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90 [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] FLOWERS. FROM THE GRAVEYARD. BY MRS. JI'LIA L. KEYES. Still lingering vet is the roseate dye Which garnish'd my flowers, in a bright Southern sky, Scarce i>aled by the passing of years— No breezes are swaying their delicate stems, No showers have sprinkled them over with gems— But, oh! they are watered by tears. In fancy, I see through the opening glade. The roses’rich tints, o’er the white balustrade, By glittering sunbeams illumed — Now, the moon, with its lustre gleamingiy bright, So mournfully resting on marble-stones white, Where sweetly these blossoms once bloomed. I went, when the East was beginning to glow, With the first tints of morning, three Aprils ago. And gathered these roses from there, With a sprig of the ivy. that covered the mound Where the dearest of treasures were laid in the ground ■Which nourished these flowers so fair. The bright vcsi>er-dew still in diamond-drops lay. On each leaflet that gathered the sun’s early ray, And I felt the still presence of Goth In that temple so sacred, beneath the soft shade. Where the songsters of Heaven sweet melody made, And idlers ne’er carelessly trod. Then mem’ry renewed, with each sigh of the air. Some sweet thought of those that were slumbering there W'hoonce caught the notes, on the breeze, Os the Oriole singing amid our gay bowers, Who had gathered with us earth’s beautiful flowers __ And walked in such places as these. 1 lived in that moment, those partings anew. When I bade that dear spot an anguish’d adieu. And gazed a last look on the scene— But I thought of a bower of perennial bloom. Where no sorrow or gloom, no shades from the tomb. Would sere like the Autumn its green. Oh ! never, I fear, will my footsteps retrace The path which leads to that hushed resting place. Where beloved ones, in quiet, repose; But that hallowed love o’er my spirit will rest. Like the golden glow, from the sun-bright West. Which brightens the day. at his close. Montgomery, Ala.. July 6th, 1559. — — [Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.] ALIENE, Oli THE RECOVERED TREASURE. A PRIZE TALE. BY MAUD MORETON. CHAPTER 1. “ Is not the red man’s wigwam home. As dear to him, as costly dome ? Is not his loved one’s smile as bright. As the proud white man’s worship'd light?" The balmy breezes of a spring morning were whispering through the leaves, and swaying the huge oaks, which lx>rdered the banks of a beau tiful stream. In one of the shady nooks, in its windings, were seated a group, which for pic turesque combination and contrast could scarce ly be surpassed, nor could a more romantic spot be well imagined. The river at this point tumbles over a bed of rocks, for some miles, with a dashing impetuosity. The luxuriant foliage on its banks, the overhanging trees, with their graceful drapery of moss, and the soft grass, that, like velvet, borders its edge, pre sented to the eye a beautiful picture of varied and exuberant nature. On the extreme slope of the bank, sat a small Indian boy, watching with quiet movement and patient eye* a long line and pole, and, ever and anon, drawing up, and depositing with a pleased smile, the struggling treasures caught from the water, llis form was lithe, and supple as a young willow, his eye had none of the fierceness of his tribe, but beamed mild and soft as a dove's, and his small feet and hands were feminine in their moulding and symmetry. His costume was simple enough, and combined neatness and a certain display of taste, as if even in savage life the mother's careful hand had labored to decorate the caressed pet of their rude home. A hunting shirt of dark blue cotton cloth, fringed with a wide border or white, descended below the knee, and was confined at the waist by an embroiled belt of colored beads—his small feet were cased in mocassins of the same description, and around his shoulders was thrown a hunting pouch, of the same elaborate and fanciful work, more it seemed for ornament than use. His hat of straw, ornamented by a waving plume of brightly dyed feathers, lay on the grass beside him, while his dark hair was thrown back, with a careless grace, from a beautifully defined brow, and gave to view the gentle expression of a face feminine in its sweetness and delicacy. He was apparently not more than seven years old, but with the free dom so universally accorded to earliest child hood in wild savage life, he was as much at home in the depths of the forest, or in the sparkling waters by which he sat, as in the shelter of his father's wigwam. In his very unconsciousness of danger, he was perfectly fearless. Somewhat in the rear of the boy, but near enough to form one of the party, leaned a little child, on the soft grass, her lap filled with flow ers—one of her baby feet, having escaped from its tiny slipper, rested on the rough back of a huge mastiff, and her clear laugh rung out on the air, as she tossed the flowers in heaps upon the shaggy head and coat of her canine friend and protector. The idea of strength and power was con veyed by a single glance at his immense form, his massive head, and his huge, extended paw. Courage and fidelity spoke from his large, open eye, while a latent fierceness slumbered in the depths of its quiet glanc9, and warned th.e un wary to pause before arousing his ire. By the side of this little fay of the forest, and evidently in attendance upon her, stood a young girl of ebony blackness, her honest face shining in its good natured expression and freedom from care, so characteristic of her race and state. Her teeth, of ivory whiteness, glis tened, as with bursts of laughter she responded to the noisy glee “of her little chaise. The three races, with their distinctive fea tures and position, the romantic scenery, and their harmonizing pastime, presented a picture striking in its contrast, and peculiar in its pic turesque combination. Presently a voice, in clear manly tone, called aloud “Aliene, Aliene, how anxiously I have sought you,” and a tall figure stepped from the embowering woods, through a narrow winding path, and with an earnest expression of anxiety quickly approached the youthful party. Taking up the child, caressingly in his arms, and laying her head upon his shoulder, he playfully said: “ Ho, you little gipsey, what have you been doing?” “Oh! I have been fishing, papa.” “Fishing ? Are these the fish you have been ra&u ms wmMnmm* catching,” said he, picking up the fallen flowers, “but conic, let us go home, for mamma is very un happy about you. and is w’ondering what has become of her little Aliene. Daphne,” turn ing to the little negro girl, “you have done very wrong in bringing Miss Aliene so far from home, ’ and the fault must not be repeated.” The huge dog arose with a bound, and dashed to the side of his master, where, with wagging tail and upward eye, he awaited his share of notice. “Kh! Dragon, good fellow." said his master, stroking his head, to which the grateful animal responded, by quick, sharp barks of delight, and pitching back and forth, around and around, with wild joy and excitement. “ What success have you had, my little fel low?” said Mr. Moreland, to the little Indian. “Oh! my basket is nearly full, already.” “Are you very fond of the sport. Tenawkie ?” “I delight in it; I sometimes sit here, nearly all day. and never go home with an empty basket." ‘Which do you like best, Tenawkie, fishing or hunting ?” “I like fishing best; it is so pleasant to sit here in the cool shade, and watch the fish as they glide towards the bait, and then dart back again, as if they knew the danger they had escaped— and then the delight ol'drawing up a huge trout; Ugh! nothing pleasanter. Aliene likes to fish, too.” “I do fish sometimes, but they won't bite for me.” “But you must not do so again, my little daughter; there is danger in your coming so far from home, and danger of your falling into the water, too.” With a kind nod to the little Indian, Mr. More land moved with quick tread up the bank, and was soon lost to sight in the overhanging foliage. The little fisher held up a string of captured trout, and. with a quiet smile, gave it into the hands of the girl, intimating they were for the use of her mistress. Just at this moment, a small canoe shot across the stream, and from it leaped a light and agile figure, the brother of the patient little angler.— He sprang to his side, and waving aloft the trophies of his day’s sport, gave several loud shouts, and threw himself by the side of the quiet little figure on the bank. There was something singularly interesting in this dark-browed child of the forest. He appeared a year or two older than his brother, of the same dusky hue, the same symmetrical form, and regular features—the same waving hair, and wild grace of movement. His eye flashed with the excitement and eagerness of the day’s sport, and his rapid gesticulation, so unusual with his race, evinced his keen relish for his wild, roving life. He was more reserved in his association with the whites, and seldom approached their homes or mingled with their families. There was a gentleness in his manner towards his brother, and an ingenuousness in his countenance, ivhich insensibly attracted to wards him a feeling of confidence and trust.— The boldness of his eye. and the firmness of his lip. bespoke a soul fitted for struggle and for conquest. CHAPTER 11. "All, all our own shall the forests be. As to the bound of the roebuck free; None shall say 'hither no further pass; We will track each step through the wavy grass: We will chase the elk, in his speed and might. And bring proud spoils to the hearth, at night.” • We will give the names of our fearless race To each bright river, whose course we trace; We will leave our memory with mounts • ml floods, And the path of our during, in boundless foods! Ami our works unto many a lake's green shore, Where the Indian graves lay, alone, before.” On the borders of one of the dashing rivers of the West, there dwelt, many years ago, a family whose romantic history is still invested with an intense interest. Scenes and incidents in real life, are often so peculiar and poetic, that we are always indebted to the glow of a fervid imagination, or the airy visions of a dreamy fancy, for the development of romance. For some years a sort of predatory warfare was kept up on the part of the Indians in the neighborhood of C , a flourishing town, in one of the frontier States, until the whites, be coming exasperated by the repetition of midnight assassination and wholesale plunder, arose in all their strength, and determined upon summary punishment and final conquest. The hostility between the whites and Creeks lasted for several years, but after the constrained removal of the most troublesome of the tribe, to the far West, peace once more smiled upon the land, and prosperity followed in the foot prints of civilization. A lew scattered families of the red man still lingered near their old haunts, and mingled but distrustfully with their more powerful white brethren. They maintain ed apparently a friendly intercourse—cultivating small portions of land, and bartering their pro duce for such necessaries as their rude life required. Among the lew who refused to yield to the whites the graves and homes of their fathers, and to barter their birth-right for the miserable “mess of pottage,” was a family singularly in teresting, from their ready adoption of the hab its and customs of the whites, and their willing ness to receive overtures of friendship. The chief and head, a man about thirty years old, was handsome in the attributes that constitute beauty in Indian estimation —tall, erect, and im posing in figure, stern and unbending in man ner, with the flashing eye and haughty lip of his tribe. He possessed large tracts of valuable land, which, with a sagaeitj’ unusual with his nation, he had refused to sell to the crafty whites for the miserably inadequate compensation offered. His sons were mere children, and for their sakes he determined to remain in his old home, and in possession of his fertile acres. He had, too, some slight appreciation of civilized life, and although tenaciously dinging to the rude customs of his tribe, he did not utterly disdain the softening and refining influences of educa tion. He encouraged his sons in their asso ciation with the children of the white settlers, and endeavored to excite in them a desire for knowledge—but their wild natures resisted the thraldom of schools, and delighted in the free dom of forest life. Fishing and hunting, chasing the wild deer, and roving the woods in the in dulgence of their native tastes, constituted their sole pursuit. The younger boy, milder in his nature, sought more readily the homes of the white man, and his gentle disposition assimilated more nearly to their lives and habits. He would sometimes pass days in the grounds and gardens that sur rounded their dwellings, and gradually became familiar with their language, and somewhat iden tified with their interests and customs. Richard Moreland, a young, enterprising and intelligent man, incited by a spirit of adventure, and the hope of acquiring an independence, moved from his native State, Virginia, and with his young wife, located himself in the neighbor hood of C , adjacent to the hunting grounds of the Creeks. For several years l^e maintained a friendly intercourse, and his justice and generosity won even from their rude natures respect and confidence. He took no advantage of their ignorance and unprotected state, and uniformly accorded to them sympathy and kind ness. His refined and gentle wife became much in terested and attracted by the roving, docile In dian boy, and many a rosy-cheeked apple and nice cake found their way into his eagerly ex tended little hand. Kind words and gentle looks lured him often into her homo. His young heart expanded to the gentle touch of kindness, and he would bring and lay at her feet, as to kens of his gratitude, the result of his expert ness as a sportsman. Strings of fish, and bunches of wild pigeons, or other game, con stantly added to the supply of her household stores —and small baskets of wild strawberries were, during the season, the almost daily offer ing of his unrestrained life and affectionate dis position. Little Aliene, her infant child, was Ins especial delight, and he would pass whole days in search of birds-eggs, or wild flowers, to please her childish eye or charm her infantile fancy. CHAPTER 111. “I have left the snolior’s dwellings For-evennore behind: Unmingled with their household wonts. For ine shall sweep the wind. Alone amidst their hearth-fires, I watch'd my child decay; Uncheered I saw the spirit-light From his young eyes fade away.” Aliene had now attained her third year, and a little stranger nestled in the soft cradle she had deserted. Her delight and wonder, as she gazed upon the tiny features, and the little dimpled hands that rested on the coverlet, were curious to behold. She would steal on tip-toe to the side of the slumbering babe, and watch with breathless quietness her soft breathings, and note the bright smile that flitted over her baby face, as angels whispered peace to the sleeping child. One day the babe had been placed by the careful mother, in its little cradle, out upon the piazza that surrounded their dwelling—her own presence being often required in an ad joining room—and watchful Dragon, left as guard, by the side of the infant. The little Aliene was playing about, glancing now here, and now there* like a bright sunbeam, and her merry shouts of childish glee, as she teased and worried the wary animal, awoke the echoes of the surrounding hills. Her noisy merriment attracted the attention of her little Indian com panion, who, with liis gun, was roving the woods in quest of game, and lie drew near with slow and cautious step. The watching dog rose up, and with uneasy glance and low growl, confronted the little in truder, and again prostrated himself by the side of the cradle. The timid little Indian retreated hastily, and withdrawing to a short distance, gave furtive glances to the peaceful scene of domestic life so expressively displayed by the clustered group. A stillness, striking in contrast to the late re sounding noise, settled upon the scene, —the dozing sentinel, heedless of the flies that buzzed about his head and ears, and apparently uncon scious of the soft breathing of the little nursling of the cradle. With an impulse of curiosity, the mute little figure in the distance approached again, and with stealthy step drew near to the slumbering child. He meant but to gaze upon its soft features, not to disturb its quiet repose. Bending over the cradle, he cautiously extend ed his hand to touch the tiny fingers that lay upon the snowy cover. The dog, aroused from his slumbers, without an instant's warning, sprang upon him, and with the ferocity of a tiger, buried his teeth in the neck of the writhing little Indian. Loud screams of fear and pain broke from his lips, but the aroused animal clung with fierceness to the quivering flesh of the helpless little suf ferer. The tumult and cries of distress reached Mrs. Moreland, and she rushed out to his rescue. Her first word to the infuriated animal was instantly obeyed, and relinquishing his hold, lie crouched at her feet, and endeavored to express his penitence and submission by low whines and supplicating looks, as the servants inflicted punishment, and blow after blow descended upon him. “How did tliis happen? Why did you'not in terfere to protect this poor boy ?” said Mrs. More land to the cook. "I can't tell, ma’am. I heard him scream, and ran as fast as I could, but Drag won’t mind me, ma’am, when he gets in them tits. But mistis, we better ’tend to the poor child first, and settle with Drag afterwards, for lie is powerful bad ofl',” replied the sable Hose. “Take a horse, and go for Dr. Post, imme diately. Ask him to ride quickly,” said Mrs. Moreland, as John, who, already anticipating the order, was moving quickly to the stable. She gently raised the prostrate and bleeding little figure in her arms, and compassionately bore him into the house. She used every effort to staunch the flowing blood, and soothe the laceration of his tom flesh. Tenderly she dressed the wounds, and comfortingly fell her low voice upon the ear of the little sufferer. “Poor child, I wish I could have spared you this, but you bear it like a mau, and I will do all I can to help you. Have you much pain now?” “Xot so much now,” murmured he faintly, and seeing his exhaustion, she forbore further ques tioning.” Her gentle nature was deeply shocked at the violence of the enraged animal, and the suffering of the innocent little victim, and her own tears flowed fast and free frorr) her sympathizing eyes. She awaited tremblingly the expected arri val of medical aid, and labored unceasingly to staunch the welling stream that poured from the lacerated neck; all her efforts seemed vain. The sharp cry of pain was succeeded by the faintness of utter exhaustion, and the little re laxed, lifeless form lay helplessly in her arms. His closed lids and blanched cheek filled her with an unutterable apprehension—his pulse was scarcely perceptible to her touch, and his little heart, that had so lately bounded with life and joy, was throbbing languidly in his bosom. The crimson tide continued to gush forth in jets, in spite of all her efforts—the breathing be came fainter—the ghastly hue of death gathered over the delicate features—and long before aid reached them, the pulse had ceased to flutter— the slow, muffled beating of the heart was no longer perceptible. The servants had flocked in, upon the first wild cry of pain, blit without the ability or self possession to second Mrs. Moreland in her un ceasing efforts to relieve him. Her husband was absent, and thrown uponlier own resources, her self-reliance and skill did not desert her at this appalling crisis. But vain was every effort, futile every expedient. The carotid artery had been severed, and long after the little form lay in the stillness of death, the crimson current continued to gush forth in a sanguinary tide. The horror-stricken household gathered in dismay, in the apartment where the little victim lay, anil exchanged glances of terror and con sternation as they fearfully anticipated the com ing of the exasperated and revengeful father, for whom a messenger had been dispatched. A dark shadow fell upon the window that opened upon the piazza, and in another moment a tall figure strode into the room, and stood silently in their very midst. Xo emotion of ten derness was visible on his features, no sorrow gleamed from his lowering eye. With a look of dogged, sullen exasperation, he moved to the side of his lifeless child; and without a single word to the gathered circle, he lifted the light form in his arms, and with an angry glance of concentrated venom, he glared upon the infant children of the weeping mother, and slowly and sulkily stalked from the house. With an involuntary instinct of tenderness and protection, Mrs. Moreland pressed her babe to her bosom, and cast her arms around the ter rified little girl at her knee. Aye! press her light form close to thy side, young mother —shelter her under the wing of thy protecting love—let not thy loving, watch ful eye cease its vigilance—let not her roving little feet leave thy shielding presence. Lurks there danger in the glancing sunshine, in the balmy breezes, in the birds, and flowers, and leafy boughs, that lure her out to their enjoy ment! IV. “Domestic happiness! thou only bliss Os Pnrailise, that has survived the fall: Though few now taste thee, unimpaired and free, Or tasting long enjoy thee; too intirm, Or too incautions, to preserve thy sweets, ITnmixed with drops of bitter.” Months had passed away since the painful event recorded above had occurred. Mrs. More land's affectionate heart had been rudely shock ed, and even now the faintest allusion to it brought tears to her eyes, and moved her to hys terical sobbing. She had never once seen “Bald Eagle,” as he was called, nor had the brother of her little unfortunate protege been near their home. The apprehension she had at first en tertained of his vengeance had gradually sub sided into a calm feeling of security as time glided on, and no indication of his resentment had assailed their peaceful home. True, the fiery dog had expiated his fault by death, and the conviction that Indian vindictive ness had been instrumental in his destruction, served for a time to awaken anew the anxieties and fears that had at first tortured her. He had been kept closely chained, and rigidly guard ed for weeks; his forfeited life spared, as a pro tection to the family, in their remote and isola ted position. As a close prisoner, ho boro his punishment angrily, and he chafed and fretted under the galling bondage. One morning he slipped his chain, and found his way out into his old range, the woods; as night drew on he returned home, and staggered to the feet of his master, where, with blood-shot eye and foaming mouth, with swollen and pro truding tongue, lie lay before him in strong con vulsions—a few gasps—a few convulsive shud ders —a quivering of the extended limbs—a be seeching glance from the intelligent eye of the poor animal, and all was over. A suspicion of poison immediately flashed across the mind of Mr. Moreland, and aroused afresh his appre hension of the unforgiving red man, whose ven geance never sleeps, never is satiated. Fear lest his merciless foe should molest his family in a treacherous and secret revenge, tortured him for sometime with a ceaseless anxiety. With the exception of this little incident, their lives glided on with calm and peaceful flow.— Mr. Moreland engaged in his pursuit of planting, and the gentle mistress and mother finding but few idle moments in her busy, but quiet life.— The training of her little Aliene, the care of her infant, the gentle discipline of her household— her presence there essentially a silent, unseen, but all pervading influence—was the happy oc cupation of her simple and devoted nature. The patter of her little girl’s feet followed her in her daily round of domestic engagements, through garden and grounds, through dairy and poultry yard, and her sweet companionship whiled away the long summer noons, in her husband’s ab sence, with a charming sense of refreshment and happiness. The conscientious young mother fondly believed that the subtle influence of ex ample and the mild teachings from loved lips, would make every movement, every lesson in her young child’s life, the seed-time of future good. She would sit within the shaded and pleasant rooms of her spacious dwelling in the long sum mer days, her little girl at her side, with toy, or book, or in awkward attempts of miniature wo manhood, drawing in her baby hands the glanc ing needle, in playful rivalship to ths gliding fingers of her more expert mother, —or romping in noisy glee with the little sister of a few months, whose soft cooing, in the innocent and inexpressible joy of infancy, fell like music on the ear of the happy mother. As twilight deepened into the soft calm of peaceful night, she would lay to sleep the young est treasure of her nursery, and taking her first born in her arms, she would point to the starry worlds above, that twinkled with a trembling lustre, or beamed with steady brilliance, and teach her of that Almighty Power who reigns, and rules, and loves. In rapt fervor, with holy thoughts, and with meek and trusting faith, she would commend her to the care that never fail eth, to the love that never forsaketh the humble and seeking spirit. When the short bright days of winter allowed, Mrs. Moreland would tie on her little girl’s warm hood, and with her young sable attendant stroll out into the woods that adjoined their home, be neath the glittering crystals that sparkled with a thousand varying hues, as they hung pendant from the bare limbs of the stripped trees. Aliene often amused herself gathering the fallen nuts that lay scattered under the large hickory trees, or bounding along over rustling leaves and froz en ground, her dark eyes beaming, her soft cheek glowing, and her red lip smiling in the pleasure and excitement of exercise. As evening closed in, it was a pleasant and comfortable sight to look in on the little group that gathered round the social fireside; the bright firelight, dancing with cheerful glow upon the happy faces of the clustered circle—Mrs. Moreland, with her small white fingers flitting nimbly over the little embroidered garment, the lamp light falling upon the glossy bands of dark hair, that lay folded above her serene brow— the steam from the hissing urn rising in wreaths through the room—the large logs blazing brightly, and shedding a red and flickering gleam upon the snowy cloth, and the plain, but massive sil ver tea service—Mr. Moreland, in a large and rest-inviting chair opposite, a book lying closed beside him, while on his knee sat the prattling little Aliene, volubly recounting her day’s pas time, and running her roving little fingers through the clustering locks that swept above his manly brow. The happy wife and mother, as she sat oppo site, working so noiselessly, and casting ever and anon loving glances to the cherished objects of her heart, would, in fulness of feeling, raise her grateful thoughts to Him whose mercy had pro vided for her happiness, in calm seclusion, in domestic activity, and in maternal duty. She sent no distrustful thoughts forth into the future, but resting peacefully in her happy present, her influence, like the rays of a beautiful star, stretched out its beams with a hallowing ra diance over the sacred precincts of Home. [to be continued.] PRESIDENTS OF FRANKLIN COLLEGE. Franklin College, located at Athens, Clarke county, is the oldest Institution in the State. It was endowed by the Legislature as early as 1789, but did not go into operation until 1801. Mr. Josiah Meigs was elected as the first Presi dent. At the time of his election Mr. Meigs was Professor of Nat. Philosophy and Astrono my in Yale College. Mr. Meigs resigned in 1811, and Dr. Kollock was elected. He declined and Dr. Brown, Pro fessor in Columbia College, S. C., was chosen. He continued as President until 1816, when he resigned. Dr. Finley, of New Jersey was next selected. He accepted, and the prospects of the Institution began to give hopes of success, when his sudden death caused to waver the resolution of its best friends. Rev. S. S. Beman was select ed to fill the vacancy, but declined. In 1819, Dr. Moses AA'addel was elected. He is known by reputation to the whole South. Dr. Waddel resigned in 1829, and Dr. Alonzo Church, the present incumbent, was elected. Dr. Church lias resigned, though his successor has not as yet been elected. Statistics of Mormon Population. —The I 'alley Tan contains the following statistics of Mormon population: The population of Mor mons in the United States and British dominions, in 1855, was not less than 68,700, of which 38,000 were resident in Utah, 5,000 in New. York State, 4,000 in California, 5,000 in Nova Scotia and the Canadas, and 9,000 in South America. In Europe, there were 36,000, of which 32,900 were in Great Britain and Ireland, 5,000 in Scandinavia, 2,000 in Germany and Switzerland, and in France and the rest of Eu rope, 1,000; in Australia and Polynesia, 2,400; in Africa, 100; and on travel, 2,800. To these, if we add the different branches, in cluding Strangeites, Rigdonites, and Whiteites, the whole sect was not less than 126,000. In 1856, there appears to have been a decrease in the population of Utah —the number being only 31,022, of which 9,000 were children, about 11,000 women, and 11,000 men capable of bear ing arms. There are 2,388 men with eight or more wives; of these, 13 have more than nine teen wives; 730 men with five wives; 1,100 with four wives, and 2,400 with more than one wife. Recapitulation—4,6l7 men, with about 16,500 wives! —— The origin of the Methodist Society took place in the following manner, at Oxford College, Eng land, in 1729 : ‘ After the Revolution,” says an authority, “when the principles of religious tol eration were recognized amid the progress of free inquiry, the clergy of the English Church were thought by some to have sunk into a state of comparative lukewarmness and indifference. This alleged degeneracy was observed with pajn by John AVesley and his brother Charles, when students at the University of Oxford; and being joined by a few of their fellow students who were intended for the ministry in the Established Church, they formed the most rigid and severe rules for the regulation of their time and their studies, for reading the Scriptures, for self-exam ination, and other religious exercises. The ar dent piety and rigid observance of system in everything connected with the new opinions dis played by the Wesleys and their adherents, as in their college studies, which they never ne glected, attracted the notice and excited the jeers of the various members of the University, and gained for them the appellation of the Meth odists, in allusion to the Methodoei, a class of physicians at Rome, who practiced only by theory.” m Jews in America.— From a lecture de livered by Dr. Morris J. Franklin, in Provi dence, recently and reported in the Provi dence Evening Press, we gather some facts in relation to the Jews in the United States. The Jews in this country, the speaker said, now number about 200,000. In New York city alone there are 40,000. The attention of the Jews in Europe is turned towards America, on account of the persecution to which they are subjected in somo countries on the continent, and a rapid increase of their numbers here may be expect ed by immigration. Many Jews in this country are occupying prominent and influential posi tions in politics and business. Messrs. Yulee and Benjamin, of the U. S. Senate, and Messrs. Zollicoffer, Oliver, Phillips, and Hart, of the National House of Representatives, are num bered among the children of Abraham. Instead of reading the Scriptures in the Hebrew tongue, understood only as the Rabbi interprets it, many now use the English version. This class have introduced many reforms into their mode of worship—they now have their choirs, their or gans, and their Sabbath Schools. The Hebrew Christians, the converted Jews, in this country, number three or four hundred, and of this num ber nearly one hundred are engaged in preaching the Gospel of Christianity, or in a course of study preparatory to doing so. Baptist Convention of the State of Geor gia, 1859.—We give a summaiy of the “Statis tical table of the denomination in Georgia :” Summary. —Number of associations, 64 ; number of churches, including eighty-nine in adjacent States, 1406; number of members, in cluding three thousand one hundred and forty four in adjacent States, 93,457; number baptised last year, 7,759 ; number of ordained ministers, 769 ; number of licentiates, 211; gain in mem bership, compared with previous year, 7,665 ; amount contributed for missions, as far as re ported in the minutes of associations and con ventions, $19,487.02. Protestantism in France. —Mr. Guizot pre sided recently at the yearly meeting of the French Protestant Bible Society in Paris. In his address he said that in 1858 sixty, and in 1859 fifty, Protestant parishes had incorporated themselves with the Society, and only a few re mained strangers to it. The receipts had risen from 37,000 to 45,000 francs; and whereas, in 1855-56, only 7,000 Bibles had been distributed, 13,000 had been distributed in 1858-59. More Camels. —Some more camels, says the Civilian, of Galveston, are coming to Texas. The importation now expected is to be made from the valley of the upper Mongolia. They are stronger than any other kind of camels, and are accustomed to the severest kind of hardships. They are to enter the United States via San Francisco.