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Review and Herald, Vol. 22, No. 8.

Is He a Christian?

Review and Herald

Jul 21, 1863

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 21, 1863

Is He a Christian?

By T. S. Arthur

BY T. S. ARTHUR.
"Is he a Christian?"
The question reached my ear as I sat conversing with a friend, and I paused in the sentence I was uttering, to note answer.
"Oh, yes; he is a Christian," was replied.
"I am rejoiced to hear you say so. I was not aware of it before," said the other.
"Yes; he has passed from death unto life. Last week, in the joy of his new birth, he united himself to the church, and is now in fellowship with the saints."
"What a blessed change!"
"Blessed, indeed. Another soul saved; another added to the great company of those who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. There is joy in heaven on his account."
"Of whom are they speaking?" I asked, turning to my friend.
"Of Fletcher Gray, I believe," was replied.
"Few men stood more in need of Christian graces," said I. "If he is, indeed, numbered with the saints, there is cause for rejoicing."
"By their fruits ye shall know them," responded my friend. "I will believe his claim to the title of Christian, when I see the fruit in good living. If he have truly passed from death unto life, as they say, he will work the work of righteousness. A sweet fountain will not send forth bitter waters."
My friend but expressed my own sentiments in this, and all like cases. I have learned to put small trust in "profession;" to look past the Sunday, and prayer-meeting piety of people, and to estimate religious quality by the standard of the Apostle James. There must be genuine love of the neighbor, before there can be a love of God; for neighborly love is the ground in which that higher and purer love takes root. It is all in vain to talk of love as a mere ideal thing. Love is an active principle, and, according to its quality, works. If the love be heavenly, it will show itself in good deeds to the neighbor; but, if infernal, in acts of selfishness that disregard the neighbor.
"I will observe this Mr. Gray," said I, as I walked homeward from the company, "and see whether the report touching him be true. If he is, indeed, a 'Christian,' as they affirm, the Christian graces of meekness and charity will blossom in his life, and make all the air around him fragrant."
Opportunity soon came. Fletcher Gray was a storekeeper, and his life in the world was, consequently, open to the observation of all men. He was likewise a husband and a father. His relations were, therefore, of a character to give daily, a test of his true quality.
It was only the day after, that I happened to meet Mr. Gray under circumstances favorable to observation. He came into the store of a merchant with whom I was transacting some business, and asked the price of certain goods in the market. I moved aside, and watched him narrowly. There was a marked change in the expression of his countenance and in the tones of his voice. The former had a sober, almost solemn expression; the latter was subdued, even to plaintiveness. But, in a little while, these peculiarities gradually disappeared, and the aforetime Mr. Gray stood there unchanged—unchanged, not only in appearance, but in character. There was nothing of the "yea, yea, and nay, nay," spirit in his bargain-making, but an eager, wordy effort to gain an advantage in trade. I noticed that, in the face of an asservation that only five per cent. over cost was asked for a certain article, he still endeavored to procure it at a lower figure than was named by the seller, and finally crowded him down to the exact cost, knowing, as he did, that the merchant had a large stock on hand, and could not well afford to hold it over.
"He's a sharper!" said the merchant, turning toward me as Gray left the store.
"He's a Christian, they say," was my quiet remark.
"A Christian!"
"Yes; don't you know that he has become religious, and joined the church?"
"You're joking!"
"Not a word of it. Did't you observe his subdued, meek aspect, when he came in?"
"Why, yes; now that you refer to it, I do remember a certain peculiarity about him. Become pious! Joined the church! Well, I'm sorry!"
"For what?"
"Sorry for the injury he will do to a good cause. The religion that makes a man a better husband, father, man of business, lawyer, doctor, or preacher, I reverence, for it is genuine, as the lives of those who accept it do testify. But your hypocritical pretenders I scorn and execrate."
"It is, perhaps, almost too strong language, this, as applied to Mr. Gray," said I.
"What is a hypocrite?" asked the merchant.
"A man who puts on the semblance of Christian virtues which he does not possess."
"And that is what Mr. Gray does when he assumes to be religious. A true Christian is just. Was he just to me when he crowded me down in the price of my goods, and robbed me of a living profit, in order that he might secure a double gain? I think not. There is not even the live and let live principle in that. No—no, sir. If he has joined the church, my word for it, there is a black sheep in the fold; or, I might say, without abuse of language, a wolf therein, disguised in sheep's clothing."
"Give the man time," said I. "Old habits of life are strong you know. In a little while, I trust that he will see clearer, and regulate his life from perceptions of higher truths."
"I thought his heart was changed," answered the merchant, with some irony in his tones. "That he had been made a new creature."
I did not care to discuss that point with him, and so merely answered,
"The beginnings of spiritual life are as the beginnings of natural life. The babe is born in foolishness, and we must wait through the periods of infancy, childhood, and youth, before we can have the strong man ready for the burden and heat of the day, or full-armed for the battle. If Mr. Gray is in the first effort to lead a Christian life, that is something. He will grow wiser and better in time, I hope."
"There is vast room for improvement," said the merchant. "In my eyes, he is, at this time, only a hypocritical pretender. I hope, for the sake of the world and the church both, that his new associates will make something better out of him."
I went away, pretty much of the merchant's opinion. My next meeting with Mr. Gray was in the shop of a mechanic to whom he had sold a bill of goods some months previously. He had called to collect a portion of the amount which remained unpaid. The mechanic was not ready for him.
"I am sorry, Mr. Gray," he began, with some hesitation of manner.
"Sorry for what?" sharply interrupted Mr. Gray.
"Sorry that I have not the money to settle your bill. I have been disappointed—"
"I don't want that old story. You promised to be ready for me to-day, didn't you?" And Mr. Gray knit his brows, and looked angry and imperative.
"Yes, I promised. But—"
"Then keep your promise. No man has a right to break his word. Promises are sacred things, and should be kept religious."
"If my customers had kept their promises to me, there would have been no failure in mine to you," answered the poor mechanic.
"It is of no use to plead other men's failings in justification of your own. You said the bill should be settled to-day, and I calculated upon it. Now, of all things in the world, I hate trifling. I shall not call again, sir!"
"If you were to call forty times, and I hadn't the money to settle your account, you would call in vain," said the mechanic, showing considerable disturbance of mind."You needn't add insult to wrong." Mr. Gray's countenance reddened, and he looked angry.
"If there is insult in the case it is on your part, not mine," retorted the mechanic, with more feeling. "I am not a digger of gold out of the earth, nor coiner of money. I must be paid for my work before I can pay the bills I owe. It was not enough that I told you of the failure of my customers to meet their engagements—"
"You've no business to have such customers," broke in Mr. Gray. "No right to take my goods and sell them to men who are not honest enough to pay their bills."
"One of them is your own son," replied the mechanic, goaded beyond endurance. "His bill is equal to half of yours. I have sent for the amount a great many times, but still he puts me off with excuses. I will send it to you next time."
This was thrusting home with a sharp sword, and the vanquished Mr. Gray retreated from the battle field, bearing a painful wound.
"That wasn't right in me, I know," said the mechanic, as Gray left his shop. "I'm sorry, now, that I said it. But he pressed me too closely. I am but human."
"He is a hard, exacting, money-loving man," was my remark.
"They tell me he has become a Christian," said the mechanic. "Has got religion—been converted. Is that so?"
"It is commonly reported; but I think common report must be in error. St. Paul gives patience, forbearance, long-suffering, meekness, brotherly kindness, and charity as some of the Christian graces. I do not see them in this man. Therefore, common report must be in error."
"I have paid him a good many hundreds of dollars since I opened my shop here," said the mechanic, with the manner of one who felt hurt. "If I am a poor, hard-working man, I try to be honest. Sometimes I get a little behind hand, as I am now, because people I work for don't pay up as they should. It happened twice before when I wasn't just square with Mr. Gray, and he pressed down very hard upon me, and talked just as you heard him to-day. He got his money, every dollar of it; and he will get his money now. I did think, knowing that he had joined the church and made a profession of religion, that he would bear a little patiently with me this time. That, as he had obtained forgiveness, as alleged, of his sins toward Heaven, he would be merciful to his fellow-man. Ah! well! These things make us very skeptical about the honesty of men who call themselves religious. My experience with 'professors' has not been very encouraging. As a general thing I find them quite as greedy for gain as other men. We outside people of the world get to be very sharp-sighted. When a man sets himself up to be of better quality than we, and calls himself by a name significant of heavenly virtue, we judge him, naturally, by his own standard, and watch him very closely. If he remain as hard, as selfish, as exacting, and as eager after money as before, we do not put much faith in his profession, and are very apt to class him with hypocrites. His praying, and fine talk about faith, and heavenly love, and being washed from all sin, excite in us contempt rather than respect. We ask for good works, and are never satisfied with anything else. 'By their fruits ye shall know them.'"
On the next Sunday I saw Mr. Gray in church. My eyes were on him when he entered. I noticed that all the lines of his face were drawn down, and that the whole aspect and bearing of the man were solemn and devotional. He moved to his place with a slow step, his eyes cast to the floor. On taking his seat, he leaned his head on the pew in front of him, and continued for nearly a minute in prayer. During the services I heard his voice in the singing; and through the sermon, he maintained the most fixed attention. It was communion Sabbath; and he remained, after the congregation was dismissed, to join in the holiest act of worship.
"Can this man be indeed self-deceived?" I asked myself, as I walked homeward. "Can he really believe that Heaven is to be gained by pious acts alone? That every Sabbath evening he can pitch his tent a day's march nearer Heaven, though all the week he have failed in the commonest offices of neighborly love?"
It so happened, that I had many opportunities for observing Mr. Gray, who, after joining the church, became an active worker in some of the public and prominent charities of the day. He contributed liberally in many cases, and gave a good deal of time to the prosecution of benevolent enterprises, in which men of some position were concerned. But, when I saw him dispute with a poor gardener who had laid the sods in his yard, about fifty cents, take a sixpence from a weary strawberry woman, or chaffer with his boot-black over an extra shilling, I could not think that it was genuine love for his fellow men that prompted his ostentatious charities.
In no instance did I find any better estimation of him in business circles; for his religion did not chasten the ardor of his selfish love of advantage in trade; nor make him more generous, nor more inclined to help or befriend the weak and the needy. Twice I saw his action in the case of unhappy debtors, who had not been successful in business. In each case, his claim was among the smallest; but he said more unkind things, and was the hardest to satisfy, of any man among the creditors. He assumed dishonest intention at the outset, and made that a plea for the most rigid exaction; covering his own hard selfishness with offensive cant about mercantile honor, Christian integrity, and a religious observance of business contracts. He was the only man among all the creditors, who made his church-membership a prominent thing—few of them were even church-goers—and the only man who did not readily make concessions to the poor, down-trodden debtors.
"Is he a Christian?" I asked, as I walked home in some depression of spirits, from the last of these meetings. And I could but answer No—for to be a Christian, is to be Christ-like.
"As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." This is the divine standard. "Ye must be born again," leaves to us no latitude of interpretation. There must be a death of the old, natural, selfish loves, and a new birth of spiritual affections. As a man feels, so will he act. If the affections that rule his heart be divine affections, he will be a lover of others, and a seeker of their good. He will not be a hard, harsh, exacting man in natural things, but kind, forbearing, thoughtful of others, and yielding. In all his dealings with men, his actions will be governed by the heavenly laws of justice and judgment. He will regard the good of his neighbor equally with his own. It is in the world where Christian graces reveal themselves, if they exist at all. Religion is not a mere Sunday affair, but the regulator of a man's conduct among his fellow-men. Unless it does this, it is a false religion, and he who depends upon it for the enjoyment of heavenly felicities in the next life, will find himself in miserable error. Heaven cannot be earned by mere acts of piety, for Heaven is the complement of all divine affections in the human soul; and a man must come into these—must be born into them—while on earth, or he can never find an eternal home among the angels of God. Heaven is not gained by doing, but by living.

Weary, Heavy Laden.

By L. E. Millne

Oh, my Saviour, I am weary, Sad and drooping, here I lie! Oh, this earth is dark and dreary, For thy presence here I sigh.
Friends who loved when fortune smiled, All have left me, sad and lone, In this desert waste so wild, I am left to weep alone.
But when earthly friends forsake, Jesus saith, Come unto me; Lo, thy cross I'll gladly take, Leave my all and follow thee.
I have leaned on broken reeds— They, O Lord, are swept away; Help me now in time of need, Guide my weary steps, I pray.
Send a ray of light divine, Cheer my sad and fainting heart; Let thy love around me shine; From thee may I ne'er depart.
A smile from Jesus now I see, Farewell to sorrow, grief, and pain. I come, I come, O Christ to thee, And count my loss but lasting gain. L. E. Millne.

I Must Pray Differently.

By Norway

SOME time ago I felt strongly the necessity of praying more, and expressed that opinion in an article entitled, "I must pray more." Now I feel that I must not only pray more, but differently; and that my praying more will not answer any good purpose, unless I also pray differently. I find that quality is to be considered in praying, as well as quantity; and, indeed, the former more than the latter.
We learn from Isa. i, that it is possible to make many prayers, or to multiply prayer, as it is in the margin, and yet not be heard. The Scribes and Pharisees made long prayers; but their much praying availed them nothing, while the single short petition of the publican was effectual to change his entire prospects for eternity. It was because it was prayer of the right kind. It is a great error to suppose that we shall be heard for our much speaking. Let me, however, say, that while length is not by itself any recommendation of prayer, yet we have the highest and best authority for continuing a long time in prayer. We know who it was that, "rising up a great while before day," departed into a solitary place, and there prayed; and of whom it is recorded in another place, that he "continued all night in prayer to God." Certainly they should spend a great deal of time in prayer, who are instructed to pray without ceasing. It is in the social and public worship of God that long prayers are out of place.
But to return from this digression. I must pray differently; and I will tell you one thing that has led me to think so. I find that I do not pray effectually. It may be the experience of others as well as of myself. I do not obtain what I ask; and that, though I ask for the right sort of things. If I asked for temporal good, and did not receive it, I should know how to account for it. I should conclude that I was denied in mercy; and that my prayer, although not answered in kind, was answered in better kind. But I pray for spiritual blessing—for what is inherently, and under all circumstances good, and do not obtain it. How is this? There is no fault in the hearer of prayer—no unfaithfulness in God. The fault must be in the offerer. I do not pray right. And since there is no use in asking without obtaining, the conclusion is that I must pray differently.
I find, moreover, that I do not pray as they did in old time, whose prayers were so signally answered. When I compare my prayers with those of the patriarchs, especially with that of Jacob—and with the prayers of the prophets, those, for instance, of Elijah and Daniel; when I compare my manner of making suit to the Saviour, with the appeals made to him by the blind men, and by the woman of Canaan; and above all, when I lay my prayers along side of His who "offered up prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears," I perceive such a dissimilarity, that I thence conclude that I must pray differently.
I find also that I do not urge my suits to God as I do those which I have sometimes occasion to make to men. I am wiser as a child of this world, than I am as one of the children of light. When I want to carry a point with a human power, I find that I take more pains, and am more intent upon it, and use greater vigilance and effort, than when I want to gain something of God. It is clear, then, that I must alter and reform my prayers. I must pray differently.

But in what respects? How differently?

1. I must not speak to God at a distance. I must draw near to him. Nor that alone. I must stir myself up to take hold of him. Isa. lxiv, 7. Yea, I must take hold of his strength, that I may make peace with him. Isa. xxvii, 5. I have been satisfied with approaching God. I must, as it were, apprehend him.
2. I must not only take hold of God in prayer, but I must hold fast to him, and not let him go except he bless me. So Jacob did. There were two important ingredients in his prayer—faith and perseverance. By the one he took hold of God; by the other he held fast to him till the blessing was obtained.
3. I must be more affected by the subjects about which I pray. I must join tears to my prayers. Prayers and tears used to go together much more than they do now. Hosea says that Jacob wept and made supplication. Hannah wept while she prayed. So did Nehemiah, and David, and Hezekiah; and God, in granting the request of the last mentioned, uses this language: "I have heard thy prayers, I have seen thy tears." But a greater than all these is here. Jesus offered up "prayers with strong crying and tears." Some think it unmanly to weep. I do not know how that may be; but I know it is not unchristian. It is thought by some that men must have been more addicted to tears than they are now; but it is my opinion that they felt more, and that is the reason they wept more. Now I must feel so as to weep; not by constraint, but in spite of myself. I must be so affected that God shall see my tears as well as hear my voice; and in order to being so affected, I must meditate. It was while David mused that the fire burned; and then he spake with his tongue in the language of prayer. And we know that which melted his heart affected his eye, for in the same psalm, the 39th, he says, "Hold not thy peace at my tears."
4. There are other accompaniments of prayer which I must not omit. Nehemiah not only wept and prayed, but also mourned and fasted, and made confession. Why should not I do the same?
5. I must plead as well as pray. My prayers must be more of the nature of arguments—and I must make greater use than I have ever done, of certain pleas. There is one derived from the character of God. "For thy name's sake pardon mine iniquity. Have mercy on me according to thy loving kindness." Another is derived from the promises of God. "Hath he said, and shall he not do it; or hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good?" Another is drawn from the past doings of God. "I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High. I will remember the works of the Lord; surely I will remember thy wonders of old." I must also plead Christ more in my prayers. The argument is drawn out to our hands by Paul: "He that spared not his own Son . . . . how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?"
6. But again: I must cry unto the Lord. Crying expresses more than praying. It expresses earnest, fervent prayer. This is what they all used to do. They cried to God. The psalmist says: "I cried with my whole heart." I must cry with my whole heart—yea mightily, as even the Ninevites did, else those heathen will rise up in the judgment and condemn me.
7. I must seek the Lord in prayer, feeling as did Job, when he said, "O that I knew where I might find him, that I might come over to his seat!" And this I must do, as Judah is said once to have done, with my "whole desire." Yea I must search for him with all my heart. I must even pour out my heart before him, as the psalmist on one occasion exhorts. I must "keep not silence, and give him no rest," as Isaiah directs; "night and day praying exceedingly," as Paul says he did.
8. And I must pray in the Holy Ghost, as Jude exhorts. We need the Spirit to help our infirmities, and to make intercession for us. Nor should we be satisfied with any prayer in which we have not seemed to have his help.
Finally, I must alter and alter my prayers till I get them right; and I must not think them right until I obtain the spiritual blessings which they ask. If I pray for more grace, and do not get it, I must pray differently for it till I do obtain it.
Oh, if Christians prayed differently, as well as more, what heavenly places our closets would be! What interesting meetings prayer-meetings would be! What revivals of religion we should have! How frequent, numerous, and pure! What a multitude of souls would be converted!
And because the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of truth, the offering of a different kind of prayer for the Spirit would do more to put down error than all other means which can be resorted to. The preachers of truth can not put it down without the aid of the Spirit of truth.
Let us then pray differently. Let us at least try. I am sure it is worth the effort. Let every one who reads this, resolve, "I will pray differently."—Norway.

Judgment and Kindness.

By John Ross Macduff

“For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee. In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer.”—Isa. liv, 7, 8.
The precious thought of this verse is “the exceeding riches of God’s grace;” the contrast between his judgments and his kindness. The forsaking is “for a small moment,” the gathering is “with great mercies.” The hidden face is “but for a moment,” and “in a little wrath;” the “mercy” is accompanied “with everlasting kindness.” Judgment is his strange work. Strong to smite, he is stronger still to save.
What an encouragement to every backslider to return! that he will be met, not with coldness—rebuke—reserve—distance; but with a forgiving welcome. That gospel picture of the father receiving the lost prodigal may be regarded as the representation of the Lord’s thoughts embodied in acts. He gives the kiss, the robe, the ring, the feast. There is not a frown on that Father’s brow: all the erring past is buried in everlasting oblivion.
“This is not the manner of men, O Lord God! Man’s love, how easily cooled—easily diverted; like the ray of light, refracted and broken, or dimmed and obscured by the passing cloud. But ‘God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.’ He knows no obliquity—he is without shadow of turning. It is in spiritual as in natural things. As we ourselves cast our own shadows, intercepting the beams of the sun, so it is not God, but our own sin, which projects the shadow in the pathway of the spiritual life. Moreover, the forsaking on his part is only apparent. The sun shines brightly as ever behind these temporary intervening clouds. The stone or impeding rock obstructs the flow of the great river “for a moment.” But it is only for “a moment;” and it rolls on deep and still as before, in its full volume “of everlasting kindness.”
Be it mine, if the flow be arrested, to search out and remove the obstruction; if God’s face be hidden, to discover the intervening clouds; if the spiritual life be languishing, to trace out the secret of the sorrowful declension; whether it be neglected privilege, or omitted duty, or secret sin, or tampered with temptation, or engrossing worldliness. “I will say unto God my Rock, why hast thou forgotten me; why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?” Oh how little it takes to soil the windows of the soul, and to dim and blur the spiritual landscape! How small the worm needed to wither and blight the gourd of our spiritual joys! How little it takes to rust the key of prayer, clip the wings of faith, chill the warmth of love, and shut us out from the loving ear of God. “If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me.”
As it is, “the Lord the Redeemer,” who speaks in our motto-verse, to him I must look for grace and strength—restoration and revival. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. “Wilt thou not revive us, O Lord?” “So wilt not we go back from thee: quicken us, and we will call upon thy name.”—J. R. Macduff, D. D.

The Christian Warfare.

By A. Barnes

ALL Christians are engaged in a warfare. They are at war with sin in their own hearts, and with sin wherever it exists on earth, and with the powers of darkness. With foes so numerous and so vigilant, they should not expect to live a life of ease or quietness. Peace, perfect peace, they may expect in heaven, not on earth. Here they are to fight the good fight of faith. It has been the common lot of all the children of God to maintain such a war, and shall we expect to be exempt?
The weapons of the Christian are not to be carnal, but spiritual. He is not to make his way by the exhibition of human passion. Truth is his weapon; and, armed with truth, and aided by the Spirit of God, he is to expect the victory. In his warfare the Christian shall conquer. Against the truth of Christianity nothing has been able to stand. It made its way against the arrayed opposition of priests and emperors; against customs and laws; against inveterate habits and opinions; against all forms of sin, until it triumphed, and “the banners of the faith floated from the palaces of the Cæsars.” So it is in the conflicts of the individual Christian. He may struggle long and hard. He may have many foes to contend with. But he shall gain the victory. His triumph shall be secure: and he shall yet be enabled to say, “I have fought a good fight—henceforth there is laid up for me a crown.”
“The saints in all this glorious war Shall conquer, though they die; They see the triumph from afar, And seize it with their eye.”
Yet all should feel their dependence on God. It is only through Him and by His aid that we have any power. Truth in itself has no power except as it is attended and directed by God; and we should engage in our conflict, feeling that none but God can give us the victory. Not of our talents, wealth, learning, or accomplishments let us glory. But let us glory that we have such a God as JEHOVAH. Let us glory that we have such a Redeemer as Jesus Christ. Let us glory that we have such a Sanctifier as the Holy Spirit.—A. Barnes.

The Book of Books.

By J. B. Macduff, D. D.

Amid the duties and difficulties, the cares and perplexities of life, how many a pang and tear would it save us, if we went with chastened and inquiring spirits to the sacred oracles! How many trials would be mitigated, how many sorrows soothed, and temptations avoided, if we proceeded every step in life with the inquiry, "What saith the Scriptures?" How few, it is to be feared, make (as they should do) the Bible a final court of appeal, an arbiter for the settlement of all the vexed questions in the consistory of the soul? God keep us from that saddest phase and dogma of modern infidelity—the sacred volume classed among the worn and effete books of the past. God keep us from regarding his lively oracles with only that misnamed "veneration," which the antiquary bestows on some piece of mediaeval armor, a relic and memorial of bygone days, but unsuitable for an age which has superseded the cruder views of these old "chroniclers," and inaugurated a new era of religious development. Vain dreamers! "Forever, O God, thy word is settled in heaven." "The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul; the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple." "The word of the Lord is tried." "Thy word is very sure, therefore thy servant loveth it." What a cloud of witnesses could be summoned to give personal evidence of its preciousness and value! How many aching heads would raise themselves from their pillows, and tell of their obligations to its soothing messages of love and power! How many deathbeds could send their occupants with pallid lips to tell of the staff which upheld them in the dark valley! How many, in the hour of bereavement, could lay their finger on the promise that first dried the tear from their eye, and brought back the smile to their saddened countenances!—J. B. Macduff, D. D.

"Your Duty Is to Pick."

The late Rev. Dr. Bangs, the eminently useful Methodist minister, commenced his ministry in a very difficult circuit on the Canadian frontier. As he saw no fruit of his labors, he resolved to give up his license, and had mounted his horse to return home, when, arriving at Grand river, he found it impossible to cross, as the ice was so broken. Returning to his field despondent and confounded, he was encouraged by a remarkable dream. He dreamed that he was working with a pickax on the top of a basaltic rock, upon which, however, he could make no impression. At last he said to himself, “It is useless ; I will pick no more ;” when a stranger of dignified mien suddenly stood by his side, and said, “You will pick no more ?” “No.” “Were you not set to this task ?” “Yes.” “And why abandon it ?” “My work is vain ; I make no impression on the rock.” He replied solemnly, “What is that to you ? Your duty is to pick, whether the rock yields or not. Your work is in your own hands ; the result is not. Go on.” He resumed his task, and at his first blow, given with almost superhuman force, the rock flew into a thousand pieces. He awoke, and returning to his field with fresh zeal and energy, a revival followed, and from that day he was never tempted to give up his commission.

Be Your Own Right-hand Man.

People who have been bolstered up and levered all their lives, are seldom good for anything in a crisis. When misfortune comes they look around for somebody to cling to or lean upon. If the prop is not there, down they go. Once down, they are as helpless as capsized turtles or unhorsed men in armor, and cannot find their feet again without assistance. Such silken fellows no more resemble self-made men, who have fought their way to position, making difficulties their stepping stones, and deriving determination from defeat, than vines resemble oaks, or spluttering rush-lights the stars of heaven. Efforts persisted in to achievements, train man to self-reliance, and when he has proved to the world that he can trust himself, the world will trust him. We say, therefore, that it is unwise to deprive young men of the advantages which result from their energetic action, by "boosting" them over obstacles which they ought to surmount alone.
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