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THE INFIDEL.

to adorn and bless society on earth, and be prepared for mansions of glory beyond the skies.

There are grave objections to the heathen books, especially for children.

1. They lead away the mind from Christ and the way of salvation. It would be superfluous to add that there is no allusion to our Redeemer from Cæsar to Horace, from Xenophon to Homer.

2. These books teach idolatry. The learner is in habitual fellowship with Jupiter, Juno, Venus, &c. the former and the latter infamous for their vices. The mind is insensibly imbued with false conceptions of the object of adoration.

3. A spirit of unholy ambition is cherished altogether adverse to Christian humility. The immensa cupido laudum-immense desire of praise-is the highest motive known to the heathen moralists.

4. In the best of them there is gross licentiousness. Virgil is the most chaste of all the poets. Hear him: "Pastor Corydon ardebat Alexin delicias:"* the shepherd Corydon passionately loved Alexis, his darling. The shepherd is the poet himself. Alexis is-my pen refuses to tell who. Good parents will prefer the sweet singer of Israel to so licentious a poet.

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O, THE treacherous human heart! Who can fathom its deceits?

As an illustration that it is "deceitful above all things," look at-what we rejoice is rarely found—an infidel. Observe, he is a professor of the natural sciences, engaged with a class in astronomy. He directs you to his orrery, and while the machine in motion beautifully represents the various movements of the solar system, he places a music-box in operation by its side, that his enraptured class may listen to "the music of the spheres," as they revolve in obedience to their Maker's will, through their respective orbits. Thus, by a pleasing association, to impress all with the perfectly harmonious movements, and wonderful regularity of the worlds rolling in fields of illimitable space. But, alas! though compelled to acknowledge the existence of a great First Cause, he is not a Christian.

Such was the habit, and such the character of one, once the preceptor of the writer. He had a

VOL. VI.-26

Eclogue x, line 1.

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mind ready to conceive, and, with delighted admiration, contemplate the order and silent harmony of "the spheres." He had an ear to drink in this heavenly music; but no heart to feel, nor faith to admit that "our God"-the God of the Bible-was that great Original.

By what means were these doubts and objections brought upon his mind? The Bible points out the cause, in the perverted state of the sinner's heart. By it we trace all his skeptical doubts to this one corrupted and fruitful source of unbelief. The same book affirms, that the invisible things of the Creator, even his eternal power and Godhead, are from the creation of the world clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. So that they who doubt are without excuse, if living in unrighteousness.

Certainly this argument of the inspired penman, that the visible creation leads reason up at once to an invisible Creator, whom we are bound to serve and love, is as simple as it is sound and reasonable. But though the Bible points out the seat of unbelief, let us, for a moment, trace the process by which doubts are, in the face of the plain teachings of reason, induced upon the mind-doubts whether the Creator is a God whom man is bound to love and obey. And let us note the point at which the work of blinding the mind and perverting the heart begins.

We can readily admit the fact of a great First Cause. From the things that are made, we clearly understand there must be a maker. We have only to follow the leadings of a most simple argument, to arrive at this result. Indeed, we know not how the mind that is capable of reasoning in this matter, can come to any other conclusion, unless improperly influenced.

But the simple admission of a First Cause, while we deny to it moral attributes, or, what is the same thing with regard to man, assert that whatever be those attributes, they are totally unknown to us, will not involve responsibility and obligation to love and obey that Being or Cause. For, if the Creator do not possess these attributes, or man be not a moral agent, there is no responsibility or obligation. But if man is endowed with moral capabilities, and his Creator possess moral attributes, the conclusion is irresistible, that we are held responsible by his authority. But the God of the BIBLE is possessed of these in infinite perfection. And every view of him as there exhibited, shows that we are bound, by the highest obligations, to "fear him and keep his commandments." Yet it is a fact of thrilling importance, that there are those who do not like to retain this knowledge of God. The secret desire of their soul is, to be independent of Him, whose known moral nature involves the obligation to serve him. Here is the point of commencing resistance. Desiring to be freed from these restraints, and to avoid the idea of the resulting consequences of a bad

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life, the heart summons its energies, and brings into requisition its resources, to throw off all sense of obligation which arises from an acknowledgment of the God of the Bible. An ignorant mind might encase itself in its own darkness, and affirm, "There is no God," and thus publish its own shame; but the intelligent man cannot, without some show of argument, or pretense of reason, make the declaration. His mind is too much enlightened, but, alas! his heart is not willing. Hence, he cherishes all that can produce doubt and perplexity, and permits that which is dark and inscrutable in the moral world to come over his mind as a valid objection against our religion. There is evidently enough that is plain, to guide his conduct and show him how to live, that he may enjoy the favor of God. But to take and act upon this, and let the other remain, until God shall unfold them to the gaze of a wondering universe, and "justify his ways to man," does not suit his purpose. He cannot compre

hend our God; therefore says, he will not believe in him. And in asserting this, he tells us the difficulty rests precisely where the Bible places it, in the perverseness of the heart. He can comprehend the God of the Christian as thoroughly as he admits the existence of a great First Cause.

There are, for aught we know, difficulties as inexplicable in the natural as in the moral world. But these do not involve moral agencies; and, therefore, he feels, and correctly too, that no unresolved point is to be admitted in natural philosophy against what is known or understood, or as being in the least a ground for doubt in regard to the whole system.

Now, why adopt a different principle in morals? Why urge in reference to God, difficulties which cannot be explained, when there is enough to show us how to live-enough for faith, for hope, and love? Why, because of these difficulties, will men deny our God? Simply, because they do not like to retain a knowledge of him; but wish to free their heart from a sense of obligation. Therefore, the most trivial objections weigh with their minds, and pervert their hearts in regard to the Bible, because that book teaches man's obligation to God. The point of resistance in the heart is, then, where the force of moral responsibility, connected with the character of God, meets them; and they feel it impossible to escape this obligation, but by shaking and darkening their minds in respect to that character. Infidelity can fix doubt upon the mind; but this is all. It cannot prove the irresponsibility of man to that God, who is the maker and upholder of all things. Alas, poor Infidelity! thou canst ruin souls; but canst not save them. Thy character is sin. Thy wages death.

"Wrong not the Christian, think not reason yours:
'Tis reason our great Master holds so dear;
'Tis reason's injured rights his wrath resents:
To give lost reason life he poured his own.
Believe, and show the reason of a man;
Believe, and taste the pleasure of a God!"

THE FATHER'S REWARD.*

A TALE OF THE SOUTH.

BY PROFESSOR JOHNSON.

FLORIDA was at this time fast filling up with the better class of citizens from Georgia and the Carolinas; and among the rest, the family of Col. A. had emigrated. It was during those memorable years when the majesty and power of the twenty-six united, sovereign states of North America were waging an inglorious war upon a handful of harmless Seminoles, in which was consumed more treasure, to hunt them from their barren swamps and inaccessible everglades, than served in a better cause to wrest the thirteen colonies from monarchical oppression, and establish our constitutional liberties. Augustus, the elder son of Col. A., was become the leader of a political party. General R., who commanded a division of the army, an intimate friend and habitual guest in the family, was at the head of the opposite party. These two men, united in cordial friendship, were diverse in character as in their creeds. The one possessed the haughtiness without the moderation of his father: the latter was mild by nature, and, by culture, urbane and conciliatory. Next to the interests of self, it was the happiness of each to see the other honored and prosperous. Political aspirations, however, at length introduced jealousies jealousy grew to hatred, and hatred sought revenge for fancied wrongs. Strange suspicions came suddenly up in the minds of each whether his sometime friend were a "gentleman," and a man of "honor;" and this point must be tested according to the rules of "the code." General R. was willing, indeed, to believe the character of A. such as he had always understood it to be; and was ready to concede or do whatever was consistent with the character of a "gentleman" to promote reconciliation and peace. But the passionate nature of his opponent, who knew but one way to settle so important a question, left him but one alternative. He must either, in violation of his country's laws, and in defiance of the laws of God, take arms against the life of a fellow-citizen, or he must lose his cast, resign his station, and retire in disgrace to some country not blessed with so nice a "sense of honor." As a citizen, he could have made the election which would preserve his conscience and his Christian honor untarnished; but as a soldier he felt bound to succumb to a sentiment which he despised, and which he knew to be an outrage upon humanity, and decorum, and civil rights.

When, alas, shall the world cease from these miserable misnomers! To call the one who insults his neighbor, provokes a quarrel, and enforces bloodshed, regardless of the civil peace, and the happiness of

* Concluded from page 188.

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families, a gentleman! To call the open day assassin, or the murderer a la code, "a man of honor!" To brand with the epithet of coward, the man who has the moral courage to withstand the force of a perverted public sentiment, and, in order to preserve his soul's purity, willingly bears the opprobrium cast upon him by those who know not to estimate true virtue! We aver it fearlessly, because it is the truth, that while the one party in such rencounters seeks the gratification of a fiendish hate or a sudden passion, the other, in most cases, fights because he is a coward.

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But I linger in reflections thus provoked by mortal folly, while the action of my narrative proceeds. All things were duly arranged for "the meeting," and the day, which according to modern usage must prove fatal to one, was arrived. General R. had indeed, till the last, used such efforts as he dared, to avoid the rencounter, but the imperious will of Col. A., (for the son, too, was advanced to that title,) bore him onward with the strength and precipitancy of a moving avalanche. Not forgetful of his prudence even in the midst of revenge, he had forced the other party, by every possible insult, to give the challenge, that he might choose his own means and mode of attack. He accordingly selected the weapon in the use of which he was acknowledged to excel, and in which the skill of General R. was known to be inferior. Armed with such advantage and confident of success, he sought to cover by a spirit of levity, real or assumed, the deep purposes of hate, or the occasional fear that agitated his inner soul. Invited friends were present, whether to sustain his spirits for the unpardonable deed of death, or to share in his joys and his triumphs, his unsettled heart could hardly have told. There was the political aspirant, who sought, by an opportune approval of his course, to advance his own interests in the favor of his political captain. There was the hungry sycophant, who hoped, by his timely flattery and boast of his master's courage, to secure another year's bountiful pension. There was the acknowledged "bully," who vaunted, in mock feats, his skill with the sword, the pistol, or the knife. There was the braggadocio, who had been suspected of cowardice, vociferously extolling the merits of "the code;" his own readiness to avenge an insult; and that no man was a "gentleman' who would not "fight." And, not to name others, there was Clarence, widowed in her incipient nuptials by a calamity so signal; now the wife of another; and, in the high noon of womanhood, bearing her beauty and unrivaled empire in the world of fashion with a yet prouder mien than ever. All these, taking the cue from their host and champion of honor, affected to think lightly of the occasion of their gathering. The wine flowed freely, and in aiming at cheerfulness, they exhibited an unnatural merriment.

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But there was one who had no part in this scene. The wife of the duelist felt that too much was at stake to give room for thoughts of mirth. Of a delicate constitution, and a gentle temper, she was oppressed with an undefinable dread. She loved her lord with all a woman's ardor, and, therefore, she feared; for it is yet as true in nature, as in verse,

"Res est solliciti plena timoris-amor."

On parting for the scene of action, the husband endeavored to cheer her; and assuring her that he would return as soon as he had dispatched that dead dog, wished her to be prepared to entertain his friends with a sumptuous dinner. She hastened from his presence to her private room, and unable longer to support the dreadful weight of her feelings, resorted to an opiate, which soon rendered her insensible, and it was feared would endanger her life.

The sister, who was in fact the ruling spirit of the whole affair, was now left to do the honors of the house; and she caused the preparations to be enlarged and hastened, as if about to celebrate the anniversary of some great holyday.

The hostile parties had sought the field. Insatiable in his revenge, A. had determined, if not successful at the first shot, to repeat the charge till he had slain his antagonist. It has already been said that General R. was not skilled in the use of the rifle for that was the weapon chosen-but life is dear; and the brief time intervening between the "preliminaries" and "the meeting," was faithfully occupied to practice his hand and eye; and to what purpose soon appeared. At the first fire the haughty provoker of the quarrel fell, to close his eyes in a few moments in death. He had just enough of life to see his murderer approach; to witness his apparent distress and his proffered kindness, which the dying man repulsed with a more bitter expression of hate than seemed possible to gather on the lips of a mortal.

Her

The proud one, the scorner, the hater-is fallen; but, as yet, the widowed and orphaned house know it not. The restless Clarence, already exulting, moves through the preparations for the triumph with increasing haste. So sanguine and determined was her hope, she refused to believe the messenger of ill. Even the solemn approach of the company which bore the victim failed to convince her. brother could not die at the hands of such a man; he should not; there must be life. She besought, or rather commanded the surgeon, with impatience and almost with blasphemy, to restore him. But when the corpse was extended in the room adjacent to that of the senseless, and perhaps dying wife, she became calm, and gazing in fixed posture at those features which had ceased to move, it seemed doubtful whether her heart would flow with the tenderness of a sister's love, or burst in contempt, as upon the carcass of a coward, that he had dared to fall in

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such a contest. Presently her mind seemed wandering, as if laboring to descend from the height of her recent anticipations to so deep a gulf of disappointment and despair. But when at length the ball was extracted and placed in her hand, she started suddenly as if instinct at once with all the furies of the infernal regions. I have no words to express the violence of her emotions. She raved like a lioness robbed of her whelps. She rushed from apartment to apartment, like a sweeping tornado, gathering strength as she moved; casting insult, and defiance, and hate, at every object she met; and with imprecations, which sound doubly fearful from the mouth of woman, swore that that bullet should drink the heart's blood of Gen. R. Reader, this is the once lovely Clarence, and to this capability of uncontrolable madness had she come, by a course as natural as that by which the mountain rivulet finds the level of the ocean.

Revenge is quick to devise the means of its gratification. There was yet a brother-the banished W. The foolish passion which had caused his estrangement had long since died away, and they were ready to embrace any pretext for a reconciliation. It was determined, that to avenge his brother's death should be the price of the atonement.

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Strange contact of virtue and vice in this world of ours! A bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church, with a single traveling companion, was returning from his distant field of labor, across the unfrequented plains of Texas. The streams swollen by the recent rains, and their ignorance of the country, had impeded their progress, and not knowing well where they were, or how far distant from their destination, they saw the night closing in upon them. While seeking to ford a little river, which threatened to embarrass them, they were overtaken by two men better acquainted with the passes and the roads. With southern urbanity and western freedom, conversation waits little on ceremony. Finding it impracticable to gain the point they aimed at that night, one of the strangers hospitably invited our travelers to his house. was an humble one, he said, and could afford them but few conveniences at present; for he was about to move from the country, and his goods were already packed. But he had provender for their horses, plenty of food, and a shelter for the night, if no bed; and to such as he had, they were heartily welcome.

They arrived at their proffered home at that most pensive hour, when the shades of twilight were just deepening into night. It was a rural cottage on the borders of a solitary plantation, surrounded by unbroken ranges of forest, of that luxuriant growth which is seen only within or near the tropical region. In the door sat the mother of the family, gazing out upon the magnificent scene before her, with an expression, that could not be mistaken, of the deepest

sadness. Was it her regret at parting from that secluded spot, endeared to her as the scene of her homefelt cares and joys? Crouched by her side were two or three little boys, apparently touched by some childish dread which made them fear to stir. Within appeared the emptiness and disorder always attending such preparations as they were making for a hasty removal. The whole aspect of things would have seemed to any but to Methodist itinerants to offer little promise of enjoyment for that night.

The good lady, roused by the approach of strangers, evidently found relief in the duties of hospitality. Soon the steaming urn and smoking biscuits, strongly lighted by a blazing pile of lightwood knots, gave a new aspect to the face of things. Cheerfulness returned to the little group. The kind attentions and urbanity of their entertainer, soon caused our travelers to forget the meagerness of the accommodations. On learning that they were ministers of the Gospel and Methodists, the hostess made mention of her father. His name and history were so well known in the Church, that the strangers, through that mediation, soon became friends together. The conversation was directed mainly on the subject of religion, in which the family joined with interest, or listened with profound respect. At a suitable hour in the evening, the gentleman brought forward a Bible and a Methodist Hymn-Book, and invited the bishop to honor his house with the exercise of family worship.

The conversation had revived to the memory of a little son, some six or eight years old, the early lessons of piety he had heard from his mother; and during prayer he became so affected that his little heart was melted down, and he wept profusely. When they endeavored to soothe his feelings, and inquired the cause of his emotion, he could only answer: he loved God, and he loved to hear that good man talk and pray. The mother was deeply moved at this simple declaration, and could only, with much effort, regain her composure. She had indeed, with difficulty, effected, during the whole evening, to cast off her sadness, and her manner, at times, seemed to indicate that she was desirous to reveal to these messengers of God some important secret, and implore their interposition and their aid. But they felt not authorized to invite her confidence, or multiply inquiries. They only learned that the name of their host was W. A.; that he was preparing to take his family to Florida where his friends resided, and where business of importance demanded his immediate presence. It was observed, that whenever the removal was referred to, Mrs. A. was particularly affected, and hastened to put the subject from her thoughts.

The few facts I have further to state, shall be dismissed as briefly as possible. The avenger of a brother's death was arrived, and sought, by every

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possible means of indignity and insult, to provoke
a quarrel which should lead to an "honorable meet-
ing." Continually foiled in his attempts by the
prudence of General R., at length, impatient of
delay, and goaded on by his yet more impatient {
instigators, he resolved to descend from the honorable
to the necessary; for the blood of his foe he must
have at all hazards. He accordingly sought by am-
bush and surprise to accomplish his work in secret.
The duties of General R. frequently brought him
to the capital of the territory. His wife resided
with her father, a few miles from the city, and it was
known to his steady pursuer, that he would daily
pass along the road leading to the plantation of his
father-in-law. A little shop, just in the outskirts of
the town, on this road, was rented, and in this the
high-minded avenger, armed with a rifle, took his
station. For several successive days, General R.
passed in company with other men, or after dark.
But desire failed not. Like a faithful sentinel he
held his watch. At length he had the gratification
to see his prey riding alone, returning home, at the
early dusk of evening. He made ready his gun,
braced his nerves, and planted his foot for the onset,
waited till the other was fairly past, then suddenly
threw back the door, and coming behind the uncon-
scious man brought him lifeless to the ground.

Should the assassin flee? Should the murderer seek to escape detection? Nay, he would triumph publicly. He went into the city, and delivered himself to the magistrate-was committed for trial-was bailed, and, after vaunting his success sufficiently, returned to Texas. This plan of evading justice was previously arranged. They who were so eager for revenge, were willing to pay a price for the blood of their enemy.

The brief paragraph that follows, I would gladly omit, but that it forms a link in the narrative.

The fate of the once amiable W. A.: the youthful husband of the gentle and pious Isabella H., and whom she had hoped, in the ardor of her early confidence-ah! how much she hoped has been already told. Let us see the end of her "faith."

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must defend his life or lose it. Under this shallow pretext of honorable dealing, as soon as he saw his adversary engaged in the reading, he elevated his pistol, not withdrawing it from his pocket, and directed the point so successfully, that in a moment he sent the fatal lead to the vitals of the unsuspecting man. His enemy was dead at his feet. Leaping from his horse, he disarmed the lad, who bore a rifle, and ordered him with threats, which he dared not disobey, to follow him. They rode to the nearest town, and the murderer again delivered himself to the magistrate. But he had now raised a storm he could not control. With difficulty was the excited mob restrained from tearing him limb from limb. While the civil authorities were conducting him to prison, the infuriate lad who had witnessed the deed, had recovered his rifle, and coming behind the culprit, fired upon him through the crowd, only wounding him in one of the extremities. Without farther harm he was lodged in the "calabouse." That evening witnessed an assemblage of the “sovereign people," to deliberate, not on the execution of the laws, but the "administration of justice!" It was determined that the prisoner should be brought out, and whoever wished should have the privilege to wreak his vengeance upon him, in such form as he chose. A strong guard was set for the night, and in the morning, the victim was led forth upon the common, where he fell, pierced by thirteen rifle balls, and was rolled into the ditch to rot!

Alas, for thee, Isabella! Thus widowed in the prime of womanhood! And thy little ones thus orphaned! Alas, for thy once ardent hopes and thy seeming faith!

There was yet one actor in this mournful tragedy. In a part of the territory of Florida, remote from the busy world, was a little opening in the wilderness, which might be taken as the beginning of a new plantation, or as the place chosen for the retirement of some one sated with the pleasures of the world, disgusted at its follies, or broken by calamities, and who wished to avoid even the intrusion of friends. Here, at the bottom of a gentle vale, stood a rudely constructed log cabin. Some He had now advanced far upon a course which he half-dozen magnolia's of native growth, left standcould not retrace. The torments of an uneasying by its side, interwove their summits in lofty conscience hurried him down the abyss of wretched- arches over the roof, and might seem, to a ready ness and crime with fearful celerity. How gener-imagination, like sentinels planted by Almighty care ally odious he soon made himself the event will show. We pass by the various deeds not connected directly with the end.

Riding alone one day, he met a man against whose life he had registered an irrevocable oath. The man was accompanied by a nephew, a lad of. about fourteen years. The parties halted, as if to deliberate what degree of technical "honor" should be given to the "fight," on which both were bent. W. drew from his pocket, and handed to the other a paper, which contained a written warning that he

as guardians of the spot. A weeping willow, with its long pendant branches, nearly covered one end. A variety of fragrant shrubs and vines clustered around its sides, and the jasmine and multiflora threw their pliant arms so profusely over the roof, that the little cottage was almost buried in the dense masses of verdure. In the rear, stood two or three huts for the negroes, who performed the menial offices of the place.

The cabin was divided into two apartments; of which one served as the eating and sleeping room of

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