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POETRY. THE SLAVE SHIP. From a Poem spoken July Fourth, before the Anti-Slavery Society of Williams College; by Wiiliam P. Palmer, a mem ber ofthe institution. Chain’d foot to foot and hand to hand, The captives took their way, Goaded alone; by scourge or brand, Wearied and sad, to the distant strand Where the darkling slave-ship lay. Fearful its hidden dangers were, Where comes no breath of balmy air To cheer the midnight gloom,-* Where not the vilest couch was spread For sorrow’s wildlv-throhhing head,— Yet there, oh there were sepulcher’d> In that lone living tomh, The infant in its springtide hour, The aged in its waning power, The virgin in her life’s young light, The chieftain in his manhood’s might, To wait a darker doom. And there was weeping; deep within Arose the voice of mingled wo, Above the pirate’s swelling din Of arms, and oaths and shouts to go. An who may have the pow’r to tell What feelings in those bosoms swell, What thoughts, now in their might of pain, Shiver the heart and scathe the brain; What hopes are buried in that cry Of nature’s conquering agony; What fancies of their hamlet lire, Of friendship; love, and jov expire, As wild despair with madd’ning yell P oints to them all and shrieks,—farewell! But there was one whom avarice disdain’d, Forsooth because his Midas grasp could wring Not front-her bended form one mite of gold: A widow’d mother she,—and from her side With ruffian hand a blooming boy they tore. Who has not known a mother’s tenderness? Through every period of her anxious life It is the same deep, holy feeling; oh There’s nought ol' earth so pure, so hallow ed. In sickness and in sorrow Ihaveprov’d How tenderly she loves, how deeply feels For th’ young op’ning blossom of her being, At midnight’s sleep-inviting hour I’ve found Her watching at my sickly couch, untir’d, Smothing my pillow by her kindly care. Such is a mother’s love,—a mother’s heart; And such was hers, thrice widow’d now since he, The light and joy of her declining years, Was from her bosom torn, who erst would stand Beside her knee what time the stars look’d out. And question of his sire with such a face As mirror’d forth his image to her eye. Her left they on the shore, cheerless and lone, And childless in her wo. Her wither’d hands Convulsively she wrung, and begg’d to go: She reck’d not of her cottage by the palm,— Her husband’s grave,—the green hills of her sires,— Freedom or bondage, life or death,—for all Was buried in the thought of her poor child;— The hope that she might be receiv’d to him, To share his load of sorrows and of chains. Oh woman, thou art mighty in thy wo; But man’s fell heart is oft a rock of ice, Where thy fond cherish’d hopes are ' wreck’d and lost. Alas! soprov’dit now;—the widow’s pray er 1 Was spurn’d, while her wild shrieks the theme were made Of many a passing jest. The sail is spread;- Away, away, while yet the lightnings sleep; Away;—but know ye there is One whose That deed of darkness sure has register’d, And his swift ministers the el’inents are.. THE MILLENIUM. Jl scene from Pollofcs “Course of Time The animals, as once in Eden, lived In peace. The wolf dwelt with the lamb, the bear And leopard with the ox. With looks of love, The tiger and the scaly hrocodile Together met, at Gambia’s palmy wave. Perched on the eagle’s wing, the bird of song, Singing, arose, and visited-the sun; Anuflvith the falcon sat the gentle lark. The little child leaped from his mother’s arms, And stroked the crested snake, and rolled unhurt Among his speckled waves, and wished him home! And sauntering school-boys, slow return ing played At eve about the lion’s den, and wove, Into bis shaggy mane, fantastic flowers. To meet the husbandman, early abroad, Hasted the deer, and waved its woody head; And around his dewy steps, the hare, un scared, Sported, arid toyed familiar with his dog. The flocks and herds, o’er hill and valley spread, Exulting, cropped the ever-budding herb. The desert blossomed, and the barren sung. Justice and Mercy, Holirfess and Love, Among the people walked; Messiah reign- ! ed, „ And earth kept Jubilee a thousand years. From the London Tract Magazinefor Julv. LAST HOURS OF REV. LEIQH RICHMOND. u Upon the lire and character ofthe author of “The Dairyman’s Daugh ters,” it is unnecessary to enlarge in any publication ofthe Religious Tract Society, or to detal -minutely his con nexion with that institution. Our readers will be much interested in the account of his last hours, written by one of his daughters. “He had a great dislike to keep his bed;—and I cannot but acknowledge the goodness of God that it was not necessary. He rose every day to the last, and sat as unusual in his study, only getting up a little later, and go ing to bed earlier, as his strength gradually failed him. The last fort night he was very silent, and appear ed constantly in prayer and meditation waiting his dismissal, and the end of his earthly pilgrimage. At this time nothing seemed to disturb him; and he appeared to realize the full import of that blessed promise, ‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee.’ 1 often thought he exemplified the faith his favorite Leighton commends, ’Let thy soul roll itself on God, and adventure there all its weight.’ It was indeed an un speakable delight to us to observe the unruffled calm of his soul; and it con firmed our minds in the truth and val ue of the doctrines he had taught for 30 years. We had seen our beloved father prostrate in soul before God, under a consciousness of indwelling sin; we had heard him bemoaning him self, after a long life of usefulness, as an unprofitable servant, renouncing a- gain and again, all hope of salvation by his own goodness, and fleeing to Jesus as his only refuge. To use his own words, ‘It is only by coming to Christ as a little Child, and as for the first time, that I can get peace.’ Yet, though for a time perplexed', he was not forsaken. We saw him comfort ed of God, and proving what he had often said tome, “Christ has firm hold of you, however feeble your grasp of him;’ and now we saw him strong in faith, and in the last hour of dissolving nature rejoice in the sure and certain hope of the Glory of God. He did indeed find, to use the dying word of my beloved brother, “the rest that Christ gives is sweet.” He was si lent but it was a most expressive si lence, and revealed emotions, of joy and praise not to be described. Ma ny touching circumstances occurred, which showed both the man and the Christian; but they are of too delicate a nature to be communicated beyond the circle of his own family. “Two days before his death, he re ceived a letter, mentioning the conver sion of tw ( o persons (one of whom was a clergyman) by the perusal of his Tract, ‘The Dairyman’s Daughter.’ When the latter was given to him, he seemed too feeble to open it himself, and desired Henry (his son) to read it to him. The contents deeply interes ted him. He raised himself in his chair, lifted up his hand, and then let it fall down again, while he repeated ly shook his head. His manner spoke the greatest humility, as if he would say, ‘How unworthy of such an hon or!’ For a few moments, it seemed to administer a cordial to his fainting spirit, and led our minds, in reference to our dear father, to contemplate the near fulfilment of that promise,’ They that turn many to righteousness shall shine as stars forever and ever.” “About five o-’clock on Tuesday, the 8th of May, 1827, we persuaded him to go to bed, but we little thought death was so near. He could not walk, and we were going to ring for a servant to assist him; but he said, ‘I should like Henry to carry me. He was wasted to a skeleton: Henry took him up with great ease, & we all fol lowed.—I shall never forget this most affecting moment: it was a moment of anguish to me more than the last scene. He seemed to know that he was leaving the study never to return to it.i his look told mo that he knew it.—This was his favorite room, where, for more than twenty years, he had constantly carried on his pursuits. There he had written his books, stu died his sermons, instructed his chil dren, conversed with his flock, and offered daily sacrifice of praise and prayer. I watched him as Henry carried him out; his countenance pre served the same look of fixed compo sure. He raised his head, & gave one searching look round the room, on his books, his table, his chair, his wife, his children; and then the door closed on him forever! He gave the same look round the gallery through which we passed, as if he was bidding fare well to every thing. There was a peculiar expression in his countenance which T cannot describe; it seemed to say, ‘Behold, I die; but God will be with you!* Henry seated him in a chair; and he sat to be undressed, like a little dependent child, In deep si lence, but without theTuffling of a fea ture. “About nine, he seemed rather wandering, and made an effort to speak, but we csuld not make out his meaning; only we perceived he was thinking about his church, for we head him say several times, ‘It will be all confusion.” Mamma asked him what would be confusion? ‘The church! There will be such confusion in my church!’ “About t.en o’clock, he signified to mamma,a gentle whisper that he wish ed to be left alone, to send us all a- way, and draw the curtains round him. “About half past ten, Mrs. G. tap ped at my door, and told me to come and look at my father. $he said she could hardly tell whetheij there was any change or not. I hurried to him. He raised his eyes to Heaven; and then closed them. „ I pul my cheek upon his; & I believe at (bat instant -I felt, for I could not hear, his dying sigh. I thought he was deeping, and* continued looking at him, till Hannah said, ‘Your dear papa ik in Heaven.’ I did not think him deaq; and I rubbed his still warm hands, tad kissed his pale cheek, and entreated him to speak one word to me, but 1 soon found it was the silence of death. All turn ed to poor mamma, who was insensi ble; and I was thusTeft alone with my dear father, kneeling beside him with his hand in mine. The same holy calm sat on ! his countenance, and seemed to say, “ Thanks be to God who has given me tlu victory.' 1 ' 1 TRUE RELIGION.—an extract. Religion is amiable and lovely when represented in a true light—it is the highest happiness of a rational being— it exalts the mind above the captivat ing and alluring vanities of this world, and prepares man to meet with forti tude and resignation, the unavoidable calamities which beset human life.— The felicities attending conscious inno cence are permanent and substantial. The happiness of a mind that can sur vey itself with tranquillity and self-ap probation, is of all others the most de sirable. True religion renders a man but little inferior to the angels, but without it he is beneath the beasts that perish. , Religion is regarded by some as an abridgement, to the pleasures of life, and is often set forth in the most gloomy and’ foreboding language. But mistaken is the idea—it refines the desires of the heart, unmasks the evils attendant on human life, and enables us to relish them as blessings in dis guise. Thus a fountain of hhppiness is opened to the pious map, which the licentious can never approach. How commisserating to the real Christian to hear the utmost satisfacto ry and delightful employment of the soul represented in such cold unbe coming lahguage! He marks the hand of the Deity in all things, and they conspire to yield him pleasures—he views with ecstacy the grand furniture of the skies, and adores that being who guides the silent spheres! He ad mires the mechanism of God as dis played in the grand theatre of the Uni verse. He beholds the lofty moun tains aspiring among the clouds, and the flowing seas with their inhabitants -—he sees the forked lightnings glare, and hears with awe the dreadful thun der, and still more direful earthquake, shaking creation to its very centre; but he fears not—he knows that he is safe, and like Elijah would be trans ported to regions of immortal bliss.— Such are the effects of true religion. Oh, how transporting the thought, that amidst the wreck of nature and the crush of worlds, the soul shall rehiaiu unhurt! . Oh Religion, how the multitude dis regard and abuse thy native amiable ness! how long, 0 man! wilt thou de lay, before thou dost embrace the glo rious privilege of being rational and immortal. Reader! oh reader, ad here not to the practice of a degene rate age, as an heir and expectant of a glorious immortality. Follow the brightest example which the blessed author of our religion has set before us, and thou shalt find consolatfbn while here, and everlasting peace beyond the grave. Physical, Civil and Moral Power of the West.—The following is taken from an article in the Quarterly Jour nal of the American Education Socie ty, for April. Physical Power.—By the Western Slates we mean to include those which are situated between the Alle ghany and the Rocky Mountains, and are watered by the Mississippi and its tributaries. The Territories of Mi chigan and Arkansas contain 528,000 square miles. It is only fifty-five years since the first English settle ments west of the Alleghany, were made in Kentucky. At various periods since, settle ments have been made in most of the States belonging to the Western di vision. Thirty-eight years ago, the entire white population of all these States amounted, as we have said, by actual computation, to scarcely 150,- 000—making a little over seven per sons to a square mile.—Their ratio of increase has been not far from 100 per cent. The ratio will probably di minish as the country grows older and those checks of population increase which ever exist in long settled States. But it is hazarding little to say, that in 1850, the Western States will con tain a population larger than that of the other great divisiona of the United States. Of their capability to support a population equal in density to Massa chusetts, no doubt can be entertained. The number of persons to a square mile in Massachusetts is seventy. By recurring to the number of square miles in the Western States, it will be seen, that with a population equal in destiny to Massachusetts, they will contain 36,960,000 inhabitants The effective military force of a popula tion of 10,000,000, may safely be estimated at 1,000,000. When, there fore, the Western States shall con tain a population equal in destiny to Massachusetts, their effective milita ry force will be nearly 4,000,000—an army superior to. that which can be brought into the field by the Autocrat of Russia. The above estimate is un doubtedly too low. A moment’s re flection will satisfy any one, that the Western States are capable of sus taining a much larger population, who takes into consideration the salubrity of their climate—the extent and 'fer tility of their soil—the richness of their mines—the facility they have for working them—and the great nav igable rivers and tributary streams by vyhich they are watered, suited either for manufacturing! establishmets, or the purposes of commercial enter- prize and activity. In the preceding remarks, no re gard has been paid to the unorganized territory belonging to the United States in the valley of the Mississippi. When, therefore, these immense re gions between the Alleghany and the Rocky Moutains shall be filled with a population etpial in density to Massa chusetts, their physical power will be greater than that of the mightiest na tion now in existence. Civil Power.—By civil power is here meant that influence which gny division of our country possesses in the national councils. Proceeding, then, upon the calculations laid down in the tables published in another part ofthe present number of the Journal,* it will be seen that the civil power of this nation will soon be wielded by the people of the West. Divide the Uni ted States into four parts, Northern, Middle, Southern and Western. The present number of Representatives in Congress, from each of the divisions, is as follows: .Northern 39—Middle 67—Southern 64—Western 46.— Whole number of Representatives from the first three divisions, 176.— From the last. 56. Under the pres ent regulations the apportionment for a representative is 40,000. Accor ding to the best calculations which can be made, it is ascertained, that in 1850, the population of the Northern, Middle and Southern divisions of the United States will be 11,384,705; while that of (he Western division will be 11,424,550. Should the fate of apportionment be the same then as at present, the first three divisions will have 267 Representatives, and the last 269; leaving the balance of power in favor of the_West, Tlje ap portionment in future will,, no doubt be much larger than at present; but upon the principle of equal yepreseu- tation, whatever the apportionment may be, the influence possessed by the West will be the same. In a little more than twenty years, therefore the Western States will have a majority in Congress; and in fifty years that majority will be over whelming. Of course they will be a- ble to control all the measures of the General Government which are of great national importance. Moral Power.—Now, w hen we re flect that the Western States, accord ing to the lowest estimate, are ca, pable of sustaining a population of more than 36,000,UGO, we feel that their moral power must be great, ei ther for good or evil,in proportion as in telligence or ignorance, virtue or vice, prevail among their citizens. We have before shewn that in i850 they will have a majority in Congrese; & is isyvell known that the character of a representative ever corresponds with that of his constituent*. If the people are industrious and virtuous, then their representatives will be men of like spirit. But if ignorance, licen tiousness of manner, and a disregard of religious obligation, prevail in the community, then reckless demagogues and abandoned profligates, Will sit in .the sacred hall of legislation; and ambi tion and self aggrandizement and love of power will take the place of patri otism and public spirit, and an unsha ken attachment to the best interests of the nation. Where such a state of society exists, the elective franchise, which is the peculiar glory of Ameri ca^ will become one of its deadliest scourges. Nothing, therefore, can prevent a dissolution of the Union, and save our free and happy institu tions from utter subversion, but patri otism pnd intelligence, directed, ani mated and controlled by the purest moral principles, pervading all class es of people at the West. •The tables here alluded to, give compar ative increase of the several divisions ofthe country in the following ratios: Eastern States 12 7 per cent. Middle 32 8; South ern 19 4: Western 99. ; The comparative population of the same divisions of country, when as dense as the present population of Great Britain, will be as follows: Eastern States, 11,851,200; Middle, 18,072,000- Southern, 56,173,000; Western, 120,240,- 000; unorganized territory, 153,658,890; total, 360,000,000. Jl Rawdon Bear.—On Thursday the 17th inst. Mrs. Henry of Rawdon, heard two cpws bellowing rather loud ly in a park adjoining her house: she instantly went out and perceived that the cows were pursued by a ferocious bear. The bear soon singled out onW of the cows as the object of an on slaught; the other finding herself freed from immediate pursuit, fell into the rear, and in her turn gave chace to the pursuer of her companion, and when very near the enemy made a plunge at him with her head. This attempt proved fatal to' herself; the bear taking advantage of her fall, turn ed and sprung upon her back, where having fixed himself he began to regale himself with the choicest 1 flesh he could find. Mrs. Henry on seeing this, seized a stick, and with a cour age that is seldom met with, ran up to the bear and pumelled him. from his seat; he leaped frpm his seat and pur sued the lady, who contrived to evadd him; upon this he calmly wiped his mouth upon a log of wood, and return ed to the still prostrate cow, upon whose carcase he had scarcely recom menced his attacks, when he was a- gain assailed by Mrs. H. She beat him off a second time—and a second time she was pursued. She cried for assistance, and six men came to he* aid with guns; but before they could resolve among themselves who should have, the honor of shooting the bear, he relieved them from 'he immediate necessity of depriving him of life, by scampering off. The cow was dead before he left her. He w*ent howev er, in search of a meal which lie might enjoy unmolested. For, as Mr. Hen ry was returning home in the evening, his attention was attracted to a field where a heifer was lowing most pite ously; on entering the field he perceiv ed the heifer lying on the ground, whilg the bear was feasting on him with ap parent sasisfaction. Mr. Henry went in quest of a gun, Which having pro cured shot the bear through the groin, but the wound was not deadly—for the bear ran off to the woods leaving the heifer lifeless. Thinking that “the enemy” might return, the body of the heifer-was left in the field; he made his appearanqe on Saturday 19th, and was so intent on the inviting flesh that the men who watched him, came upon him before he was aware, and ran a bayonet into his throat, he twisted the bayonet as it had been a rush, but not before it had given him his death thrust. :—- The quackery of signs is pushed even farther in Germany than in Lon don or Paris. A druggist at Berlin designates himself “privileged mouse- destroyer to his Majesty.” It is said, however, that a member ofthe Royal family refused to a turner permission to assume the title of a .“maker of. wooden legs to his Royal highness.”