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PUBLISHED WEEKLY 3Y A COMMITTEE OF MINTSTEKS FOE, TlS! METHODIST EPI3 COPAL CHURCH, SOUTH. ILUFUS T. HEFLIK", Editor.
VOL. IV NO. 14.
li A L E I G H ,T HU R S jl) A Y . AT RIL t 18 5 9 .
$1.50 n year, in advance.
0J 0
ORIGIN A L
For the X. C. Christian Advocate.
The Veil Withdrawn,
OR GLIMPSES AT ITINERANT LIFE.
Mv last article closed, while giving an
account of the- stirring scenes of the first
year of Abner Allbright's ministry. In
this, I must note an iucident or two w ith
which he was connected At an early pe
riod of the year, young Allbright formed a
very pleasant acquaintance with Dr. Jones
Nam an, a prominent physician of the tovn.
-Sr-rcnc npeueo mtoMie strong
est friendship. There was but one link
broken in the bond of their union the Dr.,
although a very moral man, was not a pro
fessor of religion, nor a member of the
church. And, although disposed to reve
rence the house of God, still, like other
physicians I could name, he seldom found
time to attend the public worship of God,
even upon the holy Sabbath day. During
the revival (of which an account was given
in my last letter) he became deeply con
cerned fur his soul. Once or twice he
called upon the pastor to consult with him
in reference to his spiritual and eternal in
terests. However, he deferred Irs salva
tion, as thousands of others have done, to
a more convenient season. Alas ! I fear
tliat season never came !
On as bright and beautiful a Sabbath as
ever graced our world. Dr. Naman aud
Mr. Allbright met ; the former on his way
to see his patients ; the latter, to his pul
pit, when the following conversation took
place.
"Good morning, Mr. Allbright," was
the Dr.'s salutation.
"Good morning, Dr.," was the reply.
' Has Bro. Kay gone ?" inquired the
Dr.
" Yes sir : he left early in the week.
How did you like his sermon last Sunday ?''
" I liked it very we'll," said the Dr.
" except that saying of his, that Doctors
die too. "
4 4 Are you not going to church to-day,
Dr. ?"' enquired the pastor.
' No sir ; I have several patients to see
I serve him in mine," said the Dr., smil
ing. " But could you not go to chinch first,
and see your jiatients afterwards V
" Well, I suppose I C',uld.''
"Are any of your patients seriously
tick?'
44 No; they are all improving, but still
need my attention. "
"Well, Dr. remember what Bro. Ray
said, doctors die too ''
" I shall have the pleasure of hearing
you frequently, during the year when less
engaged. ''
" Perhaps you may perhaps you may
no', " observed the young pastor.
" I expect to live a long time, notwith
standing Bro. Raj-'s saying."
" But, Dr.,"' observed the preacher in a
serious tone, for he felt an abididing inter
est for his soul) " could you know that this
would be your last opportunity to hear the
gospel preached, would you not turn round
and po to church V
" Yes, f certainly would, but my family
before me have been long-lived, 1 have an
excellent constitution, and I intend to show
Bro. Bay how long a good Son of Temper
ance can live."
They parted. The Dr. made his profes
sional calls, and the preacher went to the
sacred stand, and for an hour " stood be
tween the living and the dead "
On Thursday morning following, just as
the gray streaks penciled the eastern sky,
the young pastor's slumbers were broken
by loud rapping at his chamber door.
"Who is there?" "Jim, master r Dr. Na
nian is very sick, and wishes to see you."
This message fell upon the preacher's ear
like the " knell of death." He dressed
immediately and hastened to the room of
his sick friend. But he was too late. The
Dr was speechless. He raised his hand as
a token of recognition, and a wild gaze of
horror and hopeless despair told the sad
story of the raging tempest that swept
within. On Friday he expired ; and on
Sunday morning his young friend and
minister, with a stricken heart, as best he
could, conducted the funeral services, and
sprinkled the new made grave with his
tears.
Now that these scenes are passed and
that we look down at them through the
light and shade of -ears, it does seem that
the saying of Bro. Ray, frequently repeat
ed during the discourse that doctors die too,
was prophetic. Perhaps it was one of those
sudden flashes that sweep across the minis
ter's mind while preaching, coming he
knows not from whence, or why. Be this
as it may, it was fastened upon the mind
of one of the physcians who were present,
and, as the conversation above shows, dis
turbed the spirit of his dreams To my
mind it looks like a personal call from God
to attend to the undying interests of the
soul. And then the interview between the
Dr. and the minister on the last Sabbath
he ever spent upon earth, seemed likewise, j
to have been directed by Providence and to
constitute the last admonition and warninr.
How little did he think so then !
Gentle reader, these lines have been
written for you.
expectedly away.
You may be called un
" lie ye also ready !"
"alfonza.
ISeport
Of the Joint Board of the Stewards of the
Virginia Conference, for the year, end
ing November, 1S58.
I have examined this report vrtk more
than ordinary interest. It is not as com
plete as could be desired, but it is more
ample than anything of the the kind which
has come into my hands. I learn from this
document, that there were 142 members of
the Virginia Conference, exclusive of the
Editor, Presidents and Professors in Col
leges, previous to the annexation of the
Danville District. Of this number (142)
sixteen inaele no report. This leaves 126
who reported, in part, at least.
Of this number, 126, fifty-eight failed
to receive the full amount of Iheir claims.
The largest amount allowed for family
expenses, was by Centenary church, Rich
mond, to Rev. Nelson Head, ($1,500.)
He does not give the amount of his quar
terage claim.
The largest quarterage claim was that of
Rev. Dr. Finley, who was stationed in
Portsmouth, viz: 525 00; all of which
was paid.
The greatest disparity between claims
and receipts, appears in the case of
Rev. II. II. Linney, who was on the
Goochland circuit. His quarterage claim
was $420 00, upon which he received
$125 00. His allowance for family ex
penses was $4S0 00 ; and he received one
hundred and forty-iltr.e dollars and sixty
tvjo cents.
Traveling must cost something in ihe
old Dominion, as the aggregate of travel
ing expenses, paid, according to a rough
calculation, comes to the snug little sum of (
34000 00.
In every instance the full amount of trav
eling expenses was paid, except in the case
.l?-v T r, Tta, -Vo $C. CO
and recaived 05 00. The following Dis
tricts failed to pay their Presiding Elders,
in full Richmond, Fredericksburg, Char
lottsville, Norfolk, and Murfreesboro'. Of
the six Districts reported, only two paid
their Presiding Elder, viz : Lynchburg
and Randolph Macon, though it is prob
able that the Petersburg and Washington
paid in full also. The ofiice of the V. E.
must be below par in Virginia, when such
men as David S. Doggett and J. D. Coul-
ling fail to get the fu'l amonnt of their
claims.
The Washington District came nearer
paying all the preachers in full, than any
other, there being only two eleficient in the
District.
The Washington street church, Peters
burg, contributed the largest amount for
Conference collection, $244 08.
Princess Ann circuit rave the largest
Conference collection, $180 42.
From this report, it appears that all the
deficient preachers receive a pro-rata share
of the Conference collection, which, in mv
hunible judgment, is just as it should be.
Very Respectfully,
L. W. MARTIN.
Cumberland co., N. C.
P. S. According to a rough estimate,
(for I have not gone over the figures the
second time) the aggregate claims of all
the preachers in the Virginia Conference,
as far as reported, amount to $34181 44
and the aggregate paid, was, $30310 00.
I have left out the Danville District in
all the foregoing calculations.
From the JJ. C. Christian "Advocate.
A Dark Picture.
W owned
thousands. If he had
done right he
might have accomplished
great good. He thought he was a liberal
man he often said so but his gifts were
small, infrequent and (his neighbors
thought) not very cheerfully bestowed.
He had so much property to take care of
and so much business to attend to, that
his mind was seldom at rest, and really he
appeared,, and must have been, an unhap
py man. When he had acquired his thous
ands he was as covetous as when he had
only hundreds ; it was from hahU and ava
rice though for the manlier motives that
directed his earlier labors no longer exist
ed. 'Twas ten o'clock a stormy night when,
after a day of toil and bustle, he sat by
his fireside and mused. Conscience availed
itself of the opportune moment and said to
him--" What are you eloing, these day's?''
He replied, " I am laboring diligently and
honestly, like a good citizen and a worthy
man." " What do you labor so much
for 'asked Conscience. " Because" said
he, "I make money by it and every man
ought to be industrious and thrive." " But
what do you want with gain and what are
you doing with what you have already
made ? ' inquired Conscience. He replied,
" it's mine I worked for it and I use it
as I please." C. askeel, " are you sure
3'ou are right in declaring it is yours to be
used at pleasure ? Don't you owe all you
hi'.ve, and more too, to God ?" " What I
work for is mine I don't beg I don't steal
I give to good causes I treat all my friends
well at my houseI have cheated no man,
don't tell lies for profit, and therefore I
think I have a good right to enjoy what I
have delved for with so much privation"
said his miserly soul.
Here conscience left him, and with self.
complaceujy, he retired to his bed It was
a soft and pleasant ur.e was made for the
rich man. He didn't even bend his knee
to God that nighthe was so tired that he
thought the Lord did not require the ser
vice. As soon as he lay down he began
thinking over his business matters and
continued till he dropped asleep.
That night there were helpless ones
weeping, and their cry went up poor chil
dren shivering and hungry, and they were
seen by an eye that never sleeps interests,
freighted with the hopes and happiness of
humanity, languishing, and they were no
ticed by him who loves to be merciful
sinners perishing for the bread of life, and
they were in sight of nim ,who died to save
them.
Theaogel wrote upon his record : "W
is guilty of lying his property is not his
own-tis God's. lie is stained with the
crime of selfishness for he uses his means
as he pleases does his own will instead of
God's. lie is always sinning by perver
ting what is entrusted to him he oujht to
do good i'-ith h is money. He is a vile hy
pocritefor with all the above he pretends
to be a christian."
God saw the dark entry and pointing to
the sword that Justice held unsheathed
He said : " Cut him down !" 'Twas done.
When his obituary was written W
was called an honest, quiet, christian man
but his son I icas in hell.
A. W. M.
SELECTIONS.
From the Nashville Ch. Advocate.
On Dress.
Why don t you gel married ?'
This question we put to a young man,
not half a year ago, iu the course of a free
and friendly conversation. He is an in
dustrious, sens ble young man, cresses
decently, keeps to good society, of steady
habitswithal, good-looking. After laying
before us his finances and business prospects
which were moderate and hopeful, the idea
was suggested to him that he was now at
a point in life when he ought to marry;
and as it was evident at a glance that he
could if he would, there must be some un
known difficulty in his way. ' Why don't
ou get married ?'
' The fact is, sir, I would like to, but I
can't afford it."
4 Can't afford it ! and getting $1800 a
year salary, with certainty of its increase,
and, at no far day, may rise to a partner.
Surely, that will do to begin on.'
A difficulty did appear, and that in a
few words. He was clerk in a dry-goods
store where fashionable ladies most do con
gregatehad seen, across the counter, many
a young lady who fancied fine dresses and
fine things, and made such bills, with a
matter-of-course and easy air, that it scar
ed him. ' Never could stand such licks as
that. One day's shopping would use up
a month's wages. Other things must be
in proportion. And yet I have a feeling
on the subjeet of this sort : I would not
like to marry a young lady w ho had been
used to luxury, and not be able to keep
her going at the same rates. And I see
they don't lose the taste even afterward.'
This put us into a brown study, in be
half of an institution which descended to
man from Paradise. Marriage is a matter
of statistics ; and Mr. Buckle and writers
in his line eleclare, notwithstanding all the
poetry, the sentiment, and moonbeams
floating on the surface, that it is regulated,
as much as any thing else, by the price of
corn. In this talk with a sensible young
man, we came right up to one of these ma
terial and prudential barriers. Aud we
thought to thank him 4 for a text,' and say
a few words to women: (we prefer that
word to ladies, when serious it is scriptur
al., The substance of all we have to say is,
that fine dressing defeats itself.
Delicate subject; we know it. Our
contemporaries of the press touch it with
tip-ends and an apology. For instance, a
staid Calvinistic paper has a word of cau
tion. See how be says it 'With your
leave, ma'am' Hope I don't intrude :'
4 We have always been rather shy in
touching upon the subject of ladies' dress.
4 1. Beeaust it is rather a delicate sub
ject, by intermeddling with which we might
stir up resentful feelings where we would
prefer smiles.
4 2. Because it being a subject not
strictly within our editorial province, we
might hazard being told in rather rough
terms, ' It is none of your business.'
3. Because fashion is a capricous nymph,
who will not amend until she pleases, and
when she changes, it may be for the -worse
instead of the better ; hence we stand aloof.
' 4, And finally. Because we do not fan
cy spending our ink, in vain,, as would be
the case in this instance.
' It will, however, be no deviation from
our rule merely to suggest to the ladies
that the present fashion of sweeping hoops,
so materially modifies the relative distanc
es between the wc.rer and other 'objects,
as to make it important that ladies should
modify and amend their former notions of
distances. Toyjiiin our meaning. A
lad in former tix.rf might very justly con
clude that her position was a safe one when
standing two feet from a fire, while the in
troduction of crinoline requires that dis
tance to be at least doubled. Forgetfulness
of this has caused some painful and even
fatal accidents. Ncihing is more frightful
than a blazing dress with an interesting
woman inside of it, and especially if that
dress be so constructed as to defy the ap
plication of the ordinary modes of extin
guishment. Lady Lucy and Lady Char
lotte Bridgman, daughters of the Earl of
Bradford, have recently fallen victims to
this fashion. Surrounded by all the lux
uries of high life, gay, bright, and happy,
little thinking of danger, their light and
gossamer dresses, sweeping be3-ond their
reach, are suddenly in a blaze ; scarred
with burns, and agonized with pain, they
linger for a faw days, and then become
tenants of the tomb! Surely we may at
least warn our lady readers that the pres
ent fashion is a dang.-rous one without un
usual caution.'
Somebody who visited the Springs last
season and he will be apt, if he lives and
goes, to see the same things next season
gives this description of a fashionable lady :
' Indeed, the fashionable lady at the
Springs comes to a task of dressing which
is not to be envied. Most of her waking
hours, even if she has no balls or hops to
dress for, are laborious hours. For dres
sing is her substantive employment ; it is
for this she has come to the Springs. So
she must, on her first waking iu the mor
ning, dress for her walk to the Springs,
then she mnst (uaJp home and iut on
auovuTir liarkis l&r e-sauasi:. Jiuen biie
must unharness and harness up wholly
anew for dinner; then, for tea, all the la
bor of changing her cumbrous harness must
be repeated. This often involves more than
she can do alone. The hairdresser must
be called in, and there must be a toil of
currying as well as harnessing. This is
an expensive as well as laborious work.
Judge of this from a single case. A lady
was here not long sinee, and, when about
to leave, she told the landlady, in all so
berness, as if it were a matter of course,
that she had been here thirty days, and
that she had only thirty changes of dress,
and therefore she could stay here no lon
ger ; for she could not wear the same dress
twice at the same place. She must now,
as a matter of economy, go to Newport,
where, with the same dresses, she could
spend thirty days more. This is a fair
sample of the fashionables here. Every
summer brings thousands of just this class
of miserable creatures, slaves of absurd
fashion, here.'
We commend the reader to imitate the
example of a lady in one of the leading cir
cles of Washington. A gentleman com
plimented her upon the simplicity and taste
of her apparel. She replied : ' I am glad
you like my dress ; it cost just seven dol
and I made every stitch of it myself.' It
is very evident, from the foregoing, that
dress is a good or evil educator, in the
family. As such it demands the attention
of parents, that it may not become a snare
and curse to children. Perhaps the best
rule to regulate dress is that which New
ton gave a woman who asked his opinion :
' Madam, so dress tfnd so conduct yourself
that persons who have been in your com
pany shall not recollect what you have on.'
We herald an approaching crisis. Look
out for sights ! A Paris letter-writer gives
the following description of an article
which has just been revived by the ladies
of that city, and which will, of course, pre
sently cross the Atlantic :
' I am half inclined to say that the great
est of all events just now is the invention
of a new dress. But such a dress ! If
husbands and fathers were ill-advised
enough to raise an outcry about crinoline,
what will they do now? The dress I speak
of is one to make which about twenty eight
or thirty yards of stuff are required, and
the vestment is thought to look best when
made of velvet ! Now just fancy a dress
of thirty yards, composed of velvet, at six
dollars a yard. The garment itself is little
less than what used, under Louis XIV.
and XV., to be called a ' grand habit.' It
is a visiting-dress, and is curious as to its
form and sit. Skirt and body hang togeth
er, are held to each other by the back in a
very singular manner ; the back of the body
spreading out into a kind of long, large
cape, as it falls upon the skirt. The body
is rather loose, like what is called a ' car
aco,' and does not fit to the waist. The
dress buttons all down the front ; the width
of the dress at the bottom is eight yards.
and upon every seam are sown ornaments
J in passementerie, called ' brandebouras.'
Sut-h a tlress may easily be brought to cost
$1000, and cannot cost under $150.'
More young men, who would make the
best husbands, will be scared off, and that,
alas, by the very means resorted to attract
them. They ought, they will count the
cost. As the marriage form says, it ' is
not by any to Jjc entcrprised or taken in
hand unadvisedly,' but ' discreetly.'
. Beyond extravagant dressing, there is
n inf.'r.'-neR ennnli" daninopin"'. viz. : that
j those who devote themselves to it know
little of any thing else. Men do not want
! dolls for wives. A little household knowl-
edge in the wife is of vast importance in
setting out well in life. ' Georgia Scenes,'
by Judge Longstveet, deserves to live, if
for nothing else, for one 'Ver true tale"
in it ' The Beautiful Creature as a Wife.'
It were worthy of consideration how
much the want of family discipline, domes
tic virtue and happiness, and home piety,
is owing to the previous want of domestic
traiuins: in wives and mothers. If some
of the time spent in thumbing harps and
guitars were devoted to the philosophy of
churning, the hj'drodynamics of washing
clothes, and the chemistry of making light
bread, it would be well.
But to return to our text, the young
man whose half sorrowful words we wish
to sound in the ears of the daughters of
this generation he represents thousands.
In a city of the sunny South a young
couple were walking the streets unmar
ried yet, perhaps unengaged ; but initial
friendship was proceeding very fairly in
that direction. They passed a stand where
the Sower-girls stood. The air was redo
lent of roses aud violets, and faultless taste
hail combined them in bouquets, fringed
with evergreens. ' Will you have one ?'
Lady selected a bouquet, scented it waved
it and was charmed. ' How much ?' The
sharp-eyed quadroon had taken lessons
from Cupid as Tell as Mercury. She saw
that she had the young man, and, instead
of saying ' two bits,' she said ' five dollars !'
He was loug enough getting out his change
to give his fair companion an opportunity
tortion. But she made no signs of retur
ning or refusing it, rather than have him
imposed on. What was five dollars ! lie
paid it. A slang phrase would say, he
sloped after that, In the words of our
young man, ' he could not stand such licks.'
Lady lost a beau, for a bouquet.
In conclusion, let us refer to the Discip
line. One of the General Rules which
we believe we are taught of God to observe,
even in his written word, and which his
Spirit writes on truly awakened hearts
forbids ' the putting on of gold and costly
apparel.' The word ' gold' here is gene
ric. If ever the time should come when
silver or steel should be the badge of pride
and worldlymindedncss and more expen
sive than gold, the rule would equally for
bid them. Further on theee is a section
on Dress, (p. 123.) We give it entire:
4 Quest. Shall we insist on the rule
concerning dress ?'
4 Ans. By all means. This is no time
to give encouragement to superfluity of ap
parel. Therefore let every preacher in
charge direct the attention of those com
mitted to his care to the General Rule on
this subject, and to the Holy Scriptures on
which it is based ; mildly yet earnestly
urging them to keep the same.'
The best Itecommendation.
A youth seeking employment went to
one of our large cities, and on inquiring at
a certain counting room if they wished a
clerk, was told that they did not. On
mentioning the recommendations he had,
one of which was from a highly respectable
citizen , the merchant desired to see them ;
and in turning over his carpet bag to find
his letters, a book roiled out on the floor.
' What book is that ?' said the merchant.
4 It is the Bible, sir,' was the reply. 4 And
what are you going to do with that book
in New York ?' The lad looked seriously
into his face and replied, 4 1 promised my
mother I would read it ev ry day, and I
shall do it,' and burst into tears. The mer
chant considered that the best recommen
dation he could possibly get, and immedi
ately engaged the boy. In due time he
became a partner in the firm, one of the
most respectable in the city.
ISidingr a Hobby.
The Archbishop of Dublin tells of a
horseman who, having lost his way, made
a complete circle; when the first round
was finished, seeing the marks of horse's
hoofs, and never dreaming that they were
those of his own beast, he rejoiced and
said, " This, at least, shows me that I am
in some track ! " When the second circuit
was finished, the signs of travel were dou
bled, and he said, 4 4 Now, surely, I am in
a beaten way ;" and with the conclusions of
every round, the marks increased, till he
was certain that he must be in some fre
quent thoroughfare, and approaching a
populous town ; but all the while he was
riding after his horse's tail, and deceived
by the track of his own error
So HLver.' "
with men that ride a hobby. '
My mother.
EXTRACTS FROM A FASHIONABLE WOMAN'S
DIARY.
Henry handed me a letter. It is my
mother's cramped, old-fashioned hand.
She will bo here the first of next week.
'Tis very foolish to think so, I know
but then those ftjh ion able TTj.niUton" -'J
be here. Mrs. Hamilton dresses with so
much taste, and mother will wear that old,
old silk. I almost wish she had decided to
come the week after I'll write and ask her
if she can put it off as well as not.
My wretchedness is unspeakable a world
of misery has fallen upon nie like a cloud.
I am steeped in sorrow to the very lips.
Oh ! my mother ! my mother !
Life is alternately light and shade, they
tell me. Alas ! my life is all a shadow,
and I seem creeping slowly down its long
vista, a reproach to myself and a trouble to
those I love.
My mother is dead. And T Oh ! heart
less ! sent her such a letter ! Everything is
black, black around me. My heart sinks
Oh ! that I too could die !
The splendors by which I am surround
ed mock me cruelly. The burden on my
conscience tel's me I have neglected her
that I have been ashamed of her dear.hard
working hands, her homeliness, her want
of knowledge pertaining to this heartless
world.
How carefully she brought me up, my
widowed mother with her slender means !
How she denied herself comforts that she
might minister to my little wants! How
proud she was of what they called beauty !
It is faded now. Aud I to think of her
slender wardrobe, hercloso Quaker caps,
her unpolished language, her old-fashioned
ways ! May God forgive me ! 'Tis the on
ly heartfelt prayer I have breathed since
the days of my childhood.
All is blank. The house seems like a
vast tomb. Its splendor wearies me. Oh !
could I but fall on my mother's bosom once
jciorc, anJ Vraato cut .iy eorrrw and ;iy
penitence there ! . Oh ! that I could see her
smile again wind my arms about her neck,
feel her warm embrace.
itother ! word that I have abused, ma
ternal heart that I have forsaken, wounded,
now forever at rest in the grave.
On ihe Uth.
I have seen my mother. Not soon shall
I forget that meek, white face, and the
lips so mute ! the gentle lips always ready
to bless me. The eyes were dim that saw
naught but perfection in me.
I have been to the little cottage where I
was born. Doubly dear seemed every part
of that old house. The floor ifl the wide
kitchen was white and sanded, just the
same as when I was last there. But over
opposite in the pleasant parlor she lies pla
cidly. Dreary sight ! They wonder at my ex
cess of grief. They would not, knew they
my self-reproaches, thi crushing weight
upon my spirit. As I stood by that cof
fin, I heard again the 44 God bless my
daughter." It was murmured through
smiles and tears on the morning of my wed
ding day. I remember the sad forebodings
which sometimes sank in my heart when
the rich stranger sought the favorite child,
my wayward self How she implored me
to be humble ! to bear my exhaltation
meekly. Can it be that she will never
speak to ine again ? So white the brow,
so stony, so cold !
On the 18h.
They have laid her away. They have
buried my heart with her. It was in the
storm. The rain dripped from the win
dows, the turf was soaked with water.
The little white church, where she had led
me so often by the hand, looked gray
through the mist. The very birds chirped
mournfully under their wet roof leaves.
Black,andoh ! so fearfully the grave yawn
ed at my feet. Terrible ! I thought she
might not be dead, and I laid my hand up
on her forehead. Cold, icy cold! I shriek
ed aloud I could not restrain my feelings.
That dear, gray-haired minister ! Ser
vant of Jesus for nearly fourscore and ten
years, he pitied me.
Touchingly he spoke of her sweet resig
nation, adding that as she died she sang,
4 'Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows arc."
He told, with unsteady voice, how ten
derly she had spoken of her children of
me far away, drowned in the pleasures
of wealth.
I sobbed aloud.
Nor could I, look, as they lowered the
coffin. I shut my eyes, and for a moment
felt as if I never cared to open them again.
When I looked up, ten thousand pris
matic hues flashed upon my sight. The
sun had burst from the thick clouds, and
every round jewel of the rain caught a tint
of beauty from its glowing rays.
44 And there shall be no night there;
and they need no candle, neither the light
of the sun ; fur the Lord God givcth them '
light; and they shall reign forever and
Thus said the gray -haired man. Every
word iank into my soul, and I drank in
their inspiration. My mother was then
an angel in heaven, glorious! radiant!
Heaven never seemed so near to me be
fore. It was but for a moment.
The earth rattled upon her grave. Tho
clouds drew gloomy and drifted together.
A quick, heavy shower set the leaves fo
trembling. The branches swung and sigh-
Must we an '"
We walked slowly oh Thru,
' 9.1 1,
eled walks. Somebody had dropped flow
ers along, red and white, and sprays of
iuignonnettc, and they had faded there.
The old sexton stood at the gate, with
his hat off. As I passed him, I caught
the words, spoken softly, 44 God llcss her.'
. The rtturn.
The rain had ceased again. A flood of
red sunshine bathed the little cottage. Tho
wet jasmin loaded the air with its perfume.
It seemed for the moment, as if everything
arouud the house looked doubly beautiful.
The dark black-ground of clcudu, not yet
broken, was the onhy thing in unison with
the stdness of our hpirits.
She was not there i Wo saw the top of
the old chair in which she always sat at tho
west window.
Within oh ! how desolate ! There was
the little, low rocking chair by the corner;
a stand by its side, on which lay the fami
ly Bible ; and there, too, lyiDg sadly, as
if conscious that their work was done, my
mother's old spectacles were folded on the
green baize cover. I bent over and lifted
her little work-basket. Everything was in
order the work all arranged her little
book of 44 Daily Food" in its accustomed
nook. I took it from thenca and laid it in
my bosom. God helping me. I will read
it as she did.
We sat down to supper, but could not
talk. At every turn our eyes met some
thing that called up tears and sighs afresh.
Here, her choice flowers, her favorite ger
anium just bursting into blossom. There,
a Tttle porcelain vase, in which she had
kept hot- yemiif" tor thi cuurcn C5;l"ct.c:;.
Hard, indeed, it seemed to realizo how
far she slept beneath our feet.
Can I forget this sorrow ? Shall I plunge
into the follies of fashion again ?
God forbid ! Peterson's Magazine.
Deifying the Female Sex.
Rev. Dr. Alexander, in his recent vol
ume of Sermons, utters the following sol
emn warning :
What a horrid fraud Satan is practicing
on the Church in regard to the daughters
of the covenant ! In fashionable circles
dare I name them Christians the years
where girlhood merges into maturity arc
frequently sold to the adversary. The young
American woman is taught to deem herself
a goddess. If there be wealth, if there bo
accomplishments, if there bo beauty, al
most a miracle seems necessary to prevent
the loss of the soul. Behold her pass from
the pedestal to the altar. The charming
victim is decked for sacrifice. Every
breath that cemies to her is incense. Her
very studies are to fit her for admiration.
Day and night, tho gay but wretched
maiden is taught to think of selfish pleas
ures. Till some Lenten fashion of solemn
ity interrupt the whirl, the season is too
short for the engagements. Grave parents
shake their heads at magnificent apparel,
a L . . - .
costly gems, night turned into day ; dan
ces, at which the Romans would have
blushed, pale" checks, bending frames,
threatened decay : and yet they allcw and
submit. And thus tho sex, which ought
to show the sweet, unselfish innocency of
a holy youth, is carried to the overheated
temples of pleasure. T mJTer daily,'
Christian verifies the Apostle's UJ4xrlc, -
,She that liveth it pleasure is dead while
she liveth.
It is Fated.
4 A gentleman some years ago, while
traveling in a railway carriage, was loqua
ciously defending the doctrine that God had
decreed everything that comes to pass. A
shrewd countryman was listening, but made
no remark till the next topic of conversa
tion turned up, which happened to be the
murder of a magistrate in a neighboring
county. The nredestinarian gentleman
launched out in no measured terms against
the murderer. 4 Sir,' said the countryman,
4 do you know whether there is a reward
for the murderer ?' The other replied, 4 1
believe there is.' 4 Then I woule recom
mend you to claim it,' said the countryman.
Is it I,' said the other with astonishment,
I know nothing about it.' Yes, but vou
do,' was the reply, 4 for you have told us
that God decreed everything, and hence
he decreed that thing ; you have nothing
to do but to call at the first magistrate's
office you come to, and Bwear against your
Maker, and get the ready."
John S. C. Abbott, the Historian,
has been preaching in Maine since Novera-
her last
o