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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