Review and Herald, Vol. 22, No. 13. (8/25/1863)

Review and Herald

Aug 25, 1863

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Michigan · Aug 25, 1863

Do you Remember Christ?

I KNOW you cannot help thinking of Christ sometimes. His story is too extraordinary to be heard once and never again remembered. There is also much which we daily see and hear to remind us of him. Doubtless you often involuntarily remember him; but do you voluntarily, and of choice, remember him? Do you ever, by an exercise of volition, recall the memory of him? He is sometimes intruded into the society of your thoughts, but do you ever invite him there? Do you ever say, “Come now, let me think of Christ?” I doubt not you do this also. You voluntarily remember—you call to mind his incarnation, his miracles of mercy, his doctrine, his example, his resurrection; but do you particularly remember his death? His death was the main circumstance in his history. Do your thoughts, passing from the manger along the track of his sorrowful story, fasten on the cross?

May I ask, moreover, with what you remember him? Whether it is a mere intellectual operation, or one in which the heart is conjoined? There are recollections which pass across the mind without ever stirring the most easily excited emotions of the heart. Is your recollection of Christ of this kind? or do you feel while you think of him? Do your affections move in the line of your thoughts, and collect about the same center? Jesus ought to be remembered with the heart. We should feel when we think of him. You say, perhaps, “I do not only mentally, but cordially remember Christ.” But do you remember him practically? Do you do any thing in remembrance of him? It is customary not only to remember, but to commemorate great benefactors; and that not merely by speaking of their benevolent exploits, but by some appropriate acts. Do you this with respect to Christ, that greatest, best of benefactors?

Perhaps you answer: “I do many things out of regard to the memory of Christ. His precepts generally I endeavor to obey.” That is all very well; but do you do that which he appointed, or requested to be done in remembrance of him, on that “same night in which he was betrayed?” Some do not. Even some who profess respect, and indeed love for Christ, do not! It is strange, but so it is. They remember Christ in their own way, but not in his way. They do some things in remembrance of him, but not that which he said “do.” I wonder they do not adopt his way. I cannot help suspecting their love when I see they do not. It always appeared to me that such a benefactor as Christ ought to be remembered in his own way—that he deserved to have the privilege of saying how he would be remembered; and that sinners, whom he died to save, should remember him in that way, even though it should not seem to them the most appropriate and reasonable manner of commemorating him. I do not know how it strikes others, but so it always struck me; and I confess I take the bread and eat it, and I put the cup to my lips, primarily, because he said, “Do this.”

The question about usefulness of visible memorials, and the suitableness of these memorials, I am content that he should settle. I know very well that if there be no natural adaptation in these memorials to do me good, he can connect a blessing with them. It is my part to obey him. It is enough for me that my Saviour inclined to this mode of being remembered, and expressed such a wish; the least I can do is to comply with it. He did not express a great many wishes. It is an easy yoke he calls us to take—a light burden to bear. I cannot help regarding it as unkind, that this one wish of Jesus should not be complied with; and especially when I consider what a friend he was—what a benefactor! I use the word benefactor—but those who are acquainted with the etymology of the word, know it does not express all that Christ was. It implies doing out of good will to others; but his benevolence was not satisfied with benefaction: he suffered—he died for others. Strong as death—stronger was his love! And consider, too, the circumstances under which this wish was expressed—when it was, and where. All his wishes, I think, should be complied with; but this was his last. He was going to suffer—he was to die in a few hours; and such a death too! and for them of whom he made the request, that they might die never. And the request was touching his death. He desired it might be commemorated as he signified. Oh, to think that such a wish should not be complied with—the tender request of the dying Redeemer not regarded! Who would have believed it? I wonder those words, “broken for you,” do not break the heart of every one who refuses.

Men treat no other being so. Out of their own mouths I will judge them. They know the sacred regard they pay to last wishes and dying injunctions; and that, though they are under no particular obligations to the persons expressing them, and though the things desired be often unreasonable, yet, because they are last wishes—dying requests, the individuals expressing them being about to make the awful transition to eternity, how solemnly they charge the memory with them! how punctiliously they comply with them! We feel as if persons in such circumstances had a right to command us. I never knew one such request, if it was practicable, and at all reasonable, that was not complied with. I ought to say, I never knew but one. The last request of Jesus Christ—his last solemn injunction on those whom he bled to save, forms the solitary exception! Oh, it is too bad! It were a neglect unpardonable, but for the mediation of the very being who is the object of it. Nothing but his blood can cleanse from the sin of putting away from us the offered emblem of it. I know not how to make any apology for it. Jesus pleaded for his murderers, that they knew not what they did. But those who disregard his dying injunction, know what they do.

Excuses, it is true, they make; but to what do they amount? Can any doubt that Christ said, “Do this?” Can any doubt that he meant it to be done by all who believe on him? What reason can be imagined why one redeemed sinner should partake of the emblems of the body and blood of Christ, which does not equally apply to every redeemed sinner? Should not as many as the body was broken and the blood shed for, partake of the memorials of that transaction? What propriety is there in limiting the command, “Do this,” and not the declaration, “This is my body broken for you?” If we put on the ground of right to command, questions any one the right of Christ to issue mandates? What duty plainer—more peremptory? Do some pay respect to this, who do not obey other commands of Christ? What if it be so? Is that a reason why you should add another to your acts of disobedience?

Do you refrain because it is a solemn transaction? Far more solemn are death, judgment, and eternity, from which, nevertheless, you cannot refrain. Do you feel yourself to be too unworthy? But will this neglect make you less unworthy? A sense of unworthiness is a grand part of the qualification. Are you afraid of sinning, should you in this way remember Christ? But you are certain of sinning by not remembering him. Say you, “I cannot trust myself?” But can you not trust Christ? If there is danger that you will prove faithless, yet is there any danger that he will? It is because you are not to be trusted, that you should trust him who is able to keep that which is committed to him. If you trust him for strength, you are as sure of being supplied as of being pardoned, if you trust him for that. Why should not you remember Christ? He remembers you—yes, practically remembers you; nor one thing merely does in remembrance of you, but many. What if he should make excuses for not remembering you?

But perhaps you will cut short the interview by saying, “I am now quite unprepared for this act; hereafter I mean to attend to it.” Be it known to you, then,

that there are greater things for which you are unprepared, and they are things which you cannot evade or defer, as you can this; and as to that hereafter on which you count who art thou that boastest of to-morrow?—Nevins.

As Ye Sow, So Shall Ye Reap.

By Frances D. Gage

SCATTER we must, and scatter we will, Strewing at broadcast all the day long, Down through the valley or over the hill, The seeds of right, or the seeds of wrong.

Every thought is an embryo, Every word is a planted seed; Look to it well, that the seed ye sow Be for the flower, and not for the weed.

Folly and vice gaily sown in spring, Oh! when ripe harvest days are come, Will nothing to manhood's store-house bring, To make glad shouts for the harvest home.

Too often a precious hour is spent In seeming pleasure, in youthful time, That makes us a whole life long, repent, For the fruit of the sowing is sin and crime.

Scatter we must, and scatter we will, Strewing at broadcast where'er we go, Down in life's valley or over its hills, Seeds for humanity's weal or woe.

Beware! beware! lest the seeds ye sow, Be mixed with malice and pride and strife, For the wheat and the tares must together grow, Till the reapers bind in the field of life.

Cull the good seed for the coming hour, That all thy days may be calm and free, Evermore plucking the planted flowers, Binding rich sheaves for Eternity.

FRANCES D. GAGE.

A Christian's Right Place.

By Cuyler

In a well-organized army every man has his place. The mathematical head goes to the engineer corps. The medical skill and steady hand is assigned to the sur-surgical department. The sharp-eyed man shall handle the Enfield rifle, and the well-taught graduate of West Point, and of a half-dozen hard-fought fields, receives the sword of the brigadier. He who has the most of Napoleon in him soon fights his way to the supreme command. A Scott or a Halleck would not be more out of place in the ranks than would a Paul or an Apollos be in spending their precious time in teaching the children of a mission school to read the alphabet. Every man in his place, is as much the motto of the church as it is of the camp; the wrong place is well-nigh as fatal as at no place at all.

Now what is a Christian's right place? Manifestly it is the place that his Creator made him for and trained him for. To mistake it is a misfortune; to desert it is a disgrace and a crime. The Bible answer to our question is given in these words: "Having then gifts differing according to the grace that is given us, whether prophecy, let us prophesy according to the proportion of faith, or ministry, let us wait on our ministering; or he that teacheth, on teaching; or he that exhorteth, on exhortation; he that giveth, let him do it with simplicity; he that ruleth, with diligence; he that showeth mercy, with cheerfulness." The principle here laid down is, that every true Christian, after a candid, honest inspection of his own physical and mental and moral qualifications, should take the post of duty or the line of labor for which his gifts best fit him. But no man—no! not one, is to "neglect the gift that is in him."

Some men were manifestly created for the pulpit. God gave them clear heads, warm hearts, and strong lungs, a love of Jesus, and a love of saving souls. To possess these is to have a Divine call for the ministry; for such to stay out of the pulpit (if strong inclination draw them hitherward) is as grievous a mistake as it has been for hundreds of others to enter the pulpit.

But because a man is not called to preach Jesus in the sacred desk, must he preach nowhere else? Is all the earnestness, and all the persuasive power, and all the hunger for souls, which a pious lawyer or a pious mechanic may possess, to run to waste? No! Let him tell his neighbor of the great salvation wherever he can find him—whether in the public meeting for conference, in the prayer-circle, by the wayside or the fireside, in the sick room, or in whatever place God brings a soul within his reach. And how successfully this may be done, let such men as Harlan Page, and Robert Haldane, and Cranfield, and the good Methodist Carvosso, answer. Let the powerful lay exhortation be heard in Fulton Street answer. God is opening a wide door for lay exhortation in our time. Brownlow North, in Great Britain, is proving what can be achieved by a practical man throwing himself upon practical men without any professional technicalities, and pouring Gospel truth into their hearts in the every-day language of life. This corps in Christ's army will bear enlargement. They are uniformed sharp-shooters, stealing singly or in squads upon the enemy wherever a point is left exposed, or a straggler can be sighted.

What our churches sorely need is the development of the members. Too much is thrown upon the ministry. The church becomes Dr. Tyng's church, or Mr. Beecher's church, instead of the people's church, with those gifted men as its ministers. A pastor is expected to make three studied expositions of Bible truth every week, to conduct the public devotion of his flock, to labor at the fireside, in the sick room, and the house of death. During our early ministry we were called to do all these, and to superintend a Sabbath-school and teach a Bible-class besides. Now we love to work better than any thing else, unless it be to see other people work, and no member of our church has any more right to turn over his spiritual labors on me, than he has to hand me his market-basket, or to ask me to eat and digest his dinner for him. He needs to do his own work as much as the cause of Christ needs to have it done. And when, in seasons of revival, the latent lay power of the church is brought out, we see how much may be done by the Priscillas and Aquilas, by Onesiphorus, and by Lydia, and by the "faithful Persis," who labors in the Lord. The church then is a hive without a drone, and the air is musical with returning bees bringing in their blessed spoil.

A Christian who is keen for work will soon find his right place. If he is "apt to teach," if he has the knack of breaking the truth up into small morsels for children's mouths, then he will soon scent his way into the Sabbath-school. Another one has leisure and love of souls; to such a one tract distribution is a welcome work. It requires only health enough to walk, and Christian courtesy enough to talk acceptably to the family visited with the Bible or the tract. It is not too much to say that Harlan Page, with his Gospel under his arm, is equal to many a learned divine, with his ponderous columbiads aimed forty degrees above the heads of the people.

Here, again, is another whose "gift" is a melodious voice—that "most excellent thing in woman," and hardly less so in a man. A homely woman becomes beautiful while she is singing, and a melodious voice will outlive a plump form or a rosy complexion. Whoever can sing, belongs to God's great multitudinous choir. Whoever can sing, and will not sing, does not deserve a seat in church, or the feast of a good sermon. They will be ashamed to sing in heaven if they were too indolent, or too fastidious to sing in the earthly temples of God's praise.

Nor are these the only gifts. We can now recall a member of our first flock who possessed no qualifications to exhort, or to teach in the Sabbath-school; he had no gold to give, and no musical skill to sing the praise of his Redeemer. But he did possess a rare earnestness, and Bible richness, and soul-fervor in prayer. That good old man's single prayer saved more than one evening meeting from drouth and dreariness. A blessed gift was that veteran's power of pleading at the mercy-seat: and a fountain of blessings did it prove to the church for which he besought the heavenly baptism.

Reader, have you found your place? Then stick to it. Work there even though it be in the humblest corner of the most out-of-the-way vineyard. An idle man in the church is a monster. And you cannot give a cup of Gospel water to a beggar's child without receiving Christ's smile in return for it. Wherefore "neglect not the gift that is in thee," and whatever thou doest for the Lord, "do it heartily."—Cuyler.

Talks About Health.

By Dio Lewis, M. D.

A WORD TO MY FAT FRIENDS.

Perhaps you fancy your shape. You do look comfortable and jolly. But as a physiologist, I must find fault with you. Obesity, like emaciation, is a sort of disease—unfavorable to health and long life.

This warm weather makes you pant and perspire. I met one of your number down on the beach, the other day. It was a warm afternoon. He was very uncomfortable. We stopped to chat a moment, when he exclaimed:

"I would give ten thousand dollars to be reduced to 150 pounds. I pant, wheeze, and sweat; pant, wheeze, and sweat, every time I stir," and, looking earnestly into my face, he said, "Doctor, what can you do for me; what can I take? My family doctor tells me he can give me something that will whittle me down; do you think it can be done?"

"Oh, yes," I replied, "nothing is easier; but it is quite unnecessary to take any medicine. Suppose, sir, you have a very fat horse, much in the condition of yourself, and some doctor were to propose to reduce his weight with medicine, what would you say?"

"I should tell him that I could reduce his weight by reducing the amount of his food."

"Just so: and you would be quite right. Allow me to commend the same practice to yourself. Reduce the quantity of your food one-quarter, and I venture to say that in a month you will weigh from 5 to 10 pounds less than now. At the end of the first month, reduce the amount of your food another quarter. Within three or six months you will find yourself lighter by 20 to 50 pounds. Your digestion will be much healthier, your respiration freer, and your activity and endurance greatly increased."

And you would gain in weight, while you would lose."

"But," said he, "I don't eat half as much as some thin men whom I know."

"This is not improbable and I presume their excessive eating keeps them thin, as with your tendency, excessive eating produces fat. If they were to reduce the quantity of their food, they would, like yourself, tend toward the normal standard—they would gain in weight, while you would lose."

He promised to try it, and started on.

In a horse-car the other day, I met six corpulent, uncomfortable men, all quite sure to die prematurely. Each one of them might, in six or twelve months, be reduced to the normal standard, and enjoy a degree of health and activity to which he is now a stranger. Is any physiological statement more self-evident than that every fat person eats more than he needs?

"But," exclaims some fat young woman, who would "give the world" to be in good shape, "I cannot go hungry and faint for ever."

This remark shows you have never tried what I have suggested. It is only the great eater who is troubled with hunger and "goneness." If you would reduce the quantity of your food, even one-half at once, after three days you will not suffer from faintness or hunger. The man who eats temperately of unstimulating food, rarely knows the sensation of hunger.

In the light of these undeniable statements, how silly the practice, common among girls, of swallowing acids, and other killing things; and among men, steeping in tobacco, to reduce the flesh.

I have personally known scores of young women whose health has been ruined by drinking vinegar, or eating chalk and other indigestible things, all to take away their fat.

And I have known a still greater number to ruin themselves with corsets, in the hope of keeping themselves comely and in shape.

I have met hundreds of fat men who were besmeared and saturated with tobacco juice—objects of disgust to all beholders, a terror to decent housekeepers, peregrinating stench-pots, and all to keep their flesh down.

My poor, dear, fat simpletons, allow me to prescribe for you.

Rise early; exercise much, particularly in the open air; bathe frequently, rubbing the skin very hard; but most important of all, eat plain, coarse food, and reduce the quantity until you find yourself growing thinner two or three pounds per week. Your sluggishness, short breath, and other discomforts will soon leave you, and you will become bright, clear-headed, and happy.—Dio Lewis, M. D.

Prayers For Donald Grant.

In the highlands of Scotland, punctuality at public worship is reckoned among the cardinal virtues. The people, for generations, have been trained to reverence God's day and his house, so that it is considered not only wrong, but also disreputable, to lounge at home, or to stroll over heath and burn, while others are honoring God in the sanctuary.

There lived in this region, some years since, an honest farmer, yclept Donald Grant. He was very wise for this world; and, while professing better things, he gave all his strength and energy to his six days' toil, so that when Sunday came, he was unfit for the services of the sanctuary. Once, in the season of barley harvest, when farm help was scarce, Donald so overwrought himself on Saturday, that his seat in the "auld kirk" was empty the next day. He remained at home, to recruit his powers for a fresh campaign on Monday. Some wag in the parish, knowing Donald's besetting sin, and fearing the effect of his example on others, resolved to nip the delinquency in the bud, and took the case into his own hands.

In the afternoon, when the pastor entered the pulpit, he found a note, in which was written: "The prayers of this church are requested for Donald Grant." The minister was taken by surprise, not having heard of his illness, but remembered, as also did the people when the note was read, that his family pew was tenantless in the morning. After service, one asked another what ailed Donald Grant, but none could tell his neighbor; and all decided that some sudden illness had brought this request directly from the family.

The Sunday passed, and Donald, refreshed by many hours of sleep, and by the sweet breeze and the holy calm of his native hills, rose on Monday, like a strong man to run a race. But scarce had the sun begun to gem the dewey heather, when above the whetting of the sickle, he heard the stentorian voice of Sandy Graham, the village blacksmith.

"Hoot man, and are ye at it this early, after the deathly illness o' yesterday?"

It was in vain that Donald protested he had never been better. Sandy declared that he was out of his head, and ought to be taken back to bed—he could see by the color of his face there was a high fever on him!

While yet he was speaking, they were joined by Duncan McIver and Malcolm Sterling, two large-hearted neighbors, coming to sympathize in Donald's affliction, and to proffer their aid in reaping his barley; and before any explanation could be made of the puzzling matter, the loving old minister, staff in hand, had arrived with the oil of consolation.

Donald persisted in saying he was never more hearty; when the pastor asked, "Why, then, mon, did you forsake your seat in God's house and implore the prayers of his people?"

"Aweel, aweel, then," replied Donald, in amazement, "I was awa' fra the kirk wi' the aching o' my limbs fro' the week's work, but I asked prayers o' no mon alive?"

The joke was perceived, and the pastor reminded Donald that the man who absented himself from God's house, for no better reason than his, ought to ask prayers, if he didn't!

Donald Grant lost more time in entertaining the many who came to inquire for him, on Monday, than he had gained by resting on Sunday; but he learned a lesson he did not forget. The barley harvest never kept him at home again.

Should it be taken for granted that sickness afflicted the families of all who absent themselves from our churches, we should have a long list of names to be prayed for.—Watchman and Reflector.

Reading the Scriptures.

The Scriptures were given to men to be understood by them. As a general principle, therefore, their meaning must be ascertained by the same rules of study and interpretation which we apply to other books. For, if men are to understand the Bible, it must speak in the language of men, employing words whose meaning they know, conforming to the common laws of language; it must not be different from all other books in this respect; it must not require us to bring to the reading of it new and unknown rules of interpretation, or to discover as we may unheard-of meanings for its words. We must be sure when we read God's Word that he desires us to comprehend it, and has given his messages to us, not to puzzle but to teach; and therefore that it commonly means what to an intelligent reader it seems to mean; and we are not to look for some strange mystery in every word, nor to suppose that an expression may, in the same place, have several significations; but we are to believe that God has spoken to us in the language of men, so that his words are light and not darkness to our minds.

The reading of the Scriptures should be with habit and system. A few careless perusals will leave us still very much in the dark. The words which have come to us from the mind of God cannot fail to be rich in thought; they need to be read again and again; and each perusal will reveal to us something we did not see before. It is well, too, to take some one book of the Scriptures and employ ourselves exclusively upon that for a time, until every thing it contains shall have become familiar to the mind. Such study, however, is very different from the attempts which have been sometimes encouraged, to see in how short a time the Bible may be read through. Calculations have been put forth to show that, by reading so many chapters every week-day, and so many more on Sundays, the whole Bible can be gone through in a year. We have very little respect for such calculations. The Bible was not meant to be treated like a Tartar praying-machine, and valued according to the number of times it is turned over. It were better that the time in which three chapters can be read should be employed upon three verses, than that what is read should not be understood. But let even a small portion of Scripture be read thoughtfully every day, and all who make the experiment will be surprised and delighted to find how rich in divinest wisdom even the labor of a few months will make them.

In reading the Scriptures, we must attend carefully to the scope or design of the writer. This is perhaps the most important and useful of all rules which can be given. Every writer has some object in view; and unless we perceive what this object is—unless we know what he is writing about—it is not reasonable that we should expect to understand him. His weightiest arguments, his most apt illustrations, his most eloquent appeals, will be lost upon us, if we do not perceive to what subject they relate. This is always our first endeavor in reading any book or portion of a book. The same thing must be done in reading the Scriptures; for the Bible is not—as many seem to suppose—a mere collection of proverbs. Every verse is not a distinct and insulate saying. There is as real and as close a connection as in any other book. The writers always have some object in view, some particular point which they are considering. We need entirely to forget the arbitrary and modern division of the Scriptures into chapters and verses, and suffer the thoughts of the writer naturally to frame his words into paragraphs and divisions, as in other books. Unless we do this, we shall constantly fail to perceive his scope and intention. It must not be forgotten that the real meaning of a passage in Scripture is not whatever it may be read to mean taken by itself alone, but what the writer in that connection intended to say. Take, for instance, the words in Matt. v, 48: "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your father in heaven is perfect." We can give this passage an intelligible meaning without regard to its connection. But we do not find its real meaning till we learn the subject upon which Christ is speaking, and the object he has in view; and then we see that the passage is not a mere general exhortation to be perfect; but it has a point, a specific idea; it means that our benevolence must be perfect, not one-sided, but consistent, impartial, limited by no prejudices, checked by no ingratitude, withheld from an enemy—even as our Father in heaven is kind to the unthankful and the evil as well as to the good.

In most cases we shall ascertain the scope by looking at the context. Sometimes the writer expressly mentions the subject he has in hand, as Paul in the Epistle to the Galatians: "I marvel that ye are so soon removed from him that called you into the grace of Christ unto another Gospel;" showing that the design of the whole epistle is to correct the errors into which the Christians of Galatia had fallen.

There are very many passages of Scripture from which we can get no definite idea if we take them by themselves. It is a rule, therefore, of the first importance, that, to understand the Scriptures, we must find out the design of the writer. The observance of this rule will assist us more than anything else to a correct knowledge of the Word of God. If we can answer the questions, Who is speaking? To whom does he speak? On what occasion, and concerning what subject does he speak?—there will be few passages that will not be reasonably clear to our minds.

To this chief rule may be added the comparing of Scripture with Scripture, or studying together all passages that refer to the same subject; the becoming acquainted with Biblical history and antiquities; the use of common sense in reading the figurative language of the Bible; and above all, the habitual seeking of divine assistance by prayer. God's wish is not that we should be perplexed and puzzled with the Word, but that we should understand it; he giveth wisdom "liberally" to them that ask it; and they shall feel, in their own experience, the truth of the inspired saying, "The entrance of thy Word giveth light; it giveth understanding to the simple."—Sel.

"They Shall not Surely Die."

In a pamphlet on the Parable of Dives and Lazarus, lately published by H. G. Storer, occurs the following eloquent passage concerning the early corruption of Christian doctrine and its effects:

'Soon, indeed, did the serpent of Eden, exchanging his ancient reptile form for that of a winged philosophy, and borrowing the seductive voice of the seraphic Plato, whisper into the ear of the woman betrothed to the second Adam, while he pointed at the lost, 'They shall not surely die!' Therefore she has long 'propheised in sackcloth!' not joyfully 'looking for and hastening unto the coming of the day of God,' as she did at first (2 Pet. iii, 12; 2 Tim. iv, 8), nay, but rather dreading than desiring his expected coming with 'endless torments' for a world in which the righteous have ever been but a 'little flock.' Therefore, also, for some fifteen centuries now, have the publicans and sinners of our race, for the most part, fled affrighted from this terrified and terrifying bride, as from one less qualified to win, to comfort, and to save, than to 'torment them before the time.'' (Pp. 35, 36.).

Miscellaneous.

By J. Clarke

It is inconsistent for an heir of heaven, to be afraid of "outsiders," so as to be ashamed to speak in meeting of the goodness of God. It looks as if you were not an heir of God or as if you did not know much about him. For my part I am proud of my relation to him, if I am proud of any thing. What would you think of a kernel of wheat, shrinking abashed before a pile of chaff? Must it not be a very light shrivelled blasted kernel?

I do not say it is wrong for you to long to be a bright peculiar star, but if your desire to shine, is greater than your desire to glorify God, this is the very thing which dims your brightness.

Never encourage for an instant, a wrong in yourself or your friend. It may not be best always to blame; but by silence, or by a hint, or in some gentle way, show at least your fear, lest an error might poison some weak sinful mind. A drop of poison, may do immense injury.

None but an intelligent upright mind, can realize its responsibility. Selfishness and ignorance ignore moral responsibility. A conscientious sense of moral responsibility, lies at the foundation of all good moral action. Think of it in all its bearings.

He who thinks his friends do not love him as they ought, takes the sure way to make himself hateful and disgusting. Just accuse yourself (inwardly) of the inconstancy you ascribe to others, and mend your ways by loving and serving your friends, and you will soon find yourself beloved by them. Care for them more, and have less love for yourself, and if you should by mistake care too little for yourself, they will make it up, or, if they do not, the angels will.

Persons of little experience often are troubled about their betters; and many a wound is felt by those who have labored for us, which they will not disclose, lest the weak misunderstand.

"As an ear ring of gold, and an ornament of fine gold so is a wise reprover upon an obedient ear." Prov. xxv, 12.

What is a wise reprover? says one. Study it out yourself then it will do you the more good.

I have noticed this peculiarity among Christians as well as worldlings: a silly man is generally conceited, and a wise man is humble. A fool lacks the balance wheel: and the machinery clatters with noisy speed, or getting out of gear, is laid aside.

The man who plays the epicure, is very apt to get the dislike of his cook: and a domestic tyrant dies unlamented.

The man who holds his inferiors in contempt; is very likely held in the same way by his peers.

J. CLARKE.

Grounds for Hope and Comfort

NEVER despair until God's word affords you no grounds for hope.

THE Governor of the world is not only just and holy, but he is abundant in goodness and truth; both these views should administer comfort to the believer.

Continue reading: The Sanctuary