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Review and Herald, Vol. 37, No. 23.

Thy Word Is Truth

Review and Herald

May 23, 1871

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 23, 1871

Thy Word Is Truth.

By Ellen E. Walsworth

How precious is God’s word and truth to the hungry soul! There is a living power in it. It is a sure foundation, whereupon we may plant our feet and be safe. As I look back upon my first experience in the things of God, I can say with the poet,
“Jesus sought me when a stranger, Wandering from the fold of God;”
and the psalmist also, “He brought me out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock and established my goings.” Although a professor, I was in almost total ignorance of the word of God, when the light of present truth broke in upon my mind. I hailed it with joy; for in it I found something that satisfied my hungry soul. No cross seemed too heavy for me to bear. Truly the yoke is easy and the burden light to the sincere follower of Christ. Oh! how full of love and compassion is his invitation! “Come unto me,” he says, “all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”
Here, sin-sick soul, is a blessed place of resort from the power of Satan. Oh! for an entire consecration to God, and giving ourselves to him, that he may shelter us in these trying times when Satan is working with all power to deceive if possible the very elect. We are nearing the close of probation, when it requires great faith and endurance to stand against the power of Satan, and not be overcome. The Lord is drawing very near his people to encourage and strengthen us for the closing work, and awake those who are yet asleep. Oh! let us arise with the message, gird on the armor, and prepare for the conflict. As the apostle Paul exhorts us, “Let us lay aside every weight and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and run with patience the race set before us.” Although we have been in a backslidden state, the Lord is yet gracious and of tender mercy, and promises that if we will return, he will heal us of all our backslidings, and love us freely. I feel that such promises as these are worth obtaining at any sacrifice.
Why are we not more willing to surrender all to Jesus? become his obedient followers, and win souls to Christ that shall shine to all eternity? May the Lord help each one of us to work while the day lasts; for the night soon cometh wherein no man can work. I feel like setting out anew in this great and good work. The truth looks more beautiful to me than ever, and, like the bud that begins to unfold its beauties to our gaze, so the more I study God’s word, do new truth and beauty present themselves to my mind.
To the wayward and undecided, I would say that the closing scenes of earth are upon us. Signs are fast fulfilling that tell the end is near; and are you fortifying yourselves with the truth in a manner that will enable you to stand amid the perils and conflicts just before us? Are your feet firmly planted upon God’s eternal truth?
Says Joel, “Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision; for the day of the Lord is near in the valley of decision.” Is it difficult to decide which way to turn? Does the cross seem heavy? the way rough and thorny? O, come to Jesus. Cast all upon him, and he will help you. He is the great burden-bearer. It is easy bearing the cross when our hearts are his. How long halt ye between two opinions? Decide on the side of the Lord and his truth. Why hesitate longer? Time is precious, and we may grieve God’s tender Spirit from us. “The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,” and how rich the reward of the overcomer will be. It is written, “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things God hath prepared for those that love him.” Let us all be in earnest. Heaven will be our home if faithful a little while longer; and there,
“’Mid the ransomed throng, ’mid the sea of bliss, ’Mid the holy city’s gorgeousness, ’Mid the verdant plains, ’mid the angels’ cheer, ’Mid the flowers that never of winter bear, Where the conqueror’s song, as it sounds afar, Is wafted on the ambrosial air, ’Mid the endless years we then shall prove The matchless depths of a Saviour’s love.”
In hope of eternal life,
ELLEN E. WALSWORTH.
Jeff. Co., N. Y.

Sunday Is not the Sabbath.

By C. P. WHITFORD

THERE is not one text in all the Scripture from which even a plausible inference can be drawn that the first day of the week, or Sunday, is the Sabbath. Not one. I weigh my words carefully. I speak soberly when I say that God has never claimed that day as his, never. He never has promised a blessing upon a man for keeping it. He has never said that a man should be punished for doing common labor on that day. Has God ever claimed any day as his, and reserved it unto himself? He has. “And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it; because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made.” Gen. 2:3. “The seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God.” Ex. 20:10. Then why insist upon calling Sunday the Sabbath? Is not one plain text of Scripture worth more than a dozen mere arguments? Logic can be met with logic, but God’s words can never be altered or changed. Your opinion will convert nobody. Your say-so’s possess no authority. Your thoughts may be profound, but no one will expect to be damned for not receiving them. But from a “thus saith the Lord,” there is no appeal. Metaphysical dissertations may confound the intellect, historical statements may instruct, rhetorical flourishes may captivate the imagination, but the conscience will remain untouched.
Again we repeat, “Sunday is not the Sabbath.” Every careful reader of the Bible knows that God has made only one day the Sabbath, and that is the day upon which he rested; and every careful student of church history knows equally well that the Sunday was never deemed a Sabbath by virtue of the fourth commandment until the time of the Puritans. The earliest and main reasons given for its observance were vague and fanciful, not even claiming to be scriptural. Its first character as a rest day came from a civil enactment of Constantine, a Roman Emperor, A. D. 321.
With such authority for Sunday-keeping, we again inquire, Why insist upon calling Sunday the Sabbath? Those who would speak the truth should call things by their right names. Those who claim that the first day of the week, or Sunday, is called the Sabbath in the New Testament, proclaim either their ignorance or (shall we say it?) dishonesty. If we give the title of Sabbath to a day to which the Scriptures never gave it, do we not contradict that record which always gave it to the seventh, and to no other? Is it not presuming upon the goodness of God to steal the title belonging to his blessed rest day and place it upon a day which he never claimed as his? Would it not be better to honor that day with the title of Sabbath which all inspiration calls by that sacred name? Is it safe to thus trifle with God and his sacred words, uttered with his own voice, and written with his own finger?
Reader, we entreat you to beware. Whenever you are tempted to call the first day of the week the Sabbath, please stop and reflect concerning the authority by which you do it. Never abuse the sacred term Sabbath by applying it to that to which it never was applied by its divine Author. If you would speak the truth, you must call things by their right names. C. P. WHITFORD.

Stand Fast.

By David Downer

“Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong.” 1 Cor. 16:13.
The first thing brought to view in the above passage, is the necessity of being watchful. We have but to look around us to behold the terrible inroads that Satan has been successful in making among us, and to see the importance of our being more watchful in the future. Satan having had nearly six thousand years experience will be likely to win in the game of life unless we take heed to the text, and constantly watch.
Many of the professed people of God are resting in carnal slumber. They fail to watch, and are taken captive by Satan at his will. They allow the enemy to enter the ranks, and undisturbed sow the seeds of sin and discord. And when awakened from their stupor by hearing the watchmen giving the trumpet the certain sound, Eze. 33:3-5, they too often complain of weakness which is caused by inactivity, and like the drunkard who is under the influence of liquor, become unqualified for business.
So we too often become idolaters by covetousness, loving the things of this world. “If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.” 1 John 2:15. God wants men, strong men, watchful men; men who will faithfully watch through the storm, as well as sunshine.
Watch ye, be door-keepers of your own hearts. Watch lest Satan steal the key, and you be taken captive at his will. Watch your tongue. Words should be weighed. If spoken in a proper manner, they are like apples of gold in pictures of silver. If spoken harshly, they are like porcupine quills. After having escaped, they can never be recovered; and when next heard from, they will be doing mischief. You may extract the quill, but it leaves a sore. Heal the sore, and it leaves a scar. Then let us choose our words with care. We judge the heart by the words. From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. Matt. 12:34.
Watch ye. Other men's failures are light-houses for us to sail round while crossing probation's sea. Watch; for we are almost to the shore. But we are in the most dangerous part of the voyage. God wants strong men now to make the last terrible struggle to gain the city.
Brethren, grasp a little more tightly the oar, and let us prepare for the coming storm, so soon to break upon us. We can discern the face of the sky, but can we not discern the signs of the times? Matt. 16:3. Yes, brethren, we can if we will watch. See the photograph given by Paul of the last days: This know also that in the last days perilous times shall come. He then enumerates eighteen sins without one good trait of character. We must watch that we be not partakers of their sins. What is our duty? Let the priests and ministers weep between the porch and the altar, and say, Spare Thy people. Why do this? Alas! for the day of the Lord is at hand. As a destruction from the Almighty shall it come. Joel 1:15.
Stand fast in the faith; not a faith, stand fast like the oak on the mountain. Oh! that we could have more men to stand fast in the faith, more Daniels, more men like Isaac, to willingly lay themselves upon the altar, men like the three captives that would not bow down to other gods.
Quit you like men. Cease sinning, transgressing law. Paul says, Cleanse yourselves. Can we do it and smoke or chew? Never.
Have resolution. Christians cannot stand without it. Don't be strong like Nimrod in yourselves, or trusting in self; but be strong in God and the power of his might.
Be strong. How can we become strong? By exercising. See the village blacksmith. His right arm is strong. Why? Because the smooth face of the anvil is proof that that arm is constantly wielding the hammer. So with us; we grow strong by exercise. Trials strengthen us. They are God's fanning-mill to blow away the chaff that he may have the wheat to gather into his garner. This world is God's workshop to fit us for a place in the temple. It is his drilling ground to discipline an army for his kingdom, to test the faithful soldiers and prepare them for promotion. Soon we shall stand victorious in the fight; and then with you the writer hopes to unite in singing the song of victory.
DAVID DOWNER.

UPWARD

Up to a higher level, To a noble range of thought! Up! for the sunlit summits The day's first beam have caught; Leave, leave the petty trifles Which enervate the mind; Thou shalt find gems of richer worth Than all that's left behind.
Up to a higher level, To a truer style of life! And dwell above the surges Of worldly care and strife; Live for the glorious future Which lies before thy soul; Walk in the paths of energy, Wisdom, and self-control.
Up to a higher level, A stronger, holier heart! And seek unfailing guidance From revelation's chart; Onward and upward, seeking A better, happier sphere, Where dwells a clearer, purer light, A warmer atmosphere.
Up to a higher level, There are heights above thee yet; The blazing star of progress Shall never on thee set, Till rises on thy vision The glory-lighted day, When earthly darkness, night, and storm Have rolled like mists away.
Up to a higher level, With a pure and steady aim! Fix not thine eye on pleasure, Nor the flashing meteor, fame; But speed with eager footsteps Where Jesus' feet have trod, Straight up through duty's narrow path To happiness and God.

C. LAWTON

By C. Lawton

Regret.

WE look in the future, we see the Judgment just before us, we know we all have cases pending there, and they must soon come up for investigation. At a glance our minds go back to the past, and see much in our lives to regret. From the earliest period of our accountability up to the time we entered into a solemn covenant with God to be his, we see many mistakes, and much to regret. But how has it been since? Have we kept our covenant? Oh! no; we cannot look back without feeling deep regret for our unfaithfulness and disobedience; but what effect our influence has had on others, the Judgment alone will develop. Had we been faithful and exerted a salutary influence, some would have been saved from the second death, and the loss of eternal life. Here again we have great cause for regret, and will it not be wisdom in us to deeply humble ourselves before the Lord, and strive to make amends as far as we can by redeeming the time, lest when our cases are decided we shall be found wanting, and at last, not only feel regret, but dark despair, and deep anguish of spirit, of which the heart cannot conceive?

C. LAWTON

Jeff. Co., N. Y.

The Sabbath a Delight.

By S. A. Cardiel

“When the worn spirit wants repose, And sighs her God to seek, How sweet to hail the hours that close The labors of the week.”
How many times I have felt to thank and praise our Heavenly Father for the holy Sabbath. I can truly say that the Sabbath is a delight to me, and the holy of the Lord, honorable. I feel thankful for the light I have had on the truth. I am determined to live nearer the Lord than I ever have in the past. The grace of God assisting me, I will try to redeem the time. I want eternal life. I desire the prayers of all Christians that I may do every duty, take up the cross daily, follow in the footsteps of the dear Saviour, and keep all the commandments of God, that I may have a right to the tree of life and enter in through the gates into the city.
S. A. CARDIEL.

Turning over a New Leaf.

“It’s a shame!” said Mrs. Fogg, as she hurried away, after the funeral of Mrs. Grant, escaping from the poor, desolate room where two children, almost babies, were sleeping, unconscious that they were motherless. “It’s a shame that nobody’ll take them.”
“Yes—a bitter shame!” replied a neighbor, who was also getting off as fast as she could, so as to shift responsibility on some other shoulders.
“There’s Mrs. Grove; she might take them as well as not. But they’ll go to the poorhouse, for all she cares.”
“Well, somebody’ll have to answer for it,” said Mrs. Fogg. “As for me, I’ve got young ones enough of my own.”
“We left Mrs. Cole in the room. She has only one child, and her husband is well-to-do. I can’t believe she’ll have the heart to turn away from them.”
“She’s got the heart for anything. But we’ll see.”
Mrs. Cole did turn away from the sleeping babes, sighing aloud, with a forced sigh that others might hear, and give her credit for a sympathy and concern she did not feel.
At last all were gone—all but a man named Wheaton, and a poor woman, not able to take care of herself.
“What’s to become of these children?” said Wheaton.
“Don’t know. Poorhouse, I s’pose,” answered the woman.
“Poorhouse?”
“Yes. Nobody wants ’em, and there’s no place else for ’em.”
“Mamma! mamma!” cried a plaintive voice, and a flaxen-haired child, not much over a year old, rose up in the bed and looked piteously about the room. “I want mamma.”
A great choking sob came into the man’s throat. Then the other child awoke and said, “Don’t cry, sissy. Mamma’s gone away.” At this the little one began crying bitterly.
“I can’t stand this nohow,” said the man, speaking in a kind of desperate way; and going to the bed, he gathered the two children in his arms, hushing and comforting them with soothing words.
“What on earth have you got there?” exclaimed Mrs. Wheaton as her husband came striding into the room where she sat mending one of his well-worn garments.
“Two babies!” he answered, in a voice so unusual that Mrs. Wheaton dropped her work on the floor and rose up in amazement.
“What?”
“Mrs. Grant’s two babies. I’ve been over to the funeral, and I tell you, Jane, it wasn’t in me to see these little things carted off to the almshouse. There wasn’t a woman to look after them—no, not one. Every soul sneaked off but Polly Jones, and she’s of no account, you know. Just look at their dear little faces!” And he held them up in his arms, and let their tender, tearful, half-frightened, half-wondering eyes plead their cause with his wife, and they did not plead in vain.
Surprised as she was, and with an instant protest in her heart, Mrs. Wheaton could not, in the presence of these motherless little ones, utter a word of remonstrance. She took the youngest one from the arms of her husband and spoke to it tenderly. The child sobbed two or three times, and then laid its head against her bosom. There was an influx of mother-love into the heart of this woman, who had never been a mother, the instant her breast felt the pressure of the baby’s head, and the arm that drew it closer with an involuntary impulse was moved by this new love.
Not many words passed between the husband and wife—at least not then, though thought was very busy with both of them. Mrs. Wheaton’s manner toward the children was kind even to tenderness; and this manner won their confidence, and drew from them such looks, and ways, and little expressions of satisfaction, as touched her heart and filled it with a loving interest.
After night-fall, when supper was over, and the children asleep, Mr. and Mrs. Wheaton sat down together, each showing a little reserve and embarrassment. Mrs. Wheaton was first to speak.
“What were you thinking about, John?” said she, almost sharply. “I can’t have these children.”
Wheaton did not lift his eyes nor answer, but there was a certain dogged and resolute air about him that his wife noticed as unusual.
“Somebody else must take them,” she said.
“The county will do it,” Wheaton replied.
“The county?”
“Yes. There’s room for them at the almshouse, and nowhere else that I know of, unless they stay here.”
“Unless they stay here!” Mrs. Wheaton’s voice rose a little. “It’s easy enough to say that; but who’s to take care of them?”
“It’s a great undertaking, I know,” answered the husband, meekly, yet with a new quality in his voice that did not escape the quick ear of his wife, “and the burden must fall on you.”
“I wouldn’t mind that so much, but—”
She kept back the sentence that was on her tongue.
“But what?” asked her husband.
“John,” said Mrs. Wheaton, drawing herself up in a resolute manner, and looking steadily into her husband’s face, “as things are going on—”
“Things shall go on differently,” interrupted Wheaton. “I’ve thought that all over.”
“How differently, John?”
“Oh! in every way. I’ll turn over a new leaf.”
Wheaton saw a light flash into his wife’s face.
“First and foremost, I’m not going to lose any more days. Last month I had six days docked from my wages.”
“Why, John!”
“It’s true—more the shame for me. That was eighteen dollars, you see, not counting the money I fooled away in idle company—enough to pay for all these babies would eat and wear twice over.”
“O John!” There was something eager and hopeful in his wife’s face as she leaned toward him.
“I’m in downright earnest, Jane,” he answered. “If you’ll take the babies, I’ll do my part. I’ll turn over a new leaf. There shall be no more lost days; no more foolish wasting of money; no spending of evenings at McBride’s.”
“O John!” In her surprise and delight she could only repeat the exclamation. As she did so this time, she rose, and putting her hands on his shoulders, bent and kissed him on the forehead.
“You’ll take the babies?” said he.
“Yes, and twenty more, if you keep to this, and say so,” answered Jane, laughing through tears.
“All right, then. It’s a bargain.” And Wheaton caught his wife’s hand and shook it by way of confirmation.
From that time Wheaton turned over a new leaf. Neighbors expressed surprise when it was told that Jane Wheaton had adopted the two orphan children. Fellow-workmen taunted John, calling him soft-hearted, and a fool, for “taking other men’s brats.”
One said to him, “Are four mouths easier to fill than two?” Another—
“You’ll be sick of this before the year’s out.” And another—
“I’ll see you sold out by the constable in less than six months.”
But John had little to say in reply—only maintaining an air of quiet good humor, and exhibiting more interest in his work.
For three weeks John Wheaton had not lost a day—something very unusual; and not one evening during that time had he spent at McBride’s drinking saloon. His poor little home, which had come to have a neglected look, was putting on a new appearance. The gate that for months had hobbled on one hinge, now swung smoothly, and the mended latch held it shut. Rank weeds no longer filled the dooryard; the broken steps were mended, and clean panes of glass filled many a place in the sashes where had been unsightly rags and sheets of paper. A neglected running rose was trimmed and trained to its proper place over the doorway, and was now pushing out young green leaves and buds.
Within, pleasant changes were also apparent. Various new but inexpensive articles of furniture were to be found. Old things were mended, polished up, and wonderfully improved. With all this, marvelous to relate, Wheaton’s earnings had not only been equal to the increased expenditure, but there was an actual surplus of ten dollars in hand.
“I never would have believed it,” said John, as he and his wife sat one evening talking over their improved condition, after the babies—loved now almost as if their own—were asleep. “It’s just as old Brown used to say, ‘Waste takes more than want.’ I declare I’ve got heart in me again. I thought we should have to let the place go; that I’d never be able to pay off the mortgage. But here we are, ten dollars ahead in less than a month; and going on at this rate, we’ll have all clear in eighteen months.”
Next day a fellow-workman said to Wheaton, half in banter, “Didn’t I see the constable down your way yesterday?”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Wheaton, with more gravity of manner than his questioner had expected.
“I thought I saw him looking around after things, and counting his fees on his fingers.”
“Likely as not,” said Wheaton. “I know of a good many rents not paid up last quarter. Money gone to McBride’s instead of to the landlord—eh?”
The man winced a little.
“How are the babies?” he asked.
“First rate,” Wheaton answered, and with a smile so real that his fellow-workman could not pursue his banter.
Time went on, and to the surprise of all, Wheaton’s circumstances kept improving. The babies had brought a blessing to his home. In less than eighteen months he had paid off the light mortgage that for years rested on his little home; and not only this, had improved it in various ways, even to the putting up of a small addition, so as to give them a neat breakfast room.
The children grew finely—there were three of them now, for their hearts and home had opened to another orphan baby—and, being carefully trained by Mrs. Wheaton, were a light and joy to the house.
At the end of five years we will introduce them briefly to the reader. Wheaton is a master workman, and employs ten men. He has enlarged his house, and made it one of the neatest in the village. Among his men is the very one who bantered him most about the children, and prophesied that he would soon be sold out by the constable. Poor man! it was not long before the constable had him in charge. He had wasted his money at McBride’s, instead of paying it to the landlord.
Walking homeward one evening after work was over, Wheaton and his journeyman took the same way. They were silent until they came near the former’s pretty dwelling, when the journeyman said, half in jest, yet with undisguised bitterness, “I guess we’ll have to take a baby or two.”
“Why?” asked Wheaton, not perceiving what was in the man’s thoughts.
“For good luck,” said the journeyman.
“Oh!”
“You’ve had nothing but good luck since you took poor Mrs. Grant’s orphan children.”
“Only such good luck as every one may have, if he will,” answered Wheaton.
“I can’t see it,” returned the man. “Your wages were no better than mine. I had one child, and you saddled yourself with two, and not long after added a third. And how is it to-day? You have a nice house, and your wife and children are well dressed, while I have never been able to make both ends meet, and my boy looks like a ragamuffin half the time.”
“Do you see that house over there—the largest and the handsomest in the place?” said Wheaton.
“Yes.”
“Who owns it?”
“Jimmy McBride.”
“How much did you pay toward building it?”
“Me?”—in surprise.
“Yes, you. How much did you pay toward building it?”
“Why, nothing. Why should I help pay for his house?”
“Sure enough! Why should your hard earnings go to build and furnish an elegant house for a man who would rather sell liquor, and so ruin his neighbors, body and soul, than support himself in a useful calling, as you and I are trying to do?”
“I can’t see what you’re driving at,” said the journeyman.
“How much a week do you spend at McBride’s saloon?”
The man stood still with a blank look on his face.
“A dollar a week?” asked Wheaton.
“Yes.”
“Say a dollar and a half.”
“Well, say as much.”
“Do you know what that amounts to in a year?”
“Never counted it up.”
“Seventy-eight dollars.”
“No!”
“Yes, to a dollar. So, in five years at this rate, you have contributed nearly four hundred dollars toward McBride’s handsome house, without getting anything but harm in return, and haven’t a shingle over your head that you can call your own. Now it’s my advice, in a friendly way, that you stop helping McBride, and begin to help yourself. He’s comfortable enough, and can do without your dollar and a half a week. Take a baby, if you will, for good luck. You’ll find one over at the poorhouse; it won’t cost you half as much as helping McBride, and I don’t think he needs your aid any longer. But here we are at home, and I see wife and children waiting for me. Come in, won’t you?”
“No, thank you. I’ll go home and talk to Ellen about taking a baby for good luck.” And he tried to smile, but it was anything but in a cheerful way. He passed onward, but called back after going a few steps:
“If you see anything of my Jack about your place, just send him home, will you?”
Jack was there, meanly dressed and dirty, and in striking contrast with Wheaton’s three adopted children, who, with the only mother they knew, gave the happy man a joyful welcome home.
“I’ve turned over a new leaf,” said the journeyman when he came to work on the next morning.
“Indeed! I am glad to hear it,” returned Wheaton.
“Ellen and I talked it all over last night. I’m done helping saloon-keepers build fine houses. Glad you put it to me just in that way. Never looked at it so before. But it’s just the hard truth. What fools we are!”
“Going to take a baby?” said Wheaton, smiling.
“Well, we haven’t just settled that. But Ellen heard yesterday of a poor little thing that’ll have to go on the county if some one don’t take it; and I shouldn’t wonder, now, if she opened her heart, for she’s a motherly body.”
“Where is it?” asked Mr. Wheaton.
“Down at the Woodbury Mills.”
Wheaton reflected a few moments, and then said, “Look here, Frank; take my advice, and put this baby between you and McBride’s—between you and lost days—between you and idle thriftlessness, and my word for it, in less than two years you’ll have your own roof over your head.”
Only a little while did the man hesitate, then, in an emphatic manner he exclaimed, “I’ll do it.”
“Do it at once, then,” said Wheaton. “Put on your coat, and go over to the Mills and get the baby. It will be an angel in your house that will help and bless you in every hour of temptation. Go at once. God has opened for you this way of safety, and if you walk therein, all will be well.”
He did walk therein, and all was well. Wheaton’s prophecy was fulfilled. In less than two years, the journeyman had his own roof over his head, and it covered a happy home.—Arthur’s Magazine.

Little Sins.

There are two ways of coming down from the top of a church steeple—one is to jump down, and the other is to come down by steps; but both will lead you to the bottom. So also there are two ways of going to hell; one is to walk into it with your eyes open—few people do that—the other is to go down by the steps of little sins, and that way, I fear, is only too common. Put up with a few little sins, and you will soon want a few more—even a heathen could say, “Who was content with only one sin?”—and your course will be regularly worse every day. Well did Jeremy Taylor describe the progress of sin in a man: “First it startles him, then it becomes pleasing, then easy, then delightful, then frequent, then habitual, then confirmed. Then the man is impertinent, then obstinate, and then he is damned.” Young reader! The devil only wants to get the wedge of a little allowed sin into your heart, and you will soon be all his own. Never play with fire—never trifle with little sins.—Sel.

Hand-Shaking as an Instrumentality for Strengthening Churches

HAND-SHAKING, as an instrumentality for strengthening churches, meets with the commendation of The Congregationalist. The editor tells the story of a Baptist who went to New Haven, and having no strong denominational preference, drifted into a certain Congregational church, and hired seats for himself and family. They attended more or less for an entire year without being called on, or spoken to, by members of the church or congregation. On a certain Sunday they chanced to visit one of the Methodist churches, and were met with such hearty greetings as to be induced to go again. The result was that they became constant attendants there, became interested in religion in the course of a few months, and to this day are active and working members of that church. Behold how ardent a flame a little hand-shaking kindled!

Faith and Love Like a Pair of Compasses

FAITH and love are like a pair of compasses; faith, like one point, fastens on Christ as the center; and love, like the other, goes the round in all the works of holiness and righteousness.
NEW YORK pays $200,000 a year for the support of sectarian schools, chiefly Catholic, and leaves unoccupied sittings for forty thousand scholars!
Continue reading: ANGELIA J. EDMUNDS