Review and Herald, Vol. 21, No. 26. (5/26/1863)

Review and Herald

May 26, 1863

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 26, 1863

A Hero's Fear.

Reader! I dare say you have often experienced fear. You may have been in pecuniary difficulties, and feared your creditors. You may have had a powerful enemy who could injure you, and you feared his influence. Your life may have been in danger, and you trembled for the result. In these and many other similar ways, you have known what it is to be afraid.

But have you ever feared sin? Have you ever said to your self, "Perhaps what I have done is wrong, and alas! I shall have to bear the consequences?" If such a feeling has ever entered your heart, it was perhaps when you had cheated or lied, or done some other act which every one would unhesitatingly consider a sin. Then, after the mischief was done, you began to feel useless remorse, and that feeling lasted only while it was useless: only until the next temptation presented itself. Or perhaps you have feared sin when you have been suffering from its consequences. Your worldly affairs may have begun to be embarrassed; your hopes may have been frustrated, those who had previously honored you, may have begun to think little of you; then perhaps you have reflected, "has not this change been brought about by my own misconduct?"

But when you had done that which in the world's eyes is virtuous—while your affairs were prosperous, and while applause was showered upon you from all sides, then I am sure it never occurred to you to say "all this may be deceptive. What the world so loudly approves may perhaps not meet with the approbation of my Maker. Perchance I may have done more harm than good. I may have neglected many golden opportunities which will never return.—Let me look well to it, least I am deceived. Now, if I am deceived, the empty praise of others will not avail. Nay, that praise may by the slightest accident be changed into blame. Nor can I rely upon my success—for a thousand circumstances may turn prosperity into adversity. Let me therefore closely examine my conduct, to observe whether I have not sinned." Such thoughts never entered your head. You were flushed with success. You eagerly listened to all the pleasant praises which were whispered into your ears either by kind friends, or by designing flatterers. You believed all they said, and were well pleased with yourself. In the meantime, the evil habits which you had formed of old remained unbroken, to these new ones were daily added through your want of vigilance. Your motives, which at the beginning were pure, gradually degenerated; so that what you first did from the love or fear of God, soon had less worthy motives—the love of praise or the fear of forfeiting the world's good opinion.

Now observe how different to this was the spirit which animated our forefather Abraham.

Lot had been very ungrateful to him.—Although indebted to him for all he possessed, he yet permitted his herdsmen to strive with those of Abraham. The patriarch nobly foregoes his right, implores Lot to select for himself the best pasture-ground, and promises that he himself would move away in order to avoid strife. The ungrateful Lot falls a victim to his own ingratitude. The city wherein he takes up his abode is attacked by four allied kings; its property is plundered and its inhabitants are taken captive, and among the captives is Lot. No sooner is Abraham informed of the occurrence, than he arms his servants, and boldly pursues the armies of four victorious kings. He gains a complete victory, and rescues his nephew and all the inhabitants of Sodom. On his return he is met and congratulated by the neighboring kings.—The whole of the spoil is offered to him, but he nobly declines to take anything "from a thread to a shoe-latchet." Under such circumstances everything combined to make him feel elated and self-satisfied.—He had acted most nobly in every sense of the term. For an ungrateful nephew he had risked his life. He had displayed great bravery and skill. He had waived his right to receive the usual rewards of valor, and had given a tithe of all he had to the priest of the Most High. Why then should his conscience not be satisfied? And yet we read, "After these things the word of the Eternal came unto Abram in a vision, saying, fear not Abram: I am thy shield, thy reward is very great."

It thus appears that Abraham was afraid, and stood in need of a shield. What then did he fear! Our sages inform us that he feared lest among the multitude he had slain, there might be one good and worthy man. And the humble God-fearing Patriarch said in his heart "After all, I only followed the dictates of nature in thus rescuing my own nephew. The act is by no means so noble as the world seems to think. Nay, perchance, so far from being noble, it may even be sinful. I may have on my conscience the blood of good and worthy men, compelled by actual force to join the ranks of the invaders."

This is the way in which Abraham feared sin. And we see that the Lord loves those who thus tremble before his word, mistrust their own worth, and are alarmed at the mere suspicion of having offended him.—He is their shield, and maketh their reward exceedingly great.

So let us fear sin! Let us fear it when in prosperity and in health, and we shall have no cause to fear it in the day of adversity, or in the hour of danger. Let us fear it, not with the coward's fear, but with the fear of the hero-patriarch, who, though he saw many beneath him, saw One above him, so perfect, so exalted, that his own righteousness seemed as nothing."—Sel.

Christian Exercise.

THE Christian is the representative of Jesus Christ. On him are imposed duties, and to him are given privileges, in the performance and exercise of which he will ever find his highest good. The religion which he professes is, and of necessity must be, progressive, and he must needs find it necessary to lay hold upon all the objective influences within his reach, in order that he may fully carry out this inherent principle, and make that advancement in the divine life which will insure for him perfect peace. He must exercise every gift with which God has blessed him, or he will fail to grow in grace—fail to add something each day to his stock of spiritual strength. By no means the least among these outside influences, is that of witnessing for Christ—bearing testimony by word, on all suitable occasions, and speaking of those things which make for the peace of every human soul.

On earth we live two lives—one an inward or spiritual—the life of the soul—the other an outward, or life of the body. The one needs sustenance and food as much as the other; and if proper exercise is needed to develop and strengthen our physical, then by the same law the exercise of spiritual gifts and privileges is equally necessary to the development of our spiritual being. For this object—that of strengthening each other—of building up each other—Christians meet together, and speak often one to another, and talk about their Saviour, and that bright world beyond the tomb. When the heart of the Christian is warm with love to Christ; when every thought, and feeling, and impulse of the soul is in harmony with that great heart which beats for the world; when, like the Saviour at Samaria's well, he feels it to be his meat and drink to do the will of his Father in heaven; then it is impossible for him to keep silence upon this all-absorbing theme that fills and swells his soul; then, whether in the conference or prayer-meeting; on the Sabbath or week day; in the family, the counting room, the shop, the street or the field—in fact, wherever he finds an ear to listen, he pours out from an overflowing soul those great truths that take hold on eternity.

If from the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, how is it possible for us to conceive of a real Christian who rarely, if ever, speaks of religion. I remember, in early life, a man who I was told was a Christian; and yet—a thing that seemed very strange to me—I had seen him in a great many prayer-meetings; had been often in his family and in his company elsewhere; but had never heard him open his lips to tell of a Saviour's love, or point the sinner to Calvary. He excused himself by saying that he had not the ability, and consequently not the confidence to do so; and

yet he had ability enough to talk intelligently upon general topics. Such Christians, if Christians they are, are surely an enigma.

My timid brother, what if you cannot express your thoughts in such smooth, plain language as one more gifted! What if you cannot stand up in the great congregation and talk as well, as long, and fluently—these can constitute no plausible reason why you should forever hold your peace. If you can say no more, speak those few words—the sweetest you can utter—'I love the Saviour.' Say it again and again, wherever you have an opportunity. Our hearts have often been more touched at the sound of those words than by a labored sermon. The short and simple recital of God's dealing with the young convert, have stirred our soul from the very depths. A word coming from a meek and subdued heart, will wake a response in every sanctified soul.

Let not a favorable opportunity slip to bear your humble testimony to the beauty and truth of the gospel of Christ—and soon, what seemed your duty, will grow into a sweet and blessed privilege, as clear as your life, until you mix and mingle with that innumerable company, who lift up their clear angelic voices, forever and ever before the great white throne, saying, 'Holy! Holy! Lord God Almighty! which was, and is, and is to come!'—Moore's Rural New-Yorker.

Our Refuge.

By L. M. GATES.

Thou wilt hide me dearest Saviour, Till the storm be overpast, In thy tabernacle safely I shall dwell secure at last.

Though a host encamp against me, Still my heart shall never fear, Hide me safe in thy pavilion In the time of trouble near.

When the sinners fear and tremble, And to rocks and mountains flee, Then thy saints shall dwell securely, While their life is hid in thee.

Soon thy wrath unmixed with mercy, All the wicked must endure, While to us, shall bread be given, And our water shall be sure.

And when death and hell are vanquished, And our last strong foe is slain, Safe from sorrow, pain and anguish, We shall in thy kingdom reign. L. M. GATES. Trenton, Wis.

The Dream of Caleb Edmonds.

"CHRISTIANITY, indeed!" said Mr. Edmonds as he looked over his books, in the little back parlor behind the shop, "I am disgusted with such hypocrisy!"

There was a dark frown on the brow of the man of business as he spoke these words, and an irritability in his manner of turning over the leaves before him, which spoke of some bad debt troubling his mind and robbing him of his good temper.

"What is the matter?" asked a cheerful little woman by the fire, at whose side a basket of stockings told of a large family, and a consequent demand for stichery.

"Matter?" echoed the husband, "do you not know that Welsford owes me four pounds ten and sixpence?"

"Well, he will pay, I suppose?"

"Not he. The goods were purchased more than a year ago, and I have not had a penny yet!"

"What does he say when you see him?" asked Mrs. Edmonds, who evidently loved to look at the bright side.

"Say? he does not say much to me, I can tell you. I told him not to worry me with his excuses, but to bring his money; and that he need not cross my door-step again until he could do that."

"I am sorry for his wife," said the little stocking-mender, presently; "She appears to be a truly pious woman."

"Pious?" retorted her husband, "yes, and so is he; 'tis this that disgusts me. Religion indeed! and he owes me four pounds ten and sixpence. I thought the Bible said, 'Owe no man anything.' Christianity forsooth!"

Mr. Caleb Edmonds was a highly respectable grocer in the town of Marlby—in fact, a man of substance, for business had prospered with him. He was industrious and obliging, rising early, working hard; and thus, from small beginnings he had risen to the possession of considerable wealth. But although an excellent man of business, Mr. Edmonds was a very ordinary Christian. True, he began the race, but he did not press toward the mark; alas for "the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches!" And, as it is characteristic of a low standard of piety to be harsh and censorious in our judgment of our fellow Christians, so Mr. Edmonds, when he heard of any defect in the character of professors around him, was always first to exclaim, "Christianity, indeed!"

Is not this too common with us all? Do we not, even if we give no expression to our thoughts, doubt and hesitate much more than we should doubt and hesitate, regarding the reality of the religion of our "Ready-to-halts" and "Feeble-minds?" Do we not set up a standard of perfection for our fellows, which is too lofty, in our view, as a standard for ourselves? And are we not too ready to exclaim against the wanderings of others, even while we turn aside into forbidden paths? Perhaps such thoughts as these had passed through the mind of Mrs. Edmonds, as she sat at her work, for when she rose to leave her basket for some more active household duty, she bent over her husband for a moment, and said gently, "Caleb, I do not like to hear you say, 'Christianity indeed!' as you did just now. Suppose your fellow Christians were to judge of you as harshly as you of them! You often say it," she continued hastily; "you doubted John Watson's religion yesterday, because he lent money to your rival; and Thornton's because he opposes you in business, and you shook your head about Miss Milwood's piety, because she argued with you against total abstinence; 'Judge not, that ye be not judged!'"

Long after his wife left him, these words rang in Caleb's ears—"Judge not!"

At last, as he sat in the twilight, between sleeping and waking—for business was very dull, and he could spare half an hour for rest—a vision stole upon him, and he passed in imagination rapidly through the scenes which follow.

At first he found himself in a very quiet neighborhood, and in the presence of three maiden ladies, whose names he knew very well. They had their feet upon the fender, and—their knitting laid aside—were evidently discussing the affairs of their neighbors.

"Such pride!" said the elder lady, whose name was Rayby, "what will come next I wonder?"

"The most fashionable boarding school in R——, I assure you," said another—Miss Phillip.

"Ah!" said Miss Rayby, "and I can remember the time—of course I was very young then, but still I can remember—when Caleb Edmonds swept out his own shop!"

"Dear me! and now he has the upstart impudence to send his girl to such a school as that!" exclaimed Miss Sophia Milwood, the spinster, who had not yet spoken. "O, the pride of human nature."

"And he a professor, too!"

"Professor!" said Miss Rayby; "religion does not teach a man such absurd pride as that!"

Miss Phillip shook her head, and began to lament the increase of false professors.

"Well," thought Caleb, "I believe that in spending some of my cash upon the education of my children, I could not go very far wrong; but I find I am misunderstood, even here."

The next scene was the drawing-room of John Watson, of whom Mrs. Edmonds had spoken. A lady was making tea behind a silver urn, and a gentleman—her husband—sat beside her.

"Poor Thompson," said Mrs. Watson—for it was she,—"I trust he will succeed."

"He shall, if by God's blessing I can compass it."

"He is a very deserving young man," continued the lady; "the manner in which he bore the loss of all his property would win esteem, even if he had no other claim."

Mr. Watson did not reply, his mind had wandered to another branch of the subject. "That Caleb Edmonds," he said at length, "I am surprised at the ill feeling he displays."

"Toward Thornton?"

"Yes, he is evidently annoyed at the opening of another shop so near his own; whereas, in the principal street of a town like this he should have expected competition. Besides, he has made a little fortune, and has nothing to fear; yet he will not treat George Thornton with ordinary civility."

"I thought he was a religious man," said Mrs. Watson.

"He pretends to be," replied her husband, "but I have not much faith in a religion which brings forth so little fruit!"

Poor Caleb! his wife's words—the [Master's] words—still sounded in his ears, as they had never done before, meeting with a responsive echo in his heart.

Again a change, and Mr. Edmonds found himself beside a sickly looking woman, who, leaning upon her husband's arm, walked slowly toward the house of prayer. It was impossible to look without interest upon her pale and anxious face—a face which had once been beautiful; and equally impossible to disregard the careful tenderness with which her steps were guided by the strong man at her side. Their conversation, too, was worthy of remark—they were speaking of the consolations of the gospel.

"Who knows?" exclaimed the invalid, "perhaps there may be words just suited to our case this morning. Words to the poor!"

"Poor as regards this world, only, Mary."

Her eyes brightened as she looked up cheerfully, "Yes, yes, rich in treasure far more costly than earth's gold. God help us to look up and trust to him for the meat that perisheth."

They walked on for a while, and then the wife said, mournfully, "I sometimes fear that it is pride which makes me shrink from meeting Mr. Edmonds—I do shrink from it. O, if we could but pay him!"

"We shall be able to do so soon, I hope," said Welsford; "it has been a hard struggle, Mary, starvation almost, but I think it is nearly over."

"Ah, it was all for me! I am sure Mr. Edmonds would be patient if he knew how much you have spent in medicines for me, and how little work you have."

"He is patient, after a fashion, and we have reason to be thankful for that; still he has said some crushing things to me—harsh things which he may live to repent—things which have made me doubt his Christianity."

"Nay," said Mrs. Welsford, gently, "I would not judge him; how many inconsistent things we all do."

"You are right. I may not lift up my voice; alas, but little likeness to my Lord is found in me!"

Again the echoing voice thrilled through the soul of the listener—again he heard the words, "judge not!" and as he dwelt upon them, the vision slowly faded, and he, Bunyan-like, awoke, "and behold it was a dream." But the lesson of the dream was not quite lost upon him, for he awoke to a deeper spirit of Christian charity, a nobler self-denial, a holier humanity, a nearer likeness to Jesus. He had been taught in that brief twilight musing, one of the grand old lessons of the book of God.

The fireside morning worship was just ended, and Charles Welsford was about to go forth to his daily toil, when a gentle knock at the door, spoke of a visitor; how great was the surprise of all when Caleb Edmonds entered!

"You are come, sir—"

"I am come," said the grocer, interrupting him, "to express my hope that you are not under any concern about the little amount you owe me. Take your time, my good sir, take your time."

The poor man's eyes were filled with tears, as, grasping the outstretched hand, he tried to speak his thanks.

"My wife," said Mr. Edmonds, turning toward Mrs. Welsford, "put something into my hand, just as I left, for you, ma'am." And forth from his pockets came tea, sugar, biscuits, from the good wife's ample store, till Mary's eyes, too, filled with grateful tears.

"And now," said the visitor, kindly, "don't forsake the shop; get your little parcels there, and pay just when it suits you. By the way, if a sovereign would be of any use to you, I have one which will burn a hole in my pocket—as the saying goes—unless I give it to somebody." And before they could reply he had laid the coin upon the table and was gone.

"Mary," said Mr. Welsford, "let us thank God for this."

They knelt, and as he breathed forth his heart's gratitude, his wife wept tears of joy, and even the little ones murmured the "Amen."

But Mr. Edmonds did not stop at this; it was to him Charles Welsford owed a situation, which soon after placed him far above the reach of want; it was to him he owed a host of kindly deeds, which came like sunshine to his inmost soul.

We hasten on. Not alone in this regard was Caleb Edmonds changed, for two days after his strange dream, he walked into his rival's shop, shook hands, invited him to drink tea at his house, spoke pleasantly about their opposition, and even hinted at his own retirement at some future day, when his new friend would have a "better chance!"

And from that time, the charity which "suffereth long and is kind, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things!" held an almost undisputed sway over Caleb Edmonds; and ever was the maxim of the Bible borne in mind, "Judge not, that ye be not judged."

Pruning the Vine.

"I am the vine, ye are the branches." John xv, 5.

Gotthold visiting a person who was in deep affliction and sorrow, was told by the family that he was in the garden. Thither he followed, and found him employed in clearing a vine of its superfluous leaves. After a friendly salute, he inquired what he was doing. "I find," was the reply, "that, owing to the abundant rain, this vine is over grown with wood and leaves, which prevents the sun from reaching and ripening the grapes. I am therefore pruning part of them away, that it may bring its fruit to maturity." Gotthold rejoined: and do you find by this operation the vine resists and opposes you? If not, why are you displeased that a gracious God should do to you what your vine must not be displeased that you do to it? You prune off the superfluous foliage in order that it may bear the better fruit; and God takes away your temporal blessings and earthly comforts, in order that faith may produce its noble fruits of love, humility, patience, hope, and prayer, and these larger, and fairer, and sweeter than before. Let them talk as they please. When a man has a superfluity of all things, and is a total stranger to the cross, the Sun of righteousness, with its gracious rays, can scarcely reach the heart; and hence his Christianity usually bears only the harsh and acrid fruits of hypocrisy, pride, unkindness, and implacability. Let God, therefore, do with you as he will; he will do you no harm. You are now stripping the vine of its leaves; in the spring you hoed it, planted layers, pruned the suckers, and bound the branches. My friend, you are yourself a branch on the spiritual Vine which is the Lord Jesus. God is the dresser, and he well knows that, without his grace and care, he can look for no good at your hands.

This is the reason why he employs contempt to lay you to the earth, trials to prune, affliction to restrain, and poverty to strip you of your leaves. He intends it all to make his grace sweeter to you, and your heart sweeter to him.

O my God, withdraw not from me thy care, otherwise I shall grow wild and corrupt. Prune, bind and strip me as thou wilt; my comfort shall be, that thou canst never mean it for evil.—Ladies' Repository.

Rejecting Christ.

By M.

Miss J—— came among us a stranger, but she soon won the respect and regard of all by her ability as a teacher, the unvarying gentleness of her deportment, and her activity in every good work. No direct question was asked with regard to her religious sentiments, but her attendance upon the services of the sanctuary was so constant, she exhibited so many of the Christian graces in her daily life that no doubt was entertained that she was a follower of Christ. What then was the disappointment and grief of the pastor when, on the first communion season after her arrival, she allowed the precious memorials of a Saviour's dying love to pass her untasted! Upon conversing with her on the subject, she told him that she had never united with the visible church; she hoped she was a Christian, but she was waiting for clearer evidence before she took that step. The pastor prolonged the conversation that he might ascertain upon what particular point she was in darkness. As he gradually drew forth her ideas upon the great truths of religion his own mind became deeply troubled. She spoke rather of the beauties of the Bible than of its truths; she enlarged upon its high-toned morality, rather than its humbling doctrines; she spoke of Christ with admiration, rather than with that love which would show that he was all her hope; he was to her as a very lovely song, but not, alas! the anchor of her soul. The pastor sighed, for he too began to wish for clearer evidence of her good estate; he feared that her religion was that of imagination and not of the heart, and he left her with a silent prayer that the Spirit might show her her lost condition.

A year passed. Miss J——'s conduct was worthy of all commendation, and those less discerning than the pastor believed that her neglect to unite with the church of God arose from an undue self-distrust, an excess of humility. About this time, in answer to prayer, the church was blessed with a quickening of its spiritual life, and sinners began to inquire the way of salvation. Religious services were multiplied to meet the increasing interest, and a neighboring pastor came to assist in these labors of love. Mr. M——, though he lacked that gentleness which is so winning, and often so effective, had a direct and forcible manner of presenting truth which stripped the disguise from the sinner's heart and drove him from every false refuge. Miss J—— was a regular attendant upon these services, but their influence upon her mind was not known until some months after, when an opportunity was given to those who wished to unite with the church to relate their experience. Miss J—— was one of the number, and hers was in the following words:—

"I was educated by pious parents. I had always listened to evangelical preaching; but when sinners were warned of their guilt and danger I applied the remarks to the Sabbath-breaker, the profane, the vicious; and month after month, and year after year I heard these warnings with no thought of self-application. I believed myself to be a Christian, but I was deterred from joining the church by a secret fear that there was something in the experience of the Christian to which I was a stranger. But this fear gave me but little uneasiness; for the most part my conscience was at ease, until I heard Mr. M——'s sermon upon the one sin of rejecting Christ, and then it was that an arrow reached my heart. I saw that my feelings toward the Saviour were no warmer than that of admiration; that I had never thought of him as the great sacrifice for sin, and I felt that I had well-nigh been guilty of the suicide of my soul by rejecting the only way of salvation.

"Had I felt that hell was not for such as I? I felt so no longer, but its deepest damnation seemed my just due, because I had put far from me a glorious salvation, a Saviour's dying love; and I think my sense of guilt would have crushed me to the grave; but he who considers our frame, who remembers we are but dust, showed me how all-sufficient in its cleansing power is that fountain which was opened for sin and uncleanliness, and there I trust I washed my guilty soul, and cast for ever away the worthless rags of my own righteousness, and accepted the precious robe the Saviour wrought."

Every heart was thrilled by this recital, and none doubted that the Spirit himself had opened the blind eyes of this penitent soul to see the crimson dye of the one sin which had weighed upon her heart.

Are there not thousands in the land with characters of spotless morality, whose lives are a blessing to those around them, who are yet rejecters of Christ? And how shall these persons—so pure and elevated in thought, who shudder at contact with vice—how shall they endure the companionship of the vilest of the race in the world of despair? Yet such must be their fate without Christ. He is the sinner's only hope. It is a blood-bought pardon alone which can atone for sin. None shall be admitted to the heavenly Jerusalem but followers of the Lamb; the head that would wear the immortal crown must bow low at the foot of the cross.

The Lord our Righteousness.

A MAN who was believed to sustain a good moral character, on being questioned on the subject of religion, said, "I am doing what I can to obtain the favor of God. I am trying to prepare myself for heaven."

"But you have made no public acknowledgment of your faith by any covenant with God's people on earth."

"No, I am no church member; and the reason is, I see so many hypocritical professors of religion, that I prefer to remain outside the church."

"It is not impossible that you may be one of Christ's true followers, although sustaining no visible relation to them. Allow me then to ask, What are the grounds of your hope? Upon what do you depend, as seeming to you to be a preparation for death and a fitness for heaven?"

He replied, "So far as I am able, I always aim to do right in every thing. This is certainly all that can be required of any person. So far as I know and am able to do, I am trying to do right."

But are your hopes for another world based on nothing else? Have you no other foundation on which to rest your hope? Is not yours a dependence on self, instead of a dependence on Christ? It is written in the Scriptures, 'Other foundation can no man lay than is laid, which is Jesus Christ.' How then does Christ the Friend and Saviour of sinners appear to you?"

To that question the confident moralist had nothing to say. He was evidently a stranger to that way of salvation. There was no response in heart or word to the question, 'What think ye of Christ?' He who to the believer is 'altogether lovely' and 'the chief among ten thousand,' had no charms for this poor Christless sinner. Hopeful and yet without hope, sufficiently righteous in his own eyes and having saving righteousness, he manifested an uneasiness which evinced a desire to stop the conversation, and quickly turned away from a friend whose last words, in an attempt to point him to the Lamb of God, we trust will not be soon forgotten.

The great truth illustrated by this incident is this: no salvation without righteousness, and no true righteousness without Christ. Christ first, then holiness, and after that eternal life. The watch word of the reformers is still and ever will be the motto of the Christian, "The Lord our righteousness."---Am. Messenger.

Prayer a Universal Characteristic of Man.

By Guizot

Alone of all beings here below, man prays. Among his moral instincts there is none more natural, more universal, more unconquerable, than prayer. The child inclines to it with a ready docility. The old man recurs to it as a refuge against decay and isolation. Prayer ascends from young lips which can hardly murmur the name of God, and from dying lips which have scarcely strength to pronounce it. Among every people, famous or obscure, civilized or barbarous, we meet at every step with acts and forms of invocation. Wherever men live, in certain circumstances, at certain hours, and under the influence of certain impressions of soul, the eyes are elevated, the hands join themselves, the knees bend, in order to implore or render thanks—to adore or to appease. With transport or with trembling, publicly or in the secret of his heart, it is to prayer that man applies as the last resource to fill the void of his soul, or to help him to bear the burden of his destiny. It is in prayer that he seeks, when every thing else fails him, support for his weakness, consolation in his sorrows, hope for his virtue.—Guizot.

Divine Origin of the Scriptures.

By Suissac

You believe the truths of the Bible are the discoveries of human reason. If the inspired writers had claimed for themselves the authorship of the Scriptures, you would have acknowledged their claim. But because they gave to God the glory of having inspired them to write it, you believe they lied. You would force them to wear the honor, thus making them the best of men, and the same time branding them liars.

My brother, is it not a settled principle in law, that a man's admissions are evidence against himself. And will you, who have set at the feet of Gamaliel, so forget his teachings as to force upon them the glory they acknowledge belongs to the Most High? Can you, a lawyer, adjudge the glory to the party that admits the claim of the other?—Suissac.

The Bible.

By Timothy Titcomb

Out of it have come all pure moralities. Forth from it have sprung all sweet charities. It has been the motive power of regeneration and reformation to millions of men. It has comforted the humble, consoled the mourning, sustained the suffering, and given trust and triumph to the dying. The wise old man has fallen asleep with it folded to his breast. The simple cottager has used it for his dying pillow; and even the innocent child has breathed his last happy sigh with his fingers between its promise-freighted leaves.—Timothy Titcomb.

Idleness Is the Mint to Coin Mischief

Idleness is the mint to coin mischief.

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