The Rocket that Never Rose.
By Cuyler
DURING the eighty years' war which resulted in the triumphant establishment of the "United Netherlands," the city of Antwerp was besieged by the Spaniards under the celebrated Prince of Parma. The possession of that city was the turning-point in the war as far as the southern provinces (now Belgium) were concerned. Parma had nearly gained possession by constructing, at vast outlay, a bridge across the river Scheldt. To blow up that bridge was the aim of the Protestant forces within the beleaguered city. Accordingly two fire-ships—loaded with all manner of combustibles and terrible explosives—were floated down toward the bridge during the darkness of the night. As soon as the "hell-burners" (as the Dutchmen styled them) blew the bridge to atoms, a rocket was to be sent up, and the heavy-armed Dutch fleet lying below were to force their way through, and bring relief and triumph into Antwerp. Had that signal been made, the city would have been delivered—the Spaniards driven out of the Low Countries—fifty years of bloody war been prevented—and probably all Belgium would have been to this day a part of Protestant Holland. The weary patriots on the wharves of Antwerp heard the tremendous explosion of the fire-ships and anxiously watched for the rising of the appointed rocket. But alas! as Motley tells us in his brilliant narrative of the scene—"that rocket never rose." And after the lapse of three centuries, it is difficult to restrain187the bitter indignation which follows every mention of that stupid Dutch Admiral who failed to make the simple signal at the critical moment. The history of the Crimean war furnishes a kindred instance of vast results all depending on a trivial incident. The night before the battle of Inkermann, the Russians stealthily moved out of Sevastopol to take the allies by surprise. The city gates were open, and the Russians were in a most critical condition. Had the allies discovered the movement in time, they might have easily driven back the assailants through the open gates and captured Sevastopol in a single night. An English sentinel heard the rumble of the Russian cannon-wheels as they moved slowly out, but mistook them for market-wagons bringing provisions into the city. Accordingly he gave no alarm. Had that sentinel but opened his lips, months of bloody war would have been averted, and thousands of precious lives have been saved. So providence hinges mighty events on pivots exceedingly small. Had Columbus not seen the light in a fisherman's boat on a certain night, his mutinous crew might have forced him back to Spain, and the great secret for which he came had been a secret still for ages. Waterloo and the overthrow of Napoleon all turned on the coming up of Blucher at a given hour. A little more expedition on the part of our loyal troops would have carried them to Manassas on Saturday instead of Sunday. Jonston's re-enforcements would have been too late. The conflict of Bull Run might have had a different termination, and the history of the next ten years have read perhaps very differently. But alas! our rocket did not go up! As in public affairs, so is it in private history—the destiny of a man for time and for eternity often depends on events as apparently trivial as the glimpse of a light or the sending up of a rocket. The turning into one street instead of another—the delay of ten minutes—the meeting or the missing of a friend at a given moment—the Yes or the No spoken at a critical time—all determine human destinies. What men call "accidents" are God's appointed incidents. They draw bows "at a venture," and he directs the arrows. And whole lives have been lost or gained by the arrow being sent at the right or the wrong time—in the right or the wrong direction. In the revelations of the last great day, it will be wonderful to discover how many spiritual destinies have been decided by actions that at the time seemed of but small account. A young man of high promise is invited by his associates to join them in a social glass. He firmly says No, and the danger is passed. He lives and dies a sober, useful man. Or with silly cowardice he yields, and acquires a habit which lands him in the drunkard's perdition. On the summit of a hill in Ohio is a court-house so singularly situated that the rain-drops which fall on one side of the roof descend into Lake Erie and thence through the St. Lawrence into the Atlantic sea. The drops on the other side trickle down from rivulet to river until they reach the Ohio and the Mississippi, and enter the ocean by the Gulf of Mexico. A faint breath of wind determines the course of these rain-drops for three thousand miles. So a single act determines a human destiny for time and for eternity. A fashionable young man, partially reformed from drinking habits, was once offered a glass of wine by a thoughtless sister; and in yielding he re-enkindled a thirst which carried him back to drunkenness and ruin. Pastors will discover at the day of judgment how far the eternal interests of their parishioners have turned on single instances of performance or neglect of duty—on a sinner's yea or nay at a critical season of the Spirit's striving with him. The timely visit of a pastor to a sick man, or a faithful conversation with one whose heart was made tender by affliction, has often resulted in a soul's salvation. Ministers cannot always tell just when the rocket may best be lighted; but it is a safe rule to present the claims of Christ at every proper opportunity, and leave the leaven to do its work. Harlan Page never missed an opportunity to speak the "word in season," and the conversion of one hundred souls was the blessed result of his prompt and prayerful labors. Nearly every human life, in Christian lands, has its spiritual crisis. It has a time when the Spirit of God is striving and truth is pressing closely upon the conscience. At such seasons every act may have a momentous significance. The attendance upon a particular service—the reading of a certain book brought before him—the offering of a prayer in the hour of need—the doing of a single deed to please God—the yielding of the soul at a particular moment—these are the pregnant events that determine men's destinies for heaven or hell. Doors of mercy are not always open to an impenitent sinner. Doors of opportunity are not always open to the Christian. From the history of the Dutch Admiral's rocket we may learn that no act is a small one on which moral consequences are depending. The moral future of a nation was altered by the failure to send up his signal of deliverance. We may also learn to do always the right act at the right moment and then leave results to God.—Cuyler.