Hundreds of young men annually leave our shores as cadets.  All their friends rejoice when they think of them bearing the commissions of our Queen.  When any dangerous expedition is planned by Government, more volunteers apply than are necessary to man it.  On the proposal to send a band of brave men in search of Sir John Franklin, a full complement for the ships could have been procured of officers alone, without any common sailors.  And what thousands rushed to California, from different parts of America, on the discovery of the gold!  How many husbands left their wives and families!  How many Christian men tore themselves away from all home endearments to suffer, and toil, and perish by cold and starvation on the overland route!  How many sank from fever and exhaustion on the banks of Sacramento!  Yet no word of sacrifices there.  And why should we so regard all we give and do for the Well-beloved of our souls?  Our talk of sacrifices is ungenerous and heathenish....

It is something to be a missionary.  He is sometimes inclined, in seasons of despondency and trouble, to feel as if forgotten.  But for whom do more prayers ascend?—­prayers from the secret place, and from those only who are known to God.  Mr. Moffat met those in England who had made his mission the subject of special prayer for more than twenty years, though they had no personal knowledge of the missionary.  Through the long fifteen years of no success, of toil and sorrow, these secret ones were holding up his hands.  And who can tell how often his soul may have been refreshed through their intercessions?...

It is something to be a missionary.  The heart is expanded and filled with generous sympathies; sectarian bigotry is eroded, and the spirit of reclusion which makes it doubtful if some denominations have yet made up their minds to meet those who differ with them in heaven loses much of its fire....

There are many puzzles and entanglements, temptations, trials, and perplexities, which tend to inure the missionary’s virtue.  The difficulties encountered prevent his faith from growing languid.  He must walk by faith, and though the horizon be all dark and lowering, he must lean on Him whom, having not seen, he loves.  The future—­a glorious future—­is that for which he labors.  It lies before him as we have seen the lofty coast of Brazil.  No chink in the tree-covered rocks appears to the seaman; but he glides right on.  He works toward the coast, and when he enters the gateway by the sugar-loaf hill, there opens to the view in the Bay of Rio a scene of luxuriance and beauty unequaled in the world beside.