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