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From the Richmond Christian Advocate.
MISSIONARY CAUSE.
Our Conference year is drawing rapidly
to a close. The preachers of the Virginia
Conference will very shortly have to assem
ble in Norfolk, and to report the results of
their year’s labors from the various fields to
■which they have been assigned. Have the
missionary collections been generally taken
up? If so, will their aggregate sum be
calculated to cheer the hearts of our mis
sionary brethren, and to sustain and advance
the cause of Christ among the Indians at
home and the Chinese abroad ? Are our
preachers, one and all, duly concerned and
duly exerting themselves in behalf of this
great interest of the church ? Are our
people likely to exhibit a Macedonian liber
ality in this great crisis of Southern Metho
dism ? Shall we at Conference be able to
say, “ that in a great trial of affliction the
abundance of their joy and their deep pov
erty abounded unto tho riches of their lib
erality ?” .
With regard to the preachers and their
efforts in this behalf, we know nothing that
would j ustify us even in a conjecture. With
regard to the'people, we have met with one
fact that augurs badly for the prospects of
our missionary cause, so badly, we should be
ashamed to tell it, did we cot have some
faint hope that it may awaken a proper and
profitable shame in the hearts of many.
Our excellent brother, Wm. T. Smithson,
now of Baltimore, and Treasurer of the Mis
sionary Society, in a letter which he has
publish :d in the Baltimore Episcopal Meth
odist, tells us that he received a letter con
taining five dollars for the missionary cause,
from a gentleman making no profession of
religion, but asking an interest in the
prayers of God’s people, and that this five
dollars is all the missionary money now in
the treasury of the Society. What a fact
have we here ! Five dollars all the money
in the hands of the Treasurer of the Mis
sionary Society for the entire Southern
Methodist Church! and that five dollars a
contribution from an irreligious man, who
penitently feels his need of. and humbly
asks for, the prayers of a professedly Chris
tian people ! What an insignificant sum of
money is this, and which, so near the end of
our financial year, is yet all to be fouud in
our treasury for missionary purposes, aud
even this comes not from the purse of any
member of the entire church ! Are we a
church of Judases who carry the bag and
are ready to sell the Lord himself for thirty
pieces of silver? Ought we not to feel
much more like asking the prayers ot this
penitent contributor to the cause of Christ,
than giving him ours, who stand afar off and
says, “God be merciful to me a sinner,” and
is so much more likely to go down to his
house justified than we ! What has be
come of the piety of our people? Surely
they once were pious, and we have seen and
known the fruits of that piety. What a
strange and withering paralysis must have
stricken their spirituality! We know that
they are poor, steeped in poverty, but this,
let it be ever so often repeated and ever so
justly allowed its force, will not sufficiently
account for this utter emptiness of our mis
sionary treasury; no, surely not while their
lives in the memory of the church any
knowledge of the poor widow who cast in all
the living that she had.
Perhaps we may hope for much in behalf
•f this cause from the rerival spirit, which,
irom all that we hear, seems so widely to
pervade our Conference. It may be that
God is now pouring out the spirit of mis
sionary enterprise among us, even in the
midst of these numerous revivals, and that
the evidence of it is yet to be evinced. We
earnestly pray and trust that it may be so,
and that thus our reproach may bo soon
taken from us With no little anxiety we
shall wait to see. It may be that when
our Cons rence assembles, the reports from
the various stations and circuits may be bet
ter than all our fears.
[The above was written for the Virginia
Couference, but it may be read to profit in
other latitudes.— Ed S. C. Advocate ]
From the New Orleans Christian Advocate.
POVERTY AND METHODISM.
Bishop Asbury greatly feared the effect
of wealth upon his preachers. He affirmed
that it led to inaction and location. Were
be now alive, he wou'd experience, we doubt
not, a great relief from those considerate
fears There probably has not been a time
since the days of Wesley, when preachers
were so likely to derive, Irom the disposi
tion of events, the full advantage and se
curity of original Methodist Itinerant pov
erty. Mr Wesley’s own £25 annual ex
pense, and the very narrow outfit which he
voted the two first missionaries to America,
at the Missionary meeting hold in the gal
lery of the Church at Leeds—some four or
five pounds ster'ing—gave Mr. Asbury a
prevailing notion that but very little of this
world’s substance was necessary to enable a
man to preach the Gospel. Mr. Wesley
grew up in a communion whose ministry
were supported in comparative affluence.
Prelates, deans, rectors, and curates of the
English Church were state-fed, and conse
quently full. But from some cause he con
ceived a horror of wealth as au element in
the Christian Church. He warned his people
against its accumulation. Toget all they could,
save all they could, and give all they could,
was his aphoristic advice. They heeded well
the two first parts of it, but. hulled at the last.
So that lie declared, in old age, that he took
it all back ; the aphorism had failed in its
most important member, and therefore de
served '<» be rejected ; he warned the man
who w*'U and not give against the dire effects
of making and saving.
Wraith and spirituality he reckoned in
compa'ihles in the Church of Christ. When
ever rich men become necessary to the
moveim nts of Methodism, he declares that
the first woe of its dissolution will have
been sounded. These views were enter
tained by him in sight of the structure of
a Protestant Christianity resting for support
upon the strong pillars of a liberal and en
lightened government. A condition which
left the clergy free to consider only the con
cerns of their ghostly office; which gave
them bread, and insured them water ; which
sent them out unencumbered with baggage,
and provided for them daily manna without
a miracle. So admirab e a system for shut
ting out all creaturely care, would seem,
judging beforehand, to be exactly suited
to securing a devoted and highly spiritual
Ministry. But, to the contrary, with many
shining exceptions, the great body of the
Clergy, in Mr. Wesley’s day, were some
what noted for their worldliness They
were loyal enough—had that mark of god
liness—hated dissent as disloyalty, and hated
the Pope as Antichrist; but then they float
ed with the current, could wind a horn, or
sing a song, or play at whist, or help to keep
the squire sober by drinking a fair share of
his Christmas bowl.
Mr. Wesley saw an end of that perfection
To relieve the ministry from the conditions
incident to direct dependence upon the peo
ple, was to remove them from the people;
to place them in affluence, was to deprive
them of that spirituality which the Scrip
tures declare to be an inheritance for the
poor. He, therefore, threw himself and his
preachers upon the people, and the people
only, for a support. lie did not stipulate
w hat the support of a preacher should be,
so much as what it should not be. He
placed a limit upon his receipts, and left all
annual arrearages to be collected in Heaven.
He not only faced poverty, but embraced it,
that he might forever secure the gospel to
the poor. And we believe that so long as
a poor man can sympathize with the poor,
the Wesleyan Ministry will preach to the
people.
The constant tendency of the Churches is
to get away from the poor, —not by a dis
position to avoid the poor, so much as by
the natural effect of the teachings of the
gospel. Thu gospel inculcates sobriety,
economy, and industry. Its believers obey,
and wealth ensues. But the gospel also
commands those who have goods to disiri
bute to the poor—this but few regard. It
therefore came to pass, that in our Church
there was probably, before the war, more
wealth than ever was held by the same num
ber of professing Christians. And, it is
a hard saying—who can hear it ?—this
wealth effected nothing; nothing in com
parison with its boundless power. The
Church holding it was not remarkable for
its missions, its churches, its colleges, or
the support of its ministry; only for its
wealth ! Well, any fortune, any condition,
we .-ay, is preferable to that — in view of the
Judgment. We can answer fur olr pover
ty, possibly ; but for all that wealth—let us
pray God to lead us into temptation no more.
And it does now seem, sure enough, that in
that direction we shall be gratified ; that
the field which we now cultivate will be as
noted henceforth for poverty, as it was once
remarkable for wealth.'
This is the Wesleyan condition; the state
of things, if it were only voluntary, instead
of being despite our wills, the most favora
ble to spiritual life, the most approved of
God —the freest condition for both preach
ers and people. Yet testimony comes up,
from many sides, that Zion languishes, the
people no longer bring tithes into the sanc
tuary, and the ministry halt. This is true
only in part. There are now, and have been
during the past four years, many gracious
outpourings of the Spirit—“ icells in the val
ley of Baca.” The ministry stands true in
the main. When we consider the demoral
izing effects of war, tha wonder is,,that our
Zion has come out of the wilderness with un
broken front. This is attributable to a dis
cipline which maintained Mr. Wesiey’s
itinerant ministry in its primeval poverty
aud purity. It continued poor, surrounded
by boundless profusion —“ as poor, yet mak
ing many rich.” The flames of war which
could find nothing to burn, left them harm
less, as the bush of Midian.
We now start afresh, with all the advan
tages of the'new situation The pillar of
cloud has become a pillar of fire, suiting
itself to the darker fortunes of our Israel,
aud makes the night about us as bright as
the day. The Spirit of God hovers with
healing wing over the multitudes of our
people. “ Jehovah holds us with his pow
erful hand.”
Sirong Deliverer!
Be thou still our strength and shield.”
OBITUARIES.
Dr. Summers says in the JVashvi/le Ad
vocate: We do not join in the hue and cry
against obituaries. We like them, and do
not begrudge the room they occupy in our
religious journals. Those short and simple
annals which record the virtuous lives and
peaceful deaths of our Christian friends, are
not a little edifying- especially to those who
soon expect to “ put off this tabernacle.”
Obituaries have been brought into disre
pute, because they are frequently
written and not well edited. Sometimes
ignorant persons write them, and editors,
fearful of giving offense by rejecting or al
tering them, permit the wretched twaddle to
go to type. It requires some skill to write
a good obituary. It should contain no bald
commonplaces—no unimportant names, facts,
sayings, etc. —no trite poetry, much less
doggerel—no high flown eulogies, Jere
miads, and the like. State the name of the
subject, and, if you please, the names of his
immediate relatives—the time and place of
his birth and death, and, if important, other
places where he may have lived—and what
good he did during his life, and how he
clo-ed his pilgrimage. In extraordinary
cases, brief suggestive reflections may 'be
made; but rarely ever should exhortations
SOUTHERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.
and the like be inserted in an obituary no
tice. Writers frequently complain when
their communications of this class are “ cut
down,” though there may be a necessity for
performing this ungracious task. We were
once rated by an illiterate brother in Geor
gia, for “ cutting down ” his obituaries.
We explained and apologized, but without
seeming to give satisfaction to the brother,
who in an unamiable tone told us that he
did not think ho would send us another
obituary, remarking tbat he had one in his
pocket, but concluded not to favor us with
it. We insisted on his producing it
On laying it before us, we summoned
the ministers present to testify whether, in
preparing it for the printer, we were striking
one unnecessary stroke upon it. The first
word was spelt wrong —the orthography
generally was false —the syntax was inno
cent of Lindley Murray —in short, it was
crude and bombastic, and needed a great
deal of “cutting down ” and “ fixing up’’
before it was fit to be seen. The witnesses
affirmed that the editing we gave it was in
dispensable, and wo never heard of the
brother’s complaining afterward that his
obituaries were not printed as he wrote
them. Alas ! good man, some friShdly hand
has since written an obituary notice of him!
EUDDHA.
Until very recently the name of Gotaina
Buddha aud the distinctive system of belief
which bears his name were very obscurely
known to our historic literature of faiths.
Great discussion prevails among Buddha’s
followers as to the precise time of his birth;
one section claiming a period many cen
turies earlier than the date advocated by
the other. The main facts of his life, how
ever, are agreed upon. We find a boy born
amid the splendors of an Eastern court, with
every inducement studiously presented for
the purpose of diverting his mind from se
rious subjects, aud confining him to the
revelries of a luxurious life. The boy’s
mind however, as it matures* escapes from
the controlment of sensual pleasures, and
speculates on those profound questions of
human life and destiny which have ever
obtruded themselves, with all their awful
perplexity, before thoughtful minds He
finds that the highest good is not to be
sought for in his present pursuits, and that
for the soul some nobler employment was in
tended than the debasing pleasures of a
Court. Impressed by these beliefs, he reso
lutely abandons home and kindred, and
seeks the solitariness and quietness of na
ture. He wanders about, beseeching aim '-,
has fights with ghostly enemies, lives a tru
ly modest and humbl.e life, ever seeking
after the Supreme Wisdom with intensest
desire. A troop of demons, sent by the Evil
One, attempt to destroy him, but the solita
ry man strong in holiness, puts them to the
r< ut, and thence enters into the higher and
clearer life. Knowledge now becomes in
tuition, and superhuman power and insight
are believed to have been bestowed as pre
rogatives upon him. He begins to unfold
the noble missh n with which he is intrust
ed, promulgates anew and most pure sys
tem of life, utter'y opposed to the life that
was then believed in, and to the life he hac[
previously led. He returns to the kingdom
where he was once the chief, and gradually,
after opposition, as was natural, he converts
his relatives and the other nobles to the
adoption of his creed. Then, after a few
move toilful years, this stern teacher is taken
to his rest, leaving to be treasured up ever
more by his disciples, whose name is legion,
a life of the most touching kindness, purest
morality, and most thorough humanness,
that can be lived by man.
Jamils |Uabing.
Brother, you must Squeeze.
Lately a church, or rather the lords there
of, made a resolution that their minister
must be satisfied to live upon what they
should collect at the end of the month, let
the amount be little or much, and that they
would not from that time forward bind
themselves to make up any particular sum
'1 his resolution they communicated to their
pastors with the solemn advice —“ Brother,
you must squeeze: the tunes orchard.
Lie replied that he would think of the mat
ter and see how the plan was likely to an
swer.
In a few days he called upon the owner of
his house, who was a member of his church,
and told him he could not promise to pay
any specific sum for the house from that
time forth ; that the “times were hard and
he must but he would pay tor it as
circumstances would permit The landlord
stared at him in astonishment, and replied,
“ Man ! who lets houses in this manner—to
give as much as you please for it ? Bid any
one ever hear of such a thing ? 1 thought
to advance the rent a next year.
You shall not have my house, I am sure, for
one penny less.”
He next went to the miller and asked for
a sack of flour. “ Certainly,” said the mil
ler, “but do you know that the price of flour
has advanced since you purchased the last? ’
“ I was not aware of it,’’ replied the minis
ter ; “ and indeed it is of no great conse
quenee, as the order of things is changed;
1 am to give what I can for it. Brother,
you must squeeze; the times are hard
“ Good or bad,’’ answered the miller, “ I
must have according to fifty shillings per
sack for it. Hearken, man, who sells flour
upon such terms.”
He next proceeded to the farmer, and
asked for a bushel of wheat. Jhe farmer
said he should have it, but it would cost him
eight shillings and sixpence. “ No, no,
brother, ’’ replied the minister, “ You must
squeeze; the times are hard. I will give
you as much as I can at the eud of the
month, after seeing what the collections will
be.” “ What has that to do with the price
of wheat ?” exclaimed the farmer. “ I
have a great rent to pay next month, and I
do not know how to bring this to bear, be
tween the wages, the tithes and the pay
ments.” This brother kept a large farm
and paid specific wages to the laborers, ex
cept Jack, the half-witted boy, who was at
hand to fetch the cows for the women, clean
the outhouses, &c.
Tfie minister next called upon John, the
shoemaker, who after hearing his terms for
a pair of shoes, began to put the snuff into
his wide nostrils, which were as black as
two chimney flues, and talk very sarcasti
cally of respecting such terms. “He would
not put a patch upon a shoe under three
pence.”
The butcher treated him in like manner ;
his meat was “so much a pound.” And
the tailor insisted upon having a regular
price for his commodities.
On his way home, the minister went into
the shop of his principal deacon, and asked
him for some articles necessary for the use
of bis family, such as a pound of sugar, a
pound of candles, two ounces of tea, a half*
penny worth of soda, (but no tobacco ) Af
ter packing the things neatly, the grocer
began to count the cost. “ You need not
waste your time reckoning,” interrupted the
minister, “ I am to pay for them as circum*
stances will permit. ‘Brother, you must
squeeze,' as the times are very hard with
me at present, but I will give conscientious
ly for them what is in my power. “ Squeeze!”
said the shopkeeper with pious surprise;
“ what do you mean ? Give what you
please! -how much will that be?” “I can
not say at present,’’ replied the pastor, “but
you shall know at the end of the month,
when I see how much the collection will be.”
“ That will not do for me,” said the shop
keeper. “ I am obliged to pay a certain
price for every article, and I have a great
amount to make up next week.”
“So indeed,” exclaimed the minister.
11 Well, I see there is no one but myself to
squeeze, and that I am out of the reach of
hard times. If I was able to perform mira
cles like our Saviour with the loaves and
fishes, your plan would answer. I have
called on all the members that sell anything
for the use of man to see how your plan was
likely to answer, but you must all have a
I particular price,' for your goods—the owner
of my house, the miller, the shoemaker, the
tailor, the butcher, and yourself likewise.
You will not let me have a pound of sugar
or an ounce of tea out of your shop uuless I
pay a stated price for it. How, then, do
you expect me to pay my way without a
stated salary, and that, too, proportionable
to my family ? Before I can agree to re
ceive what you collect monthly for me, you
and others must be willing to receive that
between you, in proportion to what I may
have had from each, and promise to live
quite moderately; or if you prefer it, I am
willing to live on the money which is wasted
weekly by the members in snuff and to
bacco.’’
I do not know the matter was settled.
IFe/s/t Bapt. Magazine.
A WONDERFUL MILL.
The owner of a certain curious mill took
great pains in building it, to use noue but
the very be3t materials, uid to have it as
perfect as possible. The owner also intend
ed it to grind wheat for his own special use,
and charged the man who took it, on high
pay, to use none but the very best of wheat,
to keep the mill in proper repair, to see that
it was duly oiled and watched, and to make
it his aim to see how perfect would be the
flour which he should grind. Indeed, the
pay was to be in proportion to the quality of
what was produced. It would be difficult to
describe this mill very accurately. But it
was so constructed that it was always well
housed, and yet so portable that the occu
pant could move it round wherever he
chose, and thus take care of it. There is
no need at present of uiy telling you the
name of the miller —but you know him.
The mill was also so constructed that it was
always at work, grinding, grinding some
thingorother—if not flour,souiethingelse—
a most productive concern It so happen
ed, of course, that it must be fed often, aud
it required great care to tend it and take
care of it.
Going past this mill one day, I chanced
to hear a conversation between the owner
and the tenant.
“ What is the matter with our mill ?”
asked the owner.
“Why, nothing as I know of. It keeps
grinding al the time, and consumes a great
deal, and produces a great deal.”
“ Yes, but what awful flour it produces !
It is not fit for use. It can’t be used for
bread, pies, or cakes. Now you know I
have taken great pains to have this mill pro
duce none but the very best of flour.’’
“ I know it, sir, but it don’t work well. I
know it don’t produce what it ought to
make.”
“ Do you feed it ?”
“ Yes, I always keep the hopper full.’’
“Full of what?”
“ Wheat, sir, if I can get it. But you
know that real good wheat is dear to buy and
heavy to lift, and so I don’t always feed
the mill with wheat.”
“ Indeed ! May I ask what you do grind
up in the place of wheat ?’’
“ Well, sir, I sometimes find it conve
nient to put in chopped straw, and much
chaff with little wheat. And sometimes,
when 1 am in a hurry, I throw in dirt, and
even ‘filthy rags ’ If the mill clogs, I pick
it out as well as I can, and let it grind on.
Chaff and straw are so light that I like to
use them. Sometimes I smoke the machine
ry with tobacco or oil it with whisky, but
never let it stop. Indeed, you know, sir,
it won’t stop—l hope you are satisfied with
the quantity it grinds.”
“ Perfectly. But what a perversion to
make my beautiful mill receive all these
useless and foolish and hurtful things, and
put me off with the results, and call them
flour!”
“It doesn’t seem quite right, I know.
But it is so much work to watch the mill
and see that wheat is put in just at the
right time, that I want to take an easier
way.’’
The abused owner seeing tbat there was
nothing but dishonesty and indolence, bad
the tenant cited to appear before a judge.
Now, this court was held in a great ball,
aud there Judge Conscience took his seat,
and heard the case, and gave an awful sen
tence against the occupier of the mill. He
was condemned to eat nothing but the fil
thy stuff he had bden running through the
mill ever siuce he took it, and as the heap
was enormously large, it was thought he
would never get through with the punish
ment—especially as, after all this he con
tinued to scrape in chaff and dirt and stones
and every thing he could ge' hold of with
his hands. The owner was grieved exceed
ingly, and offered to remit the sentence and
the punishment, if he would even then grind
only wheat. But, no! the man would
promise no such thing, and there the poor,
ruined mill keeps on grinding, and he trying
to eat all its produce !
My reader, do you understand my para
ble ? That mill is the human heart. The
wheat is truth and light from the Bible,
aud good thoughts. But when, as you
know, the heart will be ever, like the mill,
grinding what you put into it, you fill it
with chaff in the shape of foolish novels
arid works of fiction ; or fill it with bad
books and bad thoughts of bad men, you arc
putting dirt into it. When you sin, and
fill the Ik art with your sins, you are putting
in stones and all manner of evil. Purity of
heart and holy thoughts are the wheat of
the soul, such as God seeks, and such as he
intended the heart to produce. Your heart,
dear reader, is a machine of great capabili
ties, and it can be fed with the finest of
wheat, or with the filthy things of sin.
With which are you daily filling it ? And
when the great Owner conies, what will be
the reward you will receive for your use of
that heart ?— Rev. John Todd , D. D., in
the Sunday School 'Teacher.
THE HEAVENLY CITY.
“ 1 cannot think what you will do when you
gel to Heaven .’’
“ The street, of the city was of pure gold, as
if it. were transparent glass .And there
shall in no wise enter into it anything thatdefil
eth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or
maketh a life.”—llkv. xxi. 21, 27.
What do we mean by “ heaven ?” What
is “ tHfe kingdom of heaven,” whether be
low or above ? What do we mean when
we speak of “ a heaven upon earth ?” We
mean, and the Bible means, many things.
Things “which eye hath not seen, nor ear
heard;” “unspeakable words, which it is
not lawful for man to utter ” But we all
mean this, and the Bible teaches us this,
and it is far beyond what was known by
our heatl en forefathers : “In heaven there.
is no sin.” They believed tbat in the oth
er world, after a short respite of peace aud
love, the powers of evil would again break
out more strongly than ever, and that eve
rything good would be trampled down and
destroyed, even more than upon earth. To
us, the hope of heaven is the hope that the
evil which vexes and tempts and defiles and
deceives us here, will never appear before
us again. Whatever good we are doing here,
whatever good we sec others doing here will
be continued there. Whatever evil we
have done here, whatever evil others do to
us here, will, if, by God’s grace we reach
that better world, be left behind us, never
to be seen again.
Let me tell another winter’s tale, which
is perfectly true, and though it relates to
one humble calling, has its lesson for all.
It was about thirty years ago, or more,
when stage-coaches still ran, that an excel
lent old clergyman, who had a keen obser
vation of the world, was travelling on the
top of the coach from Norwich to London.
It was a cold winter night, and the coach
man, as he drove his horses over Newmar
ket heath, poured forth such a volley of
oaths and foul language, as to shock all the
passengers. The old clergyman, who was
sitting close to him said nothing, but fixed
his piercing blue eyes upon him with a look
of extreme wonder and astonishment. At
last the coachman became uneasy, and turn
ing round to him, said, “ What make* you
look at me, sir. in that w y ?”
The clergyman said, still with his eye
fixed upon him, “I cannot imagine what
you wlldo in heaven! 'There are no
horses, or coaches, or saddles, or bridles, or
public houses in heaven. There will be no
one to swear at, or to whom you can use
bad language. I cannot think what you will
do when you get to heaven ’’
The coachman said nothing, the elegy
man said nothing more, and they parted at
the end of the journey. Some years after
wards the clergyman was detained at an inn
on the same road and was told tbat a dying
man wished to see him. He was taken up
into a bedroom in a loft, hung round with
saddles, bridles, bits, and whips, and on the
bed, amongst them, lay the sick man.
“Sir,’’ said the man, “do you remember
speaking to the coachman who swore so
much as he drove over Newmarket heath? ’
“ Yes,” replied the clergyman. “ I am
that coachman,” said he. “ and I could not
die happy without telling you how 1 have
remembered your "Words, 1 cannot think
what you will do in heaven. Often and of
ten as 1 have driven over the heath 1 have
heard these words ringing in my ears, ana
I have flogged ihe horses to make them get
over that ground faster, but always the
words have come back to me, 1 cannot tlvnk
what you will do in heaven.' 1 '