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Review and Herald, Vol. 59, No. 11.

Our Contributors
Earlier text: Our Contributors

THE BROKEN-HEARTED.

It is a beautiful figure, this binding up of the broken-hearted, as though the Crucified One took the liniment and the wrapping, and put it around the broken heart, and with his own dear, gentle hand proceeded to close up the wound and make it cease to bleed. Luke does not tell us that he came to bind up the broken-hearted; if you examine his version of the text, you will read that he came to heal them. That is going still further, because you may bind up, and yet fail to cure it; but Jesus never fails in his surgery. He whose own heart was broken knows how to cure broken hearts.
If you have that broken heart within you, beloved, Christ came to cure you, and he will do it, for he never came in vain. "He shall not fail nor be discouraged." With sovereign power, anointed from on high, he watches for the cause. Heart disease, incurable by man, is Christ's specialty. His gospel touches the root of the soul-ill, the mischief which dwells in that place whence are the issues of life. With pity, wisdom, power, and condescension, he bends over our broken bones, and ere he has done with them he makes them all rejoice, and sing glory to his name.—Selected.

OCCASIONAL ERRORS.

By A. Smith

BY A. SMITH.
It is far too common to hear in the social meeting a sort of stereotyped confession of sinfulness, unworthiness, and lack of consecration in a general sense, when, if the testimony were assented to and commented upon by those who are compelled to listen to it, it would give great offense, and provoke violent assault. Such confession is too often an indirect trumpeting of self-conceit, designed to convey an impression of the speaker's humility.
It is the imperative duty of the Christian to “grow in grace” (2 Pet. 3:18), to “go on unto perfection.” Heb. 6:1. Why, then, should he not speak of advancement in the divine life,—of victories won, of sins subdued? Too often in social or business circles we hear complaints of hardships borne, of losses endured, and of the inconveniences attending a life of self-denial; whereas the Christian is commanded to “rejoice evermore” and “in everything give thanks.” (1 Thess. 5:16, 18. See, also, 1 Pet. 4:13.
In walking through a country rich in mineral wealth, why burden one's self with sand and stones, though they are useful in their proper places, and spurn the silver nuggets with the feet, or refuse to gather up the precious particles of gold? This world is full of shadows, but it is also flooded with golden sunlight. Why not bask in the genial warmth? Sickness and sorrow bow the heads and crush the hopes of some; but why should there not be healthful and hopeful ones to lift the shadows from the broken heart? But, alas! the lives of many who might be a blessing to the world, are full of fretfulness, and rebellion against the providence of God.
From the desk we sometimes hear very solemn discourses. The speaker's voice will become tremulous with emotion, and tears will course down his cheeks; many in the congregation will respond in pathetic amens, and handkerchiefs will be displayed, expressive of the depth of solemn emotion that prevails. Should a social meeting follow, not a few will, in broken, sobbing accents, rendering their testimony almost unintelligible, express their sense of the solemnity of the hour. But by and by the last testimony is borne, the doxology is sung, and the benediction is pronounced, when, presto, many are heard chatting and laughing in the house; common and trivial matters being discussed as if it were only a step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
It is a rare gift to lead a congregation to the heights of Nebo, and, with them, view the goodly promised land, or to the precincts of Sinai to hear the thunders of the law. But it is well to remember that the descent from the mount is dangerous, abounding in precipices over which the unwary may fall to rise no more. Who knows but there may be souls present who are deeply moved by the solemn, searching truth they hear, who are, in turn, disgusted with thetrifling that ensues, and are thereby led to deny any intrinsic value in a profession of religion? Why should not the conversation rather be sober and subdued? Let it be “yea and nay.” Carry the influence of that holy hour of worship to the closet and the fireside, and there continue to dwell upon the theme until the soul can radiate the beneficence upon those around.

Trust God with the Future

—All unknown the future lies, Let it rest; 'Tis God who veils it from our eyes, And he knows best.
Ask not what shall be to-morrow; But, content, Take the cup of joy or sorrow He has sent.

Sister Brown’s Mistake.

By Dudley Marvin Canright

BY ELD. D. M. CANRIGHT.
It was half past two o’clock Sabbath afternoon when brother Jacob Brown and family got home from meeting. Stephen, a lad of fourteen, assisted his father to put out the team, while sister Brown and the girls made ready the dinner.
“I am half starved,” said Jane, in a scolding tone, as she hung her bonnet and shawl in the wardrobe, “the meeting was so long. It seemed to me it would never close.”
“Brother Williams is no more fit for an elder than our little Tommy is,” replied sister Brown, with some impatience in her tone and manner. “I told your father so before they put him in, and I voted against him. He is so slow and tedious in his talk. He will drag out a meeting till everybody is tired out.”
“Well—bruthrin—if—you’ve—all—done—your—dooty,—I—s’pose—its—’bout—time—to—close,” mockingly put in Rose, at which Jane and her mother laughed heartily.
“Better put in brother Dean,” said Rose, “he can talk fast enough.”
“Brother Dean?” said Jane with a sneer, as she made the dishes rattle, “yes, he’ll chatter all day like a baboon, and say nothing. He hasn’t a thimble full of sense.”
“I am ashamed to own it,” said the mother, “but there isn’t a man in the whole church fit even to lead a prayer-meeting, much less to be an elder,” and she sighed deeply, as though she were laboring under a heavy burden.
“I shan’t get my Sabbath-school lesson any more,” said little Tommy, in an injured tone, as soon as the blessing had been asked at the dinner-table.
“Tut, tut, my son, you must not talk that way,” quietly replied the father. “What has offended you now?”
“’Cause brother Ward never asked me only one question, when I had my lesson perfect. He asked Mary Jones and Lillian Stevens three times apiece. He never notices me. He’s mean, he is,” said Tommy, as he shook his head angrily. Before the father could reply, the mother came to the aid of Tommy, saying, “Jacob, you needn’t scold the poor boy, for you know he is more than half right. Brother Ward is always picking on our children or slighting them some way.”
“I don’t blame Tommy a bit,” added Jane, “for Will Ward likes to show his importance by lording it over everybody. He is so pompous and self-important that I fairly hate him—there!” and she set down a basin of milk so spitefully that the contents were thrown over the clean tablecloth and on her new dress, while all enjoyed a laugh at her expense.
“I think you are a little hard on brother Ward,” said the father. “All things considered, he makes a very good superintendent, the best we have had. Like all the rest of us, he may have some faults; but he means to be a good man. It appears to me it would be better to encourage him than to find fault with him, even if he does not manage just to suit us. Who would do any better?”
“Sister Flint,” suggested Rose with a knowing look.
“She had better take care of her own youngsters before she tries to teach others,” said Jane. “They are the worst children in this whole town.”
“I have no confidence in her,” responded sister Brown. “She can’t teach my children; I’ll keep them at home first.”
“Well, my dear, who would you have then?”
“That’s the trouble. Our children might as well stay at home; for the Sabbath-school never has amounted to anything, and never will. There isn’t a person in the church fit for the place,” and the mother groaned as she finished the sad picture.
“The singing was perfectly horrid to-day,” said Jane. “May Davis always gets a tune so high nobody can sing it.”
“I don’t like to hear you talk so, Jane,” said her father. “May does the best she can. I wish you and Rose and Stephen would take hold and help her. It would add so much to the singing, and make the school more interesting. Brother Ward asked you to start the piece, and you declined.”
“I didn’t like the piece, and then I won’t do anything for him, anyway.”
“I don’t blame the children at all,” answered sister Brown. “They never call on them only when they get in a pinch.”
Brother Brown held his peace; for he had learned by experience that it was no use to contend with his wife. Such conversations as the above were very common around the table and at the fireside, especially after they had come from a meeting. Nearly every member of the church was criticised. Sister Brown was a bright, intelligent woman, and in many respects a good woman. She was firm in the truth, and very zealous for it. She read the Bible much, and was strict in her religious duties. They took all our denominational papers, and spared no pains to teach their children the theory of the truth. The family being in good circumstances, the children enjoyed better privileges than the most of the other children in the church could command. Jane was nineteen. She had just graduated from the village school, was bright, a good singer, and every way qualified to be a help in the Sabbath-school. But unfortunately, like her mother, she was given to finding fault with every one. This made her very disagreeable, and often troublesome. Rose, who was seventeen, was naturally a sweet, good-dispositioned girl; but under the training of her mother and elder sister, she had learned to have confidence in no one, and to be especially distrustful of the members of the church. Stephen was more like his father—quiet and confiding; but he thought his mother and sisters were the smartest, and so followed them.
None of the children were converted, though brought up in the truth, and often labored with both by the parents and by ministers. This was a great grief to sister Brown. She could not see why it must be so, when she had done so much to teach them the truth, and had prayed with them and for them so many times. She often said, “I do n’t understand it. I have done all I could for my children. My conscience is clear. If they are lost, I have done my duty. Others who have not tried half as hard have all their children with them in the church, while mine are unconverted.” As they arose from the table, brother Brown said, “Did you notice the appointment in the paper for meetings at our place?”
“No; who is coming?” asked his wife.
“Elder Green.”
“What! not that long-legged, awkward fellow who was here two years ago?” responded Jane.
“It is the same brother Green who was here before,” quietly answered her father. “I think he is an excellent man and a very good speaker, though not as polished as some.”
“I am sorry,” said sister Brown, “for he can’t do our children any good. I wish they would send some first-class preacher here. They could if they wanted to; but we pay our money, and that is all they care.”
“I can preach as well as he can,” said Stephen.
“I think he is rightly named Green,” put in Rose. “I don’t care whether he comes or not. I shan’t put myself out much to hear him.”
On the next Friday Elder Green came. He was a young man of fair ability, good judgment, and earnest piety, though possessing but little education. That he might work understandingly, he inquired of brother Brown, who was a deacon of the church, and his host, “What is the condition of things here? How large a church have you now? Are they all doing well?”
“There are not very many of us, only thirty members,” answered brother Brown, “but we have no special trials. On the whole, I think our church is about as good as they will average.”
“I pity the rest of the churches, then, if they are all like this one,” said Jane, who chanced to pass through the room just then.
“Jacob, I think you ought not to deceive Elder Green, as he has come here to labor,” answered sister Brown. “Some things will have to be different here before anything can be done. There is brother Jones and sister Smith, they will hardly speak to each other; yet they both take part in the meetings. I can have no confidence that they are Christians while they live that way. And there is brother Lawrence, he never pays his debts. He has owed Mr. Sternes ten dollars for years. I don’t want my children to go into a church where such things are allowed. I think they are better off where they are.”
“Oh! you need have no fears about that, mother. If you wait till we join this church, you will wait a long time,” said Rose, who with Stephen and Tommy, was listening to the conversation.
“Will Norton was baptized last year,” remarked Stephen, “he and about a dozen more. I don’t see as they are any better than the rest of us. Mother says they are not, though they do speak in meeting.”
“Poor children! they were never converted. I don’t want my children to start till they can start right.”
“Sarah,” said her husband, “I think you are a little uncharitable toward the young people. I think the most of them have done remarkably well, considering that they were left so soon, and have had no help from a minister since.”
“It is often easier to stand by and tell what ought to be done than to do it ourselves,” observed Elder Green. “I have sometimes heard unconverted people say that when they became Christians, they would not do as certain others did. They would be whole Christians or none at all. But when they did make a start in the service of the Lord, I noticed that they made about the same stumbling work of it as others had. It is commendable in young people to try to do right, even if they do make some mistakes. I think we ought to encourage them, and show them all the confidence we reasonably can.”
Sister Brown felt touched, and replied with some warmth, “Very well, you may think them all saints if you choose to. Jacob can fellowshipanything, but I can’t. There is mother Thomas”—and so she went on for half an hour, describing the errors of different ones, the children indorsing her criticisms with an occasional remark. Finally Elder Green took his hat and walked out to meditate and pray. He carried a sad heart. What could he do if the church was really in such a bad condition? He wished he hadn’t come, but decided to make the best of the situation.
On the Sabbath the meeting was excellent. The Spirit of God was present in power, and many were in tears. Warm testimonies were borne, and good confessions made. Brother Brown was happy, and even sister Brown was visibly affected. Backsliders were reclaimed, and nearly all the youth came forward for prayers. The elder went to brother Brown’s children and invited them to come with the others; but they were as hard as a flint. Jane laughed in his face. The mother went to them, but they soon silenced her. Said Jane, “Mother, you have no more confidence in this than I have. It wont last a month. I am better than they are now.” The mother had no answer.
The meetings lasted two weeks, and a good work was done. Rose and Stephen arose for prayers once, but Jane ridiculed them when they got home, and they went no further. Jane and Rose had many a laugh over the awkwardness of “green brother Green,” as they called him. The father was pained. He reproved them, but the mother laughed at their wit. In meeting, however, she often spoke of her children with tears, asked prayers for them, and prayed earnestly for them herself. But the meeting closed, and they remained unconverted.
The father’s heart was sad, but he said little. The mother wondered why it was that after all her careful training, and her many prayers, her children should not be converted. Elder Green cautiously intimated to her one day that he feared she might have injured her children by so freely talking over the faults of the brethren and sisters before them, thus destroying their confidence in the church, and the only ones who might have influenced them for good. She could not believe it, and justified herself by saying, “The children have eyes, and can see these things for themselves. I cannot call wrong right, nor a hypocrite a saint.” So he said no more. About one year later, Jane was taken very sick. After a week of careful nursing, the parents became alarmed, and summoned a physician. He could give them little hope. The chances were that she must die. Anguish filled their hearts, especially as she was unprepared. Brethren and sisters came in and watched with her day and night; but she was so low they dared not tell her her danger nor talk with her about her soul. The mother was almost distracted. Must her child die without hope in God? The father wept in silence. Rose and Stephen trembled with fear, and sobbed bitterly at the sight of their unconscious, but dying sister. Earnest prayer was offered by the church. After two weeks of intense suffering, she partially recovered, but her constitution was broken. Quick consumption had fastened upon her, and the doctor said she could not live more than four or five weeks.
Cautiously and tenderly her father informed her of her condition, and inquired after the interests of her soul. “O father,” she said, sobbing, “I cannot die, I cannot die. I am afraid of God. I have hated everybody.” She shuddered as she buried her face in the pillow. The father’s strong frame shook with emotion, and the tears flowed fast as he grasped the hand of his hopeless child. Gaining control of his feelings, he told her of the mercy of God and how Jesus died for sinners. But she was not comforted. Her mother, coming in, tried to soothe her. “One year ago,” began Jane, “when Elder Green was here, I was convicted that I ought to be a Christian. I felt deeply, and wished I could make a start. Once I thought I would; but when I remembered my feelings against the different members of the church, and what we, mother and I especially, had said about them, it was too humiliating for me to ask their prayers, to join in with them, and became one of them. Besides, I had come to be almost an infidel, to feel that all were either fools or hypocrites. So I resisted my convictions till they left me. Then I hindered Rose and Stephen all I could. Mother, forgive me for saying it, but all this came from our habit of constantly talking against the different church-members. In this way I came to dislike them, to lose confidence in everybody, and then in religion generally. If it had not been for father’s godly life, I should have lost all faith in man. Mother, you did not mean it so, but if I am lost this will be the cause of it. For the sake of Rose and my brothers, for whom there is yet hope, I beseech you never to ridicule any one, or speak evil of any, in their presence again. Do as father does.”
As the terrible nature of the work she had been doing, the evil seed she had been sowing for long years, was thus flashed vividly upon her soul, for the first time, the mother cried out, “Oh! what have I done?” and fell fainting to the floor. For days they feared she would lose her reason; but a great change came over her. She became calm, peaceful, and subdued. She called her family together, and penitently confessed her great wrong in thus sowing the seeds of distrust and hatred in the hearts of her children.
“The scales have suddenly fallen from my eyes,” she said, “and I abhor myself. Jane, will you, can you, forgive me, my child?”
“Yes, mother; but there is no hope for me. It is too late now,” and she wept bitterly.
Father and mother tried to assure her of hope, but she was in despair. Elder Green was sent for. He dealt plainly with her; for he knew that her soul was at stake. Then he pointed her to the Saviour, who would freely wash away the deepest stains of sin. Light and hope came gradually into her mind. She believed and realized the love of God for her, a poor sinner. By her request, Brn. Williams, Ward, and others were called in together. She confessed how she had ridiculed them, talked against them, and despised them. Now she saw that they were better then herself, and that God loved them even as he loved her. The mother also made full and humble confession. Together they prayed, wept, and rejoiced. Calling Rose and Stephen, she warned them not to follow her example, to speak disrespectfully of no one, but to cultivate confidence in all as far as possible. As she held each by the hand, they promised to give their hearts to God.
Elder Green remained two weeks and a precious work was wrought for the church, sister Brown being the most tender and humble of all. Rose and Stephen made a good profession. After careful preparation, first Jane, then Rose, and lastly Stephen, were baptized. Brother Brown’s cup was full. He had peace in his family, and they were at peace with all. Jane lived a few weeks, and then sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. In a conspicuous place in the house was hung the motto: “SPEAK EVIL OF NO MAN.”

The Family Circle.

“That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth; that our daughters may be as corner-stones, polished after the similitude of a palace.”—Ps. 144:12.

The Living Present.

FRIENDS, let us slight no pleasant spring That bubbles up in life's dry sands, And yet be careful what good thing We touch with sacrilegious hands.
Our blessings should be sought, not claimed; Cherished, not watched with jealous eye; Love is too precious to be named, Save with a reverence deep and high.
In all that lives, exists the power To avenge the invasion of its right; We cannot bruise and break our flower, And have our flower alive and bright.
Let us think less of what appears— More of what is; for this hold I: It is the sentence no man hears— That makes us live, or makes us die.
Trust hearsay less; seek more to prove And know if things be what they seem; Not sink supinely in some groove, And hope and hope, and dream and dream.
Some days must needs be full of gloom, Yet must we use them as we may; Talk less about the years to come— Live, love, and labor more to-day.
—Selected.

A CHURCH WELCOME.

We have lately moved to one of Boston's pretty suburbs, which I will call Hayfield, because from my window I see a field with five hayricks.
Last Sunday I started out to find a church, and found a little mission chapel, where there were perhaps thirty or forty people assembled. After the service there, I started off on my search again, as I wished to know what and where were the churches we could attend. Seeing a spire in the distance, I aimed for it, until at last I came to a pretty church, from which the congregation was just issuing. Meeting a tall, dark, and rather fine-looking gentleman walking along with his little girl, I asked him if he could tell me what church that was. He at once answered with genial courtesy that it was the S—— Street Church. He told me that they would be glad to see me there, and would try to make me at home. They would like to have me come into the Sunday-school. He went on to tell me about the minister, the work he had been doing, and hoped to do. Would I like an introduction to Mr. D——? He would look for me that evening if I were there, and make me acquainted with the minister. He went on to give me a list of the services, and the time of each. All of this in an easy, genial way, which put me entirely at ease, and made me form a favorable impression of the church which had in it such an atmosphere of welcome as breathed in this member's words.
I came home, and had not taken off my wraps when there was a ring at the door-bell. I answered it to find a young lady who had called to inquire if the new neighbors were church attendants. If so, we would be very welcome to the S—— church. Of course, I invited her in, and we had a friendly chat. It was the same thing over. Would we like to have the minister call upon us? We would be sure to like him. She would mention us to him. We had a hearty welcome, a cordial invitation.
We went to church that night. We were shown good seats. We had good singing, and listened to an earnest sermon from a man whose face reminded me of a fine portrait of George MacDonald, which I saw once in the Eclectic. Then there was an after-meeting, to which we stayed. A young lady, who saw us without hymn-books, came across the aisle and gave us her own. I saw afterward that she was without one.
Next day we had a pleasant social call from the minister, in which we grew friendly and acquainted. We were told about a literary society about to be formed. We were not pressed or urged to anything, but simply made very welcome. He had seen us in church last evening. Then it turned out that I was the one that Mr. M—— had spoken to him about meeting; and then that Miss R—— had told him about us.
“Do you see your congregation when preaching?” I asked.
He answered that he looked over the church before the service and during the singing. If there were any strangers, he fixed them on his mind, and endeavored to see them. He meant that strangers should not come to his church many times without his becoming acquainted with them.
We have decided to attend that church.—Christian Weekly.

Making Our Homes Houses of God

By R. L. Herle

—It is pleasant to have tender-hearted devotional acts associated with our home. Wherever a forgetfulness of the higher things prevails, there should be hours at home when some help to aspire and to yearn for eternal things should be used. All of us need some times set apart to express what is best within us. If we have no piety at home, it is almost certain that we have it nowhere else, though we may pretend to have it. What we are at home is a pretty sure test of what we really are. Home is the most permanent thing we have—enduring when nations die and sects vanish and temples fall. Characters are chiefly formed at home. Then let us endeavor to make our homes “houses of God,” the most sacred and lovely of all places, including surely expressions of the best principles and affections—little heavens on earth.—R. L. Herle

Make Your Homes Pleasant

—Make your homes pleasant. So many farmers' homes are bare of all that has a tendency to make life pleasant that it is a wonder how the boys and girls stay in them as long as they do. What good does the farmer expect to gain from hoarded wealth? He need not expend very much in making his home cheerful. A few dollars will buy pictures which will make the walls bright, and give sunshine when the sky is overcast. A few dollars will buy papers and books from which food for the mind can be obtained, and every man ought to be as glad to see the minds of his children growing and expanding as he is to see the development of their physical systems.

An Idle Reason Lessens Good Ones

—An idle reason lessens the weight of good ones you gave before.—Swift.

An Open Letter to the Boys.

The evening's mail has brought me the following epistle from my nephew, Johnny Briggs, who had lately confided to me his avowed intention of going to sea, and to whom I gave my written views on the subject:—
“My Dear unkle, since receiving yore kind advices of 20 instant i Have decydid Not to go to see particularly as the fokes say dont let Me here you Talk about Being a saylor. i think A wild Lyfe Ashore on the planes or Go west and Grow up With the country as mr greely sed would sute Me better Don't you. i Have bot A revolver for A dolar. the Man said it would kill any One at twenty paces. Which would Be bad for A injun. please tell Me what you Think and beleve me or not. Yore nefew,
“J. briggs.”
Fancying that there may be more than one Johnny Briggs among the families represented on the subscription list of the Christian Union, I have made my answer to Johnny's letter an "open one." It reads as follows:—
My Dear Nephew,—
“Yours received—contents noted,” as business people say. I am glad to know your decision in regard to sailor life. But are n't you going a little too far in the other direction? Inland, I mean. I am afraid that—thanks to your late course of reading—you have formed a mistaken idea as to the charms of a wild life on the plains.
Now, after reading your letter and thinking it all over, my dear nephew, it occurs to me that if I were Johnny Briggs I would take the advice of an old fogy, and try a few years of tame life before I ventured on the wild. Stay at home, and grow up with the country. By the time you have arrived at the full stature of a man, you will think very differently. And then, too, you will have a chance to learn to use better grammar and spell better than you do now, which will enable you to write capital letters and put them in their proper places too.
The boy heroes do not all run away in search of their fortunes. The boys may do this thing, but the heroes stay at home. There is a hundred times more heroism in struggling with temptation than in struggling with a bear or a panther. It is a thousand times more heroic to fight one's faults than to fight with an Indian. And then again the true hero is sure of victory if he fights long enough, while the other kind—well, they often get the worst of it, even when they've done their level best.
But, dear me, how to make you see all this—that's what bothers me. I know that it is all true, because once, a century or two ago, like yourself I thought that staying at home, obeying mother and father, getting an education and fitting to be a useful member of society, was rather dull and commonplace. And I was idiot enough to leave it all, that I might go roaming over the world in search of adventure.
Heaven forbid that you, my dear Johnny, should have to learn the truth of my advice as I learned it—by hard, bitter experience. It occurs to me that if I were beginning life as you are, my dear Johnny, and some one who had been over the ground should tell me which was the right and which the wrong road, I'd believe 'em.
This seems to be all that I have to offer on the subject without seeming to be preaching to you, and that I never do; so I will draw my letter to a close with my kindest regard for your welfare. —Christian Union.

PRACTICAL TOPICS.

By C. C. L.

In the story of the prodigal son, we have vividly pictured the sinner’s downward course, the manner of his return to righteousness, and his reception by the Infinite Being, against whom he has sinned.
Notice, first, the steps of his downfall:—
1. He becomes “heady, high-minded,” and thinking himself able to do without God, he demands to be released from his service. The Lord allows him to have his own way. Verse 12.
2. He departs far from God, tries to forget that God exists; and that he may be the more successful in this work, he engages in the sinful pleasures of the world. Verse 13.
3. After wasting all his substance in a vain effort to satisfy his passions and drown his convictions, he finds himself penniless and ruined. Verse 14.
4. Despised and forsaken by his former companions in luxury, but unable to brook the mortification of returning to God and acknowledging his sins, he plunges still more deeply into debauchery, becomes a mere wreck of his former self, and seems beyond the hope of rescue. Verses 15, 16.
But the arm of Jehovah is “mighty to save,” and can lift from the lowest degradation the sinner who will do his part.
Let us examine, secondly, the sinner’s return:
1. The infamy and distress of his situation begin to lead him into serious reflections. Gradually recovering his reason, which had been almost dethroned “by the mad intoxication of sensual pleasure,” he “comes to himself,” and plainly sees the folly of perishing, while at his father’s house the bread of life is freely offered. Verse 17.
2. The decision is made, “I will arise and go to my father,” and the battle is half won. Verse 18.
3. At the same time he also lays out a noble course of action to be pursued when he shall come into his father’s presence. With sorrow he will confess his sins, with shame acknowledge his unworthiness to be called son, and with humility plead only for the most lowly place in his father’s family. Verses 18, 19.
4. Drawing new courage and strength from the nobility of his resolutions, he at once begins to execute them. “He arose, and came to his father.” Verse 20.
Observe his reception by his father. Seeing him afar off, the father runs forth to meet his son. He does not wait to hear the confession finished which the latter begins; but, reading repentance in his return, he fell on his neck, and not only forgave him, but with great rejoicing restored him to the position he had forfeited. So will our Father in Heaven receive the returning sinner.
Dear reader, you may not be so fearfully sunken in sin as was this prodigal; you may never have been a Christian, or you may be a wanderer from your Father’s house. However, this may be, somewhere along the prodigal’s course will your position be found. It will be a happy time when you “come to yourself,” and feel your need of God. More blessed still will be your decision to return to God with humility in your heart and confession upon your lips. But stop not here, else you lose the blessing; arise and return, and in so doing God will meet you.
“Return, O wanderer, return, And seek thy Father’s face; Those new desires which in thee burn, Were kindled by his grace,”
“Return, O wanderer, return; Thy Saviour bids thee live; Come to his cross, and, grateful, learn How freely he’ll forgive.”
“Return, O wanderer, return; Regain thy long-sought rest; The Saviour’s melting mercies yearn To clasp thee to his breast.”
C. C. L.
Educational.
Educational.

NATURE

For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts, a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods And mountains, and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, both what they half create And what perceive; well pleased to recognize In nature, and the language of the sense; The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.
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And this prayer I make, Knowing that nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy; for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is full of blessings. — Wordsworth.

C. C. L

By C. C. L.

The man who steals his fellow’s purse is called a thief, and justly locked in prison; while the human brute who steals the affections of another, only to feast his base passions for a time, and then trample them beneath his vile feet, still roams at large to make new conquests, and increase his shame.
Of the two, the former is by far the more honorable man, inasmuch as money in value can never measure the affections of the heart; the contemptible meanness of the latter is fittingly illustrated by the vampire that sucks the life from his victim, and casts the body away.

C. C. L

Battle Creek Sabbath School Membership

—The Battle Creek Sabbath-school numbers nearly three hundred and fifty members.

Reading During Devotion

—To read in public while another is speaking is ill-mannered—but to read or study during exercises of devotion—what shall we call it?

He Prayeth Best Who Loveth Best

By Coleridge

—He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast: He prayeth best who loveth best, All things both great and small: For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. —Coleridge.

The Test of Teaching Success

—Not what you say to your scholar, but what your scholar says to you, is the test of your success in teaching. You cannot teach a scholar what a scholar does not learn. How, then, can you know that you have taught, except by your scholar's telling you what he has learned? It takes two persons to make one teacher. You can be only one of them; the other must be a learner. If you would be more than half a teacher, ask a scholar to help you. His answer may be the making of you.—S. S. Times.

How Habits Are Formed

—Like flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the earth, the seemingly unimportant events of life succeed one another. As the snow gathers together, so are our habits formed. No single flake that is added to the pile produces a sensible change; no single action creates, however it may exhibit, a man's character. —Jeremy Taylor.

Shadows From Ourselves

—It is narrated of the great sculptor, Michael Angelo, that when at work, he wore over his forehead, fastened on his artist's cap, a lighted candle, in order that no shadow from himself might fall upon his work! It was a beautiful custom, and spoke a more eloquent lesson than he knew! For the shadows that fall on our work—how often they fall from ourselves!
Continue reading: What a Change!