Contributed Articles

I passed under a camphortree and gathered a few of its leaves and found them full of camphor; indeed, the whole of the tree was saturated with it. Thus should the grace of God show itself in the whole life of the believer. As the inevitable outflow of his renewed nature his most commonplace acts and words should be gracious. Little things best reveal character, for in them a man is less upon his guard. Let even the leaves of your words partake of the grace which dwells in you. — C. H. Spurgeon.

VISITING THE POOR.

JOSEPH COOK says: “In every great town there are six or ten strata of society; and it is, one would think, a hundred miles from the fashionable to the unfashionable side of a single brick in a wall. Superfluity and squalor know absolutely nothing of each other, such is the utter negligence of the duty of visiting the poor in any other wa’ than by agents. I do not undervalue these, nor any part of the great charities of our times; but there is no complete theory for the permanent relief of the poor without personal visitation. Go from street to street with the city missionary or the best of the police; but sometimes go all alone, and with your own eyes see the poor in their attics, and study the absolutely unspeakable conditions of their daily lives. Live one day where the children of the perishing poor live, and ask what it is to live there always. I know a scholar of heroic temper and of exquisite culture who recently resolved to live with the poor in a stifling part of this city (Boston), and who, after repeated and desperate illness, was obliged to move his home off the ground in order to avoid the necessity of putting his body underground. You cannot understand the poor by newspapers, nor even by novels.”

Rather a sly poke, Mr. Cook, at those who fancy they can see mankind through the spectacles of novels. The world which is depicted in fiction is strangely different from the realm of fact in which men and women starve and die, or end their days in the workhouse, of which they have felt from their childhood a mortal dread. Novel-readers know a great deal which it will cost them vast pains to unlearn. True knowledge of the poor will not come even out of “Jessica’s First Prayer” and the like; it must grow out of actual contact with them.

There is much truth in what Mr. Cook has said; indeed, a great deal more than at first meets the eye. Wealthy Christians are to be educated in the most Christ-like of graces by coming in contact with the poor, and it is a great pity that they should refuse to enter the appointed school; poor saints are to be consoled and cheered by the presence of their richer brethren, and it is cruel for the ordained comforters to refuse their task. More would be given in charity if it were given personally, and it would be more wisely distributed and more gratefully received. The kindly word and sympathetic look would be worth more than. the silver or even the gold expended upon the needy, and would often prevent the recipient from becoming a pauper, or rouse the pauper to a desire for independence. Personal visitation is good all round; like mercy, it blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

Our churches have visiting societies connected with them, but we fear they are not quite so flourishing as they ought to be. A few ladies manage the whole business and do all the work. We wish that all the members of the churches who have anything to spare would become visitors of the sick and the poor, either in connection with the societies or on their own account. Of course, those whose time belongs to their employers, and those whose home duties occupy every minute are to be excused; but we have hundreds of ladies without occupation who ought to spend their time in being true sisters of mercy. And why not the gentlemen too? Men of leisure could not do better than hunt out needy merit in the back slums. It would afford more excitement and pleasure than shooting over the moors or watching the fly on the rivers. Gentlemen could safely pioneer the way for ladies, and there are rooms which they might enter more safely than the gentler sex. When we speak of ladies and gentlemen we mean men and women of gentle hearts and generous hands, who would go really to pity and help the poor; we mean working men’s wives who would sit up at night with a sick neighbor, and artisans themselves who would not mind whitewashing a sick man’s room, if needed, to make it sweet and healthy. Anyhow, the salt wants to be rubbed in, and not to be kept by itself in the salt-box. There is the city with its sorrows, and here is the Church with its heaven-born love; the question is: How shall these be brought into contact, so that the evil shall find its remedy and the medicine shall reach the disease?

It is of no use waiting till one universal Charity Organization scheme shall be carried out; we might as well tarry till an organized providence drops quartern loaves and pats of butter at every householder’s door. Schemes and plans are all very well, but he who waits till a scheme has put a chicken into his pot will go without a pullet for a lifetime. The better way is for those who visit to go on with their work, and for those who do not visit to begin at once, and make one call a day if possible. Just take a walk down Paradise Place as a commencement. Look up Jinks’s Rents and down Sheridan’s Alley, and pick up an acquaintance with the woman who goes out charing when she can get it, and the widow who has four children, one born since the husband’s death, — the consumptive widow, we mean, who cannot earn a penny for herself because three of the little ones need nursing, and the eldest can barely run alone. To give up an evening party in order to make a call in the slums may seem to be insane advice, but we venture to back it up by the assertion that it would afford more sensible entertainment than the most of the stuck-up assemblies where twaddle and ceremony sicken thoughtful minds. Life is never slow to those who live to do good. True romance comes in the way of those whose hearts love the sorrowful. Nobody ever complains of ennui who spends his strength in relieving human need for Jesus’ sake. Gratitude for our own favored lot is excited by the inspection of a hospital, a workhouse, or the squalid dens where poverty herds with vice.

Society wants to be made into a stir-about. We must mingle for mutual advantage. The walls are getting higher and the ditches deeper; let us each one try to scale the ramparts and bridge the moats. We are one family, and we refuse to be divided. We cannot be content to be pampered while our brethren pine in want. Down with the barriers, and let the rich and poor meet together, for the Lord is the Maker of them all.

“A CONTINUAL TOOTH-DRAWING.”

When Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton was wearied all day long by incessant requests to alter his procedure upon a great political question, he told his daughter that he could compare the importunities of the members of the House of Commons to nothing but a continual tooth-drawing. This is an image far too striking to be left to Sir Powell’s sole use. Many other persons have been made to know what a continual tooth-drawing means, and we feel persuaded that many more are subjected to similar processes.

We should think that a miserly man, who takes a sitting in a place of worship frequented by a liberal and energetic people, must frequently feel, when he is asked over and over again for a subscription, that he had almost as soon sit in a dentist’s chair, and feel the operator’s forceps upon his precious dentals. His best plan is to give at once, and so end the pain of the extraction.

The same sort of misery must be experienced by the Christian who is always sighing — Tis a point I long to know,”

and incessantly turning over the experience of his own heart to see if he can extract from it some assuring evidence of his being in Christ. Most of us have undergone this unhappy experience, and even a moment of it is torture: to have to endure it month after month would be agony indeed. Oh, for a childlike faith in Jesus to decide the question at once!

Personally, we have heard utterances in prayer-meetings which were painfully like a continual tooth-drawing. They were hard, cold, heartless, dreary, and both as long and as dismal as a winter’s night. All of a sudden we thought and hoped that the brother had done; but, alas, he took up a fresh lease, and entered upon another lengthened period! To all appearance he was coming to a conclusion a second time, when off he went, like a shot which ricochets, or a boy’s stone which when thrown into the water goes — duck — duck — drake — upon the surface. The prayer was diluted to the dregs of nothing, but end there seemed to be none. Oh, that the tooth were out! The beloved brother had said all that could be said, and prayed for all that could be prayed for; but he evidently felt it necessary to begin again. We can have too much of a good thing in such a case, and we wish the friend thought so.

Preachers, too, have caused us the same memorable sensation. The style and manner have been painful, and the length of the discourse has made the agony a protracted one. Dragging away at some metaphysical subtlety, which they could not bring into the light; tugging at some unimportant difficulty whose fangs defied their power; or explaining with marvellous perspicuity what was clear as daylight when they began, and marvellously foggy before they came to the end, they have inflicted upon us a continual tooth-drawing; “at least, our patience was almost as much strained as if a grinder had been slowly drawn from our aching jaw. We are ready to cry, “Out with it, and have done, there ’s a good man; for we can’t stand it much longer.”

Worst of all, however, and fullest development of Sir Fowell’s simile, is the click, clack, click, clack of a fluent female who has gained your ear, and means to hold it.

“She never tires nor stops to rest,
But on and on she goes.”

We have felt ready to open our mouth, and let her draw all our teeth seriatim, if she would but leave off talking. She had nothing to say, and she said that nothing at extreme length, with marvellous energy and with unwearied repetition. W’e have turned our head, we have shut our eyes, we have wished we had gun-cotton in our ears and dynamite in our brain; but our wishes did not deliver us, we were given over to the tormenter, and must abide the fulfilment of our sentence. When the operation has been over we have sometimes asked ourselves what we have done to deserve such a punishment, and with every desire to make a full confession of our faults, we have not been able to discover anything which deserved so severe a torment under the present rule of mercy. At the second sight of the operator we have fled, feeling that it would be worth while to go a mile round, or leap over hedge and ditch, rather than again experience “a continual tooth-drawing.”

Moral. — Let us all be considerate of the feelings of others, for when we imagine we are merely tickling their ears, we may be causing them as much pain as if we were drawing their teeth.

DOCTRINAL ERROR.

When the heart has got out of order and the spiritual life has run down, men soon fall into actual doctrinal error, not so much because their head is wrong, for many of them have not much of that, but because their heart is in an ill condition. We should never have known that some men had brains at all if they had not addled them. Such dcpartcrs from the faith usually fall by little and little. They begin by saying very little concerning grace. They serve out homoeopathic doses of gospel: it is marvellous what a very small globule of the gospel will save a soul, and it is a great mercy that it is so, or few would be saved. These snatches of gospel, and the preacher who gives them, remind us of the famous dog of Nile, of whom the ancients said that he was so afraid of the crocodiles that he drank of the river in a great hurry, and was away from it directly. These intellectual gentry are so afraid of the critical crocodiles that the moment they touch the living water of the gospel they are away again. Their doubts are stronger than their beliefs. The worst of it is that they not only give us very little gospel, but they give us much that is not the gospel. In this they are like mosquitoes, of whom I have often said, I do not mind their taking a little of my blood, but it is the poison which they put into me which is my great cause of quarrel. That a man should rob me of the gospel is bad enough; but that he should impregnate me with his poisonous doctrine is intolerable.

When men lose all love to the gospel they try to make up for the loss of its attractions by sparkling inventions of their own. They imitate life by the artificial flash of culture, reminding me of the saline crystals Vvhich cover the salt deserts. There is a lifeless plain in the heart of Persia, so sterile and accursed that even saline plants do not thrive; ‘’but the salt itself, as if in bitter mockery, fashions its crystals in the form of stems and stalks, and covers the steppe with a carpet of unique vegetation, glittering and glistening like an enchanted prairie in the dazzling light of the eastern sun.” Woe be unto the poor congregations who behold this substitute for life, this saline efflorescence of dainty errors and fascinating inventions! Alas, whatever a man may now propound he will find learned personages to support him in it! Fontcnelle used to say, that if he could only get six philosophers to write in its favor, people could be made to believe that the sun is not the source of light and heat: and I think there is a great deal of truth in the remark. We are told, “Well, he is a very learned man, he is a Fellow of Brazenface College, and he has written a book in which he upsets the old dogmas.” If a learned man writes any nonsense, of course it will have a run, and there is no opinion so insane but, if it has the patronage of so-called scientific men, it will be believed in certain quarters. I have myself watched the labors of novelists in theology, and have tried to get what I could out of their books, but I have been struck with the remarkably poor results of their lucubrations.

ON GEORGE MULLER.

A Christian man is the noblest work of God, especially a Christian man who has attained to fulness of stature, and has done eminent service for his Master. As in the presence of sublime scenery the renewed heart adores the Creator, and never dreams of worshipping nature itself, so in communion with a truly consecrated man the spiritual mind rises to a reverent acknowledgment of the Holy Spirit, whose workmanship is seen in all the saints, and the idea of hero-worship is banished from the mind. Within the last few days it has been our joyful privilege to meet with several of the excellent of the earth....

It has been a great means of grace to us in our exile not only to hear the venerable George Müller of Bristol, but to have three long interviews with him, besides uniting with him twice in the breaking of bread and in prayer. Mr. Müller has the look of personified order and simplicity; his appearance is equally removed from show and slovenliness. His face gleams with the quiet cheerfulness which comes of profound restfulness. He believes God with great reality, and practically takes Him at His word, and hence his peace is as a river. His faith has wrought in him great strength of purpose, so far as man is concerned, and something more than submission to the will of the Lord, for he evidently delights himself therein, and, through divine grace, has been made to move in accordance with it. That which struck us most was his evident rejoicing in tribulations, for the only excitement which we noticed in him was at the mention of the trials of his early days, which gave such room for the display of the divine faithfulness. We do not mean that our friend desires trial, but we perceive that when it comes his heart is exceeding glad, and his glory rejoices, because the Lord is now about to reveal Himself more fully, and to honor His divine name yet again. Oh, that we could all learn this lesson and put it into practice!

Mr. Müller gives us more the idea of Enoch than any man we have ever met: he habitually walks with God. Hence his wiole life is his religion, and his religion is his whole life. The delightful placidity of the pulpit is retained in the parlor, and the graciousness which is seen in the preacher is just as manifest in the friend. Some may, therefore, suppose that he has about him a sombre air; far from it. He is as bright and happy as a dear, obedient child has a right to be when enjoying his Father’s love. He is no monk, and could not be made into a gloomy recluse,’ the domestic affections are strong within him, and so also is his love to the brethren, and his desire for the good of all mankind. Nothing cold, austere, or hard has any place with this “man greatly beloved.” In our company he displayed to us a special affection, which we heartily reciprocate. We entertain for him a feeling of profound veneration; but in his intercourse with us his humility scarcely allowed him to perceive the fact, and there was an entire absence of anything like a sense of superiority, even of such as greater age and experience might naturally claim. Our communion was very sweet to the younger of the two; may the Lord grant to him a renewal of it. We were deeply humbled at the sight of our friend’s beauty of character; not that he said a single word by way of self-praise, but the very reverse, for his total absence of self-consciousness was a leading feature in his conversation. Again and again he said: ‘’ The Lord can do without poor George MiJller;” but even this was drawn out of him, for with him George Müller is just nothing, and the Lord is all in all. We cannot picture this man of God, he is too bright for our pencil. A soft, subdued light shines upon his image as we try to recall it, a reflection of the moral glory of the Master whom he loves; but mild as is the radiance, it prevents our sketching the man to the life.

With no flash of oratory, or brilliance of poetry, or breadth of thought, or originality of mind, George Müller is enabled to be one of the most useful of living preachers by his simply testifying to facts by which he has for himself proved the love and truth of God. His preaching is the gospel, and nothing else. Of flowers of speech he has none, and we hardly think he cares for them; but of the bread of heaven hp has abundance. With speculations he does not intermeddle, but the eternal verities he handles with practical, homely, realizing faith.

No doubts disturb the Director of the Ashley Down Orphanage; how can there be when he sees the Lord daily feeding his 2,050 orphan children in answer to his prayers? Modern thought and the higher criticism never trouble this happy man. He soars aloft. While earth-bound souls are distracted and tormented by the discordant voices of error, he hears the voice of the great Father in heaven, and is deaf to all besides. In his old age, still hale and strong, he ministers the Word with ceaseless diligence, journeying from place to place as the Lord opens the doors and prepares his way. Free from all anxiety, he enjoys life to the utmost, and if it were right to envy any man we should certainly envy George Müller; we are not, however, under any necessity of so doing, for the same grace worketh in all the saints, and we have but to yield ourselves thereto.

PASTORLESS FLOCKS.

Our excellent contemporary, “The Watchman,” of Boston, United States, has an article upon American churches and their difficulties in finding pastors which is singularly applicable to the condition of things in England. We quote the whole paragraph: —

It is sad to see sheep without a shepherd, and as sad to see a church without a pastor. At the present time a number of our most able churches are in a pastorless condition. The First Church in Cleveland has no successor to Dr. Gardner. Emanuel Church in Albany has not filled the place of Dr. Bridgman. The First Church in Chicago comes into the number of the pastorless. The old First Church in New York, for the first time in many years, has a vacant pulpit. Warren Avenue Church in Boston still waits. The Tabernacle Church, Albany, parts with Rev. Frank Morse, and puts up the sign, ‘Pulpit to let.’ The Fourth Church in Philadelphia mourns the withdrawal of its favorite. Other great churches are without pastors. The question arises: * What is the matter?’ We ask not why the pastors left, for in most cases the reason is obvious. But why is not the pulpit filled? Why should p]^manuel Church and the Cleveland Church be so many months in securing a new minister? There seems to be a false taste prevailing in our churches which prevents any speedy settlement of a pastor when a vacancy occurs. The habit is to send all about the country to find some wonderful man to do some wonderful work.

When a ’ supply committee ’ is chosen, they look over the field, and get their eyes upon some brilliant man who is supposed to stand at the head of the list. They have the most important field in the country, and feel sure the genius will come. They call, and the call is declined. Then the committee strike a notch lower. Now they are sure, but the elect says, ‘No.’ Then they try again, a notch lower, with the same result. By this time the committee has learned something. The church is taught humility, and a call is given to some fair man, who accepts, and the machinery gets in motion again. What is to become of these great pastorless churches? They are too big for our theological institutions to fill. They are too important for an ordinary race of ministers. They find nobody in the country equal to their necessities. What is to be done? We might import Spurgeon, but he refuses to be imported. We might call Hugh Stowell Brown, but he will not come. Certain it is that churches must be more moderate in their wants, or we must have a new race of ministers raised up by some special providence. As it is, we have too many big churches, or too many little men. The churches are often made big by fictitious means. They become swollen by self-laudation. Is there no way to swell the minrsters? We know of a lot of men good enough for the best of the vacant churches if they could only be swollen a little. An institution to inflate ministers so that they would fill vacant pulpits is a desideratum in our times, when so many churches find it so hard to obtain the men they want.”

Mr. Watchman is wickedly poking fun when he talks about inflating ministers. No preacher would be improved by being “swollen,” and we are quite sure that “The Watchman “would be the very first to object to the process. The remedy lies in the opposite direction. Churches need to be brought down from their exalted notions of themselves, and their self-laudation must come to an end; or else the old proverb will find illustration in unexpected quarters, — “Pride goeth before destruction.” When Christian men grow dainty and quarrel with the bread of life because it is not baked in silver tins they are evidently in a sickly condition, and are in need of something else besides an able preacher. When they are strong and vigorous they can feed on good, wholesome spiritual meat, served up without the condiments of genius and sensationalism: let them judge themselves, and see whether this strength does not still abide with them, and if so, let them shake off their whimsies, and sit down to homely fare like their brethren.

We know at the present moment churches which are worthy of all honor from their past history, their position, and their liberality to the cause of God, — churches which it would be an honor to any man to preside over, for they are composed of intelligent, thoughtful Christian men; and these churches cannot find a minister in all her Majesty’s three kingdoms. It would be an injustice to charge any one of the members of those churches with self-conceit, for personally and privately they are each one sober-minded and lowly; but there is a certain something called “the church and its status,” of which they are very proud, and when they meet together in their corporate capacity this “church and status” is paramount in their thoughts, and they are as puffed up about it as they well can be. ‘’ We must have a man of the first order. It matters not how long we wait, nor where we look, nor what we give; (fur church is of such a character and occupies such a position that only a first-class preacher can be thought of” Filled with this idea, these brethren have heard some of the excellent of the earth, and have enjoyed their ministry; but they have conscientiously denied themselves the privilege of inviting them to the pastorate, because they have felt that these admirable brethren were lacking in classical attainments or in brilliant oratory. For themselves, and for their children, the esteemed ministers whom they have heard were all they could desire; but there were learned men outside, or men supposed to be learned, persons of influence, or persons thought to be influential, hovering round the church doors, and for the sake of these the sound, edifying divine must be put on one side while they looked for a brother who would be abreast of the times, and would meet the philosophical turn of thought so current among “our more thoughtful young men.” We confess to a smile as we write the last five words; for we have heard of these gentlemen so often that we have the same awe of them as of ‘’ the Conservative workinsf man.” These churches have several times hit upon the right men, as they thought, and have endeavored to entice them away from the congregations over which they were settled, but their invitations have been respectfully declined. They are still looking out, and probably will be looking out for anything under the next quarter of a century, unless they can modify and moderate their notions of what they ought to find in a minister.

Besides the risks which they run by remaining so long pastorless, risks by no means to be underrated, there is one which they forget, namely, that when they do make their choice they will probably select a man far less worthy of their election than several whom they have passed over. The old story of the boy in the wood who needed a stick, but felt that with so many around him he should be sure to meet with a better one by and by, has been repeated hundreds of times. That worthy, as we all know, came at last to the end of the copse, and was obliged to cut any one he could find, having passed by scores of better ones earlier in the day.

One of the best things that a church can do is to catch a minister young, and train him for themselves. Some of the happiest and longest pastorates in our denomination commenced with the invitation of a young man from the country to a post for which he was barely qualified. His mistakes were borne with, his efforts were encouraged, and he grew, and the church grew with him. His pastorate continued for many a year, since he was under no temptation to leave for another position, because he felt at home, and could say, like one of old, “I dwell among mine own people.” If our large churches will not try young men, but must all be provided with tried, experienced, eminent pastors, there will probably be many vacant pulpits, and a great many reasons for their being vacant will be stated by letter-writers in the religious newspapers, — reasons all more or less amusing because they show how men can spin theories, as spiders spin webs, out of their own interiors, making a little substance go a very long way. God has promised to send the churches pastors according to His own heart, but not according to the hearts of those who say: “Our pulpit is one of the most important in the denomination, and therefore we want something more than sound gospel preaching.” Our Lord will never suffer the churches to be destitute of soul-winning and edifying ministers, but He has never promised to give them orators, poets, philosophers, and deep thinkers. The gifts of the Spirit He will not withhold, but there are gifts of mind which are rare, and always will be rare so long as the earth remaineth, and these He may not see fit to give to a larger average of men in this age than in former periods. If the churches direct their choice by these rare mental attainments, the selection of a pastor will be difficult in all cases, and growingly difficult as the number of our churches shall be multiplied.

We by no means suggest that pastors should be chosen in a hurry, or that intelligent churches should select ignorant ministers, or that zeal and spirituality should alone be considered in the election; on the contrary, we heartily recognize the need of care, and we sympathize with the difficulties felt by our larger churches in finding suitable preachers. It is far better to wait for years than to be carried away by a few starring sermons, and choose a man who will cling to the church like a limpet, and suck out its very life like a fungus. Better no man than the wrong man. Our larger and more educated churches might with advantage have refined and learned men as their leaders. We believe that the more a man knows the better, and the more culture he has the better; but at the same time education, refinement, talent, and culture are not everything, and the admiration of them may be carried a great deal too far. Gifts may be exalted above graces, and the flowers of nature made to rival the fruits of the Spirit; and this will be a grievous error. We also believe that large and influential churches should, as a rule, look out men of considerable experience and proved ability to be their spiritual overseers; but even this may be overdone, and so much overdone that, when the Lord sends the right man for the place, he may be rejected, because of his youth, to the church’s serious loss. Let the highest and holiest ends of the gospel ministry be well considered, and let a pastor be sought for mainly with the view of edifying the church and glorifying God, and we are persuaded that a pastor will be found ere long. Let the brethren meet in prayer continually, and lay their case before the great Head of the Church, and we feel persuaded that He who holds the seven stars in His right hand will find a star for each pleading church. We are far from wishing to insinuate that the pastorless churches have not prayed already, but we would urge them to greater importunity in supplication, and beg them to couple with their earnest request a full resolve to have a man not so much of their own choice as of the Lord’s own choosing. We may not succeed when we pray for a pastor after our own ideal, but we cannot fail when we lay all our wishes and desires at the Master’s feet and cry: “Send by whomsoever Thou wilt send.” This business must become more divine and less human; we must look up as well as look around, and we shall find the upward glance to be the more successful.

PRAISE OF MEN.

The youthful worker is very apt to be exalted should he receive a little praise, and there are many injudicious persons who are ready to lavish eulogiums upon any young beginner who seems to be at all promising. How many these foolish talkers have seriously injured it would be hard to say. It may be well to whisper in the young man’s ear that very little store is to be set by the approbation of those who will praise a youth to his face; they are mostly fools, and sometimes knaves. “There are that kiss and kill,” say the cautious Italians. When a man with a loud mouth praises me, I have good reason to be wary in my dealings with him. The boa-constrictor first covers its victim with saliva and then swallows him; and we have known serpents of both sexes do the same with young preachers. Beware of the net of the flatterer and the bait of the maker of compliments. Human opinion is so changeable, and even while it lasts it is of so mixed a character that it is virtually worth nothing at all. We all remember how the men of Lystra first offered to worship Paul, and then within an hour began to stone him. Who cares to run for a crown which melts as soon as it wreathes the winner’s brow? The flash of a wave or the gleam of a meteor is not more fleeting than popular applause.

Besides, if we are applauded by some we are sure to be obnoxious to others, and it is well to set the one over against the other. It is related of Mr. Kilpin, of Exeter, that, going through the streets of that city, he heard a person say of him as he passed: “If ever there was a good man upon earth, there goes one.” This was elevating, but in the next street the effect of this praise was counteracted by Mr. Kilpin’s hearing another bystander exclaim: “If ever a man deserved to be hanged, that fellow does! He makes people mad with his preaching.” The victim of unwise compliments has only to walk into another room and hear how roundly certain persons are abusing him, and he will find it a very useful tonic. It is never summer all over the world at one time, and no public person is being everywhere esteemed. Probably it is well for the interests of truth that excesses in judgment are relieved by their opposites.

Another consideration is suggested by experience, — namely, that praise is exceedingly weakening. If we allow ourselves to feel its soft and pleasant influence it lays us open to feel the caustic and painful effects of censure. After a judge had passed sentence upon a certain prisoner, the foreman of the jury that had convicted him began to compliment his lordship upon the remarks which he had made and the term of imprisonment which he had awarded; but the judge at once stopped him, knowing well that if he had allowed himself to be praised by one jury he would be liable to be blamed by another. If we are pervious to one influence we shall be subject to its opposite. JVe are quite sure to be slandered and abused, and it is well, therefore, for us to have a somewhat thick skin; but if we listen to commendation it makes us tender, and deprives us of that which might have been like armor to the soul. If we allow ourselves to be charmed by the tinklings of flattery we shall be alarmed by the harsh notes of detraction. We must either be proof against both influences or against neither.

A man who becomes dependent upon the opinions of others lays himself open to contempt. It is impossible to think highly of a person who fishes for compliments. To value esteem so much as to go out of our way after it is the surest possible way to lose it. When we consider how unevenly the human hand holds the balances, we may feel but small concern when we are weighed by our fellow-men. If we consider how infinitely precious is the divine regard, we shall live to gain it, and so shall rise above all slavish consideration of the opinions of our fellows. What said the wise apostle Paul? ‘’ But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged of you, or of man’s judgment: yea, I judge not mine own self. For I know nothing by myself; yet am I not hereby justified: but he that judgeth me is the Lord” (i Cor. iv. 3, 4).

Individuals there are abroad who can suck in any measure of praise and retain a large receptiveness for more: they take to it, and thrive in it, like fish in water. Vou may choke a dog with pudding, but you could never satiate, nor even satisfy, these people with praise. To such we tender no advice, for to bid them shun praise would be as useless as to urge the ox to forsake the pasture or the ass its master’s crib; such persons are, however, of small worth as a general rule. We have known exceptions. We remember well a man of admirable parts and real graces of character who was nevertheless ridiculously vain; but he was manifestly eccentric, and had to be left as a lot out of catalogue. The rule is that the vain are worthless, and to them the epigram might be applied, —

“Of all speculations the market holds forth
The best that I know for a lover of pelf,
Were to buy Balbus up at the price he is worth.
And sell him at that which he sets on himself! ‘*

BE NOT DISCOURAGED.

Work for Jesus, when it is done as it ought to be, makes great demands upon the mind and heart. Mere jog-trot routine can keep on by the year together without much wear and tear, and without much result; but when a passion .for souls is felt, and the entire being strains its utmost powers in pleading with men, the case is altered. A sermon or an address which sensibly moves the audience makes a large demand upon the heart’s blood of the soul: as a rule, it not only costs an ardent preparation and a vehement rush of emotion during delivery, but it tells upon the whole system when it is over, and drains from it much of its force. An express train may put on the continuous brake, and pull up in a short space, but a heart in tremendous action cannot stay itself For hours, and even for days, the whole man feels the momentum of a thrilling appeal; his soul continues to rise with the theme when his voice is silenced; and when this ceases there is sure to be a reaction, which frequently takes the form of a sinking equal to the previous rise. If not well watched despondency will grow out of this, and the best workers for God will find themselves weak, weary, and tempted to shun the service. This is to be dreaded, and every means must be used to prevent it. Brethren, one who knows by experience what is meant by a downcast spirit, produced by ardent service, would warn you against bringing it upon yourselves. There is need of vehement service, and there must needs be a great draught upon the strength of truly useful men and women; but there is no necessity for our running down too low, — in fact we must not do so, or our usefulness will be marred. We must be careful to guard against monotony of thought, for this eats as doth a canker. We must not dwell so exclusively upon our work and its responsibilities, nor even upon the souls of men and their danger: we must remember more distinctly our Lord and His grace and power to save us and our hearers. We must remember the victories of the cross as well as the ruin of the fall. Even our Lord Jesus did not always reflect

Upon the destruction of Jerusalem, or He would have stood weeping over it all His life, and have accomplished nothing for mankind. Let us give the mind a wider sweep, and consider the glories of grace as well as the sorrows of sin. Great joy will help to repair the damage of great work, and with a due measure of rest between we may hope to go on cheerfully from year to year, till our great Master shall call us home.

PERIL FROM THE PULPIT.

The habit of perpetually mentioning the theories of unbelievers when preaching the gospel, gives a man the appearance of great learning, but it also proves his want of common sense. In order to show the value of wholesome food it is not needful to proffer your guest a dose of poison, nor would he think the better of your hospitality if you did so. Certain sermons are more calculated to weaken faith than to render men believers; they resemble the process through which a poor unhappy dog is frequently passed at the Grotto del Cane at Naples. He is thrown into the gas which reaches up to the spectators’ knees, not with the view of killing him, but merely as an exhibition. Lifted out of his vapory bath, he is thrown into a pool of water, and revives in time for another operation. Such a dog is not likely to be a very efficient watch-dog or pursuer of game; and when hearers Sunday after Sunday are plunged into a bath of sceptical thought, they may survive the experiment, but they will never become spiritually strong or practically useful. It is never worth while to make rents in a garment for the sake of mending them, nor to create doubts in order to show how cleverly we can quiet them. Should a man set fire to his house because he has a patent extincteur which would put it out in no time, he would stand a chance of one day creating a conflagration which all the patents under heaven could not easily extinguish. Thousands of unbelievers have been born into the family of scepticism by professed preachers of the gospel, who supposed that they were helping them to faith: the fire fed upon the heaps of leaves which the foolish, well-intentioned speaker cast upon it in the hope of smothering it. Young men in many instances have obtained their first notions of infidelity from their ministers; they have sucked in the poison, but refused the antidote. The devil’s catechists in doubt have been the men who were sent to preach “believe and live.” This is a sore evil under the sun, and it seems hard to stay it, and yet ordinary common sense ought to teach ministers wisdom in such a matter.

Alas! there are public teachers who do the devil’s work wittingly, for if you hear them for a short time you will perceive that nothing is certain with them but their own uncertainty. We one day heard a tradesman selling old lead from off a church to a person who dealt in that metal. “How much have you?” said the buyer. “I will sell you eighteen hundredweight,” said the seller, “and guarantee the weight if you take it away to-day; but mark you, I will not warrant that there shall be nine hundredweight to-morrow.” “Why not?” said the buyer. “Why,” replied the other, “you know better than I do that lead evaporates very mysteriously.” The buyer nodded an understanding nod, and bought for immediate delivery. We also marked the metaphorical statement, and remembered how mysteriously the precious treasure of the gospel “evaporates” in the hands of some workmen who need to be ashamed. Heigh, presto f’ and away the wizard makes the essential truth to fly, though every word he uses is as orthodox as the creed. In a book of Indian travels the writer states that he has seen marvellous things performed by jugglers. Believe him who will, he states that he saw two conjurers with a chain fifty cubits long. They threw one end of it into the air, and there it remained suspended. A dog walked up the chain and disappeared; then a goat came forward and did the same; and afterwards a lion and a tiger mounted and vanished in like manner. Our “deep thinkers” perform this trick to perfection. The heavenward end of their chain of thought is fixed somewhere in cloudland, and up this precious chain of theirs they have long ago sent the doctrine of the substitution of Christ, the immortality of the soul, the plenary inspiration of Scripture, and other eternal verities; and now it is hinted that the deity of our Lord, the resurrection from the dead, and the personahty of God are to be regarded as moot points. Up into the air all positive truths are to go one after another till nothing will be left. At what conclusion will they arrive? As yet they have come to no conclusion but this — that nothing can ever be concluded.

But silence! If you say half a word you will be called uncharitable, or perhaps you will be charged with bearing false witness against your neighbor. Rats may undermine a Dutch dyke and drown a province, but to hunt them would be cruelty to animals. Have not the creatures as much right to their own course as you have? Burglars may break into our houses, and even take our lives; but hold off, ye police! be not so uncharitable as to interrupt a dexterity so admirable, or to raise a hue and cry against artistes so proficient. They are amiable men in family life, very clever in conversation, and much esteemed in their own circles; why render their occupation uncomfortable? They simply differ upon matters of opinion as to rights of property, and if they are a little heterodox, there are only two letters of difference between ineum and tuiun, and it is a shame to make men offenders for so insignificant a distinction. Bah! We execrate the thief, and with equal justice ought we to expose and to condemn the traitor who robs us of heavenly treasure, of truth vital to eternal life, truth which is absolutely needful to our soul’s salvation. Pleas of charity to error are arguments for the murder of souls. Life and death hang upon the question of truth or falsehood; if lies be propagated or truth be clouded, the watchmen of the Lord will have to give in their account for permitting it. For our part we shall not cease to warn till the occasion is removed, and at this present time that occasion is by no means gone, for the world

swarms with —

“Philosophers who darken and put out
Eternal truth by everlasting doubt;
Discoverers of they know not what, confined
Within no bounds — the blind that lead the blind.”

Till these have all fallen into the ditch and cleared the road for

honest teacher’s we must not cease to warn every man, that none

may be fatally deceived by them.

ON BEING IN TIME.

Punctuality is one of the minor moralities, but it is one which every young man should carefully cultivate. The very smallness of the virtue makes its opposite vice the less excusable. It is as easy to be in time as it is to be five minutes late when you once acquire the habit. Let it be acquired by all means, and never lost again. Upon that five minutes will depend a world of comfort to others, and every Christian should consider this to be a very weighty argument. We have no right to cause worry and aggravation to others, when a little thoughtfulness on our part would jlirevent it. If the engagement be for twelve o’clock, we have no authority to make it 12.5, and by doing so we shall promote nobody’s happiness. That odd five minutes may create discomfort for ourselves throughout the entire day, and this perhaps may touch the sluggard a little more keenly than any less selfish consideration. He who begins a little late in the morning will have to drive fast, will be constantly in a fever, and will scarcely overtake his business at night; whereas he who rises in proper time can enjoy the luxury of pursuing his calling with regularity, ending his work in fit season, and gaining a little portion of leisure. Late in the morning may mean puffing and blowing all the day long, whereas an early hour will make the pace an easy one. This is worth a man’s considering. Much evil comes of hurry, and hurry is the child of unpunctuality.

The waste of other people’s time ought to touch the late man’s conscience. A gentleman, who was a member of a committee, rushed in fifteen minutes behind the appointed hour, and scarcely apologized, for to him the time seemed near enough; but a Quaker, who happened also to be on the committee, and had been compelled to wait, because a quorum could not be made up to proceed with the business, remarked to him: “Friend, thou hast wasted a full hour. It is not only thy quarter of an hour which thou hast lost, but the quarter of an hour of each of the other three; and hours are not so plentiful that we can afford to throw them away.” We once knew a brother whom we named “the late Mr. S,” because he never came in time. A certain tart gentleman, who had been irritated by this brother’s unpunctuality, said that the sooner that name was literally true the better for the temper of those who had to wait for him. Many a man would much rather be fined than be kept waiting. If a man must injure me, let him rather plunder me of my cash than of my time. To keep a busy man waiting is an act of Impudent robbery, and is also a constructive insult. It may not be so intended, but certainly if a man has proper respect for his friend, he will know the value of his time, and will not cause him to waste it. There is a cool contempt in unpunctuality, for it as good as says: “Let the fellow wait; who is he that I should keep my appointment with him?”

In this world, matters are so linked together that you cannot disarrange one without throwing others out of gear; if one business is put out of time, another is delayed by the same means. The other day we were* travelling to the Riviera, and the train after leaving Paris was detained for an hour and a half. This was bad enough, but the result was worse, for when we reached Marseilles the connecting train had gone, and we were not only detained for a considerable time, but were forced to proceed by a slow train, and so reached our destination six hours later than we ought to have done. All the subsequent delay was caused through the first stoppage. A merchant once said to us: “A. B. is a good fellow in many respects, but he is so frightfully slow that we cannot retain him in our office, because, as all the clerks work into each other’s hands, his delays are multiplied enormously, and cause intolerable inconvenience. He is a hindrance to the whole system, and he had better go where he can work alone.” The worst of it is that we cannot send unpunctual people where they can work alone. To whom or whither should they go? We cannot rig out a hermitage for each one, or that would be a great deliverance. If they prepared their own dinners, it would not matter that they dropped in after every dish had become cold. If they preached sermons to themselves, and had no other audience, it would not signify that they began consistently seven minutes behind the published hour. If they were their own scholars, and taught themselves, it would be of no consequence if the pupil sat waiting for his teacher for twenty minutes. As it is, we in this world cannot get away from the unpunctual, nor get them away from us, and therefore we are obliged to put up with them; but we should like them to know that they are a gross nuisance, and a frequent cause of sin, through irritating the tempers of those who cannot afford to squander time as they do. If this should meet the eye of any gentleman who has almost forgotten the meaning of the word ‘* punctuality,” we earnestly advise him to try and be henceforth five minutes too soon for every appointment, and then perhaps he will gradually subside into the little great virtue which we here recommend. Could not some good genius get up a Punctuality Association, every member to wear a chronometer, set to Greenwich time, and to keep appointments by the minutehand? Pledges should be issued, to be signed by all sluggish persons who can summon up sufficient resolution totally to abstain from being behind time in church or chapel, or on committee, or at dinner, or in coming home from the office in the evening. Ladies eligible as members upon signing a special pledge to keep nobody waiting while they run upstairs to pop on their bonnets. How much of sinful temper would be spared, and how much of time saved, we cannot venture to guess. Try it.