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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.