Review and Herald, Vol. 21, No. 25. (5/19/1863)

Review and Herald

May 19, 1863

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 19, 1863

Do All for Christ.

By Cuyler

THE celebrated Charles Simeon of Cambridge kept a portrait of Henry Martyn hanging over his fire-place. It was always in sight. Looking up at it he used to say, "There; see that blessed man! What an expression of countenance! No one looks at me as he does. He seems always to be saying, Be serious; be in earnest; don't trifle." Then smiling and bowing toward the sweet, thoughtful face, Simeon would add, "and I won't—I won't trifle."

So fellow-Christian, there is hung up, by the divine Spirit, a picture before our eyes. It is the heavenly countenance of our blessed Saviour. The traces of the sorrow in the garden, of the agony on the cross, are yet written on that visage, "marred more than any of the sons of men." The serenest patience sits on that face; and it yearns with a love stronger than death. Holiness dwells there, which cannot look upon sin save with abhorrence.

And that face of Jesus seems ever to be saying to us "Live for me. Whatever ye do, do it unto me." When we sit alone and dejected, the countenance comes up near to us, and says, "Let not your heart be troubled. Lo! I am with you always." When we are tempted to sin, the face rebukes us with the words, "Wound me not in the house of my friends." And when we have come back ashamed and disgraced from a cowardly desertion of his cause in the hour of trial, oh! how that look upbraids us as he seems to say, "Could ye not watch with me one hour?" Sometimes a poor, needy servant of God comes to us for a word or deed of sympathy or for a gift to his necessities. Selfishness begins to mutter about interruptions, and the "many calls," and the "no end to cases of charity." But the down-looking Jesus says, "Do it unto me. He is one of my poor children; give him for my sake." There is not a struggling church that knocks at our heart, or a hungry beggar that knocks at our door for relief; there is not a lone widow who asks a pittance to warm her shivering frame, or a neglected child running in rags and recklessness through the broken Sabbath, but ever the same voice says to us, Help them for my sake; inasmuch as ye do it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.

An incident in John Falk's German Charity-School illustrates this idea beautifully. When one of the boys at the table had said the pious grace, "Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest and bless the food thou hast provided," a little fellow looked up and said, "Do tell me why the Lord Jesus never comes!" "Dear child, only believe, and you may be sure he will come, for he always hears our invitations." "I shall set a chair for him, then," said the little fellow; and he did so. Presently there was a knock at the door. A poor frozen apprentice entered, begging a night's lodging. He was made welcome to the empty seat the boy had set. The little fellow was thinking hard for some time. "Ah," chirped he, "Jesus could not come to-night, and so he sent this poor man in his place; is that it?" "Yes, child, that is just it. Every cup of water or piece of bread that we give to the poor or hungry, for Jesus' sake, we give to him; inasmuch as ye do it to one of the least of these, my brethren, ye do it unto Christ."

What a sacredness this imparts to every work of Christian love! What a glory it throws around the humblest object of Christian charity! And then, too, what a stupendous crime against Christ is any wrong done to those in whom he dwells, and whom he makes his representatives! Methinks, when I hear of the patient, God-fearing drudge of the plantation, beaten with many stripes, I am ready to say, Ye are scourging the blessed Jesus in the person of his poor, helpless child. When I read of a pious slave-girl profaned to the vilest uses of lechery to gratify the lust of her profligate owner, I am ready to cry out; Ye are outraging Christ, who redeemed that helpless victim of your lust, and who will visit her wrongs upon your guilty head. Know ye not that the body of one of his disciples, however lowly, is the habitation of God through the Spirit!

When the poet Whittier read the narrative of a sale of human beings in New Orleans, and that the auctioneer had recommended a fair-complexioned bondswoman on the stand as a "good Christian," the indignant Quaker exclaims,

"A Christian! going—gone! Who bids for God's own image? for his grace! Which this poor victim of the market-place Hath in her suffering won? My God! can such things be? Hast Thou not said that whateo'er is done Unto Thy weakest and Thy humblest one, Is even done to Thee? In that sad victim, then, Saviour of pitying love! I see Thee stand Once more the jest-word of a mocking band— Bound, sold, and scourged again!"

The poet was right. Christ's own words warranted his righteous outburst of indignation. Jesus and his members are one. A cup of cold water given to them in his name fails not of its reward. A wrong done to them is an insult to the Lord of glory.

In the light of this truth we are contemplating, the work of every pastor, every Sabbath-school teacher, and every philanthropist, catches a new beauty and luster. As I sit in this study, this morning, I seem to see a face of divine loveliness looking down on me from the walls and saying—Write all these truths for me.

Feed my lambs. Save those souls committed to thee by my gospel and for my glory. As the Sabbath-school teacher lays down this paper and hurries off to his class, he will meet the blessed Saviour beside his seat and hear him say, Whatsoever ye do for the least of these souls, ye do for me.

Yea more. When a Christian leaves the sanctuary or the communion-table, and goes to his counting-room shall he be less a Christian there than he was in the house of God, or at the family altar? No! For there is an invisible Saviour beside him there, saying, "Provide things honest in the sight of all men"—"Let not your good be evil spoken of;" you are my representative. Do Christian men of business always remember this? Do they always so keep their ledgers that they would be willing to have their Master audit the accounts? When a church-member wrings out the last dime from an unfortunate debtor, does he do it for Christ? When he rents his property for dram-shops or brothels or haunts of vice—when he drives a sharp bargain with misfortune or inexperience, does he do it for the honor or for the shame of his Sabbath professions? Ah! my friends; it is not only from the study-walls of pastors, but from the walls of every shop, every counting-room, and every hall of justice and legislation, that the countenance of the all-holy Jesus is looking down and saying—Do all for me.

Whether ye eat or drink, whether ye buy or sell, Whether ye labor or pray, whether ye rejoice or suffer, do all for my glory!—Cuyler.

Strength.

How many of us want strength! From how many wasted frames, laboring for breath, goes up the cry, "Oh, that I had strength as in former days!" How many burdened souls, bearing a secret load of anxiety and grief, plead silently for strength to endure that which cannot be removed! How do weary hearts, alone in the wide world, yearn for strength to walk bravely the path that lies before them! What longings do the tried and tempted feel, at times, for strength to meet the tempter, and conquer the deadly foes that assail them, within and without!

How do we all desire a strong spirit, by which to rise above the disturbing things that destroy our peace, to perform that which our higher instincts teach us we are truly capable of accomplishing, to prove ourselves superior to all adverse circumstances, so that each event of life may aid in our advance! Oh! how do we hate our own weakness, that stoops under trifling burdens, and shrinks from trial, and bemoans its own inefficiency, and starts back dismayed when obstacles rise in the way.

Yet how few seek strength from the right source. Some, with self-confidence, trust in their own might.

But at last mind and spirit are weakened by physical disease, or some temptation attacks an unguarded point, and sudden ruin teaches the folly of such a dependence. Others, deeply feeling their own need, and owning their exceeding frailty, lean on an earthly idol, and rejoice in the manly strength which they believe can never fail. How soon one touch of death's finger shatters the chosen stronghold!

The highest, noblest, most richly endowed natures are insufficient in themselves. We want a strength that shall renew itself day by day; that shall never deceive and never fail; that shall increase according to our need, and avail in every emergency; that time cannot wear out, or death destroy.

Is this need never to be supplied? Are these longings of our nature always to be unfulfilled? Lo! the blessed word, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength."

Here is revealed the living fountain, from which, if we drink, we shall never more thirst. Here may fainting souls be revived. Here may weary souls find help. Here may tempted souls apply for weapons that shall cause the enemy to flee in confusion. Here may we lean, nor fear any decay or loss; here gather force to meet every necessity; here live as it were, on angels' food; here learn what it is to "abide in the shadow of the Almighty."

No more yielding to doubts, no more shrinking from grievous burdens, no more shameful defeats on moral battle-fields, for we have learned whereby we may "renew our strength."

A constant growth in grace, a spirit daily becoming like the image of Christ, an indwelling sense of power to endure and to labor, a glorious victory over the "sin that doth so easily beset us." All this, and much more, is the portion of those who "wait on the Lord." "They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint."—S. S. Times.

Be not Cast Down.

By Emma House

Why wilt thou be cast down, my soul, When earth's dark billows round thee roll? Chastenings, thou knowest well, must come, Ere thou inherit that bright home Of purity, where all shall be Radiant with immortality.

Think of that sinless, happy band, That soon shall be at God's right hand; Think of the never-ending day, Of tears forever wiped away, Of joys eternal, bliss untold, The crowns of glory, harps of gold.

Think of the book of life, so fair, Think if thy name be written there; Think of the One whose grace is given To guide thee in the path to heaven, Think of the holy, pure, and bright, Bid each rebellious fear take flight.

Oh! nevermore thy lot repine, But claim God's promises as thine; Press on thy way, until thy feet Shall tread the city's golden street; Until the vail that dims thy sight, Be rent asunder by the light Of perfect day, then thou shalt see What heaven hath in store for thee. Emma House.

Pray on.

It is easy to know the knock of a beggar at one's door. Low, timid, hesitating, it seems to say, "I have no claim on the kindness of this house; I may be told I come too often; I may be treated as a troublesome and unworthy mendicant; the door may be flung in my face by some surly servant."

How different, on his return from school, the loud knocking, the bounding step, the joyous rush of the child into his father's presence, and, as he climbs his knee and flings his arm around his neck, the bold face and ready tongue with which he reminds his father of some promised favor! Now, why are God's people bold? Glory to God in the highest! To a father in God, to an elder brother in Christ, faith conducts our steps in prayer; therefore, in an hour of need, faith, bold of spirit, raises her suppliant hands, and cries up to God, "Oh! that thou wouldst rend the heavens, and come down."

I think that I see the sneer curling on the skeptic's lips, as he says: "How absurd! What presumption! As if it were not below the dignity of Divinity to come at king's or peasant's, prince's or pauper's call. Should the purposes of the Eternal be shaped by your petitions? Creature of a day and of the dust! What are you, that the universe should be steered—its helm moved this or that way for your sake?" Well, no doubt the language is bold; yet with God, a Father, our Father, my father in Christ, I feel I can be bold and confident in prayer. I know a father's heart. Have I not seen the quiver of a father's lip, the tear start into his eye, and felt his heart in the grasp of his hand, when I expressed some good hope of a fallen child? Have I not seen a mother, when her infant was tottering in the path of mettled coursers, with foam spotting their necks, and fire flying from their feet, dash like a hawk across the path, and pluck him from instant death? Have I not seen a mother, who sat at the coffin-head, pale, dumb, tearless, rigid, terrible in grief, spring from the chair, seize the coffin which we were carrying away, and with shrieks fit to pierce a heart of stone, struggle to retain her dead?

If we, that are but worms of the earth, will peril life for our children, and when they are mouldered into dust, cannot think of our dead, nor visit their cold and lonesome grave, but our breasts are wrung, and our wounds bleed forth afresh, can we adequately conceive or measure, far less exaggerate, even with our fancy at its highest strain, the paternal love of God? Talk not of what you suppose to be dignity of Divinity. Talk of the calm, lofty, dignified demeanor which becomes a king, who sees his child borne off on the stream that sweeps his palace wall. The king is at once sunk in the father. Divesting himself of his trappings—casting sceptre, robe of gold, and jeweled crown—he at once rushes forth to leap into the boiling flood. Lives there a father with heart so dead that he would not, at the sight of a child falling overboard and struggling with death, back every sail, and whatever might be the mission on which his ship was bound, or whatever the risk he ran, would not put up her helm, and, pale with dread, steer for the waves where his boy was sinking?

Child of God! pray on. God's children are much more dear to him than our children can be to us. He regards them with more complacency than all the shining orbs of that starry firmament. They were bought at a price higher than would purchase the dead matter of ten thousand worlds. He cares more for his humblest, weakest child, than for all the crowned heads and great ones of earth, and takes a deeper interest in the daily fortunes of a pious cottage than in the fall and rise of kingdoms.

Child of God! pray on. By prayer thy hand can touch the stars, thy arm stretch up to heaven. Nor let thy holy boldness be dashed by the thought that prayer has no power to bend these skies, and bring down thy God. When I pull on the rope which fastens my frail and little boat to a distant and mighty ship, if my strength cannot draw its vast bulk to me, I draw myself to it—to ride in safety under the protection of its guns, to enjoy in want the fullness of its stores. And it equally serves my purpose, and supplies my needs, that prayer, although it were powerless to move God to me, moves me to God. If he does not descend to earth, I, as it were, ascend to heaven.

Child of God! pray on. Were it indispensable for thy safety that God should rend these heavens, it should be done. I dare believe that, and "I am not mad most noble Festus." Have not these heavens been already rent? Eighteen hundred years ago, robed in humanity, God [Christ. Ed.] himself came down. These blue skies, where larks sing and eagles sail, were cleft with the wings and filled with the songs, of his angel train. Among the ancient orbs of that very firmament, a stranger star appeared traveling the heavens, and blazing on the banner borne before the king, as he descended on this dark and distant world. On Canaan's dewy ground—the lowly bed he had left, the eye of morning shone on the shape and form of the Son of God; and dusty roads, and winter snows, and desert sands and the shores and very waves of Galilee were impressed with the footprints of the Creator. By this manger, where the babe lies cradled—beside the cross, upon whose ignominious arms the glory of the universe is hung—by this silent sepulchre, where wrapped in bloody shroud, the body is stretched out on its bed of spices, while Roman sentinels walk their moonlit round, and Death, a bound captive, sits within, so soon as the sleeper wakes to be disarmed, or crowned, and in himself have death put to death—faith can believe all that God has revealed, and hope for all that God has promised. She reads on that manger, on that cross deeply lettered, on that rocky sepulchre, these glorious words, "He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?" And there, lifting an eagle eye to heaven, she rises to the boldest flights, and soars aloft on the broad wings of prayer.

"Faith, bold faith, the promise sees, And trusts to that alone, Laughs at impossibilities, And says, It shall be done."

A Remarkable Vision.

By John Norton Loughborough

[The following vision was published in Massachusetts nearly a century since, and is doubtless what it purports to be—a genuine vision. By request of many brethren I send it for publication. It speaks of trouble in this land which was to grow out of slavery, which we now see coming. It is an interesting document, to say the least. J. N. Loughborough.]

Swansey, in the province of Massachusetts Bay, the 21st day of the 11th month, in the year 1784. In the night season, as I was on my bed, whether sleeping or waking, whether in the body or out of the body, at that time I could not tell; but I thought I saw a proper man clothed in white, his garments very plain, and fair as alabaster, having the moon under his feet, and clothed with the sun. He said, Come with me, young men, and I will show thee wonderful things which shall come to pass, some in thy time. I drew near to him. He said he had many things to say, and bade me write what he said. Then he told me that God had raised up a people out of the See of Rome, and out of the midst of Babylon many of whom had sealed their testimony with their blood in the midst of the fiery flame, being chained to the stake. After this, God visited a people being their offspring whom he chose as his peculiar people, convincing them of his royal law; many of whom had suffered much for their testimony. But since all these great works have been done for the nation whom he hath brought out of darkness, those his peculiar people had for many years too much forgot God, for which a small number mourned and were bowed down. Yet the Lord would rein up these Protestant churches by them, in the old country and in North America.

He will, as he has shaken the earth, so shake it again; and wars and commotions shall cover the earth. Many shall be slain. Then, Oh! New England! will he threaten thee with the rod, aye, with an overthrow. But as his mercies continue to you ward, he will help when you shall be in pain on every side. Then will your deliverer deliver you from the hands of merciless men, not by an arm of flesh, but by his arm of mighty power. He will turn your enemies back again without so much as your striking one blow. Then shall the nation have quiet a small space.

Because of religious and crying sins of pride and oppression, and making slaves of the souls of men, will he arise and shake terribly the earth. Paleness shall be in the faces of the inhabitants thereof. Many shall be surprised in the cities. Then will he bring on wars and rumors of wars. Then shall not the sword prosper in your hands. Then shall you begin to fear and tremble. Then will he raise up a nation of nations against you, who were before your friends, and a despised nation, even the heathen in North America, who will slay and carry off your people, young and old, into captivity. Then shall the blood of the slain run like streams of water on the earth. And the earth shall be dunged with the bodies of men in many parts of North America. Then shall your mighty men fall back. Oh, North America! thy sins are great, thy punishment will be great likewise. Oh! the sword shall be sheathed in thy bowels till thou repent. Oh! New England! thy distress shall be great! Thou art full of oppression. Thy sons shall be oppressed and slain in battle. Thou who thinkest thyself strong shalt be made weak.

Oh, North America! Thy distresses shall come one upon another, until a suffering, strong tide shall come more and more upon you. Your young men and maidens shall be brought low and bow at God's footstool. Fathers and mothers shall mourn apart. Sons and daughters shall mourn apart. Many shall go into captivity and fare hardly. Many shall desire death and it will not be granted. Famine shall be in some places. Others shall be destroyed in the wilderness with a savage people. Many shall be slain in cold blood. The cries of the poor shall be heard in towns and cities. One continued trouble shall follow another until the inhabitants bow in reverence and true humility of heart and mind, with cries to their helper. Then shall your young men be bowed down and seek their God, and maidens cry for help. Then shall your inhabitants who know not God rise with that old spirit of persecution in which time many shall be gathered to the fold of Christ. Then shall your young men and maidens stand for the call of God. Then shall his chosen people and church stand in their primitive beauty and purity. Then shall your young men and maidens run to and fro as with the gospel in their hands preaching repentance to the dark corners of the earth, even to the seat of the great whore of Babylon.

Then shall many suffer great persecution. Then shall the old harlot have one more draught of the blood of the saints, but a short one. Then will the Lord rein up the powers of earth to help his children and his church, and deliver his servants, and then shall the gospel be declared unto the ends of the earth more fully than it has been before. Then will the God of mercies make his church shine more. Then will oppression cease from among his chosen people. So said, he took me by the hand and bade me farewell; and when I awoke I was sitting up in bed.

The Closet.

By Hannah Moore

No Christian can be comfortable or prosperous without retirement. Popular ministers may preach, converse, or pray in public, to the edifying of others, and yet decline in their own souls for want of examination, humiliation, and secret prayer, suited immediately to their own case. Nay, the most able ministers will generally cease to be very useful if their religion is neglected, or hurried over in a formal manner. This the fervent Christian knows. He will, therefore, redeem time for retirement at the expense of many inconveniences: and the friends of popular ministers should remember this, and not too much intrude upon the regular needful hours for retirement of those persons in whose company they most delight. In prosecuting the word of God, our own inclinations must be thwarted, we must not "spend our time" with them when duty calls us another way, or when a prospect is before us of doing essential good.

WE are apt to mistake our vocation in looking out of the way for occasions to exercise great and rare virtues, and stepping over ordinary ones which lie directly in the road before us. When we read, we fancy we could be martyrs; when we come to the act, we find we cannot bear a provoking word.—Hannah Moore.

Simplicity of Dress.

One of the great evils of the day is an excessive indulgence in finery of dress. Every age has its peculiar evils, and this is one of those which belong to our own. I do not suppose that there is any change in taste in such matters. The prophet Isaiah shows us, by a catalogue of female finery in the third chapter of his prophecy, that the daughters of Zion, in his day, had left very little for subsequent ages to add to the art of tricking out the body, "walking with stretched-forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go." But the peculiarity of our times is that people not only have the love of finery, as people always had, but they can very easily indulge it, much more easily than in any former age; finery is to be had for nothing. A servant girl with moderate wages can make more show and parade than persons in affluent circumstances could two centuries ago. And this temptation of a cheap age tells upon the nation exceedingly, especially upon the female part of it; so that this book could make no pretension to be a complete guide to the service of God's House, if it did not contain a few words upon the kind of dress in which Christians should appear.

There are proper dresses for proper times; we do not go to a funeral in cheerful garments, nor to a wedding in crape and hat-bands; however we may talk about the indifference of the manner in which we are dressed, a sure instinct tells us that it is not a matter of indifference, and that it is most in accordance with the dictates of sound judgment to comply with those rules which custom has sanctioned us. Now what is the dress suited to the public worship of God? "All of you be clothed with humility," is a very good general answer, this points out the general tone and color of the garments of praise, which befit a Christian in God's house; but more particularly, study neatness and eschew finery; and do this both for your own sakes and for the sake of others; for your own sakes—because what you must aim at is to forget yourselves and think only of God, and how can you forget yourselves if you have just been studiously getting yourself up to be admired, and if your own appearance has been haunting your brain all the morning before the church bells rang? For the sake of others—because if your appearance is half as striking as you think it, you cannot but interfere with the devotions of your neighbors by attracting their attention to you. Oh, how utterly pitiable and shocking is any parade of finery in the presence of God! to think that the poor giddy creature who is setting off her face and figure with ribands and silks, must soon stand before God naked and bare! Dear young friends, when you stand at the looking-glass, think for one moment of death and of judgment.

Frippery and finery are offensive at all times and in all places; the real ornament is the "meek and quiet spirit;" that is of great price with God as with ourselves, that is an ornament which a Christian may take with him or her out of this world and wear forevermore, that is the necklace of angels, and while all other ornaments are in the eyes of God tinsel and worthless, the price of that is greater than of gold. But frippery and finery in a church are offensive beyond all possibility of measure or description; it is to insult the God of the place, to scare away the angels, to shock the minds of the devout. Study neatness and propriety and simplicity but eschew extravagance and finery; imagine Mary the mother of Jesus, preparing to go to the marriage at Cana in Galilee; dress yourself as you would have done if you too had been invited to that marriage to meet the Lord.—Advocate and Guardian.

Speak Kindly.

"A LITTLE word in kindness spoken, A motion, or a tear, Has often healed a heart that's broken, And made a friend sincere."

What a tremendous and ever-living power there is in human words! They drop in an instant from the lips; but what mind can grasp the far-reaching results of the same? How many a noble, bounding heart has been crushed forever by a single word! How many a home, where once dwelt the angel of peace and happiness, has been darkened through all time by that suddenly-spoken word! And heaven only knows how many of earth's sons and daughters are now calmly reposing amid the gloom and silence of the sepulcher, who would be up and doing noble things for God and humanity upon life's great theater, had they never felt the killing power of harsh and unkind words! Alas! how few consider the potency of human utterances upon human happiness and destiny!

We must speak. The mutual relations and dependencies of life demand it. But we should always speak kindly and from hearts full of sympathy with our fellows. There is enough of unavoidable sorrow and suffering in the world without our swelling its current. We all need sympathy and kind words. They are a necessity of our natures. And that man wrongs humanity and abuses his own manhood, who can speak harshly to his inoffensive fellow, whatever the social disproportion between them in the estimation of men. Every man has, at least, a claim upon human sympathy, till that claim is vitiated by some deed of dishonor; and even in that case it is hard to see why harshness should be employed. Kind words and sympathies have ever reached the lowest objects of human hope, and thereby given to society some of its brightest lights and noblest ornaments. Both the world and the Church have lost many a diamond worth the setting, by not speaking kindly and gently to the erring.

Sympathy in man is indeed a high and holy attribute. Its sweet and encouraging voice lightens the toil and enlivens the spirit of many a child of earth, who, without it, would travel life's checkered pathway in sorrow and sadness. Under the mighty inspiration of that kindly-spoken word, there are those who are, at this moment, battling the stern difficulties of life with a newer and nobler energy, and all because of the inspiring magic of that kind utterance. What the gently distilled dew of heaven is to the plants and flowers, so is the kind voice of sympathy to the bosom that heaves under the pressure of life's accumulated sorrows and afflictions. It cannot help carrying gladness and sunshine with it in every direction, and awakening gratitudes that live forever. A kind word can no more die than the noble nature which prompts its utterance. It is a living and potential influence for good in the world forever! Those who have been wont to speak kindly to their fellows, have in this respect, an inheritance that is imperishable. Acting upon that principle, that

"The drying up a single tear has more Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore," the glory of the Alexanders and Cæsars of history pales before the peerless majesty of their deeds.

Then how cheap are words of kindness and sympathy! Who is so poor that he has them not at command? All have in their possession this instrument of power with which to bless humanity, whatever else is denied. And happy is the man who uses this God-given power aright. The world will be the better off by his having lived in it; for many a sad heart will be gladdened by him, many a depressed spirit will revive under his kindness, and many a noble hope, given up in despondency and tears, will be strengthened by his encouragement, and at last be made to yield a sublime fruition of bliss and happiness.

Let us, then, kind reader, cultivate the art of making people happy by our words and sympathies. If we do this, and do it successfully, let it be an established motto with us always to speak kindly to our fellows, and never, in a single instance, however great the temptation, to turn aside from this rule.—Ladies' Repository.

Eating and Sleeping.

HALL's Journal of Health says: "For persons who eat three times a day, it is amply sufficient to make the last meal of cold bread and butter and a cup of warm drink. No one can starve on it, while a perseverance in the habit, soon begets a vigorous appetite for breakfast so promising a day of real comfort."

Yes, yes; and by omitting a third meal, the individual besides securing a night of sound sleep, will not find on awakening in the morning a bad taste in his mouth, so indicative of general foulness.

If one would always have a sweet mouth and a clean tongue, he can secure them both by simply ceasing to overtax his stomach. This frequent eating is an idle, mischievous habit, ruinous of both health and comfort; and it prevents the individual from receiving the great amount of enjoyment which it was intended he should receive from eating, and which is necessary to perfect nutrition.

Nothing should be eaten between the regular meals, whether these meals are taken either two or three times a day; nor should one eat so that the quantity ingested will induce heaviness or uncomfortable feelings.

The cook tastes the food she prepares; and by this frequent tasting she destroys both the relish for her meals, and her health. There are many house-keepers who have the same pernicious habit.

We know farmers who at the close of a long summer day, during which they have eaten heartily five times, and worked hard from four in the morning to nine at night, eat freely just before going to bed.

The stomach already enfeebled by constant working under disadvantageous circumstances, has now imposed on it an impracticable task, and the men lie down to sleep! Next morning they are nerveless—have scarcely slept all night—feel more wearied than when they lay down—and, on the whole, think a farmer lives a dog's life. So he does, so far as he sinks to mere animalism—living to eat—taxing his digestive apparatus at the expense of health, life and life's enjoyments. So on from day to day, till nature makes a desperate effort to rid the body of the superfluous food introduced into it, burning it up by fever, or expelling it by some different remedial effort.

Farmers, being so much in the open air, with abundant exercise, should be the healthiest people; but like others who are cursed with "abundance of bread," they are rheumatic, bilious, dyspeptic. This is a shame and a sin. Farmers, it is a sin. Your liver complaints, chill fevers, are as unnecessary as is the plague. Health and the sweet sleep will come to you when you need, unless by bad habits you drive them away. "Go and sin no more."

Persecution

PERSECUTION.—As long as the waters of persecution are upon the earth, so long we dwell in the ark; but where the land is dry, the dove itself will be tempted to a wandering course of life, and never to return to the house of her safety.

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