Sabbath Readings for the Home Circle Volume Two

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The Pacific Press · No. 1059 Castro Street, Oakland, Cal. · 1877

NOTE TO THE READER.

The first volume of this series contains moral and religious instruction adapted particularly to the youthful mind. This second volume embraces the entire family circle. Interspersed in these pages articles will be found which set forth the influence and the duty of the mother in particular. God Grant that the melting, refining and molding influence of these lessons may be felt by all the members of each home circle that welcomes this humble volume. COMPILER.

a machinist; Walter Mason, a tin worker; Lyman Drake, a cabinet maker; and William Robinson, a clerk. They ranged, in age, from twenty-three to twenty-eight, and were really industrious youths, receiving good wages, and maintaining good characters for honesty, sobriety, and general good behavior. Yet they were looked upon by some as ungodly youths, and given over to perdition. True, they belonged to no church; and, amid the various conflicting creeds by which they were surrounded, they had not yet settled down upon any one in particular, believing that there was good in all of them, and evil among the members of each.

On the present occasion, they were all of them smoking, and the empty mugs which stood upon the table near them, showed pretty conclusively that they had been drinking something besides water. The subject of the cold winter had been disposed of; the quality of the warm ale and cigars had been thoroughly discussed, and at length the conversation turned upon the missionary meeting, which had been holden in the town on the previous Sabbath.

“I don’t know but this missionary business

is all right,” said Sam Green, knocking the ashes from his cigar with his little finger, “but, at the same time, I don’t believe in it. Them Hindoos and South Sea Islanders may be savage and ignorant, by our scale of measuring folks; but that is no reason why we should send all our money off there, while our own folks are starving at home.”

“Did you put anything into the box?” asked Lyman Drake.

“No, I didn’t. When they shoved it into my face, I told ’em I’d left all my money at home—and so I had.”

“You’re about right, Sam,” said Bill Robinson. “But I did more than you did. When the box was handed to me, I spoke right out, so that everybody around me heard. I told the old deacon if he’d take up a subscription to help the poor in our town, I’d put in something.”

“What did he say to that?”

“Why—he said, ‘Souls are of more consequence than bodies.’ So I just said back that I guessed he’d find it hard work to save a soul out of a starving body. But you see that aren’t the thing. They won’t try to save the souls, nor the bodies either, of their

own townfolks. Now when Squire Truman came here to settle, they tried quick enough to save his soul. Ye see his body was already salted down with ten thousand dollars, so his soul was worth something to ’em. Why don’t they try to save poor old Israel Trask’s soul, and his wife’s too?”

“Wasn’t there a committee of the church that visited old Israel last month?” queried Drake.

“Yes—there was,” answered Sam, giving his cigar an indignant shake; “and what did they do? They went there—four on ’em—and found the old folks suffering for want of food and clothing. They tried to make the old man believe their religion was the only true one in the world, but he would not. So they gave him three tracts and a little cheap book, and then went away. That’s what they did. Afore I’d give a cent to such chaps to send off to feed their missionaries in Baugwang and Slapflam Islands, I’d throw it into the fire.”

“But these missionaries are honest people, and do some good,” remarked Peter Hobbs, who had not before spoken on the subject.

“Of course they do,” responded Sam.

“But wouldn’t it look better of ’em to begin some of their charities at home? I judge of a man’s order by the way his own shop looks’ and not by the way he may fuss around on another man’s premises. And just so with those philanthropists. I’d rather see how much their religion does toward keeping the Gentiles of their own town, than to go away off to the other end of the earth to look for the fruits of their Christianity. Them’s my sentiments.”

“And mine too,” uttered Walter Mason, who had just thrown away the stump of one cigar, and was about lighting another. “Just think; they collected, last Sunday, to send off too the Hindoos, over two hundred dollars. Now, that would have made half the poor families in this town—and I don’t know but all—comfortable for the winter. There was Mr. Netherly—worth forty thousand dollars—he put in a ten-dollar bill. It was a great, new bill; and he opened it, and held it up, and even turned it round, so’t everybody could see it before he let it drop. Then at the end, when the box was carried up into the pulpit, the deacon whispered to the minister; and the minister got up, and,

said he, taking hold of the corner of the rich man’s bill: ‘Here is ten dollars from one brother. Let that brother be assured that his deed is remembered of him in Heaven.’ Yes, that’s what was said; and Mr. Netherly held up his head, bowed very low, and then looked round at the rest of the congregation, as much as to say, ‘that’s me.’ Now I know of another thing that I guess’ll be remembered in Heaven, alongside of this one. Last week, poor old Trask—Uncle Israel—called at Netherly’s with some baskets. You know the old man get’s out stuff in the summer, and then in the winter makes it up. Well, he went there, and asked Netherly if he wouldn’t buy a basket. No; he didn’t want one. Then the old man told him how he and his poor old wife were suffering, and he asked him if he couldn’t help him in some way; and what do you think Netherly said? Why, he said that he had to pay taxes to help support a poor-house, and told Uncle Israel that he’d find help there, if he’d only apply to the selectmen! Now what d’ye think of that, eh?”

“Why,” returned Sam, “I think if he’s got an account in Heaven, he’ll find a balance

against him, when he comes to settle up.”

“So he will,” responded three or four of the others.

For some moments after this, the party smoked in silence. Peter Hobbs had been pondering very deeply upon something, and at length he spoke:—

“Now look here, boys,” he said, throwing his half-smoked cigar into the fire. “there’s a good deal of truth in what’s been said—in fact, it’s all true; but, before we blame others, we ought to do something ourselves. Now I’m ready to form a regular benevolent society. Let us six go at the work, and see what we can do toward alleviating some of the distress about us. What say you?”

The other five looked on in wonder.

“But,” said Sam, “how are we to do it? We aren’t among the favored ones. We wasn’t born with silver spoons in our mouths.”

“I should like to do it,” added Drake, “But what’s the use? We couldn’t do much any way—not enough to amount to anything.”

And so the others expressed their opinions in like manner. They all “would like,” but “where was the money to come from?”

“Listen,” said Peter; and they all turned toward him with real deference, for they knew he never wore a cloak over his heart, and that when he spoke in earnest, his meaning had depth to it. “Now I have formed a plan. There is old Uncle Israel and his wife; then there is the widow Manley, with four little children, suffering for want of the actual necessaries of life; and then there is Mrs. Williams—she is very poor. Her son Philip, who is her main stay, was sick all the summer and fall, and is sick now; so the woman got nothing from her little patch of land, and is now absolutely reduced to beggary, with herself and sick son to support. Now let us take these three cases in hand, and support them.”

“But how?” asked three or four voices, anxiously, for they really and fully sympathized with the noble plan.

“I’ll tell you,” resumed Peter. “Here, Tim,” he called, turning to the barkeeper, “what’s our bill?”

“Let’s see,” responded the worthy, coming up. “There’s two cigars apiece, three cents each—that’s thirty-six. Then the ale—three pints—eighteen cents; and wine—three gills

—that’s eighteen more—makes just thirty-six more; and twice thirty-six is—is—seventy-two—seventy-two cents in all.”

“Come, boys,” said Peter, “let’s pay an equal share to-night. Let’s give him nine pence apiece.”

So the “boys” paid up, and after Tim had gone, Peter resumed:—

“Now see what we’ve spent to-night for nothing. I’ll begin with you, Sam. How much do you suppose you spend each day for cigars and ale? Now reckon fairly.”

“Let’s see,” was Sam’s response, after gazing into the face of his interlocutor until he had fairly got hold of the idea. “I certainly average four—no, five cigars a day, and I suppose they average three cents apiece. Then comes my ale—but I could not tell how much that amounts to, for I don’t drink it regularly, but perhaps six cents a day.”

“That’s just twenty-one cents per day, utterly wasted,” said Peter; and I’ll own up to wasting twenty-five per day. How is it with you, John?”

“I’ll say twenty-five.”

“And you, Walter?”

“Just about the same.”

“Lyman?”

“The same.”

“Bill?”

“The same.”

“Now look at it. Here we are, a little worse than wasting about a dollar and a half per day. But let us put our loss at a shilling each—”

“No, no,” cried Sam, who saw through the whole plan. “Let’s give honest measure. I’ll own up to the twenty-five. “Let’s go the whole, if any.”

“Very well,” returned Peter; “then let us commence and pledge ourselves not to smoke, or drink ale, for one month from this date. Every night we will lay away a quarter of a dollar, and at the end of the week we’ll put our savings all together, and then go on our mission. What say you?

With one voice the other five joined in the plan. The novelty of the thing may have pleased them; but the real incentives lay deeper down in the natural goodness of their hearts. There was no written pledge, but they took a more speedy method. Peter laid his hand upon the table, and said:—

“Here’s my hand, pledged to the work.”

“And mine too,” cried Sam, laying his broad palm a-top of Peter’s.

“And mine,” “and mine,” “and mine,” chimed the rest, placing their hands one a-top of the other until the six right hands lay upon the table in a pyramid.

“This is Tuesday,” resumed Peter. “Will we meet next Saturday?”

“Yes,” answered Sam, “and call it a week. Let’s throw in two days.”

And so the week was begun.

On the next day, as Sam Green sat a-top of his bench after dinner, he felt rather lost without his cigar, and for awhile he argued the question with himself, whether ’twouldn’t be just as well for him to put an extra quarter into his box and have his cigars as usual. But he remembered his pledge. He looked forward to Saturday, when he should find himself an ambassador of mercy to the sick and needy—and his resolution grew strong again. That was his last real hesitation, though it must be confessed he had some trials and hankerings.

And so with the rest, they had some moments of doubt and mental warfare with appetite and habit, but conquered, and were true.

Saturday came, and the six youths left their work at noon, having done more than overwork enough to make up for the loss of the half-day.

“Must have a time once in awhile, eh?” said Sam’s boss, as the young man pointed to the work he had done, and informed him that he should not work the rest of the day.

“Some sort of a time,” replied Sam.

“Very well, but you’re too good a fellow to go very deep into dissipation.”

“I’ll be up bright in the morning, sir;” and with this he left.

The new Benevolent Society met at Walter Mason’s tinshop. Each took out his money, and they had in all nine dollars, it being in thirty-six silver quarters.

“Now,” says Peter, “let’s visit the three families we have taken under our charge. We’ll go together, and expend the money as we see it is most needed. Let us go to Uncle Israel’s first.”

So off they went to Uncle Israel Trask’s. The old couple lived in a small hut at the edge of the village, which was reached by a narrow lane, and here the six philanthropists found the old lady, who was now in her

eightieth year, suffering with a severe attack of the rheumatism, while the old man sat crouched over the fire, shivering with cold.

“Good day, good day, Uncle Israel.”

“Aha, good day, boys, good day,” cried the old man, trying to smile. “Can ye find seats? Sit down somewhere, and make yourselves at home. But ye see it’s a poor home that old Israel can offer ye to-day.”

“But how are you getting along?” asked Peter, after the party had found seats.

“Ah, God a’mercy, I won’t complain, for he is taking meself and Molly home fast. Only cold and hunger are not kind helpmates, Mr. Hobbs, ye ken that, eh?”

“Right well, Uncle Israel. And we have come to help you. Do you want any medicine?”

“Nay, nay, the old ’ooman’s got a’ the medicine laid up we want. It’s only the food an’ heat we need. I can’t wade through the drifting snow as I could once.”

“Suppose we send you a dollar’s worth of other things, such as butter, flour, potatoes, and the like—could you live a week on it?”

“Ah, yes, yes, boys, meself and Molly’d

live a long, long while on that. But ye’ll not do it for us.”

“Yes, we will.”

“Ah, it’s too much.”

“No, no,” cried Sam, “we’ve got to do it, Uncle Israel, for we six have sworn to help you through the winter. So spunk up.”

“D’ye mean that?” uttered the old man, clasping his thin, tremulous hands.

“We do,” they all six answered, and then Sam added, “and while one of us lives, you shall not suffer the want of what we can give.”

A moment the old man bowed his snow-white head, and then while the big tears streamed down his face, he raised his eyes, and murmured:—

“Oh! God’s blessin’ be on ye, ye noble boys. If me heart was gold, an’ I could take it out an’ give it ye—for it’s yours all, all your own!”

In a little while the six went away, promising to send or come back soon, and even after they had reached the yard they could hear the voices of Israel and his wife, both raised to God in blessings upon their heads.

“I say, Sam,” said Peter, “this is better than cigars and ale.”

“Don’t say a word now,” replied Sam, “for my heart’s full, and I can’t bear any more.”

Next, they drove through the biting wind and snow to the humble cot of Widow Manley. They found her in the only habitable room of her dwelling, sitting by a fire of chips and faggots, with a babe asleep in her lap, and engaged in sewing a coarse frock. Three other children were crouched by the fire, the oldest not yet eight years old.

Mr. Manley had been one of the many unfortunates who are swept off by rum, and in the prime of early manhood he had gone, leaving a young wife with four children in absolute penury.

“Ah, good day, Mrs. Manley.”

The woman would have arisen, but Sam Green placed his hand upon her shoulders to keep her down.

“We have come,” said Peter, seeing that she was anxious and fearful, “to see how you get along, and see if we can help you.

“Help me, sir?” uttered the widow with amazement.

“Yes; now tell us plainly how you are situated.”

The woman was silent for a few moments, but at length she seemed to regain her self-control, and replied:—

“Ah, gentlemen, it is all comprised in three short words: Hunger, cold, and nakedness!”

“And if we will supply you with food and fuel for a week, can you manage to get along until that time without more clothing?”

“Oh—h—yes—sirs. But what is it?” Who can help us? Who can care for the—”

“We can, we will,” cried the energetic Sam, not so good to plan as Peter, but good at execution. “We six have pledged ourselves to see you safe through the winter. So cheer up and take hope, for neither you nor your children shall suffer while we can help it.”

The widow’s hands were clasped and her eyes wandered vacantly from one to the other of her strange visitors. She saw tears of goodness in their eyes, and her own soul’s flood burst forth.

“O God bless—bless you always.”

“And shall we have something good to eat, mamma, and something to make us warm?” asked the eldest girl, clasping her mother’s knees.

“Yes, yes, you shall,” exclaimed Drake, catching the child and kissing her clean, pale face. “You shall have it before supper time, too.”

The widow gradually realized the whole object of her visitors, and she tried to express her gratitude in words, but they failed her, the streaming tears had to tell the tale of thanks.

After this our society went to see Widow Williams. Hers was a neat cot, but they found suffering painful enough inside. Philip, a youth of about their own age, sat in a large stuffed chair, looking pale and thin and wasted away almost to a skeleton, and his great blue eyes peered at them wonderingly as they entered. The mother, too, looked careworn and sick, and the dry, hacking cough that sounded in her throat told how much she needed proper food and care.

The youths made their business known as before, and with about the same result. The widow and her son could hardly realize that such a blessing had dawned upon them, but when they did realize it, their joy and gratitude knew no bounds.

“Look here,” said Sam Green, as soon as

they had reached the road, “it strikes me that we are just about a week behindhand. We ought to have commenced this work just one week earlier than we did, for our nine dollars won’t quite bring matters all up square to the present time. But if they were square now they’d keep so with our weekly allowance.”

“You’re right Sam,” said Fulton, gleefully.

“Then let’s commence back two weeks, eh?”

“I think so,” said Peter.

And all the rest said so, too. So they had eighteen dollars instead of nine.

First, our party went and bought three half cords of wood, which they sent at once to their respective destinations, and they agreed that when the other matters were attended to they would go and work it up. Then they went to the stores and purchased such articles of provision and comfort as they could agree were best adapted to meet the wants of their charges, and, having done this, they separated into three parties of two each, so as to have each family provided for with as little delay as possible. Besides carrying provisions enough to last a week, they left with each about a dollar in change.

When the poor people saw the promised blessings—when they thus met the fruition of their newly raised hopes, their joy was almost painful. The noble youths were blessed over and over again.

The wood was sawed and split, and put under cover, and then the society returned to the village, as happy as happy could be. On the next day, they went to the church, and heard how many heathen had been converted to the peculiar isms of the preachers; and on the day following that, they commenced another week of their newly found Christianity.

“Sam,” said the owner of the machine-shop, “what were you and the rest of your party doing last Saturday afternoon?”

“Converting the heathens,” answered Sam.

His employer was a church member, and in for foreign missions, and moreover had often tried to induce Sam into the mysteries.

It was some time before Sam would tell the secret, but his boss became so earnest that he at length told the whole story. For awhile the employer gazed upon his journeyman with wonder, but gradually, as a sense of the fact came over him, he hung his head.

“Sam,” he said at length, earnestly, and

with a tear in his eye, “let me join your society.”

“But how’ll you raise the money?” inquired Sam.

“Money?” echoed the boss. “Look at my bank-book.”

“Ah, but that won’t answer. You must save the money by depriving yourself of some superfluity, or luxury you now enjoy.”

“Is that the rule?”

“It is most rigidly. Our cigars and ale furnish us.”

“And won’t you smoke again?”

“Never, while within the reach of my influence there’s a human being in want!”

“Then I’ll throw away my tobacco and beer; may I join at that?”

“I’ll propose you.”

And the master machinist was proposed and admitted.

Another week passed away, and the new Christians went again on their mission, and there were more tears of joy, more prayers, and more blessings. Mr. Boothby, the machinist, had gained a new ray of light on the subject of Christian missions.

At length it became known that the poor

families of Madisonville had found friends. People were wonder-struck when they discovered how happy and joyous these once miserable wretches had become; and more still when, one Sunday they saw Uncle Israel and his wife, and Mrs. Manley with her two older children, enter the church.

Of course the truth leaked out, and we can imagine where the public eye of sympathy and appreciation was turned. Before a month was out, more than fifty people had engaged indirectly in the work, by placing money, food, and clothing in the hands of the original six, for them to distribute as they deemed proper.

But there was one rule to which the “society” adhered. They would not receive a cent in money which was not the result of a cutting off of some superfluity, and thus they showed to the people how simple and easy in its work is true charity, and also how many professed Christians not only lose sight of duty, but really lose the greatest joy of Christian life.

It was a glorious day for Madisonville when those six young mechanics met in the village bar-room and concocted the plan for

their society. And the good has worked in two ways. The members find themselves happier, healthier, and stronger, for having given up their pipes and cups; and the poor unfortunate ones of the town are once again basking in the sunlight of peace, content, and plenty.

How very many professed Christian churches there are in our land which would be benefited by following the example of the six noble youths who still stand at the head of the Madisonville Benevolent Society.

MERCY.

—MERCY is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; ’Tis mightiest in the mighty; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown : His scepter shows the source of temporal power, The attribute of awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above the sceptered sway! It is enthroned in the heart of kings! It is an attribute of God himself! And earthly power doth then show most like God’s When mercy seasons justice.

VICARIOUS PUNISHMENT.

This is the term applied to such punishment as that which Christ bore when he suffered on the cross, the just for the unjust. You do not quite know what it means, do you? I think I hear you say, “Oh, we do not want to know what such long words mean.”

But stop a moment, I have a story to tell.

It was a warm summer afternoon; a lazy breeze stole through the windows of a little district school house, lifting the white curtains, and rustling the leaves of the copybooks that lay open on all the desks. Thirty or forty scholars of all ages were bending over their writing, quiet and busy; the voice of the master, as he passed about among the writers, was the only sound. But though so silent, this little light, hot school room has its heroes and heroines as certainly as the wider sphere of life.

The bell rings for the writing to be laid

by; and now comes the last exercise of the day, the spelling, in which nearly all the school join. At the head of the class is a delicate little girl, whose bright eyes and attentive air show that she prizes her place, and means to keep it.

Presently a word which had passed all the lower end of the class, came to Eunice. The word was privilege. “P-r-i-v, priv-i, priv-i-l-e-g-e, lege, privilege,” spelt Eunice. But the teacher, vexed with the mistakes of the other end of the class, misunderstood and passed it. The little girl looked amazed, the bright color came into her cheeks, and she listened eagerly to the next person, who spelt it again as she had done.

“Right,” said the teacher; “take your place.”

“I spelt it so,” whispered Eunice partly to herself; the tears springing to her eyes as she passed down. But too timid to speak to the master, she remained in her place, inly determining soon to get up again. But her trials were not yet over.

Many expedients had been tried in the school to keep out that arch-enemy of all teachers—Whisper. At length the following

plan was adopted. The first whisperer was stood upon the floor in front of the teachers’ desk. Here he acted as a monitor; as soon as he detected another he took his seat, and the next offender kept a sharp lookout to find some one to take his place; for, at the close of school, the scholar who had the whisperer’s place was punished very severely—as the school-phrase was, “took a ferruling!” This plan appeared to operate very well; every one dreaded to be found last on the floor; but, though it secured an orderly school, many of the parents and scholars doubted its justice.

The boy who was on the floor when Eunice lost her place, was an unruly, surly fellow, who had smarted for his faults often before; and as school drew near its close he began to tremble. The instant Eunice’s whispered complaint reached his ear, his face brightened up; he was safe now. And when the class was dismissed he said, “Eunice whispered, sir.”

Eunice rose, and in a trembling voice related what she had said; but the teacher saw no excuse in it, and she was called to take the place of the ungenerous boy who had told of her.

Books have been put away, and the waiting school looked on in sorrowfulness as Eunice left her seat to take the dreaded punishment. She was one of the best scholars; bright, faithful, sweet-tempered, and a general favorite. Every one felt that it was unjust; and many angry glances were cast at the boy who was mean enough to get a little girl whipped. Overcome with shame and fear, she stood by the side of the desk crying bitterly, while the teacher was preparing to inflict the punishment.

At this moment a tall boy stepped out of his seat, and going to the desk, said:—

“Are you going to whip Eunice, sir?”

“Yes; I never break my rules!” the teacher answered.

“We will not see her whipped!” said the boy in an excited voice; “there is not a boy here but that one, who would see her whipped! Whip me, sir, and keep your rule, if you must, but don’t touch this little girl!”

The master paused; the school looked on tearfully.

“Do you mean to say you will take her punishment?” asked the teacher.

“I do sir,” was the bold reply.

The sobbing little girl was sent to her seat, and without flinching her friend stood and received the punishment that was to have fallen upon her. The school was dismissed, and the boys paid him in admiration and praise for all he had suffered.

And was this vicarious punishment? It was;—one suffering from his own free will the punishment that was to have been borne by another.

You see—do you not?—that this is just what he did who bore our sins in his own body upon the tree—the Saviour of men. What he suffered we cannot know, in this life; but God laid on him the iniquity of us all, which he willingly bore to save us from death. With his stripes we are healed. How great the gratitude each of us owes such a friend.

“Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.”

HONESTY.

HONESTY is the outspoken truth, revealing the real character. The term honesty signifies justice and uprightness. A man is honest because it is his policy to deal honorably with all with whom he may have intercourse. When he sells you an article he demands an equivalent. The sharper covets more; he fills his purse at others’ expense and generally gets the best side of a bargain.

Honesty in all things is a virtue few attain. Many conceal their true character under a cloak of deception. We are dishonest in a great many ways—in language, deed and action. Our lives are made up of little things; it is in these little things that we are the most dishonorable—more so, perhaps, than in larger deeds. Honesty is the best business qualification any young man can possess. Starting in life with the determination to lead an honorable career, you have

a foundation at once secure, like a cornerstone upon which your future prosperity rests. Honesty believes in quick sales and small profits; in the one-price system. Honesty is not lavish in his statements, but represents his goods as they are, their merits and defects; uses no trap-like devices to swindle the unwary.

The most notable example of true honesty was George Washington. Always methodical and equal to his promises, he gained a world-wide reputation as a trustworthy man. The adage,—“A wrong confessed is half redressed,” is a splendid one. Dishonesty may prosper for awhile, but honesty is the most successful in the long run. Men most prosperous in all the thoroughfares of enterprise owe their good fortune to judicious dealing and uprightness in business.

The great need of the day is more honest men. We see at the present time crime, extensive defalcation and bartering for gold. Honesty insures a clear conscience; it insures peace of mind; it promotes confidence in each other; and above all it is the noblest of virtues.

Continue reading: ANOTHER COMMANDMENT.