The Journal.

Man, know thyself. All wisdom couters there;

To none man seems ignoble, but to man.-Young,

PATRICK HENRY AND EDWARD

EVERETT.

THE ORATOR OF NATURE AND THE ORATOR

OF THE ACADEMY.

AMONG the readers of this JOURNAL there
are no doubt many young men who look upon
the glittering spoils of oratory as the brightest
badges of success, and the richest rewards that
can be won in the arena of public life. These
ingenuous youths are constantly drawn toward
illustrious examples, and feel an absorbing
interest in everything that relates to the
oratorical career or the private history of
those who, in their day, with master-fingers
swept the chords of human auditories.

In presenting models to the young, the bio-

graphical writer should wisely discriminate

between those whose performances it is pos-

sible for most persons to emulate, and those

who, by the largeness and the splendor of

their natural endowments, have their place

fixed in that selected number whom mankind

must consent to admire without hoping to

rival.

It is from phrenological science alone that

the biographical writer can derive that knowl-
edge which enables him thus to discriminate.
And we know of no instance in our American
history which illustrates this contrast more
forcibly than the one which may be drawn
between the renowned men whose faces are at
the head of this article.

There is not one man in ten thousand, nay,
not one in a million, who has been gifted by
nature with such a magnificent equipment for

the faultless taste of an Everett. It is a proof that inborn faculty, however magnificent, will not give a permanent, recorded fame. Patrick Henry left no orations which give the student anything like a just and adequate idea of his great abilities. It is true that nothing printed can reproduce the silvery tones or the inimitable graceful action which gave Mr. Everett's delivery such a charm; but a great part of him lives and will live in those volumes of his, abounding, as they do, in passages which for brilliant and finished rhetoric, faultless diction, and exquisite balance of period have rarely been equaled by any speaker or writer of the English tongue.

On the whole, there is not on the bright roll of American oratory a name more worthy of honor or a career more fit to be emulated than that of the silver-tongued orator of Massachusetts. He was like the steward in the New Testament to whom five talents had been given. By unremitting and systematic study, by a painstaking in which he never relaxed and of which he was never weary, he added to those natural gifts five other talents. If he failed of scaling the heights of state renown, it was not for lack of any diligence on his part, but because nature had made him more delicate, more sensitive and elegant than is consistent with the temper of her masterpieces of power. Yet young men can with more safety be pointed to his example than to the more stormy career of those who have cut their names deeper in the annals of their country. He never spoke a word that needed to be taken back or apologized for; he never inflicted a wound; all his orations tended to illustrate the dignity of human nature, the wealth of learning, the value of education, and to beget a beautiful and fitting reverence for the great names of our history.

Everett stands before us like some chefd'œuvre of sculpture, polished in every limb, beautiful in feature, graceful in composition, faultless in execution. The other name seems, amid the smoke and roar of the Revolution, like some gigantic bas-relief, a partly-finished sketch of Michael Angelo, with lines of inimitable strength, but the conception half developed and the glorious whole dimmed by the mists of tradition looming before us a Titanic figure moving in the shadows of the past.

L.

GIVING THANKS.-"Let us be thankful for life, and work, and enjoyment; that we live now and here; that our eyes see what ancient prophets foretold, and ancient saints longed to witness; that duty and opportunity alone are ours, and the results God's; that we can calmly behold all changes, knowing that "the removing of those things that are shaken" is only "that those things which can not be shaken may remain." Let us be thankful for God, our Father, for Jesus, our Saviour, for the Holy Ghost, our Comforter, for the communion of saints, and for the hope of life eternal!"The Advance.

Religious Department.

Know,

Without or star, or angel, for their guide,
Who worship God shall find him. Humble love,
And not proud reason, keeps the door of heaven;
Love finds admission where proud science fails.
-Young's Night Thoughts,

THE USES OF CULTURE IN THE MINISTRY.

BY A. A. G.

THE discipline and knowledge gained in that process called culture, may be used for the highest and noblest purpose, the good of man and the glory of the great Creator. And when it becomes the all-inspiring motive of a man's life to do good to his fellows, and swell the song of praise that is at last to thrill through the universe, he often feels born within him hungerings and thirstings after knowledge, and an intense desire to know all things, and bring up his mental faculties to the highest possible point of culture. He learns, as if by a sudden revelation, that knowledge is power, that culture is influence, and at once lays upon his body and mind all that self-denial imposes upon those who, by extensive and varied knowledge, would gain access to all men.

That ignorance is no helpmect in the great life-work of doing good is very plain, and it certainly has been felt by many, especially by those called to that sacred ministry which has been most beautifully named, "the ministry of reconciliation." They, more than others, have regarded ignorance as a fetter, as something that sets limits to their power for good, and erects barriers between them and a useful life. And they have realized that high culture introduces men of their profession to a large and blessed life of successful toil.

Now, how is it that culture has this advantage over ignorance? Wherein does the power of culture lie? The superficial thinker will answer that the man of culture, if he possesses tact and shrewdness and knows how to display his learning, will be able to compel all men to look up to him with admiring reverence as they do at the stars that glow and burn in the sky above them, and will thus make himself a man of power. But this power is not the power of true culture.

It might be said with truth, that one of the great elements of the power of culture is simplicity-simplicity that is without affectation or display; simplicity that makes no effort to show its treasures of knowledge; simplicity that is never disturbed by the fear that rare acquirements will not be recognized and admired; simplicity that can be a child with children as well as a man with men.

A certain church in a certain town was once left without a minister, and the question that soon swallowed up all other questions within the spiritual inciosure was: "Whom shall we get?" And there were not only "many men," but many women of "many minds" in that congregation. One, however, more than all the

rest, attracted attention, and contributed not a little to the general amusement. She was an old-fashioned woman, had seen nearly sixty years, and was a person of sound sense, in the main, but she had for years declared war against culture in the ministry. And when it came to her ears that the church thought of calling Mr. G., a man eminent for learning, she went at once to see one of the principal deacons, and, without any preliminaries, said to him: "Now, brother, we musn't call Mr. G., for he's a learned man. If we do, the church will soon be like a withered, dried-up branch. I've seen enough of learning among ministers, and I know it's the death of all grace, not only of their own grace, but of the grace that is in the church. I know I'm a little singular in my notions, but I do honestly think that tobacco and learning are the two worst things a minister can have about him. I've never heard that Mr. G. chews or smokes, but I know he's a learned man, so he's not the one for us." In spite of the good sister's labors with the deacon, Mr. G. received a call, accepted it, and soon came and took possession of the vacant pulpit.

Not long afterward, as he was going the rounds of his church, calling on his new flock, he came to the house of the great opposer of learning. Grandmother Baxter, as she was called in the church, was not at home, but a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired grandchild was, and she bounded into the room, exclaiming: "I know you, for I saw you up in the pulpit last Sunday."

As soon as her grandmother came home, she told her that the minister had been there. "Has he?" replied grandmother Baxter.

'Well, my child, I hope you acted like a little woman, and sat still, and tried to talk with the minister."

"Why, no, grandma! I couldn't! He wanted to go out and see my flower-bed, and after I'd shown it to him, I took him down to see the chickens, and he helped me feed 'em, and then he put me on his shoulder and ran up to the house with me, and when he went away he said he'd had a good time.'"

Grandmother Baxter was astonished; but she was more astonished still when" the new minister" came into Sabbath-school, Sabbath after Sabbath, and talked to the children without using-one big word! Indeed, she couldn't see that he used any big words, even in the pulpit, and she came to the conclusion that he was "just as simple as her little grandchild." The simplicity of true culture was at last made manifest to the old lady, and the minister became her special favorite.

True culture has still other elements of power that show its noble uses. It has a something to which we know not how to give a name, that impresses and influences the uncultivated, and when joined to goodness of heart, it is irresistible in its effects.

There was once a backwoods place, where the people were as rough as the uncleared ground, and the shepherd that led the flock

was a backwoods shepherd. All religious bodies sometimes make mistakes, and the Conference of the Methodist Church made a great mistake when it sent such a minister to such a people. Before his first year was up, it was discovered that he had no power over the people. No good seemed to be accomplished in that field where, alas, so much good needed to be done, and the Conference concluded to send there what they called "a high-toned man." He was a man of true culture as well as of singleness and earnestness of purpose, and an influence at once went out from him that was most wonderful in its effect. The people had not really known their own wants. They had not understood that the undeveloped and uncultivated crave development and cultivation, and, consequently, the ministrations of a minister whose preaching has a cultivating power in it. But they had understood that they "needed a different kind of man," and when he came to them, he came in that fullness of power that true culture, united to holy zeal, always possesses, and they were blessed. Scores of rough men were won to the love of all the glorious truths of the Christian religion.

It has too often escaped the observation even of deep thinkers and shrewd observers that the most uncultivated frequently have a quick perception and high appreciatiation of culture, as well as a craving for it. When the new minister settled in the backwoods town, every Monday found the people wherever they met, in their places of business, talking about the sermons they had heard the day before, and it was soon seen that the culture of the man was an educating power, and not only piety, but an intelligent piety, began to flourish in what had before appeared to be barren soil. Now, if there had been in the people no perception of culture, or no appreciation of it, the new ministry would have been as powerless as the old. We know of no higher or better uses of culture than this one. We have not forgotten, however, the power of a man of true culture over a cultivated audience, or the ability that culture gives him to meet the foes of Christianity and errorists of every description. The use of culture in winning polished and powerful foes to the love of the truth should not be passed over lightly as of small importance. But the refining, educating, uplifting, forming power of true culture, united with religious zeal, gives it, we think, its noblest and best use. The King of kings, when he came down to earth, did not spend his time in seeking out the prominent and noted foes to his divine mission. He went among the people-the common The people; the multitude followed him. coarse, the uneducated, the uncultivated felt his power, and he rejoiced in his work among them. And while he lived on earth, he used the riches of his divine and perfect nature among the plainest and commonest men. Therefore let none say that high culture should not be put to common uses, and let not the man of high culture be afraid that he shall waste what is precious if he pours out the riches of his cultivated mind and heart upon common people.

We might add our fervent wish that every eye might be opened to see, and every heart be prepared to feel, all of the great and blessed uses of culture in the ministry.

[Our next article will relate to the "Abuses of Culture in the Ministry."]

HEADS AND HEARTS.

66

THE Cosmopolitan, a weekly London journal, treats its English readers to a chapter, from a secular point of view, under the above title. It says: 'According to the orthodox creed, it is better to have good heart than a good head. With a good heart-a 'regenerated heart' our friends assure us that we shall go to heaven when we die, and there live and love forever, thrilled with inconceivable raptures of eternal joy. All the most ecstatic pleasures of this transitory life are but hints, foretastes, and intimations of the happiness to be enjoyed in the Land of the Hereafter. *** Far be it from us to disturb the blissful illusion of the saints, or even to shake their wellfounded hope of a happy immortality.' But what are these 'good hearts'—these 'renewed hearts' hearts of flesh,' that have taken the place of hearts of stone,' and make their possessors not only members of the Church,' but so much better than those wicked, unelected, unredeemed outsiders, who are doomed to eternal anguish and unquenchable fire in the world to come? We do not speak of the physical organ called heart, the blood-pump for ever at work in every living breast, which keeps the machinery in motion, and which, ceasing to contract and expand, with metronomic regularity, we instantly die; but of that other something called heart-the moral heart -which is called in one man good, and in another bad. Where does it exist? In the breast, or in the brain? Is it thought or feeling-or both?

"We suppose a 'good heart' is simply a good inspiration, or, intellectually considered, a good intention. The man who means well is a 'good-hearted man.' He who means ill is bad-hearted or wicked. We do not believe in the old Spanish fallacy, that 'hell is paved with good intentions.' On the contrary, they rather tesselate the pearly paths of heaven. What men most want are good heads to guide them well-organized brains. If emotion

comes from the heart, intelligence has its seat in the head. Feeling is down below, like steam in the boiler; while thought is the pilot at the helm. The brain is the flower of the animal organism. Deep-rooted in the spine, like pith in the stalk of the cane, it blossoms in the cranium, and secretes, like an aroma, the subtile essence of thought. It is boxed up in a skull, and protected with the utmost care, and placed upon the top of the human edifice like a crown, nearest to the stars. What we should call a 'good man,' a well-cultivated man (men can be cultivated as well as roses), is one who is blest with a strong heart and a healthy brain. The moral character is dependent on the physical. It takes a fine tree to produce fine fruit; and men do not gather grapes from thorns, nor figs from thistles. The conclusion of all this is simply an argument in favor of physical education. In nine cases out of ten the child comes into the world impregnated with ancestral diseases. The sins

of the fathers are visited upon the children to
the third and fourth generation [by inherit-
ance]. To eradicate these seeds of iniquity
and death is the work of medical education;
and where the child is so fortunate as to be
born with pure healthy blood, it is the first
duty of his nurse, his protector, and his teacher
to give nature fair play, by keeping the young
human bud free from being tainted by poison
in the atmosphere or poison in the food.
"A pebble in the streamlet scant

May turn aside the mighty river;
A dewdrop on the baby plant

May dwarf the giant oak for ever.' "Few things one has to encounter in the world are more offensively impertinent than the criticisms pronounced by small-brained and, consequently, 'small-minded men,' whose heads are not larger than a Newtown pippin -but who take a pharisaical pride in their 'good hearts'-upon those strong-hearted, large-minded men whom GOD, Nature, and education have made their superiors. All the little bigots, small fanatics who will never die of a rush of brains to the nead, are perpetually hooting at men of mental magnitude beyond their little comprehension. But then these small potatoes are so good-hearted,' such nice fellows for the petty scandal-mongering of teaparties!"

on the small [Our cotemporary is severe heads. "How can they help it?" Does not a bantam feel his importance quite as much as a shanghai? a poodle, as the St. Bernard? the Shetland pony, as the Arab steed? Are not little men and little women just as important-in their own estimation-as "big folks?" True, a pocket-pistol is not a columbiad, nor is a spy-glass a telescope, any more than a dwarf is a full-grown man. But it is not unusual to meet a large-bodied man with a child's mind. It was dwarfed when maturing, and, like thousands of undeveloped negroes, he is a man in stature, but a child in intellect. It is thorough culture and development of body and brain that is needed to make man what his Creator intended he should become.]

THE OLD YEAR.
WE have closed the book and laid it by,
And ever thus must its pages lie;
We can not unclasp the lids again,
Nor write its record with brighter pen.

Ah! many the lines we would retrace-
And many the strains we would erase-
But the time has fled from us away,
We can not recall a single day.

Our lives have no backward paths to tread;

The words we utter are ne'er unsaid;

We never can dream the self-same dream,
Nor reverse the onward flowing stream.
Oh! then let us each in meekness now
Before our Maker in heaven bow,
And pardon ask for every sin,
Which the closed book doth hold within.
And when another again we ope,
With its pure white pages full of hope,
May we look to Him and humbly pray
For strength to keep it as pure each day.
ALICE AINLEY.