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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,