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CHRISTIAN INDEX AND SOtfTH-WESTERN BAPTIST. VOL. 48-NO. 45. A RELIGIOUS AND FAMILY PAPER, PUBLISHED WEEKLY IN ATLANTA. GA TERMS.—CIubs of Four, (.$3.00 each) per annum..*.sl2 00 Clubs of Three, ($3.33 each) per annum... 10.00 Clubs of Two, (3.50 each) per annum 7.00 Single Subscriber 4.00 J. J. TOON", Proprietor. The Finished Work. If we stand in ihe strife ’til the end of life, Wo shall stand at the heavenly throne. R. Lowby. Finished the work Thou ffavest him, O God of love and peace ; With eye of faith death could not dim, He welcomed his release. No terrors had the grave for one So true and brave as he ; Who, to the hour his work was done, Put all his trust in Thee. It mattered not to him what form The hosts of sin assumed, He knew that Thou their works would storm, And that their plans were doomed. This was the groundwork of his trust, The strong arm of his might ; Conquer at last he knew Thou must, However long the fight. With armor on, and faith sublime, He’s fallen at his post ; And now, Oeyond the realms of time, Stands with the heavenly host. Such is a fitting close of life, To soldiers tried and true; Who never waver in the strife, But tight the battle through. Sidney Herbert. Clayton, Ala., JS'ov. 1869. The Stream of Heath, There is a stream whose narrow tide, The known and unknown words divide, Where all must go : Its waveless waters, dark and deep, In sullen silence downward sweep, With moauless flow. I saw where, at that bitter flood, A smiling infant prattling stood, Whose hour was come; Untaught of ill it neared the tide, Sank, as to cradled rest, and died, Like going home. Followed with languid eye, anon, A youth, diseased, and pale, and wau, — And there, alone, He gazed upon the leaden stream, And (eared to plunge:—l heard a scream, And he was gone. « And then a form in manhood’s strength, Came bustlii g on, till there, at length, He saw life’s bound : He shrank, and raised the bitter prayer,— Too late!—his shriek of wild despair, The waters drowued. Next followed to that surgeless shore, A being bowed with many a score Os toilsome years; With tottering steps he neared the bank— Back turned his dimming eyes and sank, Ah'! full of tears. “ How bilter must thy waters be, O death 1 -how hard a thiug. Oh m», It is to die ” I mused —when to that stream again, Anotner child of mortal man, With smiles drew nigh. “’Tis the last pang,”—ho calmly said ; “ For me, O death, thou hast uo dread ; Saviour ! I come 1 Show but Thy face on yonder shore, — I see I —ye waters bear me o’er, — There is my home.” Harvest Home. CHAPTER VIII, I’ve nailed my colors to the mast, The anchor of my hope is cast; Come life or death, come weal or woe, I shall not change my faith below.” After the good night scene at the foot of the stairs, described in the last chapter, Helen tried in vam to sleep. Her pillow was hard ; turn it which way she would, she could not rest upon it. This new hope of Hartly’s meant separation from her. She thought of it one moment with fierce anger, and the next with bitter regret. He would live henceforth for God—for heaven. She, for self, for the present moment. His joys would no longer be her joys, nor his fears her fears; and af ter this life, what then ? Imagination dared not finish the picture. Helen was old enough to feel that this was a crisis in her destiny— a time when terrible responsibility rested upon her—when priceless interests were at stake. Durst she trifle with them ? Be care less and indifferent on the brink of heaven or hell 1 ? Tread underfoot her father’s earnest admonitions, her sainted mother’s prayers, Hartly’s entreaties,Clara’s example? and,like a flash of lightning came the thought, what are all these,compared with a Saviour’s blood? But to give up the world, before she had be gun to taste its pleasures ; self-denial, conse cration to God, giving up her own will, her own plans. Must she do this—do it now ? Morning came, with no settlement of the vexed question. “ W hat makes you so pale, chorie ?” asked Mr. Montmarie, at the breakfast table; “is my little Helen ill?” “Oh no, papa,” she answered; “I didn’t sleep very well, that is all.” Her father didn’t seem very well satisfied, but made no farther inquiries. Lucy readily guessed the cause ot her sleeplessness, and her petulance at her lessons, which last sur prised Clara very much, Helen was so sel dom cross. I cannot talk to her, thought Lucy- She would be angry, or cold ; but 1 can pray for her. And she did, most fer vently. Meantime, God was leading Helen by a way she knew not. No two Christian experiences are alike; but all include a view of Sinai and of Calvary. The struggle main tained in Helen’s heart, where pride and self will led the forces of hell, was obstinate and fierce. It almost wore her out, but the end was peace. “ God giveth us the victory,” said her father as, smiling through his tears, told him the story, sitting on his knee. What a prayer of thanksgiving went up from that family altar,or, rather, what prayers —there was no heart that did not send up its joyful offering —one lovely Sabbath evening, just alter the conversation mentioned above. How sweetly the hymn sounded : “Jesus, I my cross have taken,” sung with such warm resolve in every cadence—such anew mean ing. Yes, such occasions are foretastes of heaven. The light on those upturned faces surely streamed from Paradies itself. “ How cruelly 1 treated you that night, Hartly !” said Helen, afterwards. “I am ashamed to think of it. But nothing ever had such an effect upon me as your words just then; but for that, I might even have forgotten mama’s prayers.” “ Perhaps she was praying for you then, Nellie. Who will write the good news to Montie ? It is your turn, Lucy. You must do it to morrow.” So the next day Lucy seated herself, with her writing desk, on a deep, old-fashioned window-sill, just outside. A honeysuckle, still blooming, shook its fragrant clusters in the morning air, and the following is the let ter she accomplished: “ Dear Emile —How I wish you had been here in the last two weeks. We have all said this a hundred times a day. It would have beeu hard enough to do without you, if there had been no special reason for wishing to have you here; but there has been one. Clara wrote to you about Hartly. He came to w alk w itn us one afternoon, so quiet we would have thought him ill. You know he is al ways play mg tricks on us ; running races with Punto, or in some kind of mischief; but he looked perfectly well, —Clara and Helen both said, so much like your mother. Hartly told FRANKLIN PRINTING HOUSE, ATLANTA, GA., THURSDAY, NOYEMRER 18, 1869. them he almost thought she had been with him. I asked if that made him look so pleased, though 1 was half afraid to ask him. He said, ‘No, Lucy, something better still. I have found Jesus.’ Clara was so delighted, you can’t think; but Helen never said a word. Hartly wanted to talk with her, but she wouldn’t. I knew she was trying to hide what she felt—knew she was troubled all that week. Nothing seemed to go right, till at last, she says, she gave up her own way, to be happy in God’s way. Oh, we are so very, very glad. It seemed so hard for her to give up caring most for fancy balls and masquerades, and having a nice time when she is a young lady. You know Helen already knows how to dress so prettily, and dances so well, and she will have such elegant things when she is old enough to go out with Clara. She felt as if she never could care more for making clothes for old women or teaching poor children, than for these; but she thinks now, she can try to do whatever seems her duty, and God will make her willing. “ I had a great deal else to tell you, but there is scarcely room, without making my letter very long; and this is what you will like to hear. Selim will let no one else ride him since you are gone. The servants think he misses you too. There has been a picnic, the last of the season, at La Fontaine qui bouille. Everybody we like was there. That tiresome Mr. Drummond, with his light hair, light eyebrows and light moustache, was persecuting Clara. Oh, : Etnile ! lam afraid that is gossip and slander too. I will stop. Do not forget your poor friend, Lucie.” The letter was finished hastily, in order to dress for a visit to town. Clara had some shopping to do. There was anew pair of horses to try, which Mr. Montmarie, after thoroughly testing their character himself, consented to trust to Hartly’s guidance. A rapid drive of five miles, over a fine turnpike, in the bracing autumn air, brought the blood tingling to their cheeks. St. Clair street, the principal promenade of the city, was thronged. Elegant toilets, bright faces, gay voices, coun ters heaped with the rich, bright-colored fab rics, suitable lor winter wear, made it a very brilliant as well as animated thoroughfare. The Monkmaries could not mingle in such a scene unnoticed. The handsome equippage, with the very striking appearance of its in mates, could not fail to attract attention. All but Lucy were quite at their ease, however. She had been left until now, in the seclusion she had coveted since the death of her parents ; and this was the first time she had been exposed to the gaze of strangers, except at church. Her account of the pic-nic, to Emile, was drawn from Hartly’s and Helen’s vivid description, who never failed to give her a complete history of the affair when they at tended themselves. Her lameness and deep mourning, she felt as the occasion of many an enquiring glance, and whispered comment, sometimes erroneously, too, for the first, if she could have forgotten it herself, was scarce ly less observable; and the last K being deci dedly becoming, was more calculated to ex cite admiration than curiosity. As they continued their excursion, however, this un comfortable feeling of being conspicueus, be gan to subside, and as Mr. Montmarie had said, when kindly forcing her to go, the nov elty and excitement began to make it inter esting. But for fear of rendering this chap ter too long, we will i serve for the present, the account of what happened further. [To be Continued.) Worldly Conformity.—l. As I am one of those who believe there is an alarming tendency in the Christian com munity to a spirit of worldly conformity, and that from this catise the interests of true godliness are seriously endangered, I beg leave to invite the attention of our brethren to the following views on this subject: W hen the Apostle says, “Be not conformed to this world,” he cannot be supposed to mean no more than that Christians should not be liars, drunkards, and such like. The contra ry of this? is sufficiently evident from the an tithesis contained in his language, “ Be not conformed to this world,” he says, “ but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.” We are then conformed to the world, unless, through the transforming power of His grace we do the “will of God.” He acts with the world who does not act with Christ. What, then, is the sense of the inhibitory injunction contained in this Apostolical canon? This question will not be settled by a sim ple statement of general terms, without at taching to them any definite sense. While one disputant condemns asceticism, and an other worldly conformity, each affirms what neither denies, and nothing is gained to the argument. The question, What is asceticism ? or worldly couformity ? remains untouched, and the reason exists in overlooking the im portant fact, that the conduct of moral agents, that of Christians as well as others, takes its moral complexion, to a great extent, from circumstances. Indeed, lam of opinion that the language of th% Apostle applies not so much to auy specific form of action, prevail- ing in the world, as to the spirit by which the world is actuated, and therefore, that some practices are right or wrong, according to the motives of those who engage in them ; in other words, the worldliness in such cases does not exist; at least, not exclusively, or necessarily, in the nature of the action, but in the spirit of the actor; while others are absolutely forbidden, as being in their nature, inseparable from a worldly and sinful spirit, it is therefore necessary, by a definition of terms, to establish some general principles, by an application of which to particular cases, we may determine their moral character. For this purpose I submit the following princi ples, which will, I think, be admitted as un exceptionable : 1. Any pleasure or conduct is a species of worldly conformity, and as such, sinful—on which we cannot, with a good conscience, ask the blessing of God; and for the enjoyment of which we cannot return Him our sincere thanks. 2. Any practice is a species of worldly conformity, which disqualifies us for religious duty ; as, for example, for prayer, reading the Bible, and those spiritual services which are the means of communion with God. 3. Whatever debauches our spiritual taste, and impairs the purity of the heart, is a spe cies of sinful conformity to the world. These principles are all comprehended in that one general maxim of the Apostle— “ Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do alt to the glory of God ;” and a vio lation of any one of these principles, is equally a violation of this general precept. Without the necessity for further specifica tions, it will be admitted, I think, that any conduct or practice, of which either of those now stated is properly predicable, is an ex ample of the worldly conformity which is the subject of the Apostle’s prohibition. General principles are valuable only as they comprehend particular cases; and the enun ciation of those I have now stated would be to l tile purpose did they not apply to prac tical evils existing among us. They admit, indeed, of extensive application, but 1 shall employ them now only with a yiew to an examination of the Scriptural morality of the three following pra itices, those name, > : Os Dancing, Os Card Playing and Os Attei.dinj the Theatre. That many professing Christians of our day are addicted to these practice, is a matter of such notoriety as to require no proof. The first of the principles I have propound ed, and which substantially comprehends all the rest, is the following : Any pleasure is a - species of worldly conformity, and as suck, sinful, on which we cannot with a good con science, ask the blessing of God ; and for the enjoyment of which we cannot return Him our sincere thanks. Thougb,l suppose this principle will be ad mitted, it may serve to enhance our sense of its importance, if we submit some remarks in exposition of its nature. The benevolent Author of our being has, in our creation, endowed us with certain fac ulties, both physical and moral, which He de signed as the sources of our happiness ; and in the economy of nature He has adapted certain correlative objects to the gratification of these faculties. The proper direction of our faculties to these appropriate objects con stitutes our happiness. Their perversion to other unlawful objects, or to those lawful in themselves, beyond the extent that they meet the requirements of our nature, and thus be come harmful, constitutes our sin and misery. Os those objects which properly constitute the sources of our happiness, two things may be observed : first, they are felt to be bless ings ; and secondly, their enjoyment leads us directly to God. The food which gratifies our taste and nourishes our body, as well as the friends we love, each, of its kind, affords us happiness. They supply an enjoyment which our nature claims, and which is neces sary to its sustenance and well being. They are the means of developing our susceptibili ty to happiness, and interesting that suscept ibility with its proper objects. In a being of unfallen rectitude the law of nature and the law of God are identical, for the law of God is interwoven with the constitution of his na ture. But in one, the foundation of whose mor al character has been subverted, the law, not so properly of nature, as of his nature, will be found at variance with the law of God; and the design, of God’s revealed law is to con trol its action to its course of original recti tude. From this cause our nature no longer directs us in the course which is necessary to our happiness, because our understanding be ing darkened, we no longer retain a true knowledge of the laws of our nature, as they were ordained by our Creator ; and more es pecially because, even when we know what is right, corrupt passion prevails with us to do what is wrong. lam not certain, howev er, that the latter statement is correct; at least, in the same sense as the former: for the law of His nature, strictly speaking, teaches no being to injure himself, more than it does a father, instead of loving, to murder his children ; and in doing so no being can be happy. Theglutton, or inebriate, who knows that his excesses will bring him more paiu than pleasure, not only because of the phys ical injury he will suffer, but still more on account of the criminality he incurs, can hardly be said, indeed, in an important sense cannot be said, to act in obedience to the laws of his nature. He is not so much the pupil as the slave of passion. His conduct is not so properly the effect of obedienoe as of a criminal subjection to an irresistible tyranny, the subjection more criminal because the tyr anny is iiresistible. He, too, who prospers by fraud and extortion knows he would be more happy by the practice of justice and humanity; and though he persists in his wicked course, he dares not utter the blasphe my of returning thanks to God for the gains of injustice and robbery. There is an outcry in his moral nature against his course. He feels that he is dishonoring and maltreating his conscience, and that ip murdering that, he is murdering his own soul. Again, the pleasures which are true bless ings lead the soul directly to God, their au thor. It is not until man possesses himself ot forbidden enjoyment that he seeks, from self-reproach and shame, to hide himself from his Maker. The benefits God bestows, as they display His goodness and exalt His bounty, so they introduce us into His pres ence, evoking our grateful acknowledgements and our songs of praise. The name of God embalms them with a sanitive virtue, and they are perfumed with His goodness. They are as so many leaves plucked from the tree of life, to medicate our diseases, heal our sor rows, and refresh and invigorate our spirits. Upon these benefits we can ask the sanctify ing blessing of God, and for their enjoyment we can return Him our thanks. If then, we cannot ask God’s blessing upon any enjoyment, it is a certain sign that there is an antagonism in our nature against the reception of such a pleasure, as an alien and deleterious element, not adapted to harmonize with the principles and functions of our mor al constitution. It is, in other words, a proof that our conscience warns us that such a pleas ure is neither beneficial to ourselves or pleas ing to God, and is therefore a SIN. I have supposed that the principle I have stated will be readily admitted. It is possible, however, that it may be regarded as liable to an objection of the following kind : It is not to be supposed—it may be said— that we shall formally invoke the blessing of God upon every pleasure we may enjoy, or return special thanks for every such enjoy ment. A general spirit of grateful acknowl edgements is all that can be expected, or is required in such a case. To this I reply : Whether or not special prayer and thanksgiving can accompany every pleasurable act, they may at least be associa ted with engagements, to which, with delibe ration, and of design, the actors devote them selves through the prolonged scenes of noc turnal enjoyment. They are not so casual and incidental as not to admit of reflection and purpose; so the objection is but an evasion. Again, I reply : The point of the argu ment is involved in the question, not wheth er we fail, in no case, to ask God’s blessing upon our enjoyments, as not being the sub ject of a distinct mental act,or from the want of such perfect spirituality, as—like the stom ach with its food—derives, unconsciously, nu triment from all our enjoyments, and trans mutes them into forms of life ? but whether, when the matter becomes a subject of reflec tion, this is what we can do? 1 believe not a single innocent amusement can be named— if indeed any mere amusement, irrespective of ail benefit, as its proper end is innocent — which will not abide this test. Itisa blessing— not merely an enjoyment, but a blessing —and will be felt to be a blessing. It is what our benevolent Father has kindly designed for the gratification of our lawful appetite; as much so as he has food to please our taste, the landscape to gratify our eye, and the rose to regale our sense. They all exalt our con ceptions of the munificence of His wisdom and His goodness. W. H. J. Oxford , N. C. Clerical Controversy. —Walter Savage Landor, in one of his essays, proposes a Gal lery of Heroes, but stipulates that the clergy shall be left out, as of too savage a type to appear in a list of gallant fighters. ReinoTAl of Mercer University, No. 8. I have heard it more than hinted, that if some brethren, not now connected with the Faculty of Mercer, were members of the corps of teachers, the Institution would at once revive and flourish. This is merely an Opinion ; and it is based more on persoual predilection than upon any evidence. Faets intimate to us pretty plainly that additions to the Faculty, however excellent, do not add much to the number of the students. In the fall term of 1865, (the first after the close of the war,) there were about 70 students in at tendance at Mercer. At the present session I learn that there are not exceeding 70 stu dents. During the four years which have elapsed, a President and Professor of Belles Lettres have been added to the Faculty, and the material condition of the State in 1869 is far more favorable than iu 1865 ; and yet there are no more students in attendance now than there were when Professors Sanford, Willet and Woodrin comprised the whole Faculty. Os the competency of the added teachers there is no ‘question in any impartial mind; and yet their accession brings no ad dition to the number of undergraduates. This seems to justify the \?L non that further ad ditions to the Faculty will not lift the Insti tution from its depression. It has been repeat&ily said that the College has been damaged by the efforts which have been made, since the war, to procure a change of location. But we have seen that when the Faculty embraced men of acknowledged power, and when the country was prosper ous, and when there was but little said about removal, the number of graduates (from ’47 to ’54) did not average ten per annum. If the agitation of the removal question dobs all the mischief, why was there not a higher prosperity in the absence of this agitation, and in the presence of the propitious circum stances to which I have referred ? Why, with an unexceptionable Faculty, and an ample in come, and large material prosperity, did the Institution produce smih mere skeletons of classes? I disagree entirely with those wor thy brethren who aserfbe the ills complained of to the cause alleged. Why should a dis cussion about a more eligible site for the Col lege curtail its patronage ? If the young gentlemen who matriculate at the College were under the necessity of making some pe cuniary investment in Penfield whose value would depend on the permanency of the In stitution there, I could "understand why they would be unwilling to make such an adven ture on an uncertaintyy>*nd therefore decline matriculation. If the discussion about re moval so disturbed the minds of the Profes sors as to disqualify the m from teaching, <or so harrassed the minds of the students as to unfit.them for the acqu‘ ition of knowledge, l could then see how sue i agitation would re duce the patronage. If*o talk of a different locality impaired the be.dth of the present position, or exerted upon it some injurious moral influence, the reas n assigned by those who cry out against discussion, would solve the whole, difficulty. Bui who believes that any such results follow? Why should auy young man be deterred from going to Mercer because the question of >:emoving it to an other locality is under and bate ? Can he not pursue his studies as successfully, and be just as faithfully taught by tit,-, same .men in pne place as in a.nother| Mercer University, at m rietta, or Macon, just as good as a diploma from Penfield? Would not the public be quite as likely to know of the existence of such places as Ma rietta and Macon as of Penfield or Wood ville ? Or if his attachment to Mercer Uni versity be due to the fact that it is located in Penfield, in the county of Greene, uearly equidistant from Union Point, and Greens boro, and Bairdstown, and about four miles from Woodville, it will surely be time enough for him to abandon the Institution when the location is actually changed. THE REAL SOURCES OF THE DIFFICULTY. Having shown, I think, that the unsatisfac tory condition of Mercer is not owing to any want of efficiency in the Faculty, nor to the limited field from which patronage must be derived, nor to the want of material prosper ity in the State, nor to the discussion in re gard to change of location, I proceed to con sider what are the real sources of the evil complained of. I say sources, became I do not believe that any one cause covers the entire ground. I have said that our University has never, at any time, united the whole denomination in its support. It is not probable that it ever will, locate where you may, and offer what advantages you may. There are many Bap tists who do not believe that any obligations, ecclesiastical or moral, require them to pat ronize an Institution for teaching secular knowledge merely because it has been found ed by Baptists, and is controlled by Baptist influence. They are averse to what they call “sectarian colleges,” (though I think the phrase improper—since no sectarianism is taught in the literary department at Mercer;) and they think that for the purposes of com mon education the citizens of the State should unite, irrespective of creed or party. Acting on this conviction, they have sent their sons and wards to those colleges which offered, in thei r view, the best advantages, without any regard to the claims of their own denomina tion. There are no doubt, to-day, scores of students from Baptist families, at Athens and elsewhere, Because of this conyction. These Baptists do not send their &>ns to Athens because there are Baptist Professors there, as has been alleged, (though there may be iso lated cases in which this reason holds,) they would send them there though there were no Baptists at all in the board of instruction. From 1835 to 1848, a period of 13 years, there was no member of a Baptist church connected with the Faculty ot the State Uni versity ; and yet it is believed that during this period about one-third of the whole num ber of students was from Baptist tamilies— thus demonstrating that Baptist Professors did not attract the patronage of Baptists. If the excellent brethren of our denomination who now fill chairs at Athens, should be su perseded by Presbyterians or Methodists, the College would suffer no material reduction of patronage from the ranks of Baptists. Many years ago, Dr. J. H. Thornwell, late Profes sor in th* Presbyterian Theological Seminary, at Columbia, S. C., and one of the strongest men in his church, wrote an elaborate article, in which he took ground against all denomi national colleges for merely literary objects, and contended that citizens of the State should, for such aims, meet on common ground. It is known that some Baptists hold the same faith. Their works accord ; and the result is a loss to the schools of their own denomina tion. The only remedy 1 see for this evil, is to change the convictions of these brethren. It happens too that while many Baptists decidedly prefer their own institutions, their sons (who are not pious young men) have no such predilections. The influence of the pa rent, sternly exerted, might enter them at Mercer. But there are many parents who, when their sons attain the age of sixteen or eighteen, are disposed to relax their author ity ; and, where no principle is involved, to yield to the wishes of their sons. These young gentlemen, being worldly, and desiring entertainments and society in connection with their literary instruction, elect that college which is most inviting in these particulars, without any regard to the question of denom inational influence. Their amiable fathers yield to their wishes ; and as they do not find the advantages sought in Penfield they go elsewhere. It is also true that where these sons are pious youDg men, and members of Baptist churches, they often prefer other institutions to Mercer. As they do not go to college to learn religion, they contend that they are at liberty to seek what they believe to be the best literary advantages, unrestrained by their religious obligations. A year or two ago, several young men, members of the same Baptist church, left home for college; two of the number went to Penfield ; the rest con nected themselves with other colleges. After a brief sojourn at Penfield, the two withdrew and joined their comrades, in another institu tion. These brethren, Baptists, and sons of Baptists, were anxious to patronize their own College; they had no fault to find with the Professors, but—they did not stay. The rea son leads me to consider another cause of the depression of Mercer. But this I shall re serve for another paper—having readied the limits prescribed for myself in these com mu Vocations. Georgia. P. S.—ln my last article, your Printer made me say that “ from 1847 to 1858 (both inclusive) the average number of graduates did not exceed ten per annum.” I wrote from 1847 to 1854, intending to cover the eight years during which Drs. Dagg, Crawlord, Mell and Hillyer were in office. G. Divine Sovereignty. Old as I am, more light will burst in on me sometimes. For years have I been sim ple enough to believe that Baptists—Free wills excepted—held as elevated views of the Divine Sovereignty as any other people whatever. Judge of my surprise, then, when, on a recent day, a Methodist laid claim to superiority over us in this particular. My surprise was as great as that of Pascal on discovering the difference between the Jan senists and Jesuits. For a time it was hard for me to tell what course to take. And now that I have somewhat recovered, I will attempt to tell you the position taken by my Meth odist friend, and then give you some of my notions about it. If my views be not cor rect, I beg you to set me right. Have we not permission to ask our Index brother to help us out of difficulties? My Methodist friend said he honored the Sovereignty of God more than we did, be cause he conceived of Him as being so great —so transcendently above all created things —that He could maintain His sovereignty inviolate, and at the same time leave men to act in sovereignty in the matter of their sal vation. This, as I understood him* is the proposition of my friend, Upon this propo sition 1 offer the following observations: 1. The most exalted honor is here, seem ingly, offered to God. It is, however, a mere honorary distinction. God is only placed so high, in name, that man may be permitted to reign. If no plan can ,be formed for man to be exalted to such a height, then, accord ing;to Armenian theology,God is an,Almighty Despot. This is a strong expression; but d 9 not, men tel) ,**<» 'hr.i- :fV»od'- makc-a destine 1 tions among men respecting salvation, that He cannot be just? If He be Almighty and unjust, is He not a Despot? 2. If absolute sovereignty, in respect to salvation, be in man’s possession, then it is not in God’s hands at the same time. God may have sovereignty in all else save this, but in this He has abdicated His right in matJ« favor. Here is a creature, then, so weak that God has to uphold him at every moment of his existence—so wicked that Satan is his father—and yet, according to this theory, such a creature is a sovereign, as to his salvation! 3. If man had the right or power, imputed to him in this theory, he would most mani festly exercise it all in refusing God’s salva tion. Make man the superior of Jehovah, in power, and he would cast out the Occupant of the eternal throne, reign himself, and turn the universe into a hell! His pride, ambi tion and corruption could end in nothing short of this. Will a heart, full of hatred to God, ever submit to Him, even were that heart possessed of full power to do so? 4. Sovereignty is above all law, save such as it makes for itHft. Man is under law— law that he hates, and complains of perpetu ally. How, then, can man be sovereign ? 5. If it is contended that merely in the matter of accepting or rejecting salvation man is sovereign; it is replied, first: In all Chris tian experience it is a fact that salvation is not accepted as long as the sinner can do any thing else. He first resists the impressions of the Spirit till he is overcome. He then betakes himself to the deeds of the law till he utterly despairs of life, and then, when he can do nothing more, God, in sovereignty saves him. Secondly: If man, acting in sovereignty, were to take salvation for him self, this act would be a work —a work done for salvation. This contradicts the gospel. Eternal life is a gift. If it be a gift, the receiver cannot merit, or have a right to it, because the gift would not be a gift, but a reward to the extent of the merit, or to the extent of the labor done. 6. Were man sovereign in the salvation of his soul, then he might appoint a day, or an hour, so far as I can see, when he would take for himself such a boundless blessing. And no believer of the Bible would die in sin, unless he died suddenly. Still we see young and old dying—gradually dying—without obtaining salvation. If men can, at any time regenerate themselves—this is what must be done by them or for them before they can be saved—they deserve, in the language of Gill, to be doubly damned, if they turn not to God at once. In conclusion: “The Lord God Omnipo tent reigneth.” Blessed be His name forever and ever. He reigned before creation existed, if we can imagine when that was. He reigued in creation, making what He saw fit to make, and as He chose to make it. He had no counsellor. He needed none. He alone was God. In providence God reigns. He pro tects or destroys. Here He rears a nation, surrounding it with a wall of protection, or he sends desolation upon it till its very name is lost. In salvation God, and not man, is sovereign. All men merit everla-ting ban ishment from God >nd heaven. He choses to give to some of them life, having ordained them to such blessedness before the world began. Such is the teaching of the Bible. If lain asked how man can be responsible while he is wholly in the hands of God, and can only act as he is acted on? my reply is, God can understand this mystery, though man cannot. In His hands let it be left. God’s purposes may be secret, but His com mads are plain. To these commands our at tention is to be directed. If God gives us grace to obey them, then the glory be His forever. If He suffer us to go on in sin and perish, the fault is ours, and we deserve the fate of God’s enemies. If we are saved, it is of sovereign mercy, and the last thing we deserve. If we are lost, we purchase hell with our works, and hell is the best thing we deserve. Protracted Meetings. The following reasons for continuing and perpetuating these means of grace and instru mentalities for the maintenance and extension of the gospel, are prayerfully urged upou the consideration of all unprejudiced minds, who love the truth, think the truth, and act the truth : 1. They are the means of drawing public attention more particularly to the church, so that many in the community, and often at a distance, who are not in the habit of attending church, and some, who have not attended for years, are frequently brought under the influ ence of the Word of God and the Holy Spirit, whereby they are converted, 2. They are very often the means of luke warm and back-sliden churches becoming re vived and restored to the enjoyment of re ligion. 3. They very frequently put the church in a favorable position for adjusting difficulties, and enforcing its discipline without producing variance and division. 4. They divest the church of the formality and rr. erve, which will certainly grow up in every church that only meet together statedly, and the pastor, membership and congrega tion, become better acquainted, and harmo nious, neighborly, friendly and social feelings spring up and unite the community. 5. It enables the pastor to form a more intimate acquaintance with his ministerial brethren—their piety, gifts and usefulness, whereby he is often stimulated to “covet ear nestly the best gift?,” and “study to show himself approved unto God a workman that needeth not to be ashamed.” 6. Thousands, who are now burning and shining lights in the church of God, date their conviction, conversion or membership, from one of these meetings; and without them, the Missionary Baptist Churcii >. >uld proba bly be as inefficient as some churches that are opposed to Protracted Mettings. And now 1 say unto you, who oppose these meetings, “ Refrain from- these men, and let them alone; for if this counsel or this work be of men, it will come to nought; but if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it; lest hap ly ye be found even to fight against God.” An Elder. Recollections. Young men now look forward; old men lookback. While “A Layman,” and others, are discussing protracted meetings, 1 will give my first recollections of them. In doing this, 1 must make mention of the first religious newspaper I ever saw. About the year 1830, a brother Collins passed through East Tennessee, and my two broth ers, C. Taliaferro and R. H. Taliaferro, sub scribed jointly for the Religious Herald, then edited by Ball and Sands. A religious paper was then and there a great curiosity, and was read and loaned till it was worn out. I was not then a member of the church, and I rever enced the Herald almost like the Bible. From 1830 to 1832, the greatest sensation in the Herald was the results of a series of meetings held in Virginia, called “Four Days’ Meetings,” so called because they were held just four days. The common meetings which had existed from the first settlement of the country, were called “Two Days’ Meetings.” The four days’ meetings, was hailed,#* a decided C pos the old, sfow-coaoh, two days’ meetings. The four days’ meetings were conducted precisely as the more meetings, on ly they did not last so long —a four days’ schedule. My two brothers were so carried away with the success ot the Virginia four days’ meet ings, that they determined to try one in Ten nessee. Due notice was given, that a “ four days’ meeting” would be held with Prospect Baptist church, Roan county, Tennessee, be ■ginning on Friday before the Sabbath in July, 1832. The thing was new to every body, and the people came from the Dan to the Beersheba of the whole country, to see the new invention. I, too, was there; then a young member, anxious for the success of the new schedule. The meeting was consid ered a great success, and almost every church in the country must have a four days’ meet ing. The work spread throughout the whole region round about. It was but natural for the protracted meet ing to grow out of the four days’ meetings. A four days’ meeting would not more than get up a good head of steam ; other days — indefinite in number—were added, so that no steam should be needlessly lost. The same schedule of machinery was run by both ; one definite as to time, the other indefinite— sometimes called “a series of meetings.” The practice of “calling up mourners,” is older than either of these meetings. I should like to know its history. Who will give it? Can any one? If it were in the Bible, any one could give it. It must not be understood that I have given the origin of these meetings—only my first recollections of them. Nor let no one infer that I do not believe that great good has been done at them. That is not the question. Are they Scriptural ? Have they done more good than harm ? These are the questions. I am not now discussing these questions, only contributing a mite of history bearing on the questions. H. E. T. “Follow Me.” The Master’s vo.ce was sweet: “ I gave my life for thee ; Bear thou tnis cross through pain and loss; Arise and follow me.” I clasped it i umy hands: 0 Thou who diedst for me. The day is bright, my step is light, ’Tis sweet to follow Thee! Through the long summer day I followed lovingly ; ’Twas bliss to hear His voice so near, His glorious face to see. Down where the lilies pale Fringed the bright river’s brim, In pastures green His steps were seen— ’Twas sweet to follow Him. Oh, sweet to follow Him ! “Lord, let us-here abide.” The flowers were fair, I lingered there; I laid His cross aside. I saw his face no more By that bright river’s brim ; Before me lay the desert way— ’Twas hard to follow him. Yes, hard to follow Him Into that dreary land: I was alone: His cross had grown Too heavy for my hand. I heard His voice afar Sound through the night air chill; My weary feet refused to meet His coming o'er the hill. The Master’s voice was sad: “ I gave my life for thee; I bore the cross through pain and loss; Thou hast not followed me.” “ So fair the lilied bunks, So bleak the desert wav ; The night was dark, I could not mark Where Thy blest footsteps lay.” Fairer the lilied batiks, Softer the grassy lea. The eudless rest of those who best Have learned to follow me! Cans! thou not follow me, All weary as thou art? Hath patieut love no power to move Thy slaw and faithless heart? Wilt thou not follow me? These weary feet of mine Have stained ted the pathway dread In search for thee and thine.” 0 Lord, 0 Love Divine, Once more I follow Thee! Let ine abide so near Thy side That I Tby face may see. I clasp Thy pierced bund, 0 Thou that diedst for me; I’ll bear Tby cross through pain and loss, So I may cling to Thee. —Family Trsatvry. WHOLE NO. 2465. The Drunkard. Very few persons would be willing to marry a habitual drunkard ; but it is not generally known what a great risk is run in marrying the son or daughter of a habitual drunkard, although they themselves are strictly tem perate from high moral principle ; indeed, it is not an uncommon thing to And the children of beastly drunkards the very models of tem perance, from having had before their own eyes, for years in succession, the terrible evils of habitual inebriation. It is one of the indisputable facts in phisi ology, and the observations of intelligent men confirm the truth, that certain diseases and taints of body, and taints of mind are transmitted from father to son. So well and firmly is this impression fixed on the minds of men, that when a man becomes insane, one of the very first efforts is to endeavor to ascertain if it is not “ in the family,” and it is comparatively seldom that such is not proved to be the case. Another important fact is, that hereditary traits and taints sometimes overleap a gen eration ; arising most probably from the fact that one parent has extraordinary good health, sufficiently vigorous to stave off the malady for a lime ; but the seed of the malady is in the immediate descendant for all that, and to the extent, that if the grandchild marries one who similar taint, the offsgring devel opes the characteristics of the grandparents. Drunkenness is a transmissible malady, because anatomical investigations demonstrate that the brain of a drunkard, after a compar atively few indulgences, becomes organically impaired, and wb"n that is the case, it is just as impossible to repair the injury as to have a new finger grow in the place of one which has been removed. Surely no stronger ap peal can be made to a man’s intelligence, to his honor, and to his humanity, to practice temperanoe in the use of all intoxicating drinks. Asa proof of the argument made, it may be sufficient to say in geueral terms, that ob servation shows, that, in any number of drunkards, about one-third become so through social influences, the remaining two thirds from hereditary influences. More than half of the first class are reclaimed, but to recov er men from intemperate habits, who have become so from hereditary influences, is al most impossible, even although they may have had a Christian education, and the early in stillment of strictly temperance principles. Let the reader who can, thank God that he has not had the curse of an intemperate pa rent, and let him pray daily, with consistent action, that he may never be permitted to fall into so great a crime as that of being an in temperate parent himself. Nor ought a man who has been a drunkard, to allow himself to marry and become the father of children, for they are very certain either to inherit his vice, or to have implanted in their constitu tions the seeds of insidious diseases. To be safe from these calamities and crimes, there is only one safe plan—never taste a drop of the accursed thing. Hall's Journal of Health . Infidelitt (?) —Some fifty years ago, an Orthodox Congregational minister, of Read ing, Mass., warned his hearers that “tojoin the Baptists was the first step to infidelity.” “ Forms.”—A correspondent of the Watch man and Reflector writes : In a conversation not long since, on the subject of baptism, with a member of a Pedobaptist church, re spectable for age and general intelligence, we were plied with the common question,—“Do you regard baptism as a saving ordinance?” “Certainly not,” was the reply. “Why, then,” it was pertly responded, “do you make such an ado about it?” Do our Pedobaptist friends regard the communion, and commun ion loith and in Baptist churches, essential to Christian union, to all Christian graces, to salvation ? It will be answered “No.” May we not then retort, “ Why make such an ado about it ?” ’Tis only an outward sign—a mere form. Going Backward. —lt is a remarkable fact that in the first Prayer Book adopted by the American Episcopal Church, the Convention, presided over by the venerable Bishop White, omitted, in the office of baptism, the words, “hath pleased thee to regenerate this infant by thy Holy Spirit.” It was subsequently put back, to be a torment to tender con sciences, and a rejoicing to such as are of Ro mish propensities, since they so readily find themselves supported by it in their favorite dogma of sacramental grace. — Central Pres byterian. Infant Baptism. —At breakfast, one morn ing, a poor woman came in, begging Sidney Smith to christen a new-born child, which was thought to be dying. He instantly left the table and accompanied the woman to her cottage. On his return, one of the guests asked him how he had left the baby. “Why,” said he, “ I first gave it a dose of castor oil, and then I christened it; so now the poor child is ready for either world.” Does “christening” make children ready for the world to come ? That's the inseparable falsehood in the usage! Firmness in Discipline. —We shall never forget a scene which we once witnessed in the Virginia Conference. A “bad case” was on the docket, and preparatory to taking it up, Bishop Waugh called on the late Thomas Crowder to offer prayer. Such a prayer as he offered we hardly ever heard equaled. Every one within the reach of our vision was bathed in tears, except the principal party in the case—his eyes were dry. A member arose, and, still crying, intimated a willing ingness to shake hands and make up the mat ter, whereupon Dr. W. A. Smith arose—his eyes red with crying—“ 1 can cry,” said he, “as well as anybody ; but I never cry my principles out of my eyes.” He called for a full and fair investigation of the case, and a satisfactory conclusion was reached.— Nash. Christian Advocate. Inactive Christians. —Dr. Pendleton cites from a sermon of Dr. Lyman Beecher’s, which he heard at Cincinnati, in 1835 : “ A great many professed Christians have no other idea of religion than that it is the means of getting to heaven when they died. As to do ing anything for God while they live, it does not enter into their plans. I tell you, my brethren, I do not believe there is one in five hundred of such professors that will reach heaven ; for there is a magnanimity in true religion that is above all such contemptible meanness.” Soepticism on Trust. —“ We ask any on® who knows English society,” such is the ed itorial language of a late number of the London Spectator , “if we exaggerate when we say, that there are hundreds of able men in England, who, knowing nothing of science, disbelieve in God, or rather in God’s govern ment, because, as they think, science has dis pelled that ancient delusion ; men who refer honestly and confidingly to the ‘authority’ of science, exactly as people once referred to the ‘authority’ of the church; and who re gard Professors Huxley, Tyndall, and the rest, as ‘directors’ (of opinion) are supposed 1 to be regarded by faithful Ultramontanes.”