Earlier text: WELL SAIDPEACE ON EARTH.
By T. L. Cuyler
“PEACE I leave with you; my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you.” Who said that? Who is so bold as to set himself up in superiority to the whole world? He is the meekest man in all Jerusalem, and one of the poorest. Not a rood of real estate does he hold the deed of; he has not probably a single silver shekel in his scrip. His attendants are a handful of fishermen, publicans, and others of like humble rank. Within twenty-four hours even they will all “forsake him and flee.” Yet this homeless person, under the ban of the Sanhedrim as an impostor, makes the most royal legacy that was ever bequeathed to mortals! An emperor can bequeath his crown; but Sedan destroys the crown, and a savage’s spear impales the heir. A millionaire bequeaths his vast treasures; but his chief legacy is perverted to other uses, and even his bones find no rest in their sepulcher. Such mockeries do last wills and testaments often prove to be. But Jesus Christ bequeaths not only what he owns in fee simple, but is able to confer and secure in everlasting possession. “My peace” is what Jesus gives to every one who is willing to accept it. It was his own peace,—such deep tranquillity of soul as he maintained amid all the trials, humiliations, and bitter oppositions which he had to encounter. None of these things moved him, and the peace which many of Christ’s heirs enjoy, is secured to them under the sharpest stress of afflictions. One of them enjoys it on a bed of torturing pain; another sings her sweet psalm of contentment in a garret, or in the ward of an infirmary; still another keeps it as a calm strengthener under insult and reproach. It gives soft sleep after a day of trial; it often breaks out in songs in the night. The peace which Jesus bequeaths to every true believer may be said to comprise all needful good; so comprehensive is it in its blessings, so rich and abundant in its bestowments. First of all, it is the gift of an approving conscience. Nothing torments like sin. A guilty conscience can fill a palace with specters (as it did Herod’s) and can drive slumber from a bed of down. When conscience is brought into harmony with God, it is a wonderful comforter. Then, too, Christ can subdue unruly passions; his grace can check unhallowed desires. It is the gnawing of unsatisfied desire which devours some people’s souls like a vulture. The sweetest, richest peace of all is peace with God, and this is conferred by the crucified Saviour in its fullness. What can compare with the tranquillity of a soul justified before God? To such a man there is no condemnation. His sins are blotted out; his guilt is taken away; his title to Heaven is secure as long as he holds fast to his omnipotent Lord. No good thing will God withhold from him as long as he walks uprightly. Everything works for good in the end, unto him who loves God and is called unto his high calling. He rolls his burdens on Christ, and is relieved from distressing anxieties. In short, all things—i.e., all the real things, all the best things—are his, and he is Christ’s, and Christ is God’s. Well might the legacy-giver of Calvary say that “not as the world giveth give I unto you;” for this world bestows very meagerly. It promises much, and gives but little. When the richest man who has died in New York within my memory, was on his dying bed, he asked his attendants to sing for him. They sang the familiar old revival hymn, “Come, ye sinners, poor and needy.” The dying millionaire said to them, in a plaintive tone, “Yes, please sing that again for me. I am poor and needy.” Ah! what could fifty millions of railway securities and bank stocks do for him on the verge of eternity? One verse out of the fourteenth chapter of John could bring him more peace than all the mines of California, multiplied by all the bonds in the National Treasury. “Poor and needy” was he! I count that one of the most pathetic sayings that ever fell from dying lips. This world gives very deceitfully. It pretends that it can satisfy the soul, and then cheats every one who trusts it. Instead of giving solid contentment, it only gives restless, feverish desire for more. Its medicines only increase the fever; its draughts inevitably increase the thirst. Whenever I see a little marble ball tossed up on the jet of a fountain, and as often as it drops, caught up again and tossed anew, I say to myself: There is a picture of the life of a money-worshiper or a greedy place-hunter. Never at rest one moment. In one hour up, in the next one down, and in his highest point never secure from a tumble. Yet tens of thousands are choosing just such a restless, wretched life, and wondering all the while why they cannot succeed in being happy. Would to God that all the worshipers of Mammon, and all the pleasure-seekers who throng the saloons of mirth, would only give ear to that calm, divine voice which says, “My peace I am ready to give unto you. Not as this poor, lying, deceitful world gives; for what I bestow, can never be taken away.” The whole methods and results, as practiced by Christ, are just the opposite of those attempted by the world. The policy of the worlding is to get rich by accumulation. The policy of Christ’s followers is to get rich by renouncing. Get all you can, and keep what you’ve got, is the world’s motto. Christ’s maxim is, “He that is not willing to leave all and follow me cannot be my disciple. It is more blessed to give than it is to receive.” I have always observed that a human soul gets rich not “by what it takes up, but by what it gives up.” True peace of mind belongs only to the self-renouncing spirit. This world’s boasted successes often prove to be wretched failures; but no genuine godly life was ever a failure. Its losses are turned into gains; its crosses are wrought into crowns of glory. The peace which sin promises is a mockery. The peace which Jesus bestows passeth all understanding, and is insured beyond all contingencies. Old Matthew Henry sums up the difference between the legacy which Christ offers, and that which the worldling covets, in these terse words, “This world’s peace begins in ignorance, consists with sin, and ends in endless sorrows. Christ’s peace begins in grace, consists with denial of all sin and lust, and ends in everlasting joy and blessedness.” The will and testament made by the atoning Saviour never can be set aside or broken. All the powers of hell cannot cheat the humblest child of Jesus out of his legacy. Every human being, lofty or lowly, prince or pauper, is invited to become an heir. The estate is large enough to supply a universe of sinners with an eternity of bliss. At Christ’s right hand are treasures and pleasures forevermore. But if I am an heir to all this untold wealth, what a grateful creature I ought to be! How ready to consecrate my time, labor, and influence to the service of my Divine Benefactor! And the more entirely I can consecrate everything to Him, the more of Heaven’s glorious peace I shall enjoy in advance.—T. L. Cuyler, in Independent. THY BROTHER'S KEEPER.
By Hope Ledyard
It had been an unusually busy day with Mr. Archer, of Archer, Ames & Co. As a rule, he, as senior member of a wealthy firm, was spared most of the business details, and his life, though by no means an idle one, was not crowded with care; but as he slowly mounted the steps of his brown stone mansion, at the same time feeling for his pass-key, there was a worried look upon his face which did not long escape his wife's eyes. “Henry, I have not seen you look so tired in a long time. Has anything happened?” she asked as soon as the servants had left them alone. “Yes, I have decided to turn off one of our clerks. He has not been with us very long—not over a year; but it is the first time one of our fellows has disgraced himself, and it has upset me. Then they've elected me as one of the trustees of that new Home for Disabled Clerks, and I had to attend a meeting to-day. The fact of the matter is, I can't think how such a fine fellow as Clark could have done it.” “Oh, didn't I tell you? Come to the office drunk. Not just a little under the influence of liquor, but drunk.” “And he was always steady?” “Perfectly so, since I met him. He came well recommended and gave good satisfaction; so good that we were thinking of raising his salary.” “Anywhere between thirty and forty.” “I don't know—yes, come to think of it, he is, for he lost a child awhile ago.” Mrs. Archer heaved a sigh. She had her own notions of the relations between employers and employed, but her husband, when she hinted at them, always told her they were most unbusiness-like. “Never let business and charity interfere,” he would say. “I am glad to aid any good cause, to help any struggling man or woman, but it must be outside of business. My clerks are mere machines to me; if they run well, I retain them; if not, they go.” Yet, being a warm-hearted man, Mr. Archer was not quite consistent, and it grieved him deeply to turn away a clerk in disgrace. “A quick fellow. Such a good correspondent. Isn't one in the office writes a hand like him!” he kept muttering, as he sat sipping his coffee and peeling fruit for his wife. The front door-bell rang, just as Mr. Archer was refusing a second cup of coffee, and John announced, “A lady on business, sir.” “Ask her name, John; I am tired, and unless it is something very important I shall see no one.” “Mrs. Clark, sir, and she dislikes troubling you, but the matter is important.” “His wife!” exclaimed Mrs. Archer, while her husband frowned almost angrily. “Let her come in here, dear. She may not have come to tease you, only to explain. Don't send her off without a hearing. Do you mind my being in the next room while you see her?” “No, indeed; and if you were not so soft-hearted I would engage you to come in at the right moment to send her off. I can't stand a woman's tears.” Then, stepping to the door, Mr. Archer added, “Show the lady in here, John.” A moment more and a young woman came in. Her dress was most severely simple, but it was such as only a lady would have devised, and her manner, though nervous, was of one accustomed to move among cultivated people. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Archer, for calling at this hour, but I could not wait through a long night.”69 The voice was so sweet and low and the eyes that were raised to his so full of patient endurance and quiet determination that Mr. Archer said to himself, “Confound the fellow! How could he do it with such a wife?” But he was not a man of ready speech, and though feeling more kindly to his guest, did not say a word to help her on. “My husband will not explain matters to you; he thinks you might fancy he was excusing himself, and he and I both know that no man has any real excuse, though—” her voice broke a little, but she recovered herself, clasping her hands tight together and began again. “I will tell you the exact truth—the story of our married life, and though I hardly hope it will make any difference to us, it may be the means of your saving others, at least I have felt impelled to come and tell it. We were very happy the first year or two, but my husband, through the failure of the firm he was with, lost his position. He was offered another clerkship, but a relative of mine was willing to take him into business as a partner, and—it was tempting—he accepted. This relative was unmarried, and after six months, tiring of the business, he sold out; and as affairs had been very carelessly arranged with my husband, he was again cast loose without any means of support. I believe that then he began to drink—not much, for I never suspected it, but enough to ‘give him courage,’ as he said afterward.” “I will not weary you with an account of the next three years. It was in the panic times and better men than he had nothing to do. He was often from morning till night without food, and when a friend would ask him to step in and take a drink, I cannot wonder that he, little suspecting danger, would accept. As he has said since, many a friend will offer a man a glass, but not one in ten will ask him to lunch. The habit of drinking grew upon him, till when he did get a position he could not keep it. He sank very low. Not that he ever drank hard, but liquor made him unfit for business and affected him very quickly. He had been out of business for six months, when a friend of ours told him that he could get him a position in your office if he would solemnly swear not to touch liquor. He had been so steady for some months that I felt sure, with encouragement, he would be a changed man.” “He was accepted by the firm just about a year ago. I remember so well my anxiety that night; for our friend had told us that the last correspondent had eighteen hundred a year and I felt if only he could be raised above real anxiety he would be so much safer. He came home very happy, for he was accepted. His salary was one thousand dollars, but he felt sure if he did his best he would soon have it increased. He was very happy and hopeful, and though I knew that we had debts that must be paid at once, and that we could no longer live with our relatives, I tried to keep up a brave heart.” “I'm sure you did,” Mr. Archer said involuntarily, and his kind tones encouraged the wife to go on with her story. “You see my husband was always so generous when he had money—so hopeful that he would have more—that though he brought me all his salary, only paying for his monthly commutation ticket and reserving ten cents a day for his lunch, I found it a very hard matter to pay rent and keep the house on his salary, besides trying to pay the debts that now began to trouble him. We had four children”—the mother's voice would break in spite of her strong will, but she kept the tears back—“perhaps you know we buried our little six-year-old a month ago! The eldest had to be sent to a good school, for our children will have a better position by-and-by, and must be fitted for it. Still, even though we had great anxiety and struggles, if we had been fortunate in choosing our home in a healthy place I think all might have been well. Unfortunately, we were tempted by the cheap rents to hire in a little village in Jersey. They assured us chills were unknown there, but at the end of three months we were all ill. The doctor's bills and the quinine just crushed us, Mr. Archer.” “My husband went to business time and again sick with malarial fever. He gave entire satisfaction, for more work was piled upon him—he wrote such a good hand, but no hint was given of raising his salary. He says it is a mere matter of business, that the firm never knew how many children a man has, or whether he can live on his salary. If he can't, they can get one who can.” “At last our—little—Robbie—no, I know men hate woman's tears, I shall not cry. We could not get quinine and the fever got such a hold that Robbie died. I do not fret, sir; he'll never suffer as we do, and he'll never be driven to drink. I had lost all fear of my husband's drinking; for he had gone again and again to business distressed and half sick and had not tasted a drop, so I thought him cured. But he told me to-day that ever since Robbie went he has been tempted. He has felt so discouraged, so hopeless. At last, two days ago, our baby had chills again. I had just paid our grocer, and there was not a cent left. He said he would borrow a little from a friend who had lent him before. He came home at night without the quinine—his friend had refused him!” “I saw he felt terribly about it, and I walked to the druggist's and bought of him two dollars' worth of quinine, promising to pay soon. But it was too late for my husband. This morning an old comrade met him. He was weak and depressed—he had given up hope of getting out of debt and educating his children properly, and—he took the offered drink!” At last her strength failed—the poor tired wife and mother burst into tears. In a moment Mrs. Archer was by her side, soothing her with loving words and promising a hundred impossible things, talking between whiles to her husband, who sat conscience-stricken, unable to defend himself against her indignation. “This is what comes of keeping business and benevolence apart. This comes of looking upon your employees as mere machines. If a poor fellow had been in one of the institutions you uphold, you would have been interested in him. His family would have been helped, and he would have been carefully guarded and guided. But here is a man who tries to retrieve himself, who, run down and living in an unhealthy atmosphere, needed for his salvation an adequate income, and you hardly knew he was a married man! Henry, Henry! who was it asked God scornfully, ‘Am I my brother's keeper?’” By this time Mrs. Clark had grown composed, and was listening in undisguised astonishment, and even horror, to her new champion. She had had the same thoughts, but such things could not be said. “O Mrs. Archer,” she said hurriedly, “my husband has said again and again that there is not a firm in the city that is more noted for its large donations—” “Donations!” put in Mrs. Archer impatiently. “And that if a clerk is ill, his place is kept for him and his salary goes on.” “To be sure it does; that is mere decent treatment. Every well-to-do house does that, my dear Mrs. Clark. What I complain of is, that too many men and women who are good and kind and generous, like Mr. Archer, yet employ other men and women without taking any interest in their lives, without feeling that, as children of a common Father, as fellow-pilgrims to a better home, we must take a warm personal interest in those whom we employ.” “How many ladies know the private history of their servants, take an interest in the mother in the old country, or the brother who has been a little wild, but is trying to mend, and who ought to be invited to Mary's warm kitchen evenings and so kept from bad companions! And with gentlemen it is even worse, for their clerks are educated gentlemen like themselves, sometimes better educated than themselves; and yet the heads of a firm seldom or ever care whether their clerks are able to educate their children or can afford to save a delicate wife by giving her change of air and rest from anxiety.” “It is very true,” said Mr. Archer slowly, “and for my part, whatever Ames and Hancock may think of it, things must be looked after down at the office. I will see your husband myself to morrow,” he added, taking Mrs. Clark's hand in his, “and I ask you to forgive a fellow-sinner—a fellow-Christian. Let Clark be at his desk as usual, and now that we do know one of our clerk's wives, we mean to keep up the acquaintance, don't we, wife?” “Indeed we do! But what a wretch I've been! Henry, the poor thing is almost fainting! She has come all the way from Jersey, and I don't believe she's dined!” There was ringing of bells, and hurried orders, and soon Mrs. Clark was seated between her new friends, who had to play at eating a second dinner to keep her in countenance. Then Mr. Archer, tired as he was, decided he would go out to the little Jersey home that very night and have a talk with Mr. Clark. Mrs. Archer could see by the happy look in the wife's eyes that that was just what she most wanted. So the carriage was ordered, and soon the brave woman who had mounted those steps two hours before with such fear, was running lightly down, sure that she was carrying a true friend to her husband, who would help him to lead a new life. What passed between the wealthy merchant and his clerk that night is known only to them; but there were mutual confessions, both felt humbled and penitent, and the morrow began a new life with each. We need not follow them further. Would that this story, founded on fact, might rouse other noble-minded men to a sense of their duty. To an acknowledgment that they are their brothers' keepers—under God.—Hope Ledyard, in Christian Weekly. THE LORD'S DAY.
By E. O. H.
What is to be understood by the Lord's day in Rev. 1: 10? ANS. In the connection from which the above quotation is taken, we are not informed which day John means by the term “Lord's day;” therefore we must look elsewhere in the Scriptures for the desired information. We are of the opinion that he means the seventh day of the week, commonly called Saturday, as that is the only day the Lord ever claimed as his, in distinction from the laboring days of the week, save the ceremonial sabbaths mentioned in Lev. 23, which passed away with the Jewish ritual, more than three-score years before John wrote the Revelation. In Ex. 20: 10 we read, “But the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God.” Again, in Isa. 58: 13, “If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on my holy day,” etc. John evidently refers to this sacred day in Rev. 1: 10, written near the close of the first century.—E. O. H., in Herald of Life. How Bar-Room Liquors Are Made
There may be seen daily on Chestnut street, says the Philadelphia Bulletin, a man dressed in faultless apparel, with a great diamond on his breast vainly endeavoring to out-glitter the magnificent solitaire on his finger. In a German university he learned chemistry, and not even Liebig knew it better. His business is the mixing and adulterating of liquors. Give him a dozen casks of deodorized alcohol, and the next day each of them will represent the name of a genuine wine or a popular spirit. He enters a wholesale drug store, bearing a large basket upon his arm. Five pounds of Iceland moss are weighed out to him. To raw liquors this imparts a smoothness and oleaginousness that gives to imitation brandy the glibness of that which is matured. An astringent catechu, that would almost close the mouth of a glass inkstand, is next in order. A couple of ounces of strychnine, next called for, are quickly conveyed to his vest pocket, and a pound of white vitriol is as silently placed in the bottom of the basket. The oil of cognac, the sulphuric acid, and other articles that give fire and body to liquid poisons are always kept in store. The mixer buys these from various quarters. They are staples of the art.—Christian Union. Scientist Dr. Ackland Finds Answers in Scripture
—THE eminent scientist, Dr. Ackland, an authority on matters of science, says that after 35 years of patient research with the scalpel, microscope, and telescope, he finds the “ultimate solution” of vexed questions in “the great truths of Holy Scriptures.” Forgive and forget, no matter who wronged you,
Or injured with malice, or envy, or threat;
Don't stop to think over the trials that thronged you;
Look forward, and seek all past ills to forget. Forgive and forget; your hopes may be blighted,
And friendship you trusted would all else outlive
May sadly have failed you; but, though you are slighted
By those you held truest and dearest, forgive. Forgive and forget; your heart may be weary
With burdens, your eyelids with tears may be wet;
Though others' unkindness makes all your life dreary,
Oh! freely forgive them, and try to forget. Forgive and forget, while sadly you wander,
Disheartened, discouraged, nor stop to regret
All your troubles, but look to that fair country yonder,
Where Christ all your sins will forgive and forget. THE BIBLE AS AN EDUCATOR.
By G. O. Tenney
DIFFERENT branches of science have been thoroughly investigated by active minds, and the results of their investigations have been given to the world in well written books. In seeking for the knowledge of this world, our attention is called to these, and long, profitable years are spent in acquiring a knowledge of their contents. When a sufficient number have been mastered by the student, the grave professors pronounce him wise, and he is thenceforward renowned as a graduate from such a university. Some go out thus equipped, with an idea that all there is to be known or learned is within their large heads, and that wisdom itself will die with them; while the true student realizes more fully than ever how little man can really know in this short life, and what an infinity of knowledge surrounds the small circle of human understanding. The pursuit of those branches of knowledge which are within our reach is doubtless commendable, provided our motives are right. In education, as in everything else, final success depends upon the foundation principle from which we work. In all the vocations of life, in every action and word, this principle is the same. The fear of God, and a sincere desire to do good, should actuate us in all things. If any man build upon other foundation, or work from70 different motives, his work will be as hay, wood, and stubble. This principle lies at the beginning of wisdom. It is necessarily placed there, as it presents the only purpose worthy of our lives. An education without this principle fully wrought in its foundations and interwoven into its fabric, is as worthless as the house upon the sand. The principle of which we have spoken is the substance of all morality and righteousness. It is the fulfilling of God's commands. It is the embodiment of the first and second great commandments, upon which hang all the law and the prophets. The teachings of the Bible are but illustrations, precepts, comments, and examples of this same principle. It takes cognizance of our words, influences, deeds, thoughts, and secret impulses. It is a life-long work, to bring all these into conformity to it; but this should be the real object of our lives, and other acquirements should be secondary. The substance of all true knowledge is given in the Bible. Though none of its writers were LL. D.'s or D. D.'s, they were men who, inspired by the Spirit of God, understood the wants of humanity, and in their writings gave us the fundamental rules of every ennobling pursuit. The moral teachings of the Bible do not appear before us as dry, abstract precepts, but are clothed in living characters. Sin and righteousness are illustrated side by side. They are traced from beginning to end, and their different results plainly contrasted. In the lives and experiences of the different Bible characters, we have every phase of human life fully set forth. The purity of God, the holiness of his law, are set forth in one portion; in another appear the weakness of the flesh and the temptations of the enemy. Then we are pointed to the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world. The dangers which beset the slippery paths of childhood and youth are clearly shown by lively precepts and living examples, and although the personages brought out in the Scriptures are not as angelic as are the heroes of our story books, still they do illustrate the great good which may grow out of the wise and careful instruction of children; as in the case of Joseph, Daniel, Samuel, Timothy, and the little captive maid with Naaman. They also illustrate the evil effects of an unrestrained life, as in the case of Eli's sons, and of many others. The surest guarantee of success in this life and of admission to eternal life, is to firmly engraft into the minds of children and youth an early love for the study, and a respect for the teachings, of the Bible. Let the great principles of love to God and love to man be held up as the only worthy object of life, and let the calling of life be chosen with regard to these principles, and the foundation of a stable character, a noble education, and a useful life, will have been laid. But few have lived more useful lives than did Timothy, Paul's son in the faith; and the apostle's commendation of his son was that from a child he had known the Holy Scriptures, which were able to make him wise unto salvation. In the day of Judgment how foolish will appear the wisdom of this world to those whom it has led to ruin! How earnestly we should seek to gain and impart that wisdom which cometh down from above, and is revealed by the word of God! An exceedingly interesting incident took place in a certain seaport not long ago. A number of people had gathered on one of the wharves to witness something or to enjoy the breeze from the water; and during the time one of the number accidentally fell over the wharf into the water beneath. Of course, in a moment the people were in a great excitement, some crying for help, and others seeming fixed to the spot, while they with horror beheld the struggles of the drowning man, but no one dared jump in to rescue him. Among the number stood a strong, able-bodied sailor, who they knew could swim. He, too, seemed as if nailed to the wharf, while he calmly watched the struggles of the man in the water. The crowd said, “Why does he not jump in and save the man?” The sailor still stood with folded arms, calmly watching the vain struggles of the poor man in the water, but made no movement on his part to save him. As the people saw the drowning man, and the seeming indifference of the sailor, their indignation knew no bounds, and they cried, “Wretch! why does he not jump in and save the man?” Still the sailor stood erect, and with folded arms, gazed upon the water, and the object before him struggling for life. The man had sunk once and risen to the surface, and had gone down the second time and risen again; when as he was about to give up, and sink to rise no more, to the utter astonishment of all present, the sailor plunged into the water under the sinking man, bore him to the surface and brought him to shore. Now the people, who were so enraged at the sailor’s apparent indifference, could understand the wisdom of his entire course. He waited until the man had no strength even to struggle, and then plunged in and saved him. This affords a striking illustration of God’s way in saving a sinner. God’s way is to wait, not with indifference surely, until the sinner finds out that he has no strength to save or help to save himself. All the while he supposes he can do aught to save himself, he is not “without strength.” God will wait until he comes to this, and with some it is a long, dreary experience. Their early religious training and pre-conceived ideas—all, all against them. So for weeks and months, yea, for years, they are left to their strugglings, and strivings, and doings, until they in earnest bow down to the God-stated fact, that they are “without strength.”—Glad Tidings. WHAT IS EDUCATION?
By John Ogden
WHAT a question to ask in this enlightened age! Does not every school boy know? Does not every parent know? Isn’t it in every dictionary? Isn’t it in the vocabulary of every school girl? And yet few know, and fewer practice, its precepts. It is not our purpose to define it technically, nor to treat it in all its phases. But we wish to convict some erroneous views respecting it. It is not unfrequently the case, that we hear persons talking about education as though it were something to put on, and be worn as a garment; by others it is spoken of as a kind of trick, or sleight of hand, to help one make an easy living. By some, again, it is regarded as a kind of polite accomplishment, to make one appear well in society. But the most general idea, one that enters into all the others, and determines largely our practice in school duties, is that it is merely the acquisition of knowledge, usually of a given kind, the cramming of the memory with facts and principles, without much regard to their topical or chronological relation and dependence. These are to be stowed away so that they can be brought forth on given occasions and aired, as ladies air their wardrobes, on sunny days. They are then to be stowed away again, and only used on grand occasions. Knowledge used in this way soon becomes thin and vapid, and neglected, and forgotten. Hence we often hear it said, “I have forgotten all my Greek and geometry.” “My chemistry and physics, logic and metaphysics, have all been covered up and lost in the business of the office, the farm, the work-shop, the home.” Now this may be true, to a very great extent, and it does not speak well for the institution nor the instruction, when such is the case. But I am apprehensive these persons forget that their education, however imperfect it may be, is not their knowledge, nor their Greek, nor their geometry, nor anything of this sort; any more than the food they eat is a part of the living body, or the tools they work with are a part of their trade or occupation. These sciences are only the means of culture; they have simply growth caused by their use, by the mastering of facts, and the acquisition of knowledge. So that the carpenter who laments the loss of his Greek forgets that its results remain, and may express themselves in his neatness and exactness in joints and tenons, in column, frieze and architrave, in temple and dome. The farmer forgets that his geometry may appear in the straightened furrow, or better drainage, in garden walks, or tasteful lawns; that his chemistry may appear in his knowledge of soils, and other ingredients, and in better crops. The lawyer forgets that his logic and philosophy have given him a decided advantage in the battle he is to wage against wrong. The school-master forgets that his metaphysics and Latin enable him better to understand the nature of the human mind, and to lead it into a higher appreciation of “the pure, the beautiful, and the good.” Education, therefore, is a species of growth; and this growth is regulated by antecedents and present causes. It is also subject to degrees. It is not alone the acquisition of knowledge. This is only one of the conditions of growth, as one physical food is only a condition of the growth of the body. But no one will undertake to say that this physical food may not be so perverted from its legitimate uses as to create derangement and disease in the system. No one will undertake to prove that it may not be given in such unreasonable quantities as to produce stupefaction and even death. And yet our bodily stomachs and appetites are less liable to derangement than our mental and moral. And when we take into the account that other fact, viz., that it is more difficult to prepare and rightly adjust the mental food, to cater to the real wants of the mind, than to those of the body, the importance of the case is much enhanced. It is not surprising, at all, that we witness perversion, distortion, disease and even death, when the sacred truths regulating the machinery of the human mind and body—for the one must suffer with the other—are committed to careless, inefficient, and sometimes wicked, hands for culture. If there is such a thing as mismanagement (and who can doubt it?), there must also be such a thing as perverted growth; and education is growth. Education may therefore be perverted and still be education. It may be extensive, even, and still weak; and it may be strong and still vicious. It may be thorough and concise, as applied to the intellect alone, and still be dangerous, and all the more so, from its thoroughness. The intellect may be clean even to brilliancy, and the heart corrupt. The judgment may be sound, and the will weak and vacillating. The imagination may be fervid, and the passions untamed. The taste may be fastidiously refined and cultivated, and the conscience as dark as Erebus. So that it is not always safe to form our opinions upon the basis of intelligence alone. Neither is it always safe to intrust our children to skilled hands; for these may be skilled in crime. Education is, moreover, a former of character, but it must be remembered, this character may be either good or bad, determined largely by the degree and quality of the education. A little good is, therefore, better than much bad. It is powerful only as it is directed by skill and experience. But it must not be forgotten that it may be powerful alike for good or evil. It may stab the nation’s heart, or it may stand guard over its dearest interests. Its excellence depends more upon the quality than upon its quantity. Let us therefore look to the quality of it.—John Ogden, Ohio Central Normal School, Worthington, O.