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L
IK Dll 1FTERIIDUTI.
CROSSING THE RIVERSTTX.
Charon and His Ferry-Boat.
Startling Slisr Insures in the Inter
sil*! lte&ions.
CHAPTER X.
THE HALT. OF THE PHILOSOPHER %
It ia impossible to describe the impatience
■which the philosopher had manifested at this
episode, the indignation with which he regard
ed Us cause, and the contempt, which he evinced
at its result. I almost think that he regarded
the artist with more disdain than he regarded
the country gentlemen. His experience on
earth had brought him to uudersUad that there
were persons who never troubled themselves
about the mystery of their own being, or the
mystery of the world without, who were much
less interested in the operation of their minds
than in the ministrations of their gastric glands,
and who would have been unfeignedly surprised
and perhaps a little indignant at the suggestion
that a ‘primrose by the river’s brim’ was any
thing more than the ‘yellow primrose,’ which it
‘was to them.’ But he could not understand,
and he refused to tolerate a spirit who had felt
the longing to penetrate the great secret, and
yet turned aside from doing so that he might
dally idly for eternity with the folds of the cur
tain that concealed it. He made no remark,
however, upon our companion s choice, which
indeed he would have thought it unworthy of
him to criticise, and we continued our journey
without speaking.
It was now nearly at an end. In a very brief
space of time we had emerged from the valley
and entered upon a plain, beautiful indeec, but
with a severe and less luxuriant beauty, and
much more limited m extent than the vest and
glorious gleu which we had left. It was, in
fact, a mere plateau of table land, of what would
be called in human language a few acres in
extent, bounded on one side by the valley from
which we were emerging, and on the other bv
what was apparently the precipitous brow of
another valley, which ran from right to left as
far as the eye could reach. Beyond the edge of
this valley we could see nothing, but between it
and us, and seemingly almost on the verge of
the precipice, stood a building of vast dimen
sions.
‘The end of our journey approaches,’ said the
apparitor, in a solemn voice, and pointing to
the building before us. ‘See. The Hall of the
Philosophers.’
Our philosopher started at the word, and
breathed the deep breath of the tired traveller
who sees the goal of his wanderings at hand.
‘Ha!’ he exclaimed ; ‘the abode of iho tran
quil spirits whose life-questionings are set at
rest at last. The place is holy. Courage, my
friends, and press forward ! We shall soon be
there!’
‘But the river?’ said the pcet inquiringly to
the apparitor; ‘the river of the mystery, of
which you spoke before. Have we not to cross
that, to learn the answer to the great secret ?
‘Patience!’ was the reply, with a half-sad
smile. ‘Patience ; you will soon see.’
The philosopher had heard neither the ques
tion nor its answer. He was striding onwards
with his long strides towards the Hall, and with
such light upon his face of the pilgrim of Islam,
when the towers of Mecca first rise dim upon
the sky-line of the desert. We followed, doubt-
in B- „ n enrer and nearer, a confused
hum of voices floated towards us from the lofty
° P ‘Hark n '’ d slid° f the e phiiosopher, pausing and
his hand. ‘Hark! the triumphant song
™ the siftedspirits, the loud, glad utterances
of the sail knowledge ; the jubilant mter-
°f perfe . t i m those who doubt and
change of thoughts nr onC e for ever
dispute no longer, hu* » rr„ llh r
d *!r wher and with the eternal Truth !
with each other and w fi do ubtfnlly. ‘It
soSto me much more like a lot of people
qU Aud in upon my word,’ I added. ‘I was just
ab Th t e t nhUosoph«r“ e ‘“ea I18 and fixed upon us *
•Tr riLa look of contempt. Then, without
Wltb wuno a word in answer to our doubts, be
V ° UC «ed forward? We followed at a l«s eager
P a °but still close behind him. and, in spite
Tour’ suspicions with a hushed awe ot c-xpec-
Eftion of which no mortal car form an idea.
But these suspicions deepened as we advanced.
15,11 of voices ere* into a Babel of
The mu unm istakable slarp tones of con-
tongues , made tlemselves clearly
tending v moment, as hose sounds, so
J? e miL to mortal ears, forced,hemselves upon
’ritualised or R aus, o the. filing of awe and
e?pe 8 ctatioTgave“way to disa^^t and
“Uflns^we could even distint igb ar ti C ula-
At last, asweasoem^ the steps
of them after their long groupings aud wander
ings in the dusk of human speculation—it must
be admitted that the disappointment would
have been severely felt by any one. To a spirit
to our friend’s peculiar temperament it was lit
tle less than ornsbing. He remained rooted to
the ground, returning no answer to the word of
encouragement or consolation which from time
to time wa kindly uttered, but staring at the
groups before him with a look of horror-stricken
aunnishment miserable to behold.
‘L it ns leave him for a little,’ whispered the
apparitor, compassionately; *1 have frequently
seen phiios iphers affected iu this way on mak
ing tneir first entrance into ihe Hall. They
r-coser in time, however. Shall we walk round,
and take a look at wbat is goiDg on ?
We assented at, once, and followed onr guide
into the centre -f the Hal!. For me who, al
though myself somewhat disappointed i:i the
character of the place, jet did not feel inclined
to take the maker so much to heart ns the phi
losopher, the spectacle had much attraction aud
I found the controversies full of interest.
The disputants, just as in metaphysical dis
cussions upon earth,spoke both at the same time,
aud frequently at the top of their voices ; but
owing no doubt to the peculiar po wer and keen
ness of the spiritual sense of hearing, none of
them seemed to be embarrassed by this circum
stance, bat were apparently able to appreciate
and do full justice to their opponents’ argu
ments while loudly and vigorously enunciating,
their own. It was indeed an intellectual treat
to hear two rival arguments of the most extreme
subtlety and abstruseness simultaneously elab
orated and built up by two speakers, and to ob
serve the acuteness and ingenuity with which
one of them would meet and demolish the ob
jection of his adversary, almost ere it had fallen
from hie lips.
In every discussion to which we stopped to
listen, each disputant, as would naturally be
the case in a controversy upon subject, obtained
a complete victory over the other, but neither was
in the least degree affseted by it; aDd after the
position of each had been utterly demolished by
his adversary, they both continued the contest
with unabated vigor.
Hardly less interesting were the little groups
of unanimous philosophers who formed an au
dience of disciples round some professor who
was expounding the tenets of their school ; and
the continual tendency of these knots of con
sentient spirits to break up into two or three
rival bands of the bitterest disputants, gave a
pleasing variety to this portion of the scene,
A professor, in the midst of a series of remarks
to which his audience were expressing unani
mous a-smt, would suddenly let fall a proposi
tion which one of his hf arers wouid loudly call
in question ; and in an instant the whole body
of disciples wouid be broken up into two clam
orous faciioDs.one of them supporting the dictum
of the professor, and the other that of his dis-
senieut disciples. Those two factions would,
after a dispute of longer or shorter duration,
separate with muiuai expressions of contempt
for each other’s understanding, the professor
would continue his lecture, and the original
dissentent, now himself a substantive professor,
would cdmiuence auother, upoD the principles
involved in his objection, at a little distance.
In a very short time, however, the same scene
would reproduce itself amongst each of the rival
schools, and further subdivisions would take
place. It was owing, I suppose, to the inces
sant recurrence of these secessions that the
groups of disciples round any given professor
seldom numbered more than half-a-dozen spirits
a piece.
a This constant tendencyjto dissilience does not,
however, operate unobslructedly, but is coun
teracted, to a certain slight extent, at leant, ^ «
‘tffcesf-twb- groups' or -tffiTrUs, who
have been vehemently disputing for an im
mense period of time, suddenly discover that
they are in reality not adversaries, but allies.
One of these groups gives utterance, perhaps,
to some principle which is cardinal to their
school, and compared with which all others are
of subsidiary importance, and, to their surprise,
they discover that that principle meets with the
ready adherence of their adversaries, and that
both parties have throughout meant precisely
the same thing. This attractive force does not
operate by any means so frequently as its oppo-
sit**.
We had nearly completed my circuit of the
Hall, wh^n onr attention was attracted to two
spirits who stood together apart from the rest,
a*--d disputing with each other with the utmost
vehemence, and even, as it appeared to us,
acrimon-.
‘Don’t yo«L know them ? said the apparitor,
answering our looks of inquiry. ‘You should
at le-.st know one of them. The one further
from us is Professor Wolkenspmch. You had
heard of him cn earth, of corns/-'
•All Europe has heard of him’ was the reply
of the poet, as he gazed with curiosity on the
great transcendental philocpher. ‘But pray
who is the other, who is arming with him with
such exceeding warmth ?’
‘That,’ replied the appHtor, is the spirit of
r. , the author of The Secret of Wolken-
whom, even at that inopportune moment, the
old spirit of irreverence would crop np, momen
tarily expected him to conclnde his list of dis
coveries by the announcement of a small charge
for their exhibition.
It was far otherwise with the philosopher.
The supernatural confidence which marked the
speaker’s utterances revived for a moment the
drooping hopes of our disappointed companion.
'You can do all this?’ he exclaimed.
‘Our school has indeed succeeded in doing
so,’ replied the other. ‘We have done the busi
ness thoroughly and once for all. Let me ex
plain onr philosophy to you ; I can do it in a
moment. Iu the first place, themind of man’—
‘Stop!' said the philosopher, who knew from
his earthly experience the pr>bab!e duration of
a lecture commencing thus; ‘stop! One ques
tion and aoswer before I go farther with yon.
Explain the mystery of perception. How does
man get his belief in an external world ? Does
ic exist, and whatis it in itself, apart from those
organs of sense that we suppose it in some way
to affet, ami apart from that mind that is con
scious of their changes?’
‘What is it ?' replied the other. ‘Why, noth
ing whatever. The subject and the object of
perception ore identical: what you call ‘the ex
ternal world’ exists iD the mind, and not else
where. The innumerable objects, os you call
them, of the senses are but the innumerable
creations of the consciousness, having no exis
tence except as being felt and thought.’
‘Yes! !’ cried the philosopher, eagerly; ‘but
how do you know that ?’
‘How do I know it?’ said the other, slightly
irritated. ‘Because the most rigorous mental
analysis fails to’
‘Oh enough ! I have heard all this on earth,’
exclaimed our companion, more passionately
than ever. ‘To the point, and say why— why we
believe that externally to ourselves'
■Because the mind objectifies its own crea
tions.'
‘But why does it so ? Why ?'
•By reason of an invariable law which’
‘Away ! cried the philosopher, in bitter dis
appointment. ‘The oid vicious eircld from no
tions of sound, an_fi
tions oi -’ entra i door, 0 f very
that led to the c r _ n onr ea r?
Mr.
tbai - sm0 te upon our ea«
familarimP poet, pausing. ,j cou ld
‘ Hn8 Jrn I heard the words ‘subject traft> ..
have sworn philosopher. -
D We g’ aDced he at hft d evidently heard UP
deadly pale J 1 ® , be guttered : ‘theu .
•That is ominous, sfij(W lcl be one to 1
and the object of ^ ? 8“ dist urb ourselyt^>_
OI else-but. P°°J bl ? gpirlt w butfl#
00 ■
nand he pushed °P®“ l* _
the great door, J t must be remem- £
ever, while ^““ed on eternity, tms | thV^j
spracb-’ He an-* Herr Volbensprach have been
engaged now for a considerable time in disput
ing as to the of the Professor’s theories,
of which Mr. baa discovered the secret’
•But how,’ sal the poet, ‘is it possible for
any man to diaplfe a n author’s meaning with
the author hints®’
‘In the transce%ntal philosophy,snch a posi
tion is not unten^ > replied the apparitor,
drily. ‘Iu that re^, 0 f thought, no philoso
pher having the migty 0 f t rue philosophy will
venture to speak oi- own me aning with abso-
r*„ over again m» W ‘“'-V a ii > lute confidence. leg, a discussion of this
friends let us enter, and pushed open liud may easily Srted to collateral issues;
£ And with a trembling haua he pu r has lL biy been contending
’ —, and we ent • be remem-1^'i { th® 8 ^ c [® . %ensprach i s not re-
r i 1 Uve ^tered t on eternity, this »tator has written on
be Vefl that, as I ^® e e tbaB comm0 n significance s60iet .’ 5 ’ ^ the worse for the
expression be ghgU j forget the Boene W now made ov
_uever whi d itself to our view. Tu we stoodjgain by the '® r
wbicb then P r ®®®“ sion s. bring utterly beyond '
Ha ll, whoae dr bnman imagination to con-
the power of t tioD) wa s crowded from end
ceive 1 will u gpirits of philosophers and the ir
to end with th«' ®P“ tentb 1 0 f the crowd were
disciple?, an lime, and at the very
d(Cla Kfr voice- Some faw ™
ffiSdSto Uttle knot,^ ftnd each comping
over the floor o t - listeners Q i te d of - some ptaceT“ J -uer «aQei77r' rel J' there is
a half-dozer little group* bere the Ug, whil/^o.se w eari ^ iavast bmld-
speaher. 4 his dwciples, ot pbU o- tb aict oF hopeless str U g>e din and
pW 83 Pj e beiE g merely the e xpo9« fovoiab \e 8r Ht D d the Ve iJ be j£»y betake
baiaDgue, g by a pioieas ie mo deiat0 before t Som their
Bopbicil ce .Tried on mber of spirits 1 froia a neibparitor could an.
andieuo®. , rt he greater © t eunn-1 hastening group, who a s P ir it
bey- B flcmring. d S creed, but com- ’. No neetfur side. ’ W °° S«heard
were oW n phii°6°pbi<iri }beS c the a» \ kno w'iedgeve this Hall,’ he Sli
dating th® 11 &n pt ber ; and tr They disputed pro t> s5 or ao u see k. There ’n ‘ for the
hating tha* alld iEcessant. ^| goineU mes r the re youu tg a sma]J g ’P^g to a
of the Hall, and
philosophy. Oar figure of the
his rnrianc 0 iy trance/ ’ foused him from
lor with » Psfiiouate eesti^E to tlie appari-
‘la this ad, KHn r ,b J
‘Have you de-
Seen deceived on
ceived m® 1 ®J ) ‘Y*>, as 1 ha
weary, turbulent . tbis Ha ll of
of the endleri °^ r °t» 8v Asternal renewal
be the end 8trJ la ^ix—this cannot
founded assumption to assumption as unfound
ed, and the secret still gliding from our grasp
as we reach the hand to clutch it! Leave me ;
leave me ! Did I quit the world of images for the
world of realities, as I thought, that I should
have the Bhadowy creeds of Idealism thrust
upon me here?’
•No indeed,’ said a voice beside us ; ‘leave
him and follow me.’
‘Follow you,’ said the philosopher, turning to
him half desperately ; ‘and whither ?’
‘To the true knowledge, 4 replied the voice—a
mocking, bitter voice, that rang in our ears
like the laughter of a demon over the illusions
of human hope ; ‘to the knowledge that there is
nothing more that thou canst know.*
‘Ah !• exclaimed the philosopher, with the cry
of one who sees an exorcised spectre rise up
once more at his side, grim and inexorable, not
again to be laid.
‘This external world that you speak of, ‘ said
the second spirit—‘this world that, on earth, you
knew must exist, though you could not prove its
existence, and you knew not how it exis ed—
this it is that yon have come here to know ?‘
•Yes! yes !‘ cried the philosopher. ‘Speak;
what have yon to tell me of it ?‘
‘You would know it in itself—in the mystery
of its self-existence,’ continued the other. ‘The
changes of your sentient being, that forced you
to believe in its existence, told you nothing of
its true objective nature—revealed to you noth
ing but the miracle that it, being not you, could
act upon and work changes in you. And it is
this world in its objective naturejyj 1 \k‘ 7 ft8 SUlYlJf!
know. " it no t so ?*
‘lFil'TWis^*
‘And you think it possible so to know it ?‘
‘I do; I must, ‘ cried the philosopher, but
with so faint a hope in his voice that it sounded
almost more piteous than despair.
‘Fool !• was the reply. Enow this ? you ask
to knew it? Ah! strange human dream! that
man should not wake himself from you by the
very words he utters in his sleep ! How canst
thon know but in a sentient mind? Is not the
very word thou usest meaningless, unless it
oarries with it all the limitations from which
thon so longest to be free ? Must not thy very
knowledge of the absolute nature of what fs
without thee limit it, and make it relative to
thy mind that knows? Thou canst find and
know the objeot of thy search then, and then
only, when ‘know 1 aud ‘object are words which
mean nothing to thee—nay, when the very mind
which wonld apprehend their meaning has it
self ceased to be. Come, have done with dream
ing, and with words which are but the mutter-
ings of a dream. Awake, and learn the truth !
On the one hand conscious life, with the eternal
limitations of consciousnes, themselves recog
nised as eternal. On tne other hand, annihila
tion—the eternal Nothing! Choos9 : there is no
third.
The swift darkness of a great despair fell on
the ragged visage of the philosopher, as speeds
down the scarped face of a precipice the shadow
from the cloud-veil of the hidden snn.
‘I choose, ‘ he cried in a terrible voice, ‘Anni
hilation !‘
‘Hold,* said the apparitor, ‘it is enough. De
ceive him no further. There is a third course
open to all, which whoso dares may take. ‘
‘A third course? What? Whither? 1 exclaimed
the philosopher, turning breathless upon onr
guide.
•A third course !‘ echoed the othe.r spirit, with
his mocking laugh, ‘oh, yes ! a third course in
deed. Pray let him hear it, and see it, too, by
all means. 4
Follow me, * said the apparitor, and he strode
through the hall to the further end, and passed
oat at the great door opposite to that by which
we entered. We followed him in silence from
the hall, and found ourselves on a wide sim oth
lawn, sloping down to the abrupt edge of that
ravine that stretched across the whole land
scape.
Following our guide's footsieps, we approach
ed the edge of the ravine, aud looked out over
it. In the distance a dense veil of gloom hiding
all that was beyond.
At onr feet, flowing silently, a dark broad
river.
‘I know not,’ was the answer, in the same
tone. ‘None know it here; to none upon the
hither side of the river comes there sight or
sound from behind that, ev«>r-dr»wn curtain of
the night Those, and tkey are few, who ford
the river disappear within its folds, and we see
and hear them no more. Wha befals them we
know not. We only have it in charge from our
master to say that to whomsoever the burden of
the mystery of life ia intolerable, let him cross
the river.’
‘And pray will he obtain the solution of it on
the opposite bank?' inquired onr new acquaint
ance, in the same tone of light raillery. ‘And,
if so, will he be furnished with a set of entirely
new, seif-contradictory, and mutu.dly-destrnc-
tive faculties to enable him to understand the
solution which ho obtains ?'
‘I have said,’ said the apparitor ooldiy, ‘that
I know not, nor know any of us what awaits
him on the further shore. All we know and
can fell him is that here at least he will find no
answer to the eternal question of his spirit.
•Enough!’ cried the philosopher, ‘you have
said enough. Here there is no answer. What
ever befal me, I will seek it there.’
‘Wretched dreamer!’ cried oar cynical ac
quaintance, arresting him. ‘Wouid you plunge
into annihilation ?—for it is, it can be nothing
else. Once more; how can the eternal barriers
between the seer and the seen, be overpassed ?
How, but by the destruction of the conscious
life and the fusion of its elements with the
world without it?’
‘Not so,’ cried the poet suddenly, ‘who knows
that it may not be, though the resumption of
both into the Infinite Being of Nature, whose
manifestations both are.’
‘Oh!’ ‘the Infinite Being!” exclaimed theRpirit,
turning with a scorn as infinite upon his inter
locutor. ‘I ask your pardon. I had forgotten
that polite form of the doctrino of annihilation,
which does such good service by the name oi
Pantheism.’
‘Annihilation!’ cried the poet.
‘Ay!’ said the other sternly. ‘The Infinite
Being, who will absorb your soul, how differs
he from the Infinite Nothing, who gathers spir
its from yonder Court of Sleepers ?' Nowise,
but in a single word. Matters it to the waves
that rise from the bosom of the sea, whether
they disappear in vapour or sink back, lost, in
distinguishable, into the vast deep from which
they sprang ? Go then, thou too ! Lay aside
the perceptions which were to you, a poet, as an
eternal vision of glory ! Lay aside the imagin
ation which multiplied a hundred-fold, and
glorified a thousand-fold, the images of the pre
emptions! Go ! Be absorbed in the Infinite Be
ing, and as the last sweet moment of thy sepa
rateconsciousness flees from thee for ever, con
sole thyseif if thou c-inst, by the reflection that
thon wilt become ‘a thought ol the universal
mind.’ Ha! ha!'
Tne poet was silent, deeply moved.
‘Or, stay and laugh with me at the eternal
world-jest of the grim mocker, in whose hands
we are and at the foliy of the fools whom it de
ludes. Think how he has spread out before us
a gorgeous tapestry that we may gaze our fill
upon, and when wo weary of it close onr eyes
to it for ever; aud at the same time has whis
pered in irouy unto each of us: ‘Go there and
peep behind ! And some of us knowthat be
hind it is tne abyss, and we abide, laughing, in
onr plaoes, and others go up gaping greedily
for that which is not, and with their joy in it
yet unsatiated, perish. Come, you are not of
them. You at least will stay.’
But still the poet answered him not a word‘
‘For you,’ the spirit continued, turning to
the philosopher, ‘for you I do not—
But he stopped, for the philosoj)ber stood be-
.--..v, uiuj wun uu »reHi purpose lonbinu
from his lighted e yes.
‘Silence,’ he cried, ‘I go. For me the glories
that you prate of are dimmed and quenched ia
the shadows of my soul. If the ceaseless long
ings of my earthly life were but the lying whis
pers of an almighty mocker, so be it. I shall
perish and they will cease- The truth! the truth,
though the truth be Death !’
And in a moment he stood at the bottom of
the ravine and on the brim of the river.
A moment more and he had waded to the
belt of twilight that overhung the mid-stream.
There he paustd turned, waved one last adieu,
and disappeared. And to ns, gazing, it seemed
as if the last rays of the light he was quitting
So sitting, and so 'is'euing, my longings are
sti’io I within me. and 1 shar<- for a little while
the repose of iris unbroken cairn.
THE END.
Female Duel.
A good deal has recently been heard of the
progress of female emancipation in Russia, but
it is somewhat of a novelty to find the Russian
ladies fignriog in the character of duellists, as
was the case not long since with two belles of
Pattigorsk, a well-known fashionable resort on
j tne northern slope of tbe Caucasus. A dispute
| arose between tbe rival beauties, springing out
i of the attentions paid to each in turn by a hand-
j some young cavalry officer quartered in the
| neighborhood. The quarrel ran sj high that
one of the Amazon at length dispatched her
maid to the othi-r With a format challenge, which
was instantly accepted. The belligerents met
without seconds in a lonely place outside the
town, each armed with a brace of loaa-jd pistols,
Before, however, they had ever taken up their
respective positions, the trembling of the one
lady’s hand caused her pistol to 6xpiode prema
turely, sending a ballet through the dress of
the other, who shrieked and fell down in a
swool. The assailant, frightened out of her
wits, flung away her weapon, and rushed to
raise the supposed corpse; but her ungrateful
antagonist, recovering her senses as suddenly
as she had lest them, clutched her by the hair
with one hand, while boxing her ears with the
other in the most energetic style. The firing
having ceased, the battle proceeded hand to
hand. Locks of hair, ribbons, and shreds of
clothing flew in every direction, and but for the
timely advent of three or four policemen the
affray might have ended like the somewhat
similar combat of the Kilkenny cats. The mili
tary Lothario’s only remark on hearing the
story was, ‘It’s lucky they took to clawing
each other instead of me.
“What are You Going to do About it?”—
Because the penalties of physiological laws ar* not ex
ecuted speedily, some fancy they are void. But wheu
the system breaks down, and almost hopeless complica
tions arise, which the lamily physician, by reason of his
limited experience, fails to relieve, the pertinentcy of the
above inquiry is apparent. Many remedh s have been
specially prepared for these cases, aud many physicians
are bidtlui!i for their patronage- As before making a
purchase of land, a-‘search” is required, aud the t'tle
carefully examined, so invalids should carefully inves
tigate tne claims of any physician offering to treat chrou
ic diseases. I)r. Pierce’s Family Medicines are wel
known, and have effected mauy cures where eminent
physicians have failed, yet to accommodate sur.ical and
complicated cases, and tnose desirous of being restored
speedily, Dr Pierce lias erected an elegant sanitarium,
at a cost of nearly ha f million dollars No institution
in the world offers advantages superior to those found
in this establishment. Haif a score of physicians are in
attendance, several of whom have been prominently con
nected with leading American and European Hospitals,
Every improved facility lor hastening a cure thatt a lib
eral expenciture of maney could secure can here be
found- Before fully deciding where to go, address In
valids’ aud Tourists’ Hotel, for circular.
sWot Symptoms, but the Jklsease.—It would
seem to be I riuh appreciable by all, and especially by
professors of the healing art, that to remove the disease,
not to alleviate its symptoms, should be the chief aim of
medication. Yet in how many instances do wo see the
truth admitted in theory, ignorod iu prac-ice. The rea
son that Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters is successiul in so
many cases, with which remedies pieviousiy tried were
inadequate to cope, is attributable to the met that it is a
medicine which reaches and removes the causes of'.be
various maladies to yvhich it is adapted. Indigest’on,
fever, and ague, liver complaint, gout, rheumatism, dis
orders of the bowels, urinary affections, and other mal
adies are not pallated merely, but looted out by it. It
goes to the fountain head. It is redly, not nominally, a
radical remedy, aud it endows the system with an
amount of vigor which is ihe best protection against di
sease.
Tlie Ilexican JAolIar.
What is the difference between the Mexican
dollar and Tableris Bnckeye Pile Ointment?
One does what it promises and the other doesn’t
The Mexican dollar says, >1 am one hundred
ceDts;* but when yon oome to investigate it you
find it is only eighty-five. Tabler’s Bnckeve
Pile Ointment says, <1 will cure you of Piles •
and npon trial it is found to do so in every ease’
It makes but one promise—to cure Piles • and
does so without failure. Price 50 cents a bottle
For sale by Hunt, Rsnkin & Lamar, wholesale
Druggists, Atianta, Ga.
^ 0 . Coussens Henry of Tar will relieve severe
had fallen upon the transfigured face of a god. I con g ,JS of long s ending, and prove a blessing
In the sodden shoefc of his departure we ! t0 a11 wbo stiffs with affections of the throat
hardly noticed the slender figure of a woman an< ^ l nn S s < a ad is confidently offered the public
j a *o-— i.——i—— * -■*'-” ■■ es the best remedy in the world. In onr rigor
ous clime where coughs and colds prevail, this
favorite remedy should have a place in every
{ household. When the little ones are attacked
descend the bank into the river and follow the
philosopher into the gloom. But when I looked
round, the widow was no longer at my side,
‘What,’ I exclaimed, ‘has the widow crossed | ^
the river ?’ ) I
ones are attacked
y croup or whooping cough, nothing will afford
‘She has,’ said the apparitor, with a smile. instant relief as Coussen’s Honey of Tar.
‘Such things are not uncommon. Her husband j * ee 5° cents. For sale by Hunt, Rankin &
Lamar, Wholesale Druggists, Atlanta, Ga.
pies,
iu of
*«- rKS”
The Vbil0B0k t aud dismay- wakic g man
ness,
repUe>
iu its re.
ef , 0 _rihe law of' remarkable glj &
ia,v.' of hs ohang '/o eyo and the Kcl black palf of darkness hung alike over the wa-
alled external ^nated changes-ti^ter and the further shore.
CHAPTER XI.
Look!’said the apparitor, stretching out his
hand before him, ‘there lies the path of which
spoke. Whoso will plunge in and ford this
river, tbe secrets of his being shall vex him no
longer.’
‘Admirably put,‘ muttered tha spirit, who
had followed us from the hall, with a malicious
smile. We seemed to be standing on the con
fines of Day and Night. All around us shone
the pure white light of the other world. The
height upon which we stood, and the steep
sides of the bank which sloped abruptly down
to tho river at our feet, were alike bathed in its
radiance, as aiso were the nearer waters of the
stream. But over the mid-channel the broad
daylight faded into the dusk of evening, and
the bright moving water beneath it dulled into
the leaden hue of twilight S6as. A few paces
further, and the river gloomed into purplo
under the gathering shadows, and beyond a
Tbis 1 tern.*! w0 1 ll ‘ .l/ 6 H0 A W. stood gazing on this sotsen of night in si
‘ mSwiS much ot th© •*> . .
-.■'nllfJwcU now^©hon.'»P“
much of
the el°
i is system with so
bility that I, in
'ence, one thought foremest in the minds of all.
i rose first to the lips ot the poet.
‘What lies behind that veil ?’ asked he of the
apparitor, in a low voice.
is nowhere to be found on this side of the
river.’
‘Humph!’ said the cynical spirit, ‘he has
probably taken his departure via the Court of
the Sleepers. Annihilated most likely. Still
it comes to pretty muoh the same thing.’
‘Many women cross the river,* continued the
apparitor without heeding him: ‘nay, save the
few philosophers who cross it, none, I think,
but women, ever do so. No other passions dare
to face that awful gloom of the unknown, save
the sage's longing for the hidden truth, and the
woman‘s yearning for her lost love.
■You stay ?‘ said our new acquaintance, ad
dressing the poet.
•Yes,’ replied the poet, sternly; ‘I stay, but
begone thou! I stay not to mock, but to won
der aud to pity. I need not to crush the infin
ite ioBgicgs of my spirit with a cruel jest. I can
soothe them with a cairn thou knowest not of—
the calm of poetry’
I looked up at uim as he thus spoke, and I
saw that indeed a great calm had come over
him.
‘Yes, my friend,’ he said, answering my look
of surprise. ‘I see my error now. Inoiiuger
seek to penetrate the mystery. I am at rest. On
the confines of the two worlds is the poet’s place.
Between the known aud unknown should he
stand, resigned to neither, communing with
bOfh: interpreting the whispers of the visible
world by the ln^uiration cl iiis genius, pouring
the soui’s longing * or unseen into the pas
sion of his song: ana siDging. and so inter
preting he shall win peac^ foj himself and for
those who hear.’
Bat I wander, restless and irresolute, on tho
hither shore. Behind me the Valley oi
Beauty sleeps fair beneath ihe ;,r.Bhanty light
of the spirit world. The dim purpie of its
mountain peaks, the faint silver of its torrents,
the soit brown of its sloping uplands and em
bosoming woods, thrill and move me as in the i
world which I have left.
Before me hangs forever the awful gloom-cur
tain over the mid-channel of the river, ior ever
drawing my eves towards it, from the sweet
scenes behind me, by a subtle, irresistible force,
for ever arousing in me the vague yearnings to
penetrate it, that disquieted me in the world
which I have left -
From tbe Hall of the Philosophers comes al
ways the hubbub oi wrangling voices, disputing
the Unkno wable.
Aud sometimes, in my bitterness, I will seek
the bitter spirit who mocked the philosopher,
anu will luugh with him, as, with his pitiless
logic he proves to the seekers who successively
arrive that there ia nothing for them to find. j _ ^
But this never soothes, and soon wearies n j I reiievecT me * 1 ^
rd when mv disquietude is at its dee}.' , .
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ASTHMA CAN BE'~ a&RD
y Dr. P R, Holt’s
Bead the following certificates anl
Aetlima specif-' suffer no loner
,, Ga.. Sept 15, 1878.
ISJlYRNi j
„ APthfa specific relieved
DR. HOLT.—Dea- Sir \ ov morc hs afterwards she
my wife in a few hjnrs. Hoi}, her again iu six hours,
had another attack. Itrelie' . nce /nearly 2 years). She
and she has not had a si'*"' a paroxysm lasting
had been subject to it ff ' timber ot Physicians and
from3 to 5 week*, had"" ^mended, but found very
almost everything tbs . wve recommended to it a
little benefit from ei • * kuew j t to jail in a single
number oi P ers ° v ,, n acc0 ‘-ding to directions. From my
instance, wheu the r* neay I believe it will cure any
experiences^ Y uie,
case ol As
Y
REV. A. G. DEMPSEY.
Atlanta, Ga„ Oct. 12, 1876.
B Ht 'LT-Dear Sir —Two years ago my wife
•severe attack of Asthma. A tew doses of your
hfl ‘Ana specific rsieved her. aud she has not had an at-
a sfe since.
DR„.
Yours,
will go and sit for a space a-, the feet of fo p R . ho lt, Prop
and itsten to the song winch he pours j
ever to those who will hear. I ^-$1.50 per Bottle.
JOHN CRAWFORD.
Atlanta. Ga., Oct. 1st, 187S.
p R HOLT,—Dear B!r:—Your asthma specific
’ - 21 hours of a severe attack oi Hay Fever.
Yours truly,
JOHN KEELY.