Camden journal. [volume] (Camden, South-Carolina) 1852-1852, April 27, 1852, Image 1
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VOLUME 3. CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, APRIL 27, 1852. NUMBER 34.
i i i MM??? ? MB?a?M?BMMMg???? i
" THE CAMDEiV JOURNAL. j
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THOMAS J. WARREN.
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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.