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is nmr nss. -i turner, editor. | Mlfclilji 0111118.1 :—©eljottif to 'l’ltcrata, |olittcs, lielipit anir Agriraltm. (terms, *2,00 a year. VOLUME I. THU INDEPENDENT PRESS. rublished every Saturday Morning. r m ' ma: ■«, vbw* TWO DOLLARS per annum :—in advance to all not residing in the County. Jlates of Advertising.— Legal advertisements inserted on the following terms; Letters of Citation, $2 50 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 00 Application for leave to sell land or negroes, 400 •Sale of Personal Property, by Executors, Administrators or Guardians, 3 50 ‘Sale of Lands or Negroes, by same, 5 00 Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 50 Yearly Advertisements —Professional and •business cards, measuring twelve lines or less, will Im inserted at Twelve Dollars. Other Advertisements will be charged $1 OP •ter ever*.’ t we’ve lines or less, for first insertion, and •50 cts. for evdry weekly continuance. Advertisements, not having the number of hr sercions marked upon them, will be published till forbid, and charged accordingly. Job Printing of every kind escorted with neat ness and despatch on reasonable terms. Op YH K INDEPENDENT PRESS. r pSTF INDEPENDENT PRESS is published 1 weekly in Eatonton, Ga., at the price 0f52,00 per annum, invariably in advance ; except where the subscriber resides in the county. As its name indicates, it is designed to be entire lv independent, being governed alone by such rules as decency, gentlemanliness and good morals im • ise own every press. It hopes not, however, to mistake licentiousness for liberty, nor scurrillous ncss for independence.. Its politics are Democratic—of the school of Jefferson, Madison and Jackson. It, however, is subject to no party discipline which would compel its Editor to sacrifice truth and honor in behalf of l.is political associates. He will speak what he thinks. One distinctive feature of this press is that it idlowfl and invites a discussion in its columns of all subjects whatever, proper to form reading mat tei for the popular mind. Communications from political opponents are admitted upon the same terms as communications from political friends. — It is required of both, that they make their arteil e- brief to the point, and free from personality 1 all illiberal feeling. Religious questions, as -.ceil as political, and others, may be discussed. Much of the attention of this press is devoted 11 Literature and Miscellany. It is not entirely tilled with political wrangling and party strife.— j in addition to its literary and miscellaneous matter, j it contains articles on Agriculture, Ac. And as Georgians and Southern people generally are fond of field sports, this subject also aids in filling the columns of this paper. Whatever can add to the prosperity of Georgia, and aid in developing her resources, moral, mental and physical, is considered peculiarly adapted to these columns. The cause of common school edu cation, especially, wili ,be urged upon the people of Georgia with all the ability we can command. All communications must be addressed, post-paid, to the Editor of The Independent Press, Eatonton, •Georgia. April 18. 1851. J. A. TURNER. srofasioiml k business Carte* J. A. TURNER, .1 TTO RIVE T * .ITL.I If* EATONTON, GA. KICHARD T. DAVIS, Attiwaiaars joss imiw, EATONTON, GA. OFFICE OVER VAX MATERS STORE. mm j* wmmf* RESIDENT DENTIST. ' EATONTON, GA. May 10, 1854. " S. W. BRYAN, BOTANIC PHYSICIAN, EATONTON, GA. OFFICE up stair*, adjoining the Printing Office, where he may he found during the day, and at night at the residence of W. A. Da-yis, unless pro fessionally absent. All calls for medicines or atten tion promptly attended to. Reference? TRY HIM. May 80th, 1854. 4ly W. A. DAVIS, Mljroltsalt aui) Retail ©men Sells Country Produce on Commission,''. East .corner Jefferson St., Eatonton, Ga. April 18„ 1854. C. L. CARTER, FANCY CONFECTIONER, No. 4,Carter He Harvey’s Range, April 28, 1854. Eatonton, Ga. s. s. dcsenberiTy, r.lsiMio.v.m /,#; tail, on NATE warrant to please all who wish the latest YV style of dress. Shop up stairs, adjoining the Printing Office. April 18, 1854. FRANKLIN & BIUNILY, AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS, SAVANNAH, GA. June 6th, 1848. 7—l y HUDSON, FLEMING & CO., ?Aciaas & cuMMissioH mourn, No. 94, Bay Street, Savannah, Ga. their services to Planters, Merchants, JL unddealers in the sale of Cotton and all other country produce. Being connected in business with Hopkins, Hudson & Cos., of Charleston, the establish ment of an office in this city will afford our friends • ffioieo of markets Strict attention will be given to business, and the unual facilities afforded customers, j. R. Hudson, 1 • Lambeth Hopkins, W, R. Fleming, f J Augusta. Savannah. ) (J. J. Cohen, Charles o n May lfi, 1854 COURT CMJJIUII FOR 1854. REVISED BY THE SOUTHERN RECORDER superior cohits. JANUARY, 4th Monday, Richmond 2d Monday, Chatham Muscogee 4th Monday Richmond AUGUST. FEBRUARY, 2d Monday, Clark Lit Monday, Okrk 3d Monday, Campbell 3rd Monday. •Campbell Walton Walton 4th. Monday, 4th Monday, Baldwin Monroe Jackson Taliaferro Monroe Marion Marion Baldwin Meriwether Jackson Sumter Meriwether Taliaferro Sumter. MARCH SEPTEMBER Ist Monday, Coweta Ist Monday, Pauiding Chattooga Coweta Madison Madison Morgan Chattooga Paulding Morgan 2d Monday, Butts 2d Monday, Polk Cass Cass Crawford Crawford Elbert Butts Greeno Elbert Gwinnett Greene Harris Gwinnett Polk Harris 3d Monday, Cobb 3d Monday, Cobb Fayette Twiggs Hall Fayette Putnam Hall Twiggs Putnam Talbot Talbot Columbia Columbia Hart Hart 3d Thursday, Bulloch 4th Monday, Gordon Monday after, Effingham Newton 4th Monday, Gordon Macon Macon Washington Newton Wilkes Washington Clay Wilkes Last Thursday, Rabun Clay OCTOBER. APRIL Ist Monday, Cherokee Ist Monday, Cherokee Fulton Fulton Murray Randolph Randolph Murray Warren Pike Wilkinson Warren Taylor Wilkinson Tuesday after, Pike Camden 2d Monday, Forsyth Taylor Whitfield Thursday after, Rabun Dooly Friday after, Wayne *Habersham 2d Monday, Forsyth Hancock Whitfield Montgomery Dooly Laurens Glynn Thrsuday after, Tattnall Habersham 3d Monday, Lumpkin Hancock Worth Montgomery Franklin Laurens Early Thursday after, Mclntosh Henry and Tattnall Stewart 3d Monday, Lumpkin Emanuel Worth Jones Franklin Oglethrope Stewart Pulaski Early 4th M 0 nday, Union Henry Decatur Jones DeKalb Liberty Houston Oglethrope Jasper Pulaski Lincoln Emanuel Seriven Thursday after, Bryan Telfair 4th Monday, Union Catoosa Decatur Thursday after, Irwin Dekalb Bulloch f Houston Monday after, Effingham Jasper NOVEMBER. Lincoln Ist Monday, Seriven Kinehafoonee Telfair Fannin Catoosa Heard Thursday after, Irwin Walker MAY Upson Ist Monday, Ist Tuesday, Bulloch % Kinehafoonee 2d Monday, Bibb Fannin Gilmer Heard Chattahoochee Walker Baker Upson Jefferson 2d Monday, Bibb Dade Gilmer 9h Monday, Spalding Chatahoochee Pickens Baker Burke Chatham Camden Dade Calhoun 3d Monday, Spalding Troup Pickens Friday after, Wayne Burke 4th Monday, Glynn Calhoun Thomas Troup Doughtery 4th Monday Thomas Floyd Dougherty Thursday after, Lloyd Mclntosh Monday after Lowndes, Monday after, Lowndes Monday af Lowndes, and Liberty Clinch Thursday after, Bryan Thursday after Clinch, Monday after Lowndes, Ware. Clinch. Monday after Ware, Thursday after Clinch, Appling. I Ware. M ednesday after, Monday after Ware, Charlton. Appling Friday after, T ursday after _ 1 Charlton JUNE. I idav after, Coffee Ist Monday, Jefferson DECEMBER. 2d Monday, “ Monday, Lee Lee , , Carroll Carroll V i Monday, Museoogeq > *On the Ist and 2d M ndays in October next (for one term only.) f Fall Term, 1854. % After Fall Term 1854. Shaving bp the Acre. The following is interesting to bar bers and gentlemen (blessed with long visages: “It is said that a gentleman residing in one of the large towns of England, whose face rather exceeded the ordin ary dimensions, was waited on by a barber every day for twenty-one years, without coming to a settlement. The barber, thinking it |‘about time to set tle,’ presented hisbill, in which he charged a penny a day, amounting in all to £3l 18s. The gentleman, supposing too mudA charged, refused to pay the amount; hut agreed to a pro posal of the barbel, to pay at the rate of £2OO an a/ire. Tie premises were ac cordingly measured and the result was, that the shaving bill was increased to £7B Bs. Bd. Young Ladies now-a-daya, when they are preparing for a walk, ought not to keep their lovers waiting as long as they used to do, for now they have onlv to put. their lonneis half on. EATONTON, GA., SATURDAY, JUNE 17, 1854. Select |l»etrjj. “Don’t give up the Ship.” BY ROBT. M. CHARLTON. A hero on the vessel’s deck Lay welt’ring in his gore, And tattered sail, and shattered wreck, Told him the fight was o’er: But e’en when death had glazed his eye, His feeble, quivering lip Still uttered with life’s latest sigh, “Don't, don't give up the drip!” How often at the midnight hour, When clouds of guilt and fear Did o’er my hapless bosom lower, To drive me to despair, Those words have rushed upon my mind, And mounted to my lip, While whispered Hope, in accents kind, “ Don't , don't give vp the ship ! ” O ye whose bark is rudely tossed Upon life’s stormy sea, When e’en Hope’s beacon-light seems lost, And dangers on the lee, Though howling storms of dark despair Your luckless vessel strip, Still lift to Heaven your ardent prayer, And “ Don't give up the ship /” And ye who sigh for Beauty’s smile, Yet droop beneath her sneer, Who’d deem all earth a desert isle, If woman were not there— If you would hope each honeyed sweet From her dear lips to sip, Though she may spurn, thy vows repeat, And “Don't give up the ship!” O, let these words your motto be, Whatever ills befall; Though foes beset, and pleasures flee, And passion’s wiles enthral, Though Danger spread her ready snare, Your erring steps to trip, Remember that dead hero’s prayer, And “ Don't give up the ship!” Hktlhutms. FOR THE INDPENDENT PRESS. MY UNCLE SIMON’S PLANTATION; OR SKETCHES OF SOUTHERN LIFE, &c. BY ABRAHAM GOOSEQUILL, ESQ. DEATH OF EPHRAIM. “Pallida mors aiquo pulsat pede pauperum taber nas Regumquc turres.” —l lor. B. 1, O. 4. Pale death advances with impartial tread To strike the menial, and the royal bead.” Since my last, the King of Terrors has paid us a visit, and borne off anoth er victim to the silent mansion of the dead. But why should I call Death the King of Terrors ? I have always thought that instead of looking upon the grave as a place of gloomy wo, and desolation, we should look upon it as the couch upon which to rest our wea ry bodies, tired down in the race of life—to regard it as a pillow upon which to lay the aching head, where throbbing pain may no more disturb our repose —to feel that it is the bosom of our parent Earth, where our hearts, broken with sorrow, may rest as they did in the days of our childhood upon the breast of our mother, and no more feel the wound that destroys our peace. The man who leads a virtuous life, and, all through the journey of exist ence, comes as near being a disciple of the meek and lowly Jesus, as frail, fal len human nature will allow him to be, though he must often mourn that he cannot live in a holier and higher state, all along feels that “There is a calm lor those who weep ; A rest for weary pilgrims found.” That calm and that rest are found in the grave. Poor Ephraim, one of the favorite negroes of both my uncle and aunt, has gone “where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary arc at rest.” He died, not like a philosopher, but like a Christian. In his last moments he showed that mercy and salvation are not for the high alone, but that even the poor negro, who is compelled to serve in bondage for a short time in life, is equal to the monarch in death. When Ephraim was a babe, his hi ther and mother both died, and my aunt Parmela had him brought to the kitchen, and daily had a good portion of food administered to him under her own eye. He grew finely; and by and by after he had gotten so that he could walk about, he did not play over the yard with the other little negroes, but took his seat every day upon the steps of the porch, near where my aunt was seated, employed in sewing, arid amus ed her with his prattle. Whenever she went to the hen-house to gel eggs, or in the garden to get vegetables for dinner, Ephraim would insist upon his right to waddle along by her side, and offer her any assistance, in his power.— “ WITHOUT FII, FiIFOR OR «f FEECTIOJC ” When he had arrived at the age of five or six years, he was in reality a good deal of assistance to his mistress, and his help increased as he grew older. When meal time came, Ephraim was certain to have some of the best the ta ble afforded, as a reward for his fideli ty and the love he bore towards his mistress. This, he thankfully receiv ed, not because he really Jhought him self entitled to it; he looked upon it merely as a favor. His greatest happi ness seemed to consist in being able to serve aunt Parmela, and that service carried with it its own reward. Not only was aunt Parmela very much attached to Ephraim, but uncle Simon also loved and petted him. I have mentioned my uncle’s fondness for feeding stock. Whenever a hog or sheep is missing from the feeding place, he mounts his horse with a little bas ket of corn swung on his arm, and nev er stops until he finds the stray one of the flock, if in the land of the living.— In these excursions Ephraim used to ride behind him, which deprived aunt Parmela of so much enjoyment during his absence, that she never would have consented to his thus going away, had it not been a pleasure to both him and my uncle. Another reason why she would let him ride out with my uncle, was, that he seemed to have his cup of happiness filled so much fuller than usual, when he reforned to take his seat at her feet, and tell over in his childish, simple way, the adventures he met with in his search for the stray hog or sheep. Uncle Simon seemed to enjoy these recitals as much as Aunt Parmela; for Ephraim was almost cer tain to have noted something which passed by the old man unnoticed; and even when this was not the case, there was so much of naivete in his man ner of telling things that it would have amused any one to hear him. After the poor boy had finished a narration of what he had seen, he would then add: “lam so glad to see you, Mistress—heap gladder than if I had not gone away.” And is not the force of the truth contained in what he utter ed, consoling to the heart of every one? We are forced to part with friends near and dear as our own hearts in this land of pilgrimage; but at the same time, we are made glad in the thought that this very separation will be conducive to our happiness when we meet again. When poor Ephraim was lying upon his dying pillow, and his chief concern seemed to be that he was doomed to part with his fond master and mistress, I could but picture in my own mind the joyful meeting that would take place in another world, between the humble slave and those whom he so faithfully served on earth. The ex pression which this negro servant so often uttered to aunt Parmela, when he returned from his excursions with uncle Simon, then first came across my mind in all its force. I fancied that I could sec my aunt and her sable friend grasping each other’s hand in the world where parting is no more, and he, ut tering, in the language of that world, the sentiment contained in the expres sion : “I am so glad to see you, Mis tress —heap gladder than if I had not gone away;” and as my fancy dwelt up on the picture, a truant tear trickled down my cheek in spite of my deter mination never to weep in public when I can help it. A friend once said to me that he would not mind dying, if all his friends could go with him into the world of fu turity ; but, that the thought of leav ing behind those who were near and dear, made death the King of Terrors to him. My friend had never fully felt the force of the sentiment contain ed in the expression of the negro phil osopher, whose life my pen both joy fully and mournfully commemorates. Even upon the verge of the tomb we may find some consolation in the tho’t, that in another world, one of the ele ments which will go to make up our happiness, will be our long absence from friends whom w e shall there meet, Time passed on, and Ephraim be came a field hand. Whenever he had a moment of leisure, however, he would spend it in the dwelling-house, or as near it as possible. At meal times he still made his appearance to partake of the bountiful eheer .always prepared for my uncle’s table. On Sundays, he would insist upon driving aunt Pame la to church —a right which was very readily granted him by the regular carriage- dfi ver. who improved the op portunity thus afforded him to pay his fellow-servants of the neighborhood the visits which he had been devising during the week. After his return from church, Ephraim Avould spend his time with my pious aunt, who read the Bible to him, and guided his feet in the ways of holiness. Tis true my aunt does not possess a knowledge of the Hebrew, and therefore, does not make such a commentator upon the Word of God as Dp. Doddridge, or Dr. Clark. But then she could explain the sublime simplicities of Gospel truths to Ephraim’s comprehension, in a man ner which would perhaps have surpas sed either of the learned Doctors whose names I have just mentioned. This is a remarkable feature which I al ways noted in the Word of Eternal Truth: it is all things to all men, and contains different meanings to men of different capacities. To the man who can barely read, it speaks in the lan guage of simplicity, which is unsurpas sed by any book in existence; while to the philosopher, it thunders in tones of eloquence which never responded to the touch of a Homer’s lyre, or waked to life upon the tongue of a Demosthenes or Cicero. It is at the same time the plainest and the most abstruse, the sim plest and sublimest book that ever did, or ever will, lend its pages to delight the fancy, and give practical lessons in life, present and eternal. The poor African slave, under the instruction of my aunt, received from it both pleas ure and instruction. One day my aunt had gone off in the neighborhood to see a friend, and stay all night. That evening Ephraim came home with a burning hot fever, and laid down to rest upon his bed, which proved to him the bed of death. He complained of extreme pain in the head and stomach, and all night tossed from side to side upon a sea of levered ex citement. It was in vain that the fam ily physician was sent for, and all done that human means could invent to ease his sufferings. His fever increased and the pain in his head and stomach grew worse. Next morning aunt Parmela came home, and he seemed overjoyed to see her, forgetting for a while the suffering consequent upon his attack. — He told her that he was very sorry that she was not at home the night before, for although everything had been done for him that he could wish for, it was not done as she could have done it. — He complained that Dr. Plainspeech was too rough with him, and that the medicine which he gave him, tasted so much worse than it did when he re ceived if from her hand. All that could be done for the poor invalid gave him no relief. Aunt Pai mela was as unremitting in her atten tions to him as if he had been her own child, and all her efforts were second ed by those of uncle Simon. On the third or fourth day of his attack, it be came evident that he must die. It is useless for me to describe the various scenes of the sick bed. The night of the ninth day was the time of his dis solution. The clock had struck elev en, and Ephraim just then aroused from a slumber which he had been enjoy ing for nearly an hour. The night was clear, and the moon was shining in all her loveliiiess. Everything was still except the chirping cricket, and a light breeze that fluttered through the foliage of the large oaks in my uncle’s yard, sporting with the silvery moonbeams, that stopped on the way to dally with the quivering leaflets. As it left the oaks, it was next heard in a low, mur muring moan, among the pine-tops not far off. The old watch-dog lying on the steps, as if conscious that “The angel of death spread his wings on the blast,” gave one or two low, doleful howls, and and then sunk again to his slumbers, while a horned owl in the neighboring swamp gave three hoots, and was then silent* The howl of the dog and the voice of the owl awaked the negroes from their sleep, and at the same time awoke superstition in their bosoms; so that when it was announced one hour afterwards that Ephraim was dy ing, they were all prepared for the event. After Ephraim had aroused from his slumber, he desired that the curtain, which had been kept down, might be thrown aside, in order for him to look once more upon the moon and the stars. About this time, a few fleecy clouds passed over ‘the lesser light,’and threw their shadows in fitful darkness upon the opposite wall. Ephraim gazed up on the scene which unfolded itself through the window, and while thus gazing again fell asleep. He slept about half an hour, and awaked fifteen minutes before midnight. To aunt Parmela, who was standing by his bed-side, he said, “Mistress, I am going to die now, and I’m mighty uneasy for fear you won’t have any body to wait on you lilcc I did. When they carry me off in the grave-yard and bury me, you musn’t forget to come and see me sometimes. I don’t "want you to forget me. But I can’t get up out of the grave to fix you a seat in the shade, so that you may rest your self after you get there.” This last thought seemed to give him a good deal of trouble, until at last his coun tenance beamed as if some pleasant idea had awakened in his mind, which he expressed thus : turning to uncle Simon, he said: “Master, please sir, have me buried close by mammy’s grave, and then have that big flat rock lying close by there rolled to the head of my grave for Mistress to set on when she comes to see me.” All that he requested was promised by my uncle and aunt, who did and said all they could to comfort him in his dying hour. He still, however, seemed unhappy at the thought that he was about to leave his mistress, whom he believed no one could serve as well as he. Fi nally, every obstacle to his passage across the river of death was removed by the conclusion that he would pre cede aunt Parmela into the other world, and prepare everything for her recep tion by the time she made her depar ture from earth. He expressed this thought to my aunt, and at the same time told her that “he would ask the good Lord where she would stay when she got to Heaven, so that he might get everything ready against she got there; and then,” he added, “how hap py I shall be to meet you, and show you your house, where I shall serve you forever. 1 ’ He then bade us all good bye, and as he shook hands with each of the negroes around his bed, exhort ed them all to be faithful and good servants to his mistress and Master.— Doing this, he breathed his last. Several things struck me in the last sayings of poor Ephraim, asexhibtiting some prominent traits ever attendant upon human nature, under all circum stances. He expressed a wish not to be forgotten. This was that desire for posthumous fame which is alike char acteristic of the poet, philosopher, statesman, warrior, and menial slave. The idea that oblivion will overshad ow us when we are gone from earth — that the heart, upon which sorrow in flicted the deepest wound by our death will soon be healed by the balm of joy springing from some other source, and will be possessed by an object of affection fully as dear as, perhaps dear er than, ourselves, is a thought from which the contemplation turns with a sensation peculiarly blighting. This desire to be remembered after death, which is found in every heart, is wise ly planted there by the Creator, to excite us to virtue, and to deeds of no ble daring; while the tendency to for get those who are dead, is as wisely planted there to prevent our affections clinging to inane objects, which would thereby crowd off other objects of love that might turn our grief into joy.— Did we not all possess some desire for posthumous fame, one incentive to a virtuous life would be taken away ; and did not a tendency to forget those who are dead exist in human nature, the death of a friend would render our stay on earth miserable. I also observed in poor Ephraim’s case, as I have done in many others, that the idea of Heaven adapts itself to the capacity of different beings, ac cording to their pursuits on earth, and the idea that they here have of perfect happiness. Heaven, to every man, is the full realization of the circumstan ces which give him most enjoyment on earth. The poor red man of the forest believes that, in another world, the Great Spirit will grant him a country where there is an abundance of game, in hunting which, he can sate himself with that pleasure, of whose fulness he had but a foretaste on earth. The good old Methodist woman, whose chief enjoyment here is in pouring out her heart to God in songs and shout ings, Imagines that Heaven will be one continued round of love-feasts, prayer NUMBER 9, and camp-meetings. The philosopher believes that, in eternity, he will em ploy himself in seeing “the master wheels of Nature move, And travelling far along th# endless lino Os certain and of probable ; and make, At every step, some new discovery, That gives the soul sweet sense of larger room.” The poor African slave believes, as was evinced in the case of Ephraim, that he will spend his time in living an humble and devoted servant. Would the heaven of either of those whom 'I have mentioned be a heaven to the other ? Is not God great ? Is not Je hovah wise ? His hands that formed the human heart, know they not skill ful cunning? But to return to poor Ephraim. The evening after his death, we buried him just as he desired, and all offered at the shrine of his memory a votive tear. As the last clod had been returned to its place, the following lines from Pol lok came forcibly across my mind : “The word philosophy he never heard, Or science; never heard of liberty, Necessity; or law3 of gravitation: And never had an unbelieving doubt. * * if. 4: * He lived— Lived where his father lived —died where he died— Lived happy, and died happy, and was saved. Be not surprised—he loved and served his God.” Jlcliptts. The Pulpit—its Aims and Topics. The subjects of the pulpit have nev er been varied from the day when the Holy Spirit visibly descended on the first advocates of the Gospel in tongues of fire. They are in no danger of be ing exhausted by frequency, or chang ed with the vicissitudes of mortal for tune. They have immediate relation to that eternity, the idea of which is the living soul of all poetry and art. — It is the province of the preachers of Christianity to develope the connection between this world and the next; to watch over the beginning of a course which will endure forever, and to trace the broad shadows cast from imperish able realities on the shifting scenery of earth. This sublunary sphere does not seem to them as trifling or mean, in proportion as they extend their views onward, but assumes anew grandeur and sanctity, as the vestibule of a state lier and an eternal region. The mys teries of our being, life and death, both in their strange essences and in their sublimer relation, are topics of their ministy. There is nothing affecting in the hu man condition, nothing majestic in the affections, nothing touching in the in stability of human dignities, the fra gility of loveliness, or the heroism of self-sacrifice, which is not a theme suit ed to their high purposes. It is theirs to dwell on the eldest history of the world; on the beautiful simplicity of the patriarchal age; on the stern and awful religion, and marvellous story of the Hebrews; on the glorious vis ions of the prophets and their fulfill ment ; on the character, miracles and death of the Saviour; on all the won ders and all the beauty of the Scrip tures. It is theirs to trace the spirit of the boundless, and the eternal, faint ly breathing in every part'of the mys tic circle of superstition, unquenched even amidst the most barbarous rites of savage tribes, and all the cold and beautiful shapes of Grecian mould.— The inward soul of every religious sys tem, the philosophical spirit of all his tory, deep secrets of the human heart when grandest dr most wayward, are theirs to search and to develope. Even those speculations which do not imme diately affect man’s conduct and his hopes, are theirs, with all their high casuistry; for in these, at least, they discern the beatings of the soul against the bars of its earthly tabernacle which prove the immortality of its essence, and its destiny to move in freedom thro’ 1 the vast ethereal circle to which it thus vainly aspires. In all the intensities of feelings, and all the realities of imagi nation, they may find fitting materials for their passionate expostulations with their fellow men to tnypn their hearts to those objects which will endure for ever. — Tal/ourd. There is no real pleasure to be found in the world, unless an individual has obtained “the Pearl of Great Price,” and then his path is strewn with fadeless beauties. Go search for it, and be able to exclaim, “I know that my Redeem er liveth I”