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TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS.
PER ANNUM.
VOLUME XXXIX*. NO. 17.
Original
AN ALLEGORY.
by w. P. R.
A*mocking-bird sat in an orchard one day,
And carolled, and warbled the morning away;
A gander walked by, and he heard the sweet
strain,
And thus like a critic, he essayed to complf in:
“You poor little creature of feathers and rhyme,
ilow can yon sit three, and sing, sing all th
time?
You prove the old adage, that 'sound governs
sense,
And rhythm may surely with reason dispense.’
Original genius you never display—
Repeating forever some other bird’s lay;
Yon copy the music of every sweet bird,
But never an echo of mine is once heard:
I do not sing often.—but once in a while,
And then I mean something, Kin heard (or a
mile.
What good do you do, and what profit your
song—
With so many quavers and singing so long?”
A cavalier cock, as he walked o 1 his way,
Chanced to hear what the garrulous goose bad
to say; J
An4tous he replleyl, “Oh you eviiieal thing.
To judge the poor bird when yourself cannot
sing!
Neither I nor yourself have much we can boast,
Thotfgh the gourmand might fmcyour lleßhfor
a roast;
•'Your down and my feathers are all very fine,
But of music, we do not know much I opine:
I’m orator-cock of the walk as you know,
But you should sing low, quite au humble solo;
I served the Church once when i thrice pro
phesied,
Wa6 faithful to truth when St. Peter denied:
Your gabble saved Rome, it is said, long ago—
-1 give you all credit, though Fable says so.
But why should you mock at the mocking-bird’s
lay,
And detract from his joy in your critical way?
Forsooth you suppose since you lack the
'dulce,'
Your b athers and carcass supply 'utile;'
You wonder why he can sit Binging so long,
When you are best pleased with your own prosy
song:
If none may make verses save those who sing
best.
The lark and the nightingale surely are blest,
And music may nevermore breathe on a string.
And only a Sappho or Orpheus sing.
Remember when you your dull crotchets re
hearse,
Hogged prose may be prosy as doggerel verse,
The feet of the verse may go limpiug and rough,
Not limp id the proe, but quite muddy poor
stuff;
And your own prosy gush, may be not very clear,
ttince the pond and the slash to the goose are
so d<*ar.
If mocking bird’s notes are not music to you.
Maybe some other fowls do not think as you do;
God made him a poet, He made you a goose,
He made me a rooster, but not so obtuse;
He made me to crow, like a great blunderbuss.
And you for naught else bnt for 'featberß, and
. fuss:’
Your talent is only to hiss, and to ‘squawk;’
Your name may be classed with the crow and
the hawk;
But one other animal shares yoar own bliss,
The snake and yourself have the power to biss.
The mocking-bird sings to the praise of the sun,
A thousand sweet joys, though yonr heart may
feel none;
His lyrics are heaven’s, he covets no more,
But to 6ing them all free, by the cottager’s door;
To the poor and the cheerless, he briugeth good
cheer,
And he sings a sweet hope into sorrow’s sad
ear:
The children as well as the birds know his voice.
And his music hid- all to be glad and rejoice.
Now croaker in shame hide your head ’ueath
your wing,
And prithee let any bird sing that will sing!
Go, dull prosy critic, and hiss if you will—
’Tis your right, at your pleasure, to be a goose
still.”
The goose skinned his eye, and he said “Never
more!”
“My croaking Is done, and your grace I im
plore.”
The cock crowed a laugh, and the goo e 1 sighed
a sigh,’
And the mocking-bird sang them a pleasant
good-bye.
MORAL.
Critics may expect to be criticised. “With
wliut measure ye mete it shall be measured to
you again.” “Let another man praise thee, and
not thine own lips.” Be satisfied with your
own gifts, and don’t envy others. Don’t croak
nor hiss. ,
Contributions.
ANSWER TO “A PLEA IN ABATE
MKNT.”
“Steward” wars with his vizor down.
This is not fair when assailing an adversary
known. Will he give his real name in re
ply?
1. The point made in No. 7, was not the
supplementing salaries by “rent,” “repairs,”
“supplies,” etc ; hut first, its insufficiency—
e. g. §IOO.OO, §84.00, $40.00, for “family ex
penses ;” and secondly , in the failure to col
lect even those small amounts. Now, I sub
mit, is it fair to call off attention from this,
and make an issue on an entirely different
point? Both salary and rent, and other
items, are well known to the stewards, and
fixed by them, and not by the preacher.
2. Why attempt to make tbe exceptional
the rule? It is not every charge that has a
parsonage, and of the greater part that have,
the “furniture ” and “repairs,” are not an
annual expense, and ought not to be incor
porated in the salary. Of the “ supplies ”
noted, they are very nearly always included,
bacon, corn, flour, etc., ever being accounted
as cash.
3. The reasons why the rent is not pub
lished in connection with the “money” paid
on salaries, is: jFirst, the complication in
troduced into the calculations; any with
the least thought, being privileged to refer to
the columns setting forth the fact, that the
charge has a parsonage. Secondly : the ap
prehension that some might be disposed to
pay the salary largely in rent ; and, thirdly,
the fact, that in the estimate of the stewards
it is considered, for if there were none, the
separate item of rent would have to be paid
by the preacher or themselves.
4. The round figures used in the illustra
tion of the clerk in a city, as well as those
additional to the SIOOO, and SISOO for “fur
niture,” “repairs,” supplies,” etc., are cer
tainly first-class and liberal. But, does he
know how many preachers in the South Car
olina Conference, receive that same SISOO
so blazoned forth —to say nothing of the lib
eral additions ? Let him examine the min
utes and see, only two, one having a parson
age, and the other lived in his own “hired
house.” One feature in the clerkly illustration
he has overlooked —the one feature to which
I have been for years endeavoring to direct at
tention,—viz., the deficiency in the payment
of preachers annually occuring. The clerk
has the certainty of getting his salary, to the
last dime, and would look extremely surpris
ed. if his employer proposed a discount; while
the other, in the great majority of cases, has
all claims cancelled by the Bishop s receipt
given annually.
Christian gJtwtsde,
5. The charge of making "cuts ” at the
“parsimony” aDd “niggardly-ness ” of the
people, is entirely gratuitous. It carries on
its face the appearance, as if Steward was
afraid it was his ox that was gored, or about
to be.
6. I have some other old journals on hand,
wherein it can be seen, what Steward makes
the main object of his writing, “that many
Churches do (not) get credit for all that they
pay to this object.” It will be curious and
entertaining, if permitted to see the light.
A. M. Chriet^pero.
Sfktbns.
GIVING, AN ACT OF WORSHIP.
Eighteen hundred years ago, giving was
as certainly considered an act of-ttorebip as
praying. Christ found fault with hypocrisy,
but not with bringing almaj|. He scourged
many things from tbe temple, hut he did not
evict the system of offerings. That had been
there from the beginning; indeed, it was older
than the temple: it was there and the
temple was built around it. It was older
than the tabernacle; older than Moses and
his laws; older than Jacob, who vowed to give
his tenth of all; older than Abraham, who
paid tithes to Melchizedek. It is a part of
natural religion; it has been held a duty from
the beginning, and as such has been
ed by men of all colors, and habi™ and
times, and in all quarters of the globe. It is
not peculiar to the Christian system, nor is
it enjoined alone in Revelations. Classical
writers tell us that it was the custom among
their people to consecrate thank-offerings to
the gods. One says:
“As soon as th§ harvest was got in, before
they had tasted of the fruits, they offered
their libations. They held their fields and
cities as gifts from the gods, and they conse
crated a part for temples and shrines, where
they might worship them.”
Unclassical heathen, as the aborigines ot
this country, were not unschooled in the doc
trine of offerings. Wherever worshipers have
been found, men have worshiped by giving
gifts.
We conclude, then, that the consecration
of treasure, like the consecration of time, has
been held a duty from the beginning; the
Sabbath and thank-offering run back to the
origin of the race; they have both been known
since the first suppliant lifted voice and heart,
with the smoke of incense, to the Father
above. Moses, indeed, enforced, but he did
not originate them. Before Abraham or
Moses was, they were. It has been left for
the moderns to discover that these twain,
which God has united, should not go togeth
er; that the Sabbath is too sacred for the
bringing of gifts; and that the contribution
box is a Vandal in the house of the Lord.
It should not be forgotten that temple wor
ship made very much of oblation. In the
language of a modern sinner, it was “Give,
give, all the time.” Well, why not? for it
was, “Receive, receive, all the time.” We
pay tribute to the government, and no good
citizen objects to it. Why not, then, by first
(ruits and thank-offerings, recognize the au
thority and beneficence of God ? These tem
ple gifts were continuous and various. The
poor man's turtle dove or young pigeon was
accepted—yes, and required. To give was
his duty. So there was a place for tbe cost
lier offerings of the wealthy. Not only the
bullock and the lamb without blemish, but
the most precious stones, the purest gold,
the finest of the wheat and oil, the rarest and
most ornate of needle-work, and other rich
gifts of heart or hand, were brought for the
service of the Lord’s house. The offerings
made in the old-time worship were not the
leavings, neither were they the last. It was
the first-fruits as well as the first-born son
that were holy to the Lord. The command
ran thus: “Ye shall neither eat bread, not
parched corn, nor green ears, until the self
same day that ye have brought an offering
unto your God.” The entire Jewish system
was saturated and interpenetrated with the
idea of sacrifice and offerings. Moses ac
cepted and recognized this thought, which was
world-wide, and had been held by worship
ers from the first. He enforced it and ex
panded it, and it had full possession of the
Jewish mind when Christ came, and the
Christian Church was established.
This root-thought, which had so long grown
and brought forth fruit to the Lord, did not
then die. It was rather transplanted, and in
the new Church it grew with new vigor. It
was watered by the Penecostal baptism, and
then became more fruitful than ever. They
that had possessions sold them. To meet a
pressing necessity they brought their all —
not their tithes, but their houses and lands
—and “distribution was made unto every
man according as he had need.” In those
Penecostal days, when conversions were a
daily experience, and Christian graces grew
and blossomed like the flowers of Spring,
giving was considered a part, a most impor
tant part of worship. Those disciples train
ed in the system of tithes and temple offer
ings, would have thought it very strange to
gather in a synagogue to pray and sing psalms
aud read the Woi'd, and yet to come empty
before the Lord” Justin Martyr, a little
later, gives an account of the way in which
Christians then kept the Sabbath. He says :
“Those of us who have the means, assist
all those who are in want, and in all our
oblations we bless the Maker of all things
through his Son Jesus Christ, and through
the Holy Ghost. On the day which is called
Sabbath, there is an assembly in the same
place, of all who live in the cities or in the
country districts. The records of the apos
tles or the writings of prophe’s, are read as
long as the time will allow; when the reading
concludes, the presiding minister gives oral
instruction. Then we all rise and offer up
our prayers. When we have concluded our
prayer, bread is brought in, and wine, and
water. ’ ’
He speaks of the observance of the Euchar
ist, and adds:
“Those who are in a prosperous condition,
and wish to do so, then give what they will,
each according to his judgment. What is
collected is placed in the hands of the presi
ding minister, who assists with it orphans
and widows, and Bueh as from sickness or
any other cause are in distress; and he grants
aid to those who are in bondage, to strangers
from afar, and, in a word, to all who are in
need.”
The early Church, we conclude, linked giv
ing and praying together, and to the advan
tage, too, of both. How the Church grew in
those days 1 The disciple band was a great
missionary society, but without any honora
ry members. All were active. Few were
rich; yet the Lord’s treasury was never emp
ty, and the Church was foremost in every act
of benevolence. Even the apostate Julian
confessed, “It is a shame for us that the im
pious Galileans should not only keep their
own poor, but even many of ours whom we
leave to suffer.”
PUBLISHED BY J. W. BURKE & COMPANY, FOR THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, SOUTH.
The Apostolic Church made much of giv
ing, and considered it an integral part of wor
ship. We are not innovators, then, but only
returning to the old paths, as we press this
duty upon tbe Church of to day. We have
the best of authority for saying, not only, Let
us sing, Let us pray, Let us read the Word,
but also. Let us give; and as singing and
praying should be hearty and general, ao
there should be no monopoly in giving. As
commanded at the feast of unleavened bread,
none should appear empty before the Lord.
Every man, we are told, should give as ha is
able, according to the blessing of the Lord
thy God, which he hath given thee.”
THE HAPPY LIFE.
A devout life ought to be a happy one. It
should gain its possessor a firmer and truer
grasp on such earthly good as Providence
sends hi it a celestial
—ft takes’ with na; in
a Ilioasand fatonaifrffig*?!. the lnfiuite H4>
lightens our loads'fMjjwlfcnoves onr obstacles.
Thera is ao atmospfimw -about Christian liv'-
ing}i and there is an atmosphere shout gojiless,
living. The first must be more cheerful and
inspiring;the second must have malarias in its
arms that sicken the peace and security of
the soul. And yet many devout souls man
age somehow to wear the outward signs of
trouble and restless living. Are they false
shows? Sometimes we fear or hope they
are They are a mannerism.—Thinking much
of the solemn verities of the law, and the
awful cost of redeeming grace, the devout
soul has stooped into the shadow of Sinai
and bowed down under the sorrows of Geth
semane. These states are true and faith
ful to the Christian life, but they are not
designed to be permanent and unchanging
condilions of our inward experience. By an
effort of will, by help obtained in prayer, the
believer should get out of the shadows and
sorrows into the eternal sunshine of God’s
peace. Reconciled, redeemed, renewed, it
is his to sing the new song, and “Father, Ab
ba Father cry.”
It is a child’s life that stands as the chos
en type of this new existence. —And a child
life is not consumed in wondering awe, and
bent down under an awful reverence. It is
a glad, free life. It leaps, exults, and “like
abounding hart flies home.” Or the other
chosen type is a bride going forth in fair rai
ment, and rejoicing to meet her beloved.
The burden that is on you has settled there
and fixed its place because you took one
phase for the whole of your religion. It is
your duty to look wider and deeper into the
business of a Christian. An example of
Christian cheerfulness. Not levity, frivoli
ty, fickleness; there should be sell-control
and a serious temper under all. You have
boundless sources of real cheerfulness. Do
not make sinful men believe that the Father
;s harsher to the chosen than to them. Do
not chdl childhood into dread qf prayer, and
youth into horror of devotion. —Get a song
in your heart and it will breakout, a win
ning music, in your external life. The Chris
tian life is eminently the happy life.—Meth
odist.
JUDAISM AND CHRISTIANITY.
What is the distinguishing character of He
brew literature, which separates it by so
broad a line of demarkation from that of
every ancient people? Undoubtedly the sen
timent of erotic devotion which pervades it.
Their poets never represent the Deity as an
impassive principle—a mere organizing intel
lect removed at infinite distance from human
hopes and fears. He is for them a Being of
like passion with themselves, requiring heart
for heart, and capable of inspiring affection,
because capable of feeling and returning it.
Awful, indeed, are the thunders of his utter
ance, and the clouds that surround His
dwelling-place ; very terrible is the vengeance
He executes on the nations that forget Him;
but to His chosen people, and especially to
the men “after His own heart,” whom He
anoints from the midst of them, His “ still,
small voice” speaks in sympathy and loving
kindness. Every Hebrew, while his breast
glowed with patriotic enthusiasm at those
promises, which he shared as one of the
favored race, had a yet deeper source of
emotion, from which gushed perpetually the
inspirations of prayer and thanksgiving. He
might consider himself alone in the presence
of his God —the single being to whom a great
revelation had been made, and over whose
head “ an exceeding weight of glory” was
suspended. His personal welfare was infi
nitely concerned with every event that had
taken place in the miraculous order of Prov
dence. For him the rocks of Horeb had
trembled, and the waters of the Red Sea
were parted in their course. The word given
on Sinai with such solemn pomp of minis
tration was given to his own individual soul,
and brought him into immediate communion
with his Creator. That awful Being could
never be put away from him. He was about
his path and about his feet, and knew all his
thoughts long before. Yet this tremendous,
inclosing presence was a, presenoe of love.
It was a manifold, everlasting manifestation
of one deep feeling—a desire for human af
fection. Such a belief, while it enlisted even
pride and self-interest on the side of piety,
had a direct tendency to excite the best pas
sions of our nature. Love is not long asked
in vain from generous dispositions.
A Being, never absent, but standing be
side the life of each man with ever-watchful
tenderness, and recognized, though invisible,
in every blessing that befell them from youth
to age, became naturally the object of their
warmest affections. Their belief in Him
could not exist without producing, as a nec
essary effect, that profound impression of
passionate individual attachment which, in
the Hebrew authors, always mingles with and
vivifies their faith in the Invisible. All the
books in the Old Testament are breathed
upon by this breath of life. Especially is it
to be found in that beautiful collection, en
titled the Psalms of David, which remains,
after some thousand years, perhaps the most
perfect form in which the religious sentiment
of man has been embodied.
But what is true of Judaism is yet more
true of Christianity—‘ 1 matre pulchra filia
pulchrior." In addition to all the charac
ters of Hebrew monotheism, there exists in
the doctrine of the cross a peculiar and in
exhaustible treasure for the affectionate feel
ings. The idea of the Oeanthropes (God
man,) the God whose goings forth have been
from everlasting, yet visible to men for their
redemption as an earthly, temporal creature,
living, actiug and suffering among them
selves, then (which is more important) trans
ferring to the unseen place of His spiritual
agency the same humanity He wore on earth,
so that the lapse of generations can in no
way affect the conception of his identity —
this is the most powerful thought that ever
addressed itself to a human imagination.
It is the pou sto which alone was wanting to
move the world. Here was solved at once
the great problem, which so long had dis
tressed the teachers of mankind, how to
MACON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 26, 1876.
make virtne the object of passion, and to
secure at once the warmest enthusiasm in
the heart, with the clearest perception of
right and wrong in the understanding. The
character of the blessed Founder of our
faith became an abstract of morality to deter
mine the jndgment, while at the same time
it remained personal and liable to love. The
written Word and established Church pre
vented a degeneration into ungoverned mys
ticism, but the predominant principle of vital
religion always remained that of self-sacri
fice to the Saviour. Not only the higher
division of moral duties, but the simple,
primary impulses of benevolence, were sub
ordinated to this new, absorbing passion.
The world was loved “in Christ alone.”
The brethren were members of his mystical
body. All the other bonds that bad fastened
down the Spirit of the Universe to our nar
row round of earth were as nothing in com
parison to this golden chain of suffering and
self sacrifice, which at once riveted the heart
ot man to One who, like himself, was ac
quainted with grief. Pain is the deepest
thing we have in our ( nature, and-union
through pain has always seemed more holy
and more real than any other. —Arthur Hol
lain' s Remains.
MY SOUL’S ABIDING REST.
Weary was my soul of trying,
And my spirit long was crying
For the grace that’s all-supplying.
To impart a settled rest.
But the struggles of my spirit
Gould not merit, could not win it,
Jeeu*. he alooe could aive it.
So I trusted and was blest.
Though tbe storm around me rages,
And all hell destruction wages,
In the rifted Rock of Ages,
I am resting and secure.
Winds no more my bark are shifting.
Nor rough gales the white safis rifting,
No more with the current drifting,
For mv anchor now is sure.
And while to my Refuge clinging.
From cuy inmost soul is springing
Anew song, I still keep si: ging,
Jesus now doth dwell within,
Dwells within, a friend abiding,
I can fear no ill b. tiding
For my soul has fonnd a hiding
In a Saviour from my sin.
—Advocate of Holiness.
TATTLERS AND SLANDERERS.
‘Having in my youth notions of severe
piety,’ says a celebrated Persian writer, ‘I
used to rise in the night to watch and pray,
and read the Koran. One night, as I was
thus engaged, my father woke. “Behold,”
said I to him, “thy other children are lost in
irreligious slumber while I alone wake to
prase God.” “Son of my soul,” he answer
ed, “it is better to sleep than to wake to re
mark the faults of thy brethren.” ’ And yet
the world—ah 1 and the Church too—abound
with persons who make it their concern to
attend to everybody’s business but their own.
These people are the meanest specimens of
humanity Providence permits to live. They
pry into the private affairs of every family in
the neighborhood; they know the exact state
of neighbors’ feelings toward one another ;
they understand everybody’s faults ; no blun
der or impropriety escapes their vigilant
watchfulness. They are particularly posted
up in everything connected with the minis
ter and his people, and any little circumstan
ces calculated to create a disturbance, excite
a jealousy, or to alienate ministers and peo
ple, are sure to be eagerly .seized and widely
circulated. They go from house to house,
from village to village, from minister to peo
ple, throwing out insinuations and whisper
ing suspicious which are the offspring of
their own cruel minds. No reputation is
too spotless, no institution too scared, no
interest too precious, for them to attack.
Their black and nauseous pills of malicious
slander are all coated with pleasant smiles
and loud professions of love. They have no
higher ambition than to be well-informed in
regard to other people's business, to retail
scandal among all within the circle of their
influence, and exult in fiendish triumph over
the bruised heart and wounded feelings and
blighted reputation of their victim. There
are in this world other daggers than those of
steel, and other poignards than those that
wound and lacerate the body. The man who
circulates foul and unfounded slanders
against his fellow man is an assassin of the
deepest dye; and many a man’s character
has been ruined by these secret assassins. A
good man once remarked upon this subject,
‘Whenever I hear anybody slandering anoth
er I turn them to the Old Testament, and
find them out that command of God record
ed in Lev. xix. 14, “Thou shalt not curse
the deaf.” Yes, he who backbites and
Blunders his fellow men is cursing the deaf,
inasmuch as they can not hear what is being
said. Anybody can soil the reputation of an
individual, however pure and blameless that
reputation may be, by uttering a suspicion
that his enemies will believe and his friends
never hear of.
There is an animal haunting some of the
less inhabited parts of North America tha t
is said to emit a fluid of such intolerable foe
tor that it nearly suffocates man or beast that
comes within its range;and what is still worse,
this noisome stench is all but indelible. If
it once taints a piece of furniture or a gar
ment it is next to impossible to be rid of it
while a splinter ora shred of the article re
mains. No amount of washing or scrubbing
or exposure to the air can cleanse, nor can
all the perfume of Arabia sweeten the thing
it has touched. Slander seems to have the
same tenacious quality of clinging to any ob
ject that has once been polluted by its ob
scene breath. Contempt for such graceless
creatures should know no bounds, nor can
we command any words by which to express
our sense of the infinitude of this diabolical
and widespread evil. Such factors of social
wrong deserve the severest punishment, and
sooner or later they will receive retribution
in proportion to the magnitude of their offen
ces against the law of God and the interests
of injured humanity. ‘Lord, who shall abide
in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy ho
ly hill? He that walketh uprightly and
worketh righteousness, and speaketh the
truth in his heart. He that backbiteth not
with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neigh
bor.’ ‘Whoso privily slandereth his neigh
bor, him will I cut off,’ Robert Burns, al
though occasionally coarse, is seldom other
wise than happy in the severity of his satire.
Respecting the characters of whom we write
we can not forbear introducing a stanza or
two referring to Christ’s false friends. He
says—
I own I’m not the thing I should be,
Nor am I e’en the thing I could be;
But heav’n knows, I rather would be
An atheist clean
Than under Gospel colors hid be,
Just for a screen.
All hail, Religion! maid divine 1
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine,
Who in a rough, imperfect line
Thus daurs to name thee:
To stigmatie false friends of thine,
Can ne’er defame thee.
—Primitive Methodist, (Eng.)
Slumbering Christians. —Some somnam
bulists have been able to walk on places
where had they been awake, they never
would have been able to endure the dizzy
height; and I see some Christians, if, indeed.
*4£?y be Christians, runningawfulrisks, which
I think they would never venture upon un
lsss they had fallen into a deep sleep of
c2fnal security. Speak of a man slumbering
at the mast-head; it is nothing to a professor
otreligion at ease, while covetousness is his
Master or worldly company his delight. If
jkolessors were awake they would see their
danger, and avoid sinful amusements and un
godly associations, as men fly from fierce
tyrers or deadly cobras.— Spurgeon.
t ENTHUSIASM.
jiWe want something more. We want en
thusiasm in God’s work. We find it in the
lArld. Men are desperately in earnest in
cosiness circles. Hell is in earnest. Why
should we not be? We talk about infidelity,
4d all the isms that are creeping over the
wrirld. lam more afraid of formalism than
anything else. Let the children of God but
tte eye to eye, and Christianity will over
came all the hosts of hell and death. There
is as much power in the gospel to-day as
Man has been as bad as he can be.
jig was bad in Eden, he was bad for two
"ousand years under the law, and he has
iyen bad these eighteen centuries under
grace; but/'iny friends, there is power in
the gospel to save. When men are willing
tji give their lives to work for God, then He
tikes these men and uses them. One thing I
admire about Garibaldi—his enthusiasm. In
1867, when he was on his way to Rome, he
wns told that if he got there he would be
imprisoned. Said he, “If fifty Garibaldis
are imprisoned, let Rome be free!” And
4ien the cause of Christ is burned so deep
in our hearts that we do not think of our
stives, and are willing to die, then we will
reach our fellow men. Five years ago I
wTsnt to Edinburg, and stopped a week to
hgar one man —Dr. Duff, the returned mis
sionary. A friend told me a few things
aftbut him, and f went to light my torch with
his burning words. My friend said that the
year before, he had spoken for some time,
and had fainted in the midst of his speech.
When lie recovered he said, “I was speaking
for India, was I not? And they said he was.
“Take me back, that I may finish my
s[|fech.” And notwithstanding the entrea
ties of those around, he insisted on return
ing, and they brought him back. He then
said, “Is it true we have been sending ap
peal after appeal for young men to go to In
dia, and none of our sons have gone? Is it
true, Mr. Moderator, that Scotland has no
mure sons to give to the Lord Jesus? If
tr\ie, although I have spent twenty-five years
there, and lost my constitution—if it is true
thkt Scotland has no more sons to give, I
will be off to-morrow, and go to the shores
ot the Ganges, and there be a witness for
Christ.” That is what we want. A little
mgre, a good deal more, of that enthusiasm,
and Christianity will begin to move, and go
through the world, and will reach men by
hundreds and thousands.— D. L. Moody.
„ PAINT OUT THE CUPS.
BY REV. FREDERICK G. CLARK, D. D.
It is a fine old story of the Spanish artist
and his picture of the Lord’s Supper. He
hife put all his soul into the central form and
expression of the Lord Jesus. He expected
great effect from this. He had honestly
meant that the beholder should be filled with
subdued reverence when he gazed upon his
picture of the Redeemer. But what was his
chagrin when his friends looked on the pic
ture and exclaimed, “What beautiful cups!”
This was horrible to the artist. He seized
his brush and painted out the cups, that noth
ing might divide the alteniion, and that all
the power of the picture might centre in the
face of Jesus.
It seems that many honest artists have not
the courage of the Spaniard, and they do not
have his success. There is in our nature a
passion for the cups. We want to embellish
the picture of Christ, although all our em
bellishment is an offence. The power and
majesty of utter simplicity is not easily real
ized. We cannot change the divine image
which we are set to represent, so we environ
it with adjuncts and ornamentations which
degrade the central idea and defeat our own
aim.
That Ritualist is doing it. He is an hon
est lover of the Lord. He is trying to paint
the all-glorious image before the eyes of
men. But he cannot forego his beautiful
ceremonies. He is filling the picture with
cups. I see cups in front, cups behind, cups
right and left. There is so much of signifi
cant and beautiful service—so much paint
and color and superfluous ornamentation,
that the worshiper is distracted from the
sight of Christ, and he leaves the sanctuary
exclaiming, “ What a beautiful service 1”
Pity the weakness of our humanity, kind
Ritualist. Permit the adorable Saviour to
stand out unique and glorious, that every eye
may see Him, and every heart adore Him 1
Psint out your cups!
'that one-idea religionist is doing the same
thing. I went into his Church to hear, as a
stranger. I was attracted by the preacher’s
evident sincerity and fervor. He was hon
estly trying to win men to Christ. But right
in front of him was a particular way to be
baptized. There was no objectoin to the
mode he adopted. I would gladly see ten
thousand accepting it, and would join in the
Doxology as each of them received the sa
cred rite. But somehow all this business
was set forth in such a way, it was put so
persistently in the foreground, that my soul
cried out: Please, dear good man, paint out
the cups. They are too prominent. They
glisten and spread themselves right under
the matchless image of our Lord. They dis
tract our attention. Won't you please put
all these admirable essentials and non-essen
tials a little one side, that Jesus may be
more glorious. Paint out your cups.
That pulpit orator is making the same
mistake. I admire his power of thought,
his wealth of illustration, his readiness of
language. It is facinating. He is an artist
of the highest order. Nothing is greater
than eloquence. But as I recover myself
now and then from the spell of his oratory,
I remember that this is sacred rhetoric, and
its object and end is the glory of Jesus. He
is trying to paint before ray imagination and
conscience and heart the image of my risen
Lord.
I can not chide these efforts which are so
irresistible. And yet lam forced to feel that
those same cups are here, and I wish it were
possible that the aim of the sainted Payson
could be realized again. “To hold up the
picture of Jesus Christ and be hid behind
forever?” Yes, as much as he entraces me,
I am forced now and then to sigh, Paint out
the cups I
That self-conscious disciple is repeating
the same error. He is sincere, devout, and
bent on growing in grace. His life study
seems to be to put away evil, and to put on
all perfectness. But there is a mysterious
bewilderment in his experience. In theory
Christ is enthroned in his heart, his only life,
his only merit, his only hope. But there U
a morbid selfism throwing a mist around the
matchless image of Jesus. Christ is obscur
ed by the imitations of him. The eye comes
to rest on the copy more than upon the origi
nal. And so the pions error goes on until
the glittering Jcups of perfection, so-called,
blaze in the very face of the Redeemer, and
distract the eye and the heart from his su
preme beauty.—Good works are beautiful—
charities and crosses are charming. But
whatever takes our attention from Christ, or
divides our heart, is likely to become anoth
er Christ. Even some who tell us they are
sinless, had better paint out their cups. — N.
Y. Evangelist.
THOMAS CHALMERS.
We remember well our first hearing Dr.
Chalmers. We were in a moorland district
in Tweeddale, rejoicing in the country, after
nine months in the High School. We heard
that a famous preacher was to preach at a
neighboring parish church, and off we set, a
cartful of irrepressible youngsters. “Calm
was all nature as a resting wheel.” The
crows instead of taking wing, were impudent
and sat still; the cart-horses were standing,
knowing the day, at the field gates, gossip
ping and gazing, idle and happy; the moor
was stretening away in the pale sunlight—
vast, dim, melancholy, like a sea; every*
where were to be seen the gathering people,
‘‘sprinklings of blithe campany;” the coun
try side seemed moving to someone centre.
As we entered the kirk we saw a notorious
character, a drover, who had much of the
brutal look of what he worked in, with the
knowing eye of a man of the city, a sort of a
big Peter Bell—
“He had a hardness in his eye,
He had a hardness in his cheek.”
He was our terror, and we not only wonder
ed, but we were afraid when we saw him go
irg in. The kirk was as full as it could hold.
How different in looks to a brisk town con
gregation! There was a fine leisureliness
and vague stare; all the dignity and vacancy
of animals; eyebrows raised, and mouth open,
as is the habit with those who speak little,
and look much and at far-off objects. The
minister comes in, homely in his dress and
gait, but having a great look about him, like
a mountain among hills. The High School
boys thought him like a “big one of our
selves:” he looked vaguely round upon his
audience, as if he saw in it one great object,
not many. We shall never forget his smile!
its general benignity;—how he let the light of
his countenance fall on us. He read a few
verses quietly; then prayed briefly, solemnly,
with his eyes wide open all the time, but not
seeing. Then he gave out his text; we for
get it, but its subject was, “Death reigns.”
He stated slowly, calmly, the simple mean"
ing of the words; then suddenly he started,
and looked like a man who had seen tome
great sight and was breathless to declare it;
he told us how death reigned—everywhere,
at all times, and in all places; how we all
knew it, how we would yet know more of it.
The drover, who had set down in the table
seat opposite, was gazing up in a state of
stupid excitement; he seemed restless, but
never kept his eyes from the speaker. The
tide set in—everything added to its power,
deep called to deep, imagery and illustration
poured in; and every now and then the
theme, —the simple, terrible statement was
repeated in some lucid interval. After over
whelming ua with proofs of the reign of
Death, and transferring to us his intense
urgency and emotion; and after shrieking, as
if in despair, these words, “Death is a tre
mendous necessity,” he suddenly looked be
yond us, as If to some distant region, and
cried out: “Behold a mightier!—who is this?
He cometh from Edom, with dyed garments
from Bozrah, glorious in his apparel, speak
ing in righteousness, traveling towards men
in the greatness of his strength, mighty to
save.” Then in a few plain sentences he
stated the truth as to sin entering, and death
by sin, and death passing upon all. Then
he took fire once more, and enforced with
redoubled energy and richness, the freshness,
the simplicity, the security, of the great
method of justification. How astonished and
impressed we all were!. He was at the full
thunder —the whole man was in agony of
earnestness. The drover was weeping like a
child, the tears running down his ruddy,
coarse cheeks —his face opened out and
smoothed like an infant’s; his whole body
stirred with emotion. We all had insensibly
been drawn out of our seats, and were con
verging towards the wonderful speaker. And
when he sat down, after warning each one of
us to remember who it was that followed
death on his pale horse, and how alone we
could escape—we all sunk down into our
seats. How beautiful to our eyes did the
thunderer look—exhausted, but sweet and
pure! How he poured out his soul before
his God, in giving thanks for sending th e
Abolisber of Death ! Then a short psalm,
and all was ended. —North British Review.
THE CHRISTIAN GENTLEMAN.
The grace of God is more important than
the graces of polite society; but as the Chris
tian is called to be courteous and patient,
giving offense to none, in his perfected life,
shine not only the graces of a Christian, but
also the genuine courtesies of which the fash
ionable have only the counterfeits and imi
tations. So, too, the Christian gentleman is
above a low thing. He cannot stoop to a
mean fraud. He invades no secrets in the
keeping of another. He betrays no secrets
confided to his keeping. He never struts in
borrowed plumage. He takes selfish advan
tage of no man’s mistake. He uses no igno
ble weapons in controversy. He never stabs
in the dark. He is ashamed of inuendoes.
He iB not one thing to a man’s face and an
other behind his back. If by accident he
comes into possession of his neighbor’s coun
sels, he passes upon them an act of instant
oblivion. Papers not meant for his eye,
whether they flutter in at his open window,
or lie before him in an unguarded exposure,
are held sacred by him. He trespasses on
no privacy of others, however sound the sen
try sleeps. Boltß nnd bars, locks and keys,
hedges and pickets, bonds and securities, are
none of them for him. He way be trusted,
himself out ot sight, near the thinest partition,
anywhere. He buys no office, he sells none;
he intrigues for none. He would rather fail
of his rights than wiu them through dishonor.
He will eat honest bread. He tramples on
no sensitive feeling. He insults no man. If
he have rebuke for another, he is straightfor
ward, open, and manly. He cannot descend
to scurrility. From all profane and wanton
words his lips are chastened. Of woman
and to her, he speaks with decency and re
spect. In short, whatever he judges honor
able he practices towards every man. — Ex
change.
How to be Miserable. —Think about yonr.
self; about what you want, what you like,
what respect people ought to pay you, and
then to you nothing will be pure. You will
spoil everything you touch; you will make
ain and misery for yourself out of everything
which God sends you; you will be as wretch
ed as you choose on earth or in heaven either.
In heaven either, I say. For that proud,
greedy, selfish, self-seeking spirit would turn
heaven into hell. It did turn heaven into
hell, for the great devil himself. It was by
pride, by seeking his own glory (so, at least,
wise men say), that he fell from heaven into
hell. He was not content to give up his own
will and to do God’s will like the other
angels. He was not content to serve God,
and rejoice in God’s glory. He would be a
master himself. — Standard of the Cross.
THE JOY OF INCOMPLETENESS.
BY J. BESEMERES.
If all our lives were one broad glare
Of sunlight, clear, unclouded.
If all our path were smooth and fair,
By no soft gloom enshrouded;
If all life’s flowers were fully blown
Without the sweet nnfoldiDg,
And happiness were rudely thrown
On hands too weak for holding—
Should we not miss the twilight hours,
The gentle haze and saduess?
Should we not long for storms aDd showers
To break the constant gladness?
If none were sick and none were sad,
What service could we render ?
1 think If we were always glad,
We scarcely could be tender
Did our beloved never need
Our patient ministration,
Earth would grow cold, and miss indeed
Its sweetest consolation;
If sorrow never claimed our heart,
ADd every wish were granted,
Patience would die, and hope depart—
Life would be disenchanted.
And yet in heaven is no more night,
In heaven is no more sorrow I
Such uuimrgiued new delight
Fresh grace from pain will borrow—
As the poor seed that underground
Seeks ire true life above it.
Not knowing what will there be found
When sunbeams kiss and love it.
So we in darkness upward grow,
And look and long for h-uven,
But cannot picture it below,
Till more of light be given.
—Sunday Magazine.
THE ADAPTATIONS OF CREATION.
God has not only created all things beauti
ful and wonderful in themselves but he has
fitted them all to each other. He has made
them all by weight and measure. He hag
formed them, as it were, with a balance in
his hand, in such a way that if even one of
them had been but a little greater or a little
less in proportion to the others, this beauti
ful world would soon have fallen into ruins,
and no living thing could have existed on it.
Do you wish examples of this? They are
innumerable—the only difficulty is to choose
which to tell you. Let us take the air as the
first example. It has been reckoned that the
atmosphere surrounds the world to the height
of about fifty miles above our heads. It might
seem to you a very trifling matter, but if it
were a few miles more or less in height—as,
for instance, at the top of Mount Blanc —the
barometer would stand atsixteeu inches, and
men and animals would soon be suffocated.
If, on the contrary, it were a few miles more
in height, the barometer would stand at more
than forty-seven inches; it would be insup.
portably hot whenever the rays of the sun
could reach, and your lungs could not bear it
long. You may judge of it by the Dead Sea,
where the atmosphere is only a quarter of a
mile higher, and where the barometer stands
at twenty,-nine and three-quarters, but where
the heat is excessive, and the air very irrita
ting to the lungs, as we are told in the account
of Lieutenant Lynch’s expedition. And if
the atmosphere were higher still, the winds
would be irresistible —our houses and our
trees would be thrown down, we should take
inflammation in the lungs, and the nature of
all things around us would be entirely
changed.
Take another example. If the dry land
were a little harder than it is, we could not
cultivate it—we could neither plough nor dig.
The roots of tbe plants could not pierce the
hard soil, and they would perish. If, on the
contrary, the earth were softer than it is, we
should sink in the soil, as we do in a plough
ed field after rain; and neither houses, trees,
nor plants could be kept firm in the ground.
If the water of the sea were heavier, all the
fishes would be borne up to the surface, and
would be unable to swim in it; and they
would die, as they do in the Dead Sea, whose
water is only a quarter heavier than distilled
water. And if the water of the sea were
lighter, the fish would be too heavy to swim,
and would sink down and die at tbe bottom.
If the water of the sea and of the lakes,
which always contracts and becomes heavier
as it becomes colder, did not cease to obey
this law at about tbe fourth degree above
the freezing point, the bottom of most of the
seas and of all the lakes would be a mass of
ice for the greater part of the year ; whilst,
on the other band, by this admirable arrange
ment, their depths never freeze.
You may think, perhaps, that it would be
a matter of indifference to us whether our
globe were a little larger or a little smaller
than it is, since for so many years men lived
upon it in total ignorance of its size. But
there is a necessary proport on between the
size and weight of the earth, and the strength
which God has given to our limbs and mus
cles. If, for example, we could be conveyed
to tbe moon, and if it were like the earth in
all respects except its size, we should there
weigh five times less than we do upon the
earth. We might bound up like grasshop
pers to a great height in the air, but we
Bhould be bo unsteady on our limbs that the
hand of a child could throw us over. Aud
if our earth, ou the contrary, were as large as
the planet Jupiter, all other things remaining
the same, each of us should feel as if we
were forced to carry the weight of eleven
people as heavy as ourselves. The weight
of a man of ten stone would be one hundred
aud twenty stone, and none of us could walk
or stand upright—scarcely even move.
Ah! let us repeat what we said before,
“The work cf the Lord is perfect. It is
always good—very good.”— Professor L.
Gaussen.
A BAKED BIBLE.
There is said to be a Bible in Lucas coun
ty, Ohio, which was preserved by being bak
ed in a loaf ofhread. It now belongs to a
Mr. Schebolt, who is a native of Bohemia, in
Austria. This baked Bible was formerly the
property of his grandmother, who was a faith
ful Protestant Christian. During one of the
seasons when the Roman Catholics were per
secuting the Protestants in that country, a
law was passed that every Bible in the hands
of the people should be giveu up to the priests,
so that it might be burned by them. When
the priests came round to search the house
it happened to he baking day. Mrs. Sche
bolt, the grandmother of the present owner,
had just prepared a great batch of dough,
when she heard the priests were coming.
She took the precious Bible, wrapped it care
fully up, and put it in the center of a huge
mass, which was to fill heHargest bread tin,
and stowed it away in the oven and baked it.
The priests came and searched the house
carefully through, but they did t uot find the
Bible.— Selected.
it is not the gold or the diamonds about a
watch that keeps the time.
F. M. KENNEDY, D. D., Editor.
J. W. BURKE, Assistant Editor.
A. G. HAYGOOD, D. D., Editorial Correspondent.
WHOLE NUMBER 1992.
MISCELLANEA.
The Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church,
New York, of which Rev. John Hall is
pastor, contributed §30,000 at the annual
collection for Domestic Missions, and §34,500
for Foreign Missions.
Out of a population of 8,000 in Marble
head, Mass., 3,000 have signed the pledge
within three months. A Reform Club of
over 6,000 members has been formed, of men
who have given up drinking.
There are 223 Protestant Sunday-schools
in Baltimore, with 4,783 officers and teach
ers, and 44,619 scholars. Ten schools were
organized during the year. In tbe whole
State of Maryland, 160,300 children attend
Sunday-schools and 86,100 do not.
According to the Almanack de Gotha,
there are in France 35,000,000 Catholics,
500,000 Protestants, 49,000 Jews, of whom
half are in the department of the Seine, 3.071
Mohammedans, Buddhists, etc., and finally
82,000 Frenchmen who announce themselves
as recognizing no religion.
A missionary in Brazil, who speaks from
fourteen years' experience, says: “It is my
honest conviction that if ike Church of Chris*
will furnish the necessary men and means, in
ten years this great country may be convert
ed to Christ, and in twenty years will cease
to be a foreign missionary field.”
Both the Presbyterians and Episcopalians
of this country are giving their attention to
the wants of clergymen who have charge of
small parishes, and whose salaries are insuf
ficient for their support. The Presbyterians
are already taking measures to create a fund
for the support of the poorer clergy, and
the Episcopalians are discussing a similar
measure.
The Methodists have in North India 141
Sunday-schools with 884 officers and teach
ers, and 7,149 scholars. The figures show a
gain of more than 1,700 scholars over last
year, and of more than 50 per cent, in two
years. There are also in South India 1,175
scholars, making in all 8,324 scholars. Many
conversions of heathen boys have taken
place during the year.
A letter from Constantinople, in the
Christian Weekly, refers tc tbe excitement
occasioned in that city by Stanleys de
spatches with regard to a Christian mission
for interior Africa. The Mohammedans urge
imiuedia'e action in sending uiissionsries of
their own to strengthen King Mtesa’s waver
ing faith. Offers of service have been made
by Mahommedan clergy, and large subscrip
tions have been sent in.
The provision of the New Spanish consti
tution granting religiouß liberty is exciting
very general discussion there. The Epoca
declares the Cortes will approve the princi
ple of religious toleration. The Vatican
will be compelled to accept it. The Espana
says it is authorized by the Papal Nuncio
and tbe Archbishop of Toledo to deny the
statement that the Vatican ever granted
Senor Sagasta's ministry the least concession
in relation to liberty of public worship.
If the Slate government of California
keeps on, says the Independent, it will Boon
be secular enough to Bait the most advanced.
The governor in his Thanksgiving proclama
tion skillfully steered clear of the name Of
God —possibly to save the feelings of the
heathen Chinese; and now the State senate
not only refuses to elect a chaplain, but has
sent a committee of senators to San Fran
cisco to spend the Sabbath in investigating
the grants of tide and salt-marsh lands. An
open session was held at the City Hall, and
the day was spent in hearing claims, etc.
English Catholics. —It is a noteworthy
fact that, notwithstanding tbe activity of the
Roman Catholics in England, its Catholic
population does not greatly exceed 1,000,-
000. The hierarchy in England and Wales
comprises 1 cardinal archbishop, 1 arch
bishop in partibus, 16 bishops and 1,772
priests—an . increase of 52 priests in 1875.
There are 1,061 churches and chapels—an
increase during the year of 20. There are
215 monastic communities in England and
Wales. In Ireland there are 4 provinces,
with 4 archbishops, 1 of whom is a cardinal,
and 28 dioceses. According to the London
Tablet . the Roman Catholic population of
Ireland is now 4 000,000 which is less than
those in the United States (6,000,000.) The
English Catholic Directory for 1876 reports
that there are 36 Roman Cstholic peers, 7
Roman Catholic members of the Privy Coun
cil, and 50 Catholic members of the House
of Commons.
British and Foreign Bible Society.—
The Brilish and Foreign was
established in 1804, and now has 10,242
auxiliaries. When the Society was first es
tablished, the translations of the Bible, in
whole or in part, may have been about fifty;
but since that time the number has greatly
increased. There are now two hundred and
ten languages and dialects in which the So
ciety has promoted the translation, printing,
or distribution of the Scriptures, either
directly or indirectly. During the past year
this Society has issued 2,619,427 copies of
the Scriptures, and from its organization,
73,750,5.30 copies. Other Bible Societies,
aided in former years by grants from the
funds of the British and Foreign Bible So
ciety, have been instrumental in distributing
more than fifty-three millions; so that the
circulation by means of these combined
societies amounts to nearly one hundred and
twenty-seven millions of copies of the Holy
Scriptures, in whole or in part. It is be
lieved that, by the translation, printing, and
circalatiou of the Bible, within the present
century, the records of inspired truth have
been rendered available to about seven hun
dred millions of the human family. The re
ceipts of the Society during the past year
have exceeded one million one hundred
thousand dollars in gold. Central Europe
has received during the past year more than
600,000 copies of the Scriptures. Northern
Europe, including Russia, has had during the
past year more than 400,000 copies, and
France more than 86,000 copies; Italy and
North Africa have received more than 38,000
copies in the same period. Since the recent
revolution in Spain, the Society has circula
ted, from the depot in Madrid, for distribution
in Spain, 68,690 Bibles, 57,942 Testaments,
and 401,096 portions in Spanish, besides
2,486 copies in other languages—making a
total of 530,213 copies of the Holy Scrip
tures. Large editions of the Bible have
been printed in Madrid; depots have been
established, and many colportenrs are at
work. More than 8,000 copies have been
distributed in Portugal during the past year.
From the depot in Constantinople, during
the past year, upwards of 34,100 copies have
been issued. India and China, have received,
during the same period, large supplies of the
Scriptures. To Madagascar more than 140,-
000 copies of the Scriptures were sent during
the last six years. Africa, the islands of the
Pacific, New Zealand, Australia, the vast
provinces of British North America, Mexico,
South America, the West Indies, and ether
portions of the world, are deriving from the So
ciety a constant supply of the Word of Go^y