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*'* TJ f* #•I Jf • .1 : “1 Hpje Georgia ®eHpetwHfe fjftn&t&rr. aJOHN It. SEALS, NEW SERIES, VOLUME 111. OTIIE GEOUCII O T E M P E R A m'ECltrs A TANARUS) E R. c’ Pnblislied erejy Thursday in the year, except two TEHMSi Two Dollars per year, in advance^ JOHN’ H. SEALS, Solr Propkiktor. LIONEL TANARUS,. VBAZEV, Exjitor LrrsKißV DsPARi'MaNT. MRS M. E. BUYAN, Editress. M JOHN REYNOLDS, Pcblishbr. i£9ljii r £3 SJa33.Ci>E>sS® Clcbs of Ten Names, by sending the Cash, will receive the paper at .... $1 50copy. Clcbs of Five Namls, at 180 “ Any person sending us Five new subscribers, inclo sing the money, shall receive an ooctra copy ouo year free of cost. ADVERTISING DIRECTORY: Bates of Advertising: 1 square, (twelve lines or less,) first insertion, $1 00 * “ Each continuance, 50 Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six lines, per year, 5 00 Announcing Candidates for Office, A 00 Standing Advertisements: ‘ r J £!ar*Advertisements not marked with the number oi insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged accordingly. Merchants, Druggists and others, may contract for advertising by the year on reasonable terms. Legal Advertisements: Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Ex ecutors and Guardians, per square, 5 00 Sale of Personal Froperty, by Administrators, F>x eeutors and Guardians, per square, 3 25 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25 Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00 Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n, 500 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Gnard’p, 325 Legal Requirements: Sales of Land and Negroes by Administrators, Exec utors or Guardians, arc required, by law, to be hold on the First Tuesday in the month, between the hours oi ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the Court-house door of the county in which the property is -Situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a pub lic Gazette, forty days previous to the day of sale. Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given at least ten days previous to the day of sale. Notices to Debtors and Creditors of an cstato, must be published forty days. Notice that application will bo made to the Court oi -Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be pub lished weekly for two months. Citations for Letters of Administration, must bo pub lished thirty days —for Dismission from Administration monthly, six months —for Dismission from Guardianship, forty days. Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be published monthly, for four months —lor compelling titles from Ex ecutors or Administrators, where a bond has been issued by the deceased, the full space of three months. p35~ Publications will always be continued according to these, tho legal requirements, unless otherwise or dered. © €tloinfy j Qrnectciy, T7"INO & LEWIS, Attorneys at Laic, Gkeexes -LY. boko, Ga. The undersigned, having associated themselves together in the practice of law, will attend to all business intrusted to their care, with that prompt ness and efficiency which long experience, united with industry, can secure. Offices ut Groenesboro and five miles west of White Plains, Greene county, Ga. \ v. p. kino. July 1, 1858. m. w. lewis. TjrnilT O. JOHNSON, Attorney at Law, Augusta, Ga. will promptly attend to all business intrusted to his professional management in Richmond and the adjoining counties. Office on Mclntosh street, three doors below Constitutionalist office. , Reference —Tims. R. R. Cobb, Athens, Ga. June 14 ly ROGER E. WIIIGIIAM, Louisville, Jef ferson county, Georgia, wilt give prompt attention to any business intrusted to bis care, in tho following counties : Jefferson, Burke, Richmond, Columbia, War ren, Washington, Emanuel, Montgomery, Tatnull and Scrivcn. April 26, 1856 ti LEONARD T. IMH'Af.., Attorney at Law, McDonough, Henry county, Ga. will practice Law in the following counties: Ilenry. Spaulding, Butts, Newton, Fayette, Fulton, DeKalb, Pike and Monroe. Feb 3-4 DH. SANDEKS, Attorney at Law, Albany, • Ga. will practise in the counties ot Dougherty, Sumter, Lee, Randolph, Calhoun, Early, Baker, Deca tur and Worth. Jan 1 ly H T. PERKINS, Attorney at Law, Greenes • boro, Ga. will practice in the counties of Greene, Morgan, Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliaferro, Hancock, Wilkes and Warren. Feb ly PKIIEEIP II ROBINSON, Attornoy at Law, Grcenosboro, Ga. will practice in the coun tics of Greene Morgan, Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliafer ro, Hancock. Wilkes and Warren. July 5, ’56-1 v J ARIES BROWN, Attorney at Law, Fancy Hill, Murray Cos. Ga. April 30, 1857. SIBLEY, BOGGS & CO. —WDOLESAI.E AND. RETAIL DEALERS IN— Choice Family Groceries, Cigars, &o, 276 Broad Street, Augusta, Georgia. Feb 18,1658 ‘ U ml> ip© Warehouse & Commission Merchant, AUGUSTA, GA. <Vr V> branches, in his large and commodi ous Fire-Proof Warehouse, on Jnckaon s t r cct, near the Globe Hotel. Orders for Goods, &c. promptly and carefully filled. The usual cush facilities afforded customers. July 22 6m* asAnass ssjm'srr - Warehouse &Commission Merchants} AUGUSTA, GA. -qg— 111 TT A VING entered into a co-part m ❖ AAsliip for the purpose of carrying on the Storage and Commission Business in * a q 0 f itsbranchcs, respectfully solicit con signments of Cotton and other produce ; also orders for Bagging, Rope and family supplies. Their strict, per sonal attention will he given to the business. All the facilities due from factors to patrons ahull he ‘granted with a liberal hand. ISAAC T. HEARD, WM. C. DERRY. ’ July 2*2d, 1858. WILL continue the WAREHOUSE and COM MISSION BUSINESS at their old & tend on Jackson street. W T iil devote their personal attention to the Storage and sale of Cotton, Bacon, Grain, &c. Liberal ensh advances made when required; and all orders for Family Supplies, Bagging, Rope, &c. filled at the lowest market price. JOHN C. KEBS. [A.ug 12] SAm’i, D. LINTON. POULLAIN, JINBISGS ft CO.” GROCERS AND COTTON FACTORS, Opposite the Globe Hotel, Augusta, Georgia. CONTINUE, as heretofore, in connection with their Grocery Business, to attend to the sale of COTTON and other produce. They will be prepared m the Brick Fireproof Ware house, now in process of erection in the front of their store, at the intersection of Jackson and Reynold streets, no receive on storage all consignments made them. Liberal cash advances made on Produce in storo, X when requested. ANTOINE EOULLAIN, THOMAS J. JENNINGS, Aug 19—6 m ISAIAH PURSE. WAREHOUSE AND COMMISSION MERCHANT, AUGUSTA, GEORGIA. THE undersigned, thankful for the liberal pa tronage extended to him for a series of years, would inform his friends and the public that he will continue at his came well known Brick Warehouse on Campbell street, near Bones, Brown &, Co’s. Hardware House, where, by strict personal attention to all business en trusted to his care, he hopes he will receive a share-of the public patronage. Cash Advances, Bagging, Rope and Family Supplies, ■will be forwarded to customers as heretofore, when de nied. [Augusta, Oa. Aug 19-dm BY MRS. M. E. BRYAN. THE GrllEY MONKEY. ESTHER BRAIG’S CONFESSION. ar mart b. sarxs. “ By a power to thee unknown. Thou can'et Dover be alone.” IT was almost dusk when I earns home. The day, that had dawned gloomily, sullen to the last, was dying, with a shroud of dull, gray clouds wrapped around her. The autumn wind had something human in its moan, and tho leaves that fell from the woodbine were spotted as with blood. But I did not heed—scarcely saw all this. What to mo was outer euulight or shadows, when tho darkness lay so doop within? I stood upon the piazza, clinging to tho balustrade, and looking out vacantly upon the desolate scene, too weary and spiritless to go farther. My sister came to me and passed her arm around iny waist with a pleasant greeting. I shrank from the caress; I could not bear it; and so, passing her, I went in, j entered my own gloomy room, and closing the , door, throw myself upon the couch beside tho ; open window, vainly hoping that tho Bcorpion like anguish would writhe itself to rest after awhile—vainly, for that wail of tho wind among the maples exflitod me, liko tho pained cry of a human. Nothing very unusual had happened. I was only about turning ono more dark page in the black book of my life. I had only had anew illustration of the old lessou it seemed I nover would learn. I had had enough, God knows, to engender suspicion -and distrust of my kind ; and yet, my woman heart would, spaniol-like, lick the hand extended with a show of kindness, forget ful that it had always been followed by a blow. [ loathed my own nature for its servile depen dence, and 1 felt a savage joy at this now experi ence of human baseness and treachery; this fresh trampling of the flowers that, although the soil had been watered only by salt tears, would yet spring up spontaneously. No, it was not much: only a woman—whom I had loved and trusted; upon whose bosom I had wept; whoso arms had enfolded me, and whom I had loved almost as a mother, revered as a Christian and worshipped as that rarest thing under Heaven—a true-hearted woman—had be trayed the confidence she had labored so bard to win, and proved herself that foulest of all earth’s evil tilings —a false friend. Tho viper had stealthily crawled in the bosom’s most secret re cesses, and then—and then had stung the heart that warmed it. Fair, glossing words wore all in vain : the mask liad fallen, and I had left that house with a heart filled with bitterness and ha tred, and with my face to the red, setting sun, I had vowed a stern, solemn vow, never again to trust man or woman. But enough of this. As I said, it was no un common experience, either in my life or that of others; but I had tried to make so for friend*. If they catne of tlieir own accord, it was well; but I had taken no pains to curry favor, though policy might havo dictated that course, for I had my < own way to make in tho world, and popularity would have been of use to mo ns a stepping stone ! to fortune. It might have been, that my early sorrow had made me too selfish to form many attachments, but it had not destroyed my sensitiveness, and treachery from tho few I trusted pierced liko the j poisoned fang of an adder. , j The dusky wings of the twilight folded more j closely over the dreary earth, and that wail in j tho maples continued still, whilo tho unresting i anguish kept up its unabated torture. Is not the ; sharp pang of pain or of grief more endurable than the dull aching that follows it? Are there not times when we had rather tho bosom's ser pent would sting tho heart to madness, than coil its heavy folds around it—a cold, leaden weight suffocating and crushing all hope and all energy? There was a gontlo tap at the door. It was a servant, who asked if I would not come to tea; it ; had been waiting sometime for me. Tea! The f very thought produced loathing. I bade her | close the door again, and then, as she was obey- ] ing mo, I heard the cheerful rattle of tho tea ■ things, caught a momentary glimpse of tho bla- 1 zing wood fire in the dining room beyond, and ! hoard the silvery laugh of a child. I sickened at f tlio sight and sound of things so little in unison ; with my feelings. I called the girl back. “Tell my mother,” I said, “ that I have a ner- i vous headache, (it was no untruth,) and ask her ; to send mo some opium—morphine—anything to i relieve it.’’ She went, and returned with tho an- j i odvne, and locking iny door, I took the package 1 from the tqble. It was opium—that mystic drug ; which, its devotees tell us, lias power to transport | the soul toTopliet or to Elysium—that even holds j the key to the awful mysteries of death. It was j the first time opium ever passed my lips, and God j help me, it shall be the last! I knew nothing of j its strength, and I took trebly more than would ] have sufficed. I have since inquired of a physi cian, carelessly, in the course of an ordinary con- ■ versation, how much opium was requisite to pro- j duce death, and as I hope for mercy, I took, that j night, nearly double the quantity he named, i \\ by it did not kill me, is one of the mysteries I j have found it impossible to solve. In twenty minutes after swallowing the opiate i I was asleep, and such a sleep! I verily believe j that nil the agonies of a dozen lifetimes were con centrated in that one night’s experience ; for the 1 wierd genius of the drug I had taken, led my I soul through a dream land, peopled with shapes of unimagined horror. All night long my spirit wandered through scenes of blood curdling ter- I ror, and no marvel that it returned to me shud dering and bewildered from those fearful regions through which it had passed. We all know how ! acutely we feel in dreams, and how intensely an l opiate heightens and exaggerates every sensation. I cannot now recall all the phantoms of those | troubled visions, but there is one scene I still re member—a dull, leaden sky; a blood red sun, i tinging the murky atmosphere with its lurid light; a forest, which I traversed alone; (pursued by some invisible thing of evil;) a labarynthine forest, whoso endless paths wound through boggy ; fens and among black cypresses, bewildering the mind with their interminable eircles. The trees | and shrubs were dripping with bloody dews ; the ; stagnant pools were of the same sanguine color, mantled with the yellow scum one sees in basins of diseased blood, while the birds were all ravens, i whose dismal eroakings alone broke upon the I stillness. THIS ADOPTED ORGAN OF AI.L THE TEMPERANCE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE STATE. PBNFIELD, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30. 1853. This was ono dream, and there was another. The horrible incubus of nightmare weighed upon me. It was suffocating, stifling; it pressed the breath from my lungs, yet I could not speak or move. Some nameless influence restrained my hand and sealed my lips. A frantic effort un closed my eyes, and I saw the nature of this in cubus —a frightful skeleton sitting upright on my ohest, its hollow sockets staling at mo, and a : ghastly grin upon tho flcshlees face. Its weight had stifled my hr oath; its long huger placed upon my lip, had restrained tho struggling voice. : As ? said, from these wanderings in a fearful dream land, my soul came back to mo,” troubled and’skivoring with horror. It was the gray of the morning. Tho clouds had passed away. I raised my eyes and beheld, through the hall-par ; ted curtains, the “ kindling azure of tho sky,’’ and then my glance fell upon the floor near mo. Merciful Heaven ! was I dreaming still ? There, just before me, dimly defined in the dubious light, was the hideous figure ,of a monkey, standing erect, gray and withered, with round eyes that twinkled with malicious joy—tho very counter part of ono that I had known years ago; that had : boon tho torment of six months of my childhood, and tho print of whose teeth are upon my shoul der now. I sat up in bed and rubbed my oyos. Surely I it would disappear. It was but ono of tho de mons of my dream, lingering still in fancy's eyo I looked again. It mas there still. I sprang to my feet and approached the apparition with out stretched hands. It eluded my touch; it kept ever at my side, turn which way I might, but al ways just beyond my reach. I threw back the curtains an 1 let in tho cheerful light, bathed my feverish face in cool water, and then deliberately looked again. It was there still. I threw myso’.f upon my knees and repeated, slowly and calmly, the prayer I had said every morning since I knelt a child at iny mother’s chair. Then I arose and looked tremblingly before me. It was there still, i the sinister grin upon tho hideous features, and the eyes fairly dancing with fiendish delight. With a smothered cry of despair, I threw myself upon tho couch and, burying my face in my hands to shut out that horrible vision, I strove to calm myself and think rationally upon this strange phenomenon. I knew what it was. I was not superstitious. I knew that it was neither ghost, nor demon, nor any other supernatural visitant from another world. But it was a thing not less to be dreaded—a mystery that, however rationally philosphers may account for it, they can never remove the horror attached to the af fliction. It was a spectral illusion, and I shuddered at the thought. The history of the human mind furnishes many parallel instances, and I recalled all that I had heard or read of similar afflictions. Abercrombie, in his mental philosophy, enumerates various ex amples of spectral illusions. They flashed upon me now as I had studied them in girlhood ; tho man who, wherever lie went, was all his life pro ceded by the figure of a little old woman in a red cloak, and with a crutch in her hand ; the woman whose chamber was thronged with these unwel come guests; and then I remembered that the great and good Wesleys—John and Charles—were themselves haunted for ono night by tho appari tion of a huge black dog, whose fiery cyc3 fol lowed them wherever they turned, and whom neither bolts nor bars could shut out. Then, there were instances in tho personal experience of those whom I had known. A gentleman—a learned and Bingularly giftod man —formerly a teacher iuJho academy of tho town in which I was living—had assured mo that ho had seen, plainly and distinctly, the figure of his affianced brido at his side during a solitary walk, and that ho knew at tho time it was a spectral illusion, and speculated upon its probable cause. The- sister of adear aunt of mine was attended at times by tho figuro of a small, fair child ; and my uncle, my mother’s brother—a man of more than ordinary strength and cultivation of mind—lias told me of an instance that came under his own observa tion—a lady, twenty years ago—an actress of some celebrity—that was haunted by an illusion which assumed the shape of a small animal, and kept always at her side. My uncle had at tended her from the theatre on the night of its first appearance. All these I hurriedly revolved in my mind as I lay with my face pressed upon tho pillow, lor the wretched find a satisfaction in feeling that they have not been alone in misery. Then 1 recalled a conversation that had passed between ray sister and myself only .a few days before. AV c had been analyzing mental torture, and speaking of the eoul’s infinite capacity for suffering, when suddenly she laid her hand upon my arm and said, impressively: “You speak of solitary confinement, sister, with no companionship save that of despair and gnawing remorse, but there is a torture more un endurable still— nev er to he alone. To bo followed forever by a loathsome presence; to have your solitude intrudod upon, your privacy invaded : to feel a pair of remorseless c\ : cs fixed alwaj's upon yon, and know that you may claim no sym pathy or pity from your kind; for tho world would sneer at the hallucination as the fancy of y a lunatie. To me, the Prometheus of Mount Cau casus, with his undying anguish, the festering chains, and tho devouring vultures, is but a type of the torture that must attend the victim of a spectral illusion.” Great God! and had this curse, then, fallen upon mo? Must this hideous tiling dog my foot steps forever? Was I never more to bo alone? ; I have said that sorrow was no new thing to me; i I had grown familiar with her salt tears; her pale ! features; her heart-broken snnle; but this strange j affliction was all the more appalling, that it was new and mysterious. What had 1 done to de i serve so terrible a doom? Had God forgotten to be merciful? A hope shot like a sunbeam through my brain. Perchance this illusion was only temporary, it would soon pass away, when my nerves, disor dered by that overdose of opium, regained their healthful action. Then it would leave mo. Per i haps—Oh, joy unspeakable! it was alroady gone. I sat up and slowly uncovered my face, but it was long before I opened my eyes. (The sus pense was better than the reality.) At last I did so, tremblingly, yet hopefully. It was there close beside me. 1 sprang from the couch, dressed myself with nervous haste and, snatching a book, went, attended by the demon, into the open air. Tho rays of the newly risen sun were fringing with gold the edges of his cloud pavilion, and diajmon ling the rain-wet vines and lingering au tumn flowers. The air was cool and sweet, and the blue hills in the distance were crowned with a halo of gold. I sat down in the thickly shaded arbor that or napaeqted the yard, and opening the book, I ue- c ceded, by a powerful effort of will, in concent ra cing my mind upon its pages. It was tho “Sala-, thiol'’ of George Croly. I had read it before, and it always possessed me like the scarlet fever. The passionate thoughts; the high-wrought imagery ; tho torrent of rapid and burning eloquence had soon their wonted effect of bringing a brief self forgetfulness. I ceased to remember my own grief in contemplating the overwhelming sorrow of that mysterious man—that lonely, God forsa ken being, removed beyond the pale of human affection or human sympathy, condemned to suf fer on till tho ond of time and pray for the death that flies affrighted from his call. But the chapter was finished, and the spell broken for tho time; yet, still, I would not look up to see the hated thing I know was at mv side 1 reasoned with myself. I bolioved that, the ap parition was but the creation of a disordered mind, and waa not my will strong enough to over power imagination? Should Ibe made tho vic tim ot a diseased/fancy ? I determined f th it it should not be. I set my teeth firmly, a3 I re solved that reason should no longer bo tho dupe of imagination, and then t lookod up with reso luto defiance. It stood grinning jeeringly before me. I threw down the book, flung ojien tho gato and walked, I knew not whither or how long, with eyes fixed upon the sky, the swaying pines obovo or the distant hills beyond not seeing, but knowing, by a sickening feeling that overpowered mo liko tho odor of the charnel house, that the loathsomo spectre walked at my side. I returned at last, and saw, as I approached the house, my father standing in the doorway, and .holding in his arms my own beautiful, dark-eyed boy, fresh and rosy from his recent slumbers. A thought flashed across my mind. Would not my hideous attendant be visible to them? Must I carry it with mo to mar the pleasure of others, as well as my own ; to make me an object of dread and terror to tho few whom I loved, and who loved me ? But my father advanced to meet me, with a* smiling greeting, asked pleasantly “ whither I had been roaming,” and held my child’s rosy cheek down to me for his morning kiss. I pressed my hot lips to his cool forehead and then left them, not daring to trust myself to speak. I did not go out to the breakfast room, but plead headache as an excuse, and closed my door to till intruders. When the house was quiet again, I sent for my mother. She came, with her sweet, chastened smile, and, laying her hand upon my forehead, told me my tea and toast were warm for me still, and asked if the pain in my head was very violent. I made a negative gesture. I could not speak, for tho round eyes, dancing with ma lignant joy, were fastened upon me. I made an effort and fixed my own steady look upon those remorseless eyes. “Mother,” I said, “do you believe there is a God ?” She was surprised—shocked. “ Esther,” she replied, gently, taking my hand in hers, “you are not yourself this morning. Why do you ask that blasphemous question ?” “ Because,” I answered, impetuously; “if there is, that God is not a just one : else, why does he multiply tortures upon one of his creatures and blessings upon others ? My age numbers scarcely a score of years, mother, and you alone know how much of wretchedness, of suffering and despair is concentrated in those few years; and was it not enough that my life was blighted—blasted : that the cup held to my lips was of distilled worm wood ? I had thought that nothing could add to its bitteness—but— And then, with her arms around me, and my head upon her bosom, I told her all—described the form of tho illusion and the manner of its ap pearing. She did not call me mad ; she did not ridicule tho strango hallucination, but sought to soothe me by gentle words and caresses. “It will soon pass away,” she said. It was only the effect of the opium I had taken; I must go back to bod; a cup of strong hyson would quiet my excited nerves, and she would come back, place a cold cloth on iy feverish temples and read me to sleep. My dear, good mother! She persuaded me that it was merely an hallu cination that would pass away; but it did not —not that day, nor tho next, nor the next, nor for a scries of days, weeks, months that seemed to me interminable. Thero was ono consolation left mo. Walking had always been a favorito pastime—now it bo came a passion. The motion deadened pain, and nature comforted mo with her serene beauty. Our residence was a suburban one. In front lay tho town, with its human life and bustle, and from this I shrank with loathing; but back of tho dwelling stretched tho lonely pine lands, gir dled by a narrow belt of richer forest, and every foot of that crisp, brown herbage became familiar with my quick, restless tread, while the wood be low welcomed me beneath its congenial shadows and soothed me by tho calm of its untroubled solitudo. Nature gave her sorrowing child the passionless sympathy she bestows on all who love her—nature, that changes not, though friends and fortune change and hearts grow cold. And so I walked, caring only for tho excite ment of motion—walked until health and strength gave way, and my mother, alarmed for me, wrote in strictest confidence to our former family phys ician in the neighboring State, from which we had removed, told him of my hallucination and of my failing strength, and awaited his reply with deep solicitude. It came. He recommended some strengthen ing medicine, confessed his inability to “minister to a mind diseased,” but advised that I should go frequently into society—the gayer tho better: it might withdraw my thoughts from the gloomy centre around which they constantly revolved. My mother read the letter aloud. “Anything! anything!” 1 said, with my eyes upon my attendant spectre. “I was once fond of society. It may be that the music and the dance have not utterly lost their power to charm.” And the round eyes of the ape twinkled and glit tered as I spoko. And so I must leave my solitude and go, 1 and my shadow, into that world with which I had mingled so little since those few years of girlhood that preceded my early and most unfortunate marriage. I shrank from the part I must play, for I had vowed to myself and to my mother that none should imagine they had cause to pity me ; that my heart's wretched secret should be guar ded well, and that I would do anything under Heaven before I would sue for compassion from the heartless multitude. My sister was at this time in the first budding of her youthful loveliness. She was radiantly, almost regally beautiful, graceful and admired in the little circle around us, in which she had be gun to mingle. Os gay society, there was no wit in the Town of OS There htrer i, where there arc those who regard time as their greatest enemy, and who constantly devise means to for get him and silence his unwelcome reminders. Thero was a eliquo in C—. whoso watchword was “The Present,” and who, in practice, if not in theory, wore followers of Epicurus of old. Into this vortex of pleasure 1 threw mysolf, recklessly, hoping that its giddy whirl might bring a tempo rary forgetfulness or a respite from my remorse less .pursuer. What followed, I can hardly recall, for the weeks passed liko a brief delirium. I know that I laughed, jested, danced mechanically; that I said a thousand senseless things, without knowing or caring what I uttered, for I was there to drown grief, to escape my attendant fiend and set use less regrets at defiance. It is all liko a dream now, for m3’ heart was not in it; but the world— the dear, charitable world—said that 1 was voiy g a Y —foe gay for ono who had no right to do atyy thing but mourn. What had Esther Craig to do with happiness; she whose fitting abode was the convent; sho who should seclude herself to nurse her sorrow and brood over her darkened life ? M hat right had Esther Craig to be gay ?. Alas ! that frail, erring creatures, insignificant mortals, will sot at naught the solomn “Judge not,” of their Creator! that they, sinful and finite, will dare to sit in judgment upon the motives of a fol low-being, when tho hand of the Omniscient alone holds tho key to tho heart’s hidden mysteries; v/hen to His eye alone is revealed the suffering, wounded spirit! Alas! too, that woman—gentle’ loving, kindly woman—will so wrong the noblo nature God lias given her, as (o join her voico— the sweetest thing under Heaven—in tho unjust and presumptuous judgment! \\ hat do they know of the veiled heart’s se crets : of its motives; iis unspeakable sorrows: its yearnings; its aspirations; its cravings for sym pathy? And what can they know of tho unrest ing, insatiable anguish that demands as its ano dyne that excitement tvhich yet fails to quiet it? Gay! Merciful Heaven! With that curse for ever at- my side; with the strained ligart strings fain to snap asunder, and the dark memories of an un forgot ten past seared in fire upon my brain! There are three small scars upon my arm at this moment. They have grown, I think, no fainter and no smaller since they were pirced by the nails of my clenched hand, as I stood one night with folded arms listening to some idle, small talk, I know not what, nor did I then know, though I forced myself to smile in reply. I wound’iny handkerchief around the wounded arm and went on with tho farce I was playing. There is one thing about that time that I regret more than anything else. In my reckless indif- j ference I professed friendship I did not feel, and 1 received—aye, and returned the caresses of af fectionate j’oung girls, with whom I had not one feeling in common. I never betrayed their con fidence, for I thought too little of it, and I was not treacherous fjbut I did wrong, for I had no love to give them. The sweet human flower could find no place in such a desolate waste as my heart. True, tho dear household ties had still their accustomed power, but the love of kindred is a plant like those shrubs that twine their roots around sterile rocks, or spring up in the hot sand of deserts. I havo said that 1 could recall but little that occurred during that brief season of gavety. 1 remember looking up wohderingly sometimes in to tho faces of those around me, to see if they did not think mo mad, for surely I must at times have acted strangely—madly. J have watched, with a feeling strangely blending the ludicrous and the horrible, that impish figure. following at my side forever, moving among the human mon keys in the dance and aping their movements, and I have laughed hystei’ically at its grotesque, yet hideous face; its jeering grin, and eyes that never moved from mine, scintillating with'fiend ish gratification. Sometimes my brain has swam dizzily, and when, the music was loudest, the ex citement wildest, and my ape moving swiftest at my side, I have fancied that we were all demons together; that the room was Pandemonium, and that tho arch-fiend himself played for tho dan cers. I marvel that I retained 1117 senses; but I did, and all this time I read, wrote, studied. My publishers praised me and paid me, and (mingled j with graver things) airy fancies, light songs and j even stories of lovo and matrimony flowed from j my pen. After awhile I withdrew from the society which had brought no euro for the mind diseased. Then I gave myself up to books. I gathered around mo a mute world—the mighty mind3 of a nobler century—Locke, Bayle, Carlyle and Plato, the divine. And I read, speculated and dreamed ever thoso great intellects, aspiring to the infinite, yet, forever restrained by'tlio barriers of human weakness and the limited scope of human facul- : ties—the eagle beating against the wall of his ; prison house—flic lion bounding in tho radius of j his chain. But these princely spirits I had in-', voked to my aid were powerless to exorcise the demon. Study brought but momentary relief. Then came a spirit of defiance. Suffering de veloped strength and awakened dormant ambi tion. I would not bow tamely to the rod of un just chastisement. T would achieve power, in spite of fate. Ignorant flatterers told me I had genius. I knew too much of the rare and Hea ven-sent gift to believe this true; but I had a subtle imagination and a mind, whose capabili ties I had never yet tested. More than all, I had the will and tho bold, resolute courago that is born of despair and that U all-conquering. Whv should T not mount the ladder at whose foot I stood ? I would do it, though I‘ale and false friends “ broke every round.” But this mood, too,'passed, and was succeeded by ono of comparative calm—the calmnoss o( des pair. The turbulent l ido of feeling had receded and loft the sands of life black and bare. All this time, when I seemed deserted by Heaven, I had one good oar tidy angel; ono untiring corn fortcr—my mother. Often, when 1 returned home, sick at heart, utterly weary of the mask I wore and the part I acted, site drew my head on her bosom and whispered: “ Tho religion of Christ, my child : it is the only balm in Gilead.” But I shook my head hopelessly. Had I not tried it? Had I not prayed and implored pity of Heaven in vain? 1 was forsaken of God; a “vessel ordained to wrath an outcast from tho promised heritage. Yet, the strong, convincing eloquence I heard from the pulpit of our gifted minister moved me strangely. Tho man himself was a fit expounder of the glorious truths he preached—his zealolis piety; his life of stainless purity ; his rich, clear voice; his noble face, full of intellect and glow ing with enthusiasm. He was the realization of my ideal of St. Paul, the prince of apostles, ora tor, philosopher, teacher, Christian. When this man—this eloquent diving —spok# of religion as EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. VOL. XXIV. NUMBER 38 I a rcs * for wearied souls, lie touched a chord that vibrated to my heart. Rest! The sound was i celestial music. I would have bartered all the wealth or Australia for one brief interval of rest. | m then, within my reach? Was that altar | ‘-° which his finger pointed, the gate to this blessed repose? I saw them kneel there—those who had been smitten with conviction by the words that tell from his lips, like utterances from the trumpet of the Warning angel. I, too, knelt | there once. I It was one night during a revival, and the last words of a solemn sermon had died amid the breathless stillness; for he had preached ‘as only those can preach whoso lips have been touched by a live coal from the altar; and then his voice, deep and rich with feeling, read the closing hymn, and tho music swelled and pealed through the crowded church: “ Ok ! whore shall rest be found, Rest for tho weary soul ?” There came a pause, and then the weary and I heavy laden were invited to the altar of prayer, | and my burdened and tortured soul responded Ito the call. I forgot the'gazing eyes-—the won | dering crowd. To me, there wa3 but one thing in j the wide universe—me and my own great sorrow; j but one hope on earth—-that hore my soul might I find its lethe at last. On my knees at the altar, llt was tho only prayer my lips could shape. A 1 woman—a kindly hearted, true Christian, I earn j estly believe—came and knelt beside me and j spoke of the great foundation for hope, and of i tho contrite, penitent heart- I had brought to the . altar. I would not sudor her to be deceived. i I did not come hore,” I answered, “ because j ‘ ‘ vas hurnblo or repentant, but because I was | miserable, and surely God pities misery.” I I spoke abruptly, perhaps she thought un kindly, and if this should ever meet her eye, she will pardon the unmeant harshness, since she knows its cause. One night I was reading my Saint Chrysostom, (Catholic though lie was, that man was a Chris tian,) and, in liis thoughts on “ Prayer,” rich with his usual Asiatic abundance, I found this sen tence: “The potency of prayer has subdued tho strength of fire, it has bridled the rage of lions, hashed quarchy to rest, extinguished wars, ap peased tho elements, expelled burst the chains of death and expanded the gates of Hea ven.” The book dropped from my hand, and again a wild hope quickened my pulses. Would not my unpitying .demon yield to tins all-conquering prayer ? I bowed my head and prayed, as I had often done before, with the fierce energy of des pair, tho rebellious impatience of a grieved spirit, and not with the faith and humility of a penitent. llow triumphantly my imp’s remorseless eyes twinkled and glittered, as I arose and stamped the book beneath my feet in impotent despair! But this could not endure forever. The chain became so galling that i. began to bo dimly visi ble to those around mo. In the bitterness of my heart, tants and sarcasms rose to my lips, when I should have spoken gently to those who grieved and wondered over this return for their kindness. Tho end canto at last. It was a mid-summer Sabbath night—the sweet est, holiest, most memorable in the calendar of my life. I sat in my own study, and tho light was eo dim that only tho outlines of my attend ant spectre were visible. My mother was singing my boy to sleep in the adjoining room, and she had substituted for his usual week day lullaby, that solemn and beautiful hymn used when com memorating tho ordinance of tho “Last Supper:” “ That doleful night before his death, The Lamb for sinners slain.” The mournful sweetness of this hymn, and of tho air to which it is.sung, is indescribable; and anything connected with the impressive ceremony of the Sacrament always touched a spring in my heart that reached down to the fountain of tears. Never, even when a child, did I witness the cer emony without weeping; and now that hymn, so tenderly and tremulously sung, brought tears to my eyes. They were the first that had moistened the hot lids for months. I lit my chamber lamp, and took from its shelf my neglected biblo. Amid tho maze of speculation and metaphysical theory in which I had been wandering, I had forgotten the simple exposition of truth contained in that dusty volume; but now I opened instino tively to tho page I had most loved and studied in happier days—that touching and beautiful chapter in the gospel of the “beloved disciple “ where tho persecuted, suffering Christ, when his earthly mission draws near its close, calls around him his choson few, and spoak with them for the last time before the final sacrifice ; that chapter which, for simple pathos and sublime tenderness, has no precedent nor parallel in literature, and which of itself, is sufficient tp prove tho divinity of him “who spake as never man spake before.” “Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in C4od, believe also in me.” Tho subtlo fascina tion of Itosseau’s reasoning had closed my heart against the simple truth and beauty of the divine redemption; but these words dissolved the spell. I read on, and my tears fell fast upon the page—* the blessed, soothing, cooling tears! “1 will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you again.” Wore the words spoken direct to i me ? The familiar walls of my chamber faded away, and I was in tho “upper room” in tho great ! Jewish city, and tho meek eyes of the Saviour ; beaming with divine tenderness and pity, were upon mo. I knelt, with my brow bowed upon | the open book, and prayed as I had never done j before, with humility, with faith, and repentant i sorrow. All night long, till the stars paled before the 1 coming morning, I watched and prayed, alone, ! with my new hope and my great sorrow. Was it j tlic whisper of an angel, or the u still small voice, 1 that spoke tho “peace bo still” to the troubled t spirit, in the last hour of that lonely night-watch? I After that great calm of soul, I slept for a few j blessed hours—a tranquil, dreamless slumber, i that I had not known for months. When I awoke, tho sunlight was streaming goldenly through tho parted curtains ; the room was filled with tho fragrance of fresh blown flowers, and tho music of singing birds— and it wee gone —never to return. 1 knew it, and I fell back upon the pillow and sobbed in very thankfulness and jov. L arose; I went out into the fragrant garden, and kissed the dewy lips of young roses and mingled my silent gratitude with the incense that birds and flowers tent up to Heaven. ‘1 hen I went to my mother’s room, and in answer to her wonder ing lock, I threw my arms around her and whis pered, “U if gone” She mingled her tears of joy with mine. Yes, it was gone forever. The mission of the spootral illusion had been accomplished. My hand was upon the clew that would lead me from the labyrinth; the haunting eyes had made me pause in the dangerous path I was treading, and now, its work was ended. It never came again. I know that the bloom and freshness of exis tence can never be restored ; that the dark past will always shadow the future; that there are golden chords broken in the harp of life, and its melody is marred forever; but lam not all joy less, for the curse is removed, and I am not the the doomed and haunted thing I once deemed myself. Themumtlc, j .