ? For he is changed, from the fair and innocent one he was in the rosy hours when he had your lips to caress and your hands to bless him. There are wrinkles on his brow, and every wrinkle has a history; there are furrows on his cheeks where yet linger the sweetness of your kisses, Mother, and every furrow has a tale of sorrow, which, had it lips, it might toll. And the soul which you left, Mother, white as a lily’s leaf, is a dark, stained thing. But, who knows—he said it—the robed Priest w 7 ho walked, with a silver censer in his baud, around her cof fined clay—and a voice as sweet as his could scarcely utter a falsehood— who knows—it may be true —I heard hi m say, as he lifted his hand towards the heavens : “ dead Mothers, there, watch, like guardian angels, over the orphans they leave on earth.” And who knows, —stranger things are true—she may be beside and now looking, not on the lines which I am writing here, but on the lines which the hands of troubled years have written on my brow. But, I dream —and I wave the beautiful dream away. So, I was weary—and each day made me wearied still; and the nights brought heavy burdens, and laid them on my soul, and I waited for the night of death Better lie down and rest in its darkness, starless though it be, in doubt whether it has a to-morrow wherein I wake again, than to be burdened with the burdens of life. So I thought. And, one evening—no matter how long ago—as I was walking through the streets of a beautiful city —no matter where —it was Sunday, and the streets were still; twilight and shadows gathered where I, a shadow, walked. I passed a Church —the doors were closed, but the muffled music of many voices reached inv ear. 1 paused awhile to listen— what human heart is there that music does not sadden ?—and the low, soft mel ody went into my very soul, and filled it with that sadness which is all the sadder because so undefinable. I went to the closed door, pushed it gently 7 open, and entered. Many a year had passed since I had stood in a house of prayer. Still and moveless as the shadows in a forest, knelt the worshippers there—their faces turned towards a marble altar, bright with the glow of many tapers and beautiful with flowers. Through the stained windows shone the light of the dying day, on many a picture of Angel and of Saint, aud on many a sacred device. And a strange ly solemn chant, from many voices min gled in perfect accord, floated like a mu sic from Heaven, through the silence of the holy place. An old hymn, in an old language, which came out of the heart ot some unknown Saint a thousand years ago—that is what I heard. No wonder it had such power- —the memories ot cen turies were in the chant—and, under the spell of the music, I knelt, and 1 thong!'.': of my Mother, and I looked towards iLe beautiful altar, and, I knew not why, tears trickled down the furrows of my cheeks. There was a lull in the music, and the hush of the voices made the holy place seem holier; suddenly, a voice, clear, rich, pure, broke on the stillness ; I listened, and caught the words—“ 0 ! salutans Hoslia .” For the Banner of the South. “ Bat veniam corvis, vexat censitra colum'uas.” In this advanced and progressive age in which we live, much has been said, and much industry has been shown by various writers, in numerous books and magazine articles, in displaying for man’s contempt, the weaknesses and frailties of Woman. Nqw, Ido not object to evil being- attacked boldly and persistently, wherever and whenever it makes its ap pearance, but, cannot the proper dis tinction be made, and the evils which men, in their wisdom, perceive on the surface, be separated from the good which, all acknowledge, dwells with the weaker sex ? No man ever yet desired to be a woman. I do not know whether women wish they were men. I expect, when they perceive the failures and tin: shams that many of the “lords of cr< tiou” are, they have a secret conscious ness that they could “fight the bat:! of life” more successfully. Man, however, say what he will, is always conscious of being nearer to “Heavenly things,” or, to use a men universal phrase, to “higher aspira tions,” when his hopes and fears are in some way united with some true woman. If they are the movers to follies, thy again are the inciters to noble den; Their mission on earth is no doubt a well, if not better performed, than t* u of the “sterner sex;” at any rate, there will never be any means of ascertain ing this latter proposition, for most man’s victories and successes are achie in the sight of the world, while woman > are but rarely known. While I am not in favor of extend in to them the suffrage, for the re as 1 perhaps, that I would not bring them contact with such an “ unclean thing yet 1 would extend to them that deter enee and respect which is their due, a endeavor to show the rising generati a that the feeling of Chivalry, which deemed Europe from barbarism dun the middle ages, is not altogether parted from the laud. Yes, teach coming man that all women are enti to our respect, or, at least, to consider; tion, for this, if for 110 other reason : g 1 our mother's account. Let man bear mind, always, that, if he has the dun