ing upon me with a countenance radiant with beauty and happiness, and beckoning me up to her bright abode, have floated before me, and filled my heart with an unspeakable joy!" Such, kind reader, was the mother's grief, and such the mother's joy! As I journeyed to my abode, 1 reflected upon these circumstances, and upon the character of that doctrine, which drives its believers frequently to insanity! I asked myself if it were possible any could believe the compassionate Jesus came into the world to reveal a system of doctrines which pierce the feeling heart with anguish unspeakable, a system of doctrines which tells the mother, while gazing with a parent's fondness upon the little circle in which all her tenderest affections are garnered up, that the time may come, when, although safe herself, she may be compelled to behold each beloved one, shrieking in agony on the tempestuous billows of unending wrath? Good God! I mentally exclaimed, can a female, can A MOTHER believe this terrific sentiment, and retain her rea. son! Parent of mankind, save the female heart from a task so dreadful! If the fair reader, whose eye is scanning these lines, has the misfortune to be still involved in those errors which poison present peace, and spread the dark pall of fear and dread over the future, she will allow me to urge her to free herself from this thraldom. The female heart must revolt at such doctrines, when real. ized in all their deformity. I would invite her to examine the principles and the evidences of the doctrine of the salvation of the world through Jesus Christ. I am confident it has claims upon her belief, her respect and love, I am confident she will perceive in its teachings, that which is peculiarly in consonance with the tenderest, loveliest, holiest promptings of her own heart! Search! and may God give you success in finding that truth which will make you free, and fill your soul with peace and gladness. But whether you can find that truth or not, may the Father of spirits, in mercy preserve you from the grief of that mother, of whose sufferings and joy, I have given you a true and faithful record. J. M. A. LIFE AMONG THE INSANE. III. A learned writer says, that "whatever exalts the power of the brain and nerves, depresses vitality, or debilitates the body, may through these effects become the causative agent of insanity. Hence ill health, intemperance, debauchery, self-abuse, excessive and prolonged labor, either manual or mental, night watching, great loss of sleep from any cause, excitement upon religious subjects, domestic and pecuniary troubles, disappointment and grief, are among its most prolific causes. It is a disease of debility, and not of a superabundance of strength as some have supposed. It is almost unknown among aboriginal races, whose habits and customs promote corporeal development, strength and vigor, and make no detrimental strain upon the nervous system. It increases with advancing civilization, and abounds to the greatest extent wherever man is most enlightened, because there the artificial habits and customs which call the brain most powerfully into action, are most prevalent.” And what a long catalogue insanity presents? Kings, sages, philosophers are all found in this list. And poets too, what a space they occupy in the roll? A learned French physician says "I once visited a town in Italy; I passed rapidly by cathedrals, churches, palaces, public monuments, fountains, statues, all interesting perhaps, but I did not stay to inspect them, for my entire attention was directed toward the spot toward which I was hastening. At length I stopped before a low arched doorway, inside an iron railing. Nothing could be more sad than this retreat, yet the names of Byron, Lamartine, Gray, and many other names showed that some mighty interest was connected with this spot. It was in fact the cell in which Tasso had been confined for seven years, and his hard couch and iron ring still remain in their places. On seeing these things I fancied I could hear the illustrious poet singing the death-knell of Chatterton, of Collins, of Gilbert, and a host of brothers, lost and abandoned like himself." Dr. Brigham expresses the opinion that some persons exhibit more mental vigor and ability after an attack of insanity that before. He says, "Of this I feel confident from my own observation, and the declaration of the persons and their friends; besides it is not very surprising that such should be the result, as it can be explained on physiological principles, the unusual and long continued excitement of the brain having permanently increased its power and activity. I suspect that this is often the case, or rather, that a slight disease of the brain is often the cause of the remarkable genius and talent exhibited by some persons. Dryden correctly says: "Great wits are sure to madness near allied, And thin partitions do their bounds divide." The observation is as old as Aristotle, and innumerable examples, from his time to our own, might be referred to in support of its truth. In the writings of Fielding, Pope, Dryden, Rosseau, Dr. Johnson, Byron, and many others, are descriptions of insipient insanity, evidently drawn from their own sensations. Pascal often sprang from his chair while composing his elaborate works, seeing a fiery opening by his side. Luther maintained that he saw and conversed with Satan. Descartes was often followed by invisible persons calling upon him to pursue in the search for truth. Cowper was decidedly insane, even when he wrote some of his most celebrated poems. And one of the finest poems in the English language was written by him just after he had been defeated in an attempt to kill himself. It is the 128th hymn in Chapin's collection, and begins: "God moves in a mysterious way, And rides upon the storm." And a hymn written on Christ as seen of angels, owed its completion to an insane man. It was written by the Rev. M. Gregg, an English clergyman, who had an insane brother living with him, who spent his time wandering about the yard and garden, and who sometimes found his way into his brother's study, but never seemed to take any interest in things about him. Mr. Gregg, therefore, used no precaution in relation to his manuscripts, generally allow. ing them to remain exposed on his desk. On this occasion, he had written the hymn with the exception of the two last lines, and being unable to get a suitable climax, he walked out to refresh himself and complete his subject. After he had left his study his insane brother stepped in, read the manuscript, took a pen and completed the hymn. And it was 540 THE MEANS OF GRACE. The "means of grace " is a phrase we often hear in prayer-meetings. It has been rather monopolized there, and we seldom notice it in ordinary conversation. Thinking about it the other day, after I had heard it, as usual joined in with "the hope of glory," I asked myself what it suggested to me. On the surface, of course, going to church, Sabbath-keeping, reading the Bible, and private prayer. But may it not have a deeper meaning? Is there not a sense in which all the acts of our life, the associations of every day, and the commonest accidents of existence may be called means of grace? May not the newspaper I take up in the morning, be to me, if I read it as a record of Divine Providence, as clearly a means of grace, as the chapter in Corinthians, or the beautiful Psalm? May not the new soul I met when in a friend's house, I was introduced to a stranger whom straightway I touched, finding unexpected points of sympathetic interest, become to me a means of grace? As I go to my bookshelves, hesitating whether to read Macaulay's stately periods, or Carlyle's fiery pages, or Ruskin's music, will not the selection I am led to make give to my spirit the food it needs or steal from it strength, according to the time and hour? So that my book may be a means of grace, or a means of exhaustion, and help or hinder me on the heavenly road. O friends who read this, believe that everything in your lives comes from the loving Father. There is nothing he gives which rightly used. may not become to you a means of grace. The new song you learned when you gave yourself in consecration to the Lord, should have this refrain, "Be careful for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, make your requests known unto God." If we are "careful for nothing," we shall not be unduly distressed or worried when our domes tic affairs press upon us. There are some lights in which even a vexatious servant or a fretful child can become so glorified by patience, that they are recognized as means of grace. Grace is favor, and favor to the ill-deserving, not only as we sometimes interpret it, to the undeserv ing. For glory, which we hope for, what perfect synonym in all the Thesaurus of the English tongue, can we find? It conveys to us a feeling of brightness, of splendor, of triumph, as when a Roman general came home to receive an ovation from his friends and countrymen, wreaths, flowers, music, gold and gems adorning his path. One day, conquerors and crowned, through our Lord Jesus Christ, we shall thus go home to glory when the means of grace here have wrought their perfect work. CHRIST THE FOUNTAIN. "If any man thirst, let him come to me and drink!" This was an astonishing announcement. If Plato had uttered it from his Academy, it would have savored of boastful presumption. Yet a Galilean peasant, whose whole "school" of followers scarcely went beyond a dozen fishermen and publicans, makes this proclamation to all human kind: If any one is thirsty for pure happiness, I will satisfy him; if any one is suffer ing from a sense of guilt, I will relieve him; if any one is heart-broken, I will comfort him. There is no al ternative. Either this carpenter's son from Galilee is an insane impostor or else he is a being clothed with divine power. No madman ever talked for three years without uttering one foolish syllable; no impostor ever pushed himself before the public eye for three years without doing one selfish act. Jesus of Nazareth, then, was what he claimed to bethe Son of God. He does not draw from others his supplies for human needs; he invites everybody to come and draw from him. He is not a reservoir filled up from some other sources and liable to be exhausted; he is an original, selfsupplied fountain-head. Never had the face of humanity been more parched and dusty and barren than was that Oriental world when Jesus burst up through it like an artesian well. Even Judaism has become like a desert, and lo! there breaks forth this gushing fountain of crystal waters. He is more than a teacher, giving instruction on all profound and practical questions. He is more than a miracle worker, giving sight to the blind, ears to the deaf, and healing to the diseased. His supreme gift to man is himself. From himself flows forth the recovering influence; from the inexhaustible depths of his own being, it was a gift from God through him, from which a whole thirsty race may draw refreshment. "The water that I give shall be in you a well of water springing up into everlasting life." It is not simply profound truths that Jesus offers, or a system of doctrine, or a beautiful model of right living. He offers himself as the satisfier: drink me, take me into your souls, ye will never die of thirst. What a thirsty crowd fills all the and thoroughfares of life! Quacks cry their nostrums on every hand. Ambition sets up its dizzy ladder and proclaims: If any man thirsts for happiness, let him come hither and climb. Mammon puts up over the doors to his temples for traffice: If any man thirsts, let him come to me and get rich. Pleasure lights her saloons and strings her viols and sets out her flagons and cries aloud to the passers by: If any are wretched and thirst for enjoyment, let them turn in hither and drink. And all these are but miserable, broken cisterns, that hold no water. In every human soul is a crying want, a hunger that such husks cannot feed, a thirst that grows the keener the longer it is trifled with. My soul recognizes sin and thirsts for relief from it. I am so weak that I have been overthrown. again and again. I want strength equal to the conflict. My earthly sources of happiness are precarious.. Death has already shattered more than one beautiful pitcher at my domestic fountain. God has put within me desires and demands that no uncertain rivulet can satisfy. My soul thirsts for the living Christ! When he opens up the well-spring within me, peace flows like a river. Pure motives well forth, desires after holiness, and love in its satisfying fullness. Conscience is kept clean and sweet by the presence of Christ, the fountain-head. the life-giving water, but because their foolish, depraved hearts do not thirst for it. A lady who visited one of the tropical islands, for health, wrote home to her friends: "This is a lovely spot. I have every kindness, and abundance of food and fruits and luxuries; but I have no appetite. If I could only get an appetite, I would soon recover." Alas! within a month she was gone! She died not from want of food, but from want of hunger; not for lack of refreshing drinks, but from the lack of thirst for them. So it is the worst symptom of sin in the human soul that it kills the appetite for holiness. It craves other sources of enjoyment than Christ offers. Drugged with the Devil's treacherous draughts, it cries constantly for more, and yet refuses to touch the water of life everlasting. Blessed are they that thirst after pur. ity and pardon and peace and power; for in Christ they may be filled. These words are written for those who are thirsty. Ye who have a real aspiration for a nobler and purer life, ye who have never yet been delivered from the plague and power of sin, listen to that celestial voice: "If any man thirst, let him come to me and drink!" There is a flock at the fountain now. Go and join them. Draw for yourself. Drink for yourself. Drink, that your joy may be full. In heaven there is a perpetual Thanksgiving day; for the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne is their Shepherd, and he leadeth them to ever new fountains of waters of life.-The Independent. A POOR MAN'S WIFE. They were a happy and hopeful bridal couple. This life upon which they had entered was like a new and unexplored country, but Clarence meant to work hard and felt little or no doubt in regard to their future. He had been head book-keeper for many years and had the promise of something better yet the coming sea son. They rented a house in the pleasant part of the city, kept a servant, and Stella wore the handsome clothes which had been provided at the time of her marriage. But toward the end of the first year of their wedded life his firm was said to be under heavy liabilities and the anniversary of their marriage found the house bankrupt and Clarence out of a sit uation. "I shall find something by and by," the husband said bravely. It was at this trying time that a little speck of humanity was put into Stella's arms, and its feeble cry told that the responsibility of motherhood was hers. "I am the happiest man alive," Clarer ce exclaimed, caressing wife and baby boy. "Let pride go to the dogs, Stella," he added, remembering that now his responsibility was greater than before. "They are in want of workmen on the new city hall. I'll take my hammer-it will give us bread.” He went out in the early morning and came home late at night, his handsome face glowing with love. But the very thought that her husband was brought down to the level of a common laborer hurt her. The little privations she endured worried her, and in a little while the sweettempered woman became moody and down-hearted. "How can you expect me to live among such surroundings?" was her appeal when he begged her to cheer up. "It is cruel in you. I want to go home to my own friends." The warm glow came to his face and he drew her tenderly towards him without a word, but there was a look piteous to see in his handsome |