The Cartersville express. (Cartersville, Ga.) 1875-18??, January 09, 1880, Image 1

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VOL. XX.--NO. 50. The Cartersville Express, IXablislied Twenty Years. RATES AND TERMS. SUBSCRIPTION. One copy one year One copy nix months One copy three months M Payments invariably in Advance. ADVERTISING RATES. Vdvei I isements will be inserted at the rates of One Dollar per Inch for the first insertion, and Fifty Cents for each additional insertion. Address, S. A. CUNNINGHAM, SODOM THE SECOND. Moody and Sankcy Give St. Louis a Trial. J. M. H. in Cumberland Presbyterian. For several weeks now, Moody andSaukoy have been holding meet ings in St. Louis. Many had pre dicted for them failure. This city presented peculiar difficulties, and they could not succeed. What the evangelists badj done in Birming ham, Liverpool, London, Edin burgh, Glasgow, Brooklyn, Phila delphia, New York, Boston, Chica go, and Baltimore, they could uot do here. And how have they found it? Hard enough, to be sure. Said Mr. Sankcy to me, “ This is a dif ferent soil from] anything we have ever struck before. This city is German and Catholic largely. Then there is a great deal of skepticism. Even professing Christians do not believe the Bible, and are far away. But we knew all this before wc came. Wo could have gone to a hundred places where it would have been easier, but wo wanted to come here, because we thought we could do the most good.” I asked Mr. Moody if the Protestant ministry were cooperating as heartily as usual. “()h, yes,” ho said, “they are all in the work, but it is not in them, and you see thore’s a mighty lot of dif ference. The want of spiritual power is seen in both pew and pul pit.” The sad spiritual condition of St. Louis may be seen from the meager church attendance. A few Sab baths since, it was agreed that the attendance at the different Protest ant churches should be counted. It was a fair day, and only seven teen thousand people wore in all the houses of worship of tho different denominations. One out of thirty of the inhabitants goos to a Pro testant church on Sabbath. But, with all the obstacles of German rationalism, atheism, scientific skep ticism, nominal Christianity, and icy churches, the evangelists are doing a good work. Said Dr. Brookes to me : “ As yet there is no very deep and wide-spread feeling, but the attendance at tho meetings has been good, and I am sure very great good is being done.” Every day numbers new converts. I have heard some testify, who came L 5 the city as seekers, having no other business except to seek Christ in these meetings. Many ministers are here from different parts of Mis souri, and Illinois, and other States also. I was surprised to learn that some come even from Texas, only to attend thee3 meetings. Said Mr. Moody: “Now if St. Louis gets quickened, the work will not end in the city. These ministers and peo ple will carry the fire buck to their own congregations, and it will burn there.” On meeting Dr. McDonald, our own beloved evangelist, I asked him to “analyze Moody.” “Well,” he said, “ Moody is a great general. 1 have learned something. lie super intends every part of the work in person, even to minutest details. But Sankcy in the drawing power. The people come to hear him sing, and then Moody preaches the sim ple gospel to them. You know the simple gospel of itself does not possess much drawing power for the world.” As for Sankcy, I was somewhat disappointed in him. He is not the accurate musician, or tho sweet and impressive singer that Bliss was. Still, this may be said, and yet a great deal said for him. His bright and genial face, his warm heart, and his splendid voice give him groat power for good. In the in quiry roam, he is as much at homo as when at his organ, and his activ ity there is not second to Mr. Moody. As for Mr. Moody—well, he is Moody. Nothing very remarkable in him that you can point out to another, and yet ho makes a re markable impression upon you. He has some of the graces or tricks of the orator. Ho reads very much like a school boy who is yot thumb ing his third reader. His language is far from correct, often teeming with the grossest inaccuracies. In this respect the reporter makes him speak better than ho can speak. His success is duo to three things. 1. liis generalship. He Likes close personal supervision of every part of the work. If there is no one he can beckon to do it, he comes down from the platform to open a'window for ventilation. He sees that the gas is turned on just right. He passes books to those without, and who are nat singing. He arranges the chairs on the platform, and has singers and ministers sit where he directs. Everything moves at the point of his finger. To-day he did not hesitate to look a rebuke into the faces of two ministers who were whispering on the platform while a solemn piece was being sung by Sankey. In the inquiry room he has two questions: “ Are you a Christian ?” and “ Are you a work er?” The worker he puts by the side of him who is uot a Christian, that he may point him to Christ. 2. His earnestness. Preachers know what it is to have deep conviction and earnestness on some points, while others are only to fill out the plan of discourse. Mr. Moody seems to utter nothing but with the intensest convictions. Tho heart behind that voice must be earnest, and that eye burns with an inner fire. 3. His spiritually. It is but fair to let Mr. Moody explain the se cret. of his success, and he says it comes from the baptism of, the Holy Spirit. His favorite term is “ the anointing.” God anointed him to preach tho gospel. Tho cloven tongue of fire has been upon him, hence, under his preaching, men arc pricked to the heart, and seek ing souls find the way of life. When the winter is gone, these men of God will go from St. Louis, leaving the same testimony as in other cities, viz., that many were gathered in from the ways of sin, and the churches greatly quickened for Christian work. Now that the holiday festivities and follies have passed, the work will go on with increasing interest from day today. Ht. Louis, Mo. Benjamin Franklin on Death, LETTER TO MISS E. HUBBARD ON THE DEATH OF HIS BROTHER, JOHN FRANKLIN. Philadelphia , Feb. 23,1756. I condole with you. YVe have lost a most dear and valuable rela tion. But it is the will of God and nature that theso mortal bodies bo laid aside when the soul is to enter into real life. This is rather an em bryo state, a preparatson for living. A man is not completely born until he is dead. Why then should we grieve that anew child is born among tho immortals, anew mem ber added to their happy society ? We are spirits. That bodies should bo lent us while they afford us pleasure, assist us iu acquiring kuowledgo, or in doing good to our fellow creatures, is a kind and be nevolent act of God. When they become unfit for these purposes, and afford us pain instead of pleasure, instead of an aid become an encum brance, and answer none of the in tentions for which they were given, it is equally kind and benevolent that a way is provided by which we may get rid of them. Death is that way. We ourselves, in some cases, prudently choose a partial death. A mangled, painful limb, which can not be restored, we willingly cut off. He who plucks out a tooth parts with it freoly sinco the pain goes with it; and lie who quits the whole body parts at once with all pains and possibilities of pains and dis eases which it was liable to or capa ble of making him suffer. Our friend aud we, **e invited abroad on a party of pleasure which is to last forever. His chair was ready first and he is gone before us. Wc could not all conveniently start to gether, and why should you and 1 be grieved at this, since wo are soon to follow and know where to find him ! Adieu. B. Franklin. CARTERSVILLE, GA., FRIDAY, JANUARY 9,1880. The CARTERS VILLE EXPRESS for ONE YEAR for $1.50. On a similar occasion he wrote to his sister, a few years afterwards, as follows: “It is remarkable that so many breaches by death should be made in our family in so short a space. Out of seventeen children that our father had, thirteen lived to grow up and to settle in the world. I remember these thirteen (some of us then very young) all at one ta ble, when an entertainment was made at our house, on the occasion of the return of my brother Josiah, who had been absent in the East In dies, and unheard of for nine years. Of these thirteen there now remain, but three. As our number dimin ishes let our affection to each other rather increase, for besides its being our duty it is our interest, since the more affectionate relations are to each other the more they are re spected by the rest of the world.” Again, speaking of the death of au acquaintance, he wrote: “ Your neighbor must have been pretty well advanced in years when be died. I remember him a young man when I was a very young boy. In looking back, how short the time seems! I suppose that all the pas sages of our lives that we have for gotten, being so many links taken out of the chain, give the more dis tant parts leave, as it were, to come apparently nearer together.” —New York Observer. MOTHER AND SON. MRS. yi. A. KIDDER. Yesterday I saw a mother With her dear eyes fall of tears, Aud her heart , so true and tender, Beating with a thousand fears, Weeping o’er her prostrate darling. Brought home at the set of sun, Wounded , robbed of name aud honor— He, her sou, her only one! By the hand of friend or foe ? Was he dead or was he dying, Had he stood up like a hero, Bravely, ere he fell so low ? Ah ! the mother heart made answer To itself in sighs of pain : “He was wounded in a bar-room.” Then her tear-drops fell like rain. Wounded deeper by the serpent Nestled in the soeial glass Than lie could have been by bullet , Or the hostile sword, alas! Scarred in soul as well as body On the world’s great battle-field, Where so many meet temptation, Where so many tempted yield! Long that mother’s gray hair mingled With the brown locks of her boy, Long she sought for consolation At the Fountain-head of joy; Till a hope, a white hope, blossomed Sweetly when her prayer was done : “ He may yet be saved,” she murmured— “ He, my son, my only one ! ” Temperance Banner. To an Over-Sensitive Person, You are our friend. You are warm-hearted aud generous and have many other good qualities for which we love and praise you. Yet you have a fault aud a growing ono, which, if you do not regard, will embitter your future life. You are over-sensitive to the opinions of every person in the little world in which you live aud move. You place your happiness entirely too much in other people’s keeping. A word of praise unduly lifts you up; and a word of censure unduly casts you down. The slightest dart of criticism leaves a wound which is very slow to heal. It will be very hard for you to forgive an honest friend who thus dares to tell you this plain, unpalatable truth. You deny with warmth the charge, of course. But your very warmth of manner betrays you. It is hard lor any man to know himself, and it is doubly hard for you. Glance back ward on the past and mark how often your over-sensitive spirit has been wounded. Only see how quickly and how often you have taken a slight when really no slight was ever intended. You complain with warmth of manner that a cer tain neighbor passed you on the street yesterday, aud gave you no nod of recognition. Perhaps he did not see you ? “Ho could not help but sec me,” is your reply. Perhaps he waited for you to speak ? “O ! O! ” you say, “I never speak first, but always wait to be spoken to.” Exactly so. Doubtless your neigh bor is like you in this respect, anu, therefore, why should you be so much offended? Last *eek you were one of a small party of inti mate friends. Jokes with a slight flavor of wit were thrown back aud forth at random. There was no malice whatever in any of them. You hit you friend with a joke, aRd he hit you with another. Mirth and repartee raged fast and furious. When you struck your friend he laughed in chorus with tho rest; but when he struck you, you failed to echo the laugh which then arose. You raised yourself creel, and frowned, and shewed a gigantic amount of wounded dignity. Re member that he who gives a joke at tho expense of another must loarn to take one. But you made your self and all around you uncomfort oble. A question of policy you have often raised into a personal question, and this is always a fool ish thing to do. Another man was put in nomination for the office which you hold in the church or the Sunday school! This other man was elected. There is nothing lobe offended at Jn that. It is a pity that you construe your defeat iul6 a personal affront. Do not exclaim, "If they are going to slight me thus, X shuli leave the church.” Keep cool and do nothing of the kind, for no one wants to hurt your feelings. In the opinion of the ma jority of the voters a better person than you is chosen for the office, and with that opinion you should at once concur. Pray for these two things : first, for tho grace of humility. Take care how you rate yourself higher than any one else in the whole world will rate you. If others fail to sec your good qualities, so much the worse fqr them. They aie blind; so pity their misfortune. Praise. God lor all your gifts, and use them wisely and constantly. Then pray that you may do your work in life us in the sight of God. Seek to please and honor him, and put away all selfish motives. Wheth er men smile or frown, go straight ahead, and you will havo an approv ing conscience and at last a great reward. — Methodist. The Different Kinds of Wool. F rom an address by Mr. Leonard Deane, before the Kentucky Wool Growers' Association, we make the following extract: The value of all kinds of wool is determined by its strength, lustre, working qualities and shrinkage. Wool is divided by governments for tariff and wool merchants, into three classes : Clothing, combing, and car pet, and is produced in quantity in this order. Wool merchants sepa rate each division into as many classes as there are distinct quali ties of staple in each division to suit the purchaser. Manufacturers take tho fleeces, putting them into as many classes as there are distinct qualities in each fleece, according to its length, color, lustre, etc., except the gummy locks, which they will not buy unwashed. Clothiug wool is generally divided into three classes —fine, medium, and coarse. The average price for fifty-three years, since 1834, for each class per washed pound, is for fine, 61Jc.; medium, 561 e . %, coarse, 51c.; or near ly 510., per pound less on each class as it grows coarser. Average price per washed pound Australian in London, for 1862 to 1867, inclusive, is estimated by Mr. Bond, 43Jc., gold. Counting freights, commis sions, etc., for same period, the av erage price in currency for washed Australian, would be SO cents per pound in New York, or 19 cents more than any other of our clothing wools, and 29 cents more than for our coarse wools. Card or X wools are required to be fine, short in sta ple, “full of spiral curls and serra tures.” Combing wool consists in drawing out the gares straight and parallel; then twisted into yarn, called worsted, “ the ends, in spin ning being covered, make the yarn smooth and lustrous.” The staple should be generally five to eight inches long, having a few “ spiral curls aud serratures,” with distinct lustre. These qualities are found in the English in their order of perfection as follows: The Lincolnshire, Leicester, and Colts wold breeds. Delaine wools are shorter and finer, and can be used as short as. 2A inches, but it must be very fine and nice. The coarser the Staple, the longer it must be. These are not classed in the trade as combing wools. There are fine, medium, aud coarse combing wools. The duty on this woo! will equal eleven cents per pound, and ten per cent, ad valorem. Poorly bred wools are very objectionable, with a fine, downy bottom and coarse, uneven fibres. These are gcnencrally* sold for ciarpet wools. I need only say to the wool-growers of this State, that there is a wider*field in the ex-, pansion of wool growing fubrios than your imagination can take in. ’ 4 * A*? '^4 * ' "*'• ■■ "j*-■■*- >*if ;* -f* s‘3 The Anchor Hope. St. Paul is very rich iu his thoughts about hope, as we had oc casion to show somA months But, perhaps, the richest of aH h4if thoughts is the one in which houses the anchor as a symbol of hope. The figure itself is strikingly apl, and all literature and art follow Sty. Paul iu the use of Lbis| symboL—tho world over, the anchor stands for hope. The manner in which this figure is introduced by St. Paul adds much to its force ; it is almost, if not quite, a picture wffiich the text brings before us. He says: “ That we might havo a strong con solation who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us; which hope we have as an an chor of the soul both sure aud stead fast, and which entereth into that within the veil whither the forerun ner is for us enterod, oven Jesus.” The “ fleeing for refuge to lay hold upon,” suggests tho picture of a ship trembling in overwhelmipg waves, and her crew flying to "their last resource, the anchor. But this vividness of picture is, if possible, surpassed in tho illumination of tho whole passage by a method which is peculiarly Paulino—tho prefacing and closing tho statement with au appeal to our best emotious. It is begun with the assurance of “a strong consolation;” it is closed with the swcotcr assurance that ouv anchor, dropped within the veil, holds surely, because it grasps therp “the forerunner, even Jesus.” — The Methodist. Jane’s Lesson. Once there was a little girl named Jane. She was a pretty good little girl, but she had a habit of not minding the first time she tva spoken to. She was sure to say, “ Yes, in a minute, mother,” and as her minutes were apt to be rather long her mother often had to speak several times before she was obeyed. One beautiful summer morning, Jane was out in the back-yard phiy ing, and her mother was sewing by tho front window, when Mrs. Smith and her little girl, about Janas age, drove up to the door in a fine double carriage for M rs. Barrett and Jane to take a ride into the country. Mrs. Barrett quickly stepped to the back window, and said : “ Jaue! come here, dear; I want you.” “ Yes, in a minute, mother,” Jaue replied. Her mother commenced to put ou her things, and, finding that Jane was not coming called again. “Yes, in a minute,” again answered the little girl. As usual, her minute wits a long one, and Mrs. Barrett was ready to start. So she went down stairs, stopped to the kitchen, and told Bridget she was going out, and then left the house. After about five minutes, Jane came slpwly into the house, and or her way up-stairs, kept repeating in a. complaining tone, “ What do you want, mother ?” But she got no answer, and whon she looked into her mother’s room, and saw no mother there, she was sur prised enough. She quickly ran to tho kitchen, and exclaimed : *“ Where’s mother, Bridget?” “‘Where's mother?’” scornfully repeated Bridget. “ Sure, it’s time ye were askin’ that! It’s ridin’ In the beautiful country she is, to bq sure, a-listening to tho birds, an’ a-smelling the ilegaut flowers; whei:c yourself would ha’ been, had ye come when she. called ye. Them high-steppin-’ horses of Mrs. Smith’s has* fio call to be waitin’ for your mi nutes to be up. ” I ■ l * 1 “Oh Bridget, Bridget!” sobbed the child. “ Has mother gone to ride with Mrs. Smith ? And did Susie’s go, too ?” “ That she did,” said Bridget, “ and such a mornin’ for ridin’ ye’il not often seo.” “Oh, dear!” sighed Jane, “why didn’t you call me ?” * “‘An’ didn’t your mother cal! yc? Sure, if y#- wouldn’t come for her ye> wouldn’t for me. Y.e had better S. A. AM. W ■• *% zmt 9 CIB OCZM learn to mind when you're spoken to, and do your jffaviiur after./ Finding that comfbrt front ylie went stairs again to her mothers'roofiif herself on the lounge, and after tiring her soli 6ut tlith crying* folk asleep, i % ’ mz When her mother camukhenie she found her there, and as she stood! and looked fen thc ffuslmd and tear stained face, she felt very sorry for her. But she knew that only by such hard lessons as-CUis Would her littlo girl ever loam to mhftf f> ° When Jane dWofte/aiid her mother had really bpeA country, seen .many .chickens and ducks, and somo littlo lambsaa as snow, she felt worse than over. About a week alter tka*, iMO Smith called again tor them to go to rkte. Jane, as Usual, was flaying in the back yard, and when her mother dalfodf? she ahpwdj’pd, YeS, mother,” ami in a^twlhfdihg gp stai\u f -Sjje skw tbe carriage frptu the front window, and, with a joyfqj cry, exclaimed: V.how glad JL am 1 haven’t lost my-ride this time !”* Ah they passed through the half* on their way out; Bridget caifed from the kitchen r “ I guess ye’ll find iflf pay" ye best to mind your mother wiiou she spikes to yo.” vi xl\&m They spent tho whole day in the country, and when they got homo; Jane was glad enough to creep int 6 her little bod. But before she went to slcCj) her mother said to her; “Jane, why did quickly vyhen I pallod this morning ?” m “ Because, mother, I was so afraid something had come for as to go t© ride; and I didn’t want to lose it.” “ That is what I thought, do*;!*, and I am glad you hfivc givfcn me an honest answer/ But I want you to remember that you minted me promptly to-day to give yourself pleasure. There is a better motive than that. Can you think what it Can any of our young readers think ? Watchman. Human history is a record of 'progress—a record oF ae&u mu fitting knowledge and increasing wisdom, Of eontinmil advancement from a lower to n higher platform of intel ligence and well-being. Each gen eration passes on to the next the treasures which it inherited, benefi cially modi lied by its own experi ence, enlarged by the fruits of all the victories which itself has gained. The rate of this progress, as, the eye of ‘mail deciphers it, is irregular and even fitful. Notv it seemyto pause, and the years Seem orepeat them selves unalterably. Now it bursts forth in sudden ameliorations; in -Gho Violent overthrow of evils which had boon endured for generations. But the stagnation is o*l y apparent. Ail the vyhile there is a silent ac cumulation of forces whos^gadhered power will, in heaven’s own* lime, reveal itself to the terror, and the joy of man. The nineteenth cen tury has witnessed progress rapid beyond all precedent, for it has wit nessed the overthrow of the riers which proven cod progress. Never since the stream of human development received ink) its slug gish the mighty Ampulse communicated by the Chiytian re ligion has the condition of man ex pcricnced amelioration so vast*. I)es potisni thwarts and frustrates the forces by which providence has jorp vided for the progress ot raaftg no erty secures for these forces their natural scope and exorcise. The nineteenth century h.a witnessed the fall of despotism* find the estab lishment of liberty in thermos! in fluential nations of Um world. It has vindicated for all succeeding ages the right of manta, his own unimpeded development. It has not seen the re -cssing pf all wrongs; nor indeed is that to lie hoped for, because in the ever-shifting Condi tions of man’s life the fight of sho century becomes the wrong of the next. BiiHfl hhs Scon all that the most ardent re ft# mdr can desire—*-tbo removal of artiiieiai obstacles placed in tue path of hu man progress by the selfishness a*jd ignorance of the strong. xhp growth of man’s vvplt-being, rescued from the mischiovous tampering of self-willed princes, is left now to the beneficent regulation of great, provi dential laws. “I jiavjh news for remarked Hr. Fitzgerald, foe other day, to a friend; and then added, with grateful enthusiastii, Amade ;iast moefo of a thousand |