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Review and Herald, Vol. 18, No. 8.

A Believer's Estimate of the Bible

Review and Herald

Jul 23, 1861

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 23, 1861

A Believer's Estimate of the Bible.

I LOVE the Bible. As the storehouse of religious knowledge; as the instrument of ministerial usefulness; as the test of christian experience; as the guide of social order, and guardian of civil freedom; as the only sure barrier against the desolating inroads of fanaticism, Socinianism, and Atheism; as the friend of the people, irrespective of condition or class; and as the "world's best hope," I love the Bible. I love its testimonies, for their truthfulness and moral grandeur. I love its arguments, for their fairness and cogency. I love its invitations for their condescension and freeness. I love its promises for their appropriateness, vastness, and certainty. I love its prayers as models of filial freedom and believing reverence. I love its songs for their solemn gladness and their godly bearing. I love its precepts for their equity and chasteness, their accordance with the principles of grace, their affinity with the promises, and their applicability to the vicissitudes of my heavenward pilgrimage. I love it for its Author and authority; for the evils it rebukes and removes; for the good it does and designs; for the goodness it reveals and requires; for the fellowship it creates, and the friendship it sanctifies and cements; for the happiness it diffuses, and the prospects it unfolds. I love it as a record, a memorial, a standard, a treasure, a companion, and a guide. As a law-book it is the cheapest and safest; as a prayer-book it is full and infallible; as a hymn-book, alike faultless are its theology, poetry, spirit, and style; and as a school-book, it surpasses every other for fixing the attention, feeding thought, controlling the imagination, informing the judgment, training the conscience, educing the superior affections of the heart, and in every respect fitting for society. Therefore I love it in the study, the pulpit, and the pew; in the counting-house, and the workshop; in the garden and the field; in the sitting-room and the bed-chamber; in the railway-carriage and the steamboat; in the morning and the evening; in sickness and in health. In every case and place, be it near me for reading or hearing, for counsel or comfort.
Because of its divine origin and originality, it is the best of books; and in religion is the sole authority, infallible and absolute. It needs not, and will not sanction a companion volume, as being equally with itself a test of truth or rule of practice. To "the Bible, the Bible only," every one who would learn "the good and the right way," must apply his mind and yield his conscience. He must resort to it, not to obtain support to opinions previously adopted, but to receive meekly, unreservedly, and unhesitatingly whatever is really taught therein. "For instruction, for conviction, for reformation (or restoration), and for education in righteousness," the Scriptures "given by the inspiration of God," are "profitable" and sufficient. No tenet is true, no principles are sound, no motives are pure, no conduct is correct, no hope is well founded, no precepts are binding, no ordinances, rites, or ceremonies are becoming, and no worship is acceptable, except in harmony with this sacred volume. It alone is the standard of morals and prescriber of piety. It is not a book of science; yet every science is false that is contradictory to it. It is not a book of politics; yet all politics which are adverse to its principles, are unjust and mischievous. It is a book for time, to guide through it; a book for earth, to lift above it; a book for society, to regenerate and elevate it. It is a book for man, in relation to man his brother—and for man the sinner, in relation to "God the Saviour." It is "the book of Jehovah," because it, and it only, teaches us of the One eternal Being, who of himself alone is immutably existent; who in himself alone is absolute perfection; who is the first cause of all things good, and the end of all things, both in the way of terminating what is to be concluded, and of consummating what is to be completed. It is "the word of Christ," because "the testimony of Jesus," the God-man Mediator, the appointed Redeemer of sinners and Lord of saints, is its alpha and omega—beginning and end. It is "the word of truth," because its records are facts, its gifts are substantialities, its requirements are righteousness, and its predictions and promises are but anticipations of providence, which, without exception, in due time and order, become verities. It is a book of purposes, not experiments; of realities, not fancies; and of positivities, not possibilities. It is "the book of the law," because it admits of no appeal from its decision.
No other book is so wide in its range, so lofty in its aim, so benevolent in its spirit, so dignified in its character, and so happy in its influence. Its depth is the mystery of truth; its height is the splendor of purity; its mission is the mercy of love; its course is the path of wisdom; its sphere is the world of fallen mankind; and its end is the glory of God. It is, therefore, and it only is, of universal utility. The philosopher, by the study of it, may extend his knowledge of the laws of matter, and the properties of mind; the statesman may learn from it precedents and principles applicable to national government; the poet may find in it inspiring aids to his noblest conceptions; the painter may depict from it scenes of loftiest grandeur and holiest awe, and portraits of goodness and beauty affording the fullest scope to his artistic genius; while the plough-boy and "the maid behind the mill" may by means of it, learn the most exalted lessons, and attain unto the divinest skill.
Whoever is humbly led by it is safely led to heaven. It confounds the conceited, baffles the speculative, rebukes the proud, frowns upon the formal, denounces the ungenerous, dooms the profligate and the impenitent, smiles upon the meek and self-denying, assures the fearingly contrite, and refreshes the way-worn follower of Christ with living water from the crystal fountain of eternal love. Like all the works of God, his word is diversified, and harmonious, plain and profound, simple and sublime, suitable, and serviceable. It contains the developments of the eternal will, the thunderings of righteous and reasonable wrath, the benefactions of unmerited favor, the rebukes of fatherly fidelity, the beauties of holiness, the glowings of love, the counsels of wisdom, and the index of futurity. By it, faith unto gratuitous salvation is authorized, penitence is evoked, prayer is instructed, hope is uplifted, love is attracted, obedience is guided, affliction is irradiated, zeal is animated, praise is inspired, and death is conquered. It is the dissector of the human heart, the charter of the christian church, the specular of the Deity, and the telescope of eternity. This is the book—the one book of my heart. "O how I love thy law," Father of lights and God of truth! "The law of thy mouth is better unto me than thousands of gold and silver."
Dear to my soul the "truth and grace" Unfolded in this book; Grant, Lord, the beamings of thy face, When through its leaves I look.
From Christ that I may not depart, Nor yield to sin or sense, Engrave thy word upon my heart, By gracious influence.
In every trouble let me find Thy wise directions bless; Let truth support and cheer my mind, When sore afflictions press.
Thy word alone my steps shall guide, A pilgrim while I rove, My staff shall be in death's cold tide, My triumph when above.

A CHRISTIAN TRIUMPH OVER TOBACCO.

MY EXPERIENCE.

AMONG the first things that greeted me, after my birth, was the odor of the tobacco-pipe. My parents both used it.
When I was about ten years old, I commenced theuse of tobacco, just for fun. I soon found there was little fun about it.
I had chewed the weed for nearly a year before my parents found it out, though I had stolen nearly all my tobacco from them, and used it in their presence constantly, though rather cautiously.
As father and myself were at work one day in the field, said he to me, "What in the world makes you spit so much?" "O," said I, carelessly, "it is only a sort of a habit I have got into." "Ah," said he, "I am afraid you are chewing tobacco." I answered, in apparent surprise, "Why didn't you know that I have chewed tobacco for the year past?" "No, indeed!" said he. "And now, my son, you must at once break off from that dirty habit; for I don't want you to use tobacco in any form." "Well," said I, "I'll tell you what I'll do. If you and mother will throw away your old stinking pipes, I will comply with your request at once." "I would gladly do so, if I could," said he; "but I have smoked for so many years, and become so addicted to this habit, that I cannot give it up now." "And that is just the case with me," I replied. "I can't give it up." He said no more, but regaled himself with his pipe as aforetime, and left me undisturbed to chew and spit to my heart's content.
For ten years I was in the most degrading bondage to this appetite. Often did I, during that period, form the resolution to break the chains; but my appetite was stronger than my resolution, and held me fast in perpetual bondage. I soon began to feel the effects of the use of tobacco upon my whole being—became painfully conscious I was fearfully deranging my digestive organs, my nervous system, and, worst of all, my intellect. Dyspepsia, with kindred difficulties, began to prey upon me. My nerves were unstrung, my memory became feeble, I became vacillating in my purposes. My intellect seemed to be stupefied and almost paralyzed. I saw clearly the great and only cause of all these terrible evils; I anticipated the ultimate results; and yet I continued to chew and spit the life-destroying drug.
During this time I made numerous efforts to overcome this habit, and regain my long lost freedom. I would empty my pockets, and destroy whatever of the weed I happened to have at the time, then muster what little resolution I had left to conquer my enemy; but alas! my appetites had become so strengthened by protracted indulgence, and the power of my will so enfeebled, that I would soon be compelled to abandon my efforts, and reluctantly return to my suicidal practice.
As a last resort, I purchased a quantity of the worst tobacco I could find. It was a damaged article, adulterated with copperas. I used it freely, though it made me sick, and poisoned my mouth very badly, hoping thereby to exterminate my insatiable appetite for the weed. But it was all to no purpose. I finally sank down in despair, feeling that I was doomed to be a slave to this unclean monster.
In the winter of 1846 and 1847 I became interested in the subject of religion. It was the desire of my soul to become a consistent Christian. From that day my tobacco began to trouble my conscience. I saw the inconsistency of such fleshly lusts with the spirit of true religion. But my conscience was somewhat relieved when I looked around and found old professors of religion, who were esteemed as true children of God, and even ministers of the gospel, pious men, indulging freely, openly, and without rebuke, in the use of this defiling narcotic. Yet I did not feel fully satisfied with the purity of their example in this respect. I began to feel like making this matter a matter of principle. I had resolved, with God's help, to be a Bible Christian; to make the Bible my rule of practice as well as faith. Still I shrank from bringing this habit to the law and the testimony of scripture for two reasons:—first, I feared that, judged by this rule, the practice would stand disclosed as sinful in the sight of God, and that I would be compelled either to lose the favor of God, or to put away this drug and overcome my bondage to it, which I felt to be impossible in my case. Second, I felt ashamed to take this foul practice and the Bible, and go before God, and make the inquiry involved in a scriptural examination of this question. In short, I felt as though it were almost, if not quite, an insult to God to seek light in reference to the moral character of this fleshly appetite.
While, for such reasons, I was delaying to make prayerful investigation of this subject, the Spirit of God began to set the whole matter before my mind in a most convincing manner, giving me to understand those passages which refer to the indulgence and crucifixion of the fleshly lusts. I was led to see that I could not defile the temple of God and be a true follower of Christ.
The question was brought home to my soul, one morning with great power,—I was in the act of taking a chew of tobacco—"Would Jesus Christ use tobacco? Will you give up your tobacco for Christ? Or, will you give up Christ for your tobacco?" I deeply felt that I could not be a Christian and continue the use of tobacco. I must part with my tobacco or Christ! I did not hesitate long, ere, with a trembling heart and an increasing hope that God would aid me in the undertaking, I deliberately decided this question finally and forever, that, let the consequences be what they might, live or die, I would, with God's help, be a free man, a pure man, and serve this filthy, cruel tyrant no more. I bowed before God in prayer; I confessed my filthy and sinful bondage; I sought forgiveness and assistance; I cast myself upon his strong arm for power to conquer my terrible appetite; I took hold on his promise to "help me." But a few days passed ere all desire for the weed ceased, and I became a free man—W. D. W.—Anti-Tobacco Journal.

A PRAYER FOR HOLINESS.

HEAVENLY Father, I desire, Holy love my soul to fill; I would have my heart aspire, Evermore to do thy will. I would wear the holy seal, Worn by those who wear the cross, And would fight Christ's cause with zeal, Deeming earthly things but dross!
Sweet emotions o'er me steal, And my soul with rapture fill; Holy Father, now I feel More inclined to do thy will— More inclined to come to thee, On the wings of humble prayer— More inclined to grateful be, For thy ever watchful care!
As the birds of smiling June, Sweetly sing their merry lays, So, my Father, I will tune Now my harp to sing thy praise; And my heart shall e'er aspire Thy approving smile to win, Till I join the angel choir, Free from sorrow, free from sin.

A. Sketch.

"Every person exerts some influence, either for good or evil. No one is so poor and lowly, so isolated and friendless, but there is some one either the better or worse for their living. And, oh dear, I'm sure it can't be true, for I, at least, am an exception. Whom do I influence? Alas, I fear, no one," and little Miss Grey sighed.
She lived in a tiny white cottage, and with no companion, save a little "bound girl." Her life was lonely and quiet, in the little village in which her youth was spent, and now she was descending the vale of life. Gray hair was sprinkled in the brown, and her brow showed the marks of approaching age. She had seen the orphan children of a deceased sister arrive at mature age, and leave her sheltering roof for a home in the "wide world," and she felt almost alone. Yet not alone, for Miss Grey was a sincere and humble Christian, and she never doubted the promise, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee."
As a companion for her loneliness, and an assistant in her household duties, Miss Grey had taken a little girl from the alms-house, a shy, sensitive child of eleven years. Alice Brown was an orphan, quiet and reserved, and yet she often, with natural longings, yearned to join in the childish sports of the village children. But though Miss Grey did not mean to be unkind, still she could not recall her own youthful days, and never thought what an injury she might be doing the child when she denied her only request to play with the little ones, who would have been her friends. And Alice Brown often wept at her tasks, and sometimes longed for the rest which cometh after death.
'I've no influence,' repeated Miss Grey, and she let the paper drop to the floor, and began to think. The morning sun rose higher and higher, and it was almost noon.
"Alice," called Miss Grey, "Alice."
"Yes ma'am," said Alice, quickly appearing at the door, which afforded an entrance way to the kitchen.
"Hurry up your dinner; you can get it alone just as well as to have me help you. I don't think I shall help you so much hereafter; you're altogether too lazy;" and Miss Grey leaned back in her arm chair as Alice disappeared.
But Miss Grey saw the shadow on Alice's face, and the question arose, "Have I no influence over Alice?"
She was troubled a little and called, again:
"Alice!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You may set the table. It's high time."
"Yes ma'am," answered Alice meekly.
The table was drawn out and neatly spread; the plates were laid, and Alice brought in a plate of smoking potatoes; but the carpet being loose near the door, the child's foot caught, and the next second she fell prostrate on the floor, and the potatoes were strewn in every direction.
"Oh, Alice, you careless child! Ain't you ashamed of yourself? You don't deserve a bit of dinner," cried her mistress. "Now pick them all up, every one, and see if you can't be more careful next time. Don't you know better than to put them on the table now, child? Take them in the kitchen, and go on about your dinner."
"Yes ma'am," said Alice, but her eyes flashed, and her bosom heaved with indignation, at being addressed so crossly, when it was only an accident. When she was in the kitchen, she gave vent to her sorrow in wild sobs, but she soon controlled them, and started to get some water, preparatory to taking up the remainder of the dinner.
Miss Grey heard the sobs, and her conscience reproached her; and she exclaimed inwardly, "Yes, I have influence, and it's exerted for evil."
The thought brought sorrow, and shame, and good resolves, and as Alice re-entered, she noticed the look of bitter defiance on the fair little face, and in the tear-blinded eye.
Owing to the fact of her eyes being filled with tears, and she herself aroused to a passionate feeling of hate toward Miss Grey, Alice again tripped, but she did not fall, though the pitcher did, and broke in pieces.
Miss Grey's first impulse was to say something very harsh, but one thought decided her. "Never mind, Alice; you didn't mean it," she said kindly, to the child who stood as if stupefied, awaiting the usual scolding, "never mind, dear, hasten to wipe up the water before the carpet is completely soaked; go quickly, dear!"
The child obeyed, still sobbing, but with far different feeling now; no more hate in it, but sorrow, and a feeling which she could not herself define.
"Dinner already! What a nice little housekeeper you are becoming, Alice! I am getting quite proud of you," and Miss Grey seated herself at one side of the table, while Alice took the other.
"I didn't mean to do it," said Alice, earnestly and sadly.
"I know it, dear," answered her mistress.
"Dear!" How the word thrilled Alice's heart. It made her think of her younger days, when her parents were alive, and lived in a little cottage too; though they were very poor, kindness and affection brightened their daily life. Those memories clung to Alice, and she said, tremblingly:
"My mother used to always call me dear."
"Did she? Do you like it?" asked Miss Grey.
"O! yes, ma'am, more than anything else 'most," answered Alice, for the word dear always signified kindness to her. She couldn't realize any one's saying it crossly and angrily.
After Alice had finished her kitchen-work, she came again to the little sitting room, but the smile was full of childish happiness; poor Alice had found little kindness since her parents' death. Miss Grey noticed it, with a resolve to make the orphan's life brighter, to be a mother to her. "Sit down dear, at your patchwork," she said in the same kind tone, as she left the room and went upstairs. Here Miss Grey began examining the contents of a closet, laying the things out carefully. Here was a large doll, there, some aprons, and here somedresses. They had once belonged to Ellen, the youngest niece of Miss Grey, and as Ellen died about three years before, her aunt still retained her clothes, though for what purpose she had never thought. She had little of that feeling which prompts us to retain every thing which once belonged to a lost friend; and as her niece was of Alice's size, she selected a pink dress and white apron, and the doll, and went down again to the sitting-room.
"Here, Alice, try these on."
The delighted child was soon arrayed, and looked prettily enough.
"This is your doll, dear, and all those things in the closet of your room, are yours, Alice."
"O, thank you, thank you, dear Miss Grey."
"How much she looks like dear Ellen did," thought the lady; then she added aloud:
"Haven't you any relation in the world, Alice?"
"None but an uncle out West, ma'am, and he's poor."
A new idea struck Miss Grey, and she said:
"Alice, I haven't always been kind; I did wrong. In future I desire to be like a mother to you. Wouldn't you like to call me 'aunt Jenny,' as Ellen and all my neices did?"
"O, yes, ma'am, indeed I should."
"Let me hear you do it now, Alice."
"Aunt Jenny," said Alice slyly.
Miss Grey drew her closer to her, and kissed her, then said:
"I've kept you in a great deal, Alice, and this afternoon you may go and play with those children on the green."
"O, thank you, thank you!" and Alice started for a sun-bonnet.
"Thank you auntie," suggested Miss Grey.
"Thank you, auntie, I love you, O! ever so much;" and she kissed the lady's hand again and again.
That afternoon Miss Grey spent in earnest thought and prayer, and her resolve was strong to use her influence for good. She now knew that she possessed a large share of influence, and when she thought of Alice's quick sensibilities, her large capacities for learning, she did not underrate it. Henceforward, the child preserved a home in her heart and Miss Grey repeated as she heard the feet of Alice bounding merrily toward her own door, "There is no one so poor and lowly, so isolated and friendless, but some one else is either the better or worse for their living."
Every little child exerts an influence, surely then, there is no one can say, "I've no influence." Is there no one either better or worse for your living? Is there no one who loves you? say not then, "I've no influence." Have you talents? Then you possess influence. Are you alone in the world, poor, without talent, without love? still you may influence others.
A kind sentence from you, may so far influence the mourner, that beneath the seeming anger of God, he shall behold a smiling face. So far influence him, that in meekness he shall bow his head, saying, Thy will be done. In life's brightest hours there is at least one, to whom you may tell of the Author of your joys, whom you may influence for good; in life's sorrows there may be some who will listen as you point them to the throne of love and mercy.
A child influences children; and often, O how often, older people. Friend acts on friend; and sister, on sisters and brothers, and no one can say, "I am alone; I influence no one." No one can say this; and of our talents we shall be required to give an account of this, too—how we have used our influence.

The War.

DISPATCHES from Washington are constantly bringing the intelligence of movements of portions of the grand union army over the Potomac, on the line of which it has so long been concentrating. This movement, so well organized, and carried on with such eminent skill, must compel a disastrous retreat on the part of the rebels, or a general engagement. The forces on the Potomac, in the vicinity of Washington, have moved southward almost as far as Fairfax Court House, the advance guard being within three miles of that place. It is understood that in the corps d'armee under Gen. McDowell is to consist of 40,000 men, divided into four divisions of 10,000 men each: the first under Gen. Tyler, the second under Col. Heitzelman, and the third under Col. Hunter—the fourth to remain as a reserve corps. Each division will comprise the brigades of four regiments of infantry, and the remainder of the 10,000 will be composed of cavalry and artillery. Gen. Patterson's division is now encamped at Martinsburg. His force is about 26,000 men, and they are within seven miles of the rebels, who are stationed at Bunker Hill. General McClellan occupies Grafton, but is shortly expected to make an advance movement.

The Pope's Perplexity.

IN a late Pastoral, says The Catholic of June 1st, Cardinal Wiseman thus speaks of the peculiar circumstances of perplexity and affliction in which the Holy Father is placed:—
"For although there appears to be no ground for apprehension in consequence of his late momentary attack of illness, we all must be aware how wearing and trying must necessarily be that uncertainty regarding his future position which the complicated state of politics must produce. Miserable and humiliating it is to every Catholic heart to think that the tranquillity and happiness of the Vicar of Jesus Christ should have to become the sport of those whose natural duty it was, at any sacrifice, to secure them. Shame that it should be a matter of daily and fluctuating rumor whether or no he is to be handed over from one calling himself his son, to another boasting of the same title; and what is the price at which he is to be so transferred. Hateful it is to any loyal and affectionate son to see those conditions every day canvassed, and the familiar question reported as repeated with varying answer—'What will you give me and I will deliver him up to you?' The more gross injustices may have been accomplished; the more bitter sufferings may have been inflicted; the more personal insults may have been exhausted; the pangs of his crucifixion may have been finally felt; the act of spoliation, of the rending in pieces of all that gave him outward and worldly dignity may have been completed; he is now left hanging in what is intended to be ignominious suspense, while the dice are cast by political gamesters for his seamless robe of state, that capital of the christian world, that seat of his eternal pontificate,—to see 'whose shall it be,' a secular possession of one or many declared foes, no longer the object of the world's veneration, admiration and love.
"It is that God will bring our Holy Father quickly out of this harassing and humiliating condition that we wish you now more particularly to pray. It may be in the divine counsels unsearchable to human wisdom, that the late stage of tribulation may not have been yet reached by him, or by the church. But every new form of suffering which afflicts him calls from us for a new expression of sympathy; as cross springs from cross, in his path, it is the duty of children to cast over it the flowers of their affectionateness, and thus make it at least less rough and hurtful. Ready with our succor or our homage, according to each changeful need, the present is a state in which neither human wisdom, nor any expression of even universal desire seems able to influence the counsels, whether selfish or ambitious, of those who are playing the game of which his temporal crown is the stake. That God alone, in whose hands are the hearts of kings, is our present resource. In his might is our only trust for counteracting the strength of our pontiff's enemies,—in the abyss of his wisdom is our only confidence for the overthrow of the craftiness of the many Ahithophels who have combined the wiles of their diplomacy to aid every form of rebellion against king and father."

The Regenerate Man.

By A. L. Stone

You tell me a man is changed by the converting and renewing grace of God. Is he? Let me look at him. It is something that I may see him with the Bible in his hands. It goes as confirmation that I behold him on his knees. It helps the evidence that I hear him speaking his public vows in covenant with God and his people. But I would rather visit him insensibly in his home—see what sort of a husband and father he has become—whether he is gentle and self-restrained, when he used to be petulant and irritable—whether he is monarch of all he surveys, or the servant and minister of all—lives to receive the incense of the family homage, to be saved trouble, and to guard his personal comfort and convenience from interference and restriction, or to lavish thought and toil and care upon the welfare of all the dependent circle. Let me know, are his angles rounded off in the home? Is he eager to lift off the household burdens from the frailer form at his side, and adjust them to his own broad shoulders? Especially, has he become in a scriptural and meaning phrase, a nursing father to the little ones there? Are they only the playthings of his idle moments, with whom he frolics as so many kittens when he is good natured, or looks upon as so many stumbling blocks, to be kicked out of the way when he is moody and hasty? Or are they young plants to be watched and nurtured for the garden of God, youthful learners to be taught the way of life, early pilgrims, whose feet he is to lead with his own in the path to heaven? Show me the evidence that he has discerned and accepted his most privileged and responsible calling of nurseryman for the great Husbandman in this little plantation. I wish you to see him kneel with his right arm around his eldest born, and his left on the cradle of his babe—to hear him with a tax which he shall feel because it is painstaking study and effort, and yet for love's sake shall not feel, because it is freely and gladly borne, reading and expounding to young learners the way of truth and salvation. If his heart is not turned to his children, it is not turned to Christ.—A. L. Stone.

The Peace of Christ.

UNDERSTANDING can never get to that peace which the Christian hath attained. The philosopher may teach us much; he can never give us rules whereby to reach the peace that Christians have in their conscience. Diogenes may tell us to do without everything, and may live in his tub, and then think himself happier than Alexander, and that he enjoys peace; but we look upon the poor creature after all, and, though we may be astonished at his courage, yet we are obliged to despise his folly. We do not believe that even when he had dispensed with everything, he possessed a quiet of mind, a total and entire peace, such as the true believer can enjoy. We find the greatest philosophers of old laying down maxims for life, which they thought would certainly promote happiness. We find that they are not always able to practice them themselves, and many of their disciples, when they labored hard to put them in execution, found themselves incumbered with impossible rules to accomplish impossible objects. But the Christian man does with faith what a man can never do himself.

Silver Arrows from the Bow of God.

THERE are many trials in life which do not seem to come from unwisdom or folly. They are silver arrows shot from the bow of God, and fixed inextricably in the quivering heart. They are to be borne. They were not meant, like snow on water, to melt as soon as they strike. But the moment an ill can be patiently borne it is disarmed of its poison, though not of its pain.

DUTIES OF THE EDITOR.

By Editor

We do not design to point out at this time all the duties of the editor of the REVIEW, but only to refer to some things which we think are not his duty.
For the past six weeks more than one half the time we could spare for reading and writing has been occupied with matters entirely outside of editorial duties, matters which should not be thrown upon us.
It is wrong for a few individuals to claim his time to read and answer long letters, filled with the gloom of individual or church difficulties that might with the use of a little humility and common sense be settled in five minutes. It is not the duty of the editor of the REVIEW to be detained and troubled with such matters. He is not under obligations to these individuals in particular. But he is under the most solemn obligations to the ten thousand readers of this humble sheet. It is the only regular preacher of the Seventh-day Adventists from Maine to Minnesota, as our ministers are not stationed. And its epistles of experience and exhortation are the only social meetings the scattered ones enjoy. Think of it. To about six hundred different post-offices, but a single copy of the REVIEW is sent.
Give the editor time to think. Do not trouble him with other matters so that he will be obliged to write and act without proper reflection. He has many things to think of pertaining to his calling.
Give him time to pray. Instead of beclouding his mind with matters he has no business with, give him time to commune with God, and have his spirit refreshed. If any man on earth should walk with God, it is the man filling so responsible a place as editor of the REVIEW. Better be praying for him than burdening his mind.
It is a common thing to receive letters from brethren in reference to land, horses, cattle, sheep, hogs, grain or labor, requiring a letter of lengthy statements, and, perhaps, advice. And they generally forget to put in a postage stamp or two to pay postage, &c. on the letter they require. And one man wrote to this Office some time since, wishing assistance in selecting a partner for life. The editor of the REVIEW has never advertised himself as holding agencies in any of these things. His calling, in point of importance, is as much above these things as the heavens are higher than the earth. Then let these things no more find a place upon his table. All matters of church difficulty or discipline proper to hold a place in the REVIEW, will be received with pleasure; but matters requiring private letters will be carefully laid by till called for.
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