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BY JAMES VV. JONES
The Southern Whig,
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TEVMS. . -
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PROSPECTIS
OF THE
SwOTßffiO WEE®.
THIS paper formerly edited by Wm. E.
Jones, is now under the direction of the
undersigned. The growing importance of Ath
ens, the state of parties in Georgia, and the
agitation of certatn'questions having a direct
ndhience on southern interests; render it neces
sary that the northwestern part of Georgia
should hav£L some vigilant, faithful
always on the watch tower, devoted
construction of the true spirit ofthe
the maintainance ofthe rights and sqa
the States, the
of all public officers; moderate, yet firm and
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‘ J. W. JONES.
PROSPECTUS.
AT the late meeting of the Alumni of Frank
lin College, it was unanimously resolved to
be expedient to make arrangements to issue a
'Monthly Literary Magazine, to be called
THE ATHENIAN.
The undersigneo were appointed by the So
ciety a committee of publication and joint Edi
tors of the work, until the next meeting of tne
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cept that which we take in the welfare ofthe
country and honor of the State. We, of the
South, have too long depended upon foreign
parts forour Literature, and neglected our own
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we are weak: and dependent until we make ef
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of Literature in the State, and especially the
Alumni of Franklin College, will patronize the
enterprise both by word and deed. State pride
the love of Literature, our interest in the cause
of general Education, all call upon us to sustain
mi enterprise so necessary to our improvement,
wild the honor ofthe State.
A. S. CLAYTON,
JAMES JACKSON,
R. D. MOORE,
WM. 1,. MITCHELL,
C. F. McCAY,
SAMUEL P. PRESSLEY,
11. HULL.
Tmf. Athenian shall issue monthly, on fine
paper, stitched and covered in pamphlet form,
and shall contain sixty-four pages royal octavo.
-Nothing derogatory to religion, offensive to atty
'denomination of Christians, or of any political
party, shall appear in the Athenian. Its pages
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FOUR months after date application will be
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of Madison county, sitting for ordinary purpo
ses, for leave to sell the real estate of James
Sanders, Jun. late of said county, deceased.
WILLIAM SANDERS, c. c. o.
April I—4B—4m.
a aw.
undersigned has settled in Macon with
JL the view ol practicing LAW—He will at
tend the courts of the adjoining counties, and
may be found by application at the office of
Messrs,J*oe & Nisbet for the present—His
Office, not quite complete, is on the second floor
offhe New Commercial Bank.
In winding up my business in the Ocmulgee
circuit, I have associated with me Augustus
Reese, Esq. of Madison. Our joint attention
will be applied to that object.
E. A. NISBET.
Macon, January 28—39—10 t.
The Southern Recorder, Chronicle ana
Sentinel, and Whig, will publish the above
weekly until the first of May,
C x? x, /i M $ rzZs z/b’l Y1 'fl ± >k i
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z*«wXJ JVMV<I Ar' j I V I VILo
POETRY.
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
STANZAS,
On reading the • Paul and Virginia’ of St. Pierre.
BY MRS. L. 11. SIGOURNEY.
Whence those portentious sounds
That through the forests sigh ?
s'a-y,—why in giddy rounds
Do yon wild sea-birds fly J
Doth night’s fair regent bow
With secret fears opprest,
That livid circles stain her brow,
And clouds her course molest ?
Yon mariner with a presage drear,
Why doth he roam the beach and bend the anx
ioJiS ear r
Haste, lofty Ship ! with banners proudly strea
ming,
Haste to thy haven, ere the tempest rise,
Thou who dost bear in beauty brightly beaming
Thy young Virginia to her native skies,
From Gallia’s shore to that lone isle returning,
O’er whose dark mountain tops and shadowy,
vales
In lingering gold a tropic sun is burning;
Rapturously her home she hails
Where from the rock the silvery fount is spring-
i in g«
' In her soft nest the sweet bengalia singing,
And there, when Eve the tamarind leaf doth
close,
Or bright Aurora wake the rose.
And touch the bamboo-tops with flame,
The prayer is never breathed without her idol
name.
Hark, to the thunder’s roar !
Red lightnings pierce the sky,
Horse billows lash the rugged shore,
And Oqean’s depths reply.
The Ship ! The Ship ! —she foils the gazer’s eye,
Plunging ’neath the surges proud,
And then her rent sails quivering fly
Above the cleaving cloud,
Wild o’er her deck the breakers roar,
Tossing their vengeful crests. Dark Storm!
What wilt thou more ?
Come to the sounding beach, for she is there
Whom the young lover rush’d to meet,
No bridal garland decks her hair,
Save where the sea-weed its damp mesh hath
braided;
The rose-leaf on her cheek hath faded
To a sad violet hue : yet still ’tis sweet
To gaze upon the early dead, who wear
Such fixed and holy smile, above all mortal care.
Where are those visions bright
Os Love and Hope on pinions white,
Which hovered o’er her on the deep,
to her couch of sleep ?
? gilded gifts from Fancy’s store?
sca-wash’d bed upon her native
Rest, gentle Voyager ! thy dirge is swelling, I
And sad the mournful train
• Unclose for thee that narrow dwelling
Where tempests beat in vain.
Fast by that hallowed sane
Where in pure prayer was bowed thine infant
head
Thy virgin grave is spread ;
Fragrant blossoms deck the bier,
And o’er thy turf-crown’d bed flows forth;Affcc
tion’s tear.
Yet one there is, with years and sorrows bent,
And care-worn brow, of every hope beguiled,
Who with a mother’s untold anguish went
Down to the grave, lamenting o’er her child ;
He too, that stricken lover, he
Whose soul was with the maid
Since childhood its first dawn display’d,
Where might his bridal chamber be
Save where her form is laid ?
Wither’d the plants, their garden’s cherished
pride,
With their cool, sheltering arms, the tall banan
nas died,
The mouldering cottage stink, tho sparkling
streamlet dried.
All, all are gone I —Yet weep not, thou whose
eye
Beyond this changeful sky
Scarinefh the mansions of the blest,
M here the earth-chastened and the pure ones
rest,
Safe from the surging sea, the tempest’s breath,
The pang of pining love, or ruthless shrift of
death;
From the Knickerbocker.
Wiisosa Conworth.
CHAPTER VII,
‘Men witlioutfcstirrups look fine, ride bold, tire
soon: meh without discretion cut dash, but
! knock up all in a crack.’
I have said the president’s fresh brought
me my suspension-bill; and with it, I should
add, came abundant food for excitement. 1 had
tired of college, and my readings had began
to lose some of their interest; • I was sum
moned to the president’s study. I had so long
been suffered to do as I pleased, without in
terruption, that I was in hopes no fault save
idleness could be registered against me. But
I had been watched by my evil genius,
tor. He had seen me in the city at eflgSM
when I excused mvself team morning’KajY
cise, under the He
ed’ the family ; and when I
thought
danger. W *-■ \■- >
‘ Well, Con\wk; frod old presi
dent, ‘I am -
' eminent deem you, should
spend a few Vv c hope
'this early lesson wiliSfT salutary. You have
by no means attended to yotif studies with
proper diligence. We received you, at first,
though not properly fitted, at the request ot
your tutor; but you seem unwilling or unable
to exert yourself to receive ti e benefits of col
lege instruction ; ahem! and ——- (the kind
old man seemed unwilling to pass sentence) —-
• a ahem ! You are, in short, suspended
' for six months to B—«* —, under the care of
: the Rev. Mr. P •’
I took the paper, with a sorrowful luce, al
ii hough delighted at heart; fori bad hea o
B spoken of as a delightful place. 1 was
i hurrying off to hire a gig, and ride .round to
imy father’s through tile suburbs, ‘ thought
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY.” JeffetSOn.
I, ‘ I may as well take a ride as I go, and be
in time for dinner, too.’ And, to show the fri
volity of my character still more, I was quite
pleased, to think I should get a good dinner
that day, and a glass es wine. In short. I re
ceived this event as a god-send, because it was
something novel.
I was just stepping into the chaise to depart,
amid the regrets of some, the sympathies ol
others, and the good wishes of all my fellow
students, or rather fellow-idlers, when a car
riage drove swiftly up to the place, and but
jumped my father! The president had writ
ten him in the morning, so that he received the
letter about the time I got my bill of suspen
sion. He was all consternation. He thought
me irrevocably lost. He was as one demented.
He asked me to accompany him to my room.
Thp ofi*, in awe and CMUSCtCDCe-
strickenness, and we were left alone. He
looked me full in the face for a few moments,
and tears started in his eyes. He brushed them
hastily away, and gave vent to the agony of
his feelings in a torrent of abuse.
I considered myself ill-treated. I did not
seethen, as I now see, how he felt. I did not
look at his heart as I now do. I took him
literally. I told him ‘I was ready to seek my
own fortune. I could take care of myself.
He might discard me, if he chose; there were
ways enough to get a support.’ I braved him.
He was overcome. His sufferings were too
much for words. He was in despair. He
saw all his hopes cut off, his family disgraced,
and me, his eldest son, an outcast from society.
‘Come, Sir!’—and we walked down stairs.
As we reached the bottom, a herd of people
had collected. The news of my suspension
had reached the stable-keepers,* etc. They
flocked in for pay. Bills to an enormous
amount were presented. They wets paid in
stantly. Not an objection was made—not a
word uttered. After all was settled, my father,
who had put on astern demeanor, got into the
carriage; and bade me follow, with the air of
an etnperoi. I was thrown into insignificance
by the stateliness of his grief. He did not
deign to utter a word to me; and I slunk back
into the troublous ruminations of my own con
science.
At last-—it seemed an age to me—we ar
rived at home. A good dinner and a glass of'
wine seemed to restore in some measure the
equanimity of my father. I was watching the
workings of his countenance. I drank pretty
freely myself, for a boy under sentence, and
was vastly polite to my mother. Always
thinking of excitement, no sooner did I find my
nerves pretty well braced, than, leaving my
mother’s side, I walked to my father, and stoop
ing down, whispered in his ear; ‘ Can I have
the horses this afternoon ?’ We had a guest
or two, by soma chance, that day. My father
forgot himself, and thundered out, as iferazed
by the magnitude ofthe request, ‘ No, Sir !’ I
was suddenly brought to my senses, from the
imprudent forwardness of a fool. I slunk
away to my room, and buried my face in my
pillow, till 1 fell asleep. When I awoke, 1
began to suspect that my father knew me bet
ter than I thought he did.
'l’fie next morning my breakfast was brought
to my room, and I was apprized that the chaise
would be ready to conduct me out of town in
the course of an hour. I inquired for my fa
ther, and requested to see him. ‘He had gone
out; he could not see me was to go with
the servant.’ A letter was handed to me, and
with an aching heart, I broke the seal. It
was from my father. The letter was kind in
the extreme, but it painted in glowing colors
the agony of his mind. I seemed to grow ac
quainted with my father. He was full as
much an enthusiast as myself. Trade had
buried up a fine character, but nature brought
out the brilliant passages of his mind some
times. Here is the letter:
‘My Son : You are pleased with your situ
ation, 1 see, and am sorry for it. You afflict
me still more. Until you become a father
yourself, you can never know the severity of
my disappointments. Go; reform your idle 1
habits : make your exile a season of reflection. j
I forgive you : try to forgive yourself.
‘Thomas will go with you. Do hot loiter
by the way. Avoid your associates. It is I
they have ruined you. Enclosed is SIOO. ;
Use it for necessaries and comforts, but be
prudent. My hopes are weakened, but not de
stroyed. Adieu!
‘ Your affectionate Father.’
I wept over this letter for an hour; My fa
ther’s goodness over came me. I krielt down,
and solemnly, on my knees, vowed to reform
all idle habits, and to be worthy of such a gen
erous parent. I felt relieved, elevated, and
strengthened, by this good resolution. I arose,
washed my face, ran and kissed my mother,
jumped into the chaise, and we Were on our
way to B .
The ride took us all day. It rained, was
1 cold; and every thing looked dreary. My ro.
! tnance hardly bore me out through this trial.
: If I had parted in anger from my friends—
| been kicked out of doors, and turned adrift to
j seek my own bread—my spirit would have
j risen to meet the emergency, and I should have
; viewed my case, with my then set ot feelings,
as one of tyranny and oppression. But now I
had no such consolatory thoughts. 1 had done
wrong —been generously forgiven—my pock
ets crammed with money ; and I could not but
view myself as a very bud and culpable young
man. Chewing the clid of bitter reflections—
wet, hungry, disgusted with myself and the
whole world—the seivant set me down at the
door of the good clergyman, at dusk. 1 had
only time to remark that it was a oue-stbry,
yellow house; without blinds or curtains, naked
of shrubbery, and barn-like in its appearance.
A little short malignant-looking iiian came
out to see what was the matter. The servant
frgave him a letter, lie kept us standing in the
rain while he read it, and then coldly invited
me m. Thomas was dismissed without no
tice. I Was shown intc a room without fire.
He did not even ask me if I had dined. 1 had
not. eaten since my slight morning’s meal;
For the first time in my life, I felt supremely
wretched. 1 felt to the quick that I was pun
ished; By-aud-by I was called from my cheer
less, tireless, and almost windowless room, to
tea. 1 looked around for somebody or some
thing to love, but all was stiff, and formal, and
cold; 1 ate a mouthful, and retired. At nine;
1 was sumniOtied to prayers. It was a fervent
| nasal service. My keeper was a violent Ilop-
I kiiisiaii. He pmyed for me in language I
j could not comprehend, for it was a jargon of
I all the Bible terms heaped and strung together
I into a mass of confusion. But 1 understood
: enough to know that I was considered as the
■ most abandoned wretch bn earth; I was
i shocked. His style of addressing the Deity
i was so gross and familiar, that ail niy early
I impressions were outraged, and I was appall
!ed at the idea of hearing God profaned. After
[. prayers, not a v. ord h as uttered, except * Y ou
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, APRIE 2S, 1537.
can take that light j’ and I went to my room,
wondering among what manner of people I
was sent for reformation.
My bed was a Crazy one—the furniture of
my room shabby and time-worn. I had not
even the luxury of a basin and towel. Every
thing reminded me how miserable I was.—
Not a cheering thought came to me. A long
six months of solitude, vulgarity, profane pray
ers, and sanctimonious religion, were before
me.
My keeper seemed any thing else than a
scholar; and the only alleviating thought was,
that I could do as I pleased about study. This
thought «ame to me, too, after all my solemn
promises at home, over the letter ot my father !
I did not think I was inconsistent; so incapa.
tile was I, at that age, of reflection, or contin
ued exertion 6f principles, which fcfftlie mo
ment struck me with such force. Indeed, all
my feelings were temporary, and I was with
out principle. I had no strong determination.
I was the creature ofthe triotnent. Now love,
now pleasure, now solitude, and romantic
musing—each by tqrns would absorb me. My
loves brought no permanent sorrow, if unsuc
cessful. I solaced myself witn some new
charmer. 11 has been so through my whole
life. I never have despaired for more than an
hour, Some bright hope would always break
in to relieve the blackness of a cloudy despair,
and I lived again as full of schetnes of happi.
ness as ever.
I went to bed that night in loathing of my
self and the whole world. The rain poured
down in torrents, and the winds shook the win
dows almost out ofthe frames. The old house
rocked in the blast. I sank to sleep, over
powered by the excess of tears and sighs. In
the morning, I was awakened by the sun pour
ing in at my windows. Elated by this cheer
ful omen, and refreshed by long and deep slum
ber, I got up in all the vigor of youth, and the
pleasant sensations which affect a youth who
is about to see something new.
Going out, I found the house was not far
from a river. Vessels were at anchor in the
stream, and the water had a saltish taste. I
was delighted. I felt happy. ‘I am not out
of the world,’ thought I. VVe were cheerful
at breakfast, and by the time that meal was
over, Iliad got to love the whole family, and
could see a thousand beauties in the situation,
I had never thought of before.
To one fond of a roving life, what a pleasure
it is t look upon vessels!—to go down upon
the wharves of a great city, and gaze upon
these old Weather-beaten travellers! What
associations crowd Upon you! No wonder
so many are fond ofthe sen. When out upon
the waters, in a fine ship, you can turn in any
direction fancy may dictate, or profit may sug
gest. You are, as it ivere, in the centre of
nations. You are unfettered by laws; you
are away from all the weakening ties of home
and kindred —weakening, as it regards manly
euierprise; you are your own muster; you
may adopt any course of life you please.
The sight o f vessels lying at anchor has al
ways been to me the pleasantest of all sights.
With the old storm-worn sailors, too, I feel a •
near sympathy. So milch of whose lives is a
constant change and variety. They always
seem to me to live in continual excitement.—
Their lives are a romance; their profession
chivalrous; their daring noble. You cannot
help feeling a certain respect for them when
on the sea. and in the discharge of their duty ;
though on the land, their ignorance of land
habits, and the wild joy they evince, some
times make them ridiculous and disgusting.
Who ever saw a sailor do a mean thing ! They
are as bountiful as air. They give as long as
they have, and when they have not, they are
confiding enough iu your good qualities to re
ceive ; for it takes either a very generous mind,
or a very mean Dnei to receive an obligation
with a good grace.
The place, beside, was not without interest.
I found a village not far off, and a house or
two that promised genteel inhabitants. I spent
three months in this place very quietly—with- (
out any dereliction of bonduct, except the total !
neglect of my studies. Every morning my
conscience rebuked me, and I quieted its alarms
by promising to myself to begin to-morrow, or
next Monday, at farthest. 1 hese resolutions
for the moment settled the whole matter, and I
felt elevated iu virtue for resolving to do at
some future period what 1 ought to have per
formed at the present.
However, I read through a small circula
ting library, consisting chiefly of voyages and
travels. I here found Silliman’s Journal in
Europe, and read it twice. I »vas charmed
with the style, and the interest he contrived to
throw about even a ride in a stags-coach.—
This reading fixed in trie a loVe bf travel, I
have never overcome. The intervals of read
ing were spent at the house of a gentleman, a
bachelor, who lived upon the ruins of his pa
ternal estate. He was a kind of Mowbray,
having the most excellent private qualities, and
the worst public ones. He was the most dig
nified, hospitable, agreeable man in bis own
house, lever knew; but abroad; he was insin
cere; cringing, if necessary, and subservient
to the basest political ends. A hvprocrite in
his religious observances, he was of any reli
gion that suited the present scheme. He ne
ver paid his debts, when he could avoid it, al
though to others lie was generous to a fault.
He was addicted to rio vice, that I know of.
lie drank not at all, nor used tobacco, although
he was constantly urging upon his guests the
bast wine, and the most expensive cigars. He
loved me, I verily belieVe; His house, his
horses, his guns and dogs, wefe always at my
disposal. Though an old man; he treated me
as an equal. He talked to me. of every thing,
and of some things which sent me long strides
away from the natural abhorrence of boyhood
to low vices.
This man would not have done me an injury,
for his right hand ; yet so ignorant was he ot
education, that by mistaken kindness, he did
me the worst of injuries. He excited prema
ture passion in my veins; ho taught me to
drink hard ; he made my suspension a scene of
pleasure, Whereas it should have been a season
of reflection and contrition. I had no time to
i think, and no good resulted to me.
CH APTER V I I I.
Ocn ! there is no justice in the Lamb, ifheaven
is not made for us : an’ the everlasting hell, w >th
its brimstone and tire, an’ its gnawing an’ gnash
ing of teeth, an’ its theirst, an’ its torture, an’
its worm that niver dies, for the likes o’ you.’
Dame Darkman.
When I had been here about three months,
spent in the manner t have attempted to relate,
a great revival was intended to be gotten up in
the place. Mr. F began to talk to me
about being so much absent from home. He
wished to bring mo under its influeuce at his
house. As long as he had no purpose to an
swer, I was suffered to cat nd sleep as often
as I pleased away from the parsonage; He
saved meals by it. He, a minister of the gos
pel, with the confidence of a college reposed
in him, permitted me to go from my duty, for
the sake of saving a few potatoes’and a mouth
ful of meat a day. He made money„by it.
He pretended to care most of all for human
souls: he prayed daily in the temple for the
salvation of sinners; and yet he suffered me
to go on in a headlong career of idleness and
folly, when the slightest exertion of authority,
or a word ab mt informing my father and the
government, would probably have deterred me.
He wished to be esteemed a Christian, and stie
was himself swayed by the most sordid mo
tives.
It wotfld be wrong and illiberal to lay the
charge of gross hypocrisy at the doors of suth
men. They are Certainly disqualified to hold
the stations they occupy in society ; but they
are, for the most part, only ignorant of what
does indeed constitute the truly elevated and
Christian character. They have grown up in
the knowledge of words, and plans, and schemes
of salvation, but they have never analyzed their
oWn principles. The members of a sect or
church, they take for granted that they are
governed by principle, when they are only fol
idwing on blindly where their party leads
them. The originators of any sect of reli
gionists aro undoubtedly leavened with sincer
ity, but the proselytism and rancorous hatred of
party spirit, buries up the primitive purity of
the founder, and the church becomes not so
much anxious for Christ’s kingdom, as for the
victory in the world.
But a revival waste be got up, Mr. P
looked, as he said, for the grace of God to pu
rify me. He did not rely upon human means.
He said he did not dcubl but that I was sent tb
his house, by the spec al providence of God, to
be tinder good influences, and he ‘ expected I
would be a shining light in the church.’ I
was requested to remain at home, and I did so,
more out of curiosity than any other feeling:
for, strange to tell, I did 4 not understand what
he meant, precisely, and was as insensible to
all his exhortations as an infant.
Thi ’’"’s at a period when the Calvinistic
sect in New-England began to fear and dread
the growing influence of a class—we will not
call them a sect —det.ominated by themselves
Liberal Christians, in apposition to the bigotry
and intolerance oftheiibreihretl; a term which,
taken in its true sense, authorizes no laxity ot
principle, no license of conduct, but which
means a high aud elevated piety, embracing all
men as brothers, holding out the palm ot the
happiness of heaven to the whole world, and
rejecting in its worship and manner of speech
all drawling of the vprds; and in the counten
ance all undue length of visage ; making reli
gion more a matter of the head and heart, and
not so much dependant upon the exterior car
riage of the body.
The Calvinists, or othodox, beheld at this
time tiieir power anc infallibility doubted, and
in some cases contemned. They began to
find men, aud influential men, too, who dared
to think and reason for themselves, upon the
subject of religion. With all the good will of
the church of Rome, for power and dictatorial
authority, Gley derided die Catholic. 'Flwra
selvcs the exiles of a cruel persecution, they
forgot their origin and early arguments for li
berty of conscience, whenever others differed
from them in opinion. So that, grasping at
too much, they lost much which they might
have retained by milder measures. Ail means
were resorted to, to increase the numerical
strength ofthe sect. They took infants into
the church, and admitted little toddling boys
and girls to the rights of communion. When
ever it was in their power, they shackled the
human mind, hardly strong enough to bear the
load ofthe letters, and which not unfrequently
sunk under a burthen so unnatural to its years.
The spirit of the American people Has al
ways been acted on by public meetings. They
love to attend gatherings, whether it be a horse- 1
race, a cattle-show, a political Wrangling, or
a levival. The farmer will leave his plough
in the half-furrowed field; and tackling his
weary horses to a large waggon, drive his
whole family to one of these meetings. The
mother will leave her domestic affairs, and the
distended udders ofthe cows, and, I ndiarl-like,
taking her infant in her arms, hurry to the
revival. The Calvinists have strong men
in their ranks, and they have seized upon this
national passion, and perverted it to their use.
The origin of protracted meetings is the same
with the camp-meetings of the Methodists,
whence they adopted the plan; save that one
is held in houses of worship, and the othet in
> God’s first temple.’ The Methodists, govern
ed we believe by a single motive, gained brave
ly by the camp-meeting, and the tirthodox,
fearful of their increase, met them, in the pro
tracted meeting, ou their own ground.
As favorable seasons for these meetings oc- <
cur the clergy are gathered from the surround
ing’country. at some specified place. Two
or three Conversions are noised about die vll
la-e, as a kind of nest-egg. Prayer-meetings
be“i n to be held in this house and that, gradu
ally increasing in zeal as the multitude are
added, until they have excited the spirit ot the
whole population. Then no respite is allowed ;
for the ardor to cool. Night and day there '
pours out oue continual stream of denunciation .
and nervous prayer. Some attend from cun- :
ositv, some from idleness; all business is sus
pended, except the store of the churca mer
chant, who keeps his back door ajar tor sly
customers. Children, glad to escape from
school, under any pretence, form a Urge part
ofthe meeting, and indeed all ages and sexes
attend, frorb as many different motives as there
are people. Now the prayers are as abundant
as the drops of rain in a shower. An earnest
ness of manner is assumed, wlsich terrifies the
hearts ofthe young. In churches dimly light,
ed. at evening, and into the far watches of tho
night, low and sepulchral voices may be heard
in’threatening denunciation of sinners.
These men, with their long necks, peaked
faces, and lean bones, bending over the pulpit,
with a malicious scowl, enough to frighten the
devil himself, looked to my ydv.ng imagination
like demons of hell. One convert after another
would fall down upon their knees, for this was
the si«n of ‘yielding;’ so that iu one night
sometimes hundreds would be converted, or
‘gel religion.’ Affrighted nature yielded.—
No reason was employed, no inducements of
fered, except exemption from punishment
’Fhe happiness of heaven was too mild and re
fined a theme for them to touch upon, on such
occasions. This punishment —the most awful
and phvsically painful they could devise —was
threatened with tenfold vengeance, if they
neglected the precious present opportunity.
Example, fear, love of cliaugb, and loVe of be
ing conspicuous, are not unfrequently the chief
agents in revivals in this country, with the
young, and love of their pecuniary interests,
oftentimes, with the business part of the com
munity. For instance: A man is going to
settle in a place where one sect prevails largely,
particularly the Hopkinsian sect; his business
is of a public nature, or one in which he depends
for support upon public patronage ; unless he
joins that sect, he is thwarted in bis business.
His store is avoided ; his name is erased from
the ticket for office ; he is made so uncomfort
able, that he finally leaves the place. True,
he may sell very low, indeed—much lower than
the market price ; and then he turns the tables,
and acts upon the avarice of his opposers, with
good success. Thus it is not unusual to find,
in villages of small size, the Presbyterian tailor
and the Liberal tailor—the Presbyterian apoth
ecary and the Liberal apothecary —and so
down to knife-grinder and grave-diggeL
These good Christian people forget, or seem
to forget, that religion is something to be pro
ved by the life, not the professions. If a man
say he is their friend; and his conduct be ever
so bad, if he does not offend their prejudices
by remarks, lie is safe. Subscribe to their
creed, and you are safe, no matter whether
you go to the church or not. It is all the
same to them.
I do not mean to say that I believe there are
not good and conscientious Christians among
the class of Hopkinsian Calvinists; there are
very many, I doubt not; but I do mean to say,
fro n my own experience, that the restless,
speculating, moving mass of men in business,
whose whole souls are absorbed in traffic, and
who join this sect for pecuniary advantage,
and without any convictions, generally go
deep in their exclusive spirit. I mean to say,
that the ignorant and illiterate, who have been
brought Up in this belief, and have received
very little education to elevate their minds,
are the most sectarian and bitter religious en
emies in the world. They make up in zeal
and obstinacy of opinion, for their deficiency
in practical piety; and the louder they profess,
the more credit they obtain.
Go ii to a Hopkinsian-Presbyterian church,
of a Sabbath, and observe the men you have
met. during the week, in their stores, at the
tavern, and the town-meeting, as they come
into church. Their hair is smoothed down in
puritanical fashion, and their faces drawn
down to imitate the parson. If your eye is
upon a rich man, whoso honesty and fair deal
ing is a little questionable, mark the cough,
the bluster, to attract attention, as much as to
say, ‘You see, my brethren, I attend in the
synagogue—l am a Christian.’
Returning home from the first meeting, I
found several ministers of religion, as they
called themselves, at onr table. As we sat
down, we had an unusually long grace from
brother E , and after We had eaten, anoth-
ar long grace. The conversation at table was
chieflv of the clergy. They criticized w each
other pretty freely, and seemed in most excel
lent spirits wilh themselves. They reminded
me ofthe garrulous politeness ol an old gour
mand, during the ten minutes preceding the
dishing of a feast. They expected sport, un
doubtedly. from the scenes they wera getting
up. Their conversation was very familiar,
and eVen gross, upon the subject of revivals,
and they used the name ot our Saviour with a
comtiionness and hreveretiee tlwtt
and shocked me.
I was unnoticed, but 1 brought myself for
ward, by asking mv neighbor at tible if he had
ever heard Dr. Channing—and then, as well
as I could, I endaavored to give a description
of his style of preaching. As his name was
mentioned, they simultaneously uttered a low
growl, and hoped that my heart might be chan
ged. ...
At that time, I knew very little of the Bible.
I was in love with religion, as a sentiment.
I was in the habit of looking upon God as a
kind and beneficent father. I had been taught
to pray to him with fervor, but still with some
Sense of the majesty of the being I wasad
•dressing. I believed devoutly in the state
of a future existence: I hoped to go to hea
ven to meet my mother. I Had 66 doubt but
she must be there, for I knew sle was good.
I have ever been in the habit cf thinking of
her as in a state of happiness. Io doubt it,
would have been appalling to my mind.
You mav imagine, reader, what were my
feelings, at finding that these men believed,
ana indeed stated to me, that no person could
go to heaven, unless he believed as they did.
They spoke it. too, with a sincerity and ear
nestness of manner, that at first terrified me
into the belief that I had been indulging in
delusive dreams.
I became, insensibly, much interested in
their performances. Meetings were held at
all hours of tile day during a week’s time.
The whole town attended. Ihe churches
were thronged, and private dwellings over
flowed with persons from the age of one year
to eighty—old and hoary sinners. Worn out
with late hours and constant excitement, their
eves wefe of an unnatural brightness. Fear
ofhell was upon them. Many stepped along
as if they expected the earth would yawn to
receive them. The old and the weak stopped
these self-styled saviours in the streets, and
besoughtthem, with tears and groans, to save
their soids. Lamps burned late in the cotta
p-es ofthe laboring poor. Limbs worn down
I with labor for bread, were yet required to pros
' trate themselves for hours in prayer, under the
; penalty of an eternal damnation. It. was as it
some mighty judgment was at hand, arid each
was striving to turn it from his own doors.
But oh ! "to be in the secret conclave, as 1
was, after a day spent in this manner !
These men would return, with an important,
calm, and satisfied look, to the house ot the
minister. How pleasantly they talked of the
great work‘of the Lord !’ How coldly, too,
they spake of the exercises !•—appealing to she
minister if he thought this one ‘would stick
—that they had brought such a man or wo
man under —'it he thought the people would
bear anv more—must not give too strong tood
to babes? etc.,—evidently showing, that what
they called ‘ the work of the Lord they con
sidered as their own.
They were safe. 'I hey had no anxieties I
for their own salvation, but tor that ot others.
Wonderful disinterestedness of human nature !
Self-righteous men ! Elect ot the Lord !
with hearts full of worldliness, aud hate for all
differing from you in opinion, whether from
education, accident, or blind chance—how
will you, at that day for which all other days
were made, answer to the charge of illiberali
ty, narrow-mindedness, and bigotry, which I,
from the recollections of quite early years,
here prefer against you !
The most mortifying confession 1 have to
make, is, that I was acted upon by these jug
glers. Mv nervous temperament did wonders
for them. 1 attended their meetings, and was
with them constantly at home. They talked
to me incessantly. I replied as 1 could. I
knew nothing of' the arguments in fai'or of
liberal Christianity ; so 1 appealed to the ar
guments of common sense; and reasoned from
Vol. IV—l¥o. 51.
analogy, while they swept away all I cotlW
say, by text after text, in »uch succes
sion as to overwhelm me. I was impressed
with a strong belief in the goodness and mer
cy of God toward his weak and erring crea
tures—that when I asked to be forgiven, sin
cerely, he heard and answered my petition.
I trusted in him as the rock of ages, and felt
confident that he would be satisfied if I did as
well as I could. But they would haVe made
me believe that he Was a God of terrors—
that a large part of mankind would inevitably
be lost, and that I should be among the num
ber, unless I yielded my stubborn heart to their
guidance; I ivas for a long while insensible.
At last, they came to my room at night, aftej
1 was in bed; ai»d prayed by my bed-side, IHu
worked upon my already excited imagination,
by every species of horrid representation* I
did not know enough to order thetn away ; bill
at last I did pretend to yield, or I did ylbluj
and prayed tor pardon; My mind was fn a
frenzy. They left me as a convert. I was
with them the next day. and was marked
. among the multitude of converts!
i Soon after,! wrote to my father; expressed
I to him the agony of my mind, and besought to
leave the place. He obtained the permission
of the government to take me home. Ina few
days after I had been removed from this sbene;
I was calm. I had been • through the mill’ of
a pre-concerted, artificial revival, and felt a
- secret joy, as if possessed of an bxperienca bf
! some consequence. I know the whole pro—
; cess. I have ‘experienced religion/ as well
as thousands of others, and in the same way.
Is it strange that I doubt the efficacy of such
a religion? I never again shall feel with this
people. The veil was removed from my eyes
when young. 1 have since often been subject
ed to this discipline, and whenever I am, this
early scene occurs to me, and shields me front
imposition of the senses. It is not impossible
that I have a prejudice upon the subject, hav!
ing ‘experienced religion’* under unfavorably
circumstances. Whether this be so of not, I
am sincere in the opinion; that all revivals; got
up in a pre-concerted waj', are a kind of bias!
phemy. They act upon the physical nature
alone, and pervert to their uio those holy aud
reverential thoughts, that dwell alike in the
child of nature, living iu the forests, and in the
object of education and care. I appeal to all
those who have witnessed these sceies, if Ke
ever saw a high-minded, intellectual man free!
ly yielding his influence and his-heart to these
designs ? Why is it, that among the intelligent
and enlightened, we find so lev converts, Un!
less they go for the express purpose of being
made converts ? Why is it that these men
stand aloof from all show of religion— beyond
that of being good moral tpen — except the
common Sabbath ordinance? It is because
they are disgusted with shallow artifice; and
surface.piety; and find no sympathy, and re
ceive no benefit, from a religion founded ill
ignorance, and supported by misrepresentation;
From an Irish Paper.
The Haunted Cellar:
Tllfi.ro cite f’ctv people who hare net Kmr-?
of the Mac Carthies—one of the real old I risfi
families, with the true Milesian blood rtiui-iug
in their veins, as thick as buttermilk. Many
were the clans of this family in the South ; aS
the Mac Carthy-more—and the Mac Catthy
teagh—and the Mac Carthy of MUskerry;
and all of them were noted for their Hospitality
to strangers, gentle and simple.
But not one of that name, or of any other;
exceeded Justin Mac Carthy, of Billinacarthy,
at putting plenty to eat and drink upon His ta
ble ; and there was a hearty wealcome for
every one who won d share it with him. Ma
ny a wine-cellar - , would be ashamed of the
name if that at Ballinycarthy was the proper
pattern for one ; large as that cellar was, it
was crowded with bios of wine, and long rows
of pipes, and "hogsheads, and casks, that it
woirid lake more time to count than any sober
man could spare in such a place, arid plenty to*
drink about him, and a hearty welcoriie td dd
There are many, no doubt, who wilt tliinls.
that the butler would Have little to complain es
in such a house ; and the whole country round
would have agreed with them, if a man could
be found to remain as Mr. L'arlhy’s butler for
any length of time worth speaking of; yet not
one who hud been in his sei vice gtlVe him <
bad word.
“We have no fault,” they would say, “to
find with the -master, and if he could but get
any one to fetch his wine from the cellar, we
might elery one of Us have grown gtay m the
house, and have lived quiet arid contented e,
notigh in the service until the end of oiirdays.’’
“’Tis a queer thing that, surely,” thought
young Jack Leary, a la<l who bad been brought
up from a mere child in the stables dt Balliny
carthy to assist in taking care of the horses,
and had occasionally lent a hand iu the butler s
pantry: —“’Tis a mighty queer thing, surely;
that one manafier another cannot content him,
self with the best place i i the houss of a good
master, but that every one of them must quit;
all through the means, as they say, of tlie vfiue
cellar. 1 f the master, long life to him!
would but make trie his butler, I warrant nt ver
the word more would be heard of grumbling
at his bidding to go to the <vine cellar?’
Young Leary accordingly watched for what,
he conceived to be a favorable opportunity of
presenting himself to his master.
A few moriiiugs after, the master went into
his stable yard rather earliel* than usual, and
called loudly for the groom to saddle His horse;
as he intended going out with the hounds.
But there was no groom to answer, and,young
Jack Leary lad Ilitnb. w Out of the stable.
“ Where is William?” i iquifed the master;
“ Sir?*’ said Jack ; and the master repeated
the question. .. ( .
“ Is it Williahi please your honor?” retur
ned Jack;, why, them to tell the truth, he had
just one drop too much Inst night;” .
l “ When did He get it ?” said Mr! Mac Car
| thy ; “ for since Thomas went away, the key
j of the wine-cellar has been in triy pocket,and
! I have been obliged to fetch what was dfanlt
I myself.” ■ r 1
I “ Sorrow a know I know,” said Leafy, “ unj
I less the cook might have given him the least
l taste in life of whiskey. But," cotit imied he;
i performing alow bow by seizing with the right
hand a lock of hair, and pulling down His Head
bv it, whilst his left leg. which had been put
forward, was scraped back against the ground:
“may I makesobould as to jist ask your hon
our due question „
“ Speak out, Jack,” said the iriftstef. .
“ Why. then; does ver hoirtriß want * but-
“ Can vou recomtffend me dife f” reftfrhed
his muste? with a smile of gdbd humWr upon
, his Countenance, “and one Rho wifl not be
t’raid of going to tnj wine Ctllai