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f VOLUME 3. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, APRIL 27, 1852. NUMBER 34. i i i MM??? ? MB?a?M?BMMMg???? i " THE CAMDEiV JOURNAL. j published semi-weekly" and weekly' by* 1 THOMAS J. WARREN. i TERMS. The Seyii-Weekly Journal is published at Three : Dollars and Filly Cents, if paid in advance, or Four i Dollars if payment is delayed three months. I m..? ttr. ?* TWI1nr<i JLUIj I? CEJVLil UUIJISAAb W J/UUIUIIVU Ob x ?w i/vuu>o If paid in advance; Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if payment be delayed three months, and Three Dollars if not paid till tho expiration of the vcar. I ADVERTISEMENTS will be inserted at tho follow- j Sng terms: For one Square (fourteen lines or less) in the semi-weekly, one dollar for the first, and twenty-five scents for each subsequent insertion. In the weekly, ! ueventy-five cents per square for the first, and thirty-sc- j ,. Ven and a half cents for each subsequent insertion. Sin- < ."{flo insertions one dollar. Semi-monthly, monthly and J i quarterly advertisements charged the same as for a single insertion. ; yg**The number of insertions desired, and tho edi- . tion to be published in must be noted on the margin of all advertisements, or they will bo published semi-week- j 1 ly until ordered discontinued and charged accordingly. < ????????? ! 1 LABOR AND TIRE NOT. i "work, while the pat lasts." 1 Go! stand upon the beach, a _ i 1_ *1 j : n . ( Ana mars me spreaunig suii , Count, if thou canst, the snowy sheets, Unfolded to the gale; ? Work?ere that human freight shall 6leep, Death's darkest slumber, in the deep. , Seest thou gay pleasure weave Bright rainbows of delight. A shadow they will surely leave, Yet now they charm the sight; Turn thou and pray, for Satan's snare f Is circling round the young?the fair. Send forth, the piercing thought, And teach earth's distant bound. Say?canst thou find a spot, Where sin doth not abound ? y Thou may'st notion the farthest shore Strife doth her deadly arrow pour. ( Then let not pleasure's strain, The voice of duty still; mu.. r_.i r> ~ j n_ ' Jiuy iaiurr, uuu, uau? )t*i again. I j Rise! and his word fulfill, ( Frees boldly on, 'ere death's dark hour j Shall claim tliiue all, of mortal power. > Work; in the morning dawn j Begin thy toils anew; ( While freshening zephyrs tread the lawn, ^ And kiss the sparkling dew. j Press forward, like the rising sun, t Nor pause thou till the goal is won. a Perchance (he heat of noon Is Gleaming on thee now; ;| Yet faint not, for the twilight soon ) Will dew thy burning brow. j And purer is the rest so sweet, c To those who've trod, with weary feet. ( ? Work; doth the sunset hour s Of rest conte on apace? c Then nears the time when labors o'er, j Thou'lt find a resting place; c Toil on, with double vigor now, 1 Ere twilight darkness shades thy brow. i 'Tis well; the stars come fourth, t And smile upon the form { That nobly, though with humble worth r Earth's toiis have meekly borne; t 'This finished, and a glory sweet c Shall crown thy rest at Jesus' feet. t M. A. Bancroft. c ? ^ a -i ? rr i t prom me irenvoi unrisnun utnnu. John Randalph of Roauokc. The Orator, the Statesman, the Misanthropist, j the Philosopher, the Duelist, aud the Christian; i for, at one time, he believed hiself to be the sub- 1 ject of the grace of God, and sincerely endeavor- i ed to consecrate himself to the service of Christ, i It is to be regretted that his biographer, Mr. f Garland, has not thought proper to recur to this ] subject again. We should love to know how t long he cherished the Christian's hope, or wheth- 1 er, indeed, he ever abandoned it. Certain it is, , he did not find, even in religion, the peace of ( I mind so much coveted. At one time, he thought i he had found the source of happiness, and his let- 1 tere breathe the spirit of a penitent and of a t believer, but with the cares of public life, his in- a stability increased, his impulse became more over- 1: whelming, his ancestral pride and political ani- t " mosity betrayed him into a duel: and he died as c the fool dieth, with the word remorse breathing s upon his lips, and his whole soul concentrated in I the great and good (very questionable) act of his t life, the emancipation of his slaves. t Though far from home, having called iu wit- 1: . nesses, his eyes flashing with unnatural light, a nnd bis lone index fincrer nointintr toward them, s "" ? o 1 # W he said, "I confirm all the directions in my will j respecting my slaves, and direct them to be enfor- 1 ced, particularly in regard to a provision for their i support." This was the last?* oinis life. "At r a quarter before tw*'lVC o'clock, on tho 24th of i June, 18?^ aged sixty years, he breathed his 1 in a chamber of the City Hotel, No. 41, t fThird-strert, Philadelphia." i ' One word only did hentter respecting a future c life, or the hopes of the Christian; subjects which, f for many years, filled a large space in his corres- s f -pondence with intimate friends. A few hours ? T"before his death he exclaimed, 'Remorse! remorse!" j at the top of his voice. He called for a Dictionary < that he might seethe word. None being in the j room, his phisHan, Dr. Parish, wrote the word < ? ^?' ^ Ann r\f Vne POnla nnAn liA r on uie uuc* v. v. fixed his eyes with great intensity, exclaiming, i ' "Remorse! you have no idea, what it is; you can j form no idea of it whatever; it has contributed < to bring me to my present situation: but I have 1 looked to the Lord Je*us Christ, and hope I have i obtained pardon." Restless, unhappy man! Three times in rope, unable to endure excitement, miserabh solitude, mental activity essential to his corn but that activity of mind consuming his frail dy! Who will deny that man may have wi his own breast the elements of hell? How freshing to a spirit oppressed with a sense o find struggling to measure the import of word remorse?how refreshing the thought,' I have looked to the Lord Jesus Christ, and 1 I have obtained pardon!" For many y< John Randolph was an infidel; but he cha ir a high regard for Dr. Moses Ilogo and Rev. Meade, and in late years often heard them pre io ins menus, ->ir. rrantcis a. ivey ana Brackenbrough, he professed to have erperir; conversion. He says, "Of the necessity for tpvnoss, I have the strongest conviction; I ar the worst coneievable situation as it respects internal peace and future welfare. I have li l>ly sought comfort where alone it is to be tained, but without success. The solitude ol dwu dwelling is appalling to me. To me world is a vast desert, and there is no men renouncing it, sine" there is no difficulty; a be world is a necessary refuge, but I cannot emb it. My black and dismal thoughts so weigh down, that I cannot escape from them. If tl breathes a creature more empty of enjoyn than myself, I sincerely pity him. My opin daily become more unsettled, and the a mystery which shrouds the future alone ren the present tolerable. The darknessofmy In has thickened into the deepest gloom. In world, all my efforts have proved abortiv have no longer a friend." Such was the language, as quoted from letters during the years 1816 and 1817. 1818, his mind was in a worse state, if poss Religion was the absorbing subject as his m tations. He became the victim of the dec meianciioiy. ?113 menus enaeavorca to ai itc the agonies of his mind, but in vain, ight shone uj>on the darkness?from tliebot jfhell, he mounted to the third heavens. W xscending the peaks of Otter, the highest p )f the blue Ridge Mountains he found the Fc ;ain of living waters. ''Congratulate me, t Frank, wish me joy you need not; give it jannot. 1 am at hist reconciled to mv God,; iiave assurance of his pardon, through faitl Jhrist, against which the very gate of hell can >revail. Fear hath been driven out by love. tow know that you know how I feel; and w n a month, lor the first time, I understand y feelings and character, and that of every , Jhristain. Let Meade know the glad tidii Hie consequences that I have experienced, t ! know I feel, in that sunshine of the heart, wl he peace of God that passeth all understandi ilone can bestow. Mine has been no slid hange ofopinion. I can refer to a record, sh ng a desire of more than nine years standii ilthough, for twenty years preceding, my iad never crossed he threshold of the hous irayer. The consummation of my convcrsio wing to a variety of causes ? Heal converts Christianity agree at the same moment to amefaet. I now read with relish, and uiii tandjSt. Faul'sEpistles, which, not long sine :ould not comprehend. Taking up, a lew d igo, the life of John Bcnyan, I find an es :..incidence in our feelings and opinions on 1 lead, as well as others." Such was the language of John Randolph. i?g thf latter part of the year 1818; but he timed to public life, the intensity of his feeli ?ften betrayed him into intemperate langu nul extravagant conduct, and indeed, the ex ial deformities of character grew more marl iud striking, though he never relaxed his elf o overcome and correct the unfortunate d liencics of his nature. In May, 1819, he compared the business i deasurcs of life to the game of pushpin of ittle negroes at the corners of the streets;; idds, "I have made a vile return for the go less which lias been manifested toward ine; ! still cling to the cross of niv Redeemer, : vitli G??d's aid, firmly resolve to lead a life 1 liiworthy of one who calls himself the hum oilower of Jesus Christ. Many passages of ^salins seem written right at me. It is tli hat I find my sin and sorrow depicted by a ow-suftcrer; and there, too, I find consolation.' In 1820, in consequence of the excitement Congress on account of the Missouri Compn sc. and the unfortunate death of his friend, C< leeature, Randolph's feelings defied, for a ti he controlling influence of his will, his wc md conduct became extravagant, the nio talanced machinery of mind having lost its i ilator, "went whirling and dashing in mad < >rder," and the ignorant multitude, with ytnpathy with his delicate but overtaxed so tilities, proclaimed "the man is mad." Thoi here was ''method in his madness," many f; end to show that the mind had lost its bala >ut during the summer, the excitement subsid md in November, he was in Washington, ''h elf again," but more than ever, the terror of Political opponents, v.ho, while they rospec lis arguments, and admired his eloquence, qua jefore his withering sarcasm. He became m nisanthropic. A few expressions, selected ti nany letters, may show his state of mind: "lie ess intercourse which prevails in what is ca lie world. In our day of almost universal pc cal corruption. The hucksters and mot ihangers of the Temple of Justice. There if aith among men. I have made up my mim iufferlike a man condemned to the wheel or itake. I could submit, without a murmur >ass the rest of my life on some high, lonely t ;r, where I might outwatcn the near with th jreat Ilernies, and change the enjoyments ol jiety for an exemption from the plagues of These press me down to the very earth; am rid myself of them, I would gladly purclias< annuity, and crawl into some hole, where I m jommune with myself, and be still. Tlic li lead is dreary beyond conception, except by actual sufferer. As the present is without en inent, so is the future without hope, so fa: Eu- least, as respects this world. I dare not lot j in that blank and waste of the heart within." fort, reference, doubtless, to that early blight of lo' bo- which clouded all his sky. "Dreary, desolat thin dismal! There is no language, or any other, cf re- express the misery of my life. I drag on like fsin tired capthe at the end of a slave chain in s the African castle. I go because I must. No pui 'but ishment, except remorse, can exceed the misei tope I feel. airs, Such was the language of the man who wj bed entrancing admiring senates, and enchaining tl Mr. attention of the world, by his defence of tl ach. state rights theory of government. Honors Dr. caressed, successful, brilliant, yet most miserabl need . The vulture was preying upon his vitals. Bi for- J what had become of his religion ! Our biogr; n in pher does not inform us. Nor does he give an my I reason for withholding the information we s urn- much desire. ob- From 1821 to 1823, while in the senate, i "my the house of representatives, supporting the a< the ministration, leading the opposition, in fierce d t in bate and on the field of blood, " although tl Koef olint ill fn cliArd TIoiu ? o?vl? ? . w o.,^? "u.. race Clay, his old enemy, because lie had " a wi me and children, to shed tears over his grave," i here the Virginia convention, revising the constiti lent tion, in Russia, and in constant epistolary co ions respondenec with his friends nothing more aj wful pears respecting Ins religious opinions or cxp< ders rience. Strange phenomenon ! What a blan juse in the history of a great man ! Nothing moi this appears except the single sentence, "I have ol e; I tained pardon." During his last visit to Washington, "he wei his to the senate chamber, and took his seat in rear c In Mr. Clay," who happened to be addressing th ible. senate. " Raise me up," said Randolph, "1 wan edi- hoar that voice again." Mr. Clay having cot: pest eluded his remarks, and seeing Mr. Randalpl levi- went to speak to him, saying, as he offered hi The hand, "Mr. Randolph, I hope you are bcttci torn sir!" "No, sir!" replied Randolph, "I am a dyiti hile man; and I cam.? here expressly to have this ii oint tcrview with vou." They gasjv?d hands an* >un- parted, to meet no more on earth. This don< lear j lie left with a lighter heart, on his way to tak you I passage for England; but being exposed on th and j way to a storm, his disease became aggravated i in | and, for the first time, he yielded to a conqueroi mot He sleeps quetly at Roanoke?all that remain 1 of Virginia's illustrious statesman and most de ith- voted son. our In 1821, he wrote the long-contested will gi\ real ing to his slaves their freedom. To this will t her igs. was added a codicil in 1826, another in 82r hat another in 1831, while in London, bcqucatliin: lieli: three thousand pounds, to enable his executor t mg, j carry into execution his will respecting his slaves den J and in his dying hour, he gathers witnesses aroun ow-: him, and in the most solemn manner, continue rig ; j the directions made in his will concerning hi foot slaves : and yet, during all tins tunc, 111 puun eof speeches and private correspondence, he was th n is advocate of African slavery, or rather, the oppc to ncnt of emancipation! He was ready to bazar the every tiling in defence of the rights of the South Jer- He would admit no compromise on the Missoui o, I question. " 1 now appeal to this nation, whotli ays er this pretend d sympathy for the rights of a fei :act free negroes is to supersede the rights of th this : free white population, of ten times their whol number." "Look at the relation of master am tin- j slave (that opprobrium, in the opinion of som re- gentlemen, to all civilized society and all fro ngs government;) there are few stations in life wher age friendships, so strong and so lasting are formed tor as in that very relation." Eccentric man ! A <ed idiosyncracy all his life! How true his own oft orts j repeated exclamation: M My mother! she onl eli- j knew inc." Many, says his biographer, wh j professed to know him, could not comprehend find the "hair-trigger" sensibility of the man. the Mr. Garland claims that Randolph, by the dc md fence of the doctrine of state rights, saved th od-j Union; his masterly defence having prepare* but the extremes to acquiesce in the compromise md I ' His masterly efforts arrested that centripeti le.>s tendency which was destroying the eounterbal ible ancc of the states." " He. died in the midst c the battle, but not until the victory had been won icre the states and the Union, in perfect harmonj fel- moving, " Like a star that makoth not haste, jn That taketh not rest, ... Each ono fulfilling His God-given host, m " We care nut to attempt an estimate of th comparative merits and demerits of Randolph1 ,i political character. It is his mental and mom r history which attracts onr attention. His histc lis 's an 'ntcrest,'"{j one?scarcely less so thai that of Ignatius Loyola, and scarcely less mys risj terions. We have studied it profoundly, but ii J('rj vain. We do nut, can not comprehend him s If his mother ever did, it was before his eharac p tcr was matured (?)?inverted?for she dio< |( j while he was in his fifteenth year. " Cut off ii im- ^oom beauty, he ever rctainci I. a most vivid and impassioned remembrance c , J, her person, her charms and her virtues, lie al ilcd wa^s '10r Portra't hanging before him 11 his chamber." iorc ^c,n Webster, Clay, Calhoun?their character ha a unity, a transparent simplicity ; that of Ran |lc j dolph is contradictory as the changing wind; .. He said of himself, " I have been sick all m ^' life" lie often looked back to the days ofyoutl rendered dear by the recollections of " love an< j t friendship, love! blighted love! deeply buried i (jjc his hearts inmost core," and exclaimed, ' to " Days of my cherished youth, ' _ When all unfolt, Timo's footsteps fell, And all unheeded flew? rice Dreams of the morn of lifo, farewell! a long, fso- Inst farewell!" life. That he was great, admits 110 question. Froi 1 to youth to old age, he was Virginia's favorite an J an honorable son. From the administration of tli ight elder Adams to that of Jackson, he was an en fe I inent and successful politician, for all the illu: the trious statesmen of the nation, during his Ion joy- career, were his warm friends or bitter enemies r, at "for detraction will follow merit, a? shadow fo )k lows the sun." It was one of his maxims, giv A iiif* an advice to a young' friend, " Make your re ! self useful to your friends and troublesome t< ,e, j your enemies." m j For a long period, he was the leading advo a ' cate and defender of the state rights doctrine? in | the doctrine of Patrick Henry, George Morrow a-I Jefferson?a germ which, planted in Virginia ry I blossomed in Massachusetts, during the embargo j and at a latter period, produced its matured fruit* as | in South Carolina, during the administration oi le i VTUIJ. tiae.vsuji, ;i Jiugiuy true, wuu>e ruui.N ie | stretching across the continent, spreads its branch J, ! es from the Bay to the Palmetto state; and scat a. ! ters its fruits over all the land, it 1 A statesman, an orator, a debater, a writer, a a- ' friend and an enemy, he proved himself equal tc ly j every duty and every emergency , for he was >o ; cordial and earnest in all that he did. He was a brilliant, erratic, genius, a wander in ing comet, intlamed, inflamiable, inflaming even 1- ; thing he touched. " The fiery star was in th( e- ascendant at his birth, and pursued him through ie life, both as a destroying element, and a subtile y Promethean flame consuming the soul. It is a fc remarkable coincidence that his birth-place, the ii | cherished home of childhood, and the house in ,i- j which he spent the first fifteen pars of his manr i hood?Cawsons, Matoax ,and Bizzarre?were all, y in succession consumed by fire." 2-! It is not strange that such a fiery spirit should k be a cordial hater. But it is pleasent to learn e that he could forgive an enemy. His duel with y j Clay has been adverted to. He determined to I receive his enemy's fire, but not to return it.? it : In vain were the remonstrances of his friends.? >f lie carried out his purpose, and Clay's wrath e was overcome. "I trust in God. my dear sir, it | you are untouched : after what occurred, I would i- ' not have harmed you for a thousand worlds. is Quaker's Revenge. r, Obadiah Lawson and Watt Dood were neighg , burs ; that is, they lived within half a mile of i- each other, and no person lived between their J respective farms, which would have joined, had >, not a little strip of prairie land extended itself e sufficiently to keep them seperated: Dood was c the oldest settler, and from his youth up hadeu[ tcrtaincd a singular hatred against Quakers; .1 i? 1 l i* . 1 J. -x T _ \ | tnerciore wnen nc was imormea mai lawson, a s i regular disciple of that class of people had pur> 1 chased the next farm to his, he declared he would I make him glad to move away again. Aecord'* ! ingly. a system of j>etty annoyances was conic mencedby him ; and every time one of Lawson's 1, hogs chanced to stray upon Dood's place, he was ir beset by men and dogs, and most savagely abused, o Things progressed thus for nearly a year and the ; Quaker, a man of decidedly peace principles, d appeared in no way ?to resent the injuries reel eeived at the hands of his spiteful neighbor, s Hut matters were drawing to a crisis: for JDo<xl, c more enraged than ever at the quiet of Obadiab, e : made oath that he would do something before ). i long to wake up the spunk of Lawson. Chance ,1 favored his design. The Quaker had a high. blooded filly, which he had been very careful ri in raising, and which was just four years old. i- Lawson took great pride in this animal, and had v refused a large suin of money for her. One evening, a little after sundown, as Watt 0 1 ?ood was passing round h's corn field he dis1 covered the filly in the little strip of prairie land e that separated the two farms and he conceived e the hellish design of throwing two or three rails e off his fence, that the horse might get into his I. corn during the night. He did so, and the next ii morning, bright and early, lie shouldered his ritle > and left the house. Xot long after his absence, v a hired man whom he had recently employed, o heard the echo of his gun, and, in a few minutes L1 considerably excited and out of breath, came hurrying to the house, where he stated that he ?. had shot at, and wounded a buek; that the deer had attacked him, and he hardly escaped with J his life. i. This story was credited by all but the newly it employed hand, who had taken a dislike to Watt, |- and from his manner judged that something was ,f wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from ; the house, and going through the lield in the ? direction of the shot, he suddenly came upon Lawsou's filly, stretched upon the earth, with a bullet hole through the head, from which the warm blood was still oozing. The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour, lie hastened back to the 0 dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and demanded somewhat roughly, wh??c he had been. ' I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson's filly," was the instant retort. Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercely shouted. .. in .. i*? r i.auj . " l^o you uuru uj soj j. mhvu u?--i . " IIow d<? you know she is dead ?" said the 11 man. Dood hit his lip, hesitated a moment, and i l then turning walked into the house. A couple of days passed by, and the morning " of the third one had broken, as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of his filly. *s " A few words of explautation ensued, when with a heavy heart, the Quaker turned his horse ' and rode home, where he informed the people of 'J the fate of his filly. No threat of recrimination '' escaped him; ho he did not even go to recover ' damages he calmly awaited his plan and hour 11 of revenge. It came at last. Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which I he had paid a heavy price, and upon which he counted to make groat gains. a j One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his oldest son came in with the information that n neighbor Dood's heifer had broken dowti the d fence, entered the yard, and after eating most of ic the cabbage had trampled the well-made l>eds, i- and the vegetables they contained out of all shape, a mischief impossible to repair. ? "And what did thee do with her. Jacob?" *]ui! etlv asked Obadiah. ,]. "1 put her in the farm-yard." "Did thee beat her?" "I never struck her a lick." ) "Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and, when done eating, I will attend to the heifer." Shortly after he had fiuished his repast, Law sou mounted a horse, and rode to Dood's who , was sitting under the porch in front of his house, , and who, as he beheld the Quaker dismounting, , supposed he was coming to demand pay for his 4 filly, and secretly swore he would have to go to f law for it if he did. " Good morning, neighbor Dood; how is thy r. !1.. Oil 1 -? 1 A! V 1 1 . * - * - laiiuiv s exciaimea uoaaian, as ne mounted tne - steps, and seated himself in a chair. " All well, I believe," was the reply, i " I have a small affair to settle with thee this ) morning, and I came rather early. \ u So I suppose," growled Watt. "This morning my son found thy Durham - heifer in my garden, where she had destroyed a r great deal." } " And what did he do with her ?" demanded i Dood, his brow darkening. , " What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thy garden ?" asked Obai diah. t 4Td a shot her!" resorted Watt, madly, "as I suppose you have done; but we arc only even ir?uv._ jin.. : . ?i? u:. e? ? i uvn< ntciti iui uiiv is uui_y ut lor uti. "Neighbor Dock], thou knowe9t me not if . thou thinkest I would harm a hair of thy heif er's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even a blow has been struck her, where thee can get i her at any time. I know thee shot my filly; but ' the Evil One prompted thee to it, and I have no j evil in mv heart against my neighbors, J came i to tell thee where thv heifer is, and now I'll go ; home," Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to? descend the steps, when he was stopped by Watt, ) who hastily asked. " What was your filly worth ?" " A hundred dollars is what I asked for her," replied Obadiah. " Wait a moment!" and Dood ruihed into the hou?e; from whence he soon returned, holding some gold in his hand. " Here's the price of your filly ; and hereafter, let there be pleasantness between us." " Willingly, heartily," answered Lawson, grasping the proffered hand of the other; let there be peace between us." { Obadiah mounted his horse and rode home j with a lighter heart; and from that day to this, Dood has been as good a neighbor as one could I wish to have, being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL. American Sunday School Union.?The following article from the pen of Dr. Talmadge, 1 President of Oglethorpe University, is transferred ! to our columns from the Southern Presbyterian. I Mr. Editor:?The volue of the great national Religious Charities of our country to the best interests of the nation, is not duly estimated by those who have not examined the matter. Whenever a dissolution of this happy and favored Union has been agitated, I have always thought how inconceivable would be the loss from the destiuction of those great centres of moral and intellectual light which good men have created, by combining their concentrated strength, from the length and breadth of the land, in rearing tlio Anipric.m Ttil?lr> Traet. and Snndnv ? ?v Societies. The Inst mentioned Society, the Sunday School Union, has done and is doing a great work for the enlightenment and moral training of the youth of the land, and what is more vital to tho perpetuation of our Republic than the proper training of the rising generation ? The Society has been very fortunate in selecting such an Agent as the Rev. T. L. Hamner, wlio has been employed for some time past, mainly in the Southern field. I have observed with much interest the labors of Mr. Hamner in Georgia, during the past winter. He spent most of his time in Milledgeville, during the two months of the late Session of the Legislature. He opened an extensive and well selected Depository of Sunday School books, and by judicious and indefatigable labors succeeded in creating an intense interest in his object among the officers of the State, and members of the Legislature. Bv private conversations, and sermons, and addresses, and also by public meetings secured in the State House, at which many leading men, r .1 r\ j J ironi me vjoverriur uowu, enuer preoiucu ur ?udressed the assemblies ; he scucceeded iu awakening an almost universal interest in the object among the influential men of the State. Many of the members of the Legisleture purchased libraries for schools in existence in their respective counties, or with the intention of offer ing these libraries as a motive to collect Sunday schools. Mr Hammer sold more than $300 worth of Sunday schools books, whilst in Milledgeville, besides giving many away. He disposed of $1200 worth of books whilst he was in the State, during the winter. Besides what he did in Milledgeville, he took every opportunity to make occasional excursions to the villages and churches in vicinity. And wherever he went, he succeeded in awakening a deep interest in his object, but among parents and children. Mr. Hammer is exceedingly felicitious in his mode of addressing children, and drawing their attention. He is eminently a man of "one idea." I mean this in a complimentary sense. He is deeply impressed with the inexpressible value of a right early training, and he strains every nerve and is alive to every opportunity to impress upon his fellow men the claims of the cause ho pleads. His vists to Georgia, I have no doubt, will be followed bv tbc most valuable results. And it is but right that lie and the Society he represents should know that his sen-ices are highly estimated l>y those who have witnessed his indefagablo labors. u. Wc understaud that the Rev. Mr. Ilamner, while making the Society known to thousands, by circulating many of its publications, received literal and large donations in aid of its missionary work.