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perate results,—Spiritualism is not true,—it is the dream of the maniac, and the doctrine of devils. It is a moral pestilence, that threatens to lay waste some of the fairest portions of our social communities, and consign to a hopeless grave all our cherished institutions. It is said that the Dromedary when he encounters a Simoom in crossing Arabian deserts is wont to prostrate himself and hold his breath until the foul air has passed. A moral Simoom more paralizing than Sahara ever witnessed is now passing over us,—The air is already darkened by its mysterious gyrations, and those who are overcome by it will suffer mental depravation, with little hope of recovery. And shall we prostrate ourselves before this poisonous breeze, or like cowards stand still until it has spent its fury upon the innocent and unguarded? I hope we shall do neither,–but as men and philanthropists stand up and resist its encroachments. And although we can not expect suddenly to quiet the tempest, curb its rage, or restore those who are already buried in its suffocating sands, we may exert ourselves to enlighten the ignorant, to alarm the careless, and guard the unwary from its baneful effects.