at would live on this planet, though Omniscience itself must have been
taxed to decide where the anthropoid exactly shaded off into the man. He
also knew the exact number of the elect who would go to heaven, and
the exact number of the reprobate who would go to hell. The tally was
decided before the spirit of God brooded over the realm of Chaos and old
Night. Every child born into the world bears the stamp of his destiny.
But the stamp is secret. No one can detect it. Lists of saved and damned
are not published. If they were, it would save us a lot of anxiety. Some
would say, "I'm all right." Others would say, "I'm in for it; I'll keep
cool while I can." But we must all die before we ascertain our fate.
We may feel confident of being in the right list, with the rest of the
sheep; but confidence is not proof, and impressions are not facts.
When we take the great leap we shall know. Until then no man has any
certitude; not even the most pious Christian that ever rolled his eyes
in prayer to his Maker, or whined out the confession of his contemptible
sins. All are in the same perplexity, and Spurgeon was no exception to
the rule.

When predestination was really believed, the friends of the greatest
saint only _hoped_ he had gone to heaven. When they are _sure_ of it
predestination is dead. Nay, hell itself is extinguished. Spurgeon's
friends think he has gone to heaven because they feel he was too good to
go to hell. They knew him personally, and it is hard to think that a
man whose hand once lay in yours is howling in everlasting fire. Such
exceptions prove a new rule. They show that the human heart has outgrown
the horrible doctrine of future torment, that the human mind has
outgrown foolish creeds, that man is better than his God.

GOD IN JAPAN.

Japan has just been visited by a terrible earthquake. Without a moment's
warning it swept along, wrecking towns, killing people, and altering the
very shape of mountains. A vast tidal wave also rushed against the coast
and deluged whole tracts of low-lying country. It is estimated that
50,000 houses have been destroyed, and at least 5,000 men, women, and
children. The first reports gave a total of 25,000 slain, but this is
said to be an exaggeration. Nevertheless, as a hundred miles or so of
railway is torn to pieces, and it is difficult to convey relief to
the suffering survivors, the butcher's bill of this catastrophe may be
doubled before the finish.

If earthquake