Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 16, 1877
STORMS
BIG STORM IN VERMONT.
Soon after midnight Sunday, at Bennington, rain commenced pouring in a flood, and continued until morning. Immense damage was done to growing crops along the valley between that place and Rutland. Otter Creek overflowed, and swamped all before it in the vicinity of Danby and Wallingford.
Manchester had a cyclone the other day, which made a clean sweep through the woods, and then tore up scattering trees down through the pasture, some of them butternuts two feet in diameter. The air was full of dirt, sticks, leaves, fence rails, and trees to the height of three or four hundred feet. Some of those who saw the cyclone say it resembled a huge umbrella. It made a noise like escaping steam, which was distinctly heard at the village, three or four miles distant. Happily the storm spent its fury before reaching dwellings or property.
The thunder shower of the 17th was the most terrific ever known in Pittsford, and caused immense damage to roads, bridges, and crops, in some instances washing whole fields of corn and potatoes out of the ground by the roots.
A TERRIBLE FRESHET.
One of the most destructive floods that ever visited that section occurred in Brandon the 30th. It was caused by a heavy rain fall in the town and on the mountain, overflowing the Neshobe River, which had not been known to overflow for many years. The destruction to gardens, buildings, etc., in that part of the town known as Forestdale was terrible. Where before were waving corn and growing produce, now are huge boulders and beds of gravel washed down by the freshet. Buildings were moved from their foundations, and one or two small barns were demolished. Cattle were floated off, but recovered in Brandon village. The streets were gutted; the underpinning to buildings was washed out, and the water dashed through them, washing away goods and doing much damage. There were no lives lost, but there were some narrow escapes. The water was twelve or fifteen feet deeper than its natural current. It is estimated that the total damage will amount to $10,000.—St. Albans (Vt.) Advertiser.
A SINGULAR STORM IN LONDON.
There was a terrific thunder-storm in London on July 5. Three peals of thunder were heard in quick succession at Kilborn, and a sheet of fire flashed in the street. The thoroughfare for some distance seemed to be in flames, and a material similar to molten metal descended, leaving behind clinkers from an inch to six or seven inches in circumference. The street for the distance of fifty yards was covered, something like a couple of bushels having been picked up by persons in the neighborhood. A child was struck by some of the liquid, and severely burned. The fire ball then struck a telegraph wire, which passed over the street, completely burning it up for a distance of five hundred yards. For ten minutes after the fall of the thunder-bolt the whole neighborhood was enveloped in a thick blue and yellow fog.—Sel.
THE INCREASE OF CRIME.
By D. T. Taylor
“I am convinced that the world is daily growing better,” said a reverend gentleman to a brother clergyman; “my congregation is constantly decreasing.” “Yes,” replied the other, who happened to be a penitentiary chaplain; “and so is mine.” And so the early arrival of Whitby’s temporal millennium, suggested by the first speaker, ceased to be discussed.
Is the world growing better? Are sin and crime decreasing? Are there signs of a nearing world’s conversion? Or, does the ever-abounding iniquity of our age grow in strength? Does crime intensify? Among civilized nations does crime grow faster than population? Compared with the number of people, is there more bloodshed, homicide, murder, violence, and criminal offense of all kinds, than there used to be? Let the following array of facts and figures answer. The facts are startling. The figures are terrible.
In 1871 a copy of my little tract, “The Age of Murder,” fell into the hands of Marble Manton, the able editor of the New York World. Mr. Manton devoted forty-four lines to a notice of the work; and appeared so impressed by it as frankly to admit “that the phrases ‘carnival of crime’ and other such alluring alliterations which we periodically see in the newspapers have some foundation in fact, and that the mania of murder rises higher every decade, and almost every year, at a more rapid rate than the mere increase of population would warrant.” Mr. M. remarks upon the increase of crime in Boston, where in the six years between 1843 and 1849 it had run up 520 per cent. faster than the population; and also upon the figures I gave showing a similar rapid increase in Great Britain during the present century; and while deploring the absence of “accurate comparison on a scale large enough to arrive at scientific certainty,” he yet admits (reluctantly and ironically, I think) that the writer of the tract “fully makes out his case.” If he failed to do so, he here and now proposes to add a convincing supplement.
The World editor had just been greatly excited over the Government census figures for 1870, which gave the astounding number of 2,052 homicides occurring in the United States in the single year beginning June 1, 1869, and ending June 1, 1870. This was more than a thousand more than in 1860. The increase of violent deaths seemed incredible to Mr. Manton. He doubted it. He denied it. An appeal to the Census Bureau at Washington established the truth of the terrible figures, and the wondering journalist gave up his caviling, to ponder on human wickedness.
From a formidable array of evidences gathered and preserved by me, I select the following, of indisputable veracity. They tell the story of man’s sin, of Satan’s intense activity, and of the actual presence of the last days of time, preceding the era of judgment. I begin with
ITALY. The facts herein given are collected by order of the Government. “There is something actually appalling in them,” says a secular journal. In 1867 there were no less than 2,626 murders committed in the kingdom; of which number all but 264 were the work of deliberate, stealthy assassination. This is eleven murders to every 100,000 inhabitants. At this date in the Papal States the murders were one to every 5,358 inhabitants. Then, in 1870, all Italy came under the rule of Victor Emmanuel. But for two years previous there was no diminution of crime. Murderous outrages increased during these two years, 1869–70, from eighty to one hundred per cent. in the large towns, so that while in 1863 bloody crimes reached 29,634, by the year 1870 they showed a total of 55,825; an increase of a hundred per cent.
In the year 1872 it was declared there was in Rome one homicide for every 750 inhabitants, and the Eternal City was called “the wickedest place in the world!” It was only the year previous that a stringent law was passed to check crimes of blood, but 2,286 murders were committed in the whole kingdom during the first nine months of that same year—1871; 33,352 persons receiving bloody wounds. Besides the actual killing, there were 1,486 cases of assaults with intent to kill. Two thousand homicides a year, for year after year. A distressing exhibit truly. The Gazzetta d’ Italia recorded the last number. Nowhere was life safe. Our figures go no further. There may be a better showing for Italy during the last five years, but I have not seen it.
In SPAIN statistics show as bad a state of things. One murder to every 4,113 inhabitants is the ratio of blood! This does not reach the ratio in Naples, which was one for every 2,750; nor Rome, where was one for every 750. Nevertheless it would give fair Spain no less than 4,500 murders each and every year, an exhibit a hundred per cent. more sanguinary than our own country, or even Italy as a whole. Such are the annals of crime, among more than forty millions of people, in but two of Europe’s kingdoms. And this includes but one single phase of crime, viz., the bloody. Think of all the multitudinous remainder!
Passing by Prussia, where there is a murder to every 200,000; Holland, where there is one to every 163,000; and Austria, where it is worse, and a murder is perpetrated to every 57,000 inhabitants, I come to
BELGIUM. Here it seems the death punishment is not in vogue. Murder, therefore, runs riot. So terrible is crime that the Catholic journals all cry out in alarm. The Montreal Witness (June 13th) says: “The number of crimes of violence is fearfully on the increase in Belgium. At the prison of Charleroi alone there are now thirteen murderers awaiting trial.” Belgium is an intensely Romish country.—D. T. Taylor.
Treasures of Islam: Sepulchers at Mecca
The Paris Patrie gives some particulars about the “treasures of Islam.” It says that all the pilgrims who visit Mecca cast an offering into the three sepulchers for the defense of Islam. The writer calculates that not less than $3,000,000 a year are thus contributed; and adds that from one of the sepulchers, which was opened58in 1829, immense sums were drawn. Another sepulcher was opened during the Crimean war, and now the Sheik-ul-Islam has gone to Mecca to draw from the third, which has not been opened since 1415. Taking the three sepulchers together, it is computed that they must contain about $120,000,000.
SEEK THE LORD.
By Francis Quarles
Dart up thy soul in groans; thy secret groan
Shall pierce His ear, shall pierce His ear alone.
Dart up thy soul in vows; thy secret vow
Shall find Him out, where Heaven alone shall know.
Dart up thy soul in sighs; thy whispering sigh
Shall rouse His ears; and fear no list'ner nigh.
Send up thy groans, thy sighs, thy closet vow;
There's none, there's none shall know, but Heaven and thou.
Groans freshen with vows, and vows made salt with tears,
Unscale His eyes, and scale His conquered ears:
Shoot up the bosom shafts of thy desire.
Feathered with faith, and double-forked with fire,
And they will hit. Fear not, where Heaven bids come;
Heaven's never deaf, but when man's heart is dumb.
—Francis Quarles.
NAPOLEON I. ON THE EASTERN QUESTION.
To Lord Whitworth, when remonstrating with him against the rupture of the peace of Amiens, he said: “The Turkish Empire threatens to fall. For my part I shall contribute to uphold it as long as possible. But if it falls to pieces I intend that France shall have her share. But be assured I shall not hasten events. . . . I wanted to establish a barrier against those barbarians [the Russians] by re-establishing the kingdom of Poland, and putting Poniatowski at the head of it as king, but your imbeciles of ministers would not consent. A hundred years hence I shall be applauded; and Europe, especially England, will lament that I did not succeed. When they see the finest countries in Europe overcome, and a prey to those northern barbarians, they will say, ‘Napoleon was right.’”
At St. Helena, Napoleon said, “I could have shared the Turkish Empire with Russia; we have discussed the question more than once. Constantinople always saved it. This capital was the great embarrassment, the true stumbling-block. Russia wanted it, and I would not grant it. It is too precious a key; it alone is worth an empire; whoever possesses it can govern the world.”
And again at St. Helena he said, “All the Emperor Alexander’s thoughts are directed to the conquest of Turkey. We have had many discussions about it. At first his proposals pleased me, because I thought it would enlighten the world to drive these brutes, the Turks, out of Europe. But when I reflected upon its consequences, and saw what a tremendous weight of power it would give to Russia on account of the number of Greeks in the Turkish dominion, who would naturally join the Russians, I refused to consent to it, especially as Alexander wanted Constantinople, which I would not consent to, as it would destroy the equilibrium of power in Europe.”—Table Talk and Opinions of Napoleon I., pp. 42, 74, 80.
THE POPULATION OF THE GLOBE.
Where We Live and Who Are Our Associates.
THE most trustworthy estimate of the number of people on the earth for the year 1876, as furnished by the German statisticians, is 1,423,917,000. This is an increase of over twenty-seven millions on the estimate of 1875, but the augmentation is not due entirely to the excess of births over deaths, but largely to the obtaining of more accurate information regarding the population of regions hitherto little known, and to more perfect census returns from other countries.
Asia is still the home of a majority of the human race, after having supplied shoots from which have sprung great Western peoples. About four-sevenths of the earth’s population is Asiatic, or 825,548,590; Europe comes next with over a fifth, or 309,178,300; Africa, with about a seventh, or 199,921,600; America, with less than a sixteenth, or 85,519,800; and, finally, Australia and Polynesia, with the very small fraction of 4,748,600 people. Europe is the most densely populated, having 82 persons to the square mile; Asia comes next, with 48 to the square mile; Africa next, with 17½; and America and Australia bring up the rear with 5½ and 1½ respectively.
There are 215 cities on the earth with a population of over 100,000; 29, of half a million or more, and nine cities containing a million or more inhabitants. Of these last, four are in China. Including Brooklyn with New York, as we may rightfully do for purposes of comparison, the greatest cities of the world stand in this order: London, 3,489,428; Paris, 1,851,792; New York, 1,535,622; Vienna, 1,091,999; Berlin, 1,044,000; Canton and three other Chinese cities, one million each. New York therefore takes its place third in the list of great cities without counting our New Jersey overflow.—Sel.
“THANKSGIVING ANN,” A STORY OF SYSTEMATIC GIVING.
In the kitchen doorway, underneath its arch of swaying vines and dependent purple clusters, the old woman sat, tired and warm, vigorously fanning her face with her calico apron. It was a dark face, surmounted by a turban, and wearing, just now, a look of troubled thoughtfulness not quite in accordance with her name—a name oddly acquired from an old church anthem that she used to sing somewhat on this wise:—
“Thanksgivin’ an’—”
“Johnny, don’t play dar in de water, chile!”
“Thanksgivin’ an’—”
“Run away now, Susie, dearie.”
“Thanksgivin’ an’—”
“Take care dat blessed baby! Here’s some gingerbread for him.”
“Thanksgivin’ an’ de voice of melody.”
You laugh! But looking after all these little things was her appointed work, her duty; and she spent the intervals in singing praise. Do many of us make better use of our spare moments?
So the children called her Thanksgiving Ann; her other name was forgotten, and Thanksgiving Ann she would be, now, to the end of her days. How many these days had already been, no one knew. She had lived with Mr. and Mrs. Allyn for years, whether as mistress or servant of the establishment they could scarcely tell; they only knew that she was invaluable. She had taken a grandmotherly guardianship of all the children, and had a voice in most matters that concerned the father and mother, while in the culinary department she reigned supreme.
The early breakfast was over. She had bestowed unusual care upon it, because an agent of the Bible Society, visiting some of the country places for contributions, was to partake of it with them. But while she was busy with a final batch of delicate waffles, the gentleman had pleaded an appointment, and, taking hasty leave of his host and hostess, had departed, unobserved from the kitchen windows; and Thanksgiving Ann’s “Bible money” was still in her pocket.
“Didn’t ask me, nor give me no chance. Just’s if, ’caus a pusson’s old an’ colored, dey didn’t owe de Lord nuffin,’ an’ wouldn’t pay it if dey did,” she murmured when the state of the case became known.
However, Silas, the long-limbed, untiring, and shrewd, who regarded the old woman with a curious mixture of patronage and veneration, had volunteered to run after the vanished guest, and “catch him if he was anywhere this side of Chainy.” And even while Thanksgiving sat in the doorway the messenger returned, apparently unwearied by his chase.
“Wa’ll, I came up with him—told ye I would—and give him the three dollars. He seemed kind of flustered to have missed such a nugget; and he said ’twas a generous donation—equal to your master’s. Which proves,” said Silas, shutting one eye, and appearing to survey the subject meditatively with the other, “that some folks can do as much good jest off-hand as some other folks can do with no end of pinchin’ an’ screwin’ beforehand.”
“Think it proves dat folks dat don’t have no great ’mount can do as much in a good cause by thinkin’ ’bout it a little aforehand, as other folks will do dat has more, and puts der hands in der pockets when de time comes. I believe in systematics ’bout such things, I does”; and with an energetic bob of her head, by way of emphasizing her words, old Thanksgiving walked into the house.
“Thanksgivin’ an’ de voice of melody,” she began in her high, weird voice. But the words died on her lips; her heart was too burdened to sing.
“Only three dollars out’n all der ’bundance!” she murmured to herself. “Well, mebbe I oughtn’t to judge; but then I don’t judge, I knows. Course I knows, when I’se here all de time, and sees de good clo’es, an’ de carr’ages, an’ de musics, an’, de fine times—folks an’ hosses an’ tables all provided for, an’ de Lord of glory lef’ to take what happens when de time comes, and no prep’ration at all! Sure ’nough, he don’t need der help. All de world is his; and he can send clo’es to his naked, an’ bread to his hungry, an’ Bibles to his heathen, if dey don’t give a cent; but den dey’re pinchin’ an’ starvin’ der own dear souls. Well—’tain’t my soul! But I loves ’em—I loves ’em, and dey’re missin’ a great blessin’.”
These friends, so beloved, paid little attention to the old woman’s opinion upon what she called “systematics in givin’.”
“The idea of counting up all one’s income, and setting aside a fixed portion of it for charity, and then calling only what remains one’s own, makes our religion seem arbitrary and exacting; it is like a tax,” said Mrs. Allyn, one day; “and I think such a view of it ought by all means to be avoided. I like to give freely and gladly of what I have when the time comes.”
“If ye hain’t give so freely an’ so gladly for Miss Susie’s new necklaces an’ yer own new dresses dat ye don’t have much when de time comes,” interposed Thanksgiving Ann.
“I think one gives with a more free and generous feeling in that way,” pursued the lady, without seeming to heed the interruption. “Money laid aside beforehand has only a sense of duty and not much feeling about it; besides, what difference can it make, so long as one does give what one can when there is a call?”
“I wouldn’t like to be provided for dat way,” declared Thanksgiving. “Was, once, when I was a slave, ’fore I was the Lord’s free woman. Ye see, I was a young, no-’count gal, not worf thinkin’ much ’bout; so my ole marse he lef’ me to take what happened when de time come. An’ sometimes I happened to get a dress, an’ sometimes a pair of ole shoes; an’ sometimes I didn’t happen to get nuffin’, an’ den I went barefoot; an’ dat’s jist de way—”
“Why, Thanksgiving, that’s not reverent!” exclaimed Mrs. Allyn, shocked at the comparison.
“Jist what I thought,—didn’t treat me with any kind of rev’rence,” answered Thanksgiving.
“Well, to go back to the original subject, all these things are mere matters of opinion. One person likes one way best; and another person, another,” said the lady, smilingly, as she walked from the room.
“’Pears to me it’s a matter of which way de Master likes best,” observed the old woman, settling her turban. But there was no one to hear her comment, and affairs followed their accustomed routine. Meanwhile, out of her own little store she carefully laid aside one-eighth. “’Cause if dem ole Israelites was tol’ to give one-tenth, I’d jist like to frow in a little more, for good measure. Talk ’bout it’s bein’ like a tax to put some away for such things! ’Clare! I get studyin’ what each dollar mus’ do, till I get ’em so loaded up wid prayin’s an’ thinkin’s dat I mos’ b’lieve dey weigh double when dey does go.”
“O de Lamb! de lovin’ Lamb!
De Lamb of Calvary!
De Lamb dat was slain, an’ lives again,
An’ intercedes for me!”
And now another call had come.
“Came, unfortunately, at a time when we were rather short,” Mrs. Allyn said, regretfully. “However, we gave what we could,” she added. “I hope it will do good, and I wish it were five times as much.”
Old Thanksgiving shook her head over that cheerful dismissal of the subject. She shook it many times that morning, and seemed intensely thoughtful, as she moved slowly about her work.
“’S’pose I needn’t fret ’bout other folks’ duty—dat ain’t none o’ my business; yes ’tis, too, ’cause dey’s good to me; an’ I loves ’em. ’Tain’t like’s if dey didn’t call dar-selves His neither.”
Mr. Allyn brought in a basket of beautiful peaches, the first of the season, and placed them on the table by her side.
“Aren’t those fine, Thanksgiving? Let the children have a few, if you think best; but give them to us for dinner.”
“Sartain, I’ll give you all dar is,” she responded, surveying the fruit.
Presently there came the pattering of several pairs of small feet; bright eyes espied the basket, and immediately rose a cry:
“Oh, how nice! Thanksgiving Ann, may I have one?”
“And I?”
“And I, too?”
“Help yourselves, dearies,” answered the old woman, composedly, never turning to see how often or to what extent her injunction was obeyed. She was seated in the doorway again, busily sewing on a calico apron. She still sat there when, near the dinner-hour, Mrs. Allyn passed through the kitchen, and a little surprised at its coolness and quietness at that hour, asked wonderingly:
“What has happened, Thanksgiving? Haven’t decided upon a fast, have you?”
“No, honey; thought I’d give ye what I happened to have when de time come,” said Thanksgiving Ann, coolly, holding up her apron to measure its length.
It seemed a little odd, Mrs. Allyn thought. But then old Thanksgiving needed no oversight; she liked her little surprises now and then, too, and doubtless she had something all planned and in course of preparation; so the lady went her way, more than half expecting an especially tempting board because of her cook’s apparent carelessness that day. But when the dinner-hour arrived, both master and mistress scanned the table with wide open eyes of astonishment, so plain and meager were its contents, so unlike any dinner that had ever before been served in that house.
“What has happened, my dear?” asked the gentleman, turning to his wife.
“I do not know,” she replied, with a questioning glance at Thanksgiving.
“Dat’s all de col’ meat dar was—sorry I didn’t have no more,” she said, half apologetically.
“But I sent home a choice roast this morning,” began Mr. Allyn wonderingly, “and you have no potatoes, either—nor vegetables of any kind!”
“Laws, yes: but den a body has to think ’bout it a good while beforehand to get a roast cooked, an’ jist de same wid ’taters; an’ I thought I’d give ye what I happened to have when de time come, an’ I didn’t happen to have much of nuffin’. ’Clare! I forgot de bread!” and, trotting away, she returned with a plate of cold corn-cake.
“No bread!” murmured Mrs. Allyn.
“No, honey; used it all up for toast dis mornin’. Might have made biscuit or muffins, if I had planned for ’em long enough; but that kind o’ makes a body feel’s if dey had to do it, an’ I wanted to get dinner for yer all out o’ my warm feelin’s when de time come.”
“When a man has provided bountifully for his household, it seems as if he might expect to enjoy a small share of it himself, even if the preparation does require a little trouble,” remarked Mr. Allyn, impatiently, but still too bewildered at such an unprecedented state of affairs to be thoroughly indignant.
“Cur’is how things make a body think of Bible verses,” said Thanksgiving, musingly. “Dar’s dat one ’bout ’who giveth us all things richly to enjoy,’ an’ ’what shall I render to de Lord for all his benefits to’ards me?’ Dar! I didn’ put on dem peaches!”
“Has Thanksgiving suddenly lost her senses?” questioned the gentleman, as the door closed after her.
“I suspect there is a ‘method in her madness,’” replied his wife, a faint smile crossing her lips.
The old woman returned with the basket, sadly despoiled of its morning’s contents, but she composedly bestowed the remainder in a fruit dish.
“Dat’s all. The children’s eat a good many, an’ dey was used up one way an’ ’nother. I’s sorry dar ain’t no more, but I hopes ye’ll ’joy what dar is, an’ I wishes ’twas five times as much.”
A look of sudden intelligence flashed into Mr. Allyn’s eyes; he bit his lips for a moment, and then asked quietly:
“Couldn’t you have laid aside some for us, Thanksgiving?”
“Well, dar now! ’spose I could,” said the old servant, relenting at the tone. “B’lieve I will next time. Allers kind o’ thought de folks things belonged to had de best right to ’em; but I’d heard givin’ whatever happened was so much freer an’ lovin’er way o’ servin’ dem ye love best, dat I thought I’d try it. But it does ’pear’s if dey fared slim, an’ I ’spects I’ll go back to de ole plan o’ systematics.”
“Do you see, George?” questioned the wife, when they were again alone.
“Yes, I see. An object-lesson with a vengeance!”
“And if she should be right, and our careless giving seem anything like this?” pursued Mrs. Allyn, with troubled face.
“She is right, Fanny; it doesn’t take much argument to show that. We call Christ our King and Master; believe that every blessing we have in this world is his direct gift, and all our hopes for the world to come are in him. We profess to be not our own, but his; to be journeying toward his royal city, and that his service is our chief business here; and yet, strangely enough, we provide lavishly for our own apparel, entertainment, and ease, and apportion nothing for the interests of his kingdom or the forwarding of his work, but leave that to any chance pence that may happen to be left after all our wants and fancies are gratified. It doesn’t seem like very faithful or loving service,” Mr. Allyn answered, gravely. “I have been thinking in that direction occasionally, lately, but have been too indolent, careless, or selfish to come to a decision and make any change.”
There was a long talk over that dinner-table—indeed, it did not furnish opportunity for much other employment; and that afternoon the husband and wife together examined into their expenses and income, and set apart a certain portion as sacred unto their Lord—doing it somewhat after Thanksgiving’s plan of “good measure.” To do this they found required the giving up of some needless indulgences—a few accustomed luxuries. But a cause never grows less dear on account of the sacrifices we make for it, and as these two scanned the various fields of labor in deciding what to bestow here and what there, they awoke to a new appreciation of the magnitude and glory of the work, and a new interest in its success—the beginning of that blessing pronounced upon those who “sow beside all waters.”
Mrs. Allyn told Thanksgiving of their new arrangement, and concluded, laughingly, though the tears stood in her eyes:
“So you see we have adopted the ‘systematic’ plan, too; and you needn’t starve us for supper, Thanksgiving Ann, you dear, faithful old soul!”
Silas heard of the change in that mysterious way in which he contrived to hear of everything that happened anywhere within a circuit of ten miles of him, and coming to the old colored woman that evening, as, with face of content, she occupied once more her favorite seat in the doorway, he launched forth on the subject at once:
“An’ now I s’pose you’re satisfied.”
“I’se ’mazin’ glad,” said Thanksgiving, looking up brightly; “but satisfied—that’s a long, deep word, an’ de Bible says it’ll be when we ’wake in His likeness.”
“Wa’ll, now, I don’t profess none of these kind of things,” said Silas, standing on one foot and swinging the other, “but I don’t mind tellin’ ye that I think your way’s right, an’ I don’t believe nobody ever lost nothin’ by what they give to God; ’cause he’s pretty certain to pay it back with compound interest to them, you see.”
“Maybe so; but don’t ye think, Silas Ridgelow, dat it’s a dreadful mean way to offer a little gift to yer best an’ dearest Friend—a calc’latin’ dat he’ll pay back more?”
“Wa’ll, ye see folks don’t always feel right,” observed Silas, dropping dexterously on the other foot.
“No, dey don’t. When every body feels right, an’ does right, dat’ll be de millennium. Does yer know dat’s a prophecy ’bout de time when even de bells of de hosses shall hab ’Holiness to de Lord’ on ’em? Don’t know what dat means, ’less ’tis dat de rich folks’ carriages behind de hosses shall be goin’ on his errands, an’ carryin’ part of de time, ’de least of dese, his brethren.’ Guess de lovin’ ’ll have got so strong den dar’ll be no thinkin’ ’bout prayin’,” said the old woman, musingly. “Well, I’se glad of59the faint streak of dat day dat’s come to dis house!” And she went in with her old song upon her lips:
“Thanksgivin’ an’ de voice of melody.”
—The (London) Christian.
Former Politicians Sworn In as Capitol Police
A STRIKING illustration of the hard times among politicians as well as among other folks is afforded in the fact that among the special police sworn in at the Capitol the other day were two ex-Governors, one ex-Judge and one ex-Congressman, and several prominent State politicians who have been hanging about Washington for months waiting for something to turn up.
BAPTISM OF JESUS.
From Galilee the Saviour came to Jordan's flowing stream,
E'en to his great forerunner, John, to be immersed by him.
But John forbade: and said to him, Why comest thou to me?
Thou greater art, and I have need to be immersed by thee.
He, answering, said, Pray suffer it to be so now; for thus
To honor all divine commands my Father wills we must
All righteousness fulfill, and so forever in him trust.
John suffered him. He was immersed beneath the yielding wave,
An emblem of his burial and rising from the grave.
The heavens above were opened wide, that realm of peace and love;
And down the Holy Spirit quick descended like a dove.
And then these words from heaven were heard, soon as the scene was done,
Lo, this is he, my chief delight—my well beloved Son.
—Sel.
TIED TO THE WORLD.
By G. V. Kilgore
MANY are complaining of their slow progress in the divine life, and wondering why they do not make greater advancement toward the kingdom of God. The trouble with all such is certainly with themselves; for the Lord is sure to reward every one who seeks him diligently. Heb. 11:6. But none can seek God aright while they are influenced by a love of worldly amusements.
I have just been reading, in Mr. Moody’s work, of two men who, while under the influence of liquor, started one night to cross a bay in a boat. They were going to their home on the other side, I suppose. They got into the boat, and rowed hard all night, wondering why they did not reach the other side of the bay. When the morning light came, behold they had not loosed the mooring line or raised the anchor! “That is just the way,” says Moody, “with many who are striving to enter the kingdom of Heaven. They cannot believe, because they are tied to this world.”
This is a good illustration. We often hear people say, “Oh! if we only had more faith;” or, “If we could more fully realize the importance of heavenly things, we should be more in earnest.” Now this is very true; but why are some people in such a state of feeling? Why do they not realize? All of us who are in this condition must agree with Mr. Moody that it is because we are tied to this world; and as long as we remain so, we can make no advancement toward Heaven. But Mr. M. says, “Cut the cord! Cut the cord! Set yourselves free from the clogging weight of earthly things; and you will soon go toward Heaven.”
That is just what must be done. We must cut the cord, or else we shall find that when the blazing light of the eternal morning dawns, we shall be, like those men who rowed all night, fastened to this earth. Then, will that dreadful saying be true: “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.”
“Heir of the kingdom, oh! why dost thou slumber?
Why art thou sleeping so near thy blest home?
Wake thee, arouse thee, and gird on thine armor;
Speed, for the moments are hurrying on.”
G. V. KILGORE.
THE CHRISTIAN'S REST.
By Vesta J. Cady
A FAVORITE theme with the child of God while passing through this world of sin and sorrow is the joy, peace, and rest at the end of the journey. Life is short; and as we look forward just a little, and see looming up in the distance the glory and beauty of our heavenly home, what wonder that earnest longings to be there fill our inmost soul? Here sorrow’s keenest pangs are often felt. Dear friends, kindred spirits, are torn from us and our bleeding hearts feel the void which nothing earthly can ever fill. But joy is brought to the wounded spirit as we think of that land where suffering and sorrow are unknown. We know there will be no tears there, no heart-pangs, no bitter sorrow, no longings for love and sympathy. Such bliss as earth-pilgrims have never known will be ours, and every heart will thrill with holy, sacred joy.
We know that in the world we shall have tribulation, but in Jesus we may have peace. Shall we not take our trials and heart-aches, of whatever nature, to him? And when our tired feet linger, and our steps are slow and faltering, we can look up for help, and forget our weariness in the contemplation of the reward awaiting all the faithful ones. Our Father knows his children will be tired after their long journey, and ample preparation is being made for us to rest. How good it will seem after being in the struggle so long!
Perhaps some have often felt as though they could almost give up. Can you not hear a gentle voice say, “Hold out a little longer; don’t give up.” Our salvation is nearer now than when we believed. The night is far spent, the day is at hand. Jesus is soon coming to take us home. What a beautiful, glorious home it will be! Shall we give it up now, when it is just in sight? Oh! no; we cannot. We want to see for ourselves the things that have been described as so glorious and beautiful. We want to taste the fruits of that country. We want to gather some of its lovely flowers. We want the society of sinless, happy beings. Above all, we want to see Jesus and be made like him. We want to hear that sweet voice say, “Well done.” We want to bow low in adoration before the Lamb of Calvary. We want to hear the words: “Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” Oh! we must be there. We must not fail. Come, let us seek God earnestly, put away our sins, cut loose from the world, and when the gathering time comes, we shall be there. Vesta J. Cady.
THE ARK OF THE COVENANT.
What became of the ark when the temple of Solomon was destroyed by the Babylonians is a matter of dispute, and of much obscurity. Dr. Prideaux says: “Had it been carried to Babylon with the other vessels of the temple it would again have been brought back with them at the end of the captivity. But that it was not so is agreed on all hands, and therefore it must follow that it was destroyed with the temple, as were also the altar of incense, the shewbread table, and the golden candlestick; for all these in the second temple were made anew after the rebuilding of it. However, the Jews contend that it was hid and preserved by Jeremiah (say some, out of the second book of Maccabees, chap. 2.) But most of them will have it that King Josiah, being foretold by Huldah the prophetess that the temple would speedily after his death be destroyed, caused the ark to be put in a vault underground, which Solomon, foreseeing this destruction, had caused of purpose to be built, for the preserving of it.”
A writer in the London Times, treating of the great interest now taken in explorations in Palestine, refers to 2 Maccabees 2: 4–7, in which passage we are told that Jeremiah was instructed, just before the Babylonian captivity, to deposit in Mount Nebo the most valuable treasures the temple contained,—the sacred ark, etc., and says: “If that historical book is to be relied on, we must credit the fact that these sacred treasures are there still. Would it not be worth the explorer’s while to seek for these in the place specified? The discovery of them would throw great light upon the Old Testament and the language in which the tables were written.”
Dr. J. E. Cranage, of England, who has lately been on a tour through the Holy Land, seems to favor the tradition of the ark being hidden in an underground vault of the ancient temple, instead of Mount Nebo. In published notes of a lecture delivered by him in Birmingham, April 20, 1877, he makes the following interesting statements about the temple site, and a suggestion about the ark:—
“You remember that Solomon’s temple was the most beautiful structure in the world, built upon the place of the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite. The magnificent building now erected on the site is called in Europe the ‘Mosque of Omar,’ but in the East always the ‘Dome of the Rock.’ This Mosque of Omar is beautifully spangled inside with precious stones. There are onyx stones two feet long. In this place it is believed Abraham went to offer up Isaac. It is guarded by a race of Ethiopians, who have no other duty, and who guard the Moslem building with their lives. By a special order from the Turkish Government, the Franks may now get a view of the interior, and so we had the gratification of seeing this magnificent pile. Its floors are beautifully laid with the finest marble covered with carpets. As you approach it, you realize the wonders that took place there. It is the scene of the greatest act of faith that was ever performed by any one except by our Lord Jesus Christ, and to us Christians, as well as the Mohammedans, it cannot but be a place of intensest interest.”
“On reading of the construction of Solomon’s temple, you will find the holy place itself was covered over with fir, which appears to have been cypress wood, and then covered over entirely with gold, but the Holy of holies had no covering upon the floor. The center of the rock where Abraham performed his great act of faith has never been touched, and even when the ark of the covenant rested upon it, it was not covered at all. Beneath this rock there are caverns. For a thousand years or more no one has ever gone below the first cavern. The Jew believes that under that rock the ark of the covenant rests now. The sheik who showed us the place stamped his foot on the ground; we could distinguish a hollow sound, and he said, ‘My impression is that the Jew is right.’ I think that ‘when He that shall come will come, and will not tarry,’ that original ark of the covenant, about which there has been such wondrous mystery in all ages, will again be seen, either with these eyes of ours, or in our glorified bodies.”—Messiah’s Herald.