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For the Temperance Crusader.
TO MISS &***.
Dearest, tempt nic not to love again,
There was a time when love was sweet—
Had I but known thee then,
Our souls had not been slow to meet.
But oh! this weary heart hath run,
So many a time the rounds 01 pain ;
Not e’en for thee, thou lonely one.
Would I endure such pains again.
Oh! thou shalt be all to me,
That heart can feel, or tongue can feign,
I’ll praise, admire, end worship thee;
But must not, dare not, love again.
In pleasure’s dream or sorrow’s hour,
In crowded hall or lonely bower,
The business of my soul shall be,
Forever, to remember thee.
OSCAR.
Magnolia Grove, May 12th, 1850.
—. •
For the Temperance Crusader.
A SKETCH.
BY “SETH SINCLAIR.”
She told me, “she loved me”—l took her
hand in mine and placed it next my heart.
Upon her ruby lips I imprinted a kiss ofgra
titude, and a kiss of passion, and as I press
ed her heaving bosom to mine own, I drop
ped a tear of true love, upon her streaming
curls, which gently floated in the zephyrs
of Heaven. The tears burst from my eyes
as I beheld her bosom heaving with a sigh.
Why did she sigh ? Was I not worthy of
her love ? Time, time can only tell. Oft
did I try to dispel the gloomy shades which
o’ershadowed her heart, and overwhelmed
it with sighs; but I could not. I knew she
loved me, fondly, with an affection as pure
as the waters of Heaven, distilled by the
hands of an angel. She tried to conceal
her mental agony from me, yet a sigh would
burst from the Herculean grasp, of her
heart’s prison cell, and waft itself on the
despairing pinions of sorrow, to my ear; but
I heeded them not, I knew not, I cared not,
from whence they came. At length the
wedding day arrived. I ever shall remem
ber that eve—’twas an awful one. The
thunders roared and the lightnings flashed :
the fields and forests quaked with the ele
mental roar, as the groaning thunders burst
from their empyrean homes, and died away
on the roaring winds. There was no one
present, save the minister and her aged
mother, whose tottering steps too plainly
told, her race was almost iun. I took that
hand, whose touch had, so often before,
sent electric thrills of joy to my heart, and
stirred up the deepest emotion within my
oreast —I took it, in mine, and before high
heaven, promised “to honor, to love, and to
cherish” her forever. We knelt, and her
aged mother prayed for, the “Father of
Mercy” to give me power to keep my pro
mise, and save me. from the darkening and
damning influences of intemperance, to
which I was so addicted. To them I made
the promise, “I would never touch a drop,”
Months Tolled by, never, never before had
I experienced true happiness. There was
nothing to disturb the quiescent peaceful
ness, that reigned supreme in our lovely
cottage. How oft while listening the me
lodious strains of her lovely voice, as it gen
tly rose from note to note, and then died
away, with a gentle quiver did I imagine
myself, wandering in the Elysian fields of
old. This part of my life, seems as a green
spot, in the island of the past, where my
memory lingers with “a sweetly pensive
pleasure.” The rest my pen almost fails
to write.
At this time the horizon of the political
world was being darkened, by the two
great political parties of the nation, mo
ving in solid phalanx to the arena of public
strife. Brought up in a “political age,” I
did not hesitate to join one of the parties,
and march beneath its banner, to the “bal
lot box.” The election day came—l star
ted for the “polls”—my wife cast a wistful
glance towards me, as I passed her side and
bid her “good-bye.” I knew not the cause
of such a look. When I reached the polls,
the excitement was great; three times was
I asked to partake, but I refused; but at
length, overcome by the entreaties of those
who professed to he friends, I joined in a so
cial glass. Ihe effect was instantaneous, it
flew like wildfire to my head. From that
time, I was perfectly unconscious, until I
•awoke and found myself in a dungeon. Oh,
God what bitter and despairing thoughts,
then harrowed up my mind, and sheathed
the fiery darts of remorse in my aching
heart. Willingly would I have given all
my possessions, to have been beside my
lovely wife, but for a moment, to have ask
ed her forgiveness. Then did I know, wliat
meant the agonizing and wistful glance she
gave me, when we parted. The silvery
lustre of the moon, as it shone through the
grated windows, seemed to disclose her to
my view. Her image was painted on the
very walls of my cell, and methought I heard
her voice, crying out in a revenging shriek,
“Oh, perjured man.” I tried to shake loose
the iron fetters ot memoiy, which hound
me, but no, no. Fate turned herhoarv head,
as she proclaimed, “the sin was great, and
so must he the retribution.” Overcome by
mental agony and physical exertions, lat
length sank into a disturbed sleep. I did
not awake, until the sun was rising, like a
cloud of incense from the dewy earth, and
dispelling the morning mist, with its glitter
ing rays. Then the scenes through which
1 had passed the day before, vividly flashed
-before my nnnd. I remembered a quarrel
with a dear friend, and—oh, God! I was a
murderer. Here is one link in the chain of
life, which, would to heaven, could be sun
dered and severed from my existence.
I will not recur to the trial, where my
weeping wife sat, the tears streaming from
her eyes, as she beheld me, her recreant
husband. Where the lovely bride and the
prattling boy, of my victim, sat alone , con
fronting me with the meagre gaze of pov
erty. I had torn from them their only sup
port, around whose manly form, they once
clung with a grasp, as tender as that of an
ivy around a giant oak. The jury found
me guilty of manslaughter, and I was sen
tenced to ten years imprisonment. I said
nothing, for I knew it was just. I will not
bring before your gaze my wife, as she clasp
ed her arms around my neck, perhaps for the
last time, and bade me one ‘long but sad fare
well.” I will not bring before your gaze
;hat aged mother, who as it were, with one
oot in the grave, asked Heaven to protect <
that daughter, whom my crime had made
“a lonely widow.” I will not bring before
vour gaze, the dismal cell, the iron doors,
the massive hinges, the clanking chains, and
the bitter memories, which were my com
panions, during my imprisonment; but will
quietly pass them by, as a scene at which
my heart sickens, and my blood curdles.
The march of Time was onward and on
ward still. At length the term of my im
prisonment expired, and I hastened to my
once happy home. The sun was just sink
ing away in the far distant west, and red
denning the skies with its departing glory,
as I approached my cottage home. I en
tered the threshold, but lo! wliat means that
gentle moan of agonizing pain. The door
of my wife’s chamber was slightly ajar, the
curtains were parted, and there laying, like
a weeping Niobe, I beheld her. Her bosom
heaved with a convulsive throb, as the low
moan broke from her aching heart, through
her pallid lips. I iwldly rushed to her bed
side, fell upon my knees and asked her for
giveness ; hut she was unconscious. I
stooped and kissed her pensive brow. As I
did this, her languid eves opened. She
muttered my name, raised her arms to hea
ven, gave a gentle sigh, and all was past.
The next day was the funeral. There
was no sun to cast its sparkling rays around
her grave, but the sun of Day, like the sun
of Hope, had fled, and all nature was cloth
ed in a despairing garb I saw the sombre
waving plumes, as the hearse moved slowly
on before me—l saw the grave opened at
my feet. The sighing winds seemed to
moan a peaceful requiem, as they whistled
through the tall, moving grass. The coffin
was opened that “eyes might look their
last” —I approached it, gazed a moment up
on her pensive brow, and then withdrew to
find reliefin “woman’s only refuge,” tears.
It was lowered into the ground—l heard
the hollow reverberations of the coffin, as
the clods struck it—l heard the minister,
upon whose head, the hoary frost of many
winters had descended, and who a few
years before, had joined our hands together
in the holy bonds of Hymen, perform the
“sacred rites” of burial—l saw the little
mound, raised beside that of her mother,
who had preceded her, but a few months.
I knelt, between them, asked the forgiveness
of Heaven, commended my criminal soul to
God, and then returned to my home. But
alas! for me, there was one seat vacant, one
voice hushed in the silent sleep of death.
No sound could be heard, save, ever and
anon, the howl of some- faithful cur, moan
ing a sad and despairing requiem for the
lost one. Night came on, and oh, God what
a night ofdark despair, anguish and sorrow.
***# # # #
Years now have passed away since her
death, but from that time until this, “I have
never tasted a drop” of intoxicating drink.
That night ot despair, was the turning point
of my life; but alas ! alas ! how late it was.
Before that time, I had purjured myself, for
I had not protected, honored, and cherished
lfer as I should. I had sent her down in
sorrow to a premature grave, the victim of
my intemperance. I had cast a poor, de
fenceless woman, and a fatherless child,
adrift upon the cold charities of the world,
without a place to lay their sorrowing hearts
down to rest. I had made a lovely bride a
widow, and a prattling hoy fatherless. Hea
ven forgive me—and lastly, 1 had plunged
into the sea of crime and sin, and met my
hard, but just, fate—a prison cell. Oh, that
I had seen the error of my ways sooner, and
turned away from the certain road to ruin,
infamy and disgrace, Intemperance. Oh,
that 1 had fled from it as from the hissing of
a serpent. But let my fate, warn others of
the rocks of intemperance and disgrace,
which project their jagged peaks, on every
path of life. Man, fly from it, with light
ning speed. Let not its Gordian links en
twine themselves around you. Let not the
eternal stigma of sinking into a drunkard’s
grave, when you are dead, be upon your
memory. Shake loose the manacles of hab
it, shun the hydra-monster and march for
ever beneath that fluttering banner, whose
motto is, “Love, Purity and Fidelity,” or
“Humanity, Temperance and Charity.” It
will cause a bright halo of joy and happiness
to encircle your otherwise pensive brow,
in this life, and at last, when you come to
die, it will point your spirit to its God, and
give you power to scale the altitudes of eter
nal happiness, exultingly wave the. “flag of
destiny” in the breezes of heaven, and with
a cry of joyous rapture, sink peacefully,
calmly, and gently away in the bosom of
heaven.
Emory College,.May 14th, 185 G.
For the Temperance Crusader.
HISTORY.
The desire to discover something hitherto
unknown, either by research, or inquiry, is
one of the-strongest principles of human na
ture. Throughout the successive stages of
life, it seeks with avidity after those gratifi
cations which are congenial with the differ
ent faculties of the mind. The love of fame
and a desire to communicate information
have induced the ambitious in almost every
age and country to leave behind them some
memorial of their existence. In this man
ner the curiosity of mankind has secured for
itself by methods, first rude and incom
plete, but in after times, by records more
improved -its favorite enjoyment. Hislo
lias been styled “the evidence of time—
tie ightof truth—the depository of events.”
, ls ? culated to show the principles upon
ac 1 tate f‘ and Empires have risen to
T the errors h y which thev have
*?. deca y, and to point out the iiita'l es-
It sho^ld^hl' 106 !? u<ls and civd commotion.
Wished nav f eall T h ° have acled distin
fo apnea? in SE?” 16 theiUr ® ot ’ the world,
as models to be fol?o$!fd eill ? r
shunned. Nothing isbetTe^Sfeed m
enlarge and refine the faculties of the so m
than a survey of the conduct of maJkiJd
History supplies us with a detail of facts and
submits them to our examination before we
are called into active life. By observation
and reflection upon others we early begin
an acquaintance with human nature, extend
our views of the world and a**e enabled to
acquire such a habit of discernment and cor
rectness of judgment as others acquire on
ly by experience. Experience and a knowl
edge of History afford mutual assistance;
without which no one can add to tlte natu
ral resources ot his own mind a knowledge
of those precepts and examples which have
been instrumental in forming the character
and promoting the glory of illustrious men
in all ages. History contributes to free us
ol rftany unreasonable prejudices by enlarg
ing our acquaintance with the world. It
rectifies our opinions with respect to ancient
and modern times and thus enables ns to
form a just estimate of mankind in all ages
as well as in all countries. It likewise tends
to strengthen our abhorrence of vice and
creates a relish for true greatness and glory.
History is also the foundation upon which
is built the true science of government. It
is the proper school for politicians and leg
islators. In the records of various nations
they may observe by wliat means national
happiness has been successfully pursued and
public liberty firmly established, in what
manner laws have answered the ends for
which they were instituted, and from such
observations they may draw conclusions as
to the most advantageous me! hod of regula
ting the affairs of their own country. The
vicissitudes of fortune so often recorded in
the annals of History serve to convince us
of the “mutability of all human greatness
and the precariousness of all human gran
deur.” Z.
THE GLASS RAF ROAD.
“There was a moral in that dream.”
Ihe ‘Milford Bard,’ during one of his fits
of mania a potu, said.
“It seemed to me, us though i had been
suddenly aroused from my slumbers. 1
looked around and found myself in the cen
tre of a gay crowd. The first sensation I
experienced was that of being borne with a
peculiar, gentle motion. I looked around,
and found that J was in a long train of cars,
which were gliding over a railway ; and
seemed to he many miles in length. It was
composed of many cars. Every car, open
ed at, the top, was filled with men and wo
men, all gaily dressed, al! happy, all laugh
ing, talking, and singing. The particularly
gentle motion of the cars interested me. —
There was no grating.such as we hear on a
railroad. They moved on, without the least,
jar or sound. This I say interested me. I
looked over the side, and to my astonish
ment, found a railroad made of glass. The
glass wheels moved over the glass rails
without the least noise or oscillation. The
soft, gliding motion produced a feeling of
exquisite happiness. I was happy! It
seemed as it every thing was at rest within
—I was full of peace.
While I was wondering over this circum
stance, anew sight attracted my gaze. All
along the road, on either side, within a foot
of the track, laid -long lines ot coffins, one on
either side ot the railroad, and every one
contained a corpse, dressed tor burial, with
its cold white face turned upward to the
light. The sight filled me with horror ; I
yelled -in agony, but could make no sound.
The gay throng who were around me only
redoubled their singing and laughter at the
sight ot my agony; and we swept on, gli
ding with glass wheels over the glass rail
road, every moment coming nearer to the
bend ot the road, which formed an angle
with the road far, far in the distance.
‘Who are those,’ I cried at last, pointing
to the dead in their coffins.
‘These are the persons who made the trip
before us,’ was the reply of one of the gay
est persons near me.
‘What trip?’ I asked.
•Why, the trip we are now making, the
trip on this glass railway,’ was the answer.
‘Why do they lie along the road, each one
in his coffin V I was answered with a
whisper and a half laugh which froze my
blood:
‘They are dashed to death at the end of
the railroad,’ said the person whom I ad
dressed.
‘You know the railroad terminates at an
abyss, which is without bottom or measure.
It is lined with pointed rocks. As each car
arrives at the end, it precipitates its passen
ger s into the abyss. They are dashed to
pieces against the rocks and their bodies
are brought here and placed in the coffins as
a warning to other passengers, but no one
minds it, we are so happy on the glass rail
road.’
1 can never describe the horror with
which these words inspired me.
•What is the name of the glass railroad?’
I asked.
The person whom I addressed replied in
the same strain:
‘lt is very easy to get into the cars, but
very hard to get out, for once in those cars
every body is delighted with the soft gliding
motion. The cars move so gently? Yes,
this is a railroad of habit, and with glass
wheels we are whirled over a glass railroad
towards a fathomless abyss. In a few mo
ments we’ll be there; and they’ll bring our
bodies and put them in coffins as a warning
to others, but no body will mind it, will
they ?
I was choked with horror. I struggled
to breathe, made frantic efforts to leap from
the cars, and in the struggle awoke. I knew
it was only a dream, and yet whenever I
think of it, l ean see that long train of cars
moving gently over the glass railroad. I
can see cars far ahead as they are turning
the .'bend of the road. 1 can see the dead
in their coffins, clear and distinct —on either
side of the road. While the laughing and
sing ing of the gay and happy passengers re
sound in my ears, I only see those cold faces
of the dead, with their glassy eyes uplifted
and their frozen hands upon their white
shrouds.
It was a horrible dream.
And the Bard’s changing features and
brightening eye attested the emotions which
had been aroused by the very memory of
the dream.
It was indeed a horrible dream. A long
train of glass cars, gliding over a glass rail
road, freighted wiih youth, beauty and mu
sic, while on either hand are stretched the
victims of yesterday—gliding over the rail
way of habit towards the fathomless abyss.
Tburc was a moral in that dream.”
i are you addicted to any sinful
th } - “ rea k it °ff ere you dash against
i*iv rvCks.
SCANDAL.
There is no worse as there is no more
common vice than scandal. It is made ten
fold more dangerous to the common weal
than many of the most severely punished
crimes of society, by its general impunity.
“Good name in man or woman,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
Who steals my purse, steals trash:
But he that filches from me my good name,
Makes me poor indeed.”
And yet the man who steals the purse is
called a thief, and suffers a thief’s reward,
while for the robber of character there is
fixed punishment, at least in ordinary cases.
The more is the pity.
The fruitful mother of scandal is idleness.
Busy bodies, as someone has tersely said,
are almost always idlers. The less business
a man or woman has, the more they are
apt to meddle with that of their neighbors :
and
“Satan finds some mischief still,
For idle hands to do.”
It is melancholy to see how fearful a litlle
Calumny, carelessly and thoughtlessly utter
ed. at first, goes gradually swelling on to the
gigantic proportions of a damning scandal.
The mother of the mischief is no bigger than
a midge’s wing, and the mischief is of the
swiftest, growth, and most pernicious influ-
ences. A word. nay. a shrug has often
been amplified into a withering defamation
of character, where there has been no foun
dation, .or next to none for the aspersion.
A satirical philosopher has said that there
is something in the distresses of our best
friends that gives pleasure This harsh
judgment of human nature is rejected by an
ingenious mind, inexperienced in the world
an*d the world’s ways; but itgains his reluc
tant assent, when he sees the readiness with
which one friend is apt to lend an ear to the
detraction of another. It is a dismal admis
sion to be compelled to make, but Rochefou
cault is correct in his satire.
There is no sin against our neighbor that
would he more surely avoided, if subjected
to the operation of the Christian law; than
this. For upon slight grounds, or nogrounds
at all, to malign the character of a iellow
being, is not to do unto another as we would
have another do unto us. And yet we are
quite as liable to be its innocent victim as
the other. As we would he fairly treated
by our neighbor, in such a case, so should
we, upon the first whispering of a slander,
treat him, and judge not lest we be judged.
Scandal rises in most instances, like the
first sigh of the gentlest summer evening
zephyr.
Softly its voice breathes amidst the flow
ers, scarcely bending a single leaf as it pass
es. Presently the zephyr becomes a breeze,
and soon swells into a gale ;
“Prcnde farza a poco a poco,
Vo!a gia di loco in loco.”
Bye and bye this simple little breath has be
come a tempest, and carries before it irrem
ediable wreck and ruin to its unfortunate
victim. Surely of ail the vices of which
man or woman can he guilty, there is none
more contemptible, as there certainly is noe
more deadly, than the vice of scandal. — N.
(). Picayune.
AN EDITOR*s"LABOR.
A gentleman who formerly conducted a
weekly paper, writes to a friend who s
recently assumed the charge of a dail’
per, as follows :
“Yon must live in and for the paper.
There is no escape from this voluntary and
vet life-long slavery. For now nearly ten
years I have known the willing voluntary,
unbroken service which the true servant
of a free press must render. M v weekly
charge has been more than I can bear; and
often, like the slave described with such
pathetic eloquence by Job, I have “longed
for the shadow” which tells the hour of
rest. Feeling thus with respect to the
weekly press, how can I but fear for you,
my brother, my friend, when you bind
yourself in six fold bonds? How little do
the majority of readers of newspapers
know of the expenditure of thought of the
labor of the head and brain and hands,
which goes to make up that which minis
ters to your highest wants ! And also,
how many truths, thought out with brain,
throes, pass unnoted, unobserved, even if
not received with relentless hostility !
Nevertheless, the true man must work
and work too, in the martyr spirit; conten
ted with the thought that’his mere relicts,
when he has laid - him down in the dust,
will constitute a kind of superstructure
and basement, upon which the-glorious
and eternal temple of truth shall stand.”
—,—
“WHAT IS HE WORTH ?”
It is an every day question, what is he
worth ?” Yet how few who ask it in the
right spirit! For men have come to restrict
the phrase to the amount, of money that has
been amassed, departing from the good old
meaning, which implied rather the virtues
that one possessed. “What is he worthy,”
should be the question now ; for that is,
“what is he worth,” expressed originally.
Mere intellectual qualities, often mere con
stitutional energy, may lead to fortune, with
out. either refinement or goodness, and fre
quently even because of the absence of ei
ther, or both. The possession of wealth is,
therefore, no certain criterion of worth. It
does, not, indeed, prove a man, as some
would assert, to be inferior morally to his
race in general; but neither is it a guaran
tee that he is better. There have been Vir
tuous men on thrones as well as in private
life. There have been heroes, saints and
martyrs among the poor, as well as in high
er stations. The various conditions oi men
bring different temptations, from which
none are exempt. But each station in life
has also its advantages, so that no man is
justified in doing wrong, on the plea that
his circumstances compelled it.
The question should be. “is he worthy,”
not “is he rich.” Wealth dies with its pos
sessor. Its influence on his descendants is
as often for evil as for good. But a life of
probity is an example to one’s children; it
moulds them to be good and noble also; it
is, with all true souls, a more herished her
itage than even lands and tenements. A
community in which virtue is the standard,
is always happy and prosperous. A nation
where riches are all in all, has begun already
to decay. When Rome was proud of the
frugal life of her citizens—when she could
point to a Cincinnatus leaving his plough to
become dictator, she was still full of youth
and energy, she was still master ol her own
destiny. But when vast estates, troops of
slaves, licentious banquets, and the posses
sion of millions, became the ambition of all
men, then Rome was rotten to the core, be
cause profligacy laughed down honest
worth —because men had ceased to be he
roic, and had become utterly selfish and sen
sual. And as it was with Rome, so it has
been with every other nation which has
fallen of its own fault. Few, too, have been
the peoples who have perished without
fault.- The more “what is he worth ?” be
comes the text, the worse for a country. —
Let it be asked rather, “in what is he wor
thy?”
KIND WORDS,
They never blister the tonge or lips. And
we have never heard of any mental trouble
arising from this quarter. Though they do
not cost much, yet they accomplish much.
They help one’s own good nature and good
will. Soft words soften our own soul. An
gry words are fuel to the flame of wrath and
make it blaze more fiercely.
Kind words make other people good na
tured. Cold words freeze people, and hot
words scorch them, and bitter words make
them bitter, and wrathful words make them
wrathful. There is such a rush of all other
kinds of words in our days, that it seems de
sirable to give kind words a chance among
them. There are vain words, idle words,
hasty words, spiteful words, silly words,
empty words, prolane words, boisterous
words, and warlike words. Kind words
also produce their own image on men’s
souls, and a beautiful image it is. They
soothe, quiet, and comfort the hearer. They
shame him out of his sour, morose, unkind
feelings. We have not yet begun to use
kind words in such abundance as t hey ought
to be used.— Pascal.
INHUMANITY OF A RUMSELLER.
If anything were wanting to prove the
devilish nature of the rum traffic, we should
have the evidence in the terrible effects of
the. business upon the rumseller himself.
Nothing sooner hardens the heart, blunts
the judgment, deadens the perceptive facul
ties and destroys the moral character of a
man, than a long-continued intimacy with
the habits of a dram shop. In almost every
other pursuit—even where the morality is
doubtful—there is a redeeming influence
which lifts the mind from grovelling ideas
and sensual thoughts. In the scenery and
language of the play-house—though often
alas ! the theatre in its surroundings is but
a hot-bed olvice—the imagination is devo
ted to thoughts which may summon a man’s
better angel to his rescue. In the ball room,
even where the dissolute meet, the syren
charm of vice. Even the organization of
men infamous in political trickery, spur the
intellect into action, and arouse some better
parts of manhood. But in the dram shop,
one redeemed hour from the baleful effects
of its poisonous air comes not to startle or
arouse the victim from the horrid death
which yawns in his short future. It seems
that Providence had set its mark upon the
traffic; for the horrors which the rum sel
ler deals out to his victims and their fami
nes, by a retribution which in its certainty
bears the seal of a Divine law, accumulate
upon the household of the tempter, and to
generations after him carry the witness of
the deadly sin, wrecked fortunes and blast
ed hopes of both sons and daughters.
A STRONG KISS.
Tennyson, in his poem of “Fatima,” re
lates the strongest case of suction within
<ur knowledge at present. Speaking of a
lover’s kiss, he says, or rather she says :
“Last night when someone spoke his name,
From my sweet blood, that went and came,
A thousand little shafts of flame
Were shivering in my narrow frame.
O love ! 0 fire ! Once he drew,
With one long kiss my whole soul through.”
That’s the strongest kiss we have ever
read about, and throws the “poor man’s
plaster” completely in the shade. Phcebus!
what a suction the fellow had.
EDITORIAL DUTIES.
At a printers’ festal at Boston a short
time since, the following capital toast wa9
drank :
‘‘The Editor. —Tiie man who is expect
ed to know everything, tell all that he
knows and guess at the rest; to make oath
to his own good character, establish the
reputation ot his neighbors, and elect all
candidates to office; to blow up everybody,
suit everybody, and reform the world ; to
live for the benefit of others, and have the
epitaph on his tombstone—“ Here lies his
last.'’ In short, he is a locomotive run
ning on the track of public notoriety—his
lever is his pen, his boiler is filled with
ink, his tender is his scissors, and his dri
ving wheel is publicopinion—whenever he
Explodes it is caused by non-payment of
subscription ?
* ■.
ISIP A forcible simile is found in the
subjoined extract from the Union, of May
10. J
Francis P. Blair enjoyed a high reputa
tion as a vigorous, skilful, and forcible po
litical writer when General Jackson retir
ed from the Presidency, which left him
with a single rival in the way of editorial
supremacy, and that rival was Thomas
Ritchie. There was this material differ
ence between them: Mr. Blair reflected
the sentiments of Andrew Jackson, and,
therefore, had all the factitious benefits of
the prestige of his illustrious name, whilst
Mr. Ritchie won his appellation of the
“Napoleon of the Press” by his own indi
vidual talents, and as the advocate of the
great principles of his own beloved Virgin
ia. The one was the gnarled oak of the
mountain-brow that had maintained its
erect position, though assailed by a thous
and storms; the other was the creeping ivy
that attaches itself to the sturdy giant of
the forest, and attracts admiration by the
exuberance of the foliage with which it
envelopes the trunk that gives it support
and supplies its nutriment.
Cj it Cemperancc fosator.’
PENFIELD, GEORGIA.
Saturday Morning, May 24, 1856.
gggf°Rev. Claiborn Trussell, of Atlanta, is a duly
authorized Agent for the Crusader.
l
Liberal Offer.
Any person sending us five new Subscribers, ac
companied with the “rhino,” shall be entitled to
extra copy of the Crusader for one year. Orders for
our Paper must invariably be accompanied with the
cash to receive attention.
Stop Papers.—Settle Arrearages.
Persons ordering their papers discontinued, must
invariably pay up all their dues. We shall not strike
off any subscriber’s name who is in arrears.
Commencement in Greenesboro. *
The Commencement Exercises of the Female Col
ie e at Greenesboro take place on next week. The
Commencement Sermon will be preached on Sun
day, the 25th, by Pres. Axson, and the Examina
tion of the Classes will commence on Monday, the
26th, and continue until Thursday, the 29th, which
is Commencement Day. Concert at night.
Celebration in Sparta.
Bethel Lodge of Knights celebrate their Anni
versary in Sparta on Monday, the 26th inst., and con
clude the gala day with a picnic at night. The
public generally are invited. At the request of the
Lodge the Senior Editor of this Paper will be present
to deliver the Address.
State Temperance Convention.
The Temperance people in different portions of
Georgia must keep the Convention steadily in their
minds. We desire a large attendance, and those
who pre f end to love the cause must “lay down eve
rything and attend the next annual meeting of the
Convention, which meets in Atlanta on the 4th
Wednesday in July. There is much business of an
important character to come before the Convention,
and we wish every county in the State to be repre
sented by a full delegation. We must rub up our
rusty artillery, kindle the old fires anew, and let this
Convention be the data of anew era in the Temper
ance Reform.
“Ho! wake again the slumbering bands
With shout and bugle blast—
Lift up once more the battle brand,
With iron in the grasp;
Each pulse-beat like the lightning’s scatb.
To smite the monster in our path.
For love of man—in fear of God,
Fling out our oriflamme,
And ’neath it gather on the sod
To wage the battle o’er again.
Close up ! close up! ’till one heart-beat
Shall throb along the moving feet.
Come out once more from shop and field,.
Andmarsha 1 for the Right;
Once more the Curse of Blood shall feel
The weight of freemen’s might;
The ballot’s thunder again shall swell
In judgment ’gainst these earthly hells!
By every tie the scourge hath broken—
By shrines once rich in prayer,
Let’s lift to God each shivered token,
And, hand in hand, together swear,
To stand with harness on Jor aye
Until the scovrg is swept away !
- >
Lookout Mountain House.
We invite special attention to the Card in this p ;
per of Geo. W. Ashburn, Proprietor of the Hotel,
situated upon Lookout Mountain, from which ad
vantage may be hud of the most sublime scenery in
the Southern country.
Rum. the Oppressor of Woman.
A few weeks since, we received from a man a no
tice for publication to the purport that his “wife had
left his bed and board,” and he would no longer be
responsible for her debts. We know that man.—
W e know that he won the love of a young, confid
ing heart, and to this strong, but unfortunate attach
ment, she sacrificed her judgment, and the fondest
hopes of her parents. We know that she clung to
him by ties that defied the power of worldly profit
or interest to dissolve. And now she has left his
“bed and board.” Why is this ? lias she proved
a recreant to the vows which she solemnly pronoun
ced at the marriage altar ? No; she has been driven
f ora that home where she should have found pro
tection. Driven by him who vowed to he her hus
band, hut who, converted by Rum into a savage , has
become her relentless persecutor. Blows, abuse.,
and treatment, the horrors of which none can know,
who has never experienced, has compelled her to
leave that home. But this is not enough. He now
seeks to publish her, as if she were some straggling
vagabond, some graceless outcast, whom it were fol
ly to notice, or wicked to protect. It is notenough,
that he has deprived her of a home, and blighted
hei prospects for life, but he would seek to strip her
of her good name, to cast foul aspersions on her vir-
tue which would forever render her an alien from
society. Does not the moral sense of the people
condemn a course so full of wickedness and crime ?
Why does not their inherent spirit of chivalry rise
up to assist defenceless women and unprotected
children? The history is that of one only of the
thousands which arc to be found in every part of
our country. They are the poor, helpless and un
helped victims of Rum, the martyrs who are sacri
ficed to preserve the rights of the Liquorsellers.—
For his rights must remain intact, though his busi
ness is nought but a continual crushing of the most
sacred rights of men, women and children. His
forefathers fought and died to obtain liberty, and
,s rig,lts tho ri S ht to sell liquors among the rest,
and it would be the veriest tyranny to in fringe them!
This is the meaningless but never failing reply
wdueh they make to every argument which can be
advanced against them. They say not that they do
good, that they confer benefit upon a single individ
ual They simply assert the posses ion of a right,
and their determination to exercise it whom ever it
may oppress or injure. Can a class of men who
pursue a vocation so entirely violative of every prin
ciple of right and justice, claim the protection of
aw with the least degree of plausibility? They
should rather be visited with its heaviest penalties,
and their demagogue apologists stript of the flimsy
sop isms y which they seek to defend and uphold
this injurious system. Every feeling of true manli
ness call on them to use their efforts for its suppres
sion, w ich an unholy ambition incites them tore
tuse But a day of reckoning will come, when the
w e voices of downtrodden women and neglected
rtn w ill invoke a full volume of condemnation
upon their guilty souls. *
Friend J . F. Northington, of Washington
county, and W. W. Morrell of Carroll county, will
accopt many thanks for hand some clubs of new
subscribers.