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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* patronage. It is only by such a patronaga, that it can be sustained at this price. Any peison sending in subscribers to the amount of S3O 00, will be entitled to a copy, free for one y ar. TERMS; For three months,.... One Dol ar, For seven months, Two Dollars, For one year, Thre^MMl| Address E. H. MYJ2R3, M