writing something for the children, tell the boys this story I have told
you, and tell them always to remember that a sinful habit may begin as a
cobweb, but it will end as an iron chain about their souls."--_Baptist._
THE WORD WITH POWER.
"Jesus, who lived above the sky,
Came down to be a man and die.
And those kind hands that did such good,
They nailed them to a cross of wood.
And, out of pity, Jesus said,
He'd bear the punishment instead."
An aged woman sat alone by the fireside, when Mr. ---- came in, and
simply exclaimed, as he looked out at the window, "The Lord said, 'I
came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance' (Mark ii.
17). 'Not the righteous.' What a mercy that is." No more was said, and
Mr. ---- left the room, but at night, when in bed, the aged one said to
her sister, who occupied the same room with her, "Mr. ---- came into the
room below, and, as if speaking to himself, uttered these words, 'I came
not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. Not the righteous.
What a mercy that is!' and he went out, and said no more, but they made
the tears roll down my face. There is hope for me."
"A word in season" the Lord alone can give to be effectual. Then, "how
good it is." Bless His holy name, He shall have all the praise, for ever
and ever.
D. F.
_August, 1888._
THE PRECIOUS BLOOD OF CHRIST.
A fountain fulness still remains
Of pardoning blood from Jesus' veins,
Though millions have its virtues tried,
And from its riches been supplied.
And yet it ever is the same
To all that come in Jesus' name;
Not one that to it shall repair
Will ever perish in despair.
It makes the filthy sinner clean,
Though vile as I or Magdalene;
Here David lost his crimson sin,
And thousands more as well as him.
Manasseh here lost all his crimes,
And now in glory brightly shines;
Also dear Paul, of sinners chief,
From this dear fountain got relief,
And writes so sweetly of its power
To save e'en to a dying hour;
Yea, all the while he travelled here,
This fountain was to him most dear.
No saved sinner ever knew
Better than Paul what blood can do,
For he himself its power had tested,
And on its efficacy rested.
And all the hosts around the throne
Bear witness to what blood has done;
Their holy joy and heavenly bliss
Is concentrated all in this.
Oh, may this joy and peace be mine
When called to leave the things of time!
To sing of Jesus' love and blood,
And dwell for ever with my God.
B. W.
LITTLE HELPS BY LARGE HEARTS.
A friend had been sitting a little while by the bed-side of a poor
woman--rendered utterly helpless from paralysis--reading the Scriptures
to her, when the door was gently opened, and three neatly-dressed little
girls entered the room, each carrying a small basket. One of them
approached the bed, and after a few simple and kind inquiries, held up
the little basket she had in her hand, saying, "My mother sent you this,
and hopes soon to come and see you." The poor woman thanked the child
gratefully, and said, "Put it away, my dear, for me."
The little girl seemed quite used to the employment. She went over to a
cupboard, emptied carefully the contents of her basket, and with a
modest "Good-bye," the three children withdrew.
The poor woman then gave an explanation to the friend who was present.
"These little girls," she said, "are the children of a very respectable
butcher, and every Saturday afternoon their mother employs them to carry
about to poor people scraps of meat and bones. They are nice children,
and take quite a pleasure in doing it, and they have given me, and many
others, many a good dinner."
Now, who can calculate the amount of good resulting from the thoughtful
charity of this mother? We read thus of God's redeemed people--"their
works do follow them"--not to heaven for recompense, as some vainly
imagine, but on the earth. Continually we see the truth of this in the
effects produced, after the lapse of years, from works done by those
whose bones have long been turned to dust. Who can tell the influence
this weekly act may have upon these three children, if spared to grow up
to womanhood? And thus, when their mother's place knows her no more, her
"works will follow her."
THE PENNY PIECE.
I give the following from the lips of one who was well acquainted with
the facts:--
A frost had been raging for thirteen weeks. The consequence was that
out-door labourers, for the most part, were stopped in their employment.
Among these was a poor gardener who had a wife and five or six children.
He was at length reduced to great straits. He had spent all but his last
penny, and had not the slightest prospect of more.
Passing down a certain street one day, he happened to see a poor man
standing in the lobby of a church or chapel. His heart yearned over him,
and he thought, "How I should like to help him; but I have only a penny
left for myself and family." Still, he felt that he could not resist the
inclination. He instantly turned round, stepped back, and gave the man
his last penny. Immediately there came a peculiar light and gladness
into his soul. Instead of being burdened by his destitution, he was
relieved by it. He was rich in his poverty.
That very night the long frost broke, and in the morning he resumed his
work. He had not been long in the garden before his employer appeared.
Addressing him, he said, "I am sure you must have felt the effects of
this long frost very much. Here is a sovereign for you." The poor
gardener felt amazed, and, to use his own words, it was as though the
Lord said to him, "Here's a sovereign for the penny you lent Me last
night."
Reader, it is written, "He that giveth to the poor lendeth unto the
Lord"; and again, "There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and
there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty."
O. J.
BAD men excuse their faults; good men will leave them.
A BRAND PLUCKED OUT OF THE FIRE.
While occasionally serving a destitute Church, between three and four
months ago, I was requested to visit a dying woman. I found her in the
most distracting agony of bodily pain, but rejoicing at the same time in
the consolations of the Gospel. My visits afforded me much pleasure and
edification. Being informed that she had been once a most abandoned
character, I solicited a friend to collect from her own mouth the
history of her life, and since her death have been favoured with a very
interesting and circumstantial account of this monument of mercy.
When young she was deprived of both father and mother, but by friends
was introduced into a genteel family, where after some time she fell
into shameful sin. Her friends abandoned her in her disgrace, but after
she had endured much suffering, privation, and want, they were persuaded
to receive her once more, and at length provided another eligible
situation for her. Thus restored, she might have lived in respect, but a
particular circumstance which should operate as a warning, especially to
servants, led her into a more dreadful course of iniquity than ever she
had been guilty of before.[12] On the Lord's Day, instead of going to
any place of worship, she contracted the habit of spending those sacred
hours at the house of an acquaintance. Here she formed her most fatal
connections, and to this sin of Sabbath-breaking she especially
attributed her ruin. A bad man persuaded her to accompany him to London.
Here for some years she lived a most profligate life, the circumstances
of which cannot be detailed here, further than that sin which brings its
own reward found her deserted, and in the Lock Hospital. After a
dreadful operation she somewhat recovered, and went out, but only to
follow her old sinful course. She was scarcely known to be sober for six
years together. Her wretched course of life was a continual burden to
her. She often prayed, if such an one could be said to pray, that God
would deliver her from it, and accompanied her prayers with resolves to
forsake it; but all her resolutions were ineffectual till God's time of
deliverance was come. At length she determined to return into the
country again. She met with many distressing circumstances by the way,
and upon her arrival, her friends would not receive her. She was
therefore obliged to apply to the parish, being incapable of getting her
living through her disordered state of body. The overseers provided her
a room in a house with another woman, where, soon after she arrived, her
complaint assumed an alarming nature, and threatened speedy dissolution.
In the awful prospect of death she was seized with the most distracting
horrors. Calling to the woman with whom she lived, she cried, "I shall
soon be gone, and hell will be my doom!" The woman told her she was mad,
but she replied, with earnestness, "I am not. I know it will, for I am
not prepared to die"; and immediately asked her if she knew where any
minister lived? She had heard some whom they called "Methodists" while
in the hospital at London. Even then she could not laugh at them as many
of her unfortunate companions did, but was often much affected by their
prayers and sermons, and looked upon them as men living in the fear of
God. The recollection of this suggested the eager inquiry after them
now. But the woman said, "They cannot save your soul."
[12] Young readers, mark this dreadful example of sin, and may the Lord
bless you with wisdom and strength to resist such temptations to evil.
If you would be spared suffering and shame, and spare your best friends
much sorrow, be careful what company you keep, and remember that God's
eye is upon you.
[Illustration: "SHE PROCURED A LODGING WITH A SERIOUS FEMALE." (_See
page 230._)]
"I know they cannot," she replied, "but they can pray with me and for
me to One who can. Go instantly and fetch one, for I am going to hell."
The woman still continued to laugh at her, and told the neighbours she
was deranged. One of them, however, more compassionate than the rest,
coming in, said she knew a good man who lived near. He was not a
minister, but she would go and fetch him.
"Make him promise to come," said the poor creature, "before you leave
him, and then, if he be a good man, he will come." While the person was
gone, she cried to the Lord to send him.
He came and found her in the greatest agonies of mind. She told him that
she was the vilest sinner that ever lived, described the course of life
she had led, and concluded by saying she saw hell before her eyes, and
that she should be lost for ever. He pointed out the way of salvation by
Christ, told her it was free for the vilest, spoke of the encouragement
there was for the chief of sinners who came to Him, prayed with her, and
left her a little more composed. She made him promise to come the next
day, which he did twice. In a short time after, her sorrow was turned
into gladness, and she was enabled to rejoice in Christ as her Saviour,
whilst the young man who visited her was reading the verse--
"Look as when Thy grace beheld
The harlot in distress;
Dried her tears, her pardon sealed,
And bade her go in peace.
Foul like her, and self-abhorred,
I at Thy feet for mercy groan;
Turn and look upon me, Lord,
And break my heart of stone."
Soon after this, God removed the violence of her complaint, and thereby
gave her an opportunity of proving the reality of her conversion. As
soon as possible she went to the meeting, but oh, the persecution she
now met with from her former companions! She was obliged to remove from
place to place to escape their violence. They pelted her with stones,
broke her windows, &c., because, as they said, she was a hypocrite. But
she was enabled to endure it with patience, and after a time procured a
lodging with a serious female. Now she seemed almost in heaven. She
could now go in and out, none daring to make her afraid, and could
meditate in peace on the gracious dealings of God with her soul. She
became a member of the Church in which she continued as long as she
lived. She seemed to grow daily in an affecting discovery of the evil of
sin and of her own vileness, and was often quite overwhelmed with a
sense of the goodness of God, both with respect to her temporal and
spiritual concerns. She was frequently enabled to rejoice in the Lord
with exceeding joy, though labouring under the most dreadful pain, being
literally full of wounds, the sad fruit of her former life. She
occasionally experienced great conflicts with Satan, but the Lord
graciously interposed, and brought her off more than conqueror. Several
months before her death she was grievously afflicted, but in general
very comfortable. On the Saturday preceding her dissolution, a friend
called to see her, and inquired after the state of her mind. She said
she was happy in God, longed to depart, and could scarcely contain
herself. She was so filled with love to her blessed Lord, for His
unbounded goodness to her. On the Monday, the person with whom she
lodged said she was very comfortable in her mind. Her spirit soared
beyond the fear of death; but through extreme weakness she could not
speak much, and on Tuesday she departed, we trust, to sing the praises
of that miraculous grace which snatched her as a brand from the burning.
CONDUCT is the great profession. What a man does tells us what he is.
ADMIRAL PYE AND THE INQUISITORS.
Admiral Pye having been on a visit to Southampton, and the gentleman
under whose roof he resided observing an unusual intimacy between him
and his secretary, inquired into the degree of their relationship. The
admiral informed him that they were not related, but their intimacy
arose from a singular circumstance, which, by his permission, he would
relate.
The admiral said, when he was a captain he was cruising in the
Mediterranean. While on that station he received a letter from shore,
stating that the unhappy author of the letter was by birth an
Englishman; that, having been on a voyage to Spain, he was enticed while
there to become a Papist, and, in process of time, was made a member of
the Inquisition; that there he beheld the abominable wickedness and
barbarities of the inquisitors.
His heart recoiled at having embraced a religion so horribly cruel and
so repugnant to the nature of God, that he was stung with remorse to
think that, if his parents knew _what_ and _where_ he was, their hearts
would break with grief; that he was resolved to escape, if he (the
captain) would send a boat on shore at such a time and place, but begged
secrecy, since, if his intentions were discovered, he should be
immediately assassinated.
The captain returned for answer that he could not with propriety send a
boat, but if he could devise any means to come on board, he would
receive him as a British subject, and protect him. He did so; but being
missed, there was soon raised a hue and cry, and he was followed to the
ship.
A holy inquisitor demanded him, but he was refused; another, in the name
of his Holiness the Pope, claimed him, but the captain did not know him,
or any other master, but his own sovereign, King George. At length a
third holy brother approached. The young man recognized him at a
distance, and, in terror, ran to the captain, entreating him not to be
deceived by him, for he was the most false, wicked, and cruel monster in
all the Inquisition. He was introduced, the young man being present,
and, to obtain his object, began with the bitterest accusations against
him; then he turned to the most fulsome flatteries of the captain; and,
lastly, offered him a sum of money to resign him. The captain treated
him with apparent attention, said his offer was very handsome, and, if
what he affirmed were true, the person in question was unworthy of the
English name or of his protection.
The holy brother was elated; he thought his errand was accomplished.
While drawing his purse-strings, the captain inquired what punishment
would be inflicted upon him. He replied that it was uncertain; but as
his offences were atrocious, it was likely that his punishment would be
exemplary. The captain asked if he thought he would be burned in a dry
pan. He replied, that must be determined by the Holy Inquisition, but it
was not improbable.
The captain then ordered the great copper to be heated, but no water to
be put in. All this while the young man stood trembling, his cheeks
resembling death; he expected to become an unhappy victim to avarice and
superstition.
The cook soon announced that the orders were executed. "Then I command
you to take this fellow," pointing to the inquisitor, "and fry him alive
in the copper." This unexpected command thunderstruck the holy father.
Alarmed for himself, he rose to be gone. The cook began to bundle him
away. "Oh, good captain! good captain! spare me, spare me!" "Have him
away," replied the captain. "Oh, no, my good captain!" "Have him away.
I'll teach him to attempt to bribe a British commander to sacrifice the
life of an Englishman to gratify a herd of bloody men." Down the
inquisitor fell upon his knees, offering him all his money, and
promising never to return if he would let him begone. When the captain
had sufficiently alarmed him, he dismissed him, warning him never to
come again on such an errand.
What must have been the reverse of feelings in the young man to find
himself thus happily delivered. He fell upon his knees, in a flood of
tears, before the captain, and poured a thousand blessings upon his
brave and noble deliverer.
"This," said the admiral to the gentleman, "is the circumstance that
began our acquaintance. I took him to be my servant; he served me from
affection; mutual attachment ensued, and it has inviolably subsisted and
increased to this day."--_From Cyclopaedia of Moral and Religious
Anecdotes, with Introductory Essay by Dr. Cheever._
CHILD HEROISM.
"Mother, just look what I've come upon! I found the small board at the
back loose, and beneath it, this."
Thus spoke Julia White, who was engaged in scrubbing out the single
cupboard of their one room, and as she uttered the words she held up a
paper with two sovereigns wrapped in it.
"Why are you so prying, child?" said the mother. "You would have been so
much better without the knowledge of my secret. Now, if your father
should come home tipsy to-night, you will be forced to tell him where
the money is, and I shall lose the whole of it. Wherever to hide it away
from you, I don't know."
Poor Julia looked frightened enough, for she was only eleven years of
age, and her dread of her father, who frequently showed himself a
ferocious ruffian, was extreme; but there was no help for the case now.
The mother had to leave in little more than an hour to watch a patient
to whom she was night nurse, and there was no time to find another
hiding-place. To carry the money with her where she was going would
scarcely have been safe, so, after seeing little Nancy, with the baby,
safely returned, and giving the latter its meal at her breast, the good,
hard-working woman departed to fulfil her engagement.
The children left alone, the terror of the elder one could not escape
the notice of the younger, although she was only a little over seven;
and she at length said--
"What can be the matter with you, Julia?"
"I know where mother's money is, and am afraid father will come home and
want it."
"Tell him you know nothing about it. He always believes you."
"Nancy!"
She had been rightly taught by a good mother, and young as she was,
realized that this was not the course to take, so, kneeling by the side
of her child sister, she offered the following simple, but heartfelt,
prayer--
"Dear Jesus, please don't let father come home to-night and want
mother's money; but if he should do so, please help me not to tell him
where it is."
The strength she had thus gained was soon put to a cruel test, for into
the neat, cleanly room there quickly rushed the brute who represented
all that she had ever known of father. The scene that ensued was of a
character not unfrequent in low London districts, but none the less
worthy of record. Poor little Nancy, dreading what might follow, caught
up the baby, and fled with it into a corner of the room, as the safest
place of refuge, for we ought to have stated that the ruffian had
locked the door upon his entrance. Catching his eldest daughter's arm,
he said, in not an over loud voice--
"Get me your mother's money."
Meeting with no reply from the white-faced girl, he next said--
"Do you know where it is?"
But still there was no answer. What followed seems dreadful to relate,
suiting better with the nature of South Sea or African cannibals than
with the natives of Christian England. First twisting the girl's arm
round, and causing her dreadful pain, he next bestowed upon her with his
brute strength a succession of awful blows; but, though she could not
keep back her cries, she did not yield to him in the least.
Wearied at length, he flung her from him on to the wall, and during the
ensuing five minutes, with bursts of terrible oaths, threatened that, if
she did not acquaint him with her secret, he would kill her; but,
mercifully, the neighbours were enabled at the end of this time to break
into the room, or there is no telling what mischief might have followed.
But we cannot finish without describing the heroism of poor little
Nancy, which almost equalled that of her sister. Dodging from side to
side during the struggle, now in this corner and now in that, and
shielding the baby with her youthful person, she, with wonderful
activity and courage, kept it from harm.
It seems something like divine retribution that this dreadful father
this very evening received a terrible beating in the public-house, and
his system being unhealthy, as the result of drinking habits, he died in
hospital of his injuries.
S. DENNIS.
THERE is a pre-established harmony between the voice of the Shepherd and
the heart of the sheep. "If ye abide in Me, and My words abide in you,
ye shall ask what ye will and it shall be done unto you."
LITTLE KINDNESSES.
For the intercourse of social life, it is by little acts of watchful
kindness recurring daily and hourly--and opportunities of doing
kindnesses, if sought for, are for ever starting up--it is by words, by
tones, by gestures, by looks, that affection is won and preserved. He
who neglects these trifles, yet boasts that, whenever a great sacrifice
is called for, he shall be ready to make it, will rarely be loved. The
likelihood is, he will not make it, and if he does, it will be much
rather for his own sake than for his neighbour's. Many persons, indeed,
are said to be penny wise and pound foolish; but they who are penny
foolish will hardly be pound wise, although selfish vanity may now and
then for a moment get the better of selfish indolence, for Wisdom will
always have a microscope in her hand.
A DRUNKARD'S WILL.
I leave to society a ruined character, a wretched example, and a memory
that will soon rot. I leave to my parents, during the rest of their
lives, as much sorrow as humanity in a feeble and declining state can
sustain. I leave to my brothers and sisters as much mortification and
injury as I could bring on them. I leave my wife a broken heart, a life
of wretchedness and shame, to weep over my premature death. I give and
bequeath to each of my children, poverty, ignorance, and low character,
and the remembrance that their father was a monster.
WE may as well attempt to bring pleasure out of pain as to unite
indulgence in sin with the enjoyment of happiness.--_Hodge._
THE LAND OF THE GIANTS.
"_And we took all his cities at that time: there was not a city which we
took not from them," &c._--DEUT. iii. 4, 5.
Sixty cities in one small province! Can it be true? Has not the copyist
erred in his arithmetic? Should it not be sixteen, or six? Does it not
appear improbable? The province mentioned, Argob, is not more than
thirty miles by twenty; and that within so limited a space there should
be sixty cities, "besides unwalled towns a great many," can scarcely be
accepted literally.
Now, it is a great blessing, for the confirmation of our faith in the
truth of the Bible, and the silencing of those who delighted in making
others to be of a doubtful mind, that the literal truth of the statement
is fully established--not by a comparison of parallel passages; not by a
new translation of the text; not by the testimony of ancient historians;
but by the remains of the cities themselves. There are they in Argob,
the oldest specimens of domestic architecture in the whole world.