Original. HOLINESS.-NO. IV. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WAY OF HOLINESS, WITH NOTES "Wilt thou be made whole?" "For whether is greater, the gift, or the altar that sanctifieth the gift?" Ir the Scribes and Pharisees were so severely chided for regarding the gift of greater importance than the sacredness of the "altar most holy," by virtue of which their gifts were sanctified, who can portray the God-dishonoring character of that unbelief which prompts the offerer at the Christian's altar to doubt whether, when he lays his sacrifice upon it, it will be holy-acceptable unto God? I must confess, dear R., that my heart, with an instinctive, involuntary shuddering, recoils from the not unfrequently repeated observation, "I do not know but that I have laid all upon the altar; but I don't know whether the offering is accepted." It always, to my mind, implies one or all of two or three things either that they imagine themselves more willing and faithful in complying with the conditions than God is in fulfilling his part of the engagements, or they do not apprehend the inherent, infinite sacredness of that altar upon which they presume they may have laid their gift, or are inexcusably indefinite and loose in their perceptions of those holy, all-important mysteries, with which every believer in Christ should be conversant. Either of these are lamentable, God-dishonoring deficiencies, indulgence in which should crimson the cheek in blushes before God and man, and call forth the heart's most penitential acknowledgments. And yet a course, if possible, more reprehensible is pursued by many—it is that of thinking more of the value of the puny offering than of the Godconstituted claims of the altar. Did the temple service require sacrifices? How much more commanding the claims of Christ, our redeemer! O, dear R., we will not hesitate to render to him a whole burnt sacrifice. Surely the entire service of body, soul, and spirit, is not only a reasonable but a required service. Christ has purchased all unto himself. How unreasonable, then, not to live in the ceaseless return of all these redeemed powers! 0, it is but meet that all should be presented a ceaseless, yes, a living sacrifice! O, is not your heart now saying "Poor as it is, 'tis all my store More should thou have if I had more." And how blessed it is to know that you may thus be unto God a sweet savor of Christ! Abiding here, you will in verity know what it is to have your life hid with Christ in God. How can it be otherwise than that the spirit, abiding "A heart his joys and griefs to feel- O, how ceaselessly, then, will our sympathies be Now, my dear R., is the design of redemption answered in any lower state of grace than this? Do answer this question as before God. O, take it into the inner sanctuary of your heart, and let the answer be such as you will feel no misgiving in meeting when, in the eternal world, you see your Redeemer face to face. If you render this whole-hearted service, I know you will be constrained to acknowledge yourself but an unprofitble servant. If you should do it from this moment, you would ever feel cause for the deepest abasement before God, in that you have not ever acknowledged the rightful claim of your Redeemer, If you delay, from any cause whatever, you make food for repentance. God demands present holiness! Every earthly consideration should dwindle into insignificance in comparison with this. Resolve from this moment that this command of your God shall be all-absorbing. Say to every minor demand on body or soul, "Let the dead bury their dead." But now, beloved R., if the altar is indeed near at hand: and is it not? And are not you standing in waiting attitude beneath its hallowed shadenearer than within arm's reach of that altar upon which you are to repose in eternal consecration your offering? And is not the offering also, that you would present, nearer than within your grasp? Now, what is before you but an act unutterable in solemnity-infinite in bearing upon your present and future destiny! Will you not now lay your offering upon the altar? You know it must touch the altar before it can be sanctified. This is God's unalterable decree. With him there is neither vari 176 MISS M, OF SALEM, MASS. ableness nor shadow of turning. This act, on your part, must necessarily induce the promised result on the part of the faithful, unchangeable Jehovah. But remember that all is not given up until that will, that requires some signal manifestation, sign, or wonder, preparatory, or as the result of believing, is also renounced. This is generally the last object around which the spirit lingers. Holiness is a state of soul in which all the powers of body and mind are consciously given up to God. Feeling is not now what you should be aiming at. Get holiness, and you will then feel that you will delight to leave every emotion of body or mind submissively to God. He will give you just the amount or peculiarity of emotion that will best fit you to glorify his name; and this is all that you are now to live for. God is now saying unto you, "Bring all the tithes into my store-house, and prove me herewith." If you will this moment promptly obey his requisition, dear R., you will at once, to the unutterable blessedness of your soul, prove that "if any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine." And now, my beloved R., may "the very God of peace sanctify you wholly! and I pray God your whole spirit, and soul, and body, be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. Faithful is he that calleth you, who also will do it." If opportunity offers, I will endeavor to communicate with you relative to the privileges peculiar to this state. From the American Messenger. MISS M, OF SALEM, MASS. M- was young and lovely; but as the tender flower is withered by the blast, so she sank beneath the ravages of disease-her beauty faded— she drooped and died. It was the privilege of the writer to be with her during her last sickness. It was indeed a favored spot; for the gloom which so often curtains the chamber of death, seemed there unknown. The Sun of righteousness had irradiated it with his cheering beams; and the happy messengers who had recently conducted her departed brother to the mansions of rest, seemed to be hovering round her pillow, waiting also to convey her willing spirit home. Her disease speedily spread its ravages over her tender, delicate frame. At first she realized not her critical situation, but spoke of returning health. Yet the hectic flush, which at times would spread over her pale countenance, the sunken eye, and the faltering step, told the sad tale to anxious friends, that she whom they loved was not long to be an inhabitant of earth; and with sorrowing hearts did they watch her sad decline. But M. soon felt herself that her strength was failing, and that she must die. O, what an hour is that to one whose hopes have centred in a vain world! But it was not thus with M-. She had given the dew of her youth to the Savior, and had consecrated her brightest days to his service. While the bloom of health played upon her countenance, and strength and vigor spread through her frame, she renounced the vain pleasures of earth, and turned from its polluting streams to the "fountain of living waters;" and the cheerful smile, and the placid countenance, bore witness to the peace and quiet which pervaded her spirit in view of the near approach of death. It was deHightful indeed to witness the power of that grace which enabled her to triumph over fear, sin, and corruption. But we will pass over days and weeks of afflic tion, to the closing scene. It is the morning of the holy Sabbath, and every thing around is hushed and still. It is an hour of trial, but one also of peace and consolation, which the world can neither give nor take away. At an early hour of the morning her little family circle was summoned to her bed-side. She had passed a painful night; but the change which had then spread over her countenance told plainly that her trials were soon to be ended, and her willing spirit to be freed from the fetters which bound it. The pillows which supported her dying head were raised, and she looked around upon her friends with a smile of tenderness and affection. She spoke of a Savior's love; and her countenance was lighted with a heavenly glow, as she expressed the sweet assurance that he was with her, and sustained her with his cheering presence. "Mother," said she, "I am just entering the river, and I can see it; it is calm and clear: the Savior is with me." She ceased for a moment, but the sweet smile passed not away from her countenance. Again she looked upon her friends, as if she would convey to them some idea of the celestial world, which seemed unfolded to her view; but she could only, with smiles, exclaim, “O, beautiful! beautiful!" Thus she continued in this happy frame of mind, lingering upon the bor ders of heaven, for the space of an hour, and uttering one message for the benefit of all, "Prepare to meet thy God;" when her eye grew dim, her voice faltered, and in a few moments her lips were silent in death. Thus calmly did she close her eyes on all earthly things-thus peacefully did she pass away. "So fades a summer cloud away So sinks the gale when storms are o'er So gently shuts the eye of day So dies a wave along the shore." H. F. Original. THE MONOMANIACS. BY MISS BURROUGH. "One part, one little part, we dimly scan, Thro' the dark medium of life's feverish dream; Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, If but that little part incongruous seem." "WHAT will become of the insane in the day of judgment?" is, I believe, a question of more frequent inquiry and speculation, than most of the hidden things of God. But He who ordereth all things well, will dispose of them aright. Let us, then, leave their future destiny with him; and having our hearts filled with the deepest sympathy for their present condition, remember the rebuke of our Savior to a similar inquiry, and "strive," ourselves, "to enter in at the strait gate." It is, indeed, a melancholy sight to witness the human intellect, under any circumstances, turned astray from its proper channel, and amusing itself, however innocently, with the baubles of the child, or the idle fancies and illusions of the bewildered adult. And how much more saddening is that species of insanity which seems to leave the light of the intellect burning in the chambers of the brain, whilst dark shadows have fallen upon the moral feelings and perceptions of the sufferer, and the heart, out of which "are the issues of life," becomes embittered, or filled with vanity and vexation of spirit! There were, many years since, living in the city of B., two monomaniacs, both females, one an African and the other white, with whom I often met in my street rambles. They were harmless, and both appeared happy. But their happiness was derived from totally different sources. Whilst the African always appeared to be in a rejoicing frame, and eagerly looking forward and upward, for expected good, the other was prone to dwell upon past pleasures with regret, and upon surrounding circumstances with mortification and disappointment, seeming not to bestow a single thought upon the future. I had frequently passed them both at different times on the pavement before I knew any thing of their histories; but had received impressions, in these brief interviews, somewhat in accordance with the character of each. The white lady, Mrs. D., was a perfect caricature of the then prevailing fashions; and many a dashing belle of Marketstreet should have felt rebuked at her appearance. Every thing was in mode; but it was ultra, and worn with such an air of perfect satisfaction, although she was neither young or beautiful, as often provoked a smile from the most grave, particularly as she had adopted the fashionable street VOL. IV.-23 manners. The walk, as well as the costume, was in the same style of excess. The first time I saw her was near to a hack stand. She was arrayed in all the paraphernalia of the mode; and I observed she carried in her hand a parasol with each quarter of a different color, imaging, as one might fancy, the incongruities of the wearer. She was alone, and walking slowly before me; and whilst I was speculating upon the oddness of her appearance, she turned her eye upon the long line of handsome hacks, and said aloud 'Surely, after marriage, I thought to keep a carriage." I soon after mentioned the circumstance, by way of inquiry, to a friend, and she laughingly told me that it was Mrs. D., and added that after she had made a full toilet, she always put on her smiles, and spoke in rhyme, and seemed to consider metre the dress language of a lady. I afterward learned that she was naturally of an aspiring, ambitious character, and that she had, early in life, bartered her principles and her happiness, by marrying a man for whom she had no respect or preference, in the belief that he was rich; and being disappointed in this, her mind had lost its balance, and ever after seemed to crave and dwell upon the things it had missed. I once met her in a fashionable store, where she examined the goods, commented upon the prices and quality with all possible discretion, and finally purchased a printed dress-pattern (sufficiently gay, to be sure;) and when the shopman handed her the parcel, with all the airs and graces of the fine lady, she yet reminded him of the thread, by saying "And, surely, the cotton Should never be forgotten." This was her usual style of folly. I have omitted to mention that she was now a widow. Her husband had been dead many years. He had belonged to the brotherhood of Masons, and was of the deeply initiated; so that he was buried with imposing Masonic honors. This honor was highly gratifying to his widow; and she had ever after felt it her duty to fill his place in the processions of that fraternity; and although she was not permitted to enter their council chamber, she insisted on following them through the streets; and I have seen her walking beside their ranks, wearing a mystic-looking apron, covered with all sorts of finery and devices. Yet, with all the freedoms of aberration, she was not wanting in womanly modesty. She had great energy and perse acter, but was ever in pursu gratify a puerile and worldly fast heard of her she was busily engaged The last I collecting 178 THE MONOMANIACS. a cabinet of minerals, and with as much eagerness as if a knowledge of the science, and not a mere conformity to a prevailing fashion, were the ground of her interest for it. The reader perceives, at once, that vanity and a taste for fashionable follies were her predominant characteristics. But now of the other. Hagar, the African, was of a different mold. She possessed all the peculiar characteristics of her race, as they are originally found when fresh from their own happy homes, ere they become lost by admixture with other races. She was almost of an ebony blackness, with truly African features; but withal she had one of the most attractive faces I have ever seen. It seemed ever beaming with the sunlight of a happy spirit. || Amidst all the outward adornments of a gay city, her dress was always the same-a coarse, white negro-cloth gown, with a kerchief of the same, and an antiquated straw bonnet, tied on with a black string, from which was suspended a coarse, white muslin vail, drawn on one side, and strangely contrasting with the complexion of the wearer. A pair of coarse shoes and stockings completed her dress. And yet "Old Aunt Hagar," as she was familiarly called by the young folks of the city, who never passed her by unnoticed, had always a bright smile and a "God bless you" for all. She coveted none of the indulgences of life-she "cared for none of these things;" but seemed to "rejoice evermore," in having herself chosen the "good part." Hagar, I learned, was a native African, and had been brought into this country when young, and, like her Egyptian namesake, sold into bondage, where she lived many years in utter ignorance of spiritual things, unless, like her benighted race, she merely "Saw God in clouds, Or heard him in the winds." At length her master died, and the family removed from their plantation to the city, where Hagar accompanied them as a house-servant. She now, for the first time, had the privilege of attending meeting on each Sabbath; and being naturally of a religious temperament, she soon became aroused to spiritual things. But the variety of sects that she found here was a stumbling-block in her way, and seemed to bewilder her simple mind. She thought that "one religion was enough for the worship of one God." From time to time she heard the disciples of her own color, of various creeds, declare that theirs was the right faith; so she, in her earnestness for the truth, and with, perhaps, something of the love of novelty belonging to her race, determined to try them all, and then to decide for herself. Her mistress being a Catholic, she commenced with that Church; the ceremonies and usages of which so wrought upon her mind, that she concluded that this alone must be the true Church, and all others must be wrong. For a year or more I was told that, in the purity of her faith, and the propriety of her life, she was perhaps the best Catholic in B. She was now considered almost a saint; but, alas! for Hagar, she was not to be canonized; for the tempter, who hitherto could get no advantage of her, one morning strewed her pillow with a double portion of poppies, and she neglected morning prayers. Immediately she became so conscience-stricken with what she conceived to be the enormity of her sin, that she imposed upon herself, as a penance, that she would kneel down and ask forgiveness of her Maker, and not rise from her knees for six months! This happened before I went to B.; but I was informed by one who saw her, that for a time she actually traversed the streets in that way; but finding it uncomfortable and inconvenient to get about by this method, she was induced to change the penance to that of not speaking. She had now become almost useless in the capacity of a houseservant; and being indulged by her mistress, she was employed by the Catholics to circulate and to sell their books, which she did by carrying them about with the prices marked upon them; but she could never be provoked to speak a syllable until the expiration of the term for which she had bound herself. So much, amidst all her outward changes, for Hagar's constancy. By this time she had made up her mind that, after all, this was not the right religion, and that she would seek further. She now tried the Presbyterians; but staid only a short time with them. Their doctrines of election puzzled and frightened her, and her mind became unhinged. She was told that the Methodists would show her an easier and a better way to heaven; and now she seemed, for a time, perfectly satisfied, singing and shouting with the best of them. Here it was that she received the first impressions of her own sinfulness by nature, and of her utter inabil ity to make herself, of herself, worthy of heaven. And she now seemed almost to despair of salvation. She was in this frame of mind, when she was told if she would be baptized in the "name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,' that it would wash away all her sins at once. Under this delusion she applied to the Baptists for admission to their Church; but they, considering her not of sane mind, declined receiving her. But Hagar was not to be turned from her purpose. She felt burdened and oppressed with her sins; and sincerely believing that the prayers offered for other candidates for baptism would equally benefit herself, at their next administration of this sacrament, she unexpectedly appeared in their midst; and the very first one their minister led into the water was closely and reverently followed by Hagar; and when he plunged his disciple, Hagar dipped down also, no doubt in sincerity and faith of its proving to her a saving ordinance. But she soon learned, to her sorrow, that outward washing cannot cleanse the heart. She now thought she had done all that she could do for herself; but still felt the plague of her heart, and she was again in perplexity. Yet she never once distrusted the reality of religion; and she was resolved to seek on, or to grope on, till she found it, and finally decided to sit quietly down with the Quakers, and "await the operations of the Spirit." There were several other sects in the city that Hagar had no disposition to try; for, to use her own expressions, they were built upon a "wrong foundation"—their religion was not "strong enough." This was Hagar's last change. Here no doctrines were discussed, no Church ceremonies performed, that she could not understand; and she felt more fellowship with them than she had done with any other sect. And it was sitting amidst their silent meetings that she found spiritual, and sometimes physical rest. I had missed seeing her for a longer time than usual, and inquired of a friend as to her religious "whereabouts," when he told me, with a smile, that after having "confessed with the Catholics— shouted with the Methodists-stood awhile with the Presbyterians, and been baptized with the Baptists, she had finally gone to sleep' with the Quakers." Amidst an enlightened community, this continual changing, and seemingly light intrusion upon sacred ordinances, would seem surprising to the reader. But there is all allowance to be made for the circumstances of the case. In the first place Hagar was old before she ever had the least participation or knowledge of religious matters; and when the subject broke upon her it presented itself to a mind entirely dark. Yet it was not of "Egyptian darkness;" for "the Spirit had pervaded her spirit." She had no resource in Revelation; for she could not read a single word. But, impelled by earnestness for the very truth, she hoped and desired to find it in some one Church beyond all others; so that Hagar's changes, instead of evincing lightness of purpose, were but added evidence of her own soundness. And so the thing was understood by all. Hagar never after, I believe, manifested but one inconsistency. She called herself a Quaker; yet when she got warmed with religious enjoyment, she would shout, and sometimes sing her favorite Methodist hymn― "Will you go to glory with me?" This was many years ago, and she, as well as the white lady, has ceased to wander and to err. Both have long since found repose-their bodies within the grave, and the spirit of one at least in heaven. Original. THE POWER OF GOD. THE Bible everywhere proclaims the power of God. It is made known in almost every page. If we turn only to the first leaf of that sacred volume, we read that by one word he called into existence the sovereign arbiter of day-that he stretched out, by the same, that blue canopy over our heads, and spangled it with stars, which science has since shown are worlds-immense worldsfar superior in magnitude to our own-that he robed this world in all those beauties which we now behold. "Twas he, by his own command, who formed the boisterous ocean, whose waves "mount up to the heavens." 'Twas he who formed those delightful solitudes, "In nature's utmost verdure drest," which have oft been the song of the poets. If we turn to the next leaf, we learn how his power was displayed in peopling the earth and sea with va rious insects and animals, and decorating the trees with those gorgeous plumed songsters which fill the air with their melodious notes. Here, too, we understand how he created man-that mighty master-piece of Deity-endowed with an immortal mind-designed for a higher, nobler existence, than all other created beings. If we turn a little farther on, we hear him commanding the windows of heaven to be opened, and the fountains of the great deep to be broken up, and roll their dark, desolating waters over that delightful Eden which he made for the residence of created mind, to cut off the wicked, rebellious race of man from the face of the earth. Still further-the scene is so graphic that we seem to be viewing the reality-we see his wonders displayed in Egypt, when the land was shrouded in darkness-when the awful thunders of his wrath were heard-when the Egyptians cried out, "We be all dead men "-and when he brought the Israelites forth with song and mirth, dividing the sea before them, and, as says the sweet Psalmist of Israel, "He established all their goings." How beautifully does the volume of sacred Writ describe the power of the Infinite. He drove out mighty kings before them, saying, "Touch not my inheritance, and do my people no harm;" and he brought them into a land flowing with milk and honey, and there he made his beloved to dwell. Again: If we open at Job-not because the intermediate parts do not display his omnipotencewith what beauty, with what grandeur does that sacred poet describe it when the Almighty called to him out of the storm and whirlwind, and proclaimed his power as infinite-at whose disposal was all created mind—whose bidding every thing awaits. It was in the awful sublimity of that scene that Job exclaimed, "I know that thou canst do every thing!" |