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BY JAMES VV. JONES The Southern Whig, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. TEVMS. . - Three dollars per annum, payable -within six •months after the receipt of the fn st number, or fur dollars if not paid within the year. Sub scribers living out of the State, will be expect ed in all cases, to pay in advance. No subscription received for less than one year, unless the money is paid in advance; and no paper wilf be discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, except at the option of the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind, a settement of their accounts. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates; when the number of insertions is not speeitied. they will be continued until ordered out. (t'r All Letters to the Editor or Proprietor, on matters connected with the establishmen , must be post paid in order to secure attention CO" Not ice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty days previous to the day of sale. Th 1 ' sale of personal Property, in like manner, inust be published forty days previous to the day efsale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters of administration, must be published thirty days and Letters of Dismission, six months. For Advertising—Letters of Citation. $ 2 75 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 325 Four Months Notices, 4 00 -Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 3 25 Sales of Land or Negroes by do. 4 75 Application for Letters of Dismission, 450 i Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents 1 for every thirteen lines of small type, (or space | equivalent,) first insertion, and 50 cents for each j weekly continuance. If published every other j week, 62 1-2 cents for each continuance. If published once a month, it will be charged each I time as a new advertisement. For a single insertion, 81 00 per square. 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 decided in his censures, “nothing extenuate or setdown ought in malice,” —to expose prompt ly abuses and corruption when and whereevi discovered —such an one the undersigned pro doses to make the Whig; while it will contain the most authentic and important information connected with our foreign and domestic rela pons, the latest commercial intelligence, ori tiinal articles, and selections from the mos gopular works ofthe day in the various depart! inents of Agriculture. Literature and the Arts. To Georgians the undersigned is conscious he appeals not in vain for an increase of patron age—and he respectfully asks the friends of constitutional liberty to make an eflort, to ob tain subscribers. . , , , , • The Southern Whig is published weekly in Athens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty cents if not paid within six months, or Four if not paid until the end ofthe year. ‘ 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 Society. We have no interest in the work, ex 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 talents. # We shall be weak so long as we think we are weak: and dependent until we make ef forts to be independent. We hope all the friends 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 shall be honestly devoted to general Literature, the cause of Education, the Review of new works, and notices of improvements in Science, Arts and Agriculture. Price Five Dollars per annum, payeble on the delivery ofthe first num ber. FOUR months after date application will be made to the honorable the Inferior Court 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 e ;|Mh > hI J 6IJJ I til il ill" >*■ / X >B ;S !£3 'is f &3 !fi Esz I iH *S ‘.Bl I x W \ « 'si iS !H *S 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