Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

CHRISTIAN^INDEX AND SOUTH-WESTERN BAPTIST. VOL. 47-NO. 16. A RELIGIOUS AND FAMILY PAPER, PUBLISHED WEEKLY IE ATLANTA, Q-A. JT. J. T O O Proprietor. FOR TERMS SEE FOURTH PAGE An Essay on the Reciprocal Duties of Church es and Pastors. Bv Rev. Leonard T. Dotal. Bead before the Minister s' Meeting held in Griffin, Ga. December 21th, 1867. If the Pastors of Churches, mhst thus be panoplied with the whole aimor of God; if the Lord Jesus from whom they receive their commission, has imposed these onerous, but delightful burdens upon them ; if prompted by the influence of the Holy Spirit, they involun tarily exclaim, “ Woe is me if l preach not the Gospelthe great practical question is : “ What are the duties of Churches to their Pastors ? We shall proceed to present our view of the subject as brief as possible, and with the earnest prayer, that Christians may awake to the solemn responsibilities resting upon them, and discharge, with fidelity, the trust reposed in them. It is true that the tempest of war has swept over our beautiful heritage, pros trating our industrial pursuits, and sweeping away the bulk of our fortunes. We have been left comparatively poor; and penury and want stare us in the face.• Pastors and peo pie feel alike the devastations of the recent conflict of arms. But is it true, tha|jWe have been so reduced and straightened ip our cir .. eumstanees, that we cannot supply the minis ters with the necessaries of life? Shall we drive our Pastors into the farm, workshops, school room, office, or counting room to labor for the support and maintainance of them selves and their families ? If we d<>, they can not devote their time and talents to the dis charge of the duties of their holy mission ; and the cause of the Lord Jesus, must consequent ly suffer. What then is the obvious duty of the churches, in this the hour of our trial ? We maintain — Ist. That the Churches should provide for the pecuniary wants of their Pastors. We do not mean to say, that the Churches are to enrich their Pastors; but we do affirm earnestly, that they must provide for their ne cessities. It is a sqjemn duty which the Lord of Glory has imposed upon them, which they cannot ignore without incurring the Divine displeasure, and proving recreant to their ob ligations as Christians. That the churches may properly understand their duties in this respect, we refer to a few texts, which are too blear to be misapprehended, and too pungent to be avoided with impunity. Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians, ix ; 13, 14, says: “Do you not know, that they which minister about holy thingi, live of the things of the temple : and they which wait at the altar, are, partakers with the altar ; evew so, hath the Lord ordained that they the Gospel, shall live of the Gospel. ” which offered sacrifices un der the'ceremonial law* were provided for and devoted their whole time to the discharge of their official duties; to force conviction on the minds of his Corinthian brethren, the Apostle declared that he “ who preaches the Gospel should live* of the Gospel ” as the Priesthood lived of the sacrifices offered in the temple. If we closely scrutinize the phra' seology of this text, we will find, that it is not a permissive rule prescribed by the Lord Jesus, but a positive decree, binding upon all of His disciples. How then do Christians dis obey this solemn injunction, without com punction of conscience, and imagine that their advances to their Pastor are donations, in stead of a debt due him, for.services rendered in his official character. Again,-it is written/ “The laborer is worthy of his hire,” Luke, x: 7. Here it will be, perceived, that the Pastor is not pronounced worthy of a charita ble contribution, but of his hire. He is not and should nut, be a beggar, or an object of charity, t He has been commissioned from on high to Labor for the conversion of the world, and the paramount obligation, and reciprocal duty of his church, is, to sustain him in the discharge of the arduous duties of his office. Again, the Apostle propounds to his Corinth ian brethren, and to every member of the vis ible church, the solemn enquiry : “ Who go eth a warfare any time at his own expense? Who planteth a vineyard and eateth not of the fruit thereof? and who feedeth a flock and eateth not of the rail it,,of the flock? If we have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great thing if we shall reap of you carnal things?” —(lst Coriuthian, ix: 7, 11.) The Apostle’s language is clear and unmistakable; indeed it is a pointed rebuke to those who imagine that Pastors should devote their time and attention to their churches, without de manding of the membership what is justly due them. As we do not desire to animad vert too strongly, on the delinquencies of the membership of the churches to their Pas tors, we do not propose to direct their at ten tion to any additional texts; for if those al ready quoted, fail to awaken them to a sense of their duty, we regard their cases as hope less, and their consciences as impenetrable as the mountain rock. The primitive churches provided for the immediate necessities of their Pastors, and sent them forth into the world on thejr h >ly missions bearing precious seed ; a'ii. w?hy do un churches of this genera tion obey the Apostolic injunction, and follow the noble example of the early Christians?— The usual, and I may add, inadmissible reply is, “ We are not able to pay the preacher. ” Let us examine the excuse briefly, and ascer tain whether it will stand the test of truth, and be received as valid, in the day of final accounts. In the days of the Apostles, the disciples of Christ were subject to ignomini ous expulsions from their homes.—tortured for conscience sake, and consumed at the stake for ejevotion to the cause of the Master.— They were hunted down like wild beasts, and their property forcibly taken from them.— Like the Captain of their salvation, “They had not where to lay their heads ”; and yet, they persistently sent forth their ministering brethren with their prayers and tears, to bless their persecutors. While they preached, me FRANKLIN PRINTING HOUSE, ATLANTA, GA., THURSDAY, APRIL 16. 1868. churches prayed and provided for their want*, and the necessities of their families. Such was the history of the churches, for the first, three centuries, and during the dark ages when the fires of persecution, lighted up the Eastern Continent with the consuming bodies of the martyrs of the faith. And yet, we who enjoy the blessings of civilization, and the puwer and influence of the Gospel, in a count ry blessed with a soil capable of producing every thing necessary for our comfort and en joyment, complain of poverty,and refuse to pay the Pastor a just compensation for his labors. Can the churches expect the divine blessing, so long as they manifest such pepuri ousness, injustice, and contempt for the word of God? Can they hope that God will con vert their children, and pour the Holy Spirit upon a sin-cursed world, amidst such apathy, and indifference to the triumphs of the Gospel, and the extension of the Redeemer’s Kingdom? Shall we be told, that although our fields, the present year, have waved with golden har vests, and we have been provided with food and raiment, by the Father of mercies, the churches are too poor to spare a little of their abundance to their ministering brethren ? If each mender of a church, composed of thirty communicants, should send his' Pastor four bushels of corn, one bushel of wheat, and forty poui|ds of pork, the aggregate be one hundred and twenty bushels of corn, twelve gbunds of flour, and twelve hundred pounds of pork. In addition to thjs, if each were to pay ten dollars cash, the swm of three hundred dollars would b T e r£i|ed, an amount sufficient,-‘with the abovfe supples, to ’provide handsomely for the wants of a Pas tor, provided h<>rne, and living- in the country. Os course, Pastors of city churches should be better sustained, as their outlays for house rent, fuel, and other incidental ex- penses arc much greater. We believe, that there are few churches in this heaven favored land, that could not ap proximate these figures without material in jury, if they would make the proper effort, and be willing to offer the sacrifice. Let it be done, and the churches will flourish like trees planted by the river of waters, and the universal complaint of Christian indifference to the interests of Zion, will be silenced, and the faithful Pastor, who has wept over the languishing condition of his church, will be made to rejoice, and labor with an earnestness and zeal, worthy of the cause in which he is engaged. This must, be done. The Lord Je sus demands the sacrifice. The perishing millions of our race, must be taught the way of salvation. The Pastor, whose soul longs for the coming of the Lord, is ready to begin the work, if stimulated by his brethren ; and the sweet assurance thjjt his labor “ shall not be in vain in the Lord,” will give him addi tional power. “ Loose him and let him go.” “ Why stand ye here all the day idle?” Ye careless ones! how can you escape the condem nation and chastisement of the Lord Jehovah, if you stand by with lolded hands while your Pastor is struggling with adversity, his chil dren crying for bread, and the partner of his sorrow toiling for a scanty subsistence. If the churches continue to manifest this stolid indifference to the prosperity of Zion, they need not wonder, if God should withhold the early and latter rain,—send mildew upon the earth, and chastise with severity his faithless and disobedient children. The wail of the ancient prophet was, that the people stoned the servants of God, who were sent to rebuke their infidelity. The same lamentation now greets the ears of those who are at ease in Zion. It is true, that the ministers are not stoned to death, but the churches are killing them by the slower process of starvation.— The money wasted in attending parties, balls, and the circus, and in the purchace of togge ry, to beguile the young into graves of idola try, it applied to the payment of the salary of the Pastor, would be sufficient to relievo him from the cares of the world, and enable him to devote his whole time and attention to the ministry of the word. If the profess ing Christian for some real, or fancied wrong, Jails out with his neighbor, he at once engages the: services of a-faithful and experienced law yer, to avenge, the insult, without regard to cost, or expense. If he gets sick, a faithful messenger, is dispatched for a physician to heal his malady, without enquiring the price of prescriptions; and yet, when the soul, the priceless jewel of the skies, the gem that must flash in the sunlight of heaven forever, or wail amid the fires that are never quenched, is involved, it awakens no sympathy, and stirs •not the slumbering energies of the Christian. Surely, we tread upon enchanted ground— have been charmed by the syren voice of the tempter, and lured by the treacherous in fluences to which we have yielded, while a voice, yes a sweet voice echoes from the cross and trembles down the corridors of time, saying, “it you love me, keep my command ments.” The watchman upon the walls of Zion, the sentinel upon the outposts of the camp of Is rael, dare* not cry, “all is well.” Whilst the membership slumbers, he watches on the high towers of Zion ; the nights are long and drea ry ; the pitiless storms of hunger and neg lect, make it a night of weeping. He has watched in tears, but the beneficiaries of his intense desires, and unremitting labors, have forgotten hirn. Now, he too sleeps from ex haustion, while the enemy is stealing into the slumbering camp. “Awake thou that sleep est, arise from the dead. ” “ Awake, oh, sleeper, and call upon thy God.” Shall the church arm them for the fight, and war a good warfare, or permit the enemy to storm the ramparts of Zion, by crushing their cap tains, without making an effort to repel the assault? These are questions of tremendous import, and each must answer at the bar of conscience : “ Have I done my duty, or have I, by neglecting to provide for my Pastor, contributed to the languishing condition of the church ?” {To be Continued.) Pbayer Winged prayers have ustfally a wing ed answer—they ate answered — Caryl. The Friends. I. “ Percy, will you go with me to church, to night ? ” asked a young man of his friend, as they stood together for a moment at the street corner. The last church bell was ring ing, and many were passing just then, on their way to the sanctuary. Perhaps it was a nov el question for Harry Del mar to ask, for Percy Grey moved nearer to him and scanned narrowly his usually expressive face, as if he doubted the seriousness of the proposal. But the bright gas light showed a pair of earnest *eyes, looking eatgerly for some indication of assent; but Percy only laughed sarcastically, and shrugged his shoulders, as if the bare idea were preposterous. Harry was too much in terested, however, to be answered thus, and he asked : “ Can you give any reason for re fusing ? ” “None better than this: 1 have an en gagement, and besides, do not wish to go; but what do you mean standing here with such a solemn phiz, asking rtke such questions, have you turned saint?” * “ Don’t Percy; I changed my views on tile subject of religion since I talked with you last. I see things from a different stand-point now. I have avoided you for the last week, in order that 1 might examine the case with as little prejudice as possible, and now, tyam ready to renounce all my former ielieff^ strange commingling of mirth, disgust* atod astonishment struggled for the mastery Percy’s features when Harry said this; but he exciairritd : “ Harry Deljnar, 1 little expected this of you, you, the leader of our set, to have your brain filled %ith such notions! But you are joking, or rather, you have beeq shut up at home, till you are “ blue come, shake off tffese vapors, and go with me. We have a club meeting to-qjght, you know ; and there will be some rare spirits in our midst. Walters tells me we will have a ‘big speech,’ which I know will be all that you will need to set your troubled heart at ease.” “No, l cannot go, nor must you —come with me. T’will be better than listening to Walters and others like him, whose strongest arguments are mere sophistry. ” “ Delmar, do you really mean to desert us ? Where are your principles, man ? What will all the club say to this ? ” And with his most persuasive tone he continued, turning, meanwhile, towards their old resort. But Harry, who was not to be moved, only urged the more, the importance of leaving off those old habits, when Walters passed by, and Percy, calling after him, turned abruptly from Harry and left him alone. As Delmar walked in the direction of the church, his mind was full of sorrowful thought. A few weeks before he had been one of those “ rare spirits ” of whom Perey spoke, but a gracious revival commencing in the town, he was led to abandon his former habits ; and from a strong atheist, he had become an hum ble, trusting follower of Christ. After his own soul had found peace in believing, the burden of his desires was, that his best friend, Percy Grey, might be led to y the same healing waters. Percy was a young man of many fine qualities, and, now that Harry’s eyes were opened, he shuddered to see him en trapped in the snares of evil associates ; and all the joys of the newly found love, burning so warmly in his own heart, caused him to re solve that henceforth it was to be his life-work to labor for the salvatiou of his friend, though it be long ere the Lord send down his bless Day after day the work of the Lord pro gressed, but Percy Grey kept aloof from its influence, and his heart grew harder, till many looked upon hirn as a confirmed sceptic, and hopelessly lost. But Harry never forgot to spread his case before the Lord, and his un yielding faith, his sterling integrity did more toward softening Percy’s aversion to Christian ity than the. most elaborate discourse, many of whose arguments were refuted simply by a survey ot Harry’s pious walk. But he was to be led through deep waters before he could be made to bow submissively to a Divine Ruler. The bloody banner of war was unfurled, and Percy, with his countrymen, took up arms in the defence of his rights and liberties.— Side be side he stood with Harry, and the bonds of that friendship which had been formed amid the peaceful pursuits of home life, were only cemented by the hardships of a long campaign. On the tedious march, the red field of battle, or around the glowing camp fire, they were alike inseparable. Percy stifl clung to his old doctrine, and in this alone were they divided. However, Harry had found an ally in the person of a young soldier. Not more than nineteen summers had passed over his head, yet he possessed all those man ly qualities which we look for in men of more mature years. His high-toned princi ples, his free and easy manners, were perfect ly irresistible, and soon the trio were fast friends. Charlie Haitipton, whose character had been moulded by pious parents, did much to strengthen Harry in his daily walk, and the influence of two such professors could but make Percy favor, more and more, a religion which from his childhood he had despised. One night when the contending armies lay encamped opposite each other, and an en gagement was expected the next day, the three friends were seated around a- blazing fire in Harry’s tent. But a cloud hung over the usually sunny face of Charlie, and all the efforts of Harry an 1 Percy were powerless to drive away its shadow. After sitting for. some time in a fit of abstraction, he said that on the morrow he should meet the enemy for the last time, for a presentiment of death had forced itself on his mind all day. His clear, ringing, voice faltered for an instant when he saw the expression of pain on the face of his friends; but he continued dwelling on the subject with such earuestness, that in spite of their efforts to consider it a mere fancy, the thought fell like a cold, dead weight on their hearts. He spoke of the friendship which had knit their souls so closely together; and '' '■ .-••‘•jSK &'**?&.* ~ of the home and its lov<ed ones far away, which he should never *p*.again ; then of the approach of. death, as if 'be reganJfai it as a kind release. It if that Saviour, in whom he trusted so illicitly, had drawn as'de the veil, and given Him glimpses of his inheritance beyond the ; for his eye kindled with joy, and his'voice had that tran quil modulation which is#ftly heard when the soul feels that all is well. Long after he had folded his blanket around him, and lay sleeping so peacefully, Harry sat, and gazing in the globing embers, mused on his strange conversation ; ’twas not like Charlie’s happy spirit, to entertain gloomy forebodings, and though he endeavored to shake off the impression, a dull aching sensa tion oppressed him, an 4 drove slumber far from his pillow. The same feeling weighed on Percy’s heart, who bad been ordered to guard a post not far distant. As he should ered his rifle, and began the monotonous pac ing to and fro, the words rang in his ear, and his elastic step grew slaver, as he thought of codling days, which wyuld miss the light of Charlie's smile. Back and forth he passed again andagain, but half unconscious, as memory re called the time when they bad first known each other, and dwelt nth loving minuteness on every noble trait of the sleeping boy. . The fitful light, reveaji'i.- only here and there an object, conspired to r< nder the night more ■gloomy, and the thoughts of the lonely guard came faster, and faster, back from the past. He compared his own life wjth that of the intre pid Harry, and with the high principled Char lie. His soul would fajn have turned shud deringly from this but faithful memory field her blotted scroll before-ljim, till an involun tary groan broke from his lips, and he pressed his hand hardly on his heart, as if to still its tumultuous throbbing. ‘ Conscience, aroused from its lethargy, was .doing its work, and when relieved of his post, he retired to snatch a few moments’ was perfectly mis erable. The morning dawned,'fend the booming of cannon, aud the hissing of shells, announced the beginning of the iwy* With defiant, fearless tread, the men taarched into the hot conflict. All through the day Delmar, Grey and Thompson had fought side by side, but late in the evening, white making a gallant charge, Charlie was moitally wounded. As he reeled and fell, Percy caught him in his arms, and in the next >noment was himself struck by the fragmentofa shell,with such force as to inflict a deep fleslrwound on his head. Heedless of the crimscs) gore that trickled down on his own face, be raised the inani mate form of Charlb, and endeavored to check the gushing tide of blood, till the pallid lips, the glazing eye, UM how surely the mis sile of death had done its work. The waver ing lines of the enemy at length gave way, and the victorious pursuers left the dead, the wounded, far behind theft). The pealing thun der of battle sounded far off, and at last ceased, and the victors returned to care for those, whose spilt blood told the fearful cost of the glorious triumph. Delmar retraced his steps to where he re membered having seen Charlie fall, but he stood transfixed, for a moment, when he saw the two prostrate forms, for the shock to Per cy’s feelings, together with pain, and loss of blood, had been too much for him, and he had lain unconscious for some time, with the head of poor, dead Charlie, resting on his arm. Percy was somewhat restored by having cold water dashed over his blood-stained face, and when he was able to stagger to a seat, Har ry’s next thought was of the brave soldier, the tried friend, who lay so near, cold and lifeless. But affection for the living demand ed his care, and only for a moment did he bend over the white face, only once press his hand on the icy forehead, then with colorless cheek, but steady nerve, he severed a single lock of the chestnut hair; and with only his cloak for sheet and shroud, the shallow grave received the remains of the young hero; his name was carved on the tree that sheltered his last resting place, and the life-drama of Charlie Hampton was over. Percy Grey had sat like one stupefied, un til Harry laid his hand on his shoulder, and pointed to the distant city where they must go, but hoarsely whispering, “ Not yet, oh, not yet!” and shivering‘with agony he sank down by the grave. The sun was fast setting, and its red rays struggling through the smoke of battle, fell feeblyonthe fresh, moist clods arid on the bared heads of those who knelt beside them. Into the hospital, long ranges of narrow berths, Percy was carried, with a rag ing fever. Day after day passed, but still his blood sped like fiery coursers through his veins, till a pale, emaciated frame, was all that remained of his once strong, symmetrical form. In his delirium, he again grappled with the foe in deadly fight, or listened to the merry laugh of Charlie, around the camp fire. More than one brushed away a hasty tear, as they heard him plead, in piteous tones, for those friends, or saw him start up to go to them. But the fierce disease gave way ; its power haa passed, and he lay as helpless as an infant. Consciousness returned, intellect slowly re sumed its sway, but his pride was gone ; his only desire was to obtain rest and peace, but wJiere was he to find this? His infidelity had no solace to offer, and his yearning heart turned now in its weakness to that source of all strength, which, in self-reliance, he had des pised. And to the child in faith, the long sought peace came' and rested on his troubled soul. The war ended, and on Charlie Hampton’s grave now blooms many a fragrant token of love’s presence; and a simple marble slab tells how, and when he died. Though the best hopes of many a heart lie crushed under the ruins of the dreadful conflict, yet, Percy Grey does not murmur at that dark provi dence, which alone seemed sufficient to arouse him to a sense of his soul’s lost condition; while Delmar bows, with humble reverence, before God, who “ maketh the wrath of man to praise Him, and the remainder will He re strain;” Lizzie May. Mrmry, 18«8. Superior Credibility of Testimony to a Mlrn ele.—Belief in Miracles not Contrary to Reason.—Direct Proof of Miracles. I—Having, in a former article, shown the fallacy of certain arguments intended to show that a Miracle cannot be proved*, the way is opened for claiming a higher degree of credi bility for testimony, when it relate& tp a Mir acle, than when it relates to ordinary facts. The criteria which determine the value of testimony, are the same in each case. One of these is, the degree of attention of the wit ness to the facts at the time the/ transpire. The more remarkable the facts, the greater will be the attention. The more strongly at tention is drawn to any event, the more dis tinct and indelible the impression which it makes, and the less the liability to a lapse of memory. Nothing is more common than that persons retain a distinct remembrance of extraordinary facts. There is less liabili ty to mistake, therefore, on the part of one testifying to a Miracle, than if his testimony related to an ordinary occurrence. We de mand stronger testimony, it is true, for an extraordinary event, because we regard ante cedent probability as an element of proof; and also, because our interest in ordinary facts is less. But were we required to decide upon the testimony alone, the same criteria must be applied to the latter as to the former; and it is evident that the increased attention would be an element ip favor of the witnesses to an extraordinary event. In»the resurection of Lazarus, for example, it is far more proba ble that those who witnessed it would retain a distinct recollection of the facts, than that they should have remembered the particular medicine prescribed by a physician in his or dinary practice; and by just so much is their testimony the more valuable. When, there fore, we have ascertained the character of a witness'to be reliable, there is more reason for believing his testimony to a miraculous, than to an ordinary, fact. To this may be objected, greater liability to deception, with respect to extraordinary events. A juggler, for example, performing his tricks, before an ignorant audience, might lead them to suppose that he actually did what he proposed to do. Even in this case, however, the competency of the witnesses, as to the apparent facts, is all the more credible, because of their awaken ed attention, though as to the cause of these apparent facts, they are ignorant and deceived. The deception is not as to what they actually saw, but as to its cause. All, therefore, that this increased liability to deception demands, is, care to distinguish between testimony as to facts, and as to the cause of these facts, and to ascertain, whether, in relation to the form er, deception was possible. ll.—lt has been asserted that belief in a mi racle, is contrary to reason ; because it is con trary to reason to helieve what we cannot comprehend, and a miracle is incomprehensi ble. Ist. It is not true that our belief is limited by our comprehension. We believe in God, but we cannot comprehend either His being or His nature. Os the fact of His existence we have evidence—of the mode of that exis tencc we have no knowledge. Os His char acter we have partial revelations, but a full comprehension of it, is a natural impossibility. Regarding the most common operations of natural law’s, we are alike ignorant. No phi losopher can comprehend the production of a spire of grass. All that can be known, are some of the more immediate agencies ; and of these we cannot comprehend how they pro duce the result. All our knowledge is limited and relative. We are compelled to believe facts, independently of our knowledge of their causes. Nay, more, we are compelled to be lieve in the absolute , although we cannot com prehend what the absolute is. So far is it from being contrary to reason to believe what we cannot comprehend, that we are forced to do so every day. 2nd. But, we can comprehend a miracu lous fact as far as we can comprehend any other fact. Those who witnessed the healing of the impotent man, at the pool of Bethesda, knew just as much of what was submitted to their senses, as they could have known ifi he had been cured by bathing in the pool. And as in the latter case they would have been compelled to believe in the remedial virtue of the waters, so in the former were they com pelled to believe in the healing power of the words of Jesus. It would not be necessary that they should comprehend how the waters effected a cure; neither was it that they should know how the words of Jesus did it. Their belief would be rational in either case, in the absence of such knowledge; and their testimo ny to the facts would lose none of its value by reason of their ignorance. It will be said, however, “ It is rational for us to believe that medicated baths cure dis ease, because we can understand something ©f their natural adaptation to this result; but ft is irrational to believe that a mere vford can have this effect, because we canhot under stand how it can have any such tendency.”— This form of the objection goes upon a prin ciple that would render the beliefof any phys ical fact any person who is ignorant of the laws of the phenomenon. The peasant, for example, must not believe that the seasons rotate, because he does not know why they do so. No man must believe that the moon influences the tides, because therea san is inscrutable. But, further, when we have assigned an ad equate cause for the miracle—the power of God—it is no more irrational to believe it was produced by that power, than if, a care ful analysis having demonstrated the medical properties of the waters, we should believe a cure to have been effected by them. It is not irrational to believe the fact of creation, though it is impossible to eomprehend the mode of it, and it cannot, therefore, be irra tional to believe in the exertion of Divine power, in any case, simply because we cannot comprehend it. lll.—But, supposing the facts of an/ re puted miracle, to be proved, the second inqui ry,—“ Are they miraculous ? Can it be proved that they are ?—comes to be consid ered. Jesus at the marriage feast at Cana in Gali lee, caused the water-pots to be filled with water; and then, at his command, wine was drawn from them for the company. Let it be granted that the facts were as stated : Was this a miracle? There are two sources of evi dence in reply to this question : Ist. That derived from the nature of the facts and circumstances. Every miracle must be self-witnessing—that is, such must be the facts au 1 attending circumstances, as to con vince those who witness it, that there is the exertion of supernatural power. A miracle which requires to be proved bv independent lestiinflhy, ceases to answer the purpose for which miracles are wraught. This is as a super natural testimony. To become such, it must be obviously the product ©f supernatural pow er. It must be of a nature not to be ac counted for by natural laws. And this is true, not only as relates to those who witness the event, but with respect to all who have access to their testimony.As the sun is seen by his own light, so must a miracle reveal its own character. That it is possible for God so to exert his power, that the very act shall manifest that power, cannot be doubted. To doubt here would be to blaspheme. And such an unmistakable manifestation of God’s power must be seen in any miracle wraught in his name, or we cannot be required to be lieve it such. No just objection can be urged against a candid effort to account, upon natu ral principles, for any event claiming to be miraculous. If, by any possibility, it can be shown that the water placed in these pots be come wine by a natural process, our thanks would be due to him who should accomplish i. But, if, on the contrary, this be impossi hie, and more, if such u change in the ab sence of supernatural power, would be in op position to natural laws well known and ful ly established, then we are compelled to as cribe the change to supernatural power. 2nd. Another source of evidence is, the timony of the person professing to work miracles. The value of this testimony de pends upon the character of the witness, as exhibited apart from his assumed miracles.— There must be ample evidence, in the history of the individua 1 , that he is fionest, and that he is not laboring under delusion. But if one evidently honest, and free from all suspicion of delusion, asserts that God has endowed him with miraculous power, and claims, by the exercise of that power, to raise the dead, then the fact that he does raise the dead, gives the seal of veracity to this claim. And thus up on two grounds : Ist. The possession of this power must be a matter of personal consciousness. When, then, one claims to exert it without possess ing it, he must be either an impostor, or a de lude,d enthusiast. 2nd. A miracle is wrought as a divine tes testimonv to the character and mission of the agent. It is not supposable that God would endow an impostor with such power. When therefore, one working miracles, testifies that he works them by the power of God, the tes timony and the miracle corroborate each oth er as evidence of the truth of the claim. We demand first independent proof of the char acter of the witness ; and next unimpeachable evidence of the facts. But having these, the facts corroborate the assertion of the witness as to their origin. A. M. Poindex'per. SflrrlisMS. Breaching with the Preacher. Our doctrine of unconscious and undesign ing influence shows how it is, that the preach ing of Christ is so oftenunfruitful, especial ly in times of spiritual cold ties, u isnot be cause truth ceases to be truth, nor, of neces sity, because it is preached in a less vivid' manner, but because there are so many influ ences preaching against the preacher. He is one, the people are many ! his attempt to con vince and persuade is a voluntary influence : their lives, on the other hand, and especially the lives of those who profess what is better, are so many unconscious influences, ever streaming forth upon the people, and back and forth between each other. He preaches the truth, and the}' with one consent, are preaching the truth down; and how can he prevail against so many, and by a kind of influence so unequal ? When the people of God are glowing with spiritual devotion to Him, and love to men, the case is different; then they are all preach ing with the preacher, and making an atmos phere of warmth for his words to fall in ; great is the company of them that publish the truth, proportionally great is its power. Shall I say more? Have you not already felt, my brethren, the application to which I would bring you? We do not exonerate ourselves; we do not claim to be nearer to God or holier than you, but ah ! you do not Know how easy it is to make a winter about us, or how cold it feels. — Dr. Bushnell. Duty of the Pew. It often happens that persons are convinced pf sin by the preaching of the Word, and the minister does not know it. He has no means af knowing it, and no one else seems to care know it. Persons become anxious for sal ■tation ; they need some one to direct them, jiut they are timid and shy and dare not open heir minds. They wait in hope that some one will speak to them ; but many such have waited for the word which was never spoken. What a pity that people, especially strangers, should go away from the house of God with tears in their eyes, and no members of the church take the slightest notice of them ! Yhere needs more directness in the pew as veil as in the pulpit. Each member of the church should feel it his duty to seek personal intercourse with those members of the con gregation with whom he is acquainted, in order that he may make direct personal ap peals to them, and, if possible, bring them tnto persoual communion with Christ. No stranger should be allowed to go to a place of worship for several Sundays in succession without receiving kind words, or without be ing subjected to respectful inquiries by some members of the church. It would be well if, in every church, a few godly people, with jjood address, were appointed to pick up B*"»ngers, and bring them into friendly inter .jourse. If a plan of this kind were faithfully *nd judiciously carried out, thousands of wandering sheep might every year be brought into the fold of Christ. In short, we consider that no Christian has done his duty who has not, as far as he reasonably could, made a ju dicious appeal to every member of the circle of his acquaintance on the subject of personal salvation.— Qh/risfkin Times. WHOLE NO. 2386. The Cross. Are thv toils nod woes increasing * Are the Foe’s attacks unceasing t Look with faith unclouded. Gaze with eyes uushrouded, On the Cross! Dost thou fear that strictest trial ? Trumblest thou at Christ’s denial ? Never rest without it, Clasp thine arms about it, That deur Cross! Diabolic legions press thee! Thoughts and works of sin distress thee ? It shall chase all terror, It shall right all error. That sweet Cross! f Draw’st thou nigh to Jordan’s river ? jShould'st thou tremble, noed’st thou quiver? No I il by it lying,— No I if on it dying,— Ou the Cross! Say then, —Master, w'hile I cherish That sweet hope, 1 cannot perish I After this life’s story, Give thou me the glory For the Cross 1 Methodius, /., A. £>., 846. Rest. “ He giveth His beloved sleep.” “Os all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto soul afar, Along the Psalmist’s music deep— Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this— * He giveth His beloved sleep I ’ Sleep soft, beloved, we sometimes say, And have no power to chase away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep ; But never doleful dream again Shall break (he happy slumber, when ‘ He giveth His beloved sleep.’ O earth, so full of dreary noises 1 O men, with wailing In your voices 1 0 delved gold, the waiter’s heap! 0 strife, 0 curse that o’er it fall 1 God makes a silence through von all And ‘ giveth His beloved sleep. ’ His dews drop mutely on the hill; His cloud üb'ove it suileth still, Though on itS'glope men tcil and reap 1 More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, ‘ He givefh His beloved sleep. ’ And friends-.flear friends—when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me— When round my bier you come to weep; Let one most loving of you all Say, ‘ Not a tear for her must fall, ‘ lie giveth His beloved sleep.’ ” — Mrs. Brovoniiuj. Union—Schism. The normal state of the church, as organ ized by Christ and his apostles, in dicates unity and uniformity. Unity in the faith and uniformity in the administration of ordi nances. It is therefore utterly vain to plead for union, except upon this basis, and here every sincere follower of Christ ought to seek the fellowship or communion of the church. In regard to the duty of union among all the friends of Christ, there can be no du biety ; nor are we aware of any who are op posed to the unity of the church -per se. — Hence all argument on this point is irrelevant and unnecessary. There are none of whom we are aware who contend for “denomina tionalism ” in opposition to the unity of the church; but dCnominationalism has arisen out of the church’s sinful divisions; and these again from the departure of those with in her pale from the truth revealed, or the worship divinely enjoined. Be the numbers great or small, the sin of schism lies with those who have perverted the truth or who have corrupted the ordinances of grace.— The church’s pristine unity and uniformity can only be'restored by the returyi of those who have deviated, to the platform of divine truth and to the pure dispensation of diviue ordinances. Every attempt at union short of this is “a daubing with untempered mor tar ” by which the breaches of Zion will be enlarged, rather than built up. — Presbyterian Witness. What One Sin Will Do. There was but one crack in the lanthorn, and the wind has found it out, and blown out the candle. How great a mischief one Un clouded point of character may cause us ! One spark blew up the magazine and shook the whole country for miles around. One leak sank the vessel and drowned all on board. One wound may kill the body. One sin de stroy the soul. It little matters how carefully the rest of the lanthorn is protected, the one point which is damaged is quite sufficient to admit the wind; and so it little matters how zealous a man may be in a thousand things, if he toler ates one darling sin ; Satan will find out the flaw and destroy all his hopes. The strength of a chain is to be measured, not by its strong est, but by its weakest link, for if the weak est snaps, what is the use of the rest? Satan is a very close observer, and knows exactly where our weak points are ; we have need of very much watchfulness, and we have great cause to bless our merciful Lord who prayed for us us that our faith fail not. Either our pride, our sloth, our ignorance, our anger, or our lust would prove our ruin unless grace interposed ; any one of our senses or faculties might admit the foe, yea, our very virtues and graces might be gates of entrance to our enemies. O, Jesus, if thou hast indeed bought me with thy blood, be pleased to keep me by thy power even unto the end.— Spurgeon. Need Shaking. My watch stops’; -something is broken in it. I take it to the watchmaker, and he puts in anew mainspring. I do not know any thing about it, except that he does it. And when it is repaired he lays itaside. Present ly I go for my watch, and ask him if it is done. “Oh yes,” he says, “ but 1 do not know as it is going.” And he takes it, and finding that it does not go, he winds it up, and then it does not go, perhaps; but he gives it a little shake, and it commences ticking and keeping time. And I know many persons that have a mainspring in them, and that have been wound up, for that matter, but that have not been shaken yet! And there they are. if somebody would only take them up and whirl them round a few times, and say to them, “You are Christians: tick ! tick!" they would commence keeping time, and go on keeping time. I have known persons that spent months and months, not only making no pro gress, but losing ground, just for want of knowledge of the fact that the office of the Lord Jesus Christ was to take p'eople in or der that they might be good, and that it was his nature, after he had taken them, to be pa tient with them, and help them, and bring all the power of his being to bear upon them to save them. Neglect op Pastors. —At a late social re union of the children and grandchildren of Wesleyan Ministers, London, Rev. Thomas Jackson said: He knew a man some sixty years ago, on one of the poor circuits in York shire, whose wife dj#d, and who had not even the means of meeting the funeral expenses. — No one offered him any assistance in the emergency, and the blessed man had to pack up the clothing of his deceased wife, and go to Manchester at night and sell it for the pur pose of defraying the funeral expenses of one dear to him as his own soul. That was but a specimen of what those Godlike men en dured.