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VOL. XVIII.
THIS TEMPERANCE BATJNER
IS THE
Ortran of the Sons of Temperance
” AND OF THE
State Convention of Georgia:
PUBLISHED WEEKLY,
BY BENJAMIN BRASTLY.
[' EKM , One Dollar a year,in advance.
Letters must be Post paid, to receiveat
tention.
g Banner Almanack, for 1852. |
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lE.,rr m.,a i, in “f boooralr- % <irnnkar>l who is in
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, T,.hiiwsrm. I 11. When he is at work. C 5
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3 Wheu h'i-< ivt. ? ,3. Hctnre meals. /g
i When heisdrv. ) 14. After meals. X
5 When bis dull. ( .*. When begets op. /
i! h „ iB live'y- ( 16. When he goes to bed.
-Kh tr‘vek ) 17. On holli-lays. . ij
I. Kt is at homo. ( IS. On Public occasion*
9 When he is in company ( 19. On any day. , or *Lr
10. When he is any o.‘c:i>ion ; g
*qr- Every friend to Temperance p
should take the Temperance Banner:O
uif Temperance men will not support x
the Temperance Press, who wjUT
“MORALAND'RELIiiIOUS.
For the Temperance Banner.
The Funeral Bell!
How solemn is tlie sound oi the slow,
tolling bell, which nnnounceth that an
other mortal is cold in death ; that an
other short-lived creature of earth hath
ceased to hope and strive, and fear; aud
that another soul haih gone to witness
the strange tilings of eternity !
It bids us repair to the silent grave
yard, where rest the dead, in undis
turbed repose, to see another added to
she number that sleep in the grave, in
the dreary tomb “where the wicked
cease from troubling, and the weary are
at rest.”
There (low the tears of friendship
and affection. There are breathed the
sighs and groans of the bereaved, ming
ling in nainful harmony, with the low
rumbling clods that fall heavily on the
dead. Profound is the sleep of the
dead; unconscious are their slumbers.
The spring may come, and flowers
bloom, and birds may chant their joy
ful melodies at morn and eve ; summer
may be clothed in greenest verdure, —
the ripening harvest may teem with
golden fruits , and winter may come,
Y*with drifting snows and howling winds,
but all is alike to them that slumber in
the grave.
P. 11. B.
No. 1.
Coma to Je3U3.
Listen, dear fellow-sinner. How kind,
how wonderful an invitation is this !
God speaks, and speaks to thee. The
Father says “come.” The Son says,
“come.” The Holy Spirit says “come.’
The blessed angels echo the cry,
“come.” Many poor sinners who have
accepted the call, join their voice in
the appeal, and say, “come to Jesus.”
This little book unites in the entreaty,
poor sinner, and with all earnestness,
plainness, and affection, implores thee
to ‘‘come to Jesus.”
When he was himself on earth, well
knowing and full of pity for the suffer
ings and sins of men, as he looked round
on the crowd which one day surround
ed him, he tenderly said : “come unto
me, all ye that labor and are heavy la
den and I will give you.rest,” Matt. 11:
28-30. What he said then, he says
JVow. The invitation he gave to the
men of that day, he gives to there my
fellow-sinner: “come untome.” Art
thou not heavy laden with guilt? O
then “come to Jesus,” and thou shalt
find rest.
He promises rest. But far better
’ than rest of body is rest of soul. It is
wretched to boa slave, to groan, bleed,
toil; but far worse to be Satan’s bond- j
man, dragging about an evi! conscience
and an aching heart. Rest from this
cannot be had but by coming to Jesus.
A,nd if we come, he will lighten every
other load. Are you poor? come, and
he will make you rich forever. Are
you sick ? come, and he will cure your
worst disease. Are you sad ? come,
and he will wipe away your tears. —
Are you bereaved ? come, and he will j
he to thee a.brother in adversity, who!
changes not, and never dies. Is sin a
burden ? O then come to Jesus and he j
will take it all away. Do you dread j
the day of death and judgment ? come,
and that day will be the dawn oflife and
glory ! O then come. To be merely
called by such a person, should be
enough to make us glad. Os a strang
er we might say : “Perhaps he intends
me no good ;” of a poor man ; “He
cannot assist me, however ;” of a self
ish richtnan : “Who can expect aught
from him ?” But it a Howard or a
Wilbcrforce said to a mourner, “come,”
lie might feel quite sure some kindness
intended. Now he who invites thee,
sinner, is both able and willing to help, i
He hasclothes for the naked, food for
the hungry, wealth for the poor, eternal
life for all. Ilis word, “come,” is e
nough to make thee glad. A blind beg
gar by the way-side, hearing lie was
passing, cried : “Mercy, mercy !” The
people told him to be quiet; but he
shouted the louder: “Have mercy on
me!” Jesus invited him; and then
some said, as though he might now be
quite sure of a blessing : “Be of good
comfort; rise, lie calleth thee.” They
knew Je.sus never called and then re
: fused ; and so they told him to rejoice.
Sinner, be you of good cheer; the same
Jesus calleth (Are. As the blind man
threw off* his cloak lest it should hind
er him, do you cast off your sins that
would stop you —rush through every
crowd ot difficulties, and, falling at the
i feet of Jesus, say : “Have mercy on
!me ! lam blind, lam lost; save, or 1
j perish.” Are you too great a sinner ?
| The more need to come. Have you a
guilty conscience? With that guilty
| conscience come. Have you a wicked
i heart? With that wicked heart come,
j Have vou nothing with which to pur
chase ids favor? “Without money,’
j come. Rich and poor, masters and
! servants, old and young, white man and
| black, sinners of every class, come.
Note—Read Isa. 55 ; Matt. 8 : 1,-
1 17; 28-30; Matk. 10, 47-52; llev.
22 : 17.
[S electedfor the Banner.
Beautiful Sketch.
I have worshipped blue eyes, and
there is a no radiance so heavenly as
| that which gleams from them. But
black are more bewildering; and when
a shadow of melancholy fulls over the
forhead, it softens their beauty, while it
does not dim them. * * * If you
will go with me now to a glen in the
Highlands, and a willow shaded nook,
i will point out to you the very spot
where, years ago, there stood a rude
bench, on which many times I have
seen the fair girl I write of sitting, and
by which I once saw her kneeling.—
The cottage under the hill is occupied
by strangers, atid its broad hall and
large rooms now ring to the laughter ot
| those that knew not her, whose gentle
spirit haunts their very chambers.
She was beautiful as a dream. Nev
er was holier forehead shaded by raven
tresses; never were tresses so glorious
|as those. If I tell you that I loved Su
i rah D , you will call me an enthusi
| ast, and ascribe my admiration to my
! passion. 1 did love her, but only as a
i boy worships a being very far above
j him. 1 used to lie at her feet on the
j grass, and gaze into her face, and watch
j the play of Iter exquisite features. It
j was th<-re 1 learned first, how higli and
i pure, and worshipful humanity may
! be.
{ She was young and beautiful. What
; need to add that she was loved, for such
ias she lives on affection, and die tor
| lack of it! Her father devoted his foi
| tune and his life to her; and she was
! heiress to a large estate. As might be
| expected, she had numberless suitors of
| every rank and variety. 1 cannot now
! remember all ot them, although i kept
j the run of them tolerably well. But
j of all there were only two that appear
|ed to have any prospect of success ;
; and the village gossips were occupied
in discuissing their relative chances.
Frank R was the gayest, best
hearted fellow in the world, and had
I you seen him on his horse by the side
of Sarah D , you would have said
that he has made for her ; so wild was
his laugh, and so joyous her response.
Yet, had you been behind the closed
shutter of the window in front of the
large white house on the hill, as they
rode by, and had you there watched the
compressed lip, the broad, calm fore
head, the pale face and the speaking eye
of Joseph S ,as he saw them pass
ing, you would have prayed that that
fair girl might belong to that noble man,
even as I, a boy, then prayed.
God has answered my prayers.—;
When the long way was travelled over,
and the rugged and difficult steepsur
mounted—when her fairy foot was
pressed on the r ck at the summit of the
hill oflife, and her eyes gazed into the
deep blue sky, with a longing gaze,
there, even there, beyond the blue, his
outstretched arms.received her, ar.d his
embrace was heaven !
Go preach to blocks and stones, ye <
who believe that love is of the clay !
Go preach to the dead, yo who deny 1 1
PENFIELD, GA. MARCH 20, 1852.
the immortality of the affections. Go I
reason with trees, or images of wood,
or with your own motionless, lifeless, I
icy souls, ye who believe that, because
there is no marrying yonder, there shall j
be no embracing, or because, we may
not use the general words “my wife,”
we may not clasp these snnctified forms
into our own holy arms! I tell you,
man, that immortality would be a glo
rious cheat, if with our clay died all
our first affections. I tell you, that an
nihilation would be heaven, if I be
lieved that when my head at length
rests on its confined pillow, and my lips
sink to the silence and repose of death,
i these loving eyes will never look into’
mine again, this pure clasp I
around my neck, this holy caress ne- !
ver bless me more!
But see how I hasten in advance of
my story. And yet, like Canning’s
knife-grinder, I remember now that I
have a story to tell, or at best it is a sim
ple story.
She loved Joe. His calm and earn
est way of loving her, won her whole
soul. He did not say much in her com
pany, nor of her; but when they were
alone, or only some of ihe children near,
his voice would be musical, and she sat
entranced with his eloquence. I have
seen them seated on a bench by the
side of the stream, and have heard him
lead her gentle soul, step by step, with
him from earth to stars, and then from
star to star, until she seemed to be in
heaven with him, and listening to the
praises of the angels.
I am unable to tell how it happened
Joseph S left his profession (which
had been the law) and entered the min
istry; nor am 1 able to state, though I
might guess at the cause operating in
his own mind. The father of Sarah
D was not a religious man, and I
am sorry to say, was one of the small
classes of men who not onlv deny the
truths of our most holy creed, but take
every opportunity to cast ridicule on its
teachers. It was, therefore, with great
pain that his daughter observed his
coldness and rudenes to Joseph S ,
and was not surprised, however much
she was grieved, when an open rupture
rendered the suspension of his visits at
the house absolutely necessary.
They had never spoken ot love.—
Each knew the secret of the other’s af
fection, and what need of words to tell
it? It would have been but a repetition
of hacknied phrases. And yet there
is no music in the world so sweet as
those three words: “I love you,” from
the lips we love to kiss. But the father
of our gentle friend had feared the ex
istence of bond between them, and per
emptorily required his daughter to break
if it did exist.
She replied to hkn, relating the simple
truth, and he desired her to refuse
thenceforward to see or speak to Jo
seph.
A month of deeper pain than can
| well be imagined, succeeded this com
mand, during which they did not meet.
It was on a moonlight night in Au
gust that she walked out with me, (then
a boy, three years her junior) and sat
on the bench by the side of the stream.
The air was clear, the sky serene, and
no sound disturbed, but the soft voice
of the wind among the tree tops made a
pleasant music, and we listened and
were silent. The stillness was broken
by the voice of Joseph S .
You will pardon me it I pass over
that scene. I dare not attempt a de
scription of it. It was my first lesson
in human suffering, and though I have
learned it over and over since then,
though the iron has entered my soul,
and seared and scarred it, yet I have
never seen, and I do not believe I have
ever felt, more agony than those two
felt, as they parted that night to meet
no more on earth.
He bowed his lips to her forehead,
and murmured the solemn word, “for- i
ever.” She woke at this word, and I
exclaimed with startling vehemence—
“No, no, there is no such word Joe.”
“We shall not meet again on earth,
my gentle one-”
“And what is earth?” Her tall form
grew more queenly, and her dark eje
flashed divinely, as she rose and ex
claimed in clear and silvery tones,
“and what is earth? These things must
end. I will name a tryst dear Joe, and 1
you shall keep it. If you pass first in-1
to the other land, wait for me on the’
bank, and if I go hence before you, I j
will linger on the other shore until you 1
come. VVill you remember?”
“I will live and diein this memory.”
She lifted her face to his, and her
arms to his neck, and they clung to
gether in a long and passionate em
brace. Their lips did not separate, but
were pressed close together, until he
felt her form cold, and her clasp re
laxed, and he laid her gently down on
the old seat, bowed over her a moment
in prayer, and was gone. I heard him
say, “Take care of her, W and:
so I strove to recall the life that had
left her lips, and cheeks, and eyes. It
came slowly, and she awoke as we
wake in the morning after death has 1
entered our charmed circle, with an op.’
pression on the brain, and a swimming,
swollen, senselessness of soul.
At length she remembered all; and
raised herself with a half-articulated
exclamation of agony, broken by a sob;
and then fell on her knees by the bench
and buried her face in her hands, and
remained thus for nearly an hour.
When she arose, her face was as the
face of an angel. It were that same ex- j
ailed look until she died.
I think she took cold that night; she
was never well afterwards, and the next!
winter she passed at the South, return
in:,: in the spring very fragile, but very I
beautiful.
i Joseph S was sent abroad by
I one of the Boards of Missions of the.
Church, but his health failed, and he’
resigned his commission, while he trav-;
eled through the Eastern world.
Three yenrs fled with their usual j
swiftness. To Sarah D , they were
very slow and painful years, yet 1 she
was happy in her quiet way, and no
one dreamed of the strange tryst she
was longing to keep on the other side
of the dark river which men so shrink
from. She grew feeble daily as the
summer and autumn advanced, and in
December she was evidently dying.
One day her mother had been out of
the house, perhaps making calls; she
returned at evening, and among other in
cidents of news which she had learned,
| she mentioned to Sarah the death of her
! old friend Joseph S .
The fair girl was reclining in a large
arm chair looking out through the
closed window, at the snow on the
ground, and the pure moonlight which
silvered it. There was no startling
emotion visible as her mother mention
ed the fact, which to her was the most
solemn yet most joyful news the world
could give ; for now, how much nearer
was their meeting! I saw a smile
flash across her face as the joyful news
reached her ear. I saw her forehead
raised to receive the caress which I
knew she felt. She was silent for ma
ny minutes, ar.d then spoke in feeble,
yet very musical accents, and I boyish
ly wept aloud. Then she smiled, and
looked at me with finger upraised, and
said :
“ Wait a little while longer dear
XV
And then after a moment, she said,
“Mother is ihe snow very deep ?”
“Not very, dear; why do you ask ?”
“Because, if it were dpep, I thought
it would be difficult tor old Mr. Smith
to find our lot in the grave-yard. Are
all the head-stones covered, mother?”
“What is the matter, Sarah? What
if they are covered?”
“Mother, dear, i, is useles to conceal
it from ourselves, or from one another.
You know, and I quite as well, that 1
am dying. I have not wished to live,
only for one thing I did long for life,
and I dreaded to meet death alone ! But
now I shall riot. W. will tell you
what I mean’ when I am gone. Yes,
! gone, dear mother: I shall not be here
j any longer. This chair will stand
! here, and father and jou will rise and
walk about, and visit, and go in and
out, and sleep and wake again, and so
on, day after day, and I shall have no
part any longer in your cares and joys,
dear mother.” And she uttered the
! last two words, she put her arms around
1 her mother’s neck, and kissed her fond
-1 ly, and sank back into her chair again.
I sat at her feet watching her mateb-
I less features. A smile was flitting
! across them, now there, now gone, yet
each time it appeared it lingered longer
than before, until it became fixed, and
so holy, so very holy, that I grew be
wildered as I gazed, and a strange tre
mor passed through my body-
The breath of peace was fanning her
glorious cheek! Her head was bowed
a very little forward, and a tress, esca
ping from its bond, fell by the side of
her pure white temple, and close to her
opened lips. It hung there motionless.
No breath disturbed its repose! She
slept as nn angel might sleep, having :
accomplishen the mission of her God.
Life and Romance in Mexico.
A letter from Henry C. Pratt, of
Boston, who has been travelling in com
pany with the Commissioners for sur
veying the boundary between the Uni
’ ted States and Mexico, is published in |
| the Boston Courier. We extract the;
; following:
We arrived last night (Sept. 19, 18-
‘51,) st the ruined Ranehe, from which
this letter is dated. This morning ear.
ly, we discovered two Mexican couri-,
ers, coming on a trot on foot, over the
hills towards our camp. They proved
to be messengers from General Conde.
They brought a letter from him. sta
ting that after eight days’ march he
had reached Santa Crux, and smt these
: men to look after the main body of his
party and us. The couriers say they
saw Mr. Thurber and John Pratt, and ‘
avoided them, thinking they were In-’
dians, at the time they were within a t
few miles of Santa Cruz —that the said t
town is a day’s journey from this: 1
place, and they guide us to it, and that : c
there we can get plenty of flour and 1 5
meat. This is good news, as our sup
ply is nearly exhausted of flour, and for
a few days we have been on what is
called “half rations.” We are now
waiting the return of some men sent to
our camp on the San Pedro, for some
provisions. When they return we shall
start for Santa Ciuz, at which place 1
shall finish my letter. After we get
provisions we shall return to the San
Pedo, which empties into the Gila, and
go at once to the latter river, and com
mence the survey. As soon as 1 had!
unsaddled my mule last evening, 1
went to the brook nearby, and with
John’s assistance caught a fine string of
small fish for supper, (or rather dinner)
as we had eaten nothing but a few pric
kly pears since morning. This morn
ing caught thirty-two fish. We also
found here, as almost everywhere on
our route, the weed pursly, which we
took for greens. Yesterday, on our
way, we saw a large herd of antelopes,
but could not get near them. Some of
our party gave chase to a large ani
mal, at first supposed to be a bear, but
it turn out to be a wolf with ears litre a
mule.
The life we lead in this undertaking
is full of adventure, and if we get our
supplies of provisions, so as not to fear
a short allowance, we shall enjoy it
much. We go out alone anywhere,
without any fear of the Indians. So
long as the weather remains warm this
camp life is pleasant. There is a clear
brook running by our tent, and be
neath the shade of trees, under which I
found a supply of nuts. We have now
plenty of mutton and bread; as to but
ter and such delicacies, I have almost
forgotten their use. If we get bread
and meat we are satisfied.
Sept. 23. We came last evening, ]
about five o’clock, in sight of the tallest;
corn that I ever saw; some of it was!
sixteen feet high. It was on a piece
of rich alluvial land, irrigated from a
small stream running through it.
I will now speak of Inez Gonzalez,
whom I have previously mentioned.
About a year ago a Mexican girl of
wealthy family, was travelling with a
female relative and a guard of ten sold
iers through some part of Mexico. They
were attacked by a strong party of Ap
ache Indians, and some of the soldiers
were killed. The females were cap
tured. The older one soon escaped,
but the girl remained captive for some
time. Her father raised a large troop
of soldiers and went in pursuit of her.
He came upon the Indians and fought
a battle, but as neither party was victo
rious. he offered a high rasom for his
daughter. The Indians refused to give
her up, and sold her to a party of Mexi
can traders, who were carrying her in
to the interior to sell as a slave, when
Mr. Bartlett, hearing of them, sent a
party of soldiers to take her. They
succeeded, and we are escorting her to
her home. Captain Cremony has made
a side-saddle for her and a sun-bonnet.
After travelling along by the tall
corn field for half a mile, we met a par-!
ty of Mexicans, among whom was ala- j
dy iiding on the same horse with an el- j
derly gentleman; the lady clasped in!
the arms of her cavalier, and sitting in
front, as I have often seen the Mexicans
ride at El Paso. This lady proved to
bo the mother oi Inez Gonzalez, and had
come with some of her frsends to meet
the returning captive. Their meeting
was truly affecting. “Mi querida ! mi
querida !” was the cry. A mile far
ther we came in sight of the town.—
When we came near the walls, the la
dies alighted, as did most of the party,
and walked into the place, and went
first to the church. The bells were
rung in honor of our arrival, and some
special ceremonies were enacted on the
occasion.
A Village Swept Away—One Hun
dred Persons Missing.
Lf.eds, Feb. 5.—A terrible calamity
hus just occurred at Ilolmfirth, a large
manufacturing village a few miles from
Huddersfield. Several of the factories in
! the place are supplied with water from
: roserviors in the elevated part of the
locality. The rain during the past
I few days has fallen heavily, and Caused
! such an extraordinary pressure of wa
iter, that Bilbery reservior gave way,
| and at two o’clock this morning burst
! its banks, and caused most appalling
I devastation and loss oflife. The im
mense body of water rushed with fear,
ful force impetuously upon the village,
and swept away, in its resistless course,
whole rows of houses, hurrying the
sleeping inmates into eternity. At the
moment it is impossible to give an ade
quate detail of the catastrophe.
No*, only houses, but warehouses and
mills were swept away in the mighty
rush ofwater, and streets were block
ed up with the v.-recks 0 f buildings,
wool, casks of oil, the bodies of the dead,
&c. By 4 o’clock in the morning the
water had so far subsided that prepara- ,
lions were commenced for recovering ]
the dead, and at 7 o’clock, A. M., 60 (
lifeless bodies had been taken up. In (
me row of houses swept down there were
>4 persons. ‘
The Great Agitation.
At no period since the commence
ment of the Temperance reformation*
has the agitation of the public mind been
greater, or attended both with deeper
solemnity and higher enthusiasm than
at the present moment. And the rea
son is, that things have assumed a
sober aspect, effecting vast interests In
the community and promising to the la
borers in the cause the most important
result. A shamfight in time of peace,
on some great military gathering, is a
very exciting and pleasing exhibition;
I but very different emotions arise in the
breast when there comes the tug of
, war and words and bullets do their work
|of death. Through many a weary
’ year wo have toiled to rear a sentiment
!of condemnation against the vile liquor
| traffic and we have gone up to our leg
islatures asking them so to remodel our
laws, that we and our children might
have protection from its ravages; but
| never till now has the vender dreamed
of our success or been startled by the
thought that his occupation would slip
! from under him and he be compelled
; to resort to some other means of sup
port for himself and his family. Tha
i Maine law has come upon supporters of
intemperance like a thunderbolt. Th
Legislature of a great State have said
to the vender, “Thou shalt not pursua
this vocation which murders men In
their prime, and fills the land with
mourning.” Other States see the bles
sed result: —Peace and quietness reign
ing:—Jails and penetentiaries almost
tenantless; and they are exclaiming,
cannot we have the same legislation,
and sit do ton under the shadow of th*
same vine. No wonder, burdened with
taxation, horrified by crime, amid the
corpses of murdered fathers and sons,
they are inspired with hope. No won.
tier the liquor dealer is filled with oon-
I sternation.
I Were a demon loose from the bottom
less pit, burning with rancor toward the
Godofthe Universe, and with power
Ito vent his malignity upon some favor
j ite province by the small-pox or cholera,
! which should torment a destroy thous
j and before their time, and should the
suffering beings in one part of the pro*,
vince make a discovery which would
forever prevent the infliction of these
torments, wc can easily conceive with
what hope men in other and distant part*
of the province would receive the news,
and with what rancor and bitterness, and
rage, as he sat in his den, or walked up
and down in the earth, he would con>-
template the deliverance. So is it pow
in the scence before us ? Never have
good men been so satisfied ns they now
are, that it is in the power of the civil
government to bring intemperance to an
j end, and without doing injuay to any
| individual. In 1824, Chief Justic*
Daggett, a man of rare discernment,
I said, it would never cofne loan end un
hit the trallic in ardent spirits was clas
hed with counterfeiting and piracy.—
j But even he presaged that it ever would 1
| be. What ought to be, men have de
| spaired of witnessing in the depravity of
I society. But God is on the throne,and’
the wheels, of his piovidence are roll
, ing onward, and (ho thrones of iniquity,’
I established by law, are tumbling, and
| the voice of jubilee ascends from many
a down-trodiien and despairing spirit.
It is not the voice of fanaticism that
from one end of our country to the oth
er shouts deliverance ; hut it is the
voice of sound Christian philanthropy
and true patriotism. The men who de
cry the Maine law, decry the sober
judgment of the most enlightened part’
of this great nation, while the hostile
forces are instigated only by avarice or
diabolical sensualism. Some, indeed;
of the party profess a profound and ar
dent attachment to temperance, and
fear its overthrow by so stringent an
enactment. Kind friends! The cause
of temperance will trust the measure.
Where, sho asks, as she sits triumph
ant on the Capitol of Maine, where am
l now here, or ever shall be a sufferer?
i Others full of patriotism, tremble for
1 the agriculture and commence of the
: country, as if the interests of commerce
and agriculture were to be putin com
petition with the interests of men, or
could be promoted Ly that which saps the
very foundation of human well-be ing
We trust the agitation will roll onward,
until it works out the dcliveranoe of
the nation. Rhode Island may hope to
give it a quietus by a rejection of the
Maine law. The politicians at Albany,,
and Harrisburg, and Columbus, and In.
dtauapolis, may expect to do the same.
But such a dicision of power and craft
aguinst humanity, will only increase
rather than diminishit, and the voice
of the people at the ballot-box will be
as the sound of mighty thundering*,
saying, it shall he done ! Wo believe
the hearts of the wise and the good 1
throughout this nation are now on this
great subject as the heart of one man,
and that, with God’s weapon in their
hand for the overthrow of the monster
of iniquity, they will rest not till it shall
devour no more forever. —Journal o(
the Amer. Temp. Union.
NO. 12.