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From the Young iMtlies’ Friend. The Dncl. By the Editor of Zion's Herald >V Jour. j The llcv. Mr. M was a veteran it- j inerant preacher of the West. He related many incidents of his itinerant life. Among them.was the following, which 1 give in his own words as much as possible. About four miles from N is an ex tensive grove, well known as the scene of ; several fatal duels. As I passed it one morning on my way to my appointment in that town, I perceived a horse and vehicle among the trees, guarded by a solitary man, who appeared to be the driver. My suspicions were immediately excited, but I rode on. About a mile beyond I met an other carriage containing four persons be sides the driver, and hastening with all speed, . My fears were confirmed, and I could i scarcely doubt that another scene of blood 1 was about to he enacted in those quiet soli- j tildes. What was my duty in the case I j knew too well the tenacity of those iicti- I tious and absurd sentiments ol honor which 1 prevailed in that section of the country, and | which give to the duel a character of exal- j ted chivalry, to suppose that my interfer-l nice could bo successful, yet 1 thought it was my duty to rebuke the sin if I could not prevent it; and in the name of the Lord l would do it. 1 immediately wheel ed about and returned with the utmost speed to the grove. The second carriage had arrived and <■•’ fastened <<> ‘■ ‘ “/’• “” ‘ r,| cd iny near it, and throwing the driver a piece of silver, requested him to guard him. While treading my way into the finest, my thoughts were intensely agitated to know how to present myself most successfully, i’he occasion admitted of no delay. I has tened on & soon emerged into an oval space ! surrounded on all sides by dense woods.— ! At the opposite extremity stood the princi pals, their hoots drawn over their panta loons, their coats, vest and hats off, hand kerchiefs tied over their heads, and tightly belting their waists. A friend and a sur geon were conversing with each, while the seconds were about midway between them, arranging the dreadful conflict. One of the principals, the challcngei, appeared but twenty ycats of ago. llis countenance was singularly expressive of sensibility, hut also of cool determination. The other had a stout and ruffian-like hearing— a countenance easy blit sinister and heart less, and he seemed impatient to wreak his vengeance upon his antagonist. I advanced immediately on the seconds and declared at once my character and oh- j jeet. “ Gentlemen,” said 1, “excuse my intrusion. lam a minister of the gospel. I know not the merits cf this quarrel, but both my heart and my office inquire me to bring about a leconciliation between the parties if possible.” “ Sir,” replied one of them, “ the ut most has hnou done to effect it, without success, and this is no place to make far ther attempts.” “Under any circumstances, in any place, gentlemen, I replied, “ it is appropriate to prevent murder, and such, in the sight of God, is tlm deed you arc aiding. It must not be, gentlemen. In the name of the law which prohibits it—in the name of your friends the principals—in the name ol God who looks down on you in this solitary place, I beseech you prevent it at once; at least, wash your own hands front the blood of these men. Retire from the field and refuse to assist in their mutual murder.” My emphatic remoustiance had a mo mentary client. They seemed not indis posed to come to terms, if I could get the concurrence of the principals. I passed immediately to the oldest of them. His countenance became more re pulsive as I approached him. It was deep ly pitted with the small pox, and there was j upon it the most cold-blooded leer I ever | saw on a human face. He had given the challenge. 1 besought him hy every con-! sidoratiou of humanity and morality to re-! call it. 1 referred to the youth and inexpe rience of his antagonist—the conciliatory disposition ol the seconds—the fearful con sequences to his soul if he should fall, and the withering remorse which must ever fol low him it ho should kill the young man. He evidently thirsted for the blood of his antagonist, but observing that his friend and the surgeon seconded mv reasoning, he re plied, with undisscmbled reluctance, that lie gave the challenge for sufficient reasons, and that it those reasons were removed, he might recall it, but not otherwise. I passed to the other. I admonished him ol Ihe sin ho was about to perpetrate, j I referred to his probable domestic re la- [ lions, and the allusion touched his heart. He suddenly wiped a tear from his eye.— j “\ es sir,’ said he, “ there are hearts ! which would break if they knew 1 was j here. 1 referred to my conversation with ; the seconds, and the other principal, and : remarked that nothing was now necessary I to effect a rcconsiliation but a retraction of I the language which had offended his antag onist. “Sir,” he replied, planting his foot ‘ lirnily on the ground, and assuming a look which would have been sublime in a better cause, “ Sir I have uttered nothing but the ! truth respecting that man, and though 1 sink into the grave, 1 will not sanction his ! villainous character bv a retraction. I reasoned with increased vehemence, but no appeal to his judgment 01 his heart could shake his desperate firmness, and I left hint with tears which I have no doubt he would have shared under other circum stances. What could Ido furthdr? I ap pealed again to the first principal, but he spurned me with a cool smile. 1 flew to the seconds and entreated them on any | terms to adjust the matter, and save the ! shedding of blood. But they had already ! measured the ground and were ready to | place the ptineipal. “ Gentlemen,” said I, “ the blood of this dreadful deed he upon your souls. 1 have acquitted myself of it.” 1 then proceeded from the area towards un horse. What were my emotions as I turned away in despair? What, thought 1, must the duel proceed ? Is there no expedient; to prevent it? In a few minutes one or both of these men rnay be in eternity, ac cursed forever with blood-guiltiness! Can I not pluck them as brands from the burn ing? My spirit was in a tumult of anxie-1 ty : in a moment, and just as the principals were taking their positions, I was on the ground. Standing on the line between ‘■ theem, I exclaimed, “In the name of God, ■ I adjure you to stop this murderous work. It must not, it cannot proceed.” “ Knock him down,” cried the eldet duellist, with a fearful imprecation. “ Sir,” exclaimed the younger, “ i appreciate your motives, but i demand of you to interfere no more with our arrangements.” The seconds seized ine by the arms and compelled me to re tire. Hut I warned them at every step. — | Never before did I feel so deeply the value and hazard of the human soul. My te marks were without effect, except in one j of the friends of the younger principal.— “This is a hortible place,” said he, “I j cannot endure it,” and he turned with me from the scene “ Now then for it,” cried one of the se- j conds, as they returned. “ Take your pla- j i ces.” Shuddcringly I hastened my pace j to escape the result. i “One—two”—and the next sound was j | lost in the explosion of the pistols! “O God,” shrieked a voice of agony! 1 turn- ■ led round. The younger principal, with : his hand to his face, shrieked again, quiver- [ ed, and fell to tho *• ‘ rtwfteil to him. / tv/to one /land he clung to the earth, the lingers penetrating the sod, while with the other he grasped his left jaw, which was shattered with a horrid wound. I turned j with faintness from the sight. The charge ; had passed through the left side of the ; mouth, crosssing the teeth, severing the jugular, and passing out at the back part of; the head, laying open entirely onesided'! the face and neck, in this ghastly wound, j amid blood and shattered teeth, had lie fix ed his grasp with a tenacity which could ‘ not he moved. Weeding profusely and con vulsive with agony, he lay for several min utes, the most frightful spectacle I had ever witnessed. The countenances of the spec tators expressed a conscious relief when it was announced hy the surgeon that death had ended the sconce. Meanwhile tho murderer and his party had left the ground. One of the company was despatched on my horse to communicate the dreadful news to the family. The dead young man was cleaned from his blood and borne im mediately to his carriage. I accompanied ; it. It stopped before a small but elegant house. The driver ran to the door and j rapped. An elderly lady opened it, with ! frantic agitation, at the instant that we were j lifting the ghastly remains from the car-; riage. She gazed for a moment as if tluin- j derstmrk, and full fainting is the doorway. , A servant removed her into the parlor, and ! as we passed with the corpse into a neat room, I observed her extended on a sofa, as pale as her hapless son. We plftccd the corpse on the table, with tho slitTencd hand still grasping the wound, when a yuong lady neatly attired in while, and with a face delicately beautiful, rushed frantically into the room and threw her arms round it, weeping with uncontrollable emo tion, and exclaiming with an agony of feel ing, “My brother! my dear brother! Can ! it he—O, can it lie?” The attendants tore I her away. I shall never forget the look of utter wretchedness she wore as they led Iter away—her eyes dissolved in tears, and her J bosom stained with her brother’s blood. The unfortunate man was of New Eng- ; land origin. He had settled in the town of IN—, where his business had prospered so j well that he had invited his mother and sis- ! tet to reside with him. llis home endear ed by gentleness and love, and every torn-! poral comfort, was a .scene of unalloyed happiness, but in an evil hour he yielded to ; a local and absurd prejudice—a sentiment I til honor lulscly so called which Ins eduea- 1 tion should have taught him to despise.— He was less excusable than his malicious | murderer, for he had more light and better ! sentiments. Tilts one step ruined him and his happy family. He was intoned the next day, with tho regrets of the whole community. llis mother never left the house till she was carried to her grave to he laid by the side of her son. She died after a delcrious fever of two weeks’ duration, throuliout which she ceased not to implore the atten dants, with tears, to preserve her hapless son from the hands of assassins, who she imagined, kept him concealed for their mur derous purpose, llis sister still lives, but i poor and broken-hearted. Her beauty and energies have been wasted by sorrow, and she is dependent on others tor her daily I bread. 1 have heard some uncertain reports of his antagonist, the most propable of which is, that he died three years after, of the yellow fever, in New Orleans, raging with the horrors of remorse. Such was the lo cal estimation of this.bloody deed that scarcely an ellbrt was made to bring him to justice. Alas, for the influence of fashion able opinion! It can silence hy its dictates the laws of man and of God, and exalt murder to thcgloty of chivalry. Intercessory Prayer. l'nk Christian has Power to Prevail wnit Con.—Would that this truth were engraved imlcllibly upon every heart in | which has been enkindled the (lame of Di li ine love. What /sprayer? Inquire not |ot a cold and dead orthodoxy. Ask not •he man who has the form of godliness, but who practically denies its power. lie who has felt the spirit of prayer—lie who has been houoted with a baptism of the Holy j Ghost—he from whose altar the incense of prayer ascends—he shall answer. Ask him what is prayer, and he shall tell you it is powtr with Jehovah. Viewed in this light, what a precious boon from heaven to men is prayer! It is a key to the store house of Clod. It opens the repository of heaven's choicest blessings, and brings them down to earth. Happy is lie who, possesses it. He has influence at the throne ot God. He ‘can move the arm that moves the destinies of the universe. ‘ There are many aspects u this subject: upon which the Christian lores to dwell. I shall aim, however, at preset, to exhibit 1 but one of these aspects. It i the efficacy ! of intercessory prayer, and the duty of God’s people in relation to it. Hy intercessory prayer, is meant, the prayer of faith for the salvation of impeni tent sinners—the use of this inlluencc with God in averting the doom of tjiosa under sentence of death, and in leading them to : the cross of Christ. j Christians who feel an interestiiu the conversion of their ungodly frierkl&Adoni ! realize the amount of influence tlfey possess iat the mercy-seat. They do iioj, take God j ’at his word. ‘They do not btfieve they i j have power to prevail with bib. Their ! addresses to the throne of gra/e demon-; 1 _ _ ’ O’ ~ stratc their unbelief. They aslf for small things; or if they pray for greater, they j have little expectation of receivutg them. I Their language shows it. It is-’.lie prayer ; that will take no denial that prevails with 1 GoJ. It is the wrestling of Jacob. Jacob interceded all night with the {.orl; and when the day dawned, and he was remind ; ed that it was time for him to desist, jand at ! tend to his flocks and herds, he replied, “I j will not let thee go, except thou blesi rue.” He inis blest. God said to liinn “Thy ‘ name shall be called no more is, one who supplants another,j hat Israel, j (warrior with od, as the name jjgnifies,) for as a prince hast thou power with God and with man, and hast prevailed.” Power with God! O, if his children’ | believed, felt, realized this, what iulercess j ions would they make for an ungodly world! ; Power with God! Did the church feel | this, as they ought, the moral foundations i of the world would he moved, and the king ; dom of the Messiah speedily uni perma | nenily established. They do not Icel it. 1 Why is it, when God seems ahixt to an ; ticipate their faith, and to go before them in j bestowing his biesssings ? Why is it, | when they know they have received imme diate and signal answers to theft prayers j for the impenitent ? Why is it? How j can they he so faithless, so skeptical, so ready to distrust God ? Why, every one ; who will give himself the trouble to watch the phenomena of the moral world, and to inquire lor their causes, must see that the j intercessions of the godly mail prevail with God. Unconverted men even, with all I their prejudice against spiritual religion, and all their obtuseness of moral vision, are j generally 100 observing not to notice, and j too honest not to acknowledge it. It is al- I most self-evident. The man who is emi ! nenily pious, walks with God ; and it is | plain as a sunbeam, that when he speaks, I God hears. j John Knox was the principal agent in | introducing and disseminating the Protest* I ant religion in Scotland. He was a holy ! man, and had much of the spirit of prayer. | Mary, Queen of Scots, and a zealdus advo j cate of the Catholic faith, according to her : own confession, trembled for the fate of Popery ill her dominions. “ 1 use afraid jof John Knox,” said she. But why did ! she tremble? Why was she afraid of this I man? Was she afraid of his rank and in- 1 j llucnee in the world? No, she knew well j that he was poor, and far enough removed I from what the world called greatness. Was ! she afraid of his fleets, and his armies, ami his military skill ? He was no general; and except by the angels he was unat- I tended. What was she yl'raid of?—his; ! learning and eloquence? No. What then? What caused her to tremble, and fear that i that fabric of superstition would totter and - fall through the influence of this humble j mdividval ? Let her answer. “1 am mote \ afraid of the prayers of John Knox, than ol an at my of a thousand men!” She, though probably a stranger to the power of j godliless in the heart, was no struiger to j tho astonishing efficacy of prayer. She was a philosopher—a better philoshphcr, ; it would seem, than many of the professed disciples of Christ. The result showed that she had ground for her fears. Papa cy could not stand against the attacks of ; such an engine. It fell, and its walls were never rebuilt in Scotland. We wonder and complain sometimes, that onr prayers for the outpouring of the Spirit, and for the conversion of sinners, are not answered. But have we wrestled with God ? Have we been suitably im pressed with a sense of the value of souls, and have we besieged the throne of grace for tot'in When have we agonized in prayer for their conversion? How often 1 have our hearts yearned over them? How often, while reflecting upon their condition, . have we, with tears, sought the mercy -seat, 1 and “told Jesus?” How often Jins our pri- ‘ vate Bethel witnessed, fervent, importu nate intercession for them? When have we felt and interceded for their salvation, as Abraham felt and interceded for the cities of tho plain ? lias such incense as this ever ascended from cur altars? Has such been the character of our prayets ? And shall we, in whose breasts the Spirit has lighted up a flame of holy love—shall we feel little anxiety that others should share in that love ? Shall we, who are heirs to a 1 crown of unfading glory, and who hope soon to wear it, feel little interested to se cure such a crown for our unconverted friends ? Shall we withhold our intercess ions, and fold our arms in apathy and in dilference, in the midst of our ungodlv friends and relations ? Is it a time to sleep, 1 when members of our own families are un -1 reconciled to God, and exposed to his wrath? We can scarcely open our eyes, without beholding those who are tenderly allied to ’ us by the ties of friendship, and some who . sustain a closer relation to us as our kin-! I died, who “ have no hope, and are without ■ , God in the world.” They are “treasuring! up wrath against the day of wrath,” The edict of retribution lias gone, and they are already sentenced, and the storm of Jeho-1 valt’s vengeance is impending, O Christian! do you know that you have influence with God ? Do you know what ,encouragement you have to intercede for those whom you love ? You may avert the doom that thieatens them. Your prayers may secure their introduction into the fami ly of God, and a title to the rank and privi leges of sons antk daughters ol the Lord Almighty. Then plead for their salvation. Plead with a warm heart. Plead with faith and earnestness, and implicit reliance on j the efficacy of the Holy Ghost. Such in-, tercessions are neyer thrown away. N. Y. Evangelist. Astonishing accuracy of the Bible. An astonishing feature of the word of j God is, that notwishstanding the time at; which its compositions were written, and the multitudes of the topics to which it al ludes, there is not one physical error—not ; one assertion or allusion disproved by the progress of modern science. None of those mistakes which the science of each | succeeding age discoved in the books of I the preceding ; above all, none of those i absurdities which modern astronomy indi- \ | cates in such great numbers in the writings i i of the ancients—in their sacred codes, in | ! their philosophy, and even in the finest pa- j | ges of the fathers of the Church, not one ! j of these errors is to be found in any of our isacied books. Nothing there will ever ; contradict that which, after so many ages, 1 the investigations of the learned world , have been able to reveal to us on the state |of our globe, or on that of the heavens.— i j Pursue with care our Scriptures, from one | end to the other, to find there such spots ; | and while you apply yourselves to this ex j animation, remember that it is a book which ! speaks of every thing, which describes na ture, which recites its creation, which tells us of the water, of the atmosphere, of the mountains, of the animals, and of the plants. It is a book which teaches us the first rev olutions of the world, and which also fore tells Its last: it recounts them in the cit cumstincial language of history: it extolls them in the subliinest strains ’ of poetry, and it chants them in the charms ot glow j ing song. It is a book which is full of oriental laplurC, elevation, variety, and bold ness. It is a book which speaks of the ! heavenly and invisible world, while it also ! speaks of the earth and things visible. It is a book which nearly fifty writers, of ev ery degree of cultivation, of every stale, of every condition, and living through the course of fifteen hundred years, have con curred to make. It is a book which was written in the centre of Asia, in the sands of Arabia, and in the deserts of Judah; in the courts of the temple of the Jews, in the j music schools of the prophets of Bethel and of Jerico, in the sumptuous palaces of Babylon, and on the idolatrous banks of Clieber; and finally in the midst of the western civilization, in the midst of the Jews and their ignorance, in the midst of polytheism and its idols, as also in the bo som of pantheism and its sail philosophy. It is a book whose first writer had been for ty years a pupil of the magicians of Egypt, in whose opinion the sun, the stars, and the elements were endowed with intelli gence, reacted on the elements, and gov erned the world by a perpetual alluvium. It is a book whose first writer preceded, | hy more than nine hundred years, the most j ancient philosophers of ancient Gtceeeanu Asia—the Thalesen, and the Pythagorases, the /alucuses, the Xenophens. and the Confuciuses. It is a book which carries] its narrations even to the hierarchies ol’ an- 1 gels—even to the most distant epoch of the ] future, and the glorious scenes of the last; day. Well, search among its 50 authors,; search among its 00 hooks, its 1180 chap ters, ils 31,170 verses, search for only one ; | of those thousand errors which the ancients ; ] and the moderns committed, when they I speak of the heavens or of the earth—of their revolutions, of the elements ; search ! hut you will find none. Herman of Gausacn. The Uncertainty of Life. The royal prophet excellently expresses ; tlie shortness ami uncertainty of life, where ; lie says, “ llehold, thou hast made my days as a hand-breadth >” an elegant meta phor to set forth the brevity of man’s life on earth. It is a very narrow scantling, as it were but a handful of time and duration Many of the suns of Adam die before they see the sun. Others look forth into the \ light, as it were only to see ii; and having, | by a shriek or two, given testimony to the i misery of this life, presently die and van ; ish ; and their death treads upon the heels |of their birth. Others are creatures of a day’s continuance; and their birth and death are contained within the compass of one rising and setting of the sun. Others live a little longer; yet die upon their moth er’s breast. Others outlive their infancy, and having prattled and played awhile m the world, death on a sudden suipriscs them, and puts an end to their childish sport. Others arrive at some growth or stature and understanding, and bud forth, and promise fair, and are the joy and hope of their parents; but on a sudden, like the | child of the Shunamitish woman, the i sprightly lad falls sick and dies, and leaves , the afflicted parents’ gray hairs to follow ! with sorrow to the grave. Others live to | blossom, and arrive at the flower of their ! age, their youth ; hut a fever, or some vio lent accident, snatches them away. The flower on a sudden fades and withers, and , they die in the prime of their years. Oth -1 ers reach the middle age, and their moun j lain appears strong, and the tree seems to ! have taken deep root, and there is little doubt that the man will live to a good old j age. But, behold, death lays his axe to the root of the tree, the firm oak is cut down, : falls, and dies ; and the strong man is taken away in the midst ot his days, for our years are seventy; nay, if by reason of! strength they be fourscote years, yet is their ! strength labor and sorrow ; for “ it is soon cut off, and we flee away.” Three score j or fourscore years make a great noise and | sound high; and while they are before us tliev look big, and seem to be a long time of du ration ; but one yeat steals away after an other, and when the whole term is out we 1 wonder and are vexed at our false arithmc- 1 tic. The vast number of years seem as 3 cipher, and the time that is past appears as ] a mere dream. Happy they who timely consider their latter end, and make the service of God the ! one great business of this vain ami transi tory life. Theirs is the life immortal, and ; the crown that fadeth not away.— Bull. Columbian College, D. C. The Board of Trustees beg leave res pectfully to invite the atention of ils friends, and the public genet ally, to this Institution. It has, as is well known, for several years past, been burdened with a heavy debt, which has impeded its progress, and great-; ly embarrassed its usefulness. The Trus- I tees have the pleasure of announcing that this burden is now removed. Its debts have been paid, and it is now presented to ! the favor of the public, under circumstan ces which it is believed justly entitle it to their confidence and support. By persevering efforts, and through the liberality of its friends, the point so long and ardently desired has at length been reached. The College, with its commodi- I ous buildings, its ample grounds, its chemi cal and philosiphicakaparaius, and its other valuable property, now stands free from en- j cumbrance; and, with but a fair proportion ! of public patronage, the Board feel assured I that there is opened before it a prospect of i success and usefulness which it has not en-1 joyed since the earliest period of its history, j New arrangements have been made in j the department of instruction; the Rev. Joel S. Bacon has been recently appointed President; and, with a course of studies similar to those of our best colleges, it is believed there is nothing wanting to the means and facilities to acquire a thorough and useful education. In beauty and health fulness of position it is unsurpassed, and its local advantages arc not exceeded by those of any other in stitution in the country. Besides the ordinary College exercises, the students of the two higher classes are ! admitted to courses of Lectures on Rheto-! rie, Intellectual and Moral Philosophy, A-j natomv, Physiology, Chemistry, and Nat ural Philosophy. Its vicinity to the National Metropolis affords to young men the opportunity of observing distinguished public characters ; of acquaintance with the nature and opera-! tions of our Government; and of witness ing the highest efforts of talent in the Halls ! of Congress, and in the Supreme Court of : the United States. This i deemed of great importance, especially to those who are destined for public life, and its results are seen in the succecs of many who have gone out from the College, and arc now filling conspicuous stations in society. The city of Washington is doubtless soon to become a place of great attraction for the pursuit of scientific and literary studies. A National Observatory has been recently established by Congress, the appa ratus for which has been ordered from Eu rope at great expense. The National Insti tute, also under the patronage of the Gov ernment. has already very extensive‘col lections in Natural History, including those obtained hy the late Exploring Expedition. To these large additions will be constantly made. The “ Smithsonian legacy” of half a million of dollars is here to be employed j in the acquisition and diffusion of knowl edge. This will probably be done by the establishment of public lectures in the va j rious branches of science and leanring not | embraced in the ordinary course of a public I education. The advantages of these sev ’■ eral Institutions will doubtless be accessible ] to all, and they will afford a strong addi tional inducement to young men for enter ing a College where these privileges can | be enjoyed. There are two College sessions; the; first, commencing cn the first Wednesday j in November, and continuing six months ; j the second, commencing on the first Wed- j nesday in July, and continuing three months, thus affording to students the op portunity of spending the sickly season in the salubrious atmosphere of College Hill. I The annual Commencement for Conferring I Degrees, is on the first Wednesday in Oe-; toher. Much pains has been taken to limit the I expenses of the College, so as to place its i means of education within the reach of the greatest number possible. Board, in-; eluding lights, care of rooms, Ac., is 1 charged at $2 25 per week, which, together with room rent, tuition, and other charges.; amounts to about $l5O for the College year. This is exclusive of fuel, which is ■ furnished at cost, and washing at 07 j cents j per dozen ; the amount of these items will; vary with the habits of the student. A j less expensive table is provided for those who may choose to dispense with tea and j coffee, and certain other articles. The i board at this table is charged at $1 50 per I week, thus reducing the expenses to $127 per annum. It was a prominent object with the foun- \ ders of the College, and one which has been steadily kept in view, to afford aid and encouragement to young men who were preparing for the Christian ministry. To such, when their circumstances require it, the tuition is, in all cases, gratuitous ; and in some instances, no charge is made except for board, which, as above slated, may be had for $1 50 per week. Such additional assistance, as is compatible with the other duties of the College, will be i allbrded them in the direction of their stu dies, and in imparting Biblical instruction. There is a Preparatory Department, un der the direction of the Faculty, which it is proposed to enlarge, and place under thorough and efficient management. This will constitute an important branch of the Institution, and will afford to parents the 1 opportunity of placing their sons in the most favorable circumstances for acquiring ! a Classical or Mathematical education. The Columbian College has heretofore shared largely in the favor and sympathies ■of the public. A multitude of friends in j ; dilferent parts of the country have rendered to it liberal and efficient aid under its em-. barrassments, Many of the ablest and best 1 nten in the land have devoted to it their earnest and faithful labors, thus evincing the high estimate which they placed upon its importance, and the deep interest which they Jell in its welfare. And now that it* is freed from the encumbrance of its debts, it requires only that a portion of the same interest which lias hitherto been manifest i ed in its behalf, should be continued, to se cure for it an ample support, and to realize from it a large measure of the benefits which were anticipated by its worthy and benevolent founders. The high standing and eminent useful ness of many who have gone forth from ‘ it into active life, are a proof of the good it has done, and afford ample encouragement to those who may be disposed to contribute in any way to its future prosperity. Situ ated as it is in a central position, where the j greatest facilities for communication with all parts of the cotintiv are enjoyed, in the midst of a community which is rapidly growing in wealth anti numbers, and where there is a constantly increasing demand for tiie means of education, it is believed that nothing is wanting but suitable encourage ment on the part of its friends and the pub ; lie, to render this one of the most impor ; tant and valuable Institutions in the land. The Board would therefore earnestly commend the College to the favor of an en lightened community, in the hope and con | lidencc that, under the new and more aus picious circumstances in which it is now | placed, and with the very attractive advan tages which it offers, it may receive a liber al share of their patronrge and support. By order of the Board. JAMES L. EDWARDS, Pres. George Wood, Sec. Washington. D. C., Dec. 11, 18-13. .No Bishop—No Church. From letters that have passed through the papers, between the Rev. Dr. Potts of the Presbyterian, and the Rev. Dr. Wain vvrigbt of the Episcopal Church, (both of : New York,) the public are anticipating a 1 discussion upon the main question at issuo j between the Non-Episcopal and the Episco pal communions. It seems that at the din ner of the New England Society on the 22d tilt., Dr. Wainwright was a guest, and from I)r. W.’s statement, the- Orator of the day, the lion. Mr. Choate, speaking of the Puritans in the reign of Mary, alluded I 10 ‘heir being driven from their home and ! seeking an asylum in Geneva, where “they found u State without a King and a church without a Bishop.” The cheering that followed the utterance ot this sentiment was “ long continued, and tumultuous”— and Dr. W. conceived that its character was that “of defiance of such as did not sympathize with the sentiment.” At the dinner Dr. W. took occasion to say, that “ notwithstanding this strong burst of ap probation to this sentiment, wete that a proper arena, should even the orator ol the day throw down his gauntlet, he, Dr. W., would take it up, and say, “ there cannot he a Church without a Bishop.” Dr. Potts regarding this as a challenge or a de fiance of those who concur in the Orator’s sentiment, and considering the proposition ol Dr. W. as pregnant with innumerable evil consequences, theological, social, and civil—as unscriptural, uncharitable schis matic, and anti-republican in its character, has apprized Dr. W. that, notwithstanding his reluctance to engage as a controversial ist, he is ready to debate with him the queslion. Dr. W. has accepted the offer, and here the matter rests for the present. The contest will probably lie a long and vigorous one, and from its nature must ex cite deep public interest. It is, in a word, a contest for the high prelntio claims of j Puseyism and Romanism on the one hand, | and on the other for that liberty which Prot j estants have ever asserted as’in conformity j with the Divine rule. That it may termi ; natc in the advancement of truth and right eousness should lie the prayer of all who love the Lord Jesus Crnist in sincerity. Charleston Observer. Election. Mr. A Heine thus obviates a very common perversion of the doctrine cf election. “Thou beginest at the wrongend, if thou disputest first aboul thine election. Prove thy conversion, and then never doubt of tliy election: or canst thou not yet prove it?— Set upon a present and thorough turning. \\ hatever God’s purposes may be, which is secret, 1 am sure his promises are plain.— ! How desperately do rebels argue: If lam elected, I shall be saved, do what I will; if not, I shall be damned, do what 1 can. Per : verse sinner, wilt thou begin where thou 1 shouldst end? Is not the word before thee? hat saitli it? Repent, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out. If thou mortify the deeds of the body, thou shalt jbe saved. What can be plainer? Do not stand still, disputing about thine election; blit set to repenting and believing; eiy to ! Hod for converting grace. Revealed things belong to thee; in these busy thyself. It is just—as one well said—that they who will not feed on the plain food of*the word, should be choked with the bones. What ever God’s purposes be, I am sure his prom ises are true. Whatever the decrees of Heaven be, I am sure that if I repent and believe, I shall be saved; and that if I re pent not, I shall be damned. Is not here plain ground for thee? and wilt thou yet run upon the rock? Going to Bed. —Let ine look to it, that I lie not down in bed, any night, but in peace with God, and never let my heart rest, till it repent truly for any tiling that hath passed amiss in the day. The correspondent of the New England Puritan writing from Rome, states that the top of the renowned Tarpeian Rock of Ro man history, is now occupied for a garden —the palace es the Ciesars is now owned by a rope spinner and used for rope walks —whilst the forum, where was thundered forth the eloquence of Cicero, is now a cow . market! What a satire on human pride and I greatness is thus traced by the tinser of time!