ones, and withhold our words of approbation, is but too frequently
apparent. This is often done with the best intent, fearing that more
cordial expression and warmer approval may savour of flattery, and very
frequently it is the outcome of pure carelessness or indifference. In
this connection it is well to consider the words of Horace Mann. Says
he:--
"Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up
until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness. Speak
approving, cheering words while their hearts can be thrilled and made
happier by them. The kind things you mean to say when they are gone, say
before they go. The flowers you mean to send for their coffins, send to
brighten their homes before they leave them. If my friends have
alabaster boxes laid away, full of fragrant perfumes of sympathy and
affection, which they mean to break over my dead body, I would rather
they bring them out in my weary and troubled hours, and open them, that
I may be refreshed and cheered by them while I need them. I would rather
have a plain coffin without flowers, a funeral without eulogy, than life
without the sweetness of love and tenderness and sympathy. Let us learn
to anoint our friends beforehand for their burial. Post-mortem kindness
does not cheer the burdened spirit. Flowers on the coffin cast no
fragrance backward over the weary way."
BIBLE ENIGMA.
An unknown king.
A place from which the Canaanites were not driven.
One of the dukes of Edom.
A Shuhite.
A place built by the sons of Elpaal.
Where were they once who are now made nigh to God?
The Hebrew name for "pavement."
A name which means "the tower."
Something which God used to give a sign to encourage a king.
The initials and finals form two titles of Christ.
CLARA ELLIS
(Aged 14 years).
A FUGITIVE IN THE HIMALAYA MOUNTAINS.
In the summer of 1852 Colonel B----, on an excursion to the snowy range
of the Himalayas, had proceeded into the mountains some twenty miles
beyond any known habitation of civilized man, when the natives told him
that, in a village near by, a white man was living in concealment.
Incredible as it appeared, Colonel B---- followed his guides to a little
native hut with mud walls and roof of grass. Taking a peep in at the low
entrance, sure enough, there he spied an elderly person with a white
face, but in the most shabby dress of the natives, who, on catching a
glance of the intruder, rushed into a dark corner of his miserable
hovel, out of which the most earnest entreaties and assurances of good
intentions scarcely brought him.
He was the son of an English gentleman who, like thousands of the
high-bred youths of England, had come to India to procure a title to a
Government pension, and, after remaining here ten or twenty years,
return home and live in ease. Like not a few who come to this land,
supposing he could scarcely avoid becoming rich, he had run recklessly
into debt, until he was threatened with a term of years in close
confinement unless he should immediately cancel his liabilities, to do
which he was totally incapable. He fled beyond the limits of the British
territory to the place where Colonel B---- found him, where he had
subsisted for some fifteen years, in the manner of the wild natives
around him, not excepting their revolting vices.
Colonel B---- told him of a debt he owed, which, if not discharged,
might consign him to chains and darkness, not for a term of years, but
for eternity; begged him earnestly to seek to escape that everlasting
imprisonment in the dungeons of the unutterably miserable; prayed with
him, and gave him a few tracts, which, like many good men, Colonel B----
is in the habit of taking with him wherever he goes.
Two years after, he again visited him, and found that the seed he had
been permitted to sow was springing up. On reading the tract, "_It is
the Last Time_," he could have no peace of mind until he found assurance
of his greatest debt being cancelled by the blood of Christ.
His brother, who was receiving a large salary in India, was delighted to
be permitted to meet his earthly liabilities, and requested him to
return to England and live the remainder of his days in comfortable
ease. But no; he said he had opposed and reviled the Christian religion
in India, and here he wished to do what he could to counteract his past
evil influence.
He is now at S----, daily assisting a missionary in proclaiming to the
heathen the only way of eternal life. May He whose grace has raised him
thus far out of the loathsome den, lead him still onward, and make him
an eminent aid and ornament to the faith which he so long despised and
reproached.
In what various ways does God enable him to do good whose heart is set
upon it! The author of that tract probably never thought of its floating
over the waves fifteen thousand miles, fluttering on the breeze another
thousand miles into the heart of a heathen country, amidst the bears and
wolves and wild men of the Himalayas, lighting upon a poor degraded
immortal, "twice dead and plucked up by the roots," and proving him a
son and heir of the Lord God Almighty, a being to reign on the throne of
the universe for ever with the King of kings. "O the depth of the riches
both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!"
A FEW WORDS FROM THE DUMB.
It is the glory of Englishmen to stand up for the defenceless, and to
scorn the cowardly oppression of the weak. Surely, then, those who own
and those who use ponies and donkeys will be willing to give a fair
hearing to a pleader for the helpless, dumb creatures.
If they could speak for themselves, would they not say--"Give us some
rest one day in the week, and we will do all the more for you the other
six, and last the longer for it. You yourself work the better, and live
the longer, for one day's rest.
"Don't beat our sore sides so hard and so often, and we shall be
stronger and better servants to you. You know how oppression only makes
_you_ set up your back, but you will do anything for a kind master.
"Don't ride and race us about till we are ready to drop, and our wind is
almost broken, and we are reeking with heat and rough usage.
"Pray let us have a little more water when we stand weary and thirsty,
with our poor dry tongues unable to ask for it. _You_ have felt the
suffering of thirst.
"And for pity's sake," the ponies would say, "loosen this torturing
bearing-rein. We toss and shake our heads, or we try to keep them still,
and nothing gives us a moment's ease. You, master, would suffer severely
if _your_ head were held in such a position, and we could do more work,
and much better, without it.
"Please remember that we can always hear your voice, and shall
understand what you want us to do so much more quickly, if you speak to
us quietly, than if you roar at us, and drag our tender, worn mouths
about. We get so puzzled and frightened when you're in a rage with us,
that we only flounder and plunge, and make you more and more angry.
"Our last entreaty is that, when we get old and past our work, you will
not let our poor, wasted bodies stagger along under some load, when our
lives have been spent in your service, but that you will reward us by
having us immediately put out of our pain."
Think how much you owe to mercy yourself, and remember, "The merciful
man doeth good to his beast."
ONE LINK GONE.
Take the pillows from the cradle
Where the little sufferer lay;
Draw the curtain, close the shutters,
Shut out every beam of day.
Spread the pall upon the table;
Place the lifeless body there;
Back from off the marble features
Lay the auburn curls with care.
With its little blue-veined fingers
Crossed upon its painless breast,
Free from care, and pain, and anguish,
Let the infant beauty rest.
Smooth its little shroud about it;
Pick its toys from off the floor;
They, with all their sparkling beauty,
Ne'er can charm their owner more.
Take the little shoes and stockings
From the doting mother's sight;
Pattering feet no more will need them,
In and out with such delight.
Parents faint and worn with watching
Through the long, dark night of grief,
Dry your tears, and soothe your sighing;
Gain a respite of relief.
Mother's care no more is needed
To allay the rising moan;
And though you perchance may leave it,
It can never be alone.
Thus a golden link is broken
In a chain of earthly bliss--
Thus the distance shorter making
'Twixt another world and this.
[Illustration: KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. (_See page 108._)]
A GATHERED ONE.
A SHORT ACCOUNT OF EMMA BEESLEY, OF LEICESTER, WHO DIED ON LORD'S DAY
MORNING, JANUARY 1ST, 1888, AGED TWENTY-ONE YEARS.
Our earliest recollection of Emma was as a child in our Sunday School,
which she was led, in a very marked way, to attend. Her sister was
persuaded by a companion to go with her to our school just for one
afternoon, and she was so interested that she became a regular scholar.
Emma was at that time attending a school in connection with a General
Baptist cause, but hearing her sister speak in such high terms of the
school at Zion Chapel, she was soon persuaded to go with her. Like her
sister, she felt so at home that she also became a scholar. They each
became so very much attached to both school and chapel, that they had no
desire whatever to leave it; and we have good reason to believe the Word
was made a blessing, and that the seed of divine grace was sown in each
of their hearts by God the Eternal Spirit.
Emma was of a very quiet turn of mind, and for the last two years was
the subject of great soul-trouble. All who knew her could testify to the
deep sense she had of her sinnership before God. Her great fear was,
that she was too great a sinner for the Lord to look upon; but her whole
desire was, to be found right with Him.
To a friend she said, "Oh, I should not mind waiting, if only I knew I
should obtain the blessing; but I am so afraid I shall never have what I
am seeking after."
Her love for the house of God was so great that no weather would prevent
her from attending the means. Being of a delicate constitution, her
mother often reproved her for going so much; but she could say, with the
poet--
"I love to meet amongst them now,
Before Thy gracious feet to bow,
Though vilest of them all."
Truly, she prized the company of the Lord's people, and looked upon them
as the excellent of the earth; and many times has said, "I want the Lord
to assure me that I am one of His family, redeemed by precious blood."
For the most part she was very dark in her mind, but had rays of light,
being often encouraged under the preached Word.
It was about a month before her last illness that the Lord seemed to
completely wean her from the world. She seemed like one that was indeed
taking the kingdom of heaven by violence. The things that belonged to
her soul's happiness were eagerly sought after, while the things of the
world were only a plague and a burden.
She said to a friend, "Oh, how I long for the Christmas holidays--not
for the mere holiday, but that I may get away from my work, and be with
the dear people of God."
About a fortnight before her illness, our dear minister spoke from the
words, "My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me." It
seemed to completely cut her up, as she feared she was only a hypocrite,
and not a true follower, which caused her great sorrow of heart. But
during the week the Lord was pleased to shine upon her once more with
these words--"I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with
loving-kindness have I drawn thee." But the words were so great she
feared to take them, and yet she could not put them away.
On the following Sunday, our dear pastor took for his text, "Even to Him
shall men come" (Isa. xlv. 24). That day was indeed a Sabbath to her;
for, as the character was described, the Lord sweetly made it plain to
her that she was no longer to cut herself off, and she felt sure that
she was the character described. She earnestly begged of the Lord that
day that Mr. Hazlerigg might be led to take the same text in the
evening. To her great joy the same words were again given out, and the
sermon was attended with the same sweetness to her. She was indeed full.
A friend who walked with her from chapel said afterwards, that she
seemed in a most heavenly frame of mind. She could do nothing but speak
of the favoured times she had had in hearing.
The next, and indeed the last, time that she was permitted to meet with
us on earth, was at our prayer-meeting on the Monday evening, and then
she seemed again to be much favoured.
She was taken ill on the Wednesday evening. On the following Friday, the
writer, being sent for, went and found her very ill, but her mind seemed
stayed upon eternal things. I said, "Do you think you shall get better,
Emma?" to which she replied, "I do not know. If the complaint is not
stayed, I must sink; but I do not mind." I asked her if she feared
death. She replied, "No; I only want the Lord to reveal Himself to me
more, and then I do not mind whether it is life or death." She said, "I
have only one wish, and that is, that the affliction may be sanctified."
She said that verse had been so blessed to her--
"Fenced with Jehovah's 'shalls' and 'wills,'
Firm as the everlasting hills."
I said, "Oh, Emma, how good of the Lord to give you those words. He
knows how full of fears you are, and how Satan would cast his 'buts' and
'ifs' at you; but the Lord has given you those words to quench Satan's
darts with." I told her I believed the Lord was either preparing her for
His Church below, or His Church above. She smiled, and said, "I hope it
is so."
A friend, to whom she was much attached, called to see her, and said,
"Emma, should you like me to read to you? I am afraid you are too ill."
She said, "Oh, do! I should so much like you to do so." The twenty-third
Psalm was read, and a few words of prayer offered; and to a friend, who
afterwards went in, she said how very much she enjoyed it.
We did indeed feel it good to be with her; but the affliction was of
such a painful nature that she could not talk much. The doctor said that
all that could be done for her was to keep her very quiet, and give her
support, so that we often refrained from conversing with her, hoping
very much that it might be the Lord's will to restore her.
On Saturday morning our hopes were raised very high. She was quiet in
her mind, Satan not being permitted to harass her. Her only fear seemed
to be that she was ungrateful. She said, "I have so many friends, and
they are all so kind." But we always found her to be truly grateful for
every little act of kindness shown to her.
Towards evening a change for the worse took place. Convulsions seized
her, and, for about twelve hours, it was most painful to witness her
struggle with the last enemy--so much so that her dear sister, who was
devoted to her, was led to beg of the Lord to release her.
About six o'clock on Lord's Day morning her spirit took its flight, to
be "for ever with the Lord." Truly, we could say it was her gain, though
we felt the loss most keenly. The Lord had been so good in supporting
her through her painful affliction, that we felt we could justly say,
with the poet--
"Her mind was tranquil and serene;
No terror in her look was seen;
Her Saviour's smile dispelled the gloom,
And smoothed her passage to the tomb."
C. WARDLE.
PRAYER ANSWERED.
A TRUE INCIDENT.
On the summit of Washington mountain, overlooking the Housatonic Valley,
stood a hut, the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal-burner, whose
family consisted of his wife and himself. His occupation brought him in
but few dollars, and when cold weather came, he had managed to get
together only a small provision for the winter.
This fall, after a summer of hard work, he fell sick, and was unable to
keep his fires going, so, when the snow of December, 1874, fell, and the
drifts had shut off communication with the village at the foot of the
mountain, John and his wife were in great straits. Their entire stock of
food consisted of only a few pounds of salt pork and a bushel of
potatoes. Sugar, flour, coffee, and tea had, early in December, given
out, and the chances for replenishing the larder were slim indeed.
The snowstorms came again, and the drifts deepened. All the roads, even
in the valley, were impassable, and no one thought of trying to open the
mountain highways, which even in summer were only occasionally
travelled, and none gave the old man and his wife a thought.
December 15th came, and with it the heaviest fall of snow experienced in
Berkshire County in many years. The food of the old couple on the
mountain was now reduced to a day's supply, but John did not yet
despair. He was a Christian and a God-fearing man, and His promises were
remembered; and so, when evening came, and the north-east gale was
blowing and the fierce snowstorm was raging, John and his wife were
praying and asking for help.
In Sheffield village, ten miles away, lived Deacon Brown, a well-to-do
farmer of fifty years old, who was noted for his consistent and godly
deportment, both as a man and a Christian. The deacon and his wife had
gone to bed early, and, in spite of the storm raging without, were
sleeping soundly, when, with a start, the deacon awoke, and said to his
wife, "Who spoke? Who's there?"
"Why," said the wife, "no one is here but you and me. What is the matter
with you?"
"I heard a voice," said the deacon, "saying, 'Send food to John.'"
"Nonsense!" replied Mrs. Brown. "You've been dreaming."
The deacon laid his head on his pillow, and was asleep in a minute. Soon
he started up again, and, waking his wife, exclaimed--"There, I heard
that voice again--'Send food to John.'"
"Well, well," said Mrs. Brown. "Deacon, you are not well; your supper
has not agreed with you. Lie down and try to sleep."
Again the deacon closed his eyes, and again came the voice--"Send food
to John." This time the deacon was thoroughly awake. "Wife," said he,
"who do we know named John who needs food?"
"No one I remember," replied Mrs. Brown, "unless it be John Barry, the
old charcoal-burner on the mountain."
"That's it!" exclaimed the deacon. "Now I remember, when I was at the
store in Sheffield the other day, Clark, the merchant, speaking of John
Barry, said, 'I wonder if the old man is alive, for it is six weeks
since I saw him, and he has not yet laid in his winter stock of
groceries.' It must be old John is sick, and wanting food." So saying,
the good deacon arose and proceeded to dress himself.
"Come, wife," said he, "wake our boy Willie, and tell him to feed the
horses and get ready to go with me; and do you pack up in the two
largest baskets you have, a good stock of food, and get us an early
breakfast, for I am going up to the mountain to carry the food I know
John Barry needs."
Mrs. Brown, accustomed to the sudden impulses of her good husband, and
believing him to be always in the right, cheerfully complied, and after
a hot breakfast, Deacon Brown and his son Willie, a boy of nineteen,
hitched up the horses to the double sleigh, and then, with a month's
supply of food, and a "Good-bye, mother," started at five o'clock on
that cold December morning for a journey that almost any other than
Deacon Brown and his son would not have dared to undertake.
The north-east storm was still raging, and the snow falling and drifting
fast; but on, on went the stout, well-fed team on its errand of mercy,
while the occupants of the sleigh, wrapped up in blankets and extra
buffalo robes, urged the horses through the drifts and in the face of
the storm. That ten miles' ride, which required in the summer hardly an
hour or two, was not finished until the deacon's watch showed that five
hours had passed.
At last they drew up in front of the hut where the poor trusting
Christian man and woman were on their knees praying for help to Him who
is always the Hearer and Answerer of prayer; and as the deacon reached
the door, he heard the voice of supplication, and then he knew that the
voice which awakened him from sleep was sent from heaven.
He knocked at the door. It was opened; and we can imagine the joy of the
old couple when the generous supply of food was carried in, and the
thanksgivings that were uttered by the starving tenants of that mountain
hut.
"Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and I will answer
thee."--_Lantern._
NEVER think that you can make yourself great by making another less.
ANSWER TO BIBLE ENIGMA.
(_Page 91._)
"_Create in me a clean heart, O God; renew a right spirit within
me._"--PSALM li. 10.
C heba R . Ezekiel i. i.
R om E . Acts xviii. 2.
E glo N . Judges iii. 15.
A x E . Judges ix. 48.
T o W . Isaiah i. 31.
E liad A . 2 Chronicles xvii. 17.
I bha R . 2 Samuel v. 15.
N aphtal I . Genesis xxx. 8.
M ago G . 1 Chronicles i. 5.
E leale H . Numbers xxxii. 37.
A rara T . Genesis viii. 4.
C epha S . John i. 42.
L am P . Exodus xxvii. 20.
E nged I . 1 Samuel xxiii. 29.
A roe R . Numbers xxxii. 34.
N aphtal I . 1 Kings vii. 14.
H arves T . Genesis viii. 22.
E ni W . Proverbs xx. 1.
A bisha I . 1 Chronicles xviii. 12.
R es T . Hebrews iv. 9.
T abera H . Deuteronomy ix. 22.
O mr I . 1 Kings xvi. 25.
G ibeo N[9] . 1 Chronicles viii. 29.
O bed-edo M . 2 Samuel vi. 11.
D ov E . Genesis viii. 9.
THOMAS TYLER
(Aged 14 years).
_Potton_, _Beds_.
[9] "Gideon" was given by mistake, in the Enigma, instead of "Gibeon."
WISDOM.
(PROVERBS iii. 13-15.)
True wisdom doth my soul admire,
And would before fine gold prefer;
For all the things I could desire
Are not to be compared with her.
While earthly things fill earthly minds,
Attracted to their native clod,
Happy the man who wisdom finds,
And holds her in the fear of God!
THE CLEVER BOY AND THE ELECTRICAL MACHINE.
An electrical machine was in the window of a scientific instrument
maker's shop, and a youth stood looking at it with eager eyes. He was
observing every part with intense curiosity. At length, after a long,
absorbing gaze, a neighbouring clock struck. He started like one
awakened from a sleep, and ran with all speed to his master's workshop.
The boy was the son of a working man--a smith, and was intended also for
a working man, but not quite so laborious a trade. Perhaps the boy was
not strong enough for his father's manly trade, so he was apprenticed to
a bookbinder in Blandford Street, Marylebone. He was a very diligent
lad, fond of work in hours of business, and fond of a book in hours of
leisure. His master noticed this, and gave him leave to stay in the
workshop during the dinner-hour.
Whilst his fellow-workers were drinking and smoking, the orphan boy was
storing his mind with useful knowledge. In particular he loved books on
scientific subjects. He liked to read about the wonders of chemistry;
still more about electricity--that wonderful power that flashes out of
the thunder-cloud, that dwells unseen in the dew-drop, that, at a touch,
thrills through the startled nerves, and, like an invisible but mighty
spirit, pervades all things, from the clouds of heaven to the clods of
earth.
One day he found out the shop window with the electrical machine, and at
every spare moment he haunted that window, taking the shape and measure
of every knob, and wire, and wheel, and plate, with earnest eyes. Then
he resolved to try and make one for himself; so by the light of the
early summer mornings, he was up and working away at his machine.
In time he completed it, and found it would act. He touched the knob,
and the shock that went through him was as nothing compared with the joy
that throbbed through his heart at seeing his work complete.
He showed it to his master, who, being a kind and sensible man, was
pleased and surprised at the ingenuity of the lad. The master was fond
of showing the electrical apparatus of his industrious apprentice to
every person likely to be interested in a clever youth. Amongst them
were some Fellows of the Royal Society, who might, perhaps, have an
admission ticket to give.
Some few years after, the lad, now a young man, was again gazing with
wide open eyes, and laying up all he saw in his mind. This time it was
not through a shop window that he looked. It was from a seat in the
Royal Society's lecture-room that he witnessed Sir Humphrey Davey making
some beautiful chemical experiments.