THE VOICE OF FREEDOM
P 0 E T II Y
From the Boston Atlas.
Ho! children of the Granite hills,
That bristle with the hacmataek,
And sparkle with the chryslal rills
That hurry toward the Merrimack,
Dam up those rills! for, while they run,
They til rebuke your Atherton.
Dsm up those rills! they flow so free
O'er icy slope and beetling crag,
That, soon, they'll all be oll'at sea,
Beyond the reach of Charlie's gag;
And, when those waters are the sea's,
They'll speak and thunder as they please.
Then freeze them stiff! But let there come
No winds to chain them; should they blow,
They'll speak of freedom! Let the dumb
And breathless frost forbid their flow;
Then, all will be so hush'd and mum,
Ye'll think your Atherton has come.
Not he! "Of all the airs that blow"
He dearly loves the soft South-West,
That tells where rice and cotton grow,
And man is, like "the Patriarchs," blest
(So say some eloquent divines!)
With slaves also with concubines.
Let not the winds go thus, at large,
That now o'er all your hills career
Your Sunapee and Kearsarge
Nay, nay, methinks the bounding deer,
That, like the winds, sweep o'er each hill,
Should all be gagged, to keep them still.
And all your big and little brooks,
That rush down, laughing, toward the sea,
Your Lampreys, Squams and Contoocooks,
That show a spirit to be free,
Should learn, they're not to lake such airs:
Your mouths are stopped; then why not theirs?
Plug every spring that dares to ploy
At bubble in its gravel cup,
Or babble, as it runs away
Nay, catch and coop your Eagles up!
It is not fit that they should fly,
And scream of freedom, through your sly.
Ye've not done yet! Your very trees
Those sturdy pines, their heads that wag
In concert with the mountain breeze
Unless they're silenced by a gag,
Will whisper "We will stand our ground!
Our heads are up! Our hearts are sound!"
Sons of the granite hills, your birds,
Your winds, your waters and your trees,
Of power and freedom speak, in words
That should be felt in times like these.
Their voice comes to you from the sky !
In them God spea':s of Liberty.
Sons of the granite lulls, awake!
Ye're on a mighty stream afloat,
With all your liberties at stake
A faithless pilot's on your boat,
And, while ye've lain asleep, ye're snagged!
Nor can ye cry for help ye're gagged!!
From the New York Observer.
MR. BUCKINGHAM'S LECTURES.
THIRD LECTURE ON PALESTINE.
I am now, in conclusion, to speak of those two
most interesting monuments, the tomb of (Jhnst
and the rock of Calvary. I will begin with the
It has of late and but of lafe, been made a ques
tion, whether the rock so denominated in Jerusa
lem, be indeed the actual spot where Christ was
crucified. I do not quarrel with the severity of
criticism, let it be made as severe as it will. Chris
tianity invites examination, and glories in scruti
ny. But, having for myself personally examined
the locality, my conviction of its being the true
and authentic theatre of that tragedy, is as strong
as of my existence. Jews, Mahomedans, and
Christians, who are residents of the city, agree
with one voice that this was the place. Those who
deny and those who receive the Messiahship of,
Jesus, all admit that this is the spot where he died.
1 conless that when 1 first saw the place, -1 was
myself somewhat disappointed, on finding that it
did not agree with my previous conceptions ; but
farther scrutiny convinced me that these concep
tions were themselves erroneous. We are always,
you know, in the habit of forming an imaginary
picture of objects which we have never seen. We
often do it unconsciously, and only discover the
mistake when we come to see the original. I
had always supposed that Calvary was a high
hill. 1 had always heard it called "Mount Cat
vary," and I had seen the pictures of the ancient
masters, where it is always so delineated. fco nn
pressed was my mind with the notion, that nothing
could remove it, but an actual inspection of th
place itself. I found no mountain, and felt some
uneasiness, until I turned to review the scriptures
which describe the place, and then, for the first
time observed that there was no " Mount Calvary'
in the Bible. The supposition is altogether gra
tuitous ; and it seems strange that it should have
become so universal. The gospels speak of the
spot as " the place of Calvary," or " the place of a
skull," or " the place that was called Golgotha."
Matthew is the most particular. He says it was
" a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of
a skull. Mark uses nearly the same words
" the place Golgotha, which is, being interpreted,
the place of a skull." Luke simply says, " lhey
came to a place which is called Calvary. John
words are, "And he, bearing his cross, went forth
into a place called the place of a skull, which is
II 1 .1 TT 1 y, I .1 M TT 1 1 .1
cauea in me neorew, uoigotna. ne aaus tne
place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the
City." Here 13 no mention made ot any moun
tain or hill. It is simply called "a place." It was
denominated "the place of a skull," not as has
been supposed, because it was a place of common
execution, and the skulls of malefactors were sup
posed to lie about upon the ground, a thing en
tirely repugnant to the habits and the ieehngs o! the
Jewish people ; but because the spot consists of
a nodule of rock somewhat resembling, m Us gen
eral outline, the shape of a human skull. In fact,
if you omit the supplementary words in italics in
the description by John, the passage reads, " he
went torth into a place called ol a skull; which
expresses the very idea I wish to convey. There
Is no reason to believe that any execution had ev
er been held there. On the contrary, it is proba
ble that the high priests, thirsting as they did for
Christ's blood, and having at length wrung from
Pilate a reluctant assent to his crucifixion, seized,
n their murderous haste, upon tho nearest spot
which afforded the means of executing thoir hell
ish purposes. John says, " he went forth (that is,
forth of the Judgment Hall) into a place called
of a skull," which seems to intimate that the one
was not far distant from the other. The spot is
a naked rock, from four to five hundred feet broad
at its base, and not over twenty-five feet in per
pendicular elevation : but, as it rises in an ob
lique direction, its height does not appear to be
more than from fifteen to twenty feet. Who can,
with nrnnrirtv. rlfMinminnte that a mountain ? On
the summit are excavations, into which the foot of
the cross, and also the crosses of the thieves, were
inserted. Some such device must have been em
ployed to fix the crosses in an erect position : and
It ; nnt iinnrnbable that by means of wedges, these
oV,rot;,,ri were availed of for that purpose. Of
the evidences of the crucifixion, some were tem
porarv and evanescent ; such, for example, as the
o-en eral darkness. We have, indeed, the authen
tic testimony of those who witnessed it ; but the
thing itself was transient. The rending of the
veil of the temple was another event, the proof of
which remained longer, probably till the destruc
tion of the temple by the Romans ; yet that also
has long since passed away. But there was one
witness, whose voice has continued to speak from
age to age. Ihe Bible declares that when Christ
expired, " the rocks rent :" and to this day, near
the base of the rock 1 have described, are hssures
in the rock, broken and ragged in their surface,
and slightly diminishing as they go inward, re
resembling nothing artificial, but on the contrary,
exactly resembling such ruptures as are the effect
of earthquakes elsewhere. This much for the
place Calvary, a spot which naturally attracts and
concentrates the intense curiosity and interest of
the Christian world. From hence to
The distance is short ; and this, too, has been
urged as a grand object to the authenticity of its
alledged position ; it having been profoundly sug
gested that the pretended spots have been brought
near to each other, with a view to the greater ac
commodation of visitors, an imputation as un
worthy as it is unfounded in truth. On this point
1 pursued the same rule as in relation to the other,
having resolved to search the Scriptures for my
self. Nor have we need of any other guide. On
comparing the two spots with the Scriptural record,
I found every thing perfectly harmonious. It is
true, the Evangelists in speaking of the position
of the sepulchre, do not all employ the self-same
words. If they had, it might have been suspected
that they copied from each other. Each describes
it independently for himself. John speaks thus :
" Now in the place wher he was crucified there
was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulchre,
wherein was never man vet laid. There laid they
Jesus, therefore, because of the Jews' preparation
day ; for the sepulchre was nigh at hand." They
carried the body there lecavse it was near. In this
brief description, there is the clear indication of
three things ; first, that the tomb was hewn out of
a rock : secondly, that it was new. and probably
unfinished; and third, that was nidi to the place
of crucifixion. " Nigh," is a word of very inde
terminate signification, and its meaninir must be
judged by the circumstances in which it is used
and the subject to which it is applied. The plan
ets are comparatively nigh to the sun, though at
the distance of millions of miles from that lumina
ry. Comets are sometimes said to pass nigh to
the earth. England is nigh to France ; and in a
building like this, the speaker mav be said to be
nigh to the hearer; yet if a single" individual on
returning home should be asked by his friends,
" were you nigh to Mr. Buckingham ?" he might
very properly say "No;" especially if his seat
were near the door. The word, therefore, must
be judged from the thing spoken of. And what
are the things here spoken of? The death of the
Saviour, and his interment; and if a man were
now interred within a hundred yards of the spot
where he died, would you not say that the place
of his sepulcher was " nigh at hand.?" Certainly
you would ; and such is precisely the fact in rela
Hon to the sepulchre ol Christ. Joseph of An
mathea, a wealthy Israelite, had been getting i
tomb made for himself. It had never been occu
pied, and probably not quite finished ; and he-
cave it freely as a place for the reception of
Christ's body. That sepulchre is still to be seen
It is "hewn out of the rock." It is a chamber.
excavated out of a mass of surrounding stone, and
in it there is a sarcophagus. It is very true that
the Empress Helena, in her zeal, very unadvisedly
made alterations and additions; but she never dis
turbed either cavern or the sarcophagus. And in
the latter there still remains a proof that it never
was completely hnished ; for, in one of its angles
there is a part of the stone which protrudes be
yond the proper line, and has not been cut awaj
by the chisel. Can any thing be more natural
than that the feeling of deep and indescribable ven
eration associated with such an event should ex
tend itself to the material substance of everything
around ; and that those who had the control of th
place, should say to all who would interfere with
it, " i'orbear! Let this stone be preserved as it
stands. No tool of man shall approach it. To
alter it in the slightest degree, would be but
profanation." I appeal to every man who hears
me, whether there is not a feeling within his own
bosom which responds to such language, and wheth
er the present state of the tomb is not just what
we might expect it to be !
And now, satisfactory as are these evidences in
the localities themselves, both of the cross and of
the tomb, if they were not so, and we had noth
ing to confirm the voice of tradition m the matter,
what is more natural than that the spot where two
such events took place should be scarcely preserv
ed by a local tradition ? In England, every boy
in the neighborhood can show you the spot where
Cajsar landed ; the most ignorant farmer of the
vicinity will lead you to the field where the battle
of Hastings was fought, and show you the spot
where the unfortunate William Rufus was shot by
Tyrrel. Much more is it supposed, that the mem
ory of the spot where Jesus died and where he
was buried, could never perish out of Jerusalem.
Much is said about innocent prejudices, and
about the impropriety of shocking the prejudices
of mankind; and yet what is a prejudice? how
would you describe it? Is not a prejudice a feel
ing for jvhich we cannot give a satisfactory rea
son, or for which we are ashamed to give any rea
son f Are not prejudices unphilosophical, and
should a rational mind indulge them ? Are not
prejudices unchristian, and should not a Christian
perseveringly overcome them as marks of pecu
liar delicacy and refinement ?
Let such remember that it was preiudice which
prevented the Jews from receiving the Messiah,
when in the fullness of time he made his appear-
ance among them, that it was prejudice wnicn
nailed him to the cross; that prejudice led Israel
to reject the gospel preached by the Apostles ; that
it is the veil of prejudice which still blinds her
eyes and leads her yet to reject all the combined
evidence of miracle, testimony, and prophecy ; that
prejudice has retarded the progress of improve
ment in Europe, and kept millions of our fellow
creatures enchained by ignorance and supersti
tion j that it is prejudice now which causes the
Hindoo to turn from the light of science and the
truth of revelation, and to cleave to the absurdities
and the idolatry of his ancestors. And while pre
judice is acknowledged the strongest bulwark of
tyranny in the old world, is America, our own en
lightened, cherished home, free from its baleful
It was a sunny spring afternoon, when the
steamboat left the wharf at New York. The
deck was crowded with passengers. The gay
who were escaping from the summer heat, and the
close and stifling air tf the city, to the purer
breezes, yet scarcely less dissipated society, of the
fashionable watering-place. The men of business
who are at all seasons going to and returning from
that crowded Mart ; the busy artizan, the restless
speculator, and the not always thoughtful student,
were there crowded together.
And on that deck, although not mingled with
the crowd, was another : a man just entered upon
life s busy and stirring scenes, a man who in
herited from his Maker a mind of high and nob
powers; a graduate of one our first colleges ;
student in and licentiate of our oldest theological
seminary; an ordained clergyman in one of ou
most numerous and influential denominations
That man had a mind enrinched by all the stores
of ancient literature, and modern science; and
heart replete with Christian piety and benevolence,
And of the busy crowd who shunned him, not one
perhaps was there who surpassed, if one who
equalled him in moral worth or intellectual attain
Yet that man was guilty of a ' skin not colored
like our own, and shrunk from those around him
because he felt that he was considered as a nuis
ance, and they regarded him with cold and super
cilious pride, or with bitter and sneering contempt
Yet he was not alone. His young wife wa
accompanying him to his father's dwelling ; and
as he leaned over her, although he might have
known and felt that his presence could not secure
her from insult, he might have forgptten, in the
pure and holy affection which had United them
and which the Author of our being has sgraciou
ly implanted to sweeten the sorrows, and heighten
the joys of this life, the contempt and obloquy
which was poured upon them ; and as the boa
passed on, they might have watched the beautiful
scenery and the gorgeous and splendid sunset with
feelings ol almost unalloyed pleasure.
But the last streaks of day-light were disappear
ing : the dark clouds were gathering, ana every
thing betokened a violent storm. The supper be
had rung; the last group had left the deck; th
lights ;ero streaming from the cabin windows, and
casting their gleams over the dark waters ; and
the lightenings were flashing across the heavens
wrapping it in sheets of flame, and followed by
loud and deafening peals of thunder. The wife
drew nearer to her husband, and he wrapped her
in his mantle, and sheltered her with his umbrella
but neither of them spake. Were they then mus
ing upon the nature ol prejudice ;
The rain descended in torrents. The umbrell
was but a conductor ; it was cast aside, and they
were both drenched as if they had stood beneat.
a cataract. The husband says, 1 you cannot en
dure this : 1 must try to hnd some shelter for you
He sought the captain ot the boat, and foun
him in his dry and comfortable quarters. .'My
wile is in feeble health ; she is drenched with th
rain. Cannot you, sir, persuade the ladies to ad
mit her into their cabin that she may be sheltered
during the storm ?
' No !' was the coarse and harsh reply. No
the ladies want no negroes there.'
During the dark and stormy night, that husband
and wile sat together, unsheltered and unpitied
upon the deck, lhey might have had their bit
ter thoughts in view ot their own state, lhey
must have felt deep and heavy anguish as they
remembered that this was but the common treat
ment of their race. And when they gazed upon
the bright cabin windows, and thought of the fe
males who were there reclining upon couches of
down, or sofas of damask, or perhaps weeping over
the tale of imaginary woe ; and then thought of
the contrast, thought of their own state, and that
prejudice thus exposed them ; think you that
these unsheltered outcasts felt disposed to extern
ate the guilt ot harboring it I 1 o view it as amia
ble, as innocent, as justifiable ?
Did they then think of the European traveller
who was found by the Alncan woman, when
' weary, sad, and faint was he,' and taken to her
hut, and warmed, and cherished ? And then com
pare Christian-prejudice in America with barbarous
heathen Asia !
The morning dawned and found that husband
and wife benumbed, chilled, faint from fasting, and
exhausted from watching. And when they were
anded in another ol our busy cities, did any of the
females, who again flocked upon the deck, pause
to look upon that suffering woman, and to reflect
that their prejudices had exposed her to a night of
storm, had sown in her frame the seeds al death (
The constitution of the wife could not endure
the exposure. The husband recovered from the
illness which ensued, but it was only to watch her
declining health, and to follow her to an early
1 1 .1 I 11..
crave. Ana among tne many sad ana outer
thoughts which crowded upon his mind, as he re
called his blighted hopes, his disappointed expec
tations, not one was more agonizing than this, to
use his own expression, that it was prejudice
which murdered his wife.
From the Sailor's Magazine.
A Fight with an Anaconda Serpent.
The following account of a recent perilous con
flict of a missionary in Bengal with an Anacon
da of Calcutta inserted in the Chronicle of the
London Missionary Society. We understand that
the skin of this formidable animal, which , was
killed on this occasion, thas been sent to London,
and is now deposited in the Museum of the Lon
don Missionary Society, Bloomfield street, Fins-bury.
r or three successive years, in the months of
ebruary and October, Bengal was visited by
hurricanes from the S. E., which were attended
with consequences the most lamentable. The sea
rose upwards of twenty feet above its usual level ;
the banks, which confine the' rivers Koopnarian
and Bummodah, gave way, and the inundations
which followed carried destruction through the
whole of the south and south-eastern parts of
Bengal. Upwards of twenty thousand lives were
lost, and the cattle, crops, houses, and stores, were
all washed away. The country being a low plain,
the tops of the houses were crowded with the suf
ferers, while the water continued to rise, mocking
all the efforts made to escape, and the buildings
and people fell and perished together.
The inundation was so great that all the ani
mals of the forest wcre,for a time, driven from
their accustomed haunts, and forced to seek se
curity in trees or elevated spots of ground. The
serpent, whose skin I have sent, was probably,
from this cause, driven from the Soonderbunds,
and found its way to the missionary station to
Kristnapore, which is situated on the north-western
edge of those dreary forests. The master fo
the mission school resided in a small native house
adjoining the chapel compound; but, on account
of the effects of inundation, which in a degree,
had reached that comparatively elevated spot, did
not sleep in his own house, but spread his mat in
the verandah of the chapel. Early the next
morning before it was light, he went into the
house to procure some rice for his morning meal,
and knowing exactly where to find it, he extend
ed his arm towards the spot, and placed his hand
on a large cold and slimy body. Horror-struck,
he instantly retreated, and called loudly for help,
declaring that some mrito daiok jontoo, "death
giving animal," had taken possession of his
house. Lights having been procured, the serpent
was discovered coiled up and fast asleep. With
long bamboes the people soon disturbed its slum
bers, and inflicted a severe wound on the under
side of its body. Erecting itself, and rapidly dar
ting forward, it dispersed its adversaries ; and
though many attacks were made, it kept posses
sion of the house for a considerable time. At
length a rope with a noose was thrown in, and
caught the animal by the neck, when it was drag'
ged forth and fastened to a tree. I tbeing the day
on which i usually visited the village, accompah
led by brother L., I repaired to the place, and
found the serpent considerably injured by the
blows it had received. Imagining that it was
nearly dead, we loosened the noose, and dragged
the creatute into the middle of the compound
where for a little while we left it, whilst we went
into the chapel to make arrangements for the ser
vices of the day, when, to our surprise, by the
cries of the people, we found it was making its
escape. Hastening to the spot, we observed that
it was only prevented from entirely effectiug its
purpose by the rope entering the wound on the
under side of its body, before alluded to. Mr. L
immediately seized the rope, and tightened the
noose, which, irritated the animal, it reared its
body, and, with widely extended jaws, darted at
our brother, in a most frightful manner. Mr. L
however, by his activity, eluded the attacks of the
animal ; and, though pursued around the corn-
pound, kept possession of the rope until another
noose was thrown over its head ; and the re-captured
animal was hung up on one of the pillars
which support the roof of the chapel, and was
there killed. It was apparently a young serpent,
and not more than half the size to which it would
have obtained in a few years. It was 18 feet
long, and 22 inches in circumferance. It could
have swallowed a kid or child with great ease.
The Conservative Treacher.
BY REV. LEONARD BACON.
Beside these, there is the conservative preacher,
equally cut off from healthful sympathy with the
people. I call him "conservative," not because
he has any particular right to be so called, but be
cause he chooses that name as a name of honor.
Need I describe him to you ? He is a man who
has found out that whatever looks like progress,
in these days, is, on the whole, only a progress
from bad to worse. He sees only the dark side
of every thing that is, and the bright side of eve
ry thing that was. He refers all things to the
standard of the good old times belore the begin
ning of this disastrous nineteenth century. He
is panic-struck with the innovations that he sees,
and stilt more with those ol which he has no in
formation but by common fame. Tell him of the
religious awakenings and revivals with which
God visits the churches and he groans over the
"machinery," and the "animal excitement, and
the "new measures ;" all which are, as he thinks,
peculiar to these times. Speak to him of the
movements and enterprizes of associated
lence, which are filling our country with
stitutions of Christianity, and sending
gospel to the ends of the earth, and you touch
upon another of his fears ; not that he would ex
press any disapprobation of efforts for the propa
galion of Christianity if they are only properly
conducted ; but he lears what these organizations
will grow to : he fears that thev are constructed
on a wrong principle, and that they tend to pro
mote the designs of innovators. He does not
like to hear this perpetual talking about responsi
bility. His soul thirsts for those old quiet days,
when there were no societies for the conversion
of the world, no theologiccl seminaries, no sabbath-school
libraries, no religious newspapers and
no religious news and when every man was al-
owed to smoke his pipe in-peace, and mind his
own business. All the agitations of the ace a-
armhim,asif the earth were moved out of its
place. The improvements in science, in com
merce, in the arts, which are so fast revolutioniz
ing the world, and bringing all nations into mu
tual contact and dependence, help to alarm him
To him, the glorious experiment of popular gov
eminent in this country, and ol a lederal union,
seems to have failed entirely. He despairs of the
republic, and is much inclined to the opinion, that
it win never ne wen wun us, tut we introduce
something of those hereditary distinctions which
give such stability to the institutions of the old
world. He looks upon this age as one of the
darkest in the history of man. His office is to
prophecy in sackcloth, and he expects daily the
laying of witnesses. In a word, he is so fright
ened with the hissing of steam, the noise of ma-
y running to and fro, the general excitement at
tendant on the increase of knowledge, and the
commotions and jarrings incidental to the rapid
progress of society, that he feels as if it were the
chief end of man to stand still and hold back.
This is our conservative. You have heard
mi. How did he preach f i owertully, do you
with his hallucination. But as soon as you re
member what the fact is as soon as you go out
of his closed and darkened apartment, and begin
to perceive the reality of things, and breathe the
free air, and look upon the face of blooming and
rejoicing nature, the spell of such eloquence is
broken. So whoever hears our conservative
preacher, harping upon his own idea of the pro
gressive degeneracy of this iron age, may be im
pressed, so long as he forgets the facts, or while
he happens to be in a melancholy mood of feeling..
But when he goes out into the real world, and sees
things as they are; when he sees every interest
of society actually advancing science continually
mamng new discoveries, anu an instantly turning;
each new discovery to account for the use of man
knowledge diffused more copiously m all di
rections, and among all classes the means of hu
man comfort endlessly multiplied great reforma
tion of morals, brought to pass by the voluntary
efforts of good and patriotic men arguing with
their fellow-citizens the press free, the pulpit
free, the churches free from all subjection to the
state the school and the sanctuary rising in eve
ry new settlement that intrudes upon the wilder
ness an educated and devoted ministry, coming;
forward by thousands, to build up the waste pla
ces missionaries going out in companies, tc
preach the doctrine of Christ crucified, in every
quarter of the world presses and schools set up
on the darkest and remotest shores, and barbarous
tongues learning the name and praise of Jesus
it is impossible for him to believe that the night of
the dark ages is again closing in upon the world.
He who is continually crying out, that an age
like this, an age of freedom, peace, and universal
progress, is, of all ages, most disastrous to the
church, ought to know that the people can retain
their confidence in the divinity of the Christian:
religion, only by losing their confidence in him.
Let it not be so with you. Beware how you
fall into this morose and green-eyed humor of ul
tra conversation. Never be afraid of improve
ment. Show that you have in you the spirit of
reform and progress. Be co-workers with him
who is making all things new. Remember that,
in this age, above all others, if ministers of the
gospel stand as the guardians of old errors or abu
ses, if they look upon improvements with a jeal
ous eye, if they always exalt the days of fifty
years ago as better than these days, their hold
upon the popular mind is gone ; their sympathy
with the popular heart is gone : and the power of
the pulpit is no more. Biblical Repository.
COMMON SCHOOL JOURNAL,
THE subscribers propose to publish a Paper, to be de
voted to the cause of education. It will be called
The Common School Journal.
The Editorial Department will be under the care of tho
Hon. Horace M ann, Secretary of the Board of Education.
It will be pu Wished semi-monthly, in an octavo form,
of sixteen pages each. Twenty four numbers will be is
sued each year, making an annual rolumn of S84 pages.
The subscription price will be One Dollar a year.
The great object of tho work will be the improvement
of Common Schools, and other means of Popular Educa
tion. It is also intended to make ft a depository of ihi
Laws of the Commonwealth in relation to Schools, and of
the Reports, Proceedings, &c, of the Massachusetts
Board of Education. As the documents of that Board will
have a general interest, they ought to be widely diffused,
and permanently preserved.
the Paper will explain, and as far as possible, enforce
upon all parents, guardians, teachers, and school officers,
their respective duties towards the rising generation. It
will also address to children and youth all intelligible mo
tives to obey the laws of physical health, to cultivate
"good behavior," to strengthen the intellectual faculties,
and enrich them with knowledge; and to edvance moral
and religious sentiments into ascendency and control over
cnimal and selfish propensities.
Ihe I aper will be kept entirely aloof from partizanship
in politics, and commendiug to practice, only the great
and fundamental truths of civil and social obligation, of
moral and religious duty. It will not be so much the ob
ject of the work to discover, as to diffuse knowledge. Ia
this age ana country, the dilheulty is not so much that but
few things on the subject of education are known, ns it is
that but few persons know them. Many parents and teach
ers not at all deficient in good sense and abounding in
good feeling and good purposes, fail only from want of in
formation how to expand and cherish the infantile and ju
venile mind, and hence they ruin children through love
unguided by wisdom. It should therefore be the first ef
fort of all friends of education to make that which is now
known to any, as far as possible, known to all. The pro
posed Paper is designed to be the instrument of accom
plishing such an object.
It is hoped that such a subscription list will be obtained
as to authorize a commencement of the Paper during the
Terms One Dollar per annum, payable in advance;
or, six copies for five dollars. Friends of education are
requested to procure subscribers, and forward their lists
to the publishers. All letters must be post paid.
MARSH, CAPEN & LYON.
4 133 Washington Street, Boston.
Boarding House ! M
FEW gentleman boarders can be accommodated with
board, with single rooms if desired, on reasonable
terms. A. CARTER.
Montpelier Village, Jan. 5, 1839. l:tf.
ANTI-SLAVERY ALMANACS FOR 1839, For sale at
r-. . 1 , 1 f i
ay f liut have you neara nun lor weens ana
months, so as to know the effect of his preaching,
s a whole, on the people ? Perhaps there is
power m a single discourse oi nis, n you give
yourself up to tho" illusion which he throws a-
round himself, and which has become a part of
s identity. Nothing is more thrilling than the
ilk, sometimes, of a hypochondriac, or monoma-
lac, especially if you fall in, for the moment,
THE VOICE OF FREEDOM
Is published every Saturday morning, at $2 a year, pay
able in advance. If payment be delayed till the end of
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Advertisements inserted at the usual rales.
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be addressed to the Publishers i letters relating to the edi
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ed for publication should be signed by the proper name of
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Agents of the Vermont Anti-Slavery Society, and officers
of local anti-slavery societies throughout the state, are u-
tliorizod to act as agents for this paper. "
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