University of Virginia Library

30. XXX.

After a long voyage, the sound of a Sabbath
bell, borne over the waves from a white tower, far
inland among the green hills of my native land,
awed, like a voice from heaven, every spirit on
board of our ship, from the commander to the
rudest mariner, striking a chord long untouched in
many hearts, and awakening associations of innocence
and childhood, of home and heaven. As
one after another, each clear-toned peal rolled solemnly
over the sea, every footfall was involuntarily
hushed, the half uttered jest or oath was arrested on
the tongue—the turbulent spirit was quieted and
subdued—every rough weather-beaten visage was
softened, and for the remainder of that day—long,
long after its dying notes had floated like spiritual
music over our ship, and died away in the distant
“fields of the ocean,”—each one on board felt himself
a better man.

Sensations nearly allied to these were awakened

in my breast, as I stood upon the cliff, the Sabbath
morning preceding the date of my last letter, contrasting
the calm rich beauty of nature, with the
dark scenes of vice, misery and impiety beneath me,
by the sudden pealing of the church bell, ringing
out its loud melody over the city, awakening the
slumbering echoes from
and calling man to the worship of his Maker. My
thoughts, by a natural association, went backward
many a long year, and dwelt upon a sweet sequestered
valley, far away among the northern hills,
with its chaste temple, whose snow-white slender
spire, like the finger of undying hope, pointed man
to his home in heaven, where, in early boyhood,
we were first taught to worship the Great Being
who made us; to the venerable figure of that silver-headed
man of God, whose eloquence, at one time
sublime, and full of majesty and power, would
strike his hearers with holy dread—at another, soft,
persuasive, and artless as the language of a child,
diffuse a holy devotion throughout their bosoms, or
melt them into tears; whose audience listened with
their hearts, rather than with their ears—so masterly
was the intellect, made God-like by religion,
which could ring what changes it would, upon the
susceptible chords of human sensibility. My reverie
of the past, however, was soon interrupted by
the rattling of carriages, as they rolled over the noble
esplanade between me and the city, from the
roads which extend north and south along the banks
of the river, on their way to church. I prepared to
follow their example. From my position I could
look into one of the principal streets of the town,
now rapidly filling with well-dressed people, numerous
private equipages, and horsemen in great
numbers. I soon fell in with the living current,
and in a few minutes arrived at the Presbyterian
church, situated in the centre and highest part of
the city. The approach was literally blockaded by
carriages from the suburbs and neighbouring plantations.

The congregation was large, attentive, and so far
as I could judge, as exteriorly fashionable as in
Boston or New-York. The interior of the building
is plain, and vaulted. A handsome pulpit stands
opposite the entrance, over which is a gallery for
the coloured people. The pulpit is deficient in a
sounding-board, that admirable contrivance for condensing
the voice, which, in an apartment of vast
dimensions, has too great expansion. There was
neither organ nor any other instrumental aid to the
church music, which, though exclusively vocal, was
uncommonly fine—the clergyman himself leading.
But the effect was much lessened by the want of
that volume and power, which it would gain, were
the singers, who are now dispersed over the house
in their respective pews, collected into a choir, and
placed in the gallery, as is generally customary
elsewhere. The discourse was unexceptionable;
possessing more originality than is usually found at
the present day in compositions of that nature, embellished
with considerable beauties of language,

and pronounced in a forcible, unimpassioned, yet
impressive style of oratory, which I should like to
see more adopted in the sacred desk, as eminently
fitter for the solemnity of the house of God, than
that haranguing declamatory style of headlong eloquence
so often displayed in the pulpit.

As I delayed for a minute under the portico of
the church, after the services were over, watching,
with a stranger's eye, the members of the congregation
as they issued from the church and filed off
through the several streets to their residences, I felt
that I had not, since leaving New-England, beheld
a scene which reminded me so forcibly and pleasantly
of home. I have, in a former letter, alluded
to the prevalence of the Presbyterian church government
in Mississippi, to the preclusion of Congregationalists.
There is not a resident minister of
the latter denomination in this state or in Louisiana.
There are only about twenty-four Presbyterian
churches in the state, comprising between eight
and nine hundred communicants in all; a less number
than now composes the late Dr. Payson's
church in Portland. The church in Natchez includes
about one hundred members, which is the
largest number in any one church in the whole
state, with two exceptions; one of which is, a
Scotch community, about fifty miles in the country
east from this city; most of whom, or their fathers
before them, emigrating from the land of primitive
manners, still retain their national characteristics of
simplicity and piety; and that stern, unyielding
spirit and Christian devotedness which distinguished

the Scottish Presbyterians of “olden time,” of
whom, though planted in the bosom of an American
forest, they are worthy and original representatives.
They are a plain, moderately independent, farming
community, and sincerely and rigidly devoted to
the duties of Christian worship. They have an
aged pastor over them, to whom they are devotedly
attached; and who is to them, who regard him
with the affection of children, indeed a “shepherd
and father in Israel.” They live like a little band
of exiled Waldenses, unsophisticated in their manners,
pure and severe in their religion. The Gaelic
is spoken among them, and also by many of the
other settlers in that portion of the state, who reside
in the vicinity of Pearl river; by them also the old
popular Gaelic songs are sung, in their original
purity and spirit. In the vicinity of this settlement
the Presbyterians annually hold a camp meeting.
A Presbyterian camp meeting is at least a novelty
at the north.

The majority of the ministers of this state are
graduates of Princeton college. They form, as do
the educated clergy every where, a class of well-informed,
intelligent men; though too few in number,
and generally placed over congregations too
much scattered throughout a large and thinly inhabited
extent of country, to command or exercise that
peculiar influence upon society which, in more
densely populated countries, is so universally possessed
by them; and whose elevating, purifying,
and moral effect is so readily acknowledged by all
classes. So long as this state of society, now peculiar

to the south, continues, ministerial influence,
in its unadulterated and evangelical power, can hold
but limited sway over the heart of the community.
Divines are too often looked upon, not as
representatives of the Saviour, but merely as intelligent,
clever gentlemen, popular and esteemed as
they make themselves more or less agreeable and
social. A distinguished clergyman in England—
where, as you know, the surplice is too often assumed,
without any other qualification for the sacred
office than the talisman “interest,” was termed
“a clever, noble fellow,” by the neighbouring gentry,
for his skill in hunting, and the other lordly
sports of English country gentlemen. The manners,
customs, amusements, and way of life, of the
native born, wealthy, educated planters, have struck
me as very similar to those of English gentlemen of
wealth and leisure: and it is certain that, generally,
many of them would be very apt, like them, to appreciate
a clergyman as much for his social qualifications,
as for those naturally associated with, and
with which he is invested by, his clerical honours.

Here, the Presbyterian clergy, unlike those in
the northern states, are generally wealthy. With
but a few exceptions, they have, after a short residence
in this country, become planters, some of
whom have noble annual incomes. After retiring
to their plantations they do not—and I mention it
with pleasure—altogether resign their ministerial
duties. Some of them preach in destitute churches,
from time to time; while others regularly officiate
to congregations of their own slaves. One of these

clerical planters has erected a neat church upon his
plantation, in which he officiates to an assembly of
his slaves three Sabbaths in every month; where
the worship is conducted with the same regularity,
decorum, and dignity, as in other congregations.
Some leave the entire management of their estates
to overseers, and regularly perform their official duties.
But it is difficult for a clergyman to own a
rich plantation, without becoming a thorough-going
cotton planter. The occupation, with all its ramifications,
if not incompatible with his holy office,
must necessarily be more or less injurious to the
individual, and present a broad target for the shafts
of the confessed worshipper of Mammon.

The bugbear reputation of this country for mortality,
has long deterred young ministers from filling
the places occasionally deserted by their former
occupants; many of whom, if they do not resign
their office, pass the long summers at the north.—
But as no country can well be healthier than this
has been, for the last six or seven years, this “health
plea” can no longer be offered as an excuse. Indeed,
so singularly healthy is this portion of the
south-west, that were I required to give it a name,
with reference to some one striking characteristic,
I should at once call it “Buenos Ayres.”[2] Such,
briefly, is the state and condition of the Presbyterian
church in this state; which, aside from its form
of government, in its formula of faith, and in the

rank in society of its members, is equivalent to the
Congregational churches in the north.

The peculiar structure of southern society is neither
prepared for, nor will it admit of, the exercise
of that ecclesiastical influence to which I have above
alluded. It is composed, primarily, of wealthy individuals,
living aloof from each other on their respective
plantations, isolated like feudal chieftains,
who, of old, with the spirit of ascetics, frowned defiance
at each other, from their castellated rocks:
though, do not understand me that planters partake
of their belligerent spirit. On the contrary, the reverse
is most true of them—for “hospitality” and
“southern planter” are synonymous terms. Though
there are not more hospitable men in the world than
southern gentlemen—though no men can render
their houses more agreeable to the stranger—though
none are more fascinating in their manners, or more
generous in heart—yet they are deficient in that
social, domestic feeling, which is the life, excellence,
and charm of New-England society, which
renders it so dear to every wanderer's heart, and
casts around the affections a spell that no power
but death can injure or destroy.

The Episcopalian church comprises an infinitely
smaller body of members: the few who are of this
church, however, are generally opulent planters,
merchants, and professional men, with their families.
There is but one church of this denomination
in the state, which is in this city. I attended worship
here the last Sabbath. The house was fashionably

but thinly filled. The interior of the
house is plain, though relieved, near the termination
of the southern aisle, by a black marble slab, fixed
in the wall, to the memory of the Rev. Dr. Porter,
late pastor of the church. The pulpit, which is a
miniature forum, is chaste and elegant, and its drapery
rich and tastefully arranged. The choir was
full and powerful, whose effect was increased by
a fine-toned organ, the only one in the state; but
whose rich and striking melody must be a powerful
pleader, to the ears of amateurs of good church
music, for their more general introduction. The
eloquence of the speaker was engaging, mild, and
gentlemanly. The latter term is very expressive
of his manner, and conciliating pulpit address.—
Though not striking as an orator, his thoughts were
just and pertinent. He

Contrary to the prevalent opinion at the north,
Roman Catholic influence in this state is entirely
unknown. Formerly there was a Romish church
in this city, ill endowed and seldom supplied with
an officiating priest. This was accidentally destroyed
by fire a year or two since; and there is
now no church of that denomination in the state,
and hardly a sufficient number of Catholics to organize
one, did they possess either the spirit or inclination.
Such is the peculiar turn of mind of
Mississippians, that they never can be catholicised.

The contiguity of this state to Louisiana, with its
French-Roman population, has probably given rise
to the opinion above stated, which is as erroneous
and unfounded in fact, as is one also very current
among northerners, and originating from the same
local relation. Obtaining their knowledge of this,
among other countries, from Morse's or Cumming's
Geography, or other imperfect sources, they have
the impression that the French and Spanish languages
are much spoken here; whereas they are
probably less used here, in mere colloquial intercourse,
than in many of the Atlantic states. Maine
adjoins Canada; yet who gives Major Downing's
fellow-countrymen the credit of speaking French
in their daily transactions? It is true that many
planters and citizens of Mississippi send their sons
to the Catholic seminary at St. Louis, or Bardstown,
in Kentucky, and their daughters to the French
convents in Louisiana; but this cannot be advanced
as any proof of the prevalence of the religion of
Rome here, as the same thing is done in New-England,
where stand the very pillars of the orthodox
faith; and it is done much less frequently now than
in former years. The prevailing Christian denomination,
as I have before remarked, is that of the
Methodists. The excess of their numbers over that
of the two other denominations, Presbyterians and
Episcopalians, is very great; but having no table
of ecclesiastical statistics by me, to which I can
refer for greater accuracy, I cannot state correctly
the proportions which they bear to each other.—
This denomination embraces all ranks of society,
including many of the affluent and a majority of the
merely independent planters, throughout the state.
—Some of the assemblages here, in the Methodist
churches, would remind the stranger rather of a
fashionable New-York audience, than a congregation
of plain people, soberly arrayed, such as he is
accustomed to behold in a Methodist church in
New-England. Indeed, the Methodists here are
generally a widely different class of people from
those which compose a northern congregation of the
same denomination.

I will conclude my remarks upon the Sabbath,
as observed in this city, which was the subject of
my last letter, and from which I have so long digressed,
by an allusion to a precautionary and wise
municipal regulation for freeing the city, before
sun-set on the Sabbath, of its army of holiday negroes.
At the hour of four the Court-house bell rings
out an alarum, long and loud, warning all strange
slaves to leave the city. Then commences a ludicrous
scene of hurrying and scampering, from the
four corners of the town; for wo be to the unlucky
straggler, who is found after a limited period within
the forbidden bounds! The penalty of forty stripes,
save one, is speedily inflicted, by way of a lesson
in the science of discretion. For a lesson, thus administered,
few have little relish; and the subjects
thereof, with their heads—the negro's omnibus—
loaded with their little articles—a pound of this and
a pound of that—are, all and singular, soon seen

following their noses, with all commendable speed,
along the diverging highways, keeping quick time
to the tune of “over the hills and far away,” to their
respective plantations.