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Death and Sleep.—An Apologue.—As
band in hand the Angel of Sleep and the
Angel of Death were traversing the earth,
evening gently stole upon them, and they
mt down amid a quiet scene, while the vil
lage Ml died away upon the ait. Tranquil
and silent according to their habits, they en
joyed in confidence the beauty of the scene.
At length the Angel of Sleep rose from his
mossy seat, and scattered from his hand the
seed of slumber, and evening breezes bore
them to the cottage of the fatigued laborer.
Sweet sleep embraced the inhabitants of the
village, from the grey head that leaned up
on tbe staff, to the nursling in the cradle :
and sickness forgot its pains, and affliction
its grief, and poverty its cares. His duties
thus discharged, the benevolent Angel of
Sleep returned and seated himself again
before his more serious brother. “When
the day dawns,” said he, with joy, “ men
will bless me as their friend and benefac
tor; what delight to do good unseen and in
secret; how happy are we the invisible
messengers of Heaven; how blest is our
peaceful destiny!”
Thus spoke the lovely angel of Sleep.
The Angel of Death looked upon him with
silent anguish, and a tear, such as immor
tals shed, glistened in his luxurious eye—
” Ah,” cried he, “ why can I not like thee
enjoy exquisite pleasure and gratitude!
Man calls me the enemy and disturber of
his delights.”
•* My brother,” replied the angel of Sleep,
** when theshall rise from his tomb, will
he not recognise thee as bis friend and ben
efactor, and bless thee with eternal grati
tude ? Are we not brethren sent forth by
the same kind parent]” He paused, and
the countenance of the Angel of Death
beamed with radient smiles—the two genii
again embraced each other with fraternal
affection.
Lore and Suicide. —We have, says the
N. Y. Post, to record a most distressing case
of self destruction by a highly respectable
female, named Catharine Ackerson, aged
17 years. It appears that a young man,
named Thomas E. Elder, to whom the de
ceased was engaged to be married, had of
late discontinued his visits to her, and paid
bis addresses to another female. This, it is
believed, so affected the unfortunate girl, as
to induce her, while her mother was absent
at market, to commit suicide by drowning
herself in a cistern in the rear of her dwell
ing. An inquest was held, and the verdict
—a voluntary act of self destruction.”
The following paragraph is from the Phi
ladelphia Spirit of Times, and speaks vol
umes. “Talk of slavary in the South. Talk
of your negro liberty in Philadelphia. An
old colored woman—a runaway slave from
the South, went to Judge Randall, yester
day, voluntary surrendered herself nnd ask
ed for a certificate to go back to her master
—preferring, as she said, slavery in Virginia
to freedom in Pennsylvania. Who won
ders at this ]
T In) [E PA® GW E ®,
** 1 A bold peasantry, their country’s pride
When once destroy’d can never be supplied.”
For the “ Southern Miscellany.”
Mr. Hanlciter —The time is rapidly ap
proaching when a great portion of the land,
in this State, will he worn out and thrown
aside, as unfit for cultivation, unless some
plan is devised for sustaining and enriching
it. “Seeding down” land, as practiced,
with sucsess, in the more Northern States,
has, I believe, generally proved a failure in
this. The question, then, seems to be, what
can be effected by manure ? and what kind
can be most successfully employed 1
Every climate and soil & may have some
peculiarities, yet certain manures are known
to be valuable every where: for instance,
ashes are particularly so, especially on sen
der lands. It it true, however, that their
virtue (when applied alone) is soon absorb
edby the earth, and as sandy lands do not
retain the nourishment, imparted by manure,
as long as other soils, the benefit derived
from them is not as tasting as could be wish
ed. Leaves are very good, but when taken
from the woods and applied immediately,
do but little good until the second year, ow
ing to the fact that they are not sufficiently
decayed before that time.
Marsh muck is valuable, hut much more
so, when it forms a component part of a
mixed manure, and is suffered to remain in
heaps, for a length of time, exposed to the
action of the weather.
My plan is as follows : Having selected
a suitable spot, I first spread a layer of
marsh muck from six to eight feel wide,
next a course of leaves, and, thirdly, a coat
of ashes; each four or five inches thick,
(except the ashes, which may l>e thinner)
and so on, alternately, until the pile reaches
A height of four or five feet, rounding it grad
ually towards the top; the length, of course,
depending upon the quantity I contemplate
making.
A compost made in this way, during one
season, is (it for the next spring's crop.
It is my opiniou that a planter, working
ten hands, who, in the common way, is able
to cultivate three hundred acres, would de
rive a much greater annual income by keep
ing one hand constantly hauling, mixing,
and spreading manure ou 260 acres, which
tbe other nine would he able to tend, than
can possibly be obtained ftom 300 manag
ed in the usual way.
Now my theory is either true or false;
if true, what incalculable advantages might
be derived from putting it in practice—if
faloe, I am open to conviction, hut shall have
the satisfaction of knowing that I have been
supported, in my views, by men whose ex
perience and good sense entitle them, at
feast, to some consideration.
The same mode of reasoning that will
prevent a faimerfrom enriching his lands by
every reasonable means in his power, will
by a slight extension, induce him to eat his
seed cprn, instead of putting it into the
ground; because forsooth, some eight or
ten months must expire before he expects
returns from his labor.
JOTHAM HOTCHKISS
Athens, Georgia, August, 1948.
i)KO©O p A L ■ ■
For the “Southern .Miscellany.”
I’LL TRY.
Mr. Editor —ln my last communication
which contained that essay, you remember
that I promised in my next to try my hand
at r ossifying. Well, this present one is the
next, and in it you will find my maiden at
tempt in that line. And the effort has learnt
me one lesson that I shell not soon forget,
and that is this : It is vastly more easy to
make some promise s than to keep them.
I am glad of one thing, however, which
I will mention as 1 go along, and that is that
the promise was made, not positively to do
the thing, thatlis, to write the poetry, but
only to try to do it. So, then, if it should
turn up, that I have failed in accomplishing
what, perhaps, I rashly promised to do, still,
this present communication will he proof
positive that I have tried to do it, and so
my promise will he redeemed.
As soon as I had determined on the poet
ry, I set to work, believing that in writing,
as in all other things, it was best to begin
early, and “ take time by the fore-top.” And
having taken my seat, no matter where, 1
set about getting me a proper theme—well
knowing that all writers of poetry seek for
an inspiring subject; and having settled
down upon one suited to my taste and feel
ings, I felt that I had nothing now to do,
hut to invoke the aid of my muse—if, in
deed, I should chance to have one—and go
ahead. Oh! how triumphant vvero my feel
lings, when the following lines formed them
selves in my mind, and in sweetest measure,
were transferred to the sheet before me :
Front childhood's dreamy hour
To manhood’s riper years.
There, said I to myself, the ice is broke
—the Rubicon is passed, and now in melt
ing strains—in numbers soft and flowing,
I’ll breath a song of sweetest melody—l’ll
hold entranced the wondering crowd—trie
world shall see another star arise, brighter,
perchance, than some which have gone be
fore.
Such were the reflections in which I in
dulged, after having written the lines above;
and I now bent myself to tbe task of finish
ing the stanza, with two more lines, as full
of poetry as these, and having a proper con
nexion with them. But I found it was “no
go.” My mind r was a perfect waste —an
arid desert, in which no flower of poesy
would bloom. The truth is, after having
wriggled upon my seat for half an hour,
scratched my head until it almost tiled, and
chewed up a“ thrip’a worth” of tobacco, I
was compelled to give it up in despair. I
left my room and took a stroll into llie coun
try, hoping that, ns I passed along, 1 might
catch an idea from the beauties of nature,
which might he an entering wedge to the
knotty difficulty into which I had fallen.
But every thing was as quiet as (lie “ ruins
of Babylon”—l expect; scarcely a bird was
on the wing, and the world around seemed
to be in as unpoetic a mood as “Jesse.”
Poor “Jesse,” said I to myself, you are in
a “ category,” and I will never be able to
“ eliminate,” as Jabcz says. .fust about
this time, I was passing a house in town,
and 1 saw a young gentleman very slyly
enter another house close by, in which dwelt
a voting lady, whom, it was reported, he
was courting, and the idea occurred to me
all at once, that 1 would write some poetry
about love, especially as 1 was in love my
self. So as quickly as 1 could get to my
writing apuratus, down I set myself the se
cond time, jesolved now to Work off my
verses in double quick time, and at it I went
in good earnest, and I give it to you, just
as it come flesh from my pen :
LOVE.
1. ’Tis like an ever-rolling flood
Resistless in its course,
It finds its way into the bi.ooO,
And, then, we feel its force.
1. ‘Tis like the sounds at evening borne
Upon the quiet air,
It steals upon tire heart forlorn—
And there my pegnsus tripped, and gave
me a lofty tumble—down 1 came to earth
again, and found 1 was baulked —stalled—
I couldn’t come it any way I could fix it, and
resolved to give’ it over for n bad job, for the
present. And so I did, sir, 1 found writing
poetry was not the thing it was cracked up
to he, and began to be sorry I bad ever
learnt the trade.
But I determined that I would not give
it up entirely, until 1 had made another
trial—so I resolved to try it the third time,
any how. I know that perseverance had
done wonders, and why iiot do* it again—it
was riot impossible-—no, not at all. “ Rome
was not built in one day,” and 1 know that
many a man who had risen to greatness in
the world of letters, had made as small a
showing in the outset ass have done. In
deed upon reading my lines over and over
again, I came to the conclusion that they
would do pretty well for a beginning. And
although 1 could perceive considerable room
for improvement, yet I thought I had seen
some things published that had no higher
claim to be called poetry than they had. So
on the whole I thought it would lie lest to
try Ggaitt; and 1 thought, too, that, peVhaps,
1 was not as well prepared to judge of their
merits, as some otjier person might be, in
asmuch as 1 was a little vexed and fretted,
because 1 found the thing altogether more
troublesome than lat first expected. AN'ell,
then, to make a long story short —after all
these ifs, and ands, and reflections and no
tions—l came dcliverately to tbe conclusion
that 1 would not giveover the job until I had
taken another chance, at it, and tlion, I would
leave the whole matter for your adjudica
tion, for as 1 had made tho promise to you
—to you I would leave its reference—the
ultimate decision of the whole matter. So
that if you, Mr. Editor, think I have dune
the thing up to my promise, please say so;
if you think—alter the perusal iff what is to
follow—that I have fuiled to write the poet
try —why, just say so—be honest, sir—give
me your opinion about it, whether for or
against, it makes no difference with me, 1
assure you ; for 1 haw my own notion about
it, after all, and my opinion is that it is about
as good poetry as—as—as I can write, and
1 that is saying enough for the present. But
tu the lines themselves, 1 took a blight
evening before this cloudy weather, for the
3 D m 155 IB*l AStlf*
time, and seating myself at the window of
my room, and looking out upon the last rays
of liolit, ns they were faintly emitted by the
declining sun—the moon just rising in its
Eastern horizon, and so on, and so forth, I
proceeded, to the last effort at poetic compo
sition, and after a time succeeded in meter
icing, the following lines, which I have en
titled
EVENING M USINGS.
The sun now sinks in his ocean bed,
Shedding Ilia beams of light afar,
Enriching the sky with his rays of red,
And bidding adieu to each rising star.
Tlie twilight is corning softly on.
Stealing alike e’er bill and dale,
And the mornlooksdown from bcrsun-litllrrone
Enrobed for the night in her silvery vail.
Each sar is out on its heavenly flight
Twinkling afar in the bright blue sky,
Like jewelled crowns on the brow of night,
Or tlie light which sparkles in beauty’s eye.
The breeze hassiglied itself to sleep,
Resting in cave or forest bower,
Anri the dews from evening’s eyelids weep.
Bespangling with pearls both herb ami flower.
The bush of night is on the earth;
Deeper the shades of evening grow,
And round the bright and cheerful hearth
The heart’s warm feelings kindly flow.
List! list! a plaintive sound I hear
Borne softly otrtlie breathing air,
’Tis the father’s voice, with bis children dear,
AH groupeJ around that hearth in prayer.
JESSE.
Pinhook Point.
For the “Southern Miscellany.”
He said
Or right or wong, what conic into his head,
lie strifes for trill “8, and for toys contends,
And then in earnest, what he says, defends.”
Hoiace
In the days of the ancients when printing
was unknown, we are told the community
were pestered with persons who conceived
it necessary to say a great deal which meant
and amounted to hut very little ; and it
would seem that times had not materially
altered, in this respect, even at tbe present
day.
A few days ago, I was attending to my
regular daily business—'regulating my books,
and looking into matters in the store, when
in Stepped two of my old neighbors, with
whom I am occasionally in the habit of crack
ing a joke, nnd Exchanging an idea about
matters and things, as Cousin Betsy lias it;
for old as I atn, 1 find I have a good deal to
learn yet.
** Friend Brown,” says my cheerful and
kind neighbor, Uncle Henry, “why a Mr.
Jesse lias gin yon Jessie (as the boys used
to say at school when they got whipped) in
the last “ Miscellany.” He has torn and
tossed your sentence about casvalities, cavscs
and incidents into a perfect confioberation,
and served you worse nor the smart girl did
her feather beds, which her mother told her
must be sunned.”
“How was that ]” I inquired. “Why she
had married and had commenced house
keeping, and wanted to do something a little
smarter than common folks—so she ripped
open the bed licks, and spread them out up
on the scaffold to get tlie whole benefit of
the sun which couldn’t shine strong enough
through the tick in the old way. “I’ll suu
’em as they ought to be sunned,” said she,
as she eyed them from the window. Just
then a gust of wind came up, and away
went the feathers belterskeher all over the
plautalion. They got the sun and the wind,
too. Just so with Jesse—he’s Mowed your,
sentence all to pieces, and made nothing of
it after all.”
“Plenty good enough,” said a quizical
listening friend. “ Now let me tell a tale.
When 1 lived in Tennessee I was at a mus
ter where, as a matter of course, you know
a little fighting had to wind up the affairs of
the day, which had been spent in drinking
whiskey, and cutting up all sorts of capers.
One fellow who was very quarrelsome bad
a pretty severe fight—bis nose was bitoff—
at’least, the lower end of it. A sort of a
quack doctor was standing by who picked
up the piece—put it on, and bandaged up
bis face in a great hurry. The man with
tbe sore nose lay several days with bis face
hound up ; the bandages were then taken
olf, when, lo and behold ! lie had put the
piece wrong end up. A pretty predicament
for a man’s smellers to be in. ‘ But every
evil lias its good,’ as the old saying is. He
was a great snuffiaker, and, though his fron
tespiece was rather marred by the change,
yet lie had this consolation—he lmd no snuff
ing up to do—he just poured it in at the
top, and took snuff - all bis life after without
any trouble. So, friend Brown, you need
not snuff up any more—-just snuff” down.
I’lefily good enough, neighbor Brown, ha,
ha, ha !” and he shook bis sides with laugh
ter, quite liappv in bis joke at me.
“ That’s old,” I replied, not able to join
in the laugh, “ but since you all bore me I
must tell a lale too.” Uncle Henry's face
lightened up—neighbor H twisted a
hout. “ Let’s have it,” said they troth in
the same breath. So, I began: “ When I
was a boy, 1 bad four or five dogs. I was
very - partial to all of them. One of them
was a lean, slick, smooth fellow with a sharp
face. *He was pretty particular darned
smart,’ as Sam Slick says. When wc went
hunting be was always foremost in the pack
—the other dogs didn’t like him very much,
yet ihcv had no right to say any thing against
him. He carried his tail pretty considera
ble high on all occasions. One day he was
cutting some extra capers amongst his com
panions, whom lie thought didn’t look up to
him quite enough—so tie got mad, anil a
sort of onset and hubbub took place. In
the confusion lie jumped up, and mistaking
the tip end of bis own tail, for that of anoth
er dog, bit it spang off - ; thus disfiguring him
self for life; but still his pride was there,
and notwithstanding be could only sport n
stump lie kept bis head us high ns ever.
When 1 looked at him, 1 was tempted to be
lieve in Calvinism, thinking, perhaps, there
some truth in,
“ W hat is bred in the bone, can’t be got
out of tlie flesh.”
J. BROWN.
Pinchback.
Wood, the murderer of his daughter, in
Philadelphia, has sailed for England, with
his wife and one son.
Pineville, August 23,1542.
To Mr. Thompson :
Dear Sitr— The “ Southern Miscellany”
what you sent ine is received, and is jist the
thing. It had that letter in what I rit you
down in Makin, only in larger letters, so our
folks could read it a great deal better. I’m
monstrous glad you formed a kernection with
that paper, for tween you and me its a leetle
bit the poplarest paper in the State, and 1
know it can’t help but exceed cause all Pine
ville is gwine to scribe for it, and if you’ve
a mind to I’ll be agent for it down in these
digins, which will he a mighty help. Miss
Mary’s home now, and things is tuck all
sorts of a turn lately sense I quit chawing
terbackor and tuck to ritin. I went down
to Makiri to the zamination wliar I got a heap
o’ new kinks, but I havn’t time to tell you
nothin bout that now, as our muster comes
on nex Friday—and you know I’s Major,
and things is in a mostbominahle snarl down
here bout this time. I seed your piece to
kin-respondents whar'you said you hoped
Major .Tones would rite for your kolums,and
1 wanted to tell you you might spect to hear
from me every now and tlien, if you liked
my l itins. 1 felt a little sort o’ scared first,
but all my quaintances as has read my letter
to you advise me to go a-head and be a lit
erary karacter, and as you want me to I’m
terrrrined to do what I kin to rais the litera
ture of Pineville. If nothin liapens at the
muster, for there’s some monstrous-fractious
karacters down iuour heat—and they mus’nt
come cavortin bout me when 1 give orders,
like they did round Samwel Cockrum, pul
lin him off - his bos and puttin him on the
fence, and iyin things to his lios’s tail—if
nothin don’t turn up to pervent, you may
speet a letter from trie for your nex paper.
No more from
Your friend, till detb,
JOS. JONES.
P. S. I read that piece of yourn to the
public bout them Griffens. I’m mighty glad
you quit cm. I don’t beleve much in them
Notliern folks with Suthern principels, no
how, nnd I’m sprised you got long with ’em
long as you did. I’ve liearn Mr. Mountgo
mory, our skool-masfer, say that Griffens was
a kind o’ mule sort of animel, twixt a lion
and a eagle, with wings and head like a ea
gle and daws nnd legs like a lion. I recken
them Makin Griffens is a notlier sort o’ spe
cies, tween the fox and the weesel. But
don’t you mind era.
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDA Y MORNING AT
THE VERY LOW PRICE OF TWO DOLLARS
AND FIFTY CENTS PER ANNUM ONE DOL
LAR AND FIFTY CENTS FOR SIX MONTHS
IN ADVANCE.
MADISON, GEO :
Saturday, August 37, IS 13.
AGENTS FOR THE MISCELLANY.
Wo are desirous of procuring local Agents in Sa
vannah and Macon. To any active, responsible per
son who would use come exertion to extend our circu
lation in those cities, liberal inducements would be of
fered.
PRICE SIXPENCE!
We are gratified at tlie necessity that compels us to
affix the above price upon single copies of our paper—
we mean we are gratified atthe demand which basin
creased to such a degree that we cannot afford to sup
ply them gratis. We trust no one will tax us wilh pe
nnriousness for exacting the above price sot single co
pies of the “ Miscellany” when we assure tliem that
we would otherwise be considerable losers by our de
sire to accommodate. A thrip occasionally is not much
to expend for tlie news of the week, hut some thirty or
forty thrips a week would, in the course of the year,
amount to a considerable item.
TO READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.
“The Counterfeiter”—a Tale. We have read through
the MS story with the above title, and for a time en
tertained a hope that, with some little amendments,
we would be able to gratify the young writer by pub
lishing it; hut there is alack of probability in the
main incidents which no ingenuity of ours can rem
edy.
“The Coon Hunt”—a Sketch. We have seen many
worse written Sketches; yet there is a lack ot point
ns well ns plausibility about the production which
induces us to decline it.
“ Intrigue, or the Biters bitten”—a Tale—shall appear
in our next. Tho author has our thanks for other ar
ticles entitled “One way of Reforming a dissipated
Husband,” “Failh and Works,” “The straight way
to Heaven,” “ A Drunkard Reformed,” ami *t The
Proposal,” which we shall publish from time to time
as the arrangement of our matter affords us oppor
tunity.
“The Path of Life"—a Poem—will appear in our next.
“ Geographical Enigma”—ditto
“Jothani Hotchkiss” is welcome. We hope to heat of
ten from him.
We trust nothing will turn up at tlie approaching mus
ter in Pineville to deprive us of the expected letter
from Major Jones. He has our thanks for his kind
offices in our behalf, and we hereby authorise him to
act as Agent for the “ Miscellany” in his neighbor
hood.
We must find room for a word of encouragement to onr
friend “ Jesse.” His Inst poetical production indi
cates a degree of improvement highly creditable to
his genius.
COTTON MARKET.
Notwithstanding the latcless of tlie season
considerable quantities of old Cotton is still
coming in, and has been sold at an advance
on last week’s prices. J. Robson, the agent
of tbe Skull Shoals Factory, paid yesterday
8 cents, Central money, for a crop lot. Sev
eral lots have been sold here from 4to C J
cents. The market for new cotton will open
early. Our friends at a distance may expect
fair prices, aud plenty of purchasers in
Madison, with full supplies of Goods and
Merchandize.
OUR VILLAGE AND QUR TAPER.
No one that has ever been blessed with a
day’s sojourn in our village—who has per
ambulated our cleanly streets —observed our
sprightly residences—mingled with and en
joyed the cordial hospitality of our citizens
—witnessed the order, and propriety, and
social goodfeeling which characterizes our
society, will grinsay our assertion that Mad
ison is one of the pleasantest villages in the
Union. Nor will any one, who is at all ac
quainted with the resources of otir section
our commanding position—our great com
mercial facilities, and the business capacity
of our merchants, doubt for a moment that
our village is destined to become one of the
most prosperous and important inland towns
in the State. Even now while the commer
cial cities are drooping, while in some scarce
trade enough is transacted to make a
show of business, our town is the picture
of life and animation. At the head of rail
road communication, and on the great tho
roughfare of travel, we almost enjoy the fa
cilities of a seaboard town, without losing
any of tbe advantages arising from a loca
tion in the heart of a thickly populated and
wealthy agricultural section of the State.
With such a prospect for our village, have
we not a right to indulge the most sanguine
hopes of our own enterprize. Such a vil
lage should have such a paper, and we have
every confidence that while we make the
“ Miscellany,” deserving of the patronage
and support of an intelligent and enlighten
ed public, it will lie fully sustained. To this
end wc shall bend our untiring ckertions
and as we have already won tlie praise of
issuing the handsomest sheet in Georgia, wc
shall not relax our energies until we shall
have established its reputation as being, if
not the best—second to none, in all tbe es
sentials of a respectable family newspaper.
NEW COTTQN.
A handsome square bale of Cotton, weigh
ing 475 pounds, was brought to our market
on Wednesday last, by G. B. Allen, Esq., of
Putnam County, being the first bale of new
Cotton in our streets this season—quality
very good. It sold for specie funds, at nine
cents per pound. A sample is left in our
reading room.
REV. GF.ORGE F. PlF.Rffc’s ADDRESS.
We have been favored, by a friend, with
a copy of the Address delivered by the Rev.
George F. Pierce, before the Few and Phi
Gama Societies of Emory College, at the
recent Commencement of that institution.—
The perusal of the pamphlet before us has
afforded us much pleasure ; and though we
can not entirely agree witli the writer in the
views expressed by him in regard to gener
al literature, we are constrained to express
our high admiration of the elevated, moral,
and patriotic tone which characterises the
Address.
We think the following indiscriminate
censure can hardly he justified by a close
scrutiny into the character and influences
of a healthy literature :
“I am aware that the conventional signifi
cation of the term Literature restricts tho
application of it to Novels, Poetry, Period
icals and kindred works, with all their di
versity of characters, incidents, and themes;
but in all these there is no inculcation of re
ligious truth, of-set design. An occasional
moral reflection—the making the catastro
phe of a tale speak upon the side of virtue,
satirizing an unfashionable vice, can never
invest a book with a moral character or neu
tralize the evil of its tendency. The subtle
poison, though dilluted and spiced, will in
fect with disease, which, however modified
in its development, is the pledge and pre
cursor of death.”
That there are writers who “ invest sen
sual pleasures with the enchantments of ge
nius,” we are willing to admit, but so are
we ready to maintain that there are minis
ters of the gospel who clothe the blackest
moral characters with the canonical robes of
the Church. But for this, should we con
demn the pulpil—should we cast odium up
on, and endeavor to bring into discredit, the
sacred office of the preacher ] Certainly
not! Had we space, we think we could
prove that popular, healthy literature—such
as Mr. Pierce denominates “ works confes
sedly designed for entertainment”—such as
he once promised the “ Southern Ladies’
Book” should he, and such as we have en
deavored to make those with which we have
been connected—are among the most pow
erful auxiliaries of the Church, and that their
suppression would he to destroy one of tlie
most potent influences that can possibly be
brought to act upon the public mind, for
good. A spurious literature we do not de
sire to vindicate—neither would Mr. Pierce
defend a spurious religion. But when we
see literature assailed in its broadest accep
lalion, we have it in us to complain against
such sweeping denunciations from whatever
source, and we trust are actuated by proper
motives when we do so. Literature, like
every thing emanating from the immortal
mind, is powerful for good or evil, and
when good men turn their countenance from
it, they abandon a deadly and destructive
weapon to the hands of the bad.
But we have not room to say more at this
time, as we desire to give the following elo
quent appeal in behalf of religious educa
tion in our Colleges and Institutions of learn
ing, with which Mr. Plfcrce closes his able
Address: ~ •
“He who is best educated for the worlj
to come, is best educated for the world that
now is. I would not displace any book ne
cessury tobeknown—l would not eubstituto
the Bible for every thing else, but I would
have it the ground-work nnd companion of
the whole course. We talk of the expan
sive power of other studies, of their scope,
and their elevation, and true it is that the
mind grows dwarfish or gigantic according
to the subjects with which it is familiar. If
then, you would set to your seal and give
world assurance of a man, set him to span
the disclosures of revelation, scale the alti
tudes of eternal truth, explore the depths
of Infinite Wisdom, and soar amid the glo
ries of immortality unveiled and spiritual,
and then he shall descend, like Moses from
the mount, radiant with the light of (figl,
communion. In the treasured volume lies
not only the mystery of mysteries, but in it
is the oldest history—history past, present
and to cope —poetry alive, breathing, bound
ing—philosophy condensed, but comprehen
sive, deep but clear, profound hut intelligi
ble. We wander with the Geologist, book
in hand, all delight; look upon the surface,
dig through some lew strata of the earth;
enter some dark and curious caverns; scan
the precipitous hanks of some rushing tor
rent as it hastens toits ocean home; hut this
Book plants us amid the angel group, as
they gaze upon the laying of the coiner
stone of this material temple, and poises us
over tlie heaving abyss where creative pow
er is energising, and wraps us in wonder nnd
praise as the choral song of the morning
stars breaks upon the cradled sktmhers of
the new-born world. We talk of the illus
trious discoveries of science, and disport
among stars and suns aud systems—stand
upon the outposts .of telescopic vision, aw e
struck with the amplitude of our range;
hut this Pook stretches infinitude beyond the
orbits of Astronomy, and leaving all calcu
lation and measurement behind, dooms im
agination itself to fold its wing in weariness;
opens faith’s interior eye; unrolls the scene
ry of judgment; sweeps off our terreslrial
habitation, and the planetary glories that
now bestud our sky ; reorganizes the dust
of the sepulcher; bids anew creation rise;
redeemed man rejoice, heaven his home and
eternity his lifetime.
“ Oh ! tell me if a Book like that can be
read and studied without a quickening im
pulse, without expansive views, without an
upward, onward, motion? As well might
the flowers sleep when spring winds her
merry horn to call them from I heir wintry
bed. As well might the sun-beam lie folded
in the curtains of night when “ the King ot
dav comes rejoicing in the east.” As well
might the exhalations of the ocean linger
upon its bosom when the sun beckons them
to tho thunder’s home. Away, away for
ever with the heresy tliat the Bible fetters
intellect. It is the oracle of all intelligence,
the charter of our rights, “the Dayspring
from on high.” What was the Reformation
hut the resurrection of the Bible] Clois
tered in monastic seclusion, it lay for a
thousand years, hidden, silent and degra
ded. The dense vapors that went up from
the fens of papal corruption, shrouded in
deep eclipse the lore of the world, and men
groped in the gloom of a long and awful
night. Intellect, smitten from its pride of
place, fell cowering in abject servility at tho
footsool of power. Supersitition shackled
the multitude, and the spirit of liberty slept
beneath* its wizard spell. Opinion, panic
struck by tbe thunders of tlie Vatican,
hushed its trumpet-tonesand left tlie empire
of mind to darkness and to Rome. But
lo! in the cycle of years, a change. The
genius of Luther evoked the Bible from its
retreat to disenchant the nations. It came,
and breathing upon the valley of vision, its
dishonored relics lived. It looked upon the
sleeping sea, and the ice-bound watersmel
ted beneath its glance. When from her
dungeon gloom imprisoned Europe cried
“Watchman what of the night!” “the
Watchman said The morning cometh.” The
ghosts of a mystic theology fled from the
spreading day. The gloomy prejudices
which had stagnated all the elements of en
terprise, let go their barbarian hold, and tbe
powers which had rusted for ages in iron
sleep, emancipated, rushed to the conflict,
on the issue of which the destines of the
world were periled. Intellect, roused by
the battle-shout with new-found strength,
burst from its thraldom, forged its fetters
into swords, and fought its way to freedom
and to fame. Yes, it was the Bible that
presided over the revival of letters, and un
rolled the manuscripts of ancient wisdom
for the perusal of the nations. It was the
Bible that unlocked the prison-doors of
knowledge, and bid her go forth to teach
the people their dignity and their rights. It
was the Bible that wrenched from the reek
ing jaws of a ravenous usurpation, tho
bleeding form of mangled liberty, and re
stored her to the earth, healed and sound, a
blessing and a guardian. When in after
years denied a home by the despotic monar
chies of the old world, these ancient com
panions braved the wide Atlantic’s roar, and
together sought a refuge in these western
wilds. Let the Bible keep alive the spirit
of liberty among the people, and the spirit
ot reverence for God, and tho government
is safe. Let lawless violence, or reasons of
state, or an intriguing infidelity .sequester
tlie Holy Volume, ibrbid it to walk upon
the unquiet sea of human passions, and the
last hope of patriots ar.d the world is gone.
This young republic, smitten in the green
ness of her years shall be stretched to the
gaze of nations, a livid corpse, the scorn of
kings, and none so poor as to do her rever
ence.
Hear me, my country ! hear me fpryour
honor and your perpetuity 1 Have done
with yobr idolatry of patriotism, of talent,
of government —your dependeuce on men
and Vealth and power; away with your
jealousy of the Bible, its influence* and its
institutions. Christianity is the vital spirit
of tlie republic—-tlie richest treasure of a
generous people —the salt of our learning
and the bond of our union. Send religion
and education in indissoluble wedlock, to
traverse the land in its length nnd breadth;
let the mother teach the Bible to her daugh
ters —the father to his aonß—the schoolmas
ter to his pupils—tlie professor to hi# class