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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.