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The Spirit-Bird.
I know thou art iiut’ning, dear oao, yet,
To th j voice of that spirit-bird,
Whose strange, wild song, .when last we met,
With its midnight witchery stirred,
As bv some angel’s holy spell,
The tenderest efforts of memory’s lute,
The saddest —yet we loved too well
Their melody to wish them mute.
While soft our Southern moonlight folds
Its white wreaths o’er thy placid brow,
I know thy calm, proud spirit holds
A pure and blest communion now,
With unseen forms, a shadowy band,
And while that mystic warbler sings,
They whisper of the better land,
And fan thee with their viewlesß wings.
I’ve seen the dark-eyed, languid night
Oft times clasped on her silver crown, .
When earth’s seemed full enough of light
To woo the lost and lovely down,
To dwell with us—when thou and I
Have gazed through holy tears above,
Until the islands of the sky
Seemed thronged with spirits of our love.
Our loved—“not lost, but gone before’’—
Some young and some surpassing fair,
And one upon that changeless shore,
A blessed saint with snow-white hair,
A bard, whose voice, to us so dear.
Is hushed, whose earthly heart is riven;
Dost the no’ ‘ream that thou canst hear
The music of his soul in Heaven ?
I know a shade from sorrow’s wing
Has veiled thy gentle heart with gloom,
As cypress trees their shadows fling
On water flag, or locust bloom—
Oft drifted by the darkling wave
Upon the shores, till one by one,
As human hearts, which love might save,
They perish dreaming of the sun.
Eut as the murky smoke-wreaths spring
Up from the city’s mart on high,
And tinted by the Morning’s wing
Sweep on in bright clouds o’er the sky,
When shadows round thee darkly roll,
Oh! look aloft and bend in prayer,
Till ’neath the rad ance of thy soul.
They turn to clouds of glory there.
Be ever like the flowers that fling
‘ > fragrance in night’s sapphire urn,
Or like the birds we love, that sing
When high on Heaven’s vast altar bnm
The midnight stars —amid the gloom
Os sorrow’s night, in beauty still
Let Faith unfold thy hear’ts rich bloom,
And its deep chords divinely thrill.
Still look aloft—though ‘mid the blest
Our sainted bard is throned, yet he
Would mourn to see thee drooping rest
Ileneath griefs deadly Upas tree.
Then if thou would’st not dim the strings
Os this new harp with tears, rejoice
Whene’r that mystic night-bird sings.
And dream it is a spirit’s voice.
Canton Place, La. ROSA.
From the N. C. Christian Advocate.
The Teacher’s Life—lts Lights and Shades.
First among the professions of the world,
and second only to that of the ministry,
ranks the teacher’s profession. And yet
scarcely any class of honest laborers are
more poorly paid .; or receive less gratitude
at the hands of those lor whom they labor.
The lawyer, the doctor, the farmer, the me
chanic, each has his trials through life, but
they receive a liberal recompense for their
toil, and now and then a grateful smile of
approbation darts athwart their pathway.
They breathe the pure air and enjoy health
of mind and body; but the teacher wears
himself away, mentally ami physically, so
that/when he emerges from the school, he
is a mere walking shadow, and is shunned
because of his morose and melancholy hab
its. As obr sympaties are drawn out to
wards those of our own sex who sacrifice
themselves at this shrine, we will select a
sketch from among them.
Look at that delicate young form as she
moves gracefully through the family circle
—the idol of parents, brothers and sisters.
She is the oldest daughter, and has just re
turned from College, where she has won for
. her fair brow, laurels green and fresh from
the “Hill of Science.” * * * Another
scene finds her trunk all packed and fasten
ed on the familiar old family coach. Then
come tenderembrao.es from tiny arms, hear
ty good-byes from sturdy youths, amj*a mo
ther’s blessing on her first-born. The father
brushes a manly tear, hands the daughter
-in, and drives away. She has felt that she
must labor, and has gone forth, hoping to
find a field white unto the harvest.
She tries to feel herself at home in the
family where she hoards; but, though they
are kind to her, yet, something is wanting
—a mother’s tenderness and a father’s care,
she finds nor. She enters her school room,
probably some old dwelling which has been
forsaken on account of sickness, and which
looks as desolate as a haunted castle. There,
huddled up in one corner, are her pupils,
who look at her with a vacant stare which
pierces her heart. But she takes one and
another by he h and. appoints seats, lessons,
<kc. Ail goes on quietly for a season But
her patrons grow prolific in directions con
cerning their children; such as “You must
not whip little Janie, she’s always been so
delicate.” “John will have to have the rod
every day, or he do no good.” “Sallie
has never been confined and must have more
liberties than other children.” The children
too come up with their messages: “Papa
said he didn’t want me to study this."—
“Mamma said that was too Iona: a lesson for
me, and if l didn’t know it, you mus’nt keep
me in.” She prays for grace to do her du
ty. Finally she does whip John, and his fa
il er is offended. Someone else thinks she
is too indulgent. Her heart sickens, and
she begins to conclude she has mistaken her
calling. But then she hears of another
speaking approvingly, new life springs up
within her, and she redoubles her diligence
to give general satisfaction.
Pleasure trips and parties are planned by
the young people around, but she toils on.
She has no brother to take her, and many
of the young gentlemen around think it be
neath their dignity to act the part of a bro
ther towards a plain “schoolmarm.” Her
patrons too, seem to forget to say, “Here is
a seat in my carriage, let the children rest
a little, and come go with us, it will do you
good.” Her rest is at nighfron a pillow, all
bedewed with tears, as she, instead of sleep
ing, wrestles in prayer for some wayward
pupil.. But, this is vest indeed, of which the
giddy and the gay know nothing. Here
she obtains strength for the coming day, and [
goes forward to battle with perverse human i
nature. She probably thinks proper to
make some new arrangement in the school
room, or to enforce some old regulation; i
but as she proceeds she espies across the
room some of her largest girls exchanging
significant glances, or making mouths at her. -\
She is ready to exclaim, “O how shall I ev- j
er teach while those who ought to aid me i
by a good example, are so heartless as to \
array themselves against me !” “I will lec- j
turethem, but no, that will only make them I
the more obstinate. I can only pray for j
them. Father, forgive them, they know j
not what they do.”
She then tries to go on with her duties as j
though nothing had pierced her already lac- j
erated heart. * * * But now a se at i s j
vacant. A familiar face is wanting. The j
absent one is sick. The faithful teacher !
wends her way to the sick chamber. The ,
physician thinks the case a critical one. A j
dear pupil is on the confines of the grave j
and totally unprepared. Her parents, too, >
are strangers to Christ. Here is a heavy j
cross, but our heroine shrinks not. She :
opens the Bible, and reads the plan of salva
tion, and points the dying girl to tne cross, j
and bowing with those present she snppli- j
J cates a rich throne of grace.
Similar visits are made, the dying one is
enabled to trust in Jesus, and quits the
shores of time exultingly. The humble in
strumentality of the teacher has been bless- !
ed in the salvation of the pupil. It is j
enough. She grudges not the sleepless
hours she has spent in prayer for her charge.
She returns to her labors strong in faith, be
lieving that all her bread shall yet be gath- j
ered, though it be after many days. , !
And thus as year after year she toils on, j
the r-ise fades from her cheek. Her friends
entreat her to desist; but, “no; let me alone,
I love it; I must work in my Master’s vine
yard.” she replies; and work she will. * * *
But the time draws near when it shall be
said unto her, “It is enough, come up high
er.” She calls her friends around her.—
“You think strange of me,” she says, “for
spending my life thus. It is true I have
worn my life away, and received but little
pecuniary compensation, and less praise tis
men. But my life has been far more happy
than you imagine. I have not unfrequently
had parents whisper grateful words in my
ear, such as, ‘My daughter has been so much
more obedient to me since she has been un
der your care. You have saved my son
from ruin. God bless your efforts.’ The
world has not understood me, but open yon
der trunk and read those letters trom my
pupils: they understand me, and hundreds
of them will cluster around me in glory. —
Then what care I for what the world thinks
of me? Farewell, vain world ! Farewell,
friends! Welcome death! Precious Saviour!
Margurita, Rockingham 00., N. C.
A Gem in the River.
A young mother, with tears of bereave
ment in her eyes, stood over the River of
Death, gazing wistfully into its black and
sluggish waters, as if she would fain rest her
gaze upon some object away down, down
in its fathomless depths. She gazed long
and wistfully, and the black waves rolled
sullenly, sluggi.-hly onward.
And the mother laid her hands submis
sively on her bosom, and wept, and said,
•My gem ! my gem !’
And a celestial being, like an angel, stood
near the hidden door of her heart, and whis
pered in a silvery voice, like music, ‘What
seekest thou, mourning sister V
‘Alas !’ said the mourner, ‘I once, even
yesterday, wore a beautiful gem in my bo-*
som. To me it was invaluable—it was no
trivial gem, it was one that kings and mon
archs might well have been proud of. The
riches of the East could not have purchas
ed it from me. In an hour that was evil
and miserable, the gem dropped from my
bosom into the black night of this deep riv
er. As I saw it floating away from me
gently as the coming of an eastern shadow,
I reached after it, but it was beyond my
grasp, and my gem-—my babe—smiled upon
me as it was riding on the waves further
and further from me. It began to sink, to
sink trom my sight, and in a moment my
gem was gone—and gone forever!’ antfrshe
turned sorrowfully away.
And the angel voice whispered again,
‘Stay, sister, grieve not; look again into'the
dark river.’
She looked as she was bid, and a cry of
rapturous joy hurst from her lips. ‘Thanks
to thee. Father ! I see my gem floating in a
great black wave. O, may I not wear it in
my bosom again V
•Stay, my sister, thou art deceived : what
thou seestin the river is not thy gem, it is
the shadow of what was given thee in trust.
Look, sister, heavenward, and bid thy
mourning heart rejoice,’
She looked aloft and away up the dark
beclouded sky, she saw a single spot clear
and blue, and in it a bright star was gleam
ing, and in its silvery rays came down and
danced on the gloomy river, giving the
black wave a brightness, as if silvered
through and through: and away down
many fathoms the bright reflection rested,
and this the mourner thought was her lost
gem. She gazed silently upon the scene,
and the star from heaven was shining.
And the voice of the angel came again,
like unto the sweet song of many instru
ments of music, saying.
•Sister, the gloomy waves thou seest,
though cold and dark, and terrible, roll
ceaselessly onward up to the great gate of
heaven,-and thither they bore thy mourned
gem, which the good Father lent thee; the
waves have borne it back to him, and it
blooms and shines forever near the throne,
like yon brightly beaming star.’
The voice was hushed, and the sorrow
ing mother turned away with her eyes lift
ed from the earth and gloomy river, and fix
ed them hopefully and wistfully on heaven.
And the bright star she saw, when tears
filled her eyes mourning for the lost, yet
beams brightly, and it shines on her little
baby’s grave.
THE CHRISTIAN INDEX
The Soft Thorn. i
William Gh.iithutm lived In :fu. very
ln u(J. ul I, liu, ii. jiiid up to ilm 11 .ut: i-tir
<Hm uerurcs. he lnt-l never be- n rv*vj- I
•v in the e>>rm*t \. WilHum vi--x< a hoy who j
vVi.uM have hint'Uerod at the e .mmissiuii
of anv serious crime: as to stealing, or
I downright lying, or injuring any one in a
j terrible fit of passion, or any such thing,
j he would have been perfectly shocked if a
i person hud hinted that lire eon.hi have been
j guilty of such things. And yet, we grieve
; to say, William did n t shrink from the
! commencement of these sins. His father
| was a dealer in frii t, and the little boy did
{ not mind eating odd bunches of currants
j and gooseberries, when he was com mis- !
j sloped to lay them opt l< r the day’s saV‘!
nor did he think it tiny particular harm to j
; make excuses, although they were not ‘
i strictly true, nor yet to indulge at times in <
a murmuring and wayward disposition,
although he never broke out into any fits
of passion; bat in ad • h were to lie found
the seeds of greater ttvil.
These beginninog ol evil were not hid*
• den from Sr. Grantham’s watchful eye ; j
| he knew verfl well that from little begin- j
i nings there often camo great endings, and
he determined*to watch every opportuni
ty of checking the first beginnings of sin
in liia little boy.
Well! William Grantham was spoken to
by hia father about, the different funks
; that kind parent had observed. But, !;■
j stead of seeing these faults in their tight
| light, and promising to amend, tb” li •
i tie boy argued with his parents, and
i maintained that there was;*'no harm h:
picking odd bunches of fruit, ei making an
excuse, provided it was not a downright
lie; or in murmuring a m muttering, when
he was told tod something hedid not like
provided he did it in t he end, .
The faults, however, ...’ which tve have
been speaking, contim; and to grow; and one
day, as Mr. Grantham was looking through
the glass door which separated his back
parlor from the shop, he was amazed and
grieved to see ids little son pulling off’
some of the grapes from a- large hot-boose
bunch, which was at that time sold at the
rate of twenty-four shillings a pound.
“O dear, O dear,” said Mr. Grantham,
“I feared it would come to this, and I can
not toll where all thi3 will e d.”
To make the matter worse, the fruiter’s
son, when taxed with having taken the
grapes, denied it; and although Mr. Grant
ham declared that he had actually seen him
the boy persisted that he had not.
Just at this time, the fruiter bad occa
sion to go some miles into the country, to
see one of the market gardeners with whom
he deait. As lie was going in his own cart,
awd William would be very useful to hold
the horse, and as the lad looked as though
he would be the better for a drive, he de
termined on taking him with him. Mr.
Grantham’s horse was accustomed to go
pretty quick, so he soon left the smoky
town behind, and William found himself
in tho midst of green hedge rows, such as
he had never seen before. The new, sh ots
of the spring were very long, and William
Grantham was soon out of the cart to puli
some sprjgs of the green he admired so
much.
“Why here’s a funny thing,” said the.
boy, as he jumped into the cart again :
“look here father, these brand *3 have
quite soft thorns; regular thorns like the
rest, as far as look goes, but they arc* as
soft as hotter,” a.nd be began’bending one
from side to side with his finger.
“They are soft because they a: e young,”
said Mr. Grantham; “but in time they'll
become as hard as any <ff the rest; even
now they have just the . toe shape as the
others, and are quite as sharp only not
being stiff and strong they cannot prick.
Time passed on, and when autumn had
come, it so happened that Mr. Grantham
had to pass the very same way again, and
William, as before, was* in the carr. The
hedges were still beautiful, tor they were
now browning for the winter, and large
bunches of red berries were now scattered
plentifully ou the branches, .and they at
tracted the attention of Mi. Grantham’s
son as they had ffouu before. The fruite
rer bad this time but few moments to spare
as he had to be back at Lie business by an
early hour; he pulled up, however, tor a
moment to allow his son :.-o jump out and
pull some of the berries, tor which he ex
pressed a wish. “But mind the thorns,
my boy, mind the thorn.*,” jairi he, “they
are not soft as when you came this way in
the spring.”
But William paid ho heed: he made a
grasp at a large bunch, and although he
succeded infringing them off, he scratch
ed his baud dreadfully. Nor did the hov’s |
trouble end there. One of the thorns that,
stuck in his fingers could not be taken out; |
in vain did he work at it himself with a
needle, in vain bid his molhor and*the ser
vant maid do ail thev <*,nLi; tho thorn re
mained where it was. At length William
Grantham’s hand began to swell, the part i
where the thorn w as began to give signs of
festering* and altogether he felt so ill that
the doctor was sent for. Kveu he found
some difficulty in extricating the cause of
all this trouble; he had to poultice the
boy's hand for several days, and finally to
use -an instrument which put him to no lit
tle pain.
All this brought William Grantham
very low; and his illness had the good ef
fect of making him very meek and willing
to listen to instruction. He was no louger
inclined to argue with his father, but a
greed entirely with what he said, and pro
mised to amend, with God’s grace, in those
points in which he had boen so seriously
at fault.
“Yon remember,” said Mr. Grantham,
as he sat by his son’s bed, “that when you
first touched the thorns in tho hedge they
were soft, but they were perfect neverthe
less; they wore shaped to a point, and all
that they required was time to make them
capable of hurting any one with whom
they came in contact. llow much they
could hurt, you have just had experience;
! and if y<m had not had h~ <>f mi.- i
i icttl advice, who can Icll but that v-Mir
whole body rrii.’Lf have “m- 4h >r(lriv.i
1 and that the m< h* serious c*soi]udn>s*s
might have ensued: Tim*, William, wis
it with the beginnings of your sin; you do
not now deny that you eat those valuable
grapes, an J having passed from ctimints
to grapes, yon might have gone on to mon
ey, anti really become a thief in the fullest
meaning of the word. Sin in the begin
ning seems small, but give it time and it
will do fearful hurt; whenever you are in
clined to think little of the beginnings of
sin, remember the soft thorn — F‘>r-r?*Ur y s
Boys’ and G-irls ’■ Magazine.
Spare the Birds.
The swallows are the natural enemies of
| the swarming insects, living almost entirely
; upon them, taking their food upon the iving.
The common martin devours great quanti
ties of wasps, beetles, and goldsmiths. A
single bird will devour five thousand butter
flies in a week. The mot a! of this is that
the husbandman should <:u!tivate the society
of swallows and martins about his land and
j buildings.
I The sparrows and wrens feed upon the
! crawling insects which iurk within the hiuh.
! foliage, and flowers of plants. The wrens
! are pugnacious, and a little h<• \ in a cherry
free will soon be appropriated by them, and
j hey will drive away other birds that feed
, upon the fruit, a hint that cherry giowers
should remember t.hi* spring, and act upon.
The thrushes, blue birds, jays and crows
prey upon butterflies, grasshoppers, <wick
i ets, locusts, and the larger beetle'. A sin
j gle family of jays wilt consume “O.OOOof i
i thee in a season of three mouths.
The woodpeckers arc armed with a stout,
■ long bill, to penetrate the wo..d of trees,
where the borers deposit their larvae. They
live almost entirely upon these worms.
For the insects which come abroad only
during the night, nature has provided u
check in the nocturnal barn owl. which take
their food upon the wing.
How wonderful is this provision of Prov
idence for the restraint of the depredators
that live upon the labors of man; and how
careful we should be not to dispute that ben
eficial law of compensation, by which all
things are preserved in their just relation
and proportion.
Beauties of the Deep.
If more beauty of appearance, says the
British Quarterly Review, is the question,
the waters need not yield the palm of
loveliness to the land. The deep has its
butterflies as well as the air. Fire flies flit
through its billows, as their terrestrial re
presentatives dance and gleam amidst the i
foliag of a tropical forest. Little living
laps are hung in the waves, and pour !
out their silvery radiance from vital urns
which are replenished as fast as exhausted.
The transparency of some of the inhabi
tants of the waters gives them an appear
ance of fairy workmanship which is per
fectly enchanting. Tim. Globe Home (Gyd
lippe pilins) resembles a little sphere of the
purest ice, about the size fa nut meg- It
is furnished with two I mg, slender, enrv-
I ing tentacles, each of widen !u irx a num
j her of filaments, twisted ii; a spiral form
j along one of its sides. Eight bauds are
i seen to traverse the surface of this aniina
! ted orb, running from pole to pole iike
lines of longitude on a terrestrial globe.
To iLcse bands are attached number of lit
tle {dates, which serve the purpose of pad
dles, for the creature can work them so as
to propel itself through the waters, and
eitl er proceed in a straight line, or. like a
steam boat; turn in any direction, or, un
like that vessel, whir] round on its axis
and shoot downwards with infinite grace
and facility. But, not to dwell upon the
mechanician!, is there not something fas
cinating in the idea of crystalline crea
tures? Suppose we had transparent horses
or disphanous dogs, or cats with a glass ex
j tvrior which would permit the circulation
j of the blood and the working oi the organs
j to be distinctly seen.
‘ , A glass steam engine in full operation,
j if exhibited at some of our mechanical
bdrs, would bean interesting curiosity.]
Now Living.
A cotemporary says that the boy is now
living who will be President of tho Repub
lic in 1900. Wbat his name is or where
he resides, he does not stop r<> inform ns.
He may at this moment bo gathering
pumpkins in Oregon, or peddling pop corn
around Troy. Daniel Webster once made
i “anew suit of satinet” by celling catfish
!at a shilling a string. Wherever he may
j be, all unconscious of his high destiny, he
’ feels the divinity that stirs within him ;
j and grasps his book, thirsting for knowl
: edge. His parents as they answer bis cml
; less queries rejoiee at his developing in
tellect, yet little dream that iiis will be a
great name among men, known wide as
the world.
Or perchance the hard hand of poverty,
i or the cold hand of orphanage, are mould
ing and training him for the’patient effort,
that self-reliance arid resolute will, that fit
him lor great j eiiievoments. He must !
pass through the school that prepares him j
for his high career. In his youth many a ‘
trial and wrong must, break him to the
hardness of life. In his manhood many
hardships must be endured, many obsta
cles overcome, and rivals outstripped in (
the race; the voice of envy and detraction
despised; and hatred and malice defied.
Through such a school and training the
President of 1900 will doubtless come, and
is now coitiug. But from what condition
in life, from what part of our broad land,
no one can predict or know* but Provi- I
donee, who presides over the destinies of ‘
all nations.— Rochester America r.
’ m . j
jggH There is nothing like courage in ;
misfortune. Next to faith in God, and in j
his overruling Providence, u man’s faith i
in himself in his salvation. It is the se
ereet of power ami success, It makes a.
man strong as the pillar of iron; or clastic
as the spring stool.
MERCER UNIVERSITY.”
*EVK!!SI.i[V,’ CUEEXJ; COUNTY. HKOIUU l. !
VTI'fM
Vke Stmlics in this ( r diversity are.
i A Thr.iihitjr. nl (Jvnrnt of Jliive years, it'isigur*? ‘<
those who are pivjlai-fng for the Gvapel Ministry;
A (JoHegiate Court* of four years, .-qv.al 1>; ihsi > I j
other Colleges in the country;
j AN< irntijie Course of three years, including, w it,!. •
i sonic Additions, nil the studies of the Collegiate Course .
except the Ancient Languages;
An Acade.nicol Course, including whatever ir ne.ees
sary to prepare for admission into College.
ADMISSION.
The regular t ime for the admission of Students, is.a! |
the opening of the Fall Term, the last Wednesday ir> i
August.
Candidates for admissiou into the Collegiate Course |
must sustain a *atisfactory examination on Geography; i
Arithmetic; English, Latin and Greek Grammar; Csesar; j
Virgil; Cicero’s Select Orations; and Jacob’s Greek I
Reader; and must be at least fourteen years of age.
Candidates for admission into the Scientific Course ;
must, sustain a satisfactory examination on Geography;;
Arithmetic; English Grammar; Simple Equations in:
Algebra; and two book? in Geometry; and must be. ;t i
sixteen years of age.
Cuitm of Sfntly
IN THE COLLEGIATE DEPARTMENT
FRESHMAN CLASS.
'tH.S‘r TERM. af.CONU T/.tlAi
Livy, f,ivV. ton!inveth
Xenophon’s A nahnsts. Cicero De Olui iir .
Greek and Roman Vnlhiuuir*, Hei’>dtitus. i
.i-huMU’s Dictionary,* Algebra, romple.tnl.
Andrews’ Latin Exercises, Geometry.• L' , mi*V ’’
Arnold’s Greek Pros.’ t'mnpo■ Rhetoric, mntinueA.
virion,
Algebra,(Day’s,; ‘
Rhetoric, (Newman’s,) J
Andrew sand Stoddard’* Latin Gnuninaf is used
j SOPHOMORE CLASS.
entST TF.RM. tK’ oNO
j Horace.statin** atul EjmmW, IT*r.t<-e, Ar of I‘oetryA* < I<l*
; Demiisilienes-'ii the Crown, i h -r,, fn Omrore, >
| Geometry, owtphlnf, I il-r:-wV lii.-d.
I I’lkita .Solid .ami Spherical. ( i’i.v.,- ,y. (ijd;.-rha.JTrisoin,i.
j et.>y. Gw.-wisCi
Se.rtev u- • !;■. v.eK 1 ,, 1
: • So-tOes. • Bri<i*e V .
ICN'IOR o;,ass.
MUST TRRM. T;a
I Cicero IV Orator*-, nontinunl, Andrian fTe-tenco,
! Xenophon V Memorabilia, I’r<vMh.-*u- .f yßirch>l-*
Dilferammt ami Integral Cal- Natural l’he.-dogy, (Raley *
ctdim. Net. PhilotjJ<llV,
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SENIOR CLASS.
rmSTTKHW. BECONO TXRiI-
Astronontyd Olmsted’s, Ih-tinv, Physiology AGeology
Intellectual Philosophy, I'p- AlorpiPhilosophy(Way-landV.) i
j ham’s,> Hutlcr'r Analogy,
Eviii ofChristianiiy/ (bile.yV.i Polit'bEconomy. l VVe.ylHndVi ;
Elem’UofCriticiwn, Knnies’yAiserieanCohM'itutMiii
(iorgiai o) ‘Mato, or
Juvenal International Lai’ 1
EXPENSES.
Tuition Fees. Spring lemn. Foil Ter in
In. Theological Skhinakk. Nothing. Nothing
is Ooi.lkob, - $25 00 sls 00 !
Scientific Course, - 25 00 1 fi 00 (
In Ac a Di.it t
Preparatory Class, - - 26 00 16 00 t
Second “ - iiO 00 12 00 1
Third “ 15 00 9 00 i
Elementary “ 10 00 600 ‘
Room Rent, ... dOO 400 !
Contingent Expenses, - 200 100 j
; These expenses are required to he paid in advance,
t From Students who lodge in the College buildings,
i fifty dollars will be received as full payment for the j
! tuition fees, room rent, and contingent expenses of the )
j year.
The price of Hoard iu the village is $lO per month i
of washing, room rent,, tifld fuel,
Commencement and Vacation*.
The Commencement is held on the last, Wednesday
in -July.
There are two Vacations, dividing the year into two ;
terms, as follows:
First Term —from last “Wednesday in August to De- •
oemher 15th.
Winter Vocation —from December 16th to February j
Ist.
Second Term —from first -lay of February to Cnru-j
mencoment.
Summer Vacation —from Comm- tmament to last. Wed
nesday in August. 0. L. BATTLE,
Aee’y. of the Board of Trustees.
August 21 “ 34
Southern Baptist ilf.view for 1856, -
EDITORS:
j. R. GRAVES, Naißvdile, Team
.1. M. PENDLETON, Bowlirg Green, Ky.
N. M. CRAWFOKD, i'enfield, Go.
Terms ?2 00 per .iiitii in advance.
Graves Mark* & 00., Publishers, Na-Lville, Tennessee.
The following Articles, Reviews and Exegeses will
appear in the forthcoming numbers of Hie Review:
llevi<*w ‘< Dr. Summer’s Strictures on Howell's]
“Evils of Infant Baptism.” —Ite-view of Hibbard on !
Baptism —Ethnology against Moses, a Review of Mor- I
| ton Mofci. and Gliddons work; The Philosophy of Re
| ligion (continued) touching man’s relation to the Me
| diaitorinl Government of Christ, the Holy Spirit; Faith, I
j Evangelical by .Justification. The Importance of j
I American Freedom to Christianity—its foe the Papacy. 1
I The Great West, its importance and wants. German ;
Theology, its character and influence; Principles, Pol- i
ily and’ History of Jesuitism. The Scriptural doe- :
trine of ihe Resurrection against Modern Theories,— -
. Revieiy ot Bush's Anastasß What Language did •
Christ and hi- Apo-Mdes speak and write! The Change •
of the Sabbath from the 7th to the Ist day oi the week, i
Examination Barnes’ Notes <> Text* rduling to Bap
tism. From the London Baptist Magazine (>t series.) •
The Covenants of Circumcision no vrrour.J for infant ’
Baptism, because still in force. The literal Restore-!
tion of the .T,*w. A review of “the Covenants.” by J
Howell.
Fn'th; Evaugelicfil; Jtwtification by F'dith The
Atonemefit, natni-e nnd extout.. liniuitation, Impu
ted Ei;r'it,oouane.sa. The Agency of the Holy Spirit
iu the Conviction nnd Regeneration of tlie Sinner.
Divine Foreknowledge and Human Agency Hoi-iptu
rally Looonoihtl.de. The Seal of the Kew Covcuont.
The Grounds find Evils of the Dogma of Believers
I ApoKtacy; T’iie Laws so. the interpretation of the
| l’ropheoie*. The Synoptical Interpretation of the
i Book of Reyalations—Chiliaant in. the N'ineiuenth
! Ceuknry. The Scriptural I'ehni'io;i of Eccler-iu, or
j the Christian Church; IVotesiaeis Societies not Chris
-1 tian Chnrchee nor branches of < , }.i*i.-;t’s Church; The
’ Design of Baptism [a stthp-et fur * • little understood
; er insisted upon,] Baptism: for the Remission ot ‘-it.-,
I t>, Eliler W. C. Buffk. The PoKiy of Hptweopal Me'!)-
i cdi-.ro i'yaatiiied hy S. llmiderson, Aiu. John’s Bh) •
i liguj w a*'t- CLi-Htianf —ltehnptiem. The Ctmceasoor,
: of l’;.>!*'•. Gi .eks and Proteeiatit* for ICOG years i.t
\ favor of Baptist Principle*, (u eerie.'.) fteviev.s of
i Dr*. Onlctvjiiu’-t iTi-tory and Robin-or.V Greek LexicOa.
! Dowling cu Romanism, involving a discussion of the
I Ten 1 pore’ power of the Pope. tJcarifs Church iiisto
j rVt Auierioai: Slavery, ifi it o-f Divitn* Institution and ‘
Sanetiuiiml by the New Testamrutf Geologists against
the Mosaic Account of a Priivernal Deluge Reviewed, j
The Six days of Creation, hy Prof. Taylor, Reviewed;
A synoptical view of the various 1 eligious denomina
tions of the United States.
EXEGESES.
John iii: 4, o. “Born of water ami Spirit.
Hebrews vi: 6th and 1 Otli chapters. If they shall j
fall away. *e. i
Acta xix: 1, rt. “And when they heard t.his they
were baptised.” Who were baptized!
John xii: 1.4. “Ye also ought to wash one another’s
feet.” Is feet washing church ordinance!
I Peter iii: 18, 40- By which also he went, and:
preached unto the Spirits in prison.
1 Corinthians is: at>. “I therefore so ran,” Lc,
Matthew iii: 11. The baptism in the Holy Spirit—
The baptism iu fire..
Matthew xxiv When shall these things be, and 1
what shall be the sign of thy coming, and the end of :
the work!?
The Editors are making airangeraents to receive the
earliest copies of all the Religious and, Theological i
work* issued hy the American press, to notice in the!
Review; we shall be prepared to announoe them some
time before their pnblieation.
Feb ftl I
Xovrmbrr 13, 1856.
? m : AYER’S
CATHARTIC
OPER i ri! by ltf.ir inm.-i !ui inflaei.-e ...a the internal ri
ccrii to purify thr blood ami aliioulute it into ho<hy,ijc
iiuo. They neiuGie the obstructions of tic- ■ -..cmuch, bowels, liver,
• ,:tl other orjmhs of the bbily, and. by rfestornp their Irrejjulr.r ac
tion to health, correct, wherevbi they exist, such derangemfots
<• ere the first causes of dlseuce. An extensive trial of their vlr
k.m, by Professors, Physician*, an.l Patients, lias shown Aires t>!
dun^eioils itis. uses -almost beyond belief, were they not substanti
ated by persons of sucli exaltedyosHlon nr.d character n? to forbid
the suspicion of untruth. Their certificates art- published m'my
American Almanac, which the Aycnt-- below named are pleased to
i furnish free to nil JufjHiring.
| Annexed ve rive Directions for their i:r in the complaints
i which they have been found to cut e.
Zok COST!rsKKSr—Take >nc or two I‘ills, or such quantity l s to
j. Kcntly move the bowels. Costiveness frequently the aggriiva
: tinsreause of Piles, ami the cure of one complaint i/thecure of
; both. No person can feel well while mirier a costive habit of body
H . ace it should he, h- it ctm be, promptly relieved.
For Dyshpsu, which is sometime-- tlioonuse nf Costivcness, and
i always uncomfortable, take mild dns.-s—n om not to four—to stim
! uUtie the stomach and liver into healthy- action. They will do it,
and the hfurtturn, bfi&bum tin.ldOiofAi.; ->/ of dyspepsia will rap-’
j Wly disappear. Whim it Khs gone, don’t ferret what cured you.
• For a Foil. cToM.tCU, nr .Vor/abf ; ..ef-.'o* ./ tbe-JuvM, which
yroductsgeneral depression of :;• rpirt-s r.rd bad health, take
from four to eightPiil* at first, and smaller noses ,rwards., un
til wttivity uniistrength is ret.ton.nl to the system.
t;..r XfciivotsNjsa, Kick HeaDacw:, .N'.-.rfv... Jv.m In the Stem.
i <rc, Jkt&t in’ Side, take ftvuii four t< dit'.t -lip . on going to’bed.
If they do not operate sufficiently, take idbt ••• the itt-xl dsy until
they d-.. These complaints will be swept < tij'-.uu thorstein.—
Uon’t wear these and their kindred disorder, beeattse vour stout*
srit is foul.
If.-vr acAnrouv, nnietraeaw, “.it"’ t’H dl* ••■'** 17' 77b- Wit, take
thvjhUc fr-cly and frequently, to .s-ep the bow-pis open. Thecrup
i tior.s will generally soon begin to di.- cppcur. Many
! dreadful ulcers and sores have K.Vhealcd up by the purging and
;. purifying eilbct of these Pills, and r.uue disgustutg disuses which
, seemed to eatttate the irholo *y- “nt have completely yielded “to
their influence, leaving the auEerer in } riv-ct health. Patients!
: your riurv to society forbids that you should parade yotgieelf
around tl.” world covered wrth pimplepi, era, sore*, and
ail or any of the unclean iiiaee..H of ti-c -kin, her use your system
j wants cleansing.
, Tp PcKifY Tits Blood, they .re lie.- “- t medicine ever, discovor
• ed. They Should be taken ireely ho : frequently, and the impttri
. ties which now the .seeds of inonrab’ ■ diseases will be -wept out of
the system like chaff before the win . By this property- they do as
rvi-h good in presenting sit knc = > by the rctriiirkable cures
wjH. bey are making every where.
Compi.aikt, JsrjcDtcv, Oo'! ...” JUKj.i* arl*.-
fr . - tome derangetnent—cither torpidity, congestion, 01 obetruc.
1 ’ ...a ~ the Liver. Torpidity .n l one .--iiotj itiatc the bile and
vc u* - i*. unlit for digestion. -This i t disc Steens to t* - health, and
1 the :< nspiution is frequently undermined b„ no uii.tr cause. 111-
i dip T-ttu.u l the symptom; Obstruction .rftbe duct wi ;b empties
, ; ,t- t-bc into the stomach causes tno-bile to overlie • the blood.
) dis produces Jaundice, with a !•>: > and daitK : -..t- -.mitt of evils.
. Oi,j‘..r.i;css,or alternately coatircu-.-ss ami tliarrhu :. prevails.—
. Few. fU symptom, languor, low spirit?, wrarii.v? >, restlessness,
’ ::ud -.dsncholy, with sometimes ictbiii'-j to sleep, j nd sometimes
ore t drowsiness; sometime* there is revere i Ain the side; th ‘
>=•• -nd llio white of the eyes faecomcagreenisi.ysßotr; the stom
ach ‘ id; the bowels sore to ti:t> touch; the whole system irritable, •
f. tendency to fever, which n- v p.r.i to bilious fever, bilious
boiic bilious diarrhoea, dysentery, it. A medium dcac of three or
fog- Pi!! taken at night, followed by •oor •• ■•.- in the morning,
f tori repeated a few days, will remove be cause of all these trou
; I)’t s. It Is wicked to suffer such pain- when ; ;i can cure them for
2 j rente.
j Übkomatiom, Goct, titf all •.a’- rn fee* are rapidly
; cured by the purifying effect, of these Pills unon the blood and the
stimulus which they afford to the vital principle oi Life. For these
j and all kindred complaints theyshduhl be taker, in mild dosee, to
: move the bowels gently, but freciy.
Asa Dinner Pill, this is both agreeable and useful. No Pill cau
! be made more pleasant to take, and certainly none lias been made
more effectual to the purpose for which a dinner pill is employed.
’ Prepared by
c. \ i
Practical Analytical t in-mist,
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