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fh CHRISTIAN SUN IN ESSENTIALS, UNITY; IN NON-ESSENTIALS, LIBERTY; IN ALL THINGS, CHARITY. Volume XXXII. SUFFOLK, YA., FRIDAY DECEMBER 19, 1879. Number 50. A TANGLED SKEIN. BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD. Life is but a tangled skein, Full of trouble, toil, and travail, Knots that pussle heart and brain, We must study to unravel; Slowly, slowly, Bending lowly O’er our task, and trusting wholly Unto him, whose loving hand Helps us smooth each twisted strand. In our hands at early morn, And at night when darkness lingers, Still the distaff must be borne, While the thread slips through our fingers, Lightly, lightly, Twisting lightly, Colors that shalLgleam out brightly When the fabrics feel the strain Of misfortune grief and pain. He who lack of skill or thought Is in awkwardness betraying, Will the lines of grace distort, By the friction surely fraying Thread so tender, Fine and slender, Stauds accused as an offender, And himself alone must blame For the knots that cause him shame. Some may wind a silken thread, Soft and smooth and beautiful ; Other's flax may hold instead, Or the coarse and shaggy wool ; But if ever, Our endeavor From the stains of sin to sever, We may weave them bright and fair In the robes that angels wear. Life’s a complex skein indeed, Full of trouble, toil and travail, More than human help we need All its mazes to unravel. Slowly, slowly, Bending lowly. O’er our task, and trusting wholly In God’s love, we patience gain As we wind the tangled skein. —Congregation olist. CREAM OF THE PRESS. —We should act with as macb en ergy as those who expect everything for themselves; and we should pray with as uinch earnestness as those who expect everything from God. —Hope, courage, good cheer, are what the world needs, and what Christianity brings. Let every odc be sure that each day he gives the world a word and a deed of hope and good cheer. Let Christian joy com mend Christianity to the sad and gloomy and discouraged, to the wea rv and heavv laden. —To designate it by no other phrase “*• or phrases, it is a great pity that many of our preachers are so boister ous in conducting the public services of the church. Some of them, many indeed, if they do not speak too long, they speak too loud.” They needless ly wear out themselves long belore it would be otherwise the case, and at the same time their sermons have far less influence for good than if deliv ered iu the toues of serious and ani mated conversation. As a general thing, there is no necessity for speak ing any loader than to be easily aud distinctly heard. More than this is unpleasant to the hearer, aud excites painful rather than pleasant emotion, and the good influence of the sermon is greatly marred if not eutireTyTostT In many, perhaps most, cases it is lost, aud the preacher’s labor is lost right where aud when it might have been largely profitable. —Mauy of our readers have doubt less heard of the famous travelling stones ol Australia. Similar curiosi ties hare receutly been found in Ne vada, which are described as almost perfectly round, the majority of them as large as a walnut, aud of an irony nature. When distributed about up ou the floor, table or other level sur face, within two or three feet of each other, they immediately begiu travel ling toward a common centre, nnd lie there huddled up iu a bunch like a lot of eggs in a nest. A single stoue, removed to a distance of three and a half feet, upon beiug released, at once started off with wonderful and some what comical celerity to join its fel lows ; taken away four or five feet it remained motionless. They are found in a regiou that is comparatively lev el, and is nothing but bare rook.— Scattered over this barren region are little basins, from a few feet to a rod in diameter; and it is in the bottom of these that the rolling stones are found. They are from the sice of a pea to five or six iuches in diameter. The cause of their rolling together is doubtless to be found in the material of which they are composed, which appears to be lodestoue or magnetic iron on. FOR THE YOUNG-A CHILD'S FAITH. Johnny Hall was a poor boy. His mother worked hard for their daily bread. “Please give me something to eat, for I am very hungry,” he said to her one evening. His mother let the work that she was sewing fall upon her knees and drew .Johnny to wards her. As she kissed him the tears fell fast on his face, while she said: “Johnny, my dear, I have not a [>enuy in the world. There is not a morsel of bread in the house, and I cannot give yon any supper to-uigbt.” Johnny didn’t cry when he heard this. He was but a little fellow, but he had learned the lesson of trust in God’s promises. He had great faith in the sweet words of Jesus, when he said : “Whatsoever^ shall ask the Father in My name, He will do it.” “Never mind, mamma, I shall soon he asleep, aud theu I sha’nt feel huu gry aud cold. Poor mamma 1” he said, as he threw hisarms around her neck aud kissed her many times to comfort her. Then ho kneeled down by his moth er’s side, to say his prayers after her. They said “Our Fathei” till they came to the patitiou, “give us this day our daily bread.” Toe way in which his mother said these words madeJobuuy’s heartache. He stop ped and looked at her aud repeated them with his eyes full of tears— “Give us this day our daily bread.” When they got through he looked at his mother, aud said : “Now mother, don’t he afraid. We shall never he hungry any mbre God is our father. He has promised to hear us aud I am sure He will.” Theu we went to bed. Before mid night he woke up, while his mother was still at work, and asked if the bread had come yet. She said : “No, but I am sure it will come.” lu the morning, before Johnny was awake, a gentleman called, who wan ted his mother to come to his house and take charge of his two mother less children. She agreed to go. He left some money with her. She then went out at once, to buy some thiugs lor breakfast. And when Johnny awoke, the bread was thero, aud all that he needed. Johnny is a man uow; hut he has never wanted bread from that day ; aud whenever he was afraid, since then, he has remembered God’s promise aud trusted in Him. Let us remember these three Ps. the presence, the power, and the promises of God, and this will help us to learu the lesson of trust. Aud in all our times of danger aud of tri al, let us try to follow the example of David, when he said : “What tirno I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.”—Richard Rewton, I). D. WHAT IS_TROUBLE? A company of Southern ladies were one day assembled in a lady’s parlor, whenthe conversation chan ced to turn on the subject of earthly afllictiou. Each had her story of peculiar trial and bereavement to re late; except one pale,"sad looking wo man, whose lustreless eye and dejec ted air showed that she was a prey to the deepest melancbolly. Sudden ly arousing herself, she said in a hol low voice : “Not one of you know what trou ble is.” “Will you please, Mrs. Grey” said the kind voice of a lady who well knew her story, “tell the ladies what you call trouble t” “I will, if you desire it,” she re plied, “for I have seen it. My pa reuts possessed a competence, and my girlhood was surrouuded by all the comforts of life. I seldom knew an ungratified wish, and was always gay and light hearted. I married at nineteen, one 1 loved more than all the world besides. Our home was retired, but the sunlight never fell on a lovlier one, or a happier household. Years rolled on peacefully. Five children sat around our table, and a curly head still uestled in my bosom. One night, about sundown, one ol those black storms came on, which are so common to our Southern clime. For many hours the raiu poured down incessantly. Morning dawned and still the elements raged. The whole Savannah seemed atloat. The little stream near our dwelling be came a raging torrent. Before we were aware of it, our house was sur rounded by water. I managed, with my babe, to reach a little elevated spot, on which a few wide-spreading trees were standing,whose dense foli age afforded some protection while my husband and sons strove to save what tlw»y could of our property. At last a fearful surge swept away my hus band, aud he never rose again. La dies—no oue over loved a husband more, but that was not trouble. “Presently my sons saw their dan ger, and the struggle for life became the only consideration. They were as brave, loving boys as ever blessed a mother’s heart, and I watched their efforts to escape, with such agony as only mothers can feel. They were so far off I could not speak to them, bnt I could see them closing nearer to each other as their little islaud grew smaller and smaller. The sullen river raged around the huge trees; dead branches, upturned trunks, wrecks of bouses, drowning cattle, masses of rubbish all went floating past us. My boys waved their hands to me, and then pointed upward. I knew it was a farewell sigual, and you, mothers, can imag ine my anguish. I saw them all per ish, aud yet—that was not trouble. “1 hugged my babe close to my heart, and when the water rose to my feet, f climbed into the low branches of the tree, and so kept retiring be fore it, till an All-powerlul hand staid the waves, that they should come no further. I was saved. All my world ly possessions swept away ; all my earthly hopes blighttd—yet that was not trouble. “My baby was all I-shad left on earth. I labored night aud day to support him and myself, and sought to tiain him in the right way; but as he grew older, evil companions wou him away from home. He ceased to care for his mother’s counsels; he would sueer at hereutreaties and ago nizing prayers. He left my humble roof that he might be unrestrained in the pursuit of evil, aud at last, when heated by wine one night he took the life of a fellow being aud euded his own upon the scaffold. My Heavenly Father had tilled my cup of sorrow before, now it ran over. This was trouble, ladies, such as I hope His mercy will save you from ever experiencing.” There was not a dry eye among her listeners, and the warmest sympathy was expressed for the bereaved mother, whose sad history had taught them a useful lesson.—Ex, OUR MOMENTS KEPT FOR JESUS. BY FRANCIS II. IIAVF.ROAI,. When we.|tak3 a wide sweep, we are apt to be vague. When we are aiming at generalities, we do not hit the practicalities. We forget that faithfulness to principle is ouly prov ed by faithfulness in detail. Has not this vagueness had something to do with the constant ineffectiveness of our feeble desire that our time should be devoted to God 1 In things spiritual, the greater dees not always include the less, but, paradoxically, the less more often in ciuue8 tue greater, »o, 111 uns case, time is entrusted to us to be traded with for our Lord. But we cannot grasp it as a whole. We instinctive break it up ere we can deal with it for any purpose. So, when a New Year comes round, we commit it witli special earnestness to the Lord. But, as we do so, are we usjt conscious of a feeling that even a year is too much for us to deal with ? And does not this feeling, that we are dealing with a larger thing than we can grasp, take away from the sense of reality T Thus we are brought to a more manageable measure; and, as the Sunday mornings or the Monday come round, we thankfully commit the opening jv eek Ao Ilim,.... and... the sense of help and rest is renewed and strengthened. But not even the six or seven days are close enough to our hand; even tomorrow exceeds our tiny grasp, and even to-morrow’s grace is therefore not given to us. So we find the need of considering our lives as a matter of day by day, and that auy more general committal and consecration of our tune does not meet the case so truly. Here we have found much comfort and help, and if results have not been entirely satis factory, they have, at least, been more so than before we reached this point of subdivision. But if we have found helpoud bles sing by going a certain distance in one direction, is it not probable we shall tind more if we go farther iu the same? And so, if we may com mit the days to our Lord, why not the hours, and why not the moments! And may we not expect a fresh and special blessing in so doing f We do not realize the importance of moments. Only let us cousider those two sayings of God-about them **ln a moment shall they cfie,” and “We shall all be changed in a mo ment,” and we shall think less light ly of them. Eternal issues may bang upon auy one of them, but it has come and gone before we can ever think nbout it. Nothing seems less within the possibility of our owu keeping, yet nothing is more inclu sive of all other keepiug. Therefore, let ns ask him to keep them for ns. Are they not the tiny joints in the harness through which the darts of temptation pierce ust Only give ns time, we think, and we should not be overcome. Only give us time, and we could pray and resist, and the devil would flee from us! But he comes all in a moment; and in a mo ment—an ungnarded, unkept one— we utter the hasty or exaggerated word, or think the un-Christ-like thought, or feel the uu Christ-like im patience or resentment. But even if we have gone so far as to say, ‘‘Take my moments,” have we gone the step farther, and really let him take them,—really entrusted them to him f It is no good saying “Take,” when we do not let go. How can another keep that which we are keeping hold off So let us, with lull tinst in his power, first commit these slippery moments to him,—put them right into his hand,—and then we may trustfully and happily say: “Lord, keep them for me! Keep eveiy one of the quick series as it arises. I cannot keep them for thee ; do thou keep them for thyself!” HOW HE WAS SAVED. Kmina Harrimau relates the follow ing incident iu the Christian Woman: It was a warm spring evening. There was a smell of bursting bud aud freshly springing grass in the air. The red sunset had not wholly faded from the west. The eveuiug twilight was slowly setting down over the town, and the doves, perched on the jutting ledges aud cornice of the old church, cooed gently every now and then, as some restless one of their family disturbed them. People were passing into the church, oue by one. It was prayer meeting night. A young man stood in front of the church, leaning gainst a tree which grew there. He was well dressed, aud his face had a fine intellectual look, but it was pale aud worn. He did not oiler to cuter nor to leave, but simply stood there, watching the people in a quiet, unobtrusive way, as if it had a sort of fascination for him. Presently a little old woman came along. She was not fashionably dressed, and she was a little bent aud quite old, but had a kindly look on her face. She noticed the young man ; nearly every oue had noticed him, but no oue had spoken to him. She seemed to want to speak ; for she hesitated an instant, and moved a step toward him. Then her cour age seemed to fail her; she turned and entered the church. Iu au in stant, she came out agaiu. “Good evening, young man,” she said, going over to him, “won’t you come into prayer meeting f We would be very glad to see you.” He raised his hat and answered her greeting courteously. “I should like to,” he said, “but I am not fit to enter a church.” It was a little late, and the organ had begun to play while they were talking, aud now the people began to sing. xiie uoors wore open a nrue, auu the words floated out to them on the still warm air. The little woman raised her hand. “Listen,” she said : “Just us thou art, without one plea, But that thy blood aw» shed for me, And that thou bid’st me come to thee, 0 Lamb of God, I come ! I come.” “I will go,” ho said, and followed her into the church. No one noticed them. She was a little old-fashioned body, and he was a stranger, and so, as she weut to one pew aud he to an other, nobody thought about it. The meeting went on, hymn aud les sou and praver, and then more hymns and prayers, aud finally the opportu nity was given for testimonies. One after oue arose and spoke a few words, and suddenly, just as the meeting was about to close, iu a hur ried manner, as if he were afraid to trust himself a moment longer, the young man arose and began to speak: “I acknowledge my transgression, and ray sin is ever before me.” Eve rybody turned and looked at him. Such a clear, full voice as he had, and what an honest, manly face; he did not look like a great sinner. “1 have been walking in the way of the ungodly, and consenting when sinners enticed me. I knew better; I have a mother who is praying for mo, and to-night, as I stood out in front of the church and saw you come in, I was thiukiug of her and want ing to come in, but I hud not suffi cient courage until one of the ladies invited me.” Everybody thought at once of rich Mrs. Dean, it must baro been her who did it; she was always doing something kind and benevolent, aud uo one thought of it being the homely little old-fashioned woman, who was I watching him and drinking in every ; word. “To-night, I am determined to start anew to follow my Saviour, and I want to say to you : Don’t forget the young men ; God only knows how wo are tempted.” And he followed out his determination, and to-day that church has no better member tbau he but his words ring yet in my ears : “Don’t forget the young men ; God only knows their temptation !” SUNDAY BUMMERS. The poor wo have always with us, and whenever we will we may do them good. And the will do them good, in a spiritual and religious sense, at leasr, is very genuine and very abounding. The churches, as a rule, cherish no desire more sincere than that of preaching the gospel to the poor, without money and without price. We do not stop to inquire how much of the proselyting spirit may be connected with this desire, or wh8t worthless motives may sophis ticate it. Their wish to do good to the poor is genuine enough, aud to do it at their own expense. If the poor could know how heartily they would be weleemed in houses of wor ship frequented mainly by the rich and the well-to-do, they would cer tainly lose their shyness, and learn a kindlier feeling for those more fortu nate than themselves. It is undoubt edly the business of the rich to pro vide religions privileges lor the poor, and the duty of the poor to accept them. They may do this without loss of self-respect, and without the cultivation of the pauper spirit. There is, however, a real difference between “God’s poor” and man’s poor.—There are great multitudes who, do what they will and what they can, must always be poor. Few and inefficient hands to labor, and many mouths to feed, fiekness, mis fortune—all the causes of adversity produce poverty which seems to be remediless; and those who ato afflic ted with such poverty may legiti mately be called “God’s poor.” These are the involuntary poor, enveloped aud embarrassed by circumstances which render it impossible for them to rise out of poverty. For these, the Christian man will do what he can, without pauperizing them, and he knows that there is no form of beneficience so little likely to do them harm as that of providing for their religious instruction aud inspi ration. He knows also that the rec tification and elevation of habits which are the natural outcome of re ligious and spiritual influences, are ministers always to the poor man’s temporal prosperity. x (l cuuiiimiMiutuuu xi \j in mcoc, there are those whom we may prop erly call “man’s poor.” They are peo pie who spend upon themselves, out of an income not generous, perhaps, but competent, so much that they have nothing left with which to bear their portion of the burdens of soci ety. They live well, they dress well, they 'maintain what they consider a respectable position iu society, they go to the theatre whenever it may seem desirable; they spend upon themselves and their luxuries their entire income, ang habitually steal their preaching. Many of these peo ple are quite regular in their attend ance upon the Sunday services of the church, but they never unite with it or assume a single responsibility con nected with it. A little self-denial would give all these people the right to a pew, and save them from the meanness of appropriating that which liouest people are obliged to pay for.—Scribner's Monthly for De cember. Trying -to Pi.easjj.—“What do the students think of Prof. A 1” ask ed a gentleman of a recent graduate from one of the Xew Fuglaud colle ges, concerning a well known proles sor of recognized ability in his de partment. “Oh ! he’s a pretty good man iu his way,” was the answer; “but the stu dents didu’t take to him very well, because lievfas so anxious to be pop ular. He always wanted to please the students in everything; and they saw that, and didn’t thiuk much of him for it. You know a man is uever popular by trying to be. There is Prof. B.; now he doesn’t care a pin what the students thiuk of him. He just goes ahead and does what he thinks is right, without troubling himself about what other people think of him ; and the students just like him for that.” There is true sense iu that auswer. Do right, and you will make more friends than iu any other way. There are men whose tongues might goveru multitudes if they could govern their tongues. A FEW WORDS ABOUT LIME. Prof. Pnr.vear, who has charge of the agricnltural columns of the Belt giouit Herald, and who is recognized as a skilful chemist, gives in a recent paper the following succiut sugges tions on the uses and misuses of lime: What are the uses of lime iu agri culture ? (1) Lime is always one of the nine sabstances found in the ash of plants. The grasses and forest trees particu larly take it up from the soil in great abnndance. When lime is not pre sent in the soil in sufficient abun dance to meet this demand, it should he added. (2) Lime is needed to hasten the decomposition of vegetable matter, and so make it available as plant food. If we wrap up a piece of lime in a cloth, in a short time the cloth is so decomposed that it will fall into shreds from its own weight. Tanners use lime in their vats to rot the hair from the hides. Now, lime behaves exactly iu this way in the soil. The vegetable matter in the soil is nseless until it decomposes, and lime hastens the process of decomposition. (3) Lime is frequently necessary to correct acidity in the soil. Soils charged with vegetable acids are never productive. On such soils we put lime,which, combining with these acids, forms neutral salts of lime. A person takes a little lime water, for exactly the same reason, when he suffers from acidity of the stomach. When lauds have beeu freshly drain ed, they are always acid. The excess ot water, with which the laud was saturated, had excluded the atmos phere, and so had prevented the com plete decomposition ol'vegetable mat ter, This vegetable matter, if the air had not been excluded, would have been converted by atmospheric oxygen, into carbonic acid, ammonia, &c., but without oxygen its elements rearrange then selves, and form those injurious compounds, ulmic, humic and geic acids. When the soil is drained, the atmosphere strikes through and destroys these acids, but not entirely in a single seasou. The process, of necessity, is slow.—The soil to the depth of sever al feet, it may be, is sour, and it will be some time before the atmosphere cau thoroughly permeate this soil and burn out these hurtful acids. Lime, then, comes te help the slow opera tion of natural causes. When it is spread upon the soil, it is carried downward by the rains, and combin 1 es with and neutralizes speedily and | effectually these vegetable acids. We cannot possibly err, then, when we j put lime on freshly-drained lauds. In j such lands there are not only free j acids, but a large amont of orgauic matter, which has not been decompo- j sed because of the exclusion of at mospheric oxygeu. The application! of lime to such soils corrects this ac-: idity, aud, by decomposing„, rendeis immediately available this large amout of vegetable matter. The ash of the grasses contains 22 per cent, of lime Hence the practice of topdre3siug the grasses with gyp-, sum, which is the sulphate of lime. Lime may be injuriously applied. If the soil contain but little vegeta ble matter, the application of lime, particularly heavy applications, will cause this vegetable matter to decom pose too quickly. When the crop j approaches maturity, it finds that its quantum of vegetable matter lias al-i ready been decomposed and used up. j The result will be conspicuously dis astrous if the soil was uot deficientin ! lime. The lime has supplied no want, but has only inflicted au injury. (1) Lime is known as caustic or quick lime. This is the article as we obtain it from the kiln. Heat has expelled carbonic acid from the car bonate of lime, aud caustic lime is the result. (2 Hydrated or slaked lime. When we add to lumps of caustic lime about 25 per ceut.of water, the lumps fall down into a perfectly dry powder, giving us slaked lime. (3) Upon exposure to the atmos phere, this slaked lime loses its pro parties. It becomes the carbonate of lime, or mihl lime,—the very com pound chemically from which the lime was origiually obtained. This mild lime, or carbonate of lime, has no caustic or disorganizing proper ties whatsoever. It may be asked, then, why we do not use lime in its natural state, namely, the carbonate of lime, if it gets iuto that that eon condition when we spread it on the soin t We answer; (1) Although lime goes back to car bonate of lime, it does not do so all at 'once, and, in the process of returning | lo that condition, it decomposes veg etable matter, and so makes it plant food. ** (U) The natural limestone rock— the carbonate—is very hard, and its reduction to a powder by mechanical means would be difficult and expeu sive. Now, when lime slakes in the air it falls down into a dry powder. No mechanical reduction, therelore, is necessary. It requires less expen diture offeree to burn the limestone, aud let the lime fall to powder of it self, than to reduce the natural rock by mechanical power. Trees, like grasses, contain lime largely. The indication is to apply old mortar, or lime iu any form, to fruit and shade trees, aud this should be doue in the fall. HINTS FOR EMERGENCIES. Persons who have fainted should be laid flat upon their backs let alone. To stop bleeding from an ordinary wound, apply a wad of cob-web; or els# a paste made of equal parts of flour and salt. If, however, the blood spurts out, it is evidence that an artery has been severed. If where it can possibly be done, tie a hand kerchief loosely above it, put a stick under that, and then by turning the stick twist the handkerchief tightly until the flow is checked, and hold it there until the doctor, comes ; if this is impracticable, press, as hard as possible with the thumb, near the wound and above it. It your clothes catch fire, with your own hands press your clothes above the flame closely, and at the same time lie down on the floor, and roll over and over a3 fast as you can. Any person about should seize a woo len shawl, blanket or carpet, which ever is in reach, and with it help to smother the fire, but by no means to wet anything thus used, as the steam will buru as badly as the fire ; water may be thrown on, but not smother ed on. I ooce knew an ignorant fel low to kill his little sister by first taking the blanket with which lie wrapped her to the well to wet it. The delay and the steam she inhaled caused the,death which might easily have been avoided by the use of a little common sense.—The American Farmer. , FACTS ABOUT FLOUR. Flour is peculiarly sensitive to at mospheric influences, hence it should never be stored in a room with sour liquids, nor where onions or fish are kept, nor any article that taints the air oft be room in which it is stored. Any smell perceptible to the sense will be absorbed by flour. Avoid damp cellars or lofts where a free circulation of air cannot be obtained. Keep in a cool, dry, airy room, and uot exposed to a freezing tempera ture nor to intense summer or to ar tificial heat for any length of time above 70 degrees Fahrenheit. It should not come in contact with grain or other substances that are liable to heat. Flour should be sifted and the particles thoroughly disintegrated, and then warmed before baking. The treatment improves the color and baking properties of the dough. The sponge should be prepared for the oven as soon as the yeast has per formed its mission, otherwise fermen tation sets in and acidity results. The Country’s Need.—A con temporary wisely says : “What our country needs to day more thau the manufacturer, the merchant or the lawyer, is the farmer. It seems, however, next to impossible to get people to realize this fact, or to act on it when they do. In spite of the hard times young men continue to lounge around large cities, where there is no possible hope of employ ment, waiting for something to tuiu up, and utterly neglecting the oppor tunities that are presented iu the country. The truth is, people nowa days are too much afraid of bard work, and decidedly object to that sort of living which has to be earned by the sweat of the brow. They had much rather live by the sweat of somebody else’s brow, if they can. Sheep.—The Maine Farmer says: “Five sheep will enrich one acre of old worn-out mowing laud in three years so that it will produce one and | one half tons of bay per acre for Bev jeral years by a slight spriukle of | seeds each year sown in early spring. ] Five sheep will produce manure in winter to the value of $10 giving them suitable bedding. Five Bheep will get their liviug through summer on an acre of ground; the pasturing | of the same would be #8. Five sheep I will raise five lambs worth $15. Five 1 sheep will shear twenty-flre pouuda of wool worth $6.” ■as
The Christian Sun (Elon College, N.C.)
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Dec. 19, 1879, edition 1
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