The Guardian. VOL. XXXV. DECEMBER, 1884. THE TRIBUTE MONEY. Written on finding a Roman coin in the From the German of Gustav Schwab. BY THE EDITOR. Bit of silver, brightly shining Tell me who hath brought thee hither, Strange! I see a wreath of laurel Crowning here a lofty brow: 'Twas a son of Rome that made thee Monarchs wear no laurel now. Grandly on that brow majestic TRAJAN is the hero's name. Thou a prince whose brilliant triumphs Thou, whose word the trembling martyr Thou art lying, lofty Cæsar, Low before the Saviour's feet; Germau peasants pluck thy laurels, Joyfully their Lord to greet. Strangely thus, before my vision, NO. 12. THE EVE OF CHRISTMAS. BY R. H. SCHIVELY. "Confound these holidays!" muttered Mr. Elliston, as he passed hastily through his parlor, on the night before Christmas. Fortunately, the ejaculation was inaudible to his fair wife, who, having laid all her little loves to rest, was alone, and busy in arranging their Christmas Tree. A sweet smile was on her face, revealing the presence of tender and holy thoughts. The smile br ghtened as her husband entered, but yielded to a shade of anxiety as she caught the troubled expression of his countenance. Just as he uttered the exclamation recorded above, she called on him to observe some new beauty she had added to the tree. But without heeding he passed on, and went up stairs, while Mrs. Elliston continued her occupation, the smile all gone from her sunny face. "If I could only imagine," she said. to herself," what is the matter with David of late! He looks ill, or troubled, I cannot tell which,-and he does not like me to notice it. It was never so before!" Poor David-foolish David! It had, indeed, never been so before with him. Heavy clouds hung over the world of business that winter; and he was walking under their dark shadow, deprived of the consolation he might have derived from his sweet wife's ready sympathy; for he had resolved to lock his anxieties in his own bosom, for fear of distressing her. Little did he imagine how much greater to her was the pain of knowing that he had griefs which she was not permitted to share. So, hugging his thorn close, he passed the nursery-door without so fluttering in the breeze, her babe clasped close in her arms, looking toward him with one last smile of intensest love-never to be forgotten!and then disappear suddenly, before much as a look at the dear little faces lying amid their clustering curls on the white crib pillows, and went into his study. There he threw himself upon the lounge, still moodily fretting over the expense of holidays, and the he could reach the spot and snatch her "absurd nonsense of such a fuss about the 25th of December!' Full of anxious thoughts as he was, he was weary enough to fall asleep. Asleep as to the exterior world,-awake in Dreamland. His whole life and surroundings seemed to have undergone one of those curious changes with which our dreams have made us all familiar. He was himself, yet, it seemed, not altogether himself; not only did his existence seem to belong to some foreign land, in far-off time, but something internal and natural to himself was wanting he felt the want, but did not understand it. He thought he was living with his wife and little ones, in a cabin by a strange river, strange, yet familiar; for, throughout all his dream, while the presence and sound of that river seemed everywhere to haunt him, some shadowy associations linked it with the Styx of his boyhood's studies. And, indeed, its waves rolled dark and turbid enough, and with a deep, sullen murmur that filled him with inexplicable awe. The burden of care seemed still, in this altered state, to rest upon his mind; but it was in his dream that his wife knew all about it. He thought they were standing near the river, she with the infant of six short months lying smiling in her arms, while they talked of their anxieties. Suddenly, as inspired by heroic resolve, her countenance lighting up with love and devotion, she sprang from his side, exclaiming, "It is too true! the gods are angry with us, the Fates are against us! But the oracle has spoken, and I may save you from ruin! It is the voice of the deity, that if your most loving friend will die, voluntarily, for you, your happiness will be secured. And whom could that mean, but me? Come, my babe,-one kiss, and farewell, my love, my husband! Petrified with amazement, he did not comprehend her meaning until he saw her stand for an instant on the steep cliff above the river, her garments from peril. He heard the plunge into the dark-rolling current below-not a word, not a cry,-he saw her reappear, soon borne far beyond his reach. Then he turned, rushed to his desolate cabin, seized his two remaining children, and hurried from the accursed spot, oppressed by all the horrors of guilt,-feeling that no gift of Fortune,-not the most precious, was worth his acceptance, now that the life of his life was gone,-homeless, hopeless, faithless in any good in the heavens above, or the earth beneath. And now a strange pilgrimage commenced. Holding his two children by their hand, his grey-eyed, dark haired thoughtful Ernest, and his fair little Louise, he traversed the highways and by ways of a world of marvels. Strange and beautiful cities lay in his path, smiling valleys and lofty mountains, lowly cabins and stately palaces. Yet everywhere he felt the same incomprehensible want in his life, that in the midst of a world of beauty, filled his soul with gloom. It was not that he had lost his love, and his child; something even nearer and more sacred seemed lacking; the prayers of childhood were unremembered; no cherished associations existed for him,-no ray of light cheered his spirit. And everywhere the flow of that dark river sounded in his ears sometimes deep and mysterious, sometimes louder and more threatening. Strange altars surrounded him, and strange worship, everywhere; the world. indeed seemed full of worship, full of the mystic and supernatural, yet by no altar, and in no rite, could the seeker find peace. Through pathless woods and by sun-lit streams he wandered; and from behind brown trunks of trees, peered wild satyr-faces, while the far depths of the forest echoed with elfish revelry; out of the leafy boughs overhead sounded the soft, happy tones of Hamadryads, or breathed regretful farewells in the tremulous whispers of withered leaves. From the water, bright eyes glanced upward; and white Yet time seemed to pass over his now forms of adorable beauty flashed silvered head and bowed form, and to through the waves, mocking his astonished eyes. leave him still a seeker. The land was beautiful; here with the tender grace of pastoral life, there with the stern grandeur of rugged mountain ranges, crested with snows; here with the loveliness of the field-lily, there with the majesty of the towering palm, or of the ancient oak and cedar. In the heart of the land was a queen city, enthroned on hills, where rose a temple more sumptuous than any he had yet seen; a temple whose architecture some other lands would have scorned, yet which was endowed with singular richness, and enshrined, he was told, mysteries deeper and holier than all others. From city to city he hurried, from land to land, ever vainly seeking "surcease of sorrow." Here were altars and grand temples, oracles and festivals, and all the semblance of adoration; but when he sought something tangible beneath it all, on which his soul might rest, he found the lofty display mere policy,-the State was God. Elsewhere he found refinements and graces without end, captivating to the fancy; noble and fascinating philosophy that deluded the imagination with the hope of rest to be found in knowledge; the Temple of Wisdom crowning the summit of the beautiful Here the names of gods innumerable city, its white columns dazzling in the were not heard; earth, air and water southern sunlight. Here would he no longer seemed peopled with half have rested, and feasted his weary human divinities; and instead of their spirit upon beauty; but alas! all worship, he beheld altars reared before proved cold as the midnight aurora that shining temple to one so revered of winter; marble-browed and marble- that His worshippers ventured not hearted. Intellect was goddess. even to pronounce his name, but bowed In another land, he found but the instead, in significant silence. Yet occult hieroglyphics and mummied re-even here were conflicting sects and mains of an effete philosophy; in passions; the precious Truth his heart another, venerable, priestly men wrap- told him he should find here, seemed ped in impenetrable reveries, while forgotten, while men wrangled over their land lay dark with superstition mere forms, or taught wild and disand red with human gore. Still else-torted legends, or mortified their nature where were mystic dances and wild in spiritual pride, or spiritual pride, or else openly rites of priests and priestesses clad scoffed at all seeking, as vain-" for in skins of beasts; calm, consecrated to-morrow, we die!" groves and massive stone temples, open to the dews of heaven; but when he would have reposed in those forest shades, the fearful cry of human victims met his ear, and he rushed sick and affrighted from the altar that reeked with the blood of his kind. And the flowing of the dark river still sounded in his ears, while once and again he seemed to catch glimpses of it, as though it were a magical river that followed his footsteps wherever he roamed. Driven, as it appeared, from place to place, like a ship at the mercy of winds, he came at last to a little land at the head of a great blue sea. It was a strange little country, different from any he had yet seen; but he entered its bounds with an undefined presentiment of rest at last to be found here. The little ones of the early home by the river were no longer children; and in them the wanderer had hoped for consolation. Vain hope! the young and lovely lovely daughter was sinking day by day in untimely decline; and the grief-laden father, after long efforts to save her life, was at last forced to relinquish hope. "O Death, art thou then victor over all life? O grave, give me back my beloved ones! or Thou, mysterious Power that rulest all things, tell me, is there Peace, is there Hope beyond the darkness in which I grope? Light, light,-more light!" And the son of his love would have consoled him, saying, "Father, thou art still a man! Bear up bravely but a little longer, as thou hast for so many years; all will soon BREAKING DOWN. be oyer, for death is endless sleep,— the dead awake no more, either to joy or to pain!" But each word only sunk the aged soul more deeply in grief; he looked mournfully into the face of his skeptic child, and his cup of bitterness seemed full. And the rush of the dark river sounded nearer and more powerful than ever. BY THE EDITOR. In a neighboring village there are two ministers of different denominations who are popularly said to be "breaking down." They are both men of unusual ability, who have exerted a great influence on the community, and neither But lo! at this gloomiest hour, all of them is more than fifty years of age. things earthly seemed to recede from They have excellent lungs, and neither his sight. The light of a rising star larynx nor pharynx has ever been sericaught his eve; higher and higher ously affected. Both of them have the apit ascended, and shone brighter and pearance of excellent health, and from ever brighter, until all space seemed their conversation no one would suppose filled with its wonderful radiance. And them to be suffering from serious illness. that light, glorious above sunlight, Yet it is evident that something very yet softer than moonlight, penetrating serious is the matter. Their nervous above all natural brightness, filled his system has, in some way, been so comsoul with peace and joy. The strange want was no longer heard. And from the distant plains echoed music, heavenly sweet, and but half understood. Nearer and nearer it sounded, till the angelic tones formed themselves into syllables, and the words were "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth Peace, good will to men!" And David Elliston awoke. The holy midnight chimes were ushering in the morning of joy; and a voice not less sweet to his ear greeted him tend erly with, ¢་ Happy Christmas to my dear hus band!" The hour that followed was sacred. The dream was told, and the hidden trouble; and the cloud of care, though not dissipated, revealed to the eyes of love and trust its "silver lining.' But vain would have been all earthly tenderness and sympathy without the Christmas peace that had penetrated Mr. Elliston's awakened heart. In its light, what, to him, were fluctuations or failures? God of stone, and god of gold fall before the might of a "little child." Earthly sorrows are but glittering shadows in the noonday glory of the "Life" which "is the light of the world." IF your cause is good, be sure you not injure it by a bad spirit; if it bad, give it up at once. pletely shattered that they cannot preach, and one of them cannot even read. In the mean time, the congregations, which do not wish to part with their pastors, are seeking far and near for supplies. Professors, theological students, and "agents" are all pressed into the service, in the hope that the health of the pastor may be speedily restored. What can be the cause of such afflictions, which have recently become alarmingly frequent? It cannot be the amount of intellectual labor which ministers perform, though this is certainly very great. It has been said that "a minister with a large charge makes more speeches than a lawyer, and pays as many visits as a doctor in good practice." Still, it can hardly be supposed that intellectual labor is the chief cause of ministerial failure. There are in these days many thousands of people who "coin their brains," and some of them perform an amount of work which appears almost gigantic, yet we rarely find them breaking down so utterly. We once knew a man who broke down in the ministry but afterwards simultaneously managed a coalmine, edited a local paper, and superintended a Sunday school. He several times returned to the active ministry, but in a few months his nervous troubles returned, and he found himself entirely disabled. do It is a remarkable fact that this is *This article was written several years ago. "clerical epidemic" appears to be of division of pastoral charges much of comparatively recent origin. Former the variety of pastoral life has disapgenerations of ministers were rarely peared. There are no more healthtroubled in this way. Once in a while bringing rides over the mountains-no a young minister who had been ac- more visits to strange communities tively engaged in revival work had an whose peculiarities must be attentively attack of bronchitis; but "nervous studied. At present there is danger prostration" was almost unknown, and that the pastor of a small charge may would have secured but little sym- come to perform his duties in a pathy. mechanical way. He sees the same people every day, and perhaps visits them at stated times in a perfunctory manner. In almost every charge there are people who suffer from imaginary afflictions. These require frequent visitation, and always tell the same sad story, which is generally met by the same words of consolation. The sermon is prepared at stated times, and is apt to be constructed after the old pattern. It is a sad thing when a minister thus comes to regard his work as mere routine. He is not only in danger of drying up, mentally and morally, but his congregation will be sure to dry up with him. The men who performed pioneer work in the ministry were generally men of strong physical constitution. Their complexion was clear and ruddy, and as they grew older there was a tendency to portliness. On horseback or in the sulkey they travelled over a large extent of country, and became personally acquainted with the people in all that region. They cultivated a cheerful manner, and all who met them were delighted to receive their pleasant smiles and words of welcome. Neighboring ministers in those days visited each other frequently. They did not make formal calls, but when they felt a little depressed put their On the other hand, some ministers who wife and children into the "carry-all," are profoundly in earnest are exposed and drove away to visit some brother to a danger of a different character. By in the ministry. Then they enjoyed a occupying themselves constantly in a glorious day. The children had a good single round of employments they are romp, the wives compared notes and apt to exaggerate beyond their due imencouraged each other, and the hus-portance the objects that lie within bands not only conversed about the their range of vision. Possibly the affairs of the church but told each church-debt worries the pastor as other good stories, and enjoyed many a though he had given his personal oblihearty laugh. With all its hardships gation for the amount, and he anticithe life of old-time ministers was pates all manner of evil from it. No simple and joyous. Their sermons, as regards their substance, were as carefully prepared as is usual at the present day; but they had no time to spend weary hours in polishing their discourses according to the rules of rhetorical art. They were so busy and withal so cheerful that they found no room for nervous depression. It seems to us that the present generation of ministers might in some respects imitate their predecessors to good advantage. It is a good thing, of course, that large charges have been divided, so that in many instances pastors are enabled to devote all their attention to a single congregation. A small field well tilled is sure to be more productive than a neglected farm. It should, how ever, not be forgotten that with the doubt, debt is always an evil which ought if possible to be removed; but to the business men of the congregation the sum probably appears trifling, while to the pastor, who has never handled so much money in his life, it seems more oppressive than the debt of the nation. Sometimes a member of the church, in whose Christian integrity the pastor had confided, commits a grievous scandal. This is a great grief to every faithful minister, but like every other grief it ought not to be indulged in to the ruin of the afflicted. The good shepherd imitates his Master in following the lost sheep until he finds it; but he is nowhere told that when one of his flock wanders away he ought to sit down and cry himself to death. In order to avoid these dangers a |