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2 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 '