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ill ll'r)f??..*-';IOT41. BMWWB T? Jkt&r'
VOL. 1. GREENVILLE, S. C.: FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 27, 1854. NO. 24.
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SlqpOeK
BY FRANCIS & OSGOOD.
'
A wnr?PE* woke the air?
A soft light tone and low,
Yet bared with shame and woe ;
Now might it only perish there !
Nor farther go.
Ah me I a quick and eager ear
Caught up the little meaning sound!
Another voice has breathed it clear,
Ahd so it wanders round,
From ear to lip?from lip to ear,
U ntil it reached a gentle heart,
And that ? it broke!
It was the only heart it found,
The only heart 'twas meant to find,
When first its accents woke ;
It reached that tender heart at last,
And thai ? it broke !
J<ovr as It seemed to other oan.
It catne?a thun(ler-cra?h to hrrt.
That fragile girl so fair aiul gay,
That guileless girl so pure and trucl
The bee that in a lilly lay,
And dreamed the summer mom awav,
Was killed by but a gun's report,
Some idle hoy had fired in sport!
The very tound?a death-blow came!
And thus her happy heart, that bent,
1' With lore and hope, so fast and sweet,
(Shrined in it* Lilly too;)
' For who the maid that knew,
But owned the delicate flower-like grace
'Of her young form and fnee f
1 Vfbcn firat that word
Her light heart heard.
It flattered like the frightened bird,
Then shut its wings and sighed, ,
And With a silent shudder?died!
% CxtlU Stort).
Jhe SecUud JLobc t.
BY KlilKN AS1IT0N.
Will you go with mo to-morrow night t
said Frank Alwyn, as he parted from Lucy
Alton at the door one evening.
Oh 1 to bo sure," said Lucy, "provoking
the exhibition is worth seeing, which I suppose
it is?or such a gallant as you would
not have aaked me,"
"Very well, said Frank, lifting his hat and
turning to depart, "I shall be here early."
Frank was Lucy's lover. lie had been so
fix several months, llo was open as the day,
and loved Lucy with his whole heart, and
had often urged her to a speedy marriage.
But she was a gay thoughtless creature, who
thoogh she loved him in her secret soul
suove to conceal it from him as many of her
sex do. -Had not Frank been a declared
lover, this would have been commendable;
but, as it was, it only tnado him unhappy,
without any commensurate gratification to
herself, for often, after she had been so capricious
as to drive her lover to despair, would
she lie awake weeping all night How false
ia that sentiment which induces a woman
thus wantonly to trifio with a lover from mistaken
notions of pride.
: <But Lucy was not solelv to blame for her
<0M*duct She had an elder sister w ho possessed
great, influence over her, and this sister
secretly disliked Frank, taking every opportunity
to injure him, though outwardly
. treating mm wuu ieignoa ravor. me morn
ing after the con rendition with which our
taJe begins, Lucy And her sister liad just seated
themselves at the breakfast table, when
the latter said? . ? . 01"Mr.
Towneend wm here last nighthe
left invitations for us to the eoncert this
evening. 1 told him you had engagement,
rutd ha is to bring his Italian friend, Mr. ishtr
fori, with him."
"jjow sorry I am," said Lucy.
"forty for what ?" responded her sister.
i "That ho asked me, for I told Frank I
J W?ld go with him to the exhibition to
/J^rWhaw 1?Frank Again."
pj?at woukl you have me to do I"
dM Loiy after a few minutes' painful pause.
, *L4aa*fttak* it on m* to advise," replied
w "Only this I will say, that Mr.
yjnmm 7<*f iri rt?w? I
Townsend and ItU friend will think it very t
odd that, after making an engagement with <
them, voti break it for Frank. 1
"But won't Frank think it very odd ffr i
me, aftor making an engagement with him,
to break it for these comparative strangfehJ." t
"There is the difference. With a friend 1
one may take liberties, but not with a stran- 1
Ser. Frank can go with you any evening, 1 <
ut Mr. San tori, leaves town day after to-1
morrow. JIo has been civil to yon and it is I <
but polite to go with him." <
Lucy paused. ?
"But Frauk will be so angry," slio said tini- !
idly, at length. 1
"Then let him be. Oh 1 before I would
suffer a cent 1 Pillnn In sua T kdm/1 fr>? ??<?''
# - O ? ?- - '
ing him, 1 would die. What, surrender thio j:
privilego of sex ! No, no! if you wisli toil
retain tho affection of a man, teaso liim,, i
and conceal you, affection from him." !1
There was again a pause of several min- j1
utes, and the breakfast servico was nearly ,
over, when Lucy's sister carelessly remarked. I
"This is the last night of Signor Eagle,?is (1
it not? You have the newspaper Lucy." j]
"Yes; he sails for Europe during next,
week."
And the Exhibition remains open for_a
month ?"
"It does."
"Tlien I am astonished that Frank did not ;
ask you to hear tho Signor this evening, lie J j
knows how fond you are of music."
"I have a mind to go," said Lucy, who <
by time, began to yield, as customary, to her <
sister, from a secret dread of that sister's sarcasms,
if she betrayed her love. 1
"Frank and I can go to the exhibition some
other time."
"But if he gets angry." said the sister with i
a slight scorn on her lip, which stung Lucy '
to the soul.
"Angry or not I will go with Satori," said '
Lucy, with flashing eyes. "Sothat's fixed," 1
and she rose from the table.
And she did go with the Italian to the con- <
cert. Frank arrived a few minutes after she
had left the house, and words cannot describe 1
his surprise, indignation and pain at her conduct.
He paced his room for hours that night
now determined to see her once more and
hear her excuse.
Lucy herself spent and unhappy evening.
Not even the divine strains of Is igel's instrument
could banish from her mind how Frank
would regard her conduct. On returning
home she heard the surprise of her lover,
which he had not affected to conceal, aud
arguing the worst, she retired to her chain- i
ber and spent the night in tears. At
breakfast she strove in vaiu to hide tlio effect i
the last evening's events had produced on her. j
Iler sister read her secret in her swollen eyes,
and with a few well mauaged taunts, turned 1
the whole current of Lucy's thoughts, and i
ashamed of her weakness. It was while \
she was in this new mood that Frank called.
"Well, your jailor is below said her sister
bringing Frank's card up to Lucy. "lie has!,
come, I suppose, to see your repentant tears
under pain of his eternal displeasure."
In ho temper, therefore, to receive her lover
as an injured person, did Lucy descend
to the parlor. The salutation on both sides
was cold, and the conversation at first embarrassing.
At last Frank came to the point.
"You went out last night, Lucy. Was I'
mistaken in supposing from what you said, \
the night before; that you wore engaged to
visit the exhibition with me ?"
This was said mildly though with some
constraint, and had Lucy replied to it in a
proper spirit, all would nave arono well.? I
but instead of making a candid explanation .
of the circumstances, and trusting to her lover's
^enerousity, she replied?for she was still
niniiiii- iiiiu 11 uor oisvtjra impiieu I ail I>18?
"And if I was engaged with you?what
then t
Frank looked sadly at her, for thcro was
a defiance in the tone, a9 well as in the words.
Lucy's heart rebuked, and had she changed
her demeanor, all might havo gone well.
Dut pride that fatal curse interposed, and sho
again resumed,
"You say nothing.*
"Lucy," 6aid Frank reprovingly.
Her eyes flashed.
"I do not understand you, sir ! You assume
a tone of unwarrantable authority over
my movements this morning. Have I ever
given you liberty to do this ?"
Frank hesitated ere he replied. He saw
that she had taken a position which precluded
an explanation Bince it denied his right to
ask rmy. But ho saw tho erroneous nature
of her position. Ho thcrefoTo determined
not to give up the point yet
"This is not what f assert, Lucy," he said,
"you havo made an engagement with mo
which was broken, This certainly entitles
me to an explanation, and I ask nothing
strange?I assume no unwarrantable authority
in seeking it."
The justice of this position improssed Lucy,
and again she was on tho point of yielding,
but again her better impulses gave way to i
prido.
'Thank heaven," she said, rising, "we o .
not engaged. If T cannot do as I please, without
being treated as a truant child,?if my
conduct cannot be regarded as right without
an explanation and on the faith of my own
. ; 7
lotions of justice, then 1 care not to make an
:ftort to place it in a favorable light. You !
mre you, answer, sir. A jealous tyrant for
i husband is my particular aversion."
There was a tone of contempt in these later
words which overthrew the guard which
frank had hitherto sustained over his feelings.
EJe, too, rose. ITis whole demeanor was
ilianged.
"It is well," he said with diguity. "Lilly,
I had not looked for this. I came here
lisposed to be frank. You met mo with inuilt.
I shall never trouble you again.?
Sometime hereafter yon may think differently
of this hour."
He waited for no reply, but left the room.
Ami A ?. -1 .?
?uu "uvj, iicaiuuiug uii msuiui wnemer or
not to en!! him back, sank on the sofa when !
the door closed, ..nd burst into tears. The'
next day she heard that Frank had left the
:ity suddenly on a visit to his sister at New
Orleans.
A month passed away. Often was Lucy
tempted to write td her lover and sue for his
Forgiveness, hut a fatal voice always interposed,
whispering that he would soon return,
when an opportunity for n reconciliation
might occur without compromising her,
pride.
One morning about two months after
Frank's departure, on opening the newspaper,
her eyes fell upon the following paragraph.
"DIED, at Nero Orleans, on the 1 dth instant,
FkXnk Alwyn, Esq., of Hero York?
of fellow fever."
Tire, paper fell from Lucv's hand and alio
fainted away. She was carried to her chamber
which she did notleavo for months, and
when she came forth she was a different creature.
Years have passed since then, and
ihbuprh her efforts were numerous, she Rtill
remains faithful to the memory of Iter lover.
She looks upon herself, in part as his murderer.
And those who could see the sad,
pale face of the once haughty Lucy, wonld
acknowledge that bitter indeed has been the
lesson she has learned?never trifle trith a
declared lover.
B if i n f o Y I to 0. j
Never make use of an honest woman's j
name in an improper place, at an improper
time, or in a mixed company. Never make
assertions about her that you think are untrue,
or allusions that you think she herself
would blush to hear. When you meet with
men who do not scruple to make use of a
woman's name in a reckless and unprincipled
manner, shun theui, for they arc the very
worst members of the community, men
the every sense of honor, every feeling of
nuinanity. Many a good and worthy woman's
character has been forever ruined, and
her heart broken l>y a lie, manufactured by
some villain, and repeated where it should
not have been, and in the presence of those
whose little judgment could not deter them
from circulating the foul and bragging report.
A slander is soon propagated, and the small
esi tiling derogatory to a woman's character,
will fly on the wings of the wind, and.magnify
as it circulates, until its monstrous
weight crushes tho poor unconscious victim,
ltespect the name of woman, for your mother,
your sister, are women; and as you
would have their fair name untarnished, and
their fives uncmbittcred by the slander's biting
tongue, heed the ill that your own words
may bring upon the mother,tho sister,or wife
of some fellow-creature.
Passing a neat little residonce, tho other
evenincr. wo hannened to raa a man
c (i ""'v'"b
at the door for admittance. At the instant,
n green blind above just opened a little way.
and by the gas-light we caught a glimpse of
a pair of brilliant eyes, nnd a flutter of something,
ft bird-toned voice softly 6aid,
"Who1* there 1"
'It's ine,' was the brief response.
The eyes and the flutter disappeared from I
the vindow, like stars in a cloud, and we almost
fancied, as we passed on, we could bear ;
the pattering of two litllo feet upon the stairs,
winged with welcome.
It was a trifle ; it all happened in nn instant,
but it hauuted us for an hour. 1 ft ine!
Amid the jar of the great city, those words
fell upon the quick our aloft, and met n glad
response I
It* me / And who was inu P The pride
of a heart's life, no doubt; the tree a vine
was clinging to; the 'Defender, of the Faithful,'
in the best sense in the world 1
IC? mi ! Many there are who would give
half their hearts and more than half their
hope in them, for one such recollection in
this 'wide, wido world." On 'Change, in
the Directory, at the Post-ofheo, he was
known as A. II. C., Esq., but on that three
itoiu, nn wiiinn thoee walls, tfs nut, and notii*
iog more, and what more is there one would i
love to bo f
Few of all tho hearts that beat so wildly,;
warmlv, sadly, slowly, recognise a true soul
amid the din And darkness of the world, iu
that simple bat eloquent ift me. As if he
had said?
Now Fm nothing to all the world,
I, For I'm sll tho world to thoo."
Witr is the letter t Hke an island I
Because it is in the middle of wa t er. '
fiiegi*apl)kal. !
$ q I) I C I S 0 0 1) i". I
Tins hardy and brave pioneer, and found- f
er of Kentucky, was born in 1748, in Ducks i
county, Pennsylvania. While yet a mere i
boy, his father emigrated to North Carolina, < j
and settled on the batiks of the South Yad-, i
kin river. The wild and daring spirit, the I
love of Adventure, nnd fearless intrepidity, I
which characterized his maturer life, were 11
displayed very early, Before he was twen- j I
ty, he married the daughter of Mr. liyan, a! <
ncigliboring settler, by whom he had several, I
children, ar.d who cheerfully shared with 1.
him his lonely and repeated removals from : I
civilized into savage life. i
On tho 1st of May, 1769, Boone, with a i
few neighbors, started for tho western wilderness,
and, at length, "located" on the i
banks of tho Rod River, in Kentucky, then 1
an unbroken wilderness, which lmd never
know a white man, i?or resounded to the!
stroke of tho nxd. We could not follow our
liero through all the viaiasitudes of his pio-;
neer life; it was one of great peril and many I
hardships. Several times tAken prisoner j
by the Indians, ho had the tact to conciliate ,
them, and contrive his escape. Knduriugj
much by reason of hunger and privations,
toiling early and late to reduce the savage
wastes to a condition of cultivation, he acquired
such a passion for his wild and adventurous
life, that when, in 1792, Kentucky 1
was admitted to the Union, I10 Btruck out
still farther into tho wilderness, and settled, j
at length, St Charles, on the Missouri River, ;
about forty-five miles above St Louis. On
l?eing asked why, nt his time of life, lie relinquished
the comforts of a home ho had
redeemed from savage life and rendered
comfortable, for tlio renewed trials of a wilderness
home, his answer was, "Oh, I am too
crowded ; I must have more elbow room."
l>uring this interval of time, Col. Boone 1
had made many lesser changes in his place
of residence, and had often been employed
by Government on missions of hostile and
friendly intent among the Indians ; iu all of
which he exhibited a statesmanship and
courage which won for him the approval of i
his employers, and the admiration of his savage
foea. lie resided in his last home about'
fifteen years, when, losing his wifo, who bnd j
shared with him all his perilous life, he wenti
to spend the remnant of his days with his ;
son, Maj. Nathan Booiie, are when he died,
in 1822, breathing his last in perfect revig- j
nation, at the great age of eighty-four years. I
It would for oxceed our proposed limits to j
enter a minute detail of all the romantic and j
adventurous exploits of this remarkable man ; j
we content ourselves with the following: >
While a resident in his father's house, on j
tlio Yadkin River, being about eighteen 1
years of ago, he, in company with another,
J'outh of the neighborhood, got up a "fire j
lunt," which is conducted as follows :?One j
of the parly rides through the forest on horse-,
back, with a lighted torch swinging above
bis head, wliilo the other remains in covert, i
The torch attracts the attention of the deer, i
and at a signal from the concealed person
the torch is held stationary, and, while the j
eager ev<is of the wondering animal are fix- j
! ed on the light, a ball is planted between '
thein, and the "poor foofv falls a victim to'
his curiosity. On this occasion, Boone was
, in covert, and seeing a pair of reflecting eyes i
j through the dim shade of the trees, levelled j
| his rifle, and gave the preconcerted signal.? ,
To his astonishment, the animal turned and ;
fled; without a thought, the brave banter|
sprung from his hiding-place and pursued. I
Over hill and moor, through brake and thick
et, the race went forward, our hero gaining
on the game until, at length, the atiVightcd 1
and pursued object rushed into the house of
his newly settled neighbor ltyan. Flinging'
himself through the door, we may judge of
the confusion of ltoone, when he Raw the object
of his pursuit fainting with terror in the
old man's arms?for it teas his beautiful
anil only daughter! We need not reiate |
how he wooed and won the fair Kelx.-oca,;
who come so near being the victim to his'
buiiuU ,
While residing on the Kentucky Jiivcr,
a party of three Indians waylaid ana took :
( risoners three young Indies, one of them
Joone's daughter, llo was absent from the >
fort at tho time?but, returning some hours
after, commenced the pursuit alone, overtook
the party the following day, and, slay-;
ing two of the Indiana, returned to the tort,
bringing the fair captives with him.?J/Iuh- j
traiea American Biography.
? - ,
Ibc C b q Mctelr of ? qi|l.
BY J. T. flEADLCY.
Paul, in his natural character before his
conversion, resembles Bonaparte naoro than
any other man?T mean both m his intellectual
developments an energy of will. lift,
had the satno inflexibility of purposo the
same utter indifference to human aufterence,
when he had once determined on his course;
the same tireless, unconquerable resolution?
the same fearlessness both of man's power
sod opinion, and that oalrn self reliance and
irtteterious 1 oyar others. . But the
i a
mint of greatest resemblance is the union of
itroug, correct judgement with rapidity of
.bought nnd sudden impulse. They thought
pucker, yet beiier ihan oliiul liien. a he
jowcr. too, which both poa*|0Md, was all
waeticul power. There are many men of
itrong minds, whose force nevertheless, are
1 rofl O/lf 1 Alt rtv Itl tllAAviofl r.\w ?-vflwit-<_i # /> nnt
in ivuwuviif vsi 111 iiiwnv? iv/i v/viiv ?J iv aw
ipon. Thought may work oat into language,
but not into action. But those men
not only thought better, hut they could work
t>ettor than all oihor men.
The same self-control and perfect subjection
of his emotions?even terror itself?to
the mandates of his will, are exhibited in his 1
conduct when smitten to the earth, and I
blinded by the light and voice from Heaven. I
John, when arrested by the sainc voice on
the Isle of Patmos, fell on his face as a dead j
man, and dared not speak or stir, till encour- !
nged by the language?" Fear not." But
Paul, (or Saul.) although a persecutor and
a violent man, showed 110 symptoms of alarm
or terror. The voice, the blow, the light, the
glory, the darkness that followed, were sufficient
to up-et the strongest mind ; but master
of himself and bis emotions, instead of
giving away to exclamation of terror, he
simply said?'"Lord, what wilt thou have
me to do?" With his reason and judgment
as steady and as strong as ever, he
knew at once that something was wanted of
him, and ever ready to act, lie asked what
it was.
From this time on his track can Iks distinguished
by the commotions about it, and
tlio light above it. Straight back to Jerusalem,
from whence he had so recently come
with letters to legalize his persecutions, he
went to cast his lot with those he had followed
with violence and slaughter. -Ilis
strong heart never beat one quicker pulsation
through fear, as the lofty turrets of the proud
city flashed upon his vision. Neither did
he steal away to the dark alleys and streets,
where the deciplcs were concealed, and tell
them secretly his faith in the son of God.?
He strodo away into the synagogues, and before
the astonished priest, preached Christ
and him crucified. IIss thundered at the
door of the Sanhedrim itself, and shaking
Jerusalem like an earthquake, awoke a tern- j
pest of rage and fury on himself. With as-:
sassius dogging his footsteps lie at length |
left the city. But, instead of going to ;
places where he was unknown, and whore
his feelings would be less tried, he started to j
his native city, his father's House, the home |
of his boyhood, for his kindred and friends, j
To entreaties, tears, scorn and violence, he I
was alike impervious. To Antioch and Cy
prus, along the coast of Syria and Rome,
over the known world ho went like a Mazing
comet, waking up the nations of the'
earth. From the top of Mar's llill, with the |
gorgeous city at his feet, and the Acropolis j
and Partheon behind him, 011 the deck of his 1
shattered vessel, in the interval of the crash
of billows, in the gloomy walls of a prison, '
on tho borders of the eternal kingdom, he j
speaks in the same calm and determined \
tone. Deterred by no danger, awed by no
presence, and arinking from no responsibility,
he moves before us like a grand embodiment
of power. The nations have around
him, and kings turn pale in his presence.?
Rands of conspirators swear never to drink
till they have slain him, and people stone
him; yet over the din of the coutlict and
storm of violence, his voice rises as clear and
distinct as a trumpet call, as lie still preaches
Christ and him crncifted. The whip is laid
on bis back tiil blood starts with every blow
and then his mangled body was thrown into
a dungeon; but at midnight you hear that
snmo calm, strong voice which has shaken
the world, poured forth in a hymn of praise
to God, and lo! an earthquake shakes the
prison to its foundation, tho manacles fuli
from the hands of the captives, the bolts withdraw
of themselves, and the massive doors
swing back on their hinges.
One cannot point a single sp>t in his ca
rcer where he faltered a moment, or gave way
to discouragement or fear. Through all his
perilous life, he exhibited the same intrepidity
of character and lofty Spirit. "With his
eye fixed on regions beyond the ken of ordinary
mortals, and kiiuliing on glories ho was
G't permittee' to rover.!, he pressed forward
to an incorruptible crown, a fadeless kingdom.
And then his death, how indescribably sublime!
Napoleon dying in the midst of a
midnight storm, with the last words that fell
from his lips r battle cry, and his passingSpirit
wntcning in its delirium the torn heads
of his mighty columns, as they disappeared
in the smoke of the conflict, is a sight that
awes and startles us. But behold Paul, also
a war-worn veteran, battered with many a
soar, tho' in a Spiritual warfare, looking,
back, not with alarm but with transport, looking
not on earth, but on heaven. Hear his
calm, sereuo voice ringing over tho storm
and commotions of life :?"I am now ready j
to be offered and the timeof my departure is i
at hand. I hare fought the good fight, 1
have finishod my course?there is laid up
for ine a crown of righteousness." No shouts
of foemon, or smoke or enrnago of battle surrounded
his Spirit straggling to be free ; but
troops of shining angels, the smile of God and
the songs of the redeemed, thcae guarded
and welcomed him homo.
T SARBATn-natAimG is that a?n which i.ada
to all other suit.
Origin of the Indians.*-^ecqll
of 1 i)e I c h? g.
El* ROPE was not less startled in 1402 If
llie discovery of the American continent
than by finding it to be overspread by the
Indian race?a race before this period loel
to history. Philosophers and historlftirt
were alike taken aback by tin* announce*
inent. One of the most prominent theories
to which ihc discovery gave rise was the
suggestion of the probability of their being
descendants of the "lost ten tribes of Israel."
This theory, which, so far as my reading goes*
was Gist advanced by Grotius, was very pop*
tdar with the first settlers of llie
... ? ...w,
and furnished nn additional impetus to the
efforts made for their reclamation by the
venerable and apostolic Elliot, and co-laborers
and successors, influencing this branch
of benevolence and humanity down to the
present era. lint although it has been a
fruitful and favorite theme of discussion with
divines and philanthropists during the entire
period, (say 370 years,) at least down to
Ikmdiuol's "Star in the "West," and Javia*
discourse before the New York Historical
Society in 1819,1 think the question of their
origin is as far from being satisfactorily
solved now as ever.
It is not proposed to enter into this discussion
at this time, far less to revive the
opinions of those who have staked their
learning and judgement on the topic, but
merely to contribute) a suggestion respecting
a point of historic interest, w hich, on the assumed
affinities between the Jew and Indian
races, is equally applicable to tbe one as
to the other of these very marked brunches
of the human family, lliblical commentators
en prophetical events have inauifeated a
disposition to hasten on, as it were predictions
which are often obscurely and symbo
Iicnllv stated, while tliey gei>erally occurred
in fixing a definite value to the leading
sacred types and symbols. One of the
most undisputed of these interpretations relates
to that feature in the prophetical chronology
which makes the biblical period of one
day correspond with one year of our system.
In tlio 8th Daniel, 13, 14, it is predicted
that from the taking away of the "daily sacrifice,"
during which the people of God shall
he "trodden under foot," till their recall and
the "cleaning of the sanctuary," , which is apprehended
to signify a period of spiritual and
moral enlightenment on the true character of
the Messiah, two thousand and three hundred
days shall intervene. This seems to be
plain language. Tacitus informs us that the
conquest of J odea was finished by the caj*ture
of Jerusalem, under Titus, A. D., 70.?
Having carried the city after a long"*r?d
bloody siege, during which he was once
driven out of it, he finally succeeded in taking
its last stronghold, the temple, on the
10th duy of August, when?not by design,
hut caprice, it secins?a llomnn soldier set
fire to it by a burning arrow, by which it
was reduced to ashes and ruins. Thus ended
tlio "daily sacrifice." This was the second
temple?the temple in which Christ
i personally nan taugut# It was never rebuilt,
though oneo attempted by Julian.
I On the assumption that the prediction in
Pnniel refers to the first taking of the daily
i sacrifice by the burning of the temple under
! Nebuchadnezzn, 088 la-fore Christ, the prediction
expired in 1642, the beginning of the
preaching of John Elliot, of apostolic inemo?
rv, to the American Indians. If the second
period of taking away the daily sacrifice Ikj
' meant by the burning of the second temple
by Titus, then the prediction is unexhausted,
! and will not expire till A. D. 2370. To
what extent human is to concur with divine
influence in this great moral event, those
can best judge who have devoted most attention
and exhibited most wisdom in dis|
cussing the subject. I design only to make
1 use of the ^faets to observe that if it is sup1
posed that the spiritual and moral dcndncs*
; of heart of the Jews or Indians is to be made
sensible by this call to repentance, either wij
tioruilly or individually, the importance
i and vitality of the call at this time may l>*
well judged of. fSliall men wail till it I?e
proved that the Imlians arc descendant* of
i the Jews before efforts arc made to reclaim
them i Shall I at iixiinn priests and powwows
have hundreds of years' farther scope
j to practice demonology, magic, and witch ,
craft, before their errors, are exposed ? If at
| last they arc not proved to be descendants
: ?i.~ i - 1 -
yj, iiiuock^, ci am to linve pilllOIOglCAl ?fI
finities w ith them, on whom will the blame
| nf not preaching the Gospel to them rest I
If they liavo the Jewish blots! in their reins,
even in the most diluted quantity, according
to the affinities ?f races, the fault will he still
more pungently ours. Elliot's voice has now
been heard ntbimativ-ly on this question
212 years. Braiuard repeated this call at
exactly 100 year* from its fir.t utterance?
namely, in 1742. But in every view are the
aborigines not more particnrhily our'.'lurighi
burs" than the idolatrous races of the Orient?
If they want bread, or hunger and thirst
of ten for any lack of knowledge or of
I bodily comfort, they aro certainly near to
! our own doors, Shall we, like the Levite,
suffer them to be wounded, or leave them to
the trust that "good Samaritans" from distant
foreign lands will come and hind up
their wounds, or doe? n^t this duty belong
i peculiarly to Americans 1 M. R* B.