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For the Southern Christian Advocate.
AN incilnnt of the trenches.
EMILY J . ROMEO.
Voice after voice caught up the song,
Until iis tender passion
Rose like an anthem rich and strong—
Tneir cattle-eve confession.
Bayard Taylor.
Day after day the soldier lay
In narrow stifling trenches,
Yet burned their zeal with that warm play,
Which hardship never quenches.
None dared by day to raise a head,
So deadly was the slaughter,
By night alone could they be fed,
Or get fresh, cooling water.
Yet scarce a murmur or complaint,
By these brave men were uttered,
E’en woru out, and weak and faint,
The life-spark scarcely fluttered.
They bore the burning sun by day,
The furious cannonading—
And waiting for the onset lay,
The fain! and weary aiding.
Then, when the welcome nightfall came,
And ceased the heavy firing, [frame,
Each stretched hia cramped and stiffened
Both food and sleep desiring.
But ere they sought their broken rest,
BeneaLh the open heaven,
An hour, the one t hey loved the best,
To praise and prayer was given.
Os friends, of home, of God they spake,
Then into silence sinking,
No sound the holy calm would break,
While all were deeply thinking ;
Till one would raise some well-known tune,
Which all could join in singing,
When down the lines ’twould spread, till soon
The ait wi h praise was ringing—
“ Jesus, the name high over all,”
No other name was dearer,
And as on that loved name they call,
They feel his presence nearer.
Hymn aft er by inn was sweetly sung,
And burdened hearts grew lighter,
The cares of earth away were flung,
And hopes of heaven were brighter.
At last the music died away
In echoes softly stealing,
For one had said. “Now let us pray,”
And all were meekly kneeling.
Then Jesus mime was heard again,
And earnest supplication
Went up from rowsof contrite men,
The heroes of our nation.
Oh God ! shall prayer in such a way,
By Thee be all unheeded,
When in this dark and dreadful day,
Thy blessings are so needed ?
ti ’ 1 j
Jfamilj jkaiting.
THE FALSE CHRIST.
A TALE OT IDE SECOND FALL OF JERUSALEM.
CHAPTER 111.
The caravan had reached its last day’s
journey—a caravan, not of pilgrims, but of
ordinary travellers, to whom Jerusalem was
a market or a dwelliug-place. For of the
wo people to whose hearts Jerusalem was
a place of sacred memories, the Jew dared
not testify Ins reverence; whilst to the
Christian stum of redeeming blood was
on its hills, and from the soil where the
Lamb was slain, the longing heart turned i
to the invisible Sanctuary, and the throne
in the midst of which the beloved disciple
had beheld iiiui. All was silence in the en
campment.
The dawn gave as yet no sign ; the out
lines of the mils rose up black against the
serene sky; all the wealth of colour in
woods, and vineyards, and green hills,
where the sheep fed, and the wavy purple
outlines beyond. lay sleeping under the
flood of moonlight.
One orb was awake, and she sat at the
door of on*- -•! the touts, as still as the stars
she looked at.
It was Irene, the Greek slave. Among
all that Lu..blfcude of sleepers, she had not
one that belonged to her; and as her
thoughts rar~od over the world, among all
the of sleepers there, she knew'
not one that would wake and think first of
her. But there were multitudes in heaven
who would ne and sleep no more, waking in
the sight and praise, of God, to whom she
belonged. There was the spirit of a dead
infant the™ looking on the face of the
Father, and there were martyrs and apos
tles, whose words were her daily jov.
Os th site thought; and there, was
One there who thought of her, looked on
her, and loved her—to whom she belonged
forever, because He had purchased her at
a great price, to be His own. Between her
and the one family in earth and heaven, no
close earthly relationship intervened; yet
the innermost circle of the affections was no
blank, for warm and close in her inmost
heart dwelt the Church, and the Christ of
God.
They were near Bethlehem. It was the
• first day of the week; and, like Magdalene
of old, she stood in thought alone, by the
sepulchre, while it w&s yet dark—but not
weeping, for she knew where her Lord was.
As she sate there, a presentiment of the
morning began to thrill through nature ; a
breeze awoke, the grass at her feet
B'd, from the trees near came a faint oc
g Burial murmur and a soft stirring of wings,
| Belicate rose-colour tinged the brow of
1; Blhighest mountains. God touched the
f, Brwith the tip of his golden sceptre,
PU Bhe might draw near and prostrate her
ps BtolnMe known her petition.
But, from below, Irene’s ear caught an
other murmur, aud the sound of song
swelled and died on the morning air. She
listened, and slowly followed the sound.
As it grew clearer, her face brightened.
Surely nothing so pure and so sweet was
ever sung to Apollo? A turn in the path
made the words distinct.
It was the well-knowu “Hymn to Christ
as God,’’ which has throbbed through the
heart of the church, and poured forth in
music from her lips from the beginning—
the hymn which has at length, it is thought
by some, become crystallised in the “l'e
Deum.” Men aud women saug responsive
ij:—
‘•\Ve praise Thee, O God. we acknowledge Thee to be
the Lord.
All the earth doth worship Thee: the Father Ev. r
la ting.
To Thee ah Angels cry aloud : the Heav< ns, and al
the Powe:s therein.
To Thee Cherubim, and Seraphim : continually do
cry
Holy, H ly. Ho’y ; Lord God of Bab>oth ;
Heaven and earth ar*- full of the y: of ihy glory.
The glori 'U- 1 c impany of tie Apo-tl-s: prai e Thee.
The goodly fellowship of the Prophets : praise Thee.
The noble arn-y c f Martvrs: pra ; se Thee.
Ihe holy chinch throughout the world: doth ac
knowledge Thee.
T!ip Fath r: of an infinite Majesty;
Thine honourable, true: and only «on;
Also the Holy Ghost: the t'omforter.
Tl ou art the King ofGlo-y: O Christ.
Thou art the Ev-rlasting Son: of the father.
When Tt ou ‘ookest upon I'nee to deliver man: Thou
didst.no abhor the Virgin’- womb.
When Thou hadst overcome the sharpness of Dea'h :
Thou didst open the kingdom of Heaven to a 1
beli v rs.
Thou sittesta’ the right hand of God: in the Glory of
the Father 1
We believe that Thou sbalt come : to be our Judge.
We therefore pray Thee, help thy servants : whom
Thou hast redeemed with thv precious b'ood.
Make them to be numbered with Thy Saints: in glory
er erlusting
O Lord, save Thy people: and bless Thine heritage.
Govern ihem: and lift them up forever.
Day by day.; we magnify thee.
Ard we worship thy name : ever world without end.
Vouchsafe O Lord : to keep us this day without sin.
O Lord, have m rey upon us: have mercy upon us.
O Lord let thy m rcy iighten upon us: as our trust is
in Thee.
O L»rd, in Th f e have I trusted : let me never be con
founded ”
When the strains died away, she was
kneeling on the rocks, her hands clasped,
and tears of joy streaming over her face.
Then rising, she entered the cave whence
the sound issued, and bowing low, and ma
king the sign of the cros-., seated herself
amongst the disciples. There was a mo
mentary pause. Few in that 'little band
were above the rank of peasants and vine
dressers, and the ray of the one lamp light
ed up many a face hardened by toil, and
brightened by no human culture. But the
thought which has renewed the face of the
earth was there, and the lbve which made
martyrs, and the faith which opens heaven.
The president, a calm old man, in the dress
of a Jewish rabbi, stept forward, and taking
her hand, said—“ Sister, you are welcome;’'
then, .having placed besjde him, he
signed for the service to proceed. A young
er man took a precious manuscript from
his bosom, and read, in Greek, the 24th
chapter of Luke, pausing every now and
then, whilst the president translated the
passage into Syriac ; then after a brief si
lence, a peasant arose, and repeated, in a
deep, heart stirring voice, the Psalm—“ God
is our refuge and strength,” and with the
words, “The Lord of hosts is with us, the
God of Jacob is our refuge,” sat down
again. Another quiet pause ; then the
president arose, standing with the whole of
those present, and offered a thanksgiving
and prayer, every voice joining, from time
time in a soft response or an Amen of hearty
agreement —“Verily, verily, Lord Christ,
so let it be !” and with a benediction, and
a presentation of some offering, the simple,
joyful service cloted. The men and wo
men gathered around Irene, questioning
her, and murmurs of compassion passed
from one to another. “A Greek, and a
slave !—not always a slave, poir lady, one
can easily see!” And from some, with
whom pity was no mere passive luxury—
“ Are the offerings all expended?—to relieve
any present distress ! Perhaps in Jerusa
lem they might find the ransom.’’
But Irene smiled a refusal to all such
benevolent projects . She was content to
be a slave, content that God should di
rect where. The ransom might be bestowed
on someone whom it might restore to a
home; she had none. Was she not free in
Christ ? Could she not be content to serve
where He had washed the feet of his dis
ciples?—to be poor, where He was born in
a manger? And gently disengaging her
self from their sympathy, she returned to the
camp before the preparations for starting
were completed.
One loving face looked after her, that of
a woman, leading a young hoy by' the
hand.
‘‘Motherless, fatherless, childless, and a
slave !” she murmured. “And 1 thought
myself desolate, because God took my baby
to himself;” and laying her boy’s hand in
that of her husband—the young man who
had read from the Gospels—the three re
turned together, and gave thanks for each
other. Was it not worth while to dwell for
a while in shadow, thus to bring out into
consciousness the joy of others—to tighten
the clasp of domestic love, and shame dull
endurance into thanksgiving ! especially as
■ the shadows only lay on Irene’s life whilst
j her heart, soared like the lark into the sun
i shine; for, among all who trod that last
day’s jauruey to Jerusalem, none had so
bright a hope, or so full and free a heart as
1 she.
I Lucia sate late that evening on the roof,
( watching for the arrival of the new Greek
, slave. The house stood at an angle of the
. city, the builders having availed themselves
( in part of the old foundations. Around
lay a heterogeneous mass of houses scattered
in gardens, or rising along the line of the
; old streets ; broken columns, huge stones
scattered here and there, ruins robbed o
SOUTHERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.
their dignity by the intrusion of squalid!
hovels or light Grecian dwellings; beneath
in abiupt descent, the deep shadows of
the valley of Hinnom, the darkness of the
hollow not now made more terrible by se
pulchral fires. Beyond rose the solemn
forms of the hills, not opening from Lucia’s
point of view into those distant glimpses
which lead the raney to fairy land, or the
heart to heaven, but towering in frigid si
lent. guard ou high. What wonder if to
Lucia they seemed rather like sentinels of
a prison than guardians of a home ! Not a
sign of any but Pagan worship met her
eye. The site of the Temple lav bare, save
for some sacred fragments, and the shrubs
which sprang 1 irom their crevices. The
dwelling in which the Christians met was
unmaiked lrom any other. To Lucia, Je
rusalem had no sacred past; what wonder
that it seemed to her the gloomy sepulchre
of a gloomy faith ? Now and then a snatch
of song, iu some rich soutl ern voice, broke
the silence, or the deep bay of some moon
struck dog, till at length the quiet lay on
her like a heavy weight, and she retired to
her little sleeping cell. The flowers with
which she had garlanded it that morning,
hung drooping from the walls, the lamp
burned faintly in its niche, and she was
beginning to despair of any arrival that
night, when the tread of many feet echoed
through the narrow street. Lucia stood at
the and or of her sleeping room aud watched
Irene’s reception. Her first feeling was
disappointment. The slight figure iu the
travel stained dress, the face also worn and
travel-marked by the journey of life, had
little to attract. There is no promise to the
spiritual Israel, that the wilderness, with
its storms and roughness, shall not wear the
vesture of the soul. And on Irene’s face
cou'd be seen that, in whatever time, she;
had travelled far. But as Lucia watched,
disappointment changed to respectful com
passion. There was a history in the hol
lowing of the cheek’s round outlinfe—a pa
thos iu the calm of the dark eyes; the
form still retained something of the grace
of youth, and there was as much dignity,
Lucia thought, in its elastic movements as
in the stately erect repose of her mother,
whose directions Irene was waiting. There
fore, when Lucia left her doorway, there
was a gentleness in the tone ol her welcome
which went at once to the heart of the slave,
aud brought a look into her eyes which
raised again Lucia’s hopes of congenial
companionship. Before Irene’s supper was
finished, a quiet intimacy was established
between her and her young mistress; and
as Lucia led her into the room they were
to share, she said—
“You are my countrywoman, and I mean
to love you like a sister; and see, l have
laid these garlan js iu water for you—to
morrow early we will arise and offer them
on Apolio’s altar, in honor of your safe ar
rival —qrJDiaua’s—-perhaps you would like
that better,” sfre aad^d,’noting the change
on Irene’s face. “You are more like her;
there seem to be night and moonlight in your
face. lam sure we shall like each other ;
we will be night and morning.”
Full ot consideration for Irene, and her
own joyous prospects, the maiden lay dowu
to sleep.
She thought she had slept long when
she awoke, aiid iu the light of the lamp saw
the kneeling form of the slave. There was
a charm about her upturned face, aud Lu
cia lay still and watched. There was no
night in Irene’s face now; Lucia could
have fancied the roof had opened —her brow
seemed so to beam The light of the morn
ing appeared shining on the slave ; devuliou,
submission, joy, love, hope, an ecstacy of
love and tenderness transfigured the coun
tenance which had been marred with many
sorrows; soft broken words escaped from
her parted lips. It was the first time Lu
cia had witnessed prayer; aud she slept
again, and in the early morn she awoke
with a feeling as if she had seen the heav
ens opened in a vision, and wondered to see
the placid, quiet face of the sleeper beside
her. But she did uot break her slumbers,
and the offerings for Apollo were forgotten.
Had they been remembered in Irene’s
prayers ?
TIGHT-LACING.
Charlotte Elizabeth, the celebrated au
thoress, whose fame has filled the world,
makes the following confession, from her
own experience, in reference to tight lacing:
“ One morning, when his daughter, was
about, eight years old, my father came in,
and found sundry preparations going on, the
chief materials for which were buckram,
whalebone, and other stiff articles, while the
young lady was under measurement by the
hands of a female f-iend.
“ ‘ Fray, what are you going to do with
the child ?’
“ ‘ Going to fit her with a pair of stays.’
“ ‘ For what purpose ?’
“ ‘ To improve her figure ; no young lady
can grow up properly without them.’
“ ‘ I beg your pardon ; young gentlemen
grow up well without them, and so may young
ladies.’
“‘ 0, you are mistaken. See what a stoop
she has already; depend on it this girl will
be both a dwarf and a cirpple if we don’t put
her into stays. ”
“ ‘ My child may be a cripple, ma’am, if
such is God’s will, but she shall be one of
his making, not ours.’
“ All remonstrance was vain ; stays and
every species of tight dress were strictly pro
| hibited by the authority of one whose will
, was, as every man’s ought to be, absolute in
i his own household. He also carefully watch
j ed against any evasion of the rule; a ribbon
drawn tightly round my waistwoul have been
[ cut without hesitation, by his determined
hand ; while the little girl of the anxious
friend whose operations he had interrupted,
enjoyed all the advantages of that system
from which I was preserved. She grew up
a wand like figure, graceful and interesting,
and died of decline at nineteen, while 1,
though not able to compare shapes with a
wasp or an hour-glass, yet passed muster
very fairly among mere human forms, of
God’s moulding; and I have enjoyed to this
hour a rare exemption from headaches, and
other lady-like maladies, that appear almost
the exclusive privilege of women in the
higher classes.
“ This is no trivial matter, believe me ; it
has frequently been the subject of conversa
tion with professional men of high attain
ment, and I never met with one among them
who did not, on hearing that I never but
once, and then only for a few hours, sub
mitted to the restraint of these unnatural
machines, refer to that exemption, as a
means, of the tree respiration, circulation, and
powers both of exertion and endurance with
which the Lord has most mercifully gifted
me. ”
Cjiilkfit.
Little Foxes—A true Story.
I was on a visit to my grandfather, one
of the pioneer farmers of New York, and
we had started out for a ride. The first
house we passed was in so many respects
like my grandfather’s, that it drew my at
tention.
“Your good neighbor seems to have had
some ideas like yours, grandfather,” I said.
“The man that built that house had. No
neighbor of mine now, poor mao !” aud my
grandfather drew a long breath.
Then after a pause, his voice changed.
“These foxes i these little foxes, how I
hate them ! Nobody fears them, nobody
minds them, yet they ruin everything. The
beasts of prey are not half so dangerous.
The little foxes !” he repeated with empha
sis, aud his tone was bitter.
“What little foxes, grandfather?’’
“Any little foxes, all little foxes; little
sins, little weaknesses, little slanders,
little debts, I hate them all. They do
such mischief; they are so treacherous
and ruinous!”
“When they are so little ?”
“Yes, and because they are so little.”
My grandfather paused. I waited in si
lence aud he went on. “I never ride by
this house without pain and indignation.
\ou see what a fine place it is ; a good
house, a hundred and fifty acres of rich land,
and yet it went for a silk gown. That was
the fox, the little fox.’’
“A silk gown ?”
“Yes, it went, fora silk gown. Aud there
went with it what was worth greatly more
than all of it—a whole family’s happiness
and hope.’’
“What is the story, grandfather !”
“I’ll tell you. When I first came to
this part of the country, a young cpuple
by the name of Brown were settled here in
a log house. They were hard-working,
self-denying people, and everything pros
pered with them for many years. They
paid for their farm aud kept adding to it,
till, as I told you, they had a hundred and
fifty acres. Then when I had built me a
new house, neighbor Brown had to build
him one, somewhat like mine as you see,
for he did not want to be behind. I sent my
oldest children to an academy iu the next
town, where they could have better oppor
tunities for learning than were here After
a time neighbor Brown thought it would be
a good thing to educate his children, and
sent his oldest daughter to the same acad
emy.
“It was anew expense to him, but he
met it cheerfully, aud, for a time, all went
will. The .young woman made him stare
with her philosophy, and the fond father
was more than repaid for all his sacrifice
on her account. But as she increased in
knowledge so did she in love of dress; and
nothing would do for her but an expensive
silk gown. Her mother put her off.
“We can’t afford it, Susan.”
“ ‘Why not mother?’
“ ‘Because we have no money to pay for
“But father can pay in things from off
the farm.’’
“Nothing can be spared now. Last year’s
giaiu is all sold; so is everything else front
last year.”
“ ‘But father might sell something ? a
cow if nothing else.’
“ ‘No, he needs all the stock he has.’
The father entered.
“ ‘What is it Susan ?’
“‘I want a silk dress, father. Mary
Styles has one.’
“ ‘Well, my daughter you shall have one ’
“ ‘How wm she get it?” interposed the
the prudent mother.
“ ‘i will buy it for her,’
“ ‘But how will you pay for it ?’’
“ ‘Tney’il trust me,’
“The wife said no more, and Susan had
the handsomest silk to be found in the next
village, and Brown had a store bill for the
first time in his life. He thought nothing
of it, so many others had the same, and the
merchants encouraged it. It comes a great
deal easier to ‘charge it!’ than to hand over
the hard earned cash They know this and
take advantage of it. And so a man who
would not have spent ten dollars at the
store, if he had been obliged to pay it down
has a store bill of perhaps five times that
amount to be met at the end of the year.
“ And suppose it can’t be met ?”
“ Then the merchant puts it in the
shape of a note, payable with interest, and
starts a fresh account.’’
“Too bad !”
“So it is; but Susan Brown had her fin©
dress, and Brown had his store bill, and
once begun, it soon grew too large. In
deed it was always too large, and how many
debts are nob so ? The command is wise,
‘Owe no man anything.’ Most debts ought
never to have been. No one should have
any indulgence that cannot be paid for at
once. The next year Brown’s store bill
became a note with interest, but it did not
trouble him. Next year another note was
given, a larger one, including interest, and
an unpaid balance of a second store bill.
Heavier iuierest was uow asked, for money
was scarce. Brown kept falling behind
for several years; once sliding downward,
it is hard to recover one’s self. At length
I saw the urveyors at work at that part of
his farm lying nearest to mine. 110 was
with them.
“ ‘Going to sell ?” I asked him.
“ ‘l’m going to give Lynde a mortgage.’
“ ‘ Ah, how’s that ?’
“ ‘He’s got some of my notes and wants
one.’
“I pitied him and with good reason. He
was never the same man again. jAn incu
bus lay upon him, destroying his courage,
his verv life. If he could not pay a store
bill, how could he lift a mortgage ? His
farm must go, no help for it. The grasp
ing usurer had done his work, had made
his own the handsomest farm which another
man had earned by the sweat aud toil of a
life, without the sweat or toil of an hour,
by cunning, small advantages fastened to a
little store debt. How indignant I felt;
how sorrowful, too, when my good, honest
neighbor put his furniture into waggons ;
put in bin axe, and plough and hoe, and
took his way to an humble home far from
us to begin life’s toil anew, youth all gone,
hope almost dead, courage almost failed,
muscle and heart weakened. And all this
wrong and ruin grew from that little thing,
a school'girl’s gown. Ho you wonder that
I hate the little foxes? Look out (or them
children ! Watch for them ! Don’t let
them spoil your vines while you think you
are safe from them ! No one is safe.”
We rode on in silence, and I mused and
trembled. So many little things —life made
up of them —which shall ruin ? which shall
bless ? “God of wisdom, direct me !” I
prayed.
The Child’s Pocket Etiquette.
1. Always say Yes, sir ; No, sir; Yes, papa ;
No, papa ; Thank you; No, thank you ;
Good night; Good morning. Use no
slang rei ms. Remember that good spel
ling, reading, writing, and grammar are
the base of all true education.
II (’lean faces, clean clothes, clean shoes,
and clean finger nails indicate good breed
ing. Never leave your clothes about
the room. Have a place for every thi n o>
and every thing in its place.
111. Rap before entering a room, and nev
er leave it with your back to the compa
ny. Never enter a private room or pub
lic place with your cap on.
IV. A iways offer your seat to a lady or old
gentleman. Let your companions enter
the carriage firsts >
V. At table sit up straight; neVer v use your
toothpick—although Europeans do—and
when leaving ask to be excused.
VI. N ever put your feet on cushions, chairs,
or table.
VII. Never overlook any one when reading
or writing, nor talk or read aloud while
o her- re reading. When conversing
listen attentively, and do not interrupt or
rep’y ‘ill the other is finished.
j VIII. Never talk or whisper at church or
pule’ j ’aces, and especially in a private
I room v, here any one is singing or playing
i the piano.
IX. Loud coughing, hawking, yawning,
j sneezing, and nose blowing are ill-man
nered. In every case cover your mouth
with your handkerchief.
X. Treat all with respect, especially the
poor. Be careful to injure no one’s feel
ing:- b . unkind remarks. Never tell tales,
make (aces, call names, ridicule the lame,
mimic the unfortunate, or be cruel to in
sects, birds, or animals.— George Francit
j Train , (modified.')
NEW COMBINATION!
THE ' *
Hfflmi CHRISTIAN ASM.
1866.
This old and well estab
ii.slied religious family weekly, in ontering upon
its TWKNIY-NINTH VOLUME, takes anew form to
ndnpt -taeif more fully to the wants and interests of the
prese. t limes. It will be isi-ued
AS AS EIGHT PAGE QUARTO,
In combination with
THE MIRROR OF THE TIMES,
(Lately J. W. Burke k Co’s Mercantile Mirror.)
1 .iua in- southern Christian Advooate. become!® a
dnnl.m p-.p° r —one half devoted, as heretofore, to Re
ligion and the Church; and one half to Literature,
Science, Art, the News, the Markets, Advertisements
etc, etc., etc.
In thi-i form, it is proposed to make it equal to any
Family Newspaper in the country—b iing a l that a
family that takes but one Newspaper can need ; and
also worthy of a place with other Newspapers, where
several are taken. '.Besides, it is offered as tho
Cheapest Paper In tlie South!
The price being only
Three Dollars a Year,
(In Advance)
It may justly clabn to be
THE POOR MAX’S PAPER.
And as such
It hopes that a generous public will give it a liberal*
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be sustained at this price.
Any peison sending in subscribers to the amount of
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Address
E. H. MYJ2R3, M