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About Weekly constitutionalist. (Augusta, Ga.) 185?-1877 | View Entire Issue (July 3, 1867)
£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.
