Earlier text: WHEN HAVE INSPIRED MEN EXPECTED THE BLISS OF HEAVEN?"Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie," our old nursery rhyme told us, was a "dainty dish to set before a king;" but Zimmerman tells us that Frederick the Great required something more substantial. He says:— "To-day the king has taken a great quantity of soup, made as usual of the strongest gravy drawn from the most healing things. With his portion he mixed a large tablespoonful of pounded mace and pounded ginger. He then ate a large slice of beef stewed in brandy. This he followed up by a copious allowance of an Italian dish, composed half of maize flour and half of Parmesan cheese; to this is added the juice of garlic, and the whole is fried in butter till it acquires a crust as thick as one's finger. This favorite dish is called polenta. At length the king, praising the excellent appetite which the dandelion had given him, concluded the scene with a large plate of eel pie, exceedingly hot and highly seasoned. While at table the king fell asleep, and was seized with convulsions." If he had escaped the convulsions he would have had the digestion of an ostrich, which rather prefers gravel stones and ten-penny nails to anything lighter for a diet. Mrs. Mary T. Lathrop delivered a most powerful address at the Ocean Grove Camp-meeting. We are indebted to her for the following incident:- A wealthy man in St. Louis was asked to aid in a series of temperance meetings, but he scornfully refused. After being further pressed he said: "Gentlemen, 'tis not my business!" A few days after, his wife and two daughters were coming home on the lightning express. In his grand carriage, with liveried attendants, he rode to the depot, thinking of his splendid business, and planning for the morrow. Hark! did some one say "Accident?" There are twenty-five railroads centering in St. Louis; if there has been an accident it is not likely it has happened on the ----- and Miss. Railroad. Yet it troubles him. 'Tis his "business" now. The horses stopped on the instant, and upon inquiry he finds it has occurred twenty-five miles distant on the ----- and Miss. He telegraphs to the superintendent: "I will give you five hundred dollars for an extra engine." The answer flashes back "No!" "I will give one thousand dollars for an engine." "A train of surgeons and nurses has already gone forward; we have no other." With white face and anxious brow that man paced the station to and fro. "'Tis his "business" now. In a half hour, perhaps, which seemed to him a century, the train arrived. He hurried toward it, and in the tender found the mangled and lifeless forms of his wife and one of his daughters. In the car following lay his other daughter, with her dainty ribs crushed in, and her precious life oozing slowly away. A quart of whisky, drank fifty miles away by a railroad employe was the cause of the catastrophe. Who dares say of this tremendous question, "'Tis not my business?"—Morning. THE OLD CRADLE.
By T. De Witt Talmage
THE historic and old-time cradle is dead, and buried in the rubbish of the garret. A baby of five months, filled with modern notions, would spurn to be rocked in the awkward and rustic thing. The baby spits the "Alexandra feeding bottle" out of its mouth, and protests against the old-fashioned cradle, giving emphasis to its utterances by throwing down a rattle that cost seven dollars, and kicking off a shoe imported at fabulous expense, and upsetting the "baby-basket" with all its treasures of ivory hair-brushes and "Meen Fun." Not with voice, but by violence of gesture and kicks and squirms it says: "What? you going to put me in that old cradle? Where is the nurse? My patience! What does mother mean? Get me a 'patented self-rocker.'" The parents yield. In comes the new-fangled crib. The machine is wound up, the baby put in, the crib set in motion, and mother goes off to make a firstrate speech at the "Woman's Rights Convention!" Conundrum: Why is a maternal elocutionist of this sort like a mother of old time, who trained four sons for the holy ministry, and through them was the means of reforming and saving a thousand souls, and through that thousand of saving ten thousand more? You answer: "No resemblance at all!" You are right. Guessed the conundrum the first time. Go up to the head of the class! Now, the "patented self-rockers," no doubt, have their proper use; but go up with me into the garret of your old homestead, and exhume the cradle that you, a good while ago, slept in. The rockers are somewhat rough, as though a farmer's plane had fashioned them, and the sides just high enough for a child to learn to walk by. What a homely thing, take it all in all! You say: Stop your depreciation! We were all rocked in that. For about fifteen years that cradle was going much of the time. When the older child was taken out, a smaller child was put in. The crackle of the rockers is pleasant yet in my ears. There I took my first lessons in music as mother sang to me. Have heard what you would call far better singing since then, but none that so thoroughly touched me. She never got five hundred dollars per night for singing three songs at the Academy, with two or three encores grudgefully thrown in; but without pay she sometimes sang all night, and came out whenever encored, though she had only two little ears for an audience. It was a low, subdued tone that sings to me yet across thirty-five years. You see the edge of that rocker, worn quite deep? That is where her foot was placed while she sat with her knitting or sewing, on summer afternoons, while the bees hummed at the door, and the shout of the boy at the oxen was heard afield. From the way the rocker is worn, I think that sometimes the foot must have been very tired, and the ankle very sore; but I do not think she stopped for that. When such a cradle as that got agoing, it kept on for years. Scarlet-fever came in the door, and we all had it; and oh! how the cradle did go! We contended as to who should lie in it, for sickness, you know, makes babies of us all. But after awhile we surrendered it to Charlie. He was too old to lie in it, but he seemed so very, very sick; and with him in the cradle it was "Rock!" "Rock!" "Rock!" But one day, just as long ago as you can remember, the cradle stopped. When a child is asleep there is no need of rocking. Charlie was asleep. He was sound asleep. Nothing would wake him. He needed taking up. Mother was too weak to do it. The neighbors came in to do that, and put a flower, fresh out of the garden-dew, between the two still hands. The fever had gone out of the cheek, and left it white, very white: the rose exchanged for the lily. There was one less to contend for the cradle. It soon started again, and with a voice not quite so firm as before, but more tender, the old song came back: "Bye! bye! bye!" which meant more to you than "Il Trovatore," rendered by opera troupe in the presence of an American audience, all leaning forward and nodding, to show how well they understood Italian. There was a wooden canopy at the head of the old cradle, that somehow got loose and was taken off. But your infantile mind was most impressed with the face which much of the time hovered over you. Other women sometimes looked in at the child, and said: "That child's hair will be red!" or, "What a peculiar chin!" or, "Do you think that child will live to grow up?" and, although you were not old enough to understand their talk, by instinct you knew it was something disagreeable, and began to cry till the dear, sweet, familiar face again hovered and the rainbow arched the sky. Oh! we never get away from the benediction of such a face! It looks at us through storm and night. It smiles all to pieces the world's frown. After thirty-five years of rough tumbling on the world's couch, it puts us in the cradle again, and hushes us as with the very lullaby of Heaven. Let the old cradle rest in the garret! It has earned its quiet. The hands that shook up its pillow have quit work. The foot that kept the rocker in motion is through with its journey. The face that hovered has been veiled from mortal sight. Cradle of blessed memories! Cradle that soothed so many little griefs! Cradle that kindled so many hopes! Cradle that rested so many fatigues! Sleep now thyself, after so many years of putting others to sleep! One of the great wants of the age is the right kind of a cradle and the right kind of a foot to rock it. We are opposed to the usurpation of "patented self-rockers." When I hear a boy calling his grandfather old daddy, and see the youngster whacking his mother across the face because she will not let him have ice cream and lemonade in the same stomach, and at some refusal holding his breath till he gets black in his face, so that to save the child from fits the mother is compelled to give him another dumpling, and he afterward goes out into the world stubborn, willful, selfish, and intractable; I say that boy was brought up in a "patented self-rocker." The old-time mother would have put him down in the old-fashioned cradle, and sung to him, "Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!" and if that did not take the spunk out of him, would have laid him in an inverted position across her lap, with his face downward, and with a rousing spank made him more susceptible to the music. When a mother, who ought to be most interested in training her children for usefulness and Heaven, gives her chief time to fixing up her back hair, and is worried to death because the curls she bought are not of the same shade as the sparsely-settled locks of her own raising; and trims and fixes till, as she comes into church, a good old elder bursts into laughter behind his pocket-handkerchief, making the merriment sound as much like a sneeze as possible; her waking moments employed with discussions about polonaise, and vert-degris velvets, and ecru percale, and fringed guipure, and poufs, and sashes, rose-de-chene silks, and scolloped flounces; her happiness in being admired at balls, and parties, and receptions—you may know that she has thrown off the care of her children, that they are looking after themselves, that they are being brought up by machinery instead of loving hands—in a word, that there is in her home a "patented self-rocker!" So far as possible, let all women dress beautifully: so God dresses the meadows and the mountains. . . . . . . God has hung round the neck of his world strings of diamonds, and braided the black locks of the storm with bright ribbons of rainbow. Especially before and right after breakfast, ere they expect to be seen of the world, let them look neat and attractive for the family's sake. One of the most hideous sights is a slovenly woman at the breakfast-table. Let woman adorn herself. Let her speak on platforms so far as she may have time and ability to do so. But let not mothers imagine that there is any new way of successfully training children, or of escaping the old-time self-denial and continuous painstaking. Let this be the commencement of the lawsuit: OLD CRADLE
versus
PATENTED SELF-ROCKER Attorneys for plaintiff, all the cherished Memories of the past. Attorneys for the defendant, all the Humbugs of the present. For jury, the good sense of all Christendom. Crier! open the court and let the jury be empanelled.—T. DE WITT TALMAGE, in Methodist. THINGS THAT DO NOT MATTER, AND THINGS THAT DO.
By A. A. H. J.
It matters very little whether or not you have a new dress or bonnet this spring, provided you are modestly and respectably clad. The handsomest gown will be somewhat the worse for wear a year from now, and not a friend worth having will care the more for you because of the feathers and flowers that adorn your clothing. It does matter whether your associates this season are among those who can help you onward and upward, whether you read good books, whether you have a home in a church which is working for the Master with its whole heart, and whether you shall take hold, with courage and fidelity, of your own special work. There are very many pleasant things which are not essential to our progress. There are some things less pleasant to our ease-loving nature, yet nevertheless essential to symmetrical growth. Prove all things. Hold fast to that which is good! Some of our young people will be glad to receive advice as to what they should read. First, read History. This lays in the mind a solid foundation of thinking, judging and comparing. A young child given historic reading will always love it, and will be sure to develop a literary taste. Those whose taste has been vitiated so that they dislike history, can restore the natural taste for the true by a faithful course of twelve months' historic reading. Next read Biography. You have read of great events and mighty world-changes: read now of their actors. Happy the child to whom some wise parent has given "Plutarch's Lives." Read the lives of heroes, literati, philosophers, and philanthropists; those masters of the world who have made history by the outliving of their individualities. Then come Travels. Follow Kane to the Arctic Seas; go with Irving into the Far West; plunge with Livingstone into the heart of Africa. You can sit by your own warm fireside and, without change of costume or fear of sea-sickness, visit the "cradle of our forefathers," sunny France and genial Italy. Should your roving disposition wish to go farther, what a blessed thought that you can penetrate to the innermost recesses of remote Asia without experiencing any of the accompanying necessary inconveniences of modern travel. Pompeii and Nineveh, Babylon and Heliopolis, can all be explored without asking the conductor for a stop-over check. Now the mind will be prepared for scientific research, wherein lies a world of useful knowledge. One other book we would recommend for daily perusal. It is a whole library in itself. He who has not read and re-read the English Bible, knows nothing of English literature. In it we find his-155tory, biography, travels, poetry, philosophy, science and romance. As a purely intellectual work it has never been surpassed; and when considered as the fountain from which flows all the life currents of the soul, how faithfully should we read and ponder. The Home Circle.
By M. C. F.
[The scene here described was witnessed on the Palney Mountains, in Southern India, in the year 1845.] THE darkest clouds, the poets say,
Have all a silver lining;
Above the storm and whirlwind’s roar
The sun is always shining. ’Twas once my lot this fact to prove,
With closest observation,
As, far above the clouds and storms,
I occupied a station. ’Twas in the sultry clime of Ind,
Upon the lofty mountains,
Where many rivers, long and broad,
Flowed from their tiny fountains. The sun was pouring forth his beams
In a bright flood of glory,
While lightning’s crash and thunder’s roar
Shook all the hills below me. Below, the clouds, with angry frown,
Were pouring down a torrent:
Above, their white and fleecy folds
Of peace gave truest warrant. Their smooth, bright surface spread afar,
With scarcely any motion,
Whilst crags and knobs peered here and there
Like isles in a silver ocean. Here, balmy odors filled the air,
From flowers perennial blooming,
And fairest landscapes everywhere
With radiant luster looming. Here, of our lives behold the type,
The favored and the lowly;
The clouds that shroud our pilgrimage
Are shades to screen His glory. While in life’s journey, then, we toil,
Though storms are bursting o’er us,
We’ll upward press our toilsome way,
For Heaven is just before us.
—M. C. F., in N. Y. Observer. DON'T fret, for a fretful Christian is like a prickly pear, bitter within and irritating without. God says, "Cast all your care on me, for I care for you." "No, you don't," says the fretting Christian, "and so I'll fret over my cares." Don't fret, for you are a witness for Christ. What is your testimony worth, if your fretting contradicts his words, "My yoke is easy and my burden light?" Don't fret; for fretting, instead of relieving from trouble, will lay on you heavier burdens. As fear slays more people than cholera, so fretting kills more than care. Don't fret, for God's providence governs all things. Consider the hairs of your head, the fowls of the air, the lilies of the field. Thus stay your heart on God, and thou shalt have perfect peace. One of Cromwell's friends was a fretting Christian, to whom everything went wrong, and portended disaster. One day, when unusually fretful, his sensible servant said:— "Master, don't you think that God governed the world very well before you came into it?" "Yes; but why do you ask?" "Don't you think he will govern it very well when you are out of it?" "Yes; but why do you ask?" "Well, then, can't you trust him to govern it for the little time you are in it?" That shot killed his fretting.— Watchman and Reflector. A FEW years ago a poor emigrant fell from a steamboat and was drowned, leaving his wife and one or two small children, who were on board, in destitute and distressing circumstances. On coming into port, the case was spoken of among a number of "river men" on the wharf, when one of them with characteristic bluntness observed, "Come boys, let's take a little stock in Heaven!" at the same time taking from his pocket a few shillings as his part of a contribution for the benefit of the poor widow. His example was followed by others, and a handsome present was the result of this rough impromptu exhortation. May we not hope that like the alms of Cornelius this act came up "as a memorial before God?" It is a glorious truth, whether our generous friend of the steamboat understood it properly or not, that we are privileged to take stock in Heaven. The poor widow who threw in two mites became a large stockholder, and her certificate is recorded both there and here. Reader, have you ever taken any of this stock? GOOD HEALTH, FOR 1880.
By Editor
THIS POPULAR JOURNAL enters upon its fifteenth volume with the most flattering prospects not only of a continuance of the prosperity which has attended it in the past, but also of a great increase of patronage, although it already enjoys THE LARGEST CIRCULATION OF ANY HEALTH JOURNAL IN AMERICA. The interest of the journal for 1880 will be greatly increased by a series of practical articles from the well-known pens of ELDER AND MRS. WHITE. Whose contributions in the past have done so much to increase the popularity and the usefulness of the journal. Is offered to new subscribers. Address, for specimen copy:—
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Or:—SIGNS OF THE TIMES,
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By John Harvey Kellogg
Institution Founded 1866......4000 Patients Successfully Treated.
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By Editor
$2.00 EACH. Sylvia F Kinney 7-12, Henry M Mussey 7-12, E A Boles 7-9, Mrs Hettie Ferguson 7-12, Miss Eva Kidder 7-12, Wm A Bottenburg 7-13, J H Bedford (2 copies) 7-12, D J Wright 7-12, Mrs L C Rasmussen 7-12. $1.00 EACH. G W Rogers 6-37, Miss Annie R Sumner 6-37, Benjamin Gardener 6-41, Wm Mangle 6-41, Rev. L H Corbett 6-37, Mrs N G Sanders 6-37, Wm Jones 6-37, S Worden 7-12, Miss Tenie Bozley 6-34, Mrs Nettie Crig 7-12, L R Simshauser 6-34, Mrs S F Gray 7-12, Mrs A B Manor 7-12, Diantha Fero 7-12, Polly Robinson 7-12, James D Kimble 7-12, Franklin Bump 7-12, John Kimble 7-12, Cynthia Cummings 7-12, Alfred Backer 7-12, Elias Gammy 7-12, Wm Gammy 7-12, Johnathan Sturdevant 7-12, D F Lane 7-12, C N Robinson 7-12, Frank Hunt 7-12, Francis Gould 7-12, Mrs Oscar Hammond 7-12, A E Gurnsey 7-12, C W Walker 7-12, Peter Klopfenstein 7-12, Lee Klopfenstein 7-12, Lucy E Clark 7-12. MISCELLANEOUS. P H Betz (12 copies) 6.00, 6-38, Thomas W Lockhart 1.50, 7-12, Mrs Jane Vale 50c 6-28, James Ramsey 50c 6-28, Hiram Walker 1.25, 7-12, John Hurd 3.00, 7-1, Mrs G O Smith 1.00, 7-12, Polly D Lawrence 1.25, 7-12, Percilla Bottenburg 1.25, 7-12, Mrs Sarah E Manor 1.50, 7-12, Enos Babcock (10 copies) 10.00, 7-12, S D Babcock (10 copies) 10.00, 7-12, Ettie Martin (13 copies) 13.00, 7-12, John Ward 50c 6-37, James Spears 50c 6-37, San Francisco V M Society (40 copies) 31.38, 6-35, San Francisco Church (40 copies) 31.38, 6-35, J L Rumery (2 copies) 2.50, 7-12, W J Hardy (5 copies) 2.50, 6-34, Ann Taylor (2 copies) 70c 7-1. BOOKS, PAMPHLETS AND TRACTS,
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Oakland, Cal. "RURAL HEALTH RETREAT."
By J. H. Waggoner
This is the corporate name of the hygienic institute, located at Crystal Springs, on the ranch of Brother W. A. Pratt, about two and a half miles north of St. Helena, Cal. If there is any fortunate feature in sickness, I was fortunate in being taken sick at St. Helena. I was much worn, and nearly prostrated, for about two months before I was taken down, but bore up until the time of the dedication in St. Helena. Here I had warm-hearted friends, and at the Health Retreat I found facilities for being treated, which I could have found nowhere else in the State. More than ten years ago, I had a pleasant and welcome home with Brother Atwood, in Skowhegan, Maine, who has been the winter occupant of the Retreat at Crystal Springs. I have had opportunity to visit many of the resorts, the hot and mineral springs in California, and this is by far the most desirable location I have seen. It is in one of the healthiest valleys in the State, and the house is on a hillside, full 300 feet above the valley. There is no marshy or swamp ground in this part of the country, and, excepting the springs, the mountain side is dry. At no resort which I have seen is there such a beautiful combination of valley and mountain scenery. Other resorts are either on low ground, or on some hot springs in a canyon, out of which there is no view. One of the best recommendations of this place is, the water is pure and cold. It is singularly free from minerals. I have visited resorts in this State where was hot water only, and of course it was not possible to take a bath under proper conditions. To take a bath in safety, at all times, the temperature must be entirely under our control. This is the case here. The water is abundant, at a proper elevation above the house, and the facilities for heating and bathing are excellent. This house will be opened the coming season, for patients and boarders. The best advertising is done freely by those who have been here. When I was here in February it was in the midst of the wet season. I convalesced slowly. I had just reached the point where I might have recovered more speedily under favorable circumstances, when, at the urgent solicitations of those at the publishing house, I returned to Oakland. I do not regret it, I am glad it was my privilege to join them in consultation over the interests of the cause, in its several branches, on this coast. I can say in all frankness, to the friends of the good work, that my courage is good, and my hope is revived for the success of the work in California. Steps are being taken which, I believe, will greatly extend the circulation of the Signs. And I earnestly hope that the favor shown to our efforts in behalf of this paper in the past may not be withdrawn, but that all the friends will unite their efforts with ours to make it more successful, and more worthy of success, than it has ever been. Soon after my return to Oakland it became evident to all that my health would not warrant my remaining in the atmosphere of the Bay, and I have accordingly sought the "Retreat" again. I am not able to endure constant labor, but will still do what I can to aid that work which is dearer to me than anything else on earth. I expect to attend the annual meeting, beyond which I can make no calculation at present.
J. H. WAGGONER.