GENESEE EVANGELIST.—WhoIe No. m
For the American Presbyterian.
THE SUMMER EVENING . BREEZE.
BY JAMJ2B RISTINE.
Where is thy hoilne, oh fairy wanderer?
Where are the halls wherein ye sleep ,
When peace broods in the solitary wood,
And spreads her pinions o’er the deep?
When summer’s noon is passed, and a hot breath
Is steaming from the marsh and plain,
How soft thy cooling wings play ’round the brow,-
Ere revelling In the briny waves again!
Go, gentle breeze! Go, waft the bark along
The bosom of the glassy lake
That lifts Its liquid lips to kiss thine own,
Aud unto thee sweet music speak.
Go, fan the laborer’s fevered cheek, as now,
The busy task complete, he plods ,
With weary step along yon winding path,
And sweeps the soft dew gathered on the sod;
Long hours beneath the scorching sun he swayed
The sickle in the ripened grain,
Pouring the dew of labor o’er his brow,
Unmindful of the toil or pain;
Butthouvsweetspirit of the gelid breeze,
Game from the depth of yonder grove,
And kissed the moisture from his wearied form,
And played around his lip in daliiant love.
On thy soft breast, the tender tribe of flowers
Seek shelter when the autumn comes,'
And by thy wings are borne to southern fields,
O'er which a warmer sunlight roams.
Like as hy faith, our cheerless souls are borne
To brighter halls, sefener skies,
Where birds of hope had flown away before,
As lovely scents from faded flowers, arise.
Tot the American Presbyterian,
HOW TO DIE.
It would be a grievous neglecting of some of
God’s best helpings to our souls, did we, because
we have a Book of Grace, neglect to reatl occa
sionally in the book of nature, , , , ;
When our Lord said to the Jewsof his days—
M Ye hypocrites, ye can discern the face of the sky,
and of the earth, but how Id it that ye do not dis
cern this time?” he did not mean to condemn
their attentive observation of material things, but
only that this accuracy of discernment was not
extended to the great spiritual processes which
were then going on under God’s superintendence.
And it was the continual practice of Him, who
was not only the Saviour, but the teacher of man
kind, to*bid his followers Took oiit upon the ever
varying surfaces of earth, and* sea, and: with
all their living furniture, and take a lesson from
the survey. Let us not omit to follow this prac
tice. Let us not, as professing Christians, suffer
the “ times and seasons” to pas 3 by unheeded.
The cold, dark frown of winter is- gone; the sweet
smile of spring jnst begins to gladden our hearts—
how cheering it is to think of the “spring-time,”
of -the “summers golden -promises,” and “an-''
tumn’s teeming prodigality;” But we must-not
forget thatwittter'mngt-icoiC»^sjdky‘W«
live to see it, but it will Nature’s
obsequies will be celebrated agairfSEthe. mountains
must be clad with snow, the rivers must be bound
with ice, the cold dropping rains must descend,
and the wind must sigh among the withered
leaves, and over the buried flowers, again;—in
the midst of all these, can we not hear as it were
the voice of the Creator saying to us: “Sow redd
est thou?" and let us take an admonition concern
ing the most important of all subjects which
living man can ponder —Sow to Die.
We do not know that there is in our language
a word which sounds in the ear with a deeper tone
of solemn and awful vibration, when deliberately
pronounced, than the word;— NEVER. It is, in
fact, a word more belonging to another world than
this. It links the thought to the amazing du
rations of infinity. It is a word to be written
upon the gates of heaVenj for'within their fold
ings are the redeemed of the Lord —they whb
“ shall never perish;" It i's a Word td bb'WHtietb
upon the doors of hell, for within them “ the worm
never dietb, and the fire is not quenched."' .Blit we
do not stand alone in this sensitiveness to the as
sociations connected with this word. They con
tinually force themselves upon the generality of
men. There are few persons, we believe, who cam
look for the last time upon any place where-they
have sojourned, and not feel, as they turn away
their eyes never again to behold it, some touch of
melancholy. And let us have to part company
with an acquaintance of even comparatively short
standing, and let the conviction be upon our
mind, that never again shall the tones of his voice
sound upon our ears, and will not something of
sobriety, if not of sorrow, steal over the soul ? ,
The reason of this is - evident. In such case
thought' is awakened, though slightly it may be,
to that infinity which lies, before us all. Man is
compelled to member himself a creature of a few
short years, and then to pass away into an unseen
world. When we see and feel that we are part
ing with some things or. some 1 persons, never to
see them more, thought springs forward- to that
moment, when we shall resign every thing we now
behold, never again to look upon them. Then
comes over the soul, as it were, that awful voice
of scripture: “It is appointed unto men once to
die.” And for him who dies what hope is there
that he shall return again to life, and be again a*
denizen of earth, and see the sun, and breathe'
the air? Mad as men are in many things,, none
look for this reprieve. Death is confessedly the
one irretraceable step, and the very- aspect of the
grave bids us take up those beautiful words-of
Job: “For there isohope of a tree, if it be cut
down, that it will sprout again, and that the ten
der branch thereof Will not cease. Though the
root thereof wax old in the; earth, and the stock
thereof die in- the ground, yet through scent of
water it will bud, and bring boughs like a plant.
But man dieth,, and WaSteth .away; yea, man
giveth np the ghost, and where is he? As the
waters fall from the sea, and the flood decayeth
and drieth 'up, so man lieth down and riseth not:
till the heavens be no more, they shall ' not" wake,
nor be raised out of their sleep.” '
If, then, the bare flashing of. the thought of
death can thus occasionally sober ns, what. may
we not conceive to be the sensations when the
conviction comes, that in a few hours or minutes
| we shall he in eternity ? If to God’s people even
I it is a solemn thing to die, what must it.be to
those who have no fixed prospects of a happiness
, to come? It must be dreadful—it is dreadful—-
! when the idea is distinctly dwelt upoiai Millions
?v there are doubtless of Whom it may be said, They
knew not what it was to learn this ! There is a
stupor which disease produces, and there is a blind
ness and apathy which long habits of sinfulness
often beget, and there is a false and flattering hope
which some deceitful creeds, produce,, that. carry,
millions through life’s closing scene, with, what
the world calls calmness. It is a .misconception
of the poet, that . , '
“ Men may live fools, blit fools they cannot die,”
for every day brings evidence to its falsity. But
though such persons die, they cannot in honesty
be said to have seen before their departure what
death truly was-. Take,, however, a man in full
possession of his mental faculties—a map who be
lieves death to be not a termination of existence,
but a change of the manrfer of it; yet one who
knows grpund-of.consolation in such
case—take such a man, and tell him, “You must
die,” and how Will you dash him down in all the
depths of grief and horror; : ''
The truth is, there is a natural Shrinking Frbm
death; growing out- 6f the very determination of
God concerning it. For as a punishment was it
ordained.' And to men, indeed, constituted as
they now are, a strong repugnance to death would 1
also Seem necessary for the very preservation of
Soeiefcy. Did not this instinctive feeling act so
powerfully as it does, What man, buffeted by the
storing of adversity, could longer endure the anx
ieties of this state? What discontented person
hut would rush eagerly to A change of existence?
What wottld avail the threatenings of civil law?
The felon would not-be deterred from any Crime
by that which-in prospect gave him no uneasi
ness, and thus the world would become A scene of
universal-anarchy. If, then, it be the case gene
rally, that where an unconverted individual 'anti?
cipates his speedy dissolution, there equally lie
Would be- inclined to 1 say: “A horrible dread had
overwhelmed me;” Much of this must be ascribed
to the' operation of a secret feeling planted in the
bosom, acting quicker than reason itself, and be
yond its control’in mariy instances; but'unques
tionably one main cause of that' distress which we
see wringing so-visibly the hearts of dying men, 1
arises from the fear of future judgment. Men may
be ignorant of the nature of that Being before
whom they are to stand, as also of that investiga?
tion which will be made into their' conduct; but the
mere thought that ; ahy thing of the kind wilPtake'
place is enough to awaken fearful doubtings. They
feel'that they-have sinned K and though some plan
may have been adopted by thenj for the taking
aWay of their guilt—for few are without something
of the kind,- —it is pdssible, they know that ‘they
may be deceived, and this bare possibility breathes
of utter ruin. It is l highly pleasing to the sinner
to flatter himself that God, -whom heSees not; will,
when He is seen, mahifest unlimited indifference
to the transgressions of his creatures; but the
conviction continues, that should his nature be
other than it is supposed it is, there could he no
escaping. “If-thoti shouldest be extreme to inark
what is done amiss, 0, Lord, who should stand l ?”
mmr'hw : &onsidCred«juBtiy,;hot only as tiie'laiighaje 1
of an Spired' prophet, nut'W'thb MSri%‘ aC-*
knowledgment of many a conseieaee-smitten sin
ner. And so-Sfr. Paul’s declaration is frilly borne 1
out by experience—” the sting of death, is stV.”
Death has many l terrors, but the chief ahd most
acute is the consciousness of guilt.
It must* be admitted, then, that it is no mean
lessen!—“how to die;” It is a lesson, however,
which never could he learned, were it hot taught
by God himself. The Bible, however, does show
that to mortal eyes which no other composition
ever did or could show—a remedy against the feat ’
of deaths and this because it shows a remedy
againSt the cohseqaehees of transgression . Atones 5
nient 'haS been made for sinners. He froiii whose !
eyes nothing is hidden, who penetrates at Once
into the past/the present, and the future; He who
can compute all ••consequences, and measure all
moral acts with their motive results, who/find
who only, ean 'look into ■ the true state of' things,
and calculate what is the rfeaf import of those'
awfully united horrors, sih- and death; that Divine *
Being has looked down-'upon’the wretched cir
cumstances of the children of men, and looked
upon them that he might retrieve the mighty ruin.-
O what asubject is it for our deepest contempla
tions, that of the eternal- and all-glorious Go&> ,!
surveying from his own bright heaven this impure,"
| sullied earth, not that he might visit its’iniqui-*'
ties-with'some' sulphurous:shower" of destroying’
wrath; but from its surface might take iip the
pta>r ! guilt4taixied: ; inhabitantS) cleansing them in
the blood of his own dear Son, sanctifying them
with-higiown pure Spirit, and olothiDg^them-with 1
the • beaming robes of righteousness, to seV them -
upoh thrones* of light/ and put the song of ever
lasting joy into their mouths* • The God who eould *
best estimate the-horrors of that death which men 1
had brought upon themselves, He “died the just
for the unjust." The God who knew’ the exceed
ing sinfulness of sin, He “bore our iniquities”
Because men’s case was hopeless, therefore be de
voted himself to their recovery. O, wonderful
linking *on of our evil deserts* with Heaven’s
abounding mercies! ! “O; God; who is a ( God like
unto thee; that .pardonetb 'iniqulty, and passeth
by the transgressions of the remnant "of his heri
tage ; he retaineth not his anger forever, because
he delightoth in mercy?”
: Hb; then, who would learn “how to die,” must
go to Jesus. But- he who -goes to him in sincerity,;
shall not come away uninstructed: That glorious
truth shall still be before his cyes: “He thatbe
lieveth in me shall never die.” Whether he
pour out his soul tranquilly upon his bed, sur
rounded by his friends, sorrowing, indeed, but not
Cs those “which have no hope;” or whether he
Stand at the stake, a witness to the truth* of Christ’s*
religion, and hear the hissing of the flames, and
the* execrations of a persecuting multitude, he
shall-go in the strength of Him who said: “I am
the resurrection and the" liFe," . “0, death; where
is’thy* sting; 0, grave, where is thy victory l ?”
These are the words which become a Christian’s
lips ; in thathour,' which to all others *is an hour of
horror. A Christian’s deathis a, sermonof- con
solation to tliose who* believe, a sermon of exhor
jtatioa to* those who believe ng*t,
f “ His God sustains him In the final hour—
[ : ; His final hour-brings glory to lfis God!”
| - ;f; . r '' 7 : ' 'W.b. B
Woodstock, Maryland; March Ist, 1860.
A MAN not a tliousand milea off, once asked an
ther who he liked besfc to hear preach. “Why,”
aid he, “Iliketo h'earMr. B-- best, because//
aidihe,M?;l;ddn ! t like to hear .anyJpreaeliiog, and
iia :com,es the nearest'to nothing ofany ; that;l?evei>*
teaird.’ } ' '
PHILADELPIII
1 ’ the American Presbyterian.
INFLtEENGE OF MIND IN HISTORY.
History is divided into epochal points and
periods, bat the Continuous line of connection
running from creation binds together these
periods, and reveals .the/ mutual influence of
mind. Thus the sparks of liberty struck in
Switzerland and other countries, ate dormant
for a season, but at last the latent fire breaks
out in du American revolution. The mind of
Plato conceived the immortality of spirit. This
belief lay in the human mind for. centuries, a
mere idea; but that idea found development
and proof in « divine Revelation. That idea
whs once a theory or a speculation, and not
capable of proof. Seeds may lie dormant in
the swathes and wrappers of a Phariorie mum
my for three thousand years, and yet ripen in
modern soil. So a mysterious , principle may
lie sleeping in the chambers of the human mind,
and centuries afterawake for action. Thus we
see the influence of mind upon mind in our lives
and actions. Hence we also see a connecting
bond in history betweCn the lives and actions of
men, as a result of this influence. If yon. will
examine history, youVill find- it mibject to the
same laws as' Geometry; for a continuous line
of connection and dependence to establish proof
must exist in both.
This influence of mind is seen in history, be
cause it is through her prolific and magic chan
nel - that intellectual powers of other ages infuse
their electric currents into our thoughts. The
philosophy-and literature of the Grecian'world
have dome to lis through all the. marches of
time, trailing‘their caravan through pleasant
places and desolate wastes, to enrich our age
with the choicest gems.. But it is in the indi
vidual mind that this intellectual influence.ex
erts its highest power and yields golden fruit-,
age. Plato, Newton, Laplace,and Shakspeare
breathe their 1 life' into' the' nineteenth cehtijjgy,,
and'live for us and succeeding ages. Thecoi
loquial and narrative Herodotus, who had
breathless multitudes at Olympian festivals to
listen tohis drhmaticleetnres and be charmed,
imparted additional gleams of splendor to our
Homeric Prescott. The discursive and credulous
Livy, whose pages delight with their easy flow,
of words, their graceful diction, and vivid color
ing,; has lent* his brilliant anatomy to Lord’
Macaulay and the philosophic Bancroft. The
gorgeous drapery bf tlie infidel historian re
ceived its Brightest hues from blaster minds
who thought and wrote under the old Grecian
skies, amid the marble-splendor of Athenian
glory, and among the consecrated isles ; or lis
tened to the discussions of the Roman senate.
Not the historian only, but the cultivated intel
lect of to-day, the world over, receives vitality
and fervbf frbtri the genius of yesterdiy; Thb
age of Pericles was to Rufus Choate a temple
of beauty amid a,"paradise Of groves, arid’ picture
:^«i}erife'S, Ll 'abd Balls'df scblpta’fefdf.niafbl'e',' where
his soul roamed at large. Imagination almost
made him a pupil of Isocrates, hearing the
lectures as they fell frbm the lips'of tlie' great
teabhbrs., This'American'Erskine caught much
of hih'magic sway of language, from the tender,
pathetid; -shbtlb Euripides—the graceful Sb
phocles —the clarion eloquence of Eschylus—
the thunder's of Demosthenes, and the language
in which the lyrical Pindar sung, ahd epic song
dre wlnfant' breath; That voice of many powers;
whose Words : charmed;and made musicfbrthou
sands whd' listened to its marvellous eloquence;*
was'wont "to- rehearse' the" dramatic Hoofer;
rfecite tber Pindaric war odes; and repeat the 1
historic Thucydides; or linger over the favor-:
ite Tullyis fierce invective arid winning elegance.
These illustrations serve to prove that the
influence of mind in history is' seen in'the’ intel
lectual power exerted by the mind of one" age
upon that of another ; and' not only, the intel
lectual influence of a past age, hut of individual
mind itself upon the mind of to-day. Thus a
Choate receives vitality from the Greek ardor
and nationality; or fervor from ari acquaintance’
with 'Spartan wit, Attic'idioms, and the polish
of Athenian schools. So the golden top'gtte of
Everett wSs trained by the'literatririe'andi poetry*
of Rome and England to : utter Wofdsand sen
tences, which you ha¥e only to* hear or read' to
be'charmed. " v ' : -; r
. All history is one s stupeffdo'tewiiole, an& its
Universal law- is development.- 1 The continual mo
tive processithroughiwliieh it passes; and 1 the
nection of its organic: life and growth, Are: but
a result-of this ever-progressing element..- But
in this unceasing progression-springs tip the in*-,
fluence of inind. -This principle of history-is in
nothing more clearly marked than in the power
°f inspiration. Hence we have our point that
the inspiration of history moves mind and gives
it influence . All great; men receive impulse from
the lives- and deeds of other great men. The
first man, Adam, was made directly;by God;
but every, great man since;has been made so, by
the eledtric touch'and uplifting power of inspi
ration from other minds. - The more we know,
the more we feel is yet to be known. Hence a
potent inspiration . from other minds through
history is imparted ns. When the pen of Walter
Scott wrote the glowing pages of Ivanhoe, and
fiction clothed herself with beauty, had history,
no tongue, that the evils of the Feudal system
were vividly portrayed ? Has the life of Wil
liam , Tell no inspiration, when the historic
page tells that story of heroism and triumph ?
As trembling hands turn the leaves of Bunyan,
and mortal eyes grow beautiful with the fire of
inspiration, how many souls in the feeble taber
nacle of the flesh, weep and- sing with the Pil
grim's progress through the dark valley, and
over the water of death-into the shining temple
and courts of the celestial city 1
He who would form- a clear,- definite concep
tion of History, and place a; just value upon its
specific object, ;let him be-thoughtful, and Inves
tigate in the spirit of truth. The more deeply
his mind enters into the. sympathy, of. perfect
order and -the divine intuitionj the better 1 he.
views in history that unity which is seen-in the
plan of God. The more deeply a mind thus
enters into that Eternal Mind which knows the
begining and the end, the more harmoniously
and luminously will time in its past state, and
time, in its future phenomena, be unfolded.-,
r : Winslow.
■ : .'f /.
, :i TIIE* wisdothand-morcy of- God will be found 1
written on, every event which Concerns ypu. ;
For
‘‘l SHALL
When! Oh, my restless, yearning, longing, un
satisfied soul—when? . If. the pure zephyrs ofthe'
spring-time, , laden with the violet’s: sweet perfume,
only bring to thee mournful memories- of-.the
happy past—if thfe sui%nerls soft breath,, floating
o’er the lily-bell, or dallying with the rose, hring-;
eth no smile, to thy gladness £o thine eye'
—if the clear blue skies of [June seem only to
mock ,thy, deep despair,land.- the gentle: patter of
the rain-minds, thee only of ceaseless; tears !; If
thou art still feeling restless, and . sad,; what : will
bring thee, peace,-poor, stricken'dove? :
/ Willi the mountmn’sjr{ofty height—the waving
fotestr-thewondrous sending in thy
heart no glafl ,thrill of inferential pride? ■ From
the storm . and the .tannest- hhrinkest thou in'
affright ? : Dost thou
when, the ;winter’hsrin3l?&#'e6p»‘through, the tall’
tree-tops ?; i,rHave the;iplder voicesi of nature no
power to drown;that pleading cry? .<
,! Oh them when her iiwSeter.; notes call tllse do
repose,' are thy nights All-anguish, and thy days a
long agony? Have aliithe joys of earth lost their
magic power? Is allilpeasflTe a weariness, ahd:
gladness but a dreslm? !
■ From the sweet, lopitones of tender sympathy?
art thou tearfully turning. away ? Has love’sigen
tle Anoi-logger' a 5 charm? ?' Has the
world lost - its- attraction; and home r her glorious
light? = "■> ■■■■:<
.. Then what! Oh tempest-tossed and: afflicted!
Oh suffering, sorrowing soul!—what will bring
thee .rest? . Is there no refuge from this storm?.'
No shelter frcun the pitiless rain ?; ; No high tower
of defence from this enemy ? Is there no balm
for this wound—no helper in this thine hour •of
anguish ? s ..Listen! .• Hparest thou not the charmed
eadence of Bis Toie^js,tilling even this fearful
tempest —staying these fierce surging waves:
ofit%'.sorrorr ; ? .«*PdSiife <■
Nearer !; - on the .wings of hea-:
venly, zephyrs.. •;ss*»(>’ comfort to the heavy
laden!” “Premdus :the weary; heart!”s
“The fulL cnp, of ,|iessing to. them that are
athirst!” .
Oh,,but a littleiW&e longer—the battle arid
the itrife!, The .fienwSghtingswith foes! The
conflict with sin! Qh, but a little while' this
weary yearning for a nobler life! This sickening
longing, for the food«tMit satisfieth! Thesereach
ings after the unanswered cry j
Then!, then,! The 1 injpritance incorruptible !:un
defiled! that fadeth’iot away!; The • crown,, of
God’s own giving,endureth forever! : The
voice of Jesus on Oh my soul, earth
cannot satisfy the prayings of thy;heavenly birth!
Work ! work ! while.tSe day is thine own! 'There
are gems to-be the Saviour’s diadem!
Jewels for the crown,'9f His rejoicing! Precious
pearls of great price;jbo be gathered for His adorn-,
ing!; . Weary notl-yfaint -noth What, tho’ the
Temptations to assail thee, and doubts to dim the.
brigtness of thy sky l-T-CHaistr’sjiLoyE is thine !
Hjs words of “ good? hope” to thy. sinking, spirit I,
No longer . now with , drooping bead mourn o’er
tby ; weariness, thy, wo! :> All this way hath
Jesuajwalked. before, thee ? Follow, then, in his
footsteps! . Cling, to the;,<?rpss!; , Earth’s sad die-:
appointments .are. lost, in .Oalvary’s holy light!
Yery near is thy repaid—thy crown! ,In the
valley qf humiliation with j esns! Drinking of
the ,bitter ~cnp ;! he f hath drained to the; dregs !
Sleeping,in.the.tpmbii3Sohath made ;holy;byiHis,
sacred presence) ; Losing ? there every ; anxious
thoughtj-revery painful shall be satis
fied.! *j I .shall; be satisfied when, 1,. awake in his
likeness!..,. ■ ~ India. :
* • .-.-o ’ : F6r the 'American Pre&by teriaii;
A VOICE FROM OCEAN’S DEPTHS.
Olij oceatti tell mcphhw great are thy riches ?
Did yon see that<pi&ud' ; vessel launched forth,
destined for sdirie clime? ' Wpdfi iiS deck
two fair childrenvplayed, who were the merri
ment of the’passengers. The parents, cheered’
atfcMnadS jjdyoUSpreSeneei looked
upon y their’Welies l dn i Bile : iit l< satisfactioh. ■? Now i
I clasp them f in ray 'embrace; far ; away from the'
care of those 1 who had' gladly been Sheir ear thly
watchers. 1 -
A maiden was there also, going liOme to meet'’
her lover. With hope" he waiied;iit-with bright
anticipation she looked to the union.
Parents, brothers, and sisters, too., oft repeat
the - echo* ‘‘ Soon she will be here'!’” ''Now iny
sparkling drops life' above her,, and the lover
looks oh, jealons bf the' prize I hold. 1
A mother’s’ hope : ,‘ the eldest born, - was there.
For years; he'had been in the new world, where,'
by the'sweat of his brow, he had earned' a hahd
sothe homeamongthe forest trees. Oh, the fu
ture 1 hoy it I'paMed i'n.hls eyes, as' he pictured
the mothhr’ WBid'whom 1 he' had'been so long, se
parated, presiding over his rural mansion, and;
brothers-and sisters, j£By among the flowers na-
a^ou'iid! My pathless wa
ters wave over him iiotv, and the bereaVed ones
have Wended their way alone to the now sad
residence which is the fruit of his love'! ; -
- A father and three’ little' ones were among’
the' saved wiietf, plowing the great deep, that
"bark was cohsiihed'by angry flames ; but a near
kin,'’the wife ah&' 'mother, ‘found 1 a bed among,
the.eoral and sea-weed I will the babes’
lenient ascend on high for the treasure I have
deprived thomi of I “
The husband' stili walks the earth a business
man. Oft the, zephyrs bear a sigh from him,
for m niy depths his" darling sleeps I
An aged grandsire, whose silver locks'glistened
in the setting-sun, and on whose knees had
climbed, again and again, lisping children, beg- ‘
gibg grandpa to tell them a story of olden times,
sank calmly among my raging waves, holding
tightly in his embrace, even then, one of the
prattlers he loved so well! There they rest, —
his arms, .which had been weak with infancy,
then strong with manjhood, and.again weak with
age, above her who. had opened her eyeS scarce
to learn any thing*' of a changeful world, and
then close them agaiff. 1
These riches I hold, —childhood, youth, man
hood, and old age. Man stands upon the banks
I wash with my waters, and envies what he once
ppssessed, but has no power to restore to him
self. I, exulting proudly,, nnhrindffil
of the anguish I.cause, just a% some perspis,
who .have attained some seifish end throngh
sufferings of others, hold their heads erect, prouidj
ieAmencanPresbyterisQ. ; ;
tsMmmnw W:. ■.
r v *
of the exMßitioli ®FWhichlMy hare made.
Yes, I hhVe pauper,
alike 1., value.. Those,, too, who have .sought
my weedy-bed, we'arjr.bf and those who.
have come reluctantly, because they saw t|ein-;
s,el in crystal pie|fres ,ijjf tf(e future. . 'Greed
ily I hold them, and I am not to , give, them f up
until One mightier than I blows his trumpet at"
the resurrection morn,; 31..' E., C'* * l*'. ','
Olivet, iatjoii Co., ilieii. ...
For th6 : !Amefi4sffpJe4by?<!Ha'iV
WETTING; ”' r - ■'■'
We wish id irace the origin" 4nd' progress, not'
of Meroglyphibs Or jbellAl writing; hut of alpfe-’
betjc ■vfriti'tfg,' ifo waß at the
giving of the ten eoihmahdbiep& ft is'related in'
I Ex. xxii. fB, : tMt ftebivel tabltes of stbne*
!#&&<!» 'tfbd. In the/x&iiv !§,
iaSlies Were written tffifF
sides; 6n th6*otie side and on the other were they
written.” It is supposed that the tables Of stone
Wefe -thih siabsj and thht the letfeis were cut 'or
engraved, so that they Wdulif'appear on Both sides:
Others think' tHSt lipoti bib’ bidd were precCpfe' or
comments upon 1 the laW. Not' Only did MeseW
have ;isfa.system of writing, ap is shpwn"by
xvii. 14; xxiv. 4;bnt the, princes .of the ; children
of Israel were acquainted with in " ThiSds'shown
by, the ; l7th chapter ,qf Numbers. fVhether the
princes; were shilled In .the art like -M : oges, is not
shownin the chapter. Moses was commanded,
“Write thou every man’s name upon his rod.
Andr.thou shalt write Aaron’s name upon the rod:
ofyLevL”, 'That they acquainted, jwith, tbe>
writing, and could read it, is shown from the 9tli
verse of the same chapter, where it is.said, l‘And j
Moses brought out the rods from before the Lord
unto all the children of .Israel,, and they looked
and.took' every man his,rod.” From this r we, can;
trace the Phoenician, theiQreekj the Latin, and the,
English i alphabets. The. Phoenician stands, in ;
the closest relation to the Hebrew. Gesenius
says, “This is to be thoroughly maintained, that
the Phoenician language, in the main, and,, indeed,
as to almost .everything, agrees, with this Hebrew,
whether you consider their roots, or their mode of
forming,, and inflecting their words. Until B. G.
1493, the. Greeks were without an alphabet, and,
consequently,, without writing. At , this time,.,
Catlmus, a Phoenician, settled in Basotia, and in
troduced letters. The Cadmean letters, it is
thought, were sixteen. Others were afterwards
added, however, to express sounds, probably in .the
Greek, but not in-the Phoenician language. .The
Phoenician characters were used with changed'or
new powers, according to the wants of the lan-i
guage. The form of the letters was also changed,
and the manner of writing it: the ancient Greek
like the, Hebrew, having been written'from, right
to left. At what time the art of writing was fully
introduced, into Greece is not known. Some con
tend that no inscription is known to exist of a date,
prior to. B. C. 620. These were!common; how
ever, in tne days' of Solon, (B. C. 600>) and He
rodotus and .other authorities tell us of some
reacffing'baick B. C. 776—826—850. A passage ‘
in Iliad has led many to suppose that the art of
writing was known in the days of Homer. Ih'tie
6th Book, Bellerophon has been falsely accused by !
Antea to Proteus. Antea’s language is, “ Mayest
thou iie dead; Of Proteus, or else do thou put to’
death Bellerophon;” Although thecrime is great
for which he is accused,,,yet Proteus cannot vio
late'the laws of hospitality, for Bellerophon is a
guest at his house.' He resolves, however, to send
him to Tobates, his father-in-law, at Lyeia. And
he delivered to him, to/take to.Tobates, “ baneful
tokens, having represented in a, folded tablet, many
deadly things.” Some contend that''
ters were conventional marks; a kind of hiero
glyphics' or symbols like the Mexican picture
writing, known only to the father-in-law and the
son-in-law. There must, however, have been ,a j
copiousness of detail; He must tell' the name of,|
the erime, the proof of the guilt of Bellerophon, and j
further, must* make known what his will is con-,
cerning him. All these must be necessary, and'
they could not be shown in any other way than by
writing. The Roman alphabet was derived .from
[ the Greek/ The Romah/ in adopting this alpha
bet, dropped; some, which ! were, not needed, and
used' some with' a hew power.. They introduced
c, v, yVarid* g. From the llbman is the'
Anglo-SaXOri. A few'changes'hre'noticeable, in
it. It has some letters not found either in the
Greek or!Latin! It has the letter w, which the
Latin Has iioti ft has not the letter q, which the ‘
Latin has.' From the. Anglo-Saxon, with a few
changes, has sprung the English.
- We come how to ‘ consider the materials of
writing. The hrsf/as we have seen by Genesis,
was stone. ‘ Shells, plates of various materials,
ivory, barfcand' leay'es of. trees, have been some of
the early'substitutes for" paper. Hesiod’s works
were written on' leaden tables. , Montfanedn speaks
of‘a book with'eight leaden leaves. The laws of
the' Cretans were on bronze tables.,. The Romans'
put their public records upon brass. Copper plates
have been dug .tip hear Bengal, dated a century
before/the bif fh of Christ. Sometimes songs have
been found on strips of leather. The Arabs took
the sliduldfer-bohes of sheep, and carved remarkable
events upon them, and' then hung them up! in
tK4ir cabinets. lii'a library of Europe, there is a'
letter oUa 'piece of bark about two yards long. In
othere are'copies' of the Bible writieh'npqh palm’
leaves. The skins of animals and' serpents were
also used. Wax-whs also used’in different forms,
itslslf and 'sometimes on wooden
tablets. ’ The Egyptian papyrus' superseded' all
former •materials. ' This'grew in large quantities
otPthe ! banks'df the : Nile. After the eighth cen
tury, the" papyrus whs superseded by parchment:
Papcir, from’ cotton, was- madeas early as the ninth
century, from linen in the -thirteenth. - The first
paper-mill; in England was‘’erected by a'German
in 1588: * Thomas Watkins' brought' the' art of
paper-making to perfection in lT 15. The pens'
used-in -the translation of the Bible were iron
styles.- The Romans used ivoiy for writing. ;; It
was not before the' seventh century that quills*
• Wdpossessno ink in beauty and color
equal to that used bytheaucients.' The manu
scripts written from the fifth- to the twelftteideni!
tury,-are ■in a better state of preservation
those from the fifteenth' to ;**• - -senth-icea-i
tury. H. W
, It is a ; nei jat he %(in
compreh.ensiblej.iijf he were not.so, Jbe woulcT not,
be pj Jhe,,f)e|i;g that him.
Wppid b.e.God alio. ,
l‘ ; ' i bi.i.
'U-.ihu.-ii
of cdNscraijcii.
4 grqwing tcnderness of conscience with;regard
to the strictness of the Divine Law and the ex
ceeding evil of sin, is' one of the riiost decisive
liiarKs -'of i3 an' advancing Ghristian experience.
‘The, nearer the soul lives to God; the mdre will it
abhor sin and avoid the least appearance of evil.
The purer/i tis from sin .the quicker will it detect
..the least jfcaiijt of transgression, just as a
datk object grows darker as the ground on which
it’ 1 Iks’ gin ws ligb teri The pure white sho% will
be stained by that which would be scarcely: per
ceptible ontheearthy soil; so,a Christian soul will
painfully feel the touch of a thought of transgres
sion -wbiph persons of, less tender susceptibility
commit ivitboiit scruplei : •' •
; '_"We love.tbytbink of thaapostle John as writing
his epistles in a good old age, far advanced in
pinty and knowledge; and,in them .he shows a
deep tenderness of conscience .with regard to all
fin: ...Hip words are, All unrighteousness is sin;
D'p; tibt - nierely some great transgression like
least de;
viation from the path of strict rectitude is a sin
against God. The word, right-vae aps straight,
and the least unrighteousness, tlie least turning
aside from the straight path maiked but for us by
.the Divine Daw, is a transgression of the law and
a;,sin against God. In the same epistle John
says: ~ T He that hateth his -brother is a murderer;
strong, language, yet carrying with it the-evidence
of its own truth. For he who in a Christian
edmmu'nity cherishes a feeling of hatred against
his brother,- would in’ a" savage land where all re
straint upon his passion were taken away, plunge
big knife into his brother’s bosom. He who hates
bis brother cherishes in his heart the same feeling
which in circumstances of less restraint would
prompt the murderous act. So with Other forms ,
of'transgression. He who irf trade will defraud
his' fellow-man, or take some undue advantage of
his neighbor, shows the; sanie sinful; disposition
wbieli, if he bad the>opportunity, would prompt
him to pick his neighbor’s pocket, or rob a de
fenceless traveller. He may say, the thing was
done in fair and lawful trade, but in the eye of
the Divine law he is a transgressor; lie has shown;
the same,selfish, disppsitiop which leads a thief to
break open youf house or store by night, and rob
you of your money or your goods. A truly Chris
tian min; lie who is born of God, one who has a
true perception of the Divide lavr, and in whoSfii
heart the spirit-of the law, which is love, has su
preme and complete sway, would as soon commit
highway robbery as drive an unfair bargain with
his neighbor; would as soomsteal from-the church
the communion ware as defraud his, just creditors,
or be unfaithfiil to'His' pecuniary'engagements.
We do not mean to say that there are no’ differen
ces of moral character, no differences in the degree
of wickedness in the cases now supposed. There
are differences of degree, but there is the'same'
7rin<? of iniquity in them all. There'is a violation
of the spirit of the whole law which is love; and
thisds the.meaning of thakSeripture which si-ith:
If a man keep the whole Jaw and yet offend in
one : pqint, he is guilty of all. The law of Gjod is
not a .collection of precepts unconnected with each
other,’ but all its’precepts are the expression of
one common principle which is love, and lie who
violates any one precept violates the spirit of the;
whole; law. He who violates one of -the least;
commandments shows the same disposition which,
-.would lead him in other circumstances to violate ,
some greater commandment.
These remarks are capable of manifold applies-’
~tion,,for,thecommaud)iuent.ofiGod;iBexceediog!
broad, touching human life and character and:
conduct at every point; exceeding deep, reaching
to the. thoughts apd intents of the heart; and
theVe heeds-to be a more tender sensibility of con
science with regard to its requirements. ■ -
There is need of a deeper tenderness of con
science with regard to wrong feelings: of heart as
being sins against God. ; When we read of the
horrors and bloodshed of the battle-field, we are
shocked, at the wickedness of men who imbrue
their hands in one another’s blood, but an observing:
eye may often, detect in: the most favored commu
nities' the workings of the same passions which on ;
a larger, scale and a more open field shake and
convulse the nations. It is true that in a pro
fessedly. Christian community the feelings of hatred ;
envy, ill will, jealousy and the like, are seldom
openly expressed, and are even concealed under
theiOutward forms of politeness and professed good;
will, but too often are they lurking within when
professedly renounced. The secret cherishing, of
them betokens tlie bitter root of sin, and is poi
soning and destroying the'life of the soul.
How many secret murmurings at the dispensa
tions of Providence,!. Wbat inward repining at
the,' toil and drudgery of life ! With what mo
roseness and is self-denying dpty, en
countered!. And all this isrcbellion-against God.,
Melancholy is ingratitude; add,ingratitude.is .sin.
A careful comparison of our affections and desires
with the requirements of the Divine .law, would
lead every one to adopt the language of the Psalm :
ist: “Whorcan understand' his errors? Cleanse
thou me from secret faults.”
There needs, to be more tenderness of, -con
science, with respect tojthe claims of Christian be-,
novoleuce as distinguished from the claims of
strict justice. . Many are very careful to do all
that they think the law may require of them, they
would not' on any account withhold one farthing
fro.m. their creditors, but they are equally'careful
to 'insist; on whatever may legally belong to them.,
They are like the Pharisees who were .very scrupu
lous in paying a.tenth part of the produce of their
land into the treasury .of the temple, but in their
dealings with the poor, neglected merey, judgment,
and truth. , Suppose a rich man to have an account
with a poor widow, and there is a little uncertainty,
about some of the items, Christian benevolence
would say: Better let go a few dollars-than be
hard upon the'pbbr'. In pressihg the claim, human
law mayjustifyyou,'butdivinelaw:willnot. Chris
tian iove will forbid and . condemn many;transac
tions which the pivil law. may allow and defend.
Much that.is'strictly justs in the eye of the law, is
unmercifully unjust in the eye of the Gospel.
There needs to be more tenderness of consciences
with regard to those .duties which are purely vo
luntary. Many are disposed to think, that because
certain things are .not directly, commanded by the'
letter of the law they are ( ieft at liberty to do as
they please, and be guiltless. • But mucsh,that is
purely voluntary is at the same time strictly,obli
gatory, and an enlightened conscience will so
regard it. :. - - ■- • ; , .• .
There:needstobe more sensibility.of conscience
with regard to.individual responsibility in.associ
ated actibn.- Coleridge sbinewhere remarks'that
it' would be absurd to suppose that a company of
men considered singly and acting separately should
be subject to moral obligation, and that the same
body of men considered collectively and actiug
together, or through their chosen representatives,
' should be exempt from the same moral obligation.
As well might .you say that a single grain of
wheat contains'flour,Jiut-a',’bushel of wheat has
no flour. Obligation to moral law is a constituent.
element of human nature,<hhd it belongs to a man
united With' iptherjiueu, iu a :party, company, 1 Or
. cop ponwealth, .as truly, as, when acting.by himself,
alone. jA thorough yonscientibusness ,with regard
to the ‘ moral Aarhbler’ Of associated action' ih pe
culiarly neeclCd' in oitr land, for hereus nbwhfere
: else large masses of nien move together • for the
>. attainment of proposed ends, and here as nowhere
else there that the fundamental priuci
, pies of Christian morality be forgotten in the ’e%-
yWtiieht Of; a 1 swarMin^'multitude; Under the
iuflubbee ofuttuehiapit tO pai-ty, men are tempted:.
foiOonntenhued wodesnlthoyghtmad action which.
. jndgpeot they eould
approve of. One of the.greatest dangers to
s (jur, country is exposed'is 'S'fbrgbtfhlnhsh'bf aM-'
\ biaf& ,s A' rigid ''enfercenienli f'ibf
VOL. IV r . —NO. 2*l.—Whole h’o. 194
moral obligation as extending into all the branches
of pur public and national life, is one of our great
est necessities; and is a matter with regard to
whieh neither the pulpit nor the religious Dress
should be silent.
A pasha dreams away life very pleasantly, in
his white ftidrbie palace, and shady gardens, and
gently gliding Caique. These are better than
dinper parties, and bills, which some people call
“civilization.”'
It is thp means of getting these things—the
worse than brigand way of going about it—which
iis sofrightfui Here; indeed it is difficult to express
the painful impression made oh the mind in this
beautiful . country, on seeing its wretched state,
and the open infamy .of its rulers.- It is notorious
that most of,.the provincial judges live on the
hanks of. thp expending in eyery luxury
their monthly salaries of'so many piasters. They
sell or let their -places to th'ehighest bidder; often,
to some ignoraut clerk Qr assistant in their own
office, who may have saved a little money, and who
extorts, a living by extradmpdsts. or taxes on the
unhappy people, oyer whom he places himself as
a tyrant, not to be dislodged imtil he can return
heavily laden-with spoil to Stamboul.. A gentle
man.; who has resided for v many years in different
parts of Asia Minor, and'who takes, the greatest,
interest in the fine arid oppressed -people of the
Country, tells me that he has known these men
enter-a village without ■a? few piasters to pay for
the hire of their two or three baggage-mules, and
at the end of three or four years, leave it for a
palace at Constantinople.
Mehemet Ali, the Captain-Pasha, was originally
a shop-boy at one of the bazaars; and many of the
most “famous” pashas, from time immemorial,
have risen from_the same low station, or have been
bought in the slave market—pleasing their masters
has advanced them step by step. Bearing false
witness with unblushing effrontery in some case
of Unjust seizure or. frightful oppression, or in
some daring intrigue on the part of their master
to supplant a favorite, is ,a sure and certain road
to favpr and preferment. What we call education,
talent, genius, is not marketable stuff here. Fa
naticism, false-witness, calm cruelty, and above
all, consummate falsehood and deceit, under a
smiling, bland exterior, are the things requisite
to make a Turkish favorite. These essentials to
success are leading traits in the Eastern character.
I heard a gentleman say, the other evening, that
he really believgd there were two honest men in
Constantinople; i. e., Kihisli' Pasha, the Minister
of War, and' Ha.HH Pasha. Yet it is said that
Ilalill Pasha made two millions of money during
his ministry, which was not a long one. What is
to be expected of men who have been,brought up
in poverty, oppression, and ignorance, with every
bad ; example-before their eyes in the rich men
close to their, own miserable-hovels? While poor
and oppressed he is honest, because he has neither.;
power to steal nor to do-harm; but the moment,
the slightest temptation presents itself to lift him
out'of his misery, all those negative, so called
“good'qualities” of the Turk vanish into thin air.
Thei Gadij: or-pasha who had noticed him, wants,
perhaps,..!); false witness or two to rob a poor widow
or orphans of all that is left, diem, or to strip a
farmer or merchant of his entire possessions. The
hitherto honest (because poor) Turk thinks he
may "just as well relieve his wretched poverty by
a thing §o(cojnmon<aa p.equry, as starve op, with
a- yerygoqd., ehauee besides of being bastinadoed
to death on a false charge, falsely maintained.too,
for having rPfus'ed. the “ honorable ” commands of
his pasha. OttW get a : post here, however,- by
favoritism and ah “obliging disposition,” and the
road to luxury, the Turk’s only ambition, is fast
and'easymnough. :Thc Minister of Police, for in r
stance, receives a large sum, for. subordinates".
These be .pays so miserably, scarcely giving them
enough to sustain life, that they are well known
to-receive so many piasters a day from: each thief;
so that nothing is even further from their thoughts
than to dislodge any criminals. Of course, there -
are. a. few exceptions, but the chief occupants of
the prisons, here are either 1 innocent persons, who
have been stripped of all they possess,-of those
who have fallen under the displeasure of some
pasha or other. -■
. You ask—“ How is the justice of this country
administered?” I reply simply there is none.
Bribery and false testimony reign here supreme.
The luxury of the pashas, the summer palaces
| (which contrast with the. hovels in which they
toiled for their daily brown, bread but a few years,
before,) the.caparisoned.and jewelled, horses, the
numerous slaves and'ruffian.retainers are supported.
Iby imposts and depredations of all kinds. The !
-middle classes of people have almost entirely- dis
appeared; The Government havepretty well
succeeded in killing, the goose/or its golden eggs,
and there will soon be nothing left, to plunder.
The Cadi, or magistrate of every village, fixes ,
the' price’ of provisions. He IS himself paid, and
upon being iold his annual stipend, you ask how
he lives. • The butcher,- baker, etc., pay him so
many piasters a week to-keep, the price.; pf, meat
and bread above what it should be. • A man who
ought to be bastinadoed, is glad to give his ten,
twenty, or thirty piasters, according to bis means,'
to be let'off; and a-man falsely accused- is equally
delighted to make his little-present, and be let off 1
with a whole skin too. If a man is punished here,
you may be pretty well sure that he has not been
able to give enough to his Cadi. Can you imagine
any state of things more dreadful than this?
Sometimes a Turk has been fortunate enough
to get a little money hidden away, to. helnhim in
his business in some particular way: well, a Mi
nister of Finance, to rake up a few thousands to
build a summer palace,, or to buy Georgian slaves
and Jed horses, absolutely alters the value of the
paper money or of the poor coins; saved up, and
so the people lose largely on frequent occasions.
The barbarities of mere savages do not impress
us at all with the "profound melancholy which one
feels in this magnificent grave of truth and freedom,
whCre the soul • looks sorrowfully and dejectedly
out of the fine-dark eyes of the people, who have
have nothing to hope for in their wretchedness,
but to become as guilty as the men whom they
hated and despised in the honest days of their
misery and labor. Many who know them well,
believe that' ‘they- deeply feel the degradation of
their countryj and would dike to rise- up among
the nations if they could.
.There is something suggestive as well as
beautiful in the following .incident. It reminds
us of those who sing tfie siren song of pleasure
while the voyage of life is about to terminate.
When the ship South Seamen struck on the
French--irrigate Shoal, two little canaries which
the captain had hanging in his cabin, were
awakened by the noise, and regardless or the
confusion around them, commenced singing some
of-their inimitable songs, though it was hardly
daybreak. The little songster continued to
sing with untiring zeal ; .
“The sweetest songs ear ever heard,”
daring all the time that the sailors were getting
ready to leave the. vessel, as if to cheer them up
in their disheartening situation. The. officers
were forded to leave the birds on the wreck, as
they were unable to save even their own cloth
ing, and these cheerful little songsters remained,
i singing- to themselves the requiem of the gallant
ship. ■ - !
, Sorrow comes soon enough without 4espondeu-
Bp.'.gpod "to carry around a
iighthin^-^'to trouble;
HOW THEY DIVE I3ST TURKEY.
Mrs. Edmund Hornby.
A BEAUTIFUL INCIDENT.
Chris. Intelligencer.