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The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Third-day, July 16, 1867

News and Miscellany.

Can ye not discern the Signs of the Times? Matt. xvi, 3.

—The difficulty between Denmark and Prussia as to the possession of North Schleswig continues. It is stated that France sympathizes with the Danes.

—European mail advices state that all arms of the land and naval service of France are being strengthened, and that the activity all through France produces an impression of pending difficulties.

—From all sources come most encouraging reports of the cotton crop.

A New Purchase.—New York, July 10. The New York Tribune's Washington special says that our Government has been negotiating for the purchase of the Sandwich Islands.

St. Louis, July 10.—An Omaha dispatch says:—“Indian depredations are again reported on the Platte river. Lieut. Kidder, of the 2d cavalry, with ten men and a guide, who left Fort Sedgwick on the 29th, with dispatches for General Custer, has not been heard from, and fears are entertained for their safety.” General Sherman has been led to believe that there is no help for an Indian war, whether it is wanted or not. All reports from the frontier, Fort Harker and the Smoky Hill route, are that the Indians are scalping and killing every day. There is scarcely a day but that some white is brought into a military post scalped. The mails are very irregular and unreliable. A week has elapsed without a mail arriving at either end of the route.

Spurgeon in London. One of the most remarkable scenes in London, and perhaps in the world, greeted the eye yesterday, it being the Sabbath [Sunday]. Mr. Spurgeon has been preaching in the Agricultural Hall. This huge building is a miniature Crystal Palace. The roof is glass; the center is a circus, used often for the exhibition of fat cattle. Seated as it is for this occasion, it will hold 20,000 people. For five Sundays Mr. Spurgeon has occupied this room, his chapel undergoing repairs. Admittance to this hall is by tickets. Seventy-five cents admits to reserved seats for the course, and twenty-five cents to an early admission to seats not reserved. This immense place has been crowded not only to repletion, but thousands have gone away not able to enter. All the churches in the neighborhood have been completely emptied, and two standing near the hall contained but twelve persons. Last Sunday was one of the stormiest of the season. The heavy rain rode on a gale, turned umbrellas inside out, and drenched the community generally; yet every avenue leading to this room was packed an hour before the doors were open, by ladies and gentlemen waiting for admittance. No theatre on an exciting night ever presented a livelier scene than did the main entrance of this building. The vestibule was crowded as if some exciting entertainment was going on. It seemed like a place of amusement rather than of worship. “Show your tickets,” “show your tickets,” was heard on all sides, and excited men and women rushed in to get favorite seats. I sat on the platform. Such a sight I never saw before. Every inch of room was occupied; more than an acre of people was before me. The people in the distant galleries could scarcely be seen. Probably no other man in the world could draw such an audience. Whitefield, of Moorfield, may have preached to as many, but I doubt if he ever did so on such a rainy day. The hymns were sung from slips of paper. On the side of the building, near the center, were a dozen singers. The audience faced this group, and were led by a gentleman, who swung an immense baton to keep time. There was an organ in the building, but Spurgeon will not have it played, as he will have no attraction but the simple preaching of the gospel to draw men to his places of worship. He began the service with prayer as usual. His clear, sharp, bell-like voice rang through the whole audience, most of whom heard plainly. His sermon was an affectionate, earnest entreaty for men to receive the “unsearchable riches of Christ.” Between the heads of his sermon he paused. It allowed the audience time to relieve their pent-up feelings, of which they took advantage. Twenty thousand people sneezing, coughing, sighing, produces a sound not easily described. The sermon was an hour long, and was listened to with devout attention to the close.—London Cor. Boston Commercial.