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ii nil it lit tii smt (Hiunu. sis it rtitmsa. its tuts mil it stuns it muni.
JOHN H. SEALS, ?
EDITOR & PROPRIETOR (
NEW SERIES, VOL. 11.
TEMPER,INGI CRUSADER.
I'rBLrSHKD
HYERY THURSDAY, EXCEPT TWO, 15 THE YEAS,
13Y JOITNH. SEALS.
TERMS I
sl,OO t in advance; or $2.00 at the end of the year.
R A TBS OF ADVERTISING.
1 square (twelve lines or ie**) first insertion,.. $1 00
Each continuance,.*.. - - • 50
Professional or Businefi? Cards, not exceeding
nx lines, per year, * 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, ®
6TANDING ADVERTISEMENTS.
i ftqoare, three months, * Jj
1 square, six months, J JJ.
1 square, twelve months,
2 square., „ 21 00
4 squares. “ “ ;•***•• ®
fojgp“Advertisemcnts not marked with the number
of insertions, will* bo continued unul forbid, and
charged accordingly.
jefrMerchants, Druggists, and others, may con
tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms.
LEGAL 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,... 8 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, f b 0
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 <5
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’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
hours often 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 day* previous to the
dav of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be
given at leaßt ten day* previous to the dav of sale.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must
he published forty day*.
Noti ‘e that application will he made to the Court
of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negrses, must
be published weekly for two monthn.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty day* —for Dismission from Admin
istration, monthly , six months— for Dismission from
Guardianship,. forty day*.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four month *—for compelling titles
from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has
been given by the deceased, the full n>ace of three
month*.
jyPublications will always be continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
I I* <lr’nA* the lifls-Mood es the heart and leave* It bare and c!.-y,
! The laare!
j And fttrrewj prtpiatnre *ro there—eh 1 ich-at shall gisd roe row,
! 0, moon! pale, silent watcher In the nUAntglit G.y above t
I Fortnnc and Fame, alihe are vale—oh 1 (rive roe trr.rtn h<vc—
! That ainne wfl! free my rpfrit of the fare with wfc’eh hfe rife,
j AnJ easwer my ropoateJ rjeery— what, oh, what Is life!
j I *t.w her or ee again !a life—’twa- la a ehsded botro*,
j There bloomoi aronnd her pathway T.e.r? s eweot and rfovhned
| fiower—
j And by her side wse ore she loved: her p!r!t mate a! l?t
: !la-3 EOnght her then with hnrcaa love—forgot was all tho past.
And lonjrshe sat and listened to love’s wild and earnest vow,
And warm, and hominy kisses were Imprinted on her brow.
The hours seemed bo* moments dancing rapidly Along;
The Sowers were lovelier—ne'er before ee sweet seemed woodland
eorso.
That r'g’.t she whispered to the riwm/'gone, go no Is all my
And I will ask of thee no more, pale watcher, what !e life.”
Cut a change came o’er my dreaming—he, the Idol, had departed,
Had cast his trusting love away, and left her broken-hearied—
And broken now were all the vows once registered above,
He had taught the trusting spirit the dpetit of human love--.
Like a sweet, but faded Sowrct which blooms but tor & day,
Or like a broken bauble be had cast her love away.
Thus many a flower unnoticed has s’okened, drooped, and died.
Its petals crushed, and blighted by the chariot wheel* of pride—
And hers was but the common lot —to be deceived is human,
‘ For mgn to man so often false. Ip altc&yt so to i roman.”
Now wild and glassy were the eyes she upward raised to heaven
“Oh, moon’ pale, quiet watcher, my eoui has wildly striven—
This last has hten the bitterest blow, and liifc is naught to me—
I cast it r ff, ’tis all a faiee and glittering pageantry,
I’ve found it but a shadow, a false, unreal, dream,
Its all of happiness a brief, and transitory gleam—
The world is cold, and pitiless?—a scene of endless strif:*,
And I marvel not. you spoke not when lasted you, what waslifs.”
And once again I saw ber,a.id this time I looked n-y last—
A strange, unreal beauty o’er the pallid brow was cast;
Wish the pale hands folded meekly o’er the still and pulseless breast,
Death had come a friendly messenger and given her his rest,
the bad not sought religion to ease her spirit’s pain,
And pleasure, fortu e, fame, and love alike to her were vain—
With the question still unanswered, life had passed from her away.
And the m >on upon a Ufele.s corpse threw its last golden ray.
Bcllvue, Ga.
For tbs Crusader.
Alina.
BV EMM IB EMERALD.
“The rflectionr, like the conscience, arc rather to
be led than drawn; and it is to be feared that they
who many where they do not love, will love where
they do not marry.*’—Fu.t,Lit.
Love stories are not held in much favor now-a*
days; even young ladies turn up their pretty noses
at. the old fa-hioned idea of love. I verily believe
that the period will arrive when it will be looked
upon as a superstition, or whatever eho you may
please to term it, of by gone ages. Time wa*
when it was supposed to hold .supremacy over
every other pas-don ; in the present day it is look
ed upon, rightly too perhaps, as one among the
many. Ancient history tell-* us of a monarch
risking not only his earthly prospeiity, but Heav
en itself, to win a Batheheba; and of Antony los
ing the whole world to linger by a Cleopatra's
side. Modem If story points ns to Mft’mason,
where a hsp’ess Josephine wept over her strange
widowhood. Thus we see that love has degene
rated—the li tie God's realm once so mighty, has
been invaded by stem ambition, and alas, as years
move on, another and a meaner usurper, avarice,
hath crept in, jostling poor eupiJ to cruelly, that
die once sole sovereign of the heart, hath scarce
power left to influence in any degree, the aria cf
men. I say this much, that my reader may not
suppose mo the blind belieter in love that my
story may lead him to. The heroine cf my tale
should have lived centuries ago; she was far hot
ter fitted for those days of chivaliy and knightly
devotion, than this “ Age of Bronze.” When
first I knew Alina Morton, she was a wild, laugh
ing gipsey of few summers, and Ia man in the
full prime cf life, hopeful and strong. On my re
turn from long wanderings in foreign lands, we
metagain; but time had wrought a change in
both; I had grown an old bachelor, world-worn
and weary with care, and the merry child had
merged into a pensive maiden,, in whose dark,
brooding eyes, lay deep shadows and unshed tears.
She was very beautiful—was my sweet Alina—
and gifted as women seldom are. I was her fa
ther's oldest m 1 dearest friend, and I loved hi*
daughter as she had been my own; and I watch
ed over her too, and strove to make her look upon
life with less of wild hope, for she nourished
dream*, bias, too bright *nd beautiful for realiza
tion. I told her the history of my own life; of its
hopes and fears and disappointments; end to
weaken her deep frith in human love, I told her
how I had loved with all the intensity of. wlvch
the heart is capable, and how my dream bad end
ed ns many others had, in disappointment and
satiety. “No, no, my Alina,” 1 said, “don't
think of love; wlfen yon marry, my child, select a
man whom you respect and esteem, nothing more”
“Mr. Carson ” she replied, with more earnest
ness than my half jesting words called for, “unless
compelled, I will never marry a man whom I do
not love with my whole soul; sooner or later, the
heart must feel the influence of this passion, mine
has not, as yet; but when I meet with onccapa l
hie of inspiring mo with affection, 1 feel that 1 shall
yield rny whole bong to the delirium of pas.-ion ;
and Mr. Carson, what if this should happen after
I were wedded to'one for whom I had no feeling
but cold resp* ct and lukewarm esteem f 1
“Humph i” wm all ihat I emtld answerpfhr l
must conhss, I had iitver . viewed the subject in
that hght before. I was completely silenced, for
I bad not an argument with which to etmftmv’
hers; jet Alina did not seem to enjoy her victo
ry. f-r she bad fallen into a re eery, which bad
mord of pleasure than pain ta b I think, front the
PENFIELD, GA„ THURSDAY, AUGUST 27, 1857,
sweet and tender look thut stole ever her giilisb free.
” S.V akeJ I, abruptly, ■* you Lave never mo‘.
wnb your beau ideal—as I believe young ladie*
term the all cor qtiering hero wht? is fco-ftir up the
fountain of their hearts f > I
Alina -did not heed me, *d I repented
\ question still more abruptly.
“Only in the realms of imagination” she te
p’ied musingly, v. itb her eyes fixed on the far dis
tance, as if the were that moment conjuring up
some bright vision.
“Xes” answered I, petulantly, “ and that is the
only place yon are likely ever to meet wi.h him—
be done with this nonsense, Alina!”
One night, T sat on the piazza alone wi:h Ai na
It was a moonlight night, Beautiful and clear;-
and the breeze that lifted the raven curls on Ali
nabs brow wan heavy with the aroma of fl >wers
How wdl I remember that de’ieiors summer
night! I was telling rny fair companion some of my
adventures over the water, and doing mv best to
enliven her, for of lata I hid thought her sadder
than usual; but not oneo did the sweet laugh Siva?,
often rewarded my stories, gladder, mv ear that
night. Finally, observing thru Alina seemed
wrapped in her own thoughts, I ceased to speak,
and sat silently pulling my cigar. A firm’s clear,
musical voice, aroused me.
“ Mr. Carson !”
” What is it Ally f’ T asked, drowsily.
“I am to be married soon, Mr. Carson.”
“To be married soon!” I exclaimed, rubbing
my eyes. “To be married soon—who to ? have
you found your b°au id-a! V
SI e shook her head without ftpeat irg.
“ But you have not told me the name of your
frit mo h u-hand,” I continued, impatiently.
“Mr Forrester.”
“Ho tot love him ?’ was my next inquiry, *
“ No,” she answered, in a voice that attracted
my attention.
Suddenly bending forward, T g-zed in her face ;
it was deathly pn'e, and full of a look I had never
seen there before.
“Then wherefore marry him, my child—my
Alina?” .
“ Mr. Carson has forgot that he himself advised
me to do this very thing,” she re-ponded, with a
wan attempt at a smile.
“Alina, Alina 1 for heaven's sake do not let
anything I have said influence yon. lam a poor
miserable old bachelor my child, that knows noth
ing of these matters; don’t marry my darling, un
less you want to.”
: “I would rather lay down in my grave.” And
she bowed her head on her hands and sobbed aloud,
“ Alina, what is the meaning <f all this V* ]
gasped anxiously', ‘-Surely no one is forcing you ”
“No,” she answered, “ but I know that it is my
father’s wish, though he has not spoken it;” and
she went on with a wretched attempt at gaiety—
“lt is time I were married, Mr. Cmao'n; I am
nearly twenty, and as my bean ideal is laggard in
making his appears roe, I must even put up with
a common moital, til! then.”
“ Till then—till when, Alina?”
Fbo turned her free t- ■wards mo, ft was almost
wild; her eyes were gleaming, and her cheeks
deeply flushed. Suddenly she sprang to my side,
and throwing her-cf on her knees before me
clasped my hands—
“ Dear friend, pity ms-—pray for mo—l run ve
ry, very miserable.”
I c urid only press lies’ to my bosom and weep
Over her; for I dared not attempt fo’disauade her
from her purpose, for now I remembered a conver
sation with my friend, when he had told me that
it was his cherished hope that hi?, daughter would
accept this very offer; and I knew that ha wag
anxious to roe his children provided for, boinrr fa
poor circumstances, and barely able to struggle
with the world.
Alina was -married; hcr chosen husband was a
! mnn o f wealth, and hi? lavish hand adorned hi?
fair young bride with rare jewel?;, and she went to
the allar like a lair.b decked for the sacrifice; but.
so nobly, so proudly, did rpy.beautiful one bear
herself, that none knew as I did, that eho trorl
over her life's fairest flower?; that every step to
wards the ahar left farther behind her her deare-t.
and brightest hope*. Tit* cAreies? crowd that en
circled her. knew not that her young heart wa->
perishing affection ; yearning for son:* kindred
spiiit to twine its ten drills around; that sho, so
queenly in her proud beauty, would gladly have
unclasped that jewelled circlet from her brow—
thrown aside those rich robes, and wedded ber/elf
to poverty for love—aye, lore 1
Alina’s husband loved her, and was proud of
her; he was n good man, and a gent’e one; but
h* was no suitable partner for my peerless Alina;
he could not sympathize in her tastes, nor appre
ciate her tioble intellect.
Tier hqiue—-what an .earthly paradise It was—
ul] thrut was george..tu, raro and beautiful, wa
gathered, within that princely mansion. Never
(.had- I seen my child so beautiful, *o gay, so glo
rious; her intellect before veiled by extreme timi
dity, now shone in all its native brilliancy. Hith
erto- she had mingled but seldom in society, and
then it was la that of the young, inexperienced,
aud ftirolous. Now, she reigned the queen of an
inteHeetnal realm ; poets, orators, statesmen, wits,
the famed, the great, the intelleotusl and noble, st
around her board, and hung enraptured upon the
tips of their matchless hostess. Alina had out
stripped even, my high expiation*; my gentle,
timid child, had become a Madame De Stael—no,
a Madame Boland—for she had rot all the Intri
guing spirit ar.d forwardness of the first—but all
the woman T y grace, delicacy, and modesty of the
la-.t nob’e, patriot-souled daughter of France. I
noticed her bright career with pride and joy, and
T thought that the shadow had passed from her
young life. One evening, I rode cut with Alina
in her carriage; we moved but slowly after the
noble greys, for she had chosen the crowded Park
for her drive, where the countless throng cf vehi
ch s hemmed us in on every side. T had observed
this change in Alina since her marriage—she ever
courted the crowd; solitude had no charms for
her. I had never beheld my darling mere radiant
in beauty, or brilliant in spirits.
As I glanced careless j over the multitude that
thronged that place of resort, my eye- foil on a face
and form that held them spell bound ; they were
those of a young man in the first prime of life.
His face was fair, almost to feminine beauty, and
his eyes—go look down into the depths of a clear
lakewhon it minors the deep blue of a summer
sky, nrd you will have a faint conception of their
aziue hue. II s form was slight and lithe, and
symme'rieal as ihe Apollo Belvidere. Oh, he was
g'-orious’y beaulifril-—an ! yet it was not the slend
er grace of that most matchless form, or the chis
eled beauty of that perfect Vonntenance, but “ the
uind, the mu-ic breathing from his face;” the
high, the noble, glorious mind that irradiated
etery feature, and marked him ns a being set apart.
I turned to Alina, to speak my admiration. Her
glance was already fixed on him, and oft her face,
ever varying and expressive as it was there was a
something I had never seen there before, I spoke
my pra : ses of the stranger —she started and turn
ed on me her eyes, and in them I saw the self
same look that filled them that summer night. I
shuddered—wherefore, I knew not. Our ride
home was silent—my companion was pale and
absent, and I felt a of evil that I
could not shake off. ‘
I did not see Alina tqSlnext night;
and then I stoodjn h parlors,
by the wealth, the fashion and beauty of a great
city, It was the n : ght of Alina’s fete—the fete of
the Season, The image of my darling, as she
appeared that night, is indellibly engraved upon
my memory. Her toi’et was simple, yet elegant
and rich. She wore a robe of black velvet, that
fell in heavy graceful folds arouftd her lovely form
and swept the floor as she moved, tn the dark
Irenes of her hair; in her small ear, and oft the
whiteness of her neck and Rrms. gleamed jewels
worth a prince’s ransom. Her eyes shone with
the softened lustre cf star-light, and her usually
pale cheek wore a delicate finsh. I sat watching
with proud admiration, the graceful dignity with
which she received her numerous guests, when
sn Idenly ray attention was attracted by the voice
of her husband presenting to his wife Mr. DeWil
ton. 1 turned, ns did Alina, curious to know who
bore this, 10 me, unfamiliar name. It was the
stranger of yesterday! When my gaze agdn
rested on my child, what a change was there I
Every trace of color had faded from her cheek and
lip; and in her large dilated eyes, was the same
expreeslon with which she had first beheld him;
abvk of yearning and anguish—of joy and des
pair. Fool, dolt, blockhead that I had been—now
a sudden light burst upon me; the scales fell from
my eves, and I saw all—knew ail—and I bowed
my head on my clasped hands and groaned aloud.
! The m omen‘ary pallor passed from Alina’s cheek,
and it flushed deeper than before; heT spirits roue
higher, until she grew almost delirious in her wild
griej.. But her light step, her laughter and
sparkling words, could not deceive me now; I
knew all, and rr.y heart bled for that bright idol
of the glittering crowd. From that night, I watch
ed Alina narrowly. Night and day I watched
her—and oh 1 how painfully! They met of.en ;
day after day ; and yet with that yearning ever
in her eye?, she drove him from her by her cold
words and haughty nrien. I rejoiced at this; it
wavwhstT ‘exnocted from mv noble child; and
| yet I wept over them both, so young, so beautiful,
so miserable.
One evening; I sat in Alin.Va ante-room, where
I was a privileged guest, to come and go when it
['leased me. 1 was reading, and ae the twilight
deepened, I carried my book to a receaa formed
by the deep window, and eat down, the heavy
damask curtains shutting mo out from the rest of
the room. I had occupied this position but a
short time, when the door of the apartment open
ed, and two persons entered; the silence that en*
sued surprised me, and I drew the curtains a little
aside and looked out. T saw standing before me,
Alina and Frederick De Wilton. She wore an
< p ra cloak; the silken hood of which part'y con
<a’ed her features ; but I saw his farce, and it was
pa’e and grieved, DeWilton broke the silence;
turning to his companion, he took her hand.in
his, amj pressing It to his heart, ft would
Ik* \jv-g era they met again; and murmuring aj
j sow words of leave-takiog in a broken voice, turn
jed abruptly away. A groan cf anguish burst
from my poor child’s lip?, and she sank bsck on
a sent half tainting; the young man turned, and
wiih r quick movement threw brinsoif on hi? Icn*ws
before her—
“ Alina, my beloved, my— —”
Alina sprung to her feet and spurned him from
her, there was a look of terror and fear on her face.
“Away, away !” she said, stretching her out
spread hands before her, as if to ward off some
threatened danger.
M Alina, Alina! I never meant to speak such
words; they were wrong from me”
The frail, beautiful form was now bowed before
her; bo frail, so beautiful in its almost womanly
delicacy; and yet enshrining h spirit as high, as.
manly and noble, as ever dwelt on this sin-stained
earth. My life Las been a long and eventful one;
many a storm has swept fiercely over my silvered
head, and I have endured much, but never such
pain as rent my heart that hour, as I gazed on
the face of the being whom I loved with even
more than a father’s love. She stood upright and
rigid; many and varied emotion* flitting across
her pale, beautiful countenance, now convulsed as
with the throes of death—now softening with
yearning tenderness. Frederick DeWiiton raised
his head, and in that brief space so gr< at a change
had come over him, that I could scarce recognize
in that pallid and gri f- trickcn face, ono trace o
its former beauty. Murmuring his name in low,
pa-sionnte accents, Alina, with a sudden impnV
lent forward and pressed a long, lingering kiss
upon his burning brew, and then with the crimson
blood flushing her cheek, and mantling to her
very forehead, turned away, and burying her face
in her hands, —
“God forgive me!” broke from her trembling lip?.
Frederick arose and Flood beside her—
“ Alina!”
She started, and motioned him away.
Go, Frederick! leave me, I beseech you !” (die
gasped in a choking voice,
a Alina, hear me P
She dashed the tears from her eyes, find turned
towards him. I feared for the poor girl's reason,
as I gazed on for flushed cheeks aud glaring,
frenzied eyes.
Frederick DeWiiton,” ehospoke in low, husky
yqtf would net me hate you, as
well as despise myself, le&vdVß, oh leave me!’’
she repeated, in accents almost of madness,
A look of keen suffering overspread the young
man’s face; respectfully he took her hand, arid
bowing his fair head over it till his lips touched
those white, jewelled fingers, he turned slowly and
sadly away. I had sat spell-bound, incapable* of
motion or words; but *ow l aroused myself, and
feeling that the unveiled anguish of a woman’s
heart, were too sacred a thing for mortal eyes, 1
passed silently from the room, unobserved by Ali
na, who sat with bowed heed and drooping form,
whete he bad left her. Oh, how much may a
woman boar and yet live 1
Alina carre forth on the morrow, with the same
smiling lip and brow ; there was no change in her
habits or bearing; if indeed, there was any in the
latter, it was an inoeai-ed gaiety. Fhe hurried
rapidly from One scene of festivity and excitement
to another; at ball, fete and rout, concert, theatre
and opera, the cynosure of all eyes—resplendent
in beauty, as sparkling gnd fascinating as ever;
but, in this brilliant queen of fashion—this courted
and petted idol of society, I saw only the heart
stricken woman—curbing with a strong will, the
dark waves which ever thro atoned to overwhelm
her. And I naw too, that though the spirit was
brave and defiant, the flesh was weak and frail;
that the fair, the young, and cherished was
dying; perishing slowly yet surelv,
on, the inward struggle ftt length marked its im
presn upon the face and form; and others saw
too, that aho was fading, and they bore her to a
far distant laod, hoping thus to woo back the Ic.-t
flush to the cheek—the starry light to.those peer
less eyes. But I knew that Italy's balmy air and
genial clime, had no power to heal a broken hear;
and I knew too, when I bid adieu to my darling,
that I should never look on that sweet face again.
And I never did : for she died in the land of flow
ers and sunshine, and her gram is by the blue
wave of the Adriatic,
ArorsTjj, Ga.
Prohibitory State Convention,
It will bo aeon that .among the resolutions adop
ted by the County Convention was one recom
mending the holding of a State Convention of
Prohibitionists. This Convention it ia proposed to
hold at Rochester on the 30th day of September
next. Wo think the time and place well chosen.
The Republican State Convention is to be he’d on
the 23d of September: and the Democratic Con
vention. will probably be held at about the same
time. Hence, the action of these parties will have
developed itself by the 80th, and w shall know
what action it will be necessary for us to take in
order to the we'l-heing of Prohibition. From it*
treachery and infi lelity in the ]Kist, and its uncon
ecaled position of antagonism now, w*, as Prohi
bitionists, have nothing to hope f<om the Repub i
,can party. The Republican* will unquestionably
fight, fiercely, an Indej e ident Prohibitory Organ,
iiwtion ; and to prevent it they will be wi ling to
make any number of promise* and volunteer any
quantity of pledges—these, however, will not be
worth an number of tyo straws, Heaven
save Prohibition from the pledges of rum-bought
politicians, ©specially those p*li iiians yho, a
twelve-month ago, solemnly averred that, if Pro*
hibftfotjjsto would go for “Fremont and Freedom”
C TERMS:
i $1 fa advance) er, $2 at tke end af the year.
) johnTitT'seals
\ FHOPIIIET6K.
VOL. XIII [.-NUMBER 34.
then , they would the next year go their length
for Prohibition. This length is easily computed—
it contains but three chains, and may be
thus designated 1. The passage by the Repub
lican Legislature of the present infamous license
law. 2. The denial by the Republican party that
it was ever in favor of Prohibition. 3. Ihe refu
sal, new, by die Republican party to have any
thing to do with Prohibition. Elated by the
heavy vote polled for Fremont, last Fall, the Re
publicans imagine that the State is forever secured
to their hands. How “gloriously” they are de
ceived, we think the approaching election will
abundantly demonstrate. \Va have not for years
permitted oar-elves to doubt that a very hand
some majority of the People of this State are
strongly and uoalterab'y in favor of Prohibiiion.
Determination ar.d effort, timely put forth, will
carry the State in favor of that great and good
principle this Fall. Brothers throughout the
State! let us commence this labor now. Let us
exhibit the unreliability and insincerity of Repub
licanism, so far as it affects sympathy with our
cause. Let ns show the People that there is no
safety for Prohibition except in Bpecially organised
effort in it? behalf. Let tho issue this Fall, and
for all time to come, until effectually secured, be—
proiiikition—PßOHlßlllON. Let us do this,
and thus show our sincerity and determination of
purpose, and be assured our success, thorough
and (omplete, will be placed beyond contingency.
But falter now, and permit the deceived cap to
be drawn again over our f yes, at and Prohibition
will be conveniently and indefinitely postponed
Temperance will languish—Rum tun riot, and we
coveted with ineffobe and merited contempt and
-ecru. S'rike boldly fur Prol.ib lion—and if the
blow shall prostrate the Reptibl can party, the
Democratic party, or a>.y other party of polit cal
demagagues and gamblers, wichhold it not, but let
it fall with crushing, exterminating weight upon
tho'r dishonored and gui ty heads; and Irorn ou;
the chaotic mass there shril rLe up a new party,
frari g God, loving Man. and faithful to all the
interests of Humanity. Welcome the party ! and
welcome the day that shall give it birth.
It is eminently prop r tnat the proposed Con
vention be held at Rochester. That city, it is
tiu, is not loca’ed in the centre of the Plate; but
it ifi the centre of the Prohibitory movement, and
will accommodate a greater number of our friends
than if held in any other part of die State.
We hope all our exchanges will c py the reso
lution. alluded to, and direct attention to it; also,
that the friends of Prolrhi ion in each county will
at once move in the ma'ter of tho proposed Con
vention. We suggest that three delegates to it he
elected from each Assembly District.— lncl. Ez.
Self-Abuse.
A On AFTER FROM REAL LtFR—BV ROVtS’G HARRY.
It is*indeed surprising sometimes to see men
aud women survive their o*n self-abtTe.
Asa premonition, it- may not, prove useless or
uninteresting to make an occasional record of a
short chapter from life as it is.
In a stirring village in the western part of the
Empire State, there survives a being whom we
sha.l call Squire Yarns. Yes, reader, a veritable
esquire, a justice of the peace. He is a msn of
ordinary stature, say five feet nine, and as thin as
a rail, a mere skeleton. This, you will perceive, ia
contrary to the general notm of a country squire,
which is, “fat, ragged, and saucy.”
Even if Squire Yarns was a man of correct hab
ile ho might not become portly, or yet fleshy; but
one would naturally suppose he would look a little
more comely and agreeable to the eye of the ob
server than the guant and ghostly figure he now
presents. Do you ask the cause of his present ap
pearance? I will tell you in one short sentence;
tobacco and rum!
Ilia breath! snch a breath! the fumes from a
cespool will hardly bear a comparison ! To con
verse with him at a distance of five feet would
produce a sense of nausea in the healthiest stom
ach. When one is compelled to endure his pres
ence, he involuntarily feels a strong desire to sus
pend respiration for tho time being, in order to
avoid inhaling the poison which the Squire gives
off at every exhalation. Those who associate with
him in “hell’s recruiting office”—that under
ground hole where card-players, rzn drinkers, and
swearers omupegate time and commit
sivcide— annoyed by foe vi
rions breath.
Day after day docs this model squire sit com
placently in this sink of iniquity fingering tho well
worn cards, chewing his quid, smoking his rusty
p'p?, guzzling his ale, or gulping tho imported
Olrird from the original package.
Whenever I behold this human anomaly I am
strongly reminded of the artist’s illustration of
grim Death. Reader, imagine to yourself some
poor, emaciated invalid with sunken eyes, whose
feet had recently slipped over the brink of the
grave, but by an extraordinary effort of Nature he
had regained his hold on terra firma , and had just
crawled forth ftom his pallet of straw to take one
more look at the world's animation in the cheering
light of the glorious sun, and you have a true
picture of Squire Yam?.
This Sqtirre not, as might be supposed, in
indigent circumstances, by any means. He owns
a snug farm on which his family live*, for ho has
a family, and ho has not always been the loath
some being ho now is. Nor does he f psnd all his
time in this or that sans soci , for occasionally he
has a “case” to try, and at such times he manages,
mb the custom is, to make his appearance at his
office— a little seven by nine room—just one hour
afrer the appointed time.
Strange infatuation 1 that a man comfortably
circumstanced should be so biin ) as to run head
long into such miserable excesses, wlrch unfit him
for every rational enjoyment, making him iW>ur--
den to himself and an object of commiseration to
his fiends. Alcohol and poisoning drugs are
knawing at his vitals, and ere long the brittle
thread must inevitably g ve way before the torrent
of abuse. The poor victim of lum and Übacco
must end his ing ori >us life, and sink into an igno
ble giave and be soon forgotten. If
remembered at a 1, it will be on y to cause ashttd
def and a tbri.l of fcoiroT fc follow ther€oo|io^ioa,