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CHRISTIAN INDEX AND SftUTH-WESTERN BAPTIST!
VOL. 48—NO. 48.
A RELIGIOUS AND FAMILY PAPER,
PUBLISHED WEEKLY IN ATLANTA, OA
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Blessed to Give.
Dire I as the morning that flows out of hearen ;
Give I as the waves when their channel is riven ;
Give I as the free air and sunshine are given;
Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give.
Xot the waste drops of thy cup overflowing;
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing ;
Not h pale bud from the June roses blowing;
Give as tie gave thee, who gave tbee to live.
Pour out thy lore like the rush of a river,
Wasting its waters for ever and ever,
Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver;
Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea,
Scatter thy life as the summer’s shower pouring I
What if no bird through the peart rain is soarings
What if no blossom looks upward adoring?
Look to the life that was lavished for thee.
Almost the day of thy giving is over ;
Ere from the grass dies the bee-hunted clover,
Thou wilt b ive.vanished from friend and from lover;
What shall thy longing avail in the graves
Give as the heart gives whose fetters are breaking,
Life, love and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking;
Soon heaven’s river thy soul-fever slaking;
Thou shalt know God, and the gift that He gave.
. Harvest Home.
CHAPTER IX.
“ Little things, on little wings,
Bear little souls to heaven.”
We left our friends—the young Mont
maries and Lucy Lorrirner —in St. Clair
street. Clara had desired Hartly to stop be
fore the principal entrance of a large build
ing, opening on the streets, whose marble
front and plate glass windows proclaimed it
an etnporiurn of fiishion. Entering, they
mingled with the throng that press'd against
the counters that ranged along the sides and
ends and through the centre of the spacious
apartment —a motley crowd, lounging, jost
ling, chaffering, talking; some in English,
some in French, some in German ; some in
eager, hurried tones, some in careless, laugh
ing ones; jolly, good natured-loqking women,
with largo baskets on their arms and bright
plaid shawls on their broad shoulders, half
clad beg/archildren, drawling out, “Please
give me five cents;” silks and l tees adorning
graceful forms and bright young faces.
A few steps from the entrance Clara’s pro
gress was arrested by a little gloved hand,
placed on her shoulder. She turned; the
owner—a sparkling brunette, in a costume of
exquisite taste, French gray, relieved with
crimson—was exclaiming, with surprise and
pleasure at seeing her,
“You will be at the wedding on Thurs
day r
“ Where ? Whose t”
“ Why, Louise Alexander’s.”
“ Who does she marry ?”
“ Why, havn’t you he&rd? Young Thom
son.”
“Thompson with a P?”
“Oh, no! our French Thomson. The
Marylander is not a marrying man.”
“ I think we have no invitations.”
“Oil, yes! you surely have; look again,
when you go home; and tell your father 1
" think it quite wrong that you stay at home so
much. Ah, Helen, how you have grown!”
(in a whisper to Clara,) “Your sister is
charming.” %
They pressed on to the part of the shop
which contained the articles they were in
search of, made their purchases and were
when a gDnlienr.au came up bowing
and smiling, whose hair and moustaehios
identified him as the Mr. Drummond of Lu
C}’s letter. He inquired after the health of
the ladies in the most insinuating manner,
put them with the utmost care into the car
riage, and finally announced that he would
do himself the honor to call in the evening,
and bring a friend, if Miss Clara would per
init. '
“Oh, by all means, Mr. Drummond,” said
Clara, with intuitive politeness.
At last, with more bows and compliments,
he took his leave, and Hartly turned the
horses’ heads towards home. Helen had
heroically resisted the temptation to pinch
Lucy during the colloquy, and they chatted
gaily for a few minutes about the weather
and the ride. At length Hartly exclaimed.
“Well done, Helen! not a single take-off
at poor Mr. Drummond’s expense. Tell me,
now, didn’t you want to laugh at him aw
fully 1”
“ Well, to be honest, I did,” answered
Helen, her fair temples flushing; “ but I knew
it was unkind. How in the world did you
manage, Clara, not to show how you dreaded
another visit?”
“And how do you know I did dread it?”
“I am sure you must. 1 have seen you
look bored to death with him.”
“ Not to death. Don’t speak so extrava
gantly.”
“ But isn’t he tiresome, now?” said Hartly ;
“ own up, Clara.”
“He is not at all entertaiuing, I grant; but
1 have never found it difficult to be civil to
him.”
“ I think it would be very hard for me,
Under some circumstances. Wouldn’t it be
tor you, Lucy?” asked Helen, laying her
head on the other’s shoulder till the golden
hair and the black were mingled.
“ Indeed it would; but we are neither of
us like Clara. Some other things we ought
to do, might be easier for us and harder for
Clara.”
“ Whoever allows herself to indulge whims
find caprices, will find duty hard,” said Clara,
and the pair were silenced. But the ride
was pleasant, nevertheless, and they were
eorry to find it at an end so soon. When
they entered Mr. Montmarie’s grounds and
were driven up to the door, Mr. Montmarie
was waiting there to help them out and hear
the history of their afternoon’s excursion.
“ How did you stand it Lucie?” said he,
taking each of'the young girls by the hand
ns they went in. “Nobody took so much
notice of you as to make it painful, did
they ?”
“ Not half so much as I expected, sir. I
Bonn forgot to be afraid of it.”
“And then you enjoyed it finely. Ami
right, Hartly ?”
“I think so. No one could help enjoying
Buch an afternoon.”
“ Especially with such company,” added
He len, mischievously.
“Ah, yes, to be sure,” responded Hartly ;
** with such agreeable company, and since 1
have fatigjied myself so much in the ladies’
service, in the way of driving, entertaining
them, etc., permit me to hint to the witty
Miss Montmarie and the bashful Miss Lorri
mer, that they arrange their toilets immedi
ately, so as not to keep supper waiting.”
“ For fear Harry Hotspur’s patience should
fail,” retorted Helen, " we will certainly
Bpare him the trial,” and they ran off up
stairs.
“The pleasant tea-time had passed,and the
family gathered round the wood fire that
blazed on the broad hearth iu the sitting
room —forgetting entirely the engagement
with Mr. Drummond.
“ Open the piano, Hartly,” said Mr. Mont
marie, “one of the ladies will give us some
music;” taking up his violin as he spoke.
Jus) then there were some loud raps on the
1 cocker at the door.
“ Ob, Clara, you had forgotten Mr. Drum-
FRANKLIN PRINTING HOUSE, ATLANTA, GA., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1869.
mond’s visit,” said Helen, Hartly and Lucy,
in a breath. And so she had. Her brows
contracted slightly, in spite of the sage re
marks of the afternoon. Her father ob
served it.
“ Have them brought in here, my daughter;
we will share the pleasure of your guests’
society with you.”
They w r ere invited into the sitting room—
Mr. Drummond, with his ceremonious bow
and insipid smile, begging to introduce his
friend, Mr. Stanley. How they came to be
associated in that capacity, seemed a myste
ry. There could surely be nothing in com
mon between the two.- In the easy, well-bred
air of the stranger, there was no assumption,
and no embarrassment. A faultless toilette
set off to great advantage, a fine figure and
attractive face—attractive, and yet not hand
some. This was Clara’s hurried commenta
ry in the first few moments which it required
for the slight bustle caused by their entrance
to subside. In the conversation which fol
lowed, while he gracefully yielded the piece
dence to Mr. Montmarie, he sustained hi>
own part ably. Poor Mr. Drummond twisted
his moustaehios, an 1 moved his chair uneasi
ly, lisped a few nothings aside to Clara, then
«lanciug at, the open piano, asked, rather ab
ruptly, if Miss Montmarie would play. She
Complied, aft- r which they were surprised to
find it quite late, and the visitors took their
leave.
“ We really have had quite a pleasant eve
ning,” said Lucy, when the door had closed
behind them.
“ What an agreeable surprise it must have
been to Clara,” remarked Helen; but Clara
only smiled.
“What do you think of Mr. Stanley?”
asked Hartiy.
“ He interests me,” replied his sister.
“ He is quite a gentleman,” said Lucy.
“And a man of the world,” added Mr.
Montmarie.
“That keen eye reads character at a glance,
finds out one’s weak point and uses it Don’t
you think so, papa,” enquired Clara. *
“ Probably. I have not decided yet, as to
the amount of principle he possesses; but he
has, certainly, rare conversational talent, and
will p-*ove quite nn acquisition to any circle
as an acquaintance.”
“ Let’s cultivate him, then,” said Hartly.
“ We’ll dismiss him for the present, sir,
and retire,” answered his father, as the circle
dispersed for the night; and we will leave
them there until our next chapter.
Worldly Conformity.—lll.
We will next apply our principles to an
examination of the question, Whether Christ
ians can find a suitable, or innocent amuse
ment in the
Card Table?
How strange are the events which occur,
in the revolutions of the world, and the pro
gress of society ! Who would once have be
lieved that Baptists, Presbyterians, or Meth
odists, would ever become the advocates, and
themselves the parties to such a game as that
of the Card Table f Such, however, is one
of the strange, and I may add, one of the
alarming events, we have lived to see.
We are informed, however, that there is
no more harm in cards than in so much other
paper, and that they will hurt us as little as
others, w hich school boys use in learning their
first lessons in grammar, or geography. Now
this we happen to know, and are willing to
. droit We «ek?£>ivjerj</e there is uoharmJn
cards, as so many pieces of paper; ancrif
this were the whole cast, our objections would
justly be regarded as unreasonable, and fanai
teal. So far, however, is this from being the
case, that we can only regard such an argu
ment as one of the many specimens of s >ph
istry, intended to perplex and confuse a plain
case. While then, we know these things, we
also know, that there are others belonging to
the case, which are equally plain, and much
more important; and we wish to ask the
Christian card-player, whether these things
he does not also know ?
Do yoH not know that the game of cards
stands, as the very exponent of vulgar vice,
and reckless crime? Do you not know that
its very name is rank with the foul odors of
the dens of villainy, and redolent of the
stench of the brothel ? Do you not know
that it is so identified with lawless gambling,
that the most of those who practice it mere
ly as au amusement, find it necessary, as a
means of “imparting interest to the game,”
to put up “a stake,” and thus really become
gamblers themselves ? What hecatombs of
bodies, and immortal souls; of hoary sires,
and of blooming youth, have been immolated
at the shrine of this hideous Moloch ! What
crime, remorse, despair, and ruin, have fol
lowed in his train ! His throne 13 surround
ed with beggared children, and broken-heart
ed wives; and is it a fit amusement! and for
CHRISTIANS! to dally in away so lined
and crowded with the bleached bones, and
ghastly skulls of its miserable victims, pro
claiming all around him, THIS IS THE
ROAD TO HELL 1
Is it an amusement, becoming the disciples
of Jesus Christ, in the presence of the young,
the susceptible, and the impulsive, of guile
less children, whose characters are forming
under the sweet and plastic influences of home,
to sport upon the edge of a yawning crater,
and play with the flames of hell ? Can they
ask the blessing of God upon such amuse
ments? Can they breathe to God the sup
plication of their hearts—“ Lead us not; into
temptation, but deliver us from evil ?” No,
alas 1 In such an atmosphere prayer cannot
breathe. The flame of piety grows pale, and
dim, and devotion expires. It may be saf. iy
assumed, that they neither do, nor can implore
the blessing of God upou such pleasures.
We may, in charity, believe, that they would
not dare to associate with such employments
the name of God, or the sanctities of hea
ven ; and this is a proof, they are convinced,
or, if they would devote a moment to reflec
tion, would be convinced, that they are
wrong.
It is no answer to these statements, that
the best things may be perverted to purposes
of vice, and associated with crime. A pru
dent man, not to say a godly one, will not
commit himself to a practice which is the
chosen instrument of immorality and crime,
and the prolific source of death and ruin,
when all that can be said in its favor is, that
it is an amusement. If a walk, in some re
spects desirable, were preoccupied by per
sons 'vulgar and vicious, a modest man, and
much more a modest woman, would content
themselves with a less eligible path, rather
than submit to such undesirable and obnox
ious associations, especially if their virtue or
life would be endangered by a contrary course.
Purity of mind and an untainted virtue are
always to be preferred, and by one who fears
God will be preferred, to a merely physical
convenience or comfort. A good man dreads
the atmosphere of vice. “Evil communica
tions,” he kuows, “corrupt good manners.”
He has obtained that “wisdom of God”
which teaches him this solemn lesson : that
he, who “walketh in the counsel of the un
godly, and standeth in the way of sinners”
will terminate his unhappy course by “sitting
in the seat of the scorner.” From the same
source he has derived the equally valuable
knowledge, that he who would be “like a tree
planted by the rivers of water, whose leaf
sh ill not wither, and who shall prosper in
whatsoever he doeth,” “must delight in the
law of the Lord, and in His law meditate,
day and night.” To undertake to reconcile
such a course of godliness, with that of the
Christian card-player, is the same as an at
tempt to form an alliance between pleasure
and pain, or light and darkness.
If not Christian principle, it might be
hoped that good taste, and benevolent feeling
would devise some amusement, a little more
in harmony with the charities and hopes of
the human family. If amusement be neces
sary, it seems but reasonable, that we should
seek such as furnishes the most pleasant as
sociations, and the most agreeable reflections.
Would we choose for our companion, the
man who had murdered our father, child, or
wife? With a strange and odious perversion
of moral feeliog, a monstrous excess of be
nevolence to such a horrid creature, would
we argue that he can amuse as well as any
other person ? And the illustration becomes
if possible—still stronger, from the consid
eration that the viliian we are thus unnatur
ally cherishing, only waits his opportunity to
repeat upon us the atrocities he has so re
morselessly committed upon our family.
“O ! but”—say the credulous dupes of pleas
tire—“we are in no danger.” So thought
silly Eve—-probably quite as wise as the
most of her children—when she listened to
the glozing tones of the Tempter.
So has whispered to his heart many a
worldly-minded Christian, lamenting too late,
the ruin into which his folly has betrayed his
own child.
So, we awfully fear, has illy satisfied his
complaining conscience, many a Christian
“lover of pleasure” now groaning in hell !
“It any man thinketh he standetb, let him
take heed lest he fall.”
He is always in danger who is walking in
a path in which he cannot ask the presence of
God: in which he finds no blessing, and re
turns no thanks; and in which he devotes
himself to his pleasures, in atheistic disre
gard of the will and glory of God.
W. H. J.
Oxford,. N. C.
The Little Boy that Died.
“And when 1 gazed on his innocent face,
As still and cold he lay,
And thought what a lovely child he had been,
And how soon he must decay :
*0 Death! ihou lovest the beautiful,’
In the woe of my spirit 1 cried ;
For sparkled the eyes, and the forehead was fair,
Os the little boy that died.”
The little boy that died. Oh, how tender
ly you loved him! How you hoped he
would live to bear your honored name into
higher walks of usefulness than you have
done, or can expect to do at your time of
life; for he was such a bright, sweet child,
and had such a clear, sparklinu eye, and such
a keen, penetrating mind. But he is dead
now. How that word dead throw's a dark,
lengthened shadow over all your future path
way in life! You look far beyond the pres
ent dark hour of gloom; for you had thought
of him so often, as your companion during
his early years of manhood ; and, later in
life, as a sharer in your daily business cares;
and, finally, when.the infirmities of age should
have placed you on the retired list, as your
most appropriate successor. There is, there
lore, something of %elf-interest underlying
your grief—sincere though it be—which makes
your burden of sorrow heavier, and your
sense of bereavement more acute than other
wise would be the case.
The liitle boy that (tied, flow you truss
him, every day and hour, as you feel a sense
of loneliness creeping over your bereaved
heart. But you are a man. You feel this,
too—you show it to everybody—and every
where this thought bears you up beneath the
springing tide of grief that so often seeks to
overwhelm your emotions. You do not walk
the street in tears, nor sit in your counting
room surrounded by the gloomy shadow's of
your great sorrow. You meet your busi
ness associates, one after another during the
day, and you speak to them as familiarly a*
ever, but in a more subdued tone. If an in
timate friend alludes to your great loss in
such a way as to cause a tear to start to your
eye, you brush it away hastily, and pass on
to your place of business, or turn again to
your books and accounts for a momentary
relief. And as often as this scene occurs and
causes the tear to start, it is as hastily pushed
aside from the gaze of other eyes. Os course,
you are unusually subdued in your manner
for a time, and you ahno t constantly think
of your sad bereavement. But how many
hours during each succeeding day do the
cares of business intervene between such
thoughts, thus giving, occasionally, full re
lief and relaxation to your burdened heart.
You will realize this more fully, by-and-by ;
for you will have a far different feeling and a
much sadder experience,
•‘As you miss him when the flowers come,
In the garden where he played ;
As you miss him there by the fireside,
When the flowers have all decayed.
You will see his toys and his empty chair,
And the horse he used to ride ;
And they will speak with a silent speech,
Os the little boy that died.”
The little boy that died. You are not the
one over whom his early death has cast the
heaviest and the darkest cloud of sorrow.
That cloud has settled over and around the
heart of your faithful wife—his tender and
devoted mother. How different from your
daily experience is that of your stricken com
panion? All day long she sits—alone it
may be—within the sombre shadow of the
great sorrow that has fallen so heavily upon
the joy and light of your dwelling. There,
in the very rooms which his cheerful presence
once made so joyous and attractive, and that
his absence now fills with an unspeakable
sense of desolation and gloom, she spends
her more quiet, undisturbed hours, and en
gages in her simpler and less diversified du
ties, with a tearful eye and an ever-sorrowing
heart. Everywhere she turns, and at every
step she takes, there is something to remind
her of the little boy that died. His toys,
scattered here and there about the corners of
the play room, which he used to make vocal
with his clear, laughing voice; the unbroken
stillness which pervades all the house, and
causes her to pause and listen for the patter
of childish feet and the well-known greeting
of filial tenderness to break the quiet still
ness by which she is surrounded; the clothes
that he laid tside when she undres'sed him—
for the last time —and put him into the little
bed where he— died. This isenough. Weneed
go no farther to know how much of a burden
of grief she daily takes up, and with a plead
ing, motherly prayer to Q'od for strength to
bear it patiently nnd resignedly, tries—oh !
how hard—to walk her daily round of duty
with a brave, trusting spirit. But a moth
er’s loving heart is weak at such a time, and
under such a load of inexpressible sorrow.
And whenever she passes by that little bed,
and sees the frock, and cap, and shoes that he
laid aside, that he might be clothed anew
with heavenly robes in which to walk the
streets of the “ Shining City of Light,” she
breaks down beneath a weight of grief,
the like of which falls upon no other human
heart in your bereaved family circle, as it
falls upon and settles about hers.
The little boy that died. Oh, how many
times before the long-wished-for shades of
evening bring you home again, does this
sorely bereaved mothijpry her grief-strick
en face in the gentle, !§;ng hands that min
istered so tenderly to pm in his dying mo
ments, and give way toVlood of bitter tears.
She has no business cart or engagements to
intrude upon and divjfc up her sorrowful
moments; no companies whose presence
can check her tears. Sje is a woman ; and
tears —thank God—a Womanly. If a friend
calls, and'the sad is alluded to,
she does not hastily biMf£wsy the first start
ing tear and check thoifthat would follow it.
She allows them full asp free permission to
follow each other in succession down
her pallid cheek. Aa ■ when she is alone
again, with her upon her heart,
then comes once mojlfand with increased
power, that earnest losing for the close of
day, that you may fjtfm back to her, and
comfort her as no otfc|f being can.
She never felt the your presence and
companionship so muer before— never. Re
member this; and lei your daily coming
ever be to her sorrowi K expectant heart, as
is the early dawning y that sweet day of
hope that comes tc jinitent, sin-burdened
human hearts, with a divine love
and a heavenly cansotfllon.
•‘And though at times impetus with emotion,
And anguish unsuppresffi”
Her swelling heart heavejfaioan'D-- bko the ovean,
That cannot be at res. JLt '
She will grow pationt, a i>K
She may not wholly st
By silence sanctifying, nos concealing,
The grief that must hav. jway.”
The little boy that did. When you go to
church together againjig will not be with
you, You will not his little hand in
yours, nor look down parental pride into
his sweet, childish faersas you did the last
Sunday, and as you 1 lien hoped $o do for
many Sundays to com*. And she will lean
more heavily upon yt r arm than she ever
did before, because A* is gone; and she now
needs, more than eve , & strong, manly arm
to rest upon, as the ab ;nce of that dear child
weighs her down witA Its heavy burden of
loneliness and grief, y'ou will walk nearer
to each other, in a {gable sense, and more
silently as well as -frrowfully. For you
will think how he uski to walk beside you,
full of life and buoy*bt in spirit, and talk
with you so intelligently and confidingly of
his hopes, and joys, < f ad expectations. But
he ft dead now. Andjluring all this weary,
mournful walk, hiddejf f fs©m public gaze by
the cheerless emblemtof mourning that cov
ers her sad face, her f-ars will flow, and her
features wear a saddtaand more
appearance. Yet ym will be calm and dig
nified in manner—t(#dl outward appearance
—and your eye wilfi'emain dry. You are a
man; and tears arin sn/nanly at such a time
and in such a placft; .jand besides, you cannot,
if you would, hide the evidences of tears as
she can. So you Jcee* down all the sweet and
tender emotions whieg struggle in your breast
for a tearful expression. It is only when you
have reentered votfr desolated borne, and
come again within thi solemn stiMness that
so impresses you with a sense of your irre
parable loss, that you give way to y</Ur grief,
ft is manly for you to weep then and there.
What a blessed privf'ege! And so youmtbi
gle your tears with iiers r This is her great
est source of earthly comfort. Let it never
fail her in her sorro’Ting moments;
“And over your «oul«£n thi* »o!itude.
Sweet com.ort anihope will glide ;
Thouah each heart *Ad eye be full, a» you think
Os the little boy tljU died.”
£ Signet Herbert. '
Clayton, Ala~
Care.
Children of God lack nothing;
Ilia promise bears them through;
Who gives the liljea clothing,
Will clothe His people too.
Beneath the spreading heavens,
No creature but is fed ;
And He who leeds the ravens,
Will give His children broad.
Protracted Meetings.
In his first articie on Protracted Meetings,
Layman says: “A religious meeting grow
ing out of the healthy spiritual condition of
a church, is not the kind of meeting to which
he refers.” He next gives a description of
the kind of religiotfs meetings to which he
does refer: “As usually practiced, a pro
tracted meeting is agreed upon and appoint
ed in each church, at some time between the
first of July and the last of September, an
nually. No question is asked as to the con
dition of the church, the spiritual condition
of the several members, their relation to each
other, whether members are living up to their
duties, etc.; indeed, nothing is considered but
the TIME OF THE YAKT*
What! a church with her pastor appoints
religious meeting, and in connection with that
appointment consider nothing but the time
of the year. “Tell it not Gath, publish it
not in the streets of Askelon; lest the daugh
ters of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daugh
ters of the uncirouincised triumph.” Lay
man says, “as usually practiced.” I know
not what Layman has seen, where he lives,
nor who he is. But this much l can truth
fully say, that I have never known a religious
meeting appointed of any character, whether
for one day or many days, and nothing con
sidered but the time of the year. Every
thing else ignorea. Will Layman give us
the names of some of the churches and their
pastors, who appoint protracted meetings,
and consider nothing but the time of the year f
It seems to me that all such churches and
preachers should be disowned by the Baptist
brotherhood. If this is the “system of pro
tracted meetings, as generally existing among
our churches,” LsfUian will have but little
trouble in score of names. But is
it a sin to consider the time of the year when
a church appoints a religious meeting ? If so,
then ail the Associations and Conventions
have sinned. None are appointed to meet in
December, January, or February. Why not?
The time of the year is considered.
Is it a sin for one pastor to preach the gos
pel of Christ to any other people save his
own flock? If so, then all have sinned, I sup
pose. And if be preach without offence to
God once, may he not twice or thrice ? “To
his own Master- he standeth or falleth.”
Where then is this “giant evil?” Not in two
or more preachers, working together with the
L,rd. Nor yet in the time of year, though
it should be “in fodder pulling time,” or “in
dog days.” (Do not such expressions sound
low in the correspondent of a religious pa
per in connection with so grave a subject?)
Again, is it a “giant evil” to preach Jesus
Christ daily, which would make the meeting
a “protracted meeting?” If so, the apostles
were guilty. See Acts v: 42.
But Layman does not say that it is evil to
preach Jesus Christ daily. Neither does he
say that there is anything good or bad in the
name. If there is no sin in the name, none
in preaching Jesus Christ daily, none in two
or more preachers working together, none in
the time of the year—of what then, is this
“American Juggernaut” composed? Why,
positively, “the pastor comes with some
‘helps’ consisting of other pastors. A series
of sermons, with the usual religious exer
cises—first, appeals to the members to feel,
and to pray, and to try to ‘get up’ a revi
val ; secondly, appeals to the unconverted;
then, an invitation to the mourners’ seat. If
any come, they are exhorted by personal ap
peals, in the midst of singing by the congre
gation, to repentance and faith. A number
of persons at these times profess conversion,
and are brought into the church. All must
admit that this is a simple statement of
facts.”
Well, let them all be admitted. Is it “a
giant evil” for the pastor to come with or
without helps? To preach a series of ser
mons with the usual religious exercises? Now
if the pastor, with or without his helps, and
the church meet in the name of Christ, He
will be with them; and, if in the series of
sermons the gospel of Christ is preached,
there ean be no great evil done, “for it is the
power of God unto salvation to every one
that believeth.” Layman has not accused any
of preaching false doctrine.
Layman says, “appeals are made to the
members, to feel, and to pray, and to try
to get up a revival.” This may be all wrong.
The Rationalist does not believe in a religion
that ean be felt. But the heart of the two
disciples going to Eiuinau9 burned within
them while Christ laiked with them. Camp
bellites tell us that it is sinful to pray for sin
ners. If that be true, the last words of the
martyr Stephen were sinful! See Acts vii:
60. And it may be wrong “to try to get up
a revival." If so, the appeal is wrong !
know not what efforts Fabakkuk laadr toget
up a revival, bu< 1 know he prayed ; “O Lord,
revive thy work in :he midst of the years,”
Layman complains that appeals are made
to the unconverted. Dr. Hartwell once quo
ted an appeal recorded in Matt, xxiii: 33
and a member of the church accused him of
blasphemy ! There may be something in the
manner or matter of these appeals that is
wrong. It may be wrong to make those ap
peals while the congregation are singing; if
so, let the speaker or congregation stop
“G< dis a God of order.” It may be out of
place to stand in the aisle and exhort or
preach. Let him remain in his place when
speaking. Does the preacher use idle words ?
Let him do so no more, but “speak forth the
words of truth and soberness.” Does his
maimer, and the intonation of his voice, re
semble that of a citv auctioneer? Layman
thinks so. ' Let him correct himself speedily.
If he must imitate, let him imitate the city
preacher, not the auctioneer. “Let nothing
be done through strife or vain glory.” Let
him speak as in the presence of God.
Layman says, “they are fond of using the
Almanac in ascertaining the time of the year
to “get pious.” This is certainly a grave
charge. It is equivalent to accusing those
preachers with impiety all the year, until they
ascertain by the Almanac the time “to get
pious.” Why not accuse them of hypocrisy ?
The language would be less scurrilous; and
if they are not all hypocrites, does not Lay
man become an “accuser of the brethren ?”
Layman says, “it is October; and the oid
machine is rolled under the shelter to grind
and saw no more until next summer; and in
the meanwhile, the church and the young con
veri- are left to the kind guardianship of the
world, ihe flesh and the devil ” This is bad,
if it be true; and it is bad, if it is false. 1
have nwer seen it after this fashion. There
is a church in this county which had held no
protracted meeting during eleven years.
Neither had there been a revival of the work
of God for thirteen years, in that church.
But, including the 4th Sabbath in July last,
a protracted meeting was held—yes, protract
ed eleven days. God’s work was revived;
the meeting was adjourned; and although
the church is poor, a pastor was chosen for
•Guv hart jfcii* -l'.. •' r do-v hun
dred dollars promised him That pastor has
not left that church and those young converts
“to the kind guardianship of the world, the
flesh, and the devil,” Why, sir, I believe
that more than one-half of.the churches of
the Alabama Baptist Association were con
stitut'd during protracted meetings; and I
ought to know something about the churches
of that body. I have attended thirty-five of
her annual meetings.
I heard the venerable Dr. Manly, from the
pulpit, at a protracted meeting, say, that he
was satisfied that the hand of God was in
those meetings; that many of our most use
ful and efficient members were brought into
the churches at those meetings; but that he
did not know how himself to work success
fully in them. I know not what proportion,
but I do know some of our most efficient
ministers who professed conversion at pro
tracted meetings. Dues Layman believe that
any Juggernaut, American or Asiatic, ever
converted a sinner unto God ? Or does he
believe that ail who professed conversion at
those meetings were deceived, or hypocrites?
Again, he says, “1 have entered into this
contest to fight this American Juggernaut so
long as there be vitality visible in any part
of its system.” Better take the advice of
Gamaliel in a parallel case, lest haply you be
found even to fight against God.
D. Lee.
Mt. Willing, Ala.
Short Sermons.
Brevity has been said to be the soul of wit;
but if it be a fact, it is one which public
speakers, as a class, most lamentably ignore.
It seems, on the contrary, to be an idea with
many of them that they should say all that
they can on every subject, and when thf>y
have little to say, to make it up by repeating
that little. They seem utterly unaware of
the fact that it is harder to listen than it is to
speak. They are often unaware, too, that
what they are saying cannot seem as striking
or as interesting to their hearers as it does
to them. They goon until the minutes make
themselves up iuto hours, in innocent ig
norance of the sfact that nine-tenths of their
audience are hoping that each sentence will
be the last.
Preachers, we believe, violate this rule of
brevity as often as any other class of public
speakers, though they should really do so
less. They subjects of which they have to
speak should indeed engage the attention of
hearers more than any other; but they are
subjects which they hear often. Save at
times when the religious feelings of the peo
ple are unusually aroused, it is a difficult
matter to engage the attention of congrega
tions upon the themes ordinarily discussed
from the pulpit. For a short time they will
listen well, if what is said be to the point.
But when the speaker enters upon his subject
-with an elaboration which promises both
length and tediousness, they at once give
themselves up to listlessness, if not Us sleep.
Under such circumstances, his sermon is ut
terly thrown away to by far the larger por
tion of his congregation.
We regard it as a misfortune that minis
ters have not quit following the example of
preaohers of the olden day, who thought it
necessary to have twelve or fifteen divisions
in the discussion of every subject. We know
that a text will often suggest many interest
ing trains of thought, and the temptation to
present them all is very alluring, and some
times almost irresistible. But when a sub
ject allows of such striking interest, he had
best divide it, and offer it at different times.
He can make it more forcible by doing so.
He can enter into his theme right away,
without tiring out his hearers by a lengthy
introduction. There are some texts that
would seem to embrace within their range
the whole gospel plan of salvation, and a full
discussion of them might occupy hours. It
would be far more profitable, we opine, to
present a single feature of such a text for
half an hour, than to weary the patience and
confuse the thought by attempting the whole.
Within reasonable limits, the shorter you
make a sermon, the more effective will it be.
»
Christina!).
As it is not known in what mor.th Christ
was born ; hence I do rot observe what is
called Christmas. If the day wive known,
theft) is no command to observe it; neither
apostolic nor primitive example. SupeMti
tion, doubtless, was the origin of its observ
ance, and it has been perverted to very vicious
purposes. If we observe one day without
divine authority, we may be called upon to
observe Easter, as it is called, an 1 other holy
days and uuseriptural rites. The Sabbath
was observed by primitive Christians in
memory of Christ’s resurrection
1 have taken the Index since thn year ’22.
The first piece I wrote for it was on I aiab lii:
15 ihat year. A. S.
How Does God Administer Reproof to Man !
Thai; God addresses reproof to the child
ren m men, the history of all nations pro
claims. Reproof may c v. *to us from hea
ven in t -nes of thunder; or it may be gentle
as AA 1 ’ lminer, evening breeze, and silent a
the ibori-tnt dew Ui address-tig HU people, j
both under th“ Old Testament dispensation, *
and the New, God does not t.eat liiem a-: au
tomata, but appeals to them as intelligent
and responsible be mgs—-presents the danger
of a sinful course, and the reward of w’ell
doing.. How often lias God reproved you,
by rendering your conscience tender, which
gently whispered, “ You are pursuing a wrong
course.”
Sometimes he has reproved by bringing
before you an axainple of the beauty of ho
liness in the character of a Christian friend;
a pious mother; a devoted sister; or even
iu the dawn of piety in your child. And
more than all, He reproved you when your
mind was sublued under a sense of His great
goodness; and, when you felt what grew'
tilings He had done for you, notwithstanding
your thoughtlessness, sin, and folly. How
kindly and gently did He reprove His an
cient people, in those sweet, loving words:
“ But thou hast n it called on me, O Jacob ;
but thou hast been weary of me, O Israel.”
Yet notwithstanding all that: “I, pven 1, am
he that blotteth out thy sins.”
But if His gentler voice is not heeded, He
will utter a reproof in tones of thunder. “By
terrible things in righteousness.” By blight
ing your fondest hopes, and blasting your
fairest prospects. By laying ail your plans
and projects in ruins. By taking away the
desire of your eyes with u stroke. Till at
length nonplussed, exhausted, and almost on
the brink of despair, you trembling cry ; O
merciful ‘ 'ne ! “ Wilt tnou pursue thy worm
to death
God’s voice then may bo heard like music
in the savage fury of the storm, saying:
‘•Turn yon at my reproof.”
Iu order to profit by these reproofs, which
Come to us all, whether they be gentle or se
vere, it is necessary to cultivate an humble,
penitent, teachable spirit, such as that ex
pressed by the prophet Habakkuk : “I will
stand upon rny watch, arid set me upon the
tower, and will watch to see what lie will
say unto me, and what I shall answer when I
am reproved.” Whether aware of it or not,
wj? ali need reproof; and it is oiie thing to
be reproved of God, and another to turn nC
His reproof. How many there are, notwith
standing all the reproofs which come to them,
who continue pursuing their own chosen path
to ruin. Let the terrible and solemn warn
ings of God himself be listened to now: “Be
cau9e 1 have called and ye refused ; I have
stretched out rny hand and §o man regarded,
But ye have set at nought all my counsel, and
would none of my reproof, I also wilHaugh
at your calamity; I will mock when your
fear cometh. He that being often reproved,
harrjeneth his neck, shall suddenly be de
stroyed, and that without remedy.”
Grkbi.
Not Intended.
It was not my intention when I commend
ed “A Layman’s” article, to have anything to
say on the subject of Protracted Meetings;
but as I am noticed in the discussion, some
thing will be expected from me. When “A
Layman” is done, I may dispassionately give
some objections to Protracted Meetings.
Should 1 do so, my objections shall not be
urged against the abuse of Protracted Meet
ings, but against the things themselves.
H. E. T.
/ Moral Results of Romanism.
It is well to keep before Protestant eyes—
we wish we could get before Romanist eyes—
the facts and the figures with respect to the
comparative moral results of the two types
of nominal Christianity. Mr. L. W. Bacon’s
article on this subject, in the last number of
the New Englander , brings up some of these
unchallenged facts, with some fresh ones
likewise.
In the matter of illegitimate births, ten
leading cities of Protestant England report
ed 63 illegitimate children to every thousand
children born; ten such cities of Catholic
Austria, 419. When five leading cities of
England and Italy, respectively, were com
pared, the result was 58 out of the thousand
illegitimate, in the former country ; in the
latter 216. A like comparison with regard
to the ten largest cities of Prussia and Aus
tria gave 158 to the thousand to the Protest
ant cities, and 454 to the thousand to the Ro
manist cities.
These figures, which were published by
Mr. Seymour fifteen years ago, remained un
answered until about two years since, when
an English journal, of the Ritualist order,
essayed to give some counter statistics. These
have been copied iuto a recent article in the
American Monthly, which is issued by the
Romanists in New York.
This reply ventured to account for the dis
proportionate amount of illegitimacy in Ro
manist countries, on the ground of the great
er amount of prostitution in England. But
when the statistics are looked up, it turns out
that Paris has 40 prostitutes to every 10,000
persons; Dublin 33, and London 17. The
Romanist journal, in its figures of compari
son, chaiged to London 28,000 prostitutes,
being the number for all England, instead of
5,619) the number actually belonging to the
city.
The facts so adverse to Romanism, which
had been unchallenged so long, being thus
unimpeached now, Mr. Seymour gives fresher
statistics in reference to crime.
In regard to murder, the returns for 1856
show that in England there were convic
tions to the million people; in France, 12.
The infanticides were as 10 in France to 5 in
England. The French suicides were 127 in
the million ; the English, 64.
In these days, when so much is said of the
failure of Protestantism, it may be as well
for the world to understand that, in respect
to moral results, it may be shown that Prot
estantism is the very religion which has had
success.
“ Knowledge cornea, but wisdom lingers.”
WHOLE NO. 2468,
The Preacher,
He took a shaft both strong and straight,
A shaft he had polished with labor great.
He winged it with sweet eloquence,
, With learning and with subtle sene*.
Boldly he drew, and be aimed with ear*;
But it wounded ouijr the idle air.
A second he took both straight and atroag,
Winged with a paaaionate aeuee of wrong.
He drew it stoutly, and aimed it true:
The mark he aimed at was plain to riew.
Swift it fled, ret it lighted wide;
J For it touched on a rook, and awerred aside.
He reached his hand and took from abera
A slender arrow barbed with lore.
He aimed it with but little art,
Yet it touched and wounded a human heart.
His last, his lightest, was winged with prayer,
And be shot it iurth through the yielding air.
No careful aim (be preacher took,
For be turned to hearen hit upward look;
Yet it pierced a heart both bard and proud,
The hardest heart in ail tha crowd.
— Sunday at Horn*.
The Tomb of Christ.
Here shall death’s triumph end; the rock-barred door
Is opened wide, and the Great Prisoner gone;
Look round and see, upon the vacant floor.
The napkin uud the grave-clothes lie atone.
Yes; death’s last hope, h>« strongest fort and prison.
Is shattered, never to be built again ;
And He, the mighty captive—He Is risen.
Leaving behind the gate, the bar, the chain. ,
Yes; He is risen who is the First and Last,
Who was and is, who liveth and was deal;
Beyond tbe reach Os death He now has passed,
Os tbe one glorious church tbe glorious Head.
—Jienar.
Morality of Oar Judgments.
There are two cases hi which an intellectual
error inav be justly said to involve, or at
least to represent, guilt. In the first place,
error frequently springs from the partial or
complete absence of that mental disposition
which is implied in a real love of the truth.
Hypocrites, or men who through interested
motives profess opinions which they do not
really believe, are probably fewer than is
usual!) supposed; but it would be difficult
to over-estimate the number of those whose
genuine convictions are due to the unresisted
bias of their interests. By the term inter
est» I mean not only material well-being, but
also all those mental luxuries, —all those
grooves or channels for thought,—which it is
easy and pleasing to follow, and painful or
difficult to abandon. Such are the love of
case, the love of certainty, the love of sys
tem, the bias of the passions, the associations
of the imagination as well as the coarser in
fluences ol social position, domestic happi
ness, professional interest, party fee.ing, or
ambition, in most men the love of truth is
so languid, and their reluctance to encounter
mental suffering is so great, that they yield
their judgments without an effort to the cur
rent, —withdraw their minds from all opin
ions or arguments opposed to their own, and
thus speedily convince themselves of the
truth of what they wish to believe. He who
really loves truth, is bound, at least, to en
deavor to resist these distorting influences,
and in so far as his opinions are the result of
his not having done so, iu to iar they repre
sent a moral failing.
in the next place, it must be observed that
every moral failing brings with it an intel
lectual bias, which exercises a great, and often
a controlling and decisive, influence, even up
on the most earnest inquirer. If we know
ffie character or disposition of a man, we can
usually predict, with tolerable accuracy, many
'of ho -'pinions —21.. ian tail to wh** of
politics, to what canons of taste, to what
theory of morals he will naturally incline.
Btern, heroic and haughty natures tend to
systems in which these qualities occupy the
toretnost position in the moral type; While
gentle natures will as naturally lean toward
systems in which the amiable virtues are su
preme. Impelled by a species of moral
gravitation, the inquirer will glide insensibly
to the system which is congruous to his dis
position, and intellectual difficulties will sel
dom arrest him. He can have observed hu
man nature with but little fruit who has not
remarked how constant is this connection,
and how very rarely men change, fundamen
tally, the principles they had deliberately
adopted on religious, moral, or even political
questions, without the change being preceded,
accompanied, or very speedily followed, by a
serious modification of character. So, too,
a vicious and depraved nature, or a nature
which is hard, narrow, or unsympathetic,
will tend, much less by calculation or indo
lence than by natural affinity, to low and de
grading views of human nature.. Those who
have never felt the higher emotions, will
scarcely appreciate them. The materials
with which the intellect builds are often from
the heart, and a moral disease is therefore
not unfrequently at tbe root of an erroneous
judgment.— Leakey's History of Morals.
Choirs. —lt is a significant fact that the
music of the church, by a separate choir, was
introduced by a Pope, and by that one of
them, Gregory the Great, to whom, more
than to almost any other, the hierarchical sys
tem of the Papacy is due. It was an essen
tial part of that revolution in which not only
the government of the church, but the active
participation in worship itseff, was taken from
the congregation, and made a sacerdotal mo
nopoly. By him, too, that complicated style
of church music was introduced, which, too
difficult for all save trained singers, requires
of necessity to be performed by a choir.
This new method spread along with the hier
archical polity, of which it formed a part,
and in the time of the Reformation was re
tained by the Protestants; as many other
things were retained which might far better
have been left behind with the doctrinaof
papal supremacy, the mass and the ONffeV'
sioual.— Standard.
Thb Pulpit. —The Christian Examiner, in
discussing the Tf a7lege3 decline of our reli
gious institutions/' mentions the pulpit—its
construction, garniture, and stately isolation
from the congregation—-as a serious detrac
tion from ministerial power over the popular
mind. There is probably more truth in thia
suggestion, says the New York Christian Ad
vocate, than is generally supposed. Daniel
Webster, it is said, affirmed that few lawyers
could gain a cause if "boxed up in a pulpit"
while pleading.
Thb Voioa op Christ’s Blood. God
‘ hath spoken unto us by his Son,”-—not only
by what He said, but by what lie did and
suffered. “ His blood speaketh better things
than that of Abel.” To use the words of
one now in heaven: “ Know ye the language
of the wound in His sidel It says, come,
come. And the wounds in His hands say,
come, come. And the wounds in His feet
say, come, come.”— Dr. John Love.
Pvritahism. —Rev. Leonard Bwain, D.D.,
Congregationalist, said, at the Warren Cen
tennial: "You Baptists have taught us the
principles of Puritanism better than we knew
them. You have been the advanced guard in
the battles of our pilgrim fathers.”
Latin. —The Church Monthly, New York,
expresses the belief that “ a Latin version of
the Book of Common Prayer woufc be more,
useful than any other.”