SINCE writing my last report I have spent one month in this Conference. During that time I have held meetings in Walla Walla, Milton, Echo, Foster, and Barnhart Gulch. These meetings were well attended by our people, and at most points we had a good outside interest. Our last meeting, at Walla Walla, was a very important one, being a council of some of our leading brethren in this Conference, to devise ways and means to advance the cause of truth, and to arrange for our coming camp-meeting.
It was decided to hold the camp-meeting at Milton, Oregon, in the grove owned by Brother William Nichols. The time fixed upon is one week, commencing June 3, and ending June 10. This shortens the time of the camp-meeting, but it has been suggested by the General Conference Committee to hold a Biblical Institute, for all who can attend, to commence ten days before and continue up to the time of the camp-meeting. It is expected that Elder E. J. Waggoner, of the Healdsburg College, will conduct this Institute. Let all who possibly can attend, lay their plans to come to the Institute and stay till the close of the camp-meeting. It is expected that the Institute will commence on first-day, May 23, and continue to June 3.
This will be a rare opportunity for the study of Bible truth. We hope to see many representatives from our churches during the Institute, and to have a grand rally of all our people to the camp-meeting. It is none too early now for all to commence preparations to attend the camp-meeting, and then plan and so execute that all may attend. Pray the Lord to open your way as you work towards the point of attending the meeting. We shall expect to see all there who thus plan and labor for the meeting.
Brother Decker, who had just arrivyd from Wisconsin, was with us in our council, March 1. After spending about two weeks with me among the churches, it is his design to enter some new place, and, if possible, raise up a company before the camp-meeting. Our brethren and sisters are of good cheer as they see tokens of advancement in this Conference. Though the effects of the hard times are felt here as they are in all other parts of the country, we believe our friends will cheerfully do all they can to meet the expenses of the laborers in this Conference. Let all labor to this end, in our preparation to come to the camp-meeting.
Elder Colcord has just returned to Walla Walla from his labors above the Snake River, and is preparing to go to the State of Nevada, as he was invited to do by the General Conference, and the California Conference. Brother Decker and myself start to-morrow for Dayton and Pataha, and the Palouse country.
J. N. LOUGHBOROUGH.
Grace to Endure Thorns
By Evangelical Messenger
It is better to have thorns in the flesh with grace to endure them, than to have no thorns and no grace.—Evangelical Messenger.
The Preciousness of Well-Doing
The moments we have spent in well-doing will seem precious to us at the hour of death.
Oswald Myconius.
AMONG the men of learning who formed a kind of a court of Erasmus,—Amerbach, Rhenanus, Froben, Nessenus, Glareanus, and the rest,—Zwingle took notice of a young native of Lucerne, twenty-seven years of age, named Oswald Geishussles. Erasmus, translating his name into Greek, had named him Myconius. We shall speak of him by his Christian name, to distinguish this friend of Zwingle from Frederic Myconius, the disciple of Luther. Oswald, after studying at Rothwyl with another young man of his own age, named Berthold Haller, then at Berne, and afterwards at Bale, had become rector of St. Theodoric's and still later of St. Peter's school in that city.
Though the humble schoolmaster had but a slender income, he had married a young girl of a simplicity and purity of mind that won all hearts. It was a time of trouble in Switzerland, when foreign wars gave rise to scandalous disorders, and the soldiers, returning to their country, brought with them habits of licentiousness and brutality. One winter's day, gloomy and overcast, some of these wretches attacked the quiet dwelling of Oswald in his absence. They assaulted the door, threw stones, and with indecent language called for his wife. At last they burst open the door, and having made their way to his school, broke everything in the place, and then retired.
Such were the scenes which took place in Switzerland at the beginning of the sixteenth century, before the Reformation had humanized the manner of the people.
Oswald had quitted Bale in 1516 to take the direction of the cathedral school at Zurich. Seven centuries before, Charlemagne had added a college of canons to that same cathedral, the school attached to which was placed under Oswald Myconius. These canons having declined from their first institution, and wishing to enjoy their benefices in the sweets of indolence, had adopted the custom of electing a preacher, to whom they delegated the duty of preaching and the cure of souls. This post became vacant shortly after the arrival of Oswald, who immediately thought of his friend. What a blessing it would be to Zurich! Oswald exerted all his activity in his friend's favor. On the 11th of December the election took place. Zwingle was chosen by a majority of seventeen out of twenty-four votes. The time had come for the Reformation to arise in Switzerland.
Oswald was happy at Zurich. His position there was a constrained one, it is true; but the virtues of his modest wife made him amends for all his discomforts. It was of her that Glareanus said, "Could I meet a young woman resembling her, I would prefer her to a king's daughter." The enjoyment which Zwingle and Myconius found in their reciprocal friendship was sometimes broken in upon, however, by the voice of a faithful monitor. That monitor was the canon Xylocteet, who was continually calling on Myconius to return to Lucerne, the place of his birth. "Zurich is not thy country," said he, "but Lucerne. Thou sayest that the Zurichers are thy friends; I acknowledge it; but canst thou tell how it will fare with thee when the shadows of evening begin to fall on thy path? Remember thy duty to thy country; such is my desire, my entreaty, and, if I may so speak, my command!"
Following up his words by acts, Xylocteet caused Myconius to be elected rector of the collegiate school of his native city. Oswald then hesitated no longer, he saw the finger of God in this nomination, and, great as was the sacrifice demanded of him, he resolved to make it. Might it not be the will of the Lord to employ him as his instrument in publishing the doctrine of peace in the warlike canton of Lucerne?
But the persecution was to begin in Switzerland. The warlike canton of Lucerne was about to take the field, like a champion sheathed in mail, and ready for the charge. It happened that some of Luther's writings found their way into the city, and there were certain citizens who set themselves to peruse them. With what horror they were seized as they read on! It seemed to them that none but an infernal hand could have traced those lines. Oswald never spoke of Luther except to his most intimate friends, contenting himself with simply setting forth the gospel of Christ. The cry nevertheless was raised through the whole city: "To the stake with Luther and the schoolmaster [Myconius]!" "I am assailed by my enemies," said Oswald to a friend of his, "as a ship is beaten by the tempest." One day, early in the year 1529, he was unexpectedly summoned to appear before the Council. "You are strictly enjoined," said the magistrates, "never to read Luther's writings to your pupils; never to mention his name in their hearing; never even to think of him yourself." "I live," said Myconius, "in the midst of savage wolves, but I have this consolation that the greater part of them have lost their fangs. They would bite if they could, and since they cannot bite they howl."
The Senate was now convened, for the tumult was increasing. "He is a Lutheran!" said one of the councilors. "He broaches new doctrines!" said another. "He is a seducer of youth!" said a third. "Let him appear! let him appear!" The poor schoolmaster appeared accordingly, and had to listen to fresh interdicts and threats. His guileless spirit was wounded and depressed. His gentle wife could only comfort him by the tears of sympathy which she shed. "Every one is against me," said he, in the anguish of his heart. "Whither shall I turn me in the storm, or how escape its fury? Were it not for the help that Christ gives me, I should long since have sunk under this persecution." "What matters it," said Doctor Sebastine Hofmeister, writing to him from Constance, "whether Lucerne will give you a home or not? The earth is the Lord's. The man whose heart is steadfast finds a home in every land. Were we even the vilest of men, our cause is righteous, for we teach the word of Christ."
Oswald had sacrificed everything for his country; he had quitted Zurich and Zwingle; he had injured his health; his wife was infirm, and his son of tender years. If Lucerne should reject him, nowhere could he hope for an asylum! But these considerations had no power over the merciless spirit of party, and the things that should have moved them to compassion, inflamed their anger. Hurtenstein, burgomaster of Lucerne, an old and brave soldier, who had acquired distinction in the wars of Suabia and Burgundy, urged the Council to dismiss the schoolmaster from his post, and wished, together with the master, to expel his Greek and Latin, and his preaching, from the canton. He succeeded. On leaving the Council, in which it had been decided to dismiss Myconius, Hurtenstein encountered Berguer, the deputy of Zurich: "We send you back your schoolmaster," said he, ironically, "get ready a comfortable lodging for him." "We will not let him lie in the streets," instantly replied the courageous deputy. But Berguer promised more than he could perform.
The words dropped by the burgomaster were too true, and they were soon confirmed to the distressed Myconius. He is deprived of his occupation, banished, and the only crime laid to his charge is that he is a disciple of Luther. He turns his eyes on the right and on the left, and nowhere does he discern shelter. He beholds himself and his wife and child, weak and ailing, driven from their home, and all around him, his country rocked by a violent tempest that is rending and destroying whatever ventures to stand against it. "Here," said he to Zwingle, "is your poor Myconius discharged by the Council of Lucerne? Where shall I go? . . . I know not. . . . Assailed as you yourself are, how can you shelter me? . . . I look, therefore, in my tribulation to God, as my only hope. Ever abounding, ever merciful, he suffers none who make their prayer to him to go empty away. May he supply my wants!"
So spake Oswald. He waited not long before a word of consolation came to him. There was one man in Switzerland who had been schooled in trials of faith. Zwingle hastened to raise and cheer his friend. "So rude are the blows by which the enemy would level God's house," said Zwingle, "and so repeated the assaults, that it is no longer the rains descending, and the wind blowing, according to the Lord's prediction (Matt. 7:27), but hail and thunder-storm. If I did not discern the Lord keeping the vessel, I should long since have let go the helm; but I see him in the height of the tempest, strengthening the cordage, shifting the yards, spreading the sails, nay more, commanding the very winds. Would it not then be the action of a faint heart, and unworthy of a man, were I to abandon my post and seek in flight a death of shame? I commit myself entirely to his sovereign goodness. Let him govern all,—let him remove impediments,—let him appear or delay, hasten or stay,—rend, swallow up, or plunge us to the bottom of the deep; we will not fear. We are vessels that belong to him. He can make us to honor or to dishonor, according to his pleasure!" After these breathings of lively faith, Zwingle continued: "My advice to you is to present yourself before the Council, and there pronounce a speech worthy of Christ, and of yourself—that is to say, suited to melt and not to irritate the hearers. Deny that you are a Lutheran, but profess yourself a disciple of Jesus Christ. Let your pupils accompany you, and speak for you; and if this does not prevail, come to your friend, come to Zwingle, and look upon our city as your own hearth."
Oswald, emboldened by these words, followed the noble council of the reformer; but all his efforts were fruitless. The witness for truth was doomed to quit his country, and they of Lucerne were so active in decrying him that everywhere the magistrates opposed the offering him an asylum. "Nothing remains for me," said the confessor of Jesus Christ, heart-broken at the aspect of so much enmity, "but to beg the support of my miserable existence from door to door." The day soon arrived when the friend of Zwingle, and his most effective fellow-laborer, the first among the Swiss who united the office of instructor in learning with the love of the gospel, the reformer of Lucerne, and afterwards one of the chiefs of the Helvetic church, was compelled, with his feeble partner and infant child, to leave that ungrateful city, where, out of all his family, only one of his sisters had received the love of the gospel. He passed its ancient bridge. He caught sight of those mountains which seemed to rise from the bosom of Lake Waldstetten to the clouds. The canons Xylocteet and Kilchmeyer, the only friends the Reformation could as yet number among his countrymen, followed close behind him. And in the moment when this poor man, in company with the helpless sufferers dependent upon him for support, turned towards the lake, and shedding tears for his infuriated country, bade adieu to the sublime natural grandeur of his birthplace, the gospel itself departed from Lucerne, and there Rome reigns unto this day.—D'Aubigne's History of the Reformation.
The Bible Never Becomes Obsolete
By Prof. Phelps
If the Bible be an inspired volume, it is inspired for a purpose. If inspired for a purpose, it is divinely fitted for that purpose. If fitted to that purpose, it is a compend of the truths most necessary to the world through all time. Such a volume can never be obsolete in the pulpit of the future. It will be as fresh to the last man as to you or me.
"Made Straight."
THERE are three kinds of stories: those that have no foundation in fact, those that are partly true, and those into which no element of fiction enters. The following narrative belongs strictly to the latter class, and demonstrates the mighty power of human sympathy when informed by the divine spirit of charity and unselfishness.
A clear-eyed, sweet-faced woman presented herself at the door of one of our millionaires not long since, as nurse to the gentleman's only child, and this is something like the conversation that took place between the lady and the physician, before the former's presentation to her patient.
"It seems to me, doctor," she said, "that some one else would do better here. My work lies chiefly among the poor, you know, and what if I should not do my best?"
"Your poorest would do, Miss Branscombe," her companion replied, assuringly, "and I am not afraid. In one respect, you never had so poor a patient, and in no case did you ever face one who needed you more. Like yourself," he went on, touching lightly and reverently the deformed shoulder of his companion, "she has this to contend with, only her case is a thousand times worse than yours in all its aspects. It does not seem probable that she will ever be reconciled to her condition, but it seemed to me that you could be of use here, if any one could, and that is why I have been so persevering."
A young lady, about eighteen, her face drawn with pain and dark with impatience and nervous gloom, lay propped up with pillows in the most luxurious bed that money could buy, in an apartment so tastefully and expensively furnished that it seemed as if there could be nothing more beautiful in the world. The girl's mother, pale and anxious, sat watching by the bedside, unable to give her child one single ray of hope to guide her out of this awful spiritual darkness.
"Miss Julia," said the doctor cheerfully, "I have brought you the nurse I spoke of—Miss Branscombe, Miss Edgerton—and I am sure, my dear, that you will begin to improve at once under her care."
"I don't want to improve," said the sufferer, in tones of the most intense irritation. "I want to be well. What are doctors good for I should like to know, if they cannot cure such a case as mine? I cannot bear it! If it were anything else I might, but this I cannot and I will not endure."
"We will do all we can for you, my child," the doctor replied, sorrowfully. "You must try to do as the nurse says, and I'll be in to-morrow morning and see how you are progressing."
The kind-hearted physician was always glad to escape from this room. His skill was great, but he knew not how "to minister to a mind diseased."
A few minutes later the nurse, attired in her simple cambric dress, white apron, and cap, was endeavoring to soothe the agonizing restlessness of her charge.
Mrs. Edgerton, with a feeling of intense relief, after having watched the nurse go about her duties, left the room. A helper had come she knew, not alone because of the doctor's singular praise and the glimpse the anxious parent had had of the capabilities of the newcomer, but because of something sweet and heavenly that shone from the woman's eyes and radiated from her whole being, something that seemed to the bewildered and disheartened watcher akin to the love of God. What were all their millions, all this magnificence, to the broken-hearted father and mother, who would have gladly sacrificed it all if by so doing health and symmetry could have been restored to their only child. An accident some years before had injured the spine, but the deformity had been of such slow growth that it had seemed possible to arrest it altogether. But a fall on the ice the winter previous had given a strange and awful impetus to the old trouble, and a badly deformed back was the inevitable consequence. The girl's proud nature rebelled against such an affliction, and who can wonder? A thousand times a day she said she could not bear it, and as many more that she would not. No one could soothe or help her, and the physician's last hope was in Miss Branscombe. This lady listened to the rebellious complaints of her patient without the slightest attempt to restrain her, and when the torrent of fault-finding and invective ceased for lack of strength, the nurse said, simply, "Yes, dear, I understand it all."
"But you can't understand it," the poor girl moaned. "No one can. Even you who are obliged to work for a living would suffer as you never suffered before if you had what I have."
"It is best that we should know about each other at once, Miss Edgerton," said her companion. "In the first place, instead of being obliged to work for my living I am rich, and only work because I love to relieve suffering, because I can do more good in this way than in any other. And then—look here, please"—and now Miss Branscombe rose and turned her back to the patient—her poor deformed back, over which she had spread a full muslin cape to match her dress, in order to conceal it as much as possible. "You see," she continued, quickly turning a radiant face to the strangely surprised young lady, "that I can sympathize with you by reason of having undergone the same bitter and terrible experience that you are undergoing now."
The sick girl's eyes seemed riveted on the speaker's face.
"I want to tell you one more thing, and then you must take your medicine and spend a few minutes in silence as the doctor directed. You will do this for my sake, please, as well as your own, because I must obey the physician. What I want to add is this: I was afflicted, and I was very wayward and very wicked and very hard to be taken care of, very trying to those who loved me most. I wish now that I could have the privilege of living over some of those days and doing it more worthily. I am only thirty years old, Miss Edgerton, but I have lived long enough to see that my humpback is the best load that I could have been called upon to carry. Now," taking out her watch, "we will not talk any more at present."
Here was something new to think about, and for the first time in the invalid's young and undisciplined life some one to obey. That she never once thought of resisting this singular influence is proof enough of its potency.
The Burden of False Pride
By Eleanor Kirk
"May I say something to you now, Miss Branscombe?" the patient asked, half an hour later.
"Anything you please, dear," said her companion. "I thank you very much for your obedience."
"I never obeyed any one before," said the young lady, with a smile that transformed her face, "and perhaps it will be the last time, as well as the first," she added, archly, "but what did you mean by saying that—that—your—your deformed back was the best load that you could have been called upon to carry?"
"Because it was the heaviest that could have been given me—the hardest for my pride to bear," was the quiet answer.
"Hadn't you a right to your pride, I should like to know?"
"I should have said false pride, Miss Edgerton," added the nurse. "My knowledge that a humpback would render me forever unattractive, as far as external charms go; that I could never be admired, flattered, and sought after; that my wealth, social position, and accomplishments could avail nothing in this direction, drove me to the depths of despair. What had I done that I should be thus afflicted? This was the burden of my cry month in and month out."
"Well, what had you done?" the sufferer inquired, sharply. "I am sure you were as good as your companions, who never had such trouble to bear."
"There are none of us very good," the nurse answered, serenely, "but I have learned to be happy in exact proportion to my usefulness, and am just so much better than I used to be, as an industrious woman, with a conscience, is superior to a butterfly. Without my humpback I should have lived a butterfly's life, for it was the only existence I cared for. Do you think I should have cared to alleviate human sorrow if I had not been sorrowful myself? Do you think I should have loved you to-day if I had had a symmetrical figure? No, dear, I was so constituted that I should have spent my time in adorning it."
"But why shouldn't you have adorned it? Is it not right to look pretty?"
"It is our duty to make ourselves as attractive as possible, but not to ignore the adornment of the spirit in our desire for physical beauty."
"But how many do it!" said the sick girl, her face all aglow with a new interest.
"Sooner or later the cross has to be borne," said the nurse. "If you will take the trouble to look about among your friends and your mother's friends, you will see that very few are permanently happy. There is a loving and a powerful hand at the helm, Miss Edgerton, and discipline and development in one form or another comes to us all; and you may be sure, my dear, that to have full redemptive power it must touch the tenderest, the most vulnerable spot."
"But I don't want to be disciplined," the sufferer protested. "I know I could be just as good a woman with a straight back as a crooked one."
"You think so, but the choice is not left you. You must now be just as good a woman as you can be with a crooked back," was the smiling response; "and the first step towards bodily health and spiritual growth is to accept the fact of your incurable deformity; the next to make the spirit as straight and as strong as possible. You have been suddenly and awfully wrenched from the place where you thought you belonged."
"But my niche suited me," was the desperate reply.
"But you did not suit it, or you would doubtless have remained there," said the nurse. "You will have a better place, Miss Edgerton, a nobler destiny, I have full faith to believe."
"Then you do not think there can be such a thing as a humpbacked butterfly?" the sick189girl asked with tearful eyes and quivering lip.
The nurse leaned over and took the sobbing girl in her strong, loving arms. "It is impossible," she said, softly. "A butterfly could not stand it," and now her own voice broke a little and it was a moment before she could go on. "There are no mistakes made in the distribution of burdens, my dear, you may rest assured. And you will find that you are strong exactly in proportion to the weight of your cross."
"No one ever talked like this to me before," said the sick girl. "They have said everything else, but none of it ever made the least impression."
"My child, when the time came, God sent you a nurse who had suffered and rebelled in like manner as yourself, one who had found her only development out of her humpback. You needed the sympathy of suffering, and others will require from you this sympathy, and out of the travail of your own soul shall you help others to bear their burdens."
Like vital seed in a fruitful soil were these words. The advent of this nurse into this benighted household worked almost a miracle, so firm was her faith, so unflinching her courage, so untiring her patience. And her prophecies were all fulfilled. Chastened and developed by her supreme suffering, Julia Edgerton was able to bring to others that for which they hungered and thirsted—the bread of immortal life.—Eleanor Kirk.
The Home Circle.
EVERY DAY.
Give us this day our daily bread,
If but a loaf made sweet by toil—
Though manna, angel-sown, be spread
No more upon this earthly soil.
Not less shall be the strength bestowed
By Providence, our constant stay;
Not less shall gratitude be owed
For homely fare of every day.
Ours be the humble fireside light—
The constellations blaze afar,
Great passions blind, and sear, and blight—
We cannot warm us by a star.
The lowly hearth-fire suits us best;
For this we evermore will pray,
And love that keeps the heart at rest,—
The patient love of every day.
Yet every common blessing seems
Of higher good the sign and pledge;
The evening planet floats and dreams
Above the mountain's rugged ledge;
So treasuries above are filled
With gifts that will our prayers obey;
And tender benedictions gild
The care-worn brows of every day.
—Sel.
Health and Temperance.
Temperance at Home.
ONE of our prohibition speakers, some time since, made the assertion that the liquor traffic, when once it shall become a violation of the law, will give us no more trouble, but will die of itself and drunkenness be known no more. This seems to me a very rash statement.
Because there are laws against theft, is our property safe without continued caution on our part? Do the laws against murder, and the terrible penalties incurred, render human life altogether free from peril in that direction?
So long as the world stands, we shall need stringent laws, and then we shall need steady and constant endeavor to make men law-abiding.
We mothers realize that we cannot neglect the moral training of our children and trust to the law and the fear of its penalties to make and keep them good and pure.
The work of making good citizens, it must be conceded, begins, like charity, at home.
To begin at the very foundation of things, parents must, first and foremost, govern themselves.
Undoubtedly each deed, each word, yea, each thought and impulse of our lives, leaves its mark upon the very structure of our bodies, and through the working of physiological law is impressed upon the inherited constitutions of our children. Says Dr. J. H. Jackson: "The desire for stimulants can be inherited, and it need not necessarily, in such case, be the result of the excessive use of alcoholic drink on the part of the ancestors, but of such other habits as produce a call for stimulation. The use of tobacco, indulgence in stimulating foods and drinks, a life of excitement, mental worry and overwork, all have their tendencies in this direction." And no step toward the training of our children into a clean, strong manhood and womanhood is so great as this one of self-discipline.
It seems to me that the first lesson taught to a child is to turn to the gratification of appetite as a panacea for all troubles of mind and body.
When he is cold, he is fed. When he is writhing in pain, he is fed. When his tender body is uncomfortable from its numberless and senseless bandages, he is fed. When he bumps his nose, or pinches his tiny finger, he is fed.
You do not believe, perhaps, that anything can have a moral effect upon such a mite of unthinking humanity. But the same faculties of the brain or mind are at work, however feebly and unconsciously, as though he were a dozen years old instead of as many weeks or months. And, insignificant as this may appear, I believe it to be a step toward the bitter end, the beginning of the course of training which is to prepare the child to join the vast army of those whose life consists in the gratification of the senses, whose souls may be barely saved from destruction, but who bear little or no part in redeeming humanity from its guilt and ignorance.
Not only is the babe thus supplied with food, in season and out of season, but it is dosed with drugs and patent nostrums, of the nature and ultimate effects of which the mother is absolutely ignorant. "Fed on poison by the hand of love." Mothers should understand that in this ignorant dosing, fearful risks are run. The soothing syrups with which mothers and nurses quiet these overfed, worrisome babies, are largely composed of elements which directly tend to create an appetite for stimulants.
Of the diet of children in American homes, Rose Terry Cooke says very forcibly: "You women who indulge your children with tea and coffee and indigestible food of every kind under the plea that they ought to have whatever they like to eat and drink, do literally keep a dram shop in your own homes and make drunkards of your own children." Mrs. Emma C. Bascom, wife of the president of Madison University, in commenting upon this, says:—
"This seems strong language, but the facts are strong, and nothing can be more true than that the average American home, through its ill-prepared, unwholesome food, and its unwise discipline, or lack of discipline, does send forth its children not only un-armed for any fight against bodily temptations, but with perverted tendencies and inward cravings that are almost sure to lead to downfall. Unless the ounces of prevention are applied here in our homes, pounds of cure will never redeem our race from drunkenness."—Harriet M. Morris, in Christian at Work.
Telling Its Own Story.
SOME time ago two young men went to a livery stable to hire a horse and carriage. They told the keeper of the stable that they only wanted to go to a village seven miles off. When they came back, the man thought the horse looked as though he had been driven much further than that. He asked them how much further they had been. They said they had only been to the next village. Then he opened a box that was fastened to the side of the carriage. In this box was a little thing almost like a clock. This had the power of keeping a correct account of every turn made by the wheels of the carriage. It did this by pointing with a finger to the figures on a dial-plate.
The man knew how many turns it took to make a mile; and so when he saw the figure to which the finger pointed, he knew in a moment how many miles the carriage had been. As soon as he opened his box he saw that the carriage had traveled thirty miles, instead of fourteen. These young men did not know that they were carrying with them a silent witness against themselves. They didn't know that that little instrument was keeping a correct account of every yard of ground that they went over. And just so it is with conscience. It is busy all the time; and at last it will give a correct account of all that we have done.—Sel.
Shakespeare and the Bible
In no respect is the varied universal play of Shakespeare's genius more fully shown than in the use he makes of the Bible. He treats the Scriptures as if they belonged to him. Bishop Wordsworth, in his "Shakespeare and the Bible," finds in the poet more than 550 biblical quotations, allusions, references, and sentiments. "Hamlet" alone contains about eighty; "Richard the Third," nearly fifty; "Henry the Fifth" and "Richard the Second," about forty each. Shakespeare quotes from fifty-four of the biblical books, and not one of his thirty-seven plays is without a scriptural reference. Genesis furnishes the poet with thirty-one quotations or allusions, the Psalms with fifty-nine, Proverbs with thirty-five, Isaiah with twenty-one, Matthew with sixty, Luke with thirty-three, and Romans with twenty-three.—The Nineteenth Century.
The Mischief of Fretting
Fretting does a great deal of mischief and never yet accomplished anything good.
Overwork.
By The Manufacturer; Builder
A LARGE amount of sentimental rot gets into print about men's killing themselves by overwork. In nine out of ten cases of this kind, the true cause of death will be found to be something besides overwork. We all know professional and business men who work harder than they ought, and yet by taking good care of themselves in the way of diet, exercise, etc., manage to enjoy good health, and wear a cheerful, hearty look. Those who die from "overwork" generally use liquors and tobacco without moderation, keep late hours, and indulge in hazardous speculations outside of their legitimate business. Late hours, liquor, and tobacco engender weak nerves, and upset the functions of the body; while anxiety over speculative schemes acts upon the brain. With these evil agencies working against a man, some slight exposure brings on an attack of illness, and the whole body being weakened, gives way in a very short time. The sudden illness and speedy demise baffle medical skill; the stricken family and shocked friends are told that overwork was the cause of death, and the press deplores the tendency of our civilization to kill people by overwork, when the real cause of nine-tenths of these deaths is as outlined above.
—The Manufacturer and Builder.
The Life of a Brain Cell.
THE wonderful activity of the human brain is in large part due to the fact that it is made up of a vast number of cells, each of which lives its own individual life, and, in so doing, contributes to the life and activity of the whole. A German physiologist, who has given careful study to the subject, computes that "the cerebral mass is composed of at least 300,000,000 nerve cells, each an independent body, organism, and microscopic brain, so far as concerns its vital relations, but subordinated to a higher purpose in relation to the function of the organ, each living a separate life individually, though socially subject to a higher law of function. The life term of a nerve cell he estimates to be about sixty days; so that 5,000,000 die every day, about 200,000 every hour, and nearly 3,500 every minute, to be succeeded by an equal number of their progeny; while once in every sixty days a man has a totally new brain."
Such a delicately organized structure needs good care and the very best of blood, which can only be afforded by good food, free from unwholesome elements, and well digested.
Georgia’s Natural and Unnatural Resources
A GEORGIA editor states the natural and unnatural resources of his State as follows: "Gold is found in thirty-six counties in this State, silver in three, diamonds in twenty-six, and whisky in all of them, and the last gets away with all the rest."
Guiding Children in the Right Way
THOSE who try to lead the steps of a little child in the right way, are doing earth's grandest work.