the news." Doctrines may be distorted, and so presented out of their connection as to grow the errors they were sent to root out-as the best of food, taken out of proper proportion, and not properly distributed, produces rickets, deformity, apoplexy, and death. The head of John the Baptist looked better on his shoulders than on the platter of Herodias.

One man wants religion all emotion; another is cold, formal, and without fervor. The standard of action with some is their feelings. They act as they feel like it. A sermon is good, if it stirs them up and makes them feel well. They give not on principle, not to carry on the Redeemer's kingdom, but as the fancy dictates. Some have their religion in their eyes. They weep easier than they act. Others have theirs on their tongue; they talk well, but, like Bunyan's Talkative, they are "saints abroad, and devils at home."

The great failures of life come from the defects that neutralize the good qualities of men. One of the Cunard steamers was on her way to Boston. She was laden with a valuable cargo, and a large number of passengers. The sea was smooth, and, according to the reckoning, the steamer was full two hundred miles from land. All at once the alarm was given, the steamer stopped, the paddles reversed, and it was found that she was not twice her length from sunken sands. The ship was close on to Nantucket Shoals, on which the keel of no vessel ever touched and escaped. The question was, "How came the steamer in that position?" It was found that a small

nail, driven in the pilot-house as the steamer left the Mersey, had acted imperceptibly, but surely, on the compass, and turned the ship from her course. So the strength of the vessel, the ability of the commander, and the knowledge of the pilot were neutralized by an insignificant nail.

The want of turning has been the undoing of thousands. An artist has great skill, but small defects harm his success. A doctor is learned, but over against his ability he places some idiosyncrasy that holds him down. A minister may have splendid talents, but want of balance will destroy his usefulness. A mechanic may be a good workman, but so unreliable, so ready to promise, so uncertain to perform, that he can never get ahead. A warmhearted, zealous Christian may be a scourge to his brethren. A son may have talent, and make it void by small errors. A daughter may be brilliant, accomplished, and learned, yet win no friends.

Personal labor and toil may be made useless. A wife may overdo her "talking to her husband on religion," and fail on the side of a "meek and quiet spirit." A parent may say much to a son on the value of personal piety, a Christian merchant may seek by solemn appeals to lead his clerk into the way of wisdom, yet neither be converted, the excellent conversation being controlled by the logic of daily life.

Personal salvation is made difficult from the necessity of a balanced character. Much about religion is not difficult. Men have often professed faith in Christ to gain an end. The Church gathered by Christ and

the Apostles held Judas, Ananias, and Simon Magus. Many have been baptized in the name of Christ who will come forth to a resurrection of shame and contempt. It is easy to be impulsive as a rocket, and to explode as gunpowder. It is easy to join in the acclaim of the multitude, and be religious on great occasions. But to be a whole-hearted Christian, well balanced, baked on both sides-to be consistent each day and in each place to grow in grace as we grow in years, and in favor with God and man as we grow in stature this makes the way narrow and the gate strait. But so walked those holy men who surround us as a cloud while we run our race. So walked that blessed company "through great tribulation," whom John saw grouped around the throne, having gotten the victory. So must we walk, if we would cross the flood joyfully, and sing with the redeemed around the throne.

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XXIX. THE OAKS OF EPHRAIM; OR, THE

FRUITS OF BAD TRAINING.

"O Lord Jesus! let me not

'Mid the ravening wolves e'er fall;
Help me as a shepherd ought,
That I may escape them all.

Bear me homeward in thy breast
To thy fold of endless rest."

In a time of civil war in Jerusalem, when King David's life was in danger, and he fled from his capital, and, bareheaded and barefooted, with tears ascended the Mount of Olives, a man came to the captain of the king's host, and told him that the chief conspirator was hanging by his head in the thick boughs of one of the oaks in the woods of Ephraim. These woods were on the east side of Jordan, near to the city of Ephraim, and among these groves the Saviour walked during the, week of his passion. The commander-in-chief took darts in his hand, and thrust them through the heart of the leader of the rebellion, and took the body and cast it into a deep pit in the woods, and threw upon it a heap of stones.

Absalom was a favorite son. His father, the king, was burdened with the rule of so mighty a kingdom. The king not only fought the battles of the people, but was also a judge, and the causes to be heard were brought before him. He was their king and their psalmist, their priest and their great captain.

David, for political reasons, made foreign domestic alliances, and did what it would not have been safe for Isaac or Jacob to have done; and in all his life he felt the power of his disobedience to the command of God, and the consequences of marrying heathen wives imbittered all his days.

Of a heathen mother Absalom was born. He had none of that home maternal training that marked Moses, Samuel, and Solomon; none that made the home memories of David so sweet; that implanted such noble principles in Joseph; created the symmetrical character of Nehemiah, and reared the godlike character of Daniel. Better a godly woman in a pagan court than a pagan woman in a religious house. The mother of Absalom in the palace of a king, was wild, gay, dissipated, and without religious fear; she brought with her the pomp, vanity, and pleasure of her father's court. She implanted in the early heart of her son that personal pride, love of display, and ambition that made him the scourge of the nation, and cost him so bitterly in the end, when he hung from one of the oaks of the forest. All the bad deeds so planted bore full ripe fruit, and worked not only his own ruin, but raised a conspiracy against the government, and filled the homes with sorrow and the land with blood.

The king was toiling beneath his burdens. The public weal and the service of God occupied his time and thoughts. His home and the boy were neglected, and he was left to himself, and brought his father to shame. Without the sanctions and restraints of religion, without discipline and firm rule, never broke to

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