RIGHT KIND OF MINISTERIAL INDEPENDENCE. God that he has given more light than reason could have thrown upon the path of human duty by human experience. We lose the prospect we are called unto, 59 And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong, RIGHT KIND OF MINISTERIAL INDEPENDENCE. THE following extract from a Charge, at an installation service, by Rev. Dr. Putnam, hits some things finely, and its wisdom deserves remembrance by many who are not apt to discern the responsi Take the Bible with a fondness and veneration that you bestow upon no other volume. Its language is to be interpreted upon the same principles which are used in reading other books, but still there is no book to be compared with this, no other that exercises or that has a right to exercise such authority over the opinions and habits of men. Bow, I say, before it, and as you press it to your heart, let its spirit penetrate into the inmost recesses of that heart, sanctifying the conscience and purifying the desires. Let the Bible be the authority of the Christian world; to that let the appeal be made. To the law and to the testimony;' the lawbilities to which allusion is herein made: of heaven and the testimony given by true and faith- 'You will hear much said about independent ful men. And that authority shall stand; that law preaching, and the liberty of thought and speech. shall be reverenced, and that testimony shall be ac- I bid you claim that independence, and exercise credited, when the opinions of our age shall have that liberty. But do not grow conceited, and morfaded out of the recollections of man. That autho-bidly sensitive about it. Exercise that liberty wiserity shall stand when the governments of the earthly, and as a responsible man. Do not come to imthat now lift up their heads, shall have crumbled in agine that all the world have special designs upon the dust; when systems of philosophy now admir- your liberty, to deprive you of it by craft or by vioed and followed, shall be forgotten except by the lence. Do not do or say foolish things, just to studied antiquarian; when the Christian sects that show how free and brave you are. Do not, whennow divide the Church, shall have passed off, and ever any novel idea, or speculation, or theory, or other sects shall have come in their place, or one doubt occurs to you, do not flatter yourself that you common church shall fill the earth; at the most have once for all solved the problem of the universe, distant period of time, and through all ages down and found the one sufficient access to heaven's wisto that moment, shall the Bible stand alone in its dom, and do not think that independence, or honsanctity, its beauty and its authority, the record of esty requires you, that very moment, to mount up the Divine Will, the strength of the weak, the com- to the house-top to make the saving proclamation, fort of the sorrowful, the hope of the dying. The or to rush into the street to organize new measures authority of the Bible, impugn it not, deny it not, thereupon; but wait a little-wait a good while. desire not to see it called in question, but lean upon Ponder the matter well before you speak or act. that authority as upon the arm of the Lord, and it Perhaps you will find, in a few days, that the great shall bear you up through all life's dangers and tri-idea is but a flimsy and transient fancy. The world als. Yea, and it shall be your hope through the floods of death, and introduce you to the fuller revelations of the Father's presence in bliss. E. S. GANNETT. does not want your crudities, but your deliberate and well considered convictions. It does not want all the winding and zigzag processes of an active and earnest mind, but its well digested and settled results. Mature your thoughts, and so far as they are novel or revolutionary, keep them to yourself, till they become entitled to your own respect and HERE is a characteristic Sonnett from Elizabeth Barrett BrownIng. We choose it from four lately published in Blackwood's confidence, and then it will be time enough to proMagazine. THE PROSPECT. METHINKS we do as fretful children do, To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, A mystic separation twixt those twain, The life beyond us and our souls in pain, claim them. A great deal more independence is sacrificed by rash and premature committal to sudden vagaries, than by that delay and reserve which manifests a decent respect for others, and for the wisdom which is supposed to be already extant. Speak what you believe; that, and that only, I charge you: but first be sure that you do believe it, and believe it for good reasons, that you may abide by. It is a good thing, and in a minister an essential thing, to be courageous, and sincere, but remember that a very 'Old parson Sim. cake, and a chaise at the door. Why bless my heart, good marm, Lucy is going to leave us.' foolish man may be both, in a high degree-but to no good purpose. These qualities should be joined to wisdom and a sound mind. On the whole there is nothing better than wisdom. Endeavor to be a wise man; not with a selfish, timid, time serving 'Going to leave us! you astonish me. Surely wisdom; the wisdom of vulgar expediency, of shuf-she is not going a journey without her father's and fling evasion, or crafty non-committal; but the mother's protection! If so, no wonder you cry, for wisdom which joins modesty to courage, and reflec-she is hardly fit to be left to a skip in the fields, so tion to sincerity; which knows what it is about, young and tender, without thought of danger.' and pursues clearly seen and well considered ends 'But Lucy is married; is no longer a girl, but a by reasonable and effective means,' wife.' VILLAGE CUSTOMS AND CHARACTERS. NO. II. By Mrs. F. M. Chesebro. A WEDDING. The truth beamed slowly into my mind. In dumb astonishment I looked at my little baby friend Lucy, and wiped my eyes with the rest. And so, this was no mock wedding, but a real life bridal. What could she do as a wife? But the pelisse and bonnet were already on, and Lucy stood waiting for me to recover myself, to bestow a farewell kiss. In perfect agony I strained do not leave your warm parent nest!' In a moment they were gone, and we all sat down and cried ourselves sick and nervous. DEAR little Lucy Green! Who would dream, as she stands there before the old gray haired par-her to my bosom, and muttered, 'Dear, dear child, son, with her little soft hand tightly linked in the stout, hardy grasp of Jemmy Jones, with that pretty new dress of white muslin fitted so neatly to her baby form! Who could once suppose this to be a real, actual scene; something that is even now being registered by angels, hardly purer than herself, in Heaven? This must be a mock wedding; some sport they have resorted to to amuse themselves, and prevent the hours from dragging. The minister looks grave. Papa's and mamma's eyes are running over with tears. Grandmama is wiping the moisture from her cracked spectacles. Nobody but Charley, (a two year old baby) and myself, seem to take a right view of the matter. Fine play, is it not, Charley? Lucy is a good little girl to think up, and enact so fine a frolic, for our amusement. If she lives ten years, I have no doubt but she will perform her part well, in a real life drama.' But there was no cause for our tears, for Lucy makes a capital wife. Her tiny bits of hands mix the lightest biscuit, and stir the sweetest custard that ever touched my lips. Slender as they are, there has been strength enough found in them, to throw up and down the churn dasher, and work over innumerable lumps of yellow sweet butter. 'Quite a woman Miss Lucy; I mean Mrs. Jones; and no doubt Jemmy is as proud of you as I am.' 'Father and mother are coming to dine with me to-morrow,' she said to me one day, ' and will they not be surprised to find their romping, silly little girl, sitting so lady-like and dignified, at the tea waiter? Only I am afraid I shall laugh, it will seem so ludicrous.' 'It cannot be more nonsensical than one scene they have been spectators of,' I answered; but I 'I pronounce you man and wife,' says the old must confess you would look more at home sitting clergyman, with a choked voice, and through sobs. at mamma's elbow, eating your bowl of bread and 'Oh capital, capital! How admirably each per-milk, than to be seen dishing out tea to her.' forms his part of the play! Charley has fairly clap- Papa and mamma came, and nothing happened ped his hands with joy, and crowed outright. But to mar the dignity of the little housekeeper, who, what upon earth is Lucy crying about, while Jem-sitting so demurely behind her tall silver teapot, my strives in vain to check her tears? would have been taken for a matron of forty, instead of a child of seventeen. 'Sweet little Lucy, come to me. I will rock you in my arms, and kiss your soft cheek. No doubt but that great harsh boy has hurt you. How could he know how to deal gently with such a little delicate fairy as you? I would not join any more of his rude plays. Come and run with Charley and me on the green.' Father praised the flavor of the tea, and mother looked as if she longed to speak a kind word of the nice plum pudding; but mothers are not apt to flat ter their daughters, especially in point of house keeping. The dinner went off admirably, and I was mor 'Mrs, Jones! Mrs. Jones! Still tears, sobs, fruit- in love with my little friend than ever. Jemmy too, gave such approving looks as seemed to say, 'I am indeed a happy husband, to possess such a little gem of a wife.' All young ladies of seventeen, however, are not Lucy Green, and but few, we fear, at twenty-five, have as much judgment and discretion as she. What is a sadder sight in the world than is oftentimes a wedding? The most gloomy, and withal the merriest scene we look upon, is a bridal. But if all will do as Lucy does, and be as sweet tempered and gentle, and perform as faithfully as she, their round of household duties, why, then, weddings will be oftener to us joyful seasons, and half of the gloom pervading the ceremony will fly away. Some echoes of the ceaseless din, The Poet stooped and kissed the Flower, THE RAILROAD FLOWER. By Miss S. C. E. Mayo. A LITTLE flower of lustrous blue 'Oh wherefore here, in dust and heat, The Flower with earnestness replied, And simple wants and artless truth; AFFLICTION. By Rev. A. D. Mayo. 'WHOM the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth." HEB. xii. 6. THE purpose of affliction is a subject of deep interest to every mind. We cannot say a true thing about it which will be useless, for all men are in some way afflicted. Could we know the entire history of every individual of the human race, we should probably see that in this respect the dealing of Providence is impartial. Sooner or later, in one form or another, the soul of every child of God must pass through a cloud. To one man trial comes in the defeat of his plans, the loss of his money, and all the attendant circumstances. To another in the prostration of health and the terrible anguish felt by a soul glowing with noble desires for labor, but enclosed in a body that feebly ministers to its demands. To others is reserved the sad thought of broken friendships, estrangements between hearts that once beat together as one heart, and upon many of us is the sad duty imposed of parting with those dearest and best in our eyes, and waiting patiently in faith, and hope of future re-union. Thus is every one of us tried according to his strength. No one of us can say his burden is heavier than his brother's. If outward circumstances are more favorable to him, there may be some sorrow of the heart, some temptation which we see not, that is daily crushing him. The bond of common suffering is one of the strongest that binds together the inhabitants of the world. Let us therefore devote this hour, my friends, to the consideration of this theme, so full of interest to us all, endeavoring to learn the purpose of this universal imposition of trial. We think it no irreverence in us to attempt to solve this great problem. God invites us to study with the eternal laws of rectitude, to be apostles of mercy to the weak, and spirits of encouragement to the ignorant, to fight against sin, to rebuke all wrong, to purify ourselves and purify others, to hasten the coming of the kingdom of Heaven, to prepare our souls for the nobler enjoyments of the eternal future! This is the purpose of life-duty, not pleasure. Holiness, not ease! If we are good, and great, according to our capacity, the end of life is gained, whatever fires of persecution or affliction his providences, rather than be crushed by them. > chasten every unseemly passion into conformity We have no sympathy with that state of mind which is always smitten with the fear of prying into the mysteries of Deity. My Father has given me reason, and in no way can I honor him so much, as by using it to interpret the language of his works, and his dealing with me. It is indeed wrong to come to the consideration of such themes with trifling, irreverent minds, but we may be assured, a soul anxiously inquiring for light, will never be repulsed by the great Author of wisdom; and in the case before us, it is absolutely necessary we should ac-have scathed us. If we are ignorant and sinful, count to ourselves for all this grief and trial we see around us. Mere consolation will never bind up a broken heart. Christian faith must have some knowledge on which to repose. Before I can use my affliction properly, I must know the purpose of God in appointing it for me. Not that I can ever know the precise intention of God in placing such a burden upon my shoulders, but I must know something of the work to be accomplished by it. Then can I see the love of a father shining brightly through the clouds that surround me, and like a faithful child, endeavor to co-operate with him in his benevolent purpose. And there is one idea, my friends, which lies at the foundation of our subject, and which we must impress most firmly upon our minds, if we would understand or rightly apply affliction. That is: This life was not intended to be a state of ease and mere enjoyment. We were not created to be pleased, and entertained, and amused. We were not created even for the indulgence of the social affections alone. This state of existence is not a bed of flowers where we may be fanned by delicious winds, lulled by the sound of falling waters, and screened by the foliage of green trees. We know most men think it so, or try to think it so. We are all constantly forgetting that life has any nobler purpose than enjoyment. We glide down the stream quietly, and never dream of wreck. We seem to think that heaven and earth, air, and fire, and water, matter and mind, even the Deity himself, are only created to minister to our ease and happiness. We complain when any trouble falls upon us, that we could have ordered it better had we been at the helm of the universe! Now, friends, the sooner we eradicate this idea from our minds, the better will it be for us. Life was not made for enjoyment, but for duty. We were not placed here to absorb happiness, to be mere vessels for God's bounty to fill. Oh no! there is a nobler work than all this for us. We were placed in this world to become great and good, to develope every beautiful trait of character, to strengthen every faculty of the soul by labor, to our life has so far been a failure, however much we may have enjoyed. Now the Deity knows the precise state of our souls. He knows exactly what we need here, to strengthen and purify us, to induce us to seek this great end of life. There are souls that love more as the bounties of heaven increase, in whom every gift calls up a gush of thankfulness, and arouses a new resolution for good. Like some plants, they thrive best in the brightest sun. For such men, prosperity is good, and they have it. But these rare souls are few. Most of us are weakened by uninterrupted happiness. We grow indolent and selfish, our spiritual powers are debilitated, we become like children shut up in hot rooms and carefully protected from the weather, sickly and pale, and impotent. Such a condition is the worst thing that can happen to us. There is nothing so fearful as sin, nothing so much to be dreaded as spiritual stagnation. Far better is it for us to suffer, if suffering will arouse us to a sense of our high duties and destiny. Oh yes, better be torn and crushed under every dispensation of Providence; better lose money, and health, and friends, and reputation; better even be hated by all men, and be driven about, the sport of every fierce wind that blows; better suffer like Paul, perils by sea and by land, beating and scourging, fatigue and remorse, and death itself, if we can only at last say with him, I have fought the good fight. I have kept the faith.' My friends, there is a happiness born of high virtue which is greater than all else; there is a mount of transfiguration upon which the tried and proved soul may stand and look down upon all its afflictions, with a thankfulness unknown to one of us in our sins. In proportion as we rise in holiness, the varying circumstances of life will have less power over us. We may lose our hold on the things that are seen and temporal,' but our hopes will repose on those that are 'unseen and eternal.' Reputation and money we shall gladly exchange for truth and virtue. Friends may die, but if we are good, the spirit world will be transparent, and we shall feel that they are not dead but living. We shall understand the sublime words of Jesus, He that be 6 lieveth in me shall never die.' Thus if we have a true view of life, if we feel that its purpose is our discipline in all things holy and elevated; we shall understand the purpose of affliction; we shall feel that it is of little consequence what happens to us here, if it makes us better. That we should be stunned and crushed under these visitations of God, is natural. It is right to weep. Jesus wept;' but when the tumult has subsided, it is also right to look in upon our souls, and discover what is wrong there, and make this sorrow the foundation of a nobler structure of righteousness. Thus shall we honor God, and use aright his dispensations. We know this view of our subject is not the popular one. We are all inclined to look upon these dispensations as accidents; events that we might have avoided. We question not that there is a large class of evils which we bring upon ourselves, but it seems that even in such cases the Deity is always working to overrule the consequences of our indiscretion for our best good. Affliction would not be tolerated in the moral universe of God, were not its tendency good, and only good. It is a sign of an unregenerated soul, to ascribe all the events of life to chance. The great doctrine of our religion is, that there are no such things as accidents in the world. We worship a Father who watches the fall of a sparrow, clothes the lilies of the field, and numbers the hairs of our heads. Every act of our lives is wrought by his permission; every interruption in our plans, however trivial, every bodily pain, every mental pang, every trial of whatever description, is known to, and ordered by him. He knows the precise disease which afflicts our moral con ́stitution, and always sends us the proper remedy, will we but use it. The highest state of Christian faith possible, is that of unreserved belief in this doctrine of universal Providence. To work with all our might in the circumstances wherein the Deity has placed us, to receive good fortune or hard fortune as it comes, endeavoring to extract from every event of our lives a saving grace; to feel, wherever we are, that our present condition is better for us than any other could possibly be; to feel, in sickness, that pain is better for us than health, for the time being; to feel in poverty that want is a better discipline to our souls than affluence and luxury; this it is to be religious. This state of mind is far removed from inaction, and a supine repose on the events of Providence. On the contrary, it strives to improve every grief and joy to its utmost. We are all morally diseased. Our heavenly Father is trying to restore us to health and soundness. The various events of our lives are the remedies he sends to accomplish this purpose. Some of us are afflicted with moral paralysis, and of course we must have moral galvanic shocks to cure us. Proud, high handed offenders have a moral fever, and they must have the cooling application of humiliation and worldly disgrace to check their disease; and so of all other conditions. Every moral disease has its remedy, as well as every natural malady; and what we would enforce is, that the great Physician knows this, and always endeavors to cure us. Alas! he finds us wilful patients, always ready to thwart his benevolent intentions. Would you not censure a sick man, if he should obstinately refuse to take medicine, drive his skilful medical attendants out of doors, and expose himself to every thing unfavorable to his recovery? But, my friends, we do a more inexcusable thing, when our good parent comes to us with a remedy for our sinfulness, we complain and doubt his goodness, and like spoiled children prefer to be sick rather than to apply the remedy! Oh! how much we need faith! How can we continue to distrust the goodness of our divine parent when we have seen that every event in our lives has been ordered in wisdom and love! I ask every one of you to look back upon his life, and ask himself if all his afflictions have not been, or might not have been, if improved, the best fortune he could have had. You have perhaps experienced reverses in worldly circumstances. If you have met them as you ought, they have been good for you; they have strengthened your character, made you more useful members of society, brought you nearer the 'Kingdom of Heaven.' You may have known much bodily suffering. If you have lived aright, how blessed has this valley of shadows been to you! How many feelings of sympathy and tenderness, how many lofty purposes of life, how many glorious communings with the good and the beautiful, have cheered your hours of solitude and suffering! Oh, tell me not of the pleasures of the worldly man, of the rewards of fame, of the happiness born of the glittering show of life. I have seen, and known these, and I have felt in my sadness of heart, how unsatisfying they all were. I remember not such hours; they are not epochs in my life. When I would think of the best and happiest times of my existence, I am drawn back to some hour of pain, and weakness, and grief, when God sent to me a thought of his mercy, or revealed one of his deep purposes, and kindled in my soul a glow of feeling that bore it up above earth, and made me forget I was sick, made me forget I had a body, made me forget every thing except the blissful thought, 'God loves me.' And cannot some of you who have lost dear friends, feel that now, |