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CHRISTIAN INDEX AND SftUTH-WESTERN BAPTIST! VOL. 48—NO. 48. A RELIGIOUS AND FAMILY PAPER, PUBLISHED WEEKLY IN ATLANTA, OA TER3l3.—Club* of Four, ($3.00 each) per annum...sl2 00 Club* of Three, ($1.33 each) per annum... 10.00 Clubs of Two. (3.50 each) per annum 7.00 Single Subscriber 4.00 J. T. TOON". Proprietor. 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.”