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MANFORD'S MAGAZINE, each number contains 64 pages, making 768 pages per year. A book of that size costs about $5.00 in any bookstore. $1.50 per year.

TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN THE WEST. A faithful record of the traveling, preaching and debating, of the author, Erasmus Manford, down to the year 1884. To which is added a biography of Mrs. H. B. Manford from early life to the present time, by her friend, Rev. G. S. Weaver, D. D. The book likewise contains fine Steel-Plate Por. traits of Mr. and Mrs. Manford. $1.50

MANFORD AND SWEENEY DISCUSSION. This Discussion was held in a College, by request of the Faculty. It occupied four days, and published by the disputants. The subjects discussed are: I. Universal Salvation. II. Endless punishment. Mr. Sweeney is the ablest, and most experienced debater on his side of the questions in the West. Has had fifty discussions. $1.25.

ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY REASONS FOR BELIEVING IN THE SALVATION OF MANKIND. By E. Manford. 1 for 25 c;3 for 50 c; 6 for $1.

SALVATION NOT BY WATER BAPTISM. This work contains Seventy-Two Reasons why Water Baptism is not a Condition of Salvation. Also part of a Discussion on Water Baptism with Rev. B. Smith, President of the Christian College, Canton, Mo. This work does not oppose Water Baptism, only the absurdities of the Disciples, that it is a Condition of Salvation. By E. Manford. 1 for 25c; 3 for 50c; 6 for $1.

RESURRECTION TO EVERLASTING SHAME AND CONTEMPT. Dan. 12:2; John 5: 28, 29. By E. Manford. 1 for 10c; 12 for 50c; 100 for $4.

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PHILOSOPHY OF UNIVERSALISM. By I. D. Williamson. 25c.

VOL. XXXIII.

THE LOVE OF GOD.

BY REV. ALMON GUNNISON D. D.

How tenderly God's hand waters the earth, weaving it over with royal robes of beauty, pavilioning it with the pomp of clouds, coloring the world with countless hues, and making glory to sit enthroned on every thing, and plenty spring from every source. Towards men the heart of God goes out in tireless benediction. The day is his for labor, the night for sleep. The seasons come with bounty and go with blessing. The fruits ripen for his plucking; the forest clothes itself with beauty; the flowers paint themselves with innumerable colors for him, and everywhere life is adorned with blessing and crowned with loving kindness. He has constructed the curious and delicate fabric in which our consciousness and intelligence reside. formed those wonderful organs which are continually at work within us, and which minister equally to life and pleasure. He endowed us with those noble faculties by which we can understand nature and comprehend life. It is He who has so exquisitely adapted our nature to the

He

objects which surround us, that we can scarcely move without experiencing pleasure.

Now I cannot believe that He who has wrought so abundantly and kindly for the brief life of the body, has been less careful or bountiful in His provision for the life of the soul, which is eternal. Each ray of sunshine, each falling raindrop, the lily in the field, the humblest flower, is a witness of the Infinite and ever active love of God to man on earth.

But what is our life here upon the earth, compared with the endless life of the soul?

We build our buildings of finest stone. We carve them with our rarest skill, adorning them without with the symmetry of strength, and within with the faultless proportions of beauty, because a man, a human being-one a little lower than the angels-is to live within these buildings. We make our caskets of the finest material, lavishing the skill of the artisan upon them, because within, upon their satin folds, the diamond, the jewel fit for a kingly coronet, shall rest. So when we see the world, so wondrous in its light and

life, so bounteous in its beauty, so rich, so varied-so entrancing in its marvels and then remember man, for whom these things are and were created, we know that the soul they serve is greater than the things which minister to it; and we are but walking through the world with blinded eyes, if the sun shining upon us, the breath of the air, the beauty of the landscape, the splendor of the heavens do not strengthen and confirm the soul's deep faith that "neither angels nor principalities, nor powers, nor life, nor death, nor things present, nor things to come can separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord."

We believe God is omnipotent, not alone in this little world where we live our material life, but in the geat realm of spiritual life which begins here but stretches away beyond the grave into the far extending eternities, that there He is, the Lord of Lords and the King of Kings. Now, what is the method of God's working here upon the earth? He loves here; He cares for us and never leaves nor forsakes us. When does He send us pain without its antidote? When does He punish here without a purpose, or chasten without afterwards bringing peaceable fruits? Now, what is there in the grave that changes the attitude of God towards us? Here he loved us, but there we are told He hates; here He shields, there he punishes without mercy; here, like a mother's heart, He hears our feeblest cry, but there out on the air of our prison chamber, go the groans and shrieks of the damnedtheir prayers for deliverance, their pleadings for mercy, but, though, here His ear is open to our cry; there he glories in our pains and rejoices in the majesty of a vindictive will.

What do we find as we look within our souls, yearning for develop

ment, progress, holiness; no matter how defiled, we hate our sins; no matter how imbruited, we honor integrity; in all our souls there burns. the vision of a time when the shackles of sin's servitude will fall from our hands, and we shall be cleansed of our sins. Has God mocked us? Why has He made us to yearn for perfectness, and doomed us to perdition? Why has he planted within us a yearning life, and doomed us to spend an eternity in a living death? Not the painlessness of sweet annihilation, but an existence, laden to the brim with anguish crowded with agony, with powers made, kept immortal that they may suffer an immortality of pain.

No room for tears, no ear for repentance, no succoring hand to save in hell, but endless, useless, purposeless revenge, deepening, growing, widening from age to age, without even the poor hope of dying, with not opiates for our pain, with no pity for our agony. Where is this God whose name is Love? We are told that He loves us with a tenderness before which our fathers' love is but as hatred, our mothers' sympathy but cruelty. Why has He shut us in the torture chamber of the damned? Would our fathers be so cruel-why does He keep up through the countless ages, is this a love like our mothers? no! how our mother's hearts bled for us when even a momentary pain came, how our fathers toiled and suffered and sacrificed to keep even the winds of heaven from kissing our cheeks too harshly, and yet "like as a father pitieth his chil dren, so the Lord loveth those that fear Him; He remembereth fame, He knoweth how weak we are."

Our

"He will not always chide, neither will He keep His anger forever." I look upon the senses God has clothed me with, how here upon earth, they

minister to my joy; my eye revels in the glories of the world, the clouds of evening, the light of day, the tramp of the marching seasons, the silent majesty of the everlasting hills, the wonders of art talk to me from the canvas that glows and the marble that speaks. Music through the sense of hearing comes and weaves with its invisible fingers its magic garments round my soul, and through all these avenues of sense, the hearing and the seeing, there comes from north and south, from east and west, the endless procession, bearing to the treasure house of my soul, the tribute of creation. How glorious is life, how my senses revel in enjoy. ment, how fair creation is, how sweet is the fidelity of friendship, how easy it is to see that God is good. But, another scene in the drama of existence now comes on. A tiny tissue, invisible as the filmy gossamer of a spider's web breaks within my frame, the secret shock of paralysis falls silently upon the electric nerves of this mortal body, a little valve within the heart becomes encrusted with disease, and in a moment's flash, the eye no longer sees the world, and on the ear, the harmonies of sound break unheeded like breaker's waves on the unthinking shore. Oh! how tender then is human love for the poor dead body. Silently we move around the deserted temple of the soul; we weave around the shattered ruins our garlands of flowers, and make the poor dust beautiful for its burial. We forget our business for awhile, we gather around the lifeless form, and with whispered words speak of our love for the dead. Here detraction whispers not a word. Envy is silent, and we speak tenderly of the dead. How we would give our life, could we call back that freed spirit, how our fortune would be give up with joy, if into those silent

eyes we could call back the light that has gone forever; how in the hours of dissolving nature, when pain asserts its empire over the dying, we would bear the agony, if we could alleviate our loved one, and as death, with invisible yet relentless tread comes to bear away his spoils, how out of the depths of our mighty love, comes the cry, "Oh! Absalom my son, would to God I could die for thee, O, Absalom my son."

We bury the body in our consecrated ground, and we grow our flowers over the mounds of our dead -in our homes we hang their pictures on the walls-we gather their relics in our shrines of remembrance --and within our souls, keep green forever the memory and love of our departed.

Human love can do no more; it cannot cross the chasm of the grave -it is weak, poor, feeble-its friend is in the hands of God. Now, how will God's love serve it-there stands the unclothed spirit at the threshold of heaven, and God asks, "is this child one of my elect?-No; it lived a life crowned with mercy-it dried human tears--it scattered blessings in the path of life-but it was not elected to salvation from the foundation of the world--and hell is its por. tion forever "--or, "did this child before death closed probation, believe in my Son Jesus Christ-did it accept his blood-did it believe all the formula of human creeds concerning his merits has it been baptized?" "No; it was born in a heathen world, where the name of Christ was never heard." "No; it was so busy by the roadside, healing those who had fallen among thieves--it was so busy in the market place, in doing justly, loving mercy and walking humbly-it was so busy comforting those who mourned, it had no time to serve at the altars of the Church, or to enter