“Well, to proceed with our description of the armoury of heaven—We come next to the most wonderful, the most powerful of weapons—the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. Now this flashed so bright, and its edge was so sharp, in the days of early Christianity, that many were its conquests in various parts of the world, and old idolatry fell fast before it. But when the great Enemy found that it could not be withstood, he devised a deep-laid scheme to destroy its effect, and made a curious sheath, all covered with jewels and gold; and the name of this sheath was Superstition. In this, for many ages, was the Word of God buried; and though flashes of its brightness shone out here and there, it was almost quite hidden from the eyes of the people, till Wickliffe, and Luther, and many Reformers beside—some yielding up their blood and their lives for the truth—drew it from its fatal scabbard, clear and glittering again; and it sent forth a flash at its unsheathing that was seen over almost all Europe, and enlightened the distant shores of the New World. “And now the last thing that we come to is the strong shield Faith. Without this neither helmet nor breastplate could have power to resist the shafts of the Enemy. St. Peter threw it aside in a moment of fear, and instantly his righteousness was pierced through and through. And it is not only in battle that our faith is precious; we pillow our head upon it when we rest, and when we take water from the wells of salvation, it is in the hollow of this shield alone that we can raise it to our thirsting lips.” Ellen now came down-stairs, with her Bible in her hand; that Bible which Mark had prized so dearly, and parted with so very unwillingly. “I could not have the heart to deprive you of this,” said she; “take it, and keep it, and may you ever find it to be your best comforter and guide.” With what grateful joy Mark replaced the Bible in his bosom, and with what a courageous heart, about an hour after, he set forth to ask his mother’s consent to remaining with Mr. Searle! He had very little doubt of obtaining it, or he would hardly have advanced with such a light, joyous step. When he had quitted the town, and found himself on the open plain, he gave vent to his happy emotions in songs of praise. We are commanded in everything to give thanks; let us never forget to do so when all seems smiling around us; no—and even when mists fall, and tempests gather over our heads, let us still remember in _everything_ to give thanks.