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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." PASSING AWAY. 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 AWAY." 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 great reward. " 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 Righteousness. 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 al, $7,973,962. 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 blood. 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 to-day t 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 signal twang. 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 glorious. 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 heroic desperation. 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 other word. 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 ienied thee. " Willie, go to the own, and-and-Go! Willie !" Willie goes: In a all the way. He lled with " LATEST FRo3 TiE CRIMEA. " No letter, Willie I" " None." 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 aim!" 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. In Memory Of Cecil and Minnie Gray, Whom Peace Married In Life, Whom War Wedded In Death. 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 come." 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 nacted. 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 rgan. _______ 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 mooth dissimulation. From the Columbus (Ga.) Times. PURLIC OPINION AT THE NORTH-PROSPECTS OF THE SOUTH. 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 ciety. 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 forcibly: " 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 they employ." 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 sins. 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 us all. 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 Ala.) Intelligencer. "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 eply. " You takingnotes!" exclaimed his mas. er. t "t Sartin massa; all the gentlemen take lotes." " 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 over it. " 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 Matthoew Hale. 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 china cups.. THlE boy who wa oaught lokn Iio the future has been au-rsted- for trying tp. see the show without on3infg.