Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 7, 1861
THE REASON FOR SECESSION.
SOME of our friends abroad are amazingly puzzled to know the cause of this revolution now upon us. A few words will serve to show how the matter stands. When the sun arose on the sixth of November last, it shone upon thirty-three States in union, containing a population of 30,000,000, the most happy and prosperous people on the face of the earth. According to the constitutional requirements, the people of every State (save one) came together, and cast their votes for a chief magistrate. The result showed that Abraham Lincoln was legally chosen President for four years. No one disputed the legality of his election; but thousands in this city and elsewhere regretted it. The people of this city voted against him strong. This we had a right to do; but not one of our respectable citizens regarded his election as a just cause of revolution. Even Mr. Stephens, now vice-president of the confederate States, declared that it was no good cause. South Carolina thought she had a cause, and speedily, without waiting for any overt act—indeed, long before the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln took place—met in convention and voted herself out of the Union. Public confidence began to be disturbed and a speedy downfall of business followed. The other cotton States tied themselves to the tail of South Carolina, and acts of seizure and violence of the most disgraceful character were sanctioned by the State authorities; and even our federal government allowed itself to be driven out of Charleston harbor by the booming of its own cannon in the hands of the State authorities. The insult was borne with patience—insult was added to injury—until "forbearance ceased to be a virtue." The South having lost an election which they went into, and imagining some great wrong, commenced to defy the government which had never injured them in the slightest degree, when, lo and behold, civil war is upon us! because we refuse longer to be kicked and cuffed about by them, and are not willing to give up all our forts, and even the federal capital itself, from which they seceded. Jefferson Davis, who has been plotting the overthrow of the government for years, would be perfectly satisfied if we would give up everything, and submit to the degradation of allowing the President of the United States to set up his government on a drum-head. The North cannot, and will not submit to this; and those who have done most, and worked hardest for the South, are first and foremost in arming for the war. In the sixth ward, of this city, where Jefferson Davis has had thousands of friends, a powerful regiment is formed, and now, while we write, are on their way to resist his further encroachments upon the rights of the North. We are no politicians, and have never said or done aught against our Southern brethren. We wish them no harm, and we kindly ask them to pause and think the matter over coolly and calmly, without passion and without prejudice. We war not against them for the sake of blood; but we war against them for the maintenance of the best government that ever existed—for the time-honored flag of our country—a flag that was loved by Washington, Madison, Jackson, Clay, Webster, and every other true patriot in the land, as the "gorgeous ensign of the Republic."
The entire North is aroused, and should it cost her a hundred thousand human lives, and a hundred millions of dollars, the government will be sustained.
The struggle will doubtless be one of the most gigantic and terrific that the world has ever seen. Both sides are amply provided with implements of destruction, they are each composed of millions of brave men, and they are bent upon their opposite purposes with the deepest and most determined earnestness. The great drama is already commenced, and its thrilling scenes, with their noble self-sacrifice, sublime daring, heroic achievements and grim horrors, are passing in swift succession before us.—Scientific American.
SMALL FAULTS AND VIRTUES.
By H. More
THE "fishers of men," as if exclusively bent on catching the greater sinners, often make the interstices of the moral not so wide, that it cannot retain those of more ordinary size, which everywhere abound. Their draught might be more abundant were not the meshes so large that the smaller sort, aided by their own lubricity, escape the toils and slip through. Happy to find themselves not bulky enough to be entangled, they plunge back again into their native element, enjoy their escape, and hope they may safely wait to grow bigger before they are in danger of being caught.
It is of more importance than we are aware, or are willing to allow, that we take care diligently to practice the smaller virtues, avoid scrupulously the lesser sins, and bear patiently inferior trials; for the sin of habitually yielding, or the grace of habitually resisting, in comparatively small points, tends in no inconsiderable degree to produce that vigor, or that debility of mind, on which hangs victory or defeat.
Conscience is moral sensation. It is the hasty perception of good and evil, the peremptory decision of the mind to adopt the one or avoid the other. Providence has furnished the body with senses, and the soul with conscience, as a tact by which to shrink from the approach of danger; as a prompt feeling to supply the deductions of reasoning; as a spontaneous impulse to precede a train of reflections for which the suddenness and surprise of the attack allow no time. An enlightening conscience if kept tenderly alive, by a continual attention to its admonitions, would especially preserve us from those smaller sins, and stimulate us to those lesser duties which we are falsely apt to think are too insignificant to be brought to the bar of religion, too trivial to be weighed by the standard of scripture.
By cherishing this quick feeling of rectitude, light and sudden as the flash from heaven, and which is in fact the motion of the Spirit, we intuitively reject what is wrong before we have time to examine why it is wrong; and seize on what is right before we have time to examine why it is right. Should we not then be careful how we extinguish this sacred spark? Will anything be more likely to extinguish it than to neglect its hourly mementos to perform the smaller duties, and to avoid the lesser faults, which, as they in a good measure make up the sum of human life, will naturally fix and determine our character, that creature of habits? Will not our neglect or observance of it, incline or indispose us for those more important duties of which these smaller ones are connecting links?
The vices derive their existence from wildness, confusion, disorganization. The discord of the passions is owing to their having different views, conflicting aims, and opposite ends. The rebellious vices have no common head; each is all to itself. They promote their own operation by disturbing those of others, but in disturbing they do not destroy them. Though they are all of one family, they live on no friendly terms. Prodigacy hates covetousness as much as if it194were a virtue. The life of every sin is a life of conflict, which occasions the torment, but not the death of its opposite. Like the fabled brood of the serpent, the passions spring up armed against each other, but they fail to complete the resemblance, for they do not effect their mutual destruction.
But without union the christian graces could not be perfected, and the smaller virtues are the threads and filaments which gently, but firmly tie them together. There is an attractive power in goodness which draws each part to the other. This concord of the virtues is derived from their having one common center in which all meet. In vice there is a strong repulsion. Though bad men seek each other they do not love each other. Each seeks the other in order to promote his own purposes, while he hates him by whom his purposes are promoted.
The lesser qualities of the human character are like the lower people in the country; they are numerically if not individually important. If well regulated, they become valuable from that very circumstance of numbers which, under a negligent administration, renders them formidable. The peace of the individual mind and of the nation, is materially affected by the discipline in which these inferior orders are maintained. Laxity and neglect in both cases are subversive of all good government.
But if we may be allowed to glance from earth to heaven, perhaps the beauty of the lesser virtues may be still better illustrated by that long and luminous track made up of minute and almost imperceptible stars, which though separately too inconsiderable to attract attention, yet from their number and confluence, form that soft and shining stream of light everywhere discernible, and which always corresponds to the same fixed stars as the smaller virtues do to their concomitant great ones.—Without pursuing the metaphor to the classic fiction that the Galaxy was the road through which the ancient heroes went to heaven, may we not venture to say that Christians will make their way thither more pleasant by the consistent practice of the minuter virtues?
Every Christian should consider religion as a fort which he is called to defend. The meanest soldier in the army if he add patriotism to valor, will fight as earnestly as if the glory of the contest depended on his single arm. But he brings his watchfulness as well as his courage into action. He strenuously defends every pass he is appointed to guard, without inquiring whether it be great or small. There is not any deficit in religion or morals so little as to be of no consequence. Worldly things may be little because their aim and end may be little. Things are great or small, not according to their ostensible importance, but according to the magnitude of their object and the importance of their consequences.
The acquisition of even the smallest virtue being, as has been before observed, an actual conquest over the opposite vice, doubles our moral strength. The spiritual enemy has one subject less, and the conqueror one virtue more.
By allowed negligence in small things, we are not aware how much we injure religion in the eye of the world. How can we expect people to believe that we are in earnest in great points, when they see that we cannot withstand a trivial temptation, against which resistance would have been comparatively easy? At a distance they hear with respect of our general characters. They become domesticated with us, and discover the same failings, littlenesses, and bad tempers, as they have been accustomed to meet with in the most ordinary persons.
If Milton, in one of his letters to a learned foreigner who had visited him, could congratulate himself on the consciousness that in that visit he had been found equal to his reputation, and had supported in private conversation his high character as an author, shall not the Christian be equally anxious to support the credit of his holy profession, by not betraying in familiar life any temper inconsistent with religion.
It is not difficult to attract respect on great occasions, where we are kept in order by knowing that the public eye is fixed upon us. It is easy to maintain a regard to our dignity in a "Symposiac of an academical dinner;" but to labor to maintain it in the recesses of domestic privacy requires more watchfulness, and is no less the duty than it will be the habitual practice, of the consistent Christian.
In all that relates to God and to himself, the Christian knows of no small faults. He considers all allowed and willful sins, whatever be their magnitude, as an offence against his Maker. Nothing that offends him can be insignificant. Nothing that contributes to fasten on ourselves a wrong habit can be trifling. Faults which we are accustomed to consider as small, are repeated without compunction. The habit of committing them is confirmed by the repetition. Frequency renders us at first indifferent, then insensible. The hopelessness attending a long indulged custom generates carelessness, till for want of exercise the power of resistance is first weakened, then destroyed.
But there is a still more serious point of view in which the subject may be considered. Do small faults, continually repeated, always retain their original diminutiveness? Is any axiom more established than that all evil is of a progressive nature? Is a bad temper which is never repressed no worse after years of indulgence than when we first gave the reins to it? Does that which we first allowed ourselves under the name of harmless levity on serious subjects never proceed to profaneness? Does what was once admired as proper spirit, never grow into pride, never swell into insolence? Does the habit of incorrect narrative or loose talking, or allowed hyperbole, never lead to falsehood, never settle in deceit? Before we positively determine that small faults are innocent, we must undertake to prove that they shall never outgrow their primitive dimensions; we must ascertain that the infant shall never become a giant.
PROCRASTINATION.
Procrastination is reckoned among the most venial of our faults, and sits so lightly on our minds that we scarcely apologize for it. But who can assure us, that had not the assistance we had resolved to give to our friend under distress, or the advice to another under temptation, to-day been delayed, and from mere sloth and indolence been put off till to-morrow, it might not have preserved the fortunes of the one, or saved the soul of the other?
It is not enough that we perform duties, we must perform them at the right time. We must do the duty of every day in its own season. Every day has its own imperious duties; we must not depend upon to-day for fulfilling those which we neglected yesterday, for to-day might not have been granted us. To-morrow will be equally peremptory in its demands; and the succeeding day, if we live to see it, will be ready with its proper claims.
INDECISION.
Indecision, though it is not so often caused by reflection as by the want of it, yet may be as mischievous, for if we spend too much time in balancing probabilities the period for action is lost. While we are ruminating on difficulties which may never occur, reconciling differences which perhaps do not exist, and poising in opposite scales things of nearly the same weight, the opportunity is lost of producing that good, which a firm and manly decision would have effected.
IDLENESS.
Idleness, though itself "the most unperforming of all the vices," is however the pass through which they all enter, the stage on which they all act. Though supremely passive itself, it lends a willing hand to all evil, practical as well as speculative. It is the abettor of every sin whoever commits it, the receiver of all booty whoever is the thief. If it does nothing itself, it connives at all the mischief that is done by others.
VANITY.
Vanity is exceedingly misplaced when ranked, as she commonly is, in the catalogue of small faults. It is under her character of harmlessness that she does all her mischief. She is indeed often found in the society of great virtues. She does not follow in the train, but mixes herself with the company, and by mixing mars it. The use our spiritual enemy makes of her is a master stroke. When he cannot prevent us from doing right actions, he can accomplish his purpose almost as well "by making us vain of them." When he cannot deprive the public of our benevolence, he can defeat the effect to ourselves by poisoning the principle. When he cannot rob others of the good effect of the deed, he can gain his point by robbing the doer of his reward.
PEEVISHNESS.
Peevishness is another of the minor miseries. Human life, though sufficiently unhappy cannot contrive to furnish misfortunes so often as the passionate and the peevish can supply impatience. To commit our reason and temper to the mercy of every acquaintance, and of every servant, is not making the wisest use of them. If we recollect that violence and peevishness are the common resource of those whose knowledge is small, and whose arguments are weak, our very pride might lead us to subdue our passion, if we had not a better principle to resort to. Anger is the common refuge of insignificance. People who feel their character to be slight, hope to give it weight by inflation. But the blown bladder at its fullest distension is still empty. Sluggish characters, above all, have no right to be passionate. They should be contented with their own congenial faults. Dullness, however, has its impetuosities and its fluctuations as well as genius. It is on the coast of heavy Bœotia that the Euripus exhibits its unparalleled restlessness and agitation.—H. More.
(To be continued.)
JOURNEYING ZIONWARD.
Come, brethren, let us go;
The evening closeth round;
'Tis perilous to linger here
On this wild desert ground.
Come towards eternity,
Press on from strength to strength;
Nor dread your journey's toils and length,
For good its end shall be.
The body and the house
Deck not; but deck the heart
With all your powers; we are but guests;
Ere long we must depart.
Ease brings disease—content,
Howe'er his lot may fall,
A pilgrim bears, and bows to all,
For soon the time is spent.
Come, children, let us go;
Our Father is our guide;
And when the way grows steep and dark,
He journeys at our side.
Our spirits he would cheer;
The sunshine of his love
Revives and helps us as we rove—
Ah! blest our lot e'en here.
Come, travel on with joy,
For shorter grows the way;
The hour that frees us from the flesh,
Draws nearer day by day.
A little truth and love,
A little courage yet,
More free from earth, more apt to set
Your hopes on things above.
For this all things we dare
('Tis worth the risk, I trow),
Renouncing all that clogs our course,
Or weighs us down below.
Oh! world, thou art too small,
We seek another higher,
Whither Christ guides us ever nigher,
Where God is all in all.
Hate Sin, Pity Sinners
HATE sin, but pity and pray for sinners;
“Such were some of you.”
O that He were a Christian!
How often do we hear these words! Here a sister utters them concerning a brother beloved; there a wife, for a kind and tender husband. Ministers often breathe the desire for young members of their flocks; and friends, for whose generous and manly hearts have won their own. It is the utterance of a sincere, honest, tender interest in the salvation of souls.
What have you done to prove that you are in earnest in your aspiration in behalf of your friend?
1. Have you prayed for him? Your wish is a prayer, indeed, and may not be unheard by him who knows our unbreathed desires. But have you gone purposely to the mercy-seat in his behalf? Have you uttered his name before a great Advocate? Have you sought his salvation with that intensity of longing which could only be uttered with strong "crying and tears"? Perhaps God wills that you should be importunate, while you have been satisfied with a vague wish.
2. Have you spoken to him of Christ? "The redemption of his soul is precious;" have you ever told him of that Redeemer by whom his soul may be saved? Have you ever affectionately warned or entreated him? He may need a word from you to turn his life to Jesus. Perhaps he may be longing to know how you found your way to the cross, and came to the blessedness of the Christian's hope. Do you act wisely or faithfully not to say a word to show the solicitude which you feel for him?
3. Have you thought to persuade him to go with you to the house of God? A few gentle words might win him away from some place of pleasure or vanity to the prayer-meeting. A kind invitation might induce him to enter with you into the place where the gospel is proclaimed.195There the Spirit of God may meet him, and renew him. There at least Jesus will be held up before him, and the cross meet his vision. Do you do right to separate from him without an attempt to lead him with you?
4. Have you shown him in your own life what it is to be a Christian? How many sermons might be preached every day, and with irresistible point and force, by simple consistency! How many souls might be won by the attractive power of a holy life! Have you tried its virtue with the one whom you wish to win? Have you been "a living epistle," to be constantly "known and read of him?" Can he see the grace of God working in you, and daily restraining, guiding and purifying you? What self-denial do you daily show, proving to him your love for Christ?
Reader! what do you do to make your friend, brother, husband, a Christian? Do something—do everything that God commands you, and patiently, calmly, confidently await the blessing. "It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord."—Southern Churchman.
The Cedar Christian.
STROLLING one bright summer morning over the velvet carpet of "Chatsworth Park," we came suddenly upon a cedar of Lebanon! It was the first and only one we ever saw; our first impulse was to uncover our head and make obeisance to this monarch in exile, this lone representative of the most regal family of trees upon the globe. Every bough was laden with glorious association to us. Broad, gnarled, severe, rough old tree as it was, yet it blossomed with poetry, and hung golden with heavenly teachings. As we gazed through our tears at the exiled sovereign, the voice of the Psalmist was in our ears—"The righteous shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon."
With that hardy veteran of Chatsworth in our mind's eye, let us say a word about the style of cedar Christians that we need in our day. Of pliant, willowy church-members—of brash and brittle basswood professors—of pretentious, fashion-following, bay-tree Christians, we have quite too many. Give us more cedars for the pulpit, for the deacon's seat, and for the pews.
And the first quality of the cedar is that it grows. It is a live tree. Where there is hearty life there must be growth. And it is the lamentable lack of inward godliness that makes the stunted professor. There is not vitalizing sap enough in his heart roots to reach up into the boughs of his outward conduct. There is not vigor enough in the trunk of his character to stand erect. No answering showers brought down by fervent prayer cleanse the dust of worldliness from his yellow sicklied leaves. There he is—just as he was "set out" in the church a score of years ago, no larger, no broader, no brighter in graces than he was then; the caterpillars of lust having spun their unsightly webs all over his branches. He has not grown an ell in any one Bible trait. He has not yielded one single fruit of the Spirit. He is a cumberer of the ground—in the way of a better man—all the while drinking up God's pure air and water, and yet fulfilling Satan's purpose. Not of such a prayer-neglecting professor, not of such a time-serving, money-loving, fashion-worshiping professor, could we honestly say, "He grows like a cedar in Lebanon."
But the cedar not only grows; it has a peculiar style of growth which God's people may well imitate. It grows through all weathers. It is a hardy tree, or else it could not live a month in the Arctic climate of Lebanon's sky-piercing summits. Delicate plants might thrive on the warm lap of southern exposures, but not among the rifts of whirling snows, or where the steel-like air gleams under the silent moon. Sudden hurricanes may twist off the gorgeous magnolias of the vale, or crack the brittle bay-tree, but let the gale rage ever so fiercely on Lebanon's blustering heights, let the snow-squadrons join battle in the hurtled air, the cedar tosses the tempest from its elastic bows, and stands like the everlasting mountain under it. In God's church there are to be found just such lignumvitæ characters—storm-proof, gold-proof, temptation-proof. What a plantation of such cedars were the early apostles! What a coronet of stalwart storm-defyers graced the summit of God's Zion in Reformation days! Zwingle of Switzerland—John Knox, who never feared the face of man—burly Latimer, who marched singing to Smithfield's kindled stake—John Huss, gazing up into the open heavens from the suffocating smoke and flame which are wrapping his tortured limbs—all these were cedars through whose branches the very gales of persecution made glorious music.
Here and there is such a cedar Christian discoverable in our century. They never bend. They never break. They never compromise. To such Christians, worldliness cometh, and smooth-tongued expediency cometh, and sensual pleasure cometh, and slavery cometh, but "findeth nothing in them." Popular hurricanes come down amain upon them, smiting a Hopkins, a Pierpont, or a Dudley Tyng in the pulpit—smiting a Wilberforce, a Jay or an Adams in the legislative hall—smiting a Jonathan Edwards in his quiet study—a missionary Lyman in his lonely toils—a Neal in his labors for the drunkard, and a Jonas King in his labors for the besotted bigots of Athens. But the cedar of principle proved an overmatch for the blasts of selfishness, spite or superstition. Persecution only made the roots of resolution strike the deeper, and the trunk of testimony stand the firmer.
The greatest peril to such Christians as read these lines will not come in the form of persecution; but rather from those insidious worms that gnaw at the very heart of gospel piety. Secret influences are the most fatal in the every-day life of the every-day, unconspicuous professor. There is a whole colony of busy insects that will try the quality of a believer's timber. And when the community is startled by the spiritual defalcation of some prominent man in the church or in a religious society, it is only the crack of a beam or a pillar that was worm-eaten by secret sin long before. He only is a cedar of Christ's training and polishing who is sound to the very core. For the pride of Lebanon was not more famous for its vigor or its hardiness than for its solidity of wood. It knew no decay. It afforded asylum to no stealthy insect turning its aromatic wood into dust and ashes. Therefore did Israel's royal temple-builder select it for the most conspicuous and important portions of the edifice on mount Moriah. With its fine grain, its high polish, and delightful fragrance, every lintel and every door-post was at once a strength and an ornament to the temple of the living God. So stands the faithful, fearless minister of Christ, the incorruptible Christian patriot, the unflinching testimony bearer of the truth as it is in Jesus. They bid defiance to the worm of sin while they live, and to the worm of calumny when they are dead.
Responsibility of Spiritual Guides.
How fearful the responsibility of those who in any way guide souls! Greater never rested upon an angel of God. Gabriel was never intrusted with a more important work than is committed to the minister of Christ. To affect a soul—a soul whose lifetime may be as the lifetime of God, a soul that is either to rest for eternal ages in the bosom of God, or be lost to all eternity—to affect for good or evil one such soul is a work of stupendous magnitude. And from this responsibility the pastor cannot be released. He cannot throw it upon the one seeking admission to the church; he cannot throw it upon his friends; he cannot throw it upon the church. The servant of Christ is to instruct the applicant with all prudence and patience in relation to the nature of the new birth, the deceitfulness of the human heart, the wiles of Satan, and the great danger of self-deception.
This is his appointed work. Shall the minister of Christ, then, regard as of little moment interests so valuable that they required a divine sacrifice to secure them? Shall he neglect to instruct a being of such exalted character? Shall he trifle with such a priceless soul? What must be the guilt of that man who from considerations of personal ease, or from motives of policy, and under the most frivolous pretexts, neglects these most important duties, and leaves the ignorant and anxious soul all exposed to the imminent peril surrounding it? Nay, what must be the guilt of that man who for the sake of human applause—to gain the reputation of a successful minister—will prematurely introduce men into the church, encourage a false hope, and thus jeopardize souls? What must be his crime and what must be his doom, who thus builds up a reputation on the ruin of lost souls? "Better that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he be cast into the depths of the sea," than that he should continue such unholy work. "It were good for that man had he never been born."—Mr. Fory's Premature Church Membership.
A Trifling Preacher.
A CLERGYMAN once preached a very awakening sermon. A young man in the congregation was much impressed, and finding that the clergyman was to walk some distance home, joined him in the hope of having some conversation as how to be saved. The clergyman was walking with several others, and instead of conversation turning on religious matters, it was light, and even indecorous. Some years afterward the clergyman was called to see a dying man in an inn. As he entered the room the dying man started. 'Sir,' said he, 'I have heard you preach. Thank God for that! But, sir,' continued the man, 'I have heard you talk, and your talking has ruined my soul. Yes, sir, do you remember the day I heard you preach? That sermon brought conviction to my heart. But I sought conversation with you, and I walked home with you, hoping to hear something about my soul's peace; but you trifled—trifled—TRIFLED. Yes, you did; and I went home believing that you knew all the solemn things you said in the morning were lies. For years I was an infidel; but now—now I am dying—I am one no longer. But I am not saved! I will meet and accuse you before the bar of God!'—And so the man died.
The Peril of Loving Gold
THE craving after gold when indulged, grows stronger and stronger every day. Both success and disappointment tend to increase it. It is one of the most terrible passions that can get possession of the human heart. A man may doubtless engage in the search for gold without really loving it, or becoming the victim of an inordinate hankering after it; he may desire to better his position for the sake of doing good, and may have various plans and schemes that are highly proper and praiseworthy connected with his efforts at making money, but there is imminent danger of his becoming covetous, and yielding his heart to the love of money. Men are exposed to this peril everywhere, and hence the Bible which is the book for every land, solemnly and earnestly puts us all on our guard, but there are peculiar temptations to this sin in gold producing countries. Direct contact with the precious metal seem to have a most fascinating power over the human heart. "Covetousness," says the word of God, "is idolatry." All idolatry degrades, be-littles, unmans, and renders wretched the victims of it. These effects flow from the idolatry of gold. It makes the heart shrivel and harden, yea shrink into a contemplibly small petrification.
The Throne of Grace
A God of grace invites us to the throne of grace, to receive out of the fullness of grace, under the teachings of the Spirit of grace; thus God provides for us, instructs us to know our wants, and then bids us come and have them supplied.
DISTRESS OF NATIONS.
MEN will often use the very language of Scripture, and yet reject the conclusions to which those very scriptures lead us. Especially is this the case in the present perilous and exciting times. Men know that, according to scripture prediction, there is upon the earth distress of nations with perplexity. They acknowledge it in so many words. But instead of perceiving that according to the authority of God's word this state of things is to be followed by the coming of the Son of man in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory, they side off upon a conclusion more in accordance with the feelings of the carnal heart, and assert that all these commotions are for the overthrow of despotism in religion, in society, and in the State, and for the ushering in of the millennium. So thoroughly have people become indoctrinated with such teaching, that it is to be feared that nothing less than the very glory of the coming Son of man will dispel their darkness. Though the following paragraphs fall into the same channel, they are valuable as giving a condensed view of the present state of the nations. We copy from the N. Y. Independent:
"We are so absorbed in the affairs of our own country that we have scarcely time to read the foreign news. But with famine in India, the threatening aspect of affairs in Syria and throughout Turkey, the foreshadowed alliance of France and Russia against England and Austria, revolution imminent in Hungary, Victor Emanuel determined upon possessing Rome, there is every indication that this will be a year of commotions in the earth and distress of nations, almost without parallel since the beginning of the Christian era.
"Without attempting to apply to passing events specific predictions in the word of God, we cannot fail to see in those events the hand of divine providence marshaling forces for the overthrow of despotism in religion, in society, in the State. The grand historic-o-prophetical symbols of the Old and New Testament are self-repeating, and we in our day are as much called upon to study the signs of the times, to watch for the coming of the Son of man, and to be ready for every sign of his appearing, as were the christians of the first century, as well be those of the last day of earth and time. Let us work and pray, and pray and work, till Christ's kingdom shall fully come."
To the foregoing the following may also be added: "It seems, and it is, a noble privilege to live and work in times like the present, so full of action, power, history; so signal and unique, and so pregnant with great destinies. It is not given to every generation to see and to assist the opening of the gates of a new era. The great crises in world-history only come at long intervals. We have all perhaps felt that in some respects our revolutionary fathers had the advantage of us; as having the opportunity to foster and unfold certain elements of heroism to which the times of calm prosperity are less propitious; as having the opportunity to shed a more evident and eminent influence over future years than has been possible for us. But now at last, all on a sudden, we see and feel that we of all who have lived thus far upon this continent are called to act in the most momentous and critical period of its history; that we are at the point where prophecy converges most swiftly toward its accomplishment, and where all the trumpets foreshown in the Apocalypse seem to be sounding at once on the air, all vials to be poured out together on the lands; where too the future courses of this nation, so long and wondrously prospered and blessed, and now so suddenly and strangely aroused by unanticipated insult and peril, are to be marked out and decided! 'We are living, we are dwelling, in a grand and awful time!' No truer lines were ever penned or ever sung."
THE CAUSE IN WISCONSIN.
By Isaac Sanborn
BRO. SMITH: As the brethren may wish to know how the cause is prospering in Wisconsin, I would say, as far as I know, through the mercy and blessing of God the cause begins to come up again from under the influence of fanaticism, though there are undoubtedly quite a number who will be sifted out through its influence.
I have just spent a few days with the church at Hundred Mile Grove and Lodi. The brethren and sisters generally are rising. I think if they will press on and press together as they now seem to be doing, that they will get the victory.
Last first-day we went six miles south of Lodi, and heard elder Luce, Disciple minister, speak against the Sabbath and the law. I spent two hours in the afternoon reviewing him, which we had the assurance was not in vain in the Lord, as the elder of the church told one of the brethren after meeting that he should have his name taken off the church book the next time they met. May the Lord help many of them to keep his commandments, is my prayer.
I commence a course of lectures in Hamdon to-morrow evening, to continue till conference at Marquette.
ISAAC SANBORN.
North Leeds, Wis., Apr. 23, 1861.
ADDRESSING DEITY.
By M. B. S.
Some persons in speaking on this subject have taken the position that to address Deity more than once in one prayer is taking his name in vain, or at least is superfluous. This seems an erroneous view, if we are to be guided by the example given us in the Bible. There is however, without doubt, danger of making vain repetitions in this respect. Some persons use the name of Deity in nearly every sentence of their prayer. This seems to be inconsistent and superfluous, though no wrong is intended, it being a mere habit that they have got into. The Bible does not say how often we should use the name of God in prayer, but it says, "Use not vain repetitions." Jesus told his disciples to say, "Our Father who art in heaven," &c., and does not again address Deity throughout the prayer. Now suppose you supply, "Our Father" at the beginning of every sentence. Would it not destroy the simplicity and beauty of the language, and add no force or meaning?
Suppose a person addresses you by your proper name, and then at the beginning of nearly every sentence repeats the same language, would you not soon become disgusted; and can our heavenly Father be less particular about consistency than we are? Let us imitate Jesus as near as we can. If we have formed the habit of using the name of Deity oftener than is proper, let us try to break ourselves of the habit at once.
Please read John xvii, and you will have a prayer that will be safe to follow in this respect. This is the longest prayer recorded in the New Testament, and was made by our divine Lord. It consists of about six hundred words, and yet the Deity is only addressed five times; three times by the single appellation of Father, once holy Father, and once righteous Father. Now suppose you add one of these appellations to every verse, or every other verse, would it not destroy the force and meaning of the language, or at least be almost if not altogether a vain repetition? But this is the way that many of us address our heavenly Father?197O let us remember and combine consistency with simplicity, when we address a throne of grace.
M. B. S.