Hi - , JAMES ALLISON, 1 PROF. ROBERT PATTERSON, j 5111(Irs • JAMES ALLISON & CO., Proprietors. TERMS IN ADVANCE. Dv MAIL, (Singly t.r In ClubH,) DttIVIREgi.CN inmate OP gag CITIES Pastore rending ue TIN subscribers and upwarde . , wIU no thereby entitled to a paper without charge, and another extra paper for the second ten ; ie. Renewals should be prompt, a little before the year sin : tree. Direct all letters to JAMES ALLISON & CO, PITTSBURGH, Pd. for the Presbyterian Banner Equanimity, MESSRS. EDITORS :—The classic pagan ism of ancient Greece, having fruitlessly employed the beautiful auroral light of Platonism to elucidate the true nature and obligation of moral theology, at length turned away, as in a temper of mingled hopelessness and pride, and engendered its celebrated rule of life known as Stoicism. This model rule, it is well known, was sys tematically set forth and vindicated in the doctrines. of Zeno. Yet what a marked contrast is presented between the crucial regimen of the Stoics, as exemplified in their lives by the noblest of them, and its Christian counterpart, the equanimity of faith ! The former, indeed, looks rather like a caricature or cold shadow of the latter. The Bible honors a well-regulated tem per with the laurel of victory "Se that ruleth his spirit is better thau he that taketh a city." With what admiration do we contemplate the groat triumphs of do qua nce and diplomacy,. and especially at this juncture, of our patriotic) arms 1 Our sol diers (may God bless them I) who have borne the national banner over many a red battle ground, always aloft,' are justly honored with our warmest panegyric*, And yet, ac cording to the illUstrious Bible sage, a prowess, superior to that which is demon strated in martial exploits, is exhibited by those ordinary people in the walks of life around us who excel in the steady govern ment of their tempers. I propose to indulge in some reflections upon eccentricities of temper, and to sketch some of the injuries resulting from them to society and religion. It is a singular fact that many , good people, some of whom have displayed a serene equanimity under the most painful trials incident tolife ' are wont under ordinary circumstances to ex hibit the reverse of a pleasing, equable temperament. When a man presents himself in an agreeable manner to his friends.and neigh bors, he is understood to tender through the act that conception 'of his character which he wishes society to •entertain ; and he thus obligates himself, in a moral sense, to maintain a corresponding frame of mind in all his subsequent social intercourse. He does not, it is felt, mean to practice .de. eeption ; and accordingly his affable de meanor is taken as an advertisement of the genial contributions to its pleasures 'which society may ever expect from him. He has now shown a sample of his social properties, and as an honorable man he can not palm off, after this, inferior wares upon• the community. As a gentleman, his boner, requires him to be consistent with .imself, and that self he has now adver tised as agreeable in its mood. Any fan-. cied right, he might claim, to sport testy . umors at his pleaskure, is forfeited by the oluntary pledge now given. It is sad to reflect how often social life ss wounded by a wanton disregard of these ibligations. By way of example: my talented friend the Professor met an ac complished married lady recently, at an entertainment given in his neighborhood, ith whom he maintained a charming ,l ear versation, daring meatrof th - e - e grew enamored; as the hoiris pregressed, of her beautiful manners, cult:staid intelli gence and refined tastes. Indeed so agree ably excited did he become, that at the close, when they had risen to depart, he seized an occasion, to congratulate himself o a bystander, within her hearing, upon the delightful friendship he had formed, -Mich, he added in his fine enthusiastic ..anner, promised him a'fortnne of refined .njoyment through its cultivation in the uture. But this pretty compliment was nappreoiated; fol. the very next time he .acountered his fair acquaintance-r-who it eems actually values herself upon an in ; °pendent capricious deportment—to his stonishment and chagrin she haughtily epellod his cordial advance, passing him n a frigid manner and with a reluctant eeognition. It is perhaps superfluous to dd that the Summer glow of feeling which armed the Professor's breast at her ap roach, was transformed instantly into a ery Winter of insulted sensibilities. The ilenetio and selfish aro sometimes the most greeable people in the world ; but snob eautiful phenomena in their lives are like limpses of sunshine breaking through urky clouds, and serve only, by contrast, fill the mind with deeper shades of re et when contemplating their characters. On the other hand, what an enduring harm is bound up with the possession of a aim, cheerful equanimity I Do you need safe friend as a counsellor, your heart in tin ctively recognizes in 0 a disposition o inviolable sanctuary, of true friendship. here, you feel sure, is a confessional at hieh you can unbdsom your troubles, even iviat ones, without apprehension of ex osure or ridicule. In fact, is it not so, hat the silly vexations which so often sta on themselves, with little show of reason, as tickets along the, outposts of the soul, are ispersed merely by the sight of your friend's beerful countenance, like ghosts at dawn ? • nd in respect to greater sorrows which ave settled down in the secluded depths f the heart; their weight immediately 'mimes less oppressive by your confiden ial disclosures, for, you feel sure, the re iable and beautiful strength of your friend a now enrolled in your service and pledged. divide all the burden with you. And h, how this estimation and trust are aug ented, if, in addition, the virtues of re gion adorn the character of that friend ! r then you detect an ability in him, avail do for you, to deal with the profound 'tal griela of the soul. "A faithful riend is the medicine of life." A variable temper may inflict, however, yet deeper wound on religion than it is apable of visiting upon society. I will ,elate a ease for illustration, as one among thers that will present themselves to the , fleeting mind. The people of God were ommemorating the sufferings and love of hrist at the sacramental table. At the me time, a boy of sixteen sat in an ob cure side pew, unobserved among the spec , tors, intently watching the sacred scene. he words of the minister and the simple ut impressive ordinance carried him back imagination tb the " upper chamber." is youthful fancy, perhaps the first time his life, painted for him a thrilling con eption of Jesus offering " redemption 'irough his blood." He seemed to hear dressed to himself the melting words, This is my body broken for you." An ewonted sorrow suddenly wrenched his aine, and tears welled up in his sad young yes. Through the flowing drops, as rough a lens, he now gazed at the eatu 11200 2.50 VOL. XII. NO. 26. estly ` pleading pastor, and at the elders who, with grave and saint:like faces, were slowly moving down the aisles, bearing the sacramental emblems. His troubled mind hastened to and fro between the past and present, until, by the association, pastor and elders seemed almost transfigured before him. Soon a strong purpose . started-up and engrossed the mind of the 'blubbering stripling as he looked on, and thought thus within himself: " These men how holy and good they are—the very pictures of Jesus and his Apostles; animated always, I am sure, as the minister has told us, with sr dent, love and deep concern for our never 7 dying souls P J. will put myself in. &dr way to-morrow, that they may instruct me all about my salvation. ' Alas, soon he met, as he had desired, one of the elders, but he found in him now a man whose features were transformed and trimmed down: into sordid, griping cast of a sharp d.ealer's. The poor, distressed lad had expected to meet a meek and loving friend, upon whose countenance •the holy. Sabbath . light still, lingered; but instead, he encountered a bustling man of the world, who carelessly noting him, thrust him aside from his path; much as he would thrust aside a dog, whioh has no soul. How mournfully suggestive is the laMent of prophecy, I was' wounded in the house of my.friends!! Wayside iteditations., - „ • IN•-THE WILDERNESS. A Strange march wag that of Elijah, from the courts' of Ahab to `Horeb, the Mount.of God' - How gloomy the prospect as he lay dovn • underneath the juniper tree in the wilderness, wishing that he might die. He felt all alone, helpless and despondent. But as he slept, God's angels were around him ; and. when he awoke, there was the pitcher of water and the cake baked on the coals. He its and was. refreshed ; and the strength of that mysterious meal: sustained him until he arrived at the Mount of God. And it is a long and wearisome march that lies before us, as we take-our way. from the court of this world to, the heavenly Mount. - Nire grow weary and foot-sore, and hungry arid thirsty.on the way. We become dis couraged and disheartened, the journey deems so long. All the light seems to fade from the world's pleasant things. We feel all alone, in our great sorrows, ,and the night gathers thickly and heavily around us. We east ourselves down beneath the juniper tree, in utter abandonment of woe, and wish that we. might die. And ,as we sleep on, in our heavy thoughts,'perhaps invisible messengers are all around' us. We awake while the ,stars .are yet the watchers of the night, and find a cruse of water and a cake baked upon the coals. We eat and are refresird„and sleep again. At dawn, as the star pickets are withdrawn, and the great sun is rising in the, East, we eat again, and under the refreshing lam ems of that heavenly food, we go on un til the journey is ended, and we ascend the Mount of God. rir.—Tnv. nun ' man. . e ....,, 9 1 , , ,it• t. kik isB ; o4 - kai. ti*E4t4A, 'ma iu 1 s Sisriitshads*, p,feagul deatiroyeir,litio is henceforth fo waYlay roan in all the paths of la. • But until Abel's early fall, death had 'been but a looked-for fearful change. But it must come. We go with 'Abel from the altar of burnt sacrifice to his lowly grave. He hagallen ly-the land of vio lence. The tree had blossomed at the fall —here is the ripe fruit. We kno* not the circumstances. It, may have been at early morning, amid the dewy' flowers, and cool shadows. Or it may have 'been at the close of day, at the hour of evening sacrifice, and his freed spirit have ascended to the pres ence of God with the savor of the. sacri ficial lamb. But it was death I Strange and mysterious change I That matchless form that had moVed in grade and beauty so, express and admirable, now lies prone upon the green sod in quivering agony. Like the prostrate column of some magnif icent Corinthian temple, that stricken form is Magnificent in its , fall. It lies there in its matchless -beauty, not like the dying Gladiator, with contorted brow, and huge muscle writhed - in agony, but a very Apollo in beauty and 'grace; and symmetry, with the sweet smile of innocent slumber, Wreathing his countenance. And so death.eame at last. But it came first, not to the old and weary, but to the young and hopeful. How did Abel die ? Did visions of beauty and glory chister around his soul as life waned away ? Was the cross uplifted before his vision, now be coming indistinct with the dews of death, and were the dim echoes of a message here after to be heard upon earth, wafted as sweet music to his soul—" To-day shalt thou be with me in , Paradise ?" . Was Ste phen's prospect opened to him, and heav en's blessed glory revealed? We cannot tell. We but know this, that his was a blessed death. His life was such as God approved. His sacrifice was accepted, and all was well. And so-the first death was calm. and peaceful. "Blessed are the" dead which die in the Lord." Dying in faith is to live forever more. " Weep not for him that dieth— * For he sleeps and is at rest; And the couch whereon he Roth, lathe green earth's quiet breast" 41 ' • ETA. , Almost every body rejoiced last Fall in the hope that. Jefferson and Washington Colleges would soon be united. They are confessedly too near together. They draw their students from the same part of the population, at least mainly so—the Presby terian, Old, New, and United, but chiefly from the 'Old S chool—and it is a heavy burden fdr this part of our people to sup port two Colleges, as first-class Colleges must now"be supported. Hence, it is not surprising that both these Colleges have a feeble life, yield an inadequate support to their 'Presidents and Professors, and offer inferior facilities, in some respects, to our young men in pursuing their education. And their future prospects, remaining apart, are not hopeful. The small success of all past efforts to endow them, may be accepted as proof conclusive that no ade quate endowment can be obtained in their present separate existence. But let them be united, or let each take the rank of an Academy, and let the strength of our Pres• byterian people be concentrated on a new College, to be placed at Beaver, cr some other equally central, and suitable place, and to bear some honored Presbyterian `name,and we might ; hope to use a pot. ruihttrian. • _ • • Ex.-PASTOR Por the Presbyterian Banner For the .Presbytertan Banner. The College (tuition: PITTSBURGH, lege soon nobly endowed, - giving its in structors a liberal support, offering, its students advantages equal to those of Har vard, bringing together our young men to form friendships of inestimable value, and making it needless for any of our families to send their sons away to some ;distant College for their education. > Let the Col leges become the College. It matters, to nineteen-twentieths of us, but little; where it is -placed. We think it makes a great matter that our College should be a strong one, one, worthy of - our place flid history in the West r and one in the highest meas- ure tributary to the cause of sound educa tion and religion. For one College, for the College, the handsome . offer ' - or $50,000 would no doubt soon be followed hy.similar and perhaps even larger, gifts. There are liberablearted men amongst us, .to. whom God has given, -liberal means, who. could be greatly interested in the establishment of one College, but who feel that it is vain and hopeless to., try to support two, seven miles apart, and looking to the same people for.students. ,Can we bear to think that a movement, so well begun last Fall, is to-end in vain ? ' - The only serious, difficulty of a general kind, that, seeing to stand in the .way of such united action, is, the differencein our views of ecelesisstioal control. As this idea:has, heretofore been framed into,prae tical measurea, , it must. be confessed, that it is objectionable. Giving to ourfSynods the nomination of Professors, and =the adjust ment of College questions, .sometimes%of College difficulties, certainly has not worked well in many cases. It does, not work well for the Synods, as it woulcl,be easy to show. It would not he easy. to construct plans, moreover, that would suit the-United Pres byterians,, the_ New School- Presbyterians, and ourselves, if we must proceed on the idea of giving these 'practical queations to Synodical bodies. It was,a. - great, and al most a fatal error, as it seems to me, to throw. such, matters on _the tables of our Synods. It would answer every: essential purpose, if the only official relation of the Synods to our College, were made to consist in their electing the Trustees, and this only when vacancies occur by death or resig nation. Then leave all purely College matters to the Trustees, just as in non-e> clesiastical institutions. Thus the ow, great purpose would be seeured—thats , .of keeping the ,College and its funds. and teaching closely in connection viiitlrthe%iv bag Church of Christ,. for all- the long ages oome.• And .as several ..Synods now cover the ground formerly' occupied-by