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and the importation of negroes into the Southern States becomes then perfectly proper. For the party programme which was successful, November 4th, established the absolute equality of slavery and free labor as relating to the Federal government, and it is therefore an unavoidable

vate and perfect their disposable labor in a manner which may render it possible for them to do without British custom ; instead of this they wish to draw from Africa still further importations of the rawest labor, to increase the production of cotton to an unnatural degree, and thereby to

inference that the latter cannot impose any ob- j make still worse their condition of dependance

stacle to the introduction into the South of that kind of labor which the South prefers. According to their own principles, therefore, the Democratic party will be able to offer no resistance to the demand of Gov. Adams; unless the dread of Northern indignation and respect for the interests of the more northern slave States, (especially Virgiuia and Kentucky,) whose chief staple product is negroes, which would fall in value if the slave trade were renewed, force them to make a temporary pause in their march of " progress."

But, however near or however of Mr. Adams may be from its realization, he has at all events proved one thing: namely, the superfluousncss and the absurdity of all those long-windcil treatises on the American slavery question, which proceed on the supposition that the slaveholders would gladly get rid of slavery if tbey could; that it is only maintained as a necessary unavoidable evil, and that any statesman would show the slave-holders a great kindness who should suggest to them a method and means fur the gradual abolition or amelioration of the "peculiar institution." Mr. Adams only repeats what has been preached for years in countless Democratic organs (from the New Orleans Delta, the Charleston Standard and Mercury, the Richmond Enquirer and Examiner, to the New York Day Book) when he says " slavery is the most secure and permanent foundation for free state institutions." But in the very moment when he boasts its strength and permanence, bo betrays its Achilles' heel. How ingenuous is his confession that the existence of slavery is rendered doubtful as soon as Europe can do without American cotton, and that the East Indies already produce more cotton than the United States did in 1820.

And thus Mr. Adams affords us a deep insight into the political and financial consequences of his much boasted institution. Raw and simple slave labor can be applied to nothing but the production of raw stuffs, and on this single branch of production hangs now the finaucial existence of tho slave States. There is no industry in them which could make them independent of foreign customers. While the northern and northwestern States form a self-dependent financial community, the southern States must confess that their whole existence depends upon foreign conjunctures over which they have no control. And instead of being brought, by the threatening prospects which the competition of the East ludies and Algiers opens to them, to the perception of the fact tha-t they must culti

upon foreign custom. If they persevere in this suicidal design, let them be careful lest they are suddenly hurled from the height of political power which they have attained in the Union. They play "va banque." If then that take place which Gov. Adams points to with such uneasy forebodings, if in the course of a generation the production of cotton in the East Indies and Algiers should increase to such an extent as to supply the demand of Europe, then will the southern states find a market for their cotton far the ideal j only in the northern states (whose industry will meanwhile have enormously increased,) and will fall into a state of dependance upon the latter, which, as far as we can see, will be the death blow to their political power and to their " peculiar institution in its present form."

We are requested to insert the following notice.

The time of holding Salem Quarterly Meeting has been changed to the 5th day after the first 2d day in the 3d, 6th, 9th, and 12th months. The next Quarter will be held at Woodstown in the 3d month, instead of the one which under the old arrangement would have been on 5th day last.

Married,—On the 1st of 1st mo. 1857, in Half Moon Township, Centre Co., Pa., Jane Way, (laughter of Robert and Hannah VVay, the latter deceased, to Isaac Brown, of Clearfield Co.

, On the 4th of this month by Friends' ceremony, Alexander V. Manning, to Sallie Mar-* Shall, daughter of Joseph Marshall, all of the city of Trenton, New Jersey.

Died,—On the 22d of 12th month last, Rebecca Cooter, aged 14 years, daughter of James and Lucy Cooper of Woodbury.

, Of scarlet fever on the 22d of 1st month,

Ltdia, daughter of Robert and Martha Way, of Half Moon Township, Centre Co., Pa., aged two years and two months.

, At her residence in Kent County, Maryland,

on the 20lh of 1st mo. 1857, Hannah Atkinson, in the 85th year of her age ; she was for many years an elder of Cecil Monthly Meeting of Friends.

, At his residence on Duck Creek, Henry Co.,

Ind., on the evening of the 16th of 1st mo. 1857, Hugh Mills, aged abont sixty-two, an Elder in Friends' Society twenty-two years. He was a man of sterling integrity, and in his death a wife has lost* kind husband, a large family a tender and beloved father, and the neighborhood a useful and exemplary citizen. A. J. P.

I'or Friends* Intelligencer.

Review of the Weather, 4'c, for First Month.

1856 1857

Rain during some portion of the 24 hours, 3d's 2d's

Snow, 12 10

Clondy days without storms, ..48
Ordinary clear days, . . . 12 11

31 31

Temperatures, Deaths, &r. The average mean Temperature of this month for the past Sixty- Eight years has been about 31 deg.,—for 1850 it was 24.15 deg., and for 1857, 22.37 deg.

We can find nothing on our record as low as this, for this month, as far back as 1790 inclusive—nothing less than '20 deg. has occurred during that entire period, except in the years 183*?, 25 deg.—1840, 24 deg., and last year, (1856) 24.15 deg.

In broad contrast stand the years 1790, 44 deg.—1793, 40 deg., and 1828,39 deg. The 23d and 24th days of the present month of this year may well be remembered for intensity of cold in this city. Thermometer varying from 3 to 7 degrees below zero.

It is useless to attempt to chronicle all the items in reference to the late "cold spell." It may safely be said not to have been equalled in the memory of the " oldest inhabitant." "All along the frontier of New York State the mercury was down ten, twenty and forty degrees below zero, and at Waterloo the quick-silver froze up at thirty seven below!" (so says the New-York Tribune ) "The terrible snow storm of the 18th, has not been equalled for many years. The humorously called "Express Train" from NewYork being 48 hours in making the trip, while on the Baltimore Railroad, nineteen locomotives were employed in endeavoring to clear the track, which was even then accomplished with difficulty. rlhe James River, in Virginia, is frozen over, as also Long Island Sound, from the Connecticut • shore to Long Island. New Havep harbor is frozen tight, and nothing but ice cau be seen from the topmost of a vessel with a spy-glass," &c, &e.

The deaths recorded for 1st mo., 1856, amounted to 866 « « 1857," 13S7

To present a fair view of the case, however, it muBt be stated that 1857 records Jive weeks; but even then, if we deduct for the week ending 1st mo. 3d, 248 eases, we still have the startling increase of two hundred and seventy-three deaths in four weeks.

J. M. E.

The following additional particulars were received after the above was in type:

The unusually warm weather of the 8th inst., (First day) deserves a passing notice. The writer has searched his diary as far back as 1836 inclusive, and can find but two days so early in

the month either equal to or exceeding it—for instance:

On 2d mo. 8, 1857, the thermometer at 9, 12 and 3 o'clock respectively stood at 52—CO—64 degrees—on 2d mo. 3d, 1842, at 57—61—64, and on 2d mo. 4, 1842, at 63—65—65 degrees.

Second mo. 20th and 23d, 1840, and Second mo. 15, 1851, each exceeded the 8th instant, bat these were later in the season; and the five days here enumerated constitute the. only days during any Second month since 1836, inclusive, equal to, or exceeding in height of temperature the before-mentioned 8th instant.

Philadelphia, 2d mo. 9, 1857.

J. M. E.

LECTURES ON PALESTINE.
Jerusalem.

"How does the city sit solitary that was full of people?" These opening words of the Lamentations of Jeremy will break upon your lips as at the close of a toilsome day your eyes first fall upon the sad gray walls which hide all that is left of the once proud Jerusalem. "Is this the city that men called the perfection of beauty, the joy of the whole earth?" These mocking words will follow you like an echo asyou pace silently along the narrow streets, arrested only by the cries of ! petty traffic and of lying beggary. Dim indeed J has the fine gold become when the wretched remnant of the tribes of Israel are spurned along | the ways of their Holy City by the scornful I curse of their oppressors. Here, according to : prophecy, are "the stones of the sanctuary poured out into the top of every street;" the soldiers of the heathen defile with their touch the marble which might once have been in courts of the Lord. The "rampart and the wall" are there; but "they languish together;" the watchmen of Zion walk no more about them, and the cheers of the spearmen no longer encourage the fainting hearts of the people of God. The whole spectacle before you at Jerusalem is one of prophecy illustrated. This is the deepest impression that you bring away. The region around Nazareth repeats to you strikingly the parables of the Saviour; the hills and plains of Galilee and Judea show you again the customs and the life of the ancient Jewish ages; Carmel and Sharon and the Jordan tell over again their histories of miracle; but from Jerusalem you learn chiefly how true, how vivid, how solemn are the utterances of prophecy, which have described the future and declared the doom of the house and people who rebelled against the God who had set them in their glorious seat.

Prophecy haunts you, as, in obedience to the rhythmic command of the Psalmist, "you walk about Zion to tell the towers thereof, and mark well her bulwarks." These are weak now, and the space which they embrace is small, scarce

half of that which the army of Titus saw enclosed and defended when they encamped on that northern plain. In a single hour you have "gone round" the city. Gray and old are these walls, and high they seem when you can look down from them into the deep ravines ; but they would make a poor defence against the assaults of modern warfare. Along their eastern side you may see the great stones, worn smooth by time, which the Jewish captives kissed at their parting, which our Saviour saw when he was led from Gethsemane to the high priest's house. The battlements would be beautiful in their long, symmetric, wedge-shaped ranges, if Saracen skill could seem beautiful on the walls of Jerusalem. Was it not said, "The sons of strangers shall build up thy walls"?

And here, by the western gate, is the fort of the city, mounted with a few rusty guns, which utter themselves only on the days of official holiday or Moslem festival. Was the fort in which David dwelt, from which, as they say, he looked down upon the house of Uriah, and saw first the mother of Solomon, was this so small, so vile, so poorly garnished, so weakly garisoned as the castle which your guide so boastfully points out, as if it were a marvel of strength and grace? You may stop to trace the junction of the modern with the ancient portion; to see how much of the once famous tower, which Herod built, remains; to conjecture the si^ht of those companion towers of the palace of Herod; of all the magnificent cisterns and granaiies and halls which were onee gathered on the spot; but here, too, will come in that sentence of Isaiah, "The forts and towers shall bo for duns f >rever."

The best life of an ancient Jewish city was to be seen iu its gateways. The modern gates of Jerusalem show as well the characteristic features of its life. There the heavier traffic of the market is settled; and the merchants of the city meet the wayfarers of the wilderness, who lead thus far their laden camels, but hesitate to descend the dangerous streets. The captain of the guard sits there, with an air as arrogant, an indolence as stately, and a train of servants as obsequious as any ancient king. The mollahs of the mosque are there to represent the class of Pharisees and Scribes; not a few are ready with scanty materials to ply their literal trade, though they lack the learning of the Jewish scribes. Each janizary is a Sa Jducee, if want of faith and piety make Sadducees now. If wisdom crieth not now in the openings of the gates, there is "war" there, a continual, fierce war of words, fiercest at the closing of the gates, and inflamed, as in the days of the Judges, by the "new gods'' which the races have chosen. Beggars abound there, loathsome as Lazarus at the gate of Dives. Blind men beg there for charity, earnest as Bartimeus, though less hopeful than he of cure. Along the pathway outside the portal are a row

of lepers, hideous to see, whoso repulsive touch Christians need not the statutes of Moses to make them shrink from. Fanatic dervises counterfeit well there the men "possessed with devils," gaining the reputation of sainthood by their frenzy and their rags. At one hour of the day you may see, at the gate of St. Stephen, "the horsemen set themselves in array." At all hours, in the gate toward Jaffa, you may see them turn aside the poor and reject them who sit for alms.

Many of the ancient gates of Jerusalem, of which we read in the Hook of Nehemiah, have been closed ; of some, the place is now uncertain. None can be identified with the few modern entrances that suffice for the reduced city. On the south, at the end of a long street, is the "Zion's Gate;" but it does not stand where the sacred gate once stood, through which David and the priests came in on their solemn days. It opens only for the few who go out on Mount Zion to pray at the tomb of David, or for the occasional procession, when the body of some Christian monk or stranger is borne to burial. The "Valley Gate" and the " Water Gate" may, perhaps, be represented bytthose which hear now respectively the names of Jaffa and St. Stephen; the one on tho west, the other on the east. The "Gate of Benjamin" most likely was in that hollow where now caravans from Damascus enter the city. You may see, though you p»«y not examine, tho elaborata structure in the eastern wall, which marks the site of the " Beautiful Gate," the Golden Gate where Peter healed the lame man and where Jesus came in on his triumphal day. The fuar of the Moslems keeps it solidly walled up and closely guarded, since, through txiis, destruction is expected to come to their power. Other gates walled up may still be detected ; but the effort to identify thuse with the "Fish Gate," or the "Sheep Gate," the "Prison Gate," or the " Dung Gate" ends with conjecture. The antiquary has a chance for study in the architecture of the gates whioh remain in the arches of the Beautiful Gate, the lions of the Gate of Stephen, the fantastic ornaments of the gate on the north, and massive tower of the gate on the west.

One needs to learn carefully the rules concerning these gates, else in the walks about Jerusalem he may meet with some uncomfortable surprises. In the Apocalypse, it is said of the celestial city, that " the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day," and " there shall be no night there." In this respect the earthly city does not agree with the new Jerusalem. There is night there, and it begins when the sun goes down; and it requires hard pleading and patient waiting and liberal backish to persuade the obstinate guard to open for you, if you have lingered on the hills beyond the hour. On Friday, the Moslem Sabbath, the gates are closed for three The plough which passed over them eighteeu centuries ago, the ruins which have so often choked them, have obliterated so far the ancient lines, that even the course ofthevallies have been changed. The valley of the Tyropoon or "cheesemongers," which once girdled Mount Zion on the. north and the east, separating it from Akra and Moriah, is now so nearly filled up that the street above it seems but little depressed from the streets adjoining. The pavement of all the! streets arrests attention, made up as it evidently is, of the fragments of ancient edifices, the palaces and warehouses and temples of the ancient city. Wherever you walk you tread upon stones "polished after the similitude of a palace." The grain merchants sit at the corners of the streets on the broken columns which once stood in the porches, and the dogs eat from what may once have been the rich man's table. You are reminded, too, at every turn, of the words of Jeremy: "Seest thou not what they do in the streets of Jerusalem? The children gather wood, and the fathers kindle fire, and the women knead their dough to make cakes to the Queen of Heaven, and to pour out drink offerings to other gods." For are not these small unleavened loaves sold in the courts of the Lord's house, in honor of Mary the immaculate? and are not many gods remembered in the confusions of nations and religious there?

hours in the middle of the dny, to give the in the book of truth, that atone time there did faithful leisure for safe and uninterrupted prayer; a storm arise, and those that were in the ship and many are the curses without of those who became very much afraid, lest they should be must tarry for the deliberate worship of those cast away; but their dear Saviour, even the within. The gates are opened at morning with spirit of Truth, commanded the winds and the the first light; and long before sunrise the waves to be still, and they obeyed him, and merchants have started on their journey to the those that were in the ship were saved; and so coast, and the monks have gone out to their it would be with you. Each one of us may be matins at the Tomb of Mary. I likened unto a ship, sailing, as it were, upon the

It is equally difficult to identify the streets of broad ocean of time, and those many things modern Jerusalem with those of the ancient city. ] which beset us, and tempt us to do evil, may be

! likened unto the winds and waves, which, if they | were not hushed into silence, would, in time, like thoso ancient navigators, by the stars alone, which arc set in the sky to testify of the way homeward; for these are obscured by the passing cloud, and fa'l us in storm and in tempest, when we need them most. But in addition, God has given us the same compass, the divinely poised finger, which points out the way alike in sunshine and in storm. The materials, tben, are placed before us; the opportunity for using them is given, and the rule by which we may know how to use them aright.

[To be continued.]

carry us far away from that straight pathway, and we should never reach the port of Heaven. Philadelphia, 1st mo. 31s/, 1857.

For Friends' TntelliRenncr.
How many wiles, how many snares,
To entice the youthful mind away.

I have always felt that we could not begin too soon to do well. In the days of our youth let us love the Lon!, and let it be our concern through the days of maturer years; and, when we have grown old and feeble, we will be remembered by the God of our youth. My dear young friends, seek the Lord now while you are young; hearken to his gentle admonitions; listen to that still small voice within; for it is the spirit of truth, sent unto you, to lead you gently along, step by step, from earth to Heaven. 0, listen to it, obey its dictates, and you will find in God a father and a friend. I have never found a better nor a surer guide than this; although it may lead you in ways that you have never before walked in, yet be not afraid. For we read

THE WOBK AND WAY OP LIFF..

"Ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy waysbe established."

Why are we here? To ho and to do what, has God placed us on the earth? What is the object of life? We are in the midst of a world, each part of which has its work to do. Every thing around us, is tending to some end. Sun. and moon, and stars, the blade of grass, the mote in the sunbeam, have their object: God created them for accomplishing it. We are parts of this same creation, creatures of the same God, links of the great chain; and are we alone, in this world of activity, left with no certain end whither to tend, no work to do, nothing to strive for? Is man alone objectless? What mean all these rich gifts which he has received, his strength, his aspirations, his reason? Can tliey all be meaningless, and this best work of the creation be made for nought? Is man so richly endowed to do nothing? It cannot be: God is not wont thus to create for no purpose. Man, then, must have some destiny to work out: his life here is meant to be one of labor and striving for some end.

But we can go one step farther. In all else, we see that the gifts of the Creator to each creature are exactly proportioned to what it has to do. He does not give any superfluous strength nor any unnecessary faculties. There is no waste in the divine adaptation of means to ends; but each creature has just those powers and that degree of strength which it needs to accomplish its object. For humble offices, faculties are bestowed, humble, yet sufficient, and continually increasing as wo ascend in the scale of being and the work increases in magnitude.

Now, what inference can we draw from this, as to man's object? It must be one worthy of his noble powers: it cannot bo anything low and grovelling, that he was put into the world to accomplish. God has not been so lavish of his gifts to him, only that he might do the work of a tree or an animal. We can assume, then,

in the beginning, that there lies before as in life some object to be accomplished, and that no mean and sordid one.

What, then, is this exacted object of human life? What is that which gives a meaning to all our endearments and which should bo the end in all our strivings'/

We know no better practical answer to give to the question, than that we were placed in the world to build up a perfect character. For this purpose bus the Creator made us. It is his will that this should be the object of life.

But what is this work? What is the building up of a character? Let us commence with the beginning. When we come into the world, we are not entering upon the hopeless task of repairing the ruins of a broken down nature; but we have no character, good or bad. To settle which of it shall bo, is the all-important question, which our life is to answer. The materials are given into our hands plastic and unformed; we are to mould them into whatever shape of beauty or deformity we will. We have tendencies; we have capacities ; our faculties are imparted to us. These are to be developed, each in its appropriate way. Our passions are to be controlled; our desires regulated, and kept from clashing with each other; our tendencies, good if properly re

Here, then, is a worthy object for which to live. This great, this never-ending work we were placed in the world to libor on; we are to strive to build up for ourselves the perfect character. Hero is the all-embraciug object: nothing can be so small that it may not aid in accomplishing it, nothing so great that it is not included in it. This is the centre rouud which all other interests move, and toward which they gravitate. They are the means, this the end; and unless tending to this, arc vain and worthless.

This exalted end is then before us as the true object of life. But do we recognize it as the actual one which we are pursuing? Do we really make all else subservient to this? Lotus look around us, let us look within us and see how faithful we have been to it. We shall find that

strained, are to be confined within these proper there are many things substituted in its place.

limits; good acts are to be confirmed into habits, and good emotions hardened into principles. Here, then, are the materials upon which we are to work. We are placed, too, in the midst of circumstances and in relations which give our faculties opportunity to act, and our capacities to develop: all these we are to use as means of growth. Our life is the workshop where this wonderful product is fashioned, not all at ouce, but slowly, year by year, and hour by hour. Each moment furnishes us opportunity to develop it; oach event, however slight. It is forming in our work and our recreation, in our idleness and in our toil; it is ever forming when we think nothing of it, as well as when we are most earnestly striving.

But a rule is needed to guide us to the right formation of character. We must know what the true way is, if we would walk in it. This rule God has planted within us. It is no uncertain and indefinite thing; and, when our nature is calmly interrogated, the answer is clear and decided. The aspirations which we feel are too plain to be mistaken; but in our lives, there are storms of passion and trouble, when this inner voice becomes obscure and ambiguous. We are therefore not left to this alone; in addition to the intuitions implanted in our natures, God has sent a messenger to show us the way, and give us new motives for walking in it. The light of nature is confirmed and brightened by the light of revelation. We are at the helm, and are to direct the voyage; but we do not steer,

It may not always, or often, be that these unworthy objects are pursued in consequence of a deliberate act of choice; perhaps, without ever acknowledging it to ourselves, we practically seek them.

We have seen men, who have appeared to live for nothing higher than mere sensual pleasure. They have degraded their noble powers into the servants of excess. They seemed to act on the Epicurean maxim, "Let us eat and drink; for to-morrow we die." If thus they have lived, it might be well for them, if they would die; but there is life eternal for the sensualist as for the saint. The grave does not offer him an everlasting sleep; the end is not yet. Aud what shall then be the terrible consequences of a life worse than wasted, what shall be the fearful revelations of that future state, no man knoweth But how awful the results even here! We have spent the time given us for growth, in weakening and corrupting the faculties we ought to have developed. The manlike has been steadily sinking into the animal, and as far as was in oar power, tho divine in us has been extinguished.

Or it may be that we have not chosen an altogether bad object for which to live, but have exalted one that should be merely secondary into the first place in our regards. It would be easy to give illustrations of this. There is worldly gain, which occupies, and rightly, much of men's time and thoughts. But some seem to act as if "being's end and aim" was, by some base alchemy, to transmute whatever faculties they are

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