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Signs of the Times, Vol. 5, No. 47.

General Articles

Signs of the Times

Dec 11, 1879

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Dec 11, 1879

General Articles.

By Ellen G. White

CHRIST'S FOLLOWERS THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.

BY MRS. E. G. WHITE.
So FAR as human sympathy was concerned, Christ was as though alone in our world. His nearest friends and relatives did not understand him. They could not understand the nature of the kingdom of which he spoke, nor comprehend the vastness of that love which embraced humanity.
His knowledge extended, not only to this world, but to the future, unseen world. He had lived in eternal light in the heavenly courts, and was one with the Father, but in the world which he had created, he was in solitude.
Fallen men, in one sense, could not be companions for Christ, for they could not enter into sympathy with his divine nature, and hold communion with the world's Redeemer. When woe, and want, and suffering demanded his help, they found relief; for human suffering ever touched a responsive chord in the Saviour's heart. His work was to elevate men through his condescension, through his lessons of instruction, and by means of his example, lifting them heavenward by the might of his divine power. But companions he had none upon earth. He was fully understood in Heaven alone.
After the toils of the day the Redeemer of the world was frequently found all night in prayer. Crowds throng him through the day so that he has not a moment for rest or prayer. The fame of his work and of his wonderful teachings brought vast multitudes from all the region round about, not only to listen to his life-giving words, but to receive power from him that they might be healed of their maladies. All are eager to receive his first attention.
Some ply him with questions to gratify their curiosity, some to show their aptness and learning; and the jealous, caviling Pharisees watch to find some pretext to denounce him as an impostor. Some selfishly think that they may be advantaged by his great knowledge, and receive help in their personal difficulties, while others, hungering and thirsting for clearer light, and a better knowledge of the true way, humbly listen as for their lives, drinking in every word that falls from the Master's lips.
The restless throng sways to and fro, as some are continually coming and striving to press nearer, while others are passing away with greater zeal in their own worldly interests in the words of eternal life.
The suffering ones call for his sympathy, the feeble, the distorted, the decrepid, the blind, and the palsied, all turn imploringly to him, and faint voices plead earnestly for help. The crowd is so dense it seems impossible to urge a passage to Christ, and hope almost dies out of some hearts. They fear their chance will come too late, for they feel that life is fast ebbing. Can they reach the mighty Healer through the dense masses before it is too late?
But not one passes from his presence unrelieved. He repulses none, but speaks kindly and patiently with all, and in clear, calm, earnest tones he utters the truths that search to the very souls of his hearers. He is often interrupted with the cry of the demoniac, and the suffering and the dying ones are urged through the crowd and laid at his feet.
His disciples see the pressure of care and burdens upon the Master, and decide that they must interfere and draw him away from the crowd. They invite him to find rest from his physical weariness before he shall faint with exhaustion. But Jesus continues his work notwithstanding the urgency of his disciples to draw him away for refreshment and rest. They say one to another, He must be beside himself to continue this taxing labor longer. They think that force will have to be used to save his life. He has not had sleep, or food, or a moment's repose. He makes his way toward the sea-shore, and the surging crowd urge him to the very water's edge. He beckons to Peter to receive him in his boat, and there upon the swaying seat of a fishermans boat he teaches his disciples upon the shore.
When the sun was set, and the night came on, and the people had dispersed to their homes, the disciples felt relieved. They felt sure that the Master would rest in some quiet home, and they would have a little period all to themselves; but they were disappointed. Weary, exhausted, and faint as he was, he would not consent to go with them to seek refreshment or repose. He dismissed his disciples, and would not allow them to acccompany him, but repaired to the solitary mountains, telling them where they may meet him in the morning.
All night he must be alone in the mountain sanctuary with his God. All night he spent in prayer, pouring out his soul with strong crying and tears, not because he had sins to confess, or to bring remorse to his heart, not because he had troubles of his own to be relieved. A world in the darkness of error is weighing upon his soul, and while it sleeps in security he prays that it may not perish in its sin and impenitence. Thus passed the night, and when nature's choristers tuned their songs of praise in the early morning, Christ was prepared for the day of active, earnest work.
The day after the scene at Capernaum was to be one of great importance. The memorable sermon upon the mount was to be given to his disciples, and so come down through the ages to us. The day before he had no place sufficiently large to accommodate the people, and had taken his seat in Peter's boat to address the people on the shore. This day he led the people to the high table-land overlooking the lake, where the tall grass was waving in the breeze, and wild flowers bloomed in rich profusion of beauty and variety at their feet, and nature was clothed in her most beautiful garments. Yonder were sharp mountain peaks outlined against the sky, bearing testimony to the majesty and power of God in his created works.
Christ seated himself upon an eminence, while the people gathered on the large grassy plain at its foot. The place was well chosen for the discourse. The sun had not yet appeared above the mountains; the incense of flowers perfumed the air, and the singing birds seemed to attune their songs responsive to the words uttered by the God of nature to impress souls with the truths falling from his divine lips.
The contrast of this morning's scene with that of Sinai was marked. Then the millions of people gathered before the mountain whose lofty peaks seemed to reach to the very heavens. The lightnings flashed, and the groaning, muttering thunders, like supernatural voices filled the air, and God's voice was heard in trumpet-like tones by all the congregation. Moses was commanded to come up and talk with God. He obeyed the mandate, and climbed far up the solitary heights, and God talked with him. On the morning of the third day a thick cloud began to cover the mountain, increasing in denseness every moment, while its billowy form surged violently. The earth shook and trembled as if convulsed, and the thunder peals were caught up in reverberations from peak to peak, far and near. The stately tread of the Lord Jehovah and of his Son was upon that mountain. At intervals, between the bursts of the thunder were sounds as of a trumpet swelling louder and louder till it rose above the war of the elements.
The people stood terror-stricken, every face pale as the dead, with eyes fixed in awe upon the fearful manifestations of the awful presence of God. Then was spoken amid flame and smoke the law of God. The people about the mount receded from its base in awe and fear. Their souls were overwhelmed with the grandeur and terrible majesty of the scene. They saw the two men go up amid the awful glory to receive the law from the lips of God. When Moses and Aaron again stood in their midst, the people implored them that the word of God might come to them through Moses, and not by the direct and terrible voice of God, lest they could not live.
"Fear not," said Moses, "for God is come to prove you, and that his fear may be before your faces, that ye sin not." All the majesty of this scene was necessary to impress its solemnity upon the minds of the children of Israel, whose lives had been spent among the symbols and ceremonies of the Egyptian worship.
Christ, who had led the children of Israel in the wilderness, who revealed his majesty and spoke the law from Sinai, was now to define the principles of that law, which was to be carried out and exemplified in practical life. The multitude close about the great Teacher, interested and eager to catch every word that fall from his lips. Yet there are no grand and awful demonstrations on this occasion, as at Sinai. The beauties of nature in the luxuriant vegetation and adornment of flowers speak to the senses of the love of God in his created works.
There was no eloquence of words used in the lessons of Christ, no overdrawn language hiding the simple grandeur of the thought, nothing to bewilder the mind or mislead the imagination. The language was simple, the utterance slow and forcible, and the enunciation clear and distinct. God was speaking to the soul of man in kindness and love. The countenance of Christ beamed with the glory of heaven's light. His eyes expressed love and sympathy for man. Divinity flashed through humanity as the deep and earnest words of eternal life were spoken to the interested hearers.
The sun was climbing above the mountain tops, reflecting its bright beams upon the hills and mountains, distinctly revealing the cities upon their slopes.
He pointed to the bright beams of the sun, saying impressively, "Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. . . . Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in Heaven."
(To be continued).

An Unconscious Sermon.

Mr. Harvy was riding slowly along the dusty road, looking in all directions for a stream or even a house where he might refresh his tired, thirsty horse with a good draught of water.
While he was thinking and wondering he turned an abrupt bend in the road and saw before him a comfortable-looking farm-house, and at the same time a boy ten or twelve years old came out into the road with a small pail and stood directly before him.
"What do you wish, my boy?" said Mr. Harvy, stopping his horse.
"Would your horse like a drink, sir?" said the boy, respectfully.
"Indeed he would, and I was wondering where I could obtain it."
Mr. Harvy thought little of it, supposing of course that the boy earned a few pennies in this manner, and therefore, he offered him a bit of silver, and was astonished to see him refuse it.
"I would like you to take it," he said, looking earnestly at the child, and observing for the first time that he limped slightly.
"Indeed, sir, I don't want it. It is little enough I can do for myself or any one: I am lame, and my back is bad, sir, and mother says no matter how small a favor may seem, if it is all we are capable of, God loves it as much as he does a very large favor, and this is the most I can do for others. You see, sir, the distance from Painesville is eight miles from this spot, and I happen to know there is no stream crossing the road, and so, sir, almost every one passing here from that place is sure to have a thirsty horse."
Mr. Harvy jogged off, pondering deeply upon the quaint little sermon that had been delivered. — Young Folks' Magazine.

CHASTISEMENT.

By Sir Robert Grant

O SAVIOUR, whose mercy, severe in its kindness, Has chastened my wanderings, and guided my way; Adored be the power which illumined my blindness, And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray.
Enchanted with all that was dazzling and fair, I followed the rainbow—I caught at the toy— And still in displeasure thy goodness was there, Disappointing the hope, and defeating the joy.
The blossom blushed bright—but a worm was below; The moonlight shone fair—there was blight in the beam; Sweet whispered the breeze—but it whispered of woe; And bitterness flowed in the soft-flowing stream.
So, cured of my folly, yet cured but in part, I turned to the refuge thy pity displayed; And still did this eager and credulous heart Weave visions of promise that bloomed but to fade.
I thought that the course of the pilgrim to Heaven Would be bright as the summer, and glad as the morn; Thou show'dst me the path—it was dark and uneven, All rugged with rock, and all tangled with thorn.
I dreamed of celestial rewards and renown; I grasped at the triumph which blesses the brave; I asked for the palm-branch, the robe, and the crown; I asked—and thou show'dst me a cross and a grave.
Subdued and instructed at length to thy will, My hopes and my longings I fain would resign; O, give me the heart that can wait and be still, Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine.
There are mansions exempted from sin and from woe, But they stand in a region by mortals untrod; There are rivers of joy—but they roll not below; There is rest—but it dwells in the presence of God.
—Sir Robert Grant.

Confounding Posterity.

By N. Y. Times

WHILE, as a matter of taste, there cannot be two opinions in regard to the removal of the Egyptian obelisks from Egypt, very grave objections may be made to it in the interests of archæology. In the dim future, the wide distribution of obelisks will give rise to a variety of conflicting but equally erroneous theories. No one in that remote and presumably intensely scientific age will believe that the Romans, the French, the English and the Americans were guilty of carrying off obelisks. In the year 3000 there will be archæologists who will insist that the obelisk builders were a race that at one time extended over Europe, Africa, and America, and erected obelisks as mile-stones. Others will claim that the obelisks were not the work of human hands, but were produced by crystallization in the polar regions, and were distributed over the earth by the action of glaciers during the glacial period. Reams of arguments will be written by the defenders of these rival theories, the former of which will doubtless be upheld by the believers in religion, while the latter will be supported by the positivists. The religious archæologist will trace resemblance between the hieroglyphics of the engraved obelisks and the scratches made by the small boy of the present age on the sides of the school-house and its contiguous fences, and will thus strengthen his theory of the wide distribution of the obelisk-building race. The Positivists will of course, deny that hieroglyphics prove the existence of conscious hieroglyphic cutters, and will persist that crystallization determined the form of the obelisk, and that the grinding of their surfaces during the slow motion of the glaciers marked them with the so-called hieroglyphics.—N. Y. Times.

Excellent Things Are Rare

THAT which is excellent, is also rare.

Charity, Truth, and Conviction

Rev. J. Freeman Clarke uttered a timely thought when he said: "Charity does not mean indifference to truth and error . . . . In the great religious questions which divide the world, there is an essential truth on one side or the other. One is essentially right, and the other wrong. We ought, if we can, to see which is right, and say so. We ought not to be neutral. We ought to select our flag, and stand by it. It is not necessary to be sectarian because we like one side better than the other. It is not necessary to be bigoted because we have a distinct and fixed opinion. Make up your mind and then stand ready to be convinced if you are wrong. Take your stand, and if you see reason, alter it; but take some stand somewhere. For, says Lord Bacon: 'In this great theater of life it is permitted to God and the angels to be spectators, but all men must be actors.'"
—Ex.

The Immortality of the Soul—History of the Doctrine.

(Continued.)

RESTORATIONISTS AND UNIVERSALISTS.

It is also noticeable that a large number of those in the Christian church who first began to believe and teach the Platonic notion of the immortality of the soul, with it also taught the restoration, or universal salvation, of all souls. This fact is so well known that I do not stop to give the proof here. If any wish the evidence in full, they can read it in the "Ancient History of Universalism," by Hosea Ballou; or in "Debt and Grace," by C. F. Hudson; or in "The Scriptural Doctrine of Future Retribution," by Edward Beecher.
This view was held by Origen, A. D. 230; Gregory Thaumaturgus, A. D. 243; Pierius and Theognostus, A. D. 282; Methodius, A. D. 290; Pamphilus, A. D. 294; Eusebius, A. D. 320; Titus, A. D. 362; Didymus, A. D. 370; Jerome, A. D. 380; Gregory Nyssen, A. D. 371; Diodorus, A. D. 378; Theodore, A. D. 394; Maximus, A. D. 662; and Nicholas, A. D. 1096. All these, and probably others, held to restorationism.
Origen went so far as to hold that the devil himself would finally be saved. Others held to the same. Indeed, restorationism and universalism appear to have been the popular faith during the labors of Origen in the third century, and for some time after. Universalists admit that they can find but few traces of their doctrine in the church till the close of the second century. (Preface to Ancient Hist. of Universalism, p. 19.) The fact is, there is no trace of it until the Platonic doctrine of the soul was introduced.
That Origen, who was thoroughly in love with Platonism, and who, as all agree, did more than all others to corrupt the simple doctrines of the gospel by introducing Platonic philosophy, was the man who introduced the doctrine of universalism into the church, is confessed even by Hosea Ballou. He says, "It appears that Origen introduced the doctrine of universalism and that of the pre-existence of souls together." (Anct. Hist. of Univer. p. 86.) He then quotes Origen as saying of the doctrines he was introducing, "Indeed, they are advanced by us with much hesitation, and more in the way of investigation and for the sake of discussing them, than as pronouncing them certain and indisputable." (Anct. Hist. of Univer., p. 86.)
Here, in the beginning of the third century, was the origin of universalism in the Christian church. This doctrine came in naturally with that of the immortality of the soul; but finally the doctrine of an eternal hell and endless suffering crowded it out, and it was condemned as heretical.

THE HEATHEN HELL MAGNIFIED.

Finally, the most horrid of all the results of receiving Plato's dogma of man's natural immortality was, that with it also came the heathen theory of the torments of the damned in Tartarus, or hell. Had even this view been left as the old pagans taught it, it would not have been so fearfully horrid. But getting the idea from thence, the Romish priests, aided by the ignorance and superstition of the people, added greatly to the doctrine, increased its dimensions, and intensified all its infernal horrors. The number of those who went there was vastly larger than the number of those sent there by the Pagans. They only doomed some of the worst cases; but now all out of the church must go there; together with heretics and apostates from the church. Plato's hell only lasted till the periodical renovation of all things, as we have seen. This was a very long time, yet it was only a drop in the ocean compared to an actual eternity. But the Romanists made it eternal, sure, without hope of end. All the strong words the language knew, all the illustrations ingenuity could invent, were exhausted to convey the idea of its unending duration.
Plato had described hell as a place of great suffering; but now these sufferings were multiplied and intensified a hundred-fold. With Plato, hell was only a speculative idea, which affected nobody; with the Romanists it was an ever present, almost visible reality. The first thing the prattling child learned was to fear hell. The mother talked of it, the father warned of it, the teacher described it, and the priest threatened it. "Never," says Michelet, "can we know in what terrors the Middle Age lived. There was all abroad a living fear of men, fear of the State, fear of the church, fear of God, fear of the devil, fear of hell, fear of death. Preaching consisted very much in the invitation, 'Submit to the guidance of the church while you live,' enforced by the threat, 'or you shall go to hell when you die.'" (Future Life, p. 407.)
"A gloomy mist of credulity enwrapped the cathedral and the hall of justice, the cottage and the throne. In the dark shadows of the universal ignorance, a thousand superstitions, like foul animals of night, were propagated and nourished." (Alger, Future Life, p. 417.) The learned author continues: "Suffice it to say, the monks appear at midnight in the cells of various persons, now impersonating devils, in horrid attire, breathing flames and brimstone; now claiming to be the souls of certain sufferers escaped from purgatory; and again pretending to be celebrated saints, with the Virgin Mary at their head. By the aid of mechanical and chemical arrangements, they wrought miracles, and played on the terror and credulity of the spectators in a frightful manner." (Alger, Future Life, p. 419.)
The Mediæval belief in a future life was practically concentrated, for the most part, around the ideas of Satan, purgatory, the last Judgment, hell. Says Neander, "The inmost distinction of Mediæval experience was an awful sense of another life and an invisible world." "No oblivious draught, no pure spiritualization, had freed the departed souls from earthly bonds and associations. Light pretexts drew them back to their wonted haunts. A buried treasure allowed them no rest till they had led some one to raise it. An unfinished task, an uncanceled obligation, forced them again to the upper world. In ruined castles, the ghosts of knights, in their accustomed habiliments, held tournaments and carousals. The priest read mass; the hunter pursued his game; the specter-robber fell on the benighted traveler." (Alger, Future Life, p. 415.)
Ghosts and specters walked on every hand, and lurked in every dark corner. The devil, with his cloven feet, long tail, horns, and breathing fire, was often seen. He made special contracts with desperate men to serve him for so long for certain worldly prosperity. Souls from purgatory frequently appeared, and told of their awful sufferings and who were there with them. They warned their surviving friends to believe the church and obey the priests. Now and then the door of hell was opened, and certain persons saw the smoke and the flames, and heard the cries and moans of the damned. Hell was no myth, no merely symbolical place, not simply a guilty conscience. No; hell was a dread reality, a real place, a lake of burning, literal fire. The belching of a volcano was the vomit of uneasy hell. If a man wishes to get a correct idea of the popular feeling touching hell in the Middle Ages, let him read the "Divine Commedia" of Dante. The transactions of hell were thought of and spoken of as familiarly as we now speak of the business of a neighboring city from which come the cars and papers daily!

THE FIRES OF HELL LITERAL.

"Many persons who have not taken pains to examine the subject, suppose that the horrifying descriptions given by Christian authors of the state and sufferings of the lost were not intended to be literally received, but were meant as figures of speech, highly wrought metaphors, calculated to alarm and impress with physical emblems corresponding only to moral and spiritual realities. The progress of thought and refinement has made it natural that recourse should often be had to such an explanation; but unquestionably it is a mistake. The annals of theology, both dogmatic and homiletic, from the times of the earliest fathers till now, abound in detailed accounts of the future punishment of the wicked, whereof the context, the train of thought, and all the intrinsic characteristics of style and coherence, do not leave a shadow of doubt that they were written as faithful though inadequate accounts of facts. The church, the immense bulk of Christendom, has in theory always regarded hell and its dire concomitants as material facts, and not as merely spiritual experiences.
"Tertullian says, 'The damned burn eternally without consuming, as the volcanoes, which are vents from the stored subterranean fire of hell, burn forever without wasting.' Cyprian declares that 'the wretched bodies of the condemned shall simmer and blaze in those living fires.' Augustine argues at great length, and with ingenious varieties of reasoning, to show how the material bodies of the damned may withstand annihilation in everlasting fire. Similar assertions, which cannot be figuratively explained, are made by Irenæus, Jerome, Athanasius, Thomas Aquinas, Bonaventura, Gerson, Bernard, and indeed, by almost all the Christian writers. Origen, who was a Platonist, and a heretic on many points, was severely condemned for saying that the fire of hell was inward and of the conscience, rather than outward and of the body.
"For the strict materiality of the fire of hell we might adduce volumes of authorities from nearly every province of the church. Dr. Barrow asserts that 'our bodies will be afflicted continually by a sulphurous flame, piercing the inmost sinews.' John Whitaker thinks 'the bodies of the damned will be all salted with fire, so tempered and prepared as to burn the most fiercely, and yet never consume.' Jeremy Taylor teaches that 'temporal fire is but a painted fire in respect of that penetrating and real fire in hell.' Jonathan Edwards soberly and believingly writes thus:—
"'The world will probably be converted into a great lake, or liquid globe of fire,—a vast ocean of fire, in which the wicked shall be overwhelmed, which will always be in tempest, in which they shall be tossed to and fro, having no rest day or night, vast waves or billows of fire continually rolling over their heads, of which they shall forever be full of a quick sense within and without; their heads, their eyes, their tongues, their hands, their feet, their loins, and their vitals shall forever be full of a glowing, melting fire, fierce enough to melt the very rocks and elements; and also they shall eternally be full of the most quick and lively sense to feel the torments; not for one minute, nor for one day, nor for one age, nor for two ages, nor for a hundred ages, nor for ten thousands of millions of ages one after another, but forever and ever, without any end at all, and never, never be delivered.'
"Outraged humanity before the contemplation cries, 'O God, horror hath overwhelmed me; for thou art represented as an omnipotent fiend.' It is not the Father of Christ, but his antagonist, whose face glares down over such a scene as that! The above diabolical passage—at the recital of which, from the pulpit, Edward's biographers tell us, 'whole congregations shuddered and simultaneously rose to their feet, smiting their breasts, weeping, and groaning'—is not the arbitrary exaggeration of an individual, but a fair representation of the actual tenets and vividly held faith of the Puritans. It is, also, in all its uncompromising literality, a direct and inevitable part of the system of doctrine which, with insignificant exceptions, professedly prevails throughout Christendom at this hour. We know most persons will hesitate at this statement; but let them look at the logic of the case in the light of its history, and they must admit the correctness of the assertion."
"'The world is to be burned up, and the damned, restored to their bodies, are to be driven into the everlasting fire prepared for them. The resurrection of the body,—still held in all Christendom,—taken in connection with the rest of the associated scheme, necessitates the belief in the materiality of the torments of hell. That eminent living divine, Dr. Gardiner Spring, says, 'The souls of all who have died in their sins are in hell; and there their bodies too, will be after the resurrection.' Mr. Spurgeon also, in his graphic and fearful sermon on the 'Resurrection of the Dead,' uses the following language:—
"'When thou diest, thy soul will be tormented alone; that will be a hell for it; but at the day of Judgment thy body will join thy soul, and then thou wilt have twain hells, thy soul sweating drops of blood, and thy body suffused with agony. In fire exactly like that which we have on earth, thy body will lie, asbestos-like, forever unconsumed, all thy veins roads for the feet of pain to travel on, every nerve a string on which the devil shall forever play his diabolical tune of "Hell's Unutterable Lament"! and, if this doctrine be true, no ingenuity, however fertile in expedients and however fiendish in cruelty, can possibly devise emblems and point pictures half terrific enough to present in imagination and equal in moral impression what the reality will be to the sufferers. It is easy to speak or hear the word "hell," but to analyze its significance and realize it in a sensitive fancy, is difficult; and whenever it is done, the fruit is madness, as the bedlams of the world are shrieking in testimony at this instant. The revivalist preachers, so far from exaggerating the frightful contents latent in the prevalent dogma concerning hell, have never been able—and no man is able—to do anything like justice to its legitimate deductions.
"'Edwards is right in declaring, "After we have said our utmost, and thought our utmost, all that we have said and thought is but a faint shadow of the reality." Think of yourselves seized just as you are now, and flung into the roaring, glowing furnace of eternity; think of such torture for an instant, multiply it by infinity and then say if any words can convey the proper force of impression. It is true these intolerable details are merely latent, and unappreciated by the multitude of believers; and when one, roused to fanaticism by earnest contemplation of his creed, dares to proclaim its logical consequences and to exhort men accordingly, they shrink, and charge him with excess. But they should beware ere they repudiate the literal horrors of the historic orthodox doctrine for any figurative and moral views accommodated to the advanced reason and refinement of the times,—beware how such an abandonment of a part of their system affects the rest.'"(Alger's Doctrine of a Future Life, chap. iv. pp. 516, 517, 518.)
(To be Continued.)

Location of Enon

By J. W. McGarvey

(To be Continued.)

Location of Enon.

THIS brought us to the head waters of wady Bedan, a tributary of the wady on which Enon is located, called wady Farra. We struck wady Bedan at a point where four mills, propelled by its water, are situated in sight of one another. We followed its course to its junction with wady Farra, and in doing so passed twelve mills, the last situated in the fork of the two streams and propelled by water drawn from wady Farra. These are all overshot mills, and are propelled by water drawn into races. The rapid descent of the principal streams makes it practicable to draw off these side channels at short intervals, and to build the mills close together. In some instances the mill-race is so high above the principal stream that it runs through and propels two mills in making its way down.
From the junction of the two streams we continued down wady Farra in search of a place answering to Enon. The "much water" we found all the way, and although the season was exceptionally dry, pools well suited for baptizing were abundant. We rode into a number of these to try their depths. But we wanted to find, in addition to the much water, an open space on the bank of the stream suitable for the assembling of the great multitudes who flocked to John's places of baptizing; and for several miles we found no such place. We pursued our pathless way along the slopes of a narrow ravine, with high and precipitous hills on either side. We had to ford the stream frequently, and its banks were so thickly crowded with a jungle of oleanders in full bloom, that we could not always cross where we would. Never, in a single day, have I seen so many oleanders. For as many as five miles their line of mingled pink and green was as continuous as the current of the stream which nourished them.
Finally, after a fatiguing ride, during which both our dragoman and our escort became discouraged and fell behind, there suddenly opened before us a beautiful valley among the mountains, about one mile wide and three miles long. Bedouin tents were pitched in groups here and there; herds of camels, to the number of three or four hundred, were grazing, or drinking, or moving about; and swarms of brown-skinned boys, both large and small, were bathing at the different places in the stream. Here, then, was the open space required, and a more suitable place for the gathering of a multitude could not be found on the banks of any mountain stream in Palestine.
It is identified as Enon by the only man who has ever made a thorough and scientific exploration of the country, and now it is accepted as such without dispute from any quarter. We cut an oleander cane apiece from the banks of the stream, and we took a bath in one of its pools.—J. W. McGarvey, in Christian Standard.

Calumny Distorts the Facts

CALUMNY deals in facts—to distort them.

Hiding Places.

By Charles Grandison Finney

A GREAT many people hide in the church. Judas Iscariot crept in there to hide. A minister of the Dutch Reform Church told me once of a case in point just here. A man who had been confirmed in that church was out at sea in a fearful storm. It was a time of intense alarm, and many were exceedingly fearful of death, not to say also of that terrible state beyond. When they said to him, How is it that you are so cool? he replied, "What have I to fear? I belong to the South Dutch!" Many hide under orthodox creeds. They are not Unitarians; they are not Mormons; they are not Universalists; they are orthodox! Such religious opinions held so tenaciously must, they think, insure their safety. Others hide under the plea of a sinful nature. They are naturally unable to do anything. Here they have found a sure retreat. They are very willing to do all their duty; but their sinful nature is all against them, and what can they do? This is a refuge of lies. Some dodge under professors of religion. I fear there are many such here among us. Alas! your hiding-place will fail you in the day of trial! When the hail comes and the storm rolls up fearfully, and the awful thunder breaks with appalling crash, you will try in vain to find your professor—to hide under his wing! Where is he now? Suppose he were as bad as you claim, how much can he help you in that all-devouring storm? If he is not as good as he should be, you ought to be better than he, and not try to hide yourself under his shortcomings.—Finney.
Continue reading: THE REAL SABBATH