Earlier text: A PictureDoes It Come From the Heart?
The late Andrew Fuller usually devoted several weeks in each year to visiting the churches and collecting money. On a certain occasion, he called on a pious and benevolent nobleman. Having laid before him the operations of the mission in Hindostan, the progress of the translation of the Scriptures, and the call for aid, the nobleman handed him a guinea. Fuller, observing that it was bestowed with an air of indifference, thus addressed him: "My lord, does this come from the heart?" "What matter is that?" said the nobleman; "suppose it does not come from the heart, it will answer your purpose as well. If you get the money, why do you care whether it comes from the heart or not?" "Take it back—take it back," said the man of God; "I cannot take it. My Lord and Master requires the heart. He will not accept an offering unless it comes from the heart." "Well, give it back," said the nobleman. "It did not come from the heart." So he took the guinea, and stepping to his desk, he drew a check on his banker for twenty pounds, and handing it to Fuller, said: "This comes from the heart. I love and honor the principles by which you are governed. I love the Lord Jesus Christ and his cause, and know that no offering is acceptable to him unless it comes from the heart."—Times of Refreshing. A Model Leader.
By Theodore Ledyard Cuyler
TWENTY-THREE centuries ago a sagacious leader of God's people—and a model for all ministers—came to Jerusalem and made a thorough exploration of his field of labor. He mounted his mule and made a reconnaissance of the ruined city of his fathers, and found "its walls broken down and the gates thereof consumed with fire." Nehemiah was an Oliver Cromwell in rugged prowess, and a John Wesley in organizing capacity. He summons the rulers, priests, and men of influence, points out to them the desolations, and then sounds out his trumpet appeal, "Let us build up the walls!" The people echo the appeal with a prompt, "Amen," and strengthen their hands for the sacred enterprise. Nehemiah's plan of action was a very simple, but a very thorough one; it was the subdivision of labor, and it embodied also the admirable idea that, in order to make the work complete, certain citizens should repair the ruins that laid nearest to their own residences. "Every one over against his own house," was the principle adopted by the new Puritan governor. Here is the key-note to spiritual success in our churches. That there is a crying need of spiritual upbuilding in every congregation and community goes without saying. Even the most effective churches have plenty of backsliders and unconverted sinners among the Sunday attendants, as well as no small degree of moral wastes to be repaired on every side. To recognize the need of upbuilding is the first essential, we admit. No pastor, no church, will be "worth a bawbee" to the Lord's cause this year who are entirely satisfied with themselves. On the other hand, scolding in the pulpit, and a certain style of groaning and grumbling in the prayer-meeting, will come to less than nothing. Nehemiah would soon silence such croakings and censoriousness. Genuine contrition and genuine concern for the Lord's work are indispensable, but they do not waste themselves in "railing accusations."—Cuyler. The Honor of Working for God.
CAN there be any higher honor? Is it not one of the highest gifts of God's grace to be permitted to take any share whatever in his grand enterprise of the salvation of the sons of men—to be a co-worker with God? And does not that man lack one great evidence of the perfect reconciliation of his soul to God who does not find something to do for him? The man who does nothing for his Maker, will he be saved? Can he be saved? The man who never cares about the perishing world, will he be saved? He certainly is not like Christ. If he be not like Christ, and have not the spirit of Christ, then he is none of his. Every Christian man is bound to give himself, or, that being impossible, to give liberally of his means, to the Master's work in that department which most needs him. This is not a matter for argument, but of pure and simple duty to God and to our fellow-men. Christian, what are you doing for missions?—Sel. Oro Fino, Siskiyou Co., Cal.
By F. T. Lamb; L. H. Church
We commenced meetings here July 8, and have held nearly fifty services. The interest has been on the increase from the first, and we have remained here longer than we had expected. We have organized a Sabbath-school of between thirty and forty members; thirteen or fourteen adults are keeping the Sabbath, and many more are convinced of the truth, for whom we hope, pray, and labor. Prejudice is quite strong, and a great many would rather hear and believe lies than the truth. May the Lord pity such in the day of Judgment. Sept. 3, 1884. F. T. LAMB, L. H. CHURCH. REV. WM. T. DAVIS is a graduate of Harvard College and of Andover Theological Seminary. From the outset of his ministry he has cast his lot with the lowly. For a while he labored at the North End in Boston, where rum and Romanism are the principally potent influences in society. Afterwards and for three or four years past he has been preaching to the lumbermen of the Michigan woods. Returning to Boston for rest, Mr. Davis attempted to preach the gospel in a quiet and orderly way on the Common, on a recent Sunday afternoon. But our highly orderly city government stepped in with its club and blue buttons and bade the preacher pause. No preaching of the gospel on the Common. Public order might be disturbed! Very true—the same powers that be will allow a blatant fellow to harangue there his infidel views, or at least they did so recently. It does not very seriously imperil public order—or does it?—that the city authorities have gangs of men out on Sundays, again and again, doing work which is in no sense necessary. Thieves and roughs may make the Common dangerous to pass through after twilight, and somehow the city authorities do not distress themselves over the assaults and outrages which are and have been committed. But for a man who is known as a gospel preacher to open his lips there on a quiet Sabbath afternoon, that is alarming. Alarming! It is—only in this, that it shows how much Boston is under the rule of a power that hates Protestantism.—Christian at Work. Pure Religion Is Ministering
By A. L. Stone
PURE religion and undefiled is "ministering;" not the other thing—"being ministered unto." It is vacating a pleasant seat by the fire for one who comes in chilled. It is giving up the most restful arm-chair or sofa-corner for one who is weary. It is "moving up" in the pew to let the new-comer sit down by the entrance. It is rising from your place to darken the blind when the sun's rays stream in too brightly upon some face in the circle. It is giving your comfort and convenience every time for the comfort and convenience of another. This is at once true courtesy and real Christianity. If we mean to copy the spirit of the Master we must be ready in every relation of life to practice this self-sacrificing and "ministering" spirit.—Rev. A. L. Stone, D. D. John Bunyan in Later Life
In his later days John Bunyan's figure was tolerably familiar in London. He preached regularly in Southwalk—in an open space near the Falcon—and people thronged to hear him, so that he could count upon a regular congregation of some 500 souls. John Wesley's father heard him preach on Newington Green. That he had many friends in London is evident from the number of people who attended his funeral, and from the handsome tomb that soon after his death was built over his grave. Twenty or thirty years ago this tomb, which had fallen into decay, was restored, but has already assumed a time-worn, weather-worn appearance.—Sel. Hear Counsel and Receive Instruction
"HEAR counsel, and receive instruction." After Many Days.
By W. M. F. Round
HE was a German boy—you would have known that in a minute. You had only to look at his round, ruddy face, his big, frank, blue eyes, his yellow hair, to know that he belonged to the Teutonic type, and you'd say that he was a good specimen. If you had any doubt as to his nationality you'd have it removed in an instant if he spoke, for when he spoke German he spoke the intensest kind of German, and when he spoke English he broke the language into fragments, and mixed it up with bits of German idiom and accent. His name was Johann, and they called him Hans for short. He had always been called Hans, so that it might better be said his name was Hans, and they called him Johann for long. Hans came over here with his mother, a widow, who had heard great stories about America; how a woman need only work half time to get a good living, and that even a boy might earn what would be a man's income in Germany. She came, and was disappointed. She was all alone, except that she had Hans, and she and the lad had at first a very hard time to get along at all. They had nobody to help them to employment, and they found that if wages were a little higher than they were in Germany, it cost a great deal more to live. Indeed, more than once, after they had spent the little hoard they brought with them, they heard the wolf of hunger growling at their door; and though they managed somehow to keep him outside, they often felt that they would have been better off in the Fatherland. But they were brave-hearted, and trusted in God, so that in a few months both were at work. Hans' mother making men's caps at forty cents a dozen, and Hans working in a grocery store, where, if the man was hard and cruel, a grasping, griping Hollander, he at least paid Hans promptly his two dollars a week, which rather more than paid for the two rooms that he and his mother occupied. There is no doubt about it; Hans worked for a hard master. He was one of those fretful men that go nagging everybody from morning till night. Nothing that Hans did could suit him; and one day when Hans accidentally broke a cracked egg, you'd have thought, to have heard the talk about it, that it was the last and only egg in the world. And now, having introduced Hans, I'll go on with the story. It was a day of blinding, driving, fine rain, with a high wind, that made umbrellas impossible. Hans came in from a long errand, pretty wet, and very cold, for it was January; and he hoped to have a few minutes to warm and dry himself. But he was hardly inside the shop door when Mr. Dumbkopf—that was the grocer's name—said to him:— "Hans, you are a strong boy; here are fifteen pounds of coffee, you must carry it to Mrs. Bildad's boarding-house. It is only a little way off—about half a mile. No matter for the rain; you ain't sugar nor salt, and you won't melt. You do to much loafing round the store. Come, don't stand there like a post, there's the coffee; don't you get it wet." Hans wondered how he could help getting the coffee wet, but he knew he would have to carry it, wet or dry. It was done up in a paper bag, and was a pretty large and pretty heavy bundle. He tried to stretch his jacket around it, but that didn't do much good. So he took the bag by its strong, twisted-up manilla paper neck, and started off, tugging it along, and feeling after the first hundred yards as if it would pull his arms out of their sockets. Fifteen pounds at the end of your arm weighs about fifty pounds after carrying it five minutes; but Hans was a brave boy, and though his job was a hard one, he hummed, "Die Wacht am Rhein" to keep his courage up, and struggled on through the rain. The paper was now getting damp. Now manilla paper is strong as long as it is dry, but wet takes all the strength out of it. Hans didn't remember that, and was just singing out, "The German youth devoted stand," When the paper bag parted in twain, and the twisted-up neck was in his hand, and the body of the bag, with the coffee in it, was standing upright on the wet sidewalk. Hans looked at it in hopeless amazement. Now the bottom of the bag was wet, and if he tried to pick it up, out would go the coffee, which he felt would be equivalent to his going out of Herr Dumbkopf's shop for good and all. He might go to a neighboring grocer's and get a bag, but it wouldn't do to leave fifteen pounds of ground coffee in the middle of the sidewalk. It surely wouldn't be there when he came back. Hans was fifteen years old, but he had a good mind to cry. Tears came into his eyes, but he dashed them away, saying to himself:— "Don't be a baby, Hans! You can't help it." But what should he do? He did not know what way to turn, so he simply stood and looked at the bag at his feet. He was just making up his mind to leave the coffee, go back to Dumbkopf's, tell him all, let him take the coffee out of his wages, and then leave him, when he heard a voice say:— "You are in trouble, my boy." "Yes I was in trouble; I have de coffee spilt, and I could not get him up again, he was so vet." "That's bad, but I guess I can help you out of the difficulty. You stand here by the coffee, and I'll go to the grocer's and get you a flour-bag." So saying, the speaker walked away. He was a man rather under the middle age, with a frank, open face, and brown eyes with the kindest expression in them. Presently he came back, bringing a large paper flour-bag with him, and in a twinkling they had the coffee in a dry parcel, and Hans felt as if a ton weight had been lifted off his heart. "Tank you, tank you a thousand time!" exclaimed the boy. "If dere vas something I could do for you." "There's nothing, my boy," said the stranger, "except when you see anybody in trouble remember to give them a helping hand out of it." "I vill do dat always," said Hans fervently. So the two parted in the rain. Each went his way thinking about the other, and wondering if they would ever meet again. Mr. Paul Brown, jobber in groceries, was in a bad way financially. The new year coming on, bills to pay, notes to meet, wages to pay, and three of his most trusted customers just failed. It looked pretty dark. Mr. Brown had struggled long and faithfully to build up a good business; he was now getting along in years; was threescore years old at his last birthday; he was honored and respected by all who had dealings with him; he had gone on in his success with the love and fear of God in his heart, and now he must go under. His heaviest creditor was a man who never "accommodated" anybody. He could not hope for any extension of time from that quarter, and even if he had obtained such a favor, it was only putting off the catastrophe, as he saw no hope of averting it entirely. Never in his life had Paul Brown been so nearly discouraged. He had been a man always ready to help others, and now in the time of his extremity he could think of no one who would help him. He had prayed over the matter, and though he knew that in some way his prayers would be answered, he could see no signs of an immediate rescue. He had come to the office with a determination to make an assignment and go into bankruptcy. It seemed a sad ending to an honest and faithful business life. It rained—a cold, fine, wintry rain—and Mr. Brown's mind was in harmony with the weather. The world seemed chilly to him. He sat by his desk and gazed into the office grate, where the fire was burning low, and thought— "I'm like that fire. I've burned up all my best years and there is nothing but ashes—nothing but ashes." He was so wrapped in thought that he did not notice that some one had entered the office until he heard a voice saying:— "Mr. Brown, you seem to be in trouble." He looked up and saw one of his customers, a German grocer, John Gottlieb, one who had been faithfulness itself in paying his bills. "Yes, I am in trouble," said Mr. Brown. "How did you hear of it, Mr. Gottlieb?" "Oh, every one is shpeaking of it, and every one is sorry. I t'ought, Mr. Brown, I might help you mit it." Mr. Brown looked up in amazement. He had no special acquaintance with John Gottlieb; they certainly could not be reckoned friends, as the world counts friendship. Mr. Brown looked into the honest round face of the German grocer, and said smilingly:— "I'm afraid not, Mr. Gottlieb; I owe a good deal of money, and I haven't much to pay with; I've had a good deal against me in the way of failures lately." "Yes, I know it. How much money do you need, Mr. Brown? I haf a leedle in the bank; I might lend it to you." "But you might want better security than I can give, or more interest than I could undertake to pay." "I would take your note, Mr. Brown, at de usual rate. How much do you want?" "Oh, it is a good large sum. I do not think anything less than $20,000 would help me much." "So—oh!" exclaimed Mr. Gottlieb, "dat is a lot of money; but I vas prosperous, an' I haf known you all along, and I haf heard only good tings about you, and if twenty t'ousand dollars is all dat you want, and if you gif me your word dat de amount vill let you go on, I could let you haf it, say for one year, oder funf, dat is, or five. I schpeak German sometimes, when I forget. You vas a better business man dan I, Mr. Brown; I tink you make more money mit my twenty t'ousand dollars dan I can. You shall make me your note, I shall give you de money." Tears began to come into Mr. Brown's eyes. He was a manly man, but he couldn't keep them back. Surely the Lord had come to his rescue. Here was a man, almost a stranger, raised up to help him. It was strange, but the ways of the Lord are past finding out. He grasped the sturdy German's hand, and tried557 to thank him, but the words choked him; his heart was indeed in his mouth. After a little while Paul Brown regained his composure, the details of the loan were arranged, and that very day his creditors knew that Mr. Brown had tidied over his difficulties, and would go on as usual. There were plenty of congratulations, and many of them came from men who had coldly turned their backs the day before. "And now," said Mr. Brown to Gottlieb, "tell me how you came to help me? You only knew me by reputation." "But I knew you vas in trouble, und I know you by reputation; and ven I vas a boy I promised never to see anybody troubled without tryin' to get dem out of it. You see somebody helpin' me out of trouble was vat gave me a start in life. It was a stranger, ven I vas a boy, about fifteen years old, and I vas working for old Dumbkopf, and it vas a day just like this, and I vent out wid fifteen pounds of grinded coffee, and de bag broke, and de—" "And I am that very man," exclaimed Mr. Brown. "You vas! you vas! Oh, dat vas a great time for me; you vas my best friend. If I had not met you, and you had not helped me, I should have left Dumbkopf's; and if I had left dere, den I shouldn't have gone on wid him; and if I had not gone on wid him, den I should not haf learned de bizness, den he would not have taken me into de bizness, und if he had not taken me into de bizness, den I should not hef bought it out when de old man died. Und now I have de bizness ten years, and I make much money; and I always remember dat day, ven it rained just like to-day, and I vas in trouble, and you came along like an angel out of de vedder, und got me out of trouble, und I premise mit my whole heart dat when I see anybody in trouble dat I would help dem out, und I always keep my word. Und so ven I heard you vas in trouble, I said, Hans Gottlieb, dere is a man in trouble; he is a good man and an honest man, und why don't you keep your promise? Und you vas dat man; you hef made my fortune; I vas prosperous efry day since dat morning when it rained just like dis morning, und I vas in trouble like everything." Well, that's all of it except the moral, and that you'll find in the book of Ecclesiastes, in the eleventh chapter and first verse, and the words of the moral are as true to-day as they were when they were first written. There is a little more—but it would hardly belong to the story, after all. If you want to know it, you'll have to inquire of Gottlieb & Brown, the great wholesale grocers; it's only the history of their prosperous partnership. W. M. F. Round, in the Lever. LIKE patient saint of olden time,
With lovely face almost divine,
So good, so beautiful and fair,
Her very attitude a prayer;
I heard her sing so low and sweet,
"His loving-kindness—oh how great!"
Turning, beheld the saintly face,
So full of trust and patient grace. "He justly claims a song from me,
His loving-kindness—oh how free!"
Sweetly thus did run the song,
"His loving-kindness," all day long;
Trusting and praising, day by day,
She sang the sweetest roundelay,
"He near my soul hath always stood,
His loving-kindness—oh how good!" "He safely leads my soul along,
His loving-kindness—oh how strong!"
So strong to lead her on the way
To that eternal, better day,
Where, safe at last in that blest home,
All care and weariness are gone,
She'll "sing with rapture and surprise
His loving-kindness in the skies." —Sel. Isn't it a queer little fellow who knows everything as soon as he's born, and builds a house for himself before he's one day old? Everything about him is curious. To begin with, he lives at the bottom of a pond or river. At first he was nothing but a tiny atom of a green egg, stuck to the stem of some weeds under the water. After awhile the egg burst open, out crawled Mr. Worm, and proceeded at once to look for building materials. You see, except his head and neck, which are protected by a hard covering, he is a soft little worm, and he wouldn't live long in the same pond with fish and bugs and spiders, who have nothing to do but eat, and are always hungry, unless he had a safe home. So of course he goes the first thing to building. He hunts up dead leaves and glues them together in such a way as to leave a nice cozy house between them. It's perfectly safe, for who would suspect an old dead leaf of being anybody's house? No sooner is the house done than Mr. Worm moves in. He doesn't have to wait for painters and furniture men—happy fellow! He just goes in and fastens himself there by means of a pair of hooks he has at the end of his tail, and then he's ready to live. The next thing is something to eat. So he starts off, taking his house with him, to hunt up some bits of green stuff, or some atom of a worm smaller than he is. But strange things happen to this bit of a worm at the bottom of the pond. His life is full of wonderful adventures. If he were bigger he would be the wonder of the world. After eating as much as he can, Mr. Worm thinks it is time to retire from the gay world; so he finishes his house by hanging before it a silk door—no loose curtain, but a tightly woven net-work, which he spins and fastens carefully on every side. Whether he goes to sleep in his comical little home, or what he does, nobody knows, because nobody can peep in, you know. But something goes on there in the dark; for after a while the little prisoner opens the door, comes out of his house, crawls up the stem of some weeds till he is out of the water, and then—you'd never guess what happens! Why, his old skin splits open, and he pulls himself out—no longer a miserable little worm, but a gorgeous four-winged Caddice fly, dressed in a neat suit of brown. And he cares no more for the bottom of the pond and his old leaf house. He sails off on the air, a gay, dancing fly.—Little Folks. Playthings of the Children in Japan.
JAPAN has been called the "Paradise of Babies," for not only do the children have a great number of toys, but many persons get their living by amusing them. Men go about the streets blowing soap-bubbles for them, with pipes that have no bowls as ours have. These young Japs have tops, pop-guns, blow-guns, magic lanterns, kaleidoscopes, wax figures, terra cotta animals, flying-fish and dragons, masks, puzzles, and games; butterflies and beetles that flutter about; turtles that move their legs and pop out their heads; birds that fly about, and peck the fingers, and whistle; pasteboard targets that, when hit, burst open and let a winged figure fly out; and—most wonderful of all, perhaps—little balls looking like elder pith, which, thrown into bowls of warm water, slowly expand into the shape of a boat, or a fisherman, a tree, flower, crab, or bird. The girls of Japan have dolls' furniture and dishes, and, of course, dolls. They have dolls that walk and dance; dolls that put on a mask when a string is pulled; dolls dressed to represent nobles, ladies, minstrels, mythological and historical personages. Dolls are handed down for generations, and in some families there are hundreds of them. They never seem to get broken or worn out, as yours do; and, in fact, they can hardly be the dear playmates that yours are. They are kept as a sort of show, and, though the little owners play with them, they do not dress and undress them and take them to bed, as you do. A good deal of the time they are rolled up in silk paper and packed away in a trunk. On the great festival day of the Japanese girls—the Feast of Dolls—there is a great show of dolls and toys, and it is the event of the year for the queer little black-eyed maidens. The Feast of Flags is the boy's great day, and they have banners, flags, figures of warriors and great men, swords and other toys for boys. But the finest toy of Japan, as no doubt all will agree, is carried about the streets by a man, for any child to play with who is the owner of a hundredth part of a cent, or one "each." This toy is a small stove, a copper griddle, spoons, and cups; and, above all, ready-made batter and sauce. The child can sit down, and cook and eat "griddle cakes" to its heart's content.—The Gospel in All Lands. THE YOUTH'S INSTRUCTOR.
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COMPILED BY MRS. E. G. WHITE. THESE are some of the few really good books. For twenty years Mrs. White has been selecting choice, interesting, and instructive stories, the best of which are presented in these four volumes of 400 pages each. It would be difficult to find a better collection. The selections have been carefully made, and none need fear to place them in the hands of the young. They are not, however, designed exclusively for the young, but are adapted for general home reading. All the members of the family circle will find something in them to entertain and instruct. They are just the thing for holiday or birthday gifts. Price per set, neatly put up in box, $2.40. Address, SIGNS OF THE TIMES, Oakland, Cal. THE EARLY LIFE, CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE, AND EXTENSIVE LABORS OF
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Address, PACIFIC PRESS, Oakland, Cal. —Bishop Pierce, senior bishop of the M. E. Church, South, died in Augusta, Georgia, Sept. 3. —The Pope has conferred the degree of Master of Theology on Rev. Father Higgins, of St. Joseph College, Somerset, O., the first person in this country so honored. —An effort is being made to secure legislation permitting the ordination of Miss Louisa S. Baker, who has been preaching acceptably for years in a Congregational Church in Nantucket. —There are said to be no less than 2,370 parochial Catholic schools in this country. One of the largest of these is that connected with the Church of the Immaculate Conception, New York. It has over 2,500 pupils and about forty teachers. —The "National Holiness Association" has resolved to have no connection with so-called "undenominational Holiness Bands," and to admit none but Methodists into their association, and to work in accord with Methodist ways and usages. —Bishop H. M. Turner, of the M. E. Church, South, is said to be the first colored man who ever received the degrees of D. D. and LL.D. He educated himself at night among the cotton-fields of South Carolina, and was the first colored chaplain in the United States army, commissioned by President Lincoln. —In an article in the September number of the North American Review, Bishop J. Lancaster Spaulding insists that the only sure basis of popular government is morality, not culture of the intellect, nor universal suffrage, nor the development of material resources; and that if the country is to be saved from ruin, there must be a return to the uncompromising moral code of the founders of New England. —The S. F. Post says: "The old Catholic Church of St. Bernard, at Rockville, Connecticut, is to be disposed of by raffle, and Father Furlong is selling tickets for that purpose." Gambling is becoming so closely connected with church affairs, that we should not be surprised if the pope were to elevate it to the dignity of a sacrament. When the Catholic Church adopts a custom she does no half-way work, as do some of her Protestant daughters. —A pamphlet issued by the "New York Sabbath Committee" says that not less than 125,000 church members in the employ of the various railroads of the United States labor on Sunday, being compelled to do so or else lose their places. The "Sabbath Committee" doubtless wants a Sunday law, so that those church members may be able to "live their religion" without making any sacrifices. There are a good many people who favor Sunday observance, and are waiting for the law to compel them to do what they think they ought to. —The "Summer School of Philosophy," at Concord, has been in session, spending the entire time in deifying Emerson. Many new sayings of his were told by some of his intimate friends, among them this one: "The best way to preach Christ in these days is to say nothing about him." This statement, says the Christian Union, "is a revelation of the religious side of Emerson's life which throws much light upon his relation to his own time, and upon his religious method." It strikes us that many people are decidedly Emersonian in respect to religion. Nothing is more common than such preaching of Christ as he advocated. Yet the leading religious(?) journals call that religion. Is there anything that does not hide itself under that broad name? —Oakland is afflicted above measure with "holiness" people. We have here all the modern varieties of "holiness," including many which we think have appeared nowhere else. In fact, "holiness" has broken loose and is running wild. We wouldn't persecute our readers with a description of all the vagaries, even if we could. We will just mention two extremes. One class is the "I-am-holier-than-thou" kind. One of the preachers of this class was telling, in the camp-meeting now in session in East Oakland, why he could not affiliate with all Christians. He said in substance that all had their peculiarities, some lacking in one direction and some in another: "but," said he, "brethren, if you will all be cast in the same gospel mould that I was cast in, you will be just right." The other class believe that they are already in the immortal state, not only sanctified but glorified. They also have a paper. They are already in the celestial city, but they say that as there are twelve gates, they won't oblige all to enter by the same gate that they did. As yet they have mentioned only six gates. These are, the Universalist Gate, the Jews' Gate, the Communist Gate, the Nihilist Gate, the Spiritualist Gate, and the Roman Catholic Gate. The Mohametans are eagerly looking for their gate, and as all must enter sooner or later, we have no doubt but that they will soon find it. If the other five gates prove insufficient to accommodate all, it is probable that the Communists and Nihilists could squeeze through the same gate, although for that matter either the Universalist or the Spiritualist gate is wide enough for all, so that the other eleven might be dispensed with. And to think that this "holiness" movement is just in its infancy. Ugh! —U. S. Senator Anthony, of Rhode Island, died last week. —The telegraph reports a cholera panic throughout Italy. —There are ninety threshing-machines at work on the grain crop of Colusa County, Cal. —Three Chinese laundries were wrecked by a colored mob in Philadelphia on the 2d inst. —A New York contractor has been arrested for building hollow walls and filling them with sand. —It is said that there are in Europe twenty societies organized to oppose the eating of animal food. —It is said that the Mormon question will be made a prominent issue in Southern politics this fall. —Judge Folger, Secretary of the U. S. Treasury, died at Geneva, N. Y., on the 4th inst., aged 62 years. —San Francisco has one saloon to every sixty-seven of its population, and one to every eleven voters. —The branch post-offices at West Oakland and Brooklyn (East Oakland), Cal., have been re-established. —A valuable collection of Mexican rarities, zoological and botanical, destined for the New Orleans Exposition, has been burned. —It is charged that the Broadway Railroad Cable Company of New York City obtained its franchise by a wholesale bribery of aldermen. —The town of Creighton, Pa., near Pittsburg, with its large plate glass works, is supplied with an abundance of heat and light from a natural gas well. —A movement has been inaugurated in Spain in favor of the restoration of the temporal power of the pope. It is chiefly championed by the bishops and clergy. —Riots occurred at the wire-drawing mills in Joliet, Ill., last week on account of a reduction of wages said to be caused by competition in the State penitentiary. —Governor Stoneman has pardoned the Chinese leprous convict at San Quentin. He will be returned to China—that is, if any ship captain will take him as a passenger. —Dr. Schloezer, the Prussian Minister at the Vatican, has been instructed to offer final terms for the settlement of the differences between the pope and the Prussian Government. —The extensive flouring-mill and wheat elevator at Waterloo, Ill., was burned last week, together with 20,000 to 40,000 bushels of wheat and 600 barrels of flour. The loss is about $200,000. —Reports are that General Wolesley, commander of the Soudan expedition, offered Henry M. Stanley, the African explorer, a position on his staff, and that Stanley has asked permission of the king of Belgium to accept. —A company of New York capitalists has been formed to establish a telephone line across the Atlantic Ocean. It is to be supplemented, if the patent right permits, by a telephone line from New York to San Francisco. —The Russian census has called attention to the extraordinary restrictions on literature in that country. There are only five or six firms in the whole empire which have a patent from the crown to sell books. All the rest exist on sufferance or on permits arbitrarily given and arbitrarily withdrawn by the local police. There are only two public libraries in the whole country.559 —A New York dispatch of the 1st inst. gives a gloomy account of the morals of that city. It says: "Sunday was made hideous hereabouts by several riots. There was one murder and scores were sent to the hospital injured. The picnic party on board a steamboat fought from the beginning to the end. Upon returning, there were no less than sixteen fights at one time at the landing-place. Women were brutally kicked and thrown overboard, and children were knocked down and hurt. Not until a section of the police had arrived was order restored. Only a few arrests were made. A riot occurred in Twenty-eighth Street among the negroes. The policemen who attempted to quell the disturbance were slashed with razors and beaten with clubs, and were forced to retire." —"The Parliament of Victoria, N. S. W., is said to be considering means for checking the sale of opium in that colony. This has been caused by the rapid spread of opium smoking among the white population. There seems to be no way of rooting out this demoralizing habit. High duties will not do it, for the poor smokers will simply have recourse to the leavings of opium which has once been used and which is far more injurious in its effects than good opium. No legislation can check it, for our experience has shown that private joints are beyond the reach of the law, just as private gaming tables are." —S. F. Chronicle. If the leading secular journals could only see the evil effects of alcohol and tobacco as they do the terrible consequences of the opium curse, there would be some hope for deliverance from all these destructive influences. It is probable, however, that the final resort will be a high license on opium "joints." This seems to be the great modern cure-all for crime.