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POETRY.
THE SLAVE SHIP.
From a Poem spoken July Fourth, before
the Anti-Slavery Society of Williams
College; by Wiiliam P. Palmer, a mem
ber ofthe institution.
Chain’d foot to foot and hand to hand,
The captives took their way,
Goaded alone; by scourge or brand,
Wearied and sad, to the distant strand
Where the darkling slave-ship lay.
Fearful its hidden dangers were,
Where comes no breath of balmy air
To cheer the midnight gloom,-*
Where not the vilest couch was spread
For sorrow’s wildlv-throhhing head,—
Yet there, oh there were sepulcher’d>
In that lone living tomh,
The infant in its springtide hour,
The aged in its waning power,
The virgin in her life’s young light,
The chieftain in his manhood’s might,
To wait a darker doom.
And there was weeping; deep within
Arose the voice of mingled wo,
Above the pirate’s swelling din
Of arms, and oaths and shouts to go.
An who may have the pow’r to tell
What feelings in those bosoms swell,
What thoughts, now in their might of pain,
Shiver the heart and scathe the brain;
What hopes are buried in that cry
Of nature’s conquering agony;
What fancies of their hamlet lire,
Of friendship; love, and jov expire,
As wild despair with madd’ning yell
P oints to them all and shrieks,—farewell!
But there was one whom avarice disdain’d,
Forsooth because his Midas grasp could
wring
Not front-her bended form one mite of gold:
A widow’d mother she,—and from her side
With ruffian hand a blooming boy they
tore.
Who has not known a mother’s tenderness?
Through every period of her anxious life
It is the same deep, holy feeling; oh
There’s nought ol' earth so pure, so hallow
ed.
In sickness and in sorrow Ihaveprov’d
How tenderly she loves, how deeply feels
For th’ young op’ning blossom of her being,
At midnight’s sleep-inviting hour I’ve found
Her watching at my sickly couch, untir’d,
Smothing my pillow by her kindly care.
Such is a mother’s love,—a mother’s heart;
And such was hers, thrice widow’d now
since he,
The light and joy of her declining years,
Was from her bosom torn, who erst would
stand
Beside her knee what time the stars look’d
out.
And question of his sire with such a face
As mirror’d forth his image to her eye.
Her left they on the shore, cheerless and
lone,
And childless in her wo. Her wither’d
hands
Convulsively she wrung, and begg’d to go:
She reck’d not of her cottage by the palm,—
Her husband’s grave,—the green hills of
her sires,—
Freedom or bondage, life or death,—for all
Was buried in the thought of her poor
child;—
The hope that she might be receiv’d to him,
To share his load of sorrows and of chains.
Oh woman, thou art mighty in thy wo;
But man’s fell heart is oft a rock of ice,
Where thy fond cherish’d hopes are
' wreck’d and lost.
Alas! soprov’dit now;—the widow’s pray
er 1
Was spurn’d, while her wild shrieks the
theme were made
Of many a passing jest. The sail is spread;-
Away, away, while yet the lightnings sleep;
Away;—but know ye there is One whose
That deed of darkness sure has register’d,
And his swift ministers the el’inents are..
THE MILLENIUM.
Jl scene from Pollofcs “Course of Time
The animals, as once in Eden, lived
In peace. The wolf dwelt with the lamb,
the bear
And leopard with the ox. With looks of
love,
The tiger and the scaly hrocodile
Together met, at Gambia’s palmy wave.
Perched on the eagle’s wing, the bird of
song,
Singing, arose, and visited-the sun;
Anuflvith the falcon sat the gentle lark.
The little child leaped from his mother’s
arms,
And stroked the crested snake, and rolled
unhurt
Among his speckled waves, and wished him
home!
And sauntering school-boys, slow return
ing played
At eve about the lion’s den, and wove,
Into bis shaggy mane, fantastic flowers.
To meet the husbandman, early abroad,
Hasted the deer, and waved its woody head;
And around his dewy steps, the hare, un
scared,
Sported, arid toyed familiar with his dog.
The flocks and herds, o’er hill and valley
spread,
Exulting, cropped the ever-budding herb.
The desert blossomed, and the barren sung.
Justice and Mercy, Holirfess and Love,
Among the people walked; Messiah reign-
! ed, „
And earth kept Jubilee a thousand years.
From the London Tract Magazinefor Julv.
LAST HOURS OF REV. LEIQH
RICHMOND. u
Upon the lire and character ofthe
author of “The Dairyman’s Daugh
ters,” it is unnecessary to enlarge in
any publication ofthe Religious Tract
Society, or to detal -minutely his con
nexion with that institution. Our
readers will be much interested in the
account of his last hours, written
by one of his daughters.
“He had a great dislike to keep his
bed;—and I cannot but acknowledge
the goodness of God that it was not
necessary. He rose every day to the
last, and sat as unusual in his study,
only getting up a little later, and go
ing to bed earlier, as his strength
gradually failed him. The last fort
night he was very silent, and appear
ed constantly in prayer and meditation
waiting his dismissal, and the end of
his earthly pilgrimage. At this time
nothing seemed to disturb him; and he
appeared to realize the full import of
that blessed promise, ‘Thou wilt
keep him in perfect peace whose mind
is stayed on thee.’ 1 often thought he
exemplified the faith his favorite
Leighton commends, ’Let thy soul
roll itself on God, and adventure there
all its weight.’ It was indeed an un
speakable delight to us to observe the
unruffled calm of his soul; and it con
firmed our minds in the truth and val
ue of the doctrines he had taught for
30 years. We had seen our beloved
father prostrate in soul before God,
under a consciousness of indwelling
sin; we had heard him bemoaning him
self, after a long life of usefulness, as
an unprofitable servant, renouncing a-
gain and again, all hope of salvation by
his own goodness, and fleeing to Jesus
as his only refuge. To use his own
words, ‘It is only by coming to Christ
as a little Child, and as for the first
time, that I can get peace.’ Yet,
though for a time perplexed', he was
not forsaken. We saw him comfort
ed of God, and proving what he had
often said tome, “Christ has firm hold
of you, however feeble your grasp of
him;’ and now we saw him strong in
faith, and in the last hour of dissolving
nature rejoice in the sure and certain
hope of the Glory of God. He did
indeed find, to use the dying word of
my beloved brother, “the rest that
Christ gives is sweet.” He was si
lent but it was a most expressive si
lence, and revealed emotions, of joy
and praise not to be described. Ma
ny touching circumstances occurred,
which showed both the man and the
Christian; but they are of too delicate
a nature to be communicated beyond
the circle of his own family.
“Two days before his death, he re
ceived a letter, mentioning the conver
sion of tw ( o persons (one of whom was
a clergyman) by the perusal of his
Tract, ‘The Dairyman’s Daughter.’
When the latter was given to him, he
seemed too feeble to open it himself,
and desired Henry (his son) to read it
to him. The contents deeply interes
ted him. He raised himself in his
chair, lifted up his hand, and then let
it fall down again, while he repeated
ly shook his head. His manner spoke
the greatest humility, as if he would
say, ‘How unworthy of such an hon
or!’ For a few moments, it seemed
to administer a cordial to his fainting
spirit, and led our minds, in reference
to our dear father, to contemplate the
near fulfilment of that promise,’ They
that turn many to righteousness shall
shine as stars forever and ever.”
“About five o-’clock on Tuesday,
the 8th of May, 1827, we persuaded
him to go to bed, but we little thought
death was so near. He could not
walk, and we were going to ring for
a servant to assist him; but he said, ‘I
should like Henry to carry me. He
was wasted to a skeleton: Henry took
him up with great ease, & we all fol
lowed.—I shall never forget this most
affecting moment: it was a moment
of anguish to me more than the last
scene. He seemed to know that he
was leaving the study never to return
to it.i his look told mo that he knew
it.—This was his favorite room,
where, for more than twenty years, he
had constantly carried on his pursuits.
There he had written his books, stu
died his sermons, instructed his chil
dren, conversed with his flock, and
offered daily sacrifice of praise and
prayer. I watched him as Henry
carried him out; his countenance pre
served the same look of fixed compo
sure. He raised his head, & gave one
searching look round the room, on his
books, his table, his chair, his wife,
his children; and then the door closed
on him forever! He gave the same
look round the gallery through which
we passed, as if he was bidding fare
well to every thing. There was a
peculiar expression in his countenance
which T cannot describe; it seemed to
say, ‘Behold, I die; but God will be
with you!* Henry seated him in a
chair; and he sat to be undressed, like
a little dependent child, In deep si
lence, but without theTuffling of a fea
ture.
“About nine, he seemed rather
wandering, and made an effort to
speak, but we csuld not make out his
meaning; only we perceived he was
thinking about his church, for we head
him say several times, ‘It will be all
confusion.” Mamma asked him what
would be confusion? ‘The church!
There will be such confusion in my
church!’
“About t.en o’clock, he signified to
mamma,a gentle whisper that he wish
ed to be left alone, to send us all a-
way, and draw the curtains round him.
“About half past ten, Mrs. G. tap
ped at my door, and told me to come
and look at my father. $he said she
could hardly tell whetheij there was
any change or not. I hurried to him.
He raised his eyes to Heaven; and
then closed them. „ I pul my cheek
upon his; & I believe at (bat instant -I
felt, for I could not hear, his dying
sigh. I thought he was deeping, and*
continued looking at him, till Hannah
said, ‘Your dear papa ik in Heaven.’
I did not think him deaq; and I rubbed
his still warm hands, tad kissed his
pale cheek, and entreated him to
speak one word to me, but 1 soon found
it was the silence of death. All turn
ed to poor mamma, who was insensi
ble; and I was thusTeft alone with my
dear father, kneeling beside him with
his hand in mine. The same holy
calm sat on ! his countenance, and
seemed to say, “ Thanks be to God who
has given me tlu victory.' 1 ' 1
TRUE RELIGION.—an extract.
Religion is amiable and lovely when
represented in a true light—it is the
highest happiness of a rational being—
it exalts the mind above the captivat
ing and alluring vanities of this world,
and prepares man to meet with forti
tude and resignation, the unavoidable
calamities which beset human life.—
The felicities attending conscious inno
cence are permanent and substantial.
The happiness of a mind that can sur
vey itself with tranquillity and self-ap
probation, is of all others the most de
sirable. True religion renders a man
but little inferior to the angels, but
without it he is beneath the beasts
that perish. ,
Religion is regarded by some as an
abridgement, to the pleasures of life,
and is often set forth in the most
gloomy and’ foreboding language. But
mistaken is the idea—it refines the
desires of the heart, unmasks the evils
attendant on human life, and enables
us to relish them as blessings in dis
guise. Thus a fountain of hhppiness
is opened to the pious map, which the
licentious can never approach.
How commisserating to the real
Christian to hear the utmost satisfacto
ry and delightful employment of the
soul represented in such cold unbe
coming lahguage! He marks the hand
of the Deity in all things, and they
conspire to yield him pleasures—he
views with ecstacy the grand furniture
of the skies, and adores that being who
guides the silent spheres! He ad
mires the mechanism of God as dis
played in the grand theatre of the Uni
verse. He beholds the lofty moun
tains aspiring among the clouds, and
the flowing seas with their inhabitants
-—he sees the forked lightnings glare,
and hears with awe the dreadful thun
der, and still more direful earthquake,
shaking creation to its very centre;
but he fears not—he knows that he is
safe, and like Elijah would be trans
ported to regions of immortal bliss.—
Such are the effects of true religion.
Oh, how transporting the thought, that
amidst the wreck of nature and the
crush of worlds, the soul shall rehiaiu
unhurt! .
Oh Religion, how the multitude dis
regard and abuse thy native amiable
ness! how long, 0 man! wilt thou de
lay, before thou dost embrace the glo
rious privilege of being rational and
immortal. Reader! oh reader, ad
here not to the practice of a degene
rate age, as an heir and expectant of
a glorious immortality. Follow the
brightest example which the blessed
author of our religion has set before
us, and thou shalt find consolatfbn while
here, and everlasting peace beyond
the grave.
Physical, Civil and Moral Power of
the West.—The following is taken
from an article in the Quarterly Jour
nal of the American Education Socie
ty, for April.
Physical Power.—By the Western
Slates we mean to include those
which are situated between the Alle
ghany and the Rocky Mountains, and
are watered by the Mississippi and its
tributaries. The Territories of Mi
chigan and Arkansas contain 528,000
square miles. It is only fifty-five
years since the first English settle
ments west of the Alleghany, were
made in Kentucky.
At various periods since, settle
ments have been made in most of the
States belonging to the Western di
vision. Thirty-eight years ago, the
entire white population of all these
States amounted, as we have said, by
actual computation, to scarcely 150,-
000—making a little over seven per
sons to a square mile.—Their ratio
of increase has been not far from 100
per cent. The ratio will probably di
minish as the country grows older and
those checks of population increase
which ever exist in long settled States.
But it is hazarding little to say, that
in 1850, the Western States will con
tain a population larger than that of
the other great divisiona of the United
States.
Of their capability to support a
population equal in density to Massa
chusetts, no doubt can be entertained.
The number of persons to a square
mile in Massachusetts is seventy. By
recurring to the number of square
miles in the Western States, it will
be seen, that with a population equal
in destiny to Massachusetts, they will
contain 36,960,000 inhabitants The
effective military force of a popula
tion of 10,000,000, may safely be
estimated at 1,000,000. When, there
fore, the Western States shall con
tain a population equal in destiny to
Massachusetts, their effective milita
ry force will be nearly 4,000,000—an
army superior to. that which can be
brought into the field by the Autocrat
of Russia. The above estimate is un
doubtedly too low. A moment’s re
flection will satisfy any one, that the
Western States are capable of sus
taining a much larger population, who
takes into consideration the salubrity
of their climate—the extent and 'fer
tility of their soil—the richness of
their mines—the facility they have
for working them—and the great nav
igable rivers and tributary streams by
vyhich they are watered, suited either
for manufacturing! establishmets, or
the purposes of commercial enter-
prize and activity.
In the preceding remarks, no re
gard has been paid to the unorganized
territory belonging to the United
States in the valley of the Mississippi.
When, therefore, these immense re
gions between the Alleghany and the
Rocky Moutains shall be filled with a
population etpial in density to Massa
chusetts, their physical power will be
greater than that of the mightiest na
tion now in existence.
Civil Power.—By civil power is
here meant that influence which gny
division of our country possesses in the
national councils. Proceeding, then,
upon the calculations laid down in the
tables published in another part ofthe
present number of the Journal,* it
will be seen that the civil power of
this nation will soon be wielded by the
people of the West. Divide the Uni
ted States into four parts, Northern,
Middle, Southern and Western. The
present number of Representatives in
Congress, from each of the divisions,
is as follows: .Northern 39—Middle
67—Southern 64—Western 46.—
Whole number of Representatives
from the first three divisions, 176.—
From the last. 56. Under the pres
ent regulations the apportionment for
a representative is 40,000. Accor
ding to the best calculations which
can be made, it is ascertained, that in
1850, the population of the Northern,
Middle and Southern divisions of the
United States will be 11,384,705;
while that of (he Western division
will be 11,424,550. Should the fate
of apportionment be the same then as
at present, the first three divisions
will have 267 Representatives, and
the last 269; leaving the balance of
power in favor of the_West, Tlje ap
portionment in future will,, no doubt
be much larger than at present; but
upon the principle of equal yepreseu-
tation, whatever the apportionment
may be, the influence possessed by the
West will be the same.
In a little more than twenty years,
therefore the Western States will
have a majority in Congress; and in
fifty years that majority will be over
whelming. Of course they will be a-
ble to control all the measures of the
General Government which are of
great national importance.
Moral Power.—Now, w hen we re
flect that the Western States, accord
ing to the lowest estimate, are ca,
pable of sustaining a population of
more than 36,000,UGO, we feel that
their moral power must be great, ei
ther for good or evil,in proportion as in
telligence or ignorance, virtue or vice,
prevail among their citizens. We
have before shewn that in i850 they
will have a majority in Congrese; & is
isyvell known that the character of a
representative ever corresponds with
that of his constituent*. If the people
are industrious and virtuous, then
their representatives will be men of
like spirit. But if ignorance, licen
tiousness of manner, and a disregard of
religious obligation, prevail in the
community, then reckless demagogues
and abandoned profligates, Will sit in
.the sacred hall of legislation; and ambi
tion and self aggrandizement and love
of power will take the place of patri
otism and public spirit, and an unsha
ken attachment to the best interests of
the nation. Where such a state of
society exists, the elective franchise,
which is the peculiar glory of Ameri
ca^ will become one of its deadliest
scourges. Nothing, therefore, can
prevent a dissolution of the Union,
and save our free and happy institu
tions from utter subversion, but patri
otism pnd intelligence, directed, ani
mated and controlled by the purest
moral principles, pervading all class
es of people at the West.
•The tables here alluded to, give compar
ative increase of the several divisions ofthe
country in the following ratios: Eastern
States 12 7 per cent. Middle 32 8; South
ern 19 4: Western 99. ; The comparative
population of the same divisions of country,
when as dense as the present population of
Great Britain, will be as follows: Eastern
States, 11,851,200; Middle, 18,072,000-
Southern, 56,173,000; Western, 120,240,-
000; unorganized territory, 153,658,890;
total, 360,000,000.
Jl Rawdon Bear.—On Thursday the
17th inst. Mrs. Henry of Rawdon,
heard two cpws bellowing rather loud
ly in a park adjoining her house: she
instantly went out and perceived that
the cows were pursued by a ferocious
bear. The bear soon singled out onW
of the cows as the object of an on
slaught; the other finding herself freed
from immediate pursuit, fell into the
rear, and in her turn gave chace to
the pursuer of her companion, and
when very near the enemy made a
plunge at him with her head. This
attempt proved fatal to' herself; the
bear taking advantage of her fall, turn
ed and sprung upon her back, where
having fixed himself he began to regale
himself with the choicest 1 flesh he
could find. Mrs. Henry on seeing
this, seized a stick, and with a cour
age that is seldom met with, ran up to
the bear and pumelled him. from his
seat; he leaped frpm his seat and pur
sued the lady, who contrived to evadd
him; upon this he calmly wiped his
mouth upon a log of wood, and return
ed to the still prostrate cow, upon
whose carcase he had scarcely recom
menced his attacks, when he was a-
gain assailed by Mrs. H. She beat
him off a second time—and a second
time she was pursued. She cried for
assistance, and six men came to he*
aid with guns; but before they could
resolve among themselves who should
have, the honor of shooting the bear,
he relieved them from 'he immediate
necessity of depriving him of life, by
scampering off. The cow was dead
before he left her. He w*ent howev
er, in search of a meal which lie might
enjoy unmolested. For, as Mr. Hen
ry was returning home in the evening,
his attention was attracted to a field
where a heifer was lowing most pite
ously; on entering the field he perceiv
ed the heifer lying on the ground, whilg
the bear was feasting on him with ap
parent sasisfaction. Mr. Henry went
in quest of a gun, Which having pro
cured shot the bear through the groin,
but the wound was not deadly—for the
bear ran off to the woods leaving the
heifer lifeless. Thinking that “the
enemy” might return, the body of the
heifer-was left in the field; he made
his appearanqe on Saturday 19th, and
was so intent on the inviting flesh that
the men who watched him, came upon
him before he was aware, and ran a
bayonet into his throat, he twisted the
bayonet as it had been a rush, but not
before it had given him his death
thrust. :—-
The quackery of signs is pushed
even farther in Germany than in Lon
don or Paris. A druggist at Berlin
designates himself “privileged mouse-
destroyer to his Majesty.” It is said,
however, that a member ofthe Royal
family refused to a turner permission
to assume the title of a .“maker of.
wooden legs to his Royal highness.”