trines which had been so much controverted between Calvinists and Arminians. Mr. Shinn was yet a mere stripling in years, and felt some embarrassment by the presence of the two reverend gentlemen as hearers; and, before commencing the service, he asked each of them to preach for him; but they both refused, saying that they came, not to preach, but to hear him. With some trepidation he commenced, and, after reading a chapter, singing, and prayer, he took for his text: "And Elihu . . said, I am young, and ye are very old; wherefore I was afraid, and durst not shew you mine opinion. I said, Days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom. But there is a spirit in man: and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth them understanding. Great men are not always wise; neither do the aged understand judgment. Therefore I said, Hearken to me; I also will shew mine opinion," Job xxxii, 6-10. The text was evidently selected after the refusal of the two clergymen to preach. After an introduction suited to the text and the occasion, he took the last clause as the foundation of his discourse, "I also will shew mine opinion;" and, to "stick to his text," he proceeded, at some length, to "shew" what, in his "opinion," were the true and Scriptural doctrines of redemption-free grace, repentance, faith, and holinessdefending his "opinions," as he advanced, against the objections of Calvinists and others, to the astonishment of the venerable clergymen, who, after the service closed, retired in silence, pleased with the eloquence and intellectual promise of the youthful divine, however much they might dissent from his opinions. The subsequent brilliant course of Mr. Shinn, as one of the most distinguished and eloquent divines of our country, is familiar to most of the readers. To our notice of him we shall add only the following passage from a letter in a late number of the Boston Olive Branch, from its editor, Rev. T. F. Norris, when recently on a visit to Brattleboro, Vt.: physical energies, probably, will never admit of his preaching more. . . . Mr. Shinn was one of the most eloquent and mighty men the Methodist denomination has produced." But to proceed with our narrative. Rev. William Pattison succeeded Mr. Shinn, being appointed to the Guyandott circuit, at the Western conference, in October, 1804. Some time in the following summer one or two of the settlers on Elk river, who had oc casionally heard the Methodist preachers in Charleston, invited Mr. Pattison to preach in their neighborhood, which he did, at the house of Mr. Michael Newhouse, about four miles from Charleston. This house, thenceforth, became one of the regular appointments on the circuit. Mr. Pattison was followed, in November, 1805, by Rev. Abraham Amos. Some two months afterward—in January, 1806, we think-the first Methodist society in the Kanawha Valley was organized. This class was formed, by Mr. Amos, at Mr. Newhouse's, above mentioned. The following are the names of members then enrolled, as nearly as we can now recollect: John Slack, of Elk River Valley; Mrs. Slack, do.; Michael Newhouse, do.; Mrs. Newhouse, do.; Kezia Newhouse, do.; William Williams, of Charleston; Margaret Williams, do., by letter; Samuel Williams, do., by letter; with two or three other persons on Elk river, whose names are forgotten. Of this class Mr. Slack was appointed leader. Whether any of this little band, save the first and last named, are still living, we are not informed. At what time the first class was formed in Charleston we are unable to say, as we left the Valley in the spring of 1807, up to which time none had been organized in that village. This was the rise of Methodism in that great Valley. Truly, "small and feeble was its day;" but we must not despise the "day of small things." "Saw ye not the cloud arise, Little as a human hand? Forty-six years have rolled their ample round since that little class of pioneers was formed. How has the work, since then, "won its widening way!" "In this town is located the Vermont Lunatic Asylum, under the care of Dr. Rockwell and his excellent lady. The buildings are large, airy, and quiet, with excellent walks and pleasure grounds. Our venerable friend, Rev. Asa Shinn, is here. His great labors in the cause of Methodism, and partic-Charleston and the adjacent salines alone, which then ularly in the great controversy which established the Methodist Protestant Church, greatly exhausted him, mentally and physically, which, with subsequent labors, quite overcame him; so much so, that, for the last few years, he has been obliged to spend his time in some retreat for the insane. He has been under the care of Dr. Rockwell two or three years, and, though much prostrated, is very comfortable, and able to enjoy the visits of his friends. . . . We yesterday enjoyed our visit with him much like soldiers retired from the war. We talked and fought our battles over again. Our venerable brother is now seventy years old. He commenced preaching at twenty-of course has been a minister half a hundred years. His mental and contained but three Methodists, now number some three hundred and fifty, and Elk River Valley, then nearly all wilderness, about the same number; and the Kanawha and contiguous valleys, most of which were then the dwelling-place of bears and other wild beasts, constitute now nearly one-half of an entire conference. And it may be worthy of note, that the late session of that conference, held at Charleston in June last, was presided over by the little backwoods boy-now Bishop Morris-whom we mentioned as having been so much delighted by the singing of Mr. Shinn. We propose, in our next chapter, to furnish the young reader some anecdotes of backwoods life on the Kanawha, fifty years ago. A NIGHT ON THE DEEP. A NIGHT ON THE DEEP. BY WILLIAM BAXTER. ONE lovely morning, in September, 1848, in company with Dr. Dodd, of Clinton, Miss., W. G. Kendall, Esq., of New Orleans, and a boy of about seven years of age-the son of the gentleman last named-I started out, in an open sail-boat, to Horn Island, in the Gulf of Mexico, some fifteen or twenty miles from the main land. The object of my visit was to procure some sea-shells for one of the fair readers of the Repository, who has now in her possession the fruits of what proved to be a perilous voyage. The wind was favorable, and, after a pleasant sail of a few hours, we reached in safety our place of destination. We occupied ourselves, for several hours, gathering the shells with which the beach was strewn, and, about four o'clock in the evening, hoisted sail, and stood for home. The wind, however, was directly ahead, and night overtook us ten or twelve miles from the shore. The wind began to rise, and, as the land had been lost sight of as the night closed around us, we directed our course by the stars. The wind increased in violence, and the waves began to assume a threatening hight, and our little boat, which rode the billows like a sea-bird, seemed but a speck on the immensity of waters by which we were surrounded. The wind rose to a gale; our situation every moment became more perilous; more than once our boat careened so much as to take in water; and at length a flaw of wind, stronger than any which had preceded, struck us, and, the fastenings of our mast giving way, mast and sail were both precipitated over the side of the vessel. We were now in imminent danger of capsizing, and our prospect for escape was but a gloomy one. The mast, in falling, had become entangled in the rigging, and was still attached to the vessel. It was loosed as speedily as possible, the sail lowered, the mast laid along the boat, and she immediately righted. Our danger, however, was by no means over. Our mast was so disabled as to be useless, and the only resource left was our oars. These were quickly brought into requisition and worked with energy. Every stroke was followed by flashes of light and myriad sparks of phosphorescent spray; but, wind and waves being opposed to us, we were not able to make any progress toward the shore. Our only hope now was to keep our bow to the waves; for had they struck us on the side, our vessel would have filled in a moment. To prevent this, we threw out an anchor, and rode the waves; and thus, in the language of Paul, as quoted by one of our company, to whom the narrative of the apostle's shipwreck, doubtless, for the first time, was vividly present, "We cast out our anchor, and wished for the day." By this time the moon had arisen, and though it served, in some measure, to render our situation less cheerless, it also disclosed more fully the angry 27 face of the storm-tossed deep, whose foam-crested waves seemed, at times, rushing forward to ingulf our frail bark. Though none of us were insensible of the great danger to which we were exposed, we were all much calmer and more collected than I had supposed possible under such circumstances. Once, however, our manhood was severely tested. We had laid Mr. Kendall's little son in the bottom of the boat, and covered him up with a cloak lest he should see and be alarmed at the dangers which threatened us. We thought that he slept; but all on a sudden he rose, and, being alarmed at our silence, our anxious faces, and the fearful appearance of the angry sea, he burst into tears, and earnestly asked to be taken to his mother. Poor little fellow! he only gave utterance to thoughts that were busy in our own hearts; for our eyes were then turned to the homes whose lights we sometimes thought we could discover in the distance; and more than once we wondered if our friends would suspect our danger, and send to our relief. The father was a man whom danger could not appall; but I doubt whether his heart was ever more severely tried than by the tearful appeal of his child on that night of storm. The whole scene recalled to my mind Virgil's description of the storm which dispersed the fleet of the daring Trojan; and I confess that the appearance of old Neptune, with his storm-ruling trident, would have been, by no means, unwelcome. In the condition above described we lay for several hours; but, about midnight, the storm increased so much that even to remain longer at anchor was fraught with danger. The waves became so large as to break over our boat, and we determined to draw up our anchor, and endeavor to reach Ship Island, the dim outline of which we could now discover, some six or eight miles farther out at sea. We turned our prow in that direction, and by dint of two hours hard rowing, we gained the eastern extremity of the island. Our perils, however, were not yet ended; for a heavy, rolling surf rendered our approach to the shore both difficult and dangerous; and, in our attempts to anchor our boat outside of the surf we narrowly escaped being swamped. In this we at length succeeded, and, abandoning our boat, we all made our way through the surf to the shore. We now presented a most forlorn appearance. Our garments were perfectly saturated with seawater, and a piercing north wind chilled us with cold. We had been fortunate enough, however, to prevent some matches we had from getting wet, and, finding plenty of fuel in a neighboring forest of pines, we soon made a large fire, and, though wet and wearied with several hours exposure, we all stretched ourselves before it, and sought rest in sleep. The sole human occupant of this island, as we afterward learned, is Captain John Liddell, a Scotchman, who, several years before, had become disgusted with society, in consequence of having been despoiled of his all by some unprincipled 28 COMING TO CHRIST.-ETTA LINN.-EXISTENCE. men-sought this desolate island, and has, since that time, made it his dwelling-place. He was then the owner of about one hundred and fifty head of cattle, a flock of fifty goats, beside chickens, turkeys, dogs, and other et cæteras. He had recently built himself quite a substantial house, and his leisure hours were taken up by the contents of a little library. He seems to have no desire to return to society, and his days pass in contentment and serenity. We landed several miles above the dwelling of this recluse, and in the morning we rowed there, in order to procure some refreshments and refit our boat. We found him on the shore, near his house, and made known to him our wants; and never were wants like ours more cheerfully or readily supplied. In his hospitality there was no parade or ostentation, no pressing, no apologies, and, indeed, no opportunity for even our thanks. The best fare he had was placed before us, a simple invitation to help ourselves was given, and we were left alone during our meal, admiring the goodness of heart which dictated the kind and unofficious hospitality of John Liddell; and should these lines ever meet his eye, we assure him that his kindness will never be forgotten, and any opportunity of returning it gladly embraced. By the time we had completed our repast and visited the pirate's lookout tree, our kind host had put our boat in sailing order, and we were ready to leave. We offered him money; but he refused to accept it, and urged us, in case of any mishap, to return and spend the night under his roof; but the day was calm, and the same evening we reached our homes, thankful that we had escaped the dangers of what we all agreed had been the most perilous night of our lives. COMING TO CHRIST. If you persist in the diligent use of means, you will not long use them in vain. But, what is infinitely more to the purpose, you have the oath of Him who can not lie on which to ground your confidence. You have nothing to do but to ask for faith, to come as the leper did to our Savior while on earth, and throw yourself at his feet, with, "Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean!" and rest assured that he will put forth his hands, and say, "I will, be thou made clean." He is still as able and willing to grant every request of this nature as he was while on earth. If you really find yourself a sinner, and that you have no power to save yourself, and are willing to accept of him as a Savior, he is ready to receive you. He will not be half a Savior. He will do all or nothing. If you mean to come to him, you must come as a helpless sinner. Not as the Pharisees, with a list of virtuous deeds performed; but as the publican, with the humble and contrite prayer, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" ETTA LINN. BY MRS. H. C. GARDINER. MAIDEN fair, when thou art nigh, Lightly waves thy golden hair; Ah! how cheerily thy song Etta Linn. Yet the mourner comes to thee, By the couch of grief and pain, When the day's light tasks are done, Ere the cords of life were riven, Smiling on the rich and great, Maiden fair, when thou art nigh, EXISTENCE. WHAT is existence? 'tis a thread But yet so strong, that naught can break, Nor yet the never-ending roll Of vast eternity; And, though it seems to snap at death, And when 'tis hid from mortal ken, As well might finite man attempt To grasp infinity, Or by the fleeting years of time THE DYING INDIAN. THE DYING INDIAN. BY REV. S. STEELE. I AM about to conduct you, reader, to the apartment of a sick and dying youth; and, though a child of the forest, he is none the less worthy of your favorable attention. Before introducing you, permit me to detain you for a few moments in the antechamber, in order to present you with a brief outline of his history, preparatory to a more profitable interview. The invalid is a youth of about twenty-two years, and was born upon the southern shore of Lake Superior. He possesses a natural sweetness of disposition and amiableness of manners rarely seen in the circle of more civilized and enlightened society. He was born of Pagan parents, and spent his childhood under the degrading influences of that system. Fortunately for this child of suffering, his parents were among the early fruits of missionary labor, as performed by that self-sacrificing and lamented missionary of the cross, Rev. John Clark. He now rests from his labors, and the green grass has long since overgrown his grave; still his name is fragrant with precious odors, and enshrined in the most sacred memories of a grateful people. Charles, for so we may call him, was inured to trials and privations unusual to the history of childhood, even among the aboriginals of North America. His father, a man of reputed industry and virtue, was mysteriously visited with total blindness at a period in the history of his growing family when his services seemed indispensable to their support. Charles was now almost the sole dependence of his afflicted parents, together with three brothers, and one sister, younger than himself. Though twelve summers had scarcely gone over his head, yet with manly firmness does he assume the responsible task of providing for his dependent parents and their more juvenile children. To suppose him adequate to this is to suppose an impossibility. Severe and excruciating indeed were the sufferings of this afflicted group, arising both from cold and hunger; yet to the indefatigable industry of little Charles do they gratefully acknowledge their preservation from starvation. Charles was baptized with his parents, upon their renunciation of Paganism and their introduction to Christianity; and, though quite young, he always retained the most vivid recollections of that eventful period in the history of his father's family. Other than the time of his baptism, it is difficult to fix the period of his conversion. From that moment he seemed to be a new creature," "born of the Spirit." His strict adherence to his religious duties presents an example worthy of the imitation of older and more enlightened Christians. His piety grew with his growth and strengthened with his strength. The house of God was a place of his peculiar delight, and painful indeed did he regard the circumstances that separated him from the 29 public and social means of grace. That a life so full of promise, so fraught with future blessings, and placed in circumstances of such extensive usefulness, should terminate in the morning of its existence, as it begins to feel and act in view of its solemn responsibilities, is indeed mysterious. But such are the dictates of Divine wisdom. The youthful Charles lies stretched upon a bed of wasting sickness. Three months have passed since disease first began to prey upon his vitals, and its work of destruction is nearly accomplished. Let us, therefore, hasten, dear reader, that we may perform for him kind offices, and witness the triumphs of divine grace over the "last enemy." That female form which you behold, with a countenance so expressive of anxious hope, industriously employed in discharging the duties of the nursery, is the mother of Charles. For three long months, with almost sleepless vigilance, has she watched the progress of the destroyer, and labored to resuscitate the wasting energies of her dying child. Upon a mat, a little removed from the invalid, sits the afflicted father. His sightless eyeballs seem to be immovably resting upon some object near the couch of his dying son. How strongly marked are his expressions! Hope and fear seem as though each were struggling for the ascendency. He carefully compares each coughing paroxysm with the former, in reference to its duration and severity, strictly noting the slightest change in reference to either. Now, the difficult and hurried respiration occupies his attention, neither of which affords him ground for hope or consolation. The sense of hearing is now changed for that of feeling, and, like the blind patriarch of ancient time, he passes his hand gently over the wasted form of his dying child, and weeps, as the fleshless bones and sinews admonish him of the solemn certainty of his son's approaching dissolution. While these afflicted parents are suffering the most painful forebodings, arising from a sense of the probable loss of their son, Charles is exhausting his last energies in administering consolation to their desponding hearts. He assures them that it would be pleasant for him to die, but for their unwillingness to yield him to the claims of his heavenly Father, and their sorrow on his account. Most affectionately does he beseech them to dry up their tears, and rejoice with him in the prospect of his speedy relief from sufferings and his entrance into everlasting rest. Having obtained from them a promise that they would not grieve on account of his death, he exhorts them to be attentive to the teaching of the missionaries, that he may meet them again in heaven. To his father he remarked, "You are blind here; you can not see your son; you feel him with your hand; but there is no blindness in heaven; you will see your son there." The Sabbath before his death, the writer, accompanied by the Rev. P. Marksman and a few friends, waited upon Charles with the sacrament of the Lord's supper, at his own request. It was a season of holy communion, such as is rarely the privilege of man to enjoy. From this time the sick room of Charles became a scene of moral beauty. His soul seemed to partake of a holy ecstasy, which radiated his emaciated countenance with unearthly luster. Never did mortal man more fully bear the "image of the heavenly." The transporting power of faith seemed to bear his soul above the sufferings of the body, and hold it entranced to the throne of God. From the time that he received the sacrament to the time of his death, a period of four days, his soul was constantly employed in praise and triumph, and he died with the name of Jesus upon his lips. Thus ended the life of Charles. It was as brilliant as it was brief-as consistent in health as it was triumphant in death. His bereaved parents, forbidden by promise to weep, freely indulge in tears, which they are unable to restrain. "My son," exclaims the sightless father, addressing the lifeless form of his departed son, and passing his hand over its cold features, "we weep not for thee; we know that thou art happy; but we weep for ourselves, when we think how lonely we shall be now thou art absent from us; but we will do as thou hast said, and follow thee where thou art gone. Begone, now, my son, till we meet thee in heaven." O, that these stricken-hearted parents may share in the abundant influences of that grace which so triumphantly sustained their dying child, and ultimately reunite them in indissoluble bonds forever to remain unbroken! The body of Charles reposes in its humble grave upon the mission premises at Na-om-i-kong, and his redeemed spirit, saved as the fruits of missionary labor, rests in the bosom of its God. Heaven speed a Gospel so priceless to a fallen world, till every death-bed scene shall be inspired by its hallowed light, and the darkness of Paganism expelled forever! I AM quite old in housekeeping, dear Mr. Editor, but very young in writing for the public; and I hope, if every thing I say is not said in good grammar, you will fix it all up straight. I have a few receipts pinned on a piece of paper in one corner of my kitchen, and I am going to copy off a few for your magazine; and if some, or even all of your readers have seen my receipts before, perhaps they won't get angry because of my attempt to refresh their memories. Good Coffee. Buy the best coffee you can. Wash it clean. Put it into a large pan, and set it in your stove, and roast till it is a golden brown-not a jet black color. Before taking out of the pan, for every pound of coffee, break in the whites of three eggs. Stir up well. Put away in a close vessel. When used, grind tolerably coarse, and tie up the coffee thus ground in a little linen bag, and boil for ten minutes. If the milk is boiled, so much the better. Use two table spoonfuls for every pint of water. In this way you will have something worth drinking. Mealy Potatoes. Just before the water gets to boiling, pour it off and put in cold, salted water, and your potatoes will be mealy, and without cracking open. A little more tedious than the commou plan, but pays well for the longer time in cooking. Nice Biscuits. Go to the apothecary, and get five cents' worth of common soda and five cents' worth of cream tartar. Take three pints of flour, half a teaspoonful salt, a pint of milk, a teaspoonful soda, and two teaspoonfuls cream tartar. Dissolve the soda in half a tea-cup of hot water, and put it with the salt into the milk. Mix the cream tartar thoroughly in the flour. Just before baking, pour in the milk, knead, and bake in the usual manner. Corn Cakes of all kinds. Take a quantity of good meal; make it as thin as you like with water or milk; add a spoonful of melted butter or lard for every quart, and sugar to your taste. A little sugar improves all corn cakes. For every quart dissolve one teaspoonful of soda or saleratus. Bake immediately in buttered tins. Corn cakes, just thick enough to form into round cakes half an inch thick, and baked on a griddle, are excellent. Apple Bread. Take two parts of flour to one part of apples stewed; stir them quite warm into the flour; put in a little yeast; knead it without water, the fruit being quite sufficient. Let it remain in the pan to rise for twelve hours; then put it into small pans, and bake it. It makes very light and palatable bread. Minute Pudding. Put a pint and a half of milk on the fire. Mix five large spoonfuls of flour with half a pint of milk, a little salt, and nutmeg. When the milk boils, stir in the mixed flour and milk. Let the whole boil for one minute, stirring it constantly. Take it from the fire; let it sit till lukewarm; then add three beaten eggs. Let it bake on the fire, and stir it constantly till it thickTake it from the fire as soon as it boils. To be eaten with nice sauce. ens. But I must stop. "Nothing new in any of the above," some one will say, as she reads my poor article. Well, perhaps not much; but as nobody else would say any thing to your readers on the subject, I thought I would try, even though some one would scold. I do hope that somebody better qualified than myself will give us something on domestic economy, now that I have introduced the subject; but if nobody will, may be you will hear from me again in the way of receipts, a plenty of which I have in my kitchen, which I will hunt up and send on, even though you never let them see the light. A bird may try to fly, and fail; yet perseverence will help wonderfully; and, though I fail in my flight, still, like the bird, I'll try again. |