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moral and physical being, and this change also reached this earth with which man stands in such intimate relation. The earth was cursed for man's sake. He was driven out of the beautiful garden, and doomed to go forth and eat his bread in the sweat of his brow. Now this outward world seems to be angry with him. It seems to have partaken of the spirit of the serpent that beguiled Eve. It belches forth flames of fire and liquid lava, and swallows up whole cities with all their inhabitants in a common ruin. Tornadoes sweep over the ground and level trees and forests, houses and cities. It sends deadly miasmas up from its bosom that generates diseases by which thousands and thousands are carried to their graves. It feeds our bodies only at last to receive them back to its cold embrace in the narrow house appointed for all the living.

It was of this nature when the Saviour was in the world. After the labors of the day the Saviour was weary, and he lay down upon a pillow in the hinder part of the ship and fell asleep; then settled down upon the bosom of the lake the angry tempest; it howled through the rigging and the sails of their ship, as if to chant a requien over the watery grave in prospect for the poor, terrified disciples; it dashed against the sides of the ship; it lashed the waves into fury until they almost cover the vessel with their foam, and now it seems to mock the fears of the disciples, and to gather up still more force for the contest. Vain winds! ye spend your race for nought!

Let ligress a few moments. This world is often called the sea of boie's The church is our ark of safety. The figure is an appropriate one. The world has always been hostile to the church, and, in her early history especially, this hostility came out in open and violent persecution. In the beginning, when the number of Christians was small, and there seemed a prospect of speedily exterminating them, church historians tell us that persecutions of the most relentless kind prevailed, and at times the ark which bore this precious trust for the world would rock and toss upon the waves as if about to yield to their fury. But these storms were equally vain with those upon the Sea of Galilee. The Saviour was in the ship, and therefore it could not be injured by the storm.

There is such a prevailing tendency to rationalism in our times; we are so much disposed to go to the laws of nature for an explanation of every phenomenon, and to look upon these laws themselves as a sort of a divinity, that we are tempted to exclude a providence altogether; much less does it enter our minds that the powers of evil have any thing to do with the phenomena of the natural world. A storm! why that is for us one of the most natural things in the world; we can pick up our Philosophy and trace out its causes in a short time, and then all is clear; and how heartily we can laugh at the superstition of the heathen who imagines some angry deity in the black storm. But it is well for us not to be too fast, even though this be a fast age; for, after all, the religious instincts of some of the poor heathen may be nearer the truth than our puffed up theories that start and remain only in the sphere of the natural. Upon a close inspection of the language employed in this narrative we find a strong term used—“he rebuked the winds,” which, in the original, implies that he censured, blamed them; and learned men have explained this as being in some sense a recognition of the powers of the evil world, which make themselves felt in the disorders of the outward world. We need not, however, entertain any fears for the reputation of our natural philosophers; we may rest pretty securely upon their teachings and still regard these surgings and heavings in the natural world as in some way connected with sin and the fall.

In this view we have a picture before us of these two worldsthe stormy Sea of Galilee, and the demoniac of the country of the Gadarenes. Jesus Christ is equally Lord over both; he calms the waves of the one as of the other; he says peace, be still, and there is a great calm in the one case equally as in the other. Is it any wonder in the first case that the disciples should be surprised and exclaim, “What manner of man is this that even the winds and the sea obey him." Still more room for surprise and astonishment in the second. The spiritual world is hidden from our view. Could we see Satan with our natural eyes going about like a roaring lion ; could we see legions of devils intent with all their might to entrap and destroy the child of God; could we see them encamped with hideous forms against the church; could we have even a glance into some of the contests that were waged in the person of the Son of God against this vile host, our wonder and admiration would become vastly heightened, and we would be able to see something awfully grand and majestic in the conduct of the Saviour as he drives out these powers or spirits from the poor man of the country of Gadarenes.

There is something appropriate in the language given by one of the Evangelists—"peace, be still.” The kingdom of Christ is one of peace; that of Satan is one of disorder and confusion. Storms arise in the soul as well as in the outer world. Angry passions arise and disquiet us. If we have the Saviour in the heart he can quiet them. The Saviour is the prince of peace; his reign is one of peace; that is what the angels proclaimed at his birth. This world is a vast sea, over which each one of my

little readers has commenced to sail. Your boat is fresh and new; pleasant breezes fill its sails; the water is serene and placid, and the sky overhead looks clear and beautifully bright; not a cloud to be seen in its wide expanse; your boat glides pleasantly on, and, if we might vary our figure somewhat, so as to bring tắe shores a little closer together, the pleasure might be heightened. On either bank grow pretty flowers that seem to grow still more beautiful in the light of smiles that play upon the countenances of the little voyagers. Birds carol out their sweetest notes from the

green

shrubbery that bends over the limpid waters. New and strange objects continually present themselves to view and attract our admiring gaze. Our little hearts swell in gratitude, while our minds are busy in classifying and arranging the boundless stores of knowledge thrown open to our study, and we are tempted to fall in love with this beautiful world. This is only a picture of the inward, mirrowed forth by the buoyancy of the youthful mind. We could wish that it were always so--that the voyage were continually smooth, and that no storm might arise. But, perhaps, that were not a wise wish after all. We ought rather perhaps wish that there were no sin to cause these storms. It seems necessary that we should encounter them in our present fallen condition.

After awhile the waters grow more troubled and agitated; the winds come down, and our bark begins to rock; our fears are excited, and we begin to look around for help; impotent against the storm ourselves we call upon the Saviour, and he comes to our rescue. The flowers are as beautiful as ever, and the birds sing as blithely, but they have no influence upon the troubled waters; we begin to smile upon them through tears, and our life begins to assume more of the earnest cast. Ignorant of how many rocks and shoals lay hidden in our way, we had persuaded ourselves that we would always glide thus smoothly on. Now we begin to trust ourselves less and to keep a more watchful look out. But has our happiness diminished ? Not in the least, if we are Christians, but vastly increased. Now we look far over the wide waters to the end of our journey. Blooming flowers and singing birds are now only dim pictures of the delights that await us on the other side. So much is our mind taken up with the delights of that country, that we forget the hardships of the way.

J. H. A.

JACOB'S DREAM.

REPOSING sweetly at heaven's gate,

Behold the patriarch lie,
While visions of the unseen state

Instruct his sleeping eye.

Why should the good man ever fear,

Though into deserts driven ?
His tent, where'er 't is pitched, is Dear

The open gate of heaven.

Take Jesus for thy Saviour, then ;

Hope on, nor be dismayed ;
Thou sleepest under angel wings,

Where'er thy head is laid.

A DIGNIFIED SILENCE.

BY THE EDITOR.

" Because bubbles do break of themselves, it hath never been that bubblebreaking hath grown into a calling."

Does any one, or do many, speak evil of you, slander you, misrepresent you? Keep a "dignified silence." Does any one who is known to be a “retailer” of news come to "pump” you? Keep a "dignified silence.” Does any one speak to you impudently and impertinently? Keep a "dignified silence.' This is the only way you can reply to them properly and effectually.

Did you ever see a boy, standing at the edge of a mighty woods, lifting up his voice to a shout, and then wait with open mouth expecting to hear a tremendous echo, and no echo came! How foolishly he looked all around him, half ashamed, and as if wondering whether any one had heard him, and hoping that no one had ! Al this because no echo came. If he had received an answer from the woods he would have felt vastly elated, and with his hands in his pocket, and a whistle on his lips, he would have marched on, as much as to say, “I did it. The old fellow had to answer me!"

Unto this boy do we liken the man or the woman who tries to get up an answering sensation to anything they may choose to shout upon the popular air; and unto this echo, that answered not and disappointed the boy, do we liken those who hear the shout but maintain a "dignified silence.”

If said Echo could think, and reason, and speak, these would be his words: “Sweet is the calmness and rest which I enjoy. Sweet are the scenes of peace which lie around me. Soft and charming are the thousand nameless notes which I hear around me, by keeping silent. Above all, why should I incommode myself and disturb the peaceful woods around me at the bidding of a boy? If I answer him it must be in the same language, and my voice being an echo, though where I am loud as thunder, will be to those who heard his, many times less. Besides, many who heard the shout will not hear the echo at all. Finally, what seems to me to be the height of wisdom is this: The shout will die away itself if I answer not-my echo would be only a prolonging of his own sound.” Thus saying, Echo would vanish softly along the hills, and repose in “dignified silence."

There is a deal of philosophy in the soliloquies of Echo. Why should we count our own peace of such little value as to suffer any one who pleases to disturb it. Some one, in all respects beneath you-beneath

you in talents, education, social position, and moral character, takes it into his or her head to make reports to your detriment; for it requires no respectability at all to slander and misrepresent a respectable person. Now, shall you disturb your peace at the instance of such instrumentalities. Shall you set yourself in motion at their instance, and run at such bidding? Shall you, by patient and serious investigation, follow back the slander over dozens of filthy tongues! Where will all your investigations end, but in some foul heart; and what will you gain but to give the slanderer the satisfaction of knowing that his or her words are of some importance; and thus in reality encouraging the foul mouth to do the like again. Suppose you find the source and convict it, will he follow the path the slander has traveled and correct the impressions made ? No. After all

, only your own known character and reputation must correct it, and that will best be done by a "dignified silence.”

It is true, nature urges, “Follow it up-trace it out.” But this is, in most of cases, when closely analized, a spirit of revenge. Besides, one only makes himself ridiculous. For very often what begins earnestly ends in a farce—somewhat after the fashion of the following example:

A boy comes running to his father exclaiming, “Father, I saw a thousand partridges !”

“0, my boy, so many ?"
“Well, there were a hundred, anyhow."

“A hundred? I never saw a hundred partridges in one drove, as old as I am.'

“Well, father, I heard something rattling in the leaves! I think they were partridges !”

In this way, we venture to believe, end most of reports which, if importance is given them, disturb whole neighborhoods.

It will be found, also, that when importance is given to a matter of which established character should be the refutation, it rather increases than allays suspicion. Any one who interests himself in a small business will be regarded as small. The weak and the guilty are restless. The strong and the innocent are composed. Observation will abundantly illustrate the truth of this.

The world is full of little spirits who seek notoriety by picking at those whose position they can but barely reach; and these are infinitely tickled if they can attract the least attention. If those whom they assail will just stoop the least, as if to see what the little thing is, they will feel themselves so much flattered as to feel a mighty mission! Their little wind will now seem to them to be a real storm, because they saw the tall oak bend down. Now comes the tug of war. Mighty questions to be settled here! All this results from giving importance to a little thing. It might all have been prevented by a "dignified silence.”

Having now presented several considerations in favor of maintaining a "dignified silence” towards all kinds of small things,

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