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VOL. I. mil ma ©hUssei • is published, every Friday morning, in Macon, Ga. on the follow CONDITIONS : If paid strictly in mivtMCt - - $- 50 P*' r annum. If not so paid * * * - 300 “ Legal Advertisements will be made to conform to the following pro visions of the Statute:— Sales of Land and Negroes, by Executors, Administrators and Guard ians, are required l> y ‘ aw to x>e advertised in a public gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. These sales must be held on the first Tuesday in the month,between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the Court House in the county in which the property is situated. The sales of Personal Property must be advertised in like manner for ty ilavs. ’ Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published forty Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary fox leave to sell Land and Negroes, must be published weekly for four months. Citations or Tetters of Administration must lie published thirty days for Dismission from Administration, monthly, six months —for Dis mission from Guardianship, forty days. Hales for foreclosure of mortgage, must be published monthly, for ‘four months —for establishing lost papers, for the full space of three month*—for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators where 1,00,1 has been given by the deceased, the full space of three months. Professional and Business Cards, inserted, according to the follow ing scale: For 4 lines or less per annum . - *5 00 in advance. “ 6 lines u u * - - < 00 “ “ <u JO j-jr*Transient Advertisements will be charged SI, per square of 12 lines or less, for the first and 50 cts. for each subsequent insertion.— i m these rates there will be a deduction of 20 percent, on settlement, when advertisements are continued 3 months, without alteration. • y-- All Letters except those containing remittances must be post paid or free. postmasters and others who will act as Agents for the “Citizen"’ may retain. 20 per cent, for their trouble, on all cask subscriptions for warded. OFFICE on Mulberry Street, East of the Floyd House and near the Market. ‘ti'ljc ]M'% Cnrnrr, LILIES OF LOVE. No. 1. LA CO NT A DIN A. BY T. n. CIIIVERS, M. D. ‘"II vago spirito ardento E’n alto intellotto, un puro core.’* —rETß.vncn.v. “She seemed a splendid Angel newly drest, Save wings, for Heaven.” —Keats. 4P Her tender Breasts were like two snow-white Doves Upon one willow bough at calm of even, Telling each other, side by side, their loves In soft celestial tones as sweet as Heaven. And as the soft winds, from the flowery grove, * Sway them thus sitting on that willow-bough, At every breath—at every sigh of love— They undulate upon her bosom now. Two dove-like spirits on her eyelids knelt, And weighed them gently, covering half her eyes, Whose soul in their own azure seemed to melt And mingle, as the sunlight with the skies. Her eyes were like two violets bathed in dew In which each lash was mirrored dark within, As in some lake, reflecting Heaven so blue, The willow-boughs long languid limbs are seen. , As God’s celestial look is far too bright For Angel's gaze in Heaven if not kept dim, And partly shorn of its excessive light By the broad pinions of the cherubim; So, these two spirits, one on each fair lid, Letdown the lash-fringed curtain to conceal And keep but half that heavenly glory hid, Which it were death to mortals to reveal. YANKEE DOODLE. We have at last a true Yankee Doodle song—a genuine American song—a song that is like the glad echo of freedom to the derisive doggerel once sung to insult an oppressed peo ple. And it conics most opportunely, in the July number of Godc y, and the present number of the Georgia Citizen. From Godey’s Lady's Book, July, 1850. YANKEE DOODLE. Tune —•“ Yankee Doodle.” BY T. S. DONOIIO. “Yankee Doodle.” Long ago They played it to deride us; But now we march to victory, And that’s the tune to guide us ! Yankee Doodle! ha 1 ha 1 ha! A’ ankee Doodle Dandy ! llow we made the Red Coats run , At Yankee Doodle Dandy ! To fight is not a pleasant game; But if we must, we’ll do it 1 When “Yankee Doodle’’ once begins, The Yankee boys go through it ! Yankee Doodle 1 ha! ha! ha! Yankee Doodle Dandy 1 “Go ahead 1” the captains cry, At Yankee Doodle Dandy ! _ And let her come upon the sea, The insolent invader— There the Yankee boys will bo Prepared to serenade her 1 Yankee Doodle ’. ha! ha ! ha ! Yankee Doodle Dandy 1 Yankee guns will sing the bass Os Yankee Doodle Dandy ! “Yankee Doodle!” How it brings The good old days before us! Two or three began the song— Millions join the chorus 1 Yankee Doodle 1 ha! ha! ha! Yankee Doodle Dandy 1 Rolling round the continent Is Yankee Doodle Dandy ! “Yankee Doodle !” Not alone The Continent will hear it— But all the world shall eateh the tone, And every tyrant fear it! Yankee Doodle ! ha ! ha! ha ! Yankee Doodle Dandy! Freedom’s voice is in the song Os Yankee Doodle Dandy ! ‘These Californy fellers talk about going round l ‘ le Hornsoliiiquized Skeesicks the other night, on Canal bridge. “ Ketch me going round the horn! I never went round a horn in my life ! Ven ®Ver I finds one in my way I alters drinks it up—l does” A country green-horn, after being joined in the 1 tains of wedlock, was asked by one of his guests if ie tad paid the parson, to which he replied, “ Oh, n <>, he’s owing father for a peck of beaus, and we’ll make a turn.” 1 here’s JI at chain ?” inquired a young lady upon w ‘th the name of that town in a newspaper, , r , , y you stupid!” indignantly exclaimed her i- r, “ Ilatcham is the first stage after Eggham, J sure,” and the young lady believed it. THE j* Hl*, OR THE FATE OF A FALSE CUIRASSIER. A WONDERFUL RELATION FOUNDED ON FACT. Revised and corrected for the Georgia Citizen. BY T. 11. CIIIVERS, M. D. The Sieur do La Merclie, a captain of the first regiment of Cuirassiers, was a young gentleman of one of the first families in France. While he was stationed at Cisieux, lie was taken desperately ill. It was thought, by all his physicians, that he would never recover. Hut he did recover. During his illness, he was attended upon by a beautiful Nun— one of the SoeursdeLa Charite, who never make a vow not to marry. Iler name was Uortense. She was very beautiful. About three weeks after he was taken ill, he became convalescent. One day while he was lying on his bed, reading that most beautiful of all beautiful stories, Paul and Virgin ia, by St. Pierre, she brought him a cup of coffee to driiiK. She had prepared it with her own hands.— Perceiving that her hand trembled very much while she was handing it to him, at the same time that a rosy blush overspread her delicate and ten der cheeks, lie became resolved, from that moment, to tell her how r much he loved her. # “Uortense,” said lie, “you are, indeed, a Sister of Charily, as the name of your order imports. How shall l ever repay you for the kindness you have shown to-me during my illness ? You have been to me a sister—nay, a Ministering Angel! Had it not been for you, I should have been dead long ago.’b^’ “Then, I am glad,’’ said she, that I have beeffso kind to you.” “Are you, indeed, glad, my beautiful, my adored Uortense ?” said lie, while grasping her lily-white baud'. “Oh! my Uortense! for I must, indeed, call you mine— you are mine—for Heaven has made you so —from the first moment that iny eyes were fixed upon you, I said in my heart, that you should be mine! Why do you blush, my love ? Why does your hand tremble so ?—Do you not believe what I say is true ? —Oli! doubt me not! For now, in the presence of high Heaven, I tell you that I love you better than ido my own soul! It is to you that I owe my life ! It was your presence that saved me from the grave !” At this moment the Sieur do la Merclie sat up on the side of his bed. “Come to my arms, my beloved!” continued he. “Why do you pull away from me ? I know you love me, Uortense ! 110w t can you help it, when you know I love you so well? Ah! you blush again! Why will you not tell me with your pre cious lips what you speak so eloquently with your heavenly smiles ? Why do you not answer me ? Will you not be mine ?” “Why do you implore mcT so ?” asked Uortense, in a tender tone. “Because I love you S' 1 replied La Merclie. “You do not know how much I love you, Uortense.’’ “1 do not think that passionate expression is al ways a true sign of love,” replied Uortense, looking at the jeweled hand that grasped hers. “If 1 speak passionately ,” replied La Merclie, “it is because I love you so intensely! I know’ one thing, that if you loved me/half as well as I do You, you would not refuse to lejf me embrace you.” “You have my hand in yours,” replied Uortense, in a confiding and tender tone —“what more do you want ?” “I want your whole heart—your, whole soul!"’ re plied La Merclie, most passionately. “Speak to me! tell me that you love me from your heart, and you shall be mine!” “I love you from my heart, or not at all!” replied Uortense, Then you are mine /’’ replied La Merclie, attemp ting to embrace her. “I am,” said slie, while holding off his hand, “on this condition, that you promise me, before high Heaven, never to betray the trust reposed in you!” “I swear, by Heaven !” said he, while holding up his right hand, “that I never will! Oh! my llor tense ! why do you bind me so “Because I love you!” replied Uortense. “If I did not love you, do you suppose that I would let you hold my hand here in your own room ?” “I know you love me Uortense! —-J know you love me as you do your ow r n life!” replied La Mer che, clasping her very affectionately in his arms while embracing her. She now- considered him her husband in every thing but the marriage ceremony. She believed herself, in the sight of Heaven, as much his w ife as sheever could be. Her confidence in bis fidelity was strong as her love was perfect. About three weeks after this, he left Lissieux for Paris. He never returned again. Ife had deceived her ! She was ruined ! She was taken sickdinme diately afterwards. His absence was killing^lier ! Nothing could console her. Every day she got worse and worse ! She was now the very image of death itself! One day, while she was lying on her bed, w ith scarsely breath enough in her to keep her alive, she thought of the letter that La Merclie had written to her from Paris, and she called her sister and requested her to read it. She came. She read the letter. “Sister!” said Uortense, with deep emotion, “I am going to die ! You have often tried to console me, by saying that La Merclie would return to me again. 1 love you for it! I will love you in the yrave! Yuu have been almost as kind to me as I was to him. I have one request to make of you, be fore I die ! Promise me that you will do it, and I will die happy.” “What is it?” asked her sister. “You know’ that I will do all for you that I can. I would die for you!’’ “No —live —live!” said Uortense, weeping, “but never trust in the vows of man ! You know 1 loved La Merche —I love him now —lie promised to mar ry me —lie deceived me —and lam going to die! I forgive him for all that he has done to me. Oh !my dear sister! you do not know’ how’ I love that man. I do believe that if I could see him now, I would get well again. “Well, my dear sister, if that be the case, let me go after him,” said her sister. “No; I shall die before you could possibly get back again!” replied Uortense, weeping bitterly. “You must stay here by me, until T can tell you what I wish you to do before I die. You know that we are twins. We are so much alike that no per son can tell us well apart. I wish you to take this letter—it will showyou where he lives —and go to Paris—find La Merche —you must go at midnight —and tell him that I am dead /’’ “Why do you wish me to go at midnight ?” asked her lister. “Because, you know, he says in this let- “Jnhcpcnhcnt in all tilings—Neutral in Notljing. 1 ’ MACON, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JULY, 5, 1850. ter, that he has seen my ghost three times since he has been in Paris!” replied Uortense. He says that he is sick—(you know I cannot help him now) —and firmly believes that if be ever sees it again, he will surely die! To be sure that he will see it again, or one that resembles me,. I wish you to go to him at midnight, so, that, when he sees you, lie may die, and meet me directly in Heaven !” “But, my dear sister, you do not believe that he will ever go to heaven ?” asked her sister. “Oh ! yes—l have forgiven him; and I have pray ed to God to forgive him too; and I believe that he has done so!” replied Uortense. “I cannot die in peace, and leave him here behind me to marry an other woman. Come, dear sister! promise me that you will do as I desire ?” “I will do every thing that you wish, Uortense,” replied her sister; “but I do hope that you may live to see him yet yourself; for I cannot bear to think that you will die so soon.” “Yes, lam dying now,’’ said Uortense. Come, kiss me, my dear sister! kiss me this will be our last!” Her sister then embraced her very affectionately. “Now, go to La Merclie. Don’t be afraid. If you don’t go to him, I will come back from the grave and haunt you! Give me your hand.” Her sister then gave her her hand. Grasping it firmly in her own, while looking her full in the face, she said, “Farewell,” and died./ Thus passed away from the cruel, the cold, and the hollow-hearted world, the beautiful, the inno cent, the confiding, and betrayed Uortense, never to visit it again. From the dark confines of this un friendly and deceitful world, she was borne up by a r company of sorrowing Angels, to remain forever with her departed parents in the Holy Paradise of God. Her sister, faithful to her promise, proceeded im mediately to Paris —found out where La Merclie lived—and made every preparation to visit him that night. The night arrived. La Merche was sitting up in his Led waiting for the Clock of the Petits Au gustine to strike twelve —at which hour, precisely, the three nights before, be thought be saw the spir it of Uortense open the door and enter the room with a light in her hand. He had been reading a letter —the last one that Uortense bad ever written to him—when the lamp went suddenly out! It was just as he was reading the last word—“ Far ewell !” Dressed in a Beguincs habit —the kind of dress that Uortense wore when she visitedliim in Lisieux, during his illness —she proceeded to the house where La Merche lived. When she arrived there, everybody was asleep — hut La Merely. She went to the door and knocked. No person answered. — She knocked again. But all was silent. She knock ed the third time; but nobody came to the door.— She was about to leave, when, perceiving the silver bolt shining in the lamplight of the sttrol, she took hold of it—turned it —the door opened. She went in. With a slow and gentle step, she proceeded up the winding stairs, until she arrived at the door of La Mcrche’s room. She put her hand upon the bolt. Just as she turned it, the clock of the Petits Augustine struck twelve Merche would have raised up in his bed; hut/his strength was gone ! His heart palpitated, as if distracted with tlie influx of blood which had forsaken both liis extremities ! For a moment, it felt as hot as if filled with lire— the next, as if it circulated nothing but water from the River of Death ! He tried to speak, but his lips were dumb ! His tongue was as still as if it had been stricken by a nerveless palsy ! He felt as if the icy band of Death were grasping him by the throat ! He tried to lift bis band from off bis heaveless breast, but it was weighed down by an In cubus mightier than death! His limbs grew stiff! The hair on his head seemed changed into strands of cold and piercing wire ! When she opened the door, the light, from the lamp which he held in her hand, fell directly on his lace. She entered the room. He made a violent effort to move, hut could not ! lie felt as if the cold dirt of the narrow grave was hurled in upon him —and he alive ! He looked at her. He knew it was Uortense —or thought it was. Presently she drew the dark veil aside which concealed her beautiful face. He saw it! His tongue was loosed ! The palsy had left his body ! With a convulsive effort, he sat up sud denly in bis bed, and would have spoken; but, by a gentle wafture of her hand, she commanded him to remain silent. There he sat, as pale as Death —as firmly fixed in his seat as if he had been suddenly changed into stone! After gazing at him with a melancholy countenance for some time, she said to him in a solemn and subdued tone: “La Merche ! do you remember the oath that you made to Hor tense ? Do you remember how she loved you —how she relied upon you—and how you derived her ? Poor Creature ! she is dead !” S’ “My God ! my God! it is Uortense ! Forgive me! Oh ! forgive me /” said be, falling upon his knees before her on the floor. “I was too sick io come to you ! Forgive me ! Oh ! forgive ! You do not know how weak lam ! I am too sick to live! Yes, I am dying now! Forgive me! oh! forgive!” “Uortense forgives !” said she. “Prepare to meet thy God. This night thou art to die! — Fare well !” “No, thou shalt not leave me !” said he, rising from the floor and attempting to embrace her; “for lam dying now, Uortense! Let me die in your arms! Oh! .save me! save me from the grave! when he fell dead before her on the floor at her feel! Thus ended the life of the guilty La Merche, whose soul was pardoned of its many sins by the incessant prayers of the beautiful Sister of Chari ty, who now enjoys, in the habitations of the blest, the pleasures that were denied her hero on eartii—a blessed reunion with the man that she loved. There is a man in Boston, tlie father of two rompish daugh ters, who attributes their ‘wildness’ to feeding on caper sauce, of which they arc excessively fond, lie is second cousin to the man who, to prevent his girls from running off with the young men, fed them on cant-clope melons. Avery modest lady sent her very modest daughter—a pretty young damsel—out one morning for some articles. — Among the many, she informed a clerk in one of our stores that her mother wanted to get three yards of cloth, for ‘prim itive triangular apendages for her baby.’ Queen Anna, it is said, used to have her prayers read to her when she dressed—the chaplain being in the outward room. Onee, ordering the door to be shut while she shifted, ‘the chaplain made a dead halt. The queen sent to ask why he did not proceed ? He replied, he would not whistle the word of God through the key-hole.’ (Drigimil ]hym. THE VALLEY OF DIAMONDS. BY T. H. CIIIVERS, M. D. XIII. Fkstus. —Festus is no Poem in the true accepta tion of the term—it is only a grandiloquent prodi gality of abandon—a compound of grotesquerie and arabesquerie promiscuously jumbled together in one continual wilderness of creation without any Para disiacal Oasis to refresh the thirsting soul of the be holder. It possesses all the faults of Keats’ Endy mion, with but very few of its lieauties. Mr. Baily is no Artist. This is his greatest fault. No Poem can last, as a whole, which does not appeal, in its ar tistic perfection, to the well-attuned perceptions of the soul of the truly critical Reader. Its peculiar idiosyncrasy is misdirected ambitiojj.. A Poem is no place for the teaching of Hegelian Metaphysics— tlie peculiar province of Poetry being the creation of Beauty. * The following Dialogue between Festus and Cla ra, we have all experienced, to a greater or less de gree, in the primeval hour of our “ Love's Young Dream Clara. I wish wc had a little world to ourselves, With none but we two in it. Festus. . V And if God Gave us a star, what could we do with it What we could without it ? Wish it not.^^ Clara. I’ll not wish, then, for stars; but I COllld have Some peaceful spot, where we might dwell unknown. The following, about Truth, is beautiful: “ We never sec the stars Till wc can see nought but them. So with truth.” So is tliis: “He wrote amid the ruins of Its heart; They iccrc his throne and theme. Like some lone king Who tells the story of the land lie lost, Ami how he lost it.” “It is no task for suns To shine. He knew himself a Bard ordained.” One of tlie best passages in tlie whole Poem, (that is, love-passages—j is where Lucifer vouch safes his love for Elissa : “Hear me now ! Thou knowest well what once I was to thee : One who, for love of one*l loved—for thee, Would have done or borne the sins of all the world; Who did thy bidding at the lightest look : And had it been to have snatched an Angel's crown Off her bright brow as she sat singing, throned, I would have cut these heartstrings that tiedown, And let my soul have sailed to Heaven, and done it, Spite of the thunder and the sacrilege, And laid it at thy feet. I loved tliee, Lady!’* XIV. “Constance of Werdenberg,” a Dramatic Po em, by Mrs. Caroline Lee Ilentz, is worth all the Tales and Nouvellettes that she ever wrote. A true Dramatic Poem is the highest manifestation of tlie perfect Genius. Kings have died in despair of not being the masters of the Art. It required a greater degree of mental exertion to write this Play than all the Prose she ever composed. It is far superior, as a Poem, to “ William Tell,” by Sheridan Knowles. There are many beautiful passages in it, but the conclusion of the fifth Act is the most beautiful, and shows that the Authoress possesses Dramatic talent of a high order. The following triumphant exulta tion of the redeemed Berthold is truly beautiful, and decidedly the best passage in the whole Play : “No exulting throb Bounds the hosannahs of the land to hear Oppression lives, while Landeabcrg exists. Constance ! we are avenged ! Helvetia's free ! Hear Freedom, from her hundred mountain-heights, In Robes of flame and clarion-voice, shout forth, ■ Oppression is no more ! — Helvetia's free !” XV. Mr. Gilflllnn, in his “Literary Portraits,” in speak ing of Emerson, the “Seer of Concord ,” says, that, in coming down from his Mystic Altitudes among men, he reminds us of Rip Van Winkle descending the Ivatskill Mountains, from Lis sleep of a hundred years.” Did any body ever hear the like? Does Mr. Gilfillan know any thing about Mr. Emerson ? Did Rip Van Winkle sleep “a hundred years?” Is there any resemblance between Rip Van Winkle and Mr. Emerson ? /bid Irvin intend Rip to be the Ideal Prophecy of the Real Emerson ? If not, then there is no resemblance between the two! The fact is, there is no resemblance —any more than there is between Bottom, the Weaver, and General George Washington. What can this Gilfillan be thinking about ? He compares the “announcement of Emerson’s transcendental truths, to “the throat of thunder” enunciating the “Rule of Three.” Is not this the most wishy-washy rhodomontade that ever drivelled from the inartistic pen of any Scribler ? Why, Emerson cannot thank him for any such “stuff” as this! Then, again, how can any man lie, “apart altogether from his verse , the truest Poet A mcriea has ever produced ?” How Can Mr. Gilfil- Tin know this ? How can any man know any such thing? A Poet cannot ho known as such, “apart” from the.manifestations of his being —he must have an identity. 1 low can any man “ stay at home” with his “own soul,’’ and become, at the same time, inti mately acquainted with tlie “rugged soil” of old ex ternal Nature ? How can any bod}’ —even Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson—“stand still’’ on the “rug ged soil” of old Massachusetts, and wait for the far off coming of the Divine Harmonies, and be, at the very same time, ‘ winging his way through the high and liquid air.” Milton tells us about an Angel being in Heaven and on the earth at the same time; but it was left for Mr. Gilfillan to tell us about Emer son's being here upon the earth, and, at the same time, “clapping his hands among the stars,” What is any body to make of all this ? Yet, this Book, entitled “Literary Portraits,” is full of just such pitiful nonsense. What does he mean—what can any man mean—by saying that “In spite of the pe numbra of prejudice against American verse, more fugitive floating Poetry of real merit exists/n its literature than in almost any other 3” What does be mean by “fugitive Poetry ?” Does he not know that America has produced the best Lyrical Poetry of any land under the sun ? Is this what he means by “fugitive Poetry !” If it is, he ought to be ashamed of himself. When he talks about “fugi tive Poetry” he wishes us to understand that he does not mean to say that it is the highest order of Poetry at all, but merely a kind of sing-song that has raken a running start with the minds of men. — Pitiful subterfuge ! He does not know, although he would not have us understand him so, for all the, Gold in El dorado,—th at he is passing the greatest encomiums upon America in saying so. The dear weak man does not know that the greatest Epics are Lyrical, and that the only part of an Epos, that is Poetry, is that which is Lyrical. What he says about Longfellow is just as pitiful as all the rest, lie is talking about that of which he knows nothing. [For the Georgia Citizen.] EDUCATION. [continued.] As wc are now on tlie subject of using economy in schoolbooks, and as >?e have also, admitted that there is but little certainty in treating of subjects abstractly, or in general terms, but that each case must be determined by the particular circumstances surrounding it; we are, therefore, disposed to con sider every point, and willing to furnish all the lights in our possession, in order to enable the read ers of the Georgia Citizen to come to a correct con clusion, touching a subject in which all are deeply interested. We have shown That nine-tenths of the present expense may be saved, simply by adopting a differ ent mode of teaching from that now in use. We now propose to give the opinions of Dr. Rush, on the propriety of the Bible being used as a school book. We cannot give our assent to everything contained in the Doctor’s letter; yet, in the main, we approve of it. To do justice to the writer, we will give the entire letter and let those who read reflect. “It is now several months, since I promised to give you my reasons for preferring the Bible as a school book, to all other compositions. I shall not trouble you with an apology for delaying so long to comply with my promise, but shall proceed immedi ately with the subject of my letter. Before I state my arguments in favor of teaching children to read by means of tlie Bible, I shall as sume the five following propositions : i. That Christianity is the only tru6 and perfect religion, and that in proportion as mankind adopt its principles, and obey its precepts, that they will be wise and happy. ii. That a better knowledge of this religion is to be acquired by reading tlie Bible, than in any other way. hi. That the Bible contains more knowledge ne cessary to man in his present state, than any other book in the world. iv. That knowledge is most durable, and reli gious instruction most useful, when imparted in early life. v. That the Bible, when not read in schools, is seldom read in any subsequent period of life. My arguments in favor of the use of the Bible as a school book are founded, Ist. In the oooetitutlon of the human mind. i. The memory is the first faculty which opens in the minds ot children. Os how much consequence, then, must it be, to impress it with the great truths of Christianity, before it is pre-oecupied with less in teresting subjects ! As all tlie liquors, which are poured into a cup, generally taste of that which first filled it, so all the knowledge, which is added to that which is treasured up in the memory from tlie Bible, generally receives an agreeable and useful tincture from it. ii. There is a peculiar aptitude in the minds of children for religious knowledge. 1 have constantly found them in the first six or seven years of their lives, more inquisitive upon religious subjects, than upon any other; and an ingenious instructor of youth has informed me, that he has found young children more capable of receiving just ideas upon the most difficult tenets of religion, than upon tlie most sim ple branches of human knowledge. It would be strange if it were otherwise; for God creates all his means to suit all his ends. There must of course lx* a fitness between the human mind, and the truths which are essential to its happiness. iii. The influence of prejudice is derived from the impressions, which are made upon the mind in early life; prejudices are of two kinds, true and false. In a world where false prejudices do so much mischief, it would discover great weakness not to oppose them by such as are true. I grant that many men have rejected the preju- derived from the Bible, but l believe no man ever did so, without having been made wiser or bet ter, by tlie early operation of these prejudices upon his mind. Every just principle that is to be found in the writings of \ oltaire, is borrowed from the Bible: and the morality of the Deists, which lias been so much admired and praised, is, I believe, in most cases the effect of habits, produced by early instruction in the principles of Christianity. IV. W e are subject, by a general law in our na- ‘ tures, to what is called habit. Now if the study of the scriptures be necessary to our happiness at anv time of our lives, the sooner we begin to read them, the more we shall be attached to them; for it is pe culiar to all the acts of habit, to become easy, strong and agreeable by repetition. v. it is a law in our natures, that we remember longest the knowledge we acquire by the greatest number of dur senses. Now a knowledge of the contents of tlie Bible, is acquired at school by the aid of the eyes and ears ; for children, after getting their lessons, always say them to their masters in an audible voice; of course there is a presumption, that tliis knowledge will he retained much longer than if it had been acquired in any other way. vi. The interesting events and characters, record ed and described in the Old and New Testaments, I are accommodated above all others to seize upon all 1 the faculties of the minds of children. The under- j standing, the memory, the imagination, the passions, and the moral powers are all occasionally addressed by the various incidents which are contained in those divine books, insomuch that not to be delighted with them, is to be devoid of every principle of pleasure that exists in a sound mind. vii. There is a native love of truth in the human mind. Lord Shaftsbury says that “truth is so con- j genial to our minds, that we love even the shadow of it,” and Horace, in Ids rules tor composing an epic poem, establishes the same law in our natures, by advising the “fictions in poetry to resemble truth.” Now the Bible contains more truths than any other book in the world : so true is the testi mony that it bears of God in his works of creation, providence, and redemption, that it is called truth itself, by way of pre-eminence above things that are simply true. How forcibly are we struck with the evidences of truth, in the history of the Jews, above what we discover in the history of other nations ? Where do we find a hero, or an historian record his own faults or vices except in the Old Testament ? Indeed, my friend, from some accounts which I have i read of the American revolution, I begin to grow sceptical to all history except to that which is con- i tained in the Bible. Now if this book be known to \ contain nothing but what is materially true; the j wind will naturally acquire a love for it from this cir cumstance t and from this affection for the truths of the Bible, it will acquire a discernment of truth in other books, and a preference of it in all the transac tions of life. viii. There is a wonderful property in the memory which enables it in old ago to recover the knowledge it had acquired in early life, after it had been appa rently forgotten for forty or fifty years. Os how mu<?h consequence, then, must it be, to fill she mind with that species of knowledge, in childhood and youth, which, when recalled in the decline of life, will support the soul under the infirmities of age, and smooth the avenues of approaching death ? The Bible is the only l>ook which is capable of affording this support in old age; and it is for this reason that we find it resorted to with so much diligence and pleasure by such old people as have read it in early life. I can recollect many instances of this kind in per sons who discovered no attachment to the Bible in the meridian of their lives, who have, notwithstand ing, spent the evening of them, in reading no other book. The late Sir John Pringle, Physician to the Queen of Great Britain, after passing along life in camps and at courts, closed it by stndving the Scrip tures. So anxious was lie to increase his knowledge in them; that he wrote to Dr. Michaclis, a learned professor of divinity in Germany, for an explanation ot a difficult text of scripture, a short time before his death. ii. My second argument in favor of the use of the Bible in schools, is founded on an implied command of God, and upon the practice of several of the wi sest nations of the world. In the 6th chapter of Deuteronomy, we find the following words, which are directly to my purpose : “And thou shalt love the Lord thy God, wfth all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words which I command thee this day, shall bo in thine heart. And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children , and shall talk of them, when thou sit test in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risc-t up.” It appears moreover, from the history of the Jews, that they flourished as a nation, in proportion as they honored and read the books of Moses, which con tained the only revelation that God had made to the world. The law was was not only neglected, hut lost, during the general profligacy of manners w hich accompanied the long and wicked reign of Manas seh. But the discovery- of it in the rubbish of the temple, by Josiah, and its subsequent general use, were followed by a return of national virtue and prosperity. We read further of she wonderful ef fects which the reading of the law by Ezra, after his return from his captivity in Babylon, had upon the Jews. I hey hung upon his lips with tears, and showed the sincerity of their repentance by their general reformation. ‘I he learning of the Jews, for many rears, consist ed in nothing but a knowledge of the Scriptures. These were the text books of all the instruction that was given in the schools of their prophets. It was by means of this general know ledge of their law that those Jews, w ho wandered from Judea into oth er countries, carried with them and propagated cer tain ideas of the true God among all the civilized nations upon the face of the earth. And it was from the attachment they retained to the Old Testa ment, that they procured a translation of it into the Greek language, after they had lost the Hebrew tongue, by their long absence from their native country. The utility of this translation commonly called the septuagint, in facilitating the progress of the gospel, is weft known to all who are acquainted with the first age of the Christian Church. But the benefits of an early and general acquain tance with the Bible, were not confined only to the Jewish nation. They have appeared in many countries in Eu rope, since the reformation. The industry, and hab its of order, which distinguish many of the German nations, are derived from their early instruction in the principles of Christianity, by means of the Bi ble. The Bible is still used as a school book in Scotland and in the New England States. Howev er opposed the inhabitants of these two distant coun tries have lately been in political sentiments and conduct, they agree in being the most enlightened in religion and science—the most strict in morals and the most intelligent in human affairs, of any people whose history has come to my knowledge, up on the surface of the globe. If we descend from nations to sects, we shall find them wise and pros perous in proportion as they become early acquaint ed with the Scriptures. The Bible is still used as a school book among the Quakers. The morality of this sect of Christians is universally acknowledged- Nor is this all, —their prudence in the management of their private affairs, is much a mark of their so ciety as their sober manners. OBSERVER, [to nn continued/] , For the Georgia Cilii-.cn. LETTER or SLUERT. Macox, Ga., June 2dd, J&>o. To Rev. Thomas Wkittemohe, Editor of the Trumpet, Boston , Massachusetts. Si a :—Long ago, I directed your agent to have your ac count against me sent on, that I might pay up and *top the paper; but as the account lias not yet reached me, I now make the same request of you. Send on the account with as little delay as possible, and I will pay up and then stop the piper. I am sorry, yes, very sorry, to stop a paper that I have read so long, but you have conviue*ed me, against my will, that you are an enemy to the South and to me; and be - firmly convinced of this, I feel it a duty that I owe to the country and to my own feelings, to have nothing more to do with you. You have picked a quarrel with ns without the shadow of an excuse for so doing, except that we refuse to let you think for us, and dictate to us, in a matter that con cerns us and not you. The qnarrcl that is now raging be tween us is simply this. Are you to think for us, or are v. o to think for ourselves ? W c ardently wish to live in peace with yon, and would, but cannot do this, and the best thing that we can do, is to quit }on and have nothing to do with you. We ought to quit reading your papers and books, and quit consuming your goods, till you become less dictatorial and insulting in vour manners. The negroes have been put among us without our agency, and we are the only people under heaven, that havo the shadow of a right to say how they shall be disposed of; and this you know perfectly well, and yet you interfere in the matter and insult and abase us, because we refuse to let you dictate to us in a matter that concerns us and not vou. No thing can be more insulting than your conduct about the no. groes. lon say that slavery is an evil, but you nc'-er attempt to prove it. You seem to think that whatever you assert, ought to be law for us. This is a mistake. Before you dic tate to us in a matter that concerns us, entirely, you ought to prove m the first place, that slavery is an evil, and that it ad - mits of a remedy. And lastly, you ought to prove that vou who knc-w nothing about the matter and care nothing aboa* NO. 15.