That which is to be seen of any event, its causes and consequences, is
never important compared with the supreme importance of those unseen
workings of things physical and things spiritual which are the heart of
our life. The iceberg of the northern seas is less than its unseen
foundations; the lava stream is less than the molten sea whence it
issues; the apple falling to the ground, and the moon circling in her
orbit, are less than the great invisible force which controls their
movements and the movements of all the things that do appear. The crime
is not so great as its motive, nor yet as its results; the beneficent
deed is not so great as the beneficence of which it is but a fruit; yet
we cannot see beneficence, nor motives, nor far-reaching results. We
cannot see the greatest forces, which in hidden places, act and
counteract to bring great things without observation; we see some broken
fragments of their turmoil which now and again are cast up within our
sight.

Notwithstanding this, which we all know, the average man feels himself
quite competent to observe and to pass judgment on all that occurs in
his vicinity. In the matter of the curious experience which the sect of
the Adventists passed through in Chellaston, the greater part of the
community formed prompt judgment, and in this judgment the chief element
was derision.

The very next day, in the peaceful Sunday sunshine, the good people of
Chellaston (and many of them were truly good) spent their breath in
expatiating upon the absurdity of those who had met with the madman upon
the mountain to pray for the descent of heaven. It was counted a good
thing that a preacher so dangerously mad was dead; and it was
considered as certain that his followers would now see their folly in
the same light in which others saw it. It was reported as a very good