Review and Herald, Vol. 23, No. 11. (2/9/1864)

Review and Herald

Feb 9, 1864

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Feb 9, 1864

The Present Age:

By Bonar

ITS BOASTED PROGRESS DELUSIVE.

THE special boast of the age is its progress. Upon this, its self-gratulations are numerous and fervent; as if it not only loved to advance, but to let the world know, as decidedly as possible, how much it thinks itself advancing.

Are these gratulations well founded? Is this progress a reality? Is there not exaggeration in the boasting? Are there not many compensating and neutralizing considerations which go far to raise the question whether, upon the whole, having respect to minus as well as the plus of the items, and looking well at the opposite sides of the great balance-sheet, there has been solid and thorough progress,—progress which will abide,—progress which has placed the nation, or the race, upon a higher level,—spiritually, morally, intellectually, physically?

Let it be allowed that, in many things, the age is one of advancement. Thus much is notable, and beyond question. It would be unjust and unthankful, as well as untrue, not to allow this. We admit it ungrudgingly, not reluctantly, or through constraint. Into much that is true the age has found its way; and in several provinces of knowledge unreached by its predecessors it has made good its footing. Circle after circle has widened round it, and its discoveries are certainly neither shadows nor tinsel: they are real and solid. No Christian need fear to make this admission, nor think that by so doing, he lowers the credit of the Scriptures, as the true fountain-head of God-given truth, or casts dishonor upon him "in whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge."

The mental philosophy of the age is, in some respects, of a truer kind than heretofore, though still cloudy and unsatisfying,—nay, often stumbling into Skepticism, Pantheism, Atheism. The science of the age is prodigiously in advance of former ages. The age's literature is wider in its range and higher in its aim. Its arts are on a higher and more perfect scale. Its astronomy has searched the heavens far more extensively and profoundly. Its Geology has pierced the earth more deeply and successfully. It—the age, we mean—has brought to light law after law in the system of the universe. It speeds over earth with a rapidity once unknown. It transmits intelligence not only more swiftly than sound, but more swiftly than the light. It is restoring fertility to the soil. It can shut out pain from the body, in circumstances which, but a few years ago, would have racked or torn every nerve. These things, and such as these, the age has discovered and done; and because of these things we may admit most freely that there has been, in some things, wondrous progress,—progress which might be turned to the best account,—progress for which praise is due to God.

All that is true, in any region of God's world, must, in its measure, be valuable. What is true is of God, and therefore not to be cast aside, because discovered by an unsanctified understanding, seeing God has often used his worst enemies as his servants, making them his hewers of wood and drawers of water. The value of a truth is not to be judged of by the character of the discoverer; for why may not God use the finger of a Balaam to point to the Star of Jacob? The difficulty lies not in discerning what truth is of value, and what is not, but in regulating its degree of value so as to give to each portion or fragment the right place, the true level, the proper space, the due order, and to assign the exact amount of thought and study which it demands or will repay.

"All truth is precious, though not all divine,"

said Cowper; but to this we must add, that though all truth is precious, yet all truth is not equally precious, nor equally worthy of our care; nay, and we must also add, that though all truth is precious, yet much of it must be left unstudied totally; our life is brief, and we have no time for all; we must select; for we are hurrying onward,—the King will soon be here, and it concerns us to dwell most on those things which will help to fit us for his presence and kingdom.

There is the atom of dust under our feet; there is that flower-bud rising above it; there is yon forest stretching miles around; there is yon vast mountain-range that walls in the plain; there is the blue arch above us, with its clouds and rainbows; there is day, with its sun and splendor; there is night, with its stars and stillness. All these things exist. Their simple being is a truth; and with that being there are connected ten thousand truths. Yet there is not the same kind of truth, nor the same amount of truth, belonging to each, for each is the center of a circle, wider or narrower, less or more important, according to its nature. Yet what there is of truth in each is equally real, and therefore not to be slighted. To say that the facts in each of these are equally precious, because equally true, or to say the same amount of study should be allotted to each, would be foolishness. To say that the same amount of time may be expended upon each, is gross miscalculation, indicating a false estimate of the different parts of truth, as well as of the true value of time. The truth which affects the future—specially the eternally future—must be more momentous than that which influences the present only. The truth which relates to the inner man must be more important than that which relates to the outer man. The truth that goes to make up the link between us and the God that made us must be unspeakably more precious than that which forms the tie between us and earth, or even between us and each other. The truth which bears upon earthly citizenship and its rights must be far inferior to that which bears upon heavenly citizenship, and its more glorious privileges. These distinctions the age does not consider. Progress in one direction, or at least in one or two directions, it is apt to regard as progress in all directions. Blinded by the magnitude of its discoveries, and by their present bearing upon society, it overlooks counteractions; it forgets how sadly it is losing ground in many things; it vails the evil, and exaggerates the good; and then reports progress, where real progress there is none.

To confound or misregulate the degrees of value in truth, is at once an error and a mischief. It deranges everything. It is, in itself, an error, and it leads on to innumerable errors. It is, in itself, a mischief, and it is the root of endless mischiefs. It is not merely equivalent to the non-discovery of truth; it not merely neutralizes the truth discovered, but it draws out of it all the evil of positive untruth, thus making truth the producer of error; good the fountain of evil; light, the cause of darkness. So that there may be many steps of advancement, which by the evil use made of them, or the false level assigned to them, become in the end so many steps to retrogression. Has this been duly weighed by those who boast of progress? Have they calculated the loss as well as the gain, the minus as well as the plus, and is it on the ascertained difference that they rest their congratulations? If so let them boast. It is well. If not, then their estimate is so wholly one-sided that no credit can be given to it even by themselves.

It is a literary age; it is an age of science; it is an age of far-ranging inquiry; it is an age of discovery; it is an age of action; many run to and fro and knowledge is increased. But still it may not be an age of progress. The amount of knowledge gained may be nothing to the amount lost; or that which is gained may be so perverted or ill-regulated as to injure instead of profiting.

In these different parts of the world's progress, God is not recognized, or only by a few; or only recognized out of compliment or custom, and in such a way as to place him at an immeasurable distance from the works of his hands. What is there that is good, or true, or beautiful, of which God is not the centre? And is not the age, in its progress, fast severing God from his works,—making man, or chance, or abstract

laws, the center of creation, instead of the living, personal Jehovah, thus shifting the axis of the universe, in order to be rid of the irksomeness of coming into contact with him in whom we live, and move, and have our being? What, then, becomes of the advancement and the enlightenment of the age? Can we look upon them in their present stage without suspicion, or can we contemplate their issues without terror? For all science is a lie—or at least lodges a lie in its very core—if apart from God and his Christ. All wisdom is foolishness if independent of him "in whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." All inquiry must become a mere maze of skepticism, if separated from him who has said, "Learn of me." All truth and goodness are but empty abstractions if away from him who is the true and good. All beauty is but a torn blossom, or a broken gem, if sought for out of him who is its birth-place. All enlightenment is but a dream if not received from him who is the light of the world, the light of life. All liberty is but a well disguised-bondage if not found in the service of him whose love hath made us free. All rule and law are but the exhibitions of man's selfishness and ambition and pride if dissociated from him who is the Prince of the kings of the earth. Nay, and all religion is but hollowness and unreality if severed from the fellowship of Jehovah and his Incarnate Son.

We hear much of the knowledge of the age. Well, but has not one of its own poets said, "Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers?" Yes; knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers! Knowledge comes, but goodness lingers. Knowledge comes, but the world is as far as ever from peace and righteousness. Its wounds are not healed; its tears do not cease to flow. Its crimes are not fewer; its morals are not purer; its diseases are as many and as fatal. Its nations are not more prosperous; its kingdoms are not more stable; its rulers are not more magnanimous; its homes are not happier; its ties of kindred or affection are not more blessed or lasting. The thorn still springs, and the briar spreads; famine scorches its plains, and the pestilence envenoms the air; the curse still blights creation, and the wilderness has not yet rejoiced or blossomed. Yet man is doing his utmost to set right the world, and God is allowing him to put forth all his efforts, more vigorously and more simultaneously than ever, in these last days. Nor can any Christian mind fail to look with intense though most painful interest upon these vain endeavors. We know that they must fail. Man cannot deliver himself, nor regenerate his world. Reforms, republics, constitutions, congresses, change of dynasties, will not accomplish it. Art in every form, science of every name, are bringing into play untold-of energies for the improvement of this globe, and for giving man the complete empire of earth and air and sea. But the task is superhuman, and each new forth-putting of human strength or intellect is only proving this the more. And hence it is with such interest, as well as with such pity, that we look upon the generation around us, with its over-wrought muscles, its over-tasked energies,—toiling unrestingly, and yet failing in its mighty aim,—the regeneration of a world.

There is a secret consciousness of the evil of the times, even among those who have not the fear of God before their eyes. They see but the surface, indeed; and yet that surface is not quite so calm and bright as they could desire, nor are the effects of the supposed progress quite so satisfactory as they expected it would be. They have their misgivings, though they cheer themselves with the thought that the mind of man will erelong be able to master all difficulties and rectify all the still remaining disorders of the world. Accordingly, they set themselves in their own way to help forward the regeneration of the world, and the correction of the evils of the age.

Among these there are various classes, or subdivisions. There is, for example, the educational class. It labors hard to raise the level of society by the mere impartation of intellectual knowledge;—"useful knowledge," "scientific knowledge," "entertaining knowledge," "political knowledge."—In short, knowledge of any kind, save that of the Bible, and of the God of the Bible. There is the novelistic class,—a very large one, and possessed of far greater influence over the community than is generally credited. It has set itself to elevate the race by exciting what they conceive to be the purer feelings of our nature. Of one school the standard of perfection is romantic tenderness; of another, worldly honor; of another, bare rectitude of character, without reference to such a being as God, or such a thing as His law; of another, it is good-nature and Christmas festivity; while others seem to have no real center of elevation in view, only they hope, by stimulating some of our finer feelings into growth, to choke or weaken our grosser and more hateful. There is the poetical class. They think, by the inculcation of high thoughts and noble images, to lift up the world to its proper level. With one school it is the worship of nature; with another, it is the love of the beautiful; with another, it is chivalry; with another, it is the re-enthronement of "the gods of Greece;" with another, sentimental musings. These, and such as these, are the devices by which they hope to put evil to flight, and bring back the age of gold! There is the satirical class. Their plan for meliorating the world is ridicule. Folly, vice, misrule, are to be caricatured in order to be eradicated! Play men with enough of ridicule,—just show them how ridiculous they are, or can be made,—raise the laugh or the sneer against them,—exhibit them in all the exaggerated attitudes that the genius of grimace can invent, and all will be well! There is the philosophic class,—large and powerful; composed of men who are no triflers certainly, but who are sadly without aim or anchorage. Give them but "earnestness," and on that fulcrum they will heave up a fallen world into its true height of excellence. Give them but earnestness, and then extravagance, mysticism, mythism, pantheism, so far from condemned as ruinous, are welcomed as so many forces, operating at different points, for the anticipated elevation. Give them earnestness, and they will do without revelation; or give them "universal intuition," and they, setting it up as the judge of inspiration, will make man his own regenerator by making him the fountain-head of truth. There is the political class. They have their many cures for the evils of society, and are quite sure that by better government, a wider franchise, freer trade, the abolition of ranks, the division of property, the extinction of laws of primogeniture, they will bring all into order and peace; as if these could touch the seat of the disease, or minister to the real wants of a helpless and heart-broken world.

To see the vanity of all these efforts of man to better himself, apart from God, one needs only to look into the extent of the evil to be remedied. It is vast,—it is incalculable. We see but its outer circle; its innumerable inner circles of vileness and misery we see not,—we cannot see. If, in an evil so broad, so deep, so manifold, so malignant, that to attempt to cure it by such appliances seems like silencing the thunder by the tones of the harp, or arresting the havoc of pestilence by scattering roses on the breeze. Whoever would have some idea of the hideous mass of evil under which the earth is groaning, and with which the atmosphere of the age is filled, let him read the third chapter of second Timothy, or the twenty-fourth chapter of Isaiah, or the descriptions of Israel's state and sin, drawn by Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Let him compare these inspired descriptions of Israel's condition with what he sees in the world around him, and he will, we doubt not, go forth to the world a wiser, more thoughtful, more solemn man; not disposed to hate, or to scorn, or to satirize, but to pity, and to mourn, and to pray.

Bonar.

(To be Continued.)

Oh Cling not to Earth.

By V. O. Edson

[Bro. White : The following verses I copied from a book entitled "Songs of the Fireside," which, if you think them worthy, please publish in the Review, V. O. Edson.]

Oh cling not to earth! for its sunshine and roses Oft lure the fond heart in life's innocent morn, But the sunlight is gone when the cloud interposes And life's smiling rose-buds have many a thorn.

Oh cling not to earth! for its treasures are fleet, And its purest enjoyments but bloom for decay; Thou wilt find them at best but a glorious cheat, Still smiling and tempting and passing away.

Oh cling not to earth! though its cups of delight, Are sparkling in beauty to tempt thee to sip: Thou wilt find that their dregs are but mildew and blight, And that while thou art tasting, they pall on the lip.

Oh cling not to earth! do not yield it thy heart, For its joys are succeeded by sadness and gloom; Its friendships are broken, its hopes all depart, And the lamp of its being is quenched in the tomb.

Oh cling not to earth! then, but look thou above, Where the flowers never droop nor the pleasures decay, Turn—turn to that region of holiest love, And lay thee up treasures that fade not away.

The Doom of Virginia.

IN Dr. Marks' thrilling book on the "Peninsula Campaign," we have an account of a conversation between himself, in company with his friend Dr. Crawford, and an aged and exceedingly intelligent freedman named Hanson. Hanson's story goes back to the origin of the domestic slave trade in Virginia, and very dramatically and truthfully links the desolations of the present, with the inhumanity of the past. We quote part of the story:

"Just about this time the slave-trade commenced in Virginia. In my early remembrances there was no trade in slaves. If there were any bought and sold, it was in the settlement of estates; and it was made a point of family honor to purchase all the slaves within the circle of the relatives, and not permit families to be separated. In those days people did not speak of negroes as cattle, and as without affection for their children.

"When I had been married four or five years, a trader came from North Carolina to Alexandria in a little schooner, loaded with bacon. For this there happened to be a great demand that year. This man had no intention of commencing a trade in slaves; but some of the planters offered him a young boy or girl, for bacon, and in this way he began to buy, and collected I suppose ten or twelve.

"From this commenced a great trouble amongst us—our hearts trembled with fear. To be carried away, and sold in these distant, new States, was to us occasion of far greater misery than our fathers endured in being stolen from Africa. Every autumn the 'bacon man' returned and others came with him, and there was opened a great trade in negroes.

"I never can forget the wretchedness of those years. We all felt as if a sword was hanging over our heads, and as bad as if we had heard the death angel strike three times over the doors.

"Oh, what dreadful sorrows there, master, in those years! You have heard it said that slaves feel but little, that we do not grieve as the whites; but in this we are greatly wronged. We love more deeply, because we have but little to love. Our masters and mistresses have their carriages, farms, friends, offices, their slaves, their business; but we have none of these; therefore to a negro man all his life and happiness are in his cabin, and when you have taken away from him his wife and children, he has nothing left. Many have I known to die of a broken heart; others never had any joy again after a child or a husband was sold away from them; others I have known to commit suicide.

"For years I have been looking for some great trouble. The people here were far richer and more extravagant, and appeared to me much less religious than those I remember in my youth. They had become cruel, and without mercy torn asunder those whom God had bound together; and a great wail of sorrow and agony went up in the ears of Heaven from all parts of Virginia—wives sorrowing for their husbands; husbands mourning for their wives, and parents weeping for their children, and would not be comforted.

"I knew that a day of vengeance would come for all this, but I did not expect it to fall on us in the way of war between the North and South. I began to fear some heavy curse when the great gangs of chained men were first sent from Virginia, and that the day would soon come when the cup of our iniquities would be full.

"Now all these great and influential families have been ruined, and many of them are wandering beggars. I was a few days since walking in my garden, looking down on the country, and the change of a few months deeply affected me. I looked over on the house and farm of Mrs. Powell. I remember the doctor, her husband a very smart man and her five sons, the most popular young men in the country, and also her beautiful daughters. Her house was the resort of many elegant and wealthy people, but now her sons are in the Confederate Army, her house is a hospital, her beautiful garden trodden down, her orchards destroyed, and the fences all gone.

"There is the house of Mrs. Lee, where, the week that Ellsworth was killed, one of her daughters was married, and the house was filled with gayety and mirth; now the grounds are in ruins, her furniture broken, and all the beautiful things she gathered are scattered. There, too, is the place of Colonel Hunter, his fields open, his barns burnt for fuel, and his house consumed to the ground; and likewise the place of General Lee, one of the finest in Virginia, now used by troops. His grain-fields and meadows were thrown open, and beaten as the high roads.

"At these painful sights my soul was moved and I cried, 'Oh Lord! why has this curse come on Virginia?'

And it appeared to me as plain as I ever heard human speech, a voice spoke to me and said, 'Oh man knowest thou the land most highly favored of heaven, and where because God was good, men became desperately wicked and inflicted the greatest wrongs?' And the voice said, 'Virginia.' Again I heard, 'Knowest thou, oh man! the land where human beings were bred as cattle for the market, and where every year thousands of them were sent forth to a fate which they dreaded more than death?' The answer came, 'Virginia.' Again the voice said, 'Knowest thou the land where in the midst of the greatest blessings, there has been the deepest misery; where most faces were washed with tears, and most hearts torn with anguish: and where the constant wail of distress, inflicted by man on his fellow, was going up into the ears of God?' And the voice said, 'Virginia.' Again the voice said, 'God is just.'

"Then," said the old patriarch, stretching out his arms, and lowering them as if he was relieving his hands of a great weight. "I laid my burden down. And as often as I have mourned since, I have been silenced by that voice, 'God is just.'"—Mute and Blind.

In Your Patience Possess Ye Your Souls.

By M. Paul

This is an inspired direction, given because it is needed. No Christian can be innocently fretful. Not even a natural disposition can be an excuse for it. It engenders anger, malice, strife, and every evil work.

We who are believers in the third angel's message, and are striving to keep all the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus, and are looking for the soon coming of our blessed Lord, I say we cannot indulge in fretfulness without committing a great sin. And we must mourn the hidings of the divine countenance, must lament in bitterness so great a folly, or soon be numbered with apostates.

It is no doubt a greater harm to speak complainingly and censoriously, than to have the feeling and suppress it; for if we indulge in such language even to our dearest friends, it will start suspicion in relation to our profession, and much more will the sacred cause be wounded in the presence of enemies or of those who look with doubt upon the doctrine we are advancing.

But have we not sometimes thought that the feeling of impatience, if it be suppressed is wholly innocent. Then let us beware; for here is the snare of the Devil. When we have the evidence of the divine acceptance, and feel assured that our names are written in the Lamb's book of Life, and when we can draw nourishment from Christ, the living vine, then the petty annoyances of life will not affect us. We can endure the most unreasonable provocations from friends or enemies in perfect calmness. We can make the very sweetness of our temper and the gentleness of our manner a powerful rebuke to sin, and a palliative to the misfortunes of those around us. But if we are conscious of something more than inward sorrow for the wrongs that others inflict upon us, of something different from the purest love to those who annoy us; if we feel to annoy them in return to resent our injuries, though we do not utter a complaining word, we may be sure something is wrong. It is the heart, the inner man, upon which the eye of God is fixed. True the connection between the feelings and the words, the thoughts and the actions, is so close that they are not easily separated. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh; and he that offendeth not in word nor in tongue, the same is a perfect man. We will therefore not long retain the feelings of resentment which the enemy has inspired within our own breast. Our very countenance, movements, tones of voice, and finally our words, will show that we are inwardly wrong. Oh, the calmness of love, the sweetness and power of purity! But this heavenly grace cannot be left to itself. In this world of sin it must be severely tried. The rashness of friends and the virulence of foes will attack it. The want of harmony around us will powerfully tend to unsettle the harmony within. Worn and exhausted vital energies will expose it. Enfeebled and irritable nerves will surely try it.

Through all these and a thousand nameless ills, the tempter will assail a meek and quiet spirit. But if we keep our oneness with Christ—if in all this we have no other will than the will of God—the temptation will fail. We may be conscious of inward pain, but not of resentment; of inward grief, but not of anger; of the strongest disapprobation, but not of ill will. But if love, deep melting love, pervades our souls, we can endure the keenest suffering and the severest provocation. It will illuminate the countenance, sweeten the temper, soften the words, and throw a charm over the most trying scenes of our life.

Dear brethren and sisters, let us be faithful and try to exercise patience a little longer. He that shall come, will come and will not tarry.

M. PAUL.

Medford, Minn.

The Work of God.

By Emma H. Woolsey

"It is time for thee, Lord, to work, for they have made void thy law." Thus spake the psalmist David; and if the words were applicable in his day, how much more so in the present generation, when the presumption of man has reached so astounding a height; when the spirit of apostasy that had begun to work in the days of the apostles has become almost universal. Truly, is it not time that the Lord should work? Yes, and thank God! the work has begun. He has "magnified his law and made it honorable" to a few honest hearts. He has called upon them to repair the breach which sinful man has made in his law—has chosen such as instruments by which to accomplish his purposes. Not a portion of those who profess to remember God's commandments to do them are required to labor in his vineyard, while others with folded hands sit idly dreaming. None who have an abiding place in the household of God are exempt from duty. All must work. The labor of each is proportionate to his strength, and although the amount allotted to some may be comparatively small, yet can they perform that little with gladness, for their Saviour has said, "Even a cup of water given in my name shall in no wise lose its reward." If we are not called to go out into the great harvest field as ambassadors of God, we can earnestly pray for those who are; pray that they may be successful in winning souls to Christ—that their labors may be blessed in "turning many to righteousness." Even more—we may each act the part of a gleaner in the field. Then, when the harvest is gathered at last into the heavenly garner, we may perhaps return bringing a few sheaves with us. The day will not always last. The night cometh, wherein no man can work. Let us remember that these words of inspiration apply here: "The end of all things is at hand," and heed the injunction which follows: "Be ye, therefore, sober, and watch unto prayer." Then shall that day not overtake us as a thief, but we shall be found with our work finished, ready and waiting.

Then will we for the truth contend, Be its firm advocate and friend, Assured God will his cause defend From day to day. Yea—by His power, even to the end, Keep us alway.

Emma H. Woolsey.

Catlin, N. Y.

If the Lord Tarry, Wait for Him.

By E. O. L. L.

“To act, to suffer, may be nobly great, But Nature’s mightiest effort is to wait.”

The Lord has tarried and we have waited for him until sometimes it has seemed as though the long night of his absence would never wear away, and the bright morn of deliverance would never burst upon the world. Yet the Lord is not slack concerning his promises, and we know in the grand plan of God, there are things to be fulfilled that causes the detention of our Saviour’s chariot wheels.

When the glad news of the soon coming of Jesus first broke upon our ears, and they told us of the saints’ inheritance, and of the New Jerusalem, which was to be the metropolis of that country, we felt with others, “that we would set out for glory and leave the world behind;” and we expected that when a few suns had risen and set, or a few moons waxed and waned, that we should see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven; that we should hear the voice of the archangel and the trump of God; that the dead in Christ would then arise, and we with them would be caught up to meet the Lord in the air, and so remain with Him forever. We knew we loved the Lord, and we felt he kindly regarded us, and in the ardency of our expectation and the joyfulness of our hope, we never dreamed that there were days of darkness and doubt before us—that our love was in danger of growing cold, and we becoming like those who walk as though they were enemies of the cross of Christ. But not only days and months, but years have gone, and here we are, waiting still. Instead of wearing the crown, endeavoring to bear the cross. Instead of walking the streets of that pearl-built city, traveling the weary road of life, battling with its cares and bearing up its burdens. Yet the day of the Lord is nearer than when we first believed, and signs ominous of the world’s approaching doom are thickening all around us.

But who shall abide the day of His coming, and who shall be able to stand when Mercy no longer pleads at the court of Heaven. Oh! we have none too much time to work out our own salvation; none too much time to work for Christ. Let us then be watchful, faithful, patient. Christ has gone to prepare mansions for us and he will come again. Time hastens us onward. Every day brings us nearer the coming of Jesus, and if we endure patiently,

“Beyond the parting and the meeting We shall be soon; Beyond the farewell and the greeting We shall be soon; Love, rest and home, Sweet home, Lord, tarry not, but come.” Olcott, N. Y. E. O. L. L.

Brief Synopsis of the Trumpets.

1st Trumpet—(Rev. viii, 7.)—The invasion of the Roman empire by the Northern Goths, under Alaric, A. D. 396.

2d Trumpet—The invasion of the mighty and numerous hordes of the Huns, under Attila, A. D. 433.

3d Trumpet—The devastation made by the Vandals, under Genserio, and their persecutions, A. D. 439.

4th Trumpet—The extinction of the Western Empire, under Odoacer, A. D. 476.

5th Trumpet—Commenced to sound July 27, 1299, when Othman, the founder of the Turkish empire, made his first attack on the Greeks. It continued 150 years.

6th Trumpet—Commenced July 27, 1449, and continued 391 years and 15 days, until Aug. 11, 1840, when the Ottoman supremacy ceased.

7th Trumpet—Commenced in the autumn of 1844. For the first four, see Cox's Miscellany, p. 27.

Hoops and Pilgrims.

By M. J. Bartholf

Pilgrims do not wear hoops, our enemies being judges. A short time since I heard a hoop advocate describing how beautifully a pilgrim song was sung and acted out at a festival, at their church. In describing the actors, she said that the young ladies appeared on the stage without their hoops. I said to her, Why did they take off their hoops? Why, said she, apparently much surprised at such a question, Pilgrims don't wear hoops! Her looks appeared to say that every body ought to know that. Oh, how much I wish that some of our sisters would obtain this knowledge that she seemed to think was so self-evident. When I see those that profess to keep the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus wearing hoops, it seems to me that they are in want of knowledge. When I see those that have laid them off by a professed knowledge that pilgrims do not wear hoops, and then put on quilts enough to imitate hoops, especially in warm weather, I cannot help thinking how much they yet want for knowledge. When I see sisters that have attained to the knowledge that they are an abomination in the sight of God, and have laid them off, still indulging their daughters who are under their control, methinks that they still are in want of knowledge. You may say, How can we obtain that knowledge? We want to get that faith which works by love and purifies the heart, and get that freedom which the Lord offers to give; for whom he makes free shall be free, indeed; and then we can break loose from the bondage of the world.

M. J. BARTHOLF.

Are the Dead Conscious? No. 6.

By R. F. Cottrell

"For that which befalleth the sons of men, befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast; for all is vanity. All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?" Eccl. iii, 19-21.

This text asserts that one event happens both to man and beast, and that event is death. How do they die? Is there a difference in the manner of their death? Does one die wholly and the other only in part? Is death a cessation of life and consciousness to the beast, but to man only a separation of the living, conscious soul from the lifeless body? The answer to these questions is, "As the one dieth, so dieth the other." It refers to the manner of their death. It is not merely, The other dieth also; but, "So dieth the other." They die alike. Why? Because "they have all one breath." The breath of life that was breathed into Adam's nostrils, is the very same that every beast possesseth. In these things "a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast; for all is vanity"—all are subject to death.

The next question is, Where do they go respectively at death? Do they go in different directions? No. "All go unto one place." Where is that? to Heaven. No; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again." This is the one place to which both man and beast go.

But, says a friend, read the next verse, and you will learn that the spirit of man goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast goeth downward to the earth. No, my friend, it affirms nothing of the spirit of man or beast, it only asks a question.

And here we have a specimen of the reasoning of those who are filled so full of a false theory that there is no room left for the truth. Prejudice, like a cork in the neck of a bottle, will not let anything in or out. If any way can be devised to remove that cork, the oil of truth may be poured in, till the light and gaseous vapor of error all runs out. For truth is like gold, and mankind are like tumblers brimfull of water. Drop in the gold, and an equal bulk of water must run out.

Prejudice can infer from the question in verse 21, a doctrine which boldly contradicts the positive declarations of the two preceding verses. It can rest satisfied with the inference that man and beast have different spirits or breaths, (Heb. roo-agh), while verse 19, positively affirms, "They all have one breath," roo-agh; and that one goes up and the other down, while verse 20, declares positively, "All go unto one place; all (both man and beast) are of the dust, and all turn to dust again." How shall we arrive at the truth in matters of revelation, unless we are guided by the obvious meaning of the words of inspiration?

But says an objector, I believe the expression, They have all one breath, means what it says; it does not mean that all have one spirit; but when the spirit of man that goeth upward is spoken of, it means something besides the breath that leaves man at death—something that is immortal and conscious.

Have it so, if you will. But the beast has a spirit, too; and if this text proves that the spirit of man is conscious after death, it proves the same of the beast; for there is nothing more to hinder the consciousness of a spirit down somewhere, than there is up somewhere. Indeed our opponents make men conscious down in some subterranean sheol or hades, as well as up in some aerial or immaterial Heaven; and, to make out an argument, they will have them in both these places at the same time—the time between death and the resurrection. (See Landis on the "Immortality of the Soul.")

That teaching which deifies dead men was already in the world when Solomon wrote. Hence he affirms with positiveness the opposing truth, a truth which effectually uproots spiritualism, declaring that in death man has no pre-eminence above a beast, that as dieth the one, so dieth the other, that they all have one breath, (roo-agh, translated spirit in verse 21,) that all go to the same place, that all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. He then triumphantly challenges the opposition, that is, the whole heathen world, with, "Who knoweth?" "Who knoweth if the spirit &c.," as the Douay version has it. Who can vouch for the truth of the opposite doctrine—a doctrine that teaches that men go to be with the gods at death, and that beasts go down into the earth. This seems to be the import of the language of the text.

Now, which will we receive? the positive declaration of the text, or the unnecessary and unwarranted inferences which traditionary prejudice draws from a question, and which, if true, would prove those positive assertions to be false? The word of God does not contradict itself—it does not teach both sides of this, or any other question. It is safe to believe what it affirms, and very unsafe to hold a tradition which contradicts it. R. F. COTTRELL.

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