The Editor and His Flock.
By Editor
People sometimes receive their paper year after year without considering the relationship which all the time is growing up between them and the editor. He is in one part of the land and they in another, he sees their names in the mailing list, but does not know how they look or what their surroundings, and yet he is always selecting the news which he thinks they ought to hear, and setting forth the truths which he deems they ought to consider. His connection with them is a vastly important one, for it affects their judgments, their principles, and their hearts. There are no distractions of architecture, or audiences, or music when he speaks to them; no living voice divides their attention by its cadences or modulations, but as they sit by the fireside after the turmoil of the day, when none but home's own familiar faces are near them, the editor's words come with their facts and suggestions for the household. It is impossible for one thus to commune in silence and sacred privacy with thousands of others, without a feeling of responsibility for them. The Christian editor prays for his unknown flock, they become a concern to him as those for whom he must give account—and when suddenly the notice comes that a subscriber is dead, that the name must be taken off, the thought at once arises, has that soul been honestly and truly dealt with in these pages? Has it been led to Jesus by its weekly visitor? These reflections came into our minds as we read the following beautiful passage from a late number of the San Francisco Occident. We thank our brother editor for his touching words:— “Stop Miss.——’s paper. She is dead.” She has been a subscriber for two or three years. Whether she loved Christ, we know not. Whether she was old or young; whether she was rich or poor; whether she took the paper in order to help us, or that we might help her; or whether she commenced from curiosity and continued from interest in our work, of all that we are ignorant. But she is dead. A friend and helper is gone, to whom we can come no more with the words of genial cheer—with the words of gospel hope. The day somehow seems darker since we have heard of her death. Perhaps she prayed for us; perhaps as our folds weekly greeted her eyes, her heart was strengthened by some of our utterances, and her sympathies were awakened toward Christ's cause. “Have we performed our duty toward her and toward our thousands of readers? Our paper is not up to our standard, by far. We toil under frequent and oppressive discouragements. We have not therefore the spring, vivacity, power that we could wish. But we have done our best that no unchristian sentiment, no mean covert, unkind suggestion toward any denomination of the Church or any person, should get into these columns. We have been anxious that every number should serve Christ and point out the way of salvation.” Our turn will speedily come. We had expected it earlier. Yes, dear reader—for never do we send out a paper but it is prayed for, that it may serve Christ in your hearts. With tears and impassioned entreaties we beseech God for you, ministers and people, in the thronged city, or the lonely field or forest, that our Saviour may enrich with all grace, and enable us to help you in your work and way to the kingdom.—Union Advocate.