Earlier text: OUR FAITH AND HOPE;WOMAN has never been associated with wine without disgrace and disaster. The toast and the bacchanal that, with musical alliteration, couple these two words, spring from the hot lips of sensuality, and are burdened with shame. A man who can sing of wine and woman in the same breath, is one whose presence is disgrace, and whose touch is pollution. A man who can forget mother and sister, or wife and daughter, and wantonly engage in a revel in which the name of woman is invoked to heighten the pleasures of the intoxicating cup, is, beyond controversy, and without mitigation, a beast. “Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?” Ay, cakes and ale, if you will, but let it be cakes and ale. Let not the name by which we call the pure and precious ones at home be brought in to illuminate a degrading feast. Of the worst foes that woman has ever had to encounter, wine stands at the head. The appetite for strong drink in man has spoiled the lives of more women—ruined more hopes for them, scattered more fortunes for them, brought to them more shame, sorrow, and hardships—than any other evil that lives. The country numbers tens of thousands—nay, hundreds of thousands—of women who are widows to-day, and sit in hopeless weeds, because their husbands have been slain by strong drink. There are hundreds of thousands of homes, scattered all over the land, in which women live lives of torture, going through all the changes of suffering that lie between the extremes of fear and despair, because those whom they love, love wine better than they do the women they have sworn to love. There are women by thousands who dread to hear at the door the step that once thrilled them with pleasure, because that step has learned to reel under the influence of the seductive poison. There are women groaning with pain, while we write these words, from bruises and brutalities inflicted by husbands made mad by drink. There can be no exaggeration in any statement made in regard to this matter, because no human imagination can create anything worse than the truth, and no pen is capable of portraying the truth. The sorrows and the horrors of a wife with a drunken husband, or a mother with a drunken son, are as near the realization of hell as can be reached in this world, at least. The shame, the indignation, the sorrow, the sense of disgrace for herself and her children, the poverty—and not unfrequently the beggary—the fear and the fact of violence, the lingering, life-long struggle and despair of countless women with drunken husbands, are enough to make all women curse wine, and engage unitedly to oppose it everywhere as the worst enemy of their sex. And now what shall we see on the New-Year’s day, 1871? Women all over the city of New York—women here and there all over the country, where like social customs prevail—setting out upon their tables the well-filled decanters which, before night shall close down, will be emptied into the brains of young men and old men, who will go reeling to darker orgies, or to homes that will feel ashamed of them. Woman’s lips will give the invitation, woman’s hand will fill and present the glass, woman’s careless voice will laugh at the effects of the mischievous draught upon their friends, and, having done all this, woman will retire to balmy rest, previously having reckoned the number of those to whom she has, during the day, presented a dangerous temptation, and rejoiced over it in the degree of its magnitude. O woman! woman! Is it not about time that this thing were stopped? Have you a husband, a brother, a son? Are they stronger than their neighbors who have, one after another, dropped into the graves of drunkards? Look around you, and see the desolations that drink has wrought among your acquaintances, and then decide whether you have a right to place temptation in any man’s way, or do ought to make a social custom respectable which leads hundreds of thousands of men into bondage and death. Why must the bottle come out everywhere? Why can there not be a festal occasion without this vulgar guzzling of strong drink? Woman, there are some things that you can do, and this is one: You can make drinking unpopular and disgraceful among the young. You can utterly discountenance all drinking in your own house, and you can hold in suspicion every young man who touches the cup. You know that no young man who drinks can safely be trusted with the happiness of any woman, and that he is as unfit as a man can be for woman’s society. Have this understood: that every young man who drinks, is socially proscribed. Bring up your children to regard drinking as not only dangerous, but disgraceful. Place temptation in no man’s way. If men will make beasts of themselves, let them do it in other society than yours. If your mercenary husbands treat their customers from private stores kept in their counting-rooms, shame them into decency by your regard for the honor of your home. Recognize the living, terrible fact that wine has always been, and is to-day, the curse of your sex; that it steals the hearts of men away from you; that it dries up your prosperity; that it endangers your safety; that it can only bring you evil. If social custom compels you to present wine at your feasts, rebel against it, and make a social custom in the interests of virtue and purity. The matter is very much in your own hands. The women of the country, in what is called polite society, can do more to make the nation temperate than all the legislators and tumultuous reformers that are struggling and blundering in their efforts to this end. At any rate, if they will try, they shall have Scribner’s Monthly to help them.—Scribner’s Monthly. It is not generally known that New York at the present time contains a large number of misers as inveterate and degraded as any on record; and if we had space we could give a series of portraits of avarice and wealth which would make the reader shudder. Many of these misers are old business men, who have withdrawn from active life, and still keep up their faded and weather-stained signs, and beneath the garb of trade, ply their money-saving habits. These men will be found sitting solitary in dingy offices, filled with cobwebs, and thick with the dust of years. Money-borrowers know where to go; and here these pale and threadbare fossils receive the best securities for their daily loans. Some of these half-starved wretches, whose trembling hands can hardly sign a check, can draw for sums that would shake a bank. One of the richest men in the city is now to be found in just such a dingy hole as we have described, where he loans enormous sums daily. He was a merchant once, and his old sign is still up; and inside, things remain as they were half a century ago. He suffers daily for the comforts of life; but all this is compensated for by the pleasure of accumulation. “They come to me to beg,” said the old man to an acquaintance, “and there’s not a beggar in New York that does n’t live as well as I do”—a statement which was quite true. A specimen of the better class of this genus was given in the late Exchange-place robbery, where Rufus Lord, a man upwards of four score, was the solitary occupant of an office which contained between $1,000,000 and $2,000,000 in stocks and securities—all his own. Here this old man sat, day after day, accumulating at the rate of $2,000 per week, no doubt hoping in due time to get rich. Such a hoard was worth tapping, and the job was one of the neatest and most successful ever done in New York. The late Stephen Whitney was a striking instance of the commercial miser. When we knew him, he had made about $10,000,000, and at the age of seventy-five was trying hard to get rich. The person and countenance of this wretched man were a study. The tremulous form, the sharpened features, and the solicitous eye, told of the one idea which mastered the soul. Mr. Whitney was in his day to be seen habitually in Wall street, picking his way along among the brokers and sharpers, and buying notes, of which he was a good judge. He bought none but the best, and seldom made a bad purchase. His son-in-law was in a heavy business; but his paper was not considered first-rate, the only chance of his successes being that the old man would keep him up. This chance we used to hear discussed, and on its probabilities his paper found a market. But the old man did not keep him up, and he showed himself too sharp to be gulled by so near a relative. Mr. Whitney was something of a politician, and on one occasion the leaders of his party came with an application for funds for electioneering purposes. “Gentlemen,” was the reply, “I am with you, heart and body. As for money, I have none; but to help along, I will come and sit up all night and fold ballots.” Some of these New York misers are utterly recluse, while others are social, and often meet to discuss methods of money-making. The group occasionally seen in a certain old rookery, where a few millions are represented in hungry forms and seedy raiment, would be a study for an artist. The great complaint with this class is, that “interest is down, money is cheap, and the country is going to ruin. Only five per cent on good paper, and six on bond and mortgage; and as for seventy-thirties, they pay well enough; but one may get his throat cut taking care of them. The world’s made up of thieves and beggars, and there is no use of trying to get along.” “Religion Takes the Mad Out.”
So said a little girl of five summers, during our late meeting. This little girl knew quite well that her father, who was a member of the church, was at variance with an ungodly neighbor; for she had often heard the matter talked of in the home circle. When that neighbor, who would not speak to her father, became a seeker of religion, the subject of their difficulty was often discussed in her hearing. She came to the just conclusion that they were mad with each other. When this little girl, who was a member of an infant class in our Sabbath-school, saw her father approach that penitent neighbor at the mourner’s bench, and saw the once revengeful man leap from his seat, and throw his arms around the neck of her father, and rejoice aloud; and when she saw him meet her mother also in the aisle with similar demonstrations of forgiveness and joy, her little head began to reason, and the conclusion she reached was this: “Mother, religion takes the mad out of people.” Here is embodied thought for a volume—a fine motto for a sermon. Let who will work it out. THE HEART'S MISGIVINGS.
By M. A. Holt
Oh! can it be that such as I,
A sinner vile and mean,
Can ever with the ransomed host,
In clean, white robes be seen? And can it be these hands of mine,
So spotted o'er to-day,
Can ever have their crimson stains
Entirely washed away? Oh! can these roving eyes, so prone
Forbidden things to meet,
E'er in humility be found
Low down at Jesus' feet? And can this busy, plotting brain,
So constantly employed,
Be into sweet submission brought,
And wholly sanctified? And can this foolish, wayward tongue,
Which grieves the friends I love,
E'er hope to sing angelic songs
With pure bright ones above? Oh! can I hope this restless heart,
And this poor aching head,
With these poor weary halting feet,
The golden streets shall thread? Oh! must I fail through weariness,
When just ahead I see
The beckoning fields of Beulah rise,
And life's enduring tree. Oh! need I fail, when such a friend
Pleads now at court for me,
And I can hear the dying groans,
Of Him of Calvary? I must not fail! Lord Jesus, help;
Low at thy feet I pray;
From out thy bright and holy place
Give strength unto my day.
M. A. HOLT. Is there such a thing as a stingy Christian? Can we not just as properly talk of swearing Christians, tippling Christians, thieving Christians? Is there not just as much logic and Scripture in one as in the other? Indeed, is not the stingy Christian just a little meaner than these others? Let us see. Ask that person who got angry and swore, about his sin. What does he say? “Oh! I know I did wrong. I was greatly provoked, and I let my temper get too high. I am very sorry. I’ll try to be more watchful hereafter.” Or question that person that got drunk the other day; “Yes; I know I did very wrong; and I’m ashamed of it. I ought not to have touched the glass. It roused up my old appetite, and I drank too much. I’ve asked God to forgive me. I hope the church will bear with me once more. I’m resolved never to be guilty again.” Honor to the man for his honesty. We sympathize with him, and will pray for him. But here comes the stingy Christian. Now we’ll get a riddling for our forbearance with the brother that swore, and the one that yielded to temptation, and got drunk. He has heard about those cases. It’s the third or fourth time they have been guilty of those sins. He declares that those members ought to be dealt with at once. Their professions of sorrow don’t amount to anything, he says. The church is awfully disgraced. He has a special inspiration on half-hearted Christians and church purgings. Now is your time. Try to measure him by his own rule. He hasn’t had but one liberal impulse in a year, and that was when he expected to die. Tell him about his God-defrauding, Heaven-insulting, heart-contracting, and soul-damning fault. The man that was drunk, owned his fault. You saw his tears of sorrow. Does this stingy brother own his? Not he. He feels awfully insulted because you think him stingy. He thinks he knows his own circumstances better than anybody else. He gives all he can. Yet everybody knows that his neighbors give five, ten, twenty times more, according to their means, for benevolent causes than he. For years he has been a steward over God’s goods, and God has never demanded his own without being grumbled at, until everybody, except this stingy man, was ashamed of it. Yet strange enough, he is great on honesty. Indeed, he is so honest he must rob God to pay his debts and provide for his family. He has 1 Tim. 5:8, always on the end of his tongue. But he don’t know much about the 3d chapter of Malachi. He is also a great lover of old-fashioned religion. And he often breaks out into long Jeremiads over the want of good old times, when preachers worked for a living, and people were not troubled by everlasting begging for preachers’ salaries and missionary money. Such is the “stingy Christian,” and we submit it to the intelligence of our readers, if he is not really the worst character, after all. But for his meanness, the gospel would, ere this, have been preached to every creature.—Sel. In speaking of recent social changes in India, many persons have been accustomed to reckon infanticide among the things that were. It appears, however, from recent inquiries and statistics, that such an opinion is far from correct. The Pall Mall Gazette has lately given circulation to some facts on the subject which are both startling and horrible. The facts given are presented in connection with a bill for the suppression of infanticide, recently introduced into the Legislative Chamber of the North-west Provinces. The extent of the crime may be judged from some inquiries made previous to the mutiny, by Mr. Moore, on behalf of government, and by similar inquiries by the governor, of the North-west Provinces, of quite recent date. In ten villages examined by the governor, one hundred and four boys were found and only one girl, nor had any women been married for ten years. In twenty-seven others there were two hundred and eighty-four boys and seventy-three girls; in nine villages, seventy-one boys and seven girls; and in other localities the very tradition of marriage had been lost. The slaughter of female children must therefore have been enormous. WILLIAM WILLBERFORCE, the philanthropist, in the early part of his career, thus wrote:— “Often when in the full enjoyment of all that this world could bestow, my conscience told me that, in the true sense of the word, I was not a Christian. I laughed, I sang, I was apparently gay and happy; but the thought would steal across me, What madness is all this, to continue easy in a state in which a sudden call out of the world, would consign me to everlasting death!” This led him to a careful study of the Bible. At length his eyes caught the words, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find.” “Let me,” he said, “test this statement. Any one may do so. I will. God has promised to give his Holy Spirit to them that ask for it. I will go down on my knees, and ask.” He did not pray in vain; his earnest search was rewarded by blessed peace and joy. And he consecrated his life to the glory of God and the welfare of his fellow-men. Reader, how have you settled this question? ALL degrees of indolence incline a man to rely upon others, and not upon himself; to eat their bread, and not his own. His carelessness is somebody's loss; his neglect is somebody's downfall; his promises are a perpetual stumbling-block to all who trust them. If he borrows, the article remains borrowed; if he begs and gets, it is as letting out of waters—no one knows when it will stop. He spoils your work; disappoints your expectations; exhausts your patience; eats up your substance; abuses your confidence; and hangs a dead weight upon all your plans; the very best thing an honest man can do with a lazy man, is to get rid of him. - Society precipitates its lazy members, as water does its filth; and they form at the bottom, a pestilent sediment, stirred up by every breeze of evil, into riot, robberies and murders. Into it drains all the filth, and out of it, as from a morass, flow all the streams of pollution. Brutal wretches, desperately haunted by the law, crawling in human filth, brood here their villain schemes, and plot mischief to man. Hither resorts the truculent demagogue, to stir up the fetid filth against his adversaries, or to bring up mobs out of this sea, which cannot rest, but casts up mire and dirt.—H. W. Beecher’s Lectures to Young Men.
“There, I did mean to sew these buttons on Fred’s jacket before night. I have thought of it just in time, for he must have it early in the morning. I do forget so many things I have to do,” said Lucia Warren to good Aunt Patience, who was visiting her for a day or two. “You can wait a few moments for me, can’t you, aunty? I will not be long;” and Lucia went to get her work, taking off her gloves, and throwing back her veil. It was troublesome, to stop just as she was going out, but the work must be done. Indeed, it was nothing so very unusual, as Lucia seemed always forgetting things, as she said. “I will tell you an excellent plan I have followed for years,” said Aunt Patience. “It is that of keeping a little slate with pencil attached, hung up in a convenient place, and noting down on it all the things I wish to do. If you like, we will buy such a slate while we are out, and I will get you started in the same system.” Lucia entered into the scheme with great enthusiasm, and that night saw one side of her little slate well covered with items she wished to remember. She did not attempt to classify them, but noted them down in just the order she happened to think of them. Aunt Patience did not wish her to undertake too much at once. The classification would come afterward. The other side of the slate had been reserved for tomorrow’s duties. A regular plan was not laid down for the whole day, with the hours set to them; for aunty knew that no house-mother could bring all the rest of her household to time in such matters, even if she could herself. By undertaking too much, young housekeepers are often discouraged, and give up all efforts at systematizing. It was the ground plan only of her work which was laid down, but it helped her wonderfully all through the day. It was such a satisfaction to draw a line through anything which had been completed; and then, by glancing her eye down the list, she was sure not to forget just the thing she ought most to remember. In time, the little slate came to be regarded as one of the most useful articles of furniture about the house. It saved hours of time and dollars of waste, besides adding fully a third to the family comfort and convenience. If you are skeptical, hang up one in your own house, and consult it as Lucia did, and I do not doubt but you will arrive at a similar conclusion. REMEMBER, Jesus for us is all our righteousness before a holy God, and Jesus in us is all our strength in an ungodly world. How often it is pardonable to explain and re-explain the same passage of Scripture, is an open question. In the absence of a rule limiting it to any definite number of hundreds of times, we can only act upon the plan of giving what we believe to be a correct interpretation, as often as our opponents present a false one. But in these times, it is almost dangerous to explode a heresy; for there are not a few ever ready to seize the fragments, and caper about with them in the highest glee, as if they had discovered a new truth, or been blessed with a flood of new light. There are many now claiming that the first day of the week is called the Sabbath in Matt. 28: 1, who doubtless learned for the first time that sabbaton occurs in that passage from reading a refutation of that foolish claim. Let us then again examine the manner in which the first-day attempts to find an asylum in Matt. 28: 1. The passage, in the original, reads thus: “Opse de sabbaton, te epiphoskouse eis mian sabbaton, elthe Maria, he Magdalene,” &c. A translation is given to these words as follows: “In the end of the Sabbaths, as it began to dawn toward one (or the first) of the Sabbaths, came Mary Magdalene,” &c. And on this a claim is raised as follows: In the end of the Sabbaths, that is, the old series, or seventh-day Sabbaths, as it began to dawn toward the first of a new series of Sabbaths, namely, Sabbaths to be held thereafter upon the first day of the week. What is necessary to sustain this claim? It is necessary, first, that the word sabbaton (σαββάτων) should have a plural signification, and refer to a series of Sabbaths, and, secondly, that the word first should agree with sabbaton understood; for in that case the idea would be, “as it began to dawn toward the first Sabbath of a new series of Sabbaths.” If now it shall appear that the word sabbaton has a signification the same as if it was in the singular number, and that the word first cannot agree with sabbaton understood, then the translation given above is incorrect, and the claim based thereon, unfounded. If now the reader will turn with us to the lexicon and grammar, we will try to ascertain clearly the meaning of the words and the sense of the passage. Opse is defined by Robinson to mean, as a general signification, late, after a long time. “With a genitive, the same as at the end of, at the close of, after.” Robinson then quotes these words from the Greek of Matt. 28: 1, “Opse de sabbaton,” and translates them, “at the end of the Sabbath, i. e., after the Sabbath, the Sabbath being now ended.” De is simply a continuative particle, signifying, but, and, also, and the like. Sabbaton. There are two words translated Sabbath in the New Testament. The first is sabbaton, which is a noun of the second declension, and is always used in the singular number. The second is sabbata, a noun of the third declension, and always used in the plural number. But these two words have identically the same signification, and are used interchangeably. Robinson says that where the plural form occurs, it is generally used for the singular. The word here in Matt. 28: 1, is in the genitive case, which, according to Robinson, determines the meaning of opse before it; he, as already noticed, having said that opse with a genitive signifies at the end of, or after. The genitive is thus used, Sophocles § 196, to denote the time when, or place where. Te epiphoskouse. It beginning to dawn. Here we have the article te and the participle of the verb epiphosko, which means, according to Robinson, “to grow light upon, to dawn upon.” Liddell and Scott give it the single signification, “to grow toward daylight.” The word occurs elsewhere in the New Testament, only in Luke 23: 54, where it says that the Sabbath drew on; and this use of the word in this instance, Bloomfield explains to be a Jewish idiom to denote the commencement of their day, borrowed from the classic use of the word by the heathen, who commenced their day in the morning. The word cannot have the tropical signification in Matt. 28: 1, that it has in Luke 23: 54, and signify that the first day, according to Jewish reckoning, was drawing on; for the word opse signifies that the Sabbath was already past. It must therefore have its proper and literal signification, and mean, “as it began to grow toward daylight.” The word is here in the dative form for the genitive absolute, Soph. § 226, Note 3, the article te, agreeing with hemera, day, understood. Eis is simply a preposition, meaning to or into. Mian is a numeral adjective, the first of the cardinal numbers, literally signifying one. It is here used, according to a Hebraism, as an ordinal, signifying the first.—Robinson. The form mian is found in the singular number, feminine gender, accusative case, from the nominative, heis, mia, hen. Being an adjective it must agree with some substantive, either expressed or understood. Is there any word expressed with which it can agree? The next word is sabbaton (σαββάτων) which is in the genitive plural, and cannot therefore be the word with which the accusative singular, mian, agrees. What word then shall be supplied? This brings us to the principal claim based upon this text in behalf of the first day of the week. Is the sense of the passage that this is the first of a new series of Sabbaths now introduced? Is the first Sabbath of a new series? If so, the word first (mian) must agree with Sabbath (sabbaton, singular) understood. This form is found in the singular number and accusative case, the agreement thus far being all right; but when we look at the gender, we find that sabbaton is neuter, and mian, as already stated, is feminine. We cannot, therefore, supply the word sabbaton, unless we can perform the ungrammatical miracle of making a feminine adjective agree with a neuter noun. But, strange to say, some are so determined to have sabbaton understood, as to claim that mian is neuter! and that the gender of the adjective is determined, not by its form, but by the gender of the noun with which it agrees; as much as to say that the adjective has but one form, and is masculine, feminine, or neuter, according to the gender of its noun. This will certainly surprise those who have any acquaintance with the Greek. It is only for the benefit of those who have never studied it, that we need to say that adjectives are declined, or take a change of form to express the number and case, exactly the same as nouns; and that they have a change of form also to denote the gender; and the gender of the noun determines absolutely what form of the adjective shall be used to agree with it. Take, for instance, the word under consideration. The accusative singular, masculine, of the numeral heis, is hena, accusative feminine, mian, accusative neuter, hen. Used with a noun in the accusative singular, if masculine, hena would be the form of the adjective to be used; if feminine, mian; if neuter, hen. If therefore sabbaton is the word understood with which the numeral should agree, the form hen should have been used, not mian; and the fact that mian, the feminine form, is used, shows that the noun understood, with which it agrees, must be a feminine noun. In this respect the law of the language is absolute and inexorable. With what, then, does mian agree? Scholars and critics who understand thoroughly the idioms of the Greek, tell us that in such sentences, the word day, hemera, is understood. See Greenfield’s Greek Testament, Matt. 28: 1, margin, also Robinson’s Lexicon. Hemera is a feminine noun, and hence mian can agree with it in every respect; and there is no grammatical inaccuracy involved. Putting in the supplied word, we have eis mian hemeran sabbaton, literally, the first day of the Sabbath. Now it is evident that the word sabbaton must here be taken in other than its ordinary sense; for, “the first day of the Sabbath,” the Sabbath itself being only one day, would be a meaningless expression. Turning again to Robinson, we find under the word sabbaton, the second definition given as follows: “Meton. [that is, by metonymy, a figure of speech in which one word is put for another] a sabbath, put for the interval from Sabbath to Sabbath; hence a se’nnight, week.” “Only after numerals marking the days of the week.” Then he refers, for examples, to all those passages in which the phrase “first day of the week” occurs in the New Testament. And he adds, “In the Talmudists the days of the week are written: the first, second, third, day in the Sabbath (week); see Lightfoot Hor. Heb. in Matt. 28: 1.” In the light of the foregoing facts, presented in a manner so plain that we trust all can understand them, it is not difficult for any one to see that a correct translation of the passage would be: “After the Sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first (day) of the week.” One question more may arise: How is it to be known when sabbaton is to be rendered week instead of Sabbath? Answer. It is to be rendered week whenever it is preceded by a numeral. Is it so preceded in every case when the expression “first day of the week” occurs, and also in Luke 18: 12, where the Pharisee fasted twice in the (sabbaton) week. Hence we translate the word sabbaton, as it first occurs in Matt. 28: 1, by the word Sabbath, because it has no numeral before it; and in the second instance of its occurrence, we translate it week, because it is preceded by the numeral mian. Notwithstanding the clearness of the evidence in this case, numbers will no doubt continue to assert that the first day of the week is called the Sabbath in Matt. 28: 1; that the old series of Sabbaths there ended and a new series was introduced. If they do, we can only say of them as Mr. D. N. Lord says of some of the ranting geologists of our day: It appears not so much that the Lord has hardened their hearts, as that he has softened their heads.