Earlier text: THE REAL SABBATHThe Baptism of John.
By John Nevins Andrews
BAPTISM is an ordinance peculiar to the New Testament church. It is designed to represent and commemorate certain events in the history of human redemption. Baptism originated with John, the forerunner of Christ. God sent him to preach and to baptize, that he might thus prepare the way before the Saviour. John preached the great truth that Christ was about to be manifested, and bade the people repent of their sins, that they might be prepared to receive him. That they might in a proper manner express their faith in a coming Messiah, John, by God's direction, gave to them the ordinance of baptism, and vast multitudes of the people were baptized. It is certain that some of Christ's disciples were baptized by John; John 1:35-42; and it is every way probable that all of them were baptized by him, for John's preaching was designed to prepare the people for Christ's first advent. Those who received his preaching were baptized. Christ chose his disciples from those who were prepared to receive him as the Messiah. It is therefore evident that not merely a part of his disciples, but all of them, were baptized by John before being called to the apostleship. If they had rejected John's baptism or neglected to observe it, they would have been unfit to fill so important and responsible a place. Near the close of John's ministry, Christ himself was baptized. He submitted to this ordinance that he might, as our pattern, set us an example to follow. After Christ began to preach, the people lost their interest, to a great extent, in the preaching of John. John 3:26. His influence diminished as the influence of Christ increased. Verse 30. John continued to baptize even after the ministry of Christ had commenced, and Christ began to baptize immediately after he began to preach. John 3:22, 23; 4:1. He did not himself baptize any one, but those who were converted by his ministry were baptized by his apostles. And thus while John was still baptizing, the disciples of Christ, under the direction of their Lord, began to baptize the people. There was no conflict between John and Christ. John did all his work as the forerunner of Christ, and Christ acknowledged the great importance of the work done by John. Matt. 10:11. There was no difference between the baptism administered by John and that which the apostles administered under the eye of Christ. Baptism administered by John was gospel baptism, and baptism administered at the same time by the apostles was373 in no respect different. Christ attested the excellence of John's baptism by being baptized at his hands. The apostles who baptized while John was still engaged in baptizing, had been themselves baptized by John, and were not baptized anew by Christ; therefore baptism by the disciples of Christ and baptism by John, which took place at the same time, were each of the same nature and character. A certain great truth was set forth before the people in the ordinance of baptism. The people were exhorted to repent, for the advent of Christ was at hand; and they were to show their faith in this truth by being baptized. Matt. 3. Paul teaches, in the sixth chapter of Romans, that the ordinance of baptism represents the burial and resurrection of Christ; that the sinner, having died to sin, is to be buried in the water, as Christ, after he had died for our sins, was buried in the grave; and that as Christ was raised from the tomb to immortal life, so the believer, being raised from the water, is to walk in newness of life. When John preached to the people that they should repent, he bade them believe on Him that should come after him, that is, Christ. It is evident, then, that John preached the forgiveness of sins through the Saviour. John understood and announced the fact that Christ is the "Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." John 1:29. John therefore preached the gospel in announcing to the people the death of Christ as the sacrifice for the sins of men. It is not difficult, then, to understand why John, when he taught the people to repent of their sins and to believe in Christ who was about to be revealed, also taught them to be baptized. The Son of God, through whom they were to be saved, must die and rise again, and this great fact was represented in the ordinance of baptism, which John taught the people. The only baptism received by Christ and his apostles was that administered by John. Christ did not baptize his apostles, but when he commenced his ministry he employed them to baptize those who were converted by his preaching. John 4:2. The only baptism administered during the ministry of Christ must have been of the same nature as that administered by John. If it be objected that John's baptism was not gospel baptism, because administered before the death and resurrection of Christ, the same objection may be urged against the baptism administered by the apostles during Christ's ministry. But no one will say that those who were baptized during the ministry of Christ did not receive gospel baptism, or that that baptism was not of the same nature as that which was administered by the apostles after Christ's resurrection. But it will be asked how baptism can commemorate the resurrection of Christ if it began to be observed before his death. This question presents a difficulty, and merits our careful attention. If we consider the ordinance of the Lord's supper, we shall find certain facts with regard to its origin which will help to solve this difficulty. This ordinance commemorates the breaking of Christ's body, and the shedding of his blood. No one doubts that it is the memorial of the death of Christ. But this ordinance was observed for the first time before the death of Christ. Though it was instituted to commemorate that event, it was observed for the first time before that event had taken place. The ordinance of baptism and that of the Lord's supper, though designed to commemorate the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, were first, by divine authority, observed in anticipation of those events, and as expressing the faith of the disciples that those events should actually take place. But from the day that they transpired till the present time, these ordinances have been observed in memory of these events. But it will be asked, If the baptism of John was gospel baptism, why, then, did Paul, as recorded in Acts 19, baptize again some who had been baptized according to John's baptism? The answer to this question is not difficult. The persons here referred to were the disciples of Apollos, converted at Ephesus a short time previous to the visit of Paul. See the last part of Acts 18. Though this was twenty-five years after the resurrection of Christ, Apollos knew only the baptism of John, and baptized just as John had administered the ordinance, telling the disciples that they should believe on a Messiah that was yet to come. It was all right for John to give this instruction to those whom he baptized; for the Saviour was about to be manifested to the people. But it was a great error on the part of Apollos to teach the people that Christ was yet to come, when, in truth, he had died and risen from the dead twenty-five years before. The error of Apollos was corrected when Aquila and Priscilla took him and expounded to him the way of God more perfectly. It was necessary that Paul should baptize those disciples anew; for Christ had already come, whereas they were baptized in the name of one who was yet to come. Those who were baptized by John personally in the faith of the coming Messiah did not need to be baptized again when Christ had actually presented himself to the people. But those who were baptized in the faith of a Messiah yet to come after he had died and risen from the dead, needed to be baptized again, that their baptism might not be a denial of Christ, but a confession of faith in him. Those who ate the Lord's supper that night on which he was betrayed, received it as an expression of their faith in the Saviour who was yet to die for them; but since his death we eat it in memory of him who has already died for us. If the apostles had eaten the Lord's supper after Christ's death as an expression of their faith in a Saviour who was yet to die for them, it would have been an act like that of those who were baptized in the faith of a Messiah yet to come after he had already been manifested to men, and had returned again to his Father. J. N. A.
Bale, Oct. 1, 1879. The United States in Prophecy.
By Uriah Smith
THEN the Bible and the Bible alone is the Protestant rule of faith; and liberty to worship God according to the dictates of one's own conscience is the standard of religious freedom in this land. And from the quotations herewith presented, it is evident that while the government pledges to all its citizens the largest amount of civil freedom, outside of license, it has determined to lay upon the people no religious restrictions, but to guarantee to all liberty to worship God according to the Protestant principle. Here, then, are two great principles standing prominently before the people: Republicanism and Protestantism. And what can be more just, and innocent, and lamb-like, than these? And here, also, is the secret of our strength and power. Had some Caligula or Nero ruled this land, we should look in vain for what we behold to day. Immigration would not have flowed to our shores, and this country would never have presented to the world so unparalleled an example of national growth. Townsend, Old World and New, p. 341, says:— "And what attached these people to us? In part, undoubtedly, our zone, and the natural endowments of this portion of the globe. In part, and of late years, our vindicated national character, and the safety of our institutions. But the magnet in America is that we are a republic—a republican people! Cursed with artificial government, however glittering, the people of Europe, like the sick, pine for nature with protection, for open vistas and blue sky, for independence without ceremony, for adventure in their own interest,—and here they find it!" One of these horns may therefore represent the civil republican power of this government, and the other, the Protestant ecclesiastical. This application is warranted by the facts already set forth respecting the horns of the other powers. For (1) the two horns may belong to one beast, and denote union instead of division, as in the case of the ram, Daniel 8; and (2) a horn may denote a purely ecclesiastical element, as the little horn of Daniel's fourth beast; and (3) a horn may denote the civil power alone, as in the case of the first horn of the Grecian goat. On the basis of these facts, we have these two elements, Republicanism and Protestantism, here united in one government, and represented by two horns like the horns of a lamb. And these are nowhere else to be found. Nor have they appeared, since the time we could consistently look for the rise of the two-horned beast, in any nation upon the face of the earth except our own. And with these horns there is no objection to be found. They are like those of a lamb, the Bible symbol of purity and innocence. The principles are all right. The outward appearance is unqualifiedly good. But, alas for our country! its acts are to give the lie to its profession. The lamb-like features are first developed; but the dragon voice is to be heard hereafter. From the facts thus far elicited in this argument, we have seen that the government symbolized by the two-horned beast must be some government distinct from the powers of the Old World, whether civil or ecclesiastical; that it must arise this side the Atlantic; that it must be seen coming into influence and notoriety about the year 1798; that it must rise in a peaceful manner; that its progress must be so rapid as to strike the beholder with as much wonder as the perceptible growth of an animal before his eyes; that it must be a republic; that it must exhibit before the world, as an index of its character, and the motives by which it is governed, two great principles in themselves perfectly just, and innocent, and lamb-like; and that it must perform its work in the present century. And we have seen that of these eight specifications, just two things can be said: First, that they are all perfectly met in the history of the United States, thus far; and secondly, that they are not met in the history of any other government on the face of the earth. Behind these eight lines of defense, therefore, the argument lies impregnably intrenched. And the American patriot, he who loves his country, and takes a just pride in her thus-far glorious record and noble achievements, needs an argument no less ponderous and immovable, and an array of evidence no less clear, to enable him to accept the painful conclusion that the remainder of the prophecy also applies to this government, hitherto the best the world has ever seen; for the prophet immediately turns to a part of the picture which is dark with injustice, and marred by oppression, deception, intolerance, and wrong. After describing the lamb-like appearance of this symbol, John immediately adds, "And he spake as a dragon." The dragon, the first link in this chain of prophecy, was a relentless persecutor of the church of God. The leopard beast which follows, was likewise a persecuting power, grinding out for 1260 years the lives of millions of the followers of Christ. The third actor in the scene, the two-horned beast, speaks like the first, and thus shows himself to be a dragon at heart; "for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," and in the heart actions are conceived. This, then, like the rest is a persecuting power; and the reason that any of them are mentioned in prophecy, is simply because they are persecuting powers. God's care for the church, his little flock, is what has led him to give a revelation of his will, and point out the foes with whom they would have to contend. To his church, all the actions recorded of the dragon and leopard beast relate; and in reference to the church, therefore, we conclude that the dragon voice of this power is uttered. The "speaking" of any government must be the public promulgation of its will on the part of its law-making and executive powers. Is this nation, then, to issue unjust and oppressive enactments against the people of God? Are the fires of persecution, which in other ages have devastated other lands, to be lighted here also? We would fain believe otherwise; but notwithstanding the pure intentions of the noble founders of this government, notwithstanding the worthy motives and objects of thousands of Christian patriots to-day, we can but take the prophecy as it reads, and expect nothing less than what it predicts. John heard this power speak; and the voice was that of a dragon. Nor is this so improbable an issue as might at first appear. The people of the United States are not all saints. The masses, notwithstanding all our gospel light and gospel principles, are still in a position for Satan to suddenly fire their hearts with the basest of impulses. This nation, as we have seen, is to exist to the coming of Christ; and the Bible very fully sets forth the moral condition of the people in the days that immediately precede that event. Iniquity is to abound, and the love of many to wax cold. Evil men and seducers are to wax worse and worse. Scoffers are to arise, saying, "Where is the promise of his coming?" The whole land is to be full of violence as it was in the days of Noah, and full of licentiousness as was Sodom in the days of Lot. And when the Lord comes faith will scarcely be found upon the earth; and those who are ready for his coming will be but a "little flock." Can the people of God think to go through this period, and not suffer persecution? No. This would be contrary to the lessons taught by all past experience, and just the reverse of what we are warranted by the word of God to expect. "All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution." If ever this was true in the history of the church, we may expect it to be emphatically so when, in the last days, the world is in its aphelion as related to God, and the wicked touch their lowest depths of iniquity and sin. Let, then, such a general spirit of persecution arise as the foregoing scriptures declare will in the last days exist, and what is more probable than that it should assume an organized form? In this country the will of the people is law. And let there be a general desire on the part of the people for certain oppressive enactments against believers in unpopular doctrines, and what would be more easy and natural than that such desire should immediately crystallize into systematic action, and their oppressive measures take the form of law? Then we have just what the prophecy indicates. Then is heard the voice of the dragon. And there are elements already in existence which furnish a luxuriant soil for a baleful crop of future evil. But a few years ago three and a half millions of human beings were held in our country in a state of abject bondage, deprived of every vestige of freedom and every trace of manhood. But why refer to slavery, it may be asked, since it has already become a thing of the past? Slavery, to be sure, on the ground of political expediency, has been abolished. For the time being, the ballots and bayonets of its opponents have outnumbered those of its partisans. But has this changed the disposition by which it has heretofore been fostered? Has it converted the South? Have they been brought to look upon it as an evil which should be given up on account of its own intrinsic wrong? We would that we could answer these questions in the affirmative. But there are acts too patent to be denied, which show that the virus of this great iniquity still rankles in the body politic; that the system of slavery has been given up by the people of the South simply as a matter of necessity; that if they had the power they would re-instate it again though they should rend and ruin the Republic in their attempt; and hundreds of thousands in the North would sympathize with them in the movement, and second them in their efforts. The disease is driven from the surface, but it is not cured. It may be a source of serious trouble hereafter. One Month's Missionary Work in Oakland.
By Editor
We are glad to see that the members of the T. and M. Society of Oakland are beginning to awaken to the importance of the time in which we live, and to the necessities of the hour. That we are living at a time when we can reasonably expect the Lord to come soon is evidenced by the fulfillment of prophecy; and that this truth has found a lodgment in the hearts of our workers is proven by the zealous and persevering efforts which are just now being put forth to bring the light and truth before the minds of the people of this city. We are informed, through the Spirit of Prophecy, that before the end, these printed pages containing the truth will be scattered throughout the earth like the leaves of Autumn; and, indeed, when we consider the great amount of labor now being done by our various missionary societies, it does seem as though we were rapidly merging into that time. Below we give a report of the work done in Oakland during the past month, which will be of interest to every lover of the truth :— No. pp. tracts given away. . . . . . . . . 14,235.
“ “ “ and pamphlets loaned . . . . 17,504.
Total . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31,739.
“ letters written. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96.
“ periodicals distributed . . . . . . . . . . . 1,679.
“ subscribers for periodicals . . . . . . . . . . 7. We feel encouraged when we see the activity manifested by our missionary workers, and we predict that the coming year will witness more work done in District No. 7 than in any two previous years. Suppose we take the number of pages of tracts and pamphlets loaned and given away this month as an average for the coming year, and we have no less than 386,868 pages distributed in this city alone in one year. But we confidently believe that this number will be greatly exceeded in that time. May the Lord bless the effort. A RUSSIAN proverb: "Everything tastes bitter to him who has gall in his mouth." The Baby in the Cottage.
By Ladies' Repository
A SMALL brown cottage stood on the roadside, opposite an old mill. From the door you could see the great wheel slowly turning; and when the air was still you could hear the dull rumbling of machinery. The miller's family lived in the brown cottage. Shall I tell you how many were in this family? Just three. Two little girls and a baby. But where was the mother? you ask. There was no mother in the miller's brown cottage; only two little girls and a baby. One month ago the mother's earthly life had failed and flickered, as you have seen the light of a lamp when the oil was consumed. Then it went out; and there were tears and grief in the brown cottage. As for the mother, sorrow and sickness had made both heart and body weak. For a long time before she died a great shadow rested on her life—a shadow that grew darker day by day. But she was loving and pure, and, in his own good time, the Lord closed her tearful eyes . . . Sad as her life was, she would have clung to it if it had been a thousand times sadder, for the sake of her little ones. But God knew what was best for her and those she loved. "Where was the baby's father?" I hear asked. "Did he not love and care for it, and for his two little girls also?" I said that a shadow rested on the poor mother's heart—a shadow that grew darker every day. Such shadows rest on many hearts. The miller had once been the kindest of husbands and the tenderest of fathers. What had changed him? Drink! You know too well what that means. Once he took a glass of beer only now and then; not that it made him feel any better, but really worse, for it produced a heaviness of head and limbs that was very unpleasant while it lasted. Sometimes a headache was the consequence. But others drank beer, and he joined in the useless and unsafe custom. After a while this unwholesome stuff so changed the healthy, natural state of his stomach, that it began to crave the bitter stimulating draught. Then he drank oftener, which, of course, only made it worse—increasing the unhealthy condition, and likewise the craving thirst that could never be satisfied—no, not even with beer; and so, at times, whiskey, gin, and brandy were taken. These lead to ruin by a quicker way than ale or beer; because they are more fiery and burn with a fiercer flame. You can understand now why a shadow had rested on the mother of these children, and why it had grown darker every day. The baby was a year old. Hester, or Hetty as she was called, had just passed her tenth birthday, and Mary was seven. So young, and motherless. At first thought it seems as if it would have been better for them to be fatherless also. But God knows what is best always. His tender care was over these little ones, and over their father too. Now, that baby was one of the loveliest things alive—so sweet and pure; so gentle, yet so full of infantile joy; and so winning in all his ways that none could help loving him. This neighbor and that offered to take him when his mother died, but Hetty, who had seemed to grow into a woman all at once, said, "no, no, I can't part from baby." Then a lady, who had no children, took the half-drunken, wretched father aside and talked to him till he consented to let her have the baby and bring him up as her own. She wanted to carry him right off, but the miller said, "No, not till to-morrow." "Better let me take him now," urged the lady. For Hetty's sake the miller repeated his "no." He knew how great was her love for the baby, and there was enough of tenderness in his heart to keep him from adding this to her grief on the day of her mother's burial. Now it happened that Hetty, unknown to her father and the woman, had heard what had passed between them. At first she was almost beside herself with pain. It was as much as her heart could bear to lose her mother, and she felt that to take baby also, would, as she said afterwards, "just kill her." The funeral over, all the neighbors went home, except two, more tender-hearted and pitying than the rest. It seemed cruel to them to turn their backs upon these two little girls and the sweet baby left motherless. One of them had been a very dear friend of the miller's wife, and she grieved for her loss as for that of a beloved sister. Taking Hetty by the hand, and leading her into her mother's room, now so still and desolate, she shut the door, and throwing both her arms about the child, burst into tears and wept over her for a long time before she could get calm enough to speak. "I want to talk with you, Hetty," she said at length, as she sat down and composed herself. The blinding tears dried out of Hetty's eyes as she fixed them wistfully on the woman's face. "What are you going to do?" Ah, that was the hardest of all questions to answer. Hetty's eyes rested for a little while on the woman's face, and then dropped to the floor. Raising them quickly, after a moment; she replied:— "If they'll only let me keep baby, Mrs. Wilder." The thought of his being taken away came back so vividly to the mind of Hetty that she could not bear it. Her lips quivered, and she burst again into tears. "I thought you were going to keep him," said the neighbor. "Mrs. Florence wants him, and says she'll take care of him just as if he was her own." "I don't know that," remarked the neighbor. "If Mrs. Florence will take him—" "It's very kind in her," said Hetty interrupting the sentence, "and I am sure she would be good to him. But, indeed, Mrs. Wilder, I can't let him go. I feel just as if I should die if they were to take him away. You don't know how I do love him." "But you are so young, Hetty. Almost a child yourself. You can't take care of baby. And then who is to be housekeeper?" "I've thought it all over, Mrs. Wilder over and over again—and Mary and I can do it all," said Hetty. "Mary and you! Why, Mary is only seven years old," answered the neighbor. "She's a handy little thing for all that. Oh, we can get along, if they won't take baby." "What does your father say about it? Has Mrs. Florence spoken to him?" "Yes; I heard them talking it over. Mrs. Florence wanted to take the baby right off, but father said, 'wait till to-morrow.'" "It would, perhaps, be better for the baby"— "It wouldn't be for any body," spoke out Hetty, in a strong and decided manner. "And in particular it wouldn't be for father." "Why not for your father?" asked Mrs. Wilder. Hetty's face grew hot, and then pale; and her voice choked a little at first as she answered:— "You know about father, how dreadful it is. It will get worse if baby goes. I'm sure of that. He loves baby. And now that mother's gone, I've thought his loving baby so might help him to—to—" Hetty paused; she could not speak the word that was on her tongue, but the neighbor understood her. "You are a wise little girl," said Mrs. Wilder, laying her hand on the child's head tenderly, "and in the right, I'm thinking. Now tell me freely all that is in your mind." "It's just this, Mrs. Wilder," said Hetty, her manner taking on the thoughtful seriousness of a woman. "Father loves baby, and now that mother's gone he will feel softer towards us all. Mary and I will do every thing to make it comfortable for him; and, we'll always keep baby looking so sweet and clean that he'll love to come home just to see him, instead of going to the tavern when he shuts down the mill. If Mrs. Florence would give baby a nice white frock, and one with a pink or blue spot in it, and a pair of new shoes, I could keep him looking, Oh, so lovely! Father couldn't help coming right home from the mill to see him; and who knows, Mrs. Wilder," Hetty continued, growing warm and hopeful, "but father might stop drinking altogether. Oh, if Mrs. Florence would do this, and not think of taking baby away!" "I'll see Mrs. Florence and talk with her," said Mrs. Wilder as Hetty stopped speaking. "Will you? O, do, please, right away! Tell her that it won't be good for us to let baby go." Mrs. Florence, when all this was related to her was deeply moved. She had lost a dear baby two years before, and the clothes it used to wear had been folded away in a bureau drawer, untouched since then. "The dear child shall have her way," she answered. Then going to the drawer, into which she had not looked for many months, she took out three almost new frocks, one of white muslin, and two of delicately figured chintz; also three pairs of stockings, a pair of morocco shoes, and some underclothing, and sent them to the motherless baby. On the next day the miller, sobered by the loss of his wife, kept away from the tavern, and tried to settle in his own mind what was best for him to do. He had promised the baby to Mrs. Florence, but baby had given him so tight a hug he kissed and parted from him at breakfast time, that he felt his dear little arms clinging around his neck all the morning as he went about the mill. How could he let him go? And Hetty was good and thoughtful, and so fond of baby. It would break his heart to give him up. "What a handy girl Hetty is," the miller said to himself, as he remembered how nice a breakfast she had got for him, and how clean and orderly everything was about the house. As it drew toward noon the miller began to feel a little anxious about his promise to Mrs. Florence. She was to have baby that day. What if she had come for him already, and that when he went home at dinner time there should be no baby to spring into his arms and hug him around the neck! In the meantime Hetty had received the bundle of clothes, and with the bundle had come a message from Mrs. Florence, saying that she had changed her mind about taking the baby. "Oh, darling, darling!" exclaimed Hetty, almost wild with joy, hugging and kissing the baby, who crowed, and laughed, and hugged and kissed her in return, as if he understood and shared in her delight. "Oh, but won't he look sweet!" she exclaimed, as she opened and admired the beautiful baby clothes, finer than anything he had ever worn. "Father will be home soon," she said to Mary. "You set the table, and I'll wash petty and dress him in his pink slip with the white ruffled apron, and tie the sleeves with bows of blue ribbon. He'll look so sweet that father will hardly know him." So baby was washed and dressed in the new clothes, and I can tell you he did look lovely. There was not a handsomer baby in all the neighborhood. "He's going to sleep," said Mary, who saw his eyes beginning to droop. "Oh, I wish he'd stay awake till father comes." But even as she spoke the long dark lashes fell lower and lower, till they rested on his cheeks. "You hold him till I put on a clean pillow-case," and Hetty placed the sleeper in her sister's arms. A soiled pillow-case was changed for one of snowy whiteness, and baby laid upon the bed where only a few days before his mother had slept the sleep from which none ever awaken in this world. How lovely he was! No wonder the little sisters lingered about the bed, so entranced by his beauty that it seemed impossible to tear themselves away. "Father is coming," said Mary, who had turned her eyes to the window. Hetty looked out and saw him crossing the road. His steps were quicker and firmer than usual. "I want him to see baby all alone by himself." And Hetty, as she spoke, drew Mary from the room. They heard a low exclamation of surprise from their father when he entered, and then all was still—still for so long a time that Hetty began to wonder, and to feel uneasy. At last, pushing open the door softly, she looked in and saw her father kneeling by the bedside, his face buried in the clothes. A little while she stood, almost holding her breath. She was about closing the door, when he lifted his head from the bed-clothes and fixed his eyes on the baby. Tears wet his cheeks. How fondly, tenderly, almost reverently did he look at the sleeping child—pure as an angel! A slight movement drew his attention to Hetty. After a moment, he then said:— The two children went up to him. He took them in his arms, still kneeling, and tried to speak to them. But sobs choked back the words he would have uttered. At last, in the anguish of repentance, and in half despair of his own strength, he cried out:— "O, Lord and Saviour, help me to be a father indeed to these motherless little ones!" Then a deep quiet fell upon them—a stillness, as if each listened for an audible answer to the almost wildly spoken prayer. Hetty was the first to break the silence. "Dear father," she said, kissing him and tenderly stroking his cheek, "we'll do everything, Mary and I, to make it nice for you at home. And we'll keep baby as sweet and clean as the richest baby in the land. Oh, isn't he a darling!" Then they all arose and bent over the sleeping baby; and though death had just taken their dearest one away, it was a long, long time since the waves of happiness had flooded their hearts as deeply as now. The shadow that lifted that day did not fall again. The miller had dragged himself, by a strong effort, through strength given him from heaven, out of a worse slough than Christian got mired in, ere he reached the wicket gate. Once more on firm ground, love for his baby that grew more winning every day, and love for his dear children, Hetty and Mary, who never tired of doing for their father, God used as the means of keeping his feet in the safe ways of sobriety. He never went again astray.—Ladies' Repository.