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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