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things ? How can they answer questions
about justification, regeneration, and the
Witness of the Spirit? We have been
present at the reception of members where
the technical experimental test obtains, and
we have been tempted to smile at the farce
of proposing leading questions to the candi
date, which it was understood he was to
answer by a simple yes or no. How much
more satisfactory to demand, what a child
can understand, the stipulations which, in
substance, have constituted the test of com
munion in the Church of Christ in every
age and clime. There ought to be no temp
tation to the manufacture of experiences,
dreams, inspirations, and the like by candi
dates for Church-membership.
Is it not well known that some of the
best Christians that ever lived were unde
monstrative and reticent with regard to their
experience—for example, Mrs. Wesley,
Cowper —read his exquisite hymn, “ Peni
tent Sinner’s Welcome to the Lord’s Ta
ble” —not to mention Bunyan’s Little-Faith,
Fearing, and Ready-to-halt—all of whom
had the root of the matter in them, and a
measure of the Spirit’s witness, though their
peculiar antecedents and surroundings, or
their constitutional diffidence, precluded
the enjoyment, or at least, the profession
of that meridian evidence which puts every
doubt to flight i ? On the other hand, who
has not met with ignorant, shallow and con
ceited professors, who, from their sublime
heights of assurance, looked down with
pity, if not contempt, upon the poor
“mourners in Zion,’’ and wondered at their
presumption if they dared to show forth
their Saviour’s death in the way he has pre
scribed? And yet, the Searcher of hearts
knew all the while that the presumption
was all on their side. Let us do all we can
to encourage the timid discip e —to help
him in his feeblest essays of faith, until he
reaches its full assurance :
Every spark of pure desire,
Fan into a flame of love.
Contributions.
APOSTOLIC INSPIRATION.
The previous discussions on the subject
of Biblical Inspiration have led to the con
clusion that neither the historical nor the
prophetical writers profess or claim to have
been inspired os writers , or to have received
such supernatural help in that capacity as
to preserve them from error in their records.
The importance and interest of the question
increases as we turn to the Apostles—those
of them who were the authors of the Epis
tles found in the New Testament canon.
This subject leads us to speak, first, of the
nature aud limits of apostolic inspiration.
The inspiration of the apostles was of a
different kind from that of the proph
ets. We do not say from a different
source, but of a different kind, judging
from the effects it produced on the subject.
An apostle was not thrown into ecstatic or
abnormal state of mind, attended with hnu
suaj tones or gestures, and made or induced
to npeak in the name of God. There is some
refson to believe that such forms of super
natural influence were revived and kepi up
while in the early Christian church ;
■ bmi they*, did not pertain to the apostolic of
flee or character. The same individual who
was officially an apostle might have been,
on some particular occasion, the subject of
prophetic inspiration; but that such was
the case to any considerable extent, we have
no evidence to believe. Whatever enlight
enment did pertain to the office of an apos
tle, was perfectly compatible with his usual
rationality and equanimity. In all the fer
vor ot their eloquence, in all the displays of
their miraculous powers, we find nothing in
consistent with the highest self-possession.
On the day of Pentecost, it was true pro
phetic inspiration that descended with the
tongues of flame and the rushing wind ;*
and that whole babbling company were real
prophets, speaking in divers tongues the
words of God. But when Peter rose up to
explain the phenomenon, (which he does in
this very way) we find no trace of any af
flatus in him. He speaks like a man to
men. He reasons, argues, puts things to
gether so as to draw conclusions, and all in
a perfectly human, and what we might call
a natural style. There was the apostle , not
the prophet.
But the apostles were certainly the recip
ients of some supernatural influences ; what
were these ? They had miraculous powers.
They mat/ have received divine intimations
as to the time and manner of using them ;
though that is not certain. They were su
pernaturally aided to answer for themselves
when arraigned before civil rulers. ' On
certain they Were supernaturally
directed in ordering the affairs of the church,
or rather in the direction of their apostolic
labors in establishing and enlarging the
chureh. Examples of this are found in the
vision by which Peter was directed to go to
the house of Cornelius and admit him and
his household to fraternity with the Chris
tians; the vision by which Paul at Troas
was directed to carry the gospel into Europe,
and subsequently at Corinth to remain and
found there a large and powerful church.
Nor need it be denied, so far as the present
argument is concerned, that in the exercise
of discipline in individual cases, they were
supernaturally guided so as to make no
mistake. All that may be granted, strong
as is the weapon which it places in the
hands ot the Papists against us; and yet
no permanent or prevailing inspiration is
proved. On the other hand, there are facts
which go to show that the apostles were
generally left to their own natural judg
ment, only helped as all good men are
helped by God’s Spirit. Not only so, but
there are facts which show that, being so
left they actually did err, both in practice
and in doctrine. What are these facts?
1. The Council of Jerusalem can in no
way be reconciled with the doctrine of apos
tolic infallibility. A grave question was at
issue. To what extent was it necessary to
retain the Jewish ritualism in the Christian
church ? If any one of the apostles had
been infallibly inspired how easily would
this question have been settled ! If the in
fallibility lay in their assembled deliberation
and conclusion, how soon could that have
been secured ! But no one seemed to think
there was any such expeditious and in
fallible mode cf coming at the will of God.
No apostle presumed to speak ex cathedra ,
and arrest the growing agitation, threaten
ing schism. Nothing less than a grand
council of apostles and elders, deliberating
and coming to a conclusion, like any other
human convention, whs the expedient pro-*
posed to meet the difficulty. It is remark
able how closely the council in its modus
operandi resembles an ecclesiastical
bly of our own day. Reports were made of
the drift of matters in certain quarters, ev
idently taken as the leadings of Providence.
The prophecies were examined, to see if
this interpretation of facts were consistent
with a rational exposition of the sacred
words. Expediency w r as weighed against
precedent. A compromise was agreed up
on, and the authoritative decree of the
council was sent forth to rule the church
Over the whole transaction reason presided.
Much as we have heard reason, and expe
diency and compromise denounced here We
find the whole policy formally inaugurated
as the mode by which the church should be
governed. The supposition of any contem
porary infallible inspiration is utterly ex
cluded. But mark the language of the de
cree issued on that occasion. “ Forasmuch
as &c., &c , therefore it seemed good to the
Holy Ghost and to us, to lay upon you, &c.,
Ac.” Here is a kind of inspiration alluded
to, which it is evidently worth while to ex
amine, as will be done in the proper place
2. Turn to Galatians ii. 11-14, and read
how an apostle could err in practice. See
how Peter’s courage quailed in the face of
Jewish sanctity, and be became ifrraid to
eat and drink with the uncircumcised, when
the strait laced Jerusalem brethren came to
visit the church at Antioch. Nor was this
an unimportant error. It is not too much
to say that but for the timely resistance of
Paul, the whole Christian movement would
have remained for centuries a mere Jewish
sect, burdened and hampered with Jewish
rites and exclusiveness. Peter therefore
was not an infallible guide.
3. The quarrel between Barnabas and
Paul is an instructive instance. The con
tention was not a mere personal matter, as
some might suppose. It was concerning
the fitness of a certain eminent brother for
the severe missionary work on which they
were about to re embark. Surely if apos
tles were infallibly directed in anything it
was in the choice of men for important
evangelizing enterprises. And if Pail had
been infallible, er if any such claim
been made for him, qTtSptfte could
not have arisen. Evtdenwy .Barnabas
thought he had as good a right ip his opin
ion as Paul to his; and though so grave a
matter as the evangelization of Asia Minor
and Greece was involved, Barnabas stood
up for his man, and rather parted with Paul
than abandon Mark. Good for Barnabas !
And good for the church that she has always
had men that did not lose faith in a young
brother for a little lack of firmness at first;
and men that would dare to differ with a
superior.
Some may be inclined to ask—What has
all this to do with the question of the inspi
ration of the Epistles? The bearing of
these facts on this question is confessedly
indirect, but it is well enough to get the
proper idea of the apostolic character , be
fore we approach their writings. In the
minds of many, they sustain an unreal ele
vation above other men. The infallibility
which is attributed to their writiugs is un
consciously transferred to their whole con
duct. It will prepare the mind to investi
gate the matter fairly, to have this atmos
phere of unearthliness dissipated. We un
derstand a man better when we find out his
foibles. A mistake or two puts him on our
plane. We have just glanced at some of
the mistakes of the apostles in conduct.
We shall next look at one very palpable one
in opinion; and then we shall be ready for
the interpretation of those passages in the
EpLtles and Gospels which to many have
seemed to claim infallibility for their au
thors. Faets first; then the interpretation
of assertions so as to harmonize with facts.
Bradford.
jamilg Ikabinj.
From the New Orleans Christian Advocate.
DANCING.
To reduce dancing to a mere physical ex
ercise, an innocent hilarity of action is to
misconceive its true character. It is to be
looked at not iK its physical aspects merely,
but as emotional action, the expression of
emotions by rythmic, choric moveinenr. It
is employed also to give vigor to emotions
and to swell their excitement. This may
be remarked of the Greek dance, the battle
dance of the ancient Germ uric people, the
Indian war-dance, as well as of the amatory
dances of the Bechuana tribes, or the licen
tious fandango of the Mexicans In all
these, whether at the festival of Hyakinthia,
to the singing of tho solemn pean in honor
of Apollo, when the king himself was uuder
the orders of the chorus-master, and the old,
middle-aged and youth, the matrons and
the virgins, distributed in companies, danced
as a part of the solemnities; or whether at
the Bacchic festival, when a vigorous round
chorie dance and song—the spontaneous es«
SOUTHERNNCHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.
fusion of (Sunken men in the hour of revel
ry—“ with the thunder of wine full upon
the mind,” gave fuel to the passions of the
hour: in both, the dance served to exprfess
and intensify the emotions. The turbulept,
vehement “ break down,” and every other
variety of rythmical, accentuated, conspir
ing movements, or postures of the body,
from the slowest to the quickest, of modem
times, however decorous and
are not a question of muscle hut of emotionV
al influence. If the dance was once an im
portant part of divine service throughout
Greece, it has been fully transfused through
out Christendom to the manifestation and
cultivation of an opposite class of senti
ments. Here it still raises strong emotion
in soft and amatory subjects, not now the
fierce passions of the warrior. It has long
since been abandoned to the world of gal
lantry and fashion. It is regarded by
the world as its own promenade and realm.
This it watches as against the intrusion of all
mere religionists or professors of piety.
Whatever religious people may think of
themselves in a ball room, the world re
gards them as intruders. It despises suck
barefaced folly. How can a man “ whose
conversation is in heaven’’ feel himself in
place amid the turn, the return, and the
rest of the dancers. What does he find
here to please ? Does he find stimulus for
the holy passions of a spiritual and renewed
nature? Will he “cast a stumbling block
before the children of Israel” with the
hardihood of Balaam ? It is this vievt
which the world generally takes of mem
bers of the church who frequent the ball
room that decides its character. Irreli-4-
gious people know the pleasures, the emo
tions, and the excitements of the dance,
and they put no confidence in the religion of
the person who is captivated by the invo-i
lution, the music, the passions and the per
formance of a scene which is regarded as
the very highest expression of the world's
worldliness.
It is here that many a fair maiden and
noble youth have betrayed the Saviour, and
for one sip of sensual pleasure have sold a
birthright. The church is bound to throw
the protection of her Discipline around the
young, the weakminded, and the faltering;
to stand as an angel with a drawn sword
and warn them away from the carnal apti
tudes and the deadly atmosphere of the
modern dance.
Without the Children.
0 the weary, solemn silence
Os a house without the children!
0 the strange oppressive stillness
Where the children come no moEe I
Ah ! the longing of the s eepless
For the soft arms of the children,
Ah! the !onging for the faces
Peeping through the opening door—
Faces gone for evermore!
Strange it is to wake at midnight
And not hear the children breathing,
Nothing but the old clock ticking,
Ticking, tickihg by j /
Strange to see the <
liangingAjjijltiere all
And tb egmfms —ah f
W<y will hear it never more
On our heart-forsaken floor!
What is home without the children?
’Tis the earth without its verdure,
And the sky without the sunshine,
Life i3 withered to the core 1
So we’ll leave this dreary desert,
And we’ll follow the Good Shepherd
To the greener pasture vernal,
Where the Lambs have “ gone before"
With the Shepherd evermore!
HOPELESS.
The man of God was ushered into a large,
richly-furnished room, in which a couch
had been hastily extemporized. Man of
God he emphatically was, as all who knew
him were ready to testify at all times—an
humble, self-denying, faithful disciple of
the Lord Jesus Christ.
He paused at the side of the man who lay
upon the couch, suddenly stricken from
rude health by a shcck that left him help
less, as a paralytic.
“ I am sorry to see you thus, Mr. San
ders,” he said.
“ It’s a bad thing for me,” was the re
sponse, in a voice rich and full of the
strength of rude vitality. . “ They tell me
I can’t last long either. Curious, though.
I went out this morning as sound as I ever
was; I was cautioned, too, about buying
that horse. Looks like a fatality, dou’tyou
think ?’’
“ You sent for me,” began the clergyman,
avoiding the question.
“ To prepare me for death, perhaps you
would say,’’ quickly responded the other,
his large eyes lighting up. “ Well, no, I
believe not When they at-ked me who I
would have—my wife is a praying woman,
you know—my mind reverted to a sermon
I once heard yon preach, and I knew you
would be candid. I don’t want anybody
to bolster me up, now, I just wish to look
death straight in the face As to prating
about repentance at this late hour, with my
mind so crowded with earthly thoughts, I
fancy it is quite out bf the question. I
must go as I am, if go l must.”
“ Not necessarily, I ho; e,” said the min
ister. u There was an appeal once made by
a man who needed and sought help, whose
words, ‘Jesus, thou son of David, have
mercy on me,’ were heard, and they may
serve for you That appeal, uttered with
hearifelt importunity, could not be resisted.
The prayer of the worst sinners would not
be despised by God, if penitent for his sin
fulness, he should ask for pardon in the
nairie of Christ.”
“ 1 hat is your belief, I know ; but it is
curious, 1 seem to have no desire to ask.
I bave had seil us seasons, whru it seemed
little less than self destruction to withhold
my best affections from God. But they
are gone, and, to be candid, I think they
are gone forever. Indeed, there is no oue
of my schemes in life that I would give up,
in the frame of mind I am now, if I were
this moment to be perfectly restored to
health; not one. That don’t look like re
pentance, does it ? I will not deceive my
self; I have been thinking it all over, for
I am, as you know, a matter-of-fact man.
The means by which I have been accumu
lating money for the past three years I
would have shrunk from using as from
Satan, when I commenced my career, but
they do not shock meat all in the retrospect.
You may call it what you please—given
over, despair, or simple justice.”
“ You believe, then, in a retribution, and
it does not make you tremble.’’
“ I don’t know what I believe; my mind
is in so strange a state. My reason tells
me that if a man will sow thorns, he cannot
gather fruit. I tell you, sir, I would give
worlds if this stagnant soul—conscience—
whatever you call it, would feel. Fear
would be preferable to this torpidity.’’
“ You are conscious, it seems of having
broken the laws of a just God.”
“As conscious as that I exist. I have
done worse than you think. God knows,
I have done deliberate evil, I have chosen
my path in life, when, as I said it was ab
solutely hard for me to go wrong. lam
not a coward. lam not afraid of death ;
but I am keenly conscious that this horri
ble apathy will pass away when it is too
late. I seem to be looking on myself a? at
another person, wondering what that other
will do when the torment begins. It is
very curious.’’
“ Have you tried to ask God ?’’
“ I tell you I have no hope of communi
cation with God.” interrupted the dying
man, impatiently, “and I’m glad you don’t
bolster me up with soft sayings and prom
ises that I feel are not for me. Men who
are tender-hearted sometimes gloss over such
things. It’s natural enough, but if a man
is poisoned the doctor don’t go on that’
principle. Crime is crime, and if you work
hard for Fell you’re not fitting yourself for
heaven, I take it. You see I put things in
a common-sense way. When I took up my
business it was years before I could stifle
conscience, but I did it, and candidly, I
don’t think I am entitled to any mercy.”
“You certainly will not object to my
praying for you, if you cannot pray for
yourself.”
“ Not at all; I never objected to hearing
prayers; but let ine tell you, a man who
has had a praying wife for nearly twenty
years, stands in need of Gabriel himself to
pray under these circumstances.”
“ I thank you, you are very kind,’’ he
continued, after the brief, heart-felt peti
tion was over; “I can say with you, God be
merciful, but I can’t feel it. Good-day; to
night I shall probably be in eternity.’’
On the following day the clergyman look
ed upon the face, white and still in death,
of the man who had no hope.
“ He failed very rapidly after you left,”
said his widow, crowding back the tears,
“ but his mind began to wander, and to the
very last' breath hcfvttei talking business
as if behind the comter." " TW " '*
* The words of yesterday rang in the good
man’s ear as he turned away.
“ Crime is crime; and if you work hard
for hell, you’re not fitting yourself for heav
en.” — Watchman and Reflector.
<S|ilbrtn.
THE LIGHT HOUSE.
A light-house looks like a tall pillar ri
sing out of the sea, or built upon some high
bluff. The top is a large lantern, where a
bright light is kept burning all night,
which is seen far out at sea; and it says to
all ships and sailors sailing by, “Take care,
take care !” One is built on a ledge of
rocks ; its warning light says, “Give a wide
berth to these sunken rocks.’’ Another
says, “Steer clear of this dangerous reef.”—
Another, “ Keep clear of this dangerous
headland. If you come here, you are lost.”
There are many light-houses on the coast;
how does a sailor know which is which ?
He sees a light gleaming through the dark
ness and the storm, but where is it? Does
it warn him off Cape Cod, or Cobasset rocks,
or Boon Island ? He has a chart in the
ship, and that tells. A chart is a map of the
coast with all its rocks aud sand-banks and
light-houses put down, and everything that
a sailor ought to know, in order to steer his
ship safely across the ocean.
These are some of the helps which sailors
have to keep them from being cast away and
lost at sea; and if they faithfully consult
them, and keep a good look-out, they are
likely to ride out the storm and come safely
into port.
Now you, my children, are cut at sea.—
You are beginning a long voyage. You
each have a little ship to steer. The sea is
the great sea of life, and your ship is the
little body which God has put your soul in,
that by His help you may bring it by-and
by to Him in safety and peace. God has
given you a chart. It is the Bible. That
tells you where you are, and how to go. All
along are light-houses, saying “ Take care,
take care!’’ They all have names.
Here is one. What is it? Swearing. —
What does the light say ? “Thou shalt not
take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.
The Lord will not hold him guiltless that
taketh His name in vain.” Keep clear of
that.
Inside here is another! What is that ?
Lying. What does the light say ? “ Put
away lying. Speak every one truth with
his neighbor.” “Lying lips are an abomL
nation to the Lord.’’ Keep cLm of that.
Another. What is that ? A niff r. What
does it say? “Be not hasty in thy’gpirit to
be angry. Be augry, und sin not. Let not
the sun go down upon your wrath.” Keep
a good louk-out here!
There is another. What is it ? Intem
perance. How many have been lost on this
dangerous rock ! In the pleasantest weath
er there is olten most danger. What course
does your chart tell you to take here ?
“Look not upon the wine when it is red.
Do that and you arc safe.
Here is another. What is it ? Pride.
Let not your little ship ride on this danger
ous swell; for what does the chart tell us ?
“Pride goeth before destruction, and a
haughty spirit before a fall.”
You see, my children, how many rocks
and ledges and whirlpools and dangers there
are for you to avoid. I have told you about
a few.
You need not be afraid, keep a
good look out, and steer your i’ttle vessel by
the chart which God has you. Con
sult it often ; become familiar with its in
structions. Be sure that ycu arc in the right
channel—on the clear, oyen sea of truth. —
Watch the first appearance of danger. Go
not too near a dangerous shore, or there
may not be room to tack ship, and you are
cast away before you know it. Read what
your chart says : Enter not into the path
of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil
men. Avoid it; piss not by it; turn from
it, and pass away.”*— Child’s Paper.
i
-
THE FAIRY’S TEN WORKMEN.
The Winter evenings had fairly set in at
farmer Pepin’s. Alter their day’s work all
the family assembled round the fire, and
often they were joined by some of the neigh
bors ; for in the lonely valleys of the Vosges,
where dwellings are thinly scattered, neigh
borhood establishes a sort of relationship.
There, around the fire of pine-cones, in
timacies are begun and cemented. The
grateful warmth, the pleasure of companion
ship, the contaot of conversation, insensibly
lead on to confidential intercourse; hearts
are opened, minds are quickened, and all
recognize their union in that true inner life,
without which the outward would be but a
vain shew, but which has its own seasons
for revealing itself.
Occasionally Uncle Prudence comes in to
spend the evening, and then, indeed, there
is a jubilee at the farm; for Uncle Pru
dence is the best story-teller in thp moun
tains. Not only does he know all the old
traditions of the country, but also many
stories out of book#. He can tell the origin
of each old dwelling, and the history of
every family; he knows the names of a/1
the great mossy stones which rise up on tile
mountain sides like columns or altars/in
short, he is the embodiment of local kj/ow'.
ledge. Besides, he is so wise. H/ has
learned to read the heart, and can almost
always discover the causes of its disquikude.
Others may prescribe for the body; tie old
peasant can help the sickness of tha soul,
and thus people have come to give him the
title of Prudence. \
This is the.first evening in the new year
thatfle has spent at the £arnv andrijl are
radiant with joy at ,shrived'
giv*n tlm »est place I>f
gatheraroundhim, while/farmer Pepin tans*'™
his pipe and sits opposite. Uncle Prudence
asks news about every body and every thing.
The farmer’s young wife answers his ques
tions somewhat absently, as if her thoughts
were elsewhere; for the pretty Martha is
often thinking of the village where she was
brought up. She remembers regretfully the
dances under the elms, the long walks
through the fields with young girls who mer
rily gathered the flowers in the hedgerows;
the long talks by the bake-house and the
fountain. And often she sits with her arms
folded and her graceful head drooping, while
her mind wanders backward to the past. So
this evening, while the other women are at
work, the farmer’s wife sits idly before her
wheel, which does not turn ; her distaff, fill
ed with flax, is by her side, and her listless
fingers play with the thread upon her lap.
Uncle Prudence sees it all, but says noth
ing ; for he knows that advice is like bitter
medicines which they give to children ; to
insure their being taken, one must choose
the time and means.
But the family and the neighbors press
close to him, entreating: “Do tell us a sto
ry, Uncle Prudence !”
The good man smiles, and casts a side
glance at Martha, still idle.
“ So I must pay for my welcome, must I ?
Well, good people, you shall have your way.
The last time I was here I told you, did I
not, of the old times when heathen armies
laid waste our mountains; that was a tale
for men. To-night, if you please, it shall
be one for the women and children. It is
their turn ; and instead of Caesar, we will
talk about a good fairy.’’
At this they all laushed heartily, and
drew close to him ; the farmer relighted his
pipe, and Uucle Prudei.ce began :
“ This story, my darlings, is not a nurse’s
fable; you may find it in the calendar with
true histories; for the thing happened to
my grandmother, Charlotte, whom farmer
Pepin knew wejl, and who was a wonderful
ly clever woman.
“ Charlotte had been young once, though
those who saw her gray hair, and her nose
almost touching her chin, found it hard to
think so; but people of her age said
that no girl could have a prettier face or
merrier disposition than Charlotte in her
youth. Unfortunately she was left alone
with her father to manage a large farm,
more productive of debts than of revenues;
so that there was no end of hard work, and
the poor girl, unaccustomed to so much care,
often got discouraged, and did nothing but
vainly speculate how she might accomplish
all that, needed doing.
“ One day, as she was seated before the
door, her hands folded in her apron as if
they were lame, she murmured to herself:
‘ Alas my lot is not what it ought t.o be. It
is too bad that I should be tormented, at my
age, with so much care. Even if I were