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JOriLN HENRY SEALS, )
L UN COIN VEAZEY, )
NEW SERIES. VOL. I.
WPIMd CRIMEU
PUBLISHED
EXCEPT TWO, IS THE YEAE,
by JOHN H. SEALS.
TERMS
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RATES OF ADVERTISING.
1 square (twelve lines or le*s) first insertion,. .$1 00
Each continuance, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding
six lines, per year, f> 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00
STANDING ADVERTISEMENTS.
1 square, three months, .. 5 00
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2 squares, “ “ . 13 00
8 squares, 11 “ 21 00
4 squares, “ “ .'...25 00
s3§C*Advertisements not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
charged accordingly.
$3P = °Merchant3, Druggists, and others, may con
tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms.
LEG AX ADVERTISEMENTS.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 500
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 325
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 8 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adrn’n. 5 00
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi
anship, 8 25
LEGAL REQUIREMENTS.
Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be
held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the
of ten in the forenoon and three in the after
noon, at the Court House in the County in which the
property is situate. Notices of these sales must be
given in a public gazette forty days previous to the
day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be
given at least ten days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must
be published forty days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court
of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must
be published weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin
istration, monthly , six months —for Dismission from
Guardianship, forty days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four months —for compelling titles
from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has
been given by the deceased, the full space of three
rnonths.
will always bo continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
The Law of Newspapers,
1. Subscribers who do not give express notice to
the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue
their subscription.
2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their
newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them
until all arrearages are paid.
3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their
newspapers from the offices to which they are di
rected, they are held responsible until they have set
tled the bills and ordered thorn discontinued.
4. If subscribers remove to other places without
informing the publishers, and the newspapers are
sent to the former direction, they are held responsi
ble.
5. The Courts have decided that refusing to take
newspapers from the office, or removing and leaving
them uncalled for, is prima facie evidence of inten
tional fraud.
0. The United States Courts have also repeatedly
decided, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform
his duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by
the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per
son to take from the office newspapers addressed to
him, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher
for the subscription price.
JOB PRINTING,
of every description, done with neatness and dispatch,
at this office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All
orders, it) this department, must be addressed to
J. T. BLAIX.
PKOSPECTTS
* OF Tlir
mmm criair, i
!
[qFONDAM]
TEMPERANCE BANNER.
▲ CTUATED by a conscientious desire to further
the cause of Temperance, and experiencing
great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in
space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica
tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals,
we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve
nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of
the fact that there are existing in the minds of a
large poition of the present readers of the Banner
and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties
which can never be removed so long as it retains the
name, we venture also to make a change in that par
ticular It will henceforth be called, “THE TEM
PERANCE CRUSADER.*’
This old pioneer of the Temperance cause is des
tined vet to chronicle the triumph of its principles.
It has stood the test—passed through the “fiery fur
nace ” and, like the “Hebrew children,” re appeared
unscorched. It has survived the nempaperfamine
which has eaused, and is still causing many excel
r|r-■ journals and periodicals to sink, like “bright ex
halations in the evening,” to rise no more, and it has
even heralded the “death struggles of many contem
poraries, laboring for the same great end with itself,
ft “still lives,” and “waxing bolder as it grows older,
is now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In
fero.lLiquorTr.fflc,” Ending like the “High Priest”
of the Israelites, who stood between the people and
Ahe plague that threatened destruction.
* entreat the friends of the Temperance Cause
to give us their influence in extending the usefulness
< of t he paper. Wo intend presenting to the public a
sheet worthy of all attention and a liberal patronage;
for while it is strictly a Temperance Journal, we shall
endeavor to keep its readers posted on all the current
events throughout the country.
iarPrice, .
Editor and Proprietor.
Peaitaki, Da., Deo. Itß#.
lebotcb to Cnnpmntcf, Moralttg, pteratare, (General Intelligence. Betas,
For lh* Temperance Crusader.
A TALE OF PRIDE AND SORROW.
BY EMMIE EMERALD.
“Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh
Your change approaches, w hen all these delights
Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe—
More woe, the more vour taste is now of joy.”
Milton.
“Life is thorny, and youth is vain;
And to 1k v wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness In the brain,
* * * * s
Bi t never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining—-
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder.”
CoLEWIWiF.
It was a lofty, sumptuous apartment,
whoso four walls enclosed many a rare
thing of art 41 ud beauty, wrought by the
hands of the old masters: in every niche
stood a statue of most perfect loveliness;
glorious pictures and glittering mirrors
iooked out from gilded frame*; soft carpet
ing, fresh from oriental looms, lay ou the
floor; and flowers that might have bloom
ed in Staniboul, filled crystal vases, and
made the air redolent, with their fragrant
i perfume; silken sofas, richly carved chairs,
| and embroidered ottoman? were scattered
profusely around, and in the centre was
placed a curiously and'beautifully shaped
table of white marble, bearing on its polish
ed surface, elegantly bound books, a basket
of wrought silver, and other costly toys.—
This room, with its exquisite embellish
ments, was flooded with a golden radiance
that poured through amber drapery, the
satin folds of which shone beneath fleecy
curtains of transparent lace, that, looped
back with the heavier fabric, swept graee
fully over the high windows. Near one
of these, and where the stream of sunny
light fell brightest, sat two persons—a gen
tleman and lady—the former extremely
handsome, and the latter beautiful as an
eastern houri. Iler’s was of that order of
beauty that is rarely seen, save at the balmy
south. She was tall and queen-like in form
and mein, with large and wouderously bril
liant eyes, a low white brow, and cheeks
tinted like the summer rose, if there was
any defect in that fair face, it lived in the
too haughty expression of the arched red
lip, which led one to suppose that the lady
possessed not that sweet humility which
becometh her gentle sex.
The other was a lit companion for that
queenly woman ; he was somewhat a love
the middle height, yet not very tall, and the.
contour of his figure was elegant and grace
ful in the extreme. T e lower part of his
face was much bronzed, as if with travel
and exposure to a tropical sun, while his
forehead was fair and biue-veined as a mai
den’s ; his eyes were of a deep azure, half
veiled by long, curling lashes, which gave to
them that steady, shaded expression so rare
ly seen, and yet so beautiful. It was diffi
cult to read the young man’s character from
the lines of his face, for so many expressions
were blended theio as to render it a hard, if
not impossible task. The broad Shakspea
renn brow, told of a noble intellect and open,
generous nature, while the srnilethat curled
his finely chiseled lips, gave evidence of
pride and a sarcastic humor, but then again
the eyes were soft and pensive, and the pe
culiar cut of the chin denoted a grave, be
nevolent turn of mind. This youthful pair !
were newly wedded, and indeed it was very 1
perceptible that they had not dwelt long j
enough in the troubled vale of matrimony for !
love to put on his deshabille.
Ernest Rivers sat on the same sofa that;
supported the fairy form of his young wife,
reading; but ever and anon he would lift his
eves iroin the page he was perusing to
glance at the portrait of himself that she was
rapidly sketching ; at such times, a grave,
sweet smile would pass across his haughty
lip, and a fond look of Jove come into those
shaded eyes.
•‘Oh Ernest,” exclaimed his companion, as
if with sudden recollection, and throwing
aside, as she spoke, sketch book and pencil.
“Oh Ernest, our favorite play is to be per
formed at the tJieatre to-night; we really
must not miss it.” Ernest laid aside his
book, but ere he could reply the lady con
tinued, “Now Ernest, you must not plead
business as an excuse, for I intend to have
I my own way for once, and you shall go, wil
| ling or not.”
i “Sweet one,” said he, taking her hand and
imprinting a very lover-like kiss on the fair
1 palrn, “I would be only too happy and wil
j ling to obey your behest, if it were in my
! power, but dearest, it is not, for I have an
engagement to meet several gentlemen on
very urgent business this evening, but to
morrow I will be at your service, will not
that do, sweet,” he added, soothingly,
“But the play I wish to see will be per
formed to-night, Ernest,” she said half pet
tishly, “and by Miss L ,too; do, Er
nest, postpone your engagement and go with
mo, will you not,” she continued, ooaxingly.
“That were impossible, dear one,” he re
turned, “for the gentlemen leave the city in
the morning.”
“Well ” commenced Mildred, in a very,
doleful tone, “But oh I” she exclaimed with
a brightning face, “Marian intends going to
night; I will write her a note and request
her to call for me,” and springing up she ap
proached the centre table, and taking from
the wrought basket a delicately tinted sheet
| she seated herself and prepared to write.
I “Mr. Fitzgerald ia not at home,Mildred,”
IWIELD, GA, SATURDAY, MARCH 22, 1856.
remarked her husband, somewhat gravely,
as he watched her movements.
“Yes, I am aware of that, but Marion’s
; brother will be our escort.”
Rivers started, and'an angry frown gath
ered on his brow.
“It is my pleasure, Aiadatn,” he said in a
quite peremptory toffe, “nav, my positive
command that you remain at home, tonight.”
Mildred turned towards him hastily, arffi,
with a haughty look and flashing eyes, “)kio
not receive commands from any, s\xy she
began in a proud, scornful tone, buj, Sudden
ly checking herself, she continued, ait4r a
pause, in a low voice of forced calmness,
“My intention remains unaltered, Mr. Riv
ers.” (
“Very well, Madam;” he spoke calmly,
but his face grew stern and pale as he bent
over the book he held. The lady again re
sumed her pen, but her small white hand
trembled so violently that she dashed it
aside, and ringing the bell, gave the servant
who appeared a verbal message to her Iriend
Mrs. Fitzgerald, and then turned to leave
the room—but on the threshold she paused,
and glanced at her husband—a thousand
recollections of his tenderness and regard
for her trooped up to her heart, but pride,
a most indomitable pride, waved them back,
and whispered in her heeding ear, “He has
no right to dictate thus to you,” and she
passed out.
“All that was grave, and fair, and all that
was neither,” were gathered at the city the
atre. It was a brilliant scene, for bright
beauty lent its witching smile?, and wealth
its jeweled magnificence, and glittering
pomp, to render it so. It was a gay scene,
too, withal; radiant lights were flashing,
joyous music filled the air, and happy smiles
wreathed every face. Among all the fair
beauties who displayed their charms that
night, there was one who slione like a bril
liant star, brighter and lovelier than all oth
ers; she was beautiful, beautiful as a poet’s
dream; her cheek wore the hue of a strange
brilliancy, and a most radiant light gleamed
in her dark eyes, that fascinated like the Si
rens of old.
She was the life of a gay party, her laugh
rang loud and clear, and her voice was glee
some as the wild music of some woodland
bird. Ah, who would have surmised that
those sunny smiles were a bitter mockery,
that those gay words choked down rising
sobs, and that unbidden tears were ready to
spring into those peerless eyes.
Ah, truly, very truly did our noble bard
sing of woman, “there is not a feeling out
of heaven her pride o’ermastereth not.”
Ernest Rivers sat alone in his gorgeously
furnished apartment. The lute he held had
fallen from his grasp and lay on the brilliant
carpet, while he unheedingly plucked the
velvet leaves from a rose that had silently
dropped from the vase beside him. The ex
pression of his countenance was much
changed ; the softening lines had all faded
away, leaving that face stern and strangely
cold. When one by one, he had torn all the
bright leaflets from the flower, he slowly
scattered them around, and watched, half
unconsciously their fluttering descent to the
floor; then, as if wearied of this childish
sport, he turned restlessly in his chair, and
his head drooped on his arm. While he sat
thus, one of the tall mirrors, “clear as’twere
a door of air,” glided noiselessly back, and
his fair voung wife stood within tJie room.
(To be continued.)
For the Temperance Crusader.
EXTRACT FROM A LECTURE ON PHI
LOSOPHY,
Ddi lyrcd in ThommciUc. Get.
BY JOHN M. DYSON.
Respected Audience. —I could not pos
sibly invite your attention, this , evening
to a more interesting theme than Philoso
phy. To the student who loves solitude
and reflection, it possesses many endear
ing Not the flight of more
than twenty centuries, nor the long re gn
of darkness during the middle ages, nor
yet the absorbing utilitarian spirit of mod
ern times, hath sufficed to diminish aught
of its lustre. Originating with the first
efforts of the human mind, to think, and
render to itself an entelligible account of
the causes and relations ot things, it is
nothing less than the very jiedestal of
civilization. Having its birth in the very
adyta of nature, it is not less the language
of reality, than of poesy to call it the child
of the skies, ministering to man in all his
efforts to multiply his power, and extend
his dominion over matter.
Men of business, whose lives are spent
chiefly inaction, sometimes restrict the
signification of the term, Philosophy, with
in too narrow limits. They usually apply
it to th t department ot knowledge alone,
which has for its object the investigation
of the laws of physics; whereas, its ety
mology authorizes a more enlarged import.
It is derived from the two Greek words
phileo and sophia: the former meaning to
love, and the latter, wisdom. Among the
Ancients, it was employed to designate
particularly that science, which ia chiefly
occupied m determining such laws as
govern the operations of thought; but it
has come to be applied indifferently to
natural science, theology, and inctapysics.
Thus we speak of the philosophy of nature,
the philosophy of morals, the philosophy
of mind, and the philosophy of govern
ment ; and with the utmost propriety; for,
though, like the several species of man
kind, each of these scieoes be distinguiaha
ble by |*ecu]iaritb'S of its own, .yet, from
their necessary correlation, they may till
be claaeeduinder a few general principles
which pervade the whole of them. The in
vestigation of these principles we define
to be philosophy. In other words it ia the
science of knowing the truth.
There is a limit imposed on philosophy,
in thatjthe human mind beyond a certain
{xvfnt, is incapable of pursuing further In
vestigations on the same subject. Thus
in respect to heat, we know its sources to
bh the sun, friction, combustion, electric!
ty, magnetism, and the ignition of the in
terior of the earth ; we know that it exists
in all bodies; we can explain the cause of
its conduction, but of its real essence we
know nothing; so with light. Wc know
its prime source to be the sun ; we know
how it is reflected; we can perceive its
agency in the respiration of plants, and
the phenomenon of vision, bnt we are ig
norant of its substantial nature, and can
not toll how it is propagated, whether in
minute particles darting off in right lines,
or in a series ofundulatory motions through
the atmosphere. And who can solve the
problem of the connection between mind
and matter? It will, probably, ever re
main a mystery to man. Other questions
eonld be adduced to show how imperfect
is all our knowledge, how unsatisfactory
to the heaven bom aspirations of the soul.
What though we reason high
“0/ providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute?”
We cannot shut out a sense of the finite;
this is always present, and is the first
pole of philosophy.
But, although it is not given the intel
lectual faculties to comprehend all things,
they may understand something of all that
exist. Both objective and subjective ex
istence, both matter and mind, and even
the attributes of deity, fall under their
cognizance. The sphere of observation
and reason is boundless. The whole uni
verse, throughout the realm of space, is
populous witii creatures varying in size
from tlje smallest atom scarcely percepti
ble through the most powerful microscope
to the mighty planet that wheels with fear
ful velocity in its regular orbit. Whether
we turn our eyes to the canopy of the
blue sky, and behold the myriads of stare
shedding their selectee influence on the
calm stillness of night, or confining our
attention to this terrestrial globe, we con
sider its diurnal and annual motion, its
various phenomena of heat and cold, rain
and snow, electricity and magnetism, the
composition and the decomposition of
substances; whether we descend into the
bowels of earth, and contemplate the geo
logic changes which have been going ou
for ages, or inspecting ourselves, we exam
ine the complicated mechanicians of man;
on all sides, within and around us, abun
dant material may be had for profitable
study and reflection. Behold, on every
hand, what a prodigious multitude and
variety of objects, forces, motions, powers,
fancies, thoughts, feelings, and agencies:
to ignorance what unintelligible jargon 1
Yet, philosophy, in all this discord, is able
to discover harmony ; in disorder, method;
in anomalies, unchanging law ; and in ap
parent confusion, to arrive at the last ana
lysis of the reason of things. It investi
gates, it discusses, it disengages, it collects,
it systematizes principles, and bequatbs
them as the.property of intelligence. Af
ter ascertaining what exists, it is wont to
find out the rational of its existence, and
from the height of this great argument
to view displayed in the bare bosom of crea
tion the perfection of wisdom, even as Mo
ses caught agliuqwe of the divinity from
the mount. Thus does it move towards
infinity, the second pole of philosophy,
To be- exmtinned.
THE HOME OF JEFFERSON.
It was a pleasant afternoon in Novem
ber, when I set out with a party to visit
Montieello, tlie site of the residence and
tomb of the Father of American Democra
cy. After walking leisurely along for two
or three miles, and toiling np the moun
tain, upon the summit of which it is situa
ted, we arrived at the place. The first
object which attracted my attention, was
the family cemetry. By climbing over a
wall ten or twelve feet high, we reached
the inside of the inclosnre-—the confused
and dilapidated appearance of which,
evinced the utmost inattention and neg
lect. Mr. Jefferson’s tombstone is ad
mirably in keeping with the principles
which he advocated when alive. No gild
ed sarcophagus holds his dnst; no impos
ing monument marks the spot where he
sleeps, but a simple block of granite, from
a neighboring bed, is placed over all that
was mortal, of the greatest Statesman
America has ever produced. Upon the
block is his name, the date of his birth,
and of his death. A shaft of the same ma
terial with the block, rises about four feet
above it, and formerly bore the following
inscription: “ Here lies the founder, oj the
University of Virginia , and the originator
of a bill in the General Assembly secunng
religious freedom and This epitaph was en
graved by his own order, but is now by
the ruthless hand of thoughtless visitors,
(who with a penchant for relics not easily
accounted for,) have pecked off the comers
and edges of the letter*, rendered totally
illegible. This is ail that he, who more
than any other, has left his impress upon
our Government, wished to call to remem
brance the deeds he had done, and point
out his resting place to posterity-! And it
is enough, for so long as there is one spot
under Heaven, where the bird of freedoifi
may plume his wing, the memory of Thom
as Jefferson will be cherished; he will be
forgotten only when liberty depreciates,
and patriots are no more. Near him, are
the grave? of his wire, and two daughters,
the whole of his family.
From thence we proceeded to the house,
which is now owned and used as a summer
residence by an officer in the United States
Army. Upon a hand-board, posted in a
conspicuous place, I observed this notice:
“ Montieello is aprivale residence ,* none
admitted except acquaintance# of the pro
prietor f Ido not question a man’s right
to the exclusive control of his own premi
ses, but will leave you to draw the infer
ence concerning the liberality and proprie
ty of posting up such a notice. I did not
choose to take the hint thus delicately
thrown out, but applied to an old woman,
who! learned kept the keys dnring the
absence of the family. She .consented to
show us through the house for 25 cents
apiece. Think ot it? Jefferson’s resi
dence the sul)jeet of such speculation!—
The bnilding contains 18 rooms, and is
upon a style of Princely magnificence. I
passed through the hall, parlor, dining
room, tea room, and various others, and
finally came to the apartment in which
the old hero breathed his last! The bed
stead npon which be died, is still standing
in the room. It was to me a hallowed spot.
I saw a large assortment of natnral curiosi
ties which he bad collected—also several
works of art, among which was a bust of
himself, anoter of Voltaire, various engrav
ings, <fec. But an enumeration of the
articles which I saw to interest me, would
extend this communication to a tedious
length. An.observant person could form
an idea of the man from his home ; every
thing about it is in accordance with his
character. The dormitory built by him
for his negroes, show the care which he
had for their comfort and happiness-—the
pains taken to secure which, is an infalli
ble test of a man’s private character. The
sun was sinking behind the blue ridge as
I turned away. I took another look at his
tomb —gathered some seeds fr<>m a ruse
bush nigh it, and passed on ; and as I
thought over the list of “earth’s great
ones,” I could remember none whose claims
upon immortality were more just. }h B.
FANATICISM OF INTEMPERANCE,
Then- is a. mystery in the actions of men.
The infatuations which rule them, are
strange-unaccountably strange. They will
madly throng the hani-beaten path to the
idol ear whose ponderous wheels have for
ages crushed its millions into the dust.—
The light of the ignis fatuus will attract
them through the miasma of death-falls
with a deadly heat upon the brow. Where
the altars of blood are the reddest, they
crowd and jostle to offer themselves as
fresh victims. With a scornful laugh they
will lift anchor and launch out upon a sea
full of whirlpools, and npon whose wreck
strewn shores there is no haven of safety
or beacon to cheer. No star which ever
cast its light upen earth, has wrought such
ruin as that of ram. Its malign light has
followed man from the cradle to the grave.
Like a sirocco hot from the burning wastes
lof hell and fiercely red with the glare of
ruin, it blast? and withers the holiest and
fairest things of earth. It burst upon an
Eden, and all is a charred and blackened
waste. It falls upon the -nobleman of
earth, and the-Godlike specimen shrinks
ami crisps into a grinning devil. It beams
in upon a heme, and the fires of hell are
kindled npon the broken altars, till even
innocence in the cradle is consumed, and
the ashes of all earth’s hopes are left upon
the desolate hearthstone. Stars of the first
magnitude pale and go down in night nn
der the meteor scath of that lurid orb.
The poet hath said:
“ Faith—fanatic faith once wedded fast
To some dear error, hugs it to the last”
No where in the history of the universe
of God, can there be found such fanaticism
as that exhibited by a Christian people in
clinging to the bloody altars of the rum
traffic. And yet, unlike the heathen bigot,
our people know better. They walk down
to death amid the fresh-sodded graves of
their kindred. Fathers cry out for the
goddess of the Ephesians while npon her
altars the blood of their own children is
freshly smoking! Children stand in the
deep-worn tracks of their fathers and at the
same shrine offer up health, property,
name, body and sonl. Brothers cling to
the fatal cup whose clammy brim is yet
reeking with the kiss of the dead. Reel
ing from broken hearth and neglected
grave, the husband grasps at the ‘‘death
light” which has burned manhood from
his rained soul.
In our native county not long since, we
witnessed this infatuation. One whose
eldest born died in a far off land, and
among strangers from the effects of his
habits, raves like a roadman at the meas
ure which aims to save the youth of our
country. Another, a rumseller and equal
ly as rabid, has three or four sons now
drunkards. And yet another, his lips
whitening with rage at the mention of the
( TERMS: Sl-OO IN ADVANCE.
| JAMES T. BLAIiY
l i*ni M: It.
VOL. XXII.--NUMBEB 11.
Maine Law, has a son who, last autumn,
though a young man of talent, was aeen at
the Five Point mission-house, begging a
sixjmmw And yet again we have seen
editors battling the benificient measure,
and evidences living and dead, appealing
to them for a far different course.
Men are mad. They love to see humani
ty drink, and reel, and die. By word and
ballot they straggle to keep us from closing
forever the floodgates of ruin. The drunk
ards of the land with feebler and feebler
stroke, beating the red waves around them,
throw out their despairing arms in vain.—
The wail breaking from the innocent and
defenceless, is not heard. Rum mnst be
sold—drnnkards be made and killed—and
souls be damned. A worse and more re
finedly devilish than heathen altar, must
be loaded with its human sacrifice.. E <rth
has no spot too sacred or tie too holy —the
future no hope so dear—hut that all must
be offered up that rum may be sold
And yet the friends of the ram traffic
talk about fanaticism! Is there no fanati
cism here? God forgive the fratereidal
band who, with red torch in hand, is seek
ing to kindle consuming fires which shall
leave our land desolate with home and
-heart-wastes, and the future one of hope
less night. —Cayuga Chief.
SYDNEY SMITH ON TEETGTALISM.
Sydney Smith, in spite of his reputation
and habits as a diner-out, gives some very
excellent advice on the subject of temper
ance. In one of his letters, he says, he nev
er knew a gentleman who ate or drank as
little as was good for his health. In the fol
lowing epistle to Lady Holland, he speaks
still more decidedly in favor of abstinence
from all fermented liquors:
My Dear Lady Holland—Many thanks
for your kind anxiety respecting my health.
I not only was never better, but never half
so well. Indeed, I find that. I have been very
ill all my life, without knowing it. Let me
state some of the good arising from abstain
ing from ai! fermented liquors. First, sweet
sleep; having never known what sweet
sleep was—l sleep like a baby or a plow
boy. If I wake, no needless horrors; no
black visions of life: but pleasing hopes and
recollections; Holland House past and to
come ! If I dream, it is not of lions, and ti
gers ; but of Easter dues and tithes. Se
condly, I can take longer walks and make
greater exertions, without fatigue. My un
derstanding is improved, and 1 comprehend
political economy. I see better without
wine and spectacles than when I used both.
Only one evil ensues from it; lam in such
extravagant spirits that I must lose blood,
or look out tor someone who will bore and
depress me. Pray leave off wine—the stom
ach quite at rest; no heartburn, no pain, no
distention.
THE RAINING TREE,
The island of Fierro is one of the most
considerable of the Canaries, and I conceive
the name to be given it upon this account—
that, its soil not affording so much as a drop
of fresh water, seems to be iron, and indeed
there is in this island neither river or rivu
let, nor well nor spring, save that only to
ward the seaside there are some wells, but
they lie at such a distance from the city that
the inhabitants can make no use thereof.—
But the great Preserver and Sustainer of all,
remedies this inconvenience by a way so
extraordinary that man will be forced to sit
down and acknowlege that he gives in this
an undeniable demonstration of his wonder
ful goodness. For in the midst, there is a
tree which is the only one of the kind, inas
much as it has no resemblance to any of
those known to us in Europe. The leaves
of it are long and narrow, and continue in
constant verdure, winter and summer, and
its branches are covered with a cloud,
which is never dispelled, but resolving into
a moisture,'causes to fall from its leaves a
very clear water, and that in such abun
dance that the cisterns which are placed at
the foot of the tree to receive it, are never
empty, but contain enough to supply both
man and beast
MEANNESS DOES NOT FAT.
There is no greater mistake that a busi
ness man can make than to be mean in
his business. Always taking the half cent
for the dollars he has made and is making.
Such a policy is very lunch like the farm
er who sows three pecks of seed where he
ought to have sown five ; and as a recom
pense for the meanness of his soul, only
gets ten when he ought to have got fifteen
bushels of grain.
Every body bas heard of the proverb of
penny wise and pound foolish. A liberal
expenditure in the way of business is al
ways sure to be a capital investment.—
There are people in the world who are
short sighted enough to believe their in
terests can be best promoted by grasping
and clinging to all they can get, and never
letting a cent slip through their fingers.
Asa general thing it will be found, oth
er things being equal, that he who is most
is the most successful in business.
Os course we do not mean it to be infer
red, that a man should be prodigal in his
expenditures; if be is a trader, or those
whom he may be doing any kind of busi
ness with, that in all his “transactions as
well as social relation*, he acknowledges
the everlasting fact there can be no per
manent prosperity in a community where
benflts are not reciprocal.