SPURGEON ON THE FAST DAY. WE EDNESDAY, October 7th, was set apart as a day of solemn fast, humiliation, and prayer before Almighty God, in order to obtain pardon of our sins, and to implore the Divine Majesty's blessing and assistance on our arms, for the restoration of tranquillity in India." London presented the same appearance as on a Good Friday; nay, more solemn was the spectacle of public response to the pious proclamation. Mr. Spurgeon preached to 30,000 hearers at the Crystal Palace. He made some startling points, e. g., "It was not unusual with some classes of religionists to speak of every act which happened in connection with the commission of sin as a direct punishment from God. The upsetting of a boat on the river on a Sunday, was a punishment for Sabbath-breaking; and the fall of a house a visitation on the sins of those who dwelt in it. For his part, he forswore all sympathy with such notions, believing, with the Founder of our religion, that those upon whom the Tower of Siloam fell were not sinners above all others. Still, however, there were such things as national judgments and chastisements, for national of fences, and great blows from the rod of God, which every wise man would understand to be on account of some sin committed, and which should awaken in us a feeling of humiliation for our sins. What a rod, for instance, was that which had just fallen upon our country? We had to-day to lament over revolted subjects who were in open arms against the government. That in itself was a heavy blow. Happily the government of this country was so constituted, that we know but little of revolutions except by name. But the horrors of anarchy, and the terrors of a government shaken to its foundations were so great, that should he speak alone upon that point, his hearers ought to 'hear the rod.' But this was but as the letting out of water-the flood succeeded. The men who had revolted were our fellow subjects, and rightly so. Whatever others of the inhabitants of India might say, the Sepoys had voluntarily given themselves up to our dominion, had taken oaths of fidelity to her Majesty; they were petted and dandled on the knee of favoritism; they, at least, had nothing to complain of. If India had revolted, we might have thought that she had patriots in her midst, who were seeking to deliver her from despotism and tyranny. What crimes, too, had they com mitted! He looked His hearers ought to rise from their seats and hiss him if, from the place where he stood, he dared to refer to some of the crimes committed by these rebels in the open streets of their cities. But there was something more than even this-there were rebels to be executed. upon every gallows as a fearful evil, and regarded every gibbet as a dreadful visitation upon our land. But these men must be punished. Heaven and earth alike demanded it. He was no soldier; he loved not war. But this was not war at all, in the proper sense of the term. We were not fighting against an enemy, but revolted subjects, who by murder and crime had incurred the punishment of death; and as the arrest of the murderer by the authority of law was not war, so the arrest of the Sepoys and their utter extermination was not warit was what earth demanded, and what he sincerely believed God sanctioned." Speaking of the temporizing policy of the Company's representatives, the local government of India, Spurgeon said: "If the Indian Government had endeavored to undo evil-if it had followed the policy of right instead of greed, they ought never to have tolerated the religion of the Hindoos at all. When a religion consisted of bestiality, infanticide, and murder, its devotees had no right to indulge in it, unless they were prepared to be hanged for it. The religion of the Hindoos was the vilest which the imagination could conceive. Had they given even a decent character to their gods, we might have tolerated them. There ought never to have been any toleration for the Agapemone in this country, where sins were committed before which God's sun might have blushed for shame. Any reli gion which did not touch morality should be tolerated, but when religion led men to sin and immorality-down with it!" "What are the sins for which, if it be victory with their swords. Perhaps this very day a great fight is being fought, and a great victory won. Even now, by faith, I can hear the shouts of victorious warriors. The cloud will soon roll away, victory will come-and then-you will have some fireworks." I THE WAN REAPERS. BY MRS. C. JUDSON. CAME from a land where a beautiful light Is slowly creeping o'er hill-top and vale, Where broad is the field, and the harvest is white, But the reapers are wasted and pale. All wasted and worn with their wearisome toil, soil Of that distant and grave-dotted strand. For dangers uncounted are clustering there, There the rose never blooms on fair woman's wan cheek, true, God is now punishing us? There are sins committed at home which ought never to have been allowed. Oh, Britons! weep for those sins which our governors have not had strength of mind to stop. Long have we been allowing the infamous nuisances of Holy Street, of the Haymarket, and Regent Street. I do not know whose fault it iscertainly it is somebody's-that an honest. man cannot walk in the public streets without being insulted, or entrapped into sin by those decked in the robes of the harlot. How many, too, of our lords and ladies have sat in the play-house and listened to plays a very long way from decent in their character? These are glaring sins, for I am not raking for private vices. Our class sins, Though soon their low pillows must be the strange too, are most grievous. The poor are too often oppressed and downtrodden. Men look upon their fellows only as stepping. stones to wealth, and they fill the factories as a man would fill a caldron. 'Pitch him in,' says one, he is only a poor clerk, with a pound a week. There, too, is a poor doorkeeper and porter at a few shillings a week. Pitch him in too, and here are hundreds more; pitch them in, stir 'em up, never mind their cries; the law of supply and demand tolerates it, and who shall hinder us?' Verily, cotton lords and great men shall have power to do what they like-ought they not, my brethren? Ah! but there is a God, and that God has said, 'I will execute righteousness and judgment for all that are oppressed.' There are sins, too, among the poor. I have seen some of them smile when I have spoken of the sins of the rich, but they are many of them eye-servers and men-pleasers. Among the lower ranks-and God forgive the man who invented that word-there are many to be found who do not render faithful service to their masters and employers, and I call upon them to hear the rod, and him who hath appointed it.' The whole Christian Church, too, as a body, have been great sinners. The ministers have slumbered at their posts, and are as blind guides and dumb dogs. Even now the Church is only half awake, and Satan has been robbing the world while they slept. Britain has had many 'rods' from God. In a little while our soldiers will carve us out peace and But there's beautiful light in her eye; There the strong man is bowed in his youth's golden But he cheerily sings at his toil, For he thinks of his sheaves, and the garnering time And ever they turn, that brave, wan little band, A long, wistful gaze on the west "Do they come, do they come from that dear distant land? That land of the lovely and blest. "Do they come? Do they come? Oh! we're feeble And we're passing like shadows away; INJUSTICE. So foul a thing, O thou Injustice art, That torment'st the doer and distrest; O how he strives to excuse to make the best; DANIELL. LOOKING FOR A PLACE. fire, while she prepared his supper. The fire and the supper were very scanty, but TELL, Johnny, have you succeeded Johnny knew they were the best she could "WEL to-day, my son ?" "Nothing good to-day, mother. I have been all over town almost, and no one would take me. The book stores, and dry goods stores, and groceries, have plenty of boys already; but I think if you had been with me, I should have stood a better chance. Oh, you look so thin and pale, mother, somebody would have felt sorry, and so have taken me; but nobody knew me, and nobody saw you." A tear stole down the cheek of the little boy as he spoke, for he was almost discouraged; and when his mother saw the tear, not a few ran down hers also. It was a cold, bleak night, and Johnny had been out all day looking for "a place." He had persevered, although constantly refused, until it was quite dark, and then gave up, thinking that his mother must be tired waiting for him. provide, and he felt that he would rather share such a fire and such a supper with such a mother, than sit at the best filled table with anybody else, who did not love him as she did, and whom he did not love as he did her. After a few moments of silence, the boy, looking up into his mother's face with more than usual seriousness, said: you "Mother, do think it would be wrong to ask my new Sunday-school teacher about it on Sabbath?" "No, my son, not if you have no other opportunity; and I think he would be a very suitable person, too; at least, I should think that he would be interested in getting you a good place." "Well, to-morrow is Sunday, and when the class breaks up, I believe I will ask him." After reading a portion of God's holy His mother was a widow, and a very poor Word, the mother and her little boy kneeled one. She had maintained herself by needle- down together in their loneliness, and prayed work till a severe spell of sickness had con- the Lord most earnestly to take care of fined her to her bed, and she was unable to them. They were very poor, but they knew do more. that God cared for the poor. They knew She told her little son to sit down by the also that God would do what was best for them. Oh, it is a sweet thing to the soul to be able to say sincerely, "Thy will be done!" "I feel happier now," said John. "I was so tired when I came in, that I felt quite cross, I know I did; did I not look so, mother?" The mother's heart was full, and she gave her boy one long, affectionate kiss, which was sweeter to him than many words. Next morning was the Sabbath. John's breakfast was more scant than ever, but he said not a word about that, for he saw that his mother ate very little of it. But one or two sticks of wood were left outside of the door where it was kept; and he knew that both food and fire might all be gone before night. They had had no money to buy any with for several days. The Sabbath-school bell rang. The sun was shining bright and clear, but the air was exceedingly cold. The child had no overcoat, and was still wearing a part of his summer clothing. He was in his seat just as his superintendent and his teacher entered. "Who is that little pale-faced boy in your class?" asked the superintendent of Johnny's teacher. "His name is Jones; he lives in Stone Street, and I must visit him this very week. He is a well-behaved boy." "I should like to know more about him, and I will see him after school." The superintendent did not forget him, and when the class broke up, seeing him linger behind the other scholars, went up and took him by the hand kindly. "You have been here to school several Sabbaths, have you not, my hoy?" "Yes, sir, I came just a month ago today." "Had you ever been to school before that time?" "Yes, sir, before mother was taken sick, I used to go to Street School; but that was a great way off; and when mother got better, and you opened this new school, she advised me to come here, as it is so much nearer." "Well, did I not see you yesterday looking for a place in Water Street ?" "I was down there, sir, looking for a place." "Why did you not take that place which the gentleman had for you in the large grocery store ?" "Do you mean the store where the great copper worm stood on the sidewalk ?" "Yes." "Oh, sir, I didn't know they sold rum there when I first went in, and when I saw what kind of a store it was, I was afraid." "Have you a father?" "No, sir; father is dead," said the little boy, hanging down his head. "What did your father do, my son? what was his business ?" "Sir, he once kept a large store like that;" and the child shuddered when he answered. "Why did you not keep the piece of gold money that you found on the floor as you was coming into the store?" "Because it was not mine, and I thought that the gentleman would find the owner sooner than I should." "He did, my boy; it was my money. Did you not get a place yesterday?" "No, sir, all the places were full, and nobody knew me." "Well, my boy, you may go now, and tell your mother that you have a place. Come to me very early in the morning; your teacher will tell you where I live." Johnny went home with his heart and his eyes so full that he could hardly see the street, or anything else, as he went along. He knew that it would cheer his dear mother very much, and so it did. His superintendent procured a good place for him, and they were made comfortable and happy. Surely this story carries its own moral. GOOD DEEDS. WRETCHED is he who thinks of doing ill, His evil deeds long to conceal and hide; For though the voice and tongues of men be still, By fowls and beasts his sins shall be descried, And God oft worketh by his secret will, That sin itself, the sinner so doth guide, That of his own accord, without request, He makes his wicked doings manifest. SIR J. HARRINGTON. WHAT CHRISTMAS IS AS WE NIME was, with most of us, when Christ TIME mas Day, encircling all our limited world like a magic ring, left nothing out for us to miss or seek; bound together all our home enjoyments, affections, and hopes; grouped everything and every one around the Christmas fire; and made the little picture shining in our bright young eyes, complete. As we grow older, let us be more thankful that the circle of our Christmas associations, and of the lessons that they bring expands! Let us welcome every one of them, and summon them to take their places by the Christmas hearth. Welcome, old aspirations, glittering creatures of an ardent fancy, to your places underneath the holly! We know you, and have not outlived you yet. Welcome, old projects and old loves, however fleeting, to your nooks among the steadier lights that burn around us. Welcome, all that was ever real to our hearts; and for the earnestness that made you real, thanks to heaven! Do we build no Christmas castles in the clouds now? Let our thoughts, fluttering like butterflies among these flowers of children, bear witness! what has been, and what never was, and what we hope may be, to your shelter underneath the holly, to your places round the Christmas fire, where what is, sits openhearted! In yonder shadow do we see, obtruding furtively upon the blaze, an enemy's face! By Christmas day, we do forgive him! If the injury he has done us may admit of such companionship, let him come here and take his place. If otherwise, unhappily, let him go hence, assured that we will never injure or accuse him. On this day, we shut out nothing! "Pause," says a low voice. "Nothing? Think!" "On Christmas day we will shut out from our fireside nothing." "Not the shadow of a vast city where the withered leaves are lying deep ?" the voice replies. "Not the shadow that darkens the whole globe? Not the shadow of the City of the Dead ?" Not even that. Of all days in the year, we will turn our faces towards that City upon Christmas day, and from its silent hosts bring those we loved among us. City of the Dead, in the blessed name wherein we are gathered together at this time, and in the presence that is here among us, according to the promise, we will receive, and not disWelcome everything! Welcome, alike miss thy people, who are dear to us! |