THE
SUN.
RELIGION WITHOUT BIGOTRY; ZEAL WITHOUT FANATICISM; LIBERTY WITHOUT LICENTIOUSNESS.
Volume XXX.
SUFFOLK, VA., FEIDAY, MAY 25, 1877.
Number 21,
SWEET CANAAN LAND.
BY RKV. J. K. RANKIN, D. D.
Heaven is to me, no foreign strand,
No foreign strand to me I
It is mydieart’s snoot Canaan land,
Sweet Canaan land to me :
It is the home for which I long ;
The theme of tireless earthly song :
Sweet Canaan land to me 1
Heaven ip,to me, sweet Canaan land,
Sweet Canaan land to me !
Its mansions fair I sec them stand,
I see thorn stand for me.
For, there, before his Father’s face,
Jesus for me prepares a place :
Sweet Canaan land to me !
With milk and honey flows that land,
Sweet Canaan land to me !
With verdure fair, its fields expand,
Sweet Canaan land to me!
My wanderings and my sins all o’er,
My soul’s sweet rest for evermore !
Sweet Canaan land to me.
Come with me, to that Canaan land,
Sweet Canaan land to me 1
Why on its borders waiting stand ?
Sweet Canaan land to me.
Come with me, walk its fields so fair,
Come with me all its glories share !
Sweet Canaan land to me !
eUriiang,
A QUARRELSOME NEIGHBOR.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
“That man will be the death of me
yet,” said Paul Levering. He looked
worried out, not angry.
“Thee means Dick Hardy !”
“Yes.”
“What has he been doing to thee
now!” asked the questioner, a Friend
named Isaac Martin, a neighbor.
“He’s always doing something,
friend Martin. Scarcely a day passes
that I don’t have complaint of him.
Yesterday one of the boys came and
told me he saw him throw a stone at
my now Durham cow, and strike her
on the head/.'V
“That’s ve afbad, friend Levering.
Does thee "Know why he did this!
Was thy Durham trespassing on his
ground !”
“No, she wits only looking over the
fence. He has a spite against me
and mine, and does all he can to in
jure mo. You know the fine Bart
lett pear-tree that stauds in the Con
ner of my lot adjoining his property !’,
“Yep.”
“Two large limbs full of fruit hung
over on his side. You would hardly
believe it, but it is true; I was out
there just now, and discovered that
he had sawed off those two fine limbs
that huiig over on his side. They
i lay dowu upon the ground, and his
pigs were eatiug the fruit.”
“Why is Dick so spiteful to thee,
friend Leveriug ! He doesn’t annoy
me. What has thee done to him!”
“Nothiug of any consequence.”
“Thee must have done something^
Try and remember.”
“I know what first put him out—
I kicked an ugly old dog of his once.
The beast, half starved at home, I
suppose, was all the time prowling
~ about here, and snatched up
everything that came in his way.
One day I came upon him suddenly,
and gave him a tremendous kick that
sent him howling through the gate.
Unfortunately, as it turned out, the
dog’s master happen to be passing
along the road. The way he swore
at me was dreadful. I saw never a more
vindictive face. The next morning a
splendid Newfoundland, that I had
raised from a pup, met me shivering
at the door, with his tail cut off. I
don’t know when I have felt so badly.
Poor fellow 1 his piteous looks haunt
me now; I had no proof against
Dick, but have never doubted as to
his agency iu the matter. In my
grief and indignation 1 shot the dog,
aud put him out of sight.”
“Thee was hasty in that, friend Lev
eriug,” said the Quaker.
“PerhapsI wasf though I have nev
er regretted the act. I met Dick a
few days afterwards. The grin of
satisfaction on his face I accepted as
an acknowledgment of his mean and
cruel revenge. Withiu a week from
that time one of my cows had a horn
knocked off.”
“What did thee do!”
“I went to Dick Hardy aud gave
him a piece of my mind.”
“That is, thee scolded and called
him hard names, and threatened.” •
“Yes—just so, friend Martiu.”
“Did any good come of it!” ■ „
“About as rnuoh good as though I
had whistled to the wind.”
“How has it%eeu since!”
“No change for the better; it
grows, if anything, worse and worse.
Dick never gets weary of aunoying
we.”
“Hns thee e'ver tried the law with
him, friend Levering? The law
should protect thee.”
“O yes, I’ve tried the law'. Once
he ran his heavy wagon against my
carriage purposely, and upset mo in
the road. I made a narrow escape
with my life. The carriage was so
badly broken that it cost me fifty dol
lars for repairs. A neighbor saw the
whole thing, and said it was plainly
intended by Dick. So I sent, him the
carriage maker’s bill, at which he got
into a towering passion. Then I
threatened him with a prosecution,
and he laughed in my face malignant
ly. I felt the time had come to act
decisively, and I sued him, relying on
the eyidence of my neighbor. He
was afraid of Dick, and so worked his
testimony that the jury saw only an
accident instead of a purpose to in
jure. After that Dick Hardy was
worse than ever. He took an evil
delight in annoying and injuring me.
I am satisfied that in more than cue
instance he left gaps in his fences in
order to entice my cattle into his
fields, that he might set his dogs on
them, and hurt them witli stones. It
is more than a child of mine dares to
cross his premises. Only last, week
he tried to put his dog on my littie
Florence, who had strayed into one
of his fields after butter cups. The
dog was less cruel than his master, or
she would have been torn by his teeth,
instead of being only frightened by
bis bark.”
“It’s a bard case, truly, fVieud Lev
ering. Our neighbor Hardy seems
possessed of an evil spirit.”
“The spirit of the devil,” was an
swered with feeling.
“He’s thy ^nemy, assuredly ; and if
thee does not get rid of him he will
do thee great harm. Thee must, if
thee would dwell in safety, friend
Levering.”
[The Quaker’s face was growing
very serious. Ha spoko iu a lowered
voice, and beut toward his neighbor
in a confidential manner.|
“Thee must put him out of the way.”
“Friend Martiu!” The surprise of
Paul was unfeigned.
“Thee must kill him.”
The countenance of Levering grew
black with astonishment.
“Kill him I” ho ejaculated.
“If thee doesn’t kill him he’ll.cer
tainly kill thee one of these days,
friend Levering. And thee knows
what is said about self preservation
being the first law of nature.”
“And get hung I”
“I don’t think they’ll hang thee,”
coolly returned the Quaker. ‘‘Thee
can go over to his place and get him
all alone by thyself. Or thee can
meet him in some by-road, Nobody
need see tlieo, and when he’s dead I
think people will be more glad than
sorry.”
“Do you thiuk I’m no better than a
murderer; I, Paul Levering, stain my
hands with blood 1”
“Who said anything about stain
ing thy hands with blood f” said the
Quaker, mildly.
“Why, you!”
“Thee’s mistaken. I never used
the word blood.”
“But you meant it. You suggested
murder.”
“No, friend Levering, I advised
thee to kill thy enemy, lest some day
he should kill thee.”
“Isn’t killing murder, I should like
to know !” demanded Levering.
“There are more ways than one to
kill an enemy,” said the Quaker.—
“I’ve killed a good many iu my time
and no stain of blood can be found on
my garments. My icay of killing ene
mies is to make them friends. Kill
ueighbor Hardy with kindness, and
thee’ll have no more trouble with
him.”
A sudden light gleamed over Mr.
Levering’s face, as if a cloud had pass
ed. “A new way to kill people.”
“The surest way to kill enemies, as
thee’ll find, if thee’ll only try.”
“Let me see. How shall we go
about it t” said Paul Levering, taken
at once with the idea.
“If thee has the will, friend Lever
ing, it will not be long before thee
finds the way.”
And so it proved. Not two hours
afterwards, as Mr. Levering was driv
ing into the village, he touud Dick
Hardy with a stalled cart-load of
stone. He was whipping his horse
and swearing at him passionately,
but to no purpose. The cart wheels
were buried half-way to the axles in
stiff mud, and defied the strength of
one horse to move them. Oil seeing
Mr.;Levering, Dick stopped pulling
and swearing, and, getting on the
cart, commenced pitching the stones
offon to the side of the road.
“Hold on a bit, friend Hardy,” said
Levering, in a pleasant voice, as he
dismounted and uuhitched his horse.
But Dick pretended not hear, and
kept ou pitching off the $ tones, “Hold
on, I say, and don’t give yotugelf all
that trouble,” added Mr. Levering,
speaking in a louder voice, but in
kind and cheerful tones. “Two hor
ses are better than one. With Char
lie’s help we’ll soon have the wheels
on solid ground again.”
Understanding now what was
meant, Dick’s hands fell almost nerve
less by his side. “There,” said Lev
ering, as he put his horse in front of
Dick’s and made the traces fast, “one
pull, and the thing is done.” Before
Dick could get down from the cart it
was ont of the mud-hole, and without
saying a word more, Levering unl'as
I tened his horse from the front of
Dick’s animal, and hitching up, again
I rode on.
On the next day Mr. Levering saw
Dick Hardy in the act of strengthen
ing a bit of weak fence, through
which LeveriDg’s cattie had broken
once or twice, thus removing tempta
tion, and saving the cattle from be
ing beaten and set on by dogs.
“Thee's given him a bad wound,
friend Levering,” said the Quaker, on
getting information of the two inci
dentsjust mentioned, “and it will be
thy own fault if thee does not kill
him.”
.\ot long afterward, in the face of
an approaching; storm, and while Dick
Hardy was hurrying to get in some
clover hay, liis 'Wagon broke down.
Mr. Levering, who saw from one of
his fields the incident, and under
stood what its loss might occasion,
hitched up his own wagon and sent
it over to Dick’s assistance. With a
storm coining on that might last for
days, and ruin from two to three tons
of hay, Dick could not decline the
offer, though it went against the
grain to accept a favor from the man
he had hated for years, and injured
in so many ways.
On the following morning Mr. Lev
ering had a visit from Dick Hardy.
It was raining fast. “I’ve come,”
said Dick, stammering and confused,
and looking down on the ground in
stead of into Mr. Levefiug’s face, “to
pay yon for the use of your team yes
terday, in getting in my hay. I should
have lost it if you hadn’t sent your
wagon, and it is only right I should
pay you for the use of it.”
“I should be very sorry,” answered
Paul Levering, cheerily, “ifI couldn’t
do a neighborly turn without pay.—
You are quite welcome, friend Hardy,
to the wagon. I am more than paid
in knowing that you saved that nice
field of clover. How much did you
get ?”
“About three tons. But, Mr. Lev
ering, I must”—
“Not a- word, it' you don’t want, to
offend me,” interrupted Levering. “I
trust there isn’t a man around here
that wouldn’t do as much for a neigh
bor iu time of need. Still, if you feel
embarrassed—if you don’t- wish to
stand my debtor, pay me iu good
will.”
Dick Hardy raised his eyes slowly,
and looking in a strange, wondering
way as Mr. Levering reached out his
baud. |Hardy grasped it with a quick,
short grip, and then, as if to hide his
feelings that were becoming too
strong, dropped it, and went off has
tily.
“Thee’s killed him !” said the Qua
ker. on his next meetiug with Lever
ing ; “thy enemy is dead !”
‘‘Slain by kindness,” answered Paul
Lorering, “which you supplied.”
“No, thee took it from God’s arm
ory, where all men may equip them
selves without charge, and become
invincible,” replied the Quaker.—
“And I trust, for thy peace and safe
ty, thee will never use any other
weapons in fighting with thy ueigli
bors. They are sure to kill.” —
SALVATION OF CHILDREN.
I hate to hear people say, ‘They
have received a pack of children into
the chufch.’ ‘A pack of children !’
Yes, and if Jesus carries them in his
bosom, surely you are not imitatiug
much of bis spirit, when yon look
down upon them or despise them. To
me one soul is as good as another. 1
rejoice as much in the addition oftho
poorest mechanic to this church as if
lie were a peer,of the realm. I am
grateful to God when I hear of repen
tance in the young as in the aged, for
souls, after all, are not affected in
value by rank or age. Immortal spir
its are all priceless, and not to be
weighed iu the scale with worlds. I
pray yon, therefore, rejoice if the
Spirit of God dwells in the lowly or in
the great, in the young or in the old.
He is the self-same spirit; He makes
each renewed person equally his
temple, and each saved one is equally
a jewel of Christ, dear to the heart of
the Eternal Father, beloved by Him
who redeemed all bis people alike
with his most presious blood.—Spur
g (on,
THE CHURCH AND THE SUNDAY SCHOOL
In answer to an inquiring friend we
undertake to make some suggestions
respecting the relation of the church
to the Sunday School.
We have known not a few cases
where the relation is simply that of
landlord and tenant. The church
provides the building; generally
warms and lights and partially fur
nishes iL_ That is all—absolutely all.
The Sunday School pays all its own
expenses; furnishes its own library ;
gets up its own'religions services and
social entertainments; appoints its
own teachers; elects its own officers.
In these eases the Sunday School
could hardly be more distant from the
church if it were a village lyceuw or
a Shakespearean Club.
We have known more cases in
which the relation attempted by the
church, but resisted by the school, is
that of master and servant, or board
of directors and corporation agents.
The Sunday School is, as in the other
case, allowed to furnish its own funds,
pick up its own teachers, get, as best
it can, its own instruments of instruc
tion—question-books, lesson-papers,
library, etc. If there is work to be
done the Sunday-school may do it;
if there is money to be spent the Sun
day School may get it. But the min
ister and one or two of the elders
have one strong point; they are sure
that the church ought to supervise the
Sunday School. So when the Sunday
School has fixed on a time of service,
the church, which never attends a
session, feels called on to substitute
some other time; when .the Sunday
School proposes a picnic the super
vising elder is all ready to interpose
a veto: when the Sunday School
votes to jjdopt the International Se
ries the supervising elder insists that
it ought to study something else;
when it initiates a movement to get
a new library he is fruitful of cap
tious complaints respecting Sunday
School books. He is prolific in objec
tions, but barren of practical help ;
furnishes abundant criticism hut
never any cash.
Now we believe that the church
ought to supervise the Sunday School;
but it must lay a basis for supervision
iu sympathy and support. -
It is the duty of.the church to pro
vide the Sunday School with funds.
To leave the Sunday School, as some
churches do, to furnish its own trea
sury out of theeoppers of the scholars
is to be stingy to one’s own children ;
and that is the supreme consummation
of meanness. Should not children be
taught to give? Ceitaiuly they
should; - but not to give by taking
out of one pocket into the other.
Free seliool through the week and
pay school on Sundays is a contrast
no whit more honorable to the church
because the children pay for their tui
tion under a very thin disguise ol
contributions. It is the business of
the church to pay all the expenses of
the school.
... To make the children pay their own
way is bad enough; to make them a
set of paupers, to beg their spiritual
living by selling tickets to fairs and
concerts and what not, is even worse.
This is to make religion an excuse for
self abasement. The Sunday School
ought never to go a begging.
Then the church ought to provide
the school with teachers. Not by suf
fering a supervising elder to come
round once a month and play the
part of a pious Paul Pry; but by
stimulating its members to offer their
services as recruiting officers in the
flekl or drill officers in the drill-room.
Some active Sunday School worker
ought always to be a member of the
Session or the Examining Committee,
partly to give the church information
respecting cases of religions interest
in the school, partly impress into
the service of tho school new members
as they couieiututhe church.
If the church furnishes the teachers,
and the church furnishes the funds,
it will find no difficulty iu exerting a
moral control over the administra
tion. It will have earned the right
to do so, and that fact will be recog
nized. It has no rights that it does
not earn. A mere landlord has no
right to intermeddle with the domes
tic concerns of bis tenant, even though
the landlord is a church and the ten
ant is a Sunday School.
What as to the relation which the
pastor should sustain to his Sunday
School i
The ideal pastor is its chief execu
tive. He may not be, eo nomine, its
superintendent; but the superinten
dent will really be his adjutant. This
is the relation, if we mistake not, sus
tained to their Sunday Schools by
the two Tvngs, father and son. This
was the relation sustained by Mr.
Moody to his. Hut to fill this’relntiou
the minister must bo au ideal miuis
ev, a uiau of real executive ability, a
' judge of human uatnre, able to con
! trol, without seeming to do so, skill
I foi, tactical, wise as a serpent and
| harmless as a dove. If lie is wise as
a dove or harmless as a serpent he
had better leave the Sunday school
alone.
The pastor may be a teacher ; but
’ iti that case he ought to be a teacher
10/the school rather than a teacher t>t
it. The teacher in it must be subor
dinate te the superintendent. The
superintendent must be subordinate
to the pastor. They will both be rare
men if they can live in reserved rela
tions, each the head. If the pastor is.
“apt to teach” it is better for him to
give ten minutes to-the-whole'school
than half an hour to the Bible class ;
or an evening to the teachers’ meet
ing than a Sunday afternoon to a
class in school.
Or he may be content to he .simply
counselor. In that ease he will be
generally wise if he reserves bis
counsel till it, is asked for. Unasked
advice is always liable to be resented
as unauthorized assumption.
Finally he may have no relation
whatever to the Sunday School. This
is perhaps the most common relation.
And where it exists, or where with a
previous pastor it has existed, a
change must be managed with deli
cacy. Revolutions are likely to be
accompanied with riots. It takes!
time for things that have been wrong
to grow right. Marriage without
previous- courtship is apt to lead to
divorce. - >,
All roles have their exceptions.
These rules have many. But they
may suffice, if not to answer the in
quiries of inquiring friends, at least
to set them on the road to answers of
their own-—Christian Union.
MINISTERIAL FLATTERY.
Few there are who had the good for
tune to be settled under the minis-1
trations of the late Dr. Bethune who
do not cherish peculiar as well as
precious memories of this gifted man.
Sometimes his peculiarities Hash
across us so vividly that involunta
rily the smile will form upon the lip
or the tear gather in the eve. One
such remembrance comes to us now
with unusual freshness.
He, like every other faithful minis
ter of God’s word, delighted to have
his people tell him when a sermon
had proven a comfort or a help—while
he turned with aversion from fulsome
flattery or adulation.
Well can the writer recall his beagn
ino- smile, when, ou a certain occa
sion, after delivering a deeply t bought!
out and carefnWy-written sermon, she
approached him with a few words of
earnest thanks, for a sermon so well
adapted (as she thought) to one of!
his hearers, for whom she had long
prayed, and who had become imbued
with German skepticism.
“ibank you—tuank yon. was cue ;
glad reply. “Tiiat sermon had been
prepared with the utmost care, and,
while delivering it, it appeared so
heavy, I thought no one could be
helped thereby, and now you make
me very happy.”
But to my story. He always gath
ered around him once a week a ladies’
Bible class, and the instructions there
received we think will never be for
gotten. After the class was over, he
would chat familiarly with us in little
groups. _
One afternoon a good woman,
though something of a flatterer, ap
proached him saying, “O doctor, what
a charming sermon you gave us last
Sabbath, it was beautiful, everybody
said so 1 ’
No reply was given, but simply
raising, his eyes, which seemed almost
hidden beneath his massive brow, lie
looked across the room and motioned
for a very bright but plain-spoken
lady to come to him.
“Mys. C.,” he said in a loud tone,1
“what did you think of my last Snu-:
day morning sermon ?”
“If l must auswer frankly, doctor,”
was the reply, “I think it was mis
erably poor.”
Then turning to the writer he said,
“And what did you think of itf’
“Pretty much as Mrs. C. did,” wo
answered.
“Well,” he said with a peculiar
smile playing about the corners of
his tnoyth, “that was just about my
opinion of it.”
And without further remark of any
kind he turned away.
Not easily will the impression made
upon the mind of the writer or the
lesson learned thereby Be forgotten:
namely, that God’s faithful mi niggers
prize a word of true sympathy a thou
sand times more than fnlsome flatter
ies,—Ch, Weekly.
It is a proof of our natural bias to
evil, that gain is slower and harder
thau loss, in all things good ; but in
all thiugs bad, getting is quicker and
easier than getting rid of.
"LOOK AT MY EXPECTATIONS.”
I was riding.home ou Mouday mnr
ning, a distance of several miles, from
a town at which I had been preaching
on the previous Sabbath ; but during
the night a severe snow storm had
set in. partially blocking up the muds,
and the large (lakes that continued
I to fall made tile progress of my horse
very slow and very unsatisfactory. I
pitied him and myself, too; but luit
rtwiing up my thick overcoat, 1 fried
i to make the best of it ; and the ted
| innt of the way was beguiled by hope
and prayer concerning tire ministry
of the past day, and bright visions of
a cheery fire and warm welcome to
my home. .
Suddenly I was startled by the
click of a stone breaker’s hammer in
one part of the descried looking road ;
and, a/aiurn in the lane, Icould dim
ly (U^ern a stooping figure, which, as
"Tcaine nearer, proved"
er. prergdto be that of ;jn
old man, sitting at the lee side of ir
heap of stones, busily at work, but so
whitened by the snow that he might
have been hewn out of a block of
white marble.. I .ceased self-pity
then, and began to pity this poor la
borer who, then in his old age,
and in weather to which I was unwil
ling to expose my horse, had to spend
hours in such a position'of wearisome
and benumbing toil. Jle raised his
head at my approach, and as I stop
ped my horse opposite him, he rose
with difficulty and came slowly to my
side.
The words of sympathy that were
ou my lips were almost driven hack
by the sight of his face—it was so
calm and satisfied. A venerable
mquarch stepping forth from the
splendor and luxury of liis palace
could scarcely have worn a more be
nignant and thankful expression than
shone in the faeo of that storm-beat
en old stone breaker. Living epistles i
are not always so easily “known and!
read of all men'’ as might lie wished ; |
but in this ease the writing was so
distinct and clear that 1 felt sure that
lie was a Christian, before a word
had been exchanged betweciVus; and
the result proved I was not mistak
en. r
I opened the conversation by offer
ing him a tract, and saying: “I dare
say you will be glad of something to i
read.77
“Thank you kindly, sir,” said lie}
with glistening eyes ; “we are quite j
out of the way of such things, for our!
little place is at the foot of that hill}
over there, and there.-i.s_ not another
house within a mile of us. I’m not j
much-of a scholar myself, but my j
old woman can read quite well, aud
she’ll .read it to me next Sunday."
“Do you often go to a place of ;
worship 1”
“Ob, yes; at least 1 go regularj
when the roads are anything like pas
sable ; and my wife goes, too, when
ever she can move about, lor the
rheumatics. It’s the matter of a good ;
mile from where we live, but it's full,
payment for all the trouble, to hear [
such comfortable words about the j
blessed Saviour that shed his own
blood to save poor sinners like us.’’
“And you trust in this Saviour?’ I
asked though I felt the question
scarcely necessary.
“Oh, yes, I’ve done chat for years,” i
he answered, simply, “ever since I
felt that I was a sinuer, and the min
ister preached from, ‘This Man re
coivetli sinners.’ It went straight to
the heart, and I knew he would re
ceive me, and I've had nothing but
good times ever since; there’s been
such a heaven of peace in my soul.”
“And are you obliged to work'll ere
every day ?” I asked. “It certainly
does not seem lit for you to be out in
weather like this.”
“It’s either working or starving,
sir,” he said, quietly. “lean earn a
shilling a day at this job, and I can’t
afford to lose one shilling out of the
six, as you may suppose.”
“And you never murmur, my good
friend?” I said, looking almost with
envy at the placid face before me. |
“Nay, muster, why should I ? I've
got a peaceful home and the best of j
wives, and I have my health pretty
fair, considering the risks I run with ;
it, and then look at my expectations!
I was just thinking as yon rode up, j
I shan’t be breaking stones here al-1
ways; my blessed Saviour has some
thing better laid up for me than that!
Just to think of his own word:
‘Blessed are they that do his com
mandments, that they may have a
right to the tree of life, and may en
ter in through the gate into the city.’
Oil, but it warms my old heart to sit
here and ponder it all over what that
city is like, and know that it will be
my home. Surely, sir,
‘The thong tits of such amazing bliss
Should certainly joy create.’ ”
After some further conversation, I
| rode away, thinking uot of the storm,
j .
I but glorying as I bad never done
before, in the power of divine grace,
that could make its possessor triumph
thus over circumstances which with
out it won-id have seemed gloomy and
sad indeed. Surely, that happy old
■ tone breaker might, in some measure,
have joined in the nposfhi’s challenge :
“Who shall separate ns from th'e love
‘of Christ? shall tribulation, or dis
tress. nr persecution, or famine, or
nakedness, or peril, or sword! Nay,
in all these things we are more than
conquerors through him that loved
us.”,- From one of the Publications of
f he American Tract Society.
TH-t DEBT PAID.
The eminent statesman, Henry Clay
was at one time considerably annoy
ed by a debt of ten thousaud dollars
due the Northern Bank of Kentucky
at Lexington. Some of his political
friends in different parts of the Un
Ikm-heard-of his condition, and quiet
ly raised the money and paid off the
debt without notifying Mr. Clay. In
titter ignorance of what had Wen go
ing on, be went to the bank one day,
and addreessiug the cashier, Matthew
T. Scott, so well-known to commer
cial circles at that time, said:
“Mr. Scott, I have call to see you
in reference to that debt of mine to
the bank.”
“Yon don’t owe us anything,” re
plied Mr. Scott.
Mr. Clay looked inquiringly at him,
and said:
“You do not understand me, Mr.
Scott. I came to see about that debt
of -310,000 which I am owing the
Northern Bank.”
“You don’t owe ns a dollar.”
.“Why! How am I to understand
you
“A number of your friends have
contributed and paid off that debt,
and Mom do not owe this bank a
dollar.”
The tears rushed to Mr. Clay’s
eyes, and unable to speak, he turned
and walked out of the bank.
This is a faint image of what Jesus
Christ has done for us. He has met
purJfoninense obligations to God’s
latfVig^c Inrs purchased eternal life
fWns. Blessed Saviour, we cannot
express our sense of the greatness
and tenderness of thy love. Let our
tears, our sighs, our sobs, lot our ut
terances and our self-reproaches tell
thee what our lips cannot speak. We
are bought with a price; therefore
may we glorify God with our bodies
ail our powers.—Pretbytqtian.
The Lord lias arranged things
wisely for our mere phpsical delight.
Lie has not planted all the violets iu
the world in one place, neither has he
fenced in the roses between particu
lar lines or parallels of latitude. But
we go carelessly along, and we get
a whiff of the violets down therein
the grass, ami the lilacs over yonder
iu the field aud the roses iu the fence
corner—and they ail go along to make
up the fragrance and the beauty of
the day, though we had not been
looking for any of them. It is the in
direct ray from everything, whether
it be- the sun or the drop of dew that
unravels «lay aed makes visible the
beauty of the world!
As exercise quickens the pulse
aud diffuses a healthy glow over the
physical system, so acts of religious
duty increase our Christian vitality,
and develop within us that fervency
of spirit which enables us to serve
God all the more acceptably in pro
portion to our usefulness to our fel
low meu. Mere theory in religion,
however orthodox, avails little with
out corresponding practice. Hence,
many in the church become weak and
effeminate. What they need is to ex
ercise themselves into godliness, aud
to bring forth the fruits of holy liv
ing.
Christianity is made up of the
religions ideas and feelings made or
expressed by the leader, Jesus Christ.
All those laws of action which seem
to have come from God rather than
from society or nature, laws of the
spirit revealed or repealed in Christ,
make up that best shape of religiou.
Imperfectly as the word may be de
fined, yet the heart comes very near
knowing what religion means, aud
witk,this approach we must rest con
tent.
Be civil and obliging to all, duti
ful w here God and nature command
you; but friend to one, and that
friendship keep sacred, as the great
est tie upon earth, and be sure to
ground it upon virtue; for no other
is either happy or lastiug.
OUR chief want in life—is it not
somebody who can make us do what
ico can l—Emerson.
\