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THE BANNER, i [WEEK LY.] - ; = i Vol. III. Abbeville C. H., S. C. May 20, 1846. No. 12. - Published every Wednesday Morning, liv ALL UN & KE K It. ' j JJtcU) <E C V m ?. ONE DOLLAR AND FIFTY CENTS per annum, if paid within three months from the time of subscribing, or TWO DOLLARS after that timu. No subscription received for less than six months; and no paper discontinued until J oil arrrnrages are paid, except at the op~ tiou of the editor. Subscriptions will be continued, unless notice bo givrn other~ ' wise previous to the close of the volume. ; THE I MM OK T A LI T Y OF THE t SOUL. t The S11 bjctTTTiilost)])liicalTy"Tonsitlcreil. e AN ESSAY, 1 Read before 'Tito Abbeville Jjyccnm\ 12lit November, 1S45, by the Rev. A. ( H. Cornish, A. M. ' a (i'unLisiiKD by ui:qm:.sT.) 1 Upon 110 subject, perhaps, have pliilo- 1 so pile rs speculated more largely and dis- c cordantly than upon the nature and <lu- ^ ration of the son I. (, But too commonly. however, has it ^ happened that, presumptuously striving j to know what Ciod lias wisely concealed r from the finite view, they have overstep- j ped the limits of modest investigation, and entered the mysterious and shadowy ^ region which lies beyond. They have , vainly sought to know all things and because they could not gain a perfect t knowledge ol the ewnr.e and mo le of existence of the soul; or rather, because j the soul is not, like mailer, perceptible ( to the external senses, they would whol- j f ly discard the notioh of its immortality, I \ and betake themselves to the cheerless I . and gloomy hypothesis, that the soul : perishes with the bo ly in the grave, or, ^ in other and more expressive language, s that the sleep of death if eternal. r Such, in brief, is the creed of infideli- v ty?such the end it assigns to man. t But is death total extinction? Is all J that folio.vs death mere 4t blank oblivion, j t utter nothingness?" The mind instinc- e tively shudders at the thought. It is too r dismal to be for a moment indulged. a To be laid in the narrow-house, and t moulder back to dust, and be no more, 0 never! no never! Horrible anticipa- ? tion! And'the rational mind would ? fain avoid it in the belief, that, Revela tion apart, it is nevertheless in the high- _ est degree, possible and probable that the : spirit will su reive the wreck of its mortal ,* tenement. That, as an old poet lias well j and forcibly expressed it, " Regit idem y spiritus aitus orbe alio."* j It will then be my present aim. to x show, that it is, in a mere philosophical point of view, both possible and probable j that the mini or soul of mm is capable of c existing, and will exist after the dissolution, f of the body. t The existence of mind as something [ distinct from the Junctions of the body, ^ has been questioned by the hpyothesis t which supposes the mind, or vital princi- r nlu (n Vin nf till! cornn 6.il.0lnr.?n ?K.. t i/?v vw uu vi inu oauio ouuokujli: as iitt; ^ body, and like the body, liable to disso- t lution and annihilation. c Now suppose it be, ror argument's sake, admitted, that the mind and body are, as to substance, the same, will it "c follow that the mind is destructible? or, c in other words, will be annihilated? 0 In nature, as in mechanics, perma ncncy is known to be an universal law. From all the teachings of science we c learn, with respect to matter, that no j particle of it has ever been destroyed by x the decomposition of bodies ; and since ( annihilation supposes entire destruction, g it follows that no particle of matter has J ever been annihilated. The term anni- t hilalion, therefore, is vague and un- . meaning?denoting something of which the human mind can form no adequate conception. Hence, lor aught that ap- j pears to the contrary, mailer itself may \ be imperishable immortal, and consequently though the body and inind were, ( as to substance, the same, it would nevertheless be true, that the mind is im- J mortal. Annihilated then man cannot be. The grave may cover him?the 1 worm may feed upon him?his body . may be dissolved into us original atoms, but no one of these atoms will be de- \ 6troyed or lost while the present consti- ! tution and order of things continues. Matter of all kinds, we know, is liable to dissolution. Yetrall alike is contin ued in being?entering, perhaps, into an innumerable variety of new and fanciful combinations; so that in the natural process of things, the majestic oak may, in part be composed of the atoms of some once sensitive form laid to repose beneath its quiet shade. Nevertheless permanency is stamped upon ail, all are immortal. But, be it observed, the mind if material, mu3t be an atomy or a combination of atoms, and, consequently perceptible to the external senses. But this not beinxr the msr il follows that the mind is o "7 ? ? essentially different from its corporeal * Lucan. encmcnt. And that it is immaterial, ilislnct from matter; and also capable of xistirig apart fiom the hotly would seem o result from the constant variations vhich the latter is known to undergo, vithout any perceptible or corresponlent change in the former. That we ire the same sentient, thinking beings iow, we ever have been, or, that the niud, through all the gradations of life, rom childhood to old age, remains unhanged, save by a gradual expansion mil improvement ol its powers, is u selfivident proposition. W" ith respect to the >ody, however, tlie case is otherwise. 3(.'tvve?%n the years of infancy anil matu ity, it is subject, both in texture anil ineament to striking variations. The [uestion then arises, in what manner i ir by what process is this change educed ? Is it by gradual accretions to the iriginal mass, without loss, or substituion I or, by some secret, yet certain proess of renewal and decay / The latter s the view which the deductions of science would lead us to adopt; since mm lliPSit it nnnmirs tK;if tli? lmmm? >ody changes, imperceptibly, indeed, ret entirely with the increase of* years, c that no identical part of the infantine ir youthful frame, can with certainty be aid to exist in the corporeal structure of naturer years. A fact which, by the vay, is well fitted to remind us that " jii ho midst of life we are in death." Hut amid these constant variations in ae corporeal system, the mind experinces no change, except, as before remarked, in the gradual developement nd maturity of its faculties. It follows herefore, that the mind is, in its nature >r essence, essentially different from the material structure with which it is, in ome mysterious manner united. And f different, and, as we have seen, not iu uiu uAauiai ai-uaua, iiiuii j t must be immaterial, and if immaterial. here is the strongest 'probability that it s capable of surviving and existing apart rom physical organization. For if the nind be not so intimately connectcd vith the body as to be affected by its >artial change, is it not reasonable to beieve it will not be affected by its final lissolution 1 " In truth, the body and its lenses, appear to be nothing- more than he instruments which the mind employs or the acquisition of knowledge, which, vhen so acquired, it feeds upon without he instrumentality of these external or jans. As c. g. in the case of reasoning ind reflection where the mind acts enirely separate from the powers of perception."* Hence arises a well grounded presumption, that when the body shall be lissolvcd, the mind, or immaterial principle, will live on without interruption, md in a progressively enlarging sphere >f activity an-1 enjoyment. Furthermore, it is very generally conceded that the mind is seldom or never nactive. And when, through weariless, the body sinks to repose, how often Iocs the mind, or immaterial principle, teal forth from its little prison-house of nortality, seemingly conscious of its present confinement, and anxious to anticipate its future unbounded freedom ? And, again, when the body, enfeebled ind wasted by disease, is just on the ive of dissolution, how frequently does t happen that the mind evinces an uncommon degree of vigor and clearness in the exercise of its powers? Sufficient this, it would seem, in connexion with ' the foregoing, to render it in the highest degree probable that the mind will survive the decay and dissolution of the body. And if it survive it at all, the vresumplirc evidence is strong in favor of its immortality. For, to this end, let us briefly consider the endowments, of the mind. I low deep, tender, and abiding its af tections How ardent and unbounded its desires J How wonderful and diversified in operation all its powers ! By memory, for instance, it calls up to present thought objects which lie hid in the far distant past. By imagination it visits, with inconceivable celerity, all places, in all tjjne. The earth whicfr we inhabit is but the point from which immagination ceinmences its career; the centre only of a vast circuit c6mnrisp.rl in its nnrvev. It snai-R fivp.n Ka yond the bounds of the .Visible creation, consisting of innumerable worlds and # Abereombic, oil the intellectual powers. systems, and dares oven to enter the u heaven of heavens," the upper sanctuary of the Most High. i In fine, contemplate the various facul < ties and powers of the mind individually or collectively. Observe their opera- < tions either singly or combined. And especially consider how luipe buoys it up amid the trials and disappointments nf the present, by the cheering ami conso latory promise of bctlvr things to come. While /car, the apprehension of future ill, serves as a salutary restraint upon 'i'i t. i .iJ piccLiiLu^uuu. i uuausucuu ;iiiucuons 100, which so closely unite the hearts of kindred spirits,and, indeed, link together the whole extended circle of human rela- : tionship; though frequently wounded, i or even sundered by the hand of oppression, or of death, how, nevertheless, do they firmly cling to the comforting be- ; lief of continued existence in another state, where all the evils and inequali lies of the present will be fully rectified. And shall these fears be ended '? these social affections eternally blasted by the dissolution of the body / shall memory then cease to instruct and please by recalling ihe past ? or immagiualio/i to enrapture by its ever varied, fanciful, and i glorious representions? Sound philoso- i phy answers no. " The diversified and wonderful endowments of the mind, are, of themselves, sufficient evidence of its immortality." And such, be it observed, is the con> elusion to which, by a somewhat similar train of reasoning, most heathen philosophers and moralists have arrived. True, the notions which the wisest heathen sages have entertained respecting the nature and duration of the soul are confusedly mixed with fable and uncertainty And some in atfeient, as in modern times, presumed to deny the doctrine of its immortality. But the simple fact that it was believed bv some, i?. i .1 ?i --? iuasunuu liuuiu uy unifis, aim mum or less engaged the attention of all, is sufficient proof of the great importance ever attached to the doctrine, and and also illustrates and confirms the position, thai the soul naturally longs for immortality. Most deeply, however, was the truth of the doctrine impressed on the minds of the more intelligent and reflecting heathen,* by the consideration of the unequal distribution ol good and evil in the present state of being. They frequently beheld vice and tyrany triumphant, and conscious innocence and virtue suffering the severest indignity and wrong. And they were led to inquire, " What reward has virtue, that, ior its attainment, the passions should be subdued, the appetites curbed, and present gratification bo forborne ?" Were they told, " Though there is no future, yet you ought to live a virtuous life, since v.iluous action so greatly contributes to the happiness of individuals and of nations." Such a reply would scarcely have proved satisfactory. For, however true the admission that the permanency, nay, existence of good society depends on the conduct of the good; it might again, and with reason be asked , " Why seek to build up, or support society at all? Why impose restraints on the natural freedom of man, if there be no hereafter? Why not suffer him,like a splendid brute, as then he would be, to seek to the lull, the gratification of his sensual and grovelling propensities? " To cat and drink, since to morrow lie must die," and be no more? Surely little enjoyment can result from a course of virtuous discipline; from the enlargement of feeling and de-1 sire, from the greater cultivation of the social affections, and improvement of the moral and intellectual powers, consequent on a state of society, if man be only thereby made cap-ible of feeling more deeply, more keenly the loss of life ?the " total extinction of the enlightened soul." Some higher motive to virtuous conduct was therefore seen to be needful I A motive oueratino- alike unon thn Im.rs r o I' "" J ~ and the fmpes of men. And such a motive could only be derived from a belief in a future stnte of being, where all things will be weighed in the balance of justice, and vice be punished, and virtue rewarded. * It .follows, then, that they who, for whatever cause, look forward to death as the termination of their being, anticipate d result contfary alike to the die ?? " I Such as Ciccro, Pluto and Aristotle. I talcs of right rcisoii and I run philosophy. Ami hence, although they should boldly iiflirin, in language attributed to such by jneololil, that," iS'o man was ever known liave returned from the grave; for wc ire born at all adventure ; am! we shall Iju hereafter as though \ve had never been. For the breath in our nostrils is us smoke ; anil a little spark in the mo vmjr 01 our neari, which oemg extinguished, our body shall bo turned into ashes. and our spirit shall vanish as the soft air: and our name shall be forgotten in time ; and no man shall have our works in remembrance; and our life shall pass away as the trace of a cloud, and shall be dispersed as a mist, that is driven away with the beams of the sur?. nnd overcome with the heat thereof For o?ir time is a very shadow that pusseth away, and alter our end there is no returning; for it is last sealed that no man coineth again. Come on, therel .?. ... .i.~ i -i.:. - ji;i. us unjuy nu: ynuu lllillgS II15U are present. Let us fill ourselves with costly wines and ointments ; and let no flower of the spring pass us by : let us crown ourselves with rose buis before they be withered ; let us leave tokens of our joy fulness in every place, for this is our portion, and our lot is this." Yea. more : " J ,et us oppress the poor righteous man ; let us not spare the widow, nor reverence the ancient gray hairs of the aged " Though some should thus reason, yet, as we have seen, such reasoning is fallacious and delusiv<?} having no foundation, save in the guilty fears, or irrational hopes of those by whom it is employed. For, continues the wise man, " such things, they did imagine, and were deceived ; for their own wickedness hath blinded them. As for the 1 .1 1 .1 ui vjiuiij uicy iuiuw tut'iii nui : neither hoped they lor the wages of righteousness, nor discerned a reward for blameless souls. For God created man to be immortal, and made hitn to be an image of his own eternity."* *13ook of Wisdom, 2d chap. Saturday Evening.?How seldom one thinks of himself! The gay, busy world as it revolves in ils ceaseless orbit ?the things of fashion and opinion as tlioy dance before the vision?tho wild whirl of to day, which is reckless of tomorrow, all consume the sands of life, and yet we never pause to reflect upon ourselves. It has been said, that all are foolish by nature; and yet no remark was ever more unjust. We will adduce for example your brightest specimen of genius ?one who has the Promethean spark in his soul, who looks upon the landscape and loves it?who sees virtue and fhlls prostrate at its shrine?and yet practices vice. Vice is a relative term ?the Hindoo priest, who urges the widow to mount tlio funeral pile of murder, is less guilty of crime on account of his ignorance, than the christian, who breaks a less moral tie. So genius, " which knows the right and yet the wrong pursues," is vicious when compared with folly. How few of the favored sons of talent act up to their high vocation. In all 11 i i arts, in an sciences, genius, iikc a cornet, is ever eccentric, and its irregularity, comparatively "speaking, is a crime? can it be reduced to consistency 1 Can education and mind be led to adopt the plain morality of an honest yeoman? Method is every thing?a virtuous system will prove an overmatch for evil habits ; and a Saturday Evening should recall one from the troubles and outward assaults of the world to inward communication with himself, his conduct, his location as to here and hereafter. It should be lilcc the cottage of the lover and the laborer?he should sit down beside the fire-side' of his own hearth, call around him his children, which are his thoughts, and with them enter info judgement as to the past, and from this calculate upon better things to be performed in the future. Men read history to be informed of the past? they gravely calculate from prediction what may ensue from the aspect 61 the nr<*?pnt nnlitisvil ti'nrM_iinri v#?t fnrnrot ? *?? j ? s~ to look at the past of their own lives, and to draw a horsescope of their future existence even upon earth. The world is selfish, it is said?and yet how little of man's life is devoted to himseIC True it is that ambition claims a part?the love of distinction, of pleasure, of ease, Advertisements WILL bo conspicuously inserted at 75 cents per square for tiie first insertion, and 'M\ cenls for each continuance? longer ones charged in proportion. Those not having tho# desired number of insertions marked upon tliem, will be continued until ordered out, and charged according'y. For advertising E8trays Tolled, TWO DOLLARS, to bo paid by the Magistrate. For announcing a Candidate, TWO DOLLARS, in advance. All letters or communications must , 'if directed to the Editor, postage paid. ? ???????* are creditors which claim more?but real selfishness, which is a side from these outward objects, and which relates to the settlement of our accounts with ourselves, takes no part in the drama of existence, and is untried before the forum of conscience. How seldom do we strive to be acquainted with ourselves 1 with the springs of action which governs us?the COUrSe Of life' U'hirll WA nnwno? -- ?? V j/ v?? kj v* V VliU very detail of criminal carelessness which marks our conduct?all is unnoticed as we sweep onwards to death. Is there 110 remedy?let each Saturday night sit in judgment upon the other six days of the week, and let the Sabbath be devoted to virtuous resolutions, J penitence and prayer. ! i Tnr. Oo.NPKSsroN.?A cloud was seen j to pass suddenly over the features of J Maria. The lustre forsook herdarkeyes. I Her spirit seemed troubled. 1 " Triumphs the 1 illy on that young cheek j Where bloomed the rose." Ten times that evening1 did Harvy importune her to acquaint him with the cause of her sadness?but not a word escaped from her lips. Sadly and silently she sat: And now and then a sight she stole, And tears began to flow. Breathes there a wretch so base as to injure you?my dearest?by word or action? Tell me?and by thine heart, as pure as Heaven, I will never rest till I've redressed thy wrongs! Is an awful mystery locked up in thy bosom, that I must know ? Tell mc the secret? and by the ringlets of thy hair I'll never reveal it, though the blackest torments rack me ! tell thine own Harvy " whit lies heavy in thy breast!" She blushed,she placed her fair hands across her bosom, looked languidly into her lover's face, and softly like the last breathings of an expiring saint?she thus confessed: " lis them dam green apples llarvy. The Country Girl's Memorandum. ?As wo were going along the street yesterday afternoon, says the Cincinnati Commercial, we I nicked un a rather ninr? lnnkincr scrap of paper, which was covered ail over with a delicate looking han-l writing. It was without doubt dropped by some young lady?perhaps young and beautiful, who lives in the country, and is her memorandum of things to be done, while in town. It reads as follows: " Call at Dr. Ilawes" and have him look at my decayed teeth ; get two papers of pins, and four of assorted needles ; buy some grass cloth for a new petticoat; get the May Queen at Thurber's; tell John that father wants him to send out his sausage filler the next time the team comes out; go to Whitaker s and get Dumas last novel, call at Mrs. D/s and ?ask about that worsted work pattern ; got a bottle of Camm's Spanish Lustral to stop my hair from coming out; ask Sarah to lend me Mrs. Osgood's poems: get some orris root to make my breath sweeter, provided I do not conclude to have my tooth out ; try to meet Alonzo, and have a | little talk with him about that moonlight walk ; get some cotton for my chemeses and Robert's ? l f 1- ? drawers; return jaines last novel to Matilda; tell Mr. Smith'tfcat the old blind cow has had a'fine calf, and that lather says he may have it to raise." . *. . ' *" > Demosthenes and Daniel Ifaeljster agree iti attributing eloquence to action. Both prov#d that'theory trtie by their action.*!A man, we have hearf pf,vdid toe same thing more demortrtwrtifjr. r u:.. :r? u .1 >'nat fip?n KunaJjiM;- . ' ni? vviic Haw uMpy "?vw.jty?MiinHw 5{' he was closing; the her fijave, trnti 1)) n|( flint Mr gj| hand and* i^iPtfBfefiHyMili^Bfag^ grave * he stUd'?JBHti9H2a^^H9Rl his continued : III I Willi