“Well, I suppose it’s Alderman Smith to-day.”“Alderman—nothing!”“What? Do you mean to say Smith wasn’t elected?”“Precisely. Lost it by forty-one votes.”“Well, well, well! Why, I thought Smith was popular, such a nice, clean fellow; and smart, too.”“He is popular.”“And I thought his opponent was a scallawag.”“He is. The rummies were all for him, and he celebrated his victory with a big free-for-all debauch. I guess our ward’ll be open enough now, all right.”“But what was the matter? I suppose Smith lay back and took it easy.”“No, sir! He got out and hustled for himself.”“Then he probably had no machine to back him.”“Ah, but he had; and some of the best politicians in the city worked for him. Why, nearly all the strongest men in the ward signed a paper in his interest, and every one got a copy a day before the election.”“But they couldn’t have known the issue at stake—between decency and indecency, character and hoodlumism.”“They did, if words could make it clear.”“Then why, in the name of all that is reasonable, in that pious ward of yours, wasn’t Smith elected?”“Just because about sixty of the pious men stayed at home or let their sons neglect to vote. We know the names of that many who didn’t vote. Tried to get them to come out, telephone and all that; but no good. Too busy. Or they ‘weren’t needed.’ And the other side got out every man.”“Those pious men go to prayer-meeting?”“Well, I don’t know what you think about it, but I’d rather have one X opposite Smith’s name on that ballot than ten years of prayer-meeting eloquence without it.”“Yes, most of them; and my! but they shine when the topic is a patriotic one.”“So’d I.” (Text.)
“Well, I suppose it’s Alderman Smith to-day.”
“Alderman—nothing!”
“What? Do you mean to say Smith wasn’t elected?”
“Precisely. Lost it by forty-one votes.”
“Well, well, well! Why, I thought Smith was popular, such a nice, clean fellow; and smart, too.”
“He is popular.”
“And I thought his opponent was a scallawag.”
“He is. The rummies were all for him, and he celebrated his victory with a big free-for-all debauch. I guess our ward’ll be open enough now, all right.”
“But what was the matter? I suppose Smith lay back and took it easy.”
“No, sir! He got out and hustled for himself.”
“Then he probably had no machine to back him.”
“Ah, but he had; and some of the best politicians in the city worked for him. Why, nearly all the strongest men in the ward signed a paper in his interest, and every one got a copy a day before the election.”
“But they couldn’t have known the issue at stake—between decency and indecency, character and hoodlumism.”
“They did, if words could make it clear.”
“Then why, in the name of all that is reasonable, in that pious ward of yours, wasn’t Smith elected?”
“Just because about sixty of the pious men stayed at home or let their sons neglect to vote. We know the names of that many who didn’t vote. Tried to get them to come out, telephone and all that; but no good. Too busy. Or they ‘weren’t needed.’ And the other side got out every man.”
“Those pious men go to prayer-meeting?”
“Well, I don’t know what you think about it, but I’d rather have one X opposite Smith’s name on that ballot than ten years of prayer-meeting eloquence without it.”
“Yes, most of them; and my! but they shine when the topic is a patriotic one.”
“So’d I.” (Text.)
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Banks, Making, Useful—SeeSaving Disapproved.
BAPTISM
Dr. R. F. Horton, in theChristian Endeavor World, tells the following story:
There is a scene in my earlier ministry that used to make the best woman I ever knew laugh till the tears ran down her cheeks whenever she recalled it.A father, a tall and dignified man, with his wife, a gentle, quiet little lady, had brought the baby to the font that Sunday morning. As I read the opening words, the baby woke and began to scream. For my own part I was imperturbable, nor was the mother upset. But the tall, dignified man could not endure it; and just as I was approaching the actual rite, and required the baby, what the congregation saw was the father rapidly striding to a side door, with the white clothes of the screaming infant streaming behind in the haste of the flight. Happily parental authority worked miracles in the corridor, and the infant, vastly pacified, was brought back just in time to save the service from being a fiasco. And the humor turns into a deeper joy when now I see that child grown up into a beautiful girl, the joy of her parents and of all who behold her.
There is a scene in my earlier ministry that used to make the best woman I ever knew laugh till the tears ran down her cheeks whenever she recalled it.
A father, a tall and dignified man, with his wife, a gentle, quiet little lady, had brought the baby to the font that Sunday morning. As I read the opening words, the baby woke and began to scream. For my own part I was imperturbable, nor was the mother upset. But the tall, dignified man could not endure it; and just as I was approaching the actual rite, and required the baby, what the congregation saw was the father rapidly striding to a side door, with the white clothes of the screaming infant streaming behind in the haste of the flight. Happily parental authority worked miracles in the corridor, and the infant, vastly pacified, was brought back just in time to save the service from being a fiasco. And the humor turns into a deeper joy when now I see that child grown up into a beautiful girl, the joy of her parents and of all who behold her.
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BAPTISM INTERPRETED
At the Student Volunteer Convention in Toronto, Dr. Horace G. Underwood told the following incident:
A copy of the Book of the Acts fell into the hands of a Korean, whose heart was touched by the truths. He gathered his villagers together and taught them its contents and they sent for missionaries to come to them. It was impossible for them to go at once, but they sent copies of the Gospels. The eager Koreans read and studied as wellas they could alone, and noticing that some “washing rite” was enjoined upon the believers in the Jesus doctrine, they met to discuss how they should follow it out and thus fulfil all righteousness. They prayed over it for a time, and at last decided that each should go to his own home and reverently should wash himself in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. (Text.)
A copy of the Book of the Acts fell into the hands of a Korean, whose heart was touched by the truths. He gathered his villagers together and taught them its contents and they sent for missionaries to come to them. It was impossible for them to go at once, but they sent copies of the Gospels. The eager Koreans read and studied as wellas they could alone, and noticing that some “washing rite” was enjoined upon the believers in the Jesus doctrine, they met to discuss how they should follow it out and thus fulfil all righteousness. They prayed over it for a time, and at last decided that each should go to his own home and reverently should wash himself in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. (Text.)
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BARBARISM
The missionaries to the Dyaks of Borneo, in making their calls not infrequently are seated in a position of honor in a native hut underneath a huge cluster of skulls, the war trophy of the head-hunting Dyaks. Rev. H. L. E. Luering writes in the LondonChristianthat the natives believe that the courage of the slain enemy enters his victor’s soul if the head of the dead man is in his possession. So the heads are cut off and placed in loose rattan receptacles and smoked over a slow fire, and polished and strung up like great bunches of grapes, and guarded with a jealousy greater than is accorded any other possession. They represent just so much of the owner’s self—his own soul—and to lose a head would deprive him of just so much strength and courage.
The missionaries to the Dyaks of Borneo, in making their calls not infrequently are seated in a position of honor in a native hut underneath a huge cluster of skulls, the war trophy of the head-hunting Dyaks. Rev. H. L. E. Luering writes in the LondonChristianthat the natives believe that the courage of the slain enemy enters his victor’s soul if the head of the dead man is in his possession. So the heads are cut off and placed in loose rattan receptacles and smoked over a slow fire, and polished and strung up like great bunches of grapes, and guarded with a jealousy greater than is accorded any other possession. They represent just so much of the owner’s self—his own soul—and to lose a head would deprive him of just so much strength and courage.
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The late Bishop Taylor, of Africa, narrated the following in theMissionary Review of the World:
I saw a woman who had been accused of witchcraft and condemned to death by exposure to ferocious ants. She was bound to a big ant-hill ten or fifteen feet high. The victim usually dies in two days, but this woman endured it for five days and was then driven away because “she was too hard to kill.” She crawled in a terrible condition to the mission station—the most pitiful sight the missionary had ever beheld. After months of careful nursing she recovered, and this woman, so terribly scarred and disfigured, was converted at one of my meetings.
I saw a woman who had been accused of witchcraft and condemned to death by exposure to ferocious ants. She was bound to a big ant-hill ten or fifteen feet high. The victim usually dies in two days, but this woman endured it for five days and was then driven away because “she was too hard to kill.” She crawled in a terrible condition to the mission station—the most pitiful sight the missionary had ever beheld. After months of careful nursing she recovered, and this woman, so terribly scarred and disfigured, was converted at one of my meetings.
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SeeCruel Greed.
BARGAIN DISCOUNTENANCED
It was proposed to the Duke of Wellington to purchase a certain farm in the neighborhood of his estate at Strathfieldsaye. He assented. When the transfer was completed, his steward, who had made the purchase, congratulated him upon having made a great bargain, as the seller was in difficulties, and forced to part with his farm. “What do you mean by a bargain?” asked the Duke. The steward replied, “It was valued at £5,500, and we got it for £4,000.” “In that case,” said the Duke, “you will please to carry the extra £1,500 to the late owner, and never talk to me of cheap land again.”
It was proposed to the Duke of Wellington to purchase a certain farm in the neighborhood of his estate at Strathfieldsaye. He assented. When the transfer was completed, his steward, who had made the purchase, congratulated him upon having made a great bargain, as the seller was in difficulties, and forced to part with his farm. “What do you mean by a bargain?” asked the Duke. The steward replied, “It was valued at £5,500, and we got it for £4,000.” “In that case,” said the Duke, “you will please to carry the extra £1,500 to the late owner, and never talk to me of cheap land again.”
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BARGAIN-MAKING
A former queen of Spain once rode out in the country, when the driver of the royal carriage became lost and spent two hours vainly trying to find the way. The queen and the infanta were somewhat alarmed.All at once they came upon an old wood-cutter, who, with a bunch of fagots upon his back, gathered laboriously from the stunted bushes to be found here and there, had sunk down to the ground, evidently for a moment’s rest.“Ho, my good man!” the driver of the royal carriage called out. “Will you tell us the road to Madrid?”“No,” said the wood-cutter, “I will not, except on one condition.”“What’s that?”“That you take me in and carry me back to the city.”The coachman declined to do this.“Very well, then; find the road yourself,” said the wood-cutter.The queen here intervened. She ordered the coachman to let the man tie his fagot at the back of the coach, and to take him upon the driver’s seat and drive him home.The man tied his rough fagot at the back of the royal coach, mounted the box, and the road to Madrid was soon found.When the royal carriage entered the city in this queer state, there was a great sensation, as the people readily recognized the equipage. The wood-cutter sat proudly on the box. When his quarter was reached, he got down and unfastened his fagot. The queen put her head out of the door.“Go to the royal palace to-morrow,” she said, “and your service will be rewarded.”The old man, suddenly perceiving whose passenger he had been, was overcome with humiliation. He stood bowing, rubbing his cap between his hands, and uttering exclamations of astonishment until the carriage was out of sight.—The Christian Register.
A former queen of Spain once rode out in the country, when the driver of the royal carriage became lost and spent two hours vainly trying to find the way. The queen and the infanta were somewhat alarmed.
All at once they came upon an old wood-cutter, who, with a bunch of fagots upon his back, gathered laboriously from the stunted bushes to be found here and there, had sunk down to the ground, evidently for a moment’s rest.
“Ho, my good man!” the driver of the royal carriage called out. “Will you tell us the road to Madrid?”
“No,” said the wood-cutter, “I will not, except on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you take me in and carry me back to the city.”
The coachman declined to do this.
“Very well, then; find the road yourself,” said the wood-cutter.
The queen here intervened. She ordered the coachman to let the man tie his fagot at the back of the coach, and to take him upon the driver’s seat and drive him home.
The man tied his rough fagot at the back of the royal coach, mounted the box, and the road to Madrid was soon found.
When the royal carriage entered the city in this queer state, there was a great sensation, as the people readily recognized the equipage. The wood-cutter sat proudly on the box. When his quarter was reached, he got down and unfastened his fagot. The queen put her head out of the door.
“Go to the royal palace to-morrow,” she said, “and your service will be rewarded.”
The old man, suddenly perceiving whose passenger he had been, was overcome with humiliation. He stood bowing, rubbing his cap between his hands, and uttering exclamations of astonishment until the carriage was out of sight.—The Christian Register.
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BARRIERS
In the West, the farmer’s boy makes a trap for prairie-chickens and wild turkeys. Looking toward the corn, the bird pushes against the tiny wooden bar that yields for admittance. But having gotten in, the gate will not push out.When it is too late, the youth who has played false, finds that the way into sin was easy, and the way out hard. Strange that there should not be a single barrier in the downward path, but that when the transgressor turns to retrace his steps that red-hot iron barriers are in the path!—N. D. Hillis.
In the West, the farmer’s boy makes a trap for prairie-chickens and wild turkeys. Looking toward the corn, the bird pushes against the tiny wooden bar that yields for admittance. But having gotten in, the gate will not push out.
When it is too late, the youth who has played false, finds that the way into sin was easy, and the way out hard. Strange that there should not be a single barrier in the downward path, but that when the transgressor turns to retrace his steps that red-hot iron barriers are in the path!—N. D. Hillis.
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The water-hyacinth is a beautiful thing, so beautiful that some years ago an enterprising gentleman decided to introduce it in Florida. As it turned out, he not only introduced it, but he made it a part of the country. It has outgrown all bounds, formed impassible barriers in streams, caused the Government to spend thousands to get rid of it, and is still an impediment to navigation in many rivers all over the South.The situation has become so serious in Louisiana that it is proposed to import hippopotami. At first thought, few will be able to see any relation between hippopotami and water-hyacinths, yet there is. In fact, the ordinary hippopotamus eats water-hyacinth from morning until night if he can get it. It is evident, therefore, that were there plenty of hippopotami in Louisiana there would soon be no water-hyacinth. It is for this reason that the Government will be asked to import the beasts, domesticate them, and turn them loose in Louisiana.The hippopotamus is not a dangerous brute—altho Mr. Roosevelt has taken much credit to himself for having killed some of them—his flesh makes excellent steaks, particularly if he has fed on water-hyacinth, and he is altogether a desirable creature to have about, we are told. We trust that the Government will act quickly in this matter. Perhaps in addition to being fond of water-hyacinth the hippopotamus may also have an appetite for the boll-weevil. Let Louisiana have the beasts by all means.—Charleston News and Courier.
The water-hyacinth is a beautiful thing, so beautiful that some years ago an enterprising gentleman decided to introduce it in Florida. As it turned out, he not only introduced it, but he made it a part of the country. It has outgrown all bounds, formed impassible barriers in streams, caused the Government to spend thousands to get rid of it, and is still an impediment to navigation in many rivers all over the South.
The situation has become so serious in Louisiana that it is proposed to import hippopotami. At first thought, few will be able to see any relation between hippopotami and water-hyacinths, yet there is. In fact, the ordinary hippopotamus eats water-hyacinth from morning until night if he can get it. It is evident, therefore, that were there plenty of hippopotami in Louisiana there would soon be no water-hyacinth. It is for this reason that the Government will be asked to import the beasts, domesticate them, and turn them loose in Louisiana.
The hippopotamus is not a dangerous brute—altho Mr. Roosevelt has taken much credit to himself for having killed some of them—his flesh makes excellent steaks, particularly if he has fed on water-hyacinth, and he is altogether a desirable creature to have about, we are told. We trust that the Government will act quickly in this matter. Perhaps in addition to being fond of water-hyacinth the hippopotamus may also have an appetite for the boll-weevil. Let Louisiana have the beasts by all means.—Charleston News and Courier.
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The conquering races were compelled to follow river-beds, and could not penetrate the forests. It was not the warrior who finally conquered English soil, but the farmer. The half-dozen kingdoms, which were divided by vast forests, coalesced only when the ax cut away barriers. Earlier races could not inhabit any part of the earth except the coast lines. All their food came from the sea; and the refuse still remains as the great shell-heaps of the sea-coasts of Europe.
The conquering races were compelled to follow river-beds, and could not penetrate the forests. It was not the warrior who finally conquered English soil, but the farmer. The half-dozen kingdoms, which were divided by vast forests, coalesced only when the ax cut away barriers. Earlier races could not inhabit any part of the earth except the coast lines. All their food came from the sea; and the refuse still remains as the great shell-heaps of the sea-coasts of Europe.
So to-day in the moral world one must cleave his way through barriers as with an ax to the open of a large place.
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SeeDishonesty.
BARRIERS, SUPERNATURAL
During some recent work in West Africa, a certain native chief was anxious to prevent my explorations of such creeks and rivers as led to trading districts which he desired to remain unknown. Finding verbal dissuasions unavailing, and not liking to have recourse to physical force, he tried as a last and somewhat despairing resort to place supernatural obstacles in my way; so he directed that at the entrance to these forbidden creeks a live white fowl (lowest and cheapest sacrifice) should be suspended from a palm-stake. Consequently, I was frequently surprized and pleased at what I thought was a graceful token of hospitality posted at different points of my journey, and never failed to turn the fowl to account in my bill of fare. After this manner of disposing of the fowl-fetish had occurred several times, and yet I remained unpunished for my temerity by the local gods, the natives gave up further opposition to my journey as futile and expensive. In talking this over on my return with one of the more advanced chiefs of the district, my native friend shook his head half humorously, half seriously over the decay of religious belief. A white fowl, he said, was “poor man’s juju”; a few years ago it would have been a white goat, and in his father’s time a white boy (albino negro), spitted on a stake to bar the way, and this last would have been a sacrifice that might well have moved the local gods of wold and stream to intervene.—H. H. Johnston,Fortnightly Review.
During some recent work in West Africa, a certain native chief was anxious to prevent my explorations of such creeks and rivers as led to trading districts which he desired to remain unknown. Finding verbal dissuasions unavailing, and not liking to have recourse to physical force, he tried as a last and somewhat despairing resort to place supernatural obstacles in my way; so he directed that at the entrance to these forbidden creeks a live white fowl (lowest and cheapest sacrifice) should be suspended from a palm-stake. Consequently, I was frequently surprized and pleased at what I thought was a graceful token of hospitality posted at different points of my journey, and never failed to turn the fowl to account in my bill of fare. After this manner of disposing of the fowl-fetish had occurred several times, and yet I remained unpunished for my temerity by the local gods, the natives gave up further opposition to my journey as futile and expensive. In talking this over on my return with one of the more advanced chiefs of the district, my native friend shook his head half humorously, half seriously over the decay of religious belief. A white fowl, he said, was “poor man’s juju”; a few years ago it would have been a white goat, and in his father’s time a white boy (albino negro), spitted on a stake to bar the way, and this last would have been a sacrifice that might well have moved the local gods of wold and stream to intervene.—H. H. Johnston,Fortnightly Review.
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Battle Against Frailty—SeeBody, Mastering the.
Beating Process a Necessity—SeeDiscipline.
BEAUTIFUL, INFLUENCE OF THE
Every one is influenced to a greater or less degree by that which he sees about him, and those with whom he comes in contact.
A beautiful statue once stood in the market-place of an Italian city. It was the statue of a Greek slave-girl. It represented the slave as tidy and well drest. A ragged, uncombed little street child, coming across the statue in her play, stopt and gazed at it in admiration. She was captivated by it. She gazed long and lovingly. Moved by a sudden impulse, she went home and washed her face and combed her hair. Another day she stopt again before the statue and admired it, and she got a new idea. Next day her tattered clothes were washed and mended. Each time she looked at the statue she found something in its beauties until she was a transformed child.
A beautiful statue once stood in the market-place of an Italian city. It was the statue of a Greek slave-girl. It represented the slave as tidy and well drest. A ragged, uncombed little street child, coming across the statue in her play, stopt and gazed at it in admiration. She was captivated by it. She gazed long and lovingly. Moved by a sudden impulse, she went home and washed her face and combed her hair. Another day she stopt again before the statue and admired it, and she got a new idea. Next day her tattered clothes were washed and mended. Each time she looked at the statue she found something in its beauties until she was a transformed child.
This law of transformation through appreciation has its highest illustration in the changed life and character of men who have lived in communion with God.
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BEAUTIFUL LIFE, SECRET OF
In the legend of the “Great Stone Face” Hawthorne tells us how a great soul was formed by constantly looking at an ideal head formed by rocks on the side of a mountain. Ernest had been told by his mother that some day or other (so the people in the valley believed) a man would grow up from among them who would be the greatest man of his time, and that his face would resemble the face outlined on the rocks of the mountain. So Ernest waited, and finally a man who had become very rich came back to the valley and built a palace, and people thought for a time that the legend had been fulfilled in Mr. Grabgold, but the man was hard and selfish. Another came who was famous as a statesman, but ambition had killed his spiritual life. A poet came, whose verses had been an inspiration to Ernest, who often preached to the people of the valley, but the poet was a sensualist. He admitted to Ernest that he had not lived the beautiful life that he had depicted in his poetry, that he had even doubted at times whether the beautiful things he had taught to men were true. So at last, when Ernest had been almost in despair about the great man who should come to the valley, he went out one evening to preach to the people, and as the rays of the setting sun lighted up his face, and also the Great Stone Face of the mountain, the people shouted, “The legend has been fulfilled; the faces are alike.” It was true. The boy of the valley, by keeping his eyes on the noble face on the mountain, had accomplished more than they all. It is the secret of the development of the soul. A man must keep his eyes on the face of Jesus Christ to-day, because there is none else so noble.—C. F. J. Wrigley.
In the legend of the “Great Stone Face” Hawthorne tells us how a great soul was formed by constantly looking at an ideal head formed by rocks on the side of a mountain. Ernest had been told by his mother that some day or other (so the people in the valley believed) a man would grow up from among them who would be the greatest man of his time, and that his face would resemble the face outlined on the rocks of the mountain. So Ernest waited, and finally a man who had become very rich came back to the valley and built a palace, and people thought for a time that the legend had been fulfilled in Mr. Grabgold, but the man was hard and selfish. Another came who was famous as a statesman, but ambition had killed his spiritual life. A poet came, whose verses had been an inspiration to Ernest, who often preached to the people of the valley, but the poet was a sensualist. He admitted to Ernest that he had not lived the beautiful life that he had depicted in his poetry, that he had even doubted at times whether the beautiful things he had taught to men were true. So at last, when Ernest had been almost in despair about the great man who should come to the valley, he went out one evening to preach to the people, and as the rays of the setting sun lighted up his face, and also the Great Stone Face of the mountain, the people shouted, “The legend has been fulfilled; the faces are alike.” It was true. The boy of the valley, by keeping his eyes on the noble face on the mountain, had accomplished more than they all. It is the secret of the development of the soul. A man must keep his eyes on the face of Jesus Christ to-day, because there is none else so noble.—C. F. J. Wrigley.
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BEAUTIFUL, UTILITY OF THE
In one of the earlier chapters of his “Les Miserables,” Victor Hugo tells how a good bishop answered his housekeeper once. She expostulated with his lordship for giving a full quarter of his garden to flowers, saying that it would be better and wiser to grow lettuce there than bouquets. “Ah, Madame Magloire,” replied the bishop, “the beautiful is as useful as it is beautiful.”
In one of the earlier chapters of his “Les Miserables,” Victor Hugo tells how a good bishop answered his housekeeper once. She expostulated with his lordship for giving a full quarter of his garden to flowers, saying that it would be better and wiser to grow lettuce there than bouquets. “Ah, Madame Magloire,” replied the bishop, “the beautiful is as useful as it is beautiful.”
The ministry of beauty is one of the overflowings of the divine mind and heart, and serves God’s purpose in common with the utilities of His works.
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BEAUTY
The sense of the beautiful extends to the animal creation.
Land-birds show fondness for decoration. A robin in Pennsylvania made the whole nest of flowers and white stems of everlasting, and it may now be seen in the Philadelphia Academy of Science. Other birds have been known to build entirely of flowers. Miss Hayward, an invalid who studied birds from her window, saw one pair build a nest of the blossoms of the sycamore and sprays of forget-me-not, and another—an English sparrow—cover its nest with white sweet alyssum.—Olive Thorne Miller, “The Bird Our Brother.”
Land-birds show fondness for decoration. A robin in Pennsylvania made the whole nest of flowers and white stems of everlasting, and it may now be seen in the Philadelphia Academy of Science. Other birds have been known to build entirely of flowers. Miss Hayward, an invalid who studied birds from her window, saw one pair build a nest of the blossoms of the sycamore and sprays of forget-me-not, and another—an English sparrow—cover its nest with white sweet alyssum.—Olive Thorne Miller, “The Bird Our Brother.”
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Beauty and Utility—SeeWork and Art.
BEAUTY, DECEIVED BY
Bates found on the Amazon a brilliant spider that spread itself out as a flower, and the insects lighting upon it, seeking sweetness, found horror, torment, death. Such transformations are common in human life; things of poison and blood are everywhere displaying themselves in forms of innocence, in dyes of beauty. The perfection of mimicryis in the moral world, deceiving the very elect. (Text.)—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”
Bates found on the Amazon a brilliant spider that spread itself out as a flower, and the insects lighting upon it, seeking sweetness, found horror, torment, death. Such transformations are common in human life; things of poison and blood are everywhere displaying themselves in forms of innocence, in dyes of beauty. The perfection of mimicryis in the moral world, deceiving the very elect. (Text.)—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”
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BEAUTY FROM FRAGMENTS
May not God find ways to gather up the fragments of wasted lives and reconstitute them in His own image, as this great artist reconstructed the window:
In a certain old town was a great cathedral in which was a wondrous stained-glass window. Its fame had gone abroad over the land. From miles around people pilgrimaged to gaze upon the splendor of this masterpiece of art. One day there came a great storm. The violence of the tempest forced in the window, and it crashed to the marble floor, shattered into a hundred pieces. Great was the grief of the people at the catastrophe which had suddenly bereft the town of its proudest work of art. They gathered up the fragments, huddled them in a box, and carried them to the cellar of the church. One day there came along a stranger, and craved permission to see the beautiful window. They told him of its fate. He asked what they had done with the fragments. And they took him to the vault and showed him the broken morsels of glass. “Would you mind giving these to me?” said the stranger. “Take them along,” was the reply; “they are no longer of any use to us.” And the visitor carefully lifted the box and carried it away in his arms. Weeks passed by; then one day there came an invitation to the custodians of the cathedral. It was from a famous artist, noted for his master-skill in glass-craft. It summoned them to his study to inspect a stained-glass window, the work of his genius. Ushering them into his studio, he stood them before a great veil of canvas. At the touch of his hand upon a cord the canvas dropt. And there before their astonished gaze shone a stained-glass window surpassing in beauty all their eyes had ever beheld. As they gazed entranced upon its rich tints, wondrous pattern, and cunning workmanship, the artist turned and said: “This window I have wrought from the fragments of your shattered one, and it is now ready to be replaced.” Once more a great window shed its beauteous light into the dim aisles of the old cathedral. But the splendor of the new far surpassed the glory of the old, and the fame of its strange fashioning filled the land.—Grace and Truth.
In a certain old town was a great cathedral in which was a wondrous stained-glass window. Its fame had gone abroad over the land. From miles around people pilgrimaged to gaze upon the splendor of this masterpiece of art. One day there came a great storm. The violence of the tempest forced in the window, and it crashed to the marble floor, shattered into a hundred pieces. Great was the grief of the people at the catastrophe which had suddenly bereft the town of its proudest work of art. They gathered up the fragments, huddled them in a box, and carried them to the cellar of the church. One day there came along a stranger, and craved permission to see the beautiful window. They told him of its fate. He asked what they had done with the fragments. And they took him to the vault and showed him the broken morsels of glass. “Would you mind giving these to me?” said the stranger. “Take them along,” was the reply; “they are no longer of any use to us.” And the visitor carefully lifted the box and carried it away in his arms. Weeks passed by; then one day there came an invitation to the custodians of the cathedral. It was from a famous artist, noted for his master-skill in glass-craft. It summoned them to his study to inspect a stained-glass window, the work of his genius. Ushering them into his studio, he stood them before a great veil of canvas. At the touch of his hand upon a cord the canvas dropt. And there before their astonished gaze shone a stained-glass window surpassing in beauty all their eyes had ever beheld. As they gazed entranced upon its rich tints, wondrous pattern, and cunning workmanship, the artist turned and said: “This window I have wrought from the fragments of your shattered one, and it is now ready to be replaced.” Once more a great window shed its beauteous light into the dim aisles of the old cathedral. But the splendor of the new far surpassed the glory of the old, and the fame of its strange fashioning filled the land.—Grace and Truth.
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BEAUTY IN COMMON LIFE
I saw in an art gallery a group of well-drest people admiring a picture of some Spanish beggars. The beggars were unkempt, deformed, ugly, but the artist had seen beauty in the group, and his imagination made the scene appeal strongly to the passer-by. How many of those people, think you, would ever stop to look at a group of beggars, not in a picture, but in life? Would they have the imagination, apart from the artist, to feel the appeal of real men and women in real need and see beauty and grace of form beneath rags? And yet it is possible for all of us to be artists and see common life transfigured with a beauty and grace divine.—John H. Melish.
I saw in an art gallery a group of well-drest people admiring a picture of some Spanish beggars. The beggars were unkempt, deformed, ugly, but the artist had seen beauty in the group, and his imagination made the scene appeal strongly to the passer-by. How many of those people, think you, would ever stop to look at a group of beggars, not in a picture, but in life? Would they have the imagination, apart from the artist, to feel the appeal of real men and women in real need and see beauty and grace of form beneath rags? And yet it is possible for all of us to be artists and see common life transfigured with a beauty and grace divine.—John H. Melish.
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Beauty, Insensitiveness to—SeeInsensitiveness to Beauty.
BEAUTY PERVERTED
One of the most beautiful sights around Ispahan, in Persia, is a field of poppies—those pure white flowers—stretching away for miles. But the poppy is often the source of a curse and misery. Before the poppy is ripe the “head” is scratched at sunset with a kind of comb in three places; and from these gashes the opium oozes out. Next morning it is collected before sunrise, dried and rolled into cakes ready for use or market. Its growers are enriched by the traffic, but the ground is greatly impoverished. And the users of opium? Why, it is death to them.
One of the most beautiful sights around Ispahan, in Persia, is a field of poppies—those pure white flowers—stretching away for miles. But the poppy is often the source of a curse and misery. Before the poppy is ripe the “head” is scratched at sunset with a kind of comb in three places; and from these gashes the opium oozes out. Next morning it is collected before sunrise, dried and rolled into cakes ready for use or market. Its growers are enriched by the traffic, but the ground is greatly impoverished. And the users of opium? Why, it is death to them.
Too often, as with the poppy, beauty becomes a curse, and blessing a bane. (Text.)
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Bed, Taking Up the—SeeBible Customs To-day.
BEER, EFFECT OF
I was at a hospital when an ambulance came tearing to the door, with a man whose leg was crusht from mid-thigh down. He was placed upon the operating table, restless and moaning. “Oh, doctor,” he said, “will it kill me?” and the good, blunt man of science answered, “No; not the leg, but the beer may do you up.” And it did. The limb was removed quickly and skilfully, but the clean aseptic cut had really no chance to heal, because the general physical degradation of beer no surgeon’s knife can amputate. When life and death grip one another, beer stabs life in the back.—John G. Woolley.
I was at a hospital when an ambulance came tearing to the door, with a man whose leg was crusht from mid-thigh down. He was placed upon the operating table, restless and moaning. “Oh, doctor,” he said, “will it kill me?” and the good, blunt man of science answered, “No; not the leg, but the beer may do you up.” And it did. The limb was removed quickly and skilfully, but the clean aseptic cut had really no chance to heal, because the general physical degradation of beer no surgeon’s knife can amputate. When life and death grip one another, beer stabs life in the back.—John G. Woolley.
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Beggary—SeeGiving.
BEGINNING, RIGHT
R. H. Haweis gives this opinion about learning to play the violin, which applies equally well to all training of youth:
Ought young children to begin upon small-sized violins? All makers say “Yes”; naturally, for they supply the new violins of all sizes. But I emphatically say “No.” The sooner the child is accustomed to the right violin intervals the better; the small violins merely present him with a series of wrong distances, which he has successively to unlearn.
Ought young children to begin upon small-sized violins? All makers say “Yes”; naturally, for they supply the new violins of all sizes. But I emphatically say “No.” The sooner the child is accustomed to the right violin intervals the better; the small violins merely present him with a series of wrong distances, which he has successively to unlearn.
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SeeTimidity.
BEGINNINGS DETERMINE ENDINGS
When the toper lies dead over his cups there is an invisible line that runs back from his death to the first dram. When the aged saint lies triumphant in his last sleep that victory is related to his mother’s lullaby and to his own first prayer. The broad estuary where the fleets of a nation float may be traced back to its fountain among the green hills in which a little child may wade or a robin rustle its feathers without fear. The faith that overcomes the world is the consummation of the faith when, in fear and trembling, the young convert first placed his hand in the hand of God. The first step on the stair is a prophecy of the landing. When we start right we have only to keep on in that direction and the end will be more than we longed for.
When the toper lies dead over his cups there is an invisible line that runs back from his death to the first dram. When the aged saint lies triumphant in his last sleep that victory is related to his mother’s lullaby and to his own first prayer. The broad estuary where the fleets of a nation float may be traced back to its fountain among the green hills in which a little child may wade or a robin rustle its feathers without fear. The faith that overcomes the world is the consummation of the faith when, in fear and trembling, the young convert first placed his hand in the hand of God. The first step on the stair is a prophecy of the landing. When we start right we have only to keep on in that direction and the end will be more than we longed for.
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Beginnings of Great Men—SeeGreat Men’s Beginnings.
BEING BEFORE DOING
“He that would hope to write well hereafter in laudable things,” says Milton, “ought himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and most honorable things.” Here is a new proposition in art which suggests the lofty ideal of Fra Angelico, that before one can write literature, which is the expression of the ideal, he must first develop in himself the ideal man. Because Milton is human he must know the best in humanity; therefore he studies, giving his days to music, art, and literature; his nights to profound research and meditation. But because he knows that man is more than mortal he also prays, depending, as he tells us, on “devout prayer to that eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge.”—William J. Long, “English Literature.”
“He that would hope to write well hereafter in laudable things,” says Milton, “ought himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition and pattern of the best and most honorable things.” Here is a new proposition in art which suggests the lofty ideal of Fra Angelico, that before one can write literature, which is the expression of the ideal, he must first develop in himself the ideal man. Because Milton is human he must know the best in humanity; therefore he studies, giving his days to music, art, and literature; his nights to profound research and meditation. But because he knows that man is more than mortal he also prays, depending, as he tells us, on “devout prayer to that eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge.”—William J. Long, “English Literature.”
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Belated Honors—SeeDelay.
Belief not Destroyed by Mysteries—SeeMystery in Religion.
Belief Required—SeeMystery no Bar to Belief.
BELLS
We have given up announcing the miracle of transubstantiation or putting to flight storms and demons or managing exorcism by bell, book and candle, but bells as sweet as the Angelus still ring over our English fields and woodlands on Sunday. The passing-bell in a country churchyard is full of pathos and memory, breaking the stillness and arresting for a moment the busy hay-makers as they pause to listen, and remember some old comrade who will no more be seen in their ranks. The solemn bell at our midnight services, now so customary on the last evening in each year throughout the land, is also charged with hallowed thoughts; indeed, I know few things more thrilling than that watch-night bell, which seems as the crowd kneels within to beat away on its waves of sound the hopes and fears, and tumultuous passions of the dead year when its echoes have ceased those kneeling crowds feel that one more chapter in the book of life has been written, that ringing voice has sealed the troubled past and heralded in with its iron, inexorable, tho trembling lips the unknown future. What with the dinner-bell, safety yard bell, school, factory and jail bells, small cupola spring-bells, safety electric bells, not to forget baby’s coral and bells, bell-rattles, last reminiscence of the extinct fool’s cap and bells, and fool’s wand, with its crown of jingling baubles, we seem never to hear the last of bells. Bells are the landmarks of history as well as the daily ministers to our religious and secular life. The bell’s tongue is impartial and passionless as fate. It tolls for the king’s death “Le roi est mort.” It rings in his successor, “Vive le roi.” The cynical bells rang out as Henry VIII led wife after wife to the altar, the loyal bells rang out for the birth of Charles I, and the disloyal ones tolled again for his execution. The bells of Chester rang a peal for Trafalgar, alternated with a deep toll for the death of Nelson, and some of us canremember the tolling of St. Paul’s bell as the Iron Duke’s funeral passed up Ludgate Hill. The long green bell which announced to the Pisans that the wretched Ugolino, starved to death in the bottom dungeon, had at length ceased to breathe, still hangs in the famous leaning tower of Pisa.At the ringing of the Sicilian Vespers in the Easter of 1282, 8,000 French were massacred in cold blood by John of Procida. The midnight bells of Paris gave the sign for the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s day, August 24, 1471, when 100,000 persons are said to have perished. The great towers of Christendom have all their eloquent bell tongues, and as we pass in imagination from one to the other we not only catch the mingled refrain of life and death as it floats upward from the fleeting generations of men, but we may literally from those lofty summits contemplate all the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them.—H. R. Haweis,English Illustrated Magazine.
We have given up announcing the miracle of transubstantiation or putting to flight storms and demons or managing exorcism by bell, book and candle, but bells as sweet as the Angelus still ring over our English fields and woodlands on Sunday. The passing-bell in a country churchyard is full of pathos and memory, breaking the stillness and arresting for a moment the busy hay-makers as they pause to listen, and remember some old comrade who will no more be seen in their ranks. The solemn bell at our midnight services, now so customary on the last evening in each year throughout the land, is also charged with hallowed thoughts; indeed, I know few things more thrilling than that watch-night bell, which seems as the crowd kneels within to beat away on its waves of sound the hopes and fears, and tumultuous passions of the dead year when its echoes have ceased those kneeling crowds feel that one more chapter in the book of life has been written, that ringing voice has sealed the troubled past and heralded in with its iron, inexorable, tho trembling lips the unknown future. What with the dinner-bell, safety yard bell, school, factory and jail bells, small cupola spring-bells, safety electric bells, not to forget baby’s coral and bells, bell-rattles, last reminiscence of the extinct fool’s cap and bells, and fool’s wand, with its crown of jingling baubles, we seem never to hear the last of bells. Bells are the landmarks of history as well as the daily ministers to our religious and secular life. The bell’s tongue is impartial and passionless as fate. It tolls for the king’s death “Le roi est mort.” It rings in his successor, “Vive le roi.” The cynical bells rang out as Henry VIII led wife after wife to the altar, the loyal bells rang out for the birth of Charles I, and the disloyal ones tolled again for his execution. The bells of Chester rang a peal for Trafalgar, alternated with a deep toll for the death of Nelson, and some of us canremember the tolling of St. Paul’s bell as the Iron Duke’s funeral passed up Ludgate Hill. The long green bell which announced to the Pisans that the wretched Ugolino, starved to death in the bottom dungeon, had at length ceased to breathe, still hangs in the famous leaning tower of Pisa.
At the ringing of the Sicilian Vespers in the Easter of 1282, 8,000 French were massacred in cold blood by John of Procida. The midnight bells of Paris gave the sign for the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s day, August 24, 1471, when 100,000 persons are said to have perished. The great towers of Christendom have all their eloquent bell tongues, and as we pass in imagination from one to the other we not only catch the mingled refrain of life and death as it floats upward from the fleeting generations of men, but we may literally from those lofty summits contemplate all the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them.—H. R. Haweis,English Illustrated Magazine.
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Benefaction in Kind—SeeConditions Suggest Courses.
BENEFACTION OF ANESTHETICS
A fine sculpture in the Boston Public Garden is a marble group representing the Good Samaritan helping the man who had fallen among thieves. But more beautiful than the fine work of the sculptor is the inscription showing how the monument was erected to commemorate the earliest use of anesthetics in surgery at the Massachusetts General Hospital, with these texts from Scripture appended:“Neither shall there be any more pain.”“This also cometh forth from the Lord of hosts, which is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working.”—Franklin Noble, “Sermons in Illustration.”
A fine sculpture in the Boston Public Garden is a marble group representing the Good Samaritan helping the man who had fallen among thieves. But more beautiful than the fine work of the sculptor is the inscription showing how the monument was erected to commemorate the earliest use of anesthetics in surgery at the Massachusetts General Hospital, with these texts from Scripture appended:
“Neither shall there be any more pain.”
“This also cometh forth from the Lord of hosts, which is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working.”—Franklin Noble, “Sermons in Illustration.”
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BENEFIT, COMPULSORY
The following paragraph appeared recently inThe Medical Record(New York):
Because of the opposition of his parents to the operation, surgeons of the County Hospital of Chicago were compelled to obtain an order from the court directing the amputation of the arm of a fourteen-year-old boy recently. Gangrene following a fracture made the operation necessary, but neither the boy nor his parents would consent.
Because of the opposition of his parents to the operation, surgeons of the County Hospital of Chicago were compelled to obtain an order from the court directing the amputation of the arm of a fourteen-year-old boy recently. Gangrene following a fracture made the operation necessary, but neither the boy nor his parents would consent.
Sometimes it is legitimate to do a man good against his will.
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BENEVOLENCE
He is dead whose hand is not open wideTo help the need of a human brother;He doubles the length of his lifelong rideWho of his fortune gives to another;And a thousand million lives are hisWho carries the world in his sympathies.
He is dead whose hand is not open wideTo help the need of a human brother;He doubles the length of his lifelong rideWho of his fortune gives to another;And a thousand million lives are hisWho carries the world in his sympathies.
He is dead whose hand is not open wideTo help the need of a human brother;He doubles the length of his lifelong rideWho of his fortune gives to another;And a thousand million lives are hisWho carries the world in his sympathies.
He is dead whose hand is not open wide
To help the need of a human brother;
He doubles the length of his lifelong ride
Who of his fortune gives to another;
And a thousand million lives are his
Who carries the world in his sympathies.
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Kosciusko, the famous Polish patriot and general, was very benevolent. Sending a messenger on a hurried errand, he bade him ride his own horse. But the man was long gone, and returning said that next time he must take another horse, for that one insisted on stopping at every poor hovel and with every beggar by the way, as if he had stopt to give alms at every wayside call. Even a horse can learn the way of giving.—Franklin Noble, “Sermons in Illustration.”
Kosciusko, the famous Polish patriot and general, was very benevolent. Sending a messenger on a hurried errand, he bade him ride his own horse. But the man was long gone, and returning said that next time he must take another horse, for that one insisted on stopping at every poor hovel and with every beggar by the way, as if he had stopt to give alms at every wayside call. Even a horse can learn the way of giving.—Franklin Noble, “Sermons in Illustration.”
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Benevolence, Christian—SeeUnselfishness, Power of.
BENEVOLENCE, MODEST
One of Baron Rothschild’s peculiarities was to conceal his benevolence. He gave away a great deal of money, but if the one who received it ever mentioned the fact so that it came back to the baron’s ears, he never got any more. His contributions to general benevolence were always anonymous or passed through the hands of others. His name never appeared upon any benevolent list.
One of Baron Rothschild’s peculiarities was to conceal his benevolence. He gave away a great deal of money, but if the one who received it ever mentioned the fact so that it came back to the baron’s ears, he never got any more. His contributions to general benevolence were always anonymous or passed through the hands of others. His name never appeared upon any benevolent list.
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Benevolence, Practical—SeeSentiment, Useless.
Best, Getting the—SeeBuying, Good.
BEST, MAKING THE
Drudgery is the gray angel of success.... Look at the leaders in the professions, the solid men in business, the master-workmen who begin as poor boys and end by building a town to house their factory-hands; they are drudges of the single aim.... “One thing I do.”... Mr. Maydole, the hammer-maker of central New York, was an artist. “Yes,” he said, “I have made hammers for twenty-eight years.” “Well, then, you oughtto be able to make a pretty good hammer by this time.” “No, sir,” was the answer. “I never made a pretty good hammer; I make the best hammer made in the United States.”—William C. Gannett.
Drudgery is the gray angel of success.... Look at the leaders in the professions, the solid men in business, the master-workmen who begin as poor boys and end by building a town to house their factory-hands; they are drudges of the single aim.... “One thing I do.”... Mr. Maydole, the hammer-maker of central New York, was an artist. “Yes,” he said, “I have made hammers for twenty-eight years.” “Well, then, you oughtto be able to make a pretty good hammer by this time.” “No, sir,” was the answer. “I never made a pretty good hammer; I make the best hammer made in the United States.”—William C. Gannett.
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Best, The, is Brief Here—SeeLife, Uses of.
Betrayal—SeeDisplacement.
Betting—SeeGambling.
BIBLE
Charles A. Dana was a great editor and thinker. This is his fine tribute to a book that has influenced the life and destiny of more men than any other literature:
There is perhaps no book whose style is more suggestive and more instructive, from which you learn more directly that sublime simplicity which never exaggerates, which recounts the greatest event with solemnity, of course, but without sentimentality or affectation, none which you open with such confidence and lay down with such reverence: there is no book like the Bible. When you get into a controversy and want exactly the right answer, when you are looking for an expression, what is there that closes a dispute like a verse from the Bible? What is it that sets up the right principle for you, which pleads for a policy, for a cause, so much as the right passage of Holy Scripture?
There is perhaps no book whose style is more suggestive and more instructive, from which you learn more directly that sublime simplicity which never exaggerates, which recounts the greatest event with solemnity, of course, but without sentimentality or affectation, none which you open with such confidence and lay down with such reverence: there is no book like the Bible. When you get into a controversy and want exactly the right answer, when you are looking for an expression, what is there that closes a dispute like a verse from the Bible? What is it that sets up the right principle for you, which pleads for a policy, for a cause, so much as the right passage of Holy Scripture?
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SeeDirections;Letter of God;Way, Direction of;Word the, a Hammer.
Bible a Book of Directions—SeeDirections.
Bible a Book of Life—SeeHigher Criticism.
Bible Adaptation—SeeAdapting the Bible.
BIBLE A HANDBOOK
Primarily the Bible is a handbook setting forth the way of God with individuals. When an inventor sells his sewing-machine, or car, he accompanies the mechanism with an illustrated handbook describing each wheel, each lever and hidden spring. Now the Bible is an illustrated handbook that accompanies the mechanism of the soul, with all its mental levers and moral springs. Having first stated the facts about life and duty and destiny, the Bible goes on to illustrate these facts. (Text.)—N. D. Hillis.
Primarily the Bible is a handbook setting forth the way of God with individuals. When an inventor sells his sewing-machine, or car, he accompanies the mechanism with an illustrated handbook describing each wheel, each lever and hidden spring. Now the Bible is an illustrated handbook that accompanies the mechanism of the soul, with all its mental levers and moral springs. Having first stated the facts about life and duty and destiny, the Bible goes on to illustrate these facts. (Text.)—N. D. Hillis.
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BIBLE A LAMP
This book is a lamp, but lamps are not to be pulled in pieces; lamps are to be read by. When you go down into the valley and the shadow, you will need a light. In that long journey down into the darkness of death you will travel alone. And here is a lamp that will light your path and bring you out of the chill and the damp and the dark into the morning, and the dawn shall be followed by day and the day shall deepen into high noon, the noon of God’s heaven. (Text.)—N. D. Hillis.
This book is a lamp, but lamps are not to be pulled in pieces; lamps are to be read by. When you go down into the valley and the shadow, you will need a light. In that long journey down into the darkness of death you will travel alone. And here is a lamp that will light your path and bring you out of the chill and the damp and the dark into the morning, and the dawn shall be followed by day and the day shall deepen into high noon, the noon of God’s heaven. (Text.)—N. D. Hillis.
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BIBLE AMONG HEATHEN
The eagerness of the Tahitians to have and read the Bible is indicated by the following account:
For years Mr. Nott had been translating the Gospel of Luke into Tahitian, assisted by Pomare and while the book was in press the natives often constrained Mr. Ellis to stop printing to explain to them what they read. The missionaries wished to bind the books before they were distributed, but the impatience of the people constrained them to give up waiting for proper binding materials. The natives, however, did not suffer these precious books to remain without proper protection; dogs and cats and goats were killed so that their skins might be prepared for covers, and the greatest anxiety was manifested to obtain these new copies of the Word of God.—Pierson, “The Miracles of Missions.”
For years Mr. Nott had been translating the Gospel of Luke into Tahitian, assisted by Pomare and while the book was in press the natives often constrained Mr. Ellis to stop printing to explain to them what they read. The missionaries wished to bind the books before they were distributed, but the impatience of the people constrained them to give up waiting for proper binding materials. The natives, however, did not suffer these precious books to remain without proper protection; dogs and cats and goats were killed so that their skins might be prepared for covers, and the greatest anxiety was manifested to obtain these new copies of the Word of God.—Pierson, “The Miracles of Missions.”
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Bible and Experience—SeeExperience and Bible.
BIBLE AND HUMAN NATURE
Rev. Jacob Chamberlain, of India, went to a native city where the name of Jesus had never been heard. He began to explain to them the first chapter of Romans, that chapter which describes the heart of man wandering away from God and into sin, and conceiving evil conceptions of God, until at last, “Tho they know the judgment of God—that they which do such things are worthy of death—not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.” The most intelligent man in the audience, a Brahman, stept forward and said to Dr. Chamberlain, “Sir, that chapter must have been written for us Hindus. It describes us exactly.”
Rev. Jacob Chamberlain, of India, went to a native city where the name of Jesus had never been heard. He began to explain to them the first chapter of Romans, that chapter which describes the heart of man wandering away from God and into sin, and conceiving evil conceptions of God, until at last, “Tho they know the judgment of God—that they which do such things are worthy of death—not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.” The most intelligent man in the audience, a Brahman, stept forward and said to Dr. Chamberlain, “Sir, that chapter must have been written for us Hindus. It describes us exactly.”
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BIBLE AS A CHART
Dr. W. L. Watkinson, commending the Bible as the chart of life, gives this illustration:
A famous Swiss guide was once interviewed. He was a man who had never suffered an accident. Invariably he had brought his parties successfully through the most ambitious undertakings. The man who interviewed him spoke of the failures of other guides. His reply to that was, “There are guides and guides. One takes you up and trusts to luck. He is ready for anything, but he does not know what is coming. He guesses where he is when you ask him, ‘Where is the top?’ I never do that. Before I start on a new track, or one I have not made before, I study it thoroughly. I watch it through the glass until I know it. I make a map of it. When I say, ‘Go,’ then I can see what is before me. On the mountain I must always know where I am. If you come to me for science, it is no good; but I must carry my map with me and point, ‘We are here.’ I never start without my compass, my thermometer, and my aneroid; so that when you come to me at any moment and ask, ‘Where are we?’ I can say, ‘Here! and it is so many feet to the top.’”
A famous Swiss guide was once interviewed. He was a man who had never suffered an accident. Invariably he had brought his parties successfully through the most ambitious undertakings. The man who interviewed him spoke of the failures of other guides. His reply to that was, “There are guides and guides. One takes you up and trusts to luck. He is ready for anything, but he does not know what is coming. He guesses where he is when you ask him, ‘Where is the top?’ I never do that. Before I start on a new track, or one I have not made before, I study it thoroughly. I watch it through the glass until I know it. I make a map of it. When I say, ‘Go,’ then I can see what is before me. On the mountain I must always know where I am. If you come to me for science, it is no good; but I must carry my map with me and point, ‘We are here.’ I never start without my compass, my thermometer, and my aneroid; so that when you come to me at any moment and ask, ‘Where are we?’ I can say, ‘Here! and it is so many feet to the top.’”
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BIBLE AS A COMPASS
Every ship has a compass. No captain would dream of going to sea without a compass, for there are times when neither sun nor stars appear and steering must be done by the compass alone. So every man should have a compass. The Bible is the Christian mariner’s compass, and by it he must steer.
Every ship has a compass. No captain would dream of going to sea without a compass, for there are times when neither sun nor stars appear and steering must be done by the compass alone. So every man should have a compass. The Bible is the Christian mariner’s compass, and by it he must steer.
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Bible as a Mind-cure—SeeMind-healing.
BIBLE AS BREAD
A year ago in Austria a Bible was baked in a loaf of bread. Some wicked men came into the house to find the Bible and burn it, but the good woman of the home, who was just going to bake bread for her family, rolled up her Bible in a big loaf and put it in the oven. When the intruders went away she took out the loaf, and the Bible was uninjured.
A year ago in Austria a Bible was baked in a loaf of bread. Some wicked men came into the house to find the Bible and burn it, but the good woman of the home, who was just going to bake bread for her family, rolled up her Bible in a big loaf and put it in the oven. When the intruders went away she took out the loaf, and the Bible was uninjured.
The Bible is bread. A good loaf to hide the Bible in is a warm heart. The Bible is best baked in a good life. (Text.)
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BIBLE CUSTOMS TO-DAY