Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

The little Frock. A common light blue muslin frock Is hanging on the wall, But no one in the household now Can wear a dress so small v The sleeves a,re both turned inside out. And tell of summer wear; They seem to wait the owner’s hands Which last year hung them there. 'Twas at the children’s festival Her Sunday dress was soiled— You need not turn it fl'om the fight— To me it is not spoiled! A sad and yet a pleasant thought Is to the spirit told, By this dear, little, rumpling thing, With dust in every fold. j Why should men woep that to their homo j An Angel love is given— Or that, before them, she is gone To blessedness in Heaven. Spiting #lin. The Pleasures of Elephant Hunting. In the newly published London work, entitled the “ Rifle and Hound in Ceylon/’ we find an exciting and in teresting description of elephant hunt ing, derived from the personal expe rience of the author, Mr. S. W. Baker. /U one time, as Mr. Baker was wander ing with his brother among the mighty ruins of .by-gone palaces which are strewn over the island of Ceylon, he found himself in the immediate vicinity of two elephants, upon whose destruc tion he unhesitatingly determined.— The elephants retreated to a jungle, and while he was deliberating upon a prop er mode of procedure, he suddenly heard a deep guttural sound in the thick rattan, and the same instant the whole tangled mass burst asunder with in four feet of the spot -where he was standing, and he saw the furious head of an elephant in full charge upon him. I had barely time to cock my rifle, and the barrel almost touched him as I fired. I knew it -was in vain, as his trunk was raised. B. fired his right hand barrel at the same moment with out effect, and from the same cause. I jumped on one side, and attempted to spring through the deep mud ; it was of no use ; the long grass entan gled my feet and in another instant I lay sprawling in the enraged elephant's path within a foot of him. * In that moment of suspense I expected to hear the crack of my own bones, as his massive foot would be upon me. It was an atom of time. I heard the crack of a gun ; it was B’s last barrel. I felt a spongy weight strike my heel, and turning quickly heels over head, I rolled a few paces and regained my feet. That last shot had floored him, just as he was upon me; the end of his trunk had fallen upon my heel. Still he was not dead, but struck at me with his trunk as I passed round his head to give him a finisher with the four-ounce rifle which I had snatched • i from our solitary gun-bearer.” But of all the adventures related by Mr. Baker, the following is of the most thrilling interest. He had discovered in a large plain, which was covered with huge lemon grass to a height of ten or twelve feet, a herd of ten ele phants, and in company with his broth er had shot five of them. We give the story in his own language: “I had one barrel still loaded, and I was pushing my way the tan gled grass towards the spot where the five elephants lay together, when I suddenly heard Wallace shriek out, ■‘Look out, sir ! Look out!—an ele phant’s coming!’ “I.turned round in a moment; and , close past Wallace, from the very spot . where the last dead elephant lay, came the very essence and incarnation of a ! rougue’ elephant in full charge. His trunk was thrown high in the air, his ears were cocked, his tail stood high above his back as stiff as a poker, and, screaming exactly like the whilstle of a railway engine, he rushed upon ,me through the high grass with a ve locity that was perfectly wonderful.— ,His eyes flashed as he came on, and he, had singled me out as his victim. I have often been in dangerous po sitions, but I never felt so totally de void of hope as I did in this instance. The tangled grass rendered retreat im possible. I had one barrel loaded, and that was useless, as the upraised trunk protected his forehead. I felt myself doomed; the few thoughts that rush through men’s minds in such hopeless positions flew through mine, and I resolved to wait for him till he was close upon me be fore I fired, hoping that he might low er his trunk and expose his forehead. He rushed along at the pace of a horse in full speed; in a few moments, as the grass flew to the right and left before him, he was close upon me, but still his trunk was raised and I would not fire. One second more, and at Jfctis.headlong pace he was within three of W j and own Wd I run!; with the rapidity of a whip-thong, and with a shrill scream of fury he ; was upon me. ' I fired at that instant, but in the twinklingof an eye I. wasflying through the air like a bat. At the moment of firing, I had jumped to the left, but be struck me with his tusk in full ! charge upon my right thigh, and hurled me eight or ten paces from him. That very moment he stopped, and turning round, he beat the grass about with his trunk, and commenced strict search for me. I heaj"d him advancing close to the spot where I lay still as death, knowing that my last chance lay in concealment. I heard the grass rust ! ling close to the spot where I lay ; I closer and closer he approached, and ! he at length beat the grass with his trunk several times exactly above me. ! i held my breath, momentarily expect ! ing to feel his ponderous foot upon me.. Although I had not felt the sen sation of fear while I had stood oppos ed to him, I felt like what I never wish to feel again while he Avas deliberately hunting me up. Fortunately I had re served my fire until the rifle had al most touched him, and had spoiled his acute power of scent. To my joy I heard the rustling of the grass grow fainter; again 1 heard it at a still great er distance; at length it Avas gone.” Utisttllaiifjns. FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS. MY UNCLE SIMON’S PLANTATION. OR SKETCHES OF SOUTHERN LIFE, &C. BY ABRAHAM GOOSEQUILL, Esq. INTRODUCTION —COTTON. “I take the liberty to communicate to the public a few loose thoughts.”— Goldsmith. “.The South, opulent in the mimic snow of the cotton.” — Grimke. It lias been said, that we of the South are so given to the culture of cotton, that Ave cannot find time to cultivate letters or anything else. I haA’e often thought, if there Avas any spot in the Avorld Avhich nature 'designed for the culture of literature, it was the South: ern States, Avhere we enjoy such a pure and beautiful sky, and such a genial climate, Avith so many beautiful moun tains, and streams, and singing birds. I have further thought that if litearture had a peculiar claim upon any class of men in the Avide Avorld, it Avas upon our Southern Planters. They.enjoy all the advantages of position mentioned above, and, in addition to these, they have the leisure to sound the depths of immortal mind, and the Avealth to gi\~e them the means of doing so. Last ly, I have thought that if any people on earth ought to be happy, it is avc of the South, who are surrounded Avith so many advantages promotive of happi ness, besides those I have mentioned. The Southern planter, in many res pects, bears a considerable resemblance to the ancient English Baron, surround ed by his liege-subjects, all dependent upon him for whatever they have of happiness or unhappiness. His slaves look to him as their ]#3tector, and re gard him as their benefactor. Many are the near and dear ties which are formed betAveen master and servant, and especially between the children of the planter, and old and faithful slaves. I remember Avith Avhat love and vener ation I used to regard some of my fath er’s grey-headed negroes, as they dand led “ young master ” upon, their knee, and uftered Avords of kindness Avhich thrilled through my heart as no other words ever did, save those of my be loved parents. I remembered too, that in after years, Avhen I had groAvn to be a youth, and these old slaves came to lie doAvn upon the bed of death, I stood by them with father, mother, brothers, and sisters, and gave them all the as sistance that could be given in the sol emn hour of dissolution. And, Avhen the breath had left their sable bosoms, I remember that their differnce from me, in color, did not prevent my fol loAving them to the tomb, there to min gle my tears with those of others as a tribute of gratitude to the fidelity of my departed friends. Yes, I call them friends, for I felt at the time, and still feel, that they were such friends as are rarely to be found this side of the grave. I have mentioned these thing mere ly to give an idea of the relations groAv ing up upon plantations. There are many and various others, which may suggest themselves to the reader.— Those who are familiar with our South ern manners and customs, Avill know them, and those who aro not, can form an idea, Avhen I tell them that the gov ernment of the plantation has some of the features of a primitive patriarchy. I shall endeavor to give in short sketches some glimpses of Southern life. There is one great fault to be charged upon the Southern people, and that is, that we are so engrossed Avith cotton that we can enjoy but few of the luxu ries which nature so bounteously lavished upon ns. The reason of this is obvious—it js the spirit of avarice Avhich so universally fills the bosoms of mankind. Our principal, indeed 4* most our ogly staple, which Ave turn into money ,is cotton. Therefore, eve ry one is. eager to make as much of that artieje possible, and consequent ly plants lo much of it that everything else is neglected for its sake. The consequence is, that our land, Avliose virgin fertility is surpassed but by lit tle in the Avorld, is impoverished on account of that neglect of rotation in crops which is essential to its produc tiveness, and on account of its imperfect culture. Os course, as all of our, time is devoted to cotton, there is not that air of comfort and neatness about our houses, and fences, and plantations generally, that is to be found in other parts of the Avorld, and we do not have the gardens, the fruiteries, the parter res and other tilings Avhich please the senses, and give refinement to the soul. Our habit of cultivating cotton in a careless Avay has brought on habits of carelessness in other things. A phys ical cause has produced moral results. — Most of our derelictions in an educa tional, literary, religious and political point of vieAv are to be traced to cot ton. Do Ave refuse to send our child ren to school, or to college, as much as avc should an d excuse is that the Avorm has devoured a good portion of our cotton, and the remainder does not command such a price as would warrant the expense attendent upon our sons and daughters going to the academy or the seminary. Doe3 cot ton bear such a price as to induce us to send our young hopefuls Avhere they may study, they must go at it Avith all their might and main, and cultivate the field of intellect as Ave cultivate the field of cotton. They must commence to study by day-light in the morning, keep it up until the sun refuse to give light, and then, forsooth, the taper must suply its place, and shed its light upon the page on Avhich the young student has kept his eye until his head and heart have played Captain Cook, and circumnavigated the globe three times, if not more. Besides this, the genius Avhom Ave call our child, is not to have his mental poAvers cramped by confining his mind to one, or two, or three studies. Not lie! lie must learn all things at one time, from the alphabet to Gunter’s scale; and really the transition from Noah Webster’s wisdom comprised in liis Orthography, to that of Plato exhibited in bis Gor dias, is so rapid as to induce the suppo sition in an unsophisticated mind, that there is a kind of invisible electro-mag netic telegraph at the South for the transmission of knoAvledge from pate to pate. Another reason, besides the youth’s genius, for pursuing so many studies at one time, is that cotton may soon fall again, and he must learn eve ry thing Avhile the article is “ up!” Does one propose to establish a liter ary journal at the South ? It is a toler ably good thing, and only tolerably so, provided cotton bears a good price—if not, nothing is Avorse! And Avho among us can afford to Avrite articles for Gazettes or Magazines ? It is be neath our diginity —Ave the knights of the cotton bag. Let us leave such low things as literature to yankee pedago gues and itinerant book-sellers! And moreover, your magazine and belles letters journal don’t say a word about the Liverpool cotton market, or the prices current in Savannah or Charles ton. Give us a literature built up up on cotton, and Ave Avill be the most literary people in the world. Do Ave hold a camp-meeting ? It must be when it Avill not interfere Avith the cultivation of our great staple, and Avhen Ave attend such a meeting avc must “get religion ” as avc plough and hoe cotton. We must get together a crowd of men, Avomen and children, and puff', blow, grunt, groan, sing, shout and SAveat — and the more noise Ave make, and the bigger hurry we are in, the better. Why ? That Aveunay get through, and go home to attend to our cotton! Does a stump-speaker mount the rostrum? The burthen of his song is cotton. The Democrat says, Pierce raised the price; the Whig says Pierce loAveredit! Happy is the party that chanches to be in power at the time of a rise in the price of cotton, and avo ! infinite too, to the party to whom fate has been so cruel as to produce a depression in Liverpool, in the cotton market, during its ascendan cy ! Does a man give a feast and invite his friends? It must be at a time when their horses are not too busily en gaged ploughing: the cotton fields, or they must stay at home for tho very good reason that the carraige owns the supremacy of vis iruirtice, and can’t car ry them to their neighbors banquet hall, being, in the absence of horses, desti tute of motive power. In short, I can't express my views any further and bet ter than by sim ply writing cotton! cot ton ! I cotton !!! COTTON!!!! But after all there are a good many farmers who live as men should do, and there is nothing which strikes my mind with more pjeasure than a well regulated Southern farm. There is the plantation of my good unde Simon, fop instance, on I nows Jive, which is Conducted j ust as ft should be. My Avorthy relative, its proprietor, is a good-hearted, Avhole-SQuled old fellow, just the man above all others, I h?ye him, and his plantation and the inmates of his house. But I must waiye description here. — Other numbers Avill be full of it, and I must crave your kind indulgence, dear reader, lor breaking off so suddenly, lest I have to ask your pardon for writ ing an introduction of too great length. A hint in regard to my purpose. I intend to give you some sketches of my uncle Simon and his plantation.— My design will more fully develope itself as I proceed. Ido not Avish to make any rash promises for fear of breaking them, and therefore I am, like the politicians of the day, mon-commit tal. The honesty of heart which ought to influence every author, compells me to say that Mr? Geoffry Crayon’s Brace bridge Hall, suggested to me the idea of “sketching” some particulars in re gard to ray uncle Simon’s plantation.— I hope the good old gentleman Avill not be so lost to self-respect as to accuse me of plagiarism. Hoping the same of my readers, I am respectfully their obedient servant, ABRAHAM GOOSEQUILL. FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS. Paragraphs ail lAb: Original and Selected. BY GLEANER. The American Revieav and Amer icanisms.—The American Revieiv, in an article on Americanisms , speaks of “ Co-m-hunts ” at the South. What does it mean by this ? Going on farther it says, “the Yankee calculates , while the Southron allows .” This is a mistake. The Southron rarely uses the word al lows in the sense here attached to it.— But the Review continues, and tells us that the parallel of the Yankee expres sion ‘wouldn’t Avonder,’ is, at the South, “go his, (my,) death upon it.” All im agination. The parallel expression is, “shouldn’t be surprised,” The article in question is interesting—perhaps none the less so from the fictions Avith Avhich it abounds. The Literary World, &c., —The Literary World of Oct. 4th, 1851, in commenting upon “Poetry of Observa tion and other Poems, by William As bury Kenyon” says: “We think he would ha\ r c done better to have follow ed the New England standard for po ems of this description, in elaborate and polished rhyme.” I understand the 1 Vorld very delicately to insinuate that New England poetry is remarka ble for little else than elaborate and polished rhyme. But it is also true that the World itself has rather too much of the elaborate knd polish about it to be conducive to force and poAver. The productions of that Journal are Addisonian in the Avorst sense of the term. They have much of the elabo rateness and finish of the Spectator with out its sparkle or vivacity. Dr’s. Grisavold and Hart. —The former Doctor , as appears from the Oc tober, (1851,) number of the Interna tional Magazine , is in quite a rage Avith. the latter for having presumed to com pile a Avork called 11 The Female Prose Writers of America.''’ Griswold consid ers his own peculiar province invaded and therefore pronounces his rival’s book “beneath criticism.” Having made this announcement, he goes on to criticise it, notAvithstanding, and says, among other things, “We have scarce ly e\’er seen so melancholy an illustra tion of incompetence for a task volun tarily assumed.” Dr. Hart might re tort, and tell Dr. Grisavold that it might be true, as we have not the gift “To 3ee ourselves as others see us.” But I am not seeking to judge be tAveen the lavo L. L. D’s, as I have not seen Hart’s book. In a court of litera ture the case might be docketed thus: — R. W. Grisavold vs. John S. Hart — Trespass vi et armis queere clausum fregit. Where I am not Avell acquainted with the facts of the case, too much malice and spleen on the part of the Plaintiff are apt to excite my sympathy for the Defendant. Really I think Dr. Gris avold too savage by nine tenths against an author, Avhose only crime for aught I knoAV, may be that lie has compiled a book of American authors —a pro vince which GrisAvold considers pecu liarly his own. Snobs.-I don’t knoAV Avhether Thack eray has said so, or not: —but it is nev ertheless true, that the best evidence of a man’s being a Snob, is his eternal ly endeavoring to show that he is not one. Cicero and Jackson.—l never think of Cicero’s conduct towards Catiline, Avithout contrasting Avith it what Avould have been Jackson’s course, had he been in the Roman Con sul’s place. To suppress the conspira tor, Tully and his colleague had ob tained a Senatus consultum , by which they Avere appointed dictators Avith power to put any one to death, without atrial, a ut ne quid detrimenti respublica caperet .” The American, instead of say ing, like the Roman, to Catiline, “ Ad mortem ta, (Jatilinu , dud jussu consulis , jampridcm would have substituted, the act for the ought, arid the wiley ccraspirator’s neck would have paid the Forfeit of his treason.— Instead of saying, in reference to the punishment he would have inflicted up on Catiline, that he was afraid lest u quisquam crudelius factum esse dicatf he would have said, “By the Eternal, I’ll hang the traitor on a gallows high as Hainan’s, in spite of every mob he can raise from Dan to Beersheba!” Susceptibility of Children. —Im- agination in Children, is so strong that they feel as certain of things they im agine ’as though they really exis ted. A little child of three or four years old will come in the house, and assure his mamma that he has just rid den old Dobbin to tow iff and back. This is not because ho intends to tell a false hood, but becase he really imagines that he has done what he says he has. Per haps he has been astride of a cane, and has gone to some location in the yard which he has named town ; and the story which he tells mamma has its foundation in this. As probably as not, he has not even so good a basement as this upon which to build his imag ined journey. Perhaps he has only willed to ride old Dobbin to town. llis dear papa does this, and, having an ar dent desire to do like his father, this desire produces the same impression upon his plastic mind as the act itself does upon that of his parent. The man actually rides the horse to town, and he has a consciousness of having gone to town, on the horse, according to his ideas of riding a steed, and of town. — His idea or conception is this —that the horse is an animal, in riding which, he will save himself from the fatigue of walking, though he will be jolted in a peculiar way by backing the steed — that town is a place consisting of many houses, people, &c., where he goes for the transaction of business, or for plea sure. As the man performs the act of riding to town according to his concep tion of that act, so does the child, ac cording to his. The conception of the latter’s mind in regard to the horse is that it is something of which one gets astride, and which moves along after it is is mounted. Ilis conception of town is a mere location, to which one on horse back rides. Now when he mounts his cane, it is true that the cane does not move of itself, yet he drags it along, and imagines that it is proceeding in dependently of himself. He knows that he is astride of it, and his imagi nation lays him under the conviction that it moves. Thus his idea of horse is realized, and it is in vain for you to attempt to show him that he does not ride Dobbin. In order to change his belief; you must first change liis idea. Tell him that a horse is an animal, and that what he rides is not, and therefore not a horse; this does not alter his opinion because the word animal does not convey any new idea to him. He does not know what you mean by an imal. Talk to him about his imagina*. ry steed’s not saving him from fatigue, and not jolting him in the peculiar manner of a horse—this does no good, for he does not know what fatigue and jolting mean. So when you try to persuade him that the location to which he goes is not town, you fail, because that location represents his idea of town —that is, it represents a place to which one rides on horseback. Now he firmly believes that he has gone there on horseback, and this be ing the only requisite, in his little mind, of a town, he is persuaded that the place to which he has gone is, indeed, a town. Don’t tell him that houses and people, &c., are wanted to consti tute the tow'n —he knows nothing about these, and therefore they cannot change his mind. He has his idea of horse , riding , and town , and when he has mounted his cane, and dragged it to a certain place, he has as much conscious ness of having ridden to town on a horse as his father has, who has actually per formed the act. At another time, in deed, when his mind is not wholly absorbed with one idea, he will npt mistake the cane for a horse. When he sees it in his father’s hand, for in stance, he will then say that it is a cane, and not a horse. What his papa uses in walking, constitutes his idea of cane, and, under the circumstances, he will not call it a horse, because neith er he, nor any one else, is astride of it. Therefore it is not in such a position as to represent his.idea of horse. Now he will never take a horse for a cane, be cause the horse can never be put in such a position as will serve to repre sent his idea of cane. Even supposing his father could take a horse, and use him as he would a cane, the child would not mistake the horse so used for a ca>te, because his mind would not be so absorbed with the one idea that a cane is something papa uses in walking, as to be unmindful of the several things which consti tute the horse. There would not be that ardent desire, that all-absorbing volition, that metamorphosing plea sure, to change the horse into the cane, that there was to change the cane into the horse. Fn passant, the cause of nil the differences of opinion in this’ world is our different ideas and conceptions. Most If us, in one thpfm- another, are like the child which mistakes the cane for the horse. We have our ideas of things, and when those ideas are we become over-certain and dogmatical, unmind ful that others heve different ideas which are as fully represented as our own, and that therefore they are as certain —they possess the same con sciousness—that they are right, and w e are wrong, as we do that we are right, and they are wrong. We see the principle I have illustra ted with regard to children exemplified every day. Barents arc often surpris ed, sometimes vexed or grieved, at what they think are falsehoods in very young children. By being Getter ac quainted with the philosophy the op erations —of the mind they would know that their children did not intend to misrepresent, but to state things as they had produced conviction on their minds. A remarkable instance of the suscep tibilily of the infant mind came under my observation the other da}*. A gen tleman had given his little grand-son Willie, three or four years of age, an illustrated history of “Children in the Wood.” At the same time he showed him the pictures, and explained to him the history. A little negro girl, of sev en or eight years, was standing by, and listened with a great deal of interest. At her first opportunity, she got the book, and, taking Willie off, recounted the history to him in her own way. There was ;so much more naivete in her manner of Relating the tale than in the old gentleriian’s that Willie was moved to tears, ark coming to me with his lips and chin quivering, begged me, in faltering accents, to shoot those bad men who were going to kill the little boys. His little heart fairly ached with sym pathy, and In order to deprive his sus ceptibile bosom of the pain of pity, I directed his mind to something else, and his tears were soon chased away by smiles. But every now and then I could see a fitful shadow cast its gloom around liis'thoughtful brow, and some word would escape his lips about the poor little boys. Such was the suscep tibility of h|s heart, and mind that, for the moment, his feelings were much more intense than would lie those of a grown up man at beholding a real ruf fian about tqmurder an innocent babe. Southern Mishaps. The Gcneijal Conference holds its ses sions in the Nethodist Church, which is very spaciotjs and commodious. The Episcopal Bfard, consisting of Bishops Soule, Andrew, Capers and Paine, are all present. They occupy seats with in the altar, knd alternately preside.— On their leftpsits the able erudite, and facetious DrJ Summers, the popular Secretary, and his worthy assistant, Mr. Irwin. Tre face and voice of Dr. S. is an excellent antidote for asperi ty of temper ,nd words. Grouped a-ound and near the altar, are the more enerable members of the body. Conspicuous among these, are the veneratec forms of the Bev. Drs. Pierce, Winais and Early; and the Bev. Messrs, flrouch and McMahon.— A large majority of the Conference is composed of lien who have passed the meridian of h man life. Dr. Soule is the senior Bishop. Al though burde: ed with the weight of more than time-score years and ten, his form is still erect, and his step firm. Hisyntellectualpowers seem unimpair ed. Ilis liearig, sight and voice are gradually failifg, } 7 et his enunciation is clear and distfict. In height, he is about six feet, irith a square and well knit frame, admirably suited to the toils and bar ships of an intinerant life, which he as endured for half a century. His lair is quite luxuriant and less grey t m is usual with men of his advance( age. With character istic dignity, In occasionally addresses a few pointed aid pertinent remarks to the Conferei :e, and the deep and solemn cadene<; of his voice always elicit profoun attention. His eye brows are rem; kably heavy and over hanging, and v ten excited by the in spiration of his heme, the large blue eyes beneath, g >w with fires of other and by-gone ye -s. Bishop Soule s very properly re garded by all with profound and pious veneratio When he shall be gathered to his i thers, it will be long ere the Churcl will look upon his like again. He was consecrated Bish op in 1824. Next to Bishc Soule, in age and Episcopal senior y is Bishop Andrew. His character, i ough somewhat dif ferent, is scarce! less marked. Like his senior associa , he has a liberal en downmentof cc imon sense, and is eminently a pra ical man, as every Bishop ought to >e. Os humble but highly respectal * ancestry, by the force and energy if his character—by his well directed fforts in the vine yard of Christ, h has made an indeli ble impression i on the genius and polity of Souther Methodism, as salu tary as it must be in during. There is npthing remarkable r„ ’ | striking in the personal appearance y Bishop Andrew. He is about five fe et j ten inches high—has a full, open, good natured face, a mild blue eye, and what phrenologists would style an in tellectual and well harmonized head, He is emphatically a strong peeachei and as a descriptive writer, has few superiors. His manners are free and i easy, and in his toilet there is an entir. absence of excessive, fastidiousness.- He would pass anywhere for a good republican citizen. Few men know the i masses better—few are better qualified j to work out their moral and intellec ual elevation. His fine social qualities ] make his companionship most genial ’ and refreshing. Under the late severe mental and bodily afflictions in addi tion to arduous ministerial labor, his l once robust constitution begins to show j, marks of decay, though his age can not exceed sixty years. He was elect ed Bishop in 1832. Next in Episcopal seniority is Bish op Capers, who was set apart to that office in 1846, after the formation of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Asa finished and ready pulpit orator the reputation of Bishop Capers is not confined alone to this continent. In his palmy days, multitudes everywhere thronged Ins ministrations, and hung with admiration and delight upon his eloquent discoursings. With a most captivating personate —a fair, ruddy complexion, dark, liquid eyes, glowing 1 with the fires of a holy enthusiasm, voice soft and musical, and over and! above all, a heart full of love to God and man, it is not surprising that he I should be everywhere greeted with af- 3 section and admiration. Nor is liisi popularity confined to his own church. Cultivating a charity which “hopetli § all things,” he has always been a great 1 favorite with other denominations. Bishop Capers is in his 65th year.— His. head is quite bald, and the few j locks of hair remaining, are perfectly 1 white. He is about five feet eight inch- | es in height. lie entered the ministry if at the age of eighteen, and notwith standing posts of honor and emolument have frequently been tendered him, lie has steadily, and faithfully*, and suc cessfully devoted himself to the labor.- and sacrifices of an itinerant life. To him, American Methodism is largeh indebted for her present proud ana commanding position. Bishop Paine, is the junior of his three associates. In age he is little f over 50, rather stout built, about liw feet ten or eleven inches high, and ver. prepossessing in his manners. Her * minds one of the Hon. C. J. Jenkins, lie possesses, I should think, great de cision of character, and is an exeelleii! presiding officer. Asa preacher, hi.- f style is clear, deliberate and forcible He uses but feyv of the graces of ora tory, but is occasionally eloquent and overpowering. He was elected Bishop in 1850.— Southern Recorder. Chiton. Beautiful Instance at Faith. A touching incident was- related to us, a short time since, of a little boy six years old, who had early been taught to pray to his Heavenly Fath er. He had been told that this Fath er w'atched over all his people, and listened to the prayers of every little child. He had been away during the sum mer, with his parents, to a lonely farm house by the sea side, where lie had no young companions. About three quarters of a mile distant, resided an other family, Avhere there were child ren, who came occasionally to play with him, and he soon learned the way to their home. But the road was very lonely, across a marsh; no house was near. Not un til just before they left the sea shore, did the mother discover the loneliness and danger of this road, which the child had so often crossed in safety. At some seasons, it was almost impass able, owing to the sunken holes, con cealed by the grass, and the nature of the soil. After his return to the city, lie was playing in the room with his mother, and suddenly looking up from his toys, with a serious, solemn expression of countenance, he said: “Mamma, 1 always prayed to God when I went over from grand-father’s to Mr. Smith’s.” “Why did you pray then, mv child?” “ Because it was so lonesome, mam ma, and I was all alone.” “ What did you pray to God for, dearest?” “ That he would take care of me, mamma, and keep all the snakes away, and ugly beasts, and wild men, and he did , mamma!” “ Is it not told that angels tread, Softly, around our childrens’ bed— Guard all their footsteps-guard from ill— From birth to death, are with them still, And with the mourning parents stay, When He who giveth, takes away? ” Did not this little child possess faith —pure, undoubted? “Except ye be come as little children, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven.” Jenny Lind gave her third concert at Vienna on the Bth ultimo