Newspaper Page Text
machinery is acted on—and brings down on
the proper string one of the four bows,
(which are constantly moving on grooves,)
and .at the same time passes on the string a
finger, thus forming a perfect note, in every
respect, to the note of the piano. We heard
a variety of music, andantes and allegros,
admirably executed by Mrs. Watson, and
we came to the conclusion that it was a re
markable compound. Some of the Scotch
airs in imitation of the bagpipes, in particu
lar, exhibited the power of the instrument.”
— N. Y. Mirror.
®UQaO M A L □
Written for the “ Southern Miscellany.”
ZANONI.
Having proceeded thus far in our pro
gress, with the author, we shall go yet a
little further; and endeavor to dissect, as
well as we may be able, some of’ the philo
sophical notions with which the balance of
the book is thickly sprinkled. We have be
fore us now some of the leading doctrines of
that creed, which teaches us to believe, that
the whole universe is instinct with life; that
the visible space around us, is filled with in
visible material beings; that it is possible for
man to pierce the cloud, that throws its dark
skirt across the vestibule, and become the
companion of those beings who belong to
the world invisible; that access to this high
and exclusive slate, is to be obtained only
through a course of the most rigid study,
and in the observance of a mo3t inflexible
purpose; not by the possession of the
knowledge of things without, but in the per
fection of the soul within. For this study
Nature supplies the materials—in the herbs
—in the elements—in the wide bosom of
the air—in the black abysses of the earth
—every where are given to mortals the
resources of immortal lore.
The student is to withdraw all thought
of feeling and sympathy from others, and
concentrate all llie powers of mind upon
the study of self, and self alone —this is the
elementary stage of knowledge:
And happiness, if it exist at all, must he
centered in a self to which all passion is
unknown.
These are some of the truths this Philoso
phy teaches—and this is the character of
one of these Philosophers:
“Mejnour seemed wholly indifferent to all
the actual world. If he committed no evil,
he seemed equally apathetic to good. His
deeds relieved no want, his words pitied no
distress. What we call the heart appeared
to have merged into the intellect. He mov
ed, thought, and lived like some regular and
calm abstraction, rather than one who yet
retained, with the form tho feelings and
sympathies of his kind.”
Here are presented for the contemplation
of the curious some strange philosophical
notions, and if true, are opposed to many
of the former maxims of moral philosophy.
Be this as it may, we have yet other objec
tions, some of which are insuperable. In
the outset it proposes to the daring adven
turer the possession of a knowledge upon
earth which is incompatible with his happi
ness as a social being—and teaches that hap
piness exists alone in that state where every
power is concentiatcd upon self, and to
which state, all passion is a stranger.
Now I take it that this is philosophically
and practically false. Happiness does not
consist at all with such a state, provided
such a state could exist, any where else, but
in the imagination of the author.
Happiness consists alone in a conscious
ness of having discharged the duties which
a man owes to himself, to others, and to his
maker; and to do this, some of the passions
of the human heart are kept in constant ex
ercise. For instance, none will discharge
the duties which are intimately connected
with social life, unless actuated by motives
which spring from Love; and no one can
render an acceptable homage to the God of
Love, unless love be the moving passion of
the Soul. Anu yet We ate taught by this
philosophy, that happiness dwells alone in
the breast, where passion is unknown. But
who can look on the picture which the au
thor himself has drawn, and believe the
truth of the doctrine advanced above ?
“ JVJejnour seemed wholly indifferent to all
the actual world.” No interest in common
with his kind. He had outlived human
affection—he stood alone, with all the fire
and ennobling features of the Soul effaced
—with the heart, the seat of the affections,
as it were transferred to the head—merged
in the intellect—all swallowed up of the
mind, the grasping, voracious mind—equal
ly insensible to evil or good—relieving no
want, pitying no distress, moving, thinking,
and living like a breathing problem, or a
sentient maxim—or as the author lias it,
“like some regular and calm abstraction,
rather than one who yet retained, with the
form, the feelings and sympathies of his
kind.” And this state Mr. Bulwer would
call a state of happiness. Faugh!
Another maxim taught in this philosophy
which I condemn is this: “Nature is the
source of all inspiration.”
This is a strange assertion, and conflicts
with all our ideas of the inspiration of a
higher power. I wonder how long it would
have required the student of nature to have
acquired the knowledge of a God, bis char
acter, and attributes? How long to hove
mastered the science and mystery of the
human heart—the affections and will, all of
which is so clearly revealed in that Book
which derives its inspiration, not from na
ture, but the God of nature; and yet “Na
ture is the source of all inspiration.” Were
this true, the untutored Indian, in all the
glory of his forest education, silting beneath
the towering oak, or vine-clad bower, or be
side the purling brook, being of all others
the most thorough adept in nature’s mys
teries, would be ranked as the most inspired
philosopher of the age. Were tlii3 doctrine
true, and men could be gotten to act upon
it, what a terrible smash it would mako in
the book business—away with all books—
let us go to Nature for our knowledge. Go
student in your search after knowledge, and
climb the tugged mountain, or descend the
deepest vale—go sit, and read the waterfall,
or scan the whirlwind, or spell the light
ning, or converse with the humble flower—
hold communion with nature in all her phases
arid changes—talk with all her heteroge
neous and motly progeny —dive deeply into
all her hidden springs—unlock all her va
rious stores of inspiration —if yo would be
wise—if you would be happy —if you would
climb the giddy height of Fame’s fair Tem
ple, and hold communion with the sons of
Light.
Another strange notion advanced is con
tained in the following brief extract:
“In Dicams commences all human knowl
edge; in dreams hovers over measureless
space the first faint bridge between spirit
and spirit—this world and the worlds be
yond !”
This is as true, as that nature is the source
of all inspiration, which is perfectly incom
patible with that best of all human gifts, a
good sound common sense.
Hear the instruction given by Mejnour to
his pupil Glyudon: “Go to thy room and
sleep; fast austerely; read no books; medi
tate, imagine, dream, bewilder thyself if
thou wilt.” This is the point designated at
which the ignorant is to start out in the pur
suit of knowledge, and from this chaos of
fastings, and imaginings, and dreamings, is
to spring up the fair and beautiful propor
tions of a knowledge, dug out from the hid
den abysses of nature; and all this is grave
ly taught us, as the path to wisdom.
Another notion in this book of most
strange and incomprehensible notions is
this: “Man’s common existence is as one
year to the vegetable world—be has his
spring, his summer, bis autumn and winter
—but only once.”
Now to apply the knowledge gained from
the inspiration of nature, is to be enabled,
by the application of an elixir distilled from
nature’s own alembic, to renew life, as by
the wear and tear of ages it grows en
feebled—thus as nature reinvigorates tho
trees of the forest, clothes them annually in
their green robes, passing them through the
changes of spring, summer, autumn and
winter, to be renewed again and again with
each returning year, so nature supplies the
means to mankind, of keeping up the con
tinued round of the human seasons—and
the possessor of this knowledge, gathcied
from nature, possesses the means of pro
longing his own life, at will. Thus holding
at will, in his own grasp, the issues of life
and death—a power belonging to God alone
—and is enabled to get from under the
blighting curse—as in the Providence of
God it falls indiscrimately upon all men—
“ Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou re
turn ” —and this is taught us in the wild va
garies of the learned author of Zanoni.
It is true, that amidst a great deal of wild
and ill-directed speculation, with which
these two volumes is filled, there are to be
found many, very many most beautiful pas
sages, in which the stylo is most pure and
classical, and the sentiment most chaste and
rational. Take for instance, the following,
in which Love is considered under its bi
form character:
“ What a twofold shape there is in Love!
If vve examine it coarsely—if we look but
on its fleshy ties, its engagements of a mo
ment —its turbulent Fever, and its dull reac
tion, how strange it seems that this passion
should be the supreme mover of the world;
that it is this which has dictated the greatest
sacrifices, and influences all societies and all
times; that to this the loftiest and loveliest
genius lias ever consecrated its devotion;
that but for love there were no civilization,
no music, no poetry, no beauty, no life be
yond the brute’s.
“But examine it in its lieavenlier shape—
■in its utter abrogation of self—in its intimate
connexion with all that is most delicate and
subtle in spirit; its power above all that is
sordid in existence; its mastery over the
idols of the baser worship; its ability to cre
ate a palace of the cottage, an Oasis in the
desert, a summer in the Iceland, where it
breathes, and fertilizes, and glows, and the
wonder rather becomes how so few regard
it in its holiest nature. What the sensual
call its enjoyments are the least of its joys.”
The acting upon such sentiments as these
elevates the soul and rrives dignity to human
character.
Permit me hero to quote another passage,
in which the doctrine of man’s immortality
is most beautifully expressed.
“ In a moment there oftcyi dwells the sense
of Eternity; for when profoundly happy,
we know that it is impossible to die. When
ever the soul feels itself it feels everlasting
life.”
I take this as true in all its parts. How
often does it occur in the history of man’s
life, that there are moments when it seems
that the joys or the eorrows of an Eternity
are present and palpable, when an involun
tary impression, of age upon age —of Eter
nity itself fastens unbidden upon the mind.
And-how true is it, “that when profoundly
happy,” and I would add profoundly miser
able, we then feel that it is impossible to die.
That tho soul when alive to its ■ interests,
and when instinct with its powers, feels its
own immortality—whether laboring under
the weight of woe, and profoundly misera
ble—or elate with supernal joy, and pro
foundly happy, is a truth, which has often
startled the infidel from his dark entrench
ments —a truth which has often shed its
light along the dark and thorny pathway of
the sceptic. I like the expression “The soul
feels itself.” Kept down often by the
scenes of time, the soul of many a delver
in earth’s soil, seems hid away beneath the
heaps of trash, that gather along his track,
and tho man is presented to the mind of a
watchful observer, a sordid, soulless wretch
—living for himself alone—a pitiable selfish
churl, pampering the lusts and appetites of
the body, the brute jwrtion of human nature,
without a wish or desire reaching farther
than self—without one redeeming trait of
character, or without the possession of one
ennobling sentiment—and yet tho man is a
sentient being—and yet he has a soul—and
that soul, ever and anon rising in the majes
ty of its own immortal powers, lifts its voice
high above the din of human passion, “it
feels itself,” and causes itself to be felt, and
leads the mind of the man, whether he will
or not, to pause, and to look—and gathering
its light from the kindled fires of Eternity
—throws its beams upon the dark pathway
of the future, and points emphatically to the
realms of immortal joys above, and the re
gions of immortal woe beneath. When the
soul feels itself, it feels its own immor
tality.
SvDirQMinBIBSJ Gd U9<BIBILIb AH 7 o
A little farther on we have another new
and most startling assertion—it is this:
“Everynhoughtis a soul.”
Now it requires a greet deal of credulity
upon the part of the most credulous to be
lieve this literally, and yet it may be true in
the sense in which the author uses it. He
is speaking of the indestructibility of man’s
memory—of the impossibility of crumbling
into matter the immaterial thoughts, which
spring up within a man’s breast. He says:
“ Thou mayst change the thought into new
forms, thou mayst rarify and sublimate it
into a finer spirit—but thou canst not anni
hilate that which has no home but in the
memory, no substance but the idea. Every
thought is a soul.”
That is to say, that as the soul of man is
tlie immortal and indestructible portion of
Ids system —so the thought is the indestructi
ble portion of the mind—or rather that mem
ory which holds every thought is indestruc
tible, and each thought existing alone in the
idea, is necessarily indestructible, and is in
itself a soul—the soul of the mind—living
on, and forever. If this be true, what a
wide field for contemplation is spread out
before us! Is man immortal? sbp.ll he ex
ist forever? Is this world then, but the ves
tibule to another? and in that other shall
we retain the same traits of character, which
mark our history in this; and will memory
retain its powers in that other world; and
from its bidden stores, shall it bring out all
the thoughts which sprung up, either bidden
or unbidden, upon the journey of life; and
shall each thought possess a distinct charac
ter—an imperishable life of its own? Aye,
shall each thought, whether it breathed a
curse or blessing—whether just or unjust—
whether kind or unkind—whether pure or
impure—whether chaste or lascivious—shall
each thought, possessing a life and charac
ter of its own, assuming shape and form and
identity, link itself on to the man, and shew
him up, in his true and naked character, to
the eyes of a gazing woild? Oh, what a
sight! what an attempt to conceal; what
burning blushes, will mark the conduct, or
mantle the faces of the many at that time!
Yes, every thought is a soul; endowed with
the powers of an indestructible life, either
for weal or for woe, either to bless or to
curse.
How careful we should boos our thoughts.
For every thought is marked, marked above
in the archives of Eternity, and marked be
low upon the imperishable records of mem
ory.
One more extract shall suffice for this por
tion of the Book. It is spoken in reference
to the powers of the mind.
“So is it ever with thy works and won
den, O G enius—seeker of the stars! Words
themselves are the common property of all
men; yet from words themselves, Thou,
Architect of immortalities, pilest up temples
that shall outlive the Pyramids, and the very
leaf of the Papyrus becomes a Shinar, state
ly with Towers, round which the Deluge of
Ages shall roar in vain.”
How emphatically true is it, that by the
power of language, by the use of words,
Genius builds her towers, more enduring
than the pillars of Earth, and sculptures her
statues in a more enduring substance than
the Parian Marble.
Book seventh closes these volumes, and
is the most powerfully written of the whole.
The scene is laid in France, and the time
the “ Reign of Terror.” Many of the char
acters of that time are most graphically
sketched, and the whole is .completed by the
hand of a master. Take as an illustration
the description of Robespieire, the master
spirit of the Revolution :
“ He was alone, yet he sat erect, formal,
slid’, precise, as if in his very home lie was
not at ease. His dress was in harmony with
his posture and his chamber ; it affected a
neatness of its own, foreign both to the sump
tuous fashions of the deposed nobles, and the
filthy ruggedness of the sans-culottcs. Friz
zled and coifl'e, not a hair was out of order,
not a speck lodged on the sleek surface of
the blue coat, not a wrinkle crumpled the
snowy vest, with its under relief of delicate
pink. At the first glance, you might have
seen in that face nothing but the ill-favored
features of a sickly countenance. At a se
cond glance, you would have perceived that
it had a power, a character df its own. The
forehead, though low and compressed, was
not without that appearance of thought arid
intelligence which, it may be observed, that
breadth between the eyebrows almost inva
riably gives ; the lips were firm and tightly
drawn together, yet ever and anon they trem
bled, and writhed r&tflessly. The eyes, sul
len and gloomy, were yet piercing, and full
of a concentrated vigor, that did not seem
supported by the thin, feeble frame, or the
green lividnessof the hues which told of anx
iety and disease.
“SuchivasMaximilienßobespierre; such
the chamber over the menuisicr's shop,
whence issued the edicts that launched ar
mies on their career of glory, and ordained
an artificial conduit to carry off the blood
that deluged the metropolis of the most mar
tial people in the globe! Such was the man
who had resigned a judicial appointment
(the early object of Lis ambition,) rather than
violate his philanthropical principles by sub
scribing to thodcath'of a single fellow-crea
ture ! such was the vigin enemy to capital
punishments, and such, Butcher-Dictator
now, was the man whose pure and rigid
manners, whose incorruptible honesty, whose
lia .ed of the excesses that tempt to love and
wine, would, had he died five years earlier,
have left him the model for prudent fathers
and careful citizens to place before their
sons. Such was the man who seemed to
have no vice, till circumstance, that hot-bed,
brought forth two which, in ordinary times,
lie ever the deepest and most latent in aman’s
heart—Cowardice and Envy. To one of
these sources is to be traced every murder
that master-fiend committed. His coward
ice was of a peculiar and strange sort ; for
it was accompanied witli the most unscrupu
lous and determined will —a will that Napo
leon reverenced, n will of iron, and yet
nerves of aspen. Mentally, he was a hero ;
physically, a dastard. When tho veriest
shadow of danger threatened his person, the
frame cowered, but the will swept the dan
ger to tho slaughter-house. So there he sat,
bolt upright, his small, lean fingers clinched
convulsively, his sullen eyes straining into
space, their whites yellowed with streaks of
corrupt blood, his ears literally moving to
and fro like the ignobler animal’s, to catch
every sound—a Dionysius in his cave—but
his posture decorous and collected, and eve
ry formal hair in its frizzled place.”
I wish it were prudent in the present
numher to give u more particular attention
to much which is written in this concluding
Book, but I have already extended this Re
view beyond my original purpose.
Upon the whole it is extremely difficult
to make up an opinion as to the merit of the
work as a whole. There is much to praise,
perhaps more to condemu. It requires
often a second or third reading to master the
idea intended to be conveyed; and after the
idea lias been grasped it amounts to little.
Much of the philosophy attempted is far
fetched and incredible. It is a bold adven
ture into tlie wilder regions of Fiction; and
the principal characters delineated, are
wholly unnatural. There is very little of
nature in the whole of it from beginning to
end. There may be more in it than meets
the eye of the common reader; a great
many of the expressions are enigmatical,
and require explanation.
The style of the work I conceive to be
Mr. Bulwer’s best. He has manifestly be
stowed much time and reflection upon the
work. ’Tis a great pity the same labor had
not been bestowed on something more use
ful, and better calculated to subserve the
wants (rational wants I mean) of the world.
But, yet it will not do to condemn by whole
sale, for in the midst of so much ore, there
is ever and again presented to the eye, a
deposite of pure and virgin gold; and this
last book contains some of the finest speci
mens. Take this, descriptive of the impris
onment of Viola, and her consciousness of
the power of a living faith, in prayer:
“She fell upon her knees and prayed.
The despoilers of all that hallows and beau
tifies life had desecrated the Altar, and de
nied the God! They’ had removed from
the last hour of their victims the Priest, the
Scripture, and the Cross! But Faith builds
in the dungeon and the lazar-liouse its
sublimest shrines; and up through roofs of
stone, that shut out the eye of Heaven, as
cends the ladder where the Angels glide to
and fro—Prayer.” How true, and how ex
pressive of the power of faith.
Takc one more and the last, referring to
the power of Hope to rob Death of its sting,
and bestrew the pathway to the tomb with
brightest flowers:
“ When science falls as a firework from
the sky it would invade, when Genius with
ers as a flower in the breath of the icy char
nel, the Hope of a childlike soul wraps the
air in light, and the innocence of unques
tionable belief covers the grave with blos
soms.” I would bunt many a weary hour
through volumes much less interesting than
these, to gather such choice and previous
flowers. But I close with the remark, that
the miiitkunbridled and tho fancy unrestrain
ed, can commit as many wild extravagancies
as can well be conceived of; this work, I
think, as a whole, the result of a mind thus
unbridled anu a fancy unrestrained.
E .
Madison, June, ISI2.
©©mea r a © a
For the Southern Miscellany.
TO THE PEOPLE OF MORGAN
COUNTY.—NO. 2.
Through the “ Southern Miscellany,” of
the lltli instant, I addressed to you a com
munication, animadverting upon a recent or
der of the Justices of the Inferior Court.—
That order prohibited “ the use of the court
room for any public meeting whatever, ex
cept for the purpose of holding Courts there
in.”
In the “ Miscellany,” of the ISth instant,
there is a communication from “ One of the
Court,” addressed to you, which purports
to be a reply to the communication of “ One
of the People.”
In this number, I propose to subject this
production of “One of the Court” to a rig
id analysis. In doing this, I request the
people to keep their eyes steadily fixed up
on the Court’s order; for, to justify the
Court in the passage of their order, should
have been, and doubtless was, the purpose
of “ One of the Court.” If, then, that order
be not justified in this production, the rea
sonable conclusion is, that ‘One of the Court*
cannot do it.
I notice, first, this remark of “ One of the
Court.” He says, “My recollections just
remind me that ‘ One of the People’ was a
Justice of the Inferior Court. His conscious
ness was so acute, that he feared to do right
for fear he would do wrong. A poor old
revolutionary soldier, who fought for our lib
erties, applied to the court for such certifi
cates as, by law, were necessary for him to
accomplish his object. It was also necessa
ry that the court should certify that the sjgn
er of his certificate was an ordained minister
of the Gospel. This the court did. The cer
tifying minister had been preaching for years
in our County, and was of irreproachable
standing. This Justice of the Inferior Court
suddenly conceived he had awfully erred !
How did he know this minister was ordain
ed I ‘I must have my name off that certi
ficate.’ ” As this purports to be a history of
one of my official acts, reference to it is un
questionably justifiable. There is one little
circumstance, however, connected with it
which, to some extent, at least, weakens the
force which “ One of the Court” intended
it to have. It happens to be a small mistake:
the case never occurred ; that’s all! But
suppose it had, then I beg the people to mark
the force of the argument which “ One of
the Court” employs, in vindication of the
order. It is this :
Because 1, when a Justice of tho Inferior
Court, did an official act, which I afterwards
regretted, therefore, the Court had a right,
and were bound to prohibit the uso of the
court room for public meetings.
1 pass by the personal allusions of “ One
of the Court.” To bandy personal epithets
accords not with my taste, and I apprehend
would bo sickening to the public. I must
be excused, then, for not replying to “ One
of the Court” in this respect; but if I can
make the arguments of “One of the Court”
appear alwurd and ridiculous, I-shall unques
tionably do it. I’ll not spare them.
The next thing to which 1 invite your at
%
tention, in this reply, is the admission made
by “ One of the Court,” that the Court did
pass this order. I drive a nail here! No
man now, can deny it; and I want the peo
ple to maik it, so that, in all discussions of
this matter, the people may be able to con
front any one who may have the boldness
yet to deny the length and breadth of the
Court’s order, with this admission by “ One
of the Court.” It was passed, and is still
unrevoked—so far as I know.
But, notwithstanding this admission, in
this very same communication, “ One of the
Court” says, “ if it is necessary that they
(the citizens of the several districts) should
meet in case of emergency, the Sheriff will
soon open to them the doors of the court
house.” I confess that, at the first glance,
this looks a little like “ One of the Court”
was softening down the rigidity and univer
sality of the Court’s order; but, upon an ex
amination of this peculiarly ambiguous
phraseology, it will be perceived that the or
der remains in full force. Let ys sec : the
people may “ meet in case of emergency .”
Os course, when the assemblage of the peo
ple is not “a case of emergency,” the Sher
iff will not “ open to them the doors of the
court house.” This being fixed, I ask what
is a “ case of emergency ?” Unquestiona
bly it is one which, when it occurs, is so ur
gent in its necessities as to set all rules and
orders, and law itself, (if need be) aside. It
must be one which happens suddenly, and
unexpectedly, and which no forethought or
prudence could provide against. As, for in
stance, if a house is on fire in Madison, the
people may pull down the adjoining build
ings to keep the fire from burning up the
whole town ; or, if an insurrection were to
take place in the County, and the people
were to flee to the town for safety, and the
court house should be supposed a place of
more security than private dwellings, then
the “ emergency of the case” would justify
the Sheriff to open the court house doors.—
In such a case, I guess, the people would
scarcely make application to the’ Sheriff, or
the Court either ; and this is the case, then,
and this alone, which will justify the Sheriff
in unbarring the door of the court room to
the people ? If the Whig party, or the Dem
ocratic party, or a respectable portion of eith
er party, should desire to meet there to
make their political arrangements; if the
whole people, or any respectable “ fraction”
of them, should think it “necessary” to
meet there to consider any political question,
(as the Tariff, or Bank, or Distribution, or
Nullification, or Union, or any other of the
great questions of politics ;) if all the Far
mers of Morgan, or any respectable “frac
tion” of them, should desire to meet there
to discuss the subject of Agriculture, and the
propriety of forming an Agricultural Socie
ty for the County ; if the people, or a res
pectable “ fraction” of them, desire to meet
there to consider the subject of Temperance,
or any other important matter whatever—
in such cases, the order of the Court spreads
itself across the door of tlie people’s bouse,
and cries emphatically in their hearing, you
shall not enter here! these are not “ eases
of emergency.” If this be not a fair con
struction of a “ case of emergency,” and the
consequences which result from it, so far as
the rights and privileges of the people are
concerned, then I should like to know what
it does mean. Can it be intended to mean, that
in any of the cases I have supposed,the She
riff’ would open the doors of the court house?
If that is wliat is intended, then the order is
rescinded, provided “ One of the Court” is
authorized to speak for his associates. If it
be rescinded, I ask “One of the Court” to
say so, and let the people know when and
where it was done ? If it be not’rescinded,
and yet the Sheriff, in any of the cases sup
posed, would open the doors ot the comt
house, 1 ask, how dare the Sheriff do that,
which, by an order of the Court, he is for
bidden to do ? Or, is it intended to be meant,
by a “ case of emergency,” that the order
of the Court did not intend to prohibit all
meetings of the citizens, but only the meet
ings of the Temperance Society—other pub
lic meetings of the people are to be allowed ?
I answer emphatically, no—no; and “One
of the Court” will not say so. If lie were
to say so, he would involve himself in a di
lemma from which he could not extricate
himself. This he knows full well. But I
have no idea he will say so; none at all.—
The meaning of this phrase, “ a case of
emergency,” I have fairly given: it can nev
er occur, in our history as a community, ex
cept an insurrection or an invasion should
take place ; and, of course, is only a decoy
flung out to mislead men with “half an eye”
from the true issue. That issue is the order
of the Court, passed on the7th instant, which
prohibits the use of the court room for pub
lic meetings of the people, and not what the
Sheriff will do in a “ case of emergency.”
But again, “ One of the Court” says, “a
short history of the facts, forming the bone
of contention between the Court and ‘ One
of the People’ will enable tlio community to
judge fairly between tlie parties ;” and then
he proceeds to recite that application was
made to the Court for the use of tlie court
room to hold the meetings of the Temper
ance Society in—that the use of the room
was granted, a minority dissenting, with the
reason for that dissent—that the old court
house was abused because of the peculiarity
of its construction, and notwithstanding the
strict orders of former Justices to the Clerks
to “permit no intrusion on the courthouse”
—that anew court house was built in such
manner that “ none of the insurmountable
difficulties” connected with the old building,
and which prevented it from being a suita
ble and comfortable place for the administra
tion of justice,might attach to the nqw—and
that a “ spacious passage, intersecting the
building at right angles,” is “ so construct
ed that Sheriff’s Sales, town meetings, meet
ings of the citizens of the County, on any oc
casion, might bo held with the utmost com
fort.” . I beg “ One of the Court’s” pardon;
this little history is not the “bone of conten
tion.” I appeal to every man who lias rend
my former communication, if this “ history ”
is the “ bone” about which I am contend
ing. No— no : the “ bone of contention”
(and it is a much harder and tougher one
than this fragment of history) is, that order
of the Court, passed on the 7th instant. It
may possibly suit the purpose of “ One of
the Court” to get up ayother “bone of con
tention” than the true one—to divest the
mind of the community to the contemplation
of collateral issues, and not keep it steadily
fixed in its gaze upon the main issue—but it>
don’t suit mine. The thing I have to do
with is the order. It is that I have condemn
ed, and still condemn. It is for the passage
of that, I have arraigned the Court before
the bar of the People. I have maintained
and still maintain, that the enactment of that
order was without authority of law; or, that
if tho law would tolerate it, still its exerci& 0
was discretionary, and a cruel deprivation
of the accustomed rights and privileges of
the people—and, that the people have a
right to assemble in their own house to con
sider any grave question whatever. The
Court, by the passage of that order, main
tain these propositions: The law authorizes us
to prohibit the use of the court room for pub
lic meetings of the citizens —that the law not
only authorizes us to do this, but it is our
duty to do it, and in doing it we do not in
terfere with tlie l ights and privileges of the
people—that, in fact, the people have no*
right to use the court room for public meet
ings, and therefore, we will lock them out!
These are the issues, made upon the order
of the Court, which, and which alone, is the’
“ bone of contention,” and to these issues 1
intend to hold “ One of the Court.”
There is one small statement, in the above
history, which 1 wish the people to note. It
is this—the passages are so constructed
that “ meetings of the citizens of the coun
ty, on any occasion, might be held with the
utmost comfort.” Here then is the avowal
that the passages are intended for “ public
meetings of the citizens.” And is itto these
passages that in a “ case of emergency” the
sheriff will unlock the Court House doors
and let the people in ? Is that it ? But the
people can meet in the passages ? And they
are so constructed that they may meet there
with comfort. Mark that. Well, where
are the benches ? “ The Court have not yet
felt themselves able to fit up these commo
dious passages,in the manncrcontemplated.”
Well, that is a very good answer. A man
is not to be blamed for bis poverty, and, cer
tainly, the county should not be. But it so
happens that the Court have felt able to fit
up a very large and commodious Court
room, and provided it with a Judge’s seat,
Clerks’ tables, tables and benches for Attor
neys, Jury boxes, lobby benches, and every
thing else to make Court meetings comforta
ble; and all this too at the expense of the
people. But then, when the people want
to meet, and are locked out of tlie Court
room, and the doors of the Court house are
thrown open to these very spacious and com
modious passages for their meeting; lo! these
spacious passages have no benches, because
“the Court have not yet felt themselves able to
fit” them up ! Where must tlie people meet
during this disability of the Court? Why,
in the passages, and stand up, if they please,
or sit down on the floor, if they please—or
lean against the wall, if they can. But as
to the matter of putting the soles of their
feet beyond the threshold of the Court room,
that’s a thing the Court can’t tolerate. Not
they. The passages must be taken as they
are,’or —or —the people may walk off, and
do the best they can. But suppose the
benches there, I ask is it a suitable place ?
Who ever heard before of public meetings
being held in the passages of a public build
ing ? I want to know, in all candor, why, if
the passages are suitable and comfortable
for public meetings of the people, they
would not be suitable and comfortable for
holding Courts therein ? And has it come
to this, that the old Court bouse must be tom
down—that the people must be taxed year
after year to build anew and convenient
one, to answer more effectually tlieir pur
poses, and accomplish more comfortably all
the objects they had been in the habit of ac
complishing, previously, in the old one—
that now, when it is built with these taxes,
the Court may say to them, and it be sub
mitted to, after it is said, go into the passages
and hold your public meetings? Verily, as
one of the people, I would vastly prefer the
abused room of the old Court house, to the
“ commodious passages” of the new, “ cut
ting each other at right angles,” for such
purpose. As it is the evident object of
“ One of the Court” to that there is
no ground of complaint against the order of
the Court, inasmuch ns the Court has pro
vided these commodious passages for public
meetings of the citizens, I propose the same
argument, which I did in my fonuer com
munication. May the people meet in the
passages, of right, or by the grace and favor
of the Court ? If, of right, why may they
not, of right, assemble in the more commo
dious and spacious Court room ? Will “One
of the Court” be good enough to answer
this argument, if he can ?
“ One of the Court” proceeds to assign
the reason for the passage of the order.
He says, “at the last meeting of the Tem
perance Society, so much carelessness was
manifested by them, that the Court room
was materially injured. The windows and
blinds were left open, without fastening.
In consequence, the panes of one window
were nearly all broken—the blind nearly
knocked to pieces,its fragments scattered in
the Court yard—candles and tallow were
strewed on the Clerk’s desk in dirty confu
sion—the sheriff had to mend the benches for
the people to sit upon—taxing tho people for
repairs at a time when our taxes are high
enough.” Here then is the reason of the
Court’s action; avowed by “One of the
Court.” As an advocate of the rights of
the people in this question, I ask them if it
is sufficient to justify the Court? This is
tlie argument: Because.at the last meeting
of the Temperance Soeiety, all these conse
quences ensued to the Court room, there
fore the Court must shut the whole of the
people out, and turn them into the passages!
Docs not every one perceive that the order
is much broader than the offense ? If the
Court had turned the Temperance Society
out of the Court room, for the above reason,
there would have been some plausibility in
the reason, justificatory of the act. But to
turn the whole people out, for the misdeeds
of the Temperance Society, is taking rather
too lofty a step. What? visit the punish
ment due to tlie Temperance Society, for
its sins, upon the head of tho whole com
munity ? Cut down tho long enjoyed rights
and privileges of the people, because the
Temperance Society abused theirs ? Make
the whole people the scape goat, on which