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VOL. 2.
The Wife.
BT MRS. ANNE P. DINNIE3.
“Shß flung her while arms around him—Thou ait all
that this poor heart can cling to.’*
I could have stemm'd misfortune's tide,
And borne the rich one’s sneer.
Have braved the haughty glance of pride,
Nor shed a single tear :
I could have smiled on every brow
From life's full quiver throws,
While I might gszcon thee, and know
I should not be ‘alone.’
I could—l think I could have brook’d,
E'en for a time, that thou
Upon my fading face had'st look’d
With less of love than now ;
For then I should at least have felt
The sweet hopes still my ws,
To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt
On eaitb, not to be ‘alone.’
But thus to see, from day to day,
Thv brightening eye and cheek.
And watched thy file-sands waste away, r
Unnumbered, slowly, meek;
To meet thy smiles of tenderness,
And catch the feeble tone
Os kindness, ever breathed to bliss,
And feel I'l be ‘alone.’
To mark thy strength each hour decay,
And yet thy hopes groev stronger,
As, filled with heaven-ward trust, they sav:
“Earth may not claim thee longer ; ”
Nay,dearest,’tis too much—this heart
Must break when thou art gone;
It must not be; we may not part;
I could not live ‘alone 1’
The Truest Voice.
BY FRANCIS BROWN.
Voice of the morning 1 sweetly wild
As the tameless tones of the forest child ;
Breaking from rocks on the mountain steep,
“Waking the wilds of the woodland deep ;
Calling the sun to his upward way,
Aud man to the hopes of another day.
Voice of the twilight! sad and low, ,
Sighing where valley-fountains flow—
Breathing deep by the ruined towers,
Lingering late with the folding flowers,
Still the throb of the ocean’s breast,,
And hushing the weary world to rest.
Voice of the midnight! deeply lone,
Filling the soul with thy solein tone,
Calling up thoughts like the troubled waves, I
Waking the echoes of ancient graves,
Telling of hidden things that lie
Far in the past eternity.
Voices of Earth 1 ye have many tones;
Where forests wave or the ocean moans, I
There is no silence—for deep and strong I
Rolls on the tide of eternal song, M
Thro’ Natute’s realms; but its holiest part W
Is heard in the depths of the human heart, m
Voi<*e of the Absent', ringing still
Thro’ the spirit's shade-like a bidden rill ; !
Perchance but lonely stream of tears.
Yet sweet with the breath of our brighter years:
Forever thy wandering wave flows on
Thro’ the withered roses of summer gone.
Voice of the dead ! that returns at times,
Like a bird from the far untravelled climes ?
Though sent in the wintry hours of life,
And heard in the pause of the tempest's strife,
Yet breathing still of those brighter skies
That shine where our land of promise lies 1
Thou speak’st in the love of long ago,
To hearts who have laid their treasures low :
Oh ! the whispers of living love may change,
And its pleasant voices grow coldly strange ;
But the grave is true to our early trust,
For the golden heart-strings cannot rust!
(For the Georgia Citizen.
From the Portfolio of an^Ex-Editor.
FEODORA.
An Opera in one Act: from the German of Kotzebue.
FOUNDED UPON FACT.
Dramatis Pcrscure.
.Emperor op Russia.
Major VVillicroff—A rich land-holder.
Marie—His sister.
Ivan Peterovitscu— Their uncle.
Feodora.
Tho Seems is laid in an aportment of the .Major's Villa , situat
ed on the road between .Moscow and St. Fetcrsburgh.
SCENE I
MARIE, (Solus.
Vernal suns and showers are flinging
Verdure, o’er the birch upbringing ;
Sweets from early violets rise,
On thy bosom, balmy West,
Sails each winged and singing guest;
Swallows twitter in their nest,
And the cuckoo cries.
When upon my filial bosom,
I have placed the tender blossom :
Where Heaven’s nightly army marches:
Where the worm writhes on the clod ;
Then see I the steps of God;
Therr meet nature’s temple broad.
And her solemn arches.
scene n.
MAJOR, marie.
Major. Good morning, sister. Your song is joyful.
Marie. The larks know a better.
Major. Yes, the larks are happy creatures.
Marie. And do you also know why ?
Major. Beoause they celebrate their freedom.
Marie. Not so. The lark’s free! In what respect. 7
Herald of the spring, and minstrels of love, their offices
are important and onerous. From the early dawn
until sunset, they have enough to do. No, I value
the happiness of the larks, because it arises from con
tentment. Even in April, when with us, all things are
covered with snow—when scarcely one hill-top pre
-seats itself—even then, our contented guests visit us,
taking up with such an abode; and salute ns from the
sky with their songs of gratitude. On tho contrary, I
know men, who, when the hills and valleys, which they
claim as theirs, are green their miles of circuit, greet
tho beautiful spring morning with complaints.
Maj. Bo you refer to me ?
Marie. To whom else? lam ashamed of yen !
A man thirty years of age, raised to the rank of Major
by your fortune and your success, the possessor of a
beautiful estate, the brother of an affectionate sister,
aQ d yet misanthropical!
Major. Was I always so?
Marie. No, and this vexes me the more. You
were a merry boy—a happy youth: why have you
fc-freome a melancholy man ?
Major. Do you really wish to know ?
Marie. Greatly ; that I may inquire its necessity, f
Major. Very well. You shall know it. O sister!
I a;n in love!
Marie. The unfortunate 1 You are not iu love with
the Princess Turaudot ?
Major. lam ashamed of my choice.
Marie. Then you do not love.
Major. This shame is my torment.
Marie. Mine is just begun.
Major. Feodore
Marie. Our beauiiful unknown
Major. Three months are now past, since I went one
evening, to our tavern. A beautiful, half-frozen maid
en lay, moaning in the snow. ‘ Why do you moan ?’
I askid. She moved, but said nothing. ‘ You freeze,
my child t why do you not take shelter V She looked
on me with tearful eyes, and shook her head. ‘Do
you need money V I inquired, feeling in my pouch.
She pointed to the corner of her handkerchief, where
she had tied her hopecks.
Marie. In shorr, she would rot enter the tavern,
because it was fu’! >f drunken soldiers. You Lave told
m ■ the story, • hundred times.
Major. I pointed with my finger to our domain, near
by. ‘lf you have no place of shelter,’ I said, in a
friendly manner, ‘follow me.’
Marie. Ilut she ascertained, before she would con
sent to come, that you had a respectable sister living
with you. Then she followed you, and threw herself
into my arms.
Major. As time lias progressed, she has developed
daily new charms of person and of mind.
Marie. And these charms have enchained my aris
tocratic brother.
Major. Forever!
Marie. I satv long ago, that bhe well filled your
eyes, but knew not, that your heart was also filled.
Major. Yet I remember the past with shame and
sorrow.
Marie. What! Have you ever entertained dislion
sorable designs ?
Major. Alas, yes, but her beautiful modesty has
been at once her ornament and safe-guard.
Marie. From my earliest acquaintance with her, I
could have taught you to know her better. I have
tested her. Iler spirit is pure.
MAJOR.
Pure as the air her every feelling,
Yet cloudy sorrows lower above.
MARIE.
Sue grieves, and still her grief concealing,
Remains unmoved by words of love.
MAJOR.
She ir,nurii3 alone and no expression,
Doth her doep source of grief betray.
MARIA,
Her tearful smiles and self-possession,
Still keep a curious world away.
BOTH.
Ah, how hard a lot is our’s 1
We would help, but cannot know:
Silence chains our anxious powers.
This indeed is woe !
Marie. Why does she practise only mystery with
us? She already knows, that we have an interest in
her welfare. Sometimes lam inclined to suspect her.
Major. Do not so grossly insult her innocence.
Marie. She insults our friendship. Who is she?
How came she here ? Why alone ? Scarcely had she,
come to u<, and taken up her abode here, than she/
revealed anew cause of perplexity. She wilt nor j
conclude to remain ; but broods continually over some j
project. With an evidently increasing anxiety, she
runs over the latest items of Pctersburgh news. What
thus this mean ? Lately, one article especially pleased
her ; and she hopes soon to leave us.
Major. To leave us! Does she hope it? Did she
indeed use the word, hope ?
Marie. Yes, yes, dear brother, I cannot help you.
Major, O sister 1 I cannot live without her.
Marie. A poor consolation for me; she leaves,
you follow, and 1 shall be left alone.
Major. But then, must she go, Marie ? I would
give thousands, that she should stay.
Marie. At present, doubtless, while you
Major. I offer her my hand, my heart, my station,
my fortune.
Marie. A person, unknown to you !
Major. Her name, her station I know not ; but 1
know her heart.
Marie. A maiden, whom you found in the streets
—a beggar!
Major. She was not born for this. She is an un
fortunate, whose necessity lias enlisted our com
passion;—whose virtue, our regard.
Marie. And love has arisen from both.
Mdjor. The purest —most passionate love !
Marie. But then, we must first know
Major. W hat she conceals from a friend, she will I
disclose to a husband.
Marie. And if the disclosure were an unpleasant
one ? Then the husband would repent too late. You
should at least, wait until the return of our uncle.—
You know how warmly he also interested himself in
Feodora ; almost more warmly than became her age.
You know that he, despite his gout, lias set out to fol
low Iter traces; since she onced betrayed in a conver
sation, that her road to us, had conducted her from Mos
cow. And we may now expect his arrival daily and
hourly.
Major. I will not —l will not wait for him ! Then
I should be put to shame for the lightest suspicion, that
1 had indulged concerning her innocence. I pray
you sister, hasten to her ; since you see, that I am de
termined to offer her my heart, this very day. When
she hears this—when she sees a sister in her benefac
tress, my love will perhaps awaken her confidence. If
not, my confidence will make her ashamed. ‘Feodora,’
I Will say to her, k I conside r you noble ; you will not
deceive an honorable man. Confiding in the evidences
of your innocence, 1 surrender my heart to you.’
Marie. Is this your state of mind ? Then I will
make one more effort 1o penetrate her secret. Perhaps
your love has furnished me the key. But suppose that
wheu she responds to our wishes, she discloses, that her
birth and station only open a gulf between her and
you. Will you surmount all your prejudices ?
Major. Sweet love will repay me for all 1
Marie. Will it repay you for the loss of the favor of
our good monarch? He, who in accordance with our
father's will, has acted so paternally towards you, will
such a step secure his approbation ?
Major. When he sees and knows her.
Marie. But will he see or know her ?
Major. Probably : perhaps this very day. I for
got to tell you that a courier actually passed by just
now. The Czar in his tour, spent the night at a place,
a few miles distant. To day he will pass by our villa,
and I hope that lie will remember me, alight, and stop
here. Then I will bring Feodora before him. All the
beautiful and good find readily the way to his noble
heart He will approve of nay choice, and I will be
more loyal than ever.
Marie. Yes, if there is a mustard-seed of hope,
the lover will find it. To him, there is no mountain so
high, that he cannot remove it readily, and travel over
a smooth road.
MAJOR.
Innocent affection makes
Hearts, with noble passions swell
And alive in every cell,
New glad life awakes !
Wheresoe’er the csiose of good,
Need of brave defenders hath,
I Thither, through A?
“ in nil tilings —lirntrnl in notlirag”
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 19, 1851.
Love pursues the path I
Where the hero in dismay.
Beholds the battle’s bloody sea;
Through it Love does make his way
He smiies in victory !
[Exit]
Marie. Good brother ! Your day has come—a day,
of which the hero, who fought so bravely in Prussia
and Finland, never dr earned- -when he would become
captive to a Russ an maiden, who was taken from the
highway before an Inn.
SCENE 111.
FEODORA, MARIE.
Feodora. [ need some flax, dear lady, that which
you gave me yesterday, is spun.
Marie. What, Feodor..'! I gave you enough for
three days. You are too industrious.
Feodora. It is to please you. Would to God I could
Cj'„ y your benifieenee by my labor! You have re
ceived me so charitably—you have treated me so ten
derly. Ah! 1 have nothing, and 1 know of nothing,
save my work and my tears, wherewith to thank you.
Marie. Do you really desire to prove yourself
grateful ?
Feodora. Can you doubt it ?
Marie. W T ell, it is in your power, richly to repay
me and my brother.
Feedora. How?
Marie. By confidence.
Feodora. x\h!
Marie. You indulge a secret sorrow.
Feodora. Yes.
Marie. Perhaps we can help you.
Feodora. Ah, no!
Marie. We would do it so willingly 1
Feodora. I know it, but it is not in your power.
Marie. But then a recital is so soothing to every
sorrow.
Feodora. I cannot disclose it.
Marie. What hinders you ?
Feodora. A strong prohibition—a sacred vow.—
There is but one person on earth to whom lean confide
what it is that distresses me.
Marie. Where is he ? why do you not seek him ?
Feodora. I have already sought him long. God
helping me, I soon shall meet him.
Marie. Where ?
Feodora. In Petersburg!].
Marie. Why do you not go there ?
Feodora. The time has not yet come.
Marie. You have perhaps—Youth deceives—Re
pentance follows. To the discreet heart of a friend,
you can disburden yourself without fear.
Feodora Nothing of this kind has occurred, dear
lady. lam not unworthy of your goodness.
Sorrow rocked me while I spent
My best, my infant years :
And my mother’s loud lament
Mingled with my childhood’s tears.
Youth to me was dark and cold :
Grief my buoyant heart oppressed ;
Yet. by innocence controlled,
Virtue never left my breast.
Marie. I gladly believe you, and hope, that you
may soon be repaid for your precocious sorrows. May
you through us. find contentment and repose.
Feodora. The time of my deliverance is not yet
come.
Marie. Who knows? My brother lo”es you.
He is rich, esteemed, of noble appearance, and, what is
more than all, an honest man. lie will make you an
offer for which you need not blush. With joy will
1 call you sister; and perhaps ns sister, gain the con
fidence, which you so pertinaciously refuse to a friend.
Feodora. Y >ur brother has the highest claim to
my regard, my gratitude, and why should I not
confess it? to my love!—but I am not my own. Pre
vent him, dear lady, from speaking to mo on this sub
ject —at least, just now. At present I can give place
in my heart to only one wish —one sentiment. My an
swer must give him sorrow, however painful it will be
to me to give it.
MARIE.
lie hopes—leave him hoping; more, who could
demand ?
Young Love is too happy a child to mope :
He builds in the air; —he writes in the sand—
Pursuing his game ; —and its name is hope: —
And busily twisting his golden thread.
Around him arc gathering scenes of dread ;
But still his glad game is sped, is sped 1
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
FEODORA, [solus.)
Alas ! Alas ! does not the reproach already torment
my heart, that since my sojourn in this house, I have
indulged in dreams, which perhaps never—at least,
not.before my great and pious design is accomplished,
should have been allowed to enter into my mind !
How often has every worthy quality in my mind—the
mind that should have been nerved by a holy courage
vain thought! I will remain constant; and not for
get him, who builds his last hope upon me. No sweet
embracing shall remove my noble design from my sight.
Quick, Feodora, strengthen thyself with tho mourn
ful song, whose tones has so often touched thee to the
core.
(She takes a guitar which lies upon the table and
strikes it as she sings :)
In the Irtish, wild and solemn,
Fall scant tear- of misery :
While the North-Lights fiery column
Flickers redly over me.
For, this everlasting snow,
One true heart lies cold below.
Only in the mourner gray,
Burns forage his ancient woe.
On our tear-besprinkled way,
Soft 1 laid her in the wild ;
■%id for death I cannot pray,
While I hear my helpless child.
[She abandons the guitar, sinks and weeps.)
[to be concluded.]
From Arthur's Home Gazette.
My First Lie.
BY SALLIE HOLLEY.
“Tho way of the transgressor is hard.’’
The way, tho way, not the consequences merely,
but the way is hard. While the path of the good
shines brighter and brighter, that of the bad is darker
and darker. I was very much impressed with this
truth, in a recent conversation I held with an acquain
tance of mine. She said she thought of visiting Eu
rope, but the dread of storms on the Atlantic withheld
her. “I might be drowned,” said she, “and I have no
religion ” Again something was said of the West
India Islands, wfien she remarked, “I should not like
to live there, because of tho dreadful earthquakes that
country is subject to, and I might be swallowed up in
ono of them.” And so I found that whatever might
be the subject up, it had but one idea for her, “Was
there any danger of death ?” She said to me, ‘T ne
ver lie down at night, but my mind is troubled with
the dreadful fear that I may die before morning.” And
what to me was even more astonishing and distressing,
she told me that “all her life long she had felt so.” 1
saw that her way was “hard,” not only beoause of the
grievous fear, doubt, uneasiness, restlessness, unsatis
fied desire, and tormenting self-accusings, she was con
stantly mado unhappy by, but still more was it “hard,”
J.. was afitti t/ulr I—3 the
confidence of faith, the satisfaction of hope that always
results from a sincere and abiding communion with
‘“our Father who is in heaven.”
And who that has any experience in the “transgres
sor's way,” but wili acknowledge it “is hard.’’ I shall
never forget my first lie, (if y„u will excuse the refer
mce to myself,) although it happened wheu I was a
very little girl. My younger sister had a cent, with
which she wished to buy a fig—and being too sick to
go down to the store herself, she engag’ and me to go.—
Accordingly I went. As I was returning with the fig
nicely done up iu a small paper, suddenly the thought
occured to me that I would ijke to look at the fig. So
I very carefully opened the paper, when the fig looked
so very tempting, I thought I could noi help tasting it
a little st one end, and thens could explain the affair at
home. I had scarcely dispatched that bit before 1
wanted it all, aud without much more thought I eat up
the i\ bole fig! Then, whep-tfle fig w:is all gone, and I
had nothing to do but I/> if nik, I began to feel very un
comfortable—my ‘Xvn less ness —my sister's disap
pointment—l stood disgraced before myself. I had
done very irrong. I thought some of running an ay
off somewhere, I did not know exactly where, but
where I should never come back again. It was long
before I reached home, and I went as quiek'y as I could
and told my sister I had “lost the cent.” I remember
she cried sadly, but I went directly out into the gar
den, and tried to think of something else, but in vain,
my own guilt stared me steadily in the face, and I was
wretched enough.
Although it wanted only a few minutes to our din
ner hour, yet it seemed ve-ry long to me. I was anxious
some event should intervene between me and the lie I
had told. I imagined it would relieve me. I wander
ed about the garden with a very heavy spirit. I thought
I would give worlds .if it bad not happened. Wheu
the dinner hour came, 1 was seated in my high chair at
my father's side, when my sister made her .appearance,
crying and looking very much grieved. My father im
mediately enquired, what the matter was? Then, my
motiier stated the story, the conclusion of which was.
that I had “lost the cent.Vmd can never forget the look
of kind, perfectly unsuspecting confidence with which
my father turned to me, and with his large blue eyes
full in my face, he said, “Where abouts did you loose
the cent? perhaps we can find it again.’’ Not for one
single moment could 1 brave that tone and that look,
but bursting into tears, I screamed out, “O, I did not
loose the cent, 1 eat up the fig.’’ A silence, as the
grave ensued. No one spoke. In an instant I seemed
to be separated at an immense distance from all the rest
of the family. A great gulf yawned between us. A
sense of loneliness and desolation and dreariness came
over me, the implosion of which, I presume will go
with me forever. I left the table, and all that after
noon, the next day, and during the week, my feelings
were melancholy in the extreme. But as time wore
away and my father and mother, brothers and sisters
received me back to Uieir love and favor, mv spirits re
covered their wonted tone. The whole event left an
indelible impression on my mind and heart. It con
vinced me that “tho way of the transgressor is hard.”
I know the brow of sin sometimes wears the stolen
mask of pleasure. But it is only the seeming, not the
substance. Can any one commit a greater mistake
than to imagine happiness attendant on vice ? When
avarice blunts every generous sentiment of tho soul
envy (creeps like a f, rp j# Ul< ‘ heart, withering
and deadening all ; ambition tramples
beneath its feat in the hoi ‘iff fil'd h ighest principles,
there is no balm for heart .but to tear out
the viper in the bosom. “The triumph of the wicked
is short. The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment.”
The good man's burden at first seems too heavy, but a
few year’s enduring integrity, and the yoke is easy,
the burden light. The habit of any vice cannot be
long concealed. Human nature was not made of hy
pocrisy. Every vice has its own peculiar foot-prints.—
Society knows evil to be the great enemy of its peace.
How hard it is for the bad man to turn back ! Yet he
can do it. Only his will enchains him. God cannot
ask what man cannot do. Let us not sanction vice under
the saying, “The Ethiopian cannot change his skin, nor
the Leopard his spots.” Our gospel is built on the return
of the prodigal. What we heartily desire, we obtain. The
feeling seems to prevail that it is not safe to break off
from sin at once. The path of such half-soul endea
vors is always short. The partial reformer has only
lulled watchfulness to sleep. We are wept over by
the angels. Let the searching eye of God keep the
chambers of our souls clean. The only pleasure that
dies notin the using, is when temptation has been over
come, when passion has been subdued ; the se color our
earth with the holy light of heaven. Let us live the
life of the righteous, so that we may die the death of
the righteous, and so, in the beautiful language of Da
vid, we shall be satisfied when we awake in His like
ness.
sjp.U.lT.lirltU
Extract,
From the Special Message of Gen. Jackson, to
congress, against South Carolina Nullijication
and Secession, dated January 16, 1833.
By these various prooeedings, therefore, tha State
of South Carolina lias forced tho general government,
unavoidably, to decide the new and dangerous alterna
tive of permitting a State to obstruct the execution of
the law w ithin its limits, or seeing it attempt to execute
a threat of withdrawing from tho Union. That por
tion of the people at the present exercising the authori
ty of the State solemnly HRsert their right to do either,
and as solemnly announce their determination to do
one or the other.
In my opinion, both purposes are to be regarded as
revolutionary in their character and tendency, and sub
versive of the supremacy of the laws and the integri
ty of the Union. The result of each is the same;
since a State in which, by a usurpation of power, the
constitutional authority of the federal government is
openly defied and set aside, wants only the form, to be
independent of the Union.
The right of the people of a single State to absolve
themselves at will, and without theeorisent of the other
States, from their most solemn obligations, and hazard
tho liberties and happiness of millions composing this
Union, cannot bo acknowledged. Such authority is
believed to be utterly repugnant both to the principles
upon which the general government is constituted,
and to the objects whioh it was expressly formed to
attain.
Against all act* which may be alledged to transcend
the constitutional power of government, or which may
be inconvenient or opppressive in their operation, the
constitution itself has prescribed the modes of redress
It is the acknowledged attribute of free institutions that,
under them, the empire of reason and law is substitut
ed for the power of the sword. To no other source
ean appeals for supposed wrongs be made, consistently
with the obligations of South Carolina ; to no other
can such appeals be made with safety at any time, and
to their decisions, when constitutionally pronounced,
it becomes the duty, no less of the public authorities
than of the people, in every case to yeld a patriotic
submission.
That a State, or any other great portion of the peo
ple, suffering under long and intolerable oppressions,
and having tried all constitutional remedies without
tho hope of redress, may have a natural right, when
happiness can be no otherwise secured, and when they
*V* IF* * - |
c an do so without greater injury to others, to absolve
themselves from their obligations to the government,
and appeal to the last resort, need Dot, on the present
occasion, be denied.
The existence of this right, however, must depend
upou the causes which may justify exercise. It is the
ultima ratio, which presupposes that the proper ap
peal to ail other means of redress have been made in
good faith arid which can never be rightfully resorted
to unless it be unavoidable. It is not the right of
the State, but of the individual, and of ail the individu
als in the State. It is the right of mankind generally to
secure, by ail means their power, the blessings of liber
ty and happiness: but when, for these purposes, any
body of men have volantarially associated themselves
under a particular form of government, no portion of
them can dissolve the association without acknowl
edging the correlative right in the remainder to decide
whether that dissolution can be permitted eonsislenih J
with the general happiness. In *J: ! s view, it * a right I
dependent upon the power to enfitree it. Such a right,
though it may be admitted to pre-exist, and cannot be
wholly surrendered, is necessarily subjected to limita
tions in all free governments, and in compacts of all
kinds, and voluntarily entered into, and in which the
interest and welfare of the individual becomes identified
with those of the community of which he is a member.
In compacts between individuals, however deeply they
may effect their relations, these principles are acknowl
edged to create a sacred obligation; and in compacts
of civil governments, involving the liberty and hap
piness of millions of mankind, the obligation can not,
be less.
\\ ithout adverting to the particular theories to which
the federal compact has given rise, both as to its for
mation and tlie partita to it, and without inquiring
whether it be merely federal, or social or national, it is
sufficient that it must be admitted to be a compact, and
to possess the obligations incident to a compact; to be
‘a compact by which power is created on the one hand,
and obedience exacted on the other; a compact freely,
voluntarily, and solemnly entered into by’ the several
States, and ratified bv the people thereof, respectively;
a compact which the several Slates, and the people
thereof, respectively, have bound themselves to each
other, and the federal government, and by which the
federal government is bound to the several States, and
to every citizen of tho United States.’ To this com
pact, in whatever mode it may have been done, the
people of South Carolina have freely and voluntarily
given their assent; and to the whole and every part
of it, they are, upon every principle of good faith, in
violably bound. Under this obligation they are bound,
and should be required, to contribute their portion of
the public expense, and to submit to all laws made by
the common consent, in pursuance of the constitution,
for the common defence and general welfare, until they
can be changed in the mode which the compact lias
provided for the attainment of those great ends oi’ the
government and of the Union. Nothing less than
causes which would justify revolutionary remedy ean
absolve the people from this obligation ; and for noth
ing less can the government permit it to be done, with
out violating its own obligations, by which, under the
compact, it is bound to the other States and to every
citizen of tho United States.
These deductions plainly flow from the nature
of the federal compact, which is one of limita
tions, not only upon the powers originally possessed by
the parties thereto, but also upon those cinferred on
the government, and every department thereof. It will
be freely conceded that, by the principles of our svs
tem, nil power is vested in the people; but to be exer
cised in the inode, and subject to the checks, which
the people themselves have prescribed. These cheeks
are, undoubtedly, only different modifications of the
same great popular principle which lies at the founda
tion of the whole, but are not, on that account, to be
less regarded or less obligatory.
Upon the power of Congress, the veto of the execu
tive, and the authority of the judiciary, w hich is to
extend to ail cases in law and equity arising under the
constitution and law sos the United States ma le in pur
suance thereof, are the obvious checks ; and the sound
action cf public opinion, with ultimate power of amend
ment, are the salutary and only limitations upon the
powers of the whole.
However, it may be aliedged that a violation of the
compact, by the measures of the government can ef
fect the obligations of parties, it can not even be pre
tended that such violation can be predicated of those
measures until all the constitutional remedies shall
have been fully tried. If the federal government exer
cise powers not warranted by the constitution, and im
mediately affecting individuals, it will scarcely be de
nied that the proper remedy is a recourse to the judi
ciary. Such, undoubtedly, is the remedt for those who
deem the acta of Congress laying duties cn imports
and providing for the collection to be unconstitutional.
The whole operation of such laws is upon individuals
importing the merchandise. A State is ;ib, lately
prohibited from laying imports or duties on imports or
exports, without the consent of Congress, and cannot
become a party, under those laws, without importing
in her own name, or wrongfully interposing her authori
ty against them. By thus interposing, however, she
cannot rightfully obstruct the operation of the laws up
on individuals. For their disobedience to, or violation
of, tholaws, the ordinary remedies through the judicial
tribunal would remain. And in a ease wherein indi
vidual should bo prosecuted for any offence against the
laws, lie could not stt up. in justification of his act, a
law of the State, which, being unconstitutional, would
therefore be regarded as null and void. The law of a
State cannot authorise the commission of a crime a
gainst the United States, on any other act, which, ac
cording to the supreme law of the Uuion, would be oth
erwise unlawful. And it is equally clear, th at, if there
he any case in which a State, ;ib such is affected by the
law beyond the scopo of judicial power, the remedy con
sist in appeal to the people, either to effect n change in
the representation, or to procure relief by an amend
ment of the constitution. But the measures of the
government are to be recognised as valid, and, conse
quently, supreme, until these remedies shall have been
effectually tried ; and any attempt to subvert those mea
sures, or to render the laws subordinate to State auihor
ity, and afterward to resort to constitutional redress, is
worse than evasive. It would not be a proper resist
ance to a 4 government of unlimited powers? as has
been sometimes pretended, but unlawful opposition to
the very limitations on which the harmonous action of
the government, and all parts, absolutely depends.—
South Carolina has appealed to none of these remedies,
but, in effect, lias defied them all. While threatening
to separate from the Union, if any attempt be made to
enforce the revenue laws otherwise than through the
civil tribunals of the country, she has not only ap
pealed in her own name, to those tribunals which the
constitution has provided for all eases in law or equity
arising under the constitution and laws of the United
States, but has endeavored to frustrate their proper ac
tion on her citizens, by drawing the cognizance of the
cases under the revenue laws toiler own tribunals, spe
cially prepared and fitted for the purpose of enforcing
the acts passed by the Stato to obstruct those laws,
and jurors of which will be bound, by the import of
oaths previously takeu, to treat the constitution and
lawsof the United States in this respect as a nullity
Nor has the State made tho proper appeal to public
opinion, and to the remedy of amendment. For, with
out waiting to learn whether tho other States will con
sent to a convention, or, if they do, will oonstrue or
amend the constitution to suit her views, she lisa, of her
own authority, altered the import of that instrument,
and given immediate effect to the change. In fine,
she has set hor own wilt and authority above the laws,
lias made herself arbiter in her own case, and has pass
ed at once over all intermediate steps to measures of
avowed resistance, which, unless they be submitted to,
ean be enforced only by the sword.
In deciding upon the course which a high sense o’
duty to all the people of the United States imposes up
on the authorities of the Union, in this emergency, it
can not be overlooked that there is ro sufficient wuc
lor the acts of South Carolina, or for her thus placing
in jeopardy the happiness of so many millions of peo
ple. Misrule ar.d oppression, to warrant the disrup
tion of tlie free institutions of the Union of 1 1: in
states, should be great and lasting, defying all other
remedy. For causes of minor character, the government
could not submit to such a Catastrophe, wiiliocta viola
tion cf the most sacred obligations to the other State*
of the Union, who have submitted tiuir dUstiny toils
baadt
Frcm the New York Express.
Northern Gongs and Southern Gongs.
Tho Motile (Ala.) Herald exaggerates—it
seems to U3 wilfully—all northern Abolition
movements, the more to exasperate the South
into secession, nullification, resistance, revolu
tion. This is neither patriotic nor honorable.
In Massachusetts, the Abolition and democratic
coalitionists, in consequence of their unnatural
coalition, begotten since an election of the Leg
islature, have a seeming power, which every
body knows they have not. No reasonable
man can doubt that if Daniel Webster were a
candidate for Governor or for the Presidence
there, he, and, of course, his principles, too,
would be elected and selected by a decisive ma
jority. Massachusetts, even as it is, for tlie first
time for solne years, has this year refrained
from re-adopting any sort of anti slavery reso
lutions.
There are two classes of papers, one South
and the other North, two of which are now be
fore us the Mobile Herald and (Ma s )
(we omit the name, because in two articles
just received are signs of returning reason—
both inculcating a species of Chinese military
tactics, to frighten oil’ the enemy,—that is, the
eternal, everlasting sounding of a frightful
gong. \Y lien a Chinese General sees the ene
my a coming, he orders the great big gong to be
incessantly beaten to scare off the column ad
vancing. So the Mobile Herald teaches tlie
South that they must scare off the North from
its disposition to aggress by beating the slavery
gong of secession, re- istanee, nullification ; and
the (Mass.) resorts to the opposite tac
tics of scaring tha south by beating the anti
slavery gong. Both tell us, in substance, unless
we keep constantly in the attitude of a fight,
and sound the gongs, the south wiil override
and enclave us northern men, and the north will
override and libeiata from slavery ailcolorsand
all classes of southern men. The gongs do
scare a great many, at times, and often really
alarm all moderate men, less the two sections,
by standing so long in an altitude of fight, inay
really at last take to fighting in earnest. The
grave, sober reader of only the Mobile Herald
can scarcely have a doubt that most of the
northern men want all the slaves in and about
Mobile to cut the throat of every white man,
woman, and child there, and to burn down their
houses over their heads ; and tlie not lessgrave,
sober of only the (Mass.) must Gel
as sure that the Southern People are onlv a rac a
of big blustering braggarts, sounding their
Chinese slavery gongs eternally to scare us into
tubmission, into slavery to them and obedience
so their dictation. Hence the north here is
advised to stand with first ready to knock over
tlie south, and the soutli there with first ready
knock over the North. This kind of braggado
ciais now the chief peril of our future peace.
Both sections will become in earnest if they
have too much practice on the stage. The Mo
bile Herald often inculcates another favorite se
cession idea—that commerce, only northern
commerce, now binds the north to the Union,
and that the northern agricultural classes are
hostile to tho Union; or, what is the same tiling,
of the school ol Seward and Sumners, only for
a Union which they can construct as they un
derstand it,according to ‘the higher law’ o Uheir
own peculiar “conscience.” Hence the south-i n
agriculturalists are told they have no security
in such a Union and tlie quicker they secede
from it tlie better, more especially as northern
[Union] commerce cannot much longer protect
them from northern [disunion] agriculture.
It is very true that northern commerce is
bound to this Union by the strongest links of
elf interest as well as of patriotism, but it is not
true that this northern commerce does not rep
re-sent a majority of the northern public senti
ment, or that the agricultural northern classes
are in opposition to its commerce. These in
terests are identical, and cannot bo separated.
The division of “ VY hig’’ and “ Democrat'’ has
often enabled the northern abolitionists, by a
coalition with one or tlie other, to obtain tem
porary political triumphs, and to command ab
olition majorities in the north. Hence Sumner’s
election to the Senate in Massachusetts. lUnce
Chase and Wade, from Ohio. (The la-t, by the
way, has yet to demonstrate Ids abolitionism
practically, if he is of that school.) These coa
litions, however, are now about over in the
north. They have Lad their day—the bubble
is pricked, and it will not re-form. Anv at
tempt now in tho north to found the Whig or
Democratic parties on hostility to the Compro
mise Bills, or any one of them, will result in the
utter overthrow of the party that makes the
attempt, because three-fourths of the people
stand upon tho principles laid down in Presi
dent Fillmore's message fur “acquiescence,” in
them as “final,’’ unless time and experience
shall demonstrate some necessity for a change.
If ever again, as in Massachusetts, an abolition
coalition,made up of Whig and Democrats, In
comes sufficiently powerful, its very existence
will dissolve all old whig and democratic or
ganization, and merge them both in a party
based upon tlie Union principles of “the Geor
gia [Union] Platform.” Tho northern senti
ment is now patriotic, sound, national. Mr.
Webster has spoken his Union speeches in the
heart of abolition regions of New York, and
they havo thero been responded to with an en
thusiasm that shows the people at heart to b
sound.
It seems to us now the part of duty and wis
dom in the presses of both sections of tho Union,
to be exerting their influence to allay, not to
excite, sectional prejudices. Passion, we know,
tho towering passion that has been rising for
many years, is not quieted in a day; but it
must be quieted, or the country will perish un
der it. The constitution and the Union can
stand any amount of mere party battles. nDy
struggle of mere pecuniary questions ; but they
cannot stand the array of sectional parties and
sectional organizations. When they come, the
, Union exists but in name; and the word wil*
’ e but a mockery. None are better advised of
this groat f.ict than the Syracuse Abolition
Conveutionists. They both exultingly concur
red in their resolutions, that anti-slavery and
slavery States could not co-exist under one Re
public; that a dissolution of the Union was the
only remedy; that slavery wouid perish if it
stayed in the Union, and anti-slavery could not
make progress unless the Union was first dis
solved. Hence both desire to have great sec
tional parties, and to convert their respective
sections into such parties. Whoever fans or in
flames these sectional parties, or accustoms the
People to regard them with patience or favor,
is pronounced by far higher authority than ours
—and that is, the Father of his country—an en
emy of that country. (Sea Washington's
Farewell Address )
It m the Chronicle Sertmel.
IflrDanald and bis Organ-;.
The Georgia Telegraph, Columbus Tirr es and
Sentinel, Savannah Georgian, Augusta Consti
tutionalist and Republic, and other McDonald
organs of like kidney, are making desperate ef
forts to convince their readers that the candi
date of the nameless party for Governor, is a
Union man, and that the Union press and
speakers—the real “Simons pure,” who have
battled through thick and thin, in fair weather
and toul,in behalf of the Union and the Consti
tution—are falsifying the record, when they as
sert him to be inimical to the present govern
ment. I shall now endeavor to show, that if
Judge McDonald is a Union man, he has been
singularly unfortunate m tbechoiceof his polit
ical supporters.
His Union ally and defender, the Georgia
Telegraph said but a few months sitice :
“ For our own part, we believe the issue is
resistance of some sort, or abolition. Disguise
as we may, this solemn question, we cannot
evade. * * * “We are for secession,
fur resistance — o-pen, unqualified resistance'.’
Os course this “ unqualified resistance ” editor
could have no motive in deserting his old and
much eulogized friend, Mr. Cobb, and “ taking
service” under Judge McDonald, other than that
of pure, unadulterated patriotism—love of the
Union and its greater champion, the Ex-Presi
dent of the Nashville Convention ! Os course,
the Telegraph does not now “ look forward to
resistance, or to the abolition of slavery,’* as the
‘ alternatives of the coming election in Geor
gia . Ot course, the editor and his correspon
dents, who and uounced the action of the State
Convention, are cot only willing, but anxious
to acquiesce in Judge McDonald’s late “tame
and cowardly submission” (this is the Tele
graphs language) to the platform there laid
down S
I do not pretcud to understand the causes
which have operated to produce such a remark
able change in the sentiments of the Ttdegraph,
hut certain it is, that while, but a few months
since, its editor declared biinseif for ‘'secession
--for unqualified resistance he now becomes
highly indignant at the imputation of his candi
dates being equally ultra “Southern Rights’*
and opposed to the The same causes
which impelled the Telegraph to *• secession”
then, exist now, and if its editor was possessed,
of a modicum of that candor and honesty of
which he is prone to boast, be would acknowl
edge that he is now, as then, in favor of “ seces
sion—unqualified resistance ,” and is only deter
red from raying so, through fear of prejudicing
the interests of Judge McDonald, whose private
opinions and ultimate purposes, the editor con
fidently believes to correspond with his own.
The Columbus Times, another of Charles J,
McDonald’s organs, lias said :
“ We go for secession—quietly if let alone ,
forcibly if made necessary.” * * “Our
own first choice will he for secession and our
votes and efforts will be steadily given to effect
that end.’’
Who says Judge McDonald is in favor of
secession ? Be he who he may, no one is more
prompt to denounce the assertion than the ed
itor of the Times. And yet he lias said that
his “votes and efforts will be steadily given to
efik ct that end.” Are not his ‘ efforts” in behalf
of McDonald ? and does he not intend to “ vote ’’
for him? Doubtless “that end'’ will be effected
if the Judge should be elected.
Judge McDonald’s other organ at Columbus
says : “We abandon the Union as an engine
of infamous oppression. We are for.secession—
open, unqualified, naked secession. Henceforth.
we are for war upon the government; it has ex
isted but for our ruin ; and to the extent of our
ability to destroy it, it shall exist no longer.'’
What says the Judge to this ? Is the Senti
nel’s 9U|>portof him, part of his system of “uar
i upon the government ? Is it th rough his elec
tion that the Sentinel expects to effect its de
struction.* It has solemnly pledged itself to
work for that end. and if it does not see in
Judge McDonald the instrument through which
its purposes is be accomplished, why is it mov
ing Heaven and earth to effect his election ? Is
the organ itself deceived, or is it deceiving the.
people , when it asserts that Charles J. McDonald
is opposed to secession? I leave tho people to
determine.
The Savannah Georgian says : “We gave
our advice in regard to the acts of the conven
tion, and we now stand ready to support them ;
if they are for accession, wc are with them.”
This is one of the organs that affects to scout,
the idea of McDonald's favoring secession, and
has even gone so far as to rebuke the South
Carolina secessionists for claiming an affinity
with the McDonaldites of Georgia. lam de
posed to think, however, that this snubbing of
South Carolina is simply a small game of Bun
coing, winked at by the snubbers, in considera
tion of that previous pledge that —"we are with
them ! ’
Anoth cr organ, the Augusta Constitutionalist,
talks after this fashion:
‘ Beware of the false cry of Union. It is the
word of talismanic charms that is relied on to
prepare your free limbs for bondage. And when
ever a Union croaker rings his sickly sentimen
tality to you, thunder back to him the issue—-
Disunion or Abolition .
Well, why don't he “thunder back the issue,*’
now ? Why don’t ho say to the Union men of
Georgia, tho issue now is “ Disunion or Aboli
tion ?*’ Does he so do ? No. He says there is
no issue between McDonald and Cobb upon
the question of Union—that McDonald is a
Union man and opposed to secession ! Let
Union men remember the words of the Consti.
tntionalßt, and “ beware of the false cry of
Union—a cry now put up by that paper and
other organs of Charles J. McDonald in th 6 v t ry
face of their disunion sentiments a sport time
back.
Tho Augusta Republic (organ No. 6,) las
said, in reference to the compromise measures *,
NO. 16.