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__ > Zj THE NATIONAL ERA. ;-_i" <i. BAILEY, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR; JOHN G._ WHITTIER, CORRESPONDING EDITOR. ^oin^nr WASHINGTON, THUKSPAY. <HTOBI:R IO. ihoo whole NO. 197 1 I fh lira I* Fabliibed Weeklr. Revewth I tiirml, op|?**lte Odd Fellows' Hall. TERMS. I ;'wo i nlars per annum, payable in advance. \ Ivertisemeuts not exceeding ten lines inserted three times for one dollar, every subsequent insertion. twenty-fire cents. Ml communications to the Era, whether on h iiiness of the paper or for publication, should he allressed to O. Bailiy, Washington. D C. BUELL k BLANCHARU, PRINTERS, Sixth street, a few door* couth of Penn?ylT?nia ?v?Dne THE NATIONAL ERA. WASHINGTON, OCTOI1KR 7 1850 + ^ m**mm mmmmmmmm / "Mi-TiiV TUDFCIJT l)S I.JFR * The author of this volume of religious dis- | courses is more widely known as a contributor to I magtiines, and a public lecturer, than as a preach- j er Thepreface inforinsus that thesesermons were not written for pastoral purposes. They are, as they purport to be, " Discourses on Life," assuming now the form of the lecture, now of the sermon. and occasionally combining with these the nWitative and easy How of the essay, as the writer's moods have suggested. It may be that to this freedom in the use of the form we are indebted for many of the best pages of this admirable volume ; for the religious life is ctpricious in its literary manifestations, and does not always, as the old weariness in the churches indicates, appear at the call or mm wno wrues with a parish upon his shoulders and a Sabbath at his heels; rather of him who in a day of clear, intense life feels moved to write, with no fear of the doctors, and no purpose sate the expression of himself, the truth that successive years of thought and feeling have given him. We value, Ib'ererorf, 'ttioitr a^iti/^ucnr Si<, courses, because coming from a writer out of pulpit and pastoral relations, yet who knows the outer and inner world bystit& ltilutws of exptrWnce ' as has been granted to few preachers. in estimating the value of this book it would be unfair to separute it from its authors personality. Those are fortunate indeed who can read it with the commentary of tones, looks, and gestures, which the friends of Mr. Giles especially will never wish to forget, and it is no disparagement to the writer to say this. Mr. Giles was made to sptak to men, and only before an audience is he in full possession of himself. Indeed, the practiced eye otn see that these discourses were not written in solitude; for in his study he yet sat before that surging tide of human faces, and felt tingling through every nerve, the electric shootings of a thousand beating hearts. Those who read his book with no thought of this will miss its interpretation ; the voice that rolled its impetuous tide underneath these waves of thought and emotion, and bound reasoning and <iuiet humor, and sudden leap of fancy, and swift spiral asceut of passion, and the gushing of a deep heart into one whole discourse? the face even a more obedient servant of the spirit?ana ahove an, inai mysterious auu msunciive feeling between the orator and his audience, which anticipated conclusions, plays with rhetoric, snaps chains of logic, and sweeps along speaker and hearer triumphantly from point to point, telling in secret what is not said, and leaving a sense of satisfaction which the printed words of the a'lsooorse will never impart to a critical reader Fortunate, we say, then, are those who can re:nl this book in Mr. Giles's personal atmosphere. It has revelations for them, which it has not for others; for things only hinted here, become plain enough with such a commentary. We make no apology for introducing this consideration. Any mau has more about him than he can put into proof sheets ; and years of intellectual, emotional, and imaginative life, may have conspired to modulating a tone, or drawing a line across the brow, or guiding he wave of an arm, lifted in a moment of enthusiasm above a listening assembly. And the same consideration must come into our estimate of the author's style. It is the style of a man who always talks and writes to an audience?who is so sure of its sympathy that he will whisper in its ear what he can hardly say to his bosom friend. Hence its great simplicity; for he who can feel the heart of a multitude beating against his own, need not wrap himself in obscure or ambitious phrases. Hence its wonderful flexibility , now level, terse, airy, declamatory, undulatory or, in higher moments, springing like a spire of flame from the earth, or rerosintr awhile on quiet uplands of contemplation ; for all these moods does the soul of the speaker assume to his hearer And here, too, is the explanation of its fulness, almost wordiness; this is not troublesome to an audience when a great man is behind the words. Vet its rare purity of diction is a beautiful proof of a delicacy of taste which never throws dust in that 1 well of pure English undefiled. which has too often in these latter days become a mineral spring, whose waters leave upon the palate unsavory reminiscences of a hundred new schools of literature and eloquence. To say that the style of these discourses is unsuitable, is then to question the spiritual instincts of a man whose life has been passed before appreciating audiences Its apparent defects, sudden transitions, and inoongrui'ies are often in obedience to more subtle laws than those taught by Whately and the Universities. A thousand men in one room will soon tell a speaker how he must talk to them, though they only listen; and Mr. Giles has not been instructed by this great professor of rhetoric in vain. It is not our purpose now to inquire how far these peculiarities of the author's literary position hive modified his original mental tendencies; 1 neiiber do we pretend, in the space here allotted us to do justice to the various manifestations of his power. This would Involve a criticism of his essays and lectures and other proiuctions. Our intention is to indicate a few leading characteristics of his mind as they appear in the volume be f<>rp u? I I ho first thing that impresses us in these pages is the author's firm grasp of mora) principles. He feels the reility of the laws that make Cbristi snity. an l the facts upon which it is founded, as I lew men do. The of Worth of Man, the Value I <?f freedom, Revereuce, Faith, and Forgiveness* 'he Purpose of Life, the Boundary Between 8 Knowledge and Mystery : of these he is intensely I ' "jnseious, and he writes always under the sub laing or inspiring infiuence of such a consciour ne?K Hut we must think his appreciation of these H '* i? more vivid, as they appear in their out manifestations, than in their interior spiritB '"d relations. His rye turns more naturally outB towards moral laws, incarnated in persons B events, thsn inward, towards the seoret growth B 'f 'he religious life. He is content to look fl ?p?n truth, love, tnd hesuty, and,through reverI *DCe &nd endeavor, grow unconsciously into their I rfscinhlftnce He shrinks from exploring thoee I Perilous mares of the inner life where the sharpI *>t eye often fails, and the atoutest heart beats fast 8 ' "u* he fills us with a healthy and hearty admiI r*'ion for eieellence and a horTor for ain, rather I 'I'an reveals our own souls to as. Wedonotread I "> l say Come see a man who told me all thinge I ,1%l "ff I did;" hut we do oome from him glow "'I wuh aspiration far every thing great, good, I *od lovely. B IS. 'i' V Thought .is l.ifc lu a series nt l?ts*our**s B i 'i r / " "t " Lsetarss au.l Kssays." K'WB "I'kiair, KssU, k KiclOs. The name tendency leads him to contemplate human life rather iu its objective as pec's and its results than its secret sources and subtle relatione Historical groupings in his pages naturally illustrate great principles, and his pictures from private life are usually copied from its common and obvious appearances. Nature, too, in its i grander outlines, and its broad spaces of light and shadow, is the object of his love and reverent sympathy In all these discourses we have the outward procession of life rather than the inward analysis. There are few of those sentences which so often in Martineau flash a strong light into the deepest abysses of our souls. Yet. the author has J lived deeply, a* we discover from his mod^sf cev 4 mmm* 'iie /?*<>o *>A ir? nei />/> )> ioli ) ir the advantages of his method. to complain that he attempts not the more doubtful and difficult task of showing us ourselves. The manner in which principles are apprehended depends upon the combination of intellect, imagination, and passion, in the nature. The intellect of Mr Giles is broad, healthy, and generously appropriative, rather (ban critical, or metaphysical. Facts and opinions do not lie in such relations in his mind that we read every page as a step in the elucidation of a system ; neither are we always satisfied by his attempts at metaphysical analysis ; in truth, those pages seem to ns the least valuable in the book. Neither do we look for delicate appreciation of the shades of personal character, or any very critical estimate of motives or actions. He deals with principles in their outlines; walks over long tracts of thought with a free step and a joyous mien, and is ever ready to welcome a nrw idea, without fear of disarrangement to his own mental furniture. We receive from his intellect a refreshing feeling of manliness and cQinjnon^fUie in a greater derree thiuufrom , Ihot of onV writer of sermons we know But the highest thing done by our author is | -37c thr-mi < ' i ?s i -gtatvK 0 *.,> pathies. His heart is as wide as the race of man, and one throb of it will often bring him alongside of great masses to whose hearts be discourses with power. He bears us along upon the swift torreut of his passion with no fear of wreck; for emotion so healthy and comprehensive as his cau always be trusted. It is no small praise to say, that in a book abounding in passages of pathetic and exultant feeling, we cannot point to a line of unhealthy religious sentimentalism. His heart is as true as it is deep and tender. His power of intuition, united with an imagination which vividly realizes and pictures what is suggested by every other faculty, often conducts him to heights which men of far stronger and subtler intellects in vain attempt to scale. While he rarely reposes in those elevations of serene contemplation, where truth is seen in a white light, he is often poised a moment above the clouds, and gives report of strange and beautiful things there seen A better combination of faculties could hardly be desired for a great j popular preacher than this; an intellect generous , nnri rnhnufr na wall an uanotfiwa /lalionfo imnwau 1 sions; a heart on fire with passion for the great, and good,and beautiful; and an imagination pictorial, and kindling at the 6ight of new truth. While these are not, perhaps, the <jualitiea of a great creative mind, they constitute a nature lying open on cue side to the reception of all that is highest and best, and full of attractive power on the other to draw men up to their worthy appreciation. We have no space for extracts?in truth, we prefer that our readers should buy the book and make their own. We, however, have read with peculiar pleasure the discourses on the "Guilt of Contempt," "David," "The Spirit of Christian Forgiveness," and those pages of calm and sweet reflection in "Evangelical Goodness" and "The Weariness of Life," which seem to us in the uuthor's best manner of thought and expression. But every sermon contains stirring and eloquent passages ; and we leave the book, heartily thanking the writer for having given us a new reverence for Christianity, more strength for action and enduranoe, and a firmer faith in 1 lis goodness, to whose glory powers so rare and commanding are here worthily consecrated. A. D M. For tfc? National bra BESSIE LINDSAY; (IK. THE HOY DEN TAXED. BV .MARY IRVING. [CONCU'DKD.J Three years and more had flown away Charles Franklin's visits to his adopted home had grown * . _ j ii_i .i .1.. i_ a... ?r more ire<|iieni mm lining man iuc je;irij ?i> ui yore Bessie was evermore bis faithful coriegpondent, and her lively letters kept a well-spring gushing in the sober heart of his theological life. Three years had not left her a little girl, although they could not be said to have soh>rnl her into womanhood. Wilful and winning as ever, she was almost dangerously fascinating in her young beauty and awakened wit. From the pupil of her cousin, she hud risen to be the confidant of his every purpose?the sharer of his every joy and sorrow Books were strong links in the chain that circumstances had thrown around their hearts. The dashes of her light pencil enlivened the niaigins of his "Shakspeare" and " Ivanhoe," and a lock from the brown braids of her hair lay nestling among the sublime mysteries of his " Paradise Lost." Unconsciously, Charles had grown to regard her as something belonging to himself, and now the thought was at times moat painful. (lis own vow at bis mother's death-bed, and his own plans, purposes, and wishes ever since, had hound him to the self-denying life of a missionary Was the thoughtless, wild-spirited girl a fitting candidate for the " Cross and Crown V' Yet he knew how strong was the tie that bound Bessie's heart to his; and he trusted firmly by this to draw it into the same path of self-denial fie sought uot to break that tie She had often told him?and her eyes had said more than her impulsive lips? ''Cousin Charles! my destiny ik in your hands; I shall be what yon shall make roe!*' Strong is the power of a mighty?a master? spirit. It bursts, with the sweep of the uncurbed ocean, over all obstacles, and bears down human hearts in myriads at its own wild will. Cut there is a point where Omnipotence saith to the mightiest human influence, as it said to that stormy wave, " Thus far shall thou come, and no farther; and here shall thy" pride ' be stayed !" Charles had yet to learn the truth, that to angel or mortal was never delegated the power to touch the chord that draws the heart heavenward! ilii theological studies were ended, hut circumstances offered to detain him a year from his destination ; and it must be owned that the delay was a source of satiafaction hardly acknowledged to his " heart of hearts." He wai passing a week at hie "home"?a week of trial, almost of despair; for Beanie's eiuberance of wild epirlta seemed never so fully at its height; and his own sank proportionately "Are you never serious, Cousin Bessie?" he asked, almost impatiently, one evening, when her mirthful pranks had broken through all the barriers by which he had sought to turn them into a i|uieter channel. "Yes, sometimes? & Hun Jay a," returned the lively brunette, M when anybody but Parson W. preaches. By the way, Charley, If yon will preach, I promise to look as demure as a psalmbook in the front gallery all day long I" " But llessie! Cousin Bessie" "But, my dear Cousin Charles, A. M?which is, being interpreted, Master of the Art of longfacedness?I intend to bring an action for manslaughter at the next court against Seminary for killing the spirit of life in you ! You used to be as lively as a woodlark, and now! it is enough to provoke a contrary creature like myself into a violent fit of risibility, even to look at you!" " Bessie, will you hear me V " I have the floor, sir! and my sermon deserves its turn! Its theme might be stated thus: ' Laughing is absolutely esseutial to health and long life.' Dr. Combe for that?there is authority ! Now to make tfto nersm^l ap^icutinn in wnrvto Von mv most esteemed aud re- \ i spectad couavn, at* convicted of committing slow suicide upon your physical frame! Do you never laugh now ?" she added, with undiminished mirth "Incorrigible!" thought her cousin, as he looked her steadily and hopelessly in the face with an expression that at last startled her into some degree of attention. " I do not often laugh I cuonot laugh to-day." replied he, ut length. "Serious matters lie before me here," drawing from his pocket a letter, which he held, as if hesitating to unfold. Bessie bounded to the ottoman, with a look of intense curiosity into the face that was fixedly bent toward the oak leaves of the carpet beneath " It ia from B , Bessie, and it calls me to my life-path sooner than I had anticipated.'' If his object had been merely to sober his young listener, it was already attained. She sat with heaving chest, cheeks suddenly paled, and lips half parted, while, in the pause that followed I his words, she breathed chokingly. " You were not going for a yiar, Charles!" my plans are a^ered, Bessie?1 must leave* and I seek not?now?to stay. I nulm leave this dear home?to-morrow!" he added, ""'vfjysnd earsng Jtlr with ? sudden firmness. "To-morrow!" gasped the bewildered girl ? No?no!" " Be culm, Bessie!' said he, soothingly, taking her hand?though his own was cold as ice, and passive as though that ice had fallen upon his warm heart-pulses. " You shall not?you cannot leave me, Cousin Charles!" exclaimed the impulsive being, throwing her arms around his neck and laying her sobbing, trembling head upon his throbbing heart. You! the only human being that ever understood me?that ever guided me?my only one ! you are going to the heathen. I am worse than the heathen?I need you more than they all! Stay with me, Charles, or oh! if you must go, take me with you, cousin ! Don't leave me in this world alone! I am not tit?" and the incoherent sentence died away ou her quivering lips. The countenance that bent above her's was contracted with agony for a moment, as Charles's arms closed around the victim of his own misguided hopes and dreams Rut he spoke not, till he said, slowly and steadily?"Bessie! ask yourself?are you fit to be a missionary}s At that last word, Bessie unclasped her arms and rose to her full height. The fountain of tears was checked instantaneously; yet she did not faint, although her cheek was white and her lips colorless. It was as though a flash of lightning had transfigured her with those words from " the child to the woman." And woman's pride, and womau's dignity, came swelling in tfe? full tid? that hnret from ad almost breaking heart. She Htood a mo- I ment in that sudden hush of the whirlwind, gazing, Dot on him, but on vacancy. "NoP she exclaimed, while Charles looked on her with a vague terror. She turned from him, and walking firmly to the door, laid her hand upon the latch. " Bessie, we do not part in anger?" cried Charles, as overcome by a sudden spasm at his heart, he spraDg half-way toward her. " She turned, and gave him one look?so full of reproach, yet so full of gratitude?so full of adoration, that he stood transfixed Never, to his brightest dream, had she looked so bewilderingly beautiful?so soul-radiant?and it was for the last tint' ! Such a glance might a spirit ut the Gate of Life, fix on its departing guardian angel. Kach lived an age in that one moment. "We should count time by heart-throbs" It passed Bessie grasped the latch?her hand trembled upon it; but she was gone. Too proud to be pitied of mortal, she buried herself in the recesses of her chamber, and?but we may not intrude there. And Charles. lie was not less the sufferer that he had drilled his heart into a life-long subjection to a higher aim. Not less a sufferer?for he could not look on this wreck of hope and nay, " I woke not the winds and waves to 'whelm my bark of happiness He had grasped a chair convulsively, and when the door closed between him and her, he moved toward the window " A m oment o'rr bin brow The tablet of unutterable thought* Waa trace!, ami then it faded ai It came." He clasped his hands over his heart, and looked up to Heaven?"Is the sacrifice complete, oh! Father f} Two months later, Chnrles, in his lonely stateroom in a vessel bound for the dark shores of Asia, unsettled the trunk where his kind sis ters had deposited their last gifts. A bundle of stout "socks," from Aunt Hetty's own swift fin gers, together with ' com fort ere" of many a hue? a beautiful pair of shades from Mary, and a valuahle portfeuille from Theresa, (now "settled in life" near her childhood's home), received for each his silent thanks, as did the choice hook* which constituted the greater part of the precious cargo not a little package in one corner arrested his eye, and he opened it hesitatingly. Envelope after envelope unrolled, and the last contained a card with these words ouly : " 1 would give you opinion of mijirlf, if I could fotgive and 'otgtl Hknuk." "Forget!" he echoed, as he bowed his bead upoo his closely-clasped hands For mauy minutes he silently communed with the world invisible, till its calmness fell like a mantle over his soul He quietly arose, and placed the canl with his mother's miniature. " liessie ! what has changed you so 7" exclaimed Mary, one evening, six months later, as liessie knelt by her sick chair to administer a bowl of her own inimitable gruel liessie dropped her eyes, but forced a light laugh " Vou were wild as a hawk, and twice as restless, a year sinoe," Mary went on. "Now you surprise roe every hour, by something so unlike your former self. Why, ycu are making Aunt ij.m? oi.it* itmiahle bv vour concilia!iveness. and ...v , . you are the dearest uurw to toe, sweet sister mine" Bessie's lips might have quivered a little, hut the invalid felt it not an they pressed her pale cheek ailently ; and the young aiater went down into the little parlor. It we the sonnet hour of a Bummer Sabbath day. Her white-haired father rat in hia "old arm-chair," holding up the ponderoua family liible to bia failing eyea. A halo from the cloud-curtain of the weatern ekiee reeled upon hia "hoary head like a crown of glory." 44 Shall I read to yon, father 7" aaked the daughter. gently aeating herself upon the Bluffed arm of the eaay chair " Thank you. dear, it's getting dim for me," was the tender reply of the warm-hearted old roan. In a mellow tone she breathed out the beautiful words of inspiration She paused at last. She laid the volume on its three-cornered stand, and coming again to her father, wreathed her white fingers la the whiter locks that time had epared his temples " Father!" she timidly spoke " Well, tnv deer, what is it 7" " Father! I have been thinking of leaving you? of going away to teach " " Why, my darliog, la not the old house.large enough for ue all 7" " Oh, yea, father, but?" 7 u Hut what?" " Hut it seems to me that I ought to ho accomplishing something in this busy world."' "You are, my daughter, you are making the sunshine of an old man's declining days Hod bless you and direct you, Bessie! but 1 should miss you more than heart can tell. Tears came crowding to Bessie's eyelids: she dropped two upon the broad forehead of the old man and then turning suddenly, went out into the little verandah. Twilight had hidden the sunset gleam?a shadow was falling upon the world, and it fell ou her heart too. She claBped her hands, and looked up to the whispering elms; then suddenly pressed them over her still damp eyelids " I must not stay here!" she exclaimed. every breexe, every leaf, whispers to me what I would forget. Dear ties bind me he'e, but the tie of M'oot among them. I nil! not be a pining sentimentalist?I (Jinnoi be a stoic! ("'baric- I will go where your meiuo^shall uot speak to me thus?night, noon, and morning" A month from that hour, Bessie was a hundred miles away. Mbe had obtained a situation in a flourishing seminary, of which, in a year's time, she became the energetic and valued principal. Was she happy ? Who ever sought happiness in action, where action and duty were synonymous, and found it not? " It is not good for man to be alone"?and this Charles Franklin had proved, long ere, worn to feebleness by unrelaxed toil under it burning sun, he came again to breathe the bracing winds of his native sky. lie stood on deck while the first of America's shore grew dark on the world of waters?cheerfully, not buoyantly g"tiDg?for itrn% 'iro uruiiu unu iu n i urrc w-ta n im'iliory of llesay Linisay next his heart; but it was a memory?not a hope. What destiny might h ive written for her, he knew not He had heard of a change in her aims for this life, and her hopes for another, before a year had parted them Two years had passed since then. He h d often silenced the dream voice in his heart, by siyiug. " Her pride would conquer her love Even were she all that I once thought to make her, llensie Lindsay would never In we place her hand in w t r , % J Yet he sought his adopted home?he could not do otherwise The good farmer was hoary ind e?rvr, ~ vin- " 'th t fait c\: blessing. There wus'a joyful commotion in the little household, for it was luth now Mary w is there, more sisterly than ever ; and Hells, a beauty and a blonde, kept the walls alive by her own liveliness. The rest of the sisters had long since gone the way of this marrying world. Aunt I letty had found in the " old churchyard" the rest our ucirr nuupi iu inr. All?but Bessie " You must not go without seeing her," said the old man She is the (lower of my heart?the darling of my old ago. 1 have never forgotten your care of her. Charles You ought to?must see her." " I mil see her," said Charles to himself " I will see her, and blot out her memory with her indifference." Charles sat in the study of the clergyman of C , on a day not long succeeding the last date, and aroused a eulogium that might have p monized a saint in the middle ages, as he casually inquired for the youthful Principal's welfare. "Thank God, that she hsis risen to crush trial beneath her!" responded his heart. "You could not find a better trt/e, young friend, concluded the minister, with that glance of peculiar curiosity to which the young tni-sionary had often been painfully subjected, iu his wanderings. Charles replied by a laconic bow, and a slightly ironical smile " Thank you, sir. The lady is a cousin of mine?I might say, an adopted sister "Ah! well," returned his well-meaning adviser," I need not then proclaim her excellencies in your ear. We are by no means desirous to part with the jewel of our town. The clock strikes ; will you accompany me, sir. to my Thursday lecture, and relieve me by conducting its exercises ! Miss Lindsay is its constant attendant, and she will be there " Charles Franklin had not thought that his pulse could vilunte ngiitu nn he irU .? -way, wbrn he seated himself upon the platform of that Assembly-room. It was a summer evening. There was a quietness in the air?a quietness in the willow-boughs that almost drooped within the opcu windows, lie acauucd piercingly each face that, entering, took in freshness front the crimson curtains of the sunset sky Bessie Lindsay, with her own gentle though elastic step, and a countenance as radiant with calm joyousness its the glowing heaven itself, came soon along the aisle, buried in h<T own quiet thoughts. The simple evening service commenoed?and at the first low word, Bessie lifted her eyes, to ...cv- ?uc jnic ui luunu u.tl " "? iuciuu. j wio moas of years had grown green in her heart A quick throb of that heart told how deerdy rooted had been that memory, but she hushed its bearing emphatically Shading her closed eyes with her hand, she communed with the voice of Reason, till the sunbeam shone again unclouded in her countenance. Cheerfully, cordially, each met each nt the door, and gave and returned an old friend's grasp of the hand The next morning's call ? I need not say that it was dreaded on both sides, but it must be met) and so Bessie advanced frankly to meet Charles as heentered the door of her elegant little pirlor. and held out both hands to welcome him. With the inimitable grace of an accomplished woman sho seated herself at his side, and blended cordial inquiries after the home-circle with many questions upon the history of the past three years At length un awkward pause intruded itself, such as frequently falls in between two persons who know, or have onoe known, a great deal of each others' hearts. A certain indefinable dread of saying either too little or too much, strikea both into dumbness Bessie was the first to break this, with a touch of her frunjp olden gaiety. "There is an iceberg of embarrassment between us, Cousin Charles, and it must be thawed away. 1 laid its foundations, and I must be the first to attack them, 1 suppose. Forgive me for alluding, one only, to an hour that you cannot have forgotten. 1 do so, merely that its memory may be thornless in your heart. Cousin, I owed you more than life?all that made life valuable you woke in my heart; and when that heart gave itself to you unsought"? Charles would have interrupted her, but she hurriedly, almost proudly, went on. " The girlish folly was a siocere one j but it has not passed away without leaving a baptism on the heart it swayed, more purif ing than thai of fire Its tendrils had all been entwined round an earthly prop. When rent from that, they turned Heavenward Cousin, none but you could have taught me that lesson?the lesson to love the Creator more than the created, and all the happiness which this lesson learned has shed upon my life, I owe to yon, uuder kind Heaven! For this, most of all, 1 would thank you, and woold bid you Ui-miMM every regretrul reuiemnrance 01 mo trial which alone could have tamed into submission the wild turbulence of my nature. Shall we not mow, be again the friend* that we once were?" exclaimed ahe, extending her hand to her couain " Xot till you hare heard ?? , Bessie," responded her listener, burying nevertheless the offered pledge of reconciliation in his own manly hand "Not until you hare allowed me to correct a misapprehension of yours at the risk even of your displeasure. You gave not your ' heart unsought ' " " Let the dead Past bury its dead!" returned the lady, almost haughtily, yet with color heightening in her expressive countenance " I know that pridr is the la?t enemy which remains to be conquered in your heart, Bessie! You tell me?and your lips never spoke word* not of truth?you tell me that my infiueuce over your spirit has been strong to subdue its conscious waywardness Bessie, it is for you to answer ! Shall I challenge the last mighty passion there 7" Bessie sat motionless, with drooping eyelids, whose trembling told only of the inward struggle that was working out her destiny She did not answer?in words?and we may not answer for her! Yet there was an answer given, at the altar of a little country church when Bessie?no longer Bessie Lindsay?placed her hand in that of the guide of ber youth. " You have stolen away an old man's treasure, Charley!" spoke the old father, half chidingly, wiping hisdim eyes with a hopeful smile "Well, tAke her, with mine and Heaven'e beet blessing ! T leaven gave her to you in ber childhood. Charles! You shall keep her for your own forever!" Bessie looked up into the eyes that rested on her tear-gathering face with the deep devotion of the missionary's bride?" Where thou goeat, I will go ; where (hot dieet, I will die; and there will I be buried I" Where the mountains of iiiodoeUu burn in the blaze of a torrid nun?where, under palinshaded roofe, cluster, night and morning, groups of ignorant, dark-browed and dark-minded beings, iu the light of en all endi ring all-hoping, te-icher's smile?we may not follow the once "little hoyden." We will only pour out the best, most fervent wishes of our hearts on such as her. who voluntarily transplant themselves from our civilized "garden of the world.to make "the wilderness blossom as the rose " For the National Kra THE SPIRIT-MI NTED. BY MISS AMCK CARRY. O'er the <lark woods, surging. solemn, Wong the new tnoon'e silver ring ; And in white and naked lo-auty, Out fjnuji rsiltflit'* luminous wiuj'. ' Yeetvvl tin first star ut ttie eVe? 'Twas the time when poets weave Kadiwiit songs of love's sweet passion. In the loom of thought sublime, An I with throbbing, qui k pulsations ISeat the goldcu web of rhyme. On s hill side wi le and lewee >me. I (ending toward the fearful wave, Whose co'd billows aye keep dropping Through the still door of the grave, Where the Hp from love is hound, And the forehead napkin cr iwtied; On a hill side, where like ruins Slanted columns of pale Are And the liiist from off life's river Quivered like a glittering wire O'er tlie white arin of Hume maid Mottled in the folding ebade : Onee, ah me ! I once beheld him Whom no mortal love could bind, from a path of deaolafe grandeur Keating bark the ehillinz wind; Sinking a* he onward preet, heath'* *harp arrow in hie breaet In the leaeh of an enehantmeut followed hie blark apaniel, ghoul, Cowering toward the rooky kennela t > J While hi* hunger-glittering ever Burned like fire that never dies. into ?o<nn J)in pa c msg?r? ( rushed the awect chord* of hia lyre, l.ike a phantom-haud careering Some loat meteor'* mane of tire ; While hi* heart made vocal night Knocking at the gate* of 'ight tin a dream of awful eplendor Hta wound-weary aoul war at retched, And aerosa the heart'a pale ruina Winged imagination* reached O'er the ?lory and the gloom Of that hirth chamber, the tomb. A* the poor bind hunted, panting, On the weary chaae for hour*, lu tome wildernesa of beauty Wind* it* ailver horn* with tlowera ; (fathered he deep peace unaought In the glorioua realm* of thought. In a tower, ahadow-ladttl, With a eavauienl high and dim, Year* agone there dwelt a maiden, living, ami beloved by him. But while rifling liyMa'* bee* A hold tnanker croaaed the *eaa. 'I'l..... K..j .,.. I ? Imnhltu """t " ? ?...? *. I.ike a star ill morning's light, faithless (o her mortal lorer Kled she forth into the night? I'or her a ((rent fe!U<< WH? 8pr8Hl| In the kingdom overhead Wo, O wo! for the abandoned, Mini hi* mortal steps iniiat be, Heath's high-print Ma sonl ha* wedded Unto immortality' TwiHght'a golden fall or morn, hind* him, leave* him, weary, lorn. Weary, lorn, I once beheld him, WIth hie wild eyeefull of light, Under in\d i ight'e roof of planets ri-i?l.,.ui ii.in.mo.. debtAh each vision, fancy-wooed, haded back to eo'itude. Sometimes by the lonely Hea aide, Sometimes in the wilderness, Half Ida rapture-shaken bosom Keels again the Illy press Ufa while arm, vain, 'tis vain? I'oiind him darkness aches agtin. I.. I. -- l? - OIImmu li.inavv Kur the beauty of hts song; Kcbgr* lockeil fruiii mortal waking Trembled a* lie pasted along, Am) for love of him |mle in aid* leaned like lilies from the shades, lint the limits of lose unwinding I' mm his bosom as be might, Hurieil be bis (oul of sorrow In the cloud dissolving light Of the spirit |ieopled shore Kver, ever, evermore. for the National Kra. CIINM AIPTION UK THE I'KUHICTS lll? SLAVE LA 11(1 K IN ENGLAND. The abolition of slavery in the British West India inlands wan preceded by strenuous and successful efforts to induce the people of Great Britain to disuse the products of sluve labor These efforts originated mainly with those who call themselves " Friends," among whom have always been found earnest, patient, and persevering advocates of the suffering slave. Within the pist year a new and vigorous movement has commence! in Knglatid, which in the result may largely interest this country Coffee, rice, and sugar, of the product of free labor, can without diliiculty fie obtained ; but the question from whence free cotton can be had, has been one of difficult solution The efforts in India to grow the better qualities, are not as yet successful, but there is some improvement, even there There is also a probability that cotton will fie largely produced in other British possessions In Jamaica and other West India islands, many plantations have been commenced, and are reported as doing well. From l'ort Natal, Mouth Africa, samples of cotton have been received, valu<d by brosers in Fngland as worth one shilling per pound ; and an influential colonist writes?" From one tree of the green seed variety, that I have growing in anything but a guod situation near my house, I have gathered full six and a half pounds annually for the lust three years, (about three pounds the first year) Nil pounds of cotton, as it comes from the tree, yields two pounds of clean cotton One thousand such tree* can he grown on an acre of ground." There is also in thin country a Free Produce Annotation, the organ of which in the " Son Sinv.rholtlrr, publish"! in Philadelphia. It ia a paper of admirable spirit. and has contained a ! g.reai amount ol information hm to that portion of the population of the si ire States who hold no slave-, and who, if they km w their strength, as many of them already know their rights and interests, would speedily overturn slavery. Recent letters from England state that the Rev. Dr. I'enniugton and the Rev 11. 11 Garnet (both once slaves in this country,) are now discuseing the (question of the disuse of slave-grown produce before English audience* The organisation in Kngland Is very active and efficient, and it seems probable that it will be able to lessen the demand for slave-giown cotton In the effort to do so, no war is proclaimed against this country, or even against the Mouth ; my, the enterprise is already, to some extent, appreciated and befriended by the non-slaveholders of the South, who have furnished souie hundreds of bales of free cotton, and are ready and anxious to make arrangements for u largely increased supply W E W. sir mm ninpKR. In Pettign w'? Medical Portrait Gallery, Part V, are the following amusing anecdotes of the celebrated surgeon, 8ir Aatley Cooper: lie received, perhaps, the lirgest fee given at one time for an operation It was upon an old n . ...... I II..H in the Went Indite ; ari l when he arrived at the age of aeventy, being elllicted wi'h atone in the hladder, determined on going to KngUnd, to undergo an operation for ita removal. It wja performed with hie accuetomed ability ; and upon vieiting him oue day, when he waa able to quit hie bed he obaerved to hia eurgeon that he had feed hie pbyaioian, he bad not yet remunerated hie eurgeon He deaired to know tbe amount of hia debt, and 8tr Aatlej elated ' Two hundred gnlneaa t" " I'ooh, pooh!" eaclairned the old gentleman, "leha'nt give you two hundred guineaa?there? I that is what I shall gi ve you," taking oft Lin nightcap, Mini lotting it to Sir Act ley. " Tbauk you. siraai<l Sir Astley; "anything from you is acceptable." an<l he put the cap into hie |*>oket. Upon examination it was found to contain a check for one thousand guineas. One o'her anecdote must he related, as singularly illustrative of his character. Mr. Steere consulted Sir Astley at hie own residence, and having received hit* advice,departed without giving the usual fee. Sir Aatley took no notice of this, hut give him his assistance cheerfully, under a feeling that he was a gentleman who had seen better days but who w is now in indifferent circumstances Shortly after, bow1 ever. Sir Astley received a note, acquainting him that on going to the Stock Kxchange. he found that he had some omnium. whi> h he had di? posed of, and that he had taken the liberty ?o put ?'1,000 ?e """'e ' ?h?t it h?ii pnpiy after risen, he took the further liberty of selling it for him, and now sent the difference, which was ?63 3.t. Sir Astley's amount of fees far exceeds that of any member 6f the profession Iy one year lie received no less a sum than ?'dP,000, and for many years from ?13,000, upwards. His patients have comprised all classes of society, and his friendship was bestowed equally^on the wealthy and the indigent. iNTm.mii> u nii'VKiwiT-Bisiioriiisnni. HM.timokk, 1830. To th* Eill/or of the National Era: I have just been reading the life of Mahomet, by Washington Irving, and it set me to thinking upon the poor rewards of literature in this country. and merelv for the want of an international copyright. I remember being in Washington when Mr li ving was appointed Miuister to Spain. The on <lu there was. that he had only asked for n legationship, but that the President, in consideration of his high reputation, and the honor his name had conferred uj on the American literature abroad, nomiuated him minister, as abuse. * The politicians about Washington?M C'saq,d, at leant niuuy of (hem, pleased with Irving's appointment, as they seemed to think that such places should be bestowed upon those i who bad performed p.?fVy duty?-aa adorned the literature of his country was not above the doer of party work. They affected to think that Irving's vocation as a " follower of literature'' had unfitted him for such a position? forgetting,or being ignorant of the fact, that some of the leading men in Knglish and French diplomatic history were from the li'erary class. Prior, the poet, was a capital diplomatist, aud so was Sir William Temple; and I believe it is not asserted that Guizot's literary attainments interfered with his statesmanship. Somebody said of Dean Swift, or may be he said it of himself, that he preached politics. This might have interfered wjgfi his clerical duties, but he certainly wns a statesman, while he was the most original literary genius of the day. Sinoe Irving's mission. Ilancroft has filled one to England with eclat, though he did write the history of his country. And while Mr. Irving was our minister, he not only fulfilled all hin duties at the Court of Spain, to the satisfaction of his countrymen, but he found time to revise this life of Mahomet, which he had previously written?a work which perhaps few politicians abroad or at home could write so well. Almost all the leading statesmen of France are literary men?commenced their career as literateurs, and Burke's Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful did not prevent his being the most prophetic statesman of his day ; nor did Canning's contributions to the Anti-Jacobin, and his literary indulgences, take from his skill as a leader in the politics of his country. Lord Brougham cau testify that Canning's wit shnr | pened by such uiw, had a keenness ahd a point | which hare left a sore place in his Lordship's memory. Hut cunugh of this. Why have we, i not an international copyright ? Our country is i flooded with foreign republications, most of them I of a pernicious leniency, upholding institutions 1 ami preS' Utlng n state or iMuntle iucOUIpMtible with : the well-heing of a Republic, while Ameri j can literature goes n begging for a publisher The cause of this is evident. If American pubJ lishers can get Rulwer's and Pickens's and Thackeray's publications for nothing, they are not disposed to pay anything to an American author. They can get Eugene Sue's works translated for a few dollars, and make their tens of thousands by flooding the country with them I say nothing of those reprehensible publications, fit only for the outcasts of society and their associates, which the book-boys hawk about in public, and press upon the travellers at every depot, upon the clerks at every counter, upon the sojourners at every hotel, and, in fact,- upon the wayfarers in every street. To use n simple illustration: if one can dine at the best hotel, on the best viands, for twentyfive cents, he is not willing to give more to a hotel less famous for good things, and where the fare is higher, and the courtesy not so distinguished. No, while the publishers can serve Hulwer and Ho/, and Thackeray up so cheaply to their customers, they will not pay Cooper or Irving much, merely to Americanize their bill of fare Rut, with an international copyright law, English authors could command a price here, ami ours could coininanjl a price in England .As it is now, the foreign authors supply both markets? for they get high pay for their works at home; many of a literary talent have to seek some other than ft literary field for bread, for they get scarcely anything at home, and nothing abroad, for their worka If we had an international copyright low. every author in Great Britain would avail himself of it, for no one publishes ? book without expecting to have readers. At the same time, only such Knglish writers as Bulwer and Dickens find Thackeray could obtain a very high price in this country for their publications, while other authors, having availed themselves of the international copyright, the republication of their works would be interdicted. Then American authors could preseut themselves with their manuscripts, and enter into a fair competition?for, until a foreign author had established a reputation in his own land at least, our publishers would not give him anything for his copyright. In the mean time, our literature would grow up around us and among us, and a taste for it would be established i.. -i. ? I. I ..i it... i... ? ill nit l?uiiiiuoj iu n u?? ubiii|'j ??uu in iuc imi , our talent compart* with that of Knglnnd, to nay the leant of it, and we fall ho far behind in a literary point of view heciiiHe our men of literary talent have to eeek noine other field of lattor to live. When we Hpetk of American uuthora it niuMt he remembered that, perhaptt, not. one of them, exoept Irving, ban mipported hinmelf by hiN pen , and Irving, he it remembered, wrote hie inont popular work* when the publisher* on both bidet) of the water paid him liberally, before the lyBtem of chetp publication* took root in our land, and when what now Bella for twenty-five centsaold for two and three tloJLevs. It may be objected, that if the xyiitcm of ch<ap publication* were aboliahed that the peopleof our country would be deprived (the great mass of the people) of thut source of rending so necessary to their moriil and intellectual improvement, and which now ia in fart a w mt with them. Kindly there ia not much moral or intellectual improvement in the maaa of cheap publications to anybody. Aud secondly j the whole world of existing literature, would )*? open to the cheap publishers still. It would only be the copyright works of living authors, whioh, If their authors chose, would be secured to them in both countries. ' We he ir of an Industrial Convention of all nations, to be held in l^ondon; and who does not approve of it 7 Suppose that a oongress of nations should be held upon this copyright question ? what do you think they would say of us who *pplaud such a man as Walter Hoott to the eobn, circulate and read hundreds of thoussnda of copies of bis works, behold our publisher making hundreds of thousands of dollars by their sale, and know, at the same tiiue^ that their illustrious author is actually writing himself to death to pay | his debts and will not permit him to make one ' cent by the sale of bis publications in the United ' States. What would they say of us 7 As long as we oan steal our brooms ready made, we are content I tut u time of sterner justice unto all men ia coming. God speed it I In my last communication I mentioned beiug I taken by my good nunt when I was quite a child, i to bear Mr Hommerfteld preach to the children. SummerfMd is now long since dead, and Mr Hasj com, who was then his great pulpit rival here, if the word runl may be used in such a category, is now dead also. The last mail brings us the news that he died in Louisville, Kentucky. Mr. Itasoom, as is known to your readers, was last summer created a Bishop of the Methodist Church, South. In fulfilling his first tour of duty as a Bishop he caught the bilious fever, and after Iiiigerir.fr ninny weeks with every effort in bin behalf that Drrliml skill and friendship and brotherhood could define, he yielded to the fate which awaits all of ns. Bishop Ba*ccm find Summertield were entirely different in their oratory The one was the atorm. the other the sun-hine The delicate and fragile fonn of Summertield contracted n'rongly with the athletic and powerfully deYelo|ied frame of Barcom. and ao wan it with their eloquence Bishop Baacom will he a great low to hin church. For, however wide may he the opinion* expressed as to the position he took with the church South nil agree that he was a pulpit orator of great gifts Bishop B.arcora's style as a i writer w is not in good taste: he was too fond of high-Hown and far-fetched metaphors, and he w n never content unless he was using adjectives in l the superlative degree?hi* praise or his censure was always in extremes, and he expressed himself i in lotur ruirentlisfj/vO Hitd evnlrsd nft?i hard to the comprehension This same &<u)t, ; though iii a less degree, exhibited itself in his or; atory. 1 lis eloquence was sometimes turgid and ' forced, and he seemed determined to lash himself and his audience into excitement; hut still he was j brilliant, pointed, full of knowledge nnd illus'rn| tion. and fearful in the force and directness of hi* declamation His tlneney was great, though the listener C'uld not escape the conviction that much of hj* sermon was studiously prepared and committed to memory. When a hoy, I remember Bishop Basoom's personal beauty He was tall, well set, with a care less e ise of manner, iu fart, dashed with a good deal of the Kentucky don't-care, which certainly i had no clerical nrimness in it hut which ?* < > ? certainly very taking He was staying then at the house of Mr Kelso, a leading Methodist in Old Town, and it was his wont to walk the pavement very much in apparent abstraction I eon 11 not but think there was n little harmless consciousness about him. when he saw the passer by halt to gnxe at the distinguished preacher. He drew crowds, as did Summerfield. though it was generally Summerfield who drew the largest crowd, particularly of ladies. Mr. B iscorn never was a ladies' man, which so .many preachers are? as was Summerfield. Bascom's published volume ' of sermons shows much greater futeftfijuiaf rbre'e * than Summerfield's, but Summerfisld'e " Sermons and Sketches of Sermons," it must he remembered, were uevyr wvittep for publication, and were pub- < | lished after his death ; they, however,ofiend good j taste less than Bascom's. Bishop Bascom has fulfilled his mission nobly. In the volume of his aertnnns, published about a | year since, he mentioned that he had other manuscript sermons that he might or might not give to the public, according to circumstances. It is to be hoped that his executors will have no doubt on the subject. and it is to be further hoped that unto some one worthy of the task, who will make it a labor of love, his manuscript and letters may be confided, so that a truthful and appreciative memoir of this distinguished Methodist orator may be given to the world. T. Divohck in CoNNKcticrT.?A clerical gentle manor tiartroru attended the tlouse of Representatives last spring to read prayers, ami being politely requested to remnin seated near the Speaker during the debate, he found himself the spectator of an unmnrryim; process.90 alien to his own vocation, and so characteristic of the Legislature of Connecticut, that the result was the following IMI'ROM I'TI' Ad<lrrs?ed by u piirtt to Hit l.riiiilului 1 of I 'onwe. first. " Vnr rafting all roBS'd-lona famed fonntd-i-cut I* fairly named! I twain cotmnt In rne bat you f*iJ those whom I tonntci In two. Each legislature seems to say, What you oiiNMacT-i-ODT away.''? Culeuilur ,1 SECOND ULYSSES. An old man, of very acute physiognomy, answering to the name of Jacob Wilmot, was brought before the police court in Philadelphia. I lis clothes looked as if they might have been k j liought second-handed in his youthful prime, for they hu.l sutlere'l moro from the ruhsof thown-ld than the proprietor himself. " What business do you follow, Wilmot !' I "Business? None! I'm a traveller." , " A vagabond, j rlutpH ?" " You are not fur wrong?travellers and vagabonds are much the name ihing The difference is, that the hitler travel without wu/<ey, and the former without hriimiP " Where have you travelled ?" " All over the continent." " For what purpose ?" ,l Observation." " What have you observed ?" "A little to commend, much to censure, and very much to laugh at." " IJmph! and what do you commend?" " A handsome woman that will at ay at home, an eloquent preacher that will preach a hhort ner mon, a goo<l writer that will not write too much, and it fool who has sense enough to hold his tongue." " What tlo you censure7" A man who marries a girl for her tine dancing, a workingtnan who believe* in the sympathies of profesaional gentlemen, a youth who studies law or medicine while he has the uae of hi* hands, and people who elect a drunkard or blockhead to otlice." " What do you laugh at 7" " I laugh at a man who expects his position to command that respect which his personal <|uali tics and qualifications do not merit." ' Oh, I perceive you are an utterer of pithy sentences , now, I am about to utter one that will surprise you " " A pithy sentence from your honor would indeed be a matter of astonishment" " My sentence is, that you discontinue travelling for the term of thirty days, while you rest and recruit yourself at Moyamensing," (the county prison) This retort was a poser; nnd Mr Wilmot sub mitted to the requirements of the vagrant act,' and retired from the hall of justice, in company I .ill. .. ..i....:u ?ill.. ?i nun t* niniii, mtiioui iincring 11 wjruiir?M? STICK I NIj TO ll\K\S KllillTS. Old stories very often have a forcible npplicition to present times The following anecdote we met wilh lately in an exchange paper "How ia U, John, that you bring the wagon home in such a condition ?" "I broke it driving over a stump" ? Where?" " Hack in the woods, half a mile or so" "Hut why did you run sgdnst the stunip? Couldn't you see how to drive straight?" " I did drive atriight, air, and that is the very reason that I drove over it The stump w.ut directly in the middle of the road " " Why, then,did you not go round it ?" " Herause, air, the stump had no right in the middle of !) ? < v*d, and i bad a right in >1." "True, John, the atump ought not to have been iu the road, but I wonder ihat you were so foolish as not to consider that it was there, and that it w is stronger than your wagon." " Why, father, do you think that I am always going to yield up my righta? Not I; I am determined to stick up to them, come what will." " Hut what ia the use, John, of standing up to rights, when you only get a greater wrong by so doing I" "1 shall stand up for them at nil hazards." " Well, John, all I h ive to say is this hereafter you must furnish your own wagon." In the political world there is a very large and ugly stump, placed directly in the middle of the high road over which our great legislative wsgon has to pass. What is worse, too, eoine of our Southern fellow-citiiens helped the North to place the stump eiaetly in its present position, or r ither to dig away the earth which had previously hidden it These very same politicians now insist in driving directly over the stump, because it is iu the middle of the road, it being one of their undoubted rights to use that portion of the highway Little care they whether the wsgon is broken or not in the passage?ibey insist on tholr rights at all hazards. Would it not be proper for them to reflect upon the agency they had in giving the stump its present position, before th> y put in practice their threats to break the wigon upon it, merely because those who helped them to put it there, fannying it a great improvement to the highway, will uot assist in its removal 7 There is one thing very certain ; the people who own the vehicles that travel over this road, will take very good care that their rash drivers in future " must furuith iktu own teuton* "?Natchez Cornier. Mr. John II Woodgite, of New York, has arrived in IJaltimore, with the funda necessary to purchase the freediiu of liatulet, the fugitive slave.