VOL. III.
OXFORD, N. G., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19, 1877.
NO. 51.
IVO SECT HEAVEIV.
FROM AN ENOLISn POE^I.
Talking of sects till late one eve,
Of the various doctrines the saints believe,
That night I stood in a troubled dream,
By the side of a darkly-flowing stream.
And a ‘churchman’ down to the river came,
When I heard a strange voice call his name,
‘‘ Good lather, stop ; when you cross the tide,
You must leave your robes on the other side.’)
But the aged father did not mind.
And his long gown tioated in the wind,
As down to the stream his way he took,
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book.
“ I’m bound for heaven, and when I’m there,
I shall want my book of common prayer;
And though I put on a starry crown
I should teel quite lost without my gown.”
Then be fixed his eyes on the shining track,
But his gown was heavy and held him back ;
And the poor old father tried in vain
A single step in the flood to gain.
I saw him again on the other side,
But his silk gown floated on the tide,
And no one asked in that blissful spot,
Whetlier he belonged to ‘the Church’ or not.
Then down to the river a Quaker strayed.
His dress of a sober hue was made,
“ My coat and hat must be all of gray,
I cannot go any other way.”
Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his
chin.
And steadily solemnly waded in,
And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down
tight
Over his furehead so cold and white.
But a strong wind (-arried away his hat^
A moment he silently sighed over that,
And then as he gazed on the farther shore,
The coat slipped ofl' and was seen no more.
As he entered heaven his suit of gray
Went quietly sailing away— away.
And none of the angels questioned him
About the width of his beaver’s brim.
Next came Dr. Watts with a bundle of
Psalms,
Tied nicely up in his aged arms,
And Hymns as many--a very wise thing—
That people in heaven all round might sing.
But I thought that he heaved an auxijus sigh,
As he saw that the river ran broad and liigh,
And looked rather sur|>rised as one by one,
The psalms and hymns in the wave went down.
And, after him, with his MSS.,
Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness, '
I3nt he cried, ‘ Dear me, what sliall I do ?
The water has soaked them thru’ and through.
And tbei-e on tlie river far and wide,
Away they went d'own the swollen tide,
And the saint astonished jntssed through alone
Without his manuscript up to the thruue.
Then gravely walking two saints by name,
Down to the river together came,
But, aa they stopped at the river’s brink,
I saw one saint from the other shrink.
“Sprinkled or plunged, may I ask you, friend.
How }ou attained to life’s great end f”
“ Thus, with a few drops on my brow,”
‘But I have been dipped as you’ll see me now/
“ And really I think it will hardly do.
As I’m ‘ close communion ’ to cross with you,
You’re bound, I know, to the realms of bliss,
But you must go that way, and I’ll go this.”
Then straightway plunged with all his might
Away to the left—his friend to the right,
Apart they went from this world of sin,
But at last together they entered in.
And now when the river was rolling on
A Presbyterian church wont down;
Of women there seemed an innumerable
throng,
But the men I could count as they passed along.
And concerning the road they could ne’er
agree,
The old or the new way, which it could be,
Nor ever a moment paused to think
That both would lead to tlie river’s brink.
And a sound of murmuring, long and loud,
Came ever up from the moving crowd,
“ You’re in the old way and I’m in the new,
That is the false, and this is the true.”
Or, “ I'm in the old way and you’re in the
new,
That is the false, and this is the true.”
But the brethren only seemed to speak,
Modest the sisters walked, and meek,
Abd' if ever one of them chanced to say,
What troubles she met with on the way,
How she longed to pass to the other side,
Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide,
A voice arose from the brethren then—
“ Let no one speak but the ‘ holy men ;•
For have we not heard the words of Paul,
Oh. ‘ int f.hft women keen silent all V ”
I watched them all in my curious dream ;
Till they stood by tbe borders of the stream,
Then, just as I thought, the two ways met,
But all the brethren were talking yet.
And would talk on, till the heaving tide
Carried them over, side by side ;
Side by side, fer the way was one,
The toilsome journey of life was done,
And all who in Christ, the Savior, died,
Came out alike on the other side.
No forms, or crosses, or books had they,
No gowns of silk, or suits of grey.
No creed to giiuhj them, or MSS.,
For all had put on {Jhrist’s righteousness.
THE UBGHT USE OF BOOKS.
One who possessed a rare col
lection of hooks, gathered during
years of travel in vaiious
lands, expressed his regret at the
loss of some volumes which he
highly prized, and found it im
possible to replace. A friend,
who iieard the remark, said in
reply, “ 1 should not think 5'ou
would lend out such works ; peo
ple are so careless about return
ing borrowed books.” “ If I did
not loan out my books,” was the
an.swer, “ probably many of the
most valuable works of wiiich mt’
library is composed, would never
fall into the hands of those who
now borrow, of me. The true
owner of a good book is not he
who has paid out a few dollars
for its possession; but he who
first conceived the thoughts, and
put them into a form to instruct
and benefit his fellow.men, with
the desire that they should ac
complish the greatest possible
amount of good. If I then, with
the means tliat God has given
me, purchase such a book, have I
the light to keep it to myself,
thus limiting the amount of the
author’s usefulness, and depriving
those who could not or would not
buy it, of tbe benefit of its peru
sal 1
Besides, when I feel tempted
to lose mi' patience in losing one
of my books, I call to mind that
I brought not one of them into
the world with me, and not one
can I take with me when I de
part hence; wliile the good that
I may accomplisli by placing a
valuable book in the hands of my
fellow-men will be a source of re
joicing throughout eternity. The
books I call mine, if not other
wise destroyed, must at last be
burnt at the general conflagration
of all tilings; but a soul saved
through my instrumentality, by
whatever meams, will be a star in
the crown of niy rejoicing for
ever and ever. Thus; by fiie cir
culation of good books, may I
share in the reward of him who
writes them, when “ he that sow-
eth and he that reapeth shall re
joice together,” and Jesus shall
have the glory of all.-—American
Messenger.
SHALIL I TEACH MY
CBllED.
Teach him that it is better to
die than to lie ; that it is better to
starve than to steal; that it is bet
ter to be a scavenger or wood-
chopper than to be an idler and
dead-beat; that it is just as crim~
inal, and more reprehensible, to
waste Monday than to desecrate
Sunday ; that labor is the price
of all honest possessions ; that no
one is exempt from the obligation
to labor with head, or hands, or
heart; that “ a man is the no
blest work of God that knowl
edge is power; that labor is wor
ship, and idleness is sin ; that it is
better to eat the crust of inde
pendent poverty than to luxuri
ate amidst the richest viands as a
dependent. Teach him these
facts till they are woven into his
being and regulate his life, and
we will insure his success, though
the heavens fall.—Exchange.
HOY PItEACHEK.
Mark Boatner Chapman aged
fourteen, is a sensation “ bo}*
preacher,” who is struggling up
in Louisiana. A correspondent of
the New Orleans Crescent, wri
ting from Clinton, the place of
his residence, says of the phe
nomenon :
Several years ago he was re
ceived in the Church. Very soon
after this he commenced instruct
ing his father’s servants on the
afternoon of every Sabbath. His
custom was to read a chapter
and comment upon it, having
first closely studied the chapter
consulting Benson, Clark and
Wesley on every passage.—He at
length began, says a writer to the
Memphis Advocate, to speak in
the love-feasts and class meetings,
then to pray in the public con
gregation. His appearance is that
of the merest boy, and he seems
wholly unconcious of any superi
or gifts or attainments. He now
preaches regularly every Sabbath
at his father’s place, near town.
His parents have refused to allow
him to enter the pulpit and sup
ply the place of the regular min
ister on the Sabbath, although
he is often solicited to do so He
does nothing without permission
from his parents.—He attends
school and joins in all the amuse
ments of the boys of his own age;
he is a mere child everywhere
save when preacliing. On. last
Sabbath I sat under his ministry,
and have seldom been more edi
fied and deliglited with a sermon.
His style is chaste, his words fit-
Ij' and happily chosen. The
nicest critic would not detect a
grammatical error. His manner
is earnest, and his pathetic ap
peals reach all hearts. Occasion
ally Ids feelings overwhelm him,
and he gives way to ■ floods of
tears.
The most gifted lawyers, and
doctors, and divines, have heard
him with astonishment and de
light. I confess tliat it is most
wonderful, and to me incompre
hensible. When I heard him, he
preached from the text, “ How
long halt ye between two opin
ions!” Ho preached from notes,
sometimes seeming to forget that
his notes were before him. His
subject was arranged with perfect
system, and most logicallj^ treat
ed. When through with his ser
mon, he closed the book and gave
a brief and touching exhortation,
under which I could, with others,
but weep. His public addresses
published have attracted much
attention, and should he live, he
must, in his onward course, leave
a broad wake on the tide of mor
als. Such is the character of the
“ Boy Preacher,” whose wonder
ful precocity is without a parallel.
sustenance tliat it needs! How
it will spread over the rock, and
plunge down into the precipice,
and go ill search of the stream
that is running afar off! Even
the blind root finds its way with
out reason, and by a mere instinct
of appetite, under ground; and
let it rebuke you. How, in the
darkest cellar, the white vine of
the potato begins, when there is
summer outside, to sprout and
grow; and how, if there be one
crack or fissure, will it begin in
stinctively and inevitably to seek
it, and stretch itself out for feet
and even yards, contrary to its
nature, that it may put one little
leaf out where the sun shall kiss
it, and give it its heavenly color.
And ought not a man to do as
much as that ? Born, .are you, in
ignorance ? Born, are you, as
men say, in degraded conditions
of life! Let your soul give nour
ishment to your aspirations, and
spring up ; and let at last the leaf
that struggles toward the light
find light, and begin to show
what the light does for it.- You
were not made to grow for ever
in the circumstances of lowness
and vulgarity. God calls you;
and every aspiration in you is a
voice of God, saying, “Come up.”
SUCCESS.
COME UP HIGHER.
Wherever you are in life, no
matter how low your place is, it
is a good place to sprout in,
though it may not be a good
place to grow and dwell in.
Leave your root where God
planted it; but mount up out cJ
poverty, mount up out of bad
companionship, mount up out of
secular ways of life, and lift your
selves toward the light. Let out
ward nature teach you. Oh how
a root will engineer, and find the
“ I shall succeed,” exclaims the
jmuth as he leaves the home of
his childhood to begin life’s bat
tle alone. He is jmung and
strong, and hope “ reigns su
preme ” in his bosom, for he has
never been discouraged by the
trials which have clouded the
lives of older men. He does not
see the many difficulties and bit
ter disappointments which block
up liis way. Success seems easj’.
Failure, almost impossible. Will
this feeling last! Will become
off' conqueror in all the battles !
AYe do not know, but let us hope
that he will.
No young man has ever started
out in life yet who did not think
he would succeed. But how many
fail almost at the out-set! AnS
why ! Simply because they have
not strength of purpose and ap
plication enough. No boy ever-
mastered a hard lesson without
study. And no man can master
the lessons of life, and profit by
them, without the will and deter
mination to do so. Hid }’ou ever
know a man to succeed who trust
ed to chance for everything, and
never tried to help himself? Such
men generally do no good in this
world, either to themselves or
anj^ one else, and are soon forgot
ten. Their lives are a failure in
every way. Now if you really
want to succeed, don’t sit still and
wait for success to come to -you,
for it wiU not come ; but get right
up and go to it by hard work.
STAKD OUT FROM THE
DAYOER.
We were fast approaching Cape
Hatteras. Already the dim out
line was appearing to the south
west, and we were anticipating a
close run. to its rocky shore, when
suddenly the order to tack was
given, and we stood out into the
Atlantic, leaving the Cape far
astern.
“ Is not the water deep enough
to make a closer run to the shore !”
asked Adjutant Culver, who was
impatient to get a good sight of
land .after the three days voyage.
“ Certainly,” answered the cap
tain,^ gazing oft’ to the south at
the signs of an approaching storm.
“ But why, then, do we tack
here!” asked the adjutant.
“ Because,” said the captain,
“if in running close to the Cape
we had become in ant' way dis
abled, we might have'drifted on
the rocks and have been wrecked.
A good sailor, when possible,
stands out from danger.”
When I see a young man leav
ing the pure influence of the home
circle, and spending his hours in
places where drink and gambling,
are the programme, although he
may take part only as a specta
tor, yet I tremble for his safty,
and long to tvarn him to stand
out from the danger.
When I see the moderate drink
er indulging in his occasional
glass, and looking down with a
contemptuous smile on the fanat
ical temperance people, I know
that he is sailing along the rod s
of intemperance, and that his on
ly safe course is to stand out from
danger.
When I see fair hands proffer
the sparkling wine to the noble
and gifted, I think what a terri
ble wreck there would be if the
rocks were encountered, and I
pray that the scales may fall from
the eyes of the tempte'd, so that
they may stand out from the dan
ger.
AYhen I see the reformed in
ebriate frequenting the bar-room,
and mingling w-ith old boon com
panions, I almost hear the hidden
rocks that he was rescued from,
grating against his frail bark, and
I speak to him as a brother should
to a brother, “ Tack your ship, or
you are lost. Stand out from the
danger.” —Selected.
FEMALE UliPEUENCE.
I have noticed that a married
man falling into misfortune is
more apt to retrieve his situation,
in the world than a single one,
chiefly because his spirits are
soothed and relieved by domes
tic endearments, and self-respect
kept alive, by finding that,' aL
though abroad be darkness and
humiliation, yet there is still a
little world of love at home of
which he is monarch. AVheroas,
a single man is apt to run to
waste and self-neglect—to fall to
ruin like some deserted mansion,
for want of inhabitants. I have
often liad occasion to mark the
fortitude with which women sus
tain the most overwhelming re
verses of fortune. Those disas
ters which break down the spirit
of man, and prostrate him in the
dust, seem to call forth all the
energies of the softer sex, and
give such intrepidity and eleva
tion to their character that at
times it approaches sublimity.—
Washington Irving,
The Grave.—It buries every
error, covers every defect, extin
guishes every resentment. Fiom
its peaceful bosom spring none
but fond regrets and tender rec
ollections. Who can look down
upon the grave of an enemy and
not feel a compunctious throb
that he should have warred with
the poor handful of dust that lies
mouldering before him ?