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a VOL. Ill OXFORD, N. G., WEDNESDAY, MAY 30, 1877. NO. 22. UOOD KNOWS/* Oh ! wild fttld dark was the winter nijiht, Whed the emigrant ship went down, But just oumide of the harbor bar, In the Bight of the startled town! 'The winds howled, and the sea roafed, And never a soul could sleep, ISsve the little ones on their mother’s bfeaSts, Too young to watch add weep. No boat could live id the augry surf, No rope could reach the laud ; There were b4ild, brave hearts upon the snorej There many a ready hand; Women who prayed, and men who strove When prayers and Work were Vain,— For the sun rose oVer the awful void And the slledce of the main ! All day the watchers paced the sands— Ail day they jeanned tbo.deep ; All night the booming miuute-guna Echoed from steep to steep. ** Give up thy dead, 0 cruel sea I" They cried athwart the space ; But only a baby*8 fragile f»nn Escaped from its stern embrace 1 Only one little child of all Who with the ship M^ent do^Vti, Thai night, whet the happy babies slept So warm in the sheltered town! Wrapped in the glow of the morning lights It lay on the shifting sand, As fair as a scUlptof’s marble dream, With a shell lu Its dimpled hand. There were none to toll of its face or kin, “ God knoweth,” the Pastor said, When the sobbing children crowded to ask The name of the baby dead. And so when they laid it away at last In th** church-yard’s hushed repose, They raised a stone at the baby’s head Wikh the carved wordS-““ God knows!” •^8t. Nicholas. f UE CIIANOE9 IN PBEACHING^ That an important change is now in progress in the American pulpit, is evident to even a care less observer. The preachers now coming upon the stage are studjong methods and arts as thev have never done within our mem- orv. A most important fact began, fifteen or twenty years ago, to manifest itself alike to teachers and disciples, viz., the fact that tlie great masses were slipping more and more out of the reach of the clmrch, and that the preach er was losing his power, even over his own flock. It was hard fiir men trained in the old ways to understand the causes of this misfortune ; but it became appa rent at last to one, here and there that a theological skeleton, un clothed with flesh and blood, and without a warm heart behind^ its ribs, was not an inspiring object. It became apparent that the world was sick of theology, and, if it could not have the gospel, would not have anything. There are still manyamong the preachers who suppose that theology is the gospel, but they are rapidly pass ing away. A very successful preacher, m a recent conversation, said that his theology was a sort of dry cod-fish which he hung up in his study by the tail, and whenever lie wanted any of it he cut out a chunk. Another, of almost ^equal eminence, said, that while it seemed to him very important that a preacher should be well grounded in Christian doctrine, and have definite and well settled opinions on theology, he should never think of taking theology into the pulpit! Both these meu are earnest men, and remarkable preachers, but they have made the clean jump into the new order of things Can New England ever comprehend this—that a preacher can be in daad earnest, and yet, without any reservation, say that theology is a thing for the study and not for the pulpit? Of course it is nothing less tlian a revolution, but toward this is the drift of the day. * Revivals have become neces* sary to the advance of Christiani- t}', simply because of the incom petency of the ordinary preaching; and the moment the revivals come. In the nature of things, there ought not to be much for a revival to do in any church which has had the simple good news preach ed to it, and in which the heart and life and better motives have been affectionately and persistent ly addressed. Revivaisarenothing but a make-shift. It is not a very high idea of the Father of us all that supposes him any more willing to convert men at one time than another. Preachers full of the learning of the schools go on from year to year with their dry discourses, and wonder that nothing comes of tliem. Then a Christian ignoramus comes along, with burning love and zeal in his heart, and no theology to speak of in his head, and bad grammar on his tongue, and the long winter breaks up, and the waters flow once more, and the meadows blossom again. And tills is done over and over, with some good results and many bad ones. With the passing away of the theological essay, will pass away much of the necessity of written discourses; and it will be noticed that very nearly in the proportion in which the character of preach ing has changed, has the oral supplanted the written discourse. We think it is seen now, with great distinctness, that, in address ing motives, direct speech from heart tn heart is almost iufinitelj' superior to the reading of pages conceived and framed in thestudy. If instruction were needed upon this point, the history of Method ism in this country would furnish it in abundance. With a ministry confessedly inferior in scholarship, at least in its beginnings, but with direct address from every pulpit to the heart and life, tfie success of this denomination has been enormous. With high cul ture on the part of its teachers, its progress would possibly have been wider, but they have at least proved that the direct, spoken discourse is a power which every pulpit should assume and use as soon as it can. The question whether a young man who cannot acquire the ability to speak well without reading has a call to preach is, to say the least, an open one. At any rate, this ability is what all divinity students arestriving for.—Scribner for June. each was fitted for the sphere in which he moved and his special functions. Lee, the head and front of the struggle, was the born commander-in-chief, fitted for the conception of great cam paigns, ever wide awake, a man of august dignity by nature, calm, suave, grave, taking good and evil fortune with the same impos ing serenity; in person, one of the most noble and graceful men of lus epoch, and the finest rider in the Southern army; In charac ter, simple, pure, patient, binding to himself both the love and respect of men. Jackson was the infantry leader, the “right arm” to execute what Lee conceived *, in person not graceful, in manner silent, reserved and often abrupt; cautious to council, but, rapid and terrible in execution, going to the battle with muttering pray ers on his lips, leaving all to Providence, but striking with all the power of his arm to do his part, and in many ways resem bling the Ironsides of Cromwell. Stuart, on the contrary, was the cavalier, essentially belonging to the class of men who followed the fortunes of Charles I., ardent, impetuous, brimming over with the wine of life and youth, with the headlong courage of a high- spirited boy, fond of bright colors, of rippling flags, of martial music and the clash of sabres—in all the warp and woof of his character an embodiment of the best traits of the English cavaliers—not of their bad traits. Although his utter carelessness as to the im pression he produced subjected him to many calumnies, it is here placed on record, by one who knew his private life thorough!}, and was with him day and night for years, that he was in morals among the purest of men—a faith ful husband, absolutely without vices of any description, and if not demonstrative in his religious views, an earnest and exemplary Christian. His love for his wife was deep and devoted, and on the death of his little daughter, Flora, he said to me with tears in his eves, “I shall never get over it.” SACHIFICE OF A HIlVDOO WIDOW. THE THREE SOUTHEKAT HE ROES. FEOATIHO UABDENS. In the beautiful valley of Cash mere, among the llimalaya lava lake John Esten Cooke furnishes the following for the columns of the Philadelpliia WeeMy Times: The death of the famous cav alry man produced a deep and painful sensation, in some degree akin to that produced by the death of Jackson. The Southern people had indeed become accus tomed to couple together the three great names, Lee, Jackson and Stuart, valueing each for ^ his peculiar qualities. No comparison is intended to be made between these three distinguished soldiers, but it is interesting to notice how sharply contrasted they were in character, and how peculiarly Mountains, lies a lovely lake called Dal. Floating about on its surface, sometimes carried by the winds from one end of the lake to the other, are numerous small islands, on which grow the fairest cucumbers and the most and the luscious melons known. The way in which these floating gardens are made is very curious. All about the main shores of the lake grow quantities of reeds, sedges and water-lilies. When these grow very thickly together people cut them from the roots which hold them near the shore. The leaves of the plants are then spread out over the stems, making a sort of trestle-work to support the soil with which it is next to be covered. After this has been done, the seed are planted, and the floating garden is left to care for itself until the fruit are ready for picking.—‘St. Nicholas. When is a man given to lying compelled to keep his word? — When no one ivill take it. News of the widow’s intentions having spread, a great concourse of people of both sexes, the wo men clad in their gala costumes, assembled round the pyre. In a short time after their arrival, the fated victim appeared, accompa nied by the Brahmins, her rela tives, and the body of the de ceased. The spectators showered chaplets of mogree on her head, and greeted her appearance with laudatory exclamations at her constancy and virtue. The wo men especially pressed forward to touch her garments—an act which la considered meritorious, and highly desirable for absolu tion and protection from the ‘evil eye.’ The widow was a remarkably handsome woman, apparently about thirty, and most superbly attired. Her manner was marked by great apathy to all around her, and by a complete indiffer ence to the preparations which for the first time met her eye. From this circumstance an im pression was given that she might be under the influence of opium ; and in conformity with tlie de clared intention of the European officers present to interfere should any coercive measures be adopted by” the Brahmins or relatives, two medical officers were requested to give their opinion on the sub ject. They both tfgreed that she was quite free from any influence calculated to induce torpor or intoxication. Captain Burnes then addressed the woman, desiring to know whether the act she was about to perform were voluntary or en forced, and assuring her that, should she entertain the slightest reluctance to the fulfilment of her vow, he, on the part of the British government, would guaranty the protection of her life and property Her answer was calm, iieroic, and constant to her purpose: “ I die of my own free will; give me back my husband, and I will consent tp live ; if I die not with him, the souls of seven husbands will condemn me !” * * Ere the renewal of the horrid ceremonies of death were per mitted, again the voice of mercy, of expostulation, and even of entreaty was heard j but the trial was vain, and the cool and col lected manner with which the woman still declared her deter mination unalterable, chilled and startled the most courageous. Physical pangs evidently excited no fears in her; her singular creed, the customs of her country, and her sense of conjugal duty, excluded from her mind the natural emotions of personal dread; and never did martyr to a true cause go to the stake with more constancy and firmness, than did this delicate and gentle woman prepare to become the victim of a deliberate sacrifice to the de moniacal tenets of her heathen creed. Accompanied by the officiating Brahmin, the widow walked seven times round the pyre, repeating the usual mantras, or prayers, strewing rice and coories on the ground, and sprinkling water from her hand over the bystand- who believe this to' be effica cious in preventing disease and in expiating committed sins. She then removed her jewels, and presented them to her relations, saying a few words to each, with a calm, soft smile of encourage ment and liope. The Brahmins then piesented her with a lighted torch, bearing which, “ Ffosh as a flower just blown* And waftu with life her youthful pulsed ioRi” she 'stepped through the fatal door, and sat within the pile. The body of her husband, wrap ped in rich kinkaub, was then carried seven times round the lie, and finally laid across her nees. Thorns and grass were piled over the door; and again it was insisted that free space should be left, as it was hoped the poor victim might yet relent, and rush from a fiery prison to the protec tion so freely offered. The com mand was readily obeyed) tlie strength of a child would have sufficed to burst the frail barrier which confined her, and a breath less pause succeeded; but the woman's constancy was faithful to the last. Not a sigh broke the death-like silence of the crowd, until a light smoke, curling from the summit of the pyre, and then a tongue of flame darting with bright and lightning-like rapidity into the clear blue sky, told us that the sacrifice was completed. Fear lessly had this courageous woiban fired the pile, and not a groan had betrayed to us the moment when her spirit fled. At sight of the flame, a fiendish shout of ex ultation rent the air; the tom toms sounded, the people clapped their hands with delight as the evidence of their murderous work burst on their view, whilst the English spectators of this sad scene withdrew, bearing deep compassion in their hearts, to philosophize as best they might on a custom so fraught with hor ror, so incompatible with reason, and so revolting to human sym pathy. The pile continued to burn for three hours ; but, from its form, it is supposed that almost immediate suffocation must have terminated the sufferings of the unhappy victim.*—Aff«. Posian. ers. —We were struck the other day by the reply of a musician to a friend who had asked him to play on a piano which was out of tune. Some one was present who had not before heard the pianist. “ Do play for us,” said the musi cian’s friend, “Mr. Blank will Qiake allowances for the condi tion of the piano.” “Make al lowances!” replied the pianist, “ I have heard that all my life, and it never was and never will be true. Nobody ‘ makes allow ances.’ If a pianist plays on a bad piano, or a tenor sings when he has a^sore . fhroat, or an orator gets out of his . death-bed to make a speech,—the audience is disap pointed because he does not do nis best work, and it carries away an impression of the perfoimance which is likely to last for a life time. It’s the same in house keeping, and dressing, and busi ness, and everything else. Peo ple expect the Iiest under all cir cumstances. There is no such thing as ‘ making allowances.’ Selected.. Mi wmam
The Orphans’ Friend (Oxford, N.C.)
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May 30, 1877, edition 1
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