THE highest form of Christian life is self-denial for the good of others.
What Can I Do?
By Editor
THAT there are a great many Christians who are rendering no service to the Lord, we have had occasion already to call attention to. In answer to this fact, and in extenuation of this habitual idleness in matters of Christian and church work, it is often said, "I do not know what I can do," or, "I do not know what to do." We are morally sure that this, also, is an excuse; for any one who desires to serve God need not be a day without work to do, and plenty of it. It happens not infrequently that we are brought in contact with young men who cannot afford to live without labor, and whose parents can ill afford to support them in idleness. We hold such in contempt. And if they answer, as they generally do, as concerning their idleness, "We do not know what to do," we set them down at once as deliberately lazy, and conclude that they do not want to do anything. They would be glad, no doubt, to have some sinecure position, which would bring them income and entail no expense of service on their part. If any man in this country has not "something to do," as a rule it is because he is not willing to do anything, or at least not "whatsoever his hands may find to do."
It is much more true that, if any Christian is idle as to the Lord's work, on the ground that he does not know what to do, it must be because he has not set his heart to serve the Lord. This growing habit of doing nothing in the vineyard of the Lord, no doubt arises partly from the idea that there is no work to be done except that which is done by the wholly set apart ministry, such as pastors, evangelists, and missionaries, and the elders, deacons, and deaconesses of the church, together with the Sabbath-school teachers. But there is a great amount of other work to be done besides this, which should fire every Christian with zeal to serve God.
You need not preach, you need not teach in the Sabbath-school; yet there is much that you can do. Do you ask us to point out some work for you to do? Well, we are quite willing; but we are a little skeptical as to whether you will do it; and yet, in the hope that you may prove your willingness, we will suggest some little things which you may easily do. You might go and see that sick neighbor of yours, of whom you have heard the pastor speak, especially if he is a member of the church; and when you go you might just carry a little flower with you, and a little sunshine out of your own heart, if you have any there; and if you have no sunshine yourself, it is probable that, before you come out of the sick room, where you have gone just to say that you were sorry that your neighbor was sick, and that you hoped he would soon be better, you will get a little for your own comfort.
It is wonderful how our own souls get blessed in doing a little kindness to another in the name of the Lord and for the love of the brethren. Or, there is that brother you know of, who has for a long while back lost his interest in spiritual things. You have often spoken to others of his backslidden state, and expressed your surprise, and possibly your regret, or you may have even said a hard thing about him. But have you done aught to restore him? Now there is some work for you to do. Go to him and tell him how sorry you are that he has stopped coming to church, and that he is no more interested in religious and spiritual things, and tell him that you hope to see him once more among the flock, worshiping and serving God.
And then there is another brother, who, while he is not a backslider in the common acceptance of that term, for a long while has ceased to come to the prayer-meetings of the church, and is not always found in his place on the Sabbath; you might go to him and tell him you are sorry to miss him from the house of God so often and from the place of prayer entirely. Or, there is that new family who have recently moved into your neighborhood. You have seen them at church once, or perhaps have noticed that they did not go out at all on Sabbath. You may be sure they are lonely in their new surroundings and shy about going into a perfectly strange church, or, if they ventured in just once, they were wondering whether they would find a cordial welcome. Just step over and make them a neighborly call, and give them a cordial welcome to the church. Or, if you are a lady, you might go and take care of your neighbor's children and let her go to church occasionally. You know how she is tied down with her family of small children, and how weary she must be, wanting the help and cheer that comes from the worship of God in the sanctuary.—N. Y. Independent.
I DARE NOT IDLE STAND.
By Presbyterian
I DARE not idle stand,
While upon every hand
The whitening fields declare the harvest near;
A gleaner I would be,
Gathering, dear Lord, for thee,
Lest I with empty hands at last appear.
I dare not idle stand,
While on the shifting sand
The ocean casts bright treasures at my feet;
Beneath some shell's rough side,
The tinted pearl may hide,
And I with precious gifts my Lord may meet.
I dare not idle stand,
While over all the land
Poor wandering souls need humble help like mine;
Brighter than brightest gem
In monarch's diadem,
Each soul a star in Jesus' crown may shine.
I dare not idle stand,
But, at my Lord's command,
Labor for him throughout my life's short day;
Evening will come at last,
Day's labor all be past,
And rest eternal my brief toil repay.
—Presbyterian.
God's Work Must Be Done.
A MISSIONARY in the West Indies, the Rev. Mr. Davies, called over the names of his congregation one Sabbath, to see how much each could raise. In describing the scene, he says: 'I happened to call the name of Fitzgerald Matthew. 'I am here, sir,' he instantly replied; and at the same time I saw him hobbling with his wooden leg out of the crowd, to come up to the table pew where I was standing. I wondered what he meant, for the others answered to their names without moving from their places. I was struck with his earnestness. On coming up, he put his hand into one pocket, and took out a handful of silver, wrapped in paper, and said, 'That's for me, massa.' 'Oh,' I said, 'keep your money at present; I don't want it now; I only wanted to know how much you could afford to give; I will come for the money another time.' 'Ah massa,' he replied, 'God's work must be done, and I may be dead,' and with that he plunged his hand into another pocket, and took out another handful of silver, and said, 'That's for my wife, massa.' Then he put his hand into a third pocket, and took out a somewhat smaller parcel, and said, 'That's for my child, massa,' at the same time giving me a slip of paper, which somebody had written for him, to say how much the whole was. It was, altogether, nearly three pounds sterling—a large sum for a poor field-negro, with a wooden leg! But what he had said was to me worth more than all the money in the world. Hardly ever have I been so impressed with anything as with the simple expression of this poor negro, 'God's work must be done, and I may be dead.''—Missionary Repository, 1846.
"SPEAK every man truth with his neighbor."
Missions.
Miss Gordon Cumming, in her book on the Fiji Islands, says:—
"Think of the sick buried alive; the array of widows who were deliberately strangled on the death of any great man; the living victims who were buried beside every post of a chief's new house, and must needs stand clasping it, while the earth was gradually heaped over their devoted heads; or those who were bound hand and foot, and laid on the ground to act as rollers, when the chief launched a new canoe, and thus doomed to a death of excruciating agony,—a time when there was not the slightest security for life or property, and no man knew how quickly his own hour of doom might come; when whole villages were depopulated simply to supply their neighbors with fresh meat! Just think of all this, and then the change that has been wrought, and then just imagine white men who can sneer at missionary work and in the way they do.
"Now, you may pass from isle to isle, certain everywhere to find the same cordial reception by kindly men and women. Every village on the eighty inhabited islands has built for itself a tidy church, and a good house for its teacher or native minister, for whom the village also provides food and clothing. Can you realize that there are nine hundred Wesleyan churches in Fiji, at every one of which the frequent services are crowded by devout congregations; that the schools are well attended; and that the first sound that greets your ear at dawn, and the last at night, is that of hymn singing and most fervent worship, rising from each dwelling at the hour of family prayer?"—Sel.
Faith for Effective Service
"If God be for us who can be against us?" Mr. Moody says, in illustration of the faith-filled man's effectiveness in real service: "Shamgar was plowing in his field; a frightened man came running over the hill, crying; 'Shamgar, the Philistines are coming. There are six hundred of 'em.' 'All right,' says Shamgar; 'you pass on, I'll take care of them. They are four hundred short; for one shall chase a thousand, and there are only six hundred of them.' And Shamgar went and finished them up with his ox-goad." That is the sort of faith for a returned backslider, or for a new convert; and that is the way to show it. But the quaint suggestion of Mr. Moody is, "Nowadays it seems to take a thousand to fight one;" because of scant faith.
—Sel.
Consecrating Wealth to Missions
WHAT we need is not more wealth, but a more thorough consecration of the wealth we have. We need more of the spirit of Him who, though rich, for our sakes became poor, that we through his poverty might become rich. Christlieb has shown that the richest churches are not the most liberal. When the Moravians numbered only 600, they had two missionaries in Greenland. When they numbered 10,000, they had 230 missionaries in the field. There is a little community of 418 souls in the Black Forest that has 21 of its sons and daughters in the service. People can do anything when they are thoroughly enlisted.—Christian Standard.
Take Care of the Children
By Congregationalist
WHILE passing through a town in western New York, a Sunday-school superintendent noticed a fine brick church, with other buildings attached, and asked the stage-driver, "What is that?" "A French Catholic church," was the reply. Going on a little further, they passed a dilapidated wooden building, with broken blinds, and sadly needing a coat of paint. Again the question was asked, "What is that?" "The Congregational church," was the answer. "But what makes all this difference?" "Them take care of their children, and these don't," was the sententious reply; and there was a sermon in it.
—Congregationalist.
A True Picture of Domestic Danger.
'SOME one is coming,' said I, as the clack of the shutting gate fell on my ears, and I looked at Maggy's soiled, untidy dress, and tumbled hair.
Maggy started, and glanced hastily from the window; then sat down again in a careless way, remarking as she did so:—
'It's nobody but John.'
A few moments afterwards John Fairburn came into the room where we were sitting, and gave me one of his frank, cordial greetings. I had known him for many years, and long before his marriage. I noticed that he gave an annoyed glance at his wife, but did not speak to her. The meaning of this annoyance and indifference was plain to me, for John had come from a neat and tidy family. His mother's housekeeping had always been notable. She was poor, but always managed to have things clean and orderly.
Maggy Lee had a pretty face, bright eyes, and charming little ways that were very taking with young men, and so was quite a belle before she got out of her teens. She had a knack of fixing ribbons, or tying her scarf, or arranging her hair, shawl, or dress in a way to give grace and charm to her person. None but her most intimate friends knew of the untidiness that pervaded her room and person when at home and away from common observation.
Poor John Fairburn was taken in when he married Maggy Lee. He thought that he was getting the tidiest, sweetest, and most orderly girl in town, but discovered too soon and too late, also, that he was united to a slattern. She could dress for other people's eyes because she had a natural love for admiration; but at home, and for her husband, she often went looking very slovenly.
On this particular occasion of which I am speaking—it was after she and John had been married over a year—her appearance was almost disgusting. She did not have on even a morning-dress; only a faded and tumbled chintz sack above a soiled skirt, no collar, and slippers down at the heels. Her hair looked like a hurrah's nest, if any one knows what that is—I don't, but I suppose it is the perfection of disorder. No one could love such a looking creature. That was simply impossible.
'Nobody but John!' He came and ate his dinner almost in silence, and then went back to his work. I had never seen him so moody.
'What's come over John?' I asked as he went out.
'Oh, I don't know,' his wife answered. 'Something's wrong at the shop, I suppose. He's had trouble with one of the men. He's foreman, you know.'
'Are you sure it's only that?' I asked, looking serious.
'That or something else about his work. There's nothing else to worry him.'
I was silent for a while, debating with myself whether good or harm would come of a little plain talk with John's wife. She was rather quick tempered, I knew, and easy to take offense. At last I ventured the remark: 'May be things are not just to his liking at home.'
'At home!' Maggy turned on me with a flash of surprise in her face. 'What do you mean?'
'Men like beauty, and taste, and neatness in their wives as well as in their sweethearts,' I said.
The crimson mounted to her hair. At the same moment I saw her glance at a looking glass that hung opposite her on the wall. She sat very still, yet with a startled look in her eyes, until the flush faded and her face became almost pale.
'Maggy,' said I, rising and drawing my arm around her, 'come up stairs. I have something very serious to say to you.'
We walked from the little dining-room up to her room in silence. I then said: 'Maggy, I want to tell you about a dear friend of mine who made a shipwreck of happiness and life. It is a sad story; but I am sure it will interest you deeply. She was my cousin.'
'What, she whose husband deserted her?'
'Yes, my cousin Helen.'
'I never knew why he went away as he did,' said Maggy. 'Some blamed him; others said she was at fault. How was it?'
'Both were to blame; but she the most,' I replied. 'John Harding was, like your husband, one of the neatest and most orderly of men. Anything untidy in his house or in the person of his wife, annoyed and often put him out of humor; but he did not, as he should have done, speak plainly to his wife, and let her see exactly how he felt, and in what he would like a change. If he had done so, Helen would have tried—as every good wife should—to conform herself more to his tastes and wishes. But he was a silent, moody sort of a man when things did not go just to suit him, and instead of speaking out plainly, brooded over Helen's faults, and worried himself into fits of ill-humor. And what was worse than all, grew at length indifferent to his home and wife, and sought pleasanter surroundings, and more attractive company abroad.
'Shortly after they were married I called to spend the day with Helen, and found her in her usual condition of personal untidiness and disorder. When her husband came at dinner-time, I noticed with painful concern that he was in an ill-humor. Helen had not dressed for dinner, but presented herself at the table without even a clean collar, and an old faded shawl drawn about her shoulders. She looked anything but attractive.
'I saw her husband's eyes glance toward her across the table with an expression that chilled me. He was scarcely civil to me, and snapped his wife sharply two or three times during the meal. At its close, he left the table without a word and went up stairs.'
'What's the matter with John?' I asked.
'Dear above knows!' replied Helen. 'He's been acting queer for a good while. I can't imagine what's come over him.'
'Does he come home in this way often?' I asked.
'Yes, he's moody and disagreeable as he can be most of the time; I'm getting dreadful worried about it.'
'Presently John came down and stood for a little while in the hall at the foot of the stairs, as if in hesitation. Then he went to the street door, passed out, and shut it hard after him.
'Helen caught her breath with a start, and turned a little pale.
'What's the matter?' I asked, seeing the strangeness of her look.
'I don't know,' she replied in a choking voice, laying her hand, at the same time, on her breast, but I feel as if something dreadful was going to happen.'
'I then took upon myself the office of a friend and talked seriously to my cousin about her neglect of personal neatness, hinting that the cause of her husband's estrangement from his home, and altered manner towards herself, might all spring from this cause. She was a little angry with me at first; but I pressed the subject home with a tender seriousness that did the work of conviction, and, as the evening drew on, she dressed herself with care and neatness. With a fresh ribbon tied in her hair, and color a little raised from mental excitement, she looked charming and lovable. I waited with interest to see the impression she would make on her husband. We waited for him an hour, but he did not come home to tea.
'I went home soon after. All night I was restless; in the morning, soon after breakfast, I ran over to see Helen. I found her in her room, sitting in her night-dress, a picture of despair.'
'What is it?' I asked eagerly. 'What has happened?'
She looked at me heavily, like one not yet recovered from the shock of a stunning blow.
'I quickly saw, by a motion of her hand, that it held, tightly clutched, a piece of paper. She reached it to me. It was a letter, and read:
'We cannot live happily together, Helen. You are not what I believed myself getting, when we were married—not the sweet, lovely, lovable girl that charmed my fancy, and won me from all others. Alas for both that it is so! There has been a shipwreck of two lives. Farewell! I shall never return.'
'And this was all; but it broke the heart of my poor cousin. To this day, although nearly three years have passed, she has never heard from her husband.
'I saw her last week in the country home to which she has been taken by her friends, a wreck both in mind and body. She was neatly attired, and a locket containing her husband's picture hung at her throat. When I entered her room, she raised herself from a sort of reverie with an involuntary start. I saw a momentary, eager flash in her face, dying out quickly, and leaving it inexpressibly sad.'
I had to stop here, for Maggy broke out suddenly into a wild fit of sobbing and crying, which lasted for nearly a minute.
'What ails you, dear?' I asked, as she began to be a little composed.
'Oh! you frightened me. If John should—'
She cut short the sentence; but her frightened face left me in no doubt as to what was in her thoughts.
She arose and walked about the room in an uncertain way for some moments, and then sat down again, drawing in her breath heavily.
After a plain, earnest talk with Maggy, I went home. I give her own words as to what happened afterwards.
'I was wretched all the afternoon. John had acted worse than usual at dinner-time; and what you told me about poor Helen set my tears in motion, and worried me half to death. Long before the time he usually came home, I had dressed myself with care, selecting the very things which he admired.
'Supper-time came. I had something that I knew John liked, and waited for him with a nervous eagerness it was impossible to repress.77But the hour passed, and his well-known tread along the little garden walk did not reach my anxious ears. Five, ten, twenty minutes beyond his hour for returning, and still I was alone. Oh! I shiver as I recall the wild fears that began to crowd upon me. I stood at the window, behind the curtain, watching and waiting. All at once I saw him a little distance from the house, but not in the direction from which he usually came. He was walking slowly, and with his eyes upon the ground. His whole manner was of one depressed and suffering. I dropped the curtain, and went back into our little breakfast room to see that supper was put quickly on the table. John came in and went up stairs, as he usually did, to change his coat before tea. In a few minutes I rang the tea bell, and then seated myself at the table to wait for him. He was longer than usual in making himself ready, and then I heard him coming down slowly and heavily, as if there was no spirit in him.
"My heart beat strongly. But I tried to look bright and smiling. There was, oh! so dreary a look on John's face as I first saw it in the door. He stood still just a moment with his eyes fixed on me; then the dreary look faded out; a flash of light passed over it, as he stepped forward quickly, and coming where I sat, stooped down and kissed me. Never before was his kiss so sweet to my lips.
"'I have found my little wife once more,' he said, softly and tenderly, and with a quiver in his voice.
"I laid my head back upon his bosom, and, looking up into his face, answered: 'And you shall never lose her again.'"
And I think he will not. The sweetness of that hour, and the lesson it taught, can never be forgotten by my friend.
Are not our homes just what we make them?
—Sel.
The Home Circle.
By Emma C. Dowd
BEARING FALSE WITNESS.
She wore the name of Christ, and seemed to share
His self-forgetfulness, his love divine;
Her life gave promise of a life most rare—
A very star of grace she seemed to shine.
Alas! one cloud turned all her day to night,
One drop of rue made gall her nectared cup;
And when again her path grew fair and bright,
She bowed her head, and would not lift it up.
New blessings thronged around her, blossoms sweet,
Shedding abroad their honeyed breath, like balm;
God's angels guided still her stumbling feet,
And led her where the airs were pure and calm.
"I am resigned," said lips; her face said nay;
"The Lord is good," she said, but did not smile;
She nursed her grief in silence, day by day,
And found a melancholy joy the while.
Hearts looked to her, in need and sore distress,
Longing to find some way from darkness out;
But seeing naught to comfort or to bless,
They turned away in hopeless pain and doubt.
And thus she lived her life, nor looked beyond
Her own heart's sorrow, on the world so fair,
Bearing false witness to a love most fond,
False witness to a Father's tender care.
O ye who take and wear the name of Christ,
Keep ye a cheerful heart and happy face,
Lest, sorrowing, ye be to gloom enticed,
And bear false witness to God's love and grace.
—Emma C. Dowd, in S. S. Times.
Frowzy.
WE refer particularly to the average female head of the present period. The old symbol of extreme disorder—the "hurrah's nest"—was feeble for this emergency. Each particular hair does not stand on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine, but they all stand, or, more accurately, lean and slant in all possible directions, to that degree sometimes to excite special wonder how, in the name of confusion worse confounded, the thing is done. To sleep in it unkempt for a week of restless nights may accomplish the result, but one would think hardly. Are there "professors" of capillary confusion? and do they go from house to house frizzling and frowzling, and complicating and corrugating and convolving, and disarranging and disordering and disheveling, and inverting and involving and inside-outing, and tumbling and tangling, and topsy-turveying, until the result is achieved which we see?
The suggestion may seem irreverent, but we hardly think some ladies can be aware how much, by this process, they make themselves to look unlike human beings, and like the shag-giest variety of the dogs known as poodles; nor how uninspiring are the esthetic, and more particularly the intellectual, results.
There is, to be sure, this comfort. The fashion, like all which are essentially unnatural and ridiculous, will, before long, blow over. Yet one cannot help longing for the time when our dear ones shall come back to us in their old beauty, and De Medici, rather than Medusa, set the fashion of their hair-dressing. Yet we will confess that our longing is perturbed by the fear lest the pendulum when it swings shall swing towards some other outré and ugly direction, exchanging one abomination for another. And we are moved to lift up a cry for some power to give—at least to the generations that shall come after us, if the boon be too great for immediate bestowment—brains enough inside of the head to establish the settled conviction that simplicity is always more beautiful than ostentatious gear, and that for each woman to dress to suit her own personal tastes, and needs, and position in life, is a better thing than to run with the multitude to ape foreign fools.—
Congregationalist.
Over a Coffin Lid.
By Detroit Free Press
"She—was—a—good—wife—to—me. A good wife, God bless her!"
These words were spoken in trembling accents over a coffin lid. The woman asleep there had borne the heat and burden of life's long day, and no one had ever heard her murmur; her hand was quick to reach out in a helping grasp to those who fell by the wayside, and her feet were swift on errands of mercy; the heart of her husband had trusted in her; he had left her to long hours of solitude, while he amused himself in scenes in which she had no part.
Children had been born to them. She had reared them almost alone—they were gone! Her hand had ministered to their last wants. Then she had comforted him, and sent him out strong and whole-hearted, while she stayed at home and—cried. What can a woman do but cry—and trust? Well, she is at rest now. But she could not die until he had promised to "bear up," not to fret, but to remember how happy they had been. They? Yes, it is even so. For she was blest in giving, and he in receiving. It was an equal partnership after all.
"She—was—a—good—wife—to—me."
O man! man!—why not have told her so, when her ears were not dulled by death? Why wait to say these words over a coffin wherein lies a wasted, gray-haired woman, whose eyes have so long held that pathetic story of loss and suffering and patient yearning which so many women's eyes reveal to those who read. Why not have made the wilderness in her heart to blossom like the rose with the fullness of your love? Now you would give worlds—were they yours to give—to see the tears of joy which your words would have once caused, bejeweling the closed windows of her soul. It is too late.
We have careful thoughts for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometime guest,
But oft for our own
The bitter tone,
Though we love our own the best.
—Detroit Free Press.
A Cat Adopts Orphaned Chicks
A RESIDENT of Decorah, Iowa, vouches for the truthfulness of the following narrative, he having been an eye-witness of the singular facts which it exhibits. An old gentleman and his wife, who reside in the suburbs of a Western city, take great delight in raising chickens. Last spring, as the "setting" season came around, he procured a dozen eggs laid by hens of a valuable breed, to put under his favorite "Plymouth." She sat on them for two weeks, hatched the chicks, brought them off, and then died of chicken cholera. The chicks were placed in a basket by the kitchen fire, where, one afternoon when the family were out visiting, they were found by Tom, the large black cat, a pet of the household. One by one, Tom lifted each chick out of the basket and placed it on his own bed in the kitchen corner. When the old folks returned, what was their surprise to see their pet cat curled up and surrounded by the contented orphan brood. Tom was allowed to care for them, and when they were large enough to run in the yard, they would follow him wherever he went. In due time the brood was ready for the gridiron. The head of a killed chicken was one of Tom's perquisites; but when he was offered the head of one of his decapitated chicks, he took it, carried it to his bed, lay down near it, and howled. That was his lament over the death of his adopted children.—Sel.
BOOKS IN PAPER COVERS.
By Editor
Our Country's Future; The United States in the Light of Prophecy. An exposition of Rev. 13:11-17. By Elder U. Smith. Dealing with our own land, and applying to our own time. Of surpassing interest to every American reader. New edition. 186 pp. 25 cts.
Our Faith and Hope. Sermons on the coming and kingdom of Christ. By Elder James White. 182 pp. 25 cts.
Facts for the Times. A volume of valuable historical extracts. 25 cts.
Testimonies. Nos. 20-30, each 25 cts.
S. D. A. Year Book for the years 1883 and 1884, each 25 cts.
Thoughts on Baptism; Its Action, Subjects, and Relations. By Elder J. H. Waggoner. 190 pp. 25 cts.
The Nature and Tendency of Modern Spiritualism. By Elder J. H. Waggoner. A thorough expose of this fascinating delusion. Should be widely circulated. 184 pp. 20 cts.
The Ministration of Angels, and the Origin, History, and Destiny of Satan. A work of great interest upon a subject seldom written upon. 144 pp. 20 cts.
Refutation of the Age to Come. By Elder J. H. Waggoner. This little treatise completely demolishes the vagaries of the future-age theorists. 168 pp. 20 cts.
The Visions. Objections answered. By U. Smith. 20 cts.
The Spirit of God, its Gifts and Manifestations to the end of the Christian Age. By Elder J. H. Waggoner. 144 pp. 15 cts.
The Three Messages of Rev. 14:6-12. Particularly the Third Angel's Message and the two-horned beast. By Elder J. N. Andrews. 144 pp. 15 cts.
The Morality of the Sabbath. An argument showing that the Sabbath commandment, like the other nine, is in its nature moral. 96 pp. 15 cts.
Miraculous Powers. The Scripture testimony on the Perpetuity of Spiritual Gifts. 128 pp. 15 cts.
The Complete Testimony of the Fathers of the first Three Centuries concerning the Sabbath and the First Day of the Week. By Elder J. N. Andrews. 112 pp. 15 cts.
Matthew Twenty-Four. A clear and forcible exposition of our Lord's discourse upon the Mount of Olives. By Elder James White. 64 pp. 10 cts.
Matter and Spirit. A philosophical argument on an interesting theme. 10 cts.
Bible Sanctification. By Mrs. E. G. White. A contrast of the true and false theories. 10 cts.
The Seven Trumpets. An exposition of the subject; as set forth in the book of Revelation, chaps. 8 and 9. 96 pp. 10 cts.
The Truth Found. The Nature and Obligation of the Sabbath. By Elder J. H. Waggoner. 64 pp. 10 cts.
Vindication of the True Sabbath. By Elder J. W. Morton, formerly Missionary of the Reformed Presbyterian Church, to Hayti. 68 pp. 10 cts.
Hope of the Gospel. By Elder J. N. Loughborough. What it is, and when it will be consummated. 80 pp. 10 cts.
Christ and the Sabbath; or, Christ in the Old Testament, and the Sabbath in the New. By Elder James White. 56 pp. 10 cts.
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Appeal to the Baptists for the Restoration of the Bible Sabbath. 46 pp. 10 cts.
Review of Baird. A review of two sermons against the Sabbath and Seventh-day Adventists. By Elder J. H. Waggoner. 64 pp. 10 cts.
The Rejected Ordinance. A carefully prepared paper on our Saviour's Act of Humility in John 13. By Elder W. H. Littlejohn. 10 cts.
The Position and Work of the True People of God under the Third Angel's Message. By Elder W. H. Littlejohn. 10 cts.
Life of Christ and His Apostles. 8 books. 90 cts.
The Home of the Saved; or, The Saints' Inheritance to be in the Earth Made New. By Elder J. N. Loughborough. 10 cts.
The Ancient Sabbath. Forty-four objections considered. By Elder D. T. Bourdeau. 88 pp. 10 cts.
Honor Due to God. By Elder E. J. Waggoner. An extended argument on the Tithing Question. Second edition. 64 pp. 10 cts.
California Year Book. It contains a brief history of the rise and progress of the S. D. Adventist work in California, and of each of the institutions connected therewith. 80 pp. 10 cts.
Any book in this list sent post-paid on receipt of price. Address, SIGNS OF THE TIMES, Oakland, Cal.; Or, REVIEW AND HERALD, Battle Creek, Mich.
THE NATURE AND TENDENCY OF MODERN SPIRITUALISM.
By J. H. Waggoner
By Eld. J. H. Waggoner.
This is a thorough expose of the system of Spiritualism. The author has carefully studied the subject, and has given such copious extracts from a large library of Spiritualist publications, as to fully condemn them in their teachings and in their practices, by their own testimony.
It is also shown from the prophetic scriptures that Spiritualism is one of the most impressive signs of the times.