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£l)c tUcchln Constitutionalist.
BY STOQKTON & CO.
OUR TERMS.
The following are the rate* of Subscription :
Dailt, one year..... |jq oo
Wsklt, one year |3 oo
Smothered in Boses.
Yes; charity, I know may hide
A multitude of ain* ;
But th re’* a proverb to decide
Where charity begin*.
Should mine in future contemplate
A journey anywhere,
’Twill be a ball—a play—a fete—
And not a fancy fair.
The girl* are all *o very bold—
The men *o very ra»b—
Bo many trifle* must be sold,
And ail for ready cash.
• You’ll find, when once you come to count
The guinea* here and there,
It cost* a pretty large amount
To *ee a fancy fair.
.Three-quarters of the things they *eil
Are not a bit of good—
(One can’t refuse, though, very well,
And wouldn’t, if one could.) . {
They have such voices and such curl*,
And «uch a wimrng air—
About a dozen pretty girl*
May work a lancy fair.
They hunt a fellow round and round, ■
They track him up and down ;
They *ell him portrait* at a pound,
And rose* at a crown ;
*?c< nt, puraes, pocket book*, and ring*—
Pomatum for the hair—
A nd fifty other little thing*, »
That stock a fancy fair.
I’m now particularly *by,
As everybody knows,
And yet I am obliged to buy
Whatever ihey propose.
I’ve been so often overcome
That now I only dare
To take a very modest snm
To any fancy fair.
i
They little know or little feel
What injuries they do ;
A wound upon the pure may heal,
But hearts are wounded too.
Thu* damage done by lip* and eye*
Is more than I can bear ;
80, charity take any guise
Except a fancy fair.
[ London
(From All the Yew Bound .
My Church in Town.
Mychurch in town I It front* our *quare„
With Gothic portals—Scott designer—
Tall spire, and painted windows rare,
There’s nothing io all London finer:
A church that’s counted “very high,”
A ritualistic rector owning,
Who makes a claim to Heaven rely
On crosses, candles, and intoning.
And crowds of worshipers come there,
Who give one morning of the seven
To treading with exceeding care
A fashionable road to Heaven —
Fine ladies who low bending pray,
And sigh for services in Latin,
And monify the flesh each day
In gleaming robes of silk and satin.
The curate “ such a dear,” you know,
Airs a while hand to turn his pages;
I hardly think St. Paul did so,
When preaching to Athenian sages.
His doctrine, if it has a fault,
Stands much in need of force and flavor,.
And makes me think the gospel salt
Has very nearly lost its savor.
Where Dives sits, I look in vain
Fov Lazarus, even at the portal, >
I wonder, does their creed maintain
The hen man only is immortal f
And yet my mind is somewhat eased:
So vain and vapid is the preaching,
That Lazarus hardly would be pleased
To gather fragments of such teaching.
It would be worthier of the times, ,
And talk of charitable eraces,
If we took care the Suuday chimes
Should sometimes so ind in silent places.
The broider’d altar-cloth might tell
Os piout hands, and yet be plainer;
A simpler, homelier rte were well,
Bo should the poor man be a gainer.
A Dream of Summer.
B'and as the morning breath of June;
The southwest breezes play ;
And, through its haze, the winter noon
Seems warm as Bummer’s day.
The snow-plumed angel of the North
Has dropped his icy spear;
Again the mossy earth looks forth,
Again the streams gush clear.
The fox his hill-side cell forsakes,
The muskrat leaves his nook,
The blue bird in the meadow brakes
Is singing with the brook.
“ Bear up, i), Mother Nature 1” cry,
Bird, breeze, and streamlet free,
“ Our winter voices prophesy
Os Bummer days to tneel”
So, in those winters of the sonl, » _
By hitter blasts and drear,
O’erswept from memory’s frozen pole,
Will sunny days appear.
Reviving Hope and Faith, they show
The soul its living powers, *
And how beneath the winter’s snow
Lie germs of Summer flowers I
The Night is Mother of the day,
The Winter of theßpring,
And ever upon old Decay
The greenest mosses cling.
Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall}
For God, who loveth a'l His works,
Has left Hie Hope with ali.
Without the Children.
O the weary, solemn silence
Os a hou e without the children I
O the strange, oppressive stillness
Where the children come no more!
Oh I the longing of the sleepless
For the soft Arms of the children,
Ah! the longing of the faces
Peeping through the opening door,
Faces gone for evermore!
Strange it is to wake at midnight
And not hear the children breathing,
Nothing but the old clock - ticking,
Ticking, ticking by the door.
Strange to see the little dresses
Hanging up there all the morning;
And the gaiters—ah I their patter,
We will hear it nevermore
On our hearth forsaken floor!
What is home without the children t
Tis the earth without its verdure,
And the sky without the sunshine.
Life is withered to the core!
So we’ll leave this dreary desert,
And we’ll follow the Good Shepherd
To the greener pasture* vernal,
Where the Lambs have “gone before ”
■With the Shepherd evermore!
The Chignon.
Oh ! bury me deep, with my waterfall on,
And my bonnet so tiny and gay;
Wrap all my fashionable gewgaws around
This form when it turneth to clay.
For I would astonish, long centuries hence,
The learned explorers of tombs j
I would rival the mummy in interest when
Some future Agassiz comes.
To explain to the wondering children of Then
The puzzling marvels of Now ;
Oh! I’ll bother their heads with what’* on my own
If they ever should And me, I vow.
HISS SUSAB.
tub story or a woman’s litb.
I sat io mv little parlor one night after school,
and the name the children had given me years
before sounded oddly enough. 1 said it over
and over In unthinking, or rather in a preoccu
pied way, until it lost all its meaning, and I be
came a little doubtful in my own personality.
The name did not seem to fit me at all, and 1
felt quite like a hypocrite for ever having an
swered to it. I thought I knew myself pretty
well, and fell to wondering whether I had a
right to be so calm and mila and patient, so
long-suffering, so unresisting, so tame as I wa6
in tbe school room. . •
Some teach naturally, some by the grace of
God; but as for me, I thought of great and
strong necessity, rebelled, my will keeping my
self out ol right meanwhile. I am not sure,
after all, but it was the very best discipline I
could have bad, but I knoyv I did not think so
at the time. I was thee —but it is no matter
bow old f was—not that I was ever careful of
my years, but people measure them so differ
ently. I was full forty-five in knowledge of
suffering, though my cheek was not wilted as
it is now, and my eyes then had a kind of slum
bering ftre in them that I never liked to en
counter in the glass. It brought me too near
my own spirit, and «f that I was alraid.
But that night, years ago, when I sat m nay
parlor alone, the Children all gone, and the
house filled with ghostly silence, I was exult
ant, and gave an unchecked rein to myself.*—
There was much delight in acting what 1 felt;
in throwing off the abhorred Mies Susan, who
wore my garment day by day, and Teproved me
at every turn, till she became IBce the horrible
monster that haunted its remorseful maker to
death, 1 seemed to have dual -existence, each
life praying upon the other, and demanding
rights that could never be conceded. Mi 66
Susan believed in God ; I doubted His mercy ;
Miss Susan had *faith in humanity ; I distrust
ed even my little children; Siss Susan had a
heart to love and be loved ; 1 could live alone
unloved and unloving. Yet Miss-Susan was
•not sentimental, nor was I .cold. The tact of
•existence was a joy to me. The grass was a
delight to senses, even more than theffowers,
'because its universality gave test to' both men
tal and physical vision. Tfeemonntainsbrougbl
, peace, the rivers exhilaration, the skies exulta
tion. Books were a perpetual joy; -thought
afar off a greater. But there was one line of
thought that haunted me everywhere, and that
could be thrown off only by strong and per
sistent effort of the will. "Even then it had its
revenge, and crept into my dream when the
will was asleep.
What '1 feared most of uM wast the past. —
There had been a time when I was not Miss
Susan, but. daughter Susan, and sister'Susie;
and when I was no longer daughter, the moth
erly element entered into the sisterly, and I
lived my childhood over again in my little
Emily. -At first I hated the child in my natural,
unreasonable way, because the mother died
that she -might live, and -ray infinite loss I
thought could never be made good by the little
atom that grasped so helplessly at life and clung
as to the bem of its garment, hut would not be
shaken off
My father was a strong man with a violent
nature, which fell to my lot, while Emily was
gentle and reasonable, like the mother. Forced
to care for her, I was won *by her innocent
ways, though my will held out long after nay
heart succumbed.
Mv father bore the shock of the sudden death
as a tower bears the shock of 'the ocean, out
wardly unmoved, but secretly undermined;!
and when he fell I was alone with the child, the
innocent cause of my double 'bereavement.—
Then, and not till then, did I turn to her. The
love of my life was lavished on her, and I had
neither thought nor inclination for any other.
As soon as she had passed the period of baby
hood, and the little feet could run without ray
care, T took the first steps toward -securing a
livelihood for us both. The homestead was
mine, together with the father’s scanty savings
for fifteen or twenty years ; but I had my own
plans for this sister child of mine, and must
prepare for the future. It was very hard to de
cide on converting the old time-keeping room,
so full of memories of the dead, into a school
room, but it was the best'l could do. The
scholars came in slowly, and I was tempted
more than once to try something else.
Quiet was irksome to me, my ambition al
ways out-ran both opportunity and strength.—
I had no patience with the service of those who
only stand and wait; so I worried and fretted,
and was not always motherly tomypoor Emily
I am afraid ; for how could I be calm and per
petually gentle with nerves strung to the point
of vibration ? So innocently her eyes rebuked
me sometimes. I remember it all now, and see
where I lost my influence over her. Often life
was very dull to me, and only for hope I
should have cared very littje at night whether
I woke in this world or the next. But hope
brought dreams to me, as she does to all who
trust in her, and the picture of my darling’s
future was brought out in genuine Titian color
ing on its black back-ground.
Time, that waits for no man, is not a whit
more polite to woman ; and while I thought
myself still young, my child slipped out of
childish frocks and ways, hid her dolls, and read
romances, grew inattentive in school, and tried
my patience beyond its limit of endurance. I
am afraid I was harder with her than any mother
would have been. I was stupid, I acknowledge,
but how could I believe that this child cared
for any one but me ? I saw it at last, and
put forth my strong will, which was met by a
stronger.
I had marked David Tracy when he first
came to the place ; and thinking of it calmly I
was not surprised that Emily should be pleased
and flattered by his attentions ; still I did nbt
believe that she loved him. He was a youmr
physician, young, though thirteen years her
senior, who had forced his wav against every
obstacle, and secured what everv phvsician
JnwnV 0 ? °' A Xh f e s li u re P ractice ot fivecountry
towns. I admired the man's persistency* and
his to compel circumstances, yet I knew
enough of human nature to be sure that he
would never make my child happy. And I did
not like his way. If he loved my sister, why
not come in a manly way,-instead of influenc
ing her by stealth and out of my sight * I was
angry, and did not scrnple to reproach Emily
for lask of confidence in me. I suppose I took
the best means in the world to wean her from
me and attach her to him ; at least I succeeded
admirably in doing both. auixeeaea
All her schoolmates envied her, and that was
all in his furor. Miss Susan was an old maid
and naturally opposed young people because
she was satisfied with her condition* and un
willing that they should be happier than she
Perhaps he did not say just this, but he meant
it, which i6 the same thing, and between the
two there came to be a tacit understanding,
and I was a third person.
If I could have proved him dishonest, or un
truthful, or in any way an immoral man, 1
could have had 6ome advantage, but he stood
before the community a gentleman without re
proach, fair and honorable in all his dealings,
generous upon occasion, and reasonable al
ways. I have a horror of reasonable men.—
They are never surprised, never at a loss, can
never be corrected or reasoned with, because
they do all the reasoning themselves and were
correct and right from the beginning, and
there is uothiug more to be said.
I could have lived with the doctor if, by any
possibility, love had gone before and opened a
way; and if we were never happy, we should
never have been utterly miserable ; but I knew
it must be otherwise with Emily. She was
never satisfied with love. Her nature craved
it m a morbid way. But although it was the
AUGUSTA, GA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, JULY 3, 1867.
very essence of her being, the oil that fed the
lamp of her life, 6be never sought it, nor even
from me. Well, in a little time she and the
doctor were engaged. She was only seven
teen, and I hoped to keep her awhile now that
that I could not send her away to wiser teach
ers, but the strong will clashed with mine
again and triumphed. A few times the two
were together in public, she shrinking from
observation with all the delicate sensitiveness
of her nature; he indifferently attentive at
times, again wholly absorbed in himself.
It was pitiful to see her eyes follow bin l *
those beautiful eyes so full of the heart’s long
ing. If he had told his love as most do, 1 think
she would never have loved him ; but the little
he gave stimulated the desire for more, aud a
tinge of mystery completed the illusion. So
they were married and I lost her. Perhaps you
who have more than one friend think it a little
thing; besides, some gain by marriage. It is
of no use to telkyou how I hoved her, because
they who .have loved know there is no power
in language to describe the depths of the heart,
and they who have not would not under
stand.
At first she came to see me every week, walk
ing two miles, because the doctor was necessa
rily away with the carriage. But, unaccus
tomed to such long walks, she was obliged to
discontinue them, and I went when I could to
see her.
I have fend my dream for Emily, never for
myself. He home was to be a happy one, all
that is expressed in the word home. I never
asked wealth or position for her, because I
knew there would be nothing satisfying to her
in either. But God orders our wavs.
In less than five years three children blessed
her hungry heart with unthinking love, and
wore away her life by their constant demand
for the care that she only could give. And
thteebedid give without stint, never thinking
of her own life so long as she was paid in full
in her own love coin. I watched her with an
old maid’s jealous eyes, and knew that this
was not all that made her pale and nervous,
and unnaturally bright-eyed. I knew that with
only a young and inefficient country girl for
help, there was something for her to do in the
matter of supplying the physical wants only of
these healthy, restless, turbulent immortals. I
am endowed with a kind of violent discretion,
which, while it steps my tongue, has no power
over my eyes, and my presence was anything
but agreeable to the doctor ; still I could not
■keep away. Perhaps it was not my doty to
work like a poorly paid seamstress every
moment out of -school hoars to help clothe
my little nephew and nieces, but how could I
help it f
There was no compassion in the doctor’s
face when his eye rested on the delicate girl
mother, who hourly bent over the cradle and
sewed and sang eweet minor tunes to the wide
awake baby who clung to its mother all day
long, and invariably chose the most restful
hours of the night for colic and teething
spasms. It was te him 6imply woman’s duty,
her destiny which abe could not well escape,
aud for which she needed no pity. lover
heard one day his complaint of elder sisters
.who invariably whined over voung mothers
with much pretended sympathy. There was
more in his tone than written words can ex
press. I knew what she never dared thir&
that -she was less than a hired servant in her
own house. The man who was generous
among men, was worse than thoughless in
his own family. Her woman’6 rights whieh
she would have demanded for the sake of her
own self-respect were never granted. She was
afraid of him, with that fear whieh should have
made him .reverence her.
He would never appreciate the pitiful econ
omies she practised that herself and children
should be comfortably clothed with as little
aid as possible from him. Ber wedding outfit
served for a time, and when that was gone
there was uo habit of asking on her part, and
none ot givrag on his to fall back upon ; and
there she was wounded to the quick. Once
only did I beard the lion in his den with “ I
wish you had had one extravagant wife, Doctor
Ferry,” and the lion unmoved replied, “Then
I should never have had another.” And this
man who would give ten dollars to any friend
or enemy in need, and in every good cause in
church and society, never seemed to feel that
she who was always in need and wholly de
pendent had any claim on him.
How well l learned to read her in a tew
months! It was something new to economize
so for children, and so pleasant. I know the
thought of asking him for a mere pittance cost
her many a tearful night; and I know too well
that when she had counted the cost of every
needful article she always asked him for a little
less than would suffice, and blushed for very
shame that she should be so very cowardly, and
he whom she would gla'dly honor 60 mean.—
Besides, she lived io constant fear of my dis
covering <tbis, and thought her little artifices
blinded me.
One day I asked her to go with me to the
town, ten miles distant, hoping that change of
air and scene might bring a little of the old
color to her cheeks, and restore the lost appe
tite. The yonng country girl, finding the place
a hard one, had left, and aq old nnrse must be
procured to stay With the babes, and Saturday
was my only leisure day,.
The early part of the day wag 6pent with an
.old friend, who, shocked at Emily’s changed
face and manner, spared no pains to make her
comfortable and to rouse her from her unnatu
ral, quiet mood. Afterward we went shopping
for an hour or so, and I busied about the pres
ents with which I designed to surprise her, and
for the sake of which I had denied myself many
a comfort for weeks past, forgot how weary she
must to, till turning to look after her, I was
startled by the strange expression ot her face
Begging her pardon for any neglect, I was both
surprised and grieved to see her burst into
tears, and, distressed at the thought of a scene
in so public a place, hurried her away to the
station, and took an earlier train home than I
had intended.
tbe honse 1 decided to spend
the night with her, and reasoned myself out of
a nervous dread of encountering the doctor. I
l*da a v de , and t 2,> hose of mental malady
J, he doctor "as absent
1 watched under plea of
taking care of the baby while she 6lept, if fear
*»«MgbtiSa
cries ending in sobs be called slecn 6 Tn th*
EXMfV*' the ,! abbath morning I heard £e
hTmv of i>oo^-, f r t ’. l nd hurried the door
Stttnraolfrth?n m J ght not ** disturbed in
dortoT . f If* 1 ' bßt instead of the
with -i L dreaded to see, two officers
IStv to h r, rraD , c °nfronted me -I’m
you and the other lady left the store
pairs of little th? ee £°f ket thr £ e
ings. That was all, and the siSr 6tOC £*
ed for elsewhere; but the,? be !Tf cb *
»“e nofpaid
everyWrawer with thesdof thedoS'n 1 , sear . ched
Emily shrieked once when the officers entered
the room, as if conscious of all; but when 1
retold Stared., tie ,all mSKSeI
And this was the end of my dream. It was
for this that I had lived thirty-eight years If
the spirit ol the * patriarch’s wife could then
have whispered to me, Curse God and die » I
should not Lave rebuked her with, “ Shall we
receive good from the hand of God and not
evil ?”
If I had told you at first that when I 6at in
nly little parlor alone, tte scholars all gone and
the school-room ghostly in silence, and stop
ping there bad told you of one John Tracy
who loved me in my girlhood and who came
back on that eventful night to .rove his life
long devotion, you would have quarreled with
me for sending him away after years of hope
and waiting.
But now you have heard the stbry of my
Emily’s brief tale, will yon not let me go my
ways in peace, even unto the end of my ap
pointed days ? I know what love mav be but
it is not for me ; I have outlived it. My impe
rious will has, I humbly trust, bowed to my
Maker’s at last, and I have found peace.
But the old feeling is not dead yet; and I
look forward to a distant, golden day, when my
Emily’s little ones, now two thousand miles
way, will leave lather and stepmother to see
Aunt Susan once more, and I have learned to
wait.
[From the Niagara (Canada) Mail.
A Canadian Editor on Jefferson Davis.
Mr. Jefferson Davis, President of the late
Confederate States of America, came to Niagara
last Thursday, on board the Rothsav Castle,
from Toronto. A considerable number of peo
ple were on the wharf to greet the distinguished
exile, whose career as a statesman and ruler
over the Confederate States during their stormy
existence, and whose subsequent captivity and
sufferings at the hands of an ungenerous enemy,
have in turn attracted the admiration and called
forth the sympathy of the world, and of none
more than of the people of Canada.
The hearty and respectful manner in which
Mr. Davi6 was greeted in Niagara, is evidence
that misfortune and the apparent ruin of the
cause so long contended for by Mr. Davis and
the Southern -States, are no bar to tjie expres
sion of the sincere admiration entertained here
for the bravery and resolution with which the
fteuth contended for its rights and all but gain
ed them agahset such overwhelming odds- The
history of that long and memorable struggle is
imprinted in every feature, on the public mind
of Canada, 4*nd excited the keenest feelings of
oar people, who, although observers, only, felt
that their own most vital interests were involv*
ed more or less in the issues of that contest.—
do not philosophize-on this point. The sub
jugation of the South has forced new and greater
responsibilities upon the people of British
America. It has increased our dangers; but it
has had the corresponding effect of rousing up
the national spirit of otir people, to make every
needful sacrifice to maintain our position as the
ondy really free country remaining upon the
seal of North America.
It is a subject of pride to the Canadians that
th&jr can offer she hospitality of their soil and
the shelter of the British flag to so maay wor
thy men who are proscribed and banished from
their homes, for no crime but that which, ac
cording to all American principles, is no crime
at all, viz: to assert the right of every people
to.choose their own form of government, and
to set aside all such as do not exist with the
consent of the people.
Mr. Davis stands in an ualque position. He
is the Fresidect de jure oi the Southern States,
elected by the unanimous vote of the people of
eleven States to preside over them. From that
seat of authority he has been deposed by a
President de facto elected by the Northern
States alone, and who did not receive a single
vote in the Confederacy now subject to his ar
bitrary sway.
Tne North, for the time being, is showing,
a — e fashion of vulgar conquerors, that
, Ri S htwhile the people of
the south, like the once oppressed loyalists of
England, feel in their hearts the spirit if not
the words of the old ditty— *
“To see good eorn upon the ligs,
And a gallows built to bang the Whigs,
on i re * tored where tbe right should be-
Oh I that s the thing would wanton me I”
}}Jf fabled that a gull once opened in the
auddleof the Roman forum, and it could not
be filled up, and would not close, until the
noblest thing of Rome wast cast into it. Quin
tius Curtius leaped into it and it closed. The
gulf that has opened between the Northern and
Southern States, seems-equally yawning and
defiant. Blood, ruin, exile • and oppression
cannot fill it, but widen and deepen it every
day. Justice and generosity might close it in
time, but not until the South can east into that
gulf all the great recollections of the past, and
the North wipe out of its calendar those red
latter days written in blood, in which it glories
so much; is it probable that the Northern and
Southern States will again become one people,
united in those cor.dialbonds of unity, without
which a political connection becomes a danger
and a curse to both parties ? A great country
like the late Confederacy cannot be governed
on such principles as are now in vogue at
Washington. The white English race can never
be permanently subjected to the rule of eman
cipated slaves, without a final catastrophe,
which will end in the extermination of the one
or ot the other nee. The Russianizing of once
free Republics, is a step that even a Muscovite
Czar would .long hesitate to take, under the
circumstances of American society. The late
events at Mobile are the forerunners of fresh
troubles arising from the wild policy of Con
gress. If the North were wise, it would see
that only through Southern men can the South
be successfully ruled, and its prosperity re
stored. If the selfish factions at Washington
will not see this, but intent only on maintain
ing their political supremacy, determined to
rule and rnin, in despite of the rights and feel
ings of the Southern people, both North and
wonth must' ultimately go down under the load
of difficulties, political and financial, which
such a policy entails.
Horace Greeley, in spite of his eccentricities,
is one of the few public men in tbe States who
appear to see this truth. He has shown his
conviction in a marked manner, by becoming
one of the bail of Mr. Davis. Whether the bit
terness of the Northern mind will yield to the
example of Greeley remains to be seeß. We
are taught that “ charity never faileth,” but the
least likely of events is, that the selfish politi
cians now in power will ever dream of letting
any more christiln virtue prevail to the endan
gering of their party supremacy. As President
Lincoln once said: “If Blavery will save the
Uniofi, I will maintain slavery. If emancipa
tion will save the Union, I go for emancipation ;
but tbe preservation of the Union is all in aIL”
What Lincoln was ready to do to save the
Union, his followers are ready to do, and ten
times more not to restore the Union, but to
save their party. The Union is nowhere in
comparison with the retention of power by the
Black Republicans now supreme in Congress.
The infamous charges made by the authorities
at Washington, connecting Mr. Davis’ name
with the death of Lincoln, have all long ago
been exploded as the basest of fabrications.—
But these charges answered their purpose as an
excuse for’prolonging his unjust imprisonment,
until the whole world cried shame upon it, and
the Washington administrators coaid not find
even a colorable plea for Jjis retention.
The indictments for treason preferred against
him, it seems, could never get tbe length of a
trial, and in all probability never will, for there
is no constitutional law of the United States
that could make treason out of the legal and'
national acts of the sovereign States, and of in
dividuals acting in obedience to those Btates,
and no judge in the United States who values
his reputation as a lawyer, would dare declare i
those acts to be legally treason.
The long imprisonment of Mr. Davis seemed
more like revenge than law, while the perjured
villains who gave evidence in Montreal in the
case of St. Alban’s raid, and who brought
charges against Mr. Davis, are some of them at
this moment, in the State prison for perjuries
committed by them, leaving no option to the
Washington authorities but to discharge Mr.
Davis from custody—under bail to be 6ure—
but it is questionable if the case will ever be
again brought up in the courts.
The people of Niagara and of Canada gener
ally, will show respect to his great talent 6 as a
statesman, and will be glad to find that the
freedom he enjoys here shall contribute to the
restoration of his strength and health, appnr
rentl a good deal impaired by the terrible
wear of the last six or seven years ot his lile.
We do not, like a number of our cotempora
ries, profess to know all about Mr. Davis’ move
ments or intentions. Should he remain here,
the people of Niagara would be glad to num
ber him among the residents of our good old
borough aud make his stay as pleasant as pos
sible.
Another Letter from Dave H. Johnson.
We copy from the Griffin Star another letter
from this gentleman. Johnson writes like a
free man, and speaks with no “ bated breath.”
He takes the bark off of “ Uncle Sandy” of the
Union, and we heartily commend the Constitu
tional argument to all in love with Mexican
anarchy:
Griffin, Ga., June 11,1867.
Mm. Editor : If you will allow me space in
your columns, I will prove to the public that
Uncle Sandy has gone off after false gods, and
not me. Uncle Sandy and lat the beginning of
the excitement that ended jn secession, and
brought all onr troubles upon us, planted our
selves on the Constitution and the Union, and
the enforcement of the laws, and under that
banner we supported Bell and Everett for the
Presidency and Yiee-Presidency of the United
States in 1860, and I have not deviated from my
po&ition of 1860 yet, nor do not intend to be
driven or bribed to do so—while I contend,
and intend to prove, that Uncle Sandy has
kicked ont the most important plank in the
platlorm, to-wjt: the Constitution. I asserted
in my letter of the 4th instant, that the Sber
man-Bhellabarger Bill was unconstitutional.
Uncle Sandy denies it, and calls tor the proof.
Now I propose to give it. The 10th amend
ment to the Constitution of the United States,
yon will find, on examination, says: “ The
powers not delegated to the United States by
the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to be
States, are reserved to the States respectively,
or the peopleand if you will examine under
the Ist article and Bth section, you will find all
the powers that the States or the people delegat
ed to Congress, and no where will you
find any power delegated to legislate on
the elective franchise; and Voti find
in the Sherman-Disunion Bill that Con
gress has undertaken to usurp the reserved
rights of the States, and force upon the people
of ten States of this Union universal negro
suffrage, when there is not a State in the Union
that has a voice in the connsels of the nation,
where universal suffrage is allowed, nor that
would nullify any such act. I admit that we
have no power to vesist such insult and ag
gression, but we can maintain our honor and
self-respect by refusing to lick the hand that
smites us ! And again, under the same article
of the Constitution, 9th section, 44th clause,
you find that the Constitution says that “the
privilege of the writ of habeas corpus shall not
be suspended unless when in cases of rebellion
or invasion the public safety may require it.”
And yet you find that power is given by Con
gress, in the Sherman bill, to suspend the great
writ of rights, the only safe guard of the citi
zens’ liberty, and appoint military commissions
for the trial of offenders, while the Constitu-
tion plainly forbids such trials, even in the time
of war t much less in time ot profound peace,
when there is not an armed foe even threaten
ing from any quarter. If you will refer to the
Constitution of the United States, 3d article,
2d section, 70th clause, you will find that trial
for crimes, except In cases of impeachment,
shall be by jury, and shall be held in the State
where the crime was committed.
I think, Mr. Editor, that I have proven that
if Congress had tried, it could not have passed
an act which would have violated this mon
strous Sherman-Shellabarger bill; and if tbe
people of Georgia, through fear of something
worse, stultify themselves by its adoption, they
deserve to be slaves. And how Uncle Sandv can
maintain his reputation’ for honesty and not l
confess judgment, I will leave for the public to I
judge.
Finally, let me warn the people to beware of
the insidious wiles of the Radical element in
their midst, as well as those at a distance, and
do not in the name of the immortal Washing
ton, and bis patriot compeers, be duped into
the support of a measure which effectually re
moves the corner-stone of that Union which
they erected for us by the sacrifice of so much
blood and treasure. The Constitntion is the
corner-stone of the Union, and if we aid to re
move it, from whatever motive, the blood of
our children is on our hands, and this Repub
lic, like our sister Republic, Mexico, left with
out chart or compass, will groan under one
endless revolution—for men born free will
never be contented in slavery. The Sherman
bill is no more nor less than disunion , and he
who advocates its adoption is a disunionist,
and a disgrace to opr revolutionary ancestors.
Days •£. Johnson.
[From the Columbia* (O.) Cn*i*, June 12.
Predictions of an Old Georgian.
Starkville, Ga., May 22,1867.
To the Editors of the Crisis :
Dear Sirs : I stand amid the Beulah flowers
of a green old age. The snows of eighty-six
winters are on my head, and the hand-writing
of time is plainly, deeply, visible in my frail
and wasting frame. I stand nponthe shores
of time, with tbe roar of eternity in my eare.—
Daring the “ bitter little that of life remains ” I
must be up aud doing for those upon whose
shoulders a mantle unworthily, and in weak
ness worn, must soon fall. For twelve years I
have been predicting future events under the
growing consciousness, that—
“ The euneet of life give* me myetical lore.”
In a very few instances, blinded by the film
from whose infioence6 mortal eyes can seldom
be exempt, I have been misled; but these in
stances were very scarce—solitary items in a
great aggregation. And those to whom I have
written will all certify that I have given td them
the benefit of my knoweldge without receiving
or consenting to receive one cent of reward.—
i have often written letters, using my own
stamps. This course has been prompted by a
sense of dnty, and from it I will never deviate.
These remarks are made as preparatory of two
predictions, which I desire to give to the
public :
First, I predict that the year 1868 will be
marked by such a revolution in Europe as has
not occurred since the reformation; and, sec-,
ondly, I predict that the same year will prove
the defeat of the Radical party iu tbe North—a
defeat which the hearts of the people are al
ready thoroughly prepared for. A Democrat
will be the next President, and a Democratic
Congress will succeed the present, and Radi
calism commence a slow decline. If you pre
fer, you can lay this aside to be published when
you witness the truth of the facts predicted. I
have never foreseen so clearly any coming
event that did not transpire. The succession
of the Democracy will not be conceded as
quietly as might be hoped. I cannot write
more now.
Yours, very truly,
Jacob Greenwood. >
VOL. 25. NO. 27
[Fiom the Mobile Advertiser A Register.
Louise Mnhlbach,
It appears to be very hard to get at the pre
cise truth with regard to “ Louise Mufilbacb,”
the author of “ Joseph the Second ” and other
works, which have sprung into general notice
and popularity within a few years past, by
means of translations into English, the first of
which wa6 made by a Mobile lady and issued
to the public by a Mobile publisher during the
iate war. We stated, some time ago, on what
was believed to be good authority, that Muhl
bach was a pseudonym, and that the real name
of the author was Clara Mundt. This state
ment, it Beems, was partly correct and partly
incorrect. Louise Mnhlbach was the lady’s
maiden name. Muhlbach was by marriage con
verted into Muudt, but the substitution of
“ Clara ” for “ Louise ” was altogether unau- •
tborized. The New York Times gives us the
following addltioual information:
“It may interest the constantly increasing
circle of Mre. Mundt’s admirers to know that
she is a widow, her husband, Prof. Theodore
Mundt, of Berlin, having died in 1860. Her first
novel, The Pupil of Nature , was written when
she was but fourteen years of age, and appeared
in 1842. Frederick the Great and his Friends
was published iu 1853, and at once attained a
remarkable popularity, and secured for its tal
ented author a reputation which has since great
ly increased. Altogether, she has produced no
less than twenty of these historic novels, all of
them directly or indirectly devoted to the glo
rification of the power of Prussia. In her ea
gerness to exalt the character of Frederick the
Great, who is the central character of the larger
number of her novels, she undoubtedly glosses
over bis defects while she exaggerates those of
the other actors whom she introduces; but if
the reader understands that he is not to accept
all her conclusions or statements os historically
accurate, Mrs. Mundt’s productions will
good service by exciting a keener in
and thus leading to a more thorough study of
the times at which she gives ’js such vivid
glimpses.”
A Natural Surprise.— The Mac-a-Cheek
Press , Radical as it is, expresses the following
very natural surprise at Mr. Lincoln employing
the recent detective system. It says:
“We never could make ont what the late
and lamented Mr. Lincoln wanted with a detec
tive system at all. From the hoar of his inau
guration np to that of bis death the thieves were
all in office. Excepting Messrs. Chase, Stanton
and Holt, it was impossible almost to lay hat''*
on an official and not touch a man *>-'
by his position. This was e°~ , rtc “
with the moneyed o'” the ease
ae-hast at ' --*ces. Honest men stood
Jz. -**« impunity with which stealing went
All the cries of shame and outrage seemed
unavailing. All opposition was thrown aw xy.
Thieves were turned out to be succeeded by
thieves, and colossal fortunes were made in an
hour. The amiable old President cracked his
jokes over the rascality, and said that in making
his appointments he had to ran his hands into
a sack of fifty snakes to find one eel. Among
the latter acts of the Congress that preceded
his death was an investigation into the cotton
frauds, and out of a great number of permits to
steal it was found that.three-fourtha were signed
by the President.
“We know that any quantity of timid men
will remonstrate at this, as likely to injure our
p» r *- We , “ink differently, »n5 ffrjy
that the only hope we have to hold our Gov
ernment in the hands of loyal men is to expose
rascality and drive out thieves. To remain
silent is to connive at the frauds and protect
rogues. y
The Boston correspondent of the Springfield
Republican tells these stories about Thackeray.
They will be news to most people.
Thackeray was by nature a singularly coarse
man—coarse in thought, and coarse in expres
sion, and those who were intimate with him
often wondered to see how well he simulated
refinement in his books. His first request on
ianding .n this country, on his first visit, was
about the last one that a well-bred gentleman,
would have ventured to make. He was in
Charleston, S. C., in 1856, during “race week”
—the week of the year, in old times. He met,
of course, Mrs. Susan Petigru King, daughter
of James Petigru (famons as the ?nly ifnion
man in South Carolina, and who, by the way“
fnr L C r ed f^ o more lor the Union tba ° he did
Son Jrr-hvf federaey, desiring both and lauding
“J S;. Mrs. King is an author, an intelli
bright, and, not to get too fine a point
upon it, saucy woman. Her train of cavaliers
was always numerous. On being presented
Thackeray, who had been told something of the
lad} s peculiarities, said, “I have heard that you
are a fast woman, Mrs. King.” Without sufer
-of . a ° n °y anc e to appear on her
broad but espiegle face, Mrs. KingTesponded,
I have beeD told that you were a gentle-
A French gentleman, charged with being a
pickpocket, was arrested by the police and a
number of watches, chains, purses, etc., found
in his pockets seemed to confirm the charge.
An inquiry into the matter thus explained it:
It appeared that he had that morning
bought anew hat, which be was assured by the
hatter was the last new English fashion, for an
English 1 milord’ had had a dozen of them made
expressly. Ces Anglais sont si bizarres. The
detective at once guessed that this ‘ milord ’
must be no other than the chief of a band of
pickpockets, who had these hats made for his
comrades in order to. distinguish them in a
crowd. ‘ I see it all,’ said the detective, * one
of these lighJL-fingered gentry has mistaken you
for their comrade, and being in danger, has
passed, according to their habit, the jewels
and purses into 7< ur coat pocket.’ The de
tective was right, for the next day the whole of
the gang was captured at the exhibition, the hat
having offered a clue to their detection.”
A Hebrew Government.— A form of gov
ernment was established in 1864 by the Israel
ites resident in the United Blates, for the pur
pose of guarding the race in America. This
organization has been in regular operation ever
since its establishment, but so exclusively have
its doings been confined to the affairs and cir
cle» ® f those immediately interested, that the
public at large has known very little of its
existence. The business of this government
has now grown so important that the executive
in New York is about to call for loans and is
sue bonds in the name of the Israelitish gov
ernment, bearing seven per cent, interest. This
organization is intended to co-operate with
similar associations in other parts ol the world
the grand object being a furtherance of the
favorite and traditional Jewish idea that the
whole race of Israelites will b« nltimatelv
gathered together in the land of their fore
fathers. Then, they believe, the temple of
Jerusalem will be rebuilt, preparatorv to the
coming of the Messiah to vindicate the truth of
S??-? 6 ! 161 , 10 which the J ews have ad
hered tenaciously for so many centuries. Tne
of Jews scattered abroad
throughout the world is estimated at six mil
lions*
A German has just died who spent nearly the
whole of his life and a considerable fortune in
collecting every edition of “Don Quixote 1 ’
which has been published In Europe since its
first appearance. There were found in his li
brary 400 editions of “Don Quixotte” in the
Spanish language, 168 in French, 800 in Eng
ligh, 87 in Portuguese, 96 la Italian, 70 iu Ger
man, 4 in Russian, 4 in Greek, 8 in Polish, 6
in Danish, 18 in Swedish, and 5 in Latin.