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TERSE DOLLARS PER AJfNTTM.
Vol. XXXI.—No. 7.
Cantrihtions.
History of the Methodist Church iu
Sparta, Ga.
[The following condensed history of the
Sparta Church, was prepared by Rev. E. M.
Pendleton, by special request of the Church;
and a second resolution of the church-meeting
instructed me to forward it to the Advocate for
publication.
Jt is hoped, that the course here adopted will
be followed by other churches—especially those
which are important, and which date their or
ganization, like this church, far back—at the
very introduction of Methodism into the
country.
This history continued from year to year and
spread upon the “Church Record” will form
the most interesting chapter in that important
book>
How many volumes of yaluable church histo
ry have already been losk—a history which if
Laus -i- would «r?ke*be most aspiring Methodist
proud of his “succession’’ and his heritage.
These treasures may not be preserved to feed
church vanity—but should be bequeathed to
the coming children of the church as sacredly
as the ark with its relic —the precious token of
Divine favor and adoption.
Sparta, Jan. 28. A. J. JARRELL.]
We have not been able to ascertain aoything
definite about the first establishment of the
Methodist Church in Sparta. Ths village itself
was laid off and settled in the year 1795. About
that period Humphries and Major the two pio
neers of Methodism in Middle Georgia, were
proaohing in this region. Bishop Asbury also
visited Sparta and baptised children in this
vicinity who are now about seventy years of
age. It is presumable that the Methodist Socie
ty was organized in this town during the latter
years of the last century.
The first intimation of the existence of such
a society is found in a will, written by Daniel
Clements, dated Jannary 26th, 1802, containing
a bequest of S2OO to build a meeting house or
school house on an acre of land adjeining the
present grave yard, lying north of the same, for
the use of “Religious Society and a seac of
learning.” The deoeased was buried oo it,
and it is presumed that the Society lost their
claim from inability to build upon the lot. This
will probated some years after, shows that there
wa3 a Religious Society then in this town which
must have been the Methodist as it existed here
many years prior to any other.
The first time that Sparta appears in the min
utes was in connection with Oconee District.
The South Carolina Conference, which then
embraced the State of Georgia, was held at
Camden, S. C., Deo. 30th, 1805. J. H. Mel
lard and Reddick Pierce were sent to Sparta
circuit.
Aug. 4th, 1806, Robert Flournoy deeded to
John Lucas and Henry Moss, as agents and
trustees of the Methodist Sooiety, one acre of
land, (nearly) adjoining Sparta, and to ineludo
the grave yard lying South of tha Clements’ lot,
and on which the present church now stands.
Very soon after a small framed meeting house
was erected on the present site, of which the
appendage now appropriated to the colored peo
ple is a part, and the remainder was sold in
G. Brian, snd now stands at the fork,*
of the road in the village near this place, called
“Dixie’’
At a camp meeting held near Sparta in 1806,
the Rev. Loviek Pierce preached a sermon of
remarkable power, which resulted in the conver
sion of many souls, among whom was Richard
Nolley, who was then engaged as a clerk in the
store of John Lucas. lie became a member of
this church, was licensed to preaoh, and joined
the South Carolina Conference, in wliieh he
labored faithfully for several years, and was
then sent as a Missionary to our far off Western
wilds. The end of this noble servant of God is
thus described in the Methodist Minutes for
1816. “He had got a mile on his way, (after
swimming a creek) when the wet and oold com
bined stopped his progress. He had kneeled
down on the ground (for his knees were soiled)
and commended his soul to God. There lay
our beloved Riohard Nolley, his eyes neatly
closed, his left hand on his breast, the right a
little fallen off. His life and his toil had ceased
together.’’
This ovent has been immortalised both in
history and poetry. Stevens in his History of
Methodism gives an account of his conversion
and death; and a Poem by an humble writer
published more than thirty years ago, thus re
fers in its last stanza to the dying missionary :
“At length exhausted o’er the waste,
tie knelt him once again to pray,
When lo ! the winiry wind which passed
Bore his pure epint—up—sway.
Angelic hosts all robed in light,
r. idking from out their portals bright,
Welcomed his ehasteaed soul shore,
To bask in Heareo’a unsullied lore.”
On the 29th Deoember, 1806, the South
Carolina Conference met in Sparta at the house
of John Lucas, where Dr. Brown now resides.
The venerable Dr. Loviok Pierce was ordained
deacon at this Conference, and William Arnold
was received on trial. Jesse Lee, the renowned
pioneer of New England Methodism, and James
Russell, the Boanerges of his day, and J. Por
ter were sent to Sparta circuit to labor during
the Conference year of 1807. Abda Christian
and the sweet spirited William Arnold, were
returned for 1808 ; Thomas D. Glenn and Joseph
Lalenstall for 1809.
The next year, the Sparta District was organ
ized and James Hunter and John S. Capers
sent to Sparta. In 1811, Matthew P. Sturde
vant and J. B. Glenn ; 1812, Thomas Y. Cook
and L. Q C. DeYampert; 1813, Anthony Sen
ter and James L. Belin ; 1814, Thomas Stanly
and John Murrow; 1815, Wm. Arnold and
Win. Kennedy; 1816, Jacob Hill and James
Bellab ; 1817, Wm. Partridge and Travis Ow
ens ; 1818, Nicholas Talley and James Dun
wody—a man renowned for his intellect and his
eccentricities.
At the next Conference held Dec. 24, 1818,
Sparta was put in the Athens District and Thoa.
Darby, an Englishman noted for being the first
Methodist preacher who openly espoused the
cause of Masonry, and Asbury Morgan were
returned for 1819. In 1820, Thomas Darby
was sent back (the first up to this time thus
honored,) with Josiah Evans as junior preacher.
In 1821, James Bellah and Robert Flournoy ;
1822 and ’23, Tbomaa Samford, another intel
lectual giant, was preacher in charge, and onr
now venerable brother,. Ww, J. Parks, his junior
for the first year, and Natban P. Cook for the
last. In 1824, Anderson Ray and Alex. F.
Edwards were sent to Sparta, and during this
year, the old church was pulled down and dis
posed of as before mentioned, and the present
antiquated building erected, which though a
superb house of worship for that day, is con
sidered as unworthy the present membership.
At the Conference held January 20th, 1825,
Sparta was put in the Milledgeville District, and
Tilman Snead and James Taylor returned as
preachers. In 1826, Thomas Mabry; 1827
Joshua N. GGnn and Benj. Gordan ; 1828
Josbua N. Glenn and Wm. B. Smith; 1829
Thomas Darby and Jeremiah Norman ; 1830
Wm. Alexander ami Geo. W. Caiter. Thu
year the Georgia Conference wa* organized anc
the connexion of this church ceased with the ole
South Carolina Conference, under whose wing
it bad so long done battle for tbe Lord of Hosts
In taking a brief survey of this first epoet
ftantherti Christian Adrotair.
in the history of our church, we are saddened
with the reflection that only three venerable
names remain of all who then worshipped God
in this house. But we are rejoiced to know
that many of them died triumphantly, and left
behind them lasting mementoes of their worth
and their graces. John Lucas perhaps more
than any other man, sustained the early finan
cial interests of the church. His hoHse was
not only the preacher’s home but was honored
above any other perhaps in this State, in having
entertained an Annual Conference of preachers.
Philip Turner, in whose house was held the
first class meeting ever convened in Sparta, was
another, whose quiet spirit and consistent walk
have left a lasting impression favorable to
Methodism among his descendants to the third
aod.fourth generation. His four daughters, sis
ters Audas, Sasnett, Fears, and Berry, were all
mothers in Israel, and sustained in their dying
day, a bright exemplification of their faith and
good works.
Dr. Charles E. Haynes, though a politician
and for many years a member of Congress, car
ried bis Methodism with him to Washington
city, and it has been said of him that he was
almost the only Methodist who in their caucuses
and their levees as well as on the floor of Con
gress, kept his Christian character unspotted
from the world.
In 1831, Rev. Wesley P. Arnold was sent
to this circuit; 1832, J. N. Glenn and Y Ms
haffy; 1833, V. Mahaffy and S. D. Peurifoy;
1834, C. W. Key and A. B. Elliott; 1835, J.
Norman and T. Douglass; 1836, J. C. Carter;
1837, Geo. W. Carter; 1838, John P. Duhcan.
During this year a gracious revival of religion
was experienced by this church—Rev. G. F.
Pierce being the P. E , and conducting the
meeting. Some inroad was made upon the old
infidel families in the place, and several heads
of families were added to the church. Previ
ous to this revival there were only about sixty
names belonging to the white membership of
the church. Subsequently it has ranged from
100 to 150.
In 1839, Wesley P. Arnold was returned.
This year the Sparta Sabbath-school was organ
ized by the writer, and a weekly prayer meeting
established, which has been kept up ever since
without intermission. Rev. Josiah Lewis was
pastor in 1840 and ’4l; Miller H. White in
1842. In August of this year a revival broke
out at the Sparta camp meeting, and was con
tinued for several weeks in this church, result
ing in the conversion of about 120 souls—they
uniting with the different churches in town and
country. The Baptist church was greatly
strengthened by this work, and the Presbyteri
an church in this plaoe was an offshoot from it.
The Rev. Capel Raiford was the preacher in
1843 ; Richard Lana for 1844; A. T. Mann
1845 and ’6; Caleb W. Key and W J Sasnett,
sup’y, 1847 ; Wesley P. Arnold 1848 and ’49 ;
Richard Lane 1850; Daniel Kelsey 1851, who
was returned in 1852, with J. 11. Clarke, as ju
nior preacher, and Josiah Lewis in 1853, which
terminated our connection with Hancock circuit.
The Sparta station was inaugurated in 1854,
and C. W. Key sent as our first pastor. He
was returned in 1855; W. R Foote in 1856
and ’57 ; J. 11. Caldwell for 1858 and '59; J.
B Jackson 1860; Atticus G. Haygood in
1861 —who left in July as ohaplainof the 15th
Regt., Ga. Vols., and Bishop Pieroe served us
the remainder of the year. Rev. P. M llyburn
was sent to us in 1862 and ’63; B. F. Breed
love in 1861 and '6a, when we tare united with
the circuit for one more year, and B. F. Breed
love and J. W. Simmons returned for 1866.
At the Conference held in Americus in Decem
ber of that year, the Georgia Conference was
divided, and this church placed under the juris
diction of the North Georgia Conference. Rev.
A. J. Jarrell was returned as our pastor in 1867,
and again for the present year, (18G8).
In the year 1846 we had a considerable revi
val of religion, and quite a number were added
to the church. Since then we have had no
remarkable revival such as distinguished us in
former years. As to those who have lived and
died among us, within the last period a number
arc of blessed memory. Our limits will not ad
mit of special reference to them all. One name
however should not be omitted in justice to the
cause he so nobly espoused, both in the pulpit
and with his pen. We refer to Dr. W. J. Sas>
nett, who was reared near this place; was for
some years a member of this church, from which
he received license to preach and, after years of
toil and suffering, came back to preach his last
serrnoD in our old pulpit, and to be buried with
his forefathers in their old grave yard and rise
with them we trust in the “first resurrection.”
THE LATE JOHN W- PORTER.
Within about two years the churches of
Athens, Washington and Madison have been
each called upon to bury the man who to each
of them was chiefly “ guide, counsellor, friend;”
Asbury Hull, Robert H. Vickers and John W.
Porter. A day or two since, in the cemetery at
Athens, I saw upon a tasteful shaft the simple
inscription, “ Asbury Hull.” I was struck
with the taste of the designer, with the justness
of his idea of eloquence. What could the
truest heart and most eloquent pen of all his
numerous friends add to what the mere mention
of his venerable name would recall ? Surely, “a
good name is better than precious ointment.”
For the church and community at Washing
ton nothing but his name need be recorded
upon the tomb of Robert H. Vickers.
Os John W. Porter, I think it appropriate
that few words be used. What language of
praise could add to the estimate in which he
was held by those who knew him ? What com
parison favorable to him would, in Madison, be
regarded as invidious ?
Your columns could record the virtues of no
worthier name, of no character which shone
more resplendently in his borne, in his com
munity, and in bis church.
In his family, the law of deep affection was
written upon his whole demeanor. In his
neighborhood, who for sterling integrity, tend
erest sympathy, unfailing chanty, would be re
garded as his superior? In his church, who for
knowing zeal in sustaining all its interests could
be regarded his rival 7
He provided well for his own household, in
which a kind, cordial, refined hospitality has
long been administered. He did not forget the
words of our Lord, “ the poor ye have with you
always,” but he had peculiarly near his heart the
necessities of those who served him at the altar.
The wants of the minister and his family, were
with him, a personal concern, and Those of his
iamily pressed upon him with -soaroe heavier
weight.
I have oonjoined the names of these brethren,
because they were so nearly identical in their
relations to their respective communions, in
loving the churoh so ardently, and in laboring
so zealously and efficiently for its success.
They have “ gathered at the river, the beau
tiful, beSutiful river.” Is not that bright land
rendered more attractive to us by the advent of
sueh spirits ? Does it not appear brighter, as
the Shadows deepen so rapidly on this ? Shall
we join them ? W. R. Branham.
John Newton once said : “The art of spread
ing rumors may be compared to the art of pin
making. There is usnall; seme truth, which I
call the wire; as this passes from hand to hand,
one gives it a polish, another a point, others
make and put on the head, and at last the pin
is oompleted.
PUBLISHED BT J. W. BURKE & CO., FOB THE X. E. CHURCH, SOUTH.
gudrhte dfoperiem.
The Dying Believer.
Oh! there'* jor beyond the river,
Where death's tide shall rise no more ;
Where salvation rolls forever,
On fair Canaan’s blissful shore.
Christian, shout! thy day is dawning;
Brightly gleams the eternal morning.
Farewell, pain and woe and sorrow;
Sins ana grief no more anney ;
From the future, glimpses borrow—
Lo! the land of endless joy.
Farewell, earth and all ite glory:
Now I'll sing Redemption's story.
I hare seen thy ereat salvation.
Which to mortals thou dost give,
Set before each waiting nation.
Bidding Jews and oenti f es live;
Now, dear Lord, receive my spirit;
I the bliss of heaven inherit.
Come, ye saints of every station,
Rich and poor, and bord and free
Share with Christ the great salvation.
Freely share, who Jesus see.
Boon the appointed race is run,
Soon the fadeless crown is won.
Come, O sinner, idly standing;
Haste anfd share the Saviour's grace;
Hark, his loving voice commanainf — *
' Will you perish from his face?
Oh! return, and come believing;
All the bliss of heaven receiving.
From the Jackson Methodist.
THE TORNADO.
“I tell you, sir, it takes a tornado to move
some people; but when they come it sets them to
praying. If we just had another big storm to
pass through this neighborhood I think we would
all get to be praying people.”
So said my friend, D. R , to me last February,
when I visited his neighborhood to preach at
anew appointment just taken into the circuit.
“ Did I ever tell you of the tornado I was
in about four miles east of Lexington, in
1840?”
“No ; I never heard it; tell me about it.’’
“ Well, sir, in the misfortunes and troubles
which came upon me I backslided wonderfully—
I lost the enjoyment of religion. To make
amends for this I determined to make a fortune
—l’d be rich. So I went to Honey Island and
took charge of a plantation and a large lot of
negroes, as overseer, as the beginning of my
fortune. “I was cut off from society and churoh
and religious privileges. Then I was surrounded
by negroes; cold and dead—religiously.
“On the 13th of June 1840, I left the
Island to visit my little daughter, who was with
my relatives in Attala county. The day ’ was
oppressively warm. In the afternoon clouds
began to rise in the west, and now and then
thunder was heard; but I rode on. Then the
clouds got higher and the thunder more fre
quent and louder. The clouds were dark and
came rapidly. I thought there would be wind
—perhaps heavy wind—but thought a man
could stand a little storm and still travel. The
clonds seemed more threatening, and although I
passed a house I thought I could reach the next
house before the storm and rain overtook me,
and so pressed on. But in this I was mistaken;
for I had not gone more than half a mile before
the sturm was on me in power and fury—it was
a tornado ! I heard the trees and limbs crack
ing, snapping and falling, and thought it was
about the last hour with me in this world. I saw
an open space —free from timber—and turned
my horse towards it —(my bat was blown away)
—and just as 1 entered this open plaee and at
tempted to lea£ from my horse the whistling
wind carried me on, rolling and thumping me
on the ground; and as I rolled and thumped
I caught a bush about aD inch in diameter and
held on to it—the wind lifting me np and let
ting me down so violently that I was braised
and sore for days after. There I held on with
all my might; and feeling that my last hoar and
minute had ec me, I repented of my backslidings
and sins and prayed with all the earnestness any
poor creature ever. prayed with. How long the
tornado lasted^-I know not. llow long I was
there I know*net. But, sir, there I prayed for
protection, fsr pardon, for recovering grace, for
restoration of peace and joy. How long I
prajed I cannot tell; but deliveranee came to
my soul! joy and peaoe were given me ! I was
calm and happy. When I was thus blessed I
looked np and around ; my horse was standing
over me, the trees and brush were piled all
aronnd me, so that it seemed to me there was
not another plaee near there where s man and
horso could have escaped alive ! The rain was
now coming down in torrents, yet I cared not
for that! I was spared and happy 2 Ido not
know that I ever felt real gratitude to God be
fore that hour. J mounted a log that was piled
up on other trunks of trees, and while I saw the
terrible desolation around, my heart swelled
with gratitude and love to God tor my preserva
tion. I felt that I must give vent to that grati
tude nod love in praising God. I shouted
‘ Glory to God ; thanks be to God,’ as loud as
I could.
“ I was replied to by a man among the fallen
timber about seventy-five yards off, praising God
with loud shouts! I was so glad, that I started
for him immediately, and he for me. We met
shouting and rushed into each other’s arms;
each shouting at the top of his voice, glory to
God! After a time he said to me : ‘ Have you
got religion ?’ ‘ I once had; and God has re
stored His salvation to me to-day.’ ‘ How did
it make you feel ?’ ‘lt made me happy; and
made me love everybody, just like I love you
now.’ ‘Do you think a man can get religion
in a storm7’ ‘I do; for I found the Lord
precious to me just over there in this storm.’
‘Well,’ said he, ‘I am from Virginia, on my
way to look at Texas; I have been irreligious;
and have not prayed since my mother made me
say my prayers at her knees until I met the
the tornado here; I could not see any way for
escape and I fell down here and prayed to God
for His marcy; and thank God I felt during
the crashing of everything around me that He
took away all my sins ! I felt His love ! I
love you ! I love every one! I feel that I
will love Him and serve Him as long as I live
And now as we have both been so marvelously
and miraculously saved here, let us couenant to
serve Him all our days, and every day give
thanks to God, and pray for each other. What
is your name ?’ : D. R. is my name. What
is yours ?’ ‘J.C.E. is mine.’
“ Each of us wrote the name of the other
down on paper, and covenanted to give thanks
to God and pray for each other every day so
long as we should both live.
“ While we were shouting, talking, covenant
ing and writing the rain was falling in torrents;
bat wc cared not for that.
“ Thus we parted. Time rolled on ; and iu
1849 I was travelling in North Mississippi, as
Agent for Gin factory. Lata one Sat
urday evening I asked permission to spend the
night and Sabbath in a family. Before retiring
to bed several members of the family came in
from church—there was a quarterly meeting
going on at a Methodist Churoh near by; and
there was to be a love feast meeting the next
morning, they said. So I went to that; and be
ing a stranger, I took a back seat. The meeting
was lively; many spoke; and it was a good
meeting. Toward the elose an old gentleman
arose and said : ‘ Brethren, you know I have
started in this cause but recently; I have been
wicked a long while and have not much experi
ence; but my case is somewhat like the brother
who was converted in a storm; (that interested
me,) he was travelling in this State, Holmes
county, years ago, and overtaken in the storm,
and *ent to work in a harry and with great
earnestness apd was converted in a few moments
Macon, Ga., FrMay, February 14, 1868.
and made very happy* in the storm. [lnal's
my map, said I ). And there was anothar man
converted or in the same’ storm.’
Said I, ‘ What is yoißf jan’s name?’ ‘J. C.
E.’ ‘Then, sir, I alw that other man; and
my name is D. R.’ ‘[hat is the name,’ said
old gentleman.
“ I found, on inquiry, that E., not liking
Texas, came back through Mississippi and
bought land in Marshall county and had removed
to the State, and wa* living not many miles
from that place—still enjoying the love of God.
I sent my congratulations to him, and assurances
that I was still trying ;to thank God every day
and pray for him.
“ I tell you, sir, storms are great things—
nothing less will make‘Some people pray. I don’t
know what would have become of me and J, f!.
E. if we had not been caught in that tornado.”
t H. 11. M.
THE TWENTY THIRD PSALM.
The piece of papeii which would suffice to
write the twentyAktfjj Psalm upon, would not
be large enouglyfor title-deed ; and
yet that psalm, if it expresses our experience,
is worth infinitely more than is conveyed, or se
cured, by all the registries of deeds under the
sun. We are, each of us to see a time when we
shall feel the truth of this. If but these few
first words of the psalm are true in my case, if
“ the Lord is my shepherd,” all the rest of the
psalm is a record, a promise, a pledge, of past,
present, and future god.
There are six things deolared by Christ to be
characteristic of the relations which he and his
people sustain to each other as Shepherd and
sheep:
1. “ My sheep hear my voice.”
2. “ And I know them.’’
8. “ And they follow me.”
4. “ And I give them eternal life.”
5. “ And they shall never perish.’’
6. “Neither shall any pluck them out of my
hand.”
Here we find directions to duty as well as
promises of future good.
Since it is more important how we live than
how we die, and sinco (Hath is merely the arrival
at the end of a journiiy-the beginning, pro
gress and history of fbo journey determining
what the arrival is to be—wo shall do well to
dismiss our borrowed trouble with regard to the
manner of our departure out of the world, and
be solicitous only with regard to the right dis
charge of present duty' We read, “ Precious
in the sight of the Lord is the death of his
saints.” The death of every child of his is
with God an object of uospcakable interest; his
own honor is concerned' in it; its influence on
snrvivors is of great importance; it will be
among the means by which God accomplishes
several, it may be many, purposes of provi
dence, but especially of his grace. “No man
dieth to himself.’’ Great interests are involved
in his death, beyond his own personal welfare.
Now, if we have lived for God, he will make
onr death the object o.' his especial care, and
will honor it by being the means of promoting
his glory. Instead, therefore, of gloomy appre
hensions as to dying, we should cherish the
noble wish and aim, tK.w Christ may be magni
fied in our body, whetbti it be by life or by death.
If our life has been a walking with God, “Thou
art with me ’’ will be a perfect warrant now and
in death to “ fear no e ll.’’— Adams.
From th’3",.M , vfyu»n.rljr.
The Dance—ltsf Moral Aspects.
Is the dauoe morally objectionable ? It would
be strictly legitimate to enlarge on tho vicious
tendencies always engendered by such extrava
gant expenditure as the dance encourages, and
almost requires; upon the sordid ambition it
inspires to outshine one’s social peers, jRjUh tho
low pride begotten by sucoess among thfisAvio
torious in this barbaric revalry, and the-conse
quent chagrin and heartburning and secret
jealousy that follow in the breasts of the disap
pointed ; upon its deplorable effect in bounding
the personal aspiration to exterior elegance in
looks and dress and manners : it would be le
gitimate, we say, in settling the moral propriety
of the usage in question to dwell on these things,
and we might use unstinted freedom of lan
guage respecting them But serious as they
are, they by no means constitute the gravamen
of the indictment which we bring against the
dance as enemy to public morality. There are
graver moral oonsiderations still involved in the
subject, to which we desire our readers to give
their thoughtful attention. These considera
tions, however, Wftc such that, though they move
our feeling to the highest pitch of moral indig
nation, we nevertheless must pick our expres
sions with the utmost care lest we offend the
decorum which the chaste spirit of Christian
refinement has taught us to observe and demand
in speech. There is an infinite slough of pol
lution, but scantily crusted over, under your feet
now, whichever way you turn.
The danoe, then, to say it at once and plainly,
ia an immoral amusement —immoral, we mean,
in itself. Os course we are not now traversing
the statement, that dancing in itself is perfect
ly innocent. But we must remind our readers
that dancing in itself is not under disoussion.
We are dealing with a very different affair in
deed : a concrete thing; a substance with acci
dents; nay rather, a substance whose essence
consists of accidents; a social institution well
determined in form, and hitherto as persistent
as force or as sin : we are dealing with The
Dance. Now, dancing does certainly occur in
the danoe, but so does breathing; and one
comes just a near constituting the dance as the
other.
Lest we seem paradoxical we will explain.
Dancing ia one thing, and the dance is another.
The dance is danoinglunder certain conditions
well understood. Thedance, by reason of these
ooDStant conditions, is an amusement immoral
in itself. Dancing is a exercise which may be
perfectly harmless. We should have no objec
tion in the world to a danoe in whioh the only
participants were children too young to be con
scious of sex, and necessarily incapable of any
pleasure iu it except that of associated and
rhythmical motion. Boys and girls might knit
hands and beat the ground together in it to
their heart’s content, just as they might romp
together in field or wood. (Asa point of hy
giene, and of aesthetics, even, we should gener
ally insist that it be ground they beat, and not
a floor, much less a carpeted floor.) We should
have no objection to a dance in which the par
ticipants were exclusively males, of whatever
age, or to one in which the participants were ex
clusively females, of whatever age. We should
have no objections a dance in whiah the pkf
ticipation was confined to the brothers add sis
ters of one household; and the parents and
grand-parents, for that matter, if they liked,
might join in it with the utmost propriety.
This style of “parlor dancing” we would cheer
fully permit if we Were the Solon of society.
Bat we should be Draconian enough to exclude
neighbors’ children, intimate friends, and cous
ins of every degree, |ts long at least as human
nature continues suen that these marry End are
given in marriage with each other. These
might, to be sure, be present and witness the
Terpsichorean performances pf the family; but
we are afraid that the mere spectacle of such
domestiq felicity would be voted a rather tame
entertainment. In faot, such is human depravi
ty, we have our misgivings that the older broth
ers and sisters of the household would almost
as lief go back to tbeir Sunday-school as to
engage in so entirely innocent a diversion.
It is precisely because we would guard the
most delicate bloom of all human delight from
the gross and common handling which soils its
purity that we use the language we do. We
cannot forget that it is the best use which is
liable to the worst abuse. Do we not know
that the relation of the sexes, which was to
have overflowed the world as a fountain of para
dise, has been perverted into the prolific cause
of more crime and misery than any other single
thing that can be named ? And shall we not
cry shame upon a usage that, under cover of
respectability, regularly titillates and tantalizes
an animal appetite as insatiable as hunger, more
cruel than revenge ?
Our aocusation is that the danoe, instead of
affording an opportunity for mutually ennobling
companionship between man and woman, in
spired with a chaste and sweet interfused re
membrance of their contrasted relationship to
each other—that the danoe, instead of this,
consists substantially of a system of means
contrived with more than human ingenuity to
excite the instincts of sex to aotion, however
subtle and disguised at the moment, in its sequel
the most bestial and degrading. We charge
that here, and’not elsewhere, in the anatomy of
that elusive fascination which belongs so pecu
liarly to the dance, we lay our scalpel upon the
quivering secret of life. Passion—passion trans
formed, if you please, never so much, subsist
ing in no matter how many finely contrasted
degrees of sensuality—passion, and nothing
else, is the true basis of the popularity of the
danoe.
For it is no accident that the danoe is what it
is. It mingles the sexes in such closeness of
personal approaoh and oontact as, outside of the
dance, is nowhere tolerated in respectable socie
ty. It does this under a complexity of oiroum
stances that conspire to heighten the improprie
ty of it. It is evening, and the hour is late;
there is the delicious and unconscious intoxica
tion of music and motion in the blood; there is
the strange, confusing sense of being individ
ually unobserved among so many, while yet the
natural “noble shame” whioh guards the purity
of men and women alone together is absent—
sueh is the occasion, and still, hour after hour,
the dance whirls its giddy kaleidoscope around
bringing hearts so near that they almost beat
against each other, mixing the warm mutual
breaths, darting the fine personal eleotrioity
across between the meeting fingers, flushing the
faoe, end lighting the eyes with a quiok lan
guage, subject often to gross interpretations on
the part of the vile-hearted—why, this fashion
able institution seems to us to hare been invent
ed by the devil to give onr human passions leave
to disport themselves, unreproved by conscience,
by reason, or by shame, almost at their will.
We will not trust ourselves to speak further.
Onr indignation waxes hotter than can well be
controlled. We even Beem to ourselves to have
contracted some social stain from having merely
desoribed truthfully what thousands of fellow-
Christians, ignorant of themselves, praotioe
without swallowing a qualm 2
We say that the dance is not fortuitously
suoh. It is suoh essentially. Its real nature is
shown by what it constantly tends to become in
new figures introduced stealthily from time to
time, (under silent protest from many who suffer
their modesty to be overborne by the fear of
being oharged with prudery,) a little more doubt
ful than the old, and in wanton whirls, like the
waltz and polka. Always the dance inclines to
multiply Opportunities of physios! proximity
and contact between the sexes, always to mako
them more prolonged and more daring. In
fine, the dance adds that last ingredient of per
fect bliss whose absence the witty Frenchwoman
bethought herself in the midst of some inno
cent enjoyment to mourn—with a pathos more
pathetic than they dream who see nothing but a
whimsical humor in the saying, “i/on Dieu !
How delightful this is ! It would be quite per
fect if there were only a little tin in it.”
But if what has already been said and sug
gested fails to convince any that onr analysis of
the pleasure of the danoe is true, we have a lit
tle problem to propose for their solution : Why
it it that the dance alone, of all the favorite di
vertiont of gay society, requires the association
of the tioo ttxet in it t The problem is not
solved by the ready reply, “Why, the pleasure
of social intercourse is always heightened when
both sexes participate in it. We enjoy an
evening of cards bettor for this piquant com
mingling !” But yon have missed the point of
the problem. The question is not, Why do you
enjoy the dance more when men and women
exeoute it together ? bat, Why mast men and
women execute it together in order that you
should enjoy it at all t No doubt a game of
cards may be much more bowitching, while not
an iota more hurtful, for the meeting of the
sexes at the table. But then cheaply figured
parallelograms of pasteboard have charms for
their devotees of either sex, whioh enable them
to dispense with the society of the other. Men,
young and old, often sit the night out in bachelor
conviviality around a oard-table. Young ladies,
and sometimes their mammas with them, we
believe, will interminably shuffle and deal far on
into k the hours affectionately ealled “small” by
those who know how to make them so with revel
—all quite without benefit of gentlemen. But
come to the dance, and what a difference !
Where do young ladies keep up their practice
of calisthenics after leaving boarding-school 7
What bachelor club exists anywhere that de
votes an evening to the dance among its/ mem
bers? Pensive and imaginative young ladies
might possibly, here and there, of a lonesome
evening, seek to revive a diluted illusion of past
pleasure by a few strictly maiden measures, exe
cuted with soon exhausted enthusiasm; but
men with men—hardly!—unless, perhaps, in
broad farce, to point a whimsical contrast.
The characteristic thus established as belong
ing to the dance, in distinction from every other
form of popular amusement, is full of instruc
tive implication to those who are accustomed to
inquire for the causes of things. Os coarse we
know how indignantly the aocusation of impu
rity in their enjoyment of the danoe will be
repelled by the great majority of its votaries.
And we are. very ready to admit the indignation
as entirely honest; for we have no doubt that
the element of nuchastity in it, rarely absent we
most certainly believe, is yet generally unrecog
nised by the subject. If only unconsciousness
of evil infiaenoejwere a trustworthy prophylaotio
against it 1 Once again, and for all, we protest
with the utmost sincerity that we are far from
confounding the devotees of the dance in an
indiscriminate accusation of oooscious impurity.
We know too many pure-hearted women among
dancers, whom no fortunate son, or brother, or
husband, oould posajbly charge with ob« doubt
ful thought for even an instant of the most ob
livious excitement, not to be ourselves indig
nant in purging our intention of any Buch cruel
injustice. And in the opposite sex, too, howev
er much more exposed by nature to temptation,
there are some dancers no doubt who come very
near to esoaping the conscious contagion of evil
by virtue of an instinctive ehastity in them,
God’s gift to a few. But right on the heels of
so wide a disclaimer we must re-assert our oon
viction that unconsciousness does not defend
even the purest minds from something of the
insinuating sensual tendency of this inherently
voluptuous amusement.
And then consider, ye Christian fathers and
brothers and husbands, to what horrible hazards
of oontaot the opportunities of the danoe ex
pose your daughters and sisters and wives. For
who, that has gained any experience of the
world, is ignorant of the fact that hardly once
does a considerable party assemble, even in the
most respectable society, without including some
man whom his associates know to be a libertine
at heart, if not in life ? To think of pure
women being pastured on with palms of pollu
tion and with imminent eyes of adultery by such
a human bull of Basban the evening long in
the promiscuous corral sos the dance! What
better facilities could be imagined for an accom
plished voluptuary to compass the capture of
prey ! Faugh ! In the ordinary occasions of
sooiety a lady may let her saored intuitions have
some play to guard her against the access of
imparity in the uniform of a gentleman.
But it is the boast of the danoe that it is a
democrat and a levcler, permitting no individ
ual caprice to break the circuit of universal
equality. You may shudder to your heart’s
core at the contaot that is coming; but the dance
leaves you no election—you must take it when
it comes. Blush, blush henceforth, ye Chris
tian women, when you are invited to submit
your persons to the uses of diversion that may
at any time choose to bring you finger-tip to
finger-tip with those whose touch is pollution,
or it may be, encirole you in their arms ! A
bnrning blush of speechless shame were the
best reply to the insult of such an invitation.
But we plead against an advooatn more eloquent
than any individual’s words. O fashion, fash
ion ! What power hast thou to browbeat holy
nature, so that she dares not speak to assert her
sacred olaims against thy imperious sway !
We abruptly dispatch this hateful subject
without completing the disoussionof it. If our
readers have winced at the exceptional plainness
of speech whioh we have used, wc beg them to
believe that it has cost us sincere pangs of reso
lution to uso it. But wc have written under
duress of conscience that did not suffer us to
shrink. Tho engineering skill of tho devil has
defended the dance with a masterly dilemma
that leaves open barely two alternatives of attack
about equally ineligible. You may either ex
haust your strength in demonstrating the minor
and inoidental evils of the usage, in whioh case
you can win an easy but also a barren victory;
or you must freely encounter the peril of dam
aging your own fair fame for purity, and deliver
your blow full at its inherent and essential im» .
morality. We have deliberately ohosen the lat
ter alternative. We can trust tho honest heat
of indignation that has warmed our words to
take away the offense of their extreme fidelity.
As for the risk of being charged with bringing
tho impurity that we find, wo contentedly ac
cept it.
MISUNDERSTOOD.
“ I think I shall stop going to the Hollow,”
said Mr. House. The Hollow was a secluded
part of tho township, where the intellectual
and moral culture of the people was very im
perfect.
“ Stop going to the Hollow!” said Mr.
Haynes, “ you have just got things fairly started
thero. All that has been done will be lost if
you give up the enterprise.’’
“ The responsibility will not rest on me, if
that should be the case.”
“ I don’t understand jou.”
“ Well, to speak plainly, I am tired of having
my motives misinterpreted and my actions mis
represented.”
“ Let us see; how docs the good book read ?
1 Son, go to work in my vineyard, provided sin
ners give you credit for all you v do’—is that the
way it reads ?”
Mr. House smiled rather grimly, and was
silent.
“ I will tell you,’’ continued Mr. Haynes,
“ how the good book does read : ‘ Be not weary
in well-doing, for in due season ye shall reap, if
ye faint not.’ ”
“ I am not weary of trying to do good, but I
am weary of being misunderstood and misrep
resented.”
“No doubt our trial may come in that form,
but it is not the less true that it is still our duty
not to become weary in well-doing. You are
not the first one that has been misunderstood.”
“ I suppose not.”
On the next Sabbath Mr. House went to the
Hollow, and went through the exercises of tho
Sabbath Sohool with more than ordinary zeal
and sucoess. In the meetiug for adults which
was held at the close of the school, he read the
passage in whioh Elijah, discouraged in view
of his want of suocess, desired that his work
might come to a close In a few remarks that
followed the reading of the passage he gained
the atteutiou of his audience as he had never
done before and strengthened his own soul
ior a continued activity iu his Master’s ser
vice.
Mr. Haynes offered prayer, and then added a
few words of exhortation.
After the close of the meeting as they were
on their way homeward, Mr. Haynes remarked,
“ I think there was some good done to day. I
saw tears in the eyes of several persons, as
you spoke of tho want of results in reg*rd to
the labor that has been performed.”
“ I hope there has been some good done,”
said Mr. House. If be had spoken as he felt,
he would have said that good had been done to
his own soul.
Christ was often misunderstood —not only by
the multitude, but by those who enjoyed his
most intimate instructions. His benevolent ao
tions were often misinterpreted. “He castoth
out devils through Beelzebub.” It is enough
that the disciple be as his Master. We can
claim no better treatment od the part of men
than our Master received. The unconditional
command is, “ Go, work in my vineyard.”—
Examiner and Chronicle.
On the Every Day Sorrows.
This is a chequered life, and the changes are
mercifully accommodated to our circumstances.
Continual comfort and prosperity would be un
safe for us; oontinued affliction would be hard
upon us; therefore our gracious Lord appoints
us changes. Comforts and trials are inter-woven
in our dispensations, and so closely that there is
hardly an hour passes in which we may not
have many causes for thankfulness, and some
exercises of faith and patience.
Bishop Cowper compares the life of a believer
to a piece of worked cloth, the threads of whieh
from end to end, through the whole length of
life, are comforts; but the warp, from begin
ning to end, filled up with crosses. Sure it is,
for though we are favored with days and spaoes
in which we can hardly say we have one cross
from the hands of the Lord; we have, in de
fault of these, an unhappy ingenuity ia con
triving and making up crosses for ourselves.
A word or look, or the holding up of a fing
er, is sufficient to disconcert us in our smooth
est hours, to spoil the relish of a thousand
blessings, so that the sun shines npon us almost
in vain.
We suffer tnuoh from imaginary evils, as
much perhaps from apprehension of what may
never happen, as from the impression of what
we truly feel. Thns we put loads on our own
shoulders, and then we say, “ Alas! how heavily
lam burdened.” So great ia the goodness and
faithfulness of God, that we are usually enabled
to stand under heavy trials. Suoh likewise ear
weakness, that we are frequently ready to sink
under small ones. Conld we see the hand of
the Lord equally in the great and small, and
oonsider everything we meet as designed to
practieeand forward us in the lessons we pro
fess ourselves desirous of learning, we should
B. H. MYERS, DJ)., EDITOR
Whole Number 1690
be muoli more bappy. We are oallod to die
unto self, to oease from man, to learn that all
things are uncertain 'and vain, to forgive in
juries, to overoome evil with good. And tho
events of life are so adjusted as to give us a fre
quent opportunity of discovering and proving
our proficiency in these lessons. But we would
rather suppose ourselves patient without having
anything to bear; disposed to forgive without
anything to forgive; and possessed of a spiritual
mind; while at the same time we fc pleasing
ourselves with the hope of a sort of earthly
paradise of eajoyment.
PENURIOUS CHRISTIANS.
A wealthy Illinois farmer who counts his
acres by the hundred and his stock by the drove,
and who keeps a snug bank aceount, recently
gave to one department of our work the pitiful
sum of fjty cents , and doubtless felt that he was
doing an exoeediDgly liberal thing. Had he
been asked for Fifty Dollars, Instead, it would
have been regarded almost like an attempt te
rob him. Yet this was, at heart, a good brother,
upright in his dealings with his fellows, con
scientious in all his business transactions, gene
rally respected and esteemed by his neighbors.
In short, he was honest toward all save God, to
whom he owed all that he possessed. He had
reoeived princely gifts at the hands of his
Maker. His life had been crowned with in
creasingly rioh blessings year by year. His
lands produced plentifully. His stook increased
in number and value. He oould set off, to one
and another of his ohildren, rich, golden oovered
acres, and build them oomfortable homes; could
endow his daughters with thousands; oould
adorn his tome with all that he desired; oould
satisfy any earthly craving of his own. But
when God oalled upon him, tho purse strings
suddenly drew together, and “ the numerous
objects for wbioh aid was asked rendered it ac
cessary to retrenoh his expenditures.” Alas
for him! He never yet felt the luxury of lib
eral giving. Never felt the thrill of pleasure
that stirs the deepest depths of the soul when
devising liberal things for the Lord, and noting
as the agenta of his will, by using his money, or
the avails of what-he has loaned us, for the ex
tension of his kingdom and the honor of his
«ame.— Times and Witness.
A HAPPY FAMILY.
In a reoent outpouring of the Spirit in A.
there was a large and interesting family in which
the mother was the only professor of religion.
They lived three miles from the ohurch. The
father, some fifty years old, took great pains to
be at the meetings; and the mother, though
the family ran down to the oradle, contrived to
have all but a pioket guard round tho baby out
to every meeting. Soon the children began to
manifest anxiety; the eldest daughter gave her
heart to Christ; a little son expressed full de
termination to be the Lord’s.
The heart of the father was moved, and in a
sooial meeting he said, “My friends I am a
wretched sinner. When 1 was sixteen years
old, away ‘at sahool, my miad was awakened,
and I awoke one morning very happy, trusting
in Christ; everything seemed to be praising
God ; but I covered it up in my heart, and it
soon passed away. From that time 1 have been
a miserable man, of no account to myself or
anybody else, and I don’t think there is any
mercy for me now.”
. Fervent prayers were offered lor him. He
was exhorted to lay aside his fears and come to
Jesus. He went home, set up an altar in his
house, and after a great struggle publicly conse
orated himself to God. Two grown sons and
two smaller ones oame to the Saviour—the fath
er, daughter, and five sons, ail sitting at the
Saviour’s feet. There is great joy in that house.
“Them that honor me I will honor,” says God.
— Messenger.
Armor of the Christian.
Truth—the girdle of the loins.
Righteousness—Breastplate. Frst pure,
then peaceable, and full of mercy and good
fruit*.
Feet Shod —with dispositions imparted by
the gospel to run joyfully, swiftly, tho race set
before him, viz: joy ! charity! hope I love !
Faith—Shield. “Lord, increase our faith.’’
Salvation—Helmet. The designation and
watchword of the Christian warrior is Salvation !
Eternal Life !
Word or God —his sword. Paul begins
and ends with Truth. He must be armed from
top to toe with Truth.
Praying Always and Watching.—
Watch and pray, lest ye enter into
Thus must the Christian warrior i>e oquip pe(l
He must search for truth as for hid treasure
Truth and Righteoasness must be in him ana
all around him. Then his Faith will be strong.
He must have his sword, the word of God, al
ways drawn and ready for use. He mast have
love, joy, and hope to wing his feet. He must
run with the Watchword, Salvation ! I—Eternal
life 11 And while he keeps his eyes ep.n oo
his enemies, his tongue and heart must com
mune with the Captain of his salvation.—Eph.
vL 13-18.
THREE IMPORTANT THINGS-
Three things to love—Courage, gentleness,
and affection.
Thvee things to admire—lntellectual power,
dignity, and graoefnlnesa.
Three things to hate—Cruelty, arroganoe,
and ingratitude.
Three things to delight in—Beauty, frank
ness, and freedom.
Three things to wish for—Health, friendi,
and a cheerful spirit.
Three things to pray for—Faith, pcaee, and
purity of heart.
Three things to like—Cordiality, good humor,
and mirthfulness.
Three things to avoid —Idleness, loquacity,
and flippant jesting.
Three things to cultivate—Good books, good
friends, and good-humor.
Three things to contend for—Honor, country,
and friends.
Three things to govern—Temper, tongue,
and oonduet.
Three things to think about—Life, death,
and eternity.
Light Reading.
Books of mere fiction and passion arc gener
ally bad id their character and influence. Their
authors are commonly bad men, and wicked men
do not often write good books. A stream does
not rise higher than its fountain. Their princi
ples ara often oorrnpt, encouraging notions of
ohivalry, worldly honor and pleasure, at war
with the only true code of morals. They insult
the understanding of the reader by assuming
that the great objeot of reading is amusement.
The effeets are suoh as might be expected.
Familiarity with popular fiction gives a disrelish
for simple truth; engenders a habit for reading
merely for amusement, whioh destroys the love
of sober investigation, and blasts the hope of
mental improvement; gives false views of tho
perfeotibility of human nature, thus leading to
diaappoint&ents iu the relations of life; and
dwsrn the intellectual and moral powers, except
the imaginatiou, which is rendered morbid and
unhealthy by constant excitement. Tho Bible
become! a wearisome book; spiritual classics,
like those of Baxter, Banyan, and Flavel, though
glowing with eelestial fire, beoome insipid and