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- emoerafie 3ournd, Drstl t0 ~Souxir fRIijsts, flews, poities, 6enerad 3uteligence, Citerature, morait, ~Empevanee, agrdculture &c
We will cling to the Pillars of the Temple of our Liberties, and if it must fall, we will Perish amidst the Ruins." .
W. F. DURISOE & SON, Proprietors. EDGEFIEL-D, S. C., MAY 2, 1855.
NEOS EPISCOPOS, Editor.
0:7 WE learn, by letter, received from
Bro. TAYLOR, that Dr. TEAsDALE is labor
Ing at Aiken, with much success. Some ten
or twelve were expected to be added by bap
tism on the 26th inet., and quite an interest
manifested in the meeting. May he there as
here have many seals to his ministry.
(:r THE allusion in the last " Southeru
Baptis" to a letter received from the pastor
of the Baptist Church in this village, con
Vnys but an imperfect, and not altogether a
correct idea of its contents. We are dispos
ed, hovever, to make allowances for the
nature of editorial duty, which often obliges
things to be done in a hurry, and mistakes
will sometimes happen, especially when the
manuscript is badly gotten up, from which
the editor has to " compress."
0:7 TiHE " American Baptist Memorial,"
a monthly periodical, edited by Elder J. L.
BURROWS, of Richmond, Va., and published
by M. SEMPLU, Philadelphia, is a neat and
tasteful affair, and contains much statistical
and other matter of interest to the denomi
nation. The No. before us contains many
recommendations from the Ministry and the
press. Terms $1 a year in advance.
For the Advertiser.
AIR, " GoOD Byg."
Though earthly delights are around us,
They're unlike to the pleasures on high,
Where sickness ond sorrow neler enter,
And the heart never heaves with a sigh.
Whilst this world is poor, cheerless, and dreary,
And sadness oft dimns the bright eye,
There's a world of pure spirits, where gladness
Ever dwells, far above the blue sky.
Poor wanderer o'er life's weary desert I
Tho' thy pathway be thorny and dry,
Hold on thy way-don't be d iscouraged
A refreshing oasis is nigh.
The waters of life freely given,
The Comforter will you supply;
He'll give you sweet breezes from heaven,
0 let not your confidence die.
Awd when so the home or therigliteous,
Your spirit is ready to fly,
You can sing while your soul is departing,
And cheerfully bid earth " GooD BTU."
Speak to that old man as he goes bend
ing toombwards upon his staff, and ask
him, "Father, why so unsteady thy gait;
why this staff to support thy tottering frame?"
and his answer will be, "Son, I once trod the
earth with a step that was elastic with the
buoyancy of youth and steady in the strength
of manhood. This old mortality was once
erect, and this withered heart was joyous, in
the prospect of happiness which opened up
on my hopeful vision. But years of sorrow
and toil have passed over me, the energies
of life have become enfeebled, the shadow
of the dark valley is gathering around me;
I am passing away."
Look upon the face of that infant, sleep.
ing in death's cold embrace; that imperson
ation of innocence, beautiful even in the pale.
iess, that tells of coming corruption, and
ask what means this stillness ? Where is the
life and joy that yesterday danced in those
windows of the soul, and whence have gone
the childish prattle and the happy smile that
gladdened the hearts of those whose lives
were almost bound up in its existencei And
ihere comes up an answer, even from the do.
'mains of the grave, " It has passed away."
Look at that gay band of pleasure's chil
dren, as they revel in the intoxication of
.earthly joy, how gracefully their limbs move
to the sound of the viol and the harp: how
merrily rings the. laugh, and how brightly
flash the eyes that meet. Listen to the strains
of that music, shedding a bewitching infi
-once that brings a spell upon the soul. Can
'dull care even ever enter that charmed cir
ele I Can sorrow over dry up the fountains
whence issue now nothing hut joyi Come
-and look again when time has done its work.
The sounds of revelry have ceased, the
brilliant lights and the glittering jewels are
gone, and the stillness that reigns over yond
er quiet earth-mounds, answvers, they have
passed away. And will it ever be soi Will
the trail of the serpent be always found
amongst the flowers that grow in the garden
of happiness!i Shall man forever weep over
disappointed hopes? and the tear of affec
tion always to drop upon the graves of the
departed loved ? Shall there never come an
end to the curse that has followed the eating
of "that fruit whose mortal taste brought
death into our world and all wo I" Shall
weeping, and sorrow, and pain, and death
have an eternal dominion? Hark! there comes
a voice from heaven, " And I saw a new
heaven and a now earth, for the first heaven
and the first earth were ''passed away, and
there was no more sea. And I, John, saw
the Holy City, new 3earusalem, corming
down from God out of heaven, prepared as
a bride adorned for her husband. And I
heard a great voice out of heaven, saying,
Behold the tabernacle of God is with men,
and he will dwell with them, and they shall
be his people and God himself shall be with
thm and be their God. And God shall
wipe away all tears from their eyes; and
there shall be no more death, neither eorrow,
nor crying; neither shall there be any more
pain, for the former things ARE PAsskD
From the New England Farmer.
"FEAR NOT; I WILL HELP TUDE,"
From the cradle to the grave, in all the
vicissitudes of life, we need and we receive
the help of God. He gives the new-born
spirit into angel's care, and spreads around
it an atmosphere of love, fostering the sweet
est flowers that blossom in human hearts.
Its young flickering life becomes a torch to
light the feet heavenward. Its glowing af
fections, its radiant smiles, its unconseious
innocence, are all aids from God in the
cause of virtue and holiness; and as the in
fant emerges into youth, others supply his
place, and become to him in turn messen
gers of graee and links to purity and peace.
When in middle life the burdens of care
press most heavily, man is never forsaken
unless voluntarily he puts help far from him.
The same yearning and embracing love is
offered unto his acceptance, the same help.
ing hand is stretched out ; but neither is ii
truded upon him, he can accept or reject,
and the responsibility rests upon himself.
And when age creeps on and the light of
the eye is dimmed, and the ear is slow to
catch even the accents of the dearest voice,
and the once elastic stop is feeble and uncer
tain, when the hand is tremulous and weak,
and the heart is bereft and desolate, then
there is but one solace left, the love and help
of God; and through the gathering twilight
and along the shadowy way, His voice,
more precious than the sweetest music, is
heard saying to faltering faith, " fear not, I
will help thee !"
Always and ever when pursuirg the path
of duty we may be sure of God's help. It
comes in innumerable ways that we cannot
always truce directly to Him; but faith will
never doubtrnor fail to render unto Him
the thanks and the praise.
We cannot tell in what way ths help,
may come; perchance in the destruction of
some cherished hope, some fond desire.
His ways are not as our ways, hence the
necessity of that child-like trust inculcated
in the Scriptures. The blessing that we
most covet, if granted, may prove a fearful
snare to our virtue; and the trial from which
we most shrink may prove the cross from
which we shall ascend into I-leaven. We
will trust, then, in the promise of His help,
820V prCULa3JI IM D"Y t'UUUI; UA1&7U4
it shall approach our needs.
This promise comes to us with added em
phasis when Spring, with its awakening
breath, redeems the streams from their tong
captivity and unlocks the frost-bound cakh.
When the sower goes forth with his seed, in
every blade of grass, in each warm breeze
that seems to have strayed with its perfume
fi'pm the gates of Paradise, he has renewed
asaurance of the divine assistance.
All those speak with the voice of God,
and he knows that the warm rains will come
and t right sunshine, that night will givo
her cooling airs and plenteous dews, and
that these aro God's help to his feeble en
deavors. lIe must toil and hope, and leave
the increase with the Universal Father.
And they whose lot has fallen in crowded
cities, to whom the rolling hills and broad
meadows are a rare and coveted sight, they
have their compensations in some mysteri
ous ordering of God's Providence. Duty is
to all a word of solemn import. .Its re
:uirements are not to be avoided without
sin, or fulfilled without the approbati-on e-f
conscience, which is the divine law in the
heart. However distasteful in prospect. in
performance it carries its own exceeding
" Fear not; I will help thee !" With that
help all fear vanishes, and the future path.
way, though rough, becomes clear to the
spiritual vision. With it-, life has newv charms,
since its perils are less to be dreaded, and
death loses its terror, for the once dark val
ley is rejoicing in the beams of the Sun of
Let us take the sacred truth intdo our in
most hearts, and it will aid us to attain that
holiness wvhich should be the soul's warmest
desire. We must pray for it, and it will not
elude us. Earthly treasures vanish even in
our grasp, but holiness is a sure possession,
guarded by God himself, and only changing
that it may increase unto perfectigmn.
INroLERANcE.-Persecution for opinion's
sake, especially in religious matters, has al
ways helped to propagate the tenets which
it was designed to suppress. In some parts
of the country, Knew Nothingism has be
come little else than a partisan array against
Rmanism, proscriptive and intolerant. As
a consequence we see sympathy springing
up in behalf of the class thus injured in the
very quarter where it would have been least
expected. This is shown by recent occur
rences in MNassachusetts,
THE richest religious denomination, we
see by the census tables, is the Methodist,
which is sot at down, 14,636,671. The next
are the Presbyterian, which is rated at $14,
369,889. T~he Episcopal, which in number
of churches stands fifth, ranks third for its
church property, being estimated at $11,
261,770. The fourth is the Baptist, 810,
931,381; the fifth the Roman Catholics,
8,973,838; and the 6th, the Congregation
FismoN.-The course of fashion in. cos
tume and manner approximates to a circle ;
that is, it starts from a given poInt, and in
due process of time comes back again. The
following is an illustration: An old farmer
came aboard the ferry boat, the other day,
costumed in one of the shanghai (as it is
termed) overcoats, with skirts preposterously
long. A friend came up to him,, and ex
claimed, " Why, how is thi1-you who
disregard the fashions, now wear an over
coat which the veriest fop .might envy.
" Why, bless your soul," replied the fArmer,
laughing, " this very coat I am now wearing,
belonged to my father, and was bought
b-ran new twenty years aEoh
THE TWO PICTURES,
BATTLE OF INKERMAN.
As the day come up struggling with the
gloem of clouds, the vangaurd had given
alarm of that onslaught, whieh before the
day was done, should make Inkerman se
cond only to Waterloo. Through the foggy,
drizzly dark, had burst the blasts of bugles,
and drums, and fifes, and rattling musketry ;
and the transition from sleep to battle had
been a transient interval of consternation;
not the consternation of cowardice, however,
but of sudden surprise.
To arms! To the summoning martial
music-drums, whose hurrind roll, and fifes,
whose thrilling shrieks, make the blood beat
surge in the veins-to the glorious martial
music, man after man, column after column,
company after company, they wheel into
array. Swiftly and mightily, as though
hurled by the power of thunder, horse and
plumed rider swe.pt over the field and along
the lines, bearing the hoarse, loud command ;
and quick ar thought there follow charges
and evolutions, and sublime preparations for
Oh! the battle of Inkermann would have
been a splendid sight to see ib a broad field
and a lyright sun. But the nature of the
day, rendered it impossible to take in more
than a small scene of the grand and terrible
drama at one view. Many a heroic deed
was performed that day in obscure and soli
tary places, that left no record but death.
If you found, in some gloomy glen, a flush
harvest of carnage-corpses lying thick as
sheaves after the sickles-you knew there
had been great acievements there: but they
will not illume the page of history, for their
memory sleeps in the burial trenches with
those who died enacting them.
Thirst of glory, such as is slaked by blood,
lmd lured young Ceeil Gray from his happy
home ih old .England, to the camp and the
field. He was an officer in the fifth Dra.
goons ; and as we have an interest in him
now, let us watch the performance of the
Fifth, on that day of Inkermann.
Is It not they, younder on the height?
Let us get nearer them; for this dismal day
is so like twilight that we cannot distinguish
the figure on their buttons. Yes, it is five.
What noble fellows! How proudly they
sit on their horses! With whatan'Of
..-r-a -u jurwaru, as pebase s
din inereases! How their nostrils dilate
with the delay of opportunity!
Which of them is Ceoil Gray ? Do you
see younder at the right, that tall, noble
young officer who is gazing with looks of
unspeakable tenderness, upon a locket rnin
iature which he has just drawn from his
bosom ? That is he; and the miniature is
of-the name would choke his utterance, if
he attempted to spoak it; for lie is thinking
of the time-not many months ago, but oh!
hew long! when the original of that picture
sobbed on his breast, and clung to him with
love's desperation, kissing him with the most
impassioned kisses, and pleading with him
in God's name not to go-oh, not to go!
Mis lip quivers. he closes the locket and
replaces it in his bosom. If he were not
agonizitgly prayed for with her every breath,
of whom lie is now thinking we would say,
oh God! let hini not sink on the battle-field
The Fifth had lost most of their infantry
in the beginning o~f the battle ; for the 'Tur.
kish foot, their main support, had fled, at
the first onset; and there remained to them
now only a small division of Highalanders, a
number qirite insufficient to sustain them.
Yet, as the cannons thundered, and the
muskets hailed the death around, the brave
fellows felt it like a shame to sit there idle
while their comrades were winning glory;
and every moment they grew more eager,
even without the support of infantry for an
occasion to act.
Hark ! the tramp of cavalry. Every rein
is tightened, and every horseman's breath is
quelled with expectation. Up they come at
a fierce gallop, as though they meant to
sweep the height clear at a single pass. It
is the Muscovities ! Their heavy rushing
billows of horse, dash full upon the High.
landers, and are shocked back by the shore
of bayonets. They rally and advanee mere
slowly and determinedly.
TIhen the buglas of the Fifth sounded,
and the fiery horses are wheeled into order
for the onset.
Look at Cecil Gray ! be has forgotten the
miniature ; he has forgotten its original; he
has forgotten the little cottage by the
Thames, where she is singing prayers to
Heaven for him now ; he thinks only of glo
ry. His breast heaves and pants, and his
hand clutches his hilt, waiting for the next
Another blast of the bugles, and the whole
Fifth, instantly bristing all over with swo rds,
like a single being, spring into the pas de
charge. A thundering hurricane of battle,
they swoop right down on the advancing
foe with the speed of the wind. God of
heaven! what a spectacle! With what a
sublimely terrific shock the two hostile mas
ses of men and horses crash together ! Sword
clangs on sword; horse and rider sink ; the
sea of combat surges over them.
The Fifth cut the foe through and thro';
and when their bugles sound the rally, they
regard .net the signal, determined to fight
till they clear the field or die. Horse against
horse, with epset and repulse, Saxon and
Cossack, they cleave one another down,
swayng to and fro like -a stormiy sea.
Where is Cecil Gray i Yonder is his
plume. Watch it. It tosses above the
thick of the fight, as if it were alive with
glory. There, it loses itself in the smoke of
pstols. It emerges. We lose sight of it
again. Yonder onee more it flies along the
Aeld, like some splendid bird of prey that
kills its quarry, but stops not to devour.
Swords leap up above and about it ; other
plumes nod and ink .around It; riderless
horses whirl away from it, and roll down,
and snrga and die in the overwhelming bil
lows of battle. But. that plume, and the
sword that goes with it, cease not for an
instant in their sublime career.
The wounded - French Chasseur who re.
Clines on his elbow here nigh us, watching
that plume, forgets his pain, and ejaculates,
C'est superbe !" And it is superb; it is
But now that plume is the dreadful centre
of a vortex of foes, *hich dashes upon it, as
upon a lone sail the foam-capped A hirlpool
in the sea. Other plmes fly to the rescue.
Sabres flash up thick and fast, and chop
down into fiery brains, and cross, and thrust,
and stab, and mix in a horrible turmoil of
We close our eyes tightly, with a shud
dering sickness, and when we open them
on the scene again the Russians are in total
rout, and the gallant Fifth is rallying, with
shout and hurra. But the plume of Cecil
Gray? It is gone! The prayers which
have kept going up to Heaven from the cot.
tage by the Thames have not been answer.
ed. That plume bowed to deaih, and went
down while we were shutting our eyes.
How gloriously he died! On the field
they found him the evening of that day,
with a monument of slaughtered heroes
piled up to his glory. And as his surviving
comrades spaded him a grave and wrapped
his cloak around him, and laid him to his
rest, they talked animatedly of his heroism,
and then they spoke falteringly of one who
" No more of that, my comrade!" said he
who had been his bosom friend, in a cho.
king voice-" TherW"-he had taken the
locket from the neck of the dead, clipped,
with his sword, a lokk from the hero's hair,
and shut it over thnioiature ; "that shall
be her tidings !-anE iiay-God-pity and
-comfort her !"
The big, blinding tears streamed down
those stern men's cheeks:-they filled up
the grave, breathing bard with the rush of
home's dear emotions but speaking not an
A COTTAGE BY THE THAMES.
Inkerman has been fought, and the news
has gone through England. In that cottage
Minnie Gray sits sobbing and wailing for
what she knows possible, and yet hopes im
possible, Weep on Minnie: the hour is at
hand when the blessel relief of tears will be
" Willie, go to the own, and-and-Go!
Willie goes: In a all the way. He
lled with " LATEST FRo3 TiE CRIMEA.
" No letter, Willie I"
She seizes the paper, and gropes, tear
iind through the long columns. But she
inds nothing, only that so many were killed
md so many were wounded, and the names
)f a few great officers that were slain. The
hrobbing blood almost bursts from her veins
id her eyes grow dry, as she reads a prin
:ed letter from one of the Fifth Dragoons.
But it says nothing of Cecil, only that the
ifth Dragoons had been in glorious peril!
"Oh! my God! how can I bear this ago
y of suspenseI"
Willie tried to soothe her, but she could
bear nothing but the soul-stunning thunder
>f battle, see nothing through her tears, but
he charge of the Fifth Dragoons!
"Go to the town, Willie, and come not
back till you have brought some word frdm
The boy went sorrowfully. Minnie Gray
atched the clock and the road to the towna
l day, and all night, and all next day till
he sun went down.
Willie was coming! The sight of him
nade her dizzy and faint. How did he walk i
Were there tidings in his stepi Yes! life
r death! He came hurriedly, while lie
meemed to reel under the weight of his
heart. It must be death! Now, God of
mery ! Thy helping hand ! She staggers
>lt to meet him, and gasps:
" Any word, Willie ?"
" No word, but-"
She holds her breath and stares wildly at
him, as he draws forth the locket. He pia
es it quickly in her clenching hand, and.
urs his face away. She unclasps it shud
deringly, and the look of hair springs out
nd curls round her finger ! A smothered
quivering cry, a stifled, choking wail of ago
ny that crushed the life out, and Mimme
Gray fell into her brother Willie's arms.
In the little village churchyard, there is
now a new-made grave, and over it a mar
ble slab, bearing this inscription.
Of Cecil and Minnie Gray,
Whom Peace Married
Whom War Wedded
A SPEECH nY GEN. BUNCoM.-The fol
lowing is an extract from a speech of Gen.
Buncom in favor of 54 40:
Mr. Speaker-When I open my eyes, and
look over the vast expanse of this country,
when I see how., thme yeast of freedom has
caused it to rise in the scale of civilization
ad expanded on every side-when I see it
growing, swelling, roaring like a spring
freshet-I cannot resist the idea, sir, the day
will come when this great nation, like a
young school boy, will burst its straps, and
become entirely too big for its boots. Sir,
w want elbow room-the continent, the
whole continent, and nothing but the conti
nent-and we will have it. Then shall Un
cle Sam, placing his hat upon the Canadas,
rest his right arm on the Oregon and Cali
fornia coast, his left on the eastern seaboard,
and whittle away the British power, while
reposing his leg like a freeman, upon Cape
Hon! Sir, the day will-the day must
H. W. BEECIKER says: " I never knew
an early rising, hard working man, careful
of his earnings, and strictly honest who
complained of bad luck. A good character,
good habits, and good industry are impreg
nable to the assaults of all ill luck that fools
NOT A FICTION.
SKETCH OF EDGAR A POE.
It was a weary tale to tell how often he
repented and was forgiven; how he passed
from the editorship of one magazine to an.
other; how he went from city to city, and
State to State-an energetic, aspiring, san.
guine, brilliant man-bearing the curse of
irresol'tion-never constant but to the se
ductive and dangerous besetments of dissi.
pation and profligacy; how friends advised
him and publishers remonstrated; how, at
one time, he had conquered his propensity
so as to call himself in a letter to a friend,
a model of temperance and virtue; and how
at another he forfeited the high occupation
(editor) which was the sole dependance of
his family, by frequent relapses into his for.
mer dissolute habits; how he committed
under the excitement of intoxication, faults
and excesses that were unpardonable, how
he forfeited the esteem of the public, even
whilst his talents commanded admiration;
how he succeeded in bringing many literary
speculations into life, which his vicious hab
its and inattention to business murdered in
their youth; how he became a confirmed
inebriate, with only now and then a fitful
hour or so with which to throw off on pa.
per the vagaries of a mind rich with learn
ing and imaginative fancies: how his young
and beautiful wife died, broken hearted, and
how he became so reduced in appearance
as no longor to be able to make his appear
ance among his friends; how his wife's
mother, constant to his fallen fortunes, and
anxious to conceal his vices, went with his
manuscript from office to office, abd from
publisher to publisher, in search of means
to support him; how, for a little while he
shook off the lethargy of intoxication, and
appeared in the gay, aristocratic and weal
thy circles of New York city; how he was
caressed, and admired, feted and congratu
lated by the beauty, fashion, and elite; how
he efforts of his magic pen and towering
genius were sought by rival publishers; how
e was engaged to be married the second
time to an accomplished, wealthy and beau
tiful young lady; and how the engagement
was finally broken off through his return to
his pernicious habits. It was a weary, mel
ancholy tale indeed.
The versatile, unhappy scenes of Edgar
A. Poe's life were soon to close-snapped
rudely asunder by his own hand! He had
partly recovered from his dangerous curses,
and was engaged in delivering lectures in
eafiit was with someithfng lilke
renewed confidence that the ardent friends
f the distinguished lecturer watched his
:onduct, which was now distinguished by
extreme sobriety. He even appeared to
have renewed his vigor and youth, and it was
with pleasure and delight that his friends and
acquaintances received him in to their socie
ty and homes again. At the brilliant par
Lies given at the houses of generous acquain
ances-at which he was the lion of the
evening-Mr. Poe met with a refined and
lovely woman, whom he had formerly known.
T'heir friendship was renewed, an attachment
was reciprocal, and they were engaged to
be married. Everything seemed to promise
well; the dawn of the better day appearred,
and the wishful reformation so long coming,
seemed to come at last! On a sunny after
noon in October, 1849, he started to fulfil a
literary engagement, and prepare for his
marriage. He arrived in Baltimore, where
he gave his luggage to a porter, with in
structions to carry it to the railroad depot.
n an hour he would set out for Philadelphia.
But he would just take a glass before he
tarted-for refreshment sake-that's all.
h, fatal hour! In the gorgeous drinking
aloon he meot some of his old acquaintance
ad associates who invited him to join them
n a social glass. In a moment all his good
esolutions-home, duty, honor, and intend
d bride were forgotten: ere the night had
antled the earth with its dar-k canopy, he
vas in a state of beastly intoxication. In
sanity ensued ; lhe was taken to the hospital
ad the next morning he died a miserable,
raving maniac. Poor unfortunate, misguid
d creature ! IIe was thirty-five years old
wheni this last scene of his life's tragedy was
Kind reader, this is no fancy sketch of
rapery or fiction. No single circumstance
here related nor solitary event here recorded,
but happened to Edgar Allen Poe, the Edi
tor, Critic and Poet, one of the most popular
nd brilliant writers in America.-Northern
PLowING AN ELEPHANT.-Passengers
who travel by the New York and New
Havan cars have a grand chance of " seeing
the elephant." Going from New York, the
cars pass the farm of P. T. Barnum, a mile
or so before reaching Bridgeport, Ct. On
that farm, and in plain view from the railroad
an elephant may be seen every pleasant day,
attached to a large plow, and doing up the
"sub soiling" in first rate style, at the rate
of about three distinct double horse teams.
The animal is perfectly attractable. His
attendant rides him, while a colored man
guides the plowv. The elephant is also used
for carrying large loads of gravel in cart
arranged purposely for him, and in drawing
stone on a stone boat or drag, in pillng up
wood, timber, &c., and in making himself
generally useful.-N. Y. Tribuns.
A BRAVE BoY.-A young lad in Jones
port, some time last week while in the woods,
pitched into a wild cat, Davy Crockett fash
ion, with the breech of his gun ; after firing
the first shot without eff'ect and after a well
contested engagement, with tooth and nail
on one side, and repeated blow on the other,
the cat gave up to young Nimrod, who tug
gd him home, proud of his well earned vic
tory. The animal weighed 56 pounds.
A CERTAIN newly elected, Irish mayor,
speaking of certain articles in a vivacious
newspaper, observed: " I despise those un
derhand attacks. When I write an anony
mous letter, I always sign my name to it."
INTEGRIrY, however rough, is better than
From the Columbus (Ga.) Times.
PURLIC OPINION AT THE NORTH-PROSPECTS OF
In all the elections that have taken place
in the Northern States during the past sea
son, the question of African slavery has en
tered as a controlling element. No party
took very high ground in favor of the insti
tution. The only issue that any person dar.
ed to make, was, that the people of the
States and Territories had the right to the
exclusive management of the domestic rela
tions of the inhabitants. In no single in
stance, however, was a party successful that
stood upon this platform. So far as this ar
gument is c6ncerned, it is not important to
say which party it was that made this issue
With our enemies, nor what claims it had to
public confidence. The startling Jact to
which we wish to call particular attention,
is, that in every instance the party that made
it was crushed by popular majorities une
qualled in the previous history of political
warfare--that in their Gibralters and Sebas
topols, they were unable to npake any resis
tance, -but fell before their opponents, like
ripe corn in the path of the hurrican. This
untoward result took place in no one local.
ity-it was no less uniform than it was uni
versal. In the hills and valleys of New
Hampshire-in the prairies of Iowa, in the
thronged cities of Massachusetts and New
York, and ia the rural hamlets of Pennsyl
vania and Ohio, the almost unanimous voice
of the people has rendered a verdict against
the South and her institutions.
Those persons who represent that the vi
rus of abolition fanaticism is confined to par
ticular classes in certain localities are, there
fore, most grossly deceived. The plague
has infected the whole body of Northern so
If the South were disconnected with the
North, we might view with indifference the
ravings of its fanaticism. Connected in the
close bonds of Federal Union, errors of
opinion at the North are almost as fatal to
our peace and prosperity as errors of opinion
at home. Our laws are based upon opinion,
and the controlling section gives the law to
the rest of the Union. Now we take it that
if a general election were to take place to
morrow, that the majority in the electoral
college, the majority of the United States
Senators, and the majority of Representa
tives in Congress, would he in favor of re
stricting slavery. We are protected from
this calamity by those provisions of the con
ro~d'a aut twob yeiars. -Ver y -sooni, hfio-wever,
these offices will be vacated, and must be
filled by men representing the popular feel.
ing. If we are right in the opinion that the
controlling section of the Union is hostile to
Southern Rights, then it cannot be long be.
fore the power and patronage of the Feder
al Government will be wielded by our ene
mies. The threatened danger is imminent
-the day of battle draweth nigh-it is even
at the gate.
In view of these appalling realities, what
is the South doing to meet the emergency I
Nothing, worse than nothing. A large body
of our most intelligent and active fellow-citi
zens are busily engaged in forming secret so
cieties to guard the Republic against the in
fluence of foreign born and Catholic fellow.
citizens ; another large body are denouncing
the Democratic party and its patriotic Presi
dent, whose chief sin, in the eyes of our en
emies, is his too great friendship for the South;
and the balance of us--what are we doing
to guard our hearthstones from the untold
evils which will flow upon us in the event the
abolitionists get control of the Federal Gov
ernmenti Here and there, it is true, a faith
ful watchman sounds the note of alarm, but
he is scarcely more heeded than he wvho, in
days of old, walked daily upon the walls of
the city and cried, " Woe, woe to Jerusa
lem." Until this fatal lethergy is removed
and the Southern people look their danger
in the face, there is no hope for the South.
She is sleeping in the 'lap of Deliah while
her enemies are clipping the locks of her
strength. God only knows what her resour
ces will be wvhen she hears the appaling cry,
" the Philistines be upon thee, Samson."
FORCInLY SAID.-MackenZie, of the IKali
da Venture, writes dowvn the following truths
" Know Nothingism is the best exposition
of the practical atheism of the times. Who,
recognising a God in religion, and a reality
in the faith of Christ, can conscientiously call
in the aid of secret swvorn societies to put
down what they think a false religion. If
they believe that true religion is incapable
of sustaining itself without unchristian aid,
they can have little confidence in Christiani
ty. if they think God needs such aid to
keep his wvorship pure, they must have but
little belief of his existence. What is wvan
ted among religions professors to put down
false religion-we are not disposed to deter
mine which sect is correct and which is not
-is a better exemplification in their lives of
their being Christians and not hypocrites, of
their loving God and not Mammon, of their
practising charity and not hatred, under the
cloak of religious sanctity. What is wanted
is more real and intelligent religion, and then
Christian men would not feel, the need of
making pitiful appeals to Knowv Nothingism
or any other outside influence to keep up
the truie Church of God. A church and a
religion which is only protected and sustain
ed by such influence is scarcely worth hav
ing or professing.
" We trust that the sober sense of our
religionists-that the intelligence of those
outside the church-will unite to crush atnd
put dowvn an order of politicians who require
secrecy as a means, and darkness as a cover,
and who, while making good professions,
can have no better end than the bad means
TRE STAIT GAT.-The strait gate of
the gospel is wide enough to admit any sin
ner, but too narrow for the admission of any
POLITE JoURNALIs.-One of the Texas
papers remarks, that at " the recent sitting
of the court at San. Antonia, thirteen gentle
en e, a.m signednpla in the penitentiary."
MORTALITY AMONG BACHELORS.
The forlorn condition of bachelors liii
always been a favorite theme for ladies,
editors and other wits to expatiate uppn.
The untidy room, the buttonless shirts, the
stockings full of holes, and the thousandpther
inconveniences of the unmarried state. a
familiar, in this way, to the most obtuse-o
The poor bachelors have, in fact, a hard
time of it. They have been ridiculed by thW
sex, and sometimes taxed by legislators, aoa
now staticians deal them." the unkindest tdit
of all," by proving that they die earlier th".
married men. The celebrated Dr. Caspar,
of Berlin, estimates the mortality among
bachelors, between the age of thirty -to
forty-flve, at twenty-seven per cent.; whil4
the mortality among married men, between'
the same ages, is only eighteen per ceint.
As life advances tho difference becomes evei
more striking. Where forty-one bachelors4
attain the age of forty, there -are seventy.
eight married men, a difference of nearly ten
to one in favor of the latter. At the age oW
sixty there are forty-eight married men to
twenty-two bachelors; at seventy, eleven'
bachelors to twenty seven married men;
and at eighty nine married men. to three
bachelors. *No bachelor, -it is said, ever
lived to be a hundred.
The reason for the comparatively short
life of the bachelor is obvious. Of two men,
exactly similar in other respects, except thati
one is married and the other not, the bache.
lor will haye the more irregular "habits.
Gentlemen, when single, are twiceI as apt,
Dick Swiveller has it, " to pass the rosy,"
as when they are married; and especially
to do it into what Burns calls " the wee
sma' hours ayont the twal'." Ten bachelors
sing " we wont go home till m'orning,"
where one married man vocalizes in the
same way. No doubt to bachelor taste all.
this is very delightful. But brandy. .and
water, cards, et id. omne genus, especially
after midnight, take care to compensate
themselves, in due season, for the-Fan'that
has been extracted from them. may
east out the " blues," so incident to W ache.
lor state, for the time being; but " th Ilues"
thus cast out invariably return, bringing
Sseven devils worse than befoie;" and
among them are gout, fever and rheuma
ism, if not delirium tremens and. death.
roo often, indeed, the bachelor lives on the
sapital of life, and hence exhausts his bank,
wen the married. man la stil[ e1lt in ;.
A MIRAcULous WARLNNG.-Some week
)r two ago a strange thing is said to have
>ccurred in Kemper county. A woman
,ave birth to a child covered all over with
iair. It lived three hours, and spoke three
listinct words-" seven yearsfamine." The
itrangest thing about it is, half the popula
ion of Kemper believed, and are struck
vith terror at the portentous warning, which
hey are said firmly to believe is a solution
)f the purposes of Providence in visiting the
and with such strange seasons.-Quitman
"WELL Cuffee," said a master to his col
>red servant, " what were you doing at meet
ng this afternoon I"
"Doing Massa? Taking notes," was his
" You takingnotes!" exclaimed his mas.
"t Sartin massa; all the gentlemen take
" Well let me see them," said ie.
Cuffee thereupon produced a sheet of pa
per, and his master found it scrawled over
with all sorts of marks ana lines as if a doz
en of spiders dipped in ink had marched
" Why, this is all nonsense," said the min
[ster as he looked at the notes.
" Well massa," Cuffee replied, " I thought*
so all the time you was preaching."
MILWAUKEE, the big town of Wisconsin,
is only twenty years old, and it has a popu
[ation this day of 40,000. It was laid out
n 1835; in 1838 the population was 700;
in 1847, 14000; in 1850, 20,000; in 1855,
t0,000. Banking capital amounts to $750.
300, but they say the business requires $3,
300,000. The manufactures last year' a
mounted in value to $4,600,000, against $2,
100,000 in 1853 showving that the amount
has doubled in two years. The imports
were $11,000,000 ; the exports $7,709,000.
A Goon PuN.-One of the wittiest bijous
in the way of punning was perpetrated a
rew nights ago by. a gentleman of Ports
mouth, at the Lsadies .fair.
A lady wished a seat. A portly, hand
some gentleman brought one instanter and
seated the lady.
" Oh, you're a jewvel," said she.
" Oh no," replied he, "I am a jeweller, I
have just set a jewel."
CONVERsE not with a liar or a swearer,
or a man of obscene or wanton language;
for either he wvill corrupt you, or at least it
will hazard your reputation to be one of the
like making ; and if it doth neither, yet it
will fill your memory wvith such discourses
that will be troublesome to you in aftertime;
and the returns of the remembrance of. the
passages which you have long since heard
of this nature, will haunt you when your
thoughts should be better employed.-Sir
CosTLY Wonsurr.-Church going has
become a very expensive matter in San
Francisco. At a sale of pews, several sold
as high as twelve hundred dollars, equiva
lent to about $23 per Sunday.
CUSTARD, BAKED. -Boil a pint of cream
with mace and cinnamon; when cold, take
four eggs, leaving out two of the whites, a
little rose and orange-flower water,, a jitt*K
white wvine, nutmeg, and sugarto your tase -
mix them well togetl wr,. and, bake fhq.ua
THlE boy who wa oaught lokn Iio
the future has been au-rsted- for trying tp.
see the show without on3infg.