Earlier text: THE SECOND COMING OF CHRISTA LEAF FROM PROPHECY AND HISTORY.
By S. C. Palmer
“AND I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon.” Rev. 13:11. No other beast among all the prophetic symbols is mentioned as “coming up” in this way. The four beasts representing four universal monarchies, came up out of the sea, as the four winds of heaven strove upon it. Dan. 7:2, 3. “The waters which thou sawest,” says the angel to the prophet in Rev. 17:15, “are peoples, and multitudes, and nations, and tongues.” The four kingdoms, Babylon, Medo-Persia, Grecia, and Rome, came up out of strife and war, by conquest and oppression. This one is seen “coming up,” or, as some define the original word, “growing up as a plant,” “out of the earth.” The same thought is unwittingly expressed by a modern historian, who writes of the United States, “Like a silent seed we grew into empire.” It is we; for ours is the nation which the prophet saw. The last of the four, as each of the others, bore rule over all the earth, all that was then known. This is another beast. But it will be objected that Daniel wrote one prophecy and John the other six hundred years later. Very well. Now note the marks or characteristics of the first beast of this same chapter, Rev. 13:2: “And the beast which I saw was like unto a leopard [Grecia], and his feet were as the feet of a bear [Medo-Persia], and his mouth as the mouth of a lion [Grecia];” this grew up out of Medo-Persian territory; for there was none other. In the light of Daniel, how fitting is the symbol of the first beast of Revelation 13, with its body like that out of which it had just grown. Indeed, the empire, as symbolized, was Græco-Roman. Of course, the beast should have a leopard’s body. Now another beast could not well be made up of this one or any part of it, and especially at the time while it is still on the stage of action. Further, the miracles of the two-horned beast are performed in the presence of the first or Roman beast. Now, as to the time when it should arise, we are not left to any guesswork or haphazard interpretation; but when the first beast was going into captivity (verse 10), this one is seen coming up, and (verse 12) he exercises the power of the first beast in his presence. The going into captivity was not utter destruction, but a deadly wound which was healed. This deadly wound the Papacy received in February, 1798, at the close of its 1260 years, or forty and two months of supremacy. The French army at that time entered the city of Rome, proclaimed it a republic, took captive Pope Pius VI. (or VII. as some enumerate them) and carried him away a prisoner of war; he died in exile at Valence, in France, August, 1799. Thus is the prophecy fulfilled: “He that leadeth into captivity shall go into captivity; he that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword;” and that this meant the papal persecutions and not ordinary war, is plainly shown in the next clause, added, no doubt, for that purpose. “Here is the patience and the faith of the saints.” Here is the end of 1260 long, dark, bloody years of papal, Roman Catholic persecution. This is the “time of the end,” of which Daniel wrote (Dan. 12:4), when many should run to and fro, and knowledge be increased. These things show that “prophecy came not in old time by the will of man; but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.” 2 Peter 1:21. The year 1798, then, is the date when this nation must be seen “coming up.” In 1753 John Wesley wrote, “He cannot be far off, for He must come at the end of the forty and two months of the first beast.” Within less than twenty-four years our Declaration of Independence was signed, and we began to be known as a nation by those who dared to recognize us. But you will say 1776 is not 1798. Very well; twenty-two years is but a short space, and let us see how it was spent before we jump too quickly at a conclusion. First, it takes seven years to prove to the mother country that the colonies are old enough to be weaned; nine more are used up in developing our Constitution and getting the government fairly organized. This brings us to 1792, for while the Constitution was adopted in convention September 17, 1787, it was not ratified by the requisite number of States until late in 1788, and two States took no part in the first election of a chief magistrate, while the last one of them was gently persuaded to adopt or ratify the Constitution in 1792. Six years only are left, and these are more full of interest than all that have preceded them, if possible. It is a maxim old as Grecian proverbs that “he whose money passes current is king.” The coinage of money is a sign of sovereignty. Our first national mint was established by Act of Congress, April 2, 1792; the first coins were struck in 1793, and silver dollars were coined the next year. Commerce would carry these, and in them the knowledge of a new nation, to all the world. Five years are left, and the first of these, 1794, is spent in quelling our first real insurrection, the whisky rebellion in Western Pennsylvania. The power to lay and collect taxes is a most substantial sign of sovereignty. See Luke 2:1. This insurrection was a refusal to pay tax, and it took a force of 15,000 militia under Gen. Benjamin Lincoln to suppress it. Thus, 1794 was spent in establishing our sovereignty at home. Three years more are to pass before the date which marks the “time of the end” of papal supremacy. How are these years occupied? For 350 years time was not when the Mediterranean Sea was free from pirates, Turkish pirates. Though Turkey was somewhat checked in her career as Turkey itself, her allies, nay, her subjects—for such they were in fact—in Tunis, Tripoli, Algiers, Morocco, etc., continued to carry on a regular system of piracy, prying upon the commerce of all nations. None were exempt. But the merchantmen of all nations, even the “mistress of the seas,” paid tribute and ransom to these Turkish pirates. For 350 years the hopeless wail of the captive man, woman, and child went up from Algerine dungeons and Tripolitan prison ships. Christian maidens languished and found a living tomb in the harems of the unspeakable Turk. No power in Europe could cope with these pirates; gold was the only ransom, and that often failed. This state of affairs prevailed in the Mediterranean in 1795, not only there but in all the world. Their ravages were felt by all who went down to the sea in ships. Tripoli was their headquarters; and in 1795 the United States of America sent a naval force to Tripoli, captured the bey in his own stronghold, and humbled the pride of the pirates of the Barbary Coast. This was no temporary triumph of day, but a permanent victory. That power whose hand had not been stayed by all the kings of Europe and the world, now stood ready and glad to make substantial peace with the beast with two horns like a lamb. A treaty was prepared in 1796, ratified by the Senate and signed by the first President of the new nation that year. Copies of this were exchanged with the bey of Tripoli, May 26, 1797, and this document became part of the supreme law of the land. (See Constitution of the United States, article 6, clause 2.) This treaty is completed within less than a year from the time, February, 1798, when the papal beast goes into captivity. So the very last of the 1260 years sees the two-horned beast “coming up.” But, say you, why is this more of a coming up than our treaty with Great Britain when she acknowledged our independence, September 3, 1783? That was one nation making unwilling acknowledgment of the autonomy of a power which she still regarded as only an experiment in government, and the other nations of Europe and the world generally so regarded us at that time. Our ambassadors were treated as commercial agents merely, in almost every court of Europe. When John Adams was sent as an ambassador to the Dutch Republic, he was laughed at and treated as a tramp adventurer in the streets of Amsterdam, then the capital of the Netherlands. But of this particular treaty with Tripoli, 1796-97, we may well notice one article, the eleventh, in which the lamblike character is forcibly set forth, and in two particulars. Let us read the words:— ARTICLE 2. As the Government of the United States of America is not in any sense founded in the Christian religion, as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquillity of Musulmans; and as the said States have never entered into any war or act of hostility against any Mahometan nation, it is declared by the parties that no pretext arising from religious opinions shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries. Now note: “No character of enmity against the laws . . . of Musulmans.” Our government not being founded in any sense upon the Christian religion, or, indeed, upon any religion, being wholly a civil government, and not in any sense a religious one, it could have no character of enmity against the laws of297 Mussulmans any more than against the laws of Germans, or Turcomans, or men of any nation. Civil governments have no character of enmity, for enmity is not born of civility. Let republicanism, democracy, civil liberty rather, be inscribed upon one lamblike horn! “No character of enmity against the . . . religion . . . of Mussulmans.” How could it have a character of enmity against a religion, any religion, when, as Madison truthfully says, “religion is not in the purview of human government”? Let me add: When governments begin to make religious laws, they then and there invade the realm of conscience, which is the realm of God. They then and there put themselves in the place of God, showing themselves as his vicegerent. The Papacy does no more. Let Protestantism—religious liberty, rather—be inscribed on the other horn, for since Protestants have ceased to protest, Protestantism is a term that expresses a sort of unknown quantity. Two horns like a lamb are thus shown to the world, with the words “civil liberty” upon one and “religious liberty” upon the other. “No character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquillity;” this last word fitly sets forth also a lamblike character. The words of this treaty when compared with the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of our government, are found to set forth the exact truth with regard to our national character at that time. That character was maintained for one hundred years, but, alas! in the year 1892 it may be inscribed upon our banners no more. It is a thing of the past. It has gone into history, as the SIGNS has abundantly shown in the past. A TWENTY-FIVE CENT CHANCE.
ONE of the overland trains coming through Nebraska on the Union Pacific Railroad, several years ago, after the long trip through the mountains and over the plains, was nearing Omaha. The passengers in one of the cars, as nearly always happens on transcontinental trains, had gradually gathered into little groups, made themselves known to their fellow-travelers, and were passing the time away by social chat. One of these groups was composed of a couple of tourists returning East, after a season of sight-seeing, a commercial traveler, and two cowboys, and, a little to one side, a member of the group, but not taking part in the discussions, sat a minister,—one of the hardy frontier type. The commercial traveler, naturally enough, led all discussions. The conversation finally turned on religion, of which but one of the group, the minister, knew aught by experience. The drummer was a skeptic, and went on to remark: "Well, you can say what you please; I don't believe a single word about this future life and resurrection, and all that sort of stuff. Gentlemen, I'll tell you what I'd do: I would take twenty-five cents right now for all the chance of heaven I've got now or ever expect to have." The minister took a nearer seat. "My friend," said he, "be careful. You can't afford to make any rash statements." "I meant just what I said," retorted the man of many words. "I'll take you up," said the clergyman. "I've only one chance of heaven myself, and I am sure I need as many as I can get. This will be the best investment I ever made. Here's your quarter, and here's my address," handing the drummer a card. "If you ever want to go back on this bargain, just drop me a line and I will make it all right with you. I should certainly be glad to have you change your mind. You're making a bad bargain, but just as you say." And the minister got up, and, going leisurely to the other end of the car, took a drink of water. Somehow or other, conversation lagged. The drummer looked down at the floor; the cowboys seemed to search in vain for something in their pockets, and the tourists turned their faces toward the window, but the vacant look in their eyes showed their thoughts were elsewhere. After a while the minister returned. The drummer was getting nervous. "Well, parson," said he, "if you are willing, we will call that trade off. Here's your quarter. I don't want it. I'm thinking I'll need that chance myself. The Lord knows I'm bad enough. It's the only chance I've got, and I've decided to make the best of it I know how." The minister put the quarter in his pocket, shook hands heartily with the drummer, and the train whistled for Omaha. Nothing more was said; and the porter of the car, as he watched them get off the train, wondered why that group of six, that had been so jovial clear through, had such a serious look on their faces. Certain it was that their faces reflected their thoughts.—Selected. THE PURE IN HEART.
By Selected
THE heart, in Scripture language, means that which thinks, feels, and acts. It includes conscience, will, intellect, and affection. These powers are only different manifestations of the one central force. As the white ray of light falling on one substance appears red, on another yellow, on a third blue, so this organ exhibits itself variously. The heart is either pure or impure, and its activities are characterized by purity or impurity. "A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things; and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things." "Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." Therefore, righteous conduct must come from within. The law may lay an embargo on transgression, but have the fountain clean and all action flowing forth will be holy. The law is a schoolmaster to bring to Christ, who alone purifies the source of all service. From these facts it follows that if we wish to correct one fault we must abandon all; for sin is only a bad heart breaking out in the weakest point. The thief, the murderer, the coveter, the revenger, are only depravity revealing itself in the direction of the individual bent. To prevent the exercise of an evil tendency demands a regeneration of the nature that lies back of the peculiar outward criminal course. Such a change is manifestly not within the compass of human power. Watchfulness and determination may aid in restraining somewhat the ebullitions of inborn badness. This repressing can be only for a time, because sooner or later, like the volcano, the corruption will appear with destructive energy. The conclusion must always be that God alone can give that cleanliness of heart which is insisted on in Scripture as the sole safety against the iniquity that otherwise declares itself. For this reason the prayer should ever be, "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts; and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."—Selected. The World’s Highest and Lowest Tides
The highest tide in the world is in the Bay of Bengal, seventy feet. The lowest is at Panama, twenty-three inches. "MAKE IT RIGHT."
By Christian (Boston)
THERE are many persons who are conscious of having wronged their fellow-men. They may dispute it, question it, or deny it; but they know it is true, nevertheless. The question then arises, What should be done? There are many who know the wrong, but will not admit it; there are others still who both know and admit the wrongdoing, but who take no steps toward repairing the mischief they have wrought, or undoing the wrong they have done. Strictly speaking, the wrong act done can never be undone; the wrong word said cannot be unsaid; but no man who has been guilty of wrong should rest satisfied until he has done his utmost to make suitable reparation. If he has wronged his neighbor pecuniarily, let him make restitution, not in scrimped and scanty measure, but liberally, heartily, and ungrudgingly. Let him restore fourfold. If he has said wrong things, let him promptly and openly recall them. Let his apologies be as distinct and hearty as his accusations have been. Let him, in a manly and Christian way, so far as in him lies, remove all occasion of grief or grievance. Let him see to it that the false impressions he has given be corrected, that the slanders which he has uttered be recalled. Thus, and thus only, can he win back the love he has forfeited, and hope to receive the blessing of the Lord, whom he has offended. Thousands of Christians and churches are suffering through neglecting to take such stumbling-blocks out of the way. Men will do wrong, will injure or misrepresent a brother, and then, while he is grieved and stricken at heart, will endeavor to go right along as servants of God, without correcting their misstatements or confessing their wrongs. Such circumstances are frequently sufficient to account for the deadness and paralysis that often overhang the church. People are grieved and driven away from the communion of the saints and the fellowship of those they love, in consequence of the wrongdoing of leaders and managers, who do not confess their faults and rectify the wrongs which they have done. Often such persons seem to think it easier to send for a minister and "have a revival" than to confess their own faults and right the wrongs of which they are guilty. But a revival of religion, which comes in on top of old grudges, misrepresentations, dishonesties, and wrongs, will never be effectual. The high tide may float their craft for a little while; but when the flood recedes, every rock, and snag, and shoal that studs the channel will reappear, and the sailing will be no better than before. A religion that is not founded upon righteousness is of very little use in this world, and the men who think that special services, protracted meetings, labors of evangelists, earnest prayers, and gospel hymns, will make amends for wrong, robbery, slander, and abuse, will probably find out their mistake before the day of Judgment comes, but if they do not, will certainly find it out then. JUST IN TIME.
By John W. Kirton, LL.D.
GREAT was the pleasure anticipated by Ellen Mortimer when she received a letter informing her that her Aunt Betsy had fixed the day to pay a long-promised visit. Ellen had been a favorite with her aunt, and experienced her first great grief when her husband told her that she would have to lose her frequent visits, owing to the opening up of a new branch of the business of the firm in which he had been employed for some years, and to which he had been appointed as manager. Only one thing reconciled her, and that was a definite promise that her aunt would pay them a visit in their new home as soon as arrangements could be made. Owing, however, to one thing and another turning up, over two years had passed away without the promise being fulfilled; but at length the time was fixed, and Ellen for several days was as busy as she could be, getting the room ready for her guest. "She must not see anything out of order," was Ellen's remark to her husband, as he expressed his surprise at her turning everything upside down, as if some terrible disease had invaded their dwelling. "That's all very well," he answered; "but for my part, I don't believe she would wish you to make such a fuss and a bother about her coming." In vain did he express his sentiments. She was at it early and late, to let her aunt see everything as "spick and span" as possible on her arrival and during the whole of her stay. "There, everything is at last ready," she said, as she sat down to tea with her husband and two children the night before her aunt's expected arrival. "For which I am truly thankful," was his warm and expressive reply. "Oh, you men don't understand such matters!" she answered, as she again looked with an air of satisfaction round the room. Next morning she was up early, so as to have everything quite ready, and to have nothing to do when her aunt arrived but to overwhelm her with attention, and listen to all she had to say about everything and everybody, and great was her joy to hear the hearty words with which her aunt complimented her upon the appearance of her children and home. They spent a very happy evening, as may be imagined with so much to say and hear, although Aunt Betsy was at last obliged to say she was rather tired from her journey, and felt a good night's rest to be needful to put her all right. "I'm not so young as I used to be, my dear," she said to Ellen as she bade her good-night and thanked her for the evident trouble she had caused by her visit to their bright and cheerful home. Several days quickly passed away with walks out now and then down the lanes with the children, picking the wild flowers which grew thickly on the banks. The evenings also when Harry came home were times of gladness. Meantime Aunt Betsy kept her eyes open, but said little. She knew Ellen's good qualities, and also her failings, but was not prepared at first to notice how the latter had grown so much upon her, and especially how unaware she seemed to be of their nature and tendency. At length she took advantage of a chance which came in her way by Harry having to stay later than usual at the warehouse. The children had both been put to bed, and Ellen was expressing her thankfulness when she was startled by her aunt asking in a serious tone of voice:— "Ellen, my dear, do you know what your husband will do when you are dead?" "Me dead, aunt! Whatever has put that into your head? I am quite well, and have no thought of dying yet." "Perhaps not. But listen to what I have to say. The strongest and most intelligent man in the world cares more for a woman's tenderness than for anything else in the world, and without this the cleverest and most perfect housekeeper is sure to lose her husband's affections in time, as I can see you are losing Harry's." "Aunt, I am sure you are mistaken." "Don't interrupt me, dear, till I have given you proof. I cannot shut my eyes or ears to what is going on. Let me call your attention to one or two things. This morning your husband was half way across the kitchen, bringing you in some nice lettuce he had grown in the garden, and all you did was to look at them and say, 'There, Harry, that will do; see your dirty boots on my clean floor.' Some men would have thrown the lettuce out into the road. After he had his breakfast, you screwed up your face when he kissed you, because his moustache was damp, and said, 'I never want to kiss you again.' When he empties anything, you tell him not to spill it. From morning to night your sharp voice is heard complaining and fault-finding either with the children or with your husband when he is near. You have given way to it until you don't realize its evil nature, but I tell you—there may be a few more men like Harry—as gentle, loving, tender, and as forgetful of self, and so satisfied with loving that their affection will die a long and struggling death; but as sure as you are living, it takes but a few years of such fretfulness and fault-finding as you give way to constantly to turn the best husband's love into irritation and indifference, if not hatred." "But, aunt, I am sure that—" "Yes, you may be sure—you are not dead yet, but if you do go first, Harry will marry the sweetest-tempered woman he can find. She may not be as good a housekeeper as you are, but she will be considerate and good-natured, which will cover a multitude of other shortcomings." "I am sure I never thought I was so bad, aunt." "Perhaps not, but I see you drifting down the wrong line and wish to stop you. There is yet time to become more considerate and sweet than you have been, and take my word for it, your husband will be the first to own that there is not a sweeter or better-tempered woman in the world when he finds out you have changed from your fault-finding, fretful way to one of tenderness and a ready recognition of what he is doing to make you and your children happy. Above all, pray to God to help you to try to live peaceably and to subdue your impatience." Ellen did so, and Harry had the joy of writing for Aunt Betsy to come again to see the change, although he little knew how it had been brought about "just in time" to save him from giving up in despair.—Selected WHAT HAVE THE SALOONS DONE?
By Chauncey Hobart, D.D.
1. THEY have taxed the people many thousands of dollars to build jails, enlarge courthouses, and provide for the needy. 2. They have largely increased the taxes for the support of the poor, and to bury those who have died. 3. They have largely increased municipal expenses for boarding criminals, and for trying them in our courts. 4. They have caused many thousands of murders—thus hurrying men, unprepared, into eternity, leaving orphans to weep and kindred to mourn in hopeless sorrow. 5. They have snatched young men from what might have been honorable life, and consigned them to the penitentiary. 6. They have hurried thousands of our fellow-citizens into untimely graves, who would have been, in all probability, but for the saloon and the drink habit, valuable citizens and respectable members of the community. 7. They have made poor men poorer, and rich men richer and meaner. 8. They have taken the bread out of the hands and mouths of poor, hungry, starving children, and left them to suffer and die. 9. They have taken the money that should have been used to furnish decent clothing for hard-working women, and left those women to toil and suffer in rags. 10. They have disregarded the tears and agony of women whose lives have been wrecked, and whose hearts have been broken by the saloon business. 11. They have pursued with relentless persistence the poor, stupid, idiotic drinker, until his body has been consigned to a drunkard's grave, and his soul to a drunkard's hell. 12. But by far the worst effect produced by the saloons of these United States is the stupefying, benumbing, narcotizing influence which they have produced, and are still exercising, on the moral sense of many in the community. This is seen in the case of those who are ready to tolerate the saloon for the sake of the money it brings into the municipal treasury. We have, say, twenty saloons in a city of 8,000 inhabitants, which pay $500 each, making $10,000. This, they say, builds our sewers, paves our gutters, cleans our streets, repairs our sidewalks, pays our city officials, and greatly reduces our city taxes; and hence saloons are voted for by professed Christians, and men who are supposed to fear God.299 But is it true that this ten thousand dollars reduces the city taxes? Not a bit of it. It costs the city say $20,000 per annum to meet all demands, and this ought, in equity, to be paid by the citizens in proportion to the property owned by each. If Mr. A, who owns $100 worth of property, should pay ten cents, Mr. B, who is worth $1,000, should pay one dollar; Mr. C, who is worth $10,000, should pay ten dollars; Mr. D, who is worth $100,000, should pay one hundred dollars. This is fair and right, as all must admit, and if $20,000 was raised in this way, no one would have a right to complain. The money would be raised, the city government would go on, and each would pay in proportion to the protection afforded. But when the half of this $20,000 is paid for license to sell intoxicating liquors, the change is not in the amount collected, but in the mode of collecting it, and in the persons who pay it. In this last case he who should have paid one hundred dollars now pays but fifty dollars, while the poor dupe of the drink habit, who should not have paid more than ten cents, now pays anywhere from twenty dollars to one hundred dollars, through the saloon keeper, into the treasury. —California Christian Advocate. I WOULDN'T BE CROSS.
By Margaret E. Sangster
I WOULDN'T be cross, dear, it's never worth while;
Disarm the vexation by wearing a smile.
Let hap a disaster, a trouble, a loss,
Just meet the thing boldly, and never be cross. I wouldn't be cross, dear, with people at home;
They love you so fondly, whatever may come.
You may count on the kinsfolk around you to stand,
Oh, loyally true in a brotherly band!
So, since the fine gold far exceedeth the dross,
I wouldn't be cross, dear, I wouldn't be cross. I wouldn't be cross with a stranger, ah, no!
To the pilgrims we meet on the life path we owe
This kindness, to give them good cheer as they pass,
To clear out the flint stones, and plant the soft grass.
No, dear, with a stranger, in trial or loss,
I perchance might be silent, I wouldn't be cross. No bitterness sweetens, no sharpness may heal
The wound which the soul is too proud to reveal.
No envy hath peace; by a fret and a jar
The beautiful work of your hands we may mar.
Let happen what may, dear, of trouble and loss,
I wouldn't be cross, love, I wouldn't be cross.
—Harper's Young People. LEAN HARD.
By Grace Growing
SHE was a plump, motherly-looking woman, and she stood in a farmer's spring wagon, which was drawn up to the sidewalk in a small town. She wrapped her nice cloak closely about her, looked ruefully at the muddy wheels, and hesitated. A tall young man, her son, and a student—for this was an academy town—stood on the sidewalk, holding up his arms and saying, "Come, mother, I am waiting." She put out one foot, and then drew back again and looked down helplessly, for the step was as muddy as the wheel. "I shall get my clothes so muddy, Jimmie." "No, mother; do just as I tell you and you will not soil a ruffle. Put your foot on the top of the box, and your hands on my shoulders, and I'll lift you down; don't you see?" "But," objected the mother, "I am so heavy"— "Nonsense," interposed the son; "just drop into my arms, and you will be on the sidewalk in a second." Again she gave her cloak a tuck, put her hands on her big boy's shoulders, and sprang out, he taking her weight so completely upon his strong arms that her feet came to the walk without a jar; and as her hands fell from his shoulders, she gave his arm a little loving pat that told more forcibly than words how proud she was of his strength and tenderness. I knew the boy, knew how practical and sensible he was, knew how he loved his mother, and could see that he almost felt impatient when she hesitated to trust his strength. I knew, too, that this young man had felt sorely burdened with his sins, and had greatly desired to become a child of God, but was waiting for some new light, some wonderful "inner evidence," or experience, before he accepted the Saviour's invitation, "Come unto me," and my heart went out to him with a great longing that he might drop in simple faith into the arms of love extended to him, just as his mother had into his own. Again, later in the day, the same couple were coming from the academy grounds, down an icy sidewalk, he carefully guiding her steps, and she clinging to his arm for support. Her foot slipped, but he held her up, and said, "Lean on me, mother; I never fall." Again her feet slipped, and he said more earnestly, "Mother, lean on my arm; lean hard." "Why, dear, I thought I was leaning hard," she replied. "Well," he urged, "if you lean hard enough, you can't fall; just throw your weight on my arm, and I can take you safely over the ice; but while you keep trying to walk with your hand just resting on my arm, you are sure to keep slipping." Again she obeyed his directions, and her feet flew safely and lightly over the ice walk beside his, clad in "arctics" that never failed to hold fast. Again I thought: "Poor, blind Jimmie! Once, when implored to cast yourself into the arms of divine compassion, you said, 'I am afraid, if I should trust, and try to be a Christian without any further evidence, I would stumble, or fall right away, and then I should never dare try again.'" O Jimmie! remember your own words to the dear mother: "If you lean hard enough you can't fall." While you keep trying to stand, or walk alone, or with just a little help, he can't help you. Cast your whole weight—not only your sins, but your unbelief, your ignorance, and your helplessness—upon him. He will hold you safely. He saith, "My grace is sufficient for you;" my "strength is made perfect in weakness."—Grace Growing, in Cynosure. MUTTON SUET A HOUSEHOLD REMEDY.
It is very vexing and annoying, indeed, to have one's lips break out with cold sores, but, like the measles, it is far better to strike out than to strike in. A drop of warm mutton suet applied to the sores at night, just before retiring, will soon cause them to disappear. This is also a good remedy for parched lips and chapped hands. It should be applied at night in the liquid state, and be well rubbed and heated in before a brisk fire, which often causes a smarting sensation, but the roughest of hands by this treatment will often be restored to their natural condition by one application. If everyone could but know the healing properties of so simple a thing as a little mutton suet, no housekeeper would ever be without it. Get a little from the butcher, fry it out yourself, run it into small cakes, and put away ready for use. For cuts and bruises it is almost indispensable, and where there are children there are always plenty of cuts and bruises. Many a deep gash that would have frightened most women into sending for a physician at once, I have healed with no other remedies than a little mutton suet and plenty of good castile soap. A wound should always be kept clean, and the bandages changed every day, or every other day. A drenching of warm suds from the purest soap that can be obtained is not only cleansing but healing; then cover the surface of the wound with a bit of old white muslin dipped into melted mutton suet. Renew the drenching and the suet every time the bandages are changed, and you will be astonished to see how rapidly the ugliest wound will heal.—Herald of Health. To stop doors from creaking put a little sweet oil on the hinges. Sweet oil will clean bronze; it must be well rubbed with a brush into all the crevices, then rubbed off thoroughly with a brush. Once in a great while insects crawl into the ear, causing great pain and ringing. To relieve, turn the head on one side and have another person fill the ear with sweet oil. This will drown the insect and it will be carried out with the oil, onto the outer edge, whence it may readily be removed. The following makes a most effectual lip salve: Equal parts of best oil and white wax melted together in a cup set in hot water. Add a little alkanet root tied in white muslin and put in with the oil and while they are hot, and it will color the mixture pink. If it is desired to perfume it, add oil of bergamot or oil of lavender.—Good Housekeeping. Women Admitted to Practice Law
The Law Society of Toronto has adopted resolutions admitting women to practice law. CURIOUS FACTS AND USEFUL INFORMATION.
AMBERGRIS is largely used by the Mohammedans for incense, and it is also used in some of the costliest perfumes. It is only found in sick or lean whales, generally in the intestines, or floating upon the seas of warm climates, intermixed with the food of the whales. It is thought to be a morbid secretion of the whale's diseased liver, and it is of a bright gray color, streaked with yellow and black. It has a very fine, waxy character, is as soft as the common putty of the glazier, and on being rubbed or heated, exhales a rare perfume. It is only in the lower part of the intestinal canal, mixed with the faeces, that the substance is found, and almost always in spermaceti whales, and in warm latitudes. The sailors think it a product of dyspeptic whales. A day's journey, in Bible language, was thirty-three and one-fifth miles. A Sabbath day's journey was about an English mile. Ezekiel's reed was eleven feet, nearly. A cubit is twenty-two inches, nearly. A hand's breadth is equal to three and five-eighth inches. A finger's breadth is equal to one inch. A shekel of silver was about fifty cents. A shekel of gold was $8.09. A talent of silver was $538.32. A talent of gold was $13,809. A piece of silver, or a denny, was thirteen cents. A farthing was three cents. An epha, or bath, contained seven gallons and five pints. A hin was one gallon and two pints. A firkin was seven pints. The names of the months were given by the Romans. January, the first month, was so called from Janus, an ancient king of Italy, who was deified after his death, and derived from the Latin word Januarius. February, the second month, is derived from the Latin word Februo, to purify, hence Februarius; for this month the ancient Romans offered up expiatory sacrifices for the purifying of the people. March, the third month, anciently the first month, is derived from the word Mars, the god of war. April, the fourth month, is so called from the Latin Aprilus, i. e., opening; because in this month the vegetable world opens and buds forth. May, the fifth month, is derived from the Latin word Majores, so called by Romulus, in respect toward the Senators, hence Maius or May. June, the sixth month, from the Latin word Junius, or the youngest of the people. July, the seventh month, is derived from the Latin word Julius, and so named in honor of Julius Cæsar. August, the eighth month, was so called in honor of Augustus, by a decree of the Roman Senate, A.D. 8. September, the ninth month, from the Latin word Septem, or seven, being the seventh from March. October, the tenth month, from the Latin word Octo, the eighth, hence October. November, the eleventh month, from the Latin word Novem, nine, being the ninth month from March. December, the twelfth month, from the Latin word Decem, ten: so called because it was the tenth month from March, which was anciently the manner of beginning the year.—American Tit-bits.