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'From Legends of New-England' A NIGHT AMONG TIIE WOLVES. “The gaunt Wolf, Scenting the place of slaughter with his long And most offensive howl, did ask for blood."’’ “The wolf—the gaunt and ferocious wolf! How many talcs of wild horror are associated with his name! Tales of the deserted battle field—where the wolf and the v.dture feast to gether—a horrible and obscene banquet, real izing the fearful description of the Siege of Corinth, when— ‘Outlie edge of the gulf, There sat a raving flapping wolf,’ amidst the cold and stiffening corses of the fallen; or of the wild Scandinavian forests, where the peasant sinks down exhausted amid the drift of winter, and the wild wolf-howl sounds fearfully in his deafening ear, and lean forms and evil eyes gather closer and closer around him, as if impatient for the death of the doomed victim. “The early settlers of New England were Hot (infrequently incommoded by the num bers and ferocity of the wolves, which prow lid around their rude settlements. The hunter easily overpowered them, and with one dis charge of his musket scattered them from about his dwelling. They fled even from the timid child, in the broad glare of day—but in the thick and solitary night, far away from the dwellings of men, they were terrible from their fiendish and ferocious appetite for blood., “I have heard of a fearful story of the wolf, from the lips of some of the old settlers of Ver mont. Perhaps it may be best told in the language of one of the witnesses of the scene. “’Twas a night of January, in the year 17—. "We had been to a line quilting frolic, about two miles from our little settlement of four or five log-houses. ’Twas rather late—about twelve o’clock, I should guess—w hen the par ty broke up. There was no moon—and a dull grey shadow or haze hung all around the hor izon, while overhead a few pale and sickly looking stars, gave us their dull light, as they shone through a dingy curtain. There were six of 11s in company—Harry Mason and my self, and four as pretty girls as ever grew up this side of the Green Mountains. There were my two sisters and Harry’s sister and his sweat heart, the daughter of our next door neighbor. She was a right down handsome cirl —that Caroline Allen I never saw her equal, though 1 am no stranger to pretty faces. She was so pleasant and kind of heart—so gen tle and sweet-spoken and so intelligent be sides, that every body loved her. She had an eye as blue ns the hill voilet, and her lips were like a red rose leaf in June. No won der then that Harry Mason loved her—boy though he was—for we bad neither of us seeii our seventeenth summer. “Our path lay through a thick forest of oak, with here and there a tall pine raising its dark, full shadow against the sky, with an outline rendered indistinct by the darkness. The snow was deep—deeper a great deal than it ever falls of late years—but the surface was frozen strongly enough to bear our weight, and wb twirled on over the white pathway with rapid steps. We had not proceeded far before a low, long howl came to our ears.— We all knew it in a moment; and I could feel a shudder- thrill mg the arms that were folded as a sudden cry burst from the lifc’S' ; hi fill of us—“the wolves—the wolvesp “l)id roc ever see a wild wolf—not one of your ea^c.l, 'broken down, show animals, which are exhibited for sixpence a sight, children fialf ps‘its& —but a fierce, half-starved ranger of the v'i.ttrv forest, howling and hurrying over pie k&ron snow, actually mad with hunger? SmSmte is ho one of God’s creatures which has a frightful, fiendish look as this animal. *Ht lias the lonn as well as the spirit "of a de mon. “Another, and another howl-*—and then we could hear distinctly the quick patter of feet behind us. We all turnpd right about, and looked in the direction of the sound. “ ‘The devils are after us,’ said Mason, pointing to aline of dark, gliding bodies, — And so in fact they were—a whole troop of them—howling like so many Indians in a .pow way. We had no weapons of any kind; and we knew enough of the nature of the vile creatures who followed us to feel that it would be useless to contend without them. There was not a moment to lose—the savage beasts wore close upon us. To attempt flight would have been a hopeless affair. There was but one chance of escape, and we instantly sei zed upon it. “ ‘To the tree—let ns climb this tree !’ 1 cried springing forward towards alow hough ed and gnarled oak, which I saw at a glance, might be easily climbed into. “Harry Mason sprang lightly into the tree, and aided in placing the terrified girls in a place of comparative security among the thick boughs. I was the last on the ground, and the whole troop were yelling at my heels before 1 reached the rest of the company. There was one moment of hard breathing and wild ex clamations among us, and then- a feeling of calm thankfulness for our escape. The night was cold—and we soon began to shiver and -s-hake, like so many sailors on the top-mast of Jin Iceland whaler. But there were no mur murs—no complaining among us, for we could ■distinctly see tiie gaunt, attenuated bodies of the wolves beneath us, and every now and then we could see great, glowing eyes, star ing up into the tree where we were seated.— .And then their yells—they were loud and long and devilish! “I know not how long vse had remained in this situation, for we had no means of ascer taining the time—when I heard a limb of the tree cracking, as if breaking down beneath the weight of some of us : and a moment af ter a shriek went through my ears like the piercing of a knife. A light form went plun ging down through the naked branches, and fell with a dull and heavy sound upon the still' snow. * ‘Oh, God : I am gone !’ It was the voice of Caroline Allen. The paor girl never spoke again! There was a horrid dizziness uud confusion in niv brain, and I spoke no?—and 1 stirred not —for the the whole was at that time like an ugly, un real dream. I only rrmcrnbi r tlint there were cries and shuddering? around me; perhaps I THE MACON ADVERTISER, AND AGRICULTURAL AND MERCANTILE INTELLIGENCER. joined with them—and that there were smoth ered groans, and dreadful howls underneath. It was all over in a moment. Poor Caroline! She was literally eaten alive. The wolves had a frightful feast, arid they became raving mad with the taste of blood. . “V lien I came fully to myself—when the horrible dream went off—and it lasted but a moment—l Struggled to shake off the arm of my sisters, which were clinging around me, and could i have cleared myself, I should have jumped down among the raging animals. But when a second thought came ovc* - me, 1 knew that any attempt to rescue would be useless. As for poor Mason, he was wild with horror, lie had tried to follow Caroline when she fell, hut he could not shake off the grasp of his terrified sister, llis youth, and weak consti tution and frame, were unable to withstand the dreadful trial; and he stood close by my side, with his hands firmly clenched and his teeth set closely, gazing down upon the dark, wrangling creatures below with the fixed stare ot a maniac. It was indeed a terrible scene. Around us was the thick cold night—and be low, (he ravenous wild beasts were lapping their bloody jaws, and howling lor another victim. “i lie morning broke at last; and our fright jV enemies fled at the first advance of day light, like so many cowardly murderers. We waited until the sun hail risen before we ven tured to crawl down from our resting place.— Wc were chilled through—every limb was numb w ith cold and terror—and poor Mason was delirious and raved wildly about the dreadful things he had witnessed. There were bioody stains all around the tree; and two or three long locks of dark hair were trampled into the snow. “We had gone but a little distance when we met our friends from the settlement, who had become alarmed at our absence. They w ere shocked at our wild and frightful appear ance - and my brothers have oftentimes told tne that at first view we all seemed like so many crazed and brain-sicken creatures. — They assisted us to roach our homes; but Harry Mason never recovered fully from the dreadful trial. He neglected his business, his studies, and his friends, and would sit a lone for hours together, ever and anon mut tering to himself about that horrible night— He fell to drinkingsoon after and died a mis erable drunkard, before age had withered a hair of his head. “For my own part I confess I have never entirely overcome the terrors of the melan choly circumstance which l have endeavored to describe. The thought of it has haunted me like my ow r n shadow; and even now, the whole scene comes at times freshly before me in my dreams, and I start up with something ol the same feeling of terror which l experi enced, when more than half a century ago, I passed a night among the wolves. ,T. G. W. ' “ Other employments and arts serve for the em bellishment, but Agriculture is necessary fur the support of human life,’’ THE rniteKNT STATE OF AOIiICJ.TUHE. Ify John Taylor, of Caroline. A patent must know that he is sick, before he will take physic. A collection of a few facts, to ascertain the ill health of agricul ture, is necessary to invigorote our efforts to wards a cure. One, apparent to the most su perficial observed, is,that our land has dimin ished in fertility.—Arts improve the work of nature — when they injure it, they are not arts, but barbarous customs. It is tile office of agriculture, as an a*t, not to impoverish, but to fertilize the soil, and make it more use ful than in its natural state. Such is the ef fect of every species of agriculture, which can aspire to the character of an ait. Its ob ject being to furnish man with articles of the first necessity, whatever defeats that object, is a crime of the first magnitude. Had men a power to obscure or brighten the light of the sun, by obscuring it, they would imitate the morality of diminishing the fertility of the earth. Is not one as criminal as the other? Yet it is a lact, that lands in their natural state, are more valuable, than those which have undergone our habit of agriculture, or which emigrations are complete proofs. The decay of a multitude of small towns, so situated as to depend for support on unal terable district:-, is another proof of the impov erishment of the soil. It is true, that a few large towns have grown up, but this is owing, not to an increased product, but to an increas ed pasture; whereas, in every case, where the pasture is limited, or insolated by local circumstances, small towns have sprung up, whilst the lands were fresh, and decayed, us they were worn out. I have no facts to ascer tain certainly the products of agriculture at different periods relatively to the number of people; such would furnish a demonstration of its state. But I have understood, that six ty-thousand hogsheads of tobacco were expor ted from Y irg.nia, when it contained about one fourth of its present population. If had the fertility of the country remained uu diniinished, Virginia ought now toexporttwo hundred and forty thousand hogsheads, or an equivalent. In this estimate, every species of export except tobacco, is excluded at one epoch, and exports of every kind included at the other; yet the latter would fall far short of exhibiting the equivalent necessary to bring itself on a footing, as to agriculture, with the former. Two hundred and forty thousand hogsheads of tobacco, which, or an equivalent, Y irginia would now export, if the state of ag riculture had been as flourishing as it was sixty or seventy years past, at the present value, by which ail our exports are rated, would be worth above seventy millions of dollars; and supposing Y irginia to furnish one seventh part of the native agricultural exports of the United States, these ought now to amount to one hundred and twenty millions of dollars, 1 had the product of agriculture, kept pace \\ ith the increase of population. If this statement is not exactly correct, enough of it certainly is so, to demonstrate a rapid impoverishment of tile soil of the United States. 'The decay of the cultute of tobacco is tes timony to this unwelcome fact. It is desert ed because the lands are exhausted. The conceal from ourselves a disagreeable truth, we resort to the delusion, that tobacco re quires new or fresh land; whereas every one acquainted with the plant knows,that its quan tity and quality, as is the case with most or all plants, are both greatly improved by manured land, the fertility of which lias been artificially increased. Whole counties, comprising large districts of country, which once grew tobacco in great quantiti s, are now too sterile to grow any of moment; and the wheat crops substituted for tobacco, have already sunk to an average below profit. From the mass of facts, to prove that the fertility of our country has been long declin ing, and that our agriculture is in a miserable state, I shall only select one more. The av erage of our native exports, is about forty millions of dollars annually. Some portion of this amount consists of manufactuies, the materials for which are not furnished by agri culture; another, as is extensively the fact in the case of flour, has passed through the hands of the manufacturer. Of the first portion he receives the whole price, of the second a pro portion. And a third portion of our products is obtained from the sea. Of the fortv mill ions exported, agriculture, therefore, receives about thirty five. The taxes of every kind, state and federal, may he estimated at twenty millions of dollars, of which agriculture pays at least fifteen, leaving twenty millions of her exports for her own use. Counting all the slaves, who ought to be counted both as sources of product and expense, in estima mating the state of agriculture, the people of the United States may probably amount to about seven millions, and it may be fairly .as sumed, that the interest or occupation of six millions of these seven, is agricultural, Ot the whole surplus product of agriculture ex ported, after deducting the taxes it pays, there remains for each individual a few cents above three dollars. Out of this mass of profit, he is to pay for the manufactures, luxuries and ne ccsssaries he consumes, not raised by him self;,and the only remaining article to be car ried to the credit of agriculture, is the small gain it derives from its domestic sales, not to itsell, or from sales by one of its members to another, for that does not enrich it, but to other classes, such as manufacturers and sol diers. Against the former, agriculture is to be debited with the bounties she is made by law to pay them; against the latter, she has been already debited by deducting her taxes from her exports. Neither can be a source of much wealth or profit to her, because in one case she furnishes the money by taxation, and in the other by bounties, with which her pro ducts arc purchased. It is, therefore, nearly true, that the income of agriculture is only three dollars per poll, and that this income is her whole fund for suppying her wants and ex tending her improvements. This estimate is infinitely more correct, than one drawn from individual wealth or poverty. To infer from the first, that every body might become rich, as a defence of our agricultural regimen, would be a conclusion as fallacious, as to in fer from the second, that every body must be come poor, as a proof of its badness. Extra ordinary talents or industry will produce ex traordinary effects. Instances of happiness or wealth under a despotism, do not prove that its regimen is calculated for general wealth or happiness. A system, commercial, political or agricultural, so wretched as not to exhibit cases of individual prosperity, has never appeared, because an universal scourge would be universally abhorred. It is not from partial, but general facts, that we can draw a correct knowledge of our agriculture. Even a personal view cf the country, might deceive the thoughtless, because neither the shortness of life, nor the gradual impoverish ment of land, are calculated to establish a vi sible standard of comparison. A man must be old and possess a turn for observation from his youth, to he able to judge correctly from this source, t have known many farms for above forty years, and though I think that all of them have been greatly impoverished, yet I rely more upon the general facts I have stated, for agreeing with Strickland in opin ion, “tlnit the agriculture of the United States affords only a hare subsistence—that the fer tility of our lands is gradually declining— and that agriculture has arrived to the lowest state of degradat ion.” 1 Hferna 1 1 inprorrincni. From the Savannah Georgian.' We have been very much gratified to ob serve that a consideration of the means, by which the commerce cf our city maybe revi ved and extended, is beginning to engage the attention of our intelligent citizens. The bridge which it is proposed to build at the up per end of the city, and which was suggested many years ago by a practical man, will be a valuable acquisition—but whoever will at tentively peruse the following articles, which we have extracted from the Charleston Cour ier, will see that we are called for higher ef forts, if we do not wish to be deprived of the natural advantages of our position, by the greater facilities of int* rior communication, which are about to be afforded, by our enter- Ifewill jie seen that the meree of the AjirttA,’.v aceJ an Atlantic outlet, ami-#. dVvsfils upon us wheth er Charleston, or Savannah shall afford that outlet. A canal, or a rail road of proper con struction, to Columbus via Macon, will decide this controversy in our favor—and we earn estly hope that our fellow-citizens of Savan nah, and of the State generally, who will par ticipate largely in the benefits of the propos ed measure, will unite in the efforts which arc necessary to its accomplishment. We will cheerfully open our columns to the discus sion of this interesting subject. Extract of a letter from a gentleman of res pectability and intelligence, near Knoxville, in Tennessee, to a member of the Direction of South Carolina Canal and Rail-road Compa ny, dated 14tli April, 1831. “You will observe that owing to the circu ! tious character of our present route to mar-| j krt, (the Tennessee river) as well as thc-dan-J gers of the subsequent voyage from New Or-j leans to the Atlantic sea ports, and to Eu rope, our cititens are compelled to look out J for a more direct communication with the rest of the world, and one in which the value of! our imports be received with shorter delay, j and at less expense. The inquiry has thus) become an important one, what channel of' trade will lead vs most directly, with our stir- ! plus products, to the best market, and afford the greatest facilities for the reception of our importsl The circular invites our attention to a land communication between a navigable branch of the Ohio river, and the North Caro lina line. A Committee has examined the! route and reported favorably. It is now pro posed that Delegates from all sections of the country interested in the contenplatcd im provement, should meet on the first Monday in June, to deliberate on the general subject, and to form some plan of extensive co-opera tiori. It occurs to me that it is essential to all concerned, that the South Carolina Rail Road Company should be represented at the proposed convention. After an attentive ex umination of the subject, it is my deliberate opinion, that Charleston is the point from which ail our European imports will eventual ly be received; and that twenty five percent, of the exports from the Mississippi valley, will find the same outlet to market. lam not so sanguine as to believe that the present means of the country arc adequate to the com pletion of a Rail Road from the point at which your road will terminate, to the" Great West." iiut in the commencement of our works of in ternal improvement—in our surveys and ex amination, that ultimate object should be kept constantly in view. Our turnpikes and other roads should, receive that location and direct ion, which will ultimately lead ton branch of your Rail Road, and form the basis of a con tinuation of it to our country. Such a bifur cation it appears to me could be advantage ously made through Colombia, and along the dividing ridge between the Tiger andEnoree rivers, pursuing pretty much the present route of the State Road, and terminating at the Saluda Gap. Good roads from North Carolina and Tennessee, already meet your State Road at that point, and are susceptible of, and arc now receiving additional improve ments. It is believed that our river, the French Broad, can be made navigable to New port—a village upon its banks, less than 100 miles from the Saluda Gap. Steamboats may not ascend so high, but that point may be cer tainly reached by keels. Should your compa ny, therefore, coutinue the road to Saluda G ap, that point will become a depot for the Western country, and will be within one hun dred miles of a navigable branch of the Ten nessee river. Should the Sandy river commu nication be found the most available, the ter jminationof your Rail Road will be within 200 miles of a navigable branch of the Ohio.” In addition to the above, it may be impor tant to notice the following communication concerning the navigation of the Tennessee river, from the Cincinnati Daily Advertiser: "Enterpnze. —The ‘Knoxville,’ a beau tiful light draft Steamboat measuring 100 feet keel, and 17 ) feet beam, belonging to compa ny at Knoxville, (Tenn.) and built under the superintendence of Col. YV. B. A. Ramsay, of that place, is intended to navigate the Ten ncssee river, from the Muscle Shoals to Knox ville, a distance of 500 miles. She is well calculated to carry freight, and is fitted up wr.li superior accommodation for cabin and deck passengers. Her arrival at her desti nation will, we doubt not, be cheeringly greeted, and tend to produce anew era in the agricultural and commercial interests of that enterprising town.” From the London New Monthly Magazine. LITERARY CHARACTERS. James Fennimore Cooper. Thcf ollowing article is but an abstract of that in the New Monthly, which is accompanied by a handsome engraved portrait of Cooper. Among the frequenters of circulating li braries, and indeed in literary coteries of ail kinds, Mr. Cooper is generally designated “The great American Novelest.” YVhen the name ol a writer becomes identified in this manner with that of his country, he may feel sufficiently assured of the permanency of his reputation. He may, with perfect safety, leave his fame to the care of itself. His is no fleeting or narrow renown ? it is associated with his ‘land’s language.” YVe are not hazarding much in saying, that no writer ever possessed the advantages enjoy, ed by the author of “The Spy,” on liis outset in literary life. The very peculiarity of his situation rendered it next to impossible for him to fail in charming that large portion of tiie English people denominated the novel rea ders. An Esquimaux poet, brought over by Capt. Parry could hardly have excited more wonder than the “great American Novelist,” when he made his first appearance in Europe- The world fell into a fit of admiration at the first sign of a genius on the barren waste of America, and started at it as the bewildered Crusoe did at Friday’s footmark on the sand. But in addition to these lesser advantages, the Novelist enjoyed the grand and all sufficing one that arises from an entire originality of subject. The field that lay open before him was not merely of immeasurable extent, but lie tyidfe?’ 1 felicity of having it all to himself. Like fife Artier,{Mariner, Into that silent sea.” He suddenly found himself recognized as the Sir Walter* of the New World—one who was to do for his country what Scott had done for his; to delineate the character of its peo ple; to paint its scenery; to exult in its ac quirements and prospects; but above all to assert its glory and independence. If some portion of the success of our trans lantic Novelist was referable to circumstances *An example of Mr. Cooper’s appreciations of his illustrious rival occurred while he was sittimr for the portrait that accompanies our sketch. The artist, Madame- Mirbel, requested him, as is usual in such cases to lix his eye upon a particular point. “Look at that picture,” said she, pointing to one of a distinguished statesman. “ No” said Cooper, “If 1 must look at any, it shall be at my master,” directing his glance a little higher, to a portrait of Sir YY'alter Scott. j and to the peculiar attractiveness of his sub jects, a still greater portion was attributable I to himself, and to the energy and enthusiasm which he brought to his labors. We never | met with novels—(and wo have read all that i were overwritten since the creation of the world,) of a more absorbing character, or more j fatal to the female propensity of skipping the ! digressive portions. Every word of Mr. Coo per s narrative is effective,or appears so while you read ; and yet he docs not scruple to des cribe an object in the most elaborate and un compromising terms, three of four times over in the in the same work, if it be necessary that j the reader should have an accurate outline of it before his eyes. Ilis sea scents are unique. He docs not give you “a painted ship upon a painted ocean.” All is action, character and ami poetry. You see in tire images which he conjures up, every accessary of the scene, however insignificant; you hear, in the terms in which he describes them, the roaring of the surge, the voice of the seamen, and the flap | pings ol the sails. Amidst such scenes as these, where “His march is o’erthe mountain wave, Ilis home on the deep.” wc lose sight ot land altogether ; and are star tled, a lew chapters farther on, at finding ourselves, in a wild barren, wintry region, the antipodes of that we had left. “The Mater M itch, ’ his last production, has several sea scenes, not inferior to any that preceded them. It is more wild and experimental in parts, but it lacks nothing in point of freshness and en ergy. i* rom all that we can loam of the gifted American, from those who have had the best and most recent opportunities of personal ob servation, we should judge that this general bearing indicates a man of strong natural powers, great decision of character, and ob servant habits—more perhaps, of things than men. He is rather above than under the mid dle height, his figure well and firmly set, and his movements rather rapid and graceful.— AH liis gestures are those of promptness and energy. His high, expansive forehead is a phrenological curiosity; a deep indenture a cross its open surface throws the lower organs of eventuality, locality, and individuality” in to fine effect; while those immediately above, comparison, casuality, and gaiety—are equal ly remarkable. His eyes, which are deeply set, have a wild, stormy, and restless ex pression, as if they scorned sleep, and were perpetually in search of something. But it is his mouth that has the strongest pretentions to singularity of character. An inflexible firmness forms its expression when silent, but when he speaks, it seems as though he held all the passions and feelings of the heart un der his command, and could summon them to his lip at pleasure. It is then that he rivets the attention more than any living writer—riot excepting Words worth. David, the French sculptor, in his fine bust of the novelist, has given this character admirably. His head al together is strikingly intellectual; its severi ty is relieved by simplicity. Nature moulded it in majesty, yet denied it not the gentle graces that should ever adorn greatness. His manners are a pleasant mixture of the mariner and the gentlemen. He is an Amer ican, even in our English sense of the term; the amor patrice is in him a passion that never subsides; he is devotedly attached to liis eoun try, to its institutions, and (as is apparent Iroin his works) to its rugged but magnificent scenery. lhe family of Mr. Cooper was originally front Buckingham in England, settled in A inerica in 1679, and about a century after w-ards became established in the State of New York. He was born at Burlington, on the j Delaware, 1789, and was removed at an ear ly age to Cooper’s Town—a place, of which he has given an interesting account in “ The Pioneers.” At thirteen, he was admitted to Yale College, New Haven, and three years afterwards, went to sea—an event that gave a character and a colour to his after life, and: produced impressions, of which the world has already reaped the rich result. On his mar riage with a daughter of John Peter De Lan cey, ofYYestchester county, New York, he quitted the navy, and devoted himself to com position. Mr. Cooper’s first work was pub lished in 1821, and every year since that pe riod has brought its new novel. He has al ready printed and become popular in many cities—in London, Paris, Florence and Dres den. In 1810, his health having suffered consi derably from a fever that attacked him two years before, he was induced to visit Europe ; this lias restored him, and ho now thinks of returning to a homo which his heart has nev cr abandoned. YVe had omitted to mention, that Mr. Cooper, was appointed chiefly to pro tect his papers to the Consulship at Lyons a nominal post, which he resigned about three years ago. In Paris, where Mr. Cooper at present re sides, no man is more sought after, and few so much respected. Under the old regime it might have been different. The whispering jealousy, and national dislike that were oc casionally audible here, do not. reach him there. He appears to bo perfectly at bb ease —sensible of the estimation, but not over-es timation, by which he is held by all sects and parties. Yet he seems to claim little consul j eration on the score of intellectual greatness ( he is evidently prouder of his birth than of his genius ; and looks, speaks, and walks as it ne exulted more in being recognized as an American citizen, than as the author of “The 1 1 lot. and “The Praric.” LACONICS. Passion Have not to do with nnv man in Ins passion ; foi men arc not like iron, to be wrought upon when they are hot. lie whose mind possesses nothing more than ho can express by words, is in truth very poor. I' or get not that life is like a flower which w"t.lur fKr fU 7 1,,0Wn ’ ,lum lt br L nns to A Politician —A fellow that turns his coat because n he did not he would soon have no coat to turn. Foreigners—Ho that cannot forgive others breaks the bridge ovt r which he must pass himself, for every man hath need to be for given. * Conversation People that change their religion from reading books of controvert are not so much converted*as outwitted SLAV Kit V : Its Caricature,exhibited in Mr. MnlPn', i r sionary Address. Me have now before us one of those f an H ml and splendid pictures'of human intdl .•* on which the smile of pity and the frown ’• contempt may alternately rest. See a n-,n , it in the following words : 1,04 “1 rise with the most heartfelt concurrence in your noble design of sending a Mission-, to the colony of Liberia, on the coast of \J ca. Ihrougli tins propitious opening Vo ,. uulreach the heart of that benighted cent nent. lour object is clothed with [the nuw nifacence of benevolence, and accords 3 the promise of God to Ethiopia in the lam days. Ihe descendant .of Africa is not an an onymous being— the child of accident. V, see .unilabouring in the scorched fields e' the slave holder, the inheritor of a labour th t profited, him nothing— and this lean inhere anceof misery is, he well knows, all Z earthly good that hard-hearted task master design lor him and his children. M'e see !■ face darker than the palo demon ofavarice'lo wborn, at the whip’s end, he is driven to ]/, ceaseless, profitless toil— but no one mark, this man of grief as one on whom the sun bin looked in his wrath and scorched him i nto a „ abject inferiority to human kind. Rather when we see him, wc think of a fair off l,nd a vast continent which hangs in the opposite balance to our own stupendous America M T . feel when we see the slave in Free America as if wc behold a branch of ancient empire torn from its parent stock withering under ai • other sky. Ob, how I tremble for America, when I think ol the sins of slavery, piled mountain high agamst her in the chancery of heaven I fearfully anticipating, and yet depreciating the judgments which so terrible a natiomd sin cal s down upon the fairest portion of earth, I cannot but feel a thrill of horror as 1 j N-’PeaDfoe eloquent language of one who ah : juded to the punishment of a certain nation for the less cruel and inconsistent sin of inf deny. Says he, “the tale ina:’e every 4 which heard it, tingle, and every heart chill with horror. It was, in the language of Os. slat/, the song of death. It was like the reim ot the plague in a populquS citvi Knell toil ed upon knell; hoarse &llowc<f hearse; mi coliiin rumbled after coflin, without a iiitfini ner to shed a tear upon the corpse,’''ot a soil tan attendant to mark the place of the grave.’l M e cannot conceive the consistency of that! philanthropy which would drive the ambassaJ dor of the sav iour froni-the cottage of the slarel and doom him to grope iq the darkness ot fciJ depraved nature. And yet, tnis is precise!?! the philant ropy of Mr. Maffit’s speech. Tiu| moral energies of his mind lost in the mazesl ol his tancy exhibit such a caricature of slavl ery as once drove our Methodist Mission™! from the abodes of our negroes; and just sucil an one indeed, as would now deprive them oil the means which they enjoy of benefiting tliatl class ot our population.—M' here, may we ask,l is to be found such a picture of the wretch.. I ness of slavery as that which he has draw,! . here is to be found “the descendants of -I nca, labouring in the scorched fields ol til slave owner, the inheritor of a labour t® profiteth him nothing ?” VVill such a tel muster be found in the United States-® rather may w e not go to Africa, the famrcU land of light and liberty, to find him! . .1 la the literal acceptation of this sweeping i® flow ery sentence, we know no such a in human shape, and with a very ‘few e.ra® j tioris (and those, strange to tell, the einiga'j® of Europe and New England, who cane A mong us in the characters of high-toned pH fessors and ministers: now driven from t?!! Church for cruelty to their states) w< .M knowledge olno one who bears even the; :fl blance ot such an one. Are there no ! men be found labouring in “the scerc!® fields ’ of the farmer on hire, as pitiful asisH ot the slave ? Is not the number of ibis cifl of human beings greater in every ( ountry!® that ot the slaves in our own ? Why have!® bowels of comparison been closed” to l l :.'® Is there no voice of pity in all the .-wide ii® of Christendom to cheer them in their fate ! Is it the office of charity, /feare/i!® charity, to close her ears to their cries, heed only those of the slave whose wants are amply supplied ?—Can he wlioH ceives food and raiment enough to coinfortabls from infancy to old age, be :® “to labor for nothing ?” Is the master ofsfl a slave an execrablq wretch, worthy only place in the pit of darkness ?—YVhere the Book ot God can lie found the sen'iii® that "his sin is less cruel and that of infidelity!''’ These are grave 1 1 tions, predicated upon the graver charge® -Mr. Maflitt’s fancy. If the laws of our ol try regard the protection and comfort cl H slave in every state of liis existence,and I master ol that slave is fonnd acting principles of those laws—if among that of human brings who have such a strong® upon the tender sensibilities of the On® soul, are found thousands and hundred® thousands, happier, and living under l>{fl circumstances thsn those of the poor,® men of any other country, where is theyi ; ® where is the truth of the assertion, that blacker than Infidelity rest upon our ro® and our fellow-citizens? Truth isti® unce in which every sentiment shot?® weighed, and if this bo truth, well w® tremble for our fate. But we ask agaa® trutn ? Me have the testimony of Mr m fit’s funei ul trope, borrowed from tlu'l authority of I)r. Dwight, but tropes and® ers ot rhetoric arc not always founded "I M r c presume that it will not ho den® those who threaten us with “Heaven® curses,” that much the greater part oft! l ® man family in every country, work &® benefit of the rest. ” Why is this so? J® power, human and divine, has this erd® ol distinction been drawn and sustain-® May we regard it a merciful dispense® Providence to render more probable '■ vat ion of so large a portion saving them Iroin the snares incident W l ® | or has it been effected by the hand i® I S! °n, the mere chance efforts ot jad® I characters as pour a tide of wrath, np-’® t M’e are not fastidious in the solution i® i problems—the fact and I’-hoß't®