Review and Herald, Vol. 17, No. 26. (5/14/1861)

Review and Herald

May 14, 1861

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 14, 1861

SMALL FAULTS AND VIRTUES.

By Hannah More

(Concluded.)

TRIFLING is ranked among the venial faults. But if time be one grand talent given us in order to our securing eternal life; if we trifle away that time so as to lose that eternal life, on which by not trifling we might have laid hold, then will it answer the end of sin. A life devoted to trifles not only takes away the inclination, but the capacity for higher pursuits. The truths of christianity have scarcely more influence on a frivolous than on a profligate character. If the mind be so absorbed, not merely with what is vicious, but with what is useless, as to be thoroughly disinclined to the activities of a life of piety, it matters little what the cause is which so disinclines it. If these habits cannot be accused of great moral evil, yet it argues a low state of mind, that a being who has an eternity at stake can abandon itself to trivial pursuits. If the great concern of life cannot be secured without habitual watchfulness, how is it to be secured by habitual carelessness? It will afford little comfort to the trifler, when at the last reckoning he gives in his long negative catalogue, that the more ostensible offender was worse employed. The trifler will not be weighed in the scale with the profligate, but in the balance of the sanctuary.

Some men make for themselves a sort of code of the lesser morals, of which they settle both the laws and the chronology. They fix "the climactericks of the mind;" determine at what period such a vice may be adopted without discredit, at what age one bad habit may give way to another more in character. Having settled it as a matter of course that to a certain age certain faults are natural, they proceed to act as if they thought them necessary.

But let us not practice on ourselves the gross imposition to believe that any failing, much less any vice, is necessarily appended to any state or any age, or that it is irresistible at any time. We may accustom ourselves to talk of vanity and extravagance as belonging to the young, and avarice and peevishness to the old, till the next step will be that we shall think ourselves justified in adopting them. Whoever is eager to find excuses for vice and folly, will feel his own backwardness to practise them much diminished.

C'est le premier pas qui coute. It is only to make out an imaginary necessity, and then we easily fall into the necessity we have imagined. Providence has established no such association. There is, it is true, more danger of certain faults under certain circumstances; and some temptations are stronger at some periods, but it is a proof that they are not irresistible because all do not fall into them. The evil is in ourselves who mitigate the discredit by the supposed necessity. The prediction, like the dream of the astrologer, creates the event instead of foretelling it. But there is no supposition can be made of a bad case which will justify the making it our own; nor will general positions ever serve for individual apologies. Who has not known persons who, though they retain the sound health and vigor of active life, sink prematurely into sloth and inactivity, solely on the ground that these dispositions are fancied to be unavoidably incident to advancing years. They demand the indulgence before they feel the infirmity. Indolence thus forges a dismissal from duty before the discharge is issued out by Providence. No—let us endeavor to meet the evils of the several conditions and periods of life with submission, but it is an offense to their divine dispenser to forestall them.

But we have still a saving clause for ourselves whether the evil be of a greater or lesser magnitude. If the fault be great we lament the inability to resist it, if small, we deny the importance of so doing; we plead that we cannot withstand a great temptation, and that a small one is not worth withstanding. But if the temptation or the fault be great, we should resist it on account of that very magnitude; if small, the giving it up can cost but little; and the conscientious habit of conquering the less will confer considerable strength toward subduing the greater.

There is again, a sort of splendid character, which, winding itself up occasionally to certain shining actions, thinks itself fully justified in breaking loose from the shackles of restraint in smaller things; it makes no scruple to indemnify itself for these popular deeds by indulgences which though allowed are far from innocent. It thus secures to itself praise and popularity by what is sure to gain it, and immunity from censure in indulging the favorite fault, practically exclaiming, "Is it not a little one?"

Vanity is at the bottom of almost all, may we not say, of all our sins? We think more of signalizing than of saving ourselves. We overlook the hourly occasions which occur of serving, of obliging, of comforting those around us, while we sometimes, not unwillingly perform an act of notorious generosity. The habit however in the former case better indicates the disposition and bent of the mind than the solitary act of splendor. The apostle does not say, whatsoever great things ye do, but "whatsoever things ye do, do all to the glory of God." Actions are less weighed by their bulk than their motive. Virtues are less measured by their splendor than their principle. The racer proceeds in his course more effectually by a steady, unshakened pace, than by starts of violent but unequal exertion.

That great abstract of moral law, that rule of the highest court of appeal, set up in his own bosom, to which every man can always resort, is, "all things that ye would that men should do unto you, do ye also unto them." This law, if faithfully obeyed, operating as an infallible remedy for all the disorders of self-love, would by throwing its partiality into the right scale, establish the exercise of all the smaller virtues. Its strict observance would not only put a stop to all injustice, but to all unkindness; not only to oppressive acts but to unfeeling language. Even haughty looks and supercilious gestures would be banished from the face of society, did we ask ourselves how we should like to receive what we are not ashamed to give.

Till we thus morally transmute place, person, and circumstance with those of our brother, we shall never treat him with the tenderness this gracious law enjoins. Small virtues and small offences are only so by comparison. To treat a fellow creature with harsh language, is not indeed a crime like robbing him of his estate or destroying his reputation. They are however all the offspring of the same family. They are the same in quality though not in degree. All flow, though in streams of different magnitude, from the same fountain; all are indications of a departure from that principle which is included in the law of love. The consequences they involve are not less certain, though they are less important.

The reason why what are called religious people often differ so little from others in small trials is, that instead of bringing religion to their aid in their lesser vexations, they either leave the disturbance to prey upon their minds, or apply to false reliefs for its removal. Those who are rendered unhappy by frivolous troubles, seek comfort in frivolous enjoyments. But we should apply the same remedy to ordinary trials as to great ones; for as small disquietudes spring from the same cause as great trials, namely, the uncertain and imperfect condition of human life, so they require the same remedy. Meeting common cares with a right spirit would impart a smoothness to the temper, a spirit of cheerfulness to the heart, which would mightily break the force of heavier trials.

You apply to the power of religion in great evils. Why does it not occur to you to apply it in the less? Is it that you think the instrument greater than the occasion demands? It is not too great if the lesser one will not produce the effect, or if it produce it in the wrong way; for there is such a thing as putting an evil out of sight without curing it. You would apply to religion on the loss of your child—apply to it on the loss of your temper. Throw in this wholesome tree to sweeten the bitter waters. As no calamity is too great for the power of christianity to mitigate, so none is too small to experience its beneficial results. Our behaviour under the ordinary accidents of life forms a characteristic distinction between different classes of Christians. The least advanced resort to religion on great occasions, the deeper proficient resorts to it on all. What makes it appear of so little comparative value is, that the medicine prepared by the great Physician is thrown by instead of being taken. The patient thinks not of it but in extreme cases. A remedy, however potent, not applied, can produce no effect. But he who has adopted one fixed principle for the government of his life, will try to keep it in perpetual exercise. An acquaintance with the nature of human evils and of their remedy, would check that spirit of complaint which so much abounds, and which often makes so little difference between people professing religion and those who profess it not.

If the duties in question are not great, they become important by the constant demand that is made for them. They have been called 'the small coin of human life,' and on their perpetual and unobstructed circulation depends much of the comfort as well as convenience of its transactions. They make up in frequency what they want in magnitude. How few of us are called to carry the doctrines of christianity into distant lands! but which of us is not called every day to adorn those doctrines, by gentleness in our own carriage, by kindness and forbearance to all about us?

In performing the unostensible duties, there is no incentive from vanity. No love of fame inspires that virtue, of which fame will never hear. There can be but one motive, and that the purest, for the exercise of virtues, the report of which will never reach beyond the little circle whose happiness they promote. They do not fill the world with our renown, but they fill our own family with comfort, and if they have the love of God for their principle, they will have his favor for their reward.

In this enumeration of faults, we include not sins of infirmity, inadvertency and surprise, to which even the most sincere Christians are but too liable. What are here adverted to are allowed, habitual, and unresisted faults; habitual because unresisted; and allowed from the notion that they are too inconsiderable to call for resistance. Faults into which we are betrayed through surprise and inadvertency, though that is no reason for committing them, may not be without their uses; they renew the salutary conviction of our sinful nature, make us little in our own eyes, increase our sense of dependence, promote watchfulness, deepen humility, and quicken repentance.

We must however be careful not to entangle the conscience or embarrass the spirit by groundless apprehension. We have a merciful Father, not a hard master to deal with. We must not harrass our minds with a suspicious dread, as if by a needless rigor the Almighty were laying snares to entrap us, nor be terrified with imaginary fears, as if he were on the watch to punish every casual error.—To be immutable and impeccable belongs not to humanity. He who made us best knows of what we are made. Our compassionate High Priest will bear with much infirmity, will pardon much involuntary weakness.

But knowing, as every man must know who looks into his own heart, the difficulties he has from the intervention of his evil tempers, in serving God faithfully, and still however earnestly desirous of serving him, is it not to be lamented that he is not more solicitous to remove his hindrances by trying to avoid those inferior sins and resisting those lesser temptations, and practicing those smaller virtues, the neglect of which obstructs his way, and keeps him back in the performance of higher duties? Instead of little renunciations being grievous, and petty self-denials a hardship, they in reality soften grievances, diminish hardship. They are the private drill which trains for public service.

If, as we have repeatedly observed, the principle is the test of the action, we are hourly furnished with occasions of showing our piety by the spirit in which the quiet unobserved actions of life are performed. The sacrifices may be too little to be observed except by him to whom they are offered. But small solicitudes and demonstrations of attachment are scarcely perceptible to any eye but his for whom they are made, bear the true character of love to God, as they are the infallible marks of affection to our fellow creatures.

By enjoining small duties, the spirit of which is everywhere implied in the gospel, God as it were, seems contriving to render the great ones easy to us. He makes the light yoke of Christ still lighter, not by abridging duty, but by increasing its facility through its familiarity. These little habits at once indicate the sentiment of the soul and improve it.

It is an awful consideration and one which every Christian should bring home to his own bosom, whether small faults willfully persisted in, may not in time not only dim the light of conscience, but extinguish the spirit of grace; whether the power of resistance against great sins may not be finally withdrawn as a just punishment for having neglected to exert it against small ones.

Let us endeavor to maintain in our minds the awful impression that perhaps among the first objects which may meet our eyes when we open them on the eternal world, may be that tremendous book, in which, together with our great and actual sins, may be recorded in no less prominent characters, the ample page of omissions, of neglected opportunities, and even of fruitless good intentions, of which indolence, indecision, thoughtlessness, vanity, trifling and procrastination concurred to frustrate the execution.—H. More.

HYMN.

BEAR the burden of the present ; Let the morrow bear its own ; If the morning sky be pleasant, Why the coming night bemoan ?

If the awakened heavens lower, Wrap thy cloak around thy form ; Though the tempest rise in power, God is mightier than the storm.

Steadfast faith and hope unshaken Animate the trusting breast ; Step by step the journey's taken Nearer to the land of rest.

All unseen the Master walketh By the toiling servant's side ; Comfortable words he talketh While his hands uphold and guide.

Grief, nor pain, nor any sorrow Rends thy heart to him unknown ; He to-day and he to-morrow, Grace sufficient gives his own.

Holy strivings nerve and strengthen, Long endurance wins the crown, When the evening shadows lengthen, Thou shalt lay thy burden down.

RESTING NOT RUSTING.

By Cuyler

WHEN Christ promises to the believer a rest on earth as well as an enduring rest in heaven, he means something more than relief from the galling burdens of sin. He promises the repose of blessed activity in contrast with the repose of selfish indolence. In other words, the normal state of a healthy Christian is resting—not rusting.

We could hardly say of the waters of the dismal swamp that they are at rest; for theirs is anything else than the normal condition of that chrystal element as it came from the Creator's hand. That fetid mass of sluggish liquid, scummed over with green slime—stirred by no breeze and polished by no sunbeam—breeding malaria and death, is a vivid emblem of a selfish soul in the stagnation of a godless existence. But a running brook leaping to its own silvery music, prattling over the shining gravel, and sliding in and out over the sandy shallows—is not such a happy stream at rest? Stop it for a moment by throwing some obstruction across its flow, and it is at once in unrest, foaming and boiling its rage against the unwelcome hindrance. That stream is only at rest when running with obedient feet its heaven appointed course. Such is a healthy Christian's rest—the rest of willing, joyful obedience.

Perhaps my reader has seen that exquisitely constructed steam engine by which the dies are stamped at the United States mint in Philadelphia; it is the perfect poetry of mechanism. Would that machine be at rest if allowed to lie still until the devouring rust had corroded every wheel and gnawed away every spring and cunning valve? That would be only decay and destruction. But just look for a moment at the large fly-wheel of that matchless engine when at the top of its mazy speed. See—it swimming around so smoothly, so evenly, so silently on its polished axle that you can scarcely be sure that it is moving at all. You must watch it closely in order to detect its whirl. If you doubt it, just thrust a bar of wood or iron into its flying spokes, and the very havoc you make shows the violence you are doing to the natural and beautiful uniformity of its motion.

A converted heart is God's consummate moral mechanism, restored and re-arranged by the power of his grace. Left to prayerless inactivity, that soul would soon be overspread with rust. The affections would lose their luster. Faith would grow dim. Zeal for serving God and saving souls would slowly rot away. Covetousness would eat out the very life of devotion. Courage would give place to cowardice; indolence would palsy every sinew; selfishness would silently overspread with its hateful rust the unopened purse, the silent tongue, the unlifted hand, the unloving heart. On the other hand, that same converted man, if violently hindered in his free and holy activities, would feel—as Paul and John and Peter felt—wronged and persecuted. His whole spiritual power would rise up against and resent such opposition. For he is no more at rest in forced inaction than he would be in voluntary indolence. Neither one of them is his normal state as a healthful, happy child of God. There is no rest for him but in the full, steady flow of blessed activity.

The Bible abounds in paradoxical descriptions of the Christian. He is strong when he is weak. He is the most rich when he is "poor in spirit." He is loftiest when lying the lowest in the dust. So he is only at rest when he is thoroughly busy in God's service. This rest has been very happily styled the rest of equilibrium. For a redeemed soul's powers are at their right balance, and find their normal condition realized, only when in full play. You cannot give repose to a live Christian by tying up his hands or chaining him down on his back. Such a man can only reach a perfect serenity of spirit when in the full sail of godly activity—just as the swallow on the wing, while cleaving the air like an arrow, yet seems at rest, so gracefully poised is it on its outspread pinions.

Toil that is unfelt is no toil. Rather is it pleasure and joyful recreation. Study to an enthusiastic student is exquisite delight. Put Frederick Church or George L. Brown on the top of mount Washington just as the rising sun is lifting his golden horn over the peak of Katahdin, and begins to kindle every granite crag with glory, and the hardest labor would be for one of those children of genius to keep hands off the canvas. Whereas, every hour spent in transferring that gorgeous landscape with the pencil would be a joy beyond words.

Set it down, then, that no Christian is in a healthy spiritual state who does not find his purest rest in working for Jesus. To such a person the hardest work should be the finding nothing that he can do. As well might a true child of God try to be happy in the hold of a slave-ship as in a rusting, wretched state of do-lessness in the church. Blessed be the man who has found his work, and has surrendered himself to it! If he have toiled so unsuccessfully in any one line of labor that it has become a tiresome disappointment and drudgery, then, like Peter, let him "girt his fisher's coat about him," and go back to his Master for fresh orders. That Master will tell him where to cast his net; and as he draws in the glittering spoil upon the strand, he is ready to cry out "Lord, thou knowest that I love thee—and love thy work."

One of the best methods for a Christian to prevent either friction or corrosion in his spiritual work is to choose that line of activity for which he is best fitted, and in which his powers can find the freest and the fullest play. Then let him get his rest in his spiritual employments; let him blend his work and worship in the same routine of diligent and delightful duties. It will

then be as good as "meat and drink" to him to do his heavenly Father's will. The "oil of joy" will so lubricate all his mental powers that they will work smoothly and without friction; commonly until a good old age the healthy heart will be propelling the active brain and the busy hand. How beautiful are the lives thus spent in sweet harmony with the Creator's will!

Nor know we anything more fair Than is the smile upon their face; Flowers laugh before them on their beds, And fragrance in their footing treads.

These christian biographies are the most refreshing and instructive to us which have in them the most of rest and the least of rust. The life of him who said, "For me to live is Christ," is a shining example. Paul could rest, but he could not rust. He never grew weary, for in the congenial nature of his labors he found a perpetual repose. And what is the rest of heaven but the exaltation of the soul beyond the reach of sin, and the occupation of the soul in the loftiest ministries of God's praise? The "many mansions" which Christ hath prepared at such infinite cost for his redeemed ones are no more lounging-places for celestial indolence—no Mohammedan paradise of sensuous delights. Every hand shall be busy. Every voice will find its part. Every faculty shall be engrossed. For the inspired delineator of heaven tells us that there "his servants shall serve him," and that "day and night" their ministries shall not cease. Unhampered by bodily weakness and untouched by bodily decay, the glorified saint shall pass through a cycle of never-ending activities, so exhilarating and delightful, so unwearying and so ever-fresh, that the Holy Spirit can use no term so descriptive as to style them "the REST that remaineth for the people of God." Reader, may it be yours and mine forever!—Cuyler.

HOME MANAGEMENT.

“I do not know,” said my friend, “any greater domestic tyrants than indulged children. When I was growing up, my cousin Mary and I were very fond of each other. She was one of the most amiable girls I ever saw. She did not know how to refuse any one a favor; and she was so easy at all times, and so seldom annoyed at home, that her brothers used laughingly to call her ‘Miss Comfortable.’ When she was about twenty, she married, and went with her husband to a distant city; and it was many years before I saw her again, although we corresponded with some regularity. After the death of my husband and little Harry, she wrote me a very affectionate letter, desiring me to come and pass the winter with her, adding that ‘her three beautiful but rather noisy children would be delighted to see the cousin Alice of whom she had so often told them.’ I did indeed receive a hearty welcome; and after our first greetings were over, I began to make acquaintance with her little ones, who were eight, six, and three years old. Their names were Kate, Fannie, and Charlie, all bright and healthy looking children. I soon saw that they governed their mother completely. If she denied them in any way, a constant teasing or crying generally produced the desired effect; and the first refusal, gradually weakened by continued and repeated attacks, usually ended with ‘this time only, remember.’ I will state one instance:

“Kate and Fannie slept in a little room next to mine, and the door between was generally open. One morning I heard Fanny say, ‘I am going into Mrs. Montane’s this afternoon to play with Susie.’ ‘Ma won’t let you go,’ answered Kate, ‘for you have been in there almost every day this week, and you know that she said last evening you should not go in again till Susie had been in here.’ ‘I will go,’ exclaimed Fanny, who was a very selfwilled child. ‘All I’ve got to do is to cry hard enough, and she’ll let me go to stop the noise. Ma always says no, and then lets us do things, don’t she Kate?’ to which the latter assented.

“Accordingly, after dinner, Fannie proceeded to ask her mother as she said. ‘No, my dear,’ was the reply; ‘I told you yesterday that you had been in so often I did not wish you to go again till Susie had been in here.’ ‘But I want to go ever so much,’ answered Fannie, with strong symptoms of crying. ‘I can’t help it,’ said her mother; ‘whereupon the child commenced a steady shout of ‘Ma, do let me go! Ma do let me go!’ ‘Do not make so much noise, dear,’ was the placid response. From crying, Fannie began screaming, and finally in a great rage, came up and struck her mother; and as the latter put out her hand to push her away, she seized it and bit it quite severely. ‘Oh! Fannie, Fannie, naughty girl! mother will have to punish her,’ exclaimed my cousin Mary, somewhat roused by this last exhibition of temper, and rather ashamed for me to witness it. As such threats were seldom carried into execution, the child continued sobbing and screaming, until her mother, quite worn out, said, ‘Will you be a very good little girl if I let you go a little while?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Fannie promptly, pleased to have attained her ends. ‘Well, then, you may go and stay an hour.’ She went, and the hour lengthened out into an afternoon, and we did not see her again till tea-time.

IMPORTANCE OF GOOD HABITS.

By Samuel Smiles

MAN, it has been said, is a bundle of habits; and habit is second nature. Metastasio entertained so strong an opinion as to the power of repetition in an act and thought, that he said, "All is habit in mankind, even virtue itself." Butler, in his "Analogy," impresses the importance of careful self-discipline, and firm resistance to temptation, as tending to make virtue habitual, so that at length it may become more easy to be good than to give way to sin. "As habits belonging to the body," he says, "are produced by external acts, so habits of the mind are produced by the execution of inward practical purposes, i. e., carrying them into the act, or acting upon them—the principles of obedience, veracity, justice, and charity." And again, Lord Brougham says, when enforcing the immense importance of training and example in youth, "I trust everything under God to habit, on which, in all ages, the lawgiver, as well as the schoolmaster, has mainly placed his reliance—habit, which makes everything easy, and casts the difficulties upon the deviation from a wonted course."

Thus, make sobriety a habit, and intemperance will be hateful; make prudence a habit, and reckless profligacy will become revolting to every principle of conduct which regulates the life of the individual. Hence the necessity for the greatest care and watchfulness against the inroad of any evil habit, for the character is always weakest at that point at which it has once given way; and it is long before a principle restored can become so firm as one that has never been moved. It is a fine remark of a Russian writer, that "habits are a necklace of pearls; unite the knot, and the whole unthreads."

Wherever formed, habit acts involuntarily, and without effort; and it is only when you oppose it that you find how powerful it has become. What is done once and again, soon gives facility and proneness. The habit at first may seem to have no more strength than a spider's web; but once formed, it binds as with a chain of iron. The small events of life, taken singly, may seem exceedingly unimportant, like snow that falls silently, flake by flake, yet accumulated, these snow-flakes form the avalanche. Self-respect, self-help, application, industry, integrity—all are of the nature of habits, not beliefs. Principles, in fact, are but the names which we assign to habits; for the principles are words, but the habits are the things themselves—benefactors or tyrants, according as they are good or evil. It thus happens that as we grow older, a portion of our free activity and individuality becomes suspended in habit; our actions become of the nature of fate, and we are bound by the chains which we have woven around ourselves.—Samuel Smiles.

MEMORABLE SAYINGS.

“Hell is truth seen too late.”

“The approaches of sin are like the conduct of Jael. It brings butter in a lordly dish. It bids high for the soul. But when it has fascinated and lulled its victim, the nail and the hammer are behind.”

“Remember always to mix good sense with good things, or they will become disgusting.”

“Attend to the presence of God; this will dignify a small congregation, and annihilate a large one.”

“There is another life—a life which, once believed in, stands as a solemn, significant figure before the otherwise unmeaning cyphers of time, changing them to orders of mysterious, untold value.”

“Honesty is the best policy, but he who acts upon this as his rule, will not be an honest man.”

“Most people are glad to have the Bible on their side, but very few are willing to be on the side of the Bible.”

It is worth a teacher’s while to collect together, in a manuscript book, the good things he gleans from books or from men, and to treasure them as an armory of sharp arrows and well tempered blades. Pointed remarks like those enumerated above are scarcely ever forgotten. They form with the scholar in after life the axioms for self-government or home-management; they often come across the path like flashes of lightning, revealing to him his dangers, and directing him to a place of safety. What an improvement in teaching there would be if the substance of what was taught was thus shotted! The crisis of a lifetime may be safely passed, and the whole complexion of a character changed by a sentence. How important that our sentences be like the signal posts of a well ordered railway line, and not like the half effaced way-marks of a neglected high road.

Character Determines Words’ Effect

A MAN'S character always determines the effect of his words. The profoundest wisdom in the mouth of a fool, the purest sentiments on the tongue of a libertine, the noblest declamations and most startling statistics against intemperance in the harrangue of a drunkard, produce only scorn and derision; but a few simple statements from one known and honored for wisdom, purity or sobriety, go with power into the hearts of the people.

Pray Without Ceasing

“PRAY WITHOUT CEASING.”—The bird is not always on the wing; but he is ready to fly in an instant : so the believer is not always on the wing; but he has such an aptitude for prayer that he is prepared in an instant, when in danger or need, to fly for refuge to his God.

Contentment in Adversity

“I never complained of my condition but once, and that was when my feet were bare, and I had no money to buy shoes; but I soon met a man without feet, and I became contented with my lot.” — Sadi.

A PREVALENT MISTAKE.

By Rev. E. N. Kirk.

A sentiment that it matters not what a man believes, so that he is sincere, is as unscriptural as it is absurd. Sincerity of belief has no more effect in warding off evil in the spiritual than in the natural kingdom. If the teachings and persuasions of a reputed chemist should prevail on you that arsenic is harmless, would it therefore be harmless? Could you mix it with your bread, and you or your children eat it without injury to health and life? Oh no! Neither will the sincerity of your belief save you from the consequence of error in religious faith. Right belief—truth, God's truth, my brethren, is the only foundation on which you can safely rest your hopes. But true belief is not a mere act of the understanding, it involves exercises of the heart; the emotions are purified, and love pervades the soul.

MILLERISM AND DISUNION.

By Editor

IN REVIEW No. 10, Vol. 16, we presented, with some comments, the following sentiment from Horace Greely:

"In the N. Y. Independent of July 12, 1860, Horace Greely, speaking of the political aspects of this country, makes the following remarks: 'People are planting and sowing, spinning and weaving, building and improving, as if Millerism and Disunion were two very remote and dubious contingencies.'"

The trouble which like a storm has burst upon this country, has brought this sentiment again to mind. The object of Mr. Greely in writing as above was to show the utter improbability of disunion at the time when he wrote. The idea was then scouted as an empty threat on the part of the south, and as something of which we need have no sort of fear whatever; and to show how impossible it was, it was classed with Millerism, as being no more likely to occur than the coming of Christ and the end of the world.

But disunion, daringly, desperately, suddenly, and to many, unexpectedly, has come; and now what about Millerism? Will the author of the above comparison now adopt the converse of his proposition and admit that Millerism is now as probable as disunion was a few months since? This he must do or recede from his position.

Would that secession among its many evils might have one good effect: that of causing people to pause and think; of leading them to reflect that what they are disposed to regard as remote and dubious contingencies, even Millerism itself, may nevertheless come to pass.

But however the world may regard it, to the people of God this is a contingency which is neither remote nor dubious. When a person gets into the rushing rapids of a mighty stream, and has come so near the cataract that he can discern the outlines of the chasm before him, and hear the roaring of the falling waters, he is not apt to regard it as a very remote or dubious contingency that he will soon be dashed in pieces on the rocks beneath. And when we see dark clouds overspread the heavens, and the lightnings begin to gleam, and the thunders to roar, and the sudden and fitful gales sweep past like affrighted things before some coming evil, we do not regard it as a very remote or dubious contingency that a storm is about to burst upon us. So when every class of signs promised to foreshow the end of all things, is bearing its testimony; and almost every individual sign in each class is presenting itself before us, in vivid and startling fulfillment, we cannot regard it as a very remote or dubious contingency that God will fulfill the remainder of his word, and bring those things to pass, of which he has told us that these are the precursors.

A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE,

By B. F. C.

BRo. SMITH: Sabbath, Apr. 20, I was with the church at Mill Grove. Had a good meeting. Two were baptized, and added to the church, one of whom has had a remarkable experience. He is a young man of seventeen years. In February last, Bro. Saunders and myself gave a short course of lectures in that place. This young man was not a professor of religion, but was interested in the lectures, and was resolved to hear the whole course. He attended every meeting till, in the midst of our series, he was taken sick, and was obliged to leave the house during an evening meeting. We regretted this circumstance, as we knew he was deeply interested to hear the truth. His sickness was a severe attack of inflammation of the lungs. In about one week but little hope remained of his recovery. An eminent physician had been called from Buffalo, a distance of some fifteen miles or more, and when he left him, the evening before Sabbath, Feb. 16, it was evident that he had but little hope of seeing him again alive. He said his case was very precarious, that it was the next thing to congestion of the lungs, and that he was liable to die any moment. He intended to visit him again the next evening, but requested that if they had any chance to send him word how he was before that time, they would do so.

The next morning our sick friend sent a request to our Sabbath meeting that we would come and pray with him. After meeting a number of the older brethren and sisters went to see him in compliance with his request. He had anxiously waited our arrival, and on our entering his room he said, "I am willing to glorify God by keeping his commandments." Having anointed him with oil in the name of the Lord, we engaged in prayer. He joined in the petition, calling on the Lord for himself. After prayer he said that one of his lungs felt right, but there was a little pain yet in the other; but said he, "I will trust that with the Lord; and now if you will bring my clothes I will get up." A brother assisted him in dressing, and led him out into an adjoining room. He desired something to eat, which was given him. It was evident that a great change had taken place in him, but he was still weak. But the strength of his faith was remarkable. He thought he should go to the meeting the next day. But the weather being inclement, it was thought best not to have him expose himself, as it might be imprudent.

We left him, and as evening came on, his physician again visited him, and as he looked on his patient, he seemed perplexed at the great change that had taken place. He would walk about the room adjoining, as if in a study, then look through the door to his patient, as if he wished to observed how he appeared unobserved by him. He made inquiry whether he had had much company during the day, and was told what had been done. He thought we might have prayed for him without coming in, so as not to excite him when he was so weak. However, before he left, he said that he was much better, and that he considered him out of danger. This was a great change indeed to take place in twenty-four hours!

The next Sabbath he met with the church, there to acknowledge what the Lord had done for him, not only in raising him up from the gates of death, but in putting a new song in his mouth, even praise to the name of the Lord.

"O how happy are they, who their Saviour obey!" This happiness he enjoyed, and he desired to put on Christ by baptism, so that he might feel that he was one of the church, in whose society he delighted. On my late visit I found him in a field following the plow. He has now formally taken upon him the name of Christ; and may he, and also the sister that witnessed the same good confession, see the end of the Christian course, and meet with all the saints in the City of God.

B. F. C.

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