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