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GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTUEE. 



June 



there is none in turning about at once. Go 

 right up boldly, with God by your side, and 

 tell the plain truth to every one yott owe. 

 Then come clown to a life of close frugality. 

 Give up all expensive habits, and, if it is 

 God's will, earn every copper you have by 

 the sweat of your face. Pay cash for every- 

 thing. Do not get in debt to the amount of 

 one cent. If you can not pay for what you 

 want, go without it. If you or yours get 

 hungry, in doing this, ask God for your dai- 

 ly bread in truth and earnestness, and it will 

 come as surely as the sun will rise day by 

 day in the east. You say, do not by any 

 means publish your letter. I would not 

 think of asking for the letter with your 

 name attached, but, my friend, I want that 

 letter more than any one from among the 

 hundreds I have on the same subject. I do 

 not know what sermons you have preached, 

 but I do know this one will reach hearts 

 without number. I will omit every thing 

 that may, even remotely, hint as to your abi- 

 ding place. If God guided me in choosing 

 words in the Gleanings you have seen, he 

 has probably guided me in the words I have 

 written. Do not turn away from them, and 

 take words of worldly wisdom, and try to 

 save a part of your worldly possessions. 

 The world may call it saving, but contrast 

 it with treasures laid up in heaven. " Heav- 

 en and earth shall pass away," but God's 

 promises, never. One way is safety, and 

 the other is ruin. Listen not to the voice of 

 the tempter. There is not one of your cred- 

 itors who will not stand up for you as they 

 would for a friend, if you do as I have said. 

 I know business customs, and I know busi- 

 ness men. You are, perhaps, now before 

 the cannon's mouth of public opinion, but, 

 O my brother, face it fearlessly with God by 

 your side. Into his hands I commend you, 

 thanking you once more for the compliment 

 you have payed me, in coming to me as you 

 have. I know what it is to be tempted. 



My Dear Brother in Christ :— Your reply to my let- 

 ter came to hand in due time, and was read by my- 

 self carefully and prayerfully. You will forgive me 

 for not answering it before ; yet really, I have not 

 had time, when at home, to think of much else but 

 business, and have been away from home so much, 

 since your letter came, that, in part, it was lost 

 sight of. I was shocked at your letter, or rather its 

 strong measures for my adoption. Not because you 

 failed, or because it did not seem wise, but on ac- 

 count of the contrast between the spirit of your let- 

 ter, and my spiritual standing, or state of mind. I 

 fear I could never be educated up to such a state of 

 mind. I am too proud spirited to entertain such an 

 opinion. This pride I am not proud of, but it is 

 mine,— it is my enemy. Times without number, 

 have I called upon God to deliver me from it, yet it 

 remains. I do not lny the blame to God, but to my- 

 self. Yet I do not. understand it. lam convinced 

 that your advice would, if adopted, bring about a 

 change for my good and the glory of God. But 

 without the grace of God, I can not act in accord- 

 ance with it; I mean more abundant grace. I have 

 disposed of one of my papers, but still hold on to 

 the . In this disposal, I have greatly bet- 

 tered my condition financially, and have done it too, 

 with credit to myself and business. But how, and 

 when to let the go, I know not; yet for 



the glory of God, I will do so when the way is 

 opened. I love your ideas of religion and its effect, 

 and very much appreciate your kind Christ-lik« let- 

 ter; but, O my dear brother, I have not religion 

 enough or humility enough to carry out its strong 

 measures as yet. It would do my soul good to see 

 you, and let you know how helpless I am. lama 

 mystery to myself. God knows how deeply I feel 

 the force of your advice, and how I long and cry for 

 freedom. Yea, He knows my unspeakable sorrow, 

 and hears the groans my poor soul sends forth for 

 mercy and liberty. Yet I am sad and bound in iron 

 and in chains. 



I have a believing wife and three living children; 

 am 33 years <^f age (nearly), and full of energy, am- 

 bition, and pride. I sometimes feel as if I were lost 

 in bewilderment, discouragement, and doubt, - 

 doubt akin to infidelity. Yet 1 hope. Oh, if it were 

 not for hope, surely I would be lost. Not far off in 

 the f uture, I am to become a wise and better man, 

 or plunge into eternal ruin. This, I feel, is a sure 

 thing. May it be the latter. Death, it appears to 

 me, would be a sweet release, or relief, from the 

 strange responsibilities and troubles now resting on 

 me. But my dear, my sweet little family ! they call 

 me to stay. May the eternal Father, bless you and 

 yours, is my prayer. 



I have no objections to your publishing my letter' 

 if you can do so without giving any idea of who, or 

 where I am, provided you feel it will be of any good 

 to others, or for the praise of God. I do not expect 

 you to answer this letter, for I know how you are 

 rushed with business. You may never hear from 

 me again, but I shall ever hold you in high estima- 

 tion. I hope to meet you at the judgement, if sure- 

 ly there is to be one, when time is no more. Re- 

 member me to your wife especially. Pray for me; 

 though it be my last words forever, pray for me. 

 Yours in hope. X. Y. Z. 



My friends, you have in the above a little 

 sketch of one human life ; the tortured cry 

 from one immortal soul, who sees where he 

 stands, and who though a minister of the 

 Gospel feels himself helpless to break that 

 chain of pride that Satan has woven about 

 him. Many of you can perhaps see how he 

 magnifies the trial it would be for him to 

 give up all. In thinking of it, I am forcibly 

 reminded of an illustration I have heard. 

 A man went down into a dark well by a 

 rope. In fastening it before going down, 

 he calculated that it reached the bottom 

 without doubt; but, after sliding down to 

 the end, he discovered to his consternation 

 that he neither touched bottom nor the wat- 

 er. He tried in vain to find a foot hold on 

 which he might rest ; in despair, he attempt- 

 ed to climb up again ; his strength was too 

 far gone. When he could hold on no longer, 

 he commended his soul to God, and went 

 down in the darkness. To his great sur- 

 prise and joy, he only dropped one foot and 

 struck on solid ground. It is so in trusting 

 God ; we think our life will be lost; that we 

 shall have to give up every thing we hold 

 most dear; but, when we resolutely face the 

 great ordeal, and put our whole lives in 

 God's hands, to our surprise, we are not 

 hurt at all, and have in reality lost nothing 

 that would make us happy in this world. 

 As I told you in the Growlery for this num- 

 ber, it will not do to make calculations on 



