Vol. VII, No. 16.---Whole No. 328. forettsg. Emblems. AN evening cloud, in brief suspense, Was hither driven end thither, It came, I saw not whence, It went, I knew not whither; I watch'd it changing, in the wind, Size, semblance, form, and hue, Lessening and fading, till behind It loft no speck on heaven's pure blue. Amidst'the marshall'd host if night Shone anew star supremely bright; With marvelling eye, well pleased to err, I hail'd that prodigy ;—anon, It fell,---it fell like Lucifer, A flash,—a blaze,—a train,-2twas gone; And then [ thought in vain its place, Throughout the infinite of space., Dew-drops, at day-spring, deck'd a line Of gossamer so frail, so fine, A gnat's wing shook it :=round and clear As if by fairy-fingers strung, Like orient pearls at beauty's ear, In trembling brilliancy they hung Upon a rosy brier, whose bloom Shed nectar round them, and perfume. Ere long exhaled in limpid air, Some mingled with the breath of morn, While some slid singly, here and there, Like tears by their own weight down borne; At length the film itself collapsed, and where 'rho pageant glitter'd, lo a naked thorn. What are the living 7—hark 1 a sound From grave ,and cradle crying, By earth and ocean echoed round, —" The living are the dying!" From infancy to utmost age, • What is man's scene of pilgrimage ? The passage to death's portal 1 The moment we begin to be, We enter on the agony, —The• dead are the immbrtal; They live not on expiring breath, They only are exempt from death. Cloud•atoms, sparkles of a falling star, Dewdrops on gossamer, all are : What can the state beyond us be? Life ?—Death?—Ah no,—a greater mystery; What thought bath not conceived, ear heard, eye seen : Perfect existence from a point begun; Part of what GOD'S eternity hath been,— Whole immortality.belongs to none, But Him, the First, the Last, the Only One. —James Montyom,ery Covrtollouintre. LESSONS OF WAR. NUMBER XXIII. CARRYING VICTORY TOO FAR. :Draw Ag ficsond, PunioWar, ,thacchus, who commanded in Sicily, had in his army several legions of volunteered slaves. To every one of these he offered his freedom, who should bring back the head of an enemy in the approaching battle of Beneventum. This was a natural mistake, yet one that had nearly ended in very disastrous consequences. For, whenever one of these slaves had slain an enemy, he wasted him in cutting off his head, and, as he was obliged to employ one of his hands in 'keeping hold of the head after it was severed from the body, he re mained an' almost idle and unprotected wit ness of the battle. At length it was reported to Gracchus how badly his barbarous policy succeeded,,who at once issued a better order, "Let them throw away the heads and rush upon the enemy." It was done ; and the fortune of the day was restored. This story illustrates in a lively manner, how unsafe to a ludicrous degree it is, to pursue an advantage gained over an enemy beyond the point of-lawful conquest and self defence. It then becomes cruelty and mur der, with all the circumstances of wanton crime. It offends the Deity; perplexes the understanding ; imbitters the mind of the conquered ; encumbers the victor in the dis charge of the urgent business of the hour ; leaves him unprotected on every side ; and exposes him to the danger of having the vie- tory snatched out of his hands. It is seldom necessary to exercise the part of self-defence in any other form than that of committing one's cause to God. When, however, it is necessary, it is as just and plain a duty as any other. But the man who, not contented to be safe, places himself in malignant , competition with all around him, who gives place to rancorous and re vengeful feelings, and breathes a spirit of envy and hate towards all upon whom Provi dence teems to smile,—has undertaken to carry an unnatural weight, a dead and griev ous burden, and multiplied beyond measure the business of his life. He has exposed himself naked to a thousand galling anxie ties ; provided for the continual increase of his enemies; given theudivantage of a better cause to those he already has; , taken his quarrel out of the hand of Omnipotence ; and arrayed against him that God who never fails to punish the man that makes his breast the home of cruelty and spite, and finds pleasure in adding what he can to the sum of human misery. The Supreme Being often employs one' man to restrain the violence, orto end. the career of another; but if the former is found to mingle a relentless spirit with his work, he places himself next to the other, in the catalogue of those whom God is proceeding to destroy. In the prophet Amu, God an nounces the approaching ruin of Edom ;' and in the following verse he announces that of Moab, adding this unexpected reason:. "Be cause ho burned the bones of the-King of Edom into lime." .That great and excellent Being never permits one man to exult over another's fall, nor to add the refinements of malice to the just severities of his righteous administration.. And seldom does his provi dence appear to favor those who manifest a, disposition so to do. In the wars of Syria and Israel, Ahab subinitted _peaceably,iand sent messengers to Benhadad, Saying : "0 King, I am' thine, and all that; I have.'-' But Benhadad sent, notwithstanding, to take with ruffian force all the treasures of his palace. To this indignity Ahab could not submit ; and gathering together his little band. of fol low•ers, be overthrew Benhadad in two. stu pendous battles, and reduced him in abject fear to beg for life tit his hands. Every malicious feeling we cUrish i's , tin awkward load, which we attempt to carry with us. It is a gratuitous assumption of care. It is a secret and dangerous snare, which will not fail at some time to close around our steps. The sum of human wisdom may be expressed in one word : to keep the interests of our existence within its narrow a compass, and in as simple a form, as pos sible ; to perform our part in thA . world with as little reference to men, and with an eye as narrowly fixed on Heaven as we can; to fight the battle of life with as little passion, and, to pass through its contending ranks with a hand as innocent of blood, as fidelity to God will permit. Sdirdion. SMILES. BY J. EDWARD JENKINS. Smiles are the face-lightning. Sometimes they conceal a thunderbolt. Often their beauty is harmless—nay, in many a murky atmosphere they play with beneficial splen dor. A smile is one of those visible tokens the spirit gives of its habitancy in the body. A dog cannot smile. He shows sympathy with fun—and there is a gentle pleasure on his countenance that might pass for a smile, but it is not the flashing of soul through the curtain of the face—as is a human smile. The eye is the planet of smiles. Yet we often see them glorious upon a blind man's face. It is a wondrous thing this sudden halo from features before darksorne—like the unexpected glitter of gold from the broken clay. What is the secret of the witching influence that this gentle contraction of a few facial muscles has upon the beholder ? Itis not in the simple fact—the surface motion— the ripple of the countenance. It is not that the image has altered some of its featural lines. Like the waving of a handkerchief from the lattice, it tells of life and• beauty concealed within. A smile, as it is more spiritual, so path` more power and sweetness than a laugh. In the latter the features are distracted—it might be safe to say of some visages distorted—in the former they fall into a pleasant pattern, like a kaleidoscope. The true smile is a rapture of ethereal soul; the laugh is an excitation of lower senses. A smile is the sole cosmetic angels use. Smiles are sweetest when they are the pure outshining of an inward delight. Malty have seen, at that most overpowering and ecstatic of all pleasures—the entry of heav enly peace into the heart—a face so bright that, like that of Stephen, it was " as it had been the face of an angel." There is no smile more genuine and more lovely. It is often like the morning, enhanced by the dews of the tearful night just passed away. The smile upon an infant's face—though it have no great intelligence about it—is strangely pleasant to older persons—and yet ; to the thoughtful, sad i it is the out ,sluning of a purity and innocence which the beholder is conscious he has lost. While he looks at the smiling innocent he can well conceive that " of such is the kingdom of heaven." Human affection holds much of its mystical converse by this electric medium. The "Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles " is not the least powerful of the attracting in fluences of soul to souls. Many a swain has guessed the answer to his suit, before the lips of his beloved could part, from the sud den rising of the soul in- happy illumination to her face. Very cold indeed, and matter of-fact would be a courtship without a smile. Horace united the graces • of smiles with those of conversation in his mistress : Dulee ridentern Lalagen maim Dulce loquentem. Pleasant smiling people are sure to be loved. They„seem to hold out a sign of ,a good heart. They show an antidote of gloom. They carry sunshine about with them,. And the influence may not cease when the sun shine has disappeared. The kindly smile of the little girl as she drops her penny in the beggar's satchel may linger like a heavenly vision about his heart for many an hour. The sympathetic smile of a gentle benefactress, as she unpacks some refreshing delicacy, shall be an angelic reminiscence to the fe vered brain of the poor sufferer. These gifts were golden—with the smiles—without them they would have been but so much necessa ry dross. A favor from a person of stolid countenance is peculiarly unwelcome. Every one who gives should mate his- guerdon with a smile. It shows that the heart gives with the hand, and bath much of, the nature of God about it, who speaks with beauty to the eyes while satisfying our grosser wants. For the poor it has a special attraction, as a thing their circumstances rarely incline them to indulge in. It has been said that 46 a smile is the poet's alms "—certainly; but few of that fraternity ever get more material bounty. But alas T. though of celestial nature, smiles are often veils of evil—as Satan himself may be disguised in the shining habit of a . Seraph of light. It is " an. ordinary thing to smile ; but those counterfeit, composed, affected, artificial, and reciprocal, those counter-smiles are the dumb-shows and prog nostics of greater matters, which some peo ple for the most part use to inveigle and de ceive." When they are the snaky glitter be fore fancy is struck, when they are the gar ish maskings of a harlot's face, when they are the cold and arttrcial glamour of a fash ionable manner, smiles are horrible. They are false angels—dangerous ignes fattei— shadows' of 'death in garments of light—the shimmer of 'the Northern Light on frozen heavens. Fascinated by such, many a vic tim has been suddenly wounded—has lost his way forever--has clasped to his bosom a never-dying sorrow. There is sometimes seen a smile upon the, features of death=the lingering beams after the sun has departed. Hanging over the lifeless but life-like clay, the heart cries out, " Can this be death ?" It is the last message of the soul to the outer world; the lighting up of the house before deserting it ; " the gilded halo hovering round decay ; the farewell beam .of feeling passed away." It were hard to believe that a soul which had left so bright a token was not happy in llPaven. We read often of the smile of Deity. We feel, indeed, its blessed influence even now, though here we see it only through " a glass darkly. Happy the man who shall- see it "face to face."—Lon don Weekly Review. FEAR God and keep his commandments. THE RELIGIONS OF TASTE AND FAO.- lON. THERE is a religion of taste, which admires the beauties of this world, and is awed by the grandeur of- its Maker. It is inspired more by the book of nature than of revelation —more by the natural than the moral attri butes of God; it seeks solitary places, and dies amid the din and bustle of noon-day life ; it shrinks from the sin and distress of the actual, and sighs for the. good and beau tiful of the ideal ; it yearns for the dim aisles of an old past, and would seek the aid of paint er and sculptor to help in its devotions ; it is amiable, tasteful; and full of reverence. Was it the religion of taste which moulded a char acter like Hannah More's ? S. P. H. "I am a passionate admirer of whatever is beautiful in nature or exquisite in art, she declares. " These are the gifts of God, but no part of his essence; they- proceed — from God's goodness,and should kindle our grat itude to him; but I cannot conceive that the most enchanting beauties of nature, or the most splendid productions of the fine art's, have any necessary connection with religion. You will observe that I mean the religion of Christ, not that of Plato ; the religion of re ality, and not that of the beau ideal. "Adam sinned in a garden too beautiful for us to have any conception of it. The Israelites selected fair groves and pleasant mountains for the peculiar scenes of their idolatry. The most exquisite pictures and statues have been produced in those parts of Europe where pure religion has made the least progress. These decorate religion, but they neither produce nor advance it. They are the enjoyments and refreshments of life, and very compatible with true religion 7 'but they make no part of it. Athens was at once the most learned and the most polished city in the world ; so devoted to the fine arts, that it is said to have contained more statues than men ; yet this eloquent city the' elo quent apostle's preaching made but one proselyte in the whole areopagus. "Nothing, it appears to me, can essential ly improve the character and benefit society, but a saving knowledge of the distinctive doctrines of Christianity. I: mean a deep and abiding sense in the heart, of our fallen nature, of our actual and personal sinfulness, of our lost state but for the redemption wrought for us by Jesus Christ, and of our universal necessity, and the conviction that this change alone can be effected by the in fluence of the Holy Spirit. This is not a splendid, but it is a saving religion ; it is humbling now, that it may be elevating here. , after. It. appears to me also, that the requi sition which the Christian religion makes of the most highly gifted, as well as of the most meanly endowed, is, that after the loftiest and most successful exercise of the most brilliant talents, the favored possessor should lay his talents and himself at the foot of the cross, with the same deep self-abasement and self-renunciation as hits-more illiterate neigh bor, and this from a conviction of who it is that hath made them to differ." *gain, there is a fashionable religion, priding itself upon orthodox doctrines, but lax enough in orthodox practice it is tri fling, irresponsible, and florid, mixed up with frivolity and worldliness; enjoyment is the measure of duty;.it seeks to be pleased, not instructed, and in the pursuit has contracted habits which have proved fatal snares, and imbibed tastes which have weakened and de based its principles. How is it rebuked by the strong language of earnest piety and a living faith ! "We must avoid," says Hannah More, " as much as in us lies, all such society, all such amusements all such tempers which it is the daily business of a Christian to subdue, and all those feelings which it is his constant duty to suppress. Some things, which are apparently innocent and do not assume an alarming aspect or bear a dangerous charac ter—things which the generality of deco rous people affirm, (how truly we know not) to be safe for them ; yet if we find that these things stir up in us improper propensities— if they awaken thoughts which ought not to be excited—if they abate our love for relig ious exercises, or infringe on our time for performing them—if they make spiritual concerns appear insipid—if they wind our heart a little more about the world—in short, if we have formerly found them injurious to our own souls, then let no example or per suasion, no belief of their alleged innocence,, no plea of their perfect safety tempt us to indulge in them. It matters little to our security what they are to others. Our busi ness is with our ourselves. Our responsibil ity is on our own heads. Others cannot know the side on which we are assailable. Let our. own unbiassed judgment determine our opinion, let our own experience decide for our own conduct. -Life in Hall and Cot tage. The fundamental conception which is in dispensable to a true apprehension of the na ture of a miracle, is that of the distinction of mind from matter, and of the power of the former, as a personal, conscious, and free agent, to influence the phenomena of the lat ter. We are conscious of this power in our selves ; we experience it in our every-day life; but we experience also its restriction within certain narrow limits, the principal one being, that man's influence upon, foreign bodies is only possible through the instrumentality of his own body. Beyond these limits is the region of the miraculous. In at least the great majority of the miracles recorded in Scripture the supernatural element apPears, not in the relation of matter, but in that of matter to mind—in the-exercise of a personal power transcending the limits of man's will. They are not so much szTernatural as super kw-gay. Miracles ' as evidences of religion, are connected with a teacher of that religion ; and their evidential character consists in the witness which they bear to him as " a man approved of God by miracles and wonders and signs, which God did by him." He may make use of natural agents, acting by their own laws, or he may not : on this question various 'conjectures may be hazarded, more or less plausible. The miracle consists in his making use of them, so far as he does so, un der circumstances which no human skill could bring about.'*—Abanae/. * 'Aids to Faith.' ACTIVITY is the true antidote to sleep PHILADELPHIA, THUItg THE NATURE OF A MIRACLE. ST. PAUL'S PARTI MAT . ETHICS, 1/1 the. 4 know little of. tut matters they unileist fact St. Paul seer-d. hence vas excee money transaction: his example is wo 1. St. Paul ke was distrained f t his furniture, or r or particular strc disagreeable erei All this is evide! which we refer on what boldness lie his Master. • He hearers calmly i ;a:1 0 them. _actatlikoo :,hi' Had he been in 'St ii , ld suppose he could Never. On the trembled befcre of our clerical re. unfortunate as to boldly tts you oug creditors is befor debts hinder the t to you sue Christ. Think ol it. 2. St. Pautnever bo had none. and. wanted The kind Christian peo him once and again; b ways =keep him in fund Corinth he-hired hi ms St. Paul was not asliani xx. 34. And we mill some bishops who were this respect. Rather ti row money, they prefe wasnot afraid of losia because he might be e. we have no moneyon row it ; but if Go;has strength to work, let a• apostle did not lowur hi a. day-laborer, no more ters of the presentitiut• pathy with that littlene which makes us thin nothing to support t preaching. If the chu them as preachers, the, Paul did. We hawe ap There is much tO be try in this matter.( N starve. He owes 4 (lilt is exceedingly grelt. 1 1 31) clergyman, tells h'rn, for his own, and e eci own house, he hat, ;ile worse than an infidel.' ' 4. - authority, we cannot e every clergyman milOt t ily. We do not 0, should say, it -is :b4s d extravagantly. Ir fr support -them- ottekileal clothes ; he is to give education. And u we §a , not enable him to do thi at something else to he! member St. Paul. Al working hard with his ' or on the Sabbath, or' the gospel. We say,. money to support you. You have apostolic aui are in the line of the 3. St. Paul was = not .ax. 13. In another PI have learned in whats( with to be content." are never satisfied. enough—their salaries Let such people ec,orun have' bread and_ butte' butter and be thankful. to live here. Riches Christ tells us so. He shall they who have xi( of God." Yet almost p , a fine thing it is to be Christ; we would say it is to be rich. 4. St. Paul was vei spent other persons' collections for • the pt charged others to do th ister must do this; an' at some time other pocket. Many a man trouble and disgrace that money. He did But having it in his petting to return it something happened, al there was no money wii man was disgraced,,the every one was saying, ' church has in it I ' Nov look at St. Paul. viii;2o, that he avoided ing the money that was the poor. And. that to be honest in God's of man too. We can, how we use other persc Paul's particularity in ti for us all. Nevei on any accoun. money. Put it by itsi money to put it back ; might happen—and du disgraced, too without tending anything wrong , in money matters.. Be God's sight, but in the ioners and neighbors.- ENGLISH ADDER AND THERE is scarcely a me that is not directly I by strong drink—Jidge If it were not for thi jury) and I would ha' Judge Patteson. Experience has, ,proof crime into which juries may be traced, in one drunkenness.--Juilfre 1 I find, in every calom me, one unfailing sour , rectly, of most of the mi tted—intemperance- If, all men could be use of intoxicating „lig , judge would be a sineci eon. MANY mistake poetic godliness. AY, DECEMBER 18, 1862. PARITY IN MONEY BRS. strq,ct, most, persons the ethics of money id thoroughly. This o he",aware of, and y particnlar in all rid in this particular ,f imitation. of debt. He never, t, or forced to pawn to go .a certain road ,t he should meet a ho would dun him. komans xiii. 8, to er - S. l'heii3fore; with preileh the gospel of look< everyone of his of one of being in his debt. Felix,- does any, one nade Felix tremble ? ry, he would have Ve ask this question f 'any of them are so ebt. Can you preach reach, if one:of your If not, then your Es of the gospel of owed money. If he he worked , for it. e of Philippi' sent to they could, not al= When he :came to as a journeyman. to work. See Acts tell our readers of st like St. Paul in go in debt or bor ed working. Paul his social position, ed a mechariic. If let us beg it or bor iven us health and Mrk for it. If an dee by working as ill Christian minis- We have no sym of the present day, clergymen can do r families except h will not support let them do as St. colic example. rued by the minis minister ought to o his family which Paul, writing - to a f any provide not y for those of bis the faith, andis Having inspired when we say that e care of his fam id forbid that we to support them it. ' But he is to feed, ,, iny plain s children a good f the 'church does then let him work i n . Let such re day long he was is; and at night, m was preaching -e, if you 'want work for it. . Working., you lie succession. ;oils. See Acts tells us :"1 ,ate I am there 'iristian people do not make large enough." If they cannot them drop the , have not long very dangerous. "How, hardly r the kingdom ; says: "What If we belieVed an awful thing icular - how he He took up eatedly. He . Every min , Christian has money in his rnself in great ;e of spending t.a •to steal it. he used, it, ex lv days. But . pay-day came 14 to pay. The h was injured ; a rogue the tells us, 2 Om-. in ; administer his hands' for not. only. going. It.in the sight too particular ley. Let St. ,er be a lesson ther 'persons' may have an eoniething are diggraced; much as in ! avoid blame not only in your parish- Churchman. DRINKS comes before •ectly caused you (the ;mg to do.-- almost all ad to inquire another, to omen before Jtly indi• that are corn Wighttnizn. d from ,the (Ace of a r,dge Alder- (t for true "I HOYE INTO THE LIGHT." THESE were, the last words of Dr. Wallace editor of the "Presbyterian Quarterly." We had seen notices of the departure of our es teemed friend and Christian'brother, but the touching inbidents of his last hours were un• known to us until the veil was lifted from that closing scene " quite on the verge of heaven" by the hand of his own daughter. As we gazed in thought upon that scene, brought to our view for the first time in the memorial article of Dr. .13rainerd, were-called some of our last associations with this ministerial brother in obi, pulpit, in his owl" study, and in the ITniiiiPrayer-meetings; and those last words - to lacliedlik 'With 'sadness, naingled with `a holy joy almost with rapture. Sadness 'cause :we .should see lit face-no:More lit the , • - • eeltusi;_of =title _and peateful. transition from ;the twilight Of "difta-tv--t -unclouded future, "Where all is calm as night, yet all immortal day." What a contrast is the departure of this 'Chris tan scholar with.the last hours of hopeless umbelief I We, read of the. great poet of Ger many as the lights of time were going, out, arid .the future opening to his dim and trou bled vision, sighing over a miserable'past and a hopeless future and piteously -asking for "more light." We read of the great French atheist, exclaiming in his last moments, " I hate life and am afraid of death ;" and of the English infidel who said, "I am going to take a leap into the .dark." Oh, death dark hour to hopeless unbelief ! What art thou to the Christian's assurance ? Great hour of answer to life's prayer ; great hour that shall break asunder the bond of life's mystery ; hour of re-union with the loved and lost ; what migh ty hopes hasten to their fulfillment in thee!—' What longings, what - aspirations, breathed in the still night beneath the silent stars; what hallowed' imaginings of never-experienced purity and bliss; what possibilities shadowing forth unspeakable realities to the soul ; all verge to their consummation in thee ! 0 death I the Christian's death ! what art thou but the gate of life, the dawn of heaven, the threshold of eternity ! Thanks be to God ; let us say it, Christads, in the comforting - words of scripture: Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, 'through our Lord Je sus Christ." Christian brethren, let us linger about the last hour of this fellow-laborer, in the church of Christ, and catch fresh inspirations of that faith which taught him how to preach and how to die. lie was no fanatic, no mystic dreamer, no young, impulsive enthusiast, but a sober, philosophical earnest minister of the everlasting Gospel. See him in that last sanctuary of life, the chamber where the good man meets his end, reviewing his past min isterial life, and then looking to Jesus, ex claiming, "Oh, the inexpressible glory, the ineffable sweetness of our Saviour ! You must just, come to the cross in a simple Child flike.faith." And, then as his end drew nigh through the gathering twilight of evening, he caught glimpses,of his heavenly home, and said to the dear ones at his side, "..rmove into the light." Thanks be unto God for this another dying testimonial to our holy faith. Yes, brother, thou hast gone from the dim mystery, of life, from, looking through a glass darkly to light ineffable and divine ! " Immortal light and life, forever more !" Oh, Christian brethren, let us be quickened to greater zeal and fidel ity by this view of the faithful minister's end I Let us earnestly entreat Jesus to be with us in all our ministerial life and work—that when our course is run we may confidingly say, "Abide with us, blessed Jesus, for it is towards evening, and the. day is spent." " Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes, Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies; Heaven's morning breaks and earth's vain shadows flee, In life, in death, 0 Lord, abide with me I" —Lutheran Observer. THE COLD SHOULDER IN CHURCH. WE know a man, well educated, polite, agreeable in all private intercourse; who did a very impolite thing the other day in church. When the sermon began, he half looked up, with no, encouraging expression on his face, but with the air of a suspicious man, who " does not believe there is much in it," but is, willing to wait a little and see. He was clearly prepared not to be interested. If all church attendants greeted their preacher thus,, they would.break him down-at the out set. Our friend soon dropped his eyes, turn ed as far round as the seat would letlim, and fairly gave the preacher the cold shoulder. He-did not shut his eyes ; that would have ,been less discouraging. The minister might have thought : " Poor man, be has been hard worked in his business and though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak." He was pro vokingly wide awake. But he looked, down, straight and hard, as if he would look the floor through, and look out :an underground passage by which to escape. There he sat, stern, and rigid,. seeming ,to feel sour, discon tented, and bored. His whole attitude said : " That sermon - is not worth much—l wish I could hear something better than that." Well, the sermon might have been poor ; we have a right to speak on that, point. But it cost labor. Weary, though' pleasant, hours were Spent in thinking it out, in casting and recasting it, in trying to make its central truth stand out prominent .and impressive. And' :its truth was one of great moment. Eren though, in the estimation of the unwill ing hearer, poorly set forth, it deserved ser ious and respectful attention. .But there sat the hearer, saying all the while by his man ner; "I wish you .were in Joppa In one place he did look up, as if about to show some interest, but he soon relapsed into the dis gusted state. As a whole it was a most de cided case of the wild shoulder. We are sorry - he was so ill satisfied. We wish every man he h€ a-s were a star preach er, able to fascinate and entrance him. But as most preachers are not extraordinary men, we do not see how he is to get along. He is a church-member, and it would scarcely be reputable to stay away from church ; and it may not be convenient to go every Sabbath where brilliant orators are to be heard. ' He must go to church ; and he must hear some sermons which claim no more than to be plain, simplerpresentations of religious truth. Now we ask, is.it polite for him to frown on a, min ister in the very house of worship ? If he cannot be pleased, may not others be profit ed ? And if the preacher has any right to preach at all, if it is best that he should preach, is'it not best to show a decent inter est. in the services ? Perhaps we mistake our friend. Perhaps he is,pretty well satisfied, but " that is his way. If so, it is a most unfortunate way. Gentlemen do not treat each other so in the parlor, or the counting-room ; why should they in the church ? The thought will do to dwell on and carry out. Let all chtirch-goers pay good and evi dent attention to the preacher, 'and they will encouragelim more than they think of. And if they wish to get better sermons, that is just the way to bring, it about.—Pacific. REV. NEWMAN HAIL ON THE WAR. WE .cannotbut-deeply sympatbir;e•wiVlL the few public men in. England who have openly our country fiery trials. .; - g - vre - fi.nd +h celebra ted Surrey ',Chapel. Rev. Newman Hall, L. L. 8., has . delivered a " Lecture to Work ing " Men," on the American War, of which a pamphlet .copy has been sent us, " with the author's " kind regards:" We have read it with much pleasure, as one of .the clearest, fullest, most comprehensive, and most trust, worthy statements yet published in England of the actual grounds and causes of our great conflict. His historical sketch of the ante cedents of the rebellion, and of the progress of the civil - war, is very truthful, and ought to give to a multitude of honest Englishmen full satisfaction. He then considers the ques tion whether the South has a right to secede, showing, on his part a perfect understanding of the merits of the case. He then gives quite clearly an argument in justification of the Government of the United States in its efforts to suppress the rebellion. Only we might 'regret that he had not seen fit to adopt this form of statement, which is itself a full justification of our side. His English way of putting it—" Is the North justified in waging war to restore " the Union ?"—in volves an apparent concession of half the case, although what remains is capable of ample vindication. He thus argues the mat ter with his countrymen : "It is urged as a complaint against the North that they are fighting for empire. How much more would the South be con demned, who having always before succeeded in domineering, break off from the Union at the first moment they can domineer no long er ! The North fight for empire ! Of course they do—but to conserve their own, not to extend by seizing another's. Self-preserva tion, is the first of instincts. Of all nations in the word, Great Britain should be the last to condemn it. Let the battle-fields of India testify how many bloody wars we have waged, not simply for the preservation, but for the extension of empire. Would not our Goveinment engage.in any war at once, how ever costly or sanguinary, .rather than-submit" to its probable dismemberment ?the Amer icans have an empire of which they may well be proud, so vast in area, so varied in its productions, so inexhaustible in wealth, so unparalleled in progress. They have spe cial motives for preserving it one and indivi sible. If divided, there will be great diffi culty in settling territorial limits. Commerce may be injured by varying and hostile tar: iffs. The principle of disintegration may develop itself until there are numberless ri val republics. There would be frequent strife among themselves, and peril from for eign fc,les. Standing armies would be re quired, and heavy taxation to maintain them. We cannot be surprised that the Fed eral Government should exercise its undoub ted right, and fight to avoid these perils and preserve a'Union under which their nation has grown so great." That is noble. But immediately he yields to the insolent demand of the governing and the average English mind, which has decreed from the first that the separation of the States is final, because it is .so,desitAle that. it must be made final at any rate. After such a statement of the reasons why it was for our Government not to put down the rebellion, no- matter at what cost or by whom supported, he proceeds to give the common English argument against the expediency of the war on the part of the United States, and for the persistent and in tolerable, pretension that "it lwould have been better." if the South had been allowed to do as ;they pleased. Such a falling off only illustrates the power of the dominant public opinion, which comPels even a man of the character of Mr. Newman Hall to speak with apologetic tone on such an argument. His earnest appeal against the general tendency of the English mind toward " sym fpatbiKth the "South," will yet come up as a witnes,s against one of the strangest dclu sions of modern_ times. We hope that this address, which has evidently been printed with a view to its circulation among the masses, will be widely read and heeded by the true-hearted people of our mother coun try. It is a welcome peacemaker.--/ndo pendent. -" ONLY THREE 'CHAPLAINR IN THE NAVY IN SEA-GOING. VESSELS. HAVING been led, by the action of one of our large religious bodies, to an examination into the provision which our Gevernment is making -for the moral and spiritual welfare of the ,tens of thousands, connected with our navy, most of whom are excluded from all religious privileges on land, we, have been astounded, as our readers will be, at the fol lowing facts. Thefehole number of the chaplains in the U. S. Navy at the present time, is 23 on the A:ctive list, 16 ; on the Retired list, 7. Of the 23, nine are`waiting orders, six are stationed in the navryards (which in most instances means, laid on the shelf,) two are stationed in receiving ships (one atNewYork and one at Boston), two are in institutions on shore (one at the Naval Asylum at Philadel phia, and one at the Naval Academy at:Ne' port); one is out of the country, on leay,e of absence. This enumeration disposes,Of twen ty out of the twenty-three, leavipg just three men, in active employment in seagoing ships, viz : Rev. Joseph Stockbridge, of the U. S. steamer Lancaiter, on the Pa4ific ; Rev.-Geo. W. Dorrance, of the Wabasll,..at'Port Royal; and Rev. Thos. G. Sa4er, 7 _ of the frigate Minnesota, at Boston. The Secretary of, tike Navy, in his lait Annual Report to. the President, states that •- GENESEE EVANGELIgI I ,-LW.hole No. 865. our present Navy consists of: Sailing vessels, 104 ; steam vessels, 323 ; or a total of 427 men-of-war of all sizes, manned by 28,000 men, exclusive of 12,000 mechanics employed in the several Yards—in all 40,000 men. Now, allowing 2,000 for the , two . receiying ships -to which chaplains are attached, (an estimate far beyond the reality,) and - We have left , 425 vessels, 'manned' by 26,000 among which to divide the three chaplains who arc now in actual. (not technically "ac tive ") service--,or one;chaplain to about 141 vessels .and 8,66,6 souls. This is the sum .of the provision which is made by Government for the, whole naval force of the. United States, only three chap lains for 427 vessels of -. iyar. We are startled by the discovery. Whit - can be the meaning of -it ?. Mat Mille "mil nea,re 'devoting themselves to the service of the country on the sea, and who are necessarily shut out from ordinary social privileges, be cut off -from—t-he—religior privileges which are so freely granted to the army, excepting only those who may happen to be on one of the three ships which are faiored with chaplains. Surely such a state of things calls for some action on the part of our Government, and unless this is taken, for some action on the part of the people. The noble men who en list in the Navy ought not- to be thus de prived by wholesale of the means of divine grace and virtually banished into heathenism. We hope that this subject may receive imme diate attention, and that, if the action of Congress is required, some provision may at once be made for greatly increasing the num ber of chaplains, at least during the contin uance of the war.—N. Y. Observer. LAST WORDS OF HANNAH MORE. Repeated attacks of inflammatory disease in the region of the chest often brought her extremely low, from which, through the un remitted care and faithful attentions of Miss Frowd, she again and again revived, until November of 1832, when the seizure became more violent, prostrating both the mind and body, and rendering the remaining ten months of her earthly pilgrimage months of extreme weakness, of wakeful nights and restless days, unalleviated by any hope of favorable chancre, except the heavenly rest. Her pions ejaculations were the utterance of a soul ripening for lory. " Grow ,in grace,"she earnestly whispered to her attendants, " grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ ; " Jesus is all in all," " God of grace." "God of light, God of light, whom have I in heav en but thee ?" " What can I do—what can I not do with Christ ? I know that my Re deemer liveth." Happy, happy are these who expecting to meet in a better world. The thought of that world lifts, the 'min - a above itself. Oh the love of Christ, the love of Christ !" Long waiting,' s 'My anairOßP-PPefa friend- ".Oh glorious grave I It pleases God to affect me for my good, to make me humble and thai - nkful. Lord, I believe, I do believe with all the powers of my weak, sinful heart. Lord Jesus, support me in that trying hour when I most - geed it. It is a glorious thing to die." When some one spoke .of the good ,deeds whiCh had adorned her life,: she quickly re plied, " . Talk not so vainly: I utterly cast them from me, and fall lo,w at the foot of the cross." Thus she waited until the sth of Septem ber;lB33. The usual family devotions were attended at her bedside in the morning ; her wastedhands were devoutly raised in prayer, while her countenance glowed with unwonted light . she lay all day quietly and speaking not, while a radiance as from the land of glory illumined her sunken features. In the early night she extended her arms, calling "Patty.' A feW more hours and she sweet ly fell asleep, in Jesus, on the dawning of the 7th, in the 89th year of her age. AFFLICTIONS REPRESS WORLDLINESS. MEN are naturally worldly ; just as natu rally as they are sinful. The nature of sin, indeed; is such that its aims all lie beneath the moon: It has not one to overpass the grave. But when the ambitious spirit of worldliness finds 'nothing beneath the sun Which can constitute a secure and sufficient portion,' or can avail as a shield to ward off the arrows of affliction, its zeal is damped— its career is checked—its heart appalled—it may be only for a moment, indeed, and while the pain of affliction stings—but yet the power. of .worldliness is diminished by it. Amid . unbroken felicity and successes, the worldly spirit increases .in power: It oe comes strong, absorbing of mind and heart, far-reaching, rancorous, and unsatisfied. Then there is no end to its ambition—no limit to its hopes—no boundary to its aims it would engross the whole - soul, and 'would gain the whole world. There never was .a ! more blind and stupid spirit. It aims after What it does riot need and cannot use. It longs to attain that which .has no other ten dency than to prove a burden. . And this stupidity and blindness are not to be cured by moral lectures. Lecture to rock as soon. There is a, necessity for affliction to come in to hush down the clh,mor of worldly affections before the 'man will hear you. Trial must open his eyes or he will see nothing but the world—a world that dazzles and blinds him. Make him miserable and you may cure his - stupidity. And were it not for the miseries all around the worldly, and so. often. coming in at- their windows, the evils of worldliness would becOme far worse than they are. A worldly spirit has strong. : influences to check it. What a lecture a, fever gives to it! or a funeral 1 . What a lesson the grave-yard reads in its pars !„ What a rebuke when the man bears to the tomb the son for whom he thought_ hg was hoarding his thousands ! The miseries we suffer are sent to repress a spirit, of worldliness which. might ruin us without them.Dr Spencer. CONSECRATION.-I give my heart to be the temple of Christ ;`:1 Cor. 3 : 16, 17. My will to be the servant of Christ; Ma ./ 14: 24.- Afy,eoneoienee to be gt..)silAees-fOr C' / 1-These. 10. ,nom` My ,memory to tte a,. storehew Chile“ John 26. full My life to bet:433)lmi ; of el 3 : 18. /AA., 2 01
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