Earlier text: MUCH IN LITTLESUCH is the word we now must write against 1877. Twelve short months ago, it was all before us, now all behind, buried with the things of the past. Its record is complete; what does it say for us? How much better is the world for our having lived through 1877. How much better are we? What new experience have we gained? what devices of the enemy discovered? what avenue hedged up against his approach to us? what weak place in our characters discovered and fortified? How much better prepared are we for the work upon our hands? The year 1878 opens upon us with the same opportunities for work all around us, and more necessity apparent for the accomplishment of it. We have a hymn which deals with the solemn inquiry, "What shall the harvest be?" But in reference to the incoming year we may raise the antecedent inquiry, "What shall the sowing be?" for as we sow, we shall also reap. Eighteen seventy-seven is dead, but it will have a resurrection. Our lives are there in its imperishable record. The judgment is the world's history repeated in epitome. All its deeds come up again. All its actors appear. All its sins will be judged and punished. All the years of our life will be resurrected for us; and all destinies will be decided by these records for eternity. Whatever in our course during 1877 lies like a painful burden upon the conscience, let us repent of it and secure pardon for it, while probation lingers; and let us see that the record for 1878, as much as we may be permitted to make, shall be such as will not make work for repentance. Increasing Evidences of the Truth.
By R. F. Cottrell
TWENTY-FIVE years ago the message of the third angel of Rev. 14:9–12 was in its infancy. It then required some faith to believe it. But time in its onward march has made much apparent—a matter of sight—which then could be hardly believed. People could hardly be persuaded then that movements in the fulfillment of prophecy which we see now, would ever take place. The application of the prophecy of the two-horned beast, Rev. 13:11–18, to the United States—the faith that in this country legislation on disputed points of religious observances, as for example, which day of the week shall be observed as the Christian Sabbath, would be foisted upon the people, and open the way to that religious persecution indicated in the prophecy—was deemed exceedingly chimerical. But now it can scarcely be deemed a matter of doubt. Every man well informed in respect of the present movement of the National Reform Association, their demand for a “religious amendment” of our National Constitution, must know that the issue is inevitable; and it is not difficult to believe that the predicted oppressive acts will follow, as foretold in the prophecy. In fact it does not at present require so great a stretch of faith to reach the consummation of the prophecy, as it would have required a quarter of a century ago to reach the present position of progress in that direction. Then the movement in the fulfillment of this prophetic message was very small, merely a beginning. The number of believers was a very few. A mere handful in New England, New York, and Michigan, with a few names in the Canadian provinces, constituted the body of those who confidently believed that the time had come, and that God had called them to proclaim this final, fearful warning, foretold in prophecy so many hundreds of years ago. People laughed at the work as the wildest fanaticism. But what is now the state of the work. It has spread through all the States from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Conferences, or associations of churches of believers, have been organized on the Pacific coast, one in California, and another in Oregon and Washington Territory. Some fifteen State Conferences have been formed in the United States, and believers are to be found in nearly or quite every State in the Union. But this is not all. There is scarcely a country in Europe where there are not more or less of the faith to be found. They are embracing it singly and in groups. Recently the news came from Holland that a Baptist minister and about twenty of his congregation had embraced the ancient Sabbath, the Sabbath of the Bible. And it is remarkable that wherever these new believers in the ancient Sabbath come to light, that they also believe that the last days are here and the second coming of Christ is at hand; so that, whether they are informed of the movement in this country or not, these two leading characteristics clearly entitle them to the appellation of Seventh-day Adventists; whether found in England, Scotland, Ireland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Holland, Germany, Prussia, Switzerland, France, or Italy, and some there are in all these places. To believe that this work is of God in fulfillment of his promise of 1800 years standing, is simply to believe his promise and providence. To disbelieve it therefore is to disbelieve his providence in fulfillment of his promise. True, living faith believes both his promise and providence. It is unbelief which rejects either; and unbelief is another name for infidelity. Alas! how many will be found infidels at last, who make loud profession of their faith in Christ, and in the Bible as the word of God. Reader, believe and do. “Blessed are they that do.” Judging the Present and Future
It is strange that the experience of so many ages should not make us judge more solidly of the present and of the future, so as to take proper measures in the one for the other. We dote upon this world as if it were never to have an end, and we neglect the next as if it were never to have a beginning. Present Opportunity.
By Jos. Clarke
To-day, the ambassador of Jesus Christ stands pleading with thee, O sinner. His heart overflows with love. He knocks at the door of thine heart. Wilt thou open the door, and admit the heavenly messenger? To-day, Jesus pleads before his Father for thee, lukewarm professor; and the angels beckon thee on to victory. The Spirit of God is already near thee; and thine eyes are moved to tears; and thine heart is tender. Wilt thou repent and reform? To-day, thy sins are set in order before thee. The heavenly messenger has softened thine heart; but it is not yet purified. The showers have softened the soil. Now is the time to pull up the weeds. To-day, he stands knocking at the door of thine heart. Wilt thou remove the rubbish, and open wide the door? Perhaps some vile habit, or some unruly passion, or unhallowed desire, or bitter feeling, closes fast the door, and shuts out the heavenly guest. For six thousand years Jesus has stood pleading for sinners. A few have accepted his mediation, and the work is nearly accomplished. As we near the end, we more highly prize the great atonement soon to culminate in victory. The resurrection is near, and the final reward. To-day, we hear the startling voice of the angelic message, calling to all who love God and his word to come out and separate themselves from error and sin; calling to all who love purity to rally around the standard of the cross, and by lives of obedience, humility, purity and holy love, to win the approbation of God. Jos. Clarke. There are times, no doubt, in the experience of God's people, when some passage of Scripture comes home to the soul with especial power and comfort. It was a time of trouble. Affliction after affliction had come upon me till I was nearly overwhelmed. I said to myself one night as I entered my room, God has certainly cast me off. But I took up my Bible, and it opened to the words: "For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee. In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer." The words seemed to burn in my soul. In the midst of my rebellious murmurings God had spoken the words of assurance and comfort. And as I read on, "For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee," my life with all its imperfections, compared with God's long-suffering love and patience, rose before me, and in strong supplication I besought his forgiveness for the past, and faith to trust him in the future; and he who "will in no wise cast out" any who come to him, I trust, graciously forgave. Oh tried and tempted one! God sees your suffering, hears your supplication, and in his own good time will answer. Only trust him, and though clouds rise dark and ominous, remember they "Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head." And when we no longer "see through a glass darkly, but face to face," we shall thank God for every trial, every affliction, and shall know then that he chasteneth not willingly, but in love.—Sel. MR. ROSE, a merchant, now residing in Philadelphia, who formerly lived in rather an extravagant style, was in the habit, every Monday morning, of giving his wife a certain sum of money for table and other household expenses of the week. He never mentioned his business to his wife, and she, deeming him sufficiently capable of attending to his own affairs, never inquired into them. About fifteen years after their marriage, through some slight mis-management and the rascality of his confidential clerk, Mr. Rose suddenly broke, and his fall was mentioned sympathizingly on 'Change, and—like all such matters—there sympathy ended. The merchant kept the affair secret, and the first intimation his lady had of it was by a paragraph in a paper. Shortly after dinner was over, on the day of the discovery of the startling facts, Mrs. Rose desired her husband to remain in the parlor a few moments, as she had something to say to him. She then left the room and hurried up stairs and shortly afterwards returned with a splendidly bound Bible in her hand. Handing it to her husband, she said:— "George, the day following our marriage you gave me this precious book, as a token of your love, and as a rich fountain to look to in the day of trouble. Its pages have been precious to me, and, as your brow looks sad to-day, I now return it to you, that you may glean from it some consolation in the hour of gloom." The merchant opened the book carelessly, and a bank bill fell out of it. He picked it up and glanced at its face—it was a $10 bill. He opened it at the first page and continued to find an X between every two leaves till he arrived at the commencement of the Book of Revelation. He was saved—could again commence business, and that, too, with a capital of $9,000. He rang the bell. A servant appeared. "Request your mistress to come to me immediately," said the merchant. The lady obeyed, entering the room with something between a tear and a smile. "Kate! Kate! where did you procure all this money?" "'Tis the weekly savings of our household expenses for the last fifteen years," was the modest reply. "Every week I put ten out of twenty dollars which you gave me into our Bible bank, that when a day of trouble came upon us, we should have something to save us from the wolf." "But why put it in the Bible, Kate?" "Because it is a good bank, and one which will not suddenly break," replied the lady. "You are an angel!" exclaimed her delighted husband, clasping her to his heart. And so she is. Does any one doubt it? There are many such angels, notwithstanding the opinions of our bachelor friends.—Sel. Affecting Scene in a Saloon.
ONE afternoon in the month of June, 1870, a lady in deep mourning, followed by a little child, entered one of the fashionable saloons in the city of N—. The writer happened to be passing at the time, and prompted by curiosity, followed her in to see what would ensue. Stepping up to the bar, and addressing the proprietor, she said:— "Sir, can you assist me? I have no home, no friends, and am not able to work." He glanced at her and then at the child, with a mingled look of curiosity and pity. Evidently he was much surprised to see a woman in such a place, begging, but, without asking any questions, gave her some change, and turning to those present, he said:— "Gentlemen, here is a lady in distress. Can't some of you help her a little." They cheerfully acceded to the request, and soon a purse of two dollars was made up and put into her hand. "Madam," said the gentleman who gave her the money, "why do you come to a saloon? It isn't a proper place for a lady, and why are you driven to such a step?" "Sir," said the lady, "I know it isn't a proper place for a lady to be in, and you ask me why I am driven to such a step. I will tell you, in one short word," pointing to a bottle behind the counter labelled "whisky,"—"that is what brought me here—whisky. I was once happy, and surrounded with all the luxuries wealth could produce, with a fond, indulgent husband. But in an evil hour he was tempted, and not possessing the will to resist the temptation, fell, and in one short year my dream of happiness was over, my home was forever desolate, and the kind husband, and the wealth that some called mine, lost—lost, never to return; and all by the accursed wine cup. You see before you only the wreck of my former self, homeless and friendless, with nothing left in this world but this little child;" and weeping bitterly, she affectionately caressed the golden curls that shaded a face of exquisite loveliness. Regaining her composure, and turning to the proprietor of the saloon, she continued:— "Sir, the reason why I occasionally enter a place like this is to implore those who deal in this deadly poison to desist, to stop a business that spreads desolation, ruin, poverty and starvation. Think one moment of your own loved ones, and then imagine them in the situation I am in. I appeal to your better nature, I appeal to your heart, for I know you possess a kind one, to retire from a business so ruinous to your patrons. "Do you know the money you take across the bar is the same as taking the bread out of the mouths of the famishing? That it strips the clothing from their backs, deprives them of all the comforts of this life, and throws unhappiness, misery, crime and desolation into their once happy homes? O! sir, I implore, beseech and pray you to retire from a business you blush to own you are engaged in before your fellow men, and enter one that will not only be profitable to yourself, but to your fellow-creatures also. You will excuse me if I have spoken too plainly, but I could not help it when I thought of the misery, the unhappiness and the suffering it has caused me." "Madam, I am not offended," he answered, in a voice husky with emotion, "but I thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you have said." "Mamma," said the little girl—who, meantime, had been spoken to by some of the gentlemen present—taking hold of her mother's hand, "these gentlemen want me to sing 'Little Bessie' for them. Shall I do so?" They all joined in the request, and placing her in the chair, she sung, in a sweet, childish voice, the following beautiful song:— *Ont in the gloomy night, sadly I roam;
I have no mother dear, no pleasant home;
No one cares for me, no one would cry
Even if poor little Bessie should die.
Weary and tired I've been wandering all day,
Asking for work, but I'm too small, they say;
On the damp ground I must now lay my head;
Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead.
We were so happy till father drank rum,
Then all our sorrow and trouble begun;
Mother grew pale, and wept every day;
Baby and I were too hungry to play.
Slowly they faded, till one summer night
Found their dead faces all silent and white;
Then with big tears slowly dropping, I said,
"Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead."
Oh! if the temperance men could only find
Poor, wretched father, and talk very kind;
If they would stop him from drinking, then
I should be very happy again.
Is it too late, temperance men! Please try,
Or poor little Bessie must soon starve and die.
All the day long I've been begging for bread;
Father's a drunkard, and mother is dead.* The game of billiards was left unfinished, the cards thrown aside, and the unemptied glass remained on the counter; all had pressed near, some with pity-beaming eyes, entranced with the musical voice and beauty of the child, who seemed better fitted to be with angels above than in such a place. The scene I shall never forget to my dying day, and the sweet cadence of her musical voice still rings in my ears, and from her lips sunk deep into the hearts of those gathered around her. With her golden hair falling carelessly around her shoulders, and looking so trustingly and confidingly upon the gentlemen around her, the beautiful eyes illuminated with a light that seemed not of this earth, she formed a picture of purity and innocence worthy the genius of a poet or painter. At the close of the song many were weeping; men who had not shed a tear for years wept like children. One young man who had resisted with scorn the pleadings of a loving mother, and entreaties of friends to strive and lead a better life, to desist from a course that was wasting his fortune and ruining his health, now approached the child, and taking both hands in his, while tears streamed down his cheeks, exclaimed, in deep emotion:— "God bless you, my little angel. You have saved me from ruin and disgrace, from poverty and a drunkard's grave. If there are angels on earth, you are one! God bless you! God bless you!" and putting a note into the hand of the mother, said:— "Please accept this trifle as a token of my regard and esteem, for your little girl has done me a kindness I can never repay; and remember, whenever you are in want, you will find me a true friend;" at the same time giving her his name and address. Taking her child by the hand she turned to go, but, pausing at the door, said:— "God bless you, gentlemen! Accept the heartfelt thanks of a poor, friendless woman for the kindness and courtesy you have shown her." Before any one could reply she was gone. A silence of several minutes ensued, which was broken by the proprietor, who exclaimed: "Gentlemen, that lady was right, and I have sold my last glass of whisky; if any one of you want any more you will have to go elsewhere." "And I have drunk my last glass of whisky," said a young man who had long been given up as sunk too low ever to reform, and as utterly beyond the reach of those who had a deep interest in his welfare.—Sel. We live in a world so strange that even its failures are valuable. —Prof. Swing. If all were smooth and easy sailing,
What triumphs would there be in life?
If the vines were never trailing,
They would need no pruning-knife.
Our very losses are our gains;
Our tears are jewels crystalized;
Our heaviest crosses and our pains
Are answered prayers unrealized.
We ask for humble heart and mind,
We beg for that sweet charity
Which reaches out to all mankind
A broad fraternity.
And how can we expect this gift
While lying on our bed of ease?
Some sorrow must our being sift
Before this boon we can receive.
Our efforts, failures though they be,
Are valued by a Higher Power;
They help complete the harmony
Of Life's momentous hour.
Our failures oft are very friends;
Success springs from defeat;
Reward its honored title lends
To those who never know retreat. The Cup of Sorrow.
By Theodore L. Cuyler
ON classic cups and vases we have sometimes seen devices carved by the cunning hand of the sculptor. So around the cup of trial, which God commends to the lips of suffering Christians, are wreathed many comforting assurances. Here is one of them: "All things work together for good to them which love God." Here is another like it: "As thy day is so shall thy strength be." Afflicted friend, turn thy cup of sorrow around, and you will see engraved on it these precious words: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you." Turn it again, and read: "My grace is sufficient for thee." The whole cup is encircled with the cup of love. But it requires faith to read them. They are invisible to selfishness and blind unbelief. And God sometimes washes the eyes of his children with tears, in order that they may read aright his providence and his commandments.—Rev. T. L. Cuyler. Innate Politeness and Nobility
INNATE politeness and nobility of character show themselves in every gesture, in every accent of the voice and glance of the eye; humble dress and occupation cannot conceal them. Vulgarity cannot put on those high qualities, though it be clad in purple and gold, and housed in a palace. SOUND health is sweeter than gold. The healthy laborer, whistling at his work, enjoys life much more than the pale faced dyspeptic who rides by in his carriage. "A contented spirit is a continual feast." Health brings content; there can be no content without it. An ounce of prevention is worth ten pounds of cure; good health is very easily lost; once lost it is not easily regained. Daily care, a little trouble, doing things that can easily be done, will save you from days, weeks, perhaps months of idleness and languishing on a sick bed, and materially prolong your life. Two-thirds of the diseases to which, especially in cities, you are subject are caused by bad air, impure water, and filth, and may be prevented by free use of pure air, pure water, and strict attendance to personal cleanliness. Says the report of the Metropolitan Board of Health for 1867: "Fresh air and pure water, constant ventilation and thorough cleansing, are natural means of preventing and destroying the causes of infection and disease." The human body throws off, by the skin and the lungs, every four hours, from three to four pounds of refuse, which is poisonous. "The excremental action through the pores of the skin (Report, 1870) covers the body with filth, which, if not removed, becomes a source of disease and contagion; and it should be removed, at least once in every twenty-four hours, and all the clothes worn during the day should be thoroughly aired during the night." There cannot be sound health without pure air; and the air cannot be pure if it is contaminated by exhalation from the lungs. Could the breath that has been exhaled by a person in a close room be tinted with some coloring matter, and made darker in proportion to its increasing unfitness for re-inhalation, we should, in a crowded and ill-ventilated assembly, find ourselves enveloped in a dense cloud, whose visible appearance would cause us to fly from a danger so apparent. Bear in mind that each breath you exhale contaminates a cubit foot of air, which must be replaced by pure air, or else you re-inhale the exhaled air and poison the blood. It is at night, in sleeping apartments, that the system receives its greatest detriment from impure air, for it is then that the blood lays in its extra store for the day's consumption. "Suffocation in the foul air of an unventilated tenement" is the provoking cause of many a death. Says the Metropolitan Board of Health, 1867: "The fact is becoming every month more apparent that fully one-half of the acute diseases of the lungs, and much more than half of the deaths by congestion of the lungs, and bronchitis in New York, are chargeable to the foul and stagnant atmosphere of the unventilated, improperly heated rooms in which the great majority of the people spend their days and nights. Upon no subject is popular information and common sense more needed than in regard to the purity and amount of the air which human beings should have every minute in the twenty-four hours." The sun, especially the morning sun, is a great life-giver. The experience of patients in hospitals is, that those on the sunny side of the wards stand a better chance for recovery than the others in every way, whether in cases of ordinary sickness or of pestilence, or of wounds and surgical operations. After securing pure air, pure water, and general cleanliness, the next thing is wholesome food. Do not buy stale fish or vegetables of the huckster because they are cheap; such food is dear if obtained for nothing. There is no excuse for buying them, so long as a person can thrive on oatmeal, barley, and unsifted wheat. Take as much sleep as you want; it is "the foster nurse of nature." Do not keep steadily in pursuit of health, disciplining yourselves with dumb bells, New Zealand clubs, sandbags, and other athletic exercises. Not every man is born to be a pugilist; do things in moderation; and do not cultivate one part of your body at the expense of the rest. Keep your finger off your pulse; do not carry a pocket looking glass to examine your tongue by. Forget that you have such things as stomach, liver, kidneys, pulse; they will be all the better for it and so will you. Oftentimes, when you feel oppressed, taking good long breaths of air, through your nostrils, will relieve you—it is something like a blower to the furnace, starts the fire afresh, and blows out the flues. The healthy man is contented, happy with little; the sick man—all the riches in the world will not make him a happy man, or prevent his envying the robust, rugged urchin of the streets.—Turf, Field and Farm. Woman's Relation to the Cause of Temperance.
By T. P. Stevenson
THE following is an extract from a speech delivered at Chicago, December 13, by Rev. T. P. Stevenson:— There are two words which, within three or four years, have come to be newly linked with the Temperance movement. Our ears have grown familiar with the combinations “Gospel Temperance,” and “Women’s Temperance work,” each marking a distinct and positive feature of recent efforts. It is almost too obvious to need saying that woman’s activity in this work is justified by the fact that she is the chief sufferer from the evils of intemperance. I read yesterday morning of a brute who had kicked and beaten his wife until she lay insensible and dying, and the sufficient explanation was added in four words, “He had been drinking.” We read just such stories almost every day as part of our current news, and receive invariably the same explanation of the outrage. A month ago Mrs. Evelyn Stuart sat in her beautiful apartments in a neighboring city, admired, congratulated, envied; hiding even from her own kindred her secret of insupportable sorrow, until on the same day on which she unbosomed her grief to the mother that bore her, she returned to her elegant home to drown her anguish in a fatal draught of opium. The explanation, beyond which no one thought of inquiring, was found in the fact that Robert Stuart was a confirmed drunkard, and made her life bitter with insult and cruelty. It is a custom among the Mormons that a wife is always buried in her wedding robes. She wears them on but two occasions, her marriage and her funeral. And many a discarded wife, forsaken by her fickle lord for some younger rival, learns to look with a pathetic interest on these memorials, and to long for the quiet rest of which they are the emblem. Not only in distant and outlawed Utah, but all over our beautiful country, in our prosperous cities, our stately homes, our hallowed sanctuaries, are wives whose memory of the marriage vows which fell on their ear smites on the soul like a mocking echo, and from whose eyes the sight of any memorial of the occasion brings but a flood of tears over cruelly disappointed hopes. Horace Mann once justified the cost of a stately and spacious reformatory institution, at the opening of which he was speaking, and all the cost of its maintenance for years to come, provided it should be the means of saving a single boy from ruin. A gentleman afterward asked him whether this was not an exaggeration. “Not, if it were my boy,” was the solemn and convincing reply. The one hundred thousand women who have formed this Temperance Union justify their labors and sacrifices by the fact that every one can say “It is,—or it may be to-morrow—my boy, my husband, my brother, who is perishing.” Joseph Cook has made apt use of a homely illustration of the comparative importance of the interests which excite us,—an illustration which he tells us has become classical in Germany—two women frantic with excitement, one because her child was in the well; the other because her pitcher was in the well. The Temperance reform is an excitement over children in wells. And while I, myself a father, would not depreciate the anguish which rends a father’s heart when his own child is perishing, I need not ask who it is that suffers most when a child is in the well. If any man, listening to this argument, is conscious of the rising sentiment, “This Temperance work belongs properly to the women. We had better leave it to them,” let me say he is no soldier. Every soldier knows that the reserves must be supported. As they move forward into the breach every gun is trained more carefully on the enemy’s position, and every grim hand plies more diligently its instrument of death. I recognize the responsibilities which rest on the pulpit. I insist on the obligation which binds every other profession. I appeal to all citizens, to children and men of gray hairs, to churches, and to Sabbath-schools, to fall in and close up the ranks for a final and decisive struggle. What Religion Does for a Man.
A MAN without religion is like a man living in a planet unillumined by the sun. He has trees, fruit, grass and flowers, streams and hills around them, but they are only undulations of darkness; he has mountains, but they are gaunt and gloomy crags; he has streams, but they are chill with the touch of darkness and death; he has fruit, but they have no sweetness for lack of ripening sun; he has flowers, cold, colorless, and dying; he has trials, but they are only painful ascents to be climbed with uneasy and unhoping patience; he has work, but it is cheerless, empty, and really aimless, for the chill stream of death cuts off all; he has prosperity, but it is hollow and unpalatable; he has friendships, but they are only for three-score years and ten. But religion lets a light upon all these. The sun has risen upon the mountains, and a crown of glory is on their crests; the light falls on their rivers, and they sparkle back radiance, and murmur along their banks with joy; the fruits turn blushing cheeks toward the sun, and every flower is robed in beauty; the sun rises upon life. Every trial is lightened with the light of God's love; every labor sparkles under the beams of his command and his providence; all success is sweet because it is his gift; all friendship in him is doubly dear because clad in the vesture of immortality. Yes, who will not say, indeed, that he who chooses religion has chosen the thing most needed, and the best, because he has chosen that which gives strength, beauty and true glory to all the rest? Is not labor dignified by the thought, to this God calls me? Is not sorrow sanctified by it? for it says, "In this God is with me." Is not success elevated by it? for we say, "He has prospered our handiwork." Is not friendship intensified by it? for we say, "Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." Spurgeon on Fresh Air in Churches
At the recent laying of the corner-stone of a chapel in London, Mr. Spurgeon recounted his effectual way of securing pure air in a church where the windows were so rarely opened that it was found difficult to raise them. "It was so close and hot," he said, "that I asked every gentleman near a window to smash a pane or two. There was soon a very grand smash, but then the beautiful fresh air streamed in. I paid the bill afterwards like an honest man; but it was much better to do that than bear the cruelty of preaching in such an atmosphere, or forcing people to listen when they were more disposed to sleep." —Moody the revivalist, is quite ill. —The aggregate debt of the churches of Pittsburg amounts to $250,000. —The personal gifts made to Pius IX., since he became Pope, amounts to over $140,000,000, not including Peter's Pence. —The new Grace church in Chicago, just finished by the Methodists at a cost of $100,000, has been dedicated free of debt. —Eight clergymen in Chattanooga, Tenn., have united in denouncing the custom of obtaining money for churches by means of lotteries. —The grand doxology, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” was composed by Bishop Ken, and is two hundred and forty years old. —December 23, one hundred and eighty-five persons signed the Murphy temperance pledge in the First Methodist church of Oakland. —One hundred and four candidates presented themselves for baptism at the American Baptist station, at Swatow, China, on the 3d of September last. —Plymouth church statistics for 1877 show a membership of 2,545. The church has lost by death, dismission, etc., 94. Contributions and collections $10,429, pew-rentals $46,000. —Bangor, Maine, is closed to navigation by ice. —England fed 606,392 out-door paupers last year. —There was taken to China in treasure from here in 1877, $17,601,273. —The net gain population of San Francisco by emigration in 1877 was 17,293. —Fifty-two colored emigrants recently sailed from New York for Liberia. —It is estimated that the drouth the past year has cost California $20,000,000. —During the nine years beginning with 1868 and extending to 1877, 2,250 new stars were discovered. —It is stated that the situation on the Caffre frontier, Africa, is very dangerous and troops are being sent from England to Cape Town. —The internal Revenue receipts during 1877 amounted in San Francisco to $1,933,752.46. The Custom duties were $6,692,432.56. —It is reported that a cave has been discovered near Wytheville, Va., which is said to rival the mammoth cave of Kentucky in extent and beauty. —The recent flooding of Libby Prison, in Richmond, Va., swept away the plastering on which were cut many inscriptions by Federal officers, while they were prisoners of war. —Minnesota claims to be the banner wheat State of the Union, with its crop of 40,000,000 bushels, being 5,000,000 more than any other State, and an eighth of the entire crop of the United States. —A terrible explosion recently occurred in Barclay street, New York, by which several buildings were wrecked, and ten persons were killed and forty-two wounded. Fire set in after the explosion. The property destroyed amounts to $428,000. —The North German States expend annually on the twenty universities belonging to them more than $2,500,000. The imperial government in one year expended $350,000 on the University of Strasburg. The University of Leipzig (Saxony) receives over $250,000 a year from the State. In North Germany there is a university to every two million inhabitants; in Austria, one to every five million; in Switzerland, one in each million; in England, one in seven million. —An exchange says: "December 26, a cave occurred on Taylor street, between Summit and Stewart, Virginia City, Nevada, leaving a hole about ten feet square and eight feet deep. A frozen crust about fifteen inches thick still remains of the surface, and there is nothing to indicate danger to passing teams, beyond a break on the northern ledge of the roadway, which contracts its width by a couple of feet. It is right over the site of the old Sides tunnel, which was run into Mount Davidson in 1860-61. This is the second cave that has occurred at that place—the first having occurred six or seven years ago." —Senator Porter, of Alameda, died very suddenly of paralysis of the heart, at Sacramento, Sunday morning, January 6. Mr. Porter arrived in California in 1854. Returning from the East in 1858 he removed to San Francisco where he practiced law five or six years. Afterward he was elected District Attorney, to which office he was twice re-elected, serving three consecutive terms. About twelve years ago he settled in Alameda, and since that time has been closely identified with the interests of that place and Oakland. At the Republican Convention last year he was nominated State Senator, and elected by a complimentary majority. On account of his death, both houses adjourned over until the following Wednesday. —Napoleon estimated that the population of Egypt proper in 1790 was only one-fourth of what it had been in ancient times. Lane, in his modern Egyptians, gives the ancient population at 6,000,000, or 7,000,000, and quotes Diodorus Siculus to the effect that it was 7,000,000 in the times of the ancient kings, and not less than 3,000,000 in his own day. Lane estimated the whole population of Egypt proper in 1835 as not more than 2,500,000; he was of the opinion that the products of the soil, if nothing was exported, would suffice for a population of 4,000,000; and if all soil fit for cultivation were sown, for 8,000,000. The above estimates probably referred only to what is now called Lower Egypt, for the population of Egypt proper is now estimated at more than 5,000,000. —During the year 1877, just closed, 78 vessels have loaded with grain at this port for Europe as follows: For Cork, 44; Liverpool, 7; Queenstown, 23; Falmouth, 2; Hull, 1; Dublin, 1; total amount of grain, 2,341,210 centals; total valuation, $4,954,475. Shipments of flour during the year to European ports, 59,389 barrels; valuation, $355,669. The following are the total shipments of leading domestic products to San Francisco during the past year; 504,836 centals wheat, 113,782 barrels flour, 146,050 centals oats, 558 centals barley, 2,834 sacks middlings, 19,418 sacks bran, 2,569 sacks shorts, 73,282 boxes apples, 3,296 packages dried fruit, 37,081 sacks potatoes, 12,792 sacks flaxseed, 15,759 bales wool, 37,090 hides, 19,612 cases canned beef, 2,064 packages butter, 1,030 cases bacon, 307 packages lard, 253 packages hams, 272 barrels pork, 2,006 bales hops, 729 cases cheese. During the year 246,892 cases of salmon were shipped to San Francisco, and 184,800 to England. The total wool clip for 1877 aggregates 5,000,000 pounds. Strange, Truly.
By R. F. Cottrell
I HAVE before me a letter from a friend in which he says, "When the young man inquired of Jesus what he should do to obtain eternal life, he said, 'If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments. He saith unto him, Which?' Is it not strange that Jesus did not enjoin him to keep the Sabbath day?" To me it is stranger that a man that is neither an idiot nor insane should quote the words, "keep the commandments," to prove that a part of them are abolished. And did Jesus repeat to the young man all the commandments of the decalogue that are now binding? If so, too many have been abolished to suit the creed of any Christian. Is it not strange that he did not tell the young man that he should have but one God, that he should make no image to worship, and that he should not take the name of God in vain? Is it not strange that this conversation should abolish the Sabbath and leave the other four commandments, not repeated, as binding as ever? Is it not strangest of all that men will venture to break the commandments which Jesus tells us to keep, and thus risk their eternal life, on the strength of arguments no better than this?