endured by the dying man. He arose from “I find you fooling, find you fooling !" his chair ; he reeled over the room like a exclaimed Pilate in a rage. drunken man ; he imitated all the nau “ No, I am not fooling; I am after the seating performances of a vomiting drunk truth." ard, and then fell into a river, and went No; you are fooling, fooling, fooling." through a drowning scene. When all was “I am sincerely trying to find out the over, the spirit of a drowned man took truth of these matters." possession of Mr. Edson, and he groaned At that Pilate rushed toward me, and like one in despair : the performances with his fingers pointing in my face, exwere ready to begin again.

claimed vehemently, “What is the matter with you ?"

“ You lie! you lie !" “ () woe! woe! woe!” said the medium. That was rather a savage word to have “Are you in the bad world ?”

thrust down one's throat, and the blood 6 Bad! bad !”

tingled to my fingers' ends; but I felt How does it appear ?"

that, in the presence of so mighty a per" () dark ! dark! the blackness of dark- sonage as a Roman pro-consul, I must

keep quiet; but since Pilate was so rough • Who are you, any way?"

a character, I had no more use for his “More definite," said Mr. Edson, in a august presence ; and he, perceiving it, natural tone.

made his exit. " Are you a friend of mine ?"

One more dying scene. The medium 6. Yes."

rushed into the middle of the room, ex“ Did you die lately ?"

claiming, “ Paul's here,·Paul's here !" “ Ask when he left the world ; they do “Well,” said I, “Paul, were you imnot die," said Mr. Edson.

mersed ?" “ Did you leave the world lately!"

"No." “ I did."

“ Poured ?" “ Have I heard of your departure ?" " Yes." - No."

“ Was Christ divine ?" " Will I soon hear ?"

- Yes."

“Can you tell me if I would make a How ?"

good medium ?” “ By a letter."

“Yes; but you lack faith.” Exit drunken man ; and, by the way, 6 Will I ever be a medium ?': who that same man may have been I have 66 Yes." never found out; I suppose the letter con “ How long first ?" taining the account of his death miscar

“In a year." ried. Once more Mr. Edson endured the “Will spirit communication become so death struggles. He sprung into the mid common, that all people will accept of it ?" dle of the room, changing his face to a “In five years the glorious light will so Roman look, turning down his nose till it | dawn, that it will spread everywhere, and was a true Roman, and in haughty tones become the religion of the country, and exclaimed,

all will acknowledge the glorious light." “I am Pontius Pilate!"

Exit Paul. It became me to keep very circumspect Mr. Edson now sat down in his right in such an august presence. I asked many mind, and the performances closed. questions. Pilate kept up a perpetual As near as I can remember,” said the groan.

gentlemanly medium," the spirits did not “What makes you groan so ?" I asked. use you very well. I hope you will not " O woe! woe! woe !"

blame me; they were angry at your want “Why is there woe?"

of faith ; they do not like to be quizzed." “ O blood! blood !"

Never before, never since, have I been " What blood ?''

witness to scenes of such unmitigated hor“O blood of Christ, my Saviour !"

That men should deem them Divine, I knew that the spiritualists rejected the and be carried away with such delusions idea of Christ's being a Saviour in any of a heated brain, would pass all belief, sense, and asked, "Why do you call him were it not that our own eyes have seen, your Saviour ?"

and our own ears have heard them!

56 Yes."



much others may have been pleased by the

orator's skill, it is not a good sermon for me FROM VARIOUS AUTHORS.

unless it does me good. The same thought

is here amplified for the benefit alike of The Quaker poet, WHITTIER, writes prose speakers and hearers: as well as verse, and in both excels. A cor We are too often ready to judge that to be the best respondent directs our attention to one of

sermon which has many strange thoughts in it, inay

fine hints, and some grand and polite sentiments. But his tales which may be new to many of our

a Christian, in his best temper of mind, will say: "That readers. It is entitled

is a good sermon which brings my heart bearer to

God, which makes the grace of Christ sweet to my THL BROKEN-HEARTED,

soul, and the commands of Christ easy and delightful; and we make an extract from the beginning that is an excellent discourse, indeed, which enables and one from the latter part of the story. temptation, and weans me from all the enticements of

me to mortify some unruly sin, to vanquish a strong They will speak, sadly, but hopefully, to the

this lower world; that which bears me up above all hearts of those whose loved ones have passed the disquietudes of life, which fits me for the hour of to that realm of which the German poet, death, and makes we ready and desirous to appear Sallis, hath beautifully said:

before Jesus Christ my Lord." For all the broken-hearted

DO YOUR BEST. The mildest berald hy our fate allotted

PROFESSOR Phelps relates the following With beacons, and inverted torch doth stand, To lead ns with a gentle hand

incident, and educes from it & practical "Into the silent land of the great departed,

lesson: Into the silent land.

A young painter was once directed by his master to I have seen the infant sinking down like & stricken

complete a picture on which the master had been flower to the grave, the strong man fiercely breathing obliged to suspend bis labors on account of his grow. out his soul upon an agonizing death-bed, the miser

ing infirmities. “I commission thee, my son, said tho able convict standing upon the scaffold with a deep aged artist, “ to do thy best upon this work.

Do thy curse quivering upon his lip. I bave viewed death in best."

The young man had such reverence for his all its forms of darkness, vengeance, and terror, with

master's skill that he felt incompetent to touch canå bold and fearless eyo; but I never could look upon

vas which bore the work of that renowned hand. But woman, lovely woman, fading away from earth in "Do thy best," was the old man's calm reply; and beautiful, uncomplaining melancholy, without feeling again, to repeated solicitations, he answered, “Do thy the very fountains of life turned into tears and dust. best.” The youth tremblingly seized the brush, and Death is always terrible; but when a form of angel kneeling before his appointed work, he prayed: “It beauty is passing off to the stlent land of sleepers the

is for the sake of my beloved master that I inplore heart feels there is something lovely ceasing from er.

skill and power to do this deed." Then, with supistence, and broods, with a sense of utter desola

pressed emotion, he commenced his work, and caught tion, over the lonely thoughts that come up like

from it an inspiration. His hand grew steady as he specters from the grave, to haunt us in our midnight painted. Slumbering genius awoke in his eye. En

thusiasm took the place of fear. Forgetfulness of bimIt cannot be that earth is man's only abiding place.

solf supplanted his self-distrust, and with a calm joy he It cannot be that our life is a bubble cast up on the

finished his labor. The "beloved master" was borno ocean of eternity, to float a moment upon its wave,

on his couch into the studio to pass judgment on the and then sink into darkness and nothingness Else

result. As his eye fell upon the triumph of art beforo why is it that the aspirations which leap like angels

bim he burst into tears, and throwing his enfeobled from the temple of our hearts are forever wandering

arms around the young artist, he exclaimed: "My about unsatisfied ? Why is it that the cloud and the

son, I paint no more !" That youth subsequently berainbow come over us with a beauty that is not of

came the painter of "The Last Supper," the ruins of earth, and then pass away, and leave us to muse upon

which, after the lapse of three hundred years, still attheir faded loveliness. Why is it that the stars that

tract annually to the refectory of an obscure convent hold their nightly festivals around the midnight throne

in Milan hundreds of the worshipers of art. So shall are placed above the reach of our limited faculties,

it be with a youthful preacher, who stands in awe of forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory.

the work to which his Master calls hin. Let him givo And finally, why is that bright forms of human beanty

himself away to it as his life's work, without reserve; are presented to our view, and then taken from us,

let him do his best. Let him kncel reverently before leaving the thousand streams of our affections to flow

his commission, and pray, “ for the beloved Master's back in Alpine torrents upon our hearts? We are

sake, that power and skill may be given him to do this born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There

deed." And the spirit of that Master shall breathe in is a land where the rainbow never fades, where the

the very greatness of the work. It shall strengthen stars will be spread out before us like islands that

him. His band shall grow firm, and his heart calm. plumber on the ocean, and where the beautiful beings

His eye shall not quail in the presence of kings. He that here pass before us liko visions will remain in shall stand undismayed before those who in the kingour presence forover!

doin of God are greater than they. Years of trust and

of tranquil expectation shall follow his early struggles; GOOD SERMONS.

or if emergencies thicken as he advances, and one

after her That only is a good sermon, said a faith

those on whom his spirit bas leaned

for support fall from his side, he sball be as the young ful old disciple, which does good. However men who increase in strength. He shall learn to

dreams. ...

welcome great trials of his character. With a holier own and other people's labor, have got a training joy than Nelson felt at Trafalgar, be shall look up and equal or superior, in toilsomeness, earnest assiduity, say of every such crisis in his ministry, "I thank thee, and patient travail, to what breeds men to the most O my God, that thou hast given me this great oppor arduous trades. I speak not of kings, grandees, or tho tunity of doing my duty."

like show figures; but few soldiers, judges, men of

letters, can have bad such pains taken with them. The INSUFFICIENCY OF NATURAL RELIGION. very ballet-girls, with their muslin saucers round them, THERE are many who talk beautifully

were perhaps littlo short of miraculous, whirling and

spinning there, in strange, mad vortexes, and then about the dignity of man's moral nature

suddenly fixing themselves motionless, each upon ber and the loveliness of natural religion. left or right great toe, with the other leg stretched out Sooner or later, if not here, certainly there, at an angle of ninety degrees, as if yon bad suddenly these delusions will be dispelled, terribly

pricked into the floor, by one of their points, a pair, or

rather a multitudinons cohort of mad, restlessly jumpdispelled, it may be, as set forth in the fol

| ing and clipping scissors, and so bidden them rest, lowing extract from a sermon by Dr. Hunt with open blades, and stand still, in the devil's namne! ington:

A truly notable motion--marvelous, almost miraculons

-were not the people there so used to it-a notion Man, with his free agency, beset before and behind

peculiar to the opera; perhaps the ugliest, and surely by evil, is not like a lily growing under God's sun and

one of the most difficult, ever taught a female in the dew, with no sin to deform its grace or stain its color:

world.... Alas! and of all these notable or noticeable ing; he is not like the innocent architecture of a cloud,

human talents, and excellent perseverances and enershaped by the fantastic caprices of the summer wind;

gies, backed by mountains of wealth, and led by the nor yet like the aimless statuary of the sea-shore,

divine art of music and rhythm, vouchsafed by Heaven sculptured by the pliant chisel of the wave. Ho has

to them and us, what was to be the issue here this to contend, struggle, resist. He is tried, enticed, bo

evening? An hour's amusemont, not amusing either, sieged. Satan creeps anew with every new-born child

but wearisome and dreary, to a higb-dizened, select into the Eden of the heart, and flaming swords aro

populace of male and female persons, who seemed to presently planted on its gates, proclaiming, no return

me not much worth amusing. Could any one have that way to innocence. The natural religion of which

pealed into their hearts once, one true thought and modern mystics are so fond, and modern peripatetics

glimpse of self-vision: high-dizoned, most expensivo prattle, is not enough for him. It might possibly an

persons, aristocracy, so called, or best of the world, beswcr in the woods, unless this feeble pantheism would

ware, beware wbat proofs you are giving here of betsubstitute artistic ecstasy for worship, and moonlight

terness and bestness! John, the carriage--the carriage, for the sun that flashes down the glories of revelation;

swift! Let me go home in silence to reflection, peror in some solitary cell, though even there monk and

haps to sackcloth and ashes! This, and not amusehermit have often found the snare of impuro imagin

ment, would have profited theso persons..... 0 ations spread too cunningly for it. But let the boy go

heavens, when I think that music, too, is condeinnod to the shop, and the girl to school; let the young man

to be mad, and to burn herself to this end on such a travel to the city, and the young woman lend her ears

funeral-pile, your celestial opera-house grows dark and to the flatteries of that silent-tongued sorcoress, soci

infernal to me! Bebind its glitter stalks the shadow ety; and all this natural piety is liko a silken thread

of eternal death, through it, too. I look not "up into held over a blazing furnace. We may put ourselves

the Divine eye," as Richter has it, “but down into the at ease; fancy we shall fare well enough undor so kind

bottomless eye-socket;" not upward toward God, a Father; come out comfortably at last; thero is such

heaven, and the throne of truth; but, too truly, down tender pity in the skies. But the dispelling of that

toward falsity, vanity, and tho dwelling-place of everdelusion will be the sharp word out of the throno of

lasting despair. judgment, Depart from me, I never knew you.

There is pungency in the satirical touches

The notion that any of the facts of science of Carlyle. At times, indeed, he tortures the

can, by possibility, be arrayed against the

revelations of Christianity is now almost enQueen's English, and occasionally, in poring

tirely exploded. It is not only a generally. over his pages, one feels the need of an inter

admitted truth that "an undevout astrona preter to render his Carlylese into the ver

| mer is mad," but that a skeptical natural nacular. But this account of a visit to the

philosopher, an anti-Christian botanist, oran opera is perfectly intelligible; and the im. pressions made upon him, by what he heard

infidel geologist is, if not mad, -blind; and, there, and saw, are forcibly depicted and

being blind, is unfit to be a leader or a guide.

Dr. M'Cosy, in his “Method of the Divine worthy of preservation:

Government,” says, with equal pertinence Lusters, candelabras, painting, gilding, at discretion;

and beauty: a hall as of the Caliph Alraschid, or him that cominandeth the slaves of the larp--a hall as if fitted up Science has a foundation, and so has religion. Let by the genii, regardless of expense Upholstery and them unite their foundations, and the basis will be the outlay of human capital could do no more. Art- broader, and they will be two compartments of ono ists, too, as they are called, have been got together great fabric reared to the glory of God. Let the ono from the ends of the world, regardless, likewise, of be the outer and the other the inner court. In the one expense, to do dancing and singing; some of them even let all look, and admire, and adore; and in the other, geniuses in their craft. All of them had aptitudes, let those who have faith kneel, and pray, and praise. perhaps, of a distinguished kind, and must, by their | Let the ono be the sanctuary where human learning


may present its richest incense as an offering to God; | tween & Turkey carpet and gilded ceiling, beside a and the other, the holiest of all, separated from it by a steel grate and polished fender. I do not say such vail now rent in twain, and in which, on a blood. | things have not their place and propriety; but I say sprinkled mercy-seat, we pour out the love of a recon this emphatically, that & tenth part of the expense ciled heart, and hear the oracles of the living God. which is sacrificed in domestic vanities, if not abso.

lutely and meaninglessly lost in domestic comforts and A CALL TO PREACH.

encumbrances, would, if collectively offered and wisely It is an axiomatic truth that the Great employed, build a marble church for every town in Head of the church never makes a mistake

England; such a church as it should be a joy and a in calling men to the work of the ministry,

blessing even to pass near in our daily ways and walks,

and as it would bring the light into the eyes to see and, as is well said by Dr. STOCKTON :

from afar, lifting its fair height above the purple crowd If the minister be truly called, and faithful to his of humble roofs. calling, the Spirit will make the most of bim. Whether as a natural orator he be a good or bad specimen, mu

CHEAP HAPPINESS. sical or harsh, graceful or awkward, brilliant or dim, THERE is much complaining that in these deep or superficial, ideal or unideal, pathetic or not,

days everything is dear, dearer than we he will be sure to be good and useful; and whether the world-church will hear him or not, the true church,

found them in our younger days. One of the spiritually discerning church, will always regard it the reasons may perhaps suggest itself by as a privilege and blessing to sit under his ministry, the simple statement which follows: and even the world shall be constrained to confess that

It is wonderful how cheap happiness used to be. It there is something about him which art can neither

lay about, like the sunshine, within arm's length of imitate nor equal

everybody. It used to grow in the field; we have A SIMPLE ILLUSTRATION.

found it there, but not lately. Sometimes fire speckled THE REV. T. TOLLER, whose memoirs have

eggs in a grassy nest, constituted it; sometimes four

beautiful ones in the lilacs. been recently published, thus simply and

It used to swim in the brooks, and turn up its silvery effectively illustrated that passage in the and mottled sides, like a polished little saber, sprinkled

with the color of fame, which is generally understood

to le crimson. We have found it, many a time, beside my strength that he may make peace with

a mossy stone, when it looked very much like & first me:

Spring flower; we have seen it come down in the snow, One of my children had committed a fault, for which and beard it descending in the rain. What a world of I thought it my duty to chastise him. I called him it used to be crowded into a Saturday afternoon! An to me, explained to him the evil of what he had done, old newspaper with cedar ribs, a tail like three basbaws, and told him how grieved I was that I must panish and a penny's worth of twine, have constituted, many him for it. He heard me in silence, and then rushed a time—that is, many an old time--the entire stock in into my arms and burst into tears. I could sooner trade of one perfectly hapny. have cut off my arm than strike him for his fault. He had laid hold of my strength, and he had made his peace

THE OLD YEAR. with me.

As a fitting close to our chapter for the LUXURIOUS DWELLINGS.

present month, and for the year which will In the expensive adornments of private have passed away before we again greet our dwellings, frescoed walls, gold leaf, lace cur- , readers, we take two stanzas from the pen of tains, magnificent mirrors, sofas, lounges, | Miss BAYARD: and all other things of the kind, ornamental

Tis the death-night of the solemn old year! rather than useful, the dwellers in some of

And it calleth from its sbroud our American cities exceed all others. Rus

With a hollow voice and loud, kin's remarks upon the subject, written for

But serene:

And it saith, What have I given the latitude of London, are equally appli

That bath brought thee nearer heaven? cable in this republican climate:

Dost thou weep, as one forsaken, I am no advocate for meanness of private habitation.

For the treasures I have taken? I would fain introduce into it all magnificence, care,

Standest thou beside my hearse and beanty, where they are possible, but I would not L

With a blessing or a curse?

Is it well with thee, or worse, bave that useless expense in unnoticed fineries or

That I have been ? formalities; cornicings of ceilings, and graining of doors, and fringing of curtains, and thousands of such 'Tis the death-night of the solemn old year! things which have become foolishly and apatbetically

We are parted from our place habitual--things on whose common appliance hang

In her motherly embraco, whole trades, to which there never belonged the bless

And are lone! ing of giving one ray of real pleasure, of becoming of For the infant and the stranger the remotest or most contemptible use-things which It is sorrowful to change her; cause half the expense of life, and destroy more than She hath cheer'd the night of mourning half its comfort, manliness, respectability, freshness, With a promise of the dawning; and facility. I speak from experience; I know what

She hath shared in our delight it is to live in & cottage with a deal floor and roof,

With a gladness true and bright; and & hearth of mica slate ; and I know it to be in

O! we need her joy to-nightniany respects healthier and happier than living be- 1

But she is gone!

The National Magazine.

multitudes who have enough for themselves and their families, and a little to spare. A louder

call to active sympathy, to deeds of benevolence DECEMBER, 1857.

and kindness, was never heard. It swells high over the roaring of the commercial whirlwind.

It comes to thee, reader, in thy quiet home, EDITORIAL NOTES AND GLEANINGS.

answering in unmistakable language the quesTHE COMING WINTER.—The year, upon the tion, What shall I render unto the Lord for all last month of which we now enter, will be his benefits toward me? memorable in all future time for commercial

“Then, from the cry of want and 'plaint of woe disasters, the derangement of trade, the failure

O do not, do not turn away thine ear; of banking institutions, and the suspension of Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below, merchants and traders of all classes. Many and

O what wert thou should He refuse to bear!" contradictory are the theories put forth as to

AN ANECDOTE OF WHITEFIELD).—William Jay, the causes of this state of things. Suggested

| in his Autobiography, says that, upon the death remedies are as plentiful as quack medicines. Thus far they have proved about as efficacious.

of his wife, Whitefield preached her funeral The disease still rages. To whatever causes it

sermon. The text was, “And we know that

all things work together for good to them that may be attributed, proximate or more remote, the calamity cannot be traced to any direct vis

love God, to them who are the called according ible infliction of Divine providence. There has

to his purpose." Romans viii, 28. In noticing been neither war, pestilence, nor famine. As a

her character, he mentioned her fortitude, and nation, we have been at peace with all the world.

suddenly exclaimed: “Do you remember my It has been a year of general health. The har

preaching in those fields, by the old stump of

the tree? The multitude was great, and many vests have been abundant. Fire has not, to any extent, desolated our cities. There have been

were disposed to be riotous. At first I addressed a few terrible disasters at sea, but in the aggre

them firmly, but when a desperate gang of gate, marine losses have not exceeded the aver

banditti drew near, with the most horrid image of former years. In all these respects the

precations and menaces, my courage began to present will compare favorably with any twelve

fail. My wife was then standing behind me, months of the past century. It may be doubted

as I stood on the table. I think I hear her now. if at any time since the world began, or in the

She pulled my gown, she then put his hand behistory of any people, there has been more rea

hind him and touched his gown,) and, looking son for grateful ascriptions of praise to the God

up, said, 'George, play the man for your God.' of our fathers, or more hearty cause for the ut

My confidence returned. I then spoke to the terance of the Psalmist's ejaculation : “ Thou

multitude with boldness and affection; they crownest the year with thy goodness."

became still, and many were deeply affected."" And yet, was there never a time when riches made to themselves wings and fled away more

THE FATHER OF Watees.—The vastness of fearfully, and more suddenly than during the

the great Mississippi River is thus depicted by past few months! Never were so many, in all

a writer from Maiden Rock, Wisconsin: classes of the community, in so brief a space, “While I look out upon the river, three miles wide pierced through with many sorrows! It is ap

at this point, my mind seems to take in at one grasp

the magnitude of the stream. From the frozen regions palling to think of the multitudes that have

of the North to the sunny South, it extends some been hurled, as in a moment, from wealth to thirty-one hundred miles, and, with the Missouri, is poverty, the fortunes that have been lost, the

forty-five hundred miles in length. It would reach wealth that has disappeared, the strong men

from New York across the Atlantic, and extend from

France to Turkey, and to the Caspian Sea. Its average that have been broken, broken, figuratively, in depth from its source in Lake Itasca, in Minnesota, to a commercial sense, and broken in spirit. its delta in the Gulf of Mexico, is fifty feet, and its All this is apparent; the utterance, in fact,

width half a mile. The trapper on the upper Missis

sippi can take the furs of the animals that inhabit its of mere truisms; and, as before intimated, al

sources, and exchange them for the tropical fruits that most everybody has his own explanation of the are gathered on the banks below. Slaves toil at one causes of these disasters, and his own sugges

end of this great thoroughfare, while the free red men

of the forest roam at the other end. The floods are tions as to the appropriate remedy. We shall

more than a month in traveling from its source to its not weary the reader with a repetition of them, I delta. The total value of steamers afloat on this river nor venture upon any speculations of our own.

and its tributaries is more than $6,000,000, and numbers

as many as fifteen hundred; more than twice the ene But there is one feature of this general wreck

tire steamboat tonnage of England, and equal to that to which the attention of the thoughtful reader of all other parts of the world. It drains an area of ought to be directed. Not banks and railroad twelve hundred thousand square miles, which is justly companies' merely, nor capitalists who have sus

styled the garden of the world. It receives & score of

tributaries, the least of which are longer than the pended, nor merchants who cannot meet their

vaunted streams of mighty empires. It might furnish engagements, nor all combined, should engross natural boundaries for all Europe, and yet leave for our sympathy. The effects of the storm are not every country a river larger tban the Seine. It ingulfs yet to be estimated nor even to be seen. There

moro every year than tho revenue of many petty king.

doms, and rolls a volume in whose depths the cathedral is a dreary winter coming, which cannot fail to of St. l'aul could be sunk out of sight. It discharges bring with it distress and suffering to hundreds in one year inore water than bas issued of thousands. Men willing to work find nothing

in five centuries; it swallows up fifty rivers, which

have no name, each of which is longer than the to do. The arm of industry hangs palsied from

Tharnes. The addition of the waters of the Dannbe involuntary inaction. The poor petition for would not swell it half a fathom; in one single reser. leave to toil is unheeded. Bread fails and hun voir, (Pepin,) twenty-five hundred miles from sea, the

navies of the world might safely ride at anchor. It ger is clamorous.

washes the shores of twelve powerful states, and be But the country is full of food, and there are tween ite arms lies space for twenty more."

VOL. XI.–42

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