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THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. Vol. XXXII.—No 26. ®riflinal Ijoetrg. Nepenthe. In the darkness, when the glimmer Os the least of stars is gone, Light, all light may gently linger, Round the life that seems undone. In the hour when friends are failing, And we grope in paths forlorn, One, whose lore is all-abiding, Claims the weary ones His own. When the way is all beclouded, And we know not how to go, Howaoe’er in gloom enshrouded, He will lead us evermore. When the mortal may be blaming. Judging the unwary deed, God in pity may be soothing. Knowing how the heart doth bleed. And when life’s bright hopes are broken, Like some wrecked barque on the sea, Cometh then the blessed token : “Child thy God remembers Thee.” Then—sinee all things well Thou doest, Yield I ail my days to Theq». , .».. - ToFTT now "whatever" Ttiou sende9t, Still, Thou art most kind to me. Stillwood Angela. Contributions. The Preacher’s Obligation—No. 11. BY H£V. W. F. EASTERLING. Having, we think, placed the obligation to <jo upon its right footing, let us notice the object of the preacher’s going. “Preach the gospel,” says Obrist. “Preach the word,’’ says Paul. We consider the pre sumption strong, that written sermons either read or spoken from memory, do not fulfil the obligation enjoined by the com mand of the Saviour to preach. However this may be, it seems at least strange to us that any man can look upon the results of extemporaneous preaching in the days of the Apostles, in the age of the Reforma tion, during the revival of vital piety in the English Church in the eighteenth century and also during the great awakening in our own country, and yet give himself up to the habit of reciting or reading his ser mons. Results certainly ought to decide the preacher. What is the object of his preach ing ? To save souls. To do this he must instruct, convince and rouse his hearers. Is he as likely to accomplish these results with his manuscript as he who addresses his congregation with a warm, loving heart that fires his intellect and gives flow and Eoint and power to his utterance ? The istory of all revivals teaches the contrary The speaker must feel, or his hearers will not feel. The memorized sermon grows stale, before it is delivered, and as to the read sermon its pointlessness is well nigh pro verbial. The extemporaneous speaker has this advantage, his head and heart arc both free, and he consequently, will most proba bly persuade and move his hearers. Who ever thinks of a man’s writing the address with which he expects to win a woman’s heart, without laughing ? What client would not feel that his interest had been trilled with, should his attorney, in an im portant cause go before the jury with a written speech ? Rut it may be said, that the effect of the sermon depends upon the Spirit of God and not upon the preacher. True, wc answer; yet, God works through preaching, in accordance with the laws of mind and feeling. If this be not so, the fact is nevertheless patent, that He has seen fit, for some reason or other, to work more graoiously and effectively through the extemporaneous than the manusoript preacher. The sermon in manuscript, in our opinion, bears almost the same relation to preaching that hobbling on stilts docs to walking. The effect, both upon the con gregation and the preacher himself, of the habit of reading sermons, is sueh that its reprobation can hardly be too deoided and earnest. The instances in which good preachers have greatly impaired their use fulness by this habit are not few. Let the congregation know that their pastor is read ing his sermon, aud we would suppose that they wouid listen ancf feel as though he had written a great many things, no matter how important or pointed, about them , but was not preaching to them. When this becomes the habitual feeling of the hearer, the main object of preaohing is, of course, effectually defeated. We would not of oourse, be understood as maintaining that no results of good are to be expected from the read sermon. God can bless and make profitable the reading of a paragraph from a book or newspaper; but in the very na ture of thiugs results must be less decisive than when the man of God, with excited sympathy and yearning love, speaks forth from his heart the message of salvation. The one is stale water, the other, the stream gushing fresh from the fountain. The read sermon is life poorly represented ; the spo ken is life itself, glowing with thought and feeling, and speaking under divine influ ence. But, the ambassador for God, must de liver his message. To preach the gospel is simply and wholly his duty. To read a well conceived and beautifully expressed essay upon some Christian virtue or moral obligation is but trifling with duty, and giv ing the congregation a stone instead of bread. To deliver an elaborate and well finished lecture or address, in which many good and beautiful things are said in gen eral, and nothing said with aim and em phasis and power—nothing directly, point edly to the individual heart and conscience, is but to sink the preacher into a mere per former, to destroy the spirit of devotion, and to send his starving people away unfed. To preach such a sermon as that the thouzhts of the hearer are divided between religion and literature, science and kindred themes, is a degradation, a desecration of the sacred office, an offence against God and an insult to every pious soul that lis tens. “I don’t know how brother can face that sermon in the judgment,” said a pious woman, who had gone to church to hear preaohing and returned disappoint ed, having listened to a beautiful speech. A discourse cannot have purely and entire ly a religious effect unless it be wholly and thoroughly religious. It must be the gospel that is preached, and nothing but the gos pel, if the design of God in giving the gos pel be accomplished. As we have already said, the design of preaching is to save souls. It is the gospel of Christ—the pure gospel, unmixed with any worldly thought or theme that is the power of God unto sal vation. If then God has adapted it to the great purpose of saving souls, why should we desire to connect anything else with it ? Whence our authority ? “And I, brethren, when I came unto you came not with exoel lenoy of speech or of wisdom, deolaring unto you the testimony of God.’’ “And my speech and my preaching was not with enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power that your faith should not stand in the wisdom of man, but in the power of God.” What presumption to undertake to im prove upon God’s plan of redeeming man ! What folly to attempt to make divine truth more attractive by clothing it in gorgeous apparel! What trifling for “a dying man talking to dying men,’’ to parade mere hu man knowledge and worldly wisdom before Sanlbmt Christian JUtotaU. them! We are in great danger at this point. The preaober has authority to preach the gospel and nothing else. His oharaeter is sacred as an ambassador few God, beseeching men in Christ’s stead ; and his announcements of gospel truths are heard with reverence; but when he preaches philosophy, and evtnoes iu his discourse great concern for his reputation or .attempts to make a display of his attainments, he stands upon a different platform, is regard ed as an ordinary man in no solemn engage ment, and listened to with a spirit of oriti cism that feels no rebuke at the prompt re jection of anything he may say. Bishop MoTyeire once said that he had known con gregations “preached to death with fine preaching.’’ Nothing will more effectually drive the Spirit from the preacher’s heart, and fill him with pride than this fine preaching. Nay, it is the evidence of pre existing pride. It will also kill the spirit of true devotion in the congregation. v The services over, the people may retire to talk of the great sermon, the learned and elo quent orator, bat not to thank God for the word of life and the good Christ's An Enormous Robbery. We sometimes observe, in secular news papers, great, flaming posters, written in large capitals, at the head of a thrilling oc currence or even an advertisement, in order to attract attention thereto. This is one of too many instances wherein the children of this world are wiser than the ohildren of light. Occurrences, which are exceedingly tame, in comparison to the great announce ments of revelation, are paraded before the people, and “noised abroad’’ with great earnestness; yet the great truth—the tre mendous truths—which relate to the eter nal world are comparatively unknown. There are experts who have resorted to the most wincing and wily modes of attracting one’s eye to their advertisements, and who, knowing men’s love for originality, have taxed their ingenuity to render them ori ginal Confirmatory of this read any of the daily newspapers. Since the world to come, and the things which relate thereto, are the only realities —since it is acknowl edged by all of sane mind that “There's nothing true but Heaven’’ —why, is it we treat what we say is real, as imaginary ; and what we say is imaginary, as real ? oh ! what a paradox ! Now, I wish to state a plain, unvarnished truth about a thing which has been occurring ever since the fall, which oceurs every day, and, whioh by its constant occurrence, men have deemed the less awful; but— they are deceived—‘■'■blinded by the gad of this world.'’ Perhaps —but it is a very diminu tive “ perhaps ” —there are those in the church, as well as elsewhere, who have not heard of it before; very especially that class who “throw in” some paltry fractions of a dollar, with a sigh and distortion of coun tenance, when a “collection” is made for “the poor of the church,” or for the noble, self-crucified man in China —Young J. Al len. (The brother who gets offended is guilty.) Now, here is our announcement: AN ENORMOUS R011BERY! CIOD IS ROBBED WITH THE MOST IMPIOUS DARING ! A WHOLE NATION IS CURSED ! Now, we weed uot go iuto details. We need simply to affirm that the awful crime has been committed alike in the still, dead hours of night, and at noonday. It is per petrated, when we spend our time in vain, which in some “season of refreshing,’’ we consecrated to purposes of God’s glory; when we refuse to give alms; when we go to God’s house, “to sec and be seen,” in stead of to worship; when we neglect op portunities of doing good ; when we abuse our talents; and when we withhold our “tithes aud offerings ’’ But why multiply these instances ? Reader, go and examine the Bth and 9th verses of the third chapter of Malachi, and think with what sacrilege God was robbed in the days when He propounded the ques tion, “YVill a man rob God?” But in ‘‘that day’’ it will be more tolerable for the robber of that period than for these of the nineteenth century—these who have the blessed gospel of Christ—these who are hoarding up their filthy lucre, whiie the Macedonian cry is unheeded, and while im mortal souls are crowding the cheerless way to death. Reader, have you robbed God? Alas ! we all have. Now, let us have done with the awful crime, for the booty we get by such process will never do ant/ good. There is no cave in the universe where we can hide, it from God. Moreover, if we persist in it, the spoils we get thereby, will keep us out of heaven, and we can not take them to hell O Holy Spirit, enable us to render unto God the things that are God’s, and to liy up our treasure in Heaven. A Penitent Robber. Oxford, Ga , June 1869. Pulpit Profanity. Are preachers ever profane ? Too often we fear—not wilfully it is presumable, but thoughtlessly it is certain ; for if the min isters were to ponder and duly weigh the divine injunction, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God, in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name in vain ,” would we so frequently hear him saying “God bless you this,” and “God bless you that," when he dees sot a ki«JL and solemn benediction ; KJ, Sttflply throws in this profane ejaculation to fill up, or give vent to his excited feelings ? It is because of the apparent thoughtlessness of salva tion’s heralds, that I write this little article ; not voluntarily, but by request; for it seems that other ears besides mine tingle, and gentle woman, too mild to protest or remonstrate, too modest to spread her thoughts on paper and send them to you, is sensitive enough to feel that those err here who should be qualified to teach her, and jealous enough of her Maker’s claims to shrink from the profanely careless itera tion and reiteration of His name, His titles, His attributes, even in the pulpit. I would that I could address myself to ministers exclusively and not canvas pub licly what seems to have, in men of sacred calling, the complexion of weakness and error; but, alas! brethren, we, (for I, too, am a miuister,) stand before the world judged in advance of our perceptions, not only in this, but in many other respects, and the world decides, perhaps before we think of it, that we are wanting in charity, wanting in industry or wanting in venera tion, and men, who are themselves openly profane, are surprised to hear the name of God vainly used in His, own sanctuary and by His own servants, and to notice in the man of God the same tendency to expletive which induces them to interlard their con versation with imprecation. A short time since I attended a church where a revival was drawing to a close The preacher in charge seemed to be much excited because there were some in the congregation who could not be persuaded to come to the altar, and, standing on a bench, he vehemently urged them “in the name of God, great God, good God, great God Almighty,” to repent and come to the altar. It is no hyperbole to say, that the cold chills ran over me ; for I am persuad ed that I have rarely, if ever, in a fish market or a street fight, heard more pro fanity compressed into twenty minutes; and yet, we know that, much as these errors shook the dispassionate and sensitive hear erg they resolve themselves into simple want of consideration and reverence. Returning to that often used and ever objectionable, “God bless you” when no blessing is implored. I ones erred in this particular, and was at onee eared of it, with a single application, by that dear friend, F. Milton Kennedy, of the 8. G. Conference. “That bad Georgia habit,” he called it, which I thought was a little bit of South Carolina egotism. Bat never mind, I only hope that the bad habit may be restricted to Georgia, and in the Georgia Conference and “locality,’’ as a friend of mine calls the fifth-wheel of oar economy, died and be buried Brethren, kindly, let os amend in this particular. The fervency and effectuality of prayer do not, in any wise, depend upon the changes we ring on the name of Deity, the number of times we sob, or murmur, or scream, or thnnder the ease absolute. In prayer we may take His, name in vain. The boanergetic part of preaohing does not consist of sputtering through clenched teeth and compressed lips the more awful titles of the Jehovah. If yon often repeat His name vehemently your congregation will be shocked with your profanity, if in differently, with your want of reverence. Let us approach the name of God as rever ently as we would the footstool of His presence. Let us beware of expletive and redundancy. How shall the following sen tence be parsed in the school of Christ — “God Almighty’s round earth,” as follows : God, a noun, the name of the Deity, un necessary and therefore profane in this sen tence ; Almighty, an adjective part of the title signifying omnipotence but equally un necessary and therefore equally profane put in the possessive case, not because “The earth is the Lord’s,” but for reasons to be imagined; round, an adjective quali fying earth, but not calculated to teach the congregation anything, as even the Sabbath school children know that the earth is round ; earth, a well understood name and the only essential word in the sentence, as it conveys the whole of the preacher’s meaning—expletive and profane redun dancy aside. In this ends my little exhortation found ed on part of the 20th chapter of Exodus, but elicited by the appeal of a venerable mother in Israel, who seems often to hear in the church which she attends, things that shock the very sensibilities to which we have referred. Yes, let us amend; God give us the meekness and teachable ness of wisdom that we may learn one of another. C. J. Atlanta, June 12tA, 1869. Loving the Preacher too Well. Bro. Get all-you-can, and his wife, were members of the Wire-grass church, on the Frog Pond circuit, and seemed exceedingly fond of the preacher and his family -most too fond. They had both been brought up in the back woods, but by dint of hard work and much self denial, their parents had accumulated a sulfioient arnouat of property to enable them to give their chil dren a tolerably fair education, and to af ford them opportunities of seeing much of the world. They had seen, and they knew enough to have done better than they did. They were seldom absent from church, paid great attention to preaching, praised the sermon, sung as loud as any body else, and the good brother would sometimes close the services with prayer; but he never gave one cent to support the gospel. Unfortunately this good brother lived next door to the preacher. I say unfortu nately, because he and his wife seemed to think the preacher under more obligation to them than they to him—for there are some who act as if they were conferring a great favor on the preacher to hear him preach. His rule was to get all he could out of the poor, laborious, self-denying preacher, and to let the preacher get noth ing out of him. At the period of which I am writing, times were unusually hard with our good brother. Corn especially was scarce. As incredible as it may seem, our friend, though living out halt mile off, has been known to go with horse, wife and children, and spend the night at the parson ago—to come wrtli two horses and families and spend the Sab bath, when it put the preacher’s wife to her wits end to get. up a dinner—to come over for breakfast, bring his horse and remind the preacher that the horse had not been fed—to send his family to spend the Sab bath with the preacher’s family, with the positive injunction that the horse must be well fed with corn. Now, if Bro. Large heart, giving liberally to the support of the preacher had done this, nothing would have been thought of it; but for one who never gave a shin-plaster for the support of the preacher it was unpardonable meanness. This same brother being present, while a company of brethren were discussing the probabilities of certain men being appointed to the circuit the ensuing year, one of the circuit stewards, who had been liberal in supporting the church, expressed a desire that the Rev. Mr. should be sent to the circuß, but he objected. When asked for his reasons, he said, “oh ! his family is too large—he will be too burdensome to the charge.” On which the steward inquired, “how much have you given for the support of the church, this year ?” Bro. Get-all you-can answered, “nothing.” The other sensibly replied, “then you need not care how large the family, or how heavy the bur den, if you do not have it to bear.” We fear that such Christians are to be found elsewhere. Perambulator. godrine anb experience, The Careless Sinner’s Thoughts Con cerning the Blood of the Cross. Perhaps there is nothing connected with Christ and his work which the careless sin ner slights so much as the blood. In his eye it has no value and no attractions. He dislikes all reference to it in connection with salvation. Thus he tramples it under foot. He thinks less of it, lays less stress upon it, ascribes to it less of sacredness and of value than a Jew, or even a heathen, in re gard to the blood of their victims. Its very name is repulsive, as if the mention of it suggested only what was unpleasant and unnatural. To owe salvation to this blood alone, seems not only unreasonable, but hateful. Words such as these, “by his stripes we are healed,’’ have no relish, and no meaning to him. They who make ref erence to the blood, are perhaps accused of want of refinement and delicacy, or des pised as enthusiasts and mystics. Thus, “the blood of the Lamb” is trifled with or despised, or scoffed at in wantonness of un belief. It was so when Christ was on earth. From his cradle to his cross this contempt was exhibited ! Herod sought to shed his blood in infanoy. The people of Nazareth, “where he had been brought up,” laid hands upon him that they might slay him. Frequently throughout his ministry—his life was aimed at, as if it would have been a light thing to shed his blood. And when betrayed at last, thirty pieces of silver was the goodly prioe at which his blood was valued! It was all that man would give for it! Then in their eagerness to abed it, they urged Pilate to put him to death, PUBLISHED BY J. W. BURKE & CO., FOR THE M. E. CHURCH, SOUTH. Macon, Ga.», Friday, June 25, 1869. crying, “Crucify him, crucify him,” ptt ferring Barabbas to Jeans, setting a highe price on the blood of the robber than on that of the Son of God. And as if to show their utter disregard for it, —as if in mock' ery of it—they volunteered to bear the curse whioh that blood might bring down on its shedders—“his blood be upon us and our children.” Then, lastly, on thy cross it was poured out like water. The thorns, the scourge, the nails, the spear,, were man’s instruments for draining tha; blood, that, flowing down upon the ground, it might be trodden under foot, and treat ed as the vilest thing on eart|i. So vile did they reckon it, that though bent on shedding it, they woold not allow this to be done within Jerusalem. It mufit be shed “without the ■ city,’’ as if it would have been pollution to the temple of God, and the dwellings of Israel, to have al lowed it to be shed within its eonseorated walls They treated it as the blood of one who was not only unworthy to live, bntun-, worthy even to die within Jerusalem. -■ Such were man’s thoughts blood in the days when Christ was heuJj Such was his estimate of its value, such j his idea of its sacredness. And in this, do we not see not only in-1 difference hut contempt —not only contempt but mockery —not only mockery, but ha- ] tred ? In this treatment of the blood of j Christ, do we not discover the natural heart . of man speaking out, or rather acting out j its enmity ? It is still the same. There has beeu no relenting on man’s part; no aoftenirg of the carnal heart. His estimate of the blood has not risen higher since these days. His indifference and his enmity are unre moved. And sometime* we find the form er of these, and sometimes the latter, in exercise. When the subject is not pressed home upon his conscience so as to confront him, it is indifference that we find. When that blood is presented to him, and he is told of its power either to eleanse or to oondemn, and of his own interest in it, so that it must be either for or against him for ever, then his displeasure awakes; the hidden enmity of his soul comes up, and he manifests a feeling of hatred, suoh as would have placed him, perhaps, among the foremost ranks of the crucifiers. Even should he remain calm and candid, he will not admit the preciousness of the blood, or the claims which it has upon him. Claims! He rejects the thought. He thinks he does well if he admits that it is the blood of a holy man shed without cause. But as to the claims of blood shed eighteen hundred years ago, this seems monstrous. He does not see how blood shed so many centuries ago can affect his pres ent or his future condition, either for con demnation or salvation. He deems it un reasonable in us to ply him with such an id< a, aud he thinks it would bo unjust in God to deal with him in such a way and in such terms as these. ► Even should he be disposed to listen with more than candor—with something like commencing anxiety and teachable ness, he still stumbles at this stumbling stone. He does not see how this blood alone, without oae good thing in iisclf, can justify. Forgetting that it is what God sees iu this blood that gives it all its justifying and cleansing power, he refuses to receive the truth concerning forgiveness of sin solely through the blood of the cross. He does not understand how the sight of that blood a.one should give peace to the troubled spirit, and allay its rising storms. It seems incredibie that in simply believiug God’s testimony concerniug that blood, our consciences are purged from dead works to serve the living God. Such is man’s sense of the value of this blood ! How different from God’s ! And is it conceivable that God can allow such a difference of opinion to exist between him and the sinner, on a matter in which his own honor, and the honor of his Son, arc concerned, and yet this difference is triv ial ? Is it possible that God would give that blood to be shed for sinners, and yet allow them to treat it as they please, either rejecting it or despising it as each one may think it ? Careless sinner! Trifle not with that blood. It is too precious to be sported with or slighted. And woe be to him who, either by indifference, or denial, or deris ion, shows that he has dared to form an estimate of it different from that of God.— Bonar. The Moment of Peril More than a quarter of a century ago two vessels in a gale off the Southern coast and wrapped in the darkness of the night, were sailing towards each other. The com manders knew it not until suddenly, from the deck of one of the ships, rang out the trumpet shout, “Hard a starboard !” The cfficer had caught sight of the approaching vessel through the gloom when near the prow of his own. Instantly was heard in response the thrilling words, “Hard-a-lar board !” Every heart on these ships was still, as the white robed arms of the levia thans of the seawave seemed to interlock in a terrific struggle, then part forever. Each swept onward towards its destined port, bearing the pale spectators of the scene. Those ships had doubtless often been in danger, but never before nor afterwards was such threatened destruction warded off by a breath through a speaking trumpet, and escaped by so small a margin of deliverance. We believe that in heaven every ransom ed soul will see in the lite-voyage, among many dangers encountered, some single peril of decisive interest. It may have been the avoiding of a meeting with a dan gerous companion, or stopping at the en trance of a theatre, when the forces of evil were in wait for him, turning as it were, a hair breadth aside, because upon the inward ear fell just in time the warning tone of the silver trumpet borne by them of whom it is written, “And He shall give His angels charge concerning thee, to keep thee in all thy ways, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.” That escape will have a solitary impor* tance in all the earthly past, and will send up to the throne a strain of thanksgiving. Such was its relation to life; to have failed of deliverance then was certain ruin for ward. Some Christians can now look back upon this moment of dark and awful peril. Mul titudes are daily passing safely, or making shipwreck at such critical moments in pro bation.— American Messenger. Compassion of Jesus. —What a pat tern to His people, the tender compassion of Jesus! He found the world he came to save a moral Bethesda. The wail of suf fering humanity was everywhere borne to his ear. It was his delight to walk its porches, to pity, relieve, comfort, save! The faintest cry of misery arrested his footsteps—stirred a ripple in this fountain of infinite love. Was it a leper —that dreaded name which entailed a life-long exile from friendly looks and kindly words ? There was One, at least, who had tones and deeds of tenderness for the outcast— “ Jesus, being moved with compassion, put forth his hand and touched him.” Was it some blind beggars on the Jericho highway, groping in darkness, pleading for help? “Jesus stood still, and had compassion on them, and touched their eyes!” Was it the speeoh- less pleadings of a widow’s tears at the gate of Nain, where she followed her earthly pride and prop to the grave ? When the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said, “Weep not!” Even when he rebukes, the bow of compassion is seen in the cloud, or rather, that cloud, as it passes, dissolves in a rainshower of mercy. He pronounces Jerusalem "desolate,” but the doom is uttered amid a flood of an guished sorrow! — MacDuff. Growth BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER. Not in one blissful day Bre*k9 on the silence of the wintry earth The song and bloom that crown the summer’s birth ; But through her myriad veins. Still as the footsteps of the dropping rain, In slow, soft pulses, creeps her life again. Not in one glowing throng Cluster the leaves and blossoms of the vine, With the full vintage, swelling with its wine ; Nor, in ono perfect hour From the warm bosom of the fertile plain Bprings the ripe harvest of the rustling grain. Not in one gclden year Will thy soul ripen to its glorious prime And the rich fruitage mark the harvest time; But slowly, day by day, In the full sunshine aud the midnight gloom 'Host grow the fruit that crowns iu wondrous bloom. What though the blossom fade I Better than a>l the tender charms of spring. The summer verdure where the birds may sing, And build their sfeltered nests In their glad songs perchance thy soul may hear Some heavenly echoes stealing to thine ear. What though the leaf may fall I So the full light of autumn suns may glow With ripening warmth on precious fruit below, Fit for the Master’s hand And the fra ; l vine may nobly stand at length. Nursed by the tempest to its sturdy strength. Onoe, on a stormy sea. A ship rode darkly through the midnight drear, Her trembling crew forgetful, in their.fear, Os Him whose tender love Its constant watch above bis children kept, Though worn with toil, the weary Master slept. Safe is thy ship, O Soul! Bearing such precious freight, tnough skies be black And angry surges beat across thy track. If Jesus sail with thee Keep thou the watch, and in each fearful hour The wind and wave will own the Master’s power. Put on thy shining robes ; Some happy morn thy feet shall touch the strand, And thy glad soul await the beckoniog band, , Smiling and unafraid; And pass with singing through the golden gates To the fair palace where thy Father waits. —Advance Beloved in the Lord, —How is it with you? I think I can answer my own ques tion. "It is well,” and will always and ever be so with the saints of the Most High God. How oau it be otherwise ? Jesus and you are one. Realize this, and you will be enable! to transfer all your burdens, — those of sin, and care, and trial —upon One all-6uflioient to sustain them. You need cot touoh them with your little finger. Do not pause to reason in your own mind what you shall do in this or that matter, but at once, at that very moment it occurs, uplift four heart and tell Jesus; place it in his hands, and He will undertake and do it all tor you. In your new and more dependent position, you will have a double claim upon His love, care and sympathy. You will find now, from experience, more in Christ toan you could have imagined. Oh, it is n ost blessed to be oast upon Him, and to realize that He is all that He says He is. Ve must prove Him ; and for this He often a jfliots us in the flesh ; and but for this fur ies work, wn should not know one hun and rcu’iUpart of Christ’s love and faithfulness. What must have been the prophet Daniel’s views of Jesus as he lay at the bottom of the lion’s den, kept in absolute safety amid such peril, and in perfect peace amid suoh trial. What cannot Jesus do ? We know how swift is thought. Before we can ar range our minds to plan and scheme for ourselves, in an instant our hearts can tako flight and repose in the Lord’s wisdom, piwer, and love, to engage on our behalf. “Now, Lord, direot, guide in this matter, and leave me not to myself.” "In all thy ivays acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.” Walk in this divine precept, and He will fulfil this divine promise. How many stripes have I had in my event ful pilgrimage from not fully following His command. I have tasked my poor brains to find out a way to surmount a certain dif ficulty, or to master a certain obstacle, and after I have made up my mind as t,o what would be best, have gone and asked counsel cf God. And what have been the results ? Just what iu this half-hearted dealing have been expected—thorns and tmstles have sprung up at every step, and all has gone wrong. Then I have repaired to the Lord to inquire the reason. And now He has made me to see that it was be cause I trusted in my own deceitful heart and erring understanding. And so, dear friend, I feel from past experience I am enabled to caution others that they fall not into the same snare.— Heaven Opened. Going to Church. ‘ I’ve a good mind to say i’ll never go to church again 1” said Mrs. Ball, wife of an industrious mechanic, that day at the even ing meal. “What’s up ?” inquired the husband, who was not, like his wife, “a member of the church ” “Oh! well! nothing that ought to be, I s’pose,” said she. “I dessay it’s all my wrong feeling; only I worked all the week as tight as I could spring, every spare min ute I had, to turn my old cloth sack, and to fix over my bonnet, and went to church feeling as if I looked spruce and a little like folks. But you ought to uv seen the ladies in their winter rigs!’’ she continued. “I wish you could ‘a’ seen Mrs Honiton come into church, everybody lookin’ at her, and she wa3 dressed so elegant. Os course I know it to be wrong to covet; and I don’t covet, as I know of. She is welcome to her silks, and her velvets, and her front pew, and sioh, for all of me. But I know one thing,” continued Mrs. Ball, warming: “it’s ridiculous for me to belong to the same church with her, and to go there Sun day after Sunday just a purpose to be made ashamed of myself every Sunday of my life. Husband,’’ she continued, earnestly, “I do wish there was some church where poor folks was as good as rich folks! I don’t mind it week-days; but Sundays I should like to feel that the Lord loves me as muoh as he does anybody—if I could I’’ “Better do like me,’’ replied her husband —“not go at all. All churches are alike — they a’n’t meant for ‘one-horse folks’ like us.” Mrs. Ball did not like this conclusion; but, not knowing how to overthrow it, she dropped the conversation.— Advance. ■c ‘•Show mo Christ.” A man blind from his birth, a man of muoh intellectual vigor and with many en gaging social qualities, found a woman who, appreciating his worth, was willing to oast in her lot with him and become his wife. Several bright, beautiful ohildren became theirs, who tenderly and equally loved both their parents. An eminent F-ench sur geon while in this country called upon them, and examining the blind man with much interest and care, said to him, “Your blindness is wholly artificial; your eyes are naturally good, and could I have operated upon them twenty years ago, I think I could have given you sight. It is barely possible that I oau do it now, though it will cause you much pain.” “I can bear that,’’ was the reply; “so you but enable me to see.’’ The surgeon operated npon him, and was gradually successful; first there were faint glimmerings of light, then more dis tinot vision. The blind father was handed a rose; he had smelt one before, but had never seen one; then he looked upon the face of bis wife who had been so true and faithful to him ; and then his ohildren were brought, whom he had so often fondled, and whose oharming prattle had so fre quently fallen upon his ears, but whose beaming countenances he had never beheld. He then exclaimed, “0, why have I seen these things before inquiring for the man by whose skill I have been enabled to be hold them ! Show me the doctor !’’ and when he was pointed out to him, he em braced him with tears of gratitude and joy. So when we reach heaven, and with un clouded eyes look upon its glories, we shall not be oontent with a view of these. No, we shall say, Where is Christ ?—He to whom lam indebted for what heaven is ; show me Him, that with my soul l may adore and praise Him through endless ages. From the Free Christian Commonwealth. The Preaching for the Times. The temptation to the minister “to preach up the times,” in order to attract the attention of the orowd, is very great. In some parts of the country, at the press ent time, this oustom prevails to an alarm ing extent; and all sorts of sensational sermons are indulged iu to the manifest injury of the gospel. Ethioal disquisitions appended to a shred of Soripture; politi oal dissertations adapted to a partisan view of affairs, made up from the daily papers; expositions of science wherein a mere the orist, or it may be tyro, makes the multi tude stare at the vastness of his learning and research; metaphysical subtleties spun by some man with “two Webster’s Dic tionaries ;” poetical quotations from popu lar authors, nicely strung together and har moniously imbedded in smooth prose de signed to make the people exolaim, “how beautiful!”—these are the substitutes for the grand and simple gospel of Jesus, made on the idea that the people get tired of hearing the same thing too much—of hav ing Jesus set forth before them so constant ly. This is then the residuum of that tremendous agitation of the public mind, during the rooent war, so largely stirred up by these preachers themselves, who, in the stead of a consuming zeal for the sor vice and honor of their Master, exhibited themselves as simply the tools of debased and debasing radicalism, which fears not God neither regards maD. They raised a storm which they could not control. They “ran” the public, and now the public is “running” them. In the desperate en deavor to retain their influence, they resort to those speeial topics and this sensational nonsense. The Lord sent them to feed the soul, and in their folly they substitute chaff for the food that oometh from heaven. The KiDg sent them to be his ambassadors to make reconciliation, and they ally them selves with tho King’s enemies while they still wear the livery of heaven. Christ gave them a commission to preach the gos pel of life and peace, and they turn from it to the enticing words of man’s wisdom. Ah, how sad and awful is an apostasy such as this, wherein men love the praise of man rather than tho praise of God, and leavo the ways of God’s appointment for the dim and uncertain way lighted only by their own judgments! What a terrible mistake this in the calculation of means to ends, and how tremendous the responsibility as sumed in this trifling with sacred things ! Now in view of this alarming phase of modern religion, largely induced by false pulpit ministrations, what is the duty of every true and devoted minister of Jesus Christ? The answer is plain, Preach the gospel; determine to know nothing but Christ and him crucified. Know as much as you can of public affairs, of science, of literature, of everything, but when you stand up to preach, know only the message of salvation to a lost world through “Him who was dead, but is alive again, and be hold he liveth forevermore.” Such is our advice to the preacher who enquires, “what is the preaching fur the times?” We have sometimes wondered what might Vte the re flections of our modern pulpit sensational ist when arising from a perusal of Paul’s Epistles to Timothy. What an abyss there is between Paul's method of dealing with the times and that of your modern preach ers who “draw.” These men seem to for get that the gospel is designed for ail time and all phases of the times. It is the glory, therefore, of the minister of Christ to stand firmly by the truth as it is in Jesus. The very highest compliment he can re ceive is to be known as a preacher of a simple gospel, the power of God unto sal vation. With the sword of the Spirit he can smite the hosts of the Lord’s enemies, and iu the conflict he will be brought off conqueror. What does it matter if men for a while run after vanity and leave truth ? What does it matter if the cause of God seem for a while overwhelmed ? “Truth crushed to earth shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But error wounded, writhes in pain And dies amid her worshippers.” God has declared, “My word shall nto return unto me void ’’ He has ordained the means whereby His own glorious ends are to be attained; and his servants dis charge their duty most effectually when they fall in with the ways of his appoint ment. To unfold to the hearts and minds of men the scheme of redemption as por trayed in the word; to make the word a “living word’’ to this generation ; to speak for Jesus, to labor for him, and to suffer with him; this by word and act, is the preaching which is exactly suited to the times. All else is labor in vain or worse than in vain. Individual Work. Whenever a churoh so far mistakes the end of its existence as to suppose that its main business is to keep itself warm and comfortable by the enjoyment of its ordi nances, it is certain to discover its error sooner or later. Ordinances will prove de ceitful cordials to men who will not work the work of God. The warmth which once they found in the services of the Lord’s house, will die out of them, and professors will shiver, even in the midst of them, as we sometimes shiver bofore a fire, when wo seek for that heat without which would come at once, were we by vigorous exer cise to accelerate the circulation. It surely is not an extravagant demand to make, when we say that no man ought to be a member of a Christian church, who is not able to point definitely to some work he is doing for Christ, or to assign some sufficient reason why he is doing none at all. In many instances it may be almost wholly restricted to the home circle. This must be the case with many Christian mothers, who have families demanding all their available time and energy. It is not for these to climb into garrets, and dive into cellars, to visit and relieve the victims of sickness and poverty. Christ has found them work in their own house. They are to make their ehildreu the daily witnesses of their piety; they are to oonvinoe thorn that Christianity has not spoiled, but sanc tified, and even glorified their motherhood. But there are thousands in our churches who are not environed by such narrow limits. Home does not present a sphere sufficiently wide to exact and exhaust all their time and energy, and these oannot seoure an ac quittal, either from their conscience or their God, unless they have elsewhere some well-defiDed work, to whioh they have giv en themselves as by vow and consecration. There is no slight criminality attaching to that man or that woman, who, if the gnat Husbandman were to come at any moment of the day or night, would be unable to show him where is hia post of labor in the vineyard. If he be neither planting, nor watering, nor gathering out stones, nor burning destructive roots, nor mending the fences, what advantage does the vineyard or its owner reap from his presence at all ? And how will he face the hour of reckon ing when only those who have toiled will receive wages ? — Rev. E. Mellor, England. “I am Alone in the World.” The following touching incident is ex tracted from the eloquent appeal for the “Richmond Male Orphan Asylum.” de livered on its twenty second anniversary, by Maj. Stiles: One of the batteries of our old battalion was composed chiefly of Irishmen from a Southern city—- gallant fellows, but wild and reckless. The captaincy beooming va cant, a backwoods Georgia preacher named C. was to command them The men, at first half amused, half insulted, soon learned to idolize as well as fear their preacher captain, who proved to be, all in all, such a man as one seldom sees, a com bination of Praise-God Barebones and Sir Philip Sidney, with a dash of Hedley Vioars about him. He had all the stern grit of the Puritan, with much of the chivalry of the Cavalier, and the zeal of tho Apostle. There was at this time but one other Chris tian in his battery, a gunner named Allan Moore, also a backwoods Georgian, and a noble, enthusiastic man and soldier. The only other living member of Moore’s family was with him, a boy of not more than twelve or thirteen years, and the devotion of the elder brother to the younger was as tender as a mother’s The little fellow was a strange, sad, prematurely old ohild, who seldom talked and never smiled. He used to wear a red zouave fez that ill befitted that peculiar, sallow, pallid complexion of the piny-woods Georgian ; but he waß a perfect hero in a fight. 'Twas at Cold Har bor in ’64. We had been all day shelling a wonting party of the enemy, and about sunset, as adjutant of the battalion, I was visitiug the batteries, to arrange the guns ior night-firing. As I approached C.’s po sition, the sharp-shooting had almost ceased, and down the line I could see the figures of tho oannoneers standing out boldly against tbe sky. Moore was at the trail, adjusting his piece for the night’s work. His gunnery had been superb during the evening, and his blood was up. I descend ed into a little valley and lost sight of the group, but heard C.’s stern voice : “Sit down, Moore, your gun is well enough; tho sharpshooting isn’t over yet. Get down.” I rose the hill. “One moment, Captain. My trail’s a hair’s breadth too much to the right!” and the gunner bent eageily over the handspike. A sharp report —that un mistakable crash of the bullet against the skull, and all was over. ’Twas the last rifle shot on the lines that night. The rushing together of the detachment obstructed my view; but _as I came up, the sergeant stepped aside and said, “Look there, adju tant.” Moore had fallen over on the trail, tha blood gushing from his wound all over liiß face. His little brother was at his side instantly. No* wildness, no tumult of grief. He knelt on the earth, and lifting Moore’s head on to his knees, wiped tho blood from his forehead with the cuff of his own tattered shirt sleeve, and kissed the pale face again and again, but very quietly. Moore was evidently dead, and none of us eared to disturb the child. Presently he rose—quiet still, tearless still, —gazed down on his dead brother, thon around at us, and breathing tho saddest sigh I ever heard, said just these words: “Well, I am alone iu the world.” The preacher captain in stantly sprang forward, and placing his hand on the poor boy’s shoulder, said eol- emnly but cheerfully, “No, my ohild, you are not alono, for the Bible says, ‘when my father and mother forsake me, then tho Lord will tako me up,’ and Allan was both father aud mother to you; besides, I’m go ing take you up too; you shall sleep under my blanket to night.” There was not a dry eye in the group; and when, months after wards, the whole battalion gathered on a quiet Sabbath evening, on the banks of the Appomattox, to witness a baptism, and 0. at the water’s edge tenderly handed this child to the officiating minister, and receiv ing him again when the ceremony was over, threw a blanket about the little shivering form, carried him into the bushes, changed his clothing, and then reappeared, carrying the bundle of wet ciothes, and he and the child walked away hand in hand to camp,— then there were maro tears, manly, noble, purifying tears; and I heard the sergeant say, “Faith ! the captain has fulfilled his pledge to that boy.” My friends, hear the plea of tbe orphan : “I am alone in the world.” How will you answer it ? What will you do with it? Will you pass my noble Georgian’s pledge to “take him up ?” Will you keep it as he kept it ? The Pen of Iron. When Bishop Latimer was on his trial he at first answered carelessly. But pres ently he heard the pen going behind the tapestry, which was taking down his words —then lie was careful what he said. There is an all-recording pen behind the curtain of the skies, taking down our words and acts for judgment. It is a pen of iron. “The sin of Judah is written with a pen of iron, and the point of a diamond ’’ It graves deep its records on the imperishable tablets of eter nity—a rcoord of every thought, word, and act. How ought we to live, sinoo we can almost hear the all-recording pen going every hour, since we know that every day wc arc filling a page in the book that shall be opened at the judgment and the record is imperishable as eternity ? A rich landlord in England onoo perform ed an aot of tyrannioal injustice to a wid owed tenant. The widow’s son, who saw it, became a painter, and years after suc ceeded in placing a painting of that scene where their oppressor saw it. As his eye fell on the picture, the rich man turned pale and trembled, and offered any sum to purohase it, that ho might put it out of sight. If every scene of wickedness, through which a man passes, should be painted, aud the paintings hung up about him, so that he would always see the por trait of himself with the evil passions ex pressed on his countenance, and himself in the very act of wiokedness, he would be wretched. Such a picture gallery there is; aud in eternity the sinner will dwell in it; for everyj feature’ and lineament of the soul, in every feeling and act of wioked ness, is portrayed ini perishably, and will be exhibited to the gazs of the universe for ever. By the discoveries of modern science, the rays of tho sun are made to form tho exact portrait of him on whom they shine. We are all living in the sun light of eter nity, whioh is transferring to plates more enduring than brass, the exact portrait of the soul in every successive aot, with all its attendant circumstances. Interesting to the antiquarian, is the moment when he drags out from the sands of Egypt some obelisk, on whioh the “pen of iron, and the point of a diamond” have E. H. MYERS, D. D., EDITOR. Whole Number 1757 graven the portraits, the attitudes, the dress es, and the pursuits of men who lived and died 3000 years ago. But nono can utter the interest of that moment when from tho ailenoe of eternity shall be brought out tab lets thickset with the sculptured history of a sinful soul, and men and angels, with the sinner himself shall gaze, appalled on the faithful portraiture of a life of sin. Re member, then, O transgressor, you must meet the record of your sin in eternity. From the Christian Observer. The “Dead Head” Family in the Church. The writer is inolined to think, that (ho first notice we have of this romarkable con nexion is found in Matthew xxv, and iu Revelation iii: 13. tiomc suppose, large numbers of them were in each of the seven flourishing churches of Asia; aud it may be so. This strange name, howevor, does not appear to have been given them at that time, and for wise reasons, perhaps; nor do we find it thus written in the list of church members; vet, our elders, and generally the pastor also, can tell who are the “Dead Heads’’ in the church. Some churches re port a great many, while others have only a few: it is supposed, however, that if the roll of our whole church was called, the number of “Dead Heads’’ would surprise many. Twenty years ago, the writer travelling for his health, was in the city of . In it was a ohuroh whioh reported to the General Assembly eleven hundred mem bere He enquired of one of its elders, how many there were of whom they knew nothing, or who were of no manner of ser vioe to the church. He replied: “Six hundred: six hundred ‘Dead Heads 1’ ” The members of this family are entirely too numerous for one church, thought the travel er. The Rev. receiving a call from a ohuroh at a great distance, looked at tho minutes of the Assembly to learn its mem bership, and read sixty five members; be coming its pastor, he disoovered that there were at least thirty of this remarkable fami ly, whose names were on the ohuroh book. Others, it is supposed, have made a similar discovery, but no ono ever ackuowhdged that it gave him muoh courage. It is suspected that there are some in every churoh ; how it happens I do not know, as our elders always opposo it, and it is oertainly against the rules and policy and spirit of'-the ohuroh to reoeivo ono member of tho “Dead Head’’ family. Every elder would vote against it; indeed, they always demand that they will be living und loving members—that they will serve the Lord Jesus in His Church, and insist that they depend upon them to pray for the ohuroh, to give for the ohuroh, to work for the ohuroh, to work with tho ohurcb, and to manifest by their spirit and life that thoy are for Christ and with His people; and every one enters into a covenant with the ohuroh and with God that he will do all this. Tho common idea, and I am not prepared to say that it has no foundation in truth, is that there are no “Dead Heads” in heaven, the ohurch above, so there ought to be none in the ohurob below; and 1 know more than ono cider, who is so sensitive upon this subjeot, that he is almost afraid to re ceive any one into the cliuroh, lest after all his oare, and after all the vows of the one who applies for membership, he should turn out only a “Dead Head,’’ and not one of “tho great family on earth and in heaven,” as he wishes him to be. Our Lord speaks of five wise virgins and five foolish. The latter, it is supposed were of this family, and there aro certainly enough of them already in the church, try ing, in all charity we conclude, to get to heaven in a very easy way of their own. It may be said of them, however, that they are charitable in their way ; that is, provid ed they arc not disturbed, but allowed to be what they wish, and to do as they please, and to do nothing if they prefer, they are willing that all wbo differ from them may live for Christ and for His Church, may deny themselves and take up their and may give and work as much as they please: the “Dead Head 1 ’ family in the church wish a “free passage" to heaven; some of them think they have it, while others hope to seoure one. Tho conversion of their heads and hearts—of their purses and hands —would make a ohurch a great power. We could send our missionaries to the heathen—we could educate our candi dates for the ministry—we could sustain the church, supply our waste places, keep up our Sabbath-schools and prayer-meetings —wbat could we not do if the “Dead Heads” were only converted over again, and would feel and act in and for tho church, as they do in and for everything else ? I verily believe they with the “Living’’fami ly in the church could work wonders; for they have tho means, talents and force, arc pleasant and kind ; and putting their hearts in and with the church, they would be a power for good. The only fault with them, that is the only one spoken of, is that they will not work with the c-lders for Christ aud the church ; and the reason sometimes giv en for this is—their strange idea, that be ing in the church, the “Dead Head” fami ly think they have. “free passage” to he iven, and are r favored than the members oi the “1 .g’’ family, of whom it is expected, th( ucy will do their own work and theirs, also. The Error. Many persons err, waiting for ability or opportunity of doing great things— great good for themselves and others, wholly neg lecting to improve the means and the op portunities they have. It was not so with the poor widow with the two mites, who for her deed of charity met with so high an approval from the All-seeing Judge. It was not so with the good Samaritan; there was one case of reel distress—he would re lieve that now, without waiting for others. It was not so with our Saviour at the well in Samaria, there was one hearer, and the opportunity should not be lost of preaching the .gospel. And that discourse who oan calculate the good that has resulted and will to all eternity result from it! Many fall into a similar error in regard to getting good, receiving benefit from the ordinary means of graco, or improving the smaller measures of grace given them. They are waiting for great occasions, re markable seasons, wonderful operations of the Spirit. Like Naaman, they arc fixing in their own minds a plan for God to work by; and it must be in this way or that, or they will not design to act —nay, they will bo greatly displeased ! There are few ways in which men now grieve the Spirit, and do themselves so great a wrong. It is to those who improve what they have, tl at more shall be given; but those who neglect to improve even the little that is afforded them—from them shall be taken away even that which they have. If men could cher ish tbe gcctle, constraining influences of the Spirit, more grace would be imparted. If they would improve the ordinary means of grace, they would find them adequate to their full and eternal salvatioa. But this they will not do, they must wait for great things. In thus waiting, the end comes and they perish forerer. Advice.—Advioe is like snow; the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind.— Coleridge.