How much is associated with the number ten. Among the first thoughts that come to mind as we repeat the number, is early school-day times, when we were repeating the lesson, "Ten mills make one cent; ten cents make one dime; ten dimes make one dollar; ten dollars make one eagle." And still further on in the decimal system, when we learned the fact, curious to a child, that a cipher when standing alone, has no value at all, but when placed at the right hand of any other figure increased the value of that figure ten times. In other words, every cipher so attached multiplied the figure by ten, so the childish mind was both astonished and delighted to see so suddenly tens of dollars converted into hundreds, thousands, and even millions.
But I did not take these writing utensils to give a dissertation on decimals, but to speak of facts connected with the number ten. These, as we open the Bible, are very numerous, and a bare hint of some of them is suggestive of thoughts of the deepest interest. First, God's holy law, which is the foundation of all moral and all just civil governments, is comprised in just ten precepts. Then, as we run through the Bible record, here in Gen. 16 : 3, is an account of Abraham's introduction of polygamy into his family, after he had dwelt ten years in the land of Canaan. In the eighteenth chapter he is pleading with the Lord to save Sodom if but ten righteous persons could be found in it; but alas! they could not be found. In chapter 31 : 7, we read the record, brief, of Jacob's sojourn with Laban twenty years, during which time he changed his wages ten times.
Then again, in chapter 42 : 3, is the record of Jacob's ten sons coming to Joseph, humbly, to buy corn, thus fulfilling his wonderfully accurate dreams which he had when but a mere lad. As we open the books of Exodus and Numbers and read of the Lord's dealings with the Israelites in Egypt and in the wilderness, we see he smote the Egyptians with ten plagues, and miraculously fed his people with manna, "angel's food," of which "he that gathered least had ten homers." Yet after all these benefits and mighty deliverances these same Israelites rebelled against the Lord "ten times."
When the Lord would construct, by the hand of Moses, a tabernacle, in which his solemn worship was to be kept up, he gave instructions to construct it with ten curtains, with their ten pillars set in sockets of silver. For the sustaining of the priests and Levites in the service connected with the sanctuary and tabernacle, the Lord required the Israelites to consecrate one-tenth of all their increase, and he said "all the tithe (tenth) is the Lord's." Lev. 27 : 30.
In later times in Israel's history, after Solomon's death, we see Jeroboam and Rehoboam dividing Israel, one taking ten tribes and the other two, giving rise to the two divisions and two classes of rulers over Judah and Israel, which continued for centuries.
During all these meanderings and changes among God's chosen people they were chanting his praise and showing forth his wondrous works on the harp, "an instrument of ten strings."
When Daniel and his three associates were placed among the wise men of Babylon, they requested the privilege for ten days to eat their own wholesome plain food instead of the king's luxuries, and at the close of these ten days they were found fairer than the rest of the wise men. As the result of this experiment they were allowed to continue their own plain diet, and as they came to the time when clearness of mind was to be tested they were found ten times better than all the magicians and astrologers in the king's realm.
Leaving the Old Testament and opening the New, we read of the ten lepers, cleansed by Christ, of whom only one returned to give God the glory. We read the interesting parables of the ten virgins, the ten talents and the ten pieces of silver.
In the book of Revelation, chapter 13, we read of the ten horns upon the beast, corresponding to the ten toes of the image of Dan. 2, and the ten horns of the fourth beast, Dan. 7, and all representing the ten divisions of the Roman empire.
In chapter 2, we read the address made to one of the seven churches, "Thou shalt have tribulation ten days." A prediction fulfilled in the ten persecutions of Paganism upon the Christian church, from the reign of Nero to the reign of Diocletian. The ten days probably having special reference to the bloodiest of all these persecutions under Diocletian in the ten years from 303 A. D. to 313.
But I am talking away from the point. I begun this article to speak of ten years. Ten years of my own experience. Those ten years which close this 18th day of July, 1878, I look back upon as the most interesting of any of the two score and seven years of my life. Ten years ago to-day, accompanied by Elder Bourdeau, I landed in San Francisco with our 60-ft. tent, to commence the work upon this coast. We were strangers. Our doctrines were new to the people, and our people unknown here on the Pacific slope. With God's blessing the work is fairly under way. We have a strong Conference in California with near 30 churches, and the North Pacific Conference, which is gaining strength and is destined to be a power in all that northern region.
To-day, the 10th anniversary of my arrival on the Pacific slope, we are erecting our new Nevada tent in Reno city, a railroad center in the very heart of the real financial strength of the State of Nevada. The people treat us most cordially, and express the deepest anxiety to hear. Our prayer is, God bless the Nevada mission.
What we see on this coast is only a sample of what I behold in this cause all over the world. Here ten years ago we had no facilities for printing the truth; now we have a well equipped and thoroughly established publishing house, as large as was demanded for the whole Seventh-day Adventist cause in the world ten years ago.
And of our central publishing house in Battle Creek, Michigan, I think I do not over-estimate when I state that the work there has increased ten fold in ten years, and besides these, a publishing house is in full operation in central Europe.
I look at the rank and file of our ministry; ten years ago probably there was not one-tenth as many in the ministry as there are to-day. Of course there has been a corresponding increase of our membership during that same time. But with all this increase in points mentioned, it is truly cheering to look at that feature of our work, the missionary society, which has had its rise among us during the last part of the last ten years, and to see the lay members of our people actively engaging in spreading the truth through the world.
The spirit of consecration to the work must increase, it is none too much to hope and believe that it will increase as our people arouse to the demands of the times.
Like men in war times, when it was apparent that the nation's cause demanded men, a call was made for 300,000 more, they did not sit down dejected and sad, and say let some one else do the work, but with cheerful action and with zest, they responded in songs that fairly rent the air, they sang, "We're coming father Abraham, three hundred thousand more."
As we pause a moment on this our individual anniversary day, looking at the past and scanning the future, we feel as though the God of heaven had made a call to each of us to take hold as never before in this work. Shall we sing and act "We're coming," or shall we bury the Lord's talents intrusted to us, and be classed among the slothful servants?
If there is that consecration to the work that the truth, the times, and the call of God demands, I do not see why we may not expect to see more done in extending the truth, and in bringing souls to the truth, for the next two years than we have seen accomplished during the whole of the last ten years. The Lord grant it.
J. N. LOUGHBOROUGH.
Reno, Nevada, July 18, 1878.
The Camp-Meeting.
By B. A. S.
THE importance, the advantages and the blessings of our camp-meetings are clearly set forth in the following from Testimony No. 19. May all read with care and heed its injunctions.
B. A. S.
“God gave direction to the Israelites to assemble before him in the place which he should choose, and observe special days, at set periods, wherein no unnecessary work was to be done; but the time was to be devoted to a consideration of the blessings of God bestowed upon them. At these special seasons they were to bring gifts, free-will offerings, and thank offerings, unto the Lord, according as the Lord had blessed them. They were directed to rejoice—the man-servant and maid-servant, the stranger, the fatherless and widow—that God had by his own wonderful power brought them from servile bondage to the enjoyment of freedom. And they were commanded not to appear before the Lord empty. They were to bring tokens of their gratitude to God for his obsidian mercies and blessings bestowed upon them. These offerings were varied, according to the estimate which the donors placed upon the blessings they were privileged to enjoy. Thus the characters of the people were plainly developed. Those who placed a high value upon the blessings God bestowed upon them, brought offerings in accordance with their appreciation of his blessings. Those whose moral powers were stupefied and benumbed by selfishness and idolatrous love of the favors received, rather than of fervent love for their bountiful Benefactor, brought meager offerings. Thus their hearts were revealed. Besides these special religious feast-days of gladness and rejoicing, the yearly passover was to be commemorated by the Jewish nation. The Lord covenanted that if they were faithful in the observance of his requirements, he would bless them in all their increase, and in all the works of their hands.
“God requires no less of his people in these last days, in sacrifices and offerings, than he did of the Jewish nation. Those whom God has blessed with a competency, also the widow and the fatherless, should not be unmindful of his blessings. Especially should those whom God has prospered render to God the things that are God's. They should appear before him with a spirit of self-sacrifice, and bring their offerings in accordance with the blessings God has bestowed upon them. But many whom God prospers manifest base ingratitude to him. If his blessings rest upon them, and he increases their substance, they make these bounties as cords to bind them to the love of their possessions, and they allow worldly business to take possession of their affections, and their entire being, and neglect devotion and religious privileges. They cannot afford to leave their business cares, and come before God even once a year. They turn the blessings of God into a curse. Thay serve their own temporal interests, at the neglect of God's requirements.
“Will those who profess to believe that the end of all things is at hand be blind to their own spiritual interest, and live for this world, and this life alone? Do they expect their eternal interest will take care of itself? Spiritual strength will not come without an effort on their part. Yet many who profess to be looking for the appearing of our Lord are anxious, burdened, gain-seekers for this world. They are blind to their eternal interests. They labor for that which satisfieth not. They spend their money for that which is not bread. They strive to content themselves with the treasures they have laid up upon the earth, which must perish. And they neglect the preparation for eternity, which should be the first and only real work of their life.
“Let us all who possibly can, attend these yearly gatherings. All should feel that God requires this of them. If they do not avail themselves of the privileges God has provided for them to become strong in him, and in the power of his grace, they will grow weaker and weaker, and have less and less desire to consecrate all to God. Come, brethren and sisters, to these sacred convocation meetings, to find Jesus. He will come up to the feast. He will be present, and he will do for you that which you need most to have done. Your farms should not be considered of greater value than the higher interests of the soul. All the treasures you possess, be they ever so valuable, would not be rich enough to buy you peace and hope, which would be infinite gain, if it cost you all you have, and the toils and sufferings of a life-time. To have a strong, clear sense of eternal things, and a heart of willing obedience to yield all to Christ, are blessings of more value than all the riches, and pleasures, and glories of this world.”
Uhe, Denmark.
By John G. Matteson
JULY 1.—We have now returned to Jylland, and have held two meetings here this week. A brother and a sister who for a long time had taken part in the meetings of our brethren and sisters were buried with Christ in baptism. Two other dear souls have begun to keep the Sabbath. But after all we do not find many in this vicinity who love to hear about the glorious appearing of our Saviour.
On Sunday we attended the Baptist meeting. The leader spoke very well about the soon-coming of Christ and of the necessity of preparing for that event. By request, I spoke to them after the close of the meeting. They were willing to listen, and were very friendly to us.
We have received letters from the brethren on Sjælland. They came together last Sabbath and rejoiced with one another in the Lord.
JULY 8.—We have held more meetings this week; but there does not seem to be much interest among the neighbors. The few who have received the truth are happy, and grateful to God for his mercy towards them.
On the Sabbath, a small church was organized, consisting of ten members. It was the first Sabbath in July, and we thus celebrated the Lord's supper here in Denmark on the very same day as our brethren in far-off America. All partook willingly, and we felt that the Lord had blessed us greatly.
The next day we had a business meeting. We read some letters from others of the same faith in Denmark, which edified the brethren very much. Brother Kr. Kristensen was unanimously chosen elder of the church, after which he was ordained. Systematic benevolence was adopted to carry forward the mission. These brethren live at a poor place; each one subscribed a little, according to his ability. May the Lord sanctify these dear brethren, that they, by obeying his truth, may have everlasting life through the faith of the Son of God.
JOHN G. MATTESON.
Reports from the Field.
By Editor
(Condensed from Review and Herald.)
Missouri.
SEDALIA.—Elder Butler writes July 25: “After about five weeks’ constant preaching, our audiences usually range from two hundred to three hundred; they scarcely ever number less than one hundred, and occasionally run as high as six hundred. Twenty have signed the covenant to keep God’s commandments, and many more are deeply interested. We have a large undeveloped interest, which will not allow of our leaving for the present, probably not before the camp-meeting. This is a central point, and a very important one in this State. We shall make a strong effort to establish a good church here, and we expect to do it.”
Ohio.
SPRINGFIELD.—Elder Waggoner reports, July 24: “The interest here is steadily spreading and deepening. We have spoken on the subject of immortality, and sold quite a number of books on the subject. It seems to be well received generally. Monday night a large congregation gave earnest attention to a discourse on the United States in prophecy. This did much to increase the interest, as a good number came to hear.”
New York.
SINCLAIRVILLE.—Elder Reynolds writes, July 20: “Eleven have commenced to keep the Sabbath at this place. While the surface is comparatively unruffled, there is a very persistent undercurrent of opposition from the three churches. The attendance has been good, considering the intense heat and the busy harvest time.”
TENT No. 4.—Since taking down the tent at Bushton, Brethren Brown and Wilcox have been laboring in adjoining neighborhoods. Ten or twelve have taken hold of the truth, and strong hopes are entertained for several more.
Wisconsin.
NEW LONDON.—In report from tent No. 1, July 15, it is stated that about one dozen have accepted the truth, and others are expected soon to follow.
MANITOWOC.—Meetings in tent No. 2, closed July 16. Some who had previously read on subjects connected with present truth decided to obey; others are investigating.
MUKWŌNAGO.—Report from tent No. 4, July 16, states that owing to the extremely hot weather and busy season of the year the attendance was not large; but those who do attend are interested. Two have decided to keep the Sabbath.
CATARACT.—Tent No. 6, reports July 14: “To-day ten were buried with Christ in baptism. Eleven have signed the covenant.”
BERLIN.—Meetings closed at this place July 21. Fourteen have signed the covenant to keep the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus; some others are much interested.
Illinois.
NEWARK.—Tent No. 3, reports six already keeping the Sabbath, and others are hoped for.
CARBONDALE.—Brother Bliss has held meetings, and visited familes here. Twenty-four have promised to keep the Sabbath.
DU QUOIN.—Brother Bliss writes July 24. “The people are stirred. Last Sabbath, while I was absent, Elder Rose, Disciple, gave notice that he would speak Sunday evening on the Sabbath question. Brother Colcord dismissed his congregation and all heard Elder R. Monday night Brother Colcord reviewed him in the tent before a large crowd. Elder Rose announced a rejoinder; but his members, acknowledging his efforts fruitless, waived his appointment and challenged us for a discussion. Elder Crim is expected to-day.”
Sunshine after Storm.
THE bright June sunshine streamed cheerily into the long visitors' room of a country lunatic asylum. Around the high and open windows the heavily-foliaged trees swayed in the breeze, and the birds chittered and sang.
But sunshine, birds, and trees were little noticed by the occupants of that long room; they were too engaged to notice any signs of gladness without. Around the large apartment various small groups were formed, each group having for its center of interest a poor lunatic. It was curious to look around and note the different phases of madness in these poor creatures. One was weeping as passionately and continuously as if the sorrow of many lives had been heaped upon her, and she were trying to dissolve the load in tears; another chattered like a magpie, with the absorbed air of a philosopher, though her utterances were as foolish a jumble as was ever strung together; another sat moodily staring at the anxious friends who had come to see her, scarcely deigning to speak a word to them; another laughed and uttered drolleries which brought unwilling smiles to the faces of her friends; but of all the groups none was more interesting than one composed of a sprightly little dark-eyed woman in gown and cap which marked her as an inmate of the place; a young widow with a toddling baby-boy, and a young man and woman.
The old woman caught up the baby and half smothered it with kisses. "He won't be like you, mind, Jenny; he's got his father's bonnie blue eyes—bless him!" And with tearful eyes she bent over the child again and gave him another dose of kisses. It was quite too much for the little fellow; he stoutly resisted it, struggled to his feet, and got behind grandma's chair. "Well, Ruth, so you brought Philip Davis to see me," continued the old woman. "I'm glad to see you, Philip, and hope you are sticking to work and getting on. To tell you the plain truth, lad, though I'm glad to see you, I'm not quite comfortable at seeing you and Ruth together. I shall ask you all about it when I go home, and give you both a talking to. I am not going to let another get into what I did without speaking some warning and advice."
"Hush, mother," said the young widow, seeing the tears filling the old woman's eyes; "the governor'll be here directly, and we must n't let him see you crying, or he'll think it's because you are so loth to leave this place."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Ruth, quietly; "would n't he guess the truth, mother?"
"Not a bit of it," said the mother, laughing through her tears. "How is the old man, Ruth?"
"Better, lately, I think, mother. But mind, you are not going back to him; your're going to visit Philip's mother for a few weeks. He came to-day on purpose to invite you; and why do n't you speak up, Phil?" added the vivacious damsel, turning to the young man.
A smile broke over his handsome brown face as he replied. "It isn't fair to reprove a fellow for not speaking, when you've taken the words out of his mouth."
Presently the governor entered.
"Who wants me? Is it you, Rhoda Sperry?"
"Yes, sir," said the old lady, rising, and giving him a smile and a courtesy. "It's to speak about my going home, sir."
"Why you do n't mean to say you're well enough?" he said gayly, laying his hand on her shoulder.
"Yes, sir, I do," answered Rhoda; "and they all do."
He turned to the visitors.
"Yes, we should like her to come home, please, sir," said Ruth, her face beaming with smiles. "We all think she's quite well enough."
"Very well," said the pleasant governor; "then I'll make arrangements for her to leave next week; and she can be out next Sunday to spend the day with you, if you like."
The old woman smiled delightedly, and blessed the kind man with her eyes. After a few more cheery words, he left them to continue their chat, and for some time they carried it on heartily. It was a beautiful picture in a dreary setting—yes, dreary, in spite of the sunshine within, and the music without, for in reality it was a tomb for the living, a place wherein men and women suffered from the worst malady that afflict human nature.
The leave-taking now had to take place between the visitors and the visited. Never before had old Rhoda Sperry said good-by so cheerily; never before had she returned to the monotony of her life in the asylum with smiles on her wrinkled face. But now she left the long room almost trippingly, with the gladness of a prisoner having received a promise of liberty.
On the following Sunday an equally gladsome picture to the one referred to above might have been seen in a little thatched cottage some five or six miles from the asylum. In the "best room" sat Rhoda Sperry like a queen in the old arm-chair, surrounded by the same young folks whom we have already seen, and Philip Davis' mother.
A beautiful quietness prevailed, broken only by the humming of bees and the twittering of birds around the open door. The fragrance of a thousand flowers was wafted in by the softest of breezes.
The group within seemed to be enjoying it too much to talk. Moreover, they seemed to be waiting for somebody to complete their satisfaction for each other's society. Presently Ruth rose from her low seat, and, with a shade of anxiety on her ruddy face, went and stood at the door. Her mother glanced up at her and said, "What keeps Philip? Where is he gone?"
"It is n't late for him," answered his mother; "he always runs down to 'The Grapes' after dinner on Sunday to see some of his friends."
"Does he?" said old Rhoda, in a peculiar voice. "And what about other days?"
"He goes in evenings," replied his mother.
Rhoda Sperry became strangely agitated. Leaning forward, she said to her daughter, "Ruth! Ruth!"
The girl half turned, revealing a crimsoned cheek. "Yes, mother," she answered quietly.
"Does he ever get drunk?" almost gasped the little old mother.
"Very seldom," answered Ruth, with her head cast down.
"O, Ruth, what have I told you many and many a time? How I've warned you! But you shall not get into what I've suffered! You must n't have him, do you hear?—you must n't!"
Ruth did not speak, but as she turned away she saw nothing of the beauty without for tears.
"Hush! mother," said the young widow, in a soothing voice; "you must n't worry yourself, or we shall not enjoy each other's company to-day."
Rhoda leaned back in her chair, and wept quietly. Ruth went outside and sat on a bench under the window. In a few minutes her lover entered the garden with a jaunty step.
"What's up now, Ruth?" he asked, gayly. "What on earth have you got to cry about at such a time as this? and your mother, too, I declare! Why, what is the matter!"
"It's about your going to 'The Grapes' so often," said his mother. "I've told you myself many a time, Phil, that no good can come of it, and that for Ruth's sake you ought n't to go. It's Sundays and week-days just the same."
"Well what harm is there in it?" he asked, looking around at the disturbed faces with some amazement. His own was flushed with something more than the heat of the sun; and he was just in a mood to be either yielding or defiant.
"I'll tell you what," said Ruth's mother, looking up through great tears; "tell Ruth to come in, and let us all sit together here, while I answer your question."
Philip and Ruth came and sat beside her mother. Had it not been for that noisy moving just then, they would have heard a step on the flag-stones outside the window. As it was, the visitor outside took his seat close under the open window, where he could not be seen from within, and yet could hear every word that was spoken. Old Rhoda's voice trembled much as she began, but steadied as she went on.
"Thirty years ago, ay, more than that, thirty-five years ago," she said, "two young folks were walking and whispering about these lanes, just as you two, Philip, do now—that was my Ned and me; and we were looking forward to many years of happiness, though we were not going the right way to get them. I was a proud, willful bit of a girl, more than twenty though—old enough to know better; and I would n't listen to anything that mother or any body else said to me. I was blind and foolish, but mother could see clear enough what was to come; and though I did n't believe her warnings, it did come, and a thousand times I've had to rue the day that I despised her anxious words; ah, bitterly rue it, too! Ned was almost such another as you, Philip—sometimes you remind me very much of him. He was a smart young fellow, spirited and gay, and he seemed to me kind-hearted, but really he was n't so kind-hearted as he seemed. If he had been, there would have been some pleasant breaks, now and then, in the long years of ill usage; but no, from the time when he gave himself quite up to drinking, there was nothing kind in him at all. He was like one possessed of a devil. But you know he was n't like that from the first. No, no; he carried on just as you do now, Phil, going out at night and getting tipsy once in a while. Mother and all my friends entreated me to give him up; they said if he would n't pay any heed to my words before marriage, he would be sure not to after. But I did n't believe it. I thought when I was always with him, he would settle down into a good husband. Many a girl keeping company with a young fellow of loose habits thinks just so; but it is n't often that things turn out as she expects. I pretty soon had to wake up to the truth of what I had done, and what a waking up it was! God pity any poor young thing that's got to go through the same trial! At first my proud spirit kept me up, and helped me to hold out against Ned; but that soon gave way, and I seemed to sink down like one crushed and heart broken. To feel that every hope of home comfort and husband's love is gone, and that one is tied for life to a man who is a curse instead of a blessing, is more than the most spirited woman could bear long. When my first baby was born—your husband that was, Jennie—I vowed before God that he should never touch that which had made a wreck of all my hopes, and I trained him up and you, too, you know, Ruth, to hate it, and keep from it forever. When he was old enough to think for himself, Arthur used to say he thought it wise of me to train him up to do so, and was glad that I had kept him from such dangerous temptation. To the day of his death he kept the promise he made me years ago, as faithful as could be, did n't he, Jennie? and he was the better for it, and would have lived a healthy man for years, if he had n't met with that accident that was the death of him."
The young widow leaned her head on her mother-in-law's lap and wept quietly. The old woman caressed it tenderly, as she proceeded:—
"And Ruth I talked to and warned, and she promised to mind me; but since I've been away she seems to have forgotten her promise; and I suppose my last years are to be filled with sorrow by seeing her walk into the pit of misery that I walked into." She paused a moment, and then continued: "But no, you must not do it, Ruth! I would rather see you now lying dead at my feet than that you should have the life I have had! What it was none but God knows. You need not think I went mad for nothing. All the wonder is to me how I kept my senses so long during those years of misery, and fear, and despair. Girls think it a very little thing that their sweethearts drink and get tipsy now and then; but they little know what may come of it. When the drink once gets anything like the mastery, it quenches everything—hope, happiness, love, life—everything. To think what my Ned would have been if it had not been for that! What a good kind husband and father! And what a happy, peaceable life I should have had! But everything has been ruined altogether; and now we must be separated to the end."
"You do n't know, mother," said Jennie, looking up. "Father has seemed broken down and better lately. Who knows but he might give up the drink altogether, and become good and kind in his old days, like my Arthur was? I was talking to him last week, and I am sure he was a bit repentant. He asked how we had found you at the asylum, and spoke of what a curse he had been to you."
"Ah, Jennie! it's no use talking, dear. I shall never let myself hope any more. I've hoped and hoped, and been disappointed so many times, that I shall never do it again. But I want to save Ruth from all that. So, Philip, if you really love her, as you profess to do, give her proof of it now, before me, her mother, who has suffered so dreadfully."
"What do you want me to do?" asked Philip.
"I want you to promise her now, on the word of a truthful and honest man, that you'll never again touch that useless and dangerous drink, that is sure to change you from a kind man to a savage unfeeling brute. I know Ruth does n't believe that; but did I believe it about my Ned?"
"But suppose I should n't keep my promise?" said Philip.
"Of course you'd keep it, Philip," answered old Rhoda. "Your manliness and your love for Ruth would make you keep it; but more than that, you can have God's strength to help you; if you get that, there is no fear of breaking down."
Turning to Ruth, the mother added: "Ruth, I wonder you have never put Philip's love to the test before this. I should think after all you have seen, you would have done this, and not been so quiet about it."
"She has n't been quiet, Mrs. Sperry," said Philip. "She has spoken to me many times about it; but I have always laughed it off; I did not think she was in real earnest; but now, tell me Ruth, do you really239mean that it would make you happier and better satisfied with me, if I gave up drinking altogether, and became like your brother Arthur? Because if it would, I will do it. I hope I have too much love for you to let anything selfish trouble you, and destroy your happiness. Drinking is just one of my selfish habits; it gratifies me, but if it distresses you, I can give it up. So put me to the test, Ruth."
Ruth looked up into his honest face and said, "Will you promise, then, Philip, for your own sake, and mine and mother's, to give it up altogether from this day?"
"I will, indeed, Ruth," he answered firmly, taking both her hands.
"Phil," she said tearfully, "if it was any thing that lowered you in God's sight or man's, I would not wish you to do it, if it would gratify me ever so much. But it will not lower you; it will make you a better and truer man, and will bless you in body and soul, I know it will."
"Yes, I know that too, Ruth. I've many times been the worse for drink as regards my mind and body, my work, and everything. I know you would not wish me to do anything to my injury in any way; and if I know it, I will not do anything to yours."
At this moment, a tall, wasted, gray old man appeared in the door-way, and gazed fixedly at the group before him. Old Rhoda started and turned pale, and Ruth rose in a tremor from her seat.
"Ah, how frightened you all seem of me?" said the man in slow, sad tones. "No wonder, no wonder; for I've been a monster, have n't I? But, Rhoda, I hear you haven't forgotten the early days, and the love I once had for you. Well, it is n't all dead yet; it never has been, though it's been smothered for years and years. There's some in my wicked old heart yet; and will you put it to the test, mother? Put it to the test, as you told Ruth to do to Philip just now. I've heard all you said; I've been sitting under the window."
Rhoda leaned back, a faint feeling came over her, and she closed her eyes. The old man went and stooped down beside her. "Rhoda, Rhoda," he said, "I won't ask you to come back and live with me now, not till I have shown you that I have repented sincerely; but now, if you've got ever such a bit of faith in me, put it to the test, and see if I do n't prove that I'm sorry with all my soul that I've been such a brute to you all these years."
"How shall I put you to the test, Ned?" asked his wife tremblingly.
"As Ruth did Philip," he replied.
"And do you mean to say, Ned, that you will, give up the drink altogether and forever?"
"I do, Rhoda, in God's strength."
Tears and blessings, gladness and thankfulness and love prevailed in the little room, making it a paradise of joy. Ah, how much happiness one such high and holy determination as this can give to human hearts! And what rejoicing in the sunshine after long and heavy storms.—Sel.
Our Record.
We built us grand, gorgeous towers
Out toward the western sea,
And said in a dream of the summer hours,
Thus fair should our record be.
We would strike the bravest chords
That ever rebuked the wrong ;
And through them should tremble all loving words
That would make the weary strong.
There entered not into our thought
The dangers the way led through,
We saw but the gifts of the good we sought,
And the good we would strive to do.
Like one who with reverence cleaves
The moss from a head-stone gray,
We lift a mantle of fallen leaves,
And gaze on the past to-day.
The words that we would have said,
And the deeds we would fain have done,
Are changed like the face of a friend long dead,
In the light of the noonday sun.
Here trace we a hurried line,
There blush for a blotted leaf ;
And tears, vain tears, on the eyelids shine,
That the record is so brief.