Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 10.
J-fctacltomj.
EARLY RISING.
>1 JOBS . Mtt.
” Mod M* t l.e oauß wLu first i&vrr.trd *ittp !”
SO ‘SOCtaO fll ii Mid. X!l * < M>- I ;
icd nitM bln. slao. that U did"nt k r-p
U(r>*l • i*y tu htn.^l'; < r try
To m ike :t —as th* lorkv fellow nU!it_
A close noaojdy by “potent rigid !”
(m—!.>*• the man who first invented sleep.
(I mil? cat.’* <M the Iteration.)
But bid the man witn cur e” loud and deep.
Vn uVr ike r.ueaiiv “nine, or age. .w sit •nation,
Wt*o fi'st invented, end went r.m* and nKUiug,
That artificial cut-off llarty risitig •”
“ Rise with the lark and with the lark to bed,”
i itservra * .me solemn a* ntimautasl ou t.
Marinas like these ae very cheap v mid :
Bait, are yon make >< aarseif a Jo©* or f.wl,
frn* just Inquire out the rl e—sr.d ‘all.
And taeibar lark* have any led* at all!
The “ time far honest folks to be ahed.”
!in llae oaunainr. it l rsaw a riglat;
And he who ratmot keep t.is |rvet..us head
rposa his pillow till its f-irly lih*.
And so eta)-ay h>sforty naornii g wink*,
is up to knavery: or else—be drinks’
Thoinrson. who son* aVut tha “Seaacnta,” raid
It was a jrharioias thiays to rise in season ;
Bair then he slid it—lying -in lais ha and
At tea o'clock. A. ll.—the vary rwisnti
Pe wrote s.. charmingly. The simple tact is.
His preaching waa'al aat etioned by his practice.
”T;s donMlets well to he someOmee awake—
Awake to duty. and awake u> truth—
Ba’ when, alas a nice review we take
Os oar heat deed- aad daw, we fiml. in sooth.
The hours that leave the siubteet cause tu weep.
Are thus- we pasted In childhood, or—asleep
Tis les'iiiful to have th w..r’d awhile
y.e the soft visions of the gentle n'rt* ;
And f>e at last so in mortal on < r guile.
To live, as ot ly In the an V* sight:
la deep's sweet tvu tu. so t wilv shut in.
Where, at the wore , we only tin am of -in.
Bo let as sleep, and give the Maker praise;
1 like the led, who, when his lather thought
To ‘ll hi* iieming Hap hv hackneyed phrase
Os vagrant worm by early songster* might,
frud. ‘ served bun right! it’s not at all surprising,
r.e worm WJ. [ tiri-hed, -r, tor early rirlng.”
From the Century.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
OF
CAROLINE LEE HENTZ.
BY THE REV. W. f. LAXODOX.
There are few, aim mu the many beau
tiful villages of New England, more ro
mantic than that of Lancaster. Mass.,
where, at the breaking out of the war of
1812, dwelt the family of the late Col
onel John Whiting. Himself a man of i
high mental cultivation and great litera- |
ry tastes, and described as “of a fine
military figure and commanding height,”
his children inherited both his personal
and mental attractions; but none more
largely than his youngest child, Caroline
Lee Whiting, the subject of this sketch.
Even at this time, a girl of ten or eleven
jears, she was at once distinguished
among her schoolmates hy the remarka
ble ‘'eiiius she already displayed, and en
deared to them hy her winning manners,
-weet disposition, and warmth of heart.
Her compositions, sparkling with fancy,
glowing with feeling and mature in lan
guage. were thus early the admiration of
her companion sand the pride of the home
circle; and not few were the auguries of
the future poetess.
But the summon* which roused the
country to arms, and the long struggle
which followed, added another and an
impoitant element to theinfluences which
nmulded her opening character. Colonel
W kiting had been dead nearly twro years;
but his eldest son, Henry, had for four
years followed in his footsteps, and now
two younger brothers entered upon the
profession of their father. To far re
moved from the scenes of war, and spared
a personal cause of mourning, their sis
ter realized little of its darker side;
while a personal interest made its histo
ry an exciting reality to all the family
of the absent soldiers. The events,
therefore, which proved the sons worthy
to tread in their father's steps, gave to
the t haracter of Caroline the chivalrous
t"iie and strong patriotism which have
since been so characteristic of her writ
ings. The impressions also made upon
her by the romantic beauty of the scene
ry around her native place, were no less
vivid and lasting. A spirit originally
highly esthetic was developed with every
ramble in the woods, and with every
hour spent in musing and building air
osstles by the murmuring stream. Love
of the beauty in nature bee >m enthusi
asm; the flowers which smiled at her,
approach, and the birds whose songs
welcomed her, when she threw herself
upon the mossy roots of an old forest
tree, were her familiars; and old \V achu
*ett, a peak which stands ruggedly forth
among the range of mountains on the
U>rders of New Hampshire, was to her
indeed “a kingly spirit throned amorg
the hills”
In such a heart the influences of reli
gious associations take eaiiy and deep
root; and the trauscript of that heart,
as it was at this period, is evidence that
they had given an elevated and a healthy
tone to a character which otherwise had
Wn in great danger ot becoming mor
bid and unfitted foi domestic life. From
this early day do we perceive i he hallow
ing and subdu ng influence of au unaf
fected trust in a Heavenly Father, and
an appreciation of the r. a lilies of life,
which have ever pre-erved the true wo
man amid he attraction* of a literary
career.
I. was during this period of the life of
the future authoress that were written,
either as school cnmixiriiions or as im
pulsive occasional effusion*, the “Juve
nile Poems,” included in a volume r.hort
ly to be published by Mr. T. B. Peter
sn, Philadelphia, to which this bio
graphical sketch will be prefixed ; to
gether with two productions of a more
•U)biti*.us character, “Gessimentia, or
the Enchanted King,'’ an Oriental
fa;ry drama; and “Eveline, a Trag
*7” —both written before her twelfth
par.
The girl grew to womanhood ; her
mind becoming stored with varied know
bdge, not only of a kind to refine, but
* *> such as strengthened the intellect,
lhe ‘ Youthful Poem*,” here collected,
ar * ‘be reflection, in faithful colors, of the
Writer’s opening life.
U k! 0 30th of September. 1824, Miss
.j biting was mtrried to Mr. N. M.
‘truz, a french gentleman of highly
f Ußlva ted mind and varied talenta, whose
* lher > Nicholas Ilentz,* lawyer of Metz,
a member of the French National
’ ention, and whose own devotion to
Datur *i sciences, particularly to that
. Entomology, is well known m that de
partment. He was, at, this time, assoei
attd with Mi. Bancroft, the historian, in
the conduct of a seminary at Hound Hill,
Northampton. In this place they resided
nearly two years, when Mr. liwntz, hav
ing been elected to the post of Prrrfes- I
sor of Belles Lettres and Modern Lan
gunges in Chapel Hill College, N. C ,
ihey removed to the South and resided j
for several years in the congenial at
mosphere that surrounded this seat of
learning.
In this, their Southern home, was ad
ded to Mis. Hentz the sacred trust of a
wither; and the claims of dependent 1
infancy and childhood, almost entirely
and of necessity debarred attention to 1
those of literature.
In the year 1830, Mr. Hentz was in- ;
dueed by some gentlemen who wished j
to establish a select seminary under his
superintendence and that of Mrs. Ilentz
conjointly, to remove to Covington, Ky., I
whence, the second year after, they
crossed the river and took charge of a
similar institution m Cincinnati.
Heretofore, Mrs. Hentz’ literary ef
forts had beeti confined toa limited field;
in fact, with the exception ot an occa
sional poe.ti or sketch which had found
its way into a newspaper or magazine,
they had been altogether private. Her
portfolio was filled with theoveiflowings
of her fertile pen; but it was, to her,
sufficient to have been the nurse and the
historiographer of the family, and she
had been more intent upon the cultiva
tion of her own tniud, than u[>on gaining
for herself a wider appreciation than that
of the immediate circle in which she per
sonally moved.
But in Cincinnati she was at once sur- ,
rounded by appreciating friends; and as
a member of a highly intellectual cote
rie, mingled more than ever before in j
literary enjoy merits and pursuits. She
was thus gradually induced to appear
more prominently in those walksto w hich 1
she afterward became so bright an orna
ment, and from this period is to be
dated her rising reputation as an
author.
Their stay in Cincinnati was of less
than two years duratiou ; yet such was
the fostering eflVct of an atmosphere
more congenial than any she ever after
ward enjoyed, that, although engaged in
school duties during alt her stay tu this
city, her industry and quickened powers
accomplished what to most writers would
have been the work of years, and some
of her writings of this time, if not those
which have given Mrs. Hentz her
widest reputation, are perhaps those
which will secure its longest continu
ance.
A few magazine articles first drew to
ward her the attention ot the public, and
these were followed by a work *fa more
extended character, “ Lovell’s Folly,” a
novel foundtd upon incidents of local
history. This was not, however, success
ful ; its circulation never became large,
and it has long since lieen out of print.
M rs. lleutz had not yet acquired the j
power of construction or of sustaining
interest —so essential to a novel —which
she afterward possessed. About this
time a prize of *SOO was offered by Mr.
Pel by of the Boston Theatre, for the
best original tragedy, founded upon the
conquest of the Moors in Spain. Mrs.
Ilentz, entering the list with “De Lara.”
the first dramatic etfoit of her maturer
years, was the successful competitor; and
this was followed by two compositions
of a similar character, “ Lamorab, ’ a
tragedy of Indian frontier life, and “Con
stance of WerdcnOurg’’ a dramatic poem.
Mr. Pelby, having become unable from
| business difficulties to pay the award due \
the author, honorably restored to her 1
the copyright of “De Lara.” This trag- |
edy was subsequently published in book
form; but the other two, with the ex
ception of the limited circulation of a
Georgia uewspaper. are now given to the
public for the first time.
I In the year 1834, Mr. Hertz and his
familv removed to Florence, a secluded
town upon ihe Tennessee River, in North
: Alabama; and here, absorbed in famiij
and m school duties, occupied with the 1
care of lour small children, the youngest
but an infant at thetimeol their removal
to this place, aud surrounded by a circle j
of attached pupils, Mrs. Hentz, for near
ly nine years, retired almost entirely
from public uotice, and passed probably
; the most domestic portion of her life.—
At no previous period since her marri
age had her academic duties been so con
fining, or her family demanded so much
of her time, her thoughts aud her feel
ings; and during her entire residence in
Florence no work of any length was
composed by her. Fugitive poems,
hurriedly written as occasion called for
or suggested them, arc the only product
I of her pen during this lung interval of
her authorial career.
But Mrs. Hentz could not so entirely
elude the notice r.| appreciative minds;
and in the year 1843, they w ere induced,
ihrough the b thieneeof literary friends,
to remove from Florence, and take
charge of a flourishing seminary in Tus
caloosa. This city at that time, not on
ly the seat of the University of Ala
barna, but also the capital ot the State,
j was the centre of muon intellectual influ
ence and possessed of much literary so
cietv; and, thus surrounded, Mrs. Hentz
was induced to resume her long neglect
ed pen, a pleasure now permitted more
freely by lightened domestic cares.
It was at this period that the writer
first formed, as an inmate ot Mrs. Hentz
family, an affectionate friendship, which
the lapse of years and a separation but
rarely interrupted, either by personal in
tercourse oi correspondence, have only
warnred and heightened. He remem
liers her uow most distinctly as he knew
her then, moving atuong a numerous
, throng of devoted school girls, command
ing the respect as she won the affectionate
esteem of those who were her assistants
in the labors of instruction, as well as of
1 thwse who weie committed lo her care—
as the light and center of a united fami
ly ; and only as an author, w hen an In ur
found at her disposal between other du
ties or snatched from the watches of the
night, was pressed into service for the
purpose.
I “Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. written dur
ing a school vacation, in 1844, for the
Philadelphia Saturday Courier , was
Mrs. Ilentz’ first return to more ex
tended composition, and the only work
of the kind written at this time, although
! some of the sweetest of her fugitive
1 poems were occasioned by incidents in
her Tuscaloosa life. Among these may
here be mentioned the “ May Pastoral
No. 1,” and the simple little epic, drawn
: from life, of a picnic frolic of her family
and a few friends and pupils.
On their removal fiont Tuscaloosa, in
December, 1845, Mrs. Ilentz left behind
her a more generally congenial society
than she ever alterward enjoyed,although
a visit in Mobile, on the journey to Tus
kegee, Ala., their next home, was a brief
but bright episode in her life. •
In the literary history of Mrs. Ilentz,
Tuskegee—a small place, a village in
fact, scarce rescued as yet from the relics
of Indian struggles—has no place; it was
chi* fly made memorable by the arrival
of the time when the family circle was
first broken up, by the departure of a
son to pursue his studies in a professional
school, and hy the marriage of her eld
est daughter. Another removal, how
ever, to Columbus, Ga., early in 1848,
enlarged her sphere of usefulness, and
induced her again to resume her pen in
the intervals between the engrossing du
ties of the Academy. “ Linda” and
“ Rena,” the first of a series of domes
tic novels which have given the widest
spread to Mrs. Ilentz’ reputation, were
written during this and the following
year.
For four years Columbus continued
j the home, but was at the same time the
scene of many changes in Mrs. Hentz’
domestic life, as it was of a considerable
extension of her literary achievements.
Iler own lor g illness, and a total failure
of Mr. Heinz’ health, from which he
never recovered, occasioned them to re
linquish further attention to the Semina
ry which had been under their charge
but little more than a year. From the
period of her own recovery —with the
exception of the spring ot 1850, during
which Mrs. Hentl sustained alone the
cares of a select school—her time was
chi* fly devoted to writing, now not mere
ly as a recreation, but as a reliance.—
Her success is well known, as it was con
fidently anticipated by her friends. “Re
j na” was succeeded by “Marcus War
land” and “Eoline,” w ritten in 1851, at
the bedside and amid the exhausting
cares of attending her husband through
the most distressing period of a pros
trating nervous disease.
In the spring of the year following,
1852, Mr. and Mrs. Ilentz were per
-1 suaded to join their elder children, who
were now settled in Florida, among
whom they henceforth made their home.
The winter and spring of 1853-4 were
brightened to her by a visit to the scenes
of her childhood, and to the few remain
ing members of her family ; but other
wise, bowed by affliction in sickness and
death—the loss successively, soon alter
her removal from Columbus, of two
brothers and a sister—these last four
years of her life were toilsomely divi
ded between unremitted devotion to the
du.ies of a wife ami a mother, and her
labors with her pen.
“M iss Thusa’s Spinning Wheel” was
written in 1852; and in this and the
year following, “The Planter’s Northern
Bride.” The publication of this latter,
her longest work, was, however, delayed
for nearly two years. To these was ad
ded “Robert Graham,” wiitten during
the winter of 1854-5, after her rtturn
front New England. Within these last
three years, Mrs. Ilentz had also pre
pared for publication two volumes ot
j her earlier tales; and conducted, in a
large measure, the literary department
of the Columbus Sentinel. “ Flowers
. of Elocution,'’ a collection of poems. |
, dialogues, sketches, &ic., written from j
time to time for various school purposes,
was also, in this latter year, published
as a school book.
The year 1855 was mostly passed at
St. Andrew’s Bay, Fla., in the hope that
the sea air might be beneficial to Mr.
Ilentz. During the summer, however,
leaving him with their daughter, she
paid a visit to her eldest son, Dr. Charles
A. Hentz, in Marianna, where she wrote
her last volume, “Ernest Lin wood;”
anu immediately on its completion, for
warding it to the publisher, without any
respite of mind or body, she returned to
Its* post at St. Andrew’s. All that
bleak w inter, which will be remembered
| on the Gulf coast as well as on the Can
adian frontier, she was devoted to her
sick husband, who, suffering more from
a nervous than from any oiganic disease,
needed her unremitted attention, often
nights as well as days. In these night
watches the attacks of an insidious ene
my, which was not yet suspected, were
made upon her constitution,
i In January,it being designed toreturn
: to Marianna, she preceded Mr. Hentz to
prepare lor his coming ; and reached Dr.
Ileniz’ home in that place on the 31st.
A severe cold, caught upon the j >uruey,
fastened itself upon her exhausted sys
tem. On Ftbruary fi, she completed
and mailed to Mr. Ballou, of B >ston, the
last production of her pen—“ No Cross,
no Crown.” That very day she vva**
seized with what proved to be a marked
pneumonia, though its symptoms did not
! teveal themseUes until the 10th. The
: most vigorous treatment was unavailing
and on Monday night, Feb. 11, 18515,
| “ she passed gently, sweetly away/’ It
seemed almost pr* pbeti< al, that in a let
ter to the writer, bearing date but a few
days before her death, in speaking of the
I frequent insiucerity between even the
MACON, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 4, IS.jO.
best tilends, occurs this passage; “W*
pass through the world with vailed heart
and muffled tongues ; and we speak ol
what we care not, and conceal what we
really do care about, till we grow cold
aud artificial ; and by and by the nigh
con es, the shadows tall,-and there is m>
time for confidence or truth.”
Mr. Hentz survived his wife but eight
months; and they both rest together in
the graveyard of the Episcopal Church in
Marianna.
Mrs. llen'z was gifted with a ready
and a fertile pen. Her numerous tale.-
of very different degrees of merit, dating
from periods scattered over the whole oi
her married life, and written lor various
newspapers and magazines, have some of
them—of which “The Mob Cap” ma)
e-pecially be instanced—enj >yed the
highest reputation in that class of lit
erature. It is, however, ihrough her
later novels, nine in number, and with
the exception of “ Aunt Patty’s Scrap
Bag,” written during the last eight years
of her life, that she is most widely and
most favorably known. With Mrs.
Ilentz’ prose works, therefore, at least
with all of them which she would wish
to be preserved, the public are in posses
sion ; and it is as a prose writer that she
is ranked among the female authors of
America. Os her poetical productions,
however, little is known. The volume
already mentioned, “ Flowers of E'oeu
tion,” gave a limited circulation to some
of these ; a few more have had the brief
and local publicity of some newspaper
column; but by far the larger portion
are known to aud have won the admira
tion of her personal friends alone. The
present volume, therefore, in summing
up all of these, the efflorescence of the
author’s childhood, the ventures of ma
turing years, and the poems of var> itig
pretensions, jevx d’ esprit, sketches,
rhymes, &c., which she scattered as
profusely around her as she passed
through life; and finally', the few
dramatic productions of her pen, com
plete the works of Mrs. Caroline Lee
Ilentz.
What Mrs. Ilentz has been as an au
thor, and what henceforih is to be her
rank in the annais of American litera
ture, the public will deckle; affection
will scarcely be esteemed an impartial
judge. But those only who knew her—
and to all such she was dear—are in pos
session of the materials upon which to
base a judgment of her talents or her
genius. The position attained by many
of those with whom she tn'ght be brought
into comparison, has been due in no
small part to the avoidance or the ne
ulect of d'>me tie duties and cares. Mrs.
Ilentz’ brightest honor is awarded her
by those who knew her as a mother,
wife and friend; and what she has ac
complished has been based upon the cul
tivation of her youth and the diligent
employment of such scattered opportu
! nines as were afforded amid more im
portant duties. Never fi>r a moment
was the true woman sa> rifieed to the au
thor, and therefore, so far from living in
an ideal world of her own bright crea
tion, she lived in a practical and teal
world, which her smile and her love made
bright for others as well as for herself,
and which gave to her writings their
chief attraction, by shedding upon them
the real light of life. It was in accord
ance with these habits of mind, that she
drew portraitures to no small extent
from place, person and incident; and
her friends recognize the scene of her
own childhood in the early chapters of
the “Planter’s Northern Bride,” the
spirit which presided at her own fireside
in “Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag.” and so vi
vidly has she portrayed, in the character
and childhood of Gabriella Lynn, in
“ Ernest Linwood,” what all have felt
must have been the inner life of the au
thor, that one is almost tempted in the
story also to seek for a resemblance
which has no existence.
The aO'rente calanu), in Mrs. Ilentz’
instance, was no myth. Iler pen glided
over the page, hurrying to keep pace wiih
the flow of her glowing thoughts, and im
pressing everything, prose or poetry,
with an and freshness which were
most genuine. Sheet after sheet was
I pu>hed from her, to a group of friends
perhaps, or to her children, who sat by
her reading them, as the unborn thoughts
took being; and the writer has seen
many of her sweetest poems, and still
possesses some, in their first rough draft,
sent forth on their little mission, neither
having nor needing the slightest correc
tion.
Although “De Lara” proves the
powers of Mrs. Ilentz in the fields
of tragic pathos to be of a high stamp,
it was domestic life that she loved most
to sketch; and while her fidelity to true
heart history and her radiant fancy were,
each in their own way, the chief attrac
tions of her fa'es, every page was puri
fied by an exalted moral tone and hal
lowed by a Christian spirit. She had
received many and varied gif's from the
hand of Providence; as such she recog
nized them even from childhood. A
deep realization of the presence of a
G'd in all the affairs of man, is visible
in her earliest rhymes; and from the
time, during her residence in Florence,
that, tog-ther w ith her husband, she as
Mimed the discipleship of her Savior,
her life was one earn st. eff ut to render
unto G>d, not in one department alone,
j but fir all His gifts, “Ilis own with
usury.” Y’ear by year, gratitude and
sorrow alike,drew her nearer and nearer
to Him, in whose faith at last she trust
ingly lay to rest after the burden of the
day was foiever passed. Not a few,
who have never known her, have and
shall mingle with their admiration, grate
ful and loving thoughts; while those who
have been privileged to know her well,
especially those w ho in early years have
been brought under her influence and felt
her affection, shall, with her children,
“rise up and call her blessed.”
Philadelphia. May, 1859.
From the Sumter Rejntblicttn.
A Disiussiun of the Dixtriae of lalversalhin
between Revd. IV. J. Scott, Methodist, and
Revd. 1). R. CUyton, I ui\ersalist.
Amehicus, Ga., May 11th, 1859.
RckL VV. J. troll,
Dear Sir :—ln accordance with our
agreement to discuss, through the col
umns of “ The Sumter Republican,” the
doctrine of Universaltsm, I seat myself
for the purpose of penning my first eom
municaiiou in affirmation of the proposi
ton agreed upon between us, viz: “The
scriptures teach the final salvation of all
men.” Our mutual object being, as 1
trust, the establishment of truth, I hope
we shall be able to conduct our brief dis
cussion in such a spirit, as to render it
pleasant to ourselves, agreeable to our
readers and not discreditable to our rep
utations as professed Christian Ministers.
I shall contend earnestly, but not bitter
ly, for what I conceive to be the truth ;
expecting you, as a matter of course, to
pursue the same line of policy.
The question for discussion between
us does not call upon rue to discuss what
1 may or may not be the condition of any
portion of the human race a thousand or
a million years hence ; but what is to be
the jiual condition of all men. 1 am
c&lled upon to affirm that this final state
is to be a state of salvation. The salva
tion which I am bound to affirm is not a
salvation from a future world of misery;
but a salvation from sin. I neither affirm,
nor believe, that a single soul w hich God
has made, w ill ever he taken to Heaven
while the least taint of moral pollution
appertains to it. My faith and hope is,
that, finally, the whole race of mankind
shall be purified from all sin,and brought
into a state of perfect holiness, and con
sequently, of salvation. This much 1
have thought proper to say, in order to
give our readers a definite understanding
of the position I have undertaken to es
tablish.
J shall now, without further prefatory
remarks, proceed to introduce my scrip
ture arguments, for the establishment of
the point to be affirmed. The first pas
sage which I sh ill introduce is the first
verse of the last chapter of Malachi, as
follows : “For, behold, the day cometh,
that shall burn as an oven ; and all the
proud, yea, and ail that do wickedly,
shali be stubbie: and the day that cometh
shall burn them up, saitli the Lord of
hosts, that it shall leave them neither
root nor branch.” That this passage
refers to the Messianic reign of Christ, I
suppose, you will freely admit. At all
events, Christ establishes this point be
yond controversy,when he asserts, Matt.,
12; 10-13, that John the Baptist was
he, who Malachi says, in the closing
verses of the chapter from w hich I quote,
shall come, “before the com ng of the
great and dreadful day of the Lord, and
turn the heart of the fathers to the thil
dien, and the heart of the children to
their fathers.” There will be no contro
versy between us, as to whither any of
the souls which God has made shall ever
be blotted out of exigence, as neither of
us believes in the dark and cheerless doc
, trine of annihilation. But the verse
which 1 have brought forward asserts, in
terms as strong as human language can
j furnii-h, the total annihilation of the
j wicked. If it asserted, in terms equally
! clear, and forcible, the annihilation of
the souls of the wicked, it would leave;
no room for discussion of the doctrine of,
universal salvation, nor of that of end
less punbhment; for it would put for- .
ever without the pale of possibility the .
truth of either, by establishing, beyond
contradiction, the doctrine of the total ;
and irreme liable annihilation of a por
tion of those very souls about whose
final destiny we have engaged in this
controversy. It says that, during this j
day “that shall burn as an oven,” which
is the day of Christ’s Messianic reign ,
all the proud, yea, and all that do wick
edly,” shall be so completely annihilated
“that it shall leave them neither root nor
branch.” The destruction is total and
complete. In what sense are the char
acters here designated to be destroyed ?
It must be either that they are to be
blotted from existence as living sentient
beings ; or that they are to be destroyed
in such a manner as that they shall no
longerexist as “those that do wickedly.”
Upon the first horn of this dilemn a, you
will he as far from hanging your hopes ,
of success, in this controversy, as J am ; j
for, as before remarked, we both agree
in the faith that every soul of Adam’s
race is destiued to exist while the endless
cycles of eternity shall roll their cease
less rounds. Such being the case, it 1
seems to me that we are irresistibly ’
driven to the latter horn of the dilemma,
which is, that, during the reign of Christ, i
the characters embraced in the phrases—
“all the proud, and all that do wickedly” j
shall be totally destroyed,in such a man- j
ner that they shall no longer exist, either
root or branch, as proud and wicked
persons. If they should be thus de
stroyed, and the annihilation of some
souls be not true, then they must exist
as beings sored from the situation, or 1
condition of the proud and those that do
wickedly. If this thing shall ever be
accomplished, then will the proposition |
which 1 am affirming be demonstrated.
But is such a destruction of the wicked j
as this possible ; or could such a corn
j plete transformation of character as this
be, with propriety, called a destruction
of the wicked? I think it could, most
a-surediy. For illustration, let us take
a common silver coin—the half dollar of
the United States coin. The half dollar
authorized by the last enactment of the
Congress of the United States contains
a large amount of alloy ; certainly not
less than five percent. Let a refiner of
j silver take one of these coins, put it into
his crucible, and subject it to a heat of
sufficient intensity, and the coin will be
melted down, and the alloy, or base
metal, will be burned up. Where, now,
is the half dollar? It is destroyed. As
a coin it exists not; either root or branch.
Mark, now, it took both the pure silver,
and the base metal to constitute a half
dollar, of the American coin ; but when
i the base metal was burned up, the silver
i remained, purified from the base metal.
J It takes a living soul, contaminated bj
*in, to constitute one of those who do
j wickedly ; but when Christ, who is re
presented as a refiner, a purifier of sil
ver,” Mai., 33, shall burn up the dross,
or wickedness, which has contaminated
the souls of men. and by which they are
brought into the category of “those who
do wickedly,’’ then will the wtcled , as
such, be left neither root nor branch;
j but what remains will be the soul, which
came pure from the creating hand of
God, redeemed from all impurities, and
re established in that image of God which
has been so marred and defaced by sin.
i My next argument shall be found*d
upon that class of passages which c.rtify
us of the truth that God will assuredly
inflict upon alt men a just and merited
puni>hment for every transgression
against his holy and righteous law.
This class of passages consists of a great
number; but 1 must content myself with
the introduction of a few. And first;
Ex. 34, G, 7. Here God proclaims him
self “The Lord God, merciful and graci
cious, long suffering, and abundant in
goodness and truth, keeping mercy for
thousands, forgiving iniquity and trans
gression and sin, and that will by no
means dear the guilty.” Again, it is
declared, Prov. 11,21. “Though hand
join in hand the wicked shall not go un
punished.” When we come to the new
dispensation, we find the same doctrine
retained there in full force and effect.
Romans, 20, we read that God “Will
render to every man according to his
de?ds.” Again, Gal. G 7, 8 ; “Be not
deceived ; God is not mocked: for what
soever a man soweth, that shall he also
reap. For he that soweth to his fle>h
shall of the fledi reap corruption, but he
that soweth to the spirit, shall of the
spirit reap life everlasting.” So, again,
we read, Col. 3 25. “ But he that doeth
wrong; shall receive for the wrong which
he hath done : and diere is no respect of
persons.” The foregoing are but few of
the many passages w hich might be pro
duced in proof of the same point, but
they are so clear and unequivocal in their
teachings as to leave no room for doubt
as to what that teaching is. The first
passage teaches more than the others do.
The last four all unite in declaring, that
every man without exception, shall as
suredly receive a just recompense of re
ward for his transgressions. The first
asserts the same proposition, by declar
ug that God “will by no means clear
the guilty.” This effectually precludes
the idea that repentance may be made a
means, on the part of the guilty, of es
caping the punishment justly due to their
wickedness. But at the same time that
this explicit declaration is made it is
further announced that this same God
who “will by no means clear ihe guil
ty,” is long suffering and gracious, and
j also “abundant in goodness and truth,
keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving
iniquity and transgression and sin.” By
this we are clearly taught that the for
giveness of sin, aud the just punishment
of sin are not incompatible doctrines; that
while God’s justice receives its require
ments, in the punishment of transgres
sors of his law, his goodness and mercy
also find abundant room for exercise in
the forgiveness of sin and iniquity. We
are most certainly taught that the for
giveness of sin and iniquity does not
imply that the guilty shall go clear ; be
’ cause if God forgives the sin of any, it
must be the guilty, inasmuch as none but
the guilty need forgiveness; and yet,
while he will forgive the sin of the guil
ty. he will not clear the guilty. Thus
much by way of showing that the fact
that God will puni>h sin is no barrier to
the forgiveness and salvation of the sin
ner whose sin is thus punished.
The way is now clear for me to ad
vance a step furl her, and show that the
truth taught in the passage upon which
I have just been commenting affords a
strong scripture argument in favor of the
final salvation of all men. As previ
ously remarked, we both agree that the
scriptures teach either that all men will
finally be saved, or that some of the race
must stiller endless misery, as we both
reject ihe doctrine of annihilation. The
doctrine of endless misery rests for sup
port on the alleged infinity of sin. If
sin is, as taught m the so called orthodox
creeds of the day, infinite in its nature,
it certainly merits infinite punishment.
If sin merits infinite punishment, and
God will as declared in the passages
above quoted, render unto every man
according to his deeds, without respect
of persons, then is every son and daugh
ter of Adam doomed to never ending
pain and woe, in the future state of be
ing. There are, x ith you and me, but
two means of escape from this conclu
sion. We must either deny that the
passages unde’ - consideration really mean
what they most positively declare; and
in the face of these plain and explicit
declarations of the inspired volume, we
must maintain that every one who shall
be finally saved will escape an infinite
punishment to which he is justly obnox-
I ious, upon account of his infinite sins,
and thus leave justice, so far as he is in- !
dividually concerned, eternally unsatis-
I lied in its demands: or we must, on the
contrary, abandon, at once, and forever,
the idea of the infinity of sin, and adopt
the more rational idea, as it appears to
my mind to be, that sin is finite in its
nature, and consequently does not merit
infinite puni-hment; and that conseqnent
! |y G->d will inflict, as the scriptures as
sert he will, a just and merited chastise !
merit upon every transgressor; and that, j
having thus fulfilled the requirement of
his justice, he will exercise mercy and
goodness, in the forgiveness ot the sin
and transgression of his creatures, arid
thus save all men from sin and iniquity.
Upon this principle and this alone, it ap
pears to me, can that numerous class of
passages be fulfilled, which so fully as-
I sure us that “God will render to every
man according to his deeds.”
But as I wi>h to do my work as
thoroughly as I can, in the brief space
allotted to me by the terms of our agree
ment, I must indulge in a few additional
remarks in reference to the infinity of
’ sin. This Ido because this doctrine of
ihe infinity of sin, is, in my view, really
the point upon which ihe whole contro
versy between us turns ; and hence, wiih
i me it is all important that the truth
should be established in the premises. In
the absence of any scripture teaching
favor of the infinity of sin, we are left
Ito ihe tea* hings of reason. 1 speak thus,
because if there beany declaration in the
scriptures of God’s inspiration favoring
the infinity of sin, 1 have thus far failed
to discover it. Is sin, then, infinite? If
so, there are no grades in the enormity
of sin. If it be infinite in its very na
ture, then the stealing of a pin by the
child who has but one minute before
passed the line of accountability, is a
crime of as great magnitude as the mur
der of the son of God was, when commit
ted by that stiff necked and rebellious
race, who, by that crowning act of wick
edness, filled up the measure of their in
iquity, and rendered themselves obnoxi
ous to the greatest tribulation with which
the God of Heaven had ever, up to that
time, visited any nation, and the like of
which the feavior declares never shall be
again. There can be no moral distinc
tion between two acts, both of which
are infinite. If sin be infinite, then the
stealing of a pin by the child, as above
stated, subjects it to the weightiest pen
alty which God can inflict, and hence
every additional act of wickedness, after
the first, is an act for which God never
j can inflict an adequate punishment, as it
must exhaust all his resources to punish
adequately the first offence. Thus the
doctrine of the infinity of sin renders
it forever impossible for the passages
which 1 have introduced as a founda
tion for this argument to be verified.
But if one sin be not infinite, then is
not one thousand infinite ; for between
one and one thousand there is a strict
proportion. If one thousand be not in
finite, then is no number that could be
named infinite; for there is a strict pro
portion between one thousand and the
number that would be represented by a
row of figures long enough to encircle
the globe, so that w e must finally return
to the position that the smallest sin ever
committed merits infinite punishment, or
else that the greatest cannot merit such
an award. 1 conclude then that God
“ will render to every man accordii g to j
his deeds,” and having thus vindicated
his justice, his mercy and goodness will
be gratified in “the final salvation of all
j men.”
1 have probably adopted a course of
argument a little different from w hat you
anticipated; but it is one which strikes
ine as being very important, and perfect
ly legitimate; and 1 think it will strike
! you as being important upon a moment’s
i reflection. If you can show it to beer
runeous or defective, you will greatly
benefit me; for truth, and truth only,
is the object of my earnest desire. Not
having tune to review, and re write my
communications, 1 must crave your in
dulgence for any errors of composition
or style you may find in them. It 1 have
exceeded my limits in this 1 will atone
for it by cm tailing my next, and if this
falls short 1 will of course be allowed
enough of space in my next to make up
i fur such deficiency in this.
Very respectfully yours,
D. B. CLAYTON.
For the Georgia Citizen. j
Reply to Mollie Myrtle.
P.vuadisevili.e, May L’lth, ’u'J.
Mollie, dear : —Since my eyesight has been
growing dim, and those old rheumatic pains
have troubled me so, I have not read as
much as formerly, but I never fail to read
the Citizen, when Uncle Sam's understrap
pers do not keep it back for their own peru
sal—even the advertisements I always glance
over, the type is so clear and the ink so
bright that it is a real pleasure to my old
eyes to read the paper. As for the deaths
and marriages of course I read them lirst.
What was my satisfaction on Sunday 15,
to find in our favorite sheet a communica
tion fronf yourself to your old Auntie. Well
do I remember those good, long gossiping
chats you refer to —well do I recollect the vast
amount of good advice I was wont to offer
you (aud which you would not accept), and
vividly do I recall the love passages which
you, in a Micawber-like burst of confidence,
used to communicate to my sympathising
ear.
Ah! Mollie, you speak of the Perry Hotel,
and of attractions in “broad cloth and pat- j
ent leather boots.” My dear, beware, be
ware ! remember your susceptible heart.—
you know it was ever your failing to fall
desperately in love with the owners of gold
headed canes and white vests. Recollect my
dear that flirtation is a weakness with you;
have you forgotten that episode with Jim
mie, and how he carne near killing himself |
in consequence of your rejection, and how i
grieved you were at his taking it so hard—
refusing your usual allowance of bacon and
“collards” for a week ? Ah! Mollie, can
not the past teach you prudence for the fu
ture? But girls are so flighty! there's no
use in trying to teach them to be wise and
prudent I suppose.
The day that I read your welcome letter I
received one from our friend at Yale Col
lege. He was - , at the said writing, in love
with two or three (I forget which) Y'ankee
girls, one of them very beautiful. And
while I think of it, let me tell you his trea
sonable sentiments in regard to “Shirley,”
which I sent him some weeks since. He
says “there was but one page in the book
over which I did not gape, and that was the
description of the light at Moore’s Mill-
Now, Mollie, what punishment is sufficient
for such a lack of appreciation for the \\ rit
iugs of our favorite Charlotte Bronte . Con
ceive the idea of a sensible person yawning j
over even a line of “Shirley!” I fear those >
NUMBER 10.
Yankee lasses have affected his brain as well
as his heart.
The time is now rapidly approaching,
when I expect to leave the “Sunny South,”
1 (rather too sunny at present) to inhale for a
while the pure mountain breezes of dear old
i Vermont. Before mv return I shall proba
bly visit Indiana and Wisconsin. When
back in Georgia I hope to see you when I
will give you a concise account of my travels,
a description (which will be so new !) of Ni
agara Falls, &e., besides which, I promised
you any quantity of advice, in whole orbrs
i ken doses, as you choose to take it.
j You mention jour “Cousin Zekc,” and
propose presenting him to me if I should hap
-1 pen your way. If “ Zeke” is a good boy,
keeps his face clean, minds his mother, and
hasn't the “big head” I’ve no objection to
receiving an introduction to him. Present
my respects to the lad, and tell him it is a
bad sign for boys to “ blush bashfully ” when
the girls are mentioned. I hope he is not
like the love stricken “fools,” hut I have
my misgivings.
W e are very quie t here in Paradiseville,
though I believe a pic-nic or something of
the sort is in contemplation. I shall proba
! bly not attend, if invited, as Pm-anxious to
do agooddeal ofspinning before Igo North,
and several pair of seeks to knit for Jeremiah.
1 hear the matrimonial epidemic still rages
iin T. If I could see you 1 might be able to
give you a few items which would surprise
you if you have not arrived at that state of
sublime indifference so fashionable in these
degenerate days. However, I suppose inv
items will keep, and when we make another
pedestrian tour I will communicate them.
Well, really, 1 am writing you an uncon
. scionablj - long letter. I hope, my dear, you
will be a good prudent girl, while away from
your mother. Don't flirt if you can help it.
Keep your head cool and your heart and feet
1 warm, and I trust God will bless you. I
hope you do not keep late hours—a habit
very pernicious to health. You rise early I
trust—the morning air is very healthful and
invigorating. Should you take eold, drink
pepper tea freely before retiring, and bathe
j your feet in warm water. JJe careful of
■ your health, remember health is a great blesn
i ing
| Wishing you success in all laudable under
takings, and with the hope that \-ou maj’
flourish like a thrifty plant of your own
name. I must bid you adieu.
Your rheumatic friend,
AUNT JENNIE.
Love Thoughts.
The little girl who I do luv
Has 2 grate big eyes ;
Her hair, which is so angelick,
Wos smuggled from the skize—
Hur mouth is like a double jieeeh ;
Hur head is like a squawsh :
And when I skweeze hur a little tite.
She sais, “Now don’t, oh gosh !”
Hur fut is nuthor large nor smol,
But just the perteek size;
Hur nose is about J inches long,
Hur lingers bout likewise.
Some day I’mgwine 2 marry hur;
We’ll stand up nigh the altar—
I’ll saj~, “I’ll take hur fur mj- wife,”
She’ll say, “Oh, gollj', W alter!”
And then how ’appv we will be—
We’ll allers be 2getlier ;
One umberreller we w ill use
In thunder, stormy weather.
And then we’ll have a oh. dear me,
I’m frade tu tell you wot—
We’ll put it in a cradle fur
To keep its “ futties ” hot.
tDetT’ It is staled to have been ascertained, by
cartful experri meats, that leather belts, grain
| side out to pully, will drive thirty-four per
cent more than flesh side to pully, forty-eight
per cent more than rubber belis, odo hundred
and ttventy-one per cent more than gutta per
c-ha, one hundred and eightj r -one per cent more
‘han canvass—showing that the very best ar
rangement for belting, is to U9e it with grain
side to drum or pully, and have the pully cov
ered with leather. Ti e next best pully is pol
ished iroD, especially for quick motions; polish
ed wood next, and rough iron least in value.
Leather used with gra.n side to pully will not
I only do more work, but last longer than if used
with flesh to same. The fibre of the g-ain side
is more compact and fixed than that of the fiesh,
and more of its surface is consequently brought
in contact or impinges on the particles ot the
pully. The two surfaoes,that of band and that
of pully, should be made as smooth as possible
—in order to produce the greatest contact of
surface.
Growth of Animals. .
Man grows for twenty years, and lives
ninety or one hundred.
The cfamtl grows for eight years, and lives
forty years.
The horse grows for five years, and lives
twenty-five years.
The ox grows for four years, and lives sis
! teen or twenty tears.
The lion grows for four years, aud lives
twenty years.
The dog grows for two years, and lives
twelve or fifteen years.
The cat grows for one and a half years,
and lives nine or ten years.
The hare grows for one year, and lives
about eight years.
The guinea pig grcw r 3 for seven months,
and lives for six or seven years.
A man chopping in the woods, near
Lexington, Florida, was attacked by a ferocious
wolf, which, ut first signal, grasped his victim
by the throat. The wife standing in the door
of the house, saw the position of her husband,
and running up seized his axe, and with one
blow uoon the back of the wolf so disabled
him as to make him release his hold. A few
more blows finished him entirely, but not till
the wolf had succeeded in cutting the throat
of her husband so that he expired almost imme
diately.
Noticirg the cuu erjus bonnets at the millin
er’s ope ning day in New York, and the perplex
ities of the ladies in making a choice, flying
from one to another like humming birds in a
flower garden, the Jownal of Commerce thinks
man should congratulate himself that he is only
called up.m to pay ft)'* bonnets, not to select
them.